11930	----	MORE FABLES by GEORGE ADE author of FABLES in SLANG ILLUSTRATED by CLYDE J. NEWMAN 1900. Table _of_ Contents _The_ Fable _of_ How Uncle Brewster was _Too_ Shifty _for the_ Tempter _The_ Fable _of the_ Grass Widow _and the_ Mesmeree _and the_ Six Dollars _The_ Fable _of the_ Honest Money-Maker and the Partner of His Joys, _Such as They Were_ _The_ Fable _of_ Why Sweetie Flew _the_ Track _The_ Fable _of the_ Ex-Chattel _and the_ Awful Swat _that_ was Waiting _for the_ Colonel _The_ Fable _of the_ Corporation Director _and the_ Mislaid Ambition _The_ Fable _of_ What Happened _the_ Night the Men Came _to the_ Women's Club _The_ Fable _of_ Why Essie's Tall Friend Got _the_ Fresh Air _The_ Fable _of the_ Michigan Counterfeit _Who_ Wasn't One Thing _or the_ Other _The_ Fable _of the_ Adult Girl Who Got Busy Before They Could Ring _the_ Bell _on_ Her _The_ Fable _of the_ Man-Grabber Who Went Out _of_ His Class _The_ Fable _of the_ Inveterate Joker who Remained _in_ Montana _The_ Fable _of the_ Cruel Insult _and the_ Arrival _of the_ Lover _from_ No. 6 _The_ Fable _of the_ Lodge Fiend, _and the_ Delilah Trick Played _by_ His Wife _The_ Fable _of the_ Apprehensive Sparrow _and_ Her Daily Escape _The_ Fable _of the_ Regular Customer _and the_ Copper-Lined Entertainer _The_ Fable _of_ Lutie, _the_ False Alarm, _and_ How She Finished about _the_ Time _that_ She Started _The_ Fable _of the_ Cotillon Leader _from the_ Huckleberry District _with the_ Intermittent Memory _The_ Fable _of the_ He-Gossip _and the_ Man's Wife _and the_ Man _The_ Fable _of the_ Author Who was Sorry _for_ What He Did _to_ Willie _THE_ FABLE _OF_ HOW UNCLE BREWSTER WAS _TOO_ SHIFTY _FOR THE_ TEMPTER When Uncle Brewster had put on his Annual Collar and combed his Beard and was about to start to the Depot, his Wife, Aunt Mehely, looked at him through her Specs and shook her Head doubtfully. Then she spoke as follows: "You go slow there in the City. You know your Failin's. You're just full of the Old Harry, and when you're Het Up you're just like as not to Raise Ned." "I guess I can take keer of myse'f about as well as the Next One," retorted Uncle Brewster. "I've been to the Mill an' got my Grist, if any one should ask. I ain't no Greeny." With that he started for the Train, which was due in one Hour. As he rode toward the Great City he smoked a Baby Mine Cigar, purchased of the Butcher, and told the Brakeman a few Joe Millers just to throw out the Impression that he was Fine and Fancy. After he had Registered at the Hotel and Swelled Up properly when addressed as "Mister" by the Clerk, he wanted to know if there was a Lively Show in Town. The Clerk told him to follow the Street until he came to all the Electric Lights, and there he would find a Ballet. Uncle Brewster found the Place, and looked in through the Hole at an Assistant Treasurer, who was Pale and wore a Red Vest. [Illustration: UNCLE BREWSTER] "I want a Chair near the Band," said Uncle Brewster. "How much does one of 'em Fetch?" "Two Dollars," replied the Assistant Treasurer, pulling down his Cuffs and then examining himself in a small Mirror at one side of the Diagram. "Great Grief!" ejaculated Uncle Brewster. "I only paid Thirty-Five Cents for the Glass Blowers, an' I'll warrant you they beat your Troupe as bad as Cranberries beats Glue. I'll see you plumb in Halifax before I--" "Stand aside, please," said the Assistant Treasurer. Uncle Brewster saw a Policeman, and thought it his Duty to tell the Officer that the Theater Folks were a Pack of Robbers. "Up an Alley," said the Policeman. Instead of going to a Show, Uncle Brewster stood in front of a Clothing Store and watched the Wax Figures. When he got back to his Room the Bell-Hopper came around and asked him if he cared to Sit in a Quiet Game. Uncle Brewster wanted to know whether they were Gamblers or Business Men, and the Boy said they were Business Men. It was all Friendly, with an Ante of Two Bits and the Chandelier as the Limit. Uncle Brewster said he was accustomed to playing with Lima Beans, Three for a Cent and One call Two and no fair to Bluff. The Bell-Hopper told him to Turn In and get a Good Night's Rest. Next Morning at the Hotel he spotted a stylish little Chunk of a Woman who kept the Cigar Case and sold Books with Actress Photos on the outside. He walked over to buy a Cigar, but he happened to see the "3 for 50c." Label and his Feet got cold. So, instead of buying a Cigar, he conversed with the Proprietress. He seemed to be a Success with her, and ventured to say that he was a Stranger in Town and would like first-rate to go out to a Lecture or some other kind of Entertainment that Evening if he could find a Nice Girl that didn't mind going with a Respectable Man who could give References, and besides was nearly old enough to be her Father. Then after the Lecture they could go to a First-Class Restaurant and have an Oyster Stew. [Illustration: THE INVITATION] Uncle Brewster had read the Illustrated Papers in the Barber Shop out Home, and he certainly knew what was Expected of a Man who wanted to give a Gay Girl the Time of her Life. The Cigar and Literary Girl said she would be Charmed to Accompany him only for one Thing: She said she didn't have a Hat that was Fit to Wear. She said she could tell by his Looks that he was a Gentleman that wouldn't want to go anywhere with a Lady whose Lid was Tacky. Possibly he would be willing to Stake her to a Hat. "What would the Hat come to?" asked Uncle Brewster, somewhat Leary. "Only Fourteen Dollars," she replied. "I'll Think it Over," quoth Uncle Brewster, in a choking Voice, and he was so Groggy he walked into the Elevator instead of going out the Street Door. A little while later Uncle Brewster met an Acquaintance who gave him a Complimentary Badge to the Races. He walked out to the Track, so as to make the Expense as Reasonable as possible. As soon as he was in the Ring a Tout took him back of a Hot Sausage Booth and told him not to Give it Out, but Green Pill in the First Race was sure to Win as far as a man could throw an Anvil, and to hurry and get a Piece of Money on. Uncle Brewster looked at the Entries and began to Quiver. He wished that Doc Jimmison could be there to Advise him. Green Pill was 30 to 1, and the Tout had his information from a Stable Boy that slept with the Horse. A Reckless Spirit seized Uncle Brewster. He said he would take a Chance even if he didn't know for Sure that he would Win. So he walked up to a Bookie and said to him: "I want to Bet Fifty Cents on Green Pill, and this is a Dollar here, so you want to give me Fifty Cents Change." Whereupon the Bookie told him to Back Up and Fade and do a Disappearing Specialty. Uncle Brewster Escaped and found himself at a Bar. He decided that he would take a Drink, because he wouldn't be Home until next Day and by that time it would be off his Breath. [Illustration: NON-COMBUSTIBLE] So he laid his Bosom against the Brass Railing and said to the Man in White, "You might as well draw me a Glass of Beer." "We've got it in Bottles," said the Barkeep, regarding Uncle Brewster without a sign of Enthusiasm. "What do you git for a Bottle?" asked Uncle Brewster. "Twenty Cents," was the Reply of the Liquor Clerk. "Keep it," said Uncle Brewster. Perceiving that the Race-Track was in the hands of Gougers, Uncle Brewster walked back to the Hotel. By that Time his New Shoes had Crippled him, and he decided to take the Afternoon Train for home instead of Waiting Over. That Evening he was back at his own Fireside, with the Bunged-Up Feet resting in Carpet Slippers. As he sat and read the Poultry Magazine, Aunt Mehely looked at him sidewise, and full of Suspicion said, "I s'pose you just Played Hob there in the City." And Uncle Brewster replied as follows: "No, Mother, I didn't Drink and I didn't Gamble. I didn't do Nothin'--not even go to a Theayter." And as he spoke an Aureole of Virtue seemed to curdle above him, while his Countenance bore an Expression of Placid Triumph, which meant that he was the real Asbestos Paragon who had been tried in the Furnace and declared Non-Combustible. MORAL: _Some People are Good because it Comes High to be Otherwise_. _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ GRASS WIDOW _AND THE_ MESMEREE _AND THE_ SIX DOLLARS One Day a keen Business manager who thought nobody could Show him was sitting at his Desk. A Grass Widow floated in, and stood Smiling at him. She was a Blonde, and had a Gown that fit her as if she had been Packed into it by Hydraulic Pressure. She was just as Demure as Edna May ever tried to be, but the Business Manager was a Lightning Calculator, and he Surmised that the Bunk was about to be Handed to him. The Cold Chills went down his Spine when he caught a Flash of the Half-Morocco Prospectus. If it had been a Man Agent he would have shouted "Sick 'em" and reached for a Paper-Weight. But when the Agent has the Venus de Milo beaten on Points and Style, and when the Way the Skirt sets isn't so Poor, and she is Coy and introduces the Startled Fawn way of backing up without getting any farther away, and when she comes on with short Steps, and he gets the remote Swish of the Real Silk, to say nothing of the Faint Aroma of New-Mown Hay, and her Hesitating Manner seems to ask, "Have I or have I not met a Friend?"--in a Case of that kind, the Victim is just the same as Strapped to the Operating-Table. He has about One Chance in a Million. The timorous but trusting little Grass Widow sat beside the Business Manager and told him her Hard-Luck Story in low, bird-like Notes. She said she was the only Support of her Little Boy, who was attending a Military School at Syracuse, N.Y. She turned the Liquid Orbs on him and had him to the Bad. He thought he would tell her that already he had more Books at Home than he could get on the Shelves, but when he tried to Talk he only Yammered. She Kept on with her little Song, and Smiled all the Time, and sat a little Closer, and he got so Dizzy he had to lock his Legs under the Office Chair to keep from Sinking Away. [Illustration: GRASS WIDOW] When she had him in the Hypnotic State she pushed the Silver Pencil into his Right Hand, and showed him where to sign his Name. He wrote it, while the dim Sub-Consciousness told him that probably he was the Softest Thing the Lady Robber had Stood Up that Season. Then she recovered the Pencil, which he was confusedly trying to put into his Vest Pocket, and missing it about Six Inches, and with a cheery Good By she was gone. He shook himself and took a Long Breath, and asked where he was. Then it all came back to him and he felt Ornery, and called himself Names and roasted the Office Boy in the Next Room, and made a Rule that hereafter Nobody could get at him except by Card, and if any Blonde Sharks in Expensive Costumes asked for him, to call up the Chief and ask for a Squad. [Illustration: THE OFFICE BOY] He was so Wrothy at himself for being Held Up that he could not find any Consolation except in the Fact that he had seen on the List of Subscribers the name of nearly every well-known married Citizen above the Age of 35. He was not the Only One. She had Corralled the Street. When the Man came around to deliver the seven-pound copy of "Happy Hours with the Poets," and he paid out his Six Silver Pieces for a queer Volume that he would not have Read for Six an Hour, he hated himself worse than ever. He thought some of giving the Book to the Office Boy, by way of Revenge, but he hit upon a Better Use for it. He put it back into the Box and carried it Home, and said to his Wife, "See what I have Bought for you." It occurred to him that after getting a Present like that, she ought to let him stay out every Night for a Month. But she could not see it that Way. He had to tell her that Some Women never seem to Appreciate having Husbands to Grind and Toil all day, so as to be able to purchase Beautiful Gifts for them. Then she told him that all the Women of her Acquaintance had received these Books as Presents, and a crowd of Married Men must have been given a Club Rate. Then he Spunked up and said that if she was going to look a Gift Horse in the Mouth, they wouldn't Talk about it any more. In the meantime the Grass Widow was living at the Waldorf-Astoria. MORAL: _Those who are Entitled to it Get it sooner or later_. _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ HONEST MONEY-MAKER AND THE PARTNER OF HIS JOYS, _SUCH AS THEY WERE_ The Prosperous Farmer lived in an Agricultural Section of the Middle West. He commanded the Respect of all his Neighbors. He owned a Section, and had a Raft of big Horses and white-faced Cows and Farm Machinery, and Money in the Bank besides. He still had the first Dollar he ever made, and it could not have been taken away from him with Pincers. Henry was a ponderous, Clydesdale kind of Man, with Warts on his Hands. He did not have to travel on Appearances, because the whole County knew what he was Worth. Of course he was Married. Years before he had selected a willing Country Girl with Pink Cheeks, and put her into his Kitchen to serve the Remainder of her Natural Life. He let her have as high as Two Dollars a Year to spend for herself. Her Hours were from 6 A.M. to 6 A.M., and if she got any Sleep she had to take it out of her Time. The Eight-Hour Day was not recognized on Henry's Place. [Illustration: HENRY] After Ten Years of raising Children, Steaming over the Washtub, Milking the Cows, Carrying in Wood, Cooking for the Hands, and other Delsarte such as the Respected Farmer usually Frames Up for his Wife, she was as thin as a Rail and humped over in the Shoulders. She was Thirty, and looked Sixty. Her Complexion was like Parchment and her Voice had been worn to a Cackle. She was losing her Teeth, too, but Henry could not afford to pay Dentist Bills because he needed all his Money to buy more Poland Chinas and build other Cribs. If she wanted a Summer Kitchen or a new Wringer or a Sewing Machine, or Anything Else that would lighten her Labors, Henry would Moan and Grumble and say she was trying to land him in the Poorhouse. They had a dandy big Barn, painted Red With White Trimmings, and a Patent Fork to lift the Hay into the Mow, and the Family lived in a Pine Box that had not been Painted in Years and had Dog-Fennel all around the Front of it. The Wife of the Respected Farmer was the only Work Animal around the Place that was not kept Fat and Sleek. But, of course, Henry did not count on Selling her. Henry often would fix up his Blooded Stock for the County Fair and tie Blue Ribbons on the Percherons and Herefords, but it was never noticed that he tied any Blue Ribbons on the Wife. And yet Henry was a Man to be Proud of. He never Drank and he was a Good Hand with Horses, and he used to go to Church on Sunday Morning and hold a Cud of Tobacco in his Face during Services and sing Hymns with Extreme Unction. He would sing that he was a Lamb and had put on the Snow-White Robes and that Peace attended him. People would see him there in his Store Suit, with the Emaciated Wife and the Scared Children sitting in the Shadow of his Greatness, and they said that she was Lucky to have a Man who was so Well Off and lived in the Fear of the Lord. Henry was Patriotic as well as Pious. He had a Picture of Abraham Lincoln in the Front Room, which no one was permitted to Enter, and he was glad that Slavery had been abolished. Henry robbed the Cradle in order to get Farm-Hands. As soon as the Children were able to Walk without holding on, he started them for the Corn-Field, and told them to Pay for the Board that they had been Sponging off of him up to that Time. He did not want them to get too much Schooling for fear that they would want to sit up at Night and Read instead of Turning In so as to get an Early Start along before Daylight next Morning. So they did not get any too much, rest easy. And he never Foundered them on Stick Candy or Raisins or any such Delicatessen for sale at a General Store. Henry was undoubtedly the Tightest Wad in the Township. Some of the Folks who had got into a Box through Poor Management, and had been Foreclosed out of House and Home by Henry and his Lawyer, used to say that Henry was a Skin, and was too Stingy to give his Family enough to Eat, but most People looked up to Henry, for there was no getting around it that he was Successful. [Illustration: THE FARM] When the Respected Farmer had been Married for Twenty Years and the Children had developed into long Gawks who did not know Anything except to get out and Toil all Day for Pa and not be paid anything for it, and after Henry had scraped together more Money than you could load on a Hay-Rack, an Unfortunate Thing happened. His Wife began to Fail. She was now Forty, but the Fair and Fat did not go with it. At that Age some Women are Buxom and just blossoming into the Full Charm of Matronly Womanhood. But Henry's Wife was Gaunt and Homely and all Run Down. She had been Poorly for Years, but she had to keep up and do the Chores as well as the House-Work, because Henry could not afford to hire a Girl. At last her Back gave out, so that she had to sit down and Rest every Once in a While. Henry would come in for his Meals and to let her know how Hearty all the Calves seemed to be, and he began to Notice that she was not very Chipper. It Worried him more than a little, because he did not care to pay any Doctor Bills. He told her she had better go and get some Patent Medicine that he had seen advertised on the Fence coming out from Town. It was only Twenty-Five cents a Bottle, and was warranted to Cure Anything. So she tried it, but it did not seem to restore her Youth and she got Weaker, and at last Henry just had to have the Doctor, Expense or No Expense. The Doctor said that as nearly as he could Diagnose her Case, she seemed to be Worn Out. Henry was Surprised, and said she had not been Complaining any more than Usual. Next Afternoon he was out Dickering for a Bull, and his Woman, lying on the cheap Bedstead, up under the hot Roof, folded her lean Hands and slipped away to the only Rest she had known since she tied up with a Prosperous and Respected Farmer. [Illustration: THE FAMILY] Henry was all Broken Up. He Wailed and Sobbed and made an Awful Fuss at the Church. The Preacher tried to Comfort him by saying that the Ways of Providence were beyond all Finding Out. He said that probably there was some Reason why the Sister had been taken right in the Prime of her Usefulness, but it was not for Henry to know it. He said the only Consolation he could offer was the Hope that possibly she was Better Off. There did not seem to be much Doubt about that. In about a Month the Respected Farmer was riding around the Country in his Buck-Board looking for Number Two. He had a business Head and he knew it was Cheaper to Marry than to Hire one. His Daughter was only Eleven and not quite Big Enough as yet to do all the Work for five Men. Finally he found one who had the Reputation of being a Good Worker. When he took her over to his House to Break Her In, the Paper at the County Seat referred to them as the Happy Couple. MORAL: _Be Honest and Respected and it Goes_. _THE_ FABLE _OF_ WHY SWEETIE FLEW _THE_ TRACK Once there were two Married People who used "Lovey" and "Pet" when they were in Company, and as soon as they were at Home they Threw Things at each other. She used to watch him through a Hole in the Curtain to see if he Flirted with any Women as he walked up the Street, and he bribed the Hired Girl to tell him Everything that happened while he was off the Reservation. They did not Mocha and Java worth a Cent. The Cardboard Motto in the Dining Room said, "Love One Another," but they were too Busy to Read. He had a Clearing on the top of his Head and wore Side-Whiskers and bore a general Resemblance to the Before in an Ad for a Facial Treatment, and yet she suspected that all the Women in Town were Crazy to steal him away from her. Likewise, inasmuch as she was the same Width all the way up and down, the same as a Poster Girl, and used to sport a Velvet Shroud with Black Beads on it, and could wield a Tooth-Pick and carry on a Conversation at the same time, he knew that sooner or later some Handsome Wretch with Money would try to Abduct her. Sometimes he would bring a Friend Home to Dinner, and then if the Friend extended himself and told the Missus how well she was looking or Perjured himself over her Hand-Painting, Papa would get a Grouch and hide in the Corner. [Illustration: BABY] Then she would Fan herself rapidly and ask, "Aren't you well, Dear?" Dear would force one of those Dying-Martyr Smiles and reply, "I am quite well, Puss." Then Puss would tell the Visitor that Baby was simply ruining his Health through Devotion to his Employers, but they didn't seem to Appreciate him at all. After the Visitor went away there would be Language all over the Shop, and the poor Hired Girl would lock the Door and write to the Intelligence Office for a new Place. Truly, it was a Happy Little Home, with the Reverse English. She would Frisk his Wardrobe every day or two, looking for Evidence, and he would compel her to Itemize her Accounts so that he might be sure she was not giving Jewelry to the Iceman. She would find a certain Passage in a Book, relating to Man's Cruelty and Woman's Silent Suffering, and then she would Mark the Passage and put it where he could Find it. Then when he Found it, he would Mark it "Rot!" and put it where She could find it, and then she would Weep and write Letters to Lady Authors telling them how Sad and Lonely she was. But all the Time they kept up an Affectionate Front before their Acquaintances. They thought it better to avoid Scenes in Public; and although each knew that the other was False and had ceased to Love, they could not bring themselves to think of a Separation or a Divorce on account of the Cat--their Cat! The Cat must never know. However, one of his Business Associates was On. He was a Bachelor and had lived at a European Hotel for Years, and he knew just how to Arbitrate a Domestic Scrap. So he sat down one day and gave the Husband a Good Talking-To. He said it was a Shame that such Nice People should have their Differences when it was so easy to be Happy. With that he handed over a Slew of Platitudes and Proverbs, such as: "A Soft Answer Turneth Away Wrath," "It takes Two to Make a Quarrel," "Think Twice before you Speak once," _et cetera._ [Illustration: SWEETIE] The Gist of his heart-to-heart Talk was that any Husband could stop Rough House Proceedings and shoot all kinds of Sweetness and Light into the sassiest Mooch a Wife ever got on to herself, if only he would refuse to Quarrel with her, receive her Flings without a Show of Wrath, and get up every Morning ready to Plug for a Renaissance of their Early Love. Oh, but it was a Beauty Bright System! The European Hotel Bachelor said it couldn't Lose. The Husband decided to give it a Trial. That very Afternoon he met his Wife, who had come out in her long Fawn-Colored Coat that fell straight in the Back. She had her Upper Rigging set, and was trying to Blanket everything on the Street. He flashed a Smiling Countenance, and said he was glad to see her. Then, instead of asking her When she left the House, and Where she had been since then, and How Soon she expected to go Home again, he told her she was looking Unusually Charming. She was Startled. [Illustration: THE CAT] He handed her a Ten and told her to have a Good Time. Now, usually, when she wanted any Pin Money, she had to Pry it out of him. On her way home her Mind was in a Tumult. Why had he given her the Con Speech and all that Money? What was the Ulterior Motive? What had he been Doing that he should attempt to Coddle her into a Forgiving Mood? Did he Fear that she would get next to his Past? Huh? He just couldn't Fool her. She knew Something was Doing. Else why should he try to Fix her? As soon as he came Home that Evening she Accused him and said she knew All. Instead of Countering with the usual Gibe, he told her that she was the Only Woman he had ever Loved and would she go to a Show that Evening? She went, thinking that perhaps the Other Woman might be there and she could detect some Signal passing between them. While at the Theater he fanned her and explained the Plot, and was all Attention. They rode Home in a Cab, because he said a Car wasn't good enough for His Queen. After they were at Home he asked her to sing the Song he had liked so much in the Old Days, "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean." This was Conclusive Proof to her that the Hussy's Name was Bonnie. Next Morning before he started away he Kissed her, and it wasn't any Make-Believe such as you see in Comic Opera. It was a genuine Olga Nethersole Buss, full of Linger and Adhesion. To cap the Climax he said he would stop in and order some Violets. As soon as the Door slammed she Staggered toward the Kitchen, holding on to the Furniture here and there, the same as a Sardou Heroine. In the Kitchen was a Box of Rough on Rats. Hastily Concealing it beneath the loose Folds of her Morning Gown, she went to her Room and looked in the Mirror. Ah, when he saw that Cold, White Face, then he would be Sorry. Upon Second Thought, this didn't seem to be a Moral Certainty, so she Weakened and had the Girl take the Poison and Hide it. She said she would Live--Live to Forget his Perfidy. That day she went back to Mamma, and took the Cat with her. When he came Home in the Twilight he found no Wife, no Cat--only a Scribbled Note saying that he could no longer Deceive her; that she had seen through his Diabolical Plan to Lull her Suspicions, and that she was no longer Safe in the Same House. When the Deserted Husband went to the Friend and told him what had Happened, the Wise Bachelor said: "I see. You did not go at her Strong enough." MORAL: _They don't know Anything about it_. _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ EX-CHATTEL _AND THE_ AWFUL SWAT _THAT_ WAS WAITING _FOR THE COLONEL_ In one of the States of the Sunny South there stood a war-time House that had six white Columns along the Veranda, and the Chimney ran up the outside of the Wall. This House was the Abode of a Colonel who had a silver-gray Goatee and the Manners of the Old School. All the First Families in the State were related to him, and therefore he was somewhat Particular as to who Lined Up with him when he took his Toddy. He was proud of his Ancestry, and he carried the Scars to prove that he would Resent an Insult. Now it happened that the Thirteenth Amendment signified nothing to him. He had been Reconstructed, but it didn't Take. While on a Business Trip to the North he stopped at a Gaudy Hotel with all kinds of Mirrors and Onyx Stairways. The Head Waiter at this Hotel was a Colored Gentleman with a False Front and a Dress Suit that fit him too soon. His Name was Mr. Winfield. He was President of the Colored Waiters' Union, Vice-President of the Republican County Central Committee, and Regal Commander of the Princes of Ethiopia. His Honors lay Heavily upon him. He showed People where to sit in the Dining Room, and those who failed to Obey usually had to wait fifteen or twenty Minutes for their Vermicelli. [Illustration: THE COLONEL] Mr. Winfield favored his Feet somewhat, which caused him to walk Syncopated, but, everything considered, he was quite Important and fairly Warm. One morning the Colonel went into the Dining Room, and after he had seated himself he called Mr. Winfield to him and said he wanted some Hot Biscuit. At the same time he addressed Mr. Winfield as a Black Hound. Mr. Winfield did not know that this was a Term of Endearment in Apahatchie County, so he picked up a Silver Fruit Dish and bounced it against the Colonel's Head. The Colonel arose and pulled his Persuader, expecting to make it a Case of Justifiable Homicide, but two Waiters named George and Grant grabbed him and backed him up against the Wall. There were other guests in the Dining Room, but they did not jump in with any Gun Plays and make it a Race War, because Apahatchie County was Eight Hundred Miles away. One of them Co-Operated to the extent of Ringing three times for a Policeman. The Officer of the Law who arrived in a few Minutes was Mr. Otis Beasley, Most Worshipful Scribe of the Princes of Ethiopia, of which Mr. Winfield was the Regal Commander. Mr. Beasley walked up to Mr. Winfield, and placing his Left Hand on his Brow, said, "Hail, Brother." "Hail, Most Noble Prince!" responded Mr. Winfield, making the Mystic Sign. "What are the Objects of our Beloved Fraternity?" asked Mr. Beasley, in a whisper. "Hope, Coslosterousness, and Polotomy," replied the Regal Commander. "'Tis Well," said the Most Worshipful Scribe, giving him the Grip. Having completed the Secret work, Mr. Beasley wanted to know what he could do for Brother Winfield. "Remove this Pusson," said Mr. Winfield, pointing at the Colonel. So it came about that He who in Apahatchie County had trained them to hop off the Sidewalk and stand Uncovered until he had passed, now suffered the Hideous Degradation of being marched downstairs by One of Them and then slammed into the Hurry-Up Wagon. Under which Circumstances the Colonel had the Rabies. [Illustration: MR. WINFIELD] At the Police Station he was dragged before a Magistrate and was charged with Disorderly Conduct, Carrying Concealed Weapons, Assault and Battery, Assault with Intent to Kill, and Resisting an Officer. The Magistrate was a White Man, and to him the Colonel appealed for Justice, claiming Brotherhood as a Caucasian. He told what would have happened in Apahatchie if any Coon had dared to lay a finger on a Colonel. Here was an opening for the Court. It must be known that the Court lived in a Ward that was Dark in one End, and he was out for the Colored Vote in case he ran for Judge. This was his Chance to make a Grand-Stand Play. He handed down a Decision to the Effect that all Men are Free and Equal, with incidental References to the Emancipation Proclamation and Striking the Shackles from Four Millions of Human Beings. He Ratified the Constitution and Permitted the Negro to stand in the Free Sunlight. In Apahatchie County he would have been used for Target Practice, but Apahatchie County was still Eight Hundred Miles away. In Conclusion he Soaked the Colonel for $32.75 in Fines and Costs, Confiscating the Weapon, which he afterward presented to Officer Otis Beasley as a Slight Token of Esteem. Next Morning, as a south-bound Passenger Train was crossing the Ohio River, the Colored Porter on the Atlanta Sleeper jumped eighty feet from the Trestle into the Water in order to Escape with his Life. MORAL: _A Head Waiter must be Ruled by Kindness_. _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ CORPORATION DIRECTOR _AND THE_ MISLAID AMBITION One of the Most Promising Boys in a Graded School had a Burning Ambition to be a Congressman. He loved Politics and Oratory. When there was a Rally in Town he would carry a Torch and listen to the Spellbinder with his Mouth open. The Boy wanted to grow up and wear a Black String Tie and a Bill Cody Hat and walk stiff-legged, with his Vest unbuttoned at the Top, and be Distinguished. On Friday Afternoons he would go to School with his Face scrubbed to a shiny pink and his Hair roached up on one side, and he would Recite the Speeches of Patrick Henry and Daniel Webster and make Gestures. When he Graduated from the High School he delivered an Oration on "The Duty of the Hour," calling on all young Patriots to leap into the Arena and with the Shield of Virtue quench the rising Flood of Corruption. He said that the Curse of Our Times was the Greed for Wealth, and he pleaded for Unselfish Patriotism among those in High Places. He boarded at Home for a while without seeing a chance to jump into the Arena, and finally his Father worked a Pull and got him a Job with a Steel Company. He proved to be a Handy Young Man, and the Manager sent Him out to make Contracts. He stopped roaching his Hair, and he didn't give the Arena of Politics any serious Consideration except when the Tariff on Steel was in Danger. [Illustration: AMBITIOUS YOUTH] In a little while he owned a few Shares, and after that he became a Director. He joined several Clubs and began to enjoy his Food. He drank a Small Bottle with his Luncheon each Day, and he couldn't talk Business unless he held a Scotch High Ball in his Right Hand. With the return of Prosperity and the Formation of the Trust and the Whoop in all Stocks he made so much Money that he was afraid to tell the Amount. His Girth increased--he became puffy under the Eyes--you could see the little blue Veins on his Nose. He kept his Name out of the Papers as much as possible, and he never gave Congress a Thought except when he talked to his Lawyer of the Probable Manner in which they would Evade any Legislation against Trusts. He took two Turkish Baths every week and wore Silk Underwear. When an Eminent Politician would come to his Office to shake him down he would send out Word by the Boy in Buttons that he had gone to Europe. That's what he thought of Politics. One day while rummaging in a lower Drawer in his Library, looking for a Box of Poker Chips, he came upon a Roll of Manuscript and wondered what it was. He opened it and read how it was the Duty of all True Americans to hop into the Arena and struggle unselfishly for the General Good. It came to him in a Flash--this was his High School Oration! Then suddenly he remembered that for several Years of his Life his consuming Ambition had been--to go to Congress! With a demoniacal Shriek he threw himself at full length on a Leather Couch and began to Laugh. He rolled off the Sofa and tossed about on a $1,200 Rug in a Paroxysm of Merriment. His Man came running into the Library and saw the Master in Convulsions. The poor Trust Magnate was purple in the Face. They sent for a Great Specialist, who said that his Dear Friend had ruptured one of the smaller Arteries, and also narrowly escaped Death by Apoplexy. [Illustration: THE MAGNATE] He advised Rest and Quiet and the avoidance of any Great Shock. So they took the High School Oration and put it on the Ice, and the Magnate slowly recovered and returned to his nine-course Dinners. MORAL: _Of all Sad Words of Tongue or Pen, the Saddest are these, "It Might Have Been."_ _THE_ FABLE _OF_ WHAT HAPPENED _THE_ NIGHT THE MEN CAME _TO THE_ WOMEN'S CLUB In a Progressive Little City claiming about twice the Population that the Census Enumerators could uncover, there was a Literary Club. It was one of these Clubs guaranteed to fix you out with Culture while you wait. Two or three Matrons, who were too Heavy for Light Amusements, but not old enough to remain at Home and Knit, organized the Club. Nearly every Woman in town rushed to get in, for fear somebody would say she hadn't been Asked. The Club used to Round Up once a week at the Homes of Members. There would be a Paper, followed by a Discussion, after which somebody would Pour. The Organization seemed to be a Winner. One Thing the Lady Clubbers were Dead Set On. They were going to have Harmony with an Upper Case H. They were out to cut a seven-foot Swath through English Literature from Beowulf to Bangs, inclusive, and no petty Jealousies or Bickerings would stand in the Way. So while they were at the Club they would pull Kittenish Smiles at each other, and Applaud so as not to split the Gloves. Some times they would Kiss, too, but they always kept their Fingers crossed. Of course, when they got off in Twos and Threes they would pull the little Meat-Axes out of the Reticules and hack a few Monograms, but that was to have been expected. [Illustration: WYCLIF] Everything considered, the Club was a Tremendous Go. At each Session the Lady President would announce the Subject for the next Meeting. For instance, she would say that Next Week they would take up Wyclif. Then every one would romp home to look in the Encyclopedia of Authors and find out who in the world Wyclif was. On the following Thursday they would have Wyclif down Pat, and be primed for a Discussion. They would talk about Wyclif as if he had been down to the House for Tea every evening that Week. After the Club had been running for Six Months it was beginning to be Strong on Quotations and Dates. The Members knew that Mrs. Browning was the wife of Mr. Browning, that Milton had Trouble with his Eyes, and that Lord Byron wasn't all that he should have been, to say the Least. They began to feel their Intellectual Oats. In the meantime the Jeweler's Wife had designed a Club Badge. The Club was doing such Notable Work that some of the Members thought they ought to have a Special Meeting and invite the Men. They wanted to put the Cap-Sheaf on a Profitable Season, and at the same time hand the Merited Rebuke to some of the Husbands and Brothers who had been making Funny Cracks. It was decided to give the Star Programme at the Beadle Home, and after the Papers had been read then all the Men and Five Women who did not hold Office could file through the Front Room and shake Hands with the President, the Vice-President, the Recording Secretary, the Corresponding Secretary, the Treasurer, and the members of the various Committees, all of whom were to line up and Receive. The reason the Club decided to have the Brain Barbecue at the Beadle Home was that the Beadles had such beautiful big Rooms and Double Doors. There was more or less quiet Harpoon Work when the Announcement was made. Several of the Elderly Ones said that Josephine Beadle was not a Representative Member of the Club. She was Fair to look upon, but she was not pulling very hard for the Uplifting of the Sex. It was suspected that she came to the Meetings just to Kill Time and see what the Others were Wearing. She refused to buckle down to Literary Work, for she was a good deal more interested in the Bachelors who filled the Windows of the new Men's Club than she was in the Butler who wrote "Hudibras." So why should she have the Honor of entertaining the Club at the Annual Meeting? Unfortunately, the Members who had the most Doing under their Bonnets were not the ones who could come to the Front with large Rooms that could be Thrown together, so the Beadle Home got the Great Event. [Illustration: THE MEN] Every one in Town who carried a Pound of Social Influence showed up in his or her Other Clothes. Extra Chairs had to be brought in, and what with the Smilax and Club Colors it was very Swell, and the Maiden in the Lace Mitts who was going to write about it for the Weekly threw a couple of Spasms. The Men were led in pulling at the Halters and with their Ears laid back. After they got into the Dressing Room they Stuck there until they had to be Shooed out. They did not know what they were going against, but they had their Suspicions. They managed to get Rear Seats or stand along the Wall so that they could execute the Quiet Sneak if Things got too Literary. The Women were too Flushed and Proud to Notice. At 8:30 P.M. the Lady President stood out and began to read a few Pink Thoughts on "Woman's Destiny--Why Not?" Along toward 9:15, about the time the Lady President was beginning to show up Good and Earnest, Josephine Beadle, who was Circulating around on the Outskirts of the Throng to make sure that everybody was Happy, made a Discovery. She noticed that the Men standing along the Wall and in the Doorways were not more than sixty per cent En Rapport with the Long Piece about Woman's Destiny. Now Josephine was right there to see that Everybody had a Nice Time, and she did not like to see the Prominent Business Men of the Town dying of Thirst or Leg Cramp or anything like that, so she gave two or three of them the Quiet Wink, and they tiptoed after her out to the Dining Room, where she offered Refreshments, and said they could slip out on the Side Porch and Smoke if they wanted to. [Illustration: LADY PRESIDENT] Probably they preferred to go back in the Front Room and hear some more about Woman's Destiny not. As soon as they could master their Emotions and get control of their Voices, they told Josephine what they thought of her. They said she made the Good Samaritan look like a Cheap Criminal, and if she would only say the Word they would begin to put Ground Glass into the Food at Home. Then Josephine called them "Boys," which probably does not make a Hit with one who is on the sloping side of 48. More of the Men seemed to awake to the Fact that they were Overlooking something, so they came on the Velvet Foot back to the Dining Room and declared themselves In, and flocked around Josephine and called her "Josie" and "Joe." They didn't care. They were having a Pleasant Visit. Josephine gave them Allopathic Slugs of the Size that they feed you in the Navy and then lower you into the Dingey and send you Ashore. Then she let them go out on the Porch to smoke. By the time the Lady President came to the last Page there were only two Men left in the Front Room. One was Asleep and the other was Penned In. The Women were Huffy. They went out to make the Men come in, and found them Bunched on the Porch listening to a Story that a Traveling Man had just brought to Town that Day. Now the Plan was that during the Reception the Company would stand about in little Groups, and ask each other what Books they liked, and make it something on the order of a Salon. This Plan miscarried, because all the Men wanted to hear Rag Time played by Josephine, the Life-Saver. Josephine had to yield, and the Men all clustered around her to give their Moral Support. After one or two Selections, they felt sufficiently Keyed to begin to hit up those low-down Songs about Baby and Chickens and Razors. No one paid any Attention to the Lady President, who was off in a Corner holding an Indignation Meeting with the Secretary and the Vice-President. When the Women began to sort out the Men and order them to start Home and all the Officers of the Club were giving Josephine the frosty Good Night, any one could see that there was Trouble ahead. Next Day the Club held a Special Session and expelled Josephine for Conduct Unbecoming a Member, and Josephine sent Word to them as follows: "Rats." Then the Men quietly got together and bought Josephine about a Thousand Dollars' Worth of American Beauty Roses to show that they were With her, and then Homes began to break up, and somebody started the Report that anyway it was the Lady President's Fault for having such a long and pokey Essay that wasn't hers at all, but had been Copied out of a Club Paper published in Detroit. Before the next Meeting there were two Factions. The Lady President had gone to a Rest Cure, and the Meeting resolved itself into a Good Cry and a general Smash-Up. MORAL: _The only Literary Men are those who have to Work at it._ _THE_ FABLE _OF_ WHY ESSIE'S TALL FRIEND GOT _THE_ FRESH AIR The Owner of a Furnishing Store gave employment to a Boy with Dreamy Eyes, who took good care of his Nails and used Scented Soap and carried a Pocket Looking-Glass. It was his Delight to stand in the Doorway and watch the Girls all Color Up when they caught Sight of him. He was said to be a Divine Waltzer at these Balls that cost the Gents 50 cents each and the Ladies get in free. There was a Girl named Essie who was Hanging Around the Front of the Store about half of the Time, waiting to get a Chance to Speak to Bert. She Chewed Gum and kept her Sailor Hat pulled down to her Eyebrows and had her Name worked out in Wire and used it as a Breastpin. After she had waited an Hour or so, and he had Broken Away long enough to take her aside, she would want to know what it was that Net had said about her, or else she would ask why he had not Answered her Note. It was always just about as Momentous as that. If Essie did not come, she sent some one with a Message, and sometimes other Floor Managers with Red Neckties and Forelocks would come in to see about the Arrangements for the next Grand Hop by the Eucalyptus Pleasure Club. [Illustration: ESSIE] Bert was so Engrossed with his Love Affairs and the Pleasure Club and the Bundle of Correspondence that he carried with him that he had little Time for Furnishing Goods. It used to Annoy him considerably when any one came in and wanted to Spend Money. He would set out the Goods in a Manner that showed it to be something of a Come-Down for him to be compelled to Wait on Outsiders. While the Customer would be asking Questions, Bert would be working the Flexible Neck to see if Essie was still waiting for him. Sometimes when there was a Rush he would get real Cross, and if People did not Buy in a Hurry he would slam the Boxes around and be Lippy and give them the Eye. Yet he wondered why he did not get a Raise in Salary. During the Holiday Season, when the Eucalyptus Pleasure Club was simply in a Delirium of All-Night Dances and Fried-Oyster Suppers, and when Essie had worn a Path in the Snow coming down to tell Bert not to Forget, the Proprietor decided that the Boy's Job was interfering with his Gaiety. So when Bert came to get his Envelope the Furnisher told him he needed more Outdoor Life and Exercise, and he had better find it by moving around Town and looking for another Job. MORAL: _Omit the Essie Proposition_. _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ MICHIGAN COUNTERFEIT WHO WASN'T ONE THING _OR THE_ OTHER Two Travelers sat in a Sleeping Car that was fixed up with Plush and Curly-Cues until it resembled a Chambermaid's Dream of Paradise. They were talking about the Man who sat across the Aisle. "I think he is an Englishman," said the First Traveler. "Why do you think so?" queried his Companion. "Well, in the first place his Clothes don't fit him," replied the First Traveler. "I observe, also, that he has piled all his Luggage on Another Man's Seat, that he has opened several Windows without asking Permission, that he has expected the Porter to pay Attention to him and nobody else, and that he has Kicked at something every Thirty Seconds since we left Buffalo." "You make out a Strong Case," said the Second Traveler, nodding. "I will admit that the Suit is Fierce. Still, I maintain that he is not an Englishman. I notice that he seems somewhat Ashamed of his Clothes. Now, if he were an Englishman, he would Glory in the Misfit." "Perhaps he is a Canadian," suggested the First Traveler. "Impossible," said the other. "He may be English, but he is not sufficiently British to be a Canadian. If he were a Canadian he would now be singing 'Britannia Rules the Wave!' No, I insist that he is an American traveling Incog. I suspect that I have Caught him with the Goods. While sitting here, I have had my Sherlock Holmes System at work. A few Moments ago he read a Joke in a Comic Paper, and the Light of Appreciation kindled in his Eye before a full Minute had elapsed." [Illustration: PULLMAN CAR] "Perhaps it was not a Comic Paper at all," said the First Traveler. "It may have been Punch. Very often an Englishman will Get Next almost immediately if the Explanation is put in Parenthesis. You have to Hand it to him with a Diagram and a Map and then give him a little Time, and then he Drops. This man is certainly an Englishman. Notice the Expression of Disapproval. He does not fancy our Farm Scenery. Get onto the Shoes, too. They are shaped like Muffins. Then if you are still in Doubt, pay attention to the Accent. Didn't you hear him just now when he was complaining to the Porter because the Sun was on the wrong side of the Car?" "Yes, but did you hear him use 'Cahn't' and 'Glass' both in the same Sentence? When a Man Plays it Both Ways, it is a Sign that he was born in Wisconsin and attended Harvard. I am convinced that he is not an Englishman at all. He is probably an American who takes a Bahth in a Bath-Tub." But the First Traveler persisted that surely the Man across the aisle was an Englishman, so they Jawed back and forth and finally made a Bet. Then the First Traveler stepped over and begged the Stranger's Pardon and asked him, as a personal favor, to Identify himself. Was he an Englishman or an American? "Really, that is a Hard Question to answer," said the Surprised Stranger. "I confess with some Mortification that Father was an American, but he wore Detachable Cuffs and talked about Live Stock at the Table, so the Heirs are trying to Forget him. As nearly as we can learn, one of my Ancestors came to this Country from Yorkshire early in the Eighteenth Century and founded a Tannery in Massachusetts, so I feel that I can claim an English Birthright, regardless of the intervening Ancestors. My Claim is strengthened by the Fact that our Family has a Regular Coat-of-Arms. Everybody had forgotten about it for over Seven Hundred Years until Sister and I hired a Man to find it. Sister is now Lady Frost-Simpson and lives on the Other Side. When she discovered his Lordship he was down to his last Dickey. She took him out of Hock, and he is so Grateful that sometimes he lets me come and Visit them. I have seen the Prince." [Illustration: ANCESTOR] "Then you are an Englishman?" queried the Traveler who had Bet that way. "It is not admitted in London," was the sorrowful Reply. "Sometimes if Frost-Simpson has to come Home for Money while I am visiting Sister, he puts me up at the Clubs and all the Chaps seem to think I am an American. I try to be exactly like them, but I fail. They say I have an Accent, although I have been working all my Life to overcome it. I have not used the word 'Guess' for many Years." "Yours is a Sad Case," remarked the Second Traveler. "Why do you ever come back?" "To collect my Income," was the Reply. "Isn't it a Bore? Rents and all that sort of Rot, you know." "But you have not settled the Bet," said one of the Persistent Travelers. "Are you a Yankee?" "I have never Admitted it, and I cannot do so now," said the Brother-in-Law of Lord Frost-Simpson. "At the same time, it is on Record that I was born at Pontiac, Michigan. Of course, you know What I am Striving to be. But there must be a Handicap somewhere. During the Two Hundred Years in which my Ancestors temporarily resided in the States, they must have absorbed some of the Characteristics of this Uncouth and Vulgar People, and as a Result the Sins of the Father are visited upon the Child even to the third and fourth Generations, and I cannot hold a Monocle in my Eye to save my Life. I live Abroad, and strive to Forget, and work hard to be just like the other Fellows, but I do not seem to Arrive. Even in this Beastly Country, where the Imitation Article usually passes current as the Real Thing, there seems to be some Doubt as to my Case, seeing that you two Persons have made this Bet. Concerning the Bet, I fear that I am unable to Decide it. I do not know What I am." "I know What you are," said the First Traveler, "but I do not dare to tell you right here in the Car, because the Pullman Company has a Rule against the use of such Language." So they declared the Bet off and went forward and sat in the Day Coach. MORAL: _Be Something_. _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ ADULT GIRL WHO GOT BUSY BEFORE THEY COULD RING _THE_ BELL _ON_ HER Once upon a Time there was a Lovely and Deserving Girl named Clara, who was getting so near Thirty that she didn't want to Talk about it. Everybody had a Good Word for her. She traveled with the Thoroughbreds, and was always Among Those Present; so it was hard to understand why she hadn't Married. Other Girls not as Good-Looking or Accomplished had been grabbed off while they were Buds. Already some of them were beginning to act as Chaperons for Clara. They were keeping Tab on Clara's Age, too, and began to think that she would land on the Bargain Counter, and have to be satisfied with a Widower who wore a Toupee and dyed his Eyebrows. Clara was somewhat of a Mind-Reader. She knew that the Friends of her Youth were predicting a Hard Finish for her, so she decided to Fool them. And she knew that it Behooved her to Catch On before the Children started in to call her Auntie. Now it is not to be inferred that Clara was what the Underwriters call a Bad Risk. She never had been a Drug on the Market. When she went to a Hop she did not have to wait for Ladies' Choice in order to swing into the Mazy. In fact, she had been Engaged now and then, just for Practice, and she had received Offers from some of the holdover Bachelors who went around Proposing from Force of Habit. But Clara was not out for any man who had been Turned Down elsewhere. She wanted the Right Kind, and she was going to do the Picking herself. Having made an Inventory of the Possibilities, she selected the Treasurer of the Shoe Factory, and decided that she could Love him without Straining herself. He was about her age, and was almost as good-looking as a Gibson Man, and had A1 Prospects. It would be no Easy Job to Land him, however, because the Competition was very keen and he was Wary, trying to be a Kind Friend to every Girl he knew, but playing no Favorites. He kept the Parents guessing. He had been Exposed to Matrimony so often without being Taken Down, that he was generally regarded as an Immune. Clara got Busy with herself and hatched a Scheme. When all the Smart Set got ready to pike away for the Heated Term, Clara surprised her Friends by guessing that she would remain at Home. It was a Nervy Thing to do, because all the Social Head-Liners who could command the Price were supposed to flit off to a Summer Hotel, and loiter on the Pine Veranda and try to think they were Recuperating. Clara told her Mother to go, as usual, but she would stay at Home and be a Companion to poor lonesome Papa. So all the Women went away to the Resorts with their Cameras and Talcum Powder and Witch Hazel, and Clara was left alone in Town with the Men. [Illustration: CLARA] It is a Traditional Fact that there is no Social Life in Town during the Dog Days. But there is nothing to prevent a Bright Girl from Starting Something. That is what Clara did. She stocked up the Refrigerator, and hung a Hammock on the Lawn with a few Easy Chairs around it. The Young Men marooned in Town heard of the Good Thing, and no one had to tear their Garments to induce them to come. They arrived at the rate of from Seven to Twelve a Night, and dipped into Papa's Cigars and the Liquid Nourishment, regardless. Although Clara had remained in town to act as Companion to Papa, it was noticed that when she had all the Company in the Evening, Papa either had been Chloroformed and put to Bed or else he had his Orders to stay Under Cover. Clara did not send for the Treasurer of the Shoe Factory. She knew better than to go out after her Prey. She allowed him to find his Way to the House with the others. When he came, she did not chide him for failing to make his Party Call; neither did she rush toward him with a Low Cry of Joy, thereby tipping her Hand. She knew that the Treasurer of the Shoe Factory was Next to all these Boarding School Tactics, and could not be Handled by the Methods that go with the College Students. Clara had enjoyed about ten years' Experience in handling the Creatures, and she had learned to Labor and to Wait. She simply led him into the Circle and took his Order, and allowed him to sit there in the Gloaming and observe how Popular she was. All the men were Scrapping to see who would be Next to sit in the Hammock with her. It looked for a while as if Clara would have to give out Checks, the same as in a Barber Shop. Late that night when the Men walked homeward together, they remarked that Clara was a Miserable Hostess, they didn't think. Next Evening the Treasurer of the Shoe Factory was back on the Lawn. So were all the Others. They said there was no beating a Place where you could play Shirt-Waist Man under the Trees, and have a Fairy Queen in White come and push Cold Drinks at you and not have to sign any Ticket. They composed flattering Songs about Clara, and every time she moved there was a Man right there with a Sofa Cushion to help her to be Comfortable. [Illustration: HIGH-SCHOOL CADET] In the mean time, the Other Girls out at the Summer Resorts were doing the best they could with these High School Cadets, wearing Tidies around their Hats, who would rather go out in a Cat-Boat and get their arms tanned than remain on Shore and win the Honest Love of an American Girl, with a String to it. Clara's work about this time was ever so Glossy. She began by asking the Treasurer of the Shoe Factory to come with her to the Refrigerator to get out some more Imported Ginger Ale. All the men Volunteered to help, and two or three wanted to Tag along, but Clara drove them back. They were gone a Long Time, because the Treasurer had to draw all the Corks, and they Fussed around together in the Pantry fixing up a Lunch for the Boys. Clara told him how Strong and Handy he was, until he felt an increase in his Chest Measurement. On successive evenings she had the Treasurer supervise all the Arrangements. The Hired Girl had every Evening off, because it was so much more Jolly to go out and run the place yourself. In less than a Week the Treasurer was giving Orders around the House. She would get him back to the Kitchen and tie an Apron around him and ask what she should do next. She made him out to be the Only One who could be Trusted. The others were Company, but he was like one of the Family. And although he was being Worked like Creamery Butter, he never Suspected. Her Game was to Domesticate him in Advance, and let him have a Foretaste of what it is to be Boss of your own House, except as to the Bills. The Pantry was full of Home Delicacies such as he couldn't get at the Hotel, and the Service was the best ever. Clara was right at his Elbow with a Willing Smile. It didn't take him long to realize that he was missing a lot by remaining Single. He wondered why he had been so slow in getting on to Clara's Good Points. Also he wondered if it was any Open-and-Shut Certainty when a dozen other Men, some of them Younger and more Gallus, were after her in Full Cry. Clara had him Pulled In, Strung and Hung over the side of the Boat. Of course if all the other Girls had been in Town, they would have Tumbled long before it ran into a Certainty, and probably they would have formed a V and rushed in to break up the Play. But the other Girls were Far Away with the Old Men and the Seminary Striplings. Clara had an Open Field, with no need of any Interfering or Blocking, and if she Fell Down it was her own Fault. Besides, she had all these other Admirers set out as Decoys to prove that if he didn't, somebody else might. The Treasurer of the Shoe Factory got a large Rally on himself, and she had to Give In and make a Promise. He loves to tell Callers how he proposed to his Wife in the Kitchen, and he doesn't know to this Day that she was Expecting it. MORAL: _As soon as he begins to Frequent the Back Rooms of the House, measure him for the Harness_. _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ MAN-GRABBER WHO WENT OUT _OF_ HIS CLASS While standing in front of his Store, between two Dummies in Seersucker Suits, one of the Chosen People spotted a Good Thing that resembled a Three-Sheet of the Old Homestead. It was looking up at the Top Stories and bumping against Hydrants and Unsurpassed Coffee Bulletins. The flip Yahooda, with the City Education and Thirty Centuries of Commercial Training to back him up, saw that here was a Chance to work off some Old Stock. So when the mild old Gentleman with the strawcolored Sluggers and the Freckles on his Wrists came near enough, he Closed with him and told him to come inside and look at a New Style called the McKinley Overcoat because the President had one just like it. Uncle Eck replied that he did not really need an Overcoat, as he had traded for one only a few Seasons before, but he was willing to go in and Look Around, and if he did not buy anything he reckoned there wouldn't be any Hard Feelings. Accordingly he walked straight into the Trap and permitted Mr. Zangwill to show him an Assortment of Shoddy Garments fastened together with Mucilage. The Crafty Merchant came down from $38 to $6.50, and showed him a Confidential Letter from his Cousin Sig to prove that the Goods had been Smuggled in, but old Peaceful Valley refused to Bite. He allowed the Proprietor to talk himself out, and then he walked up and down the Counters, careless-like, to see what was on the Shelves, and he did some quiet Figuring in a Memorandum Book such as they give away at Drug Stores. Before he left he had Traded 20 Acres of flinty Hillside in New Hampshire for the Clothing Store, the Mortgage on the Land to be Assumed by the New Owner, and he had $75 to Boot and an Agreement in Writing. [Illustration: THE TRAPPER] The Hauler-In is now Clerking and trying to Hold Out enough to give him another Start. MORAL: _Lower Broadway is not New England_. _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ INVETERATE JOKER WHO REMAINED _IN_ MONTANA The Subject of this Fable started out in Life as a Town Cut-Up. He had a keen Appreciation of Fun, and was always playing Jokes. If he wanted a few Gum-Drops he would go into the Candy Store and get them, and then ask the Man if he was willing to take Stamps. If the Man said he was, then the Boy would stamp a couple of times, which meant that the Laugh was on the Man. It was considered a Great Sell in Those Parts. Or else he would go into a Grocery with another tricky Tad and get some Article of Value, and they would pretend to Quarrel as to which should Pay for it. One would ask the Proprietor if he cared who paid for it, and if he said he did not, they would up and tell him to Pay for it Himself. This one was so Cute that they had a little Piece in the Paper about it. Or they would go and Purchase a Watermelon to be paid for as soon as a Bet was decided, and afterward it would Develop that the Bet was whether the Saw-Mill would fall to the East or the West, in case the Wind blew it over. It was Common Talk that the Boy was Sharp as a Tack and Keen as a Brier and a Natural-Born Humorist. Once he sold a Calf to the Butcher, several Hours after the Calf had been struck by Lightning. As for ordering Goods and having them charged to his Father, that was one of the Slickest Things he ever did. About the time the Joker was old enough to leave Home, he traveled out through the Country selling Bulgarian Oats to the Farmers. When the Contract for the Seed Oats got around to the Bank, it proved to be an iron-clad and double-riveted Promissory Note. The Farmer always tried to get out of Paying it, but when the Case came to Trial and the Jurors heard how the Agent palavered the Hay-Seed they had to Snicker right out in Court. They always gave Judgment for the Practical Joker, who would take them out and buy Cigars for them, and they would hit him on the Back and tell him he was a Case. One Day the Joker had an Inspiration, and he had to tell it to a Friend, who also was something of a Wag. They bought a Cat-Tail Swamp remote from Civilization and divided it into Building Lots. The Marsh was Advertised as a Manufacturing Suburb, and they had side-splitting Circulars showing the Opera House, the Drill Factory, Public Library, and the Congregational Church. Lots were sold on the Instalment Plan to Widows, Cash-Boys, and Shirt-Factory Girls who wanted to get Rich in from fifteen to twenty Minutes. The Joker had a Lump of Bills in every Pocket. If asked how he made his Roll, he would start to Tell, and then he would Choke Up, he was so full of Laugh. He certainly had a Sunny Disposition. [Illustration: MANUFACTURING SUBURB] Finally he went to the State of Montana. He believed he could have a Season of Merriment by depositing some Valuable Ore in a Deserted Mine, and then selling the Mine to Eastern Speculators. While he was Salting the Mine, pausing once in a while to Control his Mirth, a few Natives came along, and were Interested. They were a slow and uncouth Lot, with an atrophied Sense of Humor, and the Prank did not Appeal to them. They asked the Joker to Explain, and before he could make it Clear to them or consult his Attorney they had him Suspended from a Derrick. He did not Hang straight enough to suit, so they brought a Keg of Nails and tied to his Feet, and then stood off and Shot at the Buttons on the Back of his Coat. MORAL: _Don't Carry a Joke too far, and never Carry it into Montana_. _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ CRUEL INSULT _AND THE_ ARRIVAL _OF THE_ LOVER FROM NO. 6 One Morning there came into the Dining Room of the Peerless Hotel at Welby's Junction an English Tourist and the Advance Agent of the Mabel Mooney Repertoire Company. They took their Places at the Table underneath a Chromo representing a Pyramid of Idealized Fruit. The Table was covered with Sail Cloth, and in the Center was the Corroded Caster, which gave out a Sound similar to that of the Galloping Horse in the War Drama whenever any one walked across the Floor. The English Traveler appeared to have received Bad News from Home, but he had not. That was the Normal Expression. His Mustache was long and wilted. Also the Weary Look around the Eyes. He traveled with a Cowhide Bag that must have used up at least one Cow. The Clothes he wore evidently had been cut from a Steamer Rug by his Mother, or some other Aged Relative suffering from Astigmatism. He had been Sleeping in them. As for the Second Traveler, he was an Advance Agent. "Cheer Up," said the Advance Agent to the English Tourist. "It may not be True, and if it is True it may be for the Best." The English Tourist made no Response, fearing that his Fellow-Traveler might be In Trade. [Illustration: TOURIST] Then the One that waited on the Table did the Glide from behind a Screen. She was very Pale, up to a certain Point. Pausing about six feet from the English Tourist she looked resolutely at a Knot-Hole in the Floor and said: "Beefsteakliverhamand." "My Good Woman," said the Man from Stoke-on-Tritham, just as if he meant to Prorogue something. "I should like a Rasher of Bacon, and have it Jolly Well Done." "Ain't got no Bacon," she replied, feeling of her Brooch. "Dyuh-me! Then I should like some Boiled Eggs, and mind that they are Fresh." "I'll give you Regular Aigs," she said, lifting her Head proudly, for she was no Serf. "Approach me, Kit," said the Advance Agent, with gentle Voice. "Is tha-a-at so-o-o?" she asked. "I'll have you know, Smarty, my name ain't Kit. So There!" "Well, make it Genevieve," said the Advance Agent. "Come close and hold my Hand while I give you this Order. And merely as one Friend speaking to another, I want to tell you that the Blending under the Left Ear is very poor, and if you are not careful somebody will Sign you as a Spotted Girl." "My Mother was a Lady," she said. "That being the Case, I would like to have you go out and Engage a nice piece of Liver for me. And if you show yourself to be real Winsome and Chic I may be able to use you with the Troupe." "Tea or Coffee?" "Don't tell me which one you bring and see if I can Guess. And I would like some Actual Potatoes." "I suppose, Sir, you think I have no Feelings." "That is none of my Business," he replied. "I am merely passing through your Beautiful Little City." "I wish Edmund was here," said she. "So do I," assented the Advance Agent, promptly. "If he can wait on the Table I wish he was here. Now see if you can make the Kitchen in two Jumps." [Illustration: ADVANCE AGENT] "He'd show you if you could get Flossy with a Lady, even though she Works." "You are about to lose your Tip, standing around here trying to shoot it back at the Handsome Guest," remarked the Advance Agent. "Has Edmund about finished his Fall Plowing?" "He don't do no Fall Plowing," was the Bitter Reply. "He Fires on Number Six." At that Moment there entered a Railroad Boy with Braid on his Clothes and Coal-Dust on his Neck. He removed the Cap that had rested on his flanging Ears and sat at the Table with the Advance Agent and the English Tourist. "Feed me Everything, with One in the Light to come along," he said. "If any of the Cockroaches ask for me, tell them I'm for all Night with the Yellow Rattlers, and laid out at Winona." The English Tourist was holding his Head. "I guess you won't carry on so Gay since he's come," said the Sensitive Waitress, addressing the Advance Agent. "Did he Call you Down?" asked Edmund, the Loving Fireman, glancing at the Advance Agent. "He used me like I was the Dirt under his Feet," she replied, placing her Hand on her Breast and biting her Lower Lip. "Well, it's a Good Thing," said Edmund. "You've needed a few of them Jolts ever since you had your Hand read by the Gypsy and started to read that Bertha Clay Book. It's a good thing to have a Strong Josher come along now and then, just to show you Proud Dolls how to take a Joke. Do I Eat?" The Sensitive Waitress hurried Away, feeling hurt. "Overlook all the Phoney Acting by the Little Lady, Bud," said the Fireman to the Advance Agent. "She's only twenty-seven." Producing a small Note-Book, the English Traveler said: "Gentlemen, I regard this Incident as Most Extraordinary and somewhat Mystifying. I fear that I am not sufficiently acquainted with your Vernacular to grasp the full Purport of what has occurred here. Will you Explain it to me?" [Illustration: WORKING GIRL] "Did you notice the Ingenue that guaranteed you the Regular Eggs," asked the Advance Agent. "You mean the Young Woman who was here a moment ago?" "That's the Party! You saw her?" "Certainly." "Now, I'll tell you all about it, if you promise not to put it in your Book." "Really, you know, I had intended to Use it," said the Traveler. "All right, then; put it in, but don't use any Names. This is Under the Rose, remember. The Proud Working Girl that was in here just now is my Sister." And the Englishman was deeply Perplexed. MORAL: _Brothers in Name only._ _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ LODGE FIEND, _AND THE_ DELILAH TRICK PLAYED _BY_ HIS WIFE A Woman who had done nothing to Deserve it was the Wife of a Joiner. He was the K.G. of one Benevolent Order and the Worshipful High Guy of something else, and the Senior Warden of the Sons of Patoosh, and a lot more that she couldn't keep track of. When he got on all of his Pins he had Sousa put away. Night after Night he was off to a Hall up a Dark Stairway to land some Unfortunate into the Blue Lodge or the Commandery or else Over the Hot Sands. He carried at least twenty Rituals in his Head, and his Hands were all twisted out of Shape from giving so many different Grips. In the Morning when he came out of the House he usually found some one waiting on the Door-Step to give him the Sign of Distress and work the fraternal Pan-Handle on him. He subscribed for the Magazines that were full of these sparkling Chapter Reports, and after that, if he had not spent all his money going to Conclaves and Grand Lodge Meetings, he paid Dues and Assessments and bought Uniforms. He had one Suit in particular, with Frogs and Cords and Gold Braid strung around over the Front of it, and then a Helmet with about a Bushel of Red Feathers. When he got into this Rig and strapped on his Jeweled Sword he wouldn't have traded Places with Nelson A. Miles. His Wife often said that he ought not to leave her and take up with a Goat, and that she could use on Groceries some of the Coin that he was devoting to Velvet Regalia and Emblematic Watch-Charms, but he always tried to make it Right with her by explaining that he had Insurance in most of these Whispering Organizations, so that she and the Children would come in for a whole Wad of Money. The Wife thought it was too long to wait. He seemed to be in a Fair Way to live another Century and keep on paying Assessments. There was no use in Arguing with him. When a Man gets to be a confirmed Joiner he is not Happy unless he can get into an unlighted Room two or three Nights a Week, and wallop the Neophyte with a Stuffed Club, and walk him into a Tub of Water, and otherwise Impress him with the Solemnity of the Ordeal. The real Joiner loves to sit up on an elevated Throne, wearing a Bib and holding a dinky Gavel, and administer a blistering Oath to the Wanderer who seeks the Privilege of helping to pay the Rent. To a Man who does not cut very many Lemons around his own House, where they are Onto him, it is a great Satisfaction to get up in a Lodge Hall and put on a lot of Ceremonial Dog, and have the Members kneel in front of him and Salute him as the Exalted Sir Knight. [Illustration: THE JOINER] You take a Man who is Plugging along on a Salary, and who has to answer the 'Phone and wrap up Tea all Day, and let him go out at Night and be an Exalted Sir, and it helps him to feel that he isn't such a Nine-Spot after all. Now this particular Joiner wanted to be up on a carpeted Dais every blessed Evening, having the Brothers march in front of him and give him the High Office. His Wife, being unacquainted with the Secrets of the Lodge Room, was unable to understand why he was so Fascinated with the Life. She was exceedingly Inquisitive and often tried to Pump him by the most Artful Methods, but of course he did not dare to Divulge or his Right Arm would have Withered and his Tongue would have Cleaved to the Roof of his Mouth, and he would have been an Outcast on the Face of the Earth, despised by all other Members of the Royal Tararum. Now and then he Talked in his Sleep, and she caught Expressions in regard to Branding him on the Other Leg or putting him back into the Coffin, and her Curiosity was intensified. One day she read in a Veracious Newspaper that if the Left Hand of a Sleeping Person be immersed in Tepid Water, then the Sleeper will truthfully answer any Question that may be asked. She resolved to try it on her Husband. She was dying to know what they Said and Did at Lodge Meetings that would keep a Man away from Home so many Nights in the Week. That Night after he had come home from the Odd Fellows and passed into Slumber she crept out and took a Low Advantage of him. She slid his Left Hand into a bowl of Warm Water without arousing him, and he Gave Up. He told all the Passwords, the Secret Mottoes, the Oaths, the Meaning of the Symbols and the Unwritten Work. When he had finished she had a Notion to Ring for a Night Cab and go Home to her own Family, but her Better Judgment prevailed. She concluded that she would have to continue to Live with him, no matter what she Thought of him. She never dared to tell that she Knew, and he never Suspected. Husband never guessed why it was that when he started out for an Evening with the Skeletons and the Candidates she stood back and smiled at him more in Pity than in Anger. MORAL: _It's a Good Thing they don't Know_. _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ APPREHENSIVE SPARROW _AND_ HER DAILY ESCAPE Once there was a Proper little Female who Fluttered and was interested in Movements. She was born the Year that Fremont ran against Buchanan. All she knew about Spooning was what she had Read in Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Time and again she said that if a Man ever attempted to Take Liberties with her, she knew she would Die of Mortification. At Last Reports she was Living, but she had Courted Death at least Fifteen Hundred Times. If a Strange Man came up behind her while she was walking Homeward in the Dusk, she always gave a Timid Glance behind and Hurried, suspecting that he would Overtake her and seize her by both Wrists and tell her not to Scream. She would reach her own Door and lean against it, almost in a Swoon, and the Strange Man would pass by, softly Humming to Himself. Occasionally an Adventurer with Coal-Black Eyes and a Suspicious Manner would come and sit right beside her in a Car, evidently for some Purpose, and she would close her Lips tightly and resolve to do a Steve Brodie out of the Window if she saw his Hand slipping over toward Hers. Fortunately, the man kept his Eyes on the Sporting Page and made no Move. If she happened to be in the Waiting-Room at the Station, and a coarse but masterful Claim Agent, or some one else equally Terrifying, happened to come across the Room at her, she could feel her Little Heart stand still, and she would say, "This is where I get it." After he had gone past, on his way to the Check-Room, she would put some Camphor on her Handkerchief and declare to Goodness that never again would she start out to Travel unless she had some Older Person with her. [Illustration: THE SPARROW] More than once when she was at Home, with only a few other Persons around the House, she saw a Large Man come up the Front Steps, and she would be Frozen with Terror, and could see herself being lifted into a Closed Carriage by the Brutal Confederates. She would slip a Pair of Scissors under her Apron and creep to the Front Door, prepared to Resist with all her Girlish Strength, and the Man would have to talk to her through the Door, and ask where they wanted the Coal delivered. Now and then a Caller would find her Reviving herself with a Cup of Tea. The Caller would say: "Madge, Child, you are as Pale as a Ghost." Madge would reply: "Oh, I have just had such a Turn! I was out watering the Nasturtiums, when a Man in a Crash Suit came along the Street and looked right at me. The Gate was open, and there was nothing to prevent him from coming right in and Getting me." The Appalled Visitor would want to know what became of him, and Madge would explain that he turned at the Next Corner, and she had been as Weak as a Cat ever since. On her Shopping Expeditions she noticed Dozens of Men, apparently Trailing right along after her, and she knew that her only Salvation was to look straight ahead and indicate by her Bearing that she was no Flirt. By so doing she eluded many a one who wanted to Catch Step with her and begin a Conversation. The Collected Stories of her Successful but Hair-Breadth Escapes from Men of the World, who seemed to Forget that all Women were not Alike, would have filled a Volume bigger than the Family Medicine Book. Happily, no one ever went Quite So Far. She invariably Escaped. MORAL: _Don't Worry._ _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ REGULAR CUSTOMER _AND THE_ COPPER-LINED ENTERTAINER One day the Main Works of a Wholesale House was Jacking Up the Private Secretary and getting ready to close his desk for the Day, when in blew a Country Customer. The Head of the Concern would have given Seven Dollars if he could have got out and caught the Elevated before the Country Customer showed up. However, he was Politic, and he knew he must not throw down a Buyer who discounted his Bills and was good as Old Wheat. So he gave a Correct Imitation of a Man who is tickled nearly to Death. After calling the Country Customer "Jim," he made him sit down and tell him about the Family, and the Crops, and Collections, and the Prospects for Duck-Shooting. Then, selecting an opportune moment, he threw up Both Hands. He said he had almost forgotten the Vestry Meeting at Five O'clock, and going out to Dinner at Six-Thirty. He was about to Call Off the Vestry Meeting, the Dinner, and all other Engagements for a Week to come, but Jim would not Listen to it. As a Compromise the Head of the Concern said he would ask their Mr. Byrd to take charge of the Country Customer. They could surely find some Way of putting in the Evening. He said the Oratorio Club war going to sing at Music Hall, and also there was a Stereopticon Lecture on India. Jim said he would prefer the Stereopticon Show, because he loved to look at Pictures. The Head of the Concern said that the Country Customer would be sure to like their Mr. Byrd. Everybody liked Byrd. His Full Name was Mr. Knight Byrd. He pushed on a few Buttons and blew into several snaky Tubes and put the whole Shop on the Jump to find Mr. Byrd. The latter happened to be in a Rathskeller not far away. When he heard that there was Work to be done in his Department he brushed away the Crumbs and Hot-Footed up to see the Boss. In presenting Mr. Byrd to the Country Customer the Head of the Concern laid it on with a Shovel. He said that Jim Here was his Friend, and the House considered it an Honor to Entertain him. The Country Customer sat there feeling Sheepish and Unworthy but a good deal Puffed Up just the same. Then the Head of the Firm made his Escape and the Country Customer was in the Hands of Mr. Byrd. Mr. Byrd was known in the Establishment as the Human Expense Account. No one had ever accused him of being a Quitter. He was supposed to be Hollow inside. Whenever any Friend of the Firm showed up, Mr. Byrd was called upon to take charge of him and Entertain him to a Stand-Still. The Boss was troubled with Dyspepsia, and Conscientious Scruples, and a Growing Family, and a few other Items that prevented him from going out at Night with the Visiting Trade. He had it arranged to give each one of them a choice Mess of Beautiful Language and then pass him along to Mr. Byrd. Mr. Byrd was a Rosy and Red-Headed Gentleman, with a slight Overhang below the Shirt Front. He breathed like a Rusty Valve every time he had to go up a Stairway, but he had plenty of Endurance of another Kind. For Years he had been playing his Thirst against his Capacity, and it was still a Safe Bet, whichever Way you wanted to place your Money. His Batting Average was about Seven Nights to the Week. He discovered that Alcohol was a Food long before the Medical Journals got onto it. Mr. Byrd's chief value to the Wholesale House lay in the Fact that he could Meet all Comers and close up half the Places in Town, and then show up next Morning with a Clean Collar and a White Carnation, and send in word to lead out another Country Customer. Mr. Byrd's first Move was to take Jim to a Retreat that was full of Statuary and Paintings. It was owned by a gray-haired Beau named Bob, who was a Ringer for a United States Senator, all except the White Coat. Bob wanted to show them a new Tall One called the Mamie Taylor, and after they had Sampled a Couple Jim said it was all right and he believed he would take one. Then he told Bob how much he had taken in the Year before and what his Fixtures cost him, and if anybody didn't think he was Good they could look him up in Bradstreet or Dun, that was all. He said he was a Gentleman, and that no Cheap Skate in a Plug Hat could tell him where to Get Off. This last Remark was intended for an inoffensive Person who had slipped in to get a Rhine Wine and Seltzer, and was pronging about Forty Cents' Worth of Lunch. They got around Jim and Quieted him, and Mr. Byrd suggested that they go and Eat something before they got too Busy. The Country Customer would not leave the Art Buffet until Bob had promised to come down and Visit him sometime. When they got into the Street again the Country Customer noticed that all the Office Buildings were set on the Bias, and they were introducing a new style of spiral Lamp-Post. They dined at a Palm-Garden that had Padding under the Table-Cloth and a Hungarian Orchestra in the Corner. Mr. Byrd ordered Eleven Courses, and then asked Jim what Kind he usually had with his Dinner. This is an Awful Question to pop at a Man who has been on Rain Water and Buttermilk all his Life. Jim was not to be Fazed. He said that he never ordered any Particular Label for fear People might think he was an Agent. That was the Best Thing that Jim said all Evening. Mr. Byrd told the Waiter to stand behind Jim and keep Busy. When Jim began to Make Signs that he could not Stand any more, the Entertainer told him to Inhale it and rub it in his Hair. [Illustration: "HOORAY! HOORAY!"] Along toward Dessert Jim was talking in the Tone used by Muggsy McGraw when he is Coaching the Man who is Playing Off from Second. He was telling how much he Loved his Wife. She would have been Pleased to hear it. Mr. Byrd paid a Check that represented One Month's Board down where Jim lived. They fell into a Horseless Hansom and went to see the Hity-Tity Variety and Burlesque Aggregation in a new Piece entitled "Hooray! Hooray!" Jim sat in a Box for the First Time, and wanted to throw Money on the Stage. The Head Usher had to come around once in a while to ask him not to let his Feet hang over, and to remember that the Company could do all the Singing without any Help from him. Mr. Byrd sat back slightly Flushed and watched the Country Customer make a Show of himself. It was an Old Story to him. He knew that the quiet School Trustee kind of a Man who goes Home at Sundown for 364 Days in the Year, with the Morning Steak and a Roll of Reading Matter under his Arm, is the worst Indian in the World when he does find himself among the Tall Houses and gets it Up his Nose. He allowed Jim to stand and Yell when the Chorus struck the Grand Finale, and a little later on, when they had chartered a low-necked Carriage and Jim wanted to get up and Drive, he Stood for it, although he had to make a Pretty Talk to a couple of Policemen before he landed Jim at the Hotel. If this were a Novel, there would be a Row of Stars inserted right here. The Sun was high in the Heavens when the Country Customer opened his Eyes and tried to Remember and then tried to Forget. Some one was sitting at his Bedside. It was Mr. Byrd, the Long-Distance Entertainer, looking as Sweet and Cool as a Daisy. "Before I give you the Photograph of Myself which you requested last Night, would you care for anything in the way of Ice Water?" he asked. Jim did a sincere Groan, and said he could use a Barrel of it. "Did I request a Photograph?" he asked, as he felt for the Boundaries of his Head. [Illustration: JIM] "You did," replied the Entertainer. "And you gave me your Watch as a Keepsake. I have brought the Watch and all the Money you had left after you bought the Dog." "What Dog?" "The Dog that you gave to Bob." "Did we go back there again? I remember the First Time." "Yes, it was In There that you wanted to Run a Hundred Yards with any Man Present for Chalk, Money, or Marbles." "Where are we now--at the Hotel?" "Yes, and Everything is Smoothed Over. The Night Clerk has agreed not to swear out a Warrant." Jim did not Comprehend, but he was afraid to Ask. "It may be that I was a mite Polluted," he suggested. "You were a teeny bit Pickled about Two, when you tried to upset the Lunch Wagon, but I don't think any one Noticed it," said Mr. Byrd. "Take me to the Noon Train," requested the Country Customer. "Tell the Conductor where I live, and send me the Bills for all that I have Broken." "Everything is Settled," responded the Entertainer. "But why Tear yourself away?" "I am Through," replied Jim, "So why Tarry?" Mr. Byrd took him to the Train and arranged with the Porter of the Parlor Car for a Pillow. When the Country Customer arrived at Home he accounted for the Eyes by saying that the Night Traffic makes so much Noise on these Hard Stone Pavements, it is almost impossible to get the usual amount of Sleep. The Head of the Concern put his O.K. on a Voucher for $43.60, and it occurred to him that Stereopticon Lectures seemed to be Advancing, but he asked no Questions. Ever after that Jim bought all his Goods of this one House. He had to. MORAL: _Scatter Seeds of Kindness_. _THE_ FABLE _OF_ LUTIE, _THE_ FALSE ALARM, _AND_ HOW SHE FINISHED ABOUT _THE_ TIME _THAT_ SHE STARTED Lutie was an Only Child. When Lutie was eighteen her Mother said they ought to do something with Lutie's Voice. The Neighbors thought so, too. Some recommended killing the Nerve, while others allowed that it ought to be Pulled. But what Mamma meant was that Lutie ought to have it Cultivated by a Professor. She suspected that Lutie had a Career awaiting her, and would travel with an Elocutionist some day and have her Picture on the Programme. Lutie's Father did not warm up to the Suggestion. He was rather Near when it came to frivoling away the National Bank Lithographs. But pshaw! The Astute Reader knows what happens in a Family when Mother and the Only Child put their Heads together to whipsaw the Producer. One Day they shouldered him into a Corner and extorted a Promise. Next Day Lutie started to Take. She bought a red leather Cylinder marked "Music," so that people would not take it to be Lunch. Every Morning about 9 o'clock she would wave the Housework to one side and tear for a Trolley. Her Lessons cost the Family about twenty cents a Minute. She took them in a large Building full of Vocal Studios. People who didn't know used to stop in front of the Place and listen, and think it was a Surgical Institute. There were enough Soprani in this one Plant to keep Maurice Grau stocked up for a Hundred Years. Every one thought she was the Particular One who would sooner or later send Melba back to Australia and drive Sembrich into the Continuous. Lutie was just about as Nifty as the Next One. When she was at Home she would suck Lemons and complain about Draughts and tell why she didn't like the Other Girls' Voices. She began to act like a Prima Donna, and her Mother was encouraged a Lot. Lutie certainly had the Artistic Temperament bigger than a Church Debt. Now before Lutie started in to do Things to her Voice she occasionally Held Hands with a Young Man in the Insurance Business, named Oliver. This Young Man thought that Lutie was all the Merchandise, and she regarded him as Permanent Car-Fare. But when Lutie began to hang out at the Studios she took up with the Musical Set that couldn't talk about anything but Technique and Shading and the Motif and the Vibrato. She began to fill up the Parlor with her new Friends, and the first thing Oliver knew he was in the Side Pocket and out of the Game. In his own Line this Oliver was as neat and easy-running as a Red Buggy, but when you started him on the topic of Music he was about as light and speedy as a Steam Roller. Ordinarily he knew how to behave himself in a Flat, and with a good Feeder to work back at him he could talk about Shows and Foot-Ball Games and Things to Eat, but when any one tried to draw him out on the Classics, he was unable to Qualify. [Illustration: LUTIE] When Lutie and her Musical acquaintances told about Shopan and Batoven he would sit back so quiet that often he got numb below the Hips. He was afraid to move his Feet for fear some one would notice that he was still in the Parlor and ask him how he liked Fugue No. II, by Bock. He had never heard of any of these People, because they did not carry Tontine Policies with his Company. Oliver saw that he would have to Scratch the Musical Set or else begin to Read Up, so he changed his Route. He canceled all Time with Lutie, and made other Bookings. Lutie then selected for her Steady a Young Man with Hair who played the 'Cello. He was so wrapped up in his Art that he acted Dopey most of the time, and often forgot to send out the Laundry so as to get it back the same Week. Furthermore, he didn't get to the Suds any too often. He never Saw more than $3 at one time; but when he snuggled up alongside of a 'Cello and began to tease the long, sad Notes out of it, you could tell that he had a Soul for Music. Lutie thought he was Great, but what Lutie's Father thought of him could never get past the Censor. Lutie's Father regarded the whole Musical Set as a Fuzzy Bunch. He began to think that in making any Outlay for Lutie's Vocal Training he had bought a Gold Brick. When he first consented to her taking Lessons his Belief was that after she had practiced for about one Term she would be able to sit up to the Instrument along in the Dusk before the Lamps were lit, and sing "When the Corn is Waving, Annie Dear," "One Sweetly Solemn Thought," or else "Juanita." These were the Songs linked in his Memory with some Purple Evenings of the Happy Long Ago. He knew they were Chestnuts, and had been called in, but they suited him, and he thought that inasmuch as he had put up the Wherewith for Lutie's Lessons he ought to have some kind of a Small Run for his Money. Would Lutie sing such Trash? Not she. She was looking for Difficult Arias from the Italian, and she found many a one that was Difficult to sing, and probably a little more Difficult to Listen To. The Voice began to be erratic, also. When father wanted to sit by the Student's Lamp and read his Scribner's, she would decide to hammer the Piano and do the whole Repertoire. But when Mother had Callers and wanted Lutie to Show Off, then she would hang back and have to be Coaxed. If she didn't have a Sore Throat, then the Piano was out of Tune, or else she had left all of her Good Music at the Studio, or maybe she just couldn't Sing without some one to Accompany her. But after they had Pleaded hard enough, and everybody was Embarrassed and sorry they had come, she would approach the Piano timidly and sort of Trifle with it for a while, and say they would have to make Allowances, and then she would Cut Loose and worry the whole Block. The Company would sit there, every one showing the Parlor Face and pretending to be entranced, and after she got through they would Come To and tell her how Good she was. She made so many of these Parlor Triumphs that there was no Holding her. She had herself Billed as a Nightingale. Often she went to Soirees and Club Entertainments, volunteering her Services, and nowhere did she meet a Well-Wisher who took her aside and told her she was a Shine--in fact, the Champion Pest. [Illustration: CRITIC] No, Lutie never got out of her Dream until she made a bold Sashay with a Concert Company. It was her Professional Debut. Father fixed it. The Idea of any one paying Real Money to hear Lutie sing struck him as being almost Good enough to Print. But she wouldn't be Happy until she got it, and so she Got It right where the Newport Lady wears the Rope of Pearls. On the First Night the mean old Critics, who didn't know her Father or Mother, and had never been entertained at the House, came and got in the Front Row, and defied Lutie to come on and Make Good. Next Morning they said that Lutie had Blow-Holes in her Voice; that she hit the Key only once during the Evening, and then fell off backward; that she was a Ham, and her Dress didn't fit her, and she lacked Stage Presence. They expressed Surprise that she should be attempting to Sing when any bright Girl could learn to pound a Type-Writer in Four Weeks. They wanted to know who was responsible for her Appearance, and said it was a Shame to String these Jay Amateurs. Lutie read the Criticisms, and went into Nervous Collapse. Her Mother was all Wrought Up, and said somebody ought to go and kill the Editors. Father bore up grimly. Before Lutie was Convalescent he had the Difficult Italian Arias carted out of the house. The 'Cello Player came to call one Day, and he was given Minutes to get out of the Ward. By the time Oliver looked in again Lutie was more than ready to pay some Attention to him. She is now doing a few quiet Vocalizations for her Friends. When some one who hasn't Heard tells her that she is good enough for Opera, they have to open the Windows and give her more Air. MORAL: _When in Doubt, try it on the Box-office_. _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ COTILLON LEADER _FROM THE_ HUCKLEBERRY DISTRICT _WITH THE_ INTERMITTENT MEMORY A Young Man who had made a Sudden Winning, and was beginning to act as Shawl-Holder and Emergency Errand-Boy for the Society Queens, seemed to have a great deal of Trouble with his Memory. If he met Any One who had started with him a few Years before, and who used to Stake him to a Meal-Ticket now and then, or let him have a Scarf-Pin when he had to go out and make a Front, he could not appear to remember the Man's Name or tell where he had seen him before. When he was in a Loge at the Play-House with Exclusive Ethel and her Friends, he might look down in the Parquette and see the Landlady who had carried him through a Hard Winter and accepted a Graceful Wave of the Hand when she really needed the Board Money, but he found it impossible to Place her. Even the People who came from his own Town, and who knew him when he was getting Five a Week and wearing Celluloid Cuffs, and who could relate the Family History if they wanted to Knock, they couldn't make him Remember, even when they stopped him on the Street and recalled such Humiliations as the Time he used to pick Cherries on the Shares, and how Odd he looked in his Brother's Made-Over Clothes. [Illustration: AFFECTIONATE MASSAGE] This Young Man buried the Dead Past until his Memory was a Blank for the whole Period up to the Time that the President of the Fidelity National invited him to Dinner and he got his first Peek at a sure-enough Butler. He had been a Genuine Aristocrat for about Eighteen Months, when he made a Mis-step and landed with his Face in the Gravel. The Gigantic Enterprise which he had been Promoting got into the Public Prints as a Pipe Dream. There was no more Capital coming from the Angels. He was back at the Post, with nothing to Show for his Bold Dash except a Wardrobe and an Appetite for French Cooking. Society gave him the Frozen Face, and all those who had been speaking of him as a Young Napoleon agreed that he was a Dub. The Banks were trying to Collect on a lot of Slow Notes that he had floated in his Palmy Days, and they had a Proud Chance to Collect. He went into the Bankruptcy Court and Scheduled $73,000 of Liabilities, the Assets being a Hat-Box and a Set of Theatrical Posters. When he had to go out and Rustle for a Job he was a Busy Hand-Shaker once more. The Blow seemed to have landed right on the Bump of Memory, and put his Recollecting Department into full Operation again. He could spot an Old Pal clear across the Street. He was rushing up to Obscure Characters that he had not seen in Eight Years, and he called each one of them "Old Man." It was now their Turn to do the Forgetful Business. The Tablets of his Memory read as clear as Type-Writing. Upon meeting any Friend of his Boyhood he did the Shoulder-Slap, and rang in the Auld Lang Syne Gag. He was so Democratic he was ready to Borrow from the Humblest. The same Acquaintances who had tried to Stand In with him when Things were coming his Way, were cutting off Street-Corners and getting down behind their Newspapers to escape the Affectionate Massage, beginning at the Hand and extending to the Shoulder-Blade. It was No Use. He remembered them all, and no one got Past him. MORAL: _Don't begin to Forget until you have it in Government Bonds._ _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ HE-GOSSIP _AND THE_ MAN'S WIFE _AND THE_ MAN Once upon a time there was a He-Gossip named Cyrenius Bizzy. Mr. Bizzy was Middle-Aged and had a Set of dark Chinchillas. He carried a Gold-Headed Cane on Sunday. His Job on this Earth was to put on a pair of Pneumatic Sneakers every Morning and go out and Investigate Other People's Affairs. He called himself a Reformer, and he did all his Sleuthing in the line of Duty. If he heard of a Married Man going out Cab-Riding after Hours or playing Hearts for Ten Cents a Heart or putting a Strange Woman on the Car, he knew it was his Duty to edge around and slip the Information to some one who would carry it to the Wife. He was such a Good Man himself that he wanted all the other Men to wear long sable Belshazzars on the Sub-Maxillary and come to him for Moral Guidance. If they would not do it, the only Thing left for him to do was to Warn their Families now and then and get them into Hot Water, thus demonstrating that the Transgressor must expect Retribution to fall on him with quite a Crash. Sometimes he would get behind a Board Fence to see the Wife of the Postmaster break off a Yellow Rose and pass it over the Gate to the Superintendent of the High School. Then he would Hustle out on his Beat and ask People if they had heard the Talk that was Going Around. Of course it Grieved him to be compelled to Peddle such Stories, but he had to do it in the Interests of Morality. If Folks did not have a Pious Protector to spot Worldly Sin and then get after it with a Sharp Stick, the Community would probably go to the Dogs in less than no time. When he had a Disagreeable Task to Perform, such as letting a Merchant know that his Business Partner had been seen slightly Sprung at a Picnic, he always wished to get through with it as quickly as possible, so usually he Ran. He did not want any one else to beat him there, because the Other Fellow might not get it Right. [Illustration: THE SCANDAL] Next Door to Cyrenius Bizzy there lived a Family that needed Regulating. Cyrenius Bizzy knew that he had been Called to do the Regulating. The Family had too much Fun to suit Cy. The Neighbor never came over to ask Mr. Bizzy how late they had better Sit Up, or what Young Men the Girls ought to invite to the House. Cyrenius would have been glad to fix up a Set of Rules, for he was a Bureau of Advice, open at all Hours. He could tell People just how much Money they ought to Save every Week, and how often they ought to Lick the Children, and so on. But the Family that lived Next Door made Loud Sport of Mr. Bizzy, and had no use for his Counsel. They played Authors right in the Front Room with the Curtains up, and they Danced the Two-Step so that he could be sure to see it from where he was hidden behind the Evergreen Tree, and they ran the Ice-Cream Freezer on Sunday Morning, and sang College Songs nearly every Evening. It kept the He-Gossip on the Go most of the time to let the Neighborhood know all the Details of these Debauches. It did very little Good. The Family did not want to be Reformed. He even wrote Anonymous Letters telling them how Depraved they were. They were so Brazen and Hardened they paid no Attention except to give him the Rowdy Hee-Ho when they saw him pottering around the Shrubbery in his Front Yard, pretending to be at Work, but really doing the Pinkerton Act, and keeping one Ear spread for a nice, juicy Bit of Scandal. [Illustration: THE HE-GOSSIP] Mr. Bizzy watched the Family at all Hours of the Day and Night for many Months. Although convinced that they were Children of Belial and pretty Hard Nuts in general, he still hoped to Rescue them. He wondered if he could not Appeal to the Man's Wife. She was a Daughter of Iniquity, all right, but maybe she might listen to an Entreaty if it came from one who was Pure, and who could point out to her in Fatherly Kindness that she was leading her Family on a Short Cut to the Weeping and Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth. One Day Mr. Bizzy got a quiet Tip from another Moral Detective, that the Man had stayed out until 2 A.M., at a Banquet given to a Militia Company, so he knew it was Time for him to Act. He lay in Ambush until the Coast was Clear, and then he went across the Dead-Line and caught her on the Piazza. She was Surprised to see him. He told her all the Reports he had heard about her Husband, and said he was Sorry for her. He wondered if they couldn't get together a few of the Respectable Men and Women of the Neighborhood, and have a Talk with the Husband, and try to Pluck him as a Brand from the Burning. She listened with that Ominous Calm which always precedes the Iowa Cyclone that takes the Roof off the Court House and moves the Poor Farm into the Adjoining County. She said she would take her Husband aside and have a Confidential Chat with him, and if he wanted to be Plucked, then she would call in the Cyrenius Bizzy Association of Pluckers. The He-Gossip went Home feeling that he was entitled to a Pedestal right in between Savonarola and Martin Luther. When the Man came Home his Wife told him. He murmured something about the Last Straw and moved swiftly out of doors. Pulling up the Rover Stake from the Croquet Grounds as he ran, he cleared the Dividing Fence without touching his Hands and began to Clean House. In about a Second there was a Sound as if somebody had stubbed his Toe and dropped a Crockery Store. Then Cyrenius was seen to Break the Record for the Running Long Jump, off the Front Stoop into an Oleander Tub, while wearing a Screen Door. After him came the Worldly Husband. For several Minutes the Copse where once the Garden smiled was full of He-Gossip and Cries for Help. [Illustration: A MAN] When the Man came back to where his Wife stood with her Hand on her Heart, he reported that the He-Gossip would be found on top of the Grape-Arbor. MORAL: _Any one hoping to do Something in the Rescue Line had better go further than Next Door._ _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ AUTHOR WHO WAS SORRY _FOR_ WHAT HE DID _TO_ WILLIE An Author was sitting at his Desk trying to pull himself together and grind out Any Old Thing that could be converted into Breakfast Food. It was his Off Day, however. His Brain felt as if some one had played a Mean Trick on him and substituted a Side-Order of Cauliflower. All he could do was to lean up against his Desk and make marks and Piffle his Time away. Between Scribbles he wrote a few Verses about, "When Willie Came to say Good Night." It was a Sad Effort. He made it almost as Salty as a Mother Song and filled it with Papa and Mamma and the Patter of Baby Feet. He used Love-Light and the Evening Prayer and the Heart-Strings and other venerable Paraphernalia. He had to commit Infanticide to make it Weepy enough for the last Stanza. The Author wrote this Stuff merely to Get Back at himself and see how Sloppy he could be. He did not intend to Print it, because he was not a Vendor of Death-Beds, and he shrank from making any violent Assault on the Sensibilities. So he tossed the Idle Product into the Waste-Basket and wondered if he was biginning to lose his Mind. With that Poem in his Right Hand he could have walked into Bloomingdale and no Questions Asked. While he was still Backing Up and Jockeying for a Fair Start at his Day's Work, A Friend came in and sat on the Edge of the Desk, and told him to go right ahead and not pay any Attention. Seeing the Crumpled Paper in the Basket, the Friend, who was Inquisitive, hooked it out and read the Lines. Presently, when the Author looked up, the Friend had big Tears rolling down his Cheeks and was Sniffling. "This is the Best Thing you have ever done," said the Friend. "My God, but it is Pathetic! It will certainly Appeal to any one who has lost a Child." "I have no desire to Manufacture any more Sorrow for the Bereaved," said the Author. "They have had Trouble enough. If I have to deal in White Caskets or tap the Lachrymal Glands in order to thrash out an Income, I will cease being an Author and go back to Work." "But this Poem will touch any Heart," insisted the Friend. "As soon as I got into it I began to Cry. You can get a Good Price for this." When it came down to a Business Basis, the Author Switched. "Get what you can on it," he said. "It seems a Shame to go and Market that kind of Scroll-Work; still if it hits you, it may be Bad enough to affect others having the same Shape of Head. I need the Money and I have no Shame." Thereupon the Friend sent the Verses to the Publisher of a Family Monthly that Percolates into every Postoffice in the Country. In a few Days there came a tear-stained Acceptance and a Check. The Author said it was just like Finding $22.50, and he thought that was the End of it. [Illustration: LANTERN SLIDE] But when the Verses came out in the Monthly he began to get Letters from all parts of the United States telling him how much Suffering and Opening of Old Wounds had been caused by his little Poem about Willie and how Proud he ought to be. Many who wrote expressed Sympathy for him, and begged him to Bear Up. These Letters dazed the Author. He never had owned any Boy named Willie. He did not so much as Know a Boy named Willie. He lived in an Office Building with a lot of Stenographers and Bill Clerks. If he had been the Father of a Boy named Willie, and Willie had ever come to tell him "Good Night" when he was busy at Something Else, probably he would have jumped at Willie and snapped a piece out of his Arm. Just the Same, the Correspondents wrote to him from All Over, and said they could read Grief in every Line of his Grand Composition. That was only the Get-Away. The next thing he knew, some Composer in Philadelphia had set the Verses to Music and they were sung on the Stage with colored Lantern-Slide Pictures of little Willie telling Papa "Good Night" in a Blue Flat with Lace Curtains on the Windows and a Souvenir Cabinet of Chauncey Olcott on the What-Not. The Song was sold at Music Stores, and the Author was invited out to Private Houses to hear it Sung, but he was Light on his Feet and Kept Away. Several Newspapers sent for his Picture, and he was asked to write a Sunday Article telling how and why he did it. He was asked to Contribute Verses of the same General Character to various Periodicals. Sometimes he would get away by himself and read the Thing over again, and shake his Head and Remark: "Well, if they are Right, then I must be Wrong, but to me it is Punk." He had his Likeness printed in Advertisements which told the Public to read what the Author of "Willie's Good Night" had to say about their Lithia Water. Some one named a light, free-smoking Five-Cent Cigar after him, and he began to see Weird Paintings on the Dead Walls, and was Ashamed to walk along those Streets. [Illustration: LITTLE FERN] It came out that one of the Frohmans wanted to Dramatize the Masterpiece, and it was Rumored that Stuart Robson, Modjeska, Thomas Q. Seabrooke, Maude Adams, Dave Warfield, and Walker Whiteside had been requested to play the Part of Willie. Every morning the Author would get up and say to himself that it could not go on much longer. He felt sure that the Public would come to its Senses some Day, and get after him with a Rope, but it didn't. His Fame continued to Spread and Increase. All those Persons who had not Read it claimed that they had, so as to be in Line, and he had the same old Floral Tributes handed to him Day after Day. It was Terrible. He had gone to College and spent a large amount of Money irrigating and fertilizing his Mind, and he had Dreamed of writing Something that would be Strong enough for Charles Dudley Warner's Library of the World's Warmest Copy, in a Limited Edition of 20,000; but instead of landing with the Heavy-Weights he seemed Destined to achieve Greatness as the Author of a Boy's Size Poem, bearing about the same Relation to the Literature of the Ages that a May Howard Window Hanger does to Pure Art. He was Famous until he couldn't rest, but it was not the Brand he had Coveted. He decided to Live It Down. He would Produce something Serious and Meritorious that would throw "Willie's Good Night" into the Shade. So he labored for Two Years on a Novel that analyzed Social Conditions, and every Reviewer said that here was a Volume by the Author of "Willie's Good Night." The Purchasers of the Book expected to take it Home and Read it and Weep. When they found that it did not contain any Dark Skies or Headstones, they felt that they had been Bilked out of $1.50 each. It was Suggested that the Author of "Willie's Good Night" was losing his Grip and seemed to have Written Himself Out. He was not wholly Discouraged. He went out Lecturing on the Occult, just to prove to People that he had been Misjudged. The Local Chairman always introduced him as the Celebrated Author of "Willie's Good Night." Frequently he was Dragged away to a Home to meet all the Big Guns of one of these Towns that call a Lecture a Show. After he had been on Exhibition for a Half Hour or so, the same as the Albino or the Man with the Elastic Skin in the Main Curio Hall, the Host would clear a Space in the Center of the Room and announce that he was about to spring a Delightful Surprise on their Distinguished Guest. Little Fern, the Daughter of the County Recorder, was going to Speak "Willie's Good Night." There are Times and Times, but those were the Times when he suffered Agony that went beyond the Limit. The Author always knew the Verses were Bad enough to be Wicked, but he never guessed how Yellow they really were until he heard them recited by Little Girls who made the Full Stop at the Comma instead of the Period. He used to lose a Pound a Minute, and when he would start back to the Hotel his Shoes would be Full of Cold Perspiration. Finally, when he began to decline Invitations, against the advice of his Manager, it was said of him that he was Eccentric and appeared to have a Case of the Swell Head. He had to retire into a Suburb, where he built a Wall around his Premises and put up Signs against Trespassing. He had a Chinaman for a Servant, because the Chinaman did not know he was an Author, but supposed him to be a Retired Porch-Climber. Thus he was enabled to Forget for an Hour or Two at a Time. MORAL: _Refrain from Getting Gay with the Emotions._ 
15284	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original lovely illustrations. See 15284-h.htm or 15284-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/5/2/8/15284/15284-h/15284-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/5/2/8/15284/15284-h.zip) THE TALE OF JOHNNY TOWN-MOUSE By BEATRIX POTTER Author of "The Tale of Peter Rabbit," &c. Frederick Warne & Co., Inc. New York 1918 TO AESOP IN THE SHADOWS Johnny Town-mouse was born in a cupboard. Timmy Willie was born in a garden. Timmy Willie was a little country mouse who went to town by mistake in a hamper. The gardener sent vegetables to town once a week by carrier; he packed them in a big hamper. The gardener left the hamper by the garden gate, so that the carrier could pick it up when he passed. Timmy Willie crept in through a hole in the wicker-work, and after eating some peas--Timmy Willie fell fast asleep. He awoke in a fright, while the hamper was being lifted into the carrier's cart. Then there was a jolting, and a clattering of horse's feet; other packages were thrown in; for miles and miles--jolt--jolt--jolt! and Timmy Willie trembled amongst the jumbled up vegetables. At last the cart stopped at a house, where the hamper was taken out, carried in, and set down. The cook gave the carrier sixpence; the back door banged, and the cart rumbled away. But there was no quiet; there seemed to be hundreds of carts passing. Dogs barked; boys whistled in the street; the cook laughed, the parlour maid ran up and down-stairs; and a canary sang like a steam engine. Timmy Willie, who had lived all his life in a garden, was almost frightened to death. Presently the cook opened the hamper and began to unpack the vegetables. Out sprang the terrified Timmy Willie. Up jumped the cook on a chair, exclaiming "A mouse! a mouse! Call the cat! Fetch me the poker, Sarah!" Timmy Willie did not wait for Sarah with the poker; he rushed along the skirting board till he came to a little hole, and in he popped. He dropped half a foot, and crashed into the middle of a mouse dinner party, breaking three glasses.--"Who in the world is this?" inquired Johnny Town-mouse. But after the first exclamation of surprise he instantly recovered his manners. With the utmost politeness he introduced Timmy Willie to nine other mice, all with long tails and white neckties. Timmy Willie's own tail was insignificant. Johnny Town-mouse and his friends noticed it; but they were too well bred to make personal remarks; only one of them asked Timmy Willie if he had ever been in a trap? The dinner was of eight courses; not much of anything, but truly elegant. All the dishes were unknown to Timmy Willie, who would have been a little afraid of tasting them; only he was very hungry, and very anxious to behave with company manners. The continual noise upstairs made him so nervous, that he dropped a plate. "Never mind, they don't belong to us," said Johnny. "Why don't those youngsters come back with the dessert?" It should be explained that two young mice, who were waiting on the others, went skirmishing upstairs to the kitchen between courses. Several times they had come tumbling in, squeaking and laughing; Timmy Willie learnt with horror that they were being chased by the cat. His appetite failed, he felt faint. "Try some jelly?" said Johnny Town-mouse. "No? Would you rather go to bed? I will show you a most comfortable sofa pillow." The sofa pillow had a hole in it. Johnny Town-mouse quite honestly recommended it as the best bed, kept exclusively for visitors. But the sofa smelt of cat. Timmy Willie preferred to spend a miserable night under the fender. It was just the same next day. An excellent breakfast was provided--for mice accustomed to eat bacon; but Timmy Willie had been reared on roots and salad. Johnny Town-mouse and his friends racketted about under the floors, and came boldly out all over the house in the evening. One particularly loud crash had been caused by Sarah tumbling downstairs with the tea-tray; there were crumbs and sugar and smears of jam to be collected, in spite of the cat. Timmy Willie longed to be at home in his peaceful nest in a sunny bank. The food disagreed with him; the noise prevented him from sleeping. In a few days he grew so thin that Johnny Town-mouse noticed it, and questioned him. He listened to Timmy Willie's story and inquired about the garden. "It sounds rather a dull place? What do you do when it rains?" "When it rains, I sit in my little sandy burrow and shell corn and seeds from my Autumn store. I peep out at the throstles and blackbirds on the lawn, and my friend Cock Robin. And when the sun comes out again, you should see my garden and the flowers--roses and pinks and pansies--no noise except the birds and bees, and the lambs in the meadows." "There goes that cat again!" exclaimed Johnny Town-mouse. When they had taken refuge in the coal-cellar he resumed the conversation; "I confess I am a little disappointed; we have endeavoured to entertain you, Timothy William." "Oh yes, yes, you have been most kind; but I do feel so ill," said Timmy Willie. "It may be that your teeth and digestion are unaccustomed to our food; perhaps it might be wiser for you to return in the hamper." "Oh? Oh!" cried Timmy Willie. "Why of course for the matter of that we could have sent you back last week," said Johnny rather huffily--"did you not know that the hamper goes back empty on Saturdays?" So Timmy Willie said good-bye to his new friends, and hid in the hamper with a crumb of cake and a withered cabbage leaf; and after much jolting, he was set down safely in his own garden. Sometimes on Saturdays he went to look at the hamper lying by the gate, but he knew better than to get in again. And nobody got out, though Johnny Town-mouse had half promised a visit. The winter passed; the sun came out again; Timmy Willie sat by his burrow warming his little fur coat and sniffing the smell of violets and spring grass. He had nearly forgotten his visit to town. When up the sandy path all spick and span with a brown leather bag came Johnny Town-mouse! Timmy Willie received him with open arms. "You have come at the best of all the year, we will have herb pudding and sit in the sun." "H'm'm! it is a little damp," said Johnny Town-mouse, who was carrying his tail under his arm, out of the mud. "What is that fearful noise?" he started violently. "That?" said Timmy Willie, "that is only a cow; I will beg a little milk, they are quite harmless, unless they happen to lie down upon you. How are all our friends?" Johnny's account was rather middling. He explained why he was paying his visit so early in the season; the family had gone to the sea-side for Easter; the cook was doing spring cleaning, on board wages, with particular instructions to clear out the mice. There were four kittens, and the cat had killed the canary. "They say we did it; but I know better," said Johnny Town-mouse. "Whatever is that fearful racket?" "That is only the lawn-mower; I will fetch some of the grass clippings presently to make your bed. I am sure you had better settle in the country, Johnny." "H'm'm--we shall see by Tuesday week; the hamper is stopped while they are at the sea-side." "I am sure you will never want to live in town again," said Timmy Willie. But he did. He went back in the very next hamper of vegetables; he said it was too quiet!! One place suits one person, another place suits another person. For my part I prefer to live in the country, like Timmy Willie. 
19892	----	THE SILVER CROWN Another Book of Fables BY LAURA E. RICHARDS Author of "Captain January," "The Golden Windows," "The Joyous Story of Toto," etc. BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1919 ----------------------------------------------------------------------- COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. All rights reserved Printers S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- TO MY SISTER MAUD HOWE ELLIOTT ----------------------------------------------------------------------- A WINTER THOUGHT Hast thou e'er a grief, dear? Lock it in thy heart! Keep it, close it, Sacred and apart; Lest another, at thy sigh, Hear his sorrow stir and cry. Wakeful watch doth sorrow keep: Hush it! hide it! bid it sleep! Hast thou e'er a joy, love? Bind it on thy brow! Vaunt it, flaunt it, All the world to know. Where the shade lies dim and gray, Turn its glad and heartsome ray. Does thy sad-browed neighbor smile? So thy life was worth the while! ----------------------------------------------------------------------- CONTENTS PAGE THE SILVER CROWN 1 THE GRUMPY SAINT 5 THE HOUSEKEEPER 9 BROTHER BARNABAS 12 THE FATES 14 THE STEPS 16 THE GLASS 19 IN THE SHADED ROOM 21 HELL GATE 24 THE THORN 25 THE SERPENT 27 IF THIS SHOULD BE. I 28 IF THIS SHOULD BE. II 30 THE FEAST 32 THE SPIRIT 35 THE ROOTS 37 ALONG THE WAY 39 THE GRAVE DIGGERS 42 THE SICK CHILD 44 AT LONG LAST 48 GILLYFLOWER GENTLEMAN 50 THE JUDGMENT 52 THE BLIND CHILD 54 THE CAKE 56 THE SERMON 59 THE TANGLED SKEIN 61 THE NURSLING 64 WORMWOOD 67 THE PIT 69 HOSPITALITY 73 THE POT 75 THE BODY 76 THE RULER 79 THE TORCH-BEARER 81 THE STONE BLOCKS 83 THE POTTER 85 THE NEIGHBOUR 87 THE WOUND 88 THE WHITE FIRE. I 90 THE WHITE FIRE. II 94 FOR YOU AND ME 96 THE PICTURE BOOK 98 THE FLOWER OF JOY 100 THE BURNING HOUSE 102 THE PLANT 104 ----------------------------------------------------------------------- THE SILVER CROWN A BOOK OF FABLES ----------------------------------------------------------------------- THE SILVER CROWN "And shall I be a king?" asked the child, "and shall I wear a crown?" "You shall surely wear a crown," said the Angel, "and a kingdom is waiting for you." "Oh, joy!" said the child. "But tell me, how will it come about? for now I am only a little child, and the crown would hardly stay on my curls." "Nay! that I may not tell," said the Angel. "Only ride and run your best, for the way is long to your kingdom, and the time short." So the child rode and ran his best, crossing hills and valleys, broad streams and foaming torrents. Here and there he saw people at work or at play, and on these he looked eagerly. "Perhaps, when they see me," he said, "they will run to meet me, and will crown me with a golden crown, and lead me to their palace and throne me there as king!" But the folk were all busy with their tasks or their sport, and none heeded him, or left their business for him; and still he must fare forward alone, for the Way called him. Also, he came upon many travellers like himself, some coming toward him, others passing him by. On these, too, he looked earnestly, and would stop now one, now another, and question him. "Do you know," he asked, "of any kingdom in these parts where the crown is ready and the folk wait for a king?" Then one would laugh, and another weep, and another jeer, but all alike shook their heads. "I am seeking crown and kingdom for myself," cried one; "is it likely that I can be finding one for you, too? Each one for himself, and the Way for all!" Another said: "You seek in vain. There are no crowns, only fools' caps with asses' ears and bells that jingle in them." But others, and these they who had been longest on the way, only looked on him, some sadly, some kindly, and made no answer; and still he fared onward, for the Way called him. Now and then he stopped to help some poor soul who had fallen into trouble, and when he did that the way lightened before him, and he felt the heart light within him; but at other times the hurry was strong on him, so that he would turn away his face, and shut his ears to the cries that rang in them; and when he did that, the way darkened, and oftentimes he stumbled himself, and fell into pits and quagmires, and must cry for help, sometimes on those to whom he had refused it. By and by he forgot about the crown and the kingdom; or if he thought of them, it was but as a far-off dream of dim gold, such as one sees at morning when the sun breaks through the mist. But still he knew that the way was long and the time short, and still he rode and ran his best. At the last he was very weary, and his feet could carry him no further, when, looking up, he saw that the way came to an end before him, and there was a gate, and one in white sitting by it, who beckoned to him. Trembling, yet glad, the child drew near, and knew the Angel who had spoken to him at the beginning. "Welcome!" said the Angel, "you come in good time. And what of the Way?" "I came as fast as I could," said the child, "but many things hindered me, and now I am weary, and can go no further." "But what did you find on the way?" asked the Angel. "Oh! I found joy and sorrow," said the child, "good measure of both; but never a crown, such as you promised me, and never a kingdom." "Oh, dear, foolish child," said the Angel. "You are wearing your crown. It is of purest silver, and shines like white frost; and as for your kingdom, the name of it is Rest, and here the entrance to it." THE GRUMPY SAINT Once upon a time there was a Grumpy Saint, who thought that all the world were sinners, himself included. He lived in a little cabin by the roadside, and his life was a burden to him on account of the passers-by. They gave him no peace. Now it was a poor man asking for food. "Go along with you!" said the Grumpy Saint. "It is an abomination to feed sturdy beggars like you." And he gave the man his dinner, and went hungry. Again, it was an old woman, creeping along the road, bent double under a heavy burden. "Shame on you!" said the Grumpy Saint. "Why are you not at home, tending your fire, instead of gadding along the road in this fashion?" And he took the burden, and carried it all the way to the woman's house, and came back grumbling. Still again it was a child, who had lost its way and came crying to his door. "Please take me home!" said the child. "You should not have come out!" said the Saint. "Where is your home?" "Miles away!" said the child. "And I am tired; please carry me!" "Stuff and nonsense!" said the Saint. "Don't talk to me!" And he wrapped the child in his own coat (for it was winter), and carried him miles through the snow to his home; and then trudged back again, but without the coat, for the folk were poor. And so it went on. One day the Grumpy Saint died, and went to Heaven, a place in which he had never believed. As he entered that country, the first person he met was an Angel, with a bright gold aureole round her head, and in her hand a staff of lilies. "Welcome!" said the Angel. "Welcome, dear and great saint! I am sent to greet you, and lead you to the feast that is making in your honor." "Some mistake!" said the Grumpy Saint. "I don't know what you are talking about, and I don't like play-acting. What place is this?" "This is Heaven!" said the Angel. "Nonsense!" said the Saint. "I don't believe in Heaven." "Yes, but you _are_ in it," said the Angel, "which is of more consequence." "And who may you be?" asked the Saint. "I seem to know your face." "Yes!" said the Angel. "I am the old woman you helped with the burden; don't you remember? the rest are waiting inside, all the people whom you loved and helped. Come with me!" "I don't know what you are talking about!" said the Saint. "But if I am to go with you, first take off that ridiculous object on your head! I don't like play-acting, I tell you, and I have never believed in this kind of thing." The Angel smiled; and leading him to a clear pool that lay beside the road, bade him look in. He looked, and saw two white-clad figures bending over the water, and round the head of each the shining circle. "Bless my soul!" cried the Grumpy Saint. "I've got one too!" "To be sure!" said the Angel. "Preposterous!" said the Grumpy Saint. THE HOUSEKEEPER One day Love went to and fro in his house, looked from door and window, and had no rest. "I am weary," he said, "of this little house. Strait are the walls of it, and narrow the windows, and from them always the same things to see. I must be free; I must fly, or of what use are my wings?" So he took his red robe about him and flew out, leaving door and window streaming wide to the cold wind. But when he was gone came one in a little gown of green, (green for hope, Sweetheart; green for hope!) and entered the house, and shut door and window; swept the hearth clean and mended the fire, and then set herself down and sang, and minded her seam. Ever when the flame burned low she built it up, and now and then she looked out of window to see if any one were coming; but mostly she sat and sang, and kept the house tidy and warm. Now by and by Love was weary with flying hither and yon; cold he was, too, and night coming on; and as the dusk fell, he saw a light shining bright on the edge of the wold. "Where there is light there will be warmth!" said Love; and he flew near, and saw that it was his own little house. "Oh! who keeps my house alight?" cried Love. He opened the door, and the air came warm to greet him. "Oh! who keeps my house warm?" cried Love. And he looked, and saw one in a little gown of green, (green for hope, Sweetheart; oh! green for hope!) mending the fire, and singing as she worked. "Who are you, who keep my house?" asked Love. "Kindness is my name!" said the little housekeeper. "Outside it is cold and empty," said Love, "and the wind blows over the waste; may I come in and warm me by the fire?" "Oh! and welcome!" said Kindness. "It was for you I kept it." "My red robe is torn and draggled," said Love. "May I wrap me in the gown you are making?" "Oh! and welcome," said Kindness. "It is for you it was making, and now it is finished." Love bent over the fire and warmed his poor cold hands. "Oh!" he cried; "now that I am back in my house I would never leave it again. But what of my wings, lest they put the flight in me once more?" "Suppose I clip them," said Kindness, "with my little scissors!" "How are your scissors called, dear?" "Peace-and-Comfort is their name!" said Kindness. So Kindness clipped the wings of Love; and this one swept the hearth, and that one mended the fire, and all went well while they kept the house together. BROTHER BARNABAS One came to Brother Barnabas seeking consolation. "Ah!" said the good Brother. "My heart bleeds for you. You are in affliction, bereft of some one dearer, it may be, than life itself. My sympathy--" "No!" said the man. "My friends, such as they are, are all living." "I see!" said Brother Barnabas. "Bodily pain has set its sharp tooth in you; that is indeed hard to bear. Let me--" "No!" said the man. "I am in good health, so far as that goes." "Alas!" said Brother Barnabas. "My poor brother, then it is sin that weighs upon you, the cruellest burden of all. Truly, I grieve for you." "What do you mean?" said the man. "I have never broken a commandment in my life." "Ah!" said Brother Barnabas. "I begin to perceive--" "I was sure you would!" said the man. "I am misunderstood--" "_Not by me!_" said Brother Barnabas. "Begone!" and he shut the door on him. THE FATES The high Fates sat weaving, weaving at their loom, and I, poor soul, came crying at the door, asking a boon at their hands. Those great ladies did not turn their heads, nor stint the flying shuttle; but one of them spoke, and she the youngest, and her voice was like the wind over the sea. "What would you?" she said. And I said, "That which you had of me yesterday." "Is it your sin, that turned your cup blood red?" "Nay; for I drained the cup, and washed it clean with my tears." "Is it your sorrow, that changed the green world to black about you?" "Nay; for I wrapped me in it as in a mantle, and now I should go cold without it." "What then?" she asked; and ever as she spoke, back and forth, back and forth, the shuttle flew. "Oh, what but my blunder! when I would make a path for my Love's white feet, and set instead a snare for them, to her hurt?" Then those high ladies spoke all together; cold, sweet, steadfast were the voices of them, and the shuttle humming through. "Even now the shuttle is threaded with your fault, and naught may stay its way. Go, poor soul, empty and crying as you came; yet take one comfort with you. Even of this, even of this, the Web had need!" THE STEPS "When you come to the city, seek out the House of Wisdom, for it is the best house, and there you shall do well." That was what the old people said to the boy when he started on his journey, and he kept the saying well in mind. "How shall I know the house?" he had asked them; and they answered, "By the look of the steps before the door, and by the number of people who go in and out. More we may not tell you." The boy pondered these sayings as he journeyed. "It will be a fine house, no doubt," he said. "I shall know it by its size and splendor; but as for what they said of the steps, I make little of that part." By and by he came to the city, and looked about him eagerly for the House of Wisdom. Presently, on his right, he saw a house of plain yet stately aspect. Clear were its windows and high, and from one a face looked at him of a reverend man, calm and kind. "Might that be Wisdom?" thought the boy. Then he looked at the steps, and saw them high and steep, and shining white, as if they had little use. The door stood open wide, but few came or went through it. "This cannot be the House of Wisdom!" said the boy. "I must seek farther." So he went farther. And presently he saw on his left a house rich and gay of aspect, shining with gold, and all the windows flung up to the air; and from one window a face of a fair woman laughed on him, and beckoned, and waved a tinsel scarf with bells that tinkled sweetly on his ear. "Oh," said the boy, "if this might but be the House of Wisdom! but what of the steps before the door?" He looked at the steps; and they were wide and shallow, and trodden into holes and valleys by many feet; and up those steps, and through the open door, a throng was constantly passing, laughing and singing, and pelting one another with flowers and spangles. "Ah," said the boy, "this is, indeed, the House of Wisdom! for true it is that I can tell by the steps, and by the people who go in and out." And he entered the House of Folly. THE GLASS "This is extremely interesting!" said the man. "You say that I am not one being but many, and that your glass will show me my component parts as separate entities?" "Precisely!" said the Wandering Magician. The man looked in the glass. "Here I see several beings!" he said. "Some of them are distinguished-looking, that one on horseback, for example, and the one with the lyre. But others have a frivolous air, and there is one with positively a low expression; and yet he is attractive too, when I look closer, and I seem to know him. What are these creatures?" "These are your tastes!" said the Wandering Magician. "Oh!" said the man. "Well, some of them are certainly elegant and refined. But whom have we here? what strange pigmies are these?" "Your virtues!" said the Magician. "Dear me!" said the man. "Yes, to be sure, I recognize them. But what makes them so small?" "This is not a magnifying glass!" said the Magician. "But they are pretty!" said the man. "Beautiful, I may say. That little fellow with the twinkle in his eye and his coat out at elbows; he is charming, if I do say it. But what is going on now? here comes a crowd of big, hulking, ruffianly fellows, jostling the little people and driving them to the wall. What a villainous-looking set! Their faces are wholly strange to me; what are they?" "Your vices!" said the Wandering Magician. But when the man would have fallen upon him, he was gone. IN THE SHADED ROOM The shaded room was still; the doctor and the nurse sat watching by the bedside; the firelight crept into the corners and whispered to the shadows: there was no other sound. "You think you are ready to go?" asked the Angel-who-attends-to-things. "Yes!" said the man. "I have drained the Cup from brim to bitter lees; I have read the Book from cover to cover. I am ready." "Humph!" said the Angel-who-attends-to-things. "Well, come along!" and he led the man out, but did not shut the door after him. The man had lived in state and splendor, and he had thought that some ceremony would attend his departure, but there was nothing of the sort. The only change was, that as he went along the Angel seemed to be growing very tall, and he very little, so that he had to reach up to hold the strong white hand, and his feet were well-nigh taken from under him by the sweep of the great white robes; also he felt afraid and foolish, he knew not why. So they came at last to a gate, through which many children were passing with glad faces, carrying tablets of amber and pearl; and beside the gate sat another Angel, writing in a book; and when a child passed in, this Angel nodded and smiled to him, and wrote a word in his book. Now the Angel of the Gate looked up, and saw the Angel-who-attends-to-things, and beside him the man, holding fast to his hand, and feeling afraid and foolish. "From the Primary Department?" asked the Angel of the Gate. "Yes!" said the other, who never wasted words. The Angel of the Gate looked the man over carefully. "His hands are dirty!" he said at length. "Yes!" said the Angel-who-attends-to-things; "he has not learned to keep them clean." "And there is mud on his feet!" "Yes, he will walk in the mire." "And his clothes are torn, and stained with blood." "Yes, he has been quarrelling with his brother and beating him." At this the man found his voice and cried out, though he felt more afraid and foolish than ever, and his voice sounded high and thin, like that of a tiny child. "I have no brother!" said the man. The two Angels looked at each other. "You see!" said the Angel-who-attends-to-things. "I knew how it would be." Then he turned to the man. "Run along back," he said, "and try to do better next time. I left the door open for you." And in the shaded room, while the firelight whispered to the shadows in the corners, the doctor rose from the bedside, and spoke softly to the nurse. "The crisis is past," he said, "he will live." HELL GATE Hell Gate clanged behind the youth, and those without stood and looked one upon another. First came his friend, and said to the keeper of the gate: "Let him out! he is young, and his work still to do. Who knows but he may amend, and do it yet?" Next came his Love, and clasped the bars, and wept upon them. "Let him out!" she cried. "We are too young to die, and without him I cannot live." Last came his mother, for she had a long way to come. "What is all this ado?" she said. "Let me in to him!" and she broke the bars and entered. THE THORN When the youth started, he passed through the Forbidden Wood, and wandered there, plucking and tasting the fruit, smelling the flowers, evil and sweet; and as he plucked and smelled, it chanced that a thorn entered his breast, for it lay open. He took little heed, for he was young, and the life strong in him; so the thorn made its way in, and presently was buried in the flesh; and he forgot it, for it gave him no hurt. By and by he came out of that wood, and shook the dust of it from his feet, and set his face toward the mountains, for a voice told him that there he should find his life and his Love. And so it fell, for as he fared on, his Love came to meet him, and he knew her, and she him. Then each held out arms of longing, and embraced the other tenderly, speaking fond words; but when the maiden pressed her arms about the man, a pang shot through his breast, bitter as death; and he trembled, for he knew it for the piercing of the thorn. The man set his teeth, that he might make no outcry, and then he looked at his Love: and see! she was snow-pale, and held her heart with both hands, as if in pain. "What is it?" cried the man. "What hurts my Love?" and she answered, "I know not; a pang shot through my heart, bitter as death." "Oh, Love, what like was the pang?" cried the man; and heard her words before she spoke; for she said, "Like the piercing of a thorn!" THE SERPENT Three boys were playing together in a field; and as they played, one passing by called to them: "Beware! in the corner of that field is a poisonous serpent, whose bite is death." "Alas!" said one child. "How terrible, to think that anything evil should be in a place so lovely. Let me flee from it!" and he wept, and ran from the place. "Why," said the second child, "should such a thing be here? what is the reason of it?" and he found him a safe place, and sat down to ponder on the matter. The third child picked up a stone. "Show it to me!" he said. IF THIS SHOULD BE I In the Place of Spirits, where many come seeking a home, and all who earn shall find one, a band of child-spirits played about their door, singing, and crowning one another with flowers. And as they played, there drifted by a gray Shape, and stayed beside the gate, and wrung its shadowy hands. Said the eldest child to the Angel who was their guardian; "Dear, there is one seeking a home; shall we call her in?" "Oh, hush! oh, hush!" said the Angel. "You may not speak to her." "But," said the second child, "she stops at our gate, and gazes at us with mournful eyes. Let us call her in!" "Oh, hush! oh, hush!" said the Angel. "You may not look at her." "Nay!" cried the youngest; "but she holds out her arms, and makes a moan like the wind at night. Why may we not call her in?" Then the Angel wept, for she had been a woman. "Must I tell you?" she cried. "It is she who should have been your mother, and she would not." The children gazed, with calm, bright eyes. "What is a mother?" they asked. "Alas! alas!" said the Angel; and her tears fell down like rain. "Alas! alas!" moaned the gray Shape at the gate, and beat the shadow that was her breast, and trailed away in the gathering dusk. IF THIS SHOULD BE II When the Little Sister went away, it was in such haste that she left her convent robes behind; and this troubled her so that she spoke of it to the Angel at the Gate. "You see," she said, "I had no idea that I was coming; I fell asleep in my cell, and woke up in this beautiful homelike place. But these white garments are not suitable for me; could I find a black robe, do you think?" "Oh no!" said the Angel; "we all wear white here, and it is so much prettier and more becoming. Besides, you must make haste, for they have been waiting long for you." "Who have been waiting?" asked the Little Sister in wonder. "The children, to be sure!" said the Angel. "See! there they come, running to meet you." The Little Sister looked, and there came hastening toward her a lovely band, little children and older ones, with floating locks and starry eyes, and all the eyes fixed on her with looks of love, and all the arms stretched out to her with gestures of longing. "Oh, the darling, darling children!" cried the Little Sister. "Oh, the little angels! Now I know that this is heaven indeed." She fell on her knees, and the children clustered round her, caressing her, and murmuring sweet words in her ear; and all in a moment the hunger that had been at her heart through the years was stilled, and she opened her arms and gathered the children to her breast and wept; happy tears were those! "Sweethearts," cried the Little Sister; "dear loves, tell me, whose light and joy and blessing are you?" "Yours, of course!" answered the children. THE FEAST The little Prince was coming; and in the dim, rich house that was his, some children were making ready a feast for him. They strewed sweet flowers, and lighted the candles, and made ready the table, white and fair, with the gold and silver service. "It should stand here!" said one. "Nay!" said another; "this is the place for it; and the candles must be over yonder." And he moved them. "That I will never consent to!" said the first. "Let me do things properly, while you go and change your dress for a suitable one." "I shall not change my dress!" said the second child. "Oh, shame!" said the first. While they wrangled, the children of the wood peeped in at the door, ragged and rosy and bright-eyed, and laughed, and ran away. "Let us make a feast too," they said, "even if we have no fine things." They set them down under a great oak tree that grew beside the way, and one gathered acorn cups, and another pulled burdock leaves and laid them for a cloth, and a third plucked the wild strawberries that shone like rubies in the grass. "Here is a fine feast!" cried the wood children. Just then along came the little Prince, and they called to him, "Come and play with us, and share our feast!" "With all my heart!" said the little Prince. "But are there not other children in the house yonder who would like to join us?" "Nay, they are busy quarrelling!" said the wood children. "Then we do not want them!" said the little Prince. He sat down with them under the oak tree, and they all ate and drank and were right merry. But the children in the dim, rich house pulled the table this way and that, and moved the lights hither and yon, and looked at their delicate robes and sighed: "The little Prince is long in coming!" they said. THE SPIRIT A man was toiling, seeking, toiling, by hot sun and cold moon, with pickaxe and with spade; and as he toiled there came a bright Spirit, and looked him in the face, and smiled. "Who are you, fair Spirit?" asked the man. And the other answered, "My name is Truth!" Then the man threw down his pick and spade, and ran, and brought costly robes and wrapped the Spirit in them; and set him on a throne, and bound him fast with chains of gold, and covered his face with a veil of precious web, and fell down and worshipped him. Happy man was he! Now by and by as he worshipped a traveller came by that way, and stopped to look. "Fair answer to your prayers, brother!" said the traveller. "What God do you worship?" And the man said, "The Spirit of Truth." "Nay!" said the other; "how can that be? I met that spirit but now upon the road. Gipsying along he was, light-foot, light-clad, and over his shoulder pickaxe and spade." Then the man cried out in terror, and ran to the throne, and pulled the veil away, and tore the robes apart: and lo! the veil holding empty air, and the great robes folded in upon themselves, and the gold chains binding them. THE ROOTS A child found in its garden a plant. Fair and stately it was, full of rosy buds, with green leaves strong and luminous. The child admired it greatly. "How fair it is!" he said. "How full of light and fragrance! but how does it grow? One should know that." He looked down, and saw that the plant came up out of the ground. "This is strange!" he said. "How should so fair a thing come up out of this black and dirty soil? I must look to this!" He dug away the soil, and found the roots of the plant, bare and twisted, clinging to the soil and dark with the touch of it. "Ah!" said the child, "this is terrible. Has that fair crown of rose and green drawn its life from so foul a source as this? Oh, sorrow and shame!" and he wept, and wrung his hands. As he sorrowed, the Angel of the Garden passed by, with her arms full of flowers and fruit. "Little one," she said, "have you anything for me?" "Alas!" said the child. "Look! I had this fair plant, the sweetest in the world, but I find that its life grows out of the black and ugly mould; its roots are black with it. Look! the flower begins to droop!" "Yes," said the Angel. "Oh, the pity! you have killed it." ALONG THE WAY In the early morning, when the dew was bright on the grass, a child passed along the highway, and sang as he went. It was spring, and the ferns were unrolling their green bundles, and the hepatica showed purple under her gray fur. The child looked about him with eager, happy eyes, rejoicing in all he saw, and answering the birds' songs with notes as gay as their own. Now and then he dropped a seed here or there, for he had a handful of them; sometimes he threw one to the birds; again he dropped one for the squirrels; and still again he would toss one into the air for very play, for that was what he loved best. Now it chanced that he passed by a spot where the earth lay bare, with no tree or plant to cover its brown breast. "Oh!" said the child. "Poor place, will nothing grow in you? here is a seed for you, and now I will plant it properly." So he planted the seed properly, and smoothed the earth over it, and went his way singing, and looking at the white clouds in the sky and at the green things unfolding around him. It was a long, long journey the child had to go. Many perils beset his path, many toils he had to overpass, many wounds and bruises he got on the way. When he returned, one would hardly have known, to look at him, that he was still a child. The day had been cruelly hot, and still the afternoon sun beat fiercely down on the white road. His clothes were torn and dusty; he toiled on, and sighed as he went, longing for some spot of shade where he might sit down to rest. Presently he saw in the distance a waving of green, and a cool shadow stretching across the white glowing road: and he drew near, and it was a tree, young and vigorous, spreading its arms abroad, mantled in green leaves that whispered and rustled. Thankfully the child threw himself down in the pleasant shade, and rested from his weary journey; and as he rested, he raised his eyes to the green whispering curtain above him, and blessed the hand that planted the tree. The little green leaves nodded and rustled, and whispered to one another: "Yes! yes! it is himself he is blessing. But he does not know, and that is the best of all!" THE GRAVE DIGGERS A youth stood in the doorway of his house and looked out upon the road he was to travel. "Alas!" he said. "It is a rough and stony road, and I am far from strong: also my feet are tender, and I cannot bear pain. How shall I take this hard journey?" Then, as he sighed and looked, he was ware of two coming towards him with pick and mattock on their shoulders. Swiftly they came, and soon they were at his side, fawning on him, and speaking in soft, wheedling voices. Their faces were eager and servile, their eyes bright as flame. "Dear youth," they said, "we are come to smooth the road for you. It is our trade; look, we have our tools with us! Give us but leave and we will work for you gladly, and ask no pay." "What men are ye?" asked the youth. "We are called Temptation and Opportunity," they answered; "but what matters this name or that? we seek but to serve you. Rest you still, and soon the way shall be clear before you." So the youth went back into his house and set him down, and watched how all day long the two toiled apart with mattock and pick, smoothing and levelling, lifting stones out of the way, and hewing down brambles and tangled trees. But at night he laid him down and slept: and then those two ran speedily together, and with fierce looks and eager hands they dug and howked a grave in the earth. Deep it was, and lay straight across the road; yet so cunningly placed that it could not be seen till one was close upon it. Morning came, and the youth stood at his door again, and saw the way clear and smooth before him, and the two bowing low, with smiling faces and fawning hands stretched out. "Come, good Master!" they cried. "Come, dear youth, and let us bring you on your way!" THE SICK CHILD The sick child sat at his window and looked out on the summer world. He was sad at heart, for pain racked him, and weakness held him still; but yet he smiled, because that pleased his mother. "I am of no use in the world," said the child to himself; "I am of less worth than yonder broken bough that lies on the ground, for that at least gives trouble to no one, and by and by it will make a fire to warm some poor soul. But still I must smile, lest my mother should be sad." Presently the old field mouse who lived over the way came out of her house, with a tiny brown velvet bundle in her mouth. It was one of her eight young ones, and she was taking it to a new place, for the mole who was their landlord had turned them out. She had taken five of the little ones to the new house, but now she was weary, and her jaws ached sadly with holding the heavy little creatures. "I cannot carry them all!" she said. "The rest must die, since it cannot be helped." Just then she looked up, and saw the child smiling at the window. "Look!" she said to herself. "That child has been watching me. He smiles with pleasure at the beauty of my young ones, but he has not seen the prettiest one yet. It will never do to give up now; I must try again, and let him see that there are eight, all the handsomest of their family." So she tried again, and brought all the eight in safety to their new home. By and by a horse came along the road, dragging a heavy load. He was old, and his bones ached, and the collar hurt his neck. "Why should I not give up," he said to himself, "and refuse to go on? my master could only beat me, and he does that as it is. If I were dead, I should not feel the blows; why should I struggle further with this burden?" Just then he happened to lift his eyes, and saw the child smiling at the window. "Ah!" he said, "that child is smiling at me. He sees that I was once a fine animal; he knows good blood when he sees it. Ah! if he had seen me in my youth! But I can still show him something." And he arched his neck proudly, and stepped out bravely, tossing his head, and the load came more easily after him. By and by a man passed by, walking slowly, with bent head and sorrowful look. He had lost the treasure of his heart, and the whole world was black about him. "Why should I live longer?" he said to himself. "I have nothing to live for in this world of misery. Let me lie down and die; in death I can at least forget my pain and the pain of others." As he spoke, he lifted his eyes by chance, and saw the child smiling at the window. "Come!" said the man. "There at least is one happy heart; and he smiles, as if he were glad to see me pass. He is a sick child, too, pale and thin; I must not cast a shadow on his cheerful day. And indeed, the sun is bright and warm, even if my joy be cold." He smiled and nodded to the child, and the child nodded to him, and waved his hand, and the man went on, carrying the smile warm at his heart, and took up the burden of life again. Now it was evening. The child was weary. His head drooped on his bosom, and his eyes closed. Then his mother came, and lifted him from his chair, and laid him in his little bed. "God bless him!" she said softly. "He has had a happy day, for he is smiling even in his sleep." AT LONG LAST "Heart-of-mine, are you come at last?" "At long, long last, Beloved!" "Was it so long?" "Long as grief, cold as the stone above your grave, empty as the noonday sky!" "Oh! how was it empty, when I left the cup brimming over for you? Heart-of-mine, whom met you by the way?" "Only a man, crippled in the mire, cursing as he struggled. I shut my ears against his foul speech and passed on." "Oh! if it were my brother, whom you should have helped! whom else?" "Only a woman, bowed under a burden; my own was more than I could bear, and I let her be." "Alas! if it were my sister, and in her pack the balm that should have healed you! Whom else again?" "None else, save children: they cried about my path, but how could I stay for them while you waited?" "Alas! if among the children were those I might not bear to you! And fare you well, Heart-of-mine, for I must be gone, and now the time is long indeed." "Oh! whither, Beloved of my soul, from my arms that clasp yet cannot hold you?" "Heart-of-mine, where but back to earth, to do the work you left undone, to gather up, with patience and with toil, the sheaves you left behind!" GILLYFLOWER GENTLEMAN "Why do you play alone, dear," asked the Play Angel, "and look so sadly over your shoulder at the other children?" "Because they are so selfish!" said the child. "They will not play with me." "Oh, the pity!" said the Angel. "Tell me all about it." "I want to play one game, and they all want to play another!" said the child. "It is very unkind of them." "Did you ever play Gillyflower Gentleman?" asked the Angel. "No!" said the child. "What is it?" "You shall see!" said the Angel. "Let us ask the others if they know it." The other children did not know it, but they were eager to learn, and soon they were all playing Gillyflower Gentleman; they played till all their breath was gone, and they had to sit down on the haycocks to rest. "That was a great game!" said the first child. "I will play yours now, if you wish me to." "We were just going to tell you that we would play yours!" said the other children. So they played both, and the Play Angel went back to her work. THE JUDGMENT "_Of judgment, because the Prince of this World is judged._"-- Now came the day when the Prince should be brought to judgment. Slowly he came, under the weight of his fetters, that clanged about his wrists and feet. His head was low on his breast, and his eyes heavy; so he stood before the judgment seat, and spoke not, nor raised his eyes. The little Judge looked on him, and sighed, and spoke. "It was you who saw me hungry and naked and cold, and drew your furs round you and passed by." "Yea!" said the Prince. "It was you who set me cruel tasks, and smote me when I fainted under them." "Yea!" said the Prince. "It was you who cast me into prison, into darkness and bitterness as of death." "Yea!" said the Prince. "Alas!" said the little Judge. "Poor soul, did you know no better?" When the Prince heard that a great sob burst from him, and he fell on his face before the judgment seat, and his fetters clanged loud on the stone. Oh! then came little feet pattering down the steps, and little hands lifted him, and he rose to his feet; but the chains lay where they fell. "Come, Brother!" said the little Judge. "We will go back, and begin again together!" THE BLIND CHILD "Mother," said the blind child, "what a pity it is that everybody in this village, except you, is so ugly!" "Bless your heart, my darling," said the mother; "why do you say that?" "I was sitting by the fountain," said the blind child, "listening to the falling water, and the neighbors came to fill their pitchers, and I heard them talking. It was terrible! it seems that every one in the whole village is either bald or cross-eyed, wrinkled or misshapen. All save you, mother!" "Bless your heart," said the mother; and she looked at her gray, worn face in the little glass that hung on the wall. "They did not like to praise your beauty before me!" cried the blind child. "They spoke your name, and then said, 'Oh! hush, there is the child!' Was it not foolish of them, mother? as if I did not know!" "Bless your heart!" said the mother. THE CAKE Once a Cake would go seek his fortune in the world, and he took his leave of the Pan he was baked in. "I know my destiny," said the Cake. "I must be eaten, since to that end I was made; but I am a good cake, if I say it who should not, and I would fain choose the persons I am to benefit." "I don't see what difference it makes to you!" said the Pan. "But imagination is hardly your strong point!" said the Cake. "Huh!" said the Pan. The Cake went on his way, and soon he passed by a cottage door where sat a woman spinning, and her ten children playing about her. "Oh!" said the woman, "what a beautiful cake!" and she put out her hand to take him. "Be so good as to wait a moment!" said the Cake. "Will you kindly tell me what you would do with me if I should yield myself up to you?" "I shall break you into ten pieces," said the woman, "and give one to each of my ten children. So you will give ten pleasures, and that is a good thing." "Oh, that would be very nice, I am sure," said the Cake; "but if you will excuse me for mentioning it, your children seem rather dirty, especially their hands, and I confess I should like to keep my frosting unsullied, so I think I will go a little further." "As you will!" said the woman. "After all, the brown loaf is better for the children." So the Cake went further, and met a fair child, richly dressed, with coral lips and eyes like sunlit water. When the child saw the Cake, he said like the woman, "Oh, what a beautiful Cake!" and put out his hand to take it. "I am sure I should be most happy!" said the Cake. "And you will not take it amiss, I am confident, if I ask with whom you will share me." "I shall not share you with any one!" said the child. "I shall eat you myself, every crumb. What do you take me for?" "Good gracious!" cried the Cake. "This will never do. Consider my size,--and yours! You would be very ill!" "I don't care!" said the child. "I'd rather be ill than give any away." And he fixed greedy eyes on the Cake, and stretched forth his hand again. "This is really terrible!" cried the Cake. "What is one's frosting to this? I will go back to the woman with the ten children." He turned and ran back, leaving the child screaming with rage and disappointed greed. But as he ran, a hungry Puppy met him, and swallowed him at a gulp, and went on licking his chops and wagging his tail. "Huh!" said the Pan. THE SERMON The minister had just finished his great sermon. The air still quivered with his burning words, and the people sat erect, disturbed, embarrassed; yet still he lingered a moment in his place. "Is there," he asked, "one here in whose breast these words strike like a barbed arrow, for the truth that is in them?" and he sat down. "That was hard on John," said old James; "but he deserves it, every word." "A blow from the shoulder for James!" said old John; "time he got one too, if it is not too late." "I wonder if either of those two old sinners will take his medicine and be helped by it," said old William. But the little saint, the little saint, hurried home, and knelt by her little bed, and cried aloud in her anguish: "My God, my God, have mercy on me, and give me for this stone a heart of flesh!" THE TANGLED SKEIN "My dear child," said the Angel-who-attends-to-things, "why are you crying so very hard?" "Oh dear! oh dear!" said the child. "No one ever had such a dreadful time before, I do believe, and it all comes of trying to be good. Oh dear! Oh dear! I wish I was bad; then I should not have all this trouble." "Yes, you would," said the Angel; "a great deal worse. Now tell me what is the matter!" "Look!" said the child. "Mother gave me this skein to wind, and I promised to do it. But then father sent me on an errand, and it was almost school-time, and I was studying my lesson and going on the errand and winding the skein, all at the same time, and now I have got all tangled up in the wool, and I cannot walk either forward or back, and oh! dear me, what ever _shall_ I do?" "Sit down!" said the Angel. "But it is school-time!" said the child. "Sit down!" said the Angel. "But father sent me on an errand!" said the child. "SIT DOWN!" said the Angel; and he took the child by her shoulders and set her down. "Now sit still!" he said, and he began patiently to wind up the skein. It was wofully tangled, and knotted about the child's hands and feet; it was a wonder she could move at all; but at last it was all clear, and the Angel handed her the ball. "I thank you so very much!" said the child. "I was not naughty, was I?" "Not naughty, only foolish; but that does just as much harm sometimes." "But I was doing right things!" said the child. "But you were doing them in the wrong way!" said the Angel. "It is good to do an errand, and it is good to go to school, but when you have a skein to wind you must sit still." THE NURSLING Yesterday, the kind nurse, Yesterday, the wise old woman, sat by the fire with her nursling on her knee. "Still, my babe, be still!" she said. "Listen now, till I sing you a song!" "Oh! I know all your songs," said the child. "I know them by heart, the sleepy bed-time songs. But the lovely lady yonder, who smiles at me from the doorway, sings a new song, new and strange, and sweet, sweet. If I listen to her, may be I shall learn it." "Nay! listen not to her, the gipsy!" said Yesterday. "Bide here by the fire with me, my babe, and I will tell you a story shall do you good to hear." "Oh! I know all your stories," said the child, "know them every word, and some of them are false, and all are dull. But the lovely lady who beckons me from the doorway murmurs strange words, in a new tongue, yet clear as light; if I go with her, may be I shall learn it." "Child, child," said the old nurse, "listen not to her gipsy talk; it is full of peril, and these new words have wicked meanings. Come with me, my darling, and I will show you my garden, full of sweet flowers and delicate fruits and precious herbs. See! they have grown from all time, and I gathered them from the four ways of the world, and all for you." The child laughed, and his laugh rang cruel clear, as when a bird sings loud and merry over a new-made grave. "Your flowers are faded," he said. "I have tasted your fruits, every one, and your precious herbs are but a handful of dry leaves and stalks. But the lovely lady who holds out her hands to me from the doorway tells me of things unknown, dim lands of furthest dawn, seas that no bark has ever sailed. I will go with her and see them, and live my life." "Nay now, my child, my darling; stay with me by the fire, in the warm sheltered room;" said Yesterday the nurse, the wise old woman. But the child was already gone, with To-morrow, the lovely lady with sunrise in her eyes, laughter on her lips, and the knife hidden in her hand. WORMWOOD All the morning the child ran about his field, smelling the sweet, tasting the sweet, plucking the bright and gay; and as he plucked and smelled and tasted, he found among the strawberries a dusky leaf that was bitter in his mouth. "What is this?" he asked of the Angel beside him; and the Angel said, "It is wormwood!" "Pluck it all up!" cried the child. "It is bitter and hateful; I will have nought in my field but strawberries and roses." And the Angel smiled, with folded hands. Noon came, and afternoon, with long rays sloping westward; and the child walked in his field with slow and thoughtful steps. There were no flowers now in the grass, but everywhere a dusky leaf with dusky berries; and the air was full of the fragrance of them, sweet and yet bitter; bitter, yet oh, how sweet! "What is this," the child asked, "that is bitter, and yet sweeter than aught else in the world?" And the Angel said, "It is wormwood!" THE PIT "_Though I make my bed in Hell...._" It was dark in the Pit. The air was heavy with poisonous vapors; the walls were foul with the slime of uncounted generations; under foot was the horror of the ages; yet still the man slept, for he was used to the place, and his brain sodden with the fumes of it. But by and by, as he slept, a sound crept into his ears, a weary, crying voice that went on and on and would not still; till the man stirred uneasily in his sleep, and awoke with the sound in his ears. "Who is this," he said, "that breaks my slumber?" He hearkened, and the voice went crying on: "Oh! the blackness and the horror! oh! the dreadful, dreadful place! will none help me out?" "What ails you at the place?" asked the man. "One sleeps well enough, if folk would but be quiet." And the voice went clamoring on; the piteousness of it might have stirred the dead things under foot. "Oh! for one breath of God's pure air! for one glimpse of God's good sunshine! Oh! the horror of it, to die in the foul dark! will none help me out?" Then the man looked, for his eyes were used to the mirk of the Pit, and saw beside him the face of a youth, glimmering white as the dead moon at midday, and shining with tears and sweat of agony; and the lad was tearing at the walls, trying to make a way out; but his hands slipped on the slimy stones, and he fell back moaning and crying. "Here is a great ado!" said the man. "But if it goes so ill with you, I will find a way out, if way there be." He rose from the wallow where he lay, and with his strong hands felt along the walls, and found a crack between two great stones, and set his strength to rend them apart; but they clung together like the lips of Death. Long he struggled, yet could not stir them; and ever the doleful voice beat like a bell in his ears, till it seemed to him that he must give his life, so but that lad might go free. Suddenly he felt a touch upon him, and in that same moment the stones moving under his hand: and looking, he was ware through the glimmering dark of another hand laid on the stone, and of one toiling beside him, striving even as he strove. Then the man set all the strength that was in him, and the great stones crumbled apart, and through the opening the fresh wind blew and the sun shone. Then those two, the man and he who had toiled beside him, lifted the youth between them and brought him out into the open day; and the lad cried out once more, sobbing now for pure joy, and kissed their hands that had brought him out, and went singing on his way. But the man stayed, and looked on that one who had toiled beside him. "Oh!" he said, "it was you!" "Who else?" said the other. "But how came you there?" asked the man. And the other answered, "I went in with you!" HOSPITALITY "I hear," said the hospitable man, "that my friend has come from over seas. Now therefore let us do thus and so, for he is the man of all men whom I delight to honor." So the hospitable man hurried to and fro all day, gathering this that was rich, and that that was costly, and the other that was delicate; and bidding his acquaintance come and help him do honor to his friend. Next day he met another friend, who was a physician. "Whither away so fast?" asked the hospitable man. "Do not stay me!" said the physician. "The case is urgent. I am going to So-and-So." And he named the friend from over seas. "You distress me infinitely!" cried the hospitable man. "Is So-and-So ill?" "Some rascal poisoned him last night," said the physician. "A bad business. I doubt if he recovers." "Good God!" cried the hospitable man. "He dined with me last night." "Oh! was it you?" said the physician. THE POT The great Pot boiled and bubbled over the crackling flames. Fat and lean, sweet and bitter, had gone to fill it, and all seethed merrily together. "Hubble bubble!" said the Pot. Now it came to pass after a time that a certain part of what was within rose to the top, and mantled there, frothing and eddying. "I am the cream!" it said. "This is my proper place, the top of the Pot. Under me the mass seethes darkling, and from it I rise to light and air. My glory rejoices; this is as it should be!" Now came the Cook, and lifted the lid of the Pot and looked in. "Ah!" he said. "The scum has risen, and must be taken off, lest the meat be spoiled." And he took it off. "Hubble bubble!" said the Pot. THE BODY "But you don't understand!" said the Soul. "It is my body that makes all the trouble. Its nerves are all atwist, its brain does not work properly, its heart is too small. _I_ am all right: if I could have another chance, in a decently furnished body, you would see what a different creature I should be." "Very well!" said the Angel-who-attends-to-things. "I know several other souls who are wishing for a change; you may try their bodies, and see if you can suit yourself." The Soul thanked the Angel joyfully, and flew in the direction he pointed out. Presently he came to the body of a fair woman, clad in white, with roses in its hands. "This is beautiful!" said the Soul. "This is exactly what I want." He crept in, and flowed through the white body, and it moved and rose up with him, and went to and fro. But soon the Soul cried out: "Oh! this body pinches me; it is too tight. Besides, it has the habit of fasting, and mortification, and I am used to a body that smokes. This will never do!" And he crept out again, and went further. Presently he came to a stalwart body of a man, with bones and sinews knit of iron. "Ah!" said the Soul. "Beauty is after all a slight thing. Strength is what one needs; this is the body for me." And he slipped in, and flowed through the body, and it moved, and rose up with him, and walked with swift and powerful strides. "Good heavens!" cried the Soul. "This will never do. This body is far too big for me; I feel it all loose, and full of cold draughts. I shall certainly get the rheumatism. And I don't care about these things it is doing, hewing wood and carrying water for other people. I have made a mistake; let me correct it before it is too late!" and he crept out. Going further, he came upon a body sunk in an easy-chair, clad in loose and easy garb of a man, and by it a table with glasses and bottles: and the Soul yearned toward it. "Ah!" cried the Soul. "After all, there is nothing like one's own!" And he crept into the body, and flowed through and through it; and the body stretched itself with a long, long sigh, and put its hand out to the bottle, and drank, and chuckled to itself. "But how about those others who wanted a change?" asked the Soul of the Angel-who-attends-to-things. "I trust I am not disappointing any of them in taking up this dear old comfortable body again?" "Oh no!" said the Angel. "They did not like its looks at all, and decided to go on to another world." THE RULER. When it was time for the Child to have lessons, the Teacher-Angel gave him a sheet of paper, smooth and white, and a pencil, and a ruler. "Write as well as you can," he said; "and mind you keep the lines straight!" The Child admired the ruler greatly; "I will put it up on the wall," he said, "where I can see it always." So he put it up on the wall, and the sunbeams, hardly brighter than itself, sparkled on it. "It must be pure gold," said the Child; "there is nothing else so beautiful in the world." And then he began his task. By and by the lesson time was over, and the Teacher-Angel came to see what had been done. The Child showed him the paper on which he had written his task. Up and down went the lines, here and there, from side to side of the sheet, which was covered with sprawling, straggling letters. There were smudges, too, where he had tried to rub something out; it was not a pretty page. "What is this?" asked the Teacher-Angel. "Where is your ruler?" "There it is," said the Child. "Up on the wall. It was so beautiful, I put it up there where I could see it always. See where it hangs! But methinks it is not so bright as it was." "No!" said the Teacher-Angel. "It would have been brighter if you had used it." "But I admired it greatly," said the Child. "But your lines are crooked!" said the Angel. THE TORCH-BEARER A voice came ringing down the way: "Room! room for the Torch-bearer! room for the keeper of the gates of To-morrow! room!" "Ah! yes," I said. "It is he, the great sage, who has lightened the world-shadows this many a year. Who should bear the torch but he?" I looked, and the sage passed, his arms folded on his breast, his calm eyes bent forward, seeing many things: but no torch was in his hand. And still the cry came ringing down the world's way: "Room for the Torch-bearer! make way! make way for the keeper of the gates of To-morrow!" "Ah!" I said. "It will be the mighty leader, then; he who so long has marshalled our hearts, and led us whithersoever he would with a wave of his hand. Hail to him, hail to the Master of Armies!" But as I looked, the Master passed, and his truncheon hung low by his side, and his eyes looked downward, remembering; and no torch was in his hand. Yet still, as I marvelled, came that great cry ringing down the world's way, and now it sounded loud in my ears. "Room! room! make way, give place! the Torch-bearer comes. Make way for the keeper of the gates of God!" And once more I looked. Ah! bare and dusty were her feet, the little woman; and she went bowed, and stumbled on the rough stones, for the great torch hung heavy in her hand, and heavy the babe on her arm: but he sat there as on a throne, and laughed and leaped as he sat, and clutched the living torch and shook it, flinging the blaze abroad, and the world-way lightened before him. THE STONE BLOCKS "Why is your little sister crying, dear?" asked the Play Angel. "I thought you were taking care of her." "So I am, taking beautiful care of her," said the child. "But the more beautiful care I take, the more she cries. She does not like care to be taken of her." "Let me see!" said the Play Angel; and she sat down on the nursery floor. "Now show me what you have done." "Look!" said the child. "First I showed her all my dolls, and then all my new dresses; and now I have given her my new stone blocks to play with, but she will not play, only puts them in her mouth and cries." "Perhaps she is hungry!" said the Play Angel. She took a piece of bread from the folds of her robe and gave it to the baby; and the baby stopped crying, and ate the bread, and laughed and crowed. "See!" said the Angel. "Now she is happy. Remember, dear, that when babies are hungry, stone blocks do them no good." "You are a very clever angel to know that!" said the child. "You are a rather foolish child," said the Angel, "or you would have found it out for yourself." THE POTTER A potter wrought at his wheel, singing as he wrought, turning out crocks and pipkins of red clay. They were clumsy of shape and rude in the making, yet they served to hold meal and milk, and the poor folk bought of him. But ever, as he shaped the clay, the potter said to himself: "Some day, some day, I will make a cup of gold for the Prince's drinking!" Now and again, when he was well paid for his pots, he would get a bit of gold and put it by. This small hoard was precious to him as sunlight, and bit by bit, little coin by little coin, it grew, till one day he had enough. Then he left his clay, and with care and loving pains, his lathe turning to the beat of his heart, he fashioned a little cup of gold. "It is small," he said, "but it will hold wine for a single draught." And he set it in the sun among his pots, where it could be seen of the passers-by. Presently rode by the Prince and his court, and saw the pots, and on one the sun shining. "Look!" said one of the courtiers, "if the potter have not gilded one of his clay pipkins!" THE NEIGHBOUR "What can you tell me of your neighbour?" asked the Angel-who-looks-into-things. "Oh, an excellent person!" said the Busy Man. "Full of wisdom and virtue; merry, too, withal; in short, a delightful companion." "You have been much together, then?" said the Angel-who-looks-into-things. "Well, scarcely that," replied the Busy Man; "in fact, I have been so excessively busy that I have seen nothing of him for a long time. But now I have every intention of doing so; indeed, I think I will ask him to dine with me to-night." "You can hardly do that!" said the Angel. "Why not?" "Because he died this morning." THE WOUND Once an Angel found a child crying bitterly, and stopped to comfort him. "What is the matter, dear?" asked the Angel. "Oh, I have hurt myself dreadfully!" said the child. "Dreadfully! see!" and he showed his wound. "Yes, that must have hurt very much, I know," said the Angel; "but cheer up! I knew another child who was wounded in the same place, and he got over it in good time." "Ah! but it was not so bad a wound as mine!" said the child. "Yes, it was," said the Angel; "every bit as bad." "But it did not hurt him so much!" said the child. "How do you know that?" asked the Angel. "Because he wasn't me!" said the child. THE WHITE FIRE I Three men came to Love the Lord, asking a gift of his white fire, and the gift was not denied. "Take it, keep it, use it!" said Love the Lord; and they answered joyfully, "Yea, Lord, this will we do!" Then the three fared forth on their way, the old way, and the new way, and the only way; yet they went not together, but each by himself alone. Presently one came to a dark valley, full of men who groped with their hands, seeking the way, and finding it not, for they had no light; and they moaned, and cried, "Oh! that we had light, to show us the way!" Then that man answered aloud, "Yea, and there shall be light!" And he took the fire that was given him of Love the Lord, and made of it a torch, and held it aloft, and it flashed through the darkness like a sword, and showed the way; and he leading, they following, they came safe through that place into the light of day. The second man went by another path of the way, and it led him over a bleak moor, where the wind blew bitter keen, and the rocks stood like frozen iron; and here were men shivering with cold, huddling together for warmth, yet finding none, for they had no fire. And they moaned, and cried, "Ah! if we had but fire to keep the life in us, for we perish!" And the man said, "Yea, there shall be fire!" And he took the fire that he had of Love the Lord, and spread it out, and set faggots to it, and it blazed up broad and bright; and the folk gathered round it, and held out their hands and warmed themselves at it, and forgot the bitter wind. Now the third man went his way also; and as he went he said to himself, "How shall I keep my fire safe, that no fierce wind blow it out, and no foul vapor stifle it? I know what I will do; I will hide it in my heart, and so no harm can come to it." And he hid the fire in his heart, and carried it so, and went on. Now by and by those three came to the end of the way, and there waited for them one in white, and his face veiled. He said to the first man, "What of your fire?" And the man said, "I found folk struggling in darkness, and I made a torch of my fire, and showed them the way; now is it well-nigh wasted, yet still it burns." And he in white said, "It is well; this fire shall never die." Then came the second, and of him, too, that one asked, "What of your fire?" And he said, "I found men shivering, with nought to warm them, and I gave my fire, that they might live, and not die." And he in white answered again, "It is well; this fire too shall never die." Then came the third, and answered boldly, and said, "I have brought my fire safe, through peril and through strife; lo, see it here in my heart!" Then that one in white put aside his veil; and it was Love the Lord himself. "Alas!" he said; "what is this you have done?" And he opened the man's heart; and inside it was a black char, and white ashes lying in it. THE WHITE FIRE II This one Love the Lord called to him, and waited no asking, but put the gift in her hands, the white gift of fire. "What shall I do with it, Lord?" she asked: and he said, "Lighten the darkness!" "Yea, Lord," she answered, "as I may!" and took the gift meekly and went. But as she went, she met one strong and silent, who took her in his arms, and bore her to a high tower, and kept her there in ward. The name of that strong one was Pain, and he was faithful as Night and Death, and they two dwelt together. But she in the tower tended ever the white fire, and wept over it, saying, "How, in this tower, shall I do the will of Love the Lord, seeing here are only my fellow Pain and I? and the tower is full of seams and cracks, so that the wind blows cold upon my fire, and would fain quench it; and in no case can I lighten any darkness save my own." But still she tended the fire and kept it alive; pure and white was the flame of it, and she and her fellow Pain sat beside it and kept them warm. But Love the Lord looked from the clearness where he dwelt, and smiled; well pleased was he. For he saw through the seams and rents in that doleful tower the light stream clear and radiant: and in the darkness toward which his high heart yearned he saw men struggling forward, and heard them cry to one another joyfully, "Look up! take heart! yonder shines a light to guide us on the way." FOR YOU AND ME "I have come to speak to you about your work," said the Angel-who-attends-to-things. "It appears to be unsatisfactory." "Indeed!" said the man. "I hardly see how that can be. Perhaps you will explain." "I will!" said the Angel. "To begin with, the work is slovenly." "I was born heedless," said the man. "It is a family failing which I have always regretted." "It is ill put together, too;" said the Angel. "The parts do not fit." "I never had any eye for proportion," said the man; "I admit it is unfortunate." "The whole thing is a botch," said the Angel. "You have put neither brains nor heart into it, and the result is ridiculous failure. What do you propose to do about it?" "I credited you with more comprehension," said the man. "My faults, such as they are, were born with me. I am sorry that you do not approve of me, but this is the way I was made; do you see?" "I see!" said the Angel. He put out a strong white hand, and taking the man by the collar, tumbled him neck and crop into the ditch. "What is the meaning of this?" cried the man, as he scrambled out breathless and dripping. "I never saw such behavior. Do you see what you have done? you have ruined my clothes, and nearly drowned me beside." "Oh yes!" said the Angel: "this is the way _I_ was made." THE PICTURE BOOK "Brother," said the little boy, "show me a pretty picture book!" "Nay!" said the brother. "I would rather show you this book with the ugly pictures, so that when you come to see ugly things you may know what they are. Look! see this, how hateful it is; and this, how hideous; and here again, this, enough to turn one cold with horror." "Oh!" said the child; and he shuddered. "They are horrible indeed; show me more!" Next day the brother found the child before a mirror, twisting his face this way and that, squinting, and making a thousand horrible grimaces. "My dear little boy," cried the brother, "why are you making yourself so hideous?" "I want to see if I can look like the pictures in the book!" said the child. THE FLOWER OF JOY The white frost struck my garden, and blighted my flower of joy. Oh! it was fair, and all the sweetness of the spring breathed from its cup; but now it lay blackened and withered, and my heart with it. Then, as I stood mourning, I heard another crying voice; and looking up I saw my neighbour in her garden, bending over her stricken plants and weeping sore. I hastened to her. "Take courage!" I said. "It may be they are not quite dead: for, look! here lingers a little green along the leaves. Look here again, the sap flows. Take heart, and we will work together, you and I." So I labored, and she with me, binding up, tending and watering, night and day; till at last life came back to her plants, first faltering, then flowing free, and they held up their heads and drank the sunshine, and opened fair and sweet to the day. Then, with her blessing warm at my heart, I turned me homeward: and oh! and oh! in the ruined garden where all lay black and prone, a thread of green creeping, a tiny bud peeping, a breath of spring upon the air. Glad woman, I fell upon my knees, and stretched out trembling hands to where, faint and feeble, yet alive, bloomed once more my flower of joy. THE BURNING HOUSE Some neighbours were walking together in the cool of the day, watching the fall of the twilight, and talking of this and that; and as they walked, they saw at a little distance a light, as it were a house on fire. "From the direction, that must be our neighbour William's house," said one. "Ought we not to warn him of the danger?" "I see only a little flame," said another; "perchance it may go out of itself, and no harm done." "I should be loth to carry ill news," said a third; "it is always a painful thing to do." "William is not a man who welcomes interference," said a fourth. "I should not like to be the one to intrude upon his privacy; probably he knows about the fire, and is managing it in his own way." While they were talking, the house burned up. THE PLANT A plant grew up in the spring, and spread its leaves and looked abroad, rejoicing in its life. "To grow!" said the plant. "To be beautiful, and gladden the eyes of those who look on me: this is life. The Giver of it be praised!" Now the plant budded and blossomed: lovely the blossoms were, and sweet, and men plucked them joyfully. "This is well!" said the plant. "To send beauty and fragrance hither and thither, to sweeten the world even a little, this is life: the Giver of it be praised!" Autumn came, and the plant stood lonely, yet at peace. "One cannot always be in blossom!" it said. "One has done what one could, and a little is part of the whole." By and by came a gatherer of herbs, and cut the green leaves from the plant. "They are good for bruises," he said; "or distilled, their juice may heal an inward wound." The plant heard and rejoiced. "To heal!" it said. "That is even better than to gladden the eyes. The Giver of this too be praised!" Now it was winter. The dry stalk stood in the field, and crackled with the frost, its few remaining leaves clinging black and shrivelled about it. "All is over now," said the plant. "There must be an end to everything." But now came a poor soul shivering with the cold, and took the dry plant and carried it to his home; and breaking it in pieces, laid the fragments on his naked hearth and set fire to them. Puff! the dry stalks crackled into flame and blazed up merrily, filling the room with light and warmth. "And is this death?" said the plant. "The Giver of all be praised!" 
16688	----	Produced from page scans provided by Internet Archive and University of Florida. HYMNS, SONGS, AND FABLES, FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. BY ELIZA LEE FOLLEN. REVISED AND ENLARGED FROM THE LAST EDITION. BOSTON: WM. CROSBY AND H.P. NICHOLS, 118 WASHINGTON STREET. 1851. [Illustration] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by WM. CROSBY AND H.P. NICHOLS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. CAMBRIDGE: STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY METCALF AND COMPANY, PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. BY CHARLES FOLLEN. This little book is dedicated to parents and children. Most of the poems were written with no other hope, than that they would instruct or please some child. The pleasure they have given in a limited circle has tempted the writer to print them. Some have never before appeared in public, but most of them have been already published in different works; some few, without the author's knowledge. It will be found that these poems are intended for children of different ages and characters. It may be objected to the book, that gay and serious pieces are bound up together; but so it is in human life and human nature, and it is essential to the healthful action of a child's mind that it should be so. The smile that overtakes its tears is as necessary to the child as the sun after a spring shower is to the young plant; and without it a blight will fall upon the opening blossom. The natural love that all have for their literary offspring, perhaps, first induced the author to bring the stray little family together. This motive was strengthened by the hope that children might love the book, and that she might have the pleasure of seeing it among their treasures, with the corners of the leaves well worn by their little fingers, and perhaps sometimes placed upon the pillow where "angels hover round." This success, which must secure to her also the approbation of parents, she does aspire after, and most earnestly desire; this, and this alone, will satisfy her; without this, she would be the first to pronounce it an unworthy offering. CAMBRIDGE, May 19, 1831. PREFACE TO THE PRESENT EDITION. The present edition of Hymns, Songs, and Fables, has been greatly enlarged, by poems either not before printed, or that have had a very limited circulation, and also by a number of translations from the German. If they should have the good fortune to add to the innocent pleasure of the young, and deserve to become associated in their minds with the pure and hallowed recollections of home, and happy early days, my highest ambition with regard to them be entirely gratified. ELIZA LEE FOLLEN. CAMBRIDGE, November 19, 1846. CONTENTS. HYMNS. PAGE "Suffer little children to come unto me" 1 Hymn 2 Hymn for a Little Boy 3 "The Lord is my Strength" 5 Hymn 6 "Thy Will be done" 7 Sabbath Day 8 The Good Boy's Hymn on going to Bed 10 God is good 11 Evening 12 Robinson Crusoe's Hymn 13 Hymn 14 On Prayer 16 "The Spirit giveth Life" 17 We never part from Thee 19 "I will arise and go to my Father" 20 Evening Hymn 22 Autumn 23 The Lord's Day 24 The Ministry of Pain 25 "By Faith ye are saved" 26 Evening Prayer 27 Evening Hymn 28 Lines written at Midnight 29 "Hope in God" 31 Failure and Success 32 SONGS. The Little Spring 35 The Little Boy's May-day Song 36 Guess what I have heard 38 Spring 39 The Little Boy's Good-night 40 The Shepherd's Sabbath-song 41 To Spring 42 Her Voyage is at an End 44 Charley and his Father. A Ballad 47 Remember the Slave 50 Home-sickness 52 Happiness 53 Children in Slavery 54 To Good Resolutions 55 Thanks for a Pleasant Day 56 To a Butterfly 57 To Nature 58 On the Death of a Young Companion 59 The Sabbath is here 60 The Child at her Mother's Grave 62 Child's Song 63 To a Fountain 64 Song for an Infant School 64 The Summer 66 To a Beautiful Girl 68 The Little Slave's Wish 69 FABLES. The Honest Bird 73 Soliloquy of Ellen's Squirrel 76 The Pin, Needle, and Scissors 77 Learned Fred 83 Little Roland 84 Billy Rabbit to Mary 91 The Old and New Shoes 93 The Monkeys and the Bears 97 HYMNS. "SUFFER LITTLE CHILDREN TO COME UNTO ME." "Let little children come to me,"-- This is what the Saviour said; Little children, come and see Where these gracious words are read. Often on these pages look,-- Of the love of God they tell; 'Tis indeed a holy book,-- Learn to read and love it well. Thus you hear the Saviour speak,-- "Come ye all and learn of me"; He was gentle, lowly, meek,-- So should all his followers be. When our Saviour from above, From his Father did descend, He took them in his arms of love, And children knew him for their friend. All little children Jesus blessed,-- Blessed in innocence they are; Little children he caressed; Praise him in your infant prayer. HYMN. Praise to God! O let us raise From our hearts a song of praise! Of that goodness let us sing Whence our lives and blessings spring. Praise to him who made the light, Praise to him who gave us sight, Praise to him who formed the ear; Will he not his children hear? Praise him for our happy hours, Praise him for our varied powers, For these thoughts that rise above, For these hearts he made for love, For the voice he placed within, Bearing witness when we sin; Praise to him whose tender care Keeps this watchful guardian there. Praise his mercy, that did send Jesus for our guide and friend; Praise him, every heart and voice, Him who makes all worlds rejoice. HYMN FOR A LITTLE BOY. "What, mother, makes it seem to me, When I am all alone, As if some one could hear and see, And all my thoughts were known? "Sometimes it makes me very glad, And dance and sing with joy; Sometimes it makes me very sad, And frights your little boy. "O, tell me, mother, tell me why; For I have never known Why 'tis I laugh, or why I cry, When I am all alone." "My child, you never are alone; There is a watchful eye To which your very thoughts are known; 'Tis God is ever nigh. "He made your little heart for joy, He tunes your happy song; O, then, my little timid boy, Fear only doing wrong. "For he who makes your heart so glad, Who bids the good be gay, With the same love will make it sad, Whene'er you disobey. "He is our Father, and he hears Your weakest, faintest prayer; He wipes away an infant's tears, And children are his care." "THE LORD IS MY STRENGTH." Almighty Father! I am weak, But thou wilt strengthen me, If from my heart I humbly seek For help and light from thee. When I am tempted to do wrong, Then, Father, pity me, And make my failing virtue strong; Help me to think of thee! Let Christian courage guard my youth; That courage give to me Which ever speaks and acts the truth, And puts its trust in thee. HYMN. Will God, who made the earth and sea, The night, and shining day, Regard a little child like me, And listen when I pray? If I am hungry, poor, and cold, Then will he hear my cry? And when I shall be sick and old, O, then will God be nigh? Yes; in his holy word we read Of his unfailing love; And when his mercy most we need, His mercy he will prove. To those who seek him, he is near; He looks upon the heart, And from the humble and sincere He never will depart. He sees our thoughts, our wishes knows, He hears our faintest prayer; Where'er the faithful Christian goes, He finds his Father there. Obedient children need not fear; God is a faithful friend, And when no other help is near, He will deliverance send. Then fear not hunger, cold, or pain, But fear to disobey That power which does your life sustain, And guards you every day. "THY WILL BE DONE." How sweet to be allowed to pray To God, the Holy One, With filial love and trust to say,-- "Father, thy will be done!" We in these sacred words can find A cure for every ill; They calm and soothe the troubled mind, And bid all care be still. O, let that will, which gave me breath And an immortal soul, In joy or grief, in life or death, My every wish control! O, could my heart thus ever pray, Thus imitate thy Son! Teach me, O God, with truth to say,-- "Thy will, not mine, be done!" SABBATH DAY. How sweet upon this sacred day, The best of all the seven, To cast our earthly thoughts away, And think of God and heaven! How sweet to be allowed to pray Our sins may be forgiven; With filial confidence to say, "Father, who art in heaven"! With humble hope to bend the knee, And, free from folly's leaven, Confess that we have strayed from thee, Thou righteous Judge in heaven! And if to make all sin depart In vain the will has striven, He who regards the inmost heart Will send his grace from heaven. If from the bosom that is dear By cold unkindness driven, The heart that knows no refuge here Shall find a friend in heaven. Then hail, thou sacred, blessed day, The best of all the seven, When hearts unite their vows to pay Of gratitude to Heaven. THE GOOD BOY'S HYMN ON GOING TO BED. How sweet to lay my weary head Upon my quiet little bed, And feel assured, that all day long I have not knowingly done wrong! How sweet to hear my mother say, "You have been very good to-day!" How sweet to see my father's joy When he can say, "My dear, good boy!" How sweet it is my thoughts to send To many a dear-loved distant friend, And feel, if they my heart could see, How very happy they would be! How sweet to think that He whose love Made all these shining worlds above My pure and happy heart can see, And loves a little boy like me. [Illustration] GOD IS GOOD. Thou art good! Each perfumed flower, Waving fields, the dark green wood, The insect fluttering for an hour,-- All things proclaim that God is good. I hear it in each breath of wind; The hills that have for ages stood, And clouds with gold and silver lined, All still repeat that God is good. Each little rill, that many a year Has the same verdant path pursued, And every bird, in accents clear, Joins in the song that God is good. The restless sea, with haughty roar, Calms each wild wave and billow rude, Retreats submissive from the shore, And swells the chorus, "God is good." The countless hosts of twinkling stars, That sing his praise with light renewed; The rising sun each day declares, In rays of glory, God is good. The moon, that walks in brightness, says, That God is good! and man, endued With power to speak his Maker's praise, Should still repeat that God is good. EVENING. How beautiful the setting sun! The clouds how bright and gay! The stars, appearing one by one, How beautiful are they! And when the moon climbs up the sky, And sheds her gentle light, And hangs her crystal lamp on high, How beautiful is night! And can it be I am possessed Of something brighter far? Glows there a light within this breast Outshining every star? Yes; should the sun and stars turn pale, The mountains melt away, This flame within shall never fail, But live in endless day. This is the soul that God has given,-- Sin may its lustre dim; While goodness bears it up to heaven, And leads it back to him. ROBINSON CRUSOE'S HYMN. My Heavenly Father! all I see, Around me and above, Sends forth a hymn of praise to thee, And speaks thy boundless love. The clear blue sky is full of thee, The woods so dark and lone; The soft south-wind, the sounding sea, Worship the Holy One. The humming of the insect throng, The prattling, sparkling rill, The birds, with their melodious song, Repeat thy praises still. And thou dost hear them every one,-- Father, thou hearest me; I know that I am not alone, When I but think of thee. HYMN. It was my Heavenly Father's love Brought every being forth; He made the shining worlds above, And every thing on earth. Each lovely flower, the smallest fly, The sea, the waterfall, The bright green fields, the clear blue sky,-- 'Tis God that made them all. He gave me all my friends, and taught My heart to love them well, And he bestowed the power of thought, And speech my thoughts to tell. My father and my mother dear,-- He is their father too; He bids me all their precepts hear, And all they teach me, do. God sees and hears me all the day, And 'mid the darkest night; He views me when I disobey, And when I act aright. He guards me with a parent's care, When I am all alone; My hymn of praise, my humble prayer, He hears them every one. God hears what I am saying now,-- O, what a wondrous thought! My Heavenly Father, teach me how To love thee as I ought. ON PRAYER. As through the pathless fields of air Wandered forth the timid dove, So the heart, in humble prayer, Essays to reach the throne of love. Like her it may return unblest, Like her again may soar, And still return and find no rest, No peaceful, happy shore. But now once more she spreads her wings, And takes a bolder flight, And see! the olive-branch she brings, To bless her master's sight. And thus the heart renews its strength, Though spent and tempest-driven, And higher soars, and brings at length A pledge of peace with Heaven. "THE SPIRIT GIVETH LIFE." What was in the viewless wind, Wild rushing through the oak, Seemed to my listening, dreaming mind As though a spirit spoke? What is it to the murmuring stream Doth give so sweet a song, That on its tide my thoughts do seem To pour themselves along? What is it on the dizzy height, What in each glowing star, That speaks of things beyond the sight, And questions what they are? What in the rolling thunder's voice, What in the ocean's roar, Hears the grand chorus, "O, rejoice!" Echo from shore to shore? What in the gentle moon doth see Pure thoughts and tender love, And hears delicious melody Around, below, above? What bids the savage tempest speak Of terror and dismay, And wakes the agonizing shriek Of guilt that fears to pray? It is this ever-living mind; This little throb of life Hears its own echoes in the wind, And in the tempest's strife; To all that's sweet, and bright, and fair, Its own affections gives; Sees its own image everywhere, Through all creation lives. It bids the everlasting hills Give back the solemn tone; This boundless arch of azure fills With accents all its own. What is this life-inspiring mind, This omnipresent thought? How shall it ever utterance find For all itself hath taught? To Him who breathed the heavenly flame, Its mysteries are known; It seeks the source from whence it came, And rests in God alone. WE NEVER PART FROM THEE. God, who dwellest everywhere God, who makest all thy care, God, who hearest every prayer, Thou who see'st the heart; Thou to whom we lift our eyes. Father, help our souls to rise, And, beyond these narrow skies, See thee as thou art! Let our anxious thoughts be still, Holy trust adore thy will, Holy love our bosoms fill, Let our songs ascend! Dearest friends may parted be, All our earthly treasures flee, Yet we never part from thee, Our eternal Friend. "I WILL ARISE AND GO TO MY FATHER." Help me, O God, to trust in thee, Thou high and holy One! And may my troubled spirit flee For rest to thee alone. In thee alone the soul can find Secure and sweet repose; And thou canst bid the desert mind To blossom as the rose. Let not this spirit, formed to rise Where angels claim their birth, Forsake its home beyond the skies, And cling to barren earth. The bird of passage knows the sign That warns him to depart; Shall I not heed the voice divine, That whispers in my heart,-- "Up! plume thy wings, soar far away! No longer idly roam! Fly to the realms of endless day; For this is not thy home." This still, small voice, O, may I hear! Ere clouds and darkness come, And thunders in my startled ear Proclaim my final doom. Father! to thee my spirit cries! Thy wandering child reclaim. Speak! and my dying faith shall rise, And wake a deathless flame. EVENING HYMN. Thou, from whom we never part, Thou, whose love is everywhere, Thou who seest every heart, Listen to our evening prayer. Father! fill our souls with love, Love unfailing, full, and free, Love no injury can move, Love that ever rests on thee. Heavenly Father! through the night Keep us safe from every ill; Cheerful as the morning light, May we wake to do thy will. AUTUMN. Sweet Summer, with her flowers, has past, I hear her parting knell; I hear the moaning, fitful blast, Sighing a sad farewell. But, while she fades and dies away, In rainbow hues she glows; Like the last smile of parting day, Still brightening as she goes. The robin whistles clear and shrill; Sad is the cricket's song; The wind, wild rushing o'er the hill, Bears the dead leaf along. I love this sober, solemn time, This twilight of the year; To me, sweet Spring, in all her prime, Was never half so dear. While death has set his changing seal On all that meets the eye, 'Tis rapture, then, within to feel The soul that cannot die;-- To look far, far beyond this sky, To Him who changes never. This earth, these heavens, shall change and die; God is the same for ever. THE LORD'S DAY. This is the day when Jesus woke From the deep slumbers of the tomb; This is the day the Saviour broke The bonds of fear and hopeless gloom. This is indeed a holy day; No longer may we dread to die. Let every fear be cast away, And tears be wiped from every eye. Sorrow and pain the Saviour knew; A dark and thorny path he trod; But heaven was ever in his view,-- That toilsome path led up to God. Let every heart rejoice and sing; Let every sin and sorrow cease; Let children come this day and bring Their offering of love and peace. THE MINISTRY OF PAIN. Cease, my complaining spirit, cease; Know 'tis a Father's hand you feel; It leads you to the realms of peace; It kindly only wounds to heal. My Father! what a holy joy Bursts on the sad, desponding mind, To say, when fiercest ills annoy,-- "I know my Father still is kind!" This bids each trembling fear be still, Checks every murmur, every sigh; Patience then waits his sovereign will, Rejoiced to live,--resigned to die. O blessed ministry of pain! To teach the soul its real worth; To lead it to that source again, From whence it first derived its birth. "BY FAITH YE ARE SAVED." Christian! when, overwhelmed with grief and care, Thou prayest for the help that thou dost need, As shipwrecked mariner for life will plead, O, then for faith pour forth the fervent prayer! 'Tis faith alone life's heavy ills can bear. O, mark her calm, far-seeing, quickening eye, Full of the light of immortality! It tells of worlds unseen, and calls us there; That look of hers can save thee from despair. When sorrow, like thick darkness, gathers round, And all life's flowers are fading in the dust, Faith lifts our drooping vision from the ground,-- Says, that the hand that smites us yet is just; That human agony hath ever found The mighty God a never-failing trust. EVENING PRAYER. Great Source of being, Father all-seeing! We bow before thee; Our souls adore thee; Help us obey thee; Guide us aright; Keep us, we pray thee, Through the long night. Thou kind, forgiving God of all living, Thy power defend us, Thy peace attend us, While we are closing This day in prayer, Ever reposing Under thy care. EVENING HYMN. Before I close my eyes to-night, Let me myself these questions ask:-- Have I endeavoured to do right, Nor thought my duty was a task? Have I been gentle, lowly, meek, And the small voice of conscience heard? When passion tempted me to speak, Have I repressed the angry word? Have I with cheerful zeal obeyed What my kind parents bid me do, And not by word or action said The thing that was not strictly true? In hard temptation's troubled hour, Then have I stopped to think and pray, That God would give my soul the power To chase the sinful thought away? O Thou who seest all my heart, Wilt thou forgive and love me still! Wilt thou to me new strength impart, And make me love to do thy will! LINES WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF A.G. EBERHARD. The sun in smiles doth dress his face, As evening comes to take his place; So looks the parting loved-one, when He means to quickly come again. With moon and stars all sparkling bright, Advances now the silent night; And with the calm and gentle moon, Sweet peace doth quietly come on. Who at the moon and stars can gaze Without a gush of love and praise? And now it is the midnight hour, And sleep asserts her soothing power. But see, the flickering light is gone, That from my neighbour's window shone; His simple household prayer is said, He rests from toil, on his hard bed. Yet still the watchman wakes, and still Faithful till morning watch he will; But vain, O watchman! is thy care, If God, the Guardian, be not there. By my dull lamp, whose light's near gone, In my small room I sit alone, And, thinking o'er past joys and pain, A sweet contentment doth remain. He's still my trust; he, the true Shepherd, never Will forsake his sheep,--he watcheth ever; The mother may forget her child, but yet Thus saith the Lord,--"Thee I will not forget." I rest in peace, I trust in Thee; Thy faithful eye still watcheth me; For He who ever wakes and lives To loving hearts no night e'er gives. "HOPE IN GOD." TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF S.A. MAHLMAN. Hope, my heart, in patience hope,-- Thou at last thy flowers shalt gather; God is full of tender love,-- Childlike speak thou to thy Father. From believing, trusting hearts, The God of mercy ne'er departs. Clouds may come, and clouds may go, Rest upon his goodness always; To those joyful, sunny heights Lead these rough and gloomy pathways; Wakes for aye his Eye of Light,-- Tremble not in storm and night. Anchored on the Eternal Rock, To the heart of God fast clinging, Tell him all thy deepest woes, Before him all thy sorrows bringing; He is kind, and comfort gives To every sorrowing heart that lives. Let true faith strong courage give; Strength the Helper now is sending; Soon thou'lt understand His ways, Soon thou'lt find thy sorrows ending. God! who life and goodness art! In patience hope in Him, my heart. FAILURE AND SUCCESS. It is in failure, in distress, When, reft of all, it stands alone, And not in what men call success, The noble, valiant soul is known. He who perfection makes his aim Shoots at a mark he may not reach; The world may laugh, the world may blame. And what it calls _discretion_ preach. And he will fail to win the goal Which low ambition makes its own; But, far beyond, his earnest soul Stands in the light, though all alone. It was through insult, pain, and loss That Jesus won immortal power; Thus the great failure of the cross Was his triumphant, glorious hour. Think not of failure or success; He fails who has a low desire. Up to the highest ever press, Still onward, upward, higher! higher! Make such thy purpose, such thy aim, That they who watch thy spirit's flight Shall look to heaven from whence it came, And loose thee in celestial light. SONGS. THE LITTLE SPRING. Beneath a green and mossy bank There flows a clear and fairy stream; There the pert squirrel oft has drank, And thought, perhaps, 'twas made for him. Their pitchers there the laborers fill, As drop by drop the crystals flow, Singing their silvery welcome still To all who to the fountain go. Then to the river on it glides, Its tributary drop to bear, Its modest head a moment hides, Then rises up and sparkles there. The touching lesson on my heart Falls like the gentle dews of heaven, Bids me with humble love impart The little treasure God has given. For from a source as small as this Full many a cup of joy may flow, And on the stream of human bliss Its little ray of gladness throw. THE LITTLE BOY'S MAY-DAY SONG. "The flowers are blooming everywhere, On every hill and dell, And O, how beautiful they are! How sweetly, too, they smell! "The little brooks, they dance along, And look so glad and gay; I love to hear their pleasant song, I feel as glad as they. "The young lambs bleat and frisk about, The bees hum round their hive, The butterflies are coming out,-- 'Tis good to be alive. "The trees that looked so stiff and gray With green wreaths now are hung; O mother! let me laugh and play, I cannot hold my tongue. "See yonder bird spread out his wings, And mount the clear blue skies; And hark! how merrily he sings, As far away he flies." "Go forth, my child, and laugh and play, And let your cheerful voice, With birds, and brooks, and merry May, Cry loud, Rejoice! rejoice! "I would not check your bounding mirth, My little happy boy, For He who made this blooming earth Smiles on an infant's joy." GUESS WHAT I HAVE HEARD. Dear mother, guess what I have heard! O, it will soon be spring! I'm sure it was a little bird,-- Mother, I heard him sing. Look at this little piece of green That peeps out from the snow, As if it wanted to be seen,-- 'Twill soon be spring, I know. And O, come here, come here and look! How fast it runs along!-- Here is a cunning little brook; O, hear its pretty song! I know 'tis glad the winter's gone That kept it all so still, For now it merrily runs on, And goes just where it will. I feel just like the brook, I know; It says, it seems to me,-- "Good by, cold weather, ice, and snow; Now girls and brooks are free." I love to think of what you said, Mother, to me last night, Of this great world that God has made, So beautiful and bright. And now it is the happy spring No naughty thing I'll do; I would not be the only thing That is not happy, too. SPRING. Hark! the little birds are singing,-- Winter's gone and summer's near; See, the tender grass is springing, And the flowers will soon be here. Who made the winter and the spring? Who painted all the flowers? Who taught the little birds to sing, And made these hearts of ours? O, 'tis God! how good he is! He does every blessing give; All this happy world is his,-- Let us love him while we live. THE LITTLE BOY'S GOOD-NIGHT. The sun is hidden from our sight, The birds are sleeping sound; 'Tis time to say to all, "Good night!" And give a kiss all round. Good night! my father, mother, dear, Now kiss your little son; Good night! my friends, both far and near, Good night to every one. Good night! ye merry, merry birds, Sleep well till morning light; Perhaps if you could sing in words, You would have said, "Good night!" To all my pretty flowers, good night! You blossom while I sleep; And all the stars, that shine so bright, With you their watches keep. The moon is lighting up the skies, The stars are sparkling there; 'Tis time to shut our weary eyes, And say our evening prayer. THE SHEPHERD'S SABBATH-SONG. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. This is the Sabbath day! In the wide field I am alone. Hark! now one morning bell's sweet tone,-- Now it has died away. Kneeling I worship Thee; Sweet dread doth o'er my spirit steal, From whispering sounds of those who kneel, Unseen, to pray with me. Around and far away, So clear and solemn is the sky, It seems all opening to my eye; This is the Sabbath day! TO SPRING. Hail! reviving, joyous Spring, Smiling through thy veil of showers; Birds and brooks thy welcome sing,-- Haste, and waken all thy flowers. Hark! a sweet pervading sound! From the breathing, moving earth Life is starting all around, Sending joy and fragrance forth. O'er the oak's gigantic form Blossoms hang their drapery; Branches that defied the storm Now are full of melody. There is not a silent thing In this joyous company; Woods, and hills, and valleys ring With a shout of jubilee. Wake, my spirit! art thou still? Senseless things have found a voice; Shall this throbbing heart be still, When all nature cries, "Rejoice"? Wake, come forth, my bounding soul! Join the universal glee, Yield to nature's kind control, Catch her heavenly harmony. Join the grateful, happy throng, Cast each selfish care away; Birds and brooks shall tune your song; This is nature's holiday. HER VOYAGE IS AT AN END. Hushed was the ocean's stormy roar, Still as an infant's joy; There sat upon the rocky shore A father and his boy. Far off they saw a gallant ship, It came from foreign lands; The boy began to dance and skip, And clap his little hands. Her wished-for port is near at hand, The ship is hastening on; They hear the birds sing on the land; Her voyage is nearly done. The boy's glad notes, his shouts of glee, The rocks with music fill; But now he cries,--"See, father, see! The ship is standing still." Her masts are trembling from the shock. Her white sails all descend; The ship has struck upon a rock,-- Her voyage is at an end. The sailors hurry to and fro, All crowded is the deck; She struggles hard,--she's free;--O, no! She is indeed a wreck. The boy's young heart is full of grief: "Father! what will she do? Let's take the boat to her relief, O, quickly let us go!" They went,--and many a stronger hand Its ready succour gave; They brought the crew all safe to land, And the cargo tried to save. The night comes on, the night is dark, More dark the billows seem; They break against the ship, and hark! The seamew's mournful scream. The boy upon his pillow lies, In sweet repose he sinks; And, as he shuts his weary eyes, On the poor ship he thinks. The sun shines o'er the watery main As it did the day before; The father and his son again Are seated on the shore. With the western wind full many a boat Their white sails gayly fill, They lightly o'er the blue waves float,-- But the gallant ship is still. The sailors now the mournful wreck Of masts and rigging strip; The waves are playing o'er the deck Of the sad and ruined ship. A crow upon the top branch stood Of a lone and blasted tree; He seemed to look upon the flood With a gloomy sympathy. The boy now looks up at the bird, At the sinking vessel now; He does not speak a single word. But a shade is on his brow. Now slowly comes a towering wave, And sweeps with triumph on; It bears her to her watery grave,-- The gallant ship is gone. Hushed is the ocean's stormy roar, Still as an infant's joy; The father sits upon the shore In silence with his boy. _Cohasset Shore, July, 1831._ CHARLEY AND HIS FATHER. A BALLAD. The birds are flown away, The flowers are dead and gone, The clouds look cold and gray Around the setting sun. The trees with solemn sighs Their naked branches swing; The winter winds arise, And mournfully they sing. Upon his father's knee Was Charley's happy place, And very thoughtfully He looked up in his face; And these his simple words:-- "Father, how cold it blows! What 'comes of all the birds Amidst the storms and snows?" "They fly far, far away From storms, and snows, and rain; But, Charley dear, next May They'll all come back again." "And will my flowers come, too?" The little fellow said, "And all be bright and new, That now looks cold and dead?" "O, yes, dear; in the spring The flowers will all revive, The birds return and sing, And all be made alive." "Who shows the birds the way, Father, that they must go? And brings them back in May, When there is no more snow? "And when no flower is seen Upon the hill and plain, Who'll make it all so green, And bring the flowers again?" "My son, there is a Power That none of us can see Takes care of every flower, Gives life to every tree. "He through the pathless air Shows little birds their way; And we, too, are his care,-- He guards us day by day." "Father, when people die, Will they come back in May?" Tears were in Charley's eye,-- "Will they, dear father, say?" "No! they will never come; We go to them, my boy, There, in our heavenly home, To meet in endless joy." Upon his father's knee Still Charley kept his place, And very thoughtfully He looked up in his face. REMEMBER THE SLAVE. Mother! whene'er around your child You clasp your arms in love, And when, with grateful joy, you raise Your eyes to God above, Think of the negro mother, when Her child is torn away, Sold for a little slave,--O, then For that poor mother pray! Father! whene'er your happy boys You look upon with pride, And pray to see them when you're old, All blooming by your side, Think of that father's withered heart, The father of a slave, Who asks a pitying God to give His little son a grave. Brothers and sisters! who with joy Meet round the social hearth, And talk of home and happy days, And laugh in careless mirth, Remember, too, the poor young slave, Who never felt your joy, Who, early old, has never known The bliss to be a boy. Ye Christians! ministers of Him Who came to make men free, When, at the Almighty Maker's throne, You bend the suppliant knee, From the deep fountains of your soul Then let your prayers ascend For the poor slave, who hardly knows That God is still his friend. Let all who know that God is just, That Jesus came to save, Unite in the most holy cause Of the forsaken slave. HOME-SICKNESS. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. Were I a wild, wild falcon, I'd soar away on high, And seek my father's dwelling, Beyond the far blue sky. Against that well-known door then I'd flap my wings with joy; My mother from the window Sees and admits her boy. "Dear son!" she'd say; "O, welcome! How often has my heart Longed sadly to embrace thee; Now here behold thou art!" Thus memory still is dreaming Of what can never be. My long-lost home,--the loved ones,-- These eyes may never see. HAPPINESS. What is it makes the morning bright? What gilds the evening hours? What makes our hearts seem gay and light, As if we trod on flowers? 'Tis innocence that makes us gay, Bids flowers grow everywhere; Makes it bright sunshine every day. And every evening fair. What makes us, when we look above, See smiling angels there, And think they look on us in love, As if we were their care? 'Tis that the soul, all free from sin, Glows like an inward sun; And heaven above and heaven within Do meet and join in one. CHILDREN IN SLAVERY. When children play the livelong day, Like birds and butterflies, As free and gay sport life away, And know not care nor sighs; Then earth and air seem fresh and fair, All peace below, above; Life's flowers are there, and everywhere Is innocence and love. When children pray with fear all day, A blight must be at hand; Then joys decay, and birds of prey Are hovering o'er the land. When young hearts weep as they go to sleep, Then all the world seems sad; The flesh must creep, and woes are deep, When children are not glad. TO GOOD RESOLUTIONS. How like the morning flower ye are! Which lifts its diamond head, Exulting in the mead; But the rude wind shall steal its gem, Shall break its tender stem, And leave it dead. Frail pledges of the contrite heart, Wherefore so soon decay? O, yet prolong your stay! Until my soul shall boldly rise, And claim its native skies, Haste not away. THANKS FOR A PLEASANT DAY. Come, let us all, with heart and voice, To God our Father sing and pray; In his unceasing love rejoice, And thank him for this pleasant day. The clear blue sky looks full of love; Let all our selfish passions cease! O, let us lift our thoughts above, Where all is brightness, goodness, peace. If we have done a brother wrong, O, let us seek to be forgiven; Nor let one discord spoil the song Our hearts would raise this day to heaven. This blessed day, when the pure air Is full of sweetness, full of joy,-- When all around is calm and fair,-- Shall we the harmony destroy? O, may it be our earnest care To free our souls from every sin; Then will each day be bright and fair, For God's pure sunshine dwells within. TO A BUTTERFLY. [Those who are acquainted with this little poem, translated from Herder, will perceive that a slight liberty has been taken with the last two lines.] Airy, lovely, heavenly thing! Butterfly with quivering wing! Hovering in thy transient hour Over every bush and flower, Feasting upon flowers and dew, Thyself a brilliant blossom, too! Who, with skilful fingers fine, Purpled o'er those wings of thine? Was it some sylph whose tender care Spangled thy robes so fine and fair, And wove them of the morning air? I feel thy little throbbing heart; Thou fear'st e'en now death's bitter smart. Fly, little spirit, fly away! Be free and joyful thy short day! Image thou dost seem to me Of that which I may one day be, When I shall drop this robe of earth, And wake into a spirit's birth. TO NATURE. FROM THE GERMAN OF FREDERICK LEOPOLD, COUNT OF STALBERG. Holy nature! fresh and free, Let me ever follow thee; By the hand, O, lead me still, Like a child, at thy sweet will. When with weariness oppressed, I will on thy bosom rest, Breathe in pleasure from above, In thy mother-arms of love. O, how well it is for me Thee to love, with thee to be! Holy nature! sweet and free, Let me ever follow thee. ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG COMPANION. Farewell for a time! Thou hast gone to that clime Where sickness and sorrow are o'er. We loved thee when here, We shed the sad tear To think we shall see thee no more. We weep not for thee, We remember that He Who made little children his care In his own fatherland Will reach you his hand, And comfort and welcome you there. Our tears they will flow; But do we not know That thou art released from all pain? Then weep not; for He Who walked on the sea Has said we shall all live again. THE SABBATH IS HERE. FROM KRUMACHER. The Sabbath is here, it is sent us from heaven; Rest, rest, toilsome life, Be silent all strife, Let us stop on our way, And give thanks and pray To Him who all things has given. The Sabbath is here, to the fields let us go; How fresh and how fair! In the still morning air, The bright golden grain Waves over the plain; It is God who doth all this bestow. The Sabbath is here; on this blessed morn No tired ox moans, No creaking wheel groans, At rest is the plough; No noise is heard now, Save the sound of the rustling corn. The Sabbath is here; our seed we have sown In hope and in faith; The Father he saith Amen! Be it so! Behold the corn grow! Rejoicing his goodness we'll own. The Sabbath is here; His love we will sing Who sendeth the rain Upon the young grain. And soon all around The sickle will sound. And home the bright sheaves we will bring. The Sabbath is here; in hope and in love We sow in the dust, While humbly we trust Up yonder shall grow The seed which we sow, And bloom a bright garland above. THE CHILD AT HER MOTHER'S GRAVE. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. In that little room of thine, Sweet sleep has come to thee; Ah, mother! dearest mother mine! O, call me to that room of thine! O, shut it not from me! I would so gladly be with thee, And be thy child again; 'Tis cold and stormy here with me, 'Tis warm, and, O, so still with thee! Ah! let me, let me in! Thou took'st me gladly once with thee, So gladly held my hand; O, see, thou hast forsaken me! Take me this time again with thee Into the heavenly land. CHILD'S SONG. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. When at night I go to sleep, Fourteen angels are at hand;-- Two on my right their watches keep; Two on my left to bless me stand; Two hover gently o'er my head; Two guard the foot of my small bed; Two wake me with the sun's first ray; Two dress me nicely every day; Two guide me on the heavenly road, That leads to paradise and God. TO A FOUNTAIN. FROM THE GERMAN OF RAMLER. Lo! this fount is flowing ever; But the fountain prattles never. Traveller! at this fountain stay; Learn of it, with pure endeavour, Good to do, and nothing say. SONG FOR AN INFANT SCHOOL. Children go To and fro, In a merry, pretty row, Footsteps light, Faces bright; 'Tis a happy sight. Swiftly turning round and round, Do not look upon the ground. Follow me, Full of glee, Singing merrily. Birds are free, So are we; And we live as happily. Work we do, Study too, For we learn "twice two"; Then we laugh, and dance, and sing, Gay as birds or any thing. Follow me, Full of glee, Singing merrily. Work is done, Play's begun; Now we have our laugh and fun. Happy days, Pretty plays, And no naughty ways. Holding fast each other's hand, We're a little happy band; Follow me, Full of glee, Singing merrily. THE SUMMER. A FREE TRANSLATION OF A GERMAN POPULAR SONG. Go forth, my heart, and seek the bliss Of such a summer day as this, Bestowed on all by Heaven; The beauties of the garden see, Behold! it is for thee and me Its glories all are given. The trees with whispering leaves are dressed, The earth upon her dusky breast Her robe of green is wearing; The flowers are blooming far and wide,-- Not Solomon in all his pride With them would bear comparing. The dove from out her nest doth fly; Far upward in the clear blue sky The lark her way is winging; Hark to the lovely nightingale! With her sweet song each hill and dale, And woods and rocks, are ringing. The hen brings out her little brood, The swallow finds her young ones food, The stork her house is keeping. The bounding stag, the timid roe, Are full of joy, and to and fro, Through the high grass, are leaping. The brook is tinkling as it goes, And with the myrtle and the rose Its shady banks adorning; While, from the flowery mead near by, The sheep and shepherd's joyful cry Salutes the early morning. The never idle troops of bees Fly here and there, and where they please Their honey food are quaffing; The sap is running up the vine, Round the old elm its tendrils twine, And in the sun are laughing. And can I, may I, silent be? When all God's glorious works I see My soul desires to know him. When all are singing I must sing, And to the Highest I must bring The tribute which I owe him. Are all things here so bright and fair, And has he with a loving care My happy being given? What, in the glorious world above, Where all is beauty, all is love,-- What shall I be in heaven? O, were I there! O, stood I now In that great Presence! there to bow In grateful love before him, Then would I with the angels raise One never-ending song of praise, And worship and adore him! TO A BEAUTIFUL GIRL. Sweet flower! so young, so fresh, so fair, Bright pleasure sparkling in thine eye, Alas! e'en thee time will not spare, And thou must die. The heart with youthful hope so gay, That scarcely ever breathed a sigh, Must weep o'er pleasures fled away, For all must die. But though the rosy cheek may fade, The virtuous wish, the purpose high, The bloom with which the soul's arrayed, Shall never die. THE LITTLE SLAVE'S WISH. I wish I was that little bird Up in the bright blue sky, That sings and flies just where he will, And no one asks him why. I wish I was that little brook That runs so swift along, Through pretty flowers, and shining stones, Singing a merry song. I wish I was a butterfly, Without a fear or care, Spreading my many-colored wings, Like a flower in the air. I wish I was that wild, wild deer, That I saw the other day, Who through the dark green forest flew, Like an arrow far away. I wish I was that little cloud By the gentle south-wind driven, Floating along so calm and bright Up to the gates of heaven. I'd rather be a savage beast, And dwell in a gloomy cave, And shake the forest when I roared, Than what I am,--a slave. My mother calls me her good boy, My father calls me brave; What wicked action have I done That I should be a slave? They tell me God is very good. That his right arm can save; O, is it, can it, be his will That I should be a slave? O, how much better 'tis to die, And lie down in the grave, Than 'tis to be what I am now,-- A little negro slave! [Illustration] FABLES. THE HONEST BIRD. Once on a time, a little bird Within a wicker cage was heard, In mournful tones, these words to sing:-- "In vain I stretch my useless wing; Still round and round I vainly fly, And strive in vain for liberty. Dear liberty, how sweet thou art!" The prisoner sings, with breaking heart:-- "All other things I'd give for thee, Nor ask one joy but liberty." He sang so sweet, a little mouse, Who often ran about the house, Came to his cage; her cunning ear She turned, the mournful bird to hear. Soon as he ceased,--"Suppose," said she, "I could contrive to set you free; Would you those pretty wings give me?" The cage was in the window-seat, The sky was blue, the air was sweet. The bird with eagerness replied,-- "O, yes! my wings, and see, beside, These seeds and apples, sugar, too, All, pretty mouse, I'll give to you, If you will only set me free; For, O, I pant for liberty!" The mouse soon gnawed a hole; the bird, In ecstasy, forgot his word; Swift as an arrow, see, he flies, Far up, far up, towards the skies; But see, he stops, now he descends, Towards the cage his course he bends. "Kind mouse," said he, "behold me now Returned to keep my foolish vow; I only longed for freedom then, Nor thought to want my wings again. Better with life itself to part, Than, living, have a faithless heart; Do with me, therefore, as you will, An honest bird I will be still." His heart seemed full, no more he said, He drooped his wings and hung his head. The mouse, though very pert and smart, Had yet a very tender heart; She minced a little, twirled about, Then thus her sentiments threw out:-- "I don't care much about your wings,-- Apples and cakes are better things; You love the clouds, I choose the house; Wings would look queer upon a mouse. My nice long tail is better far, So keep your wings just where they are." She munched some apple, gave a smack, And ran into her little crack. The bird spread out his wings and flew, And vanished in the sky's deep blue; Far up his joyful song he poured, And sang of freedom as he soared. SOLILOQUY OF ELLEN'S SQUIRREL, ON RECEIVING HIS LIBERTY;--OVERHEARD BY A LOVER OF NATURE AND A FRIEND OF ELLEN. Was that the music of the wind, That whispered in my trembling ear? And can I, free and unconfined, Taste of the joys that still are dear? And can I skip from tree to tree, And fly along the flowery plain, Light as the wind, as fleet, as free, And make my winter's nest again? O, yes! my joyful, trembling heart, The song you heard from yonder tree, Which made awakening memory start, Was the sweet sound of Liberty! Dear Ellen, many thanks I owe For tenderest care bestowed on me; But most my gratitude will flow For your best gift,--sweet Liberty! Oft in your gayest, happiest hour, When all your youthful heart beats high, And, hastening on from flower to flower, You taste the sweets of Liberty, The thought that you have set me free, That I can skip and dance like you, To your kind, tender heart shall be As pure a joy as e'er you knew. Scarce can my wakening sense believe The sounds I hear, the sights I see; Dear Ellen, once again receive Your Squirrel's thanks for Liberty. THE PIN, NEEDLE, AND SCISSORS. 'Tis true, although 'tis sad to say, Disputes are rising every day. You'd think, if no one did deny it, A little work-box might be quiet; But 'tis not so, for I did hear, Or else I dreamed it, 'tis so queer, A Pin and Needle in the cushion Maintain the following discussion. The Needle, "extra fine gold-eyed," Was very sharp and full of pride, And thus, methought, she did begin:-- You clumsy, thick, short, ugly Pin, I wish you were not quite so near; How could my mistress stick me here? She should have put me in my place, With my bright sisters in the case." "Would you were there!" the Pin replied; "I do not want you by my side. I'm rather short and thick, 'tis true; Who'd be so long and thin as you? I've got a head, though, of my own, That you had better let alone." "You make me laugh," the Needle cried; "That you've a head can't be denied; For _you_ a very proper head, Without an eye, and full of lead." "You are so cross, and sharp, and thin," Replied the poor insulted Pin, "I hardly dare a word to say, And wish indeed you were away; That golden eye in your poor head Was only made to hold a thread; All your fine airs are foolish fudge, For you are nothing but a drudge; But I, in spite of your abuse, Am made for pleasure and for use. I fasten the bouquet and sash, And help the ladies make a dash; I go abroad and gayly roam, While you are rusting here at home." "Stop," cried the Needle, "you're too much, You've brass enough to beat the Dutch; Do I not make the ladies' clothes, Ere I retire to my repose? Then who, forsooth, the glory wins? Alas! 'tis finery and pins. This is the world's unjust decree, But what is this vain world to me? I'd rather live with my own kin, Than dance about like you, vain Pin. I'm taken care of every day; You're used awhile, then thrown away, Or else you get all bent up double, And a snug crack for all your trouble." "True," said the Pin, "I am abused, And sometimes very roughly used; I often get an ugly crook, Or fall into a dirty nook; But there I lie, and never mind it; Who wants a pin is sure to find it; In time I am picked up, and then I lead a merry life again. You fuss so at a fall or hurt, And, if you get a little dirt, You keep up such an odious creaking, That where you are there is no speaking; And then your lackey Emery's called, And he, poor thing, is pricked and mauled, Until your daintiness--O, shocking!-- Is fit for what? to mend a stocking!" The Needle now began to speak,-- They might have quarrelled for a week,-- But here the Scissors interposed. And thus the warm debate was closed:-- "You angry Needle! foolish Pin! How did this nonsense first begin? You should have both been better taught; But I will cut the matter short. You both are wrong, and both are right, And both are very impolite. E'en in a work-box 'twill not do To talk of every thing that's true. All personal remarks avoid, For every one will be annoyed At hearing disagreeable truth; Besides, it shows you quite uncouth, And sadly wanting in good taste. But what advantages you waste! Think, Pins and Needles, while you may, How much you hear in one short day; No servants wait on lordly man Can hear one half of what you can. 'Tis not worth while to mince the matter; Nor men nor boys like girls can chatter; All now are learning, forward moving, E'en Pins and Needles are improving; And in this glorious, busy day All have some useful part to play. Go forth, ye Pins, and bring home news! Ye Needles in your cases muse! And take me for your kind adviser, And only think of growing wiser; Then, when you meet again, no doubt, Something you'll have to talk about, And need not get into a passion, And quarrel in this vulgar fashion. Less of yourselves you'll think, and more Of others, than you did before. You'll learn, that in their own right sphere All things with dignity appear. And have, when in their proper place, Peculiar use and native grace." Methought the polished Scissors blushed To have said so much, and all was hushed. LEARNED FRED. FROM THE GERMAN. One short six months had scarcely gone, When, full of all he'd learned, Young Frederick, that hopeful son, From college home returned. To his paternal roof restored, It was not long before The learned man at table poured The treasures of his lore. "Now," said the youngster, "father dear, You doubtless think you see Two roasted fowls before us here; But I say there are three. "_Atqui_ these roasted fowls are two, And one in two must be; _Ergo_,--or logic is not true,-- These roasted fowls are three." "God bless your studies!" quoth papa; "'Tis just as you have said; _This_ is for me, _that_ for mamma, The third for learned Fred." LITTLE ROLAND. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. Lady Bertha sat in the rocky cleft, Her bitter woes to weep; Little Roland played in the free fresh air; His sorrows were not deep. "My royal brother, O King Charles, Why did I fly from thee? Splendor and rank I left for love; Now thou art wroth with me. "O Milon, Milon, husband dear! Beneath the waves art thou; For love I have forsaken all, Yet love forsakes me now. "O Roland! thou, my dearest boy, Now fame and love to me; Come quickly, little Roland, come! My hope rests all on thee. "Go to the city, Roland, go! To beg us meat and bread; And whoso gives the smallest gift, Ask blessings on his head." Now great King Charles at table sat, In the golden hall of state; With dish and cup the servants ran, On the noble guests to wait. Flute, harp, and minstrelsy now tune All hearts to joyful mood; The cheerful music does not reach To Bertha's solitude. Before the hall in the court-yard sat Of beggars a motley throng; The meat and drink was more to them Than flute, and harp, and song. The king looked out, through the open door, Upon the beggar throng; Through the crowd he saw a noble boy, Pushing his way along. Strange was the little fellow's dress, Of divers colors all; But with the beggars he would not stay,-- He looked up at the hall. Within the hall little Roland treads, As though it were his own; He takes a dish from the royal board In silence, and is gone. The king he thinks,--"What do I see? This is a curious way"; But, as he quietly submits, The rest do nothing say. In a little while again he comes, To the king he marches up, And little Roland boldly takes The royal golden cup. "Halloo! stop there! thou saucy wight!" King Charles's voice did ring; Little Roland kept the golden cup, And looked up at the king. The king at first looked angrily; But very soon he smiled:-- "You tread here in our golden hall, As in the green woods wild. "From the royal table you take a dish, As they take an apple from a tree; As with the waters of the brook, With my red wine you make free." "The peasant drinks from the running brook, On apples she may dine; My mother must have fish and game, For her is the foaming wine." "Is thy mother such a noble dame As thou, my boy, dost boast, Then surely has she a castle fair, And of vassals a stately host. "Tell me, who may her sewer be? And who cupbearer, too?" "My own right hand her sewer is; My left, cupbearer true." "Tell on; who are her faithful guards?" "My two blue eyes alway." "Tell on; who is her minstrel free?" "My rosy mouth, I say." "Brave servants has the dame, indeed; But does strange livery choose,-- Made up of colors manifold, Shining with rainbow hues." "From each quarter of the city, With eight boys I have fought; Four sorts of cloth to the conqueror, As tribute, they have brought." "The best of servants, to my mind, The dame's must surely be; She is, I wot, the beggar's queen, Who keeps a table free. "The noble lady should not far From my royal palace be; Arise, three ladies, and three lords, And bring her in to me." Little Roland, holding fast the cup, From the splendid hall he hies; To follow him, at the king's command, Three lords, three ladies, rise. And after now a little while, The king sees, far away, The noble ladies and the knights Return without delay. The king he cries out suddenly,-- "Help, Heaven! see I aright? 'Tis my own blood, in open hall, I have treated with cruel slight. "Help, Heaven! in pilgrim dress I see My sister Bertha stand; So pale in my gay palace here, A beggar's staff in her hand!" Lady Bertha sinks down at his feet, Pale image of despair; His wrath returns, and he looks on her With a stern and angry air. Lady Bertha quick cast down her eyes, No word to speak she tried; Little Roland raised his clear blue eyes,-- "My uncle!" loud he cried. "Rise up, my sister Bertha, rise!" The king said tenderly; "For the sake of this dear son of thine, Thou shalt forgiven be." Lady Bertha rose up joyfully:-- "Dear brother! thanks to thee; Little Roland shall requite the boon Thou hast bestowed on me. "He of the glory of his king Shall be an image fair; The colors of many a foreign realm His banner and shield shall bear. "The cup from many a royal board He shall seize with his free right hand, And safety and fresh glory bring To his sighing mother-land." BILLY RABBIT TO MARY. [Billy Rabbit was a little rabbit which a boy caught in the woods, and gave to a little girl of the name of Mary. She was very attentive to the little prisoner, gave him an abundance of good things to eat, and tried her best to make him happy; but all in vain. After many attempts, he at last succeeded in making his escape, and instantly disappeared in the woods. In the course of the day, the following letter, sealed with a sharp thorn, was received by his friend Mary.] Artichoke Woods. You thought, my dear Mary, you had Billy fast, But I tried very hard, and escaped you at last; The chance was so tempting, I thought I would _nab_ it,-- It was not very naughty, I'm sure, in a rabbit. O, let not your kind heart be angry with me; But think what a joy it is to be free, To see the green woods, to feel the fresh air, To skip, and to play, and to run everywhere. The food that you gave me was pleasant and sweet, But I'd rather be free, though with nothing to eat. O, how glad they all were to see me come back, And every one wanted to give me a smack. Dick knocked over Brownie, and jumped over Bun, And the neighbours came in to witness the fun. My father said something, but could not be heard; My mother looked at me, but spoke not a word; And while she was looking, her eyes became pink, And she shed a few tears, I verily think. To him who a hole or a palace inhabits, To all sorts of beings, to men, and to rabbits, Ah! dear to us all is sweet Liberty, Especially, Mary, to you and to me. So I hope you'll forgive me for sending this letter, To tell you I'm safe, and feel so much better, Cut all sorts of capers, and act very silly, And am your devoted, affectionate BILLY. THE OLD AND NEW SHOES. "Good bye, get away, you ugly old things!" Said a little boy once to his shoes; "All stubbed are your toes, all twisted your strings, You're wrinkled, one-sided, and loose. "But here are my new ones, so shiny and bright, They are almost as smooth as my skin; How stiff they are, too! how straight and upright! How snug my feet feel now they're in!" So saying, he gave to his old shoes a kick, And strutted with pride to the door; His unkindness had cut the old shoes to the quick, For nothing contempt can endure. "Master Frank, Master Frank, stop a while, if you please," ('Twas one of the shoes he heard call); "Our _soles_ cannot bear such insults as these, And your pride, Sir, will soon have a fall." Frank stood still with wonder and looked at the shoe, But could not see into the matter; At last he exclaimed,--"As they've nothing to do, I suppose, like Poll Parrot, they chatter." So he opened the door, and walked down the stairs; His shoes were too stiff to go fast; But let us observe him, and see how he fares, How repentant poor Frank was at last. His shoes were so smooth that he could but just stand, So tight, that they pinched in his toes; He could only sit still, and try to look grand, And remember he had on new shoes. But Fido ran in, who loved little Frank, And the shoes were remembered no more; They began to cut capers, but at the first prank Down tumbled poor Frank on the floor. He was a brave boy, he thought not of crying, He said, "Never mind," though in pain; He whistled to Fido, but there is no denying He fell down again and again. He went to his bed with his heart full of sorrow; He said to the nurse,--"I should choose, If you please, when I'm dressed, my good Betsey, to-morrow, To put on my easy old shoes. "See how red my toes are, and I'm all black and blue; I don't like my new shoes at all." "Ah! you see," answered Betsey, "what I told you was true; Your shoes, Master Frank, are too small." His old shoes he was glad in the morning to see, And, forgetting his trouble and pain, "How happy," said he, "my poor toes will be To get into the old shoes again." The voice of the old shoe now once more was heard:-- "Master Frank, will you please to attend? I wish, with your leave, to say just a word,-- 'Tis a word of advice from a friend. "Never part with old shoes till they part from you; Let your new ones be always well tried; Old shoes and old friends are far better than new, And, trust me, more worthy of pride. "Our strings and our toes are bad, we must own, But they can be easily mended. I have done," said the shoe, in a kind, easy tone, And it gaped as the lecture was ended. New toes and new heels now the old shoes have got, New strings, too, their beauty renew; Frank wears them in peace, and has never forgot The words of the friendly old shoe. THE MONKEYS AND THE BEARS. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF GELLART. The monkeys, 'tis said, once asked of the bears, How it was that their nation so much surpassed theirs, And begged that the means they would graciously tell By which the young bears were kept hearty and well. "Perhaps it may be," said one of the mothers, Who seemed more considerate and wise than the others, "Perhaps," said she, trembling at even the thought, "We give our dear young ones less food than we ought; We may be impatient; I have really some fears That we rock them too little, the poor little dears; Our milk may cause fever, and their stomachs not suit, Or perhaps they are weakened and injured by fruit. Perhaps the whole mischief is caused by the air, And who 'gainst this evil can ever prepare? In their earliest years, it may poison instil, And through their whole lifetime produce every ill. Perhaps it may be, before we are aware, They breathe in a pestilence, borne on the air. Perhaps, for the nerves of us monkeys are weak, In jumping, or leaping, some bone they may break In their breasts." Here, for weeping, she scarcely could speak, And she snatched up her little one long to her breast; With such vehement love the poor victim she pressed, That all its complainings and troubles were stilled; Alas the poor mother! her pet she had killed. Said the bear,--"No longer I think you need seek For the cause why your young ones are sickly and weak; It is not the milk, nor the fruit, nor the air, Nor fault of the stomach, and 'tis no lack of care. Your blind fondness it is that cuts short their days. How is it that we such multitudes raise? As soon as our young ones are able to run, We take them out with us to play in the sun. We take them through floods, through heat, and through cold, And so they are healthy, and live to be old." THE END. A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CROSBY & NICHOLS, 111 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON. CROSBY & NICHOLS have for sale a general assortment of Books in all the various departments of literature, comprising Theological, School, Juvenile, and Miscellaneous Books of all kinds. All Periodicals, both American and Foreign, supplied promptly. A liberal discount to clubs, societies, or individuals, where several are taken. _Foreign Books imported to order by every steamer._ BOSTON: W.M. CROSBY AND H.P. NICHOLS, 111 WASHINGTON STREET. A LIST OF BOOKS RECENTLY PUBLISHED BY WM. CROSBY & H.P. NICHOLS, 111 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON. A MEMOIR OF WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING, with Extracts from his Correspondence and Manuscripts. Edited by his nephew, WM. HENRY CHANNING. Comprised in three volumes, of from 450 to 500 pages each, uniform with the best edition of the Works. Two very superior portraits of Dr. Channing appear in the volumes; one from a painting by Allston, the other by Gambadella. Price $3.00. CONTENTS.--_Part First_,--Parentage and Birth; Boyhood; College Life; Richmond; Studies and Settlement. _Part Second_,--Early Ministry; Spiritual Growth; The Unitarian Controversy; Middle-age Ministry; European Journey. _Part Third_,--The Ministry and Literature; Religion and Philosophy; Social Reforms; The Antislavery Movement; Politics; Friends; Home Life; Notes. NOTICES OF THE PRESS. "A more interesting and instructive biographical work we have never read. High as was our opinion of Channing,--of his intellectual and moral worth,--the perusal of this work has convinced us that we never duly estimated him.... His letters reveal his character more fully than his sermons and essays. In his letters he lays his heart entirely open; and no man, no matter what his opinions or prejudices, can read them without saying,--'Channing was, indeed, a great and good man,--one who lived for the world!'"--_Christian Messenger._ "Only one who was similar in purpose and temper,--who felt like aspirations, hopes, and faith,--could at all do justice to the distinguished subject. The present book must, therefore, we are sure, give us Channing's character in its completeness, and true harmony and proportions of parts."--_Salem Observer._ "These memoirs of a great and good man will, we apprehend, obtain an uncommonly extensive circulation, not only among the denomination of Christians in which he ranked himself, but with all who reverence purity of character, an enlarged philanthropy, and eminent talents, guided by virtue and piety."--_Salem Register._ "If we mistake not, now is the very time in God's providence when the biography of William Ellery Channing could best make its appearance. We have heard that a distinguished divine, of different speculative religious views from Dr. Channing, has recently said,--'Channing is greatly needed among us at this present moment.' Behold him here! We doubt not that the biography thus prepared is to make a great impression on the age that is passing, and that is yet to come."--_Christian Register._ SERMONS ON CHRISTIAN COMMUNION. Designed to promote the Culture of the Religious Affections. Edited by Rev. T.R. SULLIVAN. 12mo. pp. 403. Price, $1.00. This work is not confined to the subject of the Lord's Supper, but "forms a series of practical discourses of the persuasive kind, relating to repentance, or the duty of commencing the Christian course,--to edification, or the encouragements to progressive Christian improvement,--and to the eucharistic service, as affording exercise for all the grateful and devout affections of the heart in every stage of its subjection to Christian discipline."--_Preface._ The following is a list of the writers:-- Rev. H.A. MILES, Lowell. " F. PARKMAN, D.D., Boston. " S. JUDD, Augusta. " F.D. HUNTINGTON, Boston. " C.T. BROOKS, Newport. " N. HALL, Dorchester. " J.I.T. COOLIDGE, Boston. " G.W. BRIGGS, Plymouth. " A.A. LIVERMORE, Keene. " J. WHITMAN, Lexington. " J.W. THOMPSON, Salem. " H.W. BELLOWS, New York. " E.S. GANNETT, D.D., Boston. " A.P. PEABODY, Portsmouth. " J. WALKER, D.D., Cambridge. " C. ROBBINS, Boston. " G.E. ELLIS, Charlestown. " G. PUTNAM, D.D., Roxbury. " J.H. MORISON, Milton. " A. YOUNG, D.D., Boston. " E.B. HALL, D.D., Providence. " S.G. BULFINCH, Nashua. " O. DEWEY, D.D., New York. " S. OSGOOD, Providence. " A. HILL, Worcester. " W.H. FURNESS, D.D., Philadelphia. " N.L. FROTHINGHAM, D.D., Boston. " E. PEABODY, Boston. " S.K. LOTHROP, " " C.A. BARTOL, " " A.B. MUZZEY, Cambridge. "The design of the work is admirable, and we doubt not it is admirably executed, and will promote the best interests of our churches. We chanced to open at Sermon XVIII., on Christian Education, and were pleased to see the idea of Dr. Bushnell's celebrated book on 'Christian Nurture' illustrated and urged in a sermon by Dr. Putnam, preached two years before Dr. Bushnell's book made its appearance."--_Christian Register._ "The tone of these sermons, their living interest, their unpremeditated variety in unity, fit them well for this purpose,--close personal influence on minds of widely differing views, united in the one great aim of a Christian life. We shall probably take an early opportunity of making some selections."--_Christian Inquirer._ "We think the volume is upon the whole one of the best volumes of discourses ever issued from the American press."--_Boston Daily Atlas._ THE GOSPEL NARRATIVES, their Origin, Peculiarities, and Transmission. By Rev. HENRY A. MILES. 16mo. pp. 174. Price, 50 cents. This work is designed for families and Sunday Schools, and contains a comparison of each Gospel with the education, life, and character of its author, and with the purpose which he had in view in its composition; as also an account of the transmission of the Gospels down to our time, and the evidence of their uncorrupted preservation. "This volume by Mr. Miles has substantial value. It is by the circulation and use of such books that Christian knowledge is to be extended, and Christian faith confirmed. By a thorough study even of this small work in childhood, many persons might have the satisfaction of carrying through life a clear and connected idea of the biographies of Jesus, and of the nature of the external evidence in their favor, instead of remaining in vague uncertainty on the whole subject. Bringing into a simple and popular form, and small compass, information not hitherto accessible, except to a limited number of persons, the 'Gospel Narratives' will be interesting to the general reader, whether youthful or adult. It must, without doubt, be introduced in all our Sunday Schools, and will rank among the most important manuals." NAOMI; or Boston Two Hundred Years Ago. A Tale of the Quaker Persecution in New England. By ELIZA BUCKMINSTER LEE, Author of "The Life of Jean Paul." Second Edition. 12mo. pp. 324. Price, 75 cents. The first edition of this popular book was exhausted within a month after its publication. "Mrs. Lee has given the public a most agreeable book. Her style is elevated and earnest. Her sentiments, of the pure and the true. The characters are well conceived, and are presented each in strong individuality, and with such apparent truthfulness as almost to leave us in doubt whether they are 'beings of the mind,' or were real men and women who bore the parts she assigns them in those dark tragedies that stained this 'fair heritage of freedom' in the early days of Massachusetts."--_Worcester Palladium._ "We have been exceedingly interested in this book, and recommend it as a beautiful picture of female piety and quiet heroism, set in a frame of history and tradition, that cannot fail to please every one connected, however remotely, with the land of the Puritans. The accomplished author of 'The Life of Jean Paul' has produced an American novel which we should like to see followed by others illustrative of the facts and manners of the olden time."--_Christian Inquirer._ THE MARRIAGE OFFERING. Designed as a Gift to the Newly-married. Edited by Rev. A.A. LIVERMORE. 16mo. pp. 215. Price, 50 cents. "It was a happy thought that suggested such a volume. We were not aware before that there was so much and so various Christian literature on the subject."--_Christian Register._ MARTYRIA; a Legend, wherein are contained Homilies, Conversations, and Incidents of the Reign of Edward the Sixth. Written by WILLIAM MOUNTFORD, Clerk. With an Introduction to the American Edition, by Rev. F.D. HUNTINGTON. 16mo. pp. 348. Price, 75 cents. "The charm of the book lies in the elevated tone of thought and moral sentiment which pervades it. You feel, on closing the volume, as if leaving some ancient cathedral, where your soul had been mingling with ascending anthems and prayers. There is scarcely a page which does not contain some fine strain of thought or sentiment, over which you shut the book that you may pause and meditate. "We recommend the volume to our readers, with the assurance that they will find few works in the current literature of the day so well worth perusal."--_Christian Register._ "This is really an original book. We have seen nothing for a long time more fresh or true. The writer has succeeded wonderfully, in taking himself and his readers into the heart of the age he describes. What is more, he has uttered words and thoughts which stir up the deep places of the soul. Let those read who wish to commune with the true and unpretending martyr-spirit, the spread of faith and endurance, courage, self denial, forgiveness, prayer. "Of all the treatises we have ever read on marriage, we have seen none so good as one here called a 'Marriage Sermon'; not that we would ask any couple to hear it all on their marriage day, but we commend it to all who are married, or intend to be. The whole book is precious."--_Providence Journal._ "There are few religious books which breathe a finer spirit than this singular volume. The author's mind seems to have meditated deeply on the awful realities of life. In the thoughtful flow of his periods, and the grave, earnest eloquence of particular passages, we are sometimes reminded of the Old English prose writers. The work is a 'curiosity' of literature, well worth an attentive perusal."--_Graham's Magazine._ A TRANSLATION OF PAUL'S EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS, with an Introduction and Notes. By WILLIAM A. WHITWELL, Minister of the Congregational Society in Wilton, N.H. 16mo. pp. 116. Price, 50 cents. "We would express a high opinion of the book, and can assure the Christian reader who will compare it carefully with our common version, that he will rise up from the joint perusal of the two with a better understanding of Paul than he had before."--_Christian Register._ CHRISTIANITY THE DELIVERANCE OF THE SOUL AND ITS LIFE. By WILLIAM MOUNTFORD. With an Introduction by Rev. F.D. HUNTINGTON. 16mo. pp. 118. Price, 37-1/2 cents. "Mr. Mountford is full of warm religious feeling. He brings religion home to the heart, and applies it as the guide of the life."--_London Inquirer._ SELF-FORMATION; or the History of an Individual Mind: Intended as a Guide for the Intellect through Difficulties to Success. By a Fellow of a College. 12mo. pp. 504. Price, $1.00. "The publishers have done good service by bringing forward an American edition of this work. It may be most unreservedly recommended, especially to the young."--_Daily Advertiser._ "Your gift of 'Self-Formation' is truly a welcome one, and I am greatly obliged to you for it. It is a work of quite original character, and I esteem it (in common with all I know of, who have read it) as possessed of very rare merit. I am glad, for the cause of good education and sound principle, that you have republished it, and I wish every young man and woman in the community might be induced to read it carefully. It is several years since I looked into it in the English edition,--but I yet retain a vivid impression of the great delight it afforded me, and I shall gladly avail of the opportunity of renewing it."--_Extract from a Letter._ "This is emphatically a good book, which may be read with profit by all classes, but more especially by young men, to whose wants it is admirably adapted. The American editor is no doubt right in saying, that it is almost without a question the most valuable and useful work on self education that has appeared in our own, if not in any other language."--_New York Tribune._ THOUGHTS ON MORAL AND SPIRITUAL CULTURE. By Rev. ROBERT C. WATERSTON. Second Edition, revised. 16mo. pp. 302. Price, 62-1/2 cents. This book has met with a ready sale in this country, and has been republished in England. A London periodical, in reviewing it, says:--"We will venture to predict that it will soon take its place on the shelves of our religious libraries, beside Ware 'On the Christian Character,' Greenwood's 'Lives of the Apostles,' and other works to which we might refer as standard publications, the value of which is not likely to be diminished by the lapse of time or the caprices of fashion." "The sense of duty in parents and teachers may be strengthened and elevated by contemplating the high standard which is here held up to them. The style has the great merit of being an earnest one, and there are many passages which rise into genuine eloquence and the glow of poetry."--_N.A. Review._ "The Lecture 'On the Best Means of exerting a Moral and Spiritual Influence in Schools,' no teacher, male or female, possessed of any of the germs of improvement, can read without benefit."--_Hon. Horace Mann, Secretary of the Board of Education._ DOMESTIC WORSHIP. By WILLIAM H. FURNESS, Pastor of the First Congregational Unitarian Church in Philadelphia. Third Edition. 12mo. pp. 272. Price, 75 cents. "We are glad to see this book. It is a work of great and peculiar excellence. It is not a compilation from other books of devotion; nor is it made up of conventional phrases and Scripture quotations, which have been so long employed as the language of prayer, that they are repeated without thought and without feeling. It is admirably adapted to the purpose for which it was written; and it may be read again and again with great interest and profit by any one, who desires to enrich his mind with the purest sentiments of devotion, and with the language in which it finds its best expression. Here we have the genuine utterances of religious sensibility,--fresh, natural, and original, as they come from a mind of singular fertility and beauty, and a heart overflowing with love to God and love to man. They seem not like prayers made with hands, to be printed in a book, but _real praying_, full of spirit and life.... So remarkable is their tone of reality and genuineness, that we cannot bring ourselves to regard them as compositions written for a purpose, but rather as the actual utterances of a pure and elevated soul in reverent and immediate communion with the Infinite Father."--_Christian Examiner._ LAYS FOR THE SABBATH. A Collection of Religious Poetry. Compiled by EMILY TAYLOR. Revised, with Additions, by JOHN PIERPONT. 16mo. pp. 288. Price, 75 cents. "It is simple and unpretending: and though some of the pieces are probably familiar to most readers, they all breathe a pure and elevated spirit, and here and there is an exquisite effusion of genius, which answers to the holiest wants of the soul. "Not only great pleasure may be derived from such a volume, but lasting and useful impressions. Many are keenly alive to the harmony of verse and the fresh outbursts of poetic feeling, who would pore with delight over such a volume, and many might thus be won to high thought and serious reflection."--_Christian Examiner._ THE YOUNG MAIDEN. Seventh Edition. By Rev. A.B. MUZZEY, Author of "The Young Man's Friend," "Sunday School Guide," etc., etc. 16mo. pp. 264. Price, 62-1/2 cents. CONTENTS.--The Capacities of Woman; Female Influence; Female Education; Home; Society; Love; Single Life; Reasons for Marriage; Conditions of True Marriage; Society of Young Men; First Love; Conduct during Engagement; Trials of Woman and her Solace; Encouragements. "The sentiments and principles enforced in this book may be safely commended to the attention of women of all ranks. Its purpose is excellent throughout; and as it is everywhere governed by a just and amiable spirit, we believe it is calculated to do much good."--_London Atlas._ "A little work, well worthy, from its good sense and good feeling, to be a permanent and favorite monitor to our fair countrywomen."--_Morning Herald._ A HISTORY OF SUNDAY SCHOOLS and of Religious Education, from the Earliest Times. By LEWIS G. PRAY. Embellished with two Engravings. 16mo. pp. 270. Price, 62-1/2 cents. "The author has been for a long period engaged in the cause of which he has now become the historian; and if ardor, perseverance, and faithfulness in that service qualify him to write its history, we know of no one to whom it could have been more properly confided."--_Portsmouth Journal._ "A volume of great Interest to all who have at heart the subject discussed."--_Literary World._ LIFE IN THE SICK-ROOM. Essays, by HARRIET MARTINEAU. With an Introduction to the American Edition, by MRS. FOLLEN. Second American Edition. 16mo. pp. 196. Price, 62-1/2 cents. "For the principles which it inculcates, for the exalted ideal it presents, for the renovating spirit with which it is filled, the book cannot fail to be a blessing to humanity."--_Christian Examiner._ EUTHANASY, or Happy Talk towards the End of Life. By WILLIAM MOUNTFORD. Author of "Martyria." 16mo. pp. "This is a book which will prove an incalculable treasure to those who are in sorrow and bereavement, and cannot be perused by any thoughtful mind without pleasure and improvement."--_Christian Examiner._ THE CHRISTIAN PARENT. By Rev. A.B. MUZZEY, Author of "The Young Maiden," &c., &c. 16mo. Price, 75 cents. RELIGIOUS CONSOLATION. Edited by Rev. EZRA S. GANNETT. 16mo. Price, 50 cents. CONTENTS.--The Good of Affliction; The Mourner Comforted; Erroneous Views of Death; The Departed; Death and Sleep; Immortality; Trust in God under Afflictions; Filial Trust; The Future Life; Friends in Heaven; Hope; Thanksgiving in Affliction; Trust amidst Trial; Life and Death; The Voices of the Dead; To the Memory of a Friend; A Prayer in Affliction; Duties of the Afflicted; The Mourner Blessed; Consolation; The Dangers of Adversity; Trust in Divine Love; The Promises of Jesus; The Believer's Hope; The Uses of Affliction; Time Passing; The Christian's Death; The Hope of Immortality; God our Father. THOUGHTS; selected from the Works of WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING, D.D. 32mo. pp. 160. Price, 37-1/2 cents. "This is a diamond of a volume, the purpose of which is well expressed in the following 'thought' from Channing, which is put on the title-page:-- "'Sometimes a single word, spoken by the voice of genius, goes far into the heart. A hint, a suggestion, an undefined delicacy of expression, teaches more than we gather from volumes of less gifted men.' "Those who differ in theological views from the gifted Channing will of course find many thoughts in this little volume not to their taste. But those to whom any theological views have ever done much good will nevertheless prize the book for its thoughts. Thoughts they are, not faint reflections of thought. And those who would be wise above all things prize to know what can be thought on all sides of every important subject. To enrich our columns we borrow a gem or two."--_Chronotype._ "A collection of noble thoughts, that may well take its place by the side of the celebrated thoughts of Pascal, which have in them more of metaphysics, but less that touches the human heart. It makes a beautiful pocket volume."--_Christian Examiner._ "We have long desired to see a book of this kind, and now, from a slight examination, believe that it is well done. 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20718	----	THE DAMSEL AND THE SAGE THE DAMSEL AND THE SAGE A WOMAN'S WHIMSIES BY ELINOR GLYN HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS NEW YORK & LONDON MDCCCCIII Copyright, 1903, by ELINOR GLYN. _All rights reserved._ Published October, 1903. TO THE SUN'S RAYS _A tree stood alone surrounded by high and low hills. It could be observed from all sides, and it appeared different from each elevation._ _The tree was the same, only the point of view differed._ _Everything depends upon the point of view._ * * * * * "_And as to the meaning, it's what you please._" _C. S. C._ THE DAMSEL AND THE SAGE And the Damsel said to the Sage: "Now, what is life? And why does the fruit taste bitter in the mouth?" And the Sage answered, as he stepped from his cave: "My child, there was once a man who had two ears like other people. They were naturally necessary for his enjoyment of the day. But one of these ears offended his head. It behaved with stupidity, thinking thereby to enhance its value to him--it heard too much. Oh, it conducted itself with a gross stupidity. 'Out upon you,' cried the man; 'since you have overstepped the limit of the functions of an ear, I shall cut you from my head!' And so, without hesitation, he took a sword and accomplished the deed. The poor ear then lay upon the ground bleeding, and the man went about with a mutilated head." "And what was the good of all that?" said the Damsel. "There was no good in it," replied the Sage. "But he was a man, and he had punished the too-fond-and-foolish ear--also he hoped a new and more suitable one would grow in its place. 'Change,' he said, 'was a thing to be welcomed.'" "And tell me, Sage, what became of the ear?" asked the Damsel. "The ear fared better. Another man of greater shrewdness came along, and, although he had two ears of his own, he said, 'A third will not come amiss,' and he picked up the ear and heard with three ears instead of two. So he became knowing and clever because of the information he acquired in this way. The grafted ear grew and flourished, and, in spite of its remaining abnormal, it obtained a certain enjoyment out of existence." "But who _really_ benefited by all this?" inquired the Damsel. "No one," said the Sage; "the first man went about with only one ear; the second man made himself remarkable with three--and the cut-off ear, although alive and successful, felt itself an excrescence." "Then what _could_ be the pleasure of it all?" demanded the Damsel. "Out upon _you_!" exclaimed the Sage, in a passion. "You asked me what was life--and why the fruit tasted bitter in the mouth? I have answered you." And he went back into his cave and barred the door. The Damsel sat down upon a stone outside. "It seems to me that men are fools," she said, and she clapped her hands to her two ears. "When I am angry and offended with one of you, I will cut the ear from off the head of some one else." And she picked up an apple and ate it. And it tasted sweet. * * * * * _A man will often fling away a woman who has wronged him although in doing so he is deeply hurting himself. A woman will forgive a man who has wronged her because her own personal pleasure in him is greater than her outraged pride. Hence women are more unconscious philosophers than men._ * * * * * The Damsel returned again to the cave of the Sage. There were other questions she wished to ask about life. The door was hard to push ajar, but at last she obtained entrance. "What do you want now?" he demanded, with a voice of grumbling. "Were you not content with my last utterances?" "Yes--and no," said the Damsel. "I came to quite other conclusions myself. I would have kept the ear on my head, since cutting one off, however it had angered me, would have upset my own comfort." "We have finished with that matter now," said the Sage, showing signs of impatience--he was still a man. "What next?" "I want to know," said the Damsel, "why a woman who has Diamonds and Pearls and Emeralds and Rubies in her possession should set such store upon a Topaz--a yellow Topaz--the color she dislikes--and a Topaz of uneven temper and peculiar properties. She never wears this stone that it does not bruise her, now her neck, now her arm. It is restless and slips from its chain. It will not remain in the case with the other jewels. And at last she has lost it--she fears for good and all. And so now all the other stones, which seemed very well in their way, have grown of even less value in her eyes, and she can only lament the loss of her Topaz. 'I am brilliant,' cries the Diamond. 'I set off your eyes, and I love you.' 'I am soft and caressing,' whispers the Pearl. 'I lie close to your white skin and keep it cool, and I love you.' 'I am witty,' laughs the Emerald. 'I make your thoughts flash, and I love you.' 'I am the color of blood, and I would die for you,' chants the Ruby, 'and I love you.' And all these things the stones say all the day to her, and yet the woman only listens with half an ear, and their words have no effect upon her because of the charm of this tiresome Topaz. What does it all mean, Sage?" "It means, first of all," said the Sage, "that the woman is a fool, as what is the value of a Topaz in comparison with a Diamond or a Ruby? It means, secondly, that the Topaz is a greater fool, because it would be more agreeable surely to lie close to the woman's soft neck than to be picked up by any stranger or lie neglected in the dust. But, above and beyond everything, it means that cherries are ripest when out of reach, and that the whole world is full of fools of either opinion, who do not know when they are well off." Upon which the Sage, with his usual lack of manners, retired into his cave and slammed his door. The Damsel sat down upon the rock and came again to her own conclusions. The stone that apparently was a Topaz was in reality a yellow Diamond of great rarity and worth, and that was why the woman valued it so highly. Her instincts were stronger than her reason. But if she had not made herself so cheap by adoring the stone, it would not have become restless and she would not have lost it. Even stones cannot stand too much honey. If ever the woman should find this yellow Diamond again she must be told to keep it in a cool box and not caress it or place it above the others. The Damsel thought aloud and the Sage heard her--he strode forth in a rage. "Why do you come here demanding my advice if you moralize yourself? Out upon you again!" he thundered. "The woman will not find her Topaz, which is now revelling in the sun of freedom and will soon go down into nothingness and be forgotten. And after lamenting until her eyes look gaunt, the woman will begin to see some beauty in a Sapphire and become consoled, and so all will be well." "I do not care what you say," said the Damsel. "_It is better to have what one wants one's self than to try and learn to like anything else that other people think better._" And she refastened a bracelet with great care--which contained two cat's-eyes of no value--as she went on her way. * * * * * Seize the occasion lest it pass thee by and fall into the lap of another. * * * * * No man likes shooting tame rabbits. * * * * * Most men like the hunt more than the quarry--therefore the wise woman is elusive. * * * * * It is a good hostess who never inclines her guests unconsciously to look at the clock. * * * * * Some things cause pride, some pleasure. There is only one thing which causes infinite bliss and oblivion of time, and this one thing, unless bound with chains, is called immoral. * * * * * It is a wise man who knows when he is happy and can appreciate the divine bliss of the tangible _now_. Most of us retrospect or anticipate and so lose the present. * * * * * Seize Love at whatever age he comes to you--if you can avoid being ridiculous. * * * * * "More questions?" exclaimed the Sage, as the Damsel tapped gently upon the door of his cave. "Women are never satisfied; they are as restless as the sea, and when they have received all the best advice they invariably follow their own inclinations." "It was not to discuss women," replied the Damsel, timidly; "this time it is of a man I wish to ask." "Begin, then, and have done quickly," growled the Sage, averting his head. The Damsel had an outline against the sky which caused ideas not tranquillizing for Hermits. "I wish to know why a man who possessed the most beautiful and noble Bird of Paradise--a bird of rare plumage and wonderful qualities--should suddenly see more beauty in an ordinary Cockatoo, whose only attraction was its yellow feathers--a Cockatoo that screamed monotonously as it swung backward and forward on its perch, and would eat sugar out of the hand of any stranger while it cried 'Pretty Poll.' The man could not afford to buy this creature also, so he deliberately sold his exquisite Bird of Paradise to a person called Circumstance and with the money became the possessor of the Cockatoo, who pierced the drums of his ears with its eternal 'Pretty Poll' and wearied his sight with its yellow feathers. Why did the man do this?" The Sage laughed at so simple a question. "Because he was a man, and even a screaming Cockatoo belonging to some one else has more charm at times than the most divine Bird of Paradise belonging to himself." "But was it worth while to sell this rare thing for a very ordinary one?" demanded the Damsel. "Certainly not," said the Sage, impatiently. "What childish questions you ask! The thing was a folly on the face of it; but, as I said before, he was a man--and the Cockatoo belonged to some one else!" "Then what will happen now?" asked the Damsel, placing herself in the direction in which the Sage had turned his head. "The Bird of Paradise will still be the most beautiful and glorious and desirable bird in the world; and when the man realizes he has lost it forever he will begin to value its every feather, and will spend his days in comparing all its remembered perfections and advantages with the screams and the yellow feathers of the Cockatoo." "And what will the Cockatoo do?" inquired the Damsel. "It will probably continue to shriek 'Pretty Poll,' and eat sugar out of the hand of any stranger," replied the Sage, plucking his heard. "And the man?" "The man will go on telling every one he has bought the most divine bird in the world, in the hope that some one will offer him a large sum of money for it. The only person who gains in the affair is the Bird of Paradise, who, instead of being caged as when in the possession of the man, is absolutely free to fly with its new master, Circumstance, who only seeks to please and soothe this glorious bird and make life fair for it." "But what will be the very end?" persisted the Damsel. The Sage turned and looked full at her. He was angry with her importunity and would have answered sternly. Then he saw that the ripples of her hair were golden and his voice softened. "That will depend--upon Circumstance," he replied, and he closed his door softly in her face. * * * * * _A man wishes and a woman wishes, but Circumstance frequently wins the game._ * * * * * Life is short--avoid causing yawns. * * * * * It is possible for a woman to retain the amorous affection of a man for many years--if he only sees her for the two best hours out of each twenty-four. * * * * * "Please open the door, Sage," entreated the Damsel, "and I will tell you a story." The Sage pushed it ajar with his foot, but he did not come out. "There was once upon a time a man," she said, "who unexpectedly and for no apparent reason became the possessor of a Tiger. It had been coveted by numbers of people and was of a certain value and beauty. It had an infinite variety of tricks. It was learned in caresses. It was fierce, and gentle, and it could love passionately. Altogether a large price would have been offered the man for it by many others if he had wished to sell it. In the beginning he had greatly valued the possession of this strange beast, and had fed it with his own hand. The little anxiety as to whether it would eat him or not, or rush away, had kept him interested. But gradually, as he became certain the Tiger adored him, and would show none but velvet claws and make only purring sounds, his keenness waned. He still loved it, but certainty is monotonous, and his eyes wandered to other objects. 'The Tiger is nothing but a domestic cat,' he said; 'I will pet and caress it when the mood takes me, and for the rest of the time it can purr to itself by the fire.' At last one day, after the Tiger was especially gracious and had purred with all essence of love, the man yawned. 'It is really a charming beast,' he said, 'but it is always the same; and then he went away and forgot even to feed it. The Tiger felt hungry and restless. Its quietness and gentleness became less apparent. The man on his travels chanced to think of it and sent it a biscuit. So the Tiger waited, and when the man returned and expected the usual docile caresses, it bit his hand. 'Vile beast!' said the man. 'Have I not fed and kept you for weeks, and now you bite my hand!' Now tell me, Sage, which was right--the man or the Tiger?" "Both, and neither," said the Sage, decidedly. "The man was only obeying the eternal law in finding what he was sure of monotonous; but he mistook the nature of the beast he had to deal with. Tigers are not of the species that can ever be really monotonous, if he had known. The Tiger was foolish to allow its true nature to be so disguised by its love for the man that he was deceived into looking upon it as a domestic cat. It thought to please him thereby and so lost its hold." "And what will be the end?" asked the Damsel. "The man's hand will smart to the end of his life, and he will never secure another Tiger. And the Tiger will go elsewhere and console itself by letting its natural instincts have full play. It will not be foolish a second time." But the Damsel's conclusion was different. "No," she said. "The man's hand will heal up, and the Tiger will caress him and make him forget the bite, and they will love each other to eternity because they have both realized their own stupidity." And without speaking further she allowed the Sage to close the door. * * * * * _It is wiser to know the species one is playing with: do not offer Tigers hay--or Antelopes joints of meat._ * * * * * Next day, in a pouring shower of rain, the Damsel knocked at the Sage's door. It was for shelter, she said, this time, until the storm should pass. The Sage was fairly gracious, and to while away the time the Damsel began a story. "A man once owned a brown Sparrow. It had no attractions, and it made a continuous and wearying noise as it chattered under the eaves. It did the same thing every day, and had monotonous domestic habits that often greatly irritated the man, but--he was accustomed to it, and did not complain. After several years a travelling Showman came along; he had a large aviary of birds of all sorts, some for sale, some not. Among them was a glorious Humming Bird of wonderful brilliancy and plumage, a creature full of beauty and grace and charm and elegance. The man became passionately attached to it; he was ready to perpetrate any folly for the sake of obtaining possession of it, and indeed he did commit numbers of regrettable actions, and at last stole the bird from the Showman and carried it away. Then, in a foreign palace, for a short while he revelled in its beauty and the joy of owning it. The Humming Bird did its best to be continually charming, but it felt its false position. And the worry and annoyance of concealing the theft from the Showman, and the different food the Humming Bird required, and the care that had to be taken of it, at last began to weary the man. He chafed and was often disagreeable to it, although he realized its glory and beauty and the feather it was in his cap. Finally, one day, in a fit of desperation, the man let the Humming Bird fly, and crept back home to the homely brown Sparrow, with its irritating noises and utter want of beauty. Why was this, Sage?" The Sage had not to think long. "Custom, my child," he said. "Custom forges stronger chains than the finest plumage of a Humming Bird. The man had to put himself out and exert himself to retain the Humming Bird in a way that was not agreeable to his self-love, whereas the brown Sparrow lived on always the same, causing him no trouble, and custom had deadened the sense of its want of charm." "Then it seems to me it was rather hard upon the poor Humming Bird!" said the Damsel. "It is always hard upon the Humming Birds," replied the Sage, and his voice was quite sad. * * * * * The rain did not cease for a long time. It was more than an hour before the Damsel left the cave. * * * * * _If you are a Humming Bird it is wiser for you to remain in the possession of the Travelling Showman._ * * * * * A long period elapsed after this before the Damsel again tapped at the Sage's door. He looked out morning and evening, and attributed his lack of enthusiasm for his devotions to an attack of rheumatism from the damp of his cave. At last, one morning he spied her sauntering slowly up the hill, and he retired into the back of his cell, and the Damsel had to knock twice before he opened the window shutter. She was in a gay mood, and demanded a story, so the Sage began: "There was once upon a time a Fish with glittering scales who swam about in a deep river. It had been tempted by the flies of many Fishermen, but had laughed at them all and swam away, just under the surface of the water, so that the sun might shine on its glittering scales to please the eyes of the Fishermen and to excite their desire to secure it. It was a Fish who laughed a good deal at life. But one fine day a new Angler came along; he was young and beautiful, and seemed lazy and happy, and not particularly anxious to throw the line. The Fish peeped at him from the sheltering shadow of a rock. 'This is the most perfect specimen of a Fisherman I have ever seen,' it said to itself. 'I could almost believe it would be agreeable to swallow the fly and let him land me and put me in his basket.' The young Fisherman threw the line, and the sun caught the glittering scales of the Fish at that moment. The laziness vanished from the Fisherman, and he began to have a strong desire to secure the Fish. "He fished for some time, and the Fish swam backward and forward, making up its mind. It saw the hook under the fly, but the attraction of the Angler growing stronger and stronger, at last it deliberately decided to come up and bite. 'I know all the emotions of swimming on the surface and letting my scales shine in the sun,' it mused, 'but I know nothing about the bank and the basket, and perhaps the tales that are drilled into the heads of us Fish from infancy about suffocation and exhaustion are not true.' And it mused again: 'He is a perfectly beautiful Fisherman and looks kind, and I want to be closer to him and let him touch my glittering scales. After all, one ought to know everything before one dies.' "So, its heart beating and its eyes melting, the Fish deliberately rose to the surface and swallowed the fly. The hook caught in a gristly place and did not hurt much, and the novel experience of being pulled onto the green meadow delighted the Fish. It saw the Fisherman close, and felt his hands as he tenderly disengaged the hook. He was full of joy and pride at securing the difficult Fish and admired its scales. He talked aloud and told it how bright he found it, and he was altogether charming and delightful, and the Fish adored him and was glad it had been caught. "Then after some time of this admiration and dalliance, the Fisherman put it in the basket among the cool rushes. The Fish lay quiet, still content. It had not yet begun to pant. For an hour almost the Fisherman gloried in his catch. He opened the lid frequently and smiled at the Fish. "Then he lay down on the bank beside the basket and let his rod float idly in the stream. The sun was warm and pleasant. "'I wish,' he said to himself, 'after all, I had not secured the Fish yet; the throwing of the fly and the excitement of trying to catch the creature are better fun than having it safely landed and lying in the basket,' and he yawned, and his eyes gradually closed and he slept. "Now the Fish heard very plainly what he had said. Tell me, Damsel--you who ask questions and answer them finally yourself--tell me, What did the Fish do?" The Damsel mused a moment. She stirred with her white fingers the water in the basin of the fountain that sprang from the rock close by. Then she looked at the Sage from under the shadow of her brows and answered, thoughtfully: "The Fish was stunned at first by this truth being uttered so near it. It suddenly realized what it had done and what it had lost. 'I, who swam about freely and showed my glittering scales in the sun, am now caught and in a basket, with no prospect but suffocation and death in front of me,' it said to itself. 'I could have even supported that, and the knowledge that my scales will become dull and unattractive in the near future, if the Fisherman had only continued to lift the lid and admire me a little longer.' And it sighed and began to feel the sense of suffocation. But it was a Fish of great determination and resources. 'I have learned my lesson,' it gasped; 'the Fisherman has taught it to me himself. Now I will make a great jump and try to get out of the basket.' "So it jumped and opened the lid. The Fisherman stirred in his sleep and put out his hand vaguely to close it again, but he was too sleepy to fasten the catch, and with less noise the Fish bounced up again and succeeded in floundering upon the grass. It lay panting and in great distress, but it looked at the beautiful Angler with regret. He was so beautiful and so desirable. 'I could almost stay now,' the Fish sighed. Then it braced itself up and gave one more bound, and this time reached the rock at the edge of the stream. "Again the Fisherman awoke, and now casually, with his eyes still closed, fastened up the basket before he slept again; but the Fish with its third bound reached the river, and darted out into the middle of the stream. "'Good-bye, Beautiful Angler!' it said, sadly. 'You were sweet, but you have taught me a lesson, and freedom is sweeter.' "The splash of its reaching the water fully awakened the Fisherman, but he saw the basket with the lid shut, and had no anxieties until his eye caught the pink of the water where the Fish sheltered under the rock. Its gill was still bleeding from the hook wound, and colored a circle round it. Then he opened the lid and found the basket empty. "'Good-bye,' said the Fish. 'Your wish has been granted, and your pleasure can begin all over again!' "But the Fisherman suddenly realized that his rod, while he slept, had fallen into the river, and was floating away down the stream. "'Good-bye again,' said the Fish; 'I have suffered, but I have now experience, and I am grateful to you, and my gill will heal up, and I will smile at you sometimes from just under the surface of the water, and so all is well!' And it flashed its glittering scales in the sun before it darted away out of sight in the strong current." And the Damsel folded her hands and looked into distance. "Thank you, Damsel," said the Sage, gently for him; "but the Fisherman could procure another rod--rods are not rarities. What then?" "That would be for another day," said the Damsel; "and--for another Fish!" And she tripped away down the hill, and was deaf to the Sage, who gruffly called after her. * * * * * _When you have caught your Fish, it may be wiser to cook it and eat it._ * * * * * The sun was setting when the Damsel next came to the Cave. She had a pet falcon with her, and kept caressing it as she propounded her question. "There lived a woman in a Castle who had three Knights devoted to her. She loved one, and her vanity was pleased with the other two. While she continued to play with them all, they all loved her to distraction; but presently her preference for the one Knight became evident, and the two others, after doing their utmost to supplant the third without success, at last left the Castle and rode away. They were no sooner gone, and things had become quiet, and no combats occurred to interrupt the lovers' intercourse, when the chosen Knight began to weary, and he, too, at last rode away, although before he had been the most ardent of all. Why was this, Sage? And what should the woman do?" "It was because the Knight had won the prize and the woman gave him no trouble to keep it," replied the Sage. "He was bound to weary. When a man's profession is fighting and he has fought hard and succeeded, after sufficient rest he wishes to fight again. So if the woman wants her lover back, she had better first summon the other two." For once the Damsel had nothing to say, and had no excuse to remain longer in the cave. The Sage, however, was not in the mind to let her go so soon, so he began a question: "Why do you caress that bird so much? It appears completely indifferent to you. Surely that is waste of time?" "It is agreeable to waste time," replied the Damsel. "Upon an insensible object?" "Yes." "More so than if it returned your caresses?" "Probably--there is the speculation. It might one day respond, while certainly if it repaid warmly my love now, one day it would not. Nothing lasts in this world. You have told me so yourself." The Sage was nettled. "Yes, there is one thing that lasts, that is friendship," he said. "Friendship!" exclaimed the Damsel; "but that is not made up of caresses. It does not make the heart beat." "We were not talking of beating hearts," said the Sage, sententiously. "Very well. Good-bye, then, Sage," laughed the Damsel. "You must think of more stories for me before I come again." And, continuing to caress the falcon, she walked away, stately and fair, into the setting sun. When she had gone the Sage wondered why there was no twilight that evening, and why it had suddenly become night. * * * * * _Most men prefer to possess something that the other men want._ * * * * * It would be a peaceful world if we could only realize that the fever of love is like other fevers. It comes to a crisis, and the patient either dies or is cured. It cannot last at the same point forever. * * * * * The Damsel came back again next day. She had remarked, the day she spent with him in the rain, that the Sage was not so old or so uncomely as she had at first supposed. "If he were to shave off his beard and wear a velvet doublet, he would look as well as many a cavalier of the Court," she mused. And she called out before she reached the door: "Sage, I have come back because I want to ask you just another question. Will you not come out and sit in the sun while you answer?" So the Sage advanced in a recalcitrant manner, but he would not sit down beside her. Then the Damsel began: "A woman once possessed a ball of silk. It was of so fine and rare a kind that, although of many thousand yards, it took up no space, and she unwound it daily for her pleasure without any appreciable difference in the size of the ball. At last she suddenly fancied she perceived some alteration. It came upon her as a shock, but still she continued to use the silk with the casual idea that a thing she had employed so long _must_ go on forever. Then again, in about a week, there came another shock. The ball was certainly smaller, and felt cold and hard and firm. The thought came to her, 'What if it should not be silk all through and I have come to the end of matters? What shall I do?' Now tell me, Sage, should the woman go on to the end and find perhaps a stone? Or should she try to rewind the silk? Which is the best course?" The Damsel took up the Sage's staff, which he had dropped for the moment, and with its point she drew geometrical figures in the sand. But the sun made shadows with her eyelashes, and the Sage felt his voice tremble, so he answered, tartly: "That would depend upon the nature of the woman. If she continues to unwind the silk she will certainly find a piece of adamant, which has been cunningly covered with this rare, soft substance. If she tries to rewind, she will discover the thread has become tangled, and the ball can never again look smooth and even as before. She must choose which she would prefer, a clean piece of adamant or an uneven ball of silk." "But that is no answer to my question," said the Damsel, pouting. "I asked which must she do for the best." "Neither is better nor worse!" replied the Sage with asperity. "And there is no best." "You are quite wrong, Sage," returned the Damsel. "There is a third course. She can cut the thread and leave the ball as it is, a coating of smooth silk still--and an undiscovered possibility inside." "You are too much for me!" exclaimed the Sage in a fury. "Answer your own questions, to begin with, in future! I will have no more of you!" and he went into his cave and ostentatiously fastened the door. The Damsel smiled to herself and continued to draw geometrical figures with the point of the Sage's staff in the sand. * * * * * _There are always three courses in life: the good, the bad, and the--indifferent. The good gives you calm, and makes you sleep; the bad gives you emotions, and makes you weep; and the indifferent gives you no satisfaction, and makes you yawn, so--choose wisely._ * * * * * One can swear to be faithful eternally, but how can one swear to love eternally? The one is a question of will, the other a sentiment beyond all human control. One might as sensibly swear to keep the wind in the south, or the sun from setting! * * * * * And yet we swear both vows--and break both vows. * * * * * A woman is always hardest upon her own sins, committed by others. A man is sometimes lenient to them. A fool can win the love of a man, but it requires a woman of resources to keep it. * * * * * The Damsel did not go away from the cave, as was her custom. She continued to draw geometrical figures in the sand. Presently she called to the Sage once more. "Come out again, dear Sage! Listen, I have something more to say." He unfastened the window and stood leaning on the sill. "Well?" he said, sternly. "Well?" "A Ring Dove once was owned by a man. It was the sweetest and most gentle of birds, besides being extremely beautiful. It adored the man and lived contentedly in its cage. The perches, which the man had had prepared especially for it, were endeared to it from association with the happy hours when it had been caressed by the man. Altogether to it the cage appeared a palace, and it lived content. "The man was a brutal creature, more or less, and at last he cruelly ill-treated the Ring Dove, and exalted a Cuckoo in its place. This conduct greatly saddened the sweet Dove, but it over and over again forgave its tormentor, so great was its love, and even saw the Cuckoo advanced to the highest honors without anger, only a bleeding heart. How long things would have continued in this way no one knows; but the man suddenly gave the Cuckoo the Ring Dove's cage, and let the Cuckoo sleep on the perches which the Dove was accustomed to consider its very own. This overcame the gentle Dove. Its broken heart mended, and it flew away. Tell me, Sage, why did this action cure the Dove of its great love for the man, when it had borne all the blows and cruelty without resentment?" "That is an easy question to answer," replied the Sage. "The Dove was really growing tired and seized this as a good opportunity to be off." "Oh, how little you know of the female sex, even of Doves!" laughed the Damsel. "I can give you the true reason myself. It was the bad taste of the man in giving the Cuckoo the cage and perches of the Ring Dove, which he had consecrated to her. That cured her, and enabled her to fly away." And the Damsel curtsied to the Sage and sauntered off, laughing and looking back over her shoulder. * * * * * _An action committed in bad taste is more curing and disillusionizing to Love than the cruelest blows of rage and hate._ * * * * * A man would often be the lover of his wife--if he were married to some one else. * * * * * There come moments in life when we regret the old gods. * * * * * Time and place--temperature and temperament--and after the sunset the night--and then to-morrow. * * * * * All the winter passed and the Damsel remained at the Court and the Sage in his cave. Both found the days long and their occupation insufficient. At last, when spring came, the Damsel again mounted the hill one morning before dawn and tapped at the Sage's door. His heart gave a bound, and he flew to open it without more ado. "So you have come back?" he said; and his voice was eager, though it was a gray light and he could not see her plainly. "Yes," said she; "I want you to tell me one more story of life before I go on a long voyage." So the Sage began: "There was once upon a time a man of half-measures, whose brain was filled with dreams for his own glory, and he possessed a woman of flesh and blood, who loved him, and would have turned the dreams into realities. But _because_ he was happy with her, and because her hair was black and her eyes were green, and her flesh like alabaster, he said to himself, 'This is a fiend and a vampire. Nothing human can be so delectable.' So he ran a stake through her body, and buried her at the cross-roads. Then he found life an emptiness, and went down into nothingness and was forgotten--" "Oh, hush, Sage!" said the Damsel, trembling; "I wish to hear no more. Come, shave off your beard, and put on a velvet doublet, and return with me to the Court. See, life is short, and I am fair." And the Sage suddenly felt he had found the philosopher's stone, and knew the secret he had come into the wilds to find. So he went back to his cave, and shaved his beard, and donned a velvet doublet, long since lain by in lavender. And he took the Damsel by the hand, and they gladly ran down the hill. And the zephyrs whispered, and the day dawned, and all the world smiled young--and gay. * * * * * _Remember the tangible now._ "_Sic transit gloria mundi!_" * * * * * BY MRS. HUMPHRY WARD LADY ROSE'S DAUGHTER. Illustrated by HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY. Post 8vo, Ornamented Cloth, $1.50. This is Mrs. Humphry Ward's latest novel. It has been hailed as undoubtedly her best, while Julie Le Breton, the heroine, has been called "the most appealing type of heroine in English fiction." "A story that must be read."--_New York Sun._ "Vividly alive from the first line."--_Chicago Record-Herald._ "The most marvellous work of its wonderful author."--_New York World._ "Absolutely different from anything else that has ever appeared in fiction."--_Brooklyn Eagle._ "Love is not here the sentimental emotion of the ordinary novel or play, but the power that purges the weaknesses and vivifies the dormant nobilities of men and women."--_The Academy_, London, England. "Quite sure to be the most widely and most highly considered book of the year."--_Chicago Evening Post._ "The story is the combat between two powers of a brilliant woman's nature. Sometimes you are sure the lawless, the vagabond, and the intriguing side will win. But it doesn't...."--_Boston Transcript._ * * * * * HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers NEW YORK AND LONDON [symbol: pointing hand] _The above work will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price._ * * * * * BY HENRY SETON MERRIMAN THE VULTURES. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Ornamented Cloth, $1.50. A new novel by Henry Seton Merriman is always eagerly welcomed by every reader of fiction. This is a story of intrigue, conspiracy, and exciting adventure among the political factions of the great European nations. One of the scenes is in Russia at the time of the assassination of the Czar. The _attachés_ of the various Foreign Offices play an important part. It is full of exciting, dramatic situations, most of which centre around the love interest of the story--the love of a young English diplomatist for the beautiful Countess Wanda of Warsaw. * * * * * HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON [symbol: pointing hand] _The above work will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price._ BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS THE MAID-AT-ARMS. Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. Post 8vo, Ornamented Cloth, $1.50. Mr. Chambers has long since won a most enviable position among contemporary novelists. The great popular success of "Cardigan" makes this present novel of unusual interest to all readers of fiction. It is a stirring novel of American life in days just after the Revolution. It deals with the conspiracy of the great New York land-owners and the subjugation of New York Province to the British. It is a story with a fascinating love interest, and is alive with exciting incident and adventure. Some of the characters of "Cardigan" reappear in this new novel. * * * * * HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers NEW YORK AND LONDON [symbol: pointing hand] _The above work will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price._ BY JOHN FOX, JR. A MOUNTAIN EUROPA. With Portrait. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. The story is well worth careful reading for its literary art and its truth to a phase of little-known American life.--_Omaha Bee._ THE KENTUCKIANS. A Novel. Illustrated by W. T. SMEDLEY. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. This, Mr. Fox's first long story, sets him well in view, and distinguishes him as at once original and sound. He takes the right view of the story-writer's function and the wholesale view of what the art of fiction can rightfully attempt.--_Independent_, N. Y. "HELL FER SARTAIN," and Other Stories. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.00. Mr. Fox has made a great success of his pictures of the rude life and primitive passions of the people of the mountains of West Virginia and Kentucky. His sketches are short but graphic; he paints his scenes and his hill people in terse and simple phrases and makes them genuinely picturesque, giving us glimpses of life that are distinctively American.--_Detroit Free Press._ A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA, and Other Stories. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. These stories are tempestuously alive, and sweep the heart-strings with a master-hand.--_Watchman_, Boston. * * * * * HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON [symbol: pointing hand] _Any of the above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price._ 
19994	----	THE ÆSOP FOR CHILDREN [Illustration: THE COCK AND THE FOX Fable, Page 58] The ÆSOP for CHILDREN WITH PICTURES BY MILO WINTER [Illustration] RAND MCNALLY & CO. CHICAGO _Copyright, 1919, by_ RAND MCNALLY & COMPANY A LIST OF THE FABLES PAGE The Wolf and the Kid 11 The Tortoise and the Ducks 12 The Young Crab and His Mother 13 The Frogs and the Ox 13 The Dog, the Cock, and the Fox 14 Belling the Cat 15 The Eagle and the Jackdaw 16 The Boy and the Filberts 16 Hercules and the Wagoner 17 The Kid and the Wolf 17 The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse 18 The Fox and the Grapes 20 The Bundle of Sticks 20 The Wolf and the Crane 21 The Ass and His Driver 22 The Oxen and the Wheels 22 The Lion and the Mouse 23 The Shepherd Boy and the Wolf 24 The Gnat and the Bull 25 The Plane Tree 25 The Farmer and the Stork 26 The Sheep and the Pig 26 The Travelers and the Purse 28 The Lion and the Ass 28 The Frogs Who Wished for a King 29 The Owl and the Grasshopper 30 The Wolf and His Shadow 31 The Oak and the Reeds 32 The Rat and the Elephant 33 The Boys and the Frogs 33 The Crow and the Pitcher 34 The Ants and the Grasshopper 34 The Ass Carrying the Image 35 A Raven and a Swan 35 The Two Goats 36 The Ass and the Load of Salt 36 The Lion and the Gnat 38 The Leap at Rhodes 38 The Cock and the Jewel 39 The Monkey and the Camel 39 The Wild Boar and the Fox 40 The Ass, the Fox, and the Lion 40 The Birds, the Beasts, and the Bat 41 The Lion, the Bear, and the Fox 41 The Wolf and the Lamb 42 The Wolf and the Sheep 43 The Hares and the Frogs 43 The Fox and the Stork 44 The Travelers and the Sea 45 The Wolf and the Lion 45 The Stag and His Reflection 46 The Peacock 46 The Mice and the Weasels 48 The Wolf and the Lean Dog 48 The Fox and the Lion 49 The Lion and the Ass 50 The Dog and His Master's Dinner 50 The Vain Jackdaw and his Borrowed Feathers 51 The Monkey and the Dolphin 52 The Wolf and the Ass 53 The Monkey and the Cat 54 The Dogs and the Fox 54 The Dogs and the Hides 55 The Rabbit, the Weasel, and the Cat 55 The Bear and the Bees 56 The Fox and the Leopard 56 The Heron 58 The Cock and the Fox 58 The Dog in the Manger 59 The Wolf and the Goat 60 The Ass and the Grasshoppers 60 The Mule 61 The Fox and the Goat 61 The Cat, the Cock, and the Young Mouse 62 The Wolf and the Shepherd 63 The Peacock and the Crane 64 The Farmer and the Cranes 64 The Farmer and His Sons 65 The Two Pots 66 The Goose and the Golden Egg 66 The Fighting Bulls and the Frog 68 The Mouse and the Weasel 68 The Farmer and the Snake 69 The Goatherd and the Wild Goats 69 The Spendthrift and the Swallow 70 The Cat and the Birds 70 The Dog and the Oyster 71 The Astrologer 71 Three Bullocks and a Lion 72 Mercury and the Woodman 72 The Frog and the Mouse 74 The Fox and the Crab 74 The Serpent and the Eagle 75 The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing 75 The Bull and the Goat 76 The Eagle and the Beetle 76 The Old Lion and the Fox 78 The Man and the Lion 78 The Ass and the Lap Dog 79 The Milkmaid and Her Pail 80 The Wolf and the Shepherd 80 The Goatherd and the Goat 81 The Miser 81 The Wolf and the House Dog 82 The Fox and the Hedgehog 83 The Bat and the Weasels 84 The Quack Toad 84 The Fox Without a Tail 85 The Mischievous Dog 86 The Rose and the Butterfly 86 The Cat and the Fox 88 The Boy and the Nettles 88 The Old Lion 89 The Fox and the Pheasants 89 Two Travelers and a Bear 90 The Porcupine and the Snakes 91 The Fox and the Monkey 91 The Mother and the Wolf 92 The Flies and the Honey 92 The Eagle and the Kite 93 The Stag, the Sheep, and the Wolf 93 The Animals and the Plague 94 The Shepherd and the Lion 95 The Dog and His Reflection 96 The Hare and the Tortoise 96 The Bees and Wasps, and the Hornet 98 The Lark and Her Young Ones 99 The Cat and the Old Rat 100 The Fox and the Crow 101 The Ass and His Shadow 102 The Miller, His Son, and the Ass 102 The Ant and the Dove 104 The Man and the Satyr 104 The Wolf, the Kid, and the Goat 106 The Swallow and the Crow 106 Jupiter and the Monkey 107 The Lion, the Ass, and the Fox 107 The Lion's Share 108 The Mole and his Mother 108 The North Wind and the Sun 109 The Hare and His Ears 110 The Wolves and the Sheep 110 The Fox and the Cock 111 The Ass in the Lion's Skin 111 The Fisherman and the Little Fish 112 The Fighting Cocks and the Eagle 112 [Illustration: THE WOLF AND THE KID] THE ÆSOP FOR CHILDREN THE WOLF AND THE KID There was once a little Kid whose growing horns made him think he was a grown-up Billy Goat and able to take care of himself. So one evening when the flock started home from the pasture and his mother called, the Kid paid no heed and kept right on nibbling the tender grass. A little later when he lifted his head, the flock was gone. He was all alone. The sun was sinking. Long shadows came creeping over the ground. A chilly little wind came creeping with them making scary noises in the grass. The Kid shivered as he thought of the terrible Wolf. Then he started wildly over the field, bleating for his mother. But not half-way, near a clump of trees, there was the Wolf! The Kid knew there was little hope for him. "Please, Mr. Wolf," he said trembling, "I know you are going to eat me. But first please pipe me a tune, for I want to dance and be merry as long as I can." The Wolf liked the idea of a little music before eating, so he struck up a merry tune and the Kid leaped and frisked gaily. Meanwhile, the flock was moving slowly homeward. In the still evening air the Wolf's piping carried far. The Shepherd Dogs pricked up their ears. They recognized the song the Wolf sings before a feast, and in a moment they were racing back to the pasture. The Wolf's song ended suddenly, and as he ran, with the Dogs at his heels, he called himself a fool for turning piper to please a Kid, when he should have stuck to his butcher's trade. _Do not let anything turn you from your purpose._ [Illustration] THE TORTOISE AND THE DUCKS The Tortoise, you know, carries his house on his back. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot leave home. They say that Jupiter punished him so, because he was such a lazy stay-at-home that he would not go to Jupiter's wedding, even when especially invited. After many years, Tortoise began to wish he had gone to that wedding. When he saw how gaily the birds flew about and how the Hare and the Chipmunk and all the other animals ran nimbly by, always eager to see everything there was to be seen, the Tortoise felt very sad and discontented. He wanted to see the world too, and there he was with a house on his back and little short legs that could hardly drag him along. One day he met a pair of Ducks and told them all his trouble. "We can help you to see the world," said the Ducks. "Take hold of this stick with your teeth and we will carry you far up in the air where you can see the whole countryside. But keep quiet or you will be sorry." The Tortoise was very glad indeed. He seized the stick firmly with his teeth, the two Ducks took hold of it one at each end, and away they sailed up toward the clouds. Just then a Crow flew by. He was very much astonished at the strange sight and cried: "This must surely be the King of Tortoises!" "Why certainly----" began the Tortoise. But as he opened his mouth to say these foolish words he lost his hold on the stick, and down he fell to the ground, where he was dashed to pieces on a rock. _Foolish curiosity and vanity often lead to misfortune._ THE YOUNG CRAB AND HIS MOTHER "Why in the world do you walk sideways like that?" said a Mother Crab to her son. "You should always walk straight forward with your toes turned out." "Show me how to walk, mother dear," answered the little Crab obediently, "I want to learn." So the old Crab tried and _tried_ to walk straight forward. But she could walk sideways only, like her son. And when she wanted to turn her toes out she tripped and fell on her nose. _Do not tell others how to act unless you can set a good example._ [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FROGS AND THE OX An Ox came down to a reedy pool to drink. As he splashed heavily into the water, he crushed a young Frog into the mud. The old Frog soon missed the little one and asked his brothers and sisters what had become of him. "A _great big_ monster," said one of them, "stepped on little brother with one of his huge feet!" "Big, was he!" said the old Frog, puffing herself up. "Was he as big as this?" "Oh, _much_ bigger!" they cried. The Frog puffed up still more. "He could not have been bigger than this," she said. But the little Frogs all declared that the monster was _much, much_ bigger and the old Frog kept puffing herself out more and more until, all at once, she burst. _Do not attempt the impossible._ [Illustration:] THE DOG, THE COCK, AND THE FOX A Dog and a Cock, who were the best of friends, wished very much to see something of the world. So they decided to leave the farmyard and to set out into the world along the road that led to the woods. The two comrades traveled along in the very best of spirits and without meeting any adventure to speak of. At nightfall the Cock, looking for a place to roost, as was his custom, spied nearby a hollow tree that he thought would do very nicely for a night's lodging. The Dog could creep inside and the Cock would fly up on one of the branches. So said, so done, and both slept very comfortably. With the first glimmer of dawn the Cock awoke. For the moment he forgot just where he was. He thought he was still in the farmyard where it had been his duty to arouse the household at daybreak. So standing on tip-toes he flapped his wings and crowed lustily. But instead of awakening the farmer, he awakened a Fox not far off in the wood. The Fox immediately had rosy visions of a very delicious breakfast. Hurrying to the tree where the Cock was roosting, he said very politely: "A hearty welcome to our woods, honored sir. I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you here. I am quite sure we shall become the closest of friends." "I feel highly flattered, kind sir," replied the Cock slyly. "If you will please go around to the door of my house at the foot of the tree, my porter will let you in." The hungry but unsuspecting Fox, went around the tree as he was told, and in a twinkling the Dog had seized him. _Those who try to deceive may expect to be paid in their own coin._ [Illustration] BELLING THE CAT The Mice once called a meeting to decide on a plan to free themselves of their enemy, the Cat. At least they wished to find some way of knowing when she was coming, so they might have time to run away. Indeed, something had to be done, for they lived in such constant fear of her claws that they hardly dared stir from their dens by night or day. Many plans were discussed, but none of them was thought good enough. At last a very young Mouse got up and said: "I have a plan that seems very simple, but I know it will be successful. All we have to do is to hang a bell about the Cat's neck. When we hear the bell ringing we will know immediately that our enemy is coming." All the Mice were much surprised that they had not thought of such a plan before. But in the midst of the rejoicing over their good fortune, an old Mouse arose and said: "I will say that the plan of the young Mouse is very good. But let me ask one question: Who will bell the Cat?" _It is one thing to say that something should be done, but quite a different matter to do it._ THE EAGLE AND THE JACKDAW An Eagle, swooping down on powerful wings, seized a lamb in her talons and made off with it to her nest. A Jackdaw saw the deed, and his silly head was filled with the idea that he was big and strong enough to do as the Eagle had done. So with much rustling of feathers and a fierce air, he came down swiftly on the back of a large Ram. But when he tried to rise again he found that he could not get away, for his claws were tangled in the wool. And so far was he from carrying away the Ram, that the Ram hardly noticed he was there. [Illustration] The Shepherd saw the fluttering Jackdaw and at once guessed what had happened. Running up, he caught the bird and clipped its wings. That evening he gave the Jackdaw to his children. "What a funny bird this is!" they said laughing, "what do you call it, father?" "That is a Jackdaw, my children. But if you should ask him, _he_ would say he is an Eagle." _Do not let your vanity make you overestimate your powers._ THE BOY AND THE FILBERTS A Boy was given permission to put his hand into a pitcher to get some filberts. But he took such a great fistful that he could not draw his hand out again. There he stood, unwilling to give up a single filbert and yet unable to get them all out at once. Vexed and disappointed he began to cry. "My boy," said his mother, "be satisfied with half the nuts you have taken and you will easily get your hand out. Then perhaps you may have some more filberts some other time." _Do not attempt too much at once._ HERCULES AND THE WAGONER A Farmer was driving his wagon along a miry country road after a heavy rain. The horses could hardly drag the load through the deep mud, and at last came to a standstill when one of the wheels sank to the hub in a rut. The farmer climbed down from his seat and stood beside the wagon looking at it but without making the least effort to get it out of the rut. All he did was to curse his bad luck and call loudly on Hercules to come to his aid. Then, it is said, Hercules really did appear, saying: "Put your shoulder to the wheel, man, and urge on your horses. Do you think you can move the wagon by simply looking at it and whining about it? Hercules will not help unless you make some effort to help yourself." And when the farmer put his shoulder to the wheel and urged on the horses, the wagon moved very readily, and soon the Farmer was riding along in great content and with a good lesson learned. _Self help is the best help._ _Heaven helps those who help themselves._ [Illustration] THE KID AND THE WOLF A frisky young Kid had been left by the herdsman on the thatched roof of a sheep shelter to keep him out of harm's way. The Kid was browsing near the edge of the roof, when he spied a Wolf and began to jeer at him, making faces and abusing him to his heart's content. "I hear you," said the Wolf, "and I haven't the least grudge against you for what you say or do. When you are up there it is the roof that's talking, not you." _Do not say anything at any time that you would not say at all times._ [Illustration] THE TOWN MOUSE AND THE COUNTRY MOUSE A Town Mouse once visited a relative who lived in the country. For lunch the Country Mouse served wheat stalks, roots, and acorns, with a dash of cold water for drink. The Town Mouse ate very sparingly, nibbling a little of this and a little of that, and by her manner making it very plain that she ate the simple food only to be polite. After the meal the friends had a long talk, or rather the Town Mouse talked about her life in the city while the Country Mouse listened. They then went to bed in a cozy nest in the hedgerow and slept in quiet and comfort until morning. In her sleep the Country Mouse dreamed she was a Town Mouse with all the luxuries and delights of city life that her friend had described for her. So the next day when the Town Mouse asked the Country Mouse to go home with her to the city, she gladly said yes. When they reached the mansion in which the Town Mouse lived, they found on the table in the dining room the leavings of a very fine banquet. There were sweetmeats and jellies, pastries, delicious cheeses, indeed, the most tempting foods that a Mouse can imagine. But just as the Country Mouse was about to nibble a dainty bit of pastry, she heard a Cat mew loudly and scratch at the door. In great fear the Mice scurried to a hiding place, where they lay quite still for a long time, hardly daring to breathe. When at last they ventured back to the feast, the door opened suddenly and in came the servants to clear the table, followed by the House Dog. The Country Mouse stopped in the Town Mouse's den only long enough to pick up her carpet bag and umbrella. "You may have luxuries and dainties that I have not," she said as she hurried away, "but I prefer my plain food and simple life in the country with the peace and security that go with it." _Poverty with security is better than plenty in the midst of fear and uncertainty._ [Illustration: THE TOWN MOUSE AND THE COUNTRY MOUSE] [Illustration] THE FOX AND THE GRAPES A Fox one day spied a beautiful bunch of ripe grapes hanging from a vine trained along the branches of a tree. The grapes seemed ready to burst with juice, and the Fox's mouth watered as he gazed longingly at them. The bunch hung from a high branch, and the Fox had to jump for it. The first time he jumped he missed it by a long way. So he walked off a short distance and took a running leap at it, only to fall short once more. Again and again he tried, but in vain. Now he sat down and looked at the grapes in disgust. "What a fool I am," he said. "Here I am wearing myself out to get a bunch of sour grapes that are not worth gaping for." And off he walked very, very scornfully. _There are many who pretend to despise and belittle that which is beyond their reach._ THE BUNDLE OF STICKS A certain Father had a family of Sons, who were forever quarreling among themselves. No words he could say did the least good, so he cast about in his mind for some very striking example that should make them see that discord would lead them to misfortune. One day when the quarreling had been much more violent than usual and each of the Sons was moping in a surly manner, he asked one of them to bring him a bundle of sticks. Then handing the bundle to each of his Sons in turn he told them to try to break it. But although each one tried his best, none was able to do so. The Father then untied the bundle and gave the sticks to his Sons to break one by one. This they did very easily. "My Sons," said the Father, "do you not see how certain it is that if you agree with each other and help each other, it will be impossible for your enemies to injure you? But if you are divided among yourselves, you will be no stronger than a single stick in that bundle." _In unity is strength._ THE WOLF AND THE CRANE A Wolf had been feasting too greedily, and a bone had stuck crosswise in his throat. He could get it neither up nor down, and of course he could not eat a thing. Naturally that was an awful state of affairs for a greedy Wolf. So away he hurried to the Crane. He was sure that she, with her long neck and bill, would easily be able to reach the bone and pull it out. "I will reward you very handsomely," said the Wolf, "if you pull that bone out for me." The Crane, as you can imagine, was very uneasy about putting her head in a Wolf's throat. But she was grasping in nature, so she did what the Wolf asked her to do. [Illustration] When the Wolf felt that the bone was gone, he started to walk away. "But what about my reward!" called the Crane anxiously. "What!" snarled the Wolf, whirling around. "Haven't you got it? Isn't it enough that I let you take your head out of my mouth without snapping it off?" _Expect no reward for serving the wicked._ [Illustration] THE ASS AND HIS DRIVER An Ass was being driven along a road leading down the mountain side, when he suddenly took it into his silly head to choose his own path. He could see his stall at the foot of the mountain, and to him the quickest way down seemed to be over the edge of the nearest cliff. Just as he was about to leap over, his master caught him by the tail and tried to pull him back, but the stubborn Ass would not yield and pulled with all his might. "Very well," said his master, "go your way, you willful beast, and see where it leads you." With that he let go, and the foolish Ass tumbled head over heels down the mountain side. _They who will not listen to reason but stubbornly go their own way against the friendly advice of those who are wiser than they, are on the road to misfortune._ THE OXEN AND THE WHEELS A pair of Oxen were drawing a heavily loaded wagon along a miry country road. They had to use all their strength to pull the wagon, but they did not complain. The Wheels of the wagon were of a different sort. Though the task they had to do was very light compared with that of the Oxen, they creaked and groaned at every turn. The poor Oxen, pulling with all their might to draw the wagon through the deep mud, had their ears filled with the loud complaining of the Wheels. And this, you may well know, made their work so much the harder to endure. "Silence!" the Oxen cried at last, out of patience. "What have you Wheels to complain about so loudly? We are drawing all the weight, not you, and we are keeping still about it besides." _They complain most who suffer least._ [Illustration] THE LION AND THE MOUSE A Lion lay asleep in the forest, his great head resting on his paws. A timid little Mouse came upon him unexpectedly, and in her fright and haste to get away, ran across the Lion's nose. Roused from his nap, the Lion laid his huge paw angrily on the tiny creature to kill her. "Spare me!" begged the poor Mouse. "Please let me go and some day I will surely repay you." The Lion was much amused to think that a Mouse could ever help him. But he was generous and finally let the Mouse go. Some days later, while stalking his prey in the forest, the Lion was caught in the toils of a hunter's net. Unable to free himself, he filled the forest with his angry roaring. The Mouse knew the voice and quickly found the Lion struggling in the net. Running to one of the great ropes that bound him, she gnawed it until it parted, and soon the Lion was free. "You laughed when I said I would repay you," said the Mouse. "Now you see that even a Mouse can help a Lion." _A kindness is never wasted._ [Illustration] THE SHEPHERD BOY AND THE WOLF A Shepherd Boy tended his master's Sheep near a dark forest not far from the village. Soon he found life in the pasture very dull. All he could do to amuse himself was to talk to his dog or play on his shepherd's pipe. One day as he sat watching the Sheep and the quiet forest, and thinking what he would do should he see a Wolf, he thought of a plan to amuse himself. His Master had told him to call for help should a Wolf attack the flock, and the Villagers would drive it away. So now, though he had not seen anything that even looked like a Wolf, he ran toward the village shouting at the top of his voice, "Wolf! Wolf!" As he expected, the Villagers who heard the cry dropped their work and ran in great excitement to the pasture. But when they got there they found the Boy doubled up with laughter at the trick he had played on them. A few days later the Shepherd Boy again shouted, "Wolf! Wolf!" Again the Villagers ran to help him, only to be laughed at again. Then one evening as the sun was setting behind the forest and the shadows were creeping out over the pasture, a Wolf really did spring from the underbrush and fall upon the Sheep. In terror the Boy ran toward the village shouting "Wolf! Wolf!" But though the Villagers heard the cry, they did not run to help him as they had before. "He cannot fool us again," they said. The Wolf killed a great many of the Boy's sheep and then slipped away into the forest. _Liars are not believed even when they speak the truth._ THE GNAT AND THE BULL A Gnat flew over the meadow with much buzzing for so small a creature and settled on the tip of one of the horns of a Bull. After he had rested a short time, he made ready to fly away. But before he left he begged the Bull's pardon for having used his horn for a resting place. "You must be very glad to have me go now," he said. "It's all the same to me," replied the Bull. "I did not even know you were there." _We are often of greater importance in our own eyes than in the eyes of our neighbor._ _The smaller the mind the greater the conceit._ [Illustration] [Illustration] THE PLANE TREE Two Travellers, walking in the noonday sun, sought the shade of a widespreading tree to rest. As they lay looking up among the pleasant leaves, they saw that it was a Plane Tree. "How useless is the Plane!" said one of them. "It bears no fruit whatever, and only serves to litter the ground with leaves." "Ungrateful creatures!" said a voice from the Plane Tree. "You lie here in my cooling shade, and yet you say I am useless! Thus ungratefully, O Jupiter, do men receive their blessings!" _Our best blessings are often the least appreciated._ [Illustration] THE FARMER AND THE STORK A Stork of a very simple and trusting nature had been asked by a gay party of Cranes to visit a field that had been newly planted. But the party ended dismally with all the birds entangled in the meshes of the Farmer's net. The Stork begged the Farmer to spare him. "Please let me go," he pleaded. "I belong to the Stork family who you know are honest and birds of good character. Besides, I did not know the Cranes were going to steal." "You may be a very good bird," answered the Farmer, "but I caught you with the thieving Cranes and you will have to share the same punishment with them." _You are judged by the company you keep._ THE SHEEP AND THE PIG One day a shepherd discovered a fat Pig in the meadow where his Sheep were pastured. He very quickly captured the porker, which squealed at the top of its voice the moment the Shepherd laid his hands on it. You would have thought, to hear the loud squealing, that the Pig was being cruelly hurt. But in spite of its squeals and struggles to escape, the Shepherd tucked his prize under his arm and started off to the butcher's in the market place. The Sheep in the pasture were much astonished and amused at the Pig's behavior, and followed the Shepherd and his charge to the pasture gate. "What makes you squeal like that?" asked one of the Sheep. "The Shepherd often catches and carries off one of us. But we should feel very much ashamed to make such a terrible fuss about it like you do." "That is all very well," replied the Pig, with a squeal and a frantic kick. "When he catches you he is only after your wool. But he wants my bacon! gree-ee-ee!" _It is easy to be brave when there is no danger._ [Illustration: THE SHEEP AND THE PIG] [Illustration] THE TRAVELERS AND THE PURSE Two men were traveling in company along the road when one of them picked up a well-filled purse. "How lucky I am!" he said. "I have found a purse. Judging by its weight it must be full of gold." "Do not say '_I_ have found a purse,'" said his companion. "Say rather '_we_ have found a purse' and 'how lucky _we_ are.' Travelers ought to share alike the fortunes or misfortunes of the road." "No, no," replied the other angrily. "_I_ found it and _I_ am going to keep it." Just then they heard a shout of "Stop, thief!" and looking around, saw a mob of people armed with clubs coming down the road. The man who had found the purse fell into a panic. "We are lost if they find the purse on us," he cried. "No, no," replied the other, "You would not say 'we' before, so now stick to your 'I'. Say '_I_ am lost.'" _We cannot expect any one to share our misfortunes unless we are willing to share our good fortune also._ THE LION AND THE ASS One day as the Lion walked proudly down a forest aisle, and the animals respectfully made way for him, an Ass brayed a scornful remark as he passed. The Lion felt a flash of anger. But when he turned his head and saw who had spoken, he walked quietly on. He would not honor the fool with even so much as a stroke of his claws. _Do not resent the remarks of a fool. Ignore them._ THE FROGS WHO WISHED FOR A KING The Frogs were tired of governing themselves. They had so much freedom that it had spoiled them, and they did nothing but sit around croaking in a bored manner and wishing for a government that could entertain them with the pomp and display of royalty, and rule them in a way to make them know they were being ruled. No milk and water government for them, they declared. So they sent a petition to Jupiter asking for a king. Jupiter saw what simple and foolish creatures they were, but to keep them quiet and make them think they had a king he threw down a huge log, which fell into the water with a great splash. The Frogs hid themselves among the reeds and grasses, thinking the new king to be some fearful giant. But they soon discovered how tame and peaceable King Log was. In a short time the younger Frogs were using him for a diving platform, while the older Frogs made him a meeting place, where they complained loudly to Jupiter about the government. [Illustration] To teach the Frogs a lesson the ruler of the gods now sent a Crane to be king of Frogland. The Crane proved to be a very different sort of king from old King Log. He gobbled up the poor Frogs right and left and they soon saw what fools they had been. In mournful croaks they begged Jupiter to take away the cruel tyrant before they should all be destroyed. "How now!" cried Jupiter "Are you not yet content? You have what you asked for and so you have only yourselves to blame for your misfortunes." _Be sure you can better your condition before you seek to change._ [Illustration] THE OWL AND THE GRASSHOPPER The Owl always takes her sleep during the day. Then after sundown, when the rosy light fades from the sky and the shadows rise slowly through the wood, out she comes ruffling and blinking from the old hollow tree. Now her weird "hoo-hoo-hoo-oo-oo" echoes through the quiet wood, and she begins her hunt for the bugs and beetles, frogs and mice she likes so well to eat. Now there was a certain old Owl who had become very cross and hard to please as she grew older, especially if anything disturbed her daily slumbers. One warm summer afternoon as she dozed away in her den in the old oak tree, a Grasshopper nearby began a joyous but very raspy song. Out popped the old Owl's head from the opening in the tree that served her both for door and for window. "Get away from here, sir," she said to the Grasshopper. "Have you no manners? You should at least respect my age and leave me to sleep in quiet!" But the Grasshopper answered saucily that he had as much right to his place in the sun as the Owl had to her place in the old oak. Then he struck up a louder and still more rasping tune. [Illustration] The wise old Owl knew quite well that it would do no good to argue with the Grasshopper, nor with anybody else for that matter. Besides, her eyes were not sharp enough by day to permit her to punish the Grasshopper as he deserved. So she laid aside all hard words and spoke very kindly to him. "Well sir," she said, "if I must stay awake, I am going to settle right down to enjoy your singing. Now that I think of it, I have a wonderful wine here, sent me from Olympus, of which I am told Apollo drinks before he sings to the high gods. Please come up and taste this delicious drink with me. I know it will make you sing like Apollo himself." The foolish Grasshopper was taken in by the Owl's flattering words. Up he jumped to the Owl's den, but as soon as he was near enough so the old Owl could see him clearly, she pounced upon him and ate him up. _Flattery is not a proof of true admiration._ _Do not let flattery throw you off your guard against an enemy._ [Illustration] THE WOLF AND HIS SHADOW A Wolf left his lair one evening in fine spirits and an excellent appetite. As he ran, the setting sun cast his shadow far out on the ground, and it looked as if the wolf were a hundred times bigger than he really was. "Why," exclaimed the Wolf proudly, "see how big I am! Fancy _me_ running away from a puny Lion! I'll show him who is fit to be king, he or I." Just then an immense shadow blotted him out entirely, and the next instant a Lion struck him down with a single blow. _Do not let your fancy make you forget realities._ [Illustration] THE OAK AND THE REEDS A Giant Oak stood near a brook in which grew some slender Reeds. When the wind blew, the great Oak stood proudly upright with its hundred arms uplifted to the sky. But the Reeds bowed low in the wind and sang a sad and mournful song. "You have reason to complain," said the Oak. "The slightest breeze that ruffles the surface of the water makes you bow your heads, while I, the mighty Oak, stand upright and firm before the howling tempest." "Do not worry about us," replied the Reeds. "The winds do not harm us. We bow before them and so we do not break. You, in all your pride and strength, have so far resisted their blows. But the end is coming." As the Reeds spoke a great hurricane rushed out of the north. The Oak stood proudly and fought against the storm, while the yielding Reeds bowed low. The wind redoubled in fury, and all at once the great tree fell, torn up by the roots, and lay among the pitying Reeds. _Better to yield when it is folly to resist, than to resist stubbornly and be destroyed._ THE RAT AND THE ELEPHANT A Rat was traveling along the King's highway. He was a very proud Rat, considering his small size and the bad reputation all Rats have. As Mr. Rat walked along--he kept mostly to the ditch--he noticed a great commotion up the road, and soon a grand procession came in view. It was the King and his retinue. The King rode on a huge Elephant adorned with the most gorgeous trappings. With the King in his luxurious howdah were the royal Dog and Cat. A great crowd of people followed the procession. They were so taken up with admiration of the Elephant, that the Rat was not noticed. His pride was hurt. "What fools!" he cried. "Look at me, and you will soon forget that clumsy Elephant! Is it his great size that makes your eyes pop out? Or is it his wrinkled hide? Why, I have eyes and ears and as many legs as he! I am of just as much importance, and"-- But just then the royal Cat spied him, and the next instant, the Rat knew he was _not_ quite so important as an Elephant. _A resemblance to the great in some things does not make us great._ THE BOYS AND THE FROGS Some Boys were playing one day at the edge of a pond in which lived a family of Frogs. The Boys amused themselves by throwing stones into the pond so as to make them skip on top of the water. The stones were flying thick and fast and the Boys were enjoying themselves very much; but the poor Frogs in the pond were trembling with fear. At last one of the Frogs, the oldest and bravest, put his head out of the water, and said, "Oh, please, dear children, stop your cruel play! Though it may be fun for you, it means death to us!" _Always stop to think whether your fun may not be the cause of another's unhappiness._ [Illustration] THE CROW AND THE PITCHER In a spell of dry weather, when the Birds could find very little to drink, a thirsty Crow found a pitcher with a little water in it. But the pitcher was high and had a narrow neck, and no matter how he tried, the Crow could not reach the water. The poor thing felt as if he must die of thirst. Then an idea came to him. Picking up some small pebbles, he dropped them into the pitcher one by one. With each pebble the water rose a little higher until at last it was near enough so he could drink. _In a pinch a good use of our wits may help us out._ [Illustration] [Illustration] THE ANTS AND THE GRASSHOPPER One bright day in late autumn a family of Ants were bustling about in the warm sunshine, drying out the grain they had stored up during the summer, when a starving Grasshopper, his fiddle under his arm, came up and humbly begged for a bite to eat. "What!" cried the Ants in surprise, "haven't you stored anything away for the winter? What in the world were you doing all last summer?" "I didn't have time to store up any food," whined the Grasshopper; "I was so busy making music that before I knew it the summer was gone." The Ants shrugged their shoulders in disgust. "Making music, were you?" they cried. "Very well; now dance!" And they turned their backs on the Grasshopper and went on with their work. _There's a time for work and a time for play._ THE ASS CARRYING THE IMAGE A sacred Image was being carried to the temple. It was mounted on an Ass adorned with garlands and gorgeous trappings, and a grand procession of priests and pages followed it through the streets. As the Ass walked along, the people bowed their heads reverently or fell on their knees, and the Ass thought the honor was being paid to himself. With his head full of this foolish idea, he became so puffed up with pride and vanity that he halted and started to bray loudly. But in the midst of his song, his driver guessed what the Ass had got into his head, and began to beat him unmercifully with a stick. "Go along with you, you stupid Ass," he cried. "The honor is not meant for you but for the image you are carrying." _Do not try to take the credit to yourself that is due to others._ A RAVEN AND A SWAN A Raven, which you know is black as coal, was envious of the Swan, because her feathers were as white as the purest snow. The foolish bird got the idea that if he lived like the Swan, swimming and diving all day long and eating the weeds and plants that grow in the water, his feathers would turn white like the Swan's. So he left his home in the woods and fields and flew down to live on the lakes and in the marshes. But though he washed and washed all day long, almost drowning himself at it, his feathers remained as black as ever. And as the water weeds he ate did not agree with him, he got thinner and thinner, and at last he died. _A change of habits will not alter nature._ [Illustration] [Illustration] THE TWO GOATS Two Goats, frisking gayly on the rocky steeps of a mountain valley, chanced to meet, one on each side of a deep chasm through which poured a mighty mountain torrent. The trunk of a fallen tree formed the only means of crossing the chasm, and on this not even two squirrels could have passed each other in safety. The narrow path would have made the bravest tremble. Not so our Goats. Their pride would not permit either to stand aside for the other. One set her foot on the log. The other did likewise. In the middle they met horn to horn. Neither would give way, and so they both fell, to be swept away by the roaring torrent below. _It is better to yield than to come to misfortune through stubbornness._ THE ASS AND THE LOAD OF SALT A Merchant, driving his Ass homeward from the seashore with a heavy load of salt, came to a river crossed by a shallow ford. They had crossed this river many times before without accident, but this time the Ass slipped and fell when halfway over. And when the Merchant at last got him to his feet, much of the salt had melted away. Delighted to find how much lighter his burden had become, the Ass finished the journey very gayly. Next day the Merchant went for another load of salt. On the way home the Ass, remembering what had happened at the ford, purposely let himself fall into the water, and again got rid of most of his burden. The angry Merchant immediately turned about and drove the Ass back to the seashore, where he loaded him with two great baskets of sponges. At the ford the Ass again tumbled over; but when he had scrambled to his feet, it was a very disconsolate Ass that dragged himself homeward under a load ten times heavier than before. _The same measures will not suit all circumstances._ [Illustration: THE ASS AND THE LOAD OF SALT] [Illustration] THE LION AND THE GNAT "Away with you, vile insect!" said a Lion angrily to a Gnat that was buzzing around his head. But the Gnat was not in the least disturbed. "Do you think," he said spitefully to the Lion, "that I am afraid of you because they call you king?" The next instant he flew at the Lion and stung him sharply on the nose. Mad with rage, the Lion struck fiercely at the Gnat, but only succeeded in tearing himself with his claws. Again and again the Gnat stung the Lion, who now was roaring terribly. At last, worn out with rage and covered with wounds that his own teeth and claws had made, the Lion gave up the fight. The Gnat buzzed away to tell the whole world about his victory, but instead he flew straight into a spider's web. And there, he who had defeated the King of beasts came to a miserable end, the prey of a little spider. _The least of our enemies is often the most to be feared._ _Pride over a success should not throw us off our guard._ THE LEAP AT RHODES A certain man who visited foreign lands could talk of little when he returned to his home except the wonderful adventures he had met with and the great deeds he had done abroad. One of the feats he told about was a leap he had made in a city Called Rhodes. That leap was so great, he said, that no other man could leap anywhere near the distance. A great many persons in Rhodes had seen him do it and would prove that what he told was true. "No need of witnesses," said one of the hearers. "Suppose this city is Rhodes. Now show us how far you can jump." _Deeds count, not boasting words._ THE COCK AND THE JEWEL A Cock was busily scratching and scraping about to find something to eat for himself and his family, when he happened to turn up a precious jewel that had been lost by its owner. "Aha!" said the Cock. "No doubt you are very costly and he who lost you would give a great deal to find you. But as for me, I would choose a single grain of barleycorn before all the jewels in the world." _Precious things are without value to those who cannot prize them._ THE MONKEY AND THE CAMEL At a great celebration in honor of King Lion, the Monkey was asked to dance for the company. His dancing was very clever indeed, and the animals were all highly pleased with his grace and lightness. The praise that was showered on the Monkey made the Camel envious. He was very sure that he could dance quite as well as the Monkey, if not better, so he pushed his way into the crowd that was gathered around the Monkey, and rising on his hind legs, began to dance. But the big hulking Camel made himself very ridiculous as he kicked out his knotty legs and twisted his long clumsy neck. Besides, the animals found it hard to keep their toes from under his heavy hoofs. At last, when one of his huge feet came within an inch of King Lion's nose, the animals were so disgusted that they set upon the Camel in a rage and drove him out into the desert. Shortly afterward, refreshments, consisting mostly of Camel's hump and ribs, were served to the company. _Do not try to ape your betters._ [Illustration] THE WILD BOAR AND THE FOX A Wild Boar was sharpening his tusks busily against the stump of a tree, when a Fox happened by. Now the Fox was always looking for a chance to make fun of his neighbors. So he made a great show of looking anxiously about, as if in fear of some hidden enemy. But the Boar kept right on with his work. "Why are you doing that?" asked the Fox at last with a grin. "There isn't any danger that I can see." "True enough," replied the Boar, "but when danger does come there will not be time for such work as this. My weapons will have to be ready for use then, or I shall suffer for it." _Preparedness for war is the best guarantee of peace._ [Illustration] THE ASS, THE FOX, AND THE LION An Ass and a Fox had become close comrades, and were constantly in each other's company. While the Ass cropped a fresh bit of greens, the Fox would devour a chicken from the neighboring farmyard or a bit of cheese filched from the dairy. One day the pair unexpectedly met a Lion. The Ass was very much frightened, but the Fox calmed his fears. "I will talk to him," he said. So the Fox walked boldly up to the Lion. "Your highness," he said in an undertone, so the Ass could not hear him, "I've got a fine scheme in my head. If you promise not to hurt me, I will lead that foolish creature yonder into a pit where he can't get out, and you can feast at your pleasure." The Lion agreed and the Fox returned to the Ass. "I made him promise not to hurt us," said the Fox. "But come, I know a good place to hide till he is gone." So the Fox led the Ass into a deep pit. But when the Lion saw that the Ass was his for the taking, he first of all struck down the traitor Fox. _Traitors may expect treachery._ THE BIRDS, THE BEASTS, AND THE BAT The Birds and the Beasts declared war against each other. No compromise was possible, and so they went at it tooth and claw. It is said the quarrel grew out of the persecution the race of Geese suffered at the teeth of the Fox family. The Beasts, too, had cause for fight. The Eagle was constantly pouncing on the Hare, and the Owl dined daily on Mice. It was a terrible battle. Many a Hare and many a Mouse died. Chickens and Geese fell by the score--and the victor always stopped for a feast. Now the Bat family had not openly joined either side. They were a very politic race. So when they saw the Birds getting the better of it, they were Birds for all there was in it. But when the tide of battle turned, they immediately sided with the Beasts. When the battle was over, the conduct of the Bats was discussed at the peace conference. Such deceit was unpardonable, and Birds and Beasts made common cause to drive out the Bats. And since then the Bat family hides in dark towers and deserted ruins, flying out only in the night. _The deceitful have no friends._ [Illustration] THE LION, THE BEAR, AND THE FOX Just as a great Bear rushed to seize a stray kid, a Lion leaped from another direction upon the same prey. The two fought furiously for the prize until they had received so many wounds that both sank down unable to continue the battle. Just then a Fox dashed up, and seizing the kid, made off with it as fast as he could go, while the Lion and the Bear looked on in helpless rage. "How much better it would have been," they said, "to have shared in a friendly spirit." _Those who have all the toil do not always get the profit._ [Illustration] THE WOLF AND THE LAMB A stray Lamb stood drinking early one morning on the bank of a woodland stream. That very same morning a hungry Wolf came by farther up the stream, hunting for something to eat. He soon got his eyes on the Lamb. As a rule Mr. Wolf snapped up such delicious morsels without making any bones about it, but this Lamb looked so very helpless and innocent that the Wolf felt he ought to have some kind of an excuse for taking its life. "How dare you paddle around in my stream and stir up all the mud!" he shouted fiercely. "You deserve to be punished severely for your rashness!" "But, your highness," replied the trembling Lamb, "do not be angry! I cannot possibly muddy the water you are drinking up there. Remember, you are upstream and I am downstream." "You _do_ muddy it!" retorted the Wolf savagely. "And besides, I have heard that you told lies about me last year!" "How could I have done so?" pleaded the Lamb. "I wasn't born until this year." "If it wasn't you, it was your brother!" "I have no brothers." "Well, then," snarled the Wolf, "It was someone in your family anyway. But no matter who it was, I do not intend to be talked out of my breakfast." And without more words the Wolf seized the poor Lamb and carried her off to the forest. _The tyrant can always find an excuse for his tyranny._ _The unjust will not listen to the reasoning of the innocent._ THE WOLF AND THE SHEEP A Wolf had been hurt in a fight with a Bear. He was unable to move and could not satisfy his hunger and thirst. A Sheep passed by near his hiding place, and the Wolf called to him. "Please fetch me a drink of water," he begged, "that might give me strength enough so I can get me some solid food." "Solid food!" said the Sheep. "That means me, I suppose. If I should bring you a drink, it would only serve to wash me down your throat. Don't talk to me about a drink!" _A knave's hypocrisy is easily seen through._ THE HARES AND THE FROGS Hares, as you know, are very timid. The least shadow, sends them scurrying in fright to a hiding place. Once they decided to die rather than live in such misery. But while they were debating how best to meet death, they thought they heard a noise and in a flash were scampering off to the warren. On the way they passed a pond where a family of Frogs was sitting among the reeds on the bank. In an instant the startled Frogs were seeking safety in the mud. "Look," cried a Hare, "things are not so bad after all, for here are creatures who are even afraid of us!" _However unfortunate we may think we are there is always someone worse off than ourselves._ [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FOX AND THE STORK The Fox one day thought of a plan to amuse himself at the expense of the Stork, at whose odd appearance he was always laughing. "You must come and dine with me today," he said to the Stork, smiling to himself at the trick he was going to play. The Stork gladly accepted the invitation and arrived in good time and with a very good appetite. For dinner the Fox served soup. But it was set out in a very shallow dish, and all the Stork could do was to wet the very tip of his bill. Not a drop of soup could he get. But the Fox lapped it up easily, and, to increase the disappointment of the Stork, made a great show of enjoyment. [Illustration] The hungry Stork was much displeased at the trick, but he was a calm, even-tempered fellow and saw no good in flying into a rage. Instead, not long afterward, he invited the Fox to dine with him in turn. The Fox arrived promptly at the time that had been set, and the Stork served a fish dinner that had a very appetizing smell. But it was served in a tall jar with a very narrow neck. The Stork could easily get at the food with his long bill, but all the Fox could do was to lick the outside of the jar, and sniff at the delicious odor. And when the Fox lost his temper, the Stork said calmly: _Do not play tricks on your neighbors unless you can stand the same treatment yourself._ THE TRAVELERS AND THE SEA Two Travelers were walking along the seashore. Far out they saw something riding on the waves. "Look," said one, "a great ship rides in from distant lands, bearing rich treasures!" The object they saw came ever nearer the shore. "No," said the other, "that is not a treasure ship. That is some fisherman's skiff, with the day's catch of savoury fish." Still nearer came the object. The waves washed it up on shore. "It is a chest of gold lost from some wreck," they cried. Both Travelers rushed to the beach, but there they found nothing but a water-soaked log. _Do not let your hopes carry you away from reality._ [Illustration] THE WOLF AND THE LION A Wolf had stolen a Lamb and was carrying it off to his lair to eat it. But his plans were very much changed when he met a Lion, who, without making any excuses, took the Lamb away from him. The Wolf made off to a safe distance, and then said in a much injured tone: "You have no right to take my property like that!" The Lion looked back, but as the Wolf was too far away to be taught a lesson without too much inconvenience, he said: "Your property? Did you buy it, or did the Shepherd make you a gift of it? Pray tell me, how did you get it?" _What is evil won is evil lost._ [Illustration] THE STAG AND HIS REFLECTION A Stag, drinking from a crystal spring, saw himself mirrored in the clear water. He greatly admired the graceful arch of his antlers, but he was very much ashamed of his spindling legs. "How can it be," he sighed, "that I should be cursed with such legs when I have so magnificent a crown." At that moment he scented a panther and in an instant was bounding away through the forest. But as he ran his wide-spreading antlers caught in the branches of the trees, and soon the Panther overtook him. Then the Stag perceived that the legs of which he was so ashamed would have saved him had it not been for the useless ornaments on his head. _We often make much of the ornamental and despise the useful._ THE PEACOCK The Peacock, they say, did not at first have the beautiful feathers in which he now takes so much pride. These, Juno, whose favorite he was, granted to him one day when he begged her for a train of feathers to distinguish him from the other birds. Then, decked in his finery, gleaming with emerald, gold, purple, and azure, he strutted proudly among the birds. All regarded him with envy. Even the most beautiful pheasant could see that his beauty was surpassed. Presently the Peacock saw an Eagle soaring high up in the blue sky and felt a desire to fly, as he had been accustomed to do. Lifting his wings he tried to rise from the ground. But the weight of his magnificent train held him down. Instead of flying up to greet the first rays of the morning sun or to bathe in the rosy light among the floating clouds at sunset, he would have to walk the ground more encumbered and oppressed than any common barnyard fowl. _Do not sacrifice your freedom for the sake of pomp and show._ [Illustration: THE PEACOCK] [Illustration] THE MICE AND THE WEASELS The Weasels and the Mice were always up in arms against each other. In every battle the Weasels carried off the victory, as well as a large number of the Mice, which they ate for dinner next day. In despair the Mice called a council, and there it was decided that the Mouse army was always beaten because it had no leaders. So a large number of generals and commanders were appointed from among the most eminent Mice. To distinguish themselves from the soldiers in the ranks, the new leaders proudly bound on their heads lofty crests and ornaments of feathers or straw. Then after long preparation of the Mouse army in all the arts of war, they sent a challenge to the Weasels. The Weasels accepted the challenge with eagerness, for they were always ready for a fight when a meal was in sight. They immediately attacked the Mouse army in large numbers. Soon the Mouse line gave way before the attack and the whole army fled for cover. The privates easily slipped into their holes, but the Mouse leaders could not squeeze through the narrow openings because of their head-dresses. Not one escaped the teeth of the hungry Weasels. _Greatness has its penalties._ THE WOLF AND THE LEAN DOG A Wolf prowling near a village one evening met a Dog. It happened to be a very lean and bony Dog, and Master Wolf would have turned up his nose at such meager fare had he not been more hungry than usual. So he began to edge toward the Dog, while the Dog backed away. "Let me remind your lordship," said the Dog, his words interrupted now and then as he dodged a snap of the Wolf's teeth, "how unpleasant it would be to eat me now. Look at my ribs. I am nothing but skin and bone. But let me tell you something in private. In a few days my master will give a wedding feast for his only daughter. You can guess how fine and fat I will grow on the scraps from the table. _Then_ is the time to eat me." The Wolf could not help thinking how nice it would be to have a fine fat Dog to eat instead of the scrawny object before him. So he went away pulling in his belt and promising to return. Some days later the Wolf came back for the promised feast. He found the Dog in his master's yard, and asked him to come out and be eaten. "Sir," said the Dog, with a grin, "I shall be delighted to have you eat me. I'll be out as soon as the porter opens the door." But the "porter" was a huge Dog whom the Wolf knew by painful experience to be very unkind toward wolves. So he decided not to wait and made off as fast as his legs could carry him. _Do not depend on the promises of those whose interest it is to deceive you._ _Take what you can get when you can get it._ [Illustration] THE FOX AND THE LION A very young Fox, who had never before seen a Lion, happened to meet one in the forest. A single look was enough to send the Fox off at top speed for the nearest hiding place. The second time the Fox saw the Lion he stopped behind a tree to look at him a moment before slinking away. But the third time, the Fox went boldly up to the Lion and, without turning a hair, said, "Hello, there, old top." _Familiarity breeds contempt._ _Acquaintance with evil blinds us to its dangers._ THE LION AND THE ASS A Lion and an Ass agreed to go hunting together. In their search for game the hunters saw a number of Wild Goats run into a cave, and laid plans to catch them. The Ass was to go into the cave and drive the Goats out, while the Lion would stand at the entrance to strike them down. The plan worked beautifully. The Ass made such a frightful din in the cave, kicking and braying with all his might, that the Goats came running out in a panic of fear, only to fall victim to the Lion. The Ass came proudly out of the cave. "Did you see how I made them run?" he said. [Illustration] "Yes, indeed," answered the Lion, "and if I had not known you and your kind I should certainly have run, too." _The loud-mouthed boaster does not impress nor frighten those who know him._ THE DOG AND HIS MASTER'S DINNER A Dog had learned to carry his master's dinner to him every day. He was very faithful to his duty, though the smell of the good things in the basket tempted him. The Dogs in the neighborhood noticed him carrying the basket and soon discovered what was in it. They made several attempts to steal it from him. But he always guarded it faithfully. Then one day all the Dogs in the neighborhood got together and met him on his way with the basket. The Dog tried to run away from them. But at last he stopped to argue. That was his mistake. They soon made him feel so ridiculous that he dropped the basket and seized a large piece of roast meat intended for his master's dinner. "Very well," he said, "you divide the rest." _Do not stop to argue with temptation._ [Illustration] THE VAIN JACKDAW AND HIS BORROWED FEATHERS A Jackdaw chanced to fly over the garden of the King's palace. There he saw with much wonder and envy a flock of royal Peacocks in all the glory of their splendid plumage. Now the black Jackdaw was not a very handsome bird, nor very refined in manner. Yet he imagined that all he needed to make himself fit for the society of the Peacocks was a dress like theirs. So he picked up some castoff feathers of the Peacocks and stuck them among his own black plumes. Dressed in his borrowed finery he strutted loftily among the birds of his own kind. Then he flew down into the garden among the Peacocks. But they soon saw who he was. Angry at the cheat, they flew at him, plucking away the borrowed feathers and also some of his own. The poor Jackdaw returned sadly to his former companions. There another unpleasant surprise awaited him. They had not forgotten his superior airs toward them, and, to punish him, they drove him away with a rain of pecks and jeers. _Borrowed feathers do not make fine birds._ [Illustration] [Illustration] THE MONKEY AND THE DOLPHIN It happened once upon a time that a certain Greek ship bound for Athens was wrecked off the coast close to Piraeus, the port of Athens. Had it not been for the Dolphins, who at that time were very friendly toward mankind and especially toward Athenians, all would have perished. But the Dolphins took the shipwrecked people on their backs and swam with them to shore. Now it was the custom among the Greeks to take their pet monkeys and dogs with them whenever they went on a voyage. So when one of the Dolphins saw a Monkey struggling in the water, he thought it was a man, and made the Monkey climb up on his back. Then off he swam with him toward the shore. The Monkey sat up, grave and dignified, on the Dolphin's back. "You are a citizen of illustrious Athens, are you not?" asked the Dolphin politely. "Yes," answered the Monkey, proudly. "My family is one of the noblest in the city." "Indeed," said the Dolphin. "Then of course you often visit Piraeus." "Yes, yes," replied the Monkey. "Indeed, I do. I am with him constantly. Piraeus is my very best friend." This answer took the Dolphin by surprise, and, turning his head, he now saw what it was he was carrying. Without more ado, he dived and left the foolish Monkey to take care of himself, while he swam off in search of some human being to save. _One falsehood leads to another._ [Illustration] THE WOLF AND THE ASS An Ass was feeding in a pasture near a wood when he saw a Wolf lurking in the shadows along the hedge. He easily guessed what the Wolf had in mind, and thought of a plan to save himself. So he pretended he was lame, and began to hobble painfully. When the Wolf came up, he asked the Ass what had made him lame, and the Ass replied that he had stepped on a sharp thorn. "Please pull it out," he pleaded, groaning as if in pain. "If you do not, it might stick in your throat when you eat me." The Wolf saw the wisdom of the advice, for he wanted to enjoy his meal without any danger of choking. So the Ass lifted up his foot and the Wolf began to search very closely and carefully for the thorn. Just then the Ass kicked out with all his might, tumbling the Wolf a dozen paces away. And while the Wolf was getting very slowly and painfully to his feet, the Ass galloped away in safety. "Serves me right," growled the Wolf as he crept into the bushes. "I'm a butcher by trade, not a doctor." _Stick to your trade._ [Illustration] THE MONKEY AND THE CAT Once upon a time a Cat and a Monkey lived as pets in the same house. They were great friends and were constantly in all sorts of mischief together. What they seemed to think of more than anything else was to get something to eat, and it did not matter much to them how they got it. One day they were sitting by the fire, watching some chestnuts roasting on the hearth. How to get them was the question. "I would gladly get them," said the cunning Monkey, "but you are much more skillful at such things than I am. Pull them out and I'll divide them between us." Pussy stretched out her paw very carefully, pushed aside some of the cinders, and drew back her paw very quickly. Then she tried it again, this time pulling a chestnut half out of the fire. A third time and she drew out the chestnut. This performance she went through several times, each time singeing her paw severely. As fast as she pulled the chestnuts out of the fire, the Monkey ate them up. Now the master came in, and away scampered the rascals, Mistress Cat with a burnt paw and no chestnuts. From that time on, they say, she contented herself with mice and rats and had little to do with Sir Monkey. _The flatterer seeks some benefit at your expense._ THE DOGS AND THE FOX Some Dogs found the skin of a Lion and furiously began to tear it with their teeth. A Fox chanced to see them and laughed scornfully. "If that Lion had been alive," he said, "it would have been a very different story. He would have made you feel how much sharper his claws are than your teeth." _It is easy and also contemptible to kick a man that is down._ THE DOGS AND THE HIDES Some hungry Dogs saw a number of hides at the bottom of a stream where the Tanner had put them to soak. A fine hide makes an excellent meal for a hungry Dog, but the water was deep and the Dogs could not reach the hides from the bank. So they held a council and decided that the very best thing to do was to drink up the river. All fell to lapping up the water as fast as they could. But though they drank and drank until, one after another, all of them had burst with drinking, still, for all their effort, the water in the river remained as high as ever. _Do not try to do impossible things._ THE RABBIT, THE WEASEL, AND THE CAT A Rabbit left his home one day for a dinner of clover. But he forgot to latch the door of his house and while he was gone a Weasel walked in and calmly made himself at home. When the Rabbit returned, there was the Weasel's nose sticking out of the Rabbit's own doorway, sniffing the fine air. The Rabbit was quite angry--for a Rabbit--, and requested the Weasel to move out. But the Weasel was perfectly content. He was settled down for good. [Illustration] A wise old Cat heard the dispute and offered to settle it. "Come close to me," said the Cat, "I am very deaf. Put your mouths close to my ears while you tell me the facts." The unsuspecting pair did as they were told and in an instant the Cat had them both under her claws. No one could deny that the dispute had been definitely settled. _The strong are apt to settle questions to their own advantage._ [Illustration] THE BEAR AND THE BEES A Bear roaming the woods in search of berries happened on a fallen tree in which a swarm of Bees had stored their honey. The Bear began to nose around the log very carefully to find out if the Bees were at home. Just then one of the swarm came home from the clover field with a load of sweets. Guessing what the Bear was after, the Bee flew at him, stung him sharply and then disappeared into the hollow log. The Bear lost his temper in an instant, and sprang upon the log tooth and claw, to destroy the nest. But this only brought out the whole swarm. The poor Bear had to take to his heels, and he was able to save himself only by diving into a pool of water. _It is wiser to bear a single injury in silence than to provoke a thousand by flying into a rage._ THE FOX AND THE LEOPARD A Fox and a Leopard, resting lazily after a generous dinner, amused themselves by disputing about their good looks. The Leopard was very proud of his glossy, spotted coat and made disdainful remarks about the Fox, whose appearance he declared was quite ordinary. The Fox prided himself on his fine bushy tail with its tip of white, but he was wise enough to see that he could not rival the Leopard in looks. Still he kept up a flow of sarcastic talk, just to exercise his wits and to have the fun of disputing. The Leopard was about to lose his temper when the Fox got up, yawning lazily. "You may have a very smart coat," he said, "but you would be a great deal better off if you had a little more smartness inside your head and less on your ribs, the way I am. That's what I call real beauty." _A fine coat is not always an indication of an attractive mind._ [Illustration: THE FOX AND THE LEOPARD] [Illustration] THE HERON A Heron was walking sedately along the bank of a stream, his eyes on the clear water, and his long neck and pointed bill ready to snap up a likely morsel for his breakfast. The clear water swarmed with fish, but Master Heron was hard to please that morning. "No small fry for me," he said. "Such scanty fare is not fit for a Heron." Now a fine young Perch swam near. "No indeed," said the Heron. "I wouldn't even trouble to open my beak for anything like that!" As the sun rose, the fish left the shallow water near the shore and swam below into the cool depths toward the middle. The Heron saw no more fish, and very glad was he at last to breakfast on a tiny Snail. _Do not be too hard to suit or you may have to be content with the worst or with nothing at all._ THE COCK AND THE FOX One bright evening as the sun was sinking on a glorious world a wise old Cock flew into a tree to roost. Before he composed himself to rest, he flapped his wings three times and crowed loudly. But just as he was about to put his head under his wing, his beady eyes caught a flash of red and a glimpse of a long pointed nose, and there just below him stood Master Fox. "Have you heard the wonderful news?" cried the Fox in a very joyful and excited manner. "What news?" asked the Cock very calmly. But he had a queer, fluttery feeling inside him, for, you know, he was very much afraid of the Fox. "Your family and mine and all other animals have agreed to forget their differences and live in peace and friendship from now on forever. Just think of it! I simply cannot wait to embrace you! Do come down, dear friend, and let us celebrate the joyful event." "How grand!" said the Cock. "I certainly am delighted at the news." But he spoke in an absent way, and stretching up on tiptoes, seemed to be looking at something afar off. "What is it you see?" asked the Fox a little anxiously. "Why, it looks to me like a couple of Dogs coming this way. They must have heard the good news and--" But the Fox did not wait to hear more. Off he started on a run. "Wait," cried the Cock. "Why do you run? The Dogs are friends of yours now!" "Yes," answered the Fox. "But they might not have heard the news. Besides, I have a very important errand that I had almost forgotten about." The Cock smiled as he buried his head in his feathers and went to sleep, for he had succeeded in outwitting a very crafty enemy. _The trickster is easily tricked._ [Illustration] THE DOG IN THE MANGER A Dog asleep in a manger filled with hay, was awakened by the Cattle, which came in tired and hungry from working in the field. But the Dog would not let them get near the manger, and snarled and snapped as if it were filled with the best of meat and bones, all for himself. The Cattle looked at the Dog in disgust. "How selfish he is!" said one. "He cannot eat the hay and yet he will not let us eat it who are so hungry for it!" Now the farmer came in. When he saw how the Dog was acting, he seized a stick and drove him out of the stable with many a blow for his selfish behavior. _Do not grudge others what you cannot enjoy yourself._ [Illustration] THE WOLF AND THE GOAT A hungry Wolf spied a Goat browsing at the top of a steep cliff where he could not possibly get at her. "That is a very dangerous place for you," he called out, pretending to be very anxious about the Goat's safety. "What if you should fall! Please listen to me and come down! Here you can get all you want of the finest, tenderest grass in the country." The Goat looked over the edge of the cliff. "How very, very anxious you are about me," she said, "and how generous you are with your grass! But I know you! It's your _own_ appetite you are thinking of, not mine!" _An invitation prompted by selfishness is not to be accepted._ THE ASS AND THE GRASSHOPPERS One day as an Ass was walking in the pasture, he found some Grasshoppers chirping merrily in a grassy corner of the field. He listened with a great deal of admiration to the song of the Grasshoppers. It was such a joyful song that his pleasure-loving heart was filled with a wish to sing as they did. "What is it?" he asked very respectfully, "that has given you such beautiful voices? Is there any special food you eat, or is it some divine nectar that makes you sing so wonderfully?" "Yes," said the Grasshoppers, who were very fond of a joke; "it is the dew we drink! Try some and see." So thereafter the Ass would eat nothing and drink nothing but dew. Naturally, the poor foolish Ass soon died. _The laws of nature are unchangeable._ THE MULE A Mule had had a long rest and much good feeding. He was feeling very vigorous indeed, and pranced around loftily, holding his head high. "My father certainly was a full-blooded racer," he said. "I can feel that distinctly." Next day he was put into harness again and that evening he was very downhearted indeed. "I was mistaken," he said. "My father was an Ass after all." _Be sure of your pedigree before you boast of it._ THE FOX AND THE GOAT A Fox fell into a well, and though it was not very deep, he found that he could not get out again. After he had been in the well a long time, a thirsty Goat came by. The Goat thought the Fox had gone down to drink, and so he asked if the water was good. "The finest in the whole country," said the crafty Fox, "jump in and try it. There is more than enough for both of us." The thirsty Goat immediately jumped in and began to drink. The Fox just as quickly jumped on the Goat's back and leaped from the tip of the Goat's horns out of the well. The foolish Goat now saw what a plight he had got into, and begged the Fox to help him out. But the Fox was already on his way to the woods. "If you had as much sense as you have beard, old fellow," he said as he ran, "you would have been more cautious about finding a way to get out again before you jumped in." _Look before you leap._ [Illustration] [Illustration] THE CAT, THE COCK, AND THE YOUNG MOUSE A very young Mouse, who had never seen anything of the world, almost came to grief the very first time he ventured out. And this is the story he told his mother about his adventures. "I was strolling along very peaceably when, just as I turned the corner into the next yard, I saw two strange creatures. One of them had a very kind and gracious look, but the other was the most fearful monster you can imagine. You should have seen him. "On top of his head and in front of his neck hung pieces of raw red meat. He walked about restlessly, tearing up the ground with his toes, and beating his arms savagely against his sides. The moment he caught sight of me he opened his pointed mouth as if to swallow me, and then he let out a piercing roar that frightened me almost to death." Can you guess who it was that our young Mouse was trying to describe to his mother? It was nobody but the Barnyard Cock and the first one the little Mouse had ever seen. "If it had not been for that terrible monster," the Mouse went on, "I should have made the acquaintance of the pretty creature, who looked so good and gentle. He had thick, velvety fur, a meek face, and a look that was very modest, though his eyes were bright and shining. As he looked at me he waved his fine long tail and smiled. "I am sure he was just about to speak to me when the monster I have told you about let out a screaming yell, and I ran for my life." "My son," said the Mother Mouse, "that gentle creature you saw was none other than the Cat. Under his kindly appearance, he bears a grudge against every one of us. The other was nothing but a bird who wouldn't harm you in the least. As for the Cat, he eats us. So be thankful, my child, that you escaped with your life, and, as long as you live, never judge people by their looks." _Do not trust alone to outward appearances._ [Illustration] THE WOLF AND THE SHEPHERD A Wolf had been prowling around a flock of Sheep for a long time, and the Shepherd watched very anxiously to prevent him from carrying off a Lamb. But the Wolf did not try to do any harm. Instead he seemed to be helping the Shepherd take care of the Sheep. At last the Shepherd got so used to seeing the Wolf about that he forgot how wicked he could be. One day he even went so far as to leave his flock in the Wolf's care while he went on an errand. But when he came back and saw how many of the flock had been killed and carried off, he knew how foolish to trust a Wolf. _Once a wolf, always a wolf._ [Illustration] THE PEACOCK AND THE CRANE A Peacock, puffed up with vanity, met a Crane one day, and to impress him spread his gorgeous tail in the Sun. "Look," he said. "What have you to compare with this? I am dressed in all the glory of the rainbow, while your feathers are gray as dust!" The Crane spread his broad wings and flew up toward the sun. "Follow me if you can," he said. But the Peacock stood where he was among the birds of the barnyard, while the Crane soared in freedom far up into the blue sky. _The useful is of much more importance and value, than the ornamental._ THE FARMER AND THE CRANES Some Cranes saw a farmer plowing a large field. When the work of plowing was done, they patiently watched him sow the seed. It was their feast, they thought. So, as soon as the Farmer had finished planting and had gone home, down they flew to the field, and began to eat as fast as they could. The Farmer, of course, knew the Cranes and their ways. He had had experience with such birds before. He soon returned to the field with a sling. But he did not bring any stones with him. He expected to scare the Cranes just by swinging the sling in the air, and shouting loudly at them. At first the Cranes flew away in great terror. But they soon began to see that none of them ever got hurt. They did not even hear the noise of stones whizzing through the air, and as for words, they would kill nobody. At last they paid no attention whatever to the Farmer. The Farmer saw that he would have to take other measures. He wanted to save at least some of his grain. So he loaded his sling with stones and killed several of the Cranes. This had the effect the Farmer wanted, for from that day the Cranes visited his field no more. _Bluff and threatening words are of little value with rascals._ _Bluff is no proof that hard fists are lacking._ THE FARMER AND HIS SONS A rich old farmer, who felt that he had not many more days to live, called his sons to his bedside. "My sons," he said, "heed what I have to say to you. Do not on any account part with the estate that has belonged to our family for so many generations. Somewhere on it is hidden a rich treasure. I do not know the exact spot, but it is there, and you will surely find it. Spare no energy and leave no spot unturned in your search." The father died, and no sooner was he in his grave than the sons set to work digging with all their might, turning up every foot of ground with their spades, and going over the whole farm two or three times. [Illustration] No hidden gold did they find; but at harvest time when they had settled their accounts and had pocketed a rich profit far greater than that of any of their neighbors, they understood that the treasure their father had told them about was the wealth of a bountiful crop, and that in their industry had they found the treasure. _Industry is itself a treasure._ [Illustration] THE TWO POTS Two Pots, one of brass and the other of clay, stood together on the hearthstone. One day the Brass Pot proposed to the Earthen Pot that they go out into the world together. But the Earthen Pot excused himself, saying that it would be wiser for him to stay in the corner by the fire. "It would take so little to break me," he said. "You know how fragile I am. The least shock is sure to shatter me!" "Don't let that keep you at home," urged the Brass Pot. "I shall take very good care of you. If we should happen to meet anything hard I will step between and save you." So the Earthen Pot at last consented, and the two set out side by side, jolting along on three stubby legs first to this side, then to that, and bumping into each other at every step. The Earthen Pot could not survive that sort of companionship very long. They had not gone ten paces before the Earthen Pot cracked, and at the next jolt he flew into a thousand pieces. _Equals make the best friends._ THE GOOSE AND THE GOLDEN EGG There was once a Countryman who possessed the most wonderful Goose you can imagine, for every day when he visited the nest, the Goose had laid a beautiful, glittering, golden egg. The Countryman took the eggs to market and soon began to get rich. But it was not long before he grew impatient with the Goose because she gave him only a single golden egg a day. He was not getting rich fast enough. Then one day, after he had finished counting his money, the idea came to him that he could get all the golden eggs at once by killing the Goose and cutting it open. But when the deed was done, not a single golden egg did he find, and his precious Goose was dead. _Those who have plenty want more and so lose all they have._ [Illustration: THE GOOSE AND THE GOLDEN EGG] [Illustration] THE FIGHTING BULLS AND THE FROG Two Bulls were fighting furiously in a field, at one side of which was a marsh. An old Frog living in the marsh, trembled as he watched the fierce battle. "What are _you_ afraid of?" asked a young Frog. "Do you not see," replied the old Frog, "that the Bull who is beaten, will be driven away from the good forage up there to the reeds of this marsh, and we shall all be trampled into the mud?" It turned out as the Frog had said. The beaten Bull was driven to the marsh, where his great hoofs crushed the Frogs to death. _When the great fall out, the weak must suffer for it._ THE MOUSE AND THE WEASEL A little hungry Mouse found his way one day into a basket of corn. He had to squeeze himself a good deal to get through the narrow opening between the strips of the basket. But the corn was tempting and the Mouse was determined to get in. When at last he had succeeded, he gorged himself to bursting. Indeed he became about three times as big around the middle as he was when he went in. At last he felt satisfied and dragged himself to the opening to get out again. But the best he could do was to get his head out. So there he sat groaning and moaning, both from the discomfort inside him and his anxiety to escape from the basket. Just then a Weasel came by. He understood the situation quickly. "My friend," he said, "I know what you've been doing. You've been stuffing. That's what you get. You will have to stay there till you feel just like you did when you went in. Good night, and good enough for you." And that was all the sympathy the poor Mouse got. _Greediness leads to misfortune._ THE FARMER AND THE SNAKE A Farmer walked through his field one cold winter morning. On the ground lay a Snake, stiff and frozen with the cold. The Farmer knew how deadly the Snake could be, and yet he picked it up and put it in his bosom to warm it back to life. The Snake soon revived, and when it had enough strength, bit the man who had been so kind to it. The bite was deadly and the Farmer felt that he must die. As he drew his last breath, he said to those standing around: _Learn from my fate not to take pity on a scoundrel._ THE SICK STAG A Stag had fallen sick. He had just strength enough to gather some food and find a quiet clearing in the woods, where he lay down to wait until his strength should return. The Animals heard about the Stag's illness and came to ask after his health. Of course, they were all hungry, and helped themselves freely to the Stag's food; and as you would expect, the Stag soon starved to death. _Good will is worth nothing unless it is accompanied by good acts._ [Illustration] THE GOATHERD AND THE WILD GOATS One cold stormy day a Goatherd drove his Goats for shelter into a cave, where a number of Wild Goats had also found their way. The Shepherd wanted to make the Wild Goats part of his flock; so he fed them well. But to his own flock, he gave only just enough food to keep them alive. When the weather cleared, and the Shepherd led the Goats out to feed, the Wild Goats scampered off to the hills. "Is that the thanks I get for feeding you and treating you so well?" complained the Shepherd. "Do not expect us to join your flock," replied one of the Wild Goats. "We know how you would treat us later on, if some strangers should come as we did." _It is unwise to treat old friends badly for the sake of new ones._ [Illustration] THE SPENDTHRIFT AND THE SWALLOW A young fellow, who was very popular among his boon companions as a good spender, quickly wasted his fortune trying to live up to his reputation. Then one fine day in early spring he found himself with not a penny left, and no property save the clothes he wore. He was to meet some jolly young men that morning, and he was at his wits' end how to get enough money to keep up appearances. Just then a Swallow flew by, twittering merrily, and the young man, thinking summer had come, hastened off to a clothes dealer, to whom he sold all the clothes he wore down to his very tunic. A few days later a change in weather brought a severe frost; and the poor swallow and that foolish young man in his light tunic, and with his arms and knees bare, could scarcely keep life in their shivering bodies. _One swallow does not make a summer._ THE CAT AND THE BIRDS A Cat was growing very thin. As you have guessed, he did not get enough to eat. One day he heard that some Birds in the neighborhood were ailing and needed a doctor. So he put on a pair of spectacles, and with a leather box in his hand, knocked at the door of the Bird's home. The Birds peeped out, and Dr. Cat, with much solicitude, asked how they were. He would be very happy to give them some medicine. "Tweet, tweet," laughed the Birds. "Very smart, aren't you? We are very well, thank you, and more so, if _you_ only keep away from here." _Be wise and shun the quack._ THE DOG AND THE OYSTER There was once a Dog who was very fond of eggs. He visited the hen house very often and at last got so greedy that he would swallow the eggs whole. One day the Dog wandered down to the seashore. There he spied an Oyster. In a twinkling the Oyster was resting in the Dog's stomach, shell and all. It pained the Dog a good deal, as you can guess. "I've learned that all round things are not eggs," he said groaning. _Act in haste and repent at leisure--and often in pain._ THE ASTROLOGER A man who lived a long time ago believed that he could read the future in the stars. He called himself an Astrologer, and spent his time at night gazing at the sky. One evening he was walking along the open road outside the village. His eyes were fixed on the stars. He thought he saw there that the end of the world was at hand, when all at once, down he went into a hole full of mud and water. [Illustration] There he stood up to his ears, in the muddy water, and madly clawing at the slippery sides of the hole in his effort to climb out. His cries for help soon brought the villagers running. As they pulled him out of the mud, one of them said: "You pretend to read the future in the stars, and yet you fail to see what is at your feet! This may teach you to pay more attention to what is right in front of you, and let the future take care of itself." "What use is it," said another, "to read the stars, when you can't see what's right here on the earth?" _Take care of the little things and the big things will take care of themselves._ [Illustration] THREE BULLOCKS AND A LION A Lion had been watching three Bullocks feeding in an open field. He had tried to attack them several times, but they had kept together, and helped each other to drive him off. The Lion had little hope of eating them, for he was no match for three strong Bullocks with their sharp horns and hoofs. But he could not keep away from that field, for it is hard to resist watching a good meal, even when there is little chance of getting it. Then one day the Bullocks had a quarrel, and when the hungry Lion came to look at them and lick his chops as he was accustomed to do, he found them in separate corners of the field, as far away from one another as they could get. It was now an easy matter for the Lion to attack them one at a time, and this he proceeded to do with the greatest satisfaction and relish. _In unity is strength._ MERCURY AND THE WOODMAN A poor Woodman was cutting down a tree near the edge of a deep pool in the forest. It was late in the day and the Woodman was tired. He had been working since sunrise and his strokes were not so sure as they had been early that morning. Thus it happened that the axe slipped and flew out of his hands into the pool. The Woodman was in despair. The axe was all he possessed with which to make a living, and he had not money enough to buy a new one. As he stood wringing his hands and weeping, the god Mercury suddenly appeared and asked what the trouble was. The Woodman told what had happened, and straightway the kind Mercury dived into the pool. When he came up again he held a wonderful golden axe. "Is this your axe?" Mercury asked the Woodman. "No," answered the honest Woodman, "that is not my axe." Mercury laid the golden axe on the bank and sprang back into the pool. This time he brought up an axe of silver, but the Woodman declared again that his axe was just an ordinary one with a wooden handle. Mercury dived down for the third time, and when he came up again he had the very axe that had been lost. The poor Woodman was very glad that his axe had been found and could not thank the kind god enough. Mercury was greatly pleased with the Woodman's honesty. "I admire your honesty," he said, "and as a reward you may have all three axes, the gold and the silver as well as your own." The happy Woodman returned to his home with his treasures, and soon the story of his good fortune was known to everybody in the village. Now there were several Woodmen in the village who believed that they could easily win the same good fortune. They hurried out into the woods, one here, one there, and hiding their axes in the bushes, pretended they had lost them. Then they wept and wailed and called on Mercury to help them. [Illustration] And indeed, Mercury did appear, first to this one, then to that. To each one he showed an axe of gold, and each one eagerly claimed it to be the one he had lost. But Mercury did not give them the golden axe. Oh no! Instead he gave them each a hard whack over the head with it and sent them home. And when they returned next day to look for their own axes, they were nowhere to be found. _Honesty is the best policy._ [Illustration] THE FROG AND THE MOUSE A young Mouse in search of adventure was running along the bank of a pond where lived a Frog. When the Frog saw the Mouse, he swam to the bank and croaked: "Won't you pay me a visit? I can promise you a good time if you do." The Mouse did not need much coaxing, for he was very anxious to see the world and everything in it. But though he could swim a little, he did not dare risk going into the pond without some help. The Frog had a plan. He tied the Mouse's leg to his own with a tough reed. Then into the pond he jumped, dragging his foolish companion with him. The Mouse soon had enough of it and wanted to return to shore; but the treacherous Frog had other plans. He pulled the Mouse down under the water and drowned him. But before he could untie the reed that bound him to the dead Mouse, a Hawk came sailing over the pond. Seeing the body of the Mouse floating on the water, the Hawk swooped down, seized the Mouse and carried it off, with the Frog dangling from its leg. Thus at one swoop he had caught both meat and fish for his dinner. _Those who seek to harm others often come to harm themselves through their own deceit._ THE FOX AND THE CRAB A Crab one day grew disgusted with the sands in which he lived. He decided to take a stroll to the meadow not far inland. There he would find better fare than briny water and sand mites. So off he crawled to the meadow. But there a hungry Fox spied him, and in a twinkling, ate him up, both shell and claw. _Be content with your lot._ THE SERPENT AND THE EAGLE A Serpent had succeeded in surprising an Eagle and had wrapped himself around the Eagle's neck. The Eagle could not reach the Serpent, neither with beak nor claws. Far into the sky he soared trying to shake off his enemy. But the Serpent's hold only tightened, and slowly the Eagle sank back to earth, gasping for breath. A Countryman chanced to see the unequal combat. In pity for the noble Eagle he rushed up and soon had loosened the coiling Serpent and freed the Eagle. The Serpent was furious. He had no chance to bite the watchful Countryman. Instead he struck at the drinking horn, hanging at the Countryman's belt, and into it let fly the poison of his fangs. The Countryman now went on toward home. Becoming thirsty on the way, he filled his horn at a spring, and was about to drink. There was a sudden rush of great wings. Sweeping down, the Eagle seized the poisoned horn from out his savior's hands, and flew away with it to hide it where it could never be found. _An act of kindness is well repaid._ [Illustration] THE WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING A certain Wolf could not get enough to eat because of the watchfulness of the Shepherds. But one night he found a sheep skin that had been cast aside and forgotten. The next day, dressed in the skin, the Wolf strolled into the pasture with the Sheep. Soon a little Lamb was following him about and was quickly led away to slaughter. That evening the Wolf entered the fold with the flock. But it happened that the Shepherd took a fancy for mutton broth that very evening, and, picking up a knife, went to the fold. There the first he laid hands on and killed was the Wolf. _The evil doer often comes to harm through his own deceit._ [Illustration] THE BULL AND THE GOAT A Bull once escaped from a Lion by entering a cave which the Goatherds used to house their flocks in stormy weather and at night. It happened that one of the Goats had been left behind, and the Bull had no sooner got inside than this Goat lowered his head and made a rush at him, butting him with his horns. As the Lion was still prowling outside the entrance to the cave, the Bull had to submit to the insult. "Do not think," he said, "that I submit to your cowardly treatment because I am afraid of you. When that Lion leaves, I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget." _It is wicked to take advantage of another's distress._ THE EAGLE AND THE BEETLE A Beetle once begged the Eagle to spare a Hare which had run to her for protection. But the Eagle pounced upon her prey, the sweep of her great wings tumbling the Beetle a dozen feet away. Furious at the disrespect shown her, the Beetle flew to the Eagle's nest and rolled out the eggs. Not one did she spare. The Eagle's grief and anger knew no bounds, but who had done the cruel deed she did not know. Next year the Eagle built her nest far up on a mountain crag; but the Beetle found it and again destroyed the eggs. In despair the Eagle now implored great Jupiter to let her place her eggs in his lap. There none would dare harm them. But the Beetle buzzed about Jupiter's head, and made him rise to drive her away; and the eggs rolled from his lap. Now the Beetle told the reason for her action, and Jupiter had to acknowledge the justice of her cause. And they say that ever after, while the Eagle's eggs lie in the nest in spring, the Beetle still sleeps in the ground. For so Jupiter commanded. _Even the weakest may find means to avenge a wrong._ [Illustration: THE EAGLE AND THE BEETLE] [Illustration] THE OLD LION AND THE FOX An old Lion, whose teeth and claws were so worn that it was not so easy for him to get food as in his younger days, pretended that he was sick. He took care to let all his neighbors know about it, and then lay down in his cave to wait for visitors. And when they came to offer him their sympathy, he ate them up one by one. The Fox came too, but he was very cautious about it. Standing at a safe distance from the cave, he inquired politely after the Lion's health. The Lion replied that he was very ill indeed, and asked the Fox to step in for a moment. But Master Fox very wisely stayed outside, thanking the Lion very kindly for the invitation. "I should be glad to do as you ask," he added, "but I have noticed that there are many footprints leading into your cave and none coming out. Pray tell me, how do your visitors find their way out again?" _Take warning from the misfortunes of others._ THE MAN AND THE LION A Lion and a Man chanced to travel in company through the forest. They soon began to quarrel, for each of them boasted that he and his kind were far superior to the other both in strength and mind. Now they reached a clearing in the forest and there stood a statue. It was a representation of Heracles in the act of tearing the jaws of the Nemean Lion. "See," said the man, "that's how strong _we_ are! The King of Beasts is like wax in our hands!" "Ho!" laughed the Lion, "a Man made that statue. It would have been quite a different scene had a Lion made it!" _It all depends on the point of view, and who tells the story._ THE ASS AND THE LAP DOG There was once an Ass whose Master also owned a Lap Dog. This Dog was a favorite and received many a pat and kind word from his Master, as well as choice bits from his plate. Every day the Dog would run to meet the Master, frisking playfully about and leaping up to lick his hands and face. All this the Ass saw with much discontent. Though he was well fed, he had much work to do; besides, the Master hardly ever took any notice of him. Now the jealous Ass got it into his silly head that all he had to do to win his Master's favor was to act like the Dog. So one day he left his stable and clattered eagerly into the house. Finding his Master seated at the dinner table, he kicked up his heels and, with a loud bray, pranced giddily around the table, upsetting it as he did so. Then he planted his forefeet on his Master's knees and rolled out his tongue to lick the Master's face, as he had seen the Dog do. But his weight upset the chair, and Ass and man rolled over together in the pile of broken dishes from the table. [Illustration] The Master was much alarmed at the strange behavior of the Ass, and calling for help, soon attracted the attention of the servants. When they saw the danger the Master was in from the clumsy beast, they set upon the Ass and drove him with kicks and blows back to the stable. There they left him to mourn the foolishness that had brought him nothing but a sound beating. _Behavior that is regarded as agreeable in one is very rude and impertinent in another._ _Do not try to gain favor by acting in a way that is contrary to your own nature and character._ THE MILKMAID AND HER PAIL A Milkmaid had been out to milk the cows and was returning from the field with the shining milk pail balanced nicely on her head. As she walked along, her pretty head was busy with plans for the days to come. "This good, rich milk," she mused, "will give me plenty of cream to churn. The butter I make I will take to market, and with the money I get for it I will buy a lot of eggs for hatching. How nice it will be when they are all hatched and the yard is full of fine young chicks. Then when May day comes I will sell them, and with the money I'll buy a lovely new dress to wear to the fair. All the young men will look at me. They will come and try to make love to me,--but I shall very quickly send them about their business!" [Illustration] As she thought of how she would settle that matter, she tossed her head scornfully, and down fell the pail of milk to the ground. And all the milk flowed out, and with it vanished butter and eggs and chicks and new dress and all the milkmaid's pride. _Do not count your chickens before they are hatched._ THE WOLF AND THE SHEPHERD A Wolf, lurking near the Shepherd's hut, saw the Shepherd and his family feasting on a roasted lamb. "Aha!" he muttered. "What a great shouting and running about there would have been, had they caught me at just the very thing they are doing with so much enjoyment!" _Men often condemn others for what they see no wrong in doing themselves._ THE GOATHERD AND THE GOAT A Goat strayed away from the flock, tempted by a patch of clover. The Goatherd tried to call it back, but in vain. It would not obey him. Then he picked up a stone and threw it, breaking the Goat's horn. The Goatherd was frightened. "Do not tell the master," he begged the Goat. "No," said the Goat, "that broken horn can speak for itself!" _Wicked deeds will not stay hid._ THE MISER A Miser had buried his gold in a secret place in his garden. Every day he went to the spot, dug up the treasure and counted it piece by piece to make sure it was all there. He made so many trips that a Thief, who had been observing him, guessed what it was the Miser had hidden, and one night quietly dug up the treasure and made off with it. When the Miser discovered his loss, he was overcome with grief and despair. He groaned and cried and tore his hair. A passerby heard his cries and asked what had happened. "My gold! O my gold!" cried the Miser, wildly, "someone has robbed me!" [Illustration] "Your gold! There in that hole? Why did you put it there? Why did you not keep it in the house where you could easily get it when you had to buy things?" "Buy!" screamed the Miser angrily. "Why, I never touched the gold. I couldn't think of spending any of it." The stranger picked up a large stone and threw it into the hole. "If that is the case," he said, "cover up that stone. It is worth just as much to you as the treasure you lost!" _A possession is worth no more than the use we make of it._ [Illustration] THE WOLF AND THE HOUSE DOG There was once a Wolf who got very little to eat because the Dogs of the village were so wide awake and watchful. He was really nothing but skin and bones, and it made him very downhearted to think of it. One night this Wolf happened to fall in with a fine fat House Dog who had wandered a little too far from home. The Wolf would gladly have eaten him then and there, but the House Dog looked strong enough to leave his marks should he try it. So the Wolf spoke very humbly to the Dog, complimenting him on his fine appearance. "You can be as well-fed as I am if you want to," replied the Dog. "Leave the woods; there you live miserably. Why, you have to fight hard for every bite you get. Follow my example and you will get along beautifully." "What must I do?" asked the Wolf. "Hardly anything," answered the House Dog. "Chase people who carry canes, bark at beggars, and fawn on the people of the house. In return you will get tidbits of every kind, chicken bones, choice bits of meat, sugar, cake, and much more beside, not to speak of kind words and caresses." The Wolf had such a beautiful vision of his coming happiness that he almost wept. But just then he noticed that the hair on the Dog's neck was worn and the skin was chafed. "What is that on your neck?" "Nothing at all," replied the Dog. "What! nothing!" "Oh, just a trifle!" "But please tell me." "Perhaps you see the mark of the collar to which my chain is fastened." "What! A chain!" cried the Wolf. "Don't you go wherever you please?" "Not always! But what's the difference?" replied the Dog. "All the difference in the world! I don't care a rap for your feasts and I wouldn't take all the tender young lambs in the world at that price." And away ran the Wolf to the woods. _There is nothing worth so much as liberty._ [Illustration] THE FOX AND THE HEDGEHOG A Fox, swimming across a river, was barely able to reach the bank, where he lay bruised and exhausted from his struggle with the swift current. Soon a swarm of blood-sucking flies settled on him; but he lay quietly, still too weak to run away from them. A Hedgehog happened by. "Let me drive the flies away," he said kindly. "No, no!" exclaimed the Fox, "do not disturb them! They have taken all they can hold. If you drive them away, another greedy swarm will come and take the little blood I have left." _Better to bear a lesser evil than to risk a greater in removing it._ [Illustration] THE BAT AND THE WEASELS A Bat blundered into the nest of a Weasel, who ran up to catch and eat him. The Bat begged for his life, but the Weasel would not listen. "You are a Mouse," he said, "and I am a sworn enemy of Mice. Every Mouse I catch, I am going to eat!" "But I am not a Mouse!" cried the Bat. "Look at my wings. Can Mice fly? Why, I am only a Bird! Please let me go!" The Weasel had to admit that the Bat was not a Mouse, so he let him go. But a few days later, the foolish Bat went blindly into the nest of another Weasel. This Weasel happened to be a bitter enemy of Birds, and he soon had the Bat under his claws, ready to eat him. "You are a Bird," he said, "and I am going to eat you!" "What," cried the Bat, "I, a Bird! Why, all Birds have feathers! I am nothing but a Mouse. 'Down with all Cats,' is _my_ motto!" And so the Bat escaped with his life a second time. _Set your sails with the wind._ THE QUACK TOAD An old Toad once informed all his neighbors that he was a learned doctor. In fact he could cure anything. The Fox heard the news and hurried to see the Toad. He looked the Toad over very carefully. "Mr. Toad," he said, "I've been told that you cure anything! But just take a look at yourself, and then try some of your own medicine. If you can cure yourself of that blotchy skin and that rheumatic gait, someone might believe you. Otherwise, I should advise you to try some other profession." _Those who would mend others, should first mend themselves._ THE FOX WITHOUT A TAIL A Fox that had been caught in a trap, succeeded at last, after much painful tugging, in getting away. But he had to leave his beautiful bushy tail behind him. For a long time he kept away from the other Foxes, for he knew well enough that they would all make fun of him and crack jokes and laugh behind his back. But it was hard for him to live alone, and at last he thought of a plan that would perhaps help him out of his trouble. He called a meeting of all the Foxes, saying that he had something of great importance to tell the tribe. When they were all gathered together, the Fox Without a Tail got up and made a long speech about those Foxes who had come to harm because of their tails. This one had been caught by hounds when his tail had become entangled in the hedge. That one had not been able to run fast enough because of the weight of his brush. Besides, it was well known, he said, that men hunt Foxes simply for their tails, which they cut off as prizes of the hunt. With such proof of the danger and uselessness of having a tail, said Master Fox, he would advise every Fox to cut it off, if he valued life and safety. [Illustration] When he had finished talking, an old Fox arose, and said, smiling: "Master Fox, kindly turn around for a moment, and you shall have your answer." When the poor Fox Without a Tail turned around, there arose such a storm of jeers and hooting, that he saw how useless it was to try any longer to persuade the Foxes to part with their tails. _Do not listen to the advice of him who seeks to lower you to his own level._ [Illustration] THE MISCHIEVOUS DOG There was once a Dog who was so ill-natured and mischievous that his Master had to fasten a heavy wooden clog about his neck to keep him from annoying visitors and neighbors. But the Dog seemed to be very proud of the clog and dragged it about noisily as if he wished to attract everybody's attention. He was not able to impress anyone. "You would be wiser," said an old acquaintance, "to keep quietly out of sight with that clog. Do you want everybody to know what a disgraceful and ill-natured Dog you are?" _Notoriety is not fame._ THE ROSE AND THE BUTTERFLY A Butterfly once fell in love with a beautiful Rose. The Rose was not indifferent, for the Butterfly's wings were powdered in a charming pattern of gold and silver. And so, when he fluttered near and told how he loved her, she blushed rosily and said yes. After much pretty love-making and many whispered vows of constancy, the Butterfly took a tender leave of his sweetheart. But alas! It was a long time before he came back to her. "Is this your constancy?" she exclaimed tearfully. "It is ages since you went away, and all the time, you have been carrying on with all sorts of flowers. I saw you kiss Miss Geranium, and you fluttered around Miss Mignonette until Honey Bee chased you away. I wish he had stung you!" "Constancy!" laughed the Butterfly. "I had no sooner left you than I saw Zephyr kissing you. You carried on scandalously with Mr. Bumble Bee and you made eyes at every single Bug you could see. You can't expect any constancy from me!" _Do not expect constancy in others if you have none yourself._ [Illustration: THE ROSE AND THE BUTTERFLY] [Illustration] THE CAT AND THE FOX Once a Cat and a Fox were traveling together. As they went along, picking up provisions on the way--a stray mouse here, a fat chicken there--they began an argument to while away the time between bites. And, as usually happens when comrades argue, the talk began to get personal. "You think you are extremely clever, don't you?" said the Fox. "Do you pretend to know more than I? Why, I know a whole sackful of tricks!" "Well," retorted the Cat, "I admit I know one trick only, but that one, let me tell you, is worth a thousand of yours!" Just then, close by, they heard a hunter's horn and the yelping of a pack of hounds. In an instant the Cat was up a tree, hiding among the leaves. "This is my trick," he called to the Fox. "Now let me see what yours are worth." But the Fox had so many plans for escape he could not decide which one to try first. He dodged here and there with the hounds at his heels. He doubled on his tracks, he ran at top speed, he entered a dozen burrows,--but all in vain. The hounds caught him, and soon put an end to the boaster and all his tricks. _Common sense is always worth more than cunning._ THE BOY AND THE NETTLE A Boy, stung by a Nettle, ran home crying, to get his mother to blow on the hurt and kiss it. "Son," said the Boy's mother, when she had comforted him, "the next time you come near a Nettle, grasp it firmly, and it will be as soft as silk." _Whatever you do, do with all your might._ THE OLD LION A Lion had grown very old. His teeth were worn away. His limbs could no longer bear him, and the King of Beasts was very pitiful indeed as he lay gasping on the ground, about to die. Where now his strength and his former graceful beauty? Now a Boar spied him, and rushing at him, gored him with his yellow tusk. A Bull trampled him with his heavy hoofs. Even a contemptible Ass let fly his heels and brayed his insults in the face of the Lion. _It is cowardly to attack the defenseless, though he be an enemy._ THE FOX AND THE PHEASANTS One moonlight evening as Master Fox was taking his usual stroll in the woods, he saw a number of Pheasants perched quite out of his reach on a limb of a tall old tree. The sly Fox soon found a bright patch of moonlight, where the Pheasants could see him clearly; there he raised himself up on his hind legs, and began a wild dance. First he whirled 'round and 'round like a top, then he hopped up and down, cutting all sorts of strange capers. The Pheasants stared giddily. They hardly dared blink for fear of losing him out of their sight a single instant. [Illustration] Now the Fox made as if to climb a tree, now he fell over and lay still, playing dead, and the next instant he was hopping on all fours, his back in the air, and his bushy tail shaking so that it seemed to throw out silver sparks in the moonlight. By this time the poor birds' heads were in a whirl. And when the Fox began his performance all over again, so dazed did they become, that they lost their hold on the limb, and fell down one by one to the Fox. _Too much attention to danger may cause us to fall victims to it._ [Illustration] TWO TRAVELERS AND A BEAR Two Men were traveling in company through a forest, when, all at once, a huge Bear crashed out of the brush near them. One of the Men, thinking of his own safety, climbed a tree. The other, unable to fight the savage beast alone, threw himself on the ground and lay still, as if he were dead. He had heard that a Bear will not touch a dead body. It must have been true, for the Bear snuffed at the Man's head awhile, and then, seeming to be satisfied that he was dead, walked away. The Man in the tree climbed down. "It looked just as if that Bear whispered in your ear," he said. "What did he tell you?" "He said," answered the other, "that it was not at all wise to keep company with a fellow who would desert his friend in a moment of danger." _Misfortune is the test of true friendship._ THE PORCUPINE AND THE SNAKES A Porcupine was looking for a good home. At last he found a little sheltered cave, where lived a family of Snakes. He asked them to let him share the cave with them, and the Snakes kindly consented. The Snakes soon wished they had not given him permission to stay. His sharp quills pricked them at every turn, and at last they politely asked him to leave. "I am very well satisfied, thank you," said the Porcupine. "I intend to stay right here." And with that, he politely escorted the Snakes out of doors. And to save their skins, the Snakes had to look for another home. _Give a finger and lose a hand._ THE FOX AND THE MONKEY At a great meeting of the Animals, who had gathered to elect a new ruler, the Monkey was asked to dance. This he did so well, with a thousand funny capers and grimaces, that the Animals were carried entirely off their feet with enthusiasm, and then and there, elected him their king. [Illustration] The Fox did not vote for the Monkey and was much disgusted with the Animals for electing so unworthy a ruler. One day he found a trap with a bit of meat in it. Hurrying to King Monkey, he told him he had found a rich treasure, which he had not touched because it belonged by right to his majesty the Monkey. The greedy Monkey followed the Fox to the trap. As soon as he saw the meat he grasped eagerly for it, only to find himself held fast in the trap. The Fox stood off and laughed. "You pretend to be our king," he said, "and cannot even take care of yourself!" Shortly after that, another election among the Animals was held. _The true leader proves himself by his qualities._ [Illustration] THE MOTHER AND THE WOLF Early one morning a hungry Wolf was prowling around a cottage at the edge of a village, when he heard a child crying in the house. Then he heard the Mother's voice say: "Hush, child, hush! Stop your crying, or I will give you to the Wolf!" Surprised but delighted at the prospect of so delicious a meal, the Wolf settled down under an open window, expecting every moment to have the child handed out to him. But though the little one continued to fret, the Wolf waited all day in vain. Then, toward nightfall, he heard the Mother's voice again as she sat down near the window to sing and rock her baby to sleep. "There, child, there! The Wolf shall not get you. No, no! Daddy is watching and Daddy will kill him if he should come near!" Just then the Father came within sight of the home, and the Wolf was barely able to save himself from the Dogs by a clever bit of running. _Do not believe everything you hear._ THE FLIES AND THE HONEY A jar of honey was upset and the sticky sweetness flowed out on the table. The sweet smell of the honey soon brought a large number of Flies buzzing around. They did not wait for an invitation. No, indeed; they settled right down, feet and all, to gorge themselves. The Flies were quickly smeared from head to foot with honey. Their wings stuck together. They could not pull their feet out of the sticky mass. And so they died, giving their lives for the sake of a taste of sweetness. _Be not greedy for a little passing pleasure. It may destroy you._ THE EAGLE AND THE KITE An Eagle sat high in the branches of a great Oak. She seemed very sad and drooping for an Eagle. A Kite saw her. "Why do you look so woebegone?" asked the Kite. "I want to get married," replied the Eagle, "and I can't find a mate who can provide for me as I should like." "Take me," said the Kite; "I am very strong, stronger even than you!" "Do you really think you can provide for me?" asked the Eagle eagerly. "Why, of course," replied the Kite. "That would be a very simple matter. I am so strong I can carry away an Ostrich in my talons as if it were a feather!" The Eagle accepted the Kite immediately. But after the wedding, when the Kite flew away to find something to eat for his bride, all he had when he returned, was a tiny Mouse. "Is that the Ostrich you talked about?" said the Eagle in disgust. "To win you I would have said and promised anything," replied the Kite. _Everything is fair in love._ [Illustration] THE STAG, THE SHEEP, AND THE WOLF One day a Stag came to a Sheep and asked her to lend him a measure of wheat. The Sheep knew him for a very swift runner, who could easily take himself out of reach, were he so inclined. So she asked him if he knew someone who would answer for him. "Yes, yes," answered the Stag confidently, "the Wolf has promised to be my surety." "The Wolf!" exclaimed the Sheep indignantly. "Do you think I would trust you on such security? I know the Wolf! He takes what he wants and runs off with it without paying. As for you, you can use your legs so well that I should have little chance of collecting the debt if I had to catch you for it!" _Two blacks do not make a white._ [Illustration] THE ANIMALS AND THE PLAGUE Once upon a time a severe plague raged among the animals. Many died, and those who lived were so ill, that they cared for neither food nor drink, and dragged themselves about listlessly. No longer could a fat young hen tempt Master Fox to dinner, nor a tender lamb rouse greedy Sir Wolf's appetite. At last the Lion decided to call a council. When all the animals were gathered together he arose and said: "Dear friends, I believe the gods have sent this plague upon us as a punishment for our sins. Therefore, the most guilty one of us must be offered in sacrifice. Perhaps we may thus obtain forgiveness and cure for all. "I will confess all _my_ sins first. I admit that I have been very greedy and have devoured many sheep. They had done me no harm. I have eaten goats and bulls and stags. To tell the truth, I even ate up a shepherd now and then. "Now, if I am the most guilty, I am ready to be sacrificed. But I think it best that each one confess his sins as I have done. Then we can decide in all justice who is the most guilty." "Your majesty," said the Fox, "you are too good. Can it be a crime to eat sheep, such stupid mutton heads? No, no, your majesty. You have done them great honor by eating them up. "And so far as shepherds are concerned, we all know they belong to that puny race that pretends to be our masters." All the animals applauded the Fox loudly. Then, though the Tiger, the Bear, the Wolf, and all the savage beasts recited the most wicked deeds, all were excused and made to appear very saint-like and innocent. It was now the Ass's turn to confess. "I remember," he said guiltily, "that one day as I was passing a field belonging to some priests, I was so tempted by the tender grass and my hunger, that I could not resist nibbling a bit of it. I had no right to do it, I admit--" A great uproar among the beasts interrupted him. Here was the culprit who had brought misfortune on all of them! What a horrible crime it was to eat grass that belonged to someone else! It was enough to hang anyone for, much more an Ass. Immediately they all fell upon him, the Wolf in the lead, and soon had made an end to him, sacrificing him to the gods then and there, and without the formality of an altar. _The weak are made to suffer for the misdeeds of the powerful._ THE SHEPHERD AND THE LION A Shepherd, counting his Sheep one day, discovered that a number of them were missing. Much irritated, he very loudly and boastfully declared that he would catch the thief and punish him as he deserved. The Shepherd suspected a Wolf of the deed and so set out toward a rocky region among the hills, where there were caves infested by Wolves. But before starting out he made a vow to Jupiter that if he would help him find the thief he would offer a fat Calf as a sacrifice. [Illustration] The Shepherd searched a long time without finding any Wolves, but just as he was passing near a large cave on the mountain side, a huge Lion stalked out, carrying a Sheep. In great terror the Shepherd fell on his knees. "Alas, O Jupiter, man does not know what he asks! To find the thief I offered to sacrifice a fat Calf. Now I promise you a full-grown Bull, if you but make the thief go away!" _We are often not so eager for what we seek, after we have found it._ _Do not foolishly ask for things that would bring ruin if they were granted._ [Illustration] THE DOG AND HIS REFLECTION A Dog, to whom the butcher had thrown a bone, was hurrying home with his prize as fast as he could go. As he crossed a narrow footbridge, he happened to look down and saw himself reflected in the quiet water as if in a mirror. But the greedy Dog thought he saw a real Dog carrying a bone much bigger than his own. If he had stopped to think he would have known better. But instead of thinking, he dropped his bone and sprang at the Dog in the river, only to find himself swimming for dear life to reach the shore. At last he managed to scramble out, and as he stood sadly thinking about the good bone he had lost, he realized what a stupid Dog he had been. _It is very foolish to be greedy._ THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE A Hare was making fun of the Tortoise one day for being so slow. "Do you ever get anywhere?" he asked with a mocking laugh. "Yes," replied the Tortoise, "and I get there sooner than you think. I'll run you a race and prove it." The Hare was much amused at the idea of running a race with the Tortoise, but for the fun of the thing he agreed. So the Fox, who had consented to act as judge, marked the distance and started the runners off. The Hare was soon far out of sight, and to make the Tortoise feel very deeply how ridiculous it was for him to try a race with a Hare, he lay down beside the course to take a nap until the Tortoise should catch up. The Tortoise meanwhile kept going slowly but steadily, and, after a time, passed the place where the Hare was sleeping. But the Hare slept on very peacefully; and when at last he did wake up, the Tortoise was near the goal. The Hare now ran his swiftest, but he could not overtake the Tortoise in time. _The race is not always to the swift._ [Illustration: THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE] THE BEES AND WASPS, AND THE HORNET A store of honey had been found in a hollow tree, and the Wasps declared positively that it belonged to them. The Bees were just as sure that the treasure was theirs. The argument grew very pointed, and it looked as if the affair could not be settled without a battle, when at last, with much good sense, they _agreed_ to let a judge decide the matter. So they brought the case before the Hornet, justice of the peace in that part of the woods. When the Judge called the case, witnesses declared that they had seen certain winged creatures in the neighborhood of the hollow tree, who hummed loudly, and whose bodies were striped, yellow and black, like Bees. [Illustration] Counsel for the Wasps immediately insisted that this description fitted his clients exactly. Such evidence did not help Judge Hornet to any decision, so he adjourned court for six weeks to give him time to think it over. When the case came up again, both sides had a large number of witnesses. An Ant was first to take the stand, and was about to be cross-examined, when a wise old Bee addressed the Court. "Your honor," he said, "the case has now been pending for six weeks. If it is not decided soon, the honey will not be fit for anything. I move that the Bees and the Wasps be both instructed to build a honey comb. Then we shall soon see to whom the honey really belongs." The Wasps protested loudly. Wise Judge Hornet quickly understood why they did so: They knew they could not build a honey comb and fill it with honey. "It is clear," said the Judge, "who made the comb and who could not have made it. The honey belongs to the Bees." _Ability proves itself by deeds._ THE LARK AND HER YOUNG ONES A Lark made her nest in a field of young wheat. As the days passed, the wheat stalks grew tall and the young birds, too, grew in strength. Then one day, when the ripe golden grain waved in the breeze, the Farmer and his son came into the field. "This wheat is now ready for reaping," said the Farmer. "We must call in our neighbors and friends to help us harvest it." The young Larks in their nest close by were much frightened, for they knew they would be in great danger if they did not leave the nest before the reapers came. When the Mother Lark returned with food for them, they told her what they had heard. "Do not be frightened, children," said the Mother Lark. "If the Farmer said he would call in his neighbors and friends to help him do his work, this wheat will not be reaped for a while yet." A few days later, the wheat was so ripe, that when the wind shook the stalks, a hail of wheat grains came rustling down on the young Larks' heads. "If this wheat is not harvested at once," said the Farmer, "we shall lose half the crop. We cannot wait any longer for help from our friends. Tomorrow we must set to work, ourselves." [Illustration] When the young Larks told their mother what they had heard that day, she said: "Then we must be off at once. When a man decides to do his own work and not depend on any one else, then you may be sure there will be no more delay." There was much fluttering and trying out of wings that afternoon, and at sunrise next day, when the Farmer and his son cut down the grain, they found an empty nest. _Self-help is the best help._ [Illustration] THE CAT AND THE OLD RAT There was once a Cat who was so watchful, that a Mouse hardly dared show the tip of his whiskers for fear of being eaten alive. That Cat seemed to be everywhere at once with his claws all ready for a pounce. At last the Mice kept so closely to their dens, that the Cat saw he would have to use his wits well to catch one. So one day he climbed up on a shelf and hung from it, head downward, as if he were dead, holding himself up by clinging to some ropes with one paw. When the Mice peeped out and saw him in that position, they thought he had been hung up there in punishment for some misdeed. Very timidly at first they stuck out their heads and sniffed about carefully. But as nothing stirred, all trooped joyfully out to celebrate the death of the Cat. Just then the Cat let go his hold, and before the Mice recovered from their surprise, he had made an end of three or four. Now the Mice kept more strictly at home than ever. But the Cat, who was still hungry for Mice, knew more tricks than one. Rolling himself in flour until he was covered completely, he lay down in the flour bin, with one eye open for the Mice. Sure enough, the Mice soon began to come out. To the Cat it was almost as if he already had a plump young Mouse under his claws, when an old Rat, who had had much experience with Cats and traps, and had even lost a part of his tail to pay for it, sat up at a safe distance from a hole in the wall where he lived. "Take care!" he cried. "That may be a heap of meal, but it looks to me very much like the Cat. Whatever it is, it is wisest to keep at a safe distance." _The wise do not let themselves be tricked a second time._ THE FOX AND THE CROW One bright morning as the Fox was following his sharp nose through the wood in search of a bite to eat, he saw a Crow on the limb of a tree overhead. This was by no means the first Crow the Fox had ever seen. What caught his attention this time and made him stop for a second look, was that the lucky Crow held a bit of cheese in her beak. "No need to search any farther," thought sly Master Fox. "Here is a dainty bite for my breakfast." Up he trotted to the foot of the tree in which the Crow was sitting, and looking up admiringly, he cried, "Good-morning, beautiful creature!" The Crow, her head cocked on one side, watched the Fox suspiciously. But she kept her beak tightly closed on the cheese and did not return his greeting. "What a charming creature she is!" said the Fox. "How her feathers shine! What a beautiful form and what splendid wings! Such a wonderful Bird should have a very lovely voice, since everything else about her is so perfect. Could she sing just one song, I know I should hail her Queen of Birds." [Illustration] Listening to these flattering words, the Crow forgot all her suspicion, and also her breakfast. She wanted very much to be called Queen of Birds. So she opened her beak wide to utter her loudest caw, and down fell the cheese straight into the Fox's open mouth. "Thank you," said Master Fox sweetly, as he walked off. "Though it is cracked, you have a voice sure enough. But where are your wits?" _The flatterer lives at the expense of those who will listen to him._ [Illustration] THE ASS AND ITS SHADOW A Traveler had hired an Ass to carry him to a distant part of the country. The owner of the Ass went with the Traveler, walking beside him to drive the Ass and point out the way. The road led across a treeless plain where the Sun beat down fiercely. So intense did the heat become, that the Traveler at last decided to stop for a rest, and as there was no other shade to be found, the Traveler sat down in the shadow of the Ass. Now the heat had affected the Driver as much as it had the Traveler, and even more, for he had been walking. Wishing also to rest in the shade cast by the Ass, he began to quarrel with the Traveler, saying he had hired the Ass and not the shadow it cast. The two soon came to blows, and while they were fighting, the Ass took to its heels. _In quarreling about the shadow we often lose the substance._ THE MILLER, HIS SON, AND THE ASS One day, a long time ago, an old Miller and his Son were on their way to market with an Ass which they hoped to sell. They drove him very slowly, for they thought they would have a better chance to sell him if they kept him in good condition. As they walked along the highway some travelers laughed loudly at them. "What foolishness," cried one, "to walk when they might as well ride. The most stupid of the three is not the one you would expect it to be." The Miller did not like to be laughed at, so he told his son to climb up and ride. They had gone a little farther along the road, when three merchants passed by. "Oho, what have we here?" they cried. "Respect old age, young man! Get down, and let the old man ride." Though the Miller was not tired, he made the boy get down and climbed up himself to ride, just to please the Merchants. At the next turnstile they overtook some women carrying market baskets loaded with vegetables and other things to sell. "Look at the old fool," exclaimed one of them. "Perched on the Ass, while that poor boy has to walk." The Miller felt a bit vexed, but to be agreeable he told the Boy to climb up behind him. They had no sooner started out again than a loud shout went up from another company of people on the road. "What a crime," cried one, "to load up a poor dumb beast like that! They look more able to carry the poor creature, than he to carry them." [Illustration] [Illustration] "They must be on their way to sell the poor thing's hide," said another. The Miller and his Son quickly scrambled down, and a short time later, the market place was thrown into an uproar as the two came along carrying the Donkey slung from a pole. A great crowd of people ran out to get a closer look at the strange sight. The Ass did not dislike being carried, but so many people came up to point at him and laugh and shout, that he began to kick and bray, and then, just as they were crossing a bridge, the ropes that held him gave way, and down he tumbled into the river. The poor Miller now set out sadly for home. By trying to please everybody, he had pleased nobody, and lost his Ass besides. _If you try to please all, you please none._ [Illustration] THE ANT AND THE DOVE A Dove saw an Ant fall into a brook. The Ant struggled in vain to reach the bank, and in pity, the Dove dropped a blade of straw close beside it. Clinging to the straw like a shipwrecked sailor to a broken spar, the Ant floated safely to shore. Soon after, the Ant saw a man getting ready to kill the Dove with a stone. But just as he cast the stone, the Ant stung him in the heel, so that the pain made him miss his aim, and the startled Dove flew to safety in a distant wood. _A kindness is never wasted._ THE MAN AND THE SATYR A long time ago a Man met a Satyr in the forest and succeeded in making friends with him. The two soon became the best of comrades, living together in the Man's hut. But one cold winter evening, as they were walking homeward, the Satyr saw the Man blow on his fingers. "Why do you do that?" asked the Satyr. "To warm my hands," the Man replied. When they reached home the Man prepared two bowls of porridge. These he placed steaming hot on the table, and the comrades sat down very cheerfully to enjoy the meal. But much to the Satyr's surprise, the Man began to blow into his bowl of porridge. "Why do you do that?" he asked. "To cool my porridge," replied the Man. The Satyr sprang hurriedly to his feet and made for the door. "Goodby," he said, "I've seen enough. A fellow that blows hot and cold in the same breath cannot be friends with me!" _The man who talks for both sides is not to be trusted by either._ [Illustration: THE MAN AND THE SATYR] [Illustration] THE WOLF, THE KID, AND THE GOAT Mother Goat was going to market one morning to get provisions for her household, which consisted of but one little Kid and herself. "Take good care of the house, my son," she said to the Kid, as she carefully latched the door. "Do not let anyone in, unless he gives you this password: 'Down with the Wolf and all his race!'" Strangely enough, a Wolf was lurking near and heard what the Goat had said. So, as soon as Mother Goat was out of sight, up he trotted to the door and knocked. "Down with the Wolf and all his race," said the Wolf softly. It was the right password, but when the Kid peeped through a crack in the door and saw the shadowy figure outside, he did not feel at all easy. "Show me a white paw," he said, "or I won't let you in." A white paw, of course, is a feature few Wolves can show, and so Master Wolf had to go away as hungry as he had come. "You can never be too sure," said the Kid, when he saw the Wolf making off to the woods. _Two sureties are better than one._ THE SWALLOW AND THE CROW The Swallow and the Crow had an argument one day about their plumage. Said the Swallow: "Just look at my bright and downy feathers. Your black stiff quills are not worth having. Why don't you dress better? Show a little pride!" "Your feathers may do very well in spring," replied the Crow, "but--I don't remember ever having seen you around in winter, and that's when I enjoy myself most." _Friends in fine weather only, are not worth much._ [Illustration] JUPITER AND THE MONKEY There was once a baby show among the Animals in the forest. Jupiter provided the prize. Of course all the proud mammas from far and near brought their babies. But none got there earlier than Mother Monkey. Proudly she presented her baby among the other contestants. As you can imagine, there was quite a laugh when the Animals saw the ugly flat-nosed, hairless, pop-eyed little creature. "Laugh if you will," said the Mother Monkey. "Though Jupiter may not give him the prize, I know that he is the prettiest, the sweetest, the dearest darling in the world." _Mother love is blind._ THE LION, THE ASS, AND THE FOX A Lion, an Ass, and a Fox were hunting in company, and caught a large quantity of game. The Ass was asked to divide the spoil. This he did very fairly, giving each an equal share. The Fox was well satisfied, but the Lion flew into a great rage over it, and with one stroke of his huge paw, he added the Ass to the pile of slain. Then he turned to the Fox. "You divide it," he roared angrily. The Fox wasted no time in talking. He quickly piled all the game into one great heap. From this he took a very small portion for himself, such undesirable bits as the horns and hoofs of a mountain goat, and the end of an ox tail. The Lion now recovered his good humor entirely. "Who taught you to divide so fairly?" he asked pleasantly. "I learned a lesson from the Ass," replied the Fox, carefully edging away. _Learn from the misfortunes of others._ [Illustration] THE LION'S SHARE A long time ago, the Lion, the Fox, the Jackal, and the Wolf agreed to go hunting together, sharing with each other whatever they found. One day the Wolf ran down a Stag and immediately called his comrades to divide the spoil. Without being asked, the Lion placed himself at the head of the feast to do the carving, and, with a great show of fairness, began to count the guests. "One," he said, counting on his claws, "that is myself the Lion. Two, that's the Wolf, three, is the Jackal, and the Fox makes four." [Illustration] He then very carefully divided the Stag into four equal parts. "I am King Lion," he said, when he had finished, "so of course I get the first part. This next part falls to me because I am the strongest; and _this_ is mine because I am the bravest." He now began to glare at the others very savagely. "If any of you have any claim to the part that is left," he growled, stretching his claws meaningly, "now is the time to speak up." _Might makes right._ THE MOLE AND HIS MOTHER A little Mole once said to his Mother: "Why, Mother, you said I was blind! But I am sure I can see!" Mother Mole saw she would have to get such conceit out of his head. So she put a bit of frankincense before him and asked him to tell what it was. The little Mole peered at it. "Why, that's a pebble!" "Well, my son, that proves you've lost your sense of smell as well as being blind." _Boast of one thing and you will be found lacking in that and a few other things as well._ [Illustration] THE NORTH WIND AND THE SUN The North Wind and the Sun had a quarrel about which of them was the stronger. While they were disputing with much heat and bluster, a Traveler passed along the road wrapped in a cloak. "Let us agree," said the Sun, "that he is the stronger who can strip that Traveler of his cloak." "Very well," growled the North Wind, and at once sent a cold, howling blast against the Traveler. With the first gust of wind the ends of the cloak whipped about the Traveler's body. But he immediately wrapped it closely around him, and the harder the Wind blew, the tighter he held it to him. The North Wind tore angrily at the cloak, but all his efforts were in vain. Then the Sun began to shine. At first his beams were gentle, and in the pleasant warmth after the bitter cold of the North Wind, the Traveler unfastened his cloak and let it hang loosely from his shoulders. The Sun's rays grew warmer and warmer. The man took off his cap and mopped his brow. At last he became so heated that he pulled off his cloak, and, to escape the blazing sunshine, threw himself down in the welcome shade of a tree by the roadside. _Gentleness and kind persuasion win where force and bluster fail._ [Illustration] [Illustration] THE HARE AND HIS EARS The Lion had been badly hurt by the horns of a Goat, which he was eating. He was very angry to think that any animal that he chose for a meal, should be so brazen as to wear such dangerous things as horns to scratch him while he ate. So he commanded that all animals with horns should leave his domains within twenty-four hours. The command struck terror among the beasts. All those who were so unfortunate as to have horns, began to pack up and move out. Even the Hare, who, as you know, has no horns and so had nothing to fear, passed a very restless night, dreaming awful dreams about the fearful Lion. And when he came out of the warren in the early morning sunshine, and there saw the shadow cast by his long and pointed ears, a terrible fright seized him. "Goodby, neighbor Cricket," he called. "I'm off. He will certainly make out that my ears are horns, no matter what I say." _Do not give your enemies the slightest reason to attack your reputation._ _Your enemies will seize any excuse to attack you._ THE WOLVES AND THE SHEEP A pack of Wolves lurked near the Sheep pasture. But the Dogs kept them all at a respectful distance, and the Sheep grazed in perfect safety. But now the Wolves thought of a plan to trick the Sheep. "Why is there always this hostility between us?" they said. "If it were not for those Dogs who are always stirring up trouble, I am sure we should get along beautifully. Send them away and you will see what good friends we shall become." The Sheep were easily fooled. They persuaded the Dogs to go away, and that very evening the Wolves had the grandest feast of their lives. _Do not give up friends for foes._ THE COCK AND THE FOX A Fox was caught in a trap one fine morning, because he had got too near the Farmer's hen house. No doubt he was hungry, but that was not an excuse for stealing. A Cock, rising early, discovered what had happened. He knew the Fox could not get at him, so he went a little closer to get a good look at his enemy. The Fox saw a slender chance of escape. "Dear friend," he said, "I was just on my way to visit a sick relative, when I stumbled into this string and got all tangled up. But please do not tell anybody about it. I dislike causing sorrow to anybody, and I am sure I can soon gnaw this string to pieces." But the Cock was not to be so easily fooled. He soon roused the whole hen yard, and when the Farmer came running out, that was the end of Mr. Fox. _The wicked deserve no aid._ THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN An Ass found a Lion's skin left in the forest by a hunter. He dressed himself in it, and amused himself by hiding in a thicket and rushing out suddenly at the animals who passed that way. All took to their heels the moment they saw him. [Illustration] The Ass was so pleased to see the animals running away from him, just as if he were King Lion himself, that he could not keep from expressing his delight by a loud, harsh bray. A Fox, who ran with the rest, stopped short as soon as he heard the voice. Approaching the Ass, he said with a laugh: "If you had kept your mouth shut you might have frightened me, too. But you gave yourself away with that silly bray." _A fool may deceive by his dress and appearance, but his words will soon show what he really is._ [Illustration] THE FISHERMAN AND THE LITTLE FISH A poor Fisherman, who lived on the fish he caught, had bad luck one day and caught nothing but a very small fry. The Fisherman was about to put it in his basket when the little Fish said: "Please spare me, Mr. Fisherman! I am so small it is not worth while to carry me home. When I am bigger, I shall make you a much better meal." But the Fisherman quickly put the fish into his basket. "How foolish I should be," he said, "to throw you back. However small you may be, you are better than nothing at all." _A small gain is worth more than a large promise._ THE FIGHTING COCKS AND THE EAGLE Once there were two Cocks living in the same farmyard who could not bear the sight of each other. At last one day they flew up to fight it out, beak and claw. They fought until one of them was beaten and crawled off to a corner to hide. The Cock that had won the battle flew to the top of the hen-house, and, proudly flapping his wings, crowed with all his might to tell the world about his victory. But an Eagle, circling overhead, heard the boasting chanticleer and, swooping down, carried him off to his nest. His rival saw the deed, and coming out of his corner, took his place as master of the farmyard. _Pride goes before a fall._ [Illustration] 
19813	----	ADE'S FABLES BY GEORGE ADE BY THE SAME AUTHOR _The College Widow, In Pastures New, Knocking the Neighbors, Fables in Slang_ _Illustrated by John T. McCutcheon_ GARDEN CITY NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 1914 _Copyright, 1912, 1913, by_ COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE _Copyright, 1914, by_ DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO. _All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian._ CONTENTS The New Fable of the Private Agitator and What He Cooked Up The New Fable of the Speedy Sprite The New Fable of the Intermittent Fusser The New Fable of the Search for Climate The New Fable of the Father Who Jumped In The New Fable of the Uplifter and His Dandy Little Opus The New Fable of the Wandering Boy and the Wayward Parent The New Fable of What Transpires After the Wind-up The Dream That Came Out with Much to Boot The New Fable of the Toilsome Ascent and the Shining Table-Land The New Fable of the Aerial Performer, the Buzzing Blondine, and the Daughter of Mr. Jackson The New Fable of Susan and the Daughter and the Granddaughter, and then Something Really Grand The New Fable of the Scoffer Who Fell Hard and the Woman Sitting By The New Fable of the Lonesome Camp on the Frozen Heights The New Fable of the Marathon in the Mud and the Laurel Wreath ILLUSTRATIONS [omitted] ADE'S FABLES THE NEW FABLE OF THE PRIVATE AGITATOR AND WHAT HE COOKED UP Ambition came, with Sterling Silver Breast-Plate and Flaming Sword, and sat beside a Tad aged 5. The wee Hopeful lived in a Frame House with Box Pillars in front and Hollyhocks leading down toward the Pike. "Whither shall I guide you?" asked Ambition. "Are you far enough from the Shell to have any definite Hankering?" "I have spent many Hours brooding over the possibilities of the Future," replied the Larva. "I want to grow up to be a Joey in a Circus. I fairly ache to sit in a Red Wagon just behind the Band and drive a Trick Mule with little pieces of Looking Glass in the Harness. I want to pull Mugs at all the scared Country Girls peeking out of the Wagon Beds. The Town Boys will leave the Elephant and trail behind my comical Chariot. In my Hour of Triumph the Air will be impregnated with Calliope Music and the Smell of Pop-Corn, modified by Wild Animals." Ambition went out to make the proper Bookings with Destiny. When he came back the Boy was ten years old. "We started wrong," whispered Ambition, curling up in the cool grass near the Day-Dreamer. "The Trick Mule and the Red Cart are all very well for little Fraidy-Cats and Softies, but a brave Youth of High Spirit should tread the Deck of his own Ship with a Cutlass under his Red Sash. Aye, that is Blood gauming up the Scuppers, but is the Captain chicken-hearted? Up with the Black Flag! Let it be give and take, with Pieces of Eight for the Victor!" So it was settled that the Lad was to hurry through the Graded Schools and then get at his Buccaneering. But Ambition came back with a revised Program. "You are now Fifteen Years of Age," said the Wonderful Guide with the glittering Suit. "It is High Time that you planned a Noble Career, following a Straight Course from which there shall be no Deviation. The Pirate is a mere swaggering Bravo and almost Unscrupulous at times. Why not be a great Military Commander? The Procedure is Simple. Your Father gives the Finger to the Congressman and then you step off the Boat at West Point. Next thing you know, you are wearing a Nobby Uniform right out on the Parade Ground, while bevies of Debutantes from New York City and other Points admire you for the stern Profile and Military Set-Up. After that you will subdue many Savage Tribes, and then you will march up Pennsylvania Avenue at the head of the whole Regular Army, and the President of the United States will be waiting on the Front Porch of the White House to present you with a jewelled Sword on behalf of a Grateful Nation." "You are right," said the Stripling. His eyes were like Saucers, and his Nostrils quivered. "I will be Commander-in-Chief, and after I am laid away, with the Cannon booming, the Folks in this very Town will put up a Statue of Me at the corner of Sixth and Main, so the Street- Cars will have to circle to get around it." Consequently, when he was in his 21st Year, he was sitting at a high Desk in an Office watching the Birds on a Telegraph Wire. The Knowledge he had acquired at the two Prep Schools before being pushed into the Fresh Air ahead of Time had not made him round-shouldered. He was a likely Chap, but he wore no Plumes. He became dimly conscious that Ambition was squatted on the Stool next to him. "Up to this time we have been Dead Wrong," said the Periodical Visitor. "There is only one Prize worth winning and that is the Love of the Niftiest Nectarine that ever came down a Crystal Stairway from the Celestial Regions to grace this dreary World with her Holy Presence. Yes, I mean the One you passed this morning--the One with her hair in a Net and the Cameo Brooch. Why not annex her by Legal Routine and settle down in a neat Cottage purchased from the Building and Loan Association? You could raise your own Vegetables. Go to it." Four years elapse. Our Hero now has everything. The jerry-built home of the Early Bungalow Period stands up bravely under the Mortgage. Little Dorothy is suspended in a Jump Chair on the Veranda facing Myrtle Avenue, along which the Green Cars run direct to City Hall Square. The Goddess is in the kitchen trying to make preserves out of Watermelon Rinds, with the White House Cook Book propped open in front of her. Friend Husband is weeding the Azaleas and grieving over the failure of the Egg-Plant. He finds himself gently prodded, and there is Ambition once more at his Elbow. "You are entitled to One Hundred Thousand Dollars," murmurs the stealthy Promoter. "Why should some other Citizen have his Coal-Bin right in his House while you carry it from a Shed? Your Wife should sit at her own Dinner Table and make signs at the Maid. And as you ride to your Work with the other dead-eyed Cattle and see all those Strong-Arm Johnnies coming out of their Brick Mansions to hop into their own Broughams and Coupes, have you not asked yourself why you are in the Horse-Cars with the Plebes when you might be in a Private Rig with the Patricians?" For, wot ye, Gentle Reader, all this unwound from the Reel before the first Trolley Car climbed a Hill or the first Horseless Carriage came chugging sternly up the Boulevard. So Ambition received special Instructions to make Our Hero worth $100,000. Those were the day of tall Hustling: If he saw an Opening six inches wide, he held it with his Foot until he could insert his Elbow, and then he braced his Shoulder, and the first thing you knew he was on the Inside demanding a fair cut of the Swag. The Golden Rule received many a Jolt, but he adhered strictly to the old and favorite Admonition: If you want Yours, take a short piece of Lead Pipe and go out and Collect. On a certain January First he made a careful Invoice. All the Hard- Earned Kale dropped into the Mining Companies or loaned to Relatives of Wife he marked off and put under the Head of Gone but not Forgotten. He was a True Business Guy. Even after subtracting all Cats and Dogs he could still total the magnificent Sum of One Hundred Thousand Dollars. When he looked at this Mound of Currency, he felt like a Vag and a Pauper. For he had climbed to the table-lands of High Finance and taken a peek at the Steam-Roller methods of the Real Tabascos. "Make it a Million," said Ambition, leaning across the Table and tapping nervously. "Are you going to be satisfied with a Station Wagon and a Colored Boy when you might have a long-waisted Vehicle with two pale Simpsons in Livery on the Box? When you go into your Club and see the Menials kow-towing to a cold-looking Party with rippling Chins who seems to favor his Feet, you know that he gets the Waving Palms and the Frankincense because he is a Millionaire. You and the other financial Gnats are admitted simply to make a Stage Setting for the Big Squash." "I always said that when I got a Hundred Thousand I'd take a long Vacation in Europe and learn how to order a Meal," suggested Our Hero, holding out weakly. "When you came back you would find your hated Rival on the Hill with the Batteries turned against you. Camp on the Job and work straight toward the High Mark. And remember that anybody with less than a Million is a Two-Spot in a soiled Deck." From that day the Piking ceased. No more of the dinky trafficking of the Retailer. He went out and bought Public Service Utilities on Nerve, treated them with Aqua Pura by the Hogshead, and created Wealth by purely lithographic Methods. And, if he wanted to reason out a Deal with a contrary-minded Gazook, he began the Negotiations by soaking the Adversary behind the Ear and frisking him before he came to. A Fairy Wand had been waved above the snide Bungalow, and it was now a Queen Anne Chateau dripping with Dew-dads of Scroll Work and congested with Black Walnut. The Goddess took her Mocha in the Feathers, and a Music Teacher came twice each week to bridge the awful chasm between Dorothy and Chopin. Dinner had been moved up to Milking Time. Sweetbreads and Artichokes came into the Lives of the Trio thus favored by Fortune. One day the busy Thimble-Rigger took his Helpmate into the lonesome Library and broke the glad Tidings to her. "I have unloaded all my Cripples," he said. "They have been wished on a Group of Philanthropists in New England. Sound the glad Tocsin. I have a Million in my Kick." So she began packing the huge Saratogas and reading the Folders on Egypt and the Riviera. He sat in his Den pulling at a long black Excepcionale. Through the bluish clouds of Smoke came that old familiar Voice. "Let the Missus and the Heiress do the European Thing," said Ambition. "You stick around. Wait for Black Friday. Then get busy at the Bargain Counter. By and by the new Crop will begin to move, and Money will creep out of the Yarn Stockings and a few Wise Gazabes will cop all the Plush. In every Palm Room there are more Millionaires than Palms. But the Big Round Table over by the Fountain is always reserved by Oscar for the Lad who can show Ten Millions." The Ocean Greyhound moved out past Sandy Hook with the Family and all the Maids on board, but Papa remained behind to sharpen his Tools and get ready for another Killing. Every time he was given a Crimp in the Rue de la Paix he caught even by leading a new Angora up the Chute and into the Shambles. When the fully matured Goddess and the radiant Heroine of the latest International Alliance came home with the French Language and two tons of Glad Raiment, they found themselves reuning with the Magnate at the big Table over by the Fountain. Our Hero was now sleeping in a Bed almost twelve feet wide, with a silk Tent over it. One Morning he found the Companion of many Years sitting on the edge of the Mattress. "Again?" asked the Multi-Millionaire. "What next?" "The Exercises up to this Time have been Preliminary," said Ambition. "What is the good of a Bank Roll if you cannot garnish it with the delectable Parsley of Social Eminence? Get a Wiggle on you. Send for the Boys with the Frock Coats and the Soft Hats and let them dig in to their Elbows. Tell the Press Agent to organize a typewriting Phalanx. Assume a few Mortgages on fluttering Newspapers. Lay a Corner-Stone ever and anon. Be Interviewed." "What are you leading up to?" asked the Financial Giant, a sickly Fear creeping into the Region formerly occupied by his Heart. "The Logical Finish," replied Ambition, with a reassuring Pat on the Shoulder. "You must go to the Senate. The White Palace, suitable for entertaining purposes, now awaits you in Washington. The Bulb Lights glow dimly above the Porte Cochere. A red Carpet invites you to climb the Marble Stairway and spread yourself all over the Throne. On a Receiving Night, when the perfumed Aliens in their Masquerade Suits rally around the Punch Bowl, your Place will resemble the Last Act of something by Klaw & Erlanger. You will play Stud with the Makers of History and be seen leaving the Executive Mansion." This Line of Talk landed him. He Fell for it. That year the Christmas Tree drooped with valuable Gifts for the Boys who stood after they were hitched. He went up to Washington with an eviscerated Check-Book in his Pocket, and a faint Odor of Scandal in his Wake, but he was a certified Servant of the People. His Cut Flowers were the Talk in Official Circles. The most Exclusive consented to flirt with his Wine Cellar. To a mere Outsider it looked as if Ambition had certainly boosted his Nobs to the final Himalayan Peak of Human Happiness. He had a House as big as a Hospital. The Hallways were cluttered with whispering Servants of the most immaculate and grovelling Description. His Wife and the Daughter and the Cigarette-Holder she had picked up in Europe figured in the Gay Life of the Nation's Capital every Night and went to see a Nerve Specialist every Day. The whole Bunch rode gaily on the Top Wave of the Social Swim, with a Terrapin as an Escort and a squad of Canvas-Back Ducks as Body-Guard. Notwithstanding all which, Father was the sorest Hard-Shell that motored along Pennsylvania Avenue. The Dime Denouncers printed his Picture, saying that he was owned by the Interests and hated the sight of a Poor Working Girl. When the High Class continuous Show in the Senate Chamber showed signs of flopping and the Press Gallery became impatient, some Alkali Statesman of the New School would arise in his Place and give our Hero a Turning- Over, concluding with a faithful Pen-Picture of the Dishonored Grave marked by a single Headstone, chiseled as follows: "Here lies a Burglar." When he went traveling, he had his Food smuggled into the Drawing-Room. He knew if he went drilling through the Pullmans, some of the Passengers who had seen the Cartoons might recognize him as the notorious Malefactor. One day, while he was cowering in a dark corner of his Club to get away from the pesky Reporters, he was joined by the Trouble-Maker. "I gave you the wrong Steer," said Ambition, now much subdued. "You are in Dutch. Beat it! All the Rough-Necks down by the Round-House and the fretful Simps along every R. F. D. Route are getting ready to interfere in the Affairs of Government. The Storm Clouds of Anarchy are lowering. In other words, the new Primary Law has begun to do business. Every downtrodden Mokus owing $800 on a $500 House is honing for a Chance to Hand It to somebody wearing a Seal-Skin Overcoat. From now on, seek Contentment, Rural Quietude, and a cinch Rate of 5 Per Cent. on all your Holdings." So Ambition, after leading him hither and yon, finally conducted him to the swell Country House surrounded by Oaks and winding Drives and Sunken Gardens. Far from the Hurly-Burly he settled down among his Boston Terriers and Orchids and Talking-Machines and allowed Old Age to ripen and mellow him into a Patriarch of the benevolent Pattern. At the suggestion of an expensive Specialist, he went in for Golf. After he had learned to Follow Through and keep within 100 yards of the Fair Green, he happened to get mixed up in a Twosome one day with a walking Rameses who had graduated from the Stock Exchange soon after the Crime of '73. This doddering Shell of Humanity looked as if a High Wind would blow him into the Crick. When he swung at the Pill, you expected to hear something Snap. Our Hero had about 10 Years on the Ancient, and it looked like a Compote. But the Antique managed to totter around the Course, playing short but safe, always getting Direction and keeping away from the Profanity Pits. He never caught up with Colonel Bogey, but he had enough Class to trim our Hero and collect 6 Balls. Ambition rode home with the unhappy Loser in the $12,000 Limousine. "Buck up, Old Top," said the faithful Prompter. "Fasten your Eye on the Ball and don't try to Force. He is sure to blow up sooner or later. Take another Lesson to-morrow morning and then publish your Defi in the afternoon." He never had been strong enough to stand off Ambition. So the next Day he took on Old Sure-Thing again and got it in the same Place. No wonder. The Octogenarian was of Scotch Descent. He was the Color of an Army Saddle. He never smiled except when the Kilties came on tour. His Nippie consisted of a tall Glass about half full and then a little Well Water. A plain American Business Man with a York State Ancestry had a fat Chance against this Caledonian frame-up. But that same persistent Ambition kept sending him back to the Ring to take another Trouncing. One day he failed to show up at the Club House. The Trained Nurse, who fanned him during the final Hours, never suspected. But the Caddy- Master knew that he had died of a Broken Heart. MORAL: Those who travel the hardest are not always the first to arrive. THE NEW FABLE OF THE SPEEDY SPRITE One Monday Morning a range and well-conditioned Elfin of the Young Unmarried Set, yclept Loretta, emerged into the Sunlight and hit the Concrete Path with a ringing Heel. This uncrowned Empress of the 18th Ward was a she-Progressive assaying 98 per cent. pure Ginger. Instead of trailing the ever onward Parade, she juggled the Baton at the head of the Push. In the crisp introductory hours of the Wash-Day already woven into the Plot, Loretta trolleyed herself down into the Noise Belt. She went to the office of the exclusive Kennel Club and entered the Chow Ki-Yi for the next Bench Show. At the Clearing House for K. M.'s she filed a loud call for a Cook who could cook. Then she cashed a check, ordered a pound of Salted Nuts (to be delivered by Special Wagon at once), enveloped a ball of Ice Cream gooed with Chocolate, and soon, greatly refreshed, swept down upon a Department Store. A Chenille Massacre was in full swing on the 3d floor, just between the Porch Furniture and Special Clothing for Airmen. Loretta took a run and jump into the heaving mass of the gentler Division. She came out at 10.53 with her Sky Piece badly listed to Port and her toes flattened out, but she was 17 cents to the Good. Three hearty Cheers! So she went over to an exhibition of Paintings, breathing through her Nose for at least an Hour as she studied the new Masterpieces of the Swedo-Scandinavian School. Each looked as if executed with a Squirt Gun by a Nervous Geek on his way to a Three Days Cure. Just the same, every Visitor with a clinging Skirt and a Mushroom Hat gurgled like a Mountain Stream. In company with four other Seraphines, plucked from the Society Col., she toyed with a Fruit Salad and Cocoa at a Tea Room instituted by a Lady in Reduced Circumstances for the accommodation of those who are never overtaken by Hunger. The usual Battle as to which should pick up the Check and the same old Compromise. A Dutch Treat with the Waitress trying to spread it four ways and the Auditing Committee watching her like a Hawk. Then a 10- cent Tip, bestowed as if endowing Princeton, and the Quartet representing the Flower of America's Young Womanhood was once more out in the Ozone, marching abreast with shining Faces and pushing white- haired Business Men off into the Sweepings. Loretta went to a place with a glass Cover on it and had herself photoed in many a striking Posture. With the Chin tilted to show the full crop of Cervical Vertebrae and her Search Lights aimed yearningly at the top of the Singer Building, she had herself kidded into believing that she was a certified Replica of Elsie Ferguson. As a member of the Board of Visitation she hurried out to the Colored Orphan Asylum to check up the Picks and watch them making Card-Board Mottoes. After that she had nothing to do except fly home and complete a Paper on the Social Unrest in Spain, after which she backed into the Spangles, because Father was bringing an old Stable Companion to dinner. In the evening she took Mother to a Travel Lecture. The colored Slides were mingled with St. Vitus Glimpses of swarming Streets and galloping Gee-Gees. They came home google-eyed and had to feel their way into the Domicile. Tuesday A. M. dawned overcast with shifting winds from the N. E.. Loretta pried herself away from the third Waffle in order to hike to the corner and jack up Mr. Grocer about the Kindling Wood that he had sent them for Celery. She had the Druggist 'phone the Florist, and then rewarded him by purchasing three Stamps. At 9.30 the Committee to arrange for the Summer Camp of the In-Wrong Married Women whirled through the untidy Suburbs in a next year's Motor Car, and Loretta was nowhere except right up on the front Seat picking out the Road. Once a year the Ladies of the Lumty-Tum went out with their embroidered Sand-Bags and swung on their Gentlemen Friends for enough Dough to pay the Vacation Expenses of Neglected Wives and Kiddies. In every community there is an undiscovered Triton thoroughly posted on the Renaissance of the Reactionaries and the recrudescence of the Big Six Baby with the up-twist that has the Whiskers on it. This Boy is so busy regulating both Parties and both Leagues that when it comes time for his Brood to take an Outing, some ignorant Outsider has to step in and unbelt. After letting contracts for Milk and Vegetables, Loretta and the other specimens of our Best People zipped over to the Country Club, breaking into silvery Laughter every time the Speedometer made a Face at the Sign-Board which said that the Speed Limit was 12 Miles an Hour. They showed a few milk-fed Springers how to take a Joke, and then played an 18-hole Foursome which was more or less of a Grewsome. Then a little Tea on the Terrace with Herbert lolling by in his Flannels, just as you read about it in Mrs. Humphrey Ward. A buzzing sound dying off into the distance, a trail of Blue Smoke in the fading Twilight, and little Bright Eyes is back in her own Boudoir packing herself into a new set of Glads. That evening she had four throbbing Roscoes curled up among her Sofa Pillows. She had to bat up short and easy ones for this Bunch, as they came from the Wholesale District. When they began to distribute political Bromides, the artful Minx sat clear out on the edge of the Chair and let on to be simply pop-eyed with Ardor. Shortly after 12 she turned the last night-blooming Cyril out into the Darkness and did a graceful Pirouet to the Husks. On Wednesday morning, between the Ham and Eggs, she glanced at her double-entry Date Book and began to gyrate. On the way down-town she stopped in and had herself measured for a new mop of hair. Thence to the Beauty Works to have the peerless Frontispiece ironed out and the Nails ivoried. When she appeared at the Sorority Tiffin at 1 P. M. she was dolled for fair. The Response in behalf of the Alumnae of Yamma Gamma was a neat Affair. After swiping the Table Decorations, she and two Companions hurried to a Mat. It was a Performance given under the auspices of the Overhanging Domes, and the Drama was one that no Commercial Manager had the Nerve to unload on the Public. The Plot consisted of two victims of Neurasthenia sitting at a Table and discussing Impaired Circulation. That evening she helped administer the Anesthetic to a Seminary Snipe who was getting into the Life Boat with a hard-wood Bachelor grabbed off at the 11th Hour. Loretta wept softly while straightening out the Veil, in accordance with Tradition. Later on she did an Eddie Collins and landed the Bride's Bouquet. At 11.30 she had the Best Man backed into a Corner, slipping him that Old One about his Hair matching his Eyes. It is now Thursday morning and who is this in the Gym whanging the Medicine Ball at the Lady Instructor with the Face? It is Loretta. Behold her at 10.30, after an icy Splash and a keen rub with a raspy Towel. She has climbed back into the dark-cloth Effect and is headed for the Studio of Madam to grapple with the French Lesson. After that she will do nothing before Lunch Time except try on White Shoes and fondle some Hats that are being sacrificed at $80 per throw. The Suffrage Sisters rounded up Thursday afternoon. A longitudinal Brigadieress in the army of Intellectuality did the main Spiel, with Loretta as principal Rooter. The Speaker was there with the Pep and with the Vocabulary. Otherwise she was a Naughty-Naughty. The costume was a plain Burial Shroud, the only Ornament being a 4-carat Wen just above the Neck-band. At 4 P. M., after the Male Sex had been ground to a Hamburger, our little Playmate escaped to a Picture Show, but not until she had duly fortified herself with the nourishing Marshmallow. There was nothing on the Cards that night except a Subscription Dance, which got under way at 10 P. M. and never subsided until the cold Daylight began to spill in at the Windows. Loretta did a 27 out of a possible 29. Percentage .931--six better than Bogey and 400 points ahead of Ty Cobb. Nevertheless and notwithstanding, don't imagine that she failed to come up for Air on Friday Morning. Life is real, Life is earnest, and she had a Gown to be shortened up and re-surveyed around the Horse Shoe Curve, just as soon as she could leave the Gloves to be cleaned. Happening into Automobile Row, she permitted a blond salesman with a Norfolk Jacket to demonstrate the new type of Electric Runabout. One of the most inexpensive pursuits of the well-dressed Minority is to glide over the Asphalt in a Demonstration Car and pretend to be undecided. She permitted the man to set her down at a Book Shop, where she furtively skinned eight Magazines while waiting for a Chum to pop through the Whirligig Door. The two went Window-Hopping for an hour. After making Mind Purchases of about $8000 worth of washable Finery edged with Lace, a spirit of Deviltry seized them. They ordered their Lettuce Sandwiches and diluted Ceylon in a Restaurant where roguish Men-about-Town sat facing the Main Entrance to pipe the pulchritudinous Pippins. Was it seven or eight Party Calls that she checked from her social Ledger before 4 o'clock? Answer: eight. Then a swinging Gallop for home. Whilst she had been socializing around, Robert W. Chambers had taken a lead of two Novels on her. Retiring to a quiet Alcove with four Volumes that were being dissected at the drawing-room Clinics, she took a hack at the first and last Chapter of each. Just enough to protect her against a Fumble if she found herself next to a Book Sharp. That evening a famous Hungarian Fiddler, accompanied by a warbling Guinea Hen and backed up by sixty Symphonic Heineys wearing Spectacles, was giving a Recital for the True Lovers in a Mammoth Cave devoted to Art. Loretta had a sneaking preference for the May Irwin School of Expression, but she had to go through with the Saint-Saens Stuff now and then to maintain a Club Standing. Accordingly she and Mother and poor old dying Father, with no Heart in the Enterprise, were planted well down in Section B, where they could watch Mrs. Leroy Geblotz, who once entertained Nordica, and say "Bravo" at the Psychological Moment. On Saturday Morning, after she had penned 14 Epistles, using the tall cuneiform Hieroglyphics, she didn't have a blessed thing to do before her 1 o'clock Engagement except drop in at a Flower Show and a Cat Show and have her Palm read by a perfectly fascinating Serpent with a Goatee who had been telling all the Gells the most wonderful things about themselves. A merry little Group went slumming Saturday afternoon. They attended a Ball Game. Loretta had her Chin over the Railing and evinced a keen Interest, her only Difficulty being that she never knew which Side was at bat. At dusk she began hanging on the Family Jewels. It was a formal Dinner Party with a list made up by Dun and Bradstreet. Loretta found herself between an extinct Volcano of Political World and a sappy Fledgling whose Grandfather laid the cornerstone of Brooklyn. The Dinner was one of those corpseless Funerals, stage-managed by a respectable Lady with a granite Front who had Mayflower Corpuscles moving majestically through her Arterial System. Loretta was marooned so far from the Live Ones that she couldn't wig- wag for Help. Her C. Q. D. brought no Relief. She threw about three throes of Anguish before they escaped to the private Gambling Hell. Here she tucked back her Valenciennes and proceeded to cop a little Pin-Money at the soul-destroying game known as Bridge. At 11.30 she led a highly connected volunteer Wine Pusher out into the Conservatory and told him she did not think it advisable to marry him until she had learned his First Name. Shortly after Midnight she blew, arriving at headquarters just in time to participate in a Chafing-Dish Jubilee promoted by only Brother, just back from the Varsity. She approached the Porcelain in a chastened mood that Sabbath morning. She was thinking of the Night Before and of playing cards for Money. She remembered the glare of Light for overhead and the tense, eager Faces peering above the Paste-Boards. Then she recalled, with a sharp catch of the Breath and a little tug of Pain at the Heart, that she had balled herself up at one Stage and got dummied out of a Grand Slam. "It would have meant a long pair of the Silk Kind," thought she, as she sighed deeply and turned the cold Faucet. After Breakfast, she took a long Walk up the Avenue as a Bracer. After which to the Kirk, for she taught a class of Little Girls in the Sunday School, and she had to fake up an Explanation of how Joshua made the Sun stand still, thereby putting herself in the Scratch Division of Explainers, believe us. She listened to a dainty Boston Sermon, trimmed with Ruching, singing lustily before and after. Then back home with the solemn Parade to sit among the condemned waiting for that superlative Gorge known as the Sunday Dinner. While she was waiting, a male Friend dropped in. His costume was a compromise between an English Actor and a hired Mourner. On Week Days he sat at a Desk dictating Letters and saying that the Matter had been referred to the proper Department. He looked at Loretta, so calm and cool and collected in her pious Raiment, and the Smile that he summoned was benevolent and almost patronizing. "I was wondering," said he. "I was wondering if a Girl like you ever gets tired of sitting around and doing nothing." Loretta did not cackle. She had read in a Book by a Yale Professor that Woman is not supposed to possess the Sense of Humor. MORAL: The Settlement Campaign is not getting to the real Workers. THE NEW FABLE OF THE INTERMITTENT FUSSER Once a grammar-school Rabbit, struggling from long Trousers toward his first brier-wood Pipe, had Growing Pains which he diagnosed as the pangs of True Love. The Target was a dry-seasoned Fannie old enough to be his Godmother. She was a Post-Graduate who was keeping herself on Earth by running to the Drug-Store every few minutes. The Eye-Brows were neatly blocked out by some Process unknown to the writer, and she had a Shape that could be revised ad lib. An Expert would have Made her at a glance, but the Cub fell for the Scenery and Mechanical Effects. He had sketched a little synopsis of the Future. After waiting 8 years, until she had unpetaled into the perfect bloom of Womanhood and he was wearing a Full Beard, he would take her by the Long Glove and lead her off into Dreamland. Just to show how one of those pinfeather Passions may be shunted onto a Siding and left among the Dog-Fennel, when the Subject of this Sketch was _aetat_ 22, he was picking them out of the Air in the Left Garden at the State University. Fannie (she of the purchased Pallor) was thoroughly married to a Veterinary with the Drug Habit. Soon after recovering from the Pip, known in Medical Parlance as the Spooney Infantum, he began to glory in the friendship of an incipient Amazon who wore a Blazer and walked like a Policeman. She did not hamper her fibrous Physique with any excess Harness that might pinch when she essayed a full St. Andrew's Swipe with a wooden Club. And she had one lower octave of Pipes, like a Brakeman on the Erie. There comes a brief Period in the Veal Epoch of every Sentimental Tommy when the only real Cutie is one who can propel a Canoe and throw Overhand. So Walter, such being the baptismal Handicap, often thought it would be Sweet Billiards to keep house with the she-Acrobat for 30 or 40 years, because when they were tired of sitting in the House they could go into the Front Yard and play Ketch. He was just at the rickety Age when the Gams refuse to co-ordinate. Every time he sauntered carelessly across the porch at a Summer Hotel, he gave a correct Imitation of a troop of Cavalry going over a Wooden Bridge at full Gallop. He had a way of backing into Potted Plants. Each Morning was clouded by the task of picking out a Cravat that would be of the same Radio-Activity as his Socks. And all through the waking hours he carried with him a faint and sickly Realization that his Parents did not understand him. One day he stood before a kind-faced Registrar and matriculated. Branded as a regular Freshman, he went back to his little Den and put a news-stand Photo of Lillian Russell between two Pennants. The whalebone Divinity in the Home Town passed out of his Life. He told himself that he would be true to Miss Russell and all the other Members of her sprightly Profession. The emotional side of his unfolding Nature began to nourish itself on Song Hits, and he slept each night with his Banjo folded tightly to his Bosom. He became acquainted with a Sophomore who once sat near Trixie Friganza in a Parlor Car. One night Alice Nielsen looked directly at the Box in which he was seated with the other Fraters of the Ippy Ki Yi. In fact, his Life became crowded with tingling Experiences. The collection of Cigarette Pictures made him acquainted with many Celebrities. His intimacy with them grew apace as he developed a bookish appetite for Sunday Newspapers. He danced with the local Chickadees, but all the time his Heart was far away, in the Dramatic Column. Suddenly he found that he was an Upper Classman, to whom each Neophyte touched the Leaf of Lettuce balanced on top of the Head, ostensibly as a Cap. He became endowed with the divine Right to hit himself on the Leg with a Walking Stick and sit on a hallowed Fence. Simultaneous-like, he became conscious of the fact that the Footlight Favorites were no longer worthy of him. He began to hold long and serious Conversaziones with the Sister of a Prof. She was an aerial Performer who wore powerful Spectacles, in which any one standing before her could see an Image of himself, greatly reduced. She looked as if she had been sitting up all night, writing a History of Civilization. Walter found himself uplifted every time they were left together in the Library. Sometimes she took him up so high that he became dizzy. He now began to prog as follows: He and the Lady Emerson would be legally welded just after Commencement and spend the Honeymoon at some lively Chautauqua. The grinding Wheels and raucous buying and selling of the Marts of Trade seemed faint and far away when he roamed through the Cloisters with Elfreda. He was in the moulting Stage, and it seemed to him that Success in Life would consist of going about reeking of Culture. A Degree looked bigger than a Dividend. He never had heard tell of such a thing as a Coal-Bill or a Special Assessment for a Sewer. The vision of Elfreda floated out through a Transom three days after he drew a Desk in the extensive Works owned by the Governor. He was too busy keeping his Head above the Churning Waves to bother with Speculative Philosophy or write Letters studded with Latin Phrases, like Currants in an English Cake. All the cringing Peons in the big Stockade hated him because he had a Drag. It was up to him to deliver the Merchandise and demonstrate that he was a Human Being rather than a College Graduate. In the meantime, the Spectators were hoping that he would Skid and go into the Fence. He began to wear his Frat pin on his undershirt, and he had no time to frivol away on the fluffy Gender, because he expected to be sitting in the Directors' Room in a couple of years, talking it over with Henry C. Frick. So he waved aside the Square Envelopes and allowed himself to be billed all over the Macaroon Circuit as a Woman-Hater. Of course he girled in a conservative way, but he merely trailed. He did not buzz, or throw himself at the fallen Handkerchief, or run to get the Wraps, or do any of the Stuff that marks the true and bounden Captive. When he found himself in the cushioned Lair of a Feline, he would lean back in perfect Security, knowing that even if she exercised her entire repertoire of Wiles, she could not warm the Dead Heart nor stir into life the fallen Rose Leaves of Romance. All the time she was spilling her familiar line of Chatter, he would look at her with an arid and patronizing Smile, such as the Harvard Man produces when he finds himself in immediate juxtaposition to some human Caterpillar from west of Pittsburgh. Very often, when the registered Dolly Grays got together for a Bon-Bon Orgy, some one would say, "Oh, Crickey, ain't he the regular Cynic?" Another might suggest that he was hiding a great Sorrow, his whole Existence having been embittered by the faithlessness of some Creature. Then they would take a Vote and decide that he was a plain Mutt. The Chauncey who refuses to reciprocate will excite more Conversation than a regular Union Lover, but it is Lucky for him that he does not hear all the Conversation. Walter at the age of twenty-five thought he was too old and sedate to be a Diner-Out and Dancing Devil. When he was 28, however, he had become Hep to the large and luminous Truth that the man who sits in his Lodgings reading Dumas may overlook many a Bet. He noted on every Hand the nice-looking Boys who turned in about 10.40 and avoided the Pitfalls of Society, and most of them were pulling down as much as $14 a week. He recalled what this humble Chronicler had said away back in 1899: "Early to Bed and Early to Rise and you will meet very few of our Best People." He looked over the Lay-Out and decided that it was just as easy to mingle with the Face Cards as to sleep in the Discards. He saw many a Light Weight with a gilt sign exposed on Main Street and no Assets except a Suit with a Velvet Collar, a pair of indestructible dancing Legs, and just enough intellectual Acumen to stir Tea without spilling it. So he decided to have a try at the Gay Life and worm his way into the Safety Deposit Vaults via the Parlor Route. A worthy Resolve and one often taken. If a Friend of the People can capitalize his Vocal Cords, why should not the little Brother of the Rich put his undying Nerve into the Market and get what he can on it? The Captain of Finance is usually owned, Body and Soul, by the other Half of the Sketch. She may be a head bell-ringer in the D. A. R. or the blue-pencil Queen of the Golden Pheasants, but in a vast majority of cases she has not the Looks to back up the Title. Even the Buckingham Palace manner and the Arctic Front cannot buffalo the idle Spectator into overlooking the fact that she belongs to the genus Quince. She may not be a Beaut, but it is She who stands at the main entrance to the Big Tent and tears off seat coupons. Walter knew that if he wished to be mentioned all over town as a Sure- Enough, his passport to the Inner Circle of Hot Potatoes would have to be vised by Patroness No. 1. He began to work in the Secret Service of the Chosen Few and was First Aid to the Chaperons. A Hard Life, say you? Not a tall--not a tall. He was entirely surrounded by Fairy Lamps and sweet-smelling Flowers. Life became a kaleidoscopic Aurora Borealis. When the first Crash of Music came through the hothouse Palms, Walter would be out on the Waxen Floor with his hair in a Braid. Through the long watches of the night he played Blonde against Brunette and then went home with his Time-Card bearing the official O. K.. He swam among the floating Hooks and side-stepped the Maternal Traps, until the compilers of Marital Statistics had his name in the list marked "Nothing Doing." The Dope on him seemed to be that he was Immune and Jinx-Proof. After he led one of them back to a Divan and fed her an Ice it was a case of "Good Night, Miss Mitchell." Truly, a Bachelor flown with Insolence and Pride is the favorite Mark for the Bow-and-Arrow Kid. For every weather-beaten Beau and Ballroom Veteran there is waiting somewhere in Ambuscade a keen little Diana with the right kind of Ammunition. One night he went to a Small Dance in his regular Henry Miller suit and wearing a tired look around the Eyes. He counted these minor Functions a dreadful Bore. Over in a corner sat a half-portion Damosel who had come to town on a Visit. Her name was Violet, and she looked the Part. She didn't know who was running for President or what Miss Pankhurst said about Suffrage, but she had large belladonna Orbs, with Danger lurking in their limpid depths. She was just at the Age when any girl who is not actually Deformed looks fair to middling, while the real Dinger, with the Tresses and the Complexion and the gleaming white Shoulders and the Parisian figure, is right there with a full equipment for breaking up Families. Old Dare-Devil Dick, the Hero of 1000 Flirtations, was sitting out one of the Dances recently condemned by Press and Pulpit. He became aware of the presence of something Feminine at his immediate right. He took a cautious Look and beheld a timid Debutante, sparkling with the Dew and waiting to be plucked. She gave him a frightened Smile and lamped him very slowly. Suddenly he felt himself wafted away on a cloud of Purple Perfumery. She had put the Sign on him without lifting a Finger. His friends tried to save him. They demonstrated, with a Pencil and a Piece of Paper, that she was just an ordinary, everyday Baby Doll with a Second Reader intelligence and the Spiritual Caliber of a Humming Bird. They proved that exactly the same kind were scattered through every Department Store, working for $6 a week. When they got thorough knocking, he hurried over and told her everything and promised her that if she would marry him, not one of these Snakes would ever be permitted to enter the House. He writhed on the Rug and said that if she didn't whisper that One Little Word, it would be a case of Satin Lining and Silver Handles for little Wallie. She looked out the Window and yawned slightly and then said, "Oh, very well." He rode home standing up in a Taxicab, while she was showing the Maids a lozenge-shaped Ring that set him back 450 Bucks. MORAL: The higher they fly the harder they fall. THE NEW FABLE OF THE SEARCH FOR CLIMATE Once there was a Gentleman of the deepest dye who was all out of Kilter. He felt like a list of Symptoms on the outside of a Dollar Bottle. He looked like the Picture you see in the Almanac entitled, "Before Taking." When his Liver was at Perihelion, he had a Complexion suggesting an Alligator-Pear, and his Eye-Balls should have been taken out and burnished. He could see little dirigible Balloons drifting about in all parts of the deep-blue Ether. His Tummy told him that some one had moved in and was giving a Chafing-Dish Party. Furthermore, a red-hot Awl had been inserted under each Shoulder Blade. When every Tree was a Weeping Willow and the Sun went slinking behind a Cloud, his only definite Yearn was to crawl into a dark Cellar with Fungus on the Walls and do the Shuffle, after making a sarcastic Will that disinherited all Relatives and Friends. This poor, stricken Gloomer had time-tabled himself all over the Universe, trying to close in on a Climate that would put him on his Feet and keep him Fit as a Fiddle. He had de-luxed himself to remote Spots that were supplied with Steam Heat and French Cooking, together with Wines, Liquors, and Cigars, but no matter what the Altitude or the Relative Humidity, he felt discouraged every Morning when he awoke and remembered that presently he would have to rally his Vital Forces and walk all the way to the Tub. It was too bad that a Clubman, so eminent Socially, should be thus shot to Rags and Fragments. Could aught be more Piteous than to Witness a proud and haughty Income tottering along the Street, searching in vain for a Workingman's Appetite? When one with a spending possibility of $2 a Minute is told by a Specialist to drink plenty of Hot Water, the Words seem almost Ironic. His Operating Expenses kept running up, and yet it looked like sheer Waste to lavish so much Collateral on the upkeep of a Physical Swab. To show you how he worked at recouping his Health, once he spent a whole Summer in Merrie England. He had been told by a Globe-Trotter that One lodging within a mile of Trafalgar Square could hoist unlimited Scotch and yet sidestep the Day After. The Explanation offered by members of the Royal Alcoholic Society is that the Moisture in the Atmosphere counterbalances or nullifies, so to speak, the interior Wetness. Also, the normal state of Melancholy is such that even a case of Katzenjammer merely blends in with the surrounding Drabness. He experimented sincerely with the Caledonian Cure, acquiring a rich sunset Glow, much affected by half-pay Majors and the elderly Toffs who ride in the Row. He began to wear his Arteries on the outside, just like a true son of Albion. This cherry-ripe Facial Tint proves that the Britisher is the most rugged Chap in the World--except when he is in Stockholm. In fact, if the New York Duds worn by the Yank had been less of a Fit, and he could have schooled himself to look at a Herring without shuddering, he might have rung in as a Resident of the tight little Isle, for he was often Tight. He learned to like the Smoky Taste and could even take it warm, but still he felt Rocky, and up to 3 P. M. was only about 30 per cent. Human. One evening in a polite Pub he heard about the wonderful Vin Ordinaire of Sunny France. He was told that the Peasants who irrigated themselves with a brunette Fluid resembling diluted Ink were husky as Beeves and simply staggering with Health. So he went motoring in the Grape and Chateau District and played Claret both ways from the Middle. Every time the Petrol chariot pulled up in front of a Brasserie, he would call for a Flagon of some rare old Vintage squeezed out the day before. Then he would go riding at the rate of 82 Kilos an Hour, scooping up the Climate as he scooted along. Notwithstanding all these brave Efforts to overtake Health, he would feel like a frost-nipped Rutabaga when the matutinal Chanticleer told him that another blue Dawn was sneaking over the Hills. He began to figure himself a Candidate for a plain white Cot in the Nerve Garage, when he heard of the wonderful Air and Dietary Advantages of Germany. It seemed that the Fatherland was becoming Commercially Supreme and of the greatest Military Importance because every Fritz kept himself saturated with the Essence of Munich. He could see on the Post-Cards that each loyal subject of Wilhelm was plump and rosy, with Apple Cheeks and a well-defined Awning just below the Floating Ribs, and a Krug of dark Suds clutched in the right Mitt. All the way from Duesseldorf to Wohlgebaum he played the Circuit of Gardens with nice clean Gravel on the Ground and Dill Pickles festooned among the Caraway Trees. Every time the Military Band began to breathe a new Waltz he would have Otto bring a Tub of the Dark Brew and a Frankfurter about the size of a Sash Weight. Between pulls he would suspire deeply, so as to get the full assistance of the Climate. Sometimes he would feel that he was being benefitted. Often at 9 P. M., before taking his final Schnitzel and passing gently into a state of Coma, he would get ready to renounce allegiance to all three of the Political Parties in the U. S. A. and grow one of those U-Shaped Mustaches. Next Morning, like as not, he would emerge from beneath the Feather Tick and lean against the Porcelain Stove, wondering vaguely if he could live through the Day. The very Treatment which developed large and coarse-grained Soldiers all through Schleswig-Holstein seemed to make this Son of Connecticut just about as gimpy as a wet Towel. Undismayed by repeated Failures, he took some Advice, given in a Rathskeller, and went to a Mountain Resort famous for a certain brand of White Vinegar with a colored Landscape on the Label. It was said that anyone becoming thoroughly acidulated with this noble Beverage would put a Feather into his Granulated Lid and begin to Yodel. He sat among the snowy Peaks, entirely surrounded by the rarefied Atmosphere so highly boosted in the Hotel Circulars, sampling a tall bottle of every kind ending with "heimer," and yet he didn't seem to get the Results. At last he headed for the barbaric Region which an unkindly Fate had designated as Home, almost convinced that there was no Climate on the Map which would really adapt itself to all the intricate Peculiarities of his complicated Case. Often he would be found in the Reception Room just next to the shake- down Parlor. After reading a few pages in a popular Magazine dated two Years back, he would be admitted to the little inside Room, faintly perfumed with something other than New Mown Hay. Here he would cower before the dollar-a-minute Specialist, who would apply a Dictograph to the Heart Region and then say "You are all Run Down." Next day the Sufferer would collect his folding Trunks and Head-Ache Tablets and Hot-Water Bags and start for Florida or California or the Piney Woods. Sometimes he would seem to perk up for a Day or two. Enlivened by Hope and a few Dry Martinis, he would move up to a little Table in the shade of the sheltering Candelabrum and tackle the Carte du Jour from Caviar to Cafe Noir. The Climate would seem to be helping his Appetite. Within 24 Hours, however, he would be craving only some cold Carbonic and a few Kind Words. Florida seemed to enervate him. California was too unsettled. Even in the Mountains, his Heart always bothered him after a Hearty Meal. And the Piney Woods only made him Pine more than ever. Time and again he would curl up in the palatial Drawing-Room at one end of the Sleeper and dream that six Life-Long Friends in deep Black were whispering among the Floral Tributes and putting on Cotton Gloves. While searching for the Fountain of Youth he would bump into Sympathetic Souls of the kind who infest Observation Cars and hold down Rocking-Chairs in front of Wooden Hotels. These Fellow Voyagers in the realm of Hypochondria would give him various Capsules and Tablets, supposed to be good for whatever Ailed one at the Time. So eager was he to regain his full vigor and be able to eat and drink everything forbidden by the Doctors, he would fall for every kind of Dope made from Coal Tar. Even if he had worn Blinders he could not have walked past an Apothecary Shop. As he moved about the produced a muffled Castanet Effect, for he had a little box of Medicated Bullets in every Pocket. Yet he was not in Condition. His Complexion was a Bird's-Eye Maple, and he looked like the Superintendent of a prosperous Morgue. One Summer Day, when he was only about three jumps ahead of a Cataleptic Convulsion, he had to get on the Cars and take a long ride to inspect some Copper Mines which helped to fatten his impotent Income. The train was bowling through a placid Dairy Region in the Commonwealth regulated by Mr. La Follette. The Chronic Invalid was in the Buffet, trying to work up a Desire for Luncheon, when suddenly the Car turned a complete Somersault, because a heavy Freight Train had met Number Six head on. When the Subject of this Treatise came to, he was propped up on the front porch of a Farm House with one Leg in Splits and a kind-faced Lady pressing Cold Applications to the fevered Brow. He was O. K. except that he would have to lie still for a few Weeks while the Bones did their Knitting. The good Country Folk would not permit him to be moved. He was dead willing to sink back among the White Pillows and figure the Accident Insurance. Through the Honeysuckles and Morning-Glories he could see the long slope of the Clover Pasture, with here and there a deliberate Cow, and the Steeple of the Reformed Church showing above a distant clump of Soft Maples. About two hours after emerging from the trance, he made his customary Diagnosis and discovered that he was nervously shattered and in urgent need of a most heroic Bracer. He beckoned to the president of the local W. C. T. U. and said if they were all out of Scotch, he could do with a full-sized Hooker of any standard Bourbon that had matured in the Wood and was not blended. Nurse readjusted his Pillow and told him that as soon as he came out of the Delirium he could dally with a mug of Buttermilk. By and by, as he gathered Strength, she would slip him some Weak Tea. He had heard that in some of these outlying Regions, the Family Sideboard stood for nothing stronger than Mustard, but this was the first time he had met Human Beings who were not on visiting Terms with the Demon Rum. At the Cocktail Hour he ventured a second Request for any one of the standard Necessities of Life, but Mrs. Peabody read him a Passage from the Family Medicine Book to the effect that Liquor was never to be used except for Snake Bites. When he ordered the Hired Hand to bring him a large Snake, they gave him a Sleeping Powder and told inquiring Neighbors that he was still out of his Head. Next day he found himself alive, thanks to a wonderful Constitution. The Samaritans came and stood around his Couch and jollied him and offered him everything except what he needed. When he offered to compromise on Drug-Store Sherry, the Daughter of the Household, Luella by name, brought out a colored Chart showing the Interior of a Moderate Drinker's Stomach. After that he was afraid to Chirp. Even the Cigarette was Taboo among these Good People, although Father could Fletcherize about 10 cents' worth of Licorice Plug each working Day. Far removed from the Lad with the White Apron, and with nothing to inhale except Ozone, the unhappy Bon Vivant was compelled to put up with these most unnatural Conditions. When he was tired of dozing he could take his choice of any kind of Milk and read a few more pages of Robinson Crusoe. Then ensued the Miracle. His Nerves began to unspiral themselves and lie down. He began to sit up and listen for the Toot of the Dinner Horn. As soon as he could hobble on Crutches they put him on the Hay Scales, and he thought the Thing was out of Whack, for he had taken on 4 Pounds. The Fresh Garden truck seemed superior to any that he had been able to obtain in the Best Restaurants. What was more amazing, he now evinced a critical Interest in Clydesdale Colts and Leghorn Roosters, although nothing of the sort had ever come into his Life while he had an Apartment in Forty-seventh Street. When he took his game Leg back to the Metropolis, he hurried to the Club and made a startling Report to all the broken-down Sports assembled in the Card-Room. He said he had discovered the only Climate in the World. It had Switzerland skinned and was not enervating, like Florida, for he had been sleeping like a Baby and felt like a 2-year-old every A. M., in spite of the fact that he could not get his regular Rations. He wanted to organize a Company and build a Million Dollar Hotel at Once. With a New York Steward to supply the Table and a well-stocked Cellar, the Resort ought to get all the classy Trade, for he hoped to die if the Air out there hadn't done more for him in One Month than Europe had done in the whole Year. MORAL: Nature will sometimes help the Unfortunate who finds it impossible to reach out and help Himself. THE NEW FABLE OF THE FATHER WHO JUMPED IN Once there was a leading Citizen with only one Daughter, but she was Some Offspring. Bernice was chief Expense Account and Crown Jewel of a Real Estate Juggler who had done so well that all the Strap-Hangers regarded him as an Enemy to Society. Papa was foolish, even as a Weasel. He was what you might call Honest, which signified that all of his Low Work had been done by Agents. A Person of rare judgment, withal. He never copped a piece of bulky Swag unless he had a Wheelbarrow with him at the time. He had been going East with the Green Goods ever since the Party in Power precipitated the first Panic. He had Stacks of the Needful, and his Rating was AA Plus 1, to say nothing of a Reserve cached in the little Tin Box. Daughter alone could include him to unbuckle, and melt, and jar loose, and come across, and kick in, and sting the Check-Book. One day Bernice was a Little Girl, and the next she was head Flossie among the Debutantes, with a pack of Society Hounds pursuing in Full Cry, each willing to help count the Bank Roll. Father was scared pink when he sized up the Field. He still wore box-toed Boots and carried Foliage on the Sub-Maxillary so that those who came ringing the Front Bell didn't look very lucky to him. Sometimes he would dream that he had been pushed into a Mausoleum and that a slender Cyril with a Lady's Watch strapped on his wrist was spending all of that Money for Signed Etchings. Whereupon he would awake in a Cold Sweat and try to think of a safe Recipe for poisoning Boulevard Blighters. One day Bernice went out into the Sunshine and found something and brought it home with her and put it on a Rug in the Elizabethan Room. Father came in and took one look and said: "Not for Mine! I won't stand for any Puss Willow being grafted on to our Family Tree." His name was Kenneth, and he reduced his Percentage on the first day by having the hem-stitched Mouchoir tucked inside of the Cuff. Also, it was rumored that he put oil on his Eye-Brows and rubbed Perfumery on the backs of his Hands. Father walked around the He-Canary twice, looking at him over the Specs, and then he rushed to the Library and kicked the Upholstery out of an $80 chair. He could see the love-light glinting in the Eyes of Bernice. She had fallen for the Flukus. Kenneth was installed as Steady. When Bernice saw him turn the Corner and approach the House, he looked to her like Rupert, the long lost Heir--while Father discerned only an insect too large to be treated with Powder. Kenneth was the kind of Sop that you see wearing Evening Clothes on a Colored Post-Card. If his private Estate had been converted into Pig Iron, he could have carried it in his Watch Pocket. He was re-fined and had lovely Teeth, but those who knew him well believed the Story that when he was a Babe in Arms, the Nurse had let him fall and strike on the Head. He wore his Hair straight back and used Patent Leather dressing. He was full of Swank and put on much Side and wore lily-colored Spats and was an awful Thing all around, from Pa's point of view. In a crowd of Bank Directors he would have been a cheap Swivel, but among the Women Folks he was a regular Bright Eyes. When you passed through the Archway of his Intellectual Domain you found yourself in the Next Block. But--he could go into a Parlor and sprinkle Soothing Syrup all over the Rugs. He had a Vaudeville Education and a small Tenor Voice, with the result that many a fluttering Birdie regarded him as the bona-fide Ketchup. Bernice thought she was lucky to have snared him away from the others, and she had slipped him the whispered Promise, come Weal, come Woe. She had no Mother to guide her, and it looked as if the Family was about to have a Bermuda wished on to it. No wonder Father was stepping sideways. He would come home in the evening and find the Mush perched on a Throne in the Spot Light, shooting an azure-blue Line of desiccated Drool, with Bernice sitting out in front and Encoring. Then he would retire to the back part of the House to bark at the Butler and act as if he had been eating Red Meat. He knew that if he elbowed in and tried to break up the Clinch, it would mean a Rope Ladder, a piece in the Papers, and a final Reconciliation, with Parent playing the usual role of Goat. He was resolved not to put in the remainder of his Days being panhandled by a Souffle who wore Dancing Pumps in the Daytime. The problem was to get shut of the Rodent without resorting to any Rough Stuff. Father had never heard tell of the Perils of Propinquity, and he thought Psychology had something to do with Fish. Just the same, he remembered about a Quail a day for 30 days, and he knew that the most agreeable Perfumery would not smell right if applied with a Garden Hose. Likewise, he suspected that many a Quarter-Horse would blow, if put into a two-mile Handicap. So he blocked out a Program which proved that Solomon had nothing on him. Instead of grilling young Kenneth and holding him up to Contumely and forbidding him the use of the Cozy Corner, he started in to boost the Love Match. Kenneth all but moved in his Trunk. Father had a chance to weigh him, down to the last Ounce, and study the simple Mechanism of his transparent Personality. Father classified the would-be Child-in-Law as a Gobbie, which means a Home-Wrecker who is still learning his Trade. The Candidate became a regular Boarder. Kenneth would sit right up close to old Cash-in-Hand, who would egg him on to tell Dialect Stories and, after that, show how to make a Salad. The Stories were some that Marshall Wilder stopped using in 1882 and since then have been outlawed on the Kerosene Circuit. After Bernice had heard these Almanac Wheezes 26 or 28 times, she would sit still and look at the Center-Piece while Lover was performing. The Gags didn't sound as killing as they had at first, and sometimes she wished the Dear Boy would chop on them. No chance. Father had him kidded into believing that all the old ham-fat Riddles were simply Immense. As for that Salad Specialty, the poor Gink who calls loudly for English Mustard and thinks he is a Genius because he can rub a Bowl with a sprig of Garlic, may have his brief Hour of Triumph, but no man ever really got anywhere by doping Salad, when you stop to add it all up. Father would put the two young people together in the back of the Touring Car and ride them around for Hours at a time. Anybody who has cut in on one of those animated Automobile Conversations, while the salaried Maniac from France is hitting up 42 miles an Hour, will tell you that the hind end of a Motor Vehicle is no good Trysting Place for an Engaged Couple. Bernice would get home after one of these wild swoops into the realm of the Death Angel, and totter to her room and lie down, and murmur: "I wonder what ailed Kenneth to-day. He seemed Preoccupied." That Same Evening, just when she needed Smelling Salts and Absolute Quiet, her enthusiastic Father would have Fiance up to Dinner and pull the same stale Repertoire and splash around in the Oil and Vinegar. If any Guests were present, then Father would play Introducer and tell them beforehand how good Kenneth was. When given his Cue, the Lad would swell up and spring a hot One about the Swede and the Irishman, while Bernice would fuss with the Salt and wonder dimly if the Future had aught in store for her except Dialect Stuff. Father had read on a Blotter somewhere that Absence makes the Heart grow fonder, so he played his System with the Reverse English. He arranged a nice long trip by Land and Water and took the male Sweetheart along, so that the Doting Pair could be together at Breakfast. His cunning had now become diabolical. He was getting ready to apply the Supreme Test. Every Morning, when Bernice looked over her Baked Apple she saw nothing in this wide World except Kenneth, still reeking of Witch Hazel and spotted with Talcum Powder, and not very long on Sparkling Conversation. When he was propped up in the cold Dawn, with his eyes partially open, he did not resemble a Royal Personage nearly as much as he had in some of his earlier Photographs. Father would order soft-boiled Eggs to be Eaten from the Shell. When Kenneth got around to these, he would cease to be a Romantic Figure for at least a few Minutes. Bernice would turn away in dread and look out at the swaying Trees and long to see some of her Girl Friends back home. After Kenneth had been served to her, three meals a day, for two Weeks and they had ridden together for Ages and Ages, in Pullman Compartments, she made certain horrible Discoveries. One of his Ears was larger than the other. He made a funny noise with his Adam's Apple when drinking Hot Coffee. When he was annoyed, he bit his nails. When suffering from a Cold, he was Sniffy. The first time she became aware of the slight discrepancy in Ears, she suffered only a slight Annoyance. It handed her a tiny Pang to find a Flaw in a Piece of Work that she had regarded as Perfect. After she had seen nothing else but those Ears for many, many Days, it became evident to her that if Kenneth truly loved her, he would go and have them fixed. Likewise, every time her Heart's Delight lifted the Cup to his Ruby Lips, she would grip the Table Cloth with both Hands, and whisper to herself, "Now we get the Funny Noise." Kenneth, in the mean while, had found out that her Hair did not always look the same, but one who is striving to get a Meal Ticket for Life cannot be over-fastidious. He was Game and stood ready to obey all Orders in order to pull down the Capital Prize. He had been such a Hit in the Maple-Sundae Set that he could not conceive the possibility of any Female becoming satiated with his Society. The poor Loon never stopped to figure out that the only way to keep a Girl sitting up and interested is to stay away once in a while and give her a Vacation. Father was right on the Job to see that Bernice had no Vacation. He framed it up to give her a Foretaste of Matrimony every Day in the Week. If the Future Husband wandered more than thirty feet from her side, Father would nail him and Sic him on to her again. She would look up and say: "Oh, Fury! Look who's here again!" This was no way for a true-hearted Maiden to speak of her Soul Mate. Father put the Cap Sheaf on his big Experiment by accepting an invitation to go Yachting. He put them side by side on Deck and told them to comfort each other, in case anything happened. They never could have been quite the same to each other after that Day. Bernice wanted to get back on Shore and hunt her Room and peel down to a Kimono and refuse any Callers for a Month. Even the accepted Swain was beginning to slow up. He could remember the time when he used to sit around with members of his own Sex. Father had no Mercy. He took the two Invalids back to Land and rounded them up for Breakfast next morning. When Kenneth appeared, he was slightly greenish in Color. One Ear was three times as large as the other. He had caught a Sniffy Cold. In partaking of his Coffee he made Sounds similar to those coming through the Partition when the People in the adjoining Flat have trouble with the Plumbing. He saw Bernice glaring at him and bit his Nails in Embarrassment. Father felt the Crisis impending and laid on the last Straw. "I was trying to recall that Story," said he--"the One about the German and the Dog." Bernice gave one Shriek and then dashed from the Room, making hysterical Outcries along the Corridor. Father told Kenneth to check all the Trunks for Home and then catch an early Train. Bernice was squirming about on the Hotel Sofa when Father entered the Room. She threw herself into his Arms and passionately demanded, "Why, oh, why are you trying to force me into marrying that Creature?" MORAL: Don't get acquainted too soon. THE NEW FABLE OF THE UPLIFTER AND HIS DANDY LITTLE OPUS Once there was a Litry Guy who would don his Undertaker's Regalia and the White Satin Puff Tie and go out of an Afternoon to read a Paper to the Wimmen. At every Tea Battle and Cookie Carnival he was hailed as the Big Hero. A good many pulsating Dulcineas who didn't know what "Iconoclast" meant, regarded him as an awful Iconoclast. And cynical? Mercy! When he stood up in a Front Room and Unfolded his MS., and swallowed the Peppermint Wafer and began to Bleat, no one in the World of Letters was safe. He would wallop Dickens and jounce Kipling and even take a side-swipe at Luella Prentiss Budd, who was the Poetess Laureate for the Ward in which he lived. Ever since his Stuff had been shot back by a Boston Editor with a Complimentary Note, he had billed himself as an Author and had been pointed out as such at more than one Chautauqua. Consequently his Views on Recent Fiction carried much weight with the Carries. He loved to pile the Fagots around a Best Seller and burn it to a Cinder, while the Girls past 30 years of Age sat in front of him and Shuddered. As for the Drama, he could spread a New York Success on the marble-top Table and dissect it until nothing was left but the Motif, and then he would heave that into the Waste Basket, thereby leaving the Stage in America flat on its back. And if you mentioned Georgie Cohan to him, the Foam would begin to fleck his Lips and he would go plumb Locoed. After he had been sitting on the Fence for many years, booing those who tried to saw Wood, his Satellites began coaxing him to write something that would show up Charley Klein and Gus Thomas and all the other Four-Flushers who were raking in Royalties under False Pretences. They knew he was a Genius, because nothing pleased him. He decided to start with something easy and dash off an Operetta. Having sat through some of the Current Offerings, he noted that the Dialogue was unrelated to Real Literature and the Verses lacked Metrical Symmetry. It would be a Pipe for a sure-enough Bard to sit down on a Rainy Afternoon and grind out something that might serve as a Model for Harry B. Smith. So he had a Vase of Fresh Flowers put on his Desk every Day, and he would sit there, waiting for the Muse to keep her Date. At the end of a Month he had it all planned to lay the First Scene in front of a Palace with a Forest on the Back Drop so as to get a lot of Atmosphere. There was to be a Princess in the Thing, and a Picture of the long-lost Mother in the Locket and other New Stuff. He put in Hours and Hours hand-embroidering the Verses. When he made "Society" rhyme with "Propriety," he thought he was getting Gilbertian. While these Lyrics were still quivering, he would take them out and read them to his wife and the Hired Girl and the man who attended to the Furnace, and get their Impartial Judgement. They agreed that it was Hot Gravy and too good for the Stage. Encouraged by these heart-felt Encomiums, he would hike back to the Study, shoot himself in the Arm with a hypothetical Needle, and once more begin picking Grapes in Arcady. When People came to the House, not knowing that he had been taken down with anything, he would own up that he was working on a Mere Trifle, and then, after being sufficiently urged, he would give a Reading. These Readings could have been headed off only by an Order of Court or calling out the State Guard. Inasmuch as the large-size Carnegie Medal for Heroism is waiting for the Caller who has the immortal Rind to tell a poetical Pest that his output is Punk, the Author found himself smeared with Compliments after each of these parlor Try-Outs. They kidded him into thinking that he had incubated a Whale. When he had chewed up a Gross of Pencils and taken enough Tea to float the Imperator, the great Work was complete and ready to be launched with a loud Splash. He began to inquire the Name of some prominent Theatre Blokie who was a keen Student of the Classics and a Person of super-refined Taste. The man he sought had moved into the Poor House, so he compromised by expressing his typewritten Masterpiece to a Ringmaster whose name he had seen on the Three Sheets. It was marked, "Valuable Package." In a few months the hirelings of the Company and the Driver of the Wagon became well acquainted with the Large Envelope containing the only Hope of the present decadent Period. Every time the Work came back to him, with a brief printed Suggestion that any Male Adult not physically disabled could make $1.75 a day with a Shovel, the Author would appear at the Afternoon Club with another scathing arraignment of certain Commercial Aspects of the Modern Stage. He saw that it was over their Heads. It was too darned Dainty for a Flat-Head who spelt Art with a lower- case "a." Yet it was so drenched and saturated and surcharged with Merit that he resolved to have it done by Local Amateurs rather than see it lost to the World. The Music was written by Genius No. 2, working in a Piano Store. He had been writing Great Music for years. Whenever he heard something catchy, he went home and wrote it. He was very Temperamental. That is, he got soused on about three, and, while snooted, would deride Victor Herbert, thus proving that he was Brilliant, though Erratic. He had a trunkful of Tunes that were too scholarly for the Ikeys who publish Popular Trash. He fitted them on to the Libretto written by the Litry Guy. When the two got together to run over the Book and Score, they were sure enthusiastic. The Author said the Lines were the best he had ever heard, and the Composer said the Numbers were all Gems. When the Home Talent bunch pulled the whole Affair before a mob of Personal Friends and a subsidized City Editor, it was a Night of Triumph for all concerned. The trained and trusty Liars who, in every Community, wear Evening Clothes and stand around at Receptions, all crowded up to the Author and gave him the Cordial Mitt and boosted something scandalous. He didn't know that all of them Knocked after they got around the Dutch Lunch. He went home, sobbing with Joy. That night he nominated himself for the Hall of Fame and put it to a Vote, and there was not one Dissenting Voice. Every deluded Boob who can bat up Fungoes in his own Back Yard thinks he is qualified to break into a Major League and line out Two-Baggers. There was no holding the inspired Librettist and the talented young Composer. They knew that the eager Public in 48 States was waiting for the Best Thing since "Robin Hood." The Author went up to the City and found a Manager who had a Desk and a lot of Courage and a varied experience in risking other people's Coin. After the two Geniuses had mortgaged their Homes, the Impresario was enabled to get some Scenery built and rally a large Drove of Artists-- most of them carrying Hand Bags. During Rehearsals the brutal Stage Manager wanted to cut the Gizzard out of the Book and omit most of the sentimental Arias, but Mr. Words and Mr. Music emitted such shrieks of protest against the threatened Sacrilege that he allowed all the select home-made Guff to remain in the Script. He thought it would serve them right. When they gave the first Real Performance in a Dog Town on a drizzly evening in November, there was not Social Eclat to fill the sails. The House was mostly Paper and therefore very Missouri. Also a full delegation from the Coffin-Trimmers' Union with Cracked Ice in their Laps. They did not owe any Money to the Author or have any Kinfolk in the Cast, so they sat back with their Hands under them and allowed the pretty little Opera to die like an Outcast. The only Laugh in the Piece was when the Drop Curtain refused to work. After the Show the Manager met them at an Oyster House and told them they had eased a Persimmon to him. He said the whole Trick was a Bloomer. It was just as funny as a Wooden Leg. It needed much Pep and about two tons of Bokum. Both Words and Music refused to countenance any radical Changes. They said it would be another "Cavalleria" as soon as they could do it before an intelligent Audience of True-Lovers. The Ex-Minstrel Man said there wasn't no such Animal as an intelligent Play-goer. The Simp that pushed his Metal into the Box Office wanted Something Doing every minute and many Gals, otherwise it was back to the Store- House and a Card in the Clipper. The Call on the Board read "Everybody at Ten," but the brainy Writer and the versatile Composer were not included. When they appeared at the Stage Door they were met by Props, who told them to get to a certain Place out of there. Standing in the Alley, they could hear Wails of Anguish, and they knew that their Child was having the Vital Organs removed. The celebrated Author of the Graveyard Rag had been summoned in haste. He was in charge of the Clinic--taking out the Grammar and putting in Gags. The Duos and Ensembles were being dropped through the Trap Door to make way for recent Song Hits from the alcoholic Cabarets. The Ax fell right on the powdered Neck of the beautiful Prima Donna, who had studied for Grand Opera, but never had been able to find an Orchestra that would fit her Voice. Her Part was changed from a Princess to a Shop-Lifter and was assigned to Cissy St. Vitus, late of a Burlesque Bunch known as the Lady Bugs. The Tenor was given the Hook, and his sentimental Role was entrusted to a Head-Spinner who had acquired his Dramatic Schooling with the Ringling Circus. All of which comes under the head of whipping a Performance into Shape. When the two Geniuses sat out in front they recognized nothing except the Scenery and Costumes. Their idyllic Creation had been mangled into a roughhouse Riot, in which Disorderly Conduct alternated with the shameless Gyrations taught in San Francisco. The last Act had been omitted altogether without affecting the coherency of the Story. The Plot died just four minutes after the Ring-Up. Although the Report showed 27 Encores and the Gate began to jump $80 a Night, both the intellectual Troubadour and the Student of Counter- Harmonies went to the Manager and cried on his Shoulder and said that their Beautiful work had been ruined. He called attention to the Chunk of Money tied up in Silk Tights and fireproof Borders. When it came to a show-down between Dough and Art he didn't propose to tear up his Meal Ticket. If they would beat it and stay hid and leave the Artists fatten up their Scenes, probably the Bloomer could be converted into a Knock-Out. While they were in the Sanitarium, the former Minstrel King and young Abie Fixit from the Music Foundry cut out the last vestiges of the Original Stuff and put in two Turns that had landed strong over the whole Orpheum Circuit. The romantic Operetta now became known as Another One of Those Things. It was eagerly discussed by Club Women and College Students. Good seats down in the Observation Rows were not to be had except at the Hotel News Stand. The Litry Guy and the Music-Maker came out of the Rest Cure to learn that they had registered a Hit and could get their names in "Who's Who." With the Royalty Checks coming in from the eastern Centers of Culture they were enabled to buy four-cylinder Cars with which to go riding in lonesome Country Lanes, far from the sight of a Bill-Board. When the Number Two Company came along presenting the Metropolitan Success in the One-Nighters, the reincarnated Gilbert and Sullivan packed up their Families and escaped to French Lick. It was a Sell-Out, because all the Members of the Research Club wanted to see that new Dido called the Chicken Flop. There was no knocking at the Dutch Lunches that night. Every one said the Show was a Bint, but they thought it was up to the Author to resign from the Baptist Church. MORAL: In elevating the Drama be sure to get it High enough, even if you have to make it a trifle Gamey. THE NEW FABLE OF THE WANDERING BOY AND THE WAYWARD PARENT Once there was a story-book Stripling who uncoupled himself from a Yahoo Settlement and moseyed up to the Congested Crossings and the Electric Signs. In due time he returned, wearing Gloves and with his Teeth full of Gold. Ever since that historic Example it has been the daily desire of the Yokel, staked down in a County Seat, to walk in on Judge Gary and form a Partnership. It befell that after a High School Alumnus had gone to a Varsity and scaled the fearsome heights of Integral and Differential Calculus, he came home to get some more of Father's Shirts and Handkerchiefs and take a new Slant at Life's doubtful Vista, while getting his Board for nothing. The Town of his Nativity did not occupy many Pages in the statistical Census Reports. In fact, all the travelling Troupers who had worked for K. and E. referred to it as a Lime, which is the same as a Lemon, only smaller. The ambitious Bachelor of Arts had a lot of Geological Data and College Fraternity Lore stowed away under his Mortar-Board. His hopes were set on something more noble than a Chair and a Table and a Blotter in a dusty Office up the Stairway leading to Odd Fellows' Hall. So he resolved to hit the long Trail leading to a Modern Babylon where the Evening papers were on the Streets before Noon. He figured that a Gazimbat with a John C. Calhoun Forehead and a lot of inside Dope on Hindoo Anthology could break into almost any Reservoir of Culture and bring home the Bacon. Parents were dead willing to have him migrate and take his Tailor Bills with him, but they shivered with Dread when it came time to ship him to Gomorrah. They knew all about the unbridled Deviltry of the City, having seen the large colored Illustrations in the Sunday Papers. They had it on good Authority that the whole sub-stratum of Urban Existence was honeycombed with Rathskellers, while a Prominent Actress waited on almost every Corner, soliciting Travel on the Taxicab Route to the everlasting Coke Ovens. While Elmer's fragile Steamer Trunk was being hoisted into the Dray, all the Relations who had assisted in bringing him up by Hand clustered around the melodeon and sang, "Oh, where is my Boy to-night?" After the Day Coach had pulled away from the Depot, he opened the Shoe- Box to extract a Crull and found a Book written by T. DeWitt Talmage, in which many Passages were marked. He arrived at Union Station with his Fingers crossed. He told himself that he would break into a Dog Trot every time Vice beckoned to him. After he had hung up his Diploma and Razor Strop in the third-story Recess of a very naughty Beanery, he hunted up some of the dear old Pals with whom he had bunked in the Dorm. They told him they would put him next to a lot of nice clean People. He began to tremble, fearing that some one was about to offer him Champagne, but the Orgy to which they conducted him was merely a meeting of the Civic Purifiers in a basement underneath a Church. He had not expected to find any Churches in the great wicked City. He thought each side of the Street would be built up solidly with Syndicate Theatres, Bacchanalian Bazaars, and Manicure Pitfalls. Instead of finding Vice triumphant, he learned that it was being chased up an Alley by the entire Police Force and the Federation of Women's Clubs. He had the gift of Gab and a natural thirst for Tea, and the first thing he knew he had been drawn into so many Campaigns for Social Betterment that he had no time to hunt up conventional Temptations, such as the Welsh Rabbit or the Musical Comedy. He found himself sitting next to a new type of Lassie. She had no Heels on her Shoes, pronounced each Syllable distinctly, and believed that her Mission in Life was to carry Maeterlinck to the Masses. In nearly every Instance she had a Father who acted as frozen Figurehead for some Trust Company. Consequently, Elmer began to perk up and serve on Committees which met in Exclusive Homes and were entirely surrounded by Mahogany. Whenever an Intellectual Queen pushed the Button, Elmer was right there with a Pitcher of Ice Water. His Researches had proved to him that one of the Keenest Enjoyments of City Life is to remain away from the glaring Lobster Palace, especially when one can get one's Mallard Duck free of charge in a Flat renting for $6000 a Year. Elmer became identified with the Cleaning Brigade of the Reform Element simply by riding on the Current of Events. Adapting himself unconsciously to his antisepticized Environment, he acquired the Art of putting over the saccharine Extemporaneous Address, and he could smile, with his Teeth exposed, for an Hour at a time. In fact, he was a great Success. At first he took in the Symphony Orchestra because he was dragged thither. After about two years the Virus had permeated his System, and he was a regular Brahmsite. If he didn't get a full dose of Peer Gynt every few days, he was as nervous as a Cat. The tall and straight-grained Heiress who finally landed him was only too glad to slip him the Bank-Book and tell him to go and sit in with the other Directors. And now, having become a shiny Pillar in the Presbyterian Temple and one of the most respected Umbrella-Carriers on the Avenue, he felt a longing to beat it back to the home Burg and exhibit his Virtues to the members of the I-Knew-Him-When Club. He wanted to patronize the Friends of his Youth and note the Expressions of Discomfiture on the so-called Faces of Aunt Lib and Uncle Jethro, both of whom had told around that he was a Gnat (Net) and never would amount to a Hill of Beans. Elmer expected to find the same spotted Dog asleep in front of the Commercial Hotel and the same Stick Candy exhibited in the Show Windows. But, while he had been witnessing the downfall of Evil in the busy Metropolis, the Home Town had been putting on a little Side-Show of its own. Along at the gateway of the 20th Century, every undersized Hamlet shown in the Atlas became seized with a Desire to throw on City Lugs. The same Father who had marked the Talmage Book for Elmer became Chairman of the House Committee in a Club which undertook to serve anything usually found on either side of a Cash Register. Being in the heart of the Residence District, this select Organization could not obtain a regular License. However, having the moral support of the Best People, it maintained a Blind Pig. The combination of Blind Pig, two playful Kitties up-stairs, and a lot of gay Dogs spread out on the upholstered Chairs, certainly proved to be some Menagerie. It was a matter of Pride with the Members that the Colored Boy could shake up anything known to the Regular Trade at the Knickerbocker or the Plaza. One of their main Delights, also, was to welcome the Stranger, who thought he was sojourning among the Rubes, and lead him into the Roodle Department, the purpose being to get him out on a Limb and then saw off the Limb. Poker was written in a Small Town. The Hay-Mow Graduate with a limited Income, who counts up every Night and sets aside so much for Wheat Cakes, can hold them closer to his Bosom and play them tighter than any Shark that ever floated down the Mississippi. The newcomer who tried to be Liberal usually went home in his Stocking Feet. Day by Day the Progressive Element in the Community widened its Horizon, and the Country Club became a Necessity. The 9-hole Course was laid out by a Scotch Professional, and every Locker contained something besides Clubs. When the Church Bells were ding-donging at 10 A. M. on Sunday, the former teacher of the Bible Class and the back-sliding Basso of the Choir would be zig-zagging around the Links, the Stake being a Ball a Hole. Elmer's Father became a Demon with the Irons and had his Name engraved on a Consolation Cup. Simultaneous with the Golf Epidemic, a good many Families that could not afford Kitchen Cabinets began to glide around in red Touring-Cars. Any one smelling the Blue Smoke along Main Street and then looking both ways before dashing across to the Drug Store was compelled to admit that the Jays had awakened from their Long Sleep. Refined Vawdyville was on tap daily, and the Children of those who were only moderately well-to-do knew all the latest improper Songs. While the men were changing from Jumpers to Tuxedos, the Sisters had not remained stationary. The Lap Supper was formally abolished soon after Puff Sleeves went out. Girls who had been brought up on Parchesi and Muggins would sit around the Bridge Table all afternoon, trying to cop out some Lace for the new Party Dress. An imported Professor taught the Buds how to Tango and Trot. Within a week after a new one had horrified Newport, the Younger Set would have it down pat and be mopping up the floor with one another. Of course they were denounced by the local Ministers, but the Guilty Parties never heard the Denunciations, as they were out Motoring at the time. Whenever there was a Big Session, all Bridles were removed and the Speed Limit abolished. Riding home in the Livery Hacks about 4 A. M., the Merry-Makers would be all in, but much gratified to know that Vienna and Paree had nothing on them as regards Rough House. All the Elite would get together and open a Keg of Spikes at the slightest Provocation. It was remarkable how much Dull Care they could banish in one Evening, especially if they got an Early Start. The Town Pump did a punk Business, but the Side-Boards blossomed with Fusel Oil and Fizzerine. Intense Excitement prevailed when word came that Elmer was En Route. Little Knots of People could be seen standing on the Corners, framing a Schedule of Entertainment which involved nearly everything except Sleep. They said to themselves: "It is up to us to show this proud Pill from the City that we can be a bit Goey when the Going is right. If he thinks he can pull any new Wrinkles on the Provincials, he is entitled to another Think. We must get into our Evening Glads early this Afternoon and clear the Decks for a Hard Night." While they were making these grim Preparations, Elmer was doubled up in Section 8, reading a sterilized Magazine from Boston. Subconsciously he counted the peaceful Days that would ensue. He figured on going back to the dear old Room under the Eaves, with a patch-work Quilt on the Four-Poster and a Steel Engraving of U. S. Grant on the Wall. Having devoted many Days to the Annual Report of the Purity Brigade, he was due to turn in at 9 o'clock each evening, while recuperating in the Country. The sanctified Product of the new and regenerative Influences at work in every City was plunked down in the Hot-bed of Gaiety at about 4 P. M.. The Comrades of his Boyhood were massed on the Platform. As he alighted, they sang, "Hail! Hail! the gang's All Here!" and so on and so on. They had acquired a Running Start. It was their belief that Elmer would be gratified to know that all the Elect had become slightly spiffed in his Honor. They sent his Stuff up to the House, crowded Two-Weeks' Cards into his Pockets, and bore him away in a Town Car to the Club, where Relays were waiting to extend Hospitality to the returned Exile until he was Plastered. They seemed to think he had devoted the years of his Absence to building up a Thirst. Their Dismay was genuine when he timidly informed the Irrigation Committee that he desired Vichy. They told him he was a Celluloid Sport and that his refusal to Libate was little short of an Affront. Escaping from the Comanches, he hurried to the Old Homestead to sit by the Grate Fire and tease the Cat. He found Pa and Ma dolled up like a couple of aristocratic Equines, much Awning over the Front Stoop, and strange Waiters hot-footing through the Hallways. In order to make it seem as much like the City as possible, they had ribbed up a swell combination Gorge and Deluge, to be followed by an Indoor Circus, a Carnival of Terpsichorean Eccentricities, and a correct Reproduction of Monte Carlo at the height of the Season. Therefore, when their Only Child suggested that he would fain hie to the Husks at a Reasonable Hour, they told him that Slumber was made for Slaves and to take his Feet out of his Lap and move around. Having led a sheltered Life among the devotees of Jane Addams and Jacob Riis, he was dazed and horrified to find himself suddenly subjected to the demoralizing Influences of the Small Town. They scoffed at him when he said that his regular twilight Repast was a saucer of granose Flakes, a mere sliver of White Meat, and some diluted Milk. His home was near the White Light District, and they just knew that he was accustomed to bathe in the Bubbles. He sat back benumbed for many hours watching the wicked Rustics perform. He had read about such things in the reports of the Commission, but this was the first time that he had ever really been Slumming. When he weakened on the Bumper Proposition and disavowed any familiarity with the Texas Tommy spasm or the fine points of Auction, the sophisticated ones exchanged significant Glances. They tumbled to the Fact that Elmer was not such a much, even if he did reside at Headquarters. It was evident that he had not been travelling with the Real Razmataz Rompers. He was panned to a Whisper next day. The Verdict was in. Elmer was branded a Dead One. He is now in the crowded City, trying to arrange to have his rowdy Parents come in and take the Cure. MORAL: Those having the most Time to devote to a Line of Endeavor usually become the most Proficient. THE NEW FABLE OF WHAT TRANSPIRES AFTER THE WIND-UP Once upon a time Ferdinand breathed right into Adele's translucent Listener those three Words which hold all Records as monosyllabic Trouble-Makers. They have a harmless look on the Printed Page, but when pulled at the Psychological turn of the Road, they become the Funeral Knell of Bachelor Freedom and a Prelude to cutting the String on whatever has been put by. The Serpent, operating in the guise of a Lover in a Serge Suit, had lured, cajoled, wheedled, and finessed until the poor trembling Child, only twenty-four years of Age, was alone with him in what the Landscaper had worked off on her Papa as a Formal Garden. They stood clinched there in the dull Sunset Glow, with a Pergola for a Background. It was all very Belasco and in strict compliance with the League Rules laid down by W. Somerset Maugham. According to the $2 Drama and every bright red Volume selling for $1.18 at a Department Store, this was THE END The Curtain began to descend very slowly, with Ferdinand and Adele holding the Picture. It seems, however, that they had not come to the real, sure-enough Finis. The Terminus was some distance down the Line. The Curtain refused to fall. "What is the idea?" asked Adele, somewhat perturbed. "We have hit the logical Climax of our Romance. As I understand it, we are now supposed to ascend in a Cloud and float through Ethereal Bliss for an indefinite Period." "Right-o!" said the Fiance. "According to all the approved Dope, we are booked to live happily ever after." Just then Her Best Friend came rapidly down the Gravel Walk with Anxiety stenciled on her Features. The accepted Swain seemed to hear a low rumbling Wagnerian Effect from out the Clear Sky. In Music-Drama it is known as the Hammer Theme. It is included in the Curriculum at every Fem Sem. Ferdinand had a Hunch that somebody was getting ready to drop Cyanide of Potassium into his Cup of Joy. "Oh, Adele!" said the Friend, just like that. "Oh, Adele, may I speak to you for a Mo-munt?" Ferdinand made his Exit, much peeved, and the Friend expressed a Hope that she had arrived in time to throw the Switch and avert the Wrecking of a Life. Far be it from her to Snitch, but it was her Duty to put Adele wise to what every one was whispering Under Cover. She had no absolute Proof that he had carried on with a Front Row Floss in New Haven, but it was Common Talk that one of his Uncles had been a Regular at a Retreat where the Doctor shoots a Precious Metal into the Arm. It would be terrible to marry someone and then find out that he Drank, the same as all the other Married Men. Leaving Adele in a Deep Swoon, the true Friend hurried to the nearest Public 'Phone to spread the dismal Tidings. In the meantime the elated Lover had loped all the way to the University club to spring it on the Navajos and receive their Felicitations. His Rapture had rendered him fairly incoherent, and he was gurgling like an after-dinner Percolator; but he finally made it evident that he had been Hooked. A deep Silence ensued, most of those present looking out the Window at the passing Traffic. Finally a Shell-Back, who had been leading a Life of Single Torment ever since Sumter was fired upon, asked in a sepulchral Tone and without looking up from his Hand, "Has the Date been set?" Ferdinand tried to tell them that he was going to the Altar and not to the Electric Chair, but he couldn't get a single Slap on the Back. The only one evincing Interest was a He-Hen named Herbert, who took him into the Cloak-Room to plant a few Canadian Thistles in the Garden of Love. Herb said he had always liked the Girl, even if she had given a couple of his Best Pals the Whillykathrow. His Advice was to up and marry her before she had time to pull one of her temperamental Stunts and hand out the Rinkaboo. Possibly if she could be weaned away from her eccentric Relations and governed with a Firm Hand she would turn out O. K.. Still, it was a tall Gamble. Under the Circumstances, he didn't see that there was anything for Ferdinand to do except mop up a few Drinks and hope for the Best. When Ferdy looked at himself in the Mirror at Midnight, he didn't know whether he was Engaged or merely operating under a Suspended Sentence. Next morning he had to bare his Soul to the Head of the Firm. This revered Fluff should have been known as Mr. Yes-But. He was strong for the Married State, but it was highly advisable to have the Girl analyzed by a Chemist and passed upon by a Board of Experts before a Bid was submitted. The Sunflower Paths of Dalliance were leading mostly to Reno, Nevada, and the Article commonly known as Love was merely a disinclination to continue eating Breakfast alone. He said a Good Woman was a Jewel, but if one of them got a fair Run and Jump at a Check-Book she could put the National City Bank on the Hummer. Probably it was all right to go ahead, and take the High Hurdle, but the Percentage was against the Candidate, and the Cost of Living was never so altitudinous. Ferdinand retired from the Royal Presence feeling that he had been duly authorized to walk a Tight Rope over Niagara Falls. As soon as the Bride-Elect had taken enough Headache Powders to prepare her for the Ordeal, she sent for the Suspect to come up to the House and outline his Defense. They put in a humid Evening. When the falling Tears had made the Drawing-Room too soppy for further use, they moved into the Hallway and he continued to think up Alibis. At 11 P. M. he had explained Everything, repudiated many lifelong Friendships, deodorized his College Career, flouted the Demon Rum, and resigned from all Clubs. The Birds were singing up and down the Main Stairway and Grandfather's Clock played nothing but Mendelssohn. She lay damply pillowed on his Bosom. He was intensely relieved and yet vaguely conscious of the Fact that she had beat him to it. There had been a General Settlement, and he had figured merely as Supreme Goat. In his anxiety to get the Kinks out of his own Record he had failed to hold her up for anything except a Pardon. Before terminating the Peace Conference, it was suggested that inasmuch as every one else in the World had been notified, probably it would be just as well to let her Male Parent in on the Secret. Not that Father is regarded as a Principal in the up-to-date Household. Still, he is useful as a Super. The old Gentleman was so soft that he nearly tipped his Hand. He gave Ferdinand a regular Cigar and then stalled for about 30 Seconds before indicating a Willingness to sign any form of Contract. He pulled the Old One to the effect that the House would not seem the same after Addie had gone away, meaning that Breakfast would be served in the Morning and the Night Shift abolished. When Ferdinand got back to his Room and counted up, he had to admit that Father was the only Outsider who seemed to be plugging for the Alliance. But all petty Suspicions and unworthy Doubts flickered and disappeared when Nightfall came and Queenie was once more cuddled within the strong right Fin, naming over some of the Men that he mustn't speak to any more. The course of True Love ran smooth for a couple of Days, and then came a letter from his People, expressing the hope that he had picked out a devout Unitarian. Otherwise the Progeny would start off under a terrible Handicap. He knew that Adele favored the Suffrage Thing and that she had read a Book on how to recover from a Dance by lying down and giving a Recitation, but he never had suspected her of any real Religious Scruples. Before he could tell her how the Little Ones had been predestined, she notified him that her kinsmen had been peering into the Future and that all the problematical Offspring had been put on the Waiting List at the First Baptist Church. Here was a grand Opening for Ferdinand. He resolved to make a Stand and issue a ringing Ultimatum. He might as well tip it off to her and the whole Tribe that he was to be Caesar in his own Shack. So he went up to her House ready to die in the last ditch rather than yield to the advocates of Immersion. After viewing the Problem in all its Aspects, he and Honey compromised by deciding that the Bairns were to be orthodox Baptists. Having sponged every Blot from the Escutcheon and laid out the Labels for all Generations yet unborn, the incipient Benedick thought there would be nothing more to it except Holding Hands and watching the Calendar. Just then a Dress-Maker swooped down and stole away the Light of his Life. Every time he went up to scratch on the Door and beg for a Kiss, a Strange Lady with Pins in her Mouth would come out and shoo him away, explaining that the Pearl of Womanhood was laid out in the Operating Room, being measured for something additional. Occasionally he saw her, at one of the many Dinners decreed by Custom. They had to sit Miles apart, with Mountains of unseemly Victuals stacked between them, while some moss-grown Offshoot of the Family Tree rose and conquered his Asthma long enough to propose a Toast to the Bride. What they really craved was a Dim Corner and a box of Candied Cherries. The only Speeches they wished to hear could have been constructed out of the 40 words of standard Baby Talk, comprising what is known as the Mush Vocabulary. Yet they had to muster the same old property Smile every time that Charley Bromide or old Mr. Platitude lifted a shell of sparkling Vinegar and fervently exclaimed, "Thuh Bride!" Even after the Menu had been wrecked and the satiated Revelers had laboriously pried themselves away from the decorated Board, there was no escape. The Women Folks led Adele away to some remote Apartment to sound a Few Warnings, while the Men sat around in the Blue Smoke and joshed Ferdinand to a fare-ye-well. Each morning he found in his Mail a few Sealed Orders from Headquarters and about as many Stage Directions as would be required for putting on the Annual Show at the Hippodrome. When he was not begging some one to come and Ush for him, he was either checking over the Glove List with a terrified Best Man or getting measured for a full layout of dark Livery that made him look like a refined Floor-Walker. It seemed that Adele had a Step-Mother who had been crouched for Years waiting for a chance to bust into the Papers. Nothing would do her but a regular Madison Square Phantasmagoria, with two Rings and an elevated Platform. She wanted Ribbons down the Aisle and little Girls sprinkling Posies, a Concert Orchestra buried under the Palms, and a few extra Ministers of the Gospel just to dress the Pulpit. Every superfluous Accessory devised by the Nerve Specialist and approved by the Court of Bankruptcy was woven into the Nuptial Circus when Ferdinand and Adele were made one and Unhookable. The Rehearsals somewhat resembled the Moving Pictures of the Durbar at Delhi. As a final Preparation for the Stupendous Pageant, the Groom sat up all night in the Dipsomania Club, watching the Head-Liners of the Blue Book demolish Glassware. According to the dictates of Fashion, one who is about to assume the solemn Responsibilities of Matrimony should abstain from Slumber for a week, devoting the time thus saved to a full consideration of Food and Drink. The Ambulance bore his Remains to the Church. A few faithful Hang- Overs lifted him through the Portals, with his Toes dragging somewhat in the Rear. They propped him against a Pilaster and told him his Name and begged him not to weaken, no matter what the Preacher might put up to him. Soon after he saw a Haggard Creature all fluffed about with White advancing unsteadily toward him. With the Make-Up, she did not look a Day over 47. He did not hear any of the Service, but those who were more fortunate told him afterward that it was a very Pretty Wedding, and that they Presents they got were Simply Great. MORAL: Too many Trained Nurses discommode Cupid. THE DREAM THAT CAME OUT WITH MUCH TO BOOT Once there was a provincial Tradesman who gave his Yokemate a Christmas Present. It was a kind of Dingus formerly exhibited on the What-Not in almost every polite Home. By peering through at the twin Photographs and working it like a Slide Trombone, one could get ravishing glimpses of Trafalgar Square, Lake Como, and the Birthplace of Bobby Burns. Nearly every evening the Tradesman would back up to the Student Lamp and put in a delirious half-hour with the Views. While gazing up the Rue de Rivoli or across the rice paddies at the snowy cap of Fuji, his Blood would become het by the old boyhood Desire to sail across the Blue to Foreign Parts. Those who saw him mowing the Lawn little suspected that he was being inwardly eaten by the Wanderlust. The Tradesman, Edwin by name, and his Managing Director, Selena, formed the magic-lantern Habit away back in the days of Stoddard. They never missed a chance to take in Burton Holmes. Sitting in the darkness, they would hold hands and simply eat those Colored Slides. Selena belonged to a Club that was trying to get a side-hold on the Art and Architecture of the Old World. She had a smouldering Ambition to ride a Camel in the Orient and then come home and put it all over a certain proud Hen who had spent six weeks in Europe. One visit to Niagara Falls and a glorious week of Saengerfest at Cincinnati had simply whetted her desire to take Edwin by the hand and beat it all the way around the Globe, via Singapore. To prepare herself for the Grand Tour, she took 12 lessons in French and read up on the Taj Mahal. She had to wait patiently until Edwin was threatened with a Nervous Break-Down. At last the Happy Day arrived when the Specialist told him he must make his choice between a long Sea Voyage and a slow ride to the Family Lot. Selena used Hydraulic Pressure in packing her Wardrobe Trunks. She took all her circus Duds and a slew of Hats so that she could make the proper Front, while being entertained Abroad. Edwin had secured a Passport which identified him as a male white Person, entitled to all the Courtesies and Privileges usually extended to an American Citizen holding a Passport. They were on the verge of the Jumps when they boarded the Train, but they hoped to Relax and get a lot of Sleep on the Ocean Greyhound. A few days later they were curled up in a Cabin de Luxe about the size of a Telephone Booth, waiting for the Ocean Greyhound to recover from an attack of Hydrophobia. When they tottered down the Gang-Plank, after six days on the playful North Atlantic, their only Comfort was derived from the knowledge that, as soon as they had rested up, they could write home and quote the Second Officer as saying it was the roughest Passage he had ever Known. After spending a few days in London trying to get warm, they moved on to Paris, which they remembered long afterward on account of Napoleon's Tomb and the price of Strawberries. Selena pulled her tall-grass French on a Hackman, but there was nothing doing. He had taken it from a different Teacher. So they employed a Guide who knew all the Shops. If Selena happened to admire a Trinket or some outre Confection with Lace slathered on it, a perfumed Apache in a Frock Coat would take Edwin into a side room, give him the sleeve across the Wind-Pipe, and bite a piece out of his Letter of Credit. Edwin did a little quick work with the Pencil and said they could either hurry on or else hie back to the Home Town and begin Life all over again. Three weeks after saying good-bye to Griddle Cakes they were in Naples, which they had seen pictured on so many Calendars. Looking back across the Centuries they recalled the Clerks standing in the Doorways and the friends of the Progressive Euchre Club. It was sweet to remember that the world was not made up entirely of cadging Head Waiters. Once in a while they would venture from the Hotel to run footraces with the yelping Lazzaroni or try to look at Vesuve without paying seven or eight members of the Camorra for the Privilege. After being chased back into the Hotel, they would sit down and address Post-Cards by the Hour, telling how much they were enjoying the stay in Napoli, home of Song and Laughter. Their only chance of catching even on the Imperial Suite at $9 a Day was to make the Folks back at the Whistling Post think they were playing Guitars and dancing the Tarantella, whatever that is. Next we see them in Egypt, still addressing Post-Cards, and offering anything within Reason for a good Cup of Coffee. Somehow, sitting in the dusky Tombs didn't seem to help their Nostalgia. Not that they would own up to being Home-Sick. No, indeed! They kept writing back that they enjoyed every Minute spent among the Cemeteries and Ruins, or sailing up the Nile, and Edwin was holding up wonderfully, for an Invalid. Only, when either of them spoke of the Children, or Corned-Beef Hash, or the Canary, a long Silence would ensue, and then the Nervous Wreck would cheer her by computing that they would be in God's Country within four months, if they escaped Shipwreck, Sunstroke, and Bubonic Plague. While parboiling themselves down the Red Sea it began to soak in on them that, east of Suez, the Yank has about as much standing as the Ten Commandments. They could have endured sleeping in a Trough and bathing with a damp Towel and eating Food kept over from the year before, if their Fellow Voyagers had made a slight fuss over them or evinced some interest in the wonders of North America. The Congressman at home had assured them, on numerous occasions, that Columbia was the Jim of the Ocean and the most upholstered portion of the entire Foot-Stool. Consequently, it was somewhat disconcerting to meet British subjects who never had heard of Quincy, Illinois, and who moved their Deck Chairs every time they were given a chance to hear about it. Back in the Middle West, Edwin and Selena had been Mountains arising from the Plain. At all points beyond Greenwich, they were simply two unconsidered fragments of Foreign Substance. The Passport did not seem to get them anything. While being walked upon by the haughty Tea-Drinkers they could not claim the protection of the American Flag, because they didn't see the Starry Banner after leaving New York, except in front of a Fake Auction Sale, arranged especially for Tourists. By the time they found themselves in that vast bake-oven known as India they were benumbed and submissive and had settled into a Routine. They would arrive in a New Town, fly to the Hotel, unpack, go out and buy their colored Post-Cards, come back to the Dump (usually called the Grand Hotel Victoria), address Cards to all the Names on the list, then pack up, pay the Overcharges, and ride to the Railway Station, accompanied by a small regiment of Bashi-Bazouks who were looking for Theirs. The sight of a Temple threw Edwin into a Relapse, but he would have given $8,000 for one look at the galvanized Cornice of the Court House. Selena was still buying Souvenirs, but doing it mechanically, as if in a Trance. They had been stung with so many Oriental Phoneys and stuck up so often that they had gone Yellow and lost their Nerve. When they saw an outstretched Palm, they came across without a Whimper. Cousin Ella, back among the Corn Fields, pictured them as riding a caparisoned Elephant up to the marble Palace of the Gackwar of Baroda, where Edwin would flash his Passport and then the distinguished Guests would be salaamed to the Peacock Throne. Nothing like it. They were led up to highly odorous Bazaars conducted by lineal Descendants of the 40 Thieves. Often, while riding in the dusty Cattle Cars and looking out at the parched Plains, they would think of the shaded Front Porch, only 5 minutes from Barclay's Drug Store, where they sold the Ice Cream Soda. Moaning feebly, they would return to the italicized Guide Book. The Chow consisted largely of Curry and Rice, the medicinal flavor of which was further accentuated by Butter brought in Tins all the way from Sweden. Although the Heat was intense, they found occasional Relief in sitting next the Britons and getting a few Zephyrs direct from the Ice-Box. Each day they would purchase a News-paper about the size of a Bed-Spread and search eagerly for American News. Once in a while they would learn that Congress had met or another Colored Person had been burned at the Stake. It cheered them immensely to know that the Land of the Free was still squirming. At Rangoon they met a weary Countryman headed in the opposite direction. He was a hard-faced Customer who was fighting the Climate with Gin and Bitters, but they fell upon him and wanted to Kiss him when they learned that he had once met Selena's Uncle at Colorado Springs. They told him how to save time in getting across India, and he gave them a list of Places in China and Japan that might be dodged to advantage. Year after year in the months of March and April they continued on their tedious Way through the burning Tropics. Sometimes they came to a discouraged belief that the World was one bluey expanse, disturbed by Flying Fish. Then they would spend weary Ages along the avenues of white Lime-Kilns, looking at Countless millions of hungry Brunettes in fluttering Nighties. Their principal Occupation, when not setting down Expressions of Delight on the Post-Cards, was to study Time-Tables and cable ahead for Reservations. The Invalid's one desire was to get home and take a regular Bath before being laid out. Hong Kong pleased them exceedingly because they learned, by consulting Mr. Mercator's Projection, that they were on the Home Stretch and, with Luck in their favor, might live to see another Piece of Huckleberry Pie. Japan they liked best of all. At Yokohama they received a bundle of Dailies only six weeks old, giving full Particulars of a Wedding and telling who was about to run for Mayor. As soon as they were on the Pacific and headed for a refined Vaudeville Show, they began to recover the brave Spirit of Travel and blow about what they had seen. The Towns and Temples and Tombs and Treasures of Art were all jumbled together, but, by daily references to Baedeker and Murray, they were enabled to find out where they had been and what they had seen with their own eyes and how it impressed them at the time. Before touching at Honolulu they were real enthusiastic about India. They advised the awe-stricken Listener who had not been all the Way around to be sure and take in Penang and Johore and, if necessary, they would give him Letters of Introduction. They said it had been a Wonderful Experience. Yes, indeed. And broadening. Very. Then Edwin would wander to the front end of the Ship and want to climb out on the Bowsprit so as to be in Frisco ahead of anybody else. He convalesced rapidly as they approached the Golden Gate, for he knew that in a few days he would unpack for good and gallop down to the office and not have to worry about Travelling. The only Dark Cloud on the Shore hung above the Custom House. They looked at all the Junk wished upon them by the simple Children of the Far East and didn't know whether to declare it for what it cost or for what it was really worth. Being conscientious Members of the Church, they modified their Perjury and smuggled only the usual amount of Carvings and hand-embroidered Stuff. Two hours after landing, Edwin saw a Porter-House Steak and burst into tears. They sped eastward by the first Train, still busy with the little Red Books, for they knew they would have to answer a lot of Questions. "Shall we own up and tell them the Awful Truth?" asked Selena. "Not on your Esoteric Buddhism," replied Edwin. "We never will be rewarded for our Sufferings unless we convince the Neighbors that we had a run for our Money. It was a troubled Nightmare, in Spots, but when I lecture in the Church Parlor I am going to burn Joss Sticks and pull every variety of Bunk made famous by Sir Edwin Arnold and Lafcadio Hearn." On the following Tuesday, Selena appeared at the Club with her Mandarin Coat and the long Hindoo Ear-Rings. She had them frozen in their Chairs. MORAL: Be it ever so Hard to Take, there is no Place like away from Home. THE NEW FABLE OF THE TOILSOME ASCENT AND THE SHINING TABLE-LAND Once upon a time, out in the Rubber Boot Reservation, the Stork came staggering up to a Frame Dwelling with a hefty Infant. The arrival was under the Zodiacal Sign of Taurus, the Bull. Every Omen was propitious. When the Gallery was admitted, on the third day, the gaping Spectators observed that the Youngun had an open Countenance, somewhat like a Channel Cat, a full head of Hair bushing at the nape of the neck, and a hypnotic Eye; so they knew he was destined for the Service of the Public. Even while he was in the custody of the Old Women of the Township, he began reaching for everything he saw and testing his Voice. He claimed his Rations frequently and with insistence. While he was demonstrating an elastic Capacity, the head Prophetess called attention to his aggressive Style and predicted a political Career. It was a cinch Horoscope, for the Begetters were a successful Auctioneer and a Poetess of local repute. The Child was christened Sylvester, in anticipation of his Future Greatness. Several years later, when he rebelled against going to the Barber Shop and began to speak Pieces on the slightest provocation, the Parents rejoiced over these budding symptoms of Statesmanship and bought him a Drum. At school he was a Dummy in Mathematics and a Lummox when it came to Spelling Down, but every Friday afternoon he was out in the lead, wearing Bells. Before he acquired a Vocabulary or accumulated Data, he got by on his Nerve. In later years he never forgot that Facts are non-essential if the Vocal Cords are in tune. When the Pupils tacked the old standby, "Resolved, that Education is better than Riches," he could tremolo on the Affirmative one week and then reverberate for the Negative one week later, never doubting his own Sincerity at any stage of the Game. The grinding classmates who had secured the mark of A in Geometry and Rhetoric were not in the running on Commencement Day. Our Hero got his Diploma on a Fluke, but when he appeared on the Rostrum between an Oleander and the Members of the Board, with Goose- Goose on the Aureole, the new Store Suit garnished with a leaf of Geranium and a yellow Rose-Bud, and the Gates Ajar Collar lashed fast with his future Trade-Mark: viz., a White Bow Tie--he had all the Book Worms crushed under his Heel. He pulled out the stop marked "Vox Humana" and begged his Hearers to lift the sword of Justice and with it smite the Deluge of Organized Wealth which was crouched and ready to spring upon the Common People. In pleading the cause of Labor, he spoke as an expert, for once he had strung a Clothes-Line for his Mother. He got the biggest Hand of any one at the Exercises. After denouncing the predaceous Interests he relapsed into an attitude of Meditation, with the Chin on the starched Front, very much like a Steel Engraving of Daniel Webster. The enthralled Townsmen, seeing him thus, with the Right Hand buried in the Sack Suit and the raven Mop projecting in the rear, allowed that there was nothing to it. He was a Genius and billed through for the Legislature. Some Boys have to go to College to get a Shellac Finish, but Sylvester already had the Dark Clothes and the Corrugated Brow and a voice like a Tuba, so, to complete his Equipment, he merely had to sit tilted back in a Law Office for a few months and then borrow Money to get a Hat such as John A. Logan used to wear. All who saw him move from Group to Group along the Hitch Rack on Saturday afternoon, shaking hands with the Rustics and applying the Ointment, remarked that Ves was a young man of Rare Promise and could not be held back from the Pay-Roll for any considerable length of Time. He was one of the original 787 Boy Orators of the Timothy Hay Section of the Imperial Middle West. At every hotel Banquet, whether by the Alumni of the Shorthand College or under the auspices of the Piano Movers' Pleasure Club, he was right up at the Head Table with his Hair rumpled, ready to exchange a Monologue for a few warm Oysters and a cut of withered Chicken. On Memorial Day it was Sylvester who choked up while laying his Benediction on the Cumrads of the G. A. R.. On Labor Day he unbuttoned his Vest all the way down, held a trembling Fist clear above the leonine Mat, and demanded a living Wage for every Toiler. Consequently he acquired repute as a Staunch Friend of the Agriculturist, the Steam Fitter, the Old Soldier, the Department Store Employee, and others accustomed to voting in Shoals. In order to mature himself and be seasoned for onerous Responsibilities, he waited until he was 22 years of age before attempting to gain a frontage at the Trough. It was highly important that he should serve the Suvrin People in some Capacity involving Compensation. It was fairly important to him and it was vitally important to a certain Woman of gambling Disposition, who operated a Boarding-House. Sylvester was the type of Lawyer intensely admired but seldom employed, save by Criminals entirely bereft of Means. In addition to his Board, the young Barrister actually required a pouch of Fine Cut and a clean White Tie every week, so he was impelled by stern Necessity to endeavor to hook up with a Salary. Because Sylvester had administered personal Massage to every Voter within five Miles of his office, he thought he could leap into the Arena and claim an immediate Laurel Wreath by the mere charm and vigor of his Personality. He ignored the Whispering Ikes who met in the dim Back Room, with Cotton plugged in the Key Hole. The Convention met, and when it came time to nominate a Candidate for State's Attorney, all of Sylvester's tried and true Friends among the Masses were at home working in the Garden and spread out in the Hammock. The Traction Engine pulled the Juggernaut over the Popular Idol. They lit on him spraddled out. They gave him the Doo-Doo. When the Battle had ended, he was a mile from the cheerful Bivouac, lying stark in the Moonlight. He was supposed to be eliminated. The only further recognition accorded him would be at the Autopsy. Next day he was back in his usual Haunts, with an immaculate Bow Tie and a prop Smile, shaking hands with all who had so recently harpooned him. As a Come-Back he was certainly the resilient Kid. Those who had marveled at his sole-leather Organ of Speech, now had to admire his sheet metal Sensibilities, nor could they deny that he possessed all the attributes of a sound and durable Candidate. He had learned his Primer lesson in Politics. As soon as he saw that he could not throw the Combination, he joined it. He came into the Corral and lay down in the Dust and allowed them to brand him as a Regular. Sylvester became the White Slave of the Central Committee, knowing that eventually true Patriotism would have to be recognized and recompensed. When he came to bat the second time he had the Permanent Chairman and the Tellers and all the Rough-Necks plugging for him, consequently it was a Pipe. But it was a case of Reverse English on Election Day, for the venal Opposition rode into power on a Tidal Wave. After the Tide had receded, Sylvester was found asleep among the Clams and Sea-Weed, apparently so far gone that a Pulmotor would be no help. Three days later, however, he was on hand, with chaste Neckwear and a jaunty Front, to make a Presentation Speech to the Chief of the Fire Department. Talk about your Rubber Cores! The harder they run him down the higher he bounced back. Those who had been marked by Fate to be his Constits began to see that Sylvester was something invincible and not to be denied. What though his Detractors called him a Four-Flush and a False Alarm, alleging that a true analysis of his Mentality would be just about as profitable as dissecting a Bass Drum? The more they knocked, the more oleo-margarine became his beaming Countenance, for he knew that Calumny avails naught against a White Tie in the Hot-Bed of cut-and-dried Orthodoxy. He played the social String from the W. C. T. U. to the Elks and was a blood-brother of the Tin Horn and the acidulated Elder with the scant Skilligans. In order to keep the High-Binders and the Epworth Leaguers both on his Staff at one and the same time, he had to be some Equilibrist, so he never hoisted a Slug except in his own Office, where he kept it behind the Supreme Court Reports. When he went out the third time for the same Job, the Voters saw it was no use trying to block him off, so he landed. In the full crimson of Triumph, with new Patent Leather Shoes and as much as $40 in his Kick at one time, he never forgot for a moment he was a servant of the Pe-hee-pul and might want to run for something else in the near future. He tempered Justice with Mercy and quashed many an Indictment if the Defendant looked like a grateful Geezer who might be useful in his own Precinct. No one dared to attack him because of the fact that he had delivered a Lecture to the eager young souls at the Y. M. C. A., in which he had exhibited a Road Map and proved that adherence to the Cardinal Virtues leads unerringly to Success. At the age of thirty-two he broke into the Legislature and began to wear a White Vest, of the kind affected by the more exclusive Bar Tenders. Also a variety of Shroud known as the Prince Albert. He was fearless in discussing any proposed Measure that did not worry the Farmer Vote in his own District. As for Wall Street and the Plunder-bund, when he got after them, he was a raving Bosco. A regular Woof-Woofer and bite their heads off. About the time he came up for re-election, a lot of Character-Assassins tried to shell-road him and hand him the Guff and crowd him into the 9-hole. They said he had been flirting with the Corporations and sitting in on Jack-Pots and smearing himself at the Pie Counter. Did they secure his Goat by such crude Methods? Not while the 5-octave Voice and the enveloping Prince Albert and the snow-white Necktie were in working Trim. He went over the whole District in an Auto (one of the fruits of his Frugality), and everywhere that Sylvester went the American Eagle was sure to go, riding on the Wind-Shield, and a Starry Banner draped over the Hood. He waved aside all Charges made against him. To give them serious Heed would be an Insult to the high Intelligence of the Hired Hands gathered within Sound of his Voice. He believed in discussing the Paramount Issues. So he would discuss them in such a way that the Railway Trains passing by were no interruption whatsoever. In course of time his Hair outgrew the Legislature. He was on whispering terms with a clean majority of all the Partisans in three connecting Counties, so he bought one Gross of the White String Kind and a pair of Gum Sneakers and began to run amuck as a Candidate for Congress. Even his trusty Henchmen were frightened to know that he had become obsessed of such a vaulting Ambition. They did not have him sized, that was all. The farther from home he traveled, the more resounding was the Hit he registered. The Days of Spring were lengthening and the Campaign was not far distant when Sylvester, after looking at the Signs in the Sky and putting his Ear to the Ground, discovered that he was thoroughly impregnated with the new Progressive Doctrines. The change came overnight, but he was in the Band Wagon ahead of the Driver. As nearly as he could formulate his private Platform, he was still true to his Party but likewise very keen for any Reform Measure that 55 per cent. of the Voters might favor, either at the present time or previous to any future Election. After the heated Radicals in every School District had listened to Sylvester and learned that all his Views coincided to a T with their own revised Schedule, they lined up and landslided. One November morning Our Hero, no longer a penniless Law Student, but owing, at a conservative Estimate, between $6000 and $8000, sat tranquilly in front of the T-Bone Steak, the Eggs, the Batter Cakes, the Cinnamon Rolls, and the Reservoir of Coffee, comprising the Breakfast of one who always remained near to the Rank and File. His Hair was roached in a new way, for the Bulletins at Midnight had told him that he was a Congressman. Those who had known him in the old Free-Lunch Days, when a Tie lasted him for a Week, now felt honored to receive his stately Salutation as he moved slowly from the Post Office up to the Drug Store, to buy his Bronchial Lozenges. Many of the Lower Classes, as well as the more Prominent People belonging to the Silver Cornet Band, were gathered at the Station when he started for Washington to fight in the impending Battle between the Corn-Shuckers and the Allies of Standard Oil. Men and Women standing right there in the Crowd could remember when he had borrowed his first Dollar. And now he was going to stand beneath the dome of the Capitol to weave a new Fabric of Government and see that it didn't crock or unravel. Sylvester and his glossy Trunk arrived at the Mecca, where they were pleasantly received by the Agent of the Transfer Company in full Uniform, and a Senegambian with a Red Cap, who hunted up the Taxi. After waiting many weary Years, Sylvester once more had a School Desk of his own. It was in the far corner of a crowded Pit surrounded by elevated Seats. The Hon. Sylvester found himself entirely surrounded by victims of involuntary Dumbness. By referring to a printed List he ascertained that he was a member of the Committee on Manual Training for the Alaskan Indians. In his Boarding House he became acquainted with Department Clerks who were well advanced in the technology of Base Ball. After a few weeks, he was on chatting Terms with a Young Lady in charge of a Cigar and News Counter. As soon as the Paper was delivered every morning he could find out what had happened in Congress the day before. If confused by the Cares of State, he sought diversion by taking a Visitor from Home to see the Washington Monument. After three months, he met a National Committeeman with a Pull who promised to secure him an introduction to the Speaker so that he could maneuver around and get something into the Record before his time was up. In the meantime, he is heard to advantage on every Roll Call, and the Traducers back in the District have not been able to lay a finger on anything Crooked. MORAL: There is always Room and Board at the Top. THE NEW FABLE OF THE AERIAL PERFORMER, THE BUZZING BLONDINE, AND THE DAUGHTER OF MR. JACKSON Once upon a time a Lad with Cinnamon Hair and wide blue Eyes lived in a half-portion Town. He had received more than 2000 Tickets for answering "Here" at the M. E. Sunday School. His kinfolk hoped that some day he would be President of the Town Board. Shortly after he learned to roll a safe game of Pool, the Governor demised. Robert, such being the full front name of the sole Heir, found that he could not spread his Pinions in the narrow Streets of the lichen- covered Hamlet. So he blew. He went to find an Avenue that would accommodate seven Zeppelin Air-Ships moving abreast at one time. He closed out the Dry Goods Emporium with the Shirt-Waists and the shameless Hosiery in the Windows. An Apartment Building, with Packages delivered at the rear, soon began to flaunt itself on the site of the old Manse. With all the currency corralled by the late Store-Keeper padded into his Norfolk Jacket, the gallus Offspring hurried to the Metrop to pick the Primroses. In a short time he was out at the Track every day, barking at the Goats as they hove into the Stretch. The pencil-borrowing Touts and the Wine Pushers began to call him Bob, which proved that he was a Man about Town. When the final Kiflukus was put on the Ponies, he assembled the residue of his Bundle and began to work steady as a Guesser in a Broker's Office. His job was to show at 10 A. M. with a big Reina Victoria at one extreme corner of his Face and pretend to know what was coming off when the Boy put the funny marks on the Blackboard. Ever and anon he would buy 1000 Shares of something, as if Negotiating for a Bread-Ticket. As a rule, the tall-grass Plunger with a wad of new Kale has about the same percentage in his favor as that enjoyed by a Shoat out at the well-known Establishment of Armour & Co. The Cleaners go forth to meet him, bearing as Gifts a Dream-Book and a new kind of Cocktail with a Kick like a Coast-Defense Gun. A few weeks later they are casting lots for his Union Suit. Bob came from Simpville, but he had acquired a couple of Wrinkles associating with the Wing Shots in the Paddock. He could shift to either Foot and he kept his Maxillary covered. Sometimes he picked up the wrong Walnut. It would begin to look like a quick change from Caviar to Crackers. More than once his Heels were beating a tattoo on the grassy brink of a Precipice. Then he would smell around until he discovered Something Doing. A couple of lucky shots and he would be on Velvet again and whanging away like a Demon. At last, with a Bull Market and a system of Pyramids, he began to sweep it in with his Fore-Arm. Head Waiters paid him the most grovelling Attentions and bright eyes grew brighter yet when he suggested pulling a little Supper, with a $400 Souvenir at each Plate. He was admitted to full membership in the Tango Tribe of the Tenderloin Night-Riders. This select Coterie was organized for the purpose of closing all Cabarets by 6 A. M.. An early hour was named because many of them were not made up for the cold Daylight. About the time he began to discover Vintages he discovered Elphye also. She was an Actress who was too busy to perform on the Stage. Elphye had a good Social Position back at her Home lot but, for some reason, she never sent for it. Her Parents had arranged for her to be a Brunette, but when Bob met her, between the Guinea Hen and the Cafe Parfait, she was a Lemon Meringue. Elphye wore Clothes that made a noise like a Piccolo. She was there with the jeweled Heels and the hand-painted Ankles. In trying to make her Gowns anywhere from six to nine months ahead of Paris, she sprung several Effects that caused the Chandeliers to tremble and the Ice to melt in the Buckets. She had abolished her Shape entirely and abandoned the Perpendicular, preferring a Droop which indicated that possibly she had been fashioned over a Barrel. She tried to model herself on the lines of a string Bean, slightly warped by the Sun. The Ascending Star of the Financial World was stunned by the Apparition. No one had tipped it off to him that the Queen of Sheba was to be reincarnated. He found Elphye ever and ever so accomplished. She knew all the Songs that now blister the Varnish off the Pianos in so many well-ordered Homes. She was enough of a Contortionist to get away with several Dances named for the innocent Poultry. Being a close student of the Bill-Boards she was in touch with Current Happenings. Her Eye-Work was perfect, but she found it hard pumping to Blush at the right time. When she tackled Polite Conversation she put a few Tooth-Marks in it. Still she made a very creditable Stab for a Girl brought up in Michigan and never east of Sheepshead Bay. She looked very creamy to Bob, if the Music was loud enough. He liked to tow something that would cause the Oyster Forks to pause in midair and the Catty Ones to reach for their hardware. When Elphye did a little Barnum and Bailey down the main Chute of a Terrapin Bazaar, rest assured that every Eye in the Resort was aimed at her gleaming Vertebrae. Bob showed her his monthly Statements and she confessed to being very fond of him. So it was planned that they would Marry some afternoon, if she could get away from the Masseuse early enough. The Troth was pledged in a few high-priced Trinkets which she had decided upon before he spoke to her. Just when it seemed a mortal Pipe that the Bull Tactics would enable him to cop a Million, so that he could live at a Hotel and finance the Little Queen, the Unseen Superintendent in the Tower began to throw the Switches of Destiny. If Bob had not speeded so far into the Country in the Smell-Wagon, there would have been no Flat Tire. If there had been no Flat Tire, he would have been back in time for the usual round-up of the Irrigation Committee and never would have been a Great Financier. Marooned among the Hay-Fields, he stopped at a Farm House and took a long chance on some Well-Water, dipped in a Gourd from the Moss-Covered Bucket. Scotch Whiskey is never contaminated by Surface Drains, but each sparkling Drop of the Fluid that Bob quaffed, there beneath the Willows, contained more than 2,000,000 of the Germs made notorious by Dr. Woods Hutchinson. A few days later a swarm of Bees settled in each ear. Every Sky- Scraper gave an imitation of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. He knew he was out of Kelter, but he had to watch the Board, for he had put every Bean in the World on an acrobatic Industrial known as Tin Bucket Preferred. Already the Paper Profits were enormous. Bob figured confidently on another Whoop of 50 points and a double string of Pearls for Elphye. But when the poor Loon had a Temperature of 5 above Par and had to cling to the Brass Rail to keep from taking the Count, he lost his Nerve entirely. He couldn't see anything on the Horizon except Tariff Revision, Hard Times, Weeping Women, Starving Kiddies, Closed Factories, Soup Kitchens, and Bread Lines. While in this dotty State and quite irresponsible, he directed the Manager to close out the whole Smear and sell short. Furthermore, he was so daffy and curdled in the Filbert that he sold three times as much as he had. Then he did a couple of Spins and a Flop, and the White Ambulance bore him away to the big Hospital. If Mr. Hornung Jackson of Round Grove, Maryland, had not entered upon his Second Childhood at the age of 55, his Family would have remained on Easy Street. Mr. Jackson thought he could sit in his Front Room and read the burglarious Meditations of the High-Binders in Wall Street. Consequently, when the Tin Box was searched, the Day after the Masons had marched out to the Cemetery, it contained a little of everything except Assets. Annie was the name of the Daughter. On the Clean-up she received enough to put her through the School. When Bob arrived at the Hospital, in a State of Conflagration, Annie was waiting in the starched Uniform to tackle her first real Case. For days and nights he rambled through the ghostly labyrinths of Delirium, Annie holding him by the Hand and lifting the cool Draughts to his parched Lips. He mumbled and raved about the decisions of the Umpire in the game between the Academy and the Knitting Works. He gave Annie his entire performance of Ralph Rackstraw in "Pinafore" for the benefit of the Library Fund, including Cues. He scolded his Aunt Mary for doing her own Housework and told the Colored Men how to lay the Cement Walk down through the Grape Arbor. He promised his Father not to play Poker any more and vowed to his Mother that she was a better Chef than the one up at Del's. But his sub-conscious Self was so considerate of Elphye that he never brought in her Name at all, at all. Sometimes he would get back to the Ticker, but he was ready to leave it any time to go fishing in the Crick with the Lads from the other side of the Tracks. Through the final Crisis he played tag with the Grim Reaper and just escaped being It. The Sun was slanting into the little white Room when he crawled feebly back to Earth and tried to get his Bearings. Annie was looking right at him, relieved and smiling and happy. She had won her first game in the Big League. He noticed that she was not slashed up the side or down the back, had no metallic Insteps, carried her own Hair, and was in no way concealed behind the usual pallid Veneering. He remembered dimly that she had been with him on the Underground. Then he recalled a previous Existence in which the Dripped Absinthe was a Breakfast and the Cigarette a Luncheon and Elphye was trotting in her Glads and he had a Swell Bet down on Tin Bucket Preferred. The whole Lay-Out seemed unreal and remote and entirely disconnected with Friend Nurse. He inquired the Day of the Week, and when he learned it was Next Month he started to get right up and put on his Things. Annie quietly spread him back on the Pillow and laid down the Law regarding Rest and Quiet. Then he begged her to ring up McCusick & Co. and get the latest Bucket Preferred. He said he had plastered his last Samoelon and, not being there to watch the Board and concentrate his wonderful Trading Instinct on every jiggle of the Dial, there was no telling what the Bone-Heads had done to him. You see, he had no recollection whatever of going Short, for he had been in a Walking Delirium at the time and crazy as a Cubist. Annie said it was wrong to Gamble and he was not to read the Papers or fuss with Visitors until Doc gave the word. Suddenly he remembered that he was engaged to Elphye and he wondered if she had forgotten. So many things can happen in a Great City within two weeks. He told Nurse about Elphye. Annie did not seem madly interested, but she wrote a Note to the Sazerack Apartment Building and notified the Seraphine that her prospective Producer was still extant and would be willing to renew acquaintance if she could spare an hour or two from her Dancing. Elphye came out two days later made up as a Princess in the Christmas Pantomime and diffusing pleasant Odors in all directions. She sat down alongside of Annie and immediately she was shown up and went back to the Minors. Her Second-Reader Conversation, complicated with the phoney Boston sound of "A" as in "Squash," did not improve her General Average. Bob suddenly realized that in getting rid of the Bronxes and the Nicotine and various other Toxins, he also had lost his appetite for Elphye. But he was Game and willing to go through on his own Proposition. He sent Nurse for a glass of Water and then begged his Fiancee to smuggle in a Newspaper so he could find out the name of his getting-off Station. Next day she brought the Market Page in her wonderful jewel-crusted Bag. Bob took one Look and crawled under the Covers. The Market had gone Blooey. Bucket Preferred was down in the Subway, bleeding from a dozen Wounds. The Whole List was on the Blinkety Fritz. "Courage, Dearie," said Bob, taking Elphye by the Rings. "Your little Playmate is erased from the map." Elphye upset two Rolling Chairs and one Interne getting from the Convalescent Department to the open Air. Annie found the poor Bankrupt much improved as to Pulse and Temperature. He told her the whole Story of how his Lady Fair had canned him because he was no longer a Live One. She held his hand and pushed back his Locks and told him that any Girl with a Heart would stick closer than ever to her Selection when he was under the Rollers. Just then a Messenger from McCusick came in and showed Bob that by going Short and standing pat he was $1,800,000 to the Desirable. After that, Bob was known up and down the Street as The Wizard. Annabelle, remembering how they had got to her Father, made him cut out the Margins and put the whole Chunk into listed Securities and Real Estate. He wanted to stick around and parlee up to a Billion, but she raised a most emphatic Nixey. He was so used to taking orders from her as a Trained Nurse that he cut out speculating and played Safe. The whole game was punk for months after, so every one said he had been a Wise Mug for backing away. The Missus allows him a light one (mostly Vermouth) before Dinner each evening and has taught him a private Signal which means that she is ready to duck and go Home. At present they are in Paris, where she is working to get the same hilarious _Tout Ensemble_ formerly exhibited by Elphye, the Ex-Empress of the White Light Reservation. The latter went to see a Lawyer when she learned that she had been tricked out of her Happiness. Unfortunately for her, she had nothing on Robert, thanks to his native shrewdness and Mr. Bell, who invented the Telephone. She is now playing Utility Parts in a Stock Company in Pennsylvania. The Jewels pelted at her by Bob are much admired by the Gallery. MORAL: The City holds no Peril for those who cherish Lucky Ideals. THE NEW FABLE OF SUSAN AND THE DAUGHTER AND THE GRAND-DAUGHTER, AND THEN SOMETHING REALLY GRAND Once there was a full-blown Wild Peach, registered in the Family Bible as Susan Mahaly. Her Pap divided his time between collecting at a Toll-Gate and defending the Military Reputation of Andy Jackson. The family dwelt in what was then regarded by Cambridge, Mass., as the Twilight Zone of Semi-Culture, viz., Swigget County, Pennsylvania. Susan wore Linsey-Woolsey from Monday to Saturday. She never had tampered with her Venus de Milo Topography and she did not even suspect that Women had Nerves. When she was seventeen she had a Fore-Arm like a Member of the Turnverein. She knew how to Card and Weave and Dye. Also she could make Loose Soap in a kettle out in the Open Air. Susan never fell down on her Salt-Rising Bread. Her Apple Butter was always A1. It was commonly agreed that she would make some Man a good Housekeeper, for she was never sickly and could stay on her Feet sixteen hours at a Stretch. Already she was beginning to look down the Pike for a regular Fellow. In the year 1840, the Lass of seventeen who failed to get her Hooks on some roaming specimen of the Opposite Gender was in danger of being whispered about as an Old Maid. Celibacy was listed with Arson and Manslaughter. Rufus was destined to be an Early Victorian Rummy, but he could lift a Saw-Log, and he would stand without being hitched, so Susan nailed him the third time he came snooping around the Toll-Gate. Rufus did not have a Window to hoist or a Fence to lean on. But there is no Poverty in any Pocket of the Universe until Wealth arrives and begins to get Luggy. Susan thought she was playing in rare Luck to snare a Six-Footer who owned a good Squirrel Rifle and could out-wrastle all Comers. The Hills of Pennsylvania were becoming congested, with Neighbors not more than two or three miles apart, so Rufus and his Bride decided to hit a New Trail into the Dark Timber and grow up with the Boundless West. Relatives of the Young Couple staked them to a team of Pelters, a Muley Cow, a Bird Dog of dubious Ancestry, an Axe and a Skillet, and started them over the Divide toward the perilous Frontier, away out yender in Illinoy. It was a Hard Life. As they trundled slowly over the rotten Roads, toward the Land of Promise, they had to subsist largely on Venison, Prairie Chicken, Quail, Black Bass, Berries, and Wild Honey. They carried their own Coffee. Arrived at the Jumping-Off Place, they settled down among the Mink and Musk-Rats. Rufus hewed out and jammed together a little two by twice Cabin with the Flue running up the outside. It looked ornery enough to be the Birthplace of almost any successful American. The Malaria Mosquito was waiting for the Pioneers. In those good old Chills-and-Fever days, no one ever blamed it on the Female of the Species. Those who had the Shakes allowed that they were being jarred by the Hand of Providence. When the family ran low on Quinine, all he had to do was hook up and drive fifty miles to the nearest Town, where he would trade the Furs for Necessities such as Apple-Jack and Navy Twist, and possibly a few Luxuries such as Tea and Salt. On one of these memorable Trips to the Store, a Mood which combined Sentiment with reckless Prodigality seized upon him. He thought of the brave Woman who was back there in the lonesome Shack, shooing the Prairie Wolves away from the Cradle, and he resolved to reward her. With only three Gills of Stone Fence under his Wammus, he spread his Wild-Cat Currency on the Counter and purchased a $6 Clock, with jig-saw ornaments, a shiny coat of Varnish, and a Bouquet of Pink Roses on the door. Susan burst into Tears when she saw it on the Wall, alongside of the Turkey Wing, and vowed that she had married the Best Man in the World. Twenty years later, Jennie, the first begotten Chick at the Log House in the Clearing, had matured and married, and was living at the County- Seat with Hiram, Money-Changer and Merchant. Railroad Trains, Side-Bar Buggies, Coal-Oil Lamps, and the Civil War had come along with a Rush and disarranged primitive Conditions. The Frontier had retreated away over into Kansas. In the very Township where, of late, the Beaver had toiled without Hindrance and the Red Fox dug his hole unscared, people were now eating Cove Oysters, and going to see "East Lynne." Hiram was in rugged Health, having defended the flag by Proxy during the recent outcropping of Acrimony between the devotees of Cold Bread and the slaves of Hot Biscuit. The Substitute had been perforated beyond repair at the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain, proving that Hiram made no mistake in remaining behind to tend Store. When Jennie moved in where she could hear the Trains whistle and began to sport a Cameo Brooch, she could barely remember wearing a Slip and having Stone Bruises. Hiram was Near, but he would Loosen up a trifle for his own Fireside. The fact that Jennie was his wife gave her quite a Standing with him. He admired her for having made such a Success of her Life. They dwelt in a two-story Frame with countless Dewdads and Thingumbobs tacked along the Eaves and Scalloped around the Bay Windows. The Country People who came in to see the Eighth Wonder of the World used to stand in silent Awe, breathing through their Noses. Out on the lawn, surrounded by Geraniums, was a Cast-Iron Deer which seemed to be looking at the Court House in a startled Manner. It was that kind of a Court House. In her Front Room, the daughter of Rufus and Susan had Wonderful Wax Flowers, sprinkled with Diamond Dust; a What-Not bearing Mineral Specimens, Conch-Shells, and a Star-Fish, also some Hair-Cloth Furniture, very slippery and upholstered with Sand. After Hiram gave her the Black Silk and paid for the Crayon Enlargements of her Parents, Jennie did not have the Face to bone him for anything more, but she longed in secret and Hiram suspected. Jennie was a soprano. Not a regular Soprano, but a Country-Town Soprano, of the kind often used for augmenting the Grief in a Funeral. Her voice came from a point about two inches above the Right Eye. She had assisted a Quartette to do things to "Juanita," and sometimes tossed out little Hints about wishing she could practice at Home. Jennie was a Nice Woman but she _did_ need Practice. Although Hiram was tighter than the Bark on a Sycamore, he liked to have other Women envy the Mother of His Children. When he spread himself from a Shin-Plaster, he expected a Fanfare of Trumpets. It took him a long time to unwind the String from the Wallet, but he would Dig if he thought he was boosting his own Game. By stealthy short-weighting of the Country Trade and holding out on the Assessor, he succeeded in salting away numerous Kopecks in one corner of the Safe. While in Chicago to buy his Winter Stock, he bargained for two days and finally bought a Cottage Melodeon, with the Stool thrown in. Jennie would sit up and pump for Hours at a time, happy in the knowledge that she had drawn the Capital Prize in the Lottery of Hymen. In the year 1886 there was some Church Wedding at the County Seat. Frances, daughter of Hiram and Jennie, had knocked the Town a Twister when she came home from the Female College wearing Bangs and toting a Tennis Racquet. All the local Gallants, with Cocoa-Oil in their hair and Rings on their Cravats, backed into the Shrubbery. Hiram had bought her about $1800 worth of Hauteur at the select Institution of Learning. All she had to do was look at a Villager through her Nose-Specs and he would curl up like an Autumn Leaf. A Cuss from Chicago came to see her every two weeks. His Trousers seemed to be choking him. The Pompadour was protected by a Derby of the Fried-Egg species. It was the kind that Joe Weber helped to keep in Public Remembrance. But in 1886 it was de Rigeur, au Fait, and a la mode. Frances would load the hateful City Chap into the high Cart and exhibit him up and down all the Residence Thoroughfares. On nearly every Front Porch some Girl whose Father was not interested in the First National Bank would peer out through the Morning Glories at the Show-off and then writhe like an Angle-Worm. The Wedding was the biggest thing that had struck the town since Forepaugh stopped over on his way from Peoria to Decatur. Frances was not a popular Girl, on account of being so Uppish, so those who could not fight their way into the Church climbed up and looked through the Windows. The Groom wore a Swallow-Tail. Most of those present had seen Pictures of the Dress Suit. In the _Fireside Companion,_ the Gentleman wearing one always had Curls, and the Wood-Engraving caught him in the act of striking a Lady in the Face and saying "Curse you!" The Feeling at the County-Seat was that Frances had taken a Desperate Chance. The caterer with Colored Help in White Gloves, the ruby Punch suspected of containing Liquor, the Japanese Lanterns attached to the Maples, the real Lace in the Veil, the glittering Array of Pickle-Jars, and a well- defined Rumor that most of the imported Ushers had been Stewed, gave the agitated Hamlet something to blat about for many and many a day. The Bachelor of Arts grabbed off by the daughter of Jennie and the Grand-daughter of Susan was the owner of Real Estate in the congested Business District of a Town which came into Public Attention later on through the efforts of Frank Chance. His front name was Willoughby, but Frances always called him "Dear," no matter what she happened to be thinking of at the time. Part of State Street had been wished on to Willoughby. He was afraid to sell, not knowing how to reinvest. So he sat back and played safe. With growing Delight he watched the Unearned Increment piling up on every Corner. He began to see that he would be fairly busy all his life, jacking up Rents. The Red-Brick Fortress to which he conducted Frances had Stone Steps in front and a secret Entrance for lowly Tradespeople at the rear. Willoughby and his wife had the high courage of Youth and the Financial Support of all the Money Spenders along State Street, so they started in on Period Decoration. Each Room in the House was supposed to stand for a Period. Some of them stood for a great deal. A few of the Periods looked like Exclamation Points. The young couple disregarded the Toll-Gate Period and the Log-Cabin Period, but they worked in every one of the Louies until the Gilt Furniture gave out. The delighted Caller at the House beside the Lake would pass from an East Indian Corridor through an Early Colonial American Room into a Japanese Boudoir and, after resting his Hat, would be escorted into the Italian Renaissance Drawing-Room to meet the Hostess. From this exquisite Apartment, which ate up one year's Rent of a popular Buffet near Van Buren Street, there could be obtained a ravishing glimpse of the Turkish Cozy Corner beyond, including the Battle-Axes and the Red Lamp. Frances soon began to hob-nob with the most delicatessen Circles, including Families that dated back to the Fire of 1871. She was not at all Dizzy, even when she looked down from the Mountain Peak at her happy Birthplace, 15,000 feet below. Willoughby turned out to be a satisfactory Housemate. His Voltage was not high, but he always ate Peas with a Fork and never pulled at the Leash when taken to a Musicale. In front of each Ear he carried a neat Area of Human Ivy, so that he could speak up at a Meeting of Directors. Until the year 1895, the restricted Side-Whisker was an accepted Trade-Mark of Commercial Probity. This facial Landscaping, the Frock Coat, and a steadfast devotion to Toilet Soap made him suitable for Exhibition Purposes. Frances became almost fond of him, after the Honeymoon evaporated and their Romance ripened into Acquaintanceship. It was a gladsome day for both when she traced the Dope back through Swigget County, Pennsylvania, and discovered that she was an honest-to- goodness Daughter of the American Revolution. Willoughby could not ask a representative of good old Colonial Stock to ride around in a stingy Coupe with a Coon planted out on the Weather- Seat. He changed the Terms in several Leases and was enabled to slip her a hot Surprise on the Birthday. When she came down the Steps for the usual bowl along the Avenue, so as to get some Fresh Smoke, she beheld a rubber-tired Victoria, drawn by two expensive Bang-Tails in jingly Harness and surmounted by important Turks in overwhelming Livery. She was so trancified with Delight that she went right over to Willoughby and gave him a Sweet Kiss, after looking about rather carefully for the exposed portion of the Frontispiece. Frances did a lot of Calling within the next two weeks, and to all those who remarked upon the Smartness of the Equipage, she declared that the Man she had to put up with carried a Throbbing Heart even if he was an Intellectual Midget. In the year 1913, a slender Young Thing, all of whose Habiliments seemed melting and dripping downward, came wearily from Stateroom B as the Train pulled into Reno, Nevada. She seemed quite alone, except for a couple of Maids. After she had given Directions concerning the nine Wardrobe Trunks and the Live Stock, she was motored to a specially reserved Cottage at the corner of Liberty Street and Hope Avenue. Next day she sat at the other side of a Table from a Lawyer, removing the poisoned Javelins from her fragile Person and holding them up before the shuddering Shyster. She had a Tale of Woe calculated to pulp a Heart of Stone. In blocking out the Affidavit, her sympathetic Attorney made Pencil Notes as follows: Her name was Ethel Louise, favorite Daughter of Willoughby and Frances, the well-known Blue-Bloods of the Western Metropolis. She had finished off at Miss Sniffle's exclusive School, which overlooks the Hudson and the Common School Branches. After she learned to enter a Ball-Room and while on her way to attack Europe for the third time, the Viper crossed her Pathway. She accepted him because his name was Hubert, he looked like an Englishman, and one of his Ancestors turned the water into Chesapeake Bay. While some of the Wedding Guests were still in the Hospital, he began to practice the most diabolical Cruelties. He induced her to get on his Yacht and go cruising through the Mediterranean when she wanted to take an Apartment in Paris. At Monte Carlo he scolded her for borrowing 3000 Francs from a Russian Grand Duke after she went broke at bucking the Wheel. She had met the Duke at a Luncheon the day before and his Manners were perfect. The Lawyer said that Herbert was a Pup, beyond all Cavil. Cairo, Egypt, yielded up another Dark Chapter of History. It came out in the sobbing Recital that Hubert had presented her with a $900 prize-winning Pomeranian, directly related to the famous Fifi, owned by the Countess Skidoogan of Bilcarty. Later on, he seemed to feel that the Pomeranian had come between him and Ethel. The Situation became more and more tense, and finally, one day in Egypt, within plain sight of the majestic Pyramids, he kicked Precious ever so hard and raised quite a Swelling. The Legal Adviser said Death was too good for such a Fiend. In Vienna, though, that was where he went so far that Separation became inevitable. Ethel had decided to take an $80,000 Pearl Necklace she had seen in a Window. It was easily worth that much, and she felt sure she could get it in without paying Duty. She had been very successful at bringing things Home. She could hardly believe her Ears when Hubert told her to forget it and back up and come out of the Spirit World and alight on the Planet Earth. He had been Heartless on previous Occasions, but this was the first time he had been Mean enough to renig on a mere side-issue such as coming across with the Loose Change. Ethel was simply de-termined to have that Necklace, but the unfeeling Whelp tried to kid her out of the Notion. Then he started in to Pike. He suggested a $20,000 Tarara of Rubies and Diamonds as a Compromise. Ethel became wise to the fact that she had joined out with a Wad. While she was pulling a daily Sick Headache in the hope of bringing him to Taw, the Maharajah of Umslopagus came along and bought the Necklace. That was when Ethel had to be taken to a Rest Cure in the Austrian Tyrol, and she had never been the Same Woman since. To all who had come pleading for Reconciliation, Ethel had simply hung out the Card, "Nothing Doing." After a Brute has jumped up and down on the Aching Heart of a Girl of proud Lineage he can't square himself in 1,000,000 years. So said Ethel, between the flowing Tears. Furthermore, there had been hopeless Incompatibility. In all the time they were together, they never had been able to agree on a Turkish Cigarette. The professional Home-Blaster said she had enough on Herbert to get her four Divorces. The Decree would be a Pipe. Ethel said she hoped so and to please push it along, as she had quite a Waiting-List. MORAL: Rufus had no business buying the Clock. THE NEW FABLE OF THE SCOFFER WHO FELL HARD AND THE WOMAN SITTING BY One day in the pink dawn of the present Century, a man with his Hair neatly set back around the Ears and the usual Blood Pressure was whizzing through a suburban Lonesomeness on a teetering Trolley. The name of the man was Mr. Pallzey. He had a desk with a Concern that did merchandizing in a large way. Mr. Pallzey feared Socialism and carried his Wife's Picture in his Watch and wore Plasters. In other words, he was Normal, believing nearly everything that appeared in the Papers. While the Dog-Fennel was softly brushing the Foot-Board and the Motor was purring consistently beneath, Mr. Pallzey looked over into a close- cropped Pasture and became the alert Eye-Witness of some very weird Doings. He saw a pop-eyed Person in soiled Neglige, who made threatening movements toward something concealed in the White Clover, with a Weapon resembling the iron Dingus used in gouging the Clinkers from a Furnace. "What is the plot of the Piece?" he inquired of a Grand Army man, sitting next. "I think," replied the Veteran, "I think he is killing a Garter Snake." "Oh, no," spoke up the conversational Conductor, "He is playing Golluf," giving the word the Terre Haute pronunciation. Mr. Pallzey looked with pity on the poor Nut who was out in the Hot Sun, getting himself all lathered up with One-Man Shinny. He said to G. A. R. that it took all kinds of People to make a World. The grizzled Warrior rose to an equal Altitude by remarking that if the dag-goned Loon had to do it for a Living, he'd think it was Work. Mr. Pallzey had heard of the new Diversion for the Idle Rich, just as people out in the Country hear of Milk-Sickness or falling Meteors, both well authenticated but never encountered. While rummaging through the Sporting Page, he would come across a cryptic Reference to MacFearson of Drumtochtie being 3 up and 2 to play on Hargis of Sunset Ho, whereupon he would experience a sense of annoyance and do a quick Hurdle. He had seen in various Shop-Windows the spindly Utensils and snowy Pellets which, he had reason to believe, were affiliated in some way with the sickening Fad. He would look at them with extreme Contempt and rather resent their contaminating contiguity to the Mask, the Shin- Guard, and the upholstered Grabber. Mr. Pallzey believed that Golf was played by the kind of White Rabbits who March in Suffrage Parades, wearing Gloves. The dreaded Thing lay outside of his Orbit and beyond his Ken, the same as Tatting or Biology. His conception of a keen and sporty game was Pin Pool or Jacks Only with the Deuce running wild. One Saturday he was invited out to a Food Saturnalia at a Country Place. The Dinner was postponed until late in the Day because they all dreaded it so much. Friend Host said he had a twosome on at the Club and was trying out an imported Cleek, so he invited Mr. Pallzey to be a Spectator. If he had said that he was going up in a Balloon to hemstitch a couple of Clouds, it would have sounded just as plausible to Mr. Pallzey of the Wholesale District. The latter went along, just out of Politeness, but he was a good deal disappointed in his Friend. It certainly did seem trifling for a Huskie weighing one hundred and eighty to pick on something about the size of a Robin's Egg. Mr. Pallzey played Gallery all around the Course. He would stand behind them at the Tee and smile in a most calm and superior Manner while they sand-shuffled and shifted and jiggled and joggled and went through the whole calisthenic Ritual of St. Vitus. He was surprised to note how far the Ball would speed when properly spanked, but he thought there was no valid excuse for overrunning on the Approaches. Mr. Pallzey found himself criticizing the Form of the Players. That should have been his Cue to climb the Fence. All of the Mashiemaniacs start on the downward Path by making Mind-Plays and getting under Bogey. Back on the sloping Sward between No. 18 and the Life-Saving Station, the two Contestants were holding the usual Post-Mortem. "Let me see that Dewflicker a minute," said Mr. Pallzey, as he carelessly extracted a Mid-iron. He sauntered up to the silly Globule and took an unpremeditated Swipe. The Stroke rang sweet and vibrant. The ball rose in parabolic Splendor above the highest branches of a venerable Elm. Just as the Face of the Club started on the Follow Through, the Bacillus ran up and bit Mr. Pallzey on the Leg. He saw the blinking White Spot far out on the emerald Plain. He heard the murmur of Admiration behind him. He was sorry his Wife had not been there to take it in. "Leave me have another Ball," requested Mr. Pallzey. The Virus was working. He backed up so as to get a Running Start. "This time," quoth Mr. Pallzey, "I will push it to Milwaukee." Missing the Object of Attack by a scant six inches, he did a Genee toe- spin and fell heavily with his Face among the Dandelions. The Host brushed him off and said: "Your Stance was wrong; your Tee was too high; you raised the Left Shoulder; you were too rapid on the Come-Back; the Grip was all in the Left Hand; you looked up; you moved your Head at the top of the Stroke; you allowed the Left Knee to turn, and you stood ahead of the Ball. Otherwise, it was a Loo-Loo." "If I come out next Sunday could you borrow me a Kit of Tools?" asked Mr. Pallzey. He was twitching violently and looking at the Ball as if it had called him a Name. "I got that first one all right, and I think ----" So it was arranged that the poor doomed Creature was to appear on the following Sabbath and be equipped with a set of Cast-Offs and learn all about the Mystery of the Ages between 11 A. M. and 2 P. M.. Mr. Pallzey went away not knowing that he was a Marked Man. On Monday he told the Stenographer how he stung the Ball the first time up. He said he was naturally quick at picking up any kind of Game. He thought it would be a Lark to get the hang of the Whole Business and then get after some of those Berties in the White Pants. He figured that Golf would be soft for any one who had played Baseball when young. Truly all the raving is not done within the Padded Cells. He came home in the Sabbath Twilight, walking on his Ankles and babbling about a Dandy Drive for the Long Hole. Regarding the other 378 Strokes he was discreetly silent. He told his Wife there was more in it than one would suppose. The Easier the Swat, the greater the Carry. And he had made one Hole in seven. Then he took a Parasol out of the Jar, and illustrated the famous Long Drive with Moving Pictures, Tableaux, Delsarte, and some newly acquired technical Drivel, which he mouthed with childish Delight. Now we see him buying Clubs, although he refers to them as Sticks-- proving that he is still a groping Neophyte. He thinks that a shorter Shaft and more of a Lay-Back will enable him to drive a Mile. The Gooseneck Putter will save him two on every Hole. Also, will the Man please show him an Iron guaranteed to reach all the way down to the Dimple and plunk it right in the Eye. Then all of the new Implements laid out at Home and Wife sitting back, listening to a Lecture as to what will be pulled off on the succeeding Day of Rest. She had promised at the Altar to Love, Honor, and Listen. Still, it was trying to see the once-loved Adult cavorting on the verge of Dementia and know that she was helpless. He sallied forth with those going to Early Mass, and returned at the Vesper Hour caked with Dust and 98 per cent. gone in the Turret. It seems that at the sixth hole on the Last Round where you cross the Crick twice, he fell down and broke both Arms and both Legs. So he tore up the Medal Score, gave all the Clubs to the Caddy, and standing on the grassy Summit of the tall Ridge guarding the Bunker, he had lifted a grimy Paw and uttered the Vow of Renunciation. In other words, he was Through. The senile Wrecks and the prattling Juveniles, for whom the Game was invented, could have his Part of it for all time. Never again would he walk on the Grass or cock his Arms or dribble Sand all over the dark and trampled Ground where countless Good Men had suffered. No, Indeed! So next day he bought all the Paraphernalia known to the Trade, and his name was put up at a Club. It was one of those regular and sure-enough Clubs. High East Winds prevailed in the Locker-Room. Every member was a Chick Evans when he got back to the nineteenth hole. Mr. Pallzey now began to regard the Ancient and Honorable Pastime as a compendium of Sacraments, Ordeals, Incantations, and Ceremonial Formalities. He resigned himself into the Custody of a professional Laddie with large staring Knuckles and a Dialect that dimmed all the memories of Lauder. In a short time the Form was classy, but the Score had to be taken out and buried after every Round. Mr. Pallzey saw that this Mundane Existence was not all Pleasure. He had found his Life-Work. The Lode-Star of his declining Years would be an even one hundred for the eighteen Flags. Wife would see him out in the Street, feeling his way along, totally unmindful of his Whereabouts. She would lead him into the Shade, snap her Fingers, call his Name, and gradually pull him out of the Trance. He would look at her with a filmy Gaze and smile faintly, as if partly remembering and then say: "Don't forget to follow through. Keep the head down--tight with the left--no hunching--pivot on the hips. For a Cuppy Lie, take the Nib. If running up with the Jigger, drop her dead. The full St. Andrews should not be thrown into a Putt. Never up, never in. Lift the flag. Take a pickout from Casual Water but play the Road-ways. To overcome Slicing or Pulling, advance the right or left Foot. Schlaffing and Socketing may be avoided by adding a hook with top-spin or _vice versa._ The Man says there are twenty-six Things to be remembered in Driving from the Tee. One is Stance. I forget the other twenty-five." Then the Partner of his Joys and Sorrows, with the accent on the Debit Side, would shoot twenty Grains of Asperin into him and plant him in the Flax. Next morning at Breakfast he would break it to her that the Brassie had developed too much of a Whip and he had decided to try a forty-inch Shaft. They had Seasoned Hickory for Breakfast, Bunkers for Luncheon, and the Fair Green for Dinner. As a matter of course they had to give up their comfortable Home among the Friends who had got used to them and move out to a strawboard Bungalow so as to be near the Execution Grounds. Mrs. Pallzey wanted to do the White Mountains, but Mr. Pallzey needed her. He wanted her to be waiting on the Veranda at Dusk, so that he could tell her all about it, from the preliminary Address to the final Foozle. Sometimes he would come home enveloped in a foglike Silence which would last beyond early Candle Lighting, when he would express the Opinion that the Administration at Washington had proved a Failure. Perhaps the very next Evening he would lope all the way up the Gravel and breeze into her presence, smelling like a warm gust of Air from Dundee. He would ask her to throw an Amber Light on the Big Hero. He would call her "Kid" and say that Vardon had nothing on him. Her man was the Gink to show that Pill how to take a Joke. Then she would know that he had won a Box of Balls from Mrs. Talbot's poor old crippled Father-in-Law. She could read him like a Barometer. If he and Mr. Hilgus, the Real Estate Man, came home together fifteen feet apart, she would know it had been a Jolly Day on the Links. By the second summer, Mr. Pallzey had worked up until he was allowed to use a Shower Bath once hallowed by the presence of Jerome Travers. He was not exactly a Duffer. He was what might be called a sub-Duffer, or Varnish, which means that the Committee was ashamed to mark up the Handicap. He still had a good many superfluous Hands and Feet and was bleeding freely on every Green. Sometimes he would last as far as the Water-Hazard and then sink with a Bubbling Cry. Notwithstanding which, he kept on trying to look like the Photographs of Ouimet. If he spun into the High Spinach off at the Right it was Tough Luck. If he whanged away with a Niblick down in a bottomless Pit, caromed on a couple of Oaks, and finally angled off toward the Cup, he would go around for Days talking about Some Shot. As his Ambition increased, his Mental Arithmetic became more and more defective and his Moral Nature was wholly atrophied. As an Exponent of the more advanced Play he was a Fliv, but as a Matchmaker he was a Hum-Dinger. He knew he was plain pastry for the Sharks, so he would hang around the first Tee waiting to cop out a Pudding. One day he took on Mrs. Olmstead's Infant Son, just home from Military School. The tender Cadet nursed him along to an even-up at the Punch-Bowl and then proceeded to smear his vital Organs all over the Bad Lands. That evening Mr. Pallzey told her she would have to cut down on Household Expenses. Six years after he gave up the Business Career and consecrated himself to something more Important, Mr. Pallzey had so well mastered the baffling Intricacies that he was allowed to trail in a Foursome with the President of the Club. This happened once. It is well known that any Person who mooches around a Country Club for a sufficient Period will have some kind of a Cup wished on to him. Fourteen years after Mr. Pallzey threw himself into it, Heart and Soul, and when the Expenses approximated $30,000, he earned his Halo. One evening he came back to his haggard Companion, chortling infant- wise, and displayed something which looked like an Eye-Cup with Handles on it. He said it was a Trophy. It was a Consolation Offering for Maidens with an allowance of more than eighteen. After that their daily Life revolved around the $2 bargain in Britannia. Mrs. Pallzey had to use Metal Polish on it to keep it from turning black. When the Visitors lined up in front of the Mantel and gazed at the tiny Shaving Mug, the Cellar Champion on the World would regale them with the story of hairbreadth 'Scapes and moving Adventures by Gravel Gullies and rushing Streams on the Memorable Day when he (Pallzey) had put the Blocks to Old Man McLaughlin, since deceased. Then he would ask all present to feel of his Forearm, after which he would pull the Favorite One about Golf adding ten years to his life. Mrs. Pallzey would be sitting back, pouring Tea, but she never chimed in with any Estimate as to what had been the effect on her Table of Expectations. MORAL: Remain under the Awning. THE NEW FABLE OF THE LONESOME CAMP ON THE FROZEN HEIGHTS Elam was the main Whizzer in a huddle of Queen Annes, bounded on the North by a gleaming Cemetery, on the East by a limping subdivision, on the South by a deserted Creamery, and on the West by an expanse of Stubble. Claudine was the other two-thirds of the Specialty. She was a snappy little Trick and it was a dull hour of the Day or Night when she couldn't frame up a new General Order for the Breadwinner. The Marriage came off during the third summer of her twenty-seventh year. She accepted Elam about a week before he proposed to her, thus simplifying the Ordeal. While the Wafer on the License was still warm, she put on her spangled Suit, moved to the centre of the Ring, and cracked the Whip. After than Elam continued to be a Hellion around the Office, but in his private Quarters he was merely Otto, the Trained Seal. Claudine could make him Bark, play the Cymbals, or go back to the Blue Bench. There is one Elam in every Settlement. All the wise Paper-hangers and the fly Guitar Players had him marked up as a Noodle, but somehow, every time the winning Numbers were hung out, he would be found in Line, waiting to Cash. He was not Bright enough to do anything except garner the Gold Certificates. Elam had no Ear for Music, and, coming out of the Opera House, never could remember the name of the Play or which one of the Burglars was the real Hero. His Reading was confined to the Headlines of a conservative Paper which was still printing War News. Baseball had not come into his Life whatsoever. A cultured Steno, who knew about George Meredith and Arnold Bennett, had to do his Spelling for him at 14 Bucks per. The Cerebellum of Elam was probably about the dimensions of a Malaga Grape. Sizing him by his Looks, one would have opined that Nature meant him for a Ticket-taker in a suburban Cinema Palace. Elam was a mental Gnat and a spiritual Microbe, but the Geezer knew how to annex the Kale. When Providence is directing the Handouts, she very often slips some Squarehead the canny Gift of corralling the Cush, but holds out all of the desirable Attributes supposed to distinguish Man from what you see in the Cages at the Zoo. After the Pater had earned his Shaft in the Cemetery, Elam became the Loud Noise around a dinky Manufacturing Plant down by the Yards. The Cracker Barrel Coterie and all the Old Ladies who had become muscle-bound from wielding the Sledge predicted that Elam would put the Organization into the Ditch, wrong side up. The Well-wishers, the Brotherly lovers, and the total membership of the Helping Hand Society sat back waiting for Elam to be dug out of the Debris, so they could collect Witness Fees at the Autopsy. The Junior earned their abiding Dislike by putting one across. He made the Fossils sit up in their padded Rocking Chairs and pay some attention to the Idiot Child. He never could hold down any Position until tried out for a Captain of Industry and then he began to Bat 450 and Field 998. After the dusty Workmen had manufactured the Product, and the Salesmen had unloaded it, and the Collectors had brought in the Dinero, then Elam had to sit at a Mahogany Desk with a Picture of Claudine in front of him, and figure how much of the hard-earned Mazuma would be doled out to his greedy Employees. Sometimes he would be compelled to fork over nearly half the Gross, whereupon his Heart would ache and he would become Morose. In a few Years he had a lot of new Buildings, with Skylights and improved Machinery and all sorts of humane Appliances to enable the Working Force to increase the Output. As the Bank Account expanded and the Happy Couple found themselves going up, Claudine began to scan the Horizon and act restless-like. She said the Home Town was Impossible. It certainly did seem Contrary to Reason. Any Woman with a salaried Husband could bust into Society if she sang in a Choir or owned an Ice-cream Freezer. Claudine was for migrating to some high-toned Community beyond the Rising Sun, where she could sit in Marble Halls and compare Jewelry with proud Duennas of her own Station. Seeing Claudine at the corner of 8th and Central, waiting for the Open Car, one would not have suspected that she harbored Intentions on the Court Circles of Europe. One would merely have guessed that she was on her way to the Drug Store to purchase much Camphor. But she had taken a peek at the Palm Rooms and the powdered Lackeys and the Tea Riot at the Plaza, and she was panting inwardly. She wanted to hang a silver Bell around her neck and go galloping with the white-faced Thoroughbreds. It was no good trying to work up Speed on a half-mile track in the Prairie Loam. Once in a while Claudine made a bold Sashay to start something devilish, but the Fillies trained on the Farm did not seem gaited for the Grand Circuit. As for the Servant Problem, it was something ferocious. City Help could not be lured to the Tall Grass, and all the Locals had been schooled at the Railway Eating-House. Elam and Claudine had a Cook named Gusta, born somewhere near the Arctic Circle in Europe. Her fried Chicken drowned in thick Gravy came under the head of Regular Food. She could turn out Waffles as long as there was a Customer in sight. The Biscuits on which she specialized were light as Down. The Things she fixed to Eat were Fine and Dandy but she never had heard of a Cuisine. When you took her away from regular Chow and made her tackle something Casserole or En Tasse, she blew. Also there was a Maid who should have belonged to the Stevedore's Union. She could pack Victuals in from the Buttery and slam them down on the Table, a la Commercial Hotel, but when it came to building up an intricate Design with an ingrowing Napkin, three spoons, four Knives, five forks, and all the long-stemmed Glasses, to say nothing of an artful pyramiding of Cut Flowers around the Candelabra, then she was simply a female Blacksmith. Claudine would throw a Dinner once in a while, just to subdue the Wife and Daughter of the National Bank, but the Crew would nearly always crab the Entertainment. With the Support accorded by the solid ivory Staff, she had a fat Chance to give a correct imitation of Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish. All during the nine Courses she had to yelp more Orders than the Foreman of a Street Gang. A Megaphone would have helped some. The Hostess who wishes to look and carry on like a Duchess, certainly finds it vexing when pop-eyed Lizzie leans against all of the principal Guests in turn and then endeavors to shoot the Episcopalian Rector in the Neck with a gush of real Champagne. After one of these sad Affairs, at which the Rummies had balled up the whole Menu, Claudine came to the front with an Ultimatum. She said she was going to can the awful Birthplace and spend the remainder of her Natural among the real Rowdy-Dows. "Right-o, Babe!" spoke up Elam. "To-day I have put the Works into a new Combine which makes me a Janitor so far as the Plant is concerned, but boosts me into the Charley Schwab division when it comes to Collateral. I have three million Iron Boys and most of it is Turkey. I am foot-loose and free as a Robin. Let us beat it to the Big Show. It is about time that the vast Territory lying toward the East should be aroused from its Lethargy. Go as far as you like." The two were foxy. For monetary and real-estate Reasons they did not give it out cold that they were making a final Getaway. They planned to have Gusta remain at the dear old Dump as a Caretaker, but it was merely a Bluff. When the Town Hack followed a Wagon-Load of Trunks to the Depot, Claudine leaned out and said: "Fare thee well, O you Indian Village! This is the Parting of the Ways for little Sunshine." Next we see them in the gaudy Diner, eating Sweetbreads. Next day thousands of warm-hearted New Yorkers were packed along the Water front all the Way from the Battery to Grant's Tomb, giving royal Welcome to the Corn-fed Pilgrims. At any rate, they were Packed. When Elam and Claudine entered the Hotel, the discerning Bell-hops had them stand back until the others had registered. They were Important but they did not carry any Signs. Elam should have worn the Letter of Credit on the outside. After they had taken the Imperial Suite and invited all the Servants on the Twelfth Floor to a Silver Shower, they found that the Call-Bells worked fine. If Elam moved in the general direction of a Button, a handsome West Pointer would flit in with a pitcher of Iced Water and then hover around for his Bit. Both realized that the first requisite was a lot of new Scenery. Even when they rapped sharply with a Spoon and ordered Garcon to hurry up the Little Birds with a Flagon of St. Regis Bubbles to come along as a drench, they realized that they did not look the Parts. Elam still combed his Hair in the style approved by the "Barbers' Guide and Manual" for 1887. Claudine was fully clothed as far up as her Neck and didn't have the Nerve to hoist the Lorgnette. Elam went out and had himself draped by a swagger Tailor who was said to do a lot of Work for the Vanderbilt Boys. In his Afternoon Wear he resembled the Manager of a Black-Goods Department. After donning the complete Soup and Fish, known in swozzey circles as Thirteen and the Odd, he didn't look as much like a Waiter as one might have supposed. He looked more like the 'Bus who takes away the Dishes. Claudine yielded herself up to a Modiste. The Good Woman from out of Town was a trifle Long in the Tooth at this stage of our Narrative, but Mme. Bunk convinced her that she was about half way between the Trundle Bed and her First Party. She ordered all the Chic Novelties recommended for Flappers, so that Elam began to walk about ten feet behind her, wondering vaguely if his family was still respectable. The new Harness and a careless habit of counting Money in Public soon gave them an enviable Reputation in the principal Cafes, although they could not observe that they were moving any nearer to the Newport Colony. The shift from Pig's Knuckles to Ambrosia and Nectar had been a little sudden for Elam, and sometimes, when they were darting hither and thither, from Road-House to Play-House and thence to the Louis XIV Sitting-Room by way of the Tango-Joint, he would moan a little and act like a Quitter. Whereupon Claudine would jack him up and tell him to pull out his Cuffs and push back the Forelock and try to be Human. No use. He was strictly Ritz-Carlton from the Pumps to the Topper, but the word "Boob" was plainly stenciled on the glossy Front. When they had conquered all the Eating-Places in the Tenderloin they moved on to Europe, where they were just as welcome as Influenza. It was great to sit in the Savoy at the Supper Hour, surrounded by the best known people mentioned in the Court Circulars. It was indeed a privilege for Elam and Claudine to be among the British Cousins, even if the British Cousins did not seem to place Elam and Claudine. Looking in any direction they could see naught but frosty and forbidding Shoulder Blades. After partaking of their Sole and Grouse and winning a pleasant "Good- Night" from the Chevalier in the Check-Room, they would escape to their Apartments and talk to the Dog. In Paris they did better. They learned that by going out on the Boulevard and whistling, they could summon a whole Regiment of high-born and patrician Down-and-Outers. Most of the Titles were slightly worm-eaten and spotted with Scale, but nevertheless Genuine. It was Nuts for Claudine to assemble all of the Noblemen to be picked up around the Lobby and give them a free run and jump at the Carte du Jour. Her Dinners soon became the talk of the Chambermaids employed at the Hotel. Any one willing to cut loose on Caviar and stuff raised under Glass will never have to dine alone in gay Paree. Whenever Elam made a noise like 1000 Frogs he found a lot of well-bred Connoisseurs at his Elbow, all ready to have something unusual brought up from the Cellar. The securing of an Invitation to one of Claudine's formal Dinners was almost as difficult as getting into Luna Park. However, the list of guests sounded Real when sent back to America and printed for the entertainment of persons living in Boarding-Houses. Claudine became slightly puffed. When she found herself between a couple of perfumed Lads wearing Medals she would give Friend Husband the Office to move to one side and curl up in the Grass and not ruin the Ensemble by butting in. Elam was usually at the foot of the Table behind a mass of Orchids. Once in a while he would try to crowd into the Conversation just to let them know that old Ready Money was still present, but every time he came up Dearie would do her blamedest to Bean him and put him out of the Game. Claudine could make a stab at the new Pictures in the Salon and even run nimbly around the edge of the Futurist vogue. Elam was ready to discuss Steamship Lines or Railway Accommodations, but when he was put against the Tall Brows he began to burn low and smell of the Wick. Often, when surfeited with Truffles, he would wonder what had become of the Green Corn, the K. and K., the regular Chicken with Giblets, the Hot Cherry Pie, the smoking Oyster Stew, and the Smearcase with Chives, such as Gusta used to send in. These reminders of a lowly Past were very distasteful to Claudine. Once he talked in his Sleep about Cod-fish Balls, and next morning she lit on him something ramfugious. After the Parisian triumphs it seemed a safe bet to return home and make a new effort to mingle with the Face-Cards. This time they took a House in New York and went after Grand Opera as if they knew what it was about. The Son of an earl consented to Buttle for them. He refused them Butter with their Meals and kept them trembling most of the time, but they determined to do things Right, even if both died of Nervous Prostration. When they began making real Headway and were recognized in the Park by some of the Headliners, Claudine would chide Elam for his early Doubts and Fears. "This has got the Middle West skinned forty ways from the Jack," she would exclaim, gayly, as they motored up the Avenue. "Me for the White Lights! It's a good thing you had a Pacemaker or you would now be wearing detachable Cuffs and putting Sugar on your Lettuce." Two years had elapsed since the escape from being Buried Alive. They were, to all outward appearances, City-broke. One day Claudine allowed that she was tired of Bridge and the gay Routine. She announced that she was slipping away to Virginia Hot Springs to cool off and rest. Elam said that while she was lying up, he would inspect certain Mining Properties in Canada. He drove Honey to the train, then he tore back to the palatial Home, chucked a few Props into a Suit Case and headed for the Grand Central. He never stopped going until he ducked in the Back Way, through the Grape Arbor, past the Woodshed, into the Kitchen of the old Homestead in which he first saw the Light of Day. Gusta nearly keeled when she lamped the long-lost Boss. "Get busy," he said. "One fried Steak, the size of a Lap-Robe, smothered with Onions, two dozen Biscuits without any Armor Plate, one bushel of home-made Pork and Beans, much Butter, and a Gallon of Coffee in a Tureen." "You will have to wait a while," said the faithful Gusta. "There is a double order of Ham and Turnips ahead of you. While you are waiting you might go up and call on the Missus. She has put on her old Blue Wrapper and the Yarn Slippers and is now lying on a Feather Tick in the Spare Room." MORAL: The only City People are those born so. THE NEW FABLE OF THE MARATHON IN THE MUD AND THE LAUREL WREATH A Stub-Nosed Primary Pupil, richly endowed with old-gold Freckles, lived in a one-cylinder Town, far from the corroding influences of the Stock Exchange. He arrived during the age of Board Sidewalks, Congress Gaiters, and Pie for Breakfast. The Paper Collar, unmindful of the approaching Celluloid, was still affected by the more tony Dressers. Prison-made Bow Ties, with the handy elastic Fastener, were then considered right Natty. Limousines, Eugenics, Appendicitis, and the regulation of Combines were beyond the rise of the Hill, so the talk was mostly about the Weather and Married Women. The baptismal Cognomen of the mottled Offspring was Alexander Campbell Purvis, but on account of his sunny Disposition he was known to the Countryside as Aleck. One morning the Lad did his crawl from under the Quilt at an hour when our Best People of the new Century are sending away the empty Siphons. He was acting on a Hunch. The far-famed Yankee Robinson show, with the Trick Mule and the smiling Tumblers, had exhibited the day before on the vacant Lot between the Grist-Mill and the Parsonage. Aleck was familiar with the juvenile Tradition that Treasure could be discovered at or near the trampled Spot on which the Ticket-Wagon had been anchored. It was known that the agitated Yahoos from up in Catfish Country were likely to fumble and spill their saved-up Currency, thereby avoiding the trouble of handing it over to the Grafters later on. Aleck was the first Prospector to show. He got busy and uncovered a Silver Buck. It looked about the size of a Ferris Wheel. While beating it for the parental Roof he began laying out in his Mind all the Pleasures of the Flesh that he could command with the Mass of Lucre. The miscue he made was to flash his Fortune in the Family Circle. After breakfast he found himself being steered to the Farmers & Merchants' Bank. He was pried away from the Cart-Wheel and given a teeny little Book which showed that he was a Depositor. "Now, Alexander C.," said his Ma, "if you will shin up the ladder and pick Cherries every day this week at two cents per Quart, by nightfall of Saturday you will have another Case-Note to put into Cold Storage." "But, if I continue dropping the proceeds of my Labor into the Reservoir, what is there in it for me?" asked the inquisitive Chick. His mother replied, "Why, you will have the Gratification of moving up to the Window at the Bank and earning a Smile of Approbation from old Mr. Fishberry with the Throat Whiskers." So the aspiring Manikin clung to the perilous Tree-Tops day after day, dropping the ruby Cherries into the suspended Bucket, while all of the Relatives stood on the ground and applauded. One day there was a Conference and it was discovered that little Aleck was solvent to the extent of $2.80. "Would it not be Rayzorius?" queried the Sire of Alexander; "would it not be Ipskalene if Aleck kept on and on until he had assembled five whole Dollars?" Thus spurred to Endeavor by a large and rooting Gallery, the Urchin went prowling for Old Iron, which he trundled off to the Junkman. Also for empty Bottles, which he laboriously scoured and delivered at the Drug Store for a mere dribble of Chicken Feed. The sheet of Copper brought a tidy Sum, while old Mrs. Arbuckle wondered what had become of her Wash-Boiler. With a V to his Credit, Aleck put a Padlock on every Pocket in his Store Suit and went Money-Mad. He acquired a Runt and swilled it with solicitude until the Butcher made him an offer. It was a proud Moment when he eased in the $7.60 to T. W. Fishberry, who told him to keep on scrounging and some day he would own a share in the Building & Loan. Our Hero fooled away his time in School until he was all of eleven years old, when he became associated with one Blodgett in the Grocery Business, at a weekly Insult of Two Bones. All the time Aleck was cleaning the Coal-Oil Lamps or watching the New Orleans Syrup trickle into the Jug, he was figuring how much of the Stipend he could segregate and isolate and set aside for the venerable Mr. Fishberry, the Taker-In up at the Bank with the Chinchilla on the Larynx. For ten long years the White Slave tested Eggs and scooped the C Sugar. When Aleck became of Age, Mr. Blodgett was compelling him to take $30 the first of every month. He lived on Snowballs in the Winter and Dandelions in the Summer, but he had paid $800 on a two-story Brick facing Railroad Street. His name was a Byword and Hissing among the Pool-Players. Nevertheless, he stood Ace High with the old Two-per-cent-a-Month up at the Abattoir known as the Farmers & Merchants' Bank. The Boys who dropped in every thirty Days came to know him as a Wise Fish and a Close Buyer. They boosted at Headquarters, so the first thing you know Aleck was a Drummer, with two Grips bigger than Dog- Houses and a chance to swing on the Expense Account. A lowly and unsung Wanamaker would be sitting in his Prunery, wearing Yarn Wristlets to keep warm and meditating another Attack on the Bottle of Stomach Bitters in the Safe, when Aleck would breeze in and light on him and sell him several Gross of something he didn't need. The Traveling Salesman dug up many a Cross-Roads overlooked by the Map- Makers. He knew how to pin a Rube against the Wall and make him say "Yes." He rode in Cabooses, fought the Roller-Towels, endured the Taunts of Ess, Bess, and Tess who shot the Sody Biscuit, and reclined in the Chamber of Horrors, entirely surrounded by Wall-Paper, but what cared he? He was salting the Spon. He was closing in on the Needful. For a term of years he lived on Time-Tables and slept sitting up. Day after day he dog-trotted through a feverish Routine of unpacking and packing, and then climbing back to the superheated Day Coach among the curdled Smells. Every January 1st he did a Gaspard Chuckle when he checked up the total Get, for now he owned two Brick Buildings and had tasted a little Blood in the way of Chattel Mortgages. One of the partners in the Jobbing Concern happened to die. Before Rigor Mortis could set in or the Undertaker had time to flash a Tape Measure, Aleck was up at the grief-stricken Home to cop out an Option on the Interest. Now he could give the Cackle to all the Knights of the Road who had blown their Substance along the gay White Ways of Crawfordsville, Bucyrus, and Sedalia. He was the real Gazook with a Glass Cage, a sliding Desk and a whole Battery of Rubber Stamps. In order to learn every Kink of the Game, freeze out the other Holders of Stock and gradually possess himself of all the Money in the World, Aleck now found it necessary to organize himself into both a Day and a Night Shift and have his Lunches brought in. The various Smoothenheimers who were out on the Road had a proud chance to get by with the padded Expense Account. Aleck could smell a Phoney before he opened the Envelope, because that is how he got His. With a three-ton Burden on his aching Shoulders, he staggered up the flinty Incline. Away back yonder, while sleeping above the Store, a vision had come to him. He saw himself sitting as a Director at a Bank Meeting--an enlarged and glorified Fishberry. Now he was playing Fox and pulling for the Dream to work out. The cold-eyed Custodians up at the main Fortress of Credit began to take notice of the Rustler. He was a Glutton for Punishment, a Discounter from away back, and a Demon for applying the Acid Test to every Account. He was a Sure-Thinger, air-tight and playing naught but Cinches. No wonder they all took a slant at him and spotted him as a Comer. The Business Associates of Alexander liked to see Europe from the inside every summer and investigate the Cocktail Crop of Florida every winter, so they allowed him to be the Works. He began building the Skids which finally carried them to the Fresh Air and left only one name on the Gold Sign. Up to his Chin in Debt and with a Panic looming on the Horizon, it behooved Alexander to be on the job at 7:30 A. M. and hang around to scan the Pay-Roll until 9:30 P. M. Ofttimes while galloping from his Apartment to the Galleys or chasing homeward to grab off a few wasteful hours of Slumber, he would see People of the Lower Classes going out to the Parks with Picnic Baskets, or lined up at the Vaudeville Palaces, or watching a hard-faced Soubrette demonstrate something in a Show Window. It got him to think Dubs could frivol around and waste the golden Moments when they might be hopping on to a Ten-Cent Piece. His usual Gait was that of a man going for the Doctor, and he talked Numbers to himself as he sped along and mumbled over the important Letters he was about to dictate. Those who were pushed out of his way would overhear a scrap or two of the Raving and think he was Balmy. The answer is that every hard-working Business Guy acts as if he had Screech-Owls in the Tower. Aleck had his whole Staff so buffaloed that the Hirelings tried to keep up with him, so that Life in the Beehive was just one thing after another, with no Intermission. The Whip cracked every five minutes, and the Help would dig in their toes and take a fresh lean-up against the Collars, for the Main Squeeze was trying to be a Bank Director, and Rockefeller had stolen a long start on him. With a thousand important Details claiming his attention, Aleck had no time to monkey with side issues such as the general State of his Health or the multifarious plans for uplifting the Flat-Heads that he could see from his Window. Those who recommended Golf to him seemed to forget that no one ever laid by anything while on the Links. As for the Plain People, his only Conviction when he surveyed them in the Mass was that every Man-Jack was holding back Money that rightfully belonged to him (Alexander). Needless to say, the battling Financier was made welcome at the Director's Table and handed a piece of a Trust Company and became an honored Guest when any Melon was to be sliced. All that he dreamt while sleeping in the cold room over the Store had eventuated for fair. The more Irons in the Fire, the more flip-flops he turned. He never paused, except to weep over the fact that some of the rival Procurers were getting more than he could show. It was an unjust World. Brushing away the salty Tears, he would leap seven feet into the Air and spear a passing Dollar. By the time he had the Million necessary for the support of a suitable and well-recommended Lady, he was too busy to go chasing and too foxy to split his Pile with a rank Outsider. His Motor-Car squawked at the Sparrow Cops when they waved their Arms. The engineer who pulled the Private Car always had his Orders to hit it up. Sometimes the Private Secretary would drop out from Exhaustion, but the Human Dynamo never slowed up. He would shout his General Orders into the Cylinder of a Talking Machine. He reposed at Night with a Ticker on his Bosom and a Receiver at his Ear. When he finally flew the Track and blew out the Carburetor, they had to use a Net to get him under Control so that he could be carted away to the Hospital. Then the Trained Nurse had to practice all the Trick Holds known to Frank Gotch to keep him from arising to resume the grim Battle against his Enemies on the Board. He fluttered long before calming down, but finally they got him all spread out and as nice a Patient as one could wish to see. When he was too weak to start anything, Doc sat down and cheered him along by telling what Precautions should have been taken, along about 1880. "And now, I have some News for you," said the Practitioner, holding in his Grief so well that no one could notice it. "You are going away from here. Owing to the total absence of many Organs commonly regarded as essential, it will be impossible for you to go back to the Desk and duplicate any of your notable Stunts. No doubt we shall be able to engage Six Men of Presentable Appearance to act as Pall-Bearers. It is our purpose to proceed to the Cemetery by Automobile so as not to impede Traffic on any of the Surface Lines in which you are so heavily interested. I congratulate you on getting so far along before being tripped up, and I am wondering if you have a Final Request to make." "Just one," replied the Great Man, "I'd like to have you or somebody else tell me what it's all been about." The only remaining Fact to be chronicled is that the original Dollar, picked up on the Circus Lot, was found among the Effects. A Nephew, whom Alexander Campbell Purvis never had seen, took the Dollar and with it purchased two Packs of Egyptian Cigaroots, Regal size, with Gold Tips. MORAL: A pinch of Change, carefully put by, always comes in handy. THE END [Colophon] THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 
12793	----	[Illustration] COBWEBS FROM AN EMPTY SKULL. BY DOD GRILE. ILLUSTRATED WITH ENGRAVINGS BY DALZIEL BROTHERS. [Illustration] _LONDON AND NEW YORK:_ GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS 1874 To my friend, SHERBURNE B. EATON. CONTENTS Fables of Zambri, the Parsee. Brief Seasons of Intellectual Dissipation. Divers Tales. 1. The Grateful Bear. 2. The Setting Sachem. 3. Feodora. 4. The Legend of Immortal Truth. 5. Converting a Prodigal. 6. Four Jacks and a Knave. 7. Dr. Deadwood, I Presume. 8. Nut-Cracking 9. The Magician's Little Joke 10. Seafaring. 11. Tony Rollo's Conclusion. 12. No Charge for Attendance. 13. Pernicketty's Fright. 14. Juniper. 15. Following the Sea. 16. A Tale of Spanish Vengeance. 17. Mrs. Dennison's Head. 18. A Fowl Witch. 19. The Civil Service in Florida. 20. A Tale of the Bosphorus. 21. John Smith. 22. Sundered Hearts. 23. The Early History of Bath. 24. The Following Dorg. 25. Snaking. 26. Maud's Papa. 27. Jim Beckwourth's Pond. 28. Stringing a Bear. PREFACE. The matter of which this volume is composed appeared originally in the columns of "FUN," when the wisdom of the Fables and the truth of the Tales tended to wholesomely diminish the levity of that jocund sheet. Their publication in a new form would seem to be a fitting occasion to say something as to their merit. Homer's "Iliad," it will be remembered, was but imperfectly appreciated by Homer's contemporaries. Milton's "Paradise Lost" was so lightly regarded when first written, that the author received but twenty-five pounds for it. Ben Jonson was for some time blind to the beauties of Shakespeare, and Shakespeare himself had but small esteem for his own work. Appearing each week in "FUN," these Fables and Tales very soon attracted the notice of the Editor, who was frank enough to say, afterward, that when he accepted the manuscript he did not quite perceive the quality of it. The printers, too, into whose hands it came, have since admitted that for some days they felt very little interest in it, and could not even make out what it was all about. When to these evidences I add the confession that at first I did not myself observe anything extraordinary in my work, I think I need say no more: the discerning public will note the parallel, and my modesty be spared the necessity of making an ass of itself. D.G. FABLES OF ZAMBRI, THE PARSEE. [Illustration] I. A certain Persian nobleman obtained from a cow gipsy a small oyster. Holding him up by the beard, he addressed him thus: "You must try to forgive me for what I am about to do; and you might as well set about it at once, for you haven't much time. I should never think of swallowing you if it were not so easy; but opportunity is the strongest of all temptations. Besides, I am an orphan, and very hungry." "Very well," replied the oyster; "it affords me genuine pleasure to comfort the parentless and the starving. I have already done my best for our friend here, of whom you purchased me; but although she has an amiable and accommodating stomach, _we couldn't agree_. For this trifling incompatibility--would you believe it?--she was about to stew me! Saviour, benefactor, proceed." "I think," said the nobleman, rising and laying down the oyster, "I ought to know something more definite about your antecedents before succouring you. If you couldn't agree with your mistress, you are probably no better than you should be." People who begin doing something from a selfish motive frequently drop it when they learn that it is a real benevolence. II. A rat seeing a cat approaching, and finding no avenue of escape, went boldly up to her, and said: "Madam, I have just swallowed a dose of powerful bane, and in accordance with instructions upon the label, have come out of my hole to die. Will you kindly direct me to a spot where my corpse will prove peculiarly offensive?" "Since you are so ill," replied the cat, "I will myself transport you to a spot which I think will suit." So saying, she struck her teeth through the nape of his neck and trotted away with him. This was more than he had bargained for, and he squeaked shrilly with the pain. "Ah!" said the cat, "a rat who knows he has but a few minutes to live, never makes a fuss about a little agony. I don't think, my fine fellow, you have taken poison enough to hurt either you or me." So she made a meal of him. If this fable does not teach that a rat gets no profit by lying, I should be pleased to know what it does teach. III. A frog who had been sitting up all night in neighbourly converse with an echo of elegant leisure, went out in the grey of the morning to obtain a cheap breakfast. Seeing a tadpole approach, "Halt!" he croaked, "and show cause why I should not eat you." The tadpole stopped and displayed a fine tail. "Enough," said the frog: "I mistook you for one of us; and if there is anything I like, it is frog. But no frog has a tail, as a matter of course." While he was speaking, however, the tail ripened and dropped off, and its owner stood revealed in his edible character. "Aha!" ejaculated the frog, "so that is your little game! If, instead of adopting a disguise, you had trusted to my mercy, I should have spared you. But I am down upon all manner of deceit." And he had him down in a moment. Learn from this that he would have eaten him anyhow. IV. An old man carrying, for no obvious reason, a sheaf of sticks, met another donkey whose cargo consisted merely of a bundle of stones. "Suppose we swop," said the donkey. "Very good, sir," assented the old man; "lay your load upon my shoulders, and take off my parcel, putting it upon your own back." The donkey complied, so far as concerned his own encumbrance, but neglected to remove that of the other. "How clever!" said the merry old gentleman, "I knew you would do that. If you had done any differently there would have been no point to the fable." And laying down both burdens by the roadside, he trudged away as merry as anything. V. An elephant meeting a mouse, reproached him for not taking a proper interest in growth. "It is all very well," retorted the mouse, "for people who haven't the capacity for anything better. Let them grow if they like; but _I_ prefer toasted cheese." The stupid elephant, not being able to make very much sense of this remark, essayed, after the manner of persons worsted at repartee, to set his foot upon his clever conqueror. In point of fact, he did set his foot upon him, and there wasn't any more mouse. The lesson imparted by this fable is open, palpable: mice and elephants look at things each after the manner of his kind; and when an elephant decides to occupy the standpoint of a mouse, it is unhealthy for the latter. VI. A wolf was slaking his thirst at a stream, when a lamb left the side of his shepherd, came down the creek to the wolf, passed round him with considerable ostentation, and began drinking below. "I beg you to observe," said the lamb, "that water does not commonly run uphill; and my sipping here cannot possibly defile the current where you are, even supposing my nose were no cleaner than yours, which it is. So you have not the flimsiest pretext for slaying me." "I am not aware, sir," replied the wolf, "that I require a pretext for loving chops; it never occurred to me that one was necessary." And he dined upon that lambkin with much apparent satisfaction. This fable ought to convince any one that of two stories very similar one needs not necessarily be a plagiarism. VII. [Illustration] An old gentleman sat down, one day, upon an acorn, and finding it a very comfortable seat, went soundly to sleep. The warmth of his body caused the acorn to germinate, and it grew so rapidly, that when the sleeper awoke he found himself sitting in the fork of an oak, sixty feet from the ground. "Ah!" said he, "I am fond of having an extended view of any landscape which happens to please my fancy; but this one does not seem to possess that merit. I think I will go home." It is easier to say go home than to go. "Well, well!" he resumed, "if I cannot compel circumstances to my will, I can at least adapt my will to circumstances. I decide to remain. 'Life'--as a certain eminent philosopher in England wilt say, whenever there shall be an England to say it in--'is the definite combination of heterogeneous changes, both simultaneous and successive, in correspondence with external co-existences and sequences.' I have, fortunately, a few years of this before me yet; and I suppose I can permit my surroundings to alter me into anything I choose." And he did; but what a choice! I should say that the lesson hereby imparted is one of contentment combined with science. VIII. A caterpillar had crawled painfully to the top of a hop-pole, and not finding anything there to interest him, began to think of descending. "Now," soliloquized he, "if I only had a pair of wings, I should be able to manage it very nicely." So saying, he turned himself about to go down, but the heat of his previous exertion, and that of the sun, had by this time matured him into a butterfly. "Just my luck!" he growled, "I never wish for anything without getting it. I did not expect this when I came out this morning, and have nothing prepared. But I suppose I shall have to stand it." So he spread his pinions and made for the first open flower he saw. But a spider happened to be spending the summer in that vegetable, and it was not long before Mr. Butterfly was wishing himself back atop of that pole, a simple caterpillar. He had at last the pleasure of being denied a desire. _Hæc fabula docet_ that it is not a good plan to call at houses without first ascertaining who is at home there. IX. It is related of a certain Tartar priest that, being about to sacrifice a pig, he observed tears in the victim's eyes. "Now, I'd like to know what is the matter with _you_?" he asked. "Sir," replied the pig, "if your penetration were equal to that of the knife you hold, you would know without inquiring; but I don't mind telling you. I weep because I know I shall be badly roasted." "Ah," returned the priest, meditatively, having first killed the pig, "we are all pretty much alike: it is the bad roasting that frightens us. Mere death has no terrors." From this narrative learn that even priests sometimes get hold of only half a truth. X. A dog being very much annoyed by bees, ran, quite accidentally, into an empty barrel lying on the ground, and looking out at the bung-hole, addressed his tormenters thus: "Had you been temperate, stinging me only one at a time, you might have got a good deal of fun out of me. As it is, you have driven me into a secure retreat; for I can snap you up as fast as you come in through the bung-hole. Learn from this the folly of intemperate zeal." When he had concluded, he awaited a reply. There wasn't any reply; for the bees had never gone near the bung-hole; they went in the same way as he did, and made it very warm for him. The lesson of this fable is that one cannot stick to his pure reason while quarrelling with bees. XI. A fox and a duck having quarrelled about the ownership of a frog, agreed to refer the dispute to a lion. After hearing a great deal of argument, the lion opened his mouth to speak. "I am very well aware," interrupted the duck, "what your decision is. It is that by our own showing the frog belongs to neither of us, and you will eat him yourself. But please remember that lions do not like frogs." "To me," exclaimed the fox, "it is perfectly clear that you will give the frog to the duck, the duck to me, and take me yourself. Allow me to state certain objections to--" "I was about to remark," said the lion, "that while you were disputing, the cause of contention had hopped away. Perhaps you can procure another frog." To point out the moral of this fable would be to offer a gratuitous insult to the acuteness of the reader. XII. An ass meeting a pair of horses, late one evening, said to them: "It is time all honest horses were in bed. Why are you driving out at this time of day?" "Ah!" returned they, "if it is so very late, why are you out riding?" "I never in my life," retorted the ass angrily, "knew a horse to return a direct answer to a civil question." This tale shows that this ass did not know everything. [The implication that horses do not answer questions seems to have irritated the worthy fabulist.--TRANSLATOR.] XIII. A stone being cast by the plough against a lump of earth, hastened to open the conversation as follows: "Virtue, which is the opposite of vice, is best fostered by the absence of temptation!" The lump of earth, being taken somewhat by surprise, was not prepared with an apophthegm, and said nothing. Since that time it has been customary to call a stupid person a "clod." XIV. A river seeing a zephyr carrying off an anchor, asked him, "What are you going to do with it?" "I give it up," replied the zephyr, after mature reflection. "Blow me if _I_ would!" continued the river; "you might just as well not have taken it at all." "Between you and me," returned the zephyr, "I only picked it up because it is customary for zephyrs to do such things. But if you don't mind I will carry it up to your head and drop it in your mouth." This fable teaches such a multitude of good things that it would be invidious to mention any. XV. A peasant sitting on a pile of stones saw an ostrich approaching, and when it had got within range he began pelting it. It is hardly probable that the bird liked this; but it never moved until a large number of boulders had been discharged; then it fell to and ate them. "It was very good of you, sir," then said the fowl; "pray tell me to what virtue I am indebted for this excellent meal." "To piety," replied the peasant, who, believing that anything able to devour stones must be a god, was stricken with fear. "I beg you won't think these were merely cold victuals from my table; I had just gathered them fresh, and was intending to have them dressed for my dinner; but I am always hospitable to the deities, and now I suppose I shall have to go without." "On the contrary, my pious youth," returned the ostrich, "you shall go within." And the man followed the stones. The falsehoods of the wicked never amount to much. XVI. Two thieves went into a farmer's granary and stole a sack of kitchen vegetables; and, one of them slinging it across his shoulders, they began to run away. In a moment all the domestic animals and barn-yard fowls about the place were at their heels, in high clamour, which threatened to bring the farmer down upon them with his dogs. "You have no idea how the weight of this sack assists me in escaping, by increasing my momentum," said the one who carried the plunder; "suppose _you_ take it." "Ah!" returned the other, who had been zealously pointing out the way to safety, and keeping foremost therein, "it is interesting to find how a common danger makes people confiding. You have a thousand times said I could not be trusted with valuable booty. It is an humiliating confession, but I am myself convinced that if I should assume that sack, and the impetus it confers, you could not depend upon your dividend." [Illustration] "A common danger," was the reply, "seems to stimulate conviction, as well as confidence." "Very likely," assented the other, drily; "I am quite too busy to enter into these subtleties. You will find the subject very ably treated in the Zend-Avesta." But the bastinado taught them more in a minute than they would have gleaned from that excellent work in a fortnight. If they could only have had the privilege of reading this fable, it would have taught them more than either. XVII. While a man was trying with all his might to cross a fence, a bull ran to his assistance, and taking him upon his horns, tossed him over. Seeing the man walking away without making any remark, the bull said: "You are quite welcome, I am sure. I did no more than my duty." "I take a different view of it, very naturally," replied the man, "and you may keep your polite acknowledgments of my gratitude until you receive it. I did not require your services." "You don't mean to say," answered the bull, "that you did not wish to cross that fence!" "I mean to say," was the rejoinder, "that I wished to cross it by my method, solely to avoid crossing it by yours." _Fabula docet_ that while the end is everything, the means is something. XVIII. An hippopotamus meeting an open alligator, said to him: "My forked friend, you may as well collapse. You are not sufficiently comprehensive to embrace me. I am myself no tyro at smiling, when in the humour." "I really had no expectation of taking you in," replied the other. "I have a habit of extending my hospitality impartially to all, and about seven feet wide." "You remind me," said the hippopotamus, "of a certain zebra who was not vicious at all; he merely kicked the breath out of everything that passed behind him, but did not induce things to pass behind him." "It is quite immaterial what I remind you of," was the reply. The lesson conveyed by this fable is a very beautiful one. XIX. A man was plucking a living goose, when his victim addressed him thus: "Suppose _you_ were a goose; do you think you would relish this sort of thing?" "Well, suppose I were," answered the man; "do you think _you_ would like to pluck me?" "Indeed I would!" was the emphatic, natural, but injudicious reply. "Just so," concluded her tormentor; "that's the way _I_ feel about the matter." XX. A traveller perishing of thirst in a desert, debated with his camel whether they should continue their journey, or turn back to an oasis they had passed some days before. The traveller favoured the latter plan. "I am decidedly opposed to any such waste of time," said the animal; "I don't care for oases myself." "I should not care for them either," retorted the man, with some temper, "if, like you, I carried a number of assorted water-tanks inside. But as you will not submit to go back, and I shall not consent to go forward, we can only remain where we are." "But," objected the camel, "that will be certain death to you!" "Not quite," was the quiet answer, "it involves only the loss of my camel." So saying, he assassinated the beast, and appropriated his liquid store. A compromise is not always a settlement satisfactory to both parties. XXI. A sheep, making a long journey, found the heat of his fleece very uncomfortable, and seeing a flock of other sheep in a fold, evidently awaiting for some one, leaped over and joined them, in the hope of being shorn. Perceiving the shepherd approaching, and the other sheep huddling into a remote corner of the fold, he shouldered his way forward, and going up to the shepherd, said: "Did you ever see such a lot of fools? It's lucky I came along to set them an example of docility. Seeing me operated upon, they 'll be glad to offer themselves." "Perhaps so," replied the shepherd, laying hold of the animal's horns; "but I never kill more than one sheep at a time. Mutton won't keep in hot weather." The chops tasted excellently well with tomato sauce. The moral of this fable isn't what you think it is. It is this: The chops of another man's mutton are _always_ nice eating. XXII. Two travellers between Teheran and Bagdad met half-way up the vertical face of a rock, on a path only a cubit in width. As both were in a hurry, and etiquette would allow neither to set his foot upon the other even if dignity had permitted prostration, they maintained for some time a stationary condition. After some reflection, each decided to jump round the other; but as etiquette did not warrant conversation with a stranger, neither made known his intention. The consequence was they met, with considerable emphasis, about four feet from the edge of the path, and went through a flight of soaring eagles, a mile out of their way![A] [Footnote A: This is infamous! The learned Parsee appears wholly to ignore the distinction between a fable and a simple lie.--TRANSLATOR.] XXIII. A stone which had lain for centuries in a hidden place complained to Allah that remaining so long in one position was productive of cramps. "If thou wouldst be pleased," it said, "to let me take a little exercise now and then, my health would be the better for it." So it was granted permission to make a short excursion, and at once began rolling out into the open desert. It had not proceeded far before an ostrich, who was pensively eating a keg of nails, left his repast, dashed at the stone, and gobbled it up. This narration teaches the folly of contentment: if the ostrich had been content with his nails he would never have eaten the stone. XXIV. A man carrying a sack of corn up a high ladder propped against a wall, had nearly reached the top, when a powerful hog passing that way leant against the bottom to scratch its hide. "I wish," said the man, speaking down the ladder, "you would make that operation as brief as possible; and when I come down I will reward you by rearing a fresh ladder especially for you." "This one is quite good enough for a hog," was the reply; "but I am curious to know if you will keep your promise, so I'll just amuse myself until you come down." And taking the bottom rung in his mouth, he moved off, away from the wall. A moment later he had all the loose corn he could garner, but he never got that other ladder. MORAL.--An ace and four kings is as good a hand as one can hold in draw-poker. XXV. A young cock and a hen were speaking of the size of eggs. Said the cock: "I once laid an egg--" "Oh, you did!" interrupted the hen, with a derisive cackle. "Pray how did you manage it?" The cock felt injured in his self-esteem, and, turning his back upon the hen, addressed himself to a brood of young chickens. "I once laid an egg--" The chickens chirped incredulously, and passed on. The insulted bird reddened in the wattles with indignation, and strutting up to the patriarch of the entire barn-yard, repeated his assertion. The patriarch nodded gravely, as if the feat were an every-day affair, and the other continued: "I once laid an egg alongside a water-melon, and compared the two. The vegetable was considerably the larger." This fable is intended to show the absurdity of hearing all a man has to say. XXVI. [Illustration] Seeing himself getting beyond his depth, a bathing naturalist called lustily for succour. "Anything _I_ can do for you?" inquired the engaging octopus. "Happy to serve you, I am sure," said the accommodating leech. "Command _me_," added the earnest crab. "Gentlemen of the briny deep," exclaimed the gasping _savant_, "I am compelled to decline your friendly offices, but I tender you my scientific gratitude; and, as a return favour, I beg, with this my last breath, that you will accept the freedom of my aquarium, and make it your home." This tale proves that scientific gratitude is quite as bad as the natural sort. XXVII. Two whales seizing a pike, attempted in turn to swallow him, but without success. They finally determined to try him jointly, each taking hold of an end, and both shutting their eyes for a grand effort, when a shark darted silently between them, biting away the whole body of their prey. Opening their eyes, they gazed upon one another with much satisfaction. "I had no idea he would go down so easily," said the one. "Nor I," returned the other; "but how very tasteless a pike is." The insipidity we observe in most of our acquaintances is largely due to our imperfect knowledge of them. XXVIII. A wolf went into the cottage of a peasant while the family was absent in the fields, and falling foul of some beef, was quietly enjoying it, when he was observed by a domestic rat, who went directly to her master, informing him of what she had seen. "I would myself have dispatched the robber," she added, "but feared you might wish to take him alive." So the man secured a powerful club and went to the door of the house, while the rat looked in at the window. After taking a survey of the situation, the man said: "I don't think I care to take this fellow alive. Judging from his present performance, I should say his keeping would entail no mean expense. You may go in and slay him if you like; I have quite changed my mind." "If you really intended taking him prisoner," replied the rat, "the object of that bludgeon is to me a matter of mere conjecture. However, it is easy enough to see you have changed your mind; and it may be barely worth mentioning that I have changed mine." "The interest you both take in me," said the wolf, without looking up, "touches me deeply. As you have considerately abstained from bothering me with the question of how I am to be disposed of, I will not embarrass your counsels by obtruding a preference. Whatever may be your decision, you may count on my acquiescence; my countenance alone ought to convince you of the meek docility of my character. I never lose my temper, and I never swear; but, by the stomach of the Prophet! if either one of you domestic animals is in sight when I have finished the conquest of these ribs, the question of _my_ fate may be postponed for future debate, without detriment to any important interest." This fable teaches that while you are considering the abatement of a nuisance, it is important to know which nuisance is the more likely to be abated. XXIX. A snake tried to shed his skin by pulling it off over his head, but, being unable to do so, was advised by a woodman to slip out of it in the usual way. "But," said the serpent, "this is the way _you_ do it!" "True," exclaimed the woodman, holding out the hem of his tunic; "but you will observe that my skin is brief and open. If you desire one like that, I think I can assist you." So saying, he chopped off about a cubit of the snake's tail. XXX. An oyster who had got a large pebble between the valves of his shell, and was unable to get it out, was lamenting his sad fate, when--the tide being out--a monkey ran to him, and began making an examination. "You appear," said the monkey, "to have got something else in here, too. I think I'd better remove that first." With this he inserted his paw, and scooped out the animal's essential part. "Now," said he, eating the portion he had removed, "I think you will be able to manage the pebble yourself." To apprehend the lesson of this fable one must have some experience of the law. XXXI. An old fox and her two cubs were pursued by dogs, when one of the cubs got a thorn in his foot, and could go no farther. Setting the other to watch for the pursuers, the mother proceeded, with much tender solicitude, to extract the thorn. Just as she had done so, the sentinel gave the alarm. "How near are they?" asked the mother. "Close by, in the next field," was the answer. "The deuce they are!" was the hasty rejoinder. "However, I presume they will be content with a single fox." And shoving the thorn earnestly back into the wounded foot, this excellent parent took to her heels. This fable proves that humanity does not happen to enjoy a monopoly of paternal affection. XXXII. A man crossing the great river of Egypt, heard a voice, which seemed to come from beneath his boat, requesting him to stop. Thinking it must proceed from some river-deity, he laid down his paddle and said: "Whoever you are that ask me to stop, I beg you will let me go on. I have been asked by a friend to dine with him, and I am late." "Should your friend pass this way," said the voice, "I will show him the cause of your detention. Meantime you must come to dinner with _me_." "Willingly," replied the man, devoutly, very well pleased with so extraordinary an honour; "pray show me the way." "In here," said the crocodile, elevating his distending jaws above the water and beckoning with his tongue--"this way, please." This fable shows that being asked to dinner is not always the same thing as being asked to dine. XXXIII. An old monkey, designing to teach his sons the advantage of unity, brought them a number of sticks, and desired them to see how easily they might be broken, one at a time. So each young monkey took a stick and broke it. "Now," said the father, "I will teach you a lesson." And he began to gather the sticks into a bundle. But the young monkeys, thinking he was about to beat them, set upon him, all together, and disabled him. "There!" said the aged sufferer, "behold the advantage of unity! If you had assailed me one at a time, I would have killed every mother's son of you!" Moral lessons are like the merchant's goods: they are conveyed in various ways. XXXIV. A wild horse meeting a domestic one, taunted him with his condition of servitude. The tamed animal claimed that he was as free as the wind. "If that is so," said the other, "pray tell me the office of that bit in your mouth." "That," was the answer, "is iron, one of the best tonics in the _materia medica_." "But what," said the other, "is the meaning of the rein attached to it?" "Keeps it from falling out of my mouth when I am too indolent to hold it," was the reply. "How about the saddle?" "Fool!" was the angry retort; "its purpose is to spare me fatigue: when I am tired, I get on and ride." XXXV. Some doves went to a hawk, and asked him to protect them from a kite. "That I will," was the cheerful reply; "and when I am admitted into the dovecote, I shall kill more of you in a day than the kite did in a century. But of course you know this; you expect to be treated in the regular way." So he entered the dovecote, and began preparations for a general slaughter. But the doves all set upon him and made exceedingly short work of him. With his last breath he asked them why, being so formidable, they had not killed the kite. They replied that they had never seen any kite. [Illustration] XXXVI. A defeated warrior snatched up his aged father, and, slinging him across his shoulders, plunged into the wilderness, followed by the weary remnant of his beaten army. The old gentleman liked it. "See!" said he, triumphantly, to the flying legion; "did you ever hear of so dutiful and accommodating a son? And he's as easy under the saddle as an old family horse!" "I rather think," replied the broken and disordered battalion, with a grin, "that Mr. Æneas once did something of this kind. But _his_ father had thoughtfully taken an armful of lares and penates; and the accommodating nature of _his_ son was, therefore, more conspicuous. If I might venture to suggest that you take up my shield and scimitar--" "Thank you," said the aged party, "I could not think of disarming the military: but if you would just hand me up one of the heaviest of those dead branches, I think the merits of my son would be rendered sufficiently apparent." The routed column passed him up the one shown in the immediate foreground of our sketch, and it was quite enough for both steed and rider. _Fabula ostendit_ that History repeats itself, with variations. XXXVII. A pig who had engaged a cray-fish to pilot him along the beach in search of mussels, was surprised to see his guide start off backwards. "Your excessive politeness quite overcomes me," said the porker, "but don't you think it rather ill bestowed upon a pig? Pray don't hesitate to turn your back upon me." "Sir," replied the cray-fish, "permit me to continue as I am. We now stand to each other in the proper relation of _employé_ to employer. The former is excessively obsequious, and the latter is, in the eyes of the former, a hog." XXXVIII. The king of tortoises desiring to pay a visit of ceremony to a neighbouring monarch, feared that in his absence his idle subjects might get up a revolution, and that whoever might be left at the head of the State would usurp the throne. So calling his subjects about him, he addressed them thus: "I am about to leave our beloved country for a long period, and desire to leave the sceptre in the hands of him who is most truly a tortoise. I decree that you shall set out from yonder distant tree, and pass round it. Whoever shall get back last shall be appointed Regent." So the population set out for the goal, and the king for his destination. Before the race was decided, his Majesty had made the journey and returned. But he found the throne occupied by a subject, who at once secured by violence what he had won by guile. Certain usurpers are too conscientious to retain kingly power unless the rightful monarch be dead; and these are the most dangerous sort. XXXIX. A spaniel at the point of death requested a mastiff friend to eat him. "It would soothe my last moments," said he, "to know that when I am no longer of any importance to myself I may still be useful to you." "Much obliged, I am sure," replied his friend; "I think you mean well, but you should know that my appetite is not so depraved as to relish dog." Perhaps it is for a similar reason we abstain from cannibalism. XL. A cloud was passing across the face of the sun, when the latter expostulated with him. "Why," said the sun, "when you have so much space to float in, should you be casting your cold shadow upon me?" After a moment's reflection, the cloud made answer thus: "I certainly had no intention of giving offence by my presence, and as for my shadow, don't you think you have made a trifling mistake?--not a gigantic or absurd mistake, but merely one that would disgrace an idiot." At this the great luminary was furious, and fell so hotly upon him that in a few minutes there was nothing of him left. It is very foolish to bandy words with a cloud if you happen to be the sun. XLI. A rabbit travelling leisurely along the highway was seen, at some distance, by a duck, who had just come out of the water. "Well, I declare!" said she, "if I could not walk without limping in that ridiculous way, I'd stay at home. Why, he's a spectacle!" "Did you ever see such an ungainly beast as that duck!" said the rabbit to himself. "If I waddled like that I should go out only at night." MORAL, BY A KANGAROO.--People who are ungraceful of gait are always intolerant of mind. XLII. A fox who dwelt in the upper chamber of an abandoned watch-tower, where he practised all manner of magic, had by means of his art subjected all other animals to his will. One day he assembled a great multitude of them below his window, and commanded that each should appear in his presence, and all who could not teach him some important truth should be thrown off the walls and dashed to pieces. Upon hearing this they were all stricken with grief, and began to lament their hard fate most piteously. "How," said they, "shall we, who are unskilled in magic, unread in philosophy, and untaught in the secrets of the stars--who have neither wit, eloquence, nor song--how shall we essay to teach wisdom to the wise?" Nevertheless, they were compelled to make the attempt. After many had failed and been dispatched, another fox arrived on the ground, and learning the condition of affairs, scampered slyly up the steps, and whispered something in the ear of the cat, who was about entering the tower. So the latter stuck her head in at the door, and shrieked: "Pullets with a southern exposure ripen earliest, and have yellow legs." At this the magician was so delighted that he dissolved the spell and let them all go free. XLIII. One evening a jackass, passing between a village and a hill, looked over the latter and saw the faint light of the rising moon. "Ho-ho, Master Redface!" said he, "so you are climbing up the other side to point out my long ears to the villagers, are you? I'll just meet you at the top, and set my heels into your insolent old lantern." So he scrambled painfully up to the crest, and stood outlined against the broad disc of the unconscious luminary, more conspicuously a jackass than ever before. XLIV. A bear wishing to rob a beehive, laid himself down in front of it, and overturned it with his paw. "Now," said he, "I will lie perfectly still and let the bees sting me until they are exhausted and powerless; their honey may then be obtained without opposition." And it was so obtained, but by a fresh bear, the other being dead. This narrative exhibits one aspect of the "Fabian policy." XLV. A cat seeing a mouse with a piece of cheese, said: "I would not eat that, if I were you, for I think it is poisoned. However, if you will allow me to examine it, I will tell you certainly whether it is or not." While the mouse was thinking what it was best to do, the cat had fully made up her mind, and was kind enough to examine both the cheese and the mouse in a manner highly satisfactory to herself, but the mouse has never returned to give _his_ opinion. XLVI. An improvident man, who had quarrelled with his wife concerning household expenses, took her and the children out on the lawn, intending to make an example of her. Putting himself in an attitude of aggression, and turning to his offspring, he said: "You will observe, my darlings, that domestic offences are always punished with a loss of blood. Make a note of this and be wise." He had no sooner spoken than a starving mosquito settled upon his nose, and began to assist in enforcing the lesson. "My officious friend," said the man, "when I require illustrations from the fowls of the air, you may command my patronage. The deep interest you take in my affairs is, at present, a trifle annoying." [Illustration] "I do not find it so," the mosquito would have replied had he been at leisure, "and am convinced that our respective points of view are so widely dissimilar as not to afford the faintest hope of reconciling our opinions upon collateral points. Let us be thankful that upon the main question of bloodletting we perfectly agree." When the bird had concluded, the man's convictions were quite unaltered, but he was too weak to resume the discussion; and, although blood is thicker than water, the children were constrained to confess that the stranger had the best of it. This fable teaches. XLVII. "I hate snakes who bestow their caresses with interested partiality or fastidious discrimination," boasted a boa constrictor. "_My_ affection is unbounded; it embraces all animated nature. I am the universal shepherd; I gather all manner of living things into my folds. Entertainment here for man and beast!" "I should be glad of one of your caresses," said a porcupine, meekly; "it has been some time since I got a loving embrace." So saying, he nestled snugly and confidingly against the large-hearted serpent--who fled. A comprehensive philanthropy may be devoid of prejudices, but it has its preferences all the same. XLVIII. During a distressing famine in China a starving man met a fat pig, who, seeing no chance of escape, walked confidently up to the superior animal, and said: "Awful famine! isn't it?" "Quite dreadful!" replied the man, eyeing him with an evident purpose: "almost impossible to obtain meat." "Plenty of meat, such as it is, but no corn. Do you know, I have been compelled to eat so many of your people, I don't believe there is an ounce of pork in my composition." "And I so many that I have lost all taste for pork." "Terrible thing this cannibalism!" "Depends upon which character you try it in; it is terrible to be eaten." "You are very brutal!" "You are very fat." "You look as if you would take my life." "You look as if you would sustain mine." "Let us 'pull sticks,'" said the now desperate animal, "to see which of us shall die." "Good!" assented the man: "I'll pull this one." So saying, he drew a hedge-stake from the ground, and stained it with the brain of that unhappy porker. MORAL.--An empty stomach has no ears. XLIX. A snake, a mile long, having drawn himself over a roc's egg, complained that in its present form he could get no benefit from it, and modestly desired the roc to aid him in some way. "Certainly," assented the bird, "I think we can arrange it." Saying which, she snatched up one of the smaller Persian provinces, and poising herself a few leagues above the suffering reptile, let it drop upon him to smash the egg. This fable exhibits the folly of asking for aid without specifying the kind and amount of aid you require. L. An ox meeting a man on the highway, asked him for a pinch of snuff, whereupon the man fled back along the road in extreme terror. "_Don't_ be alarmed," said a horse whom he met; "the ox won't bite you." The man gave one stare and dashed across the meadows. "Well," said a sheep, "I wouldn't be afraid of a horse; _he_ won't kick." The man shot like a comet into the forest. "Look where you're going there, or I'll thrash the life out of you!" screamed a bird into whose nest he had blundered. Frantic with fear, the man leapt into the sea. "By Jove! how you frightened me," said a small shark. The man was dejected, and felt a sense of injury. He seated himself moodily on the bottom, braced up his chin with his knees, and thought for an hour. Then he beckoned to the fish who had made the last remark. "See here, I say," said he, "I wish you would just tell me what in thunder this all means." "Ever read any fables?" asked the shark. "No--yes--well, the catechism, the marriage service, and--" "Oh, bother!" said the fish, playfully, smiling clean back to the pectoral fins; "get out of this and bolt your Æsop!" The man did get out and bolted. [This fable teaches that its worthy author was drunk as a loon.--TRANSLATOR.] LI. A lion pursued by some villagers was asked by a fox why he did not escape on horseback. "There is a fine strong steed just beyond this rock," said the fox. "All you have to do is to get on his back and stay there." So the lion went up to the charger and asked him to give him a lift. "Certainly," said the horse, "with great pleasure." And setting one of his heels into the animal's stomach, he lifted him. about seven feet from the ground. "Confound you!" roared the beast as he fell back. "So did you," quietly remarked the steed. LII. A Mahout who had dismounted from his elephant, and was quietly standing on his head in the middle of the highway, was asked by the animal why he did not revert and move on. "You are making a spectacle of yourself," said the beast. "If I choose to stand upside down," replied the man, "I am very well aware that I incur the displeasure of those who adhere with slavish tenacity to the prejudices and traditions of society; but it seems to me that rebuke would come with a more consistent grace from one who does not wear a tail upon his nose." This fable teaches that four straight lines may enclose a circle, but there will be corners to let. LIII. A dog meeting a strange cat, took her by the top of the back, and shook her for a considerable period with some earnestness. Then depositing her in a ditch, he remarked with gravity: "There, my feline friend! I think that will teach you a wholesome lesson; and as punishment is intended to be reformatory, you ought to be grateful to me for deigning to administer it." "I don't think of questioning your right to worry me," said the cat, getting her breath, "but I should like to know where you got your licence to preach at me. Also, if not inconsistent with the dignity of the court, I should wish to be informed of the nature of my offence; in order that I may the more clearly apprehend the character of the lesson imparted by its punishment." "Since you are so curious," replied the dog, "I worry you because you are too feeble to worry me." "In other words," rejoined the cat, getting herself together as well as she could, "you bite me for that to which you owe your existence." The reply of the dog was lost in the illimitable field of ether, whither he was just then projected by the kick of a passing horse. The moral of this fable cannot be given until he shall get down, and close the conversation with the regular apophthegm. LIV. People who wear tight hats will do well to lay this fable well to heart, and ponder upon the deep significance of its moral: In passing over a river, upon a high bridge, a cow discovered a broad loose plank in the flooring, sustained in place by a beam beneath the centre. "Now," said she, "I will stand at this end of the trap, and when yonder sheep steps upon the opposite extreme there will be an upward tendency in wool." So when the meditative mutton advanced unwarily upon the treacherous device, the cow sprang bodily upon the other end, and there was a fall in beef. LV. Two snakes were debating about the proper method of attacking prey. "The best way," said one, "is to slide cautiously up, endwise, and seize it thus"--illustrating his method by laying hold of the other's tail. "Not at all," was the reply; "a better plan is to approach by a circular side-sweep, thus"--turning upon his opponent and taking in _his_ tail. Although there was no disagreement as to the manner of disposing of what was once seized, each began to practise his system upon the other, and continued until both were swallowed. The work begun by contention is frequently completed by habit. [Illustration:] LVI. A man staggering wearily through the streets of Persepolis, under a heavy burden, said to himself: "I wish I knew what this thing is I have on my back; then I could make some sort of conjecture as to what I design doing with it." "Suppose," said the burden, "I were a man in a sack; what disposition would you make of me?" "The regular thing," replied the man, "would be to take you over to Constantinople, and pitch you into the Bosphorus; but I should probably content myself with laying you down and jumping on you, as being more agreeable to my feelings, and quite as efficacious." "But suppose," continued the burden, "I were a shoulder of beef--which I quite as much resemble--belonging to some poor family?" "In that case," replied the man, promptly, "I should carry you to my larder, my good fellow." "But if I were a sack of gold, do you think you would find me very onerous?" said the burden. "A great deal would depend," was the answer, "upon whom you happened to belong to; but I may say, generally, that gold upon the shoulders is wonderfully light, considering the weight of it." "Behold," said the burden, "the folly of mankind: they cannot perceive that the _quality_ of the burdens of life is a matter of no importance. The question of pounds and ounces is the only consideration of any real weight." LVII. A ghost meeting a genie, one wintry night, said to him: "Extremely harassing weather, friend. Wish I had some teeth to chatter!" "You do not need them," said the other; "you can always chatter those of other people, by merely showing yourself. For my part, I should be content with some light employment: would erect a cheap palace, transport a light-weight princess, threaten a small cripple--or jobs of that kind. What are the prospects of the fool crop?" "For the next few thousand years, very good. There is a sort of thing called Literature coming in shortly, and it will make our fortune. But it will be very bad for History. Curse this phantom apparel! The more I gather it about me the colder I get." "When Literature has made our fortune," sneered the genie, "I presume you will purchase material clothing." "And you," retorted the ghost, "will be able to advertise for permanent employment at a fixed salary." This fable shows the difference between the super natural and the natural "super": the one appears in the narrative, the other does not. LVIII. "Permit me to help you on in the world, sir," said a boy to a travelling tortoise, placing a glowing coal upon the animal's back. "Thank you," replied the unconscious beast; "I alone am responsible for the time of my arrival, and I alone will determine the degree of celerity required. The gait I am going will enable me to keep all my present appointments." A genial warmth began about this time to pervade his upper crust, and a moment after he was dashing away at a pace comparatively tremendous. "How about those engagements?" sneered the grinning urchin. "I've recollected another one," was the hasty reply. LIX. Having fastened his gaze upon a sparrow, a rattlesnake sprung open his spanning jaws, and invited her to enter. "I should be most happy," said the bird, not daring to betray her helpless condition, but anxious by any subterfuge to get the serpent to remove his fascinating regard, "but I am lost in contemplation of yonder green sunset, from which I am unable to look away for more than a minute. I shall turn to it presently." "Do, by all means," said the serpent, with a touch of irony in his voice. "There is nothing so improving as a good, square, green sunset." "Did you happen to observe that man standing behind you with a club?" continued the sparrow. "Handsome fellow! Fifteen cubits high, with seven heads, and very singularly attired; quite a spectacle in his way." "I don't seem to care much for men," said the snake. "Every way inferior to serpents--except in malice." "But he is accompanied by a _really interesting_ child," persisted the bird, desperately. The rattlesnake reflected deeply. He soliloquized as follows: "There is a mere chance--say about one chance to ten thousand million--that this songster is speaking the truth. One chance in ten thousand million of seeing a really interesting child is worth the sacrifice demanded; I'll make it." So saying, he removed his glittering eyes from the bird (who immediately took wing) and looked behind him. It is needless to say there was no really interesting child there--nor anywhere else. MORAL.--Mendacity (so called from the inventors) is a very poor sort of dacity; but it will serve your purpose if you draw it sufficiently strong. LX. A man who was very much annoyed by the incursions of a lean ass belonging to his neighbour, resolved to compass the destruction of the invader. "Now," said he, "if this animal shall choose to starve himself to death in the midst of plenty, the law will not hold _me_ guilty of his blood. I have read of a trick which I think will 'fix' him." So he took two bales of his best hay, and placed them in a distant field, about forty cubits apart. By means of a little salt he then enticed the ass in, and coaxed him between the bundles. "There, fiend!" said he, with a diabolic grin, as he walked away delighted with the success of his stratagem, "now hesitate which bundle of hay to attack first, until you starve--monster!" Some weeks afterwards he returned with a wagon to convey back the bundles of hay. There wasn't any hay, but the wagon was useful for returning to his owner that unfortunate ass--who was too fat to walk. This ought to show any one the folly of relying upon the teaching of obscure and inferior authors.[A] [Footnote A: It is to be wished our author had not laid himself open to the imputation of having perverted, if not actually invented, some of his facts, for the unworthy purpose of bringing a deserving rival into disfavour.--TRANSLATOR.] LXI. One day the king of the wrens held his court for the trial of a bear, who was at large upon his own recognizance. Being summoned to appear, the animal came with great humility into the royal presence. "What have you to say, sir," demanded the king, "in defence of your inexcusable conduct in pillaging the nests of our loyal subjects wherever you can find them?" "May it please your Majesty," replied the prisoner, with a reverential gesture, repeated at intervals, and each time at a less distance from the royal person, "I will not wound your Majesty's sensibilities by pleading a love of eggs; I will humbly confess my course of crime, warn your Majesty of its probable continuance, and beg your Majesty's gracious permission to inquire--What is your Majesty going to do about it?" The king and his ministers were very much struck with this respectful speech, with the ingenuity of the final inquiry, and with the bear's paw. It was the paw, however, which made the most lasting impression. Always give ear to the flattery of your powerful inferiors: it will cheer you in your decline. LXII. A philosopher looking up from the pages of the Zend-Avesta, upon which he had been centring his soul, beheld a pig violently assailing a cauldron of cold slops. "Heaven bless us!" said the sage; "for unalloyed delight give me a good honest article of Sensuality. So soon as my 'Essay upon the Correlation of Mind-forces' shall have brought me fame and fortune, I hope to abjure the higher faculties, devoting the remainder of my life to the cultivation of the propensities." "Allah be praised!" soliloquized the pig, "there is nothing so godlike as Intellect, and nothing so ecstatic as intellectual pursuits. I must hasten to perform this gross material function, that I may retire to my wallow and resign my soul to philosophical meditation." This tale has one moral if you are a philosopher, and another if you are a pig. LXIII. "Awful dark--isn't it?" said an owl, one night, looking in upon the roosting hens in a poultry-house; "don't see how I am to find my way back to my hollow tree." "There is no necessity," replied the cock; "you can roost there, alongside the door, and go home in the morning." "Thanks!" said the owl, chuckling at the fool's simplicity; and, having plenty of time to indulge his facetious humour, he gravely installed himself upon the perch indicated, and shutting his eyes, counterfeited a profound slumber. He was aroused soon after by a sharp constriction of the throat. "I omitted to tell you," said the cock, "that the seat you happen by the merest chance to occupy is a contested one, and has been fruitful of hens to this vexatious weasel. I don't know _how_ often I have been partially widowed by the sneaking villain." For obvious reasons there was no audible reply. This narrative is intended to teach the folly--the worse than sin!--of trumping your partner's ace. LXIV. A fat cow who saw herself detected by an approaching horse while perpetrating stiff and ungainly gambols in the spring sunshine, suddenly assumed a severe gravity of gait, and a sedate solemnity of expression that would have been creditable to a Brahmin. "Fine morning!" said the horse, who, fired by her example, was curvetting lithely and tossing his head. "That rather uninteresting fact," replied the cow, attending strictly to her business as a ruminant, "does not impress me as justifying your execution of all manner of unseemly contortions, as a preliminary to accosting an entire stranger." "Well, n--no," stammered the horse; "I--I suppose not. Fact is I--I--no offence, I hope." And the unhappy charger walked soberly away, dazed by the preternatural effrontery of that placid cow. When overcome by the dignity of any one you chance to meet, try to have this fable about you. LXV. "What have you there on your back?" said a zebra, jeeringly, to a "ship of the desert" in ballast. "Only a bale of gridirons," was the meek reply. "And what, pray, may you design doing with them?" was the incredulous rejoinder. "What am I to do with gridirons?" repeated the camel, contemptuously. "Nice question for _you_, who have evidently just come off one!" People who wish to throw stones should not live in glass houses; but there ought to be a few in their vicinity. LXVI. A cat, waking out of a sound sleep, saw a mouse sitting just out of reach, observing her. Perceiving that at the slightest movement of hers the mouse would recollect an engagement, she put on a look of extreme amiability, and said: "Oh! it's you, is it? Do you know, I thought at first you were a frightful great rat; and I am _so_ afraid of rats! I feel so much relieved--you don't know! Of course you have heard that I am a great friend to the dear little mice?" [Illustration] "Yes," was the answer, "I have heard that you love us indifferently well, and my mission here was to bless you while you slept. But as you will wish to go and get your breakfast, I won't bore you. Fine morning--isn't it? _Au revoir!"_ This fable teaches that it is usually safe to avoid one who pretends to be a friend without having any reason to be. It wasn't safe in this instance, however; for the cat went after that departing rodent, and got away with him. LXVII. A man pursued by a lion, was about stepping into a place of safety, when he bethought him of the power of the human eye; and, turning about, he fixed upon his pursuer a steady look of stern reproof. The raging beast immediately moderated his rate per hour, and finally came to a dead halt, within a yard of the man's nose. After making a leisurely survey of him, he extended his neck and bit off a small section of his victim's thigh. "Beard of Arimanes!" roared the man; "have you no respect for the Human Eye?" "I hold the human eye in profound esteem," replied the lion, "and I confess its power. It assists digestion if taken just before a meal. But I don't understand why you should have two and I none." With that he raised his foot, unsheathed his claws, and transferred one of the gentleman's visual organs to his own mouth. "Now," continued he, "during the brief remainder of a squandered existence, your lion-quelling power, being more highly concentrated, will be the more easily managed." He then devoured the remnant of his victim, including the other eye. LXVIII. An ant laden with a grain of corn, which he had acquired with infinite toil, was breasting a current of his fellows, each of whom, as is their etiquette, insisted upon stopping him, feeling him all over, and shaking hands. It occurred to him that an excess of ceremony is an abuse of courtesy. So he laid down his burden, sat upon it, folded all his legs tight to his body, and smiled a smile of great grimness. "Hullo! what's the matter with _you_?" exclaimed the first insect whose overtures were declined. "Sick of the hollow conventionalities of a rotten civilization," was the rasping reply. "Relapsed into the honest simplicity of primitive observances. Go to grass!" "Ah! then we must trouble you for that corn. In a condition of primitive simplicity there are no rights of property, you know. These are 'hollow conventionalities.'" A light dawned upon the intellect of that pismire. He shook the reefs out of his legs; he scratched the reverse of his ear; he grappled that cereal, and trotted away like a giant refreshed. It was observed that he submitted with a wealth of patience to manipulation by his friends and neighbours, and went some distance out of his way to shake hands with strangers on competing lines of traffic. LXIX. A snake who had lain torpid all winter in his hole took advantage of the first warm day to limber up for the spring campaign. Having tied himself into an intricate knot, he was so overcome by the warmth of his own body that he fell asleep, and did not wake until nightfall. In the darkness he was unable to find his head or his tail, and so could not disentangle and slide into his hole. Per consequence, he froze to death. Many a subtle philosopher has failed to solve himself, owing to his inability to discern his beginning and his end. LXX. A dog finding a joint of mutton, apparently guarded by a negligent raven, stretched himself before it with an air of intense satisfaction. "Ah!" said he, alternately smiling and stopping up the smiles with meat, "this is an instrument of salvation to my stomach--an instrument upon which I love to perform." "I beg your pardon!" said the bird; "it was placed there specially for me, by one whose right to so convey it is beyond question, he having legally acquired it by chopping it off the original owner." "I detect no flaw in your abstract of title," replied the dog; "all seems quite regular; but I must not provoke a breach of the peace by lightly relinquishing what I might feel it my duty to resume by violence. I must have time to consider; and in the meantime I will dine." Thereupon he leisurely consumed the property in dispute, shut his eyes, yawned, turned upon his back, thrust out his legs divergently, and died. For the meat had been carefully poisoned--a fact of which the raven was guiltily conscious. There are several things mightier than brute force, and arsenic[A] is one of them. [Footnote A: In the original, "_pizen;"_ which might, perhaps, with equal propriety have been rendered by "caper sauce."--TRANSLATOR.] LXXI. The King of Persia had a favourite hawk. One day his Majesty was hunting, and had become separated from his attendants. Feeling thirsty, he sought a stream of water trickling from a rock; took a cup, and pouring some liquor into it from his pocket-flask, filled it up with water, and raised it to his lips. The hawk, who had been all this time hovering about, swooped down, screaming "No, you don't!" and upset the cup with his wing. "I know what is the matter," said the King: "there is a dead serpent in the fountain above, and this faithful bird has saved my life by not permitting me to drink the juice. I must reward him in the regular way." So he called a page, who had thoughtfully presented himself, and gave directions to have the Remorse Apartments of the palace put in order, and for the court tailor to prepare an evening suit of sackcloth-and-ashes. Then summoning the hawk, he seized and dashed him to the ground, killing him very dead. Rejoining his retinue, he dispatched an officer to remove the body of the serpent from the fountain, lest somebody else should get poisoned. There wasn't any serpent--the water was remarkable for its wholesome purity! Then the King, cheated of his remorse, was sorry he had slain the bird; he said it was a needless waste of power to kill a bird who merely deserved killing. It never occurred to the King that the hawk's touching solicitude was with reference to the contents of the royal flask. _Fabula ostendit_ that a "twice-told tale" needs not necessarily be "tedious"; a reasonable degree of interest may be obtained by intelligently varying the details. LXXII. A herd of cows, blown off the summit of the Himalayas, were sailing some miles above the valleys, when one said to another: "Got anything to say about this?" "Not much," was the answer. "It's airy." "I wasn't thinking of that," continued the first; "I am troubled about our course. If we could leave the Pleiades a little more to the right, striking a middle course between Boötes and the ecliptic, we should find it all plain sailing as far as the solstitial colure. But once we get into the Zodiac upon our present bearing, we are certain to meet with shipwreck before reaching our aphelion." They escaped this melancholy fate, however, for some Chaldean shepherds, seeing a nebulous cloud drifting athwart the heavens, and obscuring a favourite planet they had just invented, brought out their most powerful telescopes and resolved it into independent cows--whom they proceeded to slaughter in detail with the instruments of smaller calibre. There have been occasional "meat showers" ever since. These are probably nothing more than-- [Our author can be depended upon in matters of fact; his scientific theories are not worth printing.--TRANSLATOR.] LXXIII. A bear, who had worn himself out walking from one end of his cage to the other, addressed his keeper thus: "I say, friend, if you don't procure me a shorter cage I shall have to give up zoology; it is about the most wearing pursuit I ever engaged in. I favour the advancement of science, but the mechanical part of it is a trifle severe, and ought to be done by contract." "You are quite right, my hearty," said the keeper, "it _is_ severe; and there have been several excellent plans proposed to lighten the drudgery. Pending the adoption of some of them, you would find a partial relief in lying down and keeping quiet." "It won't do--it won't do!" replied the bear, with a mournful shake of the head, "it's not the orthodox thing. Inaction may do for professors, collectors, and others connected with the ornamental part of the noble science; but for _us_, we must keep moving, or zoology would soon revert to the crude guesses and mistaken theories of the azoic period. And yet," continued the beast, after the keeper had gone, "there is something novel and ingenious in what the underling suggests. I must remember that; and when I have leisure, give it a trial." It was noted next day that the noble science had lost an active apostle, and gained a passive disciple. LXXIV. A hen who had hatched out a quantity of ducklings, was somewhat surprised one day to see them take to the water, and sail away out of her jurisdiction. The more she thought of this the more unreasonable such conduct appeared, and the more indignant she became. She resolved that it must cease forthwith. So she soon afterward convened her brood, and conducted them to the margin of a hot pool, having a business connection with the boiling spring of Doo-sno-swair. They straightway launched themselves for a cruise--returning immediately to the land, as if they had forgotten their ship's papers. When Callow Youth exhibits an eccentric tendency, give it him hot. LXXV. "Did it ever occur to you that this manner of thing is extremely unpleasant?" asked a writhing worm of the angler who had impaled him upon a hook. "Such treatment by those who boast themselves our brothers is, possibly, fraternal--but it hurts." "I confess," replied the idler, "that our usages with regard to vermin and reptiles might be so amended as to be more temperately diabolical; but please to remember that the gentle agonies with which we afflict _you_ are wholesome and exhilarating compared with the ills we ladle out to one another. During the reign of His Pellucid Refulgence, Khatchoo Khan," he continued, absently dropping his wriggling auditor into the brook, "no less than three hundred thousand Persian subjects were put to death, in a pleasing variety of ingenious ways, for their religious beliefs." "What that has to do with your treatment of _us_" interrupted a fish, who, having bitten at the worm just then, was drawn into the conversation, "I am quite unable to see." "That," said the angler, disengaging him, "is because you have the hook through your eyeball, my edible friend." Many a truth is spoken in jest; but at least ten times as many falsehoods are uttered in dead earnest. LXXVI. A wild cat was listening with rapt approval to the melody of distant hounds tracking a remote fox. "Excellent! _bravo!_" she exclaimed at intervals. "I could sit and listen all day to the like of that. I am passionately fond of music. _Ong-core!_" Presently the tuneful sounds drew near, whereupon she began to fidget; ending by shinning up a tree, just as the dogs burst into view below her, and stifled their songs upon the body of their victim before her eyes--which protruded. [Illustration] "There is an indefinable charm," said she--"a subtle and tender spell--a mystery--a conundrum, as it were--in the sounds of an unseen orchestra. This is quite lost when the performers are visible to the audience. Distant music (if any) for your obedient servant!" LXXVII. Having been taught to turn his scraps of bad Persian into choice Latin, a parrot was puffed up with conceit. "Observe," said he, "the superiority I may boast by virtue of my classical education: I can chatter flat nonsense in the language of Cicero." "I would advise you," said his master, quietly, "to let it be of a different character from that chattered by some of Mr. Cicero's most admired compatriots, if you value the priviledge of hanging at that public window. 'Commit no mythology,' please." The exquisite fancies of a remote age may not be imitated in this; not, perhaps, from a lack of talent, so much as from a fear of arrest. LXXVIII. A rat, finding a file, smelt it all over, bit it gently, and observed that, as it did not seem to be rich enough to produce dyspepsia, he would venture to make a meal of it. So he gnawed it into _smithareens_[A] without the slightest injury to his teeth. With his morals the case was somewhat different. For the file was a file of newspapers, and his system became so saturated with the "spirit of the Press" that he went off and called his aged father a "lingering contemporary;" advised the correction of brief tails by amputation; lauded the skill of a quack rodentist for money; and, upon what would otherwise have been his death-bed, essayed a lie of such phenomenal magnitude that it stuck in his throat, and prevented him breathing his last. All this crime, and misery, and other nonsense, because he was too lazy to worry about and find a file of nutritious fables. This tale shows the folly of eating everything you happen to fancy. Consider, moreover, the danger of such a course to your neighbour's wife. [Footnote A: I confess my inability to translate this word: it may mean "flinders."--TRANSLATOR.] LXXIX. "I should like to climb up you, if you don't mind," cried an ivy to a young oak. "Oh, certainly; come along," was the cheerful assent. So she started up, and finding she could grow faster than he, she wound round and round him until she had passed up all the line she had. The oak, however, continued to grow, and as she could not disengage her coils, she was just lifted out by the root. So that ends the oak-and-ivy business, and removes a powerful temptation from the path of the young writer. LXXX. A merchant of Cairo gave a grand feast. In the midst of the revelry, the great doors of the dining-hall were pushed open from the outside, and the guests were surprised and grieved by the advent of a crocodile of a tun's girth, and as long as the moral law. "Thought I 'd look in," said he, simply, but not without a certain grave dignity. "But," cried the host, from the top of the table, "I did not invite any saurians." "No--I know yer didn't; it's the old thing, it is: never no wacancies for saurians--saurians should orter keep theirselves _to_ theirselves--no saurians need apply. I got it all by 'eart, I tell yer. But don't give yerself no distress; I didn't come to beg; thank 'eaven I ain't drove to that yet--leastwise I ain't done it. But I thought as 'ow yer'd need a dish to throw slops and broken wittles in it; which I fetched along this 'ere." And the willing creature lifted off the cover by erecting the upper half of his head till the snout of him smote the ceiling. Open servitude is better than covert begging. LXXXI. A gander being annoyed by the assiduous attendance of his ugly reflection in the water, determined that he would prosecute future voyages in a less susceptible element. So he essayed a sail upon the placid bosom of a clay-bank. This kind of navigation did not meet his expectations, however, and he returned with dogged despair to his pond, resolved to make a final cruise and go out of commission. He was delighted to find that the clay adhering to his hull so defiled the water that it gave back no image of him. After that, whenever he left port, he was careful to be well clayed along the water-line. The lesson of this is that if all geese are alike, we can banish unpleasant reflections by befouling ourselves. This is worth knowing. LXXXII. The belly and the members of the human body were in a riot. (This is not the riot recorded by an inferior writer, but a more notable and authentic one.) After exhausting the well-known arguments, they had recourse to the appropriate threat, when the man to whom they belonged thought it time for _him_ to be heard, in his capacity as a unit. "Deuce take you!" he roared. "Things have come to a pretty pass if a fellow cannot walk out of a fine morning without alarming the town by a disgraceful squabble between his component parts! I am reasonably impartial, I hope, but man's devotion is due to his deity: I espouse the cause of my belly." Hearing this, the members were thrown into so extraordinary confusion that the man was arrested for a windmill. As a rule, don't "take sides." Sides of bacon, however, may be temperately acquired. LXXXIII. A man dropping from a balloon struck against a soaring eagle. "I beg your pardon," said he, continuing his descent; "I never _could_ keep off eagles when in my descending node." "It is agreeable to meet so pleasing a gentleman, even without previous appointment," said the bird, looking admiringly down upon the lessening aeronaut; "he is the very pink of politeness. How extremely nice his liver must be. I will follow him down and arrange his simple obsequies." This fable is narrated for its intrinsic worth. LXXXIV. To escape from a peasant who had come suddenly upon him, an opossum adopted his favourite expedient of counterfeiting death. "I suppose," said the peasant, "that ninety-nine men in a hundred would go away and leave this poor creature's body to the beasts of prey." [It is notorious that man is the only living thing that will eat the animal.] "But _I_ will give him good burial." So he dug a hole, and was about tumbling him into it, when a solemn voice appeared to emanate from the corpse: "Let the dead bury their dead!" "Whatever spirit hath wrought this miracle," cried the peasant, dropping upon his knees, "let him but add the trifling explanation of _how_ the dead can perform this or any similar rite, and I am obedience itself. Otherwise, in goes Mr. 'Possum by these hands." "Ah!" meditated the unhappy beast, "I have performed one miracle, but I can't keep it up all day, you know. The explanation demanded is a trifle too heavy for even the ponderous ingenuity of a marsupial." And he permitted himself to be sodded over. If the reader knows what lesson is conveyed by this narrative, he knows--just what the writer knows. LXXXV. Three animals on board a sinking ship prepared to take to the water. It was agreed among them that the bear should be lowered alongside; the mouse (who was to act as pilot) should embark upon him at once, to beat off the drowning sailors; and the monkey should follow, with provisions for the expedition--which arrangement was successfully carried out. The fourth day out from the wreck, the bear began to propound a series of leading questions concerning dinner; when it appeared that the monkey had provided but a single nut. "I thought this would keep me awhile," he explained, "and you could eat the pilot." Hearing this, the mouse vanished like a flash into the bear's ear, and fearing the hungry beast would then demand the nut, the monkey hastily devoured it. Not being in a position to insist upon his rights, the bear merely gobbled up the monkey. [Illustration] LXXXVI. A lamb suffering from thirst went to a brook to drink. Putting his nose to the water, he was interested to feel it bitten by a fish. Not liking fish, he drew back and sought another place; but his persecutor getting there before him administered the same rebuff. The lamb being rather persevering, and the fish having no appointments for that day, this was repeated a few thousand times, when the former felt justified in swearing: "I'm eternally boiled!" said he, "if ever I experienced so many fish in all my life. It is discouraging. It inspires me with mint sauce and green peas." He probably meant amazement and fear; under the influence of powerful emotions even lambs will talk "shop." "Well, good bye," said his tormentor, taking a final nip at the animal's muzzle; "I should like to amuse you some more; but I have other fish to fry." This tale teaches a good quantity of lessons; but it does _not_ teach why this fish should have persecuted this lamb. LXXXVII. A mole, in pursuing certain geological researches, came upon the buried carcase of a mule, and was about to tunnel him. "Slow down, my good friend," said the deceased. "Push your mining operations in a less sacrilegious direction. Respect the dead, as you hope for death!" "You have that about you," said the gnome, "that must make your grave respected in a certain sense, for at least such a period as your immortal part may require for perfect exhalation. The immunity I accord is not conceded to your sanctity, but extorted by your scent. The sepulchres of moles only are sacred." To moles, the body of a lifeless mule A dead mule's carcase is, and nothing more. LXXXVIII. "I think I'll set my sting into you, my obstructive friend," said a bee to an iron pump against which she had flown; "you are always more or less in the way." "If you do," retorted the other, "I'll pump on you, if I can get any one to work my handle." Exasperated by this impotent conservative threat, she pushed her little dart against him with all her vigour. When she tried to sheathe it again she couldn't, but she still made herself useful about the hive by hooking on to small articles and dragging them about. But no other bee would sleep with her after this; and so, by her ill-judged resentment, she was self-condemmed to a solitary cell. The young reader may profitably beware. LXXXIX. A Chinese dog, who had been much abroad with his master, was asked, upon his return, to state the most ludicrous fact he had observed. "There is a country," said he, "the people of which are eternally speaking about 'Persian honesty,' 'Persian courage,' 'Persian loyalty,' 'Persian love of fair play,' &c., as if the Persians enjoyed a clear monopoly of these universal virtues. What is more, they speak thus in blind good faith--with a dense gravity of conviction that is simply amazing." "But," urged the auditors, "we requested something ludicrous, not amazing." "Exactly; the ludicrous part is the name of their country, which is--" "What?" "Persia." XC. There was a calf, who, suspecting the purity of the milk supplied him by his dam, resolved to transfer his patronage to the barn-yard pump. "Better," said he, "a pure article of water, than a diet that is neither fish, flesh, nor fowl." But, although extremely regular in his new diet--taking it all the time--he did not seem to thrive as might have been expected. The larger orders he drew, the thinner and the more transparent he became; and at last, when the shadow of his person had become to him a vague and unreal memory, he repented, and applied to be reinstated in his comfortable sinecure at the maternal udder. "Ah! my prodigal son," said the old lady, lowering her horns as if to permit him to weep upon her neck, "I regret that it is out of my power to celebrate your return by killing the fatted calf; but what I can I will do." And she killed him instead. _Mot herl yaff ecti onk nocksal loth ervir tu esperfec tlyc old_.[A] [Footnote A: The learned reader will appreciate the motive which has prompted me to give this moral only in the original Persian.--TRANSLATOR.] XCI. "There, now," said a kitten, triumphantly, laying a passive mouse at the feet of her mother. "I flatter myself I am coming on with a reasonable degree of rapidity. What will become of the minor quadrupeds when I have attained my full strength and ferocity, it is mournful to conjecture!" "Did he give you much trouble?" inquired the aged ornament of the hearth-side, with a look of tender solicitude. "Trouble!" echoed the kitten, "I never had such a fight in all my life! He was a downright savage--in his day." "My Falstaffian issue," rejoined the Tabby, dropping her eyelids and composing her head for a quiet sleep, "the above is a _toy_ mouse." XCII. A crab who had travelled from the mouth of the Indus all the way to Ispahan, knocked, with much chuckling, at the door of the King's physician. "Who's there?" shouted the doctor, from his divan within. "A bad case of _cancer_," was the complacent reply. "Good!" returned the doctor; "I'll _cure_ you, my friend." So saying, he conducted his facetious patient into the kitchen, and potted him in pickle. It cured him--of practical jocularity. May the fable heal _you_, if you are afflicted with that form of evil. XCIII. A certain magician owned a learned pig, who had lived a cleanly gentlemanly life, achieving great fame, and winning the hearts of all the people. But perceiving he was not happy, the magician, by a process easily explained did space permit, transformed him into a man. Straightway the creature abandoned his cards, his timepiece, his musical instruments, and all other devices of his profession, and betook him to a pool of mud, wherein he inhumed himself to the tip of his nose. "Ten minutes ago," said the magician reprovingly, "you would have scorned to do an act like that." "True," replied the biped, with a contented grunt; "I was then a learned pig; I am now a learned man." XCIV. "Nature has been very kind to her creatures," said a giraffe to an elephant. "For example, your neck being so very short, she has given you a proboscis wherewith to reach your food; and I having no proboscis, she has bestowed upon me a long neck." "I think, my good friend, you have been among the theologians," said the elephant. "I doubt if I am clever enough to argue with you. I can only say it does not strike me that way." "But, really," persisted the giraffe, "you must confess your trunk is a great convenience, in that it enables you to reach the high branches of which you are so fond, even as my long neck enables me." "Perhaps," mused the ungrateful pachyderm, "if we could not reach the higher branches, we should develop a taste for the lower ones." "In any case," was the rejoinder, "we can never be sufficiently thankful that we are unlike the lowly hippopotamus, who can reach neither the one nor the other." "Ah! yes," the elephant assented, "there does not seem to have been enough of Nature's kindness to go round." "But the hippopotamus has his roots and his rushes." "It is not easy to see how, with his present appliances, he could obtain anything else." This fable teaches nothing; for those who perceive the meaning of it either knew it before, or will not be taught. XCV. A pious heathen who was currying favour with his wooden deity by sitting for some years motionless in a treeless plain, observed a young ivy putting forth her tender shoots at his feet. He thought he could endure the additional martyrdom of a little shade, and begged her to make herself quite at home. "Exactly," said the plant; "it is my mission to adorn venerable ruins." She lapped her clinging tendrils about his wasted shanks, and in six months had mantled him in green. "It is now time," said the devotee, a year later, "for me to fulfil the remainder of my religious vow. I must put in a few seasons of howling and leaping. You have been very good, but I no longer require your gentle ministrations." "But I require yours," replied the vine; "you have become a second nature to me. Let others indulge in the delights of gymnastic worship; you and I will 'surfer and be strong'--respectively." The devotee muttered something about the division of labour, and his bones are still pointed out to the pilgrim. XCVI. A fox seeing a swan afloat, called out: "What ship is that? I wish to take passage by your line." "Got a ticket?" inquired the fowl. "No; I'll make it all right with the company, though." So the swan moored alongside, and he embarked,--deck passage. When they were well off shore the fox intimated that dinner would be agreeable. "I would advise you not to try the ship's provisions," said the bird; "we have only salt meat on board. Beware the scurvy!" "You are quite right," replied the passenger; "I'll see if I can stay my stomach with the foremast." So saying he bit off her neck, and she immediately capsizing, he was drowned. MORAL--highly so, but not instructive. XCVII. A monkey finding a heap of cocoa-nuts, gnawed into one, then dropped it, gagging hideously. "Now, this is what _I_ call perfectly disgusting!" said he: "I can never leave anything lying about but some one comes along and puts a quantity of nasty milk into it!" A cat just then happening to pass that way began rolling the cocoa-nuts about with her paw. "Yeow!" she exclaimed; "it is enough to vex the soul of a cast-iron dog! Whenever I set out any milk to cool, somebody comes and seals it up tight as a drum!" Then perceiving one another, and each thinking the other the offender, these enraged animals contended, and wrought a mutual extermination. Whereby two worthy consumers were lost to society, and a quantity of excellent food had to be given to the poor. XCVIII. A mouse who had overturned an earthern jar was discovered by a cat, who entered from an adjoining room and began to upbraid him in the harshest and most threatening manner. "You little wretch!" said she, "how dare you knock over that valuable urn? If it had been filled with hot water, and I had been lying before it asleep, I should have been scalded to death." "If it had been full of water," pleaded the mouse, "it would not have upset." [Illustration] "But I might have lain down in it, monster!" persisted the cat. "No, you couldn't," was the answer; "it is not wide enough." "Fiend!" shrieked the cat, smashing him with her paw; "I can curl up real small when I try." The _ultima ratio_ of very angry people is frequently addressed to the ear of the dead. XCIX. In crossing a frozen pool, a monkey slipped and fell, striking upon the back of his head with considerable force, so that the ice was very much shattered. A peacock, who was strutting about on shore thinking what a pretty peacock he was, laughed immoderately at the mishap. N.B.--All laughter is immoderate when a fellow is hurt--if the fellow is oneself. "Bah!" exclaimed the sufferer; "if you could see the beautiful prismatic tints I have knocked into this ice, you would laugh out of the other side of your bill. The splendour of your tail is quite eclipsed." Thus craftily did he inveigle the vain bird, who finally came and spread his tail alongside the fracture for comparison. The gorgeous feathers at once froze fast to the ice, and--in short, that artless fowl passed a very uncomfortable winter. C. A volcano, having discharged a few million tons of stones upon a small village, asked the mayor if he thought that a tolerably good supply for building purposes. "I think," replied that functionary, "if you give us another dash of granite, and just a pinch of old red sandstone, we could manage with what you have already done for us. We would, however, be grateful for the loan of your crater to bake bricks." "Oh, certainly; parties served at their residences." Then, after the man had gone, the mountain added, with mingled lava and contempt: "The most insatiable people I ever contracted to supply. They shall not have another pebble!" He banked his fires, and in six weeks was as cold as a neglected pudding. Then might you have seen the heaving of the surface boulders, as the people began stirring forty fathoms beneath. When you have got quite enough of anything, make it manifest by asking for some more. You won't get it. CI. "I entertain for you a sentiment of profound amity," said the tiger to the leopard. "And why should I not? for are we not members of the same great feline family?" "True," replied the leopard, who was engaged in the hopeless endeavour to change his spots; "since we have mutually plundered one another's hunting grounds of everything edible, there remains no grievance to quarrel about. You are a good fellow; let us embrace!" They did so with the utmost heartiness; which being observed by a contiguous monkey, that animal got up a tree, where he delivered himself of the wisdom following: "There is nothing so touching as these expressions of mutual regard between animals who are vulgarly believed to hate one another. They render the brief intervals of peace almost endurable to both parties. But the difficulty is, there are so many excellent reasons why these relatives should live in peace, that they won't have time to state them all before the next fight." CII. A woodpecker, who had bored a multitude of holes in the body of a dead tree, was asked by a robin to explain their purpose. "As yet, in the infancy of science," replied the woodpecker, "I am quite unable to do so. Some naturalists affirm that I hide acorns in these pits; others maintain that I get worms out of them. I endeavoured for some time to reconcile the two theories; but the worms ate my acorns, and then would not come out. Since then, I have left science to work out its own problems, while I work out the holes. I hope the final decision may be in some way advantageous to me; for at my nest I have a number of prepared holes which I can hammer into some suitable tree at a moment's notice. Perhaps I could insert a few into the scientific head." "No-o-o," said the robin, reflectively, "I should think not. A prepared hole is an idea; I don't think it could get in." MORAL.--It might be driven in with a steam-hammer. CIII. "Are you going to this great hop?" inquired a spruce cricket of a labouring beetle. "No," replied he, sadly, "I've got to attend this great ball." "Blest if I know the difference," drawled a more offensive insect, with his head in an empty silk hat; "and I've been in society all my life. But why was I not invited to either hop or ball?" He is now invited to the latter. CIV. "Too bad, too bad," said a young Abyssinian to a yawning hippopotamus. "What is 'too bad?'" inquired the quadruped. "What is the matter with you?" "Oh, _I_ never complain," was the reply; "I was only thinking of the niggard economy of Nature in building a great big beast like you and not giving him any mouth." "H'm, h'm! it was still worse," mused the beast, "to construct a great wit like you and give him no seasonable occasion for the display of his cleverness." A moment later there were a cracking of bitten bones, a great gush of animal fluids, the vanishing of two black feet--in short, the fatal poisoning of an indiscreet hippopotamus. The rubbing of a bit of lemon about the beaker's brim is the finishing-touch to a whiskey punch. Much misery may be thus averted. CV. A salmon vainly attempted to leap up a cascade. After trying a few thousand times, he grew so fatigued that he began to leap less and think more. Suddenly an obvious method of surmounting the difficulty presented itself to the salmonic intelligence. "Strange," he soliloquized, as well as he could in the water,--"very strange I did not think of it before! I'll go above the fall and leap downwards." So he went out on the bank, walked round to the upper side of the fall, and found he could leap over quite easily. Ever afterwards when he went up-stream in the spring to be caught, he adopted this plan. He has been heard to remark that the price of salmon might be brought down to a merely nominal figure, if so many would not wear themselves out before getting up to where there is good fishing. CVI. "The son of a jackass," shrieked a haughty mare to a mule who had offended her by expressing an opinion, "should cultivate the simple grace of intellectual humility." "It is true," was the meek reply, "I cannot boast an illustrious ancestry; but at least I shall never be called upon to blush for my posterity. Yonder mule colt is as proper a son--" "Yonder mule colt?" interrupted the mare, with a look of ineffable contempt for her auditor; "that is _my_ colt!" "The consort of a jackass and the mother of mules," retorted he, quietly, "should cultivate the simple thingamy of intellectual whatsitsname." The mare muttered something about having some shopping to do, threw on her harness, and went out to call a cab. CVII. "Hi! hi!" squeaked a pig, running after a hen who had just left her nest; "I say, mum, you dropped this 'ere. It looks wal'able; which I fetched it along!" And splitting his long face, he laid a warm egg at her feet. "You meddlesome bacon!" cackled the ungrateful bird; "if you don't take that orb directly back, I 'll sit on you till I hatch you out of your saddle-cover!" MORAL.--Virtue is its only reward. CVIII. A rustic, preparing to devour an apple, was addressed by a brace of crafty and covetous birds: "Nice apple that," said one, critically examining it. "I don't wish to disparage it--wouldn't say a word against that vegetable for all the world. But I never can look upon an apple of that variety without thinking of my poisoned nestling! Ah! so plump, and rosy, and--rotten!" "Just so," said the other. "And you remember my good father, who perished in that orchard. Strange that so fair a skin should cover so vile a heart!" Just then another fowl came flying up. [Illustration] "I came in, all haste," said he, "to warn you about that fruit. My late lamented wife ate some off the same tree. Alas! how comely to the eye, and how essentially noxious!" "I am very grateful," the young man said; "but I am unable to comprehend how the sight of this pretty piece of painted confectionery should incite you all to slander your dead relations." Whereat there was confusion in the demeanour of that feathered trio. CIX. "The Millennium is come," said a lion to a lamb. "Suppose you come out of that fold, and let us lie down together, as it has been foretold we should." "Been to dinner to-day?" inquired the lamb. "Not a bite of anything since breakfast," was the reply, "except a few lean swine, a saddle or two, and some old harness." "I distrust a Millennium," continued the lamb, thoughtfully, "which consists _solely_ in our lying down together. My notion of that happy time is that it is a period in which pork and leather are not articles of diet, but in which every respectable lion shall have as much mutton as he can consume. However, you may go over to yonder sunny hill and lie down until I come." It is singular how a feeling of security tends to develop cunning. If that lamb had been out upon the open plain he would have readily fallen into the snare--and it was studded very thickly with teeth. CX. "I say, you!" bawled a fat ox in a stall to a lusty young ass who was braying outside; "the like of that is not in good taste!" "In whose good taste, my adipose censor?" inquired the ass, not too respectfully. "Why--h'm--ah! I mean it does not suit _me_. You ought to bellow." "May I inquire how it happens to be any of your business whether I bellow or bray, or do both--or neither?" "I cannot tell you," answered the critic, shaking his head despondingly; "I do not at all understand it. I can only say that I have been accustomed to censure all discourse that differs from my own." "Exactly," said the ass; "you have sought to make an art of impertinence by mistaking preferences for principles. In 'taste' you have invented a word incapable of definition, to denote an idea impossible of expression; and by employing in connection therewith the words 'good' and 'bad,' you indicate a merely subjective process in terms of an objective quality. Such presumption transcends the limit of the merely impudent, and passes into the boundless empyrean of pure cheek!" At the close of this remarkable harangue, the bovine critic was at a loss for language to express his disapproval. So he said the speech was in bad taste. CXI. A bloated toad, studded with dermal excrescences, was boasting that she was the wartiest creature alive. "Perhaps you are," said her auditor, emerging from the soil; "but it is a barren and superficial honour. Look at me: I am one solid mole!" CXII. "It is very difficult getting on in the world," sighed a weary snail; "very difficult indeed, with such high rents!" "You don't mean to say you pay anything for that old rookery!" said a slug, who was characteristically insinuating himself between the stems of the celery intended for dinner. "A miserable old shanty like that, without stables, grounds, or any modern conveniences!" "Pay!" said the snail, contemptuously; "I'd like to see you get a semi-detatched villa like this at a nominal rate!" "Why don't you let your upper apartments to a respectable single party?" urged the slug. The answer is not recorded. CXIII. A hare, pursued by a dog, sought sanctuary in the den of a wolf. It being after business hours, the latter was at home to him. "Ah!" panted the hare; "how very fortunate! I feel quite safe here, for you dislike dogs quite as much as I do." "Your security, my small friend," replied the wolf, "depends not upon those points in which you and I agree, but upon those in which I and the dog differ." "Then you mean to eat me?" inquired the timorous puss. "No-o-o," drawled the wolf, reflectively, "I should not like to promise _that_; I mean to eat a part of you. There may be a tuft of fur, and a toe-nail or two, left for you to go on with. I am hungry, but I am not hoggish." "The distinction is too fine for me," said the hare, scratching her head. "That, my friend, is because you have not made a practice of hare-splitting. I have." CXIV. "Oyster at home?" inquired a monkey, rapping at the closed shell. There was no reply. Dropping the knocker, he laid hold of the bell-handle, ringing a loud peal, but without effect. "Hum, hum!" he mused, with a look of disappointment, "gone to the sea side, I suppose." So he turned away, thinking he would call again later in the season; but he had not proceeded far before he conceived a brilliant idea. Perhaps there had been a suicide!--or a murder! He would go back and force the door. By way of doing so he obtained a large stone, and smashed in the roof. There had been no murder to justify such audacity, so he committed one. The funeral was gorgeous. There were mute oysters with wands, drunken oysters with scarves and hat-bands, a sable hearse with hearth-dusters on it, a swindling undertaker's bill, and all the accessories of a first-rate churchyard circus--everything necessary but the corpse. That had been disposed of by the monkey, and the undertaker meanly withheld the use of his own. MORAL.--A lamb foaled in March makes the best pork when his horns have attained the length of an inch. CXV. "Pray walk into my parlour," said the spider to the fly. "That is not quite original," the latter made reply. "If that's the way you plagiarize, your fame will be a fib-- But I'll walk into your parlour, while I pitch into your crib. But before I cross your threshold, sir, if I may make so free, Pray let me introduce to you my friend, 'the wicked flea.'" "How do you?" says the spider, as his welcome he extends; "'How doth the busy little bee,' and all our other friends?" "Quite well, I think, and quite unchanged," the flea said; "though I learn, In certain quarters well informed, 'tis feared 'the worm will turn.'" "Humph!" said the fly; "I do not understand this talk--not I!" "It is 'classical allusion,'" said the spider to the fly. CXVI. A polar bear navigating the mid-sea upon the mortal part of a late lamented walrus, soliloquized, in substance, as follows: "Such liberty of action as I am afflicted with is enough to embarrass any bear that ever bore. I can remain passive, and starve; or I can devour my ship, and drown. I am really unable to decide." So he sat down to think it over. He considered the question in all its aspects, until he grew quite thin; turned it over and over in his mind until he was too weak to sit up; meditated upon it with a constantly decreasing pulse, a rapidly failing respiration. But he could not make up his mind, and finally expired without having come to a decision. It appears to me he might almost as well have chosen starvation, at a venture. CXVII. A sword-fish having penetrated seven or eight feet into the bottom of a ship, under the impression that he was quarrelling with a whale, was unable to draw out of the fight. The sailors annoyed him a good deal, by pounding with handspikes upon that portion of his horn inside; but he bore it as bravely as he could, putting the best possible face upon the matter, until he saw a shark swimming by, of whom he inquired the probable destination of the ship. "Italy, I think," said the other, grinning. "I have private reasons for believing her cargo consists mainly of consumptives." "Ah!" exclaimed the captive; "Italy, delightful clime of the cerulean orange--the rosy olive! Land of the night-blooming Jesuit, and the fragrant _laszarone_! It would be heavenly to run down gondolas in the streets of Venice! I _must_ go to Italy." "Indeed you must," said the shark, darting suddenly aft, where he had caught the gleam of shotted canvas through the blue waters. But it was fated to be otherwise: some days afterwards the ship and fish passed over a sunken rock which almost grazed the keel. Then the two parted company, with mutual expressions of tender regard, and a report which could be traced by those on board to no trustworthy source. The foregoing fable shows that a man of good behaviour need not care for money, and _vice versâ_. CXVIII. A facetious old cat seeing her kitten sleeping in a bath tub, went down into the cellar and turned on the hot water. (For the convenience of the bathers the bath was arranged in that way; you had to undress, and then go down to the cellar to let on the wet.) No sooner did the kitten remark the unfamiliar sensation, than he departed thence with a willingness quite creditable in one who was not a professional acrobat, and met his mother on the kitchen stairs. "Aha! my steaming hearty!" cried the elder grimalkin; "I coveted you when I saw the cook put you in the dinner-pot. If I have a weakness, it is hare--hare nicely dressed, and partially boiled." Whereupon she made a banquet of her suffering offspring.[A] Adversity works a stupendous change in tender youth; many a young man is never recognized by his parents after having been in hot water. [Footnote A: Here should have followed the appropriate and obvious classical allusion. It is known our fabulist was classically educated. Why, then, this disgraceful omission?--TRANSLATOR.] CXIX. "It is a waste of valour for us to do battle," said a lame ostrich to a negro who had suddenly come upon her in the desert; "let us cast lots to see who shall be considered the victor, and then go about our business." To this proposition the negro readily assented. They cast lots: the negro cast lots of stones, and the ostrich cast lots of feathers. Then the former went about his business, which consisted of skinning the bird. MORAL.--There is nothing like the arbitrament of chance. That form of it known as _trile-bi-joorie_ is perhaps as good as any. CXX. An author who had wrought a book of fables (the merit whereof transcended expression) was peacefully sleeping atop of the modest eminence to which he had attained, when he was rudely awakened by a throng of critics, emitting adverse judgment upon the tales he had builded. [Illustration] "Apparently," said he, "I have been guilty of some small grains of unconsidered wisdom, and the same have proven a bitterness to these excellent folk, the which they will not abide. Ah, well! those who produce the Strasburg _pâté_ and the feather-pillow are prone to regard _us_ as rival creators. I presume it is in course of nature for him who grows the pen to censure the manner of its use." So speaking, he executed a smile a hand's-breath in extent, and resumed his airy dream of dropping ducats. CXXI. For many years an opossum had anointed his tail with bear's oil, but it remained stubbornly bald-headed. At last his patience was exhausted, and he appealed to Bruin himself, accusing him of breaking faith, and calling him a quack. "Why, you insolent marsupial!" retorted the bear in a rage; "you expect my oil to give you hair upon your tail, when it will not give me even a tail. Why don't you try under-draining, or top-dressing with light compost?" They said and did a good deal more before the opossum withdrew his cold and barren member from consideration; but the judicious fabulist does not encumber his tale with extraneous matter, lest it be pointless. CXXII. "So disreputable a lot as you are I never saw!" said a sleepy rat to the casks in a wine-cellar. "Always making night hideous with your hoops and hollows, and disfiguring the day with your bunged-up appearance. There is no sleeping when once the wine has got into your heads. I'll report you to the butler!" "The sneaking tale-bearer," said the casks. "Let us beat him with our staves." "_Requiescat in pace_," muttered a learned cobweb, sententiously. "Requires a cat in the place, does it?" shrieked the rat. "Then I'm off!" To explain all the wisdom imparted by this fable would require the pen of a pig, and volumes of smoke. CXXIII. A giraffe having trodden upon the tail of a poodle, that animal flew into a blind rage, and wrestled valorously with the invading foot. "Hullo, sonny!" said the giraffe, looking down, "what are you doing there?" "I am fighting!" was the proud reply; "but I don't know that it is any of your business." "Oh, I have no desire to mix in," said the good-natured giraffe. "I never take sides in terrestrial strife. Still, as that is my foot, I think--" "Eh!" cried the poodle, backing some distance away and gazing upward, shading his eyes with his paw. "You don't mean to say--by Jove it's a fact! Well, that beats _me_! A beast of such enormous length--such preposterous duration, as it were--I wouldn't have believed it! Of course I can't quarrel with a non-resident; but why don't you have a local agent on the ground?" The reply was probably the wisest ever made; but it has not descended to this generation. It had so very far to descend. CXXIV. A dog having got upon the scent of a deer which a hunter had been dragging home, set off with extraordinary zeal. After measuring off a few leagues, he paused. "My running gear is all right," said he; "but I seem to have lost my voice." Suddenly his ear was assailed by a succession of eager barks, as of another dog in pursuit of him. It then began to dawn upon him that he was a particularly rapid dog: instead of having lost his voice, his voice had lost him, and was just now arriving. Full of his discovery, he sought his master, and struck for better food and more comfortable housing. "Why, you miserable example of perverted powers!" said his master; "I never intended you for the chase, but for the road. You are to be a draught-dog--to pull baby about in a cart. You will perceive that speed is an objection. Sir, you must be toned down; you will be at once assigned to a house with modern conveniences, and will dine at a French restaurant. If that system do not reduce your own, I'm an 'Ebrew Jew!" The journals next morning had racy and appetizing accounts of a canine suicide. CXXV. A gosling, who had not yet begun to blanch, was accosted by a chicken just out of the shell: "Whither away so fast, fair maid?" inquired the chick. "Wither away yourself," was the contemptuous reply; "you are already in the sere and yellow leaf; while I seem to have a green old age before me." CXXVI. A famishing traveller who had run down a salamander, made a fire, and laid him alive upon the hot coals to cook. Wearied with the pursuit which had preceded his capture, the animal at once composed himself, and fell into a refreshing sleep. At the end of a half-hour, the man, stirred him with a stick, remarking: "I say!--wake up and begin toasting, will you? How long do you mean to keep dinner waiting, eh?" "Oh, I beg you will not wait for me," was the yawning reply. "If you are going to stand upon ceremony, everything will get cold. Besides, I have dined. I wish, by-the-way, you would put on some more fuel; I think we shall have snow." "Yes," said the man, "the weather is like yourself--raw, and exasperatingly cool. Perhaps this will warm you." And he rolled a ponderous pine log atop of that provoking reptile, who flattened out, and "handed in his checks." The moral thus doth glibly run-- A cause its opposite may brew; The sun-shade is unlike the sun, The plum unlike the plumber, too. A salamander underdone His impudence may overdo. CXXVII. A humming-bird invited a vulture to dine with her. He accepted, but took the precaution to have an emetic along with him; and immediately after dinner, which consisted mainly of dew, spices, honey, and similar slops, he swallowed his corrective, and tumbled the distasteful viands out. He then went away, and made a good wholesome meal with his friend the ghoul. He has been heard to remark, that the taste for humming-bird fare is "too artificial for _him_." He says, a simple and natural diet, with agreeable companions, cheerful surroundings, and a struggling moon, is best for the health, and most agreeable to the normal palate. People with vitiated tastes may derive much profit from this opinion. _Crede experto._ CXXVIII. A certain terrier, of a dogmatic turn, asked a kitten her opinion of rats, demanding a categorical answer. The opinion, as given, did not possess the merit of coinciding with his own; whereupon he fell upon the heretic and bit her--bit her until his teeth were much worn and her body much elongated--bit her good! Having thus vindicated the correctness of his own view, he felt so amiable a satisfaction that he announced his willingness to adopt the opinion of which he had demonstrated the harmlessness. So he begged his enfeebled antagonist to re-state it, which she incautiously did. No sooner, however, had the superior debater heard it for the second time than he resumed his intolerance, and made an end of that unhappy cat. "Heresy," said he, wiping his mouth, "may be endured in the vigorous and lusty; but in a person lying at the very point of death such hardihood is intolerable." It is always intolerable. CXXIX. A tortoise and an armadillo quarrelled, and agreed to fight it out. Repairing to a secluded valley, they put themselves into hostile array. "Now come on!" shouted the tortoise, shrinking into the inmost recesses of his shell. "All right," shrieked the armadillo, coiling up tightly in his coat of mail; "I am ready for you!" And thus these heroes waged the awful fray from morn till dewy eve, at less than a yard's distance. There has never been anything like it; their endurance was something marvellous! During the night each combatant sneaked silently away; and the historian of the period obscurely alludes to the battle as "the naval engagement of the future." CXXX. [Illustration] Two hedgehogs having conceived a dislike to a hare, conspired for his extinction. It was agreed between them that the lighter and more agile of the two should beat him up, surround him, run him into a ditch, and drive him upon the thorns of the more gouty and unwieldy conspirator. It was not a very hopeful scheme, but it was the best they could devise. There was a chance of success if the hare should prove willing, and, gambler-like, they decided to take that chance, instead of trusting to the remote certainty of their victim's death from natural cause. The doomed animal performed his part as well as could be reasonably expected of him: every time the enemy's flying detachment pressed him hard, he fled playfully toward the main body, and lightly vaulted over, about eight feet above the spines. And this prickly blockhead had not the practical sagacity to get upon a wall seven feet and six inches high! This fable is designed to show that the most desperate chances are comparatively safe. CXXXI. A young eel inhabiting the mouth of a river in India, determined to travel. Being a fresh-water eel, he was somewhat restricted in his choice of a route, but he set out with a cheerful heart and very little luggage. Before he had proceeded very far up-stream he found the current too strong to be overcome without a ruinous consumption of coals. He decided to anchor his tail where it then was, and _grow_ up. For the first hundred miles it was tolerably tedious work, but when he had learned to tame his impatience, he found this method of progress rather pleasant than otherwise. But when he began to be caught at widely separate points by the fishermen of eight or ten different nations, he did not think it so fine. This fable teaches that when you extend your residence you multiply your experiences. A local eel can know but little of angling. CXXXII. Some of the lower animals held a convention to settle for ever the unspeakably important question, What is Life? "Life," squeaked the poet, blinking and folding his filmy wings, "is--." His kind having been already very numerously heard from upon the subject, he was choked off. "Life," said the scientist, in a voice smothered by the earth he was throwing up into small hills, "is the harmonious action of heterogeneous but related faculties, operating in accordance with certain natural laws." "Ah!" chattered the lover, "but that thawt of thing is vewy gweat blith in the thothiety of one'th thweetheart." And curling his tail about a branch, he swung himself heavenward and had a spasm. "It is _vita_!" grunted the sententious scholar, pausing in his mastication of a Chaldaic root. "It is a thistle," brayed the warrior: "very nice thing to take!" "Life, my friends," croaked the philosopher from his hollow tree, dropping the lids over his cattish eyes, "is a disease. We are all symptoms." "Pooh!" ejaculated the physician, uncoiling and springing his rattle. "How then does it happen that when _we_ remove the symptoms, the disease is gone?" "I would give something to know that," replied the philosopher, musingly; "but I suspect that in most cases the inflammation remains, and is intensified." Draw your own moral inference, "in your own jugs." CXXXIII. A heedless boy having flung a pebble in the direction of a basking lizard, that reptile's tail disengaged itself, and flew some distance away. One of the properties of a lizard's camp-follower is to leave the main body at the slightest intimation of danger. "There goes that vexatious narrative again," exclaimed the lizard, pettishly; "I never had such a tail in my life! Its restless tendency to divorce upon insufficient grounds is enough to harrow the reptilian soul! Now," he continued, backing up to the fugitive part, "perhaps you will be good enough to resume your connection with the parent establishment." No sooner was the splice effected, than an astronomer passing that way casually remarked to a friend that he had just sighted a comet. Supposing itself menaced, the timorous member again sprang away, coming down plump before the horny nose of a sparrow. Here its career terminated. We sometimes escape from an imaginary danger, only to find some real persecutor has a little bill against us. CXXXIV. A jackal who had pursued a deer all day with unflagging industry, was about to seize him, when an earthquake, which was doing a little civil engineering in that part of the country, opened a broad chasm between him and his prey. "Now, here," said he, "is a distinct interference with the laws of nature. But if we are to tolerate miracles, there is an end of all progress." So speaking, he endeavoured to cross the abyss at two jumps. His fate would serve the purpose of an impressive warning if it might be clearly ascertained; but the earth having immediately pinched together again, the research of the moral investigator is baffled. CXXXV. "Ah!" sighed a three-legged stool, "if I had only been a quadruped, I should have been happy as the day is long--which, on the twenty-first of June, would be considerable felicity for a stool." "Ha! look at me!" said a toadstool; "consider my superior privation, and be content with your comparatively happy lot." "I don't discern," replied the first, "how the contemplation of unipedal misery tends to alleviate tripedal wretchedness." "You don't, eh!" sneered the toadstool. "You mean, do you, to fly in the face of all the moral and social philosophers?" "Not unless some benefactor of his race shall impel me." "H'm! I think Zambri the Parsee is the man for that kindly office, my dear." This final fable teaches that he is. BRIEF SEASONS OF INTELLECTUAL DISSIPATION. I. FOOL.--I have a question for you. PHILOSOPHER.--I have a number of them for myself. Do you happen to have heard that a fool can ask more questions in a breath than a philosopher can answer in a life? F.--I happen to have heard that in such a case the one is as great a fool as the other. PH.--Then there is no distinction between folly and philosophy? F.--Don't lay the flattering unction to your soul. The province of folly is to ask unanswerable questions. It is the function of philosophy to answer them. PH.--Admirable fool! F.--Am I? Pray tell me the meaning of "a fool." PH.--Commonly he has none. F.--I mean-- PH.--Then in this case he has one. F.--I lick thy boots! But what does Solomon indicate by the word fool? That is what I mean. PH.--Let us then congratulate Solomon upon the agreement between the views of you two. However, I twig your intent: he means a wicked sinner; and of all forms of folly there is none so great as wicked sinning. For goodness is, in the end, more conducive to personal happiness--which is the sole aim of man. F.--Hath virtue no better excuse than this? PH.--Possibly; philosophy is not omniscience. F.--Instructed I sit at thy feet! PH.--Unwilling to instruct, I stand on my head. * * * * * FOOL.--You say personal happiness is the sole aim of man. PHILOSOPHER.--Then it is. F.--But this is much disputed. PH.--There is much personal happiness in disputation. F.--Socrates-- PH.--Hold! I detest foreigners. F.--Wisdom, they say, is of no country. PH.--Of none that I have seen. * * * * * FOOL.--Let us return to our subject--the sole aim of mankind. Crack me these nuts. (1) The man, never weary of well-doing, who endures a life of privation for the good of his fellow-creatures? PHILOSOPHER.--Does he feel remorse in so doing? or does the rascal rather like it? F.--(2) He, then, who, famishing himself, parts his loaf with a beggar? PH.--There are people who prefer benevolence to bread. F.--Ah! _De gustibus_-- PH.--Shut up! F.--Well, (3) how of him who goes joyfully to martyrdom? PH.--He goes joyfully. F.--And yet-- PH.--Did you ever converse with a good man going to the stake? F.--I never saw a good man going to the stake. PH.--Unhappy pupil! you were born some centuries too early. * * * * * FOOL.--You say you detest foreigners. Why? PHILOSOPHER.--Because I am human. F.--But so are they. PH.--Excellent fool! I thank thee for the better reason. * * * * * PHILOSOPHER.--I have been thinking of the _pocopo_. FOOL.--Is it open to the public? PH.--The pocopo is a small animal of North America, chiefly remarkable for singularity of diet. It subsists solely upon a single article of food. F.--What is that? PH.--Other pocopos. Unable to obtain this, their natural sustenance, a great number of pocopos die annually of starvation. Their death leaves fewer mouths to feed, and by consequence their race is rapidly multiplying. F.--From whom had you this? PH.--A professor of political economy. F.--I bend in reverence! What made you think of the pocopo? PH.--Speaking of man. F.--If you did not wish to think of the pocopo, and speaking of man would make you think of it, you would not speak of man, would you? PH.--Certainly not. F.--Why not? PH.--I do not know. F.--Excellent philosopher! * * * * * FOOL.--I have attentively considered your teachings. They may be full of wisdom; they are certainly out of taste. PHILOSOPHER.--Whose taste? F.--Why, that of people of culture. PH.--Do any of these people chance to have a taste for intoxication, tobacco, hard hats, false hair, the nude ballet, and over-feeding? F.--Possibly; but in intellectual matters you must confess their taste is correct. PH.--Why must I? F.--They say so themselves. * * * * * PHILOSOPHER.--I have been thinking why a dolt is called a donkey. FOOL.--I had thought philosophy concerned itself with a less personal class of questions; but why is it? PH.--The essential quality of a dolt is stupidity. F.--Mine ears are drunken! PH.--The essential quality of an ass is asininity. F.--Divine philosophy! PH.--As commonly employed, "stupidity" and "asininity" are convertible terms. F.--That I, unworthy, should have lived to see this day! * * * * * II. FOOL.--If _I_ were a doctor-- DOCTOR.--I should endeavour to be a fool. F.--You would fail; folly is not easily achieved. D.--True; man is overworked. F.--Let him take a pill. D.--If he like. I would not. F.--You are too frank: take a fool's advice. D.--Thank thee for the nastier prescription. * * * * * FOOL.--I have a friend who-- DOCTOR.--Stands in great need of my assistance. Absence of excitement, gentle restraint, a hard bed, simple diet--that will straighten him out. F.--I'll give thee sixpence to let me touch the hem of thy garment! D.--What of your friend? F.--He is a gentleman. D.--Then he is dead! F.--Just so: he is "straightened out"--he took your prescription. D.--All but the "simple diet." F.--He is himself the diet. D.--How simple! * * * * * FOOL.--Believe you a man retains his intellect after decapitation? DOCTOR.--It is possible that he acquires it? F.--Much good it does him. D.--Why not--as compensation? He is at some disadvantage in other respects. F.--For example? D.--He is in a false position. * * * * * FOOL.--What is the most satisfactory disease? DOCTOR.--Paralysis of the thoracic duct. F.--I am not familiar with it. D.--It does not encourage familiarity. Paralysis of the thoracic duct enables the patient to accept as many invitations to dinner as he can secure, without danger of spoiling his appetite. F.--But how long does his appetite last? D.--That depends. Always a trifle longer than he does. F.--The portion that survives him--? D.--Goes to swell the Mighty Gastric Passion which lurks darkly Outside, yawning to swallow up material creation! F.--Pitch it a biscuit. * * * * * FOOL.--You attend a patient. He gets well. Good! How do you tell whether his recovery is because of your treatment or in spite of it? DOCTOR.--I never do tell. F.--I mean how do you know? D.--I take the opinion of a person interested in the question: I ask a fool. F.--How does the patient know? D.--The fool asks me. F.--Amiable instructor! How shall I reward thee? D.--Eat a cucumber cut up in shilling claret. * * * * * DOCTOR.--The relation between a patient and his disease is the same as that which obtains between the two wooden weather-prophets of a Dutch clock. When the disease goes off, the patient goes on; when the disease goes on, the patient goes off. FOOL.--A pauper conceit. Their relations, then, are not of the most cordial character. D.--One's relations--except the poorer sort--seldom are. F.--My tympanum is smitten with pleasant peltings of wisdom! I 'll lay you ten to one you cannot tell me the present condition of your last patient. D.--Done! F.--You have won the wager. FOOL.--I once read the report of an actual conversation upon a scientific subject between a fool and a physician. DOCTOR.--Indeed! That sort of conversation commonly takes place between fools only. F.--The reporter had chosen to confound orthography: he spelt fool "phool," and physician "fysician." What the fool said was, therefore, preceded by "PH;" the remarks of the physician were indicated by the letter "F." D.--This must have been very confusing. F.--It was. But no one discovered that any liberties had been taken with orthography. D.--You tumour! * * * * * FOOL.--Suppose you had amongst your menials an ailing oyster? DOCTOR.--Oysters do not ail. F.--I have heard that the pearl is the result of a disease. D.--Whether a functional derangement producing a valuable gem can be properly termed, or treated as, a disease, is open to honest doubt. F.--Then in the case supposed you would not favour excision of the abnormal part? D.--Yes; I would remove the oyster. F.--But if the pearl were growing very rapidly this operation would not be immediately advisable. D.--That would depend upon the symptomatic diagnosis. F.--Beast! Give me air! * * * * * DOCTOR.--I have been thinking-- FOOL.--(Liar!) D.--That you "come out" rather well for a fool. Can it be that I have been entertaining an angel unawares? F.--Dismiss the apprehension: I am as great a fool as yourself. But there is a way by which in future you may resolve a similar doubt. D.--Explain. F.--Speak to your guest of symptomatic diagnosis. If he is an angel, he will not resent it. * * * * * III. SOLDIER (_reading from "Napier"_).--"Who would not rather be buried by an army upon the field of battle than by a sexton in a church-yard!" FOOL.--I give it up. S.--I am not aware that any one has asked you for an opinion. F.--I am not aware that I have given one: there is a happiness yet in store for you. S.--I will revel in anticipation. F.--You must revel somehow; without revelry there would be no soldiering. S.--Idiot. F.--I beg your pardon: I had thought your profession had at least taught you to call people by their proper titles. In the service of mankind I hold the rank of Fool. S.--What, ho! without there! Let the trumpets sound! F.--I beg you will not. S.--True; you beg: I will not. F.--But why rob when stealing is more honourable? S.--Consider the competition. * * * * * FOOL.--Sir Cut-throat, how many orphans have you made to-day? SOLDIER.--The devil an orphan! Have you a family? F.--Put up your iron; I am the last of my race. S.--How? No more fools? F.--Not one, so help me! They have all gone to the wars. S.--And why, pray, have _you_ not enlisted? F.--I should be no fool if I knew. * * * * * FOOL.--You are somewhat indebted to me. SOLDIER.--I do not acknowledge your claim. Let us submit the matter to arbitration. F.--The only arbiter whose decision you respect is on your own side. S.--You allude to my sword, the most impartial of weapons: it cuts both ways. F.--And each way is peculiarly objectionable to your opponent. S.--But for what am I indebted to you? F.--For existence: the prevalence of me has made you possible. S.--The benefit is not conspicuous; were it not for your quarrels, I should enjoy a quantity of elegant leisure. F.--As a clodhopper. S.--I should at least hop my clods in a humble and Christian spirit; and if some other fellow did did not so hop his--! I say no more. F.--You have said enough; there would be war. * * * * * SOLDIER.--Why wear a cap and bells? FOOL.--I hasten to crave pardon, and if spared will at once exchange them. S.--For what? F.--A helmet and feather. S.--G "hang a calf-skin on those recreant limbs." F.--'T is only wisdom should be bound in calf. S.--Why? F.--Because wisdom is the veal of which folly is the matured beef. S.--Then folly should be garbed in cow-skin? F.--Aye, that it might the more speedily appear for what it is--the naked truth. S.--How should it? F.--You would soon strip off its hide to make harness and trappings withal. No one thinks how much conquerors owe to cows. * * * * * FOOL.--Tell me, hero, what is strategy? SOLDIER.--The art of laying two knives against one throat. F.--And what are tactics? S.--The art of driving them home. F.--Supermundane lexicographer! S.--I'll bust thy crust! (_Attempts to draw his sword, gets it between his legs, and falls along_.) F. (_from a distance_)--Shall I summon an army, or a sexton? And will you have it of bronze, or marble? * * * * * FOOL.--When you have gained a great victory, how much of the glory goes to the horse whose back you bestrode? SOLDIER.--Nonsense! A horse cannot appreciate glory; he prefers corn. F.--And this you call non-appreciation! But listen. (_Reads_) "During the Crusades, a part of the armament of a Turkish ship was two hundred serpents." In the pursuit of glory you are at least not above employing humble auxiliaries. These be curious allies. S.--What stuff a fool may talk! No true soldier would pit a serpent against a brave enemy. These worms were _sailors_. F.--A nice distinction, truly! Did you ever, my most acute professor of vivisection, employ your trenchant blade in the splitting of hairs? S.--I have split masses of them. * * * * * FOOL.--Speaking of the Crusades: at the siege of Acre, when a part of the wall had been thrown down by the Christians, the Pisans rushed into the breach, but the greater part of their army being at dinner, they were bloodily repulsed. SOLDIER.--You appear to have a minute acquaintance with military history. F.--Yes--being a fool. But was it not a sin and a shame that those feeders should not stir from their porridge to succour their suffering comrades? S.--Pray why should a man neglect his business to oblige a friend? F.--But they might have taken and sacked the city. S.--The selfish gluttons! * * * * * SOLDIER.--Your presumption grows intolerable; I'll hold no further parley with thee. FOOL.--"Herculean gentleman, I dread thy drubs; pity the lifted whites of both my eyes!" S.--Then speak no more of the things you do but imperfectly understand. F.--Such censorship would doom all tongues to silence. But show me wherein my knowledge is deficient. S.--What is an _abattis_? F.--Rubbish placed in front of a fort, to keep the rubbish outside from getting at the rubbish inside. S.--Egad! I'll part thy hair! DIVERS TALES. THE GRATEFUL BEAR. I hope all my little readers have heard the story of Mr. Androcles and the lion; so I will relate it as nearly as I can remember it, with the caution that Androcles must not be confounded with the lion. If I had a picture representing Androcles with a silk hat, and the lion with a knot in his tail, the two might readily be distinguished; but the artist says he won't make any such picture, and we must try to get on without. One day Androcles was gathering truffles in a forest, when he found a lion's den; and, walking into it, he lay down and slept. It was a custom, in his time, to sleep in lions' dens when practicable. The lion was absent, inspecting a zoological garden, and did not return until late; but he did return. He was surprised to find a stranger in his menagerie without a ticket; but, supposing him to be some contributor to a comic paper, did not eat him: he was very well satisfied not to be eaten by him. Presently Androcles awoke, wishing he had some seltzer water, or something. (Seltzer water is good after a night's debauch, and something--it is difficult to say what--is good to begin the new debauch with). Seeing the lion eyeing him, he began hastily to pencil his last will and testament upon the rocky floor of the den. What was his surprise to see the lion advance amicably and extend his right forefoot! Androcles, however, was equal to the occasion: he met the friendly overture with a cordial grasp of the hand, whereat the lion howled--for he had a carpet-tack in his foot. Perceiving that he had made a little mistake, Androcles made such reparation as was in his power by pulling out the tack and putting it in his own foot. After this the beast could not do too much for him. He went out every morning--carefully locking the door behind him--and returned every evening, bringing in a nice fat baby from an adjacent village, and laying it gratefully at his benefactor's feet. For the first few days something seemed to have gone wrong with the benefactor's appetite, but presently he took very kindly to the new diet; and, as he could not get away, he lodged there, rent-free, all the days of his life--which terminated very abruptly one evening when the lion had not met with his usual success in hunting. All this has very little to do with my story: I throw it in as a classical allusion, to meet the demands of a literary fashion which has its origin in the generous eagerness of writers to give the public more than it pays for. But the story of Androcles was a favourite with the bear whose adventures I am about to relate. One day this crafty brute carefully inserted a thorn between two of his toes, and limped awkwardly to the farm-house of Dame Pinworthy, a widow, who with two beautiful whelps infested the forest where he resided. He knocked at the open door, sent in his card, and was duly admitted to the presence of the lady, who inquired his purpose. By way of "defining his position" he held up his foot, and snuffled very dolorously. The lady adjusted her spectacles, took the paw in her lap (she, too, had heard the tale of Androcles), and, after a close scrutiny, discovered the thorn, which, as delicately as possible, she extracted, the patient making wry faces and howling dismally the while. [Illustration] When it was all over, and she had assured him there was no charge, his gratitude was a passion to observe! He desired to embrace her at once; but this, although a widow of seven years' standing, she would by no means permit; she said she was not personally averse to hugging, "but what would her dear departed--boo-hoo!--say of it?" This was very absurd, for Mr. Boo-hoo had seven feet of solid earth above him, and it couldn't make much difference what he said, even supposing he had enough tongue left to say anything, which he had not. However, the polite beast respected her scruples; so the only way in which he could testify his gratitude was by remaining to dinner. They had the housedog for dinner that day, though, from some false notion of hospitable etiquette, the woman and children did not take any. On the next day, punctually at the same hour, the bear came again with another thorn, and stayed to dinner as before. It was not much of a dinner this time--only the cat, and a roll of stair-carpet, with one or two pieces of sheet music; but true gratitude does not despise even the humblest means of expression. The succeeding day he came as before; but after being relieved of his torment, he found nothing prepared for him. But when he took to thoughtfully licking one of the little girl's hands, "that answered not with a caress," the mother thought better of it, and drove in a small heifer. He now came every day; he was so old a friend that the formality of extracting the thorn was no longer observed; it would have contributed nothing to the good understanding that existed between him and the widow. He thought that three or four instances of Good Samaritanism afforded ample matter for perpetual gratitude. His constant visits were bad for the live stock of the farm; for some kind of beast had to be in readiness each day to furnish forth the usual feast, and this prevented multiplication. Most of the textile fabrics, too, had disappeared; for the appetite of this animal was at the same time cosmopolitan and exacting: it would accept almost anything in the way of _entremets_, but something it would have. A hearthrug, a hall-mat, a cushion, mattress, blanket, shawl, or other article of wearing apparel--anything, in short, that was easy of ingestion was graciously approved. The widow tried him once with a box of coals as dessert to some barn-yard fowls; but this he seemed to regard as a doubtful comestible, seductive to the palate, but obstinate in the stomach. A look at one of the children always brought him something else, no matter what he was then engaged on. It was suggested to Mrs. Pinworthy that she should poison the bear; but, after trying about a hundredweight of strychnia, arsenic, and Prussic acid, without any effect other than what might be expected from mild tonics, she thought it would not be right to go into toxicology. So the poor Widow Pinworthy went on, patiently enduring the consumption of her cattle, sheep, and hogs, the evaporation of her poultry, and the taking off of her bed linen, until there were left only the clothing of herself and children, some curtains, a sickly lamb, and a pet pigeon. When the bear came for these she ventured to expostulate. In this she was perfectly successful: the animal permitted her to expostulate as long as she liked. Then he ate the lamb and pigeon, took in a dish-cloth or two, and went away just as contentedly as if she had not uttered a word. Nothing edible now stood between her little daughters and the grave. Her mental agony was painful to her mind; she could scarcely have suffered more without an increase of unhappiness. She was roused to desperation; and next day, when she saw the bear leaping across the fields toward the house, she staggered from her seat and shut the door. It was singular what a difference it made; she always remembered it after that, and wished she had thought of it before. * * * * * THE SETTING SACHEM. 'Twas an Injin chieftain, in feathers all fine, Who stood on the ocean's rim; There were numberless leagues of excellent brine-- But there wasn't enough for him. So he knuckled a thumb in his painted eye, And added a tear to the scant supply. The surges were breaking with thund'rous voice, The winds were a-shrieking shrill; This warrior thought that a trifle of noise Was needed to fill the bill. So he lifted the top of his head off and scowled-- Exalted his voice, did this chieftain, and howled! The sun was aflame in a field of gold That hung o'er the Western Sea; Bright banners of light were broadly unrolled, As banners of light should be. But no one was "speaking a piece" to that sun, And therefore this Medicine Man begun: "O much heap of bright! O big ball of warm! I've tracked you from sea to sea! For the Paleface has been at some pains to inform Me, _you_ are the emblem of _me_. He says to me, cheerfully: 'Westward Ho!' And westward I've hoed a most difficult row. "Since you are the emblem of me, I presume That I am the emblem of you, And thus, as we're equals, 't is safe to assume, That one great law governs us two. So now if I set in the ocean with thee, With thee I shall rise again out of the sea." His eloquence first, and his logic the last! Such orators die!--and he died: The trump was against him--his luck bad--he "passed"-- And so he "passed out"--with the tide. This Injin is rid of the world with a whim-- The world it is rid of his speeches and him. * * * * * FEODORA. Madame Yonsmit was a decayed gentlewoman who carried on her decomposition in a modest wayside cottage in Thuringia. She was an excellent sample of the Thuringian widow, a species not yet extinct, but trying very hard to become so. The same may be said of the whole genus. Madame Yonsmit was quite young, very comely, cultivated, gracious, and pleasing. Her home was a nest of domestic virtues, but she had a daughter who reflected but little credit upon the nest. Feodora was indeed a "bad egg"--a very wicked and ungrateful egg. You could see she was by her face. The girl had the most vicious countenance--it was repulsive! It was a face in which boldness struggled for the supremacy with cunning, and both were thrashed into subjection by avarice. It was this latter virtue in Feodora which kept her mother from having a taxable income. Feodora's business was to beg on the highway. It wrung the heart of the honest amiable gentlewoman to have her daughter do this; but the h.a.g. having been reared in luxury, considered labour degrading--which it is--and there was not much to steal in that part of Thuringia. Feodora's mendicity would have provided an ample fund for their support, but unhappily that ingrate would hardly ever fetch home more than two or three shillings at a time. Goodness knows what she did with the rest. Vainly the good woman pointed out the sin of coveteousness; vainly she would stand at the cottage door awaiting the child's return, and begin arguing the point with her the moment she came in sight: the receipts diminished daily until the average was less than tenpence--a sum upon which no born gentlewoman would deign to exist. So it became a matter of some importance to know where Feodora kept her banking account. Madame Yonsmit thought at first she would follow her and see; but although the good lady was as vigorous and sprightly as ever, carrying a crutch more for ornament than use, she abandoned this plan because it did not seem suitable to the dignity of a decayed gentlewoman. She employed a detective. The foregoing particulars I have from Madame Yonsmit herself; for those immediately subjoining I am indebted to the detective, a skilful officer named Bowstr. [Illustration] No sooner had the scraggy old hag communicated her suspicions than the officer knew exactly what to do. He first distributed hand-bills all over the country, stating that a certain person suspected of concealing money had better look sharp. He then went to the Home Secretary, and by not seeking to understate the real difficulties of the case, induced that functionary to offer a reward of a thousand pounds for the arrest of the malefactor. Next he proceeded to a distant town, and took into custody a clergyman who resembled Feodora in respect of wearing shoes. After these formal preliminaries he took up the case with some zeal. He was not at all actuated by a desire to obtain the reward, but by pure love of justice. The thought of securing the girl's private hoard for himself never for a moment entered his head. He began to make frequent calls at the widow's cottage when Feodora was at home, when, by apparently careless conversation, he would endeavour to draw her out; but he was commonly frustrated by her old beast of a mother, who, when the girl's answers did not suit, would beat her unmercifully. So he took to meeting Feodora on the highway, and giving her coppers carefully marked. For months he kept this up with wonderful self-sacrifice--the girl being a mere uninteresting angel. He met her daily in the roads and forest. His patience never wearied, his vigilance never flagged. Her most careless glances were conscientiously noted, her lightest words treasured up in his memory. Meanwhile (the clergyman having been unjustly acquitted) he arrested everybody he could get his hands on. Matters went on in this way until it was time for the grand _coup_. The succeeding-particulars I have from the lips of Feodora herself. When that horrid Bowstr first came to the house Feodora thought he was rather impudent, but said, little about it to her mother--not desiring to have her back broken. She merely avoided him as much as she dared, he was so frightfully ugly. But she managed to endure him until he took to waylaying her on the highway, hanging about her all day, interfering with the customers, and walking home with her at night. Then her dislike deepened into disgust; and but for apprehensions not wholly unconnected with a certain crutch, she would have sent him about his business in short order. More than a thousand million times she told him to be off and leave her alone, but men are such fools--particularly this one. What made Bowstr exceptionally disagreeable was his shameless habit of making fun of Feodora's mother, whom he declared crazy as a loon. But the maiden bore everything as well as she could, until one day the nasty thing put his arm about her waist and kissed her before her very face; _then_ she felt--well, it is not clear how she felt, but of one thing she was quite sure: after having such a shame put upon her by this insolent brute, she would never go back under her dear mother's roof--never. She was too proud for _that_, at any rate. So she ran away with Mr. Bowstr, and married him. The conclusion of this history I learned for myself. Upon hearing of her daughter's desertion Madame Yonsmit went clean daft. She vowed she could bear betrayal, could endure decay, could stand being a widow, would not repine at being left alone in her old age (whenever she should become old), and could patiently submit to the sharper than a serpent's thanks of having a toothless child generally. But to be a mother-in-law! No, no; that was a plane of degradation to which she positively would _not_ descend. So she employed me to cut her throat. It was the toughest throat I ever cut in all my life. * * * * * THE LEGEND OF IMMORTAL TRUTH. A bear, having spread him a notable feast, Invited a famishing fox to the place. "I've killed me," quoth he, "an edible beast As ever distended the girdle of priest With 'spread of religion,' or 'inward grace.' To my den I conveyed her, I bled her and flayed her, I hung up her skin to dry; Then laid her naked, to keep her cool, On a slab of ice from the frozen pool; And there we will eat her--you and I." The fox accepts, and away they walk, Beguiling the time with courteous talk. You'd ne'er have suspected, to see them smile, The bear was thinking, the blessed while, How, when his guest should be off his guard, With feasting hard, He'd give him a "wipe" that would spoil his style. You'd never have thought, to see them bow, The fox was reflecting deeply how He would best proceed, to circumvent His host, and prig The entire pig-- Or other bird to the same intent. When Strength and Cunning in love combine, Be sure 't is to more than merely dine. The while these biters ply the lip, A mile ahead the muse shall skip: The poet's purpose she best may serve Inside the den--if she have the nerve. Behold! laid out in dark recess, A ghastly goat in stark undress, Pallid and still on her gelid bed, And indisputably very dead. Her skin depends from a couple of pins-- And here the most singular statement begins; For all at once the butchered beast, With easy grace for one deceased, Upreared her head, Looked round, and said, Very distinctly for one so dead: "The nights are sharp, and the sheets are thin: I find it uncommonly cold herein!" [Illustration] I answer not how this was wrought: All miracles surpass my thought. They're vexing, say you? and dementing? Peace, peace! they're none of my inventing. But lest too much of mystery Embarrass this true history, I'll not relate how that this goat Stood up and stamped her feet, to inform'em With--what's the word?--I mean, to warm'em; Nor how she plucked her rough _capote_ From off the pegs where Bruin threw it, And o'er her quaking body drew it; Nor how each act could so befall: I'll only swear she did them all; Then lingered pensive in the grot, As if she something had forgot, Till a humble voice and a voice of pride Were heard, in murmurs of love, outside. Then, like a rocket set aflight, She sprang, and streaked it for the light! Ten million million years and a day Have rolled, since these events, away; But still the peasant at fall of night, Belated therenear, is oft affright By sounds of a phantom bear in flight; A breaking of branches under the hill; The noise of a going when all is still! And hens asleep on the perch, they say, Cackle sometimes in a startled way, As if they were dreaming a dream that mocks The lope and whiz of a fleeting fox! Half we're taught, and teach to youth, And praise by rote, Is not, but merely stands for, truth. So of my goat: She's merely designed to represent The truth--"immortal" to this extent: Dead she may be, and skinned--_frappé_-- Hid in a dreadful den away; Prey to the Churches--(any will do, Except the Church of me and you.) The simplest miracle, even then, Will get her up and about again. CONVERTING A PRODIGAL. Little Johnny was a saving youth--one who from early infancy had cultivated a provident habit. When other little boys were wasting their substance in riotous gingerbread and molasses candy, investing in missionary enterprises which paid no dividends, subscribing to the North Labrador Orphan Fund, and sending capital out of the country gene rally, Johnny would be sticking sixpences into the chimney-pot of a big tin house with "BANK" painted on it in red letters above an illusory door. Or he would put out odd pennies at appalling rates of interest, with his parents, and bank the income. He was never weary of dropping coppers into that insatiable chimney-pot, and leaving them there. In this latter respect he differed notably from his elder brother, Charlie; for, although Charles was fond of banking too, he was addicted to such frequent runs upon the institution with a hatchet, that it kept his parents honourably poor to purchase banks for him; so they were reluctantly compelled to discourage the depositing element in his panicky nature. Johnny was not above work, either; to him "the dignity of labour" was not a juiceless platitude, as it is to me, but a living, nourishing truth, as satisfying and wholesome as that two sides of a triangle are equal to one side of bacon. He would hold horses for gentlemen who desired to step into a bar to inquire for letters. He would pursue the fleeting pig at the behest of a drover. He would carry water to the lions of a travelling menagerie, or do anything, for gain. He was sharp-witted too: before conveying a drop of comfort to the parching king of beasts, he would stipulate for six-pence instead of the usual free ticket--or "tasting order," so to speak. He cared not a button for the show. The first hard work Johnny did of a morning was to look over the house for fugitive pins, needles, hair-pins, matches, and other unconsidered trifles; and if he sometimes found these where nobody had lost them, he made such reparation as was in his power by losing them again where nobody but he could find them. In the course of time, when he had garnered a good many, he would "realize," and bank the proceeds. Nor was he weakly superstitious, this Johnny. You could not fool _him_ with the Santa Claus hoax on Christmas Eve: he would lie awake all night, as sceptical as a priest; and along toward morning, getting quietly out of bed, would examine the pendent stockings of the other children, to satisfy himself the predicted presents were not there; and in the morning it always turned out that they were not. Then, when the other children cried because they did not get anything, and the parents affected surprise (as if they really believed in the venerable fiction), Johnny was too manly to utter a whimper: he would simply slip out of the back door, and engage in traffic with affluent orphans; disposing of woolly horses, tin whistles, marbles, tops, dolls, and sugar archangels, at a ruinous discount for cash. He continued these provident courses for nine long years, always banking his accretions with scrupulous care. Everybody predicted he would one day be a merchant prince or a railway king; and some added he would sell his crown to the junk-dealers. His unthrifty brother, meanwhile, kept growing worse and worse. He was so careless of wealth--so so wastefully extravagant of lucre--that Johnny felt it his duty at times to clandestinely assume control of the fraternal finances, lest the habit of squandering should wreck the fraternal moral sense. It was plain that Charles had entered upon the broad road which leads from the cradle to the workhouse--and that he rather liked the travelling. So profuse was his prodigality that there were grave suspicions as to his method of acquiring what he so openly disbursed. There was but one opinion as to the melancholy termination of his career--a termination which he seemed to regard as eminently desirable. But one day, when the good pastor put it at him in so many words, Charles gave token of some apprehension. "Do you really think so, sir?" said he, thoughtfully; "ain't you playin' it on me?" "I assure you, Charles," said the good man, catching a ray of hope from the boy's dawning seriousness, "you will certainly end your days in a workhouse, unless you speedily abandon your course of extravagance. There is nothing like habit--nothing!" Charles may have thought that, considering his frequent and lavish contributions to the missionary fund, the parson was rather hard upon him; but he did not say so. He went away in mournful silence, and began pelting a blind beggar with coppers. One day, when Johnny had been more than usually provident, and Charles proportionately prodigal, their father, having exhausted moral suasion to no apparent purpose, determined to have recourse to a lower order of argument: he would try to win Charles to economy by an appeal to his grosser nature. So he convened the entire family, and, "Johnny," said he, "do you think you have much money in your bank? You ought to have saved a considerable sum in nine years." Johnny took the alarm in a minute: perhaps there was some barefooted little girl to be endowed with Sunday-school books. "No," he answered, reflectively, "I don't think there can be much. There's been a good deal of cold weather this winter, and you know how metal shrinks! No-o-o, I'm sure there can't be only a little." "Well, Johnny, you go up and bring down your bank. We'll see. Perhaps Charles may be right, after all; and it's not worth while to save money. I don't want a son of mine to get into a bad habit unless it pays." So Johnny travelled reluctantly up to his garret, and went to the corner where his big tin bank-box had sat on a chest undisturbed for years. He had long ago fortified himself against temptation by vowing never to even shake it; for he remembered that formerly when Charles used to shake his, and rattle the coins inside, he always ended by smashing in the roof. Johnny approached his bank, and taking hold of the cornice on either side, braced himself, gave a strong lift upwards, and keeled over upon his back with the edifice atop of him, like one of the figures in a picture of the great Lisbon earthquake! There was but a single coin in it; and that, by an ingenious device, was suspended in the centre, so that every piece popped in at the chimney would clink upon it in passing through Charlie's little hole into Charlie's little stocking hanging innocently beneath. Of course restitution was out of the question; and even Johnny felt that any merely temporal punishment would be weakly inadequate to the demands of justice. But that night, in the dead silence of his chamber, Johnny registered a great and solemn swear that so soon as he could worry together a little capital, he would fling his feeble remaining energies into the spendthrift business. And he did so. * * * * * FOUR JACKS AND A KNAVE. In the "backwoods" of Pennsylvania stood a little mill. The miller appertaining unto this mill was a Pennsylvania Dutchman--a species of animal in which for some centuries _sauerkraut_ has been usurping the place of sense. In Hans Donnerspiel the usurpation was not complete; he still knew enough to go in when it rained, but he did not know enough to stay there after the storm had blown over. Hans was known to a large circle of friends and admirers as about the worst miller in those parts; but as he was the only one, people who quarrelled with an exclusively meat diet continued to patronize him. He was honest, as all stupid people are; but he was careless. So absent-minded was he, that sometimes when grinding somebody's wheat he would thoughtlessly turn into the "hopper" a bag of rye, a lot of old beer-bottles, or a basket of fish. This made the flour so peculiar, that the people about there never knew what it was to be well a day in all their lives. There were so many local diseases in that vicinity, that a doctor from twenty miles away could not have killed a patient in a week. Hans meant well; but he had a hobby--a hobby that he did not ride: that does not express it: it rode him. It spurred him so hard, that the poor wretch could not pause a minute to see what he was putting into his mill. This hobby was the purchase of jackasses. He expended all his income in this diversion, and his mill was fairly sinking under its weight of mortgages. He had more jackasses than he had hairs on his head, and, as a rule, they were thinner. He was no mere amateur collector either, but a sharp discriminating _connoisseur_. He would buy a fat globular donkey if he could not do better; but a lank shabby one was the apple of his eye. He rolled such a one, as it were, like a sweet morsel under his tongue. Hans's nearest neighbour was a worthless young scamp named Jo Garvey, who lived mainly by hunting and fishing. Jo was a sharp-witted rascal, without a single scruple between, himself and fortune. With a tithe of Hans's industry he might have been almost anything; but his dense laziness always rose up like a stone wall about him, shutting him in like a toad in a rock. The exact opposite of Hans in almost every respect, he was notably similar in one: he had a hobby. Jo's hobby was the selling of jackasses. One day, while Hans's upper and nether mill-stones were making it lively for a mingled grist of corn, potatoes, and young chickens, he heard Joseph calling outside. Stepping to the door, he saw him holding three halters to which were appended three donkeys. "I say, Hans," said he, "here are three fine animals for your stud. I have brought 'em up from the egg, and I know 'em to be first-class. But they 're not so big as I expected, and you may have 'em for a sack of oats each." Hans was delighted. He had not the least doubt in the world that Joe had stolen them; but it was a fixed principle with him never to let a donkey go away and say he was a hard man to deal with. He at once brought out and delivered the oats. Jo gravely examined the quality, and placing a sack across each animal, calmly led them away. [Illustration] When he had gone, it occurred to Hans that he had less oats and no more asses than he had before. "Tuyfel!" he exclaimed, scratching his pow; "I puy dot yackasses, und I don't vos god 'im so mooch as I didn't haf 'im before--ain't it?" Very much to his comfort it was, therefore, to see Jo come by next day leading the same animals. "Hi!" he shrieked; "you prings me to my yackasses. You gif me to my broberdy back!" "Oh, very well, Hans. If you want to crawfish out of a fair bargain, all right. I'll give you back your donkeys, and you give me back my oats." "Yaw, yaw," assented the mollified miller; "you his von honest shentlemans as I vos efer vent anyvhere. But I don't god ony more oats, und you moost dake vheat, eh?" And fetching out three sacks of wheat, he handed them over. Jo was proceeding to lay these upon the backs of the animals; but this was too thin for even Hans. "Ach! you tief-veller! you leabs dis yackasses in me, und go right avay off; odther I bust your het mid a gloob, don't it?" So Joseph was reluctantly constrained to hang the donkeys to a fence. While he did this, Hans was making a desperate attempt to think. Presently he brightened up: "Yo, how you coom by dot vheat all de dime?" "Why, old mudhead, you gave it to me for the jacks." "Und how you coom by dot oats pooty soon avhile ago?" "Why, I gave that to you for them," said Joseph, pressed very hard for a reply. "Vell, den, you goes vetch me back to dot oats so gwicker as a lamb gedwinkle his dail--hay?" "All right, Hans. Lend me the donkeys to carry off my wheat, and I 'll bring back your oats on 'em." Joseph was beginning to despair; but no objection being made, he loaded up the grain, and made off with his docile caravan. In a half-hour he returned with the donkeys, but of course without anything else. "I zay, Yo, where is dis oats I hear zo mooch dalk aboud still?" "Oh, curse you and your oats!" growled Jo, with simulated anger. "You make such a fuss about a bargain, I have decided not to trade. Take your old donkeys, and call it square!" "Den vhere mine vheat is?" "Now look here, Hans; that wheat is yours, is it?" "Yaw, yaw." "And the donkeys are yours, eh?" "Yaw, yaw." "And the wheat's been yours all the time, has it?" "Yaw, yaw." "Well, so have the donkeys. I took 'em out of your pasture in the first place. Now what have you got to complain of?" The Dutchman reflected all over his head with' his forefinger-nail. "Gomblain? I no gomblain ven it is all right. I zee now I vos made a mistaken. Coom, dake a drinks." Jo left the animals standing, and went inside, where they pledged one another in brimming mugs of beer. Then taking Hans by the hand, "I am sorry," said he, "we can't trade. Perhaps some other day you will be more reasonable. Good bye!" And Joseph departed leading away the donkeys! Hans stood for some moments gazing after him with a complacent smile making his fat face ridiculous. Then turning to his mill-stones, he shook his head with an air of intense self-satisfaction: "Py donner! Dot Yo Garfey bees a geen, shmard yockey, but he gonnot spiel me svoppin' yackasses!" * * * * * DR. DEADWOOD, I PRESUME. My name is Shandy, and this is the record of my Sentimental Journey. Mr. Ames Jordan Gannett, proprietor's son of the "York----," with which paper I am connected by marriage, sent me a post-card in a sealed envelope, asking me to call at a well-known restaurant in Regent Street. I was then at a well-known restaurant in Houndsditch. I put on my worst and only hat, and went. I found Mr. Gannett, at dinner, eating pease with his knife, in the manner of his countrymen. He opened the conversation, characteristically, thus: "Where's Dr. Deadwood?" After several ineffectual guesses I had a happy thought. I asked him: "Am I my brother's bar-keeper?" Mr. Gannett pondered deeply, with his forefinger alongside his nose. Finally he replied: "I give it up." He continued to eat for some moments in profound silence, as that of a man very much in earnest. Suddenly he resumed: "Here is a blank cheque, signed. I will send you all my father's personal property to-morrow. Take this and find Dr. Deadwood. Find him actually if you can, but find him. Away!" I did as requested; that is, I took the cheque. Having supplied myself with such luxuries as were absolutely necessary, I retired to my lodgings. Upon my table in the centre of the room were spread some clean white sheets of foolscap, and sat a bottle of black ink. It was a good omen: the virgin paper was typical of the unexplored interior of Africa; the sable ink represented the night of barbarism, or the hue of barbarians, indifferently. Now began the most arduous undertaking mentioned in the "York----," I mean in history. Lighting my pipe, and fixing my eye upon the ink and paper, I put my hands behind my back and took my departure from the hearthrug toward the Interior. Language fails me; I throw myself upon the reader's imagination. Before I had taken two steps, my vision alighted upon the circular of a quack physician, which I had brought home the day before around a bottle of hair-wash. I now saw the words, "Twenty-one fevers!" This prostrated me for I know not how long. Recovering, I took a step forward, when my eyes fastened themselves upon my pen-wiper, worked into the similitude of a tiger. This compelled me to retreat to the hearthrug for reinforcements. The red-and-white dog displayed upon that article turned a deaf ear to my entreaties; nothing would move him. A torrent of rain now began falling outside, and I knew the roads were impassable; but, chafing with impatience, I resolved upon another advance. Cautiously proceeding _viâ_ the sofa, my attention fell upon a scrap of newspaper; and, to my unspeakable disappointment, I read: "The various tribes of the Interior are engaged in a bitter warfare." It may have related to America, but I could not afford to hazard all upon a guess. I made a wide _détour_ by way of the coal-scuttle, and skirted painfully along the sideboard. All this consumed so much time that my pipe expired in gloom, and I went back to the hearthrug to get a match off the chimney-piece. Having done so, I stepped over to the table and sat down, taking up the pen and spreading the paper between myself and the ink-bottle. It was late, and something must be done. Writing the familiar word Ujijijijijiji, I caught a neighbourly cockroach, skewered him upon a pin, and fastened him in the centre of the word. At this supreme moment I felt inclined to fall upon his neck and devour him with kisses; but knowing by experience that cockroaches are not good to eat, I restrained my feelings. Lifting my hat, I said: "Dr. Deadwood, I presume?" _He did not deny it!_ Seeing he was feeling sick, I gave him a bit of cheese and cheered him up a trifle. After he was well restored, "Tell me," said I, "is it true that the Regent's Canal falls into Lake Michigan, thence running uphill to Omaha, as related by Ptolemy, thence spirally to Melbourne, where it joins the delta of the Ganges and becomes an affluent of the Albert Nicaragua, as Herodotus maintains?" HE DID NOT DENY IT! The rest is known to the public. * * * * * NUT-CRACKING. In the city of Algammon resided the Prince Champou, who was madly enamoured of the Lady Capilla. She returned his affection--unopened. In the matter of back-hair the Lady Capilla was blessed even beyond her deserts. Her natural pigtail was so intolerably long that she employed two pages to look after it when she walked out; the one a few yards behind her, the other at the extreme end of the line. Their names were Dan and Beersheba, respectively. [Illustration] Aside from salaries to these dependents, and quite apart from the consideration of macassar, the possession of all this animal filament was financially unprofitable: the hair market was buoyant, and hers represented a large amount of idle capital. And it was otherwise a source of annoyance and irritation; for all the young men of the city were hotly in love with her, and skirmishing for a love-lock. They seldom troubled Dan much, but the outlying Beersheba had an animated time of it. He was subject to constant incursions, and was always in a riot. The picture I have drawn to illustrate this history shows nothing of all these squabbles. My pen revels in the battle's din, but my peaceful pencil loves to depict the scenes I know something about. Although the Lady Capilla was unwilling to reciprocate the passion of Champou the man, she was not averse to quiet interviews with Champou the Prince. In the course of one of these (see my picture), as she sat listening to his carefully-rehearsed and really artistic avowals, with her tail hanging out of the window, she suddenly interrupted him: "My dear Prince," said she, "it is all nonsense, you know, to ask for my heart; but I am not mean; you shall have a lock of my hair." "Do you think," replied the Prince, "that I could be so sordid as to accept a single jewel from that glorious crown? I love this hair of yours very dearly, I admit, but only because of its connection with your divine head. Sever that connection, and I should value it no more than I would a tail plucked from its native cow." This comparison seems to me a very fine one, but tastes differ, and to the Lady Capilla it seemed quite the reverse. Rising indignantly, she marched away, her queue running in through the window and gradually tapering off the interview, as it were. Prince Champou saw that he had missed his opportunity, and resolved to repair his error. Straightway he forged an order on Beersheba for thirty yards of love-lock. To serve this writ he sent his business partner; for the Prince was wont to beguile his dragging leisure by tonsorial diversions in an obscure quarter of the town. At first Beersheba was sceptical, but when he saw the writing in real ink, his scruples vanished, and he chopped off the amount of souvenir demanded. Now Champou's partner was the Court barber, and by the use of a peculiar hair oil which the two of them had concocted, they soon managed to balden the pates of all the male aristocracy of the place. Then, to supply the demand so created, they devised beautiful wigs from the Lady Capilla's lost tresses, which they sold at a marvellous profit. And so they were enabled to retire from this narrative with good incomes. It was known that the Lady Capilla, who, since the alleged murder of one Beersheba, had shut herself up like a hermit, or a jack-knife, would re-enter society; and a great ball was given to do her honour. The feauty, bank, and rashion of Algammon had assembled in the Guildhall for that purpose. While the revelry was at its fiercest, the dancing at its loosest, the rooms at their hottest, and the perspiration at spring-tide, there was a sound of wheels outside, begetting an instant hush of expectation within. The dancers ceased to spin, and all the gentlemen crowded about the door. As the Lady Capilla entered, these instinctively fell into two lines, and she passed down the space between, with her little tail behind her. As the end of the latter came into the room, the wigs of the two gentlemen nearest the door leaped off to join their parent stem. In their haste to recover them the two gentlemen bent eagerly forward, knocking their shining pows together with a vehemence that shattered them like egg-shells. The wigs of the next pair were similarly affected; and in seeking to recover them the pair similarly perished. Then, _crack! spat! pash!_--at every step the lady took there were two heads that beat as one. In three minutes there was but a single living male in the room. He was an odd one, who, having a lady opposite him, had merely pitched himself headlong into her stomach, doubling her like a lemon-squeezer. It was merry to see the Lady Capilla floating through the mazy dance that night, with all those wigs fighting for their old places in her pigtail. * * * * * THE MAGICIAN'S LITTLE JOKE. About the middle of the fifteenth century there dwelt in the Black Forest a pretty but unfashionable young maiden named Simprella Whiskiblote. The first of these names was hers in monopoly; the other she enjoyed in common with her father. Simprella was the most beautiful fifteenth-century girl I ever saw. She had coloured eyes, a complexion, some hair, and two lips very nearly alike, which partially covered a lot of teeth. She was gifted with the complement of legs commonly worn at that period, supporting a body to which were loosely attached, in the manner of her country, as many arms as she had any use for, inasmuch as she was not required to hold baby. But all these charms were only so many objective points for the operations of the paternal cudgel; for this father of hers was a hard, unfeeling man, who had no bowels of compassion for his bludgeon. He would put it to work early, and keep it going all day; and when it was worn out with hard service, instead of rewarding it with steady employment, he would cruelly throw it aside and get a fresh one. It is scarcely to be wondered at that a girl harried in this way should be driven to the insane expedient of falling in love. Near the neat mud cottage in which Simprella vegetated was a dense wood, extending for miles in various directions, according to the point from which it was viewed. By a method readily understood, it had been so arranged that it was the next easiest thing in the world to get into it, and the very easiest thing in the world to stay there. In the centre of this labyrinth was a castle of the early promiscuous order of architecture--an order which was until recently much employed in the construction of powder-works, but is now entirely exploded. In this baronial hall lived an eligible single party--a giant so tall he used a step-ladder to put on his hat, and could not put his hands into his pockets without kneeling. He lived entirely alone, and gave himself up to the practice of iniquity, devising prohibitory liquor laws, imposing the income tax, and drinking shilling claret. But, seeing Simprella one day, he bent himself into the form of a horse-shoe magnet to look into her eyes. Whether it was his magnetic attitude acting upon a young heart steeled by adversity, or his chivalric forbearance in not eating her, I know not: I only know that from that moment she became riotously enamoured of him; and the reader may accept either the scientific or the popular explanation, according to the bent of his mind. She at once asked the giant in marriage, and obtained the consent of his parents by betraying her father into their hands; explaining to them, however, that he was not good to eat, but might be drunk on the premises. The marriage proved a very happy one, but the household duties of the bride were extremely irksome. It fatigued her to dress the beeves for dinner; it nearly broke her back to black her lord's boots without any scaffolding. It took her all day to perform any kindly little office for him. But she bore it all uncomplainingly, until one morning he asked her to part his back hair; then the bent sapling of her spirit flew up and hit him in the face. She gathered up some French novels, and retired to a lonely tower to breathe out her soul in unavailing regrets. One day she saw below her in the forest a dear gazelle, gladding her with its soft black eye. She leaned out of the window, and said _Scat!_ The animal did not move. Then she waved her arms--above described--and said _Shew!_ This time he did not move as much as he did before. Simprella decided he must have a bill against her; so she closed her shutters, drew down the blind, and pinned the curtains together. A moment later she opened them and peeped out. Then she went down to examine his collar, that she might order one like it. When the gazelle saw Simprella approach, he arose, and, beckoning with his tail, made off slowly into the wood. Then Simprella perceived this was a supernatural gazelle--a variety now extinct, but which then pervaded the Schwarzwald in considerable quantity--sent by some good magician, who owed the giant a grudge, to pilot her out of the forest. Nothing could exceed her joy at this discovery: she whistled a dirge, sang a Latin hymn, and preached a funeral discourse all in one breath. Such were the artless methods by which the full heart in the fifteenth century was compelled to express its gratitute for benefits; the advertising columns of the daily papers were not then open to the benefactor's pen. [Illustration] All would now have been well, but for the fact that it was not. In following her deliverer, Simprella observed that his golden collar was inscribed with the mystic words--HANDS OFF! She tried hard to obey the injunction; she did her level best; she--but why amplify? Simprella was a woman. No sooner had her fingers touched the slender chain depending from the magic collar, than the poor animal's eyes emitted twin tears, which coursed silently but firmly down his nose, vacating it more in sorrow than in anger. Then he looked up reproachfully into her face. Those were his first tears--this was his last look. In two minutes by the watch he was blind as a mole! There is but little more to tell. The giant ate himself to death; the castle mouldered and crumbled into pig-pens; empires rose and fell; kings ascended their thrones, and got down again; mountains grew grey, and rivers bald-headed; suits in chancery were brought and decided, and those from the tailor were paid for; the ages came, like maiden aunts, uninvited, and lingered till they became a bore--and still Simprella, with the magician's curse upon her, conducted her sightless guide through the interminable wilderness! To all others the labyrinth had yielded up its clue. The hunter threaded its maze; the woodman plunged confidently into its innermost depths; the peasant child gathered ferns unscared in its sunless dells. But often the child abandoned his botany in terror, the woodman bolted for home, and the hunter's heart went down into his boots, at the sight of a fair young spectre leading a blind phantom through the silent glades. I saw them there in 1860, while I was gunning. I shot them. SEAFARING. My envious rivals have always sought to cast discredit upon the following tale, by affirming that mere unadorned truth does not constitute a work of literary merit. Be it so: I care not what they call it. A rose with any other smell would be as sweet. In the autumn of 1868 I wanted to go from Sacramento, California, to San Francisco. I at once went to the railway office and bought a ticket, the clerk telling me that would take me there. But when I tried it, it wouldn't. Vainly I laid it on the railway and sat down upon it: it would not move; and every few minutes an engine would come along and crowd me off the track. I never travelled by so badly managed a line! I then resolved to go by way of the river, and took passage on a steamboat. The engineer of this boat had once been a candidate for the State Legislature while I was editing a newspaper. Stung to madness by the arguments I had advanced against his election (which consisted mainly in relating how that his cousin was hanged for horse-stealing, and how that his sister had an intolerable squint which a free people could never abide), he had sworn to be revenged. After his defeat I had confessed the charges were false, so far as he personally was concerned, but this did not seem to appease him. He declared he would "get even on me," and he did: he blew up the boat. Being thus summarily set ashore, I determined that I would be independent of common carriers destitute of common courtesy. I purchased a wooden box, just large enough to admit one, and not transferable. I lay down in this, double-locked it on the outside, and carrying it to the river, launched it upon the watery waste. The box, I soon discovered, had an hereditary tendency to turn over. I had parted my hair in the middle before embarking, but the precaution was inadequate; it secured not immunity, only impartiality, the box turning over one way as readily as the other. I could counteract this evil only by shifting my tobacco from cheek to cheek, and in this way I got on tolerably well until my navy sprang a leak near the stern. I now began to wish I had not locked down the cover; I could have got out and walked ashore. But it was childish to give way to foolish regrets; so I lay perfectly quiet, and yelled. Presently I thought of my jack-knife. By this time the ship was so water-logged as to be a little more stable. This enabled me to get the knife from my pocket without upsetting more than six or eight times, and inspired hope. Taking the whittle between my teeth, I turned over upon my stomach, and cut a hole through the bottom near the bow. Turning back again, I awaited the result. Most men would have awaited the result, I think, if they could not have got out. For some time there was no result. The ship was too deeply laden astern, where my feet were, and water will not run up hill unless it is paid to do it. But when I called in all my faculties for a good earnest think, the weight of my intellect turned the scale. It was like a cargo of pig-lead in the forecastle. The water, which for nearly an hour I had kept down by drinking it as it rose about my lips, began to run out at the hole I had scuttled, faster than it could be admitted at the one in the stern; and in a few moments the bottom was so dry you might have lighted a match upon it, if you had been there, and obtained the captain's permission. [Illustration] I was all right now. I had got into San Pablo Bay, where it was all plain sailing. If I could manage to keep off the horizon I should be somewhere before daylight. But a new annoyance was in store for me. The steamboats on these waters are constructed of very frail materials, and whenever one came into collision with my flotilla, she immediately sank. This was most exasperating, for the piercing shrieks of the hapless crews and passengers prevented my getting any sleep. Such disagreeable voices as these people had would have tortured an ear of corn. I felt as if I would like to step out and beat them soft-headed with a club; though of course I had not the heart to do so while the padlock held fast. The reader, if he is obliging, will remember that there was formerly an obstruction in the harbour of San Francisco, called Blossom Rock, which was some fathoms under water, but not fathoms enough to suit shipmasters. It was removed by an engineer named Von Schmidt. This person bored a hole in it, and sent down some men who gnawed out the whole interior, leaving the rock a mere shell. Into this drawing-room suite were inserted thirty tons of powder, ten barrels of nitro-glycerine, and a woman's temper. Von Schmidt then put in something explosive, and corked up the opening, leaving a long wire hanging out. When all these preparations were complete, the inhabitants of San Francisco came out to see the fun. They perched thickly upon Telegraph Hill from base to summit; they swarmed innumerable upon the beach; the whole region was black with them. All that day they waited, and came again the next. Again they were disappointed, and again they returned full of hope. For three long weeks they did nothing but squat upon that eminence, looking fixedly at the wrong place. But when it transpired that Von Schmidt had hastily left the State directly he had completed his preparations, leaving the wire floating in the water, in the hope that some electrical eel might swim against it and ignite the explosives, the people began to abate their ardour, and move out of town. They said it might be a good while before a qualified gymnotus would pass that way, although the State Ichthyologer assured them that he had put some eels' eggs into the head waters of the Sacramento River not two weeks previously. But the country was very beautiful at that time of the year, and the people would not wait. So when the explosion really occurred, there wasn't anybody in the vicinity to witness it. It was a stupendous explosion all the same, as the unhappy gymnotus discovered to his cost. Now, I have often thought that if this mighty convulsion had occurred a year or two earlier than it really did, it would have been bad for me as I floated idly past, unconscious of danger. As it was, my little bark was carried out into the broad Pacific, and sank in ten thousand fathoms of the coldest water!--it makes my teeth chatter to relate it! * * * * * TONY ROLLO'S CONCLUSION. To a degree unprecedented in the Rollo family, of Illinois, Antony was an undutiful son. He was so undutiful that he may be said to have been preposterous. There were seven other sons--Antony was the eldest. His younger brothers were a nice, well-behaved bevy of boys as ever you saw. They always attended Sunday School regularly; arriving just before the Doxology (I think Sunday School exercises terminate that way), and sitting in a solemn row on a fence outside, waiting with pious patience for the girls to come forth; then they walked home with them as far as their respective gates. They were an obedient seven, too; they knew well enough the respect due to paternal authority, and when their father told them what was what, and which side up it ought to lie, they never tarried until he had more than picked up a hickory cudgel before tacitly admitting the correctness of the riper judgment. Had the old gentleman commanded the digging of seven graves, and the fabrication of seven board coffins to match, these necessaries would have been provided with unquestioning alacrity. But Antony, I bleed to state, was of an impractical, pensive turn. He despised industry, scoffed at Sunday-schooling, set up a private standard of morals, and rebelled against natural authority. He wouldn't be a dutiful son--not for money! He had no natural affections, and loved nothing so well as to sit and think. He was tolerably thoughtful all the time; but with some farming implement in his hand he came out strong. He has been known to take an axe between his knees, and sit on a stump in a "clearing" all day, wrapt in a single continuous meditation. And when interrupted by the interposition of night, or by the superposition of the paternal hickory, he would resume the meditation, next day, precisely where he left off, going on, and on, and on, in one profound and inscrutable think. It was a common remark in the neighbourhood that "If Tony Rollo didn't let up, he'd think his ridiculous white head off!" And on divers occasions when the old man's hickory had fallen upon that fleecy globe with unusual ardour, Tony really did think it off--until the continued pain convinced him it was there yet. You would like to know what Tony was thinking of, all these years. That is what they all wanted to know; but he didn't seem to tell. When the subject was mentioned he would always try to get away; and if he could not avoid a direct question, he would blush and stammer in so distressing a confusion that the doctor forbade all allusion to the matter, lest the young man should have a convulsion. It was clear enough, however, that the subject of Tony's meditation was "more than average inter_est_in'," as his father phrased it; for sometimes he would give it so grave consideration that observers would double their anxiety about the safety of his head, which he seemed in danger of snapping off with solemn nods; and at other times he would laugh immoderately, smiting his thigh or holding his sides in uncontrollable merriment. But it went on without abatement, and without any disclosure; went on until his poor mother's curiosity had worried her grey hairs in sorrow to the grave; went on until his father, having worn out all the hickory saplings on the place, had made a fair beginning upon the young oaks; went on until all the seven brothers, having married a Sunday-school girl each, had erected comfortable log-houses upon outlying corners of the father-in-legal farms; on, and ever on, until Tony was forty years of age! This appeared to be a turning-point in Tony's career--at this time a subtle change stole into his life, affecting both his inner and his outer self: he worked less than formerly, and thought a good deal more! Years afterwards, when the fraternal seven were well-to-do freeholders, with clouds of progeny, making their hearts light and their expenses heavy--when the old homestead was upgrown with rank brambles, and the live-stock long extinct--when the aged father had so fallen into the sere and yellow leaf that he couldn't hit hard enough to hurt--Tony, the mere shadow of his former self, sat, one evening, in the chimney corner, thinking very hard indeed. His father and three or four skeleton hounds were the only other persons present; the old gentleman quietly shelling a peck of Indian corn given by a grateful neighbour whose cow he had once pulled out of the mire, and the hounds thinking how cheerfully they would have assisted him had Nature kindly made them graminivorous. Suddenly Tony spake. "Father," said he, looking straight across the top of the axe-handle which he held between his knees as a mental stimulant, "father, I've been thinking of something a good bit lately." "Jest thirty-five years, Tony, come next Thanksgiving," replied the old man, promptly, in a thin asthmatic falsetto. "I recollect your mother used to say it dated from the time your Aunt Hannah was here with the girls." "Yes, father, I think it may be a matter of thirty-five years; though it don't seem so long, does it? But I've been thinking harder for the last week or two, and I'm going to speak out." Unbounded amazement looked out at the old man's eyes; his tongue, utterly unprepared for the unexpected contingency, refused its office; a corncob imperfectly denuded dropped from his nerveless hand, and was critically examined, in turn, by the gossamer dogs, hoping against hope. A smoking brand in the fireplace fell suddenly upon a bed of hot coals, where, lacking the fortitude of Guatimozin, it emitted a sputtering protest, followed by a thin flame like a visible agony. In the resulting light Tony's haggard face shone competitively with a ruddy blush, which spread over his entire scalp, to the imminent danger of firing his flaxen hair. "Yes, father," he answered, making a desperate clutch at calmness, but losing his grip, "I'm going to make a clean breast of it this time, for sure! Then you can do what you like about it." The paternal organ of speech found sufficient strength to grind out an intimation that the paternal ear was open for business. "I've studied it all over, father; I've looked at it from every side; I've been through it with a lantern! And I've come to the conclusion that, seeing as I'm the oldest, it's about time I was beginning to think of getting married!" * * * * * NO CHARGE FOR ATTENDANCE. Near the road leading from Deutscherkirche to Lagerhaus may be seen the ruins of a little cottage. It never was a very pretentious pile, but it has a history. About the middle of the last century it was occupied by one Heinrich Schneider, who was a small farmer--so small a farmer his clothes wouldn't fit him without a good deal of taking-in. But Heinrich Schneider was young. He had a wife, however--most small farmers have when young. They were rather poor: the farm was just large enough to keep them comfortably hungry. Schneider was not literary in his taste; his sole reading was an old dog's-eared copy of the "Arabian Nights" done into German, and in that he read nothing but the story of "Aladdin and his Wonderful Lamp." Upon his five hundredth perusal of that he conceived a valuable idea: he would rub _his_ lamp and _corral_ a Genie! So he put a thick leather glove on his right hand, and went to the cupboard to get out the lamp. He had no lamp. But this disappointment, which would have been instantly fatal to a more despondent man, was only an agreeable stimulus to him. He took out an old iron candle-snuffer, and went to work upon that. Now, iron is very hard; it requires more rubbing than any other metal. I once chafed a Genie out of an anvil, but I was quite weary before I got him all out; the slightest irritation of a leaden water-pipe would have fetched the same Genie out of it like a rat from his hole. But having planted all his poultry, sown his potatoes, and set out his wheat, Heinrich had the whole summer before him, and he was patient; he devoted all his time to compelling the attendance of the Supernatural. When the autumn came, the good wife reaped the chickens, dug out the apples, plucked the pigs and other cereals; and a wonderfully abundant harvest it was. Schneider's crops had flourished amazingly. That was because he did not worry them all summer with agricultural implements. One evening when the produce had been stored, Heinrich sat at his fireside operating upon his candle-snuffer with the same simple faith as in the early spring. Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and the expected Genie put in an appearance. His advent begot no little surprise in the good couple. He was a very substantial incarnation, indeed, of the Supernatural. About eight feet in length, extremely fat, thick-limbed, ill-favoured, heavy of movement, and generally unpretty, he did not at first sight impress his new master any too favourably. However, he was given a stool at the fireside, and Heinrich plied him with a multitude of questions: Where did he come from? whom had he last served? how did he like Aladdin? and did he think _they_ should get on well? To all these queries the Genie returned evasive answers; he was Delphic to the verge of unintelligibility. He would only nod mysteriously, muttering beneath his breath in some unknown tongue, probably Arabic--in which, however, his master thought he could distinguish the words "roast" and "boiled" with significant frequency. This Genie must have served last in the capacity of cook. [Illustration] This was a gratifying discovery: for the next four months or so there would be nothing to do about the farm; the Slave could prepare the family meals during the winter, and in the spring go regularly to work. Schneider was too shrewd to risk everything by extravagant demands all at once. He remembered the roc's egg of the legend, and thought he would proceed with caution. So the good couple brought out their cooking utensils, and by pantomime inducted the Slave into the mystery of their use. They showed him the larder, the cellars, the granary, the chicken-coops, and everything. He appeared interested and intelligent, apprehended the salient points of the situation with marvellous ease, and nodded like he would drop his big head off--did everything but talk. After this the _frau_ prepared the evening meal, the Genie assisting very satisfactorily, except that his notions of quantity were rather too liberal; perhaps this was natural in one accustomed to palaces and courts. When all was on the table, by way of testing his Slave's obedience Heinrich sat down at the board and carelessly rubbed the candle-snuffer. The Genie was there in a second! Not only so, but he fell upon the viands with an ardour and sincerity that were alarming. In two minutes he had got away with everything on the table. The rapidity with which that spirit crowded all manner of edibles into his neck was simply shocking! Having finished his repast he stretched himself before the fire and went to sleep. Heinrich and Barbara were depressed in spirit; they sat up until nearly morning in silence, waiting for the Genie to vanish for the night; but he did not perceptibly vanish any. Moreover, he had not vanished next morning; he had risen with the lark, and was preparing breakfast, having made his estimates upon a basis of most immoderate consumption. To this he soon sat down with the same catholicity of appetite that had distinguished him the previous evening. Having bolted this preposterous breakfast he arrayed his fat face in a sable scowl, beat his master with a stewpan, stretched himself before the fire, and again addressed himself to sleep. Over a furtive and clandestine meal in the larder, Heinrich and Barbara confessed themselves thoroughly heart-sick of the Supernatural. "I told you so," said he; "depend upon it, patient industry is a thousand per cent. better than this invisible agency. I will now take the fatal candle-snuffer a mile from here, rub it real hard, fling it aside, and run away." But he didn't. During the night ten feet of snow had fallen. It lay all winter too. Early the next spring there emerged from that cottage by the wayside the unstable framework of a man dragging through seas of melting snow a tottering female of dejected aspect. Forlorn, crippled, famishing, and discouraged, these melancholy relics held on their way until they came to a cross-roads (all leading to Lagerhaus), where they saw clinging to an upright post the tatter of an old placard. It read as follows: LOST, strayed, or stolen, from Herr Schaackhofer's Grand Museum, the celebrated Patagonian Giant, Ugolulah. Height 8 ft. 2 in., elegant figure, handsome, intelligent features, sprightly and vivacious in conversation, of engaging address, temperate in diet, harmless and tractable in disposition. Answers to the nickname of Fritz Sneddeker. Any one returning him to Herr Schaackhofer will receive Seven Thalers Reward, and no questions asked. It was a tempting offer, but they did not go back for the giant. But he was afterwards discovered sleeping sweetly upon the hearthstone, after a hearty meal of empty barrels and boxes. Being secured he was found to be too fat for egress by the door. So the house was pulled down to let him out; and that is how it happens to be in ruins now. * * * * * PERNICKETTY'S FRIGHT. _"Sssssst!"_ Dan Golby held up his hand to enjoin silence; in a breath we were as quiet as mice. Then it came again, borne upon the night wind from away somewhere in the darkness toward the mountains, across miles of treeless plain--a low, dismal, sobbing sound, like the wail of a strangling child! It was nothing but the howl of a wolf, and a wolf is about the last thing a man who knows the cowardly beast would be afraid of; but there was something so weird and unearthly in this "cry between the silences"--something so banshee-like in its suggestion of the grave--that, old mountaineers that we were, and long familiar with it, we felt an instinctive dread--a dread which was not fear, but only a sense of utter solitude and desolation. There is no sound known to mortal ear that has in it so strange a power upon the imagination as the night-howl of this wretched beast, heard across the dreary wastes of the desert he disgraces. Involuntarily we drew nearer together, and some one of the party stirred the fire till it sent up a tall flame, widening the black circle shutting us in on all sides. Again rose the faint far cry, and was answered by one fainter and more far in the opposite quarter. Then another, and yet another, struck in--a dozen, a hundred all at once; and in three minutes the whole invisible outer world seemed to consist mainly of wolves, jangled out of tune by some convulsion of nature. About this time it was a pleasing study to watch the countenance of Old Nick. This party had joined us at Fort Benton, whither he had come on a steamboat, up the Missouri. This was his maiden venture upon the plains, and his habit of querulous faultfinding had, on the first day out, secured him the _sobriquet_ of Old Pernicketty, which the attrition of time had worn down to Old Nick. He knew no more of wolves and other animals than a naturalist, and he was now a trifle frightened. He was crouching beside his saddle and kit, listening with all his soul, his hands suspended before him with divergent fingers, his face ashy pale, and his jaw hanging unconsidered below. Suddenly Dan Golby, who had been watching him with an amused smile, assumed a grave aspect, listened a moment very intently, and remarked: "Boys, if I didn't _know_ those were wolves, I should say we'd better get out of this." "Eh?" exclaimed Nick, eagerly; "if you did not know they were _wolves_? Why, what else, and what worse, could they be?" "Well, there's an innocent!" replied Dan, winking slyly at the rest of us. "Why, they _might_ be Injuns, of course. Don't you know, you old bummer, that that's the way the red devils run a surprise party? Don't you know that when you hear a parcel of wolves letting on like that, at night, it's a hundred to one they carry bows and arrows?" Here one or two old hunters on the opposite side of the fire, who had not caught Dan's precautionary wink, laughed good-humouredly, and made derisive comments. At this Dan seemed much vexed, and getting up, he strode over to them to argue it out. It was surprising how easily they were brought round to his way of thinking! By this time Old Nick was thoroughly perturbed. He fidgeted about, examining his rifle and pistols, tightened his belt, and looked in the direction of his horse. His anxiety became so painful that he did not attempt to conceal it. Upon our part, we affected to partially share it. One of us finally asked Dan if he was quite _sure_ they were wolves. Then Dan listened a long time with his ear to the ground, after which he said, hesitatingly: "Well, no; there's no such thing as _absolute_ certainty, I suppose; but I _think_ they're wolves. Still, there's no harm in being ready for anything--always well to be ready, I suppose." Nick needed nothing more; he pounced upon his saddle and bridle, slung them upon his mustang, and had everything snug in less time than it takes to tell it. The rest of the party were far too comfortable to co-operate with Dan to any considerable extent; we contented ourselves with making a show of examining our weapons. All this time the wolves, as is their way when attracted by firelight, were closing in, clamouring like a legion of fiends. If Nick had known that a single pistol-shot would have sent them scampering away for dear life, I presume he would have fired one; as it was, he had Indian on the brain, and just stood by his horse, quaking till his teeth rattled like dice in a box. "No," pursued the implacable Dan, "these _can't_ be Injuns; for if they were, we should, perhaps, hear an owl or two among them. The chiefs sometimes hoot, owl-fashion, just to let the rabble know they're standing up to the work like men, and to show where they are." _"Too-hoo-hoo-hoo-hooaw!"_ It took us all by surprise. Nick made one spring and came down astride his sleepy mustang, with force enough to have crushed a smaller beast. We all rose to our feet, except Jerry Hunker, who was lying flat on his stomach, with his head buried in his arms, and whom we had thought sound asleep. One look at _him_ reassured us as to the "owl" business, and we settled back, each man pretending to his neighbour that he had got up merely for effect upon Nick. That man was now a sight to see. He sat in his saddle gesticulating wildly, and imploring us to get ready. He trembled like a jelly-fish. He took out his pistols, cocked them, and thrust them so back into the holsters, without knowing what he was about. He cocked his rifle, holding it with the muzzle directed anywhere, but principally our way; grasped his bowie-knife between his teeth, and cut his tongue trying to talk; spurred his nag into the fire, and backed him out across our blankets; and finally sat still, utterly unnerved, while we roared with the laughter we could no longer suppress. _Hwissss! pft! swt! cheew!_ Bones of Cæsar! The arrows flitted and clipt amongst us like a flight of bats! Dan Golby threw a double-summersault, alighting on his head. Dory Durkee went smashing into the fire. Jerry Hunker was pinned to the sod where he lay fast asleep. Such dodging and ducking, and clawing about for weapons I never saw. And such genuine Indian yelling--it chills my marrow to write of it! Old Nick vanished like a dream; and long before we could find our tools and get to work we heard the desultory reports of his pistols exploding in his holsters, as his pony measured off the darkness between us and safety. For some fifteen minutes we had tolerable warm work of it, individually, collectively, and miscellaneously; single-handed, and one against a dozen; struggling with painted savages in the firelight, and with one another in the dark; shooting the living, and stabbing the dead; stampeding our horses, and fighting _them_; battling with anything that would battle, and smashing our gunstocks on whatever would not! When all was done--when we had renovated our fire, collected our horses, and got our dead into position--we sat down to talk it over. As we sat there, cutting up our clothing for bandages, digging the poisoned arrow-heads out of our limbs, readjusting our scalps, or swapping them for such vagrant ones as there was nobody to identify, we could not help smiling to think how we had frightened Old Nick. Dan Golby, who was sinking rapidly, whispered that "it was the one sweet memory he had to sustain and cheer him in crossing the dark river into everlasting f----." It is uncertain how Dan would have finished that last word; he may have meant "felicity"--he may have meant "fire." It is nobody's business. * * * * * JUNIPER. He was a dwarf, was Juniper. About the time of his birth Nature was executing a large order for prime giants, and had need of all her materials. Juniper infested the wooded interior of Norway, and dwelt in a cave--a miserable hole in which a blind bat in a condition of sempiternal torpor would have declined to hibernate, rent-free. Juniper was such a feeble little wretch, so inoffensive in his way of life, so modest in his demeanour, that every one was disposed to love him like a cousin; there was not enough of him to love like a brother. He, too, was inclined to return the affection; he was too weak to love very hard, but he made the best stagger at it he could. But a singular fatality prevented a perfect communion of soul between him and his neighbours. A strange destiny had thrown its shadow upon him, which made it cool for him in summer. There was a divinity that shaped his ends extremely rough, no matter how he hewed them. Somewhere in that vicinity lived a monstrous bear--a great hulking obnoxious beast who had no more soul than tail. This rascal had somehow conceived a notion that the appointed function of his existence was the extermination of the dwarf. If you met the latter you might rely with cheerful confidence upon seeing the ferocious brute in eager pursuit of him in less than a minute. No sooner would Juniper fairly accost you, looking timidly over his shoulder the while, than the raging savage would leap out of some contiguous jungle and make after him like a locomotive engine too late for the train. Then poor Juniper would streak it for the nearest crowd of people, diving and dodging amongst their shins with nimble skill, shrieking all the time like a panther. He was as earnest about it as if he had made a bet upon the result of the race. Of course everybody was too busy to stop, but in his blind terror the dwarf would single out some luckless wight--commonly some well-dressed person; Juniper instinctively sought the protection of the aristocracy--getting behind him, ducking between his legs, surrounding him, dancing through him--doing anything to save the paltry flitch of his own bacon. Presently the bear would lose all patience and nip the other fellow. Then, ashamed of losing his temper, he would sneak sullenly away, taking along the body. When he had gone, poor Juniper would fall upon his knees, tearing his beard, pounding his breast, and crying _Mea culpa_ in deep remorse. Afterwards he would pay a visit of condolence to the bereaved relations and offer to pay the funeral expenses; but of course there never were any funeral expenses. Everybody, as before stated, liked the unhappy dwarf, but nobody liked the company he kept, and people were not at home to him as a rule. Whenever he came into a village traffic was temporarily suspended, and he was made the centre of as broad a solitude as could be hastily improvised. Many were the attempts to capture the terrible beast; hundreds of the country people would assemble to hunt him with guns and dogs. But even the dogs seemed to have an instinctive sense of some occult connection between him and the dwarf, and could never be made to understand that it was the former that was wanted. Directly they were laid on the scent they would forsake it to invest the dwarf's abode; and it was with much difficulty the pitying huntsmen could induce them to raise the siege. Things went on in this unsatisfactory fashion for years; the population annually decreasing, and Juniper making the most miraculous escapes. Now there resided in a small village near by, a brace of twins; little orphan girls, named Jalap and Ginseng. Their considerate neighbours had told them such pleasing tales about the bear that they decided to leave the country. So they got their valuables together in a box and set out. They met Juniper! He approached to inform them it was a fine morning, when the great beast of a bear "rose like the steam of rich distilled perfume" from the earth in front of them, and made a mouth at him. Juniper did not run, as might have been expected; he stood for a moment peering into the brute's cavernous jaws, and then flew! He absented himself with such extraordinary nimbleness that after he was a mile distant his image appeared to be standing there yet; and looking back he saw it himself. Baffled of his dwarf, the bear thought he would make a shift to get on, for the present, with an orphan. So he picked up Jalap by her middle, and thoughtfully withdrew. [Illustration] The thankful but disgusted Ginseng continued her emigration, but soon missed the jewel-box, which in their alarm had been dropped and burst asunder. She did not much care for the jewels, but it contained some valuable papers, among them the "Examiner" (a print which once had the misfortune to condemn a book written by the author of this tale) and this she doted on. Returning for her property, she peered cautiously around the angle of a rock, and saw a spectacle that begot in her mind a languid interest. The bear had returned upon a similar mission; he was calmly distending his cheeks with the contents of the broken box. And perched on a rock near at hand sat Juniper waiting for him! It was natural that a suspicion of collusion between the two should dawn upon that infant's mind. It did dawn; it brightened and broadened into the perfect day of conviction. It was a revelation to the child. "At that moment," said she afterwards, "I felt that I could lay my finger on the best-trained bear in Christendom." But with praiseworthy moderation she controlled herself and didn't do it; she just stood still and allowed the beast to proceed. Having stored all the jewels in his capacious mouth, he began taking in the valuable papers. First some title-deeds disappeared; then some railway bonds; presently a roll of rent-receipts. All these seemed to be as honey to his tongue; he smiled a smile of tranquil happiness. Finally the newspaper vanished into his face like a wisp of straw drawn into a threshing machine. Then the brute expanded his mouth with a ludicrous gape, spilling out the jewels, a glittering shower. Then he snapped his jaws like a steel trap afflicted with _tetanus_, and stood on his head awhile. Next he made a feeble endeavour to complicate the relations between his parts--to tie himself into a love-knot. Failing in this he lay flat upon his side, wept, retched, and finally, fashioning his visage into the semblance of sickly grin, gave up the ghost. I don't know what he died of; I suppose it was hereditary in his family. The guilty come always to grief. Juniper was arrested, charged with conspiracy to kill, tried, convicted, sentenced to be hanged, and before the sun went down was pardoned. In searching his cavern the police discovered countless human bones, much torn clothing, and a mighty multitude of empty purses. But nothing of any value--not an article of any value. It was a mystery what Juniper had done with his ill-gotten valuables. The police confessed it was a mystery! * * * * * FOLLOWING THE SEA. At the time of "the great earthquake of '68," I was at Arica, Peru. I have not a map by me, and am not certain that Arica is not in Chili, but it can't make much difference; there was earthquake all along there. As nearly as I can remember it occured in August--about the middle of August, 1869 or '70. Sam Baxter was with me; I think we had gone from San Francisco to make a railway, or something. On the morning of the 'quake, Sam and I had gone down to the beach to bathe. We had shed our boots and begun to moult, when there was a slight tremor of the earth, as if the elephant who supports it were pushing upwards, or lying down and getting up again. Next, the surges, which were flattening themselves upon the sand and dragging away such small trifles as they could lay hold of, began racing out seaward, as if they had received a telegraphic dispatch that somebody was not expected to live. This was needless, for _we_ did not expect to live. When the sea had receded entirely out of sight, we started after it; for it will be remembered we had come to bathe; and bathing without some kind of water is not refreshing in a hot climate. I have heard that bathing in asses' milk is invigorating, but at that time I had no dealings with other authors. I have had no dealings with them since. For the first four or five miles the walking was very difficult, although the grade was tolerably steep. The ground was soft, there were tangled forests of sea-weed, old rotting ships, rusty anchors, human skeletons, and a multitude of things to impede the pedestrian. The floundering sharks bit our legs as we toiled past them, and we were constantly slipping down upon the flat fish strewn about like orange-peel on a sidewalk. Sam, too, had stuffed his shirt-front with such a weight of Spanish doubloons from the wreck of an old galleon, that I had to help him across all the worst places. It was very dispiriting. Presently, away on the western horizon, I saw the sea coming back. It occurred to me then that I did not wish it to come back. A tidal wave is nearly always wet, and I was now a good way from home, with no means of making a fire. The same was true of Sam, but he did not appear to think of it in that way. He stood quite still a moment with his eyes fixed on the advancing line of water; then turned to me, saying, very earnestly: "Tell you what, William; I never wanted a ship so bad from the cradle to the grave! I would give m-o-r-e for a ship!--more than for all the railways and turnpikes you could scare up! I'd give more than a hundred, thousand, million dollars! I would--I'd give all I'm worth, and all my Erie shares, for--just--one--little--ship!" To show how lightly he could part with his wealth, he lifted his shirt out of his trousers, unbosoming himself of his doubloons, which tumbled about his feet, a golden storm. By this time the tidal wave was close upon us. Call _that_ a wave! It was one solid green wall of water, higher than Niagara Falls, stretching as far as we could see to right and left, without a break in its towering front! It was by no means clear what we ought to do. The moving wall showed no projections by means of which the most daring climber could hope to reach the top. There was no ivy; there were no window-ledges. Stay!--there was the lightning-conductor! No, there wasn't any lightning-conductor. Of course, not! Looking despairingly upward, I made a tolerably good beginning at thinking of all the mean actions I had wrought in the flesh, when I saw projecting beyond the crest of the wave a ship's bowsprit, with a man sitting on it, reading a newspaper! Thank fortune, we were saved! Falling upon our knees with tearful gratitude, we got up again and ran--ran as fast as we could, I suspect; for now the whole fore-part of the ship bulged through the water directly above our heads, and might lose its balance any moment. If we had only brought along our umbrellas! I shouted to the man on the bowsprit to drop us a line. He merely replied that his correspondence was already very onerous, and he hadn't any pen and ink. Then I told him I wanted to get aboard. He said I would find one on the beach, about three leagues to the south'ard, where the "Nancy Tucker" went ashore. At these replies I was disheartened. It was not so much that the man withheld assistance, as that he made puns. Presently, however, he folded his newspaper, put it carefully away in his pocket, went and got a line, and let it down to us just as we were about to give up the race. Sam made a lunge at it, and got it--right into his side! For the fiend above had appended a shark-hook to the end of the line--which was _his_ notion of humour. But this was no time for crimination and recrimination. I laid hold of Sam's legs, the end of the rope was passed about the capstan, and as soon as the men on board had had a little grog, we were hauled up. I can assure you that it was no fine experience to go up in that way, close to the smooth vertical front of water, with the whales tumbling out all round and above us, and the sword-fishes nosing us pointedly with vulgar curiosity. We had no sooner set foot on deck, and got Sam disengaged from the hook, than the purser stepped up with book and pencil. "Tickets, gentlemen." We told him we hadn't any tickets, and he ordered us to be set ashore in a boat. It was represented to him that this was quite impossible under the circumstances; but he replied that he had nothing to do with circumstances--did not know anything about circumstances. Nothing would move him till the captain, who was a really kind-hearted man, came on deck and knocked him overboard with a spare topmast. We were now stripped of our clothing, chafed all over with stiff brushes, rolled on our stomachs, wrapped in flannels, laid before a hot stove in the saloon, and strangled with scalding brandy. We had not been wet, nor had we swallowed any sea-water, but the surgeon said this was the proper treatment. I suspect, poor man, he did not often get the opportunity to resuscitate anybody; in fact, he admitted he had not had any such case as ours for years. It is uncertain what he might have done to us if the tender-hearted captain had not thrashed him into his cabin with a knotted hawser, and told us to go on deck. By this time the ship was passing above the town of Arica, and the sailors were all for'd, sitting on the bulwarks, snapping peas and small shot at the terrified inhabitants flitting through the streets a hundred feet below. These harmless projectiles rattled very merrily upon the upturned boot-soles of the fleeting multitude; but not seeing any fun in this, we were about to go astern and fish a little, when the ship grounded on a hill-top. The captain hove out all the anchors he had about him; and when the water went swirling back to its legal level, taking the town along for company, there we were, in the midst of a charming agricultural country, but at some distance from any sea-port. At sunrise next morning we were all on deck. Sam sauntered aft to the binnacle, cast his eye carelessly upon the compass, and uttered an ejaculation of astonishment. "Tell _you_, captain," he called out, "this has been a direr convulsion of nature than you have any idea. Everything's been screwed right round. Needle points due south!" "Why, you cussed lubber!" growled the skipper, moving up and taking a look, "it p'ints d'rectly to labbard, an' there's the sun, dead ahead!" Sam turned and confronted him, with a steady gaze of ineffable contempt. "Now, who said it wasn't dead ahead?--tell me _that_. Shows how much _you_ know about earthquakes. 'Course, I didn't mean just this continent, nor just this earth: I tell you, the _whole thing's_ turned!" * * * * * A TALE OF SPANISH VENGEANCE. Don Hemstitch Blodoza was an hidalgo--one of the highest dalgos of old Spain. He had a comfortably picturesque castle on the Guadalquiver, with towers, battlements, and mortages on it; but as it belonged, not to his own creditors, but to those of his bitterest enemy, who inhabited it, Don Hemstitch preferred the forest as a steady residence. He had that curse of Spanish pride which will not permit one to be a burden upon the man who may happen to have massacred all one's relations, and set a price upon the heads of one's family generally. He had made a vow never to accept the hospitality of Don Symposio--not if he died for it. So he pervaded the romantic dells, and the sunless jungle was infected with the sound of his guitar. He rose in the morning and laved him in the limpid brooklet; and the beams of the noonday sun fell upon him in the pursuit of diet-- "The thistle's downy seed his fare, His drink the morning dew." He throve but indifferently upon this meagre regimen, but beyond all other evils a true Spaniard of the poorer sort dreads obesity. During the darkest night of the season he will get up at an absurd hour and stab his best friend in the back rather than grow fat. It will of course be suspected by the experienced reader that Don Hemstitch did not have any bed. Like the Horatian lines above quoted-- "He perched at will on every spray." In translating this tale into the French, M. Victor Hugo will please twig the proper meaning of the word "spray"; I shall be very angry if he make it appear that my hero is a gull. One morning while Don Hemstitch was dozing upon his leafy couch--not his main couch, but a branch--he was roused from his tranquil nap by the grunting of swine; or, if you like subtle distinctions, by the sound of human voices. Peering cautiously through his bed-hangings, he saw below him at a little distance two of his countrymen in conversation. The fine practised phrenzy of their looks, their excellently rehearsed air of apprehensive secrecy, showed him they were merely conspiring against somebody's life; and he dismissed the matter from his mind until the mention of his own name recalled his attention. One of the conspirators was urging the other to make one of a joint-stock company for the Don's assassination; but the more conscientious plotter would not consent. "The laws of Spain," said the latter, "with which we have an acquaintance meanly withheld from the attorneys, enjoin that when one man murders another, except for debt, he must make provision for the widow and orphans. I leave it to you if, after the summer's unprofitable business, we are in a position to assume the care and education of a large family. We have not a single asset, and our liabilities amount to fourteen widows, and more than thirty children of strong and increasing appetite. "_Car-r-rajo!"_ hissed the other through his beard; "we will slaughter the lot of them!" At this cold-blooded proposition his merciful companion recoiled aghast. "_Diablo_!" he shrieked. "Tempt me no farther. What! immolate a whole hecatomb of guiltless women and children? Consider the funeral expense!" There is really no moving the law-abiding soul to crime of doubtful profit. But Don Hemstitch was not at ease; he could not say how soon it might transpire that he had nor chick nor child. Should Don Symposio pass that way and communicate this information--and he was in a position to know--the moral scruples of the conscientious plotter would vanish like the baseless fabric of a beaten cur. Moreover, it is always unpleasant to be included in a conspiracy in which one is not a conspirator. Don Hemstitch resolved to sell his life at the highest market price. Hastily descending his tree, he wrapped his cloak about him and stood for some time, wishing he had a poniard. Trying the temper of this upon his thumbnail, he found it much more amiable than his own. It was a keen Toledo blade--keen enough to sever a hare. To nerve himself for the deadly work before him, he began thinking of a lady whom he had once met--the lovely Donna Lavaca, beloved of El Toro-blanco. Having thus wrought up his Castilian soul to a high pitch of jealously, he felt quite irresistible, and advanced towards the two ruffians with his poniard deftly latent in his flowing sleeve. His mien was hostile, his stride puissant, his nose tip-tilted--not to put too fine a point upon it, petallic. Don Hemstitch was upon the war-path with all his might. The forest trembled as he trode, the earth bent like thin ice beneath his heel. Birds, beasts, serpents, and poachers fled affrighted to the right and left of his course. He came down upon the unsuspecting assassins like a mild Spanish avalanche. [Illustration] "_Senores!_" he thundered, with a frightful scowl and a faint aroma of garlic, "patter your _pater-nosters_ as fast as you conveniently may. You have but ten minutes to exist. Has either of you a watch?" Then might you have seen a guilty dismay over-spreading the faces of two sinners, like a sudden snow paling twin mountain peaks. In the presence of Death, Crime shuddered and sank into his boots. Conscience stood appalled in the sight of Retribution. In vain the villains essayed speech; each palsied tongue beat out upon the yielding air some weak words of supplication, then clave to its proper concave. Two pairs of brawny knees unsettled their knitted braces, and bent limply beneath their loads of incarnate wickedness swaying unsteadily above. With clenched hands and streaming eyes these wretched men prayed silently. At this supreme moment an American gentleman sitting by, with his heels upon a rotted oaken stump, tilted back his chair, laid down his newspaper, and began operating upon a half-eaten apple-pie. One glance at the title of that print--one look at that calm angular face clasped in its crescent of crisp crust--and Don Hemstitch Blodoza reeled, staggered like an exhausted spinning-top. He spread his baffled hand upon his eyes, and sank heavily to earth! "Saved! saved!" shrieked the penitent conspirators, springing to their feet. The far deeps of the forest whispered in consultation, and a distant hillside echoed back the words. "Saved!" sang the rocks--"Saved!" the glad birds twittered from the leaves above. The hare that Don Hemstitch Blodoza's poniard would have severed limped awkwardly but confidently about, saying, "Saved!" as well as he knew how. Explanation is needless. The American gentleman was the Special Correspondent of the "New York Herald." It is tolerably well known that except beneath his searching eye no considerable event can occur--and his whole attention was focused upon that apple-pie! That is how Spanish vengeance was balked of its issue. * * * * * MRS. DENNISON'S HEAD. While I was employed in the Bank of Loan and Discount (said Mr. Applegarth, smiling the smile with which he always prefaced a nice old story), there was another clerk there, named Dennison--a quiet, reticent fellow, the very soul of truth, and a great favourite with us all. He always wore crape on his hat, and once when asked for whom he was in mourning he replied his wife, and seemed much affected. We all expressed our sympathy as delicately as possible, and no more was said upon the subject. Some weeks after this he seemed to have arrived at that stage of tempered grief at which it becomes a relief to give sorrow words--to speak of the departed one to sympathizing friends; for one day he voluntarily began talking of his bereavement, and of the terrible calamity by which his wife had been deprived of her head! This sharpened our curiosity to the keenest edge; but of course we controlled it, hoping he would volunteer some further information with regard to so singular a misfortune; but when day after day went by and he did not allude to the matter, we got worked up into a fever of excitement about it. One evening after Dennison had gone, we held a kind of political meeting about it, at which all possible and impossible methods of decapitation were suggested as the ones to which Mrs. D. probably owed her extraordinary demise. I am sorry to add that we so far forgot the grave character of the event as to lay small wagers that it was done this way or that way; that it was accidental or premeditated; that she had had a hand in it herself or that it was wrought by circumstances beyond her control. All was mere conjecture, however; but from that time Dennison, as the custodian of a secret upon which we had staked our cash, was an object of more than usual interest. It wasn't entirely that, either; aside from our paltry wagers, we felt a consuming curiosity to know the truth for its own sake. Each set himself to work to elicit the dread secret in some way; and the misdirected ingenuity we developed was wonderful. All sorts of pious devices were resorted to to entice poor Dennison into clearing up the mystery. By a thousand indirect methods we sought to entrap him into divulging all. History, fiction, poesy--all were laid under contribution, and from Goliah down, through Charles I., to Sam Spigger, a local celebrity who got his head entangled in mill machinery, every one who had ever mourned the loss of a head received his due share of attention during office hours. The regularity with which we introduced, and the pertinacity with which we stuck to, this one topic came near getting us all discharged; for one day the cashier came out of his private office and intimated that if we valued our situations the subject of hanging would afford us the means of retaining them. He added that he always selected his subordinates with an eye to their conversational abilities, but variety of subject was as desirable, at times, as exhaustive treatment. During all this discussion Dennison, albeit he had evinced from the first a singular interest in the theme, and shirked not his fair share of the conversation, never once seemed to understand that it had any reference to himself. His frank truthful nature was quite unable to detect the personal significance of the subject. It was plain that nothing short of a definite inquiry would elicit the information we were dying to obtain; and at a "caucus," one evening, we drew lots to determine who should openly propound it. The choice fell upon me. Next morning we were at the bank somewhat earlier than usual, waiting impatiently for Dennison and the time to open the doors: they always arrived together. When Dennison stepped into the room, bowing in his engaging manner to each clerk as he passed to his own desk, I confronted him, shaking him warmly by the hand. At that moment all the others fell to writing and figuring with unusual avidity, as if thinking of anything under the sun except Dennison's wife's head. "Oh, Dennison," I began, as carelessly as I could manage it; "speaking of decapitation reminds me of something I would like to ask you. I have intended asking it several times, but it has always slipped my memory. Of course you will pardon me if it is not a fair question." As if by magic, the scratching of pens died away, leaving a dead silence which quite disconcerted me; but I blundered on: "I heard the other day--that is, you said--or it was in the newspapers--- or somewhere--something about your poor wife, you understand--about her losing her head. Would you mind telling me how such a distressing accident--if it was an accident--occurred?" When I had finished, Dennison walked straight past me as if he didn't see me, went round the counter to his stool, and perched himself gravely on the top of it, facing the other clerks. Then he began speaking, calmly, and without apparent emotion: "Gentlemen, I have long desired to speak of this thing, but you gave me no encouragement, and I naturally supposed you were indifferent. I now thank you all for the friendly interest you take in my affairs. I will satisfy your curiosity upon this point at once, if you will promise never hereafter to allude to the matter, and to ask not a single question now." We all promised upon our sacred honour, and collected about him with the utmost eagerness. He bent his head a moment, then raised it, quietly saying: "My poor wife's head was bitten off!" "By what?" we all exclaimed eagerly, with suspended breath. He gave us a look full of reproach, turned to his desk, and went at his work. We went at ours. * * * * * A FOWL WITCH. Frau Gaubenslosher was strongly suspected of witchcraft. I don't think she was a witch, but would not like to swear she was not, in a court of law, unless a good deal depended upon my testimony, and I had been properly suborned beforehand. A great many persons accused of witchcraft have themselves stoutly disbelieved the charge, until, when subjected to shooting with a silver bullet or boiling in oil, they have found themselves unable to endure the test. And it must be confessed appearances were against the Frau. In the first place, she lived quite alone in a forest, and had no visiting list. This was suspicious. Secondly--and it was thus, mainly, that she had acquired her evil repute--all the barn-yard fowls in the vicinity seemed to bear her the most uncompromising ill-will. Whenever she passed a flock of hens, or ducks, or turkeys, or geese, one of them, with dropped wings, extended neck, and open bill, would start in hot pursuit. Sometimes the whole flock would join in for a few moments with shrill clamour; but there would always be one fleeter and more determined than the rest, and that one would keep up the chase with unflagging zeal clean out of sight. Upon these occasions the dame's fright was painful to behold. She would not scream--her organs of screech seemed to have lost their power--nor, as a rule, would she curse; she would just address herself to silent prayerful speed, with every symptom of abject terror! The Frau's explanation of this unnatural persecution was singularly weak. Upon a certain night long ago, said she, a poor bedraggled and attenuated gander had applied at her door for relief. He stated in piteous accents that he had eaten nothing for months but tin-tacks and an occasional beer-bottle; and he had not roosted under cover for so long a time he did not know what it was like. Would she give him a place on her fender, and fetch out six or eight cold pies to amuse him while she was preparing his supper? To this plea she turned a deaf ear, and he went away. He came again the next night, however, bringing a written certificate from a clergyman that his case was a deserving one. She would not aid him, and he departed. The night after he presented himself again, with a paper signed by the relieving officer of the parish, stating that the necessity for help was most urgent. By this time the Frau's good-nature was quite exhausted: she slew him, dressed him, put him in a pot, and boiled him. She kept him boiling for three or four days, but she did not eat him because her teeth were just like anybody's teeth--no weaker, perhaps, but certainly no stronger nor sharper. So she fed him to a threshing machine of her acquaintance, which managed to masticate some of the more modern portions, but was hopelessly wrecked upon the neck. From that time the poor beldame had lived under the ban of a great curse. Hens took after her as naturally as after the soaring beetle; geese pursued her as if she were a fleeting tadpole; ducks, turkeys, and guinea fowl camped upon her trail with tireless pertinacity. Now there was a leaven of improbability in this tale, and it leavened the whole lump. Ganders do not roost; there is not one in a hundred of them that could sit on a fender long enough to say Jack Robinson. So, as the Frau lived a thousand years before the birth of common sense--say about a half century ago--when everything uncommon had a smell of the supernatural, there was nothing for it but to consider her a witch. Had she been very feeble and withered, the people would have burned her, out of hand; but they did not like to proceed to extremes without perfectly legal evidence. They were cautious, for they had made several mistakes recently. They had sentenced two or three females to the stake, and upon being stripped the limbs and bodies of these had not redeemed the hideous promise of their shrivelled faces and hands. Justice was ashamed of having toasted comparatively plump and presumably innocent women; and the punishment of this one was wisely postponed until the proof should be all in. But in the meantime a graceless youth, named Hans Blisselwartle, made the startling discovery that none of the fowls that pursued the Frau ever came back to boast of it. A brief martial career seemed to have weaned them from the arts of peace and the love of their kindred. Full of unutterable suspicion, Hans one day followed in the rear of an exciting race between the timorous dame and an avenging pullet. They were too rapid for him; but bursting suddenly in at the lady's door some fifteen minutes afterward, he found her in the act of placing the plucked and eviscerated Nemesis upon her cooking range. The Frau betrayed considerable confusion; and although the accusing Blisselwartle could not but recognize in her act a certain poetic justice, he could not conceal from himself that there was something grossly selfish and sordid in it. He thought it was a good deal like bottling an annoying ghost and selling him for clarified moonlight; or like haltering a nightmare and putting her to the cart. When it transpired that the Frau ate her feathered persecutors, the patience of the villagers refused to honour the new demand upon it: she was at once arrested, and charged with prostituting a noble superstition to a base selfish end. We will pass over the trial; suffice it she was convicted. But even then they had not the heart to burn a middle-aged woman, with full rounded outlines, as a witch, so they broke her upon the wheel as a thief. [Illustration] The reckless antipathy of the domestic fowls to this inoffensive lady remains to be explained. Having rejected her theory, I am bound in honour to set up one of my own. Happily an inventory of her effects, now before me, furnishes a tolerably safe basis. Amongst the articles of personal property I note "One long, thin, silken fishing line, and hook." Now if I were a barn-yard fowl--say a goose--and a lady not a friend of mine were to pass me, munching sweetmeats, and were to drop a nice fat worm, passing on apparently unconscious of her loss, I think I should try to get away with that worm. And if after swallowing it I felt drawn towards that lady by a strong personal attachment, I suppose that I should yield if I could not help it. And then if the lady chose to run and I chose to follow, making a good deal of noise, I suppose it would look as if I were engaged in a very reprehensible pursuit, would it not? With the light I have, that is the way in which the case presents itself to my intelligence; though, of course, I may be wrong. * * * * * THE CIVIL SERVICE IN FLORIDA. Colonel Bulper was of a slumberous turn. Most people are not: they work all day and sleep all night--are always in one or the other condition of unrest, and never slumber. Such persons, the Colonel used to remark, are fit only for sentry duty; they are good to watch our property while we take our rest--and they take the property. But this tale is not of them; it is of Colonel Bulper. There was a fellow named Halsey, a practical joker, and one of the most disagreeable of his class. He would remain broad awake for a year at a time, for no other purpose than to break other people of their natural rest. And I must admit that from the wreck of his faculties upon the rock of _insomnia_ he had somehow rescued a marvellous ingenuity and fertility of expedient. But this tale is not so much of him as of Colonel Bulper. At the time of which I write, the Colonel was the Collector of Customs at a sea-port town in Florida, United States. The climate there is perpetual summer; it never rains, nor anything; and there was no good reason why the Colonel should not have enjoyed it to the top of his bent, as there was enough for all. In point of fact, the Collectorship had been given him solely that he might repair his wasted vitality by a short season of unbroken repose; for during the Presidential canvass immediately preceding his appointment he had been kept awake a long time by means of strong tea, in order to deliver an able and exhaustive political argument prepared by the candidate, who was ultimately successful in spite of it. Halsey, who had favoured the other aspirant, was a merchant, and had nothing in the world to do but annoy the collector. If the latter could have kept away from him, the dignity of the office might have been preserved, and the object of the incumbent's appointment to it attained; but sneak away whithersoever he might--into the heart of the dismal swamp, or anywhere in the Everglades--some vagrom Indian or casual negro was sure to stumble over him before long, and go and tell Halsey, securing a plug of tobacco for reward. Or if he was not found in this way, some company was tolerably certain, in the course of time, to survey a line of railway athwart his leafy couch, and laying his prostrate trunk aside out of the way, send word to his persecutor; who, as soon as the line was as nearly completed as it ever would be, would come down on horseback with some diabolical device for waking the slumberer. I will confess there is a subtle seeming of unlikelihood about all this; but in the land where Ponce de Leon searched for the Fountain of Youth there is an air of unreality in everything. I can only say I have had the story by me a long time, and it seems to me just as true as it was the day I wrote it. Sometimes the Colonel would seek out a hillside with a southern exposure; but no sooner would he compose his members for a bit of slumber, than Halsey would set about making inquiries for him, under pretence that a ship was _en route_ from Liverpool, and the collector's signature might be required for her anchoring papers. Having traced him--which, owing to the meddlesome treachery of the venal natives, he was always able to do--Halsey would set off to Texas for a seed of the prickly pear, which he would plant exactly beneath the slumberer's body. This he called a triumph of modern engineering! As soon as the young vegetable had pushed its spines above the soil, of course the Colonel would have to get up and seek another spot--and this nearly always waked him. Upon one occasion the Colonel existed five consecutive days without slumber--travelling all day and sleeping in the weeds at night--to find an almost inaccessible crag, on the summit of which he hoped to be undisturbed until the action of the dew should wear away the rock all round his body, when he expected and was willing to roll off and wake. But even there Halsey found him out, and put eagles' eggs in his southern pockets to hatch. When the young birds were well grown, they pecked so sharply at the Colonel's legs that he had to get up and wring their necks. The malevolence of people who scorn slumber seems to be practically unlimited. At last the Colonel resolved upon revenge, and having dreamed out a feasible plan, proceeded to put it into execution. He had in the warehouse some Government powder, and causing a keg of this to be conveyed into his private office, he knocked out the head. He next penned a note to Halsey, asking him to step down to the office "upon important business;" adding in a postscript, "As I am liable to be called out for a few moments at any time, in case you do not find me in, please sit down and amuse yourself with the newspaper until I return." He knew Halsey was at his counting-house, and would certainly come if only to learn what signification a Government official attached to the word "business." Then the Colonel procured a brief candle and set it into the powder. His plan was to light the candle, dispatch a porter with the message, and bolt for home. Having completed his preparations, he leaned back in his easy chair and smiled. He smiled a long time, and even achieved a chuckle. For the first time in his life, he felt a serene sense of happiness in being particularly wide awake. Then, without moving from his chair, he ignited the taper, and put out his hand toward the bell-cord, to summon the porter. At this stage of his vengeance the Colonel fell into a tranquil and refreshing slumber. * * * * * There is nothing omitted here; that is merely the Colonel's present address. * * * * * A TALE OF THE BOSPHORUS. Pollimariar was the daughter of a Mussulman--she was, in fact, a Mussulgirl. She lived at Stamboul, the name of which is an admirable rhyme to what Pollimariar was profanely asserted to be by her two sisters, Djainan and Djulya. These were very much older than Pollimariar, and proportionately wicked. In wickedness they could discount her, giving her the first innings. The relations between Pollimariar and her sisters were in all respects similar to those that existed between Cinderella and _her_ sisters. Indeed, these big girls seldom read anything but the story of Cinderella; and that work, no doubt, had its influence in forming their character. They were always apparelling themselves in gaudy dresses from Paris, and going away to balls, leaving their meritorious little sister weeping at home in their every-day finery. Their father was a commercial traveller, absent with his samples in Damascus most of the time; and the poor girl had no one to protect her from the outrage of exclusion from the parties to which she was not invited. She fretted and chafed very much at first, but after forbearance ceased to be a virtue it came rather natural to her to exercise a patient endurance. But perceiving this was agreeable to her sisters she abandoned it, devising a rare scheme of vengeance. She sent to the "Levant Herald" the following "personal" advertisement: "G.V.--Regent's Canal 10.30 p.m., Q.K.X. is O.K.! With coals at 48 sh-ll-ngs I cannot endure existence without you! Ask for G-field St-ch. J.G. + ¶ pro rata. B-tty's N-bob P-ckles. Oz-k-r-t! Meet me at the 'Turban and Scimitar,' Bebeck Road, Thursday morning at three o'clock; blue cotton umbrella, wooden shoes, and Ulster overskirt Polonaise all round the bottom. One Who Wants to Know Yer." The latter half of this contained the gist of the whole matter; the other things were put in just to prevent the notice from being conspicuously sensible. Next morning, when the Grand Vizier took up his newspaper, he could not help knowing he was the person addressed; and at the appointed hour he kept the tryst. What passed between them the sequel will disclose, if I can think it out to suit me. Soon afterwards Djainan and Djulya received cards of invitation to a grand ball at the Sultan's palace, given to celebrate the arrival of a choice lot of Circassian beauties in the market. The first thing the wicked sisters did was to flourish these invitations triumphantly before the eyes of Pollimariar, who declared she did not believe a word of it; indeed, she professed such aggressive incredulity that she had to be severely beaten. But she denied the invitations to the last. She thought it was best to deny them. The invitations stated that at the proper hour the old original Sultana would call personally, and conduct the young ladies to the palace; and she did so. They thought, at the time, she bore a striking resemblance to a Grand Vizier with his beard shaven off, and this led them into some desultory reflections upon the sin of nepotism and family favour at Court; but, like all moral reflections, these came to nothing. The old original Sultana's attire, also, was, with the exception of a reticule and fan, conspicuously epicene; but, in a country where popular notions of sex are somewhat confused, this excited no surprise. As the three marched off in stately array, poor little deserted Pollimariar stood cowering at one side, with her fingers spread loosely upon her eyes, weeping like--a crocodile. The Sultana said it was late; they would have to make haste. She had not fetched a cab, however, and a recent inundation of dogs very much impeded their progress. By-and-by the dogs became shallower, but it was near eleven o'clock before they arrived at the Sublime Porte--very old and fruity. A janizary standing here split his visage to grin, but it was surprising how quickly the Sultana had his head off. Pretty soon afterwards they came to a low door, where the Sultana whistled three times and kicked at the panels. It soon yielded, disclosing two gigantic Nubian eunuchs, black as the ace of clubs, who stared at first, but when shown a very cleverly-executed signet-ring of paste, knocked their heads against the ground with respectful violence. Then one of them consulted a thick book, and took from a secret drawer two metal badges numbered 7,394 and 7,395, which he fastened about the necks of the now frightened girls, who had just observed that the Sultana had vanished. The numbers on the badges showed that this would be a very crowded ball. The other black now advanced with a measuring tape, and began gravely measuring Djainan from head to heel. She ventured to ask the sable guardian with what article of dress she was to be fitted. "Bedad, thin, av ye must know," said he, grinning, "it is to be a _sack_." "What! a _sacque_ for a ball?" "Indade, it's right ye are, mavourneen; it is fer a ball--fer a cannon-ball--as will make yer purty body swim to the bothom nately as ony shtone." And the eunuch toyed lovingly with his measuring-tape, which the wretched girls now observed was singularly like a bow-string. "O, sister," shrieked Djainan, "this is--" "O, sister," shrieked Djulya, "this is--" "That horrid--" "That horrid--" _"Harem!"_ It was even so. A minute later the betrayed maidens were carried, feet-foremost-and-fainting, through a particularly dirty portal, over which gleamed the infernal legend: "Who enters here leaves soap behind!" I wash my hands of them. [Illustration] Next morning the following "personal" appeared in the "Levant Herald:" "P-ll-m-r-r.--All is over. The S-lt-n cleared his shelves of the old stock at midnight. If you purchased the Circ-n B-ties with the money I advanced, be sure you don't keep them too long on hand. Prices are sure to fall when I have done buying for the H-r-m. Meet me at time and place agreed upon, and divide profits. G--d V--r." * * * * * JOHN SMITH. AN EDITORIAL ARTICLE FROM A JOURNAL. OF MAY 3rd, A.D. 3873. At the quiet little village of Smithcester (the ancient London) will be celebrated to-day the twentieth, centennial anniversary of this remarkable man, the foremost figure of antiquity. The recurrence of what, no longer than six centuries ago, was a popular _fête_ day, and which even now is seldom allowed to pass without some recognition by those to whom the word liberty means something more precious than gold, is provocative of peculiar emotion. It matters little whether or no tradition has correctly fixed the date of Smith's birth; that he _was_ born--that being born he wrought nobly at the work his hand found to do--that by the mere force of his intellect he established our present perfect form of government, under which civilization has attained its highest and ripest development--these are facts beside which a mere question of chronology sinks into insignificance. That this extraordinary man originated the Smitharchic system of government is, perhaps, open to honest doubt; very possibly it had a _de facto_ existence in various debased and uncertain shapes as early as the sixteenth century. But that he cleared it of its overlying errors and superstitions, gave it a definite form, and shaped it into an intelligible scheme, there is the strongest evidence in the fragments of twentieth-century literature that have descended to us, disfigured though they are with amazingly contradictory statements of his birth, parentage, and manner of life before he strode upon the political stage as the liberator of mankind. It is stated that Snakeshear--one of his contemporaries, a poet whose works had in their day some reputation (though it is difficult to say why)--alludes to him as "the noblest Roman of them all;" our ancestors at the time being called Englishmen or Romans, indifferently. In the only fragment of Snakeshear extant, however, we have been unable to find this passage. Smith's military power is amply attested in an ancient manuscript of undoubted authenticity, which has just been translated from the Japanese. It is an account of the water-battle of Loo, by an eyewitness whose name, unfortunately, has not reached us. In this battle it is stated that Smith overthrew the great Neapolitan general, whom he captured and conveyed in chains to the island of Chickenhurst. In his Political History of the Twentieth Century, the late Mimble--or, as he would have been called in the time of which he writes, _Mister_ Mimble--has this luminous sentence: "With the single exception of Coblentz, there was no European government the Liberator did not upset, and which he did not erect into a pure Smitharchy; and though some of them afterward relapsed temporarily into the crude forms of antiquity, and others fell into fanciful systems begotten of the intellectual activity he had stirred up, yet so firmly did he establish the principle, that in the Thirty-second Century the enlightened world was, what it has since remained, practically Smitharchic." It may be noted here as a curious coincidence, that the same year which saw the birth of him who established rational government witnessed the death of him who perfected literature. In 1873, Martin Farquhar Tupper--next to Smith the most notable name in history--died of starvation in the streets of London. Like that of Smith, his origin is wrapped in profoundest obscurity. No less than seven British cities claimed the honour of his birth. Meagre indeed is our knowledge of this only bard whose works have descended to us through the changes of twenty centuries entire. All that is positively established is that during his life he was editor of "The Times 'magazine,'" a word of disputed meaning--and, as quaint old Dumbleshaw says, "an accomplished Greek and Latin scholar," whatever "Greek" and "Latin" may have been. Had Smith and Tupper been contemporaries, the iron deeds of the former would doubtless have been immortalized in the golden pages of the latter. Upon such chances does History depend for her materials! Strangely unimpressible indeed must be the mind which, looking backward through the vista of twenty centuries upon the singular race from whom we are supposed to be descended, can repress a feeling of emotional interest. The names of John Smith and Martin Farquhar Tupper, blazoned upon the page of the dim past, and surrounded by the lesser names of Snakeshear, the first Neapolitan, Oliver Cornwell, Close, "Queen" Elizabeth, or Lambeth, the Dutch Bismarch, Julia Cæsar, and a host of contemporary notables are singularly suggestive. They call to mind the odd old custom of covering the body with "clothes;" the curious error of Copernicus and other wide guesses of antique "science;" the lost arts of telegramy, steam locomotion, and printing with movable types; and the exploded theory of gunpowder. They set us thinking upon the zealous idolatry which led men to make pious pilgrimages to the then accessible regions about the North Pole and into the interior of Africa, which at that time was but little better than a wilderness. They conjure up visions of bloodthirsty "Emperors," tyrannical "Kings," vampire "Presidents," and useless "Parliaments"--strangely horrible shapes contrasted with the serene and benevolent aspect of our modern Smithocracy! Let us to-day rejoice that the old order of things has for ever passed away; let us be thankful that our lot has been cast in more wholesome days than those in which John Smith chalked out the better destinies of a savage race, and Tupper sang divine philosophy to inattentive ears. And yet let us keep green the memory of whatever there was of good--if any--in the dark pre-Smithian ages, when men cherished quaint superstitions and rode on the backs of "horses"--when they passed _over_ the seas instead of under them--when science had not yet dawned to chase away the shadows of imagination--and when the cabalistic letters A.D., which from habit we still affix to the numerals designating the age of the world, had perhaps a known signification. * * * * * SUNDERED HEARTS. Deidrick Schwackenheimer was a lusty young goatherd. He stood six feet two in his _sabots_, and there was not an ounce of superfluous bone or brain in his composition. If he had a fault, it was a tendency to sleep more than was strictly necessary. The nature of his calling fostered this weakness: after being turned into some neighbour's pasture, his animals would not require looking after until the owner of the soil turned them out again. Their guardian naturally devoted the interval to slumber. Nor was there danger of oversleeping: the pitchfork of the irate husbandman always roused him at the proper moment. At nightfall Deidrick would marshal his flock and drive it homeward to the milking-yard. Here he was met by the fair young Katrina Buttersprecht, the daughter of his employer, who relieved the tense udders of their daily secretion. One evening after the milking, Deidrick, who had for years been nourishing a secret passion for Katrina, was smitten with an idea. Why should she not be his wife? He went and fetched a stool into the yard, led her tenderly to it, seated her, and _asked_ her why. The girl thought a moment, and then was at some pains to explain. She was too young. Her old father required all her care. Her little brother would cry. She was engaged to Max Manglewurzzle. She amplified considerably, but these were the essential points of objection. She set them before him _seriatim_ with perfect frankness, and without mental reservation. When she had done, her lover, with that instinctive sense of honour characteristic of the true goatherd, made no attempt to alter her decision. Indeed, he had nodded a heart-broken assent to each separate proposition, and at the conclusion of the last was fast asleep. The next morning he jocundly drove his goats afield and appeared the same as usual, except that he slept a good deal more, and thought of Katrina a good deal less. [Illustration] That evening when he returned with his spraddling milch-nannies, he found a second stool placed alongside the first. It was a happy augury; his attentions, then, were not altogether distasteful. He seated himself gravely upon the stool, and when Katrina had done milking, she came and occupied the other. He mechanically renewed his proposal. Then the artless maid proceeded to recapitulate the obstacles to the union. She was too young. Her old father required all her care. Her little brother would cry. She was engaged to Max Manglewurzzle. As each objection was stated and told off on the _fraülein's_ fingers, Deidrick nodded a resigned acquiescence, and at the finish was fast asleep. Every evening after that Deidrick proposed in perfect good faith, the girl repeated her objections with equal candour, and they were received with somnolent approval. Love-making is very agreeable, and by the usuage of long years it becomes a confirmed habit. In less than a decade it became impossible for Katrina to enjoy her supper without the regular proposal, and Deidrick could not sleep of a night without the preliminary nap in the goat-yard to taper off his wakefulness. Both would have been wretched had they retired to bed with a shade of misunderstanding between them. And so the seasons went by. The earth grayed and greened herself anew; the planets sailed their appointed courses; the old goats died, and their virtues were perpetuated in their offspring. Max Manglewurzzle married the miller's daughter; Katrina's little brother, who would have cried at her wedding, did not cry any at his own; the aged Buttersprecht was long gathered to his fathers; and Katrina was herself well stricken in years. And still at fall of night she defined her position to the sleeping lover who had sought her hand--defined it in the self-same terms as upon that eventful eve. The gossiping _frauen_ began to whisper it would be a match; but it did not look like it as yet. Slanderous tongues even asserted that it ought to have been a match long ago, but I don't see how it could have been, without the girl's consent. The parish clerk began to hanker after his fee; but, lacking patience, he was unreasonable. The whole countryside was now taking a deep interest in the affair. The aged did not wish to die without beholding the consummation of the love they had seen bud in their youth; and the young did not wish to die at all. But no one liked to interfere; it was feared that counsel to the woman would be rejected, and a thrashing to the man would be misunderstood. At last the parson took heart of grace to make or mar the match. Like a reckless gambler he staked his fee upon the cast of a die. He went one day and removed the two stools--now worn extremely thin--to another corner of the milking-yard. That evening, when the distended udders had been duly despoiled, the lovers repaired to their trysting-place. They opened their eyes a bit to find the stools removed. They were tormented with a vague presentiment of evil, and stood for some minutes irresolute; then, assisted to a decision by their weakening knees, they seated themselves flat upon the ground. Deidrick stammered a weak proposal, and Katrina essayed an incoherent objection. But she trembled and became unintelligible; and when he attempted to throw in a few nods of generous approval they came in at the wrong places. With one accord they arose and sought their stools. Katrina tried it again. She succeeded in saying her father was over-young to marry, and Max Manglewurzzle would cry if she took care of him. Deidrick executed a reckless nod that made his neck snap, and was broad awake in a minute. A second time they arose. They conveyed the stools back to their primitive position, and began again. She remarked that her little brother was too old to require all her care, and Max would cry to marry her father. Deidrick addressed himself to sleep, but a horrid nightmare galloped rough-shod into his repose and set him off with a strangled snort. The good understanding between those two hearts was for ever dissipated; neither one knew if the other were afoot or on horseback. Like the sailor's thirtieth stroke with the rope's-end, it was perfectly disgusting! Their meetings after this were so embarrassing that they soon ceased meeting altogether. Katrina died soon after, a miserable broken-spirited maiden of sixty; and Deidrick drags out a wretched existence in a remote town, upon an income of eight _silbergroschen_ a week. Oh, friends and brethren, if you did but know how slight an act may sunder for ever the bonds of love--how easily one may wreck the peace of two faithful hearts--how almost without an effort the waters of affection may be changed to gall and bitterness--I suspect you would make even more more mischief than you do now. * * * * * THE EARLY HISTORY OF BATH. Bladud was the eldest son of a British King (whose name I perfectly remember, but do not choose to write) _temp_. Solomon--who does not appear to have known Bladud, however. Bladud was, therefore, Prince of Wales. He was more than that: he was a leper--had it very bad, and the Court physician, Sir William Gull, frequently remarked that the Prince's death was merely a question of time. When a man gets to that stage of leprosy he does not care much for society, particularly if no one will have anything to do with him. So Bladud bade a final adieu to the world, and settled in Liverpool. But not agreeing with the climate, he folded his tent into the shape of an Arab, as Longfellow says, and silently stole away to the southward, bringing up in Gloucestershire. Here Bladud hired himself out to a farmer named Smith, as a swineherd. But Fate, as he expressed it in the vernacular, was "ferninst him." Leprosy is a contagious disease, within certain degrees of consanguinity, and by riding his pigs afield he communicated it to them; so that in a few weeks, barring the fact that they were hogs, they were no better off than he. Mr. Smith was an irritable old gentleman, so choleric he made his bondsmen tremble--though he was now abroad upon his own recognizances. Dreading his wrath, Bladud quitted his employ, without giving the usual week's notice, but so far conforming to custom in other respects as to take his master's pigs along with him. We find him next at a place called Swainswick--or Swineswig--a mile or two to the north-east of Bath, which, as yet, had no existence, its site being occupied by a smooth level reach of white sand, or a stormy pool of black water, travellers of the time disagree which. At Swainswick Bladud found his level; throwing aside all such nonsense as kingly ambition, and the amenities of civilized society--utterly ignoring the deceitful pleasures of common sense--he contented his simple soul with composing _bouts rimés_ for Lady Miller, at Batheaston Villa; that one upon a buttered muffin, falsely ascribed by Walpole to the Duchess of Northumberland, was really constructed by Bladud. A brief glance at the local history of the period cannot but prove instructive. Ralph Allen was then residing at Sham Castle, where Pope accused him of doing good like a thief in the night and blushing to find it unpopular. Fielding was painfully evolving "Tom Jones" from an inner consciousness that might have been improved by soap and any water but that of Bath. Bishop Warburton had just shot the Count Du Barré in a duel with Lord Chesterfield; and Beau Nash was disputing with Dr. Johnson, at the Pelican Inn, Walcot, upon a question of lexicographical etiquette. It is necessary to learn these things in order the better to appreciate the interest of what follows. During all this time Bladud never permitted his mind to permanently desert his calling; he found family matters a congenial study, and he thought of his swine a good deal, off and on. One day while baiting them amongst the hills, he observed a cloud of steam ascending from the valley below. Having always believed steam a modern invention, this ancient was surprised, and when his measly charge set up a wild squeal, rushing down a steep place into the aspiring vapour, his astonishment ripened into dismay. As soon as he conveniently could Bladud followed, and there he heard the saw--I mean he saw the herd wallowing and floundering multitudinously in a hot spring, and punctuating the silence of nature with grunts of quiet satisfaction, as the leprosy left them and clave to the waters--to which it cleaves yet. It is not probable the pigs went in there for a medicinal purpose; how could they know? Any butcher will tell you that a pig, after being assassinated, is invariably boiled to loosen the hair. By long usage the custom of getting into hot water has become a habit which the living pig inherits from the dead pork. (See Herbert Spencer on "Heredity.") Now Bladud (who is said to have studied at Athens, as most Britons of his time did) was a rigid disciple of Bishop Butler; and Butler's line of argument is this: Because a rose-bush blossoms this year, a lamppost will blossom next year. By this ingenious logic he proves the immortality of the human soul, which is good of him; but in so doing he proves, also, the immortality of the souls of snakes, mosquitos, and everything else, which is less commendable. Reasoning by analogy, Bladud was convinced that if these waters would cure a pig, they would cure a prince: and without waiting to see _how_ they had cured the bacon, he waded in. When asked the next day by Sir William Waller if he intended trying the waters again, and if he retained his fondness for that style of bathing, he replied, "Not any, thank you; I am quite cured!" Sir William at once noised abroad the story of the wonderful healing, and when it reached the king's ears, that potentate sent for Bladud to "come home at once and succeed to the throne, just the same as if he had a skin"--which Bladud did. Some time afterwards he thought to outdo Dædalus and Icarus, by flying from the top of St. Paul's Cathedral. He outdid them handsomely; he fell a good deal harder than they did, and broke his precious neck. Previously to his melancholy end he built the City of Bath, to commemorate his remarkable cure. He endowed the Corporation with ten millions sterling, every penny of the interest of which is annually devoted to the publication of guide-books to Bath, to lure the unwary invalid to his doom. From motives of mercy the Corporation have now set up a contrivance for secretly extracting the mineral properties of the fluid before it is ladled out, but formerly a great number of strangers found a watery grave. If King Bladud was generous to Bath, Bath has been grateful in return. One statue of him adorns the principal street, and another graces the swimming pond, both speaking likenesses. The one represents him as he was before he divided his leprosy with the pigs; the other shows him as he appeared after breaking his neck. Writing in 1631, Dr. Jordan says: "The baths are bear-gardens, where both sexes bathe promiscuously, while the passers-by pelt them with dead dogs, cats, and pigs; and even human creatures are hurled over the rails into the water." It is not so bad as that now, but lodgings are still held at rates which might be advantageously tempered to the shorn. I append the result of a chemical analysis I caused to be made of these incomparable Waters, that the fame of their virtues may no longer rest upon the inadequate basis of their observed effects. One hundred parts of the water contain: Brandate of Sodium 9.50 parts. Sulphuretted Hydrogen 3.50 " Citrate of Magnesia 15.00 " Calves'-foot Jelly 10.00 " Protocarbonate of Brass 11.00 " Nitric Acid 7.50 " Devonshire Cream 6.00 " Treaclate of Soap 2.00 " Robur 3.50 " Superheated Mustard 11.50 " Frogs 20.45 " Traces of Guano, Leprosy, Picallilly, and Scotch Whiskey .05 " Temperature of the four baths, 117 degrees each--or 468 altogether. * * * * * THE FOLLOWING DORG. Dad Petto, as everybody called him, had a dog, upon whom he lavished an amount of affection which, had it been disbursed in a proper quarter, would have been adequate to the sentimental needs of a dozen brace of lovers. The name of this dog was Jerusalem, but it might more properly have been Dan-to-Beersheba. He was not a fascinating dog to look at; you can buy a handsomer dog in any shop than this one. He had neither a graceful exterior nor an engaging address. On the contrary, his exceptional plainness had passed into a local proverb; and such was the inbred coarseness of his demeanour, that in the dark you might have thought him a politician. If you will take two very bandy-legged curs, cut one off just abaft the shoulders, and the other immediately forward of the haunches, rejecting the fore-part of the first and the rear portion of the second, you will have the raw material for constructing a dog something like Dad Petto's. You have only to effect a junction between the accepted sections, and make the thing eat. Had he been favoured with as many pairs of legs as a centipede, Jerusalem would not have differed materially from either of his race; but it was odd to see such a wealth of dog wedded to such a poverty of leg. He was so long that the most precocious pupil of the public schools could not have committed him to memory in a week. It was beautiful to see Jerusalem rounding the angle of a wall, and turning his head about to observe how the remainder of the procession was coming on. He was once circumnavigating a small out-house, when, catching sight of his own hinder-quarters, he flew into a terrible rage. The sight of another dog always had this effect upon Jerusalem, and more especially when, as in this case, he thought he could grasp an unfair advantage. So Jerusalem took after that retreating foe as hard as ever he could hook it. Round and round he flew, but the faster he went, the more his centrifugal force widened his circle, until he presently lost sight of his enemy altogether. Then he slowed down, determined to accomplish his end by strategy. Sneaking closely up to the wall, he moved cautiously forward, and when he had made the full circuit, he came smack up against his own tail. Making a sudden spring, which must have stretched him like a bit of India-rubber, he fastened his teeth into his ham, hanging on like a country visitor. He felt sure he had nailed the other dog, but he was equally confident the other dog had nailed him; so the problem was simplified to a mere question of endurance--and Jerusalem was an animal of pluck. The grim conflict was maintained all one day--maintained with deathless perseverance, until Dad Petto discovered the belligerent and uncoupled him. Then Jerusalem looked up at his master with a shake of the head, as much as to say: "It's a precious opportune arrival for the other pup; but who took _him_ off _me_?" I don't think I can better illustrate the preposterous longitude of this pet, than by relating an incident that fell under my own observation. I was one day walking along the highway with a friend who was a stranger in the neighbourhood, when a rabbit flashed past us, going our way, but evidently upon urgent business. Immediately upon his heels followed the first instalment of Dad Petto's mongrel, enveloped in dust, his jaws distended, the lower one shaving the ground to scoop up the rabbit. He was going at a rather lively gait, but was some time in passing. My friend stood a few moments looking on; then rubbed his eyes, looked again, and finally turned to me, just as the brute's tail flitted by, saying, with a broad stare of astonishment: "Did you ever see a pack of hounds run so perfectly in line? It beats anything! And the speed, too--they seem fairly blended! If a fellow didn't know better, he would swear there was but a single dog!" I suppose it was this peculiarity of Jerusalem that had won old Petto's regard. He liked as much of anything as he could have for his money; and the expense of this creature, generally speaking, was no greater than that of a brief succinct bull pup. But there were times when he was costly. All dogs are sometimes "off their feed"--will eat nothing for a whole day but a few ox-tails, a pudding or two, and such towelling as they can pick up in the scullery. When Jerusalem got that way, which, to do him justice, was singularly seldom, it made things awkward in the near future. For in a few days after recovering his passion for food, the effect of his former abstemiousness would begin to reach his stomach; but of course all he could _then_ devour would work no immediate relief. This he would naturally attribute to the quality of his fare, and would change his diet a dozen times a day, his _menu_ in the twelve working hours comprising an astonishing range of articles, from a wood-saw to a kettle of soft soap--edibles as widely dissimilar as the zenith and the nadir, which, also, he would eat. So catholic an appetite was, of course, exceptional: ordinarily Jerusalem was as narrow and illiberal as the best of us. Give him plenty of raw beef, and he would not unsettle his gastric faith by outside speculation or tentative systems. I could relate things of this dog by the hour. Such, for example, as his clever device for crossing a railway. He never attempted to do this endwise, like other animals, for the obvious reason that, like every one else, he was unable to make any sense of the time-tables; and unless he should by good luck begin the manoeuvre when a train was said to be due, it was likely he would be abbreviated; for of course no one is idiot enough to cross a railway track when the time-table says it is all clear--at least no one as long as Jerusalem. So he would advance his head to the rails, calling in his outlying convolutions, and straightening them alongside the track, parallel with it; and then at a signal previously agreed upon--a short wild bark--this sagacious dog would make the transit unanimously, as it were. By this method he commonly avoided a quarrel with the engine. Altogether he was a very interesting beast, and his master was fond of him no end. And with the exception of compelling Mr. Petto to remove to the centre of the State to avoid double taxation upon him, he was not wholly unprofitable; for he was the best sheep-dog in the country: he always kept the flock well together by the simple device of surrounding them. Having done so, he would lie down, and eat, and eat, and eat, till there wasn't a sheep left, except a few old rancid ones; and even those he would tear into small spring lambs. Dad Petto never went anywhere without the superior portion of Jerusalem at his side; and he always alluded to him as "the following dorg." But the beast finally became a great nuisance in Illinois. His body obstructed the roads in all directions; and the Representative of that district in the National Congress was instructed by his constituents to bring in a bill taxing dogs by the linear yard, instead of by the head, as the law then stood. Dad Petto proceeded at once to Washington to "lobby" against the measure. He knew the wife of a clerk in the Bureau of Statistics; armed with this influence he felt confident of success. I was myself in Washington, at the time, trying to secure the removal of a postmaster who was personally obnoxious to me, inasmuch as I had been strongly recommended for the position by some leading citizens, who to their high political characters superadded the more substantial merit of being my relations. Dad and I were standing, one morning, in front of Willard's Hotel, when he stooped over and began patting Jerusalem on the head. All of a sudden the smiling brute sprang open his mouth and bade farewell to a succession of yells which speedily collected ten thousand miserable office-seekers, and an equal quantity of brigadier-generals, who, all in a breath, inquired who had been stabbed, and what was the name of the lady. Meantime nothing would pacify the pup; he howled most dismally, punctuating his wails with quick sharp shrieks of mortal agony. More than an hour--more than two hours--we strove to discover and allay the canine grievance, but to no purpose. Presently one of the hotel pages stepped up to Mr. Petto, handing him a telegraphic dispatch just received. It was dated at his home in Cowville, Illinois, and making allowance for the difference in time, something more than two hours previously. It read as follows: "A pot of boiling glue has just been upset upon Jerusalem's hind-quarters. Shall I try rhubarb, or let it get cold and chisel it off? "P.S. He did it himself, wagging his tail in the kitchen. Some Democrat has been bribing that dog with cold victuals.--PENELOPE PETTO." Then we knew what ailed "the following dorg." I should like to go on giving the reader a short account of this animal's more striking personal peculiarities, but the subject seems to grow under my hand. The longer I write, the longer he becomes, and the more there is to tell; and after all, I shall not get a copper more for pourtraying all this length of dog than I would for depicting an orbicular pig. SNAKING. Very talkative people always seemed to me to be divided into two classes--those who lie for a purpose and those who lie for the love of lying; and Sam Baxter belonged, with broad impartiality, to both. With him falsehood was not more frequently a means than an end; for he would not only lie without a purpose but at a sacrifice. I heard him once reading a newspaper to a blind aunt, and deliberately falsifying the market reports. The good old lady took it all in with a trustful faith, until he quoted dried apples at fifty cents a yard for unbolted sides; then she arose and disinherited him. Sam seemed to regard the fountain of truth as a stagnant pool, and himself an angel whose business it was to stand by and trouble the waters. "You know Ben Dean," said Sam to me one day; "I'm down on that fellow, and I'll tell you why. In the winter of '68 he and I were snaking together in the mountains north of the Big Sandy." "What do you mean by snaking, Sam?" "Well, _I_ like _that_! Why, gathering snakes, to be sure--rattlesnakes for zoological gardens, museums, and side-shows to circuses. This is how it is done: a party of snakers go up to the mountains in the early autumn, with provisions for all winter, and putting up a snakery at some central point, get to work as soon as the torpid season sets in, and before there is much snow. I presume you know that when the nights begin to get cold, the snakes go in under big flat stones, snuggle together, and lie there frozen stiff until the warm days of spring limber them up for business. "We go about, raise up the rocks, tie the worms into convenient bundles and carry them to the snakery, where, during the snow season, they are assorted, labelled according to quality, and packed away for transportation. Sometimes a single showman will have as many as a dozen snakers in the mountains all winter. "Ben and I were out, one day, and had gathered a few sheaves of prime ones, when we discovered a broad stone that showed good indications, but we couldn't raise it. The whole upper part of the mountain seemed to be built mostly upon this one stone. There was nothing to be done but mole it--dig under, you know; so taking the spade I soon widened the hole the creatures had got in at, until it would admit my body. Crawling in, I found a kind of cell in the solid rock, stowed nearly full of beautiful serpents, some of them as long as a man. You would have revelled in those worms! They were neatly disposed about the sides of the cave, an even dozen in each berth, and some odd ones swinging from the ceiling in hammocks, like sailors. By the time I had counted them roughly, as they lay, it was dark, and snowing like the mischief. There was no getting back to head-quarters that night, and there was room for but one of us inside." "Inside what, Sam?" "See here! have you been listening to what I'm telling you, or not? There is no use telling _you_ anything. Perhaps you won't mind waiting till I get done, and then you can tell something of your own. We drew straws to decide who should sleep inside, and it fell to me. Such luck as that fellow Ben always had drawing straws when I held them! It was sinful! But even inside it was coldish, and I was more than an hour getting asleep. Toward morning, though, I woke, feeling very warm and peaceful. The moon was at full, just rising in the valley below, and, shining in at the hole I'd entered at, it made everything light as day." "But, Sam, according to _my_ astronomy a full moon never rises towards morning." "Now, who said anything about your astronomy? I'd like to know who is telling this--you or I? Always think you know more than I do--and always swearing it isn't so--and always taking the words out of my mouth, and--but what's the use of arguing with _you_? As I was saying, the snakes began waking about the same time I did; I could hear them turn over on their other sides and sigh. Presently one raised himself up and yawned. He meant well, but it was not the regular thing for an ophidian to do at that season. By-and-by they began to poke their heads up all round, nodding good morning to one another across the room; and pretty soon one saw me lying there and called attention to the fact. Then they all began to crowd to the front and hang out over the sides of the beds in a fringe, to study my habits. I can't describe the strange spectacle: you would have supposed it was the middle of March and a forward season! There were more worms than I had counted, and they were larger ones than I had thought. And the more they got awake the wider they yawned, and the longer they stretched. The fat fellows in the hammocks above me were in danger of toppling out and breaking their necks every minute. "Then it went through my mind like a flash what was the matter. Finding it cold outside, Ben had made a roaring fire on the top of the rock, and the heat had deceived the worms into the belief that it was late spring. As I lay there and thought of a full-grown man who hadn't any better sense than to do such a thing as _that_, I was mad enough to kill him. I lost confidence in mankind. If I had not stopped up the entrance before lying down, with a big round stone which the heat had swollen so that a hydraulic ram couldn't have butted it loose, I should have put on my clothes and gone straight home." "But, Sam, you said the entrance was open, and the moon shining in." "There you go again! Always contradicting--and insinuating that the moon must remain for hours in one position--and saying you've heard it told better by some one else--and wanting to fight! I've told this story to your brother over at Milk River more than a hundred million times, and he never said a word against it." "I believe you, Samuel; for he is deaf as a tombstone." "Tell you what to do for him! I know a fellow in Smith's Valley will cure him in a minute. That fellow has cleaned the deafness all out of Washington County a dozen times. I never knew a case of it that could stand up against him ten seconds. Take three parts of snake-root to a gallon of waggon-grease, and--I'll go and see if I can find the prescription!" And Sam was off like a rocket. * * * * * MAUD'S PAPA. That is she in the old black silk--the one with the gimlet curls and the accelerated lap-cat. Doesn't she average about as I set her forth? "Never told you anything about her?" Well, I will. Twenty years ago, many a young man, of otherwise good character, would have ameliorated his condition for that girl; and would have thought himself overpaid if she had restored a fosy on his sepulchre. Maud would have been of the same opinion--and wouldn't have construed the fosy. And she was the most sagacious girl I ever experienced! As you shall hear. I was her lover, and she was mine. We loved ourselves to detraction. Maud lived a mile from any other house--except one brick barn. Not even a watch-dog about the place--except her father. This pompous old weakling hated me boisterously; he said I was dedicated to hard drink, and when in that condition was perfectly incompatible. I did not like him, too. One evening I called on Maud, and was surprised to meet her at the gate, with a shawl drawn over her head, and apparently in great combustion. She told me, hastily, the old man was ill of a fever, and had nearly derided her by going crazy. This was all a lie; something had gone wrong with the old party's eyes--amanuensis of the equinox, or something; he couldn't see well, but he was no more crazy than I was sober. "I was sitting quietly by him," said Maud, "when he sat up in bed and be-_gan!_ You never in all your born life! I'm so glad you've come; you can take care of him while I fetch the doctor. He's quiet enough now, but you just wait till he gets another paralogism. When _they_'re on--oh my! You mustn't let him talk, nor get out of bed; doctor says it would prolong the diagnosis. Go right in, now. Oh dear! whatever shall I ought to do?" And, blowing her eyes on the corner of her shawl, Maud shot away like a comic. I walked hurriedly into the house, and entered the old man's dromedary, without knocking. The playful girl had left that room a moment before, with every appearance of being frightened. She had told the old one there was a robber in the house, and the venerable invalid was a howling coward--I tell you this because I scorn to deceive you. I found the old gentleman with his head under the blankets, very quiet and speaceful: but the moment he heard me he got up, and yelled like a heliotrope. Then he fixed on me a wild spiercing look from his bloodshot eyes, and for the first time in my life I believed Maud had told me the truth for the first time in hers. Then he reached out for a heavy cane. But I was too punctual for him, and, clapping my hand on his breast, I crowded him down, holding him tight. He curvetted some; then lay still, and swore weak oaths that wouldn't have hurt a sick chicken! All this time I was firm as a rock of amaranth. Presently, moreover, he spoke very low and resigned like--except his teeth chattered: "Desperate man, there is no need; you will find it to the north-west corner of my upper secretary drawer. I spromise not to appear." "All right, my lobster-snouted bulbul," said I, delighted with the importunity of abusing him; "that is the dryest place you could keep it in, old spoolcotton! Be sure you don't let the light get to it, angleworm! Meantime, therefore, you must take this draught." "Draught!" he shrieked, meandering from the subject. "O my poor child!"--and he sprang up again, screaming a multiple of things. I had him by the shoulders in a minute, and crushed him back--except his legs kept agitating. "Keep still, will you?" said I, "you sugarcoated old mandible, or I'll conciliate your exegesis with a proletarian!" I never had such a flow of language in my life; I could say anything I wanted to. He quailed at that threat, for, deleterious as I thought him, he saw I meant it; but he affected to prefer it that way to taking it out of the bottle. "Better," he moaned, "better even that than the poison. Spare me the poisoned chalice, and you may do it in the way you mention." The "draught," it may be sproper to explain, was comprised in a large bottle sitting on the table. I thought it was medicine--except it was black--and although Maud (sweet screature!) had not told me to give him anything, I felt sure this was nasty enough for him, or anybody. And it was; it was ink. So I treated his proposed compromise with silent contempt, merely remarking, as I uncorked the bottle: "Medicine's medicine, my fine friend; and it is for the sick." Then, spinioning his arms with one of mine, I concerted the neck of the bottle between his teeth. "Now, you lacustrine old cylinder-escapement," I exclaimed, with some warmth, "hand up your stomach for this healing precoction, or I'm blest if I won't controvert your _raison d'être!_" He struggled hard, but, owing to my habit of finishing what I undertake, without any success. In ten minutes it was all down--except that some of it was spouted about rather circumstantially over the bedding, and walls, and me. There was more of the draught than I had thought. As he had been two days ill, I had supposed the bottle must be nearly empty; but, of course, when you think of it, a man doesn't abrogate much ink in an ordinary attack--except editors. Just as I got my knees off the spatient's breast, Maud peeped in at the door. She had remained in the lane till she thought the charm had had time to hibernate, then came in to have her laugh. She began having it, gently; but seeing me with the empty bottle in my sable hand, and the murky inspiration rolling off my face in gasconades, she got graver, and came in very soberly. Wherewith, the draught had done its duty, and the old gentleman was enjoying the first rest he had known since I came to heal him. He is enjoying it yet, for he was as dead as a monogram. As there was a good deal of scandal about my killing a sprospective father-in-law, I had to live it down by not marrying Maud--who has lived single, as a rule, ever since. All this epigastric tercentenary might have been avoided if she had only allowed a good deal of margin for my probable condition when she splanned her little practicable joke. "Why didn't they hang me?"--- Waiter, bring me a brandy spunch.--Well, that is the most didactic question! But if you must know--they did. * * * * * JIM BECKWOURTH'S POND. Not long after _that_ (said old Jim Beckwourth, beginning a new story) there was a party of about a dozen of us down in the Powder River country, after buffalo. It was the _worst_ place! Just think of the most barren and sterile spot you ever saw, or ever will see. Now take that spot and double it: that is where _we_ were. One day, about noon, we halted near a sickly little _arroyo_, that was just damp enough to have deluded some feeble bunches of bonnet-wire into setting up as grass along its banks. After picketing the horses and pack-mules we took luncheon, and then, while the others smoked and played cards for half-dollars, I took my rifle and strolled off into the hills to see if I could find a blind rabbit, or a lame antelope, that had been unable to leave the country. As I went on I heard, at intervals of about a quarter of an hour, a strange throbbing sound, as of smothered thunder, which grew more distinct as I advanced. Presently I came upon a lake of near a mile in diameter, and almost circular. It was as calm and even as a mirror, but I could see by a light steamy haze above it that the water was nearly at boiling heat--a not very uncommon circumstance in that region. While I looked, big bubbles began to rise to the surface, chase one another about, and burst; and suddenly, without any other preliminary movement, there occurred the most awful and astounding event that (with a single exception) it has ever been my lot to witness! I stood rooted to the spot with horror, and when it was all over, and again the lake lay smiling placidly before me, I silently thanked Heaven I had been standing at some distance from the deceitful pool. In a quarter of an hour the frightful scene was repeated, preceded as before by the rising and bursting of bubbles, and producing in me the utmost terror; but after seeing it three or four times I became calm. Then I went back to camp, and told the boys there was a tolerably interesting pond near by, if they cared for such things. At first they did not, but when I had thrown in a few lies about the brilliant hues of the water, and the great number of swans, they laid down their cards, left Lame Dave to look after the horses, and followed me back to see. Just before we crossed the last range of hills we heard a thundering sound ahead, which somewhat astonished the boys, but I said nothing till we stood on a low knoll overlooking the lake. There it lay, as peaceful as a dead Indian, of a dull grey colour, and as innocent of water-fowl as a new-born babe. "There!" said I, triumphantly, pointing to it. "Well," said Bill Buckster, leaning on his rifle and surveying it critically, "what's the matter with the pond? I don't see nothin' in _that_ puddle." "Whar's yer swans?" asked Gus Jamison. "And yer prismatic warter?" added Stumpy Jack. "Well, I like _this!_" drawled Frenchwoman Pete. "What 'n thunder d' ye mean, you derned saddle-coloured fraud?" I was a little nettled at all this, particularly as the lake seemed to have buried the hatchet for that day; but I thought I would "cheek it through." "Just you wait!" I replied, significantly. "O yes!" exclaimed Stumpy, derisively; "'course, boys, you mus' _wait_. 'Tain't no use a-hurryin' up the cattle; yer mustn't rush the buck. Jest wait till some feller comes along with a melted rainbow, and lays on the war-paint! and another feller fetches the swans' eggs, and sets on 'em, and hatches 'em out!--and me a-holding both bowers an' the ace!" he added, regretfully, thinking of the certainty he had left, to follow a delusive hope. Then I pointed out to them a wide margin of wet and steaming clay surrounding the water on all sides, asking them if _that_ wasn't worth coming to see. "_That_!" exclaimed Gus. "I've seen the same thing a thousand million times! It's the reg'lar thing in Idaho. Clay soaks up the water and sweats it out." To verify his theory he started away, down to the shore. I was concerned for Gus, but I did not dare call him back for fear of betraying my secret in some way. Besides, I knew he would not come; and he ought not to have been so sceptical, anyhow. Just then two or three big bubbles rose to the surface, and silently exploded. Quick as lightning I dropped on my knees and raised my arms. "Now may Heaven grant my prayer," I began with awful solemnity, "and send the great Ranunculus to loose the binding chain of concupiscence, heaving the multitudinous aquacity upon the heads of this wicked and sententious generation, whelming these diametrical scoffers in a supercilious Constantinople!" I knew the long words would impress their simple souls with a belief that I was actually praying; and I was right, for every man of them pulled his hat off, and stood staring at me with a mixed look of reverence, incredulity, and astonishment--but not for long. For before I could say amen, yours truly, or anything, that entire body of water shot upward five hundred feet into the air, as smooth as a column of crystal, curled over in broad green cataracts, falling outward with a jar and thunder like the explosion of a thousand subterranean cannon, then surging and swirling back to the centre, one steaming, writhing mass of snowy foam! As I rose to my feet to put my hand in my pocket for a chew of tobacco, I looked complacently about upon my comrades. Stumpy Jack stood paralysed, his head thrown back at an alarming angle, precisely as he had tilted it to watch the ascending column, and his neck somehow out of joint, holding it there. All the others were down upon their marrow-bones, white with terror, praying with extraordinary fervency, each trying his best to master the ridiculous jargon they had heard me use, but employing it with an even greater disregard of sense and fitness than I did. Away over on the next range of hills, toward camp, was something that looked like a giant spider, scrambling up the steep side of the sand-hill, and sliding down a trifle faster than it got up. It was Lame Dave, who had abandoned his equine trust, to come up at the eleventh hour and see the swans. He had seen enough, and was now trying, in his weak way, to get back to camp. In a few minutes I had got Stumpy's head back into the position assigned it by Nature, had crowded his eyes in, and was going about with a reassuring smile, helping the pious upon their feet. Not a word was spoken; I took the lead, and we strode solemnly to camp, picking up Lame Dave at the foot of his acclivity, played a little game for Gus Jamison's horse and "calamities," then mounted our steeds, departing thence. Three or four days afterward I ventured cautiously upon a covert allusion to peculiar lakes, but the simultaneous clicking of ten revolvers convinced me that I need not trouble myself to pursue the subject. * * * * * STRINGING A BEAR. "I was looking for my horse one morning, up in the San Joaquin Valley," said old Sandy Fowler, absently stirring the camp fire, "when I saw a big bull grizzly lying in the sunshine, picking his teeth with his claws, and smiling, as if he said, 'You need not mind the horse, old fellow; he's been found.' I at once gave a loud whoop, which I thought would be heard by the boys in the camp, and prepared to string the brute." "Oh, I know how it goes," interrupted Smarty Mellor, as we called him; "seen it done heaps o' times! Six or eight o' ye rides up to the b'ar, and s'rounds him, every son-of-a-gun with a _riata_ a mile long, and worries him till he gits his mad up, and while he's a-chasin' one feller the others is a-goin' äter him, and a-floorin' of him by loopin' his feet as they comes up behind, and when he turns onto them fellers the other chappy turns onto him, and puts another loop onto his feet as they comes up behind, and then--" "I bound my _riata_ tightly about my wrist," resumed old Sandy, composedly, "so that the beast should not jerk away when I had got him. Then I advanced upon him--very slowly, so as not to frighten him away. Seeing me coming, he rose upon his haunches, to have a look at me. He was about the size of a house--say a small two-storey house, with a Mansard roof. I paused a moment, to take another turn of the thong about my wrist. "Again I moved obliquely forward, trying to look as if I were thinking about the new waterworks in San Francisco, or the next presidential election, so as not to frighten him away. The brute now rose squarely upon end, with his paws suspended before him, like a dog begging for a biscuit, and I thought what a very large biscuit he must be begging for! Halting a moment, to see if the _riata_ was likely to cut into my wrist, I perceived the beast had an inkling of my design, and was trying stupidly to stretch his head up out of reach. "I now threw off all disguise, and whirled my cord with a wide circular sweep, and in another moment it would have been very unpleasant for Bruin, but somehow the line appeared to get foul. While I was opening the noose, the animal settled upon his feet and came toward me; but the moment he saw me begin to whirl again, he got frightened, up-ended himself as before, and shut his eyes. "Then I felt in my belt to see if my knife was there, when the bear got down again and came forward, utterly regardless. "Seeing he was frightened and trying to escape by coming so close I could not have a fair fling at him, I dropped the noose on the ground and walked away, trailing the line behind me. When it was all run out, the rascal arrived at the loop. He first smelled it, then opened it with his paws, and putting it about his neck, tilted up again, and nodded significantly. "I pulled out my knife, and severing the line at my wrist, walked away, looking for some one to introduce me to Smarty Mellor." 
21189	----	file was produced from images generously made available by The University of Florida, The Internet Archive/Children's Library) [Illustration] [Illustration: Æsop in Rhyme] ÆSOP, IN RHYME; OR, OLD FRIENDS IN A NEW DRESS. [Illustration] BY MARMADUKE PARK. * * * * * PHILADELPHIA: C. G. HENDERSON, & CO., N. W. CORNER ARCH AND FIFTH STREETS. 1852. * * * * * Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, BY C. G. HENDERSON & CO., in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. * * * * * [Illustration] THE DOG AND THE WOLF. A wolf there was, whose scanty fare Had made his person lean and spare; A dog there was, so amply fed, His sides were plump and sleek; 'tis said The wolf once met this prosp'rous cur, And thus began: "Your servant, sir; I'm pleased to see you look so well, Though how it is I cannot tell; I have not broke my fast to-day; Nor have I, I'm concern'd to say, One bone in store or expectation, And that I call a great vexation." "Indeed it is," the dog replied: "I know no ill so great beside; But if you do not like to be So poorly fed, come live with me." "Agreed," rejoined the wolf, "I'll go: But pray, what work am I to do?" "Oh, guard the house, and do not fail To bark at thieves, and wag your tail." So off they jogg'd, and soon arrived At where the friendly mastiff lived. "Well," said the wolf, "I can't deny You have a better house than I." "Not so," the other then replied, "If you with me will hence abide." "Oh," said the wolf, "how kind you are! But what d'ye call _that_, hanging there? Is it an iron chain, or what?" "Friend," said the dog, "I quite forgot To mention that; sometimes, you see, They hook that little chain to _me_; But it is only meant to keep Us dogs from walking in our sleep, And should you wear it, you would find, It's nothing that you need to mind." "I'll take your word," the wolf replied. "It's truth by me shall ne'er be tried; I'll have my liberty again, And you your collar and your chain." MORAL. Our neighbors sometimes seem to be A vast deal better off than we; Yet seldom 'tis they really are, Since _they_ have troubles too to bear, Which, if the truth were really known, Are quite as grievous as our own. [Illustration] THE HERDSMAN. A herdsman, who lived at a time and a place Which, should you not know, is but little disgrace, Discover'd one morning, on counting his stock, That a sheep had been stolen that night from the flock. "Oh, I wish I had caught ye, _whoever ye be_ I'd have soon let you know, I'd have soon let ye see, What he had to expect," said the herdsman, "I trow; But I've thought of a scheme that will trouble you now." So what did he do, sir, but put up a board, Describing the thief, and proposed a reward Of a lamb, to the man who would give information Concerning the thief, and his true designation. The project succeeded; for soon there applied A certain near neighbor, with others beside. "But tell me the thief," said the herdsman, "at least;" "Come hither," said they, "and we'll show you the beast!" "The _beast_!" said the rustic, who thought he should die on The spot, when he found that the thief was a lion! "Ill luck to my hurry, what now shall I do? I promised a lamb to detect you 'tis true; But now I'd consent _all_ my substance to pay, If I could but with safety get out of your way." MORAL. Silly people ask things that would ruin, if sent; They demand them in haste, and at leisure repent. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BOYS AND THE FROGS. Some boys, beside a pond or lake, Were playing once at _duck and drake?_ When, doubtless to their heart's content, Volleys of stones were quickly sent. But there were some (there will be such) Who did not seem amused so much; These were the frogs, to whom the game, In point of sport was not the same. For scarce a stone arrived, 'tis said, But gave some frog a broken head; And scores in less than half an hour, Perished beneath the dreadful shower. At last, said one, "You silly folks, I say, Do fling your stones another way; Though _sport_ to _you_, to throw them thus, Remember, pray, 'tis _death_ to us!" MORAL. From hence this moral may be learn'd: Let play _be play_ to _all concern'd_. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE COCK AND THE JEWEL. A cock there was: a sage was he (If Esop we may trust,) Who wish'd to make a meal, you see, As other sages must. With this intent, as heretofore, When on the hunt for grain; Our hero scratch'd the litter o'er With all his might and main. But scarce a minute had he scratch'd, When, to his great surprise, A gem, with golden chain attach'd, He saw with both his eyes. "Alack!" quoth he, "what have we here? A diamond, I protest! Which lords and ladies buy so dear, And hold in such request. "But one good barley-corn to me Has more intrinsic worth Than all the pearls now in the sea, Or gold now in the earth." MORAL. The moral here, in Esop's mind, Was this, there's not a doubt: Things have _most_ value, which we find We _cannot_ do without. [Illustration] THE MAN AND THE LION. A man and a lion once had a dispute, Which was reckon'd the greatest, the man or the brute; The lion discoursed on his side at some length, And greatly enlarged on his courage and strength. The man, one would think, had enough to reply On _his_ side the question, which none could deny; But like many others who make a pretence, He talk'd perfect nonsense, and thought it good sense. "So," says he, "don't be prating,--look yonder, I pray, At that sculpture of marble, now what will you say? The lion is vanquished; but as for the man He is striding upon him; deny it who can." "But pray," said the lion, "who sculptured that stone?" "One of _us_," said the man, "I must candidly own." "But when _we_ are sculptors," the other replied, "You will then on the man see the _lion_ astride." MORAL. The man might have added, if he had been wise, "But a beast _cannot_ sculpture a stone, _if he tries_." _That_ sufficiently shows where the difference lies. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FOX AND THE CRANE. "I certainly think," said a fox to a crane, "That face, ma'am of yours is remarkably plain; That beak that you wear is so frightful a feature, It makes you appear a most singular creature." The crane, much offended at what she had heard, March'd off at full speed, without saying a word: "Oh dear!" said the fox, "Mrs. Crane, I protest You misunderstand me, 'twas only a jest." "Come, don't be affronted--stay with me and dine; You know very well 'tis this temper of mine To say such odd things to my intimate friends; But you know that poor Reynard no mischief intends." So the crane thought it best not to break with him quite, But to view his remarks in a good-natured light. So she put on as pleasant a face as she could When he ask'd her to dine, and replied that she would. But alas! she perceived that his jokes were not over, When Reynard removed from the victuals its cover 'Twas neither game, butcher's meat, chicken, not fish; But plain gravy-soup, in a broad shallow dish. Now this the fox lapp'd with his tongue very quick, While the crane could scarce dip in the point of her beak; "You make a poor dinner," said he to his guest; "Oh, dear! by no means," said the bird, "I protest." But the crane ask'd the fox on a subsequent day, When nothing, it seems, for their dinner had they But some minced meat served up in a narrow-neck'd jar; Too long, and narrow, for Reynard by far. "You make a poor dinner, I fear," said the bird; "Why, I think," said the fox, "'twould be very absurd To deny what you say, yet I cannot complain, But confess, though a fox, that I'm matched by a crane." MORAL. Cunning folks who play tricks which good manners condemn, Often find their own tricks play'd again upon them. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE TRAVELLER AND THE SATYR. A luckless wight, in winter slow, Travelling once a forest through Cold and hungry, tired and wet, Began in words like these to fret: "Oh, what a sharp inclement day! And what a dismal, dreary way! No friendly cot, no cheering fields, No food this howling forest yields; I've nought in store or expectation! There's nought before me but starvation." "Not quite so bad," a voice replied; Quickly the traveller turned aside, And saw the satyr of the wood, Who close beside his dwelling stood. "Here is my cave hard by," said he, "Walk in, you're welcome, pray be free." The traveller did not hesitate, Hoping for something good to eat, But follow'd to his heart's content, Blowing his finger as he went. "Pray," said the satyr, "may I know For what you blow your fingers so?" "What! need you," said the man, "be told?-- To _warm_ my fingers, 'numb'd with cold." "Indeed!" was all his host replied, Intent some pottage to provide, Which heated well, with spice infused, Was to his shivering guest produced: So hot it was, as Esop sung, It made our traveller scald his tongue; And wishing not again to do it, Our hero could not wait, but blew it. "What?" said his host, in accent rough, "Is not your pottage hot enough?" "Yes," said the man, "full well I know it, 'Tis far too hot, that's why I blow it." "You artful villain! do you so?" His host replied, with angry brow; "My cave shall not a moment hold A man that blows both hot and cold! By none but rogues can that be done, You double-dealing wretch, begone!" MORAL. The traveller scarce deserved such wrath, For warming fingers--cooling broth. No statutes old or new forbid it, Although with the same mouth he did it: Yet this beware of old and young, What Esop meant--a _double tongue_; Which flatters now with civil clack, And slanders soon behind one's back. [Illustration] THE TRAVELLERS AND THE PURSE. Two friends once were walking in sociable chat, When a purse one espied on the ground; "Oh, see!" said he, (thank my fortune for that,) "What a large sum of money I've found!" "Nay, do not say _I_" said his friend, "for you know 'Tis but friendship to share it with me;" "I share it with you," said the other. "How so? He who _found_ it the owner should be." "Be it so," said his friend, "but what sound do I hear? 'Stop thief!' one is calling to you; He comes with a constable close in the rear!" Said the other, "Oh, what shall we do?" "Nay, do not say _we_," said his friend, "for you know You claimed the sole right to the prize! And since all the _money_ was taken by you, With you the _dishonesty_ lies." MORAL. When people are selfish, dishonest, and mean, Their nature, in dealing, will quickly be seen. [Illustration] THE MOUTH AND THE LIMBS. In days of yore, they say, 'twas then When all things spoke their mind; The arms and legs of certain men, To treason felt inclined. These arms and legs together met, As snugly as they could, With knees and elbows, hands and feet, In discontented mood. Said they, "'Tis neither right nor fair, Nor is there any need, To labor with such toil and care, The greedy mouth to feed." "This we're resolved no more to do, Though we so long have done it;" "Ah!" said the knees and elbows too, "And we are bent upon it." "I," said the tongue, "may surely speak, Since I his inmate am; And for his vices while you seek, His virtues I'll proclaim. "You say the mouth embezzles all, The fruit of your exertion; But I on this assembly call To prove the base assertion. "The food which you with labor gain, He too with labor chews; Nor does he long the food retain, But gives it for your use. "But he his office has resign'd To whom you may prefer; He begs you therefore now to find Some other treasurer." "Well, be it so," they all replied; "His wish shall be obeyed; We think the hands may now be tried As treasurers in his stead." The hands with joy to this agreed, And all to them was paid; But they the treasure kept indeed, And no disbursements made. Once more the clam'rous members met, A lean and hungry throng; When all allowed, from head to feet, That what they'd done was wrong. To take his office once again, The mouth they all implored; Who soon accepted it, and then Health was again restored. MORAL. This tale for state affairs is meant, Which we need not discuss; At present we will be content, To find a moral thus: The mouth has claims of large amount, From arms, legs, feet, and hands; But let them not, on that account, Pay _more_ than it demands. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE. Said a hare to a tortoise, "Good sir, what a while You have been only crossing the way; Why I really believe that to go half a mile, You must travel two nights and a day." "I am very contented," the creature replied, "Though I walk but a tortoise's pace, But if you think proper the point to decide, We will run half a mile in a race." "Very good," said the hare; said the tortoise, "Proceed, And the fox shall decide who has won," Then the hare started off with incredible speed; But the tortoise walk'd leisurely on. "Come tortoise, friend tortoise, walk on," said the hare, "Well, I shall stay here for my dinner; Why, 'twill take you a month, at that rate, to get there, Then how can you hope to be winner?" But the tortoise could hear not a word that she said For he was far distant behind; So the hare felt secured while at leisure she fed, And took a sound nap when she dined. So at last this slow walker came up with the hare, And there fast asleep did he spy her; And he cunningly crept with such caution and care, That she woke not, although he pass'd by her. "Well now," thought the hare, when she open'd her eyes, "For the race,--and I soon shall have done it;" But who can describe her chagrin and surprise, When she found that the _tortoise_ had won it! MORAL. Thus plain plodding people, we often shall find, Will leave hasty confident people behind. [Illustration] THE MILKMAID. A milkmaid, who poized a full pail on her head, Thus mused on her prospects in life, it is said: "Let's see--I should think that this milk will procure One hundred good eggs, or fourscore to be sure. "Well then--stop a bit,--it must not be forgotten, Some of these may be broken, and some may be rotten; But if twenty for accidents should be detach'd, It will leave me just sixty sound eggs to hatch'd. "Well, sixty sound eggs--no; sound chickens, I mean; Of these some may die--we'll suppose seventeen-- Seventeen!--not so many--say ten at the most, Which will leave fifty chickens to boil or to roast. "But then there's their barley; how much will they need? Why they take but one grain at a time when they feed, So that's a mere trifle; now then let us see, At a fair market price, how much money there'll be? "Six shillings a pair--five--four--three-and-six, To prevent all mistakes, that low price I will fix; Now what will that make? fifty chickens, I said, Fifty times three-and-sixpence--_I'll ask brother Ned_. "Oh! but stop--three-and-sixpence a _pair_ I must sell 'em; Well, a pair is a couple--now then let us tell 'em; A couple in fifty will go--(my poor brain!) Why just a score times, and five pair will remain. "Twenty-five pair of fowls--now how shameful it is, That I can't reckon up as much money as this! Well, there's no use in trying; so let's give a guess; I will say twenty pounds, and _it can't be no less_. "Twenty pounds, I am certain, will buy me a cow, Thirty geese, and two turkeys--eight pigs and a sow; Now if these turn out well, at the end of the year, I shall fill both my pockets with guineas 'tis clear. "Then I'll bid that old tumble-down hovel good-bye; My mother she'll scold, and my sisters they'll cry: But I won't care a crow's egg for all they can say; I sha'n't go to stop with such beggars as they!" But forgetting her burden, when this she had said, The maid superciliously toss'd up her head When alas! for her prospects--the milk pail descended! And so all her schemes for the future were ended. MORAL. This moral, I think, may be safely attach'd: Reckon not on your chickens before they are hatch'd. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE LARK AND HER YOUNG ONES. A lark who had her nest conceal'd, Says Esop, in a barley field; Began, as harvest time drew near, The reaping of the corn to fear; Afraid they would her nest descry, Before her tender brood could fly. She charged them therefore every day, Before for food she flew away, To watch the farmer in her stead, And listen well to all he said. It chanced one day, she scarce was gone, Ere the farmer came and his son. The farmer well his field survey'd, And sundry observations made; At last, "I'll tell you what," said he, "This corn is fit to cut, I see; But we our neighbor's help must borrow, So tell them we begin to-morrow." Just after this the lark returned, When from her brood this news she learned. "Ah! dearest mother," then, said they, "Pray, let us all begone to-day." "My dears," said she, "you need not fret, I shall not be uneasy yet; For if he waits for neighbor's aid, The business long will be delay'd." At dawn she left her nest once more, And charged her young ones as before. At five the farmer came again, And waited for his friends in vain, "Well," said the man, "I fancy, son, These _friends_ we can't depend upon; To-morrow early, mind you go, And let our own _relations_ know." Again the lark approach'd her nest, When round her all her young ones press'd, And told their mother, word for word, The fresh intelligence they heard. "Ah, children, be at ease," said she "We're safe another day, I see; For these _relations_, you will find, Just like his _friends_, will stay behind." At dawn again the lark withdrew, And did again her charge renew. Once more the farmer early came, And found the case was just the same. The day advanced, the sun was high; But not a single help drew nigh. Then said the farmer, "Hark ye, son-- I see this job will not be done, While thus we wait for friends and neighbors; So you and I'll commence our labors: To-morrow early, we'll begin _Ourselves_, and get our harvest in." "Now," said the lark, when this she heard, "Our movement must not be deferr'd; For if the farmer and his son Themselves begin, 'twill soon be done." The morrow proved the lark was right; For all was cut and housed by night. MORAL. Hence, while we wait for other's aid, Our business needs must be delay'd; Which might be done with half the labor 'Twould take to go and call a neighbor. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE ACORN. A philosopher, proud of his wit and his reason, Sat him under an oak in a hot summer season. On the oak grew an acorn or two, it is said: On the ground grew a pumpkin as big as his head. Thought the sage, "What's the reason this oak is so strong A few acorns to bear that are scarce an inch long; While this poor feeble plant has a weight to sustain, Which had much better hang on the tree, it is plain?" But just at the time the philosopher spoke An acorn dropp'd down on his head from the oak; Then, said he, who just now thought _his_ plan was so clever, "I am glad that _this_ was not a pumpkin, however." MORAL. The sage would no doubt have looked grievously dull, Had a pumpkin descended with force on his scull. Of his folly then let us in future beware, And believe that _such_ matters _are best as they are_: Leave the manners and customs of oak trees alone, Of acorns, and pumpkins--and look to our own. [Illustration] THE WOLF AND THE CRANE. A wolf, once forgetting the size of his swallow, Tried to pass a large marrow-bone through it. "Oh dear," said the beast, thinking death was to follow, "How careless and stupid to do it!" His mouth was propp'd open by means of the bone, And his breathing was greatly impeded, But a crane coming up, he contrived to make known What kind of assistance he needed. "How d'ye do?" said the bird; said the beast, "Very ill, For a bone has gone down the wrong way; But if you can extract it by means of your bill, The service I'll amply repay." Thought the crane, "I'm no surgeon: yet all must agree, That my bill will make excellent _forceps_; And as for the money, I do not now see Why I need refuse taking his worship's." Said the bird, "It's agreed;" said his patient, "Proceed, And take the bone hence, I beseech;" Which, after awhile, and with infinite toil, The crane at last managed to reach. "Thank my stars!" said the beast, from his terrors released, "Thank you _too_, sir," said he to the bird; "Alas!" said the crane, "is this all I'm to gain, I was waiting the promised reward." Said the wolf, "You forget, I've contracted no debt, Since the service was _rendered by me_; Your head I releas'd from the jaws of a beast, And now you're demanding a fee!" MORAL. Give your help to a wolf, should he beg for your aid, But you must not expect when you've done to be paid. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE DOG AND THE SHADOW. A dog growing thinner, for want of a dinner, Once purloined him a joint from a tray, "How happy I am, with this shoulder of lamb," Thought the cur as he trotted away. But the way that he took, lay just over a brook, Which he found it was needful to cross; So without more ado, he plunged in to go through, Not dreaming of danger or loss. But what should appear, in this rivulet clear, As he thought upon coolest reflection, But a cur like himself, who with ill-gotten pelf, Had run off in that very direction. Thought the dog, _a propos_! but that instant let go (As he snatched at this same water-spaniel) The piece he possess'd:--so with hunger distress'd He slowly walk'd home to his kennel. MORAL. Hence, when we are needy, don't let us be greedy, (Excuse me this line of digression,) Lest in snatching at all, like the dog, we let fall The good that we have in possession. [Illustration] THE TRAVELLERS AND THE BEAR. Two trav'llers one morning set out from their home, It might be from Sparta, from Athens, or Rome; It matters not which, but agreed, it is said, Should danger arise, to lend each other aid. But scarce was this done, when forth rushing amain, Sprung a bear from a wood tow'rds these travellers twain; Then one of our heroes, with courage immense, Climb'd into a tree, and there found his defence. The other fell flat to the earth with dread, When the bear came and smelt him, and thought he was dead; So not liking the carcase, away trotted he, When straight our brave hero descended the tree. Then, said he, "I can't think what the bear could propose, When so close to your ear, he presented his nose." "Why this," said the other, "he told me to do, To beware for the future of cowards like you." MORAL. Those people who run from their friends in distress, Will be left when _themselves_ are in trouble, I guess. [Illustration] THE FROGS AND THE BULL. A Bull once treading near a bog, Displaced the entrails of a frog, Who near his foot did trust them; In fact, so great was the contusion, And made of his inwards such confusion, No art could re-adjust them. It chanced that some who saw his fate, Did to a friend the deed relate, With croakings, groans, and hisses; "The beast," said they, "in size excell'd All other beasts," their neighbors swell'd, And ask'd, "as large as this is!" "Oh, larger far than that," said they, "Do not attempt it, madam, pray;" But still the frog distended, And said, "I'll burst, but I'll exceed," She tried, and burst herself indeed! And so the matter ended. MORAL. Should you with pride inflate and swell, As did the frog: then who can tell! Your sides may crack, as has been shown, And we with laughing crack our own. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE COUNCIL OF MICE. Some mice who saw fit, once a quarter to meet, To arrange the concerns of their city; Thought it needful to choose, as is common with us, First a chairman, and then a committee. When the chairman was seated, the object he stated For which at that meeting they sat: Which was, it should seem, the concerting a scheme To defeat the designs of the cat. Dr. Nibblecheese rose, and said, "I would propose, To this cat we fasten a bell; He who likes what I've said, now will hold up his head; He who does not, may hold up his tail." So out of respect, they their noses erect, Except one who the order reversed; _Ayes_, all then but one, but yet nought could be done, Until he had his reasons rehearsed. "I shall not," said this mouse, "waste the time of the house, In long arguments; since, as I view it, The scheme would succeed without doubt, if indeed We could find any mouse who would _do it_." "Hear! hear!" was the cry, and "no bells we will try, Unless you will fasten them on;" So quite broken-hearted the members departed, For the bill was rejected _nem. con._ MORAL. Then be not too hasty in giving advice, Lest your schemes should remind of the council of mice; You had better delay your opinion a year, Than put forth a ridiculous one, it is clear. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE WOLF AND THE LAMB. A wolf and lamb once chanced to meet, Beside a stream, whose waters sweet Brought various kinds of beasts together, When dry and sultry was the weather; Now though the wolf came there to _drink_, Of _eating_, he began to think, As soon as near the lamb he came, And straight resolved to kill the same; Yet thought it better to begin, With threat'ning words and angry mien. "And so," said he, to him below, "How dare you stir the water so? Making the cool refreshing flood, As brown as beer, and thick as mud." "Sir," said the lamb, "that cannot be, The water flows _from you to me_; So, 'tis impossible, I think, That what I do can spoil your drink." "I say it does, you saucy puss: How dare you contradict me thus; But more than this, you idle clack, You rail'd at me behind my back Two years ago, I have been told;" "How so? I'm not a twelvemonth old," The lamb replied; "So I suspect Your honor is not quite correct." "If not, your mother it must be, And that comes all the same to me," Rejoined the wolf--who waited not But kill'd and ate him on the spot. MORAL. Some, like the wolf, adopt the plan, To make a quarrel _if they can_; But none with you can hold dispute, If you're _determined_ to be mute; For sure this proverb must be true, That ev'ry _quarrel_ must have _two_. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BEASTS IN PARTNERSHIP. This _firm_ once existed, I'd have you to know, Messrs. Lion, Wolf, Tiger, Fox, Leopard, and Co.; These in business were join'd, and of course 'twas implied, They their stocks should unite, and the profits divide. Now the fable relates, it so happened one day, That their efforts combined, made a bullock their prey: But agreed that the Lion should make the division, And patiently waited the monarch's decision. "My friends," said the Lion, "I've parted, you see, The whole into six, which is right, you'll agree; One part I may claim, as my share in the trade." "Oh, take it and welcome," they all of them said. "I claim too the second; since no one denies 'Twas my courage and conduct that gained you the prize: And for the third; that you know is a fine To the Lord of the manor, and therefore is mine." "Hey day!" said the fox; "Stop a bit," said the lion, "I have not quite done," said he, fixing his eye on The other three parts; "you are fully aware, That, as _tribute_, one other part comes to my share. "And I think 'twould be prudent, the next to put by Somewhere safe in _my_ den for a future supply, And the other, you know, will but barely suffice, To pay those expenses which always arise." "If this be the case," said the fox, "I discern That the business to _us_ is a losing concern; If so to withdraw, I should think would be best;" "Oh, yes! let us break up the firm," said the rest; And so:--for you may not have heard of it yet,-- It was quickly dissolved, though not in _the gazette_. MORAL. Some folks in their dealings, like him in the fable, Will take others' shares, if they think they are able; But let them not wonder who act in this way, If they find none will join them in business or play. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE LION AND THE MOUSE. A lion, with the heat oppress'd, One day composed himself to rest; But whilst he dozed, as he intended, A mouse his royal back ascended; Nor thought of harm as Esop tells, Mistaking him for something else, And travelled over him, and round him, And might have left him as he found him, Had he not, tremble when you hear, Tried to explore the monarch's ear! Who straightway woke with wrath immense, And shook his head to cast him thence. "You rascal, what are you about," Said he, when he had turned him out. "I'll teach you soon," the lion said, "To make a mouse-hole in my head!" So saying, he prepared his foot, To crush the trembling tiny brute; But he, the mouse, with tearful eye, Implored the lion's clemency, Who thought it best at least to give His little pris'ner a reprieve. 'Twas nearly twelve months after this, The lion chanced his way to miss; When pressing forward: heedless yet, He got entangled in a net. With dreadful rage he stamp'd and tore, And straight commenced a lordly roar; When the poor mouse who heard the noise, Attended, for she knew his voice. Then what the lion's utmost strength Could not effect, she did at length: With patient labor she applied Her teeth, the net-work to divide; And so at last forth issued he, A _lion_, by a mouse set free. MORAL. Few are so small or weak, I guess, But may assist us in distress; Nor shall we ever, if we're wise, The meanest, or the least, despise. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE JEALOUS ASS. "There lived," says friend Esop, "some ages ago, An ass who had feelings acute, you must know; This ass to be jealous, felt strongly inclined, And for reasons which follow, felt hurt in his mind." It seems that his master, as I understand, Had a favorite dog which he fed from his hand. Nay, the dog was permitted to jump on his knee: An honor that vex'd our poor donkey to see. "Now," thought he, "what's the reason, I cannot see any, That I have no favors, while he has so many? If all this is got by just wagging his tail, Why _I_ have got one, which I'll wag without fail." So the donkey resolved to try what he could do And, determined unusual attentions to show, When his master was dining, came into the room. "Good sir!" said his friends, "why your donkey is come!" "Indeed!" said their host, great astonishment showing, When he saw the ass come, while his tail was a-going; But who can describe his dismay or fear, When the donkey rear'd up, and bray'd loud in his ear! "You rascal get down,--John, Edward, or Dick! Where are you? make haste, and come here with a stick." The man roared--the guests laugh'd--the dog bark'd--the bell rung: Coals, poker, and tongs, at the donkey were flung, Till the blows and the kicks, with combined demonstration, Convinced him that this was a bad speculation; So, mortified deeply, his footsteps retrod he, Hurt much in his mind, but still more in his body. MORAL. So some silly children, as stupid as may be, Will cry for indulgences fit for a baby. Had they enter'd the room while the donkey withdrew, They'd have seen their own folly and punishment too: Let them think of this fable, and what came to pass; Nor forget, he who play'd this fine game was _an ass_. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE TOWN AND COUNTRY MICE. A plain, but honest, country mouse, Residing in a miller's house; Once, on a time, invited down An old acquaintance of the town: And soon he brought his dainties out; The best he had there's not a doubt. A dish of oatmeal and green peas, With half a candle, and some cheese; Some beans, and if I'm not mistaken, A charming piece of Yorkshire bacon. And then to show he was expert In such affairs, a fine dessert Was next produced, all which he press'd, With rustic freedom, on his guest. But he, the city epicure, This homely fare could not endure Indeed he scarcely broke his fast By what he took, but said, at last, "Old crony, now, I'll tell you what: I don't admire this lonely spot; This dreadful, dismal, dirty hole, Seems more adapted for a mole Than 'tis for you; Oh! could you see _My_ residence, how charm'd you'd be. Instead of bringing up your brood In wind, and wet, and solitude, Come bring them all at once to town, We'll make a courtier of a clown. I think that, for your children's sake, 'Tis proper my advice to take." "Well," said his host, "I can but try, And so poor quiet hole good bye!" Then off they jogg'd for many a mile, Talking of splendid things the while; At last, in town, they all arrived-- Found where the city mouse had lived-- Entered at midnight through a crack, And rested from their tedious track. "Now," said the city mouse, "I'll show What kind of fare I've brought you to:" On which he led the rustic mice Into a larder, snug and nice, Where ev'ry thing a mouse could relish, Did ev'ry shelf and nook embellish. "Now is not this to be preferr'd To your green peas?" "Upon my word, It is," the country mouse replied, "All this must needs the point decide." Scarce had they spoke these words, when, lo! A tribe of servants hasten'd through, And also two gigantic cats, Who spied our country mouse and brats. Then, by a timely exit, she Just saved herself and family. "Oh, ask me not," said she in haste, "Your tempting dainties more to taste; I much prefer my homely peas, To splendid dangers such as these." MORAL. Then let not those begin to grumble, Whose lot is safe, though poor and humble; Nor envy him who better fares, But for each good, has twenty cares. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FOX AND THE CROW. Crows feed upon worms: yet an author affirms Cheshire cheese they will get if they're able; "For," said he, "I well know, one unprincipled crow Once purloined a large piece from my table." Then away darted she, to the shade of a tree, To deposit the booty within her; But it never occurr'd to the mind of the bird, That a _fox_ was to have it for dinner. "How many a slip, 'twixt the cup and the lip!" (Excuse me, I pray, the digression,) Said a fox to himself, "I can share in the pelf, If I act with my usual discretion." So said he, "Is it you? pray, ma'am, how do you do, I have long wish'd to pay you a visit; For a twelvemonth has pass'd, since I heard of you last Which is not very neighborly, is it? "But, dear madam," said he, "you are dining, I see; On that subject I'd ask your advice; Pray, ma'am, now can you tell, where provisions they sell, That are not an extravagant price? "Bread and meat are so dear, and have been for a year, That poor people can scarcely endure it, And then _cheese is so high_, that such beggars as I, _Till it falls_, cannot hope to procure it." But the ill-behaved bird did not utter a word, Still intent on retaining her plunder; Thought the fox, "It should seem, this is not a good scheme, What else can I think of, I wonder?" So said Reynard once more, "I ne'er knew it before, But your feathers are whiter than snow is!" But thought he, when he'd said it, "she'll ne'er give it credit, For what bird is so black as a crow is." "But I'm told that your voice is a horrible noise, Which they say of all sounds is the oddest; But then this is absurd, for it never is heard, Since you are so excessively modest." If _that's_ all thought the crow, "I will soon let you know That all doubt on that score may be ended;" Then most laughingly piped, the poor silly biped, When quickly her dinner descended! MORAL. If this _biped_ had not been so vain and conceited, She would not by the fox quite so soon have been cheated; But perhaps the term _biped_ to some may be new: 'Tis a two-legged creature--perchance it is _you_. [Illustration] THE LION AND THE ECHO. A lion, bravest of the wood, Whose title undisputed stood, As o'er the wide domains he prowl'd, And in pursuit of booty growl'd, An Echo from a distant cave Regrowl'd, articulately grave: His majesty, surprised, began To think at first it was a man; But on reflection sage, he found It was too like a lion's sound. "Whose voice is that which growls at mine?" His highness ask'd. Says Echo, "Mine!" "Thine!" says the Lion: "Who art thou?" Echo as stern cried, "Who art thou?" "Know I'm a lion, hear and tremble!" Replied the king. Cried Echo, "Tremble!" "Come forth," says Lion; "show thyself." Laconic Echo answered, "Elf." "Elf, durst thou call me, vile pretender?" Echo as loud replies, "Pretender!" At this, as jealous of his reign, He growl'd in rage; she growl'd again. Incensed the more, he chafed and foam'd, And round the spacious forest roam'd To find the rival of his throne, Who durst with him dispute the crown. A fox, who listen'd all the while, Address'd the monarch with a smile: "My liege, most humbly I make bold, Though truth may not be always told, That this same phantom which you hear, That so alarms your royal ear, Is not a rival of your throne: The voice and fears are all your own." Imaginary terrors scare A timorous soul with real fear; Nay, even the wise and brave are cow'd By apprehensions from the crowd: A frog a lion may disharm, And yet how causeless the alarm! [Illustration] [Illustration] THE PAPER KITE. Once on a time, a paper kite Was mounted to a wondrous height; Where, giddy with its elevation, It thus express'd self-admiration: "See how yon crowds of gazing people Admire my flight above the steeple; How would they wonder, if they knew All that a kite, like me, could do? Were I but free, I'd take a flight, And pierce the clouds beyond their sight. But, ah! like a poor prisoner bound, My string confines me near the ground. I'd brave the eagle's towering wing, Might I but fly without a string." It tugg'd and pull'd, while thus it spoke, To break the string--at last it broke! Deprived at once of all its stay, In vain it tried to soar away: Unable its own weight to bear, It flutter'd downward through the air; Unable its own course to guide, The winds soon plunged it in the tide. Oh! foolish kite, thou hadst no wing, How could'st thou fly without a string? My heart replied, "Oh, Lord, I see How much the kite resembles me! Forgetful that by thee I stand, Impatient of thy ruling hand; How oft I've wish'd to break the lines Thy wisdom for my lot assigns! How oft indulged a vain desire For something more or something higher! And but for grace and love divine, A fall thus dreadful had been mine." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE RATS AND THE CHEESE. If bees a government maintain, Why may not rats of stronger brain And greater power, as well bethought By Machiavelian axioms taught? And so they are, for thus of late It happened in the rats' free state. Their prince (his subjects more to please) Had got a mighty Cheshire cheese, In which his ministers of state Might live in plenty and grow great. A powerful party straight combined, And their united forces join'd, To bring their measures into play, For none so loyal were as they; And none such patriots, to support As well the country as the court. No sooner were those Dons admitted But (all those wondrous virtues quitted) They all the speediest means devise To raise themselves and families. Another party well observing These pamper'd were, while they were starving, Their ministry brought in disgrace, Expelled them and supplied their place; These on just principles were known The true supporters of the throne, And for the subjects liberty They'd (marry would they) freely die; But being well fix'd in their station, Regardless of their prince and nation, Just like the others, all their skill Was how they might their paunches fill. On this a rat, not quite so blind In state intrigues as human kind, But of more honor, thus replied: "Confound ye all on either side; All your contentions are but these, Whose arts shall best secure the cheese." [Illustration] [Illustration] AURELIA AND THE SPIDER. The muslin torn, from tears of grief In vain Aurelia sought relief; In sighs and plaints she pass'd the day; The tatter'd frock neglected lay: While busied at the weaving trade, A spider heard the sighing maid And kindly stopping in a trice, Thus offer'd (gratis) her advice: "Turn, little girl! behold in me A stimulus to industry Compare your woes, my dear, with mine, Then tell me who should most repine: This morning, ere you left your room, The chambermaid's remorseless broom In one sad moment that destroy'd, To build which thousands were employ'd! The shock was great; but as my life I saved in the relentless strife, I knew lamenting was in vain, So patient went to work again. By constant work, a day or more, My little mansion did restore: And if each tear which you have shed Had been a needle-full of thread, If every sigh of sad despair Had been a stitch of proper care, Closed would have been the luckless rent, Nor thus the day have been misspent." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE REDBREAST AND THE SPARROW. Perch'd on a tree, hard by a rural cot, A redbreast singing cheer'd the humble spot; A sparrow on the thatch in critic spleen Thus took occasion to reprove the strain: "Dost thou," cried he, "thou dull dejected thing, Presume to emulate the birds of spring? Can thy weak warbling dare approach the thrush Or blackbird's accents in the hawthorn bush? Or with the lark dost thou poor mimic, vie, Or nightingale's unequal'd melody? These other birds possessing twice thy fire Have been content in silence to admire." "With candor judge," the minstrel bird replied, "Nor deem my efforts arrogance or pride; Think not ambition makes me act this part, I only sing because I love the art: I envy not, indeed, but much revere Those birds whose fame the test of skill will bear; I feel no hope arising to surpass, Nor with their charming songs my own to class; Far other aims incite my humble strain. Then surely I your pardon may obtain, While I attempt the rural vale to move By imitating of the lays I love." [Illustration] THE POET AND THE COBWEBS. A bard, whose pen had brought him more Of fame than of the precious ore, In Grub Street garret oft reposed With eyes contemplative half-closed. Cobwebs around in antique glory, Chief of his household inventory, Suggested to his roving brains Amazing multitude of scenes. "This batch," said he, "of murder-spinners Who toil their brains out for their dinners, Though base, too long unsung has lain By kindred brethren of Duck Lane, Unknowing that its little plan Holds all the cyclopedia of man. "This one, whose radiant thread Is every where from centre spread, Like orbs in planetary skies, Enclosed with rounds of various size, This curious frame I aptly call A cobweb mathematical. "In secret holes, that dirty line, Where never sun presumes to shine, With straws, and filth, and time beset, Where all is fish that comes to net, That musty film, the Muse supposes Figures the web of Virtuosos. "You, where the gaudy insect sings, Are cobwebs of the court of kings, Where gilded threads conceal the gin. And broider'd knaves are caught therein. "That holly, fix'd 'mid mildew'd panes, Of cheerless Christmas the remains (I only dream and sing its cheer, My Muse keeps Lent throughout the year) That holly, labor'd o'er and o'er, Is cobwebs of the lawyer's lore, Where frisky flies, on gambols borne, Find out the snare, when lost, undone. "These dangling webs, with dirt and age, Display their tatter'd equipage, So like the antiquarian crew, That those in every thread I view. "Here death disseminated lies, In shrunk anatomies of flies; And amputated limbs declare What vermin lie in ambush there: A baited lure with drugg'd perdition, A cobweb, not misnamed physician. "Those plaited webs, long pendent there, Of sable bards a subtle snare, Of all-collective disposition, Which holds like gout of inquisition, May well denominated be, The trap-webs of divinity." But whilst our bard described the scene, A bee stole through a broken pane; Fraught with the sweets of every flower, In taking his adventurous tour, Is there entrapp'd. Exert thy sting, Bold bee, and liberate thy wing! The poet kindly dropp'd his pen, And freed the captive from its den; Then musing o'er his empty table, Forgot the moral of his fable. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE EPICURE AND THE PHYSICIAN. Two hundred years ago, or more, An heir possess'd a miser's store; Rejoiced to find his father dead, Till then on thrifty viands fed; Unnumber'd dishes crown'd his board, With each unwholesome trifle stored. He ate--and long'd to eat again, But sigh'd for appetite in vain: His food, though dress'd a thousand ways, Had lost its late accustom'd praise; He relish'd nothing--sickly grew-- Yet long'd to taste of something new. It chanced in this disastrous case, One morn betimes he join'd the chase: Swift o'er the plain the hunters fly, Each echoing out a joyous cry; A forest next before them lay; He, left behind, mistook his way, And long alone bewildered rode, He found a peasant's poor abode; But fasting kept, from six to four, Felt hunger, long unfelt before; The friendly swain this want supplied, And Joan some eggs and bacon fried. Not dainty now, the squire in haste Fell to, and praised their savory taste; Nay, said his meal had such a _gout_ He ne'er in tarts and olios knew. Rejoiced to think he'd found a dish, That crown'd his long unanswer'd wish, With gold his thankful host he paid, Who guides him back from whence he stray'd; But ere they part, so well he dined, His rustic host the squire enjoin'd To send him home next day a stock Of those same eggs and charming hock. He hoped this dish of savory meat Would prove that still 'twas bliss to eat; But, ah! he found, like all the rest, These eggs were tasteless things at best; The bacon not a dog would touch, So rank--he never tasted such! He sent express to fetch the clown, And thus address'd him with a frown: "These eggs, this bacon, that you sent, For Christian food were never meant; As soon I'll think the moon's a cheese, As those you dress'd the same with these. Little I thought"--"Sir," says the peasant, "I'm glad your worship is so pleasant: You joke, I'm sure: for I can swear, The same the fowls that laid them are! And know as well that all the bacon From one the self-same flitch was taken: The air, indeed, about our green Is known to make the stomach keen." "Is that the case?" the squire replied; "That air shall be directly tried." He gave command--a house he hired, And down he goes with hope inspired, And takes his cooks--a favorite train; But still they ply their art in vain. Perhaps 'twas riding did the feat: He rides,--but still he cannot eat. At last a friend, to physic bred, Perceived his case, and thus he said: "Be ruled by me, you soon shall eat, With hearty gust, the plainest meat; A pint of milk each rising morn, Procure from cow of sable horn; Shake in three drops of morning dew From twig of ever-verdant yew; It must by your own hand be done, Your face turn'd westward from the sun. With this, ere half an hour is past, Well crumb'd with biscuit, break your fast; Which done, from food (or all is vain) For twice three hours and one abstain-- Then dine on one substantial dish, If plainly dress'd, of flesh or fish." Grave look'd the doctor as he spake-- The squire concludes th' advice to take, And, cheated into temperance, found The bliss his former luxury drown'd. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FROGS DESIRING A KING. Athens in freedom flourish'd long, 'Till licence seized the giddy throng. Just laws grown weary to obey, They sunk to tyranny a prey. Pisistratus, though mild he sway'd, Their turbulence had not allay'd. Whilst they were cursing in despair, The yoke they had not learn'd to bear, Esop, their danger to describe, Rehears'd this fable to the tribe: "Some frogs, like you, of freedom tired, From Jupiter a king desir'd: One that should execute the law, And keep the dissolute in awe. Jove laugh'd, and threw them down a log, That thundering fell and shook the bog. Amongst the reeds the tremblers fled: Till one more bold advanc'd his head, And saw the monarch of the flood Lying half smothered in the mud. He calls the croaking race around: "A wooden king!" the banks resound. Fear once remov'd they swim about him, And gibe and jeer and mock and flout him; And messengers to Jove depute, Effectively to grant their suit. A hungry stork he sent them then, Who soon had swallow'd half the fen. Their woes scarce daring to reveal, To Mercury by night they steal, And beg him to entreat of Jove The direful tyrant to remove. 'No,' says the God, 'they chose their lot, And must abide what they have got:' So you, my friends, had best go home In peace, lest something worse should come." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE HARE AND THE BRAMBLE. A hare, closely pursued, thought it prudent and meet To a bramble for refuge awhile to retreat; He enter'd the covert, but entering, found That briers and thorns did on all sides abound; And that, though he was safe, yet he never could stir, But his sides they would wound, or would tear off his fur: He shrugg'd up his shoulders, but would not complain: "To repine at small evils," quoth puss, "is in vain: That no bliss can be perfect, I very well knew-- But from the same source good and evil doth flow-- And full sorely my skin though these briers may rend, Yet they keep off the dogs, and my life will defend: For the sake of the good, then, let evil be borne-- For each sweet has its bitter, each bramble its thorn." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE HORSE AND THE STAG. Within a certain pasture, There lived some creatures wild. The sky was blue, the grass was green, The air was very mild. Now though this field was large and fine, They could not live in love: But for the grass in one large spot A horse and stag once strove. The stag was strongest in the strife, And so the battle won; And from the field the horse was sent And with chagrin was stung. So to the man the horse applied, For help, the stag to beat, And so effectual was his help, The stag had to retreat. But when to go away he tried, The man held to him fast: "Now that you are of use," he cried, "You'll serve me to the last." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE CAT AND THE OLD MOUSE. The mice o'errun a certain house-- In every spot was found a mouse. So for a cat the mistress went, And to the kitchen puss was sent. With diligence were many caught, And eaten up. The mice were taught That they some cunning must devise To keep the prey from pussy's eyes. So on a certain shelf so high, To reach which puss in vain might try, There all the mice together got, And they resolved to leave it not. So pussy found that to eat them, She must resort to stratagem. And holding fast by means of pegs, She hung suspended by the legs. And downward she then hung her head, And looked as though she were quite dead-- And thus she sought to cheat the mice, And from their dwellings them entice. A cunning mouse, well "up to trap," On pussy her two eyes did clap. "Aha!" she cried, "puss are you there? Within your reach, I would not dare-- Not e'en though it were proved by law, That your whole skin were stuffed with straw." [Illustration] THE FOX AND THE VIZOR MASK. A fox while walking out one day, Into a toy shop chanced to stray; Among the toys that stood arrayed, A vizor mask was there displayed, With rosy cheeks, complexion fair, And ruby lips and auburn hair, And eyes of blue, and Grecian nose; And many beauties to disclose, It seemed made. The fox, with sighs, Gazed on. "Ah, ah!" he cries, "Look at this head it naught contains, It has rare beauty, but no brains." MORAL. The accomplished beau, in air and mien how blest. His hat well fashioned, and his hair well dress'd-- But still undress'd within: to give him brains Exceeds his hatter's or his barber's pains. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE GOOSE THAT LAID GOLDEN EGGS. A man once had a goose I'm told, Which had laid each day an egg of gold. Now if this treasure were well spent, It might make any one content. But no! this man desired more; And though of eggs he had rich store; He thought one day the goose he'd kill, And then at once his pockets fill. So chasing goosey round and round, She soon was caught and firmly bound He opened her from neck to tail And then his folly did bewail. For not a single egg was there, And thus he lost this treasure rare. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FOX AND THE GRAPES. A fox once took it in his pate, To go beyond a garden gate, To see if there grew on the trees, Some food his hunger to appease. So in he went and there he spied Some grapes. To reach them hard he tried. Now they were large and luscious too, Quite purple, and beautiful to view. So up he jumps with many a bound, Until exhausted to the ground, He falls. The grapes hang o'er his head, In clusters large, "Well! well!" he said, "You are but green, and hard as stone, And all my time away is thrown. I'll leave you to your solitude, You are not fit to make me food." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE MOUSE AND THE WEASEL. A very thin and hungry mouse, Into a granary stole, Where stood a basket full of grain, In which was a small hole. After much squeezing he got in, And there he ate his fill; But when he tried to issue out, The hole seemed smaller still. A weasel who stood looking on, Cried out in sneering tone, "You can't come out, my little dear, Until you've smaller grown. "You were half-starved when you crept in, And now you are quite stout; So cease to eat until you can, As you got in, get out." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE MISER AND HIS TREASURE. In a retired spot, A miser had got A very large treasure in store. And it was his delight, Each morn and each night, To count it and add to it more. He had made the hole deep, And he thought none would peep, To find out his secret retreat. But a servant so sly, His master did spy, And thought that his cunning he'd beat. So one dark winter night, He took out his light, And to the field hastened away; And he laughed in his sleeve, To think how 'twould grieve His master to miss it next day. And indeed the distress Of his lord you may guess, For words can't describe it, I'm sure. He tore out his hair, Clasp'd his hands in despair And cried he was ruined and poor. A man passing by, His grief chanced to spy; And told him, "'tis useless to mourn. You can look at the hole, To solace your soul, Although all the money is gone." [Illustration] THE JACKDAW AND THE PEACOCKS. Thus Esop has the folly shown, To build on merits not your own. A jackdaw, empty, pert and vain, Who held his equals in disdain, One day some beauteous feathers found, Left by a peacock on the ground. When in the gaudy plumage dress'd, The shallow thing his fortune bless'd; With stately gesture strode along, And boldly join'd the peacock throng; Who, his impertinence to pay, First stripp'd him, and then chas'd away. The crest-fall'n coxcomb homeward sneaks, And his forsaken comrades seeks; Where'er he comes, with scorn they leave him, And not a jackdaw will receive him. Says one he had disdain'd, at last, "Such as thou art, thou mightst have pass'd, And hadst not now been cast behind, The scorn and scandal of thy kind." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE SPARROW AND THE HARE. Who dares another's ills deride, Had best against his own provide. An eagle pouncing on a hare, With piercing cries puss rends the air; When a pert sparrow from a tree, Insulted thus her misery: "Ho, ho! poor puss, thy boasted speed Has failed thee, then, in time of need!" Scarce had she spoke, when, like an arrow, A vulture darted on the sparrow. Ere the poor hare resign'd her breath, "This sight," she cried, "consoles in death --That thou, who hast my woes derided, My last of miseries hast divided!" [Illustration] THE ASS AND THE LION. Vain boasters credit may surprise, Till known; who knows them will despise. A lion once a hunting took An ass, and hid him in a nook. To drive the forest made him bray, That he might seize the passing prey. Long-ears set up such horrid cries, That every creature trembling flies; The lion, practised in his trade, Had soon abundant carnage made; Satiate with spoil, the ass he calls, And bid him cease his hideous brawls. The king he found with slaughter weary, Surrounded by his noble quarry, And, puffed with self-importance, said: "Sir, to some purpose I have bray'd!" "No ass more famously could do," The lion says, "but thee I knew, Or I might have been frightened too." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE STAG AND THE FOUNTAIN. That good from bad men rarely know, This apologue may serve to show: A stag upon a fountain's side, Beheld his branching horns with pride; While of his spindle-shanks asham'd, Their disproportioned form he blam'd. Sudden he hears the hunter's cries, And to the forest nimbly flies. The woods receive their well-known guest. His tangled horns, his feet arrest; The hounds approach, and seize their prey; Who, dying, thus was heard to say: "Wretch that I am! too late I learn, How little we the truth discern! What would have saved me, I despis'd, And what has been my ruin, priz'd!" [Illustration] [Illustration] THE EAGLE, THE CAT, AND THE SOW. Her nest on high an eagle made Lower a cat her kittens laid; And at the bottom of the tree A sow dispos'd her progeny. Vile puss to gain her wicked ends, Much love for both of them pretends. First to the eagle's aerie mounts, And thus to her false alarms recounts: "Madam, in truth our dangerous state, 'Tis with reluctance I relate; But things are really gone so far, Conceal them I no longer dare. Night after night the treacherous sow Our tree has undermined below; Ere long it cannot choose but fall, And then she hopes to eat us all." Successful when she saw her lies, Down to the bristly sow she hies; "My worthy neighbor!" crying out, "I pray you, mind what you're about, For to a certainty I know, The eagle waits but till you go, (The thing with great concern I say,) To make your little ones her prey." Suspicious dread when thus inspir'd, Puss to her hole all day retir'd; Stealing at night on silent paw, To stuff her own and kittens' maw. To stir nor sow nor eagle dare. What more? fell hunger ends their care; And long the mischief-making beast With her base brood on carrion feast. Learn hence, ye simples, ere too late, What ills the double-tongued create. [Illustration] THE EAGLE, THE RAVEN AND THE TORTOISE. Who in their foe united find Force, art, and a remorseless mind, Whate'er their strength and prowess be, To perish stand in jeopardy. An eagle once a tortoise held, Safe in his horny house concealed, Which he in vain essayed to break With all the fury of his beak. As with his prey he wing'd the air, A wily raven ventur'd near: "Your prize is excellent," says she, "And if you'll give a share to me, I know, for all his iron hide, How we the dainty may divide." The bargain made, "On yonder wall, Down," says the raven, "let him fall." He listen'd to the hoary sinner; And they on turtle made their dinner. Thus fraud and force their purpose gain, And nature fortifies in vain. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FLY AND THE HORSE. A fly upon a coach-box seated, With arrogance the horses rated. "Advance!" cries out the paltry thing, "Unless you mean to feel my sting." "Not thee we heed," a horse replied, "But him whose skilful hand can guide The rein and whip. We better know Than thee when we should stop or go." Thus men without or sense or weight, Think themselves born to rule the state. [Illustration] ESOP AT PLAY. When an Athenian Esop saw, Playing with school-boys once at taw, The man with laughter shook his sides; Esop the laughter thus derides: "Of this slack bow before you laid, The meaning, sprightly sir," he said, "Explain!" (A crowd had gather'd round.) Surpris'd, the man no answer found: He puzzled long, but all his wit Could on no explanation hit. The laugh on Esop's side; says he, "Why you this bow unbended see, It is because it needs must break, If always bent; so we must take Due relaxation, that the mind Its vigor may when wanted find." He who in harmless sport employs A vacant hour, is not unwise. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE OLD PILOT AND THE SAILORS. To one complaining of his fate, Esop this fable did relate. A ship by raging tempests toss'd, The seamen, giving all for lost, 'Twas who should weep and pray the most. Grown calm at once the sky and sea, They shout in joyful extacy. The pilot, from experience wise, The giddy crew did thus advise: "Nor much rejoice, nor over grieve, But decently what comes receive; Since good and ill succeed so near, Meet ill with hope and good with fear." [Illustration] THE CRAB AND HER DAUGHTER. Not what they hear, but what they see, Will children and domestics be. A crab one day her daughter chid; "You never do as you are bid, Have I not told you o'er and o'er, That awkward gait to use no more? Learn, ninny, once for all to know, Folks forward and not backward go." "Mamma," says Miss, "how strange you talk! Have I not learn'd from you to walk? Were I to move the other way, How could I follow you I pray?" [Illustration] [Illustration] THE SUN AND THE WIND. Phebus and Boreas from on high Upon the road a traveller spy, Wearing a cloak for fear of rain. Says Boreas, "his precaution's vain 'Gainst me, I'll show you for a joke How soon I'll make him quit his cloak." "Come on," says Phebus, "let us see Who best succeeds, or you or me." The wind to blow so fierce began, He almost had upset his man; But still his cloak, for all his roar, Was wrapp'd more closely than before. When Boreas what he could had done, "Now for my trial," says the Sun, And with his beams so warm'd the air, The man his mantle could not bear, But open'd first, then threw aside. Learn hence, unbending sons of pride Persuasive manners will prevail, When menaces and bluster fail. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE TWO POTS. Forc'd on a stream to make their way, To pot of brass says pot of clay: "Since brass is stout and clay is frail, Pray let us at a distance sail. Not your intention that I fear Sir Brass," adds humble Earthenware, "While the winds leave you to yourself; But woe betide my ribs of delf, If it should dash our sides together; For mine would be the damage, whether Their force should you or I impel; To pray proceed, and fare you well." Learn hence, ye folks of low estate, To keep due distance from the great. [Illustration] [Illustration] HERCULES AND THE CARTER. His cart bemired, a carter pray'd To Hercules to come and aid. "Up!" says the God, "thou lazy dog. And lift the axle from the bog; Think'st thou Gods nothing have to do But listen to such knaves as you?" [Illustration] THE ANT AND THE GRASSHOPPER. From a wise emmet, well sustain'd On what her industry had gain'd, A grasshopper some aid desir'd. "What was his trade?" the ant inquir'd. "I've none," the grasshopper replied; "I range the country far and wide, Singing all day from door to door, And have no time to form a store." Shutting her granaries, says the ant, "No wonder, friend, you are in want; He who all summer sings, may chance In winter to be forc'd to dance." To spend his time in idle song, The thoughtless grasshopper was wrong; And not to give a small supply, The emmet mean and niggardly. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE CROW AND THE PITCHER. Patience and ingenuity The want of natural means supply. A thirsty crow some water found, But in a vessel so profound, That with her neck at utmost stretch, A single drop she could not reach. Then stones she in the pitcher places, Which to the top the water raises; And by this innocent device Her thirst at leisure satisfies. [Illustration] THE ANGLER AND THE LITTLE FISH. An angler a small salmon caught, Who with much earnestness besought That he would let her go: says she, "What can you do with such as me! Next year when grown a little bigger, I in your bag might make a figure." The prudent man replied, "No, no; Into my pouch, though small, you go. A bird in hand is better far, Than two that in the bushes are." [Illustration] THE FROG AND THE FOX. Let us our own defects amend, Ere to guide others we pretend. A sallow, wrinkl'd, spotted frog, To turn physician left the bog. "He every malady could cure," He said, "that animals endure." "First on yourself your science show," Says Reynard: "that the world may know Your skill and knowledge, pray begin Of those foul spots to clear your skin: For while you look so sick and pale, To vend your drugs you'll ne'er prevail." [Illustration] THE APE AND HER YOUNG ONES. An ape had cubs; one much she lov'd, The other small affection prov'd. Alarm'd, she hears the hunter's cries; And catching up her darling flies: Through fear she stumbled o'er some stones And broke the little favorite's bones; The other to her back who clung Uninjured went with her along. Mothers, beware! the fondl'd child By too much tenderness is spoil'd; While those who hardships have endur'd, To suffer life are best inur'd. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FIR TREE AND THE THORN. The lowly and contented state Is farthest from the wounds of fate. A fir tree upon a humble thorn From his high top look'd down with scorn. "For loftiest fanes we grow," she said, "Of us the tallest masts are made, While thou, poor bramble, canst produce Nothing of ornament or use." "Great tree," the modest thorn replied, "When the sharp axe shall pierce your side, In vain you then may wish to be Unsought-for, and unknown like me." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN. Fools may on other fools impose; The sage their real value knows. An ass once found a lion's skin, And rolling up himself therein, From every fold that he came nigh, Made flocks, and herds, and shepherds fly. Ranging the country round, at last He meets his master where he pass'd, Who long-ears instantly descries Through his magnificent disguise: Laying his cudgel on his side, "Get home, thou stupid fool," he cried: "With others for a lion pass; I know thee for an arrant ass." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE DOG IN THE MANGER. A mastiff in a stable lay, Couch'd on a manger full of hay. When any thing drew near to eat, He quickly forced it to retreat. An ox then cried, "detested creature, How vile is thy malignant nature, Which will not others let enjoy That which thou never canst employ!" [Illustration] THE STAG AND THE VINE. A stag pursued with horn and hound In a thick vineyard shelter found. Soon as he thought the danger past, He on the vine began to feast. The huntsman hears the rustling noise, And through half-eaten leaves descries His branching horns, the pack recalls, And merited the creature falls To his ingratitude a prey. Those their protectors who betray, Unpitying, all the world will see Consign'd to death and infamy. [Illustration] THE MISCHIEVOUS DOG. Titles and ribands, bought with shame, Folly and vice but more proclaim. A man who own'd a vicious dog, Upon his collar fix'd a log, Which the vain cur supposed to be A note of worth and dignity. A mastiff saw his foolish pride; "Puppy," indignantly he cried, "That thing is put about your neck Your mischievous designs to check; And to who see you to declare, Of what a currish race you are." [Illustration] THE SICK MAN AND THE PHYSICIAN. Woe to the land where those who guide, To please the people's foolish pride, Persuade them there is nought to dread, When ruin threatens o'er their head. A patient, ask'd to tell his pains, Of thirst and shivering cold complains. "'Tis very good," the doctor said; "He has but to remain in bed, And take the med'cines I shall send, The thing will soon be at an end." When next the question was repeated, The man complain'd he much was heated; "This," cried the leech, "is better still!" And thus to each increasing ill, "That it was going well," he cried, Till the poor martyr sunk and died. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FARMER AND HIS SONS. Work, work, my boys, with hand and mind! Your labors you will fruitful find. A husbandman, about to die, Call'd on his children to come nigh: "I leave," he says, "a small estate, But wherewithal to make it great: For know, a treasure it contains, If you to search will take the pains." He died. The sons dug all the ground, And there no hidden treasure found; But so productive was the soil, The crop by far o'erpaid the toil. Says one, when they the corn had sold, "This treasure 'twas our sire foretold!" [Illustration:] [Illustration] THE SWALLOW AND THE BIRDS. Those who of guides stand most in need, Are least inclin'd advice to heed. A travell'd swallow, learn'd and wise, To all his feather'd neighbors cries: "See you yon laborers there below; What is it, think ye, that they sow? 'Tis hemp, my friends; of which are made The nets that for us all are laid; The moment yonder men are gone, Then pick the seeds up one by one." The gay inhabitants of air For his precaution little care. The seedling sprung; again the swallow Urges his good advice to follow; Again his counsel they deride. The plants full grown, and cut, and dried, Beaten and spun, the nets were made, And the unwary birds betray'd, Regretting, in their hapless fate, Their incredulity too late. Learn hence the danger to foresee, Nor wait for their maturity. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BOASTING TRAVELLER. A fellow who abroad had been, Told marvels he had done and seen: "When resident at Rhodes," he said, "A leap of twenty yards he made Over a barrier ten feet high; A dozen witnesses were by." "Come on," says one, at the same table, "Yon ditch and fence to o'erleap you're able. They're not, by much, so high or wide; Here let the experiment be tried. Suppose yourself at Rhodes, and we Your faithful witnesses will be." The man replied, "that he to-day Was not quite well," and stole away. Who boast of what they cannot do Both knavery and folly show. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE OLD WOMAN AND HER MAIDS. Better known evils to endure, Than seek by wrong a doubtful cure. A thrifty dame her maids awoke At the first crowing of the cock. They of such early rising tir'd, To kill the harmless cock conspir'd. The dame, to hear him crow in wait, Next morning lay in bed till eight. But when she knew the trick they had play'd, She caused a larum to be made, And rung it daily in their ears Two hours before the dawn appears. [Illustration] [Illustration] INDUSTRY AND SLOTH. Insidious sloth her object gains, If but a hearing she obtains. A youth ask'd why so long in bed? "I listen to a cause," he said; "As soon as I unclose my eyes. First industry excites to rise." "Up, up," she says, "to meet the sun, Your task of yesterday's undone!" "Lie still," cries sloth, "it is not warm, An hour's more sleep can do no harm; You will have time your work to do, And leisure for amusement too." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE SHEPHERD TURNED MERCHANT. Fair weather sailors, keep at home, For be assur'd the storm will come. A shepherd of an inland breed Brought to the coast his flocks to feed; The beauty of a summer sea, A merchant tempted him to be. He sold his sheep, and with the sale Purchas'd of dates an ample bale. He sail'd; a furious tempest rose; Into the sea his dates he throws; And swimming from the bark to land, Arrives half dead upon the strand. To one, soon afterwards who stood Pleas'd with the calmness of the flood, "Aye, aye," the simple shepherd said "With dates again it would be fed." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE SPENDTHRIFT AND THE SWALLOW. A fool who all had thrown away, When wandering pennyless one day, Perceived a swallow. "Ho," says he, "Summer is come at last I see!" And to a Jew his mantle sold. Next day it was severely cold: Starv'd as he walk'd, the bird he found Frozen to death upon the ground. "Ah! what a fool was I," he cried, "When on one swallow I relied!" Those who too readily believe, For their credulity may grieve. [Illustration] THE EAGLE AND THE CROW. The wise well know their force to weigh, Nor what they cannot do, essay. A carrion crow an eagle saw Seize on a lamb with beak and claw. Conceiving he could better do, He pounces on a well fed ewe; But he and not the sheep was caught; For when to fly with it he sought, His feet entangled in the wool, The shepherd seiz'd the helpless fool. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE WOLF AND THE SHEPHERD'S BOY. In wantonness a shepherd's boy Alarm'd the neighbor's with his cry; "The wolf! the wolf!" And when they came, Of their lost labor made his game. At last the wolf when there indeed, His real cries they did not heed; He and his flock a prey were made, And for his lies he dearly paid. Those who are known to have deceiv'd, When they speak truth, are not believ'd. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FOX WITHOUT A TAIL. Fashions and modes we often see, Made to conceal deformity: Those to whom nature has been kind, Should leave such fopperies behind. A fox who in a trap was taken, Resign'd his brush to save his bacon. Ashamed that all the world should know His cunning had been cheated so, To an assembly of the nation He made the following oration: "I oft have thought the tails we wear A troublesome appendage are; Where's their utility, I pray? They serve but to obstruct our way. Nor ornamental do I find, To drag this ponderous length behind. For my part, without more debate, I move our tails we amputate." "Please, sir, to show yourself behind," (Says one to smoke the jest inclin'd, And who discovered what it was) "We there perhaps shall see the cause, Ere we your prudent counsel take, Why you this curious motion make?" His bare posteriors when they found, Loud laughter shook the benches round; Nor could the fox without a tail To introduce the mode prevail. [Illustration] THE MEN AND THE OYSTER. Any partition better make, Than _all_ the hungry law should take. By the sea side two travellers found A fine large oyster on the ground; His claim each obstinately lays: "I saw it first," one eager says; "I pick'd it up," the other cries; "Mine"--"Mine is certainly the prize." They talk'd as usual, loud and long; And more they reason'd, more were wrong; Till they a neighboring lawyer see Passing, and mutually agree To take him for their referee. With legal dignity of face, He heard them both relate the case; "Your claims are good," then gravely said, "And a brave lawsuit would have made Which to prefer I cannot tell, So each of you must take a shell; And, as the oyster is but one, That I myself will swallow down; To stink it otherwise had lain, And all your cash been spent in vain; You're cheaply off; go home content; And faith the fish was excellent." [Illustration] THE SHEPHERD AND HIS DOG. A dog his master so deceiv'd, He was the best of curs believ'd. The flock was trusted to his care, Whene'er the shepherd was not there. And in the house, a favored guest, He always fed upon the best. The treacherous guard his charge betray'd And on the sheep in secret prey'd. The master, when the crime was prov'd, With double indignation mov'd, About his neck the halter tied Himself: the dog for mercy cried; "You let the wolf escape," he said, "Who much more slaughter oft has made." "Wretch!" says the man, "the wolf declares Hostility, and boldly dares; He has no confidence abused: But, coward, thou my trust hast used: Against myself! and on this tree Without delay shalt hanged be." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE COUNTRYMAN AND THE JUSTICE. The law still lends the readiest aid, When well her ministers are paid. A countryman, by power oppress'd, Seeking to have his wrongs redress'd, Oft to the justice went in vain; Admittance he could ne'er obtain, But still was bid again to come; "Unwell"--"engag'd"--or "not home!" The wily rustic took a kid One day, and in a basket hid; And when he to the house drew near, Began to pinch him by the ear, So that the porter, from the hall, Might hear the little fatling squall; The man his master's mind who knew, Open'd the door and let him through. The shepherd, laughing as he pass'd, Says to his kid, "Thy cries at last An audience for my wrongs obtain; Thy flesh, perhaps, redress will gain." [Illustration] THE COCK AND THE FOX. The world applauds the lucky hit, When it beholds the biter bit. A treach'rous fox invited down A cock, who on a tree had flown. "Do you not know, my friend," says he, "Bird, beast, fish, reptile, man agree, To live henceforth in amity? Come down and celebrate the day." "Troth," quoth the cock, "you truly say; For hounds I see come o'er the dell, With open mouths, the news to tell." "Adieu," says Ren. "'Tis best to go; Those dogs the treaty may not know." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BLIND MAN AND THE LAME. Who kind assistance give and take, Life's arduous journey best will make. Two men, one blind, the other lame, To pass a ford together came. The stream was rapid, and the way Obliquely thwart the current lay; To his companion says the blind, "Yon winding road I ne'er shall find." "Nor my poor limbs," the lame replied, "The current's rapid force abide." "Come," says the blind, "my loins are strong, I'll bear you on my back along, While you to guide me give the word;" And thus they safely cross'd the ford. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE MAN AND THE SERPENT. There's in the world a cursed race, Of nature so perverse and base, If from the gallows you should save, A dangerous enemy you have. A countryman a serpent found, Stiffen'd with frost upon the ground, And took her home; but when the fire Began new vigor to inspire, Swelling her neck with angry eyes, She fills the cot with hissing cries. The rustic then his axe did take, "Is this then the return you make? Is this your gratitude?" he said, And knock'd the reptile on the head. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE TWO STREAMS. Those who display much dash and din, Have seldom any thing within. A weary traveller, one day, Cross'd o'er a river in his way; Alarm'd to see the foaming tide Dashing o'er rocks from side to side, Nevertheless, his course to keep, He ventur'd in with trembling step; And found the water neither deep, Nor footing bad; and got well o'er. When he had travell'd some leagues more, He to another river came, That smoothly flowed, a silent stream: This he thought easily to pass; But ere he in the middle was, He plunged into a gulf profound, And for his feet no bottom found; But, forced to swim with all his might, Got to the shore in piteous plight. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE SOT AND HIS WIFE. Inveterate sin is seldom cur'd. A wife had long a sot endur'd, Who all his time in taverns spent, While his affairs in ruin went. Once as insensible he lay, She dress'd him in a corpse's array, And with the undertaker's aid, Into a burying vault convey'd. The fumes dispersed, the man awakes; All for reality he takes. When by the glimmering of a lamp He saw his mansion drear and damp, Reflecting how his life had pass'd, A forced repentance came at last. The wife, with suited voice and dress, Presented an infernal mess: "Good Trap, pray take away your meat; I have no appetite to eat," He cried, "but faith I'm devilish dry: Can't you a bowl of wine supply?" The woman, seeing all was vain, Restor'd him to his casks again: Consol'd with certainty, that he Ere long a real corpse must be. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FARMER AND HIS QUARRELSOME SONS. Three sons an honest farmer had; And it so happen'd, ne'er a lad Could with the other two agree; All quarrelling perpetually. Their time in idle contest spent, Garden and farm to ruin went; And the good farmer and his wife Led but a miserable life. One day as this unhappy sire Sat musing by his evening fire, He saw some twigs in bundles stand, Tied for the basket-maker's hand. Taking up one: "My boys," says he, "Which is the strongest, let me see; He who this bundle breaks in twain, The preference, and this prize shall gain," (Showing a pair of Sunday shoes.) The rivals every effort use In vain. Their utmost force when tried, The father took the twigs untied, And giving to them one by one, The work immediately was done. "Yon twigs," he says, "that broken lie, This useful lesson may supply: That those in amity who live, And succor to each other give, Double their forces to resist Oppression, and their work assist." [Illustration] THE FIG TREE AND THE FLOWERING SHRUB. Flowers which many leaves display, In fruitless beauty fade away. Cries one of these, with saucy sneer, To a plain fig-tree growing near, "How comes it, honest friend, that thou Dost in the spring no blossoms show?" Says he, "I keep them out of view, For fear I should resemble you, And in the autumn nought produce Of permanence and solid use." Who soon and much essay to shine, May dread a premature decline. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FARMER AND THE LANDLORD. A farmer of an honest fame, One morning to his landlord came: "Alas, my lord," he weeping said, "Gored by my bull, your ox is dead. What must be done?" "The case is plain," Replies the lord; "the creature slain, The owner of the bull must pay; Let it be done without delay." "Heav'n give your worship long to live! I hope you will a good one give, For mine was good!" "How! your's, my friend? Let me your story comprehend: Your bull, you say, my ox has gored?" "Forgive me the mistake, my lord, In my confusion I have made; Mine was the ox that must be paid; But 'tis all one--what's just for me The same must for your worship be: I'll tell the steward what you say." "Not yet--we'll think of it to-day. Further inquiry must be had; Perhaps your fences were but bad; Perhaps--but come again to-morrow." The honest laborer saw with sorrow, That justice wears a different face, When for themselves men put the case. [Illustration] THE SCHOOL-BOY AND THE MONITOR. At play on Thames's verdant side A school boy fell into the tide, Where providentially there stood A willow, bending o'er the flood. Buoy'd on its branch, he floating lay, The monitor pass'd by that way. The lad entreats his life to save: The Don replies with aspect grave, "Sirrah, what business had you there? How vain is all our watchful care! You never heed a word we say; Your disobedience you shall pay!" "First," says the boy, "pray stretch your hand: I'll hear you when I come to land." This is for those, with vain parade Who give advice, instead of aid. [Illustration] THE MILLER AND HIS ASS. A rustic bringing to the fair An ass, that he might show him there, Sleek and well looking let him trot; He followed with his son on foot. The first they met upon the road, At our pedestrians laugh'd loud, "Look at those two legged asses," cried, "Who trudge on foot when they might ride!" The father with the hint complies: Makes the boy mount. Now other cries Assail their ears; by graybeards blam'd; "Sirrah, you ought to be asham'd To ride and let your father walk!" Again he listened to their talk. The sire got up, the youth got down; When passing through a country town, At every door the mothers said, "A murrain light on thy old head! Hast thou no bowels for thy kind? At least take up the lad behind." This done they next were thus address'd: "Two lubbers on a little beast? They fitter are to carry him!" Complying with this senseless whim, Upon a pole his feet in air, The ass they on their shoulders bear. Now laughing shouts spread far and wide. The ass's ligatures untied, "Proceed, my son," then said the man: "To please the world, do all we can, Since 'tis impossible, you see, To please ourselves content we'll be." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE DREAMER AND HIS SON. Mortals bring down upon their head The very miseries most they dread. The only son of a rich knight In hunting daily took delight. The father living in alarm, Lest he should come to any harm, Dream'd that he saw him on the ground, Rent with the lion's fatal wound. The youth, allow'd to hunt no more, Impatiently confinement bore. Remarking, one unlucky day, In the fine chamber where he lay, A lion painted on the wall, "Thou art," he cried, "the cause of all." With idle rage the wall he struck, And in his hand an iron stuck, Which piercing bones and sinews through, Fester'd and then a gangrene grew. And thus the father's ill-tim'd care Deprived him of his son and heir. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE OLD MAN AND DEATH. Though life be welcome to the wise, Death cannot take him by surprise; Aware that every day and hour He holds but at the tyrant's power, That beauty, talents, worth, are vain. A moment's respite to obtain. Nothing more known, and yet how rare It is with courage to prepare For this inevitable day! All hope a little more delay. One who had suffer'd many a year, And to a century drew near, At last complain'd, that unawares Death came, unsettled his affairs: "My will is not completely made; A little time," he trembling said, "A little longer let me live; Some warning 'tis but fair to give! My grandson is expected home; At least pray, let the doctor come." "Poor helpless driveller!" Death replied, "Ten years ago thou should'st have died! Thy friends, thy foes, thyself outliv'd: Almost an age thou hast surviv'd: Some who their day had scarce begun. Others beneath their noon-tide sun-- Time's deepest lines engrave thy brow, And dost thou hesitate to go? Idiot, what warning would'st thou have? One foot already in the grave: Sight, hearing, feeling, day by day, Sunk gradual in a long decay. I blame myself for my neglect; Thou'st not a moment to expect!" When failing nature warns, the sage Sees death a refuge from old age; And rising from life's lengthened feast, Willing retires, a sated guest. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE PAINTER. When candid critics deign to blame Their index points the road to fame, But when dull fools your works admire, Throw them at once into the fire. In Rome there dwelt, in days of yore, A painter deep in graphic lore. His touch was firm, his outline true, And every rule full well he knew. A Mars he painted, meant to show How far his learned skill could go. The work complete, he call'd a friend, On whose good taste he could depend. The friend was honest, spoke his thought, And fairly pointed out the fault, "That overwork'd in every part, It show'd too much laborious art." The painter argued for his rules, And cited maxims from the schools; Still the judicious critic held The labor should be more conceal'd. While they disputed on his stricture, A coxcomb came to see the picture: Entering, he cries, "Good heavens, how fine! The piece, I swear, is quite divine! The sword, the knot, the belt, the leather, The steel, the gold, the silk, the feather, Are perfect nature, all together!" The painter, reddening with despite, Whispers, "My friend, by Jove, you're right. 'Tis not enough our art to know, Till less of it we learn to show; My picture must be done again I see, to please discerning men." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE COBBLER AND THE NABOB. A cobbler, who had fix'd his stall Against a nabob's palace wall, Work'd merrily as others play, And sung and whistled all the day. A prey to many an anxious care, Less merry was the lord, by far; And often in the night he thought It hard, sleep was not to be bought: And if tow'rds morn he got a doze, The cobbler troubled his repose. One day he bid the man attend-- And, "Well," says he, "my honest friend, How is it that so well you thrive? You seem the happiest man alive. Pray, what may be the profit clear, That you can earn within the year?" "What in a twelvemonth I can earn, My lord, was never my concern; 'Tis quite enough," the cobbler said, "If I can gain my daily bread." "Take then this note"--'twas twenty pound; "But sing not with so shrill a sound, Good man," the generous nabob cries, "When early to your work you rise; For then I want to close my eyes." Delighted to his stall he went: But now he first felt discontent; All day he neither work'd nor ate, For thinking of his happy fate. At night, when he retir'd to bed, He plac'd the note beneath his head. But could not sleep a single wink, What he should do with it, to think; And every little noise he heard, That folks were come to rob him, fear'd. Living in constant dread to all, Who did but look towards his stall, So lean and sallow he was grown, The man was hardly to be known. At last he begg'd the lord to see: "Take back your present, sir," said he, "Riches, I find, are not for me. To-morrow I my song renew; Not less my gratitude to you: And care henceforward I will take, My chaunts your slumber do not break." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER. A man a palfrey long possess'd, A quiet, serviceable beast; Spavin'd, indeed, and somewhat blind, But still his way he well could find; And if he stumbled now and then, Was soon upon his feet again. In short, for many a year, the pack Had borne him safely on his back. Till riding out one fatal day, He overheard some coxcombs say, "For such a man, 'tis quite a shame, To mount a horse old, blind, and lame." "Aye," replied one, "I know a steed Would nobly carry him indeed; Young, vigorous, beautiful, and sound; His like is nowhere to be found." In evil hour an ear he lent, To view this boasted courser went: Unwary on his back he got, And tried to put him on a trot; He rear'd and plung'd, and leap'd about, Till from his seat he shook him out, Then kicking, pitch'd him o'er his head, And laid him on the pavement dead. The vicious creature left at large, On all his fury would discharge; This from behind his heels surprise, Trod under foot, that sprawling lies: Another, who would seize the reins, Is bit and mangled for his pains. But want of nourishment and rest Will tame at last the fiercest beast; And rage itself suspends its course, Exhausted by its proper force. Light'ning no more his eyes inspire, No more his nostrils snorted fire; At bay he stood, fatigu'd and lank, With flagging ears, and beating flank. An active jockey, stout and able, Contracts to bring him to the stable; Soothes, and his neck begins to pat, And the corn rattles in his hat; By hunger drawn, repell'd by fear, The courser neighs, retires, comes near; Lur'd with the smell, begins to eat. The jockey vaulted in the seat: With vigorous hand the bridle plied, And stuck the rowels in his side. Some bounds and curvets still he made, But soon submissively obey'd. The horseman who such skill had shown, Resolv'd to keep him for his own: Aware that constant work alone Can keep this wicked spirit down He night and day is on his back, To lead him to some new attack, No road is safe, nor far nor near, This highwayman is every where. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE GOOD MINISTER. An honest minister disgrac'd, (Such are not easily replac'd,) Found the sweet leisure in his fields, To virtuous minds retirement yields. The king, who had his foes believ'd, The loss of him ere long perceiv'd. To bring him back again intent, To his retreat alone he went: "My friend, you must return with me," He said, "your value now I see." "Forgive me," the Recluse replied; "Here I determine to abide. By sad experience well I know, Were I to court again to go, And all my best endeavors do, To serve my country, sir, and you, Art and intrigue so much prevail, Again I certainly should fail; Against your will and approbation, And the good wishes of the nation, You'd find yourself compell'd to yield, And I once more must quit the field." The honest man, who will not bend To circumstance, or condescend To pay his court to knave or fool, Will never long a nation rule. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE SWAN AND THE COOK. A man once had a swan and goose Among his birds and beasts. The one was destined for a pet, The other for a feast. Sometimes you saw them sailing Gracefully on the current, side by side, Sometimes they played a game of tag, Or plunged into the tide. One day the master ordered The cook to kill the goose, And roast it for his dinner; It was fat and fit for use. But the cook had taken a drop too much, And it had gone to his head; So when he went out for the goose He took the swan instead. He seized the swan fast by the throat, And would have kill'd it soon: But the bird saw he was to die, And he his throat did tune, And warbled out his farewell lay. The cook straight dropped his knife In great surprise, "what! what!" cried he, "Shall I take the life Of a musical bird like this? No, no! it must not be. So to the garden he shall go back And ne'er be kill'd by me." [Illustration] THE LYNX AND THE MOLE. A lynx once met by chance a mole, Just emerging from his hole. The lynx with penetrating eye The beauties of the place did spy, And asked the mole to take a share In the fine prospect, rich and rare. "I've seldom found so good a place. From this small hill you see a space Extended far beneath your view, I like it much; pray do not you? See now the sun begins to rise, And with crimson tints the skies. It spreads all round its genial heat, And nature now enjoys a treat." "Well, well!" the mole aloud did cry "You may see this and more, but I Can only now before me see, A very heavy mist." "Truly, Now," said the lynx, "I clearly see The difference 'twixt you and me. My eyes see with perception bright While your's are always dark as night. Go to your hold beneath the ground, While I will range the forest round." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE OLD CAT AND THE YOUNG MOUSE. A young mouse of little experience, Thought to soften an old cat, And besought her clemency, By asking for his life at her expense. Said he, "A mouse, or e'en a rat, Is not a great charge on the house; And I shall not starve out the host. Besides I seldom quit my post, And when I do a grain of corn Has served me since I first was born. Now I am thin, pray let me be, I'll serve your children yet, you'll see." Thus to the cat spoke the poor mouse. The other answered, "You mistake, When unto me this tone you take; You might as well talk to the deaf, As to so old a cat as I, And through your tricks I spy, Die! you can go and chatter to the fates, My children will be fed on better cates." MORAL. Youth is sanguine, and hopes for all: Old age is pitiless; so says our moral. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE TWO FRIENDS. Two real friends lived in Monomotapa, All that belonged to one was for the other, And each was unto each a brother. The people of that country, thus, Make better friends than among us. One night when fast asleep, They each were sound reposing, The eldest darted from his couch, And stopped the other's dozing. He runs to see his friend, Awakes the slaves, and in the end, Even his friend is quite alarmed, And goes to seek the other, With sword and purse. "My brother, What can the matter be? Here I am armed, you see, Ready with sword to fight for you, And here is money ready too, If you have lost in play. You're even welcome to my handsome slave, With jet black hair, and eyes so grave." "No!" said the other, "I need naught, But ere I slept to-night, I thought, Being in a trance, that you were sad, And as the thought nigh drove me mad, I hurried to your tent, And found you sleeping quite content." MORAL. Which of the two best loved the other? Here is a thing to ponder on. A true friend is a precious thing, And all to aid you he will bring, But with excess of love the other In dreams was thinking of his brother. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE SICK STAG. In a land where stags are many, One fell sick, and not any Of all his friends, delayed to come, To offer aid and consolation, In his sorrowful situation. Said he, "My friends, pray let me die In the right way, nor shed such tears." Not at all, the consolers, With many a tear, and many a sigh, Had come resolved by him to lie; And when they left they helped themselves Upon his lands, the greedy elves! And drank from out his brook, And every one of them such suppers took, That when the stag revived, He found his meals reduced; So that while his friends had thrived, He had to fast or die of hunger. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FOREST AND THE WOODMAN. A woodman had broken or misplaced The wooden handle of his axe, This loss could not be well replaced. So master woodman humbly prayed From all the trees a single branch, And promised to go elsewhere when he made Again his livelihood, And he would touch nor oak nor pine. The trees which were all very good Furnished for him new arms, And soon commenced all their alarms, And their regret. The axe was mended. And his repentance all was ended. The miserable wretch but used it, E'en as he had before abused it, By felling down the forest trees, Which groaned in spirit, and which died, By arms they had themselves supplied. MORAL. This is the way the world goes on, We use our benefits against our benefactors: I am tired of speaking thereupon, Till we obtain our wants, we are good actors. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE ELEPHANT AND THE MONKEY OF JUPITER. Formerly the elephant and the rhinoceros Disputing on the light of empire Resolved to end the combat thus-- By fighting to their heart's desire. The day was fixed, when it was heard, That the monkey of Sire Jupiter Had been seen in the air, Poised on a cloud like any bird. The elephant was quite convinced That to arrange the new election, An interest the god evinced, And felt for him a great affection, He went to see the monkey's highness, Expecting him to speak about the fight, But not a word said monkey. At this sight, The elephant perceived that he must speak himself, And so began: "Sire Jupiter," said he, "Between rhinoceros and me will see A royal combat of legation; A tournament for all the nation. I suppose you have already heard This news!" Said monkey, "Not a word." The elephant ashamed, and quite surprised, Looked on the monkey with astonished eyes. Said monkey, "In celestial place, A fly or leopard are of equal race." "Was it not then because of us," Said elephant, "that you descended?" "Nay," said the monkey, quite offended. "I left the heavens to share a grain of corn Among some ants, nor knew that you were born. We have the care of mortal things; But all are equals in our eyes, And at your talk I feel surprise." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE WOODCUTTER AND DEATH. A woodman was toiling, all covered with dust, But reach home with his faggot ere night he must, Panting and weary he walks quite slow, How to get home he does not know. At last quite exhausted with toil and trouble, With the weight of the burden and his years, bent double. He puts down his faggot, and thinks of his pains, What is his work, and what are his gains, How since he came into this weary world, By the wheels of blind fortune around he's been twirled. Was he not poor, a wood cutter, at best, Oft without bread, always without rest. He thinks of his wife, his children, his taxes, At last quite warm with the subject he waxes. He calls on death; who comes without delay, The woodman, in terror, knows not what to say. Death asks what to do the man wishes he should. "Oh, help me," he said, "with this faggot of wood. My poor bones ache, and my limbs they crack. So help me to put it upon my back." [Illustration] THE RAT AND THE OYSTER. A rat who lived in the field, A rat of little wit, Once grew tired of his father's house, And quietly left it. He left the field, the grain and wheat, Set out to travel, left his hole, And just as soon as he was out, "How large and spacious on the whole Is this great country spread about. Here are the Apeninnes, and there Caucasus." The smallest mole hill is a mountain. At the end of some days our traveller arrives At a certain canton where every oyster thrives, And our famed traveller turned very pale, Thinking he saw great vessels setting sail "Mercy," said he, "My father was a dunce, He did not dare to travel even once, While I have seen already, The maritime empire, And travelled to my heart's desire." From a certain learn'd man, The rat had heard of such things, And thinks he has seen all he can. Among the many oysters closed, There was one open, which reposed, Mouth gaping, in the sun, The learned, travelled man, The rat, approached, thinking to make An excellent repast, and began to take A bite at the fine oyster, plump and fat, Whereupon closing on our rat, The oyster caught him tight And held him with all its might. MORAL. This fable goes to show, That those mistake, Who think that all they know: When knowing nothing of the world, Their giddy brain is quickly whirled. And hence this moral let us make, That he is caught, who thinks to take. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE PHYSICIANS. Dr. So-much-the-worse went out to see A patient sick as one could be. His brother So-much-the-better, Having received an urgent letter, Came also the sick man to visit. So-much-the-worse declared he'd die, So-much-the-better asked him why. And while their plans they thus discourse, The sick man died, _so much the worse_! So-much-the-better now declared, That if the sick man had not despaired, He would have lived. So-much-the-worse Said, "I was right, agree with me, Our patient's dead, as you can see." MORAL. There's wisdom in the saying, by my troth, Too many cooks will spoil the broth. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE MOUNTAIN IN LABOR. A mountain thought to be in labor, Made such a horrid noise, That round it each stranger came and neighbor, Thinking the end of all this noise would be A city, quite as large as three. Having drawn all the province round, The mountain from a little mound, Let out a mouse. MORAL. When I think upon this fable, Of which the narration is false, And the sense true; It puts me much in mind Of authors not a few, Who boast that they are able To write on any subject as they please, And after all--do nothing. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE CAT METAMORPHOSED INTO A WOMAN. A man was passionately fond of his cat, He thought she was pretty, and sleek, and all that; And she purred in the softest tone, He wished to make her his own. This man by prayers, by tears, By sorcery and charms, Changed pussy to a woman fair, And took her in his arms. But in the wainscot soon a rat Made itself manifest, And very soon the pussy cat, Could still no longer rest. Her foolish husband who believed That nothing had of cat remained, And as his wife had her received-- Was, now, I warrant, somewhat pained. Next time the vermin came, Pussy was surer of her game-- For having changed her face, The mice not frightened, Did not change their pace-- And the astonished spouse Was very glad-- To change her back-- And was no more cat-mad. MORAL. What in the bone is born, Will in the flesh remain, Both night and morn, And ne'er come out again. [Illustration] THE FROG AND THE RAT. He who another thinks to injure, May in the end destroy himself. A rat who fed exceeding well, Was by a frog invited out to dine; "The voyage," said froggy, "will be quickly made, If you will tie your foot to mine." Frog vaunted the delight of bathing, Praised the varieties they'd met upon the way, And when the rat consented to be tied, Attempted to bear him away. The rat half drowned resisted all he could. The frog, imaged the dinner he would make; Suddenly, flying from a neighboring wood, A hawk appeared, and quickly did he take Both of the combatants up in his bill, Before they e'en had time to make their will; And quite delighted did the greedy sinner Make off of fish and flesh a hearty dinner. For in the hawk's dominions, fast days Are never kept. Now if the frog had acted as he ought, And had not tried to dine off the poor rat, They would not both have perished, To make fat, A pampered hawk; And master rat, Had he not been so curious about Aquatic government, Had from the scrape got safely out. MORAL. A scheme or a conspiracy, Be it all plotted well As safe, 'twould seem as it could be, And sure of all success, May, none the less, Entirely fail, And grand conspirators, And all bewail, The day that set them scheming. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE LION AND THE FLY. A lion by a gad-fly worried, Half maddened by his sting, Exclaimed, "Be off, vile fly-- Mean, pitiful, base thing!" After the fly had ended his repast, Fully exhausted feels the beast at last, And roared so that he shook the earth, While the victorious fly Met in the spider's web his destiny. MORAL. Two morals draw I from this tale: First, We should fear the smallest enemy; And second, We may escape great perils, And from a trifling cause may die. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE TWO MULES. Two mules went travelling on their way, One with a sack of corn; The other with gold and bells so gay, Most gaily tripped along. Proud of so rich a load, He kept the bells a ringing-- And was so proud, had he known how He would have commenced singing. Soon some robbers rude appeared, Who stopped this mule upon his road, And very soon they had him cleared Of all his weight of precious gold. Falling beneath their blows, "I die," The expiring trotter cried, "Had you been," said the other, "Low as I, you would not thus have died." Be moderate when you are high, Nor glory o'er the passers by. [Illustration] [Illustration] JUPITER AND THE FARMER. Jupiter had a farm to let, Mercury advertised it, and people came, Made offers, listened, all the same, Made some objection. One declared the land Was rough and dry, And full of sand. One had this reason, one had that, Until at last a man appeared, Who said he'd try to farm it, agreed that He might have any weather that he chose. Behold! as soon as he but yawns, it blows Or rains, or is quite clear. His neighbors, even the most near, Are not affected by these changes. In usual route, their weather ranges; They have good crops, But he had none. At last when tired, he began Complaining unto Jupiter. The next year the same thing, Changes of weather he can bring-- And the neighbors no more Than the Americans, Are troubled by the farming Of his lands. At last tired out, with all his strife in vain, He yields his power to the God of rain; Acknowledging, that all along The god did right, And he did wrong. MORAL. Let us conclude that Providence For man ordains much better than we can. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE COCK, THE CAT, AND THE LITTLE MOUSE. A young mouse, who had nothing seen, Was nearly caught; You shall hear how He told his mother the adventure-- He said, "Pray, listen, now: I started out to frolic at a venture, When two fine animals appeared Before my eyes, And filled me with surprise. One was soft, benign, and sweet, The other, turbulent, and full of inquietude, Had a loud voice, piercing and rude, And on his head a piece of flesh. A sort of arm raised him up in the air, As though to fly out of a mesh-- His tail was spread out like a fan." Now it was a cock of which our little mouse, Made to his mother this fine picture, Describing him like an enthusiast. "He beat," said he, "his flanks, With his two arms, Making such a noise and such a din, That, frightened half to death, I hurried in. Although I pique myself upon my courage And heartily I cursed him in my heart, For but for him, I'd taken part, In conversation with the gentle creature, Who my advances would encourage. She is velvety, like us, with a long tail, A modest look, and sparkling eyes, And is much like a rat. She spies The objects round her. I turned pale On hearing the other creature's din, Or else I should have asked her in." "My child," said the mother, "this last was a cat, An enemy of every mouse and rat. The other a cock, whom do not fear, Perhaps we may dine on him here." Take care, whatever they may seem, Of judging people by their mien. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE MONKEY. The animals, on the death of the lion, During his life, prince of the country, Resolved to elect a king to try on The regal crown, and chose a monkey. Because after the animals had all Tried on the regal crown, or let it fall, Because their heads were all too big, Or too small, too horned, or too thick, The monkey slipped through it; And with it cut up many a trick, Which they all thought refined, And chose him with one mind. Only the fox regretted the election, And swore to reign in his defection. He came and made his compliment; "Sire," said he, "I know a treasure meant For your high majesty. I will show The spot where it lies hid." The monkey went at Reynard's bid-- And was caught in a trap. The fox exclaimed, "How do you think to govern us, When, after all, with all your fuss, You cannot well, do what you may, Keep e'en yourself out of harm's way." The animals agreed, That royal power suits very few indeed. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE HORSE AND THE ASS. An ass accompanied by a horse uncourteous, Who only had his harness on his back; And the poor jackass staggered 'Neath the load of vegetable and a pack; He begged the horse to help him, If he could-- But not a single bit, The other would. "I ask," said the poor beast, "A little pity-- Help me at least, To reach the city." The horse refused, And got his due, For the ass died. The farmer's man Stripped off the skin of honest Ben, And made the horse, whom they espied, Drag on the skin and the cart beside. MORAL. 'Tis wise to lend our aid To others in distress, We often thus are made The means of happiness. The churlish, unkind man His neighbor's death may cause, And have to help his family, Through taxes and the laws. [Illustration] THE ASTROLOGER WHO FELL INTO A WELL. An astrologer, of high ambition, While star-gazing fell down Into a well. "Sage gentleman," Remarked the people of the town, "How did you think to read the stars, old man, When you cannot preserve your own position." This adventure in itself, without going further, Might serve as a lesson, to most of mankind, For of us mortals, a certain part inclines, To the belief, that, with the help of mind, The book of Destiny may easily be read, But this book, by Homer and his disciples sung, What is it called but _Chance_, by ancients, And by us Christians named Providence instead. Now in Chance there can no science be, Or why should it be called by them _Chance_-- And things uncertain, who knows in advance? If all depends upon the fixed decree, Of Him who does all things, and nothing does unwisely. How should we read his will, And know that which from us he would conceal? Wherefore watch the stars so nicely, To know how to avoid inevitable woe; Or how, in future times, our fate will go; To make us, in the midst of pleasure, sad, Or with predicted evil, drive us mad, Convert all blessings into curses dire? Is this the knowledge to which we aspire, Is it an error or a crime thus to believe That future destiny can thus be known? In place of star-gazing above our head, Let us confide ourselves to the Great One. The firmament exists, the stars go on their way, And the sun shines upon us every day; And every day, the day is lost in night, Without our knowing aught else from the sight. That the seasons come, the crops are ripe, And in what wood we should look out for snipe, And some few other things, but for the change Of day to night, by which the world doth range, It has not aught to do with Destiny. Quacks, and ye compilers of horoscopes, Quit all the courts of princes in Europe, And take with you all mischief makers You deserve belief no more than they do. MORAL. This astrologer in the well, Resembles all of his false art, Who while they are in danger, dream That in the stars, they read the happiest theme. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE ANIMALS SICK WITH THE PLAGUE. A scourge which spread terror, Invented by heaven to punish earth-- The plague (if to name it be no error) Was making every animal To curse his birth. In one day it might have enriched Acheron, And upon beasts made busy war. Amongst them all there was not one, But, sick and ailing, was complaining sore; All did not die, but each was ill-- Not one strove now to eat his fill, No meat excited them to taste, Nor did the wolves again lay waste, The innocent prey. Even the doves fled from each other, And cooed no more the live-long day. The lion held war counsel--"My brother," Said he, addressing each in turn, "I think that heaven hath allowed This punishment on us to fall For the sins we have disavowed. Now I for one will confess all, And let him who is most to blame, Be slaughtered in the others' name. Perhaps he may obtain a common cure, For history tells us that in like cases, The guilty die in others' places; Let us not then be false to Nature, Let us confess our faults--in fine I will the first acknowledge mine; And I avow, that oft I keep A serious tax on harmless sheep. What had they done, In naught offended-- Yet I their quiet lives have ended. Sometimes, with sorrow be it heard, I e'en have eaten the shepherd, And I acknowledge all-- And I will die like a quiet bird-- If my death keep you from your fall. It must be hoped now in all justice, That he who is most guilty perish." "Sire," said the fox, "you are too good a king To die for any trivial thing; Your simples are too nice. Eat sheep, and why not? Is it a sin? is it a vice? No, sire, you did them honor; And as for shepherds, I desire, That over us their false empire Should cease, and we have all we want Of sheep and fleece." So said the fox, flatterers applaud, The tiger, bear, and other powers they laud, Even for their most violent offence. All quarrelsome people, Down to the mastiffs, Were little saints. But when the donkey's turn came on, They heard him with many ifs. He said, "I now remember That by a monk's garden passing, (It was late in December, And my strength soon faints,) I ate a leaf of some dry plant, And e'en now I with terror pant." They seized upon him and devoured, And said he was the cause Of heaven's anger being lowered. With interested judges, _right_ Is always on the side of _might_. [Illustration] THE CANDLE. It was in the home of the Olympian gods, That bees first lodged, 'tis said, On Mount Hymettus; and thitherwards Came zephyrs with light tread. When from the hives, the honey, Had all been taken out, As there remained naught but wax, Some candles were, for money, Carefully made and sold in packs. One of these candles on a certain day Seeing that clay by fire was turned to brick, Thought he could harden his body the same; And getting near the fire to try the trick, This new Empedocles to flame condemned Soon found of his philosophy the end. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE HOG, THE GOAT, AND THE SHEEP. A goat, a sheep, and a fat hog, On the same cart were bound for the fair. They lay as quietly as any log, But were not seeking their amusement there. They were to be sold, so says the story. The carter, who his business knows, Don't take them into town to see the _shows_. Dame porker was inclined to squeal, As though the butcher's knife she 'gan to feel. Her grunts, and squeals, and cries Were loud enough to deafen one, The other animals more wise, And better tempered, with surprise Exclaimed, "have done!" The carter to the porker turned, "Where have you manners learned, Why stun us all? Do you not see That you're the noisiest of the three? That sheep says not a word, Nor can the young goat's voice be heard." "But," said the hog, "they both are fools. If like me they knew their fate, They'd halloo out at greater rate, The goat will only lose her milk, The sheep his wool, but here, poor me, I'm to be eaten, and know my destiny." The porker was quite right, But hallooing with all her might, Was all too late, And could not alter her sad fate. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE DELICATE HERON. By the bank of a river, A heron walked out, And in it were sporting, Pike, mackerel and trout. Now these fish with great ease, Our bird might have caught, But I'll wait till I'm hungry The silly bird thought. At last came his appetite, "Now I'll eat," the bird cries, And some tench from the bottom, Just then he saw rise. "But these are not good enough At this time of day," And he waited for better Till all swam away. At eve almost starved When all other means fail, He was right glad to sup On a poor little snail. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BLACKAMOOR AND HER MISTRESS. A foolish young lady, Took one of her maids, Who chanced to be black As the ace of spades, And said she'd have her washed white, By the other maids; She was put in a tub, And with water and towels Her skin they did rub, Through a long summer day till the night; But the more they did rub her, The blacker she got; And while they did scrub her, She mourned her hard lot. So the maids threw away All their labor and care, And the mistress gave up Her fine scheme in despair. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BEAR AND THE GARDENER. A bear and gardener, Who mutually tired Of solitary life, And were inspired, With a warm friendship for each other, Promised to be to one another, Excellent friends, and so they were. As for the death of the poor man I'll tell you how it happened, If I can. The bear watching the gardener in his sleep-- Beholding on his head a fly, And thinking it bad company, Took up a stone and dropped it down, Upon the fly 'tis true, But broke the gardener's crown. MORAL. To make our fortunes or to mend, A most malignant enemy Is better than a foolish friend. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE VULTURES AND THE PIGEONS. The wing'd inhabitants of air Waged on a time a direful war. Not those, in budding groves who sing, To usher in the amorous spring; Nor those, with Venus' car who fly Through the light clouds and yielding sky But the rapacious vulture brood, With crooked beak that thirsts for blood, And iron fangs. Their war, 'tis said, For a dog's carrion corse was made. Shrill shrieks resound from shore to shore; The earth beneath is sanguin'd o'er; Versed in the science to destroy, Address and valor they employ. 'Twould take a hundred tongues to tell, The heroes from the air who fell. The dovecote race, a gentle nation, Made offers of their mediation. Prudent ambassadors are sent; The vultures with the terms content, Agree their guarantee to take, And armistice and treaty make. This kind desire to interfere, Cost the poor peace-makers full dear. To rapine bred, the ruthless crew, Nor gratitude nor faith who knew, On the defenceless pigeons fall, And shortly had devoured them all. MORAL. When tyrants from their quarrels cease, Some weaker neighbor pays their peace. His safety in their warfare lies; Their feuds, not he should compromise. When Joseph, Frederick, and Kate, Tired of unprofitable hate, Their animosities would heel, They swallowed Poland at a meal. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BEAR AND THE BEES. A bear once rambled from his home, Chanced through a garden trim to roam, Where, 'neath the shelter of the trees, The farmer had his hives of bees. Bruin loved honey. "Now," said he, "I'll rob your store-house, Master Bee. You'll buz, and hum about my ears, But noise a brave bear never fears." So saying, bear o'erturns a hive, And straight the air is all alive, With angry enemies, who sting As well as buz; and make bear sing, A lively tune of growls and roars, And cover him with smarting sores. [Illustration] A CATALOGUE OF ENTERTAINING AND INSTRUCTIVE JUVENILE BOOKS, PUBLISHED AND FOR SALE BY C. G. HENDERSON & CO. AT THEIR Central Book & Stationery Warehouse, No. 164 CHESTNUT STREET, _Corner of Seventh_, UNDER BARNUM'S MUSEUM. PHILADELPHIA [Illustration] MAJA'S ALPHABET. A VERY BEAUTIFUL PICTORIAL ALPHABET, In Rhyme. WITH NEW AND ORIGINAL DESIGNS, BY ABSOLON. [Illustration] COSTUMES OF AMERICA. An excellent volume for Young People of both sexes, and well calculated to awaken an interest in the History of this Continent. Illustrated with Twenty-four Engravings of Original Costumes. One volume, square 16mo. Cloth, 50 cents. With Colored Plates, 75 cents. [Illustration] Little Charley's Christmas Amusements, OR WINTER SPORTS DURING THE HOLIDAYS. With 28 Engravings on Wood. 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This New Fairy Tale is one of the liveliest, most readable, and most unexceptionable for Children which has ever appeared. [Illustration] The Complete BOOK OF NURSERY RHYMES, FROM The Creation of the World TO THE PRESENT TIME. One volume 18mo, 252 pages. Cloth Binding. [Illustration] THRILLING STORIES OF THE OCEAN. For the Entertainment and Instruction of the Young. This is a neat volume of 300 pages, with numerous Embellishments. It is written in a familiar, popular style, and is well suited to the Juvenile, Family or School library. CLOTH BINDING, PLAIN AND GILT EXTRA. COSTUMES OF EUROPE. Beautifully Embellished with 24 Engravings of Original Costumes. One vol. Square 16mo. Fine Cloth binding, 50 cts; with Col'd Engravings, 75 cts. [Illustration] This is a Companion volume to the COSTUMES OF AMERICA, and is equally instructive as well as pleasing for young readers. --> Every intelligent Boy should possess a Copy of the Book of Costumes of Europe and America. 
20510	----	produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) ADE'S FABLES BY GEORGE ADE BY THE SAME AUTHOR _The College Widow, In Pastures New, Knocking the Neighbors, Fables in Slang_ _Illustrated by John T. McCutcheon_ GARDEN CITY NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 1914 _Copyright, 1912, 1913, by_ COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE _Copyright, 1914, by_ DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO. _All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian_ CONTENTS PAGE The New Fable of the Private Agitator and What He Cooked Up 3 The New Fable of the Speedy Sprite 23 The New Fable of the Intermittent Fusser 43 The New Fable of the Search for Climate 62 The New Fable of the Father Who Jumped In 83 The New Fable of the Uplifter and His Dandy Little Opus 100 The New Fable of the Wandering Boy and the Wayward Parent 119 The New Fable of What Transpires After the Wind-up 137 The Dream That Came Out with Much to Boot 155 The New Fable of the Toilsome Ascent and the Shining Table-Land 171 The New Fable of the Aerial Performer, the Buzzing Blondine, and the Daughter of Mr. Jackson 193 The New Fable of Susan and the Daughter and the Granddaughter, and then Something Really Grand 212 The New Fable of the Scoffer Who Fell Hard and the Woman Sitting By 237 The New Fable of the Lonesome Camp on the Frozen Heights 257 The New Fable of the Marathon in the Mud and the Laurel Wreath 281 ILLUSTRATIONS "You are entitled to One Hundred Thousand Dollars," murmurs the stealthy Promoter. _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE Every time he sauntered carelessly across the porch, he gave a correct Imitation of a troop of Cavalry going over a Wooden Bridge 43 Father came in and took one look and said: "Not for Mine! I won't stand for any Puss Willow being grafted on to our Family Tree" 83 He was dazed and horrified to find himself suddenly subjected to the demoralizing Influences of the Small Town 119 Nearly every evening the Tradesman would back up to the Student Lamp and put in a delirious half-hour with the Views 155 He liked to tow something that would cause the Oyster Forks to pause in midair and the Catty Ones to reach for their Hardware 193 He tore up the Medal Score, gave all the Clubs to the Caddy ... lifted a grimy Paw and uttered the Vow of Renunciation 237 He talked Numbers to himself as he sped along and mumbled over the important Letters he was about to dictate 281 ADE'S FABLES THE NEW FABLE OF THE PRIVATE AGITATOR AND WHAT HE COOKED UP Ambition came, with Sterling Silver Breast-Plate and Flaming Sword, and sat beside a Tad aged 5. The wee Hopeful lived in a Frame House with Box Pillars in front and Hollyhocks leading down toward the Pike. "Whither shall I guide you?" asked Ambition. "Are you far enough from the Shell to have any definite Hankering?" "I have spent many Hours brooding over the possibilities of the Future," replied the Larva. "I want to grow up to be a Joey in a Circus. I fairly ache to sit in a Red Wagon just behind the Band and drive a Trick Mule with little pieces of Looking Glass in the Harness. I want to pull Mugs at all the scared Country Girls peeking out of the Wagon Beds. The Town Boys will leave the Elephant and trail behind my comical Chariot. In my Hour of Triumph the Air will be impregnated with Calliope Music and the Smell of Pop-Corn, modified by Wild Animals." Ambition went out to make the proper Bookings with Destiny. When he came back the Boy was ten years old. "We started wrong," whispered Ambition, curling up in the cool grass near the Day-Dreamer. "The Trick Mule and the Red Cart are all very well for little Fraidy-Cats and Softies, but a brave Youth of High Spirit should tread the Deck of his own Ship with a Cutlass under his Red Sash. Aye, that is Blood gauming up the Scuppers, but is the Captain chicken-hearted? Up with the Black Flag! Let it be give and take, with Pieces of Eight for the Victor!" So it was settled that the Lad was to hurry through the Graded Schools and then get at his Buccaneering. But Ambition came back with a revised Program. "You are now Fifteen Years of Age," said the Wonderful Guide with the glittering Suit. "It is High Time that you planned a Noble Career, following a Straight Course from which there shall be no Deviation. The Pirate is a mere swaggering Bravo and almost Unscrupulous at times. Why not be a great Military Commander? The Procedure is Simple. Your Father gives the Finger to the Congressman and then you step off the Boat at West Point. Next thing you know, you are wearing a Nobby Uniform right out on the Parade Ground, while bevies of Débutantes from New York City and other Points admire you for the stern Profile and Military Set-Up. After that you will subdue many Savage Tribes, and then you will march up Pennsylvania Avenue at the head of the whole Regular Army, and the President of the United States will be waiting on the Front Porch of the White House to present you with a jewelled Sword on behalf of a Grateful Nation." "You are right," said the Stripling. His eyes were like Saucers, and his Nostrils quivered. "I will be Commander-in-Chief, and after I am laid away, with the Cannon booming, the Folks in this very Town will put up a Statue of Me at the corner of Sixth and Main, so the Street-Cars will have to circle to get around it." Consequently, when he was in his 21st Year, he was sitting at a high Desk in an Office watching the Birds on a Telegraph Wire. The Knowledge he had acquired at the two Prep Schools before being pushed into the Fresh Air ahead of Time had not made him round-shouldered. He was a likely Chap, but he wore no Plumes. He became dimly conscious that Ambition was squatted on the Stool next to him. "Up to this time we have been Dead Wrong," said the Periodical Visitor. "There is only one Prize worth winning and that is the Love of the Niftiest Nectarine that ever came down a Crystal Stairway from the Celestial Regions to grace this dreary World with her Holy Presence. Yes, I mean the One you passed this morning--the One with her hair in a Net and the Cameo Brooch. Why not annex her by Legal Routine and settle down in a neat Cottage purchased from the Building and Loan Association? You could raise your own Vegetables. Go to it." Four years elapse. Our Hero now has everything. The jerry-built home of the Early Bungalow Period stands up bravely under the Mortgage. Little Dorothy is suspended in a Jump Chair on the Veranda facing Myrtle Avenue, along which the Green Cars run direct to City Hall Square. The Goddess is in the kitchen trying to make preserves out of Watermelon Rinds, with the White House Cook Book propped open in front of her. Friend Husband is weeding the Azaleas and grieving over the failure of the Egg-Plant. He finds himself gently prodded, and there is Ambition once more at his Elbow. "You are entitled to One Hundred Thousand Dollars," murmurs the stealthy Promoter. "Why should some other Citizen have his Coal-Bin right in the House while you carry it from a Shed? Your Wife should sit at her own Dinner Table and make signs at the Maid. And as you ride to your Work with the other dead-eyed Cattle and see all those Strong-Arm Johnnies coming out of their Brick Mansions to hop into their own Broughams and Coupés, have you not asked yourself why you are in the Horse-Cars with the Plebes when you might be in a Private Rig with the Patricians?" For, wot ye, Gentle Reader, all this unwound from the Reel before the first Trolley Car climbed a Hill or the first Horseless Carriage came chugging sternly up the Boulevard. So Ambition received special Instructions to make Our Hero worth $100,000. Those were the days of tall Hustling: If he saw an Opening six inches wide, he held it with his Foot until he could insert his Elbow, and then he braced his Shoulder, and the first thing you knew he was on the Inside demanding a fair cut of the Swag. The Golden Rule received many a Jolt, but he adhered strictly to the old and favorite Admonition: If you want Yours, take a short piece of Lead Pipe and go out and Collect. On a certain January First he made a careful Invoice. All the Hard-Earned Kale dropped into the Mining Companies or loaned to Relatives of Wife he marked off and put under the Head of Gone but not Forgotten. He was a True Business Guy. Even after subtracting all Cats and Dogs he could still total the magnificent Sum of One Hundred Thousand Dollars. When he looked at this Mound of Currency, he felt like a Vag and a Pauper. For he had climbed to the table-lands of High Finance and taken a peek at the Steam-Roller methods of the Real Tabascos. "Make it a Million," said Ambition, leaning across the Table and tapping nervously. "Are you going to be satisfied with a Station Wagon and a Colored Boy when you might have a long-waisted Vehicle with two pale Simpsons in Livery on the Box? When you go into your Club and see the Menials kow-towing to a cold-looking Party with rippling Chins who seems to favor his Feet, you know that he gets the Waving Palms and the Frankincense because he is a Millionaire. You and the other financial Gnats are admitted simply to make a Stage Setting for the Big Squash." "I always said that when I got a Hundred Thousand I'd take a long Vacation in Europe and learn how to order a Meal," suggested Our Hero, holding out weakly. "When you came back you would find your hated Rival on the Hill with the Batteries turned against you. Camp on the Job and work straight toward the High Mark. And remember that anybody with less than a Million is a Two-Spot in a soiled Deck." From that day the Piking ceased. No more of the dinky trafficking of the Retailer. He went out and bought Public Service Utilities on Nerve, treated them with Aqua Pura by the Hogshead, and created Wealth by purely lithographic Methods. And, if he wanted to reason out a Deal with a contrary-minded Gazook, he began the Negotiations by soaking the Adversary behind the Ear and frisking him before he came to. A Fairy Wand had been waved above the snide Bungalow, and it was now a Queen Anne Château dripping with Dew-dads of Scroll Work and congested with Black Walnut. The Goddess took her Mocha in the Feathers, and a Music Teacher came twice each week to bridge the awful chasm between Dorothy and Chopin. Dinner had been moved up to Milking Time. Sweetbreads and Artichokes came into the Lives of the Trio thus favored by Fortune. One day the busy Thimble-Rigger took his Helpmate into the lonesome Library and broke the glad Tidings to her. "I have unloaded all of my Cripples," he said. "They have been wished on to a Group of Philanthropists in New England. Sound the glad Tocsin. I have a Million in my Kick." So she began packing the huge Saratogas and reading the Folders on Egypt and the Riviera. He sat in his Den pulling at a long black Excepcionale. Through the bluish clouds of Smoke came that old familiar Voice. "Let the Missus and the Heiress do the European Thing," said Ambition. "You stick around. Wait for Black Friday. Then get busy at the Bargain Counter. By and by the new Crop will begin to move, and Money will creep out of the Yarn Stockings and a few Wise Gazabes will cop all the Plush. In every Palm Room there are more Millionaires than Palms. But the Big Round Table over by the Fountain is always reserved by Oscar for the Lad who can show Ten Millions." The Ocean Greyhound moved out past Sandy Hook with the Family and all the Maids on board, but Papa remained behind to sharpen his Tools and get ready for another Killing. Every time he was given a Crimp in the Rue de la Paix he caught even by leading a new Angora up the Chute and into the Shambles. When the fully matured Goddess and the radiant Heroine of the latest International Alliance came home with the French Language and two tons of Glad Raiment, they found themselves reuning with the Magnate at the big Table over by the Fountain. Our Hero was now sleeping in a Bed almost twelve feet wide, with a silk Tent over it. One Morning he found the Companion of many Years sitting on the edge of the Mattress. "Again?" asked the Multi-Millionaire. "What next?" "The Exercises up to this Time have been Preliminary," said Ambition. "What is the good of a Bank Roll if you cannot garnish it with the delectable Parsley of Social Eminence? Get a Wiggle on you. Send for the Boys with the Frock Coats and the Soft Hats and let them dig in to their Elbows. Tell the Press Agent to organize a typewriting Phalanx. Assume a few Mortgages on fluttering Newspapers. Lay a Corner-Stone ever and anon. Be Interviewed." "What are you leading up to?" asked the Financial Giant, a sickly Fear creeping into the Region formerly occupied by his Heart. "The Logical Finish," replied Ambition, with a reassuring Pat on the Shoulder. "You must go to the Senate. The White Palace, suitable for entertaining purposes, now awaits you in Washington. The Bulb Lights glow dimly above the Porte Cochère. A red Carpet invites you to climb the Marble Stairway and spread yourself all over the Throne. On a Receiving Night, when the perfumed Aliens in their Masquerade Suits rally around the Punch Bowl, your Place will resemble the Last Act of something by Klaw & Erlanger. You will play Stud with the Makers of History and be seen leaving the Executive Mansion." This Line of Talk landed him. He Fell for it. That year the Christmas Tree drooped with valuable Gifts for the Boys who stood after they were hitched. He went up to Washington with an eviscerated Check-Book in his Pocket and a faint Odor of Scandal in his Wake, but he was a certified Servant of the People. His Cut Flowers were the Talk in Official Circles. The most Exclusive consented to flirt with his Wine Cellar. To a mere Outsider it looked as if Ambition had certainly boosted his Nobs to the final Himalayan Peak of Human Happiness. He had a House as big as a Hospital. The Hallways were cluttered with whispering Servants of the most immaculate and grovelling Description. His Wife and the Daughter and the Cigarette-Holder she had picked up in Europe figured in the Gay Life of the Nation's Capital every Night and went to see a Nerve Specialist every Day. The whole Bunch rode gaily on the Top Wave of the Social Swim, with a Terrapin as an Escort and a squad of Canvas-Back Ducks as Body-Guard. Notwithstanding all which, Father was the sorest Hard-Shell that motored along Pennsylvania Avenue. The Dime Denouncers printed his Picture, saying that he was owned by the Interests and hated the sight of a Poor Working Girl. When the High Class continuous Show in the Senate Chamber showed signs of flopping and the Press Gallery became impatient, some Alkali Statesman of the New School would arise in his Place and give our Hero a Turning-Over, concluding with a faithful Pen-Picture of the Dishonored Grave marked by a single Headstone, chiseled as follows: "Here lies a Burglar." When he went traveling, he had his Food smuggled into the Drawing-Room. He knew if he went drilling through the Pullmans, some of the Passengers who had seen the Cartoons might recognize him as the notorious Malefactor. One day, while he was cowering in a dark corner of his Club to get away from the pesky Reporters, he was joined by the Trouble-Maker. "I gave you the wrong Steer," said Ambition, now much subdued. "You are in Dutch. Beat it! All the Rough-Necks down by the Round-House and the fretful Simps along every R.F.D. Route are getting ready to interfere in the Affairs of Government. The Storm Clouds of Anarchy are lowering. In other words, the new Primary Law has begun to do business. Every downtrodden Mokus owing $800 on a $500 House is honing for a Chance to Hand it to somebody wearing a Seal-Skin Overcoat. From now on, seek Contentment, Rural Quietude, and a cinch Rate of 5 Per Cent. on all your Holdings." So Ambition, after leading him hither and yon, finally conducted him to the swell Country House surrounded by Oaks and winding Drives and Sunken Gardens. Far from the Hurly-Burly he settled down among his Boston Terriers and Orchids and Talking-Machines and allowed Old Age to ripen and mellow him into a Patriarch of the benevolent Pattern. At the suggestion of an expensive Specialist, he went in for Golf. After he had learned to Follow Through and keep within 100 yards of the Fair Green, he happened to get mixed up in a Twosome one day with a walking Rameses who had graduated from the Stock Exchange soon after the Crime of '73. This doddering Shell of Humanity looked as if a High Wind would blow him into the Crick. When he swung at the Pill, you expected to hear something Snap. Our Hero had about 10 Years on the Ancient, and it looked like a Compote. But the Antique managed to totter around the Course, playing short but safe, always getting Direction and keeping away from the Profanity Pits. He never caught up with Colonel Bogey, but he had enough Class to trim our Hero and collect 6 Balls. Ambition rode home with the unhappy Loser in the $12,000 Limousine. "Buck up, Old Top," said the faithful Prompter. "Fasten your Eye on the Ball and don't try to Force. He is sure to blow up sooner or later. Take another Lesson to-morrow morning and then publish your Defi in the afternoon." He never had been strong enough to stand off Ambition. So next Day he took on Old Sure-Thing again and got it in the same Place. No wonder. The Octogenarian was of Scotch Descent. He was the Color of an Army Saddle. He never smiled except when the Kilties came on tour. His Nippie consisted of a tall Glass about half full and then a little Well Water. A plain American Business Man with a York State Ancestry had a fat Chance against this Caledonian frame-up. But that same persistent Ambition kept sending him back to the Ring to take another Trouncing. One day he failed to show up at the Club House. The Trained Nurse, who fanned him during the final Hours, never suspected. But the Caddy-Master knew that he had died of a Broken Heart. MORAL: Those who travel the hardest are not always the first to arrive. THE NEW FABLE OF THE SPEEDY SPRITE One Monday Morning a rangy and well-conditioned Elfin of the Young Unmarried Set, yclept Loretta, emerged into the Sunlight and hit the Concrete Path with a ringing Heel. This uncrowned Empress of the 18th Ward was a she-Progressive assaying 98 per cent. pure Ginger. Instead of trailing the ever onward Parade, she juggled the Baton at the head of the Push. In the crisp introductory hours of the Wash-Day already woven into the Plot, Loretta trolleyed herself down into the Noise Belt. She went to the office of the exclusive Kennel Club and entered the Chow Ki-Yi for the next Bench Show. At the Clearing House for K. M.'s she filed a loud call for a Cook who could cook. Then she cashed a check, ordered a pound of Salted Nuts (to be delivered by Special Wagon at once), enveloped a ball of Ice Cream gooed with Chocolate, and soon, greatly refreshed, swept down on a Department Store. A Chenille Massacre was in full swing on the 3d floor, just between the Porch Furniture and Special Clothing for Airmen. Loretta took a run and jump into the heaving mass of the gentler Division. She came out at 10.53 with her Sky Piece badly listed to Port and her toes flattened out, but she was 17 cents to the Good. Three hearty Cheers! So she went over to an exhibition of Paintings, breathing through her Nose for at least an Hour as she studied the new Masterpieces of the Swedo-Scandinavian School. Each looked as if executed with a Squirt Gun by a Nervous Geek on his way to a Three Days Cure. Just the same, every Visitor with a clinging Skirt and a Mushroom Hat gurgled like a Mountain Stream. In company with four other Seraphines, plucked from the Society Col., she toyed with a Fruit Salad and Cocoa at a Tea Room instituted by a Lady in Reduced Circumstances for the accommodation of those who are never overtaken by Hunger. The usual Battle as to which should pick up the Check and the same old Compromise. A Dutch Treat with Waitress trying to spread it four ways and the Auditing Committee watching her like a Hawk. Then a 10-cent Tip, bestowed as if endowing Princeton, and the Quartet representing the Flower of America's Young Womanhood was once more out in the Ozone, marching abreast with shining Faces and pushing white-haired Business Men off into the Sweepings. Loretta went to a place with a glass Cover on it and had herself photoed in many a striking Posture. With the Chin tilted to show the full crop of Cervical Vertebræ and her Search Lights aimed yearningly at the top of the Singer Building, she had herself kidded into believing that she was a certified Replica of Elsie Ferguson. As a member of the Board of Visitation she hurried out to the Colored Orphan Asylum to check up the Picks and watch them making Card-Board Mottoes. After that she had nothing to do except fly home and complete a Paper on the Social Unrest in Spain, after which she backed into the Spangles, because Father was bringing an old Stable Companion to dinner. In the evening she took Mother to a Travel Lecture. The colored Slides were mingled with St. Vitus Glimpses of swarming Streets and galloping Gee-Gees. They came home google-eyed and had to feel their way into the Domicile. Tuesday A.M. dawned overcast with shifting winds from the N.E. Loretta pried herself away from the third Waffle in order to hike to the corner and jack up Mr. Grocer about the Kindling Wood that he had sent them for Celery. She had the Druggist 'phone the Florist, and then rewarded him by purchasing three Stamps. At 9.30 the Committee to arrange for the Summer Camp of the In-Wrong Married Women whirled through the untidy Suburbs in a next year's Motor Car, and Loretta was nowhere except right up on the front Seat picking out the Road. Once a year the Ladies of the Lumty-Tum went out with their embroidered Sand-Bags and swung on their Gentlemen Friends for enough Dough to pay the Vacation Expenses of Neglected Wives and Kiddies. In every community there is an undiscovered Triton thoroughly posted on the Renaissance of the Reactionaries and the recrudescence of the Big Six Baby with the up-twist that has Whiskers on it. This Boy is so busy regulating both Parties and both Leagues that when it comes time for his Brood to take an Outing, some ignorant Outsider has to step in and unbelt. After letting contracts for Milk and Vegetables, Loretta and the other specimens of our Best People zipped over to the Country Club, breaking into silvery Laughter every time the Speedometer made a Face at the Sign-Board which said that the Speed Limit was 12 Miles an Hour. They showed a few milk-fed Springers how to take a Joke, and then played an 18-hole Foursome which was more or less of a Grewsome. Then a little Tea on the Terrace with Herbert lolling by in his Flannels, just as you read about it in Mrs. Humphry Ward. A buzzing sound dying off into the distance, a trail of Blue Smoke in the fading Twilight, and little Bright Eyes is back in her own Boudoir packing herself into a new set of Glads. That evening she had four throbbing Roscoes curled up among her Sofa Pillows. She had to bat up short and easy ones for this Bunch, as they came from the Wholesale District. When they began to distribute political Bromides, the artful Minx sat clear out on the edge of the Chair and let on to be simply pop-eyed with Ardor. Shortly after 12 she turned the last night-blooming Cyril out into the Darkness and did a graceful Pirouet to the Husks. On Wednesday morning, between the Ham and Eggs, she glanced at her double-entry Date Book and began to gyrate. On the way down-town she stopped in and had herself measured for a new mop of Hair. Thence to the Beauty Works to have the peerless Frontispiece ironed out and the Nails ivoried. When she appeared at the Sorority Tiffin at 1 P.M. she was dolled for fair. The Response in behalf of the Alumnae of Yamma Gamma was a neat Affair. After swiping the Table Decorations, she and two Companions hurried to a Mat. It was a Performance given under the auspices of the Overhanging Domes, and the Drama was one that no Commercial Manager had the Nerve to unload on the Public. The Plot consisted of two victims of Neurasthenia sitting at a Table and discussing Impaired Circulation. That evening she helped administer the Anesthetic to a Seminary Snipe who was getting into the Life Boat with a hard-wood Bachelor grabbed off at the 11th Hour. Loretta wept softly while straightening out the Veil, in accordance with Tradition. Later on she did an Eddie Collins and landed the Bride's Bouquet. At 11.30 she had the Best Man backed into a Corner, slipping him that Old One about his Hair matching his Eyes. It is now Thursday morning and who is this in the Gym whanging the Medicine Ball at the Lady Instructor with the Face? It is Loretta. Behold her at 10.30, after an icy Splash and a keen rub with a raspy Towel. She has climbed back into the dark-cloth Effect and is headed for the Studio of Madam to grapple with the French Lesson. After that she will do nothing before Lunch Time except try on White Shoes and fondle some Hats that are being sacrificed at $80 per throw. The Suffrage Sisters rounded up Thursday afternoon. A longitudinal Brigadieress in the army of Intellectuality did the main Spiel, with Loretta as principal Rooter. The Speaker was there with the Pep and with the Vocabulary. Otherwise she was a Naughty-Naughty. The costume was a plain Burial Shroud, the only Ornament being a 4-carat Wen just above the Neckband. At 4 P.M., after the Male Sex had been ground to a Hamburger, our little Playmate escaped to a Picture Show, but not until she had duly fortified herself with the nourishing Marshmallow. There was nothing on the Cards that night except a Subscription Dance, which got under way at 10 P.M. and never subsided until the cold Daylight began to spill in at the Windows. Loretta did 27 out of a possible 29. Percentage .931--six better than Bogey and 400 points ahead of Ty Cobb. Nevertheless and notwithstanding, don't imagine that she failed to come up for Air on Friday Morning. Life is real, Life is earnest, and she had a Gown to be shortened up and re-surveyed around the Horse Shoe Curve, just as soon as she could leave the Gloves to be cleaned. Happening into Automobile Row, she permitted a blond salesman with a Norfolk Jacket to demonstrate the new type of Electric Runabout. One of the most inexpensive pursuits of the well-dressed Minority is to glide over the Asphalt in a Demonstration car and pretend to be undecided. She permitted the man to set her down at a Book Shop, where she furtively skinned eight Magazines while waiting for a Chum to pop through the Whirligig Door. The two went Window-Hopping for an hour. After making Mind Purchases of about $8000 worth of washable Finery edged with Lace, a spirit of Deviltry seized them. They ordered their Lettuce Sandwiches and diluted Ceylon in a Restaurant where roguish Men-about-Town sat facing the Main Entrance to pipe the pulchritudinous Pippins. Was it seven or eight Party Calls that she checked from her social Ledger before 4 o'clock? Answer: eight. Then a swinging Gallop for home. Whilst she had been socializing around, Robert W. Chambers had taken a lead of two Novels on her. Retiring to a quiet Alcove with four Volumes that were being dissected at the drawing-room Clinics, she took a hack at the first and last Chapter of each. Just enough to protect her against a Fumble if she found herself next to a Book Sharp. That evening a famous Hungarian Fiddler, accompanied by a warbling Guinea Hen and backed up by sixty Symphonic Heineys wearing Spectacles, was giving a Recital for the True Lovers in a Mammoth Cave devoted to Art. Loretta had a sneaking preference for the May Irwin School of Expression, but she had to go through with the Saint-Saëns Stuff now and then to maintain a Club Standing. Accordingly she and Mother and poor old dying Father, with no Heart in the Enterprise, were planted well down in Section B, where they could watch Mrs. Leroy Geblotz, who once entertained Nordica, and say "Bravo" at the Psychological Moment. On Saturday Morning, after she had penned 14 Epistles, using the tall cuneiform Hieroglyphics, she didn't have a blessed thing to do before her 1 o'clock Engagement except drop in at a Flower Show and a Cat Show and have her Palm read by a perfectly fascinating Serpent with a Goatee who had been telling all the Gells the most wonderful things about themselves. A merry little Group went slumming Saturday afternoon. They attended a Ball Game. Loretta had her Chin over the Railing and evinced a keen Interest, her only Difficulty being that she never knew which Side was at bat. At dusk she began hanging on the Family Jewels. It was a formal Dinner Party with a list made up by Dun and Bradstreet. Loretta found herself between an extinct Volcano of Political World and a sappy Fledgling whose Grandfather laid the cornerstone of Brooklyn. The Dinner was one of those corpseless Funerals, stage-managed by a respectable Lady with a granite Front who had Mayflower Corpuscles moving majestically through her Arterial System. Loretta was marooned so far from the Live Ones that she couldn't wig-wag for Help. Her C.Q.D. brought no Relief. She threw about three throes of Anguish before they escaped to the private Gambling Hell. Here she tucked back her Valenciennes and proceeded to cop a little Pin-Money at the soul-destroying game known as Bridge. At 11.30 she led a highly connected volunteer Wine Pusher out into the Conservatory and told him she did not think it advisable to marry him until she had learned his First Name. Shortly after Midnight she blew, arriving at headquarters just in time to participate in a Chafing-Dish Jubilee promoted by only Brother, just back from the Varsity. She approached the Porcelain in a chastened mood that Sabbath morning. She was thinking of the Night Before and of playing cards for Money. She remembered the glare of Light from overhead and the tense, eager Faces peering above the Paste-Boards. Then she recalled, with a sharp catch of the Breath and a little tug of Pain at the Heart, that she had balled herself up at the one Stage and got dummied out of a Grand Slam. "It would have meant a long pair of the Silk Kind," thought she, as she sighed deeply and turned the cold Faucet. After Breakfast she took a long Walk up the Avenue as a Bracer. After which to the Kirk, for she taught a class of Little Girls in the Sunday School, and she had to fake up an Explanation of how Joshua made the Sun stand still, thereby putting herself in the Scratch Division of Explainers, believe us. She listened to a dainty Boston Sermon, trimmed with Ruching, singing lustily before and after. Then back home with the solemn Parade to sit among the condemned waiting for that superlative Gorge known as the Sunday Dinner. While she was waiting, a male Friend dropped in. His costume was a compromise between an English Actor and a hired Mourner. On Week Days he sat at a Desk dictating Letters and saying that the Matter had been referred to the proper Department. He looked at Loretta, so calm and cool and collected in her pious Raiment, and the Smile that he summoned was benevolent and almost patronizing. "I was wondering," said he. "I was wondering if a Girl like you ever gets tired of sitting around and doing nothing." Loretta did not cackle. She had read in a Book by a Yale Professor that Woman is not supposed to possess the Sense of Humor. MORAL: The Settlement Campaign is not getting to the real Workers. THE NEW FABLE OF THE INTERMITTENT FUSSER Once a grammar-school Rabbit, struggling from long Trousers toward his first brier-wood Pipe, had Growing Pains which he diagnosed as the pangs of True Love. The Target was a dry-seasoned Fannie old enough to be his Godmother. She was a Post-Graduate who was keeping herself on Earth by running to the Drug-Store every few minutes. The Eye-Brows were neatly blocked out by some Process unknown to the writer, and she had a Shape that could be revised ad lib. An Expert would have Made her at a glance, but the Cub fell for the Scenery and Mechanical Effects. He had sketched a little synopsis of the Future. After waiting 8 years, until she had unpetaled into the perfect bloom of Womanhood and he was wearing a Full Beard, he would take her by the Long Glove and lead her off into Dreamland. Just to show how one of those pinfeather Passions may be shunted onto a Siding and left among the Dog-Fennel, when the Subject of this Sketch was _ætat_ 22, he was picking them out of the Air in the Left Garden at the State University. Fannie (she of the purchased Pallor) was thoroughly married to a Veterinary with the Drug Habit. Soon after recovering from the Pip, known in Medical Parlance as the Spooney Infantum, he began to glory in the friendship of an incipient Amazon who wore a Blazer and walked like a Policeman. She did not hamper her fibrous Physique with any excess Harness that might pinch when she essayed a full St. Andrew's Swipe with a wooden Club. And she had one lower octave of Pipes, like a Brakeman on the Erie. There comes a brief Period in the Veal Epoch of every Sentimental Tommy when the only real Cutie is one who can propel a Canoe and throw Overhand. So Walter, such being the baptismal Handicap, often thought it would be Sweet Billiards to keep house with the she-Acrobat for 30 or 40 years, because when they were tired of sitting in the House they could go into the Front Yard and play Ketch. He was just at the rickety Age when the Gams refuse to coördinate. Every time he sauntered carelessly across the porch at a Summer Hotel, he gave a correct Imitation of a troop of Cavalry going over a Wooden Bridge at full Gallop. [Illustration: Every time he sauntered carelessly across the porch, he gave a correct Imitation of a troop of Cavalry going over a Wooden Bridge] He had a way of backing into Potted Plants. Each Morning was clouded by the task of picking out a Cravat that would be of the same Radio-Activity as the Socks. And all through the waking hours he carried with him a faint and sickly Realization that his Parents did not understand him. One day he stood before a kind-faced Registrar and matriculated. Branded as a regular Freshman, he went back to his little Den and put a news-stand Photo of Lillian Russell between two Pennants. The whalebone Divinity in the Home Town passed out of his Life. He told himself that he would be true to Miss Russell and all the other Members of her sprightly Profession. The emotional side of his unfolding Nature began to nourish itself on Song Hits, and he slept each night with his Banjo folded tightly to his Bosom. He became acquainted with a Sophomore who once sat near Trixie Friganza in a Parlor Car. One night Alice Nielsen looked directly at the Box in which he was seated with the other Fraters of the Ippy Ki Yi. In fact, his Life became crowded with tingling Experiences. The collection of Cigarette Pictures made him acquainted with many Celebrities. His intimacy with them grew apace as he developed a bookish appetite for Sunday Newspapers. He danced with the local Chickadees, but all the time his Heart was far away, in the Dramatic Column. Suddenly he found that he was an Upper Classman, to whom each Neophyte touched the Leaf of Lettuce balanced on top of the Head, ostensibly as a Cap. He became endowed with the divine Right to hit himself on the Leg with a Walking Stick and sit on a hallowed Fence. Simultaneous-like, he became conscious of the fact that the Footlight Favorites were no longer worthy of him. He began to hold long and serious Conversaziones with the Sister of a Prof. She was an aerial Performer who wore powerful Spectacles, in which any one standing before her could see an Image of himself, greatly reduced. She looked as if she had been sitting up all night, writing a History of Civilization. Walter found himself uplifted every time they were left together in the Library. Sometimes she took him up so high that he became dizzy. He now began to prog as follows: He and the Lady Emerson would be legally welded just after Commencement and spend the Honeymoon at some lively Chautauqua. The grinding Wheels and raucous buying and selling of the Marts of Trade seemed faint and far away when he roamed through the Cloisters with Elfreda. He was in the moulting Stage, and it seemed to him that Success in Life would consist of going about reeking of Culture. A Degree looked bigger than a Dividend. He never had heard tell of such a thing as a Coal-Bill or a Special Assessment for a Sewer. The vision of Elfreda floated out through a Transom three days after he drew a Desk in the extensive Works owned by the Governor. He was too busy keeping his Head above the Churning Waves to bother with Speculative Philosophy or write Letters studded with Latin Phrases, like Currants in an English Cake. All the cringing Peons in the big Stockade hated him because he had a Drag. It was up to him to deliver the Merchandise and demonstrate that he was a Human Being rather than a College Graduate. In the meantime, the Spectators were hoping that he would Skid and go into the Fence. He began to wear his Frat pin on his undershirt, and he had no time to frivol away on the fluffy Gender, because he expected to be sitting in the Directors' Room in a couple of years, talking it over with Henry C. Frick. So he waved aside the Square Envelopes and allowed himself to be billed all over the Macaroon Circuit as a Woman-Hater. Of course he girled in a conservative way, but he merely trailed. He did not buzz, or throw himself at the fallen Handkerchief, or run to get the Wraps, or do any of the Stuff that marks the true and bounden Captive. When he found himself in the cushioned Lair of a Feline, he would lean back in perfect Security, knowing that even if she exercised her entire répertoire of Wiles, she could not warm the Dead Heart nor stir into life the fallen Rose Leaves of Romance. All the time she was spilling her familiar line of Chatter, he would look at her with an arid and patronizing Smile, such as the Harvard Man produces when he finds himself in immediate juxtaposition to some human Caterpillar from west of Pittsburgh. Very often, when the registered Dolly Grays got together for a Bon-Bon Orgy, some one would say, "Oh, Crickey, ain't he the regular Cynic?" Another might suggest that he was hiding a great Sorrow, his whole Existence having been embittered by the faithlessness of some Creature. Then they would take a Vote and decide that he was a plain Mutt. The Chauncey who refuses to reciprocate will excite more Conversation than a regular Union Lover, but it is Lucky for him that he does not hear all the Conversation. Walter at the age of twenty-five thought he was too old and sedate to be a Diner-Out and a Dancing Devil. When he was 28, however, he had become Hep to the large and luminous Truth that the man who sits in his Lodgings reading Dumas may overlook many a Bet. He noted on every Hand the nice-looking Boys who turned in about 10.40 and avoided the Pitfalls of Society, and most of them were pulling down as much as $14 a week. He recalled what this humble Chronicler had said away back in 1899: "Early to Bed and Early to Rise and you will meet very few of our Best People." He looked over the Lay-Out and decided that it was just as easy to mingle with the Face Cards as to sleep in the Discards. He saw many a Light Weight with a gilt sign exposed on Main Street and no Assets except a Suit with a Velvet Collar, a pair of indestructible dancing Legs, and just enough intellectual Acumen to stir Tea without spilling it. So he decided to have a try at the Gay Life and worm his way into the Safety Deposit Vaults via the Parlor Route. A worthy Resolve and one often taken. If a Friend of the People can capitalize his Vocal Cords, why should not the little Brother of the Rich put his undying Nerve into the Market and get what he can on it? The Captain of Finance is usually owned, Body and Soul, by the other Half of the Sketch. She may be a head bell-ringer in the D. A. R. or the blue-pencil Queen of the Golden Pheasants, but in a vast majority of cases she has not the Looks to back up the Title. Even the Buckingham Palace manner and the Arctic Front cannot buffalo the idle Spectator into overlooking the fact that she belongs to the genus Quince. She may not be a Beaut, but it is She who stands at the main entrance to the Big Tent and tears off seat coupons. Walter knew that if he wished to be mentioned all over town as a Sure-Enough, his passport to the Inner Circle of Hot Potatoes would have to be viséd by Patroness No. 1. He began to work in the Secret Service of the Chosen Few and was First Aid to the Chaperons. A Hard Life, say you? Not a tall--not a tall. He was entirely surrounded by Fairy Lamps and sweet-smelling Flowers. Life became a kaleidoscopic Aurora Borealis. When the first Crash of Music came through the hothouse Palms, Walter would be out on the Waxen Floor with his hair in a Braid. Through the long watches of the night he played Blonde against Brunette and then went home with his Time-Card bearing the official O.K. He swam among the floating Hooks and side-stepped the Maternal Traps, until the compilers of Marital Statistics had his name in the list marked "Nothing Doing." The Dope on him seemed to be that he was Immune and Jinx-Proof. After he led one of them back to a Divan and fed her an Ice, it was a case of "Good Night, Miss Mitchell." Truly, a Bachelor flown with Insolence and Pride is the favorite Mark for the Bow-and-Arrow Kid. For every weather-beaten Beau and Ballroom Veteran there is waiting somewhere in Ambuscade a keen little Diana with the right kind of Ammunition. One night he went to a Small Dance in his regular Henry Miller suit and wearing a tired look around the Eyes. He counted these minor Functions a dreadful Bore. Over in a corner sat a half-portion Damosel who had come to town on a Visit. Her name was Violet, and she looked the Part. She didn't know who was running for President or what Miss Pankhurst said about Suffrage, but she had large belladonna Orbs, with Danger lurking in their limpid depths. She was just at the Age when any girl who is not actually Deformed looks fair to middling, while the real Dinger, with the Tresses and the Complexion and the gleaming white Shoulders and the Parisian figure, is right there with a full equipment for breaking up Families. Old Dare-Devil Dick, the Hero of 1000 Flirtations, was sitting out one of the Dances recently condemned by Press and Pulpit. He became aware of the presence of something Feminine at his immediate right. He took a cautious Look and beheld a timid Débutante, sparkling with the Dew and waiting to be plucked. She gave him a frightened Smile and lamped him very slowly. Suddenly he felt himself wafted away on a cloud of Purple Perfumery. She had put the Sign on him without lifting a Finger. As she circled away, clutched by a rude Collegian, he lay back helpless, tied in a True Lovers' Knot. Later in the evening he met her. He sat alongside of her in an agony of confused Bliss, with a Temperature of 104 and the Vocal Chords entirely paralyzed. And yet, as a rule, he was just as reliable as a Phonograph. All the way home that night he was Bleeding freely. At 8 the next Morning he began sending Flowers. It was a terrible Case. The old ones seem to suffer more. He followed her like a trained Spaniel. When she seemed cold and distant, he would hurry to his Room and pull a private Brain-Storm. For many Hours thereafter the Map of the World would have a Black Border around it. Next day she would relent, and accept his Jack Roses, and he would run around and around in a Circle, gurgling and clapping his Hands. He was on the waiting list for the Nut Club. Our Old Friend was flooey in the Filbert. The Love Bacilli swarmed in every part of his Being. When she found that she had him sure enough Lariated, she eased up on her part of the Work and began a public demonstration of Woman's Power and Dominion over the Brute Creation. He was meeker than a Federal Office-Holder. Any time she snapped her Fingers, he sat up and Begged. Then she used to carry on with certain Men against whom he had warned her. It amused her to know that he was walking up and down outside, chewing the White Gloves. His friends tried to save him. They demonstrated, with a Pencil and a Piece of Paper, that she was just an ordinary, everyday Baby Doll with a Second Reader intelligence and the Spiritual Caliber of a Humming Bird. They proved that exactly the same kind were scattered through every Department Store, working for $6 a week. When they got through knocking, he hurried over and told her everything and promised her that if she would marry him, not one of these Snakes would ever be permitted to enter the House. He writhed on the Rug and said that if she didn't whisper that One Little Word, it would be a case of Satin Lining and Silver Handles for little Wallie. She looked out the Window and yawned slightly and then said, "Oh, very well." He rode home standing up in a Taxicab, while she was showing the Maids a lozenge-shaped Ring that set him back 450 Bucks. MORAL: The higher they fly the harder they fall. THE NEW FABLE OF THE SEARCH FOR CLIMATE Once there was a Gentleman of the deepest dye who was all out of Kelter. He felt like a list of Symptoms on the outside of a Dollar Bottle. He looked like the Picture you see in the Almanac entitled, "Before Taking." When his Liver was at Perihelion, he had a Complexion suggesting an Alligator Pear, and his Eye-Balls should have been taken out and burnished. He could see little dirigible Balloons drifting about in all parts of the deep-blue Ether. His Tummy told him that some one had moved in and was giving a Chafing-Dish Party. Furthermore, a red-hot Awl had been inserted under each Shoulder Blade. When every Tree was a Weeping Willow and the Sun went slinking behind a Cloud, his only definite Yearn was to crawl into a dark Cellar with Fungus on the Walls and do the Shuffle, after making a sarcastic Will that disinherited all Relatives and Friends. This poor, stricken Gloomer had time-tabled himself all over the Universe, trying to close in on a Climate that would put him on his Feet and keep him Fit as a Fiddle. He had de-luxed himself to remote Spots that were supplied with Steam Heat and French Cooking, together with Wines, Liquors, and Cigars, but no matter what the Altitude or the Relative Humidity, he felt discouraged every Morning when he awoke and remembered that presently he would have to rally his Vital Forces and walk all the way to the Tub. It was too bad that a Clubman, so eminent Socially, should be thus shot to Rags and Fragments. Could aught be more Piteous than to Witness a proud and haughty Income tottering along the Street, searching in vain for a Workingman's Appetite? When one with a spending possibility of $2 a Minute is told by a Specialist to drink plenty of Hot Water, the Words seem almost Ironic. His Operating Expenses kept running up, and yet it looked like sheer Waste to lavish so much Collateral on the upkeep of a Physical Swab. To show you how he worked at recouping his Health, once he spent a whole Summer in Merrie England. He had been told by a Globe-Trotter that One lodging within a mile of Trafalgar Square could hoist unlimited Scotch and yet sidestep the Day After. The Explanation offered by members of the Royal Alcoholic Society is that the Moisture in the Atmosphere counterbalances or nullifies, so to speak, the interior Wetness. Also, the normal state of Melancholy is such that even a case of Katzenjammer merely blends in with the surrounding Drabness. He experimented sincerely with the Caledonian Cure, acquiring a rich sunset Glow, much affected by half-pay Majors and the elderly Toffs who ride in the Row. He began to wear his Arteries on the outside, just like a true son of Albion. This cherry-ripe Facial Tint proves that the Britisher is the most rugged Chap in the World--except when he is in Stockholm. In fact, if the New York Duds worn by the Yank had been less of a Fit, and he could have schooled himself to look at a Herring without shuddering, he might have rung in as a Resident of the tight little Isle, for he was often Tight. He learned to like the Smoky Taste and could even take it warm, but still he felt Rocky, and up to 3 P.M. was only about 30 per cent. Human. One evening in a polite Pub he heard about the wonderful Vin Ordinaire of Sunny France. He was told that the Peasants who irrigated themselves with a brunette Fluid resembling diluted Ink were husky as Beeves and simply staggering with Health. So he went motoring in the Grape and Château District and played Claret both ways from the Middle. Every time the Petrol chariot pulled up in front of a Brasserie, he would call for a Flagon of some rare old Vintage squeezed out the day before. Then he would go riding at the rate of 82 Kilos an Hour, scooping up the Climate as he scooted along. Notwithstanding all these brave Efforts to overtake Health, he would feel like a frost-nipped Rutabaga when the matutinal Chanticleer told him that another blue Dawn was sneaking over the Hills. He began to figure himself a Candidate for a plain white Cot in the Nerve Garage, when he heard of the wonderful Air and Dietary Advantages of Germany. It seemed that the Fatherland was becoming Commercially Supreme and of the greatest Military Importance because every Fritz kept himself saturated with the Essence of Munich. He could see on the Post-Cards that each loyal subject of Wilhelm was plump and rosy, with Apple Cheeks and a well-defined Awning just below the Floating Ribs, and a Krug of dark Suds clutched in the right Mitt. All the way from Düsseldorf to Wohlgebaum he played the Circuit of Gardens with nice clean Gravel on the Ground and Dill Pickles festooned among the Caraway Trees. Every time the Military Band began to breathe a new Waltz he would have Otto bring a Tub of the Dark Brew and a Frankfurter about the size of a Sash Weight. Between pulls he would suspire deeply, so as to get the full assistance of the Climate. Sometimes he would feel that he was being benefited. Often at 9 P.M., before taking his final Schnitzel and passing gently into a state of Coma, he would get ready to renounce allegiance to all three of the Political Parties in the U.S.A. and grow one of those U-Shaped Mustaches. Next Morning, like as not, he would emerge from beneath the Feather Tick and lean against the Porcelain Stove, wondering vaguely if he could live through the Day. The very Treatment which developed large and coarse-grained Soldiers all through Schleswig-Holstein seemed to make this Son of Connecticut just about as gimpy as a wet Towel. Undismayed by repeated Failures, he took some Advice, given in a Rathskeller, and went to a Mountain Resort famous for a certain brand of White Vinegar with a colored Landscape on the Label. It was said that anyone becoming thoroughly acidulated with this noble Beverage would put a Feather into his Granulated Lid and begin to Yodel. He sat among the snowy Peaks, entirely surrounded by the rarefied Atmosphere so highly boosted in the Hotel Circulars, sampling a tall bottle of every kind ending with "heimer," and yet he didn't seem to get the Results. At last he headed for the barbaric Region which an unkindly Fate had designated as Home, almost convinced that there was no Climate on the Map which would really adapt itself to all the intricate Peculiarities of his complicated Case. Often he would be found in the Reception Room just next to the shake-down Parlor. After reading a few pages in a popular Magazine dated two Years back, he would be admitted to the little inside Room, faintly perfumed with something other than New Mown Hay. Here he would cower before the dollar-a-minute Specialist, who would apply a Dictagraph to the Heart Region and then say, "You are all Run Down." Next day the Sufferer would collect his folding Trunks and Head-Ache Tablets and Hot-Water Bags and start for Florida or California or the Piney Woods. Sometimes he would seem to perk up for a Day or two. Enlivened by Hope and a few Dry Martinis, he would move up to a little Table in the shade of the sheltering Candelabrum and tackle the Carte du Jour from Caviar to Café Noir. The Climate would seem to be helping his Appetite. Within 24 Hours, however, he would be craving only some cold Carbonic and a few Kind Words. Florida seemed to enervate him. California was too unsettled. Even in the Mountains, his Heart always bothered him after a Hearty Meal. And the Piney Woods only made him Pine more than ever. Time and again he would curl up in the palatial Drawing-Room at one end of the Sleeper and dream that six Life-Long Friends in deep Black were whispering among the Floral Tributes and putting on Cotton Gloves. While searching for the Fountain of Youth he would bump into Sympathetic Souls of the kind who infest Observation Cars and hold down Rocking-Chairs in front of Wooden Hotels. These Fellow Voyagers in the realm of Hypochondria would give him various Capsules and Tablets, supposed to be good for whatever Ailed one at the Time. So eager was he to regain his full vigor and be able to eat and drink everything forbidden by the Doctors, he would fall for every kind of Dope made from Coal Tar. Even if he had worn Blinders he could not have walked past an Apothecary Shop. As he moved about he produced a muffled Castanet Effect, for he had a little box of Medicated Bullets in every Pocket. Yet he was not in Condition. His Complexion was a Bird's-Eye Maple, and he looked like the Superintendent of a prosperous Morgue. One Summer Day, when he was only about three jumps ahead of a Cataleptic Convulsion, he had to get on the Cars and take a long ride to inspect some Copper Mines which helped to fatten his impotent Income. The train was bowling through a placid Dairy Region in the Commonwealth regulated by Mr. La Follette. The Chronic Invalid was in the Buffet, trying to work up a Desire for Luncheon, when suddenly the Car turned a complete Somersault, because a heavy Freight Train had met Number Six head on. When the Subject of this Treatise came to, he was propped up on the front porch of a Farm House with one Leg in Splints and a kind-faced Lady pressing Cold Applications to the fevered Brow. He was O.K. except that he would have to lie still for a few Weeks while the Bones did their Knitting. The good Country Folk would not permit him to be moved. He was dead willing to sink back among the White Pillows and figure the Accident Insurance. Through the Honeysuckles and Morning-Glories he could see the long slope of Clover Pasture, with here and there a deliberate Cow, and the Steeple of the Reformed Church showing above a distant clump of Soft Maples. About two hours after emerging from the Trance, he made his customary Diagnosis and discovered that he was nervously shattered and in urgent need of a most heroic Bracer. He beckoned to the president of the local W.C.T.U. and said if they were all out of Scotch, he could do with a full-sized Hooker of any standard Bourbon that had matured in Wood and was not blended. Nurse readjusted his Pillow and told him that as soon as he came out of the Delirium he could dally with a mug of Buttermilk. By and by, as he gathered Strength, she would slip him some Weak Tea. He had heard that in some of these outlying Regions, the Family Sideboard stood for nothing stronger than Mustard, but this was the first time he had met Human Beings who were not on visiting Terms with the Demon Rum. At the Cocktail Hour he ventured a second Request for any one of the standard Necessities of Life, but Mrs. Peabody read him a Passage from the Family Medicine Book to the effect that Liquor was never to be used except for Snake Bites. When he ordered the Hired Hand to bring him a large Snake, they gave him a Sleeping Powder and told inquiring Neighbors that he was still out of his Head. Next day he found himself alive, thanks to a wonderful Constitution. The Samaritans came and stood around his Couch and jollied him and offered him everything except what he needed. When he offered to compromise on Drug-Store Sherry, the Daughter of the Household, Luella by name, brought out a colored Chart showing the Interior of a Moderate Drinker's Stomach. After that he was afraid to Chirp. Even the Cigarette was Taboo among these Good People, although Father could Fletcherize about 10 cents' worth of Licorice Plug each working Day. Far removed from the Lad with the White Apron, and with nothing to inhale except Ozone, the unhappy Bon Vivant was compelled to put up with these most unnatural Conditions. When he was tired of dozing he could take his choice of any kind of Milk and read a few more pages of Robinson Crusoe. Then ensued the Miracle. His Nerves began to unspiral themselves and lie down. He began to sit up and listen for the Toot of the Dinner Horn. As soon as he could hobble on Crutches they put him on the Hay Scales, and he thought the Thing was out of Whack, for he had taken on 4 Pounds. The Fresh Garden Truck seemed superior to any that he had been able to obtain in the Best Restaurants. What was more amazing, he now evinced a critical Interest in Clydesdale Colts and Leghorn Roosters, although nothing of the sort had ever come into his Life while he had an Apartment in Forty-seventh Street. When he took his game Leg back to the Metropolis, he hurried to the Club and made a startling Report to all the broken-down Sports assembled in the Card-Room. He said he had discovered the only Climate in the World. It had Switzerland skinned and was not enervating, like Florida, for he had been sleeping like a Baby and felt like a 2-year-old every G.M., in spite of the fact that he could not get his regular Rations. He wanted to organize a Company and build a Million Dollar Hotel at Once. With a New York Steward to supply the Table and a well-stocked Cellar, the Resort ought to get all the classy Trade, for he hoped to die if the Air out there hadn't done more for him in One Month than Europe had done in the whole Year. MORAL: Nature will sometimes help the Unfortunate who finds it impossible to reach out and help Himself. THE NEW FABLE OF THE FATHER WHO JUMPED IN Once there was a leading Citizen with only one Daughter, but she was Some Offspring. Bernice was chief Expense Account and Crown Jewel of a Real Estate Juggler who had done so well that all the Strap-Hangers regarded him as an Enemy to Society. Papa was foolish, even as a Weasel. He was what you might call Honest, which signified that all of his Low Work had been done by Agents. A Person of rare judgment, withal. He never copped a piece of bulky Swag unless he had a Wheelbarrow with him at the time. He had been going East with the Green Goods ever since the Party in Power precipitated the first Panic. He had Stacks of the Needful, and his Rating was AA Plus 1, to say nothing of a Reserve cached in the little Tin Box. Daughter alone could induce him to unbuckle, and melt, and jar loose, and come across, and kick in, and sting the Check-Book. One day Bernice was a Little Girl, and the next she was head Flossie among the Débutantes, with a pack of Society Hounds pursuing in Full Cry, each willing to help count the Bank Roll. Father was scared pink when he sized up the Field. He still wore box-toed Boots and carried Foliage on the Sub-Maxillary so that those who came ringing the Front Bell didn't look very lucky to him. Sometimes he would dream that he had been pushed into a Mausoleum and that a slender Cyril with a Lady's Watch strapped on his wrist was spending all of that Money for Signed Etchings. Whereupon he would awake in a Cold Sweat and try to think of a safe Recipe for poisoning Boulevard Blighters. One day Bernice went out into the Sunshine and found something and brought it home with her and put it on a Rug in the Elizabethan Room. Father came in and took one look and said: "Not for Mine! I won't stand for any Puss Willow being grafted on to our Family Tree." [Illustration: Father came in and took one look and said: "Not for Mine! I won't stand for any Puss Willow being grafted on to our Family Tree"] His name was Kenneth, and he reduced his Percentage on the first day by having the hem-stitched Mouchoir tucked inside of the Cuff. Also, it was rumored that he put oil on his Eye-Brows and rubbed Perfumery on the backs of his Hands. Father walked around the He-Canary twice, looking at him over the Specs, and then he rushed to the Library and kicked the Upholstery out of an $80 chair. He could see the love-light glinting in the Eyes of Bernice. She had fallen for the Flukus. Kenneth was installed as Steady. When Bernice saw him turn the Corner and approach the House, he looked to her like Rupert, the long lost Heir--while Father discerned only an insect too large to be treated with Powder. Kenneth was the kind of Sop that you see wearing Evening Clothes on a Colored Post-Card. If his private Estate had been converted into Pig Iron, he could have carried it in his Watch Pocket. He was re-fined and had lovely Teeth, but those who knew him well believed the Story that when he was a Babe in Arms, the Nurse had let him fall and strike on the Head. He wore his Hair straight back and used Patent Leather dressing. He was full of Swank and put on much Side and wore lily-colored Spats and was an awful Thing all around, from Pa's point of view. In a crowd of Bank Directors he would have been a cheap Swivel, but among the Women Folks he was a regular Bright Eyes. When you passed through the Archway of his Intellectual Domain you found yourself in the Next Block. But--he could go into a Parlor and sprinkle Soothing Syrup all over the Rugs. He had a Vaudeville Education and a small Tenor Voice, with the result that many a fluttering Birdie regarded him as the bona-fide Ketchup. Bernice thought she was lucky to have snared him away from the others, and she had slipped him the whispered Promise, come Weal, come Woe. She had no Mother to guide her, and it looked as if the Family was about to have a Bermuda wished on to it. No wonder Father was stepping sideways. He would come home in the evening and find the Mush perched on a Throne in the Spot Light, shooting an azure-blue Line of desiccated Drool, with Bernice sitting out in front and Encoring. Then he would retire to the back part of the House to bark at the Butler and act as if he had been eating Red Meat. He knew that if he elbowed in and tried to break up the Clinch, it would mean a Rope Ladder, a piece in the Papers, and a final Reconciliation, with Parent playing the usual rôle of Goat. He was resolved not to put in the remainder of his Days being panhandled by a Soufflé who wore Dancing Pumps in the Daytime. The problem was to get shut of the Rodent without resorting to any Rough Stuff. Father never had heard tell of the Perils of Propinquity, and he thought Psychology had something to do with Fish. Just the same, he remembered about a Quail a day for 30 days, and he knew that the most agreeable Perfumery would not smell right if applied with a Garden Hose. Likewise, he suspected that many a Quarter-House would blow, if put into a two-mile Handicap. So he blocked out a Program which proved that Solomon had nothing on him. Instead of grilling young Kenneth and holding him up to Contumely and forbidding him the use of Cozy Corner, he started in to boost the Love Match. Kenneth all but moved in his Trunk. Father had a chance to weigh him, down to the last Ounce, and study the simple Mechanism of his transparent Personality. Father classified the would-be Child-in-Law as a Gobbie, which means a Home-Wrecker who is still learning his Trade. The Candidate became a regular Boarder. Kenneth would sit right up close to old Cash-in-Hand, who would egg him on to tell Dialect Stories and, after that, show how to make a Salad. The Stories were some that Marshall Wilder stopped using in 1882 and since then have been outlawed on the Kerosene Circuit. After Bernice had heard these Almanac Wheezes 26 or 28 times, she would sit still and look at the Center-Piece while Lover was performing. The Gags didn't sound as killing as they had at first, and sometimes she wished the Dear Boy would chop on them. No chance. Father had him kidded into believing that all the old ham-fat Riddles were simply Immense. As for that Salad Specialty, the poor Gink who calls loudly for English Mustard and thinks he is a Genius because he can rub a Bowl with a sprig of Garlic, may have his brief Hour of Triumph, but no man ever really got anywhere by doping Salad, when you stop to add it all up. Father would put the two young people together in the back of the Touring Car and ride them around for Hours at a time. Anybody who has cut in on one of those animated Automobile Conversations, while the salaried Maniac from France is hitting up 42 miles an Hour, will tell you that the hind end of a Motor Vehicle is no good Trysting Place for an Engaged Couple. Bernice would get home after one of these wild swoops into the realm of the Death Angel, and totter to her room and lie down, and murmur: "I wonder what ailed Kenneth to-day. He seemed Preoccupied." That Same Evening, just when she needed Smelling Salts and Absolute Quiet, her enthusiastic Father would have Fiancé up to Dinner to pull the same stale Répertoire and splash around in the Oil and Vinegar. If any Guests were present, then Father would play Introducer and tell them beforehand how good Kenneth was. When given his Cue, the Lad would swell up and spring a hot One about the Swede and the Irishman, while Bernice would fuss with the Salt and wonder dimly if the Future had aught in store for her except Dialect Stuff. Father had read on a Blotter somewhere that Absence makes the Heart grow fonder, so he played his System with the Reverse English. He arranged a nice long trip by Land and Water and took the male Sweetheart along, so that the Doting Pair could be together at Breakfast. His cunning had now become diabolical. He was getting ready to apply the Supreme Test. Every Morning, when Bernice looked over her Baked Apple she saw nothing in this wide World except Kenneth, still reeking of Witch Hazel and spotted with Talcum Powder, and not very long on Sparkling Conversation. When he was propped up in the cold Dawn, with his eyes partially open, he did not resemble a Royal Personage nearly as much as he had in some of his earlier Photographs. Father would order soft-boiled Eggs to be Eaten from the Shell. When Kenneth got around to these, he would cease to be a Romantic Figure for at least a few Minutes. Bernice would turn away in dread and look out at the swaying Trees and long to see some of her Girl Friends back home. After Kenneth had been served to her, three meals a day, for two Weeks and they had ridden together for Ages and Ages, in Pullman Compartments, she made certain horrible Discoveries. One of his Ears was larger than the other. He made a funny noise with his Adam's Apple when drinking Hot Coffee. When he was annoyed, he bit his nails. When suffering from a Cold, he was Sniffy. The first time she became aware of the slight discrepancy in Ears, she suffered only a slight Annoyance. It handed her a tiny Pang to find a Flaw in a Piece of Work that she had regarded as Perfect. After she had seen nothing else but those Ears for many, many Days, it became evident to her that if Kenneth truly loved her, he would go and have them fixed. Likewise, every time her Heart's Delight lifted the Cup to his Ruby Lips, she would grip the Table Cloth with both Hands, and whisper to herself, "Now we get the Funny Noise." Kenneth, in the mean while, had found out that her Hair did not always look the same, but one who is striving to get a Meal Ticket for Life cannot be over-fastidious. He was Game and stood ready to obey all Orders in order to pull down the Capital Prize. He had been such a Hit in the Maple-Sundae Set that he could not conceive the possibility of any Female becoming satiated with his Society. The poor Loon never stopped to figure out that the only way to keep a Girl sitting up and interested is to stay away once in a while and give her a Vacation. Father was right on the Job to see that Bernice had no Vacation. He framed it up to give her a Foretaste of Matrimony every Day in the Week. If the Future Husband wandered more than thirty feet from her side, Father would nail him and Sic him on to her again. She would look up and say: "Oh, Fury! Look who's here again!" This was no way for a true-hearted Maiden to speak of her Soul Mate. Father put the Cap Sheaf on his big Experiment by accepting an invitation to go Yachting. He put them side by side on Deck and told them to comfort each other, in case anything happened. They never could have been quite the same to each other after that Day. Bernice wanted to get back on Shore and hunt her Room and peel down to a Kimono and refuse any Callers for a Month. Even the accepted Swain was beginning to slow up. He could remember the time when he used to sit around with members of his own Sex. Father had no Mercy. He took the two Invalids back to Land and rounded them up for Breakfast next morning. When Kenneth appeared, he was slightly greenish in Color. One Ear was three times as large as the other. He had caught a Sniffy Cold. In partaking of his Coffee he made Sounds similar to those coming through the Partition when the People in the adjoining Flat have trouble with the Plumbing. He saw Bernice glaring at him and bit his Nails in Embarrassment. Father felt the Crisis impending and laid on the last Straw. "I was trying to recall that Story," said he--"the One about the German and the Dog." Bernice gave one Shriek and then dashed from the Room, making hysterical Outcries along the Corridor. Father told Kenneth to check all the Trunks for Home and then catch an early Train. Bernice was squirming about on the Hotel Sofa when Father entered the Room. She threw herself into his Arms and passionately demanded, "Why, oh, why are you trying to force me into marrying that Creature?" MORAL: Don't get acquainted too soon. THE NEW FABLE OF THE UPLIFTER AND HIS DANDY LITTLE OPUS Once there was a Litry Guy who would don his Undertaker's Regalia and the White Satin Puff Tie and go out of an Afternoon to read a Paper to the Wimmen. At every Tea Battle and Cookie Carnival he was hailed as the Big Hero. A good many pulsating Dulcineas who didn't know what "Iconoclast" meant, regarded him as an awful Iconoclast. And cynical? Mercy! When he stood up in a Front Room and Unfolded his MS., and swallowed the Peppermint Wafer and began to Bleat, no one in the World of Letters was safe. He would wallop Dickens and jounce Kipling and even take a side-swipe at Luella Prentiss Budd, who was the Poetess Laureate for the Ward in which he lived. Ever since his Stuff had been shot back by a Boston Editor with a Complimentary Note, he had billed himself as an Author and had been pointed out as such at more than one Chautauqua. Consequently his Views on Recent Fiction carried much weight with the Carries. He loved to pile the Fagots around a Best Seller and burn it to a Cinder, while the Girls past 30 years of Age sat in front of him and Shuddered. As for the Drama, he could spread a New York Success on the marble-top Table and dissect it until nothing was left but the Motif, and then he would heave that into the Waste Basket, thereby leaving the Stage in America flat on its back. And if you mentioned Georgie Cohan to him, the Foam would begin to fleck his Lips and he would go plumb Locoed. After he had been sitting on the Fence for many years, booing those who tried to saw Wood, his Satellites began coaxing him to write something that would show up Charley Klein and Gus Thomas and all the other Four-Flushers who were raking in Royalties under False Pretenses. They knew he was a Genius, because nothing pleased him. He decided to start with something easy and dash off an Operetta. Having sat through some of the Current Offerings, he noted that the Dialogue was unrelated to Real Literature and the Verses lacked Metrical Symmetry. It would be a Pipe for a sure-enough Bard to sit down on a Rainy Afternoon and grind out something that might serve as a Model for Harry B. Smith. So he had a Vase of Fresh Flowers put on his Desk every Day, and he would sit there, waiting for the Muse to keep her Date. At the end of a Month he had it all planned to lay the First Scene in front of a Palace with a Forest on the Back Drop so as to get a lot of Atmosphere. There was to be a Princess in the Thing, and a Picture of the long-lost Mother in the Locket and other New Stuff. He put in Hours and Hours hand-embroidering the Verses. When he made "Society" rhyme with "Propriety," he thought he was getting to be Gilbertian. While these Lyrics were still quivering, he would take them out and read them to his wife and the Hired Girl and the man who attended to the Furnace, and get their Impartial Judgment. They agreed that it was Hot Gravy and too good for the Stage. Encouraged by these heart-felt Encomiums, he would hike back to the Study, shoot himself in the Arm with a hypothetical Needle, and once more begin picking Grapes in Arcady. When People came up to the House, not knowing that he had been taken down with anything, he would own up that he was working on a Mere Trifle, and then, after being sufficiently urged, he would give a Reading. These Readings could have been headed off only by an Order of Court or calling out the State Guard. Inasmuch as the large-size Carnegie Medal for Heroism is waiting for the Caller who has the immortal Rind to tell a poetical Pest that his output is Punk, the Author found himself smeared with Compliments after each of these parlor Try-Outs. They kidded him into thinking that he had incubated a Whale. When he had chewed up a Gross of Pencils and taken enough Tea to float the Imperator, the great Work was complete and ready to be launched with a loud Splash. He began to inquire the Name of some prominent Theatre Blokie who was a keen Student of the Classics and a Person of super-refined Taste. The man he sought had moved into the Poor House, so he compromised by expressing his typewritten Masterpiece to a Ringmaster whose name he had seen on the Three Sheets. It was marked, "Valuable Package." In a few months the hirelings of the Company and the Driver of the Wagon became well acquainted with the Large Envelope containing the only Hope of the present decadent Period. Every time the Work came back to him with a brief printed Suggestion that any Male Adult not physically disabled could make $1.75 a day with a Shovel, the Author would appear at the Afternoon Club with another scathing arraignment of certain Commercial Aspects of the Modern Stage. He saw that it was over their Heads. It was too darned Dainty for a Flat-Head who spelt Art with a lower-case "a." Yet it was so drenched and saturated and surcharged with Merit that he resolved to have it done by Local Amateurs rather than see it lost to the World. The Music was written by Genius No. 2, working in a Piano Store. He had been writing Great Music for years. Whenever he heard anything catchy, he went home and wrote it. He was very Temperamental. That is, he got soused on about three, and, while snooted, would deride Victor Herbert, thus proving that he was Brilliant, though Erratic. He had a trunkful of Tunes that were too scholarly for the Ikeys who publish Popular Trash. He fitted them on to the Libretto written by the Litry Guy. When the two got together to run over the Book and Score, they were sure enthusiastic. The Author said the Lines were the best he had ever heard, and the Composer said the Numbers were all Gems. When the Home Talent bunch pulled the whole Affair before a mob of Personal Friends and a subsidized City Editor, it was a Night of Triumph for all concerned. The trained and trusty Liars who, in every Community, wear Evening Clothes and stand around at Receptions, all crowded up to the Author and gave him the Cordial Mitt and boosted something scandalous. He didn't know that all of them Knocked after they got around the Dutch Lunch. He went home, sobbing with Joy. That night he nominated himself for the Hall of Fame and put it to a Vote, and there was not one Dissenting Voice. Every deluded Boob who can bat up Fungoes in his own Back Yard thinks he is qualified to break into a Major League and line out Two-Baggers. There was no holding the inspired Librettist and the talented young Composer. They knew that the eager Public in 48 States was waiting for the Best Thing since "Robin Hood." The Author went up to the City and found a Manager who had a Desk and a lot of Courage and a varied experience in risking other people's Coin. After the two Geniuses had mortgaged their Homes, the Impresario was enabled to get some Scenery built and rally a large Drove of Artists--most of them carrying Hand Bags. During Rehearsals the brutal Stage Manager wanted to cut the Gizzard out of the Book and omit most of the sentimental Arias, but Mr. Words and Mr. Music emitted such shrieks of protest against the threatened Sacrilege that he allowed all the select home-made Guff to remain in the Script. He thought it would serve them right. When they gave the first Real Performance in a Dog Town on a drizzly evening in November, there was no Social Éclat to fill the sails. The House was mostly Paper and therefore very Missouri. Also a full delegation from the Coffin-Trimmers' Union with Cracked Ice in their Laps. They did not owe any Money to the Author or have any Kinfolk in the Cast, so they sat back with their Hands under them and allowed the pretty little Opera to die like an Outcast. The only Laugh in the Piece was when the Drop Curtain refused to work. After the Show the Manager met them at an Oyster House and told them they had eased a Persimmon to him. He said the whole Trick was a Bloomer. It was just as funny as a Wooden Leg. It needed much Pep and about two tons of Bokum. Both Words and Music refused to countenance any radical Changes. They said it would be another "Cavalleria" as soon as they could do it before an intelligent Audience of True-Lovers. The Ex-Minstrel Man said there wasn't no such Animal as an intelligent Playgoer. The Simp that pushed his Metal into the Box Office wanted Something Doing every minute and many Gals, otherwise it was back to the Store-House and a Card in the Clipper. The Call on the Board read "Everybody at Ten," but the brainy Writer and the versatile Composer were not included. When they appeared at the Stage Door they were met by Props, who told them to get to a certain Place out of there. Standing in the Alley, they could hear Wails of Anguish, and they knew that their Child was having the Vital Organs removed. The celebrated Author of the Graveyard Rag had been summoned in haste. He was in charge of the Clinic--taking out the Grammar and putting in Gags. The Duos and Ensembles were being dropped through the Trap Door to make way for recent Song Hits from the alcoholic Cabarets. The Ax fell right on the powdered Neck of the beautiful Prima Donna, who had studied for Grand Opera, but never had been able to find an Orchestra that would fit her Voice. Her Part was changed from a Princess to a Shop-Lifter and was assigned to Cissy St. Vitus, late of a Burlesque Bunch known as the Lady Bugs. The Tenor was given the Hook, and his sentimental Rôle was entrusted to a Head-Spinner who had acquired his Dramatic Schooling with the Ringling Circus. All of which comes under the head of whipping a Performance into Shape. When the two Geniuses sat out in front they recognized nothing except the Scenery and Costumes. Their idyllic Creation had been mangled into a roughhouse Riot, in which Disorderly Conduct alternated with the shameless Gyrations taught in San Francisco. The last Act had been omitted altogether without affecting the coherency of the Story. The Plot died just four minutes after the Ring-Up. Although the Report showed 27 Encores and the Gate began to jump $80 a Night, both the intellectual Troubadour and the Student of Counter-Harmonies went to the Manager and cried on his Shoulder and said that their Beautiful Work had been ruined. He called attention to the Chunk of Money tied up in Silk Tights and fireproof Borders. When it came to a show-down between Dough and Art he didn't propose to tear up his Meal Ticket. If they would beat it and stay hid and leave the Artists fatten up their Scenes, probably the Bloomer could be converted into a Knock-Out. While they were in the Sanitarium, the former Minstrel King and young Abie Fixit from the Music Foundry cut out the last vestiges of the Original Stuff and put in two Turns that had landed strong over the whole Orpheum Circuit. The romantic Operetta now became known as Another One of Those Things. It was eagerly discussed by Club Women and College Students. Good seats down in the Observation Rows were not to be had except at the Hotel News Stand. The Litry Guy and the Music-Maker came out of the Rest Cure to learn that they had registered a Hit and could get their names in "Who's Who." With the Royalty Checks coming in from the eastern Centers of Culture they were enabled to buy four-cylinder Cars with which to go riding in lonesome Country Lanes, far from the sight of a Bill-Board. When the Number Two Company came along presenting the Metropolitan Success in the One-Nighters, the reincarnated Gilbert and Sullivan packed up their Families and escaped to French Lick. It was a Sell-Out, because all the Members of the Research Club wanted to see that new Dido called the Chicken Flop. There was no knocking at the Dutch Lunches that night. Every one said the Show was a Bird, but they thought it was up to the Author to resign from the Baptist Church. MORAL: In elevating the Drama be sure to get it High enough, even if you have to make it a trifle Gamey. THE NEW FABLE OF THE WANDERING BOY AND THE WAYWARD PARENT Once there was a story-book Stripling who uncoupled himself from a Yahoo Settlement and moseyed up to the Congested Crossings and the Electric Signs. In due time he returned, wearing Gloves and with his Teeth full of Gold. Ever since that historic Example it has been the daily desire of the Yokel, staked down in a County Seat, to walk in on Judge Gary and form a Partnership. It befell that after a High School Alumnus had gone to a Varsity and scaled the fearsome heights of Integral and Differential Calculus, he came home to get some more of Father's Shirts and Handkerchiefs and take a new Slant at Life's doubtful Vista, while getting his Board for nothing. The Town of his Nativity did not occupy many Pages in the statistical Census Reports. In fact, all the travelling Troupers who had worked for K. and E. referred to it as a Lime, which is the same as a Lemon, only smaller. The ambitious Bachelor of Arts had a lot of Geological Data and College Fraternity Lore stowed away under his Mortar-Board. His hopes were set on something more noble than a Chair and a Table and a Blotter in a dusty Office up the Stairway leading to Odd Fellows' Hall. So he resolved to hit the long Trail leading to a Modern Babylon where the Evening papers were on the Streets before Noon. He figured that a Gazimbat with a John C. Calhoun Forehead and a lot of inside Dope on Hindoo Anthology could break into almost any Reservoir of Culture and bring home the Bacon. Parents were dead willing to have him migrate and take his Tailor Bills with him, but they shivered with Dread when it came time to ship him to Gomorrah. They knew all about the unbridled Deviltry of the City, having seen the large colored Illustrations in the Sunday Papers. They had it on good Authority that the whole sub-stratum of Urban Existence was honeycombed with Rathskellers, while a Prominent Actress waited on almost every Corner, soliciting Travel on the Taxicab Route to the everlasting Coke Ovens. While Elmer's fragile Steamer Trunk was being hoisted into the Dray, all the Relations who had assisted in bringing him up by Hand clustered around the Melodeon and sang, "Oh, where is my Boy to-night?" After the Day Coach had pulled away from the Depot, he opened the Shoe-Box to extract a Crull and found a Book written by T. DeWitt Talmage, in which many Passages were marked. He arrived at Union Station with his Fingers crossed. He told himself that he would break into a Dog Trot every time Vice beckoned to him. After he had hung up his Diploma and Razor Strop in the third-story Recess of a very naughty Beanery, he hunted up some of the dear old Pals with whom he had bunked in the Dorm. They told him they would put him next to a lot of nice clean People. He began to tremble, fearing that some one was about to offer him Champagne, but the Orgy to which they conducted him was merely a meeting of the Civic Purifiers in a basement underneath a Church. He had not expected to find any Churches in the great wicked City. He thought each side of the Street would be built up solidly with Syndicate Theatres, Bacchanalian Bazaars, and Manicure Pitfalls. Instead of finding Vice triumphant, he learned that it was being chased up an Alley by the entire Police Force and the Federation of Women's Clubs. He had the gift of Gab and a natural thirst for Tea, and the first thing he knew he had been drawn into so many Campaigns for Social Betterment that he had no time to hunt up conventional Temptations, such as the Welsh Rabbit or the Musical Comedy. He found himself sitting next a new type of Lassie. She had no Heels on her Shoes, pronounced each Syllable distinctly, and believed that her Mission in Life was to carry Maeterlinck to the Masses. In nearly every Instance she had a Father who acted as frozen Figurehead for some Trust Company. Consequently, Elmer began to perk up and serve on Committees which met in Exclusive Homes and were entirely surrounded by Mahogany. Whenever an Intellectual Queen pushed the Button, Elmer was right there with a Pitcher of Ice Water. His Researches had proved to him that one of the Keenest Enjoyments of City Life is to remain away from the glaring Lobster Palace, especially when one can get one's Mallard Duck free of charge in a Flat renting for $6000 a Year. Elmer became identified with the Cleaning Brigade of the Reform Element simply by riding on the Current of Events. Adapting himself unconsciously to his antisepticized Environment, he acquired the Art of putting over the saccharine Extemporaneous Address, and he could smile, with his Teeth exposed, for an Hour at a time. In fact, he was a great Success. At first he took in the Symphony Orchestra because he was dragged thither. After about two years the Virus had permeated his System, and he was a regular Brahmsite. If he didn't get a full dose of Peer Gynt every few days, he was as nervous as a Cat. The tall and straight-grained Heiress who finally landed him was only too glad to slip him the Bank-Book and tell him to go and sit in with the other Directors. And now, having become a shiny Pillar in the Presbyterian Temple and one of the most respected Umbrella-Carriers on the Avenue, he felt a longing to beat it back to the home Burg and exhibit his Virtues to the members of the I-Knew-Him-When Club. He wanted to patronize the Friends of his Youth and note the Expressions of Discomfiture on the so-called Faces of Aunt Lib and Uncle Jethro, both of whom had told around that he was a Gnat (Net) and never would amount to a Hill of Beans. Elmer expected to find the same spotted Dog asleep in front of the Commercial Hotel and the same Stick Candy exhibited in the Show Windows. But, while he had been witnessing the downfall of Evil in the busy Metropolis, the Home Town had been putting on a little Side-Show of its own. Along at the gateway of the 20th Century, every undersized Hamlet shown in the Atlas became seized with a Desire to throw on City Lugs. The same Father who had marked the Talmage Book for Elmer became Chairman of the House Committee in a Club which undertook to serve anything usually found on either side of a Cash Register. Being in the heart of the Residence District, this select Organization could not obtain a regular License. However, having the moral support of the Best People, it maintained a Blind Pig. The combination of Blind Pig, two playful Kitties up-stairs, and a lot of gay Dogs spread out on the upholstered Chairs, certainly proved to be some Menagerie. It was a matter of Pride with the Members that the Colored Boy could shake up anything known to the Regular Trade at the Knickerbocker or the Plaza. One of their main Delights, also, was to welcome the Stranger, who thought he was sojourning among the Rubes, and lead him into the Roodle Department, the purpose being to get him out on a Limb and then saw off the Limb. Poker was written in a Small Town. The Hay-Mow Graduate with a limited Income, who counts up every Night and sets aside so much for Wheat Cakes, can hold them closer to his Bosom and play them tighter than any Shark that ever floated down the Mississippi. The newcomer who tried to be Liberal usually went home in his Stocking Feet. Day by Day the Progressive Element in the Community widened its Horizon, and the Country Club became a Necessity. The 9-hole Course was laid out by a Scotch Professional, and every Locker contained something besides Clubs. When the Church Bells were ding-donging at 10 A.M. on Sunday, the former Teacher of the Bible Class and the backsliding Basso of the Choir would be zig-zagging around the Links, the Stake being a Ball a Hole. Elmer's Father became a Demon with the Irons and had his Name engraved on a Consolation Cup. Simultaneous with the Golf Epidemic, a good many Families that could not afford Kitchen Cabinets began to glide around in red Touring-Cars. Any one smelling the Blue Smoke along Main Street and then looking both ways before dashing across to the Drug Store was compelled to admit that the Jays had awakened from their Long Sleep. Refined Vawdyville was on tap daily, and the Children of those who were only moderately well-to-do knew all the latest improper Songs. While the men were changing from Jumpers to Tuxedos, the Sisters had not remained stationary. The Lap Supper was formally abolished soon after Puff Sleeves went out. Girls who had been brought up on Parchesi and Muggins would sit around the Bridge Table all afternoon, trying to cop out some Lace for the new Party Dress. An imported Professor taught the Buds how to Tango and Trot. Within a week after a new one had horrified Newport, the Younger Set would have it down pat and be mopping up the floor with one another. Of course they were denounced by the local Ministers, but the Guilty Parties never heard the Denunciations, as they were out Motoring at the time. Whenever there was a Big Session, all Bridles were removed and the Speed Limit abolished. Riding home in the Livery Hacks about 4 A.M., the Merry-Makers would be all in, but much gratified to know that Vienna and Paree had nothing on them as regards Rough House. All the Élite would get together and open a Keg of Spikes at the slightest Provocation. It was remarkable how much Dull Care they could banish in one Evening, especially if they got an Early Start. The Town Pump did a punk Business, but the Side-Boards blossomed with Fusel Oil and Fizzerine. Intense Excitement prevailed when word came that Elmer was En Route. Little Knots of People could be seen standing on the Corners, framing a Schedule of Entertainment which involved nearly everything except Sleep. They said to themselves: "It is up to us to show this proud Pill from the City that we can be a bit Goey when the Going is right. If he thinks he can pull any new Wrinkles on the Provincials, he is entitled to another Think. We must get into our Evening Glads early this Afternoon and clear the Decks for a Hard Night." While they were making these grim Preparations, Elmer was doubled up in Section 8, reading a sterilized Magazine from Boston. Subconsciously he counted the peaceful Days that would ensue. He figured on going back to the dear old Room under the Eaves, with a patch-work Quilt on the Four-Poster and a Steel Engraving of U. S. Grant on the Wall. Having devoted many Days to the Annual Report of the Purity Brigade, he was due to turn in at 9 o'clock each evening, while recuperating in the Country. The sanctified Product of the new and regenerative Influences at work in every City was plunked down in the Hot-bed of Gaiety at about 4 P.M. The Comrades of his Boyhood were massed on the Platform. As he alighted, they sang, "Hail! Hail! the gang's All Here!" and so on and so on. They had acquired a Running Start. It was their belief that Elmer would be gratified to know that all the Elect had become slightly spiffed in his Honor. They sent his Stuff up to the House, crowded Two-Weeks' Cards into his Pockets, and bore him away in a Town Car to the Club, where Relays were waiting to extend Hospitality to the returned Exile until he was Plastered. They seemed to think he had devoted the years of his Absence to building up a Thirst. Their Dismay was genuine when he timidly informed the Irrigation Committee that he desired Vichy. They told him he was a Celluloid Sport and that his refusal to Libate was little short of an Affront. Escaping from the Comanches, he hurried to the Old Homestead to sit by the Grate Fire and tease the Cat. He found Pa and Ma dolled up like a couple of aristocratic Equines, much Awning over the Front Stoop, and strange Waiters hot-footing through the Hallways. In order to make it seem as much like the City as possible, they had ribbed up a swell combination Gorge and Deluge, to be followed by an Indoor Circus, a Carnival of Terpsichorean Eccentricities, and a correct Reproduction of Monte Carlo at the height of the Season. Therefore, when their Only Child suggested that he would fain hie to the Husks at a Reasonable Hour, they told him that Slumber was made for Slaves and to take his Feet out of his Lap and move around. Having led a sheltered Life among the devotees of Jane Addams and Jacob Riis, he was dazed and horrified to find himself suddenly subjected to the demoralizing Influences of the Small Town. [Illustration: He was dazed and horrified to find himself suddenly subjected to the demoralizing Influences of the Small Town] They scoffed at him when he said that his regular twilight Repast was a saucer of granose Flakes, a mere sliver of White Meat, and some diluted Milk. His home was near the White Light District, and they just knew that he was accustomed to bathe in the Bubbles. He sat back benumbed for many hours watching the wicked Rustics perform. He had read about such things in the reports of the Commission, but this was the first time that he had ever really been Slumming. When he weakened on the Bumper Proposition and disavowed any familiarity with the Texas Tommy spasm or the fine points of Auction, the sophisticated ones exchanged significant Glances. They tumbled to the Fact that Elmer was not such a much, even if he did reside at Headquarters. It was evident that he had not been travelling with the Real Razmataz Rompers. He was panned to a Whisper next day. The Verdict was in. Elmer was branded as a Dead One. He is now in the crowded City, trying to arrange to have his rowdy Parents come on and take the Cure. MORAL: Those having the most Time to devote to a Line of Endeavor usually become the most Proficient. THE NEW FABLE OF WHAT TRANSPIRES AFTER THE WIND-UP Once upon a time Ferdinand breathed right into Adele's translucent Listener those three Words which hold all Records as monosyllabic Trouble-Makers. They have a harmless look on the Printed Page, but when pulled at the Psychological turn of the Road, they become the Funeral Knell of Bachelor Freedom and a Prelude to cutting the String on whatever has been put by. The Serpent, operating in the guise of a Lover in a Serge Suit, had lured, cajoled, wheedled, and finessed until the poor trembling Child, only twenty-four years of Age, was alone with him in what the Landscaper had worked off on her Papa as a Formal Garden. They stood clinched there in the dull Sunset Glow, with a Pergola for a Background. It was all very Belasco and in strict compliance with the League Rules laid down by W. Somerset Maugham. According to the $2 Drama and every bright red Volume selling for $1.18 at a Department Store, this was-- THE END The Curtain began to descend very slowly, with Ferdinand and Adele holding the Picture. It seems, however, that they had not come to the real, sure-enough Finis. The Terminus was some distance down the Line. The Curtain refused to fall. "What is the idea?" asked Adele, somewhat perturbed. "We have hit the logical Climax of our Romance. As I understand it, we are now supposed to ascend in a Cloud and float through Ethereal Bliss for an indefinite Period. "Right-o!" said Fiancé. "According to all the approved Dope, we are booked to live happily ever after." Just then Her Best Friend came rapidly down the Gravel Walk with Anxiety stenciled on her Features. The accepted Swain seemed to hear a low rumbling Wagnerian Effect from out the Clear Sky. In Music-Drama it is known as the Hammer Theme. It is included in the Curriculum at every Fem Sem. Ferdinand had a Hunch that somebody was getting ready to drop Cyanide of Potassium into his Cup of Joy. "Oh, Adele!" said the Friend, just like that. "Oh, Adele, may I speak to you for a Mo-munt?" Ferdinand made his Exit, much peeved, and the Friend expressed a Hope that she had arrived in time to throw the Switch and avert the Wrecking of a Life. Far be it from her to Snitch, but it was her Duty to put Adele wise to what every one was whispering Under Cover. She had no absolute Proof that he had carried on with a Front Row Floss in New Haven, but it was Common Talk that one of his Uncles had been a Regular at a Retreat where the Doctor shoots a Precious Metal into the Arm. It would be terrible to marry someone and then find out that he Drank, the same as all the other Married Men. Leaving Adele in a Deep Swoon, the true Friend hurried to the nearest Public 'Phone to spread the dismal Tidings. In the meantime the elated Lover had loped all the way to the University Club to spring it on the Navajos and receive their Felicitations. His Rapture had rendered him fairly incoherent, and he was gurgling like an after-dinner Percolator; but he finally made it evident that he had been Hooked. A deep Silence ensued, most of those present looking out the Window at the passing Traffic. Finally a Shell-Back, who had been leading a Life of Single Torment ever since Sumter was fired upon, asked in a sepulchral Tone and without looking up from his Hand, "Has the Date been set?" Ferdinand tried to tell them that he was going to the Altar and not to the Electric Chair, but he couldn't get a single Slap on the Back. The only one evincing Interest was a He-Hen named Herbert, who took him into the Cloak-Room to plant a few Canadian Thistles in the Garden of Love. Herb said he had always liked the Girl, even if she had given a couple of his Best Pals the Whillykathrow. His Advice was to up and marry her before she had time to pull one of her temperamental Stunts and hand out the Rinkaboo. Possibly if she could be weaned away from her eccentric Relations and governed with a Firm Hand she would turn out O.K. Still, it was a tall Gamble. Under the Circumstances, he didn't see that there was anything for Ferdinand to do except mop up a few Drinks and hope for the Best. When Ferdy looked at himself in the Mirror at Midnight, he didn't know whether he was Engaged or merely operating under a Suspended Sentence. Next morning he had to bare his Soul to the Head of the Firm. This revered Fluff should have been known as Mr. Yes-But. He was strong for the Married State, but it was highly advisable to have the Girl analyzed by a Chemist and passed upon by a Board of Experts before a Bid was submitted. The Sunflower Paths of Dalliance were leading mostly to Reno, Nevada, and the Article commonly known as Love was merely a disinclination to continue eating Breakfast alone. He said a Good Woman was a Jewel, but if one of them got a fair Run and Jump at a Check-Book she could put the National City Bank on the Hummer. Probably it was all right to go ahead, and take the High Hurdle, but the Percentage was against the Candidate, and the Cost of Living was never so altitudinous. Ferdinand retired from the Royal Presence feeling that he had been duly authorized to walk a Tight Rope over Niagara Falls. As soon as the Bride-Elect had taken enough Headache Powders to prepare her for the Ordeal, she sent for the Suspect to come up to the House and outline his Defense. They put in a humid Evening. When the falling Tears had made the Drawing-Room too soppy for further use, they moved into the Hallway and he continued to think up Alibis. At 11 P.M. he had explained Everything, repudiated many lifelong Friendships, deodorized his College Career, flouted the Demon Rum, and resigned from all Clubs. The Birds were singing up and down the Main Stairway and Grandfather's Clock played nothing but Mendelssohn. She lay damply pillowed on his Bosom. He was intensely relieved and yet vaguely conscious of the Fact that she had beat him to it. There had been a General Settlement, and he had figured merely as Supreme Goat. In his anxiety to get the Kinks out of his own Record he had failed to hold her up for anything except a Pardon. Before terminating the Peace Conference, it was suggested that inasmuch as every one else in the World had been notified, probably it would be just as well to let her Male Parent in on the Secret. Not that Father is regarded as a Principal in the up-to-date Household. Still, he is useful as a Super. The old Gentleman was so soft that he nearly tipped his Hand. He gave Ferdinand a regular Cigar and then stalled for about 30 Seconds before indicating a Willingness to sign any form of Contract. He pulled the Old One to the effect that the House would not seem the same after Addie had gone away, meaning that Breakfast would be served in the Morning and the Night Shift abolished. When Ferdinand got back to his Room and counted up, he had to admit that Father was the only Outsider who seemed to be plugging for the Alliance. But all petty Suspicions and unworthy Doubts flickered and disappeared when Nightfall came and Queenie was once more cuddled within the strong right Fin, naming over some of the Men that he mustn't speak to any more. The course of True Love ran smooth for a couple of Days, and then came a letter from his People, expressing the hope that he had picked out a devout Unitarian. Otherwise the Progeny would start off under a terrible Handicap. He knew that Adele favored the Suffrage Thing and that she had read a Book on how to recover from a Dance by lying down and giving a Recitation, but he never had suspected her of any real Religious Scruples. Before he could tell her how the Little Ones had been predestined, she notified him that her kinsmen had been peering into the Future and that all the problematical Offspring had been put on the Waiting List at the First Baptist Church. Here was a grand Opening for Ferdinand. He resolved to make a Stand and issue a ringing Ultimatum. He might as well tip it off to her and the whole Tribe that he was to be Cæsar in his own Shack. So he went up to her House ready to die in the last Ditch rather than yield to the advocates of Immersion. After viewing the Problem in all its Aspects, he and Honey compromised by deciding that the Bairns were to be orthodox Baptists. Having sponged every Blot from the Escutcheon and laid out the Labels for all Generations yet unborn, the incipient Benedick thought there would be nothing more to it except Holding Hands and watching the Calendar. Just then a Dress-Maker swooped down and stole away the Light of his Life. Every time he went up to scratch on the Door and beg for a Kiss, a Strange Lady with Pins in her Mouth would come out and shoo him away, explaining that the Pearl of Womanhood was laid out in the Operating Room, being measured for something additional. Occasionally he saw her, at one of the many Dinners decreed by Custom. They had to sit Miles apart, with Mountains of unseemly Victuals stacked between them, while some moss-grown Offshoot of the Family Tree rose and conquered his Asthma long enough to propose a Toast to the Bride. What they really craved was a Dim Corner and a box of Candied Cherries. The only Speeches they wished to hear could have been constructed out of the 40 words of standard Baby Talk, comprising what is known as the Mush Vocabulary. Yet they had to muster the same old property Smile every time that Charley Bromide or old Mr. Platitude lifted a shell of sparkling Vinegar and fervently exclaimed, "Thuh Bride!" Even after the Menu had been wrecked and the satiated Revelers had laboriously pried themselves away from the decorated Board, there was no escape. The Women Folks led Adele away to some remote Apartment to sound a Few Warnings, while the Men sat around in the Blue Smoke and joshed Ferdinand to a fare-ye-well. Each morning he found in his Mail a few Sealed Orders from Headquarters and about as many Stage Directions as would be required for putting on the Annual Show at the Hippodrome. When he was not begging some one to come and Ush for him, he was either checking over the Glove List with a terrified Best Man or getting measured for a full layout of dark Livery that made him look like a refined Floor-Walker. It seemed that Adele had a Step-Mother who had been crouched for Years waiting for a chance to bust into the Papers. Nothing would do her but a regular Madison Square Phantasmagoria, with two Rings and an elevated Platform. She wanted Ribbons down the Aisle and little Girls sprinkling Posies, a Concert Orchestra buried under the Palms, and a few extra Ministers of the Gospel just to dress the Pulpit. Every superfluous Accessory devised by the Nerve Specialist and approved by the Court of Bankruptcy was woven into the Nuptial Circus when Ferdinand and Adele were made one and Unhookable. The Rehearsals somewhat resembled the Moving Pictures of the Durbar at Delhi. As a final Preparation for the Stupendous Pageant, the Groom sat up all night in the Dipsomania Club, watching the Head-Liners of the Blue Book demolish Glassware. According to the dictates of Fashion, one who is about to assume the solemn Responsibilities of Matrimony should abstain from Slumber for a week, devoting the time thus saved to a full consideration of Food and Drink. The Ambulance bore his Remains to the Church. A few faithful Hang-Overs lifted him through the Portals, with his Toes dragging somewhat in the Rear. They propped him against a Pilaster and told him his Name and begged him not to weaken, no matter what the Preacher might put up to him. Soon after he saw a Haggard Creature all fluffed about with White advancing unsteadily toward him. With the Make-Up, she did not look a Day over 47. He did not hear any of the Service, but those who were more fortunate told him afterward that it was a very Pretty Wedding, and that the Presents they got were Simply Great. MORAL: Too many Trained Nurses discommode Cupid. THE DREAM THAT CAME OUT WITH MUCH TO BOOT Once there was a provincial Tradesman who gave his Yokemate a Christmas Present. It was a kind of Dingus formerly exhibited on the What-Not in almost every polite Home. By peering through at the twin Photographs and working it like a Slide Trombone, one could get ravishing glimpses of Trafalgar Square, Lake Como, and the Birthplace of Bobby Burns. Nearly every evening the Tradesman would back up to the Student Lamp and put in a delirious half-hour with the Views. [Illustration: Nearly every evening the Tradesman would back up to the Student Lamp and put in a delirious half-hour with the Views] While gazing up the Rue de Rivoli or across the rice paddies at the snowy cap of Fuji, his Blood would become het by the old boyhood Desire to sail across the Blue to Foreign Parts. Those who saw him mowing the Lawn little suspected that he was being inwardly eaten by the Wanderlust. The Tradesman, Edwin by name, and his Managing Director, Selena, formed the magic-lantern Habit away back in the days of Stoddard. They never missed a chance to take in Burton Holmes. Sitting in the darkness, they would hold hands and simply eat those Colored Slides. Selena belonged to a Club that was trying to get a side-hold on the Art and Architecture of the Old World. She had a smouldering Ambition to ride a Camel in the Orient and then come home and put it all over a certain proud Hen who had spent six weeks in Europe. One visit to Niagara Falls and a glorious week of Saengerfest at Cincinnati had simply whetted her desire to take Edwin by the hand and beat it all the way around the Globe, via Singapore. To prepare herself for the Grand Tour, she took 12 lessons in French and read up on the Taj Mahal. She had to wait patiently until Edwin was threatened with a Nervous Break-Down. At last the Happy Day arrived when the Specialist told him he must make his choice between a long Sea Voyage and a slow ride to the Family Lot. Selena used Hydraulic Pressure in packing her Wardrobe Trunks. She took all her circus Duds and a slew of Hats so that she could make the proper Front, while being entertained Abroad. Edwin had secured a Passport which identified him as a male white Person, entitled to all the Courtesies and Privileges usually extended to an American Citizen holding a Passport. They were on the verge of the Jumps when they boarded the Train, but they hoped to Relax and get a lot of Sleep on the Ocean Greyhound. A few days later they were curled up in a Cabin de Luxe about the size of a Telephone Booth, waiting for the Ocean Greyhound to recover from an attack of Hydrophobia. When they tottered down the Gang-Plank, after six days on the playful North Atlantic, their only Comfort was derived from the knowledge that, as soon as they had rested up, they could write home and quote the Second Officer as saying it was the roughest Passage he had ever Known. After spending a few days in London, trying to get warm, they moved on to Paris, which they remembered long afterward on account of Napoleon's Tomb and the price of Strawberries. Selena pulled her tall-grass French on a Hackman, but there was nothing doing. He had taken it from a different Teacher. So they employed a Guide who knew all the Shops. If Selena happened to admire a Trinket or some outré Confection with Lace slathered on it, a perfumed Apache in a Frock Coat would take Edwin into a side room, give him the sleeve across the Wind-Pipe, and bite a piece out of his Letter of Credit. Edwin did a little quick work with the Pencil and said they could either hurry on or else hie back to the Home Town and begin Life all over again. Three weeks after saying good-bye to Griddle Cakes they were in Naples, which they had seen pictured on so many Calendars. Looking back across the Centuries they recalled the Clerks standing in the Doorways and the friends of the Progressive Euchre Club. It was sweet to remember that the world was not made up entirely of cadging Head Waiters. Once in a while they would venture from the Hotel to run footraces with the yelping Lazzaroni or try to look at Vesuve without paying seven or eight members of the Camorra for the Privilege. After being chased back into the Hotel, they would sit down and address Post-Cards by the Hour, telling how much they were enjoying the stay in Napoli, home of Song and Laughter. Their only chance of catching even on the Imperial Suite at $9 a Day was to make the Folks back at the Whistling Post think they were playing Guitars and dancing the Tarantella, whatever that is. Next we see them in Egypt, still addressing Post-Cards, and offering anything within Reason for a good Cup of Coffee. Somehow, sitting in the dusky Tombs didn't seem to help their Nostalgia. Not that they would own up to being Home-Sick. No, indeed! They kept writing back that they enjoyed every Minute spent among the Cemeteries and Ruins, or sailing up the Nile, and Edwin was holding up wonderfully, for an Invalid. Only, when either of them spoke of the Children, or Corned-Beef Hash, or the Canary, a long Silence would ensue, and then the Nervous Wreck would cheer her by computing that they would be in God's Country within four months, if they escaped Shipwreck, Sunstroke, and Bubonic Plague. While parboiling themselves down the Red Sea it began to soak in on them that, east of Suez, the Yank has about as much standing as the Ten Commandments. They could have endured sleeping in a Trough and bathing with a damp Towel and eating Food kept over from the year before, if their Fellow Voyagers had made a slight fuss over them or evinced some interest in the wonders of North America. The Congressman at home had assured them, on numerous occasions, that Columbia was the Jim of the Ocean and the most upholstered portion of the entire Foot-Stool. Consequently, it was somewhat disconcerting to meet British Subjects who never had heard of Quincy, Illinois, and who moved their Deck Chairs every time they were given a chance to hear about it. Back in the Middle West, Edwin and Selena had been Mountains arising from the Plain. At all points beyond Greenwich, they were simply two unconsidered fragments of Foreign Substance. The Passport did not seem to get them anything. While being walked upon by the haughty Tea-Drinkers they could not claim the protection of the American Flag, because they didn't see the Starry Banner after leaving New York, except in front of a Fake Auction Sale, arranged especially for Tourists. By the time they found themselves in that vast bake-oven known as India they were benumbed and submissive and had settled into a Routine. They would arrive in a New Town, fly to the Hotel, unpack, go out and buy their colored Post-Cards, come back to the Dump (usually called the Grand Hotel Victoria), address Cards to all the Names on the list, then pack up, pay the Overcharges, and ride to the Railway Station, accompanied by a small regiment of Bashi-Bazouks who were looking for Theirs. The sight of a Temple threw Edwin into a Relapse, but he would have given $8,000 for one look at the galvanized Cornice of the Court House. Selena was still buying Souvenirs, but doing it mechanically, as if in a Trance. They had been stung with so many Oriental Phoneys and stuck up so often that they had gone Yellow and lost their Nerve. When they saw an outstretched Palm, they came across without a Whimper. Cousin Ella, back among the Corn Fields, pictured them as riding a caparisoned Elephant up to the marble Palace of the Gaekwar of Baroda, where Edwin would flash his Passport and then the distinguished Guests would be salaamed to the Peacock Throne. Nothing like it. They were led up to highly odorous Bazaars conducted by lineal Descendants of the 40 Thieves. Often, while riding in the dusty Cattle Cars and looking out at the parched Plains, they would think of the shaded Front Porch, only 5 minutes from Barclay's Drug Store, where they sold the Ice Cream Soda. Moaning feebly, they would return to the italicized Guide Book. The Chow consisted largely of Curry and Rice, the medicinal flavor of which was further accentuated by Butter brought in Tins all the way from Sweden. Although the Heat was intense, they found occasional Relief in sitting next the Britons and getting a few Zephyrs direct from the Ice-Box. Each day they would purchase a Newspaper about the size of a Bed-Spread and search eagerly for American News. Once in a while they would learn that Congress had met or another Colored Person had been burned at the Stake. It cheered them immensely to know that the Land of the Free was still squirming. At Rangoon they met a weary Countryman headed in the opposite direction. He was a hard-faced Customer who was fighting the Climate with Gin and Bitters, but they fell upon him and wanted to Kiss him when they learned that he had once met Selena's Uncle at Colorado Springs. They told him how to save time in getting across India, and he gave them a list of Places in China and Japan that might be dodged to advantage. Year after year in the months of March and April they continued on their tedious Way through the burning Tropics. Sometimes they came to a discouraged belief that the World was one bluey expanse, disturbed by Flying Fish. Then they would spend weary Ages along the avenues of white Lime-Kilns, looking at Countless millions of hungry Brunettes in fluttering Nighties. Their principal Occupation, when not setting down Expressions of Delight on the Post-Cards, was to study Time-Tables and cable ahead for Reservations. The Invalid's one desire was to get home and take a regular Bath before being laid out. Hong Kong pleased them exceedingly because they learned, by consulting Mr. Mercator's Projection, that they were on the Home Stretch and, with Luck in their favor, might live to see another Piece of Huckleberry Pie. Japan they liked the best of all. At Yokohama they received a bundle of Dailies only six weeks old, giving full Particulars of a Wedding and telling who was about to run for Mayor. As soon as they were on the Pacific and headed for a refined Vaudeville Show, they began to recover the brave Spirit of Travel and blow about what they had seen. The Towns and Temples and Tombs and Treasures of Art were all jumbled together, but, by daily reference to Baedeker and Murray, they were enabled to find out where they had been and what they had seen with their own Eyes and how it impressed them at the time. Before touching at Honolulu they were real enthusiastic about India. They advised the awe-stricken Listener who had not been all the Way around to be sure and take in Penang and Johore and, if necessary, they would give him Letters of Introduction. They said it had been a Wonderful Experience. Yes, indeed. And broadening. Very. Then Edwin would wander to the front end of the Ship and want to climb out on the Bowsprit so as to be in Frisco ahead of anybody else. He convalesced rapidly as they approached the Golden Gate, for he knew that in a few days he would unpack for good and gallop down to the office and not have to worry about Travelling. The only Dark Cloud on the Shore hung above the Custom House. They looked at all the Junk wished upon them by the simple Children of the Far East and didn't know whether to declare it for what it cost or what it was really worth. Being conscientious Members of the Church, they modified their Perjury and smuggled only the usual amount of Carvings and hand-embroidered Stuff. Two hours after landing, Edwin saw a Porter-House Steak and burst into tears. They sped eastward by the first Train, still busy with the little Red Books, for they knew they would have to answer a lot of Questions. "Shall we own up and tell them the Awful Truth?" asked Selena. "Not on your Esoteric Buddhism," replied Edwin. "We never will be rewarded for our Sufferings unless we convince the Neighbors that we had a run for our Money. It was a troubled Nightmare, in Spots, but when I lecture in the Church Parlor I am going to burn Joss Sticks and pull every variety of Bunk made famous by Sir Edwin Arnold and Lafcadio Hearn." On the following Tuesday, Selena appeared at the Club with her Mandarin Coat and the long Hindoo Ear-Rings. She had them frozen in their Chairs. MORAL: Be it ever so Hard to Take, there is no Place like away from Home. THE NEW FABLE OF THE TOILSOME ASCENT AND THE SHINING TABLE-LAND Once upon a time, out in the Rubber Boot Reservation, the Stork came staggering up to a Frame Dwelling with a hefty Infant. The arrival was under the Zodiacal Sign of Taurus, the Bull. Every Omen was propitious. When the Gallery was admitted, on the third day, the gaping Spectators observed that the Youngun had an open Countenance, somewhat like a Channel Cat, a full head of Hair bushing at the nape of the neck, and a hypnotic Eye; so they knew he was destined for the Service of the Public. Even while he was in the custody of the Old Women of the Township, he began reaching for everything he saw and testing his Voice. He claimed his Rations frequently and with insistence. While he was demonstrating an elastic Capacity, the head Prophetess called attention to his aggressive Style and predicted a political Career. It was a cinch Horoscope, for the Begetters were a successful Auctioneer and a Poetess of local repute. The Child was christened Sylvester, in anticipation of his Future Greatness. Several years later, when he rebelled against going to the Barber Shop and began to speak Pieces on the slightest provocation, the Parents rejoiced over these budding symptons of Statesmanship and bought him a Drum. At school he was a Dummy in Mathematics and a Lummux when it came to Spelling Down, but every Friday afternoon he was out in the lead, wearing Bells. Before he acquired a Vocabulary or accumulated Data, he got by on his Nerve. In later years he never forgot that Facts are non-essential if the Vocal Cords are in tune. When the Pupils tackled the old standby, "Resolved, that Education is better than Riches," he could tremolo on the Affirmative one week and then reverberate for the Negative one week later, never doubting his own Sincerity at any stage of the Game. The grinding classmates who had secured the mark of A in Geometry and Rhetoric were not in the running on Commencement Day. Our Hero got his Diploma on a Fluke, but when he appeared on the Rostrum between an Oleander and the Members of the Board, with Goose-Goose on the Aureole, the new Store Suit garnished with a leaf of Geranium and a yellow Rose-Bud, and the Gates Ajar Collar lashed fast with his future Trade-Mark: viz., a White Bow Tie--he had all the Book Worms crushed under his Heel. He pulled out the stop marked "Vox Humana" and begged his Hearers to lift the sword of Justice and with it smite the Deluge of Organized Wealth which was crouched and ready to spring upon the Common People. In pleading the cause of Labor, he spoke as an Expert, for once he had strung a Clothes-Line for his Mother. He got the biggest Hand of any one at the Exercises. After denouncing the predaceous Interests he relapsed into an attitude of Meditation, with the Chin on the starched Front, very much like a Steel Engraving of Daniel Webster. The enthralled Townsmen, seeing him thus, with the Right Hand buried in the Sack Suit and the raven Mop projecting in the rear, allowed that there was nothing to it. He was a Genius and billed through for the Legislature. Some Boys have to go to College to get a Shellac Finish, but Sylvester already had the Dark Clothes and the Corrugated Brow and a voice like a Tuba, so, to complete his Equipment, he merely had to sit tilted back in a Law Office for a few months and then borrow Money to get a Hat such as John A. Logan used to wear. All who saw him move from Group to Group along the Hitch Rack on Saturday afternoon, shaking hands with the Rustics and applying the Ointment, remarked that Ves was a young man of Rare Promise and could not be held back from the Pay-Roll for any considerable length of Time. He was one of the original 787 Boy Orators of the Timothy Hay Section of the Imperial Middle West. At every hotel Banquet, whether by the Alumni of the Shorthand College or under the auspices of the Piano Movers' Pleasure Club, he was right up at the Head Table with his Hair rumpled, ready to exchange a Monologue for a few warm Oysters and a cut of withered Chicken. On Memorial Day it was Sylvester who choked up while laying his Benediction on the Cumrads of the G. A. R. On Labor Day he unbuttoned his Vest all the way down, held a trembling Fist clear above the leonine Mat, and demanded a living Wage for every Toiler. Consequently he acquired repute as a staunch Friend of the Agriculturist, the Steam Fitter, the Old Soldier, the Department Store Employee, and others accustomed to voting in Shoals. In order to mature himself and be seasoned for onerous Responsibilities, he waited until he was 22 years of age before attempting to gain a frontage at the Trough. It was highly important that he should serve the Suvrin People in some Capacity involving Compensation. It was fairly important to him and it was vitally important to a certain Woman of gambling Disposition, who operated a Boarding-House. Sylvester was the type of Lawyer intensely admired but seldom employed, save by Criminals entirely bereft of Means. In addition to his Board, the young Barrister actually required a pouch of Fine Cut and a clean White Tie every week, so he was impelled by stern Necessity to endeavor to hook up with a Salary. Because Sylvester had administered personal Massage to every Voter within five Miles of his office, he thought he could leap into the Arena and claim an immediate Laurel Wreath by the mere charm and vigor of his Personality. He ignored the Whispering Ikes who met in the dim Back Room, with Cotton plugged in the Key Hole. The Convention met, and when it came time to nominate a Candidate for State's Attorney, all of Sylvester's tried and true Friends among the Masses were at home working in the Garden or spread out in the Hammock. The Traction Engine pulled the Juggernaut over the Popular Idol. They lit on him spraddled out. They gave him the Doo-Doo. When the Battle had ended, he was a mile from the cheerful Bivouac, lying stark in the Moonlight. He was supposed to be eliminated. The only further recognition accorded him would be at the Autopsy. Next day he was back in his usual Haunts, with an immaculate Bow Tie and a prop Smile, shaking hands with all who had so recently harpooned him. As a Come-Back he was certainly the resilient Kid. Those who had marveled at his sole-leather Organ of Speech, now had to admire his sheet metal Sensibilities, nor could they deny that he possessed all the attributes of a sound and durable Candidate. He had learned his Primer lesson in Politics. As soon as he saw that he could not throw the Combination, he joined it. He came into the Corral and lay down in the Dust and allowed them to brand him as a Regular. Sylvester became the White Slave of the Central Committee, knowing that eventually true Patriotism would have to be recognized and recompensed. When he came to bat the second time he had the Permanent Chairman and the Tellers and all the Rough-Necks plugging for him, consequently it was a Pipe. But it was a case of Reverse English on Election Day, for the venal Opposition rode into power on a Tidal Wave. After the Tide had receded, Sylvester was found asleep among the Clams and Sea-Weed, apparently so far gone that a Pulmotor would be no help. Three days later, however, he was on hand, with chaste Neckwear and a jaunty Front, to make a Presentation Speech to the Chief of the Fire Department. Talk about your Rubber Cores! The harder they trun him down the higher he bounced back. Those who had been marked by Fate to be his Constits began to see that Sylvester was something inevitable and not to be denied. What though his Detractors called him a Four-Flush and a False Alarm, alleging that a true analysis of his Mentality would be just about as profitable as dissecting a Bass Drum? The more they knocked, the more oleo-margarine became his beaming Countenance, for he knew that Calumny avails naught against a White Tie in the Hot-Bed of cut-and-dried Orthodoxy. He played the social String from the W.C.T.U. to the Elks and was a blood-brother of the Tin Horn and the acidulated Elder with the scant Skilligans. In order to keep the High-Binders and the Epworth Leaguers both on his Staff at one and the same time, he had to be some Equilibrist, so he never hoisted a Slug except in his own Office, where he kept it behind the Supreme Court Reports. When he went out the third time for the same Job, the Voters saw it was no use trying to block him off, so he landed. In the full crimson of Triumph, with new Patent Leather Shoes and as much as $40 in his Kick at one time, he never forgot for a moment that he was a servant of the Pe-hee-pul and might want to run for something else in the near future. He tempered Justice with Mercy and quashed many an Indictment if the Defendant looked like a grateful Geezer who might be useful in his own Precinct. No one dared to attack him because of the fact that he had delivered a Lecture to the eager young souls at the Y.M.C.A., in which he had exhibited a Road Map and proved that adherence to the Cardinal Virtues leads unerringly to Success. At the age of thirty-two he broke into the Legislature and began to wear a White Vest, of the kind affected by the more exclusive Bar Tenders. Also a variety of Shroud known as the Prince Albert. He was fearless in discussing any proposed Measure that did not worry the Farmer Vote in his own District. As for Wall Street and the Plunderbund, when he got after them, he was a raving Bosco. A regular Woof-Woofer and bite their heads off. About the time he came up for re-election, a lot of Character-Assassins tried to shell-road him and hand him the Gaff and crowd him into the 9-hole. They said he had been flirting with the Corporations and sitting in on Jack-Pots and smearing himself at the Pie Counter. Did they secure his Goat by such crude Methods? Not while the 5-octave Voice and the enveloping Prince Albert and the snow-white Necktie were in working Trim. He went over the whole District in an Auto (one of the fruits of his Frugality), and everywhere that Sylvester went the American Eagle was sure to go, riding on the Wind-Shield, and a Starry Banner draped over the Hood. He waved aside all Charges made against him. To give them serious Heed would be an Insult to the high Intelligence of the Hired Hands gathered within Sound of his Voice. He believed in discussing the Paramount Issues. So he would discuss them in such a way that the Railway Trains passing by were no interruption whatsoever. In course of time his Hair outgrew the Legislature. He was on whispering terms with a clean majority of all the Partisans in three connecting Counties, so he bought one Gross of the White String Kind and a pair of Gum Sneakers and began to run amuck as a Candidate for Congress. Even his trusty Henchmen were frightened to know that he had become obsessed of such a vaulting Ambition. They did not have him sized, that was all. The farther from home he traveled, the more resounding was the Hit he registered. The Days of Spring were lengthening and the Campaign was not far distant when Sylvester, after looking at the Signs in the Sky and putting his Ear to the Ground, discovered that he was thoroughly impregnated with the new Progressive Doctrines. The change came overnight, but he was in the Band Wagon ahead of the Driver. As nearly as he could formulate his private Platform, he was still true to his Party but likewise very keen for any Reform Measure that 55 per cent. of the Voters might favor, either at the present time or previous to any future Election. After the heated Radicals in every School District had listened to Sylvester and learned that all his Views coincided to a T with their own revised Schedule, they lined up and landslided. One November morning Our Hero, no longer a penniless Law Student, but owing, at a conservative Estimate, between $6000 and $8000, sat tranquilly in front of the T-Bone Steak, the Eggs, the Batter Cakes, the Cinnamon Rolls, and the Reservoir of Coffee, comprising the Breakfast of one who always remained near to the Rank and File. His Hair was roached in a new way, for the Bulletins at Midnight had told him that he was a Congressman. Those who had known him in the old Free-Lunch Days, when a Tie lasted him for a Week, now felt honored to receive his stately Salutation as he moved slowly from the Post Office up to the Drug Store, to buy his Bronchial Lozenges. Many of the Lower Classes, as well as the more Prominent People belonging to the Silver Cornet Band, were gathered at the Station when he started for Washington to fight in the impending Battle between the Corn-Shuckers and the Allies of Standard Oil. Men and Women standing right there in the Crowd could remember when he had borrowed his first Dollar. And now he was going to stand beneath the dome of the Capitol to weave a new Fabric of Government and see that it didn't crock or unravel. Sylvester and his glossy Trunk arrived at the Mecca, where they were pleasantly received by the Agent of the Transfer Company in full Uniform, and a Senegambian with a Red Cap, who hunted up the Taxi. After waiting many weary Years, Sylvester once more had a School Desk of his own. It was in the far corner of a crowded Pit surrounded by elevated Seats. The Hon. Sylvester found himself entirely surrounded by victims of involuntary Dumbness. By referring to a printed List he ascertained that he was a member of the Committee on Manual Training for the Alaska Indians. In his Boarding House he became acquainted with Department Clerks who were well advanced in the technology of Base Ball. After a few weeks, he was on chatting Terms with a Young Lady in charge of a Cigar and News Counter. As soon as the Paper was delivered every morning he could find out what had happened in Congress the day before. If confused by the Cares of State, he sought diversion by taking a Visitor from Home to see the Washington Monument. After three months, he met a National Committeeman with a Pull who promised to secure him an introduction to the Speaker so that he could maneuver around and get something into the Record before his time was up. In the meantime, he is heard to advantage on every Roll Call, and the Traducers back in the District have not been able to lay a finger on anything Crooked. MORAL: There is always Room and Board at the Top. THE NEW FABLE OF THE AERIAL PERFORMER, THE BUZZING BLONDINE AND THE DAUGHTER OF MR. JACKSON Once upon a time a Lad with Cinnamon Hair and wide blue Eyes lived in a half-portion Town. He had received more than 2000 Tickets for answering "Here" at the M. E. Sunday School. His kinfolk hoped that some day he would be President of the Town Board. Shortly after he learned to roll a safe game of Pool, his Governor demised. Robert, such being the full front name of the sole Heir, found that he could not spread his Pinions in the narrow Streets of the lichen-covered Hamlet. So he blew. He went to find an Avenue that would accommodate seven Zeppelin Air-Ships moving abreast at one time. He closed out the Dry Goods Emporium with the Shirt-Waists and the shameless Hosiery in the Windows. An Apartment Building, with Packages delivered at the rear, soon began to flaunt itself on the site of the old Manse. With all the currency corraled by the late Store-Keeper padded into his Norfolk Jacket, the gallus Offspring hurried to the Metrop to pick the Primroses. In a short time he was out at the Track every day, barking at the Goats as they hove into the Stretch. The pencil-borrowing Touts and the Wine Pushers began to call him Bob, which proved that he was a Man about Town. When the final Kiflukus was put on the Ponies, he assembled the residue of his Bundle and began to work steady as a Guesser in a Broker's Office. His job was to show at 10 G.M. with a big Reina Victoria at one extreme corner of his Face and pretend to know what was coming off when the Boy put the funny marks on the Blackboard. Ever and anon he would buy 1000 Shares of something, as if Negotiating for a Bread-Ticket. As a rule, the tall-grass Plunger with a wad of new Kale has about the same percentage in his favor as that enjoyed by a Shoat out at the well-known Establishment of Armour & Co. The Cleaners go forth to meet him, bearing as Gifts a Dream-Book and a new kind of Cocktail with a Kick like a Coast-Defense Gun. A few weeks later they are casting lots for his Union Suit. Bob came from Simpville, but he had acquired a couple of Wrinkles associating with the Wing Shots in the Paddock. He could shift to either Foot and he kept his Maxillary covered. Sometimes he picked up the wrong Walnut. It would begin to look like a quick change from Caviar to Crackers. More than once his Heels were beating a tattoo on the grassy brink of a Precipice. Then he would smell around until he discovered Something Doing. A couple of lucky shots and he would be on Velvet again and whanging away like a Demon. At last, with a Bull Market and a system of Pyramids, he began to sweep it in with his Fore-Arm. Head Waiters paid him the most groveling Attentions and bright eyes grew brighter yet when he suggested pulling a little Supper, with a $400 Souvenir at each Plate. He was admitted to full membership in the Tango Tribe of the Tenderloin Night-Riders. This select Coterie was organized for the purpose of closing all Cabarets by 6 A.M. An early hour was named because many of them were not made up for the cold Daylight. About the time he began to discover Vintages he discovered Elphye also. She was an Actress who was too busy to perform on the Stage. Elphye had a good Social Position back at her Home but, for some reason, she never sent for it. Her Parents had arranged for her to be a Brunette, but when Bob met her, between the Guinea Hen and the Café Parfait, she was a Lemon Meringue. Elphye wore Clothes that made a noise like a Piccolo. She was there with the jeweled Heels and the hand-painted Ankles. In trying to make her Gowns anywhere from six to nine months ahead of Paris, she sprung several Effects that caused the Chandeliers to tremble and the Ice to melt in the Buckets. She had abolished her Shape entirely and abandoned the Perpendicular, preferring a Droop which indicated that possibly she had been fashioned over a Barrel. She tried to model herself on the lines of a string Bean, slightly warped by the Sun. The Ascending Star of the Financial World was stunned by the Apparition. No one had tipped it off to him that the Queen of Sheba was to be reincarnated. He found Elphye ever and ever so accomplished. She knew all the Songs that now blister the Varnish off the Pianos in so many well-ordered Homes. She was enough of a Contortionist to get away with several Dances named for the innocent Poultry. Being a close student of the Bill-Boards she was in touch with Current Happenings. Her Eye-Work was perfect, but she found it hard pumping to Blush at the right time. When she tackled Polite Conversation she put a few Tooth-Marks in it. Still she made a very creditable Stab for a Girl brought up in Michigan and never east of Sheepshead Bay. She looked very creamy to Bob, if the Music was loud enough. He liked to tow something that would cause the Oyster Forks to pause in midair and the Catty Ones to reach for their Hardware. [Illustration: He liked to tow something that would cause the Oyster Forks to pause in midair and the Catty Ones to reach for their Hardware] When Elphye did a little Barnum and Bailey down the main Chute of a Terrapin Bazaar, rest assured that every Eye in the Resort was aimed at her gleaming Vertebrae. Bob showed her his monthly Statements and she confessed to being very fond of him. So it was planned that they would Marry some afternoon, if she could get away from the Masseuse early enough. The Troth was pledged in a few high-priced Trinkets which she had decided upon before he spoke to her. Just when it seemed a mortal Pipe that the Bull Tactics would enable him to cop a Million, so that he could live at a Hotel and finance the Little Queen, the Unseen Superintendent in the Tower began to throw the Switches of Destiny. If Bob had not speeded so far into the Country in the Smell-Wagon, there would have been no Flat Tire. If there had been no Flat Tire, he would have been back in time for the usual round-up of the Irrigation Committee and never would have been a Great Financier. Marooned among the Hay-Fields, he stopped at a Farm House and took a long chance on some Well-Water, dipped in a Gourd from the Moss-Covered Bucket. Scotch Whiskey is never contaminated by Surface Drains, but each sparkling Drop of the Fluid that Bob quaffed, there beneath the Willows, contained more than 2,000,000 of the Germs made notorious by Dr. Woods Hutchinson. A few days later a swarm of Bees settled in each ear. Every Sky-Scraper gave an imitation of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. He knew he was out of Kelter, but he had to watch the Board, for he had put every Bean in the World on an acrobatic Industrial known as Tin Bucket Preferred. Already the Paper Profits were enormous. Bob figured confidently on another Whoop of 50 points and a double string of Pearls for Elphye. But when the poor Loon had a Temperature of 5 above Par and had to cling to the Brass Rail to keep from taking the Count, he lost his Nerve entirely. He couldn't see anything on the Horizon except Tariff Revision, Hard Times, Weeping Women, Starving Kiddies, Closed Factories, Soup Kitchens, and Bread Lines. While in this dotty State and quite irresponsible, he directed the Manager to close out the whole Smear and sell short. Furthermore, he was so daffy and curdled in the Filbert that he sold three times as much as he had. Then he did a couple of Spins and a Flop, and the White Ambulance bore him away to the big Hospital. If Mr. Hornung Jackson of Round Grove, Maryland, had not entered upon his Second Childhood at the age of 55, his Family would have remained on Easy Street. Mr. Jackson thought he could sit in his Front Room and read the burglarious Meditations of the High-Binders in Wall Street. Consequently, when the Tin Box was searched, the Day after the Masons had marched out to the Cemetery, it contained a little of everything except Assets. Annie was the name of the Daughter. On the Clean-up she received enough to put her through the School. When Bob arrived at the Hospital, in a State of Conflagration, Annie was waiting in the starched Uniform to tackle her first real Case. For days and nights he rambled through the ghostly labyrinths of Delirium, Annie holding him by the Hand and lifting the cool Draughts to his parched Lips. He mumbled and raved about the decisions of the Umpire in the game between the Academy and the Knitting Works. He gave Annie his entire performance of Ralph Rackstraw in "Pinafore" for the benefit of the Library Fund, including Cues. He scolded his Aunt Mary for doing her own Housework and told the Colored Men how to lay the Cement Walk down through the Grape Arbor. He promised his Father not to play Poker any more and vowed to his Mother that she was a better Chef than the one up at Del's. But his sub-conscious Self was so considerate of Elphye that he never brought in her Name at all, at all. Sometimes he would get back to the Ticker, but he was ready to leave it any time to go fishing in the Crick with the Lads from the other side of the Tracks. Through the final Crisis he played tag with the Grim Reaper and just escaped being It. The Sun was slanting into the little white Room when he crawled feebly back to Earth and tried to get his Bearings. Annie was looking right at him, relieved and smiling and happy. She had won her first game in the Big League. He noticed that she was not slashed up the side or down the back, had no metallic Insteps, carried her own Hair, and was in no way concealed behind the usual pallid Veneering. He remembered dimly that she had been with him on the Underground. Then he recalled a previous Existence in which the Dripped Absinthe was a Breakfast and the Cigarette a Luncheon and Elphye was trotting in her Glads and he had a Swell Bet down on Tin Bucket Preferred. The whole Lay-Out seemed unreal and remote and entirely disconnected with Friend Nurse. He inquired the Day of the Week, and when he learned it was Next Month he started to get right up and put on his Things. Annie quietly spread him back on the Pillow and laid down the Law regarding Rest and Quiet. Then he begged her to ring up McCusick & Co. and get the latest Bucket Preferred. He said he had plastered his last Samoleon and, not being there to watch the Board and concentrate his wonderful Trading Instinct on every jiggle of the Dial, there was no telling what the Bone-Heads had done to him. You see, he had no recollection whatever of going Short, for he had been in a Walking Delirium at the time and crazy as a Cubist. Annie said it was wrong to Gamble and he was not to read the Papers or fuss with Visitors until Doc gave the word. Suddenly he remembered that he was engaged to Elphye and he wondered if she had forgotten. So many things can happen in a Great City within two weeks. He told Nurse about Elphye. Annie did not seem madly interested, but she wrote a Note to the Sazerack Apartment Building and notified the Seraphine that her prospective Producer was still extant and would be willing to renew acquaintance if she could spare an hour or two from her Dancing. Elphye came out two days later made up as a Princess in the Christmas Pantomime and diffusing pleasant Odors in all directions. She sat down alongside of Annie and immediately she was shown up and went back to the Minors. Her Second-Reader Conversation, complicated with the phoney Boston sound of "A" as in "Squash," did not improve her General Average. Bob suddenly realized that in getting rid of the Bronxes and the Nicotine and various other Toxins, he also had lost his appetite for Elphye. But he was Game and willing to go through on his own Proposition. He sent Nurse for a glass of Water and then begged his Fiancée to smuggle in a Newspaper so he could find out the name of his getting-off Station. Next day she brought the Market Page in her wonderful jewel-crusted Bag. Bob took one Look and crawled under the Covers. The Market had gone Blooey. Bucket Preferred was down in the Subway, bleeding from a dozen Wounds. The Whole List was on the Blinkety Fritz. "Courage, Dearie," said Bob, taking Elphye by the Rings. "Your little Playmate is erased from the map." Elphye upset two Rolling Chairs and one Interne getting from the Convalescent Department to the open Air. Annie found the poor Bankrupt much improved as to Pulse and Temperature. He told her the whole Story of how his Lady Fair had canned him because he was no longer a Live One. She held his hand and pushed back his Locks and told him that any Girl with a Heart would stick closer than ever to her Selection when he was under the Rollers. Just then a Messenger from McCusick came in and showed Bob that by going Short and standing pat he was $1,800,000 to the Desirable. After that, Bob was known up and down the Street as The Wizard. Annabelle, remembering how they had got to her Father, made him cut out the Margins and put the whole Chunk into listed Securities and Real Estate. He wanted to stick around and parlee up to a Billion, but she raised a most emphatic Nixey. He was so used to taking orders from her as a Trained Nurse that he cut out speculating and played Safe. The whole game was punk for months after, so every one said he had been a Wise Mug for backing away. The Missus allows him a light one (mostly Vermouth) before Dinner each evening and has taught him a private Signal which means that she is ready to duck and go Home. At present they are in Paris, where she is working to get the same hilarious _Tout Ensemble_ formerly exhibited by Elphye, the Ex-Empress of the White Light Reservation. The latter went to see a Lawyer when she learned that she had been tricked out of her Happiness. Unfortunately for her, she had nothing on Robert, thanks to his native shrewdness and Mr. Bell, who invented the Telephone. She is now playing Utility Parts in a Stock Company in Pennsylvania. The Jewels pelted at her by Bob are much admired by the Gallery. MORAL: The City holds no Peril for those who cherish Lucky Ideals. THE NEW FABLE OF SUSAN AND THE DAUGHTER AND THE GRANDDAUGHTER, AND THEN SOMETHING REALLY GRAND Once there was a full-blown Wild Peach, registered in the Family Bible as Susan Mahaly. Her Pap divided his time between collecting at a Toll-Gate and defending the Military Reputation of Andy Jackson. The family dwelt in what was then regarded by Cambridge, Mass., as the Twilight Zone of Semi-Culture, viz., Swigget County, Pennsylvania. Susan wore Linsey-Woolsey from Monday to Saturday. She never had tampered with her Venus de Milo Topography and she did not even suspect that Women had Nerves. When she was seventeen she had a Fore-Arm like a Member of the Turnverein. She knew how to Card and Weave and Dye. Also she could make Loose Soap in a kettle out in the Open Air. Susan never fell down on her Salt-Rising Bread. Her Apple Butter was always A1. It was commonly agreed that she would make some Man a good Housekeeper, for she was never sickly and could stay on her Feet sixteen hours at a Stretch. Already she was beginning to look down the Pike for a regular Fellow. In the year 1840, the Lass of seventeen who failed to get her Hooks on some roaming specimen of the Opposite Gender was in danger of being whispered about as an Old Maid. Celibacy was listed with Arson and Manslaughter. Rufus was destined to be an Early Victorian Rummy, but he could lift a Saw-Log, and he would stand without being hitched, so Susan nailed him the third time he came snooping around the Toll-Gate. Rufus did not have a Window to hoist or a Fence to lean on. But there is no Poverty in any Pocket of the Universe until Wealth arrives and begins to get Luggy. Susan thought she was playing in rare Luck to snare a Six-Footer who owned a good Squirrel Rifle and could out-wrastle all Comers. The Hills of Pennsylvania were becoming congested, with Neighbors not more than two or three miles apart, so Rufus and his Bride decided to hit a New Trail into the Dark Timber and grow up with the Boundless West. Relatives of the Young Couple staked them to a team of Pelters, a Muley Cow, a Bird Dog of dubious Ancestry, an Axe and a Skillet, and started them over the Divide toward the perilous Frontier, away out yender in Illinoy. It was a Hard Life. As they trundled slowly over the rotten Roads, toward the Land of Promise, they had to subsist largely on Venison, Prairie Chicken, Quail, Black Bass, Berries, and Wild Honey. They carried their own Coffee. Arrived at the Jumping-Off Place, they settled down among the Mink and Musk-Rats. Rufus hewed out and jammed together a little two by twice Cabin with the Flue running up the outside. It looked ornery enough to be the Birthplace of almost any successful American. The Malaria Mosquito was waiting for the Pioneers. In those good old Chills-and-Fever days, no one ever blamed it on the Female of the Species. Those who had the Shakes allowed that they were being jarred by the Hand of Providence. When the family ran low on Quinine, all he had to do was hook up and drive fifty miles to the nearest Town, where he would trade the Furs for Necessities such as Apple-Jack and Navy Twist, and possibly a few Luxuries such as Tea and Salt. On one of these memorable Trips to the Store, a Mood which combined Sentiment with reckless Prodigality seized upon him. He thought of the brave Woman who was back there in the lonesome Shack, shooing the Prairie Wolves away from the Cradle, and he resolved to reward her. With only three Gills of Stone Fence under his Wammus, he spread his Wild-Cat Currency on the Counter and purchased a $6 Clock, with jig-saw ornaments, a shiny coat of Varnish, and a Bouquet of Pink Roses on the door. Susan burst into Tears when she saw it on the Wall, alongside of the Turkey Wing, and vowed that she had married the Best Man in the World. Twenty years later, Jennie, the first begotten Chick at the Log House in the Clearing, had matured and married, and was living at the County-Seat with Hiram, Money-Changer and Merchant. Railroad Trains, Side-Bar Buggies, Coal-Oil Lamps, and the Civil War had come along with a Rush and disarranged primitive Conditions. The Frontier had retreated away over into Kansas. In the very Township where, of late, the Beaver had toiled without Hindrance and the Red Fox dug his hole unscared, people were now eating Cove Oysters, and going to see "East Lynne." Hiram was in rugged Health, having defended the flag by Proxy during the recent outcropping of Acrimony between the devotees of Cold Bread and the slaves of Hot Biscuit. The Substitute had been perforated beyond repair at the Battle of Kenesaw Mountain, proving that Hiram made no mistake in remaining behind to tend Store. When Jennie moved in where she could hear the Trains whistle and began to sport a Cameo Brooch, she could barely remember wearing a Slip and having Stone Bruises. Hiram was Near, but he would Loosen up a trifle for his own Fireside. The fact that Jennie was his wife gave her quite a Standing with him. He admired her for having made such a Success of her Life. They dwelt in a two-story Frame with countless Dewdads and Thingumbobs tacked along the Eaves and Scalloped around the Bay Windows. The Country People who came in to see the Eighth Wonder of the World used to stand in silent Awe, breathing through their Noses. Out on the lawn, surrounded by Geraniums, was a Cast-Iron Deer which seemed to be looking at the Court House in a startled Manner. It was that kind of a Court House. In her Front Room, the daughter of Rufus and Susan had Wonderful Wax Flowers, sprinkled with Diamond Dust; a What-Not bearing Mineral Specimens, Conch-Shells, and a Star-Fish, also some Hair-Cloth Furniture, very slippery and upholstered with Sand. After Hiram gave her the Black Silk and paid for the Crayon Enlargements of her Parents, Jennie did not have the Face to bone him for anything more, but she longed in secret and Hiram suspected. Jennie was a soprano. Not a regular Soprano, but a Country-Town Soprano, of the kind often used for augmenting the Grief at a Funeral. Her voice came from a point about two inches above the Right Eye. She had assisted a Quartette to do things to "Juanita," and sometimes tossed out little Hints about wishing she could practice at Home. Jennie was a Nice Woman but she _did_ need Practice. Although Hiram was tighter than the Bark on a Sycamore, he liked to have other Women envy the Mother of His Children. When he spread himself from a Shin-Plaster, he expected a Fanfare of Trumpets. It took him a long time to unwind the String from the Wallet, but he would Dig if he thought he was boosting his own Game. By stealthy short-weighting of the Country Trade and holding out on the Assessor, he succeeded in salting away numerous Kopecks in one corner of the Safe. While in Chicago to buy his Winter Stock, he bargained for two days and finally bought a Cottage Melodeon, with the Stool thrown in. Jennie would sit up and pump for Hours at a time, happy in the knowledge that she had drawn the Capital Prize in the Lottery of Hymen. In the year 1886 there was some Church Wedding at the County-Seat. Frances, daughter of Hiram and Jennie, had knocked the Town a Twister when she came home from the Female College wearing Bangs and toting a Tennis Racquet. All the local Gallants, with Cocoa-Oil in their hair and Rings on their Cravats, backed into the Shubbery. Hiram had bought her about $1800 worth of Hauteur at the select Institution of Learning. All she had to do was look at a Villager through her Nose-Specs and he would curl up like an Autumn Leaf. A Cuss from Chicago came to see her every two weeks. His Trousers seemed to be choking him. The Pompadour was protected by a Derby of the Fried-Egg species. It was the kind that Joe Weber helped to keep in Public Remembrance. But in 1886 it was de Rigeur, au Fait, and à la mode. Frances would load the hateful City Chap into the high Cart and exhibit him up and down all the Residence Thoroughfares. On nearly every Front Porch some Girl whose Father was not interested in the First National Bank would peer out through the Morning Glories at the Show-off and then writhe like an Angle-Worm. The Wedding was the biggest thing that had struck the town since Forepaugh stopped over on his way from Peoria to Decatur. Frances was not a popular Girl, on account of being so Uppish, so those who could not fight their way into the Church climbed up and looked through the Windows. The Groom wore a Swallow-Tail. Most of those present had seen Pictures of the Dress Suit. In the _Fireside Companion_, the Gentleman wearing one always had Curls, and the Wood-Engraving caught him in the act of striking a Lady in the Face and saying "Curse you!" The Feeling at the County-Seat was that Frances had taken a Desperate Chance. The caterer with Colored Help in White Gloves, the ruby Punch suspected of containing Liquor, the Japanese Lanterns attached to the Maples, the real Lace in the Veil, the glittering Array of Pickle-Jars, and a well-defined Rumor that most of the imported Ushers had been Stewed, gave the agitated Hamlet something to blat about for many and many a day. The Bachelor of Arts grabbed off by the daughter of Jennie and the Grand-daughter of Susan was the owner of Real Estate in the congested Business District of a Town which came into Public Attention later on through the efforts of Frank Chance. His front name was Willoughby, but Frances always called him "Dear," no matter what she happened to be thinking at the time. Part of State Street had been wished on to Willoughby. He was afraid to sell, not knowing how to reinvest. So he sat back and played safe. With growing Delight he watched the Unearned Increment piling up on every Corner. He began to see that he would be fairly busy all his life, jacking up Rents. The Red-Brick Fortress to which he conducted Frances had Stone Steps in front and a secret Entrance for lowly Trades-people at the rear. Willoughby and his wife had the high courage of Youth and the Financial Support of all the Money Spenders along State Street, so they started in on Period Decoration. Each Room in the House was supposed to stand for a Period. Some of them stood for a good deal. A few of the Periods looked like Exclamation Points. The young couple disregarded the Toll-Gate Period and the Log-Cabin Period, but they worked in every one of the Louies until the Gilt Furniture gave out. The delighted Caller at the House beside the Lake would pass from an East Indian Corridor through an Early Colonial Ante-Room into a Japanese Boudoir and, after resting his Hat, would be escorted into the Italian Renaissance Drawing-Room to meet the Hostess. From this exquisite Apartment, which ate up one year's Rent of a popular Buffet near Van Buren Street, there could be obtained a ravishing glimpse of the Turkish Cozy Corner beyond, including the Battle-Axes and the Red Lamp. Frances soon began to hob-nob with the most delicatessen Circles, including Families that dated back to the Fire of 1871. She was not at all Dizzy, even when she looked down from the Mountain Peak at her happy Birthplace, 15,000 feet below. Willoughby turned out to be a satisfactory Housemate. His Voltage was not high, but he always ate Peas with a Fork and never pulled at the Leash when taken to a Musicale. In front of each Ear he carried a neat Area of Human Ivy, so that he could speak up at a Meeting of Directors. Until the year 1895, the restricted Side-Whisker was an accepted Trade-Mark of Commercial Probity. This facial Landscaping, the Frock Coat, and a steadfast devotion to Toilet Soap made him suitable for Exhibition Purposes. Frances became almost fond of him, after the Honeymoon evaporated and their Romance ripened into Acquaintanceship. It was a gladsome day for both when she traced the Dope back through Swigget County, Pennsylvania, and discovered that she was an honest-to-goodness Daughter of the American Revolution. Willoughby could not ask a representative of good old Colonial Stock to ride around in a stingy Coupé with a Coon planted out on the Weather-Seat. He changed the Terms in several Leases and was enabled to slip her a hot Surprise on the Birthday. When she came down the Steps for the usual bowl along the Avenue, so as to get some Fresh Smoke, she beheld a rubber-tired Victoria, drawn by two expensive Bang-Tails in jingly Harness and surmounted by important Turks in overwhelming Livery. She was so trancified with Delight that she went right over to Willoughby and gave him a Sweet Kiss, after looking about rather carefully for the exposed portion of the Frontispiece. Frances did a lot of Calling within the next two weeks, and to all those who remarked upon the Smartness of the Equipage, she declared that the Man she had to put up with carried a Throbbing Heart even if he was an Intellectual Midget. In the year 1913, a slender Young Thing, all of whose Habiliments seemed melting and dripping downward, came wearily from Stateroom B as the Train pulled into Reno, Nevada. She seemed quite alone, except for a couple of Maids. After she had given Directions concerning the nine Wardrobe Trunks and the Live Stock, she was motored to a specially reserved Cottage at the corner of Liberty Street and Hope Avenue. Next day she sat at the other side of a Table from a Lawyer, removing the poisoned Javelins from her fragile Person and holding them up before the shuddering Shyster. She had a Tale of Woe calculated to pulp a Heart of Stone. In blocking out the Affidavit, her sympathetic Attorney made Pencil Notes as follows: Her name was Ethel Louise, favorite Daughter of Willoughby and Frances, the well-known Blue-Bloods of the Western Metropolis. She had finished off at Miss Sniffie's exclusive School, which overlooks the Hudson and the Common School Branches. After she learned to enter a Ball-Room and while on her way to attack Europe for the third time, the Viper crossed her Pathway. She accepted him because his name was Hubert, he looked like an Englishman, and one of his Ancestors turned the water into Chesapeake Bay. While some of the Wedding Guests were still in the Hospital, he began to practice the most diabolical Cruelties. He induced her to get on his Yacht and go cruising through the Mediterranean when she wanted to take an Apartment in Paris. At Monte Carlo he scolded her for borrowing 3000 Francs from a Russian Grand Duke after she went broke at bucking the Wheel. She had met the Duke at a Luncheon the day before and his Manners were perfect. The Lawyer said that Hubert was a Pup, beyond all Cavil. Cairo, Egypt, yielded up another Dark Chapter of History. It came out in the sobbing Recital that Hubert had presented her with a $900 prize-winning Pomeranian, directly related to the famous Fifi, owned by the Countess Skidoogan of Bilcarty. Later on, he seemed to feel that the Pomeranian had come between him and Ethel. The Situation became more and more tense, and finally, one day in Egypt, within plain sight of the majestic Pyramids, he kicked Precious ever so hard and raised quite a Swelling. The Legal Adviser said Death was too good for such a Fiend. In Vienna, though, that was where he went so far that Separation became inevitable. Ethel had decided to take an $80,000 Pearl Necklace she had seen in a Window. It was easily worth that much, and she felt sure she could get it in without paying Duty. She had been very successful at bringing things Home. She could hardly believe her Ears when Hubert told her to forget it and back up and come out of the Spirit World and alight on the Planet Earth. He had been Heartless on previous Occasions, but this was the first time he had been Mean enough to renig on a mere side-issue such as coming across with the Loose Change. Ethel was simply de-termined to have that Necklace, but the unfeeling Whelp tried to kid her out of the Notion. Then he started in to Pike. He suggested a $20,000 Tarara of Rubies and Diamonds as a Compromise. Ethel became wise to the fact that she had joined out with a Wad. While she was pulling a daily Sick Headache in the hope of bringing him to Taw, the Maharajah of Umslopagus came along and bought the Necklace. That was when Ethel had to be taken to a Rest Cure in the Austrian Tyrol, and she never had been the Same Woman since. To all who had come pleading for Reconciliation, Ethel had simply hung out the Card, "Nothing Doing." After a Brute has jumped up and down on the Aching Heart of a Girl of proud Lineage he can't square himself in 1,000,000 years. So said Ethel, between the flowing Tears. Furthermore, there had been hopeless Incompatibility. In all the time they were together, they never had been able to agree on a Turkish Cigarette. The professional Home-Blaster said she had enough on Hubert to get her four Divorces. The Decree would be a Pipe. Ethel said she hoped so and to please push it along, as she had quite a Waiting-List. MORAL: Rufus had no business buying the Clock. THE NEW FABLE OF THE SCOFFER WHO FELL HARD AND THE WOMAN SITTING BY One day in the pink dawn of the present Century, a man with his Hair neatly set back around the Ears and the usual Blood Pressure was whizzing through a suburban Lonesomeness on a teetering Trolley. The name of the man was Mr. Pallzey. He had a desk with a Concern that did merchandizing in a large way. Mr. Pallzey feared Socialism and carried his Wife's Picture in his Watch and wore Plasters. In other words, he was Normal, believing nearly everything that appeared in the Papers. While the Dog-Fennel was softly brushing the Foot-Board and the Motor was purring consistently beneath, Mr. Pallzey looked over into a close-cropped Pasture and became the alert Eye-Witness of some very weird Doings. He saw a pop-eyed Person in soiled Négligé, who made threatening movements toward something concealed in the White Clover, with a Weapon resembling the iron Dingus used in gouging the Clinkers from a Furnace. "What is the plot of the Piece?" he inquired of a Grand Army man, sitting next. "I think," replied the Veteran, "I think he is killing a Garter Snake." "Oh, no," spoke up the conversational Conductor, "He is playing Golluf," giving the word the Terre Haute pronunciation. Mr. Pallzey looked with pity on the poor Nut who was out in the Hot Sun, getting himself all lathered up with One-Man Shinny. He said to G. A. R. that it took all kinds of People to make a World. The grizzled Warrior rose to an equal Altitude by remarking that if the dag-goned Loon had to do it for a Living, he'd think it was Work. Mr. Pallzey had heard of the new Diversion for the Idle Rich, just as people out in the Country hear of Milk-Sickness or falling Meteors, both well authenticated but never encountered. While rummaging through the Sporting Page, he would come across a cryptic Reference to MacFearson of Drumtochtie being 3 up and 2 to play on Hargis of Sunset Ho, whereupon he would experience a sense of annoyance and do a quick Hurdle. He had seen in various Shop-Windows the spindly Utensils and snowy Pellets which, he had reason to believe, were affiliated in some way with the sickening Fad. He would look at them with extreme Contempt and rather resent their contaminating contiguity to the Mask, the Shin-Guard, and the upholstered Grabber. Mr. Pallzey believed that Golf was played by the kind of White Rabbits who March in Suffrage Parades, wearing Gloves. The dreaded Thing lay outside of his Orbit and beyond his Ken, the same as Tatting or Biology. His conception of a keen and sporty game was Pin Pool or Jacks Only with the Deuce running wild. One Sunday he was invited out to a Food Saturnalia at a Country Place. The Dinner was postponed until late in the Day because they all dreaded it so much. Friend Host said he had a twosome on at the Club and was trying out an imported Cleek, so he invited Mr. Pallzey to be a Spectator. If he had said that he was going up in a Balloon to hemstitch a couple of Clouds, it would have sounded just as plausible to Mr. Pallzey of the Wholesale District. The latter went along, just out of Politeness, but he was a good deal disappointed in his Friend. It certainly did seem trifling for a Huskie weighing one hundred and eighty to pick on something about the size of a Robin's Egg. Mr. Pallzey played Gallery all around the Course. He would stand behind them at the Tee and smile in a most calm and superior Manner while they sand-shuffled and shifted and jiggled and joggled and went through the whole calisthenic Ritual of St. Vitus. He was surprised to note how far the Ball would speed when properly spanked, but he thought there was no valid excuse for overrunning on the Approaches. Mr. Pallzey found himself criticizing the Form of the Players. That should have been his Cue to climb the Fence. All of the Mashiemaniacs start on the downward Path by making Mind-Plays and getting under Bogey. Back on the sloping Sward between No. 18 and the Life-Saving Station, the two Contestants were holding the usual Post-Mortem. "Let me see that Dewflicker a minute," said Mr. Pallzey, as he carelessly extracted a Mid-iron. He sauntered up to the silly Globule and look an unpremeditated Swipe. The Stroke rang sweet and vibrant. The ball rose in parabolic Splendor above the highest branches of a venerable Elm. Just as the Face of the Club started on the Follow Through, the Bacillus ran up and bit Mr. Pallzey on the Leg. He saw the blinking White Spot far out on the emerald Plain. He heard the murmur of Admiration behind him. He was sorry his Wife had not been there to take it in. "Leave me have another Ball," requested Mr. Pallzey. The Virus was working. He backed up so as to get a Running Start. "This time," quoth Mr. Pallzey, "I will push it to Milwaukee." Missing the Object of Attack by a scant six inches, he did a Genée toe-spin and fell heavily with his Face among the Dandelions. The Host brushed him off and said: "Your Stance was wrong; your Tee was too high; you raised the Left Shoulder; you were too rapid on the Come-Back; the Grip was all in the Left Hand; you looked up; you moved your Head at the top of the Stroke; you allowed the Left Knee to turn, and you stood ahead of the Ball. Otherwise, it was a Loo-Loo." "If I come out next Sunday could you borrow me a Kit of Tools?" asked Mr. Pallzey. He was twitching violently and looking at the Ball as if it had called him a Name. "I got that first one all right, and I think----" So it was arranged that the poor doomed Creature was to appear on the following Sabbath and be equipped with a set of Cast-Offs and learn all about the Mystery of the Ages between 11 A.M. and 2 P.M. Mr. Pallzey went away not knowing that he was a Marked Man. On Monday he told the Stenographer how he stung the Ball the first time up. He said he was naturally quick at picking up any kind of a Game. He thought it would be a Lark to get the hang of the Whole Business and then get after some of those Berties in the White Pants. He figured that Golf would be soft for any one who had played Baseball when young. Truly all the raving is not done within the Padded Cells. He came home in the Sabbath Twilight, walking on his Ankles and babbling about a Dandy Drive for the Long Hole. Regarding the other 378 Strokes he was discreetly silent. He told his Wife there was more in it than one would suppose. The Easier the Swat, the greater the Carry. And he had made one Hole in seven. Then he took a Parasol out of the Jar, and illustrated the famous Long Drive with Moving Pictures, Tableaux, Delsarte, and some newly acquired technical Drivel, which he mouthed with childish Delight. Now we see him buying Clubs, although he refers to them as Sticks--proving that he is still a groping Neophyte. He thinks that a shorter Shaft and more of a Lay-Back will enable him to drive a Mile. The Gooseneck Putter will save him two on every Hole. Also, will the Man please show him an Iron guaranteed to reach all the way down to the Dimple and plunk it right in the Eye. Then all of the new Implements laid out at Home and Wife sitting back, listening to a Lecture as to what will be pulled off on the succeeding Day of Rest. She had promised at the Altar to Love, Honor, and Listen. Still, it was trying to see the once-loved Adult cavorting on the verge of Dementia and know that she was helpless. He sallied forth with those going to Early Mass, and returned at the Vesper Hour caked with Dust and 98 per cent. gone in the Turret. It seems that at the sixth hole on the Last Round where you cross the Crick twice, he fell down and broke both Arms and both Legs. So he tore up the Medal Score, gave all the Clubs to the Caddy, and standing on the grassy Summit of the tall Ridge guarding the Bunker, he had lifted a grimy Paw and uttered the Vow of Renunciation. [Illustration: He tore up the Medal Score, gave all the Clubs to the Caddy ... lifted a grimy Paw and uttered the Vow of Renunciation] In other words, he was Through. The senile Wrecks and the prattling Juveniles, for whom the Game was invented, could have his Part of it for all time. Never again would he walk on the Grass or cook his Arms or dribble Sand all over the dark and trampled Ground where countless Good Men had suffered. No, Indeed! So next day he bought all the Paraphernalia known to the Trade, and his name was put up at a Club. It was one of those regular and sure-enough Clubs. High East Winds prevailed in the Locker-Room. Every member was a Chick Evans when he got back to the nineteenth hole. Mr. Pallzey now began to regard the Ancient and Honorable Pastime as a compendium of Sacraments, Ordeals, Incantations, and Ceremonial Formalities. He resigned himself into the Custody of a professional Laddie with large staring Knuckles and a Dialect that dimmed all the memories of Lauder. In a short time the Form was classy, but the Score had to be taken out and buried after every Round. Mr. Pallzey saw that this Mundane Existence was not all Pleasure. He had found his Life-Work. The Lode-Star of his declining Years would be an even one hundred for the eighteen Flags. Wife would see him out in the Street, feeling his way along, totally unmindful of his Whereabouts. She would lead him into the Shade, snap her Fingers, call his Name, and gradually pull him out of the Trance. He would look at her with a filmy Gaze and smile faintly, as if partly remembering and then say: "Don't forget to follow through. Keep the head down--tight with the left--no hunching--pivot on the hips. For a Cuppy Lie, take the Nib. If running up with the Jigger, drop her dead. The full St. Andrews should not be thrown into a Putt. Never up, never in. Lift the flag. Take a pickout from Casual Water but play the Roadways. To overcome Slicing or Pulling, advance the right or left Foot. Schlaffing and Socketing may be avoided by adding a hook with a top-spin or _vice versa_. The Man says there are twenty-six Things to be remembered in Driving from the Tee. One is Stance. I forget the other twenty-five." Then the Partner of his Joys and Sorrows, with the accent on the Debit Side, would shoot twenty Grains of Asperin into him and plant him in the Flax. Next morning at Breakfast he would break it to her that the Brassie had developed too much of a Whip and he had decided to try a forty-inch Shaft. They had Seasoned Hickory for Breakfast, Bunkers for Luncheon, and the Fair Green for Dinner. As a matter of course they had to give up their comfortable Home among the Friends who had got used to them and move out to a strawboard Bungalow so as to be near the Execution Grounds. Mrs. Pallzey wanted to do the White Mountains, but Mr. Pallzey needed her. He wanted her to be waiting on the Veranda at Dusk, so that he could tell her all about it, from the preliminary Address to the final Foozle. Sometimes he would come home enveloped in a foglike Silence which would last beyond early Candle Lighting, when he would express the Opinion that the Administration at Washington had proved a Failure. Perhaps the very next Evening he would lope all the way up the Gravel and breeze into her presence, smelling like a warm gust of Air from Dundee. He would ask her to throw an Amber Light on the Big Hero. He would call her "Kid" and say that Vardon had nothing on him. Her man was the Gink to show that Pill how to take a Joke. Then she would know that he had won a Box of Balls from Mrs. Talbot's poor old crippled Father-in-Law. She could read him like a Barometer. If he and Mr. Hilgus, the Real Estate Man, came home together fifteen feet apart, she would know it had been a Jolly Day on the Links. By the second summer, Mr. Pallzey had worked up until he was allowed to use a Shower Bath once hallowed by the presence of Jerome Travers. He was not exactly a Duffer. He was what might be called a sub-Duffer, or Varnish, which means that the Committee was ashamed to mark up the Handicap. He still had a good many superfluous Hands and Feet and was bleeding freely on every Green. Sometimes he would last as far as the Water-Hazard and then sink with a Bubbling Cry. Notwithstanding which, he kept on trying to look like the Photographs of Ouimet. If he spun into the High Spinach off at the Right it was Tough Luck. If he whanged away with a Niblick down in a bottomless Pit, caromed on a couple of Oaks, and finally angled off toward the Cup, he would go around for Days talking about Some Shot. As his Ambition increased, his Mental Arithmetic became more and more defective and his Moral Nature was wholly atrophied. As an Exponent of the more advanced Play he was a Fliv, but as a Matchmaker he was a Hum-Dinger. He knew he was plain pastry for the Sharks, so he would hang around the first Tee waiting to cop out a Pudding. One day he took on Mrs. Olmstead's Infant Son, just home from Military School. The tender Cadet nursed him along to an even-up at the Punch-Bowl and then proceeded to smear His vital Organs all over the Bad Lands. That evening Mr. Pallzey told her she would have to cut down on Household Expenses. Six years after he gave up the Business Career and consecrated himself to something more Important, Mr. Pallzey had so well mastered the baffling Intricacies that he was allowed to trail in a Foursome with the President of the Club. This happened once. It is well known that any Person who mooches around a Country Club for a sufficient Period will have some kind of a Cup wished on to him. Fourteen years after Mr. Pallzey threw himself into it, Heart and Soul, and when the Expenses approximated $30,000, he earned his Halo. One evening he came back to his haggard Companion, chortling infant-wise, and displayed something which looked like an Eye-Cup with Handles on it. He said it was a Trophy. It was a Consolation Offering for Maidens with an allowance of more than eighteen. After that their daily Life revolved around the $2 bargain in Britannia. Mrs. Pallzey had to use Metal Polish on it to keep it from turning black. When the Visitors lined up in front of the Mantel and gazed at the tiny Shaving Mug, the Cellar Champion of the World would regale them with the story of hair-breadth 'Scapes and moving Adventures by Gravel Gulleys and rushing Streams on the Memorable Day when he (Pallzey) had put the Blocks to Old Man McLaughlin, since deceased. Then he would ask all present to feel of his Forearm, after which he would pull the Favorite One about Golf adding ten years to his life. Mrs. Pallzey would be sitting back, pouring Tea, but she never chimed in with any Estimate as to what had been the effect on her Table of Expectations. MORAL: Remain under the Awning. THE NEW FABLE OF THE LONESOME CAMP ON THE FROZEN HEIGHTS Elam was the main Whizzer in a huddle of Queen Annes, bounded on the North by a gleaming Cemetery, on the East by a limping subdivision, on the South by a deserted Creamery, and on the West by an expanse of Stubble. Claudine was the other two-thirds of the Specialty. She was a snappy little Trick and it was a dull hour of the Day or Night when she couldn't frame up a new General Order for the Breadwinner. The Marriage came off during the third summer of her twenty-seventh year. She accepted Elam about a week before he proposed to her, thus simplifying the Ordeal. While the Wafer on the License was still warm, she put on her spangled Suit, moved to the centre of the Ring, and cracked the Whip. After that Elam continued to be a Hellion around the Office, but in his private Quarters he was merely Otto, the Trained Seal. Claudine could make him Bark, play the Cymbals, or go back to the Blue Bench. There is one Elam in every Settlement. All the wise Paper-hangers and the fly Guitar Players had him marked up as a Noodle, but somehow, every time the winning Numbers were hung out, he would be found in Line, waiting to Cash. He was not Bright enough to do anything except garner the Gold Certificates. Elam had no Ear for Music, and, coming out of the Opera House, never could remember the name of the Play or which one of the Burglars was the real Hero. His Reading was confined to the Headlines of a conservative Paper which was still printing War News. Baseball had not come into his Life whatsoever. A cultured Steno, who knew about George Meredith and Arnold Bennett, had to do his Spelling for him at 14 Bucks per. The Cerebellum of Elam was probably about the dimensions of a Malaga Grape. Sizing him by his Looks, one would have opined that Nature meant him for a Ticket-taker in a suburban Cinema Palace. Elam was a mental Gnat and a spiritual Microbe, but the Geezer knew how to annex the Kale. When Providence is directing the Hand-outs, she very often slips some Squarehead the canny Gift of corraling the Cush, but holds out all of the desirable Attributes supposed to distinguish Man from what you see in the Cages at the Zoo. After the Pater had earned his Shaft in the Cemetery, Elam became the Loud Noise around a dinky Manufacturing Plant down by the Yards. The Cracker Barrel Coterie and all the Old Ladies who had become muscle-bound from wielding the Sledge predicted that Elam would put the Organization into the Ditch, wrong side up. The Well-wishers, the Brotherly Lovers, and the total membership of the Helping Hand Society sat back waiting for Elam to be dug out of the Débris, so they could collect Witness Fees at the Autopsy. The Junior earned their abiding Dislike by putting one across. He made the Fossils sit up in their padded Rocking Chairs and pay some attention to the Idiot Child. He never could hold down any Position until tried out for a Captain of Industry and then he began to Bat 450 and Field 998. After the dusty Workmen had manufactured the Product, and the Salesmen had unloaded it, and the Collectors had brought in the Dinero, then Elam had to sit at a Mahogany Desk with a Picture of Claudine in front of him, and figure how much of the hard-earned Mazuma would be doled out to his greedy Employees. Sometimes he would be compelled to fork over nearly half of the Gross, whereupon his Heart would ache and he would become Morose. In a few Years he had a lot of new Buildings, with Skylights and improved Machinery and all sorts of humane Appliances to enable the Working Force to increase the Output. As the Bank Account expanded and the Happy Couple found themselves going up, Claudine began to scan the Horizon and act restless-like. She said the Home Town was Impossible. It certainly did seem Contrary to Reason. Any Woman with a salaried Husband could bust into Society if she sang in a Choir or owned an Ice-cream Freezer. Claudine was for migrating to some high-toned Community beyond the Rising Sun, where she could sit in Marble Halls and compare Jewelry with proud Duennas of her own Station. Seeing Claudine at the corner of 8th and Central, waiting for the Open Car, one would not have suspected that she harbored Intentions on the Court Circles of Europe. One would merely have guessed that she was on her way to the Drug Store to purchase much Camphor. But she had taken a peek at the Palm Rooms and the powdered Lackeys and the Tea Riot at the Plaza, and she was panting inwardly. She wanted to hang a silver Bell around her neck and go galloping with the white-faced Thoroughbreds. It was no good trying to work up Speed on a half-mile track in the Prairie Loam. Once in a while Claudine made a bold Sashay to start something devilish, but the Fillies trained on the Farm did not seem gaited for the Grand Circuit. As for the Servant Problem, it was something ferocious. City Help could not be lured to the Tall Grass, and all the Locals had been schooled at the Railway Eating-House. Elam and Claudine had a Cook named Gusta, born somewhere near the Arctic Circle in Europe. Her fried Chicken drowned in thick Gravy came under the head of Regular Food. She could turn out Waffles as long as there was a Customer in sight. The Biscuit on which she specialized were light as Down. The Things she fixed to Eat were Fine and Dandy but she never had heard of a Cuisine. When you took her away from regular Chow and made her tackle something Casserole or En Tasse, she blew. Also there was a Maid who should have belonged to the Stevedores' Union. She could pack Victuals in from the Buttery and slam them down on the Table, à la Commercial Hotel, but when it came to building up an intricate Design with an ingrowing Napkin, three spoons, four Knives, five forks, and all the long-stemmed Glasses, to say nothing of an artful pyramiding of Cut Flowers around the Candelabra, then she was simply a female Blacksmith. Claudine would throw a Dinner once in a while, just to subdue the Wife and Daughter of the National Bank, but the Crew would nearly always crab the Entertainment. With the Support accorded by the solid ivory Staff, she had a fat Chance to give a correct Imitation of Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish. All during the nine Courses she had to yelp more Orders than the Foreman of a Street Gang. A Megaphone would have helped some. The Hostess who wishes to look and carry on like a Duchess, certainly finds it vexing when pop-eyed Lizzie leans against all of the principal Guests in turn and then endeavors to shoot the Episcopalian Rector in the Neck with a gush of real Champagne. After one of these sad Affairs, at which the Rummies had balled up the whole Menu, Claudine came to the front with an Ultimatum. She said she was going to can the awful Birthplace and spend the remainder of her Natural among the real Rowdy-Dows. "Right-o, Babe!" spoke up Elam. "To-day I have put the Works into a new Combine which makes me a Janitor so far as the Plant is concerned, but boosts me into the Charley Schwab division when it comes to Collateral. I have three million Iron Boys and most of it is Turkey. I am foot-loose and free as a Robin. Let us beat it to the Big Show. It is about time that the vast Territory lying toward the East should be aroused from its Lethargy. Go as far as you like." The two were foxy. For monetary and real-estate Reasons they did not give it out cold that they were making a final Getaway. They planned to have Gusta remain at the dear old Dump as a Caretaker, but it was merely a Bluff. When the Town Hack followed a Wagon-Load of Trunks to the Depot, Claudine leaned out and said: "Fare thee well, O you Indian Village! This is the Parting of the Ways for little Sunshine." Next we see them in the gaudy Diner, eating Sweetbreads. Next day thousands of warm-hearted New Yorkers were packed along the Water Front all the Way from the Battery to Grant's Tomb, giving royal Welcome to the Corn-fed Pilgrims. At any rate, they were Packed. When Elam and Claudine entered the Hotel, the discerning Bell-hops had them stand back until the others had registered. They were Important but they did not carry any Signs. Elam should have worn the Letter of Credit on the outside. After they had taken the Imperial Suite and invited all the Servants on the Twelfth Floor to a Silver Shower, they found that the Call-Bells worked fine. If Elam moved in the general direction of a Button, a handsome West Pointer would flit in with a pitcher of Iced Water and then hover around for his Bit. Both realized that the first requisite was a lot of new Scenery. Even when they rapped sharply with a Spoon and ordered Garçon to hurry up the Little Birds with a Flagon of St. Regis Bubbles to come along as a Drench, they realized that they did not look the Parts. Elam still combed his Hair in the style approved by the "Barbers' Guide and Manual" for 1887. Claudine was fully clothed as far up as her Neck and didn't have the Nerve to hoist the Lorgnette. Elam went out and had himself draped by a swagger Tailor who was said to do a lot of Work for the Vanderbilt Boys. In his Afternoon Wear he resembled the Manager of a Black-Goods Department. After donning the complete Soup and Fish, known in swozzey circles as Thirteen and the Odd, he didn't look as much like a Waiter as one might have supposed. He looked more like the 'Bus who takes away the Dishes. Claudine yielded herself up to a Modiste. The Good Woman from out of Town was a trifle Long in the Tooth at this stage of our Narrative, but Mme. Bunk convinced her that she was about half way between the Trundle Bed and her First Party. She ordered all the Chic Novelties recommended for Flappers, so that Elam began to walk about ten feet behind her, wondering vaguely if his Family was still respectable. The new Harness and a careless habit of counting Money in Public soon gave them an enviable Reputation in the principal Cafés, although they could not observe that they were moving any nearer to the Newport Colony. The shift from Pig's Knuckles to Ambrosia and Nectar had been a little sudden for Elam, and sometimes, when they were darting hither and thither, from Road-House to Play-House and thence to the Louis XIV Sitting-Room by way of the Tango-Joint, he would moan a little and act like a Quitter. Whereupon Claudine would jack him up and tell him to pull out his Cuffs and push back the Forelock and try to be Human. No use. He was strictly Ritz-Carlton from the Pumps to the Topper, but the word "Boob" was plainly stenciled on the glossy Front. When they had conquered all the Eating-Places in the Tenderloin they moved on to Europe, where they were just as welcome as Influenza. It was great to sit in the Savoy at the Supper Hour, surrounded by the best known people mentioned in the Court Circulars. It was indeed a privilege for Elam and Claudine to be among the British Cousins, even if the British Cousins did not seem to place Elam and Claudine. Looking in any direction they could see naught but frosty and forbidding Shoulder Blades. After partaking of their Sole and Grouse and winning a pleasant "Good-Night" from the Chevalier in the Check-Room, they would escape to their Apartments and talk to the Dog. In Paris they did better. They learned that by going out on the Boulevard and whistling, they could summon a whole Regiment of high-born and patrician Down-and-Outers. Most of the Titles were slightly worm-eaten and spotted with Scale, but nevertheless Genuine. It was Nuts for Claudine to assemble all of the Noblemen to be picked up around the Lobby and give them a free run and jump at the Carte du Jour. Her Dinners soon became the talk of the Chambermaids employed at the Hotel. Any one willing to cut loose on Caviar and stuff raised under Glass will never have to dine alone in gay Paree. Whenever Elam made a noise like 1000 Frongs he found a lot of well-bred Connoisseurs at his Elbow, all ready to have something unusual brought up from the Cellar. The securing of an Invitation to one of Claudine's formal Dinners was almost as difficult as getting into Luna Park. However, the list of guests sounded Real when sent back to America and printed for the entertainment of persons living in Boarding-Houses. Claudine became slightly puffed. When she found herself between a couple of perfumed Lads wearing Medals she would give Friend Husband the Office to move to one side and curl up in the Grass and not ruin the Ensemble by butting in. Elam was usually at the foot of the Table behind a mass of Orchids. Once in a while he would try to crowd into the Conversation just to let them know that old Ready Money was still present, but every time he came up Dearie would do her blamedest to Bean him and put him out of the Game. Claudine could make a stab at the new Pictures in the Salon and even run nimbly around the edge of the Futurist vogue. Elam was ready to discuss Steamship Lines or Railway Accommodations, but when he was put against the Tall Brows he began to burn low and smell of the Wick. Often, when surfeited with Truffles, he would wonder what had become of the Green Corn, the K. and K., the regular Chicken with Giblets, the Hot Cherry Pie, the smoking Oyster Stew, and the Smearcase with Chives, such as Gusta used to send in. These reminders of a lowly Past were very distasteful to Claudine. Once he talked in his Sleep about Codfish Balls, and next morning she lit on him something ramfugious. After the Parisian triumphs it seemed a safe bet to return home and make a new effort to mingle with the Face-Cards. This time they took a House in New York and went after Grand Opera as if they knew what it was about. The Son of an Earl consented to Buttle for them. He refused them Butter with their Meals and kept them trembling most of the time, but they determined to do things Right, even if both died of Nervous Prostration. When they began making real Headway and were recognized in the Park by some of the Headliners, Claudine would chide Elam for his early Doubts and Fears. "This has got the Middle West skinned forty ways from the Jack," she would exclaim, gayly, as they motored up the Avenue. "Me for the White Lights! It's a good thing you had a Pacemaker or you would now be wearing detachable Cuffs and putting Sugar on your Lettuce." Two years had elapsed since the escape from being Buried Alive. They were, to all outward appearances, City-broke. One day Claudine allowed that she was tired of Bridge and the gay Routine. She announced that she was slipping away to Virginia Hot Springs to cool off and rest. Elam said that while she was lying up, he would inspect certain Mining Properties in Canada. He drove Honey to the train, then he tore back to the palatial Home, chucked a few Props into a Suit Case and headed for the Grand Central. He never stopped going until he ducked in the Back Way, through the Grape Arbor, past the Woodshed, into the Kitchen of the old Homestead in which he first saw the Light of Day. Gusta nearly keeled when she lamped the long-lost Boss. "Get busy," he said. "One fried Steak, the size of a Lap-Robe, smothered with Onions, two dozen Biscuits without any Armor Plate, one bushel of home-made Pork and Beans, much Butter, and a Gallon of Coffee in a Tureen." "You will have to wait a while," said the faithful Gusta. "There is a double order of Ham and Turnips ahead of you. While you are waiting you might go up and call on the Missus. She has put on her old Blue Wrapper and the Yarn Slippers and is now lying on a Feather Tick in the Spare Room." MORAL: The only City People are those born so. THE NEW FABLE OF THE MARATHON IN THE MUD AND THE LAUREL WREATH A stub-nosed Primary Pupil, richly endowed with old-gold Freckles, lived in a one-cylinder Town, far from the corroding influences of the Stock Exchange. He arrived during the age of Board Sidewalks, Congress Gaiters, and Pie for Breakfast. The Paper Collar, unmindful of the approaching Celluloid, was still affected by the more tony Dressers. Prison-made Bow Ties, with the handy elastic Fastener, were then considered right Natty. Limousines, Eugenics, Appendicitis, and the regulation of Combines were beyond the rise of the Hill, so the talk was mostly about the Weather and Married Women. The baptismal Cognomen of the mottled Offspring was Alexander Campbell Purvis, but on account of his sunny Disposition he was known to the Countryside as Aleck. One morning the Lad did his crawl from under the Quilt at an hour when our Best People of the new Century are sending away the empty Siphons. He was acting on a Hunch. The far-famed Yankee Robinson show, with the Trick Mule and the smiling Tumblers, had exhibited the day before on the vacant Lot between the Grist-Mill and the Parsonage. Aleck was familiar with the juvenile Tradition that Treasure could be discovered at or near the trampled Spot on which the Ticket-Wagon had been anchored. It was known that the agitated Yahoos from up in the Catfish Country were likely to fumble and spill their saved-up Currency, thereby avoiding the trouble of handing it over to the Grafters later on. Aleck was the first Prospector to show. He got busy and uncovered a Silver Buck. It looked about the size of a Ferris Wheel. While beating it for the parental Roof he began laying out in his Mind all the Pleasures of the Flesh that he could command with the Mass of Lucre. The miscue he made was to flash his Fortune in the Family Circle. After breakfast he found himself being steered to the Farmers & Merchants' Bank. He was pried away from the Cart-Wheel and given a teeny little Book which showed that he was a Depositor. "Now, Alexander C.," said his Ma, "if you will shin up the ladder and pick Cherries every day this week at two cents per Quart, by nightfall of Saturday you will have another Case-Note to put into Cold Storage." "But, if I continue dropping the proceeds of my Labor into the Reservoir, what is there in it for me?" asked the inquisitive Chick. His mother replied, "Why, you will have the Gratification of moving up to the Window at the Bank and earning a Smile of Approbation from old Mr. Fishberry with the Throat Whiskers." So the aspiring Manikin clung to the perilous Tree-Tops day after day, dropping the ruby Cherries into the suspended Bucket, while all of the Relatives stood on the ground and applauded. One day there was a Conference and it was discovered that little Aleck was solvent to the extent of $2.80. "Would it not be Rayzorius?" queried the Sire of Alexander; "would it not be Ipskalene if Aleck kept on and on until he had assembled five whole Dollars?" Thus spurred to Endeavor by a large and rooting Gallery, the Urchin went prowling for Old Iron, which he trundled off to the Junkman. Also for empty Bottles, which he laboriously scoured and delivered at the Drug Store for a mere dribble of Chicken Feed. The sheet of Copper brought a tidy Sum, while old Mrs. Arbuckle wondered what had become of her Wash-Boiler. With a V to his Credit, Aleck put a Padlock on every Pocket in his Store Suit and went Money-Mad. He acquired a Runt and swilled it with solicitude until the Butcher made him an offer. It was a proud Moment when he eased in the $7.60 to T. W. Fishberry, who told him to keep on scrouging and some day he would own a share in the Building & Loan. Our Hero fooled away his time in School until he was all of eleven years old, when he became associated with one Blodgett in the Grocery Business, at a weekly Insult of Two Bones. All the time Aleck was cleaning the Coal-Oil Lamps or watching the New Orleans Syrup trickle into the Jug, he was figuring how much of the Stipend he could segregate and isolate and set aside for the venerable Mr. Fishberry, the Taker-In up at the Bank with the Chinchilla on the Larynx. For ten long years the White Slave tested Eggs and scooped the C Sugar. When Aleck became of Age, Mr. Blodgett was compelling him to take $30 the first of every month. He lived on Snowballs in the Winter and Dandelions in the Summer, but he had paid $800 on a two-story Brick facing Railroad Street. His name was a Byword and Hissing among the Pool-Players. Nevertheless, he stood Ace High with the old Two-per-cent-a Month up at the Abattoir known as the Farmers & Merchants' Bank. The Boys who dropped in every thirty Days came to know him as a Wise Fish and a Close Buyer. They boosted at Headquarters, so the first thing you know Aleck was a Drummer, with two Grips bigger than Dog-Houses and a chance to swing on the Expense Account. A lowly and unsung Wanamaker would be sitting in his Prunery, wearing Yarn Wristlets to keep warm and meditating another Attack on the Bottle of Stomach Bitters in the Safe, when Aleck would breeze in and light on him and sell him several Gross of something he didn't need. The Traveling Salesman dug up many a Cross-Roads overlooked by the Map-Makers. He knew how to pin a Rube against the Wall and make him say "Yes." He rode in Cabooses, fought the Roller-Towels, endured the Taunts of Ess, Bess, and Tess who shot the Sody Biscuit, and reclined in the Chamber of Horrors, entirely surrounded by Wall-Paper, but what cared he? He was salting the Spon. He was closing in on the Needful. For a term of years he lived on Time-Tables and slept sitting up. Day after day he dog-trotted through a feverish Routine of unpacking and packing, and then climbing back to the superheated Day Coach among the curdled Smells. Every January 1st he did a Gaspard Chuckle when he checked up the total Get, for now he owned two Brick Buildings and had tasted a little Blood in the way of Chattel Mortgages. One of the partners in the Jobbing Concern happened to die. Before Rigor Mortis could set in or the Undertaker had time to flash a Tape Measure, Aleck was up at the grief-stricken Home to cop out an Option on the Interest. Now he could give the Cackle to all the Knights of the Road who had blown their Substance along the gay White Ways of Crawfordsville, Bucyrus, and Sedalia. He was the real Gazook with a Glass Cage, a sliding Desk and a whole Battery of Rubber Stamps. In order to learn every Kink of the Game, freeze out the other Holders of Stock and gradually possess himself of all the Money in the World, Aleck now found it necessary to organize himself into both a Day and a Night Shift and have his Lunches brought in. The various Smoothenheimers who were out on the Road had a proud chance to get by with the padded Expense Account. Aleck could smell a Phoney before he opened the Envelope, because that is how he got His. With a three-ton Burden on his aching Shoulders, he staggered up the flinty Incline. Away back yonder, while sleeping above the Store, a vision had come to him. He saw himself sitting as a Director at a Bank Meeting--an enlarged and glorified Fishberry. Now he was playing Fox and pulling for the Dream to work out. The cold-eyed Custodians up at the main Fortress of Credit began to take notice of the Rustler. He was a Glutton for Punishment, a Discounter from away back, and a Demon for applying the Acid Test to every Account. He was a Sure-Thinger, air-tight and playing naught but Cinches. No wonder they all took a slant at him and spotted him as a Comer. The Business Associates of Alexander liked to see Europe from the inside every summer and investigate the Cocktail Crop of Florida every winter, so they allowed him to be the Works. He began building the Skids which finally carried them to the Fresh Air and left only one name on the Gold Sign. Up to his Chin in Debt and with a Panic looming on the Horizon, it behooved Alexander to be on the job at 7:30 A.M. and hang around to scan the Pay-Roll until 9:30 P.M. Ofttimes while galloping from his Apartment to the Galleys or chasing homeward to grab off a few wasteful hours of Slumber, he would see People of the Lower Classes going out to the Parks with Picnic Baskets, or lined up at the Vaudeville Palaces, or watching a hard-faced Soubrette demonstrate something in a Show Window. It got him to think Dubs could frivol around and waste the golden Moments when they might be hopping on to a Ten-Cent Piece. His usual Gait was that of a man going for the Doctor, and he talked Numbers to himself as he sped along and mumbled over the important Letters he was about to dictate. [Illustration: He talked Numbers to himself as he sped along and mumbled over the important Letters he was about to dictate] Those who were pushed out of his way would overhear a scrap or two of the Raving and think he was Balmy. The answer is that every hard-working Business Guy acts as if he had Screech-Owls in the Tower. Aleck had his whole Staff so buffaloed that the Hirelings tried to keep up with him, so that Life in the Beehive was just one thing after another, with no Intermission. The Whip cracked every five minutes, and the Help would dig in their toes and take a fresh lean-up against the Collars, for the Main Squeeze was trying to be a Bank Director, and Rockefeller had stolen a long start on him. With a thousand important Details claiming his attention, Aleck had no time to monkey with side issues such as the general State of his Health or the multifarious plans for uplifting the Flat-Heads that he could see from his Window. Those who recommended Golf to him seemed to forget that no one ever laid by anything while on the Links. As for the Plain People, his only Conviction when he surveyed them in the Mass was that every Man-Jack was holding back Money that rightfully belonged to him (Alexander). Needless to say, the battling Financier was made welcome at the Directors' Table and handed a piece of a Trust Company and became an honored Guest when any Melon was to be sliced. All that he dreamt while sleeping in the cold room over the Store had eventuated for fair. The more Irons in the Fire, the more flip-flops he turned. He never paused, except to weep over the fact that some of the rival Procurers were getting more than he could show. It was an unjust World. Brushing away the salty Tears, he would leap seven feet into the Air and spear a passing Dollar. By the time he had the Million necessary for the support of a suitable and well-recommended Lady, he was too busy to go chasing and too foxy to split his Pile with a rank Outsider. His Motor-Car squawked at the Sparrow Cops when they waved their Arms. The engineer who pulled the Private Car always had his Orders to hit it up. Sometimes the Private Secretary would drop out from Exhaustion, but the Human Dynamo never slowed up. He would shout his General Orders into the Cylinder of a Talking Machine. He reposed at Night with a Ticker on his Bosom and a Receiver at his Ear. When he finally flew the Track and blew out the Carburetor, they had to use a Net to get him under Control so that he could be carted away to the Hospital. Then the Trained Nurse had to practise all the Trick Holds known to Frank Gotch to keep him from arising to resume the grim Battle against his Enemies on the Board. He fluttered long before calming down, but finally they got him all spread out and as nice a Patient as one could wish to see. When he was too weak to start anything, Doc sat down and cheered him along by telling what Precautions should have been taken, along about 1880. "And now, I have some News for you," said the Practitioner, holding in his Grief so well that no one could notice it. "You are going away from here. Owing to the total absence of many Organs commonly regarded as essential, it will be impossible for you to go back to the Desk and duplicate any of your notable Stunts. No doubt we shall be able to engage Six Men of Presentable Appearance to act as Pall-Bearers. It is our purpose to proceed to the Cemetery by Automobile so as not to impede Traffic on any of the Surface Lines in which you are so heavily interested. I congratulate you on getting so far along before being tripped up, and I am wondering if you have a Final Request to make." "Just one," replied the Great Man. "I'd like to have you or somebody else tell me what it's all been about." The only remaining Fact to be chronicled is that the original Dollar, picked up on the Circus Lot, was found among the Effects. A Nephew, whom Alexander Campbell Purvis never had seen, took the Dollar and with it purchased two Packs of Egyptian Cigaroots, Regal size, with Gold Tips. MORAL: A pinch of Change, carefully put by, always comes in handy. THE END 
21446	----	public domain works in the International Children's Digital Library.) [Illustration: THE FROG AND THE OX.] FAVOURITE FABLES, In Prose and Verse. WITH TWENTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS FROM DRAWINGS BY HARRISON WEIR. [Illustration: JUSTICE.] LONDON: GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, (SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS), CORNER OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD. MDCCCLXX. * * * * * CONTENTS. FABLE I. THE FOX AND THE GOAT II. THE FROG AND THE OX III. THE MAN AND HIS GOOSE IV. THE LION AND OTHER BEASTS V. THE DOVE AND THE ANT VI. THE FOX WITHOUT A TAIL VII. THE BUTTERFLY AND THE SNAIL VIII. THE WOLF AND THE CRANE IX. THE FROG AND THE RAT X. THE FIGHTING COCK AND EAGLE XI. THE DIAMOND AND THE LOADSTONE XII. THE BEAR AND THE BEES XIII. THE FROGS DESIRING A KING XIV. THE FOX AND THE BOAR XV. THE VINE AND THE GOAT XVI. THE DISCONTENTED HORSE XVII. THE MOUNTAIN IN LABOUR XVIII. THE FOX AND THE STORK XIX. THE HORSE AND THE STAG XX. THE LION WOUNDED XXI. THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN XXII. JUPITER AND THE FARMER XXIII. THE VAIN JACKDAW XXIV. THE VIPER AND THE FILE XXV. THE WOLF AND THE LAMB XXVI. THE OLD BULLFINCH AND YOUNG BIRDS XXVII. THE MOUSE AND THE WEASEL XXVIII. THE OLD HOUND XXIX. THE CHARGER AND THE ASS XXX. THE COLT AND THE FARMER XXXI. THE LARK AND HER YOUNG ONES XXXII. THE FOX AND THE CROW XXXIII. THE PEACOCK'S COMPLAINT XXXIV. THE STAG IN THE OX-STALL XXXV. THE WIND AND THE SUN XXXVI. THE TRAVELLERS AND THE BEAR XXXVII. THE DOG AND THE SHADOW XXXVIII. THE HERMIT AND THE BEAR XXXIX. THE SHEPHERD'S BOY AND THE WOLF XL. THE FAWN AND HER MOTHER XLI. THE TORTOISE AND THE EAGLE XLII. THE BROTHER AND SISTER XLIII. THE SHEPHERD'S DOG AND WOLF XLIV. THE COVETOUS MAN XLV. THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE XLVI. THE HOG AND THE ACORNS XLVII. THE COUNTRY MOUSE AND THE CITY MOUSE XLVIII. THE CAT AND THE MICE XLIX. THE KID AND THE WOLF L. THE COUNCIL OF HORSES LI. THE ASS AND THE LITTLE DOG LII. THE LION AND THE FOUR BULLS LIII. THE LEOPARD AND THE FOX LIV. THE WARRIOR WOLF LV. THE BELLY AND THE MEMBERS LVI. THE CUR, THE HORSE, AND THE SHEPHERD'S DOG LVII. THE JACKDAW AND THE EAGLE LVIII. THE ASS AND THE LION HUNTING LIX. THE WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING LX. THE TWO BEES LXI. THE TURKEY AND THE ANT LXII. THE DOG AND THE WOLF LXIII. THE SATYR AND THE TRAVELLER LXIV. THE BARLEY-MOW AND THE DUNGHILL LXV. THE SHEEP-BITER AND SHEPHERD LXVI. THE STAG AT THE POOL LXVII. THE OLD SWALLOWS AND THE YOUNG BIRDS LXVIII. THE WAGGONER AND THE BUTTERFLY LXIX. THE LION, THE BEAR AND THE FOX LXX. THE FOX AND THE GRAPES LXXI. THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS LXXII. THE COCK AND THE FOX LXXIII. THE LION AND THE MOUSE LXXIV. THE TRUMPETER TAKEN PRISONER LXXV. THE MOUSE AND THE ELEPHANT LXXVI. THE HUSBANDMAN AND HIS SONS LXXVII. THE BALD KNIGHT LXXVIII. THE DOG IN THE MANGER LXXIX. THE OLD MAN AND DEATH LXXX. THE OLD HEN AND YOUNG COCK LXXXI. MERCURY AND THE WOODMAN LXXXII. THE WOLF AND THE KID LXXXIII. THE OLD MAN AND HIS SONS LXXXIV. THE BROOK AND THE FOUNTAIN LXXXV. THE MICE IN COUNCIL LXXXVI. THE FOX IN THE WELL LXXXVII. THE HORSE AND THE WOLF LXXXVIII. THE TWO SPRINGS LXXXIX. THE COUNTRYMAN AND THE RAVEN XC. THE FOX AND THE BRAMBLE XCI. HERCULES AND THE CARTER XCII. THE BOYS AND THE FROGS XCIII. THE COCK AND THE JEWEL XCIV. THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOW-WORM XCV. THE FOX AND THE SICK LION XCVI. THE LION, THE FOX, AND THE GEESE XCVII. THE ONE-EYED DOE XCVIII. THE FOX, THE RAVEN, AND THE DOVE XCIX. THE TWO POTS C. THE TWO FROGS CI. THE FOX AND THE MASK CII. THE CAT, THE COCK, AND THE YOUNG MOUSE CIII. THE MICE AND THE TRAP CIV. THE CHAMELEON CV. THE WOLF, THE FOX, AND THE ASS CVI. THE BOY AND THE BUTTERFLY CVII. THE CROW AND THE PITCHER * * * * * LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 1. THE FROG AND THE OX (_Frontispiece_) 2. THE FOX WITHOUT A TAIL 3. THE FIGHTING COCK AND EAGLE 4. THE VINE AND THE GOAT 5. THE LION WOUNDED 6. THE WOLF AND THE LAMB 7. THE CHARGER AND THE ASS 8. THE FOX AND THE CROW 9. THE DOG AND THE SHADOW 10. THE FAWN AND HER MOTHER 11. THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE 12. THE KID AND THE WOLF 13. THE LEOPARD AND THE FOX 14. THE JACKDAW AND THE EAGLE 15. THE DOG AND THE WOLF 16. THE STAG AT THE POOL 17. THE FOX AND THE GRAPES 18. THE LION AND THE MOUSE 19. THE DOG IN THE MANGER 20. THE WOLF AND THE GOAT 21. THE HORSE AND THE WOLF 22. THE COCK AND THE JEWEL 23. THE ONE-EYED DOE 24. THE FOX AND THE MASK * * * * * FAVOURITE FABLES. FABLE I. THE FOX AND THE GOAT. [Illustration] In the extreme end of a village a Fox one day went to have a peep at a hen-roost. He had the bad luck to fall into a well, where he swam first to this side, and then to that side, but could not get out with all his pains. At last, as chance would have it, a poor Goat came to the same place to seek for some drink. "So ho! friend Fox," said he, "you quaff it off there at a great rate: I hope by this time you have quenched your thirst." "Thirst!" said the sly rogue; "what I have found here to drink is so clear, and so sweet, that I cannot take my fill of it; do, pray, come down, my dear, and have a taste of it." With that, in plumped the Goat as he bade him; but as soon as he was down, the Fox jumped on his horns, and leaped out of the well in a trice; and as he went off, "Good bye, my wise friend," said he; "if you had as much brains as you have beard, I should have been in the well still, and you might have stood on the brink of it to laugh at me, as I now do at you." MORAL. A rogue will give up the best friend he has to get out of a scrape; so that we ought to know what a man is, that we may judge how far we may trust to what he says. FABLE II. THE FROG AND THE OX. An old Frog, being wonderfully struck with the size and majesty of an Ox that was grazing in the marshes, was seized with the desire to expand herself to the same portly magnitude. After puffing and swelling for some time, "What think you," said she, to her young ones, "will this do?" "Far from it," said they. "Will this?" "By no means." "But this surely will?" "Nothing like it," they replied. After many fruitless and ridiculous efforts to the same purpose, the foolish Frog burst her skin, and miserably expired upon the spot. MORAL. To attempt what is out of our power, and to rival those greater than ourselves, is sure to expose us to contempt and ruin. FABLE III. THE MAN AND HIS GOOSE. A CERTAIN Man had a Goose, which laid him a golden egg every day. But, not contented with this, which rather increased than abated his avarice, he was resolved to kill the Goose, and cut up her belly, so that he might come to the inexhaustible treasure which he fancied she had within her, without being obliged to wait for the slow production of a single egg daily. He did so, and, to his great sorrow and disappointment, found nothing within. MORAL. The man that hastes to become rich often finds that he has only brought on ruin. FABLE IV. THE LION AND OTHER BEASTS. The Bull, and several other beasts, were ambitious of the honour of hunting with the Lion. His savage Majesty graciously condescended to their desire; and it was agreed that they should have an equal share in whatever might be taken. They scour the forest, are unanimous in the pursuit, and, after a long chase, pull down a noble stag. It was divided with great dexterity by the Bull into four equal parts; but just as he was going to secure his share--"Hold!" says the Lion, "let no one presume to help himself till he hath heard our just and reasonable claims. I seize upon the first quarter by virtue of my prerogative; the second I claim as due to my superior conduct and courage; I cannot forego the third, on account of the necessities of my den; and if anyone is inclined to dispute my right to the fourth, let him speak." Awed by the majesty of his frown, and the terror of his paws, they silently withdrew, resolving never to hunt again but with their equals. MORAL. Be certain that those who have great power are honest before you place yourselves in their hands, or you will be deprived of your just rights. FABLE V. THE DOVE AND THE ANT. The Ant, compelled by thirst, went to drink in a clear, purling rivulet; but the current, with its circling eddy, snatched her away, and carried her down the stream. A Dove, pitying her distressed condition, cropped a branch from a neighbouring tree and let it fall into the water, by means of which the Ant saved herself and got ashore. Not long after, a Fowler, having a design against the Dove, planted his nets in due order, without the bird's observing what he was about; which the Ant perceiving, just as he was going to put his design into execution, she bit his heel, and made him give so sudden a start, that the Dove took the alarm, and flew away. MORAL. Kindness to others seldom fails of its reward; and none is so weak that he may not be able in some fashion to repay it. Let us show kindness without looking for a return, but a blessing will surely follow. FABLE VI. THE FOX WITHOUT A TAIL. A FOX being caught in a steel trap by his tail, was glad to compound for his escape with the loss of it; but on coming abroad into the world, began to be so sensible of the disgrace such a defect would bring upon him, that he almost wished he had died rather than left it behind him. However, to make the best of a bad matter, he formed a project in his head to call an assembly of the rest of the Foxes, and propose it for their imitation as a fashion which would be very agreeable and becoming. He did so, and made a long harangue upon the unprofitableness of tails in general, and endeavoured chiefly to show the awkwardness and inconvenience of a Fox's tail in particular; adding that it would be both more graceful and more expeditious to be altogether without them, and that, for his part, what he had only imagined and conjectured before, he now found by experience; for that he never enjoyed himself so well, nor found himself so easy as he had done since he cut off his tail. He said no more, but looked about with a brisk air to see what proselytes he had gained; when a sly old Fox in the company, who understood trap, answered him, with a leer, "I believe you may have found a conveniency in parting with your tail; and when we are in the same circumstances, perhaps we may do so too." [Illustration: THE FOX WITHOUT A TAIL.] MORAL. It is common for men to wish others reduced to their own level, and we ought to guard against such advice as may proceed from this principle. FABLE VII. THE BUTTERFLY AND THE SNAIL. As in the sunshine of the morn, A Butterfly, but newly born, Sat proudly perking on a rose, With pert conceit his bosom glows; His wings, all glorious to behold, Bedropt with azure, jet and gold, Wide he displays; the spangled dew Reflects his eyes, and various hue. His now forgotten friend, a Snail, Beneath his house, with slimy trail, Crawls o'er the grass; whom, when he spies, In wrath he to the gardener cries: "What means yon peasant's daily toil, From choaking weeds to rid the soil? Why wake you to the morning's care? Why with new arts correct the year? Why glows the peach with crimson hue? And why the plum's inviting blue? Were they to feast his taste designed, That vermin, of voracious kind? Crush, then, the slow, the pilf'ring race; So purge thy garden from disgrace." "What arrogance!" the Snail replied; "How insolent is upstart pride! Hadst thou not thus, with insult vain, Provoked my patience to complain, I had concealed thy meaner birth, Nor traced thee to the scum of earth: For, scarce nine suns have wak'd the hours, To swell the fruit, and paint the flowers, Since I thy humbler life surveyed, In base, in sordid guise arrayed; A hideous insect, vile, unclean, You dragg'd a slow and noisome train; And from your spider-bowels drew Foul film, and spun the dirty clue. I own my humble life, good friend; Snail was I born, and Snail shall end. And what's a Butterfly? At best, He's but a Caterpillar, dress'd; And all thy race (a numerous seed) Shall prove of Caterpillar breed." MORAL. All upstarts, insolent in place, Remind us of their vulgar race. FABLE VIII. THE WOLF AND THE CRANE. A WOLF, after too greedily devouring his prey, happened to have a bone stick in his throat, which gave him so much pain that he went howling up and down, and importuning every creature he met to lend him a kind hand in order to his relief; nay, he even promised a reward to anyone who should undertake the operation with success. At last the Crane, tempted with the lucre of the reward, and having first made the Wolf confirm his promise with an oath, undertook the business, and ventured his long neck into the rapacious felon's throat. In short, he plucked out the bone, and expected the promised gratuity; when the Wolf, turning his eyes disdainfully towards him, said, "I did not think you had been so unreasonable! Have I not suffered you safely to draw your neck out of my jaws? And have you the conscience to demand a further reward?" MORAL. When we do good to bad men, we must not expect good from them. FABLE IX. THE FROG AND THE RAT. Once on a time, a foolish Frog, Vain, proud, and stupid as a log, Tired with the marsh, her native home, Imprudently abroad would roam, And fix her habitation where She'd breathe at least a purer air. She was resolved to change, that's poz; Could she be worse than where she was? Away the silly creature leaps. A Rat, who saw her lab'ring steps, Cried out, "Where in this hurry, pray? You certainly will go astray!" "Ne'er fear; I quit that filthy bog, Where I so long have croaked incog: People of talents, sure, should thrive, And not be buried thus alive. But, pray (for I'm extremely dry), Know you of any water nigh?" "None," said the Rat, "you'll reach to-day, As you so slowly make your way. Believe a friend, and take my word, This jaunt of yours is quite absurd. Go to your froggery again; In your own element remain." No: on the journey she was bent, Her thirst increasing as she went; For want of drink she scarce can hop, And yet despairing of a drop: Too late she moans her folly past; She faints, she sinks, she breathes her last. MORAL. Vulgar minds will pay full dear, When once they move beyond their sphere. FABLE X. THE FIGHTING COCK AND EAGLE. Two Cocks were fighting for the sovereignty of the dunghill, and one of them having got the better of the other, he that was vanquished crept into a hole, and hid himself for some time; but the victor flew up to an eminent place, clapt his wings, and crowed out victory. An Eagle, who was watching for his prey near the place, saw him, and, making a swoop, trussed him up in his talons, and carried him off. The Cock that had been beaten, perceiving this, soon quitted his hole, and, shaking off all remembrance of his late disgrace, gallanted the hens with all the intrepidity imaginable. MORAL. Before honour is humility. We must not be too much elevated by prosperity lest we meet a grievous fall. [Illustration: THE FIGHTING COCK AND EAGLE.] FABLE XI. THE DIAMOND AND THE LOADSTONE. A DIAMOND, of great beauty and lustre, observing, not only many other gems of a lower class ranged together with himself in the same cabinet, but a Loadstone likewise placed not far from him, began to question the latter how he came there, and what pretensions he had to be ranked among the precious stones; he, who appeared to be no better than a mere flint, a sorry, coarse, rusty-looking pebble, without any the least shining quality to advance him to such an honour; and concluded with desiring him to keep his distance, and pay a proper respect to his superiors. "I find," said the Loadstone, "you judge by external appearances, and condemn without due examination; but I will not act so ungenerously by you. I am willing to allow you your due praise: you are a pretty bauble; I am mightily delighted to see you glitter and sparkle; I look upon you with pleasure and surprise; but I must be convinced you are of some sort of use before I acknowledge that you have any real merit, or treat you with that respect which you seem to demand. With regard to myself, I confess my deficiency in outward beauty; but I may venture to say, that I make amends by my intrinsic qualities. The great improvement of navigation is entirely owing to me. By me the distant parts of the world have been made known and are accessible to each other; the remotest nations are connected together, and all, as it were, united into one common society; by a mutual intercourse they relieve one another's wants, and all enjoy the several blessings peculiar to each. The world is indebted to me for its wealth, its splendour, and its power; and the arts and sciences are, in a great measure, obliged to me for their improvements, and their continual increase. All these blessings I am the origin of; for by my aid it is that man is enable to construct that valuable instrument, the Mariner's Compass." MORAL. Let dazzling stones in splendour glare; Utility's the gem for wear. FABLE XII. THE BEAR AND THE BEES. A BEAR happened to be stung by a Bee; and the pain was so acute, that in the madness of revenge he ran into the garden, and overturned the hive. This outrage provoked their anger to such a degree that it brought the fury of the whole swarm upon him. They attacked him with such violence that his life was in danger, and it was with the utmost difficulty that he made his escape, wounded from head to tail. In this desperate condition, lamenting his misfortunes, and licking his sores, he could not forbear reflecting how much more advisable it had been to have patiently borne one injury, than by an unprofitable resentment to have provoked a thousand. MORAL. It is more prudent to acquiesce under an injury from a single person, then by an act of vengeance to bring upon us the resentment of a whole community. FABLE XIII. THE FROGS DESIRING A KING. The Frogs, living an easy, free life everywhere among the lakes and ponds, assembled together one day, in a very tumultuous manner, and petitioned Jupiter to let them have a king, who might inspect their morals, and make them live a little honester. Jupiter, being at that time in pretty good humour, was pleased to laugh heartily at their ridiculous request, and, throwing a little log down into the pool, cried, "There is a king for you!" The sudden splash which this made by its fall into the water, at first terrified them so exceedingly that they were afraid to come near it. But, in a little time, seeing it lie still without moving, they ventured, by degrees, to approach it; and at last, finding there was no danger, they leaped upon it, and, in short, treated it as familiarly as they pleased. But, not contented with so insipid a king as this was, they sent their deputies to petition again for another sort of one; for this they neither did nor could like. Upon that he sent them a Stork, who, without any ceremony, fell devouring and eating them up, one after another, as fast as he could. Then they applied themselves privately to Mercury, and got him to speak to Jupiter in their behalf, that he would be so good as to bless them again with another king, or restore them to their former state. "No," says he; "since it was their own choice, let the obstinate wretches suffer the punishment due to their folly." MORAL. This fable teaches that it is better to be content with our present condition, however bad we may think it, than, by ambitious change, to risk making it worse. FABLE XIV. THE FOX AND THE BOAR. THE BOAR stood whetting his tusks against an old tree. The Fox, who happened to come by at the same time, asked him why he made those martial preparations of whetting his teeth, since there was no enemy near, that he could perceive. "That may be, Master Reynard," says the Boar, "but we should scour up our arms, while we have leisure, you know; for, in time of danger, we shall have something else to do." MORAL. It is well to have preparations made for all emergencies, that when we are placed in any difficult position we may be calm and self-possessed. These preparations are best made in times of leisure. FABLE XV. THE VINE AND THE GOAT. A GOAT having taken shelter from the heat of the sun under the broad leaves of a shady-spreading vine, began to crop and eat them; by this means, the branches being put into a rustling motion, he drew the eyes of some hunters who were passing that way, and, seeing the vine stir, thought some wild beast had taken covert there; they shot their arrows at a venture, and killed the Goat, who, before he expired, uttered his dying words to this purpose: "Ah! I suffer justly for my ingratitude, who could not forbear doing an injury to the vine that had so kindly afforded me shelter." MORAL. Ingratitude is a great crime, and from which we should seek earnestly to be preserved. He that is capable of injuring his benefactor, what would he scruple to do towards another? [Illustration: THE VINE AND THE GOAT.] FABLE XVI. THE DISCONTENTED HORSE. As JUPITER once was receiving petitions From birds and from beasts of all ranks and conditions; With an eye full of fire, and mane quite erect, Which, I'm sorry to say, shewed but little respect, The Horse went as near as he dared to the throne, And thus made his donkey-like sentiments known: "For beauty of symmetry, fleetness, and force, It is said that all animals yield to the Horse; While my spirit I feel, and my figure I view In the brook, I'm inclined to believe it is true; But still, mighty Jupiter, still, by your aid, In my form might some further improvements be made. To run is my duty, and swifter and stronger I surely should go, were my legs to be longer: And as man always places a seat on my back, I should have been made with a saddle or sack; It had saved _him_ much trouble, on journies departing, And _I_ had been constantly ready for starting." Great Jupiter smiled (for he laughed at the brute, As he saw more of folly than vice in his suit), And striking the earth with omnipotent force, A Camel rose up near the terrified Horse: He trembled--he started--his mane shook with fright, And he staggered half round, as preparing for flight. "Behold!" exclaimed Jove, "there an animal stands With both your improvements at once to your hands: His legs are much longer; the hump on his back Well answers the purpose of saddle or sack: Of your shapes, tell me, which is more finished and trim? Speak out, silly Horse, would you wish to be him?" The Horse looked abashed, and had nothing to say And Jove, with reproaches, thus sent him away: "Begone, till you gratefully feel and express Your thanks for the blessings and gifts you possess. The Camel, though plain, is mild, useful, and good; You are handsome, but proud, discontented and rude." FABLE XVII. THE MOUNTAIN IN LABOUR. A RUMOUR once prevailed that a neighbouring mountain was in labour; it was affirmed that she had been heard to utter prodigious groans; and a general expectation had been raised that some extraordinary birth was at hand. Multitudes flocked in much eagerness to be witnesses of the wonderful event, one expecting her to be delivered of a giant, another of some enormous monster, and all were in earnest expectation of something grand and astonishing; when, after waiting with great impatience a considerable time, behold, out crept a Mouse. MORAL. To raise uncommon expectations renders an ordinary event ridiculous. FABLE XVIII. THE FOX AND THE STORK. THE FOX, though in general more inclined to roguery than wit, had once a strong inclination to play the wag with his neighbour the Stork. He accordingly invited her to dinner in due form. But when she came to the table, the Stork found it consisted entirely of different soups, served in broad, shallow dishes, so that she could only dip the end of her bill in them, but could not possibly satisfy her hunger. The Fox lapped them up very readily, and every now and then addressing himself to his guest, desired to know how she liked her entertainment, hoped that everything was to her liking, and protested he was very sorry to see her eat so sparingly. The Stork, perceiving she was jested with, took no notice, but pretended to like every dish extremely; and, at parting, pressed the Fox so earnestly to return her visit that he could not, in civility, refuse. The day arrived, and he repaired to his appointment. But, to his great dismay, he found the dinner was composed of minced meat, served up in long, narrow-necked bottles; so that he was only tantalized with the sight of what it was impossible for him to taste. The Stork thrust in her long bill, and helped herself very plentifully; then, turning to Reynard, who was eagerly licking the outside of a jar where some sauce had been spilled, "I am very glad," said she, smiling, "that you appear to have so good an appetite. I hope you will make as hearty a dinner at my table as I did the other day at yours." The Fox hung down his head, and looked very much displeased. "Nay, nay!" said the Stork; "don't pretend to be out of humour about the matter; they that cannot take a jest should never make one." FABLE XIX. THE HORSE AND THE STAG. The Stag, with his sharp horns, got the better of the Horse, and drove him clear out of the pasture where they used to feed together. So the latter craved the assistance of man, and, in order to receive the benefit of it, suffered him to put a bridle into his mouth, and a saddle upon his back. By this means he entirely defeated his enemy, but was mightily disappointed when, upon returning thanks, and desiring to be dismissed, he received this answer: "No; I never knew before how useful a drudge you were; now I have found out what you are good for, you may depend upon it, I will keep you to it." MORAL. Help yourself, if you can do so; but at any rate, before you seek the assistance of a powerful man, be sure that the help he gives you will be disinterested, or you may find that in helping you he may put you under obligations fatal to liberty. FABLE XX. THE LION WOUNDED. A MAN, who was very skilful with his bow, went up into the forest to hunt. At his approach, there was a great consternation and rout among the wild beasts, the Lion alone showing any determination to fight. "Stop," said the Archer to him, "and await my messenger, who has somewhat to say to you." With that, he sent an arrow after the Lion, and wounded him in the side. The Lion, smarting with anguish, fled into the depths of the forest; but a Fox, seeing him run, bade him take courage, and face his enemy. "No," said the Lion, "you will not persuade me to that; for if the messenger he sends is so sharp, what must be the power of him who sends it?" MORAL. It is better to yield to a superior force than foolishly brave its power. [Illustration: THE LION WOUNDED.] FABLE XXI. THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN. An Ass, finding a Lion's skin, disguised himself with it, and ranged about the forest, putting all the beasts that saw him into bodily fear. After he had diverted himself thus for some time, he met a Fox, and, being desirous to frighten him too, as well as the rest, he leapt at him with some fierceness, and endeavoured to imitate the roaring of the Lion. "Your humble servant," says the Fox, "if you had held your tongue, I might have taken you for a Lion, as others did; but now you bray I know who you are." MORAL. A silent man may pass for a wise man, but when we hear him speak we are able to form an estimate of his value. FABLE XXII. JUPITER AND THE FARMER. 'Tis said, that Jove had once a farm to let, And sent down Mercury, his common crier, To make the most that he could get; Or sell it to the highest buyer. To view the premises the people flocked: And, as 'tis usual in such case, Began to run them down apace; The soil was poor, the farm ill stocked: In short, a barren, miserable place, Scarce worth th' expense to draw a lease. One bolder, tho' not wiser than the rest, Offered to pay in so much rent, Provided he had Jove's consent To guide the weather just as he thought best; Or wet, or dry; or cold, or hot; Whate'er he asked should be his lot; To all which Jove gave a consenting nod. The seasons now obsequious stand, Quick to obey their lord's command, And now the Farmer undertakes the god; Now calls for sunshine, now for rains, Dispels the clouds, the wind restrains; But still confined within his farm alone, He makes a climate all his own; For when he sheds, or when he pours, Refreshing dews, or soaking showers, His neighbours never share a drop; So much the better for their crop; Each glebe a plenteous harvest yields; Whilst our director spoils his fields. Next year, he tries a different way; New moulds the seasons, and directs again; But all in vain: His neighbour's grounds still thrive while his decay. What does he do in this sad plight? For once he acted right: He to the god his fate bemoaned, Asked pardon, and his folly owned. Jove, like a tender master, fond to save, His weakness pityed, and his fault forgave. MORAL. He, who presumes the ways of heaven to scan, Is not a wise, nor yet a happy man: In this firm truth securely we may rest,-- Whatever Providence ordains is best; Had man the power, he'd work his own undoing; To grant his will would be to cause his ruin. FABLE XXIII. THE VAIN JACKDAW. A CERTAIN Jackdaw was so proud and ambitious that, not contented to live within his own sphere, he picked up the feathers which fell from the Peacocks, stuck them among his own, and very confidently introduced himself into an assembly of those beautiful birds. They soon found him out, stripped him of his borrowed plumes, and falling upon him with their sharp bills, punished him as his presumption deserved. Upon this, full of grief and affliction, he returned to his old companions, and would have flocked with them again; but they, knowing his late life and conversation, industriously avoided him, and refused to admit him into their company; and one of them, at the same time, gave him this serious reproof: "If, friend, you could have been contented with your station, and had not disdained the rank in which nature had placed you, you had not been used so scurvily by those amongst whom you introduced yourself, nor suffered the notorious slight which we now think ourselves obliged to put upon you." MORAL. Great evils arise from vanity; for when we try to place ourselves in a position for which we are not fit, we are liable to be laughed at, and, when we would return to our former state, we find we have lost the esteem of our former friends. FABLE XXIV. THE VIPER AND THE FILE. A VIPER, crawling into a smith's shop to seek for something to eat, cast her eyes upon a File, and darting upon it in a moment, "Now I have you," said she, "and so you may help yourself how you can; but you may take my word for it that I shall make a fine meal of you before I think of parting with you." "Silly wretch!" said the File, as gruff as could be, "you had much better be quiet, and let me alone; for, if you gnaw for ever, you will get nothing but your trouble for your pains. Make a meal of me, indeed! why, I myself can bite the hardest iron in the shop; and if you go on with your foolish nibbling I shall tear all the teeth out of your spiteful head before you know where you are." MORAL. Take care that you never strive with those who are too strong for you, nor do spiteful things, lest you suffer for it. FABLE XXV. THE WOLF AND THE LAMB. One hot, sultry day, a Wolf and a Lamb happened to come just at the same time to quench their thirst in the stream of a clear, silver brook, that ran tumbling down the side of a rocky mountain. The Wolf stood upon the higher ground, and the Lamb at some distance from him down the current. However, the Wolf, having a mind to pick a quarrel with him, asked him what he meant by disturbing the water, and making it so muddy that he could not drink, and at the same time demanded satisfaction. The Lamb, frightened at this threatening charge, told him, in a tone as mild as possible, that, with humble submission, he could not conceive how that could be, since the water which he drank ran down from the Wolf to him, and therefore it could not be disturbed so far up the stream. "Be that as it will," replies the Wolf, "you are a rascal; and I have been told that you treated me with ill-language behind my back about half a year ago." "Upon my word," says the Lamb, "the time you mention was before I was born." The Wolf finding it to no purpose to argue any longer against truth, fell into a great passion, snarling and foaming at the mouth, as if he had been mad; and, drawing nearer to the Lamb, "Sirrah," said he, "if it was not you, it was your father, and that's all one." So he seized the poor innocent, helpless thing, tore it to pieces, and made a meal of it. [Illustration: THE WOLF AND THE LAMB.] MORAL. Bad men, who wish to quarrel, will always find a pretence; if they can find no true grounds, they will resort to those which are false. FABLE XXVI. THE OLD BULLFINCH AND YOUNG BIRDS. It chanced, that, on a winter's day, But warm and bright, and calm as May, The birds, conceiving a design To forestall sweet St. Valentine, In many an orchard, copse, and grove, Assembled on affairs of love; And with much twitter and much chatter, Began to agitate the matter. At length, a Bullfinch, who could boast More years and wisdom than the most, Entreated, opening wide his beak, A moment's liberty to speak; And, silence publicly enjoined, Delivered briefly thus his mind: "My friends, be cautious how ye treat The subject upon which we meet; I fear we shall have winter yet." A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, With golden wing, and satin poll, A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried What marriage means, thus pert replied: "Methinks, the gentleman," quoth she, "Opposite, in the apple-tree, By his good will, would keep us single, 'Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle; Or (which is likelier to befall) 'Till death exterminate us all. I marry without more ado; My dear Dick Redcap, what say you?" Dick heard; and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Turning short round, strutting, and sidling, Attested glad his approbation Of an immediate conjugation. Their sentiments so well express'd, Influenced mightily the rest; All pair'd, and each pair built a nest. But though the birds were thus in haste, The leaves came on not quite so fast; And destiny, that sometimes bears An aspect stern on man's affairs, Not altogether smil'd on theirs. The wind, that late breath'd gently forth, Now shifted east, and east by north; Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, Could shelter them from rain or snow; Stepping into their nests, they paddled, Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled; Soon every father bird, and mother, Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other; Parted without the least regret, Except that they had ever met; And learn'd in future to be wiser Than to neglect a good adviser. MORAL. Young folks, who think themselves so wise, That old folks' counsel they despise, Will find, when they too late repent, Their folly prove their punishment. FABLE XXVII. THE MOUSE AND THE WEASEL. A LITTLE starveling rogue of a Mouse had, with much pushing application, made his way through a small hole in a corn-basket, where he stuffed and crammed so plentifully, that, when he would have retired the way he came, he found himself too plump, with all his endeavours, to accomplish it. A Weasel, who stood at some distance, and had been diverting himself with beholding the vain efforts of the little fat thing, called to him, and said, "Harkee, honest friend; if you have a mind to make your escape, there is but one way for it: contrive to grow as poor and lean as you were when you entered, and then, perhaps, you may get off." MORAL. If evil habits have got a man into difficulties, there is no surer way to extricate himself than, by God's help, to cast those habits off. FABLE XXVIII. THE OLD HOUND. An old Hound, who had been an excellent good one in his time, and given his master great sport and satisfaction in many a chase, at last, by the effect of years, became feeble and unserviceable. However, being in the field one day when the Stag was almost run down, he happened to be the first that came in with him, and seized him by one of his haunches; but his decayed and broken teeth not being able to keep their hold, the deer escaped and threw him quite out. Upon which his master, being in a great passion, and going to strike him, the honest old creature is said to have barked out this apology. "Ah! do not strike your poor old servant; it is not my heart and inclination, but my strength and speed that fail me. If what I now am displeases you, pray don't forget what I have been." MORAL. Past services should never be forgotten. FABLE XXIX. THE CHARGER AND THE ASS The Horse, adorned with his great war-saddle, and champing his foaming bridle, came thundering along the way, and made the mountains echo with his loud, shrill neighing. He had not gone far before he overtook an Ass, who was labouring under a heavy burthen, and moving slowly on in the same track with himself. Immediately he called out to him, in a haughty, imperious tone, and threatened to trample him in the dirt, if he did not make way for him. The poor, patient Ass, not daring to dispute the matter, quietly got out of his way as fast as he could, and let him go by. Not long after this, the same Horse, in an engagement with the enemy, happened to be shot in the eye, which made him unfit for show or any military business; so he was stript of his fine ornaments, and sold to a carrier. The Ass, meeting him in this forlorn condition, thought that now it was his time to speak; and so, says he, "Heyday, friend, is it you? Well, I always believed that pride of yours would one day have a fall." MORAL. Pride and haughtiness are foreign to really great men. Those who show it, when in their high estate, if the wheel of fortune should change, instead of friendship or pity, will meet with nothing but contempt. [Illustration: THE CHARGER AND THE ASS.] FABLE XXX. THE COLT AND THE FARMER. A COLT, for blood and mettled speed, The choicest of the running breed, Of youthful strength and beauty vain, Refused subjection to the rein. In vain the groom's officious skill Opposed his pride, and checked his will; In vain the master's forming care Restrained with threats, or soothed with prayer: Of freedom proud, and scorning man, Wild o'er the spacious plain he ran. Where'er luxuriant Nature spread Her flowery carpet o'er the mead, Or bubbling stream's soft gliding pass To cool and freshen up the grass, Disdaining bounds, he cropped the blade, And wantoned in the spoil he made. In plenty thus the summer passed; Revolving winter came at last: The trees no more a shelter yield; The verdure withers from the field: Perpetual snows invest the ground; In icy chains the streams are bound: Cold, nipping winds, and rattling hail, His lank, unsheltered sides assail. As round he cast his rueful eyes, He saw the thatched-roof cottage rise: The prospect touched his heart with cheer, And promised kind deliverance near. A stable, erst his scorn and hate, Was now become his wished retreat; His passion cool, his pride forgot, A Farmer's welcome yard he sought. The master saw his woful plight, His limbs, that tottered with his weight, And, friendly, to the stable led, And saw him littered, dressed, and fed. In slothful ease all night he lay; The servants rose at break of day; The market calls. Along the road His back must bear the pond'rous load; In vain he struggles or complains, Incessant blows reward his pains. To-morrow varies but his toil: Chained to the plough, he breaks the soil; While scanty meals at night repay The painful labours of the day. Subdued by toil, with anguish rent, His self-upbraidings found a vent. "Wretch that I am!" he sighing said, "By arrogance and folly led; Had but my restive youth been brought To learn the lesson nature taught, Then had I, like my sires of yore, The prize from every courser bore. Now, lasting servitude's my lot, My birth contemned, my speed forgot; Doomed am I, for my pride, to bear A living death from year to year." MORAL. He who disdains control, will only gain A youth of pleasure for an age of pain. FABLE XXXI. THE LARK AND HER YOUNG ONES. A LARK, who had young ones in a field of corn almost ripe, was under some fear lest the reapers should come to reap it before her young brood was fledged and able to remove from that place. She, therefore, upon flying abroad to look for food, left this charge with them--to take notice what they heard talked of in her absence, and tell her of it when she came back again. When she was gone, they heard the owner of the corn call to his son: "Well," says he, "I think this corn is ripe enough. I would have you go early to-morrow, and desire our friends and neighbours to come and help us to reap it." When the old Lark came home, the young ones fell a quivering and chirping round her, and told her what had happened, begging her to remove them as fast as she could. The mother bid them be easy: "For," said she, "if the owner depends on his friends and neighbours, I am pretty sure the corn will not be reaped to-morrow." Next day, she went out again, leaving the same orders as before. The owner came, and staid, expecting his friends; but the sun grew hot, and nothing was done, for not a soul came to help them. Then says he to his son, "I perceive these friends of ours are not to be depended upon; so you must go to your uncles and cousins, and tell them I desire they would be here betimes to-morrow morning, to help us to reap." Well, this the young ones, in a great fright, reported also to their mother. "If that be all," says she, "do not be frightened, dear children; for kindred and relations are not so very forward to serve one another; but take particular notice what you hear said next time, and be sure you let me know it." She went abroad next day, as usual; and the owner, finding his relations as slack as the rest of his neighbours, said to his son, "Harkee, George; get a couple of good sickles ready against to-morrow morning, and we will even reap the corn ourselves." When the young ones told their mother this, "Then," said she, "we must be gone indeed; for, when a man undertakes to do his business himself, it is not so likely he will be disappointed." So she removed her young ones at once, and the corn was reaped next day by the good man and his son. MORAL. Never depend on the assistance of others. No business is so sure to be done as that which a man sets about doing himself. FABLE XXXII. THE FOX AND THE CROW. A CROW, having taken a piece of cheese out of a cottage window, flew up with it into a high tree in order to eat it; which the Fox observing, came and sat underneath, and began to compliment the Crow upon the subject of her beauty. "I protest," says he, "I never observed it before, but your feathers are of a more delicate white than any that ever I saw in my life! Ah! what a fine shape and graceful turn of body is there! And I make no question but you have a tolerable voice. If it is but as fine as your complexion, I do not know a bird that can pretend to stand in competition with you." The Crow foolishly believed all that the Fox said was true; but, thinking the Fox a little dubious as to her vocal powers, and having a mind to set him right in that matter, opened her mouth, and, in the same instant, let the cheese drop out of her mouth. This being what the Fox wanted, he caught it up in a moment, and trotted away, laughing to himself at the easy credulity of the Crow. MORAL. When anyone is flattered as possessing qualities he ought to feel conscious he does not possess, let him beware lest the flatterers wish either to deprive him of some solid good, or to make him appear ridiculous in the eyes of others. [Illustration: THE FOX AND THE CROW] FABLE XXXIII. THE PEACOCK'S COMPLAINT. The Peacock presented a memorial to Juno, importing how hardly he thought he was used, in not having so good a voice as the Nightingale; how that bird was agreeable to every ear that heard it, while he was laughed at for his ugly, screaming noise, if he did but open his mouth. The goddess, concerned at the uneasiness of her favourite bird, answered him very kindly to this purpose:--"If the Nightingale is blest with a fine voice, you have the advantage in point of beauty and size." "Ah!" says he, "but what avails my silent, unmeaning beauty, when I am so far excelled in voice?" The goddess dismissed him, bidding him consider that the properties of every creature were appointed by the decree of Fate; to him beauty, to the Eagle strength, to the Nightingale a voice of melody, to the Parrot the faculty of speech, and to the Dove innocence; that each of these was contented with his own peculiar quality; and, unless he wished to be miserable, he must also learn to be equally satisfied. MORAL. The man who to his lot's resigned True happiness is sure to find; While envy ne'er can mend the ill, But makes us feel it keener still. FABLE XXXIV. THE STAG IN THE OX-STALL. A STAG, roused from his thick covert in the midst of the forest, and driven hard by the hounds, made towards a farm-house, and, seeing the door of an ox-stall open, entered therein, and hid himself under a heap of straw. One of the oxen, turning his head about, asked him what he meant by venturing himself in such a place, where he was sure to meet his doom. "Ah!" said the Stag, "if you will but be so good as to favour me with your concealment, I hope I shall do well enough; I intend to make off again the first opportunity." Well, he stayed there till towards night; in came the ox-man with a bundle of fodder, and never saw him. In short, all the servants of the farm came and went, and not one of them suspected anything of the matter. Nay, the bailiff himself came, according to form, and looked in, but walked away, no wiser than the rest. Upon this the Stag, ready to jump out of his skin for joy, began to return thanks to the good-natured Oxen, protesting that they were the most obliging people he had ever met with in his life. After he had done his compliments, one of them answered him, gravely, "Indeed, we desire nothing more than to have it in our power to contribute to your escape, but there is a certain person you little think of who has a hundred eyes; if he should happen to come, I would not give this straw for your life." In the meanwhile, home comes the master himself from a neighbour's, where he had been invited to dinner; and, because he had observed the cattle not look well of late, he went up to the rack, and asked why they did not give them more fodder; then, casting his eyes downward, "Heydey!" says he, "why so sparing of your litter? pray scatter a little more here. And these cobwebs--But I have spoken so often that, unless I do it myself--" Thus, as he went on, prying into everything, he chanced to look where the Stag's horns lay sticking out of the straw; upon which he raised a hue and cry, called his people about him, killed the Stag, and made a prize of him. MORAL. For a work to be done thoroughly, it ought to be done by oneself; the eye of a master is keener than that of a servant. FABLE XXXV. THE WIND AND THE SUN. A DISPUTE once arose betwixt the North Wind and the Sun about the superiority of their power; and they agreed to try their strength upon a traveller, which should be able to get off his cloak first. The North Wind began, and blew a very cold blast, accompanied with a sharp, driving shower. But this, and whatever else he could do, instead of making the man quit his cloak, obliged him to gird it about his body as close as possible. Next came the Sun, who, breaking out from the thick, watery cloud, drove away the cold vapours from the sky, and darted his warm, sultry beams upon the head of the poor weather-beaten traveller. The man, growing faint with the heat, and unable to endure it any longer, first throws off his heavy cloak, and then flies for protection to the shade of a neighbouring grove. MORAL. Soft and gentle means will often accomplish what force and fury can never effect. FABLE XXXVI. THE TRAVELLERS AND THE BEAR. Two men, being about to travel through a forest together, mutually promised to stand by each other in any danger they should meet on the way. They had not gone far when a Bear came rushing towards them out of a thicket; upon which, one, being a light, nimble fellow, got up into a tree. The other, falling flat upon his face, and holding his breath, lay still, while the Bear came up and smelled at him; but that creature, supposing him to be a dead carcass, went back to the wood without doing him the least harm. When all was over, the man who had climbed the tree came down to his companion, and, with a pleasant smile, asked what the Bear had said to him; "For," says he, "I took notice that he clapped his mouth very close to your ear." "Why," replied the other, "he charged me to take care, for the future, not to put any confidence in such cowardly rascals as you are." MORAL. Nothing is more common than to hear people profess friendship when there is no occasion for it; but he is a true friend who is ready to assist us in the time of danger and difficulty. Choose, therefore, friends whom you can depend on for such a time, and greatly value them. FABLE XXXVII. THE DOG AND THE SHADOW. A DOG, crossing a small rivulet, with a piece of flesh in his mouth, which he had stolen from a butcher's shop, saw his own shadow represented in the clear mirror of the limpid stream; and, believing it to be another dog who was carrying another piece of flesh, he could not forbear catching at it, but was so far from getting anything by his greedy design, that he dropped the piece he had in his mouth, which immediately sank to the bottom, and was irrecoverably lost. MORAL. It is the just punishment of greediness to lose the substance by grasping at the shadow; while the man who would take what does not belong to him deserves to lose what he has. [Illustration: THE DOG AND THE SHADOW.] FABLE XXXVIII. THE HERMIT AND THE BEAR. ONCE on a time, a mountain Bear Lived in a forest drear, with no Bears near him; Fat, fierce, and sulky. Nor man nor other beast approached his lair; His neighbours all despise, or hate, or fear him. 'Tis good to talk--to hold one's tongue-- Though either in excess be wrong: Our hermit bulky, So shaggy, sullen, taciturn, and rude, Bear as he was, grew sick of solitude. At the same time, by chance, retired Far from the world, a man advanced in age, But stout and healthy. Not with devotion's flame his heart was fired; Not prayer and fasting occupied the sage; Though on mankind he shut his door, No vows of poverty he swore: The wight was wealthy. But by some treacherous friend, or fair, betrayed, He lived with plants, and communed with his spade. High priest of Flora you might call him; Nor less was he the favourite of Pomona. But one day, walking, He found it dull; and should some ill befall him, In his sweet paradise, he felt alone,--Ah! For neither rose, nor pink, nor vine, Except in such a lay as mine, Are given to talking. His head old Time had now long years heaped many on; So he resolved to look for some companion. On this important expedition-- But fearing his researches would be vain-- The sage departed: Revolving deeply his forlorn condition, He slowly mused along a narrow lane; When on a sudden--unawares-- A nose met his:--it was the Bear's! With fright he started. Fear is a common feeling: he that wise is, Although his fright be great, his fear disguises. Prudence suggested--"Stand your ground; 'Tis hard to turn, and harder still to dash on." Prudence prevails. 'Twixt kindred minds a sympathy is found Which lights up oft at sight a tender passion. Where sexes are of different kind; And oft 'twill ties of friendship bind Between two males: These magic signs our hermits, at a glance, see: Each found he strongly pleased the other's fancy. Bruin at compliments was awkward, But was not long his sentiments in telling-- "Old man, I like you!" The man replied, "Fair sir, you need not walk hard, In half an hour you'll reach my humble dwelling. I've milk, and various sorts of fruit, If any should your palate suit, Take what may strike you; On me it will confer the highest pleasure To spread before you all my garden's treasure." On jogged the human Hermit with the Bear, Like smoking Germans, few words interlarding; Though little said, Finding their tempers suited to a hair, They grew firm friends before they reached the garden. Each took his task, their moods the same, One dug, the other hunted game, And often sped; And Bruin, o'er his friend a strict watch keeping, Chased off the flies that haunted him when sleeping. One afternoon, as in the sun The weary Hermit took his usual nap, And at his post The faithful Bear his daily work begun, Giving full many a brush and gentle slap, With a light whisp of herbs sweet-scented, And thus the teasing flies prevented, That buzzing host, From fixing on his sleeping patron's visage, Sunk in the deep repose so fit for his age. One blue-bottle his care defied; No place could please him but the old man's nose, Quite unabashed. The Bear, provoked, no means would leave untried; At last, a vigorous, certain mode, he chose: Extending wide his heavy paw, And thrusting hard each crooked claw, The fly was smashed: But his poor patron's face, so roughly patted, All streamed with blood, and smooth his nose was flatted. The Bear sneaked off to humble distance, Seeing the damage he had done his friend; Who raged with smart. But calling in philosophy's assistance, Anger, he thought, his wounds would never mend, So coolly said, "Farewell, friend Bruin! Since you have laid my face in ruin, 'Tis time to part." MORAL. All those must such mishaps expect to share, Who, for a friend, think fit to take a Bear. FABLE XXXIX. THE SHEPHERD'S BOY AND THE WOLF. A CERTAIN Shepherd's Boy, who kept sheep upon a common, in sport and wantonness would often cry out, "The Wolf! the Wolf!" By this means, he several times drew the husbandmen in an adjoining field from their work; who, finding themselves deluded, resolved for the future to take no notice of his alarm. Soon after the Wolf came indeed. The boy cried out in earnest; but no heed being given to his cries, the sheep were devoured by the Wolf. MORAL. The notorious liar, besides the sin of the thing, will not be believed when, by chance, he tells the truth. FABLE XL. THE FAWN AND HER MOTHER. A HIND was one day stamping with her foot, and bellowing so loudly that the whole herd quaked for fear, when one of her little Fawns, coming up to her, said, "Mother, what is the reason that you, who are so strong and bold at all other times, if you do but hear the cry of the hounds, are so afraid of them?" "What you say is true," replied the Hind; "though I know not how to account for it. I am, indeed, vigorous and strong enough, and often resolve that nothing shall ever dismay my courage; but, alas! I no sooner hear the voice of a hound than all my spirits fail me, and I cannot help making off as fast as my legs can carry me." MORAL. When we have done all, Nature will remain what she was. There is no arguing a coward into courage. [Illustration: THE FAWN AND HER MOTHER.] FABLE XLI. THE TORTOISE AND THE EAGLE. The Tortoise, weary of his condition, by which he was confined to creep upon the ground, and being ambitious to have a prospect, and look about him, gave out that, if any bird would take him up into the air, and show him the world, he would reward him with the discovery of many precious stones, which he knew were hidden in a certain part of the earth. The Eagle undertook to do as he desired, and, when he had performed his commission, demanded the reward. But, finding the Tortoise could not make good his words, he stuck his talons into the softer parts of his body, and made him a sacrifice to his revenge. MORAL. He that, to secure an advantage, deceives his friend by an untruth, will surely suffer for it when he is detected. FABLE XLII. THE BROTHER AND SISTER. A CERTAIN Man had two children, a Son and a Daughter--the Boy handsome enough, the Girl not quite so comely. They were both very young, and happened one day to be playing near the looking-glass, which stood on their mother's toilet. The Boy, pleased with the novelty of the thing, viewed himself for some time, and in a wanton, roguish manner observed to the Girl how handsome he was. She resented the insult, and ran immediately to her father, and, with a great deal of aggravation, complained of her brother, particularly for having acted so effeminate a part as to look in a glass, and meddle with things which belong to women only. The father, embracing them both with much tenderness and affection, told them that he should like to have them both look in the glass every day; "To the intent that you," says he to the Boy, "if you think that face of yours handsome, may not disgrace and spoil it by an ugly temper and a bad behaviour; and that you," added he, addressing the Girl, "may make up for the defects of your person by the sweetness of your manners and the excellence of your understanding." MORAL. A well-informed mind is better than a handsome person. FABLE XLIII. THE SHEPHERD'S DOG AND THE WOLF. A WOLF, with hunger fierce and bold, Ravaged the plains, and thinned the fold; Deep in the wood secure he lay, The thefts of night regaled the day. In vain the shepherd's wakeful care Had spread the toils, and watched the snare; In vain the Dog pursued his pace, The fleeter robber mocked the chase. As Lightfoot ranged the forest round, By chance his foe's retreat he found: "Let us awhile the war suspend, And reason as from friend to friend." "A truce!" replies the Wolf. 'Tis done. The Dog the parley thus begun:-- "How can that strong, intrepid mind Attack a weak, defenceless kind? Those jaws should prey on nobler food, And drink the boar's and lion's blood; Great souls with generous pity melt, Which coward tyrants never felt. How harmless is our fleecy care! Be brave, and let thy mercy spare." "Friend," says the Wolf, "the matter weigh: Nature designed us beasts of prey; As such, when hunger finds a treat, 'Tis necessary Wolves should eat. If, mindful of the bleating weal, Thy bosom burn with real zeal, Hence, and thy tyrant lord beseech; To him repeat the moving speech. A Wolf eats sheep but now and then; Ten thousands are devoured by men." MORAL. An open foe may prove a curse, But a pretended friend is worse. FABLE XLIV. THE COVETOUS MAN. A POOR covetous wretch, who had scraped together a good parcel of money, went and dug a hole in one of his fields and hid it. The great pleasure of his life was to go and look upon this treasure once a day at least; which one of his servants observing, and guessing there was something more than ordinary in the place, came at night, found it, and carried it off. The next day, returning as usual to the scene of his delight, and perceiving it had been stolen away from him, he tore his hair for grief, and uttered the doleful complaints of his despair to the woods and meadows. At last, a neighbour of his, who knew his temper, overhearing him, and being informed of the occasion of his sorrow, "Cheer up, man!" says he, "thou has lost nothing; there is the hole for thee to go and peep at still; and if thou canst but fancy thy money there, it will do just as well." MORAL. Money, well used, has its full value; but when allowed to lie useless to others or to one's self, it possesses no more value than a heap of oyster shells. Avarice is, therefore, a silly as well as a sinful vice. Use your wealth in doing good, and its highest value will be attained. FABLE XLV. THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE. A HARE twitted a Tortoise on account of his slowness, and vainly boasted of her own great speed in running. "Let us make a match," replied the Tortoise: "I'll run with you five miles for five pounds, and the Fox yonder shall be the umpire of the race." The Hare agreed, and away they both started together. But the Hare, by reason of her exceeding swiftness, outran the Tortoise to such a degree that she made a jest of the matter, and, finding herself a little tired, squatted in a tuft of fern that grew by the way, and took a nap, thinking that, if the Tortoise went by, she could at any time catch him up with all the ease imaginable. In the meanwhile the Tortoise came jogging on, with a slow but continued motion; and the Hare, out of a too great security and confidence of victory, oversleeping herself, the Tortoise arrived at the end of the race first. MORAL. Industry and application will, in most cases, do more than quick and ready wit. The highest genius, without industry, will generally fail of any great exploit. [Illustration: THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE.] FABLE XLVI. THE HOG AND THE ACORNS. ONE moonshiny night, With a great appetite, A Hog feasted on Acorns with all his might: Quite pleased with his prize Both in taste and in size, While he ate he devoured the rest with his eyes. You know, I'm in joke, When I say that the oak, Moved a _bough_ to the grunter before she spoke; But you know, too, in fable, We feel ourselves able To make anything speak--tree, flower, or table. Said the Oak, looking big, "I think, Mr. Pig, You might thank me for sending you fruit from my twig; But, you ill-behaved Hog! You devour the prog, And have no better manners, I think, than a dog." He replied, looking up, Though not ceasing to sup, Till the Acorns were eaten--ay, every cup-- "I acknowledge, to you My thanks would be due, If from feelings of kindness my supper you threw. "To-morrow, good dame, Give my children the same, And then you, with justice, may gratitude claim." MORAL. He merits no praise To the end of his days, Who to those who surround him no service conveys. FABLE XLVII. THE COUNTRY MOUSE AND THE CITY MOUSE. An honest, plain, sensible country Mouse is said to have entertained at his hole one day a fine Mouse of the town. Having formerly been playfellows together, they were old acquaintances, which served as an apology for the visit. However, as master of the house, he thought himself obliged to do the honours of it, in all respects, and to make as great a stranger of his guest as he possibly could. In order to this, he set before him a reserve of delicate grey pease and bacon, a dish of fine oatmeal, some parings of new cheese, and, to crown all with a dessert, a remnant of a charming mellow apple. In good manners, he forebore to eat any of it himself, lest the stranger should not have enough; but, that he might seem to bear the other company, sat and nibbled a piece of wheaten straw very busily. At last, says the spark of the town, "Old croney, give me leave to be a little free with you. How can you bear to live in this nasty, dirty, melancholy hole here, with nothing but woods and meadows, mountains and rivulets about you? Do you not prefer the busy world to the chirping of birds, and the splendour of a court to the rude aspect of an uncultivated desert? Come, take my word for it, you will find it a change for the better. Stand not considering, but away this moment. Remember, we are not immortal, and therefore have no time to lose. Make sure of to-day, and spend it as agreeably as you can; you know not what may happen to-morrow." In short, these and such like arguments prevailed, and his country friend was resolved to go to town that night. So they both set out upon their journey, proposing to sneak in after the close of the evening. They did so, and about midnight made their entry into a certain great house, where there had been an extraordinary entertainment the day before, and several tit-bits, which some of the servants had purloined, were hid under a seat of a window. The country guest was immediately placed in the midst of a rich Persian carpet; and now it was the courtier's turn to entertain, who, indeed, acquitted himself in that capacity with the utmost readiness and address, changing the courses as elegantly, and tasting everything first as judiciously, as any clerk of the kitchen. The other sat and enjoyed himself like a delighted epicure, tickled to the last degree with this new turn of his affairs; when, on a sudden, a noise of somebody opening the door made them start from their seats and scuttle in confusion about the dining-room. Our country friend, in particular, was ready to die with fear at the barking of a huge Mastiff or two, which opened their throats just about the same time, and made the whole house echo. At last, recovering himself, "Well," says he, "if this be your town life, much good may you do with it; give me my poor, quiet hole again, with my homely but comfortable grey pease." MORAL. Poverty and safety are preferable to luxury and danger. FABLE XLVIII. THE CAT AND THE MICE. A CERTAIN house was much infested with Mice; but at last they got a Cat, who caught and ate every day some of them. The Mice, finding their numbers grow thin, consulted what was best to be done for the preservation of the public from the jaws of the devouring Cat. They debated and came to this resolution, that no one should go down below the upper shelf. The Cat, observing the Mice no longer came down as usual, hungry and disappointed of her prey, had recourse to this stratagem:--She hung by her hind legs on a peg which stuck in the wall, and made as if she had been dead, hoping by this lure to entice the Mice to come down. She had not been in this posture long before a cunning old Mouse peeped over the edge of the shelf, and spoke thus:--"Ha! ha! my good friend, are you there? There you may be! I would not trust myself with you, though your skin were stuffed with straw." MORAL. They that are wise will never trust those a second time who have deceived them once. FABLE XLIX. THE KID AND THE WOLF. A KID, being mounted upon the roof of a lofty shed, and seeing a Wolf below, loaded him with all manner of reproaches. Upon which, the Wolf, looking up, replied, "Do not vaunt yourself, vain creature, and think you mortify me; for I look upon this ill language as not coming from you, but from the place that protects you." MORAL. To rail or give bad language is wrong at all times; but when a man is protected by circumstances, it is cowardly, as well as wrong. The man who then uses it becomes a fit object of contempt to him that he reviles. [Illustration: THE KID AND THE WOLF.] FABLE L. THE COUNCIL OF HORSES. UPON a time, a neighing Steed, Who grazed among a numerous breed, With mutiny had fired the train, And spread dissension through the plain. On matters that concerned the state The council met in grand debate. A Colt, whose eye-balls flamed with ire, Elate with strength and youthful fire, In haste stepped forth before the rest, And thus the listening throng addressed:-- "Good gods! how abject is our race! Condemned to slavery and disgrace! Shall we our servitude retain, Because our sires have borne the chain? Consider, friends, your strength and might; 'Tis conquest to assert your right. How cumberous is the gilded coach! The pride of man is our reproach. Were we designed for daily toil, To drag the ploughshare through the soil; To sweat in harness through the road; To groan beneath the carrier's load? How feeble are the two-legged kind! What force is in our nerves combined! Shall, then, our nobler jaws submit To foam and champ the galling bit? Shall haughty men my back bestride? Shall the sharp spur provoke my side? Forbid it, heavens! reject the rein, Your shame, your infamy disdain. Let him the Lion first control, And still the Tiger's famished growl! Let us, like them, our freedom claim; And make him tremble at our name." A general nod approved the cause, And all the circle neighed applause; When, lo! with grave and solemn pace, A Steed advanced before the race, With age and long experience wise; Around he casts his thoughtful eyes, And, to the murmurs of the train, Thus spoke the Nestor of the plain:-- "When I had health and strength, like you, The toils of servitude I knew. Now, grateful man rewards my pains, And gives me all these wide domains. At will I crop the year's increase; My latter life is rest and peace. I grant, to man we lend our pains, And aid him to correct the plains. But doth not he divide the care, Through all the labours of the year? How many thousand structures rise, To fence us from inclement skies! For us he bears the sultry day, And stores up all our winter's hay. He sows, he reaps the harvest gain; We share the toil, and share the grain." The tumult ceased. The Colt submitted; And, like his ancestors, was bitted. MORAL. Since every creature is decreed To aid each other's mutual need; Submit with a contented mind To act the part by heaven assigned. FABLE LI. THE ASS AND THE LITTLE DOG. The Ass, observing how great a favourite a little Dog was with his master, how much caressed, and fondled, and fed with good bits at every meal, and for no other reason, as he could perceive, but skipping and frisking about, wagging his tail, and leaping up in his master's lap, was resolved to imitate the same, and see whether such behaviour would not procure him the same favours. Accordingly, the master was no sooner come home from walking about his fields and gardens, and was seated in his easy chair, than the Ass, who observed him, came gamboling and braying towards him, in a very awkward manner. The master could not help laughing aloud at the odd sight. But the jest soon became earnest, when he felt the rough salute of the fore-feet, as the Ass, raising himself upon his hinder legs, pawed against his breast with a most loving air, and would fain have jumped into his lap. The good man, terrified at this outrageous conduct, and unable to endure the weight of so heavy a beast, cried out; upon which one of his servants, running in with a good stick, and laying heartily upon the bones of the poor Ass, soon convinced him that everyone who desires it is not qualified to be a favourite. MORAL. All men have not the same gifts of pleasing. It will be well, therefore, to keep in our own place; and, in that condition of life, to do our duty. By which we shall be most likely to give satisfaction. FABLE LII. THE LION AND THE FOUR BULLS. Four Bulls, which had entered into a very strict friendship, kept always near one another, and fed together. The Lion often saw them, and as often wished to make one of them his prey; but though he could easily have subdued any of them singly, yet he was afraid to attack the whole when together, knowing they would have been too hard for him; and, therefore, contented himself for the present with keeping at a distance. At last, perceiving no attempt was to be made upon them as long as their combination lasted, he took occasion, by whispers and hints, to foment jealousies and raise divisions among them. This stratagem succeeded so well, that the Bulls grew cold and reserved towards one another, which soon after ripened into a downright hatred and aversion, and, at last, ended in a total separation. The Lion had now obtained his ends; and, as impossible as it was for him to hurt them while they were united, he found no difficulty, now they were parted, to seize and devour every Bull of them, one after another. MORAL. Union is strength. Jealousy and envy, especially when fomented by whisperers, will destroy gradually the ties that make us safe against enemies. FABLE LIII. THE LEOPARD AND THE FOX. The Leopard one day took it into his head to value himself upon the great variety and beauty of his spots; and, truly, he saw no reason why even the lion should take place of him, since he could not show so beautiful a skin. As for the rest of the wild beasts of the forests, he treated them all, without distinction, in the most haughty and disdainful manner. But the Fox, being among them, went up to him with a great deal of spirit and resolution, and told him that he was mistaken in the value he was pleased to set upon himself, since people of judgment were not used to form their opinion of merit from an outside appearance, but by considering the good qualities and endowments with which the mind was stored within. MORAL. Haughty beauty is an ungraceful thing. True beauty is always found in a setting of modesty, and then only appears the bright jewel that it is. [Illustration: THE LEOPARD AND THE FOX.] FABLE LIV. THE WARRIOR WOLF. A YOUNG Wolf said aloud To the listening crowd, "I may well of my father's great courage be proud; Wherever he came, Flock, shepherd, or dame, All trembled and fled at the sound of his name. Did anyone spy My papa coming by-- Two hundred or more--Oh! he made them all fly! One day, by a blow, He was conquered, I know; But no wonder at last he should yield to a foe: He yielded, poor fellow! The conquering bellow Resounds in my ears as my poor father's knell--Oh!" A Fox then replied, While, leering aside, He laughed at his folly and vapouring pride: "My chattering youth, Your nonsense, forsooth, Is more like a funeral sermon than truth. Let history tell How your old father fell; And see if the narrative sounds as well. Your folly surpasses, Of monkeys all classes; The beasts which he frightened, or conquered, were asses, Except a few sheep, When the shepherd, asleep, The dog by his side for safety did keep. Your father fell back, Knocked down by a whack From the very first bull that he dared to attack. Away he'd have scoured, But soon overpowered, He lived like a thief, and he died like a coward." FABLE LV. THE BELLY AND THE MEMBERS. In former days, when the Belly and the other parts of the body enjoyed the faculty of speech, and had separate views and designs of their own; each part, it seems, in particular, for himself, and in the name of the whole, took exception at the conduct of the Belly, and were resolved to grant him supplies no longer. They said they thought it very hard that he should lead an idle, good-for-nothing life, spending and squandering away upon his own vile appetites all the fruits of their labour; and that, in short, they were resolved for the future to strike off his allowance, and let him shift for himself as well as he could. The hands protested they would not lift a finger to keep him from starving; and the mouth wished he might never speak again if he took in the least bit of nourishment for him as long as he lived; and the teeth said, "May we be rotten if ever we chew a morsel for him for the future!" This solemn league and covenant was kept so long, until each of the rebel members pined away to the skin and bone, and could hold out no longer. Then they found there was no doing without the Belly, and that, as idle and insignificant as he seemed, he contributed as much to the maintenance and welfare of all the other parts as they did to his. MORAL. Men are dependent upon their fellow-creatures, and it is foolish to expect we can do without the help of others. FABLE LVI. THE CUR, THE HORSE, AND THE SHEPHERD'S DOG. A VILLAGE Cur, of snappish race, The pertest puppy in the place, Imagined that his treble throat Was blessed with music's sweetest note; In the mid road he basking lay, The yelping nuisance of the way; For not a creature passed along, But had a sample of his song. Soon as the trotting steed he hears, He starts, he cocks his dapper ears; Away he scours, assaults his hoof; Now near him snarls, now barks aloof; With shrill impertinence attends; Nor leaves him till the village ends. It chanced, upon his evil day, A Pad came pacing down the way; The Cur, with never-ceasing tongue, Upon the passing traveller sprung. The Horse, from scorn provoked to ire, Flung backward; rolling in the mire, The Puppy howled, and bleeding lay; The Pad in peace pursued his way. A Shepherd's Dog, who saw the deed, Detesting the vexatious breed, Bespoke him thus: "When coxcombs prate, They kindle wrath, contempt, or hate; Thy teasing tongue, had judgment tied, Thou hadst not like a Puppy died." MORAL. Too late the forward youth will find That jokes are sometimes paid in kind; Or, if they canker in the breast, He makes a foe who makes a jest. FABLE LVII. THE JACKDAW AND THE EAGLE. An Eagle flew down from the top of a high rock, and settled upon the back of a lamb, and then, instantly flying up into the air again, bore his bleating prize aloft in his talons. A Jackdaw, who sat upon an elm, and beheld his exploit, resolved to imitate it. So, flying upon the back of a ram, and entangling his claws in the wool, he fell a-chattering and attempting to fly; by which means he drew the observation of the shepherd upon him, who, finding his feet hampered in the fleece of the ram, easily took him, and gave him to his boys for their sport and diversion, saying, "The silly bird thought he was an Eagle; but, no doubt, by this time he has found out he is but a Jackdaw." MORAL. A false estimate of our own abilities ever exposes us to ridicule, and often to danger. [Illustration: THE JACKDAW AND THE EAGLE.] FABLE LVIII. THE ASS AND THE LION HUNTING. The Lion took a fancy to hunt in company with the Ass; and, to make him the more useful, gave him instructions to hide himself in a thicket, and then to bray in the most frightful manner that he could possibly contrive. "By this means," says he, "you will rouse all the beasts within hearing of you, while I stand at the outlets and take them as they are making off." This was done; and the stratagem took effect accordingly. The Ass brayed most hideously, and the timorous beasts, not knowing what to make of it, began to scour off as fast as they could; when the Lion, who was posted at a convenient place, seized and devoured them as he pleased. Having got his belly full, he called out to the Ass, and bid him leave off braying, as he had had enough. Upon this the lop-eared brute came out of his ambush, and, approaching the Lion, asked him, with an air of conceit, "how he liked his performance." "Prodigiously," says he; "you did it so well, that I protest, had I not known your nature and temper, I might have been frightened myself." MORAL. Boastful cowards may impose upon those who do not know them, but are held to be only ridiculous by those who do. Pompous persons who would wish themselves thought perfect Lions, when known are mostly found arrant Asses. FABLE LIX. THE WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. A WOLF clothing himself in the skin of a Sheep, and getting in among the flock, by this means took the opportunity to devour many of them. At last, the Shepherd discovered him, and cunningly fastened a rope about his neck, tying him up to a tree which stood hard by. Some other Shepherds happening to pass that way, and observing what he was about, drew near, and expressed their wonder at it. "What," says one of them, "Brother, do you hang Sheep?" "No," replies the other; "I hang a Wolf whenever I catch him, though in the habit and garb of Sheep." Then he showed them their mistake, and they applauded the justice of the execution. MORAL. Those who try to seem what they are not will not always thereby escape the punishment of what they are. FABLE LX. THE TWO BEES. On a fine morning in May, two Bees set forward in quest of honey; the one, wise and temperate; the other, careless and extravagant. They soon arrived at a garden enriched with aromatic herbs, the most fragrant flowers, and the most delicious fruits. They regaled themselves for a time on the various dainties that were set before them: the one loading his thigh at intervals with provisions for the hive against the distant winter, the other revelling in sweets, without regard to anything but his present gratification. At length, they found a wide-mouthed vial, that hung beneath the bough of a peach-tree, filled with honey ready tempered, and exposed to their taste in the most alluring manner. The thoughtless Epicure, spite of all his friend's remonstrances, plunged headlong into the vessel, resolving to indulge himself in all the pleasures of sensuality. The Philosopher, on the other hand, sipped a little with caution, but, being suspicious of danger, flew off to fruits and flowers; where, by the moderation of his meals, he improved his relish for the true enjoyment of them. In the evening, however, he called upon his friend, to inquire whether he would return to the hive, but found him surfeited in sweets, which he was as unable to leave as to enjoy. Clogged in his wings, enfeebled in his feet, and his whole frame totally enervated, he was but just able to bid his friend adieu, and to lament, with his latest breath, that though a taste of pleasure may quicken the relish of life, an unrestrained indulgence is inevitable destruction. MORAL. Moderation rewards and intemperance punishes itself. FABLE LXI. THE TURKEY AND THE ANT. A TURKEY, tired of common food, Forsook the barn, and sought the wood; Behind her ran her infant train, Collecting here and there a grain. "Draw near, my birds," the mother cries, "This hill delicious fare supplies; Behold the busy negro race, See millions blacken all the place. Fear not: like me, with freedom eat; An Ant is most delightful meat. How blessed, how envied were our life, Could we but 'scape the poulterer's knife! But man, cursed man, on Turkeys preys, And Christmas shortens all our days. Sometimes with oysters we combine; Sometimes assist the savoury chine: From the low peasant to the lord, The Turkey smokes on every board; Sure, men for gluttony are cursed, Of the seven deadly sins, the worst." An Ant, who climbed beyond her reach, Thus answered from the neighbouring beech: "Ere you remark another's sin, Bid thy own conscience look within; Control thy more voracious bill, Nor, for a breakfast, nations kill." MORAL. In other folks we faults can spy, And blame the mote that dims their eye; Each little speck and blemish find: To our own stronger errors blind. FABLE LXII. THE DOG AND THE WOLF. A LEAN, hungry, half-starved Wolf happened, one moonshiny night, to meet a jolly, plump, well-fed Mastiff; and after the first compliments were passed, says the Wolf, "You look extremely well; I protest, I think I never saw a more graceful, comely person; but how comes it about, I beseech you, that you should live so much better than I? I may say, without vanity, that I venture fifty times more than you do, and yet I am almost ready to perish with hunger." The Dog answered very bluntly, "Why, you may live as well, if you do the same for it as I do." "Indeed! what is that?" says he. "Why," says the Dog, "only to guard the house at night, and keep it from thieves." "With all my heart," replies the Wolf, "for at present I have but a sorry time of it; and I think to change my hard lodging in the woods, where I endure rain, frost, and snow, for a warm roof over my head and enough of good victuals, will be no bad bargain." "True," says the Dog; "therefore you have nothing to do but to follow me." [Illustration: THE HOUSE DOG AND THE WOLF.] Now, as they were jogging on together, the Wolf spied a crease in the Dog's neck, and having a strange curiosity, could not forbear asking him what it meant! "Pugh! nothing," says the Dog. "Nay, but pray," says the Wolf. "Why," says the Dog, "if you must know, I am tied up in the day-time, because I am a little fierce, for fear I should bite people, and am only let loose at nights. But this is done with a design to make me sleep by day, more than anything else, and that I may watch the better in the night time; for, as soon as ever the twilight appears, out I am turned, and may go where I please. Then my master brings me plates of bones from the table with his own hands; and whatever scraps are left by any of the family, all fall to my share; for, you must know, I am a favourite with everybody. So you see how you are to live.--Come, come along; what is the matter with you?" "No," replied the Wolf, "I beg your pardon; keep your happiness all to yourself. Liberty is the word with me; and I would not be a king upon the terms you mention." MORAL. The lowest condition of life, with freedom, is happier than the greatest without it. The bird of the air, though he roosts on a bough, has more real joy than the well-fed captive in a gilded cage. FABLE LXIII. THE SATYR AND THE TRAVELLER. A SATYR, as he was ranging the forest in an exceedingly cold, snowy season, met with a Traveller half starved with the extremity of the weather. He took compassion on him, and kindly invited him home to a warm, comfortable cave he had in a hollow of a rock. As soon as they had entered and sat down, notwithstanding there was a good fire in the place, the chilled Traveller could not forbear blowing his finger-ends. Upon the Satyr asking him why he did so, he answered that he did it to warm his hands. The honest Sylvan having seen little of the world, admired a man who was master of so valuable a quality as that of blowing heat; and, therefore, was resolved to entertain him in the best manner he could. He spread the table before him with dried fruits of several sorts, and produced a remnant of cold cordial wine, which, as the rigour of the season made very proper, he mulled with some warm spices, over the fire, and presented to his shivering guest. But this the Traveller thought fit to blow likewise; and upon the Satyr's demanding the reason why he blowed again, he replied, to cool the dish. This second answer provoked the Satyr's indignation, as much as the first had kindled his surprise; so, taking the man by the shoulder, he thrust him out, saying he would have nothing to do with a wretch who had so vile a quality as to blow hot and cold with the same mouth. MORAL. Double dealing is always detestable. The man that blows hot and cold at the same time is not worthy to be trusted; the sooner we part from him the better. FABLE LXIV. THE BARLEY-MOW AND THE DUNGHILL. As 'CROSS his yard, at early day, A careful farmer took his way, He stopped, and leaning on his fork, Observed the flail's incessant work. In thought he measured all his store; His geese, his hogs, he numbered o'er; In fancy weighed the fleeces shorn, And multiplied the next year's corn. A Barley-Mow, which stood beside, Thus to its musing master cried: "Say, good sir, is it fit or right, To treat me with neglect and slight? Me, who contribute to your cheer, And raise your mirth with ale and beer! Why thus insulted, thus disgraced, And that vile Dunghill near me placed? Are those poor sweepings of a groom, That filthy sight, that nauseous fume, Meet objects here? Command it hence: A thing so mean must give offence." The humble Dunghill thus replied: "Thy master hears, and mocks thy pride. Insult not thus the meek and low; In me thy benefactor know: My warm assistance gave thee birth, Or thou hadst perished low in earth: But upstarts, to support their station, Cancel at once all obligation." FABLE LXV. THE SHEEP-BITER AND SHEPHERD. A CERTAIN Shepherd had a Dog, upon whose fidelity he relied very much; for whenever he had occasion to be absent himself, he committed the care and tuition of the flock to the charge of his Dog; and, to encourage him to do his duty cheerfully, he fed him constantly with sweet curds and whey, and sometimes threw him a crust or two. Yet, notwithstanding this, no sooner was his back turned, but the treacherous cur fell foul of the flock, and devoured the sheep, instead of guarding and defending them. The Shepherd being informed of this, was resolved to hang him; and the Dog, when the rope was about his neck, and he was just going to be hung, began to expostulate with his master, asking him, why he was so unmercifully bent against him, who was his own servant and creature, and had only committed two or three crimes, and why he did not rather execute vengeance upon the Wolf, who was a constant and declared enemy? "Nay," replies the Shepherd, "it is for that very reason that I think you ten times more deserving of death than he. From him I expected nothing but hostilities; and therefore could guard against him. You I depended upon as a just and faithful servant, and fed and encouraged you accordingly; and therefore your treachery is the more notorious, and your ingratitude the more unpardonable." MORAL. A known enemy is better than a treacherous friend. FABLE LXVI. THE STAG AT THE POOL. A STAG that had been drinking at a clear spring, saw himself in the water; and, pleased with the sight, stood long contemplating and surveying his shape and features from head to foot. "Ah!" says he, "what a glorious pair of branching horns are there! How gracefully do those antlers hang over my forehead, and give an agreeable turn to my whole face! If some other parts of my body were but in proportion to them, I would turn my back to nobody; but I have a set of such legs as really make me ashamed to see them. People may talk what they please of their conveniences, and what great need we stand in of them, upon several occasions; but, for my part, I find them so very slender and unsightly that I had as lief have none at all." While he was giving himself these airs, he was alarmed with the noise of some huntsmen and a pack of hounds that had been just laid on upon the scent, and were making towards him. [Illustration: THE STAG AT THE POOL.] Away he flees in some consternation, and, bounding nimbly over the plain, threw dogs and men at a vast distance behind him. After which, taking a very thick copse, he had the ill-fortune to be entangled by his horns in a thicket, where he was held fast, till the hounds came in and pulled him down. Finding now how it was likely to go with him, in the pangs of death, he is said to have uttered these words:--"Unhappy creature that I am! I am too late convinced that what I prided myself in has been the cause of my undoing, and what I so much disliked was the only thing that could have saved me." MORAL. Beauty often becomes a snare and ruin, while solid virtue, though unadorned, gains respect. The latter, too, will mature with age, while the former will surely fade. FABLE LXVII. THE OLD SWALLOWS AND THE YOUNG BIRDS. A SWALLOW, observing a husbandman employed in sowing hemp, called the little Birds together, and informed them what the farmer was about. He told them that hemp was the material from which the nets, so fatal to the feathered race, were composed; and advised them unanimously to join in picking it up, in order to prevent the consequences. The Birds, either disbelieving his information, or neglecting his advice, gave themselves no trouble about the matter. In a little time, the hemp appeared above the ground. The friendly Swallow again addressed himself to them--told them it was not yet too late, provided they would immediately set about the work, before the seeds had taken too deep root. But, they still rejecting his advice, he forsook their society; repaired, for safety, to towns and cities; there built his habitation, and kept his residence. One day, as he was skimming along the streets, he happened to see a great number of these very Birds, imprisoned in a cage, on the shoulders of a bird-catcher. "Unhappy wretches!" said he, "you now feel the punishment of your former neglect. But those who, having no foresight of their own, despise the wholesome admonition of their friends, deserve the mischiefs which their own obstinacy or negligence bring upon their heads." MORAL. This Fable teaches thoughtless youth A most important moral truth:-- The seeds, which proved the young birds' ruin, Are emblems of their own undoing, Should they neglect, while yet 'tis time, To pluck the early shoots of crime; Or, in their own opinions wise, The counsel of their friends despise. For evil habits, left to grow, Are ever sure to lead to woe; But checked in time with vigorous hand, Will bend to virtue's firm command. FABLE LXVIII. THE WAGGONER AND THE BUTTERFLY. The rain so soft had made the road, That, in a rut, a waggon-load, The poor man's harvest, (bitter luck!) Sank down a foot, and there it stuck. He whipped his horses, but in vain; They pulled and splashed, and pulled again, But vainly still; the slippery soil Defied their strength, and mocked their toil. Panting they stood, with legs outspread; The driver stood, and scratched his head: (A common custom, by-the-bye, When people know not what to try, Though not, it seems, a remedy). A Butterfly, in flower concealed, Had travelled with them from the field; Who in the waggon was thrown up, While feasting on a buttercup. The panting of each labouring beast Disturbed her at her fragrant feast; The sudden stop, the driver's sigh, Awoke her generous sympathy. And, seeing the distressing case She cried, while springing from her place, (Imagining her tiny freight A vast addition to the weight,) "I must have pity--and be gone, Now, master Waggoner, drive on." MORAL. Do not admire this Butterfly, Young reader; I will tell you why. At first, goodnature seems a cause, Why she should merit your applause; But 'twas conceit that filled her breast: Her self-importance made a jest Of what might otherwise have claimed Your praise,--but now she must be blamed. Should any case occur, when you May have some friendly act to do; Give all _your feeble aid_--as such, But estimate it not too much. FABLE LXIX. THE LION, THE BEAR, AND THE FOX. A LION and a Bear quarrelling over the carcase of a Fawn, which they found in the forest, their title to him had to be decided by force of arms. The battle was severe and tough on both sides, and they fought it out, tearing and worrying one another so long, that, what with wounds and fatigue, they were so faint and weary, that they were not able to strike another stroke. Thus, while they lay upon the ground, panting and lolling out their tongues, a Fox chanced to pass by that way, who, perceiving how the case stood, very impudently stepped in between them, seized the booty which they had all this while been contending for, and carried it off. The two combatants, who lay and beheld all this, without having strength to stir and prevent it, were only wise enough to make this reflection:--"Behold the fruits of our strife and contention! That villain, the Fox, bears away the prize, and we ourselves have deprived each other of the power to recover it from him." MORAL. When fools quarrel, knaves get the prize of contention. FABLE LXX. THE FOX AND THE GRAPES. In days of yore, when a young Fox would take more pains to get a bunch of grapes than a plump, fat goose, an arch young thief cast his eyes on a fine bunch which hung on the top of a poor man's vine, and made him lick his lips like a hound at the sight of a joint of meat. "Oh," said he, "how nice they look! I must have a taste of them, if I die for it;" and with that, up he jumped with all his might, but had the ill-luck not to reach the grapes; yet, as he could not find in his heart to leave them, he tried for them as long as he was able; so he leaped and jumped, and jumped and leaped, till at last he was glad to rest. But when he found all his pains were in vain, "Hang them!" said he, "I am sure they are not fit to eat, for they are as sour as crabs, and would set my teeth on edge for a whole week; and so I shall leave them for the next fool who may chance to come this way." MORAL. Some men make light of that which is out of their reach, though at the same time in their hearts they know not what to do for want of it. [Illustration: THE FOX AND THE GRAPES.] FABLE LXXI. THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. A HARE, who, in a civil way, Complied with everything, like Gay, Was known by all the bestial train, Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain. As forth she went, at early dawn, To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn, Behind she hears the hunter's cries, And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies. She starts, she stops, she pants for breath; She hears the near approach of death; She doubles, to mislead the hound, And measures back her mazy round; Till, fainting in the public way, Half dead with fear, she gasping lay:-- What transport in her bosom grew, When first the Horse appeared in view! "Let me," says she, "your back ascend, And owe my safety to a friend; You know my feet betray my flight; To friendship, ev'ry burthen's light." The Horse replied,--"Poor, honest Puss! It grieves my heart to see thee thus: Be comforted,--relief is near; For all our friends are in the rear." She next the stately Bull implored, And thus replied the mighty lord:-- "Since every beast alive can tell, That I sincerely wish you well, I may, without offence, pretend To take the freedom of a friend. Love calls me hence; a favourite cow Expects me near yon barley-mow; And when a lady's in the case, You know, all other things give place. To leave you thus may seem unkind; But see,--the Goat is just behind." The Goat remarked her pulse was high; Her languid head, her heavy eye; "My back," says she, "may do you harm; The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm." The Sheep was feeble, and complained, His sides a load of wool sustained; Said he was slow; confessed his fears; For Hounds eat Sheep as well as Hares. She now the trotting Calf addressed, To save from death a friend distressed. "Shall I," says he, "of tender age, In this important care engage? Older and abler pass you by; How strong are those! how weak am I! Should I presume to bear you hence, Those friends of mine may take offence. Excuse me, then,--you know my heart; But dearest friends, alas! must part. How shall we all lament!--Adieu! For see, the Hounds are just in view." MORAL. Friendships are single: who depend On many rarely find a friend. FABLE LXXII. THE COCK AND THE FOX. A COCK, being perched among the branches of a lofty tree, crowed aloud, so that the shrillness of his voice echoed through the wood and invited a Fox to the place, who was prowling in that neighbourhood in quest of his prey. But Reynard, finding the Cock was inaccessible by reason of the height of his situation, had recourse to stratagem in order to decoy him down. So, approaching the tree, "Cousin," says he, "I am heartily glad to see you; but at the same time I cannot forbear expressing my uneasiness at the inconvenience of the place, which will not let me pay my respects to you in a handsomer manner; though I suppose you will come down presently, and thus the difficulty will be easily removed." "Indeed, cousin," says the Cock, "to tell you the truth, I do not think it safe to venture upon the ground; for though I am convinced how much you are my friend, yet I may have the misfortune to fall into the clutches of some other beasts, and what will become of me then?" "Oh, dear!" says Reynard, "is it possible that you can be so ignorant, as not to know of the peace which has been lately proclaimed between all kinds of birds and beasts; and that we are for the future to forbear hostilities on all sides, and to live in the utmost love and harmony, and this, under the penalty of suffering the severest punishment that can be inflicted?" All this while the Cock seemed to give little attention to what was said, but stretched out his neck, as if he saw something at a distance. "Cousin," says the Fox, "what is it that you look at so earnestly?" "Why," says the Cock, "I think I see a pack of hounds yonder, a little way off." "Oh, then," says the Fox, "your humble servant, I must begone." "Nay, pray cousin, do not go," says the Cock, "I am just coming down; surely you are not afraid of Dogs in these peaceable times?" "No, no," says he, "but ten to one whether they have heard of the proclamation yet." MORAL. When rogues are met in their own strain, they are generally worsted. It is interesting to see the snares of the wicked defeated by the discreet management of the innocent. "Answer a fool according to his folly," is an old maxim. FABLE LXXIII. THE LION AND THE MOUSE. A LION, faint with heat and weary with hunting, was lying down to take his repose under the spreading boughs of a thick shady oak. It happened that while he slept, a company of scrambling mice ran over his back, and waked him; upon which, starting up, he clapped his paw upon one of them, and was just going to put it to death, when the little supplicant implored his mercy in a very moving manner, begging him not to stain his noble character with the blood of so despicable and small a beast. The Lion, considering the matter, thought proper to do as he was desired, and immediately released his little trembling prisoner. Not long after, while traversing the forest in pursuit of his prey, he chanced to run into the toils of the hunters, from whence, not being able to disengage himself, he set up a most hideous and loud roar. The Mouse, hearing a voice, and knowing it to be the Lion's, immediately repaired to the place, and bid him fear nothing, for that he was his friend. Then straight he fell to work, and with his sharp little teeth gnawing asunder the knots and fastenings of the toils, set the royal brute at liberty. [Illustration: THE LION AND THE MOUSE.] MORAL. There is none so little, but that even the greatest may at some time or other stand in need of his assistance. FABLE LXXIV. THE TRUMPETER TAKEN PRISONER. A TRUMPETER, being taken prisoner in a battle, begged hard for quarter, declaring his innocence, and protesting that he neither had nor could kill any man, bearing no arms but only a trumpet, which he was obliged to sound at the word of command. "For that reason," replied his enemies, "we are determined not to spare you; for though you yourself never fight, yet with that wicked instrument of yours, you blow up animosity between other people, and so become the occasion of much bloodshed." MORAL. The hand may rest quiet by the side, and yet the tongue be the means of doing more injury than a thousand hands. FABLE LXXV. THE MOUSE AND THE ELEPHANT. A PERT young Mouse, but just arrived From Athens, where some time he'd lived; And daily to the portico, To pick up learning, used to go; Vain of the wisdom he had stored, And of the books he had devoured; Puffed up with pride and self-conceit, And proud to show his little wit, Thus to an Elephant, one day, He took it in his head to say:-- "Nay, not so pompous in your gait, Because Dame Nature made you great; I tell you, sir, your mighty size Is of no value in my eyes;-- Your magnitude, I have a notion, Is quite unfit for locomotion; When journeying far, you often prove How sluggishly your feet can move. Now, look at me: I'm made to fly; Behold, with what rapidity I skip about from place to place, And still unwearied with the race; But you--how lazily you creep, And stop to breathe at every step! Whenever I your bulk survey, I pity--" What he meant to say, Or with what kind of peroration He'd have concluded his oration, I cannot tell; for, all at once, There pounced upon the learned dunce An ambushed Cat; who, very soon, Experimentally made known, That between Mice and Elephants There is a mighty difference. MORAL. When fools pretend to wit and sense, And wish to shine at your expense, Defy them to the proof, and you Will make them their own folly show. FABLE LXXVI. THE HUSBANDMAN AND HIS SONS. A CERTAIN Husbandman, lying at the point of death, and being desirous his sons should pursue that innocent, entertaining course of agriculture in which he himself had been engaged all his life, made use of this expedient to induce them to it. He called them to his bed-side and spoke to this effect: "All the patrimony I have to bequeath you, Sons, is my farm and my vineyard, of which I make you joint heirs. But I charge you not to let it go out of your own occupation; for if I have any treasure besides, it lies buried somewhere in the ground, within a foot of the surface." This made the Sons conclude that he talked of money which he had hid there; so, after their father's death, with unwearied diligence and application, they carefully dug up every inch, both of the farm and vineyard; from which it came to pass that, though they missed the treasure which they expected, the ground, by being so well stirred and loosened, produced so plentiful a crop of all that was sowed in it as proved a real, and no inconsiderable treasure. MORAL. Labour and industry, well applied, seldom fail of finding a rich treasure. And if these do not give us exactly the wealth we are looking for, they will certainly give us health and cheerfulness, with a tranquil mind, and, without these, all the gold of Peru would lie in our coffers useless. FABLE LXXVII. THE BALD KNIGHT. A CERTAIN Knight growing old, his hair fell off, and he became bald; to hide which imperfection he wore a periwig. But as he was riding out with some others a-hunting, a sudden gust of wind blew off the periwig, and exposed his bald pate. The company could not forbear laughing at the accident; and he himself laughed as loud as anybody, saying, "How was it to be expected that I should keep strange hair on my head, when my own would not stay there." MORAL. If, by any word or action, we happen to raise the laughter of those about us, we cannot stifle it better than, by a brisk presence of mind, to join in the mirth of the company, and, if possible, anticipate the jests they are ready to make on us. FABLE LXXVIII. THE DOG IN THE MANGER. A DOG was lying upon a manger full of hay. An Ox, being hungry, came near, and wanted to eat of the hay; but the envious, ill-natured cur, getting up and snarling at him, would not suffer him to touch it. Upon which the Ox, in the bitterness of his heart, said, "What a selfish wretch thou art, for thou canst neither eat hay thyself, nor suffer others to do so." MORAL. Selfishness is a most contemptible thing; but that degree of it which withholds from others what we can make no possible use of ourselves, is hateful in the extreme. FABLE LXXIX. THE OLD MAN AND DEATH. [Illustration: THE DOG IN THE MANGER.] A POOR, feeble old Man, who had crawled out into a neighbouring wood to gather a few sticks, had made up his bundle, and, laying it over his shoulders, was trudging homeward with it; but what with age, and the length of the way, and the weight of his burden, he grew so faint and weak that he sunk under it, and, as he sat on the ground, called upon Death to come and ease him of his troubles. Death no sooner heard him than he came and demanded of him what he wanted. The poor old creature, who little thought Death had been so near, and frightened almost out of his senses with his terrible aspect, answered him, trembling, That, having by chance let his bundle of sticks fall, and being too infirm to get it up himself, he had made bold to call upon him to help him; that, indeed, this was all he wanted at present, and that he hoped his worship was not offended with him for the liberty he had taken in so doing. MORAL. Men lightly speak of Death when they think he is far away; but let him appear near, and the very sense of his approach almost drives the life away. Men then resume the burden of cares which they had thrown down as insupportable, being content to bear the ills they have than fly to others that they know not of. FABLE LXXX. THE OLD HEN AND YOUNG COCK. As an old Hen led forth her train, And seemed to peck, to show the grain; She raked the chaff, she scratched the ground, And gleaned the spacious yard around. A giddy chick, to try her wings, On the well's narrow margin springs, And prone she drops. The mother's breast All day with sorrow was possessed. A Cock she met--her son, she knew; And in her heart affection grew. "My son," says she, "I grant, your years Have reached beyond a mother's cares; I see you vigorous, strong, and bold; I hear, with joy, your triumphs told. 'Tis not from Cocks thy fate I dread; But let thy ever-wary tread Avoid yon well; that fatal place Is sure perdition to our race. Print this, my counsel, on thy breast; To the just gods I leave the rest." He thanked her care; yet, day by day, His bosom burned to disobey; And every time the well he saw, Scorned, in his heart, the foolish law; Near and more near each day he drew, And longed to try the dangerous view. "Why was this idle charge?" he cries; "Let courage female fears despise! Or did she doubt my heart was brave, And, therefore, this injunction gave? Or does her harvest store the place, A treasure for her younger race? And would she thus my search prevent?-- I stand resolved, and dare th' event." Thus said, he mounts the margin's round, And pries into the depth profound. He stretched his neck; and, from below, With stretching neck advanced a foe: With wrath his ruffled plumes he tears; The foe with ruffled plumes appears: Threat answered threat, his fury grew; Headlong to meet the war he flew; But when the watery death he found, He thus lamented as he drowned: "I ne'er had been in this condition, Had I obeyed the prohibition." MORAL. Obey your parents, or 'twill be your fate, To feel repentance when it comes too late. FABLE LXXXI. MERCURY AND THE WOODMAN. A MAN was felling a tree on the bank of a river, and by chance let his hatchet slip out of his hand, which dropped into the water, and immediately sunk to the bottom. Being, therefore, in great distress from the loss of his tool, he sat down and bemoaned himself most lamentably. Upon this, Mercury appeared to him, and being informed of the cause of his complaint, dived to the bottom of the river, and, coming up again, showed the man a golden hatchet, demanding if that were his. He denied that it was; upon which Mercury dived a second time, and brought up a silver one. The Man refused it, alleging likewise that this was not his. He dived a third time, and fetched up the individual hatchet the man had lost; upon sight of which the poor fellow was overjoyed, and took it with all humility and thankfulness. Mercury was so pleased with the fellow's honesty, that he gave him the other two into the bargain, as a reward for his just dealing. The man then went to his companions, and, giving them an account of what had happened, one of them went presently to the river side, and let his hatchet fall designedly into the stream. Then, sitting down upon the bank, he fell a-weeping and lamenting, as if he had been really and sorely afflicted. Mercury appeared as before, and, diving, brought him up a golden hatchet, asking if that was the one he had lost. Transported at the precious metal, he answered "Yes," and went to snatch it greedily. But the god, detesting his abominable impudence, not only refused to give him that, but would not so much as let him have his own hatchet again. MORAL. Honesty is the best policy; it has made many a man's fortune, being blessed by God, and highly valued by man. FABLE LXXXII. THE WOLF AND THE KID. The GOAT, going abroad to feed, shut up her young kid at home, charging him to bolt the door fast, and open it to nobody, till she herself should return. The Wolf, who lay lurking just by, heard this charge given, and soon after came and knocked at the door, counterfeiting the voice of the Goat, and desiring to be admitted. The Kid, looking out of the window and discovering the cheat, bid him go about his business; for however he might imitate a Goat's voice, yet he appeared too much like a Wolf to be trusted. MORAL. We cannot use too much caution in avoiding those things which those who have more experience than we have warned us against. FABLE LXXXIII. THE OLD MAN AND HIS SONS. [Illustration: THE WOLF AND THE GOAT.] An Old Man had many Sons, who were often falling out with one another. When the father had exerted his authority, and used other means in order to reconcile them, and all to no purpose, he at last had recourse to this expedient: he ordered his Sons to be called before him, and a short bundle of sticks to be brought; and then commanded them, one by one, to try if, with all their might and strength, they could any of them break it. They all tried, but to no purpose; for the sticks being closely and compactly bound up together, it was impossible for the force of man to do it. After this the father ordered the bundle to be untied, and gave a single stick to each of his Sons, at the same time bidding him try to break it, which, when each did, with all imaginable ease, the father addressed himself to them to this effect: "O, my sons, behold the power of unity! for if you, in like manner, would but keep yourselves strictly joined in the bonds of friendship, it would not be in the power of any mortal to hurt you; but when once the ties of brotherly affection are dissolved, how soon do you fall to pieces, and become liable to be violated by every injurious hand that assaults you." MORAL. Union is strength. Love is a powerful bond, which, when cherished, will make those who are bound together by it irresistible. FABLE LXXXIV. THE BROOK AND THE FOUNTAIN. A FOUNTAIN varied gambols played, Close by an humble Brook; While gently murmuring through the glade, Its peaceful course it took. Perhaps it gave one envious gaze Upon the Fountain's height, While glittering in the morning rays Pre-eminently bright. In all the colours of the sky, Alternately it shone: The Brook observed it with a sigh, But quietly rolled on. The owner of the Fountain died; Neglect soon brought decay; The bursting pipes were ill-supplied; The Fountain ceased to play. But still the Brook its peaceful course Continued to pursue; Her ample, inexhausted source, From Nature's fount she drew. "Now," said the Brook, "I bless my fate, My showy rival gone; Contented in its native state My little stream rolls on. And all the world has cause, indeed, To own, with grateful heart, How much great Nature's works excel The feeble works of art." MORAL. Humble usefulness is preferable to idle splendour. FABLE LXXXV. THE MICE IN COUNCIL. The Mice called a general council, and, having met, after the doors were locked, entered into a free consultation about ways and means how to render their fortunes and estates more secure from the danger of the Cat. Many things were offered, and much was debated, "pro and con," upon the matter. At last, a young Mouse, in a fine, florid speech, concluded with an expedient, and that the only one, which was to put them for the future entirely out of the power of the enemy; and this was that the Cat should wear a bell about her neck, which, upon the least motion, would give the alarm, and be a signal for them to retire into their holes. This speech was received with great applause, and it was even proposed by some that the Mouse who made it should have the thanks of the assembly; upon which an old, grave Mouse, who had sat silent all the while, stood up, and, in another speech, owned that the contrivance was admirable, and the author of it, without doubt, an ingenious Mouse, but, he said, he thought it would not be so proper to vote him thanks till he should farther inform them how this bell was to be fastened about the Cat's neck, and what Mouse would undertake to do it. MORAL. Many things appear excellent in theory which are impossible in practice. It often requires a great deal of courage to carry out projects which a fine, florid speech may persuade the hearers are most plausible. FABLE LXXXVI. THE FOX IN THE WELL. A FOX, having fallen into a well, made a shift by sticking his claws into the sides to keep his head above water. Soon after a Wolf came and peeped over the brink, to whom the Fox applied very earnestly for assistance; entreating that he would help him to a rope, or something of the kind, which might favour his escape. The Wolf moved with compassion at his misfortune, could not forbear expressing his concern. "Ah, poor Reynard," says he, "I am sorry for you with all my heart; how could you possibly come into this melancholy condition?" "Nay, pr'ythee, friend," replied the Fox, "if you wish me well, do not stand pitying me, but lend me some succour as fast as you can; for pity is but cold comfort when one is up to the chin in water, and within a hair's breadth of starving or drowning." MORAL. Mere expressions of pity, without a desire or attempt to alleviate suffering, are a mockery. He that would be truly a friend, will be ready to give his assistance when needed. FABLE LXXXVII. THE HORSE AND THE WOLF. As a Wolf was roaming over a farm, he came to a field of oats, but not being able to eat them, he left them and went his way. Presently, meeting with a Horse, he bade him come with him into the field, "For," says he, "I have found some capital oats; and I have not tasted one, but have kept them all for you, for the very sound of your teeth is music to my ear." But the Horse replied, "A pretty fellow! if Wolves were able to eat oats, I suspect you would not have preferred your ears to your appetite." MORAL. Little thanks are due to him, who only gives away whatever is of no use to himself. FABLE LXXXVIII. THE TWO SPRINGS. [Illustration: THE HORSE AND THE WOLF.] Two springs, which issued from the same mountain, began their course together: one of them took her way in a silent and gentle stream, while the other rushed along with a sounding and rapid current. "Sister," said the latter, "at the rate you move, you will probably be dried up, before you advance much farther; whereas, for myself, I will venture a wager, that, within two or three hundred furlongs, I shall become navigable; and, after distributing commerce and wealth wherever I flow, I shall majestically proceed to pay my tribute to the ocean. So, farewell, dear sister! and patiently submit to your fate." Her sister made no reply; but, calmly descending to the meadows below, increased her stream by numberless little rills which she collected in her progress, till, at length, she was enabled to rise into a considerable river; whilst the proud stream, who had the vanity to depend solely upon her own sufficiency, continued a shallow brook; and was glad, at last, to be helped forward, by throwing herself into the arms of her despised sister. MORAL. His strength in words the blusterer vainly spends, While steadiness in quiet gains its ends. FABLE LXXXIX. THE COUNTRYMAN AND THE RAVEN. A RAVEN, while with glossy breast, Her new laid eggs she fondly pressed, And, on her wicker-work high mounted, Her chickens prematurely counted. (A fault philosophers might blame, If quite exempted from the same,) Enjoyed at ease the genial day; 'Twas April, as the bumpkins say;-- The legislature called it May; But suddenly, a wind, as high As ever swept a winter's sky, Shook the young leaves about her ears, And filled her with a thousand fears, Lest the rude blast should snap the bough, And spread her golden hopes below. But just at eve the blowing weather, And all her fears, were hushed together. "And now," quoth poor unthinking Ralph, "'Tis over, and the brood is safe." (For Ravens, though as birds of omen, They teach both conjurors and old women; To tell us what is to befall, Can't prophesy themselves at all.) The morning came, when neighbour Hodge, Who long had marked her airy lodge, And destined all the treasure there, A gift to his expecting fair, Climbed, like a squirrel to his dray, And bore the worthless prize away. MORAL. Safety consists not in escape From danger of a frightful shape; Fate steals along with silent tread, Found oftenest in what least we dread; Frowns in the storm with angry brow, But in the sunshine strikes the blow. FABLE XC. THE FOX AND THE BRAMBLE. A FOX, hard pressed by the hounds, was getting over a hedge, but tore his foot upon a Bramble, which grew just in the midst of it, upon which he reproached the Bramble for his inhospitable cruelty in using a stranger, which had fled to him for protection, after such a barbarous manner. "Yes," says the Bramble, "you intended to have made me serve your turn, I know; but take this piece of advice with you for the future: Never lay hold of a Bramble again, as you value your sweet person; for laying hold is a privilege that belongs to us Brambles, and we do not care to let it go out of the family." MORAL. Impertinent people, who take liberties with others, are often much surprised if they are retorted on with severity. It is better, then, to keep from undue familiarity with strangers, for we know not of what temper they may be. FABLE XCI. HERCULES AND THE CARTER. As a clownish fellow was driving his cart along a deep miry lane, the wheels stuck so fast in the clay, that the horses could not draw them out. Upon this he fell a-bawling and praying to Hercules to come and help him. Hercules, looking down from a cloud, bade him not lie there, like an idle rascal, as he was, but get up and whip his horses stoutly, and clap his shoulder to the wheel; adding, that this was the only way for him to obtain his assistance. MORAL. The man who asks Heaven for gifts, and neglects the gifts Heaven has given, must expect silence until he shows that he is in earnest by putting his shoulder to the wheel. FABLE XCII. THE BOYS AND THE FROGS. On the margin of a large lake, which was inhabited by a great number of Frogs, a company of Boys happened to be at play. Their diversion was duck and drake, and whole volleys of stones were thrown into the water, to the great annoyance and danger of the poor terrified Frogs. At length, one of the most hardy, lifting up his head above the surface of the lake;--"Ah! dear children!" said he, "why will ye learn so soon to be cruel? Consider, I beseech you, that though this may be sport to _you_, it is death to _us_." MORAL. A noble mind disdains to gain Its pleasure from another's pain. FABLE XCIII. THE COCK AND THE JEWEL. A BRISK young Cock, in company with two or three pullets, raking upon a dunghill for something to entertain them with, happened to scratch up a jewel, which sparkled with an exceeding bright lustre; but, not knowing what to do with it, endeavoured to cover his ignorance under a look of contempt. So, shrugging up his wings, shaking his head, and putting on a grimace, he expressed himself to this purpose: "Indeed, you are a very fine thing, but I know not what business you have here. I make no scruple of declaring that my taste lies quite another way, and I had rather have one grain of dear delicious barley than all the jewels under the sun." MORAL. We should not despise as worthless what does not come within the limit of our understanding. Some lose what is truly valuable for want of knowledge, and prefer what is comparatively worthless. [Illustration: THE COCK AND THE JEWEL.] FABLE XCIV. THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOW-WORM. A NIGHTINGALE, that, all day long, Had cheered the village with his song, Nor yet at eve his note suspended, Nor yet when eventide was ended, Began to feel, as well he might, The keen demands of appetite; When, looking eagerly around, He spied, far off, upon the ground, A something shining in the dark, And knew the Glow-worm by his spark; So, stooping down from hawthorn top, He thought to put him in his crop. The Worm, aware of his intent, Harangued him thus, right eloquent:-- "Did you admire my lamp," quoth he, "As much as I your minstrelsy, You would abhor to do me wrong, As much as I to spoil your song; For 'twas the self-same power divine Taught you to sing and me to shine; That you with music, I with light, Might beautify and cheer the night." The songster heard his short oration, And, warbling out his approbation, Released him, as my story tells, And found a supper somewhere else. MORAL. From this short fable, youth may learn Their real interest to discern, That brother should not strive with brother, And worry and oppress each other; But, joined in unity and peace, Their mutual happiness increase: Pleased when each others' faults they hide, And in their virtues feel a pride. FABLE XCV. THE FOX AND THE SICK LION. It was reported that the Lion was sick, and the beasts were made to believe that they could not make their court better than by going to visit him. Upon this, they generally went, but it was particularly remarked that the Fox was not one of the number. The Lion, therefore, dispatched one of his Jackals to sound him about it, and to ask him why he had so little charity and respect as never to come near him at a time when he lay so dangerously ill, and everybody else had been to see him. "Why," replied the Fox, "pray present my duty to his majesty, and tell him that I have the same respect for him as ever, and have been coming several times to kiss his royal paw, but I am so terribly frightened at the mouth of his cave, to see the print of my fellow-subjects' feet all pointing forwards, and none backwards, that I had not resolution enough to venture in." Now, the truth of the matter was, that the sickness of the Lion was only a sham to draw the beasts into his den, the more easily to devour them. MORAL. It is well to weigh and consider the nature of any proposal thoroughly before we accede to it; but, certainly, if we have reason, from the injury done to others, to suspect that we may suffer harm, it is decidedly better to decline. FABLE XCVI. THE LION, THE FOX, AND THE GEESE. A LION, tired with state affairs, Quite sick of pomp, and worn with cares, Resolved (remote from noise and strife) In peace to pass his latter life. It was proclaimed: the day was set: Behold the general council met: The Fox was viceroy named. The crowd To the new regent humbly bowed! Wolves, bears, and mighty tigers bend, And strive who most shall condescend. The crowd admire his wit, his sense: Each word hath weight and consequence. The flatterer all his art displays; He who hath power, is sure of praise. A Fox stepped forth before the rest, And thus the servile throng addressed:-- "How vast his talents, born to rule, And train'd in virtue's honest school! What clemency his temper sways! How uncorrupt are all his ways! Beneath his conduct and command Rapine shall cease to waste the land; What blessings must attend the nation Under this good administration!" He said. A Goose, who distant stood, Harangu'd apart the cackling brood: "Whene'er I hear a knave commend, He bids me shun his worthy friend. What praise! what mighty commendation! But 'twas a Fox who spoke th' oration. Foxes this government may prize, As gentle, plentiful, and wise; If they enjoy the sweets, 'tis plain We Geese must feel a tyrant reign. What havoc now shall thin our race! When every petty clerk in place, To prove his taste, and seem polite, Will feed on Geese both noon and night." MORAL. Those flatter the plunderer who share in the spoil. FABLE XCVII. THE ONE-EYED DOE. A DOE, that had but one eye, used to graze near the sea, and that she might be the more secure from harm, she kept her blind side toward the water, from whence she had no apprehension of danger, and with the other surveyed the country as she fed. By this vigilance and precaution she thought herself in the utmost security; when a sly fellow, with two or three of his companions, who had been poaching after her several days to no purpose, at last took a boat, and, fetching a compass upon the sea, came gently down upon her, and shot her. The Doe, in the agonies of death, breathed out this doleful complaint:--"Oh, hard fate! that I should receive my death wound from that side whence I expected no ill; and be safe in that part where I looked for the most danger." MORAL. Our troubles and dangers frequently arise from the direction we least expect them. [Illustration: THE ONE-EYED DOE.] FABLE XCVIII. THE FOX, THE RAVEN, AND THE DOVE. A FOX, who was half-starved with hunger, stretched himself all along upon the ground, and lay as if he were dead, that he might entice the harmless birds to come within his reach, and then leap of a sudden upon them, and make them his prey; but it happened that a Raven, who was hovering near him, observed that he fetched his breath; and, by consequence, found it to be only a trick in him to catch the birds. She, therefore, instantly gave them notice of it; and forewarned them, as they valued their own lives, not to come within reach of the Fox, who only feigned himself to be dead. The Fox, finding his plot to be discovered, was obliged to go away hungry; but soon bethought himself of another invention: which was, to go and kennel himself in a hollow tree, upon which a Dove had her nest, and was breeding up her young ones. Having done this, he called to her, that, unless she would throw down to him sometimes one of her eggs, and sometimes one of her young ones, he would climb up the tree, take away all her eggs, kill both her and her young, and break her nest to pieces. The harmless Dove, thinking of two ills to choose the least, did as the Fox required her; and threw him down now one of her eggs, and then one of her young ones. Having done so, for some time, with a great deal of grief and sorrow, and the Fox continuing still to demand it of her, she, at last, made her complaint to the Raven, who chanced to come and perch herself on the same tree; grievously bemoaning her fate, that she, like a good mother, to provide for her children, was at last obliged to make them a sacrifice to such a villain. But the Raven, who was not so timorous as she, advised her, whenever the Fox threatened her again, that he would kill both her and her young, if she would not throw one of them down to him, to answer him roundly,--"If you could have flown or climbed up the tree, you would not have been so often contented with one of my eggs, or of my young; but would, long since, according to your ravenous and blood-thirsty nature, have devoured both me and them." In short, the next time the Fox came, and threatened her as before, she replied as the Raven had instructed her. The Fox, hearing her answer, and knowing very well that she was not so wise and cunning of herself, resolved to find out the truth of the matter; and, at length, came to understand that it was the Raven who had been her counsellor. He, therefore, vowed to be revenged on her, who had now, the second time, hindered him from getting his prey. Not long after, he espied her sitting on a high thorn-tree; and, going to her, began to praise her at a mighty rate,--magnifying her good fortune above that of all beasts, who could neither fly like her, nor tread the ground with so majestical a gait: adding, withal, that it would be a great pleasure to him to see her lordly walk; that he might from thence, be certain whether she were indeed so divine and prophetic a bird as men had always held her to be. The Raven, transported to hear herself thus praised to the skies, flew down; and, pitching upon the ground, walked to and fro, in mighty pomp and state. The Fox seemed highly delighted; and said, that he extremely wondered how the Raven could keep upon the ground, when the wind blew her feathers over her eyes, and hindered her sight; but chiefly when it blew before, behind, and on all sides of her. "I can very well provide against that," said the Raven; "for then I hide my head under my left wing." "How!" cried the Fox; "hide your head under your left wing! So wonderful a thing I can never believe, till I see it." Immediately the Raven put her head under her left wing, and held it there so long that the Fox caught hold of her and killed her for his prey. MORAL. So must they fare who give good advice to others, but have not discretion enough to follow it themselves. FABLE XCIX. THE TWO POTS. Two Pots, of different size and matter made, Were swiftly down a rolling stream convey'd. The larger vessel, form'd of solid brass, Did boldly o'er the rapid water pass; While that whose substance was but brittle clay, Would, for his safety, give the stronger way. Him the Brass Pot invited to draw near, And said, "His frailty need not cause his fear; For he, with just precaution would prevent The danger of their jostling as they went." The Earthen Pot, that knew his weaker frame, Excused himself, that he no nearer came; And said, "My friend, if the impetuous tide Should dash my clay against your brazen side, By the hard fate of that unequal stroke, While you are whole, I shall be surely broke." MORAL. Men safest still in equal friendship live, Where they can do no harm, and none receive; The strong, by power led to insult the weak, With every touch the brittle vessels break; While they, abused and injured by the strong, Must, without remedy, sustain the wrong. FABLE C. THE TWO FROGS. One hot, sultry summer, the lakes and ponds being almost everywhere dried up, a couple of Frogs agreed to travel together in search of water. At last they came to a deep well, and, sitting on the brink of it, began to consult whether they should leap in or no. One of them was so inclined, urging that there was plenty of clear, spring water, and no danger of being disturbed. "Well," says the other, "all this may be true, and yet I cannot come into your opinion for my life; for if the water should happen to dry up here too, how should we get out again." MORAL. Skilful generals always secure a way for retreat. "Look before you leap" is an old and trite proverb. We should not undertake any action of importance without considering what may be the result, in all its aspects. FABLE CI. THE FOX AND THE MASK. A FOX, being in a shop where Masks were sold, laid his foot upon one of them, and considering it awhile attentively, at last broke out into this exclamation:--"Bless me!" says he, "what a handsome face this is! What a pity it is that it should want brains!" MORAL. Beauty without sense is of little value. A fair outside is but a poor substitute for inward worth. FABLE CII. THE CAT, THE COCK, AND THE YOUNG MOUSE. [Illustration: THE FOX AND THE MASK.] A YOUNG Mouse, that had seen very little of the world, came running, one day, to his mother in great haste:--"Oh, mother!" said he, "I am frightened almost to death! I have seen the most extraordinary creature that ever was. He has a fierce, angry look, and struts about on two legs; a strange piece of flesh grows on his head, and another under his throat, as red as blood: he flapped his arms against his sides, as if he intended to rise into the air; and stretching out his head, he opened a sharp-pointed mouth so wide, that I thought he was preparing to swallow me up: then he roared at me so horribly, that I trembled in every joint, and was glad to run home as fast as I could. If I had not been frightened away by this terrible monster, I was just going to commence an acquaintance with the prettiest creature you ever saw. She had a soft fur skin, thicker than ours, and all beautifully streaked with black and grey; with a modest look, and a demeanour so humble and courteous, that methought I could have fallen in love with her. Then she had a fine, long tail, which she waved about so prettily, and looked so earnestly at me, that I do believe she was just going to speak to me, when the horrid monster frightened me away." "Ah, my dear child!" said the mother, "you have escaped being devoured, but not by that monster you were so much afraid of; which, in truth, was only a bird, and would have done you no manner of harm. Whereas, the sweet creature, of whom you seem so fond, was no other than a Cat; who, under that hypocritical countenance, conceals the most inveterate hatred to all our race, and subsists entirely by devouring Mice. Learn from this incident, my dear, never, while you live, to rely on outward appearances." MORAL. Beneath a fair, alluring guise, A hidden danger often lies. FABLE CIII. THE MICE AND THE TRAP. Once upon a time, the Mice saw a broiled rasher of bacon hanging up in a very little room, the door of which being open, enticed them to fall on with greedy appetites. But some of them took particular notice that there was but one way into the room, and, by consequence, but one way to get out of it; so that, if that door, by misfortune or art, should chance to be shut, they would all be inevitably taken: they could not, therefore, find in their hearts to venture in; but said, that they had rather content themselves with homely fare, in safety, than, for the sake of a dainty bit, to run the danger of being taken, and lost for ever. The other Mice, who were looked upon to be great epicures, declared that they saw no danger; and, therefore, ran into the room, and fell to eating the bacon with great delight: but they soon heard the door fall down, and saw that they were all taken. Then the fear of approaching death so seized them, that they found no relish in their exquisite food; and immediately came the Cook who had set the Trap, and killed them: but the others, who had contented themselves with their usual food, fled into their holes, and, by that means, preserved their lives. FABLE CIV. THE CHAMELEON. Oft has it been my lot to mark A proud, conceited, talking spark, With eyes that hardly served at most To guard their master 'gainst a post; Yet round the world the blade has been, To see whatever could be seen. Returning from his finish'd tour, Grown ten times perter than before, Whatever word you chance to drop, The travelled fool your mouth will stop; "Sir, if my judgment you'll allow,-- I've seen,--and, sure, I ought to know;"-- So begs you'd pay a due submission, And acquiesce in his decision. Two travellers, of such a cast, As o'er Arabia's wilds they pass'd, And on their way, in friendly chat, Now talked of this, and then of that; Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other matter, Of the Chameleon's form and nature. "A stranger animal," cries one, "Sure never lived beneath the sun: A lizard's body, lean and long, A fish's head, a serpent's tongue. In truth, with triple jaw disjoin'd; And what a length of tail behind! How slow its pace! and then its hue! Who ever saw so fine a blue?" "Hold there!" the other quick replies, "'Tis green:--I saw it with these eyes, As late with open mouth it lay, And warm'd it in the sunny ray: Stretch'd at its ease the beast I view'd, And saw it eat the air for food." "I've seen it, sir, as well as you, And must again affirm it blue; At leisure I the beast survey'd, Extended in the cooling shade." "'Tis green! 'tis green! sir, I assure ye."-- "Green!" cries the other, in a fury,-- "Why, sir, d'ye think I've lost my eyes?" "'Twere no great loss!" the friend replies; "For if they always serve you thus, You find 'em but of little use." So high at last the contest rose, From words they almost came to blows; When, luckily, came by a third; To him the question they referr'd; And begged he'd tell 'em, if he knew, Whether the thing was green or blue. "Sirs," cries the umpire, "cease your pother-- The creature's neither one nor t'other. I caught the animal last night, And viewed it o'er by candle-light; I marked it well--'twas black as jet;-- You stare--but, sirs, I've got it yet, And can produce it."--"Pray, sir, do; I'll lay my life the thing is blue." "And I'll be sworn that when you've seen The reptile, you'll pronounce him green." "Well, then, at once to ease the doubt," Replies the man, "I'll turn him out; And when before your eyes I've set him, If you don't find him black I'll eat him;" He said. Then full before their sight, Produced the beast, and lo! 'twas white. Both stared, the man looked wondrous wise. "My children," the Chameleon cries, (Then first the creature found a tongue), "You all are right and all are wrong; When next you talk of what you view, Think others see as well as you; Nor wonder, if you find that none Prefers your eye-sight to his own." FABLE CV. THE WOLF, THE FOX, AND THE ASS. The Lion, as king of the beasts, made a law that no beast should, without lawful cause, do any hurt to another; and should come once a year to court, to confess, and be absolved or punished, according to his deserts. Now it happened that the Wolf and the Fox were going thither together, and overtaking the Ass on the road, said to him:--"Brother, it is a long way to court, and it certainly must be much more tedious to you than to ourselves, because of your slow pace; but we can avoid the trouble of going thither, if you think fit. Let us three confess ourselves to one another, and send our absolutions to court, attested by two of us as witnesses." The Ass liked the proposal; into a clover field they went, and the Fox thus confessed himself first:--"It happened, as I was going one night through a village, a Cock, by his loud crowing, disturbed all the people that were asleep; at which I grew very angry, and bit off his head; then, fearing that the stench of his dead body might be offensive to the Hens, I ate him up. Nevertheless, it happened, three days after, as I was going by the same village, those very Hens spied me; and, instead of thanking me for the great kindness I had done them, cried out, 'Murderer, murderer!' Then I, in defence of my honour, killed three of them; and, lest they should have stunk and offended the neighbourhood, ate them up too. This is all I have done; for which I now await your sentence." The Wolf thereupon expressed himself thus:--"You have, indeed, offended against the letter of our monarch's law, but not against the meaning of it; since your intentions were honourable, to take care of the quiet of men, and to vindicate your injured reputation. If, therefore, you will promise never to be so hasty again in killing any beast, I vote for your absolution." This the Fox readily did; and the Ass joined in opinion with the Wolf, who then thus began his confession:-- "As I was one day walking along, I saw a Sow trampling down the corn of a poor peasant, and tearing it up by the roots, while her hungry Pigs were strayed far from her, and could not get themselves out of the mire; so that I, growing very angry at the great mischief she did the peasant, and at her neglect of motherly duty, killed and ate her up. Three days after, chancing to go again the same way, I observed that those Pigs were grown very lean; and reflecting that, through want of their mother's milk, they would certainly die a languishing death, I put an end to their miseries, and ate them up too. This I have to confess." The Fox instantly argued in this manner:--"Though you confess to having killed both mother and children; and though it seems, at first sight, that you have heinously offended against the law of our king; yet I see, nevertheless, that your intentions were good: to prevent mischief from falling upon men, to stir up a mother to her duty, and to show compassion to her miserable children, are virtues that no law can forbid or punish. I, therefore, declare you absolved." To which the Ass agreed. The Ass then made his confession:--"You both know," said he, "that it is not in my nature to do hurt to other beasts, nor to shed blood; and, therefore, you cannot expect to hear any such thing from me; but, to content you, I will relate to you what happened innocently to me, while I was in the service of a master. He was an old man, and apt to take cold in his feet; so that, when he travelled, to keep them dry and warm, he was wont to stick a little hay in his shoes. Now I carried him, one winter, to an inn, where he was to lie all night; and when we came to the door, the innkeeper brought him a pair of dry slippers, that his dirty shoes might not soil the house; so that he pulled them off, and left them without, and me by them. In short, my master and his host found themselves so well in the chimney-corner, that they never thought of poor me; but left me all night in the bitter cold, without giving me a handful of food: so that I ate up all the hay that stuck in his shoes. This is all I have to say;--if you will call it a confession, you may: however, I think nothing can be said against it." "Oh!" said the Fox, immediately, "this is not, indeed, an offence against the letter of the law, which mentions only the doing hurt to beasts, and takes no notice of eating of hay; but, if we reflect on the dangerous consequences of this action, and that so reverend a creature as a chill, aged man, by being thus robbed of his hay in the winter, and the next day continuing his road without it, might have caught a cold, a cough, and a cholic, that would have brought his grey hairs to the grave:--whoever, I say, reflects on this, cannot but be of my opinion,--which is, that the Ass largely deserves to die. Cousin Wolf, what say you to this matter?" "I," said the Wolf, "am of opinion that by reason of the ill consequences that might have attended this action, the Ass deserves a double death, and to be made an example to others." With that he leaped upon him, and tore out his throat, and the Fox and he immediately ate him up. MORAL. Knaves can always find reasons for justifying their own conduct, and condemning that of others. FABLE CVI. THE BOY AND THE BUTTERFLY. A boy, greatly smitten with the colours of a Butterfly, pursued it from flower to flower with indefatigable pains. First, he aimed to surprise it among the leaves of a rose; then to cover it with his hat, as it was feeding on a daisy; now hoped to secure it, as it rested on a sprig of myrtle; and now grew sure of his prize, perceiving it loiter on a bed of violets. But the fickle Fly, continually changing one blossom for another, still eluded his attempts. At length, observing it half buried in the cup of a tulip, he rushed forward, and snatching it with violence, crushed it all to pieces. MORAL. Pleasure, like the Butterfly, Will still elude as we draw nigh; And when we think we hold it fast, Will, like the insect, breathe its last. FABLE CVII. THE CROW AND THE PITCHER. A Crow, ready to die with thirst, flew with joy to a Pitcher, which he beheld at some distance. When he came he found water in it, indeed, but so near the bottom that, with all his stooping and straining, he was not able to reach it. Then he endeavoured to overturn the Pitcher, that so at least he might be able to get a little of it. But his strength was not sufficient for this. At last, seeing some pebbles lie near the place, he cast them one by one into the Pitcher; and thus, by degrees, raised the water up to the very brim, and satisfied his thirst. MORAL. Necessity is the mother of invention, and that which cannot be accomplished by strength may be achieved by ingenuity. [Illustration: WHERE THERE IS A WILL, THERE IS A WAY.] GRIFFITH & FARRAN'S NEW AND POPULAR WORKS FOR THE YOUNG. THE HISTORY OF THE ROBINS. By MRS. TRIMMER. A New Edition, with Twenty-four beautiful Illustrations from Drawings by HARRISON WEIR. 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21943	----	Transcribed from the 1861 Robert Hardwicke edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org PETER SCHLEMIHL: FROM THE GERMAN OF ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO: TRANSLATED BY SIR JOHN BOWRING, LL.D., &c. WITH PLATES BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."--SHAKSPEAKE. THIRD EDITION. LONDON: ROBERT HARDWICKE, 192, PICCADILLY. 1861. {Schlemihl giving his shadow away: p0.jpg} LONDON: ROBERT HARDWICKE, PRINTER, 192, PICCADILLY. NOTICE. Adelung said to me one day at Petersburg--"Have you read Peter Schlemihl?"--"No."--"If you read it, you will translate it."--I have translated it. The story is a moral one. I leave its development to my readers. It would be little flattering to them to suspect they required my assistance, in order to discover the obvious lessons it conveys. I have not scrupled to introduce a few verbal alterations; but the deviations from the original are very trifling. THE TRANSLATOR. To my Friend Wangner Come to the land of shadows for awhile, And seek for truth and wisdom! Here below, In the dark misty paths of fear and woe, We weary out our souls and waste our toil; But if we harvest in the richer soil Of towering thoughts--where holy breezes blow, And everlasting flowers in beauty smile-- No disappointment shall the labourer know. Methought I saw a fair and sparkling gem In this rude casket--but thy shrewder eye, WANGNER! a jewell'd coronet could descry. Take, then, the bright, unreal diadem! Worldlings may doubt and smile insultingly, The hidden stores of truth are not for _them_. J. B. To the Same, from Fouque We must, dear Edward, protect the history of poor Schlemihl--and so protect it that it may be concealed from the eyes that are not to look into it. This is a disagreeable business; for of such eyes there is a multitude, and what mortal can decide what shall be the fate of a MS. which is more hard to guard than even an uttered word. In truth, I feel as if my head were turning round, and in my anguish jump into the abyss--let the whole affair be printed! But, Edward! there are really stronger and better grounds for this decision. Unless I am wholly deceived, there beat in our beloved Germany many hearts which are able and worthy to understand poor Schlemihl, and a tranquil smile will light upon the countenance of many an honest countryman of ours at the bitter sport in which life with him--and the simple sport in which he with himself is engaged. And you, Edward, you, looking into this so sincerely-grounded book, and thinking how many unknown hearts this may learn with us to love it--you will let a drop of balsam fall into the deep wound, which death hath inflicted upon you and all that love you. And to conclude: there is--I know there is, from manifold experience--a genius that takes charge of every printed book and delivers it into the appropriate hands, and if not always, yet very often keeps at home the undeserving: that genius holds the key to every true production of heart and soul, and opens and closes it with never-failing dexterity. To this genius, my much beloved Schlemihl! I confide thy smiles and thy tears, and thus to God commend them. FOUQUE. _Neunhausen_, _May_ 31, 1814. To Fouque, from Hitzig We have done, then, the desperate deed: there is Schlemihl's story which we were to preserve to ourselves as our own secret, and lo! not only Frenchmen and Englishmen, Dutchmen and Spaniards have translated it, and Americans have reprinted it from the English text, as I announced to my own erudite Berlin, but now in our beloved Germany a new edition appears with the English etchings, which the illustrious Cruikshank sketched from the life, and wider still will the story be told. Not a word didst thou mutter to me in 1814, of the publication of the MS., and did I not deem thy reckless enterprise suitably punished by the complaints of our Chamisso, in his Voyage round the World from 1815 to 1818--complaints urged in Chili and Kamtschatka, and uttered even to his departed friend Tameramaia of Owahee, I should even now demand of you crowning retribution. However--this by the by--bygones are bygones--and you are right in this--that many, many friendly ones have looked upon the little book with affection during the thirteen eventful years since it saw the world's light. I shall never forget the hour when I first read it to Hoffmann. He was beside himself with delight and eagerness, and hung upon my lips till I got to the end. He could not wait, not he, to make the personal acquaintance of the poet;--but though he hates all imitation, he could not withstand the temptation to copy--though not very felicitously--the idea of the lost shadow in the lost mirror picture of Crasinus Spekhn, in his tale of the "Last Night of the Year." Yes, even among children has our marvellous history found its way, for on a bright winter evening, as I was going up the Borough-street with its narrator, a boy busied with his sledge laughed at him, upon which he tucked the boy under his bear- skin mantle--you know it well--and while he carried him he remained perfectly quiet until he was set down on the footway--and then--having made off to a distance, where he felt safe as if nothing had happened, he shouted aloud to his captor--"Nay, stop, Peter Schlemihl!" Methinks, the honourable scarecrow, clad now in trist and fashionable attire, may be welcome to those who never saw him in his modest kurtka of 1814. These and those will be surprised in the botanizing, circumnavigating--the once well-appointed Royal Prussian officer, in the historiographer of the illustrious Peter Schlemihl, to discover a lyric whose poetical heart is rightly fixed, whether he sing in Malayan or Lithuanian. Thanks, then, dear Fouque, heartfelt thanks, for the launching of the first edition, and with our friends, receive my wishes for the prosperity of the second. EDWARD HITZIG. _Berlin_, _January_, 1827. * * * * * With the second edition of Schlemihl, appeared Chamisso's Songs and Ballads. His Travels round the World, have also been published. Among his poetry are translations from various languages. PREFACE TO THIRD EDITION. More than twenty years ago I translated "Peter Schlemihl." I had the advantage of the pen and genius of George Cruikshank, to make the work popular, and two editions were rapidly sold. At that time the real author was unknown. Everybody attributed it to Lamotte Fouque, on whose literary shoulders, indeed, Adelbert von Chamisso placed the burden of its responsibilities. The appearance of the English edition, I have reason to know--thanks to the merit of Cruikshank's original and felicitous sketches--excited the greatest delight in the mind of Chamisso. In his autobiography he says that "Peter" had been kindly received in Germany, but in England had been renowned (_volksthumlich_). Several English translations have since occupied the field. Mine, as the first-born, naturally claims its own heritage, though it has been long out of print, and in the shape of a third edition, commends itself anew to public patronage. JOHN BOWRING. _January_, 1861. To my old Friend, Peter Schlemihl. Well! years and years have pass'd,--and lo! thy writing Comes to my hands again,--and, strange to say, I think of times when the world's school, inviting Our early friendship, new before us lay;-- Now I can laugh at foolish shame--delighting In thee, for I am old--my hair is grey,-- And I will call thee friend, as then--not coldly, But proudly to the world--and claim thee boldly. My dear, dear Friend! the cunning air hath led me Through paths less dark and less perplexed than thine, Struggling for blue, bright dawnings, have I sped me, But little, little glory has been mine. Yet can the Grey Man boast not that he had me Fast by _my_ shadow! Nay! he must resign His claims on me,--my shadow's mine. I boast it,-- I had it from the first, and never lost it. On me--though guiltless as a child--the throng Flung all their mockery of thy naked being,-- And is the likeness then so very strong? They shouted for _my_ shadow--which, though seeing, They swore they saw not--and, still bent on wrong, Said they were blind; and then put forth their glee in Peals upon peals of laughter! Well--we bear With patience--aye, with joy--the conscience clear. And what--what is the Shadow? may I ask ye, Who am myself so wearyingly asked. Is it too high a problem, then, to task ye? And shall not the malignant world be tasked? The flights of nineteen thousand days unmask ye, They have brought wisdom--in whose trains I basked, And while I gave to shadows, being--saw Being, as shadows, from life's scene withdraw. Give me thy hand, Schlemihl--take mine, my friend: On, on,--we leave the future to the Grey Man, Careless about the world,--our hearts shall blend In firmer, stronger union--come away, man! We shall glide fast and faster towards life's end. Aye! let them smile or scorn, for all they say, man, The tempests will be still'd that shake the deep, And we in part sleep our untroubled sleep. ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO. _Berlin_, _August_, 1834. To Julius Edward Hitzig, from Adelbert von Chamisso. You forget nobody, and surely you must remember one Peter Schlemihl, whom you now and then met at my house in former days; a long-shanked fellow, who had the credit of awkwardness because he was unpolished, and whose negligence gave him an air of habitual laziness. I loved him--you cannot have forgotten, Edward, how often, in the spring-time of our youth, he was the subject of our rhymes. Once I recollect introducing him to a poetical tea-party, where he fell asleep while I was writing, even without waiting to hear anything read. And that brings to my mind a witty thing you said about him; you had often seen him, heaven knows where and when, in an old black _kurtka_, {20} which in fact he always wore, and you declared "he would be a lucky fellow if his soul were half as immortal as his kurtka!" So little did you value him. I loved him, I repeat; and to this Schlemihl, whom I had not seen for many a year, we owe the following sheets. To you, Edward, to you only, my nearest, dearest friend--my better self, from whom I can hide no secret,--to you I commit them; to you only, and of course to Fouque, who, like yourself, is rooted in my soul--but to him as a friend alone, and not as a poet. You can easily imagine, how unpleasant it would be to me, if the secret reposed by an honourable man, confiding in my esteem and sincerity, should be exposed in the pillory of an _epopee_, or in any way distorted, as if some miserable witling had engendered unnatural and impossible things. Indeed, I must frankly own it is a very shame that a history, which another and cleverer hand might have exhibited in all its comic force, has been reduced to mere insipidity by our good man's pen. What would not John Paul Richter have made of it! In a word, my dear friend, many who are yet alive may be named, but-- One word more on the way in which these leaves came into my hands. Yesterday morning early--as soon as I was up--they were presented to me. A strange man with a long grey beard, wearing a black, worn-out kurtka, with a botanical case suspended at his side, and slippers over his boots, on account of the damp rainy weather, inquired after me, and left these papers behind him. He pretended he came from Berlin. ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO. _Kunersdorf_, 27 _Sept._, 1813. CHAPTER I. At last, after a fortunate, but to me most tedious passage, we reached our destined haven. As soon as the boat had landed me on the shore, I loaded myself with my little possessions, and forcing my way through the swarming crowd, entered the first and meanest house distinguished by a sign-board. I ordered a chamber; the waiter measured me with a glance, and sent me up to the garret. I ordered fresh water, and inquired for the abode of Mr. Thomas Jones. "Near the North gate, the first country house on the right-hand side; a large new house of red and white marble, supported by many pillars." Well; it was yet early; I opened my bundle, laid out my newly-turned black coat, clad myself in my sprucest garments, put my letter of introduction into my pocket, and bent my way to the man, who, I modestly hoped, was destined to befriend me. After I had gone through the long North-street, and reached the gate, I saw the columns glimmering through the green trees. "It is here, then," I thought. I wiped the dust from my feet with my pocket-handkerchief, arranged my cravat, and rung the bell. The door flew open, the servants narrowly examined me in the hall, but the porter at last announced me, and I had the honour to be summoned into the park, where Mr. Jones was walking with a small company. I knew him instantly by his portly self- complacency. He received me tolerably well--as a rich man is wont to receive a poor dependent devil; looked towards me, but without turning from the rest of the company, and took from me the letter I held in my hand. "Aye, aye! from my brother; I have not heard from him a long time. Is he well? There"--he continued, addressing the company without waiting for an answer, and pointed with the letter to a hill, "There I have ordered a new building to be erected." He broke the seal, but not the conversation, of which wealth became the subject. "He who is not the master of at least a million," he interposed, "forgive the expression, is a ragamuffin."--"That is true, indeed," exclaimed I, with full, overflowing feeling. He must have been pleased with the expression of my concurrence, for he smiled on me and said, "Remain here, young friend: I shall perhaps have time to tell you, by and by, what I think of it." He pointed to the letter, put it into his pocket, and turned again to the company. He then offered his arm to a young lady; other gentlemen were busied with other fair ones; every one found some one to whom he attached himself, and they walked towards the rose-encircled hill. I lingered idly behind, for not a soul deemed me worthy of notice. The company was extremely cheerful, jocular, and witty; they spoke seriously of trifles, and triflingly of serious matters; and I observed they unconcernedly directed their satires against the persons and the circumstances of absent friends. I was too great a stranger to understand much of these discussions; too much distressed and self-retired to enter into the full merit of these enigmas. We reached the rose-grove. The lovely Fanny, the queen, as it seemed, of the day, was capricious enough to wish to gather for herself a blooming branch; a thorn pricked her, and a stream, as bright as if from damask roses, flowed over her delicate hand. This accident put the whole company in motion. English court-plaister was instantly inquired after. A silent, meagre, pale, tall, elderly man, who stood next to me, and whom I had not before observed, instantly put his hand into the close-fitting breast-pocket of his old-fashioned, grey taffetan coat, took out a small pocket-book, opened it, and with a lowly bow gave the lady what she had wished for; she took it without any attention to the giver, and without a word of thanks. The wound was bound up, and they ascended the hill, from whose brow they admired the wide prospect over the park's green labyrinth, extending even to the immeasurable ocean. It was indeed a grand and noble sight. A light speck appeared on the horizon between the dark waters and the azure heaven. "A telescope, here!" cried the merchant; and before any one from the crowds of servants appeared to answer his call, the grey man, as if he had been applied to, had already put his hand into his coat-pocket: he had taken from it a beautiful Dollond, and handed it over to Mr. Jones; who, as soon as he had raised it to his eye, informed the company that it was the ship which had sailed yesterday, driven back by contrary winds. The telescope passed from hand to hand, but never again reached that of its owner. I, however, looked on the old man with astonishment, not conceiving how the large machine had come out of the tiny pocket. Nobody else seemed surprised, and they appeared to care no more about the grey man than about me. Refreshments were produced; the rarest fruits of every climate, served in the richest dishes. Mr. Jones did the honours with easy, dignified politeness, and for the second time directed a word to me: "Eat then, you did not get this on your voyage." I bowed, but he did not observe me: he was talking to somebody else. They would willingly have remained longer on the sod of the sloping hill, and have stretched themselves over the outspread turf, had they not feared its dampness. "Now it would be enchanting," said somebody of the company, "if we had Turkey carpets to spread here." The wish was hardly expressed ere the man in the grey coat had put his hand into his pocket, and with modest, even humble demeanour, began to draw out a rich embroidered Turkey carpet. It was received by the attendants as a matter of course, and laid down on the appointed spot. Without further ceremony the company took their stand upon it. I looked with new surprise on the man, the pocket, and the carpet, which was about twenty paces long, and ten broad. I rubbed my eyes, not knowing what to think, and especially as nobody else seemed moved by what had passed. I longed to learn something about the man, and to inquire who he was; but I knew not to whom to apply, for I really was more afraid of the gentlemen-servants than of the gentlemen served. I mustered up my spirits at last, and addressed myself to a young man who seemed less pretending than the rest, and who had oftener been left to himself. I gently asked him, who that courteous gentleman was in grey clothes.--"Who? he that looks like an end of thread blown away from a tailor's needle?"--"Yes, he that stands alone."--"I do not know him," he answered; and, determined, as it seemed, to break off the discussion with me, turned away, and entered on a trifling conversation with somebody else. The sun now began to shine more intensely, and to annoy the ladies. The lovely Fanny carelessly addressed the grey man, whom, as far as I know, nobody had addressed before, with the frivolous question: "had he a marquee?" He answered with a low reverence, as if feeling an undeserved honour had been done him; his hand was already in his pocket, from which I perceived canvas, bars, ropes, iron-work--everything, in a word, belonging to the most sumptuous tent, issuing forth. The young men helped to erect it; it covered the whole extent of the carpet, and no one appeared to consider all this as at all extraordinary. If my mind was confused, nay terrified, with these proceedings, how was I overpowered when the next-breathed wish brought from his pocket three riding horses. I tell you, three great and noble steeds, with saddles and appurtenances! Imagine for a moment, I pray you, three saddled horses from the same pocket which had before produced a pocket-book, a telescope, an ornamented carpet twenty paces long and ten broad, a pleasure-tent of the same size, with bars and iron-work! If I did not solemnly assure you that I had seen it, with my own eyes, you would certainly doubt the narrative. Though there was so much of embarrassment and humility in the man, and he excited so little attention, yet his appearance to me had in it something so appalling, that I was not able to turn away my eyes from him. At last I could bear it no longer. I determined to steal away from the company; and this was easy for one who had acted a part so little conspicuous. I wished to hasten back to the city, and to return in pursuit of my fortune the following morning to Mr. J., and if I could muster up courage enough, to inquire something about the extraordinary grey man. Oh, had I been thus privileged to escape! I had hastily glided through the rose-grove, descended the hill, and found myself on a wide grassplot, when, alarmed with the apprehension of being discovered wandering from the beaten path, I looked around me with enquiring apprehension. How was I startled when I saw the old man in the grey coat behind, and advancing towards me! He immediately took off his hat, and bowed to me more profoundly than any one had ever done before. It was clear he wished to address me, and without extreme rudeness I could not avoid him. I, in my turn, uncovered myself, made my obeisance, and stood still with a bare head, in the sunshine, as if rooted there. I shook with terror while I saw him approach; I felt like a bird fascinated by a rattlesnake. He appeared sadly perplexed, kept his eyes on the ground, made several bows, approached nearer, and with a low and trembling voice, as if he were asking alms, thus accosted me:-- "Will the gentleman forgive the intrusion of one who has stopt him in this unusual way? I have a request to make, but pray pardon . . ."--"In the name of heaven, Sir!" I cried out in my anguish, "what can I do for one who--" We both started back, and methought both blushed deeply. After a momentary silence he again began: "During the short time when I enjoyed the happiness of being near you, I observed, Sir,--will you allow me to say so--I observed, with unutterable admiration, the beautiful, beautiful shadow in the sun, which with a certain noble contempt, and perhaps without being aware of it, you threw off from your feet; forgive me this, I confess, too daring intrusion, but should you be inclined to transfer it to me?" He was silent, and my head turned round like a water-wheel. What could I make of this singular proposal for disposing of my shadow? He is crazy! thought I; and with an altered tone, yet more forcible, as contrasted with the humility of his own, I replied: "How is this, good friend? Is not your own shadow enough for you? This seems to me a whimsical sort of bargain indeed." He began again, "I have in my pocket many matters which might not be quite unacceptable to the gentleman; for this invaluable shadow I deem any price too little." A chill came over me: I remembered what I had seen, and knew not how to address him who I had just ventured to call my good friend. I spoke again, and assumed an extraordinary courtesy to set matters in order. "Pardon, Sir, pardon your most humble servant, I do not quite understand your meaning; how can my shadow--" He interrupted me: "I only beg your permission to be allowed to lift up your noble shadow, and put it in my pocket: how to do it is my own affair. As a proof of my gratitude for the gentleman, I leave him the choice of all the jewels which my pocket affords; the genuine divining rods, mandrake roots, change pennies, money extractors, the napkins of Rolando's Squire, and divers other miracle- workers,--a choice assortment; but all this is not fit for you--better that you should have Fortunatus's wishing-cap, restored spick and span new; and also a fortune-bag which belonged to him." "Fortunatus's fortune-bag!" I exclaimed; and, great as had been my terror, all my senses were now enraptured by the sound. I became dizzy,--and nothing but double ducats seemed sparkling before my eyes. "Condescend, Sir, to inspect and make a trial of this bag." He put his hand into his pocket, and drew from it a moderately sized, firmly-stitched purse of thick cordovan, with two convenient leather cords hanging to it, which he presented to me. I instantly dipped into it, drew from it ten pieces of gold, and ten more, and ten more, and yet ten more;--I stretched out my hand. "Done! the bargain is made; I give you my shadow for your purse." He grasped my hand, and knelt down behind me, and with wonderful dexterity I perceived him loosening my shadow from the ground from head to foot;--he lifted it up;--he rolled it together and folded it, and at last put it into his pocket. He then stood erect, bowed to me again, and returned back to the rose grove. I thought I heard him laughing softly to himself. I held, however, the purse tight by its strings--the earth was sun-bright all around me--and my senses were still wholly confused. CHAPTER II. At last I came to myself, and hastened from a place where apparently I had nothing more to do. I first filled my pockets with gold, then firmly secured the strings of the purse round my neck, taking care to conceal the purse itself in my bosom. I left the park unnoticed, reached the high road, and bent my way to the town. I was walking thoughtfully towards the gate, when I heard a voice behind me: "Holla! young Squire! holla! don't you hear?" I looked round--an old woman was calling after me;--"Take care, sir, take care--you have lost your shadow!"--"Thanks, good woman."--I threw her a piece of gold for her well-meant counsel, and walked away under the trees. At the gate I was again condemned to hear from the sentinel, "Where has the gentleman left his shadow?" and immediately afterwards a couple of women exclaimed, "Good heavens! the poor fellow has no shadow!" I began to be vexed, and carefully avoided walking in the sun. This I could not always do: for instance, in the Broad-street, which I was next compelled to cross; and as ill-luck would have it, at the very moment when the boys were being released from school. A confounded hunch-backed vagabond--I see him at this moment--had observed that I wanted a shadow. He instantly began to bawl out to the young tyros of the suburbs, who first criticised me, and then bespattered me with mud: "Respectable people are accustomed to carry their shadows with them when they go into the sun." I scattered handfuls of gold among them to divert their attention; and, with the assistance of some compassionate souls, sprang into a hackney coach. As soon as I found myself alone in the rolling vehicle, I began to weep bitterly. My inward emotion suggested to me, that even as in this world gold weighs down both merit and virtue, so a shadow might possibly be more valuable than gold itself; and that, as I had sacrificed my riches to my integrity on other occasions, so now I had given up my shadow for mere wealth; and what ought, what could become of me? I continued still sadly discomposed, when the coach stopped before the old tavern. I was shocked at the thought of again entering that vile garret. I sent for my baggage, took up the miserable bundle with contempt, threw the servants some pieces of gold, and ordered to be driven to the principal hotel. The house faced the north, so I had nothing to fear from the sun. I dismissed the driver with gold, selected the best front room, and locked myself in as soon as possible. And how do you imagine I employed myself? Oh! my beloved Chamisso, I blush to confess it even to you. I drew forth the luckless purse from my bosom, and impelled by a sort of madness which burned and spread within me like a furious conflagration, I shook out gold, and gold, and gold, and still more gold;--strewed it over the floor, trampled on it, and made it tinkle, and feasting my weak senses on the glitter and the sound, I added pile to pile, till I sunk exhausted on the golden bed. I rolled about and wallowed in delicious delirium. And so the day passed by, and so the evening. My door remained unopened, and night found me still reposing on the gold, when sleep at length overcame me. Then I dreamed of you. I fancied I was standing close to the glass door of your little apartment, and saw you sitting at your work-table, between a skeleton and a parcel of dried plants. Haller, Humboldt, and Linnaeus lay open before you;--on your sofa were a volume of Goethe, and _The Magic Ring_. {37} I looked at you for a long time, then at everything around you, and then at you again; but you moved not--you breathed not--you were dead. I awoke: it seemed to be yet early--my watch had stopped;--I felt as if I had been bastinadoed--yet both hungry and thirsty, for since the previous morning I had eaten nothing. With weariness and disgust I pushed away from me the gold, which but a little time before had satiated my foolish heart: I now in my perplexity knew not how to dispose of it. But it could not remain there. I tried to put it again into the purse--no; none of my windows opened upon the sea. I was obliged to content myself by dragging it with immense labour and difficulty to a large cupboard, which stood in a recess, where I packed it up. I left only a few handfuls lying about. When I had finished my labour, I sat down exhausted in an arm-chair, and waited till the people of the house began to stir. I ordered breakfast, and begged the landlord to be with me as soon as practicable. With this man I arranged the future management of my household. He recommended to me for my personal servant a certain _Bendel_, whose honest and intelligent countenance instantly interested me. It was he, who from that moment accompanied me through life with a sympathizing attachment, and shared with me my gloomy destiny. I passed the whole day in my apartments with servants out of place, shoemakers, tailors, and shopkeepers; I provided myself with all necessaries, and bought large quantities of jewels and precious stones, merely to get rid of some of my piles of gold; but it seemed scarcely possible to diminish the heap. Meanwhile I contemplated my situation with most anxious doubts. I dared not venture one step from my door, and at evening ordered forty wax-lights to be kindled in my saloon, before I left the dark chamber. I thought with horror of the dreadful scene with the schoolboys, and determined, whatever it might cost, once more to sound public opinion. The moon, at this season, illumined the night. Late in the evening I threw a wide cloak around me, pulled down my hat over my eyes, and glided out of the house trembling like a criminal. I walked first along the shadows of the houses to a remote open place; I then abandoned their protection, stepped out into the moonshine, resolving to learn my destiny from the lips of the passers-by. But spare me, my friend, the painful repetition of what I was condemned to undergo! The deepest pity seemed to inspire the fairer sex; but my soul was not less wounded by this than by the contumely of the young, and the proud disdain of the old, especially of those stout and well-fed men, whose dignified shadows seemed to do them honour. A lovely, graceful maiden, apparently accompanying her parents, who seemed not to look beyond their own footsteps, accidentally fixed her sparkling eyes upon me. She obviously started as she remarked my shadowless figure; she hid her beautiful face beneath her veil, hung down her head, and passed silently on. I could bear it no longer. Salt streams burst forth from my eyes, and with a broken heart I hurried tremblingly back into darkness. I was obliged to grope along by the houses, in order to feel my steps secure, and slowly and late I reached my dwelling. That night was a sleepless one. My first care at daybreak was to order the man in the grey coat to be everywhere sought for. Perchance I might be lucky enough to discover him--and oh! what bliss if he as well as I repented of our foolish bargain. I sent for Bendel; he seemed both apt and active. I described to him minutely the man who held in his possession that treasure, without which life was but a torment to me. I told him the time, the place where I had seen him; particularized to him all the persons who could assist his inquiries; and added, that he should especially ask after a Dollond's telescope, a gold embroidered Turkish carpet, a superb tent, and also the black riding horses; whose history,--I did not state how,--was closely connected with that of the unintelligible man, whom nobody seemed to notice, and whose appearance had destroyed the peace and happiness of my life. When I had done, I brought out as much gold as I was able to carry. I laid jewels and precious stones to a still greater amount upon the pile. "Bendel," I said, "this levels many a path, and makes many a difficult thing easy; be not sparing, you know I am not; but go and rejoice your master with the information on which his only hopes are built." He went--he returned--and returned late and sorrowful. None of the merchant's servants, none of his guests--he had spoken to all--knew anything about the man in the grey coat. The new telescope was there, but they were all ignorant whence it came. The tent and the carpet were extended on the same hill; the lackeys boasted of their master's magnificence: but none knew from what place these new valuables had come. They had administered to his pleasures; and he did not disturb his rest to inquire into their origin. Their horses were in the stalls of the young men who had rode them; and they lauded the generosity of the merchant, who had that day requested they would keep them as presents. Such was the light that Bendel threw upon this extraordinary history, and for this fruitless result received my grateful thanks. I beckoned gloomily to him that he should leave me alone. But he resumed: "I have informed you, sir, of everything connected with the affair which most interests you. I have also a message to deliver, which was given to me this morning early, by a person whom I met at the door, while I was going out on the business in which I have been so unfortunate. His own words were, "Say to Mr. Peter Schlemihl, he will see me here no more, as I am going to cross the sea; and a favourable wind beckons me to the haven. But after a year and a day I shall have the honour to seek him out, and perhaps to propose to him another arrangement which may then be to his liking. Remember me most obediently to him, and assure him of my thanks." I asked him who he was: and he replied, that you knew. "What was the man's appearance?" I cried, full of forebodings. And Bendel described the man in the grey coat, feature by feature, word for word, precisely as he had depicted him, when inquiring about him. "Miserable mortal!" exclaimed I, wringing my hands, "it was he! it was he himself!" He looked as if scales had fallen from his eyes. "Yes, it was he, it was indeed he!" he cried out in agony; "and I, silly, deluded one, I did not know him--I did not know him--I have betrayed my master!" He broke out into the loudest reproaches against himself. He wept bitterly; his despair could not but excite my pity. I ministered consolation to him; assured him again and again that I did not doubt his fidelity, and sent him instantly to the haven, to follow the strange man's steps if possible. But, on that very morning, many vessels which had been kept by contrary winds back in port, had put to sea, all destined to distant lands and other climes; the grey man had disappeared trackless as a shade. CHAPTER III. Of what use would wings be to him who is fast bound in iron fetters? He must still despair, and despair with deeper melancholy. I lay like Taffner by his stronghold, far removed from any earthly consolation, starving in the midst of riches. They gave me no enjoyment; I cursed them; they had cut me off from mankind. Concealing my gloomy secret within me, I trembled before the meanest of my servants, whom I could not but envy: for he had his shadow, and could show himself in the sun. Alone in my apartments, I mourned through harassing days and nights, and anguish fed upon my heart. One individual was constantly sorrowing under my eyes. My faithful Bendel ceased not to torment himself with silent reproaches that he had deceived the confidence of his generous master, and had not recognized him whom he was sent to seek, and with whom my mournful fate seemed strongly intertwined. I could not blame him: I recognized too well in that event the mysterious nature of the unknown being. But, to leave nothing untried, I sent Bendel with a costly brilliant ring to the most celebrated painter in the city, requesting he would pay me a visit. He came--I ordered away my servants--locked the door--sat myself by him; and after praising his art, I came with a troubled spirit to the great disclosure, having first enjoined on him the strictest secresy. "Mr. Professor," I began, "can you paint a false shadow for one, who in the most luckless way in the world has lost his own?" "You mean a reflected shadow?"--"To be sure." "But," he added, "through what awkwardness, or what negligence, could he lose his own shadow?"--"How it happened," replied I, "that does not matter, but--" I impudently began again with a lie,--"last winter, when he was travelling in Russia, it froze so severely, during the extraordinary cold, that his shadow was frozen to the ground, and it was impossible for him to get it free." "And I," said the professor, "could only make him a sheet shadow, which he would be apt to lose again on the slightest motion; especially for one whose genuine shadow was so badly fixed, as must be inferred from your account; the simplest and wisest determination for him who has no shadow, is not to go in the sun." He stood up and walked away, after having sent through me a piercing glance which I could not endure. I sunk back on my chair, and veiled my face with my hands. Thus Bendel found me when he entered. He saw his master's sorrow, and wanted silently and respectfully to turn back. I raised my eyes: the weight of my grief was upon me--I determined to divide it. "Bendel!" I called to him; "Bendel! you, who alone see and respect my sufferings, not curiously prying into them, but secretly and devotedly sharing them with me--come to me, Bendel, be the nearest to my heart. The stores of my gold I have not concealed from you: from you I will not hide the store of my anguish. Bendel, forsake me not. You know I am wealthy, kind, and generous, and perhaps you think the world should honour me for that: but, you see, I shun the world; I hide myself from its observation. Bendel, the world has judged me and condemned me--and Bendel, too, perhaps, will turn from me when he possesses my dreadful secret. Bendel! I am indeed rich, liberal, and independent, but--heavens! I have no shadow!" "No shadow!" echoed the good young man in an agony, while bright tears broke from his eyelids; "Alas! alas! that I should have been born to serve a shadowless master!" He was silent, and I hid my face in my hands. At last I tremblingly said, "Bendel! you have now my confidence--betray it if you will--away! and bear witness against me." He seemed struggling with internal emotion; he threw himself at my feet, seized my hand, and bathed it with his tears. "No," he cried, "let the world say what it may, I will not leave my good master for the sake of a shadow; I will do what is right and not what is prudent: I will remain with you, I will lend you my shadow; I will help you where I can; I will weep with you." I fell on his neck, overcome with such an unexpected self-devotion. I felt assured he did nothing for the sake of gold. From that moment my fate and my mode of life changed. It is indescribable how carefully Bendel sought to cover my defects. He was ever before and with me, foreseeing everything, arranging everything, and where unexpected danger threatened, covering me with his shadow, for he was fortunately taller and stouter than I. Again I mingled with mankind, and acted my part in the scenes of the world. It was necessary to assume much singularity and queerness; but these sit well upon a rich man, and while the truth lay concealed, I enjoyed all the honour and esteem to which wealth has a claim. I looked with more calmness on the advancing year and day, whose close was to bring with them the visit of the mysterious unknown. I was well aware that I could not remain long in the place where I had been seen without a shadow, and where I might so easily be betrayed; and I thought perhaps more on this, remembering how I had first shown myself to the merchant, which was now a sad recollection to me; consequently I would only make an experiment here, that I might learn how to introduce myself hereafter with more ease and confidence; nevertheless it happened that I was momentarily bound down by my vanity; which is the firm ground in man where the anchor fixes itself. The beautiful Fanny, whom I again met in another situation, bestowed on me some attention, without recollecting that she had seen me before; for now I had both wit and understanding. When I talked, all listened, and I could not imagine when or how I had acquired the talent of leading and directing the conversation. The impression which I perceived I had produced on the fair one, made me, as she would have me, a very fool; and from this time I pursued her, where only I could pursue her, through shades and twilight. I was vain enough to make her vain of me; yet I could not succeed, notwithstanding all my efforts to drive the intoxication from my head to my heart. {Schlemihl and Fanny: p48.jpg} But why enter upon the details of an everyday story? You know, and have often told me, how other wealthy people spend their days. From an old, well-known drama, in which I, out of mere good-humour, was playing a hacknied part, arose a singular and incredible catastrophe, unexpected by me, or by Fanny, or by anybody. According to my custom, one lovely evening I had assembled a large company in an illuminated garden. I was wandering about with my divinity arm-in-arm, separated from the rest of the guests, and endeavouring to amuse her with well-timed conversation; she looked modestly towards the ground, and gently returned the pressure of my hand. At this moment the moon unexpectedly burst through the clouds: her shadow alone was there,--she started, looked alarmed at me, then at the earth, as if her eyes were asking for my shadow;--all her emotions were painted so faithfully on her countenance, that I should have burst into a loud laugh, had I not felt an icy dullness creeping over me. She sunk down from my arms in a swoon. I flew like an arrow through the alarmed company, reached the door, threw myself into the first coach I found waiting there, and hurried back to the city, where, to my misfortune, I had left the foresighted Bendel. He was startled at seeing me--a word told all. Post-horses were instantly ordered. I took only one of my servants with me, an interested villain called Rascal, who had learned to make himself useful by his dexterity, and who could suspect nothing of what had occurred. We travelled a hundred miles before night. Bendel was left behind to dismiss my household, to distribute my money by paying my debts, and to bring away what was most necessary. When he overtook me the next day, I threw myself into his arms, solemnly promising to commit no farther folly, but to be more discreet in future. We continued our journey without interruption, passing over the chain of mountains which formed the frontier; and only when on the descent, and separated by the high bastions from the land so fatal to my peace, did I allow myself to be comforted, and hastened away to a watering-place in the vicinity, where I sought repose from my disappointments and my sorrows. CHAPTER IV. I must hurry rapidly over a part of my history, on which I should rejoice to linger, if I could invoke the living spirit of departed time. But the beautiful associations which animated it once, and which alone could animate its memory, are now extinguished within me. When I seek them--that influence which ruled so mightily over my joys and sorrows--my mingled destiny,--I strike in vain against a rock, that gives out a living stream no longer; the divinity is fled. O how changed is the aspect of those days of old! My intention was now to act an heroic character; but it was badly studied, and I a novice on the stage, was forgetting my part while fascinated by a pair of blue eyes. In the intoxication of the scene, the parents seem eager to close the bargain, and the farce ends in a common mockery. And this is all! So stale, so unprofitable, and so melancholy are the revisitings of what beat once so nobly and proudly in my bosom. Mina! as I wept when I lost thee, even now I weep to have lost thee within me. Am I become so old! Pitiful intellect of man! Oh, for a pulse-beat of those days, a moment of that consciousness,--but no! I am a solitary wave in the dark and desolate sea: and the sparkling glass I drank was drugged with misery. I had previously sent Bendel with bags of gold to fit out a dwelling suitable for me in the town. He had scattered about a great deal of money, and talked mysteriously of the illustrious stranger whom he had the honour to serve (for I did not choose to be named), and this filled the good people with strange notions. As soon as the house was ready for me, Bendel returned to convey me thither. We started immediately. About an hour's distance from the place, on a sunny plain, a great number of persons in gala dresses arrested our progress. The coach stopped: music, bell-ringing, and cannonading were heard; a loud acclamation rent the air, and a chorus of singularly beautiful maidens in white robes appeared at the door of the carriage, one of whom, surpassing the rest as the sun surpasses in brightness the stars of evening, stepped forward, and with graceful and modest blushes knelt before me, and presented to me on a silken cushion a wreath of laurel, olive, and rose branches, garlanded together, while she uttered some words, which I understood not, of majesty, awe, and love, whose soft and silver tones enchanted my ear and my bosom: it seemed to me as if the heavenly apparition had once glided before me in other days. The chorus began, and sang the praise of a good monarch, and the happiness of his people. And this happened, my friend, in the bright sunshine: she continued to kneel some two steps before me, and I, shadowless, dared not spring over the gulf, that I might fall on my knees in her angelic presence. What would I not have given in that moment for a shadow! I was obliged to conceal my shame, my anguish, my despair, by sinking back into the carriage. Bendel relieved me from my embarrassment: he leaped out from the other side--I called him back--and gave him out of my little casket, which lay close at hand, a rich diamond crown which was intended to adorn the lovely Fanny. He moved forward, and spoke in his master's name, "who neither could," he said, "nor would accept such flattering marks of honour; there must have been some error, though he could not but thank the worthy townspeople for their expressions of kindness." He then took the garland of flowers from its place, and put there instead of it the crown of diamonds. His hand assisted the beautiful maiden to rise, and with a look of dignity he sent away the clergy, magistrates and deputies. Nobody was allowed a farther audience. He bade the crowd retire, and make room for the horses, and flung himself into the carriage, and off we went in a rapid gallop to the town, through the arches of flowers and laurels which had been erected. The cannon continued to thunder--the coach at last reached my abode. I turned hastily through the door, dividing the assembly who had gathered together to see me. The mob cried, "God bless him!" under my window; and I ordered double ducats to be scattered among them. At night the town was spontaneously illuminated. And I knew not yet what all this meant, nor who I was imagined to be. I sent out Rascal to get information. He discovered that the people believed they had certain information that the good king of Prussia was travelling through the country, under the title of count;--that my adjutant had been recognized, and had discovered both himself and me;--in a word, that infinite joy had been felt at the certainty of having me among them. They had ascertained, indeed, that as I wished to preserve the strictest _incognito_, it had been wrong to draw up the veil so intrudingly;--but as I had expressed my displeasure with so much graciousness and kindness, surely my generous heart could forgive them. It was so excellent a joke for my scoundrel servant, that he did as much as possible by his sharp remonstrances to confirm the good people in their opinions. He gave me a most amusing account of his proceedings; and as he saw it animated me, he thought to add to my enjoyment by a display of his own knavish tricks. Shall I confess it? I was not a little flattered by even the illusion of being mistaken for the head of the kingdom. I ordered a feast to be provided on the following evening, under the trees which overshadowed the expanse in front of my house, and the whole town to be invited. The mysterious virtue of my purse, the exertions of Bendel, and the dexterous contrivances of Rascal, succeeded in doing wonders in the trifling space of time. It is really astonishing how richly and beautifully everything was arranged in so short a period. Such pomp and superfluity were exhibited there, and the richly-fanciful illuminations were so admirably managed, that I felt quite at ease; I had nothing to find fault with, and I could not but praise the diligence of my servants. Evening darkness came on; the guests appeared, and were introduced to me. The word "majesty" was no more whispered; but I often heard, uttered in deep awe and humility, "the Count." What could I do? The word count satisfied me, and from that moment I was Count Peter. But in the midst of the festive crowd I sought but one; at last she appeared; she _was_ the crown, and she wore it. She followed her parents modestly, and seemed not to know that she was the loveliest of the assemblage. The forest-master, his wife, and daughter were introduced. I said much that was agreeable and obliging to the old people; but I stood before their daughter like a checked boy, and could not utter a single word. At last I stammered forth a request that she would honour the festival by undertaking that office whose badge she bore. With a touching look she begged blushingly that I would excuse her; but more abashed before her than she herself, I, as her first subject, offered her my humble tribute; and my glance served as a command to all the guests, each of whom seemed anxious to meet it. Over this joyful festivity presided majesty, innocence, and grace allied with beauty. Mina's happy parents believed that out of respect for them, their child had been elevated to these unexpected honours, and I was in an unspeakable transport of joy. I ordered every thing that was left of the jewels, pearls, and precious stones which I had purchased with my perplexing piles of wealth, to be placed in two covered dishes, and distributed in the name of the queen among her playfellows and the ladies present; and I ordered gold to be thrown over the border fence among the joyous crowds. On the following morning, Bendel communicated to me, in confidence, that the suspicions he had formed against Rascal's integrity were fully confirmed; he had yesterday purloined several bags of gold. "Let us not envy," I replied, "the poor devil this trifling booty; I scatter my money about profusely, why not to him? Yesterday, he and everybody else served me nobly, and arranged a delightful festivity." Nothing further was said about it; Rascal continued to be my head-servant, and Bendel my friend and confidant. He had imagined my wealth to be inexhaustible, and he cared not to inquire into its source. Entering into my feelings, he assisted me to find out constant occasions to display my wealth, and to spend it. Of the unknown, pale, sneaking fellow, he only knew that without him I could not get released from the curse which bound me, and that I dreaded the man on whom my only hope reposed. Besides, I was now convinced he could discover me anywhere, while I could find him nowhere; so that I determined to abandon a fruitless inquiry, and to await the promised day. The magnificence of the festival, and my condescension there, confirmed the obstinately-credulous inhabitants in their first opinion of my dignity. It appeared very soon, notwithstanding, in the newspapers, that the reported journey of the king was wholly without foundation. But I had been a king, and a king I was unfortunately compelled to remain; and certainly I was one of the richest and kingliest who had ever appeared. But what king could I be? The world has never had cause to complain of any scarcity of monarchs, at least in our days; and the good people, who had never seen one with their own eyes, first fixed on one, and then, equally happily, on another; but Count Peter continued to be my name. There once appeared among the visitors to the baths, a merchant who had made himself a bankrupt in order to get rich, and he enjoyed the general esteem; he was accompanied by a broad, palish shadow. He wished ostentatiously to display the wealth he had acquired, and he determined to be my rival. I applied to my bag. I drove on the poor devil at such a rate, that in order to save himself he was obliged to become a bankrupt a second time. Thus I got rid of him; and by similar means I created in this neighbourhood many an idler and a vagabond. Though I thus lived in apparent kingly pomp and prodigality, my habits at home were simple and unpretending. With thoughtful foresight, I had made it a rule that no one except Bendel, should on any pretence enter the chamber which I occupied. As long as the sun shone I remained there locked in. People said, "the count is engaged in his cabinet." The crowds of couriers were kept in communication by these occupations, for I dispatched and received them on the most trifling business. At evening, alone, I received company under the trees, or in my saloon, which was skilfully and magnificently lighted, according to Bendel's arrangement. Whenever I went out Bendel watched round me with Argus' eyes; my steps were always tending to the forester's garden, and that only for the sake of _her_; the inmost spirit of my existence was my love. My good Chamisso, I will hope you have not forgotten what love is! I leave much to your filling up. Mina was indeed a love-worthy, good, and gentle girl; I had obtained full possession of her thoughts; and in her modesty she could not imagine how she had become worthy of my regard, and that I dwelt only upon her; but she returned love for love, in the full youthful energy of an innocent heart. She loved like a woman; all self- sacrificing, self-forgetting, and living only in him who was her life, careless even though she should perish: in a word, she truly loved. But I--oh, what frightful moments!--frightful! yet worthy to be recalled. How often did I weep in Bendel's bosom, after I recovered from the first inebriety of rapture! how severely did I condemn myself, that I, a shadowless being, should seal, with wily selfishness, the perdition of an angel, whose pure soul I had attached to me by lies and theft! Now I determined to unveil myself to her; now, with solemn oaths, I resolved to tear myself from her, and to fly; then again I broke out into tears, and arranged with Bendel for visiting her in the forest-garden again in the evening. Sometimes I allowed myself to be flattered with the hopes of the now nearly approaching visit of the unknown, mysterious old man; and wept anew when I recollected that I had sought him in vain. I had reckoned the day when I was again to expect to see that awful being. He had said a year and a day; and I relied on his word. Mina's parents were good, worthy old people, loving their only child most tenderly; the whole affair had taken them by surprise, and, as matters stood, they knew not how to act. They could never have dreamed that Count Peter should think of their child; but it was clear he loved her passionately, and was loved in return. The mother, indeed, was vain enough to think of the possibility of such an alliance, and to prepare for its accomplishment; but the calm good sense of the old man never gave such an ambitious hope a moment's consideration. But they were both convinced of the purity of my love, and could do nothing but pray for their child. A letter is now in my hand which I received about this time from Mina. This is her very character. I will copy it for you. "I know I am a weak, silly girl; for I have taught myself to believe my beloved would not give me pain, and this because I deeply, dearly love him. Alas! thou art so kind, so unutterably kind! but do not delude me. For me make no sacrifice--wish to make no sacrifice. Heaven! I could hate myself if I caused thee to do so. No, thou hast made me infinitely happy; thou hast taught me to love thee. But go in peace! my destiny tells me Count Peter is not mine, but the whole world's; and then I shall feel proudly as I hear: 'That it was he--and he again--that he had done this--that he has been adored here, and deified there.' When I think of this, I could reproach thee for forgetting thy high destinies in a simple maiden. Go in peace, or the thought will make me miserable--me, alas! who am so happy, so blessed through thee. And have not I entwined in thy existence an olive-branch and a rose-bud, as in the garland which I dared to present thee? Think of thyself, my beloved one; fear not to leave me, I should die so blessed--so unutterably blessed, through thee." You may well imagine how these words thrilled through my bosom. I told her I was not that which I was supposed to be; I was only a wealthy, but an infinitely-wretched man. There was, I said, a curse upon me, which should be the only secret between her and me; for I had not yet lost the hope of being delivered from it. This was the poison of my existence: That I could have swept her away with me into the abyss; her, the sole light, the sole bliss, the sole spirit of my life. Then she wept again that I was so unhappy. She was so amiable, so full of love! How blessed had she felt to have offered herself up in order to spare me a single tear! But she was far from rightly understanding my words: she sometimes fancied I was a prince pursued by a cruel proscription; a high and devoted chief, whom her imagination loved to depicture, and to give to her beloved one all the bright hues of heroism. Once I said to her, "Mina, on the last day of the coming month, my doom may change and be decided; if that should not happen I must die, for I cannot make thee miserable." She wept, and her head sunk upon my bosom. "If thy doom should change, let me but know thou art happy; I have no claim upon thee--but shouldst thou become miserable, bind me to thy misery, I will help thee to bear it." "Beloved maiden! withdraw--withdraw the rash, the foolish word which has escaped thy lips. Dost thou know what is my misery? dost thou know what is my curse? That thy beloved--what he? Dost thou see me shuddering convulsively before thee, and concealing from thee--" She sunk sobbing at my feet, and renewed her declaration with a solemn vow. I declared to the now approaching forest-master, my determination to ask the hand of his daughter for the first day of the coming month. I fixed that period, because in the meanwhile many an event might occur which would have great influence on my fortunes. My love for his daughter could not but be unchangeable. The good old man started back, as it were, while the words escaped from Count Peter's lips. He fell upon my neck, and then blushed that he had so far forgotten himself. Then he began to doubt, to ponder, to inquire; he spoke of dowry, of security for the future for his beloved child. I thanked him for reminding me of it. I told him I wished to settle and live a life free from anxiety, in a neighbourhood where I appeared to be beloved. I ordered him to buy, in the name of his daughter, the finest estates that were offered, and refer to me for the payment. A father would surely best serve the lover of his child. This gave him trouble enough, for some stranger or other always forestalled him: but he bought for only the amount of about a million florins. The truth is, this was a sort of innocent trick to get rid of him, which I had already once done before: for I must own he was rather tedious. The good mother, on the contrary, was somewhat deaf, and not, like him, always jealous of the honour of entertaining the noble Count. The mother pressed forward. The happy people crowded around me, entreating me to lengthen the evening among them. I dared not linger a moment: the moon was rising above the twilight of evening: my time was come. Next evening I returned again to the forest-garden. I had thrown my broad mantle over my shoulders, my hat was slouched over my eyes. I advanced towards Mina; as she lifted up her eyes and looked at me, an involuntary shudder came over her. The frightful night in which I had shown myself shadowless in the moonlight, returned in all its brightness to my mind. It was indeed she! Had she, too, recognized me? She was silent and full of thought. I felt the oppression of a nightmare on my breast. I rose from my seat; she threw herself speechless on my bosom. I left her. But now I often found her in tears; my soul grew darker and darker, while her parents seemed to revel in undisturbed joy. The day so big with fate rolled onwards, heavy and dark, like a thunder-cloud. Its eve had arrived, I could scarcely breathe. I had been foresighted enough to fill some chests with gold. I waited for midnight:--it tolled. And there I sat, my eyes directed to the hand of the clock; the seconds, the minutes, as they tinkled, entered me like a dagger. I rose up at every sound I heard. The day began to dawn; the leaden hours crowded one on another; it was morning--evening--night. The hands of the timepiece moved slowly on, and hope was departing. It struck eleven, and nothing appeared. The last minutes of the last hour vanished--still nothing appeared; the first stroke--the last stroke of _twelve_ sounded. I sank hopeless on my couch in ceaseless tears. To-morrow--shadowless for ever!--to-morrow I should solicit the hand of my beloved. Towards morning a heavy sleep closed my eyes. {Schlemihl in his room: p66.jpg} CHAPTER V. It was yet early, when I was awakened by the sound of voices violently disputing in my antechamber. I listened: Bendel was forbidding access to my door. Rascal swore loudly and deeply that he would take no orders from his fellow-servant, and insisted on rushing into my apartment. The good Bendel warned him that if such language reached my ears, he might perchance lose a profitable place; but Rascal threatened to lay violent hands upon him, if he impeded his entrance any longer. I had half dressed myself. I angrily flung the door open, and called out to Rascal, "What dost want, thou scoundrel?" He retreated two paces, and answered with perfect coldness, "Humbly to request, may it please your lordship, for once to show me your shadow; the sun is shining so beautifully in the court." I felt as if scathed by a thunderbolt, and it was long before I could utter a word: "How can a servant presume against his master that--" He interrupted me with provoking calmness: "A servant may be a very honest man, and yet refuse to serve a shadowless master--I must have my discharge." I tried another weapon. "But, Rascal, my dear Rascal, who has put this wild notion into your head? How can you imagine--" But he continued in the same tone, "There are people who assert you have no shadow; so, in a word, either show me your shadow, or give me my discharge!" Bendel, pale and trembling, but more discreet than I, made me a sign to seek a resource in the silence-imposing gold--but it had lost its power; Rascal flung it at my feet: "I will take nothing from a shadowless being." He turned his back upon me, put his hat on his head, and went slowly out of the apartment whistling a tune. I stood there like a petrifaction--looking after him, vacant and motionless. Heavy and melancholy, with a deathlike feeling within me, I prepared to redeem my promise, and, like a criminal before his judges, to show myself in the forester's garden. I ascended to the dark arbour which had been called by my name, where an appointment had been made to meet me. Mina's mother came forwards toward me, gay, and free from care. Mina was seated there, pale and lovely, as the earliest snow when it kisses the last autumnal flower, and soon dissolves into bitter drops. The forest-master, with a written sheet in his hand, wandered in violent agitation from side to side, seemingly overcome with internal feelings, which painted his usually unvarying countenance with constantly changing paleness and scarlet. He came towards me as I entered, and with broken accents requested to speak to me alone. The path through which he invited me to follow him led to an open sunny part of the garden. I seated myself down without uttering a word; a long silence followed, which even our good mother dared not interrupt. With irregular steps the forest-master paced the arbour backwards and forwards; he stood for a moment before me, looked into the paper which he held, and said with a most penetrating glance, "Count, and do you indeed know one Peter Schlemihl?" I was silent--"a man of reputable character, and of great accomplishments." He waited for my answer. "And what if I were he?"--"He!" added he vehemently, "who has in some way got rid of his shadow!"--"Oh, my forebodings! my forebodings!" exclaimed Mina, "alas! I knew long ago that he had no shadow!" and she flung herself into her mother's arms, who, alarmed, pressed her convulsively to her bosom, reproaching me with having concealed such a fatal secret from her:--but she, like Arethusa, was bathed in a fountain of tears, which flowed abundantly at the sound of my voice, and at my approach tempestuously burst forth. "And so," cried the forest-master furiously, "your matchless impudence has sought to betray that poor girl and me--and you pretended to love her--her whom you have dragged to the abyss--see how she weeps, how she is agonized! O shame! O sin!" I was so completely confused that I answered incoherently: "After all, 'twas but a shadow--nothing but a shadow--one can manage without it; and surely it is not worth making such a noise about." But I felt so deeply the deception of my language, that I was silent before he deigned to give me an answer. I added, "What a man has lost to-day he may find again to- morrow." He spoke angrily: "Explain to me, sir, explain how you got rid of your shadow." I was compelled again to lie: "A vulgar fellow trod so clumsily upon my shadow, that he tore a great hole in it; I sent it to be mended--gold can do everything; I ought to have received it back yesterday." "Very well, sir, very well," he replied. "You sue for my daughter--others do the same; as her father I must take care of her. I give you three days' respite, which you may employ in procuring a shadow. Come to me after this, and if you have one that suits you, you will be welcome: but if not, on the fourth day, I must tell you, my daughter shall be the wife of another." I attempted to address a word to Mina; but she clung, violently agitated, closer to her mother, who silently beckoned to me that I should retire. I slunk away as if the world's gates had closed behind me. Escaped to Bendel's affectionate guidance, I wandered with erring footsteps through fields and woods, sweat-drops of anguish fell from my brow; deep groans broke from my bosom; within me raged a wild frenzy. I know not how long it had lasted, when on a sunny heath I found myself held by the sleeve--I stood still, and looked around me. It was the grey- coated stranger; he seemed to have followed me till he was out of breath. He instantly began: "I had announced myself for to-day; you have hardly been able to wait so long--but all is well--you will take good counsel: exchange your shadow again; it only waits your commands, and then turn back. You will be welcome in the forester's garden; it was but a jest. Rascal, who has betrayed you, and who is a suitor to your betrothed, I will dispose of--the fellow is ripe." {Schlemihl offered the parchment: p72.jpg} I stood there still, as if I were asleep--"Announced for to-day?"--I reckoned the time over again; it was so. I had erred in my calculations. I put my right hand on the bag in my bosom; he discovered my meaning, and drew back two paces. "No, Sir Count, that is in good hands; that you may retain." I looked on him with staring and inquiring eyes. He spoke: "May I ask for a trifling memento? Be so good as to sign this note." The following words were on the parchment he held: "I hereby promise to deliver over my soul to the bearer after its natural separation from my body." I looked with dumb astonishment, now on the grey unknown, and now on the writing. In the mean time he had dipped a new pen in a drop of my blood, which was flowing from a scratch made by a thorn in my hand. He handed the pen to me. "Who are you, then?" I at last inquired. "What does that matter?" he answered. "Don't you see what I am?--a poor devil; a sort of philosopher or alchemist, who receives spare thanks for great favours he confers on his friends; one who has no enjoyment in this world, except a little _experimentializing_:--but sign, I pray--ay, just there on the right, _Peter Schlemihl_." I shook my head. "Forgive me, sir, for I will not sign."--"Not!" replied he, with seeming surprise, "why not?" "'Tis an affair that requires some consideration--to add my soul to my shadow in the bargain."--"Oh, oh!" he exclaimed, "consideration!" and burst into a loud laugh. "May I then be allowed to ask, what sort of a thing is your soul? Have you ever seen it? Do you know what will become of it when you are once departed? Rejoice that you have found somebody to take notice of it; to buy, even during your lifetime, the reversion of this X, this galvanic power, this polarising influence, or whatever the silly trifle may turn out to be; to pay for it with your bodily shadow, with something really substantial; the hand of your mistress, the fulfilment of your prayers. Or will you rather deliver over the sweet maiden to that contemptible scoundrel, Mr. Rascal? No, no! look to that with your own eyes. Come hither; I will lend you the wishing-cap too, (he drew something from his pocket), and we will have a ramble unseen through the forest-garden." I must confess I was sadly ashamed to be thus laughed at by this fellow. I hated him from the bottom of my soul; and I believe this personal antipathy prevented me, more than my principles, from giving the required signature for my shadow, necessary as it was to me. The thought was unbearable, that I should undertake such a walk in his company. This sneaking scoundrel, this scornful, irritating imp, placing himself betwixt me and my beloved, sporting with two bleeding hearts, roused my deepest feelings. I looked on what had past as ordained, and considered my misery as irretrievable. I turned upon the man and said: "Sir, I sold you my shadow for this most estimable bag of yours: I have repented it enough; if the bargain can be annulled, in the name of--" He shook his head--looked at me with a dark frown. I began again: "I will sell you nothing more of my possessions, though you may offer as high a price as for my shadow; and I will sign nothing. Hence you may conclude that the metamorphosis to which you invite me would perhaps be more agreeable to you than to me. Forgive me, but it cannot be otherwise; let us part." "I am sorry, Mr. Schlemihl, that you so capriciously push away the favours which are presented to you; but I may be more fortunate another time. Farewell, till our speedy meeting! By the way, you will allow me to mention, that I do not by any means permit my purchases to get mouldy; I hold them in special regard, and take the best possible care of them." With this he took my shadow out of his pocket, and with a dexterous fling it was unrolled and spread out on the heath on the sunny side of his feet, so that he stood between the two attendant shadows, mine and his, and walked away; mine seemed to belong to him as much as his own; it accommodated itself to all his movements and all his necessities. When I saw my poor shadow again, after so long a separation, and found it applied to such base uses, at a moment when for its sake I was suffering nameless anguish, my heart broke within me, and I began to weep most bitterly. The hated one walked proudly on with his spoil, and unblushingly renewed his proposals. "You may have it--'tis but a stroke of the pen; you will save, too, your poor unhappy Mina from the claws of the vagabond; save her for the arms of the most honourable Count. 'Tis but a stroke of the pen, I say." Tears broke forth with new violence; but I turned away, and beckoned him to be gone. Bendel, who had followed my steps to the present spot, approached me full of sadness at this instant. The kind-hearted fellow perceived me weeping, and observed my shadow, which he could not mistake, attached to the figure of the extraordinary, grey, unknown one, and he endeavoured by force to put me in possession of my property; but not being able to lay firm hold on this subtle thing, he ordered the old man, in a peremptory tone, to abandon what did not belong to him. He, for a reply, turned his back upon my well-meaning servant, and marched away. Bendel followed him closely, and lifting up the stout black-thorn cudgel which he carried, required the man to give up the shadow, enforcing the command with the strength of his nervous arm; but the man, accustomed perhaps to such encounters, bowed his head, raised his shoulders, and walked silently and calmly over the heath, accompanied by my shadow and my faithful man. For a long time I heard the dull sound echoed over the waste. It was lost at last in the distance. I stood alone with my misery as before. CHAPTER VI. Thus left behind on the dreary heath, I gave vent to countless tears, which seemed to lighten my bosom of its intolerable weight. But I saw no bounds, no outlet, no term to my terrible misery, and with wild impatience I sucked in the poison which the mysterious being had poured into my wounds. When I recalled the image of Mina, her soft and lovely form appeared pale and weeping before me, as I had seen her in my hour of ignominy; and the shade of Rascal impudently and contumaciously seemed to step between us. I veiled my face, I fled across the waste; but the ghastly vision still pursued me; I ran--it was close to me. I sank breathless to the ground, and watered it with renewed springs of tears. And all about a shadow! a shadow which a stroke of the pen would have restored to me! I mused again on the strange proposal and my refusal. All was dark and desolate within me; I had neither argument nor reason left. The day rolled by. I calmed my hunger with wild fruits; my thirst with the nearest mountain stream. Night approached; I stretched myself under a tree. The damp dawn awaked me from a heavy sleep, in which I had heard myself groan, as if struggling with death. Bendel had surely lost my traces, and I rejoiced to think so. I determined to return no more among men, from whom I fled like the shy beasts of the mountain. Thus I existed through three weary days. On the morning of the fourth I found myself on a shady plain, where the sun was shining brightly. I sat down there on the fragment of rock in its beam, for I enjoyed to bask again in its long-forbidden glance. I nourished my heart with its own despair. But I was alarmed by a gentle rustling. I looked eagerly round me preparing to fly--I saw no one; but there passed by on the sunny sand a man's shadow not unlike my own, wandering about alone, and which appeared straying from its owner. A mighty impulse was roused within me. Shadow, thought I, art thou seeking thy master. I will be he; and I sprang forward to possess myself of it. I imagined that if I were lucky enough to get into its track, I could so arrange that its feet should just meet mine; it would even attach and accommodate itself to me. {Schlemihl chasing his shadow: p78.jpg} The shadow on my moving fled before me, and I was compelled to begin an active chase after the unsubstantial wanderer. The eager desire to be released from the perplexities in which I stood armed me with unusual strength. It fled to a distant wood, in whose obscurity it necessarily would have been immediately lost. I saw it--a terror pierced my heart, kindled my burning desire, and gave wings to my feet. I gained on the shadow, approached it nearer and nearer,--I was within reach of it. It stopped suddenly and turned round towards me; like the lion pouncing on its prey, I sprang forward upon it with a mighty effort to take possession. I felt most unexpectedly that I had dashed against something which made a bodily resistance--I received from an unseen power the most violent thrust which a human being ever felt. The working of terror was acting dreadfully within me; its effect was to close my arms as in a spasm, to seize on what stood unseen before me. I staggered onwards, and fell prostrate on the ground; beneath me on his back was a man whom I held fast, and who now was visible. The whole affair was now naturally explained. The man must have possessed the viewless charm which makes the possessor but not his shadow, invisible. He first held it, and afterwards had thrown it away. I looked round, and immediately discovered the shadow of the invisible charm. I leaped up and sprang towards it, and did not miss at last the valuable spoil; unseen, and shadowless, I held the charm in my hand. The man rose up speedily; he looked round after his fortunate subduer, not being able to discover in the broad sunny plain either him or his shadow, which he sought with the greatest anxiety: for he had no reason to suspect, and no time to observe, that I was a shadowless being. As soon as he discovered that every trace was vanished, he raised his hands against himself in the wildest despair, and tore his hair. But this newly-acquired treasure gave me the means and the disposition to mingle again among my fellow-men. No pretext was wanting for palliating to my own mind this despicable robbery; or, rather, it wanted no such pretext. With a view of ridding myself of any internal reproaches, I hurried away, not even looking back on the unfortunate victim, whose agonized tones I heard long repeated after me. So, at least, at that time I looked upon the circumstances of that event. I longed to go to the forest-garden, in order to inform myself of the truth of what the hated one had announced to me; but I knew not where I was; and in order to inform myself as to the neighbourhood, I mounted the nearest hill, and saw from its brow the tower of the forest-garden lying at my feet. My heart beat with agitation, and tears, very different from those I had before shed, burst into my eyes. I was to see her again. An anxious, longing desire hurried my steps down the straightest path. A crowd of peasants I passed unseen going from town; they were talking of me and of Rascal, and of the forester. I would listen to nothing; I hastened by. I walked into the garden, my bosom trembling with the alarm of expectation. A laugh approached me. I shook; looked eagerly around me, but could perceive nobody. I moved farther forward, and a noise as of the pacing of human feet seemed near me. Still I could see nothing--I thought my ears were deceived; but it was early, nobody was in Count Peter's arbour--the garden was empty. I rambled over the familiar paths, until I came near to the mansion. I heard the same sound more distinctly. I sat down with a sorrowful heart upon a bank immediately opposite the front door, in a sunny spot. It appeared to me as if I heard the invisible imp laughing insultingly. The key was turned in the door, which opened, and the forest-master walked out with papers in his hand. I felt something like a mist around my eyes--I looked round--and, oh horrible! the man in the grey coat was sitting close to me, looking on me with a satanic smile. He had drawn his wishing cap over my head. At his feet my shadow and his own lay peacefully one against the other; he was playing carelessly with the well-known parchment, which he held in his hand; and while the forest-master was walking backwards and forwards in the shade of the arbour, he bent himself familiarly to my ear, and whispered to me these words:-- "Now, then, you have at last accepted my offer, and so we set two heads under one cap. Very good! very good! But pray give me my charm again--you do not want it any more, and are too honourable a man to keep what does not belong to you: no thanks--I assure you I lent it to you from my heart." He took it gently from my hand, put it into his pocket, laughed insultingly at me, and so loudly, that the forest-master looked round attracted by the noise. I sat there as if I had been petrified. "You must agree," he rejoined, "that such a cap is much more convenient. It does not cover its possessor alone, but his shadow also, and as many people besides as he likes to have with him. Look, now, to-day I get two of ye." He laughed again. "You must know, Schlemihl, that what is not done by fair means at first, may be enforced at last; I still thought you would have bought the trifle. Take back your bride (there is yet time), and send Rascal to swing on the gallows; that is an easy matter while we have a rope at hand. Hearken, I give you the cap into the bargain." The mother came forth, and this conversation followed. "What is my Mina doing?"--"Weeping."--"Simple child! but can it not be altered?"--"No, indeed."--"But to give her so soon to another--O husband! you are cruel to your own child!"--"Mother! you don't see clearly. Even before she has wept out her childish tears, when she finds herself the wife of a rich and noble man, she will be consoled for her sorrows, as if awakened from a dream. She will thank Heaven and us; and that you will see."--"God grant it!"--"She already possesses a pretty handsome dowry; but after the noise made by that unfortunate adventurer, do you believe that so brilliant a proposal as Mr. Rascal's will soon or easily be found? Do you know what wealth he possesses? He has six million florins in landed property in this country paid for in cash, free from all incumbrances. I have the writings in hand. It was he who forestalled me always in the best purchases. Besides this, he has in his portfolio bills of exchange on Mr. Thomas Jones for above three millions and a half of florins."--"He must have pilfered at a pretty rate."--"That's all nonsense. He has hoarded wisely, where others foolishly squandered."--"But a man who has worn a livery!"--"Folly! he has an irreproachable shadow!"--"You are right, but--" The man in the great coat laughed and looked full in my face. The door opened, and Mina came out; she was supporting herself on her maid's arm; silent tears were flowing over her pale and lovely cheeks. She sat down in a chair placed for her under the lime-trees, and her father seated himself beside her. He gently seized her hand, and while she wept still more bitterly, addressed her in the gentlest accents. "Thou art my best, my dearest child; thou wilt be prudent too; thou wilt not grieve thy old father, who thinks only of making thee happy. I well understand, my sweet girl, that this has sadly shaken thee; thou hast wonderfully escaped from misery. Before the shameless cheat was unveiled, thou lovedst that unworthy one most affectionately. I know it, Mina, but I do not reproach thee. I, too, loved him, while I deemed him to be a rich and noble man. But thou hast seen in what it ended. The veriest vagabond has his own shadow; and shall my beloved, my only daughter, be married to--Oh, no! thou thinkest of him no more. Listen, my Mina: a lover addresses thee, who does not dread the sun; an honourable man, who is no Count indeed, but who possesses ten millions, ten times more than thou hast ever possessed; a man who will make my beloved child happy. Do not oppose me; make no reply; be my good, obedient daughter. Let thy affectionate father care for thee, and dry thy tears. Promise me to give thy hand to Mr. Rascal; say, wilt thou promise me?" She answered with a dying voice, "I have no farther will nor wish on earth; let my father's will be accomplished!" On this Mr. Rascal was announced, and daringly joined the circle. Mina lay in a swoon. My hated evil genius fixed his eyes angrily on me, and whispered in these rapid words, "Can you bear _that_ too? What runs in your veins instead of blood?" With a swift motion he made a slight wound in my hand--blood gushed forth: he cried, "Red blood, truly! sign." The parchment and the pen were in my hand. CHAPTER VII. I shall expose myself, dear Chamisso, to your criticism, and not seek to elude it. I have long visited myself with the heaviest judgment, for I have fed the devouring worm in my heart. This terrible moment of my existence is everlastingly present to my soul; and I can contemplate it only in a doubting glance, with humility and contrition. My friend, he who carelessly takes a step out of the straight path, is imperceptibly impelled into another course, in which he will be deluded farther and farther astray. For him in vain the pole-star twinkles in the heavens; there is no choice for him; he must slide down the declivity, and offer himself up to Nemesis. After the false and precipitate step which had brought down the curse upon me, I had daringly thrust myself upon the fate of another being. What now remained, but where I had sowed perdition, and prompt salvation was urgent--again blindly to rush forward to save?--for the last knell had tolled. Do not think so basely of me, my Chamisso, as to imagine that I should have thought any price too dear, or should have been more sparing with anything I possessed than with my gold? No! but my soul was filled with unconquerable hatred towards this mysterious sneaker in crooked paths. Perhaps I might be unjust to him, yet my mind revolted against all communication with him. But here, as often in my life, and generally in the history of the world, an accident rather than an intention, determined the issue. Afterwards I became reconciled to myself. I learnt, in the first place, to respect necessity, and those accidents which are yet more the result of necessity than any will of our own. Then was I also taught to obey this necessity, as a wise arrangement of Providence, which sets all this machinery in action, in which we only co-operate by moving and setting other wheels in motion. What must be, will happen; what should have been, was; and not without the intervention of that Providence, which I at last learnt to reverence in my fate, and in the fate of her who controlled mine. I know not if I should ascribe it to the strain of my soul under the pressure of such mighty emotions, or to the exhaustion of my physical strength, weakened by the unwonted abstinence of the days gone by, or to that fatal agitation which the approach of this grey adversary produced through my whole frame; but certain it is, that while preparing to sign, I fell into a deep swoon, and lay a long time as in the arms of death. On coming to my recollection, the first tones that reached my ears were the stamping of feet and cursing. I opened my eyes; it was dark; my hated companion was there holding me, but scolding thus: "Now, is not that behaving like a silly old woman? Let the gentleman rise up--conclude the business--as he intended--or, perhaps he has other thoughts--would like still to weep." With difficulty I raised myself from the ground where I lay, and looked silently around me. The evening was advanced; festive music broke from the brightly-lighted forest-house, and groups of company were scattered over the garden walks. Some drew near who were engaged in conversation, and seated themselves on the benches. They spoke of the nuptials of the daughter of the house with the rich Mr. Rascal--they had taken place in the morning--all--all was over. I struck away with my hand from my head the wishing-cap of the instantly- vanishing unknown one, and fled in silence to conceal myself in the deepest darkness of the wood, hurrying to the garden gate before Count Peter's arbour. But my evil genius accompanied me unseen, pursuing me with bitter words. "This, then, is the reward one is to get for the trouble of taking care, through the live-long day, of the nervous gentleman! And I am then to be fooled at last? Very well, very well, Mr. Wronghead: fly from me, but we are inseparable. You have my gold, and I your shadow; they leave no rest to either. Did anybody ever hear of a shadow abandoning its master? Yours draws me after you, till you condescend to take it again, and I get rid of it. What you have sold, or neglected to do, of your own free-will, that will you be compelled to repair with repugnance and weariness; man cannot oppose his destiny." He continued to talk in the same tone,--I fled from him in vain--he was always behind me--ever present--and speaking sneeringly of gold and shadow. I could not repose on a single thought. Through untrodden, vacant streets, I hastened to my abode. I stood before it--looked up--and hardly recognized it. Behind the closed windows no light was burning; the doors were shut--no servants appeared to be moving. He stood behind me, and laughed aloud. "Ay, ay! but your Bendel is certainly at home; he was sent hither so thoroughly exhausted, that no doubt he has carefully kept house." He laughed again--"He will have some stories to amuse you--take courage. Good night for to-day, till an early interview." I rang again, and a light appeared. Bendel asked from within, "who is there?" When he heard my voice, the poor fellow could scarcely contain his joy; the door flew open, and we lay weeping in each other's arms. He was greatly changed--weak and ill. My hair had become wholly grey. He led me through the vacant chambers to an inner apartment, which remained furnished. He fetched meat and drink--we sat down--he again began to weep; he then told me that he had lately beaten the grey-clad meagre man, whom he had met with my shadow, so lustily and so long, that he lost all trace of me, and had sunk exhausted to the earth; that afterwards, not being able to discover me, he had returned home, and that the mob, excited by Rascal, had raised a tumult, broken the windows of the house, and given full reins to their love of destruction. Thus they had rewarded their benefactors. One after another my servants had fled. The police of the place had ordered me to leave the town as a suspicious person, allowing me a delay of only four-and-twenty hours to quit their territory. He had a great deal to add to what I already knew of Rascal's wealth and espousals. This scoundrel, who had originated all the proceedings against me, must have possessed my secret from the beginning. It seemed that, attracted by the gold, he had forced himself upon me, and had procured a key for that treasure-chest where he laid the foundation of his fortune, which he now seemed determined to enjoy. Bendel told me all with abundant tears, and wept anew for joy at seeing me again, and again possessing me: and he rejoiced that, after all his fears as to what misfortune might have brought me, he found me bearing everything with calmness and fortitude; for such was the form in which despair reigned over me, while I saw gigantic and unchangeable misery before me. I had wept away all my tears; grief could force out no other accent of distress from my bosom. I raised against it, coldly and unconcernedly, my uncovered head. "Bendel," said I, "you know my fate. Not without certain guilt does the heavy penalty fall on me. You, innocent being as you are, shall no longer bind your destiny to mine, I will no longer let it be so. To-night I will hasten away. Saddle me my horse--I ride alone--you must remain--I require it. Some chests of gold must yet be here. They are now yours. I shall wander restlessly through the world; but if a happier day should dawn, and bliss should again smile upon me, I will faithfully think of you; for on your faithful bosom I have wept in many a weary, wretched, sorrowful hour." The honest fellow obeyed with a broken heart this last command of his master. It agonized his soul; but I was deaf to his representations and entreaties, and blind to his tears. He brought the horse to me, I pressed him while he wept against my breast, sprang into the saddle, and pursued my way under the mantle of night from the grave of my existence; indifferent as to the direction my horse might take. On the earth I had no goal--no wish--no hope. CHAPTER VIII. A foot passenger soon joined me, and, after walking some time by my horse's side, begged me, as we were bound the same way, to be allowed to throw the cloak which he carried on the crupper; I quietly allowed him to do so. He thanked me with a graceful address for this trifling service, praised my horse, and thence took the opportunity of lauding the happiness and the influence of the wealthy. He went on I know not how, in a sort of soliloquy, for I was only a hearer. He unfolded his views of life and the world, and soon introduced metaphysics, from whence the word was to emanate which should solve all mysteries. He developed his theme with great distinctness, and led forward to its deductions. You know very well that I have often confessed, since I drove through the school of philosophy, that I do not consider myself as by any means calculated for philosophical speculations, and that I have altogether renounced that branch of study. From that time I have let many things be settled as they could, renounced much which I might have understood or learnt, and, following your counsels by trusting to my innate senses, that voice of the heart, I have gone forward in my own road as far as I was able. This rhetorician appeared to me to build his firmly-cemented edifice with great ability. It seemed to bear itself on its firm and solid foundation, and stood, as it were, on its own absolute necessity. Then I missed in the edifice what I particularly sought; and it was to me merely a piece of art, whose completeness and decorations served only to delight the eye; but I listened willingly to the eloquent man, who seemed to transfer to himself my observations on my own sorrows; and I should have cheerfully surrendered myself to him, if he would have taken possession of my soul as well as of my understanding. In the mean while time passed on, and morning dawn had imperceptibly stolen over the heaven. I trembled as I looked around, and saw the magnificent colours blending in the east, and heralding the ascending sun; and at that hour, when the shadows stretch themselves out in all their extension, no shelter, no protection was to be discovered--and I was not alone! I looked upon my companion, and again I trembled: it was even the man in the grey coat. He smiled at my alarms, and without allowing me to utter a word, began: "Let us then, as is the custom of the world, unite our different advantages for a while! we have always time to separate. The road along- side the mountain, if you have not already thought about it, is the only one which you can prudently take. You dare not descend into the valley; and over the hill you will hardly think of returning as it would lead you whence you came; and the road in which you are is just mine. I see the uprising sun makes you look pale; I will lend you your shadow while we remain together, and this may induce you to bear my being near to you. Your Bendel is no longer with you, but I will do you good service. You do not love me: I am sorry for it; but you may make use of me notwithstanding. The devil is not so black as he is represented. Yesterday, you vexed me, 'tis true, but I will bear you no grudge to-day. I have shortened your way thus far, as you must yourself confess; now take your shadow on trial again." The sun had arisen; travellers were approaching us on the road, and in spite of an internal repugnance, I accepted his offer. He smiled, and let my shadow fall on the ground; it took its station upon that of my horse, and cheerfully moved forward. My mind was in a strange mood. I rode by a body of country people, who were respectfully making room with their heads uncovered as for a wealthy-looking man. I rode farther, and looked aside from my horse with eager eyes and beating heart, on what was once my shadow; but which I had now borrowed from a stranger, ay, from an enemy. He came on carelessly by my side, and whistled a tune--he on foot, I on horseback. A dizziness seized me, the temptation was too great; I hastily turned the reins, drove both spurs into the horse, and thus went off at full speed through a cross road. I could not elope with the shadow, it slipped away when the horse started, and waited on the road for its lawful owner. I was obliged to turn round, ashamed; the man in the grey coat, as he unconcernedly finished his tune, began to laugh at me, and fixing the shadow again in its place, informed me it would only stick to me, and remain with me, when I had properly and lawfully become possessed of it. "I hold you fast," he cried, "fast attached to the shadow; you cannot escape from me. A wealthy man like you may want a shadow: likely enough--and you are only to blame for not having earlier looked into the matter." I continued my journey on the same road as before. I possessed all the comforts of life, and all its luxuries. I could move about freely and easily; and I possessed a shadow too, though but a borrowed one, and I imposed everywhere that reverence which wealth commands; but death was at my heart. My marvellous conductor, who represented himself to be the unworthy slave of the richest man in the world, had extraordinary readiness as a servant, and was exceedingly dexterous and clever, the very model of a valet for a wealthy gentleman; but he never separated himself from my side, and incessantly plagued me, exhibiting the greatest assurance in order that I should conclude the bargain with him respecting the shadow, if it were only to get rid of him. He was as troublesome as hateful to me; I always stood in awe of him. I had made myself dependent on him; I was still in his power, and he had again driven me into the vanities of the world which I had abandoned: I was compelled to allow to his eloquence full mastery over me, and almost felt he was in the right. A wealthy man ought to have a shadow in the world; and so long as I wished to occupy that station which he had induced me to fill, there was only one outlet for me. But on this I determined--having sacrificed my love, and made my existence a curse, I would not transfer my soul to this being--no, not for all the shadows in the world; but I knew not how it would end. One day we were sitting before a cave, which the travellers who had to cross the mountain were accustomed to visit. There was heard the noise of subterraneous streams roaring from unmeasurable deeps; and the stone that was thrown into the abyss seemed in its echoing fall to find no bottom. He depicted to me, as he had often done, with a luxuriant fancy, and in the glowing charms of the brightest colouring, careful and detailed pictures of the brilliant figure I might make in the world by means of my purse, if I had only my shadow again in my possession. My elbows were supported on my knees while I covered my face with my hands, listening to the evil one, my heart twice rent between temptation and my own earnest will. Such internal discord I could no longer endure, and the decisive struggle began. "You seem to forget, good sir, that I have allowed you to remain in my company only on certain conditions, and that I retained for myself my unrestrained liberty."--"If you order me, I shall move off:" the threat was one to which he was accustomed.--I ceased: he sat himself quietly down, and began to roll up my shadow. I grew pale, but I stood dumb while he did so. There was a long silence. He thus broke it: "You cannot endure me, sir! you hate me--I know it: but why do you hate me? Is it because, when you attacked me on the highway, you attempted to steal my charm by force? or is it because you endeavoured fraudulently to get possessed of my property, the shadow, which had been confided to your simple honour? For myself, I do not hate you for that; it is quite natural you should seek to turn your advantages, your cunning, your strength to good account. That you have the most rigid principles, and are honesty itself, is a hobby-horse belief of your own, to which I can have no objection. My notions are not so strict as yours: I only act according to your notions. But did I ever attempt to strangle you in order to possess your valuable soul, to which I really have a great liking? Have I, for the sake of my bartered purse, let loose a servant upon you, and endeavoured to run away with it?" I could answer nothing to all this,--and he continued.--"Well then, sir, well! You cannot endure me, I understand it, and am not displeased with you for that. It is clear we must part, and you really are become very tedious to me; but to get rid of my perplexing presence altogether for the future, I will give you a piece of advice--buy the thing of me!" I held out the purse to him. "At the price?"--"No!"--I sighed deeply, and began again.--"Well, then, I insist upon it, we must part,--do not stop up my way any longer in a world which is wide enough for both of us." He smiled, and replied:--"I go, sir; but I will first instruct you how to summon me, when you wish for the presence of your most humble slave: you need only shake your purse, that its exhaustless pieces may tinkle, and the sound will draw me instantly to you. Everybody in this world thinks of his own interests; you see I also am attending to yours--for I give you spontaneously a new power.--Excellent purse! and even if the moths had devoured your shadow, there would be a strong bond of union between us. But enough--you possess me while you possess my gold; however distant, command your servant--you know I am always ready to do honour to my friends, and that I have for the wealthy an especial regard; that you yourself have seen--but as for your shadow, sir, allow me to assure you, your shadow will never be yours but on one condition." Visions of old time floated in my soul. I inquired hastily: "Did Mr. Jones give you his signature?" He smiled: "With so good a friend it was not necessary."--"Where is he--where? By Heavens I will know!" He put his hand slowly into his pocket, and drew out by the hair the pale and ghastly form of Thomas Jones. Its blue and deadly lips trembled with the dreadful words: "_Justo judicio Dei judicatus sum_; _justo judicio Dei condemnatus sum_." I was horror-struck--I dashed the clinking purse hastily into the abyss, and uttered these last words, "I conjure thee, in the name of God, monster, begone, and never again appear before these eyes." He rose up with a gloomy frown, and vanished instantaneously behind the dark masses of rock which surrounded that wild and savage place. CHAPTER IX. I sat there shadowless and penniless: but a heavy weight had been removed from my bosom, and I was calm. Had I not lost my love, or had that loss left me free from self-reproach, I believe I might have been happy; but I knew not what steps I should take. I searched my pockets, and found that a few pieces of gold remained to me; I counted them smilingly. I had left my horse at the inn below. I was ashamed to return there, at least till the setting of the sun--and the sun was high in the heavens. I laid myself down in the shade of a neighbouring tree, and fell quietly asleep. The sweetest images danced cheerfully around me in my delightful dreams. Mina, crowned with a garland of flowers, hovered over me, and cheered me with an affectionate smile. The noble Bendel was there, too, weaving a flowery wreath, and approaching me with a friendly greeting. Many others also were there, and among them methought I saw even thee, Chamisso, in the distant crowd. A bright light shone, but there were no shadows; and, what was more singular, all appeared happy--flowers and songs, and love and joy, under groves of palms. I could hardly realize, understand, or point out the flitting, swiftly dispersed, and lovely forms; but I enjoyed such visions, I would fain not awake--but I awoke,--though I kept my eyes closed, that the vanishing dreams might play a little longer round my soul. But I opened my eyes at last--the sun was in the heavens, but in the east; I had slept through the night. I took this for a sign that I ought not to return to the inn. I willingly abandoned that which I had so lately left there, and determined to take on foot a by-road, which led through the forest-girded base of the hill, leaving it to fate to determine what might be my lot. I looked not back; I thought not even of applying to Bendel, whom I had left in wealth behind me, which I might so easily have done. I began to consider what new character I should assume in the world. My appearance was very unpretending: I wore an old black coat, which I had formerly worn in Berlin, and which, I know not how, I had taken for this journey. I had only a travelling-cap on my head, and a pair of worn-out boots on my feet. I rose up, cut a knobbed stick from the spot as a sort of memento, and began my wanderings. I overtook in the wood an old peasant, who greeted me with great kindness, and with whom I entered into conversation. I first inquired, like a curious traveller, about the road, then about the neighbourhood and its inhabitants, the productions of the mountain, and such matters. He answered my inquiries talkatively and sensibly. We came to the bed of a mountain-stream, which had spread its devastations over a wide part of the forest. I shuddered inwardly before the wide sunny place, and let the countryman precede me. He however stood still in the middle of this frightful spot, and turned round towards me, in order to give me the history of the overflow. He soon observed what was wanting to me, and stopped in the middle of his narrative to say: "But how is this--the gentleman has got no shadow!" "Alas! alas!" I replied with a sigh, "I had a long and dreadful illness, and lost my hair, my nails, and my shadow! Look, father, at my time of life, my hair, which has grown again, quite white, my nails sadly short, and my shadow is not yet springing forth."--"Ay! ay," said the old man, shaking his head, "no shadow! that's odd--the gentleman must have had a sad illness!" But he did not go on with his story, and at the next cross path he glided away from, me without saying a word. Bitter tears trembled again on my cheeks--all my serenity was gone. With a heavy heart I moved forwards, and sought the society of man no longer. I concealed myself in the thickest of the forest, and was often obliged to wait for hours in order to get over sunny spots, even where no human eye forbade my progress; in the evening I sought a retreat in the villages. At last I bent my course towards a mine in the mountain, where I hoped to find employment under ground; for besides that my situation required me even to procure my daily bread, I clearly perceived that nothing but the most laborious toil would be any protection from my convulsive thoughts. A couple of rainy days helped me far on my way, but at the cost of my boots, whose soles were made to suit Count Peter, and not a running footman: I soon walked on my naked feet, and was obliged to procure another pair of boots. The next morning I attended earnestly to this affair in a village, where a fair was held, and where old and new boots were exposed in a shop for sale. I selected and bargained for a long time. I was obliged to abandon a new pair which I wished to possess--I was frightened by the extravagant price, and satisfied myself, therefore, with old ones, which were yet firm and strong, and which the fair and light-haired shop-boy handed to me for my ready cash with a smile, while he wished me a prosperous journey. I put them on immediately, and went away through a door which lay to the north. I was lost in my own thoughts, and hardly observed where I put my foot--for I was still planning about the mine, whither I hoped to arrive by the evening, and hardly knew how I should manage to introduce myself there. I had not advanced two hundred paces ere I discovered that I had lost my way; I looked round, and found myself in an antique and desert wood of firs, to the roots of which it appeared the axe had never been laid. I still hastened onwards a few steps, and perceived I was among dreary rocks, surrounded only by moss and stones, between which lay piles of snow and ice. The wind was extremely cold, and when I looked round, the forest had wholly disappeared. Yet a few paces forward, the stillness of death possessed me--the ice on which I stood stretched boundlessly before me--a dark mist hung over it--the red sun looked from the edge of the horizon. The cold was intolerable; I knew not how it had happened, but the benumbing frost forced me to accelerate my steps. I heard the roar of distant waters--another bewildered step, and I was on the ice-borders of the ocean. Countless herds of seals dashed splashing into the stream. I followed the sea-shore, and saw again naked rocks, land, forests of birch and pine-trees. I moved forwards for a few minutes--it was burning hot: around me were richly cultivated rice-fields under mulberry-trees, in whose shadow I sat down, and looking at my watch, I found it not less than a quarter of an hour since I left the village. I fancied I was dreaming--I bit my tongue to awake myself, and I was aroused most thoroughly. I closed my eyes in order to assemble my thoughts. I heard strange nasal sounds--I looked around; two Chinese, whose Asiatic countenances I could not mistake, were saluting me according to the custom of their country, and in their own language; I arose and walked back two steps. I saw them no longer--the landscape was wholly changed; trees and woods had succeeded to the rice-fields. I looked pensively on the trees and plants which were blooming around me, and saw that they were the productions of South-eastern Asia. I went towards a tree--and all was again changed. I walked forwards like a drilled recruit, with slow paces. Wonderful varieties of countries, fields, meadows, mountains, wastes, and sandy deserts rolled along before my astounded sight; doubtless I had the seven-leagued boots on my legs. CHAPTER X. I fell down on my knees in speechless devotion, and shed tears of gratitude--my future destiny seemed bright in my soul. Shut out from human society by my early guilt, nature, which I had ever loved, was given me for my enjoyment, spread out like a rich garden before me, an object of study for the guide and strength of my life, of which science was to be the end. It was no decision of my own. What then appeared bright and perfect in my inner thoughts I have since endeavoured to describe with calm, earnest, unremitting diligence, and my happiness has depended on the intensity of my recollections. I rose up hastily, in order that by a rapid survey I might take possession of the field in which I wished to make my harvest. I stood upon the mountains of Thibet, and the sun, which had risen a few hours before, was now sinking in the evening sky. I journeyed from the east towards the west of Asia, overtaking the sun in his progress, and passed the boundaries of Africa. I looked round with great curiosity, and crossed it in all directions. As I glanced over the old pyramids and temples of Egypt, I observed in the deserts near the hundred-gated Thebes, the caverns once occupied by Christian anchorites: instantly it occurred impressively and distinctly to me--there is thy abode. I chose for my future dwelling, one of the most secret chambers, which was at the same time roomy, convenient, and inaccessible to the jackals, and moved forward with my staff. I passed into Europe by the Pillars of Hercules, and, after I had taken a rapid survey of its southern and northern provinces, I hastened to North Asia, and thence over the polar glaciers to Greenland and America. I rambled through both parts of that continent, and the winter which had begun to reign in the south now drove me quickly back northwards from Cape Horn. I lingered till the day dawned in eastern Asia, and after a short repose again entered on my wanderings. I followed the chains of mountains, through the two Americas, some of the highest elevations known in our globe. I trod slowly and prudently from height to height, now over flaming volcanos, and now over snowy cupolas. I was often almost breathless with weariness, but I reached the Elias mountain and sprung to Asia across Behring's Straits. I pursued the western coast along its numerous windings, and endeavoured to ascertain by special observation which of the islands in the neighbourhood were accessible to me. From the Malacca peninsula my boots took me to Sumatra, Java, Balli, and Lamboc. I endeavoured, often with peril, and always in vain, to find a north-west passage over the inlets and the rocks with which the ocean is studded, to Borneo and the other islands of the Eastern Archipelago--but I was obliged to abandon the hope. I sat down at last on the farthest verge of Lamboc, and turning my eyes to the south and east, I wept as if within the grates of a prison, that I could proceed no farther. New Holland, {112} that extraordinary country, so essentially necessary to understanding the philosophy of the earth, and its sun-embroidered dress, the vegetable and the animal world; and the South Sea with its Zoophyte islands, were interdicted to me; and thus everything on which I would have gathered together and erected my hopes was condemned to be left a mere fragment, even in its very origin. O, my Adalbert! such is the reward for all the labours of man! In the coldest winter of the southern hemisphere I have stood on Cape Horn, meditating on the two hundred paces, or thereabouts, which divided me from New Holland and Van Diemen's Land--careless about the means of returning, and indifferent even though that strange land should lie over me like the cover of my bier. I attempted to cross the polar glaciers towards the west, and, with foolishly daring yet desponding steps, to pass upon the floating ice, braving the frost and the waves. In vain--I have never yet been in New Holland. I returned again to Lamboc--again I sat myself on the outer verge--my face turned to the south and east, and wept again, as if at the fast-closed iron-window of my prison. {Schlemihl using the boots: p113.jpg} I rose up at last from this spot, and with a dejected heart journeyed to the interior of Asia. I hastened onwards, perceiving the day break towards the west, and at night reached my before-described abode in Thebes, which I had just looked into the previous afternoon. As soon as I had taken some repose, and the day had dawned upon Europe, my first care was to provide for my necessities. First, stop-shoes; for I had discovered that, however inconvenient it might be, there was no way of shortening my pace in order to move conveniently in my immediate neighbourhood, except by drawing off my boots. A pair of slippers, however, produced the wished-for effect, and henceforward I always took care to be provided with a couple of pair, as I often threw one pair away if I had not time to lay hold of them, when the approach of lions, men, or hyaenas interrupted my botanizing. My excellent watch was an admirable chronometer to me for the short period of my peregrinations; but I required a sextant, some philosophical instruments, and books. In order to obtain all these things, I made some tedious journeys to London, and Paris, which were both overshadowed by friendly fogs. As I had exhausted the remainder of my magic gold, I brought with me for the purposes of payment, some African elephants' teeth which I easily obtained, though I was obliged to choose the smallest among them, that they might not be too much for my strength. I was soon supplied and stocked with everything I required, and began my new mode of life as a retired philosopher. I journeyed over the east, now measuring its mountains--now the temperature of its streams and of its air; now observing its animals--now examining its plants. I hastened from the equator to the pole--from one world to another--comparing experience with experience. The eggs of the African ostrich, or the northern sea-fowl, and fruits, especially tropical palms and bananas, were my usual refreshments. Instead of my departed fortune I enjoyed my _Nicotiana_--it served instead of the good opinion of mankind. And then as to my affections: I had a love of a little dog, that watched my Theban cave, and when I returned to it laden with new treasures, it sprang forwards to meet me, making me feel the spirit of humanity within me, and that I was not quite alone on the earth. But, notwithstanding this, calamity was yet to drive me back to the haunts of men! CHAPTER XI. Once, being on the northern coast, having drawn on my boots while I was gathering together my straggling plants and seaweeds, a white bear approached unawares the verge of the rock on which I stood. I wished to throw off my slippers and move off to an adjacent island, which I expected to reach over a rock whose head towered above the waves. With one foot I reached the rock; I stretched out the other and fell into the sea: I had not observed that my foot was only half-released from the slipper. {Schlemihl and the bear: p116.jpg} Overpowered by the tremendous cold, I had the greatest difficulty in rescuing my life from this peril; but as soon as I reached the land, I hurried off to the wastes of Libya to dry myself there in the sun. I had, however, scarcely set out ere the burning heat so oppressed my head, that I reeled back again to the north very ill. I sought relief in rapid movements; and with uncertain and hurried steps I hastened from the west to the east, and from the east to the west. I placed myself in the most rapid vicissitudes of day and night; now in the heats of summer, and now in the winter's cold. I know not how long I thus wandered over the earth. A burning fever glowed through my veins, and with dreadful agony I perceived my intellect abandoning me. Misfortune would have it that I should carelessly tread on a traveller's heel; I must have hurt him, for I received a violent blow; I staggered, and fell. When I recovered my senses I was comfortably stretched on an excellent bed, which stood among many others in a roomy and handsome apartment. Somebody was sitting near my pillow; many persons passed through the hall, going from one bed to another. They stood before mine, and I was the subject of their conversation. They called me _Number Twelve_; and on the wall at the foot of my bed that number certainly stood--it was no illusion, for I could read it most distinctly: there was a black marble slab, on which was inscribed in large golden letters, my name, Peter Schlemihl, quite correctly written. On the slab, and under my name, were two lines of letters, but I was too weak to connect them, and closed my eyes again. I heard something of which Peter Schlemihl was the subject, loudly and distinctly uttered, but I could not collect the meaning. I saw a friendly man and a beautiful woman in black apparel, standing before my bed. Their forms were not strangers to me, though I could not recognize them. Some time passed by, and I gradually gathered strength. I was called No. 12, and No. 12, by virtue of his long beard, passed off for a Jew, but was not the less attended to on that account. Nobody seemed to notice that he had no shadow. My boots were, as I was assured, to be found, with everything else that had been discovered with me, in good and safe keeping, and ready to be delivered to me on my recovery. The place in which I lay ill was called the _Schlemihlium_; and there was a daily exhortation to pray for Peter Schlemihl, as the founder and benefactor of the hospital. The friendly man whom I had seen at my bedside was Bendel; the lovely woman was Mina. I lived peaceably in the _Schlemihlium_, quite unknown; but I discovered that I was in Bendel's native place, and that he had built this hospital with the remainder of my once-unhallowed gold. The unfortunate blessed me daily, for he had built it in my name, and conducted it wholly under his own inspection. Mina was a widow: an unlucky criminal process had cost Mr. Rascal his life, and taken from her the greater part of her property. Her parents were no more. She dwelt here like a pious widow, and dedicated herself to works of charity. She was once conversing with Mr. Bendel near the bed No. 12.--"Why, noble woman, expose yourself to the bad air which is so prevalent here? Is your fate then so dreary that you long for death?"--"No, Mr. Bendel; since I have dreamt out my long dreams, and my inner self was awakened, all is well--death is the object of neither my hopes nor my fears. Since then, I think calmly of the past and of the future. And you--do you not yet serve your master and friend in this godlike manner, with sweet and silent satisfaction?"--"Yes, noble woman--God be praised! Ours has been a marvellous destiny. From our full cup we have thoughtlessly drunk much joy and much bitter sorrow: 'tis empty now. Hitherto we have had only a trial; now, with prudent solicitude, we wait for the real introduction to substantial things. Far different is the true beginning; but who would play over again the early game of life, though it is a blessing, on the whole, to have lived? I am supported by the conviction that our old friend is better provided for now than then."--"I feel it too," answered the lovely widow, and they left me. This conversation had produced a deep impression within me; but I doubted in my mind if I should discover myself, or set out unknown from the place. I decided, however; I ordered paper and pencil to be brought to me, and wrote these words:-- "Your old friend too is better provided for than formerly, and if he do penance it is the penance of reconciliation." On this, finding myself better, I desired to dress myself. The keys were deposited on the little trunk which stood close to my bed. I found in it everything that belonged to me: I put on my clothes; and hung over my black coat my botanical case, where I found again, with transport, my northern plants. I drew on my boots, laid the note which I had written on my bed, and when the door opened, was far on my way towards Thebes. A long time ago, as I was tracing back my way homewards along the Syrian coast, the last time I had wandered from my dwelling, I saw my poor Figaro approaching me. This charming spaniel seemed to wish to follow the steps of his master, for whom he must have so long waited. I stood still and called him to me. He sprang barking towards me, with a thousand expressions of his innocent and extravagant joy. I took him under my arm, for, in truth, he could not follow me, and brought him with me safely home. I found everything thus in order, and returned again, as my strength returned, to my former engagements and habits of life. And now for a whole twelvemonth I have refrained from exposing myself to the unbearable winter's cold. And thus, my beloved Chamisso--thus do I yet live. My boots have not lost their virtues, as the very learned tome of Tieckius, _De rebus gestis Pollicilli_, gave me reason to apprehend. Their power is unbroken: but my strength is failing, though I have confidence I have applied them to their end, and not fruitlessly. I have learned more profoundly than any man before me, everything respecting the earth: its figure, heights, temperature; its atmosphere in all its changes; the appearance of its magnetic strength; its productions, especially of the vegetable world; all in every part whither my boots would carry me. I have published the facts, clearly arranged, with all possible accuracy, in different works, with my ideas and conclusions set down in various treatises. I have established the geography of interior Africa and of the North Pole,--of central Asia and its eastern coasts. My _Historia Stirpium Plantarum utriusque Orbis_ has appeared, being but a large fragment of my _Flora universalis Terrae_, and a companion to my _Systema Naturae_. In that I believe I have not only increased the number of known species more than a third (moderately speaking), but have thrown some light on the general system of nature, and the geography of plants. I am now busily engaged with my Fauna. I will take care before my death that my MSS. be disposed in the Berlin university. And you, my beloved Chamisso, you have I chosen for the keeper of my marvellous history, which, when I shall have vanished from the earth, may tend to the improvement of many of its inhabitants. But, my friend, while you live among mankind, learn above all things first to reverence your shadow, and next your money. If you will only live for Chamisso and his better self, you need no counsel of mine. FINIS. ROBERT HARDWICKE, PRINTER, 192, PICCADILLY, LONDON. Footnotes: {20} A frock coat. {37} Another novel of Fouque. {112} Australia. 
22539	----	ROCK A BYE LIBRARY. A BOOK OF FABLES AMUSEMENT FOR GOOD LITTLE CHILDREN. TAGGARD & THOMPSON, 29 CORNHILL, BOSTON. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by S. A. CHANDLER, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Mass. [Illustration: Rock A Bye Library.] [Illustration: A BOOK OF FABLES.] THE FOX AND THE COCK. A Fox, one day, saw a Cock on the roof of a barn. "Come to me, my dear Master Cock," said he; "I have always heard you are such a clever fellow; and I want to ask you a riddle." Glad to hear himself praised, the foolish Cock came down, and the Fox caught him, and ate him in a moment. The praise of the wicked is always dangerous. [Illustration] THE GIANT AND THE DWARF. A Dwarf one day met a Giant. "Let me come with you," said he. "Very well," said the Giant. When they met robbers, the Giant beat them with his club; but the Dwarf got beaten. At last he began to cry; but the Giant said, "My little man, if you are not strong you must not go out to battle with a Giant." We must not set ourselves up as equal to people who are greater and wiser than we. [Illustration] THE PARTRIDGE AND HER YOUNG. A Partridge lived in a corn-field. "Mother," said one of her Chicks, "we must run away from this field; for I heard the owner say 'I will ask my neighbors to mow that field to-morrow.'" The Partridge said "Never mind."--"But," said another Chick, "I since heard him say 'I will mow the field myself.'"--"Then," said the Partridge, "we must indeed run away; for this man is going to do his own work." [Illustration] THE COCK AND THE JEWEL. As a Cock was scratching up the straw, in a farm-yard, in search of food for the hens, he hit upon a Jewel that by some chance had found its way there. "Ho!" said he, "you are a very fine thing, no doubt, to those who prize you; but give me a barley-corn before all the pearls in the world." The Cock, in this, was sensible; but there are many silly people who despise what is precious only because they cannot understand it. [Illustration] THE DOG AND THE SHADOW. A Dog was crossing a river, with a piece of meat in his mouth, when he saw his own shadow reflected in the stream below. Thinking that it was another dog, with a piece of meat, he resolved to make himself master of that also; but in snapping at the supposed treasure he dropped the bit he was carrying, and so lost all. Grasp at the shadow, and lose the substance;--the common fate of those who hazard a real blessing for a visionary good. [Illustration] THE DOG AND THE RAT. A great Dog caught a small but thievish Rat. "O, sir!" said the Rat, "pray let me go. Next year I shall have grown bigger, and then you can kill me."--"No, no," said the Dog; "I have got you now, but next year I am not sure of getting you again." Check a small fault at once. [Illustration] THE BEAVER AND THE FLY. A busy little Beaver had been working for months, arranging his house, by the river side. "Why do you take all that trouble?" said a lazy bluebottle Fly; "I never work."--"That is the reason," answered the Beaver, "why so many of you die of cold and hunger, in winter." Idleness comes to ruin, at last. [Illustration] THE PEACHES. A Farmer went to town, on a market day, and bought five peaches. He gave one to his wife, and one to each of his four sons. The next day he said to his sons, "Well, what have you done with your peaches?" "I ate mine," said the eldest, "and kept the stone. I will plant it in the ground, that I may have a peach-tree, in time." "I sold mine," said the second son, "and got so much money for it that I can buy six peaches when I go to town." "I ate mine up directly I got it," said the youngest, "and threw the stone away; and mother gave me half of hers." "I took mine to poor George, our neighbor, who is ill," said the third son. "He cannot eat much, and I thought he would like it. He would not take it at first, so I laid it upon his bed, and came away." Which of all these children made the best use of his peach? [Illustration] THE CANARY-BIRD AND THE WASP. "Why do people not use me as they use you?" said a Wasp to a Canary. "They make you a cage to live in, and give you seed and water every day; and often I see them bring you sugar, and fresh pieces of green groundsel and chickweed. But when I come, they all try to drive me away, and very often they even try to kill me; and yet I am handsome and graceful to look at. The yellow color on my body is as bright as yours, and my shape is very fine." "That is quite true," answered the Canary; "but when men come to see me I treat them to a merry song, while you attack them with your sting." As you treat others, others will treat you. * * * * * [Illustration] "Why does no one play with me, while every one plays with you?" asked a cross boy, one day, of his brother. "Because I give up to my playfellows, and you beat and abuse them." [Illustration] THE QUARREL AMONG THE BEASTS. One day the Lion and Tiger fell out. The other beasts stood at a distance, in affright, to see the quarrel between the king of beasts and the mighty Tiger. As for the Fox he got as far out of the way as ever he could. But a poor foolish little Fawn, that was always running away from its mother's side, said, "I will make them friends again;" and wanted to run up to them. "You had better stay where you are, my young friend," said Reynard. But the little Fawn would not listen to this good advice. He trotted up to the Lion, and wanted to whisper in his ear; but a blow, aimed by the angry king of the beasts at the Tiger, struck the poor Fawn, and in a moment he lay dead at the Lion's feet. "I thought so," said the Fox, as he walked off to a still safer distance. "Those who meddle in the quarrels of the unruly are sure to come badly off." This fable teaches us that we should keep away from the company of those who love strife and fighting. [Illustration] THE DOG WITH HIS MASTER'S DINNER. A Dog had been taught to carry his Master's dinner in a basket, every day, to the place where he worked. He was an honest dog, and never stole a single bit of it. But one day, as he came along, a great number of thievish dogs were waiting for him. They fell upon him all together, snatched the basket from him, and began to eat up the dinner as fast as ever they could. The poor Dog tried to defend his basket as long as he could; but he had no chance at all among such a number of foes. At last he said to himself, "Well, if the dinner must be stolen, I may just as well have my share too;" and he began to eat just as fast as the rest. In a minute or two all the dinner was eaten, and the Dog's hungry Master, who was working in the field, waited for it in vain. Did this Dog do right in eating of the dinner? No. For if others do wrong, that is no reason why we should do wrong too. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE PIGS. "We must be very clever fellows," said a young Pig. "We are taken out to feed every day, and a boy is kept to look after us." "Do not deceive yourself," said a shrewd old Hog. "When winter comes most of us will be killed, for the food of man. They do not care about us, but they like to eat our flesh." [Illustration] CHILDREN'S BOOKS, PUBLISHED BY TAGGARD & THOMPSON, 29 CORNHILL, BOSTON. * * * * * Good Little Pig's Library. To be completed in 12 vols., splendidly Illustrated. 12 cts. Plain. 25 cts. Colored. REMARKABLE HISTORY OF FIVE LITTLE PIGS. THE WONDERFUL HISTORY OF THREE LITTLE KITTENS. MISTER FOX. THE FROG WHO WOULD AWOOING GO. GOOD LITTLE PIG'S PICTURE ALPHABET. LITTLE PIG'S MENAGERIE. CINDERELLA. * * * * * The Rock-a-bye Library. AMUSEMENT FOR GOOD LITTLE CHILDREN. Profusely Illustrated by Eminent Artists. 6 cts. Plain. 12 cts. Colored. NURSERY RHYMES. RHYMES AND PICTURES. THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. LITTLE FANNY'S VISIT TO HER GRANDMOTHER. POETICAL ROBINSON CRUSOE. BOOK OF FABLES. * * * * * My Uncle Toby's Library, Consists of 12 volumes, elegantly Bound, and Illustrated with upwards of SIXTY BEAUTIFUL ENGRAVINGS. 25 cts. per volume. ARTHUR ELLERSLIE. REDBROOK. MINNIE BROWN. RALPH RATTLER. ARTHUR'S TEMPTATION. AUNT AMY. THE RUNAWAY. FRETFUL LILLIA. MINNIE'S PIC-NIC. COUSIN NELLY. MINNIE'S PLAYROOM. ARTHUR'S TRIUMPH. 
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13815	----	THE TALKING BEASTS A Book of Fable Wisdom EDITED BY KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN AND NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH Illustrations by Harold Nelson 1922 "Accept, young Prince, the moral lay And in these tales mankind survey; With early virtues plant your breast The specious arts of vice detest." JOHN GAY TO HIS HIGHNESS WILLIAM, DUKE OF CUMBERLAND CONTENTS I. Fables of Aesop. (Greek) II. Fables of Bidpai. (Indian) III. Fables from the Hitopadesa. (Sanskrit) IV. Fables from P. V. Ramaswami Raju. (Indian) V. Malayan Fables VI. Moorish Fables VII. African Fables VIII. Fables from Krilof. (Russian) IX. Fables from the Chinese X. Fables of La Fontaine. (French) XI. Fables from the Spanish of Carlos Yriarte XII. Fables of Gay, Cowper, and others. (English) For Eastern princes, long ago, These fables, grave and gay, Were written as a friendly guide On life's perplexing way. When Rumour came to court and news Of such a book was heard, The monarch languished till he might Secure the Golden Word. Prince of To-day, this little hook A store-house is of treasure. Unlock it and where'er you look Is wisdom without measure. 'Twill teach thee of the meed of greed, Of sowing versus reaping, Of that mad haste that makes for waste, And looking before leaping. 'Twill teach thee what is like to hap To self-conceit and folly; And show that who begins in sin Will end in melancholy. So take the book and learn of beast And animate creation The lesson that the least may teach, However mean his station. NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH INTRODUCTION "Among all the different ways of giving counsel I think the finest and that which pleases the most universally is fable, in whatever shape it appears." JOSEPH ADDISON How shall I bring to your mind the time and distance that separate us from the Age of Fable? Think of what seemed to you the longest week of your life. Think of fifty-two of these in a year; then think of two thousand five hundred years and try to realize that Aesop--sometimes called the Eighth Wise Man--lived twenty-five centuries ago and made these wonderful tales that delight us to-day. Shakespeare is even yet something of a mystery, although he was born in our own era, less than five hundred years ago; but men are still trying to discover any new facts of his life that might better explain his genius. A greater mystery is grand old Homer, who has puzzled the world for centuries. Scholars are not certain whether the "Iliad" or "Odyssey" are the work of one or more than one mind. Who can say? for the thrilling tales were told--probably after the fashion of all the minstrels of his day--more than eight hundred years before Christ. On the background of that dim distant long ago, perhaps two hundred years later than Homer, looms the magnificent figure of another mysterious being--Aesop the Greek slave. Wherever and whenever he lived, and whether, in fact, he ever lived at all, he seems very real to us, even though more than two thousand years have passed. Among all the stories that scholars and historians have told of him--sifting through the centuries the true from the false--we get a vivid picture of the man. He was born in Greece, probably in Phrygia, about 620 years before Christ. He had more than one master and it was the last, Iadmon, who gave him his liberty because of his talents and his wisdom. The historian Plutarch recounts his presence at the court of Croesus, King of Lydia, and his meeting Thales and Solon there, telling us also that he reproved the wise Solon for discourtesy toward the king. Aesop visited Athens and composed the famous fable of Jupiter and the Frogs for the instruction of the citizens. Whether he left any written fables is very uncertain, but those known by his name were popular in Athens when that city was celebrated throughout the world for its wit and its learning. Both Socrates and Plato delighted in them; Socrates, we read, having amused himself during the last days of his life with turning into verse some of Aesop's "myths" as he called them. Think of Socrates conning these fables in prison four hundred years before Christ, and then think of a more familiar picture in our own day--a gaunt, dark-faced, black-haired boy poring over a book as he lay by the fireside in a little Western farmhouse; for you remember that Abraham Lincoln's literary models were "Aesop's Fables," "The Pilgrim's Progress" and the Bible. Perhaps he read the fable of the Fig Tree, Olive, Vine, and Bramble from the ninth chapter of Judges, or that of the Thistle and Cedar from the fourteenth chapter of II Kings and noted that teaching by story-telling was still well in vogue six hundred years after Aesop. In later times the fables that had been carried from mouth to mouth for centuries began to be written down: by Phaedrus in Latin and Babrius in Greek; also, in the fourteenth century, by a Greek monk named Planudes. But do not suppose they had their birth or flourished in Greece alone. At the very time that Aesop was telling them at the court of Croesus, or in Delphi, Corinth, or Athens,--far, far away in India the Buddhist priests were telling fables in the Sanskrit language to the common people, the blind, the ignorant and the outcast. Sanskrit, you know, is the eldest brother of all the family of languages to which our English belongs. When the Buddhist religion declined, the Brahmins took up the priceless inheritance of fable and used it for educational purposes. Their ancient Indian sages and philosophers compiled a treatise for the education of princes which was supposed to contain a system of good counsel for right training in all the chief affairs of life. In it they inserted the choicest treasures of their wisdom and the best rules for governing a people, and the Rajahs kept the book with great secrecy and care. Then a Persian king heard of its existence and sent a learned physician to India, where he spent several years in copying and translating the precious manuscript, finally bringing it hack to the court, where he declined to accept all reward but a dress of honour. In much the same way it was rendered into Arabic and gradually, century by century, crept into the literature of all Europe. We give you some of these very fables in the "Hitopadesa," which means "Friendly Instruction" or "Amicable Advice" for the original hooks contained many maxims, like the following: "He who is not possessed of such a book as will dispel many doubts, point out hidden treasures, and is, as it were, a mirror of all things, is even an ignorant man." "These six--the peevish, the niggard, the dissatisfied, the passionate, the suspicious, and those who live upon others' means--are forever unhappy." "That mother is an enemy, and that father a foe, by whom not having been instructed, their son shineth not in the assembly; but appeareth there like a booby among geese." "There are two kinds of knowledge in use: the knowledge of arms, and the knowledge of books. The first is the scoff if the wise, whilst the last is forever honoured." We give you other Indian fables from the collection of Bidpai. La Fontaine in one of the prefaces to his French fables in verse expresses his gratitude to "Bilpay the Indian sage." These are the very manuscripts translated from the Sanskrit into Persian by the physician who took them back to his king. Sir William Jones says that "Bidpai" signifies "beloved physician" and that Bilpay is simply a mis-spelling of the word. As other scholars contended that Bidpai was not a man at all, but probably one of the two wise camels that did most of the talking in the earlier fables, you and I will not be able to settle the truth of the question. All these points are interesting, or, if they are not so to you, you must say, "Wake up!" to your mind. It is the eager spirit of inquiry that conquers difficulties and gains knowledge. In another preface I reminded you that in all the faery stories the youngest brother was the one who always said, "I wonder!" and he it was who triumphed over all the others. You are holding between these crimson covers fables from some of the oldest and most valuable books the world has ever known. The "Hitopadesa" was a very fountain of riches, as old as the hills themselves, precious and inexhaustible. In its innumerable translations it passed down the stream of time, and the fables known as Aesop's made their way among all races of people in the same marvellous way. No one knows whether Aesop--through the Assyrians with whom the Phrygians had commercial relations--borrowed his stories from the Orientals or whether they borrowed from him. One thing is certain, nothing persists so strongly and lives so long as a fable or folk tale. They migrate like the birds and make their way into every corner of the world where there are lips to speak and ears to hear. The reasons are, perhaps, because they are generally brief; because they are simple; because they are trenchant and witty; because they are fresh and captivating and have a bite to them like the tang of salt water; because they are strong and vital, and what is thoroughly alive in the beginning always lives longest. And, now we come to La Fontaine the French fabulist, who in 1668 published the first six books of his fables. "Bonhomme La Fontaine," as he was called, chose his subjects from Aesop and Phaedrus and Horace, and, in the later volumes, from such Oriental sources as may have been within his reach. He rendered the old tales in easy-flowing verse, full of elegance and charm, and he composed many original ones besides. La Bruyere says of him: "Unique in his way of writing, always original whether he invents or translates, he surpasses his models and is himself a model difficult to imitate. . . . He instructs while he sports, persuades men to virtue by means of beasts, and exalts trifling subjects to the sublime." Voltaire asserts: "I believe that of all authors La Fontaine is the most universally read. He is for all minds and all ages." Later, by a hundred years, than La Fontaine, comes Krilof, the Russian fable-maker, who was born in 1768. After failing in many kinds of literary work the young poet became intimate with a certain Prince Sergius Galitsin; lived in his house at Moscow, and accompanied him to his country place in Lithuania, where he taught the children of his host and devised entertainments for the elders. He used often to spend hours in the bazaars and streets and among the common people, and it was in this way probably that he became so familiar with the peasant life of the country. When he came back from his wanderings on the banks of the Volga he used to mount to the village belfry, where he could write undisturbed by the gnats and flies, and the children found him there one day fast asleep among the bells. A failure at forty, with the publication of his first fables in verse he became famous, and for many years he was the most popular writer in Russia. He died in 1844 at the age of seventy-six, his funeral attended by such crowds that the great church of St. Isaac could not hold those who wished to attend the service. Soon after, a public subscription was raised among all the children of Russia, who erected a monument in the Summer Garden at Moscow. There the old man sits in bronze, as he used to sit at his window, clad in his beloved dressing gown, an open book in his hand. Around the monument (says his biographer) a number of children are always at play, and the poet seems to smile benignly on them from his bronze easy chair. Perhaps the Grecian children of long ago played about Aesop's statue in Athens, for Lysippus the celebrated sculptor designed and erected a monument in his memory. Read Krilof's "Education of a Lion" and "The Lion and the Mosquitoes" while his life is fresh in your mind. Then turn to "What Employment our Lord Gave to Insects" and "How Sense was Distributed," in the quaint African fables. Glance at "The Long-tailed Spectacled Monkey" and "The Tune that Made the Tiger Drowsy," so full of the very atmosphere of India. Then re-read some old favourite of Aesop and imagine you are hearing his voice, or that of some Greek story-teller of his day, ringing down through more than two thousand years of time. There is a deal of preaching in all these fables,--that cannot be denied,--but it is concealed as well as possible. It is so disagreeable for people to listen while their faults and follies, their foibles and failings, are enumerated, that the fable-maker told his truths in story form and thereby increased his audience. Preaching from the mouths of animals is not nearly so trying as when it comes from the pulpit, or from the lips of your own family and friends! Whether or not our Grecian and Indian, African and Russian fable-makers have not saddled the animals with a few more faults than they possess--just to bolster up our pride in human nature--I sometimes wonder; but the result has been beneficial. The human rascals and rogues see themselves clearly reflected in the doings of the jackals, foxes, and wolves and may get some little distaste for lying, deceit and trickery. We make few fables now-a-days. We might say that it is a lost art, but perhaps the world is too old to be taught in that precise way, and though the story writers are as busy as ever, the story-tellers (alas!) are growing fewer and fewer. If your ear has been opened by faery tales you will have learned already to listen to and interpret a hundred voices unheard by others. A comprehension of faery language leads one to understand animal conversation with perfect ease, so open the little green doors that lead into the forest, the true Land of Fable. Open them softly and you will hear the Beasts talk Wisdom. KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN THE FABLES OF AESOP "'Twas the Golden Age when every brute Had voice articulate, in speech was skilled, And the mid-forests with its synods filled. The tongues of rock and pine-leaf then were free; To ship and sailor then would speak the sea; Sparrows with farmers would shrewd talk maintain; Earth gave all fruits, nor asked for toil again. Mortals and gods were wont to mix as friends-- To which conclusion all the teaching tends Of sage old Aesop." BABRIUS THE FABLES OF AESOP The Power of Fables Demades, a famous Greek orator, was once addressing an assembly at Athens on a subject of great importance, and in vain tried to fix the attention of his hearers. They laughed among themselves, watched the sports of the children, and in twenty other ways showed their want of interest in the subject of the discourse. Demades, after a short pause, spoke as follows: "Ceres one day journeyed in company with a Swallow and an Eel." At this there was marked attention and every ear strained now to catch the words of the orator. "The party came to a river," continued he; "the Eel swam across, and the Swallow flew over." He then resumed the subject of his harangue. A great cry, however, arose from the people, "And Ceres? and Ceres?" cried they. "What did Ceres do?" "Why, the goddess was, as she is now," replied he, "mightily offended that people should have their ears open to any sort of foolery, and shut to words of truth and wisdom." The Wolf and the Lamb A hungry Wolf one day saw a Lamb drinking at a stream, and wished to frame some plausible excuse for making him his prey. "What do you mean by muddling the water I am going to drink?" fiercely said he to the Lamb. "Pray forgive me," meekly answered the Lamb; "I should be sorry in any way to displease you, but as the stream runs from you toward me, you will see that such cannot be the case." "That's all very well," said the Wolf; "but you know you spoke ill of me behind my back a year ago." "Nay, believe me," replied the Lamb, "I was not then born." "It must have been your brother, then," growled the Wolf. "It cannot have been, for I never had any," answered the Lamb. "I know it was one of your lot," rejoined the Wolf, "so make no more such idle excuses." He then seized the poor Lamb, carried him off to the woods, and ate him, but before the poor creature died he gasped out, feebly, "Any excuse will serve a tyrant." Aesop and His Fellow Servants A merchant, who was at one time Aesop's master, on a certain occasion ordered all things to be made ready for an intended journey. When the burdens were divided among the Servants, Aesop asked that he might have the lightest. He was told to choose for himself, and he took up the basket of bread. The other Servants laughed, for that was the largest and heaviest of all the burdens. When dinner-time came, Aesop, who had with some difficulty sustained his load, was told to distribute an equal share all around. He did so, and this lightened his burden one half, and when supper-time arrived he got rid of the rest. For the remainder of the journey he had nothing but the empty basket to carry, and the other Servants, whose loads seemed to get heavier and heavier at every step, could not but applaud his ingenuity. The Kite and the Pigeons A Kite, that had kept sailing around a dovecote for many days to no purpose, was at last forced by hunger to have recourse to stratagem. Approaching the Pigeons in his gentlest manner, he described to them in an eloquent speech how much better their state would be if they had a king with some firmness about him, and how well such a ruler would shield them from the attacks of the Hawk and other enemies. The Pigeons, deluded by this show of reason, admitted him to the dovecote as their king. They found, however, that he thought it part of his kingly prerogative to eat one of their number every day, and they soon repented of their credulity in having let him in. The Ant and the Fly An Ant and a Fly one day disputed as to their respective merits. "Vile creeping insect!" said the Fly to the Ant, "can you for a moment compare yourself with me? I soar on the wing like a bird. I enter the palaces of kings, and alight on the heads of princes, nay, of emperors, and only quit them to adorn the yet more attractive brow of beauty. Besides, I visit the altars of the gods. Not a sacrifice is offered but it is first tasted by me. Every feast, too, is open to me. I eat and drink of the best, instead of living for days on two or three grains of corn as you do." "All that is very fine," replied the Ant; "but listen to me. You boast of your feasting, but you know that your diet is not always so choice, and you are sometimes forced to eat what nothing would induce me to touch. As for alighting on the heads of kings and emperors, you know very well that whether you pitch on the head of an emperor or of an ass (and it is as often on the one as the other), you are shaken off from both with impatience. And, then, the 'altars of the gods,' indeed! There and everywhere else you are looked upon as nothing but a nuisance. In the winter, too, while I feed at my ease on the fruit of my toil, what more common than to see your friends dying with cold, hunger, and fatigue? I lose my time now in talking to you. Chattering will fill neither my bin nor my cupboard." The Frog Who Wished to Be as Big as an Ox An Ox, grazing in a meadow, chanced to set his foot on a young Frog and crushed him to death. His brothers and sisters, who were playing near, at once ran to tell their mother what had happened. "The monster that did it, mother, was such a size!" said they. The mother, who was a vain old thing, thought that she could easily make herself as large. "Was it as big as this?" she asked, blowing and puffing herself out. "Oh, much bigger than that," replied the young Frogs. "As this, then?" cried she, puffing and blowing again with all her might. "Nay, mother," said they; "if you were to try till you burst yourself, you could never be so big." The silly old Frog then tried to puff herself out still more, and burst herself indeed. The Cat and the Mice A certain house was overrun with mice. A Cat, discovering this, made her way into it and began to catch and eat them one by one. The Mice being continually devoured, kept themselves close in their holes. The Cat, no longer able to get at them, perceived that she must tempt them forth by some device. For this purpose she jumped upon a peg, and, suspending herself from it, pretended to be dead. One of the Mice, peeping stealthily out, saw her, and said, "Ah, my good madam, even though you should turn into a meal-bag, we would not come near you." The Cock and the Jewel A brisk young Cock, scratching for something with which to entertain his favourite Hens, happened to turn up a Jewel. Feeling quite sure that it was something precious, but not knowing well what to do with it, he addressed it with an air of affected wisdom, as follows: "You are a very fine thing, no doubt, but you are not at all to my taste. For my part, I would rather have one grain of dear delicious barley than all the Jewels in the world." The Man and the Lion A Man and a Lion were discussing the relative strength of men and lions in general, the Man contending that he and his fellows were stronger than lions by reason of their greater intelligence. "Come now with me," he cried to the beast, "and I will soon prove that I am right." So he took him into the public gardens and showed him a statue of Hercules overcoming the Lion. and tearing him to pieces. "That is all very well," said the Lion, "but it proves nothing, for it was a man who made the statue!" The Discontented Ass In the depth of winter a poor Ass once prayed heartily for the spring, that he might exchange a cold lodging and a heartless truss of straw for a little warm weather and a mouthful of fresh grass. In a short time, according to his wish, the warm weather and the fresh grass came on, but brought with them so much toil and business that he was soon as weary of the spring as before of the winter, and he now became impatient for the approach of summer. The summer arrived; but the heat, the harvest work and other drudgeries and inconveniences of the season set him as far from happiness as before, which he now flattered himself would be found in the plenty of autumn. But here, too, he was disappointed; for what with the carrying of apples, roots, fuel for the winter, and other provisions, he was in autumn more fatigued than ever. Having thus trod around the circle of the year, in a course of restless labour, uneasiness and disappointment, and found no season, nor station of life without its business and its trouble, he was forced at last to acquiesce in the comfortless season of winter, where his complaint began, convinced that in this world every situation has its inconvenience. The Boasting Traveller A Man was one day entertaining a lot of fellows in an ale-house with an account of the wonders he had done when abroad on his travels. "I was once at Rhodes," said he, "and the people of Rhodes, you know, are famous for jumping. Well, I took a jump there that no other man could come within a yard of. That's a fact, and if we were there I could bring you ten men who would prove it." "What need is there to go to Rhodes for witnesses?" asked one of his hearers; "just imagine that you are there now, and show us your leap!" The Lion and the Mouse A Lion, tired with the chase, lay sleeping at full length under a shady tree. Some Mice, scrambling over him while he slept, awoke him. Laying his paw upon one of them, he was about to crush him, but the Mouse implored his mercy in such moving terms that he let him go. Now it happened that sometime afterward the Lion was caught in a net laid by some hunters, and, unable to free himself, made the forest resound with his roars. The Mouse, recognizing the voice of his preserver, ran to the spot, and with his little sharp teeth gnawed the ropes asunder and set the Lion free. The Swallow and Other Birds A Swallow, observing a Husbandman employed in sowing hemp, called the little Birds together and informed them of what the farmer was about. He told them that hemp was the material from which the nets, so fatal to the feathered race, were composed; and advised them to join unanimously in picking it up in order to prevent the consequences. The Birds, either disbelieving his information or neglecting his advice, gave themselves no trouble about the matter. In a little time the hemp appeared above the ground, when the friendly Swallow again addressed himself to them, and told them it was not yet too late, provided they would immediately set about the work, before the seeds had taken too deep root. But as they still rejected his advice, he forsook their society, repaired for safety to towns and cities, there built his habitation and kept his residence. One day as he was skimming along the streets he happened to see a large parcel of those very Birds imprisoned in a cage on the shoulders of a bird-catcher. "Unhappy wretches," said he. "You now feel punishment for your former neglect; but those who, having no foresight of their own, despise the wholesome admonition of their friends, deserve the mischief which their own obstinacy or negligence brings upon their heads." The Fox and the Crow A Fox once saw a Crow fly off with a piece of cheese in its beak and settle on a branch of a tree. "That's for me, as I am a Fox," said Master Reynard, and he walked up to the foot of the tree. "Good-day, Mistress Crow," he cried. "How well you are looking to-day; how glossy your feathers, how bright your eye. I feel sure your voice must surpass that of other birds, just as your figure does; let me hear but one song from you that I may greet you as the Queen of Birds." The Crow lifted up her head and began to caw her best, but the moment she opened her mouth the piece of cheese fell to the ground, only to be snapped up by Master Fox. "That will do," said he. "That was all I wanted. In exchange for your cheese I will give you a piece of advice for the future--Do not trust flatterers!" The Dog and His Shadow A Dog, bearing in his mouth a piece of meat that he had stolen, was once crossing a smooth stream by means of a plank. Looking into the still, clear water, he saw what he took to be another dog as big as himself, carrying another piece of meat. Snapping greedily to get this as well, he let go the meat that he already had, and it fell to the bottom of the stream. The Ass and His Master A Diligent Ass, already loaded beyond his strength by a severe Master whom he had long served, and who kept him on very short commons, happened one day in his old age to be oppressed with a more than ordinary burden of earthenware. His strength being much impaired, and the road steep and uneven, he unfortunately made a misstep, and, unable to recover himself, fell down and broke all the vessels to pieces. His Master, transported with rage, began to beat him most unmercifully, against whom the poor Ass, lifting up his head as he lay on the ground, thus strongly remonstrated: "Unfeeling wretch! To thine own avaricious cruelty in first pinching me on food, and then loading me beyond my strength, thou owest the misfortune which thou so unjustly imputest to me." The Wolf and the Crane A Wolf once devoured his prey so ravenously that a bone stuck in his throat, giving him great pain. He ran howling up and down in his suffering and offered to reward handsomely any one who would pull the bone out. A Crane, moved by pity as well as by the prospect of the money, undertook the dangerous task, and having removed the bone, asked for the promised reward. "Reward!" cried the Wolf; "pray, you greedy fellow, what greater reward can you possibly require? You have had your head in my mouth, and instead of biting it off I have let you pull it out unharmed. Get away with you, and don't come again within reach of my paw." The Hares and the Frogs The Hares once took serious counsel among themselves whether death itself would not be preferable to their miserable condition. "What a sad state is ours," they said, "never to eat in comfort, to sleep ever in fear, to be startled by a shadow, and to fly with beating heart at the rustling of the leaves. Better death by far," and off they went accordingly to drown themselves in a neighbouring lake. Some scores of Frogs, who were enjoying the moonlight on the bank, scared at the approach of the Hares, jumped into the water. The splash awoke fresh fears in the breasts of the timid Hares, and they came to a full stop in their flight. Seeing this, one wise old fellow among them cried: "Hold, brothers! It seems that, weak and fearful as we are, beings exist that are more weak and fearful still. Why, then, should we seek to die? Let us rather make the best of our ills and learn to bear them as we should." The Invalid Lion A Lion, who had grown too old and feeble to go out and hunt for prey, could hardly find enough food to keep him from starving. But at last he thought of a plan for bringing the game within his reach. He kept quite still in his den and made believe that he was very ill. When the other animals heard of his distress, they came, one by one, to look at him and ask him how he felt. No sooner were they within his reach, however, than he seized upon them and ate them up. After a good many beasts had lost their lives in this way a Fox came along. "How do you feel to-day, friend Lion?" he asked, taking care to stand at a safe distance from the den. "I am very ill," answered the Lion. "Won't you come inside a little while? It does me a great deal of good to see my kind friends." "Thank you," said the Fox; "but I notice that all the tracks point toward your den and none point away from it," and so saying, he trotted merrily away. The Travellers and the Bear Two Men, about to journey through a forest, agreed to stand by each other in any dangers that might befall. They had not gone far before a savage Bear rushed out from a thicket and stood in their path. One of the Travellers, a light, nimble fellow, climbed up into a tree. The other fell flat on his face and held his breath. The Bear came up and smelled at him, and, taking him for dead, went off again into the wood. The man in the tree then came down, and, rejoining his companion, asked him, with a mischievous smile, what was the wonderful secret that the Bear had whispered into his ear, "Why," replied the other sulkily, "he told me to take care for the future and not to put any confidence in such cowardly rascals as you are!" The Fox Without a Tail A Fox was once caught in a trap by his tail, and in order to get away was forced to leave it behind him. Knowing that without a tail he would be a laughing-stock for all his fellows, he resolved to try to induce them to part with theirs. At the next assembly of Foxes, therefore, he made a speech on the unprofitableness of tails in general, and the inconvenience of a Fox's tail in particular, adding that he had never felt so easy as since he had given up his own. When he had sat down, a sly old fellow rose, and waving his long brush with a graceful air, said, with a sneer, that if, like the last speaker, he had been so unfortunate as to lose his tail, nothing further would have been needed to convince him; but till such an accident should happen, he should certainly vote in favour of tails. The Crab and Its Mother One fine day two Crabs came out from their home to take a stroll on the sand. "Child," said the mother, "you are walking very ungracefully. You should accustom yourself to walking straight forward without twisting from side to side." "Pray, mother," said the young one, "do but set the example yourself, and I will follow you!" The Jackdaw with Borrowed Plumes A Jackdaw, having dressed himself in feathers which had fallen from some Peacocks, strutted about in the company of those birds and tried to pass himself off as one of them. They soon found him out, however, and pulled their plumes from him so roughly, and in other ways so battered him, that he would have been glad to rejoin his humble fellows, but they, in their turn, would have nothing to do with him, and driving him from their society, told him to remember that it is not only fine feathers that make fine birds. The Farmer and His Dog A Farmer who had just stepped into the field to close a gap in one of his fences found on his return the cradle, where he had left his only child asleep, turned upside down, the clothes all torn and bloody, and his Dog lying near it besmeared also with blood. Convinced at once that the creature had destroyed his child, he instantly dashed out its brains with the hatchet in his hand; when, turning up the cradle, he found the child unhurt and an enormous serpent lying dead on the floor, killed by the faithful Dog, whose courage and fidelity in preserving the life of his son deserved another kind of reward. These affecting circumstances afforded him a striking lesson upon how dangerous it is hastily to give way to the blind impulse of a sudden passion. The Fox and the Countryman A Fox, having been hunted hard and chased a long way, saw a Countryman at work in a wood and begged his assistance to some hiding-place. The man said he might go into his cottage, which was close by. He was no sooner in than the huntsmen came up. "Have you seen a Fox pass this way?" said they. The Countryman said "No," but pointed at the same time toward the place where the Fox lay. The huntsmen did not take the hint, however, and made off again at full speed. The Fox, who had seen all that took place through a chink in the wall, thereupon came out and was walking away without a word. "Why, how now!" said the Countryman, "haven't you the manners to thank your host before you go?" "Nay, nay," said the Fox; "if you had been as honest with your finger as you were with your tongue, I shouldn't have gone without saying good-bye." Belling the Cat A certain Cat that lived in a large country house was so vigilant and active in the performance of her duties that the Mice, finding their numbers grievously thinned, held a council with closed doors to consider what they had best do. Many plans had been started and dismissed, when a young Mouse, rising and catching the eye of the President, said that he had a proposal to make that he was sure must meet with the approval of all. "If," said he, "the Cat should wear around her neck a little bell, every step she took would make it tinkle; then, ever forewarned of her approach, we should have time to reach our holes. By this simple means we should live in safety and defy her power." The speaker resumed his seat with a complacent air, and a murmur of applause arose from the audience. An old gray Mouse, with a merry twinkle in his eye, now got up and said that the plan of the last speaker was an admirable one, but he feared it had one drawback. He had not told them who should put the bell around the Cat's neck! The Old Woman and Her Maids A certain Old Woman had several Maids, whom she used to call to their work every morning at the crowing of the Cock. The Maids, finding it grievous to have their sweet sleep disturbed so early, killed the Cock, thinking that when he was quiet they might enjoy their warm beds a little longer. The Old Woman, however, vexed at the loss of the Cock, and suspecting them to be concerned in his death, from that time made them rise soon after midnight! The Dog in the Manger There was once a Dog who lay all day long in a manger where there was plenty of hay. It happened one day that a Horse, a Cow, a Sheep, and a Goat came one by one and wanted to eat the hay. The Dog growled at them and would not let them have so much as a mouthful. Then an Ox came and looked in, but the Dog growled at him also. "You selfish fellow," said the Ox; "you cannot eat the hay. Why do you want to keep it all to yourself?" The Old Man and His Sons An old Man had many Sons, who were always falling out with one another. He had often exhorted them to live together in harmony, but without result. One day he called them around him and, producing a bundle of sticks, bade them each in turn to break it across. Each put forth all his strength, but the bundle still resisted their efforts. Then, cutting the cord which bound the sticks together, he told his Sons to break them separately. This was done with the greatest ease. "See, my Sons," exclaimed he, "the power of unity! Bound together by brotherly love, you may defy almost every mortal ill; divided, you will fall a prey to your enemies." Hercules and the Wagoner As a Wagoner was driving his wain through a miry lane, the wheels stuck fast in the clay and the Horses could get on no farther. The Man immediately dropped on his knees and began crying and praying with all his might to Hercules to come and help him. "Lazy fellow!" cried Hercules, "get up and stir yourself. Whip your Horses stoutly, and put your shoulder to the wheel. If you want my help then, you shall have it." The Goose with the Golden Eggs One day a poor countryman going to the nest of his Goose found there a golden egg all yellow and glittering. When he took it up it felt as heavy as lead and he was minded to throw it away, because he thought a trick had been played on him. On second thoughts, he took it home, however, and soon found to his delight that it was an egg of pure gold. Every morning the same thing occurred, and he soon became prosperous by selling his eggs. As he grew rich he grew greedy; and thinking to get at once all the gold the Goose could give, he killed it and opened it only to find--nothing! The Frogs Desiring a King The Frogs, living an easy, free sort of life among the lakes and ponds, once prayed Jupiter to send them a King. Jove, being at that time in a merry mood, threw them a Log, saying, as he did so, "There, then, is a King for you." Awed by the splash, the Frogs watched their King in fear and trembling, till at last, encouraged by his stillness, one more daring than the rest jumped upon the shoulder of the monarch. Soon, many others followed his example, and made merry on the back of their unresisting King. Speedily tiring of such a torpid ruler, they again petitioned Jupiter, and asked him to send them something more like a King. This time he sent them a Stork, who tossed them about and gobbled them up without mercy. They lost no time, therefore, in beseeching the god to give them again their former state. "No, no," replied he, "a King that did you no harm did not please you. Make the best of the one you have, or you may chance to get a worse in his place." The Porcupine and the Snakes A Porcupine, seeking for shelter, desired some Snakes to give him admittance into their cave. They accordingly let him in, but were afterward so annoyed by his sharp, prickly quills that they repented of their easy compliance, and entreated him to withdraw and leave them their hole to themselves. "No, no," said he, "let them quit the place that don't like it; for my part, I am very well satisfied as I am." The Lark and Her Young Ones A Lark, who had Young Ones in a field of grain which was almost ripe, was afraid that the reapers would come before her young brood was fledged. Every day, therefore, when she flew off to look for food, she charged them to take note of what they heard in her absence, and to tell her of it when she came home. One day, when she was gone, they heard the owner of the field say to his son that the grain seemed ripe enough to be cut, and tell him to go early the next day and ask their friends and neighbours to come and help reap it. When the old Lark came home, the Little Ones quivered and chirped around her, and told her what had happened, begging her to take them away as fast as she could. The mother bade them to be easy; "for," said she, "if he depends on his friends and his neighbours, I am sure the grain will not be reaped tomorrow." Next day, she went out again, and left the same orders as before. The owner came, and waited. The sun grew hot, but nothing was done, for not a soul came. "You see," said the owner to his son, "these friends of ours are not to be depended upon; so run off at once to your uncles and cousins, and say I wish them to come early to-morrow morning and help us reap." This the Young Ones, in a great fright, told also to their mother. "Do not fear, children," said she; "kindred and relations are not always very forward in helping one another; but keep your ears open, and let me know what you hear to-morrow." The owner came the next day, and, finding his relations as backward as his neighbours, said to his son: "Now listen to me. Get two good sickles ready for to-morrow morning, for it seems we must reap the grain by ourselves." The Young Ones told this to their mother. "Then, my dears," said she, "it is time for us to go; for when a man undertakes to do his work himself, it is not so likely that he will be disappointed." She took them away at once, and the grain was reaped the next day by the old man and his son. The Fox and the Stork A Fox one day invited a Stork to dine with him, and, wishing to be amused at his guest's expense, put the soup which he had for dinner in a large flat dish, so that, while he himself could lap it up quite well, the Stork could only dip in the tip of his long bill. Some time after, the Stork, bearing his treatment in mind, invited the Fox to take dinner with him. He, in his turn, put some minced meat in a long and narrow-necked vessel, into which he could easily put his bill, while Master Fox was forced to be content with licking what ran down the sides of the vessel. The Fox then remembered his old trick, and could not but admit that the Stork had well paid him off. "I will not apologize for the dinner," said the Stork, "nor for the manner of serving it, for one ill turn deserves another." The Gnat and the Bull A sturdy Bull was once driven by the heat of the weather to wade up to his knees in a cool and swift-running stream. He had not been there long when a Gnat that had been disporting itself in the air pitched upon one of his horns. "My dear fellow," said the Gnat, with as great a buzz as he could manage, "pray excuse the liberty I take. If I am too heavy only say so and I will go at once and rest upon the poplar which grows hard by the edge of the stream. "Stay or go, it makes no matter to me," replied the Bull. "Had it not been for your buzz I should not even have known you were there." The Deer and the Lion One warm day a Deer went down to a brook to get a drink. The stream was smooth and clear, and he could see himself in the water. He looked at his horns and was very proud of them, for they were large and long and had many branches, but when he saw his feet he was ashamed to own them, they were so slim and small. While he stood knee-deep in the water, and was thinking only of his fine horns, a Lion saw him and came leaping out from the tall grass to get him. The Deer would have been caught at once if he had not jumped quickly out of the brook. He ran as fast as he could, and his feet were so light and swift that he soon left the Lion far behind. But by and by he had to pass through some woods, and, as he was running, his horns were caught in some vines that grew among the trees. Before he could get loose the Lion was upon him. "Ah me!" cried the Deer, "the things which pleased me most will now cause my death; while the things which I thought so mean and poor would have carried me safe out of danger." The Fox and the Grapes There was a time when a Fox would have ventured as far for a Bunch of Grapes as for a shoulder of mutton, and it was a Fox of those days and that palate that stood gaping under a vine and licking his lips at a most delicious Cluster of Grapes that he had spied out there. He fetched a hundred and a hundred leaps at it, till, at last, when he was as weary as a dog, and found that there was no good to be done: "Hang 'em," says he, "they are as sour as crabs"; and so away he went, turning off the disappointment with a jest. The Farmer and the Stork A Farmer placed nets on his newly sown plough lands, and caught a quantity of Cranes, which came to pick up his seed. With them he trapped a Stork also. The Stork, having his leg fractured by the net, earnestly besought the Farmer to spare his life. "Pray, save me, master," he said, "and let me go free this once. My broken limb should excite your pity. Besides, I am no Crane. I am a Stork, a bird of excellent character; and see how I love and slave for my father and mother. Look, too, at my feathers, they are not the least like to those of a Crane." The Farmer laughed aloud, and said: "It may all be as you say, I only know this, I have taken you with those robbers, the Cranes, and you must die in their company." The Hare and the Tortoise The Hare, one day, laughing at the Tortoise for his slowness and general unwieldiness, was challenged by the latter to run a race. The Hare, looking on the whole affair as a great joke, consented, and the Fox was selected to act as umpire and hold the stakes. The rivals started, and the Hare, of course, soon left the Tortoise far behind. Having come midway to the goal, she began to play about, nibble the young herbage, and amuse herself in many ways. The day being warm, she even thought she would take a little nap in a shady spot, as, if the Tortoise should pass her while she slept, she could easily overtake him again before he reached the end. The Tortoise meanwhile plodded on, unwavering and unresting, straight toward the goal. The Hare, having overslept herself, started up from her nap, and was surprised to find that the Tortoise was nowhere in sight. Off she went at full speed, but on reaching the winning-post found that the Tortoise was already there, waiting for her arrival! The Old Woman and the Doctor An old Woman who had bad eyes called in a clever Doctor, who agreed for a certain sum to cure them. He was a very clever physician, but he was also a very great rogue; and when he called each day and bound up the Old Woman's eyes he took advantage of her blindness to carry away with him some article of her furniture. This went on until he pronounced his patient cured and her room was nearly bare. He claimed his reward, but the Old Woman protested that, so far from being cured, her sight was worse than ever. "We will soon see about that, my good dame," said he; and she was shortly after summoned to appear in court. "May it please Your Honour," said she to the Judge, "before I called in this Doctor I could see a score of things in my room that now, when he says I am cured, I cannot see at all." This opened the eyes of the court to the knavery of the Doctor, who was forced to give the Old Woman her property back again, and was not allowed to claim a penny of his fee. The Boy and the Wolf A mischievous Lad, who was set to mind some Sheep, often used, in jest, to cry "Wolf! Wolf!" and when the people at work in the neighbouring fields came running to the spot he would laugh at them for their pains. One day the beast came in reality, and the Boy, this time, called "Wolf! Wolf!" in earnest; but the men, having been so often deceived, disregarded his cries, and he and his Sheep were left at the mercy of the Wolf. The Blackamoor A certain Man who had bought a Blackamoor said he was convinced that it was all nonsense about black being the natural colour of his skin. "He has been dirty in his habits," said he, "and neglected by his former masters. Bring me some hot water, soap, and scrubbing-brushes, and a little sand, and we shall soon see what his colour is." So he scrubbed, and his servants scrubbed till they were all tired. They made no difference in the colour of the Blackamoor; but the end of it all was that the poor fellow caught cold and died. The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing A Wolf, wrapping himself in the skin of a Sheep, by that means got admission into a sheepfold, where he devoured several of the young Lambs. The Shepherd, however, soon found him out and hung him up to a tree, still in his assumed disguise. Some other Shepherds, passing that way, thought it was a sheep hanging and cried to their friend: "What, brother! is that the way you serve Sheep in this part of the country?" "No, friends," cried he, giving at the same time the carcass a swing around, so that they might see what it was; "but it is the way to serve Wolves, even though they be dressed in Sheep's clothing." The Two Travellers As two men were travelling through a wood, one of them took up an axe which he saw lying upon the ground. "Look here," said he to his companion, "I have found an axe." "Don't say, 'I have found it,'" said the other, "but 'We have found it.' As we are companions, we ought to share it between us." The first would not agree to this idea, however. They had not gone far when they heard the owner of the axe calling after them in a great passion. "We are in for it!" cried he who had the axe. "Nay," answered the other, "say 'I'm in for it!'--not we. You would not let me share the prize, and I am not going to share the danger." The Fox in the Well An unlucky Fox, having fallen into a well, was able, by dint of great efforts, just to keep his head above water. While he was struggling there and sticking his claws into the side of the Well, a Wolf came and looked in. "What! my dear brother," cried he, with affected concern, "can it really be you that I see down there? How cold you must feel! How long have you been in the water? How came you to fall in? I am so pained to see you. Do tell me all about it!" "The end of a rope would be of more use to me than all your pity," answered the Fox. "Just help me to get my foot on solid ground once more, and you shall have the whole story." The Hen and the Fox A Fox, having crept into an outhouse, looked up and down for something to eat, and at last espied a Hen sitting upon a perch so high that he could be no means come at her. He therefore had recourse to an old stratagem. "Dear cousin," said he to her, "how do you do? I heard that you were ill and kept at home; I could not rest, therefore, till I had come to see you. Pray let me feel your pulse. Indeed, you do not look well at all." He was running on in this impudent manner, when the Hen answered him from the roost: "Truly, dear Reynard, you are in the right. I was seldom in more danger than I am now. Pray excuse my coming down; I am sure I should catch my death." The Fox, finding himself foiled by the Hen's cleverness, made off and tried his luck elsewhere. The Ass and His Shadow A Man, one hot day, hired an Ass, with his Driver, to carry some merchandise across a sandy plain. The sun's rays were overpowering, and unable to advance farther without a temporary rest he called upon the Driver to stop, and proceeded to sit down in the shadow of the Ass. The Driver, however, a lusty fellow, rudely pushed him away, and sat down on the spot himself. "Nay, friend," said the Driver, "when you hired this Ass of me you said nothing about the shadow. If now you want that, too, you must pay for it." The Ass in the Lion's Skin An Ass, finding a Lion's skin, put it on, and ranged about the forest. The beasts fled in terror, and he was delighted at the success of his disguise. Meeting a Fox, he rushed upon him, and this time he tried to imitate as well the roaring of the Lion. "Ah," said the Fox, "if you had held your tongue I should have been deceived like the rest; but now you bray I know who you are!" The Wolf and the Sheep A Wolf, sorely wounded and bitten by dogs, lay sick and maimed in his lair. Parched with thirst, he called to a Sheep who was passing and asked her to fetch some water from a stream flowing close by. "For," he said, "if you will bring me drink, sister, I will find means to provide myself with meat." "Yes," said the Sheep, "but if I should bring you the draught, you would doubtless make me provide the meat also." Jupiter's Two Wallets When Jupiter made Man, he gave him two Wallets; one for his neighbour's faults, the other for his own. He threw them over the Man's shoulder, so that one hung in front and the other behind. The Man kept the one in front for his neighbour's faults, and the one behind for his own; so that, while the first was always under his nose, it took some pains to see the latter. This custom, which began thus early, is not quite unknown at the present day. The Satyr and the Traveller A Satyr, ranging in the forest in winter, came across a Traveller, half starved with the cold. He took pity on him and invited him to go to his cave. On their way the Man kept blowing upon his fingers. "Why do you do that?" said the Satyr, who had seen little of the world. "To warm my hands, they are nearly frozen," replied the Man. Arrived at the cave, the Satyr poured out a mess of smoking pottage and laid it before the Traveller, who at once commenced blowing at it with all his might. "What, blowing again!" cried the Satyr. "Is it not hot enough?" "Yes, faith," answered the Man, "it is hot enough in all conscience, and that is just the reason why I blow it." "Be off with you!" cried the Satyr, in alarm; "I will have no part with a man who can blow hot and cold from the same mouth." The Two Travellers and the Oyster As two men were walking by the seaside at low water they saw an Oyster, and they both stooped at the same time to pick it up. Immediately, one pushed the other away, and a dispute ensued. A third Traveller coming along at the time, they determined to refer the matter to him, as to which of the two had the better right to the Oyster. While they were each telling his story the Arbitrator gravely took out his knife, opened the shell and loosened the Oyster. When they had finished, and were listening for his decision, he just as gravely swallowed the Oyster, and offered them the two halves of the shell. "The Court," said he, "awards you each a Shell. The Oyster will cover the costs." The Young Mouse, the Cock, and the Cat A young Mouse, on his return to his hole after leaving it for the first time, thus recounted his adventures to his mother: "Mother," said he, "quitting this narrow place where you have brought me up, I was rambling about to-day like a Young Mouse of spirit, who wished to see and to be seen, when two such notable creatures came in my way! One was so gracious, so gentle and benign; the other, who was just as noisy and forbidding, had on his head and under his chin pieces of raw meat, which shook at every step he took; and then, all at once, beating his sides with the utmost fury, he uttered such a harsh and piercing cry that I fled in terror; and this, too, just as I was about to introduce myself to the other stranger, who was covered with fur like our own, only richer looking and much more beautiful, and who seemed so modest and benevolent that it did my heart good to look at her." "Ah, my son," replied the Old Mouse, "learn while you live to distrust appearances. The first strange creature was nothing but a Fowl, that will ere long be killed, and, when put on a dish in the pantry, we may make a delicious supper of his bones, while the other was a nasty, sly, and bloodthirsty hypocrite of a Cat, to whom no food is so welcome as a young and juicy Mouse like yourself." The Wolf and the Mastiff A Wolf, who was almost skin and bone, so well did the Dogs of the neighbourhood keep guard over their masters' property, met, one moonshiny night, a sleek Mastiff, who was, moreover, as strong as he was fat. The Wolf would gladly have supped off him, but saw that there would first be a great fight, for which, in his condition, he was not prepared; so, bidding the Dog good-evening very humbly, he praised his prosperous looks. "It would be easy for you," replied the Mastiff, "to get as fat as I am if you liked. Quit this forest, where you and your fellows live so wretchedly, and often die with hunger. Follow me, and you will fare much better.' "What shall I have to do?" asked the Wolf. "Almost nothing," answered the Dog; "only chase away the beggars and fawn upon the folks of the house. You will, in return, be paid with all sorts of nice things--bones of fowls and pigeons--to say nothing of many a friendly pat on the head." The Wolf, at the picture of so much comfort, nearly shed tears of joy. They trotted off together, but, as they went along, the Wolf noticed a bare spot on the Dog's neck. "What is that mark?" said he. "Oh, nothing," said the Dog. "How nothing?" urged the Wolf. "Oh, the merest trifle," answered the Dog; "the collar which I wear when I am tied up is the cause of it." "Tied up!" exclaimed the Wolf, with a sudden stop; "tied up? Can you not always run where you please, then?" "Well, not quite always," said the Mastiff; "but what can that matter?" "It matters so much to me," rejoined the Wolf, "that your lot shall not be mine at any price"; and, leaping away, he ran once more to his native forest. The Tail of the Serpent The Tail of a Serpent once rebelled against the Head, and said that it was a great shame that one end of any animal should always have its way, and drag the other after it, whether it was willing or no. It was in vain that the Head urged that the Tail had neither brains nor eyes, and that it was in no way made to lead. Wearied by the Tail's importunity, the Head one day let him have his will. The Serpent now went backward for a long time quite gayly, until he came to the edge of a high cliff, over which both Head and Tail went flying, and came with a heavy thump on the shore beneath. The Head, it may be supposed, was never again troubled by the Tail with a word about leading. The Falcon and the Capon A Capon, who had strong reasons for thinking that the time of his sacrifice was near at hand, carefully avoided coming into close quarters with any of the farm servants or domestics of the estate on which he lived. A glimpse that he had once caught of the kitchen, with its blazing fire, and the head cook, like an executioner, with a formidable knife chopping off the heads of some of his companions, had been sufficient to keep him ever after in dread. Hence, one day when he was wanted for roasting, all calling, clucking, and coaxing of the cook's assistants were in vain. "How deaf and dull you must be," said a Falcon to the Capon, "not to hear when you are called, or to see when you are wanted! You should take pattern by me. I never let my master call me twice." "Ah," answered the Capon, "if Falcons were called like Capons, to be run upon a spit and set before the kitchen fire, they would be just as slow to come and just as hard of hearing as I am now." The Crow and the Pitcher A Crow, ready to die with thirst, flew with joy to a Pitcher, hoping to find some water in it. He found some there, to be sure, but only a little drop at the bottom which he was quite unable to reach. He then tried to overturn the Pitcher, but it was too heavy. So he gathered up some pebbles, with which the ground near was covered and, taking them one by one in his beak, dropped them into the Pitcher. By this means the water gradually reached the top, and he was enabled to drink at his ease. The Eagle and the Owl The Eagle and the Owl, after many quarrels, swore that they would be fast friends forever, and that they would never harm each other's children. "But do you know my little ones?" said the Owl. "If you do not, I fear it will go hard with them when you find them." "Nay, then, I do not," replied the Eagle. "The greater your loss," said the Owl; "They are the sweetest prettiest things in the world. Such bright eyes! such charming plumage! such winning little ways! You'll know them now from my description." A short time after the Eagle found the owlets in a hollow tree. "These hideous little staring frights, at any rate, cannot be neighbour Owl's delicious pets," said the Eagle; "so I may make away with them without the least misgiving." The Owl, finding her young ones gone, loaded the Eagle with reproaches. "Nay," answered the Eagle, "blame yourself rather than me. If you paint with such flattering colours, it is not my fault if I do not recognize your portraits." The Buffoon and the Countryman On the occasion of some festivities that were given by a Roman nobleman, a Merry-Andrew of a fellow caused much laughter by his tricks upon the stage, and, more than all, by his imitation of the squeaking of a Pig, which seemed to the hearers so real that they called for it again and again. A Countryman, however, in the audience, thought the imitation was not perfect; and he made his way to the stage and said that, if he were permitted, he to-morrow would enter the lists and squeak against the Merry-Andrew for a wager. The mob, anticipating great fun, shouted their consent, and accordingly, when the next day came, the two rival jokers were in their places. The hero of the previous day went first, and the hearers, more pleased than ever, fairly roared with delight. Then came the turn of the Countryman, who having a Pig carefully concealed under his cloak, so that no one would have suspected its existence, vigorously pinched its ear with his thumbnail, and made it squeak with a vengeance. "Not half as good--not half as good!" cried the audience, and many among them even began to hiss. "Fine judges you!" replied the Countryman, rushing to the front of the stage, drawing the Pig from under his cloak, and holding the animal up on high. "Behold the performer that you condemn!" The Old Man, His Son, and the Ass An Old Man and his Little Boy were once driving an Ass before them to the next market-town, where it was to be sold. "Have you no more wit," said a passerby, "than for you and your Son to trudge on foot and let your Ass go light?" So the Man put his Boy on the Ass, and they went on again. "You lazy young rascal!" cried the next person they met; "are you not ashamed to ride and let your poor old Father go on foot?" The Man then lifted off the Boy and got up himself. Two women passed soon after, and one said to the other, "Look at that selfish old fellow, riding along while his little Son follows after on foot!" The Old Man thereupon took up the Boy behind him. The next traveller they met asked the Old Man whether or not the Ass was his own. Being answered that it was: "No one would think so," said he, "from the way in which you use it. Why, you are better able to carry the poor animal than he is to carry both of you." So the Old Man tied the Ass's legs to a long pole, and he and his Son shouldered the pole and staggered along under the weight. In that fashion they entered the town, and their appearance caused so much laughter that the Old Man, mad with vexation at the result of his endeavours to give satisfaction to everybody, threw the Ass into the river and seizing his Son by the arm went his way home again. The Lion, the Bear, the Monkey, and the Fox The Tyrant of the Forest issued a proclamation commanding all his subjects to repair immediately to his royal den. Among the rest, the Bear made his appearance, but pretending to be offended with the odour which issued from the Monarch's apartments, be was imprudent enough to hold his nose in his Majesty's presence. This insolence was so highly resented that the Lion in a rage laid him dead at his feet. The Monkey, observing what had passed, trembled for his skin, and attempted to conciliate favour by the most abject flattery. He began with protesting that, for his part, he thought the apartments were perfumed with Arabian spices; and, exclaiming against the rudeness of the Bear, admired the beauty of his Majesty's paws, so happily formed, he said, to correct the insolence of clowns. This adulation, instead of being received as he expected, proved no less offensive than the rudeness of the Bear, and the courtly Monkey was in like manner extended by the side of Sir Bruin. And now his Majesty cast his eye upon the Fox. "Well, Reynard," Said he, "and what scent do you discover here?" "Great Prince," replied the cautious Fox, "my nose was never esteemed my most distinguishing sense; and at present I would by no means venture to give my opinion, as I have unfortunately caught a terrible cold." The Wolf and the Lamb A flock of Sheep was feeding in the meadow while the Dogs were asleep, and the Shepherd at a distance playing on his pipe beneath the shade of a spreading elm. A young, inexperienced Lamb, observing a half-starved Wolf peering through the pales of the fence, began to talk with him. "Pray, what are you seeking for here?" said the Lamb. "I am looking," replied the Wolf, "for some tender grass; for nothing, you know, is more pleasant than to feed in a fresh pasture, and to slake one's thirst at a crystal stream, both which I perceive you enjoy within these pales in their utmost perfection. Happy creature," continued he, "how much I envy you who have everything which I desire, for philosophy has long taught me to be satisfied with a little!" "It seems, then," returned the Lamb, "those who say you feed on flesh accuse you falsely, since a little grass will easily content you. If this be true, let us for the future live like brethren, and feed together." So saying, the simple Lamb crept through the fence, and at once became a prey to the pretended philosopher, and a sacrifice to his own inexperience and credulity. The Chameleon Two Travellers happened on their journey to be engaged in a warm dispute about the colour of the Chameleon. One of them affirmed that it was blue and that he had seen it with his own eyes upon the naked branch of a tree, feeding in the air on a very clear day. The other strongly asserted it was green, and that he had viewed it very closely and minutely upon the broad leaf of a fig-tree. Both of them were positive, and the dispute was rising to a quarrel; but a third person luckily coming by, they agreed to refer the question to his decision. "Gentlemen," said the Arbitrator, with a smile of great self-satisfaction, "you could not have been more lucky in your reference, as I happen to have caught one of them last night; but, indeed, you are both mistaken, for the creature is totally black." "Black, impossible!" cried both the disputants!" "Nay," quoth the Umpire, with great assurance, "the matter may be soon decided, for I immediately inclosed my Chameleon in a little paper box, and here it is." So saying, he drew it out of his pocket, opened his box, and, lo! it was as white as snow. The Travellers looked equally surprised and equally confounded; while the sagacious reptile, assuming the air of a philosopher, thus admonished them: "Ye children of men, learn diffidence and moderation in your opinions. 'Tis true, you happen in this present instance to be all in the right, and have only considered the subject under different circumstances, but, pray, for the future allow others to have eyesight as well as yourselves; nor wonder if every one prefers to accept the testimony of his own senses." The Eagle, the Jackdaw, and the Magpie The kingly Eagle kept his court with all the formalities of sovereign state, and was duly attended by all his plumed subjects in their highest feathers. These solemn assemblies, however, were frequently disturbed by the impertinent conduct of two, who assumed the importance of high-fliers; these were no other than the Jackdaw and the Magpie, who were forever contending for precedence which neither of them would give up to the other. The contest ran so high that at length they mutually agreed to appeal to the sovereign Eagle for his decision in this momentous affair. The Eagle gravely answered that he did not wish to make an invidious distinction by deciding to the advantage of either party, but would give them a rule by which they might determine between themselves; "for," added he, "the greater fool of the two shall in future always take precedence, but which of you it may be, yourselves must settle." The Boy and the Filberts A Boy once thrust his hand into a pitcher which was full of figs and filberts. He grasped as many as his fist could possibly hold, but when he tried to draw it out the narrowness of the neck prevented him. Not liking to lose any of them, but unwilling to draw out his hand, he burst into tears and bitterly bemoaned his hard fortune. An honest fellow who stood by gave him this wise and reasonable advice: "Take only half as many, my boy, and you will easily get them." The Passenger and the Pilot In a violent storm at sea, the whole crew of a vessel was in imminent danger of shipwreck. After the rolling of the waves was somewhat abated, a certain Passenger, who had never been at sea before, observing the Pilot to have appeared wholly unconcerned, even in their greatest danger, had the curiosity to ask him what death his father died. "What death?" said the Pilot, "Why, he perished at sea, as my grandfather did before him." "And are you not afraid of trusting yourself to an element that has proved thus fatal to your family?" "Afraid? By no means; why, we must all die; is not your father dead?" "Yes, but he died in his bed." "And why, then, are you not afraid of trusting yourself to your bed?" "Because I am perfectly secure there." "It may be so," replied the Pilot; "but if the hand of Providence is equally extended over all places, there is no more reason for me to be afraid of going to sea than for you to be afraid of going to bed." The Dog and the Crocodile A Dog, running along the banks of the Nile, grew thirsty, but fearing to be seized by the monsters of that river, he would not stop to satiate his drought, but lapped as he ran. A Crocodile, raising his head above the surface of the water, asked him why he was in such a hurry. He had often, he said, wished for his acquaintance, and should be glad to embrace the present opportunity. "You do me great honour," said the Dog, "but it is to avoid such companions as you that I am in so much haste!" A Matter of Arbitration Two Cats, having stolen some cheese, could not agree about dividing the prize. In order, therefore, to settle the dispute, they consented to refer the matter to a Monkey. The proposed Arbitrator very readily accepted the office, and, producing a balance, put a part into each scale. "Let me see," said he, "aye--this lump outweighs the other"; and immediately bit off a considerable piece in order to reduce it, he observed, to an equilibrium. The opposite scale was now heavier, which afforded our conscientious judge a reason for a second mouthful. "Hold, hold," said the two Cats, who began to be alarmed for the event, "give us our shares and we are satisfied." "If you are satisfied," returned the Monkey, "justice is not; a cause of this intricate nature is by no means so soon determined." Upon which he continued to nibble first one piece then the other, till the poor Cats, seeing their cheese rapidly diminishing, entreated to give himself no further trouble, but to deliver to them what remained. "Not so fast, I beseech ye, friends," replied the Monkey; "we owe justice to ourselves as well as to you. What remains is due to me in right of my office." Thus saying, he crammed the whole into his mouth, and with great gravity dismissed the court. The Crow and the Mussel A Crow having found a Mussel on the seashore; took it in his beak and tried for a long time to break the shell by hammering it upon a stone. Another Crow--a sly old fellow--came and watched him for some time in silence. "Friend," said he at last, "you'll never break it in that way. Listen to me. This is the way to do it: Fly up as high as you can, and let the tiresome thing fall upon a rock. It will be smashed then sure enough, and you can eat it at your leisure." The simple-minded and unsuspecting Crow did as he was told, flew up and let the Mussel fall. Before he could descend to eat it, however, the other bird had pounced upon it and carried it away. The Ass and His Purchaser A Man wished to purchase an Ass, and agreed with his owner that he should try him before he bought him. He took the Ass home, and put him in the straw-yard with his other asses, upon which the beast left all the others and joined himself at once to the most idle and the greatest eater of them all. The Man put a halter on him, and led him back to his owner: and when he was asked how, in so short a time, he could have made a trial of him, "I do not need," he answered, "a trial; I know that he will be just such another as the one whom of all the rest he chose for his companion." A Country Fellow and the River A stupid Boy, who was sent to market by the good old woman, his Mother, to sell butter and cheese, made a stop by the way at a swift river, and laid himself down on the bank there, until it should run out. About midnight, home he went to his Mother, with all his market trade back again. "Why, how now, my Son?" said she. "What ill fortune have you had, that you have sold nothing all day?" "Why, Mother, yonder is a river that has been running all this day, and I stayed till just now, waiting for it to run out; and there it is, running still." "My Son," said the good woman, "thy head and mine will be laid in the grave many a day before this river has all run by. You will never sell your butter and cheese if you wait for that." The Playful Ass An Ass climbed up to the roof of a building and, frisking about there, broke in the tiling. His Master went up after him, and quickly drove him down, beating him severely with a thick wooden cudgel. The Ass then cried out in astonishment, "Why, I saw the monkey do this very thing yesterday, and you all laughed heartily, as if it afforded you great amusement!" The Boys and the Frogs Some idle boys, playing near a pond, saw a number of Frogs in the water, and began to pelt them with stones. They had killed several of them, when one of the Frogs, lifting his head out of the water, cried out: "Pray stop, my Boys: you forget that what is sport to you is death to us!" The Camel and His Master One night a Camel looked into the tent where his Master was lying and said: "Kind Master, will you not let me put my head inside of the door? The wind blows very cold to-night." "Oh, yes," said the Man. "There is plenty of room." So the Camel moved forward and stretched his head into the tent. "Ah!" he said, "this is what I call comfort." In a little while he called to his Master again. "Now if I could only warm my neck also," he said. "Then put your neck inside," said his Master, kindly. "You will not be in my way." The Camel did so, and for a time was very well contented. Then, looking around, he said: "If I could only put my forelegs inside I should feel a great deal better." His Master moved a little and said: "You may put your forelegs and shoulders inside, for I know that the wind blows cold to-night." The Camel had hardly planted his forefeet within the tent when he spoke again: "Master," he said, "I keep the tent open by standing here. I think I ought to go wholly within." "Yes, come in," said the Man. "There is hardly room for us both, but I do not want to keep you out in the cold." So the Camel crowded into the tent, but he was no sooner inside than he said: "You were right when you said that there was hardly room for us both. I think it would be better for you to stand outside and so give me a chance to turn around and lie down." Then, without more ado, he rudely pushed the Man out at the door, and took the whole tent for himself. The Flies and the Honey-pot A jar of Honey having been upset in a housekeeper's room, a number of Flies were attracted by its sweetness, and placing their feet in it ate it greedily. Their feet, however, became so smeared with the Honey that they could not use their wings, nor release themselves, and so were suffocated. Just as they were expiring, they exclaimed, "O foolish creatures that we are; for the sake of a little pleasure we have destroyed ourselves!" The Spectacles Jupiter, one day, enjoying himself over a bowl of nectar, and in a merry humour, determined to make mankind a present. Momus was appointed to convey it, who, mounted on a rapid car, was presently on earth. "Come hither," said he, "ye happy mortals; great Jupiter has opened for your benefit his all-gracious hands. 'Tis true he made you somewhat short-sighted, but, to remedy that inconvenience, behold now he has favoured you!" So saying, he opened his portmanteau, when an infinite number of spectacles tumbled out, and were picked up by the crowd with all the eagerness imaginable. There were enough for all, for every man had his pair. But it was soon found that these spectacles did not represent objects to all mankind alike; for one pair was purple, another blue; one was white and another black; some of the glasses were red, some green, and some yellow. In short, there were all manner of colours, and every shade of colour. However, notwithstanding this diversity, every man was charmed with his own, as believing it the best, and enjoyed in opinion all the satisfaction of truth. The Bear and the Fowls A Bear, who was bred in the savage desert, wished to see the world, and he travelled from forest to forest, and from one kingdom to another, making many profound observations on his way. One day he came by accident into a farmer's yard, where he saw a number of Fowls standing to drink by the side of a pool. Observing that after every sip they turned up their heads toward the sky, he could not forbear inquiring the reason of so peculiar a ceremony. They told him that it was by way of returning thanks to Heaven for the benefits they received; and was indeed an ancient and religious custom, which they could not, with a safe conscience, or without impiety, omit. Here the Bear burst into a fit of laughter, at once mimicking their gestures, and ridiculing their superstition, in a most contemptuous manner. On this the Cock, with a spirit suitable to the boldness of his character, addressed him in the following words: "As you are a stranger, sir, you may perhaps be excused for the indecency of your behaviour; yet give me leave to tell you that none but a Bear would ridicule any religious ceremonies in the presence of those who believe them of importance." THE FABLES OF BIDPAI "In English now they teach us wit. In English now they say: Ye men, come learn of beasts to live, to rule and to obey, To guide you wisely in the world, to know to shun deceit, To fly the crooked paths of guile, to keep your doings straight." SIR THOMAS NORTH THE FABLES OF BIDPAI The Snake and the Sparrows It is related that two Sparrows once made their nest in the roof of a house; and, contenting themselves with a single grain, so lived. Once on a time they had young ones, and both the mother and father used to go out in search of food for their support; and what they procured they made up into grains and dropped into their crops. One day, the male Sparrow had gone out somewhere. When he came back he beheld the female Sparrow fluttering in the greatest distress around the nest, while she uttered piteous cries. He exclaimed, "Sweet friend! what movements are these which I behold in thee?" She replied, "How shall I not lament, since, when I returned after a moment's absence, I saw a huge Snake come and prepare to devour my offspring, though I poured forth piteous cries. It was all in vain, for the Snake said, 'Thy sigh will have no effect on my dark-mirrored scales.' I replied, 'Dread this, that I and the father of these children will gird up the waist of vengeance, and will exert ourselves to the utmost for thy destruction.' The Snake laughed on hearing me, and that cruel oppressor has devoured my young and has also taken his rest in the nest." When the male Sparrow heard this story, his frame was wrung with anguish; and the fire of regret for the loss of his offspring fell on his soul. At that moment the master of the house was engaged in lighting his lamp; and holding in his hand a match, dipped in grease and lighted, was about to put it into the lamp-holder. The Sparrow flew and snatched the match from his hand and threw it into the nest. The master of the house, through fear that the fire would catch to the roof, and that the consequences would be most pernicious, immediately ran up on the terrace and began clearing away the nest from beneath, in order to put out the fire. The Snake beheld in front the danger of the fire, and heard above the sound of the pickaxe. It put out its head from a hole which it had near the roof, and no sooner did it do so than it received a blow of death from the pickaxe. And the moral of this fable is, that the Snake despised its enemy, and made no account of him, until in the end that enemy pounded his head with the stone of vengeance. The Geese and the Tortoise It is related that in a pool whose pure water reflected every image like a clear mirror, once resided two Geese and a Tortoise, and in consequence of their being neighbours, the thread of their circumstances had been drawn out into sincere friendship, and they passed their lives contentedly. In that water which was the source of their life and the support of their existence, however, a complete failure began to manifest itself, and a glaring alteration became evident. When the Geese perceived that state of things they withdrew their hearts from the home to which they were accustomed and determined on emigrating. Therefore with hearts full of sorrow and eyes full of tears, they approached the Tortoise, and introduced the subject of parting. The Tortoise wept at the intelligence and piteously exclaimed, "What words are these, and how can existence be supported without sympathizing friends? And since that I have not power even to take leave, how can I endure the load of separation?" The Geese replied: "Our hearts, too, are wounded by the sharp points of absence, but the distress of being without water is impossible to endure, and therefore of necessity we are about to forsake our friend and country." The Tortoise rejoined: "O friends! ye know that the distress of the want of water affects me more, and that without water I cannot support myself. At this crisis the rights of ancient companionship demand that ye should take me with you, and not leave me alone in the sorrowful abode of separation." The Geese answered: "O esteemed comrade! the pang of parting from thee is sharper than that of exile, and wherever we go, though we should pass our time in the utmost comfort, yet, deprived of seeing thee, the eye of our rejoicing would be darkened; but for us to proceed on the earth's surface and so to traverse a great and long distance is impossible, and for thee, too, to fly through the expanse of air and accompany us is impracticable; and such being the case, how can we travel together?" The Tortoise answered: "Your sagacity will be able to devise a remedy for this matter, and what plan can develop while my spirit is broken by the thought of parting?" The Geese replied: "O friend! during this period of our friendship we have observed in thee somewhat of hastiness and rashness; perhaps thou wilt not act upon what we say, nor keep firm to thy promise after thou hast made it." The Tortoise rejoined; "How can it be that ye should speak with a view to my advantage, and I fail to perform a compact which is for my own good?" Said the Geese: "The condition is that when we take thee up and fly through the air thou wilt not utter a single syllable, for any one who may happen to see us will be sure to throw in a word, and say something in reference to us directly or indirectly. Now, how many soever allusions thou mayest hear, or whatever manoeuvres thou mayest observe, thou must close the path of reply, and not loose thy tongue." The Tortoise answered: "I am obedient to your commands, and I will positively place the seal of silence on my lips, so that I shall not be even disposed to answer any creature." The Geese then brought a stick, and the Tortoise laid hold of the middle of it firmly with his teeth, and they, lifting the two ends of the stick, bore him up. When they got to a height in the air, they happened to pass over a village, and the inhabitants thereof having discovered them, were astonished at their proceedings, and came out to look at the sight, and raised a shout from left and right, "Look! how two geese are carrying a tortoise!" And as in those days the like of it had never been witnessed by that people, their cries and exclamations increased every moment. The Tortoise was silent for a time, but at length the cauldron of his self-esteem began to boil, and his patience being exhausted, he exclaimed: "You who are shouting to others to look at what is plain enough to every one, hold your peace!" No sooner had he opened his lips, however, than he fell from on high, and the Geese exclaimed, "It is the part of friends to give advice and of the well-disposed to listen to it." And the moral of this story is, that whoever listens not to the admonition of friends, with the hearing of acceptance, will have hastened his own destruction. The Sagacious Snake It is related that the infirmities of age had taken effect upon a Snake and through loss of strength he was unable to pursue his prey, and was bewildered in his proceedings how to obtain food. Life was impossible without food, and to hunt for it, had, through his weakness, become impracticable. Accordingly he thus reflected: "Alas! for the strength of my youth; and now to expect its return and to hope for the recurrence of my animal vigour is a thing of the same complexion as to light a fire from water." He felt that what was passed could not be recalled, and he therefore busied himself with taking thought for the future, and said: "In lieu of the strength of youth I have a little experience which I have acquired, and a trifle of prudence. I must now base my proceedings on abstaining from injuring others and must begin to consider how I may obtain, for the remainder of my life, what may be the means of support." He then went to the brink of a spring of water in which there were a number of frogs who had a potent King and one who was obeyed and renowned. The Snake cast himself down there in the dust of the road, like to a sufferer on whom calamity has fallen. A Frog speedily made up to him, and asked him: "I see thou art very sorrowful. What is the cause of it?" The Snake replied: "Who deserves more to grieve than I, whose maintenance was from hunting frogs? Today an event has occurred which has rendered the pursuit of them unlawful to me, and if I seriously designed to seize one, I could not." The Frog went away and told the King, who was amazed at this strange circumstance, and coming to the Snake, asked him: "What is the cause of this accident that has befallen thee and what act has brought down this upon thee?" The Snake replied: "O King, greed plunged me into calamity, and this befell as follows: One day I attempted to seize a Frog, which fled from me and took refuge in the house of a holy man. My appetite led me to follow him into the house, which happened to be dark. The son of the holy man lay there asleep, and his great toe coming against me I fancied it was the Frog. From the ardour of my greediness I closed my teeth upon it, and the child died on the spot. The holy man discovered the fact, and from regret for his son, attacked me, and I, turning toward the open country, fled with speed, and the recluse pursued me and cursed me, and said: 'I desire of my Creator that He will make thee base and powerless, and cause thee to be the vehicle of the Frog-king. And, verily, thou shalt not have power to eat Frogs, save what their King shall bestow on thee as alms.' And now, of necessity, I have come hither that the King may ride upon me, and I have acquiesced in the will of God." The matter pleased the King of the Frogs, and he thought that it would redound to his advantage; and he at once seated himself upon the Snake, and indulged in vainglorious airs in consequence. Some time passed in this way. At last the Snake said: "May the life of the King be prolonged! I cannot do without food and sustenance, that I may support life thereon and fulfil this service." The King said: "The case is as thou sayest; I cannot do without my steed, and my steed cannot have strength without food." He then fixed two Frogs as his daily allowance, that he might use as his regular supply for breakfast and dinner. The Snake maintained himself on that allowance; and inasmuch as the attention he paid to the Frog-king involved a benefit to himself he did not find fault with it. And this story is adduced to make it apparent that courtesy and humility are readier means to uproot an enemy than war and contest. The Old Woman's Cat In former times there lived an old woman in a state of extreme debility. She possessed a cot more narrow than the heart of the ignorant and darker than the miser's grave; and a Cat was her companion, which had never seen, even in the mirror of imagination, the face of a loaf, nor had heard from friend or stranger the name of meat. It was content if occasionally it smelt the odour of a mouse from its hole, or saw the print of the foot of one on the surface of a board, and if, on some rare occasion, by the aid of good fortune one fell into its claws, it subsisted a whole week, more or less, on that amount of food. And, inasmuch as the house of the old woman was the famine-year of that Cat, it was always miserable and thin, and from a distance appeared like an idea. One day, through excessive weakness, it had, with the utmost difficulty, mounted on the top of the roof; thence it beheld a Cat which walked proudly on the wall of a neighbouring house, and after the fashion of a destroying lion advanced with measured steps, and from excessive fat lifted its feet slowly. When the Cat of the old woman saw this, it was astonished and cried out, saying: "Thou, whose state is thus pleasant, whence art thou? and since it appears that thou comest from the banquet-chamber of the Khan of Khata, whence is this sleekness of thine, and from what cause this thy grandeur and strength?" The Neighbour-Cat replied: "I am the crumb-eater of the tray of the Sultan. Every morning I attend on the court of the king, and when they spread the tray of invitation, I display boldness and daring, and in general I snatch off some morsels of fat meats, and of loaves made of the finest flour; and thus I pass my time happy and satisfied till the next day." The Cat of the old woman inquired: "What sort of a thing may fat meat be? and what kind of relish has bread, made of fine flour? I, during my whole life, have never seen nor tasted aught save the old woman's broths, and mouse's flesh." The Neighbour-Cat laughed, and said: "Therefore it is that one cannot distinguish thee from a spider, and this form and appearance that thou hast is a reproach to our whole race. If thou shouldst see the court of the Sultan and smell the odour of those delicious viands, thou wouldst acquire a fresh form." The Cat of the old woman, said, most beseechingly, "O brother! thou art bound to me by neighbourship and kinship; why not this time, when thou goest, take me with thee? Perchance, by thy good fortune, I may obtain food." The heart of the Neighbour-Cat melted at the speaker's lamentable position, and he resolved that he would not attend the feast without him. The Cat of the old woman felt new life at these tidings, and descending from the roof stated the case to his mistress. The old dame began to advise the Cat, saying: "O kind companion, be not deceived by the words of worldly people and abandon not the corner of content, for the vessel of covetousness is not filled save with the dust of the grave." But the Cat had taken into its head such a longing for the delicacies of the Sultan's table that the medicine of advice was not profitable to it. In short, the next day, along with its neighbour, the old woman's Cat, with tottering steps conveyed itself to court, but before it could arrive there ill-fortune had poured the water of disappointment on the fire of its wish, and the reason was as follows: The day before, the cats had made a general onslaught on the table, and raised an uproar beyond bounds, and annoyed, to the last degree, the guests and their host. Wherefore, on this day, the Sultan had commanded that a band of archers, standing in ambush, should watch, so that for every cat who, holding before its face the buckler of impudence should enter the plain of audacity, the very first morsel that it ate should be a liver-piercing shaft. The old woman's Cat, ignorant of this circumstance, as soon as it smelt the odour of the viands, turned its face like a falcon to the hunting-ground of the table, and the scale of the balance of appetite had not yet been weighted by heavy mouthfuls, when the heart-piercing arrow quivered in its breast. Dear friend! the honey pays not for the sting, Content with syrup is a better thing. The Young Tiger In the environs of Basrah there was an island of excessively pleasant climate, where limpid waters flowed on every side and life-bestowing zephyrs breathed around. From its excessive exquisiteness they called it the "Joy-expanding Wilderness," and a Tiger bore sway there, such that from dread of him fierce lions could not set foot in that retreat. He had lived much time in that wild, according to his wish, and had never seen the form of disappointment in the mirror of existence. He had a young one whose countenance made the world seem bright to him, and his intention was that when that young one came to years he would commit that solitude to his charge, and pass the rest of his life at ease in the corner of retirement. The blossom of his wish had not yet expanded on the stem of desire when the autumn of death gave the fruit of the garden of his existence to the mind of destruction. And when this Tiger was seized by the claw of the Lion, Death, several wild beasts who for a long time entertained a desire for that wilderness made a unanimous movement and set about appropriating it. The young Tiger saw that he possessed not the strength to resist. He went voluntarily into exile, and amongst the wild beasts a huge contest arose. A blood-spilling Lion overcame all the others and brought the island into his own possession, and the young Tiger, having for some time endured distress in the mountains and wastes, conveyed himself to another haunt, and disclosed his affliction to the wild beasts of that district, asking their aid to find a remedy. They, having received intelligence of the victory of the Lion, and his overpowering might, said: "O unfortunate! thy place is now in the possession of a Lion such that from terror of him the wild birds will not fly over that wilderness, and from fear of him the elephant will not approach. We have not strength to fight with him and thou too art not able to enter with him the arena of strife. Our opinion demands that thou shouldst betake thyself to his court, and with perfect loyalty enter his service." These words seemed reasonable to the young Tiger, and he looked upon his best course to be this--that he should voluntarily enter the service of the Lion, and, to the extent of his ability, offer the duties of attendance. Through the intervention of one of the nobles he obtained the honour of waiting on the Lion, and, having become the object of the imperial regard, was appointed to an office suited to his spirit. Having tightly fastened the belt of obedience on the waist of affection the royal favour was constantly augmented and he incessantly displayed increased exertion in the affairs of the state. Upon a certain time an important matter arose which called the Lion away to a distant jungle; and at that time the heat of the oven of the sky was unmitigated, and the expanse of waste and mountain like a furnace of glass fiercely inflamed. From the excessive heat of the air, the brains of animals were boiled in their craniums, and the crabs in the water were fried like fish in the frying-pan. The Lion reflected: "At such a time, when the shell at the bottom of the deep, like a fowl on a spit, is roasting, an affair of this importance has occurred. Who may there be among my attendants who would not be affected by the labour and who, undeterred by the heat of the atmosphere, would approach this undertaking?" In the midst of this reflection the Tiger came in with the line of attendants and observed that the Lion was thoughtful. On the ground of his tact and affection, he advanced near the throne of royalty, and was emboldened to ask the cause of that thoughtfulness, and having learned how the case stood, he took upon himself to accomplish the matter, and having been honoured with permission, he set off with a body of attendants, and, arriving at that place at noon, he betook himself to the accomplishment of that affair, and the instant that the business was settled to his satisfaction he changed his reins to return. The officers who had been appointed to attend him unanimously represented as follows: "In such heat as this, all this distance has been traversed by the steps of completion, and now that the affair has been settled and the confidence placed in you by his majesty been demonstrated, it will certainly be advisable if you should repose a short time in the shade of a tree and allay the fiery tongue of thirst by drinking cool water." The Tiger smiled and said: "My intimacy and rank with his majesty the king is a banner that I have by toil and effort set up. It would not be well to level it with the ground by indulgence and sloth. Without supporting trouble it is impossible to arrive at the carrying off of treasure, and unaccompanied by the thorn we cannot reap the enjoyment of the rose garden." The informers furnished intelligence of this to the Lion, and recited the book of the affair, from preface to conclusion. The Lion nodded the head of approval, and said: "The people may be at peace in the just reign of that ruler who does not place his head on the pillow of repose." He then sent for the Tiger, and having distinguished him with special honours, committed that jungle to him, and, having bestowed on him the place of his sire, conferred on him, in addition, the dignity of being his heir. And the use of this fable is, that thou mayest learn that to no one does the sun of his wish rise from the eastern quarter of hope without the diligent use of great exertion. The Fox and the Drum It is related that a Fox was once prowling over a moor, and was roaming in every direction in hope of scenting food. Presently he came to the foot of a tree, at the side of which they had suspended a drum, and whenever a gust of wind came, a branch of the tree was put in motion, and struck the surface of the drum, when a terrible noise arose from it. The Fox, seeing a domestic fowl under the tree, who was pecking the ground with her beak, and searching for food, planted himself in ambush, and wished to make her his prey, when all of a sudden the sound of a drum reached his ear. He looked and saw a very fat form, and a prodigious sound from it reached his hearing. The appetite of the Fox was excited, and he thought to himself, "Assuredly its flesh and skin will be proportioned to its voice." He issued from his lurking-place and turned toward the tree. The fowl being put on its guard by that circumstance, fled, and the Fox, by a hundred exertions, ascended the tree. Much did he labour till he had torn the drum, and then he found nought save a skin and a piece of wood. The fire of regret descended into his heart, and the water of contrition began to run from his eyes, and he said: "Alas! that by reason of this huge bulk which is all wind, that lawful prey has escaped from my hand, and from this empty form no advantage has resulted to me." Loudly ever sounds the labour, But in vain--within is nought: Art thou wise, for substance labour, Semblance will avail thee nought. The Sparrows and the Falcon Two Sparrows once fixed their nest on the branch of a tree; and of worldly gear, water and grain sufficed them; while on the summit of a mountain, beneath which that tree lay, a Falcon had its abode, which, at the time of stooping on its quarry, issued from its lurking-place like lightning, and, like heaven's bolt, clean consumed the feebler birds. Whenever the Sparrows produced young, and the time was near at hand for them to fly, that Falcon, rushing forth from its ambush, used to carry them off and make them food for its own young. Now, to those Sparrows--in accordance with the saying, "The law of home is a part of faith"--to migrate from that place was impossible, and yet from the cruelty of the tyrannous Hawk it was difficult to reside there. On one occasion their young ones, having gained strength and put forth feathers and wings, were able to move; and the father and mother, pleased with the sight of their offspring, testified their joy at their attempt to fly. Suddenly the thought of the Falcon passed through their minds, and, all at once, they began to lament from anxiety. One of their children--in whose countenance the signs of ripe discretion were visible--having inquired the reason of their despondency, they recounted the history of the Falcon's oppression and of its carrying off their young, with all the particulars. The son said; "The Causer of Causes has sent a cure for every sorrow. It is probable that if ye exert yourselves in repelling this misfortune both this calamity will be averted from our heads and this burden removed from your hearts." These words pleased the Sparrows; and while one of them stopped to attend the young ones, the other flew forth in search of relief. He resolved in his mind on the way that he would tell his story to whatsoever animal his eyes first fell upon, and ask a remedy for his heart's distress from it. It happened that a Salamander, having come forth from a mine of fire, was wandering in the spreading plain of the desert. When the glance of the Sparrow lighted upon him, and that strange form came into his view, he said to himself: "I have fallen upon good! Come on, I will disclose the grief of my heart to this marvellous bird; perhaps he may undo the knot of my affairs and may show me the way to a remedy." Then with the utmost respect, he advanced to the Salamander, and after the usual salutation, paid the compliment of offering service. The Salamander, too, in a kind tone, expressed the courtesy required toward travellers and said: "The traces of weariness are discernible in thy countenance. If this arises from journeying, be pleased to halt some days in this neighbourhood; and if the case be aught else, explain it, that, to the extent of my power, I may exert myself to remedy it." The Sparrow loosed his tongue, and represented to the Salamander his piteous condition, after a fashion, that, had he told it to a rock, it would have been rent in pieces by his distress. After hearing his tale, the Salamander, too, felt the fire of compassion kindled, and he said; "Grieve not! for I will this night take such measures as to consume the Falcon's abode and nest and all that therein is. Do thou point out to me thy dwelling, and go to thy offspring until the time I come to thee." The Sparrow indicated his dwelling in such a way as not to leave a doubt in the mind of the Salamander; and with a glad heart turned toward his own nest. When the night came on, the Salamander, with a number of its own kind, each carrying a quantity of naphtha and brimstone, set off in the direction of the spot, and under the guidance of that Sparrow conveyed themselves to the vicinity of the Falcon's nest. The latter, unaware of the impending misfortune, had, with its young, eaten plentifully and fallen asleep. The Salamanders cast upon their nest all the naphtha and brimstone that they had brought with them and turned back and the blast of justice fell upon those oppressors. They rose up from the sleep of negligence and all of them, with their abode and nest, were at once consumed to ashes. And this instance is given that thou mayest know that every one who labours to repel an enemy, though he be small and weak, and his foe great and strong, may yet hope for victory and triumph. The Hermit, the Thief, and the Demon It is related that a Hermit of pure disposition, abstemious and virtuous, had made his cell in one of the environs of Baghdad, and passed his morning and evening hours in the worship of the All-wise King, and by these means had shaken his skirt clear from the dust of worldly affairs. He had bowed his head in the corner of contentment under the collar of freedom from care, and rested satisfied with the portion that was supplied to him from the invisible world. One of his sincere disciples got knowledge of the poverty and fastings of the Holy Man, and by way of offering, brought to the hermitage a she buffalo, young and fat, with whose delicious milk the palate of desire was oiled and sweetened. A thief beheld the circumstance, and his hungry appetite was excited; and he set off for the cell of the recluse. A demon, too, joined him in the likeness of a man. The thief asked him: "Who art thou, and whither goest thou?" He replied: "I am a demon, who have assumed this shape, and, putting on this guise, am going to the hermitage of the recluse, for many of the people of this country, through the blessing of his instruction, have begun to repent and to be converted and the market of our temptations has become flat. I wish to get an opportunity and kill him. This is my story which thou hast heard; now, tell me, who art thou and what is thy story?" The thief replied: "I am a man whose trade is roguery, and I am occupied night and day with thinking how to steal some one's goods and impose the scar of affliction on his heart. I am now going, as the recluse has got a fat buffalo, to steal it and use it for my own wants." The demon said; "Praise be to God that the bond of kinship is strong between us, and this alone is sufficient to ally us, since the object of both is to assail him." They then proceeded on their way, and at night reached the cell of the recluse. The latter had finished the performance of his daily worship, and had gone to sleep, just as he was, on his prayer-carpet. The thief bethought himself, that if the demon attempted to kill him he would probably awake and make an outcry; and the other people who were his neighbours, would be alarmed, and in that case it would be impossible to steal the buffalo. The demon, too, reflected that if the thief carried off the buffalo from the house, he must of course open the door. Then the noise of the door would very likely awaken the recluse, and he should have to postpone killing him. He then said to the thief: "Do thou wait and give me time to kill the hermit, and then do thou steal the buffalo." The thief rejoined: "Stop thou till I steal the buffalo, and then kill the hermit." This difference was prolonged between them, and at last the words of both came to wrangling. The thief was so annoyed that he called out to the recluse: "There is a demon here who wants to kill thee." The demon, too, shouted: "Here is a thief, who wants to steal thy buffalo." The hermit was roused by the uproar, and raised a cry, whereupon the neighbours came, and both the thief and the demon ran way; and the life and property of the Holy Man remained safe and secure through the quarrel of his enemies. When the two hostile armies fall to strife, Then from its sheath what need to draw the knife? The King and the Hawk It is related that in ancient times there was a King fond of hunting. He was ever giving reins to the courser of his desire in the pursuit of game, and was always casting the lasso of gladness over the neck of sport. Now this King had a Hawk, who at a single flight could bring down a pebble from the peak of the Caucasus, and in terror of whose claws the constellation Aquila kept himself in the green nest of the sky; and the King had a prodigious fondness for this Hawk and always cared for it with his own hands. It happened one day that the Monarch, holding the Hawk on his hand, had gone to the chase. A stag leapt up before him and he galloped after it with the utmost eagerness. But he did not succeed in coming up with it, and became separated from his retinue and servants; and though some of them followed him, the King rode so hotly that the morning breeze could not have reached the dust he raised. Meantime the fire of his thirst was kindled, and the intense desire to drink overcame the King. He galloped his steed in every direction in search of water until he reached the skirt of a mountain, and beheld that from its summit limpid water was trickling. The King drew forth a cup which he had in his quiver, and riding under the mountain filled the cup with that water, which fell drop by drop, and was about to take a draught, when the Hawk made a blow with his wing, and spilled all the water in the goblet. The King was vexed at this action, but held the cup a second time under the rock, until it was brimful. He then raised it to his lips again, and again the Hawk made a movement and overthrew the cup. The King rendered impatient by thirst, dashed the Hawk on the ground and killed it. Shortly after a stirrup-holder of the King came up and saw the Hawk dead, and the Monarch athirst. He then undid a water-vessel from his saddle-cord and washed the cup clean, and was about to give the King a drink. The latter bade him ascend the mountain, as he had an inclination for the pure water which trickled from the rock; and could not wait to collect it in the cup, drop by drop. The stirrup-holder ascended the mountain and beheld a spring giving out a drop at a time with a hundred stintings; and a huge serpent lay dead on the margin of the fountain; and as the heat of the sun had taken effect upon it, the poisonous saliva mixed with the water of that mountain, and it trickled drop by drop down the rock. The stirrup-holder was overcome with horror, and came down from the mountain bewildered, and represented the state of the case, and gave the King a cup of cold water from his ewer. The latter raised the cup to his lips, and his eyes overflowed with tears. The attendant asked the reason of his weeping. The King drew a sigh from his anguished heart and relating in full the story of the Hawk and the spilling of the water in the cup, said: "I grieve for the death of the Hawk, and bemoan my own deed in that without inquiry I have deprived a creature, so dear to me, of life." The attendant replied: "This Hawk protected thee from a great peril, and has established a claim to the gratitude of all the people of this country. It would have been better if the King had not been precipitate in slaying it, and had quenched the fire of wrath with the water of mildness." The King replied; "I repent of this unseemly action; but my repentance is now unavailing, and the wound of this sorrow cannot be healed by any salve"; and this story is related in order that it may be known that many such incidents have occurred where, through the disastrous results of precipitation, men have fallen into the whirlpool of repentance. The Mouse and the Frog It is related that a Mouse had taken up its abode on the brink of a fountain and had fixed its residence at the foot of a tree. A Frog, too, passed his time in the water there, and sometimes came to the margin of the pool to take the air. One day, coming to the edge of the water, he continued uttering his voice in a heart-rending cadence and assumed himself to be a nightingale of a thousand melodies. At that time the Mouse was engaged in chanting in a corner of his cell. Directly he heard the uproarious yelling of the Frog he was astounded, and came out with the intention of taking a look at the reciter; and while occupied with listening to him, kept smiting his hands together and shaking his head. These gestures, which seemed to display approbation, pleased the Frog and he made advances toward acquaintance with him. In short, being mutually pleased with each other, they became inseparable companions, and used to narrate to each other entertaining stories and tales. One day the Mouse said to the Frog: "I am oftentimes desirous of disclosing to thee a secret and recounting to thee a grief which I have at heart, and at that moment thou art abiding under the water. However much I shout thou nearest me not, owing to the noise of the water, and in spite of my crying to thee, the sound cannot reach thee, because of the clamour of the other frogs. We must devise some means by which thou mayest know when I come to the brink of the water, and thus mayest be informed of my arrival without my shouting to thee." The Frog said: "Thou speakest the truth. I, too, have often pondered uneasily, thinking, should my friend come to the brink of the water, how shall I, at the bottom of this fountain, learn his arrival? And it sometimes happens that I, too, come to the mouth of thy hole, and thou hast gone out from another side, and I have to wait long. I had intended to have touched somewhat on this subject before, but now the arrangement of it rests with thee." The Mouse replied: "I have got hold of the thread of a plan, and it appears to me the best thing to get a long string, and to fasten one end to thy foot, and tie the other tight around my own, in order that when I come to the water's edge and shake the string, thou mayest know what I want; and if thou, too, art so kind as to come to the door of my cell, I may also get information by thy jerking the string." Both parties agreed to this, and the knot of friendship was in this manner firmly secured, and they were also kept informed of one another's condition. One day, the Mouse came to the water's edge to seek the Frog, in order to renew their friendly converse. All of a sudden a Crow, like an unforeseen calamity, flew down from the air, and snatching up the Mouse, soared aloft, with him. The string which was tied to the leg of the Mouse drew forth the Frog from the bottom of the water, and, as the other leg was fastened to the Frog's leg, he was suspended head downward in the air. The Crow flew on, holding the Mouse in its beak, and lower still the Frog hanging head downward. People witnessing that extraordinary sight were uttering in the road various jokes and sarcasms: "A strange thing this, that contrary to his wont, a crow has made a prey of a frog!" and "Never before was a frog the prey of a crow!" The Frog was howling out in reply: "Now, too, a Frog is not the prey of a Crow, but from the bad luck of associating with a Mouse, I have been caught in this calamity, and he who associates with a different species deserves a thousand times as much." And this story carries with it this beneficial advice: That no one ought to associate with one of a different race, in order that, like the Frog, he may not be suspended on the string of calamity. The Crow and the Partridge It is related that one day a Crow was flying and saw a Partridge, which was walking gracefully on the ground with a quick step and graceful gait that enchanted the heart of the looker-on. The Crow was pleased with the gait of the Partridge, and amazed at its agility. The desire of walking in the same manner fixed itself in his mind, and the insane longing to step proudly, after this fascinating fashion, made its appearance. He forthwith girt his loins in attendance on the Partridge, and abandoning sleep and food, gave himself up to that arduous occupation, and kept continually running in the traces of the Partridge and gazing on its progress. One day the Partridge said: "O crazy, black-faced one! I observe that thou art ever hovering about me, and art always watching my motions. What is it that thou dost want?" The Crow replied: "O thou of graceful manners and sweet smiling face, know that having conceived a desire to learn thy gait, I have followed thy steps for a long time past, and wish to acquire thy manner of walking, in order that I may place the foot of preeminence on the head of my fellows." The Partridge uttered a merry laugh, and said: "Alack! alack! My walking gracefully is a thing implanted in me by nature, and thy style of going is equally a natural characteristic. My going is in one way, and thy mode of procedure is quite another. Leave off this fancy and relinquish this idea." The Crow replied: "Since I have plunged into this affair, no idle stories shall make me give it up; and until I grasp my wished-for object, I will not turn back from this road." So the unfortunate Crow for a long time ran after the Partridge, and having failed to learn his method of going, forgot his own too, and could in nowise recover it. FABLES FROM THE HITOPADESA "This work entitled Hitopadesa, or Friendly Instructor, affordeth elegance in the Sanskrit idioms, in every part variety of language, and inculcateth the doctrine of prudence and policy." FABLES FROM THE HITOPADESA The Traveller and the Tiger A traveller, through lust of gold, being plunged into an inextricable mire, is killed and devoured by an old tiger. As I was travelling on the southern road, once upon a time, I saw an old Tiger seated upon the bank of a large river, with a bunch of kusa grass in his paw, calling out to every one who passed: "Ho! ho! traveller, take this golden bracelet," but every one was afraid to approach him to receive it. At length, however, a certain wayfarer, tempted by avarice, regarded it as an instance of good fortune; but, said he, in this there is personal danger, in which we are not warranted to proceed. Yet, said he, there is risk in every undertaking for the acquisition of wealth. The Traveller then asked where was the bracelet; and the Tiger, having held out his paw, showed it to him and said, "Look at it, it is a golden bracelet." "How shall I place confidence in thee?" said the Traveller; and the Tiger replied: "Formerly, in the days of my youth, I was of a very wicked disposition, and as a punishment for the many men and cattle I had murdered, my numerous children died, and I was also deprived of my wife; so, at present, I am destitute of relations. This being the case, I was advised, by a certain holy person, to practise charity and other religious duties, and I am now grown extremely devout. I perform ablutions regularly, and am charitable. Why, then, am I not worthy of confidence?" "So far, you see," continued the Tiger, "I have an interest in wishing to give away to some one this golden bracelet from off my own wrist; and as thou appearest to be rather a poor man, I prefer giving it to thee; according to this saying: "'Make choice of the poor, and bestow not thy gifts on others.' Then go, and having purified thyself in this stream, take the golden bracelet." The Traveller no sooner began to enter the river to purify himself, than he stuck fast in the mud, and was unable to escape. The Tiger told him he would help him out; and creeping softly toward him, the poor man was seized, and instantly exclaimed to himself: "Alas! the career of my heart is cut short by fate!" But whilst the unfortunate fellow was thus meditating, he was devoured by the Tiger. Hence also, it is at no time proper to undertake anything without examination. The Jackal and the Cat To one whose family and profession are unknown, one should not give residence: the Jackal Jarad-gava was killed through the fault of a Cat. On the banks of the river Bhageerathee, and upon the mountain Greedhra-koota, there is a large parkattee tree, in the hollow of whose trunk there dwelt a Jackal, by name Jarad-gava, who, by some accident, was grown blind, and for whose support the different birds who roosted upon the branches of the same tree were wont to contribute a trifle from their own stores, by which he existed. It so fell out, that one day a certain Cat, by name Deerga-karna,[1] came there to prey upon the young birds, whom perceiving, the little nestlings were greatly terrified, and began to be very clamorous; and their cries being heard by Jarad-gava, he asked who was coming. The Cat Deerga-karna, too, seeing the Jackal, began to be alarmed, and said to himself: "Oh! I shall certainly be killed, for now that I am in his sight, it will not be in my power to escape. However, let what will be the consequence, I will approach him." So, having thus resolved, he went up to the Jackal, and said: "Master, I salute thee!" "Who art thou?" demanded the Jackal. Said he, "I am a Cat." "Ah! wicked animal," cried the Jackal, "get thee at a distance; for if thou dost not, I will put thee to death." "Hear me for a moment," replied Puss, "and then determine whether I merit either to be punished or to be killed; for what is any one, simply by birth, to be punished or applauded? When his deeds have been scrutinized, he may, indeed, be either praiseworthy or punishable." The Jackal after this desired the Cat to give some account of himself, and he complied in the following words: "I am," said he, "in the constant habit of performing ablutions on the side of this river; I never eat flesh, and I lead that mode of life which is called Brahma-Charya[2]. So, as thou art distinguished amongst those of thy own species, noted for skill in religious matters, and as a repository of confidence, and as the birds here are always speaking before me in praise of thy good qualities, I am come to hear from thy mouth, who art so old in wisdom, the duties of religion. Thou, master, art acquainted with the customs of life; but these young birds, who are in ignorance, would fain drive me, who am a stranger, away. The duties of a housekeeper are thus enjoined: "Hospitality is commanded to be exercised, even toward an enemy, when he cometh to thine house. The tree doth not withdraw its shade, even from the wood-cutter. "And again: "Some straw, a room, water, and in the fourth place, gentle words. These things are never to be refused in good men's houses." To all this the Jackal replied: "Cats have a taste for animal food, and above is the residence of the young birds: it is on this account I speak to thee." The Cat, having touched his two ears, and then the ground, exclaimed: "I, who have read books upon the duties of religion, and am freed from inordinate desires, have forsaken such an evil practice; and, indeed, even amongst those who dispute with one another about the authority of the Sastras, there are many by whom this sentence: 'Not to kill is a supreme duty,' is altogether approved." The Cat by these means having satisfied the jackal, he remained in the hollow of the tree with him and passed the time in amusing conversation; and the Jackal told the young birds that they had no occasion to go out of the way. After this, when many days had passed, it was discovered that the Cat had, by degrees, drawn all the little birds down into the hollow of the tree, and there devoured them; but when he found inquiry was about to be made by those whose young ones had been eaten, he slipped out of the hole and made his escape. In the meantime, the bones of the young ones having been discovered in the hollow of the tree by the parent birds, who had been searching here and there, they concluded that their little ones had been devoured by the Jackal, and so, being joined by other birds, they put him to death. Wherefore I say, "To one whose family and profession are unknown, one should not give residence." [1]Long-ear [2]Forsaking all worldly concerns to lead a godly life. The Greedy Jackal A hoard should always be made; but not too great a hoard. A Jackal, through the fault of hoarding too much, was killed by a bow. A certain Huntsman, by name Bhirava, being fond of flesh, once upon a time went to hunt in the forests of the Vindhya mountains and having killed a Deer, as he was carrying him away, he chanced to see a wild Boar of a formidable appearance. So, laying the Deer upon the ground, he wounded the Boar with an arrow; but, upon his approaching him, the horrid animal set up a roar dreadful as the thunder of the clouds, and wounding the Huntsman in the groin, he fell like a tree cut off by the axe. At the same time, a Serpent, of that species which is called Ajagara, pressed by hunger and wandering about, rose up and bit the Boar, who instantly fell helpless upon him, and remained upon the spot. For: The body having encountered some efficient cause, water, fire, poison, the sword, hunger, sickness, or a fall from an eminence, is forsaken by the vital spirits. In the meantime, a Jackal, by name Deergharava, prowling about in search of prey, discovered the Deer, the Huntsman, and the Boar; and having observed them, he said to himself: "Here is a fine feast prepared for me; with their flesh I shall have food to eat. The Man will last me for a whole month, and the Deer and the Boar for two more; then the Serpent will serve me a day; and let me taste the bow-string too. But, in the first place, let me try that which is the least savoury. Suppose, then, I eat this catgut line which is fastened to the bow": saying so, he drew near to eat it; but the instant he had bit the line in two, he was torn asunder by the spring of the bow; and he was reduced to the state of the five elements. I say, therefore, "A hoard should always be made; but not too great a hoard." The Elephant and the Jackal That which cannot be effected by force may be achieved by cunning. An Elephant was killed by a Jackal, in going over a swampy place. In the forest Brahmaranya there was an Elephant, whose name was Karphooratilaka,[1] who having been observed by the jackals, they all determined that if he could by any stratagem be killed, he would be four months' provisions for them all. One of them, who was of exceeding vicious inclination and by nature treacherous, declared that he would engage, by the strength of his own judgment, to effect his death. Some time after, this deceitful wretch went up to the Elephant, and having saluted him, said: "Godlike sir! Condescend to grant me an audience." "Who art thou?" demanded the Elephant, "and whence comest thou?" "My name," replied he, "is Kshudrabuddhi,[2] a jackal, sent into thy presence by all the inhabitants of the forest, assembled for that purpose, to represent that, as it is not expedient to reside in so large a forest as this without a chief, your Highness, endued with all the cardinal virtues, hath been selected to be anointed Rajah of the Woods. Then, that we may not lose the lucky moment," continued the Jackal, "be pleased to follow quickly." Saying this, he cocked his tail and went away. The Elephant, whose reason was perverted by the lust of power, took the same road as the Jackal, and followed him so exactly that, at length, he stuck fast in a great mire. "O my friend!" cried the Elephant, "what is to be done in this disaster? I am sinking in a deep mire!" The Jackal laughed, and said: "Please, your divine Highness, take hold of my tail with your trunk, and get out! This is the fruit of those words which thou didst place confidence in." They say: As often as thou shalt be deprived of the society of the good, so often shalt thou fall into the company of knaves. After a few days, the Elephant dying for want of food, his flesh was devoured by the Jackals. I say, therefore: "That which cannot be effected by force, may be achieved by cunning." [1]Marked with white spots. [2]Low-minded, mean-spirited, bad-hearted. The Lion, the Mouse, and the Cat The master should never be rendered free from apprehension by his servants, for a servant having quieted the fears of his master may experience the fate of Dahdikarna.[1] Upon the mountain Arbuda-sikhara, there was a Lion, whose name was Maliavikrama[2] the tips of whose mane a Mouse was wont to gnaw, as he slept in his den. The noble beast, having discovered that his hair was bitten, was very much displeased; and as he was unable to catch the offender, who always slipped into his hole, he meditated what was best to be done; and having resolved, said he: "Whoso hath a trifling enemy, who is not to be overcome by dint of valour, should employ against him a force of his own likeness." With a review of this saying, the Lion repaired to the village, and by means of a piece of meat thrown into his hole, with some difficulty caught a Cat, whose name was Dadhikarna. He carried him home, and the Mouse for some time being afraid to venture out, the Lion remained with his hair unnipped. At length, however, the Mouse was so oppressed with hunger, that creeping about he was caught and devoured by the Cat. The Lion now, no longer hearing the noise of the Mouse, thought he had no further occasion for the services of the Cat, and so began to be sparing of his allowance; and, in consequence, poor Puss pined away and died for want. Wherefore, I say: "The master should never be rendered free from apprehension by his servants." [1]Whose ears are the colour of curds. [2]Great courage. The Poor Woman and the Bell It is not proper to be alarmed by a mere sound, when the cause of that sound is unknown. A poor woman obtaineth consequence for discovering the cause of a sound. Between the mountains Sree-parvata there is a city called Brahma-puree, the inhabitants of which used to believe that a certain giant, whom they called Ghautta-Karna, infested one of the adjacent hills. The fact was thus: A thief, as he was running away with a Bell he had stolen, was overcome and devoured by a tiger; and the Bell falling from his hand having been picked up by some monkeys, every now and then they used to ring it. Now the people of the town finding that a man had been killed there, and at the same time hearing the Bell, used to declare that the giant Ghautta-Karna being enraged, was devouring a man, and ringing his Bell; so that the city was abandoned by all the principal inhabitants. At length, however, a certain Poor Woman having considered the subject, discovered that the Bell was rung by the monkeys. She accordingly went to the Rajah, and said: "If, divine sir, I may expect a very great reward, I will engage to silence this Ghautta-Karna." The Rajah was exceedingly well pleased, and gave her some money. So having displayed her consequence to the priesthood of the country, to the leaders of the army, and to all the rest of the people, she provided such fruits as she conceived the monkeys were fond of, and went into the wood; where strewing them about, they presently quitted the Bell, and attached themselves to the fruit. The Poor Woman, in the meantime, took away the Bell, and repaired to the city, where she became an object of adoration to its inhabitants. Wherefore, I say: "It is not proper to be alarmed by a mere sound, when the cause of the sound is unknown." The Lion and the Rabbit He who bath sense hath strength. Where hath he strength who wanteth judgment? See how a Lion, when intoxicated with anger, was overcome by a Rabbit. Upon a certain mountain there lived a Lion, whose name was Durganta,[1] who was perpetually sacrificing animals to his gods; so that, at length, all the different species assembled, and, in a body, represented that, as by his present mode of proceeding the forest would be cleared all at once; if it pleased his Highness, they would, each of them in his turn, provide him an animal for his daily food; and the Lion gave, his consent accordingly. So every beast delivered his stipulated provision, till at length, in coming to the Rabbit's turn he began to meditate in this manner: "Policy should be practised by him who would save his life; and I myself shall lose mine, if I do not take care. Suppose I lead him after another Lion? Who knows how that may turn out for me? Then I will approach him slowly, as if fatigued." The Lion by this time began to be very hungry; so, seeing the Rabbit coming toward him, he called out in a great passion: "What is the reason thou comest so late?" "Please your Highness," said the Rabbit "as I was coming along, I was forcibly detained by another of your species; but having given him my word that I would return immediately I came here to represent it to your Highness." "Go quickly," said the Lion in a rage, "and show me where this vile wretch may be found?" Accordingly the Rabbit conducted the Lion to the brink of a deep well, where being arrived, "There," said the Rabbit, "look down and behold him"; at the same time he pointed to the reflected image of the Lion in the water; who swelling with pride and resentment, leaped into the well, as he thought, upon his adversary, and thus put an end to his own life. I repeat, therefore: "He who hath sense, hath strength." [1]Hard to go near. The Birds and the Monkeys A wise man is worthy to be advised; but an ignorant one never. Certain birds, having given advice to a troop of monkeys, have their nests torn to pieces, and are obliged to fly away. On the banks of the river Navmoda, upon a neighbouring mountain, there was a large Salmalee tree wherein certain Birds were wont to build their nests and reside, even during the season of the rains. One day the sky being overcast with a troop of thick dark clouds, there fell a shower of rain in very large streams. The Birds seeing a troop of Monkeys at the foot of the tree, all wet, and shivering with cold, called out to them; "Ho, Monkeys! why don't you invent something to protect you from the rain? We build ourselves nests with straws collected with nothing else but our bills. How is this, that you, who are blessed with hands and feet, yield to such sufferings?" The Monkeys hearing this, and understanding it as a kind of reproach, were exceedingly irritated and said amongst themselves: "Those Birds there, sitting comfortably out of the wind within their warm nests, are laughing at us! So let them, as long as the shower may last." In short, as soon as the rain subsided, the whole troop of them mounted into the tree, where tearing all the nests to pieces, the eggs fell upon the ground and were broken. I say, therefore: "A wise man is worthy to be advised, but an ignorant one never." The Rabbits and the Elephants Great things may be effected by wise counsel, when a sovereign enemy may be too powerful. Certain Rabbits were enabled to live in comfort, through the policy of one of their brethren. Once upon a time, for want of rain in due season, a troop of Elephants being greatly distressed for water, addressed their chief in these words: "What resource have we, except in that hollow sinking ground inhabited by those little animals! but deprived of that too, whither, sir, shall we go? What shall we do?" Upon hearing their complaints, their chief, after travelling with them a great way, discovered a fountain of clear water. But, as many Rabbits who happened, to be in their burrows were crushed to death under the feet of so many Elephants trampling over their warren, at length, one of them, reflected in this manner: "This troop of Elephants, oppressed with thirst, will be coming here every day to drink, and, at length, our whole race will be destroyed!" But an old buck said to him, "Brother, don't be uneasy; for I am going to prevent what thou dreadest." Saying which, he set off to try how he could oppose them; but as he went along, he began to consider how he should approach so formidable a troop; "for," observed he, "they say: "'An elephant killeth even by touching, a serpent even by smelling, a king even by ruling, and a wicked man by laughing at one.' "Wherefore, I will mount the summit of a rock to address the head of the troop." This being put in execution accordingly, the chief Elephant asked him who he was, and whence he came. "I am," he replied, "an ambassador sent here by the god Chandra." "Declare the purport of thy commission," said the Elephant. "Sir," replied the Rabbit, "as ambassadors, even when the weapons of war are lifted up, speak not otherwise than for the benefit of their State; and although they speak boldly according as it is their advantage, they are not to be put to death; then I will declare what are the commands of the god Chandra. He bade me say, that in driving away and destroying the Rabbits who are appointed to guard the fountain which is consecrated to that duty, you have done ill; 'for,' said he, 'they are my guards and it is notorious that the figure of a Rabbit is my emblem.'" The head Elephant, upon hearing this became greatly alarmed, declared that they had offended through ignorance, and would never go to the fountain again. "If this be your resolution," said the ambassador, "go this once, and make your submission before the diety himself, whom you will see in the fountain, quite agitated with anger; and when you have pacified him, you may depart." Accordingly, as soon as it was night, the ambassador Vijaya having conducted the chief of the Elephants to the fountain, there showed him the image of the moon, trembling, as it were, upon the smooth surface of the water and when he had made him bow down to it, in token of submission, he said: "Please your divinity! What hath been done having been done through ignorance, I pray thee pardon them!" and upon saying this, he caused the Elephant to depart. I repeat, therefore, "Great things may be effected by wise counsel, when a sovereign enemy may be too powerful." The Blue Jackal The fool who forsaketh his own party, and delighteth to dwell with the opposite side may be killed by them; as was the case with the Blue Jackal. A certain Jackal, as he was roaming about the borders of a town, just as his inclinations led him, fell into a dyer's vat;[1] but being unable to get out in the morning he feigned himself dead. At length, the master of the vat, which was filled with indigo, came, and seeing a Jackal lying with his legs uppermost, his eyes closed, and his teeth bare, concluded that he was dead, and so, taking him out, he carried him a good way from the town, and there left him. The sly animal instantly got up, and ran into the woods; when, observing that his coat was turned blue, he meditated in this manner: "I am now of the finest colour! what great exaltation may I not bring about for myself?" Saying this, he called a number of Jackals together, and addressed them in the following words: "Know that I have lately been sprinkled king of the forests, by the hands of the goddess herself who presides over these woods, with a water drawn from a variety of choice herbs. Observe my colour, and henceforward let every business be transacted according to my orders." The rest of the Jackals, seeing him of such a fine complexion, prostrated themselves before him, and said: "According as your Highness commands!" By this step he made himself honoured by his own relations, and so gained the supreme power over those of his own species, as well as all the other inhabitants of the forests. But after a while, finding himself surrounded by a levee of the first quality, such as the tiger and the like, he began to look down upon his relations; and, at length, he kept them at a distance. A certain old Jackal perceiving that his brethren were very much cast down at this behaviour, cried: "Do not despair! If it continues thus, this imprudent friend of ours will force us to be revenged. Let me alone to contrive his downfall. The lion, and the rest who pay him court, are taken by his outward appearance; and they obey him as their king, because they are not aware that he is nothing but a Jackal: do something then by which he may be found out. Let this plan be pursued: Assemble all of you in a body about the close of the evening, and set up one general howl in his hearing; and I'll warrant you, the natural disposition of his species will incline him to join in the cry for: "'Whatever may be the natural propensity of any one is very hard to be overcome. If a dog were made king, would he not gnaw his shoe straps?' "And thus, the tiger discovering that he is nothing but a Jackal, will presently put him to death." In short, the plan was executed, and the event was just as it had been foretold. I repeat, therefore: "The fool who forsaketh his own party and delighteth to dwell with the opposite side, may be killed by them." [1]A dyer's vat, in Hindostan, is a large pan sunk in the ground, often in the little court before the dyer's house. The Mouse Who Became a Tiger One of low degree, having obtained a worthy station, seeketh to destroy his master; like the mouse, who having been raised to the state of a Tiger, went to kill the Hermit. In a certain forest, there once dwelt a Hermit whose name was Maha-tapa. One day seeing a young Mouse fall from the mouth of a crow near his hermitage, out of compassion be took it up and reared it with broken particles of rice. He now observed that the cat was seeking to destroy it; so, by the sacred powers of a saint, he metamorphosed his Mouse into a cat; but his cat being afraid of his dog, he changed her into a dog; and the dog being terrified at the tiger, at length he was transformed into a Tiger. The holy man now regarded the Tiger as no way superior to his Mouse. But the people who came to visit the Hermit, used to tell one another that the Tiger which they saw there had been made so by the power of the saint, from a Mouse; and this being overheard by the Tiger, he was very uneasy, and said to himself: "As long as this Hermit is alive, the disgraceful story of my former state will be brought to my ears"; saying which he went to kill his protector; but as the holy man penetrated his design with his supernatural eye, he reduced him to his former state of a Mouse. I repeat, therefore: "One of low degree, having obtained a worthy station, may seek to destroy his master." The Brahmin and the Goat He who, judging by what passeth in his own breast, believeth a knave to be a person of veracity, is deceived; as the Brahmin was concerning his Goat. In a certain forest, a Brahmin, having determined to make an offering, went to a neighbouring village and purchased a Goat, which having thrown across his shoulder, he turned toward home. As he was travelling along, he was perceived by three thieves. "If," said they, "we could by some artifice get the Goat from that man, it would be a great proof of our address." Saying this, they agreed upon their stratagem, and executed it in this manner: They stationed themselves before the Brahmin, and sat down under the trees in the road which led to his habitation, till he should come up to them. Soon after, he was accosted by one of them in this manner: "Is not that a dog? Brahmin, what is the reason thou carriest it upon thy shoulder?" The Brahmin replied: "No, it is not a dog; it is a Goat, which I have purchased to make an offering of." About a mile farther on he met another of them, who repeating the same question, he took the Goat from his shoulder, and putting it upon the ground, examined it again and again; and at length, replacing it upon his shoulder, he went on, quite staggered as it were, for: The minds even of good men are staggered by the arguments of the wicked; but those who place confidence in them may suffer by it. At length the Brahmin, having heard the third thief, like the former two, insist upon it that he had a dog upon his shoulder, was convinced that it was indeed a dog; and so, leaving his Goat behind him, which the thieves presently took away and made a feast of, the good man washed himself and went home. Whence, I say, "He who, judging by what passeth in his own breast, believeth a knave to be a person of veracity, is deceived." FABLES FROM INDIA "These simple children's stories have lived on, and maintained their place of honour and their undisputed sway in every schoolroom of the East and every nursery of the West." F. MAX MULLER FABLES FROM INDIA The Lion, the Fox, and the Story-teller A Lion who was the king of a great forest once said to his subjects: "I want some one among you to tell me stories one after another without ceasing. If you fail to find somebody who can so amuse me, you will all be put to death." In the East there is a proverb which says; "The king kills when he will," so the animals were in great alarm. The Fox said: "Fear not; I shall save you all. Tell the king the Story-teller is ready to come to court when ordered." So the animals had orders to send the Story-teller at once to the presence. The Fox bowed respectfully, and stood before the king, who said: "So you are to tell us stories without ceasing?" "Yes, your Majesty," said the Fox. "Then begin," said the Lion. "But before I do so," said the Fox, "I would like to know what your Majesty means by a story." "Why," said the Lion, "a narrative containing some interesting event or fact." "Just so," said the Fox, and began: "There was once a fisherman who went to sea with a huge net, and spread it far and wide. A great many fish got into it. Just as the fisherman was about to draw the net the coils snapped. A great opening was made. First one fish escaped." Then the Fox stopped. "What then?" said the Lion. "Then two escaped," said the Fox. "What then?" asked the impatient Lion. "Then three escaped," said the Fox. Thus, as often as the Lion repeated his query, the Fox increased the number by one, and said as many escaped. The Lion was vexed, and said: "Why you are telling me nothing new!" "I wish that your majesty may not forget your royal word," said the Fox. "Each event occurred by itself, and each lot that escaped was different from the rest." "But wherein is the wonder?" said the Lion. "Why, your majesty, what can be more wonderful than for Fish to escape in lots, each exceeding the other by one?" "I am bound by my word," said the Lion, "else I would see your carcass stretched on the ground." The Fox replied in a whisper: "_If tyrants that desire things impossible are not at least bound by their own word, their subjects can find nothing to bind them_." The Fox in the Well A Fox fell into a well, and was holding hard to some roots at the side of it, just above the water. A Wolf who was passing by saw him, and said, "Hollo, Reynard; after all you have fallen into a well!" "But not without a purpose, and not without the means of getting out of it," said the Fox. "What do you mean?" said the Wolf. "Why," said the Fox, "there is a drought all over the country now, and the water in this well is the only means of appeasing the thirst of the thousands that live in this neighbourhood. They held a meeting, and requested me to keep the water from going down lower; so I am holding it up for the public good." "What will be your reward?" asked the Wolf. "They will give me a pension, and save me the trouble of going about every day in quest of food, not to speak of innumerable other privileges that will be granted me. Further, I am not to stay here all day. I have asked a kinsman of mine, to whom I have communicated the secret of holding up the water, to relieve me from time to time. Of course he will also get a pension, and have other privileges. I expect him here shortly." "Ah, Reynard, may I relieve you, then? May I hope to get a pension, and other privileges? You know what a sad lot is mine, especially in winter." "Certainly," said the Fox, "but you must get a long rope, that I may come up and let you down." So the Wolf got a rope. Up came the Fox, and down went the Wolf; when the former observed, with a laugh, "My dear sir, you may remain there till doomsday, or till the owner of the well throws up your carcass," and left the place. "Alas!" said the Wolf, when it was too late, "_greed hath its meed!_" The Fawn and the Little Tiger A Fawn met a little Tiger, and said: "What fine stripes you have!" The little Tiger said: "What fine spots you have!" Then the Fawn said: "It would be such a nice thing if you and I were to live together as friends. We might then roam through the woods as we like, and be so happy!" "I think so too," said the Tiger. The two joined hands, and went out for a long walk. It was breakfast time. The Fawn saw some fine grass in the lawn, and said to himself: "One should first see his friend fed and then feed." So he turned to the Tiger and said, "Will you have some of this fine grass for your breakfast?" The Tiger put his nose to the grass but could not bring himself to feed upon it, because it was against his nature; so he replied, "I am so sorry, I cannot eat it!" Then the Fawn said: "Allow me to go home for one moment and ask mamma for something that would suit you for breakfast." So the Fawn went home and told the Hind of the happy friendship he had formed, and of all that had happened since. The Hind replied, "Child, how lucky it is that you have come away! You must know the Tiger is the most deadly enemy we have in the woods." At these words the Fawn drew near to his dam and trembled. The Hind said: "_It is indeed lucky to get away from the wicked at the first hint!_" The Fox and the Villagers A Fox that had long been the dread of the village poultry yard was one day found lying breathless in a field. The report went abroad that, after all, he had been caught and killed by some one. In a moment, everybody in the village came out to see the dead Fox. The village Cock, with all his hens and chicks, was also there, to enjoy the sight. The Fox then got up, and, shaking off his drowsiness, said: "I ate a number of hens and chicks last night; hence I must have slumbered longer than usual." The Cock counted his hens and chicks, and found a number wanting. "Alas!" said he, "how is it I did not know of it?" "My dear sir," said the Fox, as he retreated to the wood, "it was last night I had a good meal on your hens and chicks, yet you did not know of it. A moment ago they found me lying in the field, and you knew of it at once. _Ill news travels fast!_" Tinsel and Lightning A piece of Tinsel on a rock once said to a Pebble: "You see how bright I am! I am by birth related to the lightning." "Indeed!" said the Pebble; "then accept my humble respects." Some time after, a flash of lightning struck the rock, and the Tinsel lost all its brilliancy by the scorching effects of the flash. "Where is your brilliancy now?" said the Pebble. "Oh, it is gone to the skies," said the Tinsel, "for I have lent it to the lightning that came down a moment ago to borrow it of me." "Dear me!" said the Pebble; "_how many fibs doth good bragging need!_" The Glow-worm and the Daw A Jackdaw once ran up to a Glow-worm and was about to seize him. "Wait a moment, good friend," said the Worm; "and you shall hear of something to your advantage." "Ah! what is it?" said the Daw. "I am but one of the many Glow-worms that live in this forest. If you wish to have them all, follow me," said the Glow-worm. "Certainly!" said the Daw. Then the Glow-worm led him to a place in the wood where a fire had been kindled by some woodmen, and pointing to the sparks flying about, said: "There you find the Glow-worms warming themselves around a fire. When you have done with them, I will show you some more, at a distance from this place." The Daw darted at the sparks, and tried to swallow some of them; but his mouth being burnt by the attempt, he ran away exclaiming, "Ah, the Glow-worm is a dangerous little creature!" Said the Glow-worm with pride: "_Wickedness yields to wisdom!_" The Lion and the Gadfly Once a Lion was sleeping in his den at the foot of a great mountain when a Gadfly that had been sipping the blood from his mouth bit him severely. The Lion started up with a roar, and catching the Fly in his huge paws, cried: "Villain, you are at my mercy! How shall I punish your impudence?" "Sire," said the Fly, "if you would pardon me now, and let me live, I shall be able to show ere long how grateful I am to you." "Indeed!" said the Lion; "who ever heard of a Gadfly helping a Lion? But still I admire your presence of mind and grant your life." Some time after, the Lion, having made great havoc on the cattle of a neighbouring village, was snoring away in his den after a heavy meal. The village hunters approached with the object of surrounding him and putting an end to his depredations. The Fly saw them, and hurrying into the den, bit the Lion. He started up with a roar as before, and cried: "Villain, you will get no pardon this time!" "Sire," said the Fly, "the village hunters are on their way to your den; you can't tarry a moment here without being surrounded and killed." "Saviour of my life!" cried the lion as he ran up the mountain. "_There is nothing like forgiving, for it enables the humblest to help the highest_." The Sunling In the good old days a Clown in the East, on a visit to a city kinsman, while at dinner pointed to a burning candle and asked what it was. The city man said, in jest, it was a Sunling, or one of the children of the sun. The Clown thought that it was something rare; so he waited for an opportunity, and hid it in a chest of drawers close by. Soon the chest caught fire, then the curtains by its side, then the room, then the whole house. After the flames had been put down, the city man and the Clown went into the burnt building to see what remained. The Clown turned over the embers of the chest of drawers. The city man asked what he was seeking for. The Clown said: "It is in this chest that I hid the bright Sunling; I wish to know if he has survived the flames." "Alas," said the city man, who now found out the cause of all the mischief, "_Never jest with fools!_" The Despot and the Wag A Despot in the East wished to have a great name as a very munificent prince, so he gave large presents to every one of note that came to his court, but at the same time his officers had secret orders to waylay the recipients of his gifts and recover them. In this manner many a man had been rewarded and plundered. Once a wag came to court, and amused every one by his drolleries. The King gave him a great many presents, including a horse. After taking leave of the King and his courtiers, the Wag bundled up the presents and put them over his shoulders, and mounting the horse, facing the tail, was going out. The King asked him why he acted in that manner. "Sire," said the Wag, "simply to see if your officers were coming behind, that I may at once hand over the bundle to them and go about my business." The Despot was abashed, and stopped giving any more presents, saying: "_Giving is but giving in vain, when we give to take again_." The Crane and the Fool In the East there lived a Fool, who went one day to his fields and said: "I sowed a month ago; should the crops stand two months more, I shall get three hundred bushels of corn. But I am in a hurry, so if I should reap now, I dare say I shall have one hundred bushels at least." A Crane who heard his words said: "If I were you, I should have all the three hundred bushels this very day." "How?" said the Fool. "Why," said the Crane, "you stored up water in the tank to feed the crops for three months. A month has elapsed, so water enough for two months more remains in the tank. Should you open the sluices and let all the water flow into the fields, you will have all the corn at once." "Are you sure I shall have all the corn at once?" said the Fool. "Oh, yes," said the Crane, "there is not the slightest doubt. My geographical knowledge is extensive, for I have travelled over a great part of the world; so you may depend on my wide knowledge and experience." The Fool then let all the water flow into the fields. The Crane invited his kindred, and they together ate all the big fish left in the tank first, and then, hovering over the fields, picked up all the small fish that had gone out with the water. A great portion of the crops was swept away; what remained was soon buried in the mud. The Fool sat on the bank of the lake and wept, saying: "The Crane's geography ruined me." "My friend," said the Crane, "my geography was as good as your arithmetic. _It is all the same whether you fall into the ditch from this side or that!_" The Lion and the Goat A Lion was eating up one after another the animals of a certain country. One day an old Goat said: "We must put a stop to this. I have a plan by which he may be sent away from this part of the country." "Pray act up to it at once," said the other animals. The old Goat laid himself down in a cave on the roadside, with his flowing beard and long curved horns. The Lion on his way to the village saw him, and stopped at the mouth of the cave. "So you have come, after all," said the Goat. "What do you mean?" asked the Lion. "Why, I have long been lying in this cave. I have eaten up one hundred elephants, a hundred tigers, a thousand wolves, and ninety-nine lions. One more lion has been wanting. I have waited long and patiently. Heaven has, after all, been kind to me," said the Goat, and shook his horns and his beard, and made a start as if he were about to spring upon the Lion. The latter said to himself: "This animal looks like a Goat, but it does not talk like one, so it is very likely some wicked spirit in this shape. Prudence often serves us better than valour, so for the present I shall return to the wood," and he turned back. The Goat rose up and, advancing to the mouth of the cave, said, "Will you come back to-morrow?" "Never again," said the Lion. "Do you think I shall be able to see you, at least, in the wood to-morrow?" "Neither in the wood, nor in this neighbourhood any more," said the Lion, and running to the forest, soon left it with his kindred. The animals in the country, not hearing him roar any more, gathered around the Goat, and said: "_The wisdom of one doth save a host_." The Man and His Piece of Cloth A Man in the East, where they do not require as much clothing as in colder climates, gave up all worldly concerns and retired to a wood, where he built a hut and lived in it. His only clothing was a Piece of Cloth which he wore round his waist. But, as ill-luck would have it, rats were plentiful in the wood, so he had to keep a cat. The cat required milk to feed it, so a cow had to be kept. The cow required tending, so a cowboy was employed. The boy required a house to live in, so a house was built for him. To look after the house, a maid had to be engaged. To provide company for the maid, a few more houses had to be built, and people invited to live in them. In this manner a little township sprang up. The man said: "_The farther we seek to go from the world and its cares, the more they multiply!_" The Tiger, the Fox, and the Hunters A Fox was once caught in a trap. A hungry Tiger saw him and said, "So you are here!" "Only on your account," said the Fox, in a whisper. "How so?" said the Tiger. "Why, you were complaining you could not get men to eat, so I got into this net to-day, that you may have the men when they come to take me," said the Fox, and gave a hint that if the Tiger would wait a while in a thicket close by, he would point out the men to him. "May I depend upon your word?" said the Tiger. "Certainly," said the Fox. The hunters came, and, seeing the Fox in the net, said: "So you are here!" "Only on your account," said the Fox, in a whisper. "How so?" said the men. "Why, you were complaining you could not get at the Tiger that has been devouring your cattle. I got into this net to-day that you may have him. As I expected, he came to eat me up, and is in yonder thicket," said the Fox, and gave a hint that if they would take him out of the trap he would point out the Tiger. "May we depend upon your word?" said the men. "Certainly," said the Fox, while the men went with him in a circle to see that he did not escape. Then the Fox said to the Tiger and the men: "Sir Tiger, here are the men; gentlemen, here is the Tiger." The men left the Fox and turned to the Tiger. The former beat a hasty retreat to the wood, saying, "I have kept my promise to both; now you may settle it between yourselves." The Tiger exclaimed, when it was too late: "_Alas! what art for a double part?_" The Hare and the Pig A Hare and a Pig once agreed to leap over a ditch. The Hare went a great way, and fell into it, just short by an inch. The Pig went some way and fell into it; but far behind the Hare. Yet they were eager to know which of them leapt more, and was therefore the better animal. So they said to a Fox, who had been watching the race: "Will you tell us which of us is superior, and which inferior, in the race?" The Fox said: "_Both in the ditch: can't say which!_" The Peacock and the Fox A Fox, who had an eye on a Peacock, was one day standing in a field with his face turned up to the sky. "Reynard," said the Peacock, "what have you been doing?" "Oh, I have been counting the stars," said the Fox. "How many are they?" said the Peacock. "About as many as the fools on earth," said the Fox. "But which do you think is the greater, the number of the stars or of the fools?" asked the Peacock. "If you put it so, I should say the fools are more by one," said the Fox. "Who is that one?" said the Peacock. "Why, my own silly self!" said the Fox. "How are you silly, Reynard?" questioned the Peacock. "Why, was it not foolish of me to count the stars in the sky, when I could have counted the stars in your brilliant plumage to better advantage?" said the Fox. "No, Reynard," said the Peacock, "therein is not your folly--although there is neither wit nor wisdom in your prattle--but in the thought that your fine words would make an easy prey of me!" The Fox quietly left the place, saying: "_The Knave that hath been found out cannot have legs too quick_." The Tiger and the Giraffe A Tiger, named Old Guile, who had grown weak with age, was lying under a tree by the side of a lake in quest of some animal off which he could make a meal. A Giraffe, named Tall Stripes, who came to the lake to quench his thirst, attracted his attention, and Old Guile addressed him as follows: "Oh, what a happy day! I see there the son of my old friend Yellow Haunch, who lived in the great forest near that distant mountain." Tall Stripes was astonished to hear the words of Old Guile, and asked him how he, a Tiger, could be the friend of his father, a Giraffe. "I am not surprised at your question," replied Old Guile; "it is a truth known to very few indeed that the Tiger and the Giraffe belong to the same family. Just look at your skin and my own: yours is of a pale yellow colour, mine is very nearly the same; you have stripes, I have them, too. What more proofs do you want?" Tall Stripes, who was extremely simple and guileless, believed these words, and said: "I am very happy to know that my father was your friend, and that we are of the same family. Can I do anything for you?" Old Guile replied, "No, thank you; old as I am, I make it a point of relying on myself. Further, a great part of my time is spent in prayer and meditation; for I consider it necessary, at this age, to devote all my attention to spiritual things. It will, however, be a great gratification to me to have your company whenever you should chance to pass by this lake." Tall Stripes acceded to this request, and was about to go on his Way, when Old Guile observed; "My dear Tall Stripes, you are well aware of the instability of all earthly things. I am old and infirm, and who knows what may happen to me to-morrow. Perhaps I may not see you again; so let me do myself the pleasure of embracing you before you leave me for the present." "Certainly," said Tall Stripes. Thereupon Old Guile rose up slowly from his seat, like one devoid of all energy, and embracing him, plunged his deadly teeth into his long neck, and stretching him on the ground made a hearty breakfast on him. _Beware of the crafty professions of the wicked_. The Man of Luck and the Man of Pluck A King in the East said to his Minister; "Do you believe in luck?" "I do," said the Minister. "Can you prove it?" said the King. "Yes, I can," said the Minister. So one night he tied up to the ceiling of a room a parcel containing peas mixed with diamonds, and let in two men, one of whom believed in luck and the other in human effort alone. The former quietly laid himself down on the ground; the latter after a series of efforts reached the parcel, and feeling in the dark the peas and the stones, ate the former, one by one, and threw down the latter at his companion, saying, "Here are the stones for your idleness." The man below received them in his blanket. In the morning the king and the minister came to the room and bade each take to himself what he had got. The Man of Effort found he had nothing beyond the peas he had eaten. The Man of Luck quietly walked away with the diamonds. The Minister said to the King: "Sire, there is such a thing as luck; but it is as rare as peas mixed with diamonds. So I would say: '_Let none hope to live by luck_.'" The Fox and the Crabs One day a Fox seated himself on a stone by a stream and wept aloud. The Crabs in the holes around came up to him and said: "Friend, why are you wailing so loud?" "Alas!" said the Fox, "I have been turned by my kindred out of the wood, and do not know what to do." "Why were you turned out?" asked the Crabs in a tone of pity. "Because," said the Fox, sobbing, "they said they should go out to-night hunting Crabs by the stream, and I said it would be a pity to lull such pretty little creatures." "Where will you go hereafter?" said the Crabs. "Where I can get work," said the Fox; "for I would not go to my kindred again, come what would." Then the Crabs held a meeting, and came to the conclusion that, as the Fox had been thrown out by his kindred on their account, they could do nothing better than engage his services to defend them. So they told the Fox of their intention. He readily consented, and spent the whole day in amusing the Crabs with all kinds of tricks. Night came. The moon rose in full splendour. The Fox said: "Have you ever been out for a walk in the moonlight?" "Never, friend," said the Crabs; "we are such little creatures that we are afraid of going far from our holes." "Oh, never mind!" said the Fox; "follow me! I can defend you against any foe." So the Crabs followed him with pleasure. On the way the Fox told them all sorts of delightful things, and cheered them on most heartily. Having thus gone some distance, they reached a plain, where the Fox came to a stand, and made a low moan in the direction of an adjacent wood. Instantly a number of foxes came out of the wood and joined their kinsman, and all of them at once set about hunting the poor Crabs, who fled in all directions for their lives, but were soon caught and devoured. When the banquet was over, the Foxes said to their friend: "How great thy skill and cunning!" The heartless villain replied, with a wink: "My friends, _There is cunning in cunning_." The Camel and the Pig A Camel said: "Nothing like being tall! Look how tall I am!" A Pig, who heard these words, said: "Nothing like being short! Look how short I am!" The Camel said: "Well, if I fail to prove the truth of what I said, I shall give up my hump." The Pig said: "If I fail to prove the truth of what I have said, I shall give up my snout." "Agreed!" said the Camel. "Just so!" said the Pig. They came to a garden, enclosed by a low wall without any opening. The Camel stood on this side the wall, and reaching the plants within by means of his long neck made a breakfast on them. Then he turned jeeringly to the Pig, who had been standing at the bottom of the wall without even a look at the good things in the garden, and said: "Now, would you be tall, or short?" Next they came to a garden, enclosed by a high wall, with a wicket gate at one end. The Pig entered by the gate and, after having eaten his fill of the vegetables within, came out, laughing at the poor Camel, who had had to stay outside, because he was too tall to enter the garden by the gate, and said: "Now, would you be tall, or short?" Then they thought the matter over, and came to the conclusion that the Camel should keep his hump and the Pig his snout, observing: "_Tall is good, where tall would do; if short, again, 'tis also true!_" MALAYAN FABLES "He who is not possessed of such a book as will dispel many doubts, point out hidden treasures, and is, as it were, a mirror of all things, is even an ignorant man." MALAYAN FABLES Father "Lime-stick" and the Flower-pecker Old Father Lime-stick once limed a tree for birds and caught a Flower-pecker. He was just about to kill and eat it when the bird cried out, "O Grandfather, surely you are not going to eat me? Why, flesh, feathers and all, I am no bigger than your thumb!" "What!" said the old man; "do you expect me then to let you go?" "Yes," said the bird, "only let me go, and I will fetch you such a talisman as never was--a Bezoar-stone as big as a cocoanut and worth at least a thousand." Said the old man, "Do you really mean it?" "Really, I do," replied the bird. "Just let me go, and I'll bring it to you." Then, on being released, he flew off and perched on a tree, and began to preen his feathers, to get rid of the bird-lime. Presently the old man said: "Where has that bird got to? Bird, where is the Bezoar-stone you promised to bring me, the one that was worth at least a thousand?" "Out-on-you," was the reply, "this is really _too_ ridiculous. Just think of me, with my body as big as your thumb, carrying a Bezoar-stone as big as a cocoanut! It really is too absurd. Why, have I even got the strength to lift it?" At this the old man held his peace. "Well," continued the bird, "you will gain nothing by repenting that you set me free. Only remember in future not to undertake an affair quite out of keeping with your own powers. Neither try to get your arms round a tree too big for your embrace, nor attempt to climb one higher than your strength permits you." The Mouse-deer's Shipwreck "Come," said the Mouse-deer to the Stump-tailed Heron, "come and sail with me to Java." So they set sail, and Friend Mouse-deer held the tiller and Friend Heron spread the sail, and the wind blew from the north. Soon however Friend Mouse-deer got drowsy, and let the boat fall out of the wind. At this Friend Heron said: "Why does the boat fall off? How is your helm, Friend Mouse-deer?" "I was only taking a few winks," said he. "Bring her up to the wind again," said the Heron. And the Mouse-deer replied: "All right, I'm 'on the spot.'" Presently, however, he dozed again and the Heron exclaimed: "Oh, if that's to be it, you may die and be done with. I'll peck a hole in this boat of ours and you'll go to the bottom." But the Mouse-deer said: "_Please_ don't, I'm _such_ a bad hand at swimming." So they sailed on. And the Mouse-deer dozed a third time. At this the Heron could contain himself no longer, and said, "Confound you, Friend Mouse-deer, for sleeping at the helm." And losing his temper he pecked a hole in the boat, and the boat let in the water and Friend Heron flew away. But the Mouse-deer swam struggling with his feet in the midst of the sea. Presently there came up a young Shark who exclaimed, "I'll have a meal off you this time at all events." But the Mouse-deer answered, "What, Friend Shark, you'll make a meal off me? Why, in place of the little flesh I've got, if you'll carry me ashore, I'll teach you some excellent Magic which will save you from ever having to hunt for your food again." To this the Shark replied, "Agreed. If you'll teach me 'your excellent Magic' I'll carry you ashore." So the Mouse-deer got upon Friend Shark's back, and was carried straight ashore. And on their arrival the Mouse-deer said: "Wait here a bit, while I go and get the simples." And going a-land he hunted up a rattan creeper and took it back with him and said: "Now I'll give you the simples I spoke of," and bound it fast to Friend Shark's tail. And presently the Shark said: "Why have you made the line fast to my tail?" But the Mouse-deer replied: "'Keep quite quiet till I have tied you up properly, and then I'll give you the simples." But presently he dragged the Shark up on to the dry beach, and made butcher's meat of him. Just then, however, a Tiger came up, exclaiming, "Here's really a good meal for Me, for once in a way!" To this, however, the Mouse-deer replied: "What is the use of eating me, when there's already plenty of butcher's meat and to spare?" "Very well, I'll share it with you," said the Tiger. The Mouse-deer replied, "You may share it with me by all means, if you will only go and get some water to do the cooking." So the Tiger went off to get water and presently came back with it. "Wash the meat before you roast it," said the Mouse-deer. The Tiger took the meat and washed it in the water. "Go and fetch fire and roast it," said the Mouse-deer. The Tiger fetched fire and came back to do the cooking. And when the meat was done, "Now go and fetch some drinking water," said the Mouse-deer, "and we'll have our meal together." So the Tiger went off again to fetch the drinking water. But the Mouse-deer in the meantime made off with the Shark's meat and climbed up with it to the top of a She-oak Tree. And presently the Tiger came back and found both Mouse-deer and meat missing. At this he exclaimed: "For once in a way, Mr. Mouse-deer, you've fairly cheated Me; if we don't meet again no matter, but if we do, I'll be the death of you." And here the story ends. The Tiger Gets His Deserts A Tiger which had been caught in a trap, seeing a man, begged to be released. The man said to the Tiger: "If I let you out of the trap will you promise not to attack me?" "Certainly," said the Tiger, and the man therefore let the Tiger go; but the moment the Tiger was loose it sprang upon the man and caught him. At this the man begged the Tiger to wait until he had inquired how the law stood with reference to their contract, and the Tiger agreed to do so. The man and the Tiger therefore set out together; and on coming to a Road the man said: "O Road, Road, is it lawful to requite evil for good, or good for good only?" The Road replied: "I do good to mankind, but they requite me with evil, defiling my surface as they go." Then they came to a Tree, of which the man asked the same question. The Tree replied: "I do good to mankind, but they requite me with evil, lopping off my branches and cutting me down." At last they came to the Mouse-deer and the man made the same inquiry as before. The Mouse-deer replied: "I must really go into the question thoroughly before I answer it; let us go back together to the trap." On reaching the trap, he requested the Tiger to "Step inside," and the Tiger entering the trap, the Mouse-deer let down the door of the trap, and exclaimed, "Accursed Brute, you have returned evil for good and now you shall die for it." He then called in the neighbours and had the Tiger killed. The Tune That Makes the Tiger Drowsy There is a tune which when played upon the "Kerotong" (a two-stringed bamboo harp) makes Rimau the Tiger drowsy, but only a few old people know it. One evening two men were sitting together and playing in a hut in the jungle when two tigers overheard them. The Tigers took counsel together, and one of them said to the other, "You shall be the first to go into the house. Whatever you seize shall therefore be your portion, but Whatever plunges down the steps to escape shall be mine." At this the second Tiger ascended the house-ladder and was just crouching upon the topmost rung when one of the men to amuse himself commenced to play the Tune that makes the Tiger drowsy. As soon as the Tiger heard it he began to grow sleepy, and presently fell plump down the steps to the ground, where he was seized by his companion. When he objected his companion exclaimed, "Did we not agree that Whatever plunged down the steps was to be my portion?" and, so saying, he proceeded to devour him at his leisure. The Tiger and the Shadow There was a "salt-lick" in the jungle to which all the beasts of the forest resorted, but they were greatly afraid by reason of an old Tiger which killed one of them every day. At length, therefore, P'lando' the Mouse-deer said to the Tiger, "Why not permit me to bring you a beast every day, to save you from hunting for your food?" The Tiger consented and P'lando' went off to make arrangement with the beasts. But he could not persuade any of them to go, and after three days he set off, taking nobody with him but Kuwis the smallest of the Flying Squirrels. On their arrival P'lando' said to the Tiger: "I could not bring you any of the other beasts because the way was blocked by a fat old Tiger with a Flying Squirrel sitting astride its muzzle." On hearing this the Tiger exclaimed, "Let us go and find it and drive it away." The three therefore set out, the Flying Squirrel perched upon the Tiger's muzzle and the Mouse-deer sitting astride upon its hind quarters. On reaching the river, the Mouse-deer pointed to the Tiger's likeness in the water and exclaimed, "Look there! That is the fat old Tiger that I saw." On hearing this, the Tiger sprang into the river to attack his own shadow, and was drowned immediately. The King-crow and the Water-snail A Water-snail was coming up-stream from the lower reaches, when a King-crow heard it. Said the King-crow to himself: "Who can it be coming up-stream that exclaims so loudly at the rapids? One might say it was a man, but that there is nothing to be seen." So the King-crow settled on a tree to watch, but as he could see nothing from his perch on the tree he flew down to the ground, and walked along by the water-side. And when he thought to see some man exclaiming, he caught sight of the Water-snail. "Hullo, you there," said he, "where do you come from?" "I come from the eddy below the rapids," said the Water-snail, "and I only want to get as far as the head-waters of this river." Said the King-crow: "Wait a bit. Suppose you go down to the river-mouth as quickly as you can and we will have a wager on it." (Now rivers are the Water-snail's domain, in which he has many comrades.) "What is to be the stake?" asked the Water-snail. "If I am beaten I will be your slave, and look after your aroids and wild caladiums on which all Water-snails feed." Then the King-crow asked: "And what will you stake?" The Water-snail replied, "If I am beaten, the river shall be handed over to you and you shall be King of the River." But the Water-snail begged for a delay of twice seven days, saying that he felt knocked up after ascending the rapids, and the delay was granted accordingly. Meanwhile, however, the Water-snail hunted up a great number of his friends and instructed them to conceal themselves in each of the higher reaches of the river, and to reply immediately when the King-crow challenged them. The day arrived, and the King-crow flew off, and in each of the higher reaches the Water-snail's friends replied to the challenge, while at the river-mouth the Water-snail replied in person. So the King-crow was defeated and has ever since remained the slave of the Water-snail. The Elephant Has a Bet with the Tiger In the beginning Gajah the Elephant and Rimau the Tiger were sworn friends. But one day they came to a clearing and presently encountered Lotong, the long-tailed Spectacle-monkey. And when he saw the Monkey, the Elephant said, "Mr. Lotong yonder is far too noisy; let us try and shake him off; if he falls to me I am to eat you; and if he falls to you, you are to eat me--we will make a wager of it." The Tiger said, "Agreed"; and the Elephant replied, "Agreed." "Very well!" said the Tiger; "you shall try and menace him first." So the Elephant tried to menace the Monkey. "AU! AU! AU!" he trumpeted, and each time he trumpeted the Monkey was scared. But the Monkey went jumping head foremost through the branches and never fell to the ground at all. Presently, therefore, the Tiger asked the Elephant, "Well, Friend Elephant, would you like to try your luck again?" But the Elephant said, "No, thank you. It shall be your turn now; and if he falls to you, you shall eat me--if you really can make him fall!" Then the Tiger went and roared his longest and loudest, and shortened his body as for a spring and growled and menaced the Monkey thrice. And the Monkey leaped and fell at the Tiger's feet, for his feet and hands were paralyzed and would not grip the branches any more. Then the Tiger said: "Well, Friend Elephant, I suppose I may eat you now." But the Elephant said: "You have, I admit, won the wager; but I beg you to grant me just seven days' respite, to enable me to visit my wife and children and to make my will." The Tiger granted the request, and the Elephant went home, bellowing and sobbing every foot of the way. Now the Elephant's wife heard the sound of her husband's voice, and said to her children, "What can be the matter with your Father that he keeps sobbing so?" And the children listened to make sure, and said, "Yes, it really is Father's voice, the sobbing, and not that of anybody else." Presently Father Elephant arrived, and Mother Elephant asked: "What were you sobbing for, Father? What have you done to yourself?" Father Elephant replied: "I made a wager with Friend Tiger about shaking down a Monkey, and Friend Tiger beat me; I menaced the Monkey, but he did not fall; if he had fallen to me, I was to have eaten Friend Tiger, but if he fell to Friend Tiger, Friend Tiger was to eat me. I was beaten, and now Friend Tiger says he is going to eat me. So I begged leave to come home and see you, and he has given me just seven days' respite." Now for the seven days Father Elephant kept sobbing aloud, and neither ate nor slept. And the thing came to the hearing of Friend Mouse-deer. "What can be the matter with Friend Elephant that he keeps bellowing and bellowing; neither does he sleep, so that night is turned into day, and day into night? What on earth is the matter with him? Suppose I go and see," said the Mouse-deer. Then the Mouse-deer went to see what was wrong, and asked: "What is the matter with you, Friend Elephant, that we hear you bellowing and bellowing every single day and every single night, just now, too, when the Rains are upon us? You are far too noisy." But the Elephant said: "It is no mere empty noise, Friend Mouse-deer; I have got into a dreadful scrape." "What sort of a scrape?" inquired the Mouse-deer. "I made a wager with Friend Tiger about shaking down a Monkey, and he beat me." "What was the stake?" asked the Mouse-deer. "The stake was that Friend Tiger might eat me if Friend Tiger frightened it down; and if I frightened it down, I might eat Friend Tiger. It fell to Friend Tiger, and now Friend Tiger wants to eat me. And my reason for not eating or sleeping any more is that I have got only just seven days' respite to go home and visit my wife and children and to make my will." Then the Mouse-deer said: "If it came to Friend Tiger's eating you, I should feel exceedingly sorrowful, exceedingly distressed; but things being only as you say, I feel neither." "If you will assist me," said the Elephant, "I will become your slave, and my descendants shall be your slaves forever." "Very well, it that is the case, I will assist you," said the Mouse-deer. "Go and look for a jar full of molasses." Friend Elephant promised to do so, and went to look for it at the house of a maker of palm-wine. The owner of the house fled for his life, and the jar fell into Friend Elephant's possession, who bore it back to the Mouse-deer. Then Friend Mouse-deer said, "When does your promise expire?" and Friend Elephant replied, "To-morrow." So when next morning arrived they started, and the Mouse-deer said, "Now pour the molasses over your back and let it spread and spread and run down your legs." Friend Elephant did as he was ordered. Friend Mouse-deer then instructed the Elephant as follows: "As soon as I begin to lick up the molasses on your back, bellow as loud as you can and make believe to be hurt, and writhe and wriggle this way and that." And presently Friend Mouse-deer commenced to lick hard, and Friend Elephant writhed and wriggled and made believe to be hurt, and made a prodigious noise of trumpeting. In this way they proceeded and Friend Mouse-deer got up and sat astride upon Friend Elephant's back. And the Elephant trumpeted and trumpeted all the way till they met with Friend Tiger. At this Friend Mouse-deer exclaimed, "A single Elephant is very short commons; if I could only catch that big and fat old Tiger there, it would be just enough to satisfy my hunger." Now when Friend Tiger heard these words of the Mouse-deer, he said to himself, "So I suppose if you catch me, you'll eat me into the bargain, will you?" And Friend Tiger stayed not a moment longer, but fled for his life, fetching very lofty bounds. And soon he met with the Black Ape, and Friend Ape asked, "Why running so hard, Friend Tiger? Why so much noise, and why, just when the Rains are upon us, too, do you go fetching such lofty bounds?" Friend Tiger replied, "What do you mean by 'so much noise'? What was the Thing that was got upon Friend Elephant's back, that had caught Friend Elephant and was devouring him so that he went writhing and wriggling for the pain of it, and the blood went streaming down in floods? Moreover the Thing that was got on Friend Elephant's back said, to my hearing, that a single Elephant was very short commons: but if It could catch a fat old Tiger like myself that would be just enough to satisfy Its hunger." Friend Ape said, "What was that Thing, Friend Tiger?" "I don't know," said the Tiger. "Ah," mused the Ape, "I wonder if it _could_ be Friend Mouse-deer!" "Certainly not," said the Tiger; "why, how in the world could Friend Mouse-deer swallow _Me_? To say nothing of his not being used to meat food." "Come and let us go back again," said the Ape. Then they went back again to find the Elephant, and first the Ape went the faster, and then the Tiger went the faster, and then the Ape got in front again. But Friend Mouse-deer sitting on Friend Elephant's back saw them coming and shouted. "Hullo, Father Ape," said he, "this is a dog's trick indeed; you promised to bring me two tigers and you only bring me one. I refuse to accept it, Father Ape." Now when Friend Tiger heard this, he ran off at first as fast as he could, but presently he slackened his pace and said, "It is too bad of you, Friend Ape, to try to cozen me in order to pay your own debts. For shame, Father Ape! It was only through good luck that he refused to accept me; if he had accepted, I should have been dead and done with. So now, if you come down to the ground, you shall die the death yourself, just for your trying to cheat me." Thus the Tiger and the Ape were set at enmity, and to this day the Tiger is very wroth with the Ape for trying to cheat him. And here the story ends. MOORISH FABLES "While watching man in all his phases, And seeing that, in many cases, He acts just like the brute creation-- I've thought the lord of all these races Of no less failings showed the traces Than do his lieges in relation." MOORISH FABLES The Wagtail and the Jackal At a time when the animals spoke, a Wagtail laid her eggs on the ground. The little ones grew up. A Jackal and a Fox came to them. The Jackal said to the Fox: "Swear to me that the Wagtail owes me a pound of butter." The Fox swore to it. The Bird began to weep. A Greyhound came to her and asked her what was the matter. She answered him: "The Fox has calumniated me." "Well," said the Hound, "put me in this sack of skin." She put him in the sack. "Tie up the top well," said the Hound. When the Jackal returned she said to him, "Come and measure out the butter." The Jackal advanced and unfastened the sack. He saw the Hound, who stretched out his paws and said to the Fox, "I am ill; come and measure, Fox." The Fox approached. The Hound seized him. The Jackal said: "Remember your false testimony." The Wren A Wren had built its nest on the side of a road. When the eggs were hatched, a Camel passed that way. The little Wrens saw it and said to their father when he returned from the fields: "O papa, a gigantic animal passed by." The Wren stretched out his foot. "As big as this, my children?" "O papa, much bigger." He stretched out his foot and his wing. "As big as this?" "O papa, much bigger." Finally he stretched out fully his feet and legs. "As big as this then?" "Much bigger." "That is a lie; there is no animal bigger than I am." "Well, wait," said the little ones, "and you will see." The Camel came back while browsing the grass of the roadside. The Wren stretched himself out near the nest. The Camel seized the bird, which passed through its teeth safe and sound. "Truly," he said to them, "the Camel is a gigantic animal, but I am not ashamed of myself." On the earth it generally happens that the vain are as if they did not exist; but sooner or later a rock falls and crushes them. Mule, Jackal, and Lion The Mule, the Jackal, and the Lion went in company. "We will eat the one whose race is bad," they said to each other. "Lion, who is your father?" "My father is a lion, and my mother is a lioness." "And you, Jackal, what is your father?" "My father is a jackal, and my mother too." "And you, Mule, what is your father?" "My father is an ass, and my mother is a mare." "Your race is bad; we will eat you." He answered them: "I will consult an old man. If he says that my race is bad, you may devour me." He went to a farrier, and said to him, "Shoe my hind feet, and make the nails stick out well." He went back home. He called the Camel and showed him his feet, saying, "See what is written on this tablet." "The writing is difficult to decipher," answered the Camel. "I do not understand it, for I only know three words--_outini_, _ouzatini_, _ouazakin_." He called the Lion, and said to him, "I do not understand these letters; I only know three words--_outini_, _ouzatini_, _ouazakin_." "Show it to me," said the Lion. He approached. The Mule struck him between the eyes and stretched him out level. He who goes with a knave is betrayed by him. AFRICAN FABLES "The world is old, they say; I don't deny it; But, infant still In taste and will, Whoe'er would teach, must gratify it." AFRICAN FABLES The Hen and the Cat A Cat arose in her house, went to a Hen and said to her: "Let us make friendship!" The Hen replied to the Cat: "Dost thou like me for a friend?" The Cat said, "Yes," and went away, and after having been at home for a while, she sent her child to the Hen, saying, "Go and tell the Hen to rise up early to-morrow morning, and to come and accompany me to a neighbouring town." The child arose, went to the Hen's house and saluted her. The Hen arose, and asked it: "Thou child of the Cat, dost thou come to me in peace?" The Cat's child replied, "I come in peace; my mother has sent me to thee." The Hen said to the Cat's child, "Say what thy mother has sent thee for; let me know." After the Cat's child had told it to the Hen, it said: "I will go," and set out and went home. When it was gone the Hen arose, called a child of hers, and said: "Go and ask the Cat at what time we shall go to the neighbouring town?" When the child had already started, she called it back again, saying, "Come back, I will tell thee something." The child returned, and when it had come to its mother, she said to it, "When thou goest to the Cat, open thy ears and hear well what she says, and come and tell me." The child went to the Cat, and saluted her, and when the Cat arose and came out to it, the Hen's child was standing there. The Cat asked the Hen's child, "Why did thy mother send thee to me?" The Hen's child said, "My mother said I must come and ask thee how early shall we go to the neighbouring town?" The Cat said to the Hen's child, "Go and tell thy mother to arise and come at the cockcrowing; for what should eat her?" The Hen's child returned to its mother, and said to her, "Behold I went to the Cat's place where thou sentest me, and am come back." The Hen said to her child, "What did the Cat say? Let me hear what word she spoke?" Her child answered and said to her, "My mother, the word which the Cat spoke is this: 'Go and tell thy mother to come to me when the cock crows, that we may go; for what should eat her?'" Its mother, the Hen, said to her child, "My child, lie down in your house, for I have heard what the Cat said." The child of the Hen obeyed her mother, went and lay down, and also her mother lay down. They slept their sleep until the cock crew, which when the Cat heard, she arose, got ready and waited for the Hen, thinking, "May she come that we may go!" The cock crew the second time, and the Cat looked out on the way whence the Hen was to come, thinking, "May she come that we may go!" The Hen did not get up at home and day came on. When it became day, the Cat arose in her house, went to the Hen's home, and said to her, "Hen, thou sentest thy child to me, and asked at what time thou shouldst rise up, and I said to thy child, 'Go and tell thy mother to come when the cock crows, that we may go.' Did it not tell thee what it was told by me, that thou art still sitting at home although it has become day?" The Hen said to the Cat, "Sister Cat, if thou wishest to have me for a friend, I must never get up in my house and come out at night." The Cat said to the Hen, "What art thou afraid of that thou sayest, 'I will never come out at night'? What is there in the way?" The Hen listened to what the Cat said, got herself ready and called her children, saying, "Come and let us accompany the Cat to a neighbouring town!" All the children arose and when they had set out on their way, the Cat went before, and having gone on a little, she seized two of the children of the Hen; and the Hen saw that the cat was seizing two of her children; so she said to the Cat, "Sister Cat, we have scarcely set out on our way and dost thou seize two of my children?" The Cat replied, "Thy two children which I took have not strength enough to walk; therefore did I take them to my bosom that we may go on." The Hen said to the Cat, "If thou actest thus, I and thou must dissolve our friendship." The Cat replied, "If thou wilt not have a friend, I shall let thee go home." So, as the Hen began to go home, the Cat made a bound, and seized the Hen's head, whereupon the Hen cried for help. All the people of the town heard her, arose, ran, and when they were come, the Cat was holding the Hen's head tight. When the Cat saw the people of the town, she left the Hen, ran away, and entered the forest. There the Hen was standing and the people of the town said to her: "Foolish one, didst thou, a Hen, arise and go to befriend a Cat? If we had not heard thy screams, and come to thee, she would have killed thee and carried away all thy children into her forest." The Hen said to the people of the town: "God bless you: you have taken me out of the Cat's mouth." The people of the town said to her: "To-day our Lord has delivered thee, but for the future do thou no more make friendship with the Cat. The Cat is too cunning for thee: beware of the Cat in future!" I have heard old people say, that on that day the cats and the fowls dissolved their friendship. This is finished. The Stork and the Toad A Stork went and laid eggs in a tree, brooded and hatched young ones. Then she left and went to seek food for her little ones; but she did not get any food, and all her little ones were crying for hunger. The Stork did not know what to do. So she arose one day, went to her friend, and said, "My friend, I am come to thee." Her friend said: "What dost thou want that thou art come to me?" She replied to her friend: "My children are hungry, and I have no food; therefore, am I come to thee; teach me a device!" Her friend said to her: "Arise in the morning, go to the brook, and see whether there are Toads in it; then come back, and on the following morning go again, and lie down by the side of the brook; stretch out thy legs and thy wings, shut thine eyes, keep quite silent, and lie in one place until the Toads come out in the morning, and, after seeing thee, go home and call all their people to come, to take thee by the wing and to drag thee away. But do not thou speak to them--be perfectly quiet." She listened to what her friend said, and at night-quiet she arose, and went to the brook, when all the Toads were singing; but as soon as they saw her, they went and hid themselves at the bottom of the water. So the Stork went home and slept, and having slept she arose up early and went back again to the brook, without being observed by the Toads; she went softly, and lay down by the side of the water, pretending to be dead, stretched out her legs, her wings, and her mouth, and shut her eyes. Thus she lay, until at break of day when one Toad arose, and, finding that it was day, came forth and saw the Stork lying. He went back, and called all the Toads: "Come, behold, I have seen something dead, lying at the door of our house, and when I had seen it I came back to call you." So all the Toads arose and followed him, and having come out, they all saw a Stork lying at the door of their house; but they did not know that the Stork was more cunning than themselves. They returned home, called a council together and said: "What shall we do? Some one who came, we do not know whence, has died before the gate of our town." All their great men answered, and said, "Arise all of you, go out, drag this dead body far away, and leave it there." So they all arose, went, and, taking the Stork by its wings and legs, dragged it away. The Stork was cunning; she saw them without their knowing it. They sang, as they dragged her away: "Drag her and leave her! Drag her and leave her!" The Stork did not speak to them, as they all dragged her away, although she saw them. Now when they had carried her far away, the Stork opened her eyes, which when they saw they all began to run away. As soon as the Stork saw that the Toads had begun to run away, she arose, and pursued them; having overtaken one, she took and swallowed it, and went on taking and swallowing them. The Toads kept running, but by the time they would have got home the Stork had swallowed them all, one by one. She had filled her bag, and then started on her way home. As soon as her children saw her, they all ran to their mother, saying, "Our mother has brought us food." When they came their mother threw all the Toads in her bag down to her children, and her children ate them, so that their hunger was appeased. The Stork arose, went to her friend, and said: "My friend, what thou toldest me yesterday is excellent: I went and lay down by the side of the brook, and when the Toads saw me in the morning, they thought I was dead; they came, dragged me along, and when they had carried me far away, not knowing that I was wiser than they and thinking that I was dead, I opened mine eyes to look at them; but on seeing me open mine eyes, they all began to run away. Then I arose, pursued them, and when I had overtaken one, I took and swallowed it; and when I had overtaken a second I took and swallowed it; so by the time they would have reached home I had swallowed them all, and filled my bag with them. I brought them to my children, and when my children were around me, I threw the Toads before them out of the bag and they ate them, that their hunger was appeased." She also thanked her friend, saying: "God bless thee; thou hast taught me an excellent device." Thus the Stork and her friend devised a plan, and thus they were able to maintain their children while the Toads were sitting in their house. So now, when the Toads are croaking in a brook, and they see any one come, they are all quite silent, supposing that a Stork is coming. This fable of the Stork and Toads, which I heard, is now finished. The Rat and the Toad The Toad said to the Rat, "I can do more than thou." The Rat replied to the Toad: "Thou dost not know how to run; having flung thyself anywhere thou stoppest there. This is all thy run; and wilt thou say that thou canst do more than I?" When the Toad had heard the words of the Rat he said to him: "If, according to thy opinion, I cannot do more than thou, thou shalt see what I will begin to do to-morrow; and if thou beginnest and doest the same, without anything happening to thee, thou canst do more than I." The Rat agreed to the Toad's proposal, and went to see the Toad. The Toad prepared himself, and when the sun reached about the middle, between the horizon and the zenith, the great men felt its heat, and went to sit down in the shade of a tree. The Toad on seeing this, arose, went to where the men were sitting, and passed through the midst of them. When the men observed him they said: "If you touch him, your hand will become bitter." So no one touched him, and the Toad passed through and went home. Then the Toad said to the Rat, "Didst thou see me? Now if thou canst do what I do, arise, and begin to do it. I will see!" The Rat, attending to what the toad said, got ready and the following morning, when the sun had gained strength and the great men had stood up and got under the shade of a tree, the Rat saw them sitting there, and went to do what the Toad had done; but when he came to where the men were sitting, and just went to pass through the midst of them, they saw him, and they all took sticks, and sought to kill him: one man attempting to kill him with a stick, struck at him, but did not hit him well, the stick touching him only a little on the back; so he ran away to the Toad. On his arrival the Rat said to the Toad: "Brother Toad, as thou wentest to where the people were sitting no one said a word to thee, and thou camest home again with a sound skin; but when I went, and they saw me, just as I went to pass through them they all took sticks, and sought to kill me; and one man taking a stick and striking at me to kill me, our Lord helped me, that the stick hit me only a little on the back; so I ran away, and came to thee. I disputed with thee, thinking that I could do what thou doest: now to-day I have experienced something; to-morrow let us begin again and when I have the experience of to-morrow, I shall be able to give thee an answer." The Toad said to the Rat: "The things of today are passed; to-morrow, when the great men have gone and sat down under the tree, I will get ready and when thou hast seen that, on observing me come to them and pass through the midst of them, they will not say a word to me, thou also shalt do what I did." So the Rat then went to see the Toad. As soon as the Toad saw the great men sitting under the tree, he again began, saying to the Rat, "Look at me, as I go to the place where the great men are sitting, with a sound skin: but if, on my return from them, if thou seest the wale of a stick on any part of my body, thou hast spoken the truth, and canst do more than I." The Toad got ready, and on coming to where the men were sitting no one said anything to him; so he passed through the midst of them, and went again to the Rat, saying: "Look at me! Look at my whole body! Canst thou see the wale of a stick? If thou seest one, then tell me of it!" When the Rat had looked at the Toad's whole body and not seen any wale of a stick he said to the Toad: "Brother Toad, I have looked at thy whole body, and not seen any wale of a stick: thou art right." The Toad said to the Rat. "As thou disputest with me, and maintainest that thou canst do what I do, get up again, and go to where the great men are sitting; and if on seeing thee, these men do not say anything to thee, so that I see thee come back to me again with a sound skin, then I know that thou canst do more than I." The Rat, attending to what the Toad said, arose, got himself ready, and when he saw the great men sitting under the tree, he went toward them; but on observing him, they said: "Here comes a Rat," and they every one took a stick, and pursued him in order to kill him; so he ran away, and as he ran, a man with a stick pursued him; saying, "I will not let this Rat escape." The Rat ran until his strength failed him. The man pursued him with his stick, to kill him; and having come near to him, he took his stick, and struck at him, with the purpose of killing him; but the stick did not hit him, and God saved him, his time being not yet arrived, by showing him a hole into which he crept. When the man saw that he had gotten into the hole, he went back and returned home. The Rat, on seeing that the man had gone home, came again out of the hole, and went to the Toad, saying to him: "Brother Toad, I indeed at first disputed with thee, saying that I could do more than thou; but, as for my disputing with thee, thou in truth canst do more than I: when the people saw thee, they did not say a word to thee, but when they saw me, they wished to kill me; if our Lord had not helped me and showed me a hole, they, on seeing me, would not have left, but killed me; thou surpassest me in greatness." At that time the Rat entreated our Lord and he placed it in a hole, but the Toad he placed in the open air. The Rat does not come out by day, before any one; as to the time when it comes out at night, it stretches its head out of the hole, and when it does not see anybody it comes out to seek its food. As for the Toad, it comes out by day and by night, at any time, whenever it likes; it comes out and goes about, not anything likes to molest it; it is bitter, no one eats it on account of its bitterness; the Toad is left alone; therefore it goes about wherever it likes. The Rat does not come out of its hole and walk about except at night. What the Toad and the Rat did, this I heard, and have told to thee. This fable of the Toad and the Rat is now finished. The Lion and the Wild Dog The Lion said to the Wild Dog that he did not fear any one in the forest except these four, viz., tree-leaves, grass, flies, and earth, and when the Wild Dog said, "There is certainly one stronger than thou," the Lion replied to the Wild Dog, "I kill the young ones of the elephant, the wild cow, and the leopard, and bring them to my children to be eaten. If I give one roar, all the beasts of the forest tremble, every one of them, on hearing me roar; none is greater than I within this forest." The Wild Dog said to the Lion, "As thou sayest that thou fearest not any one in this forest, so let us go and show me thy house; and I will come and call thee, in order to show thee a place where a black bird comes to eat, as soon as I shall see him again." The Lion took the Wild Dog with him and showed him his house; and then the Wild Dog went home. The next day, when a hunter was come to the forest the Wild Dog, on seeing him, went to the Lion's house, and said to the Lion: "Brother Lion, come, and follow me, and I will show thee something which I have seen." The Lion arose and followed the Wild Dog, and when they were come to where the hunter was, the hunter prepared himself: he had put on his forest garment, had sewn the bill of a long bird to his cap, and put it on his head, and he walked as a bird. The Wild Dog, seeing him, said to the Lion: "Brother Lion, yonder is that black bird. Go and catch him, and when thou hast caught him, please give me one of his legs, for I want it for a charm." The Lion attended to what the Wild Dog said, and went softly to where the bird was; but the Wild Dog ran back. The Lion went, thinking, "I will kill the bird," but he did not know that on seeing him the hunter had prepared himself, and taken out his arrow; so, as he thought, "I will go and seize the bird," and was come close to the hunter, the hunter shot an arrow at the Lion and hit him. Then the Lion fell back, and having got up and fallen down three times, the arrow took effect and he felt giddy. In the same moment the hunter had disappeared[1] so that he saw him no more. Then the Lion recovered his courage and went very gently home. On his arrival at home the Wild Dog said to him: "Brother Lion, as thou saidst to me that thou art not afraid of any one in the world except our Lord, tree-leaves, grass, flies, and dirt, why didst thou not catch that black bird which I showed thee, and bring it to thy children?" The Lion replied, "This man's strength is greater than mine." Then the Wild Dog said again, "Thou saidst that thou fearest no one, except grass, flies, earth and tree-leaves; thou fearest, lest when thou enterest the forest, the leaves of trees should touch thee, or lest grass should touch thy body, or lest flies should sit on thy skin; thou also fearest to lie upon the bare earth, and thou fearest our Lord, who created thee: all these thou fearest, 'but not any other I fear within this forest,' thou saidst; and yet I showed thee a bird, the which thou couldst not kill, but thou leftest it, and rannest home; now tell me how this bird looks?" The Lion answered and said to the Wild Dog: "Wild Dog, what thou saidst is true, and I believe it; a black man is something to be feared; if we do not fear a black man neither shall we fear our Lord who created us." Now all the wild beasts which God has created hunt for their food in the forest, and eat it; but as soon as they see one black man standing, they do not stop and wait, but run away. Now the following beasts are dangerous in the forest: viz., the leopard, the lion, the wild cow, the wild dog and the hyena; but when they see a black man, they do not stop and wait. As for the dispute which the Lion and the Wild Dog had, the Wild Dog was right, and the Lion gave him his right; then they shook hands again, and each went and ran to his own home. This fable, which I heard, respecting the Wild Dog and the Lion, is now finished. [1]This refers to the universal belief that hunters are able to render themselves invisible, in moments of danger, by the operation of charms and witchcraft. How Sense Was Distributed In the beginning not one of all the beasts of the forest was endowed with sense: when they saw a hunter come to them intending to kill them, they stood and looked at the hunter, and so the hunter killed them; day after day he killed them. Then our Lord sent one who put all the sense into a bag, tied it, carried it, and put it down under a large tree. The Weasel saw the man put the bag down, and afterward went, called the Hare, and said to him: "Brother Hare, I saw a man put something down under a tree, but as I went to take it, I could not; so let us go and if thou wilt take it I will show it to thee that thou mayest do so." When the Weasel and the Hare had gone together to where the bag was, the Weasel said to the Hare, "Behold, here is the thing which I could not take and for which I called thee here." But as the Hare went and attempted to take it, he could not, so he left it and went away. When he was gone the Weasel went again to take hold of the bag, but as he attempted to take it, it was too heavy; so the Weasel did not know what to do. Then came a Pigeon, who sat upon a tree, and said something to the Weasel. The Weasel heard it say: "Lean it over and take it." And again, "Bend it and take it." As soon as he had heard this, he dragged the bag along and thus brought it and leaned it against a tree, and caused it to stand in an inclined position; then having gone to the bottom of it, he bowed down, put his head to the bag, and as he drew the bag toward him it went upon his head; this being done, he pressed himself upon the ground, rose up and stood there. After this he went his way home, and on putting the bag down upon the ground and untying it, the Weasel saw that there was no other thing in the bag, but pure sense. So he went and called the Hare again, and when the Hare was come, he said to him: "Brother Hare, there was not a single other thing in that bag but pure sense: God has loved us so that to-day we have obtained sense; but do not tell it to anybody, then I will give thee a little, and what remains I will hide in my hole until some one comes and begs of me, and then I will give him also a little." So he took one sense and gave to the Hare, saying, "If thou takest home this one sense, which I give thee, it will preserve thee. When thou sleepest by day open thy eyes; then if one comes to thee, thinking, 'I have got meat, I will take it,' and sees that thine eyes are open, he will think that thou art not asleep, will leave thee alone and go; but when thou goest and liest down without sleeping, then shut thine eyes, and if one sees thee, and sees that thine eyes are shut, when he comes close to thee, saying, 'I have got meat, I will take it,' then thou wilt see him, rise up and run away into thy forest. This one sense will be enough for thee; but what remains I will keep in mine own house." The Hare took his one sense and went home. Now if one sees a Hare lying with his eyes open, it sleeps, but if its eyes are closed it is awake, and does not sleep. By this one sense which it has got the Hare is preserved. The Weasel took all the sense that was left and hid it in his house. The Weasel surpasses all the beasts of the field in sense. When you see the Weasel, and say, "There the King of Sense has come out," and drive it before you, saying, "I will catch it," it runs into its hole; and if you begin to dig up the hole, it comes out behind you, and runs until you see it no more. This is why now if one sees a Weasel, one calls it "The King of Sense." Amongst all the beasts of the field he distributed sense only little by little, and this is what they now have. This word, showing how sense came abroad in the world, and the meaning of which I have heard, is now finished. What Employment Our Lord Gave to Insects All the Insects assembled and went to our Lord to seek employment. On their arrival they said to our Lord, "Thou hast given every one his work; now give us also a work to do, that we may have something to eat." Our Lord attended to the request of the Insects, and said to them, "Who will give notice that to-morrow all the Insects are to come?" The Merchant-insect arose and said to our Lord, "The Cricket can give notice well." So our Lord called the Cricket and said to him when he was come, "Go and give notice this evening, when the sun has set, that to-morrow morning all the Insects are to come to me, for I wish to see them." The Cricket, obeying our Lord's command, went back to his house, waited until evening, until the sun set, and as soon as he had seen the setting of the sun, he prepared and arose to give notice. So when the Cricket had given notice until midnight, our Lord sent a man to him saying: "Go and tell the Cricket, that there has been much notice, and that it is now enough; else he will have the headache." But the Cricket would not hear, he said: "If I am out they will see me." So he went into his hole, stretched only his head out, and began to give notice. The Cricket went on giving notice until the day dawned; but when it was day he became silent and stopped giving notice. Then all the Insects arose and went to the prayer-place of our Lord, the Merchant alone being left behind. To all the Insects who came first, our Lord gave their employment, which they all took and went home. Afterward also the Merchant-insect went to our Lord, and our Lord said to him: "To all thy people who came before, I have given their work, and they are gone; now what kept thee back that thou camest to me last?" The Merchant-insect replied to our Lord, "My bags are many and on the day when I took my bags and bound them up in my large travelling sacks to load them upon my asses, then my people left me behind and came to thee first." Our Lord said to him: "All other employments are assigned; the people who came first took them and went away; but stop, I will also give one to thee. Go, and having arrived at the entrance of the black ants, where are a great many ant-heads, when thou seest these many heads of the black ants, take them, and fill thy bags with them; then load thy bags upon thy ass, carry them to market, spread mats there, and sell them." So the Merchant-insect obtained his employment, drove his ass, and went from our Lord, picked up ant-heads at the entrance of the black ants, loaded his ass, and went his way to the market. As he went the ass threw off the large bag. Then, he alone not being able to lift the bag, he called people, saying: "Come, be so good as to help me; let us take the sacks and load mine ass;" but not any of the people would do so. Then the little red ants came after him, and when they were come to where he was, he said to them, "Please come and help me to load mine ass". The little red Ants said to the Merchant-insect, "We will not help thee for nothing." The Merchant-insect said to the little red Ants, "If you will not help me for nothing, then come and help me, and when I have come back from the market, I will pay you." The little red Ants helped him to load his ass, and the Merchant-insect drove his ass to the market, put down his sacks in the midst of the market-place, prepared the ground, spread his mat there, and having sold his ant-heads, he bought his things, and the market people began to disperse. Then the Merchant-insect started on his way home, and as he went the little red Ants saw him, and said to him, "Father-merchant, give us what thou owest us." The Merchant, however, refused them their due, and went on his way. Now as he went he got fever so that he sat down under a tree, tied his ass fast, and took off the sacks from his ass's back. As he sat there the fever overpowered him, and he lay down. On seeing him lying the little red Ants assembled and came to him. Now the fever was consuming the Merchant-insect's strength, and when the little red Ants saw this they assembled together and killed him. There was one Insect who saw them kill him, and he ran to our Lord, and said to him, "All the little red Ants assembled together and killed a man in the midst of the town--that I saw it." When our Lord heard what the Insect said he called a man and sent him, saying: "Go and call the little red Ants which kill people and bring them to me." The messenger arose, went, called all the little red Ants and brought them before our Lord. On seeing the little red Ants, our Lord asked them, "Why did you kill the man?" The little red Ants answered, and said to our Lord, "The reason why we killed this man is this: When he went to market and his ass had thrown off the sacks, those sacks were too heavy for him to take alone, so he called us, and when we came to him, he said to us, 'Please help me to take my large bag and load it upon mine ass, that I may go to market. When I have sold my things and come back, I will pay you.' Accordingly we helped him to load his ass; but when he had gone to market and sold all his things there, we saw him on his return home, and went to him, to ask him for what he owed us; but he refused it, drove his ass, and went homeward. However, he was only gone a little while, when he got fever, sat down under a tree, tied his ass fast, took off his sacks and laid them down; and on the same spot where he sat down, the fever overpowered him that he lay down. Then on seeing him lying we went, assembled ourselves and killed him, because he had refused what he owed us." Our Lord gave them right. Our Lord said to the Merchant, "Thou goest to market until thy life stands still." Our Lord said to the Cricket, "Do thou give notice whenever it is time! This is thy work." Our Lord said to the little red Ants, "Whenever ye see any Insect unwell and lying down in a place, then go, assemble yourselves and finish it." Now the Cricket begins to give notice as soon as it is evening and does not keep silence in his hole until the morning comes; this is its employment. The Merchant has no farm and does not do any work, but constantly goes to market; this is its employment, given to it by the Lord. Now the little red Ants, whenever they see an Insect unwell and lying down they go and assemble themselves against that Insect, and, even if that Insect has not yet expired they finish it. This our Lord gave to the little red Ants for their employment. I have now told thee the fable of the Insects, which I have heard of Omar Pesami. This is finished. Man and Turtle Let me tell of Turtle of Koka. Man of Lubi la Suku caught a Turtle in the bush; he came with it to the village. They said: "Let us kill it!" Some people said: "How shall we kill it?" They said: "We shall cut it with hatchets." Turtle replied, saying: "Turtle of Koka, And hatchet of Koka; Hatchet not kill me a bit." The people said: "What shall we kill him with?" Some said: "We shall kill him with stones." Turtle, fear grasped him, he said: "I am going to die." He says by mouth: "Turtle of Koka, And stone of Koka; Stone will not kill me a bit." The people said: "Let us cast him into the fire!" Turtle said: "Turtle of Koka, And fire of Koka; Fire will not kill me a bit. On my back, It is like stone; Not there can Catch on fire." The people said: "We will kill him with knives." Turtle said: "Turtle of Koka, And knife of Koka; Knife will not kill me a bit." The people said: "This fellow, how shall we do? How shall we kill him?" These said: "Let us cast him into the depth of water." Turtle said: "Woe! I shall die there! How shall I do?" The people said: "We have it! We have found the way we can kill him!" They carry him; they arrive with him at the river. They cast him into the depth. Turtle dives; after a while he emerges. There he is swimming and singing: "In water, in my home! In water, in my home!" The people said: "Oh! Turtle has fooled us. We were going to kill him with hatchets; he says, 'Hatchet will not kill me a bit.' We spoke of casting him into the water; he says, 'I am going to die.' We came; we cast him into the water; but we saved him." This is what caused the Turtle to live in the water: the people were going to kill him; but he was shrewd. Nianga Dia Ngenga and Leopard Nianga Dia Ngenga takes up his gun, saying: "I will go a-hunting." He has reached the bush; he has hunted; he saw not game; he says: "I will go." When he returns home, he finds Mr. Leopard, whom they have stuck up in the fork of a tree. When he sees Nianga, he says: "Father Nianga, help me out!" Nianga says: "What has done this to thee?" He says: "Unfork me first; I shall tell thee." Nianga took him out; he set him on the ground. He says: "Elephant has stuck me up in the fork of the tree. Sir, to whom one has given life, one gives more. I have been two days on the tree; give me a little food." Nianga says: "Where shall I find food?" He says: "Anywhere." Nianga takes up his dog; he gives it to Mr. Leopard. Mr. Leopard ate it and said, "I am not satisfied." Nianga takes up also the other dog; he gives it to Mr. Leopard. He has eaten, says, "Still I have not enough." Nianga dia Ngenga took up his cartridge-box; he gives him it. Mr. Leopard, when he had eaten it, said, "Still I have not enough." Hare comes; he finds them talking; says: "Why are you quarrelling?" Nianga says: "Mr. Leopard, I found him in the fork of a tree. Says he, 'Take me out!' I took him out. Says he, 'Give me to eat!' I gave him both my dogs and my cartridge-box. He says, 'Give me more to eat.' That is what we are quarrelling about." Hare says: "Mr. Leopard, let him be again on the tree, where he was; that I may see." Mr. Leopard returns to the tree, where he was. Hare moves off to a distance; he calls Nianga. He says: "Thou, Nianga, art unwise. Mr. Leopard is a wild beast, he is wont to catch people. Thou, who didst get him out of there, he wanted to devour thee. Shoot him." Nianga then shoots Mr. Leopard. The end . . . "is with God." Leopard and the Other Animals Mr. Leopard lived. One day hunger grasps him. He says: "How shall I do? I will call all the animals in the world, saying, 'Come ye, let us have a medical consultation.' When the animals come then I may catch and eat." He sends at once to call Deer, Antelope, Soko, Hare, and Philantomba. They gather, saying: "Why didst thou send for us?" He says: "Let us consult medicine, that we get health." The sun is broken down. They begin the drums outside with the songs. Mr. Leopard himself is beating the drum; he is saying, saying: "O Antelope! O Deer! Your friend is sick; Do not shun him! O Antelope! O Deer! Your friend is sick; Do not shun him! O Antelope! O Deer! Your friend is sick; Do not shun him'" Deer says: "Chief, the drum, how art thou playing it? Bring it here; that I play it." Mr. Leopard gives him it. Deer takes the drum, says: "Not sickness; Wiliness holds thee Not sickness; Wiliness holds thee! Not sickness; Wiliness holds thee!" Mr. Leopard stood up from ground, said: "Thou, Deer, knowest not how to play the drum." The animals all then ran away, saying, "Mr. Leopard has a scheme to catch us." Elephant and Frog I often tell of Mr. Elephant and Mr. Frog, who were courting at one house. One day Mr. Frog spake to the sweetheart of Mr. Elephant, saying: "Mr. Elephant is my horse." Mr. Elephant, when he came at night, then the girls tell him, saying: "Thou art the horse of Mr. Frog!" Mr. Elephant then goes to Mr. Frog's, saying: "Didst thou tell my sweetheart that I am thy horse?" Mr. Frog says, saying: "No; I did not say so." They go together to find the sweetheart of Mr. Elephant. On the way, Mr. Frog told Mr. Elephant, saying: "Grandfather, I have not strength to walk. Let me get up on thy back!" Mr. Elephant said: "Get up, my grandson." Mr. Frog then goes up. When a while passed, he told Mr. Elephant: "Grandfather, I am going to fall. Let me seek small cords to bind thee in mouth." Mr. Elephant consents. Mr. Frog then does what he has asked. When passed a little while, he told again Mr. Elephant, saying: "Let me seek a green twig to fan the mosquitoes off thee." Mr. Elephant says: "Go." He then fetches the twig. Then, when they were about to arrive, the girls saw them, and they went to meet them with shouting, saying: "Thou, Mr. Elephant, art the horse indeed of Mr. Frog!" Dog and the Kingship Mr. Dog, they wanted to invest him with the kingship. They sought all the things of royalty: the cap, the sceptre, the rings, the skin of mulkaka. The things are complete; they say: "The day has come to install." The headmen all came in full; they sent for the players of drum and marimba; they have come. They spread coarse mats and fine mats. Where the lord is going to sit, they laid a coarse mat; they spread on it a fine mat; they set a chair on. They say: "Let the lord sit down." He sat down. The people begin to divide the victuals. He, Mr. Dog, on seeing the breast of a fowl, greed grasped him. He stood up in haste; took the breast of the fowl; ran into the bush. The people said: "The lord, whom we are installing, has run away with the breast of the fowl into the bush!" The people separated. Mr. Dog, who was going to be invested with the kingship, because of his thievery, the kingship he lost it. I have told my little tale. Finished. The Builder of Ability and the Builder of Haste Two men called themselves one name. This one said: "I am Ndala, the builder of ability." The other one said: "I am Ndala, the builder of haste." They say: "We will go to trade." They start; they arrive in middle of road. A storm comes. They stop, saying: "Let us build grass-huts!" Ndala, the builder of haste, built in haste; he entered into his hut. Ndala, the builder of ability is building carefully. The storm comes; it kills him outside. Ndala, the builder of haste escaped, because his hut was finished; it sheltered him when the storm came on. FABLES FROM KRILOF "Shall not my fable censure vice, Because a Knave is over-nice? And, lest the guilty hear and dread, Shall not the decalogue be read?" JOHN GAY FABLES FROM KRILOF The Education of the Lion To the Lion, king of the forests, was given a son. Among us, a child a year old, even if it belong to a royal family, is small and weak. But, by the time it has lived a twelve-month, a lion-cub has long ago left off its baby-clothes. So, at the end of a year, the Lion began to consider that he must not allow his royal son to remain ignorant, that the dignity of the kingdom be not degraded, and that when the son's turn should come to govern the kingdom the nation should have no cause to reproach the father on his account. But whom should he entreat, or compel, or induce by rewards, to instruct the czarevitch to become a czar? The Fox is clever, but it is terribly addicted to lying, and a liar is perpetually getting into trouble. "No," thought the Lion, "the science of falsehood is not one which princes ought to study." Should he trust him to the Mole? All who speak of that animal say that it is an extreme admirer of order and regularity; that it never takes a step till it has examined the ground before it, and that it cleans and shells with its own paws every grain of corn that comes to its table. In fact, the Mole has the reputation of being very great in small affairs; but, unfortunately, it cannot see anything at a distance. The Mole's love of order is an excellent thing for animals of its own kind, but the Lion's kingdom is considerably more extensive than a mole-run. Should he choose the Panther? The Panther is brave and strong, and is, besides, a great master of military tactics; but the Panther knows nothing of politics, is ignorant of everything that belongs to civil affairs. A king must be a judge and a minister as well as a warrior. The Panther is good for nothing but fighting; so it, too, is unfit to educate royal children. To be brief, not a single beast, not even the Elephant himself, who was as much esteemed in the forest as Plato used to be in Greece, seemed wise enough to satisfy the Lion. By good fortune, or the opposite--we shall find out which--another king, the king of birds, the Eagle, an old acquaintance and friend of the Lion, heard of that monarch's difficulty, and, wishing to do his friend a great kindness, offered to educate the young Lion himself. The Lion felt a great weight removed from his shoulders. What could be better than a king as the tutor for a prince? So the Lion-cub was got ready, and sent off to the Eagle's court, there to learn how to govern. And now two or three years go by. Ask whom you will, meanwhile, you hear nothing but praise of the young Lion; and all the birds scatter throughout the forests the wonderful stories of his merits. At last the appointed time comes, and the Lion sends for his son. The prince arrives, and all the people are gathered together, great and small alike. The king embraces his son before them all, and thus addresses him: "My beloved son, you are my only heir. I am looking forward to the grave, but you are just entering upon life. Before I make over my sceptre to you, tell me, in the presence of this assembly, what you have been taught, and in what manner you propose to make your people happy." "Papa," exclaimed the prince, "I know what no one here knows. I can tell where each bird, from the Eagle to the Quail, can most readily find water, on what each of them lives, and how many eggs it lays; and I can count up the wants of every bird, without missing one. Here is the certificate my tutor gave me. It was not for nothing that the birds used to say that I could pick the stars out of the sky. When you have made up your mind to transfer the kingdom to me, I will immediately begin to teach the beasts how to make nests." On this the king and all his beasts howled aloud; the members of the council hung their heads; and, too late, the Lion perceived that the young Lion had learned nothing of what was wanted, that he was acquainted with birds only, not knowing anything of the nature of beasts, although he was destined to rule over them, and that he was destitute of that which is most requisite in kings--the knowledge of the wants of their own people and the interests of their own country. The Pebble and the Diamond A Diamond, which some one had lost, lay for some time on the high road. At last it happened that a merchant picked it up. By him it was offered to the king, who bought it, had it set in gold, and made it one of the ornaments of the royal crown. Having heard of this, a Pebble began to make a fuss. The brilliant fate of the Diamond fascinated it; and, one day, seeing a Moujik passing, it besought him thus: "Do me a kindness, fellow-countryman, and take me with you to the capital. Why should I go on suffering here in rain and mud, while our Diamond is, men say, in honour there? I don't understand why it has been treated with such respect. Side by side with me here it lay so many years; it is just such a stone as I am--my close companion. Do take me! How can one tell? If I am seen there, I too, perhaps, may be found worthy of being turned to account." The Moujik took the stone into his lumbering cart, and conveyed it to the city. Our stone tumbled into the cart, thinking that it would soon be sitting by the side of the Diamond. But a quite different fate befell it. It really was turned to account, but only to mend a hole in the road. The Pike and the Cat A conceited Pike took it into its head to exercise the functions of a cat. I do not know whether the Evil One had plagued it with envy, or whether, perhaps, it had grown tired of fishy fare; but, at all events, it thought fit to ask the Cat to take it out to the chase, with the intention of catching a few mice in the warehouse. "But, my dear friend," Vaska says to the Pike, "do you understand that kind of work? Take care, gossip, that you don't incur disgrace. It isn't without reason that they say: 'The work ought to be in the master's power.'" "Why really, gossip, what a tremendous affair it is! Mice, indeed! Why, I have been in the habit of catching perches!" "Oh, very well. Come along!" They went; they lay each in ambush. The Cat thoroughly enjoyed itself; made a hearty meal; then went to look after its comrade. Alas! the Pike, almost destitute of life, lay there gasping, its tail nibbled away by the mice. So the Cat, seeing that its comrade had undertaken a task quite beyond its strength, dragged it back, half dead, to its pond. Trishka's Caftan Trishka's caftan was out at the elbows. But why should he ponder long over it? He took to his needle, cut a quarter off each sleeve: so mended the elbows. The caftan was all right again, only his arms were bare for a quarter of their length. That is no great matter, but every one is always laughing at Trishka. So Trishka says: "I'm not a fool. I'll set this affair straight also. I'll make the sleeves longer than they were before. They shall see Trishka is no mere commonplace fellow." So he cut off the skirts of his caftan, and used them to lengthen his sleeves. Then Trishka was happy, though he had a caftan which was as short as a waistcoat. In a similar way I have sometimes seen other embarrassed people set straight their affairs. Take a look at them as they dash away. They have all got on Trishka's caftan. The Elephant as Governor An Elephant was once appointed ruler of a forest. Now it is well known that the race of elephants is endowed with great intelligence; but every family has its unworthy scion. Our Governor was as stout as the rest of his race are, but as foolish as the rest of his race are not. As to his character, he would not intentionally hurt a fly. Well, the worthy Governor becomes aware of a petition laid before him by the Sheep, stating that their skins are entirely torn off their backs by the Wolves. "Oh, rogues!" cries the Elephant, "what a crime! Who gave you leave to plunder?" But the Wolves say: "Allow us to explain, O father. Did not you give us leave to take from the Sheep a trifling contribution for our pelisses in winter? It is only because they are stupid sheep that they cry out. They have only a single fleece taken from each of them, but they grumble about giving even that!" "Well, well," says the Elephant, "take care what you do. I will not permit any one to commit injustice. As it must be so, take a fleece from each of them. But do not take from them a single hair besides." The Quartette The tricksy Monkey, the Goat, the Ass, and bandy-legged Mishka the Bear, determine to play a quartette. They provide themselves with the necessary pieces of music--with two fiddles, and with an alto and a counter-bass. Then they sit down on a meadow under a lime-tree, prepared to enchant the world by their skill. They work away at their fiddlesticks with a will; and they make a noise, but there is no music in it. "Stop, brothers, stop!" cries the Monkey, "wait a little! How can we get our music right? It's plain, you mustn't sit as you are. You, Mishka, with your counter-bass, face the alto. I will sit opposite the second fiddle. Then a different sort of music will begin: we shall set the very hills and forests dancing." So they change places, and recommence; but the music is just as discordant as before. "Stop a little," exclaims the Ass; "I have found out the secret. We shall be sure to play in tune if we sit in a row." They follow its advice, and form in an orderly line. But the quartette is as unmusical as ever. Louder than before there arose among them squabbling and wrangling as to how they ought to be seated. It happened that a Nightingale came flying that way, attracted by their noise. At once they all entreated it to solve their difficulty. "Be so kind," they say, "as to bear with us a little, in order that our quartette may come off properly. Music we have; instruments we have: tell us only how we ought to place ourselves." But the Nightingale replies, "To be a musician, one must have a quicker intelligence and a finer ear than you possess. You, my friends, may place yourselves just as you like, but you will never become musicians." Demian's Fish Soup "Neighbour, light of mine eyes! do eat a little more!" "Dear neighbour, I am full to the throat." "No matter; just a little plateful. Believe me, the soup is cooked gloriously." "But I've had three platefuls already." "Well, what does that matter? If you like it, and it does you good, why not eat it all up? What a soup it is! How rich! It looks as if it had been sprinkled with amber. Here is a bream; there a lump of sterlet. Take a little more, dear, kind friend. Just another spoonful. Wife, come and entreat him!" Thus does Demian feast his neighbour Phocas, not giving him a moment's breathing time. Phocas feels the moisture trickling down his forehead. Still he takes the soup, attacks it with all the strength he has left, and somehow manages to swallow the whole of it. "That's the sort of friend I like!" cries Demian. "I can't bear people who require pressing. But now, dear friend, take just this one little plateful more." But, on hearing this, our poor Phocas, much as he liked fish soup, catching hold of his cap and sash, runs away home, not once looking behind him. Nor from that day to this has he crossed Demian's threshold. The Wolf and Its Cub A Wolf, which had begun to accustom its Cub to support itself by its father's profession, sent it one day to prowl about the skirts of the wood. At the same time it ordered it to give all its attention to seeing whether it would not be possible, even at the cost of sinning a little, for them both to make their breakfast or dinner at the expense of some shepherd or other. The pupil returns home, and says: "Come along, quick! Our dinner awaits us: nothing could possibly be safer. There are sheep feeding at the foot of yon hill, each one fatter than the other. We have only to choose which to carry off and eat; and the flock is so large that it would be difficult to count it over again----" "Wait a minute," says the Wolf. "First of all I must know what sort of a man the shepherd of this flock is. "It is said that he is a good one--painstaking and intelligent. But I went round the flock on all sides, and examined the dogs: they are not at all fat, and seem to be spiritless and indolent." "This description," says the old Wolf, "does not greatly attract me to the flock. For, decidedly, if the shepherd is good, he will not keep bad dogs about him. One might very soon get into trouble there. But come with me: I will take you to a flock where we shall be in less danger of losing our skins. Over that flock it is true that a great many dogs watch; but the shepherd is himself a fool. And where the shepherd is a fool there the dogs too are of little worth." The Pike An appeal to justice was made against the Pike, on the ground that it had rendered the pond uninhabitable. A whole cart-load of proofs was tendered as evidence; and the culprit, as was beseeming, was brought into court in a large tub. The judges were assembled not far off, having been set to graze in a neighbouring field. Their names are still preserved in the archives. There were two Donkeys, a couple of old Horses, and two or three Goats. The Fox also was added to their number, as assessor, in order that the business might be carried on under competent supervision. Now, popular report said that the Pike used to supply the table of the Fox with fish. However this might be, there was no partiality among the judges; and it must also be stated that it was impossible to conceal the Pike's roguery in the affair in question. So there was no help for it. Sentence was passed, condemning the Pike to an ignominious punishment. In order to frighten others, it was to be hung from a tree. "Respected judges," thus did the Fox begin to speak, "hanging is a trifle. I should have liked to have sentenced the culprit to such a punishment as has never been seen here among us. In order that rogues may in future live in fear, and run a terrible risk, I would drown it in the river." "Excellent!" cry the judges, and unanimously accept the proposition. So the Pike was flung--into the river. The Cuckoo and the Eagle The Eagle promoted a Cuckoo to the rank of a Nightingale. The Cuckoo, proud of its new position, seated itself proudly on an aspen, and began to exhibit its musical talents. After a time, it looks round. All the birds are flying away, some laughing at it, others abusing it. Our Cuckoo grows angry, and hastens to the Eagle with a complaint against the birds. "Have pity on me!" it says. "According to your command, I have been appointed Nightingale to these woods, and yet the birds dare to laugh at my singing." "My friend," answers the Eagle, "I am a king, but I am not God. It is impossible for me to remedy the cause of your complaint. I can order a Cuckoo to be styled a Nightingale; but to make a Nightingale out of a Cuckoo--that I cannot do." The Peasant and the Sheep A Peasant summoned a Sheep into courts charging the poor thing with a criminal offence. The judge was--the Fox. The case was immediately in full swing. Plaintiff and defendant were equally adjured to state, point by point, and without both speaking at once, how the affair took place, and in what their proof consisted. Says the Peasant: "On such and such a day, I missed two of my fowls early in the morning. Nothing was left of them but bones and leathers; and no one had been in the yard but the Sheep." Then the Sheep depones that it was fast asleep all the night in question, and it calls all its neighbours to testify that they had never known it guilty either of theft or any roguery; and besides this, it states that it never touches flesh-meat. Here is the Fox's decision, word for word: "The explanation of the Sheep cannot, under any circumstances, be accepted, for all rogues are notoriously clever at concealing their real designs; and it appears manifest, on due inquiry, that, on the aforesaid night, the Sheep was not separated from the fowls. Fowls are exceedingly savoury, and opportunity favoured. Therefore I decide, according to my conscience, that it is impossible that the Sheep should have forborne to eat the fowls. The Sheep shall accordingly be put to death. Its carcass shall be given to the court, and its fleece be taken by the Plaintiff." The Elephant in Favour Once upon a time the Elephant stood high in the good graces of the Lion. The forest immediately began to talk of the matter, and, as usual, many guesses were made as to the means by which the Elephant had gained such favour. "It is no beauty," say the beasts to each other, "and it is not amusing; and what habits it has! what manners!" Says the Fox, whisking about his brush, "If it had possessed such a bushy tail as mine, I should not have wondered." "Or, sister," says the Bear, "if it had gotten into favour on account of its claws, no one would have found the matter at all extraordinary; but it has no claws at all, as we all know well." "Isn't it its tusks that have gotten it into favour?" thus the Ox broke in upon their conversation. "Haven't they, perhaps, been mistaken for horns." "Is it possible," said the Ass, shaking its ears, "that you don't know how it has succeeded in making itself liked, and in becoming distinguished? Why, I have guessed the reason! If it hadn't been remarkable for its long ears, it would never in the world have gotten into favour." The Sword-blade The keen blade of a Sword, made of Damascus steel, which had been thrown aside on a heap of old iron, was sent to market with the other pieces of metal, and sold for a trifle to a Moujik. Now, a Moujik's ideas move in a narrow circle. He immediately set to work to turn the blade to account. Our Moujik fitted a handle to the blade, and began to strip lime-trees in the forest with it, of the bark he wanted for shoes, while at home he unceremoniously splintered fir chips with it. Sometimes, also, he would lop off twigs with it, or small branches for mending his wattled fences, or would shape stakes with it for his garden paling. And the result was that, before the year was out, our blade was notched and rusted from one end to the other, and the children used to ride astride of it. So one day a Hedgehog, which was lying under a bench in the cottage, close by the spot where the blade had been flung, said to it: "Tell me, what do you think of this life of yours? If there is any truth in all the fine things that are said about Damascus steel, you surely must be ashamed of having to splinter fir chips, and square stakes, and of being turned, at last, into a plaything for children." But the Sword-blade replied: "In the hands of a warrior, I should have been a terror to the foe; but here my special faculties are of no avail. So in this house I am turned to base uses only. But am I free to choose my employment? No, not I, but he, ought to be ashamed who could not see for what I was fit to be employed." The Cuckoo and the Turtle-dove A Cuckoo sat on a bough, bitterly complaining. "Why art thou so sad, dear friend?" sympathizingly cooed the Turtle-dove to her, from a neighbouring twig. "Is it because spring has passed away from us, and love with it; that the sun has sunk lower, and that we are nearer to the winter?" "How can I help grieving, unhappy one that I am?" replied the Cuckoo: "thou shalt thyself be the judge. This spring my love was a happy one, and, after a while, I became a mother. But my offspring utterly refused even to recognize me. Was it such a return that I expected from them? And how can I help being envious when I see how ducklings crowd around their mother--how chickens hasten to the hen when she calls to them. Just like an orphan I sit here, utterly alone, and know not what filial affection means." "Poor thing!" says the Dove, "I pity you from my heart. As for me, though I know such things often occur, I should die outright it my dovelets did not love me. But tell me, have you already brought up your little ones? When did you find time to build a nest? I never saw you doing anything of the kind: you were always flying and fluttering about." "No, indeed!" says the Cuckoo. "Pretty nonsense it would have been if I had spent such fine days in sitting on a nest! That would, indeed, have been the highest pitch of stupidity! I always laid my eggs in the nests of other birds." "Then how can you expect your little ones to care for you?" says the Turtle-dove. The Peasant and the Horse A Peasant was sowing oats one day. Seeing the work go on, a young Horse began to reason about it, grumbling to himself: "A pretty piece of work, this, for which he brings such a quantity of oats here! And yet they are all the time saying that men are wiser than we are. Can anything possibly be more foolish or ridiculous than to plough up a whole field like this in order to scatter one's oats over it afterward to no purpose. Had he given them to me, or to the bay there, or had he even thought fit to fling them to the fowls, it would have been more like business. Or even if he had hoarded them up, I should have recognized avarice in that. But to fling them uselessly away--why, that is sheer stupidity!" Meanwhile time passed; and in the autumn the oats were garnered, and the Peasant fed this very Horse upon them all the winter. There can be no doubt, Reader, that you do not approve of the opinions of the Horse. But from the oldest times to our own days has not man been equally audacious in criticising the designs of a Providence of whose means or ends he sees and knows nothing? The Wolf and the Cat A Wolf ran out of the forest into a village--not to pay a visit, but to save its life; for it trembled for its skin. The huntsmen and a pack of hounds were after it. It would fain have rushed in through the first gateway; but there was this unfortunate circumstance against the scheme that all the gateways were closed. The Wolf sees a Cat on a partition fence, and says pleadingly, "Vaska, my friend, tell me quickly, which of the moujiks here is the kindest, so that I may hide myself from my evil foes? Listen to the cry of the dogs and the terrible sound of the horns? All that noise is actually made in chase of me!" "Go quickly, and ask Stefan," says Vaska, the Cat; "he is a very kind man." "Quite true; only I have torn the skin off one of his sheep." "Well, then, you can try Demian." "I'm afraid he's angry with me, too; I carried off one of his kids." "Run over there, then; Trofim lives there." "Trofim! I should be afraid of even meeting him. Ever since the spring he has been threatening me about a lamb." "Dear me, that's bad! But perhaps Klim will protect you." "Oh, Vaska, I have killed one of his calves." "What do I hear, friend? You've quarrelled with all the village," cried Vaska to the Wolf. "What sort of protection can you hope for here? No, no; our moujiks are not so destitute of sense as to be willing to save you to their own hurt. And, really, you have only yourself to blame. What you have sown, that you must now reap." The Eagle and the Mole An Eagle and his mate flew into a deep forest and determined to make it their permanent abode. So they chose an oak, lofty and wide-spreading, and began to build themselves a nest on the top of it, hoping there to rear their young in the summer. A Mole, who heard about all this, plucked up courage enough to inform the Eagles that the oak was not a proper dwelling-place for them; that it was almost entirely rotten at the root, and was likely soon to fall, and that therefore the Eagles ought not to make their nest upon it. But is it becoming that an Eagle should accept advice coming from a Mole in a hole? Where then would be the glory of an Eagle having such keen eyes? And how comes it that Moles dare to meddle in the affairs of the king of Birds? So, saying very little to the Mole, whose counsel he despised, the Eagle set to work quickly--and the King soon got ready the new dwelling for the Queen. All goes well, and now the Eagles have little ones. But what happens? One day, when at early dawn the Eagle is hastening back from the chase, bringing a rich breakfast to his family, as he drops down from the sky he sees--his oak has fallen, and has crushed beneath it his mate and his little ones! "Wretched creature that I am!" he cries, anguish blotting out from him the light; "for my pride has fate so terribly punished me, and because I gave no heed to wise counsel. But could one expect that wise counsel could possibly come from a miserable Mole?" Then from its hole the Mole replies: "Had not you despised me, you would have remembered that I burrow within the earth, and that, as I live among the roots, I can tell with certainty whether a tree be sound or not." The Spider and the Bee A Merchant brought some linen to a fair. That's a thing everybody wants to buy, so it would have been a sin in the Merchant if he had complained of his sale. There was no keeping the buyers back: the shop was at times crammed full. Seeing how rapidly the goods went off, an envious Spider was tempted by the Merchant's gains. She took it into her head to weave goods for sale herself, and determined to open a little shop for them in a window corner, seeking thereby to undermine the Merchant's success. She commenced her web, spun the whole night long, and then set out her wares on view. From her shop she did not stir, but remained sitting there, puffed up with pride, and thinking, "So soon as the day shall dawn will all buyers be enticed to me." Well, the day did dawn. But what then? There came a broom, and the ingenious creatures and her little shop were swept clean away. Our Spider went wild with vexation. "There!" she cried, "what's the good of expecting a just reward? And yet I ask the whole world--Whose work is the finer, mine or that Merchant's?" "Yours, to be sure," answered the Bee. "Who would venture to deny the fact? Every one knew that long ago. But what is the good of it if there's neither warmth nor wear in it?" The Cuckoo and the Cock "How proudly and sonorously you sing, my dear Cock!" "But you, dear Cuckoo, my light, how smoothly flows your long drawn-out note! There is no such singer in all the rest of our forest." "To you, dear friend, I could listen forever." "And as for you, my beauty, I protest that when you are silent I scarcely know how to wait till you begin again. Where do you get such a voice?--so clear, so soft, so high! But no doubt you were always like that: not very large in stature, but in song--a nightingale." "Thanks, friend. As for you, I declare on my conscience you sing better than the birds in the Garden of Eden. I appeal to public opinion for a proof of this." At this moment a Sparrow, who had overheard their conversation, said to them: "You may go on praising each other till you are hoarse, my friends; but your music is utterly worthless." Why was it, that, not fearing to sin, the Cuckoo praised the Cock? Simply because the Cock praised the Cuckoo. The Peasant and the Robber A Peasant who was beginning to stock his little farm had bought a cow and a milk-pail at the fair, and was going quietly home by a lonely path through the forest, when he suddenly fell into the hands of a Robber. The Robber stripped him as bare as a lime-tree. "Have mercy!" cried the Peasant. "I am utterly ruined. You have reduced me to beggary. For a whole year I have worked to buy this dear little cow. I could hardly bear to wait for this day to arrive." "Very good," replied the Robber, touched with compassion; "Don't cry out so against me. After all, I shall not want to milk your cow; so I'll give you back your milk-pail." FABLES FROM THE CHINESE "Why have some more power than others? Only one knows. Why have some longer life than others? Only one knows. Why do some try and not succeed; while others do not try and yet they do succeed? Only one knows." FABLES PROM THE CHINESE The Animals' Peace Party The ancient books say that the pig is a very unclean animal and of no great use to the world or man, and one of them contains this story: Once upon a time the Horses and Cattle gave a party. Although the Pigs were very greedy, the Horses said: "Let us invite them, and it may be we can settle our quarrels in this way and become better friends. We will call this a Peace Party. "Generations and generations of pigs have broken through our fences, taken our food, drunk our water, and rooted up our clean green grass; but it is also true that the cattle children have hurt many young pigs. "All this trouble and fighting is not right, and we know the Master wishes we should live at peace with one another. Do you not think it a good plan to give a Peace Party and settle this trouble?" The Cattle said: "Who will be the leader of our party and do the inviting? We should have a leader, both gentle and kind, to go to the Pig's home and invite them." The next day a small and very gentle Cow was sent to invite the Pigs. As she went across to the pigs' yard, all the young ones jumped up and grunted, "What are you coming here for? Do you want to fight?" "No, I do not want to fight," said the Cow. "I was sent here to invite you to our party. I should like to know if you will come, so that I may tell our leader." The young Pigs and the old ones talked together and the old ones said: "The New Year feast will soon be here. Maybe they will have some good things for us to eat at the party. I think we should go." Then the old Pigs found the best talker in all the family, and sent word by him that they would attend the party. The day came, and the Pigs all went to the party. There were about three hundred all together. When they arrived they saw that the leader of the cows was the most beautiful of all the herd and very kind and gentle to her guests. After a while the leader spoke to them in a gentle voice and said to the oldest Pigs: "We think it would be a good and pleasant thing if there were no more quarrels in this pasture. "Will you tell your people not to break down the fences and spoil the place and eat our food? We will then agree that the oxen and horses shall not hurt your children and all the old troubles shall be forgotten from this day." Then one young Pig stood up to talk. "All this big pasture belongs to the Master, and not to you," he said. "We cannot go to other places for food. "The Master sends a servant to feed us, and sometimes he sends us to your yard to eat the corn and potatoes. "The servants clean our pen every day. When summer comes, they fill the ponds with fresh water for us to bathe in. "Now, friends, can you not see that this place and this food all belong to the Master? We eat the food and go wherever we like. We take your food only after you have finished. It would spoil on the ground if we did not do this. "Answer this question--Do our people ever hurt your people? No; even though every year some of our children are killed by bad oxen and cows. "What is our food? It is nothing; but our lives are worth much to us. "Our Master never sends our people to work as he does the horses and oxen. He sends us food and allows us to play a year and a year the same, because he likes us best. "You see the Horses and Oxen are always at work. Some pull wagons, others plough land for rice; and they must work--sick or well. "Our people never work. Every day at happy time we play; and do you see how fat we are? "You never see our bones. Look at the old Horses and the old Oxen. Twenty years' work and no rest! "I tell you the Master does not honour the Horses and Oxen as he does the Pigs. "Friends, that is all I have to say. Have you any questions to ask? Is what I have said not the truth?" The old Cow said, "Moo, Moo," and shook her head sadly. The tired old Horses groaned, "Huh, Huh," and never spoke a word. The leader said, "My friends, it is best not to worry about things we cannot know. We do not seem to understand our Master. "It will soon be time for the New Year feast day; so, good night. And may the Pig people live in the world as long and happily as the Horses and the Oxen, although our Peace Party did not succeed." On their way home the little Pigs made a big noise, and every one said, "We, we! We win, we win!" Then the old Horses and Oxen talked among themselves. "We are stronger, wiser, and more useful than the Pigs," they said. "Why does the Master treat us so?" EE-SZE (Meaning): Why have some more power than others? Only one knows. Why have some longer life than others? Only one knows. Why do some try and not succeed; while others do not try and yet they do succeed? Only one knows. The Proud Chicken A Widow named Hong-Mo lived in a little house near the market place. Every year she raised many hundreds of chickens, which she sold to support herself and her two children. Each day the Chickens went to the fields near by and hunted bugs, rice, and green things to eat. The largest one was called the King of the Chickens, because of all the hundreds in the flock he was the strongest. And for this reason he was the leader of them all. He led the flock to new places for food. He could crow the loudest, and as he was the strongest, none dared oppose him in any way. One day he said to the flock, "Let us go to the other side of the mountain near the wilderness to-day, and hunt rice, wheat, corn, and wild silkworms. There is not enough food here." But the other Chickens said, "We are afraid to go so far. There are foxes and eagles in the wilderness, and they will catch us." The King of the Chickens said, "It is better that all the old hens and cowards stay at home." The King's secretary said, "I do not know fear. I will go with you." Then they started away together. When they had gone a little distance, the Secretary found a beetle, and just as he was going to swallow it, the King flew at him in great anger, saying, "Beetles are for kings, not for common chickens. Why did you not give it to me?" So they fought together, and while they were fighting, the beetle ran away and hid under the grass where he could not be found. And the Secretary said, "I will not fight for you, neither will I go to the wilderness with you." And he went home again. At sunset the King came home. The other Chickens had saved the best roosting place for him; but he was angry because none of them had been willing to go to the wilderness with him, and he fought first with one and then with another. He was a mighty warrior, and therefore none of them could stand up against him. And he pulled the feathers out of many of the flock. At last the Chickens said, "We will not serve this king any longer. We will leave this place. If Hong-Mo will not give us another home, we will stay in the vegetable garden. We will do that two or three nights, and see if she will give us another place to live." So the next day, when Hong-Mo waited at sunset for the Chickens to come home, the King was the only one who came. And she asked the King, "Where are all my Chickens?" But he was proud and angry, and said, "They are of no use in the world. I would not care if they always stayed away." Hong-Mo answered, "You are not the only Chicken in the world. I want the others to come back. If you drive them all away, you will surely see trouble." But the King laughed and jumped up on the fence and crowed. "Nga-Un-Gan-Yu-Na" (cock-a-doodle-doo-oo) in a loud voice. "I don't care for you! I don't care for you!" Hong-Mo went out and called the Chickens, and she hunted long through the twilight until the dark night came, but she could not find them. The next morning early she went to the vegetable garden, and there she found her Chickens. They were glad to see her, and bowed their heads and flew to her. Hong-Mo said, "What are you doing? Why do you children stay out here, when I have given you a good house to live in?" The Secretary told her all about the trouble with the King. Hong-Mo said, "Now you must be friendly to each other. Come with me, and I will bring you and your King together. We must have peace here." When the Chickens came to where the King was he walked about, and scraped his wings on the ground, and sharpened his spurs. His people had come to make peace, and they bowed their heads and looked happy when they saw their King. But he still walked about alone and would not bow. He said, "I am a King--always a King. Do you know that? You bow your heads and think that pleases me. But what do I care? I should not care if there was never another Chicken in the world but myself. I am King." And he hopped up on a tree and sang some war songs. But suddenly an eagle who heard him, flew down and caught him in his talons and carried him away. And the Chickens never saw their proud, quarrelsome King again. EE-SZE (Meaning): No position in life is so high that it gives the right to be proud and quarrelsome. The Hen and the Chinese Mountain Turtle Four hundred and fifty years ago in Lze-Cheung Province, Western China, there lived an old farmer named Ah-Po. The young farmers all said Ah-Po knew everything. If they wanted to know when it would rain, they asked Ah-Po, and when he said: "It will not rain to-morrow," or, "You will need your bamboo-hat this time to-morrow," it was as he said. He knew all about the things of nature and how to make the earth yield best her fruits and seeds, and some said he was a prophet. One day Ah-Po caught a fine Mountain Turtle. It was so large that it took both of Ah-Po's sons to carry it home. They tied its legs together and hung it on a strong stick, and each son put an end of the stick on his shoulder. Ah-Po said, "We will not kill the Turtle. He is too old to eat, and I think we will keep him and watch the rings grow around his legs each year." So they gave him a corner in the barnyard and fed him rice and water. Ah-Po had many Chickens, and for three months the Turtle and Chickens lived in peace with each other. But one day all the young Chickens came together and laughed at the Turtle. Then they said to him, "Why do you live here so long? Why do you not go back to your own place? This small barnyard corner is not so good as your cave in the wilderness. You have only a little sand and grass to live on here. The servant feeds you, but she never gives you any wilderness fruits. You are very large, and you take up too much room. We need all the room there is here. You foolish old thing, do you think our fathers and mothers want you? No. There is not one of our people who likes you. Besides, you are not clean. You make too much dirt. The servant girl gave you this water to drink, and your water bowl is even now upside down. You scatter rice on our floor. Too many flies come here to see you, and we do not like flies." The Turtle waited until they had all finished scolding. Then he said, "Do you think I came here myself? Who put me here, do you know? Do you suppose I like to be in jail? You need not be jealous. I never ate any rice that belonged to you or your family. I am not living in your house. What are you complaining about? If our master should take your whole family and sell it, he would only get one piece of silver. Who and what are you to talk so much? Wait and see; some day I may have the honoured place." Some of the Chickens went home and told their mother, "We had an argument with the Turtle to-day and he had the last word. To-morrow we want you to go with us and show him that a Chicken can argue as well as a Turtle." The next day all the Chickens of the barnyard went to see the Turtle. And the old Hen said, "My children came here to play yesterday, and you scolded them and drove them away. You said all my family was not worth one piece of silver. You think you are worth many pieces of gold, I suppose. No one likes you. Your own master would not eat you. And the market people would never buy a thing so old and tough as you are. But I suppose you will have to stay here in our yard a thousand years or so, until you die. Then they will carry you to the wilderness and throw you into the Nobody-Knows Lake." Then the Turtle answered and said, "I am a Mountain Turtle. I come from a wise family, and it is not easy for even man to catch me. Educated men, doctors, know that I am useful for sickness, but if all the people knew the many ways they could use me, I think there would soon be no more turtles in the world. Many Chinese know that my skin is good for skin disease, and my forefeet are good for the devil-sickness in children, as they drive the devil away; and then my shells are good for sore throat, and my stomach is good for stomach-ache, and my bones are good for tooth-ache. Do you remember that not long ago our master brought three turtle eggs to feed your children? I heard him say: 'Those little Chickens caught cold in that damp place, and so I must give them some turtle eggs.' I saw your children eat those three eggs, and in two or three days they were well. "So you see the Turtle is a useful creature in the world, even to Chickens. Why do you not leave me in peace? As I must stay here against my will, it is not right that your children should trouble me. Sometimes they take all my rice and I go hungry, for our master will not allow me to go outside of this fence to hunt food for myself. I never come to your house and bother you, but your children will not even let me live in peace in the little corner our master gave me. If I had a few of my own people here with me, as you have, I think you would not trouble me. But I have only myself, while you are many. "Yesterday your children scolded me and disturbed my peace. To-day you come again; and to-morrow and many to-morrows will see generations and still more unhatched generations of Chickens coming here to scold me, I fear; for the length of life of a cackling hen is as a day to me--a Mountain Turtle. I know the heaven is large, I know the earth is large and made for all creatures alike. But you think the heavens and the earth were both made for you and your Chickens only. If you could drive me away to-day you would try to-morrow to drive the dog away, and in time you would think the master himself ought not to have enough of your earth and air to live in. This barnyard is large enough for birds, chickens, ducks, geese, and pigs. It makes our master happy to have us all here." The Chickens went away ashamed. Talking to each other about it, they said: "The Turtle is right. It is foolish to want everything. We barnyard creatures must live at peace with each other until we die. The barnyard is not ours; we use it only a little while." EE-SZE (Meaning): The Creator made the world for all to use, and, while using it, the strong should not try to drive out the weak. The Proud Fox and the Crab One day a Fox said to a Crab: "Crawling thing, did you ever run in all your life?" "Yes," said the Crab, "I run very often from the mud to the grass and back to the river." "Oh, shame!" said the Fox, "that is no distance to run. How many feet and legs have you? I have only four. Why, if I had as many feet as you have, I would run at least six times as fast as you do. Did you know that you are really a very slow, stupid creature? Though I have only four feet I run ten times as far as you do. I never heard of any one with so many feet as you have, running so slowly." The Crab said: "Would you like to run a race with a stupid creature like me? I will try to run as fast as you. I know I am small, so suppose we go to the scales and see how much heavier you are. As you are ten times larger than I, of course you will have to run ten times faster. "Another reason why you can run so fast is because you have such a fine tail and hold it so high. If you would allow me to put it down, I do not think you would run any faster than I." "Oh, very well," said the Fox, contemptuously, "do as you like, and still the race will be so easy for me that I will not even need to try. Your many legs and your stupid head do not go very well together. Now, if I had my sense and all of your legs, no creature in the forest could outrun me. As it is, there are none that can outwit me. I am known as the sharp-witted. Even man says, 'Qui-kwat-wui-lai' (sly as a fox). So do what you will, stupid one." "If you will let me tie your beautiful tail down so it will stay," said the Crab, "I am sure I can win the race." "Oh, no, you cannot," said the Fox. "But I will prove to even your stupid, slow brain that it will make no difference. Now, how do you wish that I should hold my tail?" Said the Crab: "If you will allow me to hang something on your tail to hold it down, I am sure you cannot run faster than I." "Do as you like," said the Fox. "Allow me to come nearer," said the Crab, "and when I have it fastened to your tail, I will say 'Ready!' Then you are to start." So the Crab crawled behind and caught the Fox's tail with his pincers and said, "Ready!" The Fox ran and ran until he was tired. And when he stopped, there was the Crab beside him. "Where are you now?" said the Crab. "I thought you were to run ten times faster than I. You are not even ahead of me with all your boasting." The Fox, panting for breath, hung his head in shame and went away where he might never see the crab again. EE-SZE (Meaning): A big, proud, boastful mouth, is a worse thing for a man than it is for a fox. The Mule and the Lion One night the Lion was very hungry, but as the creatures of the wilderness knew and feared him even from afar, he could not find food. So he went to visit the young Mule that lived near the farmer's house, and when he saw him he smiled blandly and asked, "What do you eat, fair Lii, to make you so sleek and fat? What makes your hair so smooth and beautiful? I think your master gives you tender fresh grass and fat young pig to eat." The Mule answered, "No, I am fat because I am gentle. My hair is beautiful because I do not fight with other creatures. But why do you come here, Sii? Are you hungry? I believe you are seeking for food." The Lion said, "Oh, no, I am not hungry. I only walk around to get the cool, fresh air. And then the night is very beautiful. The moon hangs up in the clear sky with the stars and makes a soft light, and so I came to visit you. Would you not like to take a walk with me? I will take you to visit my friend, the Pig. I never go to his house alone; I always take a friend with me." The Mule asked, "Shall we go to any other place?" "Yes," answered the Lion, "I think we will go to visit another friend of mine who lives not far away." Then the Mule asked his mother, "Will you allow me to go with Sii to see his friend?" "Who is his friend?" asked the mother. "The farmer's Pig." said the Mule. "I think it is no harm if you go only there," said the mother Mule. "But you must not go anywhere else with Sii. The hunter is looking for him, I hear, and you must be careful. Do not trust him fully, for I fear he will tempt you to go to some other place or into some wrong thing. If I allow you to go, you must come home before midnight. The moon will not be gone then and you can see to find your way." So the Lion and the Mule went to visit the Pig, who lived in a house in the farmer's yard. But as soon as the Pig saw the Lion, he called out in a loud voice to his mother. The Lion said, "He is afraid of me. I will hide and you may go in first." When the Pig saw that the Mule was alone, he thought the Lion had gone. He opened his door wide and was very friendly to the Mule, saying, "Come in." But the Lion jumped from his hiding place and caught the Pig as he came to the door. The Pig called to his mother in great fear, and the Mule begged the Lion, saying, "Let the poor little creature go free." But the Lion said, "No, indeed; I have many Pigs at my house. It is better for him to go with me." Then the Lion carried the Pig, while the Mule followed. Soon they came to where a fine looking dog lay on some hay behind a net. The Lion did not seem to see the net, for he dropped the Pig and tried to catch the Dog, who cried loudly for mercy. But the Lion said to the foolish Mule, "See how rude the Dog is to us. We came to visit him and he makes a loud noise and tries to call the hunter so that he will drive us away. I have never been so insulted. Come here, Lii-Tsze, at once and help me!" The Mule went to the Lion and the net fell and caught them both. At sunrise the Hunter came and found the Mule and the Lion in his net. The Mule begged earnestly and said, "Hunter, you know me and you know my mother. We are your friends and we do no wrong. Set me free, oh, hunter, set me free!" The Hunter said, "No, I will not set you free. You may be good, but you are in bad company and must take what it brings. I will take you and the Lion both to the market place and sell you for silver. That is my right. I am a hunter. If you get in my net, that is your business. If I catch you, that is my business." EE-SZE (Meaning): Bad company is a dangerous thing for man or beast. The Lion and the Mosquitoes One day Ah-Fou's father said to him, "Come here, my boy, and I will tell you a story. Do you remember the great lion we saw one day, which Ah-Kay caught? You know a strong rope held him, and he roared and tried to free himself until he died. Then when Ah-Kay took him from the net, he looked at the rope and the bamboo carefully, and found five of the great ropes broken. "How strong is the lion? Twenty children like you could not break one strand of that great rope. But the lion broke five complete ropes. He is the strongest of all animals. He catches many creatures for his food, but once he lost a battle with one of the least of the wilderness creatures. Do you know what it was?" "A bird could fight and then fly away. Was it a bird?" "No, my son." "A man is stronger than a lion." "No; do you not remember the woodcutter who could put down five strong men? One night a wilderness lion caught and killed him." "Then what was the smallest of all creatures of the wilderness that battled with a lion?" The father said, "I will tell you the story: Once in the summer time the Lion was very thirsty. But the sun had taken all the water near the Lion's home and he went to many places seeking for it. In time he found an old well, but the water was not fresh. As the Lion was very thirsty, he said, 'I must drink, even though the water is stale.' "But when he reached down into the old well, he found that it was the home of all the Mosquitoes of the wilderness. "The Mosquitoes said to the Lion, 'Go away, we do not want you. This is our home and we are happy. We do not wish the lion, the fox, or the bear to come here. You are not our friend. Why do you come?" "The Lion roared and said, 'Weak and foolish things! I am the Lion. It is you that should go away, for I have come to drink. This is my wilderness, and I am king. Do you know, weak things, that when I come out from my place and send forth my voice, all the creatures of the wilderness shake like leaves and bow their heads to me? What are you that you should have a place you call your home and tell me that I may or I may not?' "Then the Mosquitoes answered, 'You are only one. You speak as if you were many. Our people had this old well for a home before your roar was heard in the wilderness. And many generations of us have been born here. This home is ours, and we are they that say who shall come or go. And yet you come and tell us to go out of our own door. If you do not leave us, we will call our people, and you shall know trouble.' "But the Lion held his head high with pride and anger and said, 'What are you, oh, small of the small? I will kill every one of your useless people. When I drink, I will open my mouth only a little wider, and you shall be swallowed like the water. And to-morrow I shall forget that I drank to-day.' "'Boastful one,' said the Mosquitoes, 'we do not believe that you have the power to destroy all our people. If you wish battle, we shall see. We know your name is great and that all animals bow their heads before you; but our people can kill you.' "The Lion jumped high in his rage and said, 'No other creature in the wilderness has dared to say these things to me--the king. Have I come to the vile well of the silly Mosquitoes for wisdom?' And he held his head high, and gave the mighty roar of battle, and made ready to kill all the Mosquitoes. "Then the Mosquitoes, big and little, flew around him. Many went into his ears, and the smallest ones went into his nose, and the big old ones went into his mouth to sting. A thousand and a thousand hung in the air just over his head and made a great noise, and the Lion soon knew that he could not conquer. "He roared and jumped, and two of his front feet went down into the well. The well was narrow and deep and he could not get out, for his two hind feet were in the air and his head hung downward. And as he died, he said to himself: "'My pride and anger have brought me this fate. Had I used gentle words, the Mosquitoes might have given me water for my thirst. I was wise and strong in the wilderness, and even the greatest of the animals feared my power. But I fought with the Mosquitoes and I die--not because I have not strength to overcome, but because of the foolishness of anger." EE-SZE (Meaning): The wise can conquer the foolish. Power is nothing, strength is nothing. The wise, gentle and careful can always win. FABLES OF LA FONTAINE* "Of Fables judge not by their face; They give the simplest brute a teacher's place. Bare precepts were inert and tedious things; The story gives them life and wings." JEAN DE LA FONTAINE *Translated by Elizur Wright, Jr. FABLES OF LA FONTAINE The Grasshopper and the Ant A Grasshopper gay Sang the summer away, And found herself poor By the winter's first roar. Of meat or of bread, Not a morsel she had! So a-begging she went, To her neighbour the Ant, For the loan of some wheat, Which would serve her to eat, Till the season came round. "I will pay you," she saith, "On an animal's faith, Double weight in the pound Ere the harvest be bound." The Ant is a friend-- (And here she might mend) Little given to lend. "How spent you the summer?" Quoth she, looking shame At the borrowing dame. "Night and day to each comer I sang, if you please." "You sang! I'm at ease, For 'tis plain at a glance, Now, ma'am, you must dance." The Swan and the Cook The pleasures of a poultry yard Were by a Swan and Gosling shared. The Swan was kept there for his looks, The thrifty Gosling for the Cooks; The first the garden's pride, the latter A greater favourite on the platter. They swam the ditches, side by side, And oft in sports aquatic vied, Plunging, splashing far and wide, With rivalry ne'er satisfied. One day the Cook, named Thirsty John, Sent for the Gosling, took the Swan, In haste his throat to cut, And put him in the pot. The bird's complaint resounded In glorious melody; Whereat the Cook, astounded His sad mistake to see, Cried, "What! make soup of a musician! Please God, I'll never set such dish on. No, no; I'll never cut a throat That sings so passing sweet a note." _'Tis thus, whatever peril may alarm us, Sweet words will surely never harm us_. The Hornets and the Bees "The artist by his work is known." A piece of honey-comb, one day, Discovered as a waif and stray, The Hornets treated as their own. Their title did the Bees dispute, And brought before a Wasp the suit. The judge was puzzled to decide, For nothing could be testified Save that around this honey-comb There had been seen, as if at home, Some longish, brownish, buzzing creatures, Much like the Bees in wings and features. But what of that? for marks the same, The Hornets, too, could truly claim. Between assertion and denial, The Wasp, in doubt, proclaimed new trial; And, hearing what an ant-hill swore, Could see no clearer than before. "What use, I pray, of this expense?" At last exclaim'd a Bee of sense. "We've laboured months in this affair, And now are only where we were. Meanwhile the honey runs to waste: 'Tis time the judge should show some haste. Both sides have had sufficient bleeding, Without more fuss of scrawls and pleading. Let's set to work, these drones and we, And then all eyes the truth may see, Whose art it is that can produce The magic cells, the nectar juice." The Hornets, flinching on their part, Show that the work transcends their art. The Wasp at length their title sees, And gives the honey to the Bees. _Oh, would that suits at law with us Might every one be managed thus!_ The Two Rats, the Fox, and the Egg Two Rats in foraging fell on an Egg-- For gentry such as they A genteel dinner every way; They needed not to find an ox's leg. Brimful of joy and appetite, They were about to sack the box, So tight without the aid of locks, When suddenly there came in sight A personage--Sir Slyboots Fox. Sure, luck was never more untoward Since Fortune was a vixen froward! How should they save their Egg--and bacon? Their plunder couldn't then be bagg'd. Should it in forward paws be taken, Or roll'd along, or dragg'd? Each method seem'd impossible, And each was then of danger full. Necessity, ingenious mother, Brought forth what help'd them from their pother. As still there was a chance to save their prey, The sponger yet some hundred yards away-- One seized the Egg, and turned upon his back, And then, in spite of many a thump and thwack, That would have torn, perhaps, a coat of mail, The other dragg'd him by the tail. Who dares the inference to blink, That beasts possess wherewith to think? _Were I commission'd to bestow This power on creatures here below, The beasts should have as much of mind As infants of the human kind._ The Lion's Share The Heifer, the Goat, and their sister the Sheep, Compacted their earnings in common to keep, 'Tis said, in time past, with a Lion, who swayed Full lordship o'er neighbours, of whatever grade. The Goat, as it happened, a Stag having snared, Sent off to the rest, that the beast might be shared. All gathered; the Lion first counts on his claws, And says, "We'll proceed to divide with our paws The stag into pieces, as fix'd by our laws." This done, he announces part first as his own; "'Tis mine," he says, "truly, as Lion alone." To such a decision there's nought to be said, As he who has made it is doubtless the head. "Well, also, the second to me should belong; 'Tis mine, be it known, by the right of the strong. Again, as the bravest, the third must be mine. To touch but the fourth whoso maketh a sign, I'll choke him to death In the space of a breath!" The Shepherd and His Dog A Shepherd, with a single Dog, Was ask'd the reason why He kept a Dog, whose least supply Amounted to a loaf of bread For every day. The people said He'd better give the animal To guard the village seignior's hall; For him, a Shepherd, it would be A thriftier economy To keep small curs, say two or three, That would not cost him half the food, And yet for watching be as good. The fools, perhaps, forgot to tell If they would fight the wolf as well. The silly Shepherd, giving heed, Cast off his Dog of mastiff breed, And took three dogs to watch his cattle, Which ate far less, but fled in battle. _Not vain our tale, if it convinces Small states that 'tis a wiser thing To trust a single powerful king, Than half a dozen petty princes._ The Old Man and the Ass An Old Man, riding on his Ass, Had found a spot of thrifty grass, And there turn'd loose his weary beast. Old Grizzle, pleased with such a feast, Flung up his heels, and caper'd round, Then roll'd and rubb'd upon the ground, And frisk'd and browsed and bray'd, And many a clean spot made. Arm'd men came on them as he fed: "Let's fly!" in haste the Old Man said. "And wherefore so?" the Ass replied; "With heavier burdens will they ride?" "No," said the man, already started, "Then," cried the Ass, as he departed. "I'll stay, and be--no matter whose; Save you yourself, and leave me loose, But let me tell you, ere you go (I speak plain English, as you know), My master is my only foe." The Lion Going to War The Lion had an enterprise in hand; Held a war-council, sent his provost-marshal, And gave the animals a call impartial-- Each, in his way, to serve his high command. The Elephant should carry on his back The tools of war, the mighty public pack, And fight in elephantine way and form; The Bear should hold himself prepared to storm; The Fox all secret stratagems should fix; The Monkey should amuse the foe by tricks. "Dismiss," said one, "the blockhead Asses, And Hares, too cowardly and fleet." "No," said the King; "I use all classes; Without their aid my force were incomplete. The Ass shall be our trumpeter, to scare Our enemy. And then the nimble Hare Our royal bulletins shall homeward bear." _A monarch provident and wise Will hold his subjects all of consequence, And know in each what talent lies. There's nothing useless to a man of sense._ The Ass and the Lap-dog One's native talent from its course Cannot be turned aside by force; But poorly apes the country clown The polish'd manners of the town. Their Maker chooses but a few With power of pleasing to imbue; Where wisely leave it we, the mass, Unlike a certain fabled Ass, That thought to gain his master's blessing By jumping on him and caressing. "What!" said the Donkey in his heart; "Ought it to be that Puppy's part To lead his useless life In full companionship With master and his wife, While I must bear the whip? What doth the Cur a kiss to draw Forsooth, he only gives his paw! If that is all there needs to please, I'll do the thing myself, with ease." Possess'd with this bright notion-- His master sitting on his chair, At leisure in the open air-- He ambled up, with awkward motion, And put his talents to the proof; Upraised his bruised and batter'd hoof, And, with an amiable mien, His master patted on the chin, The action gracing with a word-- The fondest bray that e'er was heard! Oh, such caressing was there ever? Or melody with such a quaver? "Ho! Martin! here! a club, a club bring!" Out cried the master, sore offended. So Martin gave the Ass a drubbing-- And so the comedy was ended. The Hare and the Partridge A field in common share A Partridge and a Hare, And live in peaceful state, Till, woeful to relate! The hunters mingled cry Compels the Hare to fly. He hurries to his fort, And spoils almost the sport By faulting every hound That yelps upon the ground. At last his reeking heat Betrays his snug retreat. Old Tray, with philosophic nose, Snuffs carefully, and grows So certain, that he cries, "The Hare is here; bow wow!" And veteran Ranger now-- The dog that never lies-- "The Hare is gone," replies. Alas! poor, wretched Hare, Back comes he to his lair, To meet destruction there! The Partridge, void of fear, Begins her friend to jeer:-- "You bragg'd of being fleet; How serve you, now, your feet?" Scarce has she ceased to speak-- The laugh yet in her beak-- When comes her turn to die, From which she could not fly. She thought her wings, indeed, Enough for every need; But in her laugh and talk, Forgot the cruel hawk! The Weasel in the Granary A Weasel through a hole contrived to squeeze, (She was recovering from disease), Which led her to a farmer's hoard. There lodged, her wasted form she cherish'd; Heaven knows the lard and victuals stored That by her gnawing perish'd! Of which the consequence Was sudden corpulence. A week or so was past, When having fully broken fast, A noise she heard, and hurried To find the hole by which she came, And seem'd to find it not the same; So round she ran, most sadly flurried; And, coming back, thrust out her head, Which, sticking there, she said, "This is the hole, there can't be blunder: What makes it now so small, I wonder, Where, but the other day, I pass'd with ease?" A Rat her trouble sees, And cries, "But with an emptier belly; You entered lean, and lean must sally." The Wolf Turned Shepherd A Wolf, whose gettings from the flocks Began to be but few, Bethought himself to play the fox In character quite new. A Shepherd's hat and coat he took, A cudgel for a crook, Nor e'en the pipe forgot: And more to seem what he was not, Himself upon his hat he wrote, "I'm Willie, shepherd of these sheep." His person thus complete, His crook in upraised feet, The impostor Willie stole upon the keep. The proper Willie, on the grass asleep, Slept there, indeed, profoundly, His dog and pipe slept, also soundly; His drowsy sheep around lay. As for the greatest number, Much bless'd the hypocrite their slumber And hoped to drive away the flock, Could he the Shepherd's voice but mock. He thought undoubtedly he could. He tried: the tone in which he spoke, Loud echoing from the wood, The plot and slumber broke; Sheep, dog, and man awoke. The Wolf, in sorry plight, In hampering coat bedight, Could neither run nor fight. _There's always leakage of deceit Which makes it never safe to cheat, Whoever is a Wolf had better Keep clear of hypocritic fetter._ The Lion and the Ass Hunting The King of animals, with royal grace, Would celebrate his birthday in the chase. Twas not with bow and arrows, To slay some wretched sparrows; The Lion hunts the wild boar of the wood, The antlered deer and stags, the fat and good. This time, the King, t' insure success, Took for his aide-de-camp an Ass, A creature of stentorian voice, That felt much honoured by the choice. The Lion hid him in a proper station, And ordered him to bray, for his vocation, Assured that his tempestuous cry The boldest beasts would terrify, And cause them from their lairs to fly. And, sooth, the horrid noise the creature made Did strike the tenants of the wood with dread; And, as they headlong fled, All fell within the Lion's ambuscade. "Has not my service glorious Made both of us victorious?" Cried out the much-elated Ass. "Yes," said the Lion; "bravely bray'd! Had I not known yourself and race, I should have been myself afraid!" The Donkey, had he dared, With anger would have flared At this retort, though justly made; For who could suffer boasts to pass So ill-befitting to an Ass? The Oak and the Reed The Oak one day address'd the Reed: "To you ungenerous indeed Has nature been, my humble friend, With weakness aye obliged to bend. The smallest bird that flits in air Is quite too much for you to bear; The slightest wind that wreathes the lake Your ever-trembling head doth shake. The while, my towering form Dares with the mountain top The solar blaze to stop, And wrestle with the storm. What seems to you the blast of death, To me is but a zephyr's breath. Beneath my branches had you grown, Less suffering would your life have known, Unhappily you oftenest show In open air your slender form, Along the marshes wet and low, That fringe the kingdom of the storm. To you, declare I must, Dame Nature seems unjust." Then modestly replied the Reed: "Your pity, sir, is kind indeed, But wholly needless for my sake. The wildest wind that ever blew Is safe to me compared with you. I bend, indeed, but never break. Thus far, I own, the hurricane Has beat your sturdy back in vain; But wait the end." Just at the word, The tempest's hollow voice was heard. The North sent forth her fiercest child, Dark, jagged, pitiless, and wild. The Oak, erect, endured the blow; The Reed bow'd gracefully and low. But, gathering up its strength once more, In greater fury than before, The savage blast o'erthrew, at last, That proud, old, sky-encircled head, Whose feet entwined the empire of the dead! The Bat and the Two Weasels A blundering Bat once stuck her head Into a wakeful Weasel's bed; Whereat the mistress of the house, A deadly foe of rats and mice, Was making ready in a trice To eat the stranger as a mouse. "What! do you dare," she said, "to creep in The very bed I sometimes sleep in, Now, after all the provocation I've suffered from your thievish nation? It's plain to see you are a mouse, That gnawing pest of every house, Your special aim to do the cheese ill. Ay, that you are, or I'm no Weasel." "I beg your pardon," said the Bat; "My kind is very far from that. What! I a mouse! Who told you such a lie? Why, ma'am, I am a bird; And, if you doubt my word, Just see the wings with which I fly. Long live the mice that cleave the sky!" These reasons had so fair a show, The Weasel let the creature go. By some strange fancy led, The same wise blunderhead, But two or three days later, Had chosen for her rest Another Weasel's nest, This last, of birds a special hater. New peril brought this step absurd: Without a moment's thought or puzzle, Dame Weasel, oped her peaked muzzle To eat th' intruder as a bird. "Hold! do not wrong me," cried the Bat; "I'm truly no such thing as that. Your eyesight strange conclusions gathers. What makes a bird, I pray? Its feathers. I'm cousin of the mice and rats. Great Jupiter confound the cats!" The Bat, by such adroit replying, Twice saved herself from dying. _And many a human stranger Thus turns his coat in danger; And sings, as suits, where'er he goes, "God save the king!"--or "save his foes!_" The Dove and the Ant A Dove came to a brook to drink, When, leaning o'er its crumbling brink, An Ant fell in, and vainly tried, In this, to her, an ocean tide, To reach the land; whereat the Dove, With every living thing in love, Was prompt a spire of grass to throw her, By which the Ant regained the shore. A barefoot scamp, both mean and sly, Soon after chanced this Dove to spy; And, being arm'd with bow and arrow, The hungry codger doubted not The bird of Venus, in his pot, Would make a soup before the morrow. Just as his deadly bow he drew, Our Ant just bit his heel. Roused by the villain's squeal, The Dove took timely hint, and flew Far from the rascal's coop-- And with her flew his soup. The Cock and the Fox Upon a tree there mounted guard A veteran Cock, adroit and cunning; When to the roots a Fox up running, Spoke thus, in tones of kind regard: "Our quarrel, brother, 's at an end; Henceforth I hope to live your friend; For peace now reigns Throughout the animal domains. I bear the news--come down, I pray, And give me the embrace fraternal; And please, my brother, don't delay. So much the tidings do concern all, That I must spread them far to-day. Now you and yours can take your walks Without a fear or thought of hawks. And should you clash with them or others, In us you'll find the best of brothers; For which you may, this joyful night, Your merry bonfires light. But, first, let's seal the bliss With one fraternal kiss." The Cock replied, "Upon my word, A better thing I never heard; And doubly I rejoice To hear it from your voice; There really must be something in it, For yonder come two greyhounds, which I flatter Myself are couriers on this very matter. They come so fast, they'll be here in a minute. I'll down, and all of us will seal the blessing With general kissing and caressing." "Adieu," said Fox; "my errand's pressing; I'll hurry on my way, And we'll rejoice some other day." So off the fellow scampered, quick and light, To gain the fox-holes of a neighbouring height, Less happy in his stratagem than flight. The Cock laugh'd sweetly in his sleeve-- 'Tis doubly sweet deceiver to deceive. The Wolf, the Goat, and the Kid As went a Goat of grass to take her fill, And browse the herbage of a distant hill, She latch'd her door, and bid, With matron care, her Kid; "My daughter, as you live, This portal don't undo To any creature who This watchword does not give: 'Deuce take the Wolf and all his race'!" The Wolf was passing near the place By chance, and heard the words with pleasure, And laid them up as useful treasure; And hardly need we mention, Escaped the Goat's attention. No sooner did he see The matron off, than he, With hypocritic tone and face, Cried out before the place, "Deuce take the Wolf and all his race!" Not doubting thus to gain admission. The Kid, not void of all suspicion, Peer'd through a crack, and cried, "Show me white paw before You ask me to undo the door." The Wolf could not, if he had died, For wolves have no connection With paws of that complexion. So, much surprised, our gourmandiser Retired to fast till he was wiser. _How would the Kid have been undone Had she but trusted to the word The Wolf by chance had overheard! Two sureties better are than one; And cautions worth its cost, Though sometimes seeming lost._ The Fox, the Monkey, and the Animals Left kingless by the lion's death, The beasts once met, our story saith, Some fit successor to install. Forth from a dragon-guarded, moated place, The crown was brought and, taken from its case, And being tried by turns on all, The heads of most were found too small; Some horned were, and some too big; Not one would fit the regal gear. Forever ripe for such a rig, The Monkey, looking very queer, Approached with antics and grimaces, And, after scores of monkey faces, With what would seem a gracious stoop, Pass'd through the crown as through a hoop. The beasts, diverted with the thing, Did homage to him as their king. The Fox alone the vote regretted, But yet in public never fretted. When he his compliments had paid To royalty, thus newly made, "Great sire, I know a place," said he, "Where lies conceal'd a treasure, Which, by the right of royalty, Should bide your royal pleasure." The King lack'd not an appetite For such financial pelf, And, not to lose his royal right, Ran straight to see it for himself. It was a trap, and he was caught. Said Reynard, "Would you have it thought, You Ape, that you can fill a throne, And guard the rights of all, alone. Not knowing how to guard your own?" _The beasts all gathered from the farce, That stuff for kings is very scarce._ The Rat and the Oyster A country Rat of little brains, Grown weary of inglorious rest, Left home with all its straws and grains, Resolved to know beyond his nest. When peeping through the nearest fence, "How big the world is, how immense!" He cried; "there rise the Alps, and that Is doubtless famous Ararat." His mountains were the works of moles, Or dirt thrown up in digging holes! Some days of travel brought him where The tide had left the Oysters bare. Since here our traveller saw the sea, He thought these shells the ships must be. "My father was, in truth," said he, "A coward, and an ignoramus; He dared not travel: as for me, I've seen the ships and ocean famous; Have cross'd the deserts without drinking, And many dangerous streams, unshrinking." Among the shut-up shell-fish, one Was gaping widely at the sun; It breathed, and drank the air's perfume, Expanding, like a flower in bloom. Both white and fat, its meat Appear'd a dainty treat. Our Rat, when he this shell espied, Thought for his stomach to provide. "If not mistaken in the matter," Said he, "no meat was ever fatter, Or in its flavour half so fine, As that on which to-day I dine." Thus full of hope, the foolish chap Thrust in his head to taste, And felt the pinching of a trap-- The Oyster closed in haste. _Now those to whom the world is new Are wonder-struck at every view; And the marauder finds his match When he is caught who thinks to catch._ The Ass and the Dog Along the road an Ass and Dog One master following, did jog. Their master slept: meanwhile, the Ass Applied his nippers to the grass, Much pleased in such a place to stop, Though there no thistle he could crop. He would not be too delicate, Nor spoil a dinner for a plate, Which, but for that, his favourite dish, Were all that any Ass could wish. "My dear companion," Towser said-- "'Tis as a starving Dog I ask it-- Pray lower down your loaded basket, And let me get a piece of bread." No answer--not a word!--indeed, The truth was, our Arcadian steed Fear'd lest, for every moment's flight, His nimble teeth should lose a bite. At last, "I counsel you," said he, "to wait Till master is himself awake, Who then, unless I much mistake, Will give his Dog the usual bait." Meanwhile, there issued from the wood A creature of the wolfish brood, Himself by famine sorely pinch'd. At sight of him the Donkey flinch'd, And begg'd the Dog to give him aid. The Dog budged not, but answer made, "I counsel thee, my friend, to run, Till master's nap is fairly done; There can, indeed, be no mistake That he will very soon awake; Till then, scud off with all your might; And should he snap you in your flight, This ugly Wolf--why, let him feel The greeting of your well-shod heel. I do not doubt, at all, but that Will be enough to lay him flat." But ere he ceased it was too late; The Ass had met his cruel fate. The Monkey and the Leopard A Monkey and a Leopard were The rivals at a country fair. Each advertised his own attractions. Said one, "Good sirs, the highest place My merit knows; for, of his grace, The King hath seen me face to face; And, judging by his looks and actions, I gave the best of satisfactions. When I am dead, 'tis plain enough, My skin will make his royal muff. So richly is it streak'd and spotted, So delicately waved and dotted, Its various beauty cannot fail to please." And, thus invited, everybody sees; But soon they see, and soon depart. The Monkey's show-bill to the mart His merits thus sets forth the while, All in his own peculiar style: "Come, gentlemen, I pray you, come; In magic arts I am at home. The whole variety in which My neighbour boasts himself so rich Is to his simple skin confined, While mine is living in the mind. For I can speak, you understand; Can dance, and practise sleight-of-hand; Can jump through hoops, and balance sticks; In short, can do a thousand tricks; One penny is my charge to you, And, if you think the price won't do, When you have seen, then I'll restore, Each man his money at the door." _The Ape was not to reason blind; For who in wealth of dress can find Such charms as dwell in wealth of mind? One meets our ever-new desires, The other in a moment tires. Alas! how many lords there are, Of mighty sway and lofty mien, Who, like this Leopard at the fair, Show all their talents on the skin!_ The Rat and the Elephant A Rat, of quite the smallest size, Fix'd on an Elephant his eyes, And jeer'd the beast of high descent Because his feet so slowly went. Upon his back, three stories high, There sat, beneath a canopy, A certain sultan of renown, His Dog, and Cat, and wife sublime, His parrot, servant, and his wine, All pilgrims to a distant town. The Rat profess'd to be amazed That all the people stood and gazed With wonder, as he pass'd the road, Both at the creature and his load. "As if," said he, "to occupy A little more of land or sky Made one, in view of common sense, Of greater worth and consequence! What see ye, men, in this parade, That food for wonder need be made? The bulk which makes a child afraid? In truth, I take myself to be, In all aspects, as good as he." And further might have gone his vaunt; But, darting down, the Cat Convinced him that a Rat Is smaller than an elephant. The Acorn and the Pumpkin God's works are good. This truth to prove Around the world I need not move; I do it by the nearest Pumpkin. "This fruit so large, on vine so small," Surveying once, exclaim'd a bumpkin-- "What could He mean who made us all? He's left this Pumpkin out of place. If I had order'd in the case, Upon that oak it should have hung---- A noble fruit as ever swung To grace a tree so firm and strong. Indeed, it was a great mistake, As this discovery teaches, That I myself did not partake His counsels whom my curate preaches. All things had then in order come; This Acorn, for example, Not bigger than my thumb, Had not disgraced a tree so ample. The more I think, the more I wonder To see outraged proportion's laws, And that without the slightest cause; God surely made an awkward blunder." With such reflections proudly fraught, Our sage grew tired of mighty thought, And threw himself on Nature's lap, Beneath an oak, to take his nap. Plump on his nose, by lucky hap, An Acorn fell: he waked, and in The scarf he wore beneath his chin, He found the cause of such a bruise As made him different language use. "Oh! Oh!" he cried; "I bleed! I bleed! And this is what has done the deed! But, truly, what had been my fate, Had this had half a Pumpkin's weight! I see that God had reasons good, And all His works were understood." Thus home he went in humbler mood. The Cat and the Fox The Cat and Fox, when saints were all the rage Together went upon pilgrimage. Our Pilgrims, as a thing of course, Disputed till their throats were hoarse. Then, dropping to a lower tone, They talk'd of this, and talk'd of that, Till Reynard whisper'd to the Cat, "You think yourself a knowing one: How many cunning tricks have you? For I've a hundred, old and new, All ready in my haversack." The Cat replied, "I do not lack, Though with but one provided; And, truth to honour, for that matter, I hold it than a thousand better." In fresh dispute they sided; And loudly were they at it, when Approach'd a mob of dogs and men. "Now," said the Cat, "your tricks ransack, And put your cunning brains to rack, One life to save; I'll show you mine-- A trick, you see, for saving nine." With that, she climb'd a lofty pine. The Fox his hundred ruses tried, And yet no safety found. A hundred times he falsified. The nose of every hound Was here, and there, and everywhere, Above, and under ground; But yet to stop he did not dare, Pent in a hole, it was no joke, To meet the terriers or the smoke. So, leaping into upper air, He met two dogs, that choked him there. _Expedients may be too many, Consuming time to choose and try. On one, but that as good as any, 'Tis best in danger to rely._ The City Rat and the Country Rat A city Rat, one night Did with a civil stoop A Country Rat invite To end a turtle soup. Upon a Turkey carpet They found the table spread, And sure I need not harp it How well the fellows fed. The entertainment was A truly noble one; But some unlucky cause Disturbed it when begun It was a slight rat-tat, That put their Joys to rout; Out ran the City Rat; His guest, too, scampered out. Our rats but fairly quit, The fearful knocking ceased, "Return we," said the cit, "To finish there our feast." "No," said the Rustic Rat; "To-morrow dine with me. I'm not offended at Your feast so grand and free, "For I've no fare resembling; But then I eat at leisure, And would not swap for pleasure So mixed with fear and trembling." The Ploughman and His Sons A wealthy Ploughman drawing near his end Call'd in his Sons apart from every friend, And said, "When of your sire bereft, The heritage our fathers left Guard well, nor sell a single field. A treasure in it is conceal'd: The place, precisely, I don't know, But industry will serve to show. The harvest past. Time's forelock take, And search with plough, and spade, and rake; Turn over every inch of sod, Nor leave unsearch'd a single clod." The father died. The Sons in vain-- Turn'd o'er the soil, and o'er again; That year their acres bore More grain than e'er before. Though hidden money found they none, Yet had their Father wisely done, To show by such a measure That toil itself is treasure. _The farmer's patient care and toil Are oftener wanting than the soil._ The Fox, the Wolf, and the Horse A Fox, though young, by no means raw, Had seen a Horse, the first he ever saw: "Ho! neighbour Wolf," said he to one quite green, "A creature in our meadow I have seen-- Sleek, grand! I seem to see him yet-- The finest beast I ever met." "Is he a stouter one than we?" The Wolf demanded, eagerly; "Some picture of him let me see." "If I could paint," said Fox, "I should delight T' anticipate your pleasure at the sight; But come; who knows? perhaps it is a prey By fortune offer'd in our way." They went. The Horse, turn'd loose to graze, Not liking much their looks and ways, Was just about to gallop off. "Sir," said the Fox, "your humble servants, we Make bold to ask you what your name may be." The Horse, an animal with brains enough, Replied, "Sirs, you yourselves may read my name; My shoer round my heel hath writ the same." The Fox excus'd himself for want of knowledge: "Me, sir, my parents did not educate, So poor, a hole was their entire estate. My friend, the Wolf, however, taught at college, Could read it, were it even Greek." The Wolf, to flattery weak, Approached to verify the boast; For which four teeth he lost. The high raised hoof came down with such a blow As laid him bleeding on the ground full low. "My brother," said the Fox, "this shows how just What once was taught me by a fox of wit-- Which on thy jaws this animal hath writ-- 'All unknown things the wise mistrust.'" The Woodman and Mercury A Man that laboured in the wood Had lost his honest livelihood; That is to say, His axe was gone astray. He had no tools to spare; This wholly earn'd his fare. Without a hope beside, He sat him down and cried, "Alas, my axe! where can it be? O Jove! but send it back to me, And it shall strike good blows for thee." His prayer in high Olympus heard, Swift Mercury started at the word. "Your axe must not be lost," said he: "Now, will you know it when you see? An axe I found upon the road." With that an axe of gold he show'd. "Is't this?" The Woodman answer'd, "Nay." An axe of silver, bright and gay, Refused the honest Woodman too. At last the finder brought to view An axe of iron, steel, and wood. "That's mine," he said, in joyful mood; "With that I'll quite contented be." The god replied, "I give the three, As due reward of honesty." This luck when neighbouring choppers knew, They lost their axes, not a few, And sent their prayers to Jupiter So fast, he knew not which to hear. His winged son, however, sent With gold and silver axes, went. Each would have thought himself a fool Not to have own'd the richest tool. But Mercury promptly gave, instead Of it, a blow upon the head. _With simple truth to be contented, Is surest not to be repented: But still there are who would With evil trap the good, Whose cunning is but stupid, For Jove is never duped._ The Eagle and the Owl The Eagle and the Owl, resolved to cease Their war, embraced in pledge of peace. On faith of King, on faith of Owl, they swore That they would eat each other's chicks no more. "But know you mine?" said Wisdom's bird. "Not I, indeed," the Eagle cried. "The worse for that," the Owl replied: "I fear your oath's a useless word; I fear that you, as king, will not Consider duly who or what: Adieu, my young, if you should meet them!" "Describe them, then, and I'll not eat them," The Eagle said. The Owl replied: "My little ones, I say with pride, For grace of form cannot be match'd-- The prettiest birds that e'er were hatch'd; By this you cannot fail to know them; 'Tis needless, therefore, that I show them." At length God gives the Owl some heirs, And while at early eve abroad he fares, In quest of birds and mice for food, Our Eagle haply spies the brood, As on some craggy rock they sprawl, Or nestle in some ruined wall, (But which it matters not at all,) And thinks them ugly little frights, Grim, sad, with voice like shrieking sprites. "These chicks," says he, "with looks almost infernal, Can't be the darlings of our friend nocturnal. I'll sup of them." And so he did, not slightly: He never sups, if he can help it, lightly. The Owl return'd; and, sad, he found Nought left but claws upon the ground. He pray'd the gods above and gods below To smite the brigand who had caused his woe. Quoth one, "On you alone the blame must fall; Thinking your like the loveliest of all, You told the Eagle of your young ones' graces; You gave the picture of their faces: Had it of likeness any traces?" The Earthen Pot and the Iron Pot An Iron Pot proposed To an Earthen Pot a journey. The latter was opposed, Expressing the concern he Had felt about the danger Of going out a ranger. He thought the kitchen hearth The safest place on earth For one so very brittle. "For thee, who art a kettle, And hast a tougher skin, There's nought to keep thee in." "I'll be thy bodyguard," Replied the Iron Pot; "If anything that's hard Should threaten thee a jot, Between you I will go, And save thee from the blow." This offer him persuaded. The Iron Pot paraded Himself as guard and guide Close at his cousin's side. Now, in their tripod way, They hobble as they may; And eke together bolt At every little jolt-- Which gives the crockery pain; But presently his comrade hits So hard, he dashes him to bits, Before he can complain. _Take care that you associate With equals only, lest your fate Between these pots should find its mate._ The Wolf and the Lean Dog A Troutling, some time since, Endeavoured vainly to convince A hungry fisherman Of his unfitness for the frying-pan. The fisherman had reason good-- The troutling did the best he could-- Both argued for their lives. Now, if my present purpose thrives, I'll prop my former proposition By building on a small addition. A certain Wolf, in point of wit The prudent fisher's opposite, A Dog once finding far astray, Prepared to take him as his prey. The Dog his leanness plead; "Your lordship, sure," he said, "Cannot be very eager To eat a dog so meagre. To wait a little do not grudge: The wedding of my master's only daughter Will cause of fatted calves and fowls a slaughter; And then, as you yourself can judge, I cannot help becoming fatter." The Wolf, believing, waived the matter, And so, some days therefrom, Return'd with sole design to see If fat enough his Dog might be. The rogue was now at home: He saw the hunter through the fence. "My friend," said he, "please wait; I'll be with you a moment hence, And fetch our porter of the gate." This porter was a dog immense, That left to wolves no future tense. Suspicion gave our Wolf a jog-- It might not be so safely tamper'd. "My service to your porter dog," Was his reply, as off he scampered. His legs proved better than his head, And saved him life to learn his trade. The Ears of the Hare Some beast with horns did gore The Lion; and that sovereign dread, Resolved to suffer so no more, Straight banish'd from his realm, 'tis said, All sorts of beasts with horns-- Rams, bulls, goats, stags, and unicorns. Such brutes all promptly fled. A Hare, the shadow of his ears perceiving, Could hardly help believing That some vile spy for horns would take them, And food for accusation make them. "Adieu," said he, "my neighbour cricket; I take my foreign ticket. My ears, should I stay here, Will turn to horns, I fear; And were they shorter than a bird's, I fear the effect of words." "These horns!" the cricket answered; "why, God made them ears who can deny?" "Yes," said the coward, "still they'll make them horns, And horns, perhaps, of unicorns! In vain shall I protest, With all the learning of the schools: My reasons they will send to rest In th' Hospital of Fools." The Ass Carrying Relics An Ass, with relics for his load, Supposed the worship on the road Meant for himself alone, And took on lofty airs, Receiving as his own The incense and the prayers. Some one, who saw his great mistake, Cried, "Master Donkey, do not make Yourself so big a fool. Not you they worship, but your pack; They praise the idols on your back, And count yourself a paltry tool." _'Tis thus a brainless magistrate Is honoured for his robe of state._ The Two Mules Two Mules were bearing on their backs, One, oats; the other, silver of the tax. The latter glorying in his load, March'd proudly forward on the road; And, from the jingle of his bell, 'Twas plain he liked his burden well. But in a wild-wood glen A band of robber men Rush'd forth upon the twain. Well with the silver pleased, They by the bridle seized The treasure Mule so vain. Poor Mule! in struggling to repel His ruthless foes, he fell Stabb'd through; and with a bitter sighing, He cried: "Is this the lot they promised me? My humble friend from danger free, While, weltering in my gore, I'm dying?" "My friend," his fellow-mule replied, "It is not well to have one's work too high. If thou hadst been a miller's drudge, as I, Thou wouldst not thus have died." The Lion and the Gnat "Go, paltry insect, nature's meanest brat!" Thus said the royal Lion to the Gnat. The Gnat declared immediate war. "Think you," said he, "your royal name To me worth caring for? Think you I tremble at your power or fame? The ox is bigger far than you; Yet him I drive, and all his crew." This said, as one that did no fear owe, Himself he blew the battle charge, Himself both trumpeter and hero. At first he play'd about at large, Then on the Lion's neck, at leisure, settled, And there the royal beast full sorely nettled. With foaming mouth, and flashing eye, He roars. All creatures hide or fly-- Such mortal terror at The work of one poor Gnat! With constant change of his attack, The snout now stinging, now the back, And now the chambers of the nose; The pigmy fly no mercy shows. The Lion's rage was at its height; His viewless foe now laugh'd outright, When on his battle-ground he saw, That every savage tooth and claw Had got its proper beauty By doing bloody duty; Himself, the hapless Lion tore his hide, And lash'd with sounding tail from side to side. Ah! bootless blow, and bite, and curse! He beat the harmless air, and worse; For, though so fierce and stout, By effort wearied out, He fainted, fell, gave up the quarrel; The Gnat retires with verdant laurel. _We often have the most to fear From those we most despise; Again, great risks a man may clear Who by the smallest dies._ The Countryman and the Serpent A Countryman, as Aesop certifies, A charitable man, but not so wise, One day in winter found, Stretched on the snowy ground, A chill'd or frozen Snake, As torpid as a stake, And, if alive, devoid of sense. He took him up, and bore him home, And, thinking not what recompense For such a charity would come, Before the fire stretch'd him, And back to being fetch'd him. The Snake scarce felt the genial heat Before his heart with native malice beat. He raised his head, thrust out his forked tongue, Coil'd up, and at his benefactor sprung. "Ungrateful wretch!" said he, "is this the way My care and kindness you repay? Now you shall die." With that his axe he takes, And with two blows three serpents makes. Trunk, head, and tail were separate snakes; And, leaping up with all their might, They vainly sought to reunite. _'Tis good and lovely to be kind; But charity should not be blind; For as to wretchedness ingrate, You cannot raise it from its wretched state._ The Dairywoman and the Pot of Milk A Pot of Milk upon her cushioned crown, Good Peggy hastened to the market town; Short-clad and light, with step she went, Not fearing any accident; Indeed to be the nimbler tripper, Her dress that day, The truth to say, Was simply petticoat and slipper. And, thus bedight, Good Peggy, light, Her gains already counted, Laid out the cash At single dash, Which to a hundred eggs amounted. Three nests she made, Which, by the aid Of diligence and care, were hatched. "To raise the chicks, We'll easily fix," Said she, "beside our cottage thatched. The fox must get More cunning yet, Or leave enough to buy a pig. With little care, And any fare, He'll grow quite fat and big; And then the price Will be so nice For which the pork will sell! 'Twill go quite hard But in our yard I'll bring a cow and calf to dwell-- A calf to frisk among the flock!" The thought made Peggy do the same; And down at once the milk pot came, And perished with the shock. Calf, cow, and pig, and chicks, adieu! Your mistress' face is sad to view-- She gives a tear to fortune spilt; Then, with the down-cast look of guilt, Home to her husband empty goes, Somewhat in danger of his blows. Who buildeth not, sometimes, in air, His cots, or seats, or castles fair? From kings to dairywomen--all-- The wise, the foolish, great and small-- Each thinks his waking dream the best. Some flattering error fills the breast: The world, with all its wealth, is ours, Its honours, dames, and loveliest bowers. Instinct with valour, where alone, I hurl the monarch from his throne; The people glad to see him dead, Elect me monarch in his stead, And diadems rain on my head. Some accident then calls me back, And I'm no more than simple Jack! The Monkey and the Cat Sly Bertrand and Ratto in company sat, (The one was a Monkey, the other a Cat,) Co-servants and lodgers: More mischievous codgers Ne'er mess'd from a platter, since platters were flat. Was anything wrong in the house or about it, The neighbours were blameless--no mortal could doubt it; For Bertrand was thievish, and Ratto so nice, More attentive to cheese than he was to the mice. One day the two plunderers sat by the fire, Where chestnuts were roasting, with looks of desire. To steal them would be a right noble affair. A double inducement our heroes drew there-- 'Twould benefit them, could they swallow their fill, And then 'twould occasion to somebody ill. Said Bertrand to Ratto, "My brother, to-day Exhibit your powers in a masterly way, And take me these chestnuts, I pray. Which were I but otherwise fitted (As I am ingeniously wilted) For pulling things out of the flame, Would stand but a pitiful game." "'Tis done," replied Ratto, all prompt to obey; And thrust out his paw in a delicate way. First giving the ashes a scratch, He open'd the coveted batch; Then lightly and quickly impinging, He drew out, in spite of the singeing, One after another, the chestnuts at last-- While Bertrand contrived to devour them as fast. A servant girl enters. Adieu to the fun. Our Ratto was hardly contented, says one. _No more are the princes, by flattery paid For furnishing help in a different trade, And burning their fingers to bring More power to some mightier king._ The Lioness and the Bear The Lioness had lost her young; A hunter stole it from the vale; The forests and the mountains rung Responsive to her hideous wail. Nor night, nor charms of sweet repose, Could still the loud lament that rose From that grim forest queen. No animal, as you might think, With such a noise could sleep a wink. A Bear presumed to intervene. "One word, sweet friend," quoth she, "And that is all, from me. The young that through your teeth have passed, In file unbroken by a fast, Had they nor dam nor sire?" "They had them both." "Then I desire, Since all their deaths caused no such grievous riot, While mothers died of grief beneath your fiat, To know why you yourself cannot be quiet?" "I quiet!--I!--a wretch bereaved! My only son!--such anguish be relieved! No, never! All for me below Is but a life of tears and woe!"-- "But say, why doom yourself to sorrow so?" "Alas! 'tis Destiny that is my foe." _Such language, since the mortal fall, Has fallen from the lips of all. Ye human wretches, give your heed; For your complaints there's little need. Let him who thinks his own the hardest case, Some widowed, childless Hecuba behold, Herself to toil and shame of slavery sold, And he will own the wealth of heavenly grace._ The Cat and the Two Sparrows Contemporary with a Sparrow tame There lived a Cat; from tenderest age, Of both, the basket and the cage Had household gods the same. The Bird's sharp beak full oft provoked the Cat, Who play'd in turn, but with a gentle pat, His wee friend sparing with a merry laugh, Not punishing his faults by half. In short, he scrupled much the harm, Should he with points his ferule arm. The Sparrow, less discreet than he, With dagger beak made very free. Sir Cat, a person wise and staid, Excused the warmth with which he play'd: For 'tis full half of friendship's art To take no joke in serious part. Familiar since they saw the light, Mere habit kept their friendship good; Fair play had never turn'd to fight, Till, of their neighbourhood, Another sparrow came to greet Old Ratto grave and Saucy Pete. Between the birds a quarrel rose, And Ratto took his side. "A pretty stranger, with such blows To beat our friend!" he cried. "A neighbour's sparrow eating ours! Not so, by all the feline powers." And quick the stranger he devours. "Now, truly," saith Sir Cat, "I know how sparrows taste by that. Exquisite, tender, delicate!" This thought soon seal'd the other's fate. But hence what moral can I bring? For, lacking that important thing, A fable lacks its finishing: I seem to see of one some trace, But still its shadow mocks my chase. The Sick Stag A Stag, where stags abounded, Fell sick and was surrounded Forthwith by comrades kind, All--pressing to assist, Or see, their friend, at least, And ease his anxious mind-- An irksome multitude. "Ah, sirs!" the sick was fain to cry, "Pray leave me here to die, As others do, in solitude. Pray, let your kind attentions cease, Till death my spirit shall release." But comforters are not so sent: On duty sad full long intent, When Heaven pleased, they went: But not without a friendly glass; That is to say, they cropp'd the grass And leaves which in that quarter grew, From which the sick his pittance drew. By kindness thus compell'd to fast, He died for want of food at last. _The men take off no trifling dole Who heal the body, or the soul. Alas the times! do what we will, They have their payment, cure or kill._ The Wolf and the Fox "Dear Wolf," complain'd a hungry Fox, "A lean chick's meat, or veteran cock's, Is all I get by toil or trick: Of such a living I am sick. With far less risk, you've better cheer; A house you need not venture near, But I must do it, spite of fear. Pray, make me master of your trade. And let me by that means be made The first of all my race that took Fat mutton to his larder's hook: Your kindness shall not be repented." The Wolf quite readily consented. "I have a brother, lately dead: Go fit his skin to yours," he said. 'Twas done; and then the wolf proceeded: "Now mark you well what must be done The dogs that guard the flock to shun." The Fox the lessons strictly heeded. At first he boggled in his dress; But awkwardness grew less and less, Till perseverance gave success. His education scarce complete, A flock, his scholarship to greet, Came rambling out that way. The new-made Wolf his work began, Amidst the heedless nibblers ran, And spread a sore dismay. The bleating host now surely thought That fifty wolves were on the spot: Dog, shepherd, sheep, all homeward fled, And left a single sheep in pawn, Which Reynard seized when they were gone. But, ere upon his prize he fed, There crow'd a cock near by, and down The scholar threw his prey and gown, That he might run that way the faster-- Forgetting lessons, prize and master. _Reality, in every station, Will burst out on the first occasion._ The Woods and the Woodman A certain Wood-chopper lost or broke From his axe's eye a bit of oak. The forest must needs be somewhat spared While such a loss was being repair'd. Came the man at last, and humbly pray'd That the Woods would kindly lend to him-- A moderate loan--a single limb, Whereof might another helve be made, And his axe should elsewhere drive its trade. Oh, the oaks and firs that then might stand, A pride and a joy throughout the land, For their ancientness and glorious charms! The innocent Forest lent him arms; But bitter indeed was her regret; For the wretch, his axe new-helved and whet, Did nought but his benefactress spoil Of the finest trees that graced her soil; And ceaselessly was she made to groan, Doing penance for that fatal loan. _Behold the world-stage and its actors, Where benefits hurt benefactors! A weary theme, and full of pain; For where's the shade so cool and sweet, Protecting strangers from the heat, But might of such a wrong complain? Alas! I vex myself in vain; Ingratitude, do what I will, Is sure to be the fashion still._ The Shepherd and the Lion The Fable Aesop tells is nearly this: A Shepherd from his flock began to miss, And long'd to catch the stealer of his sheep. Before a cavern, dark and deep, Where wolves retired by day to sleep, Which he suspected as the thieves, He set his trap among the leaves; And, ere he left the place, He thus invoked celestial grace: "O king of all the powers divine, Against the rogue but grant me this delight, That this my trap may catch him in my sight, And I, from twenty calves of mine, Will make the fattest thine." But while the words were on his tongue, Forth came a Lion great and strong. Down crouch'd the man of sheep, and said. With shivering fright half dead, "Alas! that man should never be aware Of what may be the meaning of his prayer! To catch the robber of my flocks, O king of gods, I pledged a calf to thee: If from his clutches thou wilt rescue me, I'll raise my offering to an ox." The Animals Sick of the Plague The sorest ill that Heaven hath Sent on this lower world in wrath-- The Plague (to call it by its name) One single day of which Would Pluto's ferryman enrich-- Waged war on beasts, both wild and tame. They died not all, but all were sick: No hunting now, by force or trick, To save what might so soon expire, No food excited their desire; Nor wolf nor fox now watch'd to slay The innocent and tender prey. The turtles fled; So love and therefore joy were dead. The Lion council held, and said: "My friends, I do believe This awful scourge, for which we grieve, Is for our sins a punishment Most righteously by Heaven sent. Let us our guiltiest beast resign, A sacrifice to wrath divine. Perhaps this offering, truly small, May gain me life and health of all. By history we find it noted That lives have been just so devoted. Then let us all turn eyes within, And ferret out the hidden sin. Himself let no one spare nor flatter, But make clean conscience in the matter. For me, my appetite has play'd the glutton Too much and often upon mutton. What harm had e'er my victims done? I answer, truly, None. Perhaps, sometimes, by hunger pressed, I've eat the shepherd with the rest. I yield myself, if need there be; And yet I think, in equity, Each should confess his sins with me; For laws of right and justice cry, The guiltiest alone should die." "Sire," said the Fox, "your majesty Is humbler than a king should be, And over-squeamish in the case. What! eating stupid sheep a crime? No, never, sire, at any time. It rather was an act of grace, A mark of honour to their race. And as to shepherds, one may swear, The fate your majesty describes Is recompense less full than fair For such usurpers o'er our tribes." Thus Reynard glibly spoke, And loud applause from flatterers broke, Of neither tiger, boar, nor bear, Did any keen inquirer dare To ask for crimes of high degree; The fighters, biters, scratchers, all From every mortal sin were free; The very dogs, both great and small, Were saints, as far as dogs could be. The Ass, confessing in his turn, Thus spoke in tones of deep concern: "I happen'd through a mead to pass; The monks, its owners, were at mass; Keen hunger, leisure, tender grass, And add to these the devil too, All tempted me the deed to do. I browsed the bigness of my tongue; Since truth must out, I own it wrong." On this, a hue and cry arose, As if the beasts were all his foes: A Wolf, haranguing lawyer-wise, Denounced the Ass for sacrifice-- The bald-pate, scabby, ragged lout, By whom the plague had come, no doubt. His fault was judged a hanging crime. "What? eat another's grass? O shame! The noose of rope and death sublime, For that offence, were all too tame!" And soon poor Grizzle felt the same. _Thus human courts acquit the strong, And doom the weak, as therefore wrong._ The Fowler, the Hawk, and the Lark From wrongs of wicked men we draw Excuses for our own; Such is the universal law. Would you have mercy shown, Let yours be clearly known. A Fowler's mirror served to snare The little tenants of the air. A Lark there saw her pretty face, And was approaching to the place. A Hawk, that sailed on high, Like vapour in the sky, Came down, as still as infant's breath, On her who sang so near her death. She thus escaped the Fowler's steel, The Hawk's malignant claws to feel. While in his cruel way, The pirate plucked his prey, Upon himself the net was sprung. "O Fowler," prayed he in the hawkish tongue, "Release me in thy clemency! I never did a wrong to thee." The man replied, "'Tis true; And did the Lark to you?" Phoebus and Boreas Old Boreas and the Sun, one day, Espied a traveller on his way, Whose dress did happily provide Against whatever might betide. The time was autumn, when, indeed, All prudent travellers take heed. The rains that then the sunshine dash, And Iris with her splendid sash, Warn one who does not like to soak To wear abroad a good thick coat. Our man was therefore well bedight With double mantle, strong and tight. "This fellow," said the Wind, "has meant To guard from every ill event; But little does he wot that I Can blow him such a blast That, not a button fast, His cloak shall cleave the sky. Come, here's a pleasant game. Sir Sun! Wilt play?" Said Phoebus, "Done! We'll bet between us here Which first will take the gear From off this cavalier. Begin, and shut away The brightness of my ray." "Enough." Our blower, on the bet, Swelled out his pursy form With all the stuff for storm-- The thunder, hail, and drenching wet, And all the fury he could muster; Then, with a very demon's bluster, He whistled, whirled, and splashed, And down the torrents dashed, Full many a roof uptearing He never did before, Full many a vessel bearing To wreck upon the shore-- And all to doff a single cloak. But vain the furious stroke; The traveller was stout, And kept the tempest out, Defied the hurricane, Defied the pelting rain; And as the fiercer roared the blast, His cloak the tighter held he fast. The Sun broke out, to win the bet; He caused the clouds to disappear, Refreshed and warmed the cavalier, And through his mantle made him sweat, Till off it came, of course, In less than half an hour; And yet the Sun saved half his power-- So much does mildness more than force. The Stag and the Vine A Stag, by favour of a Vine, Which grew where suns most genial shine, And formed a thick and matted bower Which might have turned a summer shower, Was saved by ruinous assault. The hunters thought their dogs at fault, And called them off. In danger now no more The Stag, a thankless wretch and vile, Began to browse his benefactress o'er. The hunters listening the while, The rustling heard, came back, With all their yelping pack, And seized him in that very place. "This is," said he, "but justice, in my case. Let every black ingrate Henceforward profit by my fate." The dogs fell to--'twere wasting breath To pray those hunters at the death. They left, and we will not revile 'em, A warning for profaners of asylum. The Peacock Complaining to Juno The Peacock to the Queen of heaven Complained in some such words: "Great goddess, you have given To me, the laughing stock of birds, A voice which fills, by taste quite just, All nature with disgust; Whereas that little paltry thing, The nightingale, pours from her throat So sweet and ravishing a note; She bears alone the honours of the spring." In anger Juno heard, And cried, "Shame on you, jealous bird! Grudge you the nightingale her voice, Who in the rainbow neck rejoice, Than costliest silks more richly tinted, In charms of grace and form unstinted-- Who strut in kingly pride, Your glorious tail spread wide With brilliants which in sheen do Outshine the jeweller's bow window? Is there a bird beneath the blue That has more charms than you? No animal in everything can shine. By just partition of our gifts divine, Each has its full and proper share. Among the birds that cleave the air The hawk's a swift, the eagle is a brave one, For omens serves the hoarse old raven, The rook's of coming ills the prophet; And if there's any discontent, I've heard not of it. Cease, then, your envious complaint; Or I, instead of making up your lack, Will take your boasted plumage from your back." The Eagle and the Beetle John Rabbit, by Dame Eagle chased, Was making for his hole in haste, When, on his way, he met a Beetle's burrow. I leave you all to think If such a little chink Could to a rabbit give protection thorough; But, since no better could be got, John Rabbit, there was fain to squat. Of course, in an asylum so absurd, John felt ere long the talons of the bird. But first the Beetle, interceding, cried, "Great queen of birds, it cannot be denied That, maugre my protection, you can bear My trembling guest, John Rabbit, through the air, But do not give me such affront, I pray; And since he craves your grace, In pity of his case, Grant him his life, or take us both away; For he's my gossip, friend and neighbour." In vain the Beetle's friendly labour; The Eagle clutched her prey without reply, And as she flapped her vasty wings to fly, Struck down our orator and stilled him-- The wonder is she hadn't killed him. The Beetle soon, of sweet revenge in quest Flew to the old, gnarled mountain oak, Which proudly bore that haughty Eagle's nest. And while the bird was gone, Her eggs, her cherished eggs, he broke, Not sparing one. Returning from her flight, the Eagle's cry Of rage and bitter anguish filled the sky, But, by excess of passion blind, Her enemy she failed to find. Her wrath in vain, that year it was her fate To live a mourning mother, desolate. The next, she built a loftier nest; 'twas vain; The Beetle found and dashed her eggs again. John Rabbit's death was thus avenged anew. The second mourning for her murdered brood Was such that through the giant mountain wood, For six long months, the sleepless echo flew. The bird, once Ganymede, now made Her prayer to Jupiter for aid; And, laying them within his godship's lap, She thought her eggs now safe from all mishap; The god his own could not but make them-- No wretch would venture there to break them. And no one did. Their enemy, this time, Upsoaring to a place sublime, Let fall upon his royal robes some dirt, Which Jove just shaking, with a sudden flirt, Threw out the eggs, no one knows whither. When Jupiter informed her how th' event Occurred by purest accident, The Eagle raved; there was no reasoning with her; She gave out threats of leaving court, To make the desert her resort, And other brav'ries of this sort. Poor Jupiter in silence heard The uproar of his favourite bird. Before his throne the Beetle now appeared, And by a clear complaint the mystery cleared. The god pronounced the Eagle in the wrong. But still, their hatred was so old and strong, These enemies could not be reconciled; And, that the general peace might not be spoiled-- The best that he could do--the god arranged That thence the Eagle's pairing should be changed, To come when Beetle folks are only found Concealed and dormant under ground. FABLES FROM THE SPANISH OF CARLOS YRIARTE* "_As the impressions made upon a new vessel are not easily to be effaced, so here youth are taught prudence through the allurement of fable._" *Translated by Richard Andrew FABLES FROM THE SPANISH The Bee and the Cuckoo A Cuckoo, near a hive, one day, Was chaunting in his usual way, When to the door the Queen-bee ran, And, humming angrily, began: "Do cease that tuneless song I hear-- How can we work while thou art near? There is no other bird, I vow, Half so fantastical as thou, Since all that ugly voice can do, Is to sing on--'Cuckoo! cuckoo'!" "If my monotony of song Displeases you, shall I be wrong," The Cuckoo answered, "if I find Your comb has little to my mind? Look at the cells--through every one Does not unvaried sameness run? Then if in me there's nothing new, Dear knows, all's old enough in you." The Bee replied: "Hear me, my friend. In works that have a useful end It is not always worth the while To seek variety in style, But if those works whose only views Are to give pleasure and amuse, Want either fancy or invention, They fail of gaining their intention." The Rope Dancer and His Pupil A Tight-rope Dancer who, they say, Was a great master in his way, Was tutoring a Youth to spring Upon the slight and yielding string, Who, though a novice in the science, Had in his talents great reliance, And, as on high his steps he tried, Thus to his sage instructor cried: "This pole you call the counterpoise My every attitude annoys; I really cannot think it good To use this cumbrous piece of wood In such a business as ours, An art requiring all our powers. Why should I with this burden couple? Am I not active, strong and supple? So--see me try this step without it, I'll manage better, do not doubt it-- See, 'tis not difficult at all," He said, and let the balance fall, And, taking fearlessly a bound, He tumbled headlong on the ground, With compound fracture of the shin, And six or seven ribs crushed in. "Unhappy youth!" the Master said, "What was your truest help and aid Impediment you thought to be-- For art and method if you flee, Believe me, ere your life is past, This tumble will not be your last." The Squirrel and the Horse A Squirrel, on his hind legs raised, Upon a noble Charger gazed, Who docile to the spur and rein, Went through his menage on the plain; Now seeming like the wind to fly, Now gracefully curvetting by. "Good Sir," the little Tumbler said, And with much coolness, scratched his head, "In all your swiftness, skill and spirit, I do not see there's much of merit, For, all you seem so proud to do, I can perform, and better too; I'm light and nimble, brisk and sprightly, I trot, and skip, and canter lightly, Backward and forward--here and there, Now on the earth--now in the air-- From bough to bough--from hill to hill, And never for a moment still." The Courser tossed his head on high; And made the Squirrel this reply: "My little nimble jealous friend, Those turns and tumbles without end-- That hither, thither, restless springing-- Those ups and downs and leaps and swinging-- And other feats more wondrous far, Pray tell me, of what use they are? But what I do, this praise may claim-- My master's service is my aim, And laudably I use for him My warmth of blood and strength of limb." The Bear, the Monkey, and the Pig A Bear with whom a Piedmontese Had voyaged from the Polar seas, And by whose strange unwieldy gambols He earned a living in his rambles, One day, upon his hind legs set, Began to dance a minuet. At length, being tired, as well he might, Of standing such a time upright, He to a Monkey near advancing, Exclaimed: "What think you of my dancing?" "Really," he said, "ahem!" (I'm sure This Monkey was a connoisseur) "To praise it, I'd indeed be glad, Only it is so very bad!" "How!" said the Bear, not over pleased, "Surely, your judgment is diseased, Or else you cannot well have seen My elegance of step and mien; Just look again, and say what graces You think are wanting in my paces." "Indeed, his taste is quite amazing," Replied a Pig with rapture gazing; "Bravo! encore! well done! Sir Bear, By heaven, you trip as light as air; I vow that Paris never knew A dancer half so fine as you." With some confusion, Bruin heard Such praises by a Pig conferred; He communed with himself a while, And muttered thus, in altered style: "I must confess the Monkey's blame Made me feel doubtful of my fame; But since the Pigs their praise concede, My dancing must be bad, indeed!" The Muff, the Fan, and the Parasol "It sounds presumptuous and ill To boast of universal skill, But 'tis a scarce less fault, I own, To serve one sort of use alone." An idle Parasol, one day, Within a lady's chamber lay, And having nothing else to do, Addressing his companions two, Reclining near, a Muff and Fan, He thus insultingly began, Using a form of dialect, In which, if Aesop is correct, The Brass and Earthern Jars, of old, Conversed as down the stream they rolled. "Oh! sirs, ye merit mighty praise! Yon Muff may do for wintry days, A corner is your lot in spring; While you, Fan, are a useless thing When cold succeeds to heat; for neither Can change yourself to suit the weather Learn, if you're able to possess, Like me a double usefulness, From winter's rain I help to shun And guard in summer from the sun." The Duck and the Serpent A self-conceited Duck, one day, Was waddling from her pond away: "What other race can boast," she cried, "The many gifts to ours allied? Earth--water--air--are all for us. When I am tired of walking thus, I fly, if so I take the whim, Or if it pleases me I swim." A cunning Serpent overheard The boasting of the clumsy bird, And, with contempt and scorn inflamed, Came hissing up, and thus exclaimed: "It strikes me, ma'am, there's small occasion For your just uttered proclamation; These gifts of yours shine rather dim, Since neither like the trout you swim, Nor like the deer, step swift and light, Nor match the eagle in your flight." They err who think that merit clings To knowledge slight of many things; He who his fellows would excel, Whate'er he does should do it well. The Tea and the Sage The Tea from China on her way, Met in some sea, or gulf, or bay-- (Would to her log I might refer!) The Sage, who thus accosted her: "Sister--ahoy! ho--whither bound?" "I leave," she said, "my native ground For Europe's markets, where, I'm told, They purchase me by weight of gold." "And I," the Sage replied, "am seeking The route to Canton or to Peking; Your Chinese use me largely in Their cookery and medicine; They know my virtues, nor deny The praise I ask, however high, While Europe scorns me, just indeed, As if I was the vilest weed. Go; and good luck t'ye; know full well That you are sure enough to sell, For nations all, (fools that they are!) Value whatever comes from afar, And give their money nothing loth, For anything of foreign growth." The Swan and the Linnet Piqued at the Linnet's song one day, The Swan exclaimed: "Leave off! I say-- Be still, you little noisy thing! What!--dare _you_ challenge me to sing, When there's no voice, however fine, Can match the melody of mine?" (The Linnet warbled on)--"D'ye hear? This impudence may cost you dear; I could with one harmonious note Forever stop your squeaking throat, And, if I do not choose to try, Respect my magnanimity." "I wish," at length the Linnet said, "I wish, to heaven, the proof were made; You cannot imagine how I long To hear that rich and flowing song Which though so sweet, by fame averred, I know not who has ever heard." The Swan essayed to sing, but--whew! She screeched and squalled a note or two, Until the Linnet, it appears, Took to her wings to save her ears. 'Tis strange when some of learned fame _Will_ prove their title to the name, How often ill-placed praise they mar, And show how ignorant they are. The Flint and the Steel The Flint, with language harsh and high, Accused the Steel of cruelty In striking her with all his might, Whene'er he wanted fire and light. The Steel the imputation spurned, And with such warmth the contest burned That both, at last, agreed to slip Their contract of companionship. "Good-by then, madame," said the one; "And since my company you shun, And to continue with me, doubt, We'll see what use you are without." "About as much as you will be, Good sir," she answered, "without me." FABLES OF GAY, COWPER, AND OTHERS "Brutes are my theme. Am I to blame If men in morals are the same? I no man call or ape or ass; 'Tis his own conscience holds the glass. Thus void of all offence I write; Who claims the fable, knows his right." JOHN GAY FABLES OF GAY AND COWPER The Monkey Who Had Seen the World A Monkey, to reform the times, Resolved to visit foreign climes; For men in distant regions roam, To bring politer manners home. So forth he fares, all toil defies; Misfortune serves to make us wise. At length the treacherous snare was laid; Poor Pug was caught, to town conveyed; There sold. How envied was his doom, Made captive in a lady's room! Proud as a lover of his chains, He day by day her favour gains. Whene'er the duty of the day The toilette calls, with mimic play He twirls her knot, he cracks her fan, Like any other gentleman. In visits, too, his parts and wit, When jests grew dull, were sure to hit. Proud with applause, he thought his mind In every courtly art refined; Like Orpheus, burned with public zeal To civilize the monkey weal: So watched occasion, broke his chain, And sought his native woods again. The hairy sylvans round him press Astonished at his strut and dress. Some praise his sleeve, and others gloat Upon his rich embroidered coat; His dapper periwig commending, With the black tail behind depending; His powdered back above, below, Like hoary frost or fleecy snow: But all, with envy and desire, His fluttering shoulder-knot admire. "Hear and improve," he pertly cries, "I come to make a nation wise. Weigh your own worth, support your place, The next in rank to human race. In cities long I passed my days, Conversed with men, and learned their ways, Their dress, their courtly manners see; Reform your state, and copy me. Seek ye to thrive? in flatt'ry deal; Your scorn, your hate, with that conceal. Seem only to regard your friends, But use them for your private ends. Stint not to truth the flow of wit; Be prompt to lie whene'er 'tis fit. Bend all your force to spatter merit; Scandal is conversation's spirit. Boldly to everything pretend, And men your talents shall commend. I know the Great. Observe me right, So shall you grow like man polite." He spoke and bowed. With mutt'ring jaws The wond'ring circle grinned applause. Now, warmed with malice, envy, spite, Their most obliging friends they bite; And, fond to copy human ways, Practise new mischiefs all their days. Thus the dull lad, too tall for school. With travel finishes the fool: Studious of every coxcomb's airs, He gambles, dresses, drinks, and swears; O'er looks with scorn all virtuous arts, For vice is fitted to his parts. JOHN GAY The Shepherd's Dog and the Wolf A Wolf, with hunger fierce and bold, Ravag'd the plains, and thinn'd the fold: Deep in the wood secure he lay, The thefts of night regal'd the day. In vain the shepherd's wakeful care Had spread the toils, and watch'd the snare; In vain the Dog pursued his pace, The fleeter robber mock'd the chase. As Lightfoot rang'd the forest round, By chance his foe's retreat he found. "Let us a while the war suspend, And reason as from friend to friend." "A truce?" replies the Wolf. "'Tis done." The Dog the parley thus begun. "How can that strong intrepid mind Attack a weak defenceless kind? Those jaws should prey on nobler food, And drink the boar's and lion's blood, Great souls with generous pity melt, Which coward tyrants never felt. How harmless is our fleecy care! Be brave, and let thy mercy spare." "Friend," says the Wolf, "the matter weigh; Nature designed us beasts of prey; As such, when hunger finds a treat, 'Tis necessary Wolves should eat. If mindful of the bleating weal, Thy bosom burn with real zeal, Hence, and thy tyrant lord beseech; To him repeat the moving speech: A Wolf eats sheep but now and then; Ten thousands are devoured by men. An open foe may prove a curse, But a pretended friend is worse." JOHN GAY The Rat-catcher and Cats The rats by night such mischief did, Betty was ev'ry morning chid. They undermin'd whole sides of bacon, Her cheese was sapp'd, her tarts were taken. Her pasties, fenc'd with thickest paste, Were all demolish'd, and laid waste. She curs'd the cat for want of duty, Who left her foes a constant booty. An Engineer, of noted skill, Engag'd to stop the growing ill. From room to room he now surveys Their haunts, their works, their secret ways; Finds where they 'scape an ambuscade. And whence the nightly sally's made. An envious Cat from place to place, Unseen, attends his silent pace. She saw, that if his trade went on, The purring race must be undone; So, secretly removes his baits, And ev'ry stratagem defeats. Again he sets the poisoned toils, And Puss again the labour foils. "What foe, to frustrate my designs, My schemes thus nightly countermines?" Incens'd, he cries: "This very hour This wretch shall bleed beneath my power." So said, a ponderous trap he brought, And in the fact poor Puss was caught. "Smuggler," says he, "thou shalt be made A victim to our loss of trade." The captive Cat, with piteous mews, For pardon, life, and freedom sues. "A sister of the science spare; One int'rest is our common care." "What insolence!" the man replies; "Shall Cats with us the game divide? Were all your interloping band Extinguished, or expell'd the land, We Rat-catchers might raise our fees. Sole guardians of a nation's cheese!" A Cat, who saw the lifted knife, Thus spoke and sav'd her sister's life. "In ev'ry age and clime we see Two of a trade can ne'er agree. Each hates his neighbour for encroaching; 'Squire stigmatizes 'squire for poaching; Beauties with beauties are in arms. And scandal pelts each other's charms; Kings too their neighbour kings dethrone, In hope to make the world their own. But let us limit our desires; Not war like beauties, kings, and 'squires! For though we both one prey pursue, There's game enough for us and you." JOHN GAY The Farmer's Wife and the Raven Between her swaggering pannier's load A Farmer's Wife to market rode, And jogging on, with thoughtful care, Summed up the profits of her ware; When, starting from her silver dream, Thus far and wide was heard her scream: "That Raven on yon left-hand oak (Curse on his ill-betiding croak) Bodes me no good." No more she said, When poor blind Ball, with stumbling head, Fell prone; o'erturned the panniers lay, And her mashed eggs bestrewed the way. She, sprawling on the yellow road, Railed, cursed, and swore: "Thou croaking toad, A murrain take thy noisy throat! I knew misfortune in the note." "Dame," quoth the Raven, "spare your oaths, Unclench your fist and wipe your clothes. But why on me those curses thrown? Goody, the fault was all your own; For had you laid this brittle ware On Dun, the old sure-footed mare, Though all the Ravens of the hundred With croaking had your tongue out-thundered, Sure-footed Dun had kept her legs, And you, good woman, saved your eggs." JOHN GAY The Council of Horses Upon a time, a neighing steed, Who grazed among a numerous breed, With mutiny had fired the train, And spread dissension through the plain. On matters that concerned the state The Council met in grand debate. A Colt, whose eyeballs flamed with ire, Elate with strength and youthful fire, In haste stepped forth before the rest, And thus the listening throng addressed: "Good gods! how abject is our race, Condemned to slavery and disgrace! Shall we our servitude retain Because our sires have borne the chain? Consider, friends, your strength and might; 'Tis conquest to assert your right. How cumb'rous is the gilded coach! The pride of man is our reproach. Were we designed for daily toil; To drag the ploughshare through the soil; To sweat in harness through the road; To groan beneath the carrier's load? How feeble are the two-legged kind! What force is in our nerves combined! Shall, then, our nobler jaws submit To foam, and champ the galling bit? Shall haughty man my back bestride? Shall the sharp spur provoke my side? Forbid it, heavens! Reject the rein; Your shame, your infamy, disdain. Let him the lion first control, And still the tiger's famished growl; Let us, like them, our freedom claim, And make him tremble at our name." A general nod approved the cause, And all the circle neighed applause, When, lo! with grave and solemn face, A Steed advanced before the race, With age and long experience wise; Around he cast his thoughtful eyes, And to the murmurs of the train Thus spoke the Nestor of the plain: "When I had health and strength like you, The toils of servitude I knew; Now grateful man rewards my pains, And gives me all these wide domains. At will I crop the year's increase; My latter life is rest and peace. I grant, to man we lend our pains, And aid him to correct the plains; But doth he not divide the care Through all the labours of the year? How many thousand structures rise To fence us from inclement skies! For us he bears the sultry day, And stores up all our winter's hay: He sows, he reaps the harvest's gain, We share the toil and share the grain. Since every creature was decreed To aid each other's mutual need, Appease your discontented mind, And act the part by Heaven assigned." The tumult ceased. The colt submitted, And, like his ancestors, was bitted. JOHN GAY The Hare and Many Friends Friendship, like love, is but a name, Unless to one you stint the flame; The child whom many fathers share Hath seldom known a father's care. 'Tis thus in friendships; who depend On many, rarely find a friend. A Hare, who in a civil way Complied with everything, like Gay, Was known by all the bestial train Who haunt the wood or graze the plain; Her care was never to offend, And every creature was her friend. As forth she went at early dawn, To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn, Behind she hears the hunter's cries, And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies. She starts, she stops, she pants for breath; She hears the near advance of death; She doubles to mislead the Hound, And measures back her mazy round, Till, fainting in the public way, Half dead with fear she gasping lay. What transport in her bosom grew When first the Horse appeared in view! "Let me," says she, "your back ascend. And owe my safety to a friend. You know my feet betray my flight; To friendship every burden's light," The Horse replied, "Poor honest Puss, It grieves my heart to see you thus: Be comforted, relief is near, For all your friends are in the rear." She next the stately Bull implored; And thus replied the mighty lord: "Since every beast alive can tell That I sincerely wish you well, I may without offence pretend To take the freedom of a friend. Love calls me hence; a fav'rite Cow Expects me near the barley-mow, And when a lady's in the case You know all other things give place. To leave you thus might seem unkind; But see, the Goat is just behind." The Goat remarked her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye. "My back," says she, "may do you harm. The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm." The Sheep was feeble, and complained His sides a load of wool sustained: Said he was slow, confessed his fears; For Hounds eat Sheep as well as Hares. She now the trotting Calf addressed To save from death a friend distressed. "Shall I," says he, "of tender age, In this important care engage? Older and abler passed you by-- How strong are those; how weak am I! Should I presume to bear you hence, Those friends of mine may take offence; Excuse me, then; you know my heart, But dearest friends, alas! must part. How shall we all lament! Adieu! For see, the Hounds are just in view." JOHN GAY The Nightingale and the Glowworm A Nightingale, that all day long Had cheered the village with his song, Nor had at eve his note suspended, Nor yet when eventide was ended Began to feel, as well he might, The keen demands of appetite; When, looking eagerly around, He spied far off, upon the ground, A something shining in the dark, And knew the Glowworm by his spark; So stepping down from hawthorn top, He thought to put him in his crop. The Worm, aware of his intent, Harangued him thus, right eloquent: "Did you admire my lamp," quoth he, "As much as I your minstrelsy, You would abhor to do me wrong, As much as I to spoil your song; For, 'twas the self-same Power Divine Taught you to sing and me to shine; That you with music, I with light, Might beautify and cheer the night." The Songster heard his short oration, And warbling out his approbation. Released him, as my story tells, And found a supper somewhere else. Hence, jarring sectaries may learn Their real interest to discern, That brother should not war with brother, And worry and devour each other; But sing and shine by sweet consent, Until life's poor transient night is spent. Respecting in each other's case. The gifts of Nature and of Grace. Those Christians best deserve the name Who studiously make peace their aim; Peace both the duty and the prize Of him that creeps and him that flies. WILLIAM COWPER The Raven A Raven, while with glossy breast Her new-laid eggs she fondly pressed, And on her wickerwork high mounted, Her chickens prematurely counted, (A fault philosophers might blame If quite exempted from the same). Enjoyed at ease the genial day; 'Twas April, as the bumpkins say; The legislature called it May. But suddenly a wind, as high As ever swept a winter sky, Shook the young leaves about her ears And filled her with a thousand fears, Lest the rude blast should snap the bough, And spread her golden hopes below. But just at eve the blowing weather Changed, and her fears were hushed together: "And now," quoth poor unthinking Ralph,[1] "'Tis over, and the brood is safe." (For Ravens, though, as birds of omen, They teach both conjurers and old women To tell us what is to befall, Can't prophesy themselves at all.) The morning came, when Neighbour Hodge, Who long had marked her airy lodge, And destined all the treasure there A gift to his expecting fair, Climbed, like a squirrel to his dray, And bore the worthless prize away. Moral 'Tis Providence alone secures, In every change, both mine and yours: Safety consists not in escape From dangers of a frightful shape; An earthquake may be bid to spare The man that's strangled by a hair. Fate steals along with silent tread Found oftenest in what least we dread, Frowns in the storm with angry brow, But in the sunshine strikes the blow. WILLIAM COWPER [1]Pronounced Rafe. Pairing Time Anticipated I shall not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau If birds confabulate or no; 'Tis clear that they were always able To hold discourse, at least in fable; And e'en the child who knows no better Than to interpret by the letter A story of a cock and bull Must have a most uncommon skull. It chanced then on a winter day, But warm and bright and calm as May, The Birds conceiving a design To forestall sweet Saint Valentine, In many an orchard, copse and grove, Assembled on affairs of love, And with much twitter, and much chatter, Began to agitate the matter. At length a Bullfinch, who could boast More years and wisdom than the most, Entreated, opening wide his beak, A moment's liberty to speak; And silence publicly enjoined, Delivered, briefly, thus his mind-- "My friends! Be cautious how ye treat The subject upon which we meet; I fear we shall have winter yet." A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, With golden wing and satin poll, A last year's bird who ne'er had tried What marriage means, thus pert replied: "Methinks the gentleman," quoth she, "Opposite in the appletree, By his good will would keep us single, Until yonder heavens and earth shall mingle, Or (which is likelier to befall) Until death exterminate us all. I marry without more ado, My dear Dick Redcap; what say you?" Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling; With many a strut and many a sidling, Attested, glad, his approbation Of an immediate conjugation. Their sentiments so well expressed Influenced mightily the rest; All paired, and each pair built a nest. But though the birds were thus in haste, The leaves came on not quite so fast, And Destiny, that sometimes bears An aspect stern on man's affairs, Not altogether smiled on theirs. The wind, of late breathed gently forth, Now shifted east and east by north; Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, Could shelter them from rain or snow; Stepping into their nests, they paddled, Themselves were chilled, their eggs were addled, Soon every father-bird and mother Grew quarrelsome and pecked each other, Parted without the least regret, Except that they had ever met, And learned in future to be wiser Than to neglect a good adviser. WILLIAM COWPER The Poet, the Oyster, and Sensitive Plant An Oyster cast upon the shore Was heard, though never heard before, Complaining in a speech well worded, And worthy thus to be recorded: "Ah, hapless wretch comdemn'd to dwell Forever in my native shell, Ordain'd to move when others please, Not for my own content or ease, But toss'd and buffeted about, Now in the water, and now out. 'Twere better to be born a stone Of ruder shape and feeling none, Than with a tenderness like mine, And sensibilities so fine! I envy that unfeeling shrub, Fast rooted against every rub." The plant he meant grew not far off, And felt the sneer with scorn enough; Was hurt, disgusted, mortified, And with asperity replied. ("When," cry the botanists, and stare, "Did plants call'd Sensitive grow there?" No matter when--a poet's muse is To make them grow just where she chooses): "You shapeless nothing in a dish, You that are but almost a fish, I scorn your coarse insinuation, And have most plentiful occasion To wish myself the rock I view, Or such another dolt as you. For many a grave and learned clerk, And many a gay unlettered spark, With curious touch examines me If I can feel as well as he; And when I bend, retire, and shrink, Says, 'Well--'tis more than one would think.' Thus life is spent! oh fie upon't, In being touched, and crying--'Don't'!" A poet, in his evening walk, Overheard and checked this idle talk. "And your fine sense," he said, "and yours, Whatever evil it endures, Deserves not, if so soon offended, Much to be pitied or commended. Disputes, though short, are far too long, Where both alike are in the wrong; Your feelings in their full amount Are all upon your own account." "You, in your grotto-work enclosed, Complain of being thus exposed, Yet nothing feel in that rough coat, Save when the knife is at your throat. Wherever driven by wind or tide, Exempt from every ill beside." "And as for you, my Lady Squeamish, Who reckon every touch a blemish, If all the plants that can be found Embellishing the scene around, Should droop and wither where they grow, You would not feel at all, not you. The noblest minds their virtue prove By pity, sympathy, and love: These, these are feelings truly fine, And prove their owner half divine." His censure reached them as he dealt it. And each by shrinking show'd he felt it. WILLIAM COWPER The Pineapple and the Bee The Pineapples, in triple row, Were basking hot, and all in blow. A Bee of most deserving taste Perceived the fragrance as he pass'd. On eager wing the spoiler came, And searched for crannies in the frame, Urged his attempt on every side, To every pane his trunk applied; But still in vain, the frame was tight, And only pervious to the light: Thus having wasted half the day, He trimm'd his flight another way. * * * * * Our dear delights are often such, Exposed to view, but not to touch; The sight our foolish heart inflames, We long for pineapples in frames; With hopeless wish one looks and lingers; One breaks the glass, and cuts his fingers; But they whom Truth and Wisdom lead, Can gather honey from a weed. WILLIAM COWPER Amelia and the Spider The muslin torn, from tears of grief In vain Amelia sought relief; In sighs and plaints she passed the day, The tattered frock neglected lay: While busied at the weaving trade, A Spider heard the sighing maid, And kindly stopping in a trice, Thus offered (gratis) her advice: "Turn, little girl, behold in me A stimulus to industry; Compare your woes my dear, with mine, Then tell me who should most repine; This morning, ere you'd left your room, The chambermaid's relentless broom, In one sad moment that destroyed To build which thousands were employed. The shock was great, but as my life I saved in the relentless strife, I knew lamenting was in vain, So patient went to work again; By constant work a day or more My little mansion did restore. And if each tear which you have shed Had been a needleful of thread, If every sigh of sad despair Had been a stitch of proper care, Closed would have been the luckless rent, Nor thus the day have been misspent." ANONYMOUS The Goose and the Swans A Goose, affected, empty, vain, The shrillest of the cackling train, With proud and elevated crest, Precedence claimed above the rest, Says she, "I laugh at human race, Who say Geese hobble in their pace; Look here--the slander base detect; Not haughty man is so erect. That Peacock yonder, see how vain The creature's of his gaudy train. If both were stripped, I'd pledge my word A Goose would be the finer bird. Nature, to hide her own defects, Her bungled work with finery decks. Were Geese set off with half that show, Would men admire the Peacock? No!" Thus vaunting, 'cross the mead she stalks, The cackling breed attend her walks; The sun shot down his noontide beams, The Swans were sporting in the streams. Their snowy plumes and stately pride Provoked her spleen. "Why, there," she cried, "Again, what arrogance we see! Those creatures, how they mimic me! Shall every fowl the waters skim Because we Geese are known to swim? Humility they soon shall learn, And their own emptiness discern." So saying, with extended wings, Lightly upon the wave she springs; Her bosom swells, she spreads her plumes, And the Swan's stately crest assumes. Contempt and mockery ensued, And bursts of laughter shook the flood. A Swan, superior to the rest, Sprung forth, and thus the fool addressed: "Conceited thing, elate with pride, Thy affectation all deride; These airs thy awkwardness impart, And show thee plainly as thou art. Among thy equals of the flock, Thou hadst escaped the public mock; And, as thy parts to good conduce, Been deemed an honest, hobbling Goose. Learn hence to study wisdom's rules; Know, foppery's the pride of fools; And, striving nature to conceal, You only her defects reveal." ANONYMOUS The Rats and the Cheese If Bees a government maintain, Why may not Rats, of stronger brain And greater power, as well be thought By Machiavellian axioms taught? And so they are, for thus of late It happened in the Rats' free state. Their prince (his subjects more to please) Had got a mighty Cheshire Cheese, In which his ministers of state Might live in plenty and grow great. A powerful party straight combined, And their united forces joined To bring their measures into play, For none so loyal were as they; And none such patriots to support As well the country as the court. No sooner were those Dons admitted, But (all those wondrous virtues quitted) They all the speediest means devise To raise themselves and families. Another party well observing These pampered were, while they were starving, Their ministry brought in disgrace, Expelled them and supplied their place; These on just principles were known The true supporters of the throne. And for the subjects' liberty, They'd (marry, would they) freely die; But being well fixed in their station, Regardless of their prince and nation, Just like the others, all their skill Was how they might their paunches fill. On this a Rat not quite so blind In state intrigues as human kind, But of more honour, thus replied: "Confound ye all on either side; All your contentions are but these, Whose arts shall best secure the Cheese." ANONYMOUS The Drop of Rain A little particle of rain That from a passing cloud descended: Was heard thus idly to complain: "My brief existence now is ended! Outcast alike of earth and sky, Useless to live, unknown to die!" It chanced to fall into the sea, And there an open shell received it; And after years how rich was he Who from its prison-house released it! The drop of rain had formed a gem To deck a monarch's diadem. ANONYMOUS The Lion and the Echo A Lion bravest of the wood, Whose title undisputed stood, As o'er the wide domains he prowled, And in pursuit of booty growled, An Echo from a distant cave Re-growled articulately grave. His Majesty, surprised, began To think at first it was a man; But, on reflection sage, he found It was too like a lion's sound. "Whose voice is that which growls at mine?" His Highness asked. Says Echo, "Mine!" "Thine," says the Lion; "who art thou?" Echo as stern cried, "Who art thou?" "Know I'm a lion, hear and tremble!" Replied the king. Cried Echo, "Tremble!" "Come forth," says Lion, "show thyself!" Laconic Echo answered, "Elf!" "Elf dost thou call me, vile pretender?" Echo as loud replied, "Pretender?" At this, as jealous of his reign, He growled in rage--she growled again. Incensed the more, he chafed and foamed, And round the spacious forest roamed, To find the rival of his throne, Who durst with him dispute the crown. A Fox, who listened all the while, Addressed the monarch with a smile: "My liege, most humbly I make bold, Though truth may not be always told, That this same phantom that you hear, That so alarms your royal ear, Is not a rival of your throne-- The voice and fears are all your own." Imaginary terrors scare A timorous soul with real fear! Nay, e'en the wise and brave are cowed By apprehensions from the crowd; A frog a lion may disarm, And yet how causeless the alarm! ANONYMOUS Here check we our career; Long books I greatly fear; I would not quite exhaust my stuff; The flower of subjects is enough. JEAN DE LA FONTAINE THE END INDEX OF TITLES Acorn and the Pumpkin, The. La Fontaine (French) Aesop and His Fellow Servants. Aesop (Greek) Amelia and the Spider. Anonymous (English) Animals' Peace Party, The. (Chinese) Animals Sick of the Plague, The. La Fontaine (French) Ant and the Fly, The. Aesop (Greek) Ass and His Master, The. Aesop (Greek) Ass and His Purchaser, The. Aesop (Greek) Ass and His Shadow, The. Aesop (Greek) Ass and the Dog, The. La Fontaine (French) Ass and the Lap-dog, The. La Fontaine (French) Ass Carrying Relics, The. La Fontaine (French) Ass in the Lion's Skin, The. Aesop (Greek) Bat and the Two Weasels, The. La Fontaine (French) Bear and the Fowls, The. Aesop (Greek) Bear, the Monkey and the Pig, The. Yriarte (Spanish) Bee and the Cuckoo, The. Yriarte (Spanish) Belling the Cat. Aesop (Greek) Birds and the Monkeys, The. Hitopadesa (Sanskrit) Blackamoor, The. Aesop (Greek) Blue Jackal, The. Hitopadesa (Sanskrit) Boasting Traveller, The. Aesop (Greek) Boy and the Filberts, The. Aesop (Greek) Boy and the Wolf, The. Aesop (Greek) Boys and the Frogs, The. Aesop (Greek) Brahmin and the Goat, The. Hitopadesa (Sanskrit) Buffoon and the Countryman, The. Aesop (Greek) Builder of Ability and the Builder of Haste, The. (African) Camel and His Master, The. Aesop (Greek) Camel and the Pig, The. Raju (Indian) Cat and the Fox, The. La Fontaine (French) Cat and the Mice, The. Aesop (Greek) Cat and the Two Sparrows, The. La Fontaine (French) Chameleon, The. Aesop (Greek) City Rat and the Country Rat, The. La Fontaine (French) Cock and the Fox, The. La Fontaine (French) Cock and the Jewel, The. Aesop (Greek) Council of Horses, The. Gay (English) Country Fellow and the River, A. Aesop (Greek) Countryman and the Serpent, The. La Fontaine (French) Crab and Its Mother, The. Aesop (Greek) Crane and the Fool, The. Raju (Indian) Crow and the Mussel, The. Aesop (Greek) Crow and the Partridge, The. Bidpai (Indian) Crow and the Pitcher, The. Aesop (Greek) Cuckoo and the Cock, The. Krilof (Russian) Cuckoo and the Eagle, The. Krilof (Russian) Cuckoo and the Turtle-dove, The. Krilof (Russian) Dairywoman and the Pot of Milk, The. La Fontaine (French) Deer and the Lion, The. Aesop (Greek) Demian's Fish Soup. Krilof (Russian) Despot and the Wag, The. Raju (Indian) Discontented Ass, The. Aesop (Greek) Dog and His Shadow, The. Aesop (Greek) Dog and the Crocodile, The. Aesop (Greek) Dog and the Kingship. (African) Dog in the Manger, The. Aesop (Greek) Dove and the Ant, The. La Fontaine (French) Drop of Rain, The. Anonymous (English) Duck and the Serpent, The. Yriarte (Spanish) Eagle and the Beetle, The. La Fontaine (French) Eagle and the Mole, The. Krilof (Russian) Eagle and the Owl, The. Aesop (Greek) Eagle and the Owl, The. La Fontaine (French) Eagle, the Jackdaw and the Magpie, The. Aesop (Greek) Ears of the Hare, The. La Fontaine (French) Earthen Pot and the Iron Pot, The. La Fontaine (French) Education of the Lion, The. Krilof (Russian) Elephant and Frog (African) Elephant and the Jackal, The. Hitopadesa (Sanskrit) Elephant as Governor, The. Krilof (Russian) Elephant Has a Bet with the Tiger, The. (Malayan) Elephant in Favour, The. Krilof (Russian) Falcon and the Capon, The. Aesop (Greek) Farmer and His Dog, The. Aesop (Greek) Farmer and the Stork, The. Aesop (Greek) Farmer's Wife and the Raven, The. Gay (English) Father "Lime-stick" and the Flower-pecker (Malayan) Fawn and the Little Tiger, The. Raju (Indian) Flies and the Honey-pot, The. Aesop (Greek) Flint and the Steel, The. Yriarte (Spanish) Fowler, the Hawk, and the Lark, The. La Fontaine (French) Fox and the Countryman, The. Aesop (Greek) Fox and the Crabs, The. Raju (Indian) Fox and the Crow, The. Aesop (Greek) Fox and the Drum, The. Bidpai (Indian) Fox and the Grapes, The. Aesop (Greek) Fox and the Stork, The. Aesop (Greek) Fox and the Villagers, The. Raju (Indian) Fox in the Well, The. Aesop (Greek) Fox in the Well, The. Raju (Indian) Fox, the Monkey, and the Animals, The. La Fontaine (French) Fox, the Wolf, and the Horse, The. La Fontaine (French) Fox Without a Tail, The. Aesop (Greek) Frog Who Wished to Be as Big as an Ox, The. (Greek) Frogs Desiring a King, The. Aesop (Greek) Geese and the Tortoise, The. Bidpai (Indian) Glowworm and the Daw, The. Raju (Indian) Gnat and the Bull, The. Aesop (Greek) Goose and the Swans, The. Anonymous (English) Goose with the Golden Eggs, The. Aesop (Greek) Grasshopper and the Ant, The. La Fontaine (French) Greedy Jackal, The. Hitopadesa (Sanskrit) Hare and Many Friends, The. Gay (English) Hare and the Partridge, The, La Fontaine (French) Hare and the Pig, The. Raju (Indian) Hare and the Tortoise, The. Aesop (Greek) Hares and the Frogs, The. Aesop (Greek) Hen and the Cat, The. (African) Hen and the Chinese Mountain Turtle, The. (Chinese) Hen and the Fox, The. Aesop (Greek) Hercules and the Wagoner. Aesop (Greek) Hermit, the Thief, and the Demon, The. Bidpai (Indian) Hornets and the Bees, The. La Fontaine (French) How Sense Was Distributed. (African) Invalid Lion, The. Aesop (Greek) Jackal and the Cat, The. Hitopadesa (Sanskrit) Jackdaw with Borrowed Plumes, The. Aesop (Greek) Jupiter's Two Wallets. Aesop (Greek) King and the Hawk, The. Bidpai (Indian) King-crow and the Water-snail, The. (Malayan) Kite and the Pigeons, The. Aesop (Greek) Lark and Her Young Ones, The. Aesop (Greek) Leopard and the Other Animals (African) Lion and the Ass Hunting, The. La Fontaine (French) Lion and the Echo, The. Anonymous (English) Lion and the Gadfly, The. Raju (Indian) Lion and the Gnat, The. La Fontaine (French) Lion and the Goat, The. Raju (Indian) Lion and the Mosquitoes, The. (Chinese) Lion and the Mouse, The. Aesop (Greek) Lion and the Rabbit, The. Hitopadesa (Sanskrit) Lion and the Wild Dog, The. (African) Lion Going to War, The. La Fontaine (French) Lion, the Bear, the Monkey, and the Fox, The. Aesop (Greek) Lion, the Fox, and the Story-teller, The. Raju (Indian) Lion, the Mouse, and the Cat, The. Hitopadesa (Sanskrit) Lion's Share, The. La Fontaine (French) Lioness and the Bear, The. La Fontaine (French) Man and His Piece of Cloth, The. Raju (Indian) Man and the Lion, The. Aesop (Greek) Man and Turtle (African) Man of Luck, and the Man of Pluck, The. Raju (Indian) Matter of Arbitration, A. Aesop (Greek) Monkey and the Cat, The. La Fontaine (French) Monkey and the Leopard, The. La Fontaine (French) Monkey Who Had Seen the World, The. Gay (English) Mouse and the Frog, The. Bidpai (Indian) Mouse Who Became a Tiger, The. Hitopadesa (Sanskrit) Mouse-deer's Shipwreck, The. (Malayan) Muff, the Fan, and the Parasol, The. Yriarte (Spanish) Mule and the Lion, The. (Chinese) Mule, Jackal and Lion. (Moorish) Nianga Dia Ngenga and Leopard. (African) Nightingale and the Glowworm, The. Cowper (English) Oak and the Reed, The, La Fontaine (French) Old Man and His Sons, The. Aesop (Greek) Old Man and the Ass, The. La Fontaine (French) Old Man, His Son, and the Ass, The. Aesop (Greek) Old Woman and Her Maids, The. Aesop (Greek) Old Woman and the Doctor, The. Aesop (Greek) Old Woman's Cat, The. Bidpai (Indian) Pairing Time Anticipated. Cowper (English) Passenger and the Pilot, The. Aesop (Greek) Peacock and the Fox, The. Raju (Indian) Peacock Complaining to Juno, The. La Fontaine (French) Peasant and the Horse, The. Krilof (Russian) Peasant and the Robber, The. Krilof (Russian) Peasant and the Sheep, The. Krilof (Russian) Pebble and the Diamond, The. Krilof (Russian) Phoebus and Boreas. La Fontaine (French) Pike, The. Krilof (Russian) Pike and the Cat, The. Krilof (Russian) Pineapple and the Bee, The. Cowper (English) Playful Ass, The. Aesop (Greek) Ploughman and His Sons, The. La Fontaine (French) Poet, the Oyster, and Sensitive Plant, The. Cowper (English) Poor Woman and the Bell, The. Hitopadesa (Sanskrit) Porcupine and the Snakes, The. Aesop (Greek) Power of Fables, The. Aesop (Greek) Proud Chicken, The. (Chinese) Proud Fox and the Crab, The. (Chinese) Quartette, The. Krilof (Russian) Rabbits and the Elephants, The. Hitopadesa (Sanskrit) Rat and the Elephant, The. La Fontaine (French) Rat and the Oyster, The. La Fontaine (French) Rat and the Toad, The. (African) Rat-catcher and Cats, The. Gay (English) Rats and the Cheese, The. Anonymous (English) Raven, The. Cowper (English) Rope Dancer and His Pupil, The. Yriarte (Spanish) Sagacious Snake, The. Bidpai (Indian) Satyr and the Traveller, The. Aesop (Greek) Shepherd and His Dog, The. La Fontaine (French) Shepherd and the Lion, The. La Fontaine (French) Shepherd's Dog and the Wolf, The. Gay. (English) Sick Stag, The. La Fontaine (French) Snake and the Sparrows, The. Bidpai (Indian) Sparrows and the Falcon, The. Bidpai (Indian) Spectacles, The. Aesop (Greek) Spider and the Bee, The. Krilof (Russian) Squirrel and the Horse, The. Yriarte (Spanish) Stag and the Vine, The. La Fontaine (French) Stork and the Toad, The. (African) Sunling, The. Raju (Indian) Swallow and Other Birds, The. Aesop (Greek) Swan and the Cook, The. La Fontaine (French) Swan and the Linnet, The. Yriarte (Spanish) Sword-blade, The. Krilof (Russian) Tail of the Serpent, The. Aesop (Greek) Tea and the Sage, The. Yriarte (Spanish) Tiger and the Giraffe, The. Raju (Indian) Tiger and the Shadow, The. (Malayan) Tiger Gets His Deserts, The. (Malayan) Tiger, the Fox, and the Hunters, The. Raju (Indian) Tinsel and Lightning. Raju (Indian) Traveller and the Tiger, The. Hitopadesa (Sanskrit) Travellers and the Bear, The. Aesop (Greek) Trishka's Caftan. Krilof (Russian) Tune that Makes the Tiger Drowsy, The (Malayan) Two Mules, The. La Fontaine (French) Two Rats, the Fox, and the Egg, The. La Fontaine (French) Two Travellers, The. Aesop (Greek) Two Travellers and the Oyster, The. Aesop (Greek) Wagtail and the Jackal, The. (Moorish) Weasel in the Granary, The. La Fontaine (French) What Employment Our Lord Gave to Insects (African) Wolf and Its Cub, The. Krilof (Russian) Wolf and the Cat. The. Krilof (Russian) Wolf and the Crane, The. Aesop (Greek) Wolf and the Fox, The. La Fontaine (French) Wolf and the Lamb, The. Aesop (Greek) Wolf and the Lamb, The. Aesop (Greek) Wolf and the Lean Dog, The. La Fontaine (French) Wolf and the Mastiff, The. Aesop (Greek) Wolf and the Sheep, The. Aesop (Greek) Wolf in Sheep's Clothing, The. Aesop (Greek) Wolf, the Goat, and the Kid, The. La Fontaine (French) Wolf Turned Shepherd, The. La Fontaine (French) Woodman and Mercury, The. La Fontaine (French) Woods and the Woodman, The. La Fontaine (French) Wren, The. (Moorish) Young Mouse, the Cock, and the Cat, The. Aesop (Greek) Young Tiger, The. Bidpai (Indian) 
240	----	STORIES FROM THE OLD ATTIC Robert Harris 1992 Copyright 1992 Robert Harris Permission is granted to share this book as an electronic text All other rights, include hardcopy publication, are reserved To Mom Contents: The Second Greatest Commandment A Good Horse and a Better It's Nut Valuable Stewardship The Man Who Believed in Miracles A Fish Story Man Love Indecision The Limit How Sir Reginald Helped the King How the Noble Percival Won the Fair Arissa Truth Carved in Stone How Sir Philo Married a Beautiful Princess Instead of the Woman He Loved Serendipity A Tale Revealing the Wisdom of Being a Cork on the River of Life The Art of Truth Matthew 18:3 The Boy and the Vulture Three Flat Tires The History of Professor De Laix How the Humans Finally Learned to Like Themselves The Caterpillar and the Bee The Wise One On the Heroic Suffering of Mankind The Quest Life Discernment It Depends on How You Look at It: Eight Vignettes on Perspective The Strange Adventure In Defeat There Is Victory The Oppressed Girl Two Conversations on Direction Semiotics Strikes Out Seeing is Believing A Traditional Story The Day Creativity Met the Linear Dragon The Wall and the Bridge The Wish Several One Way Conversations How the King Learned about Love The Fly and the Elephant The Man Who Talked Backwards The Clue An Analogy The Second Greatest Commandment A man was out shoveling the excess gravel off his driveway and into the graveled road that ran by his house. A neighbor happened to be walking by just as the man tossed a shovel full down the road the opposite way the man used to drive in and out. "I see you aren't messing up the part of the road you use," sneered the neighbor. A few minutes later another neighbor happened by and saw the man toss a shovel full of gravel down the other part of the road. "I see you are fixing only the part of the road you use, and not the part others must use," sneered the second neighbor. The shoveler stood still with a shovel full of gravel as the second man left. Now unsure of what to do with it that would be agreeable to his neighbors, he decided simply to dump it out onto his driveway on the very spot whence he had scooped it up. Just as he did so, a third neighbor happened to be walking by. "I see you are stealing gravel from the road for your driveway," sneered the third man. "People like you are what's wrong with this country." At this point the homeowner put his shovel away and sat down with his pipe to contemplate these occurrences. Pretty soon a neighbor from further down the street drove by and saw the man sitting down enjoying his pipe. "If you weren't so lazy, you'd shovel some of that gravel off your driveway and back onto the road where it belongs," the driver sneered as he drove away, spinning his tires and scattering gravel in every direction. A Good Horse and a Better A man once came upon a lad about midday skipping stones across a pond. "Hello, young man," he said, approaching. "What brings you here on a school day?" "I wrote a poem yesterday which was the best in class, and the teacher said I could play today while the other children wrote more poems." "Well, then, you are to be congratulated. Yours is certainly a deed of distinction. And as a reward," he added, settling himself on a tree stump, "let me tell you a story about two horses." "Oh, yes, do," the youth said eagerly, sitting down at the man's feet. "The first horse lived in Arabia, and he was beautiful and strong. He had never lost a race. And he was shrewd. He would run just hard enough to pull away from the other horses in the race, and then he would let up and trot, or even walk, across the finish line, to the great embarrassment and humiliation of all the other horses." "He was clearly a superior animal," the young poet interjected. "Yes, he was," agreed the man. "Now the other horse lived in Macedonia, and he, too, was strong and noble. He had, however, lost one race, the first race of his life; and some say he always remembered that when he ran." "How grating to the heart it must be to lose so early and have a blight on one's reputation," mused the young man. "But this horse always won every other race. And unlike our first horse, when this Macedonian horse ran and knew he had beaten the other horses, instead of letting up he redoubled his efforts and ran even harder--as hard as he could--for he now ran not against the fortuitous competitors with whom he began the race, but against his own heart: against all horses past and all horses future, against every horse in Macedonia and every one in Arabia, and also against the ideal horse with a pace so frighteningly fast that few can conceive its possibility. And even more than this, he ran toward the perfection of excellence itself. And when he crossed the finish line, as happy as he was to win, he secretly lamented that his opponents had not been fast enough to threaten him and push him onward." "Even though he lost once," the lad remarked after a short silence, "perhaps this horse was as good as the Arabian." "Perhaps so, my child," said the man, with a smile. "Perhaps so." It's Nut Valuable Once upon a time a wise and thoughtful craftsman made a new electric adding machine. It was very complex with many gears and levers and wheels, and it did amazing things, always adding up the numbers correctly. So the craftsman sold it to a businessman for many thousands of dollars. All the parts inside the new adding machine felt good about being so valuable. They worked hard and happily all day, and often talked about how useful they were to the businessman. But one day a spring noticed a little nut just sitting on the end of a shaft. The spring pulled at the lever he was attached to and pointed. Soon the whole works knew. "You lazy little nut," said a spinning gear, "why don't you get to work?" "But I am working," said the nut. "Holding on is my job." "That's stupid," yelled a cam. "I don't believe our maker put you here. You just sneaked in to steal some of our glory. Why don't you get out?" "Well," said the nut, "I'm sure our maker knew what he was doing, and that I do serve a purpose. I hold on as tightly as I can." But all the machinery began to squeal and abuse the nut so violently that he felt very sad and began to doubt himself. "Maybe I am useless," he thought. He appealed to the shaft he was threaded onto. "Look, kid," the shaft told him, "I've got plenty of other parts holding on to me. I shouldn't have to support you, too." So finally the little nut decided to unscrew himself and go away. He dropped off the shaft and fell through a hole in the bottom of the machine. "Good riddance," said the motor. "Yeah, good riddance," all the other parts agreed. Rather quickly the nut was forgotten and things went on as they had for awhile. But in a few hours, the shaft began to feel funny. At first he began to vibrate. Then he started sliding and slipping. He called for help to the other parts attached to him, but they could do nothing. Presently the shaft fell completely out of his mounting hole, causing many levers and gears and cams to slip out of alignment and crash against each other, and forcing the whole machine to grind to a halt with an awful noise. The motor tried his best to keep things going--he tried so hard that he bent many of the parts--and then as he tried even harder, he burned himself out. "This is all the fault of that little nut," the ruined parts all agreed. "I'll give ya three bucks for it," said the junk man to the office manager. Stewardship A wise man approached three young men standing around idly. "Here is a coin worth a hundred dollars," the wise man said to the first youth. "What should I do with it?" "Give it to me," he said at once. "Rather than reward such selfishness and greed," responded the wise man, "it would be better to throw the money into the sea." And with this, the wise man threw the coin into the water. "Now," he said to the second youth, "here is another coin. What should I do with it?" The second youth, feeling shrewd, answered, "Throw it into the sea." But the wise man said, "That would be a careless waste. To follow a bad example only because it is an example is folly. Better than throwing this money away would be to give it to the poor." And he gave the money to a beggar sitting nearby. "I have one last coin," the wise man went on, talking to the third youth. "What shall I do with it?" The third youth had been paying attention, and, thinking he would get the money if he avoided the greed and wastefulness implied in the answers of his friends, said, "Why, give it to the poor." "That is a very wise and kind answer," said the wise man, smiling. And because you have answered so well" (at this the youth brightened with expectation), "I will indeed take your good advice and give the money to the poor." "Don't I get anything for my wisdom?" demanded the youth. "You have already received something much better than money," said the wise man. The Man Who Believed in Miracles Once upon a time a traveler arrived in a land quite like our own, full of modern technology like cars and computers and whistling teapots, but with these two differences: there were no television sets and no airplanes. In fact, nothing at all had ever been seen in the sky, not even a bird, and the only movies the people ever saw were in the theaters. The traveler stayed for about a month on the eastern shore where he had arrived, and then decided to visit the western cities. He mentioned his decision one evening at a meeting of the principal scientists and educators of the region, who had gathered to hear of his travels. Someone mentioned that the west had much to offer, but that the journey between the two areas was unpleasant, consisting of crossing a hot, empty desert. "In that case," said the traveler, "I'll just fly." "Is that like sleep?" one of the scientists asked. "No, no," the traveler replied. "You know, fly through the air, like a bird." "And what is a bird?" someone asked. And so the traveler began to explain about flight and what an airplane was and how it flew from one place to another. The room became very quiet, and the expressions on the faces of everyone present darkened. "Does he expect us to believe this?" one man whispered to another. "Well, you know what liars travelers are," someone else added. Finally the host spoke up, slightly embarrassed and slightly indignant. "If this is your idea of a joke," he began, but was interrupted by the surprised traveler. "Why, it's no joke at all. People fly all the time." "I am sorry that you so much underestimate the intelligence and learning of your audience," said a professor across the table. "That a person could enter some metal device--like a car with fins--and rise into the air, and be sustained there, and move forward, why that clearly violates everything we know about the law of gravity and the laws of physics. If we have learned anything from a thousand years of study of the natural world, it is that an object heavier than air must return immediately to earth when it is tossed into the sky." "Hear, hear," two or three people muttered. "Now, if you perhaps mean that these 'airplanes,' as you call them, are somehow flung into the air for a short distance and then fall to the ground, well, then perhaps that would be possible." The professor looked expectantly and a bit condescendingly at the traveler, hoping that the man would take this face-saving opportunity. "No, no. You don't understand," said the traveler. "The airplanes have powerful motors and the craft rise into the air, and they stay up as long as they want, as long as the fuel holds out." There were several audible "hmmphs" around the room. "Tell us then," said another scholar, in a saccharine voice, "how this device works. What makes it fly?" "Well, I don't know exactly how it works. It has something to do with air flowing over the wings." "You don't know--you cannot explain--how it works, this device that runs counter to everything we know about the natural world, yet you believe in it anyway." "Believe in it?" asked the traveler, a bit confused by this turn of phrase. "Of course I 'believe in it.' I fly on one all the time at home." "And how do you control its motions?" a man asked, without removing his pipe. The audience was clearly beginning to patronize the traveler, and he was growing a little irritated. "Oh, I don't control it. There's a pilot for that." "I see," the pipe smoker said. "So this airplane contains both you and the pilot. You're telling us that perhaps four or five hundred pounds of dead weight can travel through the air as long as it wants." "As long as the fuel holds out," added one of the hmmphers, with amusement. "And all the time sneering at the law of gravity and laughing science in the face," someone else noted. "Well, actually, the planes are much larger than that," said the traveler. "Many of them hold two or three hundred people and weigh, my, I don't know--many thousands of pounds." "I think we have heard enough," the now-fully-embarrassed and half-angered host said. "It was amusing for awhile, but it's time to put an end to this nonsense." "It is not nonsense," the traveler protested. "It is the truth." "Then you really believe this madman's drivel you've been feeding us?" the host asked, rather hotly. "Of course. How can I not believe it? I see it and live it every day. And here," he added, remembering something, "I even have a photograph." "Obviously faked," said the host, dismissing it after a glance. "Who invited this charlatan?" someone asked of no one in particular. "I thought science had put an end to all this miraculous event stuff long ago," said another man, rising from his chair and preparing to leave. "Well, let's not pursue this pointless discussion," the host said. "Our guest apparently knows nothing of science, and is impervious to logic and to the considered opinion of the best minds of our nation. There's nothing left to do but adjourn." The meeting began to break up, and the traveler was putting on his coat when the man with the pipe made one last attempt to reason with him. "We are all scientists here, all educated men. All of us agree that it is impossible for a heavier-than-air device to fly on its own through the air. Don't you see that? This is against the laws of nature--it violates the law of gravity." "Well," said the traveler, "perhaps there is another law, or perhaps there is a higher law than the law of gravity, which, when it is understood, will explain how planes can fly." "That's just what I'd expect a religious fanatic to say," said a man who had been listening in. "Science can jump into the trash as far as you religious types are concerned." "Not at all," said the traveler. "But your science is not perfect. You do not yet know everything about everything, what is possible and what is not possible." "Go take your religion to a church and keep it away from serious people," the man concluded, stomping out of the room. In the weeks that followed, the traveler was ridiculed and denounced in the newspapers, being called everything from a con artist to a prospective mental patient. (The scientific journals said nothing about the man because they considered the whole matter as beneath serious thought.) As a result, the traveler was often left to himself, and so he pulled out his tiny portable television set and began to watch it. Just by chance, some visitors happened to come by and see the little box. They were very impressed and urged the traveler to market his invention for putting a movie inside such a small space. In a few days, word had spread about this mini-movie and several scientists were convinced (after some debate) to come see it, together with some engineers representing the movie projector manufacturers of the nation. They were sufficiently impressed as they watched a few scenes, but when the traveler changed channels, their enthusiasm turned to gaping astonishment. The traveler switched all around, showing them twenty channels in all. Such was the amazement and even incredulity of the engineers that they already began to suspect some kind of trick. The scientists looked confused. "You certainly have a lot of films stored in that little box," one of the engineers said. "How do you get them all in there?" "The pictures are not in the box," said the traveler. "They are all over in the air around us. This antenna brings them in and the set makes them visible." The engineers laughed while the scientists sneered, the latter now sorry they had allowed themselves to be talked into coming to hear this notorious nut. "Come now," one of the scientists said. "Do you expect us to believe that there are pictures floating around us in the air--pictures we cannot see? And that twenty sets of these pictures are all present at once, scrambled together, just waiting for that little box to take them and sort them out? What do you take us for anyway--a bunch of gullible greenhorn fools?" "And besides," continued an engineer, "how do these pictures get into the air in the first place? Where do they come from?" "They're sent from a satellite in the sky," the traveler said, as all heads looked up. "You can't see it, of course. It's too high. But it's there." "And of course you expect us to believe in something we can't see," said one of the scientists, with a touch of scorn. "Believe it because of its effects--the results--the evidence of its existence," the traveler said. "If it weren't there, you would see no pictures." "We know you're lying," another engineer said. "Even if there were a device in the sky, held up by a balloon or whatever, it couldn't send a signal down here without a wire. That would be against everything we know about electricity. And I don't see any wire." "Well, it doesn't use a wire," said the traveler. "The signals are sent through the air. And the satellite isn't held up by a balloon; it stays up because it's high enough so that gravity doesn't pull it down." "Now he's denying the law of gravity again," said one of the scientists. "Let's go. I've heard enough. Whatever he does to perform his little trick, he isn't telling us about it, so let's just leave." "Yeah, let's get out of here," another scientist said. "Every time we catch him in an impossibility, he tells us the explanation is in the sky." Then turning to the traveler to say goodbye, he added, "We cannot believe something when the weight of scientific evidence is against it." "But when the physical evidence is clearly before you," said the traveler, "how can you not believe, even if your theories cannot explain it?" "Because such an event would be a miracle, and science has nothing to do with miracles." "Then perhaps science is the poorer for it," said the traveler, sitting down to watch his television, which just then happened to be showing a dove flying silently across the sky. A Fish Story The bright sun and the gentle wind had made the little fish almost bold that summer day, enough so that they were swimming all over the pond, from their home in the reeds at one end to the rocky beach at the other. Or at least they swam very near to the rocky beach--as near as they dared--for all the older fish constantly warned them to stay away. Some of the dangers were clear enough, such as the wading birds who stepped into the shallow water, hoping to pluck out a little fish and swallow him right down, and the foxes, whose gigantic teeth were too awful even to think about. But there were other evils that were not so distinct. Hideous and unimaginable these were, with tales of fish swimming into the area and never to be heard from again, vague reports of sudden disappearances, and some hysterical tales, impossible to make sense of, of leaping shadows, wild splashings, worms flying through the water, and such like. The dangers of the rocky beach could not quite be isolated in the minds of the little fish, so that they felt a general sense of impending doom whenever they swam more than a few feet from home. That is why, one day when three little fish met each other suddenly among the reeds, they were all momentarily startled. But soon they began talking and relaxed a little. "This is a wonderful pond," said one. "It's so big. But I've never been this far away from home before." "Me either," said another. "I just hope we're safe here in these reeds." "I do too," agreed the third. "You never know where an enemy may come from." "And you can't be too careful," added the first. "By the way," said one, "my name is Swimmy Fish. What's yours?" "Finny Fish," said another. "I'm Chirpy Bird," said the third. Swimmy Fish and Finny Fish gave a start, looked at each other with surprise and terror, and then swam off in opposite directions as fast as they could. "Wait!" cried Chirpy Bird. "What's wrong? Come back!" He looked around anxiously, himself frightened by their fright, though he could see no sign of danger anywhere. But their fear hung over the area, so he decided to swim toward home, at more than his usual speed. He had not gone very far when he saw several adult fish swimming toward him with serious and half-frightened expressions on their faces. When they saw him, they stopped at a distance. "Stop there," one of them demanded, so Chirpy Bird stopped. The big fish seemed to be engaged in a solemn discussion. Every once in awhile one of them waved a fin or glanced in his direction. Finally, two of the largest fish approached a little nearer. "Don't make any sudden moves," the largest one, whose name was Glubber Fish, said with a mixture of command and pleading. "I don't understand," the little fish said, bewildered. "Are you Chirpy Bird?" asked Glubber Fish. "Yes. I--" "You must leave the pond." It was a tone of finality. "But why?" asked Chirpy Bird. "Because you'll soon be eating us and our children. Besides, birds don't live under water." "But I'm not a bird," Chirpy Bird protested. "What's your name?" demanded the other, who was called Spotted Fish. "Chirpy Bird. But--" "There you are," he said, with a tone of satisfaction. "My name is Chirpy Bird," said the little one, "but I'm a fish." "Nonsense," grumped Spotted Fish. "Whoever heard of a fish named Chirpy Bird?" "Whether you've heard of me or not, here I am," said Chirpy Bird, not knowing what else to say. "Totally illogical," interrupted Whisker Fish, who had just come near. "As well as disrespectful and impudent," added Glubber fish. "You must listen to reason," said Whisker Fish, self-importantly brushing himself in preparation. "And here it is: You are Chirpy Bird; granted. Birds eat fish; granted. Therefore, you eat fish." "But--" Chirpy Bird tried to explain. "There is no 'but.' It's a syllogism, and cannot be answered. The conclusion follows necessarily," said Whisker Fish. "It's pure logic." "And it also follows," said Glubber fish, "that you must leave the pond." "I'll die if I leave the pond," said Chirpy Bird. "That's not our problem," said Glubber Fish. "And it's an irrelevant objection," added Whisker Fish. The rest of the adult fish had gradually been easing forward during this conversation and now, at the direction of Glubber Fish, the whole group escorted Chirpy Bird down toward the rocky beach. In a few minutes they reached a low spot near a weeping willow, where several of the large fish grabbed Chirpy Bird and threw him onto the shore. "Now fly away and leave us alone," one of them said. And leave them alone he did. Man Somewhere in a deep, tropical jungle lived a tribe of natives with extremely odd behavior. Generations ago the tribe had in some obscure fashion contracted a parasite which induced a seemingly permanent delirium in each native, and which was passed on to subsequent generations. The delirium increased with age, and most of the adult natives showed it by eating dirt, sleeping on dunghills, pummeling anthills with rocks even as the ants bit them severely, and jumping out of trees onto their heads. This last maneuver caused the natives to stagger around senseless for days, or simply to lie unconscious and bleeding in the sun and rain. All these symptoms together prevented the natives from caring for their personal lives, and so they lived in deplorable squalor, with their huts falling apart, and their children and themselves half starved and wholly naked. Another odd effect of the mental distraction was an unnatural craving for firewood. Unlike the other natives in the area, the members of this tribe collected--and stole, and cheated and betrayed for--log upon stick to pile next to their huts, even though in twenty very cold years they couldn't use half as much as they already possessed. A few natives had been crushed to death by collapsing woodpiles; many more had died from fighting over decidedly unimpressive old branches. One day a doctor came from the East to the village, and he immediately recognized the symptoms of the disease (a common one) for which he carried the cure. He went gladly and confidently to the chief of the tribe and announced his ability to remedy the ills of the people, expecting to be praised and welcomed for his offer of help. To his surprise, however, the chief rebuffed him with contempt and asserted boldly that there was nothing at all wrong with his people, that they had always acted that way since he could remember, that it was the human condition, and that they were all perfectly happy. Then, after ordering the doctor to leave immediately, the chief jumped out of a tree into the tribal latrine and was unavailable for any further discussion. Substantially taken aback but firm in his resolution, the doctor decided to take his offer directly to the natives. Most received him with laughter, contempt, or violence; many ignored him; a few beat him up; some said he just wanted to get at their firewood; most said they, like the chief, felt fine. But a dozen or so natives came to him privately where he had been tossed into the bushes after his most recent beating, and asked him for the medicine. "We are somehow not really happy living like this," they said, "even though it is the way of the world." The doctor gladly gave them the medicine, and in a few days they began to show remarkable signs of recovery. No longer desiring to eat dirt or jump out of trees, these natives corrected their diet, improved in health, and began to apply themselves to such activities as making baskets, repairing their huts, caring for their children, and gathering food. Some even began to question the wisdom of collecting stacks of wood more than twenty feet high. Such wild, unusual, and anti-social behavior did not go unnoticed by the other natives, who quickly ostracized the cured natives from the tribal camp, calling them enemies of the current system. And even though many of the delirious natives began to suspect that the cured natives were somehow better off than they, and that there might be more to living than sleeping on dunghills and finding new trees to jump out of, resistance to the cure was strong. First, almost all the educated and respectable people--the chief and his council--spoke against it, and the example of their sophistication and wealth (the chief's woodpile was ninety feet high) was very strong. Many others, from the gossips to the wise man, said that the old way was right, and that the tribe had always behaved that way. There were few real individuals in the tribe, so that even though scores would have been glad to try the cure, they were afraid to stand against the rest and did what everyone else was doing, which was nothing. The witch doctor had a stronger argument against the new regimen. He pointed out that the cure was harder to take than the cures he dispensed. The Eastern doctor's cure was painful, and though many of the witch doctor's cures caused vomiting, hives, convulsions, and hallucinations, the natives were all familiar with these effects and attributed them to swallowing the medicine wrong, rather than to the medicine itself. But who knew what the fate of the cured natives would eventually be? The cured natives said they felt fine, but they might have been lying. And who was fool enough to trust an outsider, a stranger, rather than the familiar witch doctor, who cursed those who took the cure because they rejected his medicines as false and pernicious? The cured natives said that a commitment must be made to trust the Eastern doctor; this was too difficult or uncertain a step for many, especially in the face of the social pressure around them. A decision accompanied by fear, decried by the important, and rejected by society could not be made by everyone. After the time of his stay was over, the Eastern doctor showed the cured natives how to compound the medicine and then left. As generations passed, most of the natives remained loyal to the dunghill, but a few took the cure. Love Otto and his girlfriend Brissa were driving merrily down the middle of the road one rainy night on their way to a party when they approached a little old lady trying vainly to change a flat tire. "Gee, that's too bad," said Brissa. "Yeah," agreed Otto. "Maybe we should help her," added Brissa. "We? You mean me. I'm not going to get wet. Besides, what good would it do me to help her? I don't even know who she is, and she probably doesn't have any money, or at least not enough to make getting wet worthwhile." "But it would make you feel good to do a good deed," Brissa offered. "Well, it makes me feel good to stay in here and keep dry," snapped Otto. "It would make me happy, Otto," said Brissa, in her softest, most feminine voice. "You? Boy, you're awfully selfish. Always thinking about yourself. You know, I wasn't put here just to cater to your stupid, idle whims." As his anger rose, Otto sped up a little, just in time to hit a large puddle near the little old lady, drenching her in a sheet of muddy water. "Stop, Otto!" Brissa cried, exasperated. "I'll help her." "Aw shut up," Otto snarled. "Do you think I'm going to walk into the party with a girl who's all wet and disheveled, looking like a drowned rat? You want people to laugh at me? Think of somebody besides yourself for a change. Now fix your makeup and keep your mouth shut." Indecision Once upon a time a dozen or so curious travelers rented a boat for a cruise out to an enchanted island, where, it was said, Athena sat on her throne dispensing rich gifts to all. The trip was smooth enough for awhile, with only a few rough seas to endure and an occasional shoal to avoid. But then one morning one of the passengers discovered that the boat was taking on water. "We're sinking, we're sinking!" some of the people cried. "No," said the captain, "the flow is not yet so fast. If we will get some buckets and bail the water out, everything will be all right." This solution seemed simple enough. However, a dissension soon arose among the travelers about who would do the bailing, and what buckets would be used. "Allow me," said one. "It is my duty in this circumstance to bail, and I have here a very solid bucket suitable to the task." "Beg pardon, sir," said another, "but I must be the bailer. It is written in the laws of the sea that a person of my parts must do this labor. Besides, I have a superior bucket." "Wait," said a third. "This gentleman's bucket is all right, but I think I should be allowed to help bail, since I am a fellow passenger." Everyone adduced many weighty, true, and worthy philosophical arguments for his position, and cited laws, ethics, and political and procedural rules, but no person succeeded in convincing any other. Soon, therefore, the discussion ceased to remain at this level, but grew rather heated, and shouts and aspersions began to fill the air, with perhaps even a trace of ill will. "I refuse to allow anyone to bail this boat unless he uses this bucket, which, as any fool can see, is the only true bucket, clearly superior to all others," screamed one. "And I absolutely refuse to see this boat bailed unless I can take part in the work," yelled another. Now these passengers all had some interest in seeing the boat bailed, and most hoped that this impasse could be overcome to the satisfaction of everyone. But since no one knew exactly what to do, nothing was done. "Perhaps we will get to the enchanted island without bailing the boat," hoped one. It was not to be so. While the travelers continued to debate, some suggesting unworkable alternatives and the others remaining unyielding, the boat continued to fill, until at one sudden and horrifying moment, the water rushed in over the gunwales and across the deck. The hold filled rapidly, and in spite of every man's frenzied efforts, the boat sank, carrying the stubborn but now too-late-repentant travelers, together with their screaming wives and virgin daughters, to the very bottom of the sea. The Limit One day a man was walking through a forest and got lost. "Nothing could be worse than this," he said. Then it got dark. "Lost in the dark. What could be worse?" he asked. Then it got cold. "Now nothing could possibly be worse," he said as he shivered and stumbled around. But then it began to rain. "How could anything be worse than this?" he asked himself. But then the rain turned to snow and the wind came up. "This is absolutely the worst possible thing that could ever happen," he said. "There's nothing left." But then he fell and broke his arm. "Well, that's it," he thought. "This is the worst of all." But as he lay in the snow, a tree branch broke off and fell on him, breaking both his legs. "This is worse than the worst," he thought. "But at least nothing else can happen." But then he heard the sound of wolves coming his way. The noise was so startling that the man awoke and discovered that he had been dreaming. "What a dream I had," he said, shaking himself. "Nothing could be worse." How Sir Reginald Helped the King Once upon a time in the kingdom of Plebnia, the king was having a real problem with his letters to the outlying regions. His messages always seemed to arrive too late. No matter how early he mailed them, his Christmas cards arrived in July and his Valentines arrived on December 24, creating confusion and uncertainty among the people and giving the Problem Element an excuse to arouse the Rabble against him. After some thought, the king had an idea: he would give ten million greedos (their monetary unit) and the hand of his totally gorgeous daughter to the person who could make his mail arrive the fastest. His loyal subjects immediately rushed to solve the problem, setting themselves to this task with an enthusiasm that an objective observer might well have described as manic. People ran back and forth, up and down, muttering, "Move the mail, shove the mail, fling it, sling it. Run. Hurry. Shoot the mail, toss it, heave it," and such like. Included in the many and varied offered solutions were proposals to build a rocket sled, crisscross the countryside with pneumatic tubes, use fast horses stimulated by strong coffee, borrow a dragster from the sports arena, set up a reliable airline, make a jet-powered conveyor belt, or just use ordinary mailmen under the threat of immediate, violent death if they delayed the mail. However, Sir Reginald, the young, handsome hero of this tale, out of the goodness of his heart, his love for the king, and the excitement of the challenge (and scarcely considering the money or the girl more than four or five hours a day), decided to take a few minutes to examine the problem before he tried to solve it. "Just what is it the king wants to do?" he asked himself. "He wants to send his mail quickly. And just what is mail? It's a message, information. Information, hmm. Information can be sent electronically, by wire or transmission. Yes. Hmm. Yes--A transmitter on one end and a printer on the other end would permit the king's mail to be sent at the speed of light. That should pretty much squash Sir Rodney's proposal to use battery-powered frisbees." Well, what can we say? The brilliance of this proposal was so obvious that Sir Reginald was declared the winner and the plan was immediately instituted. The mail began to arrive on time, the king soon became popular again in the outlying regions, and Sir Reginald retired to spend the rest of his days in a spiffy castle on top of a hill, with his totally gorgeous wife and, later, seventeen children. How the Noble Percival Won the Fair Arissa Once upon a time in a kingdom by the sea, two knights stood talking about the strategy of battle when their conversation was interrupted by the sight of the beautiful Arissa as she walked upon the green. "Forsooth, I think I'll ask her for a date," said Sir Wishful, one of the knights. "Ditto," said Sir Percival, the other knight. So Sir Wishful sauntered up to Arissa in his most elegant and refined manner, and, twirling his mustache genteelly, said, "Arissa, my dear, methinks I'd like to take you out to dinner." Arissa sized up Sir Wishful a moment and then replied, "Sorry, Wishy, you're not my type." Sir Percival, seeing his rival stumble off in a confused, embarrassed, humiliated, dazed--oh you get the idea. Anyway, Sir Percival saw his opportunity and approached Arissa. "Arissa," he said, "how about a date anon?" Only a moment was needed for the look of mild surprise to alter the beautiful maiden's features, after which she laughed loudly in Sir Percival's face for a good ten minutes. Well, both Sir Wishful and Sir Percival retired to lick their wounds and lament the fate of men in this whole romantic con game, and Sir Wishful soon enough decided that he liked the taste of trout just about as well as the taste of women's lips, so he grabbed his bait and tackle and headed for the river. Sir Percival, on the other hand, really thought Arissa might be worth another attempt, and he rationalized with himself that perhaps she didn't quite understand the question. "Or belikes the maiden is just shy," he thought. So Sir Percival, seeing on another day the fair, delicate Arissa using her footman's coat to clean the mud off her shoes, again approached and asked: "Arissa, sweet one, won't you go out with me sometime?" Arissa generously gave Sir Percival a look that could have frozen several pounds of choice lobster, and replied, "You must be kidding." Sir Percival thought about this answer for a couple of days, and still finding his inclination toward the gentle Arissa unchanged, he thought to make a clarificatory attempt, just in case the maiden did believe he had been kidding. Approaching her the next morning, Sir Percival said, "Kind Arissa, I wasn't kidding the other day. Ifay, I'd like to date you." Only the author's extreme commitment to complete truth forces him to admit that a tiny trace of irritation now flashed, but only for the briefest of moments, across the lovely Arissa's brow. "Get lost, creep," she said, clearly and distinctly. Well, needless to say, by now most of the other knights in the realm were getting sufficient jollies out of Sir Percival's romantic endeavors. Even Sir Wishful had joined in the laughter, ridicule, and derision that seasoned Sir Percival's every meal with his friends. This hilarity touched the young knight and caused him to spend several days in contemplation of his past behavior. "Am I gaining or losing ground with Arissa?" he asked himself. "Rather had she said, 'Get lost' before she said, 'You must be kidding,' for as it stands, I can't say I'm making much progress." But "Steadfast" was probably Sir Percival's middle name (or his uncle's middle name, anyway), so the knight decided to approach Arissa yet again. After all, Arissa seemed to be pretty okay, and Sir Percival wanted a date. In a few days, then, Arissa heard a familiar question in a familiar voice: "Arissa, sweetheart, let me ensconce you in my carriage and take you on a date." To which Arissa replied, "Sorry Perce, I'm busy. I've got to wash my hair." To which the knight: "Well, when could you go then?" To which Arissa: "Well, I'll be busy for the next ten years. I mean, I've got stuff to do, forsooth." Well, our hero was getting a bit despondent about all this, and for sure his friends weren't helping much. Far from their giving him encouragement, their laughter rang so constantly in Sir Percival's head that he began to wonder if he was still quite sane. And not a few of his friends hinted here and there that psychiatric consultation might be useful to the knight, to get him over his ridiculous interest in the agreeable Arissa. About this time it so happened that as Sir Percival was on his way to visit Sir Wishful for a nice dinner of trout and onions, he quite unexpectedly came upon Arissa, lovely as ever, sitting near the village waterfall and picking her teeth. Almost out of habit, Sir Percival spoke: "Arissa, sugar, would you like to go out with me sometime?" To which Arissa: "Oh, Perce, didn't I tell you I was busy?" To which Sir Percival: "Yeah, fair one, but I thought maybe you'd had a cancellation or something." To which Arissa: "Well, if I did have a cancellation, I wouldn't fill it up with you. Besides, what would we do?" To which Sir Percival: "We could go to dinner." To which Arissa: "Like where, ifay?" To which Sir Percival: "Andre's French Victuals." To which Arissa: "And when would this be?" To which Sir Percival: "I dunno. How about tomorrow night?" To which--well, anyway, to her own surprise, to the astonishment of Sir Percival, and to the great confusion of the rest of the kingdom, Arissa finally actually agreed to this scenario and the next evening the two young people went to Andre's. Arissa, of course, ordered the eleven most expensive things on the menu, for she was still intending to discourage Sir Percival, but the knight was willing to put up with only a glass of water for his own dinner, because the success he had enjoyed so far with the desirable Arissa had quite taken away his appetite anyway. In the course of the evening, Arissa happened to remark, "I wish they had apricots on the menu here. You know, I really love them. I could eat them by the ton." To which Sir Percival: "Why, Arissa, my dove, I own an orchard of apricot trees." To which Arissa: "Really? Oh, Perce." When she pronounced his name, the young maiden sighed and a glisten appeared in one or both eyes. Well, from here the story gets pretty mushy, so we'd better make it short. This delightful couple soon held hands; they discovered anon that their lips fit together pretty well, Arissa's ten years' worth of plans were miraculously cancelled, and Sir Percival finally asked the Big Question, to which Arissa replied, "Well, okay." And so they were married and lived happily ever after, with Arissa often telling Sir Percival how she had secretly loved him from the first time she saw him, while Sir Percival, each time he kissed Arissa's apricot-flavored lips, congratulated himself for his skill in winning her. Truth Carved in Stone A wise old philosopher was walking through the park with a young man and his true love when they came upon a beautiful statue of a Nereid. "Come here," he said to the youth, "and touch this statue." The young man put his hand on the statue's arm and felt of it closely, though he did not seem surprised at what he found. "Now the girl," the old man continued; so the lover also felt of his girlfriend's arm, in the same way. "And now," the man said, "tell me what you have learned." "I'm not sure," the young man began. "The statue is hard and cold; the girl is warm and soft. Her flesh yields when I press; the marble does not." "You have learned well," concluded the philosopher, "and if each of you remembers and lives by these truths, you will have a happy life together." How Sir Philo Married a Beautiful Princess Instead of the Woman He Loved Once upon a time--and it had to be pretty long ago, as you will see--there lived a bunch of people in a little inland kingdom. The king, Cleon the Modest, was basically a good fellow, though he was not known for his brilliance in government. Instead, he was known chiefly for his glowing and nubile daughter, Jennifrella, a girl, though proud and a trifle petulant, so freighted with beauty and charms that pretty much every bachelor--and not a few married men--in the kingdom dreamed about her, whether awake or asleep. Truly, she maketh my pen tremble even as I write this. Now Cleon was desirous of marrying off this legendary beauty as soon as possible so that he could be free of the constant entreaties for her hand, free of the frequent bills for supplying her dressing table, and free to spend more time in his rose garden, which he truly loved. The king would have had little trouble choosing the richest suitor in the kingdom for his daughter, except that there were no exceptionally wealthy bachelors in the realm, and those of modest wealth all had castles and money boxes of essentially similar dimensions. For her part, the Princess Jennifrella was repletely enamored of Sir Fassade, a handsome, dashing, suave, carefree young knight who most people, when they faced reality, agreed would almost certainly become her husband and therefore the next king. King Cleon, however, was desirous of exercising his regal authority in having a say in who would follow him on the throne. And faced with what he clearly saw was an impossible number of choices, he therefore sought the opinion of his favorite advisor, the young Sir Philo. Now, persons of a cynical bent might begin to think that Sir Philo, an eligible bachelor himself and not at all impervious to feminine gorgeousness, would argue craftily that he himself was the most suitable and worthy candidate. This might have been so but for two equally powerful reasons. First, Sir Philo, brave, skilled, and thoughtful, was a man of integrity who would never abuse his position as the king's advisor to advance his own interests, even in a matter so emotionally and biologically compelling as that before us. The other reason is that Sir Philo was already in love with another. It was a gentle love, like a deep river, quiet and calm on the surface but fully substantial and powerful in its flow. His happiness, the Lady Lucinda, though not of outward visage the equal of Jennifrella, was handsome enough for the young knight's daydreams. When asked what attracted him to Lucinda, he would answer ambiguously or mutter something about the light in her eyes. What joy he got sitting with her under a tree in the bright spring, gazing upon her and dallying with her fingers or brushing a love-sick gnat from her collar. But what really twirled Sir Philo's cuff links was Lucinda's wit, her laugh, her playfulness. He relished taking the sprightly maid hand in hand on long walks, listening to the music of her voice and to the sentiments accompanying the music. How he loved to play with her tresses, or when her hair was up, to steal up behind her and kiss her unexpectedly on the back of the neck: for she would invariably produce a little shriek of surprise and delight and embarrassment, and then turning to him, her cheeks glowing irresistibly, attempt to glare and call him "monster," only to spoil her mock anger by bursting into giggles or even outright laughter. She would chide him and call him "rogue," and "impertinent," and he would say something like, "I'll put a stop to this abuse," and then their lips, who were old friends by now, would once again meet for fellowship. Of course, Lucinda would struggle just enough to enhance the enjoyment, until laughter or an unexpected visitor broke their embrace. Well, enough mush. The point is that an unspoken understanding had developed between them so that only a few months after the rest of the kingdom knew it, they realized that they would one day wed and together laugh and cry through the years until death should wake them. But to return to the weightier problem of King Cleon. Upon being asked for his advice, Sir Philo recommended that the king choose from among the following options. One, his majesty could choose the wisest and most just suitor for Jennifrella, for such a man would not only make a good king, but he would most likely be a decent husband, too. Or secondly, the king might seek a foreign alliance and marry his daughter to another king's son. This was an alternative which Sir Philo did not recommend, but mentioned only for the sake of completeness. And finally, the last possibility would be to let Jennifrella choose for herself--in which case, everyone knew that Sir Fassade would be the next king, and he, opined Sir Philo, would be "acceptable," producing a government no worse than the current one. (Since I have already described the king's advisor as "thoughtful," I shall now add "tactful" and note that the final participial phrase of the previous sentence was thought but not uttered by the knight.) As for the kind of husband Sir Fassade would make, the princess would have no one to blame but herself. King Cleon thought the matter over not quite long enough and decided to hold an archery contest, the winner of which would marry his daughter. The degree of Sir Philo's consternation is not recorded in the annals from which I am plagiarizing, but one may suppose that it was substantial, for reasons which will hereinafter appear. Needless to say (except to make the story longer and extend the reader's pleasure), Sir Philo made energetic protests, which eventually descended to rather pathetic entreaties, all in a futile attempt to change the king's mind. But King Cleon would not be dissuaded, and so the news was soon heralded throughout the kingdom, and, as you might suppose, arrow sales shot up immediately and remarkably. As when a child pounds the ground near an anthill, causing a good many of the residents instantly to surface and run around in massed panic, so on the day of the contest the world arrived in a swarm at the castle of Cleon the Modest and prepared to be a witness, if not the victor, in the winning of Jennifrella. There were several dozen contenders in the contest, some quite accomplished archers, some more or less dilettantish, and quite a few whose skills put the spectators at random hazard. Amid the noise and enthusiasm on this day stood a grim and silent Sir Philo, deeply troubled about the proceedings for three reasons. First, strictly from a philosophical standpoint, a shooting contest was a completely irrational method of choosing either a spouse or a future king, and irrationality like this always troubled the young knight. Second, though Sir Fassade was a very good shot, capable of satisfactorily humiliating most of the other contestants, he was no match for Sir Bargle. If they used the word then, I would have to exaggerate only slightly to say that Sir Bargle was, as they say in French, or maybe don't, a jerque. He punctuated nearly every sentence with an oath or a belch, constantly leered at the ladies in waiting (who knew all too well to keep a safe distance from him), and those who attended carefully to his speech noted that the word he used more than any other was "me." In a word (or fourteen, actually), Sir Bargle was a man unlikely to put his personal appetites in second place. The prospect of this knight nuzzling the hair or nibbling the earlobes of Jennifrella was in itself sufficiently revulsive to Sir Philo; the prospect of his becoming king was absolutely unthinkable. The third reason that the king's advisor was grieved about the "score ahead and wed" method of selecting the princess' groom was that the only person in all the realm who could outshoot Sir Bargle was--Sir Philo. Prithee, talk not to me about psychic conflict--nay, psychic trauma, for I have seen it here, and it is not gentle. Sir Philo traced and retraced many steps around the castle grounds, without thought of direction or destination, the movement of his feet and the tension on his face reflecting the turmoil in his soul. At length, in his anxiety, the brave knight turned to his lady love for succor and advice, and she, with a swiftness that surprised him and a nobility that made him love her more deeply than ever, told him that of course he must put the interest of the kingdom above his personal happiness. She then flew into his arms and burst into inconsolable sobbing for longer than we have time to look in on. The contest began and proceeded remarkably well, with only the loss of a too-curious cow and a few luckless birds at the hands of the less accomplished suitors. Sir Fassade shot well that day, achieving a personal best. As each arrow hit, closer and closer toward the middle of the target, it made the princess clap a little louder and leap with joy a little higher. A smirk of self-congratulation soon decorated Sir Fassade's handsome face. A loud belch and a louder laugh announced the commencement of Sir Bargle's shooting. As predicted by Sir Philo, Sir Bargle was an excellent shot. As each arrow landed a good handbreadth closer to the center of the target than any of those of Sir Fassade, the smiles on the faces of the princess and her favorite knight grew less and less until they had been completely replaced by somber looks on the knight and what might be described as silent hysteria on the face of the princess. The look on Sir Bargle's face at the conclusion of his shooting is a little too carnal for me to describe. As he shot his set of arrows, Sir Philo was forced more than once, after he had fully drawn his bow, to pause, and to wait until a little tremble--attributed by the crowd to nervousness and eagerness to win Jennifrella--left his hands. As each arrow hit the target, remarkably near the middle, it also pierced the very center of Lucinda's heart. The young knight thought more than once about letting an arrow fly wide of the target, but he did his duty, though it brought grief to himself and devastation to the woman he treasured. Sir Philo's smile as he took the hand of the princess was obviously forced, but no one noticed because Jennifrella was now bawling so spectacularly that the crowd, though not at all wishing to be unkind, found it, frankly, entertaining. As it does for us all, time passed and life went on. After a peculiar three years' delay, Lucinda finally made her choice from among several good offers and moved with her new husband to a remote part of the kingdom where it was reported that she was content, though some said that the cooler climate had somewhat subdued her well-known effervescence. In the fullness of time, Sir Philo exchanged his sword for a crown and ascended the throne. He ruled wisely and justly, and the kingdom prospered. Hero that he was, he had mostly adjusted to the princess' personality, reminding himself as occasion required (and occasion did require), that not only had he acted for the good of the kingdom, but he had wed great beauty and, eventually, personal power. He further reminded himself that Jennifrella had made an adequate wife, even after her face wrinkled and her tummy pudged, and that she had proved to be a reasonable mother to his children. Whenever, in a moment of inattention, he discovered himself pining to enjoy a witty remark or some unguarded laughter, he quoted, hoping that it was true, the old proverb that "we grow most not when something is given but when something is taken away." All in all, it was a reasonable life with much to be thankful for. Jennifrella's joy was that Sir Philo, now King Philo, remained a generous and loving husband even as her beauty faded; her only regret was that Sir Fassade had married her younger and more amiable sister, and both of them appeared to be altogether too happy. Lucinda's joy was in her two lovely children, whom she took, once or twice, to see the new king as he made a royal progress through their village. Her only regret was that she could reveal only half her heart as she told them what a good man he was. Sir Philo's joy was that he had acted virtuously and now enjoyed a mostly pleasant life, dispensing justice and mercy with care and humanity. His only regret was that he had learned to shoot arrows. Serendipity A young man, in the confusion and embarrassment of youth, was walking across the campus of a great university on the way to his philosophy class. At the previous meeting, the professor had posed the question, "If we do not know the purpose of something, how can we know whether any aspect of it is good or bad?" This question, together with the problem for the day, "Does man have a purpose?" had taken complete occupation of the young man's mind, not because of any intrinsic interest, but because the professor was in the habit of calling on students and expecting a thoughtful response. So deeply meditative was the young man that he neglected to observe his path adequately, with the result that he soon bounced his head off an unhappily placed tree in the middle of the lawn. Picking himself up and dusting himself off, the young man looked around to see if anyone had witnessed his inadvertent folly. The only people nearby were two men, who, although they were just a dozen feet away, were completely oblivious to the young man's accident, for the reason that they were engaged in a somewhat heated argument. Whether to obtain some sympathy for his bruised head, or to excuse his inattention, or perhaps simply because they were standing near a wheel barrow and looked for all the world like gardeners, the young man interrupted them with the slightly exasperated question, "Excuse me, but what is that tree doing there, anyway?" Now it so happens that these two men were not gardeners at all. They were, in fact, tenured professors of philosophy, the very subject the young man was struggling to understand. They turned to him at once and condescended to admit him to their conversation. "Well," said the first philosopher, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "see here. This is a tree." And pointing to the tree the young man was already too-intimately familiar with, concluded with apparent satisfaction, "As Circumplexius has said in the fourth book of his De Scientia, 'An example is the best definition.'" "I know that is a tree," replied the youth, rubbing his forehead. "What I want to know is, Why is it there in the first place?" "You see," said the other philosopher to the first, "the dance of the blind with the senile." Then, momentarily stroking his beard, he turned to the young man and continued, "A tree means what it is. The concept of treedom does not subsist in some fortuitous, exogenous hyle--that is the doctrine of carpenters, not of philosophers. As Herman of Rimboa has aptly remarked, 'Inner eyes must perceive beyond what the outer eyes see.'" "And as the Chinese say, 'The flies buzz in the wind, but men drink their tea,'" added the one with glasses. "Here, son," he went on, pointing again, "this is also a tree. Compare them and deduce treehood by subtracting the anomalous from the universal." "Certainly you have read Dohesius On the Nature of the Universe in the last twenty-five years," the other philosopher said with some indignation. "Don't you recall his dictum that 'a second example is not an explanation'? How do you pretend to instruct the ignorance of youth when you have never instructed yourself? 'The canvas remains blank when the artist has no paint,' says Hugo de Brassus. Go back to your books." "And as de Roquefort says, 'To sit on a cheese and eat whey is the destiny of fools.'" "See here, young man," said the beard, ignoring his colleague, "treeness is a life process displaying the aspiration of matter toward hierarchy, order, and structure. It finds analogues and even homologues in life systems everywhere." "The frogs croak at night, but the sky remains dark," said the glasses, smirking slightly. "Nonsense," replied the beard. "What I have said is self-evident. Sir Humphrey Boodle even noted it." "But Boodle has been refuted these three hundred years." "Well, Calesimon said so, too." "Hah!" cried the glasses with a laugh of forced incredulity. "Calesimon! Calesimon was an idiot!" "Argumentum ad hominem." "Oh, come on. The man was institutionalized." "And genetic fallacy, too. My, my." "Ignore him, son," said the glasses to the youth. "He's not been very well since his wife laughed at his last paper. A tree--" "She did not laugh," interrupted the beard. "--is a woody plant containing specialized structures, larger overall than a bush and often, as you see here [pointing] having only one trunk rather than many." "And is this the effect of dotage or of primordial ignorance?" "False dilemma, Mr. Logician." "Surely you were there that day in bonehead English when they distinguished between 'definition' and 'explanation.' You are familiar with the English language, aren't you? The young man has asked for an explanation." "Well, as Frabonarde says, 'The whole is known by its parts.'" "The doctrine of those who pull the wings from fruit flies." "Yes, it would be too straightforward for someone who needs six hundred pages to discover that he doesn't know what he is talking about." "A classic example of the projectionist error. Not everything you don't understand is a problem with the text," said the beard, tapping his finger to his temple. "If I may be permitted one last allusion to Oriental wisdom, I would note only that the Chinese have said, 'Men hurt their eyes seeking a water lily in a rock garden--even in a large rock garden.'" "I thought you knew that the Poems of Chen had been exposed as a product of nineteenth-century Europe. Don't make it a habit to go around quoting hoaxes. It gives philosophy a bad name." "Excuse me, sirs," the youth interjected, "but I have to go now." "Very well," said the beard. "Only remember, with the knowledge you attain, seek to achieve understanding." "Oh, so now we are quoting the Bible!" cried the glasses with triumphant scorn. "The rest of the department will be interested in this." "I was not quoting the Bible. I have never even read the Bible." "Why don't you ask God to bless him while you're at it?" "Listen, don't you think I know that your doctrine of cosmic mental states is just a front and that you're a closet monotheist?" "And may I remind you that slander is an offense punishable by law?" "And is this the state of a wise man?" asked the beard, looking at the sky, "to threaten his friend for speaking truth?" "Now he's even praying! I can't believe this!" "'We cannot see around corners,' says Germulphius, 'so what is left to the man who refuses to see in a straight line?'" "Someone like your wife," answered the glasses. "No doubt by now she's found twelve more insupportably ridiculous assertions in your paper on aperceptual phenomenalism." "Well, at least my wife reads my papers. At least my wife can read." "My wife is an avid reader of literature." "Since when did the television listings become 'literature'? That's the most transparent semantic ploy I have ever heard." "Are you accusing me of owning a television?" "He who can see the maggots need not ask if the dog is dead." "'Ignore the shadow cast by a passing vapor,' says Phonetes." "You've always been sloppy with bibliography, haven't you?" demanded the beard. "Phonetes would have been utterly embarrassed to have said that." "No matter. Truth needs no ascription." "That statement is obviously the product of extensive reading and protracted thought. With a little more effort, no doubt you'll be able to announce that the sun shines on a clear day." "I suppose you have never read von Hoch: 'I had always known what he said, but I did not live it until I heard it spoken.'" "I reject that statement together with its sordid implications. It smacks of the grimy hands of utilitarianism. In a minute you'll be insisting that philosophy have practical consequences for berry pickers and children. Perhaps you would be happier as some sort of mechanic where you could get your hands on things, rather than as one who pretends to instruct youth." "You and Sir Peter Poole, who was proud that he couldn't tell a hoe from a rake." "Well, what of that? My profession is philosophy, and I look for truth, not for mud." "Even the sun cannot be seen through a silver coin." "I have never accepted money for anything I've published," said the beard hotly. "'Beware of those who look to the right and walk to the left,' says della Corta." "How dare you accuse me--" At this point they were interrupted. A young man, deeply preoccupied with thinking about the purpose of mankind, had just bounced his head against a tree and--ah, but this is where you came in. A Tale Revealing the Wisdom Of Being a Cork on the River of Life Once upon a time, not very far from a town pretty much like yours, an old, nearsighted man was wandering down a country road quite pleasantly, musing to himself thusly: "I wonder what I should seek today? Some new treasure of the Orient, or a lost clue to the secrets of nature? That would be nice, as I spit" (and here, had there been but a small brass spittoon by the wayside, a clear ring would have sounded across the nearby pastures), "but," continued the old man, "this is pretty barren ground hereabouts, so I'd best not set my hopes too high. I'll start by looking for a silver dollar." With this thought, the man's eyes brightened and he continued now more alertly down the road, staring intently at the ground and knocking little pebbles around with his cane. After a little, he thought he saw something ahead. Mending his pace somewhat, he hurried (as an old man with a cane hurries) up to the object, which he now believed to be a quarter. When he stooped down to pick it up, however, he found it to be merely a bottle cap, covered with red ants eating the remaining sugar. "Just what I was looking for!" exclaimed the old man with glee, even though the ants began to sting him on the thumb and forefinger. "Bottlecaps can be very useful." So he put the new possession into his pocket and once more began his stroll, still watching the ground. He had hardly begun to wonder what he might find next, when, there, just a little way off, he saw a pearl lying in the roadbed. "Surely," he thought, "nothing is round or shiny exactly like a pearl, so I could not be mistaken this time." So he began to amble over without delay. As he came nearer, his joy increased. "Hee hee!" the old man laughed, before stifling his mirth lest he call attention to himself and bring competitors for his newfound treasure. He even paused a moment and looked around to see if anyone had noticed him or the pearl. The way seemed clear so he closed the final distance, reached down, and picked it up. Instantly he was aware that this was no pearl, but just a partly dried up chicken brain, which must have fallen off some farmer's cart, or been left by some animal in haste. "Just what I was looking for!" the old man said very joyfully. "Chicken brains make real good soup." Into his pocket with the bottle cap went the brains, and down the road with his cane went the old man. It was not long after this that he saw another, much larger item in the road before him, which looked, from where he now was, just exactly like a fat roll of paper money. Blessing his astrological reading promising riches for that day, he made his way up to the spot with a speed truly remarkable for a person of his age and infirmities, and anxiously bent over to retrieve his treasure. A closer look, however, and a confirming touch revealed that the man had found a "road apple," or, as it is sometimes called, a "horse biscuit." "Just what I was looking for," the old man said, now more perfectly pleased than ever; "I can use this biscuit to cook my chicken soup. Seems dry enough to burn right well." Now the old man, between his nearsightedness and his preoccupation with his great discoveries, wandered unknowingly over to the side of the road, and pretty soon he stepped off into a ditch and fell down with remarkable violence. A farmer not very far off saw this episode, and hurried over to help the old man up. As he got to his feet, the old man, wincing with pain and holding one arm, cried out with a tone of satisfaction, "A broken arm! Just what I was looking for! A broken arm can be very useful." The farmer blinked once or twice, recognizing that this sentiment did not conform with what his own would have been under the like circumstances, but he said nothing. Instead, he quite generously helped the old gentleman into his cart and took him to town. When the two arrived, the farmer dutifully summoned a doctor and the constable and some others of note in the place and repeated how the old man had fallen and broken his arm, only to exclaim that such a result was apparently what he had intended. This narrative caused some strange looks and a little discussion among them, and no one could think what to do next (aside from fixing the man's arm), when the constable suddenly remembered that he did not know the man's name. "Sir," he asked, "have you any identification?" "Why, I think so, sonny," replied the old man, beginning to fumble in his various pockets, and then, to the indescribable surprise of his audience, to remove what they did not know, and could not have imagined, were the souvenirs from his previous wanderings. When his pockets were finally emptied, there was still no identification, but instead, on the table before them, his interrogators saw the following objects, namely, viz., and to wit: the bottle cap, the chicken brains, the horse manure, a piece of grimy string, a cigar butt, three pieces of chewed and flattened gum, a wing nut with stripped threads, a rusty nail (bent in two places), part of a candy wrapper, some rat pills (eleven of them), half a marble, and a common pebble. After a moment or two of reflective silence, the mayor made bold to speak (seeing the constable in a reverie), and asked gently and softly, "Where did you get all these, uh, items?" "Why, looking for gold and treasure, sonny," the old man answered, in a tone that implied that the mayor should have known the answer already. "But," he added as a second thought, and in the face of these gentlemen's now rather extravagantly and injudiciously raised eyebrows and opened mouths, "they were all just what I was looking for--like the broken arm here. Quite a find, eh?" At this point, the farmer, who had been standing generally in the background holding his hat in both hands, came forward and begged an audience with the constable. "I didn't want to say this before," he began in a low tone, "but now I think I must, in case it should be important. All the way into town that old fellow kept saying something to me about wanting to cook his brains by burning a horse biscuit under his cap." That was enough. And, needless to say, the Authorities from the Institution in the city were immediately summoned, and the old man was taken to a very pleasant place where he could rest among friends and nice people, have no worries, and be free to enjoy the "butterflies, blue skies, and happiness always." It is reported by reliable sources that shortly after arriving the old man was heard to exclaim cheerfully, "Just what I was looking for! Mattresses on the walls!" The Art of Truth Once upon a time a famous art museum searched the world over for the best paintings it could find. After a long search, the museum found a beautiful Old Master painting depicting youths and maidens frolicking in a wood. The directors were only too glad to pay millions for this painting because they were captivated by its beauty and elegance. How delightfully the maidens' hair and mouths were drawn, how perfectly the hands and arms of the youths, how life-like the bare feet on the forest floor. But the curator of the museum was the happiest one of all, for he had now become guardian and protector of a famous work by a famous painter. "Every time I look at that painting," he would say, "I see new beauties and excellences. Just look at these leaves here, the sweep of the branches from this tree, capturing just the hint of a breeze and seeming to vibrate with the music from the dance of the youths and maidens in the clearing. My very soul resonates with the greatness of it all." Needless to say, this wonderful painting was the most popular exhibit at the museum, providing instruction and delight for thousands of visitors. Everyone, from the young child who could barely walk to the old man who could barely walk, enjoyed its beauty frankly and openly or profited from studying its color and arrangement. Children loved to see the happy figures kicking up their feet with joy; the young people marveled at the freshness and beauty of the figures; those of mature years stood astonished at the excellent technique that could present such a convincing vision; the old remarked upon the feeling of cozy intimacy produced by the scene of innocent pleasure. "This painting is almost too good to be true," remarked one visitor prophetically as he purchased a print of it. One day a horrible discovery was made: the painting was not a genuine Old Master after all. It was a forgery. It had not been painted by the famous artist whose name was on it, and in fact it had been painted within the last ten years. The museum directors and the curator were horrified and consumed with shame. Immediately the painting was jerked from the walls of the museum and ignominiously relegated to a basement storeroom. "We regret such an unfortunate imposition," the curator told the museum's patrons. "This painting is not art; it is a tawdry fake. This painting is a lie." At first the public was saddened to lose sight of such a popular painting, and a few mild protests were raised, but eventually concern for the painting was pushed aside by other more pressing concerns, and it was forgotten (as are all things no longer directly in front of us in this busy world) and life continued. Only the museum curator and an occasional junior staff member ever saw the painting now, hanging in the dim light of the basement well away from public view. All that was heard of it was the curator's occasional disparaging comment. "Every day I see new defects and ugliness in this fraudulent outrage," he would say. "Just look how false the sun on the leaves looks, how phony is the wisp of that girl's hair, how ugly the clouds there, and how awkward that boy's position in the dance. How we were ever taken in by this obvious cheat is beyond me." And finally, shaking his head to show his regret, he concluded, "What we did was foolish and shameful." Matthew 18:3 "The door to this classroom is farther down the hall, sir," said the student. "How dare you try to tell me where the door is," huffed the professor, as he turned around and walked abruptly into the wall. While he held his bleeding nose, he was heard to mutter, "Now why did they move the door?" * A proud man never doubts, even when his nose bleeds. The Boy and the Vulture A young boy was playing in the desert with a bow and arrow he had made, when a vulture, always looking for a tender meal, saw him from afar. The bird flew over and, seeing that the arrow was only a barren stick, swooped down and pecked at the boy. "Why don't you shoot me if you don't like my pecking?" it taunted. The boy shot his arrow repeatedly, but the bird was too quick, and the arrow always missed. Finally, exhausted from chasing the arrow and deflecting the bird, the boy sat down in the sparse shade of a dead tree. The vulture, lighting on one of the dry branches above the boy, sat triumphantly preening and smirking, and even plucked a few old feathers to drop on the boy's head in contempt. "There's for your pains, feeble one," the bird said haughtily. The boy, however, would not be defeated. Carefully he collected the feathers, fixed them to his stick, and with the resultantly accurate arrow, shot the surprised vulture through the heart. * In our pride we often unwittingly give our enemies the means to destroy us. * Perseverance and ingenuity, even in the face of humiliation and defeat, will at last succeed. [Suggested by Aesop, "The Eagle and Arrow"] Three Flat Tires Once in the fullness and complexity of human existence three cars left the same party one rainy night and took three different roads on the way home. Oddly enough, at approximately the same time, each car suffered a flat tire, and the young couples inside suddenly found their evening and their lives somewhat different from what they had been expecting. The young lady riding in the first car became instantly upset. "Well, this is just great," she said to her escort with understandable disgust. "I knew I should have driven; then this never would have happened. How could you be so careless when we're all dressed up like this, anyway?" "I'm sorry," the young man replied, getting out of the car. "I'll fix it as fast as I can." He quickly retrieved the jack and the spare tire and began to puzzle over the repair. In a minute the young lady was at his side. "You don't even know what you're doing, do you?" she asked. "Well, not really, but I think I can figure it out," he told her honestly. "No you won't. I want this done right," the young lady answered, as she grabbed the jack handle with just enough suddenness that the young man lost his balance and fell over backward into a patiently waiting mud hole. While these events came into being to form a permanent, though small, part of the history of the universe, the young driver of the second car was, not many miles away, even then climbing out of his vehicle into the rain and opening the trunk. His date, in a very ladylike manner, and with due concern for her precious gown, stayed in the car with her hands folded in her lap. She generously took care to look away from the young man's labors in order not to cause him embarrassment, and, when he slipped down and bumped his head on the fender as he tried to loosen a particularly intransigent lug nut, she very kindly turned on the radio. The third young man, though he encountered different raindrops on a different road on this night, realized similarly that he, too, was destined to be wet, and pushed open the door with resolve. However, as he climbed out of the car, the young lady he had been driving home got out also. "Get back in the car," he told her, "or you'll get wet." "I'll help," the young lady said. "There's nothing you can do," replied the young man as he reached for the spare in the trunk. "It's really a job for one person, and I've done it before." "Then I'll watch," replied the young lady. And watch she did. Oh, she held the lug nuts to keep them from getting lost, but to speak truly, she was not really of any help and she did get drenched. As he changed the tire, the young man looked at the young lady once or twice, only to see her gown melting and her hair dripping down her face, and no doubt he thought, "What a sight she is." Well, I've told you this story as evidence of the foolishness and irrationality of the human heart. For now observe the consequent: The first young lady, naturally concerned for her safety and realizing that she possessed knowledge that her young man did not, quite reasonably chose to change the tire. However, the young man, fool that he was, was never seen escorting this capable and logical young lady again. The second young lady, very sensibly concerned about preserving an expensive dress and realizing that she would be of little or no help to her young man, showed a similar wisdom in avoiding what she knew would be the consequences of leaving the car. But, even though her judgment was vindicated when she observed, in the form of the drenched, muddy, and bleeding young man, exactly those consequences she had predicted, the young man himself, blind and irrational as he was, was also never again seen escorting this thoughtful and discerning young lady. Even stranger and more perverse as it must seem, however, the third young man, even after observing the silly and unreasonable behavior of his date, even after seeing her soaked to the skin, her gown ruined, her hair plastered against her neck, her mascara running down her cheeks in little inky rivulets--even after observing all this, not only was he seen escorting her frequently to other entertainments, but eventually he offered her a ring. The History of Professor De Laix The world had long been promised a fifty-volume definitive analysis on the meaning of life by the brilliant and internationally respected Professor de Laix. Admirers from all across the surface of the earth produced unremitting and enthusiastic requests--nay, demands--for the wise professor to bestow upon the world his penetrating insights into human nature. As the years passed, however, even though he had been begged repeatedly for the first part, or a first volume, or even a first chapter, he had always answered that he wanted to get the whole work clearly in his head before he put it down on paper. "To rush precipitously forward without knowing precisely where one wants to go," he would tell them, "will not of necessity produce a happy outcome because it might lead to a complicative erroneity or put one on a train to a destination he would not ultimately wish to visit. After all, the most beautiful part of a given day is known only after dark, and the best path up the mountain--which I take to be the path of true wisdom--is seen only from the top." Year after year, therefore, arrived with hope and left disappointed; new generations were born and millions of hopeful readers mingled their own dust with that of the earth without the benefit of even a phrase of Professor de Laix' wisdom. Then one spring his colleagues and students noticed that he was gradually becoming more and more animated, and was heard occasionally to mutter, "Yes, yes, that's right, that's right." Finally one day while he was sitting in a coffee shop regaling a few favorite students with tales of fruitless thinking journeys upon which he had in the past embarked, he took a sip of coffee (or perhaps he had inadvertently been served espresso) and then suddenly opened his eyes widely, sprang to his feet, and announced excitedly, "That's it! I see it all now! Now it can be written! Everything is completely clear! So clear! Ha ha! Now I understand! Now, at last, I understand!" After this brief speech, he burst out of the coffee shop (leaving his students with expressions of amazement and an unpaid bill) and began to run toward his office where he could finally sit down and produce his great work. Now at last he could pour forth his hitherto inexpressible wisdom to fertilize the orchards of culture and bring into being a new and wonderful fruit for civilization to munch upon. Unfortunately, in his highly focused and externally oblivious rush toward his office, he neglected to watch for the traffic as he crossed the busy boulevard between the coffee shop and the university (for academia is often separated from the rest of life by just such a metaphor), and as a result he was tragically but thoroughly run down by a fully loaded manure truck, whose cargo had been produced after only one day's rumination, and whose owner also hoped that it would swell the fruit on the trees of a less figurative orchard. Such was the life and death of the great Professor de Laix, a man for whom someday almost came. How the Humans Finally Learned to Like Themselves It is man's peculiar distinction to love even those who err. --Marcus Aurelius, VII.22 A sweet disorder in the dress. --Herrick Once upon a time, many years from now, technology had continued its remarkable progress to the point that the construction of artificial people had finally become possible. These humakins, as they were called, were made so carefully and with such art that no one could tell the difference between a real human and an artificial one--except that the artificial ones were flawless. Physically the humakins were always young, always beautiful, always fresh; they never had a hair out of place, never a pimple, never a wrinkle, never a gray hair. Mentally they were always bright, alert, and smiling; they always got their facts right, and never took a wrong turn or got lost. At first the appeal of the humakins was irresistible, and most humans chose them over other humans for spouses. What human female could compete with an always slim, beautiful, and lively imitation? And what human male could compete with an always confident, correct, and handsome construction? In fact, the word "humakin" quickly became a synonym for "perfect," as in, "That's a really humakin car," or "This pie tastes just humakin." At the same time the word "human" became a term of opprobrium, indicating something defective or of low quality, as in, "I never shop there because it's such a human store with human-quality merchandise." To the consternation of many, however, while the humakins could construct more of themselves in a factory, the humans could produce more of themselves only by following the ancient method of their ancestors, so that the result of the marriages between flesh and plastic was the eventual decline of the human race. When about nine tenths of the persons on the planet consisted of the precisely fabricated humakins and only one tenth of the really human, quite an odd and unexpected situation arose. It had become so unusual to see, for example, a woman wearing glasses or a man with wind-blown hair that such a detail now took on a natural appeal to some of the other humans. One bright morning at breakfast in a fancy resort dining room, a human female, almost as lovely as a humakin, sat chatting with a humakin male who had condescended to sit with her. Suddenly she inadvertently spilled a glass of tomato juice onto her white tennis dress. While her humakin companion predictably stood up and stared at her with horror, across the room a human male who had just witnessed the event was so filled with ardor and longing that he almost broke the table in his rush to get over to her and make her acquaintance. His excitement to declare his affection left him without the capacity for coherent speech, so that only tentative and confused phrases stumbled from his mouth. In the midst of his babbling, though, he could see, in the welling dew of the woman's eyes, the tenderness of regard he had inspired. As other humans, too, began to grow weary of the expectation of constant perfection in their relationships, scenes similar to this one began to be repeated with increasing frequency. A loose shoe lace, a chipped fingernail, a shiny nose--all gradually became sources of romantic and emotional attraction, and those very characteristics that had before been viewed as defects soon came to be seen as emblems of the truly and desirably human, as guarantees of that unique inner fire that no amount of perfectly crafted plastic could equal. The word "human" now began to be associated with the genuine, the natural--and the beautiful. It became not uncommon to hear a young lady remark to her admirer as he gently put a flower in her hair, "Oh, what a human thing of you to do." The word "humakin," on the other hand, began to imply something slickly unrealistic or laughably fake and was often pronounced with a sneer. At length, having rediscovered the amorous appeal of their distinctives like freckles and missing buttons and the inability to refold road maps, the humans began to marry each other again. It wasn't many years before a young pledge of one of these new relationships was heard to ask in a tone of frustration, "But Mommy, why must I have a crooked tooth?" To which the mother replied, "That's so I'll always remember how truly beautiful you really are." The Caterpillar and the Bee A bee, flying proudly around the garden, approached a caterpillar sitting on a shrub. "I don't know how you can stand to be alive," the bee said. "I'm valuable to the world with my honey and wax, I can fly anywhere I want, and I'm beautiful to behold. But you're just an ugly worm, not good for anything. While I soar from bloom to bloom feasting on nectar, all you can do is creep around and chew on a stem." "What you say may be true," replied the caterpillar, "but my Maker must have put me here for some purpose, so I trust him for my future." "You have no future," said the bee. "You'll be crawling through the dirt for the rest of your life. If you ask me, you'd be better off choking on a leaf." Sometime later the flowers in the garden woke to find that the bee and the caterpillar had both disappeared. All that they could see now was a shriveled yellow body hanging from the edge of a spider web and a magnificent butterfly flexing its wings in the sun. * This story reminds us that we cannot predict the future, either for others or for ourselves. *This story teaches us to trust in God rather than in the opinion of men. The Wise One High in the mountains of a distant land there once lived a man so incredibly old that his life no longer had any plot. He was so old that his very name had faded from the memories of all those around him, and he was known only as "The Wise One." He spent his later days hearing and commenting on people's problems and sitting among a dozen or two disciples who waited patiently to hear all that was asked of him and all that he spoke. Sometimes an entire day would pass when not a syllable opened his lips; whether this was from a temporary lack of strength or simply because he had nothing to say, no one knew. While his reputation among his disciples and a few others was that he possessed amazing wisdom and insight, many people thought him to be an idle and incoherent fool because, they said, he never provided a practical solution to the problem he was asked about. Instead he would ask a simplistic question or tell a story whose point was so obscure that many left his presence shaking their heads. Some said that in his youth he had earned and spent large quantities of money, only to turn from what he saw as a life of vanity to the pursuit of wisdom. Others said that had that been true, he was proved all the more fool for giving up the good life for a life of hardship that was of little use to anyone. Thus, for every person who called him The Wise One with reverence, twenty pronounced his name with irony. Of the stories still not erased by the hand of time, consider these and judge the man as you will: * * * One day a man, clearly troubled by the cares of life, came to The Wise One and spoke thusly: "My son, to whom I had entrusted my farm, last week stole my best cows, sold them in the market, and spent the money in wild and shameful living. Now he says he is sorry and will repay me. What should I do?" "Tell me," replied the old man, "when you drop your bar of soap while bathing, what do you do?" "I pick it up, of course," the man answered, with some irritation. "And now tell me, which is of more value, a bar of soap or a human soul?" While the questioner left not at all certain about what to do, one of The Wise One's disciples, who had been deeply affected by this exchange, rose and said, "Excuse me, O Wise One, but I must go and reconcile myself to a man I have wrongly ceased to love." "Yes, my daughter," is all The Wise One said. * * * Another time a young couple came to The Wise One to settle a great argument. The old man listened seemingly more politely than attentively as each gave a lengthy explanation of the dispute. Finally the two looked to The Wise One for his decision, both of them more confident than ever of being right. The Wise One reached over to a vase sitting nearby and pulled out a rose. "Shall I hit you with the bloom or with the stem?" he asked the couple. "What are you talking about?" asked the young woman. "It is written in the Book of Worn Out Sayings that 'in the rose garden of life he who plucks thorns for his partner's bed is a fool.'" "I don't understand," said the young man. "Those who sell flowers put them in a pan of colored water and the flowers take on the color of the water," concluded The Wise One. The couple left confused and without resolving their dispute, but they did seem to agree that their trip to The Wise One was worthless. * * * On one occasion two men came to The Wise One on the same day. The first was a young man unsure about which road to take as he stepped out into the world. "I have considered my career choices," he said, "and I don't know whether to become a poet or a merchant." The second man had just married a wife and was about to buy a house for them to live in. "I have investigated many houses carefully," he said, "and have found two that would be suitable. The first house is nearly new and well designed but damp inside, while the second is light and airy but older and not so well designed. I don't know which to choose." "Your problems are one," said The Wise One, as he picked up a honey comb and squeezed it until the honey was drained out into a bowl. "You both must choose between the wax and the honey." "My gosh," said one of The Wise One's disciples, leaping to his feet, "I'm about to marry the wrong girl." And with that, he ran off into the distance. The two men looked at each other, searching each other's face for a glimmer of understanding, which neither found. * * * One spring a richly dressed young man came to The Wise One and spoke these words: "I have come from a far kingdom where I have just ascended the throne. My father ruled long and was old when he died, and now I am remodeling his castle. The many books of his great library are in the way of my new banquet hall, and I desire to rid myself of so much old paper. But I do not wish to throw out every book. I want to keep some for the sake of his precious memory. Thus, I have come to you for a principle of selection. Which books should I keep and which should I burn?" "Go to the ancient source of rock in your kingdom, from which your cities have been built," answered The Wise One, "and build a pile of stones until you can stand on it and see over the edge of the quarry. Then remove the contemptible stones." With a look of deep thoughtfulness on his brow, the young ruler left the presence of The Wise One and returned to his kingdom. It is not recorded whether this advice was put into effect or whether it helped the young ruler with his decision. * * * There are many other stories about The Wise One, just as there are many other people with their own stories. But these shall suffice to show how one old man exhausted the meager remnant of his days on earth. Whether his life was spent well or ill perhaps even he himself did not know. On the Heroic Suffering of Mankind A man stood philosophically on the prow of his ship, deeply inhaling the fresh sea air, feeling the warmth of the bright sunshine on his face, and ignoring or perhaps not hearing the burst of the whip as it lacerated the backs of the struggling slaves in the galley. But in the midst of enjoying his view, he felt a particle of dust fly into his eye. By blinking and rubbing it a little, he removed the speck, but his eye was reddened. "Well," he said stoically, "life has many pains and hardships and we must bear them as best we can." Then relaxing upon a couch and ordering two slaves to dab his brow with a moistened cloth, he called upon his friends to sympathize with his suffering, whereupon he found some satisfaction in complaining of his hurt. The Quest All literature is but a variation on the quest motif. -- Someone or Other Too busy to look, too busy to be wise. --Someone Else or Someone Other There once was a man who wandered from town to town constantly examining the ground. He carried a lantern in the daytime and a compass at night. When asked what he was doing, he would answer, "I'm looking for a place to stand, so that when the wind blows I may stand and not fall." Most people thought he was insane until a man who had lived long and experienced much was overheard to say of him, "Only a few people are as wise as this man, for he is engaged in the only search that really matters." Life One day a man called his friend and invited him to lunch at his office. "Just come on over and we'll have a great time," the man said. "Where is your office?" the friend asked. "I'm not sure of the address," answered the man, "but it's somewhere downtown, I think." "Well," asked the friend, "what does the building look like?" "It's tall, like an office building." "What floor are you on?" "I think it's one of the middle ones." "How many doors down from the elevator?" "Oh, it's several. But I've never really counted them." "Don't wait for me," said the friend, as he hung up. * This is not a story about a man who could not give directions to his office. This is a story about the architecture of life. For many people inhabit their own lives in just this way, not knowing where they are or how to tell others how to reach them. Discernment "But compared to the pearls, this piece of string is worthless," said the man, as he pulled it from the necklace and lost his whole treasure. It Depends on How You Look at It: Eight Vignettes on Perspective A man's house burned to the ground. Upon hearing of it, the man said angrily, "This is the fault of oxygen!" For, as he explained, if there hadn't been any oxygen in the atmosphere, his house never would have burned. * * * When the boss called Smervits and Jenkins into the office, Jenkins was very nervous because his plan to salvage the Freeble contract had not worked. Smervits wasn't worried because he had shrewdly stood by while Jenkins floundered with the contract. "Jenkins, you failed," the boss said forcefully after the two men had entered. "That's good," he added, "because it shows that you tried something. Smervits, you didn't fail, but you didn't try anything, either. You're fired." * * * One day the power went off in the mine, leaving the miners in absolute darkness. One miner found a match and lit it. "What a dinky little flame," said one of his companions, with contempt. "What a great light in the darkness," said another, with awe. * * * "Just think," said the man in the orange hard hat, "to us that's just a useless pile of rock. But to someone with greater vision it has value. It can be changed by his direction into something useful." "How's that?" someone asked. "First it has to be crushed, and then heated in a furnace, to give up its old properties and take on new ones. Then it can be mixed with water and molded into something beautiful." "So that's how you make cement, huh?" "No," someone said, "that's how you make a Christian." * * * An officer came upon a young soldier so weighted down with weapons and ammunition that he couldn't move. "You know why you aren't attacking the enemy, don't you?" asked the officer. "Yes," replied the soldier. "I'm waiting for more ammunition." * * * Once in a pleasant garden there stood a tree, from which, legend said, God himself would one day reign. But instead, a group of wicked men broke in and chopped the tree down. They hacked the tree into a beam and nailed a holy man to it, leaving him to die upon a hill. So the tree of hope now had become a beam covered with blood and death. "See here," the wicked men said, laughing with scorn, "in what manner God's promises are fulfilled." * * * The chairman of the department asked the young professor how his book was coming along. Said the professor, "Oh, the book is already written; I just haven't put it down on paper yet." The chairman patted the man on the back and told him to keep up the good work. A construction worker, watching this scene transpire, decided that what was good enough for academe was good enough for him, so he sat back and opened a beer. Presently his foreman came along and wanted to know what was going on. Said the worker, "Oh, the hole is already dug; I just haven't taken out the dirt yet." The foreman, not having been enlightened by Higher Education, fired the worker, right in the middle of his beer. * * * A man on foot approached an abandoned auto wrecking yard that still had many old pieces of assorted cars lying around. "What an enormous pile of worthless junk," he said to himself as he walked by. The next day another man on foot approached the same yard. "What a wonderful pile of worthy raw materials," he thought as he surveyed the area. A few days later the second man drove away in his own car. The Strange Adventure Once upon a time, so long ago that it seems like yesterday, circumstances so occurred that two youths found themselves lost together in the desert and forced to spend the night without the services of modern technology. "What a terrible thing," said the first one. "We're stuck out here all alone among who knows what frightening stuff." "This is great," said the other. "What an adventure. I can't wait to see what happens." As the light began to fade, the youths happened upon a snake, sitting on a rock to get the last warmth it could find before the cold night set in. "Oh, no!" said the first youth. "Out here it's just one problem after another. Now we'll have to worry about that snake crawling all over us as we sleep." "What a great opportunity," said the second youth. "Now we can have some dinner." Soon the snake was roasting on an impromptu fire, and in a little while, the two youths began to eat. "This is horrible," said the first youth, spitting out the meat and nearly vomiting. "I can't imagine a worse thing." "Actually, it tastes rather mild," said the second youth, eating with relish. When the next day came and the youths were rescued, they were asked about their adventure. "It was the most awful, horrible experience I've ever had," said the first youth, trembling from the memory. "I'll be mentally scarred by it for the rest of my life." "It was great!" said the second youth. "I think it's the best thing that ever happened to me. What a fun time. I'm so glad I was there." * The events we experience are less important than the meaning we give to them, for life is about meaning, not experience. In Defeat There Is Victory Once upon a time, among the infinite events which pass daily in this world, a man took his son and daughter to the racetrack to watch the horses run. After several races, the man announced that he would place a bet. "We want to play, too!" his children cried excitedly. "Very well," answered the man. "Here are the names of the horses in the coming race: 1. Dotty's Trotter; 2. Sure Win; 3. Also Ran; 4. High Risk; 5. Looking Good; 6. Outside Chance; 7. King Alphonso." "I want to bet on Sure Win," the boy said eagerly. "There's nothing like the certainty of success." "And I will bet on Looking Good; he sounds so handsome and strong," the daughter said, with a trace of a sigh. "Good, children," their father replied, and he went off to place the bets for them. "Whom did you bet on, daddy?" the daughter asked when he returned. "I bet on Outside Chance," he answered. Soon the race started. The horses bolted from the gate and took off at top speed. Looking Good looked good around the first turn. "Yay, yay, yay!" the girl yelled, jumping up and down as the desire of her heart moved forward. "I'm winning! I'm winning!" "Patience, my child," said her father. "In horse racing, unlike in life, we look only at the finish, not at the progress." "I sure hope that's true," the boy said, "because Sure Win is running fifth." "Yes, my son," replied his father, trying to soften an inevitable blow, "although you know you cannot gamble and be sure at the same time." At length the horses came into the final stretch, and, except for King Alphonso, who trailed rather substantially, there were only a few lengths between the leader and the trailing horse. But in that final, all-consuming, frenzied gallop, where mere wish and common effort give way to inner strength and spiritual power, the spaces increased, so that finally the children, with their feelings crushed by the surprise of unexpected failure and by the dismay of dashed hope, watched the horses run across the finish line in this order: 1. Outside Chance; 2. Also Ran; 3. Dotty's Trotter; 4. Sure Win; 5. High Risk; 6. Looking Good; 7. King Alphonso. While the girl burst into unrestrained sobbing, the boy, feeling the full difficulty of the conflict between youth and manhood, choked his tears back, and knowing his father to be a philosophical type, tried to see the metaphorical application of this event. "This race is an allegory, isn't it, Father?" he asked, "where we learn that to succeed we must avoid what appears to be a 'Sure Win' and apply ourselves instead to the 'Outside Chance.'" "No, my boy," the man answered. "The lesson is that we should not pay attention to names and appearances, but that we should penetrate beneath the surfaces of things; that we must consider real abilities, evaluate past records, and trust our judgment to bring us to a knowledge of the truth. Appearances and labels are often false and seldom accurately reflect inner realities. We must not let our casual perceptions influence our beliefs or rule our actions. I bet on Outside Chance because he previously has consistently outperformed the other horses in today's race, or horses that have beat the others. I care not about his name. Read where it says that God does not judge by external appearances, and imitate him." "But I still like Looking Good and I wanted him to win," his daughter said perversely, wiping her tears and stamping her foot. "Outside Chance is a creep." "And now, my daughter," said the man, "you have first felt the conflict between reason and passion. May you learn to resolve it well." The Oppressed Girl This may seem like a tall story, but there was once a teenage girl who didn't get along with her parents. "I'm sick and tired of all these oppressive rules," she would complain. "I feel just totally controlled. I want to be free!" So she ran away from home. "Now," she thought, "I can stay up all night and listen to loud music and watch awful movies." When she told her friends of her new freedom, they said, "Great! Let's celebrate and get drunk." "Yeah, why not?" she replied. "I can do anything I want." So she drank and laughed and vomited and passed out on the bathroom floor. A little while later, she met an older girl who seemed to be experienced in the ways of freedom. "Hey," said the older girl, "to be free, just take these pills and free your mind from all your cares." So the teenage girl took the pills and felt strange and didn't sleep for three days and then closed her eyes and woke up in the middle of the following week. Another time she met a young man who seemed to know about the free life. "Let me help to liberate you," he said, putting his arm around her. And so they went to his van and drove to a vacant lot where the young man kissed her and "liberated" her and told her to leave and drove away. Many days later--days that passed without recognition or remembrance--the girl found herself sitting on a bench waiting for a bus in the middle of the desert. As she sat there gazing at the distant mountains, conscious of little more than the rising heat, she heard herself say, "I don't know what to do." "Whatever you do will be foolish," said a voice from behind her. "What?" the girl asked with some surprise, not sure whether she was listening to a person or a hallucination. The voice was that of an old woman with bony hands. "Good decisions come from good values," continued the old woman, as she watched her knitting rather than the girl. "You have thrown your values away and so your decisions are poor." "But I wanted to be free," the girl answered. "There is no freedom without rules," the woman said. "Without rules there is only slavery." "You know nothing about me," said the girl, her anger rising. "I'm not a slave to anyone. And I can do anything I want to. So just be quiet." As she got on the bus to yet one more destination, the girl turned back to the old woman and said, "I'm sorry I got mad. The truth is, I'd do anything to be happy for one hour." "That pretty well sums up your entire problem," the old woman said. Two Conversations on Direction "And then you turn here to the right." "Really? No, I don't think so. The left path must be the way. It's more attractive, and it somehow just feels right." "I'm sorry, but you have to take the fork to the right. See the little sign pointing the way?" "Yes, but something just tells me the left fork is the one to take. The ground looks better, and that tree up ahead seems so persuasive." "Well, I ought to know the way to my own house. There is only one way, along the right path." "Uh uh. The right path looks bad. I just can't believe it leads to your house. You probably don't remember correctly." "You'll get lost if you don't come this way. The other fork dead ends. The only thing there is a swamp, a pit, and a snake." "It can't be. It looks so well traveled. And I have such a feeling that it will take me to your house; I've got to try it." * * * "Hi. Hop in." "Thanks, I appreciate the ride." "No problem. Where are you going?" "I don't know. That's what I want to find out. Where are you going?" "To San Diego." "Then where are you going?" "Back home, why?" "And then where are you going?" "Well, oh, I get it. Then I'm going to rise in the firm and become president." "And then where will you go?" "I guess eventually I'll retire. Say, you feeling all right? You seem a little strange." "But after you retire, where will you go?" "Well, we all die eventually, so I guess I'll wind up at the cemetery." "And then where will you go?" "I get it. You're one of those religious fanatics, right? I think you'd better find another ride. You can get out here." "Okay, I'm going. But I see you don't know where you're going, either." "Yes, I do. I'm going to San Diego." Semiotics Strikes Out It so happened in heaven one day that two souls who had been friends in their college years on earth met after long lives apart. After a few minutes of joyous reunion and recounting of their lives, one of the souls realized that they were now in a place where all hearts can be revealed, and where they no longer needed to hide anything. "You want to hear something funny, Lissa?" the soul said. "Back when we were young, I really loved you. Not having you for my wife is the one great regret of my earthly existence. Pretty silly, huh?" "Not at all," said Lissa. "I always secretly loved you, too, and hoped against hope that someday you might notice me." "Why didn't you say anything?" "I was too shy. But I sent you hints." "Hints?" "Yes, like the brownies I gave you that rainy day in the student union." "Oh, or like the chocolate-chip cookies you gave me that one time?" "Well, no, those were only cookies. I was just being friendly. But that Christmas when I gave you a coffee mug. That meant I loved you." "Oh, I know. That thank-you note you wrote when I fixed your sink you signed, 'Love ya special.' That was a hint, huh?" "Actually, I signed all my cards and notes that way, so I was just thanking you then. But remember that note I wrote where I called you a 'weird monster man'? Boy, how I loved you then. I wish you'd responded." "I thought maybe that meant you didn't like me. I never was good at hints. I remember thinking a few times that some girl was hinting that she liked me but when I would ask her out or mention romance, she'd always look shocked and be dumbstruck with disbelief that I could ever have thought she'd be interested in me." And here the soul sighed, as only souls can sigh. "Well, why didn't you just say something to me, like, 'I love you'?" asked Lissa. "I was afraid. And I didn't want to risk destroying our friendship by producing unwelcome romantic overtures. And besides, I sent you hints, too." "Your overtures, as you call them, wouldn't have been unwelcome. But what do you mean you sent me hints?" "I took you out to lunch." "But you took lots of girls out to lunch." "That was just for companionship or friendship. I just liked them, but I loved you. I thought about you day and night all through college, and for awhile after graduation, too." "I wrote you a couple of love letters that I never sent." "Gosh, I wish you'd said something." "I wish you'd said something, too." * As we pass through earthly life so quickly and only once, how sad that our fear of rejection is so often stronger than our love. Seeing is Believing One day an idle young man was wandering through the woods not far from his town when he happened upon an old woman standing around a rather smoky fire and stirring a kettle. Being the modern young man that he was, he immediately blurted out his first impression: "Gosh, you're ugly and whatever you're cooking stinks," he told her. "Well, if you don't like my looks," answered the old woman, "I can fix that." She then spoke a few strange words, which were followed by a dramatic puff of smoke, and the young man discovered, not that the old woman had transformed herself into a beautiful young maiden, but that the young man could no longer see. "Now I've protected you from all ugliness and every unpleasant sight," said the woman. "And you'll remain this way until you can find someone to marry you. And it will have to be someone who can look beyond externals better than you, because I'm also changing your looks a bit." Here the woman gave a little laugh and uttered a few more unintelligible words. Soon there was another puff of smoke. "Ooh, bummer," said the young man, feeling of the new bump on his nose and the deep wrinkles now in his cheeks. When the young man returned to town, he quickly discovered that his social life was now pretty much a historical artifact. Whenever he went to a party, the reaction was always the same. "What's wrong with him?" some girl would ask. "He's gotta look that way until someone marries him," would come the reply. "Hasn't that plot already been done?" the girl would say, walking off in another direction. But, hey, this is a fairy tale and I'm in a good mood so let's say that finally, after many rejections, the young man found a nice girl who actually loved him as he was. As the young man got to know her, he kept trying to imagine what she looked like. After awhile, he constructed a picture of her in his mind, so that whenever he looked in her direction, his imagined vision of her came before his eyes so vividly that he felt he could almost see her. He thought that he could very nearly see the slight curve of her lips, the sunlight shining in her hair, the expressions of delight or concern on her brow. Well, anyway, things worked out so well that pretty soon the girl's father was mortgaging his house to pay for the wedding. When the bride and groom awoke on the first day of their honeymoon, the young man discovered that his eyes had been opened. However, he also discovered that the girl lying beside him did not have the deep blue eyes with long eyelashes, or the upturned nose with little freckles of the girl he had been seeing in his mind. The young man, still in the habit of blurting out his first impression, said, "Gosh, you've changed." "No," said his new wife. "The only thing that's changed is that now you can see. Oh, and you no longer have a bump on your nose." "But where's your blonde hair?" the young man asked. "My hair has always been this color," the girl said, fingering her chestnut tresses. "But you look so different," the young man said, still confused. "When you looked at me before," the girl explained, "you saw only your imagination. This is what I'm really like." "I see," said the young man, as he embraced her and began to give her a thousand kisses. "I know," she said. A Traditional Story Once upon a time, several time zones from your house, there lived a king who had tons of money, mansions and castles on too many lots, plenty of art and cultural treasures, dozens of wives (some of whom loved him), and so much power that the mere mention of his name caused cardiac arrest among a considerable number of his subjects. But--he was not happy. So he called his advisors to him to seek their advice. "My soul troubles me," he told his court. "I have seemingly a full life, but I do not find happiness here. In the middle of an amusement, or when I wake at night, or as I take a bite of rare and delicious food, I feel an overcast sky in my heart. Help me to dispel this cloud." "Perhaps your majesty would be happy if he had more wealth," suggested his treasurer. So the king increased the taxes on his people, hired traders to go to distant lands to buy and sell, told his workers to redouble their efforts in his precious metals mines and minted more coins than ever. It wasn't long before the king had so many storehouses full of treasure that he couldn't even count them. On many an occasion his majesty would be riding through a city and see a huge building he didn't recognize, and upon inquiry, discover that it was yet one more warehouse full of his loot. And let me tell you, these warehouses were so glutted with gold and jewels and coins and rich carpets and Old Master paintings and antique vases that when the king wanted to look inside one, the jewels would flow out the door like gravel and the coins would spill out like water. His servants got so tired of replacing the excess that they finally just began to shovel it into the trash can after the king left. (Of course, they probably helped themselves to a little bit of it, too.) In his palaces, the king had so much fancy stuff that ancient statues were used as door props in the stables, thousand-year-old urns were used as spittoons in the kitchen, and scraps of precious carpets were used to clean the servants' boots. The point is that after all this additional acquisition, the king's lifestyle was much fancier, but the king himself was still not happy. "What his majesty needs is activity," said the king's culture minister. "Activity is the rubbing paper that scours the rust from the soul and burnishes her to a new shine. If the king would just engage in some hobbies, he would find contentment." So the king took up some hobbies: hunting, painting, dancing, building (more mansions and castles), eating, woodworking, stamp collecting, riding (in his golden carriage and on horseback), swimming (in his pool full of pearls), and even knitting. In all he tried thousands or perhaps hundreds of activities, each of them dozens of times. He also held athletic contests, built amusement parks, and ransacked the world for jugglers and magicians and singers and players and storytellers (that's how I met him) and musicians. He ate too much, drank too much, and danced and played and watched and traveled and did too much and basically engaged in a constant frenzy of activity from morning to night, from January to December, from the beginning of the decade to its end. And the result was that he was amused for awhile, but was mostly fat and tired and sometimes drunk and often disoriented, but still not happy. "Perhaps your majesty would be happy if he ruled the surrounding lands and felt secure from attack," suggested the head of his army. "For the proverb says, 'In security lies happiness.'" So his majesty instructed his generals to go forth and conquer the territories around him. After a preposterous quantity of noise, smoke, blood, guts, and dying, the king found himself in possession of jillions of acres of farms and towns and houses and cottages and the souls of all those who lived therein. He now ruled over the land as far as he--or even someone with good eyesight--could see in every direction from the top of his highest tower. At any time of day or night the king could call for the relief of a distressed friend or the beheading of an enemy. He had absolute say over the life or death, the happiness or suffering, of millions of people of every rank and degree, from the most exalted noble in a seaside mansion to the most unfortunate street urchin in a grimy and stifling hovel. Such a thought sometimes gave the king half a smile, but he was still not happy. "Perhaps what the king needs is love," said the eunuch in charge of the king's harem. "If he would marry a new variety of ever more beautiful wives, he would perchance find happiness among them." So the king decided to realize this scenario in three dimensions and searched throughout his kingdom for the most desirable women he could find. He found pretty ones and witty ones and laughing ones and moody ones and smart ones and elegant ones and plain ones and philosophical ones and decorated ones--women of every proportion, size, color, personality, and talent, and he married a hundred of them, some of whom loved him even more than those among the first few dozen he was already married to. And the king found much pleasure in his wives, but he was still not truly happy. "The king will find happiness only in wisdom," said one of the king's scholars. "For it is written that 'truth is a joy unto itself.'" So the king applied himself to books of wisdom, and to seeking the knowledge of all his many scholars and sending throughout all his realm to find the wise from every land. Dozens came and dozens pretended to instruct him in wisdom or in the way to happiness, but while he found some really good advice and some satisfying rules for life, happiness still eluded him. Then one day came a woman from a land beyond the sunrise. Her words were few but they so affected those who listened that she was immediately granted an audience with the king, who explained the discontent of his condition. "Here before me," he said, "it would seem that I have everything a man could want. I have three or four rings on every finger, I can caress a beautiful woman's hair in any color, I can ride a week in any direction and find my statue erected and feared, and I can hear any melody or see any play at my command. I possess or can do or enjoy everything I can imagine, and everything that the most creative of my servants can imagine. And yet I find that happiness is nowhere to be found. I am always rankled by a feeling of dissatisfaction and haunted by an awareness of emptiness." "Truly, his majesty's desires seem to be infinite," said one of his courtiers, scarcely more able to hide his disgust than his envy. "His majesty's desires are indeed infinite," said the woman. "For that is the nature of the human heart. The heart's deepest desires cannot be satisfied by any finite thing." "Then what am I to do?" asked the king with dismay. "You must seek the Infinite," the woman said. "And where can I find it?" he asked. "What form does it take?" "The Infinite is not a thing or in a particular place," said the woman. "But seek Him and you will find happiness." When the people saw that the woman was returning to her land, they asked what she had said to the king. "She reminded us of what we had forgotten," said one of the king's scholars, "that we are but travelers through an ephemeral landscape, and that on a journey through a desert, we should not expect to find happiness from fingering the grains of sand in the dunes. We find happiness by finding our way home." The Day Creativity Met the Linear Dragon It was a winter's rainy day when the new Vice President for Design Concepts (who had just been promoted from Senior Accountant because he could calculate to the nearest nickel how much a new car would cost to build) noticed that two of his employees, a young man and a young woman, were not at their desks. Upon inquiring, he was told that they had "gone to the loft to be creative." The Vice President (who could remember the part number of every component he had ever touched) calmly adjusted his bow tie, cleared his throat, checked to see that his shoelaces were still tied, and then strode briskly down the long corridor of the half-remodeled automobile factory. Soon he was walking up the stairs to the loft, only to arrive at a door marked, "Do Not Disturb." Viewing the sign as an affront to his authority, he applied Chapter Two of the assertiveness training book he had just finished and quickly opened the door with determination and a scowl. What he saw was not what he expected. Near the door was a boom box, playing very lively but not overly loud classical music. Directly in front of him across the room he saw the young woman, barefoot and wearing, instead of her business attire, purple sweatpants and a torn green sweatshirt. Worse than this, she was turning cartwheels and saying what sounded to him like, "Put it in the lake, dip it, water proof it, French dip it, soak it, drench it, pinch it, wrench it." When she stopped to attend to his interruption, he noticed that her hair was rubber banded into a vertical column on top of her head. The young man was sitting off to one side, wearing jeans and a T-shirt printed with the words, "None of the Above." Nearby was an open ream of copier paper, many sheets of which he had evidently wrinkled up into a ball and tossed at a trash can a few feet away, with highly indifferent accuracy. A few of the sheets had been written on with multicolored felt-tip pens and placed carelessly in several piles. "What's going on here?" demanded the Vice President. "We work here," said the young man. "Not any more you don't," said the Vice President sternly. "Just what do you think you're doing, anyway?" "We're working on the new Blister DLX," said the young woman. "I don't see any work being done here," the Vice President shot back. "We're thinking," the young woman said. "This doesn't look like thinking to me." "Oh? And what does thinking look like to you?" asked the young man. "Well, it certainly doesn't look like this. This is goofing off--and stop wasting that paper. Who are you, anyway?" "I'm Scott and this is Tina," the young man said. "We're creative analysts. We're working on cost-cutting ideas." "Cost cutting?" sneered the Vice President. "You don't even have a calculator. And besides, we've got engineers and accountants to cut costs, so even if you were doing that, you'd be either superfluous or redundant. I want you out of the plant by this afternoon." That afternoon Scott and Tina went to the Vice President's office. As Scott stretched out on the floor and began to spread out a few papers, Tina pushed aside many feet of adding machine tape and sat in the Lotus position on one end of the Vice President's desk. The Vice President was not quite so upset that he did not notice that Tina was wearing earrings made from crumpled balls of paper hanging from bent paper clips. "We'd like to ask you to reconsider your firing us," said Tina. "We have some good ideas for the Blister." "Get out," said the Vice President. The next day all the executives met at a regularly scheduled administrative meeting, where there seemed to be some confusion and delay in getting started. Finally, the President of the company spoke up. "I'm sorry for the delay," he said, "but we had scheduled a report on cost saving ideas by two of our top creative analysts and it now appears that some idiot fired them yesterday. However, we are in the process of getting everything straightened out, and they should be here soon." "I hope it's Scott and Tina," one of the other executives said. "They're really brilliant." "If unconventional," noted another. "Unconventional or not," said the Chief Operating Officer, "I'll never forget how they saved us eighty-six million dollars on the Dazzle II by helping us reduce the number of parts. And when their expense account came through, all they'd bought were radio batteries and a couple of reams of paper." "I remember that," said the first executive. "No fancy research, no costly experiments, just pure thought, just great ideas. They actually know how to think." "What kind of a jerk would fire people like that?" someone asked. And so it was that the new Vice President for Design Concepts was invited to take his skills to some other company, even though he could recite the exact cost of every part of every car the corporation made. The Wall and the Bridge In the high country of a far away land there once stood a massive wall, blocking the pass between two mountains. Just below the wall was a path leading around the mountains--a path made possible by a bridge connecting it across a deep chasm directly in front of the wall. Now, the wall and the bridge were always bickering. One day when an old peddler leading an even older mule with a load of shabby wares crossed the bridge on the way to a distant fair, the wall said to the bridge, "You know, the trouble with you is that you have absolutely no discretion. You let just anyone walk over you. In fact, you're the slut of architectural forms, granting promiscuous entry to all and sundry." "Is the greenness I see all over you moss or envy?" replied the bridge. "I enable people to fulfill their dreams; I provide opportunity for a better life. You're just an obstructionist, but I'm a facilitator--a metaphor for access, for hope, for possibility." On another day a young maiden fleeing evil men ran across the rocks until she reached the wall where she could go no farther. She cried out and pounded her fists against the wall in despair until the men caught up with her and carried her away. The bridge then said to the wall in disgust, "You once accused me of having no discretion, but you are worse, for you are completely heartless. You're so cold and rigid that you cruelly prevent even the distressed and needy from passing by. Maybe that's why walls are known everywhere as symbols of 'No!' while we bridges are known as symbols of 'Yes!'" "You, my loose and easy friend," said the wall, "indeed let the distressed pass, but you also let the criminals pass. I, on the other hand, provide the needed security to keep the land behind me safe from harm. I am a protector, and I defend this pass and the country well." This dialogue continued for many years until one morning when suddenly the earth shook with great violence. So strong was the tremor that both the wall and the bridge were reduced to rubble at the bottom of the chasm. Not many months later men came to repair the damage. In the process of reconstruction, however, the stones that were once part of the bridge were used to rebuild the wall and the stones that were once part of the wall were used to rebuild the bridge. "Now I'll show you what a wall should really be like," said the new wall. "It shouldn't be cold and rejecting to everybody." And so at first, the new wall let many people climb up over it. "And I'll show you what a bridge should do," said the new bridge. "It shouldn't let just anybody across." And so at first, the new bridge provided a difficult passage, causing many travelers to trip on the surface and a few even to fall over the edge. But as spring and summer, harvest and winter came and went again and again, the rocks on the new wall grew more and more slippery and the little projections gradually broke away, so that climbing over or even getting a foothold became very difficult. And in the same passage of time, the rough spots on the new bridge wore down and the crevices filled up, so that passage across became much easier. "You see," said the new bridge to the new wall, "you've learned something about being a wall." "Well," the new wall replied, "I've known all along that I must guard the pass and fortify the defenses of the country. And of course I know it's my job to keep out all those who don't belong. But I see you've finally discovered how to be a bridge." "You can say what you like," answered the new bridge. "But I've always understood that I provide a critical link in the path around the mountains, and that my purpose is to help travelers across the gorge." As the years collected, as years do, the new bridge and the new wall began to think less and less about what they had once been and more and more about the task they currently had to do, until eventually it became impossible for anyone to tell that the new wall had once been a bridge or that the new bridge had once been a wall. "How indiscriminate and common you are," the new wall would often tell the new bridge. "And how inflexible and repressive you are," the new bridge would reply. The Wish While walking along the beach one day, a man spotted an old, barnacle-covered object which on closer examination he discovered to be an ancient bronze oil lamp. "Hah! Aladdin's lamp," he thought, jokingly. "I'll rub it." To his surprise, when he did rub it, a genie appeared. "Okay, Bud," said the genie, in a remarkably bored tone. "You have one wish--anything you want. What is it?" "Money," the man said instantly, his eyes widening. "Yes! Endless money. Riches! Wealth! Ha! Ha! Huge, massive, obscene wealth!" "I thought so," said the genie in the same bored tone. "No, wait," the man said, his eyes suddenly narrowing. "Power. Yeah, that's it. Complete and total power over everyone and everything in the world. With power I could get all the money I wanted." "So you want power, huh?" asked the genie. "Well, yes," said the man, now a bit hesitant because of the genie's less-than-enthusiastic tone. "Of course, with money I suppose I could buy power. Which do you think I should ask for, Genie?" "How about world peace or personal humility or an end to famine or maybe an end to greed," suggested the genie, emphasizing the last phrase. "Or perhaps the gift of discernment or knowledge or spiritual enlightenment or even simple happiness." "But with money or power I could buy or command all those," objected the man. "Yeah, sure," said the genie. "Well, just give me power and I'll show you that I can have everything else, too." "You shall have what you ask," said the genie resignedly. "Whether you shall have what you imagine you must learn for yourself, and you will soon find out." "Well, I certainly hope to have it all. Don't you ever hope, Genie?" "Yes," said the genie. "I hope that someday my lamp will fall into the hands of a wise man." And so the man was given power over everything on earth, over every government, every event, every activity of every soul. As a result, his name was soon pronounced with hatred and contempt by everyone, and in a few months he was assassinated by his most trusted followers. Several One Way Conversations "Yes, they are shackles, but they are made of gold," said the man, as he asked for another pair on his wrists and two more on his ankles. * * * "You can see how great I am by observing what I have done," said the chisel to the other tools, as they gazed upon the beautiful statue. * * * "My word is as good as my check," said the forger, as he handed over partial payment and promised to pay the balance later. * * * "May you get everything you want," said the philosopher to his enemy, knowing that his enemy would not recognize his words as a curse. * * * "I'll teach this dirt not to muddy my shoes," said the man, shoveling madly, only soon to discover himself in a pit. * * * "Now I see how essential material things are," said the man, as he looked at the ashes of his burned down house. * * * "How dare you, who are nothing but a low worm, try to tell me what to do," said the man, as he stood there unmoving, just before the piano landed on him. How the King Learned about Love Back in the days of knights and chivalry and courtly love, a beautiful young woman fell in love with a man of noble birth, who, however, was already married. Their love continued to grow until the woman granted and the man took more than virtue could properly countenance and one morning the woman awakened with the right to use the pronoun "we" whenever she spoke. She realized that she could not inform her lover because of his position, for he was not only married but also a very prominent member of the court. So she concealed the matter remarkably over many months, until, in the fullness of time, it could be concealed no longer. At that point she resolved to throw herself on the mercy of her mistress, the king's daughter, to whom she was a lady in waiting. She took her newborn son to the princess and begged quite pathetically for her help. The king's daughter, knowing that he was a hard man who had never hesitated to crush, kill, or otherwise persecute anyone who offended him in the slightest, realized that she could not tell the truth or say simply that the child had been found during one of the princess' walks, because the king would then send it to a harsh life in an orphanage--and that would be if she found him in a good mood. She decided instead to declare to the king that the child was her own and take the guilt, together with any other consequences, upon herself, for she loved her lady in waiting very much. When the king learned that his daughter had given birth (or so he believed), he was unutterably furious, and spent the better part of an hour ranting and shouting execrations and breaking things. But when he demanded which of his knights had helped her into this situation, the princess, not willing to sacrifice any of the noble and completely innocent knights of the castle, invented the story of a secret lover from outside the castle walls. The king suspected that his daughter was lying, or trying to lie--for the girl was so honest that she could not dissemble with conviction--so that he was now even more uncontrollably enraged than before; he now began screaming directly at his daughter and breaking larger and more expensive things. And because he could think of nothing but her duplicity and disobedience and his injured honor and her betrayal of his affection, he coldly (or rather hotly) determined to banish her from the kingdom. "For," he argued, "I will love not those who love not me." He therefore cruelly turned the girl and the child over to the traders of a passing caravan from a distant land who would take them past the borders of the kingdom. Even as she saw her father's look of hatred as she was packed into the wagon at the rear of the caravan, the princess did not alter her resolve to keep her secret, for now she knew that if the king knew the truth, her lady in waiting would most certainly be executed. As for the lady in waiting, she was so stricken with grief over the king's actions that she very nearly took her own life. But the princess had commanded her never to reveal the secret, regardless of the consequences, and the lady in waiting feared that the princess would be exposed by such an action. So the woman, helpless to remedy the situation, instead fled the palace in tears. As the traders proceeded out of the kingdom, the princess resolved that, whatever should happen to herself, she would not see the child grow up a slave. She therefore watched carefully for an opportunity and one night sneaked off from the traders as far as she could get in the cold and dark, and put the child near a hut, hoping and praying that it would find safety and a free life, however humble. She then sneaked back to the traders, and pretended to be cuddling the baby in her arms. The caravan traveled two full days before her deception was detected. When it was, the princess once again played audience to violent anger. The traders yelled and cursed the girl; then they beat her with fists and even with sticks, accompanied by more curses and threats; but nothing they could do could force her to tell what she had done with the baby. The traders, remembering the promises made to them by the king to encourage the secrecy of their charges, and fearing the consequences of a breach of that secrecy, sent riders back over the route they had traveled, to search everywhere. Meanwhile an old woodcutter, who lived in the hut with his wife, found the baby and brought it inside. As they looked upon the beautiful, healthy child, their eyes shone with a sparkle that they thought had long ago disappeared forever. But even in their delight, they recognized immediately that the child was no ordinary foundling, for it had noble features and was wrapped in silks and wore a gold brooch with a white lily on it. They soon recognized that the child would need better fare than the rough crusts and ordinary water the couple subsisted on--for they were extremely poor--so they began to wonder how they could take care of it. "We could pick some of our neighbor's fruit at night," suggested the woman, "or perhaps sell the gold brooch." "Or we could cheat the king the next time he buys wood," said the woodcutter sarcastically. "But we won't do any of those things. You know that it isn't right to do wrong, even to bring good. God has brought us this child; I pray that he will help us feed it." Now, the old woodcutter had been saving a few coins from his meager earnings over the past three years in order to buy himself a new axe head in the spring. "But," he thought to himself, "I suppose I could sharpen this old head one more season, and with a little longer handle, it ought to be good enough to get my by." So he took the money he had saved and gave it to his wife, instructing her to buy the child proper food and raiment. The old woman was so moved by this sacrifice that she took off her locket--other than her wedding ring the only piece of jewelry she owned, and an heirloom from her great grandmother, at that--and contributed it to the welfare of the child. "For," she said, "I was never so foolish as to believe that love had no price." Just a few days later a rider from the traveling caravan arrived, and visited the woodcutter's neighbor. Because the woodcutter was not far away at the time, he overheard the conversation. "Have you seen anyone with a baby in the past week?" demanded the rider roughly. "Who's asking?" asked the neighbor, without excessive politeness. As the woodcutter heard the angry, cursing, threatening reply of the rider, he ambled back to his hut to inform his wife of what was going on. The couple was quite shrewd enough not to reveal anything to a rude, angry, and ill-dressed man on horseback, because, they concluded that, however deficient their own hospitality to the child, it was likely to be better than whatever would be offered by such a ruffian. "And besides," the woodcutter's wife said, "I already love the child too much to give him up." As the days passed, the old couple grew thoroughly attached to the baby. They both found themselves unexpectedly humming little tunes or smiling for no apparent reason, and they both found their chores suddenly lighter and easier. They worked faster, eager to finish and once again spend some time playing with the child. However, it wasn't many weeks before the old woodcutter and his wife were forced to admit that they were simply too old and too poor to raise the child as it should be, and that they ought in all fairness to the babe to find a better home for it. "For," as the old woman explained, "I love the child too much to keep him." So the woodcutter took the child to a house where several holy women lived and, after explaining the brief history of the child as he knew it, asked for their help. "The wife and I don't have the learning behind us, the money with us, or the years ahead of us to raise this child as it ought to be raised," said the woodcutter to the matron of the house, "so we'd appreciate it if you could find it a proper home." "Our small endowment provides us with only a modest living," the matron said, "but we will care for the child until we can find out whom it belongs to, or until we can find it a good home." So the man left the child with them and went on with his wood cutting. The matron of the house assigned care of the child to one of the newest of the holy women, who could nurse it. About this season in the kingdom, the queen gave birth to a son also. The child, however, was weak and sickly, and failed to flourish. In just a few weeks it developed a fever and died suddenly in the night. The queen, in addition to her grief, was frantic with anxiety, knowing that the king was such a hard man that if he knew his only son had died, he would hate the queen and perhaps divorce her. So she sent, with the utmost secrecy, a trusted servant to find another child to replace the one she had lost. "Bring me a child with no past," she told her servant, "and I will give it a future." Finding such a child was a tiring and frustrating task for the servant, and he met with humiliation and rejection and insult and false leads and failure at every turn. But since this story is not about him, nor about the rewards of perseverance, let us say simply that eventually he found himself at the door of the holy order of women we have mentioned above. "Yes, we do have such a child as you seek," the matron told him. "We were keeping him until we could find his parents, or until we could find him a good home. Perhaps your mistress, whoever she is, will care for him well." The servant assured the matron that this would be so and gave her a large gift to maintain the house and its charitable work. As she handed him the child, she said, "The woman who has been nursing the child says that this parting is like a death to her, for she has become very attached to him. But she loves him too much to think of her feelings. I hope that what is a sadness for her will be a happiness for the child." "Truly, good woman," replied the servant, "it is rightly said that the death of every fruit is the seed of new life. Every ending is also a beginning." As the years passed, the baby grew up into a fine, strong young man. The king, who remained crusty and harsh toward everyone else, changed completely when his son (as he supposed) entered the room. The king became actually friendly and laughed some and often engaged in animated conversation with the young prince. The king was often heard to say that he would never let the prince part from him even for a day but that the prince should be his always. They often rode on horseback through the forest all day or sat together by the fire until the servants fell asleep, discussing the kingdom and enjoying each other's company. When the prince reached his early manhood, the king not only took him into confidence on affairs of state, but began to share power with him, knowing that not many more years would pass before there would necessarily be a new king. Many of the king's decisions were now submitted to the prince before they were made, and the prince, to his credit, frequently moderated the king's stern and often cruel decrees. By this time, the queen was in poor health, troubled by constant pain and a lingering cough. Everyone at the court eventually recognized that she was about to die. For several days the queen debated with herself whether or not to let the secret of the prince die with her, but at last, showing the heritage of her daughter's honesty, she decided that she must reveal it to the king. By the time she reached this decision, the queen was truly on her deathbed, so she called the king to her and sat up weakly. "My king," she began, "I have a matter to disclose to you that has burdened my heart for many years. It concerns the prince." And here she hesitated for a few moments. The king waited in silence. "You," she continued, "are not his father." The king, immediately concluding that the sanctity of his marriage bed had been violated, exploded into a rage that would likely have ended the queen's suffering prematurely had she not added as loudly as she could, "And I am not his mother." The king then, though still in shock, calmed himself enough to hear her explanation of the death of their natural son and her subterfuge in adopting the child who was now the prince. The king at first gave little credit to this tale, thinking that the queen was either delirious or scheming against him and his beloved son in some way. But he sent attendants to the holy order to discover the truth. They soon returned with the matron of the house and the woman who had nursed the prince as a baby. "If what the queen tells me is true," said the king, "I have no happiness, no reason to live. For the only thing I love has been taken away." The matron from the holy order solemnly attested to the truth of the queen's story. "The prince was indeed the baby given us by the woodcutter so many years ago," she said. As the king felt a wave of despair washing over him, the nurse from the holy order came forward and spoke. "With all deference to my Lady and to her majesty," she said, "the queen is only half correct. For the child was indeed not hers, but he is the king's son." She then pulled back the cowl of her robes, took down her hair and showed the king her face. Even through the ravages of two decades, the king could still clearly see the face of his daughter's lady in waiting, his lover who had borne his child without his knowledge so many years ago. The lady briefly explained what had happened then and how she had immediately recognized the child when the woodcutter brought it to the holy house. "You willingly gave me your son, even though I was evil?" the king asked in disbelief. "I loved you," the lady in waiting said simply. "And I loved my son--our son--more." When he realized how unjust and hypocritical he had been toward the lady, the princess, and the queen, the king was so overwhelmed with shame and humiliation that he fell to his knees and began pulling on his hair and sobbing loudly. His crying was the only sound in the room until the queen spoke. "I forgive you, my husband and my king," she said. "And I love you." "You love me?" the king asked, rising and turning to her with astonishment. "You love me after I have banished your daughter and proven unfaithful to you?" But there was no answer, for the queen had already closed her eyes for the last time. The king stood as one who had been stunned. He could not speak or think. As he sat down in a stupor at the foot of the queen's bed, the prince suddenly spoke. "I have found a mother today," he said. "I must now find a sister, too. I shall leave immediately in search of her." "No!" the king yelled, standing up. But then, recollecting himself, he said, "No, you're right. You must go from me and find your sister." In the days to come, as the king sat alone in his richly tapestried rooms, he had many hours to think over the events that had formed his life and to ask himself whether there was not in love some quality that can be shown only in sacrifice, not in advantage; only in surrender, and not in triumph. The Fly and the Elephant A fly sat on an elephant's back. When the elephant shuffled down a dirt road, the fly said, "What a dust we are making!" When the elephant trudged knee-deep in the mud, the fly said, "How heavy we are!" The Man Who Talked Backwards There was once a bizarre old philosopher who always seemed to say the opposite of what those who sought his advice expected. So contrary were his words that he was known as The Man Who Talked Backwards. His blessing on those he loved was, "May you have difficulty in this life," and his bitterest curse on his enemies was, "May your life pass without a single sorrow." Whenever someone asked him what course of learning to undertake in order to increase his knowledge, the philosopher would reply, "If you want to learn something, become a teacher." Whenever some grateful hearer would ask how he could repay the philosopher for his advice, he would always answer, "The best way to repay a debt to me is to cancel a debt owed to you." The Man Who Talked Backwards reversed even the most common of proverbs. Instead of repeating that "to love is to be patient," he would always quote, "To be patient is to love." Rather than noting that "seeing is believing," he would say, "Believing is seeing." For, he explained, what you believe controls what you see. A young woman once asked him, "What can I do to make someone my friend? Shall I oil my skin or brush my hair?" "Rather you should oil the skin and brush the hair of the one you like," answered the philosopher. Another day a young scholar approached The Man Who Talked Backwards and asked him what books he should read, "For," the student said, "I realize that the more I read the more I will know." "You will indeed learn something by reading," answered the philosopher, "but the more you read the less you will know. That is what makes reading of value." "But how shall I know what beliefs I should hold in order to live the best life?" the young scholar asked. "You think that your beliefs shape your actions," replied the philosopher, "but I tell you, it is your actions that shape your beliefs." One day a woman came to the Man Who Talked Backwards for advice. "I know," she said, "that 'to live is to choose,' so I have come here to discover how I might fix my choices to live a fuller, more productive life." "The better saying," said the philosopher, "is that 'to choose is to live.' But if you want to live life more fully, do less." "Do less?" the woman asked with surprise. "But I'm an achiever. I thrive on accomplishment." "Perhaps you have already diluted your life into meaninglessness," suggested the philosopher. "But I'm easily bored," said the woman. "I am truly sorry," said the philosopher. "Did you ever seek help for yourself?" "What do you mean?" "For your infirmity of being bored." "My infirmity?" asked the woman, again surprised. "Ah," said the philosopher, "You attribute your boredom to others or to external circumstances." "Well, of course," she said. "In that case, I am sorry for your two infirmities." "But I want to get as much out of life as I can," the woman protested. "You philosophers all say that one's life does not consist in material things because they disappear, but what then can I gain that I can keep?" "The only thing that you can really keep--and keep forever--is what you give away," said the philosopher. Late one afternoon a blunt young man came up to The Man Who Talked Backwards and asked him, "Now that you are old and about to drop dead, do you look forward to death or fear it--or perhaps I should ask, Did you live a good life or a bad one?" "It is not one's life that determines his view of death," replied the philosopher, "but one's view of death that determines how he lives." "So you are ready to end your life?" asked the blunt young man. "Death is not an end to life, as you suppose," said the philosopher. "This world is but a mirror that reverses everything as it reflects it. Death therefore is merely the shattering of a mirror." "Your mirror already has a large crack in it," said the blunt young man, with a laugh. "Thank you," said the philosopher. The Clue In every civilization, someone has to put up the signs that guide us on our way. --Proverb Sometimes they had to drill the post holes up on Rocky Bluff--and it was a tough dig, what with the rocks and the hardness of the soil. They came home plenty tired and dirty on those days. Other times they drilled the holes down in Sandy Meadow, where the augur slipped in smoothly, quickly, and easily. They all praised the meadow and said how great it was to get an assignment to put up some signs there. And yet, when they told the stories of their lives--the stories that animated their faces and brightened their eyes--they always seemed to be speaking of Rocky Bluff. An Analogy As he clung to the sheer face of the rock, he could hear in his mind the voice of his climbing instructor: "If you make even a slight mistake, you will die instantly." He knew then that he need not debate whether to be attentive in his climb. And he was glad also that God is like a rock only in his steadfastness. About the Author Robert Harris was born in Los Angeles, California in 1950. He is currently (1995) an English professor at Southern California College in Costa Mesa, California. He lives in Costa Mesa with his wife, Rita. (C)1992 Robert Harris 
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39499	----	produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive.) Moores Fables for _The Female Sex_ Embellished with Engravings [Illustration: "_Ye wretches, hence the Eagle cries,_ _Page 5._] London, _Printed for Scatchard & Letterman, Ave Maria Lane; Longman, Hurst, Rees & Orme, and H.D. Symonds, Paternoster Row. 1806._ (Printed by C. Whittingham) FABLES FOR _THE FEMALE SEX_. FABLE I. THE EAGLE AND THE ASSEMBLY OF BIRDS. To her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales. The moral lay, to beauty due, I write, FAIR EXCELLENCE, to you; Well pleas'd to hope my vacant hours Have been employ'd to sweeten your's. Truth under fiction I impart, To weed out folly from the heart, And shew the paths that lead astray The wand'ring nymph from wisdom's way. I flatter none. The great and good Are by their actions understood; Your monument if actions raise, Shall I deface by idle praise? I echo not the voice of Fame; That dwells delighted on your name: Her friendly tale, however true, Were flatt'ry, if I told it you. The proud, the envious, and the vain, The jilt, the prude, demand my strain; To these, detesting praise, I write, And vent in charity my spite: With friendly hand I hold the glass To all, promiscuous, as they pass: Should folly there her likeness view, I fret not that the mirror's true; If the fantastic form offend, I made it not, but would amend. [Illustration: _With friendly hand I hold the glass To all promiscuous, as they pass;_ _Page 2._ _London: Published May 1st 1799 by T. Heptinstall. No. 304 High Holborn._] Virtue, in ev'ry clime and age, Spurns at the folly-soothing page; While satire, that offends the ear Of vice and passion, pleases her. Premising this, your anger spare; And claim the fable you who dare. The BIRDS in place, by faction press'd, To JUPITER their pray'rs address'd; By specious lies the state was vex'd, Their counsels libellers perplex'd; They begg'd (to stop seditious tongues) A gracious hearing of their wrongs. JOVE grants their suit. The EAGLE sate, Decider of the grand debate. The PYE, to trust and pow'r preferr'd, Demands permission to be heard. Says he, 'Prolixity of phrase You know I hate. This libel says, "Some birds there are, who, prone to noise, Are hir'd to silence WISDOM'S voice; And, skill'd to chatter out the hour, Rise by their emptiness to pow'r." That this is aim'd direct at me, No doubt, you'll readily agree: Yet well this sage assembly knows, By parts to government I rose; My prudent counsels prop the state; MAGPIES were never known to prate.' The KITE rose up. His honest heart In VIRTUE'S suff'rings bore a part. That there were birds of prey he knew; So far the libeller said true, "Voracious, bold, to rapine prone, Who knew no int'rest but their own; Who, hov'ring o'er the farmer's yard, Nor pigeon, chick, nor duckling spar'd." This might be true--but if apply'd To him, in troth, the sland'rer ly'd. Since IGN'RANCE then might be misled, Such things, he thought, were best unsaid. The CROW was vext. As yester-morn He flew across the new-sown corn, A screaming boy was set for pay, He knew, to drive the CROWS away: SCANDAL had found him out in turn, And buzz'd abroad--that CROWS love corn. The OWL arose, with solemn face, And thus harangu'd upon the case: 'That MAGPIES prate, it may be true; A KITE may be voracious too; CROWS sometimes deal in new-sown pease; He libels not, who strikes at these; The slander's here--"But there are birds, Whose wisdom lies in looks, not words; Blund'rers who level in the dark, And always shoot beside the mark." He names not me; but these are hints Which manifest at whom he squints; I were indeed that blund'ring fowl, To question if he meant an OWL.' "Ye wretches, hence!" the EAGLE cries, "'Tis conscience, conscience that applies; The virtuous mind takes no alarm, Secur'd by innocence from harm; While GUILT, and his associate, FEAR, Are startled at the passing air." FABLE II. THE PANTHER, HORSE, AND OTHER BEASTS. The man who seeks to win the fair, (So custom says) must truth forbear; Must fawn and flatter, cringe and lie, And raise the goddess to the sky; For truth is hateful to her ear, A rudeness which she cannot bear-- A rudeness?--Yes,--I speak my thoughts, For truth upbraids her with her faults. How wretched, CHLOE, then am I, Who love you, and yet cannot lie; And still, to make you less my friend, I strive your errors to amend! But shall the senseless fop impart The softest passion to your heart, While he who tells you honest truth, And points to happiness your youth, Determines, by his cares, his lot, And lives neglected and forgot? Trust me, my dear, with greater ease, Your taste for flatt'ry I could please. And similes in each dull line, Like glow-worms in the dark, should shine. What if I say your lips disclose The freshness of the op'ning rose? Or that your cheeks are beds of flow'rs, Enripen'd by refreshing show'rs? Yet certain as these flow'rs shall fade, Time ev'ry beauty will invade. The BUTTERFLY of various hue, More than the flow'r, resembles you: Fair, flutt'ring, fickle, busy thing, To pleasure ever on the wing, Gayly coquetting for an hour, To die, and ne'er be thought of more. Would you the bloom of youth should last? 'Tis virtue that must bind it fast; An easy carriage, wholly free From sour reserve, or levity; Good-natur'd mirth, an open heart, And looks unskill'd in any art; Humility, enough to own The frailties which a friend makes known; And decent pride, enough to know The worth that virtue can bestow. These are the charms which ne'er decay, Tho' youth and beauty fade away; And time, which all things else removes, Still heightens virtue and improves. You'll frown, and ask to what intent This blunt address to you is sent; I'll spare the question, and confess I'd praise you, if I lov'd you less; But rail, be angry, or complain, I will be rude, while you are vain. Beneath a LION'S peaceful reign, When beasts met friendly on the plain, A PANTHER, of majestic port, (The vainest female of the court) With spotted skin, and eyes of fire, Fill'd ev'ry bosom with desire; Where'er she mov'd, a servile crowd Of fawning creatures cring'd and bow'd; Assemblies ev'ry week she held, (Like modern belles) with coxcombs fill'd, Where noise and nonsense, and grimace, And lies and scandal, fill'd the place. Behold the gay, fantastic thing, Encircled by the spacious ring; Low-bowing, with important look, As first in rank, the MONKEY spoke: "Gad take me, madam! but I swear No angel ever look'd so fair---- Forgive my rudeness, but, I vow, You were not quite divine till now; Those limbs! that shape! and then those eyes, O close them, or the gazer dies!" 'Nay, gentle PUG, for goodness hush, I vow and swear you make me blush; I shall be angry at this rate---- 'Tis so like flatt'ry, which I hate.' The FOX, in deeper cunning vers'd, The beauties of her mind rehears'd, And talk'd of knowledge, taste, and sense, To which the fair have most pretence; Yet well he knew them always vain Of what they strive not to attain, And play'd so cunningly his part, That PUG was rival'd in his art. The GOAT avow'd his am'rous flame, And burnt--for what he durst not name; Yet hop'd a meeting in the wood Might make his meaning understood. Half angry at the bold address, She frown'd; but yet she must confess, Such beauties might inflame his blood; But still his phrase was somewhat rude. The HOG her neatness much admir'd; The formal ASS her swiftness fir'd; While all to feed her folly strove, And by their praises shar'd her love. The HORSE, whose gen'rous heart disdain'd Applause by servile flatt'ry gain'd, With graceful courage silence broke, And thus with indignation spoke: [Illustration: _From public view her charms will screen And rarely in the crowd be seen_ _Page 12._ _London: Published by Scatcherd & Letterman, Ave Maria Lane._] "When flatt'ring MONKEYS fawn and prate, They justly raise contempt, or hate; For merit's turn'd to ridicule, Applauded by the grinning fool. The artful FOX your wit commends, To lure you to his selfish ends; From the vile flatt'rer turn away, For knaves make friendship to betray. Dismiss the train of fops and fools, And learn to live by wisdom's rules. Such beauties might the LION warm, Did not your folly break the charm; For who would court that lovely shape, To be the rival of an APE?" He said; and snorting in disdain, Spurn'd at the crowd, and sought the plain. FABLE III. THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM. The prudent nymph, whose cheeks disclose The lily and the blushing rose, From public view her charms will skreen, And rarely in the crowd be seen: This simple truth shall keep her wise, "The fairest fruits attract the flies." One night a GLOW-WORM, proud and vain, Contemplating her glitt'ring train, Cry'd sure there never was in nature, So elegant, so fine a creature; All other insects that I see, The frugal ANT, industrious BEE, Or SILK-WORM, with contempt I view; With all that low, mechanic crew, Who servilely their lives employ In business, enemy to joy. Mean, vulgar herd! ye are my scorn, For grandeur only I was born; Or sure am sprung from race divine, And plac'd on earth to live and shine. Those lights, that sparkle so on high, Are but the GLOW-WORMS of the sky; And kings on earth their gems admire, Because they imitate my fire. She spoke. Attentive on a spray, A NIGHTINGALE forbore his lay; He saw the shining morsel near, And flew, directed by the glare; Awhile he gaz'd with sober look, And thus the trembling prey bespoke: Deluded fool, with pride elate, Know, 'tis thy beauty brings thy fate; Less dazzling, long thou might'st have lain, Unheeded on the velvet plain; Pride, soon or late, degraded mourns, And beauty wrecks whom she adorns. FABLE IV. HYMEN AND DEATH. Sixteen, d'ye say? Nay, then 'tis time; Another year destroys your prime. But stay--The settlement? "That's made?" Why then's my simple girl afraid? Yet hold a moment, if you can, And heedfully the fable scan. The shades were fled, the morning blush'd, The winds were in their caverns hush'd, When HYMEN, pensive and sedate, Held o'er the fields his musing gait, Behind him, thro' the green-wood shade, DEATH'S meagre form the GOD survey'd, Who quickly with gigantic stride, Out-went his pace, and join'd his side. The chat on various subjects ran, Till angry HYMEN thus began: "Relentless DEATH, whose iron sway Mortals reluctant must obey, Still of thy pow'r shall I complain, And thy too partial hand arraign? When CUPID brings a pair of hearts, All over struck with equal darts, Thy cruel shafts my hopes deride, And cut the knot that HYMEN ty'd. "Shall not the bloody, and the bold, The miser, hoarding up his gold, The harlot, reeking from the stew, Alone thy fell revenge pursue? But must the gentle, and the kind, Thy fury, undistinguish'd find?" The monarch calmly thus reply'd: 'Weigh well the cause, and then decide. That friend of your's, you lately nam'd, CUPID, alone, is to be blam'd; Then let the charge be justly laid; That idle boy neglects his trade, And hardly once in twenty years A couple to your temple bears. The wretches, whom your office blends, SILENUS now, or PLUTUS sends; Hence care, and bitterness, and strife, Are common to the nuptial life. 'Believe me; more than all mankind, Your vot'ries my compassion find. Yet cruel am I call'd, and base, Who seek the wretched to release; The captive from his bonds to free, Indissoluble, but for me. ''Tis I entice him to the yoke; By me your crowded altars smoke; For mortals boldly dare the noose, Secure, that DEATH will set them loose.' FABLE V. THE POET AND HIS PATRON. Why, CELIA, is your spreading waist So loose, so negligently lac'd? Why must the wrapping bed-gown hide Your snowy bosom's swelling pride? How ill that dress adorns your head, Disdain'd and rumpled from the bed! Those clouds, that shade your blooming face, A little water might displace, As NATURE every morn bestows The crystal dew to cleanse the rose. Those tresses, as the raven black, That wav'd in ringlets down your back, Uncomb'd, and injur'd by neglect, Destroy the face which once they deck'd. Whence this forgetfulness of dress! Pray, madam, are you married? Yes. Nay! then indeed the wonder ceases, No matter now how loose your dress is; The end is won, your fortune's made, Your sister now may take the trade. Alas! what pity 'tis to find This fault in half the female kind! From hence proceed aversion, strife, And all that sours the wedded life. BEAUTY can only point the dart, 'Tis NEATNESS guides it to the heart; Let NEATNESS then, and BEAUTY strive To keep a wav'ring flame alive. 'Tis harder far (you'll find it true) To keep the conquest than subdue; Admit us once behind the screen, What is there farther to be seen? A newer face may raise the flame, But ev'ry woman is the same. Then study chiefly to improve The charm that fix'd your husband's love; Weigh well his humour. Was it dress That gave your beauty pow'r to bless? Pursue it still; be neater seen, 'Tis always frugal to be clean; So shall you keep alive desire, And TIME'S swift wing shall fan the fire. In garret high (as stories say) A POET sung his tuneful lay; So soft, so smooth his verse, you'd swear APOLLO and the MUSES there; Through all the town his praises rung, His sonnets at the playhouse sung; High waving o'er his lab'ring head, The goddess WANT her pinions spread, And with poetic fury fir'd, What PHOEBUS faintly had inspir'd. A noble youth, of taste and wit, Approv'd the sprightly things he writ, And sought him in his cobweb dome, Discharg'd his rent, and brought him home. Behold him at the stately board, Who but the POET and my LORD! Each day deliciously he dines, And greedy quaffs the gen'rous wines; His sides were plump, his skin was sleek, And PLENTY wanton'd on his cheek; Astonish'd at the change so new, Away th' inspiring goddess flew. Now, dropt for politics and news, Neglected lay the drooping MUSE, Unmindful whence his fortune came, He stifled the poetic flame; Nor tale nor sonnet, for my lady, Lampoon, nor epigram was ready. With just contempt his PATRON saw, (Resolv'd his bounty to withdraw) And thus, with anger in his look, The late-repenting fool bespoke:-- "Blind to the good that courts thee grown, Whence has the sun of favour shone? Delighted with thy tuneful art, Esteem was growing in my heart, But idly thou reject'st the charm That gave it birth, and kept it warm. Unthinking fools alone despise The arts that taught them first to rise." FABLE VI. THE WOLF, THE SHEEP, AND THE LAMB. Duty demands the parent's voice Should sanctify the daughter's choice; In that is due obedience shewn; To choose belongs to her alone. May horror seize his midnight hour Who builds upon a parent's pow'r, And claims, by purchase vile and base, The loathing maid for his embrace; Hence virtue sickens, and the breast, Where peace had built her downy nest, Becomes the troubled seat of care, And pines with anguish and despair. A WOLF, rapacious, rough, and bold, Whose nightly plunders thinn'd the fold, Contemplating his ill-spent life, And cloy'd with thefts, would take a wife. His purpose known, the savage race In num'rous crouds attend the place; For why, a mighty WOLF he was, And held dominion in his jaws. Her fav'rite whelp each mother brought, And humbly his alliance sought; But cold by age, or else too nice, None found acceptance in his eyes. It happen'd, as at early dawn, He, solitary, cross'd the lawn, Stray'd from the fold, a sportive LAMB Skip'd wanton by her fleecy DAM; When CUPID, foe to man and beast, Discharg'd an arrow at his breast. The tim'rous breed the robber knew, And trembling o'er the meadow flew; Their nimblest speed the WOLF o'ertook, And, courteous, thus the DAM bespoke: Stay, fairest, and suspend your fear, Trust me, no enemy is near; These jaws, in slaughter oft imbru'd, At length have known enough of blood, And kinder business brings me now, Vanquish'd, at beauty's feet to bow. You have a daughter--Sweet, forgive A WOLF'S address--In her I live; Love from her eye like lightning came, And set my marrow all on flame; Let your consent confirm my choice, And ratify our nuptial joys. Me ample wealth and pow'r attend, Wide o'er the plains my realms extend; What midnight robber dare invade The fold, if I the guard am made? At home the shepherd's cur may sleep, While I secure his master's sheep. Discourse like his attention claim'd; Grandeur the MOTHER'S breast inflam'd; Now fearless by his side she walk'd, Of settlements and jointures talk'd; Propos'd and doubled her demands, Of flow'ry fields and turnip lands. The WOLF agrees.--Her bosom swells; To MISS her happy fate she tells; And, of the grand alliance vain, Contemns her kindred of the plain. The loathing LAMB with horror hears, And wearies out her DAM with pray'rs, But all in vain; mamma best knew What unexperienc'd girls should do: So, to a neighb'ring meadow carry'd, A formal ass the couple marry'd. Torn from the tyrant-mother's side, The trembler goes, a victim-bride; Reluctant meets the rude embrace, And bleats among the howling race. With horror oft her eyes behold Her murder'd kindred of the fold; Each day a sister-lamb is serv'd, And at the glutton's table carv'd; The crashing bones he grinds for food, And slakes his thirst with streaming blood. Love, who the cruel mind detests, And lodges but in gentle breasts, Was now no more.--Enjoyment past, The savage hunger'd for the feast; But (as we find in human race, A mask conceals the villain's face) Justice must authorize the treat: Till then he long'd, but durst not eat. As forth he walk'd, in quest of prey, The hunters met him on the way; Fear wings his flight; the marsh he sought, The snuffing dogs are set at fault. His stomach baulk'd, now hunger gnaws, Howling he grinds his empty jaws; Food must be had--and lamb is nigh; His maw invokes the fraudful lie. Is this, dissembling rage, he cry'd, The gentle virtue of a bride? That, leagu'd with man's destroying race, She sets her husband for the chase? By treach'ry prompts the noisy hound To scent his footsteps o'er the ground? Thou trait'ress vile, for this thy blood Shall glut my rage, and dye the wood! So saying, on the LAMB he flies: Beneath his jaws the victim dies. FABLE VII. THE GOOSE AND THE SWANS. I hate the face, however fair, That carries an affected air; The lisping tone, the shape constrain'd, The study'd look, the passion feign'd, Are fopperies, which only tend To injure what they strive to mend. With what superior grace enchants The face which NATURE'S pencil paints! Where eyes, unexercis'd in art, Glow with the meaning of the heart! Where FREEDOM and GOOD-HUMOUR sit, And easy GAIETY and WIT! Though perfect BEAUTY be not there, The master lines, the finish'd air, We catch from every look delight, And grow enamour'd at the sight; For beauty, though we all approve, Excites our wonder more than love; While the agreeable strikes sure, And gives the wounds we cannot cure. Why then, my AMORET, this care, That forms you, in effect, less fair? If NATURE on your cheek bestows A bloom that emulates the rose, Or from some heav'nly image drew A form APELLES never knew, Your ill-judg'd aid will you impart, And spoil by meretricious art? Or had you, NATURE'S error, come Abortive from the mother's womb, Your forming care she still rejects, Which only heightens her defects. When such, of glitt'ring jewels proud, Still press the foremost in the crowd, At every public shew are seen, With look awry, and aukward mien, The gaudy dress attracts the eye, And magnifies deformity. [Illustration: _The wretch with thrilling horror shook, Loose ev'ry joint, and pale his look._ _Page 39._ _London: Published by Scatcherd & Letterman, Ave Maria Lane._] NATURE may underdo her part, But seldom wants the help of ART; Trust her, she is your surest friend, Nor made your form for you to mend. A GOOSE, affected, empty, vain, The shrillest of the cackling train, With proud and elevated crest, Precedence claim'd above the rest. Says she, I laugh at human race, Who say, geese hobble in their pace; Look here!--the sland'rous lie detect; Not haughty man is so erect. That PEACOCK yonder, lord, how vain The creature's of his gaudy train! If both were stript, I'd pawn my word, A GOOSE would be the finer bird. NATURE, to hide her own defects, Her bungled work with fin'ry decks; Were GEESE set off with half that show, Would men admire the PEACOCK? No. Thus vaunting, 'cross the mead she stalks, The cackling breed attend her walks. The SUN shot down his noontide beams, The SWANS were sporting in the streams; Their snowy plumes, and stately pride, Provoke her spleen. Why, there, she cry'd, Again what arrogance we see! Those creatures! how they mimic me! Shall ev'ry fowl the waters skim, Because we GEESE are known to swim? Humility they soon shall learn, And their own emptiness discern. So saying, with extended wings, Lightly upon the wave she springs; Her bosom swells, she spreads her plumes, And the SWAN'S stately crest assumes. Contempt and mockery ensu'd, And bursts of laughter shook the flood. A SWAN, superior to the rest, Sprung forth, and thus the fool address'd: Conceited thing! elate with pride, Thy affectation all deride; These airs thy aukwardness impart, And shew thee plainly as thou art. Among thy equals of the flock, Thou hadst escap'd the public mock. And, as thy parts to good conduce, Been deem'd an honest hobbling GOOSE. Learn hence to study WISDOM'S rules; Know, foppery's the pride of fools; And striving NATURE to conceal, You only her defects reveal. FABLE VIII. THE LAWYER AND JUSTICE. Love; thou divinest good below, Thy pure delights few mortals know: Our rebel hearts thy sway disown, While tyrant LUST usurps thy throne! The bounteous GOD OF NATURE made The sexes for each other's aid, Their mutual talents to employ, To lessen ills, and heighten joy. To weaker woman he assign'd That soft'ning gentleness of mind, That can by sympathy impart Its likeness to the roughest heart. Her eyes with magic pow'r endu'd, To fire the dull, and awe the rude. His rosy fingers on her face Shed lavish ev'ry blooming grace, And stamp'd (perfection to display) His mildest image on her clay. Man, active, resolute, and bold, He fashion'd in a diff'rent mould; With useful arts his mind inform'd, His breast with nobler passions warm'd; He gave him knowledge, taste, and sense, And courage for the fair's defence. Her frame, resistless to each wrong, Demands protection from the strong; To man she flies, when fear alarms, And claims the temple of his arms. By nature's author thus declar'd The woman's sov'reign and her guard: Shall man, by treach'rous wiles invade The weakness he was meant to aid? While beauty, given to inspire Protecting love and soft desire, Lights up a wild-fire in the heart, And to its own breast points the dart, Becomes the spoiler's base pretence To triumph over innocence! The wolf, that tears the tim'rous sheep, Was never set the fold to keep; Nor was the tiger, or the pard, Meant the benighted trav'ller's guard: But man, the wildest beast of prey, Wears friendship's semblance to betray; His strength against the weak employs, And where he should protect, destroys. Past twelve o'clock, the watchman cry'd, His brief the studious LAWYER ply'd; The all-prevailing fee lay nigh, The earnest of to-morrow's lie; Sudden the furious winds arise, The jarring casement shatter'd flies; The doors admit a hollow sound, And rattling from their hinges bound; When JUSTICE, in a blaze of light, Reveal'd her radiant form to sight. The wretch with thrilling horror shook, Loose ev'ry joint, and pale his look, Not having seen her in the courts, Or found her mentioned in reports, He ask'd, with falt'ring tongue, her name, Her errand there, and whence she came? Sternly the white-rob'd shade reply'd, (A crimson glow her visage dy'd) Canst thou be doubtful who I am? Is JUSTICE grown so strange a name? Were not your courts for JUSTICE rais'd? 'Twas there of old my altars blaz'd. My guardian thee did I elect, My sacred temple to protect; That thou, and all thy venal tribe, Should spurn the goddess for a bribe! Aloud the ruin'd client cries, JUSTICE has neither ears nor eyes! In foul alliance with the bar, 'Gainst me the judge denounces war, And rarely issues his decree, But with intent to baffle me. She paus'd. Her breast with fury burn'd; The trembling LAWYER thus return'd: I own the charge is justly laid, And weak th' excuse that can be made; Yet search the spacious globe, and see If all mankind are not like me. The GOWN-MAN, skill'd in ROMISH lies, By FAITH'S false glass deludes our eyes; O'er conscience rides without controul, And robs the man, to save his soul. The DOCTOR, with important face, By sly design mistakes the case; Prescribes, and spins out the disease, To trick the patient of his fees.-- The SOLDIER, rough with many a scar, And red with slaughter, leads the war; If he a nation's trust betray, The foe has offer'd double pay. [Illustration: _The maid she modestly conceals Her beauties, while she hides, reveals;_ _Page 41._ _London Published June 24th 1799 by T. Heptinstall Holborn._] When vice o'er all mankind prevails, And weighty int'rest turns the scales, Must I be better than the rest, And harbour JUSTICE in my breast? On one side only take the fee, Content with poverty and thee? Thou blind to sense, and vile of mind, Th' exasperated shade rejoin'd, If virtue from the world is flown, Will others faults excuse thy own? For sickly souls the priest was made; PHYSICIANS for the body's aid; The SOLDIER guarded liberty; Man, woman, and the LAWYER me: If all are faithless to their trust, They leave not thee the less unjust. Henceforth your pleadings I disclaim, And bar the sanction of my name; Within your courts it shall be read, That JUSTICE from the law is fled. She spoke; and hid in shades her face, 'Till HARDWICK sooth'd her into grace. FABLE IX. THE FARMER, THE SPANIEL, AND THE CAT. Why knits my dear her angry brow? What rude offence alarms you now? I said, that DELIA'S fair; 'tis true, But did I say she equall'd you? Can't I another's face commend, Or to her virtues be a friend, But instantly your forehead lours, As if her merit lessen'd your's? From female envy never free, All must be blind, because you see. Survey the gardens, fields, and bow'rs, The buds, the blossoms, and the flow'rs, Then tell me where the woodbine grows That vies in sweetness with the rose? Or where the lily's snowy white, That throws such beauties on the sight? Yet folly is it to declare, That these are neither sweet nor fair. The crystal shines with fainter rays Before the di'mond's brighter blaze; And fops will say, the di'mond dies Before the lustre of your eyes: But I, who deal in truth, deny That neither shine when you are by. When zephyrs o'er the blossoms stray, And sweets along the air convey, Shan't I the fragrant breeze inhale, Because you breathe a sweeter gale? Sweet are the flow'rs that deck the field, Sweet is the smell the blossoms yield; Sweet is the summer gale that blows, And sweet (though sweeter you) the rose. Shall envy then torment your breast, If you are lovelier than the rest? For while I give to each her due, By praising them I flatter you; And praising most, I still declare You fairest, where the rest are fair. As at his board a FARMER sate, Replenish'd by his homely treat, His fav'rite SPANIEL near him stood, And with his master shar'd the food; The crackling bones his jaws devour'd, His lapping tongue the trenchers scour'd; Till, sated now, supine he lay, And snor'd the rising fumes away. The hungry CAT, in turn, drew near, And humbly crav'd a servant's share; Her modest worth the master knew, And straight the fatt'ning morsel threw; Enrag'd, the snarling cur awoke, And thus, with spiteful envy, spoke: They only claim a right to eat, Who earn by services their meat; Me, zeal and industry inflame, To scour the fields, and spring the game; Or, plunged in the wat'ry wave, For man the wounded bird to save. With watchful diligence I keep, From prowling wolves, his fleecy sheep; At home, his midnight hours secure, And drive the robber from the door. For this his breast with kindness glows; For this his hand the food bestows; And shall thy indolence impart A warmer friendship to his heart; That thus he robs me of my due, To pamper such vile things as you? I own (with meekness, PUSS reply'd) Superior merit on your side; Nor does my breast with envy swell, To find it recompens'd so well; Yet I, in what my nature can, Contribute to the good of man. Whose claws destroy the pilf'ring mouse? Who drives the vermin from the house? Or, watchful for the lab'ring swain, From lurking rats secure the grain? From hence, if he rewards bestow, Why should your heart with gall o'erflow? Why pine my happiness to see, Since there's enough for you and me? Thy words are just, the FARMER cry'd, And spurn'd the snarler from his side. FABLE X. THE SPIDER AND THE BEE. The nymph who walks the public streets, And sets her cap at all she meets, May catch the fool who turns to stare; But men of sense avoid the snare. As on the margin of the flood, With silken line, my LYDIA stood, I smil'd to see the pains you took, To cover o'er the fraudful hook. Along the forest as we stray'd, You saw the boy his lime-twigs spread; Guess'd you the reason of his fear, Lest, heedless, we approach'd too near? For as behind the bush we lay, The linnet flutter'd on the spray. Needs there such caution to delude The scaly fry, and feather'd brood? And think you, with inferior art, To captivate the human heart? The maid who modestly conceals Her beauties, while she hides, reveals; Give but a glimpse, and FANCY draws Whate'er the GRECIAN VENUS was. From EVE'S first fig-leaf to brocade, All dress was meant for FANCY'S aid, Which evermore delighted dwells On what the bashful nymph conceals. When CELIA struts in man's attire, She shews too much to raise desire; But from the hoop's bewitching round, Her very shoe has power to wound. The roving eye, the bosom bare, The forward laugh, the wanton air, May catch the fop, for gudgeons strike At the bare hook, and bait, alike; While SALMON play regardless by, Till ART, like NATURE, forms the fly. Beneath a PEASANT'S homely thatch, A SPIDER long had held her watch; From morn to night, with restless care, She spun her web, and wove her snare. Within the limits of her reign Lay many a hidden captive, slain; Or, flutt'ring, struggled in the toils To burst the chains, and shun her wiles. A straying BEE, that perch'd hard by, Beheld her with disdainful eye; And thus began:--Mean thing! give o'er, And lay thy slender threads no more; A thoughtless FLY or two, at most, Is all the conquest thou canst boast; For BEES of sense thy arts evade, We see so plain the nets are laid. The gaudy TULIP, that displays Her spreading foliage to the gaze, That points her charms at all she sees, And yields to ev'ry wanton BREEZE, Attracts not me. Where blushing grows, Guarded with thorns, the modest ROSE, Enamour'd round and round I fly, Or on her fragrant bosom lie; Reluctant, she my ardour meets, And, bashful, renders up her sweets. To wiser heads attention lend, And learn this lesson from a friend: She, who with modesty retires, Adds fuel to her lover's fires; While such incautious jilts as you, By folly your own schemes undo. FABLE XI. THE YOUNG LION AND THE APE. 'Tis true, I blame your lover's choice, Tho' flatter'd by the public voice, And peevish grow, and sick, to hear His exclamations, O how fair! I listen not to wild delights, And transports of expected nights; What is to me your hoard of charms, The whiteness of your neck and arms? Needs there no acquisition more, To keep contention from the door? Yes! pass a fortnight, and you'll find All beauty cloys but of the mind. Sense and good humour ever prove The surest cords to fasten love. Yet, PHILLIS, simplest of your sex, You never think, but to perplex; Coquetting it with ev'ry APE, That struts abroad in human shape; Not that the coxcomb is your taste, But that it stings your lover's breast. To-morrow you resign the sway, Prepar'd to honour and obey; The tyrant-mistress chang'd for life To the submission of a wife. Your follies, if you can, suspend, And learn instructions from a friend. Reluctant hear the first address, Think often, ere you answer, yes; But once resolv'd, throw off disguise, And wear your wishes in your eyes. With caution ev'ry look forbear, That might create one jealous fear, A lover's rip'ning hopes confound, Or give the gen'rous breast a wound; Contemn the girlish arts to teaze, Nor use your pow'r unless to please; For fools alone with rigour sway, When, soon or late, they must obey. The KING OF BRUTES, in life's decline, Resolv'd dominion to resign; The beasts were summon'd to appear, And bend before the royal heir. They came; a day was fix'd; the crowd Before their future monarch bow'd. A dapper MONKEY, pert and vain, Step'd forth, and thus address'd the train: Why cringe, my friends, with slavish awe, Before this pageant king of straw? Shall we anticipate the hour, And, ere we feel it, own his pow'r? The counsels of experience prize, I know the maxims of the wise; Subjection let us cast away, And live the monarchs of to-day; 'Tis ours the vacant hand to spurn, And play the tyrant each in turn; So shall he right from wrong discern, And mercy, from oppression, learn; At others woes be taught to melt, And loath the ills himself has felt. He spoke; his bosom swell'd with pride, The youthful LION thus reply'd: What madness prompts thee to provoke My wrath, and dare th' impending stroke? Thou wretched fool! can wrongs impart Compassion to the feeling heart? Or teach the grateful breast to glow, The hand to give, or eye to flow? Learn'd in the practice of their schools, From woman thou hast drawn thy rules; To them return, in such a cause, From only such expect applause; The partial sex I don't condemn, For liking those who copy them. Would'st thou the gen'rous LION bind, By kindness bribe him to be kind; Good offices their likeness get, And payment lessens not the debt: With multiplying hand he gives The good from others he receives; Or for the bad makes fair return, And pays, with int'rest, scorn for scorn. FABLE XII. THE COLT AND THE FARMER. Tell me, CORINNA, if you can, Why so averse, so coy, to man? Did NATURE, lavish of her care, From her best pattern form you fair, That you, ungrateful to her cause, Should mock her gifts, and spurn her laws? And, miser-like, withhold that store, Which, by imparting, blesses more? Beauty's a gift, by heav'n assign'd, The portion of the female kind; For this the yielding maid demands Protection at her lover's hands; And though, by wasting years, it fade, Remembrance tells him, once 'twas paid. And will you then this wealth conceal, For AGE to rust, or TIME to steal? The summer of your youth to rove, A stranger to the joys of love? Then, when LIFE'S winter hastens on, And YOUTH'S fair heritage is gone, Dow'rless to court some peasant's arms, To guard your wither'd age from harms! No gratitude to warm his breast, For blooming beauty once possess'd; How will you curse that stubborn pride, Which drove your bark across the tide; And, sailing before FOLLY'S wind, Left sense and happiness behind! CORINNA, lest these whims prevail, To such as you I write my tale. A COLT, for blood and mettled speed, The choicest of the running breed, Of youthful strength and beauty vain, Refus'd subjection to the rein; In vain the groom's officious skill Oppos'd his pride, and check'd his will; In vain the master's forming care, Restrain'd with threats, or sooth'd with pray'r; Of freedom proud, and scorning man, Wide o'er the spacious plains he ran. Where'er luxuriant NATURE spread Her flow'ry carpet o'er the mead, Or bubbling streams, soft gliding, pass To cool and freshen up the grass; Disdaining bounds, he cropp'd the blade, And wanton'd in the spoil he made. In plenty thus the summer pass'd, Revolving winter came at last; The trees no more a shelter yield; The verdure withers from the field; Perpetual snows invest the ground, In icy chains the streams are bound, Cold nipping winds, and rattling hail, His lank, unshelter'd sides assail. As round he cast his rueful eyes, He saw the thatch-roof'd cottage rise; The prospect touch'd his heart with cheer, And promis'd kind deliv'rance near. A stable, erst his scorn and hate, Was now become his wish'd retreat; His passion cool, his pride forgot, A FARMER'S welcome yard he sought. The master saw his woeful plight, His limbs, that totter'd with his weight, And friendly to the stable led, And saw him litter'd, dress'd, and fed. In slothful ease all night he lay; The servants rose at break of day; The market calls.--Along the road His back must bear the pond'rous load; In vain he struggles, or complains-- Incessant blows reward his pains. To-morrow varies but his toil; Chain'd to the plough he breaks the soil: While scanty meals at night repay The painful labours of the day. Subdu'd by toil, with anguish rent, His self-upbraidings found a vent. Wretch that I am! he sighing said, By arrogance and folly led; Had but my restive youth been brought To learn the lesson NATURE taught, Then had I, like my sires of yore, The prize from ev'ry courser bore; While man bestow'd rewards and praise, And females crown'd my latter days. Now lasting servitude's my lot, My birth contemn'd, my speed forgot; Doom'd am I, for my pride, to bear A living death from year to year. FABLE XIII. THE OWL AND THE NIGHTINGALE. To know the MISTRESS'S humour right, See if her maids are clean and tight, If BETTY waits without her stays, She copies but her LADY'S ways; When MISS comes in with boist'rous shout, And drops no court'sey going out, Depend upon't, MAMMA is one Who reads, or drinks, too much alone. If bottled beer her thirst assuage, She feels enthusiastic rage, And burns with ardour to inherit The gifts and workings of the spirit. If learning crack her giddy brains, No remedy but death remains. Sum up the various ills of life, And all are sweet to such a wife. At home, superior wit she vaunts, And twits her husband with his wants; Her ragged offspring all around, Like pigs, are wallowing on the ground. Impatient ever of controul, And knows no order but of soul; With books her litter'd floor is spread, With nameless authors never read; Foul linen, petticoats, and lace, Fill up the intermediate space. Abroad, at visitings, her tongue Is never still, and always wrong; All meanings she defines away, And stands with truth and sense at bay. If e'er she meets a gentle heart, Skill'd in the housewife's useful art; Who makes her family her care, And builds contentment's temple there; She starts at such mistakes in nature, And cries, LORD help us! what a creature! Melissa, if the moral strike, You'll find the fable not unlike. An OWL, puff'd up with self-conceit, Lov'd learning better than his meat; Old manuscripts he treasur'd up, And rummag'd ev'ry grocer's shop; At pastry-cooks was known to ply, And strip, for science, ev'ry pie. For modern poetry and wit, He had read all that BLACKMORE writ. So intimate with CURL was grown, His learned treasures were his own; To all his authors had access, And sometimes would correct the press. In logic he acquir'd such knowledge, You'd swear him fellow of a college. Alike to ev'ry art and science, His daring genius bid defiance, And swallow'd wisdom with that haste That cits do custards at a feast. Within the shelter of a wood, One evening, as he musing stood, Hard by, upon a leafy spray, A NIGHTINGALE began his lay; Sudden he starts, with anger stung, And, screeching, interrupts the song. Pert, busy thing! thy airs give o'er, And let my contemplation soar-- What is the music of thy voice, But jarring dissonance and noise? Be wise--True harmony thou'lt find Not in the throat, but in the mind; By empty chirping not attain'd, But by laborious study gain'd. Go, read the authors POPE explodes, Fathom the depth of CIBBER'S odes; With modern plays improve thy wit, Read all the learning HENLEY writ, And if thou needs must sing, sing then, And emulate the ways of men: So shalt thou grow, like me, refin'd, And bring improvement to thy kind. Thou wretch! the little warbler cry'd, Made up of ignorance and pride; Ask all the birds, and they'll declare A greater blockhead wings not air. Read o'er thyself, thy talents scan, Science was only meant for man. No senseless authors me molest, I mind the duties of my nest; With careful wing protect my young, And cheer their ev'nings with a song; Make short the weary trav'ller's way, And warble in the poet's lay. Thus, following nature, and her laws, From men and birds I claim applause, While, nurs'd in pedantry and sloth, An OWL is scorn'd alike by both. FABLE XIV. THE SPARROW AND THE DOVE. It was, as learn'd traditions say, Upon an APRIL'S blithsome day, When PLEASURE, ever on the wing, Return'd, companion of the SPRING, And cheer'd the birds with am'rous heat, Instructing little hearts to beat; A SPARROW, frolic, gay, and young, Of bold address, and flippant tongue, Just left his lady of a night, Like him, to follow new delight. The youth, of many a conquest vain, Flew off to seek the chirping train; The chirping train he quickly found, And with a saucy ease bow'd round. For every she his bosom burns, And this, and that, he woos by turns; And here a sigh, and there a bill, And here--those eyes! so form'd to kill! And now, with ready tongue, he strings Unmeaning, soft, resistless things; With vows, and dem-me's, skill'd to woo, As other pretty fellows do. Not that he thought this short essay A prologue needful to his play; No, trust me, says our learned letter, He knew the virtuous sex much better; But these he held as specious arts, To shew his own superior parts, The form of decency to shield, And give a just pretence to yield. Thus finishing his courtly play, He mark'd the fav'rite of a day; With careless impudence drew near, And whisper'd HEBREW in her ear: A hint which, like the MASON'S sign, The conscience can alone divine. The flutt'ring nymph, expert at feigning, Cry'd, "Sir, pray sir, explain your meaning! Go prate to those that may endure ye-- To me this rudeness! I'll assure ye!" Then off she glided like a swallow, As saying--you guess where to follow. To such as know the party set, 'Tis needless to say where they met; The PARSON'S barn, as authors mention, Confess'd the fair had apprehension. Her honour there, secure from stain, She held all farther trifling vain; No more affected to be coy, But rush'd, licentious, on the joy. 'Hist, love!' the male companion cry'd, 'Retire awhile, I fear we're 'spy'd:' Nor was the caution vain; he saw A TURTLE rustling in the straw, While o'er her callow brood she hung, And fondly thus address'd her young: "Ye tender objects of my care! Peace, peace, ye little helpless pair; Anon he comes, your gentle sire, And brings you all your hearts require. For us, his infants and his bride, For us, with only love to guide, Our lord assumes an EAGLE'S speed, And, like a LION, dares to bleed. Nor yet by wintry skies confin'd, He mounts upon the rudest wind, From danger tears the vital spoil, And with affection sweetens toil. Ah! cease, too vent'rous--cease to dare, In thine, our dearer safety spare! From him, ye cruel FALCONS, stray; And turn, ye FOWLERS, far away. "Should I survive to see the day, That tears me from myself away; That cancels all that heav'n could give, The life, by which alone I live; Alas! how more than lost were I, Who in the thought already die! "Ye pow'rs, who men and birds obey, Great rulers of your creatures, say, Why mourning comes, by bliss convey'd, And ev'n the sweets of love allay'd? Where grows enjoyment, tall and fair, Around it twines entangling care; While fear, for what our souls possess, Enervates ev'ry pow'r to bless; Yet FRIENDSHIP forms the bliss above, And LIFE, what art thou, without LOVE?"-- Our HERO, who had heard apart, Felt something moving in his heart; But quickly, with disdain, suppress'd The virtue rising in his breast; And, first, he feign'd to laugh aloud, And next, approaching, smil'd and bow'd. 'MADAM, you must not think me rude, Good manners never can intrude; I vow I came through pure good-nature; (Upon my soul a charming creature!) Are these the comforts of a wife? This careful, cloister'd, moping life? No doubt, that odious thing, call'd duty, Is a sweet province for a beauty. Thou pretty ignorance! thy will Is measur'd to thy want of skill; That good old-fashion'd dame, thy mother, Has taught thy infant years no other. The greatest ill in the creation Is, sure, the want of education! 'But think ye (tell me without feigning) Have all these charms no farther meaning? Dame NATURE, if you don't forget her, Might teach your ladyship much better. For shame, reject this mean employment, Enter the world, and taste enjoyment; Where time, by circling bliss we measure, Beauty was form'd alone for pleasure; Come, prove the blessing, follow me; Be wise, be happy, and be free.' "Kind sir," reply'd our MATRON chaste, "Your zeal seems pretty much in haste; I own the fondness to be blest, Is a deep thirst in every breast; Of blessings too I have my store, Yet quarrel not, should heav'n give more; Then prove the change to be expedient, And think me, sir, your most obedient." Here turning, as to one inferior, Our gallant spoke, and smil'd superior: 'Methinks, to quit your boasted station Requires a world of hesitation; Where brats and bonds are held a blessing, The case, I doubt, is past redressing: Why, child, suppose the joys I mention Were the mere fruits of my invention, You've cause sufficient for your carriage, In flying from the curse of marriage; That sly decoy, with vary'd snares, That takes your widgeons in by pairs; Alike to husband, and to wife, The cure of love, and bane of life; The only method of forecasting To make misfortune firm and lasting; The sin, by heav'n's peculiar sentence, Unpardon'd, through a life's repentance. It is the double snake, that weds A common tail to diff'rent heads; That leads the carcase still astray, By dragging each a diff'rent way. Of all the ills that may attend me, From marriage, mighty GODS, defend me! 'Give me frank NATURE'S wild demesne, And boundless tract of air serene, Where FANCY, ever wing'd for change, Delights to sport, delights to range! There, LIBERTY! to thee is owing Whate'er of bliss is worth bestowing; Delights, still vary'd, and divine, Sweet goddess of the hills! are thine. 'What say you now, you pretty pink, you? Have I, for once, spoke reason, think you? You take me now for no romancer-- Come, never study for an answer; Away, cast ev'ry care behind ye, And fly where joy alone shall find ye.' "Soft yet," return'd our female fencer, "A question more, or so--and then, sir. You've rallied me with sense exceeding, With much fine wit, and better breeding; But pray, sir, how do you contrive it? Do those of your world never wive it?" 'No, no,' "How then?" 'Why dare I tell What does the business full as well.' "Do you ne'er love?" 'An hour at leisure.' "Have you no friendship?" 'Yes, for pleasure.' "No care for little ones?" 'We get 'em; The rest the mothers mind, and let 'em.' "Thou wretch!" rejoin'd the kindling DOVE, "Quite lost to life, as lost to love! Whene'er misfortunes come, how just! And come, misfortune surely must; In the dread season of dismay, In that your hour of trial, say, Who then shall prop your sinking heart? Who bear AFFLICTION'S weightier part? "Say, when the black-brow'd welkin bends, And WINTER'S gloomy form impends, To mourning turns all transient cheer, And blasts the melancholy year; For times at no persuasion stay, Nor vice can find perpetual MAY; Then where's that tongue, by FOLLY fed, That soul of pertness, whither fled? All shrunk within thy lonely nest, Forlorn, abandon'd, and unbless'd; No friends, by cordial bonds ally'd, Shall seek thy cold unsocial side; No chirping prattlers to delight, Shall turn the long-enduring night; No bride her words of balm impart, And warm thee at her constant heart. "FREEDOM, restrain'd by REASON'S force, Is as the sun's unvarying course, Benignly active, sweetly bright, Affording warmth, affording light; But torn from VIRTUE'S sacred rules, Becomes a comet, gaz'd by fools, Foreboding cares, and storms, and strife, And fraught with all the plagues of life. "Thou fool! by union every creature Subsists, through universal nature; And this, to beings void of mind, Is wedlock of a meaner kind. "While womb'd in space, primeval clay A yet unfashion'd embryo lay; The source of endless good above Shot down his spark of kindling love; Touch'd by the all-enliv'ning flame, Then motion first exulting came, Each atom sought its sep'rate class, Through many a fair enamour'd mass; Love cast the central charm around, And with eternal nuptials bound. Then FORM and ORDER, o'er the sky First train'd their bridal pomp on high; The SUN display'd his orb to sight, And burn'd with HYMENEAL light. "Hence NATURE'S virgin womb conceiv'd, And with the genial burthen heav'd; Forth came the oak, her first born heir, And scal'd the breathing steep of air; Then infant stems, of various use, Imbib'd her soft maternal juice. The flow'rs, in early bloom disclos'd, Upon her fragrant breast repos'd; Within her warm embraces grew A race, of endless form and hue; Then pour'd her lesser offspring round, And fondly cloth'd their parent ground. "Nor here alone the virtue reign'd, By matter's cumb'rous form detain'd, But thence, subliming, and refin'd, Aspir'd, and reach'd its kindred mind. Caught in the fond celestial fire, The mind perceiv'd unknown desire; And now with kind effusion flow'd, And now with cordial ardours glow'd, Beheld the sympathetic fair, And lov'd its own resemblance there; On all, with circling radiance, shone, But, cent'ring, fix'd on one alone; There clasp'd the heav'n-appointed wife, And doubled every joy of life. "Here, ever blessing, ever blest, Resides this beauty of the breast; As from his palace here the god Still beams effulgent bliss abroad; Here gems his own eternal round The ring by which the world is bound; Here bids his seat of empire grow, And builds his little heav'n below. "The bridal partners thus ally'd, And thus in sweet accordance tied, One body, heart, and spirit live, Enrich'd by ev'ry joy they give; Like ECHO, from her vocal hold, Return'd in music twenty-fold. Their union firm, and undecay'd, Nor TIME can shake, nor POW'R invade; But, as the stem and scion stand Ingrafted by a skilful hand, They check the TEMPEST'S wintry rage, And bloom and strengthen into age. A thousand amities unknown, And pow'rs, perceiv'd by LOVE alone; Endearing looks, and chaste desire, Fan and support the mutual fire, Whose flame, perpetual as refin'd, Is fed by an immortal MIND. "Nor yet the nuptial sanction ends, Like NILE, it opens and descends, Which, by apparent windings led, We trace to its celestial head. The sire, first springing from above, Becomes the source of life and love, And gives his filial heir to flow, In fondness down on sons below; Thus roll'd in one continu'd tide, To TIME'S extremest verge they glide; While kindred streams, on either hand, Branch forth in blessings o'er the land. Thee, wretch! no lisping babe shall name, No late-returning brother claim; No kinsman on thy road rejoice, No sister greet thy ent'ring voice; With partial eyes no parent see, And bless their years restor'd in thee. "In age rejected, or declin'd, An ALIEN ev'n among thy kind, The partner of thy scorn'd embrace Shall play the wanton in thy face; Each spark unplume thy little pride, All friendship fly thy faithless side; Thy name shall, like thy carcase, rot, In sickness spurn'd, in death forgot. "All-giving POW'R! great source of life! O hear the parent! hear the wife! That life thou lendest from above, Though little, make it large in love; O bid my feeling heart expand To ev'ry claim, on ev'ry hand; To those, from whom my days I drew, To these in whom those days renew; To all my kin, however wide, In cordial warmth, as blood ally'd, To friends with steely fetters twin'd, And to the cruel, not unkind! But chief, the lord of my desire, My life, myself, my soul, my sire; Friends, children, all that wish can claim, Chaste passion clasp, and rapture name! O spare him, spare him, GRACIOUS POW'R! O give him to my latest hour! Let me my length of life employ, To give my sole enjoyment joy; His love, let mutual love excite, Turn all my cares to his delight, And ev'ry needless blessing spare, Wherein my darling wants a share. When he with graceful action woos, And sweetly bills and fondly coos, Ah! deck me to his eyes alone, With charms attractive as his own, And in my circling wings caress'd, Give all the lover to my breast. Then in our chaste, connubial bed, My bosom pillow'd for his head, His eyes with blissful slumbers close, And watch, with me, my lord's repose; Your peace around his temples twine, And love him with a love like mine. "And, for I know his gen'rous flame, Beyond whate'er my sex can claim, Me, too, to your protection take, And spare me for my husband's sake; Let one unruffled calm delight The loving and belov'd unite; One pure desire our bosoms warm, One will direct, one wish inform; Through life one mutual aid sustain, In death one peaceful grave contain." While, swelling with the darling theme, Her accents pour'd an endless stream, The well-known wings a sound impart, That reach'd her ear, and touch'd her heart; Quick dropp'd the music of her tongue, And forth, with eager joy, she sprung; As swift her ent'ring consort flew, And plum'd and kindled at the view; Their wings, their souls, embracing meet, Their hearts with answ'ring measure beat; Half lost in sacred sweets, and bless'd With raptures felt, but ne'er express'd. Straight to her humble roof she led The partner of her spotless bed; Her young, a flutt'ring pair, arise, Their welcome sparkling in their eyes, Transported, to their sire they bound, And hang with speechless action round. In pleasure wrapt, the parents stand, And see their little wings expand; The sire, his life-sustaining prize To each expecting bill applies; There fondly pours the wheaten spoil, With transport giv'n, though won with toil; While all collected at the sight, And silent, through supreme delight, The FAIR high heav'n of bliss beguiles, And on her lord and infants smiles. The SPARROW, whose attention hung Upon the DOVE'S enchanting tongue, Of all his little slights disarm'd, And from himself by VIRTUE charm'd, When now he saw, what only seem'd, A fact, so late a fable deem'd; His soul to envy he resign'd, His hours of folly to the wind; In secret wish'd a TURTLE too, And, sighing to himself, withdrew. FABLE XV. THE FEMALE SEDUCERS. 'Tis said of WIDOW, MAID, and WIFE, That honour is a WOMAN'S life; Unhappy sex! who only claim A being in the breath of fame, Which, tainted, not the quick'ning gales That sweep SAB�A'S spicy vales, Nor all the healing sweets restore, That breathe along ARABIA'S shore. The trav'ller, if he chance to stray, May turn uncensur'd to his way; Polluted streams again are pure, And deepest wounds admit a cure; But WOMAN! no redemption knows, The wounds of honour never close. Tho' distant ev'ry hand to guide, Nor skill'd on life's tempestuous tide, If once her feeble bark recede, Or deviate from the course decreed, In vain she seeks the friendly shore, Her swifter folly flies before; The circling ports against her close, And shut the wand'rer from repose, Till by conflicting waves opprest, Her found'ring pinnace sinks to rest. Are there no off'rings to atone For but a single error?--None! Tho' WOMAN is avow'd of old No daughter of celestial mould; Her temp'ring not without allay, And form'd but of the finer clay; We challenge from the mortal dame, The strength angelic natures claim; Nay more--for sacred stories tell That ev'n immortal angels fell. Whatever fills the teeming sphere Of humid earth, and ambient air, With varying elements endu'd, Was form'd to fall, and rise renew'd. The stars no fix'd duration know; Wide oceans ebb, again to flow; The moon repletes her waning face, All-beauteous, from her late disgrace; And suns, that mourn approaching night, Refulgent rise, with new-born light. In vain may death and time subdue, While nature mints her race anew, And holds some vital spark apart, Like virtue, hid in ev'ry heart; 'Tis hence, reviving warmth is seen, To clothe a naked world in green; No longer bared by winter's cold, Again the gates of life unfold; Again each insect tries his wing, And lifts fresh pinions on the spring; Again from ev'ry latent root The bladed stem and tendril shoot, Exhaling incense to the skies, Again to perish, and to rise. And must weak WOMAN then disown The change to which a world is prone? In one meridian brightness shine, And ne'er like ev'ning suns decline? Resolv'd and firm alone?--Is this What we demand of WOMAN?--Yes! But should the spark of vestal fire, In some unguarded hour expire; Or should the nightly thief invade HESPERIA'S chaste and sacred shade, Of all the blooming spoils possess'd, The dragon, honour, charm'd to rest, Shall VIRTUE'S flame no more return? No more with virgin splendour burn? No more the ravag'd garden blow With spring's succeeding blossom?--No! Pity may mourn, but not restore, And WOMAN falls--to rise no more. [Illustration: _Lovely Penitent, arise, Come, and claim thy kindred skies;_ _Page 92._ _London Published by Scatcherd & Letterman, Ave Maria Lane._] Within this sublunary sphere, A country lies--no matter where; The clime may readily be found, By all who tread poetic ground; A stream, call'd LIFE, across it glides, And equally the land divides; And here, of VICE the province lies, And there, the hills of VIRTUE rise. Upon a mountain's airy stand, Whose summit look'd to either land, An ancient pair their dwelling chose, As well for prospect as repose; For mutual faith they long were fam'd, And TEMP'RANCE, and RELIGION, nam'd. A num'rous progeny divine Confess'd the honours of their line; But in a little daughter fair Was center'd more than half their care; For heav'n, to gratulate her birth, Gave signs of future joy to earth. White was the robe this infant wore, And CHASTITY the name she bore. As now the maid in stature grew, (A flow'r just op'ning to the view) Oft thro' her native lawns she stray'd, And wrestling with the lambkins play'd; Her looks diffusive sweets bequeath'd, The breeze grew purer as she breath'd, The morn her radiant blush assum'd, The spring with earlier fragrance bloom'd, And NATURE yearly took delight, Like her, to dress the world in white. But when her rising form was seen To reach the crisis of fifteen; Her parents up the mountain's head, With anxious step, their darling led; By turns they snatch'd her to their breast, And thus the fears of age express'd: "O joyful cause of many a care! O daughter, too divinely fair! Yon world, on this important day, Demands thee to a dang'rous way; A painful journey all must go, Whose doubtful period none can know; Whose due direction who can find, Where REASON'S mute, and SENSE is blind! Ah! what unequal leaders these, Thro' such a wide perplexing maze! Then mark the warnings of the wise, And learn what love and years advise. "Far to the right thy prospect bend, Where yonder tow'ring hills ascend; Lo! there the arduous path's in view, Which VIRTUE, and her sons, pursue; With toil, o'er less'ning earth they rise, And gain, and gain upon the skies.-- Narrow's the way her children tread, No walk for pleasure smoothly spread; But rough, and difficult, and steep, Painful to climb, and hard to keep. "Fruits immature those lands dispense, A food indelicate to sense, Of taste unpleasant, yet from those Pure HEALTH, with cheerful VIGOUR flows; And strength unfeeling of decay, Throughout the long laborious way. "Hence, as they scale that heav'nly road, Each limb is lighten'd of its load: From earth refining still they go, And leave the mortal weight below; Then spreads the strait, the doubtful clears, And smooth the rugged path appears; For custom turns fatigue to ease, And, taught by VIRTUE, PAIN can please. "At length, the toilsome journey o'er, And near the bright celestial shore, A gulf, black, fearful, and profound, Appears, of either world the bound. Thro' darkness, leading up to light, Sense backward shrinks, and shuns the sight; For there the transitory train, Of time, and form, and care, and pain, And matter's gross incumb'ring mass, Man's late associates, cannot pass, But sinking, quit th' immortal charge, And leave the wond'ring soul at large; Lightly she wings her obvious way, And mingles with eternal day. "Thither, O thither, wing thy speed, Tho' PLEASURE charm, or PAIN impede; To such th' all-bounteous pow'r has giv'n, For present earth, a future heav'n; For trivial loss, unmeasur'd gain, And endless bliss, for transient pain. Then fear, ah! fear, to turn thy sight, Where yonder flow'ry fields invite; Wide on the left the path-way bends, And with pernicious ease descends; There, sweet to sense, and fair to show, New-planted EDEN seems to blow; Trees that delicious poison bear, For DEATH is vegetable there. "Hence is the frame of health unbrac'd, Each sinew slack'ning at the taste; The soul to passion yields her throne, And sees with organs not her own; While, like the slumb'rer in the night, Pleas'd with the shadowy dream of light, Before her alienated eyes The scenes of fairy-land arise; The puppet-world's amusing show, Dipt in the gaily colour'd bow; Sceptres, and wreaths, and glitt'ring things, The toys of infants and of kings, That tempt along the baneful plain, The idly wise, and lightly vain; Till verging on the gully shore, Sudden they sink, to rise no more. "But list to what thy FATES declare, Tho' thou art WOMAN, frail as fair, If once thy sliding foot should stray, Once quit yon heav'n-appointed way, For thee, lost maid, for thee alone, Nor pray'rs shall plead, nor tears atone; Reproach, scorn, infamy, and hate, On thy returning steps shall wait.-- Thy form be loath'd by ev'ry eye, And ev'ry foot thy presence fly." Thus arm'd with words of potent sound, Like guardian-angels plac'd around; A charm, by truth divinely cast, Forward our young advent'rer pass'd. Forth from her sacred eye-lids sent, Like morn, fore-running, radiance went, While HONOUR, hand-maid, late assign'd, Upheld her lucid train behind. Awe-struck, the much-admiring crowd Before the virgin-vision bow'd; Gaz'd with an ever-new delight, And caught fresh virtues at the sight; For not of earth's unequal frame They deem'd the heav'n-compounded dame, If matter, sure the most refin'd, High-wrought, and temper'd into mind, Some darling daughter of the day, And body'd by her native ray. Where'er she passes, thousands bend, And thousands, where she moves, attend; Her ways observant eyes confess, Her steps pursuing praises bless; While to the elevated maid Oblations, as to HEAV'N, are paid. 'Twas on an ever-blithsome day, The jovial birth of rosy MAY, When genial warmth, no more suppress'd, New melts the frost in every breast; The cheek with secret flushing dies, And looks kind things from chastest eyes; The SUN with healthier visage glows, Aside his clouded kerchief throws, And dances up th' ethereal plain, Where late he us'd to climb with pain; While NATURE, as from bonds set free, Springs out, and gives a loose to glee. And now for momentary rest, The nymph her travell'd step repress'd, Just turn'd to view the stage attain'd, And glory'd in the height she gain'd. Out-stretch'd before her wide survey, The realms of sweet PERDITION lay, And pity touch'd her soul with woe, To see a world so lost below; When straight the breeze began to breathe Airs, gently wafted from beneath, That bore commission'd witchcraft thence, And reach'd her sympathy of sense; No sounds of discord, that disclose A people sunk, and lost in woes; But as of present good possess'd, The very triumph of the bless'd; The maid in wrapt attention hung, While thus approaching SIRENS sung. 'Hither, fairest, hither haste, Brightest beauty, come and taste What the pow'rs of bliss unfold; Joys too mighty to be told; Taste what ecstasies they give, Dying raptures taste, and live. 'In thy lap, disdaining measure, NATURE empties all her treasure; Soft desires, that sweetly languish, Fierce delights, that rise to anguish: Fairest, dost thou yet delay? Brightest beauty, come away! 'List not, when the froward chide, Sons of pedantry and pride; Snarlers, to whose feeble sense APRIL sun-shine is offence; Age and envy will advise, Ev'n against the joys they prize. Come, in PLEASURE'S balmy bowl Slake the thirstings of thy soul, 'Till thy raptur'd pow'rs are fainting With enjoyment, past the painting: Fairest, dost thou yet delay? Brightest beauty, come away!' So sung the SIRENS, as of yore, Upon the false AUSONIAN shore; And, O! for that preventing chain, That bound ULYSSES on the main, That so our FAIR ONE might withstand The covert ruin now at hand. The song her charm'd attention drew, When now the tempters stood in view; CURIOSITY with prying eyes, And hand of busy, bold emprize; Like HERMES, feather'd were her feet, And like fore-running fancy fleet; By search untaught, by toil untir'd, To novelty she still aspir'd, Tasteless of ev'ry good possess'd, And but in expectation bless'd. With her, associate, PLEASURE came, Gay PLEASURE, frolic-loving dame! Her mien, all swimming in delight, Her beauties, half reveal'd to sight; Loose flow'd her garments from the ground And caught the kissing winds around. As erst MEDUSA'S looks were known To turn beholders into stone, A dire reversion here they felt, And in the eye of pleasure melt. Her glance of sweet persuasion charm'd, Unnerv'd the strong, the steel'd disarm'd; No safety, ev'n the flying find, Who, vent'rous, looks not once behind. Thus was the much-admiring maid, While distant, more than half betray'd. With smiles, and adulation bland, They join'd her side, and seiz'd her hand; Their touch envenom'd sweets instill'd, Her frame with new pulsations thrill'd, While half consenting, half denying, Reluctant now, and now complying, Amidst a war of hopes and fears, Of trembling wishes, smiling tears, Still down, and down, the winning pair Compell'd the struggling, yielding fair. As when some stately vessel, bound To blest ARABIA'S distant ground, Borne from her courses, haply lights Where BARCA'S flow'ry clime invites; Conceal'd around whose treach'rous land, Lurks the dire rock, and dang'rous sand; The pilot warns, with sail and oar, To shun the much-suspected shore In vain: the tide too subtly strong, Still bears the wrestling bark along, Till found'ring, she resigns to fate, And sinks, o'erwhelmn'd, with all her freight. So baffling ev'ry bar to sin, And heav'n's own pilot plac'd within, Along the devious smooth descent, With pow'rs increasing as they went, The DAMES, accustom'd to subdue, As with a rapid current drew; And o'er the fatal bounds convey'd The lost, the long-reluctant maid. Here stop, ye fair ones, and beware, Nor send your fond affections there; Yet, yet your darling, now deplor'd, May turn, to you and HEAV'N restor'd; Till then, with weeping HONOUR, wait The servant of her better fate, With HONOUR left upon the shore, Her friend and handmaid now no more; Nor, with the guilty world, upbraid The fortunes of a wretch betray'd; But o'er her failing cast a veil, Rememb'ring you, yourselves, are frail. And now, from all-enquiring light, Fast fled the conscious shades of night; The damsel, from a short repose, Confounded at her plight, arose. As when with slumb'rous weight opprest, Some wealthy miser sinks to rest, Where felons eye the glitt'ring prey, And steal his hoard of joys away: He, borne where golden INDUS streams, Of pearl and quarry'd di'mond dreams, Like MIDAS, turns the glebe to ore, And stands all wrapt amidst his store; But wakens, naked, and despoil'd Of that for which his years had toil'd. So far'd the NYMPH, her treasure flown, And turn'd, like NIOBE, to stone; Within, without, obscure and void, She felt all ravag'd, all destroy'd. And, O! thou curs'd insidious coast, Are these the blessings thou canst boast? These, VIRTUE! these the joys they find, Who leave thy heav'n-topt hills behind! Shade me, ye pines, ye caverns hide, Ye mountains cover me! she cry'd. Her trumpet SLANDER rais'd on high, And told the tidings to the sky; CONTEMPT discharg'd a living dart, A side-long viper to her heart; REPROACH breath'd poisons o'er her face, And soil'd, and blasted ev'ry grace; Officious SHAME, her handmaid new, Still turn'd the mirror to her view; While those in crimes the deepest dy'd, Approach'd to whiten at her side; And ev'ry lewd insulting dame Upon her folly rose to fame. What should she do; attempt once more To gain the late-deserted shore? So trusting, back the mourner flew, As fast the train of fiends pursue. Again the farther shore's attain'd, Again the land of VIRTUE gain'd; But ECHO gathers in the wind, And shows her instant foes behind. Amaz'd! with headlong speed she tends, Where late she left an host of friends; Alas! those shrinking friends decline, Nor longer own that form divine; With fear they mark the following cry, And from the lonely trembler fly; Or backward drive her on the coast Where PEACE was wreck'd, and HONOUR lost. From earth thus hoping aid in vain; To HEAV'N, not daring to complain; No truce, by hostile CLAMOUR giv'n, And from the face of FRIENDSHIP driv'n; The NYMPH sunk prostrate on the ground, With all her weight of woes around. Enthron'd within a circling sky, Upon a mount, o'er mountains high, All radiant sat, as in a shrine, VIRTUE, first effluence divine; Far, far above the scenes of woe, That shut this cloud-wrapt world below: Superior goddess! essence bright! Beauty of uncreated light, Whom should mortality survey, As doom'd upon a certain day; The breath of frailty must expire, The world dissolve in living fire; The gems of heav'n and solar flame, Be quench'd by her eternal beam, And nature, quick'ning in her eye, To raise a new-born phoenix, die. [Illustration: _Vanity_ _Thus far extends my friendly pow'r, Nor quits her in her latest hour;_ _Page 108._ _London: Published by Scatcherd & Letterman, Ave Maria Lane._] Hence, unreveal'd to mortal view, A veil around her form she threw, Which three sad sisters of the shade, PAIN, CARE, and MELANCHOLY, made. Thro' this her all-inquiring eye, Attentive from her station high, Beheld, abandon'd to despair, The ruins of her fav'rite fair; And with a voice, whose awful sound Appall'd the guilty world around, Bid the tumultuous winds be still; To numbers bow'd each list'ning hill; Uncurl'd the surging of the main, And smooth'd the thorny bed of pain; The golden harp of heav'n she strung, And thus the tuneful goddess sung: "Lovely PENITENT, arise, Come, and claim thy kindred skies; Come, thy sister angels say, Thou hast wept thy stains away. "Let experience now decide, 'Twixt the good and evil, try'd, In the smooth enchanted ground, Say, unfold the treasures found. "Structures, rais'd by morning dreams, Sands that trip the flitting streams, Down that anchors on the air, Clouds that paint their changes there. "Seas that smoothly dimpling lie, While the storm impends on high, Showing in an obvious glass, Joys that in possession pass. "Transient, fickle, light, and gay, Flatt'ring, only to betray; What, alas! can life contain? Life, like all its circles, vain. "Will the STORK, intending rest, On the billow build her nest? Will the BEE demand his store From the bleak and bladeless shore! "MAN alone, intent to stray, Ever turns from WISDOM'S way; Lays up wealth in foreign land, Sows the sea, and plows the sand. "Soon this elemental mass, Soon th' encumb'ring world shall pass; Form be wrapt in wasting fire, TIME be spent, and LIFE expire. "Then, ye boasted works of men! Where is your asylum then? Sons of PLEASURE, sons of CARE, Tell me, mortals, tell me where? "Gone, like traces on the deep, Like a sceptre grasp'd in sleep; Dews exhal'd from morning glades, Melting snows, and gliding shades. "Pass the world, and what's behind? Virtue's gold, by fire refin'd; From an universe deprav'd, From the wreck of nature sav'd. "Like the life-supporting grain, Fruit of patience and of pain, On the swain's autumnal day, Winnow'd from the chaff away. "Little TREMBLER, fear no more, Thou hast plenteous crops in store; Seeds, by genial sorrows sown, More than all thy scorners own. "What, tho' hostile earth despise, Heaven beholds with gentler eyes; Heav'n thy friendless steps shall guide, Cheer thy hours, and guard thy side. "When the fatal trump shall sound, When th' immortals pour around, Heav'n shall thy return attest, Hail'd by myriads of the bless'd. "Little native of the skies, Lovely PENITENT, arise, Calm thy bosom, clear thy brow, VIRTUE is thy sister now. "More delightful are my woes Than the rapture PLEASURE knows; Richer far the weeds I bring Than the robes that grace a king. "On my wars of shortest date, Crowns of endless triumph wait; On my cares a period bless'd, On my toils, eternal rest. "Come, with VIRTUE at thy side, Come, be ev'ry bar defy'd, Till we gain our native shore; Sister, come, and turn no more." FABLE XVI. LOVE AND VANITY. The breezy morning breath'd perfume, The wak'ning flow'rs unveil'd their bloom; Up with the sun, from short repose, Gay HEALTH, and lusty LABOUR, rose; The milk-maid carol'd at her pail, And shepherds whistled o'er the dale; When LOVE, who led a rural life, Remote from bustle, state, and strife, Forth from his thatch-roof'd cottage stray'd, And stroll'd along the dewy glade. A nymph, who lightly tripp'd it by, To quick attention turn'd his eye; He mark'd the gesture of the fair, Her self-sufficient grace and air; Her steps that mincing meant to please, Her study'd negligence and ease; And curious to inquire what meant This thing of prettiness and paint, Approaching spoke, and bow'd observant: The lady, slightly--"Sir, your servant." 'Such beauty in so rude a place! Fair one, you do the country grace; At court, no doubt, the public care, But LOVE has small acquaintance there.' "Yes, sir," reply'd the flutt'ring dame, "This form confesses whence it came; But dear VARIETY, you know, Can make us pride and pomp forego; My name is VANITY: I sway The utmost islands of the sea; Within my court all honour centers, I raise the meanest soul that enters, Endow with latent gifts and graces, And model fools for posts and places. "As VANITY appoints at pleasure, The world receives its weight and measure; Hence all the grand concerns of life, Joys, cares, plagues, passion, peace, and strife. "Reflect how far my pow'r prevails, When I step in where NATURE fails: And ev'ry breach of sense repairing, Am bounteous still, where heav'n is sparing. "But chief, in all their arts and airs, Their playing, painting, pouts, and pray'rs, Their various habits and complexions, Fits, frolics, foibles, and perfections, Their robing, curling, and adorning, From noon to night, from night to morning, From six to sixty, sick or sound, I rule the female world around."-- 'Hold there a moment,' CUPID cry'd, 'Nor boast dominion quite so wide; Was there no province to invade, But that by love and meekness sway'd; All other empire I resign, But be the sphere of beauty mine. 'For in the downy lawn of rest, That opens on a woman's breast, Attended by my peaceful train, I choose to live, and choose to reign. 'Far-sighted FAITH I bring along, And TRUTH, above an army strong, And CHASTITY, of icy mould, Within the burning tropics cold; And LOWLINESS, to whose mild brow The pow'r and pride of nations bow; And MODESTY, with down-cast eye, That lends the morn her virgin dye; And INNOCENCE, array'd in light, And HONOUR, as a tow'r upright; With sweetly winning graces, more Than poets ever dreamt of yore; In unaffected conduct free, All smiling sisters, three times three; And rosy PEACE, the cherub bless'd, That nightly sings us all to rest. 'Hence, from the bud of NATURE'S prime, From the first step of infant time, Woman, the world's appointed light, Has skirted ev'ry shade with white; Has stood for imitation high, To ev'ry heart, and ev'ry eye; From ancient deeds of fair renown, Has brought her bright memorials down; To time affix'd perpetual youth, And form'd each tale of love and truth. 'Upon a new PROMETHEAN plan, She moulds the essence of a man, Tempers his mass, his genius fires, And as a better soul inspires. 'The rude she softens, warms the cold, Exalts the meek, and checks the bold; Calls SLOTH from his supine repose, Within the coward's bosom glows; Of pride unplumes the lofty crest, Bids bashful merit stand confess'd; And like coarse metal from the mines, Collects, irradiates, and refines; The gentle science she imparts, All manners smooths, informs all hearts; From her sweet influence are felt, Passions that please, and thoughts that melt. To stormy rage she bids controul, And sinks serenely on the soul; Softens DUCALION'S flinty race, And tunes the warring world to peace. 'Thus arm'd to all that's light and vain, And freed from thy fantastic chain, She fills the sphere, by heav'n assign'd, And, rul'd by me, o'er-rules mankind.' He spoke.--The nymph impatient stood, And, laughing, thus her speech renew'd: "And pray, sir, may I be so bold, To hope your pretty tale is told; And next demand without a cavil, What new UTOPIA do you travel? Upon my word, these high-flown fancies Shew depth of learning in romances. Why, what unfashion'd stuff you tell us, Of buckram dames, and tiptoe fellows! Go, child, and when you're grown maturer, You'll shoot your next opinion surer. "O, such a pretty knack at painting, And all for soft'ning, and for sainting! Guess now, who can, a single feature, Thro' the whole piece of female nature: Then, mark! my looser hand may fit The lines too coarse for love to hit. "'Tis said, that woman prone to changing, Thro' all the rounds of folly ranging, On life's uncertain ocean riding, No reason, rule, nor rudder guiding, Is like the comet's wand'ring light, Eccentric, ominous, and bright; Tractless and shifting as the wind, A sea whose fathom none can find; A moon, still changing and revolving, A riddle, past all human solving; A bliss, a plague, a heav'n, a hell, A----something, that no man can tell. "Now learn a secret from a friend, But keep your counsel and attend: "Tho' in their tempers thought so distant, Nor with their sex, nor selves consistent, 'Tis but the diff'rence of a name, And ev'ry woman is the same. For as the world, however vary'd, And thro' unnumber'd changes carry'd, Of elemental modes and forms, Clouds, meteors, colours, calms, and storms; Tho' in a thousand suits array'd, Is of one subject matter made; So, sir, a woman's constitution, The world's enigma, finds solution. And let her form be what you will, I am the subject essence still. "With the first spark of female sense, The speck of being, I commence; Within the womb make fresh advances, And dictate future qualms and fancies; Thence in the growing form expand, With childhood travel hand in hand, And give a taste of all their joys, In gewgaws, rattles, pomp, and noise. "And now, familiar and unaw'd, I send the flutt'ring soul abroad; Prais'd for her shape, her air, her mien, The little goddess, and the queen, Takes at her infant shrine oblation, And drinks sweet draughts of adulation. "Now, blooming, tall, erect, and fair, To dress becomes her darling care; The realms of beauty then I bound, I swell the hoop's enchanted round; Shrink in the waist's descending size, Heav'd in the snowy bosom rise, High on the floating lappet sail, Or curl'd in tresses kiss the gale. Then to her glass I lead the fair, And shew the lovely idol there, Where, struck as by divine emotion, She bows with most sincere devotion; And numb'ring ev'ry beauty o'er, In secret bids the world adore. "Then all for parking and parading, Coqueting, dancing, masquerading; For balls, plays, courts, and crowds, what passion! And churches, sometimes, if the fashion: For woman's sense of right and wrong Is rul'd by the almighty throng; Still turns to each meander tame, And swims the straw of ev'ry stream. Her soul intrinsic worth rejects, Accomplish'd only in defects, Such excellence is her ambition, Folly her wisest acquisition; And ev'n from pity and disdain, She'll cull some reason to be vain. "Thus, sir, from ev'ry form and feature, The wealth and wants of female nature, And ev'n from vice, which you'd admire, I gather fuel to my fire, And on the very base of shame, Erect my monument of fame. "Let me another truth attempt, Of which your godship has not dreamt: Those shining virtues which you muster, Whence think you they derive their lustre? From native honour and devotion! O yes! a mighty likely notion! Trust me, from titled dames to spinners, 'Tis I make saints, whoe'er make sinners; 'Tis I instruct them to withdraw, And hold presumptuous man in awe; For female worth as I inspire, In just degrees, still mounts the higher, And VIRTUE so extremely nice, Demands long toil and mighty price; Like SAMPSON'S pillars, fix'd elate, I bear the sex's tott'ring state; Sap these, and in a moment's space, Down sinks the fabric to its base. "Alike from titles, and from toys, I spring, the fount of female joys; In ev'ry widow, wife, and miss, The sole artificer of bliss. For them each tropic I explore; I cleave the sand of ev'ry shore; To them uniting INDIA'S sail, SAB�A breathes her farthest gale; For them the bullion I refine, Dig sense and virtue from the mine; And from the bowels of invention, Spin out the various arts you mention. "Nor bliss alone my pow'rs bestow, They hold the sov'reign balm of woe; Beyond the stoic's boasted art, I soothe the heavings of the heart; To pain give splendor, and relief, And gild the pallid face of grief. "Alike the palace and the plain, Admit the glories of my reign; Thro' ev'ry age, in ev'ry nation, Taste, talents, tempers, state, and station, Whate'er a woman says, I say; Whate'er a woman spends, I pay; Alike I fill and empty bags, Flutter in finery and rags; With light coquets thro' folly range, And with the prude disdain to change. "And now, you'd think, 'twixt you and I, That things were ripe for a reply-- But soft--and while I'm in the mood, Kindly permit me to conclude; Their utmost mazes to unravel, And touch the farthest step they travel: "When ev'ry pleasure's run a-ground, And folly tir'd thro' many a round; The nymph, conceiving discontent hence, May ripen to an hour's repentance, And vapours shed in pious moisture, Dismiss her to a church or cloister; Then on I lead her, with devotion Conspicuous in her dress and motion; Inspire the heav'nly-breathing air, Roll up the lucid eye in pray'r, Soften the voice, and in the face Look melting harmony and grace. "Thus far extends my friendly pow'r, Nor quits her in her latest hour; The couch of decent pain I spread, In form recline her languid head; Her thoughts I methodize in death, And part not with her parting breath; Then do I set, in order bright, A length of fun'ral pomp to sight; The glitt'ring tapers, and attire, The plumes that whiten o'er her bier; And last, presenting to her eye Angelic fineries on high, To scenes of painted bliss I waft her, And form the heav'n she hopes hereafter." 'In truth,' rejoin'd LOVE'S gentle god, 'You've gone a tedious length of road; And, strange! in all the toilsome way No house of kind refreshment lay; No nymph, whose virtues might have tempted To hold her from her sex exempted.' "For one, we'll never quarrel, man, Take her, and keep her, if you can; And pleas'd I yield to your petition, Since every fair, by such permission, Will hold herself the one selected, And so my system stands protected." 'O deaf to VIRTUE, deaf to GLORY, To truths divinely vouch'd in story!' The godhead, in his zeal return'd, And kindling at her malice burn'd. Then sweetly rais'd his voice, and told Of heav'nly nymphs, rever'd of old; HYPSIPYLE, who sav'd her sire; And PORTIA'S love, approv'd by fire; Alike PENELOPE was quoted, Nor laurel'd DAPHNE pass'd unnoted, Nor LAODAMIA'S fatal garter, Nor fam'd LUCRETIA, honour's martyr, ALCESTE'S voluntary steel, And CATHERINE smiling on the wheel. But who can hope to plant conviction, Where cavil grows on contradiction! Some she evades, or disavows, Demurs to all, and none allows; A kind of ancient things, call'd fables! And thus the goddess turn'd the tables. Now both in argument grew high, And choler flash'd from either eye; Nor wonder each refus'd to yield The conquest of so fair a field. When happily arriv'd in view A goddess, whom our grandames knew, Of aspect grave, and sober gait, Majestic, awful, and sedate, As heav'n's autumnal eve serene, Where not a cloud o'ercasts the scene, Once PRUDENCE call'd, a matron fam'd, And in old ROME CORNELIA nam'd. Quick, at a venture, both agree To leave their strife to her decree. And now by each the facts were stated, In form and manner as related; The case was short--They crav'd opinion, Which held o'er females chief dominion? When thus the goddess, answering mild, First shook her gracious head, and smil'd: "Alas! how willing to comply, Yet how unfit a judge am I! In times of golden date, 'tis true, I shar'd the fickle sex with you; But from their presence long precluded, Or held as one whose form intruded, Full fifty annual suns can tell, Prudence has bid the sex farewell." In this dilemma, what to do, Or who to think of, neither knew; For both, still bias'd in opinion, And arrogant of sole dominion, Were forc'd to hold the case compounded, Or leave the quarrel where they found it. When in the nick, a rural fair, Of inexperienc'd gait and air, Who ne'er had cross'd the neighb'ring lake, Nor seen the world beyond a wake; With cambric coif, and kerchief clean, Trip'd lightly by them o'er the green. 'Now, now!' cry'd LOVE'S triumphant child, And at approaching conquest smil'd; 'If VANITY will once be guided, Our diff'rence soon may be decided: Behold you wench, a fit occasion, To try your force of gay persuasion.-- Go you, while I retire aloof, Go, put those boasted pow'rs to proof; And if your prevalence of art Transcends my yet unerring dart, I give the fav'rite contest o'er, And ne'er will boast my empire more.' At once, so said and so consented, And well our goddess seem'd contented, Nor pausing, made a moment's stand, But tript, and took the girl in hand. Meanwhile the GODHEAD, unalarm'd, As one to each occasion arm'd, Forth from his quiver cull'd a dart, That erst had wounded many a heart; Then bending, drew it to the head, The bowstring twang'd, the arrow fled, And to her secret soul address'd, Transfix'd the whiteness of her breast. But here the DAME, whose guardian care Had to a moment watch'd the fair, At once her pocket mirror drew, And held the wonder full in view; As quickly, rang'd in order bright, A thousand beauties rush'd to sight, A world of charms, till now unknown, A world revealed to her alone; Enraptur'd stands the love-sick maid, Suspended o'er the darling shade; Here only fixes to admire, And centres every fond desire. _FINIS._ Printed by C. Whittingham, Dean Street, Fetter Lane. BOOKS PRINTED FOR SCATCHERD AND LETTERMAN, AVE-MARIA LANE, AND OTHER PROPRIETORS. _In Two small Volumes, embellished with Twenty-four highly-finished Engravings, by_ ANGUS, _from Designs by_ BURNEY, _Price Thirteen Shillings in Boards_, A DICTIONARY OF POLITE LITERATURE; _Or, Fabulous History of the Heathen Gods, and Illustrious Heroes_. "This is a work of much merit, ornamented with a number of well-executed and appropriate copper-plates. All the personages, whether divinities or heroes, that swell the pages of ancient poetry and mythology, are here described in a very ample and correct manner. To boys who are studying the Latin and Greek authors, these volumes will be a most acceptable present." _Critical Review, July 1804._ _A few Copies are printed on a fine large yellow wove Paper, hot-pressed, with Proof Impressions of the Plates. Price One Guinea in Boards._ _In a neat Pocket Volume, Price 5s. bound_, A NEW BIOGRAPHICAL DICTIONARY; Containing a brief Account of the Lives and Writings of the most eminent Persons and remarkable Characters in every Age and Nation. A New Edition, brought down to the present time. By STEPHEN JONES. 
2329	----	AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF by James Fenimore Cooper {This text has been transcribed, corrected, and annotated from its original periodical appearance in Graham's Magazine (Jan.-Apr. 1843), by Hugh C. MacDougall, Secretary of the James Fenimore Cooper Society (jfcooper@wpe.com), who welcomes corrections or emendations.} {Introductory Note: "Autobiography of a Pocket-Handkerchief" was James Fenimore Cooper's first serious attempt at magazine writing, and Graham's Magazine would publish other contributions from him over the next few years, notably a series of biographic sketches of American naval officers, and the novel "Jack Tier; or The Florida Reef" (1846-1848). Though hardly one of Cooper's greatest works, "Autobiography" remains significant because of: (1) its unusual narrator--an embroidered pocket-handkerchief--that is surely the first of its kind; (2) its critique of economic exploitation in France and of the crass commercial climate of ante-bellum America; and, (3) its constant exploration of American social, moral, and cultural issues. This said, it must be admitted that the telling of Adrienne's sad plight in Paris becomes a bit overwrought; and that the inept wooing of Mary Monson by the social cad Tom Thurston is so drawn out and sarcastic as to suggest snobbery on Cooper's part as well as on that of his elite hanky. Finally, the heroine-handkerchief's protracted failure to recognize her maker, when she has proved so sensitive to her surroundings in every other fashion, is simply unbelievable. Still, there is enough to reward today's reader, if only in the story's unique "point of view" and in the recognizable foibles of Henry Halfacre and his social-climbing daughter.} {The text is taken from the novelette's original appearance in Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXII, pp. 1-18, 89-102, 158-167, 205-213 (January-April) 1843. "Autobiography" was simultaneously issued as a separate number of Brother Jonathan magazine (March 22, 1843), under the title "Le Mouchoir: An Autobiographical Romance." Also in 1843 it was published in London by Richard Bentley as "The French Governess; or, the Embroidered Handkerchief." A German translation quickly followed, as "Die franzosischer Erzieheren, oder das gestickte Taschentuch" (Stuttgart: Lieschning, 1845, reprinted 1849). Interest in the book then lapsed. The Brother Jonathan and Bentley editions divided the story into 18 chapters (as we have in this transcription).} {At the end of the century a limited scholarly edition (500 copies) appeared, edited by Walter Lee Brown, the first scholarly treatment of any Cooper work, noting variations between the original manuscript and the various published texts: "Autobiography of a Pocket-Handkerchief" (Evanston, IL: The Golden-Booke Press, 1897). Another edition, unannotated and taken from the Graham's Magazine version, was printed half a century later as a Festschrift (farewell testimonial) for retiring Cooper scholar Gregory Lansing Paine of the University of North Carolina: "Autobiography of A Pocket-Handkerchief" (Chapel Hill: Privately printed, 1949). "Autobiography" was never included in published collections of James Fenimore Cooper's "Works," and this scarcity is an important reason for making it available to scholars everywhere through the Gutenberg Project.} {Because of the limitations imposed by the Gutenberg Project format, italics used by Cooper to indicate foreign words are ignored, as are accents; while italics Cooper used for emphasis are usually indicated by ALL CAPITALS. Unless otherwise indicated, translations are from the French. The spelling and punctuation of the Graham's Magazine periodical text have generally been followed, except that certain inconsistent contractions (e.g., "do n't" or "do'nt" for "don't") have been silently regularized.} {I have annotated the edition--identified by {curly brackets}--to translate most of the French words and expressions which Cooper frequently employs, to define occasional now-obsolete English words, and to identify historical names and other references. Cooper frequently alludes, in the beginning of the work, to events and persons involved in the French Revolution of 1830, which he had witnessed while living in Paris, and about which the beginning of the plot revolves.} AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF CHAPTER I. {Chapter numbers inserted from non-periodical editions of "Autobiography."} Certain moral philosophers, with a due disdain of the flimsy foundations of human pride, have shown that every man is equally descended from a million of ancestors, within a given number of generations; thereby demonstrating that no prince exists who does not participate in the blood of some beggar, or any beggar who does not share in the blood of princes. Although favored by a strictly vegetable descent myself, the laws of nature have not permitted me to escape from the influence of this common rule. The earliest accounts I possess of my progenitors represent them as a goodly growth of the Linum Usitatissimum, divided into a thousand cotemporaneous plants, singularly well conditioned, and remarkable for an equality that renders the production valuable. In this particular, then, I may be said to enjoy a precedency over the Bourbons, themselves, who now govern no less than four different states of Europe, and who have sat on thrones these thousand years. {Linum Usitatissimum = Linum usitatissimum (Cooper's capitalization varies) is the botanical name for the variety of flax from which linen is made} While our family has followed the general human law in the matter just mentioned, it forms a marked exception to the rule that so absolutely controls all of white blood, on this continent, in what relates to immigration and territorial origin. When the American enters on the history of his ancestors, he is driven, after some ten or twelve generations at most, to seek refuge in a country in Europe; whereas exactly the reverse is the case with us, our most remote extraction being American, while our more recent construction and education have taken place in Europe. When I speak of the "earliest accounts I possess of my progenitors," authentic information is meant only; for, like other races, we have certain dark legends that might possibly carry us back again to the old world in quest of our estates and privileges. But, in writing this history, it has been my determination from the first, to record nothing but settled truths, and to reject everything in the shape of vague report or unauthenticated anecdote. Under these limitations, I have ever considered my family as American by origin, European by emigration, and restored to its paternal soil by the mutations and calculations of industry and trade. The glorious family of cotemporaneous plants from which I derive my being, grew in a lovely vale of Connecticut, and quite near to the banks of the celebrated river of the same name. This renders us strictly Yankee in our origin, an extraction of which I find all who enjoy it fond of boasting. It is the only subject of self-felicitation with which I am acquainted that men can indulge in, without awakening the envy of their fellow-creatures; from which I infer it is at least innocent, if not commendable. We have traditions among us of the enjoyments of our predecessors, as they rioted in the fertility of their cis-atlantic field; a happy company of thriving and luxuriant plants. Still, I shall pass them over, merely remarking that a bountiful nature has made such provision for the happiness of all created things as enables each to rejoice in its existence, and to praise, after its fashion and kind, the divine Being to which it owes its creation. {cis-atlantic = this side of the Atlantic (Latin)} In due time, the field in which my forefathers grew was gathered, the seed winnowed from the chaff and collected in casks, when the whole company was shipped for Ireland. Now occurred one of those chances which decide the fortunes of plants, as well as those of men, giving me a claim to Norman, instead of Milesian descent. The embarkation, or shipment of my progenitors, whichever may be the proper expression, occurred in the height of the last general war, and, for a novelty, it occurred in an English ship. A French privateer captured the vessel on her passage home, the flaxseed was condemned and sold, my ancestors being transferred in a body to the ownership of a certain agriculturist in the neighborhood of Evreux, who dealt largely in such articles. There have been evil disposed vegetables that have seen fit to reproach us with this sale as a stigma on our family history, but I have ever considered it myself as a circumstance of which one has no more reason to be ashamed than a D'Uzes has to blush for the robberies of a baron of the middle ages. Each is an incident in the progress of civilization; the man and the vegetable alike taking the direction pointed out by Providence for the fulfilment of his or its destiny. {Milesian = slang for Irish, from Milesius, mythical Spanish conqueror of Ireland; Evreux = town in Normandy, France; a D'Uzes = a member of an ancient noble family in southern France} Plants have sensation as well as animals. The latter, however, have no consciousness anterior to their physical births, and very little, indeed, for some time afterwards; whereas a different law prevails as respects us; our mental conformation being such as to enable us to refer our moral existence to a period that embraces the experience, reasoning and sentiments of several generations. As respects logical inductions, for instance, the linum usitatissimum draws as largely on the intellectual acquisitions of the various epochas that belonged to the three or four parent stems which preceded it, as on its own. In a word, that accumulated knowledge which man inherits by means of books, imparted and transmitted information, schools, colleges, and universities, we obtain through more subtle agencies that are incorporated with our organic construction, and which form a species of hereditary mesmerism; a vegetable clairvoyance that enables us to see with the eyes, hear with the ears, and digest with the understandings of our predecessors. {epochas = archaic Latinized spelling of epochs} Some of the happiest moments of my moral existence were thus obtained, while our family was growing in the fields of Normandy. It happened that a distinguished astronomer selected a beautiful seat, that was placed on the very margin of our position, as a favorite spot for his observations and discourses; from a recollection of the latter of which, in particular, I still derive indescribable satisfaction. It seems as only yesterday--it is in fact fourteen long, long years--that I heard him thus holding forth to his pupils, explaining the marvels of the illimitable void, and rendering clear to my understanding the vast distance that exists between the Being that created all things and the works of his hands. To those who live in the narrow circle of human interests and human feelings, there ever exists, unheeded, almost unnoticed, before their very eyes, the most humbling proofs of their own comparative insignificance in the scale of creation, which, in the midst of their admitted mastery over the earth and all it contains, it would be well for them to consider, if they would obtain just views of what they are and what they were intended to be. I think I can still hear this learned and devout man--for his soul was filled with devotion to the dread Being that could hold a universe in subjection to His will--dwelling with delight on all the discoveries among the heavenly bodies, that the recent improvements in science and mechanics have enabled the astronomers to make. Fortunately, he gave his discourses somewhat of the progressive character of lectures, leading his listeners on, as it might be step by step, in a way to render all easy to the commonest understanding. Thus it was, I first got accurate notions of the almost inconceivable magnitude of space, to which, indeed, it is probable there are no more positive limits than there are a beginning and an end to eternity! Can these wonders be, I thought--and how pitiful in those who affect to reduce all things to the level of their own powers of comprehension, and their own experience in practice! Let them exercise their sublime and boasted reason, I said to myself, in endeavoring to comprehend infinity in any thing, and we will note the result! If it be in space, we shall find them setting bounds to their illimitable void, until ashamed of the feebleness of their first effort, it is renewed, again and again, only to furnish new proofs of the insufficiency of any of earth, even to bring within the compass of their imaginations truths that all their experiments, inductions, evidence and revelations compel them to admit. "The moon has no atmosphere," said our astronomer one day, "and if inhabited at all, it must be by beings constructed altogether differently from ourselves. Nothing that has life, either animal or vegetable as we know them, can exist without air, and it follows that nothing having life, according to our views of it, can exist in the moon:--or, if any thing having life do exist there, it must be under such modifications of all our known facts, as to amount to something like other principles of being." "One side of that planet feels the genial warmth of the sun for a fortnight, while the other is for the same period without it," he continued. "That which feels the sun must be a day, of a heat so intense as to render it insupportable to us, while the opposite side on which the rays of the sun do not fall, must be masses of ice, if water exist there to be congealed. But the moon has no seas, so far as we can ascertain; its surface representing one of strictly volcanic origin, the mountains being numerous to a wonderful degree. Our instruments enable us to perceive craters, with the inner cones so common to all our own volcanoes, giving reason to believe in the activity of innumerable burning hills at some remote period. It is scarcely necessary to say, that nothing we know could live in the moon under these rapid and extreme transitions of heat and cold, to say nothing of the want of atmospheric air." I listened to this with wonder, and learned to be satisfied with my station. Of what moment was it to me, in filling the destiny of the linum usitatissimum, whether I grew in a soil a little more or a little less fertile; whether my fibres attained the extremest fineness known to the manufacturer, or fell a little short of this excellence. I was but a speck among a myriad of other things produced by the hand of the Creator, and all to conduce to his own wise ends and unequaled glory. It was my duty to live my time, to be content, and to proclaim the praise of God within the sphere assigned to me. Could men or plants but once elevate their thoughts to the vast scale of creation, it would teach them their own insignificance so plainly, would so unerringly make manifest the futility of complaints, and the immense disparity between time and eternity, as to render the useful lesson of contentment as inevitable as it is important. I remember that our astronomer, one day, spoke of the nature and magnitude of the sun. The manner that he chose to render clear to the imagination of his hearers some just notions of its size, though so familiar to astronomers, produced a deep and unexpected impression on me. "Our instruments," he said, "are now so perfect and powerful, as to enable us to ascertain many facts of the deepest interest, with near approaches to positive accuracy. The moon being the heavenly body much the nearest to us, of course we see farther into its secrets than into those of any other planet. We have calculated its distance from us at 237,000 miles. Of course by doubling this distance, and adding to it the diameter of the earth, we get the diameter of the circle, or orbit, in which the moon moves around the earth. In other words the diameter of this orbit is about 480,000 miles. Now could the sun be brought in contact with this orbit, and had the latter solidity to mark its circumference, it would be found that this circumference would include but a little more than half the surface of one side of the sun, the diameter of which orb is calculated to be 882,000 miles! The sun is one million three hundred and eighty-four thousand four hundred and seventy-two times larger than the earth. Of the substance of the sun it is not so easy to speak. Still it is thought, though it is not certain, that we occasionally see the actual surface of this orb, an advantage we do not possess as respects any other of the heavenly bodies, with the exception of the moon and Mars. The light and warmth of the sun probably exist in its atmosphere, and the spots which are so often seen on this bright orb, are supposed to be glimpses of the solid mass of the sun itself, that are occasionally obtained through openings in this atmosphere. At all events, this is the more consistent way of accounting for the appearance of these spots. You will get a better idea of the magnitude of the sidereal system, however, by remembering that, in comparison with it, the distances of our entire solar system are as mere specks. Thus, while our own change of positions is known to embrace an orbit of about 200,000,000 of miles, it is nevertheless so trifling as to produce no apparent change of position in thousands of the fixed stars that are believed to be the suns of other systems. Some conjecture even that all these suns, with their several systems, our own included, revolve around a common centre that is invisible to us, but which is the actual throne of God; the comets that we note and measure being heavenly messengers, as it might be, constantly passing from one of these families of worlds to another." I remember that one of the astronomer's pupils asked certain explanations here, touching the planets that it was thought, or rather known, that we could actually see, and those of which the true surfaces were believed to be concealed from us. "I have told you," answered the man of science, "that they are the Moon, Mars and the Sun. Both Venus and Mercury are nearer to us than Mars, but their relative proximities to the sun have some such effect on their surfaces, as placing an object near a strong light is known to have on its appearance. We are dazzled, to speak popularly, and cannot distinguish minutely. With Mars it is different. If this planet has any atmosphere at all, it is one of no great density, and its orbit being without our own, we can easily trace on its surface the outlines of seas and continents. It is even supposed that the tinge of the latter is that of reddish sand-stone, like much of that known in our own world, but more decided in tint, while two brilliant white spots, at its poles, are thought to be light reflected from the snows of those regions, rendered more conspicuous, or disappearing, as they first emerge from a twelvemonths' winter, or melt in a summer of equal duration." I could have listened forever to this astronomer, whose lectures so profoundly taught lessons of humility to the created, and which were so replete with silent eulogies on the power of the Creator! What was it to me whether I were a modest plant, of half a cubit in stature, or the proudest oak of the forest--man or vegetable? My duty was clearly to glorify the dread Being who had produced all these marvels, and to fulfil my time in worship, praise and contentment. It mattered not whether my impressions were derived through organs called ears, and were communicated by others called those of speech, or whether each function was performed by means of sensations and agencies too subtle to be detected by ordinary means. It was enough for me that I heard and understood, and felt the goodness and glory of God. I may say that my first great lessons in true philosophy were obtained in these lectures, where I learned to distinguish between the finite and infinite, ceasing to envy any, while I inclined to worship one. The benevolence of Providence is extended to all its creatures, each receiving it in a mode adapted to its own powers of improvement. My destiny being toward a communion with man--or rather with woman--I have ever looked upon these silent communications with the astronomer as so much preparatory schooling, in order that my mind might be prepared for its own avenir, and not be blinded by an undue appreciation of the importance of its future associates. I know there are those who will sneer at the supposition of a pocket-handkerchief possessing any mind, or esprit, at all; but let such have patience and read on, when I hope it will be in my power to demonstrate their error. {avenir = future; esprit = soul or vital spirit} CHAPTER II. It is scarcely necessary to dwell on the scenes which occurred between the time I first sprang from the earth and that in which I was "pulled." The latter was a melancholy day for me, however, arriving prematurely as regarded my vegetable state, since it was early determined that I was to be spun into threads of unusual fineness. I will only say, here, that my youth was a period of innocent pleasures, during which my chief delight was to exhibit my simple but beautiful flowers, in honor of the hand that gave them birth. At the proper season, the whole field was laid low, when a scene of hurry and confusion succeeded, to which I find it exceedingly painful to turn in memory. The "rotting" was the most humiliating part of the process which followed, though, in our case, this was done in clear running water, and the "crackling" the most uncomfortable. Happily, we were spared the anguish which ordinarily accompanies breaking on the wheel, though we could not be said to have entirely escaped from all its parade. Innocence was our shield, and while we endured some of the disgrace that attaches to mere forms, we had that consolation of which no cruelty or device can deprive the unoffending. Our sorrows were not heightened by the consciousness of undeserving. {"rotting" was... = to prepare flax for weaving as linen it is softened (technically, "retted") by soaking in water, separated from its woody fibers by beating ("scutched"--this seems to be what Cooper means by "crackling"), and finally combed ("hatcheled")} There is a period, which occurred between the time of being "hatcheled" and that of being "woven," that it exceeds my powers to delineate. All around me seemed to be in a state of inextricable confusion, out of which order finally appeared in the shape of a piece of cambric, of a quality that brought the workmen far and near to visit it. We were a single family of only twelve, in this rare fabric, among which I remember that I occupied the seventh place in the order of arrangement, and of course in the order of seniority also. When properly folded, and bestowed in a comfortable covering, our time passed pleasantly enough, being removed from all disagreeable sights and smells, and lodged in a place of great security, and indeed of honor, men seldom failing to bestow this attention on their valuables. {cambric = a fine white linen, originally from Cambray in Flanders} It is out of my power to say precisely how long we remained in this passive state in the hands of the manufacturer. It was some weeks, however, if not months; during which our chief communications were on the chances of our future fortunes. Some of our number were ambitious, and would hear to nothing but the probability, nay, the certainty, of our being purchased, as soon as our arrival in Paris should be made known, by the king, in person, and presented to the dauphine, then the first lady in France. The virtues of the Duchesse d'Angouleme were properly appreciated by some of us, while I discovered that others entertained for her any feelings but those of veneration and respect. This diversity of opinion, on a subject of which one would think none of us very well qualified to be judges, was owing to a circumstance of such every-day occurrence as almost to supersede the necessity of telling it, though the narrative would be rendered more complete by an explanation. {Dauphine = Crown Princess; Duchesse d'Angouleme = Marie Therese Charlotte (1778-1851), the Dauphine, daughter of King Louis XVI and wife of Louis Antoine of Artois, Duke of Angouleme, eldest son of King Charles X--she lost her chance to become queen when her father-in-law abdicated the French throne in 1830--Napoleon said of her that she was "the only man in her family"} It happened, while we lay in the bleaching grounds, that one half of the piece extended into a part of the field that came under the management of a legitimist, while the other invaded the dominions of a liberal. Neither of these persons had any concern with us, we being under the special superintendence of the head workman, but it was impossible, altogether impossible, to escape the consequences of our locales. While the legitimist read nothing but the Moniteur, the liberal read nothing but Le Temps, a journal then recently established, in the supposed interests of human freedom. Each of these individuals got a paper at a certain hour, which he read with as much manner as he could command, and with singular perseverance as related to the difficulties to be overcome, to a clientele of bleachers, who reasoned as he reasoned, swore by his oaths, and finally arrived at all his conclusions. The liberals had the best of it as to numbers, and possibly as to wit, the Moniteur possessing all the dullness of official dignity under all the dynasties and ministries that have governed France since its establishment. My business, however, is with the effect produced on the pocket-handkerchiefs, and not with that produced on the laborers. The two extremes were regular cotes gauches and cotes droits. In other words, all at the right end of the piece became devoted Bourbonists, devoutly believing that princes, who were daily mentioned with so much reverence and respect, could be nothing else but perfect; while the opposite extreme were disposed to think that nothing good could come of Nazareth. In this way, four of our number became decided politicians, not only entertaining a sovereign contempt for the sides they respectively opposed, but beginning to feel sensations approaching to hatred for each other. {bleaching grounds = open spaces where newly woven linen is spread to whiten in the sun; legitimist.... = this paragraph refers to controversies, before the French "July Revolution" of 1830, between rightist ("cote droit" = right side) legitimists, who read the official "Moniteur" newspaper and supported the absolutist Bourbon monarchy of King Charles X, and leftist ("cote gauche" = left side) liberals, who read "Le Temps" and argued for reform or revolution; "nothing good could come of Nazareth" = from the Bible, John, I, 46: "Can any good thing come out of Nazareth"} The reader will readily understand that these feelings lessened toward the centre of the piece, acquiring most intensity at the extremes. I may be said, myself, to have belonged to the centre gauche, that being my accidental position in the fabric, when it was a natural consequence to obtain sentiments of this shade. It will be seen, in the end, how prominent were these early impressions, and how far it is worth while for mere pocket-handkerchiefs to throw away their time, and permit their feelings to become excited concerning interests that they are certainly not destined to control, and about which, under the most favorable circumstances, they seldom obtain other than very questionable information. {centre gauche = center left, i.e., moderate left} It followed from this state of feeling, that the notion we were about to fall into the hands of the unfortunate daughter of Louis XVI excited considerable commotion and disgust among us. Though very moderate in my political antipathies and predilections, I confess to some excitement in my own case, declaring that if royalty WAS to be my lot, I would prefer not to ascend any higher on the scale than to become the property of that excellent princess, Amelie, who then presided in the Palais Royal, the daughter and sister of a king, but with as little prospects as desires of becoming a queen in her own person. This wish of mine was treated as groveling, and even worse than republican, by the cote droit of our piece, while the cote gauche sneered at it as manifesting a sneaking regard for station without the spirit to avow it. Both were mistaken, however; no unworthy sentiments entering into my decision. Accident had made me acquainted with the virtues of this estimable woman, and I felt assured that she would treat even a pocket-handkerchief kindly. This early opinion has been confirmed by her deportment under very trying and unexpected events. I wish, as I believe she wishes herself, she had never been a queen. {daughter of Louis XVI = the dauphine, Marie Therese Charlotte, Duchesse d'Angouleme, mentioned above; Amelie = Marie Amelie (1782-1866), daughter of King Ferdinand IV of Naples, sister of King Francis I of The Two Sicilies--reluctantly became queen in France when her husband the Duke of Orleans seized the throne from Charles X on July 31, 1830, and was proclaimed King Louis Philippe of the French} All our family did not aspire as high as royalty. Some looked forward to the glories of a banker's daughter's trousseau,--we all understood that our PRICE would be too high for any of the old nobility,--while some even fancied that the happiness of traveling in company was reserved for us before we should be called regularly to enter on the duties of life. As we were so closely connected, and on the whole were affectionate as became brothers and sisters, it was the common wish that we might not be separated, but go together into the same wardrobe, let it be foreign or domestic, that of prince or plebeian. There were a few among us who spoke of the Duchesse de Berri as our future mistress; but the notion prevailed that we should so soon pass into the hands of a femme de chambre, as to render the selection little desirable. In the end we wisely and philosophically determined to await the result with patience, well knowing that we were altogether in the hands of caprice and fashion. {Duchesse de Berri = Marie Caroline (1798-1870), wife of Charles Ferdinand of Artois, Duke of Berry, second son of King Charles X; femme de chambre = lady's maid} At length the happy moment arrived when we were to quit the warehouse of the manufacturer. Let what would happen, this was a source of joy, inasmuch as we all knew that we could only vegetate while we continued where we then were, and that too without experiencing the delights of our former position, with good roots in the earth, a genial sun shedding its warmth upon our bosom, and balmy airs fanning our cheeks. We loved change, too, like other people, and had probably seen enough of vegetation, whether figurative or real, to satisfy us. Our departure from Picardie took place in June, 1830, and we reached Paris on the first day of the succeeding month. We went through the formalities of the custom-houses, or barrieres, the same day, and the next morning we were all transferred to a celebrated shop that dealt in articles of our genus. Most of the goods were sent on drays to the magazin, but our reputation having preceded us, we were honored with a fiacre, making the journey between the Douane and the shop on the knee of a confidential commissionaire. {Picardie = province of France, north of Evreux; barrieres = gates at the edge of Paris, where local customs duties were collected; magazin = shop; fiacre = a kind of carriage; Douane = customs house; confidential commissionaire = special messenger} Great was the satisfaction of our little party as we first drove down through the streets of this capital of Europe--the centre of fashion and the abode of elegance. Our natures had adapted themselves to circumstances, and we no longer pined for the luxuries of the linum usitatissimum, but were ready to enter into all the pleasures of our new existence; which we well understood was to be one of pure parade, for no handkerchief of our quality was ever employed on any of the more menial offices of the profession. We might occasionally brush a lady's cheek, or conceal a blush or a smile, but the usitatissimum had been left behind us in the fields. The fiacre stopped at the door of a celebrated perfumer, and the commissionaire, deeming us of too much value to be left on a carriage seat, took us in her hand while she negotiated a small affair with its mistress. This was our introduction to the pleasant association of sweet odors, of which it was to be our fortune to enjoy in future the most delicate and judicious communion. We knew very well that things of this sort were considered vulgar, unless of the purest quality and used with the tact of good society; but still it was permitted to sprinkle a very little lavender, or exquisite eau de cologne, on a pocket-handkerchief. The odor of these two scents, therefore, appeared quite natural to us, and as Madame Savon never allowed any perfume, or articles (as these things are technically termed), of inferior quality to pollute her shop, we had no scruples about inhaling the delightful fragrance that breathed in the place. Desiree, the commissionaire, could not depart without permitting her friend, Madame Savon, to feast her eyes on the treasure in her own hands. The handkerchiefs were unfolded, amidst a hundred dieux! ciels! and dames! Our fineness and beauty were extolled in a manner that was perfectly gratifying to the self-esteem of the whole family. Madame Savon imagined that even her perfumes would be more fragrant in such company, and she insisted on letting one drop--a single drop--of her eau de cologne fall on the beautiful texture. I was the happy handkerchief that was thus favored, and long did I riot in that delightful odor, which was just strong enough to fill the air with sensations, rather than impressions of all that is sweet and womanly in the female wardrobe. {usitatissimum had been left behind = the species name of linen means "most useful"; Madame Savon = literally, Mrs. Soap; articles = short for "articles de Paris" or Parisian specialties; dieux! = dear me!; ciels! = good heavens!; dames = my oh my!} CHAPTER III. Notwithstanding this accidental introduction to one of the nicest distinctions of good society, and the general exhilaration that prevailed in our party, I was far from being perfectly happy. To own the truth, I had left my heart in Picardie. I do not say I was in love; I am far from certain that there is any precedent for a pocket-handkerchief's being in love at all, and I am quite sure that the sensations I experienced were different from those I have since had frequent occasion to hear described. The circumstances which called them forth were as follows: The manufactory in which our family was fabricated was formerly known as the Chateau de la Rocheaimard, and had been the property of the Vicomte de la Rocheaimard previously to the revolution that overturned the throne of Louis XVI. The vicomte and his wife joined the royalists at Coblentz, and the former, with his only son, Adrien de la Rocheaimard, or the Chevalier de la Rocheaimard, as he was usually termed, had joined the allies in their attempted invasion on the soil of France. The vicomte, a marechal du camp, had fallen in battle, but the son escaped, and passed his youth in exile; marrying a few years later, a cousin whose fortunes were at as low an ebb as his own. One child, Adrienne, was the sole issue of this marriage, having been born in the year 1810. Both the parents died before the Restoration, leaving the little girl to the care of her pious grandmother, la vicomtesse, who survived, in a feeble old age, to descant on the former grandeur of her house, and to sigh, in common with so many others, for le bon vieux temps. At the Restoration, there was some difficulty in establishing the right of the de la Rocheaimards to their share of the indemnity; a difficulty I never heard explained, but which was probably owing to the circumstance that there was no one in particular to interest themselves in the matter, but an old woman of sixty-five and a little girl of four. Such appellants, unsupported by money, interest, or power, seldom make out a very strong case for reparation of any sort, in this righteous world of ours, and had it not been for the goodness of the dauphine it is probable that the vicomtesse and her grand-daughter would have been reduced to downright beggary. But the daughter of the late King got intelligence of the necessities of the two descendants of Crusaders, and a pension of two thousand francs a year was granted, en attendant. {Rocheaimard = both the Chateau and the family are fictitious; marechal du camp = general commanding a brigade; le bon vieux temps = the good old days; late King = Louis XVI, guillotined in 1793; en attendant = for the time being} Four hundred dollars a year does not appear a large sum, even to the nouveaux riches of America, but it sufficed to give Adrienne and her grandmother a comfortable, and even a respectable subsistence in the provinces. It was impossible for them to inhabit the chateau, now converted into a workshop and filled with machinery, but lodgings were procured in its immediate vicinity. Here Madame de la Rocheaimard whiled away the close of a varied and troubled life; if not in absolute peace, still not in absolute misery, while her grand-daughter grew into young womanhood, a miracle of goodness and pious devotion to her sole surviving parent. The strength of the family tie in France, and its comparative weakness in America, has been the subject of frequent comment among travelers. I do not know that all which has been said is rigidly just, but I am inclined to think that much of it is, and, as I am now writing to Americans, and of French people, I see no particular reason why the fact should be concealed. Respect for years, deference to the authors of their being, and submission to parental authority are inculcated equally by the morals and the laws of France. The conseilles de famille is a beautiful and wise provision of the national code, and aids greatly in maintaining that system of patriarchal rule which lies at the foundation of the whole social structure. Alas! in the case of the excellent Adrienne, this conseille de famille was easily assembled, and possessed perfect unanimity. The wars, the guillotine and exile had reduced it to two, one of which was despotic in her government, so far as theory was concerned at least; possibly, at times, a little so in practice. Still Adrienne, on the whole grew up tolerably happy. She was taught most that is suitable for a gentlewoman, without being crammed with superfluous accomplishments, and, aided by the good cure, a man who remembered her grandfather, had both polished and stored her mind. Her manners were of the excellent tone that distinguished the good society of Paris before the revolution, being natural, quiet, simple and considerate. She seldom laughed, I fear; but her smiles were sweetness and benevolence itself. {conseille de famille = council of relatives, supervised by a judge, that supervised the care of minors in France; cure = priest} The bleaching grounds of our manufactory were in the old park of the chateau. Thither Mad. de la Rocheaimard was fond of coming in the fine mornings of June, for many of the roses and lovely Persian lilacs that once abounded there still remained. I first saw Adrienne in one of these visits, the quality of our little family circle attracting her attention. One of the bleachers, indeed, was an old servant of the vicomte's, and it was a source of pleasure to him to point out any thing to the ladies that he thought might prove interesting. This was the man who so diligently read the Moniteur, giving a religious credence to all it contained. He fancied no hand so worthy to hold fabrics of such exquisite fineness as that of Mademoiselle Adrienne, and it was through his assiduity that I had the honor of being first placed within the gentle pressure of her beautiful little fingers. This occurred about a month before our departure for Paris. Adrienne de la Rocheaimard was then just twenty. Her beauty was of a character that is not common in France; but which, when it does exist, is nowhere surpassed. She was slight and delicate in person, of fair hair and complexion, and with the meekest and most dove-like blue eyes I ever saw in a female face. Her smile, too, was of so winning and gentle a nature, as to announce a disposition pregnant with all the affections. Still it was well understood that Adrienne was not likely to marry, her birth raising her above all intentions of connecting her ancient name with mere gold, while her poverty placed an almost insuperable barrier between her and most of the impoverished young men of rank whom she occasionally saw. Even the power of the dauphine was not sufficient to provide Adrienne de la Rocheaimard with a suitable husband. But of this the charming girl never thought; she lived more for her grandmother than for herself, and so long as that venerated relative, almost the only one that remained to her on earth, did not suffer or repine, she herself could be comparatively happy. "Dans le bon vieux temps," said the vicomtesse, examining me through her spectacles, and addressing Georges, who stood, hat in hand, to hearken to her wisdom; "dans le bon vieux temps, mon ami, the ladies of the chateau did not want for these things. There were six dozen in my corbeille, that were almost as fine as this; as for the trousseau, I believe it had twice the number, but very little inferior." {dans de bon vieux temps = in the good old days; corbeille = wedding presents from a bridegroom; trousseau = wedding outfit} "I remember that madame," Georges always gave his old mistress this title of honor, "kept many of the beautiful garments of her trousseau untouched, down to the melancholy period of the revolution." "It has been a mine of wealth to me, Georges, in behalf of that dear child. You may remember that this trousseau was kept in the old armoire, on the right hand side of the little door of my dressing-room--" {armoire = cupboard or closet} "Madame la Vicomtesse will have the goodness to pardon me--it was on the LEFT hand side of the room--Monsieur's medals were kept in the opposite armoire." "Our good Georges is right, Adrienne!--he has a memory! Your grandfather insisted on keeping his medals in my dressing-room, as he says. Well, Monsieur Georges, left or right, THERE I left the remains of my trousseau when I fled from France, and there I found it untouched on my return. The manufactory had saved the chateau, and the manufacturers had spared my wardrobe. Its sale, and its materials, have done much toward rendering that dear child respectable and well clad, since our return." I thought the slight color which usually adorned the fair oval cheeks of Adrienne deepened a little at this remark, and I certainly felt a little tremor in the hand which held me; but it could not have been shame, as the sweet girl often alluded to her poverty in a way so simple and natural, as to prove that she had no false feelings on that subject. And why should she? Poverty ordinarily causes no such sensations to those who are conscious of possessing advantages of an order superior to wealth, and surely a well-educated, well-born, virtuous girl need not have blushed because estates were torn from her parents by a political convulsion that had overturned an ancient and powerful throne. CHAPTER IV. From this time, the charming Adrienne frequently visited the bleaching grounds, always accompanied by her grandmother. The presence of Georges was an excuse, but to watch the improvement in our appearance was the reason. Never before had Adrienne seen a fabric as beautiful as our own, and, as I afterwards discovered, she was laying by a few francs with the intention of purchasing the piece, and of working and ornamenting the handkerchiefs, in order to present them to her benefactress, the dauphine. Mad. de la Rocheaimard was pleased with this project; it was becoming in a de la Rocheaimard; and they soon began to speak of it openly in their visits. Fifteen or twenty napoleons might do it, and the remains of the recovered trousseau would still produce that sum. It is probable this intention would have been carried out, but for a severe illness that attacked the dear girl, during which her life was even despaired of. I had the happiness of hearing of her gradual recovery, however, before we commenced our journey, though no more was said of the purchase. Perhaps it was as well as it was; for, by this time, such a feeling existed in our extreme cote gauche, that it may be questioned if the handkerchiefs of that end of the piece would have behaved themselves in the wardrobe of the dauphine with the discretion and prudence that are expected from every thing around the person of a princess of her exalted rank and excellent character. It is true, none of us understood the questions at issue; but that only made the matter worse; the violence of all dissensions being very generally in proportion to the ignorance and consequent confidence of the disputants. {napoleon = French gold coin worth twenty francs} I could not but remember Adrienne, as the commissionaire laid us down before the eyes of the wife of the head of the firm, in the rue de ----. We were carefully examined, and pronounced "parfaits;" still it was not in the sweet tones, and with the sweeter smiles of the polished and gentle girl we had left in Picardie. There was a sentiment in HER admiration that touched all our hearts, even to the most exaggerated republican among us, for she seemed to go deeper in her examination of merits than the mere texture and price. She saw her offering in our beauty, the benevolence of the dauphine in our softness, her own gratitude in our exquisite fineness, and princely munificence in our delicacy. In a word, she could enter into the sentiment of a pocket-handkerchief. Alas! how different was the estimation in which we were held by Desiree and her employers. With them, it was purely a question of francs, and we had not been in the magazin five minutes, when there was a lively dispute whether we were to be put at a certain number of napoleons, or one napoleon more. A good deal was said about Mad. la Duchesse, and I found that it was expected that a certain lady of that rank, one who had enjoyed the extraordinary luck of retaining her fortune, being of an old and historical family, and who was at the head of fashion in the faubourg, would become the purchaser. At all events, it was determined no one should see us until this lady returned to town, she being at the moment at Rosny, with madame, whence she was expected to accompany that princess to Dieppe, to come back to her hotel, in the rue de Bourbon, about the last of October. Here, then, were we doomed to three months of total seclusion in the heart of the gayest capital of Europe. It was useless to repine, and we determined among ourselves to exercise patience in the best manner we could. {faubourg = neighborhood; Rosny = Chateau of Rosny, country estate of the Dukes of Berry at Rosny-sur-Seine; Madame = title of Princess Marie Therese Charlotte, wife of the Dauphin Louis Antoine, heir to Charles X} Accordingly, we were safely deposited in a particular drawer, along with a few other favorite articles, that, like our family, were reserved for the eyes of certain distinguished but absent customers. These specialites in trade are of frequent occurrence in Paris, and form a pleasant bond of union between the buyer and seller, which gives a particular zest to this sort of commerce, and not unfrequently a particular value to goods. To see that which no one else has seen, and to own that which no one else can own, are equally agreeable, and delightfully exclusive. All minds that do not possess the natural sources of exclusion, are fond of creating them by means of a subordinate and more artificial character. {specialites = specialties} On the whole, I think we enjoyed our new situation, rather than otherwise. The drawer was never opened, it is true, but that next it was in constant use, and certain crevices beneath the counter enabled us to see a little, and to hear more, of what passed in the magazin. We were in a part of the shop most frequented by ladies, and we overheard a few tete-a-tetes that were not without amusement. These generally related to cancans. Paris is a town in which cancans do not usually flourish, their proper theatre being provincial and trading places, beyond a question; still there ARE cancans at Paris; for all sorts of persons frequent that centre of civilization. The only difference is, that in the social pictures offered by what are called cities, the cancans are in the strongest light, and in the most conspicuous of the grouping, whereas in Paris they are kept in shadow, and in the background. Still there are cancans at Paris; and cancans we overheard, and precisely in the manner I have related. Did pretty ladies remember that pocket-handkerchiefs have ears, they might possibly have more reserve in the indulgence of this extraordinary propensity. {cancans = scandals (French slang)} We had been near a month in the drawer, when I recognized a female voice near us, that I had often heard of late, speaking in a confident and decided tone, and making allusions that showed she belonged to the court. I presume her position there was not of the most exalted kind, yet it was sufficiently so to qualify her, in her own estimation, to talk politics. "Les ordonnances" were in her mouth constantly, and it was easy to perceive that she attached the greatest importance to these ordinances, whatever they were, and fancied a political millennium was near. The shop was frequented less than usual that day; the next it was worse still, in the way of business, and the clerks began to talk loud, also, about les ordonnances. The following morning neither windows nor doors were opened, and we passed a gloomy time of uncertainty and conjecture. There were ominous sounds in the streets. Some of us thought we heard the roar of distant artillery. At length the master and mistress appeared by themselves in the shop; money and papers were secured, and the female was just retiring to an inner room, when she suddenly came back to the counter, opened our drawer, seized us with no very reverent hands, and, the next thing we knew, the whole twelve of us were thrust into a trunk upstairs, and buried in Egyptian darkness. From that moment all traces of what was occurring in the streets of Paris were lost to us. After all, it is not so very disagreeable to be only a pocket-handkerchief in a revolution. {Les ordonnances = four decrees establishing absolute rule, issued by King Charles X on July 25, 1830, which touched off the July Revolution, leading to his abdication on July 31, and the installation of the Duke of Orleans as Louis Philippe I, King of the French--Cooper was living in Paris during this period, though he returned there from Italy and Germany a few days after the July Revolution itself, and he was a close friend of the Marquis de Lafayette who played a major part in the Revolution and its aftermath; for Cooper and many others, the ultimate results of the Revolution were a serious disappointment, since the new King seemed rapidly to become almost as conservative as the old} Our imprisonment lasted until the following December. As our feelings had become excited on the questions of the day, as well as those of other irrational beings around us, we might have passed a most uncomfortable time in the trunk, but for one circumstance. So great had been the hurry of our mistress in thus shutting us up, that we had been crammed in in a way to leave it impossible to say which was the cote droit, and which the cote gauche. Thus completely deranged as parties, we took to discussing philosophical matters in general; an occupation well adapted to a situation that required so great an exercise of discretion. One day, when we least expected so great a change, our mistress came in person, searched several chests, trunks and drawers, and finally discovered us where she had laid us, with her own hands, near four months before. It seems that, in her hurry and fright, she had actually forgotten in what nook we had been concealed. We were smoothed with care, our political order reestablished, and then we were taken below and restored to the dignity of the select circle in the drawer already mentioned. This was like removing to a fashionable square, or living in a beau quartier of a capital. It was even better than removing from East Broadway into bona fide, real, unequaled, league-long, eighty feet wide, Broadway! {beau quartier = swanky neighborhood; Broadway = in New York City, of course} We now had an opportunity of learning some of the great events that had recently occurred in France, and which still troubled Europe. The Bourbons were again dethroned, as it was termed, and another Bourbon seated in their place. It would seem il y a Bourbon et Bourbon. The result has since shown that "what is bred in the bone will break out in the flesh." Commerce was at a standstill; our master passed half his time under arms, as a national guard, in order to keep the revolutionists from revolutionizing the revolution. The great families had laid aside their liveries; some of them their coaches; most of them their arms. Pocket-handkerchiefs of OUR calibre would be thought decidedly aristocratic; and aristocracy in Paris, just at that moment, was almost in as bad odor as it is in America, where it ranks as an eighth deadly sin, though no one seems to know precisely what it means. In the latter country, an honest development of democracy is certain to be stigmatized as tainted with this crime. No governor would dare to pardon it. {il y a Bourbon et Bourbon = there are Bourbons and Bourbons (i.e., they're all the same); "What is bred in the bone...." = a possibly deliberate misquotation of "It will not out of the flesh that is bred in the bone" from John Heywood, "Proverbes", Part II, Chapter VIII (1546)} The groans over the state of trade were loud and deep among those who lived by its innocent arts. Still, the holidays were near, and hope revived. If revolutionized Paris would not buy as the jour de l'an approached, Paris must have a new dynasty. The police foresaw this, and it ceased to agitate, in order to bring the republicans into discredit; men must eat, and trade was permitted to revive a little. Alas! how little do they who vote, know WHY they vote, or they who dye their hands in the blood of their kind, why the deed has been done! {jour de l'an = New Years Day} The duchesse had not returned to Paris, neither had she emigrated. Like most of the high nobility, who rightly enough believed that primogeniture and birth were of the last importance to THEM, she preferred to show her distaste for the present order of things, by which the youngest prince of a numerous family had been put upon the throne of the oldest, by remaining at her chateau. All expectations of selling us to HER were abandoned, and we were thrown fairly into the market, on the great principle of liberty and equality. This was as became a republican reign. Our prospects were varied daily. The dauphine, madame, and all the de Rochefoucaulds, de la Tremouilles, de Grammonts, de Rohans, de Crillons, &c. &c., were out of the question. The royal family were in England, the Orleans branch excepted, and the high nobility were very generally on their "high ropes," or, a bouder. As for the bankers, their reign had not yet fairly commenced. Previously to July, 1830, this estimable class of citizens had not dared to indulge their native tastes for extravagance and parade, the grave dignity and high breeding of a very ancient but impoverished nobility holding them in some restraint; and, then, THEIR fortunes were still uncertain; the funds were not firm, and even the honorable and worthy Jacques Lafitte, a man to ennoble any calling, was shaking in credit. Had we been brought into the market a twelvemonth later, there is no question that we should have been caught up within a week, by the wife or daughter of some of the operatives at the Bourse. {de Rochefoucaulds, etc. = various French noble families; a bouder = silent; Jacques Lafitte = French financier (1767-1844) who supported the 1830 July Revolution; Bourse = stock exchange} As it was, however, we enjoyed ample leisure for observation and thought. Again and again were we shown to those who, it was thought, could not fail to yield to our beauty, but no one would purchase. All appeared to eschew aristocracy, even in their pocket-handkerchiefs. The day the fleurs de lys were cut out of the medallions of the treasury, and the king laid down his arms, I thought our mistress would have had the hysterics on our account. Little did she understand human nature, for the nouveaux riches, who are as certain to succeed an old and displaced class of superiors, as hungry flies to follow flies with full bellies, would have been much more apt to run into extravagance and folly, than persons always accustomed to money, and who did not depend on its exhibition for their importance. A day of deliverance, notwithstanding, was at hand, which to me seemed like the bridal of a girl dying to rush into the dissipations of society. {fleurs de lys = symbol of the Bourbon monarchs} CHAPTER V. The holidays were over, without there being any material revival of trade, when my deliverance unexpectedly occurred. It was in February, and I do believe our mistress had abandoned the expectation of disposing of us that season, when I heard a gentle voice speaking near the counter, one day, in tones which struck me as familiar. It was a female, of course, and her inquiries were about a piece of cambric handkerchiefs, which she said had been sent to this shop from a manufactory in Picardie. There was nothing of the customary alertness in the manner of our mistress, and, to my surprise, she even showed the customer one or two pieces of much inferior quality, before we were produced. The moment I got into the light, however, I recognized the beautifully turned form and sweet face of Adrienne de la Rocheaimard. The poor girl was paler and thinner than when I had last seen her, doubtless, I thought, the effects of her late illness; but I could not conceal from myself the unpleasant fact that she was much less expensively clad. I say less expensively clad, though the expression is scarcely just, for I had never seen her in attire that could properly be called expensive at all; and, yet, the term mean would be equally inapplicable to her present appearance. It might be better to say that, relieved by a faultless, even a fastidious neatness and grace, there was an air of severe, perhaps of pinched economy in her present attire. This it was that had prevented our mistress from showing her fabrics as fine as we, on the first demand. Still I thought there was a slight flush on the cheek of the poor girl, and a faint smile on her features, as she instantly recognized us for old acquaintances. For one, I own I was delighted at finding her soft fingers again brushing over my own exquisite surface, feeling as if one had been expressly designed for the other. Then Adrienne hesitated; she appeared desirous of speaking, and yet abashed. Her color went and came, until a deep rosy blush settled on each cheek, and her tongue found utterance. "Would it suit you, madame," she asked, as if dreading a repulse, "to part with one of these?" "Your pardon, mademoiselle; handkerchiefs of this quality are seldom sold singly." "I feared as much--and yet I have occasion for only ONE. It is to be worked--if it--" The words came slowly, and they were spoken with difficulty. At that last uttered, the sound of the sweet girl's voice died entirely away. I fear it was the dullness of trade, rather than any considerations of benevolence, that induced our mistress to depart from her rule. "The price of each handkerchief is five and twenty francs, mademoiselle--" she had offered the day before to sell us to the wife of one of the richest agents de change in Paris, at a napoleon a piece--"the price is five and twenty francs, if you take the dozen, but as you appear to wish only ONE, rather than not oblige you, it may be had for eight and twenty." {agents de change = stockbrokers; napoleon = gold coin worth twenty francs} There was a strange mixture of sorrow and delight in the countenance of Adrienne; but she did not hesitate, and, attracted by the odor of the eau de cologne, she instantly pointed me out as the handkerchief she selected. Our mistress passed her scissors between me and my neighbor of the cote gauche, and then she seemed instantly to regret her own precipitation. Before making the final separation from the piece, she delivered herself of her doubts. "It is worth another franc, mademoiselle," she said, "to cut a handkerchief from the CENTRE of the piece." The pain of Adrienne was now too manifest for concealment. That she ardently desired the handkerchief was beyond dispute, and yet there existed some evident obstacle to her wishes. "I fear I have not so much money with me, madame" she said, pale as death, for all sense of shame was lost in intense apprehension. Still her trembling hands did their duty, and her purse was produced. A gold napoleon promised well, but it had no fellow. Seven more francs appeared in single pieces. Then two ten-sous were produced; after which nothing remained but copper. The purse was emptied, and the reticule rummaged, the whole amounting to just twenty-eight francs seven sous. {sou = a small coin (5 centimes)--20 sous equal one franc} "I have no more, madame," said Adrienne, in a faint voice. The woman, who had been trained in the school of suspicion, looked intently at the other, for an instant, and then she swept the money into her drawer, content with having extorted from this poor girl more than she would have dared to ask of the wife of the agent de change. Adrienne took me up and glided from the shop, as if she feared her dear bought prize would yet be torn from her. I confess my own delight was so great that I did not fully appreciate, at the time, all the hardship of the case. It was enough to be liberated, to get into the fresh air, to be about to fulfill my proper destiny. I was tired of that sort of vegetation in which I neither grew, nor was watered by tears; nor could I see those stars on which I so much doated, and from which I had learned a wisdom so profound. The politics, too, were rendering our family unpleasant; the cote droit was becoming supercilious--it had always been illogical; while the cote gauche was just beginning to discover that it had made a revolution for other people. Then it was happiness itself to be with Adrienne, and when I felt the dear girl pressing me to her heart, by an act of volition of which pocket-handkerchiefs are little suspected, I threw up a fold of my gossamer-like texture, as if the air wafted me, and brushed the first tear of happiness from her eye that she had shed in months. {revolution for other people = as he suggests frequently in this story, Cooper believed that the promise of the July Revolution was betrayed, and that the new government of King Louis Philippe proved little better than the old reactionary one of King Charles X; in this he shared the views of his friend the Marquis de Lafayette, the hero of the American Revolution, who as head of the French National Guard had been one of the leaders of the July Revolution in Paris} The reader may be certain that my imagination was all alive to conjecture the circumstances which had brought Adrienne de la Rocheaimard to Paris, and why she had been so assiduous in searching me out, in particular. Could it be that the grateful girl still intended to make her offering to the Duchesse de d'Angouleme? Ah! no--that princess was in exile; while her sister was forming weak plots in behalf of her son, which a double treachery was about to defeat. I have already hinted that pocket-handkerchiefs do not receive and communicate ideas, by means of the organs in use among human beings. They possess a clairvoyance that is always available under favorable circumstances. In their case the mesmeritic trance may be said to be ever in existence, while in the performance of their proper functions. It is only while crowded into bales, or thrust into drawers for the vulgar purposes of trade, that this instinct is dormant, a beneficent nature scorning to exercise her benevolence for any but legitimate objects. I now mean legitimacy as connected with cause and effect, and nothing political or dynastic. {Duchesse d'Angouleme = Marie Therese Charlotte, the Dauphine, Adrienne's patron; her sister = her sister-in-law Marie Caroline, Duchesse de Berry, who led an unsuccessful revolt against the new regime} By virtue of this power, I had not long been held in the soft hand of Adrienne, or pressed against her beating heart, without becoming the master of all her thoughts, as well as her various causes of hope and fear. This knowledge did not burst upon me at once, it is true, as is pretended to be the case with certain somnambules, for with me there is no empiricism--every thing proceeds from cause to effect, and a little time, with some progressive steps, was necessary to make me fully acquainted with the whole. The simplest things became the first apparent, and others followed by a species of magnetic induction, which I cannot now stop to explain. When this tale is told, I propose to lecture on the subject, to which all the editors in the country will receive the usual free tickets, when the world cannot fail of knowing quite as much, at least, as these meritorious public servants. {somnambules = sleep walkers; editors = Cooper had very little respect for the press} The first fact that I learned, was the very important one that the vicomtesse had lost all her usual means of support by the late revolution, and the consequent exile of the dauphine. This blow, so terrible to the grandmother and her dependent child, had occurred, too, most inopportunely, as to time. A half year's pension was nearly due at the moment the great change occurred, and the day of payment arrived and passed, leaving these two females literally without twenty francs. Had it not been for the remains of the trousseau, both must have begged, or perished of want. The crisis called for decision, and fortunately the old lady, who had already witnessed so many vicissitudes, had still sufficient energy to direct their proceedings. Paris was the best place in which to dispose of her effects, and thither she and Adrienne came, without a moment's delay. The shops were first tried, but the shops, in the autumn of 1830, offered indifferent resources for the seller. Valuable effects were there daily sold for a twentieth part of their original cost, and the vicomtesse saw her little stores diminish daily; for the Mont de Piete was obliged to regulate its own proceedings by the received current values of the day. Old age, vexation, and this last most cruel blow, did not fail of effecting that which might have been foreseen. The vicomtesse sunk under this accumulation of misfortunes, and became bed-ridden, helpless, and querulous. Every thing now devolved on the timid, gentle, unpracticed Adrienne. All females of her condition, in countries advanced in civilization like France, look to the resource of imparting a portion of what they themselves have acquired, to others of their own sex, in moments of urgent necessity. The possibility of Adrienne's being compelled to become a governess, or a companion, had long been kept in view, but the situation of Mad. de la Rocheaimard forbade any attempt of the sort, for the moment, had the state of the country rendered it at all probable that a situation could have been procured. On this fearful exigency, Adrienne had aroused all her energies, and gone deliberately into the consideration of her circumstances. {Mont de Piete = traditional term for a municipal pawn shop operated to help the poor} Poverty had compelled Mad. de la Rocheaimard to seek the cheapest respectable lodgings she could find on reaching town. In anticipation of a long residence, and, for the consideration of a considerable abatement in price, she had fortunately paid six months' rent in advance; thus removing from Adrienne the apprehension of having no place in which to cover her head, for some time to come. These lodgings were in an entresol of the Place Royale, a perfectly reputable and private part of the town, and in many respects were highly eligible. Many of the menial offices, too, were to be performed by the wife of the porter, according to the bargain, leaving to poor Adrienne, however, all the care of her grandmother, whose room she seldom quitted, the duties of nurse and cook, and the still more important task of finding the means of subsistence. {entresol = mezzanine, low-ceilinged area between between the first and second floors} For quite a month the poor desolate girl contrived to provide for her grandmother's necessities, by disposing of the different articles of the trousseau. This store was now nearly exhausted, and she had found a milliner who gave her a miserable pittance for toiling with her needle eight or ten hours each day. Adrienne had not lost a moment, but had begun this system of ill-requited industry long before her money was exhausted. She foresaw that her grandmother must die, and the great object of her present existence was to provide for the few remaining wants of this only relative during the brief time she had yet to live, and to give her decent and Christian burial. Of her own future lot, the poor girl thought as little as possible, though fearful glimpses would obtrude themselves on her uneasy imagination. At first she had employed a physician; but her means could not pay for his visits, nor did the situation of her grandmother render them very necessary. He promised to call occasionally without fee, and, for a short time, he kept his word, but his benevolence soon wearied of performing offices that really were not required. By the end of a month, Adrienne saw him no more. As long as her daily toil seemed to supply her own little wants, Adrienne was content to watch on, weep on, pray on, in waiting for the moment she so much dreaded; that which was to sever the last tie she appeared to possess on earth. It is true she had a few very distant relatives, but they had emigrated to America, at the commencement of the revolution of 1789, and all trace of them had long been lost. In point of fact, the men were dead, and the females were grandmothers with English names, and were almost ignorant of any such persons as the de la Rocheaimards. From these Adrienne had nothing to expect. To her, they were as beings in another planet. But the trousseau was nearly exhausted, and the stock of ready money was reduced to a single napoleon, and a little change. It was absolutely necessary to decide on some new scheme for a temporary subsistence, and that without delay. Among the valuables of the trousseau was a piece of exquisite lace, that had never been even worn. The vicomtesse had a pride in looking at it, for it showed the traces of her former wealth and magnificence, and she would never consent to part with it. Adrienne had carried it once to her employer, the milliner, with the intention of disposing of it, but the price offered was so greatly below what she knew to be the true value, that she would not sell it. Her own wardrobe, however, was going fast, nothing disposable remained of her grandmother's, and this piece of lace must be turned to account in some way. While reflecting on these dire necessities, Adrienne remembered our family. She knew to what shop we had been sent in Paris, and she now determined to purchase one of us, to bestow on the handkerchief selected some of her own beautiful needle work, to trim it with this lace, and, by the sale, to raise a sum sufficient for all her grandmother's earthly wants. Generous souls are usually ardent. Their hopes keep pace with their wishes, and, as Adrienne had heard that twenty napoleons were sometimes paid by the wealthy for a single pocket-handkerchief, when thus decorated, she saw a little treasure in reserve, before her mind's eye. "I can do the work in two months," she said to herself, "by taking the time I have used for exercise, and by severe economy; by eating less myself, and working harder, we can make out to live that time on what we have." This was the secret of my purchase, and the true reason why this lovely girl had literally expended her last sou in making it. The cost had materially exceeded her expectations, and she could not return home without disposing of some article she had in her reticule, to supply the vacuum left in her purse. There would be nothing ready for the milliner, under two or three days, and there was little in the lodgings to meet the necessities of her grandmother. Adrienne had taken her way along the quays, delighted with her acquisition, and was far from the Mont de Piete before this indispensable duty occurred to her mind. She then began to look about her for a shop in which she might dispose of something for the moment. Luckily she was the mistress of a gold thimble, that had been presented to her by her grandmother, as her very last birth-day present. It was painful for her to part with it, but, as it was to supply the wants of that very parent, the sacrifice cost her less than might otherwise have been the case. Its price had been a napoleon, and a napoleon, just then, was a mint of money in her eyes. Besides, she had a silver thimble at home, and a brass one would do for her work. Adrienne's necessities had made her acquainted with several jewellers' shops. To one of these she now proceeded, and, first observing through the window that no person was in but one of her own sex, the silversmith's wife, she entered with the greater confidence and alacrity. "Madame," she said, in timid tones, for want had not yet made Adrienne bold or coarse, "I have a thimble to dispose of--could you be induced to buy it?" The woman took the thimble and examined it, weighed it, and submitted its metal to the test of the touchstone. It was a pretty thimble, though small, or it would not have fitted Adrienne's finger. This fact struck the woman of the shop, and she cast a suspicious glance at Adrienne's hand, the whiteness and size of which, however, satisfied her that the thimble had not been stolen. {touchstone = a variety of black stone used to test the purity of gold, by the streak it leaves when rubbed on the stone} "What do you expect to receive for this thimble, mademoiselle?" asked the woman, coldly. "It cost a napoleon, madame, and was made expressly for myself." "You do not expect to sell it at what it cost?" was the dry answer. "Perhaps not, madame--I suppose you will look for a profit in selling it again. I wish you to name the price." This was said because the delicate ever shrink from affixing a value to the time and services of others. Adrienne was afraid she might unintentionally deprive the other of a portion of her just gains. The woman understood by the timidity and undecided manner of the applicant, that she had a very unpracticed being to deal with, and she was emboldened to act accordingly. First taking another look at the pretty little hand and fingers, to make certain the thimble might not be reclaimed, when satisfied that it really belonged to her who wished to dispose of it, she ventured to answer. "In such times as we had before these vile republicans drove all the strangers from Paris, and when our commerce was good," she said, "I might have offered seven francs and a half for that thimble; but, as things are now, the last sou I can think of giving is five francs." "The gold is very good, madame," Adrienne observed, in a voice half-choked, "they told my grandmother the metal alone was worth thirteen." "Perhaps, mademoiselle, they might give that much at the mint, for there they coin money; but, in this shop, no one will give more than five francs for that thimble." Had Adrienne been longer in communion with a cold and heartless world, she would not have submitted to this piece of selfish extortion; but, inexperienced, and half frightened by the woman's manner, she begged the pittance offered as a boon, dropped her thimble, and made a hasty retreat. When the poor girl reached the street, she began to reflect on what she had done. Five francs would scarcely support her grandmother a week, with even the wood and wine she had on hand, and she had no more gold thimbles to sacrifice. A heavy sigh broke from her bosom, and tears stood in her eyes. But she was wanted at home, and had not the leisure to reflect on her own mistake. CHAPTER VI. Occupation is a blessed relief to the miserable. Of all the ingenious modes of torture that have ever been invented, that of solitary confinement is probably the most cruel--the mind feeding on itself with the rapacity of a cormorant, when the conscience quickens its activity and feeds its longings. Happily for Adrienne, she had too many positive cares, to be enabled to waste many minutes either in retrospection, or in endeavors to conjecture the future. Far--far more happily for herself, her conscience was clear, for never had a purer mind, or a gentler spirit dwelt in female breast. Still she could blame her own oversight, and it was days before her self-upbraidings, for thus trifling with what she conceived to be the resources of her beloved grandmother, were driven from her thoughts by the pressure of other and greater ills. Were I to last a thousand years, and rise to the dignity of being the handkerchief that the Grand Turk is said to toss toward his favorite, I could not forget the interest with which I accompanied Adrienne to the door of her little apartment, in the entresol. She was in the habit of hiring little Nathalie, the porter's daughter, to remain with her grandmother during her own necessary but brief absences, and this girl was found at the entrance, eager to be relieved. "Has my grandmother asked for me, Nathalie?" demanded Adrienne, anxiously, the moment they met. "Non, mademoiselle; madame has done nothing but sleep, and I was getting SO tired!" The sou was given, and the porter's daughter disappeared, leaving Adrienne alone in the ante-chamber. The furniture of this little apartment was very respectable, for Madame de la Rocheaimard, besides paying a pretty fair rent, had hired it just after the revolution, when the prices had fallen quite half, and the place had, by no means, the appearance of that poverty which actually reigned within. Adrienne went through the ante-chamber, which served also as a salle a manger, and passed a small saloon, into the bed-chamber of her parent. Here her mind was relieved by finding all right. She gave her grandmother some nourishment, inquired tenderly as to her wishes, executed several little necessary offices, and then sat down to work for her own daily bread; every moment being precious to one so situated. I expected to be examined--perhaps caressed, fondled, or praised, but no such attention awaited me. Adrienne had arranged every thing in her own mind, and I was to be produced only at those extra hours in the morning, when she had been accustomed to take exercise in the open air. For the moment I was laid aside, though in a place that enabled me to be a witness of all that occurred. The day passed in patient toil, on the part of the poor girl, the only relief she enjoyed being those moments when she was called on to attend to the wants of her grandmother. A light potage, with a few grapes and bread, composed her dinner; even of these I observed that she laid aside nearly half for the succeeding day, doubts of her having the means of supporting her parent until the handkerchief was completed beginning to beset her mind. It was these painful and obtrusive doubts that most distressed the dear girl, now, for the expectation of reaping a reward comparatively brilliant, from the ingenious device to repair her means on which she had fallen, was strong within her. Poor child! her misgivings were the overflowings of a tender heart, while her hopes partook of the sanguine character of youth and inexperience! {salle a manger = dining room; salon = living room; potage = soup} My turn came the following morning. It was now spring, and this is a season of natural delights at Paris. We were already in April, and the flowers had begun to shed their fragrance on the air, and to brighten the aspect of the public gardens. Mad. de la Rocheaimard usually slept the soundest at this hour, and, hitherto, Adrienne had not hesitated to leave her, while she went herself to the nearest public promenade, to breathe the pure air and to gain strength for the day. In future, she was to deny herself this sweet gratification. It was such a sacrifice, as the innocent and virtuous, and I may add the tasteful, who are cooped up amid the unnatural restraints of a town, will best know how to appreciate. Still it was made without a murmur, though not without a sigh. When Adrienne laid me on the frame where I was to be ornamented by her own pretty hands, she regarded me with a look of delight, nay, even of affection, that I shall never forget. As yet she felt none of the malign consequences of the self-denial she was about to exert. If not blooming, her cheeks still retained some of their native color, and her eye, thoughtful and even sad, was not yet anxious and sunken. She was pleased with her purchase, and she contemplated prodigies in the way of results. Adrienne was unusually skillful with the needle, and her taste had been so highly cultivated, as to make her a perfect mistress of all the proprieties of patterns. At the time it was thought of making an offering of all our family to the dauphine, the idea of working the handkerchiefs was entertained, and some designs of exquisite beauty and neatness had been prepared. They were not simple, vulgar, unmeaning ornaments, such as the uncultivated seize upon with avidity on account of their florid appearance, but well devised drawings, that were replete with taste and thought, and afforded some apology for the otherwise senseless luxury contemplated, by aiding in refining the imagination, and cultivating the intellect. She had chosen one of the simplest and most beautiful of these designs, intending to transfer it to my face, by means of the needle. The first stitch was made just as the clocks were striking the hour of five, on the morning of the fourteenth of April, 1831. The last was drawn that day two months, precisely as the same clocks struck twelve. For four hours Adrienne sat bending over her toil, deeply engrossed in the occupation, and flattering herself with the fruits of her success. I learned much of the excellent child's true character in these brief hours. Her mind wandered over her hopes and fears, recurring to her other labors, and the prices she received for occupations so wearying and slavish. By the milliner, she was paid merely as a common sewing-girl, though her neatness, skill and taste might well have entitled her to double wages. A franc a day was the usual price for girls of an inferior caste, and out of this they were expected to find their own lodgings and food. But the poor revolution had still a great deal of private misery to answer for, in the way of reduced wages. Those who live on the frivolities of mankind, or, what is the same thing, their luxuries, have two sets of victims to plunder--the consumer, and the real producer, or the operative. This is true where men are employed, but much truer in the case of females. The last are usually so helpless, that they often cling to oppression and wrong, rather than submit to be cast entirely upon the world. The marchande de mode who employed Adrienne was as rusee as a politician who had followed all the tergiversations of Gallic policy, since the year '89. She was fully aware of what a prize she possessed in the unpracticed girl, and she felt the importance of keeping her in ignorance of her own value. By paying the franc, it might give her assistant premature notions of her own importance; but, by bringing her down to fifteen sous, humility could be inculcated, and the chance of keeping her doubled. This, which would have defeated a bargain with any common couturiere, succeeded perfectly with Adrienne. She received her fifteen sous with humble thankfulness, in constant apprehension of losing even that miserable pittance. Nor would her employer consent to let her work by the piece, at which the dear child might have earned at least thirty sous, for she discovered that she had to deal with a person of conscience, and that in no mode could as much be possibly extracted from the assistant, as by confiding to her own honor. At nine each day she was to breakfast. At a quarter past nine, precisely, to commence work for her employer; at one, she had a remission of half an hour; and at six, she became her own mistress. {marchande de mode = milliner; rusee = crafty; couturiere = seamstress} "I put confidence in you, mademoiselle," said the marchande de mode, "and leave you to yourself entirely. You will bring home the work as it is finished, and your money will be always ready. Should your grandmother occupy more of your time than common, on any occasion, you can make it up of yourself, by working a little earlier, or a little later; or, once in a while, you can throw in a day, to make up for lost time. You would not do as well at piecework, and I wish to deal generously by you. When certain things are wanted in a hurry, you will not mind working an hour or two beyond time, and I will always find lights with the greatest pleasure. Permit me to advise you to take the intermissions as much as possible for your attentions to your grandmother, who must be attended to properly. Si--the care of our parents is one of our most solemn duties! Adieu, mademoiselle; au revoir!" {find lights = supply candles; si = yes indeed} This was one of the speeches of the marchande de mode to Adrienne, and the dear girl repeated it in her mind, as she sat at work on me, without the slightest distrust of the heartless selfishness it so ill concealed. On fifteen sous she found she could live without encroaching on the little stock set apart for the support of her grandmother, and she was content. Alas! The poor girl had not entered into any calculation of the expense of lodgings, of fuel, of clothes, of health impaired, and as for any resources for illness or accidents, she was totally without them. Still Adrienne thought herself the obliged party, in times as critical as those which then hung over France, in being permitted to toil for a sum that would barely supply a grisette, accustomed all her life to privations, with the coarsest necessaries. {grisette = working-class girl} I have little to say of the succeeding fortnight. Mad. De la Rocheaimard gradually grew feebler, but she might still live months. No one could tell, and Adrienne hoped she would never die. Happily, her real wants were few; though her appetite was capricious, and her temper querulous. Love for her grandchild, however, shone in all she said and did, and so long as she was loved by this, the only being on earth she had ever been taught to love herself, Adrienne would not think an instant of the ills caused by the infirmities of age. She husbanded her money, with the utmost frugality, and contrived to save even a few sous daily, out of her own wages, to add to her grandmother's stock. This she could not have done, but for the circumstance of there being so much in the house of their early stores, to help eke out the supplies of the moment. But, at the end of a fortnight, Adrienne found herself reduced to her last franc, including all her own savings. Something must be done, and that without delay, or Madame de la Rocheaimard would be without the means of support. By this time Adrienne had little to dispose of, except the lace. This exquisite piece of human ingenuity had originally cost five louis d'or, and Adrienne had once shown it to her employer, who had generously offered to give two napoleons for it. But the lace must be kept for my gala dress, and it was hoped that it would bring at least its original cost when properly bestowed as an ornament on a fabric of my quality. There was the silver thimble, and that had cost five francs. Adrienne sent for the porter's daughter, and she went forth to dispose of this, almost the only article of luxury that remained to her. {louis d'or = gold coin worth 20 francs} "Un de, ma bonne demoiselle!" exclaimed the woman to whom the thimble was offered for sale; "this is so common an article as scarcely to command any price. I will give thirty sous, notwithstanding." {Un de.... = A thimble, young lady!} Adrienne had made her calculations, as she fancied, with some attention to the ways of the world. Bitter experience was teaching her severe lessons, and she felt the necessity of paying more attention than had been her wont to the practices of men. She had hoped to receive three francs for her thimble, which was quite new, and which, being pretty, was cheap at five, as sold in the shops. She ventured, therefore, to express as much to the woman in question. "Three francs, Mademoiselle!" exclaimed the other--"Jamais, since the three days! All our commerce was then destroyed, and no one would think of giving such a price. If I get three for it myself I shall be too happy. Cependant, as the thimble is pretty, and the metal looks good, we will say five and thirty sous, and have no more words about it." {Jamais = never; three days = the three days of the July Revolution; Cependant = nevertheless} Adrienne sighed, and then she received the money and returned home. Two hours later the woman of the shop met with an idle customer who had more money than discretion, and she sold this very thimble for six francs, under the plea that it was a new fashion that had sprung out of the Revolution of July. That illustrious event, however, produced other results that were quite as hard to be reduced to the known connection between cause and effect as this. Adrienne found that by using the wine which still remained, as well as some sugar and arrowroot, her grandmother could be made comfortable for just ten sous a day. She had been able to save of her own wages three, and here, then, were the means of maintaining Madame de la Rocheaimard, including the franc on hand, for just a week longer. To do this, however, some little extra economy would be necessary. Adrienne had conscientiously taken the time used to sell the thimble from her morning's work on me. As she sat down, on her return, she went over these calculations in her mind, and when they were ended, she cast a look at her work, as if to calculate its duration by what she had so far finished. Her eye assured her that not more than one fourth of her labor was, as yet, completed. Could she get over the next six weeks, however, she would be comparatively rich, and, as her lease would be out in two months, she determined to get cheaper lodgings in the country, remove her grandmother, purchase another handkerchief--if possible one of my family--and while she lived on the fruits of her present labors, to earn the means for a still more remote day. It is true, she had no more lace with which to decorate another handkerchief, but the sale of this would supply the money to purchase anew, and in this way the simple minded girl saw no reason why she might not continue on as long as health and strength would allow--at least as long as her grandmother lived. Hope is as blessed a provision for the poor and unhappy as occupation. While oppressed with present ills they struggle to obtain a fancied existence under happier auspices, furnishing a healthful and important lesson to man, that never ceases to remind him of a future that is to repair every wrong, apply a balm to every wound, if he will only make a timely provision for its wants. Again did Adrienne resume her customary round of duties. Four hours each morning were devoted to me. Then followed the frugal breakfast, when her commoner toil for the milliner succeeded. The rest of the day was occupied with this latter work, for which she received the customary fifteen sous. When she retired at night, which the ailings and complaints of her grandmother seldom permitted before eleven, it was with a sense of weariness that began to destroy sleep; still the dear girl thought herself happy, for I more than equaled her expectations, and she had latterly worked on me with so much zeal as to have literally thrown the fruits of two weeks' work into one. But the few francs Adrienne possessed diminished with alarming rapidity. She began to calculate her ways and means once more, and this was no longer done as readily as before. Her own wardrobe would not bear any drain upon it. Early in the indisposition of her grandmother, all of THAT had been sold which she could spare; for, with the disinterestedness of her nature, when sacrifices became necessary her first thoughts were of her own little stock of clothes. Of jewelry she never had been the mistress of much, though the vicomtesse had managed to save a few relics of her own ancient magnificence. Nevertheless, they were articles of but little value, the days of her exile having made many demands on all such resources. It happened, one evening when Adrienne was receiving her wages from the milliner, that the poor girl overheard a discourse that proved she was not paid at the rate at which others were remunerated. Her eyes told her that her own work was the neatest in the shop, and she also saw that she did more than any other girl employed by the same person. As she knew her own expertness with the needle, this did not surprise her; but she felt some wonder that more and better work should produce the least reward. Little did she understand the artifices of the selfish and calculating, one of the most familiar of their frauds being to conceal from the skillful their own success, lest it should command a price in proportion to its claims. The milliner heard Adrienne's lady-like and gentle remonstrance with alarm, and she felt that she was in danger of losing a prize. But two expedients suggested themselves; to offer a higher price, or to undervalue the services she was so fearful of losing. Her practiced policy, as well as her selfishness, counseled her to try the latter expedient first. "You amaze me, mademoiselle," she answered, when Adrienne, trembling at her own resolution, ceased speaking. "I was thinking myself whether I could afford to pay you fifteen sous, when so many young women who have been regularly brought up to the business are willing to work for less. I am afraid we must part, unless you can consent to receive twelve sous in future." Adrienne stood aghast. The very mirror of truth herself, she could not imagine that any one--least of all any woman--could be so false and cruel as to practice the artifice to which the milliner had resorted; and, here, just as she saw a way opened by which she might support both her grandmother and herself until the handkerchief was completed, a change threatened her, by which she was to be left altogether without food. Still her conscience was so tender that she even doubted the propriety of accepting her old wages were she really incompetent to earn them. "I had hoped, madame," she said, the color coming and going on cheeks that were now usually pale--"I had hoped, madame, that you found my work profitable. Surely, surely I bring home as much at night as any other demoiselle you employ." "In that there is not much difference, I allow, mademoiselle; but you can imagine that work done by one accustomed to the art is more likely to please customers than work done by one who has been educated as a lady. Cependant, I will not throw you off, as I know that your poor dear grandmother--" "Si--si," eagerly interrupted Adrienne, trembling from head to foot with apprehension. "I know it all, mademoiselle, and the dear old lady shall not suffer; you shall both be made happy again on fifteen. To ease your mind, mademoiselle, I am willing to make a written contract for a year; at that rate, too, to put your heart at ease." "Non--non--non," murmured Adrienne, happy and grateful for the moment, but unwilling to defeat her own plans for the future. "Thank you, thank you, madame; to-morrow you shall see what I can do." And Adrienne toiled the succeeding day, not only until her fingers and body ached, but, until her very heart ached. Poor child! Little did she think that she was establishing precedents against herself, by which further and destructive exertions might be required. But the apprehension of losing the pittance she actually received, and thereby blasting all hopes from me, was constantly before her mind, quickening her hand and sustaining her body. During all this time Madame de la Rocheaimard continued slowly to sink. Old age, disappointments and poverty were working out their usual results, and death was near to close the scene. So gradual were the changes, however, that Adrienne did not note them, and accustomed as she had been to the existence, the presence, the love of this one being, and of this being only, to her the final separation scarce seemed within the bounds of possibility. Surely every thing around the human family inculcates the doctrine of the mysterious future, and the necessity of living principally that they be prepared to die. All they produce perishes, all they imagine perishes, as does all they love. The union of two beings may be so engrossing, in their eyes, have lasted so long, and embraced so many ties, as to seem indissoluble; it is all seeming; the hour will infallibly come when the past becomes as nothing, except as it has opened the way to the future. Adrienne at length, by dint of excessive toil, by working deep into the nights, by stinting herself of food, and by means of having disposed of the last article with which she could possibly part, had managed to support her grandmother and herself, until she saw me so far done as to be within another day's work of completion. At such a moment as this all feeling of vanity is out of the question. I was certainly very beautiful. A neater, a more tasteful, a finer, or a more exquisitely laced handkerchief, did not exist within the walls of Paris. In all that she figured to herself, as related to my appearance, the end justified her brightest expectations; but, as that end drew near, she felt how insufficient were human results to meet the desires of human hopes. Now that her painful and exhausting toil was nearly over, she did not experience the happiness she had anticipated. The fault was not in me; but in herself. Hope had exhausted her spirit, and as if merely to teach the vanity of the wishes of men, a near approach to the object that had seemed so desirable in the distance, had stripped off the mask and left the real countenance exposed. There was nothing unusual in this; it was merely following out a known law of nature. CHAPTER VII. The morning of the 14th June arrived. Paris is then at its loveliest season. The gardens in particular are worthy of the capital of Europe, and they are open to all who can manage to make a decent appearance. Adrienne's hotel had a little garden in the rear, and she sat at her window endeavoring to breathe the balmy odors that arose from it. Enter it she could not. It was the property, or devoted to the uses, of the occupant of the rez de chaussee. Still she might look at it as often as she dared to raise her eyes from her needle. The poor girl was not what she had been two months before. The handkerchief wanted but a few hours of being finished, it is true, but the pale cheeks, the hollow eyes and the anxious look, proved at what a sacrifice of health and physical force I had become what I was. As I had grown in beauty, the hand that ornamented me had wasted, and when I looked up to catch the smile of approbation, it was found to be care worn and melancholy. Still the birds did not sing the less sweetly, for Paris is full of birds, the roses were as fragrant, and the verdure was as deep as ever. Nature does not stop to lament over any single victim of human society. When misery is the deepest, there is something awful in this perpetual and smiling round of natural movements. It teaches profoundly the insignificance of the atoms of creation. {rez de chaussee = ground floor} Adrienne had risen earlier than common, even, this morning, determined to get through with her task by noon, for she was actually sewing on the lace, and her impatience would not permit her to resume the work of the milliner that day, at least. For the last month she had literally lived on dry bread herself; at first with a few grapes to give her appetite a little gratification, but toward the last, on nothing but bread and water. She had not suffered so much from a want of food, however, as from a want of air and exercise; from unremitting, wasting toil at a sedentary occupation, from hope deferred and from sleepless nights. Then she wanted the cheering association of sympathy. She was strictly alone; with the exception of her short interviews with the milliner, she conversed with no one. Her grandmother slept most of the time, and when she did speak, it was with the querulousness of disease, and not in the tones of affection. This was hardest of all to bear; but Adrienne did bear up under all, flattering herself that when she could remove Mad. de la Rocheaimard into the country, her grandmother would revive and become as fond of her as ever. She toiled on, therefore, though she could not altogether suppress her tears. Under her painful and pressing circumstances, the poor girl felt her deepest affliction to be that she had not time to pray. Her work, now that she had nothing to expect from the milliner, could not be laid aside for a moment, though her soul did pour out its longings as she sat plying her needle. Fortunately, Madame de la Rocheaimard was easy and tranquil the whole of the last morning. Although nearly exhausted by her toil and the want of food, for Adrienne had eaten her last morsel, half a roll, at breakfast, she continued to toil; but the work was nearly done, and the dear girl's needle fairly flew. Of a sudden she dropped me in her lap and burst into a flood of tears. Her sobs were hysterical, and I felt afraid she would faint. A glass of water, however, restored her, and then this outpouring of an exhausted nature was suppressed. I was completed! At that instant, if not the richest, I was probably the neatest and most tasteful handkerchief in Paris. At this critical moment, Desiree, the commissionaire, entered the room. From the moment that Adrienne had purchased me, this artful woman had never lost sight of the intended victim. By means of an occasional bribe to little Nathalie, she ascertained the precise progress of the work, and learning that I should probably be ready for sale that very morning, under the pretence of hiring the apartment, she was shown into my important presence. A brief apology explained all, and Adrienne civilly showed her little rooms. "When does your lease end, mademoiselle?" demanded Desiree, carelessly. "Next week, madame. I intend to remove to the country with my grandmother the beginning of the week." "You will do very right; no one that has the means should stay in Paris after June. Dieu! What a beautiful handkerchief! Surely--surely--this is not your work, mademoiselle?" Adrienne simply answered in the affirmative, and then the commissionaire's admiration was redoubled. Glancing her eye round the room, as if to ascertain the probabilities, the woman inquired if the handkerchief was ordered. Adrienne blushed, but shaking off the transient feeling of shame, she stated that it was for sale. "I know a lady who would buy this--a marchande de mode, a friend of mine, who gives the highest prices that are ever paid for such articles--for to tell you the truth certain Russian princesses employ her in all these little matters. Have you thought of your price, mademoiselle?" Adrienne's bloom had actually returned, with this unexpected gleam of hope, for the affair of disposing of me had always appeared awful in her imagination. She owned the truth frankly, and said that she had not made herself acquainted with the prices of such things, except as she had understood what affluent ladies paid for them. "Ah! that is a different matter," said Desiree, coldly. "These ladies pay far more than a thing is worth. Now you paid ten francs for the handkerchief itself." "Twenty-eight," answered Adrienne, trembling. "Twenty-eight! mademoiselle, they deceived you shamefully. Ten would have been dear in the present absence of strangers from Paris. No, call THAT ten. This lace would probably bring a napoleon--yes, I think it might bring a napoleon." Adrienne's heart sunk within her. She had supposed it to be worth at least five times as much. "That makes thirty francs," continued Desiree coldly; "and now for the work. You must have been a fortnight doing all this pretty work." "Two months, madame," said Adrienne, faintly. "Two months! Ah! you are not accustomed to this sort of work and are not adroit, perhaps." "I worked only in the mornings and late at night; but still think I worked full hours." "Yes, you worked when sleepy. Call it a month, then. Thirty days at ten sous a day make fifteen francs. Ten for the handkerchief, twenty for the lace, and fifteen for the work, make forty-five francs--parole d'honneur, it does come to a pretty price for a handkerchief. Si, we must ask forty-five francs for it, and then we can always abate the five francs, and take two napoleons." {parole d'honneur = word of honor, upon my word!} Adrienne felt sick at heart. Want of nourishment had lessened her energies, and here came a blow to all her golden visions that was near overcoming her. She knew that handkerchiefs similar to this frequently sold for twenty napoleons in the shops, but she did not know how much the cupidity of trade extracted from the silly and vain in the way of sheer contributions to avarice. It is probable the unfortunate young lady would have lost her consciousness, under the weight of this blow, had it not been for the sound of her grandmother's feeble voice calling her to the bedside. This was a summons that Adrienne never disregarded, and, for the moment, she forgot her causes of grief. "My poor Adrienne," whispered Madame de la Rocheaimard in a tone of tenderness that her granddaughter had not heard for some weeks, "my poor Adrienne, the hour is near when we must part--" "Grand-mamma!--dearest grand-mamma!" "Nay, love, God wills it. I am old, and I feel death upon me. It is happy that he comes so gently, and when I am so well prepared to meet him. The grave has views, that no other scene offers, Adrienne! Noble blood and ancient renown are as nothing compared to God's mercy and forgiveness. Pardon me if I have ever taught thy simple heart to dwell on vanities; but it was a fault of the age. This world is all vanity, and I can now see it when it is too late. Do not let MY fault be THY fault, child of my love. Kiss me, Adrienne, pray for my soul when all is over." "Yes, dearest, dearest grand-mamma, thou know'st I will." "Thou must part with the rest of the trousseau to make thyself comfortable when I am gone." "I will do as thou wishest, dearest grand-mamma." "Perhaps it will raise enough to purchase thee four or five hundred francs of rentes, on which thou may'st live with frugality." {rentes = annuity, yearly income} "Perhaps it will, grand-mamma." "Thou wilt not sell the thimble--THAT thou wilt keep to remember me." Adrienne bowed her head and groaned. Then her grandmother desired her to send for a priest, and her thoughts took another direction. It was fortunate they did, for the spirit of the girl could not have endured more. That night Madame de la Rocheaimard died, the wife of the porter, the bon cure, and Adrienne alone being present. Her last words were a benediction on the fair and gentle being who had so faithfully and tenderly nursed her in old age. When all was over, and the body was laid out, Adrienne asked to be left alone with it. Living or dead, her grandmother could never be an object of dread to her, and there were few disposed to watch. In the course of the night, Adrienne even caught a little sleep, a tribute that nature imperiously demanded of her weakness. {bon cure = worthy parish priest} The following day was one of anguish and embarrassment. The physician, who always inspects the dead in France, came to make his report. The arrangements were to be ordered for the funeral. Fortunately, as Adrienne then thought, Desiree appeared in the course of the morning, as one who came in consequence of having been present at so much of the scene of the preceding day. In her character of a commissionaire she offered her services, and Adrienne, unaccustomed to act for herself in such offices, was fain to accept them. She received an order, or rather an answer to a suggestion of her own, and hurried off to give the necessary directions. Adrienne was now left alone again with the body of her deceased grandmother. As soon as the excitement ceased, she began to feel languid, and she became sensible of her own bodily wants. Food of no sort had passed her lips in more than thirty hours, and her last meal had been a scanty breakfast of dry bread. As the faintness of hunger came over her, Adrienne felt for her purse with the intention of sending Nathalie to a neighboring baker's, when the truth flashed upon her, in its dreadful reality. She had not a liard. Her last sou had furnished the breakfast of the preceding day. A sickness like that of death came over her, when, casting her eyes around her in despair, they fell on the little table that usually held the nourishment prepared for her grandmother. A little arrowroot, and a light potage, that contained bread, still remained. Although it was all that seemed to separate the girl from death, she hesitated about using it. There was an appearance of sacrilege, in her eyes, in the act of appropriating these things to herself. A moment's reflection, however, brought her to a truer state of mind, and then she felt it to be a duty to that dear parent herself, to renew her own strength, in order to discharge her duty to the dead. She ate, therefore, though it was with a species of holy reverence. Her strength was renewed, and she was enabled to relieve her soul by prayer. {liard = half-farthing, the tiniest of coins} "Mademoiselle will have the goodness to give me ten francs," said Desiree, on her return; "I have ordered every thing that is proper, but money is wanting to pay for some little articles that will soon come." "I have no money, Desiree--not even a sou." "No money, mademoiselle? In the name of heaven, how are we to bury your grandmother?" "The handkerchief--" Desiree shook her head, and saw that she must countermand most of the orders. Still she was human, and she was a female. She could not altogether desert one so helpless, in a moment of such extreme distress. She reflected on the matter for a minute or two, and opened her mind. "This handkerchief might sell for forty-five francs, mademoiselle," she said, "and I will pay that much for it myself, and will charge nothing for my services to-day. Your dear grandmother must have Christian burial, that is certain, and poor enough will that be which is had for two napoleons. What say you, mademoiselle--will you accept the forty five francs, or would you prefer seeing the marchande de mode?" "I can see no one now, Desiree. Give me the money, and do honor to the remains of my dear, dear grandmother." Adrienne said this with her hands resting on her lap in quiescent despair. Her eyes were hollow and vacant, her cheeks bloodless, her mind almost as helpless as that of an infant. Desiree laid down two napoleons, keeping the five francs to pay for some necessaries, and then she took me in her hands, as if to ascertain whether she had done too much. Satisfied on this head, I was carefully replaced in the basket, when the commissionaire went out again, on her errands, honorably disposed to be useful. Still she did not deem it necessary to conceal her employer's poverty, which was soon divulged to the porteress, and by her to the bourgeois. {bourgeois = towns-people, neighbors} Adrienne had now the means of purchasing food, but, ignorant how much might be demanded on behalf of the approaching ceremony, she religiously adhered to the use of dry bread. When Desiree returned in the evening, she told the poor girl that the convoi was arranged for the following morning, that she had ordered all in the most economical way, but that thirty-five francs were the lowest sou for which the funeral could be had. Adrienne counted out the money, and then found herself the mistress of just FOUR FRANCS TEN SOUS. When Desiree took her leave for the night, she placed me in her basket, and carried me to her own lodgings, in virtue of her purchase. {convoi = funeral; lowest sou = cheapest price} I was laid upon a table where I could look through an open window, up at the void of heaven. It was glittering with those bright stars which the astronomers tell us are suns of other systems, and the scene gradually drew me to reflections on that eternity which is before us. My feelings got to be gradually soothed, as I remembered the moment of time that all are required to endure injustice and wrongs on earth. Some such reflections are necessary to induce us to submit to the mysterious reign of Providence, whose decrees so often seem unequal, and whose designs are so inscrutable. By remembering what a speck is time, as compared with eternity, and that "God chasteneth those he loveth," the ills of life may be borne, even with joy. The manner in which Desiree disposed of me, shall be related in another number. {another number = in the Graham's Magazine periodical version, not divided into chapters, this paragraph closed the first of the four installments in which the story was printed; in later book versions it was changed to read "in the next chapter"} CHAPTER VIII. The reader is not to infer that Desiree was unusually mercenary. That she was a little addicted to this weakness, is true--who ever knew a commissionaire that was not? But she had her moments of benevolence, as well as others, and had really made some sacrifice of her time, and consequently of her interests, in order to serve Adrienne in her distress. As for the purchase of myself, that was in the way of her commerce; and it is seldom, indeed, that philanthropy can overcome the habits of trade. Desiree was not wholly without means, and she was in no hurry to reap the benefit of her purchase. I remained in her possession, according to my calculation, some two or three years before she ever took me out of the drawer in which I had been deposited for safe keeping. I was considered a species of corps de reserve. At the end of that period, however, her thoughts recurred to her treasure, and an occasion soon offered for turning me to account. I was put into the reticule, and carried about, in readiness for any suitable bargain that might turn up. {corps de reserve = reserve corps; reticule = a large pocketbook} One day Desiree and I were on the Boulevards Italiens together, when a figure caught the commissionaire's eye that sent her across the street in a great hurry. I scarcely know how to describe this person, who, to my simple eyes, had the appearance of a colonel of the late Royal Guards, or, at least, of an attache of one of the northern legations. He was dressed in the height of the latest fashion, as well as he knew how to be; wore terrible moustaches, and had a rare provision of rings, eye-glasses, watch-guards, chains, &c. {Boulevards Italiens = a fashionable Paris street; attache = a diplomat--European diplomats at this period often wore uniforms} "Bon jour, monsieur," exclaimed Desiree, in haste, "parole d' honneur, I scarcely knew you! I have been waiting for your return from Lyons with the most lively impatience, for, to tell you the truth, I have the greatest bijou for your American ladies that ever came out of a bleaching ground--un mouchoir de poche." {bijou = jewel; mouchoir de poche = pocket handkerchief} "Doucement--doucement, ma bonne," interrupted the other, observing that the woman was about to exhibit me on the open Boulevards, an expose for which he had no longings, "you can bring it to my lodgings--" {doucement... = not so fast, my good woman; expose = public display} "Rue de Clery, numero cent vingt--" {Rue de Clery... = Clery Street, number one twenty} "Not at all, my good Desiree. You must know I have transacted all my ordinary business--made my purchases, and am off for New York in the next packet--" {packet = ship sailing on a fixed schedule} "Mais, le malle, monsieur?" {Mais, le malle... = But, what about your trunk, sir?} "Yes, the trunk will have a corner in it for any thing particular, as you say. I shall go to court this evening, to a great ball, Madame la Marquise de Dolomien and the Aide de Camp de Service having just notified me that I am invited. To be frank with you, Desiree, I am lodging in la Rue de la Paix, and appear, just now, as a mere traveler. You will inquire for le Colonel Silky, when you call." {Aide de Camp de Service = duty officer of the French royal court} "Le Colonel Silky!" repeated Desiree with a look of admiration, a little mingled with contempt. "De la garde nationale Americaine," answered Mr. Silky, smiling. He then gave the woman his new address, and appointed an hour to see her. {De la garde nationale Americaine = of the American national guard--Cooper is here satirizing the pretensions and gaudy uniforms of civilians holding nominal commissions as "Colonels" of American state militias} Desiree was punctual to a minute. The porter, the garcons, the bourgeois, all knew le Colonel Silky, who was now a great man, wore moustaches, and went to court--as the court was. In a minute the commissionaire was in the colonel's ante-chamber. This distinguished officer had a method in his madness. He was not accustomed to keeping a body servant, and, as his aim was to make a fortune, will ye nill ye, he managed, even now, in his hours of pride and self-indulgence, to get along without one. It was not many moments, therefore, before he came out and ushered Desiree himself into his salon; a room of ten feet by fourteen, with a carpet that covered just eight feet by six, in its centre. Now that they were alone, in this snuggery, which seemed barely large enough to contain so great a man's moustaches, the parties understood each other without unnecessary phrases, and I was, at once, produced. {as the court was = the Royal Court of King Louis Philippe prided itself on its simplicity and informality; garcons, bourgeois = waiters, neighbors; salon = living room} Colonel Silky was evidently struck with my appearance. An officer of his readiness and practice saw at once that I might be made to diminish no small part of the ways and means of his present campaign, and precisely in proportion as he admired me, he began to look cold and indifferent. This management could not deceive me, my clairvoyance defying any such artifices; but it had a sensible effect on Desiree, who, happening very much to want money for a particular object just at that moment, determined, on the spot, to abate no less than fifty francs from the price she had intended to ask. This was deducting five francs more than poor Adrienne got for the money she had expended for her beautiful lace, and for all her toil, sleepless nights, and tears; a proof of the commissionaire's scale of doing business. The bargain was now commenced in earnest, offering an instructive scene of French protestations, assertions, contradictions and volubility on one side, and of cold, seemingly phlegmatic, but wily Yankee calculation, on the other. Desiree had set her price at one hundred and fifty francs, after abating the fifty mentioned, and Colonel Silky had early made up his mind to give only one hundred. After making suitable allowances for my true value before I was embellished, the cost of the lace and of the work, Desiree was not far from the mark; but the Colonel saw that she wanted money, and he knew that two napoleons and a half, with his management, would carry him from Paris to Havre. It is true he had spent the difference that morning on an eye-glass that he never used, or when he did it was only to obscure his vision; but the money was not lost, as it aided in persuading the world he was a colonel and was afflicted with that genteel defect, an imperfect vision. These extremes of extravagance and meanness were not unusual in his practice. The one, in truth, being a consequence of the other. {management = in Cooper's time, a word suggesting conniving or unscrupulous manipulation; Havre = le Havre, an important French port} "You forget the duty, Desiree," observed the military trader; "this compromise law is a thousand times worse than any law we have ever had in America." {compromise law = the American Tariff Act of 1832, which reduced tariffs on some items, but retained the high customs duties on the import of textile products} "The duty!" repeated the woman, with an incredulous smile; "monsieur, you are not so young as to pay any duty on a pocket-handkerchief! Ma foi, I will bring twenty--oui, a thousand from England itself, and the douaniers shall not stop one." {douaniers = customs officials} "Ay, but we don't smuggle in America," returned the colonel, with an aplomb that might have done credit to Vidocq himself; "in our republican country the laws are all in all." {Vidocq = Francois Vidocq (1775-1857), a senior French police official who was secretly a burglar, and who "investigated" his own crimes for a long time before being exposed} "Why do so many of your good republicans dress so that the rue de Clery don't know them, and then go to the chateau?" demanded the commissionaire, very innocently, as to appearance at least. {chateau = palace} "Bah! there are the five napoleons--if you want them, take them--if not, I care little about it, my invoice being all closed." Desiree never accepted money more reluctantly. Instead of making one hundred and fifty-five francs out of the toil and privations, and self-denial of poor Adrienne, she found her own advantages unexpectedly lessened to fifty-five; or, only a trifle more than one hundred per cent. But the colonel was firm, and, for once, her cupidity was compelled to succumb. The money was paid, and I became the vassal of Colonel Silky; a titular soldier, but a traveling trader, who never lost sight of the main chance either in his campaigns, his journeys, or his pleasures. To own the truth, Colonel Silky was delighted with me. No girl could be a better judge of the ARTICLE, and all his cultivated taste ran into the admiration of GOODS. I was examined with the closest scrutiny; my merits were inwardly applauded, and my demerits pronounced to be absolutely none. In short, I was flattered; for, it must be confessed, the commendation of even a fool is grateful. So far from placing me in a trunk, or a drawer, the colonel actually put me in his pocket, though duly enveloped and with great care, and for some time I trembled in every delicate fibre, lest, in a moment of forgetfulness, he might use me. But my new master had no such intention. His object in taking me out was to consult a sort of court commissionaire, with whom he had established certain relations, and that, too, at some little cost, on the propriety of using me himself that evening at the chateau of the King of the French. Fortunately, his monitress, though by no means of the purest water, knew better than to suffer her eleve to commit so gross a blunder, and I escaped the calamity of making my first appearance at court under the auspices of such a patron. {eleve = pupil} There was a moment, too, when the colonel thought of presenting me to Madame de Dolomien, by the way of assuring his favor in the royal circle, but when he came to count up the money he should lose in the way of profits, this idea became painful, and it was abandoned. As often happened with this gentleman, he reasoned so long in all his acts of liberality, that he supposed a sufficient sacrifice had been made in the mental discussions, and he never got beyond what surgeons call the "first intention" of his moral cures. The evening he went to court, therefore, I was carefully consigned to a carton in the colonel's trunk, whence I did not again issue until my arrival in America. Of the voyage, therefore, I have little to say, not having had a sight of the ocean at all. I cannot affirm that I was absolutely sea-sick, but, on the other hand, I cannot add that I was perfectly well during any part of the passage. The pent air of the state-room, and a certain heaviness about the brain, quite incapacitated me from enjoying any thing that passed, and that was a happy moment when our trunk was taken on deck to be examined. The custom-house officers at New York were not men likely to pick out a pocket-handkerchief from a gentleman's--I beg pardon, from a colonel's--wardrobe, and I passed unnoticed among sundry other of my employer's speculations. I call the colonel my EMPLOYER, though this was not strictly true; for, Heaven be praised! he never did employ me; but ever since my arrival in America, my gorge has so risen against the word "master," that I cannot make up my mind to write it. I know there is an ingenious substitute, as the following little dialogue will show, but my early education under the astronomer and the delicate minded Adrienne, has rendered me averse to false taste, and I find the substitute as disagreeable as the original. The conversation to which I allude, occurred between me and a very respectable looking shirt, that I happened to be hanging next to on a line, a few days after my arrival; the colonel having judged it prudent to get me washed and properly ironed, before he carried me into the "market." "Who is your BOSS, pocket-handkerchief?" demanded the shirt, a perfect stranger to me, by the way, for I had never seen him before the accidents of the wash-tub brought us in collision; "who is your boss, pocket-handkerchief, I say?--you are so very fine, I should like to know something of your history." From all I had heard and read, I was satisfied my neighbor was a Yankee shirt, both from his curiosity and from his abrupt manner of asking questions; still I was at a loss to know the meaning of the word BOSS, my clairvoyance being totally at fault. It belongs to no language known to the savans or academicians. {savans = scholars} "I am not certain, sir," I answered, "that I understand your meaning. What is a BOSS?" {boss = Cooper was annoyed by American euphemisms, such as using the Dutch word "boss" in place of "master"--a custom he blamed largely on New England "Yankees"} "Oh! that's only a republican word for 'master.' Now, Judge Latitat is MY boss, and a very good one he is, with the exception of his sitting so late at night at his infernal circuits, by the light of miserable tallow candles. But all the judges are alike for that, keeping a poor shirt up sometimes until midnight, listening to cursed dull lawyers, and prosy, caviling witnesses." {circuits = American "circuit judges" travelled from town to town, holding court in each and sleeping at local inns and taverns} "I beg you to recollect, sir, that I am a female pocket-handkerchief, and persons of your sex are bound to use temperate and proper language in the presence of ladies. "Yes, I see you are feminine, by your ornaments--still, you might tell a fellow who is your boss?" "I belong, at present, to Colonel Silky, if that is what you mean; but I presume some fair lady will soon do me the honor of transferring me to her own wardrobe. No doubt my future employer--is not that the word?--will be one of the most beautiful and distinguished ladies of New York." "No question of that, as money makes both beauty and distinction in this part of the world, and it's not a dollar that will buy you. COLONEL Silky? I don't remember the name--which of OUR editors is he?" {Cooper is ridiculing the habit of newspaper editors of seeking popularity by serving in the militia and thus receiving the title of "Colonel"} "I don't think he is an editor at all. At least, I never heard he was employed about any publication, and, to own the truth, he does not appear to me to be particularly qualified for such a duty, either by native capacity, or, its substitute, education." "Oh! that makes no great difference--half the corps is exactly in the same predicament. I'fegs! if we waited for colonels, or editors either, in this country, until we got such as were qualified, we should get no news, and be altogether without politics, and the militia would soon be in an awful state." {I'fegs! = an obsolete, essentially meaningless exclamation, like "I swear!", deriving from "In faith!"} "This is very extraordinary! So you do not wait, but take them as they come. And what state is your militia actually in?" "Awful! It is what my boss, the judge, sometimes calls a 'statu quo.'" {'statu quo' = in the same state as always (Latin)} "And the newspapers--and the news--and the politics?" "Why, they are NOT in 'statu quo'--but in a 'semper eadem'--I beg pardon, do you understand Latin?" "No, sir--ladies do not often study the dead languages." "If they did they would soon bring 'em to life! 'Semper eadem' is Latin for 'worse and worse.' The militia is drilling into a 'statu quo,' and the press is enlightening mankind with a 'semper eadem.'" {'Semper eadem' = the usual meaning is "ever the same" (Latin)--presumably Cooper's talking shirt is being ironical, suggesting that that "worse and worse" is the constant condition of the press} After properly thanking my neighbor for these useful explanations, we naturally fell into discourse about matters and things in general, the weather in America being uniformly too fine to admit of discussion. "Pray, sir," said I, trembling lest my BOSS might be a colonel of the editorial corps, after all--"pray, sir," said I, "is it expected in this country that the wardrobe should entertain the political sentiments of its boss?" "I rather think not, unless it might be in high party times; or, in the case of editors, and such extreme patriots. I have several relatives that belong to the corps, and they all tell me that while their bosses very frequently change their coats, they are by no means so particular about changing their shirts. But you are of foreign birth, ma'am, I should think by your dress and appearance?" {change their coats.... = i.e., editors frequently change political sides, but they are not very careful about their personal hygiene} "Yes, sir, I came quite recently from France; though, my employer being American, I suppose I am entitled to the rights of citizenship. Are you European, also?" "No, ma'am; I am native and to the 'MANOR born,' as the modern Shakspeare has it. Is Louis Philippe likely to maintain the throne, in France?" {'manor born' = from "to the manner born" Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act I, Scene 4, line 2--frequently misquoted in popular speech as "to the manor born"} "That is not so certain, sir, by what I learn, as that the throne is likely to maintain Louis Philippe. To own the truth to you, I am a Carlist, as all genteel articles are, and I enter but little into the subject of Louis Philippe's reign." {Carlist = supporter of King Charles X of France, who was deposed in 1830 by King Louis Philippe} This remark made me melancholy, by reviving the recollection of Adrienne, and the conversation ceased. An hour or two later, I was removed from the line, properly ironed, and returned to my boss. The same day I was placed in a shop in Broadway, belonging to a firm of which I now understood the colonel was a sleeping partner. A suitable entry was made against me, in a private memorandum book, which, as I once had an opportunity of seeing it, I will give here. Super-extraordinary Pocket-Handkerchief, French cambric, trimmed and worked, in account with Bobbinet & Gull. DR. To money paid first cost--francs 100, at 5.25, -- $19.04 To interest on same for -- 00.00 To portion of passage money, -- 00.04 To porterage, -- 00.00 1/4 To washing and making up, -- 00.25 (Mem.--See if a deduction cannot be made from this charge.) CR. By cash, for allowing Miss Thimble to copy pattern--not to be worked until our article is sold, -- $1. 00 By cash for sale, &c. -- {in account with.... = this and subsequent "accounts" are presented by Cooper in tabular form, generally without decimal points in the figures; we have inserted decimals and omitted zeros to make them more readable} Thus the account stood the day I was first offered to the admiration of the fair of New York. Mr. Bobbinet, however, was in no hurry to exhibit me, having several articles of less beauty, that he was anxious to get off first. For my part, I was as desirous of being produced, as ever a young lady was to come out; and then my companions in the drawer were not of the most agreeable character. We were all pocket-handkerchiefs, together, and all of French birth. Of the whole party, I was the only one that had been worked by a real lady, and consequently my education was manifestly superior to those of my companions. THEY could scarcely be called comme il faut, at all; though, to own the truth, I am afraid there is tant soit peu de vulgarity about all WORKED pocket-handkerchiefs. I remember that, one day, when Madame de la Rocheaimard and Adrienne were discussing the expediency of buying our whole piece, with a view of offering us to their benefactress, the former, who had a fine tact in matters of this sort, expressed a doubt whether the dauphine would be pleased with such an offering. {comme il faut = proper; tant soit peu de = ever so little of; worked = embroidered} "Her Royal Highness, like all cultivated minds, looks for fitness in her ornaments and tastes. What fitness is there, ma chere, in converting an article of real use, and which should not be paraded to one's associates, into an article of senseless luxury. I know there are two doctrines on this important point--" {ma chere = my dear} But, as I shall have occasion, soon, to go into the whole philosophy of this matter, when I come to relate the manner of my next purchase, I will not stop here to relate all that Madame de la Rocheaimard said. It is sufficient that she, a woman of tact in such matters at least, had strong doubts concerning the TASTE and propriety of using worked pocket-handkerchiefs, at all. My principal objection to my companions in the drawer was their incessant senseless repinings about France, and their abuse of the country in which they were to pass their lives. I could see enough in America to find fault with, through the creaks of the drawer, and if an American, I might have indulged a little in the same way myself, for I am not one of those who think fault-finding belongs properly to the stranger, and not to the native. It is the proper office of the latter, as it is his duty to amend these faults; the traveler being bound in justice to look at the good as well as the evil. But, according to my companions, there was NOTHING good in America--the climate, the people, the food, the morals, the laws, the dress, the manners, and the tastes, were all infinitely worse than those they had been accustomed to. Even the physical proportions of the population were condemned, without mercy. I confess I was surprised at hearing the SIZE of the Americans sneered at by POCKET-HANDKERCHIEFS, as I remember to have read that the NOSES of the New Yorkers, in particular, were materially larger than common. When the supercilious and vapid point out faults, they ever run into contradictions and folly; it is only under the lash of the discerning and the experienced, that we betray by our writhings the power of the blow we receive. {creaks = probably a typographical error--Cooper's manuscript read "cracks"} CHAPTER IX. I might have been a fortnight in the shop, when I heard a voice as gentle and lady-like as that of Adrienne, inquiring for pocket-handkerchiefs. My heart fairly beat for joy; for, to own the truth, I was getting to be wearied to death with the garrulous folly of my companions. They had so much of the couturieres about them! not one of the whole party ever having been a regular employee in genteel life. Their niaisiries were endless, and there was just as much of the low bred anticipation as to their future purchases, as one sees at the balls of the Champs Elysee on the subject of partners. The word "pocket-handkerchief," and that so sweetly pronounced, drew open our drawer, as it might be, instinctively. Two or three dozen of us, all of exquisite fineness, were laid upon the counter, myself and two or three more of the better class being kept a little in the back ground, as a skillful general holds his best troops in reserve. {couturieres = dress makers; niaisiries = should read niaiseries, French for silliness} The customers were sisters; that was visible at a glance. Both were pretty, almost beautiful--and there was an air of simplicity about their dress, a quiet and unobtrusive dignity in their manners, which at once announced them to be real ladies. Even the tones of their voices were polished, a circumstance that I think one is a little apt to notice in New York. I discovered, in the course of the conversation, that they were the daughters of a gentleman of very large estate, and belonged to the true elite of the country. The manner in which the clerks received them, indeed, proclaimed this; for, though their other claims might not have so promptly extracted this homage, their known wealth would. Mr. Bobbinet attended these customers in person. Practiced in all that portion of human knowledge which appertains to a salesman, he let the sweet girls select two or three dozen handkerchiefs of great beauty, but totally without ornament, and even pay for them, before he said a word on the subject of the claims of his reserved corps. When he thought the proper moment had arrived, however, one of the least decorated of our party was offered to the consideration of the young ladies. The sisters were named Anne and Maria, and I could see by the pleasure that beamed in the soft blue eyes of the former, that she was quite enchanted with the beauty of the article laid before her so unexpectedly. I believe it is in FEMALE "human nature" to admire every thing that is graceful and handsome, and especially when it takes the form of needle-work. The sweet girls praised handkerchief after handkerchief, until I was laid before them, when their pleasure extracted exclamations of delight. All was done so quietly, however, and in so lady-like a manner, that the attention of no person in the shop was drawn to them by this natural indulgence of surprise. Still I observed that neither of the young lades inquired the PRICES, these being considerations that had no influence on the intrinsic value, in their eyes; while the circumstance caused my heart to sink within me, as it clearly proved they did not intend to purchase, and I longed to become the property of the gentle, serene-eyed Anne. After thanking Mr. Bobbinet for the trouble he had taken, they ordered their purchases sent home, and were about to quit the shop. "Can't I persuade you to take THIS?" demanded Bobbinet, as they were turning away. "There is not its equal in America. Indeed, one of the house, our Colonel Silky, who has just returned from Paris, says it was worked expressly for the dauphine, who was prevented from getting it by the late revolution." "It IS a pity so much lace and such exquisite work should be put on a pocket-handkerchief," said Anne, almost involuntarily. "I fear if they were on something more suitable, I might buy them." A smile, a slight blush, and curtsy, concluded the interview; and the young ladies hastily left the shop. Mr. Bobbinet was disappointed, as, indeed, was Col. Silky, who was present, en amateur; but the matter could not be helped, as these were customers who acted and thought for themselves, and all the oily persuasion of shop-eloquence could not influence them. {en amateur = in the guise of a connoisseur} "It is quite surprising, colonel," observed Mr. Bobbinet, when his customers were properly out of hearing, "that THESE young ladies should let such an article slip through their fingers. Their father is one of the richest men we have; and yet they never even asked the price." "I fancy it was not so much the PRICE that held 'em back," observed the colonel, in his elegant way, "as something else. There are a sort of customers that don't buy promiscuously; they do every thing by rule. They don't believe that a nightcap is intended for a bed-quilt." Bobbinet & Co. did not exactly understand his more sophisticated partner; but before he had time to ask an explanation, the appearance of another customer caused his face to brighten, and changed the current of his thoughts. The person who now entered was an exceedingly brilliant looking girl of twenty, dressed in the height of fashion, and extremely well, though a severe critic might have thought she was OVER dressed for the streets, still she had alighted from a carriage. Her face was decidedly handsome, and her person exquisitely proportioned. As a whole, I had scarcely ever seen a young creature that could lay claim to more of the loveliness of her sex. Both the young ladies who had just left us were pleasing and pretty; and to own the truth, there was an air of modest refinement about them, that was not so apparent in this new visiter; but the dazzling appearance of the latter, at first, blinded me to her faults, and I saw nothing but her perfection. The interest manifested by the master--I beg his pardon, the boss of the store--and the agitation among the clerks, very plainly proved that much was expected from the visit of this young lady, who was addressed, with a certain air of shop-familiarity, as Miss Halfacre--a familiarity that showed she was an habituee of the place, and considered a good customer. Luckily for the views of Bobbinet & Co., we were all still lying on the counter. This is deemed a fortunate circumstance in the contingencies of this species of trade, since it enables the dealer to offer his uncalled-for wares in the least suspicious and most natural manner. It was fortunate, also, that I lay at the bottom of the little pile--a climax being quite as essential in sustaining an extortionate price, as in terminating with due effect, a poem, a tragedy, or a romance. "Good morning, Miss Halfacre," said Mr. Bobbinet, bowing and smiling; if his face had been half as honest as it professed to be, it would have GRINNED. "I am glad you have come in at this moment, as we are about to put on sale some of the rarest articles, in the way of pocket-handkerchiefs, that have ever come to this market. The Misses Burton have just seen them, and THEY pronounce them the most beautiful articles of the sort they have ever seen; and I believe they have been over half the world." "And did they take any, Mr. Bobbinet? The Miss Burtons are thought to have taste." "They have not exactly PURCHASED, but I believe each of them has a particular article in her eye. Here is one, ma'am, that is rather prettier than any you have yet seen in New York. The price is SIXTY dollars." The word SIXTY was emphasized in a way to show the importance that was attached to PRICE--that being a test of more than common importance with the present customer. I sighed when I remembered that poor Adrienne had received but about ten dollars for ME--an article worth so much more than that there exhibited. "It is really very pretty, Mr. Bobbinet, very pretty, but Miss Monson bought one not quite as pretty, at Lace's; and SHE payed SIXTY-FIVE, if I am not mistaken." "I dare say; we have them at much higher prices. I showed YOU this only that you might see that OUR SIXTIES are as handsome as MR. LACE'S sixty-FIVES. What do you think of THIS?" "That IS a jewel! What IS the price, Mr. Bobbinet?" "Why, we will let YOU have it for seventy, though I do think it ought to bring five more." "Surely you do not abate on pocket-handkerchiefs! One doesn't like to have such a thing TOO low." "Ah, I may as well come to the point at once with such a customer as yourself, Miss Halfacre; here is the article on which I pride myself. THAT article never WAS equalled in this market, and never WILL be." I cannot repeat half the exclamations of delight which escaped the fair Eudosia, when I first burst on her entranced eye. She turned me over and over, examined me with palpitating bosom, and once I thought she was about to kiss me; then, in a trembling voice, she demanded the price. "ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS, ma'am;" answered Bobbinet, solemnly. "Not a cent more, on my honor." "No, surely!" exclaimed Eudosia, with delight instead of alarm. "Not a HUNDRED!" "ONE HUNDRED, Miss Eudosia, to the last cent; then we scarcely make a living profit." "Why, Mr. Bobbinet, this is the highest priced handkerchief that was ever sold in New York." This was said with a sort of rapture, the fair creature feeling all the advantage of having so good an opportunity of purchasing so dear an article. "In America, ma'am. It is the highest priced handkerchief, by twenty dollars, that ever crossed the Atlantic. The celebrated Miss Jewel's, of Boston, only cost seventy-nine." "Only! Oh, Mr. Bobbinet, I MUST have it. It is a perfect treasure!" "Shall I send it, Miss Eudosia; or don't you like to trust it out of your sight?" "Not yet, sir. To own the truth, I have not so much money. I only came out to buy a few trifles, and brought but fifty dollars with me; and Pa insists on having no bills. I never knew any body as particular as Pa; but I will go instantly home and show him the importance of this purchase. You will not let the handkerchief be seen for ONE hour--only ONE hour--and then you shall hear from me." To this Bobbinet assented. The young lady tripped into her carriage, and was instantly whirled from the door. In precisely forty-three minutes, a maid entered, half out of breath, and laid a note on the counter. The latter contained Mr. Halfacre's check for one hundred dollars, and a request from the fair Eudosia that I might be delivered to her messenger. Every thing was done as she had desired, and, in five minutes, I was going up Broadway as fast as Honor O'Flagherty's (for such was the name of the messenger) little dumpy legs could carry me. CHAPTER X. Mr. Henry Half acre was a speculator in town-lots--a profession that was, just then, in high repute in the city of New York. For farms, and all the more vulgar aspects of real estate, he had a sovereign contempt; but offer him a bit of land that could be measured by feet and inches, and he was your man. Mr. Halfacre inherited nothing; but he was a man of what are called energy and enterprise. In other words, he had a spirit for running in debt, and never shrunk from jeoparding property that, in truth, belonged to his creditors. The very morning that his eldest child, Eudosia, made her valuable acquisition, in my person, Henry Halfacre, Esq., was the owner of several hundred lots on the island of Manhattan; of one hundred and twenty-three in the city of Brooklyn; of nearly as many in Williamsburg; of large undivided interests in Milwaukie, Chicago, Rock River, Moonville, and other similar places; besides owning a considerable part of a place called Coney Island. In a word, the landed estate of Henry Halfacre, Esq., "inventoried," as he expressed it, just two millions, six hundred and twelve thousand dollars; a handsome sum, it must be confessed, for a man who, when he began his beneficent and energetic career in this branch of business, was just twenty-three thousand, four hundred and seventeen dollars worse than nothing. It is true, that there was some drawback on all this prosperity; Mr. Halfacre's bonds, notes, mortgages, and other liabilities, making a sum total that amounted to the odd six hundred thousand dollars; this still left him, however, a handsome paper balance of two millions. Notwithstanding the amount of his "bills payable," Mr. Halfacre considered himself a very prudent man: first, because he insisted on having no book debts; second, because he always took another man's paper for a larger amount than he had given of his own, for any specific lot or lots; thirdly, and lastly, because he was careful to "extend himself," at the risk of other persons. There is no question, had all his lots been sold as he had inventoried them; had his debts been paid; and had he not spent his money a little faster than it was bona fide made, that Henry Halfacre, Esq. would have been a very rich man. As he managed, however, by means of getting portions of the paper he received discounted, to maintain a fine figure account in the bank, and to pay all current demands, he began to be known as the RICH Mr. Halfacre. But one of his children, the fair Eudosia, was out; and as she had some distance to make in the better society of the town, ere she could pass for aristocratic, it was wisely determined that a golden bridge should be thrown across the dividing chasm. A hundred-dollar pocket-handkerchief, it was hoped, would serve for the key-stone, and then all the ends of life would be attained. As to a husband, a pretty girl like Eudosia, and the daughter of a man of "four figure" lots, might get one any day. {was out = was a debutante, had been presented to society} Honor O'Flagherty was both short-legged and short-breathed. She felt the full importance of her mission; and having an extensive acquaintance among the other Milesians of the town, and of her class, she stopped no less than eleven times to communicate the magnitude of Miss Dosie's purchase. To two particular favorites she actually showed me, under solemn promise of secrecy; and to four others she promised a peep some day, after her bossee had fairly worn me. In this manner my arrival was circulated prematurely in certain coteries, the pretty mouths and fine voices that spoke of my marvels, being quite unconscious that they were circulating news that had reached their ears via Honor O'Flagherty, Biddy Noon, and Kathleen Brady. {Milesians = slang for Irish (from Milesius, a mythical Spanish conqueror of Ireland); Miss Dosie = Miss Eudosia; bossee = humorous for a female boss; coteries = social sets} Mr. Halfacre occupied a very GENTEEL residence in Broadway, where he and his enjoyed the full benefit of all the dust, noise, and commotion of that great thoroughfare. This house had been purchased and mortgaged, generally simultaneous operations with this great operator, as soon as he had "inventoried" half a million. It was a sort of patent of nobility to live in Broadway; and the acquisition of such a residence was like the purchase of a marquiseta in Italy. When Eudosia was fairly in possession of a hundred-dollar pocket-handkerchief, the great seal might be said to be attached to the document that was to elevate the Halfacres throughout all future time. {marquiseta = presumably the residence or palace of a Marquis} Now the beautiful Eudosia--for beautiful, and even lovely, this glorious-looking creature was, in spite of a very badly modulated voice, certain inroads upon the fitness of things in the way of expression, and a want of a knowledge of the finesse of fine life--now the beautiful Eudosia had an intimate friend named Clara Caverly, who was as unlike her as possible, in character, education, habits, and appearance; and yet who was firmly her friend. The attachment was one of childhood and accident--the two girls having been neighbors and school-fellows until they had got to like each other, after the manner in which young people form such friendships, to wear away under the friction of the world, and the pressure of time. Mr. Caverly was a lawyer of good practice, fair reputation, and respectable family. His wife happened to be a lady from her cradle; and the daughter had experienced the advantage of as great a blessing. Still Mr. Caverly was what the world of New York, in 1832, called poor; that is to say, he had no known bank-stock, did not own a lot on the island, was director of neither bank nor insurance company, and lived in a modest two-story house, in White street. It is true his practice supported his family, and enabled him to invest in bonds and mortgages two or three thousand a-year; and he owned the fee of some fifteen or eighteen farms in Orange county, that were falling in from three-lives leases, and which had been in his family ever since the seventeenth century. But, at a period of prosperity like that which prevailed in 1832, 3, 4, 5, and 6, the hereditary dollar was not worth more than twelve and a half cents, as compared with the "inventoried" dollar. As there is something, after all, in a historical name, and the Caverleys [sic] still had the best of it, in the way of society, Eudosia was permitted to continue the visits in White street, even after her own family were in full possession in Broadway, and Henry Halfacre, Esq., had got to be enumerated among the Manhattan nabobs. Clara Caverly was in Broadway when Honor O'Flagherty arrived with me, out of breath, in consequence of the shortness of her legs, and the necessity of making up for lost time. {owned the fee...falling in from three-life leases = i.e., Mr. Caverly owned farms in Orange County that had been leased out for long periods (the lives of three persons named at the moment the lease was granted) but which were now about to revert to him--such long-term leases, in the Hudson Valley, led to the so-called anti-rent war that was breaking out at the time Cooper wrote this book; twelve and a half cents = an English shilling, still often used in conversation in America; nabobs = rich men (usually businessmen of recent affluence)} "There, Miss Dosie," cried the exulting housemaid, for such was Honor's domestic rank, though preferred to so honorable and confidential a mission--"There, Miss Dosie, there it is, and it's a jewel." {preferred = promoted} "What has Honor brought you NOW?" asked Clara Caverly in her quiet way, for she saw by the brilliant eyes and flushed cheeks of her friend that it was something the other would have pleasure in conversing about. "You make so many purchases, dear Eudosia, that I should think you would weary of them." "What, weary of beautiful dresses? Never, Clara, never! That might do for White street, but in Broadway one is never tired of such things--see," laying me out at full length in her lap, "this is a pocket-handkerchief--I wish your opinion of it." Clara examined me very closely, and, in spite of something like a frown, and an expression of dissatisfaction that gathered about her pretty face--for Clara was pretty, too--I could detect some of the latent feelings of the sex, as she gazed at my exquisite lace, perfect ornamental work, and unequaled fineness. Still, her education and habits triumphed, and she would not commend what she regarded as ingenuity misspent, and tasteless, because senseless, luxury. "This handkerchief cost ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS, Clara," said Eudosia, deliberately and with emphasis, imitating, as near as possible, the tone of Bobbinet & Co. "Is it possible, Eudosia! What a sum to pay for so useless a thing!" "Useless! Do you call a pocket-handkerchief useless?" "Quite so, when it is made in a way to render it out of the question to put it to the uses for which it was designed. I should as soon think of trimming gum shoes with satin, as to trim a handkerchief in that style." "Style? Yes, I flatter myself it IS style to have a handkerchief that cost a hundred dollars. Why, Clara Caverly, the highest priced thing of this sort that was ever before sold in New York only came to seventy-nine dollars. Mine is superior to all, by twenty-one dollars!" Clara Caverly sighed. It was not with regret, or envy, or any unworthy feeling, however; it was a fair, honest, moral sigh, that had its birth in the thought of how much good a hundred dollars might have done, properly applied. It was under the influence of this feeling, too, that she said, somewhat inopportunely it must be confessed, though quite innocently-- "Well, Eudosia, I am glad you can afford such a luxury, at all events. Now is a good time to get your subscription to the Widows' and Orphans' Society. Mrs. Thoughtful has desired me to ask for it half a dozen times; I dare say it has escaped you that you are quite a twelvemonth in arrear." "NOW a good time to ask for three dollars! What, just when I've paid a hundred dollars for a pocket-handkerchief? That was not said with your usual good sense, my dear. People must be MADE of money to pay out so much at one time." "When may I tell Mrs. Thoughtful, then, that you will send it to her?" "I am sure that is more than I can say. Pa will be in no hurry to give me more money soon, and I want, at this moment, near a hundred dollars' worth of articles of dress to make a decent appearance. The Society can be in no such hurry for its subscriptions; they must amount to a good deal." "Not if never paid. Shall I lend you the money--my mother gave me ten dollars this morning, to make a few purchases, which I can very well do without until you can pay me." "DO, dear girl--you are always one of the best creatures in the world. How much is it? three dollars I believe." "Six, if you pay the past and present year. I will pay Mrs. Thoughtful before I go home. But, dear Eudosia, I wish you had not bought that foolish pocket-handkerchief." "Foolish! Do you call a handkerchief with such lace, and all this magnificent work on it, and which cost a HUNDRED DOLLARS, foolish? Is it foolish to have money, or to be thought rich?" "Certainly not the first, though it may be better not to be thought rich. I wish to see you always dressed with propriety, for you do credit to your dress; but this handkerchief is out of place." "Out of place! Now, hear me, Clara, though it is to be a great secret. What do you think Pa is worth?" "Bless me, these are things I never think of. I do not even know how much my own father is worth. Mother tells me how much I may spend, and I can want to learn no more." "Well, Mr. Murray dined with Pa last week, and they sat over their wine until near ten. I overheard them talking, and got into this room to listen, for I thought I should get something new. At first they said nothing but 'lots--lots--up town--down town--twenty-five feet front--dollar, dollar, dollar.' La! child, you never heard such stuff in your life!" "One gets used to these things, notwithstanding," observed Clara, drily. "Yes, one DOES hear a great deal of it. I shall be glad when the gentlemen learn to talk of something else. But the best is to come. At last, Pa asked Mr. Murray if he had inventoried lately." "Did he?" "Yes, he did. Of course you know what that means?" "It meant to FILL, as they call it, does it not?" "So I thought at first, but it means no such thing. It means to count up, and set down how much one is worth. Mr. Murray said he did THAT every month, and of course he knew very well what HE was worth. I forget how much it was, for I didn't care, you know George Murray is not as old as I am, and so I listened to what Pa had inventoried. Now, how much do you guess?" "Really, my dear, I haven't the least idea," answered Clara, slightly gaping--"a thousand dollars, perhaps." "A thousand dollars! What, for a gentleman who keeps his coach--lives in Broadway--dresses his daughter as I dress, and gives her hundred-dollar handkerchiefs. Two hundred million, my dear; two hundred million!" Eudosia had interpolated the word "hundred," quite innocently, for, as usually happens with those to whom money is new, her imagination ran ahead of her arithmetic. "Yes," she added, "two hundred millions; besides sixty millions of odd money!" "That sounds like a great deal," observed Clara quietly; for, besides caring very little for these millions, she had not a profound respect for her friend's accuracy on such subjects. "It IS a great deal. Ma says there are not ten richer men than Pa in the state. Now, does not this alter the matter about the pocket-handkerchief? It would be mean in me not to have a hundred-dollar handkerchief, when I could get one." "It may alter the matter as to the extravagance; but it does not alter it as to the fitness. Of what USE is a pocket-handkerchief like this? A pocket-handkerchief is made for USE, my dear, not for show." "You would not have a young lady use her pocket-handkerchief like a snuffy old nurse, Clara?" "I would have her use it like a young lady, and in no other way. But it always strikes me as a proof of ignorance and a want of refinement when the uses of things are confounded. A pocket-handkerchief, at the best, is but a menial appliance, and it is bad taste to make it an object of attraction. FINE, it may be, for that conveys an idea of delicacy in its owner; but ornamented beyond reason, never. Look what a tawdry and vulgar thing an embroidered slipper is on a woman's foot." "Yes, I grant you that, but everybody cannot have hundred-dollar handkerchiefs, though they may have embroidered slippers. I shall wear my purchase at Miss Trotter's ball to-night." To this Clara made no objection, though she still looked disapprobation of her purchase. Now, the lovely Eudosia had not a bad heart; she had only received a bad education. Her parents had given her a smattering of the usual accomplishments, but here her superior instruction ended. Unable to discriminate themselves, for the want of this very education, they had been obliged to trust their daughter to the care of mercenaries, who fancied their duties discharged when they had taught their pupil to repeat like a parrot. All she acquired had been for effect, and not for the purpose of every-day use; in which her instruction and her pocket-handkerchief might be said to be of a piece. CHAPTER XI. And here I will digress a moment to make a single remark on a subject of which popular feeling, in America, under the influence of popular habits, is apt to take an exparte view. Accomplishments are derided as useless, in comparison with what is considered household virtues. The accomplishment of a cook is to make good dishes; of a seamstress to sew well, and of a lady to possess refined tastes, a cultivated mind, and agreeable and intellectual habits. The real VIRTUES of all are the same, though subject to laws peculiar to their station; but it is a very different thing when we come to the mere accomplishments. To deride all the refined attainments of human skill denotes ignorance of the means of human happiness, nor is it any evidence of acquaintance with the intricate machinery of social greatness and a lofty civilization. These gradations in attainments are inseparable from civilized society, and if the skill of the ingenious and laborious is indispensable to a solid foundation, without the tastes and habits of the refined and cultivated, it never can be graceful or pleasing. {exparte = should be "ex parte"--one-sided (Latin)} Eudosia had some indistinct glimmerings of this fact, though it was not often that she came to sound and discriminating decisions even in matters less complicated. In the present instance she saw this truth only by halves, and that, too, in its most commonplace aspect, as will appear by the remark she made on the occasion. "Then, Clara, as to the PRICE I have paid for this handkerchief," she said, "you ought to remember what the laws of political economy lay down on such subjects. I suppose your Pa makes you study political economy, my dear?" "Indeed he does not. I hardly know what it means." "Well, that is singular; for Pa says, in this age of the world, it is the only way to be rich. Now, it is by means of a trade in lots, and political economy, generally, that he has succeeded so wonderfully; for, to own the truth to you, Clara, Pa hasn't always been rich." "No?" answered Clara, with a half-suppressed smile, she knowing the fact already perfectly well. "Oh, no--far from it--but we don't speak of this publicly, it being a sort of disgrace in New York, you know, not to be thought worth at least half a million. I dare say your Pa is worth as much as that?" "I have not the least idea he is worth a fourth of it, though I do not pretend to know. To me half a million of dollars seems a great deal of money, and I know my father considers himself poor--poor, at least, for one of his station. But what were you about to say of political economy? I am curious to hear how THAT can have any thing to do with your handkerchief." "Why, my dear, in this manner. You know a distribution of labor is the source of all civilization--that trade is an exchange of equivalents--that custom-houses fetter these equivalents--that nothing which is fettered is free--" "My dear Eudosia, what IS your tongue running on?" "You will not deny, Clara, that any thing which is fettered is not free? And that freedom is the greatest blessing of this happy country; and that trade ought to be as free as any thing else?" All this was gibberish to Clara Caverly, who understood the phrases, notwithstanding, quite as well as the friend who was using them. Political economy is especially a science of terms; and free trade, as a branch of it is called, is just the portion of it which is indebted to them the most. But Clara had not patience to hear any more of the unintelligible jargon which has got possession of the world to-day, much as Mr. Pitt's celebrated sinking-fund scheme for paying off the national debt of Great Britain did, half a century since, and under very much the same influences; and she desired her friend to come at once to the point, as connected with the pocket-handkerchief. {Mr. Pitt's celebrated sinking-fund = Sir William Pitt "the younger" (1759-1806), when he became Prime Minister in 1784, sought to raise taxes in order to pay off the British national debt} "Well, then," resumed Eudosia, "it is connected in this way. The luxuries of the rich give employment to the poor, and cause money to circulate. Now this handkerchief of mine, no doubt, has given employment to some poor French girl for four or five months, and, of course, food and raiment. She has earned, no doubt, fifty of the hundred dollars I have paid. Then the custom-house--ah, Clara, if it were not for that vile custom-house, I might have had the handkerchief for at least five-and-twenty dollars lower----!" "In which case you would have prized it five-and-twenty times less," answered Clara, smiling archly. "THAT is true; yes, free trade, after all, does NOT apply to pocket-handkerchiefs." "And yet," interrupted Clara, laughing, "if one can believe what one reads, it applies to hackney-coaches, ferry-boats, doctors, lawyers, and even the clergy. My father says it is----" "What? I am curious to know, Clara, what as plain speaking a man as Mr. Caverly calls it." "He is plain speaking enough to call it a ---- HUMBUG," said the daughter, endeavoring to mouth the word in a theatrical manner. "But, as Othello says, the handkerchief." {Othello says... = "Fetch me the handkerchief," Shakespeare, "Othello," Act III, Scene 4, line 98} "Oh! Fifty dollars go to the poor girl who does the work, twenty-five more to the odious custom-house, some fifteen to rent, fuel, lights, and ten, perhaps, to Mr. Bobbinet, as profits. Now all this is very good, and very useful to society, as you must own." Alas, poor Adrienne! Thou didst not receive for me as many francs as this fair calculation gave thee dollars; and richer wouldst thou have been, and, oh, how much happier, hadst thou kept the money paid for me, sold the lace even at a loss, and spared thyself so many, many hours of painful and anxious toil! But it is thus with human calculations, The propositions seem plausible, and the reasoning fair, while stern truth lies behind all to level the pride of understanding, and prove the fallacy of the wisdom of men. The reader may wish to see how closely Eudosia's account of profit and loss came to the fact, and I shall, consequently, make up the statement from the private books of the firm that had the honor of once owning me, viz.: Super-extraordinary Pocket-handkerchief, &c., in account with Bobbinet & Co. DR. To money paid, first cost, francs 100, at 5.25, -- $19.04 To interest on same for ninety days, at 7 per cent., -- 00.33 To portion of passage money, -- 00.04 To porterage, -- 00.00 1/4 To washing and making up, -- 00.25 ------------- $19 66 1/4 CR. By cash paid by Miss Thimble, -- $1.00 By cash paid for article, -- 100.00 By washerwoman's deduction, -- 00.05 ---------- 101.05 ---------- By profit, -- $81.39 3/4 As Clara Caverly had yet to see Mrs. Thoughtful, and pay Eudosia's subscription, the former now took her leave. I was thus left alone with my new employer, for the first time, and had an opportunity of learning something of her true character, without the interposition of third persons; for, let a friend have what hold he or she may on your heart, it has a few secrets that are strictly its own. If admiration of myself could win my favor, I had every reason to be satisfied with the hands into which fortune had now thrown me. There were many things to admire in Eudosia--a defective education being the great evil with which she had to contend. Owing to this education, if it really deserved such a name, she had superficial accomplishments, superficially acquired--principles that scarce extended beyond the retenue and morals of her sex--tastes that had been imbibed from questionable models--and hopes that proceeded from a false estimate of the very false position into which she had been accidentally and suddenly thrown. Still Eudosia had a heart. She could scarcely be a woman, and escape the influence of this portion of the female frame. By means of the mesmeritic power of a pocket-handkerchief, I soon discovered that there was a certain Morgan Morely in New York, to whom she longed to exhibit my perfection, as second to the wish to exhibit her own. {retenue = discretion} I scarcely know whether to felicitate myself or not, on the circumstance that I was brought out the very first evening I passed in the possession of Eudosia Halfacre. The beautiful girl was dressed and ready for Mrs. Trotter's ball by eight; and her admiring mother thought it impossible for the heart of Morgan Morely, a reputed six figure fortune, to hold out any longer. By some accident or other, Mr. Halfacre did not appear--he had not dined at home; and the two females had all the joys of anticipation to themselves. "I wonder what has become of your father," said Mrs. Halfacre, after inquiring for her husband for the tenth time. "It is SO like him to forget an engagement to a ball. I believe he thinks of nothing but his lots. It is really a great trial, Dosie, to be so rich. I sometimes wish we weren't worth more than a million, for, after all, I suspect true happiness is to be found in these little fortunes. Heigho! It's ten o'clock, and we must go, if we mean to be there at all; for Mrs. Caverly once said, in my presence, that she thought it as vulgar to be too late, as too early." The carriage was ordered, and we all three got in, leaving a message for Mr. Halfacre to follow us. As the rumor that a "three-figure" pocket-handkerchief was to be at the ball, had preceded my appearance, a general buzz announced my arrival in the salle a manger-salons. I have no intention of describing fashionable society in the GREAT EMPORIUM of the WESTERN WORLD. Every body understands that it is on the best possible footing--grace, ease, high breeding and common sense being so blended together, that it is exceedingly difficult to analyze them, or, indeed, to tell which is which. It is this moral fusion that renders the whole perfect, as the harmony of fine coloring throws a glow of glory on the pictures of Claude, or, for that matter, on those of Cole, too. Still, as envious and evil disposed persons have dared to call in question the elegance, and more especially the retenue of a Manhattanese rout, I feel myself impelled, if not by that high sentiment, patriotism, at least by a feeling of gratitude for the great consideration that is attached to pocket-handkerchiefs, just to declare that it is all scandal. If I have any fault to find with New York society, it is on account of its formal and almost priggish quiet--the female voice being usually quite lost in it--thus leaving a void in the ear, not to say the heart, that is painful to endure. Could a few young ladies, too, be persuaded to become a little more prominent, and quit their mother's apron-strings, it would add vastly to the grouping, and relieve the stiffness of the "shin-pieces" of formal rows of dark-looking men, and of the flounces of pretty women. These two slight faults repaired, New York society might rival that of Paris; especially in the Chausse d'Autin. More than this I do not wish to say, and less than this I cannot in honor write, for I have made some of the warmest and truest-hearted friends in New York that it ever fell to the lot of a pocket-handkerchief to enjoy. {salle a manger-salons = dining rooms-parlor; GREAT EMPORIUM [capitals in original] = New York City; Claude = Claude Lorrain (1600-1682), French landscape painter; Cole = Thomas Cole (1801-1848), American landscape painter; rout = evening party; Chausse d'Autin = Chaussee d'Antin, a fashionable Parisian street and neighborhood} It has been said that my arrival produced a general buzz. In less than a minute Eudosia had made her curtsy, and was surrounded, in a corner, by a bevy of young friends, all silent together, and all dying to see me. To deny the deep gratification I felt at the encomiums I received, would be hypocrisy. They went from my borders to my centre--from the lace to the hem--and from the hem to the minutest fibre of my exquisite texture. In a word, I was the first hundred-dollar pocket-handkerchief that had then appeared in their circles; and had I been a Polish count, with two sets of moustaches, I could not have been more flattered and "entertained." My fame soon spread through the rooms, as two little apartments, with a door between them that made each an alcove of the other, were called; and even the men, the young ones in particular, began to take an interest in me. This latter interest, it is true, did not descend to the minutiae of trimmings and work, or even of fineness, but the "three figure" had a surprising effect. An elderly lady sent to borrow me for a moment. It was a queer thing to borrow a pocket-handkerchief, some will think; but I was lent to twenty people that night; and while in her hands, I overheard the following little aside, between two young fashionables, who were quite unconscious of the acuteness of the senses of our family. "This must be a rich old chap, this Halfacre, to be able to give his daughter a hundred-dollar pocket-handkerchief, Tom; one might do well to get introduced." "If you'll take my advice, Ned, you'll keep where you are," was the answer. "You've been to the surrogate's office, and have seen the will of old Simonds, and KNOW that he has left his daughter seventy-eight thousand dollars; and, after all, this pocket-handkerchief may be only a sign. I always distrust people who throw out such lures." "Oh, rely on it, there is no sham here; Charley Pray told me of this girl last week, when no one had ever heard of her pocket-handkerchief." "Why don't Charley, then, take her himself? I'm sure, if I had HIS imperial, I could pick and choose among all the second-class heiresses in town." {imperial = wealth (from a Russian gold coin)} "Ay, there's the rub, Tom; one is obliged in our business to put up with the SECOND class. Why can't we aim higher at once, and get such girls as the Burtons, for instance?" "The Burtons have, or have had, a mother." "And haven't all girls mothers? Who ever heard of a man or a woman without a mother!" "True, physically; but I mean morally. Now this very Eudosia Halfacre has no more mother, in the last sense, than you have a wet-nurse. She has an old woman to help her make a fool of herself; but, in the way of a mother, she would be better off with a pair of good gum-shoes. A creature that is just to tell a girl not to wet her feet, and when to cloak and uncloak, and to help tear the check-book out of money, is no more of a mother than old Simonds was of a Solomon, when he made that will which every one of us knows by heart quite as well as he knows the constitution." Here a buzz in the room drew the two young men a little aside, and for a minute I heard nothing but indistinct phrases, in which "removal of deposites," "panic," "General Jackson," and "revolution," were the only words I could fairly understand. Presently, however, the young men dropped back into their former position, and the dialogue proceeded. {General Jackson... = President Andrew Jackson in 1833 withdrew the federal government deposits from the Bank of the United States, leading to a major financial panic} "There!" exclaimed Ned, in a voice louder than was prudent, "THAT is what I call an escape! That cursed handkerchief was very near taking me in. I call it swindling to make such false pretensions." "It might be very awkward with one who was not properly on his guard; but with the right sort there is very little danger." Here the two elegants led out a couple of heiresses to dance; and I heard no more of them or of their escapes. Lest the reader, however, should be misled, I wish to add, that these two worthies are not to be taken as specimens of New York morality at all--no place on earth being more free from fortune-hunters, or of a higher tone of social morals in this delicate particular. As I am writing for American readers, I wish to say, that all they are told of the vices of OLD countries, on the other side of the Atlantic, is strictly true; while all that is said, directly, or by implication, of the vices and faults of this happy young country, is just so much calumny. The many excellent friends I have made, since my arrival in this hemisphere, has bound my heart to them to all eternity; and I will now proceed with my philosophical and profound disquisitions on what I have seen, with a perfect confidence that I shall receive credit, and an independence of opinion that is much too dear to me to consent to place it in question. But to return to facts. {elegants = dandies} I was restored to Eudosia, with a cold, reserved look, by a lady into whose hands I had passed, that struck me as singular, as shown to the owner of such an article. It was not long, however, before I discovered, to use a homely phrase, that something had happened; and I was not altogether without curiosity to know what that something was. It was apparent enough, that Eudosia was the subject of general observation, and of general conversation, though, so long as she held me in her hand, it exceeded all my acuteness of hearing to learn what was said. The poor girl fancied her pocket-handkerchief was the common theme; and in this she was not far from right, though it was in a way she little suspected. At length Clara Caverly drew near, and borrowed me of her friend, under a pretext of showing me to her mother, who was in the room, though, in fact, it was merely to get me out of sight; for Clara was much too well-bred to render any part of another's dress the subject of her discussions in general society. As if impatient to get me out of sight, I was thrown on a sofa, among a little pile of consoeurs, (if there is such a word,) for a gathering had been made, while our pretty hostesses were dancing, in order to compare our beauty. There we lay quite an hour, a congress of pocket-handkerchiefs, making our comments on the company, and gossiping in our own fashion. It was only the next day that I discovered the reason we were thus neglected; for, to own the truth, something had occurred which suddenly brought "three-figure," and even "two-figure" people of our class into temporary disrepute. I shall explain that reason at the proper moment. {consoeurs = fellow sisters} The conversation among the handkerchiefs on the sofa, ran principally on the subject of our comparative market value. I soon discovered that there was a good deal of envy against me, on account of my "three figures," although, I confess, I thought I cut a "poor figure," lying as I did, neglected in a corner, on the very first evening of my appearance in the fashionable world. But some of the opinions uttered on this occasion--always in the mesmeritic manner, be it remembered--will be seen in the following dialogue. "Well!" exclaimed $25, "this is the first ball I have been at that I was not thought good enough to have a place in the quadrille. You see all the canaille are in the hands of their owners, while we, the elite of pocket-handkerchiefs, are left here in a corner, like so many cloaks." {canaille = riff-raff} "There must be a reason for this, certainly," answered $45, "though YOU have been flourished about these two winters, in a way that ought to satisfy one of YOUR pretensions." An animated reply was about to set us all in commotion, when $80, who, next to myself, had the highest claims of any in the party, changed the current of feeling, by remarking-- "It is no secret that we are out of favor for a night or two, in consequence of three figures having been paid for one of us, this very day, by a bossess, whose father stopped payment within three hours after he signed the cheque that was to pay the importer. I overheard the whole story, half an hour since, and thus, you see, every one is afraid to be seen with an aristocratic handkerchief, just at this moment. But--bless you! in a day or two all will be forgotten, and we shall come more into favor than ever. All is always forgotten in New York in a week." Such was, indeed, the truth. One General Jackson had "removed the deposits," as I afterwards learned, though I never could understand exactly what that meant; but, it suddenly made money scarce, more especially with those who had none; and every body that was "extended" began to quake in their shoes. Mr. Halfacre happened to be in this awkward predicament, and he broke down in the effort to sustain himself. His energy had over-reached itself, like the tumbler who breaks his neck in throwing seventeen hundred somersets backwards. CHAPTER XII. Every one is more apt to hear an unpleasant rumor than those whom it immediately affects. Thus Eudosia and her mother were the only persons at Mrs. Trotter's ball who were ignorant of what had happened; one whispering the news to another, though no one could presume to communicate the fact to the parties most interested. In a commercial town, like New York, the failure of a reputed millionaire, could not long remain a secret, and every body stared at the wife and daughter, and me; first, as if they had never seen the wives and daughters of bankrupts before; and second, as if they had never seen them surrounded by the evidences of their extravagance. But the crisis was at hand, and the truth could not long be concealed. Eudosia was permitted to cloak and get into the carriage unaided by any beau, a thing that had not happened to her since speculation had brought her father into notice. The circumstance, more than any other, attracted her attention; and the carriage no sooner started than the poor girl gave vent to her feelings. "What CAN be the matter, Ma?" Eudosia said, "that every person in Mrs. Trotter's rooms should stare so at me, this evening? I am sure my dress is as well made and proper as that of any other young lady in the rooms, and as for the handkerchiefS, I could see envy in fifty eyes, when their owners heard the price." "That is all, dear--they DID envy you, and no wonder they stared--nothing makes people stare like envy. I thought this handkerchief would make a commotion. Oh! I used to stare myself when envious." "Still it was odd that Morgan Morely did not ask me to dance--he knows how fond I am of dancing, and for the credit of so beautiful a handkerchief, he ought to have been more than usually attentive to-night." Mrs. Halfacre gaped, and declared that she was both tired and sleepy, which put an end to conversation until the carriage reached her own door. Both Mrs. Halfacre and Eudosia were surprised to find the husband and father still up. He was pacing the drawing-room, by the light of a single tallow candle, obviously in great mental distress. "Bless me!" exclaimed the wife--"YOU up at this hour?--what CAN have happened? what HAS come to our door?" "Nothing but beggary," answered the man, smiling with a bitterness which showed he felt an inhuman joy, at that fierce moment, in making others as miserable as himself. "Yes, Mrs. Henry Halfacre--yes, Miss Eudosia Halfacre, you are both beggars--I hope that, at least, will satisfy you." "You mean, Henry, that you have failed?" For that was a word too familiar in New York not to be understood even by the ladies. "Tell me the worst at once--is it true, HAVE you failed?" "It IS true--I HAVE failed. My notes have been this day protested for ninety-five thousand dollars, and I have not ninety-five dollars in bank. To-morrow, twenty-three thousand more will fall due, and this month will bring round quite a hundred and thirty thousand more. That accursed removal of the deposits, and that tiger, Jackson, have done it all." To own the truth, both the ladies were a little confounded. They wept, and for some few minutes there was a dead silence, but curiosity soon caused them both to ask questions. "This is very dreadful, and with our large family!" commenced the mother--"and so the general has it all to answer for--why did you let him give so many notes for you?" "No--no--it is not that--I gave the notes myself; but he removed the deposits, I tell you." "It's just like him, the old wretch! To think of his removing your deposits, just as you wanted them so much yourself! But why did the clerks at the bank let him have them--they ought to have known that you had all this money to pay, and people cannot well pay debts without money." "You are telling that, my dear, to one who knows it by experience. That is the very reason why I have failed. I have a great many debts, and I have no money." "But you have hundreds of lots--give them lots, Henry, and that will settle all your difficulties. You must remember how all our friends have envied us our lots." "Ay, no fear, but they'll get the lots, my dear--unless, indeed," added the speculator, "I take good care to prevent it. Thank God! I'm not a DECLARED bankrupt. I can yet make my own assignee." "Well, then, I wouldn't say a word about it--declare nothing, and let 'em find out that you have failed, in the best manner they can. Why tell people your distresses, so that they may pity you. I hate pity, above all things--and especially the pity of my own friends." "Oh, that will be dreadful!" put in Eudosia. "For Heaven's sake, Pa, don't let any body pity us." "Very little fear of that, I fancy," muttered the father; "people who shoot up like rockets, in two or three years, seldom lay the foundations of much pity in readiness for their fall." "Well, I declare, Dosie, this is TOO bad in the old general, after all. I'm sure it MUST be unconstitutional for a president to remove your father's deposits. If I were in your place, Mr. Halfacre, I wouldn't fail just to spite them. You know you always said that a man of energy can do any thing in this country; and I have heard Mr. Munny say that he didn't know a man of greater energy than yourself." The grin with which the ruined speculator turned on his wife was nearly sardonic. "Your men of energy are the very fellows TO fail," he said; "however, they shall find if I have had extraordinary energy in running into debt, that I have extraordinary energy, too, in getting out of it. Mrs. Halfacre, we must quit this house this very week, and all this fine furniture must be brought to the hammer. I mean to preserve my character, at least." This was said loftily, and with the most approved accents. "Surely it isn't necessary to move to do that, my dear! Other people fail, and keep their houses, and furniture, and carriages, and such other things. Let us not make ourselves the subjects of unpleasant remarks." "I intend that as little as you do yourself. We must quit this house and bring the furniture under the hammer, or part with all those lots you so much esteem and prize." "Oh! If the house and furniture will pay the notes I'm content, especially if you can contrive to keep the lots. Dosie will part with her handkerchief, too, I dare say, if that will do any good." "By George! that will be a capital idea--yes, the handkerchief must be sent back to-morrow morning; THAT will make a famous talk. I only bought it because Munny was present, and I wanted to get fifty thousand dollars out of him, to meet this crisis. The thing didn't succeed; but, no matter, the handkerchief will tell in settling up. That handkerchief, Dosie, may be made to cover a hundred lots." In what manner I was to open so much, like the tent of the Arabian Nights, was a profound mystery to me then, as well as it was to the ladies; but the handsome Eudosia placed me in her father's hand with a frank liberality that proved she was not altogether without good qualities. As I afterwards discovered, indeed, these two females had most of the excellences of a devoted wife and daughter, their frivolities being the result of vicious educations or of no educations at all, rather than of depraved hearts. When Mr. Halfacre went into liquidation, as it is called, and compromised with his creditors, reserving to himself a pretty little capital of some eighty or a hundred thousand dollars, by means of judicious payments to confidential creditors, his wife and daughter saw all THEY most prized taken away, and the town was filled with the magnitude of their sacrifices, and with the handsome manner in which both submitted to make them. By this ingenious device, the insolvent not only preserved his character, by no means an unusual circumstance in New York, however, but he preserved about half of his bona fide estate also; his creditors, as was customary, doing the PAYING. It is unnecessary to dwell on the remainder of this dialogue, my own adventures so soon carrying me into an entirely different sphere. The following morning, however, as soon as he had breakfasted, Mr. Halfacre put me in his pocket, and walked down street, with the port of an afflicted and stricken, but thoroughly honest man. When he reached the shop-door of Bobbinet & Co., he walked boldly in, and laid me on the counter with a flourish so meek, that even the clerks, a very matter-of-fact caste in general, afterwards commented on it. "Circumstances of an unpleasant nature, on which I presume it is unnecessary to dwell, compel me to offer you this handkerchief, back again, gentlemen," he said, raising his hand to his eyes in a very affecting manner. "As a bargain is a bargain, I feel great reluctance to disturb its sacred obligations, but I CANNOT suffer a child of mine to retain such a luxury, while a single individual can justly say that I owe him a dollar." "What fine sentiments!" said Silky, who was lounging in a corner of the shop--"wonderful sentiments, and such as becomes a man of honesty." Those around the colonel approved of his opinion, and Mr. Halfacre raised his head like one who was not afraid to look his creditors in the face. "I approve of your motives, Mr. Halfacre," returned Bobbinet, "but you know the character of the times, and the dearness of rents. That article has been seen in private hands, doubtless, and can no longer be considered fresh--we shall be forced to make a considerable abatement, if we consent to comply." "Name your own terms, sir; so they leave me a single dollar for my creditors, I shall be happy." "Wonderful sentiments!" repeated the colonel--"we must send that man to the national councils!" After a short negotiation, it was settled that Mr. Halfacre was to receive $50, and Bobbinet & Co. were to replace me in their drawer. The next morning an article appeared in a daily paper of pre-eminent honesty and truth, and talents, in the following words:-- "WORTHY OF IMITATION.--A distinguished gentleman of this city, H---- H----, Esquire, having been compelled to SUSPEND, in consequence of the late robbery of the Bank of the United States by the cold-blooded miscreant whose hoary head disgraces the White House, felt himself bound to return an article of dress, purchased as recently as yesterday by his lovely daughter, and who, in every respect, was entitled to wear it, as she would have adorned it, receiving back the price, with a view to put it in the fund he is already collecting to meet the demands of his creditors. It is due to the very respectable firm of Bobbinet & Co. to add, that it refunded the money with the greatest liberality, at the first demand. We can recommend this house to our readers as one of the most liberal in OUR city, (by the way the editor who wrote this article didn't own a foot of the town, or of any thing else,) and as possessing a very large and well selected assortment of the choicest goods." The following words--"we take this occasion to thank Messrs. Bobbinet & Co. for a specimen of most beautiful gloves sent us," had a line run through in the manuscript; a little reflection, telling the learned editor that it might be indiscreet to publish the fact at that precise moment. The American will know how to appreciate the importance of this opinion, in relation to the house in question, when he is told that it was written by one of those inspired moralists, and profound constitutional lawyers, and ingenious political economists, who daily teach their fellow creatures how to give practical illustrations of the mandates of the Bible, how to discriminate in vexed questions arising from the national compact, and how to manage their private affairs in such a way as to escape the quicksands that have wrecked their own. As some of my readers may feel an interest in the fate of poor Eudosia, I will take occasion to say, before I proceed with the account of my own fortunes, that it was not half as bad as might have been supposed. Mr. Halfacre commenced his compromises under favorable auspices. The reputation of the affair of the pocket-handkerchief was of great service, and creditors relented as they thought of the hardship of depriving a pretty girl of so valuable an appliance. Long before the public had ceased to talk about the removal of the deposits, Mr. Halfacre had arranged every thing to his own satisfaction. The lots were particularly useful, one of them paying off a debt that had been contracted for half a dozen. Now and then he met an obstinate fellow who insisted on his money, and who talked of suits in chancery. Such men were paid off in full, litigation being the speculator's aversion. As for the fifty dollars received for me, it answered to go to market with until other funds were found. This diversion of the sum from its destined object, however, was apparent rather than real, since food was indispensable to enable the excellent but unfortunate man to work for the benefit of his creditors. In short, every thing was settled in the most satisfactory manner, Mr. Halfacre paying a hundred cents in the dollar, in lots, however, but in such a manner as balanced his books beautifully. "Now, thank God! I owe no man a sixpence," said Mr. to Mrs. Halfacre, the day all was concluded, "and only one small mistake has been made by me, in going through so many complicated accounts, and for such large sums." "I had hoped ALL was settled," answered the good woman in alarm. "It is that unreasonable man, John Downright, who gives you the trouble, I dare say." "He--oh! he is paid in full. I offered him, at first, twenty-five cents in the dollar, but THAT he wouldn't hear to. Then I found a small error, and offered forty. It wouldn't do, and I had to pay the scamp a hundred. I can look that fellow in the face with a perfectly clear conscience." "Who else can it be, then?" "Only your brother, Myers, my dear; somehow or other, we made a mistake in our figures, which made out a demand in his favor of $100,000. I paid it in property, but when we came to look over the figures it was discovered that a cypher too much had been thrown in, and Myers paid back the difference like a man, as he is." "And to whom will that difference belong?" "To whom--oh!--why, of course, to the right owner." CHAPTER XIII. When I found myself once more in the possession of Bobbinet & Co., I fancied that I might anticipate a long residence in their drawers, my freshness, as an article, having been somewhat tarnished by the appearance at Mrs. Trotter's ball. In this I was mistaken, the next day bringing about a release, and a restoration to my proper place in society. The very morning after I was again in the drawer, a female voice was heard asking for "worked French pocket-handkerchiefs." As I clearly came within this category--alas, poor Adrienne!--in half a minute I found myself, along with fifty fellows or fellowesses, lying on the counter. The instant I heard the voice, I knew that the speaker was not "mamma," but "my child," and I now saw that she was fair. Julia Monson was not as brilliantly handsome as my late owner, but she had more feeling and refinement in the expression of her countenance. Still there was an uneasy worldly glancing of the eye, that denoted how much she lived out of herself, in the less favorable understanding of the term; an expression of countenance that I have had occasion to remark in most of those who think a very expensive handkerchief necessary to their happiness. It is, in fact, the natural indication that the mind dwells more on show than on substantial things, and a proof that the possessor of this quality is not content to rely altogether on the higher moral feelings and attainments for her claims to deference. In a word, it is some such trait as that which distinguishes the beautiful plumage of the peacock, from the motive that incites the bird to display his feathers. In company with Miss Monson was another young lady of about her own age, and of a very similar appearance as to dress and station. Still, a first glance discovered an essential difference in character. This companion, who was addressed as Mary, and whose family name was Warren, had none of the uneasiness of demeanor that belonged to her friend, and obviously cared less what others thought of every thing she said or did. When the handkerchiefs were laid on the counter, Julia Monson seized on one with avidity, while Mary Warren regarded us all with a look of cold indifference, if not one of downright displeasure. "What beauties!" exclaimed the first, the clerk at that moment quitting them to hand some gloves to another customer--"What delightful needle-work! Mary, do YOU purchase one to keep me in countenance, and I will purchase another. I know your mother gave you the money this very morning." "Not for that object, Julia. My dear mother little thinks I shall do any such thing." "And why not? A rich pocket-handkerchief is a stylish thing!" "I question if style, as you call it, is just the thing for a young woman, under any circumstances; but, to confess the truth, I think a pocket-handkerchief that is to be LOOKED at and which is not to be USED, vulgar." "Not in Sir Walter Scott's signification, my dear," answered Julia laughing, "for it is not so very COMMON. Every body cannot have a worked French pocket-handkerchief." {Sir Walter Scott = British novelist and poet (1771-1832), often compared with Cooper--I have not located his definition of "vulgar"} "Sir Walter Scott's definition of what is vulgar is open to criticism, I fancy. The word comes from the common mind, or common practices, beyond a question, but it now means what is common as opposed to what is cultivated and refined. It is an absurdity, too, to make a thing respectable because it is common. A fib is one of the commonest things in the world, and yet it is scarcely respectable." "Oh! Every one says you are a philosopherESS, Mary, and I ought to have expected some such answer. But a handkerchief I am determined to have, and it shall be the very handsomest I can find." "And the DEAREST? Well, you will have a very lady-like wardrobe with one pocket-handkerchief in it! I wonder you do not purchase a single shoe." "Because I have TWO feet," replied Julia with spirit, though she laughed good-naturedly--"but here is the clerk, and he must not hear our quarrels. Have the goodness, sir, to show me the handsomest pocket-handkerchief in your shop." I was drawn from beneath the pile and laid before the bright black eyes of Julia, with an air of solemn dignity, by the young dealer in finery. "That, ma'am," he said, "is the very finest and most elegant article not only that WE have, but which is to be found in America. It was brought out by 'our Mr. Silky,' the last voyage; HE said PARIS cannot produce its equal." "This IS beautiful, sir, one must admit! What is the price?" "Why, ma'am, we OUGHT in justice to ourselves to have $120 for that article; but, to our regular customers I believe Mr. Bobbinet has determined to ask ONLY $100." This sounded exceedingly liberal--to ask ONLY $100 for that for which there was a sort of moral obligation to ask $120!--and Julia having come out with the intent to throw away a hundred-dollar note that her mother had given her that morning, the bargain was concluded. I was wrapped up carefully in paper, put into Miss Monson's muff, and once more took my departure from the empire of Col. Silky. I no longer occupied a false position. "Now, I hope you are happy, Julia," quietly observed Mary Warren, as the two girls took their seats side by side in Mrs. Monson's chariot. "The surprise to me is, that you forgot to purchase this ne plus ultra of elegance while in Paris last summer." {chariot = a light, four-wheeled carriage with only back seats; ne plus ultra = peak, ultimate} "My father said he could not afford it; we spent a great deal of money, as you may suppose, in running about, seeing sights, and laying in curiosities, and when I hinted the matter to my mother, she said we must wait until another half year's rents had come round. After all, Mary, there is ONE person at home to whom I shall be ashamed to show this purchase." "At home!--is there, indeed? Had you merely said 'in town' I could have understood you. Your father and mother approving of what you have done, I do not see who there is AT HOME to alarm you." Julia blushed when her friend said "in town," and her conscious feelings immediately conjured up the image of a certain Betts Shoreham, as the person in her companion's mind's eye. I detected it all easily enough, being actually within six inches of her throbbing heart at that very moment, though concealed in the muff. "It is not what you suppose, Mary, nor WHOM you suppose," answered my mistress; "I mean Mademoiselle Hennequin--I confess I DO dread the glance of her reproving eye." "It is odd enough that you should dread reproval from the governess of your sisters when you do not dread it from your own mother! But Mademoiselle Hennequin has nothing to do with you. You were educated and out before she entered your family, and it is singular that a person not older than yourself, who was engaged in Paris so recently, should have obtained so much influence over the mind of one who never was her pupil." "I am not afraid of her in most things," rejoined Julia, "but I confess I am in all that relates to taste; particularly in what relates to extravagance." "I have greatly misunderstood the character of Mademoiselle Hennequin if she ventured to interfere with you in either! A governess ought not to push her control beyond her proper duties." "Nor has Mademoiselle Hennequin," answered Julia honestly. "Still I cannot but hear the lessons she gives my sisters, and--yes--to own the truth, I dread the glance she cannot avoid throwing on my purchase. It will say, 'of what use are all my excellent lessons in taste and prudence, if an elder sister's example is to counteract them?' It is THAT I dread." Mary was silent for fully a minute; then she smiled archly, as girls will smile when certain thoughts cross their playful imaginations, and continued the discourse. "And Betts Shoreham has nothing to do with all this dread?" "What is Betts Shoreham to me, or what am I to Betts Shoreham? I am sure the circumstances that we happened to come from Europe in the same packet, and that he continues to visit us now we are at home, do not entitle him to have a veto, as they call it, on my wardrobe." "Not YET, certainly, my dear. Still they may entitle him to have this VETO, in petto." {in petto = in private (Italian)} I thought a shade passed over the features of the pretty Julia Monson as she answered her friend, with a seriousness to show that she was now in earnest, and with a propriety that proved she had great good sense at bottom, as well as strong womanly feeling. "If I have learned nothing else by visiting Europe," she said, "I have learned to see how inconsiderate we girls are in America, in talking so much, openly, of this sort of thing. A woman's delicacy is like that of a tender flower, and it must suffer by having her name coupled with that of any man, except him that she is to marry." "Julia, dear, I will never speak of Mr. Shoreham again. I should not have done it now had I not thought his attentions were acceptable to you, as I am sure they are to your parents. Certainly, they are VERY marked--at least, so others think as well as myself." "I know it SEEMS so to the WORLD," answered Julia in a subdued, thoughtful tone, "but it scarcely seems so to ME. Betts Shoreham is very agreeable, every way a suitable connection for any of us, and that is the reason people are so ready to fancy him in earnest." "In earnest! If Mr. Shoreham pays attentions that are pointed, and is not in earnest, he is a very different person from what I took him to be." Julia's voice grew still more gentle, and it was easy enough to see that her feelings were enlisted in the subject. "It is no more than justice to Betts Shoreham," she continued, "to say that he has NOT been pointed in his attentions to ME. We females are said to be quick in discovering such matters, and I am not more blind than the rest of our sex. He is a young man of good family, and has some fortune, and that makes him welcome in most houses in town, while he is agreeable, well-looking, and thoroughly amiable. He met us abroad, and it is natural for him to keep up an intimacy that recalls pleasant recollections. You will remember, Mary, that before he can be accused of trifling, he must trifle. I think him far more attentive to my mother, my father--nay, to my two little sisters--than he is to ME. Even Mademoiselle Hennequin is quite as much if not more of a favorite than I am!" As Mary Warren saw that her friend was serious she changed the subject; soon after, we were set down at Mr. Monson's door. Here the friends parted, Mary Warren preferring to walk home, while Julia and I entered the house together. "Well, mother," cried Julia, as she entered Mrs. Monson's room, "I have found the most beautiful thing you ever beheld, and have bought it. Here it is; what do you think of my choice?" Mrs. Monson was a kind-hearted, easy, indulgent parent, who had brought her husband a good fortune, and who had married rich in the bargain. Accustomed all her life to a free use of money, and of her own money, too, (for this is a country in which very many persons cast the substance of OTHERS right and left,) and when her eldest daughter expressed a wish to possess an elaborate specimen of our race, she had consented from a pure disinclination to deny her child any gratification that might be deemed innocent. Still, she knew that prudence was a virtue, and that Julia had thrown away money that might have been much better employed. "This is certainly a very beautiful handkerchief," observed the mother, after examining me carefully, and with somewhat of the manner of a connoisseur, "surprisingly beautiful; and yet I almost wish, my child, you had not purchased it. A hundred dollars sounds frightfully en prince for us poor simple people, who live in nutshells of houses, five and twenty feet front, and fifty-six deep, to pay for a pocket-handkerchief. The jewel-box of a young lady who has such handkerchiefs ought to cost thousands, to be in keeping." {en prince = princely; nutshells of houses = Cooper was frequently critical of New York City's cramped townhouses} "But, mother, I have only ONE, you will remember, and so my jewels may be limited to hundreds." "ONE pocket-handkerchief has a mean, sound, too. Even one hat is not very superfluous." "That is SO like Mary Warren, mother. If you did not wish me to make the purchase, you had only to say it; I am sure your wish would have been my law." "I know it, love; and I am afraid it is your dutiful behavior that has made me careless, in this instance. Your happiness and interests are ever uppermost in my mind, and sometimes they seem to conflict. What young man will dare to choose a wife from among young ladies who expend so much money on their pocket-handkerchiefs?" This was said smilingly, but there was a touch of tenderness and natural concern in the voice and manner of the speaker that made an impression on the daughter. "I am afraid now, mother, you are thinking of Betts Shoreham," said Julia, blushing, though she struggled powerfully to appear unconcerned. "I do not know WHY it is, but both you and Mary Warren appear to be always thinking of Mr. Shoreham." The mother smiled; and she was not quite ingenuous when she said in answer to the remark, "Shoreham was not in my mouth; and you ought not to suppose he was in my mind. Nevertheless, I do not believe he would admire you, or any one else, the more for being the owner of so expensive an article of dress. He is wealthy, but very prudent in his opinions and habits." "Betts Shoreham was born to an estate, and his father before him," said Julia firmly; "and such men know how to distinguish between the cant of economy, and those elegancies of life that become people of refinement." "No one can better understand the difference between cant in economy as well as cant in some other things, and true taste as well as true morals, than young Shoreham; but there are indulgences that become persons in no class." "After all, mother, we are making a trifle a very serious matter. It is but a pocket-handkerchief." "Very true, my love; and it cost ONLY one hundred dollars, and so we'll say no more about it; bien entendu, that you are not to purchase six dozen at the same price." {bien entendu = it being understood} This terminated the dialogue, Julia retiring to her own room, carrying me with her. I was thrown upon the bed, and soon after my mistress opened a door, and summoned her two younger sisters, who were studying on the same floor, to join her. I shall not repeat all the delightful exclamations, and other signs of approbation, that so naturally escaped the two pretty little creatures, to whom I may be said to have now been introduced, when my beauty came under examination. I do not thus speak of myself out of any weakness, for pocket-handkerchiefs are wholly without vanity, but simply because I am impelled to utter nothing but truth. Julia had too much consideration to let her young sisters into the secret of my price--for this would have been teaching a premature lesson in extravagance; but, having permitted them to gratify their curiosity, she exacted of them both promises not to speak of me to their governess. "But why not, Julia?" asked the inquisitive little Jane, "Mademoiselle Hennequin is SO good and SO kind, that she would be glad to hear of your good fortune." Julia had an indistinct view of her own motive, but she could not avow it to any one, not even to herself. Jealousy would be too strong, perhaps too indelicate a word, but she alone had detected Betts Shoreham's admiration of the governess; and it was painful to her to permit one who stood in this relation to her own weakness in favor of the young man, to be a witness of an act of extravagance to which she had only half consented in committing it, and of which she already more than half repented. From the first, therefore, she determined that Mademoiselle Hennequin should never see me. CHAPTER XIV. And now comes an exhibition of my mesmeritic powers, always "handkerchiefly speaking," that may surprise those who have not attended to the modern science of invisible fluids. It is by this means, however, that I am enabled to perceive a great deal of that which passes under the roof where I may happen to be, without absolutely seeing it. Much escapes me, of course--for even a pocket-handkerchief cannot hear or see every thing; but enough is learned to enable me to furnish a very clear outline of that which occurs near me; more especially if it happen to be within walls of brick. In wooden edifices I find my powers much diminished--the fluids, doubtless, escaping through the pores of the material. That evening, then, at the usual hour, and while I lay snugly ensconced in a most fragrant and convenient drawer, among various other beings of my species, though not of my family, alas! the inmates of the house assembled in the front drawing-room to take a few cups of tea. Mr. and Mrs. Monson, with their only son, John Monson, their three daughters, the governess, and Betts Shoreham, were all present; the latter having dropped in with a new novel for the ladies. "I do really wish one could see a little advance in the way of real refinement and true elegance among all the vast improvements we are making in frippery and follies," cried Mr. Monson, throwing down an evening paper in a pettish manner, that sufficiently denoted discontent. "We are always puffing our own progress in America, without exactly knowing whether a good deal of the road is not to be traveled over again, by way of undoing much that we have done. Here, now, is a specimen of our march in folly, in an advertisement of Bobbinett's, who has pocket-handkerchiefs at $75." "By the dozen, or by the gross, sir?" demanded Betts Shoreham, quickly. "Oh, singly--seventy-five dollars each." "Nay, that MUST be a mistake, sir! who, even in this extravagant and reckless country, could be found to pay such a price? One can fancy such a thing in a princess, with hundreds of thousands of income, but scarcely of any one else. How could such a thing be USED, for instance?" "Oh," cried John Monson, "to hide the blushes of the simpleton who had thrown away her money on it. I heard a story this very afternoon, of some person of the name of Halfacre's having failed yesterday, and whose daughter purchased even a higher priced handkerchief than that the very same day." "His failure is not surprising, then," put in Betts Shoreham. "For myself, I do not think that I----" "Well, WHAT do you think, Mr. Shoreham?" asked Mrs. Monson, smiling, for she saw that Julia was too much mortified to speak, and who assumed more than half the blame of her own daughter's extravagance. "You were about to favor us with some magnificent resolution." "I was about to utter an impertinence, I confess, ma'am, but recollected in time, that young men's protestations of what THEY would do by way of reforming the world, is not of half the importance to others that they so often fancy; so I shall spare you the infliction. Seventy-five dollars, Mademoiselle Hennequin, would be a high price for such a thing, even in Paris, I fancy." The answer was given in imperfect English, a circumstance that rendered the sweet round tones of the speaker very agreeable to the ear, and lent the charm of piquancy to what she said. I could not distinguish countenances from the drawer, but I fancied young Shoreham to be a handsome youth, the governess to be pale and slightly ugly, though very agreeable in manner, and Julia excessively embarrassed, but determined to defend her purchase, should it become necessary. "Seventy-five dollars sound like a high price, monsieur," answered Mademoiselle Hennequin; "but the ladies of Paris do not grudge their gold for ornaments to decorate their persons." "Ay," put in John Monson, "but they are consistent. Now I'll engage this Mrs. Hundredacres, or Halfacre, or whatever her name may be, overlooked her own household work, kept no housekeeper, higgled about flour and butter, and lived half her time in her basement. Think of such a woman's giving her daughter a hundred-dollar pocket-handkerchief." Now Mrs. Monson DID keep a housekeeper; she was NOT a mere upper-servant in her own family, and Julia was gratified that, in this instance, her fastidious brother could not reproach HER at least. "Well, Jack, that is a queer reason of yours;" cried the father, "for not indulging in a luxury; because the good woman is careful in some things, she is not to be a little extravagant in others. What do YOU say to such logic, Mr. Shoreham?" "To own the truth, sir, I am much of Monson's way of thinking. It is as necessary to begin at the bottom in constructing a scheme of domestic refinement, as in building a house. Fitness is entitled to a place in every thing that relates to taste, at all events; and as a laced and embroidered pocket-handkerchief is altogether for appearance, it becomes necessary that other things should be in keeping. If the ladies will excuse me, I will say that I never yet saw a woman in America, in a sufficiently high dress to justify such an appendage as that which Monson has just mentioned. The handkerchief ought not to cost more than the rest of the toilette." "It is true, Mr. Shoreham," put in Julia, with vivacity, if not with spirit, "that our women do not dress as women of rank sometimes dress in Europe; but, on the whole, I do not know that we are so much behind them in appearance." "Very far from it, my dear Miss Monson--as far as possible--I am the last man to decry my beautiful countrywomen, who are second to no others in appearance, certainly; if they do not dress as richly, it is because they do not need it. Mademoiselle Hennequin has no reason to deprecate comparisons--and--but--" "Certainly," answered the governess, when she found the young man hesitated about proceeding, "certainly; I am not so bigoted, or so blind, as to wish to deny that the American ladies are very handsome--handsomer, as a whole, than those of my own country. It would be idle to deny it--so are those of England and Italy." "This is being very liberal, Mademoiselle Hennequin, and more than you are required to admit," observed Mrs. Monson, in the kindest possible tone of voice, and I make no manner of doubt with a most benevolent smile, though I could not see her. "Some of the most brilliantly beautiful women I have ever seen, have been French--perhaps the MOST brilliantly beautiful." "That is true, also, madame; but such is not the rule, I think. Both the English and Americans seem to me handsomer, as a whole, than my own countrywomen." Now, nothing could be sweeter, or softer, or gentler, than the voice that made this great concession--for great it certainly was, as coming from a woman. It appeared to me that the admission, too, was more than commonly generous, from the circumstance that the governess was not particularly pretty in her own person. It is true, I had not yet seen her, but my mesmeritic impulses induced me to fancy as much. "What say the YOUNG gentlemen to this?" asked Mr. Monson, laughing. "This is a question not to be settled altogether by ladies, old or young." "Betts Shoreham has substantially told you what HE thinks; and now I claim a right to give MY opinion," cried John Monson. "Like Betts, I will not decry my countrywomen, but I shall protest against the doctrine of their having ALL the beauty in the world. By Jove! I have seen in ONE opera-house at Rome, more beautiful women than I ever saw together, before or since, in any other place. Broadway never equals the corso, of a carnival." {corso, of a carnival = the Corso, a main street in Rome, at Carnival time} "This is not sticking to the subject," observed Mrs. Monson. "Pocket-handkerchiefs and housekeepers are our themes, and not pretty women. Mademoiselle Hennequin, you are French enough, I am sure, to like more sugar in your tea." This changed the subject, which became a desultory discourse on the news of the day. I could not understand half that was said, laboring under the disadvantage of being shut up in a close drawer, on another floor; and that, too, with six dozen of chattering French gloves lying within a foot of me. Still I saw plainly enough, that Mademoiselle Hennequin, notwithstanding she was a governess, was a favorite in the family; and, I may add, out of it also--Betts Shoreham being no sort of a connection of the Monsons. I thought, moreover, that I discovered signs of cross-purposes, as between the young people, though I think a pocket-handkerchief subject to those general laws, concerning secrets, that are recognized among all honorable persons. Not having been actually present on this occasion, should I proceed to relate ALL that passed, or that I fancied passed, it would be degrading myself to the level of those newspapers which are in the habit of retailing private conversations, and which, like most small dealers in such things, never retail fairly. I saw no more of my mistress for a week. I have reason to think that she had determined never to use me; but female resolutions, in matters of dress, are not of the most inflexible nature. There was a certain Mrs. Leamington, in New York, who gave a great ball about this time, and being in the same set as the Monsons, the family was invited as a matter of course. It would have surpassed the powers of self-denial to keep me in the back-ground on such an occasion; and Julia, having first cleared the way by owning her folly to a very indulgent father, and a very tormenting brother, determined nobly to bring me out, let the effect on Betts Shoreham be what it might. As the father had no female friends to trouble him, he was asked to join the Monsons--the intimacy fully warranting the step. Julia never looked more lovely than she did that night. She anticipated much pleasure, and her smiles were in proportion to her anticipations. When all was ready, she took me from the drawer, let a single drop of lavender fall in my bosom, and tripped down stairs toward the drawing-room; Betts Shoreham and Mademoiselle Hennequin were together, and, for a novelty, alone. I say, for a novelty, because the governess had few opportunities to see any one without the presence of a third person, and because her habits, as an unmarried and well educated French woman, indisposed her to tete-a-tetes with the other sex. My mistress was lynx-eyed in all that related to Betts Shoreham and the governess. A single glance told her that their recent conversation had been more than usually interesting; nor could I help seeing it myself--the face of the governess being red, or in that condition which, were she aught but a governess, would be called suffused with blushes. Julia felt uncomfortable--she felt herself to be de trop; and making an incoherent excuse, she had scarcely taken a seat on a sofa, before she arose, left the room, and ran up stairs again. In doing so, however, the poor girl left me inadvertently on the sofa she had so suddenly quitted herself. {de trop = one too many} Betts Shoreham manifested no concern at this movement, though Mademoiselle Hennequin precipitately changed her seat, which had been quite near--approximately near, as one might say--to the chair occupied by the gentleman. This new evolution placed the governess close at my side. Now whatever might have been the subject of discourse between these two young persons--for Mademoiselle Hennequin was quite as youthful as my mistress, let her beauty be as it might--it was not continued in my presence; on the contrary, the young lady turned her eyes on me, instead of looking at her companion, and then she raised me in her hand, and commenced a critical examination of my person. "That is a very beautiful handkerchief, Mademoiselle Hennequin," said Betts Shoreham, making the remark an excuse for following the young lady to the sofa. "Had we heard of its existence, our remarks the other night, on such a luxury, might have been more guarded." No answer was given. The governess gazed on me intently, and tears began to course down her cheeks, notwithstanding it was evident she wished to conceal them. Ashamed of her weakness, she endeavored to smile them away, and to appear cheerful. "What is there in that pocket-handkerchief, dear Mademoiselle Hennequin," asked Betts Shoreham, who had a pernicious habit of calling young ladies with whom he was on terms of tolerable intimacy, "dear,"--a habit that sometimes misled persons as to the degree of interest he felt in his companions--"what CAN there be in that pocket-handkerchief to excite tears from a mind and a heart like yours?" "My mind and heart, Mr. Shoreham, are not as faultless, perhaps, as your goodness would make them out to be. ENVY is a very natural feeling for a woman in matters of dress, they say; and, certainly, I am not the owner of so beautiful a pocket-handkerchief--pardon me, Mr. Shoreham; I cannot command myself, and must be guilty of the rudeness of leaving you alone, if----" Mademoiselle Hennequin uttered no more, but rushed from the room, with an impetuosity of manner and feeling that I have often had occasion to remark in young French women. As a matter of course, I was left alone with Betts Shoreham. I shall conceal nothing that ought to be told. Betts Shoreham, notwithstanding her dependent situation, and his own better fortunes, loved the governess, and the governess loved Betts Shoreham. These were facts that I discovered at a later day, though I began to suspect the truth from that moment. Neither, however, knew of the other's passion, though each hoped as an innocent and youthful love will hope, and each trembled as each hoped. Nothing explicit had been said that evening; but much, very much, in the way of sympathy and feeling had been revealed, and but for the inopportune entrance of Julia and myself, all might have been told. CHAPTER XV. There is no moment in the life of man, when he is so keenly sensitive on the subject of the perfection of his mistress, as that in which he completely admits her power. All his jealousy is actively alive to the smallest shade of fault, although his feelings so much indispose him to see any blemish. Betts Shoreham felt an unpleasant pang, even--yes, it amounted to a pang--for in a few moments he would have offered his hand--and men cannot receive any drawback with indifference at such an instant--he felt an unpleasant pang, then, as the idea crossed his mind that Mademoiselle Hennequin could be so violently affected by a feeling as unworthy as that of envy. He had passed several years abroad, and had got the common notion about the selfishness of the French, and more particularly their women, and his prejudices took the alarm. But his love was much the strongest, and soon looked down the distrust, however reasonable, under the circumstances, the latter might have appeared to a disinterested and cool-headed observer. He had seen so much meek and pure-spirited self-denial; so much high principle in the conduct of Mademoiselle Hennequin, during an intimacy which had now lasted six months, that no passing feeling of doubt, like the one just felt, could unsettle the confidence created by her virtues. I know it may take more credit than belongs to most pocket-handkerchiefs, to maintain the problem of the virtues of a French governess--a class of unfortunate persons that seem doomed to condemnation by all the sages of our modern imaginative literature. An English governess, or even an American governess, if, indeed, there be such a being in nature, may be every thing that is respectable, and prudent, and wise, and good; but the French governess has a sort of ex-officio moral taint about her, that throws her without the pale of literary charities. Nevertheless, one or two of the most excellent women I have ever known, have been French governesses, though I do not choose to reveal what this particular individual of the class turned out to be in the end, until the moment for the denouement of her character shall regularly arrive. There was not much time for Betts Shoreham to philosophize, and speculate on female caprices and motives, John Monson making his appearance in as high evening dress as well comported with what is called "republican simplicity." John was a fine looking fellow, six feet and an inch, with large whiskers, a bushy head of hair, and particularly white teeth. His friend was two inches shorter, of much less showy appearance, but of a more intellectual countenance, and of juster proportions. Most persons, at first sight, would praise John Monson's person and face, but all would feel the superiority of Betts Shoreham's, on an acquaintance. The smile of the latter, in particular, was as winning and amiable as that of a girl. It was that smile, on the one hand, and his active, never dormant sympathy for her situation, on the other, which, united, had made such an inroad on the young governess's affections. "It's deuced cold, Betts," said John, as he came near the fire; "this delightful country of ours has some confounded hard winters. I wonder if it be patriotic to say, OUR winters?" "It's all common property, Monson--but, what have become of your sister and Mademoiselle Hennequin? They were both here a minute since, and have vanished like--" "What?--ghosts!--no, you dare not call them THAT, lest their spirits take it in dudgeon. Julie is no ghost, though she is sometimes so delicate and ethereal, and as for Henny--" "Who?" exclaimed Betts, doubting if his ears were true. "Henny, Tote and Moll's governess. Whom do you think I could mean, else? I always call her Henny, en famille, and I look upon you as almost one of us since our travels." {en famille = at home} "I'm sure I can scarcely be grateful enough, my dear fellow--but, you do not call her so to her face?" "Why--no--perhaps not exactly in her very teeth--and beautiful teeth she has, Betts--Julie's won't compare with them." "Miss Monson has fine teeth, notwithstanding. Perhaps Mademoiselle Hennequin--" "Yes, Henny has the best teeth of any girl I know. They are none of your pearls--some pearls are yellowish, you know--but they are teeth; just what ought to be in a handsome girl's mouth. I have no objection to pearls in a necklace, or in the pockets, but TEETH are what are wanted in a mouth, and Henny has just the finest set I know of." Betts Shoreham fidgetted at the "Henny," and he had the weakness, at the moment, to wish the young governess were not in a situation to be spoken of so unceremoniously. He had not time to express this feeling, before John Monson got a glimpse of me, and had me under examination beneath the light of a very powerful lamp. I declare that, knowing his aversion to our species, I felt a glow in all my system at the liberties he was taking. "What have we here?" exclaimed John Monson, in surprise; "has Miss Flowergarden made a call, and is this her card?" "I believe that pocket-handkerchief belongs to your sister," answered Betts, drily, "if that be what you mean." "Jule! well, I am sorry to hear it. I did hope that no sister of MINE would run into any such foolish extravagance--do you own it, Jule?" who entered the room at that instant--"is this bit of a rag yours, or is it not more likely to be Henny's?" "Bit of a rag!" cried the sister, snatching me dexterously out of the spoiler's hands; "and 'Henny,' too! This is not a bit of a rag, sir, but a very pretty pocket-handkerchief, and you must very well know that Mademoiselle Hennequin is not likely to be the owner of any thing as costly." "And what did it cost, pray? At least tell me THAT, if nothing else." "I shall not gratify your curiosity, sir--a lady's wardrobe is not to be dissected in this manner." "Pray, sir, may I ask," Mr. Monson now coming in, "did you pay for Jule's handkerchief? Hang me, if I ever saw a more vulgar thing in my life." "The opinion is not likely to induce me to say yes," answered the father, half-laughing, and yet half-angry at his son's making such allusions before Betts--"never mind him, my dear; the handkerchief is not half as expensive as his own cigars." "It shall be as thoroughly smoked, nevertheless," rejoined John, who was as near being spoilt, and escaping, as was at all necessary. "Ah, Julie, Julie, I'm ashamed of thee." This was an inauspicious commencement for an evening from which so much happiness had been anticipated, but Mrs. Monson coming down, and the carriages driving to the door, Mademoiselle Hennequin was summoned, and the whole party left the house. As a matter of course, it was a little out of the common way that the governess was asked to make one, in the invitations given to the Monsons. But Mademoiselle Hennequin was a person of such perfect bon ton, had so thoroughly the manners of a lady, and was generally reputed so accomplished, that most of the friends of the family felt themselves bound to notice her. There was another reason, too, which justice requires I should relate, though it is not so creditable to the young lady, as those already given. From some quarter, or other, a rumor had got abroad that Miss Monson's governess was of a noble family, a circumstance that I soon discovered had great influence in New York, doubtless by way of expiation for the rigid democratical notions that so universally pervade its society. And here I may remark, en passant, that while nothing is considered so disreputable in America as to be "aristocratic" a word of very extensive signification, as it embraces the tastes, the opinions, the habits, the virtues, and sometimes the religion of the offending party--on the other hand, nothing is so certain to attract attention as nobility. How many poor Poles have I seen dragged about and made lions of, merely because they were reputed noble, though the distinction in that country is pretty much the same as that which exists in one portion of this great republic, where one half the population is white, and the other black; the former making the noble, and the latter the serf. {make one = be included; bon ton = superior manners and culture; notice her = include her socially; "aristocratic" = Cooper was hypersensitive to accusations of being "aristocratic"; poor Poles = since his days in Paris in the early 1830s, Cooper had befriended and aided Poles fleeing Russian domination of their homeland} "What an exceedingly aristocratic pocket-handkerchief Miss Monson has this evening," observed Mrs. G. to Mr. W., as we passed into Mrs. Leamington's rooms, that evening; "I don't know when I've seen any thing so aristocratic in society." "The Monsons are very aristocratic in all things; I understand they dine at six." "Yes," put in Miss F., "and use finger bowls every day." "How aristocratic!" "Very--they even say that since they have come back from Europe, the last time, matters are pushed farther than ever. The ladies insist on kneeling at prayers, instead of inclining, like all the rest of the world." "Did one ever hear of any thing so aristocratic!" "They DO say, but I will not vouch for its truth, that Mr. and Mrs. Monson insist on all their children calling them 'father' and 'mother,' instead of 'pa' and 'ma.'" "Why, Mr. W., that is downright monarchical, is it not?" "It's difficult to say what is, and what is not monarchical, now-a-days; though I think one is pretty safe in pronouncing it anti-republican." "It is patriarchal, rather," observed a wit, who belonged to the group. Into this "aristocratical" set I was now regularly introduced. Many longing and curious eyes were drawn toward me, though the company in this house was generally too well bred to criticise articles of dress very closely. Still, in every country, aristocracy, monarchy, or democracy, there are privileged classes, and in all companies privileged persons. One of the latter took the liberty of asking Julia to leave me in her keeping, while the other danced, and I was thus temporarily transferred to a circle, in which several other pocket-handkerchiefs had been collected, with a view to compare our several merits and demerits. The reader will judge of my surprise, when, the examination being ended, and the judgment being rendered altogether in my favor, I found myself familiarly addressed by the name that I bore in the family circle, or, as No. 7; for pocket-handkerchiefs never speak to each other except on the principle of decimals. It was No. 12, or my relative of the extreme cote gauche, who had strangely enough found his way into this very room, and was now lying cheek by jowl with me again, in old Mrs. Eyelet's lap. Family affection made us glad to meet, and we had a hundred questions to put to each other in a breath. {cote gauche = left wing, politically} No. 12 had commenced life a violent republican, and this simply because he read nothing but republican newspapers; a sufficiently simple reason, as all know who have heard both sides of any question. Shortly after I was purchased by poor, dear Adrienne, a young American traveler had stepped into the magasin, and with the recklessness that distinguishes the expenditures of his countrymen, swept off half a dozen of the family at one purchase. Accident gave him the liberal end of the piece, a circumstance to which he never would have assented had he known the fact, for being an attache of the legation of his own country, he was ex officio aristocratic. My brother amused me exceedingly with his account of the indignation he felt at finding himself in a very hot-bed of monarchical opinions, in the set at the American legation. What rendered these diplomates so much the more aristocratic, was the novelty of the thing, scarcely one of them having been accustomed to society at home. After passing a few months in such company, my brother's boss, who was a mere traveling diplomatist, came home and began to run a brilliant career in the circles of New York, on the faith of a European reputation. Alas! there is in pocket-handkerchief nature a disposition to act by contraries. The "more you call, the more I won't come" principle was active in poor No. 12's mind, and he had not been a month in New York society, before he came out an ultra monarchist. New York society has more than one of these sudden political conversions to answer for. It is such a thorough development of the democratic principle, that the faith of few believers is found strong enough to withstand it. Every body knows how much a prospect varies by position. Thus, you shall stand on the aristocratic side of a room filled with company, and every thing will present a vulgar and democratic appearance; or, vice versa, you shall occupy a place among the oi polloi, and all is aristocratic, exclusive, and offensive. So it had proved with my unfortunate kinsman. All his notions had changed; instead of finding the perfection he had preached and extolled so long, he found nothing to admire, and every thing to condemn. In a word, never was a pocket-handkerchief so miserable, and that, too, on grounds so philosophical and profound, met with, on its entrance into active life. I do believe, if my brother could have got back to France, he would have written a book on America, which, while it overlooked many vices and foibles that deserve to be cut up without mercy, would have thrown even de Tocqueville into the shade in the way of political blunders. But I forbear; this latter writer being unanswerable among those neophytes who having never thought of their own system, unless as Englishmen, are overwhelmed with admiration at finding any thing of another character advanced about it. At least, such are the sentiments entertained by a very high priced pocket-handkerchief. {magasin = shop; ex-officio = by virtue of his position--Cooper frequently criticized American diplomats for taking on the conservative views of the monarchial governments to which they were accredited; oi polloi = common people, rabble (Greek); de Tocqueville = Alexis de Tocqueville = French writer (1805-1859), famous for his account of American culture, "Democracy in America" (1835 and 1840)--Cooper had provided Tocqueville with letters of introduction for his 1832 American visit, but resented the extreme admiration accorded his book} Mademoiselle Hennequin, I took occasion to remark, occupied much of the attention of Betts Shoreham, at Mrs. Leamington's ball. They understood each other perfectly, though the young man could not get over the feeling created by the governess's manner when she first met with me. Throughout the evening, indeed, her eye seemed studiously averted from me, as if she struggled to suppress certain sentiments or sensations, that she was unwilling to betray. Now, these sentiments, if sentiments they were, or sensations, as they were beyond all dispute, might be envy--repinings at another's better fortunes--or they might be excited by philosophical and commendable reflections touching those follies which so often lead the young and thoughtless into extravagance. Betts tried hard to believe them the last, though, in his inmost heart, he would a thousand times rather that the woman he loved should smile on a weakness of this sort, in a girl of her own age, than that she should show herself to be prematurely wise, if it was wisdom purchased at the expense of the light-heartedness and sympathies of her years and sex. On a diminished scale, I had awakened in his bosom some such uneasy distrust as the pocket-handkerchief of Desdemona is known to have aroused in that of the Moor. {Shakespeare, "Othello"} Nor can I say that Julia Monson enjoyed herself as much as she had anticipated. Love she did not Betts Shoreham; for that was a passion her temperament and training induced her to wait for some pretty unequivocal demonstrations on the part of the gentleman before she yielded to it; but she LIKED him vastly, and nothing would have been easier than to have blown this smouldering preference into a flame. She was too young, and, to say the truth, too natural and uncalculating, to be always remembering that Betts owned a good old-fashioned landed estate that was said to produce twenty, and which did actually produce eleven thousand a year, nett; and that his house in the country was generally said to be one of the very best in the state. For all this she cared absolutely nothing, or nothing worth mentioning. There were enough young men of as good estates, and there were a vast many of no estates at all, ready and willing to take their chances in the "cutting up" of "old Monson," but there were few who were as agreeable, as well mannered, as handsome, or who had seen as much of the world, as Betts Shoreham. Of course, she had never fancied the young man in love with herself, but, previously to the impression she had quite recently imbibed of his attachment to her mother's governess, she had been accustomed to think such a thing MIGHT come to pass, and that she should not be sorry if it did. I very well understand this is not the fashionable, or possibly the polite way of describing those incipient sentiments which form the germ of love in the virgin affections of young ladies, and that a skillful and refined poet would use very different language on the occasion; but I began this history to represent things as they are, and such is the manner in which "Love's Young Dream" appears to a pocket-handkerchief. {"Love's Young Dream" = popular poem by Thomas Moore (1780-1852)} Among other things that were unpleasant, Miss Monson was compelled to overhear sundry remarks of Betts's devotion to the governess, as she stood in the dance, some of which reached me, also. "Who is the lady to whom Mr. Shoreham is so devoue this evening?" asked Miss N. of Miss T. "'Tis quite a new face, and, if one might be so presuming, quite a new manner." {devoue = devoted, attentive} "That is Mademoiselle Henny, the governess of Mrs. Monson's children, my dear. They say she is all accomplishments, and quite a miracle of propriety. It is also rumored that she is, some way, a very distinguished person, reduced by those horrid revolutions of which they have so many in Europe." "Noble, I dare say!" "Oh! that at least. Some persons affirm that she is semi-ROYAL. The country is full of broken-down royalty and nobility. Do you think she has an aristocratic air?" "Not in the least--her ears are too small." "Why, my dear, that is the very symbol of nobility! When my Aunt Harding was in Naples, she knew the Duke of Montecarbana, intimately; and she says he had the smallest ears she ever beheld on a human being. The Montecarbanas are a family as old as the ruins of Paestum, they say." {Paestum = ancient Roman city outside Naples} "Well, to my notion, nobility and teaching little girls French and Italian, and their gammes, have very little in common. I had thought Mr. Shoreham an admirer of Miss Monson's." {gammes = musical scales} Now, unfortunately, my mistress overheard this remark. Her feelings were just in that agitated state to take the alarm, and she determined to flirt with a young man of the name of Thurston, with a view to awaken Betts's jealousy, if he had any, and to give vent to her own spleen. This Tom Thurston was one of those tall, good-looking young fellows who come from, nobody knows where, get into society, nobody knows how, and live on, nobody knows what. It was pretty generally understood that he was on the look-out for a rich wife, and encouragement from Julia Monson was not likely to be disregarded by such a person. To own the truth, my mistress carried matters much too far--so far, indeed, as to attract attention from every body but those most concerned; viz. her own mother and Betts Shoreham. Although elderly ladies play cards very little, just now, in American society, or, indeed, in any other, they have their inducements for rendering the well-known office of matron at a ball, a mere sinecure. Mrs. Monson, too, was an indulgent mother, and seldom saw any thing very wrong in her own children. Julia, in the main, had sufficient retenue, and a suspicion of her want of discretion on this point, was one of the last things that would cross the fond parent's mind at Mrs. Leamington's ball. Others, however, were less confiding. {retenue = discretion} "Your daughter is in HIGH SPIRITS to-night," observed a single lady of a certain age, who was sitting near Mrs. Monson; "I do not remember to have ever seen her so GAY." "Yes, dear girl, she IS happy,"--poor Julia was any thing but THAT, just then--"but youth is the time for happiness, if it is ever to come in this life." "Is Miss Monson addicted to such VERY high spirits?" continued one, who was resolute to torment, and vexed that the mother could not be sufficiently alarmed to look around. "Always--when in agreeable company. I think it a great happiness, ma'am, to possess good spirits." "No doubt--yet one needn't be always fifteen, as Lady Wortley Montague said," muttered the other, giving up the point, and changing her seat, in order that she might speak her mind more freely into the ear of a congenial spirit. {Lady Wortley Montague = Lady Mary Wortley Montague (1689-1762), English essayist and letter-writer} Half an hour later we were all in the carriages, again, on our way home; all, but Betts Shoreham, I should say, for having seen the ladies cloaked, he had taken his leave at Mrs. Leamington's door, as uncertain as ever whether or not to impute envy to a being who, in all other respects, seemed to him to be faultless. He had to retire to an uneasy pillow, undetermined whether to pursue his original intention of making the poor friendless French girl independent, by an offer of his hand, or whether to decide that her amiable and gentle qualities were all seeming, and that she was not what she appeared to be. Betts Shoreham owed his distrust to national prejudice, and well was he paid for entertaining so vile a companion. Had Mademoiselle Hennequin been an American girl, he would not have thought a second time of the emotion she had betrayed in regarding my beauties; but he had been taught to believe all French women managing and hypocritical; a notion that the experience of a young man in Paris would not be very likely to destroy. {managing = manipulative} "Well," cried John Monson, as the carriage drew from Mrs. Leamington's door, "this is the last ball I shall go to in New York;" which declaration he repeated twenty times that season, and as often broke. "What is the matter now, Jack?" demanded the father. "I found it very pleasant--six or seven of us old fellows made a very agreeable evening of it." "Yes, I dare say, sir; but you were not compelled to dance in a room eighteen by twenty-four, with a hundred people treading on your toes, or brushing their heads in your face." "Jack can find no room for dancing since the great ball of the Salle de l'Opera, at Paris," observed the mother smiling. "I hope YOU enjoyed yourself better, Julia?" {Salle de l'Opera = Paris Opera House--the building referred to by Cooper served as Opera House from 1821-1873 and was replaced by the present building in 1874} My mistress started; then she answered with a sort of hysterical glee-- "Oh! I have found the evening delightful, ma'am. I could have remained two hours longer." "And you, Mademoiselle Hennequin; I hope you, too, were agreeably entertained?" The governess answered meekly, and with a slight tremor in her voice. "Certainly, madame," she said, "I have enjoyed myself; though dancing always seems an amusement I have no right to share in." There was some little embarrassment, and I could perceive an impulse in Julia to press nearer to her rival, as if impelled by a generous wish to manifest her sympathy. But Tom's protest soon silenced every thing else, and we alighted, and soon went to rest. The next morning Julia sent for me down to be exhibited to one or two friends, my fame having spread in consequence of my late appearance. I was praised, kissed, called a pretty dear, and extolled like a spoiled child, though Miss W. did not fail to carry the intelligence, far and near, that Miss Monson's much-talked-of pocket-handkerchief was nothing after all but the THING Miss Halfacre had brought out the night of the day her father had stopped payment. Some even began to nick-name me the insolvent pocket-handkerchief. I thought Julia sad, after her friends had all left her. I lay neglected on a sofa, and the pretty girl's brow became thoughtful. Of a sudden she was aroused from a brown study--reflective mood, perhaps, would be a more select phrase--by the unexpected appearance of young Thurston. There was a sort of "Ah! have I caught you alone!" expression about this adventurer's eye, even while he was making his bow, that struck me. I looked for great events, nor was I altogether disappointed. In one minute he was seated at Julia's side, on the same sofa, and within two feet of her; in two more he had brought in play his usual tricks of flattery. My mistress listened languidly, and yet not altogether without interest. She was piqued at Betts Shoreham's indifference, had known her present admirer several months, if dancing in the same set can be called KNOWING, and had never been made love to before, at least in a manner so direct and unequivocal. The young man had tact enough to discover that he had an advantage, and fearful that some one might come in and interrupt the tete a tete, he magnanimously resolved to throw all on a single cast, and come to the point at once. "I think, Miss Monson," he continued, after a very beautiful specimen of rigmarole in the way of love-making, a rigmarole that might have very fairly figured in an editor's law and logic, after he had been beaten in a libel suit, "I think, Miss Monson, you cannot have overlooked the VERY particular attentions I have endeavored to pay you, ever since I have been so fortunate as to have made your acquaintance?" "I!--Upon my word, Mr. Thurston, I am not at all conscious of having been the object of any such attentions!" "No?--That is ever the way with the innocent and single-minded! This is what we sincere and diffident men have to contend with in affairs of the heart. Our bosoms may be torn with ten thousand distracting cares, and yet the modesty of a truly virtuous female heart shall be so absorbed in its own placid serenity as to be indifferent to the pangs it is unconsciously inflicting!" "Mr. Thurston, your language is strong--and--a little--a little unintelligible." "I dare say--ma'am--I never expect to be intelligible again. When the 'heart is oppressed with unutterable anguish, condemned to conceal that passion which is at once the torment and delight of life'--when 'his lip, the ruby harbinger of joy, lies pale and cold, the miserable appendage of a mang--' that is, Miss Monson, I mean to say, when all our faculties are engrossed by one dear object we are often incoherent and mysterious, as a matter of course." Tom Thurston came very near wrecking himself on the quicksands of the romantic school. He had begun to quote from a speech delivered by Gouverneur Morris, on the right of deposit at New Orleans, and which he had spoken at college, and was near getting into a part of the subject that might not have been so apposite, but retreated in time. By way of climax, the lover laid his hand on me, and raised me to his eyes in an abstracted manner, as if unconscious of what he was doing, and wanted to brush away a tear. {Gouverneur Morris = American Federalist leader and diplomat (1752-1816)--a 1795 American treaty with Spain granted the United States the right of navigation on the Mississippi River and to deposit goods at New Orleans without paying customs duties} "What a confounded rich old fellow the father must be," thought Tom, "to give her such pocket-handkerchiefs!" I felt like a wren that escapes from the hawk when the rogue laid me down. Alas! Poor Julia was the dupe of all this acting. Totally unpracticed herself, abandoned by the usages of the society in which she had been educated very much to the artifices of any fortune-hunter, and vexed with Betts Shoreham, she was in the worst possible frame of mind to resist such eloquence and love. She had seen Tom at all the balls in the best houses, found no fault with his exterior and manners, both of which were fashionable and showy, and now discovered that he had a most sympathetic heart, over which, unknown to herself, she had obtained a very unlimited control. "You do not answer me, Miss Monson," continued Tom peeping out at one side of me, for I was still at his eyes--"you do not answer me, cruel, inexorable girl!" "What WOULD you have me say, Mr. Thurston?" "Say YES, dearest, loveliest, most perfect being of the whole human family." "YES, then; if that will relieve your mind, it is a relief very easily bestowed." Now, Tom Thurston was as skilled in a fortune-hunter's wiles as Napoleon was in military strategy. He saw he had obtained an immense advantage for the future, and he forbore to press the matter any further at the moment. The "yes" had been uttered more in pleasantry than with any other feeling, but, by holding it in reserve, presuming on it gradually, and using it in a crisis, it might be worth--"let me see," calculated Tom, as he went whistling down Broadway, "that 'yes' may be made to yield at least a cool $100,000. There are John, this girl, and two little ones. Old Monson is worth every dollar of $700,000--none of your skyrockets, but a known, old fortune, in substantial houses and lands--let us suppose the old woman outlive him, and that she gets her full thirds; THAT will leave $466,660. Perhaps John may get a couple of hundred thousand, and even THEN each of the girls will have $88,888. If one of the little things should happen to die, and there's lots of scarlet fever about, why that would fetch it up at once to a round hundred thousand. I don't think the old woman would be likely to marry again at her time of life. One mustn't calculate too confidently on THAT, however, as I would have her myself for half of SUCH thirds." {full thirds = Old Monson's widow would under American common law receive a life interest in one-third of his real property, called a dower right, which would revert to his children if she died without remarrying.} CHAPTER XVI. For a week nothing material transpired. All that time I lay in the drawer, gaining a knowledge of what passed, in the best manner I could. Betts Shoreham was a constant visitor at the house, and Tom Thurston made his appearance with a degree of punctuality that began to attract notice, among the inmates of the house on the opposite side of the street. All this time, however, Tom treated Julia with the greatest respect, and even distance, turning more of his attention toward Mrs. Monson. He acted in this manner, because he thought he had secured a sufficient lien on the young lady, by means of her "yes," and knew how important it was for one who could show none of the usual inducements for consent, to the parents, to obtain the good-will of the "old lady." At the end of the week, Mrs. Monson opened her house to receive the world. As a matter of course, I was brought out on this occasion. Now, Betts Shoreham and Mademoiselle Hennequin had made great progress toward an understanding in the course of this week, though the lady becoming more and more conscious of the interest she had created in the heart of the gentleman, her own conduct got to be cautious and reserved. At length, Betts actually carried matters so far as to write a letter, that was as much to the point as a man could very well come. In a word, he offered his hand to the excellent young French woman, assuring her, in very passionate and suitable terms, that she had been mistress of his affections ever since the first month of their acquaintance. In this letter, he implored her not to be so cruel as to deny him an interview, and there were a few exceedingly pretty reproaches, touching her recent coy and reserved deportment. Mademoiselle Hennequin was obliged to read this letter in Julia's room, and she took such a position to do it, as exposed every line to my impertinent gaze, as I lay on the bed, among the other finery that was got out for the evening. Mrs. Monson was present, and she had summoned the governess, in order to consult her on the subject of some of the ornaments of the supper table. Fortunately, both Julia and her mother were too much engaged to perceive the tears that rolled down the cheeks of the poor stranger, as she read the honest declaration of a fervid and manly love, nor did either detect the manner in which the letter was pressed to Mademoiselle Hennequin's heart, when she had done reading it the second time. Just at this instant a servant came to announce Mr. Shoreham's presence in the "breakfast-room." This was a retired and little frequented part of the house at that hour, Betts having been shown into it, in consequence of the preparations that were going on in the proper reception-rooms. "Julia, my dear, you will have to go below--although it is at a most inconvenient moment." "No, mother--let Mr. Betts Shoreham time his visits better--George, say that the ladies are ENGAGED." "That will not do," interrupted the mother, in some concern--"we are too intimate for such an excuse--would YOU, Mademoiselle Hennequin, have the goodness to see Mr. Shoreham for a few minutes--you must come into our American customs sooner or later, and this may be a favorable moment to commence." Mrs. Monson laughed pleasantly as she made this request, and her kindness and delicacy to the governess were too marked and unremitted to permit the latter to think of hesitating. She had laid her own handkerchief down at my side, to read the letter, but feeling the necessity of drying her eyes, she caught me up by mistake, smiled her assent, and left the apartment. Mademoiselle Hennequin did not venture below, until she had gone into her own room. Here she wept freely for a minute or two, and then she bathed her eyes in cold water, and used the napkin in drying them. Owing to this circumstance, I was fortunately a witness of all that passed in her interview with her lover. The instant Betts Shoreham saw that he was to have an interview with the charming French girl, instead of with Julia Monson, his countenance brightened; and, as if supposing the circumstance proof of his success, he seized the governess' hand, and carried it to his lips in a very carnivorous fashion. The lady, however, succeeded in retaining her hand, if she did not positively preserve it from being devoured. "A thousand, thousand thanks, dearest Mademoiselle Hennequin," said Betts, in an incoherent, half-sane manner; "you have read my letter, and I may interpret this interview favorably. I meant to have told all to Mrs. Monson, had SHE come down, and asked her kind interference--but it is much, much better as it is." "You will do well, monsieur, not to speak to Madame Monson on the subject at all," answered Mademoiselle Hennequin, with an expression of countenance that I found quite inexplicable; since it was not happy, nor was it altogether the reverse. "This must be our last meeting, and it were better that no one knew any thing of its nature." "Then my vanity--my hopes have misled me, and I have no interest in your feelings!" "I do not say THAT, monsieur; oh! non--non--I am far from saying as much as THAT"--poor girl, her face declared a hundred times more than her tongue, that she was sincere--"I do not--CANNOT say I have no interest in one, who so generously overlooks my poverty, my utter destitution of all worldly greatness, and offers to share with me his fortune and his honorable position--" "This is not what I ask--what I had hoped to earn--gratitude is not love." "Gratitude easily becomes love in a woman's heart"--answered the dear creature, with a smile and a look that Betts would have been a mere dolt not to have comprehended--"and it is my duty to take care that MY gratitude does not entertain this weakness." "Mademoiselle Hennequin, for mercy's sake, be as frank and simple as I know your nature prompts--DO you, CAN you love me?" Of course such a direct question, put in a very categorical way, caused the questioned to blush, if it did not induce her to smile. The first she did in a very pretty and engaging manner, though I thought she hesitated about indulging in the last. "Why should I say 'yes,' when it can lead to no good result?" "Then destroy all hope at once, and say NO." "That would be to give you--to give us both unnecessary pain. Besides, it might not be strictly true--I COULD love--Oh! No one can tell how my heart COULD love where it was right and proper." After this, I suppose it is unnecessary for me to say, that Betts soon brought the category of possibilities into one of certainty. To own the truth, he carried every thing by his impetuosity, reducing the governess to own that what she admitted she COULD do so well, she had already done in a very complete and thorough manner. I enjoyed this scene excessively, nor was it over in a minute. Mademoiselle Hennequin used me several times to wipe away tears, and it is strong proof how much both parties were thinking of other matters, that neither discovered who was present at so interesting a tete-a-tete. At length came the denouement. After confessing how much she loved Betts, how happy she would be could she be his slave all the days of her life, how miserable she was in knowing that he had placed his affections on HER, and how much more miserable she should be, had she learned he had NOT, Mademoiselle Hennequin almost annihilated the young man by declaring that it was utterly impossible for her to consent to become his wife. The reason was the difference in fortune, and the impossibility that she should take advantage of his passion to lead him into a connection that he might afterwards regret. Against this decision, Betts reasoned warmly, but seriously, in vain. Had Mademoiselle Hennequin been an American, instead of a French, girl, her feelings would not have been so sensitive on this point, for, in this great republic, every body but the fortune-hunters, an exceedingly contemptible class, considers a match without money, quite as much a matter of course, as a match with. But, the governess had been educated under a different system, and it struck her imagination as very proper, that she should make both herself and her lover miserable, because he had two hundred thousand dollars, and she had not as many hundreds. All this strangely conflicted with Betts' preconceived opinion of a French woman's selfishness, and, while he was disposed to believe his adored perfection, he almost feared it was a trick. Of such contradictory materials is the human mind composed! At length the eyes of Betts fell on me, who was still in the hand of Mademoiselle Hennequin, and had several times been applied to her eyes unheeded. It was evident I revived unpleasant recollections, and the young man could not avoid letting an expression escape him, that sufficiently betrayed his feelings. "This handkerchief!" exclaimed the young governess--"Ah! it is that of Mademoiselle Julie, which I must have taken by mistake. But, why should this handkerchief awaken any feeling in you, monsieur? You are not about to enact the Moor, in your days of wooing?" {the Moor = from Shakespeare's "Othello"} This was said sweetly, and withal a little archly, for the poor girl was glad to turn the conversation from its harassing and painful points; but Betts was in no humor for pleasantry, and he spoke out in a way to give his mistress some clue to his thoughts. "That cursed handkerchief"--it is really indecent in young men to use such improper language, but they little heed what they say when strongly excited--"that cursed handkerchief has given me as much pain, as it appears also to have given you. I wish I knew the real secret of its connection with your feelings; for I confess, like that of Desdemona's, it has excited distrust, though for a very different cause." The cheeks of Mademoiselle Hennequin were pale, and her brow thoughtful. Still, she had a sweet smile for Betts; and, though ignorant of the nature of his suspicions, which she would have scarcely pardoned, it was her strongest wish to leave no darker cloud between them, than the one she felt it her duty to place there herself. She answered, therefore, frankly and simply, though not without betraying strong emotion as she proceeded. "This handkerchief is well known to me," answered the young French woman; "it revives the recollections of some of the most painful scenes of a life that has never seen much sunshine. You have heard me speak of a grandmother, Mr. Shoreham, who took care of my childhood, and who died in my arms. That handkerchief, I worked for her support in her last illness, and this lace--yes, this beautiful lace was a part of that beloved grandmother's bridal trousseau. I put it where you see it, to enhance the value of my labors." "I see it all!" exclaimed the repentant Betts--"FEEL it all, dearest, dearest Mademoiselle Hennequin; and I hope this exquisite work, this refined taste brought all the comfort and reward you had a right to anticipate." A shade of anguish crossed the face of Adrienne--for it was no other--as she gazed at me, and recalled all the scenes of her sufferings and distress. Then I knew her again, for time and a poor memory, with some development of person, had caused me to forget the appearance of the lovely creature who may be said to have made me what I am; but one glance at her, with that expression of intense suffering on her countenance, renewed all my earlier impressions. "I received as much as I merited, perhaps," returned the meek-minded girl--for she was proud only in insisting on what she fancied right--"and enough to give my venerated parent Christian burial. They were days of want and sorrow that succeeded, during which, Betts, I toiled for bread like an Eastern slave, the trodden-on and abused hireling of a selfish milliner. Accident at length placed me in a family as a governess. This family happened to be acquainted with Madame Monson, and an offer that was brilliant to me, in my circumstances, brought me to America. You see by all this how unfit I am to be your wife, monsieur. You would blush to have it said you had married a French milliner!" "But you are not a milliner, in that sense, dearest Adrienne--for you must suffer me to call you by that name--you are a lady reduced by revolutions and misfortunes. The name of Hennequin I know is respectable, and what care I for money, when so much worth is to be found on your side of the scale. Money would only oppress me, under such circumstances." "Your generosity almost overcomes my scruples, but it may not be. The name to which I am entitled is certainly not one to be ashamed of--it is far more illustrious than that of Hennequin, respectable as is the last; but of what account is a NAME to one in my condition!" "And your family name is not Hennequin?" asked the lover, anxiously. "It is not. My poor grandmother assumed the name of Hennequin, when we went last to Paris, under an apprehension that the guillotine might follow the revolution of July, as it had followed that of '89. This name she enjoined it on me to keep, and I have never thought it prudent to change it. I am of the family of de la Rocheaimard." The exclamation which burst from the lips of Betts Shoreham, betokened both surprise and delight. He made Adrienne repeat her declarations, and even desired her to explain her precise parentage. The reader will remember, that there had been an American marriage in Adrienne's family, and that every relative the poor girl had on earth, was among these distant connections on this side of the Atlantic. One of these relatives, though it was no nearer than a third cousin, was Betts Shoreham, whose great-grandmother had been a bona fide de la Rocheaimard, and who was enabled, at once, to point out to the poor deserted orphan some forty or fifty persons, who stood in the same degree of affinity to her. It is needless to say that this conversation was of absorbing interest to both; so much so, indeed, that Betts momentarily forgot his love, and by the time it had ended, Adrienne was disposed to overlook most of her over scrupulous objections to rewarding that very passion. But the hour admonished them of the necessity of separating. "And now, my beloved cousin," said Betts Shoreham, as he rose to quit the room, seizing Adrienne's unresisting hand--"now, my own Adrienne, you will no longer urge your sublimated notions of propriety against my suit. I am your nearest male relative, and have a right to your obedience--and I command that you be the second de la Rocheaimard who became the wife of a Shoreham." "Tell me, mon cher cousin," said Adrienne, smiling through her tears--"were your grand-parents, my good uncle and aunt, were they happy? Was their union blessed?" {mon cher cousin = my dear cousin} "They were miracles of domestic felicity, and their happiness has passed down in tradition, among all their descendants. Even religion could not furnish them with a cause for misunderstanding. That example which they set to the last century, we will endeavor to set to this." Adrienne smiled, kissed her hand to Betts, and ran out of the room, leaving me forgotten on the sofa. Betts Shoreham seized his hat, and left the house, a happy man; for, though he had no direct promise as yet, he felt as reasonably secure of success, as circumstances required. CHAPTER XVII. Five minutes later, Tom Thurston entered, and Julia Monson came down to receive HIM, her pique not interfering, and it being rather stylish to be disengaged on the morning of the day when the household was in all the confusion of a premeditated rout. {premeditated rout = planned party} "This is SO good of you, Miss Monson," said Tom, as he made his bow--I heard it all, being still on the sofa--"This is SO good of you, when your time must have so many demands on it." "Not in the least, Mr. Thurston--mamma and the housekeeper have settled every thing, and I am really pleased to see you, as you can give me the history of the new play--" "Ah! Miss Monson, my heart--my faculties--my ideas--" Tom was getting bothered, and he made a desperate effort to extricate himself--"In short, my JUDGMENT is so confused and monopolized, that I have no powers left to think or speak of plays. In a word, I was not there." "That explains it, then--and what has thus confused your mind, Mr. Thurston?" "The approach of this awful night. You will be surrounded by a host of admirers, pouring into your ears their admiration and love, and then what shall I have to support me, but that 'yes,' with which you once raised me from the depths of despair to an elevation of happiness that was high as the highest pinnacle of the caverns of Kentucky; raising me from the depths of Chimborazo." {caverns of Kentucky = Mammoth Cave; Chimborazo = a 20,500 foot volcano in Ecuador} Tom meant to reverse this image, but love is proverbially desperate in its figures of speech, and any thing was better than appearing to hesitate. Nevertheless, Miss Monson was too well instructed, and had too much real taste, not to feel surprise at all this extravagance of diction and poetry. "I am not certain, Mr. Thurston, that I rightly understand you," she said. "Chimborazo is not particularly low, nor are the caverns of Kentucky so strikingly elevated." "Ascribe it all to that fatal, heart-thrilling, hope-inspiring 'yes,' loveliest of human females," continued Tom, kneeling with some caution, lest the straps of his pantaloons should give way--"Impute all to your own lucid ambiguity, and to the torments of hope that I experience. Repeat that 'yes,' lovely, consolatory, imaginative being, and raise me from the thrill of depression, to the liveliest pulsations of all human acmes." "Hang it," thought Tom, "if she stand THAT, I shall presently be ashore. Genius, itself, can invent nothing finer." But Julia did stand it. She admired Tom for his exterior, but the admiration of no moderately sensible woman could overlook rodomontade so exceedingly desperate. It was trespassing too boldly on the proprieties to utter such nonsense to a gentlewoman, and Tom, who had got his practice in a very low school, was doomed to discover that he had overreached himself. "I am not certain I quite understand you, Mr. Thurston," answered the half-irritated, half-amused young lady; "your language is so very extraordinary--your images so unusual--" "Say, rather, that it is your own image, loveliest incorporation of perceptible incarnations," interrupted Tom, determined to go for the whole, and recalling some rare specimens of magazine eloquence--"Talk not of images, obdurate maid, when you are nothing but an image yourself." "I! Mr. Thurston--and of what is it your pleasure to accuse me of being the image?" "O! unutterable wo--yes, inexorable girl, your vacillating 'yes' has rendered me the impersonation of that oppressive sentiment, of which your beauty and excellence have become the mocking reality. Alas, alas! that bearded men,"--Tom's face was covered with hair--"Alas, alas! that bearded men should be brought to weep over the contrarieties of womanly caprice." Here Tom bowed his head, and after a grunting sob or two, he raised his handkerchief in a very pathetic manner to his face, and THOUGHT to himself--"Well, if she stand THAT, the Lord only knows what I shall say next." As for Julia, she was amused, though at first she had been a little frightened. The girl had a good deal of spirit, and she had tant soit peu of mother Eve's love of mischief in her. She determined to "make capital" out of the affair, as the Americans say, in shop-keeping slang. {tant soit peu = an ever so tiny amount} "What is the 'yes,' of which you speak," she inquired, "and, on which you seem to lay so much stress?" "That 'yes' has been my bane and antidote," answered Tom, rallying for a new and still more desperate charge. "When first pronounced by your rubicund lips, it thrilled on my amazed senses like a beacon of light--" "Mr. Thurston--Mr. Thurston--what DO you mean?" "Ah, d--n it," thought Tom, "I should have said HUMID light'--how the deuce did I come to forget that word--it would have rounded the sentence beautifully." "What do I mean, angel of 'humid light,'" answered Tom, aloud; "I mean all I say, and lots of feeling besides. When the heart is anguished with unutterable emotion, it speaks in accents that deaden all the nerves, and thrill the ears." Tom was getting to be animated, and when that was the case, his ideas flowed like a torrent after a thunder-shower, or in volumes, and a little muddily. "What do I mean, indeed; I mean to have YOU," he THOUGHT, "and at least, eighty thousand dollars, or dictionaries, Webster's inclusive, were made in vain." "This is very extraordinary, Mr. Thurston," rejoined Julia, whose sense of womanly propriety began to take the alarm; "and I must insist on an explanation. Your language would seem to infer--really, I do not know, what it does NOT seem to infer. Will you have the goodness to explain what you mean by that 'yes?'" "Simply, loveliest and most benign of your sex, that once already, in answer to a demand of your hand, you deigned to reply with that energetic and encouraging monosyllable, yes--dear and categorical affirmative--" exclaimed Tom, going off again at half-cock, highly impressed with the notion that rhapsody, instead of music, was the food of love--"Yes, dear and categorical affirmative, with what ecstasy did not my drowsy ears drink in the melodious sounds--what extravagance of delight my throbbing heart echo its notes, on the wings of the unseen winds--in short, what considerable satisfaction your consent gave my pulsating mind!" "Consent!--Consent is a strong WORD, Mr. Thurston!" "It is, indeed, adorable Julia, and it is also a strong THING. I've known terrible consequences arise from the denial of a consent, not half as explicit as your own." "Consequences!--may I ask, sir, to what consequences you allude?" "The consequences, Miss Monson--that is, the consequences of a violated troth, I mean--they may be divided into three parts--" here, Tom got up, brushed his knees, each in succession, with his pocket-handkerchief, and began to count on his fingers, like a lawyer who is summing up an argument--"Yes, Miss Julia, into three parts. First come the pangs of unrequited love; on these I propose to enlarge presently. Next come the legal effects, always supposing that the wronged party can summon heart enough to carry on a suit, with bruised affections--" "hang it," thought Tom, "why did I not think of that word 'bruised' while on my knees; it would tell like a stiletto--" "Yes, Miss Julia, if 'bruised affections' would permit the soul to descend to such preliminaries. The last consequence is, the despair of hope deferred." "All this is so extraordinary, Mr. Thurston, that I insist on knowing why you have presumed to address such language to me--yes, sir, INSIST on knowing your reason." Tom was dumbfounded. Now, that he was up, and looking about him, he had an opportunity of perceiving that his mistress was offended, and that he had somewhat overdone the sublime, poetical and affecting. With a sudden revulsion of feeling and tactics, he determined to throw himself, at once, into the penitent and candid. "Ah, Miss Monson," he cried, somewhat more naturally--"I see I have offended and alarmed you. But, impute it all to love. The strength of my passion is such, that I became desperate, and was resolved to try any expedient that I thought might lead to success." "That might be pardoned, sir, were it not for the extraordinary character of the expedient. Surely, you have never seen in me any taste for the very extraordinary images and figures of speech you have used, on this occasion." "This handkerchief,"--said Tom, taking me from the sofa--"this handkerchief must bear all the blame. But for this, I should not have dreamt of running so much on the high-pressure principle; but love, you know, Miss Julia, is a calculation, like any other great event of life, and must be carried on consistently." "And, pray, sir, how can that handkerchief have brought about any such result?" "Ah! Miss Monson, you ask me to use a most killing frankness! Had we not better remain under the influence of the poetical star?" "If you wish to ensure my respect, or esteem, Mr. Thurston, it is necessary to deal with me in perfect sincerity. Nothing but truth will ever be pleasing to me." "Hang it," THOUGHT Tom, again, "who knows? She is whimsical, and may really like to have the truth. It's quite clear her heart is as insensible to eloquence and poetry, as a Potter's Field wall, and it might answer to try her with a little truth. Your $80,000 girls get SUCH notions in their heads, that there's no analogy, as one might say, between them and the rest of the species. Miss Julia," continuing aloud, "my nature is all plain-dealing, and I am delighted to find a congenial spirit. You must have observed something very peculiar in my language, at the commencement of this exceedingly interesting dialogue?" "I will not deny it, Mr. Thurston; your language was, to say the least, VERY peculiar." "Lucid, but ambiguous; pathetic, but amusing; poetical, but comprehensive; prosaical, but full of emphasis. That's my nature. Plain-dealing, too, is my nature, and I adore the same quality in others; most especially in those I could wish to marry." "Does this wish, then, extend to the plural number?" asked Julia, smiling a little maliciously. "Certainly; when the heart is devoted to virtuous intentions, it wishes for a union with virtue, where-ever it is to be found. Competence and virtue are my mottoes, Miss Julia." "This shows that you are, in truth, a lover of plain-dealing, Mr. Thurston--and now, as to the handkerchief?" "Why, Miss Julia, perceiving that you are sincere, I shall be equally frank. You own this handkerchief?" "Certainly, sir. I should hardly use an article of dress that is the property of another." "Independent, and the fruit of independence. Well, Miss Monson, it struck me that the mistress of such a handkerchief MUST like poetry--that is, flights of the imagination--that is, eloquence and pathos, as it might be engrafted on passion and sentiment." "I believe I understand you, sir; you wish to say that common sense seemed misapplied to the owner of such a handkerchief." "Far from that, adorable young lady; but, that poetry, and eloquence, and flights of imagination, seem well applied. A very simple calculation will demonstrate what I mean. But, possibly, you do not wish to hear the calculation--ladies, generally, dislike figures?" "I am an exception, Mr. Thurston; I beg you will lay the whole matter before me, therefore, without reserve." "It is simply this, ma'am. This handkerchief cost every cent of $100--" "One hundred and twenty-five," said Julia quickly. "Bless me," THOUGHT Tom, "what a rich old d--l her father must be. I will not give her up; and as poetry and sentiment do not seem to be favorites, here goes for frankness--some women are furious for plain matter-of-fact fellows, and this must be one of the number. One hundred and twenty-five dollars is a great deal of money," he added, aloud, "and the interest, at 7 per cent, will come to $1.75. Including first cost and washing, the annual expense of this handkerchief may be set down at $2. But, the thing will not last now five years, if one includes fashion, wear and tear, &c., and this will bring the whole expense up to $27 per annum. We will suppose your fortune to be $50,000, Miss Julia--" Here Tom paused, and cast a curious glance at the young lady, in the hope of hearing something explicit. Julia could hardly keep her countenance, but she was resolved to go to the bottom of all this plain-dealing. "Well, sir," she answered, "we will suppose it, as you say, $50,000." "The interest, then, would be $3,500. Now 27 multiplied by 130--" here Tom took out his pencil and began to cypher--"make just 3510, or rather more than the whole amount of the interest. Well, when you come to deduct taxes, charges, losses and other things, the best invested estate of $3,500 per annum, will not yield more than $3,000, nett. Suppose a marriage, and the husband has ONLY $1,000 for his pocket, this would bring down the ways and means to $2,000 per annum; or less than a hundredth part of the expense of keeping ONE pocket-handkerchief; and when you come to include rent, fuel, marketing, and other necessaries, you see, my dear Miss Monson, there is a great deal of poetry in paying so much for a pocket-handkerchief." "I believe I understand you, sir, and shall endeavor to profit by the lesson. As I am wanted, you will now excuse me, Mr. Thurston--my father's step is in the hall--" so Julia, in common with all other Manhattanese, called a passage, or entry, five feet wide--"and to him I must refer you." This was said merely as an excuse for quitting the room. But Tom received it literally and figuratively, at the same time. CHAPTER XVIII. Accustomed to think of marrying as his means of advancement, he somewhat reasonably supposed "refer you to my father" meant consent, so far as the young lady was concerned, and he determined to improve the precious moments. Fortunately for his ideas, Mr. Monson did not enter the room immediately, which allowed the gentleman an opportunity for a little deliberation. As usual, his thoughts took the direction of a mental soliloquy, much in the following form. "This is getting on famously," thought Tom. "Refer you to my father--well, that is compact and comprehensive, at the same time. I wish her dandruff had got up when I mentioned only $50,000. Seriously, that is but a small sum to make one's way on. If I had a footing of my own, in society, $50,000 MIGHT do; but, when a fellow has to work his way by means of dinners, horses, and et ceteras, it's a small allowance. It's true, the Monsons will give me connections, and connections are almost--not quite--as good as money to get a chap along with--but, the d--l of the matter is, that connections eat and drink. I dare say the Monson set will cost me a good $500 a year, though they will save something in the way of the feed they must give in their turns. I wish I had tried her with a higher figure, for, after all, it may have been only modesty--some women are as modest as the d--l. But here comes old Monson, and I must strike while the iron is hot." {dandruff = dander--but while "dander" can mean dandruff as well as temper, the reverse is not true} "Good morning, Mr. Thurston," said the father, looking a little surprised at seeing such a guest at three o'clock. "What, alone with my daughter's fine pocket-handkerchief? You must find that indifferent company." "Not under the circumstances, sir. Every thing is agreeable to us that belongs to an object we love." "Love? That is a strong term, Mr. Thurston--one that I hope you have uttered in pure gallantry." "Not at all, sir," cried Tom, falling on his knees, as a school boy reads the wrong paragraph in the confusion of not having studied his lesson well--"adorable and angelic--I beg your pardon, Mr. Monson,"--rising, and again brushing his knees with some care--"my mind is in such a state of confusion, that I scarcely know what I say." "Really, I should think so, or you could never mistake me for a young girl of twenty. Will you have the goodness to explain this matter to me?" "Yes, sir--I'm referred." "Referred? Pray, what may that mean in particular?" "Only, sir, that I'm referred--I do not ask a dollar, sir. Her lovely mind and amiable person are all I seek, and I only regret that she is so rich. I should be the happiest fellow in the world, Mr. Monson, if the angelic Julia had not a cent." "The angelic Julia must be infinitely indebted to you, Mr. Thurston; but let us take up this affair in order. What am I to understand, sir, by your being referred?" "That Miss Julia, in answer to my suit, has referred me to you, sir." "Then, so far as she herself is concerned, you wish me to understand that she accepts you?" "Certainly--she accepted, some time since, with as heavenly a 'yes' as ever came from the ruby lips of love." "Indeed! This is so new to me, sir, that you must permit me to see my daughter a moment, ere I give a definite answer." Hereupon Mr. Monson left the room, and Tom began to THINK again. "Well," he thought, "things DO go on swimmingly at last. This is the first time I could ever get at a father, though I've offered to six-and-twenty girls. One does something like a living business with a father. I don't know but I rather overdid it about the dollar, though it's according to rule to seem disinterested at first, even if you quarrel like furies, afterwards, about the stuff. Let me see--had I best begin to screw him up in this interview, or wait for the next? A few hints, properly thrown out, may be useful at once. Some of these old misers hold on to every thing till they die, fancying it a mighty pleasant matter to chaps that can't support themselves to support THEIR daughters by industry, as they call it. I'm as industrious as a young fellow can be, and I owe six months' board, at this very moment. No--no--I'll walk into him at once, and give him what Napoleon used to call a demonstration." The door opened, and Mr. Monson entered, his face a little flushed, and his eye a little severe. Still he was calm in tone and manner. Julia had told him all in ten words. "Now, Mr. Thurston, I believe I understand this matter," said the father, in a very business-like manner; "you wish to marry my daughter?" "Exactly, sir; and she wishes to marry me--that is, as far as comports with the delicacy of the female bosom." "A very timely reservation. And you are referred?" "Yes, Mr. Monson, those cheering words have solaced my ears--I am referred. The old chap," aside, "likes a little humbug, as well as a girl." "And you will take her without a cent, you say?" "Did I, sir? I believe I didn't exactly say that--DOLLAR was the word I mentioned. CENTS could hardly be named between you and me." "Dollar let it be, then. Now, sir, you have my consent on a single condition." "Name it, sir. Name five or six, at once, my dear Mr. Monson, and you shall see how I will comply." "One will answer. How much fortune do you think will be necessary to make such a couple happy, at starting in the world? Name such a sum as will comport with your own ideas." "How much, sir? Mr. Monson, you are a model of generosity! You mean, to keep a liberal and gentlemanly establishment, as would become your son-in-law?" "I do--such a fortune as will make you both easy and comfortable." "Horses and carriages, of course? Every thing on a genteel and liberal scale?" "On such a scale as will insure the happiness of man and wife." "Mutual esteem--conjugal felicity--and all that. I suppose you include dinners, sir, and a manly competition with one's fellow citizens, in real New York form?" "I mean all that can properly belong to the expenses of a gentleman and lady." "Yes, sir--exceedingly liberal--liberal as the rosy dawn. Why, sir, meeting your proposition in the spirit in which it is offered, I should say Julia and I could get along very comfortably on $100,000. Yes, we could make that do, provided the money were well invested--no fancy stocks." "Well, sir, I am glad we understand each other so clearly. If my daughter really wish to marry you, I will give $50,000 of this sum, as soon as you can show me that you have as much more to invest along with it." "Sir--Mr. Monson!" "I mean that each party shall lay down dollar for dollar!" "I understand what you mean, sir. Mr. Monson, that would be degrading lawful wedlock to the level of a bet--a game of cards--a mercenary, contemptible bargain. No, sir--nothing shall ever induce me to degrade this honorable estate to such pitiful conditions!" "Dollar for dollar, Mr. Thurston!" "Holy wedlock! It is violating the best principles of our nature." "Give and take!" "Leveling the sacred condition of matrimony to that of a mere bargain for a horse or a dog!" "Half and half!" "My nature revolts at such profanation, sir--I will take $75,000 with Miss Julia, and say no more about it." "Equality is the foundation of wedded happiness, Mr. Thurston." "Say $50,000, Mr. Monson, and have no more words about it. Take away from the transaction the character of a bargain, and even $40,000 will do." "Not a cent that is not covered by a cent of your own." "Then, sir, I wash my hands of the whole affair. If the young lady should die, my conscience will be clear. It shall never be said Thomas Thurston was so lost to himself as to bargain for a wife." "We must, then, part, and the negotiation must fall through." Tom rose with dignity, and got as far as the door. With his hand on the latch, he added-- "Rather than blight the prospects of so pure and lovely a creature I will make every sacrifice short of honor--let it be $30,000, Mr. Monson?" "As you please, sir--so that it be covered by $30,000 of your own." "My nature revolts at the proposition, and so--good morning, sir." Tom left the house, and Mr. Monson laughed heartily; so heartily, indeed, as to prove how much he relished the success of his scheme. "Talk of Scylla and Charybdis!" soliloquized the discomfited Tom, as he wiped the perspiration from his face--"Where the d--l does he think I am to find the $50,000 he wants, unless he first gives them to me? I never heard of so unreasonable an old chap! Here is a young fellow that offers to marry his daughter for $30,000--half price, as one may say--and he talks about covering every cent he lays down with one of my own. I never knew what was meant by cent. per cent. before. Let me see; I've just thirty-two dollars and sixty-nine cents, and had we played at a game of coppers, I couldn't have held out half an hour. But, I flatter myself, I touched the old scamp up with morals, in a way he wasn't used to. Well, as this thing is over, I will try old Sweet, the grocer's daughter. If the wardrobe and whiskers fail there, I must rub up the Greek and Latin, and shift the ground to Boston. They say a chap with a little of the classics can get $30 or 40,000, there, any day in the week. I wish my parents had brought me up a schoolmaster; I would be off in the first boat. Blast it!--I thought when I came down to $30,000, he would have snapped at the bait, like a pike. He'll never have a chance to get her off so cheap, again." {cent. per cent. = one hundred percent} This ended the passage of flirtation between Thomas Thurston and Julia Monson. As for the latter, she took such a distaste for me, that she presented me to Mademoiselle Hennequin, at the first opportunity, under the pretence that she had discovered a strong wish in the latter to possess me. Adrienne accepted the present with some reluctance, on account of the price that had been paid for me, and yet with strong emotion. How she wept over me, the first time we were alone together! I thought her heart would break; nor am I certain it would not, but for the timely interposition of Julia, who came and set her laughing by a humorous narrative of what had occurred between her father and her lover. That night the rout took place. It went off with eclat, but I did not make my appearance at it, Adrienne rightly judging that I was not a proper companion for one in her situation. It is true, this is not a very American notion, EVERY thing being suitable for EVERY body, that get them, in this land of liberty, but Adrienne had not been educated in a land of liberty, and fancied that her dress should bear some relation to her means. Little did she know that I was a sort of patent of nobility, and that by exhibiting me, she might have excited envy, even in an alderman's daughter. My non-appearance, however, made no difference with Betts Shoreham, whose attentions throughout the evening were so marked as to raise suspicion of the truth in the mind of even Mrs. Monson. {rout = evening party; eclat = brilliance} The next day there was an eclaircissement. Adrienne owned who she was, gave my history, acquainted Mrs. Monson with her connection with Mr. Shoreham, and confessed the nature of his suit. I was present at this interview, and it would be unjust to say that the mother was not disappointed. Still she behaved generously, and like a high principled woman. Adrienne was advised to accept Betts, and her scruples, on the score of money, were gradually removed, by Mrs. Monson's arguments. {eclaircissement = explanation} "What a contrast do this Mr. Thurston and Adrienne present!" observed Mrs. Monson to her husband, in a tete a tete, shortly after this interview. "Here is the gentleman wanting to get our child, without a shilling to bless himself with, and the poor girl refusing to marry the man of her heart, because she is penniless." "So much for education. We become mercenary or self-denying, very much as we are instructed. In this country, it must be confessed, fortune-hunting has made giant strides, within the last few years, and that, too, with an audacity of pretension that is unrestrained by any of the social barriers which exist elsewhere." "Adrienne will marry Mr. Shoreham, I think. She loves; and when a girl loves, her scruples of this nature are not invincible." "Ay, HE can lay down dollar for dollar--I wish his fancy had run toward Julia." "It has not, and we can only regret it. Adrienne has half-consented, and I shall give her a handsome wedding--for, married she must be in our house." All came to pass as was predicted. One month from that day, Betts Shoreham and Adrienne de la Rocheaimard became man and wife. Mrs. Monson gave a handsome entertainment, and a day or two later, the bridegroom and bride took possession of their proper home. Of course I removed with the rest of the family, and, by these means, had an opportunity of becoming a near spectator of a honey-moon. I ought, however, to say, that Betts insisted on Julia's receiving $125 for me, accepting from Julia a handsome wedding present of equal value, but in another form. This was done simply that Adrienne might say when I was exhibited, that she had worked me herself, and that the lace with which I was embellished was an heir-loom. If there are various ways of quieting one's conscience, in the way of marriage settlements, so are there various modes of appeasing our sense of pride. Pocket-handkerchiefs have their revolutions, as well as states. I was now under my first restoration, and perfectly happy; but, being French, I look forward to further changes, since the temperament that has twice ejected the Bourbons from their thrones will scarce leave me in quiet possession of mine forever. {first restoration = the Bourbon dynasty was restored to the French throne in 1815, after the fall of Napoleon, only to be deposed again in 1830} Adrienne loves Betts more than any thing else. Still she loves me dearly. Scarce a week passes that I am not in her hands; and it is when her present happiness seems to be overflowing, that she is most fond of recalling the painful hours she experienced in making me what I am. Then her tears flow freely, and often I am held in her soft little hand, while she prays for the soul of her grandmother, or offers up praises for her own existing blessings. I am no longer thought of for balls and routs, but appear to be doomed to the closet, and those moments of tender confidence that so often occur between these lovers. I complain not. So far from it, never was an "article" of my character more highly favored; passing an existence, as it might be, in the very bosom of truth and innocence. Once only have I seen an old acquaintance, in the person of Clara Caverly, since my change of mistress--the idea of calling a de la Rocheaimard, a boss, or bossess, is out of the question. Clara is a distant relative of Betts, and soon became intimate with her new cousin. One day she saw me lying on a table, and, after an examination, she exclaimed-- "Two things surprise me greatly here, Mrs. Shoreham--that YOU should own one of these THINGS"--I confess I did not like the word--"and that you should own this particular handkerchief." "Why so, chere Clara?"--how prettily my mistress pronounces that name; so different from Clarry! "It is not like YOU to purchase so extravagant and useless a THING--and then this looks like a handkerchief that once belonged to another person--a poor girl who has lost her means of extravagance by the change of the times. But, of course, it is only a resemblance, as YOU--" "It is more, Clara--the handkerchief is the same. But that handkerchief is not an article of dress with me; it is MY FRIEND!" The reader may imagine how proud I felt! This was elevation for the species, and gave a dignity to my position, with which I am infinitely satisfied. Nevertheless, Miss Caverly manifested surprise. "I will explain," continued Mrs. Shoreham. "The handkerchief is my own work, and is very precious to me, on account des souvenirs." {des souvenirs = of memories} Adrienne then told the whole story, and I may say Clara Caverly became my friend also. Yes, she, who had formerly regarded me with indifference, or dislike, now kissed me, and wept over me, and in this manner have I since passed from friend to friend, among all of Adrienne's intimates. Not so with the world, however. My sudden disappearance from it excited quite as much sensation as my debut in it. Tom Thurston's addresses to Miss Monson had excited the envy, and, of course, the attention of all the other fortune-hunters in town, causing his sudden retreat to be noticed. Persons of this class are celebrated for covering their retreats skilfully. Tom declared that "the old chap broke down when they got as far as the fortune--that, as he liked the girl, he would have taken her with $75,000, but the highest offer he could get from him was $30,000. This, of course, no gentleman could submit to. A girl with such a pocket-handkerchief OUGHT to bring a clear $100,000, and I was for none of your half-way doings. Old Monson is a humbug. The handkerchief has disappeared, and, now they have taken down the SIGN, I hope they will do business on a more reasonable scale." A month later, Tom got married. I heard John Monson laughing over the particulars one day in Betts Shoreham's library, where I am usually kept, to my great delight, being exceedingly fond of books. The facts were as follows. It seems Tom had cast an eye on the daughter of a grocer of reputed wealth, who had attracted the attention of another person of his own school. To get rid of a competitor, this person pointed out to Tom a girl, whose father had been a butcher, but had just retired from business, and was building himself a fine house somewhere in Butcherland. "That's your girl," said the treacherous adviser. "All butchers are rich, and they never build until their pockets are so crammed as to force them to it. They coin money, and spend nothing. Look how high beef has been of late years; and then they live on the smell of their own meats. This is your girl. Only court the old fellow, and you are sure of half a million in the long run." Tom was off on the instant. He did court the old fellow; got introduced to the family; was a favorite from the first; offered in a fortnight, was accepted, and got married within the month. Ten days afterward, the supplies were stopped for want of funds, and the butcher failed. It seems HE, too, was only taking a hand in the great game of brag that most of the country had sat down to. Tom was in a dilemma. He had married a butcher's daughter. After this, every door in Broadway and Bond street was shut upon him. Instead of stepping into society on his wife's shoulders, he was dragged out of it by the skirts, through her agency. Then there was not a dollar. His empty pockets were balanced by her empty pockets. The future offered a sad perspective. Tom consulted a lawyer about a divorce, on the ground of "false pretences." He was even ready to make an affidavit that he had been slaughtered. But it would not do. The marriage was found to stand all the usual tests, and Tom went to Texas. 
33888	----	THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY BERNARD MANDEVILLE ÆSOP DRESS'D OR A COLLECTION OF FABLES _WRIT IN FAMILIAR VERSE_ (1704) _INTRODUCTION_ BY JOHN S. SHEA PUBLICATION NUMBER 120 WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARK MEMORIAL LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES 1966 GENERAL EDITORS Earl Miner, _University of California, Los Angeles_ Maximillian E. Novak, _University of California, Los Angeles_ Lawrence Clark Powell, _Wm. Andrews Clark Memorial Library_ ADVISORY EDITORS Richard C. Boys, _University of Michigan_ John Butt, _University of Edinburgh_ James L. Clifford, _Columbia University_ Ralph Cohen, _University of California, Los Angeles_ Vinton A. Dearing, _University of California, Los Angeles_ Arthur Friedman, _University of Chicago_ Louis A. Landa, _Princeton University_ Samuel H. Monk, _University of Minnesota_ Everett T. Moore, _University of California, Los Angeles_ James Sutherland, _University College, London_ H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., _University of California, Los Angeles_ CORRESPONDING SECRETARY Edna C. Davis, _Wm. Andrews Clark Memorial Library_ INTRODUCTION Bernard Mandeville's first extant book in English, _Some Fables after the Easie and Familiar Method of Monsieur de la Fontaine_, was published in 1703; it reappeared with additional fables in 1704 as _Aesop Dress'd_.[1] Neither title reveals that, except for two original fables by Mandeville, the book consists entirely of verse translations from the twelve books of La Fontaine's _Fables_ (1668-1694). It is the first book-length translation from these poems into English. The only previous translations from _Fables_ into English verse appear to have been those made ten years earlier by John Dennis. _Miscellanies in Verse and Prose_ (1693) was a curious volume of Pindaric odes, imitations of Horace, Juvenal, and Boileau, and letters that the young Dennis had written during his travels in France and Italy, including the well-known account of the "delightful horrour" and "terrible Joy" that he had experienced while crossing the Alps; there were, finally, ten fables in octosyllabic couplets--all of them translations from La Fontaine. A word about Dennis's fables may help to put Mandeville's into perspective. Their resemblance to the French originals is slight. Not La Fontaine, but Samuel Butler, presides over Dennis's fables; indeed, when Dennis discusses them in the Preface to _Miscellanies_, he fails to mention La Fontaine, although he devotes a large proportion of his remarks to a defense of Butler's burlesque verse, which he acknowledges as his model.[2] Many people were writing Hudibrastics in the 1680's and 1690's: the propensity of Butler's couplet for arousing laughter had made it a fad.[3] With its jog-trot meter, insinuating swiftness, and jarring double and triple rhymes, the Hudibrastic couplet was ideally suited to the mockery performed by low burlesque. All burlesque works by an incongruity between subject and style; the particular function of low burlesque is to debase an elevated subject by treating it in an undignified manner.[4] So it was that Butler, with the assistance of a crazy style, had exploited the gap between the high pretensions and the ridiculous performances of a Puritan knight and his squire. But of the hordes of scribblers that followed in the wake of _Hudibras_, scarcely any possessed Butler's sense of satiric propriety. Where his success had been founded on the discrepancy between subject and style that is essential to burlesque, they employed his style with no regard for its suitability to their subjects. Ordinary narrative poems with no satiric intent were decked in Hudibrastic couplets for the sake of a superficial cleverness.[5] Dennis followed the fashion. His ten verse-fables are filled with outrageous Butlerisms: Isgrim had all the Winter far'd So very ill, his looks Men scar'd. He had (poor Dog!) got an evil habit, Of going to Bed with the Devil a bit, So that he had contracted a meen, Which truly represented Famine. * * * * * At sight of Steed that's one huge bit of Fat, Hight Isgrim's heart for joy went pit a pat. * * * * * Had I not known thy Self and Kindred, Ev'n I my self should have been in dread. * * * * * The _Crane's_ arrival was opportune, Order'd for _Isgrim's_ good by fortune.[6] Whatever the intentions of the poet, it seems to be the property of the Hudibrastic couplet inevitably to denigrate its subject. While it is probable that Dennis intended his fables to be clever and modish, and nothing more, they turn out to be travesties of La Fontaine. Dennis was attempting to impose on the animal fable an alien style. From Aesop to Thurber, the chief strength of the fabulist has been his humility: by selecting animal stories as the guise for his moral lessons, he has hoped to disarm his readers into accepting the truth. This strategy would seem to rule out the style of low burlesque, for the impulse to this style--a dignified subject to be mocked out of its dignity--does not exist in the animal fable. In particular the _Fables_ of La Fontaine, perhaps the most graceful, concise, and witty ever written, do not respond well to the ferocious manner of Dennis. Dennis translating La Fontaine resembles a bull in a china shop. While Mandeville is no gazelle either, he has better manners than Dennis. The Butlerisms are still present, but they are not everywhere and they are not so grotesque. The difference between Dennis and Mandeville may be merely the interval of ten years, during which the influence of Butler had faded; but this seems unlikely, since Bond cites many examples of the continuing vogue of _Hudibras_, even well into the 1730's.[7] A more probable explanation for the difference is that, whereas Dennis was an avowed imitator of Butler who happened to be translating the _Fables_ of La Fontaine, Mandeville seems to have been in this work chiefly a translator of La Fontaine who was, incidentally, writing at a time when the impulse to copy Butler's superficial qualities was almost irresistible. The total number of Hudibrastic couplets in _Aesop Dress'd_ comes to only a handful: They'll give you a hundred Niceties, As Chicken Bones, boyl'd Loins of Mutton, As good as ever Tooth was put in.... * * * * * And therefore let my Lord _Abdomen_ Say what he will, we'll work for no Man. * * * * * A Cat, whose Sirname pretty hard was, One Captain _Felis Rodilardus_.... * * * * * Before the Reign of Buxom Dido, When Beasts could Speak as well as I do.... * * * * * The Truth is, it would be a hard Case, If all this should not mend one's Carcass.[8] Even these few unmistakable instances are less distracting than the ones in Dennis. Mandeville's verse is much like his prose: straightforward, downright, even in tone. Here are the first ten lines of Mandeville's "The Fox and Wolf": The Fox went on the search one Night, The Moon had hung out all her light; He sees her image in a Well; But what it was he could not tell; Gets on the Bricks to look at ease: At last concludes it is a Cheese: One Bucket's down, the other up, He jumps in that which was a-top, And coming to the Water, sees How little Skill he had in Cheese. La Fontaine has this: ... Un soir il [le loup] aperçut La lune au fond d'un puits: l'orbiculaire image Lui parut un ample fromage. Deux seaux alternativement Puisoient le liquide élément: Notre Renard, pressé par une faim canine, S'accommode en celui qu'au haut de la machine L'autre seau tenoit suspendu. Voilà l'animal descendu, Tiré d'erreur, mais fort en peine, Et voyant sa perte prochaine.... Dennis had inserted these lines in the pseudo-erudite Butlerian manner: The two large Buckets which were there, Like _Pollux_ and like _Castor_ were. How so pray? For 'tis devilish odd, To liken a Bucket to a God; When one came up from towards the Center, That in our upper world strait went there. These drew up turns the liquid Element, Into one got _Renard_, and towards Hell he went.[9] Nearly all Mandeville's translations are, like "The Fox and Wolf," longer than their originals. The added length is partly explained by meter: Mandeville's octosyllabic line is less capacious, as a rule, than La Fontaine's flexible one. Thus, even though "The Wolf and the Lamb" moves with a speed comparable to "Le Loup et l'Agneau," Mandeville takes 34 lines to La Fontaine's 29.[10] More often, Mandeville's translations are longer than their originals because Mandeville is not able to match La Fontaine's wit and point. "La Lice et sa Compagne," an exercise in light-footed elegance, begins this way: Une Lice étant sur son terme, Et ne sachant où mettre un fardeau si pressant, Fait si bien qu'à la fin sa Compagne consent De lui prêter sa hutte, où la Lice s'enferme. In translating, Mandeville expands these four lines to ten without special gain: A Bitch, who hardly had a day To reckon, knew not where to lay Her Burthen down: She had no Bed; Nor any Roof to hide her Head; Desires a Bitch of the same Pack, To let her have, For Heaven's sake, Her House against her Lying-in. Th' other, who thought it was a Sin, To baulk a Wretch so near her Labour Says, Yes, 'tis at your Service, Neighbor.[11] Perhaps it is Mandeville's plainspokenness, his determination to say all that must be said, which causes him to state explicitly things that La Fontaine left implicit. "La Cigale et la Fourmi," contrasting an irresponsible grasshopper and a provident ant, implies but subdues a contrast between art and life. Mandeville makes the contrast explicit: And now the hungry Songster's driv'n To such a state, no Man can know it, But a Musician or a Poet....[12] "The Lyon and the Gnat" is fairly close to its original in length (46 lines to La Fontaine's 39) and in spirit; but Mandeville does not improve his fable by supplying the adjective "silly" ("silly Spider") where La Fontaine had written "une araignée," or by inserting a line about the gnat's pride, "Puffed up and blinded with his glory," where La Fontaine expected his readers to discern the gnat's pride for themselves.[13] Another translation that sticks close to the French in its sense is "The Dog and the Ass," in which an ass refuses food to a hungry dog and is in turn abandoned by the dog and killed by a hungry wolf. Mandeville adds the judgment that La Fontaine excluded. The wolf attacks: Grizz'l [the Ass] at a distance Hears him, and asks the Dog's assistance; But he don't budge, _and serves him right; Says he, I never us'd to fight Without a cause for fighting's sake_....[14] The italicized words, entirely added by Mandeville, apparently represent his conviction that the irony of La Fontaine's fable would be intensified by the dog's sardonic comment and the translator's "serves him right." Other examples might be cited of Mandeville's explicitness. The characterizing details of some of the great fables, however, disappear in Mandeville's English. Although "The Plague among the Beasts" is faithful to the original, the tragic overtones of "Les Animaux malade de la Peste" are not recaptured; they are perhaps unrecapturable. The ironies of La Fontaine's characterization are ignored: the lion's "L'histoire nous apprend," for instance, by which the unscrupulous politician poses as a deep-browed savant; the description of the other beasts as "petits saints," and of the wolf who condemns the innocent ass as "quelque peu clerc"--these disappear.[15] "L'Ivrogne et sa Femme" meets the same fate. Mandeville retains the outlines of the original but treats the details perfunctorily, as though he had given up trying to re-create the comic terror of La Fontaine's little masterpiece. "A drunkard" is not an adequate equivalent for "un suppôt de Bacchus"; "very drunk" is not the same as "plein du jus de la treille"; entire sentences are left out, such as "Là les vapeurs du vin nouveau / Cuvèrent à loisir"; and the ending of the poem suffers from the alteration of details and from an awkward inversion for the sake of a rhyme: He says to his dissembling Spirit, Who are you in the Name of Evil? She answers hoarsely I'm a Devil, That carries Victuals to the Damn'd By me they are with Brimstone cramm'd. What, says the Husband, do you think Never to bring them any Drink? "Quelle personne es-tu? dit-il à ce fantôme. --La cellerière du royaume De Satan, reprit-elle; et je porte à manger A ceux qu'enclôt la tombe noire." Le mari repart, sans songer: "Tu ne leur portes point à boire?"[16] Of the many differences between La Fontaine and Mandeville, those noticed up to this point may be blamed on the latter's incapacity. Some of the other changes may be partially justified on the grounds that through them Mandeville was deliberately trying to alter the tone of the poem, to give it an earthiness of spirit congruent with his temperament. La Fontaine's "Le Lion malade et le Renard" begins with hushed dignity: De par le roi des animaux, Qui dans son antre était malade, Fut fait savoir à ses vassaux Que chaque espèce en ambassade Envoyat gens le visiter.... Mandeville's translation begins: The king of Brutes sent all about, He was afflicted with the gout....[17] The gout is a standard comic disease which Mandeville gives to his lion to make him comically undignified. La Fontaine's lion remains dignified and restrained throughout. (The two versions of this fable are also instances of the relative capabilities of the French and the English four-stress lines.) In another fable, a tonal difference appears in some lines describing the meeting of a haggard wolf and a well-fed dog: Le Loup donc l'aborde humblement, Entre en propos, et lui fait compliment Sur son embonpoint, qu'il admire. And therefore in a humble way He gives the Dog the time o' th' Day; Talks mighty complaisant, and vents A Waggon Load of Compliments Upon his being in such a Case, His brawny Flank and jolly Face.[18] The tone of polite gravity is gone; what remains is less succinct, but more specific, and in its way effective. When Mandeville's invention is working well, as it does in "The Wolf and Dog," it provides, in its colloquial heartiness, an adequate substitute for La Fontaine's refinement of tone and subtlety of detail. On the whole, his fables are close to their originals, especially when compared to those of Dennis, even though "the easie and familiar method of Monsieur de La Fontaine" is something that, despite his professions, Mandeville fails to reproduce. Only two years intervened between Mandeville's translations from La Fontaine (1703) and _The Grumbling Hive_ (1705), the 433-line fable that, through the years, would grow into that great repository of social, political, and economic nonconformity, _The Fable of the Bees_. It is not surprising that many of the fables which Mandeville chose to translate anticipate the themes of his great work. Among these are "The Milk Woman," on the self-flatery of the egoistic dream; "The Frogs asking for a King," on the instability of human desires; "The Wolves and the Sheep," on political self-deception; "Hands, Feet, and Belly," on social interdependence; and "The Lyon grown Old," on the ultimate blow to pride.[19] Since Mandeville would give so much space in _The Fable of the Bees_ to his analysis of pride,[20] it is appropriate that pride engaged his attention in this early book of fables. "The Frog" is notable chiefly because Mandeville lengthened La Fontaine's moral of four lines to fourteen in order to glance at the social and economic implications of pride: So full of Pride is every Age! A Citizen must have a Page, A Petty Prince Ambassadors, And Tradesmens Children Governours; A Fellow, that i'n't worth a Louse, Still keeps his Coach and Country-house; A Merchant swell'd with haughtiness, Looks ten times bigger than he is; Buys all, and draws upon his Friend, As if his Credit had no end; At length he strains with so much Force, Till, like the Frog, he bursts in course, And, by his empty Skin you find, That he was only fill'd with Wind.[21] Two of the 39 fables in the collection are original productions: "The Carp" and "The Owl and the Nightingale." Both poems focus upon pride. "The Carp" tells the story of a young and inexperienced English carp who swims into foreign waters to learn "manners and arts." Warned by a herring to go home and learn first about his own country, the carp rebuffs this honest advice, takes up with fops, and is drawn into ruin before he finally returns home "as vain and ignorant, / As e'er he was before he went." The subject of the moral reflections at the end is self-delusion in the particular form of sophisticated vanity.[22] The other poem, "The Owl and the Nightingale" (the longest poem in the collection, at 181 lines), also concerns pride. The Eagle, having looked unsuccessfully among the birds of his court for a singing night-watchman, sends out a general letter. The nightingale realizes with excitement that he will easily win the competition; but he coyly refuses to go to court until sent for, makes elaborate self-depreciations in the eagle's presence, and hold out, obviously, for more recognition and reward. While he delays, an owl has been persuaded by friends to try for the position and has a hearing. Although he sings unskillfully, he manages to stay awake. When the nightingale returns to court the next day, he is infuriated to learn that an owl is competing against him and that the eagle has ordered the two birds to perform against one another that night. The nightingale protests so loudly and treasonably that he is kicked out of court, and the owl, dull but faithful, is declared the winner. The moral follows: Princes can never satisfy That Worth that rates itself too high. What pity it is! some Men of Parts Should have such haughty stubborn Hearts: When once they are courted they grow vain: Ambitious Souls cannot contain Their Joy, which when they strive to hide, They cover it with so much Pride, So Saucy to Superiors, Impatient of Competitors, Th' are utterly untractable, And put off like our Nightingale. Many with him might have been great, Promoted Friends, and serv'd the State, That have beheld, with too much Joy, The wish'd for Opportunity; Then slipt it by their own Delays, Sloth, Pride, or other willful Ways. And ever after strove in vain To see the Forelock once again.[23] In some respects this poem looks forward to _The Fable of the Bees_. Mandeville subjects the nightingale to a brief psychological analysis and looks on his failure with a blend of detached pity and satiric mordancy; he strips away the sophisticated defenses that hide the basic emotions, recommending honesty with oneself and with others; he identifies the personal interests of the members of society with the interests of the state. It remains to point out that neither here nor elsewhere in this collection does Mandeville assert that private vices are public benefits. Washington University NOTES TO THE INTRODUCTION [1] F. B. Kaye, ed., _The Fable of the Bees_ (Oxford, 1924), I, xxx. [2] The Preface to _Miscellanies in Verse and Prose_ is reprinted in Edward Niles Hooker's edition of _The Critical Works of John Dennis_, I (Baltimore, 1939), 6-10. [3] Richmond P. Bond, _English Burlesque Poetry_, 1700-1750 (Cambridge, Mass., 1932), p. 147. [4] Bond, pp. 3-5. [5] Bond, p. 153, cites several narrative poems of this sort. [6] From these fables in the 1693 _Miscellanies_: "The Wolf and the Horse," pp. 72-83 (the first two excerpts); "The Lyon and the Ass a Hunting," pp. 92-95; "The Wolf and the Crane," pp. 101-105. [7] _English Burlesque Poetry_, pp. 149-152. [8] These instances occur, respectively, in "The Wolf and Dog," "The Hands, Feet, and Belly," "Council Held by the Rats," "The Lyon in Love," and "The Weasel and the Rat." [9] _Aesop Dress'd_, p. 73; La Fontaine, "Le Loup et le Renard," XI. vi; Dennis, _Miscellanies_, p. 117. [10] _Aesop Dress'd_, pp. 64-65; La Fontaine, I. x. [11] La Fontaine, II, vii; "The two Bitches," _Aesop Dress'd_, p. 37. [12] La Fontaine, I. i; "The Grasshopper and Ant," _Aesop Dress'd_, pp. 17-18. [13] _Aesop Dress'd_, pp. 48-50; La Fontaine, "Le Lion et le Moucheron," II. ix. [14] _Aesop Dress'd_, pp. 71-73; La Fontaine, "L'Âne et le Chien," VIII. xvii. [15] _Aesop Dress'd_, pp. 14-15; La Fontaine, VII. i. [16] "The Drunkard and his Wife," _Aesop Dress'd_, pp. 24-25; La Fontaine, III. vii. [17] La Fontaine, VI. xiv; "The Sick Lyon and the Fox," _Aesop Dress'd_, pp. 38-39. [18] La Fontaine, "Le Loup et le Chien," I. v; "The Wolf and Dog," _Aesop Dress'd_, pp. 2-4. [19] The poems appear on the following pages of _Aesop Dress'd_: "The Milk Woman," pp. 18-19; "The Frogs asking for a King," pp. 62-64; "The Wolves and the Sheep," pp. 45-46; "Hands, Feet, and Belly," pp. 7-10; "The Lyon grown Old," pp. 65-66. For the corresponding fables in La Fontaine see the notes to the text of the present edition. [20] See Kaye, II, 371, s. v. "Pride." [21] _Aesop Dress'd_, pp. 4-5; La Fontaine, "La Grenouille qui se veut aussi grosse que le Boeuf," I. iii. [22] _Aesop Dress'd_, pp. 25-27. [23] Ibid., pp. 27-33. NOTES TO THE TEXT For each of Mandeville's fables except "The Carp" and "The Nightingale and Owl," which are originals, I have indicated below the original in La Fontaine's _Fables_ by title, book, and number. 1. "The Two Dragons": "Le Dragon à plusieurs Têtes, et le Dragon à plusieurs Queues," I. xii. 2. "The Wolf and Dog": "Le Loup et le Chien," I. v. 3. "The Frog": "La Grenouille qui se veut faire aussi grosse que le Boeuf," I. iii. 4. "The Pumkin and Acorn": "Le Gland et la Citrouille," IX. iv. 5. "The Hands, Feet, and Belly": "Les Membres et l'Estomac," III. ii. 6. "The Countryman and the Knight": "Le Jardinier et son Seigneur," IV. iv. 7. "The Plague among the Beasts": "Les Animaux malades de la Peste," VII. i. 8. "The Grasshopper and Ant": "La Cigale et la Fourmi," I. i. 9. "The Milk Woman": "La Laitière et le Pot au Lait," VI. x. 10. "The Cock, the Cat, and the young Mouse": "Le Cochet, le Chat, et le Souriceau," VI. v. 11. "The Cock and Pearl": "Le Coq et la Perle," I. xx. 12. "The Lyon's Court": "La Cour du Lion," VII. vii. 13. "The Drunkard and his Wife": "L'Ivrogne et sa Femme," III. vii. 14. "Council held by the Rats": "Conseil tenu par les Rats," II. ii. 15. "The Bat and the Two Weasels": "La Chauve-Souris et les deux Belettes," II. v. 16. "The two Bitches": "La Lice et sa Compagne," II. vii. 17. "The Sick Lyon and the Fox": "Le Lion malade et le Renard," VI. xiv. 18. "The Satyr and the Passenger": "Le Satyre et le Passant," V. vii. 19. "The Lyon in Love": "Le Lion amoureux," IV. i. 20. "The Angler and the Little Carp": "Le petit Poisson et le Pêcheur," V. iii. 21. "The Wolves and the Sheep": "Les Loups et les Brebis," III. xiii. 22. "The Wasps and Bees": "Les Frelons et les Mouches à Miel," I. xxi. 23. "The Lyon and the Gnat": "Le Lion et le Moucheron," II. ix. 24. "The Woodcleaver and Mercury": "Le Bûcheron et Mercure," V. i. 25. "The Hare and his Ears": "Les Oreilles du Lièvre," V. iv. 26. "The Rat and the Frog": "La Grenouille et le Rat," IV. xi. 27. "The Cat and an old Rat": "Le Chat et un vieux Rat," III. xviii. 28. "The Weasel and the Rat": "La Belette entrée dans un Grenier," III. xvii. 29. "The Wolf and the Stork": "Le Loup et la Cicogne," III. ix. 30. "The Frogs asking for a King": "Les Grenouilles qui demandent un Roi," III. iv. 31. "The Wolf and the Lamb": "Le Loup et l'Agneau," I. x. 32. "The Lyon grown old": "Le Lion devenu vieux," III. xiv. 33. "The two Physicians": "Les Médecins," V. xii. 34. "Love and Folly": "L'Amour et la Folie," XII. xiv. 35. "A She-Goat, a Sheep and a Sow": "Le Cochon, la Chèvre, et le Mouton," VIII. xii. 36. "The Dog and the Ass": "L'Âne et le Chien," VIII. xvii. 37. "The Fox and Wolf": "Le Loup et le Renard," XI. vi. _Text_ The text of _Aesop Dress'd_ here reprinted is that in the Harvard University Library. ÆSOP Dress'd; OR A COLLECTION OF FABLES Writ in Familiar Verse. By _B. Mandeville_, M. D. _LONDON_: Sold at _Lock's-Head_ adjoyning to _Ludgate_. Price One Shilling. The INDEX. _The two Dragons_ Page 1 _The Wolf and Dog_ 2 _The Frog_ 4 _The Pumkin And Acorn_ 5 _The Hands, and Feet, and Belly_ 7 _The Countryman and the Knight_ 10 _The Plague among the Beasts_ 14 _The Grashopper and Ant_ 17 _The Milk Woman_ 18 _The Cock, the Cat, and the young Mouse_ 20 _The Cock and Pearl_ 22 _The Lyon's Court_ 23 _The Drunkard and his Wife_ 24 _The Carp_ 25 _The Nightingale and Owl_ 27 _Council held by the Rats_ 34 _The Bat and the two Weasels_ 36 _The two Bitches_ 37 _The Sick Lyon and the Fox_ 38 _The Satyr and the Passenger_ 40 _The Lyon in Love_ 41 _The Angler and the little Carp_ 43 _The Wolves and the Sheep_ 44 _The Wasps and the Bees_ 46 _The Lyon and Knat_ 48 _The Woodcleaver and Mercury_ 50 _The Hare and his Ears_ 52 _The Rat and the Frog_ 53 _The Cat and old Rat_ 56 _The Weasel and the Rat_ 59 _The Wolf and the Stork_ 60 _The Frogs asking for a King_ 62 _The Wolf and Lamb_ 64 _The Lyon grown old_ 65 _The two Physicians _ 66 _Love and Folly_ 67 _A She-Goat, a Sheep, and a Sow_ 69 _The Dog and Ass_ 71 THE PREFACE _to the_ READER. _Prefaces and Cuts are commonly made use of much to the same Purpose; to set off, and to explain. The latter, being too expensive, are pretty well out of date, in an Age, where there are abundance of fine things to be bought besides Books. But the first by wicked Custom, are become so necessary, that a Volume would look as defective without one, as if it wanted the very Title Page. Though it is hard I should be compelled to talk to my Reader, whether I have any thing to say to him or not. Nay, what is worse, every Body thinks a Man should be more lavish here of his Skill and Learning, than anywhere else: Here they would have him shew his Airs, and therefore most Authors adorn their Prefaces, as if they were triumphal Arches; there's nothing empty to be seen about 'em, and from top to bottom they are to be crowded with Emblems and pretty Sayings, judiciously interwoven with Scraps of_ Latin; _though they should borrow 'em from the Parson of the Parish. These, I say, are the Entertainments where they love to glut us with Wit and fine Language; though they starve us for ever after: Which makes some of 'em look like a rich piece of Fillegrew Work over the Door of an empty Parlour. But I am resolved my Portico shall suit with the rest of the House, and, as every thing is plain within, nothing shall be carv'd or gilt without: Besides, I hate formality, Good Reader, and all my Business with you is to let you know, that I have writ some Fables in Verse, after the Familiar Way of a Great Man in_ France, Monsieur de la Fontaine. _I have confin'd my self to strict Numbers, and endeavour'd to make 'em free and natural; if they prove otherwise, I'm sorry for it. Two of the Fables are of my own Invention; but I am so far from loving 'em the better, that I think they are the worst in the Pack: And therefore in good Manners to my self I conceal their Names. Find 'em out, and welcome. I could wish to have furnish'd you with something more worthy your precious time: But as you'll find nothing very Instructive, so there's little to puzzle your Brain. Besides, I desire every Body to read 'em at the same Hours I writ 'em, that's when I had nothing else to do. If any like these Trifles, perhaps I may go on; if not, you shall be troubled with no more of 'em: And so fare ye well_ Reader. _The_ TWO DRAGONS. A Fable. Not long ago th' Ambassador From the great _Turk_ to the Emperor, Extoll'd his Master's strength, beyond The _German_ Force; a Courtier, fond Of his own Country, boastingly Said, his Imperial Majesty Had many Princes under him, So powerful, that each of 'em, Could raise an Army of his own, And more than one that wore a Crown. I know, says th' other, very well, Your Dukes and Pow'rs Electoral, With others, that advance the glory Of th' Empire. But I'll tell y' a story: I dreamt I saw a frightful Beast, That had a hundred Heads at least; At first I startled at the sight; But soon recovering from my Fright, I ventured on, and coming near it, I found I had no cause to fear it: For every Head did what it would; Some work'd with all the Force they could; But most of 'em lay of a heap, And look'd as if th' been asleep; Others, in hopes of better Prey, Were pulling quite another way. I turn'd my Head about, and spied A mighty Beast, on the other side: One Head adorn'd his Brawny Neck; But hundred Tails did close his Back; And as the Heads march'd o'er the Land, The Tails did follow at Command; Did Execution every where; I waked, and thought the Monsters were Both Empires; but the Tails are ours, And all the glorious Heads are yours. _The Wolf and Dog._ A Wolf so pitious poor and thin, His very Bones stuck through his Skin, (A sign the Dogs were watchful) met A sturdy Mastiff, slick and fat. Sir Wolf, revengeful on his Foes, Had murder'd him, as one of those That hinder'd him from stealing Cattle; But was afraid of joyning Battle With one, that look'd, as if he could Stand buff, and make his party good. And therefore in an humble way He gives the Dog the time o'th' Day; Talks mighty complaisant, and vents A Waggon Load of Compliments Upon his being in such a Case, His brawny Flank and jolly Face. Sir Wolf, replies the Mastiff, you May be as fat as any Doe, If you'll but follow my advice; For Faith, I think you are unwise, To ramble up and down a Wood, Where's nothing to be had, that's good, No Elemosynary meat, Or e'er a bit, that's good to eat, But what is got by downright force, For which at last you pay in course. And thus yourselves, your hagged Wives And Children lead but wretched lives; Always in fear of being caught, Till commonly y'are starv'd or shot. Quoth Wolf, shew me a livelyhood, And then, the Devil take the Wood: I stand in need of better Diet, And would be glad to feed in quiet: But, pray, What's to be done, an't please ye? Nothing, but what is very easy; To bark at Fellows that look poor, Fright pilfring Strolers from the Door; And then, which is the chiefest matter, To wag your Tail, to coax and flatter Those of the Family; for this They'll give you hundred Niceties, As Chicken Bones, boyl'd Loins of Mutton, As good as ever Tooth was put in, The licking of a greasy Dish, And all the Dainties Heart can wish; Besides, the Master shall caress ye, Spit in your Mouth, and----Heaven bless ye. Good Sir, let's go immediately, Reply'd the Wolf, and wept for Joy. They went; and tho' they walk'd apace, The Wolf spy'd here and there a Place About the Neck of Mastiff, where, It seems, his Curship lost some Hair, And said, pray Brother Dog, What's this? Nothing. Nay, tell me, what it is; It looks like gall'd. Perhaps 'tis from My Collar. Then, I find, at home They tie you. Yes. I'm not inclin'd to't, Or goes it loose when y'have a Mind to't, Truely not always; but what's that? What's that! quoth he; I smell a Rat; My Liberty is such a Treasure, I'll change it for no Earthly Pleasure; At that his Wolfship fled, and so Is flying still for ought I know. _The Frog._ A Frog threw his ambitious Eyes Upon an Ox, admired his size, And, from the smallness of an Egg, Endeavoured to become as big. He swells himself, and puffs, and blows, And every foot, cries there he goes. Well, Brother, have I bulk enough, An't I as large, as he? What stuff! Pray look again. The Dev'l a bit. Then now. You don't come near him yet. Again he swells, and swells so fast, Till, straining more, he bursts at last. So full of Pride is every Age! A Citizen must have a Page, A Petty Prince Ambassadors, And Tradesmens Children Governours; A Fellow, that i'n't worth a Louse, Still keeps his Coach and Country-house; A Merchant swell'd with haughtiness, Looks ten times bigger than he is; Buys all, and draws upon his Friend, As if his Credit had no end; At length he strains with so much Force, Till, like the Frog, he bursts in course, And, by his empty Skin you find, That he was only fill'd with Wind. _The Pumkin and Acorn._ A Self conceited Country Bumkin Thus made his glosses on a Pumkin. The Fruit, says he, is very big, The Stalk not thicker than a Twig, Scarce any Root, great Leaves; I wonder, Dame Nature should make such a blunder: Had I been she, I would have plac'd it On yon high Oak, and 'twould have grac'd it Better than Acorns; its a whim A little Shrub would do for them; Why should a Tree so tall and fine, Bear small stuff only fit for Swine? But hundred things are made in waste, Which shews the World was fram'd in haste. Had I been sent for in those Days, 'Twould have been managed otherwise: I would have made all of a suit, And large Trees should have had large Fruit. Thus he went on, and in his Eyes, The Simpleton was very wise; A little after, coming nigh An Oak, whose Crown was very high, He liked the Place and down he laid His weary Carcass, in the Shade: But, as the find-fault Animal Turn'd on his Back, an Acorn fell, And hit his Nose a swinging Blow. Good God was this the Pumkin now! The very thought on't struck him dumb: He prais'd his Maker, and went home. The Moral. _The World's vast Fabrick is so well Contrived by its Creator's Skill; There's nothing in't, but what is good To him, by whom its understood; And what opposes Human Sence, Shews but our Pride and Ignorance._ _The Hands, Feet, and Belly._ The Hands and Feet in Council met, Were mightily upon the Fret, And swore 'twas something more than hard, Always to work without reward. The Feet said, truly its a Jest, That we should carry all the rest; March at all Hours thro thick and thin, With Shoes that let the Water in; Our Nails are hard as Bullock's Horns, Our Toes beset with plaguy Corns; We rais'd four Blisters th' other Night, And yet got not a farthing by't. Brothers, reply'd the Hands, 'tis true, We know what hardship's y' undergo; But then w' are greater Slaves than you; For tho' all day we scrape and rake, And labour till our Fringers ake; Tho' we've been ply'd at every thing; Yet then, without considering What pains or weariness we feel, W'are forced to serve at every meal, And often, whilst you're set at ease, Drudge to the Knucles up in Grease; As for your Corns and Nails in troth, We have the trouble of cutting both. Take this not, Brothers, in a sence, That might create a Difference; We only hinted it, to shew We're full as badly us'd as you; Our Grievances are general, And caused by him that swallows all; The ungrateful Belly is our bane, Whom with our labour we maintain; The ill natured'st Rogue, that e'er was fed, The lazy'st Dog, that lives by Bread. For him we starve; for what d'ye think Becomes of all the Meat and Drink? 'Tis he, that makes us look so thin, To stretch his everlasting Skin; Tho' we do all his Business, What did he ever give to us? And therefore let my Lord _Abdomen_ Say what he will, we'll work for no Man. Nay if we scratch him tho' he itches, Calls us a hundred Sons of Bitches. And, if you do the same, you'll see, } He'll quickly be as lean as we; } What say ye, Brothers, do y' agree? } Yes, says the Feet, and he be curst, That dares to think of stirring first. And thus the Rebels disobey; Who swear they'll now keep Holy-day, Resolv'd to live like Gentlemen. His Gutship calls and calls again, They answer'd they would toil no more; But rest as he had done before: But soon the Mutineers repent; } The Belly when his Stock was spent, } Could not send down the Nourishment, } That's requisite for every part; The weakness seiz'd the drooping Heart: Till all the Members suffer'd by't, And languished in a woeful plight: They saw, when 'twas too late, how he, Whom they accused of Gluttony, Of Laziness, Ingratitude, } Had labour d for the common Good, } By ways they never understood. } The Moral. _The Belly is the Government, From whence the Nourishment is sent, Of wholesome Laws for mutual Peace, For Plenty, Liberty, and Ease, To all the Body Politick, Which where it fails the Nation's sick. The Members are the discontent_ Pleibeians; _that are ignorant, How necessary for the State It is, that Princes should be great: Which, if their Pomp and Pow'r were less, Could not preserve our Happiness. The Vulgar think all Courts to be But Seats of Sloth and Luxury; Themselves, but Slaves compell'd to bear The Taxes, and the Toils of War; But in this Fable they may see The dismal Fruits of Mutiny; Whilst Subjects, that assist the Crown, But labour to maintain their own._ _The Countryman and the Knight._ An honest Countryman had got Behind his House a pretty Spot, Of Garden Ground, with all what might Contribute to the Taste and Sight, The Rose and Lilly, which have been Still kept to compliment the Skin, Poppies renown'd for giving ease, With Roman Lettice, Endive, Pease, And Beans, which Nat'ralists do reckon To be so ominous to Bacon. The Beds were dung'd, the Walks well swept, And every thing was nicely kept. Only a Hare wou'd now and then Spite of the Master and the Men Make raking work for half a day, Then fill her Gut and scow'r away. In vain they beat and search the Ground, The cunning Jilt can ne'er be found, The Master once in angry Mood } Starts up and swears by all that's good, } He'd be revenged, that he would. } Runs to a Country Knight his Neighbour, And there complains how all his labour Was spoil'd by one confounded Hare, Which though the'd watch'd her every where He nor his People ne'er could catch, And of a certain was a Witch. His Worship smiles and promises To rid him of the Sawcy Puss. At break of Day _Jack_ winds his Horn, The Beagles scamper thro' the Corn; Deep mouth'd Curs set up a Cry, And make a cursed Symphony. Now stir you Rogues; the Knight is come With _Robin_, _Lightfoot_, _Dick_ and _Tom_. The House is full of Dogs and Boys, And ev'ry where's a horrid Noise, Well, Landlord, Come, What shall we do? Must w' eat a Bit before we go? What have you got? Now all's fetch'd out, The Victuals rak'd, and tore about. One pairs the Loaf, another Groom } Draws Beer, as if he was at home, } And spils it half about the Room. } What Horseman's yonder at the Door? Why, Faith, there's half a dozen more: They're Gentlemen, that live at Court, Come down the Country for some Sport; Some old Acquaintance of the Knight, Who whips from Table, bids 'em light. They ask no Questions but sit down, Fall too as if it was their own. One finishes the Potted Salmon, Then swears, because he had no Lemon. Good Lord, how sharp the Rogues are set! It puts my Landlord in a Sweat. His Daughter comes with fresh Supplies Of Collard Beef, and Apple-pies. His Worship falls aboard of her; The modest Creature quakes for fear. When do we marry Mistress _Ann_? Who is to be the happy Man? He takes her Hand, and chucks her Chin, Stares in her Face, commends her Skin, Removes her Linnen, shews her Neck; There's Milk, and Blood, Gad take me _Jack_. She blushes, and he vows she is A pretty Girl, then takes a Kiss; She don't consent, nor dares deny, Defends herself respectfully; And now the Knight would let her go; } Another Rake cries, Damme no: } I'll have a Kiss as well as you. } He hugs her close, then calls her Dear, And whispers bawdy in her Ear. My charming Rogue, I would not hurt ye. She answers not, but drops a Courtsie. He's rude, and she's asham'd to squeak; Her Father sees it, dares not speak; But patiently enduring all, Stands like a Statue in the Hall. Now for the Garden and the Hare, The Dogs get in, and scrape and tear, The Horsemen follow, leap the Rails; Down goes the Quick-set-hedge, and Pales. The Huntsman hollows, runs and pushes, All goes to Rack, the Borders, Bushes. And now my Landlord cries amain, You've ruin'd me; but all in vain. The Cabbages are kick'd about, And Flowers with Roots and all pull'd out. The Beds are levell'd with the Ground, At last poor trembling Puss is found Hid underneath a Collyflower. The Prey is took, away they scower, And leave our Countryman to think On all his Loss of Meat and Drink: What havock's made in ev'ry place, His Daughter wrong'd before his Face. Small was the Mischief of the Hare To ravenous Hunters to compare. He wrings his Hands, and all in Tears Repents his foolish rashness, swears, He'll ne'er call help again in haste, Since Hounds and Horses made more waste, In half an hour, than all the Hares Of th' Country could in Seven Years. The Moral. _When petty Princes can't agree, And strive for Superiority, They often take my Landlord's Course, Invite for Aid a foreign Force; And when their Subjects Slaves are made, Their Countries all in ruins laid, As commonly it proves their fate, Repent with him when it's too late._ _The Plague among the Beasts._ One time a mighty Plague did pester All Beasts Domestick and _Sylvester_, They try'd a world of Remedies; But none that conquer'd the Disease: And, as in the Calamity All did not dye, so none were free. The Lyon in this Consternation Sends by his Royal Proclamation To all his loving Subjects greeting, And summons 'em t' a general Meeting; And when they're come about his Den, He says, my Lords and Gentlemen, I believe you're met full of the Sence Of this consuming Pestilence; Sure such extraordinary Punishment On common Crimes was never sent; Therefore it took its derivation, Not from the trivial Sence of the Nation; But some notorious Wickedness; } Then let us search our Consciences, } And ev'ry one his Faults confess. } We'll judge the biggest and the least, And he that is the wicked'st Beast Shall as a Sacrifice be giv'n, T'allay the wrath of angry Heav'n, And serve our Sins an expiation By ancient way of Immolation; And, since no one is free from Sin, Thus with my own I'll first begin. I've kill'd an Ox, and which is worse, Committed Murder on a Horse; And one Day, as I am a Sinner, I have eat seven Pigs for Dinner, Robb'd Woods, and Fens, and like a Glutton, Fed on whole Flocks of Lamb and Mutton: Nay sometimes, for 'tis in vain to lie, The Shepherd went for Company. This was his Speech; when Chanc'lor Fox Cries out, what signifies an Ox, Or Horse? Sure those unworthy things Are honour'd, when made sport for Kings. But, Sir, your Conscience is too nice, Hunting's a Princely Exercise: As for the Sheep, that foolish Cattle, Not fit for Carriage nor for Battle, And being tolerable Meat, Are good for nothing, but to eat. The shepherd your sworn Enemy Deserv'd no better Destiny. Thus was he, that had sin'd for Twenty, Clear'd _Nemine Contradicente_. The Bear, the Tyger, Beasts that fight, And all that could but scratch or bite Came off well; for their gross Abuses Others as bad found Excuses. Nay even the Cat of wicked Nature That kills at play his Fellow Creature Went scot free: But his Gravity An Ass of stupid Memory Confess'd, that, going to _Sturbridge_-Fair His Back most broke with Wooden-ware, He chanc'd half starv'd, and faint, to pass By a Church-yard with exc'lent Grass, They had forgot to shut the Gate, He ventur'd in, stoop'd down and ate. Hold, cries Judge Wolf, no more, for Crimes As these, deserve such fatal Times. By several Acts of Parliament 'Tis Sacriledge, they all consent; And thus the silly virtuous Ass Was Sacrifis'd for eating Grass. The Moral. _The Fable shews you poor Folk's fate Whilst Laws can never reach the Great._ _The Grasshopper and Ant._ A Merry Grasshopper, that sung And tun'd it all the Summer long, Fed on small Flies, and had no Reason To have sad thoughts the gentler Season; For when 'twas hot the Wind at South, The Victuals flew into his Mouth: But when the Winters cold came on, He found he was as much undone, As any Insect under Heav'n; And now the hungry Songster's driv'n To such a state, no Man can know it, But a Musician or a Poet, He makes a Visit to an Ant, Desires he would relieve his want; I come not in a begging way, } Says he, No Sir, name but a day } In _July_ next, and I'll repay, } Your Interest and your Principal Shall both be ready at a Call. The thrifty Ant says truly Neighbour, I get my Living by hard Labour; But you, that in this Storm came hither, What have you done when 'twas fair Weather? I've sung, replies the Grasshopper; Sung! says the Ant, your Servant, Sir; If you have sung away the best Of all the Year, go dance the rest. _The Milk Woman._ A Straping Dame, a going to Town To sell her Milk with thin Stuff Gown, And Coats tuck'd up fit for a Race, Marches along a swinging Pace: And in her Thoughts already counts The Price to which her Milk amounts; She fancies all is sold, and lays The Money out a hundred ways; At last she's fix'd, and thinks it plain, That Eggs would bring the surest Gain: She buys a hundred, which she reckons Will four Weeks hence be six Score Chickens. Such mighty care she takes to rear 'em, No Fox or Kite can e'er come near 'em, The finest Hens are kept for Eggs; The others sold to buy some Piggs; To whom a little Bran she gives With Turnep-tops and Cabbage leaves; And tho' they get no Pease to speak on, Yet in short time they're sold for Bacon. O! how the Money pleas'd her Thought For which a Cow and Calf are bought; She'll have 'em on the Common kept, There see 'em jump, at that she leapt For joy; down comes the Pail, and now Good Night t'ye Chickens, Calf and Cow, Eggs, Bacon; all her busy care, With them are dwindled into Air. She looks with Sorrow on the Ground, And Milk, in which her Fortune's drown'd: Then carries home the doleful News, And strives to make the best Excuse: Her Husband greets her with a Curse, And well it was she far'd no worse. The Hermit, and the Man of Fame, _Pompeus_, and our Country Dame, The wisest Judge, and my Lord May'r, They all build Castles in the Air: And all a secret Pleasure take In dreaming whilst they are awake: Pleas'd with our Fancies we possess Friends, Honour, Women, Palaces. When I'm alone I dare defy Mankind for Wit and Bravery. I beat the _French_ in half an Hour, Get all their Cities in my Power. Sometimes I'm pleas'd to be a King, That has success in every thing, And just when all the World's my own, Comes one to dun me for a Crown; And presently I am the poor, And idle Dunce I was before. _The Cock, the Cat, and the young Mouse._ A Mouse of no Experience Was almost nabb'd for want of Sence. Hear how the silly young one told Her strange Adventure to the old. I cross'd the Limits of our State, And ran as swift as any Rat; When suddenly I spy'd two Creatures Of very different Form and Features. The one look'd smiling, milde, and Civil, The other was a very Devil; He look'd so fierce, made such a rout, Then tore the Ground, then turn'd about; He ne'er stood still, upon his Head He wore a piece of Flesh that's red; A bunch of Tails with green and black Stood staring higher than his back. And thus describes the simple Mouse A Cock he had seen behind the House, As had it been some Beast of Prey Brought over from _America_. With insolence, says he, he strides, And beats with his broad Arms his sides; Then lifts his shrill and frightful Voice, And made so terrible a Noise, That tho' I can assure you, Mother, I've as much Courage as another, I trembled, and as I am here, Was forc'd to fly away for fear. I curs'd the Bully in my thought; For 'twas that strutting Ruffi'n's Fault; Or else that other Beast and I Had been acquainted presently. He sat so quiet with such Grace, So much good Nature in his Face, He's furr'd like we, and on his Back So purely streak'd with gray and black; He has a long Tail, shining Eye, Yet is all over Modesty. I believe he is a near Relation To our Allies the Rattish Nation: His Ears and Whiskers are the same With ours, I would have ask'd his Name, When with his harsh and horrid sound The other made me quit my Ground. Replies the Mother, well 'scap'd Son, You have been very near undone; That formal Piece of Modesty, That Mirror of Hypocrisy, Was a damn'd Cat of wicked Fame; My Heart akes at the very Name, The everlasting Foe to Mouse, Death and Destruction to our House. Whereas that other Animal Ne'er did us hurt, nor never will; But may, when he is dead and gone, Serve us one Day to dine upon. Then prithee son, whate'er you do, Take special Care of him, whom you For such an humble Creature took, And judge not People by their Look. _The Cock and Pearl._ A Cock, not very nicely fed, A Dunghill raker by his Trade, Whilst scraping in the dirt, had found A Pearl worth Five and Twenty Pound: He goes hard by t' a Jeweller, And like a silly Dog, says Sir, In yonder Rubbish lay a bit Of something that in't good to eat, If you think it will serve your turn, I'll change it for a grain of Corn. Nay sometimes Men will do as bad, I've known a foolish Heir, that had A Manuscript of Wit and Labour, Say to a Bookseller his Neighbour, I've got some Sheets my Uncle writ, They say he was a Man of Wit, But Books are things I don't much matter, A Crown would do my Business better. _The Lyon's Court._ It happen'd that some Years ago, The Lyon had a Mind to know, What beastly Nations up and down Belong'd to his Imperial Crown: And therefore in his Princely care Sends word by Letters every where, That he would keep an open Court, Grace it with every Royal Sport; And so invites 'em to his Palace, A Cave that stunk worse than the Gallows. The Bear snorts at it, snuffles, blows, Draws hundred Wrinkles in his Nose. What need the Fool to have made such Faces? The Lyon frown'd at his Grimaces, And for the Niceness of his Smell My Gentleman is sent to Hell. The Monky fam'd for flattery Extalls this Action to the Sky, Then prais'd the King's majestick Face, The stately building of the Place, The Smell, whose Fragrancy so far Exceeds all other Scents that are, That there's no Amber, said the Sot, But what's a house of Office to't. This gross insipid stuff the Prince } Dislikes and calls it Impudence, } To speak so contrary to Sence. } And as the one was thought too free, So th' other dy'd for Flattery. This Lyon had the reputation To be _Caligula's_ Relation. The Fox being near; the peevish King Ask'd his Opinion of the thing. Tell me what smell it is, be bold, Sir, says the Fox, I've got a Cold. If you would have your Answers please Great Men make use of such as these. Bluntness and bare-faced Flattery Can never with the Court agree. _The Drunkard and his Wife._ Man is so obstinate a Creature No Remedy can change his Nature. Fear, Shame, all ineffectual prove To cure us from the Vice we love. A Drunkard, that had spent his Wealth, And by the Wine impar'd his Health, One Night was very Drunk brought home; His Wife conveys him to a Tomb; Undresses him from Head to Feet, And wraps him in a Winding-sheet: He wakes, and finds he's not a Bed, All over dress'd like one that's dead: Besides, she counterfeits her Voice, With Torch in hand, and grunting Noise, Looks frightful in a strange Array, To pass for Dame _Ctesiphone_. And every thing is done so well, He thinks he's fairly gone to Hell; And satisfy'd it was his Merit, He says to his dissembling Spirit, Who are you in the Name of Evil? She answers hoarsely I'm a Devil, That carries Victuals to the Damn'd, By me they are with Brimstone cramm'd. What, says the Husband, do you think Never to bring them any Drink? _The Carp._ A Handsome Carp genteely bred, In fresh and running Water fed, Puff'd up with Pride and Vanity, Forsook the _Thames_ and went to Sea; Thro' Shrimps and Prawns he cuts his way, Sees Cods and Haddocks frisk and play; He ask'd some questions, but in vain, All spoke the Language of the Main; He frets he can't be understood, When, at the latter end of Flood, Two Herrings vers'd in Languages Were talking about Business; Carp heard 'em, as he swum along, Discoursing in his River Tongue, And made a stop, they did the same, One of the Herrings ask'd his Name, And whence he came; the Traveller Reply'd, I am a Stranger, Sir, Come for my Pleasure to these Parts To learn your Manners and your Arts: Then Herring asks what News of late? Which are your Ministers of State? Indeed, said Carp, he could not tell, Nor did much care, quoth Herring well What Laws, what Form of Government? Are Taxes rais'd, without consent Of Parliament? what Courts of? Pish, Says th' other, I'm a gentle Fish, And we know nothing of those Matters; Quoth Herring, I'm no Fish that flatters, I find you've neither seen nor read, And wonder you should break your Head, With what's in other Countries done, That knows so little of your own. At this the haughty Fool takes snuff, Turns from 'em in a mighty huff; And whilst he slides and flourishes He meets a Country Fish of his, One us'd to Sea, a subtle Spark, A Pike that serv'd his time t' a Shark; Who leads him into Company Of Riot and Debauchery; The scandalous Gang in little time Infect him with the Salt, and Slime: They robb'd his Row, till scurvily At last he's forc'd to leave the Sea. His Scales begin to drop by scores, And all his Body's full of Sores. Half of his Tail, and Snout are gone, And he, lean, shabby and undone, Sneaks home as vain and ignorant, As e'er he was before he went. The Moral. _Some Fops that visit_ France _and_ Rome, _Before they know what's done at home, Look like our Carp when come again. Strange Countries may improve a Man, That knew the World before he went; But he, that sets out ignorant, Whom only Vanity intices, Brings Nothing from 'em, but their Vices._ _The Nightingale and Owl._ The Bird of _Jove_, who was all Day, As much intent upon his Prey, As any Prince in Christendom, Was not well pleased, that coming home, He always found his Folks a Bed, (Sure Courtiers should be better bred.) For, as Crown'd Heads have much to think, Some Nights he could not sleep a wink; And thought it hard to have ne'er a Bird In all his Court could speak a Word, Or snuff a Candle, hundred things, That are of use to waking Kings. Some Birds strove hard, did what they could; Yet when 't grew dark, slept as they stood. Others pretended that they watch'd, And swore and ly'd till they were catch'd. The King would not be put upon: Asks all his Court what's to be done? One talks no wiser than a Horse, Another makes it ten times worse, The Ostrich said, It's plain to me, We sleep because we cannot see; Ask _Jupiter_, he can't deny't, To let it when 'tis dark be light---- At that all stopt his Speech a laughing, Except the King, who fell a coughing. Says one more learned than the rest, I'm for a Crane with stone in Fist; If he should sleep it must be known, For presently he'll drop the stone. But as the Watchmen were to be In the upper Garret of the Tree, The King for weighty Reasons said, He'd have no Stones held o'er his Head, Then cries the Swan, and he was right, If one pretends to watch all Night. He cannot do a better thing, To make us believe it than to sing. His Majesty approves of it, And Letters presently are writ; By which the Airy Prince invites All Birds to Court, that sung a Nights; But most of 'em look on the same As things of no concern to them. Yet some that had Ambition Would very willingly have gone, But since they could not watch in short, And might perhaps be punish'd for't, At best they could propose no Gains. But t' have their Labour for their Pains. Only the Nightingale, whose Art Man knows, had fill'd his little Heart With so much Joy, he's more than glad, And almost ready to run mad; Calls on all Birds and shakes his Wings, Tells them how every Night he sings; (A thing, which they knew nothing of, For by that time they're fast enough.) Says he it hits so luckily, As if it was contriv'd for me, What cause to doubt of being chose, When there's not one that can oppose. His Friend the Black-bird says, if so, } Make haste to Court; why don't you go? } The haughty Bird cries truly No, } Glory's a thing I never went for, Nor shall go now unless I am sent for. At last the King by Mistress Fame, 'S acquainted with his Skill and Name, And hearing of his Stateliness Sends half a dozen Deputies; Who, when they're come, are forced to wait: The Bird makes every thing look great; He humbly thanks his Majesty; But could not leave his Family. They still persuade and press him hard, He need not doubt of a great Reward. And as the Nightingale delays, And banters 'em for several Days; A Magpye in the Field at play Heard how he made the Courtiers stay, Goes home and there relates the Story, The Message, and the Bird's Vain glory, T' an Owl, who from his Infancy Had liv'd in the same Family; And adds, why don't you take a Flight? I've often heard you sing at Night; When wak'd by our unlucky Boys. Says the Owl, I know I have no Voice As well as you: But if you hear me, Young Jackanaps you need not jeer me. By _George_, says Mag, I'm not in jest, What though the Nightingale sings best, He is so proud, takes so much state, A thing I know all Princes hate, That if y'are there before the other, Who wants such Courtship, keeps such pother, I don't know but your solemn Face, And modest Mein may get the place. I'll go my self for Company: } And Mag discoursed so winingly, } The Match is made away they fly. } The King by this time thought it long To stay for a Nocturnal Song When Master Magpy, and his Friend, Were just come to their Journy's end. They told their Business modestly, And are lodg'd on the Royal Tree. The Owl sets up his Note at Night, At which the Eagle laugh'd out right, Then went to sleep and two Hours after He wak'd, and wanted to make Water. Call'd to his Watch, who presently Jump'd in, and cry'd Sir, Here am I. So, tho his Owlship could not sing, His watchfulness had pleas'd the King. Next day arrives the Nightingale, With his Attendance at his Tail. His Majesty would by no Means } Admit him to an Audience; } But sends a stately Bird of Sence, } Who thus accosted him. Signior, Whom we so long have waited for; Since Yesterday a Bird came hither, As grave as ever wore a Feather, Who without promise of Reward Last Night has serv'd upon the Guard, With him to Morrow Night the King Has order'd you to watch and sing, Says Nightingale, what do I care For Orders? I am free, and swear My Master-lays shall mix with none, They make a Consort of their own: But who has so much vanity, That dares pretend to sing with me? And hearing twas th' _Athenian_ Bird, He star'd and cou'd not speak a Word, Grew pale, and swell'd, his Wind came short, And Anger overwhelm'd his Heart. He foams at Mouth, and raves, and blusters, And utters all his Words in Clusters. A King! a Devil, stupid Fowl, That can compare me to an Owl! Pray says the Courtier, have a Care, Consider in what place you are; But, as the Fool would hear no Reason, He went, and left him sputt'ring Treason, Then told what happen'd to the King, Who said he'd never hear him sing; The Owl should be kept in his Place, And th' other punish'd with Disgrace; He wisely weigh'd one's Complaisance Against the other's Insolence, Oppos'd the Humble to the Rude, And thought the one might do more Good, With Loyalty and Diligence, Than th' other with his Skill and Sence. The Nightingale is kick'd from Court And serv'd the little Birds for sport; Till full of Shame and Grief he went, And curs'd the King and Government. The Moral. _Princes can never satisfy That Worth that rates itself too high. What Pity it is! some Men of Parts Should have such haughty stubborn Hearts: When once they are courted they grow vain: Ambitious Souls cannot contain Their Joy, which when they strive to hide, They cover it with so much Pride, So Saucy to Superiors, Impatient of Competitors, Th' are utterly untractable, And put off like our Nightingale. Many with him might have been great, Promoted Friends, and serv'd the State, That have beheld, with too much Joy, The wish'd for Opportunity; Then slipt it by their own Delays, Sloth, Pride, or other willful Ways, And ever after strove in vain To see the Forelock once again._ _Council held by the Rats._ A Cat, whose Sirname pretty hard was, One Captain _Felis Rodilardus_ Had made so terrible a slaughter Among the Rats; that little after There's hardly one to shew his head, Most part of 'em were maim'd or dead. The few that yet had 'scap'd the Grave, Liv'd in a subterranean Cave, Where they sat thinking mighty dull, With Bellies less than quarter full, Not daring to stir out for fear Of _Rodilard_, who's ev'ry where. They tried a hundred ways to sun him: But finding they could never shun him, The Wretches look upon him, that He's more a Devil than a Cat. Once, when our am'rous Spark was gone A hunting Wenches up and down, The poor remainder to improve The time their Enemy made love, Assembl'd, and employ'd their Cares About the straits of their Affairs. Their President, a Man of Sence, Told 'em, by long experience; I know, the Captain used to come In Ambush without beat of Drum. Methinks, that if we could but hear him We need not half so much to fear him: And therefore, th' only way's to take A Bell, and tie't about his Neck; And then let him be ne'er so arch He'll advertise us of his march. His Council took, and every one } Was of the same Opinion; } Sure nothing better could be done. } But pray, says one, who is to tie it; For I desire not to be nigh it. How! cries another, tie the Bell, I dare draw all his Teeth as well. A third, a fourth, all say the same, And so they parted as they came. The Moral. _Thus Cits advise what's to be done, This way they should attack the Town; Now here, then there, why don't they come? So, often in a Coffee-room, Where prudently they rule the Nation, I've heard some Men of Reputation Propose things which they dare as well Perform, as Rats to tie the Bell._ _The Bat and the two Weasels._ A Purblind Bat a heedless Beast Ran headlong into a Weasel's Nest, Who big with Child, and Passionate, Had long since bore a mortal hate To Mice; she rises, takes a Knife, Runs to 'm resolv'd to have his Life, And says: What Rascal in my House! O impudence! a'nt you a Mouse? Confess: Yes, I am sure you are, Or I'm no Weasel: Have a Care, No Names, good Lady, says the Bat, No more a Mouse, than you a Rat. What, I a Mouse? I scorn the Word; And thank the Gods that made m' a Bird; Witness my Wings, they're proof enough; Long live the Birds, and so came off. Some two Days after giddy brain By a mischance, intrudes again T' another Weasel's, who hates Birds, She lets him enter, made no Words; But fairly caught him by his Crupper, And went to cranch him for her Supper. In quality of Bird, says he, Madam, this is an Injury, Damn all the Birds, I do Protest You wrong me: Sure y'are but in jest, What reason I should pass for one? All Birds have Feathers, I have none. I am a Mouse long live the Rats, And _Jupiter_ confound the Cats. The Moral. _The Trimmer that will side with none, Is forc'd to side with ev'ry one; And with his Comp'ny change his story, Long live the Whig, long live the Tory._ _The two Bitches._ A Bitch, who hardly had a day To reckon, knew not where to lay Her Burthen down: She had no Bed; Nor any Roof to hide her Head; Desires a Bitch of the same Pack, To let her have, for Heaven's sake, Her House against her Lying-in. Th' other, who thought it was a Sin, To baulk a Wretch so near her Labour, Says, Yes, 'tis at your Service, Neighbour. She stays the Month out, and above, And then desires her to remove: But th' other tells her, there's yet none Of all my Whelps can walk alone, Have patience but one Fortnight longer. I hope by that time they'll be stronger. She grants it, and when that's about, Again she asks her to turn out; Resign her Chamber, and her Bed: The other shew'd her Teeth, and said, My Children now are strong enough, Some of 'em able to stand buff. W' are free to go, but don't mistake us, That is to say, if you can make us. The Moral. _Whoever lets the Wicked in Shall hardly get them out again; What they can keep, they'll ne'er restore, And by fair Means you'll have no more Returns from them, than from the Grave, Therefore he that will lend a Knave, Must be resolv'd on Law and Force; If not, he'll bid you take your Course._ _The Sick Lyon and the Fox._ The King of Brutes sent all about, He was afflicted with the Gout; And orders ev'ry Species To visit him by Embassies. To see his Subject Beasts would be Some Comfort to him in his Misery: He swears them faithfully, they shall Be lodg'd, and treated very well. Then for a Safeguard, sends forsooth, Passes against his Claw and Tooth. His Vassals in obedience come, } And ev'ry Species sends him some. } Only the Foxes stay at home; } Their Reason was, they saw the Print Of ev'ry beastly Foot, that went: But found no Marks, by which, 'twas plain, That any e'er came back again: And truly that's suspicious, Says one, poor Folks are timerous. We know the King would not abuse us; But yet desire him to excuse us. As for his Pass we thank him for't, And believe 'tis good. But in his Court We know, which way we may go in, But not, which to come back again. The Moral. _Wise Men sometimes Instruction find In that, which others never mind; Examining the least of things, By Deeds, not Words, they judge of Kings; And never venture on that Coast, Where once they knew another lost._ _The Satyr and the Passenger._ A Satyr at his Country House, A dismal Cave, was with his Spouse, And Brats a going to eat some Broth: Without a Chair, or Table-Cloath, On mossy ground they squatted down, With special Stomachs of their own. And just as they fell to a main, Comes one to shelter for the Rain: The Guest's invited to sit down, Tho' in the mean time they went on. He shiver'd, look'd as cold as Death, And warm'd his Fingers with his Breath, Says ne'er a Word, takes good Advice, And stays not till they ask him twice, Falls to the Porridge, takes a sup; But being newly taken up, 'Twas hot, he blows it. Says the Satyr, Whose Palate could bear scalding-water, Friend, what the Devil are you a doing? What do you mean by all this blowing? The Stranger answers, I did blow At first to warm my hands, and now I blow again to cool my Broth. How, says my Landlord, does it both! Than y'are not like to stay with me, I hate such juggling Company. What! Out of the same Mouth to blow Both hot and cold! Friend, prithee go. I thank the Gods my Roof contains None such as you. The Fable means. The Moral. _None are more like to do us wrong; Than those that wear a double Tongue._ _The Lyon in Love._ Before the Reign of Buxom _Dido_, When Beasts could speak as well as I do; Lyons and we convers'd together, And marry'd among one another. Nay, why not? they have more bravery, And are of the eldest Family. One of 'em walking in a Grove, Met with a Wench, and fell in Love. Says he, dear Girl, upon my Life, Y'are handsome, and must be my Wife. Then sees her Home, and asks her Father, Th' old Gentleman would have had rather A Son-in-Law of milder Nature, And not so terrible a Feature; He could not give her heartily, And yet 'twas dangerous to deny. Besides she lov'd a fierce Gallant, Says he, they have ask'd my Consent; If now I make a Noise about it, Who knows but they may do't without it. Therefore he us'd a Stratagem With honey-words to wheedle him. My Daughter thanks you, Sir, for the honour, Which you are pleas'd to bestow upon her. To talk of Joyntures would be rude; I know what's for my Children's good. She's wholly yours, and from this hour, Son, I resign her to your power. I only wish, because your Bride Has but a foolish tender Hide, That when you take her in your Arm, For fear your Claws might do her harm, You'd suffer somebody to pare 'em; And then your Spouse need not to fear 'em. Your Teeth indeed look fine and strong; But yet th'are somewhat sharp and long; If y'had 'em filed an Inch or two, 'T would be no prejudice to you, And she'd respect you ne'er the less, Admire the softness of your kiss, And be more free with you a Bed. So senceless is a Lover's head: The Lyon yields, and stupidly Lets 'em disarm him _Cap-a-pe_. And so the loving Son-in-Law, Remaining without Tooth or Claw, Look'd as defenceless as a Town With all the Walls and Gates broke down, With Dogs his complaisance they pay, To whom he falls an easy Prey. The Moral. _Where Love his Tyrany Commences; There, farewell Prudence, farewell Sences._ _The Angler and the little Carp._ That little Fishes may be greater, And that, the larger th' are the better I know; but then, to let em swim, And all the while to stay for 'em; Since catching so uncertain is, I think's a foolish Business. An Angler patiently a fishing Employ'd with looking on, and wishing, Catches at last a little Carp That's very poor; but being sharp He thought 'twas something to begin, Opens his pouch to put him in. But cries the Prisoner pitiously Alas, what would you do with me! Let me grow bigger, throw me in. Some two Year hence you'll catch m' again; I'll stay for you, for you may be sure; Then sell me to some Epicure, But now I'm such a silly Fish, A hundred would not make a Dish; And if they should, when all is done, There would be only Skin and Bone. Says the Angler I've a Mind to try you, And if y' an't fit to Stew, I'll Fry you. Leave preaching till anon, and then Discourse your Mattets to the Pan. The Moral. I _Chuse_ One is _for_ two May be's, _One sure for Ten_ Uncertainties. _The Wolves and the Sheep._ Between the Wolves, and Sheep, the Wars Had lasted many hundred Years. The Sheep could never feed in quiet; But Wolves disturb'd 'em at their Diet: And truly Wolf is every Day By Mastiff hunted from his Prey. The Shepherd often cuts his Throat, And turns his Skin into a Coat. But now both Parties are for ease; And met to agree on terms of Peace. When in Debates some time was spent, On each side Hostages are sent: As such both Nations were to give What's valued most, the Wolves receive, The Dogs, of which in Awe they stood; The Sheep young Wolves of noble Blood: And thus the Peace is ratify'd, With Joy proclaim'd on every side. But in short time the Whelps grew strong, The sturdy Rogues began to long For Blood, and Mischief; watch'd a day, The Shepherds were not in the way, Then hunt the young ones from their Dames, And pick'd and cull'd the finest Lambs; Kill'd and devour'd a Multitude; The rest they carry'd to a Wood, Where with the other Wolves they joyn, Who knew before hand their design. The Dogs on publick Faith secure (And pray what ties could be more sure) Where whilst they slept, and thought no harm, Throttled before they heard th' alarm. The Moral. _Some Nations, fond of slothful Ease, Trust to deluding Enemies; And striving to avoid Expence, Will leave themselves without defence; But cunning Tyrants call 'em Friends, No longer than it serves their Ends. Against a mighty King that is, Regardless of his Promises, Proclaim an everlasting War, Observe his Motions, watch with care; And never hearken to Peace, Proffer'd by faithless Enemies._ _The Wasps and Bees._ A Troop of Wasps claims openly Some Honey Combs without a Tree. A Regiment of Bees declares, } The Honey, and the Combs, were theirs, } And let him touch the Goods that dares; } They'd shew that they were Bees, and forsooth. Then says the Wasps, we'll pluck a Crew for't, An shall not fly for Bees, we scorn it. However 'tis left to Justice Hornet, Who could with all his subtle Sence Make nothing of the Evidence; In general they depose, 'tis true, That Insects of a yellow hue, With Tails containing poysonous Stings, Long Body'd, buzzing with their Wings, And all the Signs to paint a Bee, Had been observ'd about that Tree. But this could be no proof for them; For in the Wasps they are the same, His Lordship, for his Reputation Heard a whole Ant's Nest's Information. But being no wiser than before, At last said he could do no more; And made a learned Speech to shew 'em: That this Court could say nothing to 'em: It must be try'd in Chancery. Up starts a pert well meaning Bee, And Says, an't please your Lordship; 'tis Six Months we left our Business: And heard of nothing but Vacations, And Writs of barbarous Appellations; And all this while, you know we are, My Lord, but even as we were. The Honey every Day grows worse, And greedy Lawyers drain our Purse. Under submission we've enough Of all this formal conjuring stuff. I believe I can inform you better, Which way you may decide the matter What signifies our looking on, And hearing Council pro and con? Let's go to work and then you'll see, Which spoke the Truth, the Wasps or we. If they can make such Combs and fill With Honey each sexang'lar Cell; The Cause is theirs, and we'll pay Cost; If not, I hope they'll yield it lost. Which when the Wasps refus'd to do Judge Hornet rose, and said, Oho! I smoak you, Sirs, and gave the Bees The Suit, with Costs and Damages. The Moral. _Thus would I have all Judges give Their Judgment. With the_ Turks _I believe, That common Sence to end a Cause, Is worth a hundred Common Laws. They lead us such a way about, Raise new Disputes, make such a Rout. Between the Plaintiff and Defendant; That by the time they make an end on't, The Suit looks like an Oyster, where The Fish falls to the Lawyer's Share; And if the Cause be manag'd well, Each of the Clients gets a Shell._ _The Lyon and the Gnat._ Away base Insect, that took Birth From th' Exhalations of the Earth. Thus spoke the Lyon to the Gnat; Who answer'd, Bully, Think ye that I'll bear Affronts? No: And declar'd A War against him to his Beard; And told the Hector, void of fear, You'll find Sir King, how much I care For all your Titles, Tooth and Claw, Of which great Loobies stand in awe: I'll quickly curb your haughtiness, Damn'd Brute; and hardly utter'd this, But sounds the Charge (he serv'd for all For Trumpet and for General.) He nimbly shifts from Place to Place, And plays before the Lyon's Face; The other snaps and strikes the Air; The Gnat avoids him every where; He watch'd his time, then seiz'd his Neck, From thence he mov'd, and stung his Back, There fasten'd, made his Kingship mad, His Eyes sparkle in his Head; He foams and roars, and all what's near Trembles, and hides itself for fear, Yet, of this general Hurrican, And dire Alarm th' Occasion Is, what one would suspect the least, So small an Atom of a Beast. With hundred rambling flights he teases The Brute, and leads him where he pleases; Gets up his Nostrils, laughs to see With how much Rage his Enemy Tore his own Flesh, and all in Blood Ran raving through the affrighted Wood. He still pursues, till out of Breath The Lyon dropp'd, and bled to Death. The merry buzzing Conqueror Flies from the dismal Seat of War, And as he sounded chearfully The Charge, so sounds the Victory. But going to proclaim his Story, Puffed up and blinded with his Glory, He met a Cobweb in his way, And fell a silly Spider's Prey. The Moral. _So one that cross'd the Ocean o'er, May smother in a Common Shore._ _The Woodcleaver and Mercury._ In Ancient times, when _Jupiter_ Was pretty free, a Labourer, That earn'd his Bread with cleaving Wood, Lost with his Ax his Livelyhood. 'T would grieve ones Heart to hear what sad And pitious moan the Fellow made: He had no Tools to sell again, And buy another Ax, poor Man! It was his All, and what to do, Or how to live he does not know, And as the Tears stood in his Eyes, My Ax! O my dear Ax! he cries: Sweet loving _Jupiter_! restore My Ax. _Olympus_ hear his roar; And _Mercury_ the Post-Boy, or The Flying Post (his Character Suits either for he's God of Lying Beardless, and fam'd for News and Flying.) Came to the Labourer, and said, Your Ax in't lost, cheer up, my Lad: I've got it here; but can you tell Which is your own? I very well, Quoth he. Says _Mercury_ take hold, And gives him one of Massy Gold; To this, quoth th' other, I've no claim; To a Silver one he said the same. But when his Iron one was shewn, He cries, I Faix this is mine own; God bless you, Sir. And _Mercury_ } Said, to reward his Honesty, } Th' are all your own, I give 'em ye. } The Story's quickly nois'd about; The way to Riches is found out: 'Tis but to lose one's Ax; the Fools, That had none, sold their Cloaths and Tools To get one; and whate'er they cost, They're bought in order to be lost. The God of Thieves and Merchants, who By chance had nothing else to do, Came as they call'd; his Deity Gave every one the choice of three: The lying Rogues deny'd their own, And swore they lost a Golden one: But as they stoop for't, _Mercury_ Chops off their Heads, and there they lie. The Moral. _The Fable shews you, Honesty Is always the best Policy._ _The Hare and his Ears._ Some stupid horn'd Beast or other, Trotting along to get some fother, Had run the Lyon in his Side; Who, for the future to provide Against such Accidents as this, Sends Writs, by which he banishes From his Dominions every one, That wore a Horn: And when 'twas known, The Stags sneak off with Bulls and Rams, The very Calves went with their Dams: And, whilst they are moving every where To foreign parts, a fearful Hare, That saw the shadow of his Ears, Was startled at the sight; and fears, Some Villain might maliciously Say they were Horns; What Remedy? Says he, they're long, and I can't tell. Well Neighbour Cricket Fare-you-well: My Ears are Horns too; I'll march off; They're very long, and that's enough: Nay, were th' as short as Ostrich Ears, It would not rid me of my fears; For if they catch m' I go to Pot. Foh! says the Cricket, y'are a sot. Hares Horns! what Puppy calls 'em so? Th' are Ears. But yet, for ought you know, Replies poor Puss, they'll pass for Horns; And may be Horns of Unicorns. They call the Rabbet's Fore legs, Wings, I hold no Argument with Kings. The Moral. _At Lyons Courts, in case of Treason, I rather trust my Heels, than Reason._ _The Rat and the Frog._ A Graceless Rat, in special case, Kept neither Lent nor Holidays; But lov'd his Gut beyond his Soul, And look'd as slick as any Mole: Who one day having time to spare, Went to the Marshes for some Air; There meets a Frog, not over fat, Who says, your Servant Mr. Rat; And seemingly with much good Nature, Invites the Stranger o'er the Water: Says he, I live in yonder Fens, Go with me I'll treat you like a Prince. The Rat who had a mind before To ramble, need t've heard no more; But yet the Frog made a whole Lecture On Country Bagnios, and their Structure, The Voyage, and the Recreation He'd find in his amphibious Nation; Their Manners, and a hundred things, Of which in Winter Evenings, He'd tell fine Stories ten Years after, By Fire sides in Praise of Water: And, since he always liv'd a Shore, There's nothing could refresh him more. These Reasons pleas'd his Ratship so, That he was raving mad to go. But as your pamper'd Folks are fearful, He said, one cannot be too careful; 'Tis true I swim, but not like you, And Cramps, or other things, you know, Might happen: If I could but have Some small Assistance.----Says the Knave, Prithee be quiet, to prevent All harm, I've an expedient, That has a thousand times been tried. Then took a bit of Rush and tied One of the Fore feet of the Rat To his Hind leg, and out they set. But O thou wicked World! how evil Are all our Hearts! this croaking Devil Swum to the deep; where, when he got him, He strove to pull him to the bottom; And thought it was a lucky hit, To meet with such a dainty bit; Good wholesome Meat, and so went on. The Rat, who felt he was undone, Cry'd out, and foul'd himself for fear, } And, tho' sometimes in half a Year, } The Varlet never said a Prayer; } Yet (as the Proverb tells us, he That cannot pray, must go to Sea.) So now, with all the Sugar Words, A frighted Coward's Heart affords; He call'd the Gods, and coax'd the Frog; But, No: That false hard-hearted Dog Is deaf to all his Protestations, And violates the Law of Nations. One lugs and labours like a Horse, Th' other resists with all his Force. The Frog's for going down; the Rat, If 't pleased the Gods, would rather not. And, whilst they're struggling different ways, A Kite, that hover'd o'er the Place, Saw what our Gentry was about, Would fain have seen the Battle out; If 't had been safe; but being loth To lose his Stomack, took 'em both: And, doubly blessed beyond his wish, Supp'd like a Lord, on Flesh and Fish. The Moral. _He, that's entangled in a Plot, For want of Strength, is often caught: And in his Practices detected By Accidents, he ne'er suspected. What cares a Frog for Kites, in Water? But Villany rewards its Author._ _The Cat and an old Rat._ I've heard, and if it be a Lie, You have it e'en as cheap as I; That a huge Cat of mighty Name, A second _Rodilard_ for Fame, The _Alexander_ of the Cats; An _Attila_, a scourge to Rats, Had brought such horrid devastation, And Mischief on the latter Nation; 'Twas thought he would depopulate The World, and swallow every Rat. The long Tailed Gentry, far and near, Are all possess'd with so much fear, That there's not one in six Miles round, That dares to venture above ground; Their bloody minded Enemy Is sorry, that they're grown so shy. In vain he watch'd, and lurk'd about, The De'l a bit as one came out. Says he, the Scoundrels are alive, I hear 'em stir, and must contrive To draw 'em out; for, where they dwell, I'm sure, they're uncomatable. At that he gets upon a Shelf, And to a String he hangs himself By one Foot, dangling with his Head Downward, as if he had been dead. The Rats all thought, he had been taken At stealing Cheese, or gnawing Bacon; Perhaps he might have foul'd the Bed, Murder'd a Bird; or, that he had Committed any other Evil, By instigation of the Devil, Or his own more malicious Nature; For which they'd hang'd the wicked Creature. The Prisoners, who wanted Bread Thank'd Heaven, and were very glad. They show their Snouts, and now begin To peep out and pop back again; Till growing bold they leave their home, And scamper up and down the Room. Down comes the treacherous Malefactor, Who rais'd to Life without a Doctor. Fell with such rage about their House Each Blow kill'd either Rat or Mouse; Some made Resistance, but in vain, The Ground is cover'd with the slain, Such Execution did his Claw, But when the cunning Warrior saw, The nimble ones go off in Sholes, And get within their crooked Holes, He call'd to 'em, for all your haste, I know, you'll come to me at last. This trick you never knew before, But I can shew you hundred more. He'd kill'd enough to live upon Some few Days; but when that was gone, He kept his Word, and wheedled 'em With quite another Stratagem. He jump'd into a Tub of Flower, And there stood powd'ring half an hour, 'Till thinking he was dawbd enough, He walks into an open trough Where lying snug as white as Snow, And roul'd up like a piece of Dough, He waits the Starvlings coming to'm, And now and then he pick'd up some. But an old Rat, who full of Scars, Had lost his Tail in former Wars; Standing at th' Entrance of the Cave, Call'd to our Cat. You, Mr. Knave, Your Hanging or your Flower won't do, I know your Tricks as well as you. You was a Cat, and are so still: Change to what form or shape you will: Nay be a Log, I wont come nigh't. Says th' other, Faith he's in the right. And wisely knows, distrust to be The Mother of Security. _The Weasel and the Rat._ A Hungry Weasel poor and lank, With wrinkled Jaws, and Taper Flank, Hardly recover'd from her Weakness, Occasion'd by a Fit of Sickness. Met with a Granary, and stole Into it thro' a little Hole. She bless'd herself to see the store, No Miser sure could covet more: And, thinking Nobody could harm her, Fell to, and fed like any Farmer. At Nights she slept, and snor'd at Ease, And having Peace and Quietness, Four Meals a Day, a wholesome Air, A dainty Diet, little Care, She quickly chang'd her meagre Feature, And look'd like quite another Creature. The Truth is, it would be a hard Case, If all this should not mend one's Carcass. Once, sitting at a Dish of Wheat, She heard a Noise, forsook her Meat, Ran to the Hole to save her Bacon, Squeez'd to get thro'; but was mistaken. And as she searches all about, And finds no Crevish to get out, She spies a Rat, and tells him, pray What must I do, I've lost my way, Which is the Hole? No, says the Rat, Your way is right; but y'are too Fat. Stay but a Week, and fast, good Dame, } Till y'are as lean, as when you came, } And then you'll find the Hole's the same. } The Moral. A _Man in profitable Station, Grown rich by Plundering the Nation, Is often willing to resign, But seldom to refund the Coin_. _The Wolf and the Stork._ Wolves commonly are fam'd for Eating, As much, as Foxes are for Cheating. One of 'em, at a Mutton Feast, Devour'd his Meat with so much haste; A Bone got in his Throat, and there Stuck fast; some Learned Authors swear, It was the _Os Sacrum_; others say, It was one of the _Vertebræ_. But hang disputes; since it is all one What Bone it was; so 'twas no small one. There stood Sir Wolf, and full of Grief Made signs he wanted quick Relief. And well it was he could not Cry; For no Soul would have come a nigh. At last he shews it to a Stork, The long-leg'd Surgeon goes to Work; Takes out the Bone immediately; And when 'twas done, desir'd his Fee. Sure, says the Wolf, whoever draws His Head out harmless from my Jaws, May boast of such a Happiness, As far o'erpays all Offices; A thing which ne'er was done before, And may be, ne'er will happen more. But O Damn'd Vice Ingratitude! To scape with Life, and be so rude, As to ask Fees! take care young Man, You never see my Face again. The Moral. _Some Folks are so mischievous grown, They claim Thanks if they let y' alone._ _The Frogs asking for a King._ The Frogs, after some Ages spent In Democratick Government, Grew weary of it, and agree, To change it for a Monarchy; And humbly begg'd a King of _Jove_, The God comply'd, and from above Dropt 'em a very peaceful one; But only in the falling down, He made such Noise, that all the Frogs, Who are but fearful skittish Dogs Were frighted and drove under Water, And there remain'd a good while after, Among the Weeds; their fear was such, There was not one, that dar'd so much As look upon him, whom they thought Some Giant, or the Lord knows what. Tho' all this while 'twas but a Log, At last came up a daring Frog; But took care, not to swim too nigh it, Till, seeing it lay so very quiet, He went on, tho' in mighty awe; But when his Fellow Subjects saw Their Bulky King did him no harm, In half an Hour the Pond did swarm Of Frogs. O! what a pretty thing It was to play about their King: The meekest that e'er wore a Crown; And soon they're so familiar grown, That laying all respect aside, They jump upon his Back, and ride. The King says nothing, keeps his Peace, And let's em work him as they please. But this they hate, they'd have him move. A second time they call on _Jove_, And tire his Brain with clam'rous rout, To have a King, that stirr'd about. _Jove_ mad for being plagu'd again, Sends em a Damn'd devouring Crane; Who only was for Kill, and Slay, And eat whoe'er came in his way. Much louder now the Rascals cry; Deliver us from Tyranny! O _Jupiter_! if he goes on, } We shall be murder'd every one, } This is the Devil upon dun. } Quoth he, I'll humour Fools no more, You might have kept what ye had before; You left your common wealth, to seek A King; and then he was too meek; You must have one forsooth, that stirs: I hope now you have got one, Sirs. You never chang'd without a Curse, Keep this, for fear you get a worse. The Moral. _Thank God, this Fable is not meant } To_ Englishmen; _they are content, } And hate to change their Government._ } _The Wolf and the Lamb._ It is a thing without contest, That he that's strongest reasons best. The Weather being sultry hot, A Lamb to cool himself, was got A paddling in a purling Stream. (To Rhiming Fools a mighty Theme) When a she Wolf (the De'l sure sent her) Came down, in quest of some Adventure, And hardly spy'd poor Innocence; But pick'd a Quarrel void of Sence; Began to sputter, Damn and Sink, Ask'd how he dar'd to spoil her Drink, A nasty poysoning Dog. Odsbud! He'd make it all as thick as mud. For which he'd punish him by _Jove_. Madam, reply'd the Lamb, I love To reason calmly, and will show ye, That I am Twenty Yards below ye. And humbly craving leave, from thence I draw this reg'lar Consequence; That I can't, standing in this Place, Disturb the Liquor of your Grace. You do, says the other, and last Year You told some lies of me. I swear, I was not born then, quoth the Lamb: I han't left sucking of my Dam. 'Twas either you or else your Brother. I've ne'er a one. Then 'twas your Mother, Or any other near Relation; For all your wicked Generation Hates me; your Dogs and Shepherds too And without any more a do, The Lamb was carry'd to the Wood And serv'd the cruel Wolf for Food. _The Lyon grown old._ A Valiant Lyon, now grown old, His Limbs and Jaws benumb'd and cold, Lay thinking on his Royal Bed, With scarce a Tooth in all his Head: And Claws worn to the Stumps with Tearing: (But every thing's the worse for wearing) And whilst he labour'd to repent, Complaining of his Youth mispent, His Rebel Subjects paid no more, That Honour, which they gave before, But treat him with Contempt and Scorn: The Bull does push him with his Horn, The Horse affronts him with his Heels: No Tongue can tell what grief he feels From these insulting Enemies. In comes the Ass; but when he sees, That Coward too forget his Duty, He dying said, _Tu quoque Brute?_ _The two Physicians._ Two graduate Physicians, Of many Years Experience, With Coaches to proclaim their Skill, Are sent for to a Man that's ill. One feels his Pulse and gives him over: But th' other says he may recover; I have great hopes, we'll give him some Of my _Antithanaticum_. No, cries the first, he is too weak; Yes truly Sir, I'm very sick, Replies the Patient; down they sate, And enter'd in a deep Debate: One quotes four Words of _Arabick_, Th' other an Aphorism in _Greek_. They're very hot, and every one Sticks to his own Opinion. The Upshot was, they writ a Bill, Which neither lik'd of very well: They visit him some Days, and vent Many a learned Argument; But as his Life went on full Speed, He could not stay till they agreed, And so march'd off; and when he's dead, Both still are in the right; one said, I told you so, his very Eye Prognosticated he would dye: And th' other cry'd, had I been believ'd, I'm very sure, he would have liv'd. _Love and Folly._ The charming God, that with his Bow, So many Thousand Years ago, Came to that troublesome Employ, He serves in still, is but a Boy: His Art is so mysterious, That to explain his business, His Tackle, Arrows, Quiver, Taper, Would take up several Reams of Paper; Which being more than I've a mind To fill; I'll only, since he is blind, Tell you which way he lost his sight, With what came on't, and so good Night. Folly and Love took one another Aside, as Boys will run together, And crept into a Nook of Heaven, To play at Seven or Eleven; And here good People, Gamesters may Behold what mischief comes from Play: There 'rose a quarrel about the Main, Its Eight says Love, and thought 'twas plain; Quoth Folly, but I'm sure 'tis Nine, You Little Cheat, the Game is mine: At last Words growing very high, Love gives his angry Foe the Lie; Then up starts Folly, flings the Dice At Love, and beats out both his Eyes. _Venus_ would be reveng'd, bawl'd out, And shed so many Tears about The Peepers of her little Son, That she was like to have spoil'd her own. She would have Justice done, she swore, Call'd Folly Rogue and Son 'f a Whore: How did you do't; I'll make you dance? Indeed said Folly, 'twas by chance. Cry'd _Cupid_, you're a punning Cur, And snobb'd. In comes the Thunderer, With all the Gods and Goddesses, To sit upon the Business, Between Love and the Boy at Bar. The Cuckold and the God of War Were very hot, they'd have him dye; But when _Minerva_ ask'd him, Why? They said, because----Be free from rage, Ye Gods, said _Themis_, mind his Age, And then the Council seem'd to incline To make him only pay a Fine To Love. But the injur'd Mother cries, That won't do, I'll have both his Eyes, _Secundum legem Talionis_, He shall pay _Corpore non bonis_. _Apollo_ bids her to be civil. T'have two blind Boys would be the Devil, Said _Juno_, and this gave the hint To _Jove_, t'inflinct a Punishment, That might ease Love; what must he do? He could not walk alone; and so 'Twas fixed by all the Gods above, That Folly should be guide to Love. _A She-Goat, a Sheep and a Sow._ A She-Goat that gave exc'lent Milk, A Sheep, whose Fleece was soft as Silk, And a fat Sow went to the Fair In the same Cart, not to take th' Air, Or to see Shows; but, as I am told, Downright in order to be sold; All the way long the Sow did squawl, And scream enough to deafen 'em all; Had she been follow'd by six score Butchers, she could have done no more: The other Creatures wonder'd at her, And could not dream what was the matter; They thought it must proceed from fear; And yet perceived no danger near; The Carter told her, What d'ye mean? Who gives you reason to complain? Your Cries have stunn'd us; what d'ye make This horrid Noise for? prithee take Example by your Company, Be silent or talk civilly. Look on that Sheep, he thinks you're mad; Has he spoke one Word good or bad? No: He is wise.----The Devil he is, Replies the Sow, could he but guess, Whither you carry us, or why; I'm sure he'd bawl as loud as I: He's used to Shears, and so the Fool Thinks only that you'll take his Wool; And this good Lady with the Beard Has no great Cause to be afear'd; She's daily milk'd and does depend on't, you'll drain her Dug, and there's an end on't: And 't maybe so, or 't may be not: But, wou'd you have me such a sot, Who 'm good for nothing, whilst I've Breath, To be afraid of less than Death? The Moral. _Upon my Word 'twas shrewdly said, Of one that was no better bred: Yes all this sad complaints and fear Are for the Thing she's forced to bear: And tho' she knew, she was to dye, She could not change her destiny. Therefore I think, where all is lost, He, that sees farthest, suffers most._ _The Dog and the Ass._ Help one another is, no doubt, A Law we can't live well without: Yet one Day, (and how't came to pass I don't know) 't happen'd that an Ass, Who's otherwise an honest Creature, Of no uncharitable Nature, Did slight it: A large Dog and he Were travelling in Company, Without a thought of Strife or Care, Followed by him whose Goods they were; And coming to some curious Grass, The latter went to sleep; his Ass, Who was a Lover of good Pasture, Made better use on't than his Master, And fell a feeding heartily: But the poor Dog stood starving by, And said, Much good may do thy heart, Dear fellow Traveller; thou art My loving Friend.--But Mr. _Gray_, My Meat is in your Panier, pray, Stoop down, and let me take out some, I han't eat since we came from home; He gets no Answer, asks again, But No, th' _Arcadian_ Gentleman Thought every Word a mouthful lost, And would say nothing to his cost, So held his Tongue a while; at last He told him, Friend, I am in haste, And, when I stoop my Back, it akes; Have patience till your Master wakes, It won't be long, and then you'll get Your Belly full, if he thinks fit. Just then a Wolf came from the Wood, And they have Appetites as good As any; Grizz'l at a distance Hears him, and asks the Dog's assistance; But he don't budge, and serves him right; Says he, I never us'd to fight Without a cause for fighting's sake; Stay till your Master is awake; Hear what he says, it won't be long; Sir Wolf won't offer any wrong; And if you fear his Teeth or Claws, Knock but his Brains out, break his Jaws, And lay him sprawling on the Ground; You're newly Shod, and Iron bound; And whilst this fine Discourse went on, Poor Grizzle's business was done. The Moral. _None can live happily together, Without assisting one another._ _The Fox and Wolf._ The Fox went on the search one Night, The Moon had hung out all her light; He sees her Image in a Well; But what it was he could not tell; Gets on the Bricks to look at ease: At last concludes it is a Cheese: One Bucket's down, the other up, He jumps in that which was a-top, And coming to the Water, sees How little Skill he had in Cheese. Poor Ren, remov'd from all Acquaintance, Sits in the Bucket of Repentance; And when the Rascal ought to have laid The fault upon himself, it's said, He blam'd his Stars, tho' I b'lieve rather He curst the Moon, and all fair Weather. Well, there he sat, and wish'd, no doubt on't, For half his Tail that he was out on't: Sometimes he rav'd and talk'd like mad, } And every thing came in his Head, } That to his purpose could be said. } Happy are those that don't love Cheese; We may go downward when we please, But to come back again, _hoc opus_, All tricks are vain; my only hope is, That Somebody as wise as I, Hits on my Whim, or else I die. Two Days are past; poor Animal, Sees Nobody come near the Well; And now old Time had in one Place, Cut a good piece of _Cynthia's_ Face; For as he does all things, he eats her, And takes a slice, where'er he meets her: _Volpone_ spies it, and it grieved him, To see that spoil'd which had deceiv'd him, Thinking his case was desperate: When on the third Night pretty late, A Wolf who could not sleep, because He felt an itching in his Jaws, Look'd into it; What are you there? Says Ren; pray see what I got here; It is a groaning Cheese, 'twas made From _Io's_ Milk, and _Faunus_ had The ordering of it, 'twould have been Kept for Dame _Juno's_ Lying in, But she miscarry'd: I took off This Corner; still there's Meat enough For two or three, I thought on you, Wish'd I might see you, and to shew, How I esteem, love, and adore ye, That Bucket's left on purpose for ye. The silly Wolf believes, gets in, And draws _Volpene_ up again. The Moral. _Don't blame the stupid Animal, You credit things less probable; And most Men easily give ear, To what they either wish or fear._ _FINIS._ THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY _WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARK MEMORIAL LIBRARY_ University of California, Los Angeles PUBLICATIONS IN PRINT #1948-1949# 15. John Oldmixon, _Reflections on Dr. Swift's Letter to Harley_ ... (1712) and _A. Mainwaring's The British Academy_ ... (1712). 17. Nicholas Rowe, _Some Account of the Life of Mr. William Shakespeare_ (1709). #1949-1950# 22. Samuel Johnson, _The Vanity of Human Wishes_ (1749) and two _Rambler_ papers (1750). 23. John Dryden, _His Majesties Declaration Defended_ (1681). #1950-1951# 26. Charles Macklin, _The Man of the World_ (1792). #1951-1952# 31. Thomas Gray, _An Elegy Wrote in a Country Churchyard_ (1751); and The Eton College Manuscript. #1960-1961# 85-6. Essays on the Theatre from Eighteenth-Century Periodicals. 90. Henry Needler, _Works_ (1728). #1961-1962# 93. John Norris, _Cursory Reflections Upon a Book Call'd, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding_ (1960) 94. An. Collins, _Divine Songs and Meditacions_ (1653). 95. _An Essay on the New Species of Writing Founded by Mr. Fielding_ (1751). 96. Hanoverian Ballads. #1962-1963# 97. Myles Davies, Selections from _Athenae Britannicae_ (1716-1719). 98. _Select Hymns Taken Out of Mr. Herbert's Temple_ (1697). 99. Simon Patrick, _A Brief Account of the New Sect of Latitude Men_ (1662). 100. Simon Patrick, _A Brief Account of the New Sect of Latitude Men_ (1662). 101-2. Richard Hurd, _Letters on Chivalry and Romance_ (1762). #1963-1964# 103. Samuel Richardson, _Clarissa: Preface, Hints of Prefaces, and Postscript_. 104. Thomas D'Urfey, _Wonders in the Sun, or, the Kingdom of the Birds_ (1706). 105. Bernard Mandeville, _An Enquiry into the Causes of the Frequent Executions at Tyburn_ (1725). 106. Daniel Defoe, _A Brief History of the Poor Palatine Refugees_ (1709). 107-8. John Oldmixon, _An Essay on Criticism_ (1728). #1964-1965# 109. Sir William Temple, _An Essay upon the Original and Nature of Government_ (1680). 110. John Tutchin, _Selected Poems_ (1685-1700). 111. Anonymous, _Political Justice. A Poem_ (1736). 112. Robert Dodsley, _An Essay on Fable_ (1764). 113. T. R., _An Essay Concerning Critical and Curious Learning_ (1680). 114. Two Poems Against Pope: Leonard Welsted, _One Epistle to Mr. A. Pope_ (1730); Anonymous, _The Blatant Beast_ (1740). William Andrews Clark Memorial Library: University of California, Los Angeles THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY _General Editors_: Earl Miner, University of California, Los Angeles; Maximillian E. Novak, University of California, Los Angeles; Lawrence Clark Powell, Wm. Andrews Clark Memorial Library _Corresponding Secretary_: Mrs. Edna C. Davis, Wm. Andrews Clark Memorial Library The Society's purpose is to publish reprints (usually facsimile reproductions) of rare seventeenth and eighteenth century works. All income of the Society is devoted to defraying costs of publication and mailing. Correspondence concerning subscriptions in the United States and Canada should be addressed to the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library, 2205 West Adams Boulevard, Los Angeles, California. Correspondence concerning editorial matters may be addressed to any of the general editors. The membership fee is $5.00 a year for subscribers in the United States and Canada and 30/- for subscribers in Great Britain and Europe. British and European subscribers should address B. H. Blackwell, Broad Street, Oxford, England. Copies of back issues in print may be obtained from the Corresponding Secretary. PUBLICATIONS FOR 1965-1966 THOMAS TRAHERNE, _Meditations on the Six Days of the Creation_ (1717). Introduction by George Robert Guffey. CHARLES MACKLIN, _The Covent Garden Theatre_ [manuscript] (1752). Introduction by Jean B. Kern. ROGER L'ESTRANGE, _Citt and Bumpkin_ (1680). Introduction by B. J. Rahn. DANIEL DEFOE and Others, Accounts of the Apparition of Mrs. Veal (ca. 1705). Introduction by Manuel Schonhorn. HENRY MORE, _Enthusiasmus Triumphatus_ (1662). Introduction by M. V. DePorte. BERNARD MANDEVILLE, _Aesop Dress'd or a Collection of Fables Writ in Familiar Verse_ (1704). Introduction by John S. Shea. _ANNOUNCEMENT_: The Society announces a special publication, a reprint of JOHN OGILBY, _The Fables of Aesop Paraphras'd in Verse_ (1668), with an Introduction by Earl Miner. Ogilby's book is commonly thought one of the finest examples of seventeenth-century bookmaking and is illustrated with eighty-one plates. Publication is assisted by funds from the Chancellor of the University of California, Los Angeles. Price: to members of the Society, $2.50; to non-members, $4.00. THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY William Andrews Clark Memorial Library 2205 WEST ADAMS BOULEVARD, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90018 Make check or money order payable to THE REGENTS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
6438	----	from the Michigan State University Online Digital Collection http://digital.lib.msu.edu/onlinecolls/collection.cfm?CID=3 FABLES FOR THE FRIVOLOUS _(With Apologies to La Fontaine)_ By GUY WETMORE CARRYL With Illustrations by Peter Newell 1898 FABLES FOR THE FRIVOLOUS TO MY FATHER NOTE: I have pleasure in acknowledging the courteous permission the editors to reprint in this form such of the following fables were originally published in Harper's periodicals, in _Life_, and _Munsey's Magazine_. G. W. C. CONTENTS THE AMBITIOUS FOX AND THE UNAPPROACHABLE GRAPES THE PERSEVERING TORTOISE AND THE PRETENTIOUS HARE THE PATRICIAN PEACOCKS AND THE OVERWEENING JAY THE ARROGANT FROG AND THE SUPERIOR BULL THE DOMINEERING EAGLE AND THE INVENTIVE BRATLING THE ICONOCLASTIC RUSTIC AND THE APROPOS ACORN THE UNUSUAL GOOSE AND THE IMBECILIC WOODCUTTER THE RUDE RAT AND THE UNOSTENTATIOUS OYSTER THE URBAN RAT AND THE SUBURBAN RAT THE IMPECUNIOUS CRICKET AND THE FRUGAL ANT THE PAMPERED LAPDOG AND THE MISGUIDED ASS THE VAINGLORIOUS OAK AND THE MODEST BULRUSH THE INHUMAN WOLF AND THE LAMB SANS GENE THE SYCOPHANTIC FOX AND THE GULLIBLE RAVEN THE MICROSCOPIC TROUT AND THE MACHIAVELIAN FISHERMAN THE CONFIDING PEASANT AND THE MALADROIT BEAR THE PRECIPITATE COCK AND THE UNAPPRECIATED PEARL THE ABBREVIATED FOX AND HIS SCEPTICAL COMRADES THE HOSPITABLE CALEDONIAN AND THE THANKLESS VIPER THE IMPETUOUS BREEZE AND THE DIPLOMATIC SUN ILLUSTRATIONS "THE FOX RETREATED OUT OF RANGE" "HE STROVE TO GROW ROTUNDER" "AN ACORN FELL ABRUPTLY" "SAID SHE, 'GET UP, YOU BRUTE YOU!'" "'_J'ADMIRE_,' SAID HE, '_TON BEAU PLUMAGE'_" "AND SO A WEIGHTY ROCK SHE AIMED" THE AMBITIOUS FOX AND THE UNAPPROACHABLE GRAPES A farmer built around his crop A wall, and crowned his labors By placing glass upon the top To lacerate his neighbors, Provided they at any time Should feel disposed the wall to climb. He also drove some iron pegs Securely in the coping, To tear the bare, defenceless legs Of brats who, upward groping, Might steal, despite the risk of fall, The grapes that grew upon the wall. One day a fox, on thieving bent, A crafty and an old one, Most shrewdly tracked the pungent scent That eloquently told one That grapes were ripe and grapes were good And likewise in the neighborhood. He threw some stones of divers shapes The luscious fruit to jar off: It made him ill to see the grapes So near and yet so far off. His throws were strong, his aim was fine, But "Never touched me!" said the vine. The farmer shouted, "Drat the boys!" And, mounting on a ladder, He sought the cause of all the noise; No farmer could be madder, Which was not hard to understand Because the glass had cut his hand. His passion he could not restrain, But shouted out, "You're thievish!" The fox replied, with fine disdain, "Come, country, don't be peevish." (Now "country" is an epithet One can't forgive, nor yet forget.) The farmer rudely answered back With compliments unvarnished, And downward hurled the _bric-a-brac_ With which the wall was garnished, In view of which demeanor strange, The fox retreated out of range. "I will not try the grapes to-day," He said. "My appetite is Fastidious, and, anyway, I fear appendicitis." (The fox was one of the _elite_ Who call it _site_ instead of _seet_.) The moral is that if your host Throws glass around his entry You know it isn't done by most Who claim to be the gentry, While if he hits you in the head You may be sure he's underbred. THE PERSEVERING TORTOISE AND THE PRETENTIOUS HARE Once a turtle, finding plenty In seclusion to bewitch, Lived a _dolce far niente_ Kind of life within a ditch; Rivers had no charm for him, As he told his wife and daughter, "Though my friends are in the swim, Mud is thicker far than water." One fine day, as was his habit, He was dozing in the sun, When a young and flippant rabbit Happened by the ditch to run: "Come and race me," he exclaimed, "Fat inhabitant of puddles. Sluggard! You should be ashamed. Such a life the brain befuddles." This, of course, was banter merely, But it stirred the torpid blood Of the turtle, and severely Forth he issued from the mud. "Done!" he cried. The race began, But the hare resumed his banter, Seeing how his rival ran In a most unlovely canter. Shouting, "Terrapin, you're bested! You'd be wiser, dear old chap, If you sat you down and rested When you reach the second lap." Quoth the turtle, "I refuse. As for you, with all your talking, Sit on any lap you choose. _I_ shall simply go on walking." Now this sporting proposition Was, upon its face, absurd; Yet the hare, with expedition, Took the tortoise at his word, Ran until the final lap, Then, supposing he'd outclassed him, Laid him down and took a nap And the patient turtle passed him! Plodding on, he shortly made the Line that marked the victor's goal; Paused, and found he'd won, and laid the Flattering unction to his soul. Then in fashion grandiose, Like an after-dinner speaker, Touched his flipper to his nose, And remarked, "Ahem! Eureka!" And THE MORAL (lest you miss one) Is: There's often time to spare, And that races are (like this one) Won not always by a hair. THE PATRICIAN PEACOCKS AND THE OVERWEENING JAY Once a flock of stately peacocks Promenaded on a green, There were twenty-two or three cocks, Each as proud as seventeen, And a glance, however hasty, Showed their plumage to be tasty; Wheresoever one was placed, he Was a credit to the scene. Now their owner had a daughter Who, when people came to call, Used to say, "You'd reelly oughter See them peacocks on the mall." Now this wasn't to her credit, And her callers came to dread it, For the way the lady said it Wasn't _recherche_ at all. But a jay that overheard it From his perch upon a fir Didn't take in how absurd it Was to every one but her; When they answered, "You don't tell us!" And to see the birds seemed zealous He became extremely jealous, Wishing, too, to make a stir. As the peacocks fed together He would join them at their lunch, Culling here and there a feather Till he'd gathered quite a bunch; Then this bird, of ways perfidious, Stuck them on him most fastidious Till he looked uncommon hideous, Like a Judy or a Punch. But the peacocks, when they saw him, One and all began to haul, And to harry and to claw him Till the creature couldn't crawl; While their owner's vulgar daughter, When her startled callers sought her, And to see the struggle brought her, Only said, "They're on the maul." It was really quite revolting When the tumult died away, One would think he had been moulting So dishevelled was the jay; He was more than merely slighted, He was more than disunited, He'd been simply dynamited In the fervor of the fray. And THE MORAL of the verses Is: That short men can't be tall. Nothing sillier or worse is Than a jay upon a mall. And the jay opiniative Who, because he's imitative, Thinks he's highly decorative Is the biggest jay of all. THE ARROGANT FROG AND THE SUPERIOR BULL Once, on a time and in a place Conducive to malaria, There lived a member of the race Of _Rana Temporaria_; Or, more concisely still, a frog Inhabited a certain bog. A bull of Brobdingnagian size, Too proud for condescension, One morning chanced to cast his eyes Upon the frog I mention; And, being to the manner born, Surveyed him with a lofty scorn. Perceiving this, the bactrian's frame With anger was inflated, Till, growing larger, he became Egregiously elated; For inspiration's sudden spell Had pointed out a way to swell. "Ha! ha!" he proudly cried, "a fig For this, your mammoth torso! Just watch me while I grow as big As you--or even more so!" To which magniloquential gush His bullship simply answered "Tush!" Alas! the frog's success was slight, Which really was a wonder, In view of how with main and might He strove to grow rotunder! And, standing patiently the while, The bull displayed a quiet smile. [Illustration: "HE STROVE TO GROW ROTUNDER"] But ah, the frog tried once too oft And, doing so, he busted; Whereat the bull discreetly coughed And moved away, disgusted, As well he might, considering The wretched taste that marked the thing. THE MORAL: Everybody knows How ill a wind it is that blows. THE DOMINEERING EAGLE AND THE INVENTIVE BRATLING O'er a small suburban borough Once an eagle used to fly, Making observations thorough From his station in the sky, And presenting the appearance Of an animated V, Like the gulls that lend coherence Unto paintings of the sea. Looking downward at a church in This attractive little shire, He beheld a smallish urchin Shooting arrows at the spire; In a spirit of derision, "Look alive!" the eagle said; And, with infinite precision, Dropped a feather on his head. Then the boy, annoyed distinctly By the freedom of the bird, Voiced his anger quite succinctly In a single scathing word; And he sat him on a barrow, And he fashioned of this same Eagle's feather such an arrow As was worthy of the name. Then he tried his bow, and, stringing It with caution and with care, Sent that arrow singing, winging Towards the eagle in the air. Straight it went, without an error, And the target, bathed in blood, Lurched, and lunged, and fell to _terra Firma_, landing with a thud. "Bird of freedom," quoth the urchin, With an unrelenting frown, "You shall decorate a perch in The menagerie in town; But of feathers quite a cluster I shall first remove for Ma: Thanks to you, she'll have a duster For her precious _objets d'art_." And THE MORAL is that pride is The precursor of a fall. Those beneath you to deride is Not expedient at all. Howsoever meek and humble Your inferiors may be, They perchance may make you tumble, So respect them. Q. E. D. THE ICONOCLASTIC RUSTIC AND THE APROPOS ACORN Reposing 'neath some spreading trees, A populistic bumpkin Amused himself by offering these Reflections on a pumpkin: "I would not, if the choice were mine, Grow things like that upon a vine, For how imposing it would be If pumpkins grew upon a tree." Like other populists, you'll note, Of views enthusiastic, He'd learned by heart, and said by rote A creed iconoclastic; And in his dim, uncertain sight Whatever wasn't must be right, From which it follows he had strong Convictions that what was, was wrong. As thus he sat beneath an oak An acorn fell abruptly And smote his nose: whereat he spoke Of acorns most corruptly. "Great Scott!" he cried. "The Dickens!" too, And other authors whom he knew, And having duly mentioned those, He expeditiously arose. Then, though with pain he nearly swooned, He bathed his organ nasal With arnica, and soothed the wound With extract of witch hazel; And surely we may well excuse The victim if he changed his views: "If pumpkins fell from trees like that," He murmured, "Where would I be at?" Of course it's wholly clear to you That when these words he uttered He proved conclusively he knew Which side his bread was buttered; And, if this point you have not missed, You'll learn to love this populist, The only one of all his kind With sense enough to change his mind. THE MORAL: In the early spring A pumpkin-tree would be a thing Most gratifying to us all, But how about the early fall? THE UNUSUAL GOOSE AND THE IMBECILIC WOODCUTTER A woodcutter bought him a gander, Or at least that was what he supposed, As a matter of fact, 'twas a slander As a later occurrence disclosed; For they locked the bird up in the garret To fatten, the while it grew old, And it laid there a twenty-two carat Fine egg of the purest of gold! There was much unaffected rejoicing In the home of the woodcutter then, And his wife, her exuberance voicing, Proclaimed him most lucky of men. "'Tis an omen of fortune, this gold egg," She said, "and of practical use, For this fowl doesn't lay any old egg, She's a highly superior goose." Twas this creature's habitual custom, This laying of superfine eggs, And they made it their practice to dust 'em And pack them by dozens in kegs: But the woodcutter's mind being vapid And his foolishness more than profuse, In order to get them more rapid He slaughtered the innocent goose. He made her a gruel of acid Which she very obligingly ate, And at once with a touchingly placid Demeanor succumbed to her fate. With affection that passed the platonic They buried her under the moss, And her epitaph wasn't ironic In stating, "We mourn for our loss." And THE MORAL: It isn't much use, As the woodcutter found to be true, To lay for an innocent goose Just because she is laying for you. THE RUDE RAT AND THE UNOSTENTATIOUS OYSTER Upon the shore, a mile or more From traffic and confusion, An oyster dwelt, because he felt A longing for seclusion; Said he: "I love the stillness of This spot. It's like a cloister." (These words I quote because, you note, They rhyme so well with oyster.) A prying rat, believing that She needed change of diet, In search of such disturbed this much- To-be-desired quiet. To say the least, this tactless beast Was apt to rudely roister: She tapped his shell, and called him--well, A name that hurt the oyster. "I see," she cried, "you're open wide, And, searching for a reason, September's here, and so it's clear That oysters are in season." She smiled a smile that showed this style Of badinage rejoiced her, Advanced a pace with easy grace, And _sniffed_ the silent oyster. The latter's pride was sorely tried, He thought of what he _could _say, Reflected what the common lot Of vulgar molluscs _would_ say; Then caught his breath, grew pale as death, And, as his brow turned moister, Began to close, and nipped her nose! Superb, dramatic oyster! We note with joy that oi polloi, Whom maidens bite the thumb at, Are apt to try some weak reply To things they should be dumb at. THE MORAL, then, for crafty men Is: When a maid has voiced her Contemptuous heart, don't think you're smart, But shut up--like the oyster. THE URBAN RAT AND THE SUBURBAN RAT A metropolitan rat invited His country cousin in town to dine: The country cousin replied, "Delighted." And signed himself, "Sincerely thine." The town rat treated the country cousin To half a dozen Kinds of wine. He served him terrapin, kidneys devilled, And roasted partridge, and candied fruit; In Little Neck Clams at first they revelled, And then in Pommery, _sec_ and _brut_; The country cousin exclaimed: "Such feeding Proclaims your breeding Beyond dispute!" But just as, another bottle broaching, They came to chicken _en casserole_ A ravenous cat was heard approaching, And, passing his guest a finger-bowl, The town rat murmured, "The feast is ended." And then descended The nearest hole. His cousin followed him, helter-skelter, And, pausing beneath the pantry floor, He glanced around at their dusty shelter And muttered, "This is a beastly bore. My place as an epicure resigning, I'll try this dining In town no more. "You must dine some night at my rustic cottage; I'll warn you now that it's simple fare: A radish or two, a bowl of pottage, And the wine that's known as _ordinaire_, But for holes I haven't to make a bee-line, No prowling feline Molests me there. "You smile at the lot of a mere commuter, You think that my life is hard, mayhap, But I'm sure than you I am far acuter: I ain't afraid of no cat nor trap." The city rat could but meekly stammer, "Don't use such grammar, My worthy chap." He dined next night with his poor relation, And caught dyspepsia, and lost his train, He waited an hour in the lonely station, And said some things that were quite profane. "I'll never," he cried, in tones complaining, "Try entertaining That rat again." It's easy to make a memorandum About THE MORAL these verses teach: _De gustibus non est disputandum;_ The meaning of which Etruscan speech Is wheresoever you're hunger quelling Pray keep your dwelling In easy reach. THE IMPECUNIOUS CRICKET AND THE FRUGAL ANT There was an ant, a spinster ant, Whose virtues were so many That she became intolerant Of those who hadn't any: She had a small and frugal mind And lived a life ascetic, Nor was her temperament the kind That's known as sympathetic. I skip details. Suffice to say That, knocking at her wicket, There chanced to come one autumn day A common garden cricket So ragged, poor, and needy that, Without elucidation, One saw the symptoms of a bat Of several months' duration. He paused beside her door-step, and, With one pathetic gesture, He called attention with his hand To both his shoes and vesture. "I joined," said he, "an opera troupe. They suddenly disbanded, And left me on the hostel stoop, Lugubriously stranded. "I therefore lay aside my pride And frankly ask for clothing." "Begone!" the frugal ant replied. "I look on you with loathing. Your muddy shoes have spoiled the lawn, Your hands have soiled the fence, too. If you need money, go and pawn Your watch--if you have sense to." THE MORAL is: Albeit lots Of people follow Dr. Watts, The sluggard, when his means are scant, Should seek an uncle, not an ant! THE PAMPERED LAPDOG AND THE MISGUIDED ASS A woolly little terrier pup Gave vent to yelps distressing, Whereat his mistress took him up And soothed him with caressing, And yet he was not in the least What one would call a handsome beast. He might have been a Javanese, He might have been a Jap dog, And also neither one of these, But just a common lapdog, The kind that people send, you know, Done up in cotton, to the Show. At all events, whate'er his race, The pretty girl who owned him Caressed his unattractive face And petted and cologned him, While, watching her with mournful eye, A patient ass stood silent by. "If thus," he mused, "the feminine And fascinating gender Is led to love, I, too, can win Her protestations tender." And then the poor, misguided chap Sat down upon the lady's lap. Then, as her head with terror swam, "This method seems to suit you," Observed the ass, "so here I am." Said she, "Get up, you brute you!" And promptly screamed aloud for aid: No ass was ever more dismayed. [Illustration: "SAID SHE, 'GET UP, YOU BRUTE YOU!'"] They took the ass into the yard And there, with whip and truncheon, They beat him, and they beat him hard, From breakfast-time till luncheon. He only gave a tearful gulp, Though almost pounded to a pulp. THE MORAL is (or seems, at least, To be): In etiquette you Will find that while enough's a feast A surplus will upset you. _Toujours, toujours la politesse_, if The quantity be not excessive. THE VAINGLORIOUS OAK AND THE MODEST BULRUSH A bulrush stood on a river's rim, And an oak that grew near by Looked down with cold _hauteur_ on him, And addressed him this way: "Hi!" The rush was a proud patrician, and He retorted, "Don't you know, What the veriest boor should understand, That 'Hi' is low?" This cutting rebuke the oak ignored. He returned, "My slender friend, I will frankly state that I'm somewhat bored With the way you bow and bend." "But you quite forget," the rush replied, "It's an art these bows to do, An art I wouldn't attempt if I'd Such boughs as you." "Of course," said the oak, "in my sapling days My habit it was to bow, But the wildest storm that the winds could raise Would never disturb me now. I challenge the breeze to make me bend, And the blast to make me sway." The shrewd little bulrush answered, "Friend, Don't get so gay." And the words had barely left his mouth When he saw the oak turn pale, For, racing along south-east-by-south, Came ripping a raging gale. And the rush bent low as the storm went past, But stiffly stood the oak, Though not for long, for he found the blast No idle joke. * * * * * * * * Imagine the lightning's gleaming bars, Imagine the thunder's roar, For that is exactly what eight stars Are set in a row here for! The oak lay prone when the storm was done, While the rush, still quite erect, Remarked aside, "What under the sun Could one expect?" And THE MORAL, I'd have you understand, Would have made La Fontaine blush, For it's this: Some storms come early, and Avoid the rush! THE INHUMAN WOLF AND THE LAMB SANS GENE A gaunt and relentless wolf, possessed Of a quite insatiable thirst, Once paused at a stream to drink and rest, And found that, bound on a similar quest, A lamb had arrived there first. The lamb was a lamb of a garrulous mind And frivolity most extreme: In the fashion common to all his kind, He cantered in front and galloped behind. And troubled the limpid stream. "My friend," said the wolf, with a winsome air, "Your capers I can't admire." "Go to!" quoth the lamb. (Though he said not where, He showed what he meant by his brazen stare And the way that he gambolled higher.) "My capers," he cried, "are the kind that are Invariably served with lamb. Remember, this is a public bar, And I'll do as I please. If your drink I mar, I don't give a tinker's ----." He paused and glanced at the rivulet, And that pause than speech was worse, For his roving eye a saw-mill met, And, near it, the word which should be set At the end of the previous verse. Said the wolf: "You are tough and may bring remorse, But of such is the world well rid. I've swallowed your capers, I've swallowed your sauce, And it's plain to be seen that my only course Is swallowing you." He did. THE MORAL: The wisest lambs they are Who, when they're assailed by thirst, Keep well away from a public bar; For of all black sheep, or near, or far, The public bar-lamb's worst! THE SYCOPHANTIC FOX AND THE GULLIBLE RAVEN A raven sat upon a tree, And not a word he spoke, for His beak contained a piece of Brie, Or, maybe, it was Roquefort: We'll make it any kind you please-- At all events, it was a cheese. Beneath the tree's umbrageous limb A hungry fox sat smiling; He saw the raven watching him, And spoke in words beguiling. "_J'admire_," said he, "_ton beau plumage_." (The which was simply persiflage.) Two things there are, no doubt you know, To which a fox is used: A rooster that is bound to crow, A crow that's bound to roost, And whichsoever he espies He tells the most unblushing lies. "Sweet fowl," he said, "I understand You're more than merely natty, I hear you sing to beat the band And Adelina Patti. Pray render with your liquid tongue A bit from 'Gotterdammerung.'" This subtle speech was aimed to please The crow, and it succeeded: He thought no bird in all the trees Could sing as well as he did. In flattery completely doused, He gave the "Jewel Song" from "Faust." [Illustration: "'_J'ADMIRE_,' SAID HE, '_TON BEAU PLUMAGE_'"] But gravitation's law, of course, As Isaac Newton showed it, Exerted on the cheese its force, And elsewhere soon bestowed it. In fact, there is no need to tell What happened when to earth it fell. I blush to add that when the bird Took in the situation He said one brief, emphatic word, Unfit for publication. The fox was greatly startled, but He only sighed and answered "Tut." THE MORAL is: A fox is bound To be a shameless sinner. And also: When the cheese comes round You know it's after dinner. But (what is only known to few) The fox is after dinner, too. THE MICROSCOPIC TROUT AND THE MACHIAVELIAN FISHERMAN A fisher was casting his flies in a brook, According to laws of such sciences, With a patented reel and a patented hook And a number of other appliances; And the thirty-fifth cast, which he vowed was the last (It was figured as close as a decimal), Brought suddenly out of the water a trout Of measurements infinitesimal. This fish had a way that would win him a place In the best and most polished society, And he looked at the fisherman full in the face With a visible air of anxiety: He murmered "Alas!" from his place in the grass, And then, when he'd twisted and wriggled, he Remarked in a pet that his heart was upset And digestion all higgledy-piggledy. "I request," he observed, "to be instantly flung Once again in the pool I've been living in." The fisherman said, "You will tire out your tongue. Do you see any signs of my giving in? Put you back in the pool? Why, you fatuous fool, I have eaten much smaller and thinner fish. You're not salmon or sole, but I think, on the whole, You're a fairly respectable dinner-fish." The fisherman's cook tried her hand on the trout And with various herbs she embellished him; He was lovely to see, and there isn't a doubt That the fisherman's family relished him, And, to prove that they did, both his wife and his kid Devoured the trout with much eagerness, Avowing no dish could compare with that fish, Notwithstanding his singular meagreness. And THE MORAL, you'll find, is although it is kind To grant favors that people are wishing for, Still a dinner you'll lack if you chance to throw back In the pool little trout that you're fishing for; If their pleading you spurn you will certainly learn That herbs will deliciously vary 'em: It is needless to state that a trout on a plate Beats several in the aquarium. THE CONFIDING PEASANT AND THE MALADROIT BEAR A peasant had a docile bear, A bear of manners pleasant, And all the love she had to spare She lavished on the peasant: She proved her deep affection plainly (The method was a bit ungainly). The peasant had to dig and delve, And, as his class are apt to, When all the whistles blew at twelve He ate his lunch, and napped, too, The bear a careful outlook keeping The while her master lay a-sleeping. As thus the peasant slept one day, The weather being torrid, A gnat beheld him where he lay And lit upon his forehead, And thence, like all such winged creatures, Proceeded over all his features. The watchful bear, perceiving that The gnat lit on her master, Resolved to light upon the gnat And plunge him in disaster; She saw no sense in being lenient When stones lay round her, most convenient. And so a weighty rock she aimed With much enthusiasm: "Oh, lor'!" the startled gnat exclaimed, And promptly had a spasm: A natural proceeding this was, Considering how close the miss was. [Illustration: AND SO A WEIGHTY ROCK SHE AIMED] Now by his dumb companion's pluck, Which caused the gnat to squall so, The sleeping man was greatly struck (And by the bowlder, also). In fact, his friends who idolized him Remarked they hardly recognized him. Of course the bear was greatly grieved, But, being just a dumb thing, She only thought: "I was deceived, But still, I did hit _something!_" Which showed this masculine achievement Had somewhat soothed her deep bereavement. THE MORAL: If you prize your bones Beware of females throwing stones. THE PRECIPITATE COCK AND THE UNAPPRECIATED PEARL A rooster once pursued a worm That lingered not to brave him, To see his wretched victim squirm A pleasant thrill it gave him; He summoned all his kith and kin, They hastened up by legions, With quaint, expressive gurgles in Their oesophageal regions. Just then a kind of glimmering Attracting his attention, The worm became too small a thing For more than passing mention: The throng of hungry hens and rude He skilfully evaded. Said he, "I' faith, if this be food, I saw the prize ere they did." It was a large and costly pearl, Belonging in a necklace, And dropped by some neglectful girl: Some people are so reckless! The cock assumed an air forlorn, And cried, "It's really cruel. I thought it was a grain of corn: It's nothing but a jewel." He turned again to where his clan In one astounding tangle With eager haste together ran To slay the helpless angle, And sighed, "He was of massive size. I should have used discretion. Too late! Around the toothsome prize A bargain-sale's in session." The worm's remarks upon his plight Have never been recorded, But any one may know how slight Diversion it afforded; For worms and human beings are Unanimous that, when pecked, To be the prey of men they far Prefer to being hen-pecked. THE MORAL: When your dinner comes Don't leave it for your neighbors, Because you hear the sound of drums And see the gleam of sabres; Or, like the cock, you'll find too late That ornaments external Do not for certain indicate A bona fide kernel. THE ABBREVIATED FOX AND HIS SCEPTICAL COMRADES A certain fox had a Grecian nose And a beautiful tail. His friends Were wont to say in a jesting way A divinity shaped his ends. The fact is sad, but his foxship had A fault we should all eschew: He was so deceived that he quite believed What he heard from friends was true. One day he found in a sheltered spot A trap with stalwart springs That was cunningly planned to supply the demand For some of those tippet things. The fox drew nigh, and resolved to try The way that the trap was set: (When the trap was through with this interview There was one less tippet to get!) The fox returned to his doting friends And said, with an awkward smile, "My tail I know was _comme il faut_, And served me well for a while." When his comrades laughed at his shortage aft He added, with scornful bow, "Pray check your mirth, for I hear from Worth They're wearing them shorter now." But one of his friends, a bookish chap, Replied, with a thoughtful frown, "You know to-day the publishers say That the short tale won't go down; And, upon my soul, I think on the whole, That the publishers' words are true. I should hate, good sir, to part my fur In the middle, as done by you." And another added these truthful words In the midst of the eager hush, "We can part our hair 'most anywhere So long as we keep the brush." THE MORAL is this: It is never amiss To treasure the things you've penned: Preserve your tales, for, when all else fails, They'll be useful things--in the end. THE HOSPITABLE CALEDONIAN AND THE THANKLESS VIPER A Caledonian piper Who was walking on the wold Nearly stepped upon a viper Rendered torpid by the cold; By the sight of her admonished, He forbore to plant his boot, But he showed he was astonished By the way he muttered "Hoot!" Now this simple-minded piper Such a kindly nature had That he lifted up the viper And bestowed her in his plaid. "Though the Scot is stern, at least he No unhappy creature spurns, 'Sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,'" Quoth the piper (quoting Burns). This was unaffected kindness, But there was, to state the fact, Just a slight _soupcon_ of blindness In his charitable act. If you'd watched the piper, shortly You'd have seen him leap aloft, As this snake, of ways uncourtly, Bit him suddenly and oft. There was really no excuse for This, the viper's cruel work, And the piper found a use for Words he'd never learned at kirk; But the biting was so thorough That although the doctors tried, Not the best in Edinburgh Could assist him, and he died. And THE MORAL is: The piper Of the matter made a botch; One can hardly blame the viper If she took a nip of Scotch, For she only did what he did, And _his_ nippie wasn't small, Otherwise, you see, he needed Not have seen the snake at all. THE IMPETUOUS BREEZE AND THE DIPLOMATIC SUN A Boston man an ulster had, An ulster with a cape that fluttered: It smacked his face, and made him mad, And polyglot remarks he uttered: "I bought it at a bargain," said he, "I'm tired of the thing already." The wind that chanced to blow that day Was easterly, and rather strong, too: It loved to see the galling way That clothes vex those whom they belong to: "Now watch me," cried this spell of weather, "I'll rid him of it altogether." It whirled the man across the street, It banged him up against a railing, It twined the ulster round his feet, But all of this was unavailing: For not without resource it found him: He drew the ulster closer round him. "My word!" the man was heard to say, "Although I like not such abuse, it's Not strange the wind is strong to-day, It always is in Massachusetts. Such weather threatens much the health of Inhabitants this Commonwealth of." The sun, emerging from a rift Between the clouds, observed the victim, And how the wind beset and biffed, Belabored, buffeted, and kicked him. Said he, "This wind is doubtless new here: 'Tis quite the freshest ever blew here." And then he put forth all his strength, His warmth with might and main exerted, Till upward in its tube at length The mercury most nimbly spurted. Phenomenal the curious sight was, So swift the rise in Fahrenheit was. The man supposed himself at first The prey of some new mode of smelting: His pulses were about to burst, His every limb seemed slowly melting, And, as the heat began to numb him, He cast the ulster wildly from him. "Impulsive breeze, the use of force," Observed the sun, "a foolish act is, Perceiving which, you see, of course. How highly efficacious tact is." The wondering wind replied, "Good gracious! You're right about the efficacious." THE MORAL deals, as morals do, With tact, and all its virtues boasted, But still I can't forget, can you, That wretched man, first chilled, then roasted? Bronchitis seized him shortly after, And that's no cause for vulgar laughter. THE END 
41921	----	[Illustration: [See page 48 OFTEN SHE WOULD LIFT THE LID OF THE GOLDEN COFFER AND LOOK AT THE TATTERED ROBE] THE MAKER OF RAINBOWS AND OTHER FAIRY-TALES AND FABLES BY RICHARD LE GALLIENNE AUTHOR OF "AN OLD COUNTRY HOUSE" WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ELIZABETH SHIPPEN GREEN [Illustration] HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON MCMXII COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY HARPER & BROTHERS PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1912 I · M THAT THIS VOLUME SHALL BE ENTIRELY IN KEEPING WITH ITS FAIRY-TALE CONTENTS, I DEDICATE IT TO MY GOOD FRIENDS, ITS PUBLISHERS, MESSRS. HARPER & BROTHERS IN REMEMBRANCE OF KINDLY RELATIONS BETWEEN THEM AND ITS WRITER SELDOM FOUND OUT OF A FAIRY-TALE CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. THE OLD COAT OF DREAMS 1 II. THE MAKER OF RAINBOWS 7 III. THE MAN WITH SOMETHING IN HIS EYE 14 IV. MOTHER-OF-PEARL 17 V. THE MER-MOTHER 27 VI. THE SLEEPLESS LORD 29 VII. THE MAN WITH NO MONEY 39 VIII. THE RAGS OF QUEEN COPHETUA 42 IX. THE WIFE FROM FAIRY-LAND 51 X. THE BUYER OF SORROWS 54 XI. THE PRINCESS'S MIRROR 60 XII. THE PINE LADY 73 XIII. THE KING ON HIS WAY TO BE CROWNED 75 XIV. THE STOLEN DREAM 88 XV. THE STERN EDUCATION OF CLOWNS 103 ILLUSTRATIONS OFTEN SHE WOULD LIFT THE LID OF THE GOLDEN COFFER AND LOOK AT THE TATTERED ROBE _Frontispiece_ A SUDDEN STRANGE NEW LIGHT WOULD SHINE OUT OF ITS PAGES _Facing p._ 30 HE WENT FORTH INTO THE DAWN SLEEPLESS " 36 THE HERALD ONCE MORE SET THE TRUMPET TO HIS LIPS AND BLEW " 56 HER ONLY CARE WAS TO GAZE ALL DAY AT HER OWN FACE " 60 THE MAKER OF RAINBOWS THE OLD COAT OF DREAMS A PROLOGUE People in London--not merely literary folk, but even those "higher social circles" to which a certain publisher, whose name--or race--it is hardly fair to mention, had so obsequiously climbed--often wondered whence had come the wealth that enabled him to maintain such an establishment, give such elaborate "parties," have so many automobiles, and generally make all that display which is so convincing to the modern mind. Of course they were not seriously concerned, because, so long as it is a party, and the _chef_ is paid so much, and the wines are as old as they should be, not even the rarest blossom on the most ancient and distinguished genealogical tree cares whose party it is, or, indeed, with whom she dances. There is only one democracy, and that is controlled by gentlemen with names that hardly sound beautiful enough to mention in fairy tales--that democracy of money to which the fairest flower of our aristocracy now bows her coroneted head. Strange--but we all know that so it is. Therefore, all sorts of distinguished and beautiful people came to the publisher's "parties." It would have made no difference, really, to their hard hearts, could they have known where all the champagne and conservatories and music came from--they would have gone on dancing all the same, and eating _pâté de foie gras_ and sherbets; yet it may interest a sad heart here and there to know how it was that that publisher--whose name I forget, but whose nose I can never forget--was able to pay for all that music and dancing, strange flowers, and enchanted food, none of which he, of course, understood. * * * * * Aristocrats in London, of course, know nothing of a northern district of New York City called Harlem, with so many streets that a learned arithmetician would be needed to number them: a district which, at the first call of spring, becomes vocal with children on door-steps and venders of every vegetable in every language. In this district, too, you hear strange trumpets blow, announcing knife and scissors grinders, and strange bells ringing from strings suspended across carts, whose merchandise is bottles and old newspapers. You will hear, too, just when the indomitable sweet smells from the terrible eternal spring are blowing in at your window, and the murmur of rich happy people going away is heard in the land, a raucous cry in the hot street--a cry full of melancholy, even despair: it goes something like this--"Cash clo'! Cash clo'!" Well, it was just then that a young poet, living in one of those highly arithmetical streets, was wondering, as all the sad spring murmur came to his ears, how he could possibly buy a rose for the bosom of his sweetheart, with whom he was to dance that night at a local ball. Everything he had in the world had gone. He had sold everything--except his poems. All his precious books had gone, sad one by one. Little paintings that once made his walls seem like the Louvre had gone. All his old silver spoons and all the little intaglios he loved so well, and yes! he had even sold the old copper chest of the Renaissance, all studded nails, with three locks, in which ... well, all had gone. Only, where was that rose for the bosom of his sweetheart--where was it growing? Where and how was it to be bought? Just as he was at his wit's end, he heard a cry through the window. It had meant nothing to him before. Now--strange as it may sound--it meant a rose! "Cash clo'! Cash clo'!" He had an old dress-suit in his wardrobe. Perhaps that would buy a rose! So, leaning through the window, he called down to the voice to "come up." The gentleman from Palestine came up. It would be easy to describe the contempt with which he surveyed the distinguished though somewhat ancient garments thus offered to him--in exchange for a rose!--how he affected to examine linings and seams, knowing all the time the distinguished tailor that had made them, and what a bargain he was about to drive. Of course, they weren't, well ... really ... practically ... they weren't worth buying.... The poet wondered a moment about the cost of a rose. "Are they worth the price of a rose?" he asked. The gentleman from Palestine didn't, of course, understand. "You see," said he, finally; "I'd like to give you more, but you know how it is ... look at these linings and buttonholes! Honestly, I don't really care about them at all--but--really a dollar and a half is the best I can do on them...." And he eyed the poet's clothes with contempt. "A dollar seventy-five," said the poet, standing firm. "All right," at last said the gentleman from Palestine, "but I don't see where I am to make any profit; however--" And he handed out the small, dirty money. Then the poet bowed him out gently, saying in his heart: "Now I can buy my rose!" When the Palestinian dealer in old dress-suits went home--after sadly leaving behind him that dollar seventy-five--he made an astonishing discovery. In the necessary process of re-examining the "goods," something fell out of one of the pockets, something the poet, after his nature, had quite forgotten. The old-clothes man, now a publisher, picked them up from the floor and gazed at them in delight. The poet, in his grandiose carelessness, had forgotten to empty his pockets of various old dreams! Now, to be fair to the gentleman from Palestine, he belonged to a race that loves dreams, and, to do him justice, he forgot all about the profit he was to make of the poor poet's clothes, as he sat, cross-legged, on the floor, and read the dreams that had fallen from the pocket of the poet's old dress-suit. He read on and read on, and laughed and cried--such a curious treasure-trove, such an odd medley of fairy tales and fables and poems had fallen out of the poet's pocket--and it was only later that the thought came to him that he might change from an old-clothes man into a publisher of dreams. Now, these are some of the dreams that fell out of the poet's pocket. THE MAKER OF RAINBOWS It was a bleak November morning in the dreary little village of Twelve-trees. Nature herself seemed hopeless and disgusted with the universe, as the chill mists stole wearily among the bare trees, and the boughs dripped with a clammy moisture that had nothing of the energy of tears. Twelve-trees was a poor little village at the best of times, but the past summer had been more than usually unkind to it, and the lean wheat-fields and the ragged orchards had been leaner and more ragged than ever before--so said the memory of the oldest villagers. There was very little to eat in the village of Twelve-trees, and practically no money at all. Some of the inhabitants found consolation in the fact that at the Inn of the Blessed Rood the cider-kegs still held out against despair. But this was no comfort to the gaunt and shivering children left to themselves on the chill door-steps, half-heartedly trying to play their innocent little games. Even the heart of childhood felt the shadows that November morning in the dreary little village of Twelve-trees, and even the dogs and the cats of the village seemed to be under the same spell of gloom, and moved about with a dank hopelessness, evidently expecting nothing in the shape of discarded fish or transfiguring smells. There was no life in the long, disheveled High Street. No one seemed to think it worth while to get up and work. There was nothing to get up for, and no work worth doing. So, naturally, in all this echoing emptiness, this lack of excitement, anything that happened attracted a gratefully alert attention--even from those cats and dogs so sadly prowling amid the dejected refuse of the village. Presently, amid all the November numbness, the blank nothingness of the damp, deserted street, there was to be seen approaching from the south a curious little figure of an old man, trundling at his side a strange apparatus resembling a knife-grinder's wheel, and he carried some forlorn old umbrellas under one arm. Evidently he was an itinerant knife-grinder and umbrella-mender. As he proceeded up the street, he called out some strange sing-song, the words of which it was impossible to distinguish. But, though his cry was melancholy, his old puckered and wizened face seemed to be alight with some inner and inextinguishable gladness, and his electrical blue eyes, startlingly set in a network of wrinkles, were as full of laughter as a boy's. His cry attracted a weary face here and there at window and door; but, seeing nothing but an old knife-grinder, the faces lost interest and immediately disappeared. The children, however, being less sophisticated, were filled with a grateful curiosity toward the stranger, and left the chill door-steps and trooped about him in wonder. A little girl, with tears making channels down her pale, unwashed face, caught the old man's eye. "Little one," he said, with a magical smile, and a voice all reassuring love, "give me one of those tears, and I will show you what I can make of it." And he touched the child's face with his hand, and caught one of her tears on his finger, and placed it, glittering, on his wheel. Then, working a pedal with his foot, the wheel began to move so swiftly that one could see nothing but its whirling; and as it whirled, wonderful colored rays began to rise from it, so that presently the dreary street seemed full of rainbows. The sad houses were lit up with a fairy radiance, and the faces of the children were all laughter again. "Well, little one," he said, when the wheel stopped whirling, "did you like what I made out of that sad little tear?" And the children laughed, and begged him to do some other trick for them. At that moment there came down the street a poor old half-witted woman, indescribably dirty and bedraggled, talking to herself and laughing in a creepy way. The village knew her as Crazy Sal, and the children were accustomed to make cruel sport of her. As she came near they began to jeer at her, with the heartlessness of young, unknowing things. But the strange old man who had made rainbows out of the little girl's tear suddenly stopped them. "Stay, children," he said, "and watch." And, as he said this, his wheel went whirling again; and as it whirled a light shot out from it, so that it illuminated the poor old woman, and in its radiance she became strangely transfigured. In place of Crazy Sal, whom they had been accustomed to mock, the children saw a beautiful young girl, all blushes and bright eyes and pretty ribbons; and so great was the murmur of their surprise that it drew to the door-steps their fathers and mothers, who also saw Crazy Sal as none of them had ever seen her before--except a very old man who remembered her as a beautiful young girl, and remembered, too, how her mind had gone from her as the news came one day that her sweetheart, a sailor, had been drowned in the North Sea. "Who and what are you?" said this old man, stepping out a little in front of the gathering crowd. "Are you a wizard, that you change a child's tears into laughter, and turn an old half-witted woman back to a young girl? You must be of the devil...." "Give me an ear of corn from your last harvest," answered the old knife-grinder, "and let me put it on my wheel." An ear of corn was brought to him, and once more his wheel went whirring, and again that strange light shot out from it, and spread far past the houses over the fields beyond; and, lo! to the astonished sad eyes of the weary farmers, they appeared waving with golden grain, waiting for the scythe. And again, as the wheel stopped whirring, the old man who had remembered Crazy Sal as a young girl spoke to the knife-grinder; again he asked: "What and who are you? Are you a wizard that you change a child's tears into laughter, and turn an old half-witted woman back to a young girl, and make of a barren glebe a waving corn-field?" And the man with the strange wheel answered: "I am the maker of rainbows. I am the alchemist of hope. To me November is always May, tears are always laughter that is going to be, and darkness is light misunderstood. The sad heart makes its own sorrow, the happy heart makes its own joy. The harvest is made by the harvestman--and there is nothing hard or black or weary that is not waiting for the magic touch of hope to become soft as a spring flower, bright as the morning star, and valiant as a young runner in the dawn." But the village of Twelve-trees was not to be convinced by such words made out of moonshine. Only the children believed in the laughing old man with the strange wheel. "Rainbows!" mocked their fathers and mothers--"rainbows! Much good are rainbows to a starving village." The old maker of rainbows took their taunts in silence, and made ready to go his way; but as he started once more along the road he said, with a cynical smile: "Have you never heard that there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?..." "A pot of gold?" cried out the whole village of Twelve-trees. "Yes," he answered, "a pot of gold! I know where it is, and I am going to find it." And he moved on his way. Then the villagers looked at one another, and said over and over again, "A pot of gold!" And they took cloaks and walking-staves and set out to accompany the old visitor; but when they reached the outskirts of the village there was no sign of him. He had mysteriously disappeared. But the children never forgot the rainbows. THE MAN WITH SOMETHING IN HIS EYE Once on a time toward the end of February, when the snow still festered in the New York streets, and the wind blew cruelly from river to river, a strange figure made a somewhat storm-tossed progress along Forty-second Street, walking toward the East Side. He was a tall, distinguished, curiously sad-looking man, with longish hair growing gray, and clothes which, though they had been brushed many times, still proclaimed aloud a Bond Street tailor. As he walked along he had evidently some trouble with one of his eyes, which he rubbed from time to time, as though a cinder, perhaps, from the Elevated Railroad had lodged there, and at last he held a handkerchief to it as he walked along. But whatever the trouble was, it did not seem to interfere with a keen and kindly vision that noted every object and character of the thronged street. Now and again, strangers in that noisy and bewildering quarter would ask direction from him, and he never failed to stop with an aristocratic painstaking courtesy and set them on their way. Nervous old women with bundles at perilous crossings found his arm ready to pilot them safely to the other side. There was about him a curious gentleness which, after a while, did not fail to attract the attention of enterprising boys and observing beggars, for whom, as he walked along, evidently sorely troubled with his eye, he did not fail to find pennies and kind words. At last he had become so noticeable for these oddities of behavior that, as he went along, he had collected quite an escort of miscellaneous individuals, ragged children with pale, precocious faces, voluble old Irishwomen with bedraggled petticoats, sturdy beggars on crutches, and a sprinkling of so-called "respectable" people, curiously hovering on the skirts of the strange crowd. From some of these last came at length unkindly comments. The man was evidently crazy--more probably he was drunk. But it was plainly evident that he had something the matter with his eye. At last a kindly individual suggested that he should go to a drug-store and get the drug clerk to look at his eye. To this the stranger assented, and, accompanied by his motley escort, he entered a drug-store and put himself into the hands of the clerk, while the crowd thronged the door and glared through the windows, wondering what was the matter with the eccentric gentleman, who, after all, was very free with his pence and had so kind a tongue. A policeman did not, of course, fail to elbow himself into the store, to inquire what was the matter. Meanwhile the drug clerk proceeded to lift up the stranger's eyelid in a professional manner, searching for the extraneous particle of pain. At last he found something, and made a strange announcement. The something in the stranger's eye was--Pity. No wonder it had caused such a sensation in the most pitiless city in the world. MOTHER-OF-PEARL There was once a poet who lived all alone by the sea. He had built for himself a little house of boulders mortised in among the rocks, so hidden that it was seldom that any wayfarer stumbled upon his retreat. Wayfarers indeed were few in that solitary island, which was for the most part covered with thick beech woods, and had for its inhabitants only the wild creatures of wood and water and the strange unearthly shapes that none but the poet's eyes could see. The nearest village was miles away on the mainland, and for months at a time the solitude would be undisturbed by sound of human voice or footstep--which was the poet's idea of happiness. The world of men had seemed to him a world of sorrow and foolishness and lies, and so he had forsaken it to dwell with silence and beauty and the sound of the sea. For him the world had been an uncompanioned wilderness. Here at last his spirit had found its home and its kindred. The speech of men had been to him a vain confusion, but here were the voices he had been born to understand, the elemental voices of earth and sea and sky, the secret wisdom of the eternal. From morning till night his days were passed in listening to these voices, and in writing down in beautiful words the messages of wonder they brought him. So his little house grew to be filled with the lovely songs that had come to him out of the sky and the sea and the haunted beeches. He had written them in a great book with silver clasps, and often at evening, when the moon was rising over the sea, he would sing them to himself, for joy in the treasure which he had thus hoarded out of the air, as a man might weigh the grains of gold sifted from some flowing river. One night, as he thus sat singing to himself in the solitude, he was startled by a deep sigh, as of some human creature near at hand, and looking around he was aware of a lovely form, half in and half out of the water, gazing at him with great moonlit eyes from beneath masses of golden hair. In awe and delight he gazed back spellbound at the unearthly vision. It was a fairy woman of the sea, more beautiful than tongue can tell. Over her was the supernatural beauty of dreams and as he looked at her the poet's heart filled with that more than mortal happiness that only comes to us in dreams. "Beautiful spirit," at length he cried, stretching out his arms to the vision; but as he did so she was gone, and in the place where she had been there was nought but the lonely moonlight falling on the rocks. "It was all a trick of the moonlight," said the poet to himself, but, even as he said it, there seemed to come floating to him the cadences of an unearthly music of farewell. In his heart the poet knew that it had not been the moonlight, but that nature had granted him one of those mystic visitations which come only to those whose loving meditation upon her secrets have opened the hidden doors. She had drawn aside for a moment the veil of her visible beauty, and vouchsafed him a glimpse of her invisible mystery. But the veil had been drawn again almost instantly, and the poet's eyes were left empty and hungered for the face that had thus momentarily looked at him through the veil. Yet his heart was filled with a high happiness, for, the vision once his, would it not be his again? Did it not mean that through the long initiation of his solitary contemplation he had come at length to that aery boundary where the wall between the seen and the unseen grows transparent and the human meets the immortal face to face? Still, days passed, and the poet watched in vain for the beautiful woman of the sea. She came not again for all his singing, and his heart grew heavy within him; but one day, as he walked the seashore at dawn, it gave a great bound of joy, for there in mystical writing upon the silver sand was a message which no eyes but his could have read. But the poet was skilled in the secret script of the elements. To him the patterns of leaves and flowers, the traceries of moss and lichen, the markings on rocks and trees, which to others were but meaningless decorations, were the letters of nature's hidden language, the spell-words of her runic wisdom. To other eyes the message he had found written on the sand would have seemed but a tangle of delicate weeds and shells cast up by the sea. To him, as he turned it into our coarser human speech, it said: "Seek me not,--unsought I come,-- Daughter of the moonlit foam, Near and far am I to thee, Near and far as earth and sea, As wave to wave, as star to star, Near and far, near and far." And that night, when the poet sat and sang, with full heart, in the moonlight--lo! the vision was there once more.... But again, as he stretched out his arms, she was gone. But this time the poet did not grieve as before, for he knew that she would come again, as indeed it befell. When she appeared to him the third time she had stolen so near to his side that he could gaze deep into her strange eyes, as into the fathomless, moonlit sea, and at the ending of his song she did not fade away as before, but her long hair fell all about him like a net of moonbeams, and she lay like the moon herself in his enraptured arms. To the passionate lover of nature, the anchorite of her solitudes, there often comes, in the very hour of his closest approach to her, an aching sense of incomplete oneness with her, a human desire for some responsive embodiment of her mysterious beauty; and there are ecstatic moments in which nature seems on the tremulous verge of sending us a magic answer--moments of intense reverie when the woods seem about to reveal to us the inner heart of their silence, in some sudden shape of unimaginable enchantment, or the infinite of the starry night take form at our side in some companionable radiance. We long, as it were, to press our lips to the forehead of the dawn, to crush the leafy abundance of summer to our breast, and to fold the infinite ocean in our embrace. To the poet, reward of his lonely vigils and endless longing, nature had granted this marvel. How often, as he had gazed at the moon rising out of the sea, had he dreamed of a shining shape that came to him along her silver pathway. And to-night the mystery of the moonlit sea was in his arms. No longer a lovely vision calling him from afar--an unapproachable wonder, a voice, a gleam--but a miraculously embodied spirit of the elements, supernaturally fair. The poet was, more than all men, learned in beautiful words, but he could find no words for this strange happiness that had befallen him; indeed, he had now passed beyond the world of words, and as he gazed into those magic eyes, that seemed like sea-flowers growing out of the air, they spoke to each other as wave talks to wave, or the leaves whisper together on the trees. So it was that the poet ceased to be alone in his solitude, and the fairy woman from the sea became his wife, and very wonderful was their happiness. But, as with all happiness, theirs, too, was not without its touch of sorrow. For, marvelously wedded though they were, so closely united that they seemed veritably one rather than two beings, there had been a deep meaning to that little song which the poet had found written in seaweed upon the sand: "Near and far am I to thee, Near and far as earth and sea," it had said, "Near and far, near and far." For not even their love could cast down for them one eternal barrier. They could meet and love across it, but it was still there. They were children of two diverse elements, and neither could cross from one into the other--she a child of the blue sea, he a child of the green earth. She must always leave him at the edge of the mysterious woods in which her heart ached to wander, and, however far out into the wide waters he would swim at her side, there would always be those deep-sea grottoes and flower-gardens whither he could never follow. Down into these enchanted depths he would watch her glide her shimmering way, but never might he follow her to the hidden kingdoms of the sea. He must await her out there, an alien, in the upper sunshine, and watch her glittering kindred stream in and out the rainbowed portals--till again she was at his side, her hands filled for his consolation with the secret treasures of the sea. So would she, from the shore, with despair in her eyes, watch him disappear among the beech-trees to gather for her the waxen flowers and the sweet-smelling green leaves and grasses she loved more than any that grew in the sea. Thus across their barrier would they make exchange of the marvels that grew on either side, and thus, indeed, the barrier grew less and less by reason of their love. Sometimes they asked each other if that other mystery, Death, would remove the barrier altogether.... But at the heart of the woman Life was already whispering another answer. "What," said she, as they watched the solemn stars in the still water one summer night, "what if a little being were born to us that should belong to both our worlds, to your green earth and to my blue sea? Would you seem so lonely then? A little being that could run by your side in the meadows, and swim with me into the depths of the sea!..." "Would you be so lonely then?" he echoed. And lo! after a season, it was this very marvel that came to pass; for one night, as she came along the moon-path to his side, she was not alone, but a tiny fairy woman was with her--a little radiant creature that, as her mother had dreamed, could gather with one hand the flowers that grow in the deeps of the wood and with the other the flowers that grow in the deeps of the sea. Like any other mortal babe she was, save for this: around her waist ran a shimmering girdle--of mother-of-pearl. So the poet and his wife called her Mother-of-Pearl; and she became for them, as it were, a baby-bridge between two elements. In her mysterious life their two lives became one, as never before. So near she brought them to each other that often there seemed no barrier at all. And thus days and years passed, and very wonderful was their happiness. But by this the world which the poet had forgotten had grown curious regarding the life which he lived alone among the rocks. Many of his songs, as songs will, had escaped from his solitude, and floated singing among men; and weird rumors grew of the strange happiness that had come to him. Some of the more curious had spied upon him in his seclusion, and had brought back to the town marvelous accounts of having seen him in the moonlight with his fairy wife and child at his side. And, after its fashion, the world had decided that here was plainly the work of the devil, and that the poet was a wizard in league with the powers of darkness. So the ignorant world has ever interpreted the beauty it could not understand, and the happiness it could not give. Thus a cloud began to gather of which the poet and his mer-wife and little Mother-of-Pearl knew nothing, and one evening at moonrise, as they were disporting themselves in their innocent happiness by the sea, it burst upon them from the beech-trees with a gathering murmur and a sudden roar. A great mob, uttering cries and waving torches, broke from the wood and ran toward them. "Death to the wizard!" they cried. "Death! Death!" As the poet heard them, he turned to his wife and little Mother-of-Pearl. "Fear not," he cried, "they cannot hurt us." Then, as again the cry went up, "Death to the wizard!" a sudden light shone in his face. "Death ... yes! That is the last door of the barrier...." and he plunged into the moonlit water. And when the rabble at length reached the shore with their torches, the poet and his loved ones were already lost in the silver pathway that leads to the hidden kingdoms of the sea. THE MER-MOTHER One day, walking by the sea, I heard a sweet voice calling me: I looked--but nothing could I see; I listened--but no more I heard; Only the sea and the sea-bird And the blue sky were there with me. But on another happier day, When all the sea was sun and spray, And laughing shout of wind and foam, I seemed to hear the voice once more,-- Wilder and sweeter than before, O wild as love and sweet as home. I looked, and lo! before me there A maiden sat in seaweeds drest, Sea-flowers hiding in her breast, And with a comb of deep-sea pearl She combed, like any other girl, Her golden hair--her golden hair. And, as each shining yellow curl Flickered like sunshine through the pearl, She laughed and sang--but not for me: Three little babies of the sea Were diving in and out for joy-- Two mer-girls and a small mer-boy. That fairy song was not for me, Nor those green eyes, nor that gold hair; Deep in the caves beneath the foam There was a husband and a home-- It was a mermaid taking care Of her small children of the sea. [Illustration] THE SLEEPLESS LORD There was once a great lord. He was lord of seven castles, and there were seven coronets upon his head. He was richer than he ever gave himself the trouble to think of, for, north, south, east, and west, the horizon even set no bounds to his estates. A thousand villages and ten thousand farms were in the hollow of his hand, and into his coffers flowed the fruitfulness and labor of all these. Therefore, as you can imagine, he was a very rich lord. He had more beautiful titles, denoting the various principalities over which he was lord, than the deepest-lunged herald could proclaim without taking breath at least three times. In person he was most noble and beautiful to look upon, and his voice was like the rippling of waters under the moon, save when it was like the call of a golden trumpet. He stood foremost in the counsels of his realm, not only for his eloquence, but for his wisdom. Also, God had given him a good heart. Only one gift had been denied him--the gift of sleep. By whatever means he might weary himself in the day--in study, in sport, in recreation, or in the business of the realm--night found him sleepless, and all the dark hours the lights burned in his bedchamber and in his library, as he would pace from one to the other, with eyes tragically awake and brain torturingly alert and clear. Every means known to science by which to bring sleep to the eyes of sleepless men had been tried in vain. Learned physicians from all parts of the world had come to my lord's castle, and had gone thence, confessing that their skill had availed nothing. All strange and terrible drugs that have power over the spirit of man had failed to conquer those stubborn eyelids. My lord still paced from his bedchamber to his library, from his library to his bedchamber--sleepless. [Illustration: A SUDDEN STRANGE NEW LIGHT WOULD SHINE OUT OF ITS PAGES] Sometimes in his anguish he had thrown himself on his knees in prayer before a God whom he had not always remembered--the God who giveth His beloved sleep--but his prayers had remained unanswered; and in his darkest moments he had dreamed of snatching by his own hands that sleep perpetual of which a great Latin poet he loved had sung. Often, as he paced his library, he would say over and over to himself, _Nox est perpetua una dormienda_--and in the still night the old words would often sound like soft dark voices calling him away into the endless night of the endless sleep. But he was not the man to take that way of escape. No; whatever the suffering might be, he would fight it out to the end, and so he continued sleepless, trying this resource and that, but, most of all, that first and last resource--courage. It is seldom that courage fails to wrest for us some recompense from the hardest situation, and the sleepless man, as night after night he fought with his fate, did not miss such hard-wrung rewards. Often, as in the deepest hush of the night he wearily took up some great old book of philosopher or poet familiar to him from his youth, a sudden strange new light would shine out of its pages, as of some inner radiance of truth which he had missed in his daylight reading. At such times an exaltation would come over him, and it would almost seem as though the curse upon him was really a blessing of initiation into the world of a deeper wisdom, the gate of which is hidden by the glare of the sun. In the daylight the eternal voices are lost in the transitory clamor of human business; it is only when the night falls, and the stars rise, and the noise of men dies down like the drone of some sleeping insect, that the solemn thoughts of God may be heard. Other compensations he found when, weary of his books and despairing of sleep, he would leave his house and wander through the silent city, where the roaring thoroughfares of the daytime were silent as the pyramids, and the great warehouses seemed like deserted palaces haunted by the moon. Night-walkers like himself grew to find his figure familiar, and would say to themselves, or to each other, "There goes the lord who never sleeps"; and the watchmen on their rounds all knew and saluted the man whose eyelids never closed. Enforced as these nocturnal rambles were, they revealed to him much beautiful knowledge which those more fortunate ones asleep in their beds must ever miss. Thus he came in contact with all the vast nocturnal labor of the world, the toil of sleepless men who keep watch over the sleeping earth, and work through the night to make it ready for the new-born day; all that labor which is put away and forgotten with the rising of the sun, and of which the day asks no questions, so that the result be there. This brought him very near to humanity and taught him a deep pity for the grinding lot of man. Then--was it no compensation for this sleepless one that he thus became a companion of all the ensorceled beauty of Night, walking by her side, a confidant of her mystic talk, as he gazed into her everlasting eyes? Was it nothing to be the intimate of all her sibylline moods, learned in every haunted murmur of her voice, intrusted with her lunar secrets, and a friend of all her stars? Yes! it was much indeed, he often said to himself, as he turned homeward with the first flush of morning, and met the great sweet-smelling wains coming from the country, laden with fruits and flowers, and making their way like moving orchards and meadows through the city streets. The big wagoners, too, were well acquainted with the great lord who never slept, and would always stop when they saw him, for it was his custom to buy from them a bunch of country flowers. "The country dew is still on them," he would say; "it will have dried long since when the people sleeping yonder come to buy them," and, as he slipped back into his house, he would often feel a sort of pity for those who slept so well that they never saw the stars set and the sun rise. Such were some of the compensations with which he strove to strengthen his soul--not all in vain. So time passed; but at length the strain of those interminable nights began to tell upon the sleepless man, and strange fancies began to take possession of him. His vigils were no longer lonely, but inhabited by spectral voices and shadowy faces. Rebellion against his fate began to take the place of courage; and one night, in anger against his unending ordeal, he said to himself: "Am I not a great lord? It is intolerable that I should be denied that simple thing which the humblest and poorest possess so abundantly. Am I not rich? I will go forth and buy sleep." So saying, he took from a cabinet a great jewel of priceless value. "It is worth half my estate," he said. "Surely with this I can buy sleep." And he went out into the night. As if in irony, the night was unusually wide-awake with stars, and the moon was almost at its full. As the sleepless one looked up into the firmament, it almost seemed as though it mocked him with his brilliant wakefulness. From horizon to horizon, in all the heaven, there was to be seen no downiest feather of the wings of sleep. To his upturned eyes, pleading for the mercy of sleep, the stars sent down an answer of polished steel. And so he turned his eyes again upon the earth. Everything there also, even the keenly cut shadows, seemed pitilessly awake. It almost seemed as though God had withdrawn the blessing of sleep from His universe. But no! Suddenly he gave a cry of joy, as presently, by the riverside, stretched in an angle of its granite embankment, as though it had been a bed of down, he came upon a great workman fast asleep, with his arms over his head and his face full in the light of the moon. His breath came and went with the regularity of a man who has done his days work and is healthily tired out. He seemed to be drinking great draughts of sleep out of the sky, as one drinks water from a spring. He was poorly clad, and evidently a wanderer on the earth; but, houseless as he was, to him had been granted that healing gift which the great lord who gazed at him had prayed for in vain for months and years, and for which this night he was willing to surrender half--nay, the whole--of his wealth, if needs be-- Only a little holiday of sleep, Soft sleep, sweet sleep; a little soothing psalm, Of slumber from Thy sanctuaries of calm. A little sleep--it matters not how deep; A little falling feather from Thy wing: Merciful Lord--is it so great a thing? The sleepless one gazed at the sleeper a long time, fascinated by the mystery and beauty of that strange gift that had been denied him. Then he took the jewel in his hand and looked at it, picturing to himself the sleeping man's surprise when he awoke in the morning and found so unexpected a treasure in his possession, and all that the sudden acquisition of such wealth would mean to him. But, as I said at the beginning, God had given him a good heart, and, as he gazed on the man's sleep again, a pang of misgiving shot through him. After all, what were worldly possessions compared with this natural boon of which he was about to rob the sleeping man? Would all his castles be a fair exchange for that? And was he about to subject a fellow human being to the torture which he had endured to the verge of madness? For a long time he stood over the sleeper struggling with himself. "No!" at last he said. "I cannot rob him of his sleep," and turned and passed on his way. [Illustration: HE WENT FORTH INTO THE DAWN SLEEPLESS] Presently he came to where a beautiful woman lay asleep with a little child in her arms. They were evidently poor outcasts, yet how tranquilly they lay there, as if all the riches of the earth were theirs, and as if there was no hard world to fight on the morrow. If sleep had seemed beautiful on the face of the sleeping workman, how much more beautiful it seemed here, laying its benediction upon this poor mother and child. How trustfully they lay in its arms out there in the shelterless night, as though relying on the protection of the ever-watchful stars. Surely he could not violate this sanctuary of sleep, and think to make amends by exchange of his poor worldly possessions. No! he must go on his way again. But first he took a ring from his finger and slipped it gently into the baby's hand. The tiny hand closed over it with the firmness of a baby's clutch. "It will be safe there till morning," he said to himself, and left them to their slumbers. So he passed along through the city, and everywhere were sleeping forms and houses filled with sleepers, but he could not bring himself to carry out his plan and buy sleep. Sleep was too beautiful and sacred a thing to be bought with the most precious stone, and man was so piteously in need of it at each long day's end. Thus he went on his way, and at last, as the dawn was showing faint in the sky, he found himself in a churchyard, and above one of the graves was growing a shining silver flower. "It is the flower of sleep," said the sleepless one, and he bent over eagerly to gather it; but as he did so his eyes fell upon an inscription on the stone. It was the grave of a beautiful girl who had died of heart-break for her lover. "I may not pluck it," he said. "She needs her sleep as well." And he went forth into the dawn sleepless. THE MAN WITH NO MONEY A FABLE FOR CAPITALISTS Once upon a time there was a man who found himself, suddenly and sadly, without any money. I am aware that in these days it is hard to believe such a story. Nowadays, everybody has money, and it may seem like a stretch of the imagination to suggest a time when a man should search his pockets and find them empty. But this is merely a fairy tale; so, I trust that the reader will help me out by taking so apparently preposterous a statement for granted. The man had been a merchant of butterflies in Ispahan, and, though his butterflies had flitted all about the flowered world, the delight of many-tongued and many-colored nations, he found himself at the close of the day a very poor and weary man. He had but one consolation and companion left--a strange, black butterfly, which he kept in a silver cage, and only looked at now and again, when he was quite sure that he was alone. He had sold all his other butterflies--all the rainbow wings--but this dark butterfly he would keep till the end. Kings and queens, in sore sorrow and need, had offered him great sums for his black butterfly, but it was the only beautiful thing he had left--so, selfishly, he kept it to himself. Meanwhile, he starved and wandered the country roads, homeless and foodless: his breakfast the morning star, his supper the rising moon. But, sad as was his heart, and empty as was his stomach, laughter still flickered in his tired eyes; and he possessed, too, a very shrewd mind, as a man who sells butterflies must. Making his breakfast of blackberries one September morning, in the middle of an old wood, with the great cages of bramble overladen with the fruit of the solitude, an idea came to him. Thereupon he sought out some simple peasants and said: "Why do you leave these berries to fall and wither in the solitude, when in the markets of the world much money may be made of them for you and for your household? Gather them for me, and I will sell them and give you a fair return for your labor." Now, of course, the blackberries did not belong to the dealer in butterflies. They were the free gift of God to men and birds. But the simple peasants never thought of that. Instead, they gathered them, east and west, into bushel and hogshead, and the man that had no money, that September morning, smiled to himself as he paid them their little wage, and filled his pockets, that before had been so empty, with the money that God and the blackberries and the peasants had made for him. Thus he grew so rich that he seldom looked at the dark butterfly in the silver cage--but sometimes, in the night, he heard the beating of its wings. THE RAGS OF QUEEN COPHETUA When the first dazzle of bewildered happiness in her new estate had faded from her eyes, and the miracle of her startling metamorphosis from a wandering beggar-maid to a great Queen on a throne was beginning to lose a little of its wonder and to take its place among the accepted realities of life, Queen Cophetua became growingly conscious of some dim dissatisfaction and unrest in her heart. Indeed, she had all that the world could give, and surely all that a woman's heart is supposed to desire. The King's love was still hers as when he found her at dawn by the pool in the forest; and, in exchange for the tattered rags which had barely concealed the water-lily whiteness of her body, countless wardrobes were filled with garments of every variety of subtle design and exquisite fabric, textures light as the golden sun, purple as the wine-dark sea, iridescent as the rainbow, and soft as summer clouds--the better to set off her strange beauty for the eyes of the King. And, every day of the year, the King brought her a new and priceless jewel to hang about her neck, or wear upon her moonbeam hands, or to shine in the fragrant night of her hair. Ah! what a magical wooing that had been in the depths of the forest, that strange morning! The sun was hardly above the tops of the trees when she had awakened from sleep at the mossy foot of a giant beech, and its first beams were casting a solemn enchantment across a great pool of water-lilies and filling their ivory cups with strange gold. She had lain still a while, watching through her sleepy eyelids the unfolding marvel of the dawn; and then rousing herself, she had knelt by the pool, and letting down her long hair that fell almost to her feet had combed and braided it, with the pool for her mirror--a mirror with water-lilies for its frame. And, as she gazed at herself in the clear water, with a girlish happiness in her own beauty, a shadow fell over the pond; and, startled, she saw beside her own face in the mirror the face of a beautiful young knight, so it seemed, bending over her shoulder. In fear and maiden modesty--for her hair was only half braided, and, whiter than any water-lily in the pond, her bosom glowed bare in the morning sunlight--she turned around, and met the eyes of the King. Without moving, each gazed at the other as in a dream--eyes lost fathom-deep in eyes. At last the King found voice to speak. "You must be a fairy," he had said, "for surely you are too beautiful to be human!" "Nay, my lord," she had answered, "I am but a poor girl that wanders with my lute yonder from village to village and town to town, singing my little songs." "You shall wander no more," said the King. "Come with me, and you shall sit upon a throne and be my Queen, and I will love you forever." But she could not answer a word, for fear and joy. And therewith the King took her by the hand, and set her upon his horse that was grazing hard by; and, mounting behind her, he rode with her in his arms to the city, and all the while her eyes looked up into his eyes, as she leaned upon his shoulder, and his eyes looked deep down into hers--but they spake not a word. Only once, at the edge of the forest, he had bent down and kissed her on the lips, and it seemed to both as if heaven with all its stars was falling into their hearts. As they rode through the city to the palace, surrounded by wondering crowds, she nestled closer to his side, like a frightened bird, and like a wild birds were her great eyes gazing up into his in a terror of joy. Not once did she move them to right or left, for all the murmur of the people about them. Nor did the King see aught but her water-lily face as they wended thus in a dream through the crowded streets, and at length came to the marble steps of the palace. Then the King, leaping from his horse, took her tenderly in his arms and carried her lightly up the marble steps. Upon the topmost step he set her down, and taking her hand in his, as she stood timidly by his side, he turned his face to the multitude and spake. "Lo! my people," he said, "this is your Queen, whom God has sent to me by a divine miracle, to rule over your hearts from this day forth, as she holds rule over mine. My people, salute your Queen!" And therewith the King knelt on one knee to his beggar-maid and kissed her hand; and all the people knelt likewise, with bowed heads, and a great cry went up. "Our Queen! Our Queen!" Then the King and Queen passed into the palace, and the tiring-maids led the little beggar-maid into a great chamber hung with tapestries and furnished with many mirrors, and they took from off her white body the tattered gown she had worn in the forest, and robed her in perfumed linen and cloth of gold, and set jewels at her throat and in her hair; and at evening in the cathedral, before the high altar, in the presence of all the people, the King placed a sapphire beautiful as the evening star upon her finger, and the twain became man and wife; and the moon rose and the little beggar-maid was a Queen and lay in a great King's arms. On the morrow the King summoned a famous worker in metals attached to his court, and commanded him to make a beautiful coffer of beaten gold, in which to place the little ragged robe of his beggar-maid; for it was very sacred to him because of his great love. After due time the coffer was finished, and it was acclaimed the masterpiece of the great artificer who had made it. About its sides was embossed the story of the King's love. On one side was the pool with the water-lilies and the beggar-maid braiding her hair on its brink. And on another she was riding on horseback with the King through the forest. And on another she was standing by his side on the steps of the palace before all the people. And on the fourth side she was kneeling by the King's side before the high altar in the cathedral. The King placed the coffer in a secret gallery attached to the royal apartments, and very tenderly he placed therein the little tattered gown and the lute with which his Queen was wont to wander from village to village and town to town, singing her little songs. Often at evening, when his heart brimmed over with the tenderness of his love, he would persuade his Queen to doff her beautiful royal garments and clothe herself again in that little tattered gown, through the rents of which her white body showed whiter than any water-lilies. And, however rich or exquisite the other garments she wore, it was in those beloved rags, the King declared, that she looked most beautiful. In them he loved her best. But this had been a while ago, and though, as has been said, the King's love was still hers as when he had met her that strange morning in the forest, and though every day he brought her a new and priceless jewel to hang about her neck, or wear upon her moonbeam hands, or to shine in the fragrant night of her hair, it was many months since he had asked her to wear for him the little tattered gown. Was the miracle of their love beginning to lose a little of its wonder for him, too; was it beginning to take its place among the accepted realities of life? Sometimes the Queen fancied that he seemed a little impatient with her elfin bird-like ways, as though, in his heart, he was beginning to wish that she was more in harmony with the folk around her, more like the worldly court ladies, with their great manners and artificial smiles. For, though she had now been a Queen a long while, she had never changed. She was still the wild gipsy-hearted child the King had found braiding her hair that morning by the lilied pool. Often she would steal away by herself and enter that secret gallery, and lift the lid of the golden coffer, and look wistfully at the little tattered robe, and run her hands over the cracked strings of her little lute. There was a long window in the gallery, from which, far away, she could see the great green cloud of the forest; and as the days went by she often found herself seated at this window, gazing in its direction, with vague unformed feelings of sadness in her heart. One day, as she sat there at the window, an impulse came over her that she could not resist, and swiftly she slipped off her beautiful garments, and taking the little robe from the coffer, clothed herself in the rags that the King had loved. And she took the old lute in her hands, and sang low to herself her old wandering songs. And she danced, too, an elfin dance, all alone there in the still gallery, danced as the apple-blossoms dance on the spring winds, or the autumn leaves dance in the depths of the forest. Suddenly she ceased in alarm. The King had entered the gallery unperceived, and was watching her with sad eyes. "Are you weary of being a Queen?" said he, sadly. For answer she threw herself on his breast and wept bitterly, she knew not why. "Oh, I love you! I love you," she sobbed, "but this life is not real." And the King went from her with a heavy heart. And from day to day an unspoken sorrow lay between them; and from day to day the King's words haunted the Queen with a more insistent refrain: "Are you weary of being a Queen?" Was she weary of being a Queen? And so the days went by. * * * * * One day as the Queen passed down the palace steps she came upon a beautiful girl, clothed in tatters as she had once been, seated on the lowest step, selling flowers--water-lilies. The Queen stopped. "Where did you gather your water-lilies, child?" she asked. "I gathered them from a pool in the great forest yonder," answered the girl, with a curtsey. "Give me one of them," said the Queen, with a sob in her voice, and she slipped a piece of gold into the girl's hand, and fled back into the palace. That night, as she lay awake by her sleeping King, she rose silently and stole into the secret gallery. There, with tears running down her cheeks, she dressed herself in the little tattered gown and took the lute in her hand, and then stole back and pressed a last kiss on the brow of her sleeping King, who still slept on. But at sunrise the King awoke, with a sudden fear in his heart, and lo! where his Queen had lain was only a white water-lily. And at that moment, in the depths of the forest, a beggar-maid was braiding her hair, with a pool of water-lilies for her mirror. THE WIFE FROM FAIRY-LAND Her talk was of all woodland things, Of little lives that pass Away in one green afternoon, Deep in the haunted grass. For she had come from fairy-land, The morning of a day When the world that still was April Was turning into May. Green leaves and silence and two eyes-- 'Twas so she seemed to me; A silver shadow of the woods,-- Whisper and mystery. I looked into her woodland eyes, And all my heart was hers; And then I led her by the hand Home up my marble stairs. And all my granite and my gold Was hers for her green eyes, And all my sinful heart was hers, From sunset to sunrise. I gave her all delight and ease That God had given to me, I listened to fulfil her dreams, Rapt with expectancy. But all I gave and all I did Brought but a weary smile Of gratitude upon her face-- As though, a little while, She loitered in magnificence Of marble and of gold, And waited to be home again, When the dull tale was told. Sometimes, in the chill galleries, Unseen, she deemed, unheard, I found her dancing like a leaf, And singing like a bird. So lone a thing I never saw In lonely earth and sky; So merry and so sad a thing-- One sad, one laughing, eye. There came a day when on her heart A wild-wood blossom lay, And the world that still was April Was turning into May. In her green eyes I saw a smile That turned my heart to stone,-- My wife that came from fairy-land No longer was alone. For there had come a little hand To show the green way home, Home through the leaves, home through the dew, Home through the greenwood--home. [Illustration] THE BUYER OF SORROWS On an evening of singular sunset, about the rich beginning of May, the little market-town of Beethorpe was startled by the sound of a trumpet. Beethorpe was an ancient town, mysteriously sown, centuries ago, like a wandering thistle-down of human life, amid the silence and the nibbling sheep of the great chalk downs. It stood in a hollow of the long smooth billows of pale pasture that suavely melted into the sky on every side. The evening was so still that the little river running across the threshold of the town, and encircling what remained of its old walls, was the noisiest thing to be heard, dominating with its talkative murmur the bedtime hum of the High Street. Suddenly, as the flamboyance of the sky was on the edge of fading, and the world beginning to wear a forlorn, forgotten look, a trumpet sounded from the western heights above the town, as though the sunset itself had spoken; and the people in Beethorpe, looking up, saw three horsemen against the lurid sky. Three times the trumpet blew. And the simple folk of Beethorpe, tumbling out into the street at the summons, and looking to the west with sleepy bewilderment, asked themselves: Was it the last trumpet? Or was it the long-threatened invasion of the King of France? Again the trumpet blew, and then the braver of the young men of the town hastened up the hill to learn its meaning. As they approached the horsemen, they perceived that the center of the three was a young man of great nobility of bearing, richly but somberly dressed, and with a dark, beautiful face filled with a proud melancholy. He kept his eyes on the fading sunset, sitting motionless upon his horse, apparently oblivious of the commotion his arrival had caused. The horseman on his right hand was clad after the manner of a herald, and the horseman on his left hand was clad after the manner of a steward. And the three horsemen sat motionless, awaiting the bewildered ambassadors of Beethorpe. When these had approached near enough the herald once more set the trumpet to his lips and blew; and then, unfolding a parchment scroll, read in a loud voice: "To the Folk of Beethorpe--Greeting from the High and Mighty Lord, Mortimer of the Marches: "Whereas our heart had gone out toward the sorrows of our people in the counties and towns and villages of our domain, we hereby issue proclamation that whosoever hath a sorrow, let him or her bring it forth; and we, out of our private purse, will purchase the said sorrow, according to its value--that the hearts of our people be lightened of their burdens." And when the herald had finished reading he blew again upon the trumpet three times; and the villagers looked at one another in bewilderment--but some ran down the hill to tell their neighbors of the strange proposal of their lord. Thus, presently, nearly all the village of Beethorpe was making its way up the hill to where those three horsemen loomed against the evening sky. Never was such a sorrowful company. Up the hill they came, carrying their sorrows in their hands--sorrows for which, in excited haste, they had rummaged old drawers and forgotten cupboards, and even ran hurriedly into the churchyard. [Illustration: THE HERALD ONCE MORE SET THE TRUMPET TO HIS LIPS AND BLEW] Lord Mortimer of the Marches sat his horse with the same austere indifference, his melancholy profile against the fading sky. Only those who stood near to him noted a kindly ironic flicker of a smile in his eyes, as he saw, apparently seeing nothing, the poor little raked-up sorrows of his village of Beethorpe. He was a fantastic young lord of many sorrows. His heart had been broken in a very strange way. Death and Pity were his closest friends. He was so sad himself that he had come to realize that sorrow is the only sincerity of life. Thus sorrow had become a kind of passion with him, even a kind of connoisseurship; and he had come, so to say, to be a collector of sorrows. It was partly pity and partly an odd form of dilettanteism--for his own sad heart made him pitiful for and companionable with any other sad heart; but the sincerity of his sorrow made him jealous of the sanctity of sorrow, and at the same time sternly critical of, and sadly amused by, the hypocrisies of sorrow. So, as he sat his horse and gazed at the sunset, he smiled sadly to himself as he heard, without seeming to hear, the small, insincere sorrows of his village of Beethorpe--sorrows forgotten long ago, but suddenly rediscovered in old drawers and unopened cupboards, at the sound of his lordship's trumpet and the promise of his strange proclamation. Was there a sorrow in the world that no money could buy? It was to find such a sorrow that Lord Mortimer thus fantastically rode from village to village of his estates, with herald and steward. The unpurchasable sorrow--the sorrow no gold can gild, no jewel can buy! Far and wide he had ridden over his estates, seeking so rare a sorrow; but as yet he had found no sorrow that could not be bought with a little bag of gold and silver coins. So he sat his horse, while the villagers of Beethorpe were paid out of a great leathern bag by the steward--for the steward understood the mind of his master, and, without troubling him, paid each weeping and whimpering peasant as he thought fit. In another great bag the steward had collected the sorrows of the Village of Beethorpe; and, by this, the moon was rising, and, with another blast of trumpet by way of farewell, the three horsemen took the road again to Lord Mortimer's castle. When, out of the great leathern bag, in Lord Mortimer's cabinet they poured upon the table the sorrows of Beethorpe, the young lord smiled to himself, turning over one sorrow after the other, as though they had been precious stones--for there was not one genuine sorrow among them. But, later, there came news to him that there was one real sorrow in Beethorpe; and he rode alone on horseback to the village, and found a beautiful girl laying flowers on a grave. She was so beautiful that he forgot his ancient grief, and he thought that all his castles would be but a poor exchange for her face. "Maiden," said he, "let me buy your sorrow--with three counties and seven castles." And the girl looked up at him from the grave, with eyes of forget-me-not, and said: "My lord, you mistake. This is not sorrow. It is my only joy." THE PRINCESS'S MIRROR The sun was scarcely risen, but the young princess was already seated by her window. Never did window open upon a scene of such enchantment. Never has the dawn risen over so fair a land. Meadows so fresh and grass so green, rivers of such mystic silver and far mountains so majestically purple, no eye has seen outside of Paradise; and over all was now outspread the fairy-land of the morning sky. Even a princess might rise early to behold so magic a spectacle. Yet, strangely enough, it was not upon this miracle that the eyes of the princess were gazing. In fact, she seemed entirely oblivious of it all--oblivious of all that was passing in the sky, and of all the dewy awakening of the earth. Her eyes were lost in a trance over what she deemed a rarer beauty, a stranger marvel. The princess was gazing at her own face in a golden mirror. [Illustration: HER ONLY CARE WAS TO GAZE ALL DAY AT HER OWN FACE] And indeed it was a beautiful face that she saw there, so beautiful that the princess might well be pardoned for thinking it the most beautiful face in the world. So fascinated had she become by her own beauty that she carried her mirror ever at her girdle, and gazed at it night and day. Whenever she saw another beautiful thing she looked in her mirror and smiled to herself. She had looked at the most beautiful rose in the world, and then she had looked in her mirror and said, "I am more beautiful." She had looked at the morning star, and then she had looked in her mirror and said, "I am more beautiful." She had looked at the rising moon, and then she had looked in her mirror and still she said, "I am more beautiful." Whenever she heard of a beautiful face in her kingdom she caused it to be brought before her, and then she looked in her mirror, and always she smiled to herself and said, "I am more beautiful." Thus it had come about that her only care was to gaze all day at her own face. So enamored had she become of it, that she hated even to sleep; but not even in sleep did she lose the beautiful face she loved, for it was still there in the mirror of dreams. Yet often she would wake in the night to gaze at it, and always she arose at dawn that, with the first rays of the sun, she might look into her mirror. Thus, from the rising sun to the setting moon, she would sit at her window, and never take her eyes from those beautiful eyes that looked back at her, and the longest day in the year was not long enough to return their gaze. This particular morning was a morning in May--all bloom and song, and crowding leaves and thickening grass. The valley was a mist of blossom, and the air thrilled with the warbling of innumerable birds. Soft dewy scents floated hither and thither on the wandering breeze. But the princess took no note of these things, lost in the dream of her face, and saw the changes of the dawn only as they were reflected in her mirror and suffused her beauty with their rainbow tints. So rapt in her dream was she that, when a bird alighted near at hand and broke into sudden song, she was so startled that--the mirror slipped from her hand. Now the princess's window was in the wall of an old castle built high above the valley, and beneath it the ground sloped precipitately, covered with underbrush and thick grasses, to a highroad winding far beneath. As the mirror slipped from the hand of the princess it fell among this underbrush and rolled, glittering, down the slope, till the princess finally lost sight of it in a belt of wild flowers overhanging the highroad. As it finally disappeared, she screamed so loudly that the ladies-in-waiting ran to her in alarm, and servants were instantly sent forth to search for the lost mirror. It was a very beautiful mirror, the work of a goldsmith famous for his fantastic masterpieces in the precious metals. The fancy he had skilfully embodied was that of beauty as the candle attracting the moths. The handle of the mirror, which was of ivory, represented the candle, the golden flame of which swept round in a circle to hold the crystal. Wrought here and there, on the golden back of the mirror, were moths with wings of enamel and precious stones. It was a marvel of the goldsmith's art, and as such was beyond price. Yet it was not merely for this, as we know, that the princess loved it, but because it had been so long the intimate of her beauty. For this reason it had become sacred in her eyes, and, as she watched it roll down the hillside, she realized that it had gained for her also a superstitious value. It almost seemed as if to lose it would be to lose her beauty too. She ran to another mirror in panic. No! her beauty still remained. But no other mirror could ever be to her like the mirror she had lost. So, forgetting her beauty for a moment, she wept and tore her hair and beat her tiring-maids in her misery; and when the men returned from their searching without the mirror, she gave orders to have them soundly flogged for their failure. Meanwhile the mirror rested peacefully among the wild flowers and the humming of bees. A short while after the serving-men had been flogged and the tiring-maids had been beaten, there came along the white road at the foot of the castle a tired minstrel. He was singing to himself out of the sadness of his heart. He was forty years old, and the exchange that life had given him for his dreams had not seemed to him a fair equivalent. He had even grown weary of his own songs. He sat, dejected, amid the green grasses, and looked up at the ancient heaven--and thought to himself. Then suddenly he turned his tired eyes again to earth, and saw the daisies growing there, and the butterflies flitting from flower to flower. And the road, as he looked at it, seemed long--longer than ever. He took his old lute in his hand--wondering to himself if they could play another tune. They were so in love with each other--and so tired of each other. He played one of his old songs, of which he was heartily weary, and, as he played, the butterflies flitted about him and filled his old hair with blue wings. He was forty years old and very weary. He was alone. His last nightingale had ceased singing. The time had come for him when one thinks, and even dreams, of the fireside, the hearth, and the beautiful old memories. He had, in short, arrived at that period of life when one begins to perceive the beauty of money. As a boy he had never given a thought to gold or silver. A butterfly had seemed more valuable to him than a gold piece. But he was growing old, and, as I have said, he was beginning to perceive the beauty of money. The daisies were all around him, and the lark was singing up there in the sky. But how could he cash a daisy or negotiate a lark? Dreams, after all, were dreams.... He was saying this to himself, when suddenly his eye fell upon the princess's mirror, lying there in the grass--so covered with butterflies, looking at themselves, that no wonder the serving-men had been unable to find it. The mirror of the princess, as I have said, was made of gold and ivory, and wonderful crystal and many precious stones. So, when the minstrel took it in his hands out of the grass, he thought--well, that he might at least buy a breakfast at the next town. For he was very hungry. Well, he caught up the mirror and hid it in his faded doublet, and took his way to a wood of living green, and when he was alone--that is, alone with a few flowers and a bird or two, and a million leaves, and the soft singing of a little river hiding its music under many boughs--he took out the mirror from his doublet. Shame upon him! he, a poet of the rainbow, had only one thought as he took up the mirror--the gold and ivory and the precious stones. He was merely thinking of them and his breakfast. But when he looked into the mirror, expecting to see his own ancient face--what did he see? He saw something so beautiful that, just like the princess, he dropped the mirror. Have you ever seen the wild rose as it opens its heart to the morning sky; have you ever seen the hawthorn holding in its fragrant arms its innumerable blooms; have you seen the rising of the moon, or looked in the face of the morning star? The minstrel looked in the mirror and saw something far more wonderful than all these wonderful things. He saw the face of the princess--eternally reflected there; for her love of her own beautiful face had turned the mirror into a magic glass. To worship oneself is the only way to make a beautiful face. And as the minstrel looked into the mirror he sadly realized that he could never bring himself to sell it--and that he must go without his breakfast. The moon had fallen into his hand out of the sky. Could he, a poet, exchange this celestial windfall for a meal and a new doublet? As the minstrel gazed and gazed at the beautiful face, he understood that he could no more sell the mirror than he could sell his own soul--and, in his pilgrimage through the world, he had received many offers for his soul. Also, many kings and captains had vainly tried to buy from him his gift of courage. But the minstrel had sold neither. And now had fallen out of the sky one more precious thing to guard--the most beautiful face in the world. So, as he gazed in the mirror, he forgot his hunger, forgot his faded doublet, forgot the long sorrow of his days--and at length there came the setting sun. Suddenly the minstrel awoke from his dream at the sound of horsemen in the valley. The princess was sending heralds into every corner of her dominions to proclaim the loss of the mirror, and for its return a beautiful reward--a lock of her strange hair. The minstrel hid himself, with his treasure, amid the fern, and, when the trumpets had faded in the distance, found the highroad again and went upon his way. Now it chanced that a scullery-maid of the castle, as she was polishing a copper saucepan, had lifted her eyes from her work, and, looking down toward the highroad, had seen the minstrel pick up the mirror. He was a very well known minstrel. All the scullery-maids and all the princesses had his songs by heart. Even the birds were fabled to sing his songs, as they flitted to and fro on their airy business. Thus, through the little scullery-maid, it became known to the princess that the mirror had been found by the wandering minstrel, and so his life became a life of peril. Bandits, hoping for the reward of that lock of strange hair, hunted him through the woodland, across the marshes, and over the moors. Jews with great money-bags came to buy from him--the beautiful face. Sometimes he had to climb up into trees to look at it in the sunrise, the woods were so filled with the voices of his pursuers. But neither hunger, nor poverty, nor small ferocious enemies were able to take from him the beautiful face. It never left his heart. All night long and all the watching day it was pressed close to his side. Meanwhile the princess was in despair. More and more the fancy possessed her that with the lost mirror her beauty too was lost. In her unhappiness, like all sad people, she took strange ways of escape. She consulted the stars, and empirics from the four winds settled down upon her castle. Each, of course, had his own invaluable nostrum; and all went their way. For not one of these understood the heart of a poet. However, at last there came to the aid of the princess a reverend old man of ninety years, a famous seer, deeply and gently and pitifully learned in the hearts of men. His was that wisdom which comes of great goodness. He understood the princess, and he understood the minstrel; for, having lived so long alone with the Infinite, he understood the Finite. To him the princess was as a little child, and his old wise heart went out to her. And, as I have said, his heart understood the minstrel too. Therefore he said to the princess: "I know the hearts of poets. In seven days I will bring you back your mirror." And the old man went, and at length found the poet eating wild berries in the middle of the wood. "That is a beautiful mirror you have by your side," said the old man. "This mirror," answered the poet, "holds in its deeps the most beautiful face in the world." "It is true," said the wise old man. "I have seen the beautiful face ... but I too possess a mirror. Will you look into it?" And the poet took the mirror from the old man and looked; and, as he looked, the mirror of the princess fell neglected in the grass.... "Why," said the wise old man, "do you let fall the princess's mirror?" But the poet made no answer--for his eyes were lost in the strange mirror which the wise old man had brought him. "What do you see in the mirror," said the old man, "that you gaze so earnestly in it?" "I see," answered the minstrel, "the infinite miracle of the universe, I see the august and lonely elements, I see the solitary stars and the untiring sea, I see the everlasting hills--and, as a crocus raises its rainbow head from the black earth in springtime, I see the young moon growing like a slender flower out of the mountains...." "Yet, look again," said the old man, "into this other mirror, the mirror of the princess. Look again." And the poet looked--taking the two mirrors in his hands, and looking from one to the other. "At last," he said, gazing into the face he had fought so long to keep--"at last I understand that this is but a fleeting phantom of beauty, a fluttering flower of a face--just one beautiful flower in the innumerable meadows of the Infinite--but here...." And he turned to the other mirror-- "Here is the Eternal Beauty, the Divine Harmony, the Sacred Unfathomable All.... Would a man be content with one rose, when all the roses of all the rose-gardens of the world were his?..." "You mean," said the wise old man, smiling to himself, "that I may take the mirror back to the princess.... Are you really willing to exchange her face for the face of the sky?" "I am," answered the minstrel. "I knew you were a poet," said the sage. "And I know that you are very wise," answered the minstrel. * * * * * Yet, after all, the princess was not so happy to have her mirror back again as she had expected to be; for had not a wandering poet found something more beautiful than her face! THE PINE LADY O have you seen the Pine Lady, Or heard her how she sings? Have you heard her play Your soul away On a harp with moonbeam strings? In a palace all of the night-black pine She hides like a queen all day, Till a moonbeam knocks On her secret tree, And she opens her door With a silver key, While the village clocks Are striking bed Nine times sleepily. O come and hear the Pine Lady Up in the haunted wood! The stars are rising, the moths are flitting, The owls are calling, The dew is falling; And, high in the boughs Of her haunted house, The moon and she are sitting. Out on the moor the night-jar drones Rough-throated love, The beetle comes With his sudden drums, And many a silent unseen thing Frightens your cheek with its ghostly wing; While there above, In a palace builded of needles and cones, The pine is telling the moon her love, Telling her love on the moonbeam strings-- O have you seen the Pine Lady, Or heard her how she sings? [Illustration] THE KING ON HIS WAY TO BE CROWNED In a green outlying corner of the kingdom of Bohemia, one summer afternoon, the Grand Duke Stanislaus was busy in his garden, swarming a hive of bees. He was a tall, middle-aged man of a scholarly, almost priest-like, type, a gentle-mannered recluse, living only in his books and his garden, and much loved by the country-folk for the simple kindness of his heart. He had the most winning of smiles, and a playful wisdom radiated from his wise, rather weary eyes. No man had ever heard him utter a harsh word; and, indeed, life passed so tranquilly in that green corner of Bohemia that even less peaceful natures found it hard to be angry. There was so little to be angry about. Therefore, it was all the stranger to see the good duke suddenly lose his temper this summer afternoon. "Preposterous!" he exclaimed; "was there ever anything quite so preposterous! To think of interrupting me, at such a moment, with such news!" He spoke from inside a veil of gauze twisted about his head, after the manner of beekeepers; and was, indeed, just at that moment, engaged in the delicate operation of transferring a new swarm to another hive. The necessity of keeping his mind on his task somewhat restored his calm. "Give the messenger refreshment," he said, "and send for Father Scholasticus." Father Scholasticus was the priest of the village, and the duke's very dear friend. The reason for this explosion was the news, brought by swiftest courier, that Duke Stanislaus' brother was dead, and that he himself was thus become King of Bohemia. By the time Father Scholasticus arrived, the bees were housed in their new home, and the duke was seated in his library, among the books that he loved no less than his bees, with various important-looking parchments spread out before him: despatches of state brought to him by the courier, which he had been scanning with great impatience. "I warn you, my friend," he said, looking up as the good father entered, "that you will find me in a very bad temper. Ferdinand is dead--can you imagine anything more unreasonable of him? He was always the most inconsiderate of mortals; and now, without the least warning, he shuffles his responsibilities upon my shoulders." The priest knew his friend and the way of his thought, and he could not help smiling at his quaint petulance. "Which means that you are King of Bohemia ... sire!" said he, with a half-whimsical reverence. Where on earth--he was wondering--was there another man who would be so put out at being made a king? "Exactly," answered the duke. "Do you wonder that I am out of temper? You must give me your advice. There must be some way out of it. What--what am I to do?" "I am afraid there is nothing for you to do but--reign ... your Majesty," answered the priest. "I agree with you that it is a great hardship." "Do you really understand how great a hardship it is?" retorted the king to his friend. "Will you share it with me?" "Share it with you?" asked the priest. "Yes! as it appears that I must consent to be Head of the World Temporal--will you consent to be the Head of the World Spiritual? In short, will you consent to be Archbishop of Bohemia?" "Leave the little church that I love, and the kind, simple hearts in my care, given into my keeping by the goodness of God...." asked the priest. "To be the spiritual shepherd," answered the king, not without irony, "of the sad flocks of souls that wander, without pastor, the strange streets of lost cities...." The king paused, and added, with his sad, understanding smile, "and to sit on a gold throne, in a great cathedral, filled with incense and colored windows." And the priest smiled back; for the king and the priest were old friends and understood and loved each other. At that moment there came a sound of trumpets through the quiet boughs, and the priest, rising and looking through the window, saw a procession of gilded carriages, from the first of which stepped out a dignified man with white hair and many years, and robed in purple and ermine. "It is your Prime Minister, and your court," answered the priest to the mute question of the king. And again they smiled together; but the smile on the face of the king was weary beyond all human words: because of all the perils that beset a man, the one peril he had feared was the peril of being made a king, of all the sorrows that sorrow, of all the foolishness that foolishness; for vanity had long since passed away from his heart, and the bees and the blossoms of his garden seemed just as worthy of his care as that swarming hive of ambitious human wasps and earwigs over which he was thus summoned by sound of trumpet, that happy summer afternoon--to be the king. Think of being the king of so foul a kingdom--when one might be the king--of a garden. But in spite of his reluctance, the good duke at length admitted the truth urged upon him by the good priest--that there are sacred duties inherited by those born in high places and to noble destinies from which there is no honorable escape, and, on the priest agreeing to be the Archbishop of Bohemia, he resigned himself to being its king. Thereupon he received all the various dignitaries and functionaries that could so little have understood his heart--having in the interval recovered his lost temper--with all the graciousness for which he was famous, and appointed a day--as far off as possible--when he would set out, with all his train, for his coronation in the capital, a journey of many leagues. However, when the day came, and, in fact, at the very moment of the starting out of the long and glittering cortège, all the gilded carriages were suddenly brought to a halt by news coming to the duke of the sickness and imminent death of a much loved dependent of his, an old shepherd with whom as a boy he was wont to wander the hills, and listen eagerly to the lore of times and seasons, of rising and setting stars, and of the ways of the winds, which are hidden in the hearts of tanned and withered old men, who have spent their lives out-of-doors under sun and rain. But, to the great impatience of the court ladies and the great bewigged and powdered gentlemen, the old shepherd lived on for several days, during which time the duke was constantly at his side. At last, however, the old shepherd went to his rest, and the procession, which he, humble soul, would not have believed that he could have delayed, started on its magnificent way again, with flutter of pennant and feather and song of trumpet and ladies' laughter. But it had traveled only a few leagues when it was again brought to a standstill by the duke--who was thus progressing to his coronation--catching sight from his carriage window, as it flitted past, of an extremely lovely and uncommon butterfly. The duke had, all his days, been a passionate entomologist, and this particular butterfly was the one that so far he had been unable to add to his collection. Therefore he commanded the trumpets to call a halt, and had his butterfly-net brought to him; and he and several of his gentlemen went in pursuit of the flitting painted thing; but not that day, nor the next, was it captured in the royal net, not, in fact, till a whole week had gone by; and meanwhile the carriages stood idly in the stables, and the postilions kicked their heels, and the great ladies and gentlemen fumed at their enforced exile amid country ways and country freshness, pining to be back once more in that artificial world where alone they could breathe. "To think of a man chasing a butterfly--with a king's crown awaiting him--and even perhaps a kingdom at stake!" said many a tongue--for rumors came on the wind that a half-brother of the dead king was meditating usurpation of the throne, and was already gathering a large following about him. Urgent despatches were said to have come from the imperial city begging that his Majesty, for the good of his loyal subjects, continue his journey with all possible expedition. His kingdom was at stake! The good duke smiled on the messenger and said, "Yes! but look at my butterfly--" and no one but his friend the priest, of course, had understood. Murmurs began to arise, indeed, among the courtiers, and hints of plots even, as the duke pursued his leisurely journey, turning aside for each wayward fancy. One day it would be a turtle crossing the road, with her little ones, which would bring to a respectful halt all those beautiful gold coaches and caracoling horses. Tenderly would the good duke step from his carriage and watch her with his gentle smile--not, doubtless, without sly laughter in his heart, and an understanding glance from the priest, that so humble and helpless a creature should for once have it in its power thus to delay so much worldly pomp and vanity. On another occasion, when they had journeyed for a whole day without any such fanciful interruptions, and the courtiers began to think that they would reach the imperial city at last, the duke decided to turn aside several long leagues out of their course, to visit the grave of a great poet whose songs were one of the chief glories of his land. "I may have no other opportunity to do him honor," said the duke. And when his advisers ventured to protest, and even to murmur, urging the increasing jeopardy of his crown, he gently admonished them: "Poets are greater than kings," he said, "and what is my poor crown compared with that crown of laurel which he wears forever among the immortals?" There was no one found to agree with this except the good priest, and one other, a poor poet who had somehow been included in the train, but whom few regarded. The priest kept his thoughts to himself, but the poet created some amusement by openly agreeing with the duke. But, of course, the royal will had to be accepted with such grace as the courtiers could find to hide their discontented--and even, in the case of some, their disaffected--hearts; for some of them, at this new whimsy of the duke's, secretly sent messengers to the would-be usurper promising him their allegiance and support. So, at length, after a day's journey, the peaceful valley was reached where the poet lay at rest among the simple peasants whom he had loved--kindly folk who still carried his songs in their hearts, and sang them at evening to their babies and sweethearts, and each day brought flowers to his green, bird-haunted grave. When the duke came and bowed his head in that quiet place, carrying in his hands a wreath of laurel, his heart was much moved by their simple flowers lying there, fresh and glittering, as with new-shed tears; and, as he reverently knelt and placed the wreath upon the sleeping mound, he said aloud, in the humility of his great heart: "What is such an offering as mine, compared with these?" And a picture came to him of the peaceful valley he had left behind, and of the simple folk he loved who were his friends, and more and more his heart missed them, and less and less it rejoiced at the journey still before him, and still more foolish seemed his crown. So, with a great sigh, he rose from the poet's grave, and gave word for the carriages once more to move along the leafy lanes. And, to the great satisfaction of the courtiers, the duke delayed them no more, for his heart grew heavier within him, and he sat with his head on his breast, speaking little even to his dear friend the priest, who rode with him, and scarcely looking out of the windows of his carriage, for any wonder of the way. At length the broad walls and towers of the city came in sight,--a city set in a fair land of meadow and stream. The morning sun shone bright over it, and the priest, looking up, perceived how it glittered upon a great building of many white towers, whose gilt pinnacles gleamed like so many crowns of gold. "Look, your Majesty," he said, with a sad attempt at gaiety, "yonder is your palace." And the duke looked up from a deep reverie, and saw his palace, and groaned aloud. But presently there came a sad twinkle in his sad eyes, as he descried another building of many peaks and pinnacles glittering in the sun. "Look up, my Lord Archbishop," he said, turning to his friend, "yonder is _your_ palace." And as the good priest looked, his face was all sorrow, and the tears overflowed his eyes, as he thought of the simple souls once in his keeping, in his parish far away. But presently the king, looking again toward the palace, descried a flag floating from one of the towers, covered with heraldic devices. As he looked, it seemed that ten years of weariness fell from his face, and a great joy returned. "Look," he said, almost in a whisper, to the priest, "those are not my arms!..." The priest looked, and then looked again into the duke's eyes, and ten years of weariness fell from his face also, and a great joy returned. "Thank God! we are saved," the duke and the priest exclaimed together, and fell laughing upon each other's shoulders. For the arms floating from the tower of the palace were the arms of the usurper, and the king that cared not to be a king had lost his kingdom. And, while they were still rejoicing together, there came the sound of many horsemen from the direction of the city, a cavalcade of many glittering spears. The duke halted his train to await their coming, and when they had arrived where the duke was, a herald in cloth of gold broke from their ranks and read aloud from a great parchment many sounding words--the meaning of which was that the good Duke Stanislaus had been deposed from his kingdom, and that the High and Mighty Prince, the usurper, reigned in his stead. When the herald had concluded the duke's voice was heard in reply: "It is well--it is very well!" he said. "Gather yonder white flower and take it back to your master, and say that it is the white flower of peace betwixt him and me." And astonishment fell on all, and no one, of course, except the priest, understood. All thought that the good duke had lost his wits, which, indeed, had been the growing belief of his courtiers for some time. But the herald gathered the white flower and carried it back to the city, with sound of many trumpets. Need one say that the usurper least of all understood? With the herald went all the gilded coaches and the fine ladies and gentlemen, complaining sadly that they had had such a long and tedious journey to no purpose, and hastening with all speed to take their allegiance to the new king. The duke's own people alone remained with him, and, when all the rest had gone, the duke gave orders for the horses' heads to be turned homeward, to the green valley in which alone he cared to be a king. "Back to the bees and the books and the kind country hearts," cried the duke to his friend. "Back to the little church among the quiet trees," added the priest, who had cared as little for an archbishop's miter as the duke for a kingly crown. Since then the duke had been left to hive his bees in peace, and it may be added that he has never been known to lose his temper again. THE STOLEN DREAM The sun was setting, and slanting long lanes of golden light through the trees, as an old man, borne done by a heavy pack, came wearily through the wood, and at last, as if worn out with the day's travel, unshouldered his burden and threw himself down to rest at the foot of a great oak-tree. He was very old, older far he seemed than the tree under whose gnarled boughs he was resting, though that looked as if it had been growing since the beginning of the world. His back was bent as with the weight of years, though really it had become so from the weight of the pack that he carried; his cheeks were furrowed like the bark of a tree, and far down upon his breast fell a beard as white as snow. But his deep-set eyes were still bright and keen, though sly and cruel, and his long nose was like the beak of a hawk. His hands were like roots strong and knotted, and his fingers ended in talon-like nails. In repose, even, they seemed to be clutching something, something they loved to touch, and would never let go. His clothes were in rags and his shoes scarce held to his feet. He seemed as abjectly poor as he was abjectly old. Presently, when he had rested awhile, he turned to his pack, and, furtively glancing with his keen eyes up and down the wood, to make sure that he was alone, he drew from it a sack of leather which was evidently of great weight. Its mouth was fastened by sliding thongs, which he loosened with tremulous, eager hands. First he took from the bag a square of some purple silk stuff, which he spread out on the turf beside him, and then, his eyes gleaming with a wild light, he carefully poured out the contents of the bag on to the purple square, a torrent of gold and silver coins and precious stones flashing like rainbows--a king's treasure. The setting sun flashed on the glittering heap, turning it into a dazzle of many-colored fire. The treasure seemed to light up the wood far and near, and the gaudy summer flowers, that a moment before had seemed so bright and splendid, fell into shadow before its radiance. The old man bathed his claw-like hands in the treasure with a ghoulish ecstasy, and let the gold and silver pour through his fingers over and over again, streams of jeweled light gleaming and flashing in the level rays of the sun. As he did so, he murmured inarticulately to himself, gloating and gurgling with a lonely, hideous joy. Suddenly a look of fear came over his face; he seemed to hear voices coming up the wood, and, huddling his treasure swiftly back again into the leathern bag, and the bag into the folds of his pack, he rose and sought some bushes near by to hide himself from the sight of whomsoever it was that approached. But, as he shouldered his pack, he half staggered, for the pack was of great weight and he heaved a deep sigh. "It grows heavier and heavier," he muttered. "I cannot carry it much longer. I shall never be able to carry it with me to the grave." As he disappeared among the bushes, a young man and a young woman, with arms twined round each other, came slowly up the glade and presently sat down at the foot of the tree where the old man had been resting a moment or two before. "Why, what is this?" presently exclaimed the young girl, picking up something bright out of the grass. It was a gold coin, which, in his haste, the old man had let slip through his fingers. "Gold!" they both exclaimed together. "It will buy you a new silk gown," said the lover. "Who ever heard of such luck?" And then he sighed. "Ah! dear heart," he said, "if only we had more like that! Then we could fulfil our dream." As the sun poured its last rays over them there at the foot of the oak, it was to be seen that they were very poor. Their clothes were old and weather-stained, and they had no shoes to their feet; but the white feet of the girl shone like ivory flowers in the grass, and her hair was a sheaf of ruddy gold. Nor was there a jewel in all the old man's treasure as blue as her eyes. And the young man, in his manly fashion, was no less brave and fair to look upon. In a little while they turned to a poor wallet at the young man's side. "Let us eat our supper," they said. But there was little more than a crust or two, a few morsels of cheese, and a mouthful or two of sour wine. Still, they were accustomed to being hungry, and the thought of the gold coin cheered their hearts. So they grew content, and after a while they nestled close into each other's arms and fell asleep, while slowly and softly through the woods came the light of the moon. Now all this time the old man had lain hidden, crouched down among the bushes, afraid almost to draw his breath, but from where he was he could hear and see all, and had overheard all that had been said. At length, after the lovers had been silent for a long time, he took courage to peer out from his hiding-place, and he saw that they were asleep. He would wait a little longer, though, till their sleep was sounder, and then he might be able perhaps to creep away unheard. So he waited on, and the moon grew brighter and brighter, and flooded the woods with its strange silver. And the lovers fell deeper and deeper asleep. "It will be safe now," said the old man, half rising and looking out from his bushes. But this time, as he looked out, he saw something, something very strange and beautiful. Hovering over the sleeping lovers was a floating, flickering shape that seemed made of moonbeams, with two great shining stars for its eyes. It was the dream that came nightly to watch over the sleep of the lovers; and, as the miser gazed at it in wonder, a strange change came over his soul, and he saw that all the treasure he had hoarded so long--gathered by the cruel practices of years, and with carrying which about the world his back had grown bent--was as dross compared with this beautiful dream of two poor lovers, to whom but one of all his gold pieces had seemed like a fortune. "What, after all, is it to me but a weary burden my shoulders grow too old to carry," he murmured, "and for the sake of which my life is in danger wherever I go, and to guard which I must hide away from the eyes of men?" And the longer he gazed on the fair, shining vision, the more the longing grew within him to possess it for himself. "They shall have my treasure in exchange," he said to himself, approaching nearer to the sleepers, treading softly lest he should awaken them. But they slept on, lost in the profound slumber of innocent youth. As he drew near, the dream shrank from him, with fear in its starry eyes; but it seemed the more beautiful to the old man the closer he came to it and saw of what divine radiance it was made; and, with his desire, his confidence grew greater. So, softly placing his leather bag in the flowers by the side of the sleepers, he thrust out his talon-like fingers and snatched the dream by the hand, and hurried away, dragging it after him down the wood, fearfully turning now and again to see that he was not pursued. But the sleepers still slept on, and by morning the miser was far away, with the captive dream by his side. As the earliest birds chimed through the wood, and the dawn glittered on the dewy flowers, the lovers awoke and kissed each other and laughed in the light of the new day. "But what is this?" cried the girl, and her hands fell from the pretty task of coiling up the sunrise of her hair. With a cry they both fell upon the leather bag, lying there so mysteriously among the wood-lilies in the grass. With eager fingers they drew apart the leather thongs, and went half-mad with wonder and joy as they poured out the glittering treasure in the morning sun. "What can it all mean?" they cried. "The fairies must have been here in the night." But the treasure seemed real enough. The jewels were not merely dewdrops turned to diamonds and rubies and amethysts by the magic beams of the sun, nor was the gold mere gold of faerie, but coins bearing the image of the king of the land. Here were real jewels, real gold and silver. Like children, they dabbled their hands in the shining heap, tossing them up and pouring them from one hand to the other, flashing and shimmering in the morning light. Then a fear came on them. "But folk will say that we have stolen them," said the youth; "they will take them from us, and cast us into prison." "No, I believe some god has heard our prayer," said the girl, "and sent them down from heaven in the night. He who sent them will see that we come to no harm." And again they fell to pouring them through their fingers and babbling in their delight. "Do you remember what we said last night when we found the gold piece?" said the girl. "If only we had more of them! Surely our good angel heard us, and sent them in answer." "It is true," said the young man. "They were sent to fulfil our dream." "Our poor starved and tattered dream!" said the girl. "How splendidly we can clothe and feed it now! What a fine house we can build for it to live in! It shall eat from gold and silver plate, and it shall wear robes of wonderful silks and lawns like rainbows, and glitter with jewels, blue and yellow and ruby, jewels like fire fountains and the depths of the sea." But, as they spoke, a sudden disquietude fell over them, and they looked at each other with a new fear. "But where _is_ our dream?" said the girl, looking anxiously around. And they realized that their dream was nowhere to be seen. "I seemed to miss it once in the night," answered the young man in alarm, "but I was too sleepy to heed. Where can it be?" "It cannot be far away," said the girl. "Perhaps it has wandered off among the flowers." But they were now thoroughly alarmed. "Where can it have gone?" they both cried. And they rose up and ran to and fro through the wood, calling out aloud on their dream. But no voice came back in reply, nor, though they sought high and low in covert and brake, could they find a sign of it anywhere. Their dream was lost. Seek as they might, it was nowhere to be found. And then they sat down by the treasure weeping, forgetting it all in this new sorrow. "What shall we do?" they cried. "We have lost our dream." For a while they sat on, inconsolable. Then a thought came to the girl. "Some one must have stolen it from us. It would never have left us of its own accord," said she. And, as she spoke, her eyes fell on the forgotten treasure. "What use are these to us now, without our dream?" she said. "Who knows?" said the young man; "perhaps some one has stolen our dream to sell it into bondage. We must go and seek it, and maybe we can buy it back again with this treasure." "Let us start at once," said the girl, drying her tears at this ray of hope; and so, replacing the treasure in the bag, the young man slung it at the end of his staff, and together they set off down the wood, seeking their lost dream. Meanwhile, the old man had journeyed hastily and far, the dream following in his footsteps, sorrowing; and at length he came to a fair meadow, and by the edge of a stream he sat down to rest himself, and called the dream to his side. The dream shone nothing like so brightly as in the moonlit woodland, and its eyes were heavy as with weeping. "Sing to me," said the old man, "to cheer my tired heart." "I know no songs," said the dream, sadly. "You lie," said the old man. "I saw the songs last night in the depths of your eyes." "I cannot sing them to you," said the dream. "I can only sing them to the simple hearts I made them for, the hearts you stole me from." "Stole you!" said the old man. "Did I not leave my treasure in exchange?" "Your treasure will be nothing to them without me," said the dream. "You talk folly," said the old man. "With my treasure they can buy other dreams just as fair as you are. Do you think that you are the only dream in the world? There is no dream that money cannot buy." "But I am their own dream. They will be happy with no other," said the dream. "You shall sing to me, all the same," said the old man, angrily. But the dream shrank from him and covered its face. "If I sang to you, you would not understand. Your heart is old and hard and cruel, and my songs are all of youth and love and joy." "Those are the songs I would hear," said the old man. "But I cannot sing them to you, and if I sang them you could not hear." "Sing," again cried the old man, harshly; "sing, I bid you." "I can never sing again," said the dream. "I can only die." And for none of the old man's threats would the dream sing to him, but sat apart, mourning the loved ones it had lost. So several days passed by, and every day the dream was growing less bright, a creature of tears and sighs, more and more fading away, like a withering flower. At length it was nothing but a gray shadow, a weary shape of mist that seemed ready to dissolve and vanish at any breath of wind. No one could have known it for that radiant vision that had hovered shimmering with such a divine light over the sleep of the lovers. At length the old man lost patience, and began to curse himself for a fool in that he had parted with so great a treasure for this worthless, whimpering thing. And he raved like a madman as he saw in fancy all the gold and silver and rainbow-tinted jewels he had so foolishly thrown away. "Take me back to them," said the dream, "and they will give you back your treasure." "A likely thing," raged the old man, "to give back a treasure like that for such a sorry phantom." "You will see," said the dream. As there was nothing else to be done, the old man took up his staff. "Come along, then," said he, and started off in the direction of the wood, and, though it was some days' journey, a glow flushed all through the gray shape of the dream at the news, and its eyes began to shine again. And so they took their way. But meanwhile the two lovers had gone from village to village, and city to city, vainly asking news of their dream. And to every one they asked they showed their treasure and said: "This is all yours if you can but give us back our dream." But nowhere could they learn any tidings, but gleaned only mockery and derision. "You must be mad," said some, "to seek a dream when you have all that wealth in your pack. Of what use is a dream to any one? And what more dream do you want than gold and precious stones?" "Ah! our dream," said the lovers, "is worth all the gold and jewels in the world." Sometimes others would come, bringing their own dreams. "Take this," they would say, "and give us your treasure." But the lovers would shake their heads sadly. "No, your dreams are not so beautiful as ours. No other dream can take its place. We can only be happy with our own dream." And, indeed, the dreams that were brought to them seemed poor, pitiful, make-believe things, often ignoble, misbegotten, sordid, and cruel. To the lovers they seemed not dreams at all, but shapes of greed and selfish desire. So the days passed, bringing them neither tidings nor hope, and there came at length an evening when they turned their steps again to the woodland, and sat down once more under the great oak-tree in the sunset. "Perhaps our dream has been waiting for us here all the time," they said. But the wood was empty and echoing, and they sat and ate their supper as before, but silently and in sorrow, and as the sun set they fell asleep as before in each other's arms, but with tears glittering on their eyelids. And again the moon came flooding the spaces of the wood, and nothing was heard but their breathing and the song of a distant nightingale. But presently while they slept there was a sound of stealthy footsteps coming up the wood. It was the old man, with the dream shining by his side, and ever and anon running ahead of him in the eagerness of its hope. Suddenly it stopped, glowing and shimmering like the dancing of the northern lights, and placed a starry finger on its lips for silence. "See," it whispered, and there were the lovers, lying lost in sleep. But the old man's wolfish eyes saw but one thing. There lay the leather bag of his treasure just as he had left it. Without a word, he snatched it up and hastened off with it down the wood, gurgling uncouthly to himself. "Oh, my beauties!" he cried, as he sat himself down afar off and poured out the gold and the silver and the gleaming stones into the moonlight. "Oh, my love, my life, and my delight! What other dream could I have but you?" Meanwhile, the lovers stirred in their sleep, and murmured to each other. "I seemed to hear singing," each said. And, half opening their eyes, they saw their dream shining and singing above them in the moonbeams, lovelier than ever before, a shape of heavenly silver, with two stars for its eyes. "Our dream has come back!" they cried to each other. "Dear dream, we had to lose you to know how beautiful you are!" And with a happy sigh they turned to sleep again, while the dream kept watch over them till the dawn. THE STERN EDUCATION OF CLOWNS A clown out of work for many weeks had trudged the country roads, footsore and hungry, vainly seeking an engagement. At length, one afternoon, he arrived at a certain village and spied the canvas tent and the painted wagons of a traveling circus. This sight put a pale hope into his sad heart, and he approached the tent as bravely as he could to find the proprietor of the show. Sad as was his heart, his face looked sadder; and he did not, it is to be feared, make a very impressive appearance, as at last he found the proprietor sitting on the side of the sawdust ring, eating lunch with the Columbine. The circus proprietor was large and swarthy and brutal to look on, and his sullen, cruel eyes looked sternly at the little clown, who, between a sad heart and a long-empty stomach, had very little courage left in his frame. "Well!" roared the proprietor. "What is it?" The little clown explained his profession and his need of an engagement; and stood there, hat in hand, with tremulous knees. The circus proprietor looked at him a long time in contemptuous silence, and then, with an ugly sneer, said: "Have you ever had your heart broken?" "Indeed I have," answered the clown. "For to have your heart broken is part of the business of a clown." "How many times?" "Six." "Not enough," answered the proprietor, roughly, turning again to his lunch with the Columbine. "Get it broken again and come back; then perhaps we can talk business." And the little clown went away; but he had hardly gone a few yards before his heart broke for the seventh time--because of the bitterness of the world. Yet, being wise, he waited a day or two, living as best he could along the country roads, and then at length he came back about noon to the circus, and again the proprietor was eating lunch with the Columbine, and again he looked up, sullen and sneering, and said: "Well?" The clown explained that his heart had been broken for the seventh time. "Good," said the circus proprietor. "Wait till I have eaten lunch and we will talk business." And the clown sat at the side of the ring, and the proprietor and the Columbine ate and laughed as if he were not there. At length, finishing a tankard of ale, and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, the circus proprietor arose and beckoned the clown to come to him. At the same time he took a long ringmaster's whip, and the Columbine took one end of a skipping-rope, while he held the other. "Now," said the circus proprietor, "while we twirl the skipping-rope you are to dance over it, and at the same time I will lash your shins with this whip; and if, as you skip over the rope, you can laugh and sing--like a child dancing on blue flowers in a meadow--I will give you"--the proprietor hesitated a moment--"six dollars a week." So it was that the clown at last got an engagement. THE END Transcriber's note: _Underscores_ have been used to indicate _italic_ fonts. 
19993	----	CHILDHOOD'S FAVORITES AND FAIRY STORIES HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE EDWARD EVERETT HALE WILLIAM BYRON FORBUSH _Editors_ JENNIE ELLIS BURDICK _Assistant Editor_ Volume One [Illustration: The Young Folks Treasury] NEW YORK THE UNIVERSITY SOCIETY INCORPORATED 1927 COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY THE UNIVERSITY SOCIETY INC. COPYRIGHT, 1909, 1917, BY THE UNIVERSITY SOCIETY INC. EDITORS HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE, L.H.D., LL.D. EDWARD EVERETT HALE, D.D., LL.D. WILLIAM BYRON FORBUSH, Ph.D., Litt.D. ASSISTANT EDITOR JENNIE ELLIS BURDICK _Partial List of Authors and Editors Represented in The Young Folks Treasury by Selections from Their Writings:_ WOODROW WILSON, Twenty-eighth President of the United States. THEODORE ROOSEVELT, Twenty-sixth President of the United States. HENRY VAN DYKE, poet, essayist, and diplomatist. LYMAN ABBOTT, editor of "The Outlook." RUDYARD KIPLING, poet and story-teller. GENERAL SIR R. S. BADEN-POWELL, founder of the Boy Scouts. BECKLES WILLSON, author of "The Romance of Canada." IDA PRENTICE WHITCOMB, author of "Young People's Story of Art." ELLEN VELVIN, writer of animal stories. MARY MACGREGOR, author of "King Arthur's Knights," etc. RALPH HENRY BARBOUR, author of boys' stories. T. GILBERT PEARSON, executive secretary, National Association of Audubon Societies. JOSEPH JACOBS, authority upon folklore. THEODORE WOOD, writer on natural history. ERNEST THOMPSON SETON, writer of stories about natural history and founder of the Woodcraft League. AMY STEEDMAN, writer on biography. EVERETT T. TOMLINSON, author of boys' stories. RALPH D. PAINE, author of boys' stories. A. FREDERICK COLLINS, author of boys' books. DON C. BLISS, educator. BLISS CARMAN, poet and essayist. SIR JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE, novelist. WILLIAM CANTON, story-teller. HERMANN HAGEDORN, poet. ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS, writer of boys' stories. ALFRED G. GARDINER, editor of "The London News." FRANKLIN K. LANE, United States Secretary of the Interior. JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS, creator of "Uncle Remus." ERNEST INGERSOLL, naturalist. WILLIAM L. FINLEY, State biologist, Oregon. CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS, writer of animal stories. E. NESBIT, novelist and poet. ARCHIBALD WILLIAMS, author of "How It Is Done," etc. IRA REMSEN, former president of Johns Hopkins University. GIFFORD PINCHOT, professor of forestry, Yale University. GUSTAVE KOBBÉ, writer of biographies. JACOB A. RIIS, philanthropist and author. EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER, story-writer and poet. JOHN LANG, writer of children's books. JEANIE LANG, writer of children's books. JOHN H. CLIFFORD, editor and writer. HERBERT T. WADE, editor and writer on physics. CHARLES R. GIBSON, writer on electricity. LILIAN CASK, writer on natural history. BLANCHE MARCHESI, opera singer and teacher. JOHN FINNEMORE, traveler and writer of boys' stories. ALEXANDER GRAHAM BELL, inventor of the telephone. JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY, poet. CHARLES H. CAFFIN, author of "A Guide to Pictures." JAMES CARDINAL GIBBONS. ANDREW F. CURRIER, M.D., popular medical writer. HELEN KELLER, the blind and deaf writer. OLIVER HERFORD, humorist and illustrator. GENERAL INTRODUCTION * * * * * Books are as much a part of the furnishing of a house as tables and chairs, and in the making of a home they belong, not with the luxuries but with the necessities. A bookless house is not a home; for a home affords food and shelter for the mind as well as for the body. It is as great an offence against a child to starve his mind as to starve his body, and there is as much danger of reducing his vitality and putting him at a disadvantage in his lifework in the one as in the other form of deprivation. There was a time when it was felt that shelter, clothing, food and physical oversight comprised the whole duty of a charitable institution to dependent children; to-day no community would permit such an institution to exist unless it provided school privileges. An acute sense of responsibility toward children is one of the prime characteristics of American society, shown in the vast expenditures for public education in all forms, in the increasing attention paid to light, ventilation, and safety in school buildings, in the opening of play grounds in large cities, in physical supervision of children in schools, and the agitation against the employment of children in factories, and in other and less obvious ways. Children are helpless to protect themselves and secure what they need for health of body and mind; they are exceedingly impressionable; and the future is always in their hands. The first and most imperative duty of parents is to give their children the best attainable preparation for life, no matter at what sacrifice to themselves. There are hosts of fathers and mothers who recognize this obligation but do not know how to discharge it; who are eager to give their children the most wholesome conditions, but do not know how to secure them; who are especially anxious that their children should start early and start right on that highway of education which is the open road to honorable success. There are many homes in which books would find abundant room if the heads of the families knew what books to buy, or had the means to put into the hands of the growing child the reading matter it needs in the successive periods of its growth. This condition of eagerness to give the best, and of ignorance of how or where to find the best is the justification for the publication of this set of books. The attempt has been made in a series of twelve volumes to bring together in convenient form the fairy stories, myths, and legends which have fed the children of many generations in the years when the imagination is awakening and craving stimulus and material to work upon;--that age of myth-making which is a prelude to the more scientific uses of the mind and of immense importance in an intensely practical age;--a group of tales of standard quality and an interest and value which have placed them among the permanent possessions of English literature; a careful selection of stories of animal life; a natural history, familiar in style and thoroughly trustworthy in fact; an account of those travels and adventures which have opened up the earth and made its resources available, and which constitute one of the most heroic chapters in the history of the long struggle of men to possess the earth and make it a home for the highest kind of civilization; a record of heroism taken from the annals of the patriots and of those brave men who, in all ages, ranks of society and occupations, have dared to face great dangers in the path of duty and science, with special attention to that everyday heroism in which the age is specially rich and of which so many good people are grossly ignorant; a survey of scientific achievement, with reports of recent discoveries in knowledge and adaptation of knowledge to human need; a group of biographies of the men and women--mostly Americans--who are the most stimulating companions for boys and girls; a volume on the Fine Arts dealing with music, painting, sculpture, architecture, in a way to instruct young readers and making accessible a large number of those songs which appeal in the best way to children in schools and homes; a collection of the best poetry for the youngest and oldest readers, chosen not only for excellence from the standpoint of art, but deep and abiding human interest; and a volume devoted to the occupations and resources of the home, addressed to parents no less than to children, with practical suggestions about books and reading, games and amusements, exercise and health, and those kindred topics which have to do with making the home wholesome and attractive. These twelve volumes aim, in brief, to make the home the most inspiring school and the most attractive place for pleasure, and to bring the best the world has to offer of adventure, heroism, achievement and beauty within its four walls. Special attention has been given to the youngest children whose interests are often neglected because they are thought to be too immature to receive serious impressions from what is read to them. Psychology is beginning to make us understand that no greater mistake can be made in the education of children than underrating the importance of the years when the soil receives the seed most quickly. For education of the deepest sort--the planting of those formative ideas which give final direction and quality to the intellectual life--there is no period so important as the years between three and six, and none so fruitful. To put in the seed at that time is, as a rule, to decide the kind of harvest the child will reap later; whether he shall be a shrewd, keen, clever, ambitious man, with a hard, mechanical mind, bent on getting the best of the world; or a generous, fruitful, open-minded man, intent on living the fullest life in mind and heart. No apology is offered for giving large space to myths, legends, fairy stories, tales of all sorts, and to poetry; for in these expressions of the creative mind is to be found the material on which the imagination has fed in every age and which is, for the most part, conspicuously absent from our educational programmes. America has at present greater facility in producing "smart" men than in producing able men; the alert, quick-witted, money-maker abounds, but the men who live with ideas, who care for the principles of things, and who make life rich in resource and interest are comparatively few. America needs poetry more than it needs industrial training; though the two ought never to be separated. The time to awaken the imagination, which is the creative faculty, is early childhood; and the most accessible material for this education is the literature which the race created in its childhood. The creative man, whether in the arts or in practical affairs, in poetry, in engineering or in business, is always the man of imagination. In this library for young people the attempt has been made not only to give the child what it needs but in the form which is most easily understood. For this reason some well-known stories have been retold in simpler English than their classic forms present. This is especially true of many tales for any young children reprinted by special arrangement from recent English sources. In some cases, where the substance has seemed of more importance to the child than the form, simpler words and forms of expression have been substituted for more complex or abstract phrases, and passages of minor importance have been condensed or omitted. The aim in making the selections in this set of books has been to interest the child and give it what it needs for normal growth; the material has been taken from many sources old and new; much of the reading matter presented has been familiar in one form or another, to generations of children; much has appeared for the first time within the last ten years; a considerable part has been prepared especially for the Treasury and a large part has been selected from the best writing in the various fields. It is the hope of the Editor that this "Treasury" or "Library" will justify its title by its real and fundamental service to children and parents alike. HAMILTON W. MABIE INTRODUCTION Since this series of books is intended for all young people from one to one hundred, it opens with about eighty of the old MOTHER GOOSE RHYMES. Nothing better was ever invented to tell to little folks who are young enough for lullabies. Their rhythm, their humor, and their pith will always cause us to prize them as the Babies' Classics. Next come a score of the most famous NURSERY TALES, the kind that children cry for and love to hear fifty times over. And since, just as soon as little folks like stories they love to hear them in rhyme, here are forty CHILDREN'S FAVORITE POEMS. What would young life be without "Puss in Boots" and "Little Red Riding Hood" and "The Sleeping Beauty"? Our TREASURY would indeed be poor without them, so these FAVORITE STORIES come next, yoked with some OLD-FASHIONED POEMS in story-form, as "The Night before Christmas," "The Wonderful World," and "Little Orphant Annie." All who love pets and animals have always liked FABLES, so here are the noted parables of Æsop, and the lesser-known but even more jolly tales from East Indian sources. The fairy-tale age is supposed to come from four to nine, but the editors are sure it lasts much longer than that. However this may be, the better half of our first volume is given up to FAIRY TALES AND LAUGHTER STORIES from all over the world. It ends with TALES FOR TINY TOTS, the kind that mother reads beside the fire at bedtime, some of them old, like the "Little Red Hen" and "Peter Rabbit," and some of them newer, like "The Greedy Brownie" and "The Birthday Honors of the Fairy Queen." WILLIAM BYRON FORBUSH. CONTENTS General Introduction to Young Folks' Treasury vii Introduction xi NURSERY RHYMES Hush-a-bye, Baby, on the Tree-top; Rock-a-bye, Baby thy Cradle is Green; Bye, Baby Bunting; Hush Thee, my Babby; Sleep, Baby, Sleep; This Little Pig Went to Market; etc., etc. 1-31 NURSERY TALES The Three Bears 32 Cinderella 35 The Three Brothers 41 The Wren and the Bear 42 Chicken-Licken 45 The Fox and the Cat 47 The Rats and their Son-in-Law 48 The Mouse and the Sausage 50 Johnny and the Golden Goose 51 Titty Mouse and Tatty Mouse 56 Teeny Tiny 58 The Spider and the Flea 60 The Little Shepherd Boy 61 The Three Spinners 62 The Cat and the Mouse in Partnership 65 The Sweet Soup 68 The Straw, the Coal, and the Bean 68 Why the Bear Has a Stumpy Tail 70 The Three Little Pigs 71 CHILDREN'S FAVORITE POEMS The Three Children 75 The Owl and the Pussy-Cat--_Edward Lear_ 75 Kindness to Animals 77 How Doth the Little Busy Bee--_Isaac Watts_ 77 Suppose--_Phoebe Cary_ 78 Twinkle, Twinkle 79 Pretty Cow--_Jane Taylor_ 80 The Three Little Kittens--_Eliza Lee Follen_ 80 The Land of Counterpane--_Robert Louis Stevenson_ 82 There was a Little Girl--_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 82 The Boy who never Told a Lie 83 Foreign Children--_Robert Louis Stevenson_ 84 The Unseen Playmate--_Robert Louis Stevenson_ 84 I saw Three Ships 85 A Was an Ant--_Edward Lear_ 86 The Table and the Chair--_Edward Lear_ 91 Precocious Piggy--_Thomas Hood_ 93 A Boy's Song--_James Hogg_ 94 Buttercups and Daisies--_Mary Howitt_ 95 The Violet--_Jane Taylor_ 96 If ever I See--_Lydia Maria Child_ 97 The Little Land--_Robert Louis Stevenson_ 97 A Lobster Quadrille--_Lewis Carroll_ 99 Where Go the Boats--_Robert Louis Stevenson_ 100 The Wind and the Moon--_George Macdonald_ 101 Where are you Going my Pretty Maid 103 The Lost Doll--_Charles Kingsley_ 104 Foreign Lands--_Robert Louis Stevenson_ 104 Bed in Summer--_Robert Louis Stevenson_ 105 Try Again 106 A Good Play--_Robert Louis Stevenson_ 106 Good Night and Good Morning--_Richard Monckton Milnes_ 107 The Wind--_Robert Louis Stevenson_ 108 The Spider and the Fly--_Mary Howitt_ 109 Let Dogs Delight to Bark and Bite--_Isaac Watts_ 110 Child's Evening Hymn--_Sabine Baring-Gould_ 111 CHILDREN'S FAVORITE STORIES Hansel and Gretel 113 The Fair Catherine and Pif-Paf Poltrie 120 The Wolf and the Fox 122 Descreet Hans 123 Puss in Boots 126 The Elves and the Shoemaker 131 Hans in Luck 133 Master of All Masters 138 Belling the Cat 139 Little Red Riding-Hood 140 The Nail 144 Jack and the Beanstalk 145 How to Tell a True Princess 149 The Sleeping Beauty 150 OLD FASHIONED POEMS The Man in the Moon--_James Whitcombe Riley_ 158 Sage Counsel--_Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch_ 160 Limericks--_Edward Lear_ 161 More Limericks--_Rudyard Kipling_ and _Anonymous_ 162 The Dead Doll--_Margaret Vandergrift_ 163 Little Things--_Ascribed to Julia A. F. Carney_ 165 The Golden Rule--_Unknown_ 165 Do the Best You Can--_Unknown_ 165 The Voice of Spring 166 The Lark and the Rook--_Unknown_ 166 Thanksgiving Day--_Lydia Maria Child_ 168 The Magpie's Nest--_Unknown_ 169 The Fairies of Caldon Low--_Mary Howitt_ 169 The Land of Story Books--_Robert Louis Stevenson_ 172 A Visit From St. Nicholas--_Clement Clarke Moore_ 173 Little Orphant Annie--_James Whitcombe Riley_ 175 The Chatterbox--_Ann Taylor_ 177 The Voice of Spring--_Felicia Dorothea Hemans_ 178 The History Lesson--_Anonymous_ 179 Song of Life--_Charles Mackay_ 180 The Good Time Coming--_Charles Mackay_ 181 Windy Nights--_Robert Louis Stevenson_ 183 The Wonderful World--_William Brighty Rands_ 184 Hark! Hark! The Lark--_William Shakespeare_ 185 Jog On, Jog On--_William Shakespeare_ 185 Sweet Story of Old--_Jemima Luke_ 186 My Shadow--_Robert Louis Stevenson_ 186 By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill--_Reginald Heber_ 187 The Wind in a Frolic--_William Howitt_ 188 The Graves of a Household--_Felicia Dorothea Hemans_ 189 We Are Seven--_William Wordsworth_ 190 The Better Land--_Felicia Dorothea Hemans_ 193 The Juvenile Orator--_David Everett_ 194 The Fox and the Crow--_Little B. (Taylor?)_ 195 The Use of Flowers--_Mary Howitt_ 196 Contented John--_Jane Taylor_ 197 The Old Man's Comforts, and How He Gained Them--_Robert Southey_ 198 The Frost--_Hannah Flagg Gould_ 199 The Battle of Blenheim--_Robert Southey_ 200 The Chameleon--_James Merrick_ (_from M. de Lamotte_) 202 The Blackberry Girl--_Unknown_ 205 Mabel on Midsummer Day--_Mary Howitt_ 207 Llewellyn and his Dog--_Willim Robert Spencer_ 214 The Snowbird's Song--_Francis C. Woodworth_ 217 For A' That and A' That--_Robert Burns_ 218 FABLES FABLES FROM ÆSOP The Goose that Laid Golden Eggs 220 The Boys and the Frogs 220 The Lion and the Mouse 220 The Fox and the Grapes 221 The Frog and the Ox 221 The Cat, the Monkey, and the Chestnuts 221 The Country Maid and Her Milkpail 222 The Ass in the Lion's Skin 222 The Tortoise and the Hare 223 The Vain Jackdaw 223 The Fox Without a Tail 224 The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing 224 The Crow and the Pitcher 225 The Man, his Son, and his Ass 225 FABLES OF INDIA _Adapted by P. V. Ramaswami Raju_ The Camel and the Pig 226 The Man and his Piece of Cloth 227 The Sea, the Fox, and the Wolf 227 The Birds and the Lime 228 The Raven and the Cattle 228 Tinsel and Lightning 229 The Ass and the Watchdog 229 The Lark and its Young Ones 230 The Two Gems 230 FAIRY TALES AND LAUGHTER STORIES SCANDINAVIAN STORIES The Hardy Tin Soldier--_Hans Christian Andersen_ 232 The Fir Tree--_Hans Christian Andersen_ 236 The Darning-Needle--_Hans Christian Andersen_ 245 Thumbelina--_Hans Christian Andersen_ 248 The Tinder-Box--_Hans Christian Andersen_ 258 Boots and his Brothers--_George Webbe Dasent_ 268 The Husband who was to Mind the House _George Webbe Dasent_ 273 Buttercup--_George Webbe Dasent_ 275 GERMAN STORIES Seven at One Blow--_Wilhelm and Jakob Grimm_ 279 One Eye, Two Eyes, Three Eyes--_Wilhelm and Jakob Grimm_ 286 The Musicians of Bremen--_Wilhelm and Jakob Grimm_ 293 The Fisherman and his Wife--_Wilhelm and Jakob Grimm_ 296 Little Snow-White--_Wilhelm and Jakob Grimm_ 304 The Goose Girl--_Wilhelm and Jakob Grimm_ 313 The Golden Bird--_Wilhelm and Jakob Grimm_ 318 FRENCH STORIES Beauty and the Beast--_Adapted by E. Nesbit_ 326 The White Cat--_The Comtesse d'Aulnoy_ 335 The Story of Pretty Goldilocks 341 Toads and Diamonds 346 ENGLISH STORIES The History of Tom-Thumb--_Adapted by Ernest Rhys_ 349 Jack the Giant Killer--_Adapted by Joseph Jacobs_ 356 The Three Sillies--_Adapted by Joseph Jacobs_ 366 CELTIC STORIES King O'Toole and his Goose--_Adapted by Joseph Jacobs_ 370 The Haughty Princess--_Adapted by Patrick Kennedy_ 373 Jack and his Master--_Adapted by Joseph Jacobs_ 376 Hudden and Dudden and Donald O'Neary _Adapted by Joseph Jacobs_ 383 Connla of the Golden Hair and the Fairy Maiden _Adapted by Patrick Weston Joyce_ 389 ITALIAN STORIES Pinocchio's Adventures in Wonderland--_Carlo Lorenzini_ 394 JAPANESE STORIES The Story of the Man who did not wish to Die _Adapted by Yei Theodora Ozaki_ 420 The Accomplished and Lucky Teakettle _Adapted by A. B. Mitford_ 427 The Tongue-cut Sparrow 428 Battle of the Monkey and the Crab 429 Momotaro, or Little Peachling 431 Uraschina Taro and the Turtle 432 EAST INDIAN STORIES The Son of Seven Queens--_Adapted by Joseph Jacobs_ 436 Who Killed the Otter's Babies--_Adapted by Walter Skeat_ 444 The Alligator and the Jackal--_Adapted by M. Frere_ 446 The Farmer and the Money Lender 450 Tit for Tat--_Adapted by M. Frere_ 452 Singh Rajah and the Cunning Little Jackals _Adapted by M. Frere_ 454 AMERICAN INDIAN STORIES The White Stone Canoe--_Adapted by H. R. Schoolcraft_ 456 The Maiden who Loved a Fish 459 The Star Wife 462 ARABIAN STORIES The Story of Caliph Stork 468 Persevere and Prosper--_Adapted by A. R. Montalba_ 473 CHINESE STORIES The Most Frugal of Men 476 The Moon-Cake 477 The Ladle that Fell from the Moon 478 The Young Head of the Family 480 A Dreadful Boar 484 RUSSIAN STORIES King Kojata 487 The Story of King Frost 492 TALES FOR TINY TOTS Tell Us a Tale--_Edward Shirley_ 496 Little Red Hen 497 In Search of a Baby--_F. Tapsell_ 498 Jock and I and the Others 500 Dolly Dimple--_F. Tapsell_ 502 The Tale of Peter Rabbit--_Beatrix Potter_ 503 The Miller, His Son, and Their Ass 506 The Visit to Santa Claus Land 507 The Greedy Brownie 511 The Fairies' Passage--_James Clarence Mangan_ 513 The World 515 FANCIFUL STORIES White Magic 516 The Brownies--_Juliana Horatia Ewing_ 517 The Story of Peter Pan 522 Sir Lark and King Sun--_George MacDonald_ 525 The Imps in the Heavenly Meadow--_Kate E. Bunce_ 526 The Birthday Honors of the Fairy Queen--_Hapgood Moore_ 531 ILLUSTRATIONS Thumbelina Came to Live with the Field-Mouse (_color_) Frontispiece Simple Simon Went a-Fishing Facing Page 6 There Was an Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe 8 Little Miss Muffet 8 Old Mother Hubbard 18 The Death of Cock-Robin 26 "Who Has Been Tasting My Soup?" 34 It Was Her Fairy Godmother! 38 I Was the Giant Great and Still, that Sits Upon the Pillow Hill 82 I Found My Poor Little Doll 104 A Fair Little Girl Sat Under a Tree 108 Hansel and Gretel 118 Do Not Grieve, Dear Master 126 Little Red Riding-Hood 140 Red Riding-Hood and the Wolf 142 Prince Florimond Finds the Sleeping Beauty 150 The Tortoise and the Hare 222 The Fox without a Tail 222 A Voice Said Aloud, "The Tin Soldier!" 234 Two-Eyes, the Goat, and the 'Magic Table 286 Little Snow-White and the Peddler-Woman 306 The Prince Starts Homeward with His Treasure 322 The Castle of the White Cat 336 She Was Happy All Day Long in Fairyland 340 This is the Valiant Cornishman Who Slew the Giant Cormoran 358 Connla and the Fairy Maiden 390 A Pheasant Also Came Flying and Said: "Give Me a Dumpling" 434 _(Many of the illustrations in this volume are reproduced by special permission of E. P. Dutton & Company, owners of the American rights.)_ CHILDHOOD'S FAVORITES AND FAIRY STORIES * * * * * NURSERY RHYMES Hush-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top, When the wind blows the cradle will rock; When the bough breaks the cradle will fall, Down will come baby, bough, cradle, and all. * * * * * Rock-a-bye, baby, thy cradle is green; Father's a nobleman, mother's a Queen; Betty's a lady, and wears a gold ring; And Johnny's a drummer, and drums for the King. * * * * * Bye, baby bunting, Daddy's gone a-hunting, To get a little rabbit-skin, To wrap his baby bunting in. * * * * * Hush thee, my babby, Lie still with thy daddy, Thy mammy has gone to the mill, To grind thee some wheat To make thee some meat, And so, my dear babby, lie still. * * * * * Sleep, baby, sleep! Thy father watches the sheep; Thy mother is shaking the dream-land tree, And down falls a little dream on thee: Sleep, baby, sleep! Sleep, baby, sleep. The large stars are the sheep, The wee stars are the lambs, I guess, The fair moon is the shepherdess: Sleep, baby, sleep! * * * * * This little pig went to market; This little pig stayed at home; This little pig had roast beef; This little pig had none; This little pig said, "Wee, wee! I can't find my way home." * * * * * Brow bender, Eye peeper, Nose smeller, Mouth eater, Chin chopper. Knock at the door--peep in Lift up the latch--walk in Eye winker, Tom Tinker, Nose smeller, Mouth eater, Chin chopper. Chin chopper. * * * * * Here sits the Lord Mayor, Here sit his two men, Here sits the cock, And here sits the hen; Here sit the chickens, And here they go in, Chippety, chippety, chippety chin. * * * * * Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man! So I do, master, as fast as I can: Pat it, and prick it, and mark it with T, Put it in the oven for Tommy and me. * * * * * Pat it, kiss it, Stroke it, bless it; Three days' sunshine, three days' rain, Little hand all well again. * * * * * Baa, baa, black sheep, Have you any wool? Yes, marry, have I, Three bags full: One for my master, One for my dame, And one for the little boy Who lives in the lane. * * * * * Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, Where have you been? I've been to London To look at the Queen Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, What did you there? I frightened a little mouse Under her chair. * * * * * Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross, To see an old lady upon a white horse, Rings on her fingers, and bells on her toes, She shall have music wherever she goes. * * * * * Bobby Shaftoe's gone to sea, Silver buckles on his knee; He'll come back and marry me, Pretty Bobby Shaftoe. Bobby Shaftoe's fat and fair, Combing down his yellow hair; He's my love for evermair, Pretty Bobby Shaftoe. * * * * * Tom, he was a piper's son, He learned to play when he was young, And all the tune that he could play Was, "Over the hills and far away," Over the hills, and a great way off, The wind will blow my top-knot off. Now, Tom with his pipe made such a noise That he well pleased both the girls and boys, And they always stopped to hear him play "Over the hills and far away." * * * * * Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home, Thy house is on fire, thy children all gone: All but one whose name is Ann, And she crept under the pudding-pan. * * * * * The north wind doth blow, And we shall have snow, And what will the robin do then, Poor thing? He'll sit in a barn, And keep himself warm, And hide his head under his wing, Poor thing! * * * * * I had a little pony, His name was Dapple-gray, I lent him to a lady, To ride a mile away; She whipped him, she lashed him, She rode him through the mire; I would not lend my pony now For all the lady's hire. * * * * * I had a little doggy that used to sit and beg; But Doggy tumbled down the stairs and broke his little leg. Oh! Doggy, I will nurse you, and try to make you well, And you shall have a collar with a little silver bell. * * * * * Simple Simon met a pieman, Going to the fair; Says Simple Simon to the pieman, "Let me taste your ware." Says the pieman to Simple Simon, "Show me first your penny." Says Simple Simon to the pieman, "Indeed I have not any." Simple Simon went a-fishing For to catch a whale; But all the water he could find Was in his mother's pail! * * * * * Jack and Jill went up the hill, To fetch a pail of water; Jack fell down, and broke his crown And Jill came tumbling after. Up Jack got and home did trot As fast as he could caper; Went to bed to mend his head With vinegar and brown paper. Jill came in and she did grin, To see his paper plaster, Mother, vexed, did whip her next, For causing Jack's disaster. * * * * * Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn, The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn, Where's the boy that looks after the sheep? He's under the haycock, fast asleep. * * * * * Old Mother Goose, when She wanted to wander, Would ride through the air On a very fine gander. Mother Goose had a house, 'T was built in a wood, Where an owl at the door For sentinel stood. She had a son Jack, A plain-looking lad; He was not very good, Nor yet very bad. She sent him to market, A live goose he bought: "Here! mother," says he, "It will not go for nought." Jack's goose and her gander Grew very fond; They'd both eat together, Or swim in one pond. Jack found one morning, As I have been told, His goose had laid him An egg of pure gold. Jack rode to his mother, The news for to tell. She called him a good boy, And said it was well. * * * * * Goosey, goosey, gander, Where shall I wander? Upstairs, downstairs, And in my lady's chamber. There I met an old man Who would not say his prayers; I took him by the left leg, And threw him downstairs. * * * * * I'll tell you a story About Mary Morey, And now my story's begun, I'll tell you another About her brother, And now my story's done. * * * * * Three wise men of Gotham, Went to sea in a bowl; If the bowl had been stronger, My song had been longer. * * * * * There was a crooked man, And he went a crooked mile, He found a crooked sixpence Upon a crooked stile: He bought a crooked cat, That caught a crooked mouse-- And they all lived together In a little crooked house. * * * * * There was a man in our town, And he was wondrous wise, He jumped into a bramble bush, And scratched out both his eyes; But when he saw his eyes were out, With all his might and main, He jumped into another bush, And scratched 'em in again. * * * * * Hey! diddle diddle, The cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon; The little dog laughed To see such sport, While the dish ran away with the spoon. * * * * * Hickory, dickory, dock, The mouse ran up the clock; The clock struck one, The mouse ran down, Hickory, dickory, dock. * * * * * There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, She had so many children she didn't know what to do; She gave them some broth without any bread, She whipped them all soundly and put them to bed. * * * * * Little Miss Muffet Sat on a tuffet, Eating her curds and whey; There came a great spider, And sat down beside her, And frightened Miss Muffet away. * * * * * If all the seas were one sea, What a _great_ sea that would be! And if all the trees were one tree, What a _great_ tree that would be! And if all the axes were one axe, What a _great_ axe that would be! And if all the men were one man, What a _great_ man he would be! And if the _great_ man took the _great_ axe, And cut down the _great_ tree, And let it fall into the _great_ sea, What a splish splash _that_ would be! * * * * * There was an old man, And he had a calf, And that's half; He took him out of the stall, And tied him to the wall, And that's all. * * * * * The man in the wilderness asked me, How many strawberries grew in the sea? I answered him as I thought good, As many as red herrings grew in the wood * * * * * If all the world were apple-pie, And all the sea were ink, And all the trees were bread and cheese, What should we have for drink? * * * * * I saw a ship a-sailing, A-sailing on the sea; And it was full of pretty things For baby and for me. There were sweetmeats in the cabin, And apples in the hold; The sails were made of silk, And the masts were made of gold. The four-and-twenty sailors That stood between the decks, Were four-and-twenty white mice. With chains about their necks. The captain was a duck, With a packet on his back; And when the ship began to move, The captain cried, "Quack, quack!" * * * * * My dear, do you know, How a long time ago, Two poor little children, Whose names I don't know, Were stolen away on a fine summer's day, And left in a wood, as I've heard people say. And when it was night, So sad was their plight! The sun it went down, And the moon gave no light! They sobbed and they sighed, and they bitterly cried And the poor little things, they lay down and died. And when they were dead, The robins so red, Brought strawberry-leaves And over them spread; And all the day long, They sung them this song: "Poor babes in the wood! Poor babes in the wood! Oh don't you remember the babes in the wood?" * * * * * The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts All on a summer's day; The Knave of Hearts, he stole the tarts, And took them clean away. The King of Hearts called for the tarts, And beat the Knave full sore; The Knave of Hearts brought back the tarts, And vowed he'd steal no more. * * * * * I had a little husband, No bigger than my thumb; I put him in a pint-pot, And there I bade him drum. I bought a little horse, That galloped up and down; I bridled him, and saddled And sent him out of town. I gave him little garters, To garter up his hose, And a little handkerchief, To wipe his little nose. * * * * * Sing a song of sixpence, A pocket full of rye; Four-and-twenty blackbirds Baked in a pie; When the pie was opened The birds began to sing; Was not that a dainty dish To set before the King? The King was in his counting-house, Counting out his money; The Queen was in the parlor, Eating bread and honey; The maid was in the garden Hanging out the clothes; When up came a blackbird, And nipped off her nose. * * * * * Little Bo-peep, she lost her sheep, And can't tell where to find them; Leave them alone, and they'll come home, And bring their tails behind them. Little Bo-peep fell fast asleep, And dreamed she heard them bleating; When she awoke she found it a joke, For they still were all fleeting. Then up she took her little crook, Determined for to find them; She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed, For they'd left their tails behind them! It happened one day, as Bo-peep did stray, Unto a meadow hard by-- There she espied their tails side by side, All hung on a tree to dry. She heaved a sigh, and wiped her eye, And over the hillocks she raced; And tried what she could, as a shepherdess should, That each tail should be properly placed. * * * * * What are little boys made of, made of? What are little boys made of? Snips and snails, and puppy-dogs' tails; And that's what little boys are made of, made of. What are little girls made of, made of? What are little girls made of? Sugar and spice, and all that's nice; And that's what little girls are made of, made of. * * * * * A farmer went trotting Upon his gray mare; Bumpety, bumpety, bump! With his daughter behind him, So rosy and fair; Lumpety, lumpety, lump! A raven cried "Croak"; And they all tumbled down; Bumpety, bumpety, bump! The mare broke her knees, And the farmer his crown; Lumpety, lumpety, lump. The mischievous raven Flew laughing away; Bumpety, bumpety, bump! And vowed he would serve them The same the next day; Bumpety, bumpety, bump! * * * * * This is the way the ladies ride-- Saddle-a-side, saddle-a-side! This is the way the gentlemen ride-- Sitting astride, sitting astride! This is the way the grandmothers ride-- Bundled and tied, bundled and tied! This is the way the babykins ride-- Snuggled inside, snuggled inside! * * * * * WHAT DOES LITTLE BIRDIE SAY? What does little birdie say, In her nest at peep of day? "Let me fly," says little birdie, "Mother, let me fly away." Birdie, rest a little longer, Till the little wings are stronger. So she rests a little longer, Then she flies away. What does little baby say, In her bed at peep of day? Baby says, like little birdie, "Let me rise and fly away." Baby, sleep a little longer, Till the little limbs are stronger. If she sleeps a little longer, Baby, too, shall fly away. ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON * * * * * GOOD NIGHT Little baby, lay your head On your pretty cradle-bed; Shut your eye-peeps, now the day And the light are gone away; All the clothes are tucked in tight; Little baby dear, good night. Yes, my darling, well I know How the bitter wind doth blow; And the winter's snow and rain Patter on the window-pane: But they cannot come in here, To my little baby dear; For the window shutteth fast, Till the stormy night is past; And the curtains warm are spread Round about her cradle-bed: So till morning shineth bright, Little baby dear, good night. JANE TAYLOR * * * * * SWEET AND LOW Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me: While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON * * * * * BABY-LAND Which is the way to Baby-Land? Any one can tell; Up one flight, To your right; Please to ring the bell. What can you see in Baby-Land? Little folks in white, Downy heads, Cradle-beds, Faces pure and bright. What do they do in Baby-Land? Dream and wake and play, Laugh and crow, Shout and grow, Jolly times have they. What do they say in Baby-Land? Why, the oddest things; Might as well Try to tell What a birdie sings. Who is the Queen of Baby-Land? Mother kind and sweet; And her love, Born above, Guides the little feet. GEORGE COOPER * * * * * Old Mother Hubbard, she went to the cupboard, To get her poor dog a bone. When she got there, the cupboard was bare, And so the poor dog had none. She went to the baker's to buy him some bread, But when she came back the poor dog was dead. She went to the undertaker's to buy him a coffin, And when she came back the dog was laughing. She went to the draper's to buy him some linen, And when she came back the good dog was spinning. She went to the hosier's to buy him some hose, And when she came back he was dressed in his clothes. The dame made a curtsy, the dog made a bow, The dame said "your servant," the dog said "Bow-wow." She went to the hatter's to buy him a hat, And when she came back he was feeding the cat. She went to the tailor's to buy him a coat, And when she came back he was riding the goat. She went to the barber's to buy him a wig, And when she came back he was dancing a jig. She went to the butcher's to get him some tripe, And when she came back he was smoking a pipe. She went to the fish-shop to buy him some fish, And when she came back he was washing the dish. She went to the tavern for white wine and red, And when she came back the dog stood on his head. * * * * * As I was going to St. Ives I met a man with seven wives; Every wife had seven sacks, Every sack had seven cats, Every cat had seven kits. Kits, cats, sacks, and wives, How many were going to St. Ives? * * * * * POLLY Brown eyes, straight nose; Dirt pies, rumpled clothes. Torn books, spoilt toys: Arch looks, unlike a boy's; Little rages, obvious arts; (Three her age is), cakes, tarts; Falling down off chairs; Breaking crown down stairs; Catching flies on the pane; Deep sighs--cause not plain; Bribing you with kisses For a few farthing blisses. Wide-a-wake; as you hear, "Mercy's sake, quiet, dear!" New shoes, new frock; Vague views of what's o'clock When it's time to go to bed, And scorn sublime for what is said Folded hands, saying prayers, Understands not nor cares-- Thinks it odd, smiles away; Yet may God hear her pray! Bed gown white, kiss Dolly; Good night!--that's Polly, Fast asleep, as you see, Heaven keep my girl for me! WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS * * * * * CRADLE HYMN Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber; Holy angels guard thy bed; Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head. Sleep, my babe, thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide; All without thy care, or payment, All thy wants are well supplied. How much better thou'rt attended Than the Son of God could be, When from heaven He descended, And became a child like thee! Soft and easy is thy cradle; Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, When His birthplace was a stable, And His softest bed was hay. See the kindly shepherds round him, Telling wonders from the sky! When they sought Him, there they found Him, With his Virgin-Mother by. See the lovely babe a-dressing; Lovely infant, how He smiled! When He wept, the mother's blessing Soothed and hushed the holy child. Lo, He slumbers in His manger, Where the honest oxen fed; --Peace, my darling! here's no danger! Here's no ox a-near thy bed! Mayst thou live to know and fear Him, Trust and love Him all thy days; Then go dwell forever near Him, See His face, and sing His praise! I could give thee thousand kisses, Hoping what I most desire; Not a mother's fondest wishes Can to greater joys aspire. ISAAC WATTS * * * * * I LIKE LITTLE PUSSY I like little Pussy, Her coat is so warm; And if I don't hurt her She'll do me no harm. So I'll not pull her tail, Nor drive her away, But Pussy and I Very gently will play; She shall sit by my side, And I'll give her some food; And she'll love me because I am gentle and good. I'll pat little Pussy, And then she will purr, And thus show her thanks For my kindness to her; I'll not pinch her ears, Nor tread on her paw, Lest I should provoke her To use her sharp claw; I never will vex her, Nor make her displeased, For Pussy can't bear To be worried or teased. JANE TAYLOR * * * * * THE GRAVEL PATH Baby mustn't frown, When she tumbles down; If the wind should change--Ah me, What a face her face would be! Rub away the dirt, Say she wasn't hurt; What a world 'twould be--O my, If all who fell began to cry! LAURENCE ALMA TADEMA * * * * * Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a tree, Up went pussy-cat, and down went he; Down came pussy-cat, and away Robin ran; Said little Robin Redbreast, "Catch me if you can." Little Robin Redbreast jumped upon a wall, Pussy-cat jumped after him, and almost got a fall; Little Robin chirped and sang, and what did pussy say? Pussy-cat said naught but "Mew," and Robin flew away. * * * * * SLEEP, MY TREASURE Sleep, sleep, my treasure, The long day's pleasure Has tired the birds, to their nests they creep; The garden still is Alight with lilies, But all the daisies are fast asleep. Sleep, sleep, my darling, Dawn wakes the starling, The sparrow stirs when he sees day break; But all the meadow Is wrapped in shadow, And you must sleep till the daisies wake! E. NESBIT * * * * * LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF Oh, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight, Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright; The woods and the glens from the tower which we see, They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee. Oh, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, It calls but the warders that guard thy repose; Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red, Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed. Oh, hush thee, my babie, the time will soon come, When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum; Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may, For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day. SIR WALTER SCOTT * * * * * THE ORPHAN'S SONG I had a little bird, I took it from the nest; I prest it and blest it, And nurst it in my breast. I set it on the ground, Danced round and round, And sang about it so cheerly, With "Hey, my little bird, And ho! my little bird, And oh! but I love thee dearly!" I make a little feast Of food soft and sweet, I hold it in my breast, And coax it to eat; I pit, and I pat, I call this and that, And I sing about so cheerly, With "Hey, my little bird, And ho! my little bird, And oh! but I love thee dearly!" SYDNEY DOBELL * * * * * THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF COCK ROBIN Who killed Cock Robin? "I," said the Sparrow, "With my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin." Who saw him die? "I," said the Fly, "With my little eye, I saw him die." Who caught his blood? "I," said the Fish, "With my little dish, I caught his blood." Who'll make his shroud? "I," said the Beetle, "With my thread and needle, I'll make his shroud." Who'll bear the torch? "I," said the Linnet, "I'll come in a minute, I'll bear the torch." Who'll be the clerk? "I," said the Lark, "I'll say Amen in the dark; I'll be the clerk." Who'll dig his grave? "I," said the Owl, "With my spade and trowel, I'll dig his grave." Who'll be the parson? "I," said the Rook, "With my little book, I'll be the parson." Who'll be chief mourner? "I," said the Dove, "I mourn for my love; I'll be chief mourner." Who'll sing his dirge? "I," said the Thrush, "As I sing in a bush, I'll sing his dirge." * * * * * DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY STARS? Do you know how many stars There are shining in the skies? Do you know how many clouds Ev'ry day go floating by? God in heaven has counted all, He would miss one should it fall. Do you know how many children Go to little beds at night, And without a care or sorrow, Wake up in the morning light? God in heaven each name can tell, Loves you, too, and loves you well. * * * * * WHERE DO ALL THE DAISIES GO? Where do all the daisies go? I know, I know! Underneath the snow they creep, Nod their little heads and sleep, In the springtime out they peep; That is where they go! Where do all the birdies go? I know, I know! Far away from winter snow To the fair, warm South they go; There they stay till daisies blow, That is where they go! Where do all the babies go? I know, I know! In the glancing firelight warm, Safely sheltered from all harm, Soft they lie on mother's arm, That is where they go! UNKNOWN * * * * * Cock crows in the morn, To tell us to rise, And he who lies late Will never be wise. For early to bed, And early to rise, Is the way to be healthy And wealthy and wise. * * * * * THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT This is the house that Jack built. This is the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the cock that crowed in the morn, That waked the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the farmer sowing his corn, That kept the cock that crowed in the morn, That waked the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. * * * * * TREE ON THE HILL On yonder hill there stands a tree; Tree on the hill, and the hill stood still. And on the tree there was a branch; Branch on the tree, tree on the hill, and the hill stood still. And on the branch there was a nest; Nest on the branch, branch on the tree, tree on the hill, and the hill stood still. And in the nest there was an egg; Egg in the nest, nest on the branch, branch on the tree, tree on the hill, and the hill stood still. And in the egg there was a bird; Bird in the egg, egg in the nest, nest on the branch, branch on the tree, tree on the hill, and the hill stood still. And on the bird there was a feather; Feather on the bird, bird in the egg, egg in the nest, nest on the branch, branch on the tree, tree on the hill, and the hill stood still. * * * * * A LITTLE BOY'S POCKET Do you know what's in my pottet? Such a lot of treasures in it! Listen now while I bedin it: Such a lot of sings it holds, And everysin dats in my pottet, And when, and where, and how I dot it. First of all, here's in my pottet A beauty shell, I pit'd it up: And here's the handle of a tup That somebody has broked at tea; The shell's a hole in it, you see: Nobody knows dat I dot it, I teep it safe here in my pottet. And here's my ball too in my pottet, And here's my pennies, one, two, free, That Aunty Mary dave to me, To-morrow day I'll buy a spade, When I'm out walking with the maid; I tant put that in here my pottet! But I can use it when I've dot it. Here's some more sings in my pottet, Here's my lead, and here's my string; And once I had an iron ring, But through a hole it lost one day, And this is what I always say-- A hole's the worst sing in a pottet, Be sure and mend it when you've dot it. UNKNOWN * * * * * NURSERY TALES * * * * * THE THREE BEARS Little Goldilocks was a pretty girl who lived once upon a time in a far-off country. One day she was sitting on the hearthrug playing with her two kittens, and you would have thought she was as happy as a queen, and quite contented to stay where she was instead of wanting to run about the world meddling with other people's property. But it happened that she was rather a mischievous little maid, and could not resist teasing her pets, so one of them scratched her, and then she would play with them no longer. She got up and trotted away into the wood behind her mother's house, and it was such a warm, pleasant day that she wandered on and on until she came into a part of the wood where she had never been before. Now, in this wood there lived a family of three Bears. The first was a GREAT BIG BEAR, the second was a MIDDLING-SIZED BEAR, and the third was a LITTLE TEENY TINY BEAR, and they all lived together in a funny little house, and very happy they were. Goldilocks stopped when she came to the Bears' house, and began to wonder who lived there. "I'll just look in and see," she said, and so she did; but there was no one there, for the Bears had all gone out for a morning walk, whilst the soup they were going to have for dinner cooled upon the table. Goldilocks was rather hungry after her walk, and the soup smelt so good that she began to wish the people of the house would come home and invite her to have some. But although she looked everywhere, under the table and into the cupboards, she could find no one, and at last she could resist no longer, but made up her mind to take just a little sip to see how the soup tasted. The soup had been put into three bowls--a Great Big Bowl for the Great Big Bear, a Middling-sized Bowl for the Middling-sized Bear, and a Teeny Tiny Bowl for the Teeny Tiny Bear; beside each bowl lay a spoon, and Goldilocks took one and helped herself to a spoonful of soup from the Great Big Bowl. Ugh! how it burnt her mouth; it was so hot with pepper that she did not like it at all; still, she was very hungry, so she thought she would try again. This time she took a sip of the Middling-sized Bear's soup, but she liked that no better, for it was too salt. But when she tasted the Teeny Tiny Bear's soup it was just as she liked it; so she ate it up every drop, without thinking twice about it. When she had finished her dinner she noticed three chairs standing by the wall. One was a Great Big Chair, and she climbed upon that and sat down. Oh, dear! how hard it was! She was sure she could not sit there for long, so she climbed up on the next, which was only a Middling-sized Chair, but that was too soft for her taste; so she went on to the last, which was a Teeny Tiny Chair and suited her exactly. It was so comfortable that she sat on and on until, if you'll believe it, she actually sat the bottom out. Then, of course, she was comfortable no longer, so she got up and began to wonder what she should do next. There was a staircase in the Bears' house, and Goldilocks thought she would go up it and see where it led to. So up she went, and when she reached the top she laughed outright, for the Bears' bedroom was the funniest she had ever seen. In the middle of the room stood a Great Big Bed, on one side of it there was a Middling-sized Bed, and on the other side there was a Teeny Tiny Bed. Goldilocks was sleepy, so she thought she would lie down and have a little nap. First she got upon the Great Big Bed, but it was just as hard as the Great Big Chair had been; so she jumped off and tried the Middling-sized Bed, but it was so soft that she sank right down into the feather cushions and was nearly smothered. "I will try the Teeny Tiny Bed," she said, and so she did, and it was so comfortable that she soon fell fast asleep. Whilst she lay there, dreaming of all sorts of pleasant things, the three Bears came home from their walk very hungry and quite ready for their dinners. But, oh! dear me! how cross the Great Big Bear looked when he saw his spoon had been used and thrown under the table. "WHO HAS BEEN TASTING MY SOUP?" he cried, in a Great Big Voice. "AND WHO HAS BEEN TASTING MINE?" cried the Middling-sized Bear, in a Middling-sized Voice. "BUT WHO HAS BEEN TASTING MINE AND TASTED IT ALL UP?" cried the poor little Teeny Tiny Bear in a Teeny Tiny Voice, with the tears running down his Teeny Tiny Face. When the Great Big Bear went to sit down in his Great Big Chair, he cried out in his Great Big Voice: "WHO HAS BEEN SITTING ON MY CHAIR?" And the Middling-sized Bear cried, in a Middling-sized Voice: "WHO HAS BEEN SITTING ON MY CHAIR?" But the Teeny Tiny Bear cried out in a Teeny Tiny Voice of anger: "WHO HAS BEEN SITTING ON MY CHAIR, AND SAT THE BOTTOM OUT?" By this time the Bears were sure that someone had been in their house quite lately; so they looked about to see if someone were not there still. There was certainly no one downstairs, so they went up the staircase to their bedroom. As soon as the Great Big Bear looked at his bed, he cried out, in his Great Big Voice: "WHO HAS BEEN LYING ON MY BED?" And the Middling-sized Bear, seeing that the coverlet was all rumpled, cried out, in a Middling-sized Voice: "WHO HAS BEEN LYING ON MY BED?" But the Teeny Tiny Bear cried out, in a Teeny Tiny Voice of astonishment: "WHO HAS BEEN LYING ON MY BED AND LIES THERE STILL?" Now, when the Great Big Bear began to speak, Goldilocks dreamt that there was a bee buzzing in the room, and when the Middling-sized Bear began to speak, she dreamt that it was flying out of the window; but when the Teeny Tiny Bear began to speak, she dreamt that the bee had come back and stung her on the ear, and up she jumped. Oh! how frightened she was when she saw the three Bears standing beside her. She hopped out of bed and in a second was out through the open window. Never stopping to wonder if the fall had hurt her, she got up and ran and ran and ran until she could go no farther, always thinking that the Bears were close behind her. And when at length she fell down in a heap on the ground, because she was too tired to run any more, it was her own mother who picked her up, because in her fright she had run straight home without knowing it. * * * * * CINDERELLA Once upon a time there lived a noble gentleman who had one dear little daughter. Poor child! her own kind mother was dead, and her father, who loved her very dearly, was afraid that his little girl was sometimes lonely. So he married a grand lady who had two daughters of her own, and who, he thought, would be kind and good to his little one. But no sooner did the stepmother enter her new home than she began to show her true character. Her stepdaughter was so much prettier and sweeter than her own children, that she was jealous of her, and gave her all the hard work of the house to do, whilst the two proud sisters spent their time at pleasant parties and entertainments. The only pleasure the poor child had was to spend her evenings sitting in the chimney-corner, resting her weary limbs, and for this reason her sisters mockingly nicknamed her "Cinderella." The sisters' fine clothes made Cinderella feel very shabby; but, in her little torn frock and ragged shoes, she was a thousand times more lovely than they. Now, it chanced that the King's son gave a grand ball, to which he invited all the lords and ladies in the country, and, amongst the rest, Cinderella's two sisters were asked. How pleased and excited they were when the invitation arrived! For days they could talk of nothing but the clothes they should wear and the grand folk they hoped to meet. When at last the great day arrived, Cinderella was kept running about from early till late, decking the sisters, and dressing their hair. "Don't you wish you were going to the ball?" said one of them. "Indeed I do," sighed the poor little maid. The sisters burst out laughing. "A pretty spectacle _you_ would be," they said rudely. "Go back to your cinders--they are fit company for rags." Then, stepping carefully into their carriage so that they might not crush their fine clothes, they drove away to the ball. Cinderella went back to her chimney-corner, and tried not to feel envious, but the tears _would_ gather in the pretty eyes, and trickle down the sorrowful little face. "What are you crying for, child?" cried a silvery voice. Cinderella started, and raised her eyes. Who could it be? Then in a moment she knew--it was her fairy Godmother! "I do so want----" began Cinderella; then her sobs stopped her. "To go to the ball," finished the Godmother. Cinderella nodded. "Well, leave off crying--be a good girl, and you shall go. Run quickly into the garden, and bring the largest pumpkin you can find." Cinderella could not imagine how a pumpkin could help her to go to the ball, but her only thought was to obey her Godmother. In a few moments she was back again, with a splendid pumpkin. Her Godmother scooped out the inside--one touch of the wand, and the pumpkin was a golden coach, lined with white satin. "Now, godchild, quick--the mouse-trap from the pantry!" "Here it is, Godmother," said Cinderella breathlessly. One by one six fat sleek mice passed through the trap door. As each appeared, a touch of the wand transformed it into a cream-colored horse, fit for a queen. "Now, Cinderella, can you find a coachman?" "There is a large gray rat in the rat-trap--would he do, Godmother?" "Run and fetch him, child, and then I can judge," So Cinderella ran to fetch the rat, and her Godmother said he was just made for a coachman; and I think you would have agreed with her had you seen him a moment later, with his powdered wig and silk stockings. Six lizards from behind the pumpkin-frame became six footmen in splendid liveries--you would have thought they had been footmen all their lives. Cinderella was so excited that she could scarcely speak. "Oh! Godmother," she cried, "it is all so lovely!" Then suddenly she thought of her shabby frock. "There is my white muslin," she said wistfully, "if--do you think----" But before Cinderella could realize what was happening, her Godmother's wand tapped her lightly on the shoulder, and in place of the shabby frock, there was a gleam of satin, silver, and pearls. Ah! who can describe a robe made by the fairies? It was white as snow, and as dazzling; round the hem hung a fringe of diamonds, sparkling like dew-drops in the sunshine. The lace about the throat and arms could only have been spun by fairy spiders. Surely it was a dream! Cinderella put her daintily-gloved hand to her throat, and softly touched the pearls that encircled her neck. "Come, child," said the Godmother, "or you will be late." As Cinderella moved, the firelight shone upon her dainty shoes. "They are of diamonds," she said. "No," answered her Godmother, smiling; "they are better than that--they are of glass, made by the fairies. And now, child, go, and enjoy yourself to your heart's content. Only remember, if you stay at the palace one instant after midnight, your coach and servants will vanish, and you will be the little gray Cinderella once more!" A few moments later, the coach dashed into the royal courtyard, the door was flung open, and Cinderella alighted. As she walked slowly up the richly-carpeted staircase, there was a murmur of admiration, and the King's son hastened to meet her. "Never," said he to himself, "have I seen anyone so lovely!" He led her into the ball-room, where the King, who was much taken with her sweet face and pretty, modest manners, whispered to the Queen that she must surely be a foreign Princess. The evening passed away in a dream of delight, Cinderella dancing with no one but the handsome young Prince, and being waited on by his own hands at supper-time. The two sisters could not recognize their ragged little sister in the beautiful and graceful lady to whom the Prince paid so much attention, and felt quite pleased and flattered when she addressed a few words to them. Presently a clock chimed the three quarters past eleven, and, remembering her Godmother's warning, Cinderella at once took leave of the Prince, and, jumping into her coach, was driven rapidly home. Here she found her Godmother waiting to hear all about the ball. "It was _lovely_," said Cinderella; "and oh! Godmother, there is to be another to-morrow night, and I _should_ so much like to go to it!" "Then you shall," replied the kind fairy, and, kissing her godchild tenderly, she vanished. When the sisters returned from the ball, they found a sleepy little maiden sitting in the chimney-corner, waiting for them. "How late you are!" cried Cinderella, yawning. "Are you not very tired?" "Not in the least," they answered, and then they told her what a delightful ball it had been, and how the loveliest Princess in the world had been there, and had spoken to them, and admired their pretty dresses. "Who was she?" asked Cinderella slyly. "That we cannot say," answered the sisters. "She would not tell her name, though the Prince begged her to do so on bended knee." "Dear sister," said Cinderella, "I, too, should like to see the beautiful Princess. Will you not lend me your old yellow gown, that I may go to the ball to-morrow with you?" "What!" cried her sister angrily; "lend one of my dresses to a little cinder-maid? Don't talk nonsense, child!" The next night, the sisters were more particular than ever about their attire, but at last they were dressed, and as soon as their carriage had driven away, the Godmother appeared. Once more she touched her godchild with her wand, and in a moment she was arrayed in a beautiful dress that seemed as though it had been woven of moon-beams and sunshine, so radiantly did it gleam and shimmer. She put her arms round her Godmother's neck and kissed and thanked her. "Goodbye, childie; enjoy yourself, but whatever you do, remember to leave the ball before the clock strikes twelve," the Godmother said, and Cinderella promised. But the hours flew by so happily and so swiftly that Cinderella forgot her promise, until she happened to look at a clock and saw that it was on the stroke of twelve. With a cry of alarm she fled from the room, dropping, in her haste, one of the little glass slippers; but, with the sound of the clock strokes in her ears, she dared not wait to pick it up. The Prince hurried after her in alarm, but when he reached the entrance hall, the beautiful Princess had vanished, and there was no one to be seen but a forlorn little beggar-maid creeping away into the darkness. Poor little Cinderella!--she hurried home through the dark streets, weary, and overwhelmed with shame. The fire was out when she reached her home, and there was no Godmother waiting to receive her; but she sat down in the chimney-corner to wait her sisters' return. When they came in they could speak of nothing but the wonderful things that had happened at the ball. The beautiful Princess had been there again, they said, but had disappeared just as the clock struck twelve, and though the Prince had searched everywhere for her, he had been unable to find her. "He was quite beside himself with grief," said the elder sister, "for there is no doubt he hoped to make her his bride." Cinderella listened in silence to all they had to say, and, slipping her hand into her pocket, felt that the one remaining glass slipper was safe, for it was the only thing of all her grand apparel that remained to her. On the following morning there was a great noise of trumpets and drums, and a procession passed through the town, at the head of which rode the King's son. Behind him came a herald, bearing a velvet cushion, upon which rested a little glass slipper. The herald blew a blast upon the trumpet, and then read a proclamation saying that the King's son would wed any lady in the land who could fit the slipper upon her foot, if she could produce another to match it. Of course, the sisters tried to squeeze their feet into the slipper, but it was of no use--they were much too large. Then Cinderella shyly begged that she might try. How the sisters laughed with scorn when the Prince knelt to fit the slipper on the cinder-maid's foot; but what was their surprise when it slipped on with the greatest ease, and the next moment Cinderella produced the other from her pocket. Once more she stood in the slippers, and once more the sisters saw before them the lovely Princess who was to be the Prince's bride. For at the touch of the magic shoes, the little gray frock disappeared for ever, and in place of it she wore the beautiful robe the fairy Godmother had given to her. The sisters hung their heads with sorrow and vexation; but kind little Cinderella put her arms round their necks, kissed them, and forgave them for all their unkindness, so that they could not help but love her. The Prince could not bear to part from his little love again, so he carried her back to the palace in his grand coach, and they were married that very day. Cinderella's stepsisters were present at the feast, but in the place of honor sat the fairy Godmother. So the poor little cinder-maid married the Prince, and in time they came to be King and Queen, and lived happily ever after. * * * * * THE THREE BROTHERS There was once a man who had three sons, but no fortune except the house he lived in. Now, each of them wanted to have the house after his death; but their father was just as fond of one as of the other, and did not know how to treat them all fairly. He did not want to sell the house, because it had belonged to his forefathers, or he might have divided the money between them. At last an idea came into his head, and he said to his sons: "Go out into the world, and each learn a trade, and when you come home, the one who makes best use of his handicraft shall have the house." The sons were quite content with this plan, and the eldest decided to be a farrier, the second a barber, and the third a fencing master. They fixed a time when they would all meet at home again, and then they set off. It so happened that they each found a clever master with whom they learned their business thoroughly. The farrier shod the King's horses, and he thought, "I shall certainly be the one to have the house." The barber shaved nobody but grand gentlemen, so he thought it would fall to him. The fencing master got many blows, but he set his teeth, and would not let himself be put out, because he thought, "If I am afraid of a blow, I shall never get the house." Now, when the given time had passed, they all went home together to their father; but they did not know how to get a good opportunity of showing off their powers, and sat down to discuss the matter. Suddenly a hare came running over the field. "Ah!" cried the barber, "she comes just in the nick of time." He took up his bowl and his soap, and got his lather by the time the hare came quite close, then he soaped her and shaved her as she raced along, without giving her a cut or missing a single hair. His father, astonished, said: "If the others don't look out, the house will be yours." Before long a gentleman came along in his carriage at full gallop. "Now, father, you shall see what I can do," said the farrier and he ran after the carriage and tore the four shoes off the horse as he galloped along, then, without stopping a second, shod him with new ones. "You are a fine fellow, indeed," said his father. "You know your business as well as your brother. I don't know which I shall give the house to at this rate." Then the third one said: "Let me have a chance, too, father." As it was beginning to rain, he drew his sword and swirled it round and round his head, so that not a drop fell on him. Even when the rain grew heavier, so heavy that it seemed as if it were being poured from the sky out of buckets, he swung the sword faster and faster, and remained as dry as if he had been under a roof. His father was amazed, and said: "You have done the best; the house is yours." Both the other brothers were quite satisfied with this decision, and as they were all so devoted to one another, they lived together in the house, and carried on their trades, by which they made plenty of money, since they were so perfect in them. They lived happily together to a good old age, and when one fell ill and died, the others grieved so much over him that they pined away and soon after departed this life. Then, as they had been so fond of one another, they were all buried in one grave. * * * * * THE WREN AND THE BEAR One summer's day the bear and the wolf were walking in the forest, and the bear heard a bird singing very sweetly, and said: "Brother Wolf, what kind of bird is that which is singing so delightfully?" "That is the King of the birds, before whom we must do reverence," replied the wolf; but it was only the wren. "If that be so," said the bear, "I should like to see his royal palace; come, lead me to it." "That cannot be as you like," replied the wolf. "You must wait till the Queen returns." Soon afterward the Queen arrived with some food in her bill, and the King, too, to feed their young ones, and the bear would have gone off to see them, but the wolf, pulling his ear, said: "No, you must wait till the Queen and the King are both off again." So, after observing well the situation of the nest, the two tramped off, but the bear had no rest, for he wished still to see the royal palace, and after a short delay he set off to it again. He found the King and Queen absent, and, peeping into the nest, he saw five or six young birds lying in it. "Is this the royal palace?" exclaimed the bear; "this miserable place! You are no King's children, but wretched young vagabonds." "No, no, that we are not!" burst out the little wrens together in a great passion, for to them this speech was addressed. "No, no, we are born of honorable parents, and you, Mr. Bear, shall make your words good!" At this speech the bear and the wolf were much frightened, and ran back to their holes; but the little wrens kept up an unceasing, clamor till their parents' return. As soon as they came back with food in their mouths the little birds began, "We will none of us touch a fly's leg, but will starve rather, until you decide whether we are fine and handsome children or not, for the bear has been here and insulted us!" "Be quiet," replied the King, "and that shall soon be settled." And thereupon he flew with his Queen to the residence of the bear, and called to him from the entrance, "Old grumbler, why have you insulted my children? That shall cost you dear, for we will decide the matter by a pitched battle." War having thus been declared against the bear, all the four-footed beasts were summoned: the ox, the ass, the cow, the goat, the stag, and every animal on the face of the earth. The wren, on the other hand, summoned every flying thing; not only the birds, great and small, but also the gnat, the hornet, the bee, and the flies. When the time arrived for the commencement of the war, the wren King sent out spies to see who was appointed commander-in-chief of the enemy. The gnat was the most cunning of all the army, and he, therefore, buzzed away into the forest where the enemy was encamped, and alighted on a leaf of the tree beneath which the watchword was given out. There stood the bear and called the fox to him, and said: "You are the most crafty of animals, so you must be general, and lead us on." "Well," said the fox, "but what sign shall we appoint?" Nobody answered. Then the fox said: "I have a fine long bushy tail, which looks like a red feather at a distance; if I hold this tail straight up, all is going well and you must march after me; but if I suffer it to hang down, run away as fast as you can." As soon as the gnat heard all this she flew home and told the wren King everything to a hair. When the day arrived for the battle to begin, the four-footed beasts all came running along to the field, shaking the earth with their roaring and bellowing. The wren King also came with his army, whirring and buzzing and humming enough to terrify any one out of his senses. Then the wren King sent the hornet forward to settle upon the fox's tail and sting it with all his power. As soon as the fox felt the first sting he drew up his hind leg with the pain, still carrying, however, his tail as high in the air as before; at the second sting he was obliged to drop it a little bit; but at the third he could no longer bear the pain, but was forced to drop his tail between his legs. As soon as the other beasts saw this, they thought all was lost, and began to run each one to his own hole; so the birds won the battle without difficulty. When all was over the wren King and his Queen flew home to their children, and cried out: "Rejoice! rejoice! we have won the battle; now eat and drink as much as you please." The young wrens, however, said: "Still we will not eat till the bear has come to our nest and begged pardon, and admitted that we are fine and handsome children." So the wren King flew back to the cave of the bear, and called out, "Old grumbler, you must come to the nest and beg pardon of my children for calling them wretched young brats, else your ribs shall be crushed in your body!" In great terror the bear crept out and begged pardon; and afterward the young wrens, being now made happy in their minds, settled down to eating and drinking, and I am afraid they were over-excited and kept up their merriment far too late. * * * * * CHICKEN-LICKEN As Chicken-licken was going one day to the wood, whack! an acorn fell from a tree on to his head. "Gracious goodness me!" said Chicken-licken, "the sky must have fallen; I must go and tell the King." So Chicken-licken turned back, and met Hen-len. "Well, Hen-len, where are you going?" said he. "I'm going to the wood," said she. "Oh, Hen-len, don't go!" said he, "for as I was going the sky fell on to my head, and I'm going to tell the King." So Hen-len turned back with Chicken-licken, and met Cock-lock. "I'm going to the wood," said he. Then Hen-len said: "Oh Cock-lock, don't go, for I was going, and I met Chicken-licken, and Chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had fallen on to his head, and we are going to tell the King." So Cock-lock turned back, and they met Duck-luck. "Well, Duck-luck, where are you going?" And Duck-luck said: "I'm going to the wood." Then Cock-lock said: "Oh! Duck-luck, don't go, for I was going, and I met Hen-len, and Hen-len met Chicken-licken, and Chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had fallen on to his head, and we are going to tell the King." So Duck-luck turned back, and met Drake-lake. "Well, Drake-lake, where are you going?" And Drake-lake said: "I'm going to the wood." Then Duck-luck said: "Oh! Drake-lake, don't go, for I was going, and I met Cock-lock, and Cock-lock met Hen-len, and Hen-len met Chicken-licken, and Chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had fallen on to his head, and we are going to tell the King." So Drake-lake turned back, and met Goose-loose. "Well, Goose-loose, where are you going?" And Goose-loose said: "I'm going to the wood." Then Drake-lake said: "Oh, Goose-loose, don't go, for I was going, and I met Duck-luck, and Duck-luck met Cock-lock, and Cock-lock met Hen-len, and Hen-len met Chicken-licken, and Chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had fallen on to his head, and we are going to tell the King." So Goose-loose turned back, and met Gander-lander. "Well, Gander-lander, where are you going?" And Gander-lander said: "I'm going to the wood." Then Goose-loose said: "Oh! Gander-lander, don't go, for I was going, and I met Drake-lake, and Drake-lake met Duck-luck, and Duck-luck met Cock-lock, and Cock-lock met Hen-len, and Hen-len met Chicken-licken, and Chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had fallen on to his head, and we are going to tell the King." So Gander-lander turned back, and met Turkey-lurkey. "Well, Turkey-lurkey, where are you going?" And Turkey-lurkey said: "I'm going to the wood." Then Gander-lander said: "Oh! Turkey-lurkey, don't go, for I was going, and I met Goose-loose, and Goose-loose met Drake-lake, and Drake-lake met Duck-luck, and Duck-luck met Cock-lock, and Cock-lock met Hen-len, and Hen-len met Chicken-licken, and Chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had fallen on to his head, and we are going to tell the King." So Turkey-lurkey turned back, and walked with Gander-lander, Goose-loose, Drake-lake, Duck-luck, Cock-lock, Hen-len, and Chicken-licken. And as they were going along, they met Fox-lox. And Fox-lox said: "Where are you going?" And they said: "Chicken-licken went to the wood, and the sky fell on to his head, and we are going to tell the King." And Fox-lox said: "Come along with me, and I will show you the way." But Fox-lox took them into the fox's hole, and he and his young ones soon ate up poor Chicken-licken, Hen-len, Cock-lock, Duck-luck, Drake-lake, Goose-loose, Gander-lander, and Turkey-lurkey; and they never saw the King to tell him that the sky had fallen. * * * * * THE FOX AND THE CAT It happened once that the cat met Mr. Fox in the wood, and because she thought he was clever and experienced in all the ways of the world, she addressed him in a friendly manner. "Good-morning, dear Mr. Fox! how are you, and how do you get along in these hard times?" The fox, full of pride, looked at the cat from head to foot for some time, hardly knowing whether he would deign to answer or not. At last he said: "Oh, you poor whisker-wiper, you silly piebald, you starveling mouse-hunter! what has come into your head? How dare you ask me how I am getting on? What sort of education have you had? How many arts are you master of?" "Only one," said the cat meekly. "And what might that one be?" asked the fox. "When the dogs run after me, I can jump into a tree and save myself." "Is that all?" said the fox. "I am master of a hundred arts, and I have a sackful of cunning tricks in addition. But I pity you. Come with me, and I will teach you how to escape from the dogs." Just then a huntsman came along with four hounds. The cat sprang trembling into a tree, and crept stealthily up to the topmost branch, where she was entirely hidden by twigs and leaves. "Open your sack, Mr. Fox! open your sack!" cried the cat, but the dogs had gripped him, and held him fast. "Oh, Mr. Fox!" cried the cat, "you with your hundred arts, and your sackful of tricks, are held fast, while I, with my one, am safe. Had you been able to creep up here, you would not have lost you life." * * * * * THE RATS AND THEIR SON-IN-LAW There once lived in Japan a rat and his wife, folk of noble race, who had one beautiful daughter. They were exceedingly proud of her charms, and dreamed, as parents will, of the grand marriage she was sure to make in time. Proud of his pure rodent blood, the father saw no son-in-law more to be desired than a young rat of ancient lineage, whose attentions to his daughter were very marked. This match, however, brilliant as it was, seemed not to the mother's taste. Like many people who think themselves made out of special clay, she had a very poor opinion of her own kind, and was ambitious for an alliance with the highest circles. To the stars! was her motto, she always said, and really, when one has a daughter of incomparable beauty, one may well hope for an equally incomparable son-in-law. "Address yourself to the sun at once, then," cried the impatient father one day; "there is nothing above him, surely." "Quite so; I had already thought of it," she answered, "and since you, too, are in sympathy with the idea, we will make our call to-morrow." So, on the following morning the proud father and the haughty mother-rat went together to present their lovely daughter to the orb of day. "Lord Sun," said the mother, "let me present our only daughter, who is so beautiful that there is nothing like her in the whole world. Naturally we desire a son-in-law as wonderful as she, and, as you see, we have come to you first of all." "Really," said the sun, "I am extremely flattered by your proposal, but you do me too much honor; there is some one greater than I; it is the cloud. Look, if you do not believe."... And at that moment the cloud arrived, and with one waft of his folds extinguished the sun with all his golden rays. "Very well; let us speak to the cloud, then," said the mother-rat, not in the least disconcerted. "Immensely honored, I am sure," replied the cloud in his turn, "but you are again mistaken; there is some one greater than I; it is the wind. You shall see." At the same moment along came the wind, and with one blow swept the cloud out of sight, after which, overturning father, mother, and daughter, he tumbled with them, pell-mell, at the foot of an old wall. "Quick, quick," cried the mother-rat, struggling to her feet, "and let us repeat our compliments to the wind." "You'd better address yourself to the wall," growled the wind roughly. "You see very well he is greater than I, for he stops me and makes me draw back." No sooner had she heard these words than mother-rat faced about and presented her daughter to the wall. Ah, but now the fair rat-maiden imitated the wind; she drew back also. He whom she really adored in her heart of hearts was the fascinating young rat who had paid his court to her so well. However, to please her mother, she had consented to wed the Sun, in spite of his blinding rays, or the cloud, in spite of his sulky look, even the wind, in spite of his brusque manner; but an old, broken wall!... No! death would be better a thousand times. Fortunately the wall excused himself, like all the rest. "Certainly," he said, "I can stop the wind, who can sweep away the cloud, who can cover up the Sun, but there is some one greater than I: it is the rat, who can pass through my body, and can even, if he chooses, reduce me to powder with his teeth. Believe me, you need seek no better son-in-law; greater than the rat, there is nothing in the world." "Do you hear that, wife, do you hear it?" cried father-rat in triumph. "Didn't I always say so?" "Quite true! you always did," returned the mother-rat in wonder, and suddenly glowed with pride in her ancient name and lineage. So they all three went home, very happy and contented, and on the morrow the lovely rat-maiden married her faithful rat-lover. * * * * * THE MOUSE AND THE SAUSAGE Once upon a time a little mouse and a little sausage, who loved each other like sisters, decided to live together, and made their arrangements in such a way that every day one would go to walk in the fields, or make purchases in town, while the other remained at home to keep the house. One day, when the little sausage had prepared cabbage for dinner, the little mouse, who had come back from town with a fine appetite, enjoyed it so greatly that she exclaimed: "How delicious the cabbage is to-day, my dear!" "Ah!" answered the little sausage, "that is because I popped myself into the pot while it was cooking." On the next day, as it was her turn to prepare the meals, the little mouse said to herself: "Now I will do as much for my friend as she did for me; we will have lentils for dinner, and I will jump into the pot while they are boiling," and she let the action follow the word, without reflecting that a simple sausage can do some things which are out of the reach of even the wisest mouse. When the sausage came home, she found the house lonely and silent. She called again and again, "My little mouse! Mouse of my heart!" but no one answered. Then she went to look at the lentils boiling on the stove, and, alas! found within the pot her good little friend, who had perished at the post of duty. Poor mousie, with the best intentions in the world, had stayed too long at her cookery, and when she desired to climb out of the pot, had no longer the strength to do so. And the poor sausage could never be consoled! That is why to-day, when you put one in the pan or on the gridiron, you will hear her weep and sigh, "M-my p-poor m-mouse! Ah, m-my p-poor m-mouse!" * * * * * JOHNNY AND THE GOLDEN GOOSE There was once a man who had three sons. Johnny, the youngest, was always looked upon as the simpleton of the family, and had very little consideration or kindness shown him. It happened one day that the eldest son was going out into the wood to cut fuel; and before he started, his mother gave him a slice of rich plum-cake and a flask of wine, so that he might not suffer from hunger or thirst. Just as he reached the wood, he met a queer old man, dressed in gray, who wished him "Good day," and begged for a piece of the young man's cake and a drink of wine. But the greedy youth replied: "If I were to give you cake and wine, I should not have enough left for myself; so be off with you, and leave me in peace." Then he pushed the little man rudely on one side and went his way. He soon came to a likely-looking tree, and began to hew it down, but he made a false stroke, and instead of striking the tree he buried his axe in his own arm, and was obliged to hurry home as fast as he could to have the wound dressed. And this was what came of offending the little gray man! The following day the second son set out to the wood, and his mother treated him just as she had done her eldest son--gave him a slice of cake and a flask of wine, in case he should feel hungry. The little gray man met him at the entrance to the wood, and begged for a share of his food, but the young man answered: "The more I give to you, the less I have for myself. Be off with you." Then he left the little gray man standing in the road, and went on his way. But it was not long before he, too, was punished; for the first stroke he aimed at a tree glanced aside and wounded his leg, so that he was obliged to be carried home. Then said the Simpleton: "Father, let me go to the wood for once. _I_ will bring you home plenty of fuel." "Nonsense," answered the father. "Both your brothers have got into trouble, and it is not likely that I am going to trust you." But Johnny would not give up the idea, and worried his father, till at last he said: "Very well, my son, have your own way. You shall learn by experience that I know better than you." There was no rich cake for the simpleton of the family. His mother just gave him a little loaf of dough and a bottle of sour beer. No sooner did he reach the wood than the little gray man appeared. "Give me a piece of your cake and a drink of your wine?" said he. But the young man told him he had only a dough loaf and a bottle of sour beer. "Still," said he, "you are welcome to a share of the food, such as it is." So the two sat down together; but when Johnny took his humble fare from his pocket, what was his surprise to find it changed into the most delicious cake and wine. Then the young man and his guest made a hearty meal, and when it was ended the little gray man said: "Because you have such a kind heart, and have willingly shared your food with me, I am going to reward you. Yonder stands an old tree: hew it down, and deep in the heart of the roots you will find something." The old man then nodded kindly, and disappeared in a moment. Johnny at once did as he had been told, and as soon as the tree fell he saw, sitting in the midst of the roots, a goose with feathers of purest gold. He lifted it carefully out, and carried it with him to the inn, where he meant to spend the night. Now, the landlord had three daughters, and no sooner did they see the goose than they wanted to know what curious kind of bird it might be, for never before had they seen a fowl of any kind with feathers of pure gold. The eldest made up her mind to wait for a good opportunity and then pluck a feather for herself. So as soon as Johnny went out of the room she put out her hand and seized the wing of the goose, but what was her horror to find that she could not unclasp her fingers again, nor even move her hand from the golden goose! Very soon the second sister came creeping into the room, meaning also to steal a feather; but no sooner did she touch her sister than she, too, was unable to draw her hand away. Lastly came the third, anxious to secure a feather before the goose's master returned. "Go away! go away!" screamed her two sisters, but she could not understand why she should not help herself as well as the others. So she paid no heed to their cries, but came toward them and stretched out her hand to the goose. In doing so she touched her second sister, and then, alas! she too, was held fast. They pulled and tugged with might and main, but it was all of no use; they could not get away, and there they had to remain the whole night. The next morning Johnny tucked the goose under his arm, and went on his way, never troubling himself about the three girls hanging on behind. Then what a dance he led them: over hedges and ditches, highways and byways! Wherever he led they were bound to follow. Half way across a sunny meadow, they met the parson, who was terribly shocked to see the three girls running after a young man. "For shame!" he cried angrily, and seized the youngest by the hand to drag her away. But no sooner did he touch her than the poor parson was made fast too, and had to run behind the girls, whether he would or no. They had scarcely gone half a dozen paces before they met the sexton, who stared with astonishment to see his master running at the heels of the three girls. "Hi! stop, your reverence," he cried. "You will be late for the christening." He seized the parson's sleeve as he ran past him, but the poor sexton had to join the procession too. So now there were five of them, and just as they turned a corner the parson saw two peasants, and called to them to set him and his sexton free. They threw down their spades at once and tried to do so, but they too, stuck fast, and so Johnny had a fine string of seven folk hanging on to the wing of his golden goose. On and on they ran, until at length they came into the country of a powerful King. This King had an only daughter, who all her life had been so sad that no one had ever been able to make her laugh. So the King made a decree that the man who could bring a smile to his daughter's face should have her for his bride. When Johnny heard what the King had promised, he at once made his way into the Princess's presence, and when she saw the goose, with the seven queer-looking companions hanging on behind, she burst into such a hearty fit of laughter that it was thought she would never be able to stop again. Of course, the Simpleton claimed her as his bride, but the King did not fancy him for a son-in-law, so he made all sorts of excuses. "You shall have her," said he, "if you can first bring me a man who can drink up a whole cellarful of wine." Johnny at once remembered the little gray man, and, feeling sure that he would help him, he set out for the wood where he had first met him. When he reached the stump of the old tree which he had himself hewn down, he noticed a man sitting beside it, with a face as gloomy as a rainy day. Johnny asked politely what ailed him, and the man answered: "I suffer from a thirst I cannot quench. Cold water disagrees with me, and though I have, it is true, emptied a barrel of wine, it was no more to me than a single drop of water upon a hot stone." You can think how pleased Johnny was to hear these words. He took the man to the King's cellar, where he seated himself before the huge barrels, and drank and drank till, at the end of the day, not a drop of wine was left. Then Johnny claimed his bride, but the King could not make up his mind to give his daughter to "a ne'er-do-weel" who went by such a name as "Simpleton." So he made fresh excuses, and said that he would not give her up until the young man had found someone who could eat up a mountain of bread in a single day. So the young man had no choice but to set out once more for the wood. And again he found a man sitting beside the stump of the tree. He was very sad and hungry-looking, and sat tightening the belt round his waist. "I have eaten a whole ovenful of bread," he said sadly, "but when one is as hungry as I am, such a meal only serves to make one more hungry still. I am so empty that if I did not tighten my belt I should die of hunger." "You are the man for me!" said Johnny. "Follow me, and I will give you a meal that will satisfy even your hunger." He led the man into the courtyard of the King's palace, where all the meal in the kingdom had been collected together and mixed into an enormous mountain of bread. The man from the wood placed himself in front of it and began to eat, and before the day was over the mountain of bread had vanished. A third time the Simpleton demanded his bride, but again the King found an excuse. "First bring me a ship that can sail both on land and sea, and then you shall wed the Princess," he said. Johnny went straightway to the wood, where he met the little gray man with whom he had once shared his food. "Good day," he said, nodding his wise little head. "So you've come to visit me again, eh? It was I, you know, who drank the wine and ate the bread for you, and now I will finish by giving you the wonderful ship which is to sail on either land or sea. All this I do for you because you were kind and good to me." Then he gave him the ship, and when the King saw it he could find no further excuse. So he gave the young man his daughter, and the pair were married that very day. When the old King died, the Simpleton became King in his stead, and he and his wife lived happily ever after. * * * * * TITTY MOUSE AND TATTY MOUSE Titty Mouse and Tatty Mouse both lived in a house, Titty Mouse went a-leasing and Tatty Mouse went a-leasing, So they both went a-leasing. Titty Mouse leased an ear of corn, and Tatty Mouse leased an ear of corn, So they both leased an ear of corn. Titty Mouse made a pudding, and Tatty Mouse made a pudding, So they both made a pudding. And Tatty Mouse put her pudding into the pot to boil, But, when Titty went to put hers in, the pot tumbled over, and scalded her to death. Then Tatty sat down and wept, and a three-legged stool said: "Tatty, why do you weep?" "Titty's dead," said Tatty, "and so I weep." "Then," said the stool, "I'll hop." So the stool hopped. Then a broom in the corner of the room said: "Stool, why do you hop?" "Oh!" said the stool, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and so I hop." "Then," said the broom, "I'll sweep." So the broom began to sweep. "Then," said the door, "Broom, why do you sweep?" "Oh!" said the broom, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and so I sweep." "Then," said the door, "I'll jar." So the door jarred. "Then," said the window, "Door, why do you jar?" "Oh!" said the door, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, and so I jar." "Then," said the window, "I'll creak." So the window creaked. Now there was an old form outside the house, and when the window creaked, the form said: "Window, why do you creak?" "Oh!" said the window, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and so I creak." "Then," said the old form, "I'll run round the house." Then the old form ran round the house. Now there was a fine large walnut-tree growing by the cottage, and the tree said to the form: "Form, why do you run round the house?" "Oh!" said the form, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, and so I run round the house." "Then," said the walnut-tree, "I'll shed my leaves." So the walnut-tree shed all its beautiful green leaves. Now there was a little bird perched on one of the boughs of the tree, and when all the leaves fell, it said: "Walnut-tree, why do you shed your leaves?" "Oh!" said the tree, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, the old form runs round the house, and so I shed my leaves." "Then," said the little bird, "I'll moult all my feathers." So he moulted all his pretty feathers. Now there was a little girl walking below, carrying a jug of milk for her brothers' and sisters' supper, and when she saw the poor little bird moult all its feathers, she said: "Little bird, why do you moult all your feathers?" "Oh!" said the little bird, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, the old form runs round the house, the walnut-tree sheds its leaves, and so I moult all my feathers." "Then," said the little girl, "I'll spill the milk." So she dropped the pitcher and spilt the milk. Now there was an old man just by on the top of a ladder thatching a rick, and when he saw the little girl spill the milk, he said: "Little girl, what do you mean by spilling the milk? Your little brothers and sisters must go without their supper." Then said the little girl: "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, the old form runs round the house, the walnut-tree sheds all its leaves, the little bird moults all its feathers, and so I spill the milk." "Oh!" said the old man, "then I'll tumble off the ladder and break my neck." So he tumbled off the ladder and broke his neck; and when the old man broke his neck, the great walnut-tree fell down with a crash, and upset the old form and house, and the house falling knocked the window out, and the window knocked the door down, and the door upset the broom, and the broom upset the stool, and poor little Tatty Mouse was buried beneath the ruins. * * * * * TEENY TINY There was once upon a time a teeny-tiny woman who lived in a teeny-tiny house in a teeny-tiny village. Now, one day this teeny-tiny woman put on her teeny-tiny bonnet, and went out of her teeny-tiny house to take a teeny-tiny walk. And when this teeny-tiny woman had gone a teeny-tiny way, she came to a teeny-tiny gate; so the teeny-tiny woman opened the teeny-tiny gate, and went into a teeny-tiny churchyard. And when this teeny-tiny woman had got into the teeny-tiny churchyard, she saw a teeny-tiny bone on a teeny-tiny grave, and the teeny-tiny woman said to her teeny-tiny self: "This teeny-tiny bone will make me some teeny-tiny soup for my teeny-tiny supper." So the teeny-tiny woman put the teeny-tiny bone into her teeny-tiny pocket, and went home to her teeny-tiny house. Now, when the teeny-tiny woman got home to her teeny-tiny house, she was a teeny-tiny tired; so she went up her teeny-tiny stairs to her teeny-tiny bed, and put the teeny-tiny bone into a teeny-tiny cupboard. And when this teeny-tiny woman had been to sleep a teeny-tiny time, she was awakened by a teeny-tiny voice from the teeny-tiny cupboard, which said-- "GIVE ME MY BONE!" And this teeny-tiny woman was a teeny-tiny frightened, so she hid her teeny-tiny head under the teeny-tiny clothes, and went to sleep again. And when she had been asleep again a teeny-tiny time, the teeny-tiny voice cried out from the teeny-tiny cupboard a teeny-tiny louder-- "GIVE ME MY BONE!" This made the teeny-tiny woman a teeny-tiny more frightened, so she hid her teeny-tiny head a teeny-tiny farther under the teeny-tiny clothes. And when the teeny-tiny woman had been asleep again a teeny-tiny time, the teeny-tiny voice from the teeny-tiny cupboard said again a teeny-tiny louder-- "GIVE ME MY BONE!" At this the teeny-tiny woman was a teeny-tiny bit more frightened; but she put her teeny-tiny head out of the teeny-tiny clothes, and said in her loudest teeny-tiny voice-- "TAKE IT!!" * * * * * THE SPIDER AND THE FLEA A Spider and a Flea dwelt together in one house, and brewed their beer in an egg-shell. One day, when the Spider was stirring it up, she fell in and scalded herself. Thereupon the Flea began to scream. And then the door asked: "Why are you screaming, Flea?" "Because little Spider has scalded herself in the beer-tub," replied she. Thereupon the door began to creak as if it were in pain; and a broom, which stood in the corner, asked, "What are you creaking for, door?" "May I not creak?" it replied: "The little Spider's scalt herself, And the Flea weeps." So the broom began to sweep industriously, and presently a little cart came by, and asked the reason. "May I not sweep?" replied the broom: "The little Spider's scalt herself, And the Flea weeps; The little door creaks with the pain,"-- Thereupon the little cart said: "So will I run," and began to run very fast, past a heap of ashes, which cried out: "Why do you run, little cart?" "Because," replied the cart: "The little Spider's scalt herself, And the Flea weeps; The little door creaks with the pain, And the broom sweeps." "Then," said the ashes, "I will burn furiously." Now, next the ashes there grew a tree, which asked: "Little heap, why do you burn?" "Because," was the reply: "The little Spider's scalt herself, And the Flea weeps; The little door creaks with the pain, And the broom sweeps; The little cart runs on so fast,"-- Thereupon the tree cried, "I will shake myself!" and went on shaking till all its leaves fell off. A little girl passing by with a water-pitcher saw it shaking, and asked: "Why do you shake yourself, little tree?" "Why may I not?" said the tree: "The little Spider's scalt herself, And the Flea weeps; The little door creaks with the pain, And the broom sweeps; The little cart runs on so fast, And the ashes burn." Then the maiden said: "If so, I will break my pitcher;" and she threw it down and broke it. At this the streamlet, from which she drew the water, asked: "Why do you break your pitcher, my little girl?" "Why may I not?" she replied; for "The little Spider's scalt herself, And the Flea weeps; The little door creaks with the pain, And the broom sweeps; The little cart runs on so fast, And the ashes burn; The little tree shakes down its leaves-- Now it is my turn!" "Ah, then," said the streamlet, "now must I begin to flow." And it flowed and flowed along, in a great stream, which kept getting bigger and bigger, until at last it swallowed up the little girl, the little tree, the ashes, the cart, the broom, the door, the Flea, and, last of all, the Spider, all together. * * * * * THE LITTLE SHEPHERD BOY Once upon a time there was a little shepherd boy who was famed far and wide for the wise answers which he gave to all questions. Now the King of the country heard of this lad, but he would not believe what was said about him, so the boy was ordered to come to court. When he arrived the King said to him: "If you can give me answers to each of the three questions which I will now put to you, I will bring you up as my own child, and you shall live here with me in my palace." "What are these three questions?" asked the boy. "The first is: How many drops of water are there in the sea?" "My lord King," replied the shepherd boy, "let all the waters be stopped up on the earth, so that not one drop shall run into the sea before I count it, and then I will tell you how many drops there are in the sea!" "The second question," said the King, "is: How many stars are there in the sky?" "Give me a large sheet of paper," said the boy; and then he made in it with a pin so many minute holes that they were far too numerous to see or to count, and dazzled the eyes of whomsoever looked at them. This done, he said: "So many stars are there in the sky as there are holes in this paper; now count them." But nobody was able. Thereupon the King said: "The third question is: How many seconds are there in eternity?" "In Lower Pomerania is situated the adamantine mountain, one mile in height, one mile in breadth, and one mile deep; and thither comes a bird once in every thousand years which rubs its beak against the hill, and, when the whole shall be rubbed away, then will the first second of eternity be gone by." "You have answered the three questions like a sage," said the King, "and from henceforward you shall live with me in my palace, and I will treat you as my own child." * * * * * THE THREE SPINNERS Once upon a time there was a lazy maiden who would not spin, and, let her mother say what she would, she could not make her do it. At last, the mother, in a fit of impatience, gave her a blow which made the girl cry out loudly. At that very instant, the Queen drove by, and, hearing the screams, she stopped the carriage, came into the house, and asked the mother why she beat her daughter in such a way that people in passing could hear the cries. Then the mother felt ashamed that her daughter's laziness should be known, so she said: "Oh, your Majesty, I cannot take her away from her spinning: she spins from morning till night, and I am so poor that I cannot afford to buy the flax." "There is nothing I like better than to hear the sound of spinning," the Queen replied, "and nothing pleases me more than the whirl of spinning-wheels. Let me take your daughter home with me to the castle; I have flax enough, and she may spin there to her heart's content." The mother rejoiced greatly in her heart, and the Queen took the maiden home with her. When they arrived in the castle, she led her up into three rooms, which were piled from top to bottom with the finest flax. "Now spin me this flax," said the Queen, "and when thou has spun it all, thou shalt have my eldest son for a husband. Although thou art poor, yet I do not despise thee on that account, for thy untiring industry is dowry enough." The maiden was filled with inward terror, for she could not have spun the flax had she sat there day and night until she was three hundred years old! When she was left alone, she began to weep, and thus she sat for three days without stirring a finger. On the third day the Queen came, and when she saw that nothing was as yet spun, she wondered over it, but the maiden excused herself by saying that she could not begin in consequence of the great sorrow she felt in being separated from her mother. This satisfied the Queen, who, on leaving her, said: "Thou must begin to work for me to-morrow." But when the maiden was once more alone, she did not know what to do, or how to help herself, and in her distress she went to the window and looked out. She saw three women passing by, the first of whom had a great broad foot, the second such a large under-lip that it hung down to her chin, and the third an enormous thumb. They stopped under the window, and, looking up, asked the maiden what was the matter. When she had told them of her trouble, they immediately offered her their help, and said: "Wilt thou invite us to the wedding, and not be ashamed of us, but call us thy aunts, and let us sit at thy table? If thou wilt, we will spin all the flax, and do it in a very short time." "With all my heart," answered the girl, "only come in, and begin at once." Then she admitted the three strange women, and, making a clear space in the first room, they sat themselves down and began spinning. One drew the thread and trod the wheel, the other moistened the thread, the third pressed it and beat it on the table, and every time she did so, a pile of thread fell on the ground spun in the finest way. The maiden concealed the three spinners from the Queen, but showed her the heaps of spun yarn whenever she came, and received no end of praise for it. When the first room was empty, the second was commenced, and when that was finished, the third was begun, and very soon cleared. Then the three spinners took their leave, saying to the maiden: "Forget not what thou hast promised us; it will make thy fortune." When the girl showed the Queen the empty rooms and the great piles of thread, the wedding was announced. The bridegroom rejoiced that he had won so clever and industrious a wife, and he praised her exceedingly. "I have three aunts," said the maiden, "and as they have done me many kindnesses, I could not forget them in my good fortune; permit me to invite them to our wedding and allow them to sit with me at table." So the Queen and the bridegroom consented. When the feast commenced, the three old women entered, clothed in the greatest splendor, and the bride said-- "Welcome, my dear aunts!" "Alas!" exclaimed the bridegroom, "how is it you have such ugly relations?" and going up to the one with a broad foot, he asked: "Why have you such a broad foot?" "From threading, from threading," she answered. Then he went to the second, and asked: "Why have you such an overhanging lip?" "From moistening the thread," she replied, "from moistening the thread." Then he asked the third: "Why have you such a big thumb?" "From pressing the thread," answered she. Then the Prince became frightened, and said: "Then shall my lovely bride never more turn a spinning-wheel, as long as she lives!" Thus was the maiden freed from the hated flax-spinning. * * * * * THE CAT AND THE MOUSE IN PARTNERSHIP A cat having made the acquaintance of a mouse, told her so much of the great love and affection that he had for her, that the mouse at last consented to live in the same house with him, and to have their domestic affairs in common. "But we must provide for the winter," said the cat, "or we shall be starved; you, little mouse, cannot go everywhere looking for food, or you will meet with an accident." This advice was followed, and a pot was brought with some grease in it. However, when they had got it, they could not imagine where it should be put; but at last, after a long consideration, the cat said: "I know no better place to put it than in the church, for there no one dares to steal anything; we will set it beneath the organ, and not touch it till we really want it." So the pot was put away in safety; but not long afterward the cat began to wish for it again, so he spoke to the mouse and said: "I have to tell you that I am asked by my aunt to stand godfather to a little son, white with brown marks, whom she has just brought into the world, and so I must go to the christening. Let me go out to-day, and do you stop at home and keep house." "Certainly," answered the mouse; "pray, go; and if you eat anything nice, think of me; I would also willingly drink a little of the sweet red christening-wine." But, alas! it was all a story; for the cat had no aunt, and had not been asked to stand godfather to any one. He went straight to the church, crept up to the grease-pot, and licked it till he had eaten off the top; then he took a walk on the roofs of the houses in the town, thinking over his situation, and now and then stretching himself in the sun and stroking his whiskers as often as he thought of his meal. When it was evening he went home again, and the mouse said: "So you have come at last; what a charming day you must have had!" "Yes," answered the cat; "it went off very well!" "What have you named the kitten?" asked the mouse. "_Top-off_," said the cat very quickly. "_Top-off!_" replied the mouse; "that is a curious and remarkable name; is it common in your family?" "What does that matter?" said the cat; "it is not worse than Crumb-stealer, as your children are called." Not long afterward the cat felt the same longing as before, and said to the mouse: "You must oblige me by taking care of the house once more by yourself; I am again asked to stand godfather, and, since the youngster has a white ring round his neck, I cannot get off the invitation." So the good little mouse consented, and the cat crept away behind the wall to the church again, and ate half the contents of the grease-pot. "Nothing tastes better than what one eats by one's self," said he, quite contented with his day's work; and when he came home the mouse asked how this child was named. "_Half-out_," answered the cat. "_Half-out!_ What do you mean? I never heard such a name before in my life; I will wager anything it is not in the calendar," but the cat replied nothing. Pussy's mouth soon began to water again at the recollection of the feasting. "All good things come in threes," said he to the mouse. "I am again required to be godfather; this child is quite black, and has little white claws, but not a single white hair on his body; such a thing only happens once in two years, so pray excuse me this time." "_Top-off! Half-out!_" answered the mouse; "those are such curious names, they make me a bit suspicious." "Ah!" replied the cat, "there you sit in your gray coat and long tail, thinking nonsense. That comes of never going out." The mouse busied herself during the cat's absence in putting the house in order, but meanwhile greedy puss licked the grease-pot clean out. "When it is all done one will rest in peace," thought he to himself, and as soon as night came he went home fat and tired. The mouse, however, again asked what name the third child had received. "It will not please you any better," answered the cat, "for he is called _All-out_." "_All-out!_" exclaimed the mouse; "well, that is certainly the most curious name by far. I have never yet seen it in print. _All-out!_ What can that mean?" and, shaking her head, she rolled herself up and went to sleep. After that nobody else asked the cat to stand godfather; but the winter had arrived, and nothing more was to be picked up out of doors; so the mouse bethought herself of their store of provision, and said, "Come, friend cat, we will go to our grease-pot which we laid by; it will taste well now." "Yes, indeed," replied the cat; "it will taste as well as if you stroked your tongue against the window." So they set out on their journey, and when they arrived at the church the pot stood in its old place--but it was empty! "Ah," said the mouse, "I see what has happened; now I know you are indeed a faithful friend. You have eaten the whole as you stood godfather; first _Top-off_, then _Half-out_, then--" "Will you be quiet?" cried the cat. "Not a word, or I'll eat you." But the poor mouse had "_All-out"_ at her tongue's end, and had scarcely uttered it when the cat made a spring, seized her in his mouth, and swallowed her. This happens every day in the world. * * * * * THE SWEET SOUP Once on a time there was a poor but very good little girl, who lived alone with her mother, and when my story begins, they had nothing in the house to eat. So the child went out into the forest, and there she met an old woman, who already knew her distress, and who presented her with a pot which had the following power. If one said to it, "Boil, little pot!" it would cook sweet soup; and when one said: "Stop, little pot!" it would immediately cease to boil. The little girl took the pot home to her mother, and now their poverty and distresses were at an end, for they could have sweet broth as often as they pleased. One day, however, the little girl went out, and in her absence the mother said: "Boil, little pot!" So it began to cook, and she soon ate all she wished; but when the poor woman wanted to have the pot stop, she found she did not know the word. Away, therefore, the pot boiled, and very quickly was over the edge; and as it boiled and boiled the kitchen presently became full, then the house, and the next house, and soon the whole street. It seemed likely to satisfy all the world, for, though there was the greatest necessity to do so, nobody knew how to stop it. At last, when only a very small cottage of all the village was left unfilled with soup, the child returned and said at once: "Stop, little pot!" Immediately it ceased to boil; but whoever wishes to enter the village now must eat his way through the soup!!! * * * * * THE STRAW THE COAL AND THE BEAN All alone, in a quiet little village, lived a poor old woman. One day she had a dish of beans which she wanted to cook for dinner, so she made a fire on the hearth, and in order that it should burn up quickly she lighted it with a handful of straw. She hung the pot over the fire, and poured in the beans; but one fell on to the floor without her noticing it, and rolled away beside a piece of straw. Soon afterwards a live coal flew out of the fire and joined their company. Then the straw began to speak. "Dear friends," said he, "whence come you?" "I was fortunate enough to spring out of the fire," answered the coal. "Had I not exerted myself to get out when I did, I should most certainly have been burnt to ashes." "I have also just managed to save my skin," said the bean. "Had the old woman succeeded in putting me into the pot, I should have been stewed without mercy, just as my comrades are being served now." "My fate might have been no better," the straw told them. "The old woman burnt sixty of my brothers at once, but fortunately I was able to slip through her fingers." "What shall we do now?" said the coal. "Well," answered the bean, "my opinion is that, as we have all been so fortunate as to escape death, we should leave this place before any new misfortune overtakes us. Let us all three become traveling companions and set out upon a journey to some unknown country." This suggestion pleased both the straw and the coal, so away they all went at once. Before long they came to a brook, and as there was no bridge across it they did not know how to get to the other side; but the straw had a good idea: "I will lay myself over the water, and you can walk across me as though I were a bridge," he said. So he stretched himself from one bank to the other, and the coal, who was of a hasty disposition, at once tripped gaily on to the newly-built bridge. Half way across she hesitated, and began to feel afraid of the rushing water beneath her. She dared go no farther, but neither would she return; but she stood there so long that the straw caught fire, broke in two, and fell into the stream. Of course, the coal was bound to follow. No sooner did she touch the water than--hiss, zish! out she went, and never glowed again. The bean, who was a careful fellow, had stayed on the bank, to watch how the coal got across, before trusting himself to such a slender bridge. But when he saw what very queer figures his friends cut, he could not help laughing. He laughed and laughed till he could not stop, and at length he split his side. It would have gone badly with him then, had not a tailor happened to pass by. He was a kind-hearted fellow, and at once took out his needle and thread and began to repair the mischief. The bean thanked him politely, for he knew that the tailor had saved his life, but unfortunately he had used black thread, and from that time till to-day every bean has a little black stitch in its side. * * * * * WHY THE BEAR HAS A STUMPY TAIL One winter's day the bear met the fox, who came slinking along with a string of fish he had stolen. "Hi! stop a minute! Where did you get those from?" demanded the bear. "Oh, my Lord Bruin, I've been out fishing and caught them," said the fox. So the bear had a mind to learn to fish, too, and bade the fox tell him how he was to set about it. "Oh, it is quite easy," answered the fox, "and soon learned. You've only got to go upon the ice, and cut a hole and stick your tail down through it, and hold it there as long as you can. You're not to mind if it smarts a little; that's when the fish bite. The longer you hold it there, the more fish you'll get; and then all at once out with it, with a cross pull side ways and a strong pull, too." Well, the bear did as the fox said, and though he felt very cold, and his tail smarted very much, he kept it a long, long time down in the hole, till at last it was frozen in, though of course he did not know that. Then he pulled it out with a strong pull, and it snapped short off, and that's why Bruin goes about with a stumpy tail to this day! * * * * * THE THREE LITTLE PIGS Once upon a time, when pigs could talk and no one had ever heard of bacon, there lived an old piggy mother with her three little sons. They had a very pleasant home in the middle of an oak forest, and were all just as happy as the day was long, until one sad year the acorn crop failed; then, indeed, poor Mrs. Piggy-wiggy often had hard work to make both ends meet. One day she called her sons to her, and, with tears in her eyes, told them that she must send them out into the wide world to seek their fortune. She kissed them all round, and the three little pigs set out upon their travels, each taking a different road, and carrying a bundle slung on a stick across his shoulder. The first little pig had not gone far before he met a man carrying a bundle of straw; so he said to him: "Please, man, give me that straw to build me a house?" The man was very good-natured, so he gave him the bundle of straw, and the little pig built a pretty little house with it. No sooner was it finished, and the little pig thinking of going to bed, than a wolf came along, knocked at the door, and said: "Little pig, little pig, let me come in." But the little pig laughed softly, and answered: "No, no, by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin." Then said the wolf sternly: "I will _make_ you let me in; for I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in!" So he huffed and he puffed, and he blew his house in, because, you see, it was only of straw and too light; and when he had blown the house in, he ate up the little pig, and did not leave so much as the tip of his tail. The second little pig also met a man, and _he_ was carrying a bundle of furze; so piggy said politely: "Please, kind man, will you give me that furze to build me a house?" The man agreed, and piggy set to work to build himself a snug little house before the night came on. It was scarcely finished when the wolf came along, and said: "Little pig, little pig, let me come in." "No, no, by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin," answered the second little pig. "Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in!" said the wolf. So he huffed and he puffed, and he puffed, and he huffed, and at last he blew the house in, and gobbled the little pig up in a trice. Now, the third little pig met a man with a load of bricks and mortar, and he said: "Please, man, will you give me those bricks to build a house with?" So the man gave him the bricks and mortar, and a little trowel as well, and the little pig built himself a nice strong little house. As soon as it was finished the wolf came to call, just as he had done to the other little pigs, and said: "Little pig, little pig, let me in!" But the little pig answered: "No, no, by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin." "Then," said the wolf, "I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in." Well, he huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed, and he huffed, and he huffed, and he puffed; but he could _not_ get the house down. At last he had no breath left to huff and puff with, so he sat down outside the little pig's house and thought for awhile. Presently he called out: "Little pig, I know where there is a nice field of turnips." "Where?" said the little pig. "Behind the farmer's house, three fields away, and if you will be ready to-morrow morning I will call for you, and we will go together and get some breakfast." "Very well," said the little pig; "I will be sure to be ready. What time do you mean to start?" "At six o'clock," replied the wolf. Well, the wise little pig got up at five, scampered away to the field, and brought home a fine load of turnips before the wolf came. At six o'clock the wolf came to the little pig's house and said: "Little pig, are you ready?" "Ready!" cried the little pig. "Why, I have been to the field and come back long ago, and now I am busy boiling a potful of turnips for breakfast." The wolf was very angry indeed; but he made up his mind to catch the little pig somehow or other; so he told him that he knew where there was a nice apple-tree. "Where?" said the little pig. "Round the hill in the squire's orchard," the wolf said. "So if you will promise to play me no tricks, I will come for you tomorrow morning at five o'clock, and we will go there together and get some rosy-cheeked apples." The next morning piggy got up at four o'clock and was off and away long before the wolf came. But the orchard was a long way off, and besides, he had the tree to climb, which is a difficult matter for a little pig, so that before the sack he had brought with him was quite filled he saw the wolf coming towards him. He was dreadfully frightened, but he thought it better to put a good face on the matter, so when the wolf said: "Little pig, why are you here before me? Are they nice apples?" he replied at once: "Yes, very; I will throw down one for you to taste." So he picked an apple and threw it so far that whilst the wolf was running to fetch it he had time to jump down and scamper away home. The next day the wolf came again, and told the little pig that there was going to be a fair in the town that afternoon, and asked him if he would go with him. "Oh! yes," said the pig, "I will go with pleasure. What time will you be ready to start?" "At half-past three," said the wolf. Of course, the little pig started long before the time, went to the fair, and bought a fine large butter-churn, and was trotting away with it on his back when he saw the wolf coming. He did not know what to do, so he crept into the churn to hide, and by so doing started it rolling. Down the hill it went, rolling over and over, with the little pig squeaking inside. The wolf could not think what the strange thing rolling down the hill could be; so he turned tail and ran away home in a fright without ever going to the fair at all. He went to the little pig's house to tell him how frightened he had been by a large round thing which came rolling past him down the hill. "Ha! ha!" laughed the little pig; "so I frightened you, eh? I had been to the fair and bought a butter-churn; when I saw you I got inside it and rolled down the hill." This made the wolf so angry that he declared that he _would_ eat up the little pig, and that nothing should save him, for he would jump down the chimney. But the clever little pig hung a pot full of water over the hearth and then made a blazing fire, and just as the wolf was coming down the chimney he took off the cover and in fell the wolf. In a second the little pig had popped the lid on again. Then he boiled the wolf, and ate him for supper, and after that he lived quietly and comfortably all his days, and was never troubled by a wolf again. * * * * * CHILDREN'S FAVORITE POEMS THE THREE CHILDREN Three children sliding on the ice Upon a summer's day, As it fell out they all fell in, The rest they ran away. Now, had these children been at home, Or sliding on dry ground, Ten thousand pounds to one penny They had not all been drowned. You parents all that children have, And you too that have none, If you would have them safe abroad Pray keep them safe at home. ANONYMOUS * * * * * THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT I The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat: They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note. The Owl looked up to the stars above, And sang to a small guitar, "Oh lovely Pussy, O Pussy, my love, What a beautiful Pussy you are, You are, You are! What a beautiful Pussy you are!" II Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl, How charmingly sweet you sing! Oh! let us be married; too long we have tarried; But what shall we do for a ring?" They sailed away, for a year and a day, To the land where the bong-tree grows; And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood, With a ring at the end of his nose, His nose, His nose, With a ring at the end of his nose. III "Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will." So they took it away, and were married next day By the turkey who lives on the hill. They dined on mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon. EDWARD LEAR * * * * * KINDNESS TO ANIMALS Little children, never give Pain to things that feel and live: Let the gentle robin come For the crumbs you save at home,-- As his meat you throw along He'll repay you with a song; Never hurt the timid hare Peeping from her green grass lair, Let her come and sport and play On the lawn at close of day; The little lark goes soaring high To the bright windows of the sky, Singing as if 'twere always spring, And fluttering on an untired wing,-- Oh! let him sing his happy song, Nor do these gentle creatures wrong. UNKNOWN * * * * * HOW DOTH THE LITTLE BUSY BEE How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flow'r! How skilfully she builds her cell! How neat she spreads the wax! And labors hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes. In works of labor or of skill, I would be busy too; For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do. In books, or work, or healthful play, Let my first years be past, That I may give for ev'ry day Some good account at last. ISAAC WATTS * * * * * SUPPOSE! Suppose, my little lady, Your doll should break her head, Could you make it whole by crying Till your eyes and nose are red? And wouldn't it be pleasanter To treat it as a joke, And say you're glad 'twas Dolly's, And not your head that broke? Suppose you're dressed for walking, And the rain comes pouring down, Will it clear off any sooner Because you scold and frown? And wouldn't it be nicer For you to smile than pout, And so make sunshine in the house When there is none without? Suppose your task, my little man, Is very hard to get, Will it make it any easier For you to sit and fret? And wouldn't it be wiser Than waiting, like a dunce, To go to work in earnest And learn the thing at once? Suppose that some boys have a horse, And some a coach and pair, Will it tire you less while walking To say, "It is n't fair?" And would n't it be nobler To keep your temper sweet, And in your heart be thankful You can walk upon your feet? And suppose the world don't please you, Nor the way some people do, Do you think the whole creation Will be altered just for you? And isn't it, my boy or girl, The wisest, bravest plan, Whatever comes, or does n't come, To do the best you can? PHOEBE CARY * * * * * TWINKLE, TWINKLE Twinkle, twinkle, little star; How I wonder what you are! Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky. When the glorious sun is set, When the grass with dew is wet, Then you show your little light, Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. When the blazing sun is gone, When he nothing shines upon, Then you show your little light, Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. In the dark-blue sky you keep, And often through my curtains peep; For you never shut your eye Till the sun is in the sky. As your bright and tiny spark Lights the traveler in the dark, Though I know not what you are, Twinkle, twinkle, little star! ANONYMOUS * * * * * PRETTY COW Thank you, pretty cow, that made Pleasant milk to soak my bread, Every day and every night, Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white Do not chew the hemlock rank, Growing on the weedy bank; But the yellow cowslips eat, That will make it very sweet. Where the purple violet grows, Where the bubbling water flows, Where the grass is fresh and fine, Pretty cow, go there and dine. JANE TAYLOR * * * * * THE THREE LITTLE KITTENS (A CAT'S TALE, WITH ADDITIONS) Three little kittens lost their mittens; And they began to cry, O mother dear, We very much fear That we have lost our mittens. Lost your mittens! You naughty kittens! Then you shall have no pie. Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow. No, you shall have no pie. Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow. The three little kittens found their mittens, And they began to cry, O mother dear, See here, see here; See, we have found our mittens. Put on your mittens, You silly kittens, And you may have some pie. Purr-r, purr-r, purr-r, O let us have the pie. Purr-r, purr-r, purr-r. The three little kittens put on their mittens, And soon ate up the pie; O mother dear, We greatly fear That we have soiled our mittens. Soiled your mittens! You naughty kittens! Then they began to sigh, Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow, Then they began to sigh. Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow. The three little kittens washed their mittens, And hung them out to dry; O mother dear, Do not you hear, That we have washed our mittens? Washed your mittens! O, you're good kittens. But I smell a rat close by; Hush! hush! mee-ow, mee-ow. We smell a rat close by, Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow. ELIZA LEE FOLLEN * * * * * THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE When I was sick and lay a-bed, I had two pillows at my head, And all my toys beside me lay To keep me happy all the day. And sometimes for an hour or so I watched my leaden soldiers go, With different uniforms and drills, Among the bed-clothes, through the hills; And sometimes sent my ships in fleets All up and down among the sheets; Or brought my trees and houses out, And planted cities all about. I was the giant great and still That sits upon the pillow-hill, And sees before him, dale and plain, The pleasant land of counterpane. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON * * * * * THERE WAS A LITTLE GIRL There was a little girl, And she had a little curl Right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good She was very, very good, And when she was bad she was horrid. One day she went upstairs, When her parents, unawares, In the kitchen were occupied with meals, And she stood upon her head In her little trundle-bed, And then began hooraying with her heels. Her mother heard the noise, And she thought it was the boys A-playing at a combat in the attic; But when she climbed the stair, And found Jemima there, She took and she did spank her most emphatic. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW * * * * * THE BOY WHO NEVER TOLD A LIE Once there was a little boy, With curly hair and pleasant eye-- A boy who always told the truth, And never, never told a lie. And when he trotted off to school, The children all about would cry, "There goes the curly-headed boy-- The boy that never tells a lie." And everybody loved him so, Because he always told the truth, That every day, as he grew up, 'Twas said, "There goes the honest youth." And when the people that stood near Would turn to ask the reason why, The answer would be always this: "Because he never tells a lie." * * * * * FOREIGN CHILDREN Little Indian, Sioux or Crow, Little frosty Eskimo, Little Turk or Japanee, O! don't you wish that you were me? You have seen the scarlet trees And the lions over seas; You have eaten ostrich eggs, And turned the turtles off their legs. Such a life is very fine, But it's not so nice as mine: You must often, as you trod, Have wearied _not_ to be abroad. You have curious things to eat, I am fed on proper meat; You must dwell beyond the foam, But I am safe and live at home. Little Indian, Sioux or Crow, Little frosty Eskimo, Little Turk or Japanee, O! don't you wish that you were me? ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON * * * * * THE UNSEEN PLAYMATE When children are playing alone on the green, In comes the playmate that never was seen. When children are happy and lonely and good, The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood. Nobody heard him and nobody saw, His is a picture you never could draw, But he's sure to be present, abroad or at home, When children are happy, and playing alone. He lies in the laurels, he runs on the grass, He sings when you tinkle the musical glass; Whene'er you are happy and cannot tell why, The Friend of the Children is sure to be by! He loves to be little, he hates to be big, 'Tis he that inhabits the caves that you dig; 'Tis he when you play with your soldiers of tin That sides with the Frenchmen and never can win. 'Tis he when at night; you go off to your bed, Bids you go to your sleep and not trouble your head; For wherever they're lying, in cupboard or shelf, 'Tis he will take care of your playthings himself! ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON * * * * * I SAW THREE SHIPS I saw three ships come sailing in, On Christmas day, on Christmas day; I saw three ships come sailing in, On Christmas day in the morning. Pray whither sailed those ships all three On Christmas day, on Christmas day? Pray whither sailed those ships all three On Christmas day in the morning? Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem On Christmas day, on Christmas day; Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem On Christmas day in the morning. And all the bells on earth shall ring On Christmas day, on Christmas day; And all the bells on earth shall ring On Christmas day in the morning. And all the angels in heaven shall sing On Christmas day, on Christmas day; And all the angels in heaven shall sing On Christmas day in the morning. And all the souls on earth shall sing On Christmas day, on Christmas day; And all the souls on earth shall sing On Christmas day in the morning. OLD CAROL * * * * * A WAS AN ANT A was an ant Who seldom stood still, And who made a nice house In the side of a hill. a Nice little ant! B was a book With a binding of blue, And pictures and stories For me and for you. b Nice little book! C was a cat Who ran after a rat; But his courage did fail When she seized on his tail. c Crafty old cat! D was a duck With spots on his back, Who lived in the water, And always said "Quack!" d Dear little duck! E was an elephant, Stately and wise: He had tusks and a trunk, And two queer little eyes, e Oh, what funny small eyes! F was a fish Who was caught in a net; But he got out again, And is quite alive yet. f Lively young fish! G was a goat Who was spotted with brown: When he did not lie still He walked up and down. g Good little goat! H was a hat Which was all on one side; Its crown was too high, And its brim was too wide. h Oh, what a hat! I was some ice So white and so nice, But which nobody tasted; And so it was wasted. i All that good ice! J was a jackdaw Who hopped up and dowa In the principal street Of a neighboring town. j All through the town! K was a kite Which flew out of sight, Above houses so high, Quite into the sky. k Fly away, kite! L was a light Which burned all the night, And lighted the gloom Of a very dark room. l Useful nice light! M was a mill Which stood on a hill, And turned round and round With a loud hummy sound. m Useful old mill! N was a net Which was thrown in the sea To catch fish for dinner For you and for me. n Nice little net! O was an orange So yellow and round: When it fell off the tree, It fell down to the ground; o Down to the ground! P was a pig, Who was not very big; But his tail was too curly, And that made him surly. p Cross little pig! Q was a quail With a very short tail; And he fed upon corn In the evening and morn. q Quaint little quail! R was a rabbit, Who had a bad habit Of eating the flowers In gardens and bowers. r Naughty fat rabbit! S was the sugar-tongs, Nippity-nee, To take up the sugar To put in our tea. s Nippity-nee! T was a tortoise, All yellow and black: He walked slowly away, And he never came back. t Torty never came back! U was an urn All polished and bright, And full of hot water At noon and at night. u Useful old urn! V was a villa Which stood on a hill, By the side of a river, And close to a mill. v Nice little villa! W was a whale With a very long tail, Whose movements were frantic Across the Atlantic. w Monstrous old whale! X was King Xerxes, Who, more than all Turks is, Renowned for his fashion Of fury and passion. x Angry old Xerxes! Y was a yew, Which flourished and grew By a quiet abode Near the side of a road. y Dark little yew! Z was some zinc, So shiny and bright, Which caused you to wink In the sun's merry light. z Beautiful zinc! EDWARD LEAR * * * * * THE TABLE AND THE CHAIR I Said the Table to the Chair, "You can hardly be aware How I suffer from the heat And from chilblains on my feet. If we took a little walk, We might have a little talk; Pray let us take the air," Said the Table to the Chair. II Said the Chair unto the Table, "Now, you _know_ we are not able: How foolishly you talk, When you know we _cannot_ walk!" Said the Table with a sigh, "It can do no harm to try. I've as many legs as you: Why can't we walk on two?" III So they both went slowly down, And walked about the town With a cheerful bumpy sound As they toddled round and round; And everybody cried, As they hastened to their side, "See! the Table and the Chair Have come out to take the air!" IV But in going down an alley, To a castle in a valley, They completely lost their way, And wandered all the day; Till, to see them safely back, They paid a Ducky-quack, And a Beetle, and a Mouse, Who took them to their house. V Then they whispered to each other, "O delightful little brother, What a lovely walk we've taken! Let us dine on beans and bacon." So the Ducky and the leetle Browny-Mousy and the Beetle Dined, and danced upon their heads Till they toddled to their beds. EDWARD LEAR * * * * * PRECOCIOUS PIGGY Where are you going to, you little pig? "I'm leaving my Mother, I'm growing so big!" So big, young pig, So young, so big! What, leaving your Mother, you foolish young pig? Where are you going to, you little pig? "I've got a new spade, and I'm going to dig!" To dig, little pig! A little pig dig! Well, I never saw a pig with a spade that could dig! Where are you going to, you little pig? "Why, I'm going to have a nice ride in a gig!" In a gig, little pig! What, a pig in a gig! Well, I never yet saw a pig ride in a gig! Where are you going to, you little pig? "Well, I'm going to the Queen's Head to have a nice swig!" A swig, little pig! A pig have a swig! What, a pig at the Queen's Head having a swig! Where are you going to, you little pig? "Why, I'm going to the Ball to dance a fine jig!" A jig, little pig! A pig dance a jig! Well, I never before saw a pig dance a jig! Where are you going to, you little pig? "I'm going to the fair to run a fine rig!" A rig, little pig! A pig run a rig! Well, I never before saw a pig run a rig! Where are you going to, you little pig? "I'm going to the Barber's to buy me a wig!" A wig, little pig! A pig in a wig! Why, whoever before saw a pig in a wig! . . . . . . . . . . THOMAS HOOD * * * * * A BOY'S SONG Where the pools are bright and deep, Where the gray trout lies asleep, Up the river and o'er the lea, That's the way for Billy and me. Where the blackbird sings the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, Where the nestlings chirp and flee, That's the way for Billy and me. Where the mowers mow the cleanest, Where the hay lies thick and greenest, There to trace the homeward bee, That's the way for Billy and me. Where the hazel bank is steepest, Where the shadow falls the deepest, Where the clustering nuts fall free, That's the way for Billy and me. Why the boys should drive away Little sweet maidens from the play, Or love to banter and fight so well, That's the thing I never could tell. But this I know, I love to play, Through the meadow, among the hay; Up the water and o'er the lea, That's the way for Billy and me. JAMES HOGG * * * * * BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES Buttercups and daisies, Oh, the pretty flowers; Coming ere the spring time, To tell of sunny hours. While the trees are leafless, While the fields are bare, Buttercups and daisies Spring up here and there. Ere the snowdrop peepeth, Ere the crocus bold, Ere the early primrose Opes its paly gold, Somewhere on the sunny bank Buttercups are bright; Somewhere 'mong the frozen grass Peeps the daisy white. Little hardy flowers, Like to children poor, Playing in their sturdy health By their mother's door, Purple with the north wind, Yet alert and bold; Fearing not, and caring not, Though they be a-cold! What to them is winter! What are stormy showers! Buttercups and daisies Are these human flowers! He who gave them hardships And a life of care, Gave them likewise hardy strength And patient hearts to bear. MARY HOWITT * * * * * THE VIOLET Down in a green and shady bed A modest violet grew; Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, As if to hide from view. And yet it was a lovely flower, Its color bright and fair; It might have graced a rosy bower Instead of hiding there. Yet there it was content to bloom, In modest tints arrayed; And there diffused its sweet perfume Within the silent shade. Then let me to the valley go, This pretty flower to see, That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility. JANE TAYLOR * * * * * IF EVER I SEE If ever I see, On bush or tree, Young birds in their pretty nest, I must not in play, Steal the birds away, To grieve their mother's breast. My mother, I know, Would sorrow so, Should I be stolen away; So I'll speak to the birds In my softest words, Nor hurt them in my play. And when they can fly In the bright blue sky, They'll warble a song to me; And then if I'm sad It will make me glad To think they are happy and free. LYDIA MARIA CHILD * * * * * THE LITTLE LAND When at home alone I sit And am very tired of it, I have just to shut my eyes To go sailing through the skies-- To go sailing far away To the pleasant Land of Play; To the fairy land afar Where the Little People are; Where the clover-tops are trees, And the rain-pools are the seas, And the leaves like little ships Sail about on tiny trips; And above the daisy tree Through the grasses, High o'erhead the Bumble Bee Hums and passes. In that forest to and fro I can wander, I can go; See the spider and the fly, And the ants go marching by Carrying parcels with their feet Down the green and grassy street I can in the sorrel sit Where the ladybird alit. I can climb the jointed grass; And on high See the greater swallows pass In the sky, And the round sun rolling by Heeding no such thing as I. Through the forest I can pass Till, as in a looking-glass, Humming fly and daisy tree And my tiny self I see, Painted very clear and neat On the rain-pool at my feet. Should a leaflet come to land Drifting near to where I stand, Straight I'll board that tiny boat Round the rain-pool sea to float. Little thoughtful creatures sit On the grassy coasts of it; Little things with lovely eyes See me sailing with surprise. Some are clad in armor green-- (These have sure to battle been!) Some are pied with ev'ry hue, Black and crimson, gold and blue; Some have wings and swift are gone;-- But they all look kindly on. When my eyes I once again Open and see all things plain; High bare walls, great bare floor; Great big knobs on drawer and door; Great big people perched on chairs, Stitching tucks and mending tears, Each a hill that I could climb, And talking nonsense all the time-- O dear me, That I could be A sailor on the rain-pool sea, A climber in the clover-tree, And just come back, a sleepy-head, Late at night to go to bed. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON * * * * * A LOBSTER QUADRILLE "Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail, "There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail. See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance! They are waiting on the shingle--will you come and join the dance? Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance? Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance? "You can really have no notion how delightful it will be When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!" But the snail replied, "Too far, too far!" and gave a look askance-- Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance. Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance, Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance. "What matters it how far we go?" his scaly friend replied, "There is another shore, you know, upon the other side. The further off from England the nearer is to France-- Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance. Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance? Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?" LEWIS CARROLL * * * * * WHERE GO THE BOATS? Dark brown is the river, Golden is the sand. It flows along forever With trees on either hand. Green leaves a-floating, Castles of the foam, Boats of mine a-boating-- Where will all come home? On goes the river And out past the mill, Away down the valley, Away down the hill. Away down the river, A hundred miles or more, Other little children Shall bring my boats ashore. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON * * * * * THE WIND AND THE MOON Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out; You stare In the air Like a ghost in a chair, Always looking what I am about-- I hate to be watched; I'll blow you out." The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon. So, deep On a heap Of clouds to sleep, Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon, Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon." He turned in his bed; she was there again! On high In the sky, With her one ghost eye, The Moon shone white and alive and plain. Said the Wind, "I will blow you out again." The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim. "With my sledge, And my wedge, I have knocked off her edge! If only I blow right fierce and grim, The creature will soon be dimmer than dim." He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread, "One puff More's enough To blow her to snuff! One good puff more where the last was bred, And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread." He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone. In the air Nowhere Was a moonbeam bare; Far off and harmless the shy stars shone-- Sure and certain the Moon was gone! The Wind he took to his revels once more; On down, In town, Like a merry-mad clown, He leaped and hallooed with whistle and roar-- "What's that?" The glimmering thread once more! He flew in a rage--he danced and blew; But in vain Was the pain Of his bursting brain; For still the broader the Moon-scrap grew, The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew. Slowly she grew--till she filled the night, And shone On her throne In the sky alone, A matchless, wonderful silvery light, Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night. Said the Wind: "What a marvel of power am I! With my breath, Good faith! I blew her to death-- First blew her away right out of the sky-- Then blew her in; what strength have I!" But the Moon she knew nothing about the affair; For high In the sky, With her one white eye, Motionless, miles above the air, She had never heard the great Wind blare. GEORGE MACDONALD * * * * * WHERE ARE YOU GOING, MY PRETTY MAID? "Where are you going, my pretty maid?" "I am going a-milking, sir," she said. "May I go with you, my pretty maid?" "You're kindly welcome, sir," she said. "What is your father, my pretty maid?" "My father's a farmer, sir," she said. "What is your fortune, my pretty maid?" "My face is my fortune, sir," she said. "Then I won't marry your my pretty maid." "Nobody asked you, sir," she said. ANONYMOUS * * * * * THE LOST DOLL I once had a sweet little doll, dears, The prettiest doll in the world; Her cheeks were so red and white, dears, And her hair was so charmingly curled. But I lost my poor little doll, dears, As I played on the heath one day; And I cried for her more than a week, dears, But I never could find where she lay. I found my poor little doll, dears, As I played on the heath one day; Folks say she is terribly changed, dears, For her paint is all washed away, And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears, And her hair not the least bit curled; Yet for old sake's sake, she is still, dears, The prettiest doll in the world. CHARLES KINGSLEY * * * * * FOREIGN LANDS Up into the cherry tree Who should climb but little me? I held the trunk with both my hands And looked abroad on foreign lands. I saw the next-door garden lie, Adorned with flowers, before my eye, And many pleasant faces more That I had never seen before. I saw the dimpling river pass And be the sky's blue looking-glass; The dusty roads go up and down With people tramping in to town. If I could find a higher tree Farther and farther I should see, To where the grown-up river slips Into the sea among the ships, To where the roads on either hand Lead onward into fairy land, Where all the children dine at five, And all the playthings come alive. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON * * * * * BED IN SUMMER In winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candle-light. In summer, quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day. I have to go to bed and see The birds still hopping on the tree, Or hear the grown-up people's feet Still going past me in the street. And does it not seem hard to you, When all the sky is clear and blue, And I should like so much to play, To have to go to bed by day? ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON * * * * * TRY AGAIN 'Tis a lesson you should heed, Try, try, try again; If at first you don't succeed, Try, try, try again. Once or twice though you should fail Try again; If you would at last prevail, Try again. If we strive, 'tis no disgrace Though we may not win the race; What should you do in that case? Try again. If you find your task is hard, Try again; Time will bring you your reward, Try again. All that other folks can do, With your patience should not you? Only keep this rule in view-- Try again. ANONYMOUS * * * * * A GOOD PLAY We built a ship upon the stairs All made of the back-bedroom chairs, And filled it full of sofa pillows To go a-sailing on the billows. We took a saw and several nails, And water in the nursery pails; And Tom said, "Let us also take An apple and a slice of cake;"-- Which was enough for Tom and me To go a-sailing on, till tea. We sailed along for days and days, And had the very best of plays; But Tom fell out and hurt his knee, So there was no one left but me. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON * * * * * GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD MORNING A fair little girl sat under a tree Sewing as long as her eyes could see; Then smoothed her work and folded it right, And said, "Dear work, good night, good night!" Such a number of rooks came over her head, Crying, "Caw, caw!" on their way to bed, She said, as she watched their curious flight, "Little black things, good night, good night!" The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed, The sheep's "Bleat! bleat!" came over the road; All seeming to say, with a quiet delight, "Good little girl, good night, good night!" She did not say to the sun, "Good night!" Though she saw him there like a ball of light; For she knew he had God's time to keep All over the world and never could sleep. The tall pink foxglove bowed his head; The violets courtesied, and went to bed; And good little Lucy tied up her hair, And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer. And, while on her pillow she softly lay, She knew nothing more till again it was day; And all things said to the beautiful sun, "Good morning, good morning! our work is begun." RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES (LORD HOUGHTON) * * * * * THE WIND I saw you toss the kites on high And blow the birds about the sky; And all around I heard you pass, Like ladies' skirts across the grass-- O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song! I saw the different things you did, But always you yourself you hid. I felt you push, I heard you call, I could not see yourself at all-- O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song! O you that are so strong and cold, O blower, are you young or old? Are you a beast of field and tree, Or just a stronger child than me? O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song! ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON * * * * * THE SPIDER AND THE FLY "Will you walk into my parlor?" said the spider to the fly; "'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy. The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, And I have many curious things to show when you are there." "Oh no, no," said the little fly; "to ask me is in vain, For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again." "I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high. Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the spider to the fly. "There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin, And if you like to rest a while, I'll snugly tuck you in!" "Oh no, no," said the little fly, "for I've often heard it said, They never, never wake again who sleep upon your bed!" Said the cunning spider to the fly: "Dear friend, what can I do To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you? I have within my pantry good store of all that's nice; I'm sure you're very welcome--will you please to take a slice?" "Oh no, no," said the little fly; "kind sir, that cannot be: I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!" "Sweet creature!" said the spider, "you're witty and you're wise; How handsome are your gauzy wings; how brilliant are your eyes! I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf; If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself." "I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say, And, bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day." The spider turned him round about, and went into his den, For well he knew the silly fly would soon come back again: So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly, And set his table ready to dine upon the fly; Then came out to his door again, and merrily did sing: "Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with pearl and silver wing; Your robes are green and purple; there's a crest upon your head; Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!" Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little fly, Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by; With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew, Thinking only of her brilliant eyes and green and purple hue, Thinking only of her crested head. Poor, foolish thing! at last Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast; He dragged her up his winding stair, into the dismal den-- Within his little parlor--but she ne'er came out again! And now, dear little children, who may this story read, To idle, silly, flattering words I pray you ne'er give heed; Unto an evil counselor close heart and ear and eye, And take a lesson from this tale of the spider and the fly. MARY HOWITT * * * * * LET DOGS DELIGHT TO BARK AND BITE Let dogs delight to bark and bite, For God hath made them so; Let bears and lions growl and fight, For 'tis their nature to; But, children, you should never let Your angry passions rise: Your little hands were never made To tear each other's eyes. Let love through all your actions run, And all your words be mild; Live like the blessèd Virgin's Son,-- That sweet and lovely child. His soul was gentle as a lamb; And as his stature grew, He grew in favor both with man And God his father, too. Now, Lord of all, he reigns above; And from his heavenly throne, He sees what children dwell in love, And marks them for his own. ISAAC WATTS * * * * * CHILD'S EVENING HYMN Now the day is over, Night is drawing nigh, Shadows of the evening Steal across the sky. Now the darkness gathers, Stars begin to peep, Birds and beasts and flowers Soon will be asleep. Jesu, give the weary Calm and sweet repose; With thy tenderest blessing May our eyelids close. Grant to little children Visions bright of thee; Guard the sailors tossing On the deep blue sea. Comfort every sufferer Watching late in pain; Those who plan some evil From their sin restrain. Through the long night-watches May thine angels spread Their white wings above me, Watching round my bed. When the morning wakens, Then may I arise Pure and fresh and sinless In thy holy eyes. Glory to the Father, Glory to the Son, And to thee, blessed Spirit, Whilst all ages run. AMEN. SABINE BARING-GOULD * * * * * CHILDREN'S FAVORITE STORIES * * * * * HANSEL AND GRETEL Many years ago, a woodcutter and his wife, with their two children, Hansel and Gretel, lived upon the outskirts of a dense wood. They were very poor, so that when a famine fell upon the land, and bread became dear, they could no longer afford to buy sufficient food for the whole family. One night, as the poor man lay tossing on his hard bed, he cried aloud in his grief and anguish: "Alas! what will become of us? How can I feed my hungry little ones when we have no food for ourselves?" "Listen to me, good-man," answered his wife, who was stepmother to the children. "As it is no longer possible for us to keep our children, we will take them into the wood with us tomorrow, light a fire for them, and give each a piece of bread and leave them. They will not easily find their way back, and so we shall be rid of the burden of them." But the father said: "No, no! I could not find it in my heart to leave my darlings to perish. The wild beasts would tear them limb from limb." "Then," answered the wife, "we must all four die of hunger." She gave her husband no peace until he promised to do as she wished, and at last, very unwillingly, he consented. Now, the two children had been too hungry to go to sleep that night, and so it happened that they overheard all that their parents were saying. Gretel wept bitterly, but brave little Hansel did his best to comfort her. "Don't be afraid," he said; "I will take care of you." As soon as his father and stepmother were asleep, he slipped on his coat, and-opening the door softly, went out into the garden. The moon was shining brightly, and by its light he could see the little white pebbles that lay scattered in front of the house, shining like little pieces of silver. He stooped and filled his pockets as full as he could, and then went back to Gretel, and once more bidding her be comforted, for God would be sure to watch over them, he jumped into bed, and they both fell fast asleep. Early in the morning, before the sun had risen, the stepmother came and wakened the children. "Rise, little lie-a-beds," she said, "and come with us into the wood to gather fuel." She gave them each a piece of bread for their dinner, and told them to be sure not to eat it too soon, for they would get nothing more. Gretel carried the bread in her pinafore, because Hansel had his pockets full, and then they all set out upon their way to the wood. As they trudged along, the father noticed that his little son kept turning back to look at the house. "Take care, my boy," he said, "or you will slip. What are you looking at so earnestly?" "I am watching my kitten, father: she is sitting on the roof to bid me good-by." "Silly little lad, that is not your cat," said the stepmother; "it is only the morning sun shining on the chimney." But Hansel had not been watching his cat at all; he had stayed behind to drop the pebbles upon the path. When they reached the thickest part of the forest, the father bade the children gather wood, that he might kindle a fire for them, so that they might rest beside it and warm themselves whilst he and his wife were cutting the fuel. So they gathered a pile of brushwood and twigs, and as soon as it was well alight, the parents left them, promising to return as soon as they had finished their work. Hansel and Gretel sat down by the fire, and when midday came they ate their bread and sat listening to the strokes of their father's axe, thinking all the time that he was near to them. But what they heard was only a dry branch which the man had bound to a tree, so that the wind swung it hither and thither, and the noise it made deceived the children. At last the poor, tired, little eyelids closed, and, side by side, brother and sister fell asleep. When they awoke, the night was very dark, and Gretel was frightened, and began to cry. Hansel put his arms around her and whispered. "Wait, dearie, till the moon rises; we shall soon find our way home then." As soon as the bright moon rose, Hansel took his little sister by the hand, and all night long they followed the track of the little white pebbles, until at daybreak they came to their father's house. They knocked at the door, and no sooner did the stepmother open it than she began to scold them for having stayed out so long in the wood; but the father greeted them kindly, for he had grieved sorely for his little ones. In a short time they were as badly off as ever, and one night they again heard their mother trying to persuade her husband to take them out into the wood and lose them. "There is nothing left in the house but half a loaf of bread," she said; "for our own sakes it is better to get rid of the children; but this time we will lead them farther away, so that they will not be able to find their way home." But the man would not agree. "Better to divide our last morsel with them," he said, "and then die together." His wife would not listen to what he said, but scolded him for his want of thought for her; and at last the poor man gave way a second time, just as he had done at first. But the children had overheard all that was said, and as soon as the mother and father were asleep, Hansel stole down to the door, meaning to go and collect pebbles as he had done before; but the door was locked and bolted, and he could not get out. "Never mind, Gretel," he said consolingly, "the good God will surely help us." Early in the morning the woman wakened the children, and, giving them a small piece of bread, bade them follow her and their father into the wood. As they went, Hansel crumbled his morsel of bread in his pocket and strewed the crumbs upon the path. "Come, Hansel," said the father, "don't loiter so, sonny. What can you see to stare at so often?" "My little dove, father. It is sitting on the housetop, bidding me good-by." "Nonsense," said the woman, "it is not your dove; it is only the rising sun shining upon the chimney." Hansel did not answer, but he went on strewing his crumbs carefully until the last morsel of bread was gone. Deeper and deeper into the wood they went, where the children had never been before. There a great fire was kindled, and the mother said: "Stay here, children, whilst your father and I go to cut wood. If you are tired you may sleep a while, and we will fetch you when it is time to go home." When dinner-time came, Gretel divided her piece of bread with Hansel, because he had scattered all his share upon the road; and then they went to sleep. The evening shadows fell, but still no one came to fetch the poor children, and it was not until midnight that they awakened. Hansel put his arms round his sister and told her not to fear, for when the moon rose they would easily be able to see the crumbs, and so find their way home again. So when the moon rose they set out upon their way; but alas! there were no crumbs to be seen, for the little birds that lived in the green wood were as hungry as the children, and had eaten them all up. "We will find the way somehow," cried cheerful little Hansel; but though they traveled all night long, and the next day too, they could not find it. Poor little mites, how tired and hungry they were, for they had nothing to eat but the berries that grew by the roadside! When at length the weary little feet could go no farther, the children lay down beneath a tree and slept. On the third day they were still as far away as ever, and it seemed to them that the longer they walked the deeper they got into the wood, and they began to be afraid that they would die of cold and hunger. But presently, when the midday sun was shining brightly, they noticed a little snow-white bird singing so sweetly that they could not help but stay to listen. When the birdie's song was ended, he spread his wings and flew away. The children followed him until they reached a little house, on the roof of which he perched. Then the children saw with surprise that the strange little house was built entirely of bread, roofed with cakes, and with windows of barley sugar. "See, Gretel," cried Hansel joyfully, "there is food for us in plenty. I will take a piece of the roof, and you shall have one of the windows." He stretched out his hand to help himself, and Gretel had already begun to nibble one of the window-panes, when suddenly they heard a voice call from within:-- "Nibbly, nibbly, mouse! Who's nibbling at my house?" The children answered quickly:-- "'Tis my Lady Wind that blows, As round about the house she goes." And then they went on eating as though nothing had happened for the cake of which the roof was made just suited Hansel's taste, whilst the barley-sugar window-panes were better than any sweetmeat Gretel had ever tasted before. All at once the door of the cottage flew wide open, and out came an old, old woman, leaning upon a crutch. The children were so frightened that they dropped their food and clung to each other. The old woman nodded her head to them, and said: "Who brought you here, my pets? Come inside, come inside; no one will hurt you." She took their hands and led them into the house, and set before them all kinds of delicious foods, milk, sugared pancakes, apples, and nuts. When they had finished their meal she showed them two cosy little white beds, and as Hansel and Gretel lay snugly tucked up in them, they thought to themselves that surely they had now found the most delightful place in the whole wide world. But the old woman had only pretended to be friendly and kind, for she was really a wicked old witch, who was always lying in wait to catch little children, indeed, she had built the little house of bread and cakes especially to entice them in. Whenever anyone came into her power, she cooked and ate him, and thought what a fine feast she had had. Witches have red eyes and cannot see far, but they have keen scent, like animals, and can tell at once when a human being is near to them. As soon as Hansel and Gretel came into her neighborhood she laughed to herself and said mockingly: "Ha, ha! they are mine already; they will not easily escape me." Early in the morning, before the children were awake, she stood beside them and admired their rosy cheeks and soft round limbs. "What nice tit-bits for me," murmured she. Then, seizing Hansel by the hand, she led him to a little stable, and, in spite of his cries and screams, shut him up and left him. Then she shook Gretel until she was awake, and bade her get up at once and carry food and drink to her brother, and it must be of the best too, for she wished to fatten him. "When he is nice and plump, I shall eat him," said the cruel old witch. Gretel wept bitterly, but it was quite in vain, for she was obliged to do the witch's bidding; and every day she cooked the choicest food for her brother, while she herself lived upon nothing but oyster-shells. Day by day the old woman visited the stable and called to Hansel to put his finger through the window bars, that she might see if he were getting fat; but the little fellow held out a bone instead, and as her eyes were dim with age, she mistook the bone for the boy's finger, and thought how thin and lean he was. When a whole month had passed without Hansel becoming the least bit fatter, the old witch lost patience and declared she would wait no longer. "Hurry, Gretel," she said to the little girl, "fill the pot with water, for to-morrow, be he lean or fat, Hansel shall be cooked for my dinner." The tears chased each other down Gretel's cheeks as she carried in the water, and she sobbed aloud in her grief. "Dear God," she cried, "we have no one to help us but Thou. Alas! if only the wild beasts in the wood had devoured us, at least we should have died together." "Cease your chattering," cried the old witch angrily. "It will not help you, so you may as well be still." The next morning poor Gretel was forced to light the fire and hang the great pot of water over it, and then the witch said: "First we will bake. I have kneaded the dough, and heated the oven; you shall creep inside it to see if it is hot enough to bake the bread." But Gretel guessed that the old witch meant to shut the door upon her and roast her, so she pretended that she did not know how to get in. "Silly goose," said the witch. "The door is wide enough, to be sure. Why, even I could get inside it." As she spoke, she popped her head into the oven. In a moment Gretel sprang towards her, pushed her inside, shut the iron door, and shot the bolt. Oh! how she squealed and shrieked, but Gretel ran off as fast as she could, and so there was an end of the cruel old witch. Quick as thought, Gretel ran to her brother. "We are saved, Hansel," she cried, opening the door of the stable, "the wicked old witch is dead." Hansel flew from his prison as a bird from its cage, and the two happy little children kissed each other and jumped for joy. No longer afraid of the old witch, they entered the house, hand in hand, and then they saw that in every corner of the room were boxes of pearls and diamonds, and all kinds of precious gems. "Ah!" said Hansel merrily, "these are better than pebbles, Gretel," and he stuffed his pockets with the jewels, whilst Gretel filled her pinafore. "Now," said Hansel, "we will leave the witch's wood behind us as fast as we can." So off they ran, and never stopped until they came to a lake, upon which swam a large white duck. "How can we cross," said Hansel, "for there is no bridge anywhere?" "And no ship either," Gretel answered; "but we will ask the pretty white duck to carry us over." So they cried aloud:-- "Little duck, little duck, With wings so white, Carry us over The waters bright." The duck came at once, and, taking Hansel upon her back, carried him over to the other side, and then did the same for Gretel. They went merrily on their way, and very soon they found themselves in a part of the wood they knew quite well. When they saw the roof of their father's house in the distance they began to run, and, breathless with haste, half laughing and half crying, they rushed into the cottage and flung themselves into their father's arms. Oh! how pleased he was to see them once again, for he had not known a happy hour since he had left them alone in the wood. Gretel shook out her pinafore, and Hansel emptied his pockets, and the floor of the little room was quite covered with glittering precious stones. So now their troubles were at an end, for the cruel stepmother was dead, and Hansel and Gretel and their father lived together happily ever after. My story is ended, and see, there runs a little mouse, and the first who catches him shall have a fur cap made from his skin. * * * * * THE FAIR CATHERINE AND PIF-PAF POLTRIE "Good day, Father Hollenthe. How do you do?" "Very well, I thank you, Pif-paf Poltrie." "May I marry your daughter?" "Oh, yes! if the mother Malcho (_Milk-Cow_), the brother Hohenstolz (_High and Mighty_), the sister Kâsetraut (_Cheese-maker_), and the fair Catherine are willing, it may be so." "Where is, then, the mother Malcho?" "In the stable, milking the cow." "Good day, mother Malcho. How do you do?" "Very well, I thank you, Pif-paf Poltrie." "May I marry your daughter?" "Oh, yes! if the father Hollenthe, the brother Hohenstolz, the sister Kâsetraut, and the fair Catherine are willing, it may be so." "Where is, then, the brother Hohenstolz?" "In the yard, chopping up the wood." "Good day, brother Hohenstolz. How are you?" "Very well, I thank you, Pif-paf Poltrie." "May I marry your sister?" "Oh, yes! if the father Hollenthe, the mother Malcho, the sister Kâsetraut, and the fair Catherine are willing, it may be so. "Where is, then, the sister Kâsetraut?" "In the garden, cutting the cabbages." "Good day, sister Kâsetraut. How do you do?" "Very well, I thank you, Pif-paf Poltrie." "May I marry your sister?" "Oh, yes! if the father Hollenthe, the mother Malcho, the brother Hohenstolz, and the fair Catherine are willing, it may be so." "Where is, then, the fair Catherine?" "In her chamber, counting out her pennies." "Good day, fair Catherine. How do you do?" "Very well, I thank you, Pif-paf Poltrie." "Will you be my bride?" "Oh, yes! if the father Hollenthe, the mother Malcho, the brother Hohenstolz, and the sister Kâsetraut are willing, so am I." "How much money have you, fair Catherine?" "Fourteen pennies in bare money, two and a half farthings owing to me, half a pound of dried apples, a handful of prunes, and a handful of roots; and don't you call that a capital dowry? Pif-paf Poltrie, what trade are you? Are you a tailor?" "Better than that." "A shoemaker?" "Better still!" "A plowman?" "Better still!" "A joiner?" "Better still!" "A smith?" "Better still!" "A miller?" "Better still!" "Perhaps a broom-binder?" "Yes, so I am; now, is not that a pretty trade?" * * * * * THE WOLF AND THE FOX A wolf, once upon a time, caught a fox. It happened one day that they were both going through the forest, and the wolf said to his companion: "Get me some food, or I will eat you up." The fox replied: "I know a farmyard where there are a couple of young lambs, which, if you wish, we will fetch." This proposal pleased the wolf, so they went, and the fox, stealing first one of the lambs, brought it to the wolf, and then ran away. The wolf devoured it quickly, but was not contented, and went to fetch the other lamb by himself, but he did it so awkwardly that he aroused the attention of the mother, who began to cry and bleat loudly, so that the peasants ran up. There they found the wolf, and beat him so unmercifully that he ran, howling and limping, to the fox, and said: "You have led me to a nice place, for, when I went to fetch the other lamb, the peasants came and beat me terribly!" "Why are you such a glutton, then?" asked the fox. The next day they went again into the fields, and the covetous wolf said to the fox: "Get me something to eat now, or I will devour you!" The fox said he knew a country house where the cook was going that evening to make some pancakes, and thither they went. When they arrived, the fox sneaked and crept around round the house, until he at last discovered where the dish was standing, out of which he stole six pancakes, and took them to the wolf, saying, "There is something for you to eat!" and then ran away. The wolf dispatched these in a minute or two, and, wishing to taste some more, he went and seized the dish, but took it away so hurriedly that it broke in pieces. The noise of its fall brought out the woman, who, as soon as she saw the wolf, called her people, who, hastening up, beat him with such a good will that he ran home to the fox, howling, with two lame legs! "What a horrid place you have drawn me into now," cried he; "the peasants have caught me, and dressed my skin finely!" "Why, then, are you such a glutton?" said the fox. When they went out again the third day, the wolf limping along with weariness, he said to the fox: "Get me something to eat now, or I will devour you!" The fox said he knew a man who had just killed a pig, and salted the meat down in a cask in his cellar, and that they could get at it. The wolf replied that he would go with him on condition that he helped him if he could not escape. "Oh, of course I will, on mine own account!" said the fox, and showed him the tricks and ways by which they could get into the cellar. When they went in there was meat in abundance, and the wolf was enraptured at the sight. The fox, too, had a taste, but kept looking round while eating, and ran frequently to the hole by which they had entered, to see if his body would slip through it easily. Presently the wolf asked: "Why are you running about so, you fox, jumping in and out?" "I want to see if any one is coming," replied the fox cunningly; "but mind you do not eat too much!" The wolf said he would not leave till the cask was quite empty; and meanwhile the peasant, who had heard the noise made by the fox, entered the cellar. The fox, as soon as he saw him, made a spring, and was through the hole in a jiffy; and the wolf tried to follow his example, but he had eaten so much that his body was too big for the opening, and he stuck fast. Then came the peasant with a cudgel, and beat him sorely; but the fox leaped away into the forest, very glad to get rid of the old glutton. * * * * * DISCREET HANS Hans's mother asked: "Whither are you going, Hans?" "To Grethel's," replied he. "Behave well, Hans." "I will take care; good-by, mother." "Good-by, Hans." Hans came to Grethel. "Good day," said he. "Good day," replied Grethel, "what treasure do you bring to-day?" "I bring nothing. Have you anything to give?" Grethel presented Hans with a needle. "Good-by," said he. "Good-by, Hans." Hans took the needle, stuck it in a load of hay, and walked home behind the wagon. "Good evening, mother." "Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?" "To Grethel's." "And what have you given her?" "Nothing; she has given me something." "What has Grethel given you?" "A needle," said Hans. "And where have you put it?" "In the load of hay." "Then you have behaved stupidly, Hans; you should put needles on your coat-sleeve." "To behave better, do nothing at all," thought Hans. "Whither are you going, Hans?" "To Grethel's, mother." "Behave well, Hans." "I will take care; good-by, mother." "Good-by, Hans." Hans came to Grethel. "Good day," said he. "Good day, Hans. What treasure do you bring?" "I bring nothing. Have you anything to give?" Grethel gave Hans a knife. "Good-by, Grethel." "Good-by, Hans." Hans took the knife, put it in his sleeve, and went home. "Good evening, mother." "Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?" "To Grethel's." "And what did you take to her?" "I took nothing; she has given to me." "And what did she give you?" "A knife," said Hans. "And where have you put it?" "In my sleeve." "Then you have behaved foolishly again, Hans; you should put knives in your pocket." "To behave better, do nothing at all," thought Hans. "Whither are you going, Hans?" "To Grethel's, mother." "Behave well, Hans." "I will take care; good-by, mother." "Good-by, Hans." Hans came to Grethel. "Good day, Grethel." "Good day, Hans. What treasure do you bring?" "I bring nothing. Have you anything to give?" Grethel gave Hans a young goat. "Good-by, Grethel." "Good-by, Hans." Hans took the goat, tied its legs, and put it in his pocket. Just as he reached home it was suffocated. "Good evening, mother." "Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?" "To Grethel's." "And what did you take to her?" "I took nothing; she gave to me." "And what did Grethel give you?" "A goat." "Where did you put it, Hans?" "In my pocket." "There you acted stupidly, Hans; you should have tied the goat with a rope." "To behave better, do nothing," thought Hans. "Whither away, Hans?" "To Grethel's, mother." "Behave well, Hans." "I'll take care; good-by, mother." "Good-by, Hans." Hans came to Grethel. "Good day," said he. "Good day, Hans. What treasure do you bring?" "I bring nothing. Have you anything to give?" Grethel gave Hans a piece of bacon. "Good-by, Grethel." "Good-by, Hans." Hans took the bacon, tied it with a rope, and swung it to and fro so that the dogs came and ate it up. When he reached home he held the rope in his hand, but there was nothing on it. "Good evening, mother," said he. "Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?" "To Grethel's, mother." "What did you take there?" "I took nothing; she gave to me." "And what did Grethel give you?" "A piece of bacon," said Hans. "And where have you put it?" "I tied it with a rope, swung it about, and the dogs came and ate it up." "There you acted stupidly, Hans; you should have carried the bacon on your head." "To behave better, do nothing," thought Hans. "Whither away, Hans?" "To Grethel's, mother." "Behave well, Hans." "I'll take care; good-by, mother." "Good-by, Hans." Hans came to Grethel. "Good day," said he. "Good day, Hans. What treasure do you bring?" "I bring nothing. Have you anything to give?" Grethel gave Hans a calf. "Good-by," said Hans. "Good-by." Hans took the calf, set it on his head, and the calf scratched his face. "Good evening, mother." "Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?" "To Grethel's." "What did you take her?" "I took nothing; she gave to me." "And what did Grethel give you?" "A calf," said Hans. "And what did you do with it?" "I set it on my head, and it kicked my face." "Then you acted stupidly, Hans; you should have led the calf home, and put it in the stall." "To behave better, do nothing," thought Hans. "Whither away, Hans?" "To Grethel's, mother." "Behave well, Hans." "I'll take care; good-by, mother." "Good by, Hans." Hans came to Grethel. "Good day," said he. "Good day, Hans. What treasure do you bring?" "I bring nothing. Have you anything to give?" Grethel said: "I will go with you, Hans." Hans tied a rope round Grethel, led her home, put her in the stall, and made the rope fast; and then he went to his mother. "Good evening, mother." "Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?" "To Grethel's." "What did you take her?" "I took nothing." "What did Grethel give you?" "She gave nothing; she came with me." "And where have you left her, then?" "I tied her with a rope, put her in the stall, and threw in some grass." "Then you acted stupidly, Hans; you should have looked at her with friendly eyes." "To behave better, do nothing," thought Hans; and then he went into the stall, and made sheep's eyes at Grethel. And after that Grethel became Hans's wife. * * * * * PUSS IN BOOTS Once upon a time there was a miller, who was so poor that at his death he had nothing to leave to his three children but his mill, his ass, and his cat. The eldest son took the mill, and the second the ass, so there was nothing left for poor Jack but to take Puss. Jack could not help thinking that he had been treated shabbily. "My brothers will be able to earn an honest livelihood," he sighed, "but as for me, though Puss may feed himself by catching mice, I shall certainly die of hunger." The cat, who had overheard his young master, jumped upon his shoulder, and, rubbing himself gently against his cheek, began to speak. "Dear master," said he, "do not grieve. I am not as useless as you think me, and will undertake to make your fortune for you, if only you will buy me a pair of boots, and give me that old bag." Now, Jack had very little money to spare, but, knowing Puss to be a faithful old friend, he made up his mind to trust him, and so spent all he possessed upon a smart pair of boots made of buff-colored leather. They fitted perfectly, so Puss put them on, took the old bag which his master gave him, and trotted off to a neighboring warren in which he knew there was a great number of rabbits. Having put some bran and fresh parsley into the bag, he laid it upon the ground, hid himself, and waited. Presently two foolish little rabbits, sniffing the food, ran straight into the bag, when the clever cat drew the strings and caught them. Then, slinging the bag over his shoulder, he hastened off to the palace, where he asked to speak to the King. Having been shown into the royal presence, he bowed and said: "Sire, my Lord the Marquis of Carabas has commanded me to present these rabbits to your Majesty, with his respects." The monarch having desired his thanks to be given to the Marquis (who, as you will guess, was really our poor Jack), then ordered his head cook to dress the rabbits for dinner, and he and his daughter partook of them with great enjoyment. Day by day Puss brought home stores of good food, so that he and his master lived in plenty, and besides that, he did not fail to keep the King and his courtiers well supplied with game. Sometimes he would lay a brace of partridges at the royal feet, sometimes a fine large hare, but whatever it was, it always came with the same message: "From my Lord the Marquis of Carabas"; so that everyone at Court was talking of this strange nobleman, whom no one had ever seen, but who sent such generous presents to his Majesty. At length Puss decided that it was time for his master to be introduced at Court. So one day he persuaded him to go and bathe in a river near, having heard that the King would soon pass that way. Jack stood shivering up to his neck in water, wondering what was to happen next, when suddenly the King's carriage appeared in sight. At once Puss began to call out as loudly as he could: "Help, help! My Lord the Marquis of Carabas is drowning!" The King put his head out of the carriage window and, recognizing the cat, ordered his attendants to go to the assistance of the Marquis. While Jack was being taken out of the water, Puss ran to the King and told him that some robbers had run off with his master's clothes whilst he was bathing, the truth of the matter being that the cunning cat had hidden them under a stone. On hearing this story the King instantly despatched one of his grooms to fetch a handsome suit of purple and gold from the royal wardrobe, and arrayed in this, Jack, who was a fine, handsome fellow, looked so well that no one for a moment supposed but that he was some noble foreign lord. The King and his daughter were so pleased with his appearance that they invited him into their carriage. At first Jack hesitated, for he felt a little shy about sitting next to a Princess, but she smiled at him so sweetly, and was so kind and gentle, that he soon forgot his fears and fell in love with her there and then. As soon as Puss had seen his master seated in the royal carriage, he whispered directions to the coachman, and then ran on ahead as fast as he could trot, until he came to a field of corn, where the reapers were busy. "Reapers," said he fiercely, "the King will shortly pass this way. If he should ask you to whom this field belongs, remember that you say, 'To the Marquis of Carabas.' If you dare to disobey me, I will have you all chopped up as fine as mincemeat." The reapers were so afraid the cat would keep his word that they promised to obey. Puss then ran on and told all the other laborers whom he met to give the same answer, threatening them with terrible punishments if they disobeyed. Now, the King was in a very good humor, for the day was fine, and he found the Marquis a very pleasant companion, so he told the coachman to drive slowly, in order that he might admire the beautiful country. "What a fine field of wheat!" he said presently. "To whom does it belong?" Then the men answered as they had been told: "To our Lord the Marquis of Carabas." Next they met a herd of cattle, and again to the King's question, "To whom do they belong?" they were told, "To the Marquis of Carabas." And it was the same with everything they passed. The Marquis listened with the greatest astonishment, and thought what a very wonderful cat his dear Puss was; and the King was delighted to find that his new friend was as wealthy as he was charming. Meanwhile Puss, who was well in advance of the Royal party, had arrived at a stately castle, which belonged to a cruel Ogre, the richest ever known, for all the lands the King had admired so much belonged to him. Puss knocked at the door and asked to see the Ogre, who received him quite civilly, for he had never seen a cat in boots before, and the sight amused him. So he and Puss were soon chatting away together. The Ogre, who was very conceited, began to boast of what clever tricks he could play, and Puss sat and listened, with a smile on his face. "I once heard, great Ogre," he said at last, "that you possessed the power of changing yourself into any kind of animal you chose--a lion or an elephant, for instance." "Well, so I can," replied the Ogre. "Dear me! how much I should like to see you do it now," said Puss sweetly. The Ogre was only too pleased to find a chance of showing how very clever he was, so he promised to transform himself into any animal Puss might mention. "Oh! I will leave the choice to you," said the cat politely. Immediately there appeared where the Ogre had been seated, an enormous lion, roaring, and lashing with its tail, and looking as though it meant to gobble the cat up in a trice. Puss was really very much frightened, and, jumping out of the window, managed to scramble on to the roof, though he could scarcely hold on to the tiles on account of his high-heeled boots. There he sat, refusing to come down, until the Ogre changed himself into his natural form, and laughingly called to him that he would not hurt him. Then Puss ventured back into the room, and began to compliment the Ogre on his cleverness. "Of course, it was all very wonderful," he said, "but it would be more wonderful still if you, who are so great and fierce, could transform yourself into some timid little creature, such as a mouse. That, I suppose, would be quite impossible?" "Not at all," said the vain Ogre; "one is quite as easy to me as the other, as I will show you." And in a moment a little brown mouse was frisking about all over the floor, whilst the Ogre had vanished. "Now or never," said Puss, and with a spring he seized the mouse and gobbled it up as fast as he could. At the same moment all the gentlemen and ladies whom the wicked Ogre had held in his castle under a spell, became disenchanted. They were so grateful to their deliverer that they would have done anything to please him, and readily agreed to enter into the service of the Marquis of Carabas when Puss asked them to do so. So now the cat had a splendid castle, which he knew to be full of heaped-up treasures, at his command, and ordering a magnificent feast to be prepared, he took up his station at the castle gates to welcome his master and the royal party. As soon as the castle appeared in sight, the King enquired whose it was, "For," said he, "I have never seen a finer." Then Puss, bowing low, threw open the castle gates, and cried: "May it please your Majesty to alight and enter the home of the most noble the Marquis of Carabas." Full of surprise, the King turned to the Marquis. "Is this splendid castle indeed yours?" he asked. "Not even our own palace is more beautiful, and doubtless it is as splendid within as without." Puss then helped his Majesty to alight, and conducted him into the castle, where a group of noble gentlemen and fair ladies were waiting to receive them. Jack, or the Marquis as he was now called, gave his hand to the young Princess, and led her to the banquet. Long and merrily they feasted, and when at length the guests rose to depart, the King embraced the Marquis, and called him his dear son; and the Princess blushed so charmingly and looked so shy and sweet, that Jack ventured to lay his heart and fortune at her feet. And so the miller's son married the King's daughter, and there were great rejoicings throughout the land. On the evening of the wedding-day a great ball was given, to which princes and noblemen from far and near were invited. Puss opened the ball, wearing for the occasion a pair of boots made of the finest leather, with gold tassels and scarlet heels. I only wish you could have seen him. When the old King died, the Princess and her husband reigned in his stead, and their most honored and faithful friend at Court was Puss himself, for his master never forgot to whom he owed all his good fortune. He lived upon the daintiest meat and most delicious cream, and was petted and made much of all the days of his life, and never again ran after mice and rats, except for exercise and amusement. * * * * * THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER There was once a shoemaker who, through no fault of his own, had become so poor that at last he had only leather enough left for one pair of shoes. At evening he cut out the shoes which he intended to begin upon the next morning, and since he had a good conscience, he lay down quietly, said his prayers, and fell asleep. In the morning when he had prayed, as usual, and was preparing to sit down to work, he found the pair of shoes standing finished on his table. He was amazed, and could not understand it in the least. He took the shoes in his hand to examine them more closely. They were so neatly sewn that not a stitch was out of place, and were as good as the work of a master-hand. Soon after a purchaser came in, and as he was much pleased with the shoes, he paid more than the ordinary price for them, so that the shoemaker was able to buy leather for two pairs with the money. He cut them out in the evening, and next day, with fresh courage was about to go to work; but he had no need to, for when he got up, the shoes were finished, and buyers were not lacking. These gave him so much money that he was able to buy leather for four pairs of shoes. Early next morning he found the four pairs finished, and so it went on; what he cut out at evening was finished in the morning, so that he was soon again in comfortable circumstances, and became a well-to-do man. Now it happened one evening, not long before Christmas, when he had cut out shoes as usual, that he said to his wife: "How would it be if we were to sit up to-night to see who it is that lends us such a helping hand?" The wife agreed, lighted a candle, and they hid themselves in the corner of the room behind the clothes which were hanging there. At midnight came two little naked men, who sat down at the shoemaker's table, took up the cut-out work, and began with their tiny fingers to stitch, sew, and hammer so neatly and quickly, that the shoemaker could not believe his eyes. They did not stop till everything was quite finished, and stood complete on the table; then they ran swiftly away. The next day the wife said: "The little men have made us rich, and we ought to show our gratitude. They run about with nothing on, and must freeze with cold. Now I will make them little shirts, coats, waistcoats, and hose, and will even knit them stout stockings, and you shall make them each a pair of shoes." The husband agreed, and at evening, when they had everything ready, they laid out the presents on the table, and hid themselves to see how the little men would behave. At midnight they came skipping in, and were about to set to work; but, instead of the leather ready cut out, they found the charming little clothes. At first they were surprised, then excessively delighted. With the greatest speed they put on and smoothed down the pretty clothes, singing: "Now we're dressed so fine and neat, Why cobble more for others' feet?" Then they hopped and danced about, and leaped over chairs and tables and out at the door. Henceforward, they came back no more, but the shoemaker fared well as long as he lived, and had good luck in all his undertakings. * * * * * HANS IN LUCK Hans had served his master seven long years; so he said to him: "Master, my time is out, and my wish is to return home to my mother: give me, if you please, my reward." The master answered: "Thou hast truly and faithfully served me; as the service was, so shall the reward be." And he gave Hans a piece of gold as big as his head. Hans pulled out his handkerchief, wrapped up the lump of gold in it, and, throwing it over his shoulder, made his way home. As he went on his way, always putting one foot before the other, he met a man galloping briskly along on a fine horse. "Ah!" said Hans, quite aloud, "what a capital thing it is to ride! There you sit as comfortably as in a chair, kicking against no stones, saving your shoe-leather, and getting to your journey's end almost without knowing it!" The horseman, who heard this, pulled up and cried, "Hullo, Hans why do you trudge on foot?" "Because I must," answered he; "for I have this big lump to carry home. It is real gold, you know; but, all the same, I can scarcely hold up my head, it weighs so terribly on my shoulders." "I'll tell you what," said the horseman: "we'll just exchange. I'll give you my horse and you give me your lump of gold." "With all my heart!" said Hans. "But I warn you, you'll have a job to carry it." The horseman dismounted, took the gold, and helped Hans up; and, giving the bridle into his hand, said: "If you want him to go at full speed, you must cluck with your tongue and cry 'C'ck! c'ck!'" Hans was heartily delighted, as he sat on his horse and rode gaily along. After a while he fancied he would like to go faster, so he began to cluck with his tongue and cry "C'ck! c'ck!" The horse broke into a smart trot, and before Hans was aware he was thrown off--splash!--into a ditch which divided the highway from the fields, and there he lay. The horse, too, would have run away had it not been stopped by a peasant, as he came along the road, driving his cow before him. Hans pulled himself together and got upon his legs again. He felt very downcast, and said to the peasant: "It's a poor joke, that riding, especially when one lights upon such a brute as this, which kicks and throws one off so that one comes near to breaking one's neck. You don't catch me on his back again. Now, there's more sense in a cow like yours, behind which you can walk in peace and quietness, besides having your butter, milk, and cheese every morning for certain. What would I not give for such a cow!" "Well," said the peasant, "if it would give you so much pleasure, I will exchange my cow for your horse." Hans gladly consented, and the peasant flung himself on the horse and rode quickly off. Hans drove the cow peacefully along, thinking: "What a lucky fellow I am! I have just to get a bit of bread (and that isn't a difficult matter) and then, as often as I like, I can eat my butter and cheese with it. If I am thirsty, I just milk my cow and drink. What more could I desire?" When he came to an inn, he made a stop, and in his great joy ate all the food he had with him right up, both dinner and supper. With his two last farthings, he bought himself half a glass of beer. Then he drove his cow towards his mother's village. As the morning went on, the more oppressive the heat became, and Hans found himself in a field some three miles long. Then he felt so hot that his tongue was parched with thirst. "This is soon cured," thought Hans. "I have only to milk my cow, drink, and refresh myself." He tied the cow to a withered tree, and as he had no pitcher he placed his leathern cap underneath her; but in spite of all his trouble not a drop of milk could be got. And he went to work so clumsily that the impatient brute gave him such a kick with her hind leg that he was knocked over and quite dazed, and for a long time did not know where he was. Luckily a butcher came by just then, wheeling a young pig in a barrow. "What kind of joke is this?" cried he, helping our friend Hans to rise. Hans told him what had happened. The butcher passed him his bottle and said: "There, drink and revive yourself. That cow will never give any milk; she is an old animal and, at the best, is only fit for the plow or the butcher." "Oho!" said Hans, running his fingers through his hair. "Who would have thought it? It is all right indeed when you can slaughter such a beast in your own house. But I don't think much of cow's flesh; it is not tender enough. Now, if one had a young pig! That would taste far different, to say nothing of the sausages!" "Listen, Hans," said the butcher. "For your sake, I will exchange, and let you have my pig for your cow." "May Heaven reward your friendship!" said Hans, and at once gave him the cow. The man untied the pig from the wheelbarrow, and gave the rope with which it was bound into Hans's hand. Hans marched on, thinking: "What a lucky fellow I am. As soon as anything goes wrong, something turns up and all's right again." Just then, up came a youth, carrying a fine white goose under his arm. They were friends, and Hans began to talk about his luck and how he always came off best in his exchanges. The youth told him he was taking the goose to a christening feast. "Just hold it," he continued, seizing it by the wings, "and feel how heavy it is: yet it was only fattened for eight weeks. It will be a rich morsel when roasted." "Yes," said Hans, weighing it with his hand, "it is certainly heavy, but my pig is by no means to be despised." Meanwhile the lad was looking thoughtfully around, shaking his head. "Listen," he said, "I don't think it's all right about your pig. In the village I have just come through, one has lately been stolen from the magistrate's own sty. I fear it is the one you have. They have sent people out, and it would be a bad business if they found you with the pig. The least they would do would be to throw you into jail." Our friend Hans was downcast. "Alas," he cried, "help me in my need! You know your way here better than I. Take my pig then, and give me your goose." "I shall be running great risks," said the youth, "but at least I will prevent your getting into trouble." He took the rope in his hand and drove the pig quickly away down a by-path, and Hans went on relieved of his sorrow, towards home, with the goose under his arm. "What a lucky fellow I am!" he said to himself. "First, I shall have a good roast; then there is the quantity of dripping that will fall out, which will keep me in bread-and-dripping for a quarter of a year; and lastly, the splendid white feathers, with which I will have my pillow stuffed; then I shall fall asleep without rocking. How glad my mother will be!" When he was at length come to the village, there stood in the street a scissors-grinder with his truck. His wheel hummed, and he sang the while: "My wheel I turn, and the scissors I grind, And my cloak hangs flowing free in the wind." Hans remained standing, and watched him; at length he spoke to him, and said: "You must be doing well since you are so merry over your grinding." "Yes," said the scissors-grinder; "the work has gold at the bottom of it. A proper scissors-grinder is the sort of man who, whenever he puts his hand in his pocket, finds money there. But where have you bought that fine goose?" "I did not buy it, but exchanged it for my pig." "And the pig?" "I obtained him for a cow." "And the cow?" "I had her for a horse." "And the horse?" "For him I gave a lump of gold as big as my head." "And the gold?" "Why, that was my reward for seven years of service." "You have certainly done well for yourself each time," said the scissors-grinder. "If you could only hear money rattling in your pocket every time you got up, your fortune would be made." "How shall I set about it?" said Hans. "You must become a grinder, like me. All you want is a grindstone: the rest comes of itself. I have one which is a little damaged indeed, but for which I would ask nothing more than your goose; would that suit you?" "How can you ask me?" answered Hans. "I shall be the luckiest fellow on earth. If I have money as often as I feel in my pocket, what else shall I have to care about?" And he handed over the goose, and took the grindstone in receipt. "Now," said the grinder, lifting up an ordinary heavy field-stone, which lay beside him. "There you have a capital stone, which will be just the thing to hammer your old nails straight upon. Take it and lift it up carefully." Hans raised the stone and marched on with a joyful heart, his eyes shining with pleasure. "I must have been born lucky," he cried out. "All that I desire comes to me, as to a Sunday-child." Meanwhile, having been on his legs since daybreak, he began to feel tired; besides which, he was tormented by hunger, for he had eaten up all his provision in his joy over the exchange of the cow. At length he could only proceed with great trouble and must needs stop every minute; the stones, too, crushed him terribly. Then he could not conceal the thought: "How nice it would be now to have nothing to carry!" Like a snail he crept up to a well, wishing to rest himself and enjoy a refreshing drink. In order not to spoil the stones in setting them down, he laid them carefully on the ground one beside the other, and bent himself down to drink, but by an accident he gave them a little push, and both stones went splashing down. Hans, when he saw them sinking in the depths of the well, jumped up with joy, kneeled down and thanked God, with tears in his eyes, that He had shown him this grace and, without troubling him to think what to do with them, had relieved him of the heavy stones which would have been such a hindrance to him. "There is no man under the sun," he cried out, "so lucky as I." With a bright heart and free from all care, he sprang upon his way, until he was home at his mother's. * * * * * MASTER OF ALL MASTERS A girl once went to the fair to hire herself for a servant. At last a funny-looking old gentleman engaged her, and took her home to his house. When she got there, he told her that he had something to teach her, for that in his house he had his own names for things. He said to her: "What will you call me?" "Master or mister, or whatever you please, sir," says she. He said: "You must call me 'Master of all Masters.' And what would you call this?" pointing to his bed. "Bed or couch, or whatever you please, sir." "No, that's my 'barnacle.' And what do you call these?" said he, pointing to his pantaloons. "Breeches or trousers, or whatever you please, sir." "You must call them 'squibs and crackers,' And what would you call her?" pointing to the cat. "Cat or kit, or whatever you please, sir." "You must call her 'white-faced simminy.' And this, now," showing the fire, "what would you call this?" "Fire or flame, or whatever you please, sir." "You must call it 'hot cockalorum.' And what, this?" he went on, pointing to the water. "Water or wet, or whatever you please, sir." "No, 'pondalorum' is its name. And what do you call all this?" asked he, as he pointed to the house. "House or cottage, or whatever you please, sir." "You must call it 'high topper mountain.'" That very night the servant woke her master up in a fright and said: "Master of all Masters, get out of your barnacle and put on your squibs and crackers. For white-faced simminy has got a spark of hot cockalorum on its tail, and unless you get some pondalorum, high topper mountain will be all on hot cockalorum."... That's all. * * * * * BELLING THE CAT Once upon a time the mice sat in council and talked of how they might outwit their enemy, the Cat. But good advice was scarce, and in vain the president called upon all the most experienced mice present to find a way. At last a very young mouse held up two fingers and asked to be allowed to speak, and as soon as he could get permission he said: "I've been thinking for a long time why the Cat is such a dangerous enemy. Now, it's not so much because of her quickness, though people make so much fuss about that. If we could only _notice_ her in time, I've no doubt we're nimble enough to jump into our holes before she could do us any harm. It's in her velvet paws, there's where she hides her cruel claws till she gets us in her clutches--that's where her power lies. With those paws she can tread so lightly that we can't hear her coming. And so, while _we_ are still dancing heedlessly about the place, she creeps close up, and before we know where we are she pounces down on us and has us in her clutches. Well, then, it's my opinion we ought to hang a bell round her neck to warn us of her coming while there's yet time." Every one applauded this proposal, and the council decided that it should be carried out. Now the question to be settled was, who should undertake to fasten the bell round the Cat's neck? The president declared that no one could be better fitted for the task than he who had given such excellent advice. But at that the young mouse became quite confused and stammered an excuse. He was too young for the deed, he said. He didn't know the Cat well enough. His grandfather, who knew her better, would be more suited to the job. But the grandfather declared that just because he knew the Cat very well he would take good care not to attempt such a task. And the long and the short of it was that no other mouse would undertake the duty; and so this clever proposal was never carried out, and the Cat remained mistress of the situation. * * * * * LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD In a great wide forest, full of beautiful trees, and green glades, and thorny thickets, there lived a long time ago a wood-cutter and his wife, who had only one child, a little girl. She was so pretty, and so good, that the sun seemed to shine more brightly when its light fell upon her rosy little face, and the birds would seem to sing more sweetly when she was passing by. Her real name was Maisie; but the neighbors round about all called her "Little Red Riding-Hood," because of a scarlet riding-hood and cloak that her kind old grandmother had made for her, and which she nearly always wore. She was a happy, merry little child, with a smile and a gentle word for everybody, and so you may easily believe that everybody loved her, and was glad to catch a glimpse of her golden curls and her scarlet cloak as she tripped along, singing, under the green boughs. Now, this, let me tell you before I forget, was at the time when all the birds and beasts, or very nearly all, could speak just as well as you or I; and nobody was surprised to hear them talk, as I suppose one would be nowadays. Well, as I was saying, Little Red Riding-Hood lived with her parents in a little white cottage with a green door and a thatched roof, and red and white roses climbing all over the walls, and even putting their pretty heads in at the latticed windows, to peep at the child who was so like them. It was on a bright spring morning early in May, when little Red Riding-Hood had just finished putting away the breakfast-cups that her mother came bustling in from the dairy. "Here's a to-do," she said. "Farmer Hodge has this very minute told me that he hears your Grannie isn't quite well, and I can't leave the cheese-making this morning for love or money! Do you go, my dear, and find out how she is--and--stay--take her this little pot of sweet fresh butter, and these two new-laid eggs, and these nice tasty little pasties. Maybe they'll tempt her to eat a bit. Here's your basket, and don't be too long away, honey." So little Red Riding-Hood pulled her hood over her curls, and set off down the sunny green slope, with her basket in her hand, at a brisk pace. But as she got deeper into the forest, she walked more slowly. Everything was so beautiful; the great trees waved their huge arms over her, the birds were calling to one another from the thorns all white with blossom, and the child began singing as she went, she could not have told why, but I think it was because the beautiful world made her feel glad. The path wound along through the trees, and, as it grew wider after turning a corner, Red Riding-saw that she was likely to have company on her walk; for, where two cross-paths divided, there sat a big gray wolf licking his long paws, and looking sharply about him. And "Good morning, Red Riding-Hood," said he. "Good morning, Mr. Wolf," she answered. "And where may you be going, sweet lass?" said the Wolf, as he walked beside her. "Oh, Grannie isn't very well, and mother cannot leave the cheese-making this morning, and so I'm taking her some little dainties in my basket, and I am to see how she is, and tell mother when I get back," said the child with a smile. "And," said the wolf, "where does your good Grannie live, little lady?" "Through the copse, and down the hollow, and over the bridge, and three meadows after the mill." "Does she indeed?" cried he. "Why, then, I do believe she is a very dear old friend of mine, whom I have not seen for years and years. Now, I'll tell you what we'll do, you and I: I will go by this way, and you shall take that, and whoever gets there first shall be the winner of the game." So the Wolf trotted off one way, and Red Riding-Hood went the other; and I am sorry to say that she lingered and loitered more than she ought to have done on the road. Well, what with one thing and another, the sun was right up in the very mid-most middle of the sky when she crossed the last meadow from the mill and came in sight of her grandmother's cottage, and the big lilac-bushes that grew by the garden gate. "Oh! dear, how I must have lingered!" said the child, when she saw how high the sun had climbed since she set out on her journey; and, pattering up the garden-path, she tapped at the cottage door. "Who's there?" said a very gruff kind of voice from inside. "It's only I, Grannie dear, your little Red Riding-Hood with some goodies for you in my basket, answered the child. "Then pull the bobbin," cried the voice, "and the latch will go up." "What a dreadful cold poor Grannie must have, to be sure, to make her so hoarse," thought the child. Then she pulled the bobbin, and the latch went up, and Red Riding-Hood pushed open the door, and stepped inside the cottage. It seemed very dark in there after the bright sunlight outside, and all Red Riding-Hood could see was that the window-curtains and the bed-curtains were still drawn, and her grandmother seemed to be lying in bed with the bed-clothes pulled almost over her head, and her great white-frilled nightcap nearly hiding her face. Now, you and I have guessed by this time, although poor Red Riding-Hood never even thought of such a thing, that it was not her Grannie at all, but the wicked Wolf, who had hurried to the cottage and put on Grannie's nightcap and popped into her bed, to pretend that he was Grannie herself. And where was Grannie all this time, you will say? Well, we shall see presently. "Come and sit down beside my bed, dearie," wheezed the Wolf, "and let us have a little chat." Then the Wolf stretched out his large hairy paws and began to unfasten the basket. "Oh!" said Red Riding-Hood, "what great arms you have, Grannie!" "All the better to hug you with," said the Wolf. "And what great rough ears you have, Grannie!" "All the better to hear you with, my little dear." "And your eyes, Grannie; what great yellow eyes you have!" "All the better to see you with, my pet," grinned the Wolf. "And oh! oh! Grannie," cried the child, in a sad fright, "what great sharp teeth you have!" "All the better to eat you with!" growled the Wolf, springing up suddenly at Red Riding-Hood. But just at that very moment the door flew open, and two tall wood-cutters rushed in with their heavy axes, and killed the wicked Wolf in far less time than it takes me to tell you about it. "But where is Grannie?" asked Little Red Riding-Hood, when she had thanked the brave wood-cutters. "Oh! where can poor Grannie be? Can the cruel Wolf have eaten her up?" And she began to cry and sob bitterly--when, who should walk in but Grannie herself, as large as life, and as hearty as ever, with her marketing-basket on her arm! For it was another old dame in the village who was not very well, and Grannie had been down to visit her and give her some of her own famous herb-tea. So everything turned out right in the end, and all lived happily ever after; but I promise you that little Red Riding-Hood never made friends with a Wolf again! * * * * * THE NAIL A tradesman had once transacted a good day's business at a fair, disposed of all his goods, and filled his purse with gold and silver. He prepared afterward to return, in order to reach home by the evening, so he strapped his portmanteau, with the money in it, upon his horse's back, and rode off. At noon he halted in a small town, and as he was about to set out again, the stable-boy who brought his horse said to him: "Sir, a nail is wanting in the shoe on the left hind foot of your animal." "Let it be wanting," replied the tradesman; "I am in a hurry and the iron will doubtless hold the six hours I have yet to travel." Late in the afternoon he had to dismount again, and feed his horse, and at this place also the boy came and told him that a nail was wanting in one of the shoes, and asked him whether he should take the horse to a farrier. "No, no, let it be!" replied the master; "it will last out the couple of hours that I have now to travel; I am in haste." So saying he rode off; but his horse soon began to limp, and from limping it came to stumbling, and presently the beast fell down and broke its leg. Thereupon the tradesman had to leave his unfortunate horse lying on the road, to unbuckle the portmanteau, and to walk home with it upon his shoulder, where he arrived at last late at night. "And all this misfortune," said he to himself, "is owing to the want of a nail. More haste, the less speed!" * * * * * JACK AND THE BEANSTALK Once upon a time there lived a poor widow who had an only son named Jack. She was very poor, for times had been hard, and Jack was too young to work. Almost all the furniture of the little cottage had been sold to buy bread, until at last there was nothing left worth selling. Only the good cow, Milky White, remained, and she gave milk every morning, which they took to market and sold. But one sad day Milky White gave no milk, and then things looked bad indeed. "Never mind, mother," said Jack. "We must sell Milky White. Trust me to make a good bargain," and away he went to the market. For some time he went along very sadly, but after a little he quite recovered his spirits. "I may as well ride as walk," said he; so instead of leading the cow by the halter, he jumped on her back, and so he went whistling along until he met a butcher. "Good morning," said the butcher. "Good morning, sir," answered Jack. "Where are you going?" said the butcher. "I am going to market to sell the cow." "It's lucky I met you," said the butcher. "You may save yourself the trouble of going so far." With this, he put his hand in his pocket, and pulled out five curious-looking beans. "What do you call these?" he said. "Beans," said Jack. "Yes," said he, "beans, but they're the most wonderful beans that ever were known. If you plant them overnight, by the next morning they'll grow up and reach the sky. But to save you the trouble of going all the way to market, I don't mind exchanging them for that cow of yours." "Done!" cried Jack, who was so delighted with the bargain that he ran all the way home to tell his mother how lucky he had been. But oh! how disappointed the poor widow was. "Off to bed with you!" she cried; and she was so angry that she threw the beans out of the window into the garden. So poor Jack went to bed without any supper, and cried himself to sleep. When he woke up the next morning, the room was almost dark; and Jack jumped out of bed and ran to the window to see what was the matter. The sun was shining brightly outside, but from the ground right up beside his window there was growing a great beanstalk, which stretched up and up as far as he could see, into the sky. "I'll just see where it leads to," thought Jack, and with that he stepped out of the window on to the beanstalk, and began to climb upwards. He climbed up and up, till after a time his mother's cottage looked a mere speck below, but at last the stalk ended, and he found himself in a new and beautiful country. A little way off there was a great castle, with a broad road leading straight up to the front gate. But what most surprised Jack was to find a beautiful maiden suddenly standing beside him. "Good morning, ma'am," said he, very politely. "Good morning, Jack," said she; and Jack was more surprised than ever, for he could not imagine how she had learned his name. But he soon found that she knew a great deal more about him than his name; for she told him how, when he was quite a little baby, his father, a gallant knight, had been slain by the giant who lived in yonder castle, and how his mother, in order to save Jack, had been obliged to promise never to tell the secret. "All that the giant has is yours," she said, and then disappeared quite as suddenly as she came. "She must be a fairy," thought Jack. As he drew near to the castle, he saw the giant's wife standing at the door. "If you please, ma'am," said he, "would you kindly give me some breakfast? I have had nothing to eat since yesterday." Now, the giant's wife, although very big and very ugly, had a kind heart, so she said: "Very well, little man, come in; but you must be quick about it, for if my husband, the giant, finds you here, he will eat you up, bones and all." So in Jack went, and the giant's wife gave him a good breakfast, but before he had half finished it there came a terrible knock at the front door, which seemed to shake even the thick walls of the castle. "Dearie me, that is my husband!" said the giantess, in a terrible fright; "we must hide you somehow," and she lifted Jack up and popped him into the empty kettle. No sooner had the giant's wife opened the door than her husband roared out: "Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman; Be he alive, or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make my bread!" "It's a boy, I'm sure it is," he continued. "Where is he? I'll have him for my breakfast." "Nonsense!" said his wife; "you must be mistaken. It's the ox's hide you smell." So he sat down, and ate up the greater part of the ox. When he had finished he said: "Wife, bring me my money-bags." So his wife brought him two full bags of gold, and the giant began to count his money. But he was so sleepy that his head soon began to nod, and then he began to snore, like the rumbling of thunder. Then Jack crept out, snatched up the two bags, and though the giant's dog barked loudly, he made his way down the beanstalk back to the cottage before the giant awoke. Jack and his mother were now quite rich; but it occurred to him one day that he would like to see how matters were going on at the giant's castle. So while his mother was away at market, he climbed up, and up, and up, and up, until he got to the top of the beanstalk again. The giantess was standing at the door, just as before, but she did not know Jack, who, of course, was more finely dressed than on his first visit. "If you please, ma'am," said he, "will you give me some breakfast?" "Run away," said she, "or my husband the giant will eat you up, bones and all. The last boy who came here stole two bags of gold--off with you!" But the giantess had a kind heart, and after a time she allowed Jack to come into the kitchen, where she set before him enough breakfast to last him a week. Scarcely had he begun to eat than there was a great rumbling like an earthquake, and the giantess had only time to bundle Jack into the oven when in came the giant. No sooner was he inside the room than he roared: "Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman; Be he alive, or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make my bread!" But his wife told him he was mistaken, and after breakfasting off a roasted bullock, just as if it were a lark, he called out: "Wife, bring the little brown hen!" The giantess went out and brought in a little brown hen, which she placed on the table. "Lay!" said the giant; and the hen at once laid a golden egg. "Lay!" said the giant a second time; and she laid another golden egg. "Lay!" said the giant a third time; and she laid a third golden egg. "That will do for to-day," said he, and stretched himself out to go to sleep. As soon as he began to snore, Jack crept out of the oven, went on tiptoe to the table, and, snatching up the little brown hen, made a dash for the door. Then the hen began to cackle, and the giant began to wake up; but before he was quite awake, Jack had escaped from the castle, and, climbing as fast as he could down the beanstalk, got safe home to his mother's cottage. The little brown hen laid so many golden eggs that Jack and his mother had now more money than they could spend. But Jack was always thinking about the beanstalk; and one day he crept out of the window again, and climbed up, and up, and up, and up, until he reached the top. This time, you may be sure, he was careful not to be seen; so he crept round to the back of the castle, and when the giant's wife went out he slipped into the kitchen and hid himself in the oven. In came the giant, roaring louder than ever: "Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman; Be he alive; or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make my bread!" But the giantess was quite sure that she had seen no little boys that morning; and after grumbling a great deal, the giant sat down to breakfast. Even then he was not quite satisfied, for every now and again he would say: "Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman;" and once he got up and looked in the kettle. But, of course, Jack was in the oven all the time! When the giant had finished, he called out: "Wife, bring me the golden harp!" So she brought in the golden harp, and placed it on the table. "Sing!" said the giant; and the harp at once began to sing the most beautiful songs that ever were heard. It sang so sweetly that the giant soon fell fast asleep; and then Jack crept quietly out of the oven, and going on tiptoe to the table, seized hold of the golden harp. But the harp at once called out: "Master! master!" and the giant woke up just in time to catch sight of Jack running out of the kitchen-door. With a fearful roar, he seized his oak-tree club, and dashed after Jack, who held the harp tight, and ran faster than he had ever run before. The giant, brandishing his club, and taking terribly long strides, gained on Jack at every instant, and he would have been caught if the giant hadn't slipped over a boulder. Before he could pick himself up, Jack began to climb down the beanstalk, and when the giant arrived at the edge he was nearly half-way to the cottage. The giant began to climb down too; but as soon as Jack saw him coming, he called out: "Mother, bring me an axe!" and the widow hurried out with a chopper. Jack had no sooner reached the ground than he cut the beanstalk right in two. Down came the giant with a terrible crash, and that, you may be sure, was the end of him. What became of the giantess and the castle nobody knows. But Jack and his mother grew very rich, and lived happy ever after. * * * * * HOW TO TELL A TRUE PRINCESS There was once upon a time a Prince who wanted to marry a Princess, but she must be a true Princess. So he traveled through the whole world to find one, but there was always something against each. There were plenty of Princesses, but he could not find out if they were true Princesses. In every case there was some little defect, which showed the genuine article was not yet found. So he came home again in very low spirits, for he had wanted very much to have a true Princess. One night there was a dreadful storm; it thundered and lightened and the rain streamed down in torrents. It was fearful! There was a knocking heard at the palace gate, and the old King went to open it. There stood a Princess outside the gate; but oh, in what a sad plight she was from the rain and the storm! The water was running down from her hair and her dress into the points of her shoes and out at the heels again. And yet she said she was a true Princess! "Well, we shall soon find out!" thought the old Queen. But she said nothing and went into the sleeping-room, took off all the bedclothes, and laid a pea on the bottom of the bed. Then she put twenty mattresses on top of the pea and twenty eider-down quilts on the top of the mattresses. And this was the bed in which the princess was to sleep. The next morning she was asked how she had slept. "Oh, very badly!" said the Princess. "I scarcely closed my eyes all night! I am sure I don't know what was in the bed. I lay on something so hard that my whole body is black and blue. It is dreadful!" Now they perceived that she was a true Princess, because she had felt the pea through the twenty mattresses and the twenty eider-down quilts. No one but a true Princess could be so sensitive. So the Prince married her, for now he knew that at last he had got hold of a true Princess. And the pea was put into the Royal Museum, where it is still to be seen if no one has stolen it. Now, this is a true story. * * * * * THE SLEEPING BEAUTY Once upon a time long ago--so long, indeed, that even the very oldest people now alive could not remember it--there lived a King and Queen in a beautiful palace, a great white marble palace, with wide halls and high towers, and a golden roof that flashed in the sun. And all round the palace, for miles and miles, there were lovely gardens and pleasure-grounds, with terraces and green lawns, and ancient trees where the birds would sit and sing all day and all night long, and more flowers than you could ever think of if you were to think a whole summer through. There were peacocks and birds of paradise on the broad lawns, and pretty slender brown deer in the shady glades, and gold and silver fishes in the ponds and fountains, and great red and yellow fruits ripened in the orchards. There was everything there that heart could wish--except just one, and that was the one thing in all the world that this King and Queen wanted to make them perfectly happy. For there was no little child to run and play about the sunny gardens and pick the flowers, and pet the birds and beasts that wandered there. And this would often make them very sad. But at last, after many years, they had their wish, and a little baby daughter was born to them--a tiny child with a face like a blush rosebud, eyes like violets, and a little red mouth like the pimpernel flowers that grow in the cornfields and by the wayside in summer-time. Now, you can easily think how glad this King and Queen were, and what great rejoicings were made over all the country. Bonfires as big as haystacks were kept burning all night, fat oxen were roasted whole in the market-place of every town, the church-bells were rung and rung again until the ringers were out of breath and their arms were aching, and every little child in the kingdom was given a beautiful present for the baby Princess's sake. In the palace, of course, all was bustle and hurry to make ready for the christening-feast; the maids were busy putting flowers all about the halls and chambers, and sprinkling the shining floors with sweet-smelling leaves and petals. For the most important guests invited to this christening were seven very powerful fairies, and you know, I am sure, how particular fairies are about what they eat and drink. Not that they are greedy; but they are used to such delicate food that even the very best of ours seems strange to them. So the Queen was very anxious that they should be pleased; for they had been asked to be godmothers to the baby Princess, and she wanted them to be in a good humor so that they should be kind to her little one. It was a beautiful summer afternoon, and the roses on the palace terrace were nodding their heads sleepily in the warm breeze, when the fairies' chariots came into sight, sailing through the blue sky like a flight of bright-winged butterflies. They were all good fairies, and had known the King and Queen all their lives long, and as they had not seen them for some time there was a great deal to talk about and much news to tell. And, dear me! how pleased they were with the baby! They all agreed that she was the prettiest little darling they had ever seen--almost as pretty as a real fairy baby--and _that_ was a compliment indeed, I can tell you. And when they went in to the great banqueting-hall and sat down to table, they were even more delighted than at first. For each one of them there was a set of six golden dinner things--knife, spoon, fork, cup, dish, and plate--made on purpose as a present for each, and all different. One was set with pearls, another with diamonds, the third with rubies, the fourth with opals, the fifth with amethysts, the sixth with emeralds, the seventh with sapphires; and nobody could tell which was the most beautiful. They were just going to begin, and everybody was as happy as happy could be, when, all of a sudden, there was a clashing of brazen claws and a rushing of wings, and something like a black cloud seemed to pass before the tall windows and darken all the room, so that the guests could hardly see their plates. Then the great doors burst open with a terrible bang, and an old fairy in a long trailing black gown, with her face almost hidden in a black hood, jumped out of a black chariot drawn by fierce griffins, and stalked up to the table. The King turned pale, and the Queen nearly fainted away, for this was the spiteful fairy Tormentilla, who lived all alone, an immense distance away from everywhere and everyone, in a dismal black stone castle in the middle of a desert. The poor Queen had been so happy and so busy that she had forgotten all about her, and never sent her an invitation. However, they all tried to make the best of it, and another chair was brought, and another place laid for Tormentilla; and both the King and Queen told her over and over again how very, very sorry they were not to have asked her. It was all in vain. Nothing could please her; she would eat and drink nothing, and she sat, scowling and looking angrily at the other fairies' jeweled cups and dishes, until the feast was over, and it was time to give the presents. Then they all went into the great tapestried room where the tiny Princess lay sleeping in her mother-o'-pearl cradle, and the seven fairies began to say what they would each give her. The first stepped forward and said: "She shall always be as good as gold"; the second: "She shall be the cleverest Princess in the world"; the third: "She shall be the most beautiful"; the fourth: "She shall be the happiest"; the fifth: "She shall have the sweetest voice that was ever heard"; the sixth: "Everyone shall love her." And then the wicked old cross fairy strode over to the cradle with long quick steps, and said, shaking her black crooked stick at the King and Queen: "_And I say that she shall prick her hand with a spindle and die of the wound_!" At this the Queen fell on her knees and begged and prayed Tormentilla to call back her cruel words; but suddenly the seventh fairy, the youngest of all, who knew Tormentilla well, and had hidden herself behind the curtains for fear that some such thing might happen, came out and said: "Do not cry so, dear Queen; I cannot quite undo my cousin's wicked enchantment, but I can promise you that your daughter shall not die, but only fall asleep for a hundred years. And, when these are past and gone, a Prince shall come and awaken her with a kiss." So the King and Queen dried their tears and thanked the kind fairy Heartsease for her goodness; and all the fairies went back to their homes, and things went on much as usual in the palace. But you can imagine how careful the Queen was of her little girl; and the King made a law that every spindle in the country must be destroyed, and that no more should be made, and that anyone who had a spindle should be heavily punished if not executed at once. Well, the years went by happily enough until the Princess Miranda was almost eighteen years old, and all that the six fairies had promised came true, for she was the best and the prettiest and the cleverest Princess in all the world, and everybody loved her. And, indeed, by this time Tormentilla's spiteful words were almost forgotten. "Poor old thing," the Queen would sometimes say, "she was so angry at having been left out that she did not know what she was saying. Of course, she did not really mean it." Now, the King and Queen had to go away for a few days to a great entertainment that one of their richest nobles was giving at his country house; and, as the Princess did not wish to go, they left her behind with her ladies-in-waiting in the beautiful old palace. For the first two days she amused herself very well, but on the third she missed her father and mother so much that, to pass the time till they came back, she began exploring all the old lumber-rooms and out-of-the-way attics in the palace, and laughing at the dusty furniture and queer curiosities she found there. At last she found herself at the top of a narrow winding stairway in a tall turret that seemed even older than all the rest of the palace. And when she lifted the latch of the door in front of her she saw a little low chamber with curiously painted walls, and there sat a little old, old woman in a high white cap, spinning at a wheel. For some time she stood at the door, watching the old woman curiously; she could not imagine what she was doing, for the Princess had never seen a spinning-wheel in her life before, because, as I told you, the King had ordered them all to be destroyed. Now, it happened that the poor old woman who lived in this tower had never heard the King's command, for she was so deaf that if you shouted until you were hoarse she would never have been able to understand you. "What pretty work you are doing there, Goody? And why does that wheel go whirr, whirr, whirr?" said the Princess. The old woman neither answered nor looked up, for, of course, she did not hear. So the Princess stepped into the room and laid her hand upon the old woman's shoulder. Goody started then, looked up, and rubbed her eyes. "Deary, deary me!" cried she, in a high, cracked voice. "And who may you be, my pretty darling?" "I'm the Princess Miranda," screamed the maiden in her ear, but the old woman only shook her head--she could hear nothing. Then the Princess pointed to the spindle, and made the old woman understand that she wanted to try if she could work it. So Goody nodded, and laughed, and got up from her seat, and the Princess sat down and took the spindle in her hand. But no sooner did she touch it than she pricked the palm of her hand with the point, and sank down in a swoon. Immediately a deep silence fell on all around. The little bird that only a moment before had been singing so sweetly upon the window-sill hushed his song. The distant hum of voices from the courtyard beneath ceased; even Goody stopped short in the directions she was giving the Princess, and neither moved hand nor foot towards the poor little maid, and all because she had fallen fast asleep as she stood. Below in the castle it was just the same. The King and Queen, who had that moment returned from their journey and were enquiring for their daughter, fell asleep before the lady-in-waiting could answer them, and as to the lady herself she had begun to snore--in a ladylike manner, of course--before you could have winked your eye. The soldiers and men-at-arms slumbered as they stood. The page-boy fell asleep writh his mouth wide open, and a fly that had just been going to settle on his nose fell asleep too in mid-air. Although the sun had been shining brightly when the Princess took the spindle in her hand, no sooner did she prick herself with the point than deep shadows darkened the sunny rooms and gardens. It was just as though night had overtaken them, but there was no one in or near the palace to heed whether it were dark or light. This sudden darkness had been caused by a magic wood which had sprung up all around the palace and its grounds. It was at least half a mile thick, and was composed of thorns and prickly plants, through which it seemed impossible for anyone to penetrate. It was so thick and high that it hid even the topmost towers of the enchanted castle, and no one outside could have dreamed that such a castle lay behind it. Well, and so the years went on, and on, and on, until a hundred years had passed, and the palace and the story of it were all but forgotten. And it happened that a King's son from a neighboring country came hunting that way with his men, and horses, and dogs. And in the excitement of the chase he rode on and on until he became separated from his servants and attendants, and found himself in a part of the country where he had never been before. In vain he tried to retrace his steps; he only seemed to wander farther away in the wrong direction. Presently he came to a woodcutter's cottage, and dismounted to ask his way. An old, old man lived in this hut, and after he had directed the Prince as to the best way back, the young man pointed to a thick wood ahead, and asked what lay beyond it. Then the old man told him that there was a legend that beyond the wood was an enchanted palace where a beautiful Princess had lain sleeping for a hundred years, and whom a Prince was to awaken with a kiss. Directly the Prince Florimond heard this, nothing would serve but he must go there and see for himself if the tale were true. So he rode and he rode until he came to the edge of the wood, and there he got off his horse and began to push his way through the thorny thicket. It was hard work indeed, for the briars were so strong and so sharp that you would never believe that anyone could get past them, and they closed up behind him as he went. But he was strong and brave, and after a time the way became easier, until at last he came to the palace. There everyone was sleeping--the sentinels and soldiers in the court-yard, the cooks in the kitchen, and pages and lords and ladies-in-waiting in the corridors and chambers; and, in the great throne-room the King and Queen on their golden and ivory thrones. Prince Florimond passed on, wondering more and more, till he came at length to the narrow staircase which led to the little tower in which the Princess had fallen asleep. He mounted this, and then came the greatest wonder of all--the beautiful sleeping lady, in her glistening white robes. She was so beautiful that to see her almost took away his breath; and, falling on his knees, he bent to kiss her cheek. And as he kissed her, she opened her lovely blue eyes and said, smiling: "Oh! Prince, have you come at last? I have had such pleasant dreams." Then she sat up laughing and rubbing her eyes, and gave him her hand, and they went hand in hand together down the stairs and along the corridors, till they came to the throne-room. And there were the King and Queen rubbing their eyes too, and they kissed their daughter and welcomed the Prince most gladly. And, all at the same time, the whole palace was awake. Cocks crowed, dogs barked, the cats began to mew, the spits to turn, the clocks to strike, the soldiers presented arms, the heralds blew their trumpets, the head cook boxed a little scullion's ears, the butler went on drinking his half-finished tankard of wine, the first lady-in-waiting finished winding her skein of silk. Everything, in short, went on exactly as though the spell had lasted a hundred seconds instead of years. To be sure, Princess Miranda's pretty white dress was just such a one as Prince Florimond's great-grandmother might have worn. But that gave them something to laugh at. And now my story is done, for I need hardly tell you that the Prince and Princess were married amid great rejoicings, and lived happily ever after; and that the seven fairy godmothers danced at the wedding. So all ended well, and what more could anyone wish? * * * * * OLD-FASHIONED POEMS * * * * * THE MAN IN THE MOON Said the Raggedy Man on a hot afternoon, "My! Sakes! What a lot o' mistakes Some little folks makes on the Man in the Moon! But people that's been up to see him like Me, And calls on him frequent and intimutly, Might drop a few hints that would interest you Clean! Through! If you wanted 'em to-- Some actual facts that might interest you! "O the Man in the Moon has a crick in his back; Whee! Whimm! Ain't you sorry for him? And a mole on his nose that is purple and black; And his eyes are so weak that they water and run If he dares to _dream_ even he looks at the sun,-- So he jes' dreams of stars, as the doctors advise-- My! Eyes! But isn't he wise-- To jes' dream of stars, as the doctors advise? "And the Man in the Moon has a boil on his ear-- Whee! Whing! What a singular thing! I know! but these facts are authentic, my dear,-- There's a boil on his ear; and a corn on his chin,-- He calls it a dimple--but dimples stick in-- Yet it might be a dimple turned over, you know! Whang! Ho! Why certainly so!-- It might be a dimple turned over, you know: "And the Man in the Moon has a rheumatic knee, Gee! Whizz! What a pity that is! And his toes have worked round where his heels ought to be. So whenever he wants to go North he goes South, And comes back with the porridge crumbs all round his mouth, And he brushes them off with a Japanese fan, Whing! Whann! What a marvelous man! What a very remarkably marvelous man! "And the Man in the Moon," sighed the Raggedy Man, "Gits! So! Sullonesome, you know! Up there by himself since creation began!-- That when I call on him and then come away, He grabs me and holds me and begs me to stay,-- Till--well, if it wasn't for _Jimmy-cum-Jim_, Dadd! Limb! I'd go pardners with him! Jes' jump my bob here and be pardners with him!" JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY (_From "The Raggedy Man," copyright 1907. Used by special permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company._) * * * * * SAGE COUNSEL The lion is the beast to fight, He leaps along the plain, And if you run with all your might, He runs with all his mane. I'm glad I'm not a Hottentot, But if I were, with outward cal-lum I'd either faint upon the spot Or hie me up a leafy pal-lum. The chamois is the beast to hunt; He's fleeter than the wind, And when the chamois is in front, The hunter is behind. The Tyrolese make famous cheese And hunt the chamois o'er the chaz-zums: I'd choose the former if you please, For precipices give me spaz-zums. The polar bear will make a rug Almost as white as snow; But if he gets you in his hug, He rarely lets you go. And Polar ice looks very nice, With all the colors of a pris-sum; But, if you'll follow my advice, Stay home and learn your catechis-sum. ARTHUR THOMAS QUILLER-COUCH * * * * * LIMERICKS There was an Old Man in a tree, Who was horribly bored by a Bee; When they said, "Does it buzz?" he replied, "Yes, it does! It's a regular brute of a Bee." There was an Old Man on some rocks, Who shut his Wife up in a box: When she said, "Let me out," he exclaimed, "Without doubt You will pass all your life in that box." There was an Old Man who said "How Shall I flee from this horrible Cow? I will sit on this stile, and continue to smile, Which may soften the heart of that Cow." There was an Old Man who said, "Hush! I perceive a young bird in this bush!" When they said, "Is it small?" he replied, "Not at all; It is four times as big as the bush!" There was once an Old Man with a beard, Who said, "It is just as I feared!-- Two Owls and a Hen, Four Larks and a Wren Have all built their nests in my beard." There was an old person of Ware Who rode on the back of a bear; When they said, "Does it trot?" He said, "Certainly not, It's a Moppsikon Floppsikon bear." There was a young lady in blue, Who said, "Is it you? Is it you?" When they said, "Yes, it is," she replied only, "Whizz!" That ungracious young lady in blue. EDWARD LEAR * * * * * MORE LIMERICKS There was a small boy of Quebec, Who was buried in snow to his neck; When they said. "Are you friz?" He replied, "Yes, I is-- But we don't call this cold in Quebec." RUDYARD KIPLING * * * * * There was a young lady of Niger Who smiled as she rode on a Tiger; They came back from the ride With the lady inside, And the smile on the face of the Tiger. There was a young maid who said, "Why Can't I look in my ear with my eye? If I give my mind to it, I'm sure I can do it-- You never can tell till you try." ANONYMOUS * * * * * THE DEAD DOLL You needn't be trying to comfort me--I tell you my dolly is dead! There's no use in saying she isn't, with a crack like that in her head. It's just like you said it wouldn't hurt much to have my tooth out, that day; And then, when the man 'most pulled my head off, you hadn't a word to say. And I guess you must think I'm a baby, when you say you can mend it with glue: As if I didn't know better than that! Why, just suppose it was you? You might make her look all mended--but what do I care for looks? Why, glue's for chairs and tables, and toys and the backs of books! My dolly! my own little daughter! Oh, but it's the awfullest crack! It just makes me sick to think of the sound when her poor head went whack Against that horrible brass thing that holds up the little shelf. Now, Nursey, what makes you remind me? I know that I did it myself! I think you must be crazy--you'll get her another head! What good would forty heads do her? I tell you my dolly is dead! And to think I hadn't quite finished her elegant new spring hat! And I took a sweet ribbon of hers last night to tie on that horrid cat! When my mamma gave me that ribbon--I was playing out in the yard-- She said to me, most expressly, "Here's a ribbon for Hildegarde." And I went and put it on Tabby, and Hildegarde saw me do it; But I said to myself, "Oh, never mind, I don't believe she knew it!" But I know that she knew it now, and I just believe, I do, That her poor little heart was broken, and so her head broke too. Oh, my baby! my little baby! I wish my head had been hit! For I've hit it over and over, and it hasn't cracked a bit. But since the darling is dead, she'll want to be buried, of course: We will take my little wagon, Nurse, and you shall be the horse; And I'll walk behind and cry, and we'll put her in this, you see-- This dear little box--and we'll bury her there out under the maple-tree. And papa will make me a tombstone, like the one he made for my bird; And he'll put what I tell him on it--yes, every single word! I shall say: "Here lies Hildegarde, a beautiful doll, who is dead; She died of a broken heart, and a dreadful crack in her head." MARGARET VANDERGRIFT * * * * * LITTLE THINGS Little drops of water Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean, And the pleasant land. Thus the little moments, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages Of eternity. Thus our little errors Lead the soul away From the path of virtue, Off in sin to stray. Little deeds of kindness, Little words of love, Make our earth an Eden, Like the heaven above. Ascribed to JULIA A. F. CARNEY * * * * * THE GOLDEN RULE To do to others as I would That they should do to me, Will make me gentle, kind, and good, As children ought to be. UNKNOWN * * * * * DO THE BEST YOU CAN If I was a cobbler it should be my pride The best of all cobblers to be; If I was a tinker, no tinker beside Should mend an old kettle like me. UNKNOWN * * * * * THE VOICE OF SPRING I am coming, I am coming! Hark! the little bee is humming; See, the lark is soaring high In the blue and sunny sky; And the gnats are on the wing, Wheeling round in airy ring. See, the yellow catkins cover All the slender willows over! And on the banks of mossy green Star-like primroses are seen; And, their clustering leaves below, White and purple violets grow. Hark! the new-born lambs are bleating And the cawing rooks are meeting In the elms,--a noisy crowd; All the birds are singing loud; And the first white butterfly In the sunshine dances by. Look around thee, look around! Flowers in all the fields abound; Every running stream is bright; All the orchard trees are white; And each small and waving shoot Promises sweet flowers and fruit. * * * * * THE LARK AND THE ROOK "Good night, Sir Rook!" said a little lark. "The daylight fades; it will soon be dark; I've bathed my wings in the sun's last ray; I've sung my hymn to the parting day; So now I haste to my quiet nook In yon dewy meadow--good night, Sir Rook!" "Good night, poor Lark," said his titled friend With a haughty toss and a distant bend; "I also go to my rest profound, But not to sleep on the cold, damp ground. The fittest place for a bird like me Is the topmost bough of yon tall pine-tree. "I opened my eyes at peep of day And saw you taking your upward way, Dreaming your fond romantic dreams, An ugly speck in the sun's bright beams; Soaring too high to be seen or heard; And I said to myself: 'What a foolish bird!' "I trod the park with a princely air, I filled my crop with the richest fare; I cawed all day 'mid a lordly crew, And I made more noise in the world than you! The sun shone forth on my ebon wing; I looked and wondered--good night, poor thing!" "Good night, once more," said the lark's sweet voice. "I see no cause to repent my choice; You build your nest in the lofty pine, But is your slumber more sweet than mine? You make more noise in the world than I, But whose is the sweeter minstrelsy?" UNKNOWN * * * * * THANKSGIVING DAY Over the river and through the wood, To grandfather's house we go; The horse knows the way To carry the sleigh Through the white and drifted snow. Over the river and through the wood-- Oh, how the wind does blow! It stings the toes And bites the nose, As over the ground we go. Over the river and through the wood, To have a first-rate play. Hear the bells ring, "Ting-a-ling-ding!" Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day! Over the river and through the wood Trot fast, my dapple-gray! Spring over the ground, Like a hunting-hound! For this is Thanksgiving Day. Over the river and through the wood, And straight through the barn-yard gate We seem to go Extremely slow,-- It is so hard to wait! Over the river and through the wood-- Now grandmother's cap I spy! Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done? Hurrah for the pumpkin-pie? LYDIA MARIA CHILD * * * * * THE MAGPIE'S NEST A FABLE When the Arts in their infancy were, In a fable of old 'tis express'd A wise magpie constructed that rare Little house for young birds, call'd a nest. This was talk'd of the whole country round; You might hear it on every bough sung, "Now no longer upon the rough ground Will fond mothers brood over their young:" "For the magpie with exquisite skill Has invented a moss-cover'd cell Within which a whole family will In the utmost security dwell." UNKNOWN * * * * * THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW A MIDSUMMER LEGEND "And where have you been, my Mary, And where have you been from me?" "I've been to the top of the Caldon Low, The midsummer-night to see." "And what did you see, my Mary, All up on the Caldon Low?" "I saw the glad sunshine come down, And I saw the merry winds blow." "And what did you hear, my Mary, All up on the Caldon hill?" "I heard the drops of the water made. And the ears of the green corn fill." "Oh! tell me all, my Mary-- All, all that ever you know; For you must have seen the fairies, Last night on the Caldon Low." "Then take me on your knee, mother; And listen, mother of mine: A hundred fairies danced last night, And the harpers they were nine;" "And their harp-strings rung so merrily To their dancing feet so small; But oh! the words of their talking Were merrier far than all." "And what were the words, my Mary, That then you heard them say?" "I'll tell you all, my mother; But let me have my way. "Some of them played with the water, And rolled it down the hill; 'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn The poor old miller's mill; "'For there has been no water Ever since the first of May; And a busy man will the miller be At dawning of the day. "'Oh! the miller, how he will laugh When he sees the mill-dam rise! The jolly old miller, how he will laugh Till the tears fill both his eyes!' "And some they seized the little winds That sounded over the hill; And each put a horn unto his mouth, And blew both loud and shrill; "'And there,' they said, 'the merry winds go Away from every horn; And they shall clear the mildew dank From the blind old widow's corn. "'Oh! the poor, blind widow, Though she has been blind so long, She'll be blithe enough when the mildew's gone, And the corn stands tall and strong.' "And some they brought the brown lint-seed, And flung it down from the Low; 'And this,' they said, 'by sunrise, In the weaver's croft shall grow. "'Oh! the poor, lame weaver, How will he laugh outright When he sees his dwindling flax-field All full of flowers by night!' "And then outspoke a brownie, With a long beard on his chin; 'I have spun up all the tow,' said he, 'And I want some more to spin. "'I've spun a piece of hempen cloth, And I want to spin another; A little sheet for Mary's bed, And an apron for her mother. "With that I could not help but laugh, And I laughed out loud and free; And then on the top of the Caldon Low There was no one left but me. "And on the top of the Caldon Low The mists were cold and gray, And nothing I saw but the mossy stones That round about me lay. "But, coming down from the hill-top, I heard afar below, How busy the jolly miller was, And how the wheel did go. "And I peeped into the widow's field, And, sure enough, were seen The yellow ears of the mildewed corn, All standing stout and green. "And down by the weaver's croft I stole, To see if the flax were sprung; And I met the weaver at his gate, With the good news on his tongue. "Now this is all I heard, mother, And all that I did see; So, pr'ythee, make my bed, mother, For I'm tired as I can be." MARY HOWITT * * * * * THE LAND OF STORY-BOOKS At evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing. And do not play at anything. Now, with my little gun, I crawl All in the dark along the wall, And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back. There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter's camp I lie, And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed. These are the hills, these are the woods, These are my starry solitudes; And there the river by whose brink The roaring lions come to drink. I see the others far away As if in firelit camp they lay, And I, like to an Indian scout, Around their party prowled about. So, when my nurse comes in for me, Home I return across the sea, And go to bed with backward looks At my dear land of Story-books. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON * * * * * A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS 'T was the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,-- When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave a lustre of midday to objects below; When what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled and shouted, and called them by name; "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid, on, Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall! Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!" As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys,--and St. Nicholas too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack. His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump--a right jolly old elf; And I laughed, when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle; But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!" CLEMENT CLARKE MOORE * * * * * LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, An' wash the cups and saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away, An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep, An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep; An' all us other children, when the supper things is done, We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about. An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you Ef you Don't Watch Out! Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,-- So when he went to bed at night, away up stairs, His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl, An' when they turn't the kivers down, he wasn't there at all! An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubbyhole, an press, An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'wheres, I guess; But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout! An' the Gobble-uns git you Ef you Don't Watch Out! An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin, An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood an' kin; An' onc't when they was "company," an' ole folks was there, She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care! An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide, They was two great big black Things a-standin' by her side, An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about! An' the Gobble-uns'll git you Ef you Don't Watch Out! An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, An' the lampwick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo! An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray, An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,-- You better mind yer parents, and yer teachers fond and dear, An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear, An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about, Er the Gobble-uns'll git you Ef you Don't Watch Out! JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY (_From "Riley Child Rhymes," copyright, 1899. Used by special permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company._) * * * * * THE CHATTERBOX From morning to night 't was Lucy's delight To chatter and talk without stopping; There was not a day but she rattled away, Like water forever a-dropping! As soon as she rose, while she put on her clothes, 'Twas vain to endeavor to still her; Nor once did she lack to continue her clack, Till again she lay down on her pillow. You'll think now, perhaps, there would have been gaps, If she hadn't been wonderful clever; That her sense was so great, and so witty her pate That it would be forthcoming forever. But that's quite absurd; for have you not heard, Much tongue and few brains are connected, That they are supposed to think least who talk most, And their wisdom is always suspected? While Lucy was young, had she bridled her tongue With a little good sense and exertion, Who knows but she might have been our delight, Instead of our jest and aversion? ANN TAYLOR * * * * * THE VOICE OF SPRING I come, I come! ye have called me long; I come o'er the mountains, with light and song. Ye may trace my step o'er the waking earth By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves opening as I pass. I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut-flowers By thousands have burst from the forest bowers, And the ancient graves and the fallen fanes Are veiled with wreathes on Italian plains; But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom, To speak of the ruin or the tomb! I have looked o'er the hills of the stormy North, And the larch has hung all his tassels forth; The fisher is out on the sunny sea, And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free, And the pine has a fringe of softer green, And the moss looks bright, where my step has been. I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh, And called out each voice of the deep blue sky, From the night-bird's lay through the starry time, In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime, To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes, When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks. From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain; They are sweeping on to the silvery main. They are flashing down from the mountain brows, They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs, They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves, And the earth resounds with the joy of waves. FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS * * * * * THE HISTORY LESSON There was a monkey climbed up a tree, When he fell down, then down fell he. There was a crow sat on a stone, When he was gone, then there was none. There was an old wife did eat an apple, When she had eat two, she had eat a couple. There was a horse going to the mill, When he went on, he stood not still. There was a butcher cut his thumb, When it did bleed, then blood did come. There was a lackey ran a race, When he ran fast, he ran apace. There was a cobbler clouting shoon, When they were mended, they were done. There was a chandler making candle, When he them strip, he did them handle. There was a navy went into Spain, When it returned, it came again. ANONYMOUS * * * * * SONG OF LIFE A traveller on a dusty road Strewed acorns on the lea; And one took root and sprouted up, And grew into a tree. Love sought its shade at evening-time, To breathe its early vows; And Age was pleased, in heights of noon, To bask beneath its boughs. The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, The birds sweet music bore-- It stood a glory in its place, A blessing evermore. A little spring had lost its way Amid the grass and fern; A passing stranger scooped a well Where weary men might turn, He walled it in, and hung with care A ladle on the brink; He thought not of the deed he did, But judged that Toil might drink. He passed again; and lo! the well, By summer never dried, Had cooled ten thousand parchéd tongues, And saved a life beside. A nameless man, amid the crowd That thronged the daily mart, Let fall a word of hope and love, Unstudied from the heart, A whisper on the tumult thrown, A transitory breath, It raised a brother from the dust, It saved a soul from death. O germ! O fount! O word of love! O thought at random cast! Ye were but little at the first, But mighty at the last. CHARLES MACKAY * * * * * THE GOOD TIME COMING There's a good time coming, boys. A good time coming: We may not live to see the day, But earth shall glisten in the ray Of the good time coming. Cannon-balls may aid the truth, But thought's a weapon stronger; We'll win our battle by its aid;-- Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: The pen shall supersede the sword, And Right, not Might, shall be the lord In the good time coming. Worth, not Birth, shall rule mankind, And be acknowledged stronger; The proper impulse has been given;-- Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, boys A good time coming: War in all men's eyes shall be A monster of iniquity In the good time coming. Nations shall not quarrel then, To prove which is the stronger; Nor slaughter men for glory's sake;-- Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: Hateful rivalries of creed Shall not make their martyrs bleed In the good time coming. Religion shall be shorn of pride, And flourish all the stronger; And Charity shall trim her lamp;-- Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: And a poor man's family Shall not be his misery In the good time coming. Every child shall be a help To make his right arm stronger; The happier he, the more he has:-- Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: Little children shall not toil Under, or above, the soil In the good time coming; But shall play in healthful fields, Till limbs and mind grow stronger; And every one shall read and write;-- Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: The people shall be temperate, And shall love instead of hate, In the good time coming. They shall use, and not abuse, And make all virtue stronger; The reformation has begun;-- Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: Let us aid it all we can, Every woman, every man, The good time coming: Smallest helps, if rightly given, Make the impulse stronger; 'T will be strong enough one day;-- Wait a little longer. CHARLES MACKAY * * * * * WINDY NIGHTS Whenever the moon and stars are set, Whenever the wind is high, All night long in the dark and wet. A man goes riding by, Late at night when the fires are out, Why does he gallop and gallop about? Whenever the trees are crying aloud, And ships are tossed at sea, By, on the highway, low and loud, By at the gallop goes he. By at the gallop he goes, and then By he comes back at the gallop again. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON * * * * * THE WONDERFUL WORLD Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World, With the wonderful water round you curled, And the wonderful grass upon your breast, World, you are beautifully drest. The wonderful air is over me, And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree-- It walks on the water, and whirls the mills, And talks to itself on the top of the hills. You friendly Earth, how far do you go, With the wheat-fields that nod and the rivers that flow, With cities and gardens, and cliffs and isles, And people upon you for thousands of miles? Ah! you are so great, and I am so small, I hardly can think of you, World, at all; And yet, when I said my prayers to-day, My mother kissed me, and said, quite gay, "If the wonderful World is great to you, And great to father and mother, too, You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot! You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!" WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS * * * * * HARK! HARK! THE LARK Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes; With every thing that pretty bin, My lady sweet, arise; Arise, arise. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE * * * * * JOG ON, JOG ON Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, And merrily hent the stile-a; A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE * * * * * SWEET STORY OF OLD I think when I read that sweet story of old, When Jesus was here among men, How He call'd little children as lambs to His fold, I should like to have been with them then. I wish that His hands had been placed on my head, That His arm had been thrown around me, And that I might have seen His kind look when He said, "Let the little ones come unto me." Yet still to His footstool in prayer I may go, And ask for a share in His love; And if I thus earnestly seek Him below, I shall see Him and hear Him above; In that beautiful place He has gone to prepare For all who are washed and forgiven; And many dear children shall be with Him there, For of such is the kingdom of heaven. But thousands and thousands who wander and fall, Never heard of that heavenly home; I wish they could know there is room for them all, And that Jesus has bid them to come. JEMIMA LUKE * * * * * MY SHADOW I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see, He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed. The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow-- Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball, And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all. He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play, And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see; I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me! One morning, very early, before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head, Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed! ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON * * * * * BY COOL SILOAM'S SHADY RILL By cool Siloam's shady rill How sweet the lily grows! How sweet the breath beneath the hill Of Sharon's dewy rose! Lo, such the child whose early feet The paths of peace have trod; Whose secret heart, with influence sweet, Is upward drawn to God. By cool Siloam's shady rill The lily must decay; The rose that blooms beneath the hill Must shortly fade away. And soon, too soon, the wintry hour Of man's maturer age Will shake the soul with sorrow's power, And stormy passion's rage. O Thou, whose infant feet were found Within thy Father's shrine, Whose years, with changeless virtue crowned, Were all alike divine; Dependent on thy bounteous breath, We seek thy grace alone, In childhood, manhood, age, and death, To keep us still thine own. REGINALD HEBER * * * * * THE WIND IN A FROLIC The wind one morning sprang up from sleep, Saying, "Now for a frolic! now for a leap! Now for a madcap galloping chase! I'll make a commotion in every place!" So it swept with a bustle right through a great town, Creaking the signs, and scattering down Shutters, and whisking, with merciless squalls, Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls. There never was heard a much lustier shout, As the apples and oranges tumbled about; And the urchins, that stand with their thievish eyes Forever on watch, ran off each with a prize. Then away to the fields it went blustering and humming, And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming. It plucked by their tails the grave, matronly cows, And tossed the colts' manes all about their brows, Till, offended at such a familiar salute, They all turned their backs and stood silently mute. So on it went, capering and playing its pranks; Whistling with reeds on the broad river banks; Puffing the birds, as they sat on the spray, Or the traveler grave on the King's highway. It was not too nice to bustle the bags Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags, 'T was so bold that it feared not to play its joke With the doctor's wig, and the gentleman's cloak. Through the forest it roared, and cried gayly, "Now, You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow!" And it made them bow without more ado, Or it cracked their great branches through and through. Then it rushed like a monster o'er cottage and farm, Striking their inmates with sudden alarm; And they ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm. There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their caps, To see if their poultry were free from mishaps; The turkeys, they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud, And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd; There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on, Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone. But the wind had passed on, and had met in a lane With a schoolboy, who panted and struggled in vain, For it tossed him, and twirled him, then passed, and he stood With his hat in a pool, and his shoe in the mud. WILLIAM HOWITT * * * * * THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD They grew in beauty, side by side, They filled one home with glee; Their graves are severed far and wide, By mount, and stream, and sea. The same fond mother bent at night O'er each fair, sleeping brow; She had each folded flower in sight: Where are those sleepers now? One, midst the forest of the West, By a dark stream is laid; The Indian knows his place of rest, Far in the cedar shade. The sea, the blue, lone sea, hath one; He lies where pearls lie deep; He was the loved of all, yet none O'er his low bed may weep. One sleeps where southern vines are dressed Above the noble slain; He wrapped the colors round his breast On a blood-red field of Spain. And one--o'er her the myrtle showers Its leaves by soft winds fanned; She faded midst Italian flowers-- The last of that fair band. And parted thus, they rest who played Beneath the same green tree; Whose voices mingled as they prayed Around one parent knee. They that with smiles lit up the hall, And cheered with song the hearth; Alas for love! if thou wert all, And naught beyond, O earth! FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS * * * * * WE ARE SEVEN ... A simple child That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death? I met a little cottage-girl: She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad; Her eyes were bright, and very fair-- Her beauty made me glad. "Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wond'ring looked at me. "And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea. "Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And, in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother." "You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea, Yet ye are seven?--I pray you tell, Sweet maid, how this may be?" Then did the little maid reply, "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree." "You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive: If two are in the churchyard laid, Then ye are only five." "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied; "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side. "My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit-- I sit and sing to them. "And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there. "The first that died was little Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain, And then she went away. "So in the churchyard she was laid; And when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. "And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side." "How many are you, then," said I, "If they two are in heaven?" The little maiden did reply, "O master! we are seven." "But they are dead; these two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!" 'T was throwing words away; for still The little maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven!" WILLIAM WORDSWORTH * * * * * THE BETTER LAND "I hear thee speak of the better land; Thou call'st its children a happy band; Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore? Shall we not seek it and weep no more? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fireflies dance through the myrtle boughs?"-- "Not there, not there my child!" "Is it where the feathery palm trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies? Or midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds on their starry wings Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?"-- "Not there, not there, my child!" "Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold? Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand? Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?"-- "Not there, not there, my child!" "Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy; Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair,-- Sorrow and death may not enter there; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom; For beyond the clouds and beyond the tomb, It is there, it is there, my child!" FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS * * * * * THE JUVENILE ORATOR You'd scarce expect one of my age To speak in public, on the stage; And if I chance to fall below Demosthenes or Cicero, Don't view me with a critic's eye, But pass my imperfections by. Large streams from little fountains flow; Tall oaks from little acorns grow; And though I now am small and young, Of judgment weak, and feeble tongue, Yet all great learned men--like me-- Once learned to read their A, B, C. And why may not Columbia's soil Rear men as great as Britain's isle, Exceed what Greece and Rome have done, Or any land beneath the sun? May n't Massachusetts prove as great As any other sister state? Or, where's the town, go far or near, That does not find a rival here? Or, where 's the boy but three feet high Who's made improvement more than I? Those thoughts inspire my youthful mind To be the greatest of mankind; Great, not like Cæsar, stained with blood; But only great, as I am good. DAVID EVERETT * * * * * THE FOX AND THE CROW A FABLE The fox and the crow, In prose, I well know, Many good little girls can rehearse: Perhaps it will tell Pretty nearly as well, If we try the same fable in verse. In a dairy a crow, Having ventured to go, Some food for her young ones to seek, Flew up in the trees, With a fine piece of cheese, Which she joyfully held in her beak. A fox, who lived by, To the tree saw her fly, And to share in the prize made a vow; For having just dined, He for cheese felt inclined, So he went and sat under the bough. She was cunning, he knew, But so was he too, And with flattery adapted his plan; For he knew if she'd speak, It must fall from her beak, So, bowing politely, began. "'T is a very fine day" (Not a word did she say): "The wind, I believe, ma'am, is south: A fine harvest for peas:" He then looked at the cheese, But the crow did not open her mouth. Sly Reynard, not tired, Her plumage admired, "How charming! how brilliant its hue! The voice must be fine, Of a bird so divine, Ah, let me just hear it, pray do. "Believe me, I long To hear a sweet song!" The silly crow foolishly tries: She scarce gave one squall, When the cheese she let fall, And the fox ran away with the prize. MORAL Ye innocent fair, Of coxcombs beware, To flattery never give ear; Try well each pretense, And keep to plain sense, And then you have little to fear. LITTLE B. (TAYLOR?) * * * * * THE USE OF FLOWERS God might have bade the earth bring forth Enough for great and small, The oak tree and the cedar tree, Without a flower at all. We might have had enough, enough For every want of ours, For luxury, medicine, and toil, And yet have had no flowers. The ore within the mountain mine Requireth none to grow; Nor doth it need the lotus flower To make the river flow. The clouds might give abundant rain, The nightly dews might fall, And the herb that keepeth life in man Might yet have drunk them all. Then wherefore, wherefore were they made, All dyed with rainbow light, All fashioned with supremest grace, Upspringing day and night,-- Springing in valleys green and low, And on the mountain high, And in the silent wilderness, Where no man passes by? Our outward life requires them not, Then wherefore had they birth?-- To minister delight to man, To beautify the earth; To comfort man, to whisper hope Whene'er his faith is dim; For Whoso careth for the flowers Will much more care for him. MARY HOWITT * * * * * CONTENTED JOHN One honest John Tomkins, a hedger and ditcher, Although he was poor, did not want to be richer; For all such vain wishes in him were prevented By a fortunate habit of being contented. Though cold was the weather, or dear was the food, John never was found in a murmuring mood; For this he was constantly heard to declare,-- What he could not prevent he would cheerfully bear. "For why should I grumble and murmur?" he said; "If I cannot get meat, I can surely get bread; And, though fretting may make my calamities deeper, It can never cause bread and cheese to be cheaper." If John was afflicted with sickness or pain, He wished himself better, but did not complain, Nor lie down and fret in despondence and sorrow, But said that he hoped to be better to-morrow. If any one wronged him or treated him ill, Why, John was good-natured and sociable still; For he said that revenging the injury done Would be making two rogues when there need be but one, And thus honest John, though his station was humble, Passed through this sad world without even a grumble; And I wish that some folks, who are greater and richer, Would copy John Tomkins, the hedger and ditcher. JANE TAYLOR * * * * * THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, AND HOW HE GAINED THEM "You are old, Father William," the young man cried; "The few locks which are left you are gray; You are hale, Father William--a hearty old man: Now tell me the reason, I pray." "In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remembered that youth would fly fast, And abused not my health and my vigor at first, That I never might need them at last." "You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "And pleasures with youth pass away; And yet you lament not the days that are gone: Now tell me the reason, I pray." "In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remembered that youth could not last; I thought of the future, whatever I did, That I never might grieve for the past." "You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "And life must be hastening away; You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death: Now tell me the reason, I pray." "I am cheerful, young man," Father William replied; "Let the cause thy attention engage: In the days of my youth I remembered my God; And he hath not forgotten my age." ROBERT SOUTHEY * * * * * THE FROST The frost looked forth on a still, clear night, And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight; So through the valley and over the height I'll silently take my way. I will not go on like that blustering train, The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, That make so much bustle and noise in vain, But I'll be as busy as they!" He flew up, and powdered the mountain's crest; He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed With diamonds and pearls;--and over the breast Of the quivering lake he spread A bright coat of mail, that it need not fear The glittering point of many a spear That he hung on its margin, far and near, Where a rock was rearing its head. He went to the windows of those who slept, And over each pane, like a fairy crept; Wherever he breathed--wherever he stepped-- Most beautiful things were seen By morning's first light! There were flowers and trees, With bevies of birds and swarms of bright bees; There were cities--temples, and towers; and these, All pictured in silvery sheen! But one thing he did that was hardly fair-- He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there That none had remembered for him to prepare, "Now, just to set them a-thinking, I'll bite their rich basket of fruit," said he, "This burly old pitcher--I'll burst it in three! And the glass with the water they've left for me Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking!" HANNAH FLAGG GOULD * * * * * THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM It was a summer evening, Old Kaspar's work was done, And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun, And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine. She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found; He came to ask what he had found, That was so large and smooth and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh, "'T is some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory. "I find them in the garden, For there's many hereabout; And often, when I go to plow The plowshare turns them out! For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in that great victory." "Now tell us what 't was all about," Young Peterkin he cries; While little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes; "Now tell us all about the war, And what they killed each other for." "It was the English," Kaspar cried, "Who put the French to rout; But what they killed each other for I could not well make out. But everybody said," quoth he, "That 't was a famous victory. "My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by; They burnt his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly: So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head. "With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide, And many a childing mother then And new-born baby died: But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory. "They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun: But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. "Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our good Prince Eugene." "Why 't was a very wicked thing!" Said little Wilhelmine. "Nay--nay--my little girl," quoth he, "It was a famous victory. "And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win." "And what good came of it at last?" Quoth little Peterkin. "Why, that I cannot tell," said he, "But 't was a famous victory." ROBERT SOUTHEY * * * * * THE CHAMELEON A FABLE FROM M. DE LAMOTTE Oft has it been my lot to mark A proud, conceited, talking spark, With eyes, that hardly served at most To guard their master 'gainst a post; Yet round the world the blade has been To see whatever could be seen, Returning from his finished tour, Grown ten times perter than before; Whatever word you chance to drop, The traveled fool your mouth will stop: "Sir, if my judgment you'll allow, I've seen--and sure I ought to know," So begs you'd pay a due submission, And acquiesce in his decision. Two travelers of such a cast, As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed And on their way in friendly chat, Now talked of this, and then of that, Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other matter. Of the chameleon's form and nature. "A stranger animal," cries one, "Sure never lived beneath the sun. A lizard's body, lean and long, A fish's head, a serpent's tongue, Its foot with triple claw disjoined; And what a length of tail behind! How slow its pace; and then its hue-- Who ever saw so fine a blue?" "Hold, there," the other quick replies, "'T is _green_, I saw it with these eyes, As late with open mouth it lay, And warmed it in the sunny ray: Stretched at its ease, the beast I viewed And saw it eat the air for food." "I've seen it, sir, as well as you, And must again affirm it blue; At leisure I the beast surveyed, Extending in the cooling shade." "'T is green, 't is green, sir I assure ye!" "Green!" cries the other in a fury-- "Why, sir!--d'ye think I've lost my eyes?" "'T were no great loss," the friend replies, "For, if they always serve you thus, You'll find them of but little use." So high at last the contest rose, From words they almost came to blows; When luckily came by a third-- To him the question they referred, And begged he'd tell 'em, if he knew, Whether the thing was green or blue. "Sirs," cries the umpire, "cease your pother! The creature's neither one nor t' other. I caught the animal last night, And viewed it o'er by candlelight: I marked it well--'t was black as jet-- You stare--but sirs, I've got it yet, And can produce it." "Pray, sir, do: I'll lay my life the thing is blue." "And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen The reptile, you'll pronounce him green." "Well, then, at once to ease the doubt," Replies the man, "I'll turn him out: And when before your eyes I've set him, If you don't find him black, I'll eat him." He said: then full before their sight Produced the beast, and lo!--'t was white. Both stared, the man looked wondrous wise-- "My children," the chameleon cries, (Then first the creature found a tongue,) "You are all right, and all are wrong: When next you talk of what you view, Think others see as well as you; Nor wonder, if you find that none Prefers your eyesight to his own." JAMES MERRICK * * * * * THE BLACKBERRY GIRL "Why, Phebe, are you come so soon? Where are your berries, child? You cannot, sure, have sold them all, You had a basket piled." "No, mother, as I climbed the fence, The nearest way to town, My apron caught upon the stake, And so I tumbled down. "I scratched my arm and tore my hair, But still did not complain; And had my blackberries been safe, Should not have cared a grain. "But when I saw them on the ground. All scattered by my side, I picked my empty basket up, And down I sat and cried. "Just then a pretty little Miss Chanced to be walking by; She stopped, and looking pitiful, She begged me not to cry. "'Poor little girl, you fell,' said she, 'And must be sadly hurt;' 'Oh, no,' I cried; 'but see my fruit, All mixed with sand and dirt.' "'Well, do not grieve for that,' she said; 'Go home, and get some more,' 'Ah, no, for I have stripped the vines, These were the last they bore. "'My father, Miss, is very poor, And works in yonder stall; He has so many little ones, He cannot clothe us all. "'I always longed to go to church, But never could I go; For when I asked him for a gown, He always answered, "No. "'"There's not a father in the world That loves his children more; I'd get you one with all my heart, But, Phebe, I am poor." "'But when the blackberries were ripe, He said to me one day, "Phebe, if you will take the time That's given you for play, "'"And gather blackberries enough, And carry them to town, To buy your bonnet and your shoes, I'll try to get a gown." "'Oh, Miss, I fairly jumped for joy, My spirits were so light; And so, when I had leave to play, I picked with all my might. "'I sold enough to get my shoes, About a week ago; And these, if they had not been spilt, Would buy a bonnet, too. "'But now they're gone, they all are gone, And I can get no more, And Sundays I must stay at home, Just as I did before.' "And, mother, then I cried again As hard as I could cry; And looking up, I saw a tear Was standing in her eye. "She caught her bonnet from her head, 'Here, here,' she cried, 'take this!' 'Oh, no, indeed--I fear your ma Would be offended, Miss.' "'My ma! no, never; she delights All sorrow to beguile; And 't is the sweetest joy she feels, To make the wretched smile. "'She taught me when I had enough, To share it with the poor; And never let a needy child, Go empty from the door. "'So take it, for you need not fear Offending her, you see; I have another, too, at home, And one's enough for me,' "So then I took it--here it is-- For pray what could I do? And, mother, I shall love that Miss As long as I love you." UNKNOWN * * * * * MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY A STORY OF THE OLDEN TIME PART I "Arise, my maiden, Mabel," The mother said; "arise, For the golden sun of midsummer Is shining in the skies. "Arise, my little maiden, For thou must speed away, To wait upon thy grandmother This livelong summer day. "And thou must carry with thee This wheaten cake so fine, This new-made pat of butter, This little flask of wine; "And tell the dear old body, This day I cannot come, For the goodman went out yestermorn. And he is not come home. "And more than this, poor Amy Upon my knee doth lie; I fear me, with this fever pain The little child will die! "And thou canst help thy grandmother: The table thou canst spread; Canst feed the little dog and bird; And thou canst make her bed. "And thou canst fetch the water From the lady-well hard by; And thou canst gather from the wood The fagots brown and dry; "Canst go down to the lonesome glen, To milk the mother ewe; This is the work, my Mabel, That thou wilt have to do. "But listen now, my Mabel, This is midsummer day, When all the fairy people From elfland come away. "And when thou 'rt in the lonesome glen, Keep by the running burn, And do not pluck the strawberry flower, Nor break the lady-fern. "But think not of the fairy folk, Lest mischief should befall; Think only of poor Amy, And how thou lov'st us all. "Yet keep good heart, my Mabel, If thou the fairies see, And give them kindly answer If they should speak to thee. "And when into the fir-wood Thou goest for fagots brown, Do not, like idle children, Go wandering up and down. "But fill thy little apron, My child, with earnest speed; And that thou break no living bough Within the wood take heed. "For they are spiteful brownies Who in the wood abide; So be thou careful of this thing, Lest evil should betide. "But think not, little Mabel, Whilst thou art in the wood, Of dwarfish, willful brownies, But of the Father good. "And when thou goest to the spring To fetch the water thence, Do not disturb the little stream, Lest this should give offense. "For the queen of all the fairies, She loves that water bright; I've seen her drinking there myself On many a summer night. "But she's a gracious lady, And her thou need'st not fear; Only disturb thou not the stream, Nor spill the water clear." "Now all this I will heed, mother, Will no word disobey, And wait upon the grandmother This livelong summer day." PART II Away tripped little Mabel, With the wheaten cake so fine, With the new-made pat of butter, And the little flask of wine. And long before the sun was hot, And the summer mist had cleared, Beside the good old grandmother The willing child appeared. And all her mother's message She told with right good-will, How that the father was away, And the little child was ill. And then she swept the hearth up clean, And then the table spread; And next she fed the dog and bird; And then she made the bed. "And go now," said the grandmother, "Ten paces down the dell, And bring in water for the day,-- Thou know'st the lady-well." The first time that good Mabel went, Nothing at all saw she, Except a bird, a sky-blue bird, That sat upon a tree. The next time that good Mabel went, There sat a lady bright Beside the well,--a lady small, All clothed in green and white. A courtesy low made Mabel, And then she stooped to fill Her pitcher at the sparkling spring, But no drop did she spill. "Thou art a handy maiden," The fairy lady said; "Thou hast not spilt a drop, nor yet The fairy spring troubled! "And for this thing which thou hast done, Yet mayst not understand, I give to thee a better gift Than houses or than land. "Thou shalt do well whate'er thou dost, As thou hast done this day; Shalt have the will and power to please, And shalt be loved alway." Thus having said, she passed from sight, And naught could Mabel see, But the little bird, the sky-blue bird, Upon the leafy tree. "And now go," said the grandmother, "And fetch in fagots dry; All in the neighboring fir-wood Beneath the trees they lie." Away went kind, good Mabel, Into the fir-wood near, Where all the ground was dry and brown. And the grass grew thin and sear. She did not wander up and down, Nor yet a live branch pull, But steadily of the fallen boughs She picked her apron full. And when the wildwood brownies Came sliding to her mind, She drove them thence, as she was told, With home thoughts sweet and kind. But all that while the brownies Within the fir-wood still, They watched her how she picked the wood, And strove to do no ill. "And, oh, but she is small and neat," Said one; "'t were shame to spite A creature so demure and meek, A creature harmless quite!" "Look only," said another, "At her little gown of blue; At her kerchief pinned about her head, And at her little shoe!" "Oh, but she is a comely child," Said a third; "and we will lay A good-luck penny in her path, A boon for her this day,-- Seeing she broke no living wood; No live thing did affray!" With that the smallest penny, Of the finest silver ore, Upon the dry and slippery path, Lay Mabel's feet before. With joy she picked the penny up, The fairy penny good; And with her fagots dry and brown Went wandering from the wood. "Now she has that," said the brownies, "Let flax be ever so dear, 'T will buy her clothes of the very best, For many and many a year!" "And go now," said the grandmother, "Since falling is the dew, Go down unto the lonesome glen, And milk the mother ewe!" All down into the lonesome glen, Through copses thick and wild, Through moist rank grass, by trickling streams, Went on the willing child. And when she came to the lonesome glen, She kept beside the burn, And neither plucked the strawberry flower Nor broke the lady fern. And while she milked the mother ewe Within this lonesome glen, She wished that little Amy Were strong and well again. And soon as she thought this thought, She heard a coming sound, As if a thousand fairy folk Were gathering all around. And then she heard a little voice, Shrill as the midge's wing, That spake aloud,--"A human child Is here; yet mark this thing,-- "The lady-fern is all unbroke, The strawberry flower unta'en! What shall be done for her who still From mischief can refrain?" "Give her a fairy cake!" said one; "Grant her a wish!" said three; "The latest wish that she hath wished," Said all, "whate'er it be!" Kind Mabel heard the words they spake, And from the lonesome glen Unto the good old grandmother Went gladly back again. Thus happened it to Mabel On that midsummer day, And these three fairy blessings She took with her away. 'T is good to make all duty sweet, To be alert and kind; 'T is good, like little Mabel, To have a willing mind. MARY HOWITT * * * * * LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG The spearmen heard the bugle sound, And cheer'ly smiled the morn; And many a brach, and many a hound, Attend Llewellyn's horn. And still he blew a louder blast, And gave a louder cheer; "Come, Gelert! why art thou the last Llewellyn's horn to hear? "Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam, The flower of all his race? So true, so brave--a lamb at home, A lion in the chase." That day Llewellyn little loved The chase of hart or hare, And scant and small the booty proved, For Gelert was not there. Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied, When, near the portal seat, His truant Gelert he espied, Bounding his lord to greet. But when he gained the castle door, Aghast the chieftain stood; The hound was smeared with gouts of gore His lips and fangs ran blood! Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise; Unused such looks to meet, His fav'rite checked his joyful guise, And crouched, and licked his feet. Onward in haste Llewellyn passed (And on went Gelert too), And still, where'er his eyes were cast, Fresh blood gouts shocked his view! O'erturned his infant's bed he found, The blood-stained cover rent; And all around the walls and ground With recent blood besprent. He called his child--no voice replied; He searched with terror wild; Blood! blood! he found on every side, But nowhere found his child! "Hell-hound! by thee my child's devoured!" The frantic father cried; And to the hilt his vengeful sword He plunged in Gelert's side. His suppliant, as to earth he fell, No pity could impart; But still his Gelert's dying yell Passed heavy o'er his heart. Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, Some slumberer wakened nigh; What words the parent's joy can tell, To hear his infant cry! Concealed beneath a mangled heap, His hurried search had missed, All glowing from his rosy sleep, His cherub boy he kissed! Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread, But the same couch beneath Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead,-- Tremendous still in death! Ah, what was then Llewellyn's pain! For now the truth was clear; The gallant hound the wolf had slain, To save Llewellyn's heir. Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe; "Best of thy kind, adieu! The frantic deed which laid thee low This heart shall ever rue!" And now a gallant tomb they raised, With costly sculpture decked; And marbles storied with his praise Poor Gelert's bones protect. Here never could the spearmen pass, Or forester, unmoved, Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass Llewellyn's sorrow proved. And here he hung his horn and spear, And oft, as evening fell, In fancy's piercing sounds would hear Poor Gelert's dying yell. WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER * * * * * THE SNOWBIRD'S SONG The ground was all covered with snow one day, And two little sisters were busy at play, When a snowbird was sitting close by on a tree, And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee, Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee. He had not been singing that tune very long, Ere Emily heard him, so loud was his song: "Oh, sister, look out of the window," said she; "Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de-dee. Chick-a-de-dee, etc. "Oh, mother, do get him some stockings and shoes, And a nice little frock, and a hat if he choose; I wish he'd come into the parlor and see How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-de-dee." Chick-a-de-dee, etc. "There is one, my dear child, though I cannot tell who, Has clothed me already, and warm enough too. Good morning! Oh, who are so happy as we?" And away he went singing his chick-a-de-dee. Chick-a-de-dee, etc. FRANCIS C. WOODWORTH * * * * * FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT Is there for honest poverty Wha hangs his head, and a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by; We dare be poor for a' that. For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea's stamp,-- The man's the gowd for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin gray, and a' that? Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,-- A man's a man for a' that. For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that-- Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that; For a' that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that; The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might,-- Guid faith, he maunna fa' that! For a' that, and a' that; Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may,-- As come it will for a' that,-- That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that,-- When man to man, the warld o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that! ROBERT BURNS * * * * * FABLES * * * * * FABLES FROM ÆSOP * * * * * THE GOOSE THAT LAID GOLDEN EGGS There was a man who once had a very handsome goose, that always laid golden eggs. Now, he thought there must be gold inside of her, so he wrung her neck straightway, and found she was exactly like all other geese. He thought to find riches, and lost the little he had. The fable teaches that one who has anything should be content with it, and avoid covetousness, lest he lose what he has. * * * * * THE BOYS AND THE FROGS A company of idle boys were watching some frogs by the side of a pond, and as fast as any of the frogs lifted their heads the boys would pelt them down again with stones. "Boys," said one of the frogs, "you forget that, though this may be fun for you, it is death to us." * * * * * THE LION AND THE MOUSE A mouse happened to run into the mouth of a sleeping lion, who roused himself, caught him, and was just about eating him, when the little fellow begged him to let him go, saying, "If I am saved, I shall be everlastingly grateful." So, with a smile, the lion let him off. It befell him not long after to be saved by the mouse's gratitude, for when he was caught by some hunters and bound by ropes to a tree, the mouse, hearing his roaring groans, came and gnawed the ropes, and set him free, saying, "You laughed at me once, as if you could receive no return from me, but now, you see, it is you who have to be grateful to me." The story shows that there come sudden changes of affairs, when the most powerful owe everything to the weakest. * * * * * THE FOX AND THE GRAPES A hungry fox discovered some bunches of grapes hanging from a vine high up a tree, and, as he gazed, longed to get at them, and could not; so he left them hanging there and went off muttering, "They're sour grapes." * * * * * THE FROG AND THE OX An ox, grazing in a swampy meadow, chanced to set his foot among a parcel of young frogs, and crushed nearly the whole brood to death. One that escaped ran off to his mother with the dreadful news. "O mother," said he, "it was a beast--such a big four-footed beast, that did it!" "Big?" quoth the old frog, "How big? was it as big"--and she puffed herself out--"as big as this?" "Oh, a great deal bigger than that." "Well, was it so big?" and she swelled herself out yet more. "Indeed, mother, but it was; and if you were to burst yourself, you would never reach half its size." The old frog made one more trial, determined to be as big as the ox, and burst herself, indeed. * * * * * THE CAT, THE MONKEY, AND THE CHESTNUTS A cat and a monkey were sitting one day in the chimney corner watching some chestnuts which their master had laid down to roast in the ashes. The chestnuts had begun to burst with the heat, and the monkey said to the cat, "It is plain that your paws were made especially for pulling out those chestnuts. Do you reach forth and draw them out. Your paws are, indeed, exactly like our master's hands." The cat was greatly flattered by this speech, and reached forward for the tempting chestnuts, but scarcely had he touched the hot ashes than he drew back with a cry, for he had burnt his paw; but he tried again, and managed to pull one chestnut out; then he pulled another, and a third, though each time he singed the hair on his paws. When he could pull no more out he turned about and found that the monkey had taken the time to crack the chestnuts and eat them. * * * * * THE COUNTRY MAID AND HER MILKPAIL A country maid was walking slowly along with a pail of milk upon her head, and thinking thus: "The money for which I shall sell this milk will buy me three hundred eggs. These eggs, allowing for what may prove addled, will produce at least two hundred and fifty chickens. The chickens will be fit to carry to market about Christmas, when poultry always brings a good price, so that by May-day I shall have money enough to buy a new gown. Let me see--green suits me; yes, it shall be green. In this dress I will go to the fair, where all the young fellows will want me for a partner, but I shall refuse every one of them." By this time she was so full of her fancy that she tossed her head proudly, when over went the pail, which she had entirely forgotten, and all the milk was spilled on the ground. Moral. Don't count your chickens before they are hatched. * * * * * THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN The Ass once dressed himself in the Lion's skin and went about frightening all the little beasts. Now he happened on the Fox, and tried to frighten him too; but the Fox chanced to hear him speak, and said: "Well, to be sure, I should have been frightened too, if I hadn't heard you bray, and seen your ears sticking out." So there are some men who make themselves appear very fine outwardly, but are betrayed as soon as they begin to talk. * * * * * THE TORTOISE AND THE HARE "What a dull, heavy creature," says the Hare, "is this Tortoise!" "And yet," says the Tortoise, "I'll run with you for a wager." "Done," says the Hare, and then they asked the Fox to be the judge. They started together, and the Tortoise kept jogging on still, till he came to the end of the course. The Hare laid himself down midway and took a nap; "for," says he, "I can catch up with the Tortoise when I please." But it seems he overslept himself, for when he came to wake, though he scudded away as fast as possible, the Tortoise had got to the post before him and won the wager. Slow and steady wins the race. * * * * * THE VAIN JACKDAW A jackdaw picked up some beautiful feathers left by the peacocks on the ground. He stuck them into his own tail, and, thinking himself too fine to mix with the other daws, strutted off to the peacocks, expecting to be welcomed as one of themselves. The peacocks at once saw through his disguise, and, despising him for his foolishness and conceit, began to peck him, and soon he was stripped of all his borrowed plumes. Very much ashamed, the jackdaw went sadly home, meaning to join his old friends as if nothing had happened. But they, remembering how he had scorned them before, chased him away and would have nothing to do with him. "If you had been content," said one, "to remain as nature made you, instead of trying to be what you are not, you would have neither been punished by your betters nor despised by your equals." * * * * * THE FOX WITHOUT A TAIL A fox lost his tail in escaping from a steel trap. When he began to go about again, he found that every one looked down upon or laughed at him. Not liking this, he thought to himself that if he could persuade the other foxes to cut off their tails, his own loss would not be so noticeable. Accordingly he called together the foxes and said: "How is it that you still wear your tails? Of what use are they? They are in the way, they often get caught in traps, they are heavy to carry and not pretty to look upon. Believe me, we are far better without them. Cut off your tails, my friends, and you will see how much more comfortable it is. I for my part have never enjoyed myself so much nor found life so pleasant as I have since I lost mine." Upon this, a sly old fox, seeing through the trick, cried, "It seems to me, my friend, that you would not be so anxious for us to cut off our tails, if you had not already lost yours." * * * * * THE WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING A wolf put on the skin of a sheep, and getting in among the flock by means of this disguise, killed many of the sheep. The shepherd, who wondered why so many of his flock had disappeared, at last discovered the deceit. He fastened a rope cunningly round the pretended sheep's neck, led him to a tree, and there hanged him. Some other shepherds passing that way and seeing what they thought was a sheep hanging from a tree, said, "What, brother! Surely you do not hang sheep?" "No," answered the shepherd, "but I hang wolves when I catch them dressed up in sheep's skins!" Then he showed them their mistake, and they praised the justice of the deed he had done. * * * * * THE CROW AND THE PITCHER A crow, whose throat was parched and dry with thirst, saw a pitcher in the distance. In great joy he flew to it, but found that it held only a little water, and even that was too near the bottom to be reached, for all his stooping and straining. Next he tried to overturn the pitcher, thinking that he would at least be able to catch some of the water as it trickled out. But this he was not strong enough to do. In the end he found some pebbles lying near, and by dropping them one by one into the pitcher, he managed at last to raise the water up to the very brim, and thus was able to quench his thirst. * * * * * THE MAN, HIS SON, AND HIS ASS A man and his son were leading their ass to market. A girl, seeing them, cried, "Why walk when you can ride?" On hearing this, the man set his son upon the ass. Going further, they heard an old man say, "Shame for the young to ride while old people walk!" Thereupon the man made his son get down and rode himself. Presently they met some women who cried, "Look at the poor tired son and lazy father!" Hearing this, the man took his son up beside him and so they rode into the town. There a young man called to them, "Two men on one beast! It seems to me you are more fit to carry the ass than he is to carry you." Then they got down, tied the beast's legs to a pole, and carried him thus till they came to a bridge. As they went, the children shouted so loudly that the ass took fright--kicked his legs free, and jumped over the bridge into the river. Thus having lost his ass, the man went home, crying, "Try to please everybody and you will please nobody, not even yourself!" * * * * * FABLES OF INDIA ADAPTED BY P. V. RAMASWAMI RAJU * * * * * THE CAMEL AND THE PIG A camel said, "Nothing like being tall! See how tall I am." A pig who heard these words said, "Nothing like being short; see how short I am!" The camel said, "Well, if I fail to prove the truth of what I said, I will give you my hump." The pig said, "If I fail to prove the truth of what I have said, I will give up my snout." "Agreed!" said the camel. "Just so!" said the pig. They came to a garden inclosed by a low wall without any opening. The camel stood on this side the wall, and, reaching the plants within by means of his long neck, made a breakfast on them. Then he turned jeeringly to the pig, who had been standing at the bottom of the wall, without even having a look at the good things in the garden, and said, "Now, would you be tall or short?" Next they came to a garden inclosed by a high wall, with a wicket gate at one end. The pig entered by the gate, and, after having eaten his fill of the vegetables within, came out, laughing at the poor camel, who had had to stay outside, because he was too tall to enter the garden by the gate, and said, "Now, would you be tall or short?" Then they thought the matter over, and came to the conclusion that the camel should keep his hump and the pig his snout, observing: "Tall is good, where tall would do; Of short, again, 't is also true!" * * * * * THE MAN AND HIS PIECE OF CLOTH A man in the East, where they do not require as much clothing as in colder climates, gave up all worldly concerns and retired to a wood, where he built a hut and lived in it. His only clothing was a piece of cloth which he wore round his waist. But, as ill-luck would have it, rats were plentiful in the wood, so he had to keep a cat. The cat required milk to keep it, so a cow had to be kept. The cow required tending, so a cow-boy was employed. The boy required a house to live in, so a house was built for him. To look after the house a maid had to be engaged. To provide company for the maid a few more houses had to be built, and people invited to live in them. In this manner a little township sprang up. The man said, "_The further we seek to go from the world and its cares, the more they multiply_!" * * * * * THE SEA, THE FOX, AND THE WOLF A fox that lived by the seashore once met a wolf that had never seen the sea. The wolf said, "What is the sea?" "It is a great piece of water by my dwelling," said the fox. "Is it under your control?" asked the wolf. "Certainly," said the fox. "Will you show me the sea, then?" said the wolf. "With pleasure," said the fox. So the fox led the wolf to the sea, and said to the waves, "Now go back,"--they went back. "Now come up,"--and they came up! Then the fox said to the waves, "My friend, the wolf, has come to see you, so you will come up and go back till I bid you stop;" and the wolf saw, with wonder, the waves coming up and going back. He said to the fox, "May I go into the sea?" "As far as you like. Don't be afraid, for, at a word, the sea would go or come as I bid, and as you have already seen." The wolf believed the fox, and followed the waves rather far from the shore. A great wave soon upset him, and threw up his carcass on the shore. The fox made a hearty breakfast on it, saying, "_The fool's ear was made for the knave's tongue_." * * * * * THE BIRDS AND THE LIME A fowler in the East once went to a wood, scattered some grain on the ground, spread a net over it with some lime in it, and was watching from a distance to see what luck would attend his efforts. A great many birds assembled on the trees around the net, and said, "What fine corn that is! We can seldom hope to get anything like it." An owl that was close by said, "How nice that white thing in the net is!" "What is it?" said the birds. "Why, it is our best friend in the world; it is lime. When it holds us in its embrace, we can never hope to get away." The birds left the place at once. Said the fowler, "_A clever bird knows the lime_!" * * * * * THE RAVEN AND THE CATTLE One evening, as some cattle were wending their way home, a raven rode on the horns of a bull in the herd; and as he approached the cottage, cried to the farmer, "Friend, my work for the day is over; you may now take charge of your cattle." "What was your work?" asked the farmer. "Why," said the raven, "the arduous task of watching these cattle and bringing them home." "Am I to understand you have been doing all the work for me?" said the farmer. "Certainly," said the raven, and flew away with a laugh. Quoth the farmer with surprise, "_How many there are that take credit for things which they have never done_!" * * * * * TINSEL AND LIGHTNING A piece of tinsel on a rock once said to a pebble, "You see how bright I am! I am by birth related to the lightning." "Indeed!" said the pebble; "then accept my humble respects." Some time after, a flash of lightning struck the rock, and the tinsel lost all its brilliancy by the scorching effects of the flash. "Where is your brilliancy now?" said the pebble. "Oh, it is gone to the skies," said the tinsel, "for I have lent it to the lightning that came down a moment ago to borrow it of me." "Dear me!" said the pebble; "_how many fibs doth good bragging need_!" * * * * * THE ASS AND THE WATCH-DOG A watch-dog in a village was barking all night to keep thieves off from his master's house. An ass, who observed this, thought that the dog amused himself by barking. So he brayed all night. When the day dawned, the owner of the ass thought the poor animal had been suffering from some disorder. Therefore he sent for the village doctor, and laid the case before him. The doctor examined the animal closely, and said, "Friend, you must brand this ass forthwith, else he will soon go into fits and die." The ass said, "I assure you nothing is wrong with me; I simply amused myself last night." "Oh, no," said the inexorable leech; "I know what the wily brute means. He would rather die, and make you the loser, than be branded and recover his health." So they bound the ass with ropes, and branded him all over with red-hot irons. Some time after the ass moved out to see how the village had fared during his illness. The dog asked why he had been branded. The ass narrated the story. Quoth the dog, "_He that mistakes work for amusement must pay for his error_." * * * * * THE LARK AND ITS YOUNG ONES A child went up to a lark, and said, "Good lark, have you any young ones?" "Yes, child, I have," said the lark; "and they are very pretty ones indeed!" Then she pointed to them, and said, "This is Fair Wing, that is Tiny Bill, and that other is Bright Eye." The child said, "Yes, at home, we are three--myself and my two sisters, Jane and Alice; and mamma says we are pretty little children, and that she is very fond of us." To this the little larks replied, "Oh yes, mamma is very fond of us too." Then the child said, "Good lark, will you send home Tiny Bill to play with me?" Before the lark could reply, Bright Eye said, "Yes, if you will send little Alice to play with us in our nest." The child said, "Oh, Alice will be so sorry to leave home, and come away from mamma!" Bright. Eye said, "Tiny Bill will be so sorry to leave our nest, and go away from mamma!" The child was abashed, and went home, saying, "_Ah, every one is fond of home_!" * * * * * THE TWO GEMS A despot in the East once said to his fawning courtiers, "He that goes round my kingdom in the shortest possible time shall have one of these two gems." A courtier went round the King, and said, "Sire, may I have the prize?" "How so?" said the King. "Why, you are the kingdom, are you not?" said the courtier. The despot was so well pleased with the courtier that he gave him both the gems. The other courtiers said, in a whisper, "_Flatterers prey upon fools_." * * * * * FAIRY TALES AND LAUGHTER STORIES * * * * * SCANDINAVIAN STORIES * * * * * THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN There were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers; they were all brothers, for they had all been born of one old tin spoon. They shouldered their muskets, and looked straight before them; their uniform was red and blue, and very splendid. The first thing they had heard in the world, when the lid was taken off their box, had been the words "Tin soldiers!" These words were uttered by a little boy, clapping his hands: the soldiers had been given to him, for it was his birthday; and now he put them upon the table. Each soldier was exactly like the rest; but one of them had been cast last of all, and there had not been enough tin to finish him; but he stood as firmly upon his one leg as the others on their two; and it was just this Soldier who became remarkable. On the table on which they had been placed stood many other playthings, but the toy that attracted most attention was a neat castle of cardboard. Through the little windows one could see straight into the hall. Before the castle some little trees were placed round a little looking-glass, which was to represent a clear lake. Waxen swans swam on this lake, and were mirrored in it. This was all very pretty; but the prettiest of all was a little lady, who stood at the open door of the castle; she was also cut out in paper, but she had a dress of the clearest gauze, and a little narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders, that looked like a scarf; and in the middle of this ribbon was a shining tinsel rose as big as her whole face. The little lady stretched out both her arms, for she was a dancer; and then she lifted one leg so high that the Tin Soldier could not see it at all, and thought that, like himself, she had but one leg. "That would be the wife for me," thought he; "but she is very grand. She lives in a castle, and I have only a box, and there are five-and-twenty of us in that. It is no place for her. But I must try to make acquaintance with her." And then he lay down at full length behind a snuff-box which was on the table; there he could easily watch the little dainty lady, who continued to stand upon one leg without losing her balance. When the evening came all the other tin soldiers were put into their box, and the people in the house went to bed. Now the toys began to play at "visiting," and at "war," and "giving balls." The tin soldiers rattled in their box, for they wanted to join, but could not lift the lid. The nutcracker threw somersaults, and the pencil amused itself on the table: there was so much noise that the canary woke up, and began to speak too, and even in verse. The only two who did not stir from their places were the Tin Soldier and the Dancing Lady: she stood straight up on the point of one of her toes, and stretched out both her arms; and he was just as enduring on his one leg; and he never turned his eyes away from her. Now the clock struck twelve--and, bounce! the lid flew off the snuff-box; but there was no snuff in it, but a little black Goblin: you see, it was a trick. "Tin Soldier!" said the Goblin, "don't stare at things that don't concern you." But the Tin Soldier pretended not to hear him. "Just you wait till to-morrow!" said the Goblin. But when the morning came, and the children got up, the Tin Soldier was placed in the window; and whether it was the Goblin or the draught that did it, all at once the window flew open, and the Soldier fell head over heels out of the third story. That was a terrible passage! He put his leg straight up, and stuck with helmet downward and his bayonet between the paving-stones. The servant-maid and the little boy came down directly to look for him, but though they almost trod upon him, they could not see him. If the Soldier had cried out "Here I am!" they would have found him; but he did not think it fitting to call out loudly, because he was in uniform. Now it began to rain; the drops soon fell thicker, and at last it came down into a complete stream. When the rain was past, two street boys came by. "Just look!" said one of them: "there lies a Tin Soldier. He must come out and ride in the boat." And they made a boat out of a newspaper, and put the Tin Soldier in the middle of it, and so he sailed down the gutter, and the two boys ran beside him and clapped their hands. Goodness preserve us! how the waves rose in that gutter, and how fast the stream ran! But then it had been a heavy rain. The paper boat rocked up and down, and sometimes turned round so rapidly that the Tin Soldier trembled; but he remained firm, and never changed countenance, and looked straight before him, and shouldered his musket. All at once the boat went into a long drain, and it became as dark as if he had been in his box. "Where am I going now?" he thought. "Yes, yes, that's the Goblin's fault. Ah! if the little lady only sat here with me in the boat, it might be twice as dark for what I should care." Suddenly there came a great Water Rat, which lived under the drain. "Have you a passport?" said the Rat. "Give me your passport." But the Tin Soldier kept silence, and held his musket tighter than ever. The boat went on, but the Rat came after it. Hu! how he gnashed his teeth, and called out to the bits of straw and wood. "Hold him! hold him! He hasn't paid toll--he hasn't shown his passport!" But the stream became stronger and stronger. The Tin Soldier could see the bright daylight where the arch ended; but he heard a roaring noise, which might well frighten a bolder man. Only think--just where the tunnel ended, the drain ran into a great canal; and for him that would have been as dangerous as for us to be carried down a great waterfall. Now he was already so near it that he could not stop. The boat was carried out, the poor Tin Soldier stiffening himself as much as he could, and no one could say that he moved an eyelid. The boat whirled round three or four times, and was full of water to the very edge--it must sink. The Tin Soldier stood up to his neck in water, and the boat sank deeper and deeper, and the paper was loosened more and more; and now the water closed over the soldier's head. Then he thought of the pretty little Dancer, and how he should never see her again; and it sounded in the Soldier's ears: "Farewell, farewell, thou warrior brave, For this day thou must die!" And now the paper parted, and the Tin Soldier fell out; but at that moment he was snapped up by a great fish. Oh, how dark it was in that fish's body! It was darker yet than in the drain tunnel; and then it was very narrow too. But the Tin Soldier remained unmoved, and lay at full length shouldering his musket. The fish swam to and fro; he made the most wonderful movements, and then became quite still. At last something flashed through him like lightning. The daylight shone quite clear, and a voice said aloud, "The Tin Soldier!" The fish had been caught, carried to market, bought, and taken into the kitchen, where the cook cut him open with a large knife. She seized the Soldier round the body with both her hands and carried him into the room, where all were anxious to see the remarkable man who had traveled about in the inside of a fish; but the Tin Soldier was not at all proud. They placed him on the table, and there--no! What curious things may happen in the world. The Tin Soldier was in the very room in which he had been before! he saw the same children, and the same toys stood on the table; and there was the pretty castle with the graceful little Dancer. She was still balancing herself on one leg, and held the other extended in the air. She was hardy too. That moved the Tin Soldier; he was very nearly weeping tin tears, but that would not have been proper. He looked at her, but they said nothing to each other. Then one of the little boys took the Tin Soldier and flung him into the stove. He gave no reason for doing this. It must have been the fault of the Goblin in the snuff-box. The Tin Soldier stood there quite illuminated, and felt a heat that was terrible; but whether this heat proceeded from the real fire or from love he did not know. The colors had quite gone off from him; but whether that had happened on the journey, or had been caused by grief, no one could say. He looked at the little lady, she looked at him, and he felt that he was melting; but he still stood firm, shouldering his musket. Then suddenly the door flew open, and the draught of air caught the Dancer, and she flew like a sylph just into the stove to the Tin Soldier, and flashed up in a flame, and she was gone. Then the Tin Soldier melted down into a lump; and when the servant-maid took the ashes out next day, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the Dancer nothing remained but the tinsel rose, and that was burned as black as a coal. * * * * * THE FIR TREE BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN Out in the forest stood a pretty little Fir Tree. It had a good place; it could have sunlight, air there was in plenty, and all around grew many larger comrades--pines as well as firs. But the little Fir Tree wished ardently to become greater. It did not care for the warm sun and the fresh air; it took no notice of the peasant children, who went about talking together, when they had come out to look for strawberries and raspberries. Often they came with a whole pot-full, or had strung berries on a straw; then they would sit down by the little Fir Tree and say, "How pretty and small that one is!" and the Fir Tree did not like to hear that at all. Next year he had grown a great joint, and the following year he was longer still, for in fir trees one can always tell by the number of rings they have how many years they have been growing. "Oh, if I were only as great a tree as the other!" sighed the little Fir, "then I would spread my branches far around, and look out from my crown into the wide world. The birds would then build nests in my boughs, and when the wind blew I could nod just as grandly as the others yonder." It took no pleasure in the sunshine, in the birds, and in the red clouds that went sailing over him morning and evening. When it was winter, and the snow lay all around, white and sparkling, a hare would often come jumping along, and spring right over the little Fir Tree. Oh! this made him so angry. But two winters went by, and when the third came the little Tree had grown so tall that the hare was obliged to run round it. "Oh! to grow, to grow, and become old; that's the only fine thing in the world," thought the Tree. In the autumn woodcutters always came and felled a few of the largest trees; that was done this year too, and the little Fir Tree, that was now quite well grown, shuddered with fear, for the great stately trees fell to the ground with a crash, and their branches were cut off, so that the trees looked quite naked, long, and slender--they could hardly be recognized. But then they were laid upon wagons, and horses dragged them away out of the wood. Where were they going? What destiny awaited them? In the spring, when the Swallows and the Stork came, the Tree asked them, "Do you know where they were taken? Did you not meet them?" The Swallows knew nothing about it, but the Stork looked thoughtful, nodded his head, and said: "Yes, I think so. I met many new ships when I flew out of Egypt; on the ships were stately masts; I fancy these were the trees. They smelt like fir. I can assure you they're stately--very stately." "Oh that I were only big enough to go over the sea! What kind of thing is this sea, and how does it look?" "It would take too long to explain all that," said the Stork, and he went away. "Rejoice in thy youth," said the Sunbeams; "rejoice in thy fresh growth, and in the young life that is within thee." And the Wind kissed the Tree, and the Dew wept tears upon it; but the Fir Tree did not understand that. When Christmas-time approached, quite young trees were felled, sometimes trees which were neither so old nor so large as this Fir Tree, that never rested, but always wanted to go away. These young trees, which were always the most beautiful, kept all their branches; they were put upon wagons, and horses dragged them away out of the wood. "Where are they all going?" asked the Fir Tree. "They are not greater than I--indeed, one of them was much smaller. Why do they keep all their branches? Whither are they taken?" "We know that! We know that!" chirped the Sparrows. "Yonder in the town we looked in at the windows. We know where they go. Oh! they are dressed up in the greatest pomp and splendor that can be imagined. We have looked in at the windows, and have perceived that they are planted in the middle of a warm room, and adorned with the most beautiful things--gilt apples, honey-cakes, playthings, and many hundred of candles." "And then?" asked the Fir Tree, and trembled through all its branches. "And then? What happens then?" "Why, we have not seen anything more. But it was incomparable." "Perhaps I may be destined to tread this glorious path one day!" cried the Fir Tree, rejoicingly. "That is even better than traveling across the sea. How painfully I long for it! If it were only Christmas now! Now I am great and grown up, like the rest who were led away last year. Oh, if I were only on the carriage! If I were only in the warm room, among all the pomp and splendor! And then? Yes, then something even better will come, something far more charming, or else why should they adorn me so? There must be something grander, something greater still to come; but what? Oh! I'm suffering, I'm longing! I don't know myself what is the matter with me!" "Rejoice in us," said Air and Sunshine. "Rejoice in thy fresh youth here in the woodland." But the Fir Tree did not rejoice at all, but it grew and grew; winter and summer it stood there, green, dark green. The people who saw it said, "That's a handsome tree!" and at Christmas time it was felled before any one of the others. The axe cut deep into its marrow, and the tree fell to the ground with a sigh; it felt a pain, a sensation of faintness, and could not think at all of happiness, for it was sad at parting from its home, from the place where it had grown up; it knew that it should never again see the dear old companions, the little bushes and flowers all around--perhaps not even the birds. The parting was not at all agreeable. The Tree only came to itself when it was unloaded in a yard, with other trees, and heard a man say: "This one is famous; we only want this one!" Now two servants came in gay liveries, and carried the Fir Tree into a large, beautiful parlor. All around the walls hung pictures, and by the great stove stood large Chinese vases with lions on the covers; there were rocking-chairs, silken sofas, great tables covered with picture books, and toys worth a hundred times a hundred dollars, at least the children said so. And the Fir Tree was put into a great tub filled with sand; but no one could see that it was a tub, for it was hung round with green cloth, and stood on a large, many-colored carpet. Oh, how the Tree trembled! What was to happen now? The servants, and the young ladies also, decked it out. On one branch they hung little nets, cut out of colored paper; every net was filled with sweetmeats; golden apples and walnuts hung down, as if they grew there, and more than a hundred little candles, red, white, and blue, were fastened to the different boughs. Dolls that looked exactly like real people--the tree had never seen such before--swung among the foliage, and high on the summit of the tree was fixed a tinsel star. It was splendid, particularly splendid. "This evening," said all, "this evening it will shine." "Oh," thought the Tree, "that it were evening already! Oh, that the lights may be soon lit up! When may that be done? I wonder if trees will come out of the forest to look at me? Will the sparrows fly against the panes? Shall I grow fast here, and stand adorned in summer and winter?" Yes, he did not guess badly. But he had a complete backache from mere longing, and the backache is just as bad for a Tree as the headache for a person. At last the candles were lighted. What a brilliance, what splendor! The Tree trembled so in all its branches that one of the candles set fire to a green twig, and it was scorched. "Heaven preserve us!" cried the young ladies; and they hastily put the fire out. Now the Tree might not even tremble. Oh, that was terrible! It was so afraid of setting fire to some of its ornaments, and it was quite bewildered with all the brilliance. And now the folding doors were thrown open, and a number of children rushed in as if they would have overturned the whole Tree; the older people followed more deliberately. The little ones stood quite silent, but only for a minute; then they shouted till the room rang: they danced gleefully round the Tree, and one present after another was plucked from it. "What are they about?" thought the Tree. "What's going to be done?" And the candles burned down to the twigs, and as they burned down they were extinguished, and then the children received permission to plunder the Tree. Oh! they rushed in upon it, so that every branch cracked again: if it had not been fastened by the top and by the golden star to the ceiling, it would have fallen down. The children danced about with their pretty toys. No one looked at the Tree except one old man, who came up and peeped among the branches, but only to see if a fig or an apple had been forgotten. "A story! A story!" shouted the children; and they drew a little fat man toward the tree; and he sat down just beneath it--"for then we shall be in the green wood," said he, "and the tree may have the advantage of listening to my tale. But I can only tell one. Will you hear the story of Ivede-Avede, or of Klumpey-Dumpey, who fell downstairs, and still was raised up to honor and married the Princess?" "Ivede-Avede!" cried some, "Klumpey-Dumpey!" cried others, and there was a great crying and shouting. Only the Fir Tree was quite silent, and thought, "Shall I not be in it? Shall I have nothing to do in it?" But he had been in the evening's amusement, and had done what was required of him. And the fat man told about Klumpey-Dumpey who fell downstairs, and yet was raised to honor and married the Princess. And the children clapped their hands, and cried, "Tell another! tell another!" for they wanted to hear about Ivede-Avede; but they only got the story of Klumpey-Dumpey. The Fir Tree stood quite silent and thoughtful; never had the birds in the wood told such a story as that. Klumpey-Dumpey fell downstairs and yet came to honor and married the Princess! "Yes, so it happens in the world!" thought the Fir Tree, and believed it must be true, because that was such a nice man who told it. "Well, who can know? Perhaps I shall fall downstairs, too, and marry a Princess!" And it looked forward with pleasure to being adorned again, the next evening, with candles and toys, gold and fruit. "To-morrow I shall not tremble," it thought. "I will rejoice in all my splendor. To-morrow I shall here the story of Klumpey-Dumpey again, and perhaps that of Ivede-Avede, too." And the Tree stood all night quiet and thoughtful. In the morning the servants and the chambermaid came in. "Now my splendor will begin afresh," thought the Tree. But they dragged him out of the room, and upstairs to the garret, and here they put him in a dark corner where no daylight shone. "What's the meaning of this?" thought the Tree. "What am I to do here? What is to happen?" And he leaned against the wall, and thought, and thought. And he had time enough, for days and nights went by, and nobody came up; and when at length some one came, it was only to put some great boxes in a corner. Now the Tree stood quite hidden away, and the supposition is that it was quite forgotten. "Now it's winter outside," thought the Tree. "The earth is hard and covered with snow, and people cannot plant me; therefore I suppose I'm to be sheltered here until spring comes. How considerate that is! How good people are! If it were only not so dark here, and so terribly solitary!--not even a little hare? That was pretty out there in the wood, when the snow lay thick and the hare sprang past; yes, even when he jumped over me; but then I did not like it. It is terribly lonely up here!" "Piep! piep!" said a little Mouse, and crept forward, and then came another little one. They smelt at the Fir Tree, and then slipped among the branches. "It's horribly cold," said the two little Mice, "or else it would be comfortable here. Don't you think so, you old Fir Tree?" "I'm not old at all," said the Fir Tree. "There are many much older than I." "Where do you come from?" asked the Mice. "And what do you know?" They were dreadfully inquisitive. "Tell us about the most beautiful spot on earth. Have you been there? Have you been in the store room, where cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from the ceiling, where one dances on tallow candles, and goes in thin and comes out fat?" "I don't know that," replied the Tree; "but I know the wood, where the sun shines and the birds sing." And then it told all about its youth. And the little Mice had never heard anything of the kind; and they listened and said: "What a number of things you have seen! How happy you must have been!" "I?" replied the Fir Tree; and it thought about what it had told. "Yes, those were really quite happy times." But then he told of the Christmas Eve, when he had been hung with sweetmeats and candles. "Oh!" said the little Mice, "how happy you have been, you old Fir Tree!" "I'm not old at all," said the Tree. "I only came out of the wood this winter. I'm only rather backward in my growth." "What splendid stories you can tell!" said the little Mice. And next night they came with four other little Mice, to hear what the Tree had to relate; and the more it said, the more clearly did it remember everything, and thought, "Those were quite merry days! But they may come again. Klumpey-Dumpey fell downstairs and yet he married the Princess. Perhaps I may marry a Princess too?" And then the Fir Tree thought of a pretty little Birch Tree that grew out in the forest: for the Fir Tree, that Birch was a real Princess. "Who's Klumpey-Dumpey?" asked the little Mice. And then the Fir Tree told the whole story. It could remember every single word; and the little Mice were ready to leap to the very top of the tree with pleasure. Next night a great many more Mice came, and on Sunday two Rats even appeared; but these thought the story was not pretty, and the little Mice were sorry for that, for now they also did not like it so much as before. "Do you only know one story?" asked the Rats. "Only that one," replied the Tree. "I heard that on the happiest evening of my life; I did not think then how happy I was." "That's a very miserable story. Don't you know any about bacon and tallow candles--a store-room story?" "No," said the Tree. "Then we'd rather not hear you," said the Rats. And they went back to their own people. The little Mice at last stayed away also; and then the Tree sighed and said: "It was very nice when they sat round me, the merry little Mice, and listened when I spoke to them. Now that's past too. But I shall remember to be pleased when they take me out." But when did that happen? Why, it was one morning that people came and rummaged in the garret; the boxes were put away, and the Tree brought out; they certainly threw him rather roughly on the floor, but a servant dragged him away at once to the stairs, where the daylight shone. "Now life is beginning again!" thought the Tree. It felt the fresh air and the first sunbeams, and now it was out in the courtyard. Everything passed so quickly that the Tree quite forgot to look at itself, there was so much to look at all round. The courtyard was close to a garden, and here everything was blooming; the roses hung fresh and fragrant over the little paling, the linden trees were in blossom, and the swallows cried, "Quinze-wit! quinze-wit! my husband's come!" But it was not the Fir Tree that they meant. "Now I shall live!" said the Tree, rejoicingly, and spread its branches far out; but, alas! they were all withered and yellow; and it lay in the corner among nettles and weeds. The tinsel star was still upon it, and shone in the bright sunshine. In the courtyard a couple of the merry children were playing who had danced round the tree at Christmas time, and had rejoiced over it. One of the youngest ran up and tore off the golden star. "Look what is sticking to the ugly old fir tree!" said the child, and he trod upon the branches till they cracked again under his boots. And the Tree looked at all the blooming flowers and the splendor of the garden, and then looked at itself, and wished it had remained in the dark corner of the garret; it thought of its fresh youth in the wood, of the merry Christmas Eve, and of the little Mice which had listened so pleasantly to the story of Klumpey-Dumpey. "Past! past!" said the old Tree. "Had I but rejoiced when I could have done so! Past! past!" And the servant came and chopped the Tree into little pieces; a whole bundle lay there; it blazed brightly under the great brewing kettle, and it sighed deeply, and each sigh was like a little shot; and the children who were at play there ran up and seated themselves at the fire, looked into it, and cried "Puff! puff!" But at each explosion, which was a deep sigh, the Tree thought of a summer day in the woods, or of a winter night there, when the stars beamed; he thought of Christmas Eve and of Klumpey-Dumpey, the only story he had ever heard or knew how to tell; and then the Tree was burned. The boys played in the garden, and the youngest had on his breast a golden star, which the Tree had worn on its happiest evening. Now that was past, and the Tree's life was past, and the story is past too: past! past!--and that's the way with all stories. THE DARNING-NEEDLE BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN There was once a Darning-needle, who thought herself so fine, she imagined she was an embroidering-needle. "Take care, and mind you hold me tight!" she said to the Fingers that took her out. "Don't let me fall! If I fall on the ground I shall certainly never be found again, for I am so fine!" "That's as it may be," said the Fingers; and they grasped her round the body. "See, I'm coming with a train!" said the Darning-needle, and she drew a long thread after her, but there was no knot in the thread. The Fingers pointed the needle just at the cook's slipper, in which the upper leather had burst, and was to be sewn together. "That's vulgar work," said the Darning-needle. "I shall never get through. I'm breaking! I'm breaking!" And she really broke. "Did I not say so?" said the Darning-needle; "I'm too fine!" "Now it's quite useless," said the Fingers; but they were obliged to hold her fast, all the same; for the cook dropped some sealing-wax upon the needle, and pinned her handkerchief together with it in front. "So, now I'm a breast-pin!" said the Darning-needle. "I knew very well that I should come to honor; when one is something, one comes to something!" And she laughed quietly to herself--and one can never see when a darning-needle laughs. There she sat, as proud as if she were in a state coach, and looked all about her. "May I be permitted to ask if you are of gold?" she inquired of the pin, her neighbor. "You have a very pretty appearance and a peculiar head, but it is only little. You must take pains to grow, for it's not every one that has sealing-wax dropped upon him." And the Darning-needle drew herself up so proudly that she fell out of the handkerchief right into the sink, which the cook was rinsing out. "Now we're going on a journey," said the Darning-needle. "If I only don't get lost!" But she really was lost. "I'm too fine for this world," she observed, as she lay in the gutter. "But I know who I am, and there's always something in that!" So the Darning-needle kept her proud behavior, and did not lose her good humor. And things of many kinds swam over her, chips and straws and pieces of old newspapers. "Only look how they sail!" said the Darning-needle. "They don't know what is under them! I'm here, I remain firmly here. See, there goes a chip thinking of nothing in the world but of himself--of a chip! There's a straw going by now. How he turns! how he twirls about! Don't think only of yourself, you might easily run up against a stone. There swims a bit of newspaper. What's written upon it has long been forgotten, and yet it gives itself airs. I sit quietly and patiently here. I know who I am, and I shall remain what I am." One day something lay close beside her that glittered splendidly; then the Darning-needle believed that it was a diamond; but it was a bit of broken bottle; and because it shone the Darning-needle spoke to it, introducing herself as a breastpin. "I suppose you are a diamond?" she observed. "Why, yes, something of that kind." And then each believed the other to be a very valuable thing; and they began speaking about the world, and how very conceited it was. "I have been in a lady's box," said the Darning-needle, "and this lady was a cook. She had five fingers on each hand, and I never saw anything so conceited as those five fingers. And yet they were only there that they might take me out of the box and put me back into it." "Were they of good birth?" asked the Bit of Bottle. "No, indeed," replied the Darning-needle: "but very haughty. There were five brothers, all of the finger family. They kept very proudly together though they were of different lengths: the outermost, the thumbling, was short and fat; he walked out in front of the ranks, and only had one joint in his back, and could only make a single bow; but he said that if he were hacked off a man, that man was useless for service in war. Dainty-mouth, the second finger, thrust himself into sweet and sour, pointed to sun and moon, and gave the impression when they wrote. Longman, the third, looked at all the others over his shoulder. Goldborder, the fourth, went about with a golden belt round his waist; and little Playman did nothing at all, and was proud of it. There was nothing but bragging among them, and therefore I went away." "And now we sit here and glitter!" said the Bit of Bottle. At that moment more water came into the gutter, so that it overflowed, and the Bit of Bottle was carried away. "So he is disposed of," observed the Darning-needle. "I remain here. I am too fine. But that's my pride, and my pride is honorable." And proudly she sat there, and had many great thoughts. "I could almost believe I had been born of a sunbeam, I'm so fine! It really appears as if the sunbeams were always seeking for me under the water. Ah! I'm so fine that my mother cannot find me. If I had my old eye, which broke off, I think I should cry; but, no, I should not do that; it's not genteel to cry." One day a couple of street boys lay grubbing in the gutter, where they sometimes found old nails, farthings, and similar treasures. It was dirty work, but they took great delight in it. "Oh!" cried one, who had pricked himself with the Darning-needle, "there's a fellow for you!" "I'm not a fellow; I'm a young lady!" said the Darning-needle. But nobody listened to her. The sealing-wax had come off, and she had turned black; but black makes one look slender, and she thought herself finer even than before. "Here comes an eggshell sailing along!" said the boys; and they stuck the Darning-needle fast in the eggshell. "White walls, and black myself! that looks well," remarked the Darning-needle. "Now one can see me. I only hope I shall not be seasick!" But she was not seasick at all. "It is good against seasickness, if one has a steel stomach, and does not forget that one is a little more than an ordinary person! Now my seasickness is over. The finer one is, the more one can bear." "Crack!" went the eggshell, for a wagon went over her. "Good Heavens, how it crushes one!" said the Darning-needle. "I'm getting seasick now--I'm quite sick." But she was not really sick, though the wagon went over her; she lay there at full length, and there she may lie. * * * * * THUMBELINA BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN She had a little house of her own, a little garden too, this woman of whom I am going to tell you, but for all that she was not quite happy. "If only I had a little child of my own," she said, "how the walls would ring with her laughter, and how the flowers would brighten at her coming. Then, indeed, I should be quite happy." And an old witch heard what the woman wished, and said, "Oh, but that is easily managed. Here is a barley-corn. Plant it in a flower-pot and tend it carefully, and then you will see what will happen." The woman was in a great hurry to go home and plant the barley-corn, but she did not forget to say "thank you" to the old witch. She not only thanked her, she even stayed to give her six silver pennies. Then she hurried away to her home, took a flower-pot and planted her precious barley-corn. And what do you think happened? Almost before the corn was planted, up shot a large and beautiful flower. It was still unopened. The petals were folded closely together, but it looked like a tulip. It really was a tulip, a red and yellow one, too. The woman loved flowers. She stooped and kissed the beautiful bud. As her lips touched the petals, they burst open, and oh! wonder of wonders! there, in the very middle of the flower, there sat a little child. Such a tiny, pretty little maiden she was. They called her Thumbelina. That was because she was no bigger than the woman's thumb. And where do you think she slept? A little walnut shell, lined with blue, that was her cradle. When she slept little Thumbelina lay in her cradle on a tiny heap of violets, with the petal of a pale pink rose to cover her. And where do you think she played? A table was her playground. On the table the woman placed a plate of water. Little Thumbelina called that her lake. Round the plate were scented flowers, the blossoms lying on the edge, while the pale green stalks reached thirstily down to the water. In the lake floated a large tulip leaf. This was Thumbelina's little boat. Seated there she sailed from side to side of her little lake, rowing cleverly with two white horse hairs. As she rowed backwards and forwards she sang softly to herself. The woman listening heard, and thought she had never known so sweet a song. And now such a sad thing happened. In through the broken window-pane hopped a big toad, oh! such an ugly big toad. She hopped right on to the table, where Thumbelina lay dreaming in her tiny cradle, under the pale pink rose leaf. She peeped at her, this ugly old toad. "How beautiful the little maiden is," she croaked. "She will make a lovely bride for my handsome son." And she lifted the little cradle, with Thumbelina in it, and hopped out through the broken window-pane, down into the garden. At the foot of the garden was a broad stream. Here, under the muddy banks lived the old toad with her son. How handsome she thought him! But he was really very ugly. Indeed, he was exactly like his mother. When he saw little Thumbelina in her tiny cradle, he croaked with delight. "Do not make so much noise," said his mother, "or you will wake the tiny creature. We may lose her if we are not careful. The slightest breeze would waft her far away. She is as light as gossamer." Then the old toad carried Thumbelina out into the middle of the stream. "She will be safe here," she said, as she laid her gently on one of the leaves of a large water lily, and paddled back to her son. "We will make ready the best rooms under the mud," she told him, "and then you and the little maiden will be married." Poor little Thumbelina! She had not seen the ugly big toad yet, nor her ugly son. When she woke up early in the morning, how she wept! Water all around her! How could she reach the shore? Poor little Thumbelina! Down under the mud the old toad was very busy, decking the best room with buttercups and buds of water-lilies to make it gay for her little daughter-in-law, Thumbelina. "Now we will go to bring her little bed and place it ready," said the old toad, and together she and her son swam out to the leaf where little Thumbelina sat. "Here is my handsome son," she said, "he is to be your husband," and she bowed low in the water, for she wished to be very polite to the little maiden. "Croak, croak," was all the young toad could say, as he looked at his pretty little bride. Then they took away the tiny little bed, and Thumbelina was left all alone. How the tears stained her pretty little face! How fast they fell into the stream! Even the fish as they swam hither and thither thought, "How it rains to-day," as the tiny drops fell thick and fast. They popped up their heads and saw the forlorn little maiden. "She shall not marry the ugly toad," they said, as they looked with eager eyes at the pretty child. "No, she shall not marry the ugly toad." But what could the little fish do to help Thumbelina? Oh! they were such clever little fish! They found the green stem which held the leaf on which Thumbelina sat. They bit it with their little sharp teeth, and they never stopped biting, till at last they bit the green stem through; and away, down the stream, floated the leaf, carrying with it little Thumbelina. "Free, free!" she sang, and her voice tinkled as a chime of fairy bells. "Free, free!" she sang merrily as she floated down the stream, away, far away out of reach of the ugly old toad and her ugly son. And as she floated on, the little wild birds sang round her, and on the banks the little wild harebells bowed to her. Butterflies were flitting here and there in the sunshine. A pretty little white one fluttered on to the leaf on which sat Thumbelina. He loved the tiny maiden so well that he settled down beside her. Now she was quite happy! Birds around her, flowers near her, and the water gleaming like gold in the summer sunshine. What besides could little Thumbelina wish? She took off her sash and threw one end of it round the butterfly. The other end she fastened firmly to the leaf. On and on floated the leaf, the little maiden and the butterfly. Suddenly a great cockchafer buzzed along. Alas! he caught sight of little Thumbelina. He flew to her, put his claw round her tiny waist and carried her off, up on to a tree. Poor little Thumbelina! How frightened she was! How grieved she was, too, for had she not lost her little friend the butterfly? Would he fly away, she wondered, or would her sash hold him fast? The cockchafer was charmed with the little maiden. He placed her tenderly on the largest leaf he could find. He gathered honey for her from the flowers, and as she sipped it, he sat near and told her how beautiful she looked. But there were other chafers living in the tree, and when they came to see little Thumbelina, they said, "She is not pretty at all." "She has only two legs," said one. "She has no feelers," said another. Some said she was too thin, others that she was too fat, and then they all buzzed and hummed together, "How ugly she is, how ugly she is!" But all the time little Thumbelina was the prettiest, daintiest little maiden that ever lived. And now the cockchafer who had flown off with little Thumbelina thought he had been rather foolish to admire her. He looked at her again. "Pretty? No, after all she was not very pretty." He would have nothing to do with her, and away he and all the other chafers flew. Only first they carried little Thumbelina down from the tree and placed her on a daisy. She wept because she was so ugly--so ugly that the chafers could not live with her. But all the time, you know, she was the prettiest little maiden in the world. She was living all alone in the wood now, but it was summer and she could not feel sad or lonely while the warm golden sunshine touched her so gently, while the birds sang to her, and the flowers bowed to her. Yes, little Thumbelina was happy. She ate honey from the flowers, and drank dew out of the golden buttercups and danced and sang the livelong day. But summer passed away and autumn came. The birds began to whisper of flying to warmer countries, and the flowers began to fade and hang their heads, and as autumn passed away, winter came, cold, dreary winter. Thumbelina shivered with cold. Her little frock was thin and old. She would certainly be frozen to death, she thought, as she wrapped herself up in a withered leaf. Then the snow began to fall, and each snowflake seemed to smother her. She was so very tiny. Close to the wood lay a corn-field. The beautiful golden grain had been carried away long ago, now there was only dry short stubble. But to little Thumbelina the stubble was like a great forest. She walked through the hard field. She was shaking with cold. All at once she saw a little door just before her. She looked again--yes, it was a door. The field-mouse had made a little house under the stubble, and lived so cosily there. She had a big room full of corn, and she had a kitchen and pantry as well. "Perhaps I shall get some food here," thought the cold and hungry little maiden, as she stood knocking at the door, just like a tiny beggar child. She had had nothing to eat for two long days. Oh, she was very hungry! "What a tiny thing you are!" said the field-mouse, as she opened the door and saw Thumbelina. "Come in and dine with me." How glad Thumbelina was, and how she enjoyed dining with the field-mouse. She behaved so prettily that the old field-mouse told her she might live with her while the cold weather lasted. "And you shall keep my room clean and neat, and you shall tell me stories," she added. That is how Thumbelina came to live with the field-mouse and to meet Mr. Mole. "We shall have a visitor soon," said the field-mouse. "My neighbor, Mr. Mole, comes to see me every week-day. His house is very large, and he wears a beautiful coat of black velvet. Unfortunately, he is blind. If you tell him your prettiest stories he may marry you." Now the mole was very wise and very clever, but how could little Thumbelina ever care for him? Why, he did not love the sun, nor the flowers, and he lived in a house underground. No, Thumbelina did not wish to marry the mole. However she must sing to him when he came to visit his neighbor the field-mouse. When she had sung "Ladybird, Ladybird, fly away home," and "Boys and girls come out to play," the mole was charmed, and thought he would like to marry the little maiden with the beautiful voice. Then he tried to be very agreeable. He invited the field-mouse and Thumbelina to walk along the underground passage he had dug between their houses. Mr. Mole was very fond of digging underground. As it was dark the mole took a piece of tinder-wood in his mouth and led the way. The tinder-wood shone like a torch in the dark passage. A little bird lay in the passage, a little bird who had not flown away when the flowers faded and the cold winds blew. It was dead, the mole said. When he reached the bird, the mole stopped and pushed his nose right up through the ceiling to make a hole, through which the daylight might shine. There lay the swallow, his wings pressed close to his side His little head and legs drawn in under his feathers. He had died of cold. "Poor little swallow!" thought Thumbelina. All wild birds were her friends. Had they not sung to her and fluttered round her all the long glad summer days? But the mole kicked the swallow with his short legs. "That one will sing no more," he said roughly. "It must be sad to be born a bird and to be able only to sing and fly. I am thankful none of my children will be birds," and he proudly smoothed down his velvet coat. "Yes," said the field-mouse; "what can a bird do but sing? When the cold weather comes it is useless." Thumbelina said nothing. Only when the others moved on, she stooped down and stroked the bird gently with her tiny hand, and kissed its closed eyes. That night the little maiden could not sleep. "I will go to see the poor swallow again," she thought. She got up out of her tiny bed. She wove a little carpet out of hay. Down the long underground passage little Thumbelina walked, carrying the carpet. She reached the bird at last, and spread the carpet gently round him. She fetched warm cotton and laid it over the bird. "Even down on the cold earth he will be warm now," thought the gentle little maiden. "Farewell," she said sadly, "farewell, little bird! Did you sing to me through the long summer days, when the leaves were green and the sky was blue? Farewell, little swallow!" and she stooped to press her tiny cheeks against the soft feathers. As she did so, she heard--what could it be? Pit, pat, pit, pat! Could the bird be alive? Little Thumbelina listened still. Yes, it was the beating of the little bird's heart that she heard. He had not been dead after all, only frozen with cold. The little carpet and the covering the little maid had brought warmed the bird. He would get well now. What a big bird he seemed to Thumbelina! She was almost afraid now, for she was so tiny. She was tiny, but she was brave. Drawing the covering more closely round the poor swallow, she brought her own little pillow, that the bird's head might rest softly. Thumbelina stole out again the next night. "Would the swallow look at her," she wondered. Yes, he opened his eyes, and looked at little Thumbelina, who stood there with a tiny torch of tinder-wood. "Thanks, thanks, little Thumbelina," he twittered feebly. "Soon I shall grow strong and fly out in the bright sunshine once more; thanks, thanks, little maiden." "Oh! but it is too cold, it snows and freezes, for now it is winter," said Thumbelina. "Stay here and be warm, and I will take care of you," and she brought the swallow water in a leaf. And the little bird told her all his story,--how he had tried to fly to the warm countries, and how he had torn his wing on a blackthorn bush and fallen to the ground. But he could not tell her how he had come to the underground passage. All winter the swallow stayed there, and Thumbelina was often in the long passage, with her little torch of tinder-wood. But the mole and the field-mouse did not know how Thumbelina tended and cared for the swallow. At last spring came, and the sun sent its warmth down where the swallow lay in the underground passage. Little Thumbelina opened the hole which the mole had made in the ceiling, and the sunshine streamed down on the swallow and the little girl. How the swallow longed to soar away, up and up, to be lost to sight in the blue, blue sky! "Come with me, little Thumbelina," said the swallow, "come with me to the blue skies and the green woods." But Thumbelina remembered how kind the field-mouse had been to her when she was cold and hungry, and she would not leave her. "Farewell! farewell! then, little maiden," twittered the swallow as he flew out and up, up into the sunshine. Thumbelina loved the swallow dearly. Her eyes were full of tears as she watched the bird disappearing till he was only a tiny speck of black. And now sad days came to little Thumbelina. The golden corn was once more waving in the sunshine above the house of the field-mouse, but Thumbelina must not go out lest she lose herself among the corn. Not go out in the bright sunshine! Oh, poor little Thumbelina! "You must get your wedding clothes ready this summer," said the field-mouse. "You must be well provided with linen and worsted. My neighbor the mole will wish a well-dressed bride." The mole had said he wished to marry little Thumbelina before the cold winter came again. So Thumbelina sat at the spinning-wheel through the long summer days, spinning and weaving with four little spiders to help her. In the evening the mole came to visit her. "Summer will soon be over," he said, "and we shall be married." But oh! little Thumbelina did not wish the summer to end. Live with the dull old mole, who hated the sunshine, who would not listen to the song of the birds--live underground with him! Little Thumbelina wished the summer would never end. The spinning and weaving were over now. All the wedding clothes were ready. Autumn was come. "Only four weeks and the wedding-day will have come," said the field-mouse. And little Thumbelina wept. "I will not marry the tiresome old mole," she said. "I shall bite you with my white tooth if you talk such nonsense," said the field-mouse. "Among all my friends not one of them has such a fine velvet coat as the mole. His cellars are full and his rooms are large. You ought to be glad to marry so well," she ended. "Was there no escape from the underground home?" little Thumbelina wondered. The wedding-day came. The mole arrived to fetch his little bride. How could she say good-by for ever to the beautiful sunshine? "Farewell, farewell!" she cried, and waved her little hands towards the glorious sun. "Farewell, farewell!" she cried, and threw her tiny arms round a little red flower growing at her feet. "Tell the dear swallow, when he comes again," she whispered to the flower, "tell him I will never forget him." "Tweet, tweet!" what was that Thumbelina heard? "Tweet, tweet!" Could it be the swallow? The flutter of wings was round her. Little Thumbelina looked. How glad she was, for there, indeed, was the little bird she had tended and cared for so long. She told him, weeping, she must not stay. She must marry the mole and live underground, and never see the sun, the glorious sun. "Come with me, come with me, little Thumbelina," twittered the swallow. "You can sit on my back, and I will fly with you to warmer countries, far from the tiresome old mole. Over mountains and seas we will fly to the country where the summer never ends, and the sunlight always shines." Then little Thumbelina seated herself on her dear swallow's back, and put her tiny feet on his outstretched wing. She tied herself firmly with her little sash to the strongest feather of the bird. And the swallow soared high into the air. High above forests and lakes, high above the big mountains that were crested with snow, he soared. And little Thumbelina shivered as she felt the cold air, but soon she crept under the bird's warm feathers, and only pushed out her little head to see the beauty all around her. They had reached the warm countries now. The sun was more brilliant here, the flowers more radiant. On and on flew the swallow, till he came to a white marble palace. Half-ruined it was, and vine leaves trailed up the long slender pillars. And among the broad, green leaves many a swallow had built his nest, and one of these nests belonged to Thumbelina's little swallow. "This is my home," said the bird, "but you shall live in one of these brilliant flowers, in the loveliest of them all'." And little Thumbelina clapped her hands with joy. The swallow flew with her to a stately sunflower, and set her carefully on one of the broad yellow petals. But think, what was her surprise! In the very heart of the flower stood a little Prince, fair and transparent as crystal. On his head he wore a crown of gold, on his shoulders a pair of delicate wings, and he was small, every bit as small as Thumbelina. He was the spirit of the flower. For you know in each flower there is a spirit, a tiny little boy or girl, but this little Prince was King of all the flower spirits. The little King thought Thumbelina the loveliest maiden he had ever seen. He took off his golden crown and placed it on the tiny head of the little maid, and in a silvery voice he asked, "Will you be my bride, little Thumbelina, and reign with me over the flower spirits?" How glad Thumbelina was! The little King wished to marry her. Yes, she would be his little Queen. Then out of each blossom stepped tiny little children. They came to pay their homage to little Thumbelina. Each one brought her a present, and the most beautiful of all the presents was a pair of wings, delicate as gossamer. And when they were fastened on the shoulders of the little Queen, she could fly from flower to flower. And the swallow sat on his nest above, and sang his sweetest bridal song for the wedding of little Thumbelina. * * * * * THE TINDER-BOX BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN A story about a tinder-box? Yes, but then it was such a wonderful one! Why, it must certainly have been a magic box! It belonged to an old witch, this tinder-box, but it had been left right down inside a tree by the ugly old witch's grandmother. But get it again she must, for she knew it really was a magic tinder-box. But how could she get it? Ah! here was her chance. Tramp, tramp; right, left, right, left. She heard the steps come nearer and nearer. She looked! There was a soldier coming along; tramp, tramp. She could see him now, with a knapsack on his back, and his sword at his side. The soldier had been to the wars and was coming home. "Good evening," said the witch, as he came close to her. "Good evening; what a bright sword you wear, and what a big knapsack! You shall have as much money as you wish for yourself!" "Thank you, old witch," said the soldier. But he did not tell her that she did not look as though she had much money to spare. He was too wise to say anything but, "Thank you, old witch." "Do you see that big tree?" she said, and she pointed to one that stood close by the wayside. "It is hollow inside. Climb up to the top, and you will see a hole. It is large. You must creep through it and let yourself down, right down under the tree. Tie a rope round your waist, and I will haul you up again when you call." "But what am I to do under the tree?" asked the soldier. "What are you to do? Why, did I not tell you you should have money. It is there, under the tree, copper, silver, gold. Gold!" cried the witch, in a rough and eager voice. "When you come to the bottom of the tree there is a large passage. It is quite light, indeed it is ablaze with light. More than a hundred lamps are burning. There you will see three doors. The keys are in the keyholes. Unlock the doors and walk in. In the first room in the middle of the floor, is a big box. On the top of it sits a dog. He has big eyes, they are as big as saucers, but do not let that trouble you. You shall have my blue checked apron. Spread it on the floor. Go forward quickly, seize the dog and place him on it. After that is done, you can open the box, and take out as much money as you wish. It is true the box holds only copper coins, but if you would rather have silver, just walk into the next room. There sits another dog, on another box, with big eyes, eyes as big as--oh, as big as mill-wheels, but never mind that. Place the dog on my apron, then open the box and take as much silver as you wish. But if you would rather have gold, why, then open the third door. There you will see another dog, sitting on another box. This one is tremendous, quite gigantic, and he has eyes, oh! such great, rolling eyes! They are as large as the Round Tower. He is a dog indeed, but do not let that trouble you. Place him on my blue checked apron and he will not hurt you. Then take gold, as much gold as ever you wish." "Splendid!" said the soldier. You see he had been to the wars and was a brave man. "Splendid! But what am I to give you, old witch? You will wish something, I am quite certain of that." "No," said the witch: "I do not wish one single coin. But I do wish my old tinder-box. My grandmother left it behind her, the last time she went down the tree." "Well, tie the rope round my waist," said the soldier. "Here it is," said the witch, "and here is my blue checked apron. It is very important." Up the tree climbed the soldier, into the tree he crept through the hole at the top, and down, down the hollow inside he slipped, and there he was, in a wide passage, lighted, as the witch had said, by a hundred burning lamps. The soldier unlocked the first door he saw. There sat the dog with eyes as big as saucers, staring at him in great surprise. "I must obey my orders," thought the soldier. He placed the witch's apron on the floor, seized the dog bravely, and placed him on the apron. Then he opened the box. It was full of copper coins. He crammed as many as he could into his pocket, shut the lid, placed the dog again on the box, and passed on to the second door. He unlocked it. Yes! there sat another dog on another box, with great eyes, as big as mill-wheels. "If you stare at me so hard, you will hurt your eyes," said the soldier, and thought what a joke he had made. Then he seized the dog, placed it on the witch's apron, and raised the lid of the second box. Silver, every coin was silver! The soldier threw away all his copper coins in a great hurry. He must have silver. He stuffed his pockets and his knapsack with the silver coins, and clapped his hands. He was rich now. On he went to the third room. He unlocked it. There indeed was another box and another dog, and oh, horrible! the soldier almost shut his eyes. The dog had eyes, great big rolling eyes, eyes as large as the Round Tower. And they would not keep still. No, round and round they rolled. But the soldier was brave; he had been to the wars. "Good evening," he said, and he lifted his hat respectfully, for never before in all his life, had he seen so big, so enormous a creature. Then he walked straight up to the dog. Could he lift him? Yes, he took the immense animal in his arms, set him on the witch's apron, and opened the third box. Gold! It was full of gold. He would be able to buy the whole town, and all the sugar-plums, and all the tin soldiers, and all the rocking-horses and whips in the world. The soldier was delighted. He threw away his silver money. Silver! He did not want silver. Here was gold, gold! He filled his pockets and his knapsack, but he could not bear to stop there. No, he crammed his cap and his boots so full that he could hardly walk. He was really rich at last. He shut the lid, placed the dog again on the box, and went out of the room, along the passage. Then he shouted up the tree, "Halloo, old witch! haul me up again." "Have you got the tinder-box?" said the witch. "Oh, that I had quite forgotten," answered the soldier, and back he went to fetch it. When he came back the witch took the rope and hauled and hauled, till there was the soldier, once more, safe on the high road, just as he was before, only now he was rich, so rich that he had become very bold. He had gold in his pockets, gold in his knapsack, gold in his cap, gold in his boots. "What are you going to do with the tinder-box, just tell me that?" said the soldier. "That is no business of yours," said the witch. "You have the gold, give me the tinder-box!" "Rubbish!" said the soldier. He had grown rude as well as rich, you see. "Rubbish--take your choice--tell me at once what you mean to do with the tinker-box, or I will draw my sword and cut off your head." "I won't tell you," screamed the witch. Then the soldier cut off her head, and the poor witch lay there dead. But the soldier did not stay to look at her. In a great hurry he took all his gold and tied it up in the blue checked apron. He slung it across his shoulder, put the tinder-box in his pocket, and marched off to town. How grand he felt! What heaps of gold he had in his bundle! When the soldier reached the town he walked straight to the finest hotel, and asked for the best rooms, and for dinner ordered all his favorite puddings and fruits. The servant who cleaned his boots tossed her head. "Shabby boots for a rich man to wear," she said. But next day the soldier had bought himself very grand new boots, and gay clothing, so that no one could possibly call him shabby. Shabby! No, he was a great man now, and people crowded round this rich fellow, told him all the sights there were to be seen in their city, all about their King too, and the beautiful Princess, his daughter. "I should like to see her, this wonderful Princess," said the soldier. "But you cannot see her," they told him. "She lives, the beautiful Princess, in a great copper castle, with walls and towers all round. Only the King visits her there, for it was once foretold that she would marry a common soldier, and that our King does not wish." "I must see her once, just once," thought the soldier. But how was he going to find the way into the castle, that was the question? Meanwhile he led a merry life. He drove about in the King's Park; he went to the theater; he gave money to the poor, because he remembered how miserable it was to have no money in his own pocket. The soldier was always gaily dressed now. He had a great many friends who said he was a real gentleman, and that pleased him very much. And so he went on day after day, spending money and giving money, but getting none, till at last the gold came to an end. He had only two copper coins left: he was only a poor soldier once more. Leaving the grand hotel he went to live in a small room. He found a tiny attic, just under a roof, up, oh! so many stairs. Here he lived, mending his own clothes, brushing his own boots. He had no visitors, for his grand friends would not take the trouble to walk up so many stairs to his little attic. Hungry? Yes, he was hungry too, and as he had no money to buy even a farthing candle, he had to sit alone in the dark. One evening he suddenly thought of the witch's tinder-box. Surely in it there were matches. The soldier opened it eagerly. Yes, there lay the matches. He seized one and struck it on the tinder-box. No sooner had he done this, than the door burst suddenly open, and there, there, staring at him, stood the dog with eyes as big as saucers. "What does my master command?" asked the dog. "No wonder the old witch wished the tinder-box for her very own," thought the soldier. Aloud he said to the dog, "Fetch me some money," and the dog instantly vanished to do his master's bidding. He was back in a moment, and lo! in his mouth was a big bag, full of pennies. "Why, this is a magic box," said the soldier. "I have a treasure indeed." And so he had, for listen! Strike the box once, the dog with eyes as large as saucers appeared. Strike it twice and the dog with eyes as big as mill-wheels appeared. Strike it thrice and there appeared the monster dog with eyes that rolled round and round and were as large as the Round Tower itself. All three dogs did the soldier's bidding. Now the soldier could have gold again. Gold as much as ever he wished. He moved once more to the grand rooms in the fine hotel. He had gay clothes again; and now, strangely enough, all his friends came to see him and liked him as much as ever. One evening the soldier's thoughts wandered away to the beautiful Princess, the beautiful Princess who was shut up so safely in the great copper palace. "It is ridiculous that no one sees the Princess," thought the soldier. "I want to see her, and I shall." He pulled out his tinder-box, struck a light, and lo! there stood the dog with eyes as large as saucers. "It is the middle of the night," said the soldier, "but I must see the Princess, if it is only for a moment." The dog bounded out of the door, and before the soldier had time to wonder what he would do or say if the beautiful Princess really appeared, there she was. Yes, there she was, fast asleep on the dog's back. She was beautiful, so beautiful that the soldier was quite sure that she was a real Princess. He stooped and kissed her hand. She was so beautiful he could not help it. Then off ran the dog, back to the copper palace with the Princess. "I had such a strange dream last night," the Princess told the King and Queen at breakfast next morning. "I dreamed that an enormous dog came and carried me off to a soldier, and the soldier kissed my hand. It was a strange dream," she murmured. "The Princess must not be left alone to-night," said the Queen. "She may be frightened if she dreams again." And she told an old dame who lived at court to sit in the Princess's room at night. But what would the Queen have said if she had known that what the Princess told them was no dream, but something that had really and truly happened? Well, that evening the soldier thought he would like to see the Princess again. He struck a light, and there stood one of his obedient dogs. "Bring the Princess," ordered the soldier, and the dog vanished to do his master's will. The old dame sat beside the Princess's bed. She had heard all about the Princess's dream. "Was she dreaming herself now?" she wondered. She pinched herself.--No, she was wide awake, yet she saw a dog, a real dog with eyes as large as saucers, in front of her. The dog seized the Princess, and ran off; but although he ran very quickly, the old dame found time to put on her goloshes before she followed. How she panted along! How she ran, the faithful old dame! She was just in time to see the Princess on the dog's back disappear into a large house. "I shall mark the house, so that I may know it in the morning," she thought. And she took a piece of white chalk and made a great white cross on the door. Then she walked home and slept. Soon afterwards the dog carried the Princess back to the copper palace, and noticed the great white cross on the door of the hotel where his master lived. And what do you think he did? Oh, he was a wise dog. He took a piece of chalk, and he put a great white cross on every door in the town. Early next morning the King and Queen and all the lords and ladies of the court were astir. They had heard the old dame's story, and were going to see the house with the great white cross. They had scarcely started, when the King's eyes fell on a great white cross! "Here it is," cried the King eagerly. "What nonsense you talk, my dear! it is here," said the Queen, for almost at the same moment she too had seen a door with a great white cross. Then all the lords and ladies cried: "It is here, it is here," as one after another they saw doors marked with great white crosses. The hubbub was terrible, and the poor old dame was quite bewildered. How could she tell which door she had marked? It was quite useless. The dog had perplexed everybody, and they went back to the copper palace knowing no more than when they left it. But the Queen was a clever woman. She could do more than just sit very properly on a throne. The same evening, she took her big gold scissors and cut up a large piece of silk into small pieces. These she sewed together into a pretty little bag. Then she filled the bag with the finest grains of wheat. With her own hands she tied the bag round the Princess's waist, after which she took her gold scissors again and cut a tiny little hole in the bag, a hole just big enough to let the grains of wheat drop out whenever the Princess moved. That night the dog came again and carried the Princess off to the soldier, and the soldier wished he were a Prince, for then he would marry this beautiful Princess. Now although the dog had very big eyes, eyes as large as saucers, he did not notice the tiny grains of wheat as they dropped out all along the road from the palace to the soldier's window. Under the window the dog stopped and climbed up the wall with the Princess, into the soldier's room. The next morning the King and Queen followed the little grains of wheat and very easily found out where the Princess had been. Then the soldier was seized and put into prison. Oh, how dark and tiresome it was! But it was worse than that one day, when they told him he was to be hanged, "hanged to-morrow," they told him. What a fright the soldier was in, and, worst of all, he had left his tinder-box at the hotel. Morning came! Through the narrow bars of his little window the soldier could see the people all hurrying out of town. They were going to see him hanged. He heard the drums, he saw the soldiers marching along. He wished he were marching with them. Alas, alas! that could never be now-- A little shoemaker's apprentice, with a leather apron, came running along. He was in such a hurry that he lost one of his slippers. It fell close under the soldier's window, as he sat peering out through the narrow bars. The soldier called to the boy, "There is no hurry, for I am still here. Nothing will happen till I go. I will give you two-pence if you will run to the house where I used to live and fetch me my tinder-box. You must run all the way." The shoemaker's boy thought he would like to earn twopence, and off he raced to bring the tinder-box. He found it. "A useless little box," he said to himself, but back he raced with it to the soldier; and then--what do you think happened? Outside the town the scaffold had been raised, the soldiers were drawn up round it, as well as crowds of people. The King and Queen were there too, seated on a magnificent throne, exactly opposite the judges and councilors. The rope was being put round the soldier's neck, when he turned to the King and Queen and earnestly entreated one last favor--only to be allowed to smoke one pipe of tobacco. What a harmless request! How could the King refuse so harmless a request? "Yes," said his Majesty, "you may smoke one pipe of tobacco." The soldier took out his tinder-box, struck a match, once, twice, thrice, and lo! there before him stood the three enormous dogs, waiting his commands. "Help me," shouted the soldier; "do not let me be hanged." At once the three terrible dogs rushed at the judges and councilors, tossed them high into the air, so that as they fell they were broken into pieces. The King began to speak; perhaps he was going to forgive the soldier, but no one knows what he was going to say, for the biggest dog gave him no time to finish his sentence. He rushed at the King and Queen, flung them high into the air, so that when they fell down, they too were broken all to pieces. Then the soldiers and the people, who were all terribly frightened, shouted in a great hurry, "Brave soldier, you shall be our King, and the beautiful Princess shall be our Queen!" And while they led the soldier to the royal carriage the great big dogs bounded along in front. Little boys whistled gaily, and the guards presented arms. Then the Princess was sent for, and made Queen, which she liked much better than living shut up in a copper palace. And the wedding feast lasted for eight whole days, and the three monster wizard dogs sat at the table, staring around them with all their eyes. * * * * * BOOTS AND HIS BROTHERS BY GEORGE WEBBE DASENT Once on a time there was a man who had three sons, Peter, Paul, and John. John was Boots, of course, because he was the youngest. I can't say the man had anything more than these three sons, for he had n't one penny to rub against another; and so he told his sons over and over again they must go out into the world and try to earn their bread, for there at home there was nothing to be looked for but starving to death. Now, near the man's cottage was the King's palace, and, you must know, just against the King's windows a great oak had sprung up, which was so stout and big that it took away all the light from the King's palace. The King had said he would give many, many dollars to the man who could fell the oak, but no one was man enough for that, for as soon as ever one chip of the oak's trunk flew off, two grew in its stead. A well, too, the King would have dug, which was to hold water for the whole year; for all his neighbors had wells, but he hadn't any, and that he thought a shame. So the King said he would give to any one who could dig him such a well as would hold water for a whole year round, both money and goods; but no one could do it, for the King's palace lay high, high up on a hill, and they had dug only a few inches before they came upon the living rock. But as the King had set his heart on having these two things done, he had it given out far and wide, in all the churches of his kingdom, that he who could fell the big oak in the King's courtyard, and get him a well that would hold water the whole year round, should have the Princess and half the kingdom. Well, you may easily know there was many a man who came to try his luck; but for all their hacking and hewing, and all their digging and delving, it was no good. The oak got bigger and stouter at every stroke, and the rock didn't get softer, either. So one day those three brothers thought they'd set off and try too, and their father hadn't a word against it; for even if they didn't get the Princess and half the kingdom, it might happen they might get a place somewhere with a good master; and that was all he wanted. So when the brothers said they thought of going to the palace, their father said "yes" at once. So Peter, Paul, and Jack went off from their home. Well, they hadn't gone far before they came to a fir-wood, and up along one side of it rose a steep hillside, and as they went, they heard something hewing and hacking away up on the hill among the trees. "I wonder, now, what it is that is hewing away up yonder," said Jack. "You're always so clever with your wonderings," said Peter and Paul both at once. "What wonder is it, pray, that a woodcutter should stand and hack up on a hillside?" "Still, I'd like to see what it is, after all," said Jack; and up he went. "Oh, if you're such a child, 'twill do you good to go and take a lesson," bawled out his brothers after him. But Jack didn't care for what they said; he climbed the steep hillside towards where the noise came, and when he reached the place, what do you think he saw? Why, an axe that stood there hacking and hewing, all of itself, at the trunk of a fir. "Good-day!" said Jack. "So you stand here all alone and hew, do you?" "Yes; here I've stood and hewed and hacked a long, long time, waiting for you," said the Axe. "Well, here I am at last," said Jack, as he took the axe, pulled it off its handle, and stuffed both head and handle into his wallet. So when he got down again to his brothers, they began to jeer and laugh at him. "And now, what funny thing was it you saw up yonder on the hillside?" they said. "Oh, it was only an axe we heard," said Jack. So when they had gone a bit farther, they came under a steep spur of rock, and up there they heard something digging and shoveling. "I wonder now," said Jack, "what it is digging and shoveling up yonder at the top of the rock." "Ah, you're always so clever with your wonderings," said Peter and Paul again; "as if you'd never heard a woodpecker hacking and pecking at a hollow tree." "Well, well," said Jack, "I think it would be a piece of fun just to see what it really is." And so off he set to climb the rock, while the others laughed and made game of him. But he didn't care a bit for that; up he climbed, and when he got near the top, what do you think he saw? Why, a spade that stood there digging and delving. "Good-day!" said Jack. "So you stand here all alone, and dig and delve!" "Yes, that's what I do," said the Spade, "and that's what I've done this many a long day, waiting for you." "Well, here I am," said Jack again, as he took the spade and knocked it off its handle, and put it into his wallet, and then down again to his brothers. "Well, what was it, so rare and strange," said Peter and Paul, "that you saw up there at the top of the rock?" "Oh," said Jack, "nothing more than a spade; that was what we heard." So they went on again a good bit, till they came to a brook. They were thirsty, all three, after their long walk, and so they lay down beside the brook to have a drink. "I wonder now," said Jack, "where all this water comes from." "I wonder if you're right in your head," said Peter and Paul in one breath. "If you're not mad already, you'll go mad very soon, with your wonderings. Where the brook comes from, indeed! Have you never heard how water rises from a spring in the earth?" "Yes; but still I've a great fancy to see where this brook comes from," said Jack. So up alongside the brook he went, in spite of all that his brothers bawled after him. Nothing could stop him. On he went. So, as he went up and up, the brook got smaller and smaller, and at last, a little way farther on, what do you think he saw? Why, a great walnut, and out of that the water trickled. "Good-day!" said Jack again; "So you lie here, and trickle and run down all alone?" "Yes, I do," said the Walnut; "and here have I trickled and run this many a long day, waiting for you." "Well, here I am," said Jack, as he took up a lump of moss, and plugged up the hole, that the water mightn't run out. Then he put the walnut into his wallet, and ran down to his brothers. "Well, now," said Peter and Paul, "have you found out where the water comes from? A rare sight it must have been!" "Oh, after all, it was only a hole it ran out of," said Jack; and so the others laughed and made game of him again, but Jack didn't mind that a bit. "After all, I had the fun of seeing it," said he. So when they had gone a bit farther they came to the King's palace; but as every one in the kingdom had heard how they might win the Princess and half the realm, if they could only fell the big oak and dig the King's well, so many had come to try their luck that the oak was now twice as stout and big as it had been at first, for two chips grew for every one they hewed out with their axes, as I dare say you all bear in mind. So the King had now laid it down as a punishment that if any one tried and couldn't fell the oak, he should be put on a barren island, and both his ears were to be clipped off. But the two brothers didn't let themselves be scared by that; they were quite sure they could fell the oak, and Peter, as he was eldest, was to try his hand first; but it went with him as with all the rest who had hewn at the oak; for every chip he cut out, two grew in its place. So the King's men seized him, and clipped off both his ears, and put him out on the island. Now Paul, he was to try his luck, but he fared just the same; when he had hewn two or three strokes, they began to see the oak grow, and so the King's men seized him too, and clipped his ears, and put him out on the island; and his ears they clipped closer, because they said he ought to have taken a lesson from his brother. So now Jack was to try. "If you _will_ look like a marked sheep, we're quite ready to clip your ears at once, and then you'll save yourself some bother," said the King, for he was angry with him for his brothers' sake. "Well, I'd like to just try first," said Jack, and so he got leave. Then he took his axe out of his wallet and fitted it to its handle. "Hew away!" said he to his axe; and away it hewed, making the chips fly again, so that it wasn't long before down came the oak. When that was done, Jack pulled out his spade, and fitted it to its handle. "Dig away!" said he to the spade; and so the spade began to dig and delve till the earth and rock flew out in splinters, and so he had the well soon dug out, you may think. And when he had got it as big and deep as he chose, Jack took out his walnut and laid it in one corner of the well, and pulled the plug of moss out. "Trickle and run," said Jack, and so the nut trickled and ran, till the water gushed out of the hole in a stream, and in a short time the well was brimful. Then Jack had felled the oak which shaded the King's palace, and dug a well in the palace-yard, and so he got the Princess and half the kingdom, as the King had said; but it was lucky for Peter and Paul that they had lost their ears, else they had heard each hour and day how every one said, "Well, after all, Jack wasn't so much out of his mind when he took to wondering." THE HUSBAND WHO WAS TO MIND THE HOUSE BY GEORGE WEBBE DASENT Once on a time there was a man so surly and cross he never thought his wife did anything right in the house. So one evening, in haymaking time, he came home, scolding and swearing, and showing his teeth and making a dust. "Dear love, don't be so angry; there's a good man," said his goody; "to-morrow let's change our work. I'll go out with the mowers and mow, and you shall mind the house at home." Yes, the husband thought that would do very well. He was quite willing, he said. So, early next morning, his goody took a scythe over her neck, and went out into the hayfield with the mowers and began to mow; but the man was to mind the house, and do the work at home. First of all he wanted to churn the butter; but when he had churned a while he got thirsty, and went down to the cellar to tap a barrel of ale. So, just when he had knocked in the bung, and was putting the tap into the cask, he heard overhead the pig come into the kitchen. Then off he ran up the cellar steps, with the tap in his hand, as fast as he could, to look after the pig, lest it should upset the churn; but when he got up, and saw the pig had already knocked the churn over, and stood there, routing and grunting amongst the cream which was running all over the floor, he got so wild with rage that he quite forgot the ale-barrel, and ran at the pig as hard as he could. He caught it, too, just as it ran out of doors, and gave it such a kick that piggy lay for dead on the spot. Then all at once he remembered he had the tap in his hand; but when he got down to the cellar, every drop of ale had run out of the cask. Then he went into the dairy and found enough cream left to fill the churn again, and so he began to churn, for butter they must have at dinner. When he had churned a bit, he remembered that their milking cow was still shut up in the stable, and hadn't had a bit to eat or a drop to drink all the morning, though the sun was high. Then all at once he thought 'twas too far to take her down to the meadow, so he'd just get her up on the housetop--for the house, you must know, was thatched with sods, and a fine crop of grass was growing there. Now their house lay close up against a steep down, and he thought if he laid a plank across to the thatch at the back he'd easily get the cow up. But still he couldn't leave the churn, for there was his little babe crawling about on the floor, and "if I leave it," he thought, "the child is sure to upset it." So he took the churn on his back, and went out with it; but then he thought he'd better first water the cow before he turned her out on the thatch; so he took up a bucket to draw water out of the well; but, as he stooped down at the well's brink, all the cream ran out of the churn over his shoulders, and so down into the well. Now it was near dinner-time, and he hadn't even got the butter yet; so he thought he'd best boil the porridge, and filled the pot with water, and hung it over the fire. When he had done that, he thought the cow might perhaps fall off the thatch and break her legs or her neck. So he got up on the house to tie her up. One end of the rope he made fast to the cow's neck, and the other he slipped down the chimney and tied round his own thigh; and he had to make haste, for the water now began to boil in the pot, and he had still to grind the oatmeal. So he began to grind away; but while he was hard at it, down fell the cow off the housetop after all, and as she fell she dragged the man up the chimney, by the rope. There he stuck fast; and as for the cow, she hung half-way down the wall, swinging between heaven and earth, for she could neither get down nor up. And now the goody had waited seven lengths and seven breadths for her husband to come and call them home to dinner; but never a call they had. At last she thought she'd waited long enough, and went home. But when she got there and saw the cow hanging in such an ugly place, she ran up and cut the rope in two with her scythe. But as she did this, down came her husband out of the chimney; and so when his old dame came inside the kitchen, there she found him standing on his head in the porridge-pot. * * * * * BUTTERCUP BY GEORGE WEBBE DASENT Once on a time there was an old wife who sat and baked. Now you must know that this old wife had a little son, who was so plump and fat, and so fond of good things, that they called him Buttercup; she had a dog, too, whose name was Goldtooth, and as she was baking, all at once Goldtooth began to bark. "Run out, Buttercup, there's a dear!" said the old wife, "and see what Goldtooth is barking at." So the boy ran out, and came back crying out,-- "Oh, Heaven help us! here comes a great big witch, with her head under her arm, and a bag at her back." "Jump under the kneading-trough and hide yourself," said his mother. So in came the old hag. "Good day," said she. "God bless you!" said Buttercup's mother. "Isn't your Buttercup at home to-day?" asked the hag. "No, that he isn't. He's out in the wood with his father, shooting grouse." "Plague take it," said the hag, "for I had such a nice little silver knife I wanted to give him." "Pip, pip! here I am," said Buttercup under the kneading-trough, and out he came. "I'm so old and stiff in the back," said the hag, "you must creep into the bag and fetch it out for yourself." But when Buttercup was well into the bag, the hag threw it over her back and strode off, and when they had gone a good bit of the way, the old hag got tired and asked, "How far is it off to Snoring?" "Half a mile," answered Buttercup. So the hag put down the sack on the road, and went aside by herself into the wood, and lay down to sleep. Meantime Buttercup set to work and cut a hole in the sack with his knife; then he crept out and put a great root of a fir-tree into the sack, and ran home to his mother. When the hag got home and saw what there was in the sack, you may fancy she was in a fine rage. Next day the old wife sat and baked again, and her dog began to bark, just as he did the day before. "Run out, Buttercup, my boy," said she, "and see what Goldtooth is barking at." "Well, I never!" cried Buttercup, as soon as he got out; "if there isn't that ugly old beast coming again with her head under her arm and a great sack at her back." "Under the kneading-trough with you and hide," said his mother. "Good day!" said the hag; "is your Buttercup at home to-day?" "I'm sorry to say he isn't," said his mother; "he's out in the wood with his father, shooting grouse." "What a bore!" said the hag; "here I have a beautiful little silver spoon I want to give him." "Pip, pip! here I am," said Buttercup, and crept out. "I'm so stiff in the back," said the old witch, "you must creep into the sack and fetch it out for yourself." So when Buttercup was well into the sack, the hag swung it over her shoulders and set off home as fast as her legs could carry her. But when they had gone a good bit she grew weary, and asked, "How far is it off to Snoring?" "A mile and a half," answered Buttercup. So the hag set down the sack, and went aside into the wood to sleep a bit, but while she slept Buttercup made a hole in the sack and got out, and put a great stone into it. Now, when the old witch got home, she made a great fire on the hearth, and put a big pot on it, and got everything ready to boil Buttercup; but when she took the sack, and thought she was going to turn out Buttercup into the pot, down plumped the stone and made a hole in the bottom of the pot, so that the water ran out and quenched the fire. Then the old hag was in a dreadful rage, and said, "If he makes himself ever so heavy next time, he shan't take me in again." The third day everything went just as it had gone twice before; Goldtooth began to bark, and Buttercup's mother said to him, "Do run out and see what our dog is barking at." So out he went, but he soon came back crying out, "Heaven save us! Here comes the old hag again with her head under her arm and a sack at her back." "Jump under the kneading-trough and hide," said his mother. "Good day!" said the hag, as she came in at the door; "is your Buttercup at home to-day?" "You're very kind to ask after him," said his mother; "but he's out in the wood with his father, shooting grouse." "What a bore, now," said the old hag; "here have I got such a beautiful little silver fork for him." "Pip, pip! here I am," said Buttercup, as he came out from under the kneading-trough. "I'm so stiff in the back," said the hag, "you must creep into the sack and fetch it out for yourself." But when Buttercup was well inside the sack the old hag swung it across her shoulders, and set off as fast as she could. This time she did not turn aside to sleep by the way, but went straight home with Buttercup in the sack, and when she reached her house it was Sunday. So the old hag said to her daughter: "Now you must take Buttercup and kill him, and boil him nicely till I come back, for I'm off to church to bid my guests to dinner." So, when all in the house were gone to church, the daughter was to take Buttercup and kill him, but then she didn't know how to set about it at all. "Stop a bit," said Buttercup; "I'll soon show you how to do it; just lay your head on the chopping-block, and you'll soon see." So the poor silly thing laid her head down, and Buttercup took an axe and chopped her head off, just as if she had been a chicken. Then he laid her head in the bed, and popped her body into the pot, and boiled it so nicely; and when he had done that, he climbed up on the roof, and dragged up with him the fir-tree root and the stone, and put one over the door, and the other at the top of the chimney. So when the household came back from church, and saw the head on the bed, they thought it was the daughter who lay there asleep; and then they thought they would just taste the broth. "Good, by my troth! Buttercup broth," said the old hag. "Good, by my troth! Daughter broth," said Buttercup down the chimney, but no one heeded him. So the old hag's husband, who was every bit as bad as she, took the spoon to have a taste. "Good, by my troth! Buttercup broth," said he. "Good, by my troth! Daughter broth," said Buttercup down the chimney pipe. Then they all began to wonder who it could be that chattered so, and ran out to see. But when they came out at the door, Buttercup threw down on them the fir-tree root and the stone, and broke all their heads to bits. After that he took all the gold and silver that lay in the house, and went home to his mother, and became a rich man. * * * * * GERMAN STORIES * * * * * SEVEN AT ONE BLOW BY WILHELM AND JAKOB GRIMM A tailor sat in his workroom one morning, stitching away busily at a coat for the Lord Mayor. He whistled and sang so gaily that all the little boys who passed the shop on their way to school thought what a fine thing it was to be a tailor, and told one another that when they grew to be men they'd be tailors, too. "How hungry I feel, to be sure!" cried the little man, at last; "but I'm far too busy to trouble about eating. I must finish his lordship's coat before I touch a morsel of food," and he broke once more into a merry song. "Fine new jam for sale," sang out an old woman, as she walked along the street. "Jam! I can't resist such a treat," said the tailor; and, running to the door, he shouted, "This way for jam, dame; show me a pot of your very finest." The woman handed him jar after jar, but he found fault with all. At last he hit upon some to his liking. "And how many pounds will you take, sir?" "I'll take four ounces," he replied, in a solemn tone, "and mind you give me good weight." The old woman was very angry, for she had expected to sell several pounds, at least; and she went off grumbling, after she had weighed out the four ounces. "Now for a feed!" cried the little man, taking a loaf from the cupboard as he spoke. He cut off a huge slice, and spread the jam on quite half an inch thick; then he suddenly remembered his work. "It will never do to get jam on the Lord Mayor's coat, so I'll finish it off before I take even one bite," said he. So he picked up his work once more, and his needle flew in and out like lightning. I am afraid the Lord Mayor had some stitches in his garment that were quite a quarter of an inch long. The tailor glanced longingly at his slice of bread and jam once or twice, but when he looked the third time it was quite covered with flies, and a fine feast they were having off it. This was too much for the little fellow. Up he jumped, crying: "So you think I provide bread and jam for you, indeed! Well, we'll very soon see! Take that!" and he struck the flies such a heavy blow with a duster that no fewer than seven lay dead upon the table, while the others flew up to the ceiling in great haste. "Seven at one blow!" said the little man with great pride. "Such a brave deed ought to be known all over the town, and it won't be my fault if folks fail to hear of it." So he cut out a wide belt, and stitched on it in big golden letters the words "Seven at one blow." When this was done he fastened it round him, crying: "I'm cut out for something better than a tailor, it's quite clear. I'm one of the world's great heroes, and I'll be off at once to seek my fortune." He glanced round the cottage, but there was nothing of value to take with him. The only thing he possessed in the world was a small cheese. "You may as well come, too," said he, stowing away the cheese in his pocket, "and now I'm off." When he got into the street the neighbors all crowded round him to read the words on his belt. "Seven at one blow!" said they to one another. "What a blessing he's going; for it wouldn't be safe to have a man about us who could kill seven of us at one stroke." You see, they didn't know that the tailor had only killed flies; they took it to mean men. He jogged along for some miles until he came to a hedge, where a little bird was caught in the branches. "Come along," said the tailor; "I'll have you to keep my cheese company"; so he caught the bird and put it carefully into his pocket with the cheese. Soon he reached a lofty mountain, and he made up his mind to climb it and see what was going on at the other side. When he reached the top, there stood a huge giant, gazing down into the valley below. "Good day," said the tailor. The giant turned round, and seeing nobody but the little tailor there, he cried with scorn: "And what might you be doing here, might I ask? You'd best be off at once." "Not so fast, my friend," said the little man; "read this." "Seven at one blow," read the giant, and he began to wish he'd been more civil. "Well, I'm sure nobody would think it to look at you," he replied; "but since you are so clever, do this," and he picked up a stone and squeezed it until water ran out. "Do that! Why, it's mere child's play to me," and the man took out his cheese and squeezed it until the whey ran from it. "Now who is cleverer?" asked the tailor. "You see, I can squeeze milk out, while you only get water." The giant was too surprised to utter a word for a few minutes; then, taking up another stone, he threw it so high into the air that for a moment they couldn't see where it went; then down it fell to the ground again. "Good!" said the tailor; "but I'll throw a stone that won't come back again at all." Taking the little bird from his pocket, he threw it into the air, and the bird, glad to get away, flew right off and never returned. This sort of thing didn't suit the giant at all, for he wasn't used to being beaten by any one. "Here's something that you'll never manage," said he to the little man. "Just come and help me to carry this fallen oak-tree for a few miles." "Delighted!" said the tailor, "and I'll take the end with the branches, for it's sure to be heavier." "Agreed," replied the giant, and he lifted the heavy trunk on to his shoulder, while the tailor climbed up among the branches at the other end, and sang with all his might, as though carrying a tree was nothing to him. The poor giant, who was holding the tree-trunk and the little tailor as well, soon grew tired. "I'm going to let it fall!" he shouted, and the tailor jumped down from the branches, and pretended he had been helping all the time. "The idea of a man your size finding a tree too heavy to carry!" laughed the little tailor. "You are a clever little fellow, and no mistake," replied the giant, "and if you'll only come and spend the night in our cave, we shall be delighted to have you." "I shall have great pleasure in coming, my friend," answered the little tailor, and together they set off for the giant's home. There were seven more giants in the cave, and each one of them was eating a roasted pig for his supper. They gave the little man some food, and then showed him a bed in which he might pass the night. It was so big that, after tossing about for half an hour in it, the tailor thought he would be more comfortable if he slept in the corner, so he crept out without being noticed. In the middle of the night the giant stole out of bed and went up to the one where he thought the little man was fast asleep. Taking a big bar of iron, he struck such a heavy blow at it that he woke up all the other giants. "Keep quiet, friends," said he. "I've just killed the little scamp." The tailor made his escape as soon as possible, and he journeyed on for many miles, until he began to feel very tired, so he lay down under a tree, and was soon fast asleep. When he awoke, he found a big crowd of people standing round him. Up walked one very wise-looking old man, who was really the King's prime minister. "Is it true that you have killed seven at one blow?" he asked "It is a fact," answered the little tailor. "Then come with me to the King, my friend, for he's been searching for a brave man like you for some time past. You are to be made captain of his army, and the King will give you a fine house to live in." "That I will," replied the little man. "It is just the sort of thing that will suit me, and I'll come at once." He hadn't been in the King's service long before every one grew jealous of him. The soldiers were afraid that, if they offended him, he would make short work of them all, while the members of the King's household didn't fancy the idea of making such a fuss over a stranger. So the soldiers went in a body to the King and asked that another captain should be put over them, for they were afraid of this one. The King didn't like to refuse, for fear they should all desert, and yet he didn't dare get rid of the captain, in case such a strong and brave man should try to have his revenge. At last the King hit upon a plan. In some woods close by there lived two giants, who were the terror of the country side; they robbed all the travelers, and if any resistance was offered they killed the men on the spot. Sending for the little tailor, he said: "Knowing you to be the bravest man in my kingdom, I want to ask a favor of you. If you will kill these two giants, and bring me back proof that they are dead, you shall marry the Princess, my daughter, and have half my kingdom. You shall also take one hundred men to help you, and you are to set off at once." "A hundred men, your Majesty! Pray, what do I want with a hundred men? If I can kill seven at one blow, I needn't be afraid of two. I'll kill them fast enough, never fear." The tailor chose ten strong men, and told them to await him on the border of the wood, while he went on quite alone. He could hear the giants snoring for quite half an hour before he reached them, so he knew in which direction to go. He found the pair fast asleep under a tree, so he filled his pockets with stones and climbed up into the branches over their heads. Then he began to pelt one of the giants with the missiles, until after a few minutes one of the men awoke. Giving the other a rough push, he cried: "If you strike me like that again, I'll know the reason why." "I didn't touch you," said the other giant crossly, and they were soon fast asleep once more. Then the tailor threw stones at the other man, and soon he awoke as the first had done. "What did you throw that at me for?" said he. "You are dreaming," answered the other, "I didn't throw anything." No sooner were they fast asleep again, than the little man began to pelt them afresh. Up they both sprang, and seizing each other, they began to fight in real earnest. Not content with using their fists, they tore up huge trees by the roots, and beat each other until very soon the pair lay dead on the ground. Down climbed the little tailor, and taking his sword in his hand he plunged it into each giant, and then went back to the edge of the forest where the ten men were waiting for him. "They are as dead as two door nails," shouted the little man. "I don't say that I had an easy task, for they tore up trees by their roots to try to protect themselves with, but, of course, it was no good. What were two giants to a man who has slain seven at one blow?" But the men wouldn't believe it until they went into the forest and saw the two dead bodies, lying each in a pool of blood, while the ground was covered with uprooted trees. Back they went to the King, but instead of handing over half his kingdom, as he had promised, his Majesty told the little tailor that there was still another brave deed for him to do before he got the Princess for his bride. "Just name it, then; I'm more than ready," was the man's reply. "You are to kill the famous unicorn that is running wild in the forest and doing so much damage. When this is done you shall have your reward at once." "No trouble at all, your Majesty. I'll get rid of him in a twinkling." He made the ten men wait for him at the entrance to the wood as they had done the first time, and taking a stout rope and a saw he entered the forest alone. Up came the unicorn, but just as it was about to rush at the man he darted behind a big tree. The unicorn dashed with such force against the tree that its horn was caught quite fast and it was kept a prisoner. Taking his rope, he tied it tightly round the animal, and, after sawing off the horn, back he went to the palace, leading the unicorn by his side. But even then the King was not satisfied, and he made the little tailor catch a wild boar that had been seen wandering in the woods. He took a party of huntsmen with him, but again he made them wait on the outskirts of the forest while he went on by himself. The wild boar made a dash at the little tailor; but the man was too quick for it. He slipped into a little building close by, with the animal at his heels. Then, catching sight of a small window, he forced his way out into the forest again, and while the boar, who was too big and clumsy to follow, stood gazing at the spot where he had disappeared, the tailor ran round and closed the door, keeping the animal quite secure inside. Then he called the hunters, who shot the boar and carried the body back to the palace. This time the King was obliged to keep his promise; so the little tailor became a Prince, and a grand wedding they had, too. When they had been married for about a couple of years, the Princess once overheard her husband talking in his sleep. "Boy, if you have put a patch on that waistcoat, take the Lord Mayor's coat home at once, or I'll box your ears," he said. "Oh, dear," cried the Princess, "to think that I've married a common tailor! Whatever can I do to get rid of him?" So she told her father the story, and the King said she need not worry, for he would find a way out of the difficulty. She was to leave the door open that night, and while the tailor was sleeping, the King's servants should steal into the room, bind the tailor, and take him away to be killed. The Princess promised to see that everything was in readiness, and she tripped about all day with a very light heart. She little knew that one of the tailor's servants had overheard their cruel plot, and carried the news straight to his master. That night, when the Princess thought her husband was sleeping fast, she crept to the door and opened it. To her great terror, the tailor began to speak. "Boy, take the Lord Mayor's coat home, or I'll box your ears. Haven't I killed seven at one blow? Haven't I slain two giants, a unicorn, and a wild boar? What do I care for the men who are standing outside my door at this moment?" At these words off flew the men as though they had been shot from a gun, and no more attempts were ever made on his life. So the Princess had to make the best of a bad job. He lived on and when the old King died he ascended the throne in his stead. So the brave little tailor became ruler over the whole kingdom; and his motto throughout his whole life was, "Seven at one blow." * * * * * ONE EYE, TWO EYES, THREE EYES BY WILHELM AND JAKOB GRIMM There was once a woman who had three daughters, of whom the eldest was named "One Eye," because she had only one eye in the middle of her forehead. The second had two eyes, like other people, and she was called "Two Eyes." The youngest had three eyes, two like her second sister, and one in the middle of her forehead, like the eldest, and she bore the name of "Three Eyes." Now because little Two Eyes looked just like other people, her mother and sisters could not endure her. They said to her, "You are not better than common folks, with your two eyes; you don't belong to us." So they pushed her about, and threw all their old clothes to her for her to wear, and gave her only the pieces that were left to eat, and did everything that they could to make her miserable. It so happened that little Two Eyes was sent into the fields to take care of the goats, and she was often very hungry, although her sisters had as much as they liked to eat. So one day she seated herself on a mound in the field, and began to weep and cry so bitterly that two little rivulets flowed from her eyes. Once, in the midst of her sorrow she looked up, and saw a woman standing near her who said, "What are you weeping for, little Two Eyes?" "I cannot help weeping," she replied; "for because I have two eyes, like other people, my mother and sisters cannot bear me; they push me about from one corner to another and make me wear their old clothes, and give me nothing to eat but what is left, so that I am always hungry. To-day they gave me so little that I am nearly starved." "Dry up your tears, little Two Eyes," said the wise woman; "I will tell you something to do which will prevent you from ever being hungry again. You have only to say to your own goat: "'Little goat, if you're able, Pray deck out my table,' and immediately there will be a pretty little table before you full of all sorts of good things for you to eat, as much as you like. And when you have had enough, and you do not want the table any more, you need only say: "'Little goat, when you're able, Remove my nice table,' and it will vanish from your eyes." Then the wise woman went away. "Now," thought little Two Eyes, "I will try if what she says is true, for I am hungry," so she said: "Little goat, if you're able, Come and deck my pretty table." The words were scarcely spoken, when a beautiful little table stood really before her; it had a white cloth and plates, and knives and forks, and silver spoons, and such a delicious dinner, smoking hot as if it had just come from the kitchen. Then little Two Eyes sat down and said the shortest grace she knew--"Pray God be our guest for all time. Amen"--before she allowed herself to taste anything. But oh, how she did enjoy her dinner! and when she had finished, she said, as the wise woman had taught her: "Little goat, when you're able, Remove my nice table." In a moment, the table and everything upon it had disappeared. "That is a pleasant way to keep house," said little Two Eyes, and felt quite contented and happy. In the evening, when she went home with the goat, she found an earthenware dish with some scraps which her sisters had left for her, but she did not touch them. The next morning she went away with the goat, leaving them behind where they had been placed for her. The first and second times that she did so, the sisters did not notice it; but when they found it happened every day, they said one to the other, "There is something strange about little Two Eyes, she leaves her supper every day, and all that has been put for her has been wasted; she must get food somewhere else." So they determined to find out the truth, and they arranged that when Two Eyes took her goat to the field, One Eye should go with her to take particular notice of what she did, and discover if anything was brought for her to eat and drink. So when Two Eyes started with her goat, One Eye said to her, "I am going with you to-day to see if the goat gets her food properly while you are watching the rest." But Two Eyes knew what she had in her mind. So she drove the goat into the long grass, and said, "Come, One Eye, let us sit down here and rest, and I will sing to you." One Eye seated herself, and, not being accustomed to walk so far, or to be out in the heat of the sun, she began to feel tired, and as little Two Eyes kept on singing, she closed her one eye and fell fast asleep. When Two Eyes saw this, she knew that One Eye could not betray her, so she said: "Little goat, if you are able, Come and deck my pretty table." She seated herself when it appeared, and ate and drank very quickly, and when she had finished she said: "Little goat, when you are able, Come and clear away my table." It vanished in the twinkling of an eye; and then Two Eyes woke up One Eye, and said: "Little One Eye, you are a clever one to watch goats; for, while you are asleep, they might be running all over the world. Come, let us go home!" So they went to the house, and little Two Eyes again left the scraps on the dish untouched, and One Eye could not tell her mother whether little Two Eyes had eaten anything in the field; for she said to excuse herself, "I was asleep." The next day the mother said to Three Eyes, "You must go to the field this time, and find out whether there is anyone who brings food to little Two Eyes; for she must eat and drink secretly." So when little Two Eyes started with her goat, Three Eyes followed and said, "I am going with you to-day, to see if the goats are properly fed and watched." But Two Eyes knew her thoughts; so she led the goat through the long grass to tire Three Eyes, and at last she said, "Let us sit down here and rest, and I will sing to you, Three Eyes." She was glad to sit down, for the walk and the heat of the sun had really tired her; and, as her sister continued her song, she was obliged to close two of her eyes, and they slept, but not the third. In fact, Three Eyes was wide awake with one eye, and heard and saw all that Two Eyes did; for poor little Two Eyes, thinking she was asleep, said her speech to the goat, and the table came with all the good things on it, and was carried away when Two Eyes had eaten enough; and the cunning Three Eyes saw it all with her one eye. But she pretended to be asleep when her sister came to wake her and told her she was going home. That evening, when little Two Eyes again left the supper they placed aside for her, Three Eyes said to her mother, "I know where the proud thing gets her good eating and drinking;" and then she described all she had seen in the field. "I saw it all with one eye," she said; "for she had made my other two eyes close with her fine singing, but luckily the one in my forehead remained open." Then the envious mother cried out to poor little Two Eyes, "You wish to have better food than we, do you? You shall lose your wish!" She took up a butcher's knife, went out, and stuck the good little goat in the heart, and it fell dead. When little Two Eyes saw this, she went out into the field, seated herself on a mound, and wept most bitter tears. Presently the wise woman stood again before her, and said, "Little Two Eyes, why do you weep?" "Ah!" she replied, "I must weep. The goat, who every day spread my table so beautifully, has been killed by my mother, and I shall have again to suffer from hunger and sorrow." "Little Two Eyes," said the wise woman, "I will give you some good advice. Go home, and ask your sister to give you the heart of the slaughtered goat, and then go and bury it in the ground in front of the house-door." On saying this the wise woman vanished. Little Two Eyes went home quickly, and said to her sister, "Dear sister, give me some part of my poor goat. I don't want anything valuable; only give me the heart." Her sister laughed, and said: "Of course you can have that if you don't want anything else." So little Two Eyes took the heart; and in the evening, when all was quiet, buried it in the ground outside the house-door, as the wise woman had told her to do. The next morning, when they all rose and looked out of the window, there stood a most wonderful tree, with leaves of silver and apples of gold hanging between them. Nothing in the wide world could be more beautiful or more costly. They none of them knew how the tree could come there in one night, excepting little Two Eyes. She supposed it had grown up from the heart of the goat; for it stood over where she had buried it in the earth. Then said the mother to little One Eye, "Climb up, my child, and break off some of the fruit from the tree." One Eye climbed up, but when she tried to catch a branch and pluck one of the apples, it escaped from her hand, and so it happened every time she made the attempt, and, do what she would, she could not reach one. "Three Eyes," said the mother, "climb up, and try what you can do; perhaps you will be able to see better with your three eyes than One Eye can." One Eye slid down from the tree, and Three Eyes climbed up. But Three Eyes was not more skilful; with all her efforts she could not draw the branches, nor the fruit, near enough to pluck even a leaf, for they sprang back as she put out her hand. At last the mother was impatient, and climbed up herself, but with no more success, for, as she appeared to grasp a branch, or fruit, her hand closed upon thin air. "May I try?" said little Two Eyes; "perhaps I may succeed." "You, indeed!" cried her sisters; "you, with your two eyes, what can you do?" But Two Eyes climbed up, and the golden apples did not fly back from her when she touched them, but almost laid themselves on her hand, and she plucked them one after another, till she carried down her own little apron full. The mother took them from her, and gave them to her sisters, as she said little Two Eyes did not handle them properly, but this was only from jealousy, because little Two Eyes was the only one who could reach the fruit, and she went into the house feeling more spiteful to her than ever. It happened that while all three sisters were standing under the tree together a young knight rode by. "Run away, quick, and hide yourself, little Two Eyes; hide yourself somewhere, for we shall be quite ashamed for you to be seen." Then they pushed the poor girl, in great haste, under an empty cask, which stood near the tree, and several of the golden apples that she had plucked along with her. As the knight came nearer they saw he was a handsome man; and presently he halted, and looked with wonder and pleasure at the beautiful tree with its silver leaves and golden fruit. At last he spoke to the sisters, and asked: "To whom does this beautiful tree belong? If a man possessed only one branch he might obtain all he wished for in the world." "This tree belongs to us," said the two sisters, "and we will break off a branch for you if you like." They gave themselves a great deal of trouble in trying to do as they offered; but all to no purpose, for the branches and the fruit evaded their efforts, and sprung back at every touch. "This is wonderful," exclaimed the knight, "that the tree should belong to you, and yet you are not able to gather even a branch." They persisted, however, in declaring that the tree was their own property. At this moment little Two Eyes, who was angry because her sisters had not told the truth, caused two of the golden apples to slip out from under the cask, and they rolled on till they reached the feet of the knight's horse. When he saw them, he asked in astonishment where they came from. The two ugly maidens replied that they had another sister, but they dared not let him see her, for she had only two eyes, like common people, and was named little Two Eyes. But the knight felt very anxious to see her, and called out, "Little Two Eyes, come here." Then came Two Eyes, quite comforted, from the empty cask, and the knight was astonished to find her so beautiful. Then he said: "Little Two Eyes, can you break off a branch of the tree for me?" "Oh yes," she replied, "I can, very easily, for the tree belongs to me." And she climbed up, and, without any trouble, broke off a branch with its silver leaves and golden fruit and gave it to the knight. He looked down at her as she stood by his horse, and said: "Little Two Eyes, what shall I give you for this?" "Ah!" she answered, "I suffer from hunger and thirst, and sorrow, and trouble, from early morning till late at night; if you would only take me with you, and release me, I should be so happy." Then the knight lifted the little maiden on his horse, and rode home with her to his father's castle. There she was given beautiful clothes to wear, and as much to eat and drink as she wished, and as she grew up the young knight loved her so dearly that they were married with great rejoicings. Now, when the two sisters saw little Two Eyes carried away by the handsome young knight, they were overjoyed at their good fortune. "The wonderful tree belongs to us now," they said; "even if we cannot break off a branch, yet everybody who passes will stop to admire it, and make acquaintance with us, and, who knows? we may get husbands after all." But when they rose the next morning, lo! the tree had vanished, and with it all their hopes. And on this very morning, when little Two Eyes looked out of her chamber window of the castle, she saw, to her great joy, that the tree had followed her. Little Two Eyes lived for a long time in great happiness; but she heard nothing of her sisters, till one day two poor women came to the castle, to beg for alms. Little Two Eyes saw them, and, looking earnestly in their faces, she recognized her two sisters, who had become so poor that they were obliged to beg their bread from door to door. But the good sister received them most kindly, and promised to take care of them and give them all they wanted. And then they did indeed repent and feel sorry for having treated her so badly in their youthful days. * * * * * THE MUSICIANS OF BREMEN BY WILHELM AND JAKOB GRIMM A certain man had a donkey that had served him faithfully for many long years, but whose strength was so far gone that at last he was quite unfit for work. So his master began to consider how much he could make of the donkey's skin, but the beast, perceiving that no good wind was blowing, ran away along the road to Bremen. "There," thought he, "I can be town musician." When he had run some way, he found a hound lying by the roadside, yawning like one who was very tired. "What are you yawning for now, you big fellow?" asked the ass. "Ah," replied the hound, "because every day I grow older and weaker; I cannot go any more to the hunt, and my master has well-nigh beaten me to death, so that I took to flight; and now I do not know how to earn my bread." "Well, do you know," said the ass, "I am going to Bremen, to be town musician there; suppose you go with me and take a share in the music. I will play on the lute, and you shall beat the kettledrums." The dog was satisfied, and off they set. Presently they came to a cat, sitting in the middle of the path, with a face like three rainy days! "Now, then, old shaver, what has crossed you?" asked the ass. "How can one be merry when one's neck has been pinched like mine?" answered the cat. "Because I am growing old, and my teeth are all worn to stumps, and because I would rather sit by the fire and spin, than run after mice, my mistress wanted to drown me; and so I ran away. But now good advice is dear, and I do not know what to do." "Go with us to Bremen. You understand nocturnal music, so you can be town musician." The cat consented, and went with them. The three vagabonds soon came near a farmyard, where, upon the barn door, the cock was sitting crowing with all his might. "You crow through marrow and bone," said the ass; "what do you do that for?" "That is the way I prophesy fine weather," said the cock; "but because grand guests are coming for the Sunday, the housewife has no pity, and has told the cook-maid to make me into soup for the morrow; and this evening my head will be cut off. Now I am crowing with a full throat as long as I can." "Ah, but you, Red-comb," replied the ass, "rather come away with us. We are going to Bremen, to find there something better than death; you have a good voice, and if we make music together it will have full play." The cock consented to this plan, and so all four traveled on together. They could not, however, reach Bremen in one day, and at evening they came into a forest, where they meant to pass the night. The ass and the dog laid themselves down under a large tree, the cat and the cock climbed up into the branches, but the latter flew right to the top, where he was most safe. Before he went to sleep he looked all round the four quarters, and soon thought he saw a little spark in the distance; so, calling his companions, he said they were not far from a house, for he saw a light. The ass said: "If it is so, we had better get up and go farther, for the pasturage here is very bad"; and the dog continued: "Yes, indeed! a couple of bones with some meat on would be very acceptable!" So they made haste toward the spot where the light was, and which shone now brighter and brighter, until they came to a well-lighted robber's cottage. The ass, as the biggest, went to the window and peeped in. "What do you see, Gray-horse?" asked the cock. "What do I see?" replied the ass; "a table laid out with savory meats and drinks, with robbers sitting around enjoying themselves." "That would be the right sort of thing for us," said the cock. "Yes, yes, I wish we were there," replied the ass. Then these animals took counsel together how they should contrive to drive away the robbers, and at last they thought of a way. The ass placed his forefeet upon the window ledge, the hound got on his back, the cat climbed up upon the dog, and, lastly, the cock flew up and perched upon the head of the cat. When this was accomplished, at a given signal they commenced together to perform their music: the ass brayed, the dog barked, the cat mewed, and the cock crew; and they made such a tremendous noise, and so loud, that the panes of the window were shivered! Terrified at these unearthly sounds, the robbers got up with great precipitation, thinking nothing less than that some spirits had come, and fled off into the forest, so the four companions immediately sat down at the table, and quickly ate up all that was left, as if they had been fasting for six weeks. As soon as they had finished, they extinguished the light, and each sought for himself a sleeping-place, according to his nature and custom. The ass laid himself down upon some straw, the hound behind the door, the cat upon the hearth, near the warm ashes, and the cock flew up on a beam which ran across the room. Weary with their long walk, they soon went to sleep. At midnight the robbers perceived from their retreat that no light was burning in their house, and all appeared quiet; so the captain said: "We need not have been frightened into fits"; and, calling one of the band, he sent him forward to reconnoiter. The messenger, finding all still, went into the kitchen to strike a light, and, taking the glistening, fiery eyes of the cat for live coals, he held a lucifer match to them, expecting it to take fire. But the cat, not understanding the joke, flew in his face, spitting and scratching, which dreadfully frightened him, so that he made for the back door; but the dog, who laid there, sprang up and bit his leg; and as he limped upon the straw where the ass was stretched out, it gave him a powerful kick with its hind foot. This was not all, for the cock, awaking at the noise, clapped his wings, and cried from the beam: "Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-do!" Then the robber ran back as well as he could to his captain, and said: "Ah, my master, there dwells a horrible witch in the house, who spat on me and scratched my face with her long nails; and then before the door stands a man with a knife, who chopped at my leg; and in the yard there lies a black monster, who beat me with a great wooden club; and besides all, upon the roof sits a judge, who called out, 'Bring the knave up, do!' so I ran away as fast as I could." After this the robbers dared not again go near their house; but everything prospered so well with the four town musicians of Bremen, that they did not forsake their situation! And there they are to this day, for anything I know. * * * * * THE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE BY WILHELM AND JAKOB GRIMM There was once a fisherman who lived with his wife in a miserable little hovel close to the sea. He went to fish every day, and he fished and fished, and at last one day, when he was sitting looking deep down into the shining water, he felt something on his line. When he hauled it up there was a great flounder on the end of the line. The flounder said to him: "Look here, fisherman, don't you kill me; I am no common flounder, I am an enchanted prince! What good will it do you to kill me? I sha'n't be good to eat; put me back into the water, and leave me to swim about." "Well," said the fisherman, "you need not make so many words about it. I am quite ready to put back a flounder that can talk." And so saying, he put back the flounder into the shining water, and it sank down to the bottom, leaving a streak of blood behind it. Then the fisherman got up and went back to his wife in the hovel. "Husband," she said, "hast thou caught nothing to-day?" "No," said the man; "all I caught was one flounder, and he said he was an enchanted prince, so I let him go swim again." "Didst thou not wish for anything then?" asked the good wife. "No," said the man; "what was there to wish for?" "Alas!" said his wife; "isn't it bad enough always to live in this wretched hovel? Thou mightest at least have wished for a nice clean cottage. Go back and call him; tell him I want a pretty cottage; he will surely give us that!" "Alas," said the man, "what am I to go back there for?" "Well," said the woman, "it was thou who caught him and let him go again; for certain he will do that for thee. Be off now!" The man was still not very willing to go, but he did not want to vex his wife, and at last he went back to the sea. He found the sea no longer bright and shining, but dull and green. He stood by it and said: "Flounder, flounder in the sea, Prythee, hearken unto me: My wife, Ilsebil, will have her own way Whatever I wish, whatever I say." The flounder came swimming up, and said: "Well, what do you want?" "Alas!" said the man; "I had to call you, for my wife said I ought to have wished for something, as I caught you. She doesn't want to live in our miserable hovel any longer; she wants a pretty cottage." "Go home again, then," said the flounder; "she has her wish fully." The man went home and found his wife no longer in the old hut, but a pretty little cottage stood in its place, and his wife was sitting on a bench by the door. She took him by the hand, and said: "Come and look in here--isn't this much better?" They went inside and found a pretty sitting-room, and a bedroom with a bed in it, a kitchen, and a larder furnished with everything of the best in tin and brass, and every possible requisite. Outside there was a little yard with chickens and ducks, and a little garden full of vegetables and fruit. "Look!" said the woman, "is not this nice?" "Yes," said the man; "and so let it remain. We can live here very happily." "We will see about that," said the woman, and with that they ate something and went to bed. Everything went well for a week or more, and then said the wife: "Listen, husband; this cottage is too cramped, and the garden is too small. The flounder might have given us a bigger house. I want to live in a big stone castle. Go to the flounder, and tell him to give us a castle." "Alas, wife!" said the man; "the cottage is good enough for us; what should we do with a castle?" "Never mind," said his wife; "do thou but go to the flounder, and he will manage it." "Nay, wife," said the man; "the flounder gave us the cottage. I don't want to go back; as likely as not he'll be angry." "Go, all the same," said the woman. "He can do it easily enough, and willingly into the bargain. Just go!" The man's heart was heavy, and he was very unwilling to go. He said to himself: "It's not right." But at last he went. He found the sea was no longer green; it was still calm, but dark violet and gray. He stood by it and said: "Flounder, flounder in the sea, Prythee, hearken unto me: My wife, Ilsebil, will have her own way Whatever I wish, whatever I say." "Now, what do you want?" said the flounder. "Alas," said the man, half scared, "my wife wants a big stone castle." "Go home again," said the flounder; "she is standing at the door of it." Then the man went away, thinking he would find no house, but when he got back he found a great stone palace, and his wife standing at the top of the steps, waiting to go in. She took him by the hand and said, "Come in with me." With that they went in and found a great hall paved with marble slabs, and numbers of servants in attendance, who opened the great doors for them. The walls were hung with beautiful tapestries, and the rooms were furnished with golden chairs and tables, while rich carpets covered the floors, and crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings. The tables groaned under every kind of delicate food and the most costly wines. Outside the house there was a great courtyard, with stabling for horses, and cows, and many fine carriages. Beyond this there was a great garden filled with the loveliest flowers, and fine fruit trees. There was also a park, half a mile long, and in it were stags and hinds, and hares, and everything of the kind one could wish for. "Now," said the woman, "is not this worth having?" "Oh, yes," said the man; "and so let it remain. We will live in this beautiful palace and be content." "We will think about that," said his wife, "and sleep upon it." With that they went to bed. Next morning the wife woke up first; day was just dawning, and from her bed she could see the beautiful country around her. Her husband was still asleep, but she pushed him with her elbow, and said, "Husband, get up and peep out of the window. See here, now, could we not be king over all this land? Go to the flounder. We will be king." "Alas, wife," said the man, "what should we be king for? I don't want to be king." "Ah," said his wife, "if thou wilt not be king, I will. Go to the flounder. I will be king." "Alas, wife," said the man, "whatever dost thou want to be king for? I don't like to tell him." "Why not?" said the woman. "Go thou must. I will be king." So the man went; but he was quite sad because his wife would be king. "It is not right," he said; "it is not right." When he reached the sea, he found it dark, gray, and rough, and evil-smelling. He stood there and said: "Flounder, flounder in the sea, Prythee, hearken unto me: My wife, Ilsebil, will have her own way Whatever I wish, whatever I say." "Now, what does she want?" said the flounder. "Alas," said the man, "she wants to be king now." "Go back. She is king already," said the flounder. So the man went back, and when he reached the palace he found that it had grown much larger, and a great tower had been added, with handsome decorations. There was a sentry at the door, and numbers of soldiers were playing drums and trumpets. As soon as he got inside the house, he found everything was marble and gold; and the hangings were of velvet, with great golden tassels. The doors of the saloon were thrown wide open and he saw the whole court assembled. His wife was sitting on a lofty throne of gold and diamonds; she wore a golden crown, and carried in one hand a scepter of pure gold. On each side of her stood her ladies in a long row, each one a head shorter than the next. He stood before her, and said, "Alas, wife, art thou now king?" "Yes," she said; "now I am king." He stood looking at her for some time, and then he said, "Ah, wife, it is a fine thing for thee to be king; now we will not wish to be anything more." "Nay, husband," she answered, quite uneasily, "I find the time hangs very heavy on my hands. I can't bear it any longer. Go back to the flounder. King I am, but I must also be emperor." "Alas, wife," said the man, "why dost thou now want to be emperor?" "Husband," she answered, "go to the flounder. Emperor I will be." "Alas, wife," said the man, "emperor he can't make thee, and I won't ask him. There is only one emperor in the country; and emperor the flounder cannot make thee, that he can't." "What?" said the woman. "I am king, and thou art but my husband. To him thou must go, and that right quickly. If he can make a king, he can also make an emperor. Emperor I will be, so quickly go." He had to go, but he was quite frightened. And as he went, he thought, "This won't end well; emperor is too shameless. The flounder will make an end of the whole thing." With that he came to the sea, but now he found it quite black, and heaving up from below in great waves. It tossed to and fro, and a sharp wind blew over it, and the man trembled. So he stood there, and said: "Flounder, flounder in the sea, Prythee, hearken unto me: My wife, Ilsebil, will have her own way Whatever I wish, whatever I say." "What does she want now?" said the flounder. "Alas, flounder," he said, "my wife wants to be emperor." "Go back," said the flounder. "She is emperor." So the man went back, and when he got to the door, he found that the whole palace was made of polished marble, with alabaster figures and golden decorations. Soldiers marched up and down before the doors, blowing their trumpets and beating their drums. Inside the palace, counts, barons, and dukes walked about as attendants, and they opened to him the doors, which were of pure gold. He went in, and saw his wife sitting on a huge throne made of solid gold. It was at least two miles high. She had on her head a great golden crown, set with diamonds, three yards high. In one hand she held the scepter, and in the other the ball of empire. On each side of her stood the gentlemen-at-arms in two rows, each one a little smaller than the other, from giants two miles high, down to the tiniest dwarf no bigger than my little finger. She was surrounded by princes and dukes. Her husband stood still, and said, "Wife, art thou now emperor?" "Yes," said she; "now I am emperor." Then he looked at her for some time, and said, "Alas, wife, how much better off art thou for being emperor?" "Husband," she said, "what art thou standing there for? Now I am emperor, I mean to be pope! Go back to the flounder." "Alas, wife," said the man, "what wilt thou not want? Pope thou canst not be. There is only one pope in Christendom. That's more than the flounder can do." "Husband," she said, "pope I will be; so go at once. I must be pope this very day." "No, wife," he said, "I dare not tell him. It's no good; it's too monstrous altogether. The flounder cannot make thee pope." "Husband," said the woman, "don't talk nonsense. If he can make an emperor, he can make a pope. Go immediately. I am emperor, and thou art but my husband, and thou must obey." So he was frightened, and went; but he was quite dazed. He shivered and shook, and his knees trembled. A great wind arose over the land, the clouds flew across the sky, and it grew as dark as night; the leaves fell from the trees, and the water foamed and dashed upon the shore. In the distance the ships were being tossed to and fro on the waves, and he heard them firing signals of distress. There was still a little patch of blue in the sky among the dark clouds, but toward the south they were red and heavy, as in a bad storm. In despair, he stood and said; "Flounder, flounder in the sea, Prythee, hearken unto me: My wife, Ilsebil, will have her own way Whatever I wish, whatever I say." "Now, what does she want?" said the flounder. "Alas" said the man, "she wants to be pope." "Go back. Pope she is," said the flounder. So back he went, and he found a great church, surrounded with palaces. He pressed through the crowd, and inside he found thousands and thousand of lights, and his wife, entirely clad in gold, was sitting on a still higher throne, with three golden crowns upon her head, and she was surrounded with priestly state. On each side of her were two rows of candles, the biggest as thick as a tower, down to the tiniest little taper. Kings and emperors were on their knees before her, kissing her shoe. "Wife," said the man, looking at her, "art thou now pope?" "Yes," said she; "now I am pope." So there he stood gazing at her, and it was like looking at a shining sun. "Alas, wife," he said, "art thou better off for being pope?" At first she sat as stiff as a post, without stirring. Then he said, "Now, wife, be content with being pope; higher thou canst not go." "I will think about that," said the woman, and with that they both went to bed. Still she was not content, and could not sleep for her inordinate desires. The man slept well and soundly, for he had walked about a great deal in the day; but his wife could think of nothing but what further grandeur she could demand. When the dawn reddened the sky, she raised herself up in bed and looked out of the window, and when she saw the sun rise she said: "Ha! can I not cause the sun and the moon to rise? Husband!" she cried, digging her elbow into his side, "wake up and go to the flounder. I will be lord of the universe." Her husband, who was still more than half asleep, was so shocked that he fell out of bed. He thought he must have heard wrong. He rubbed his eyes and said: "Alas, wife, what didst thou say?" "Husband," she said, "if I cannot be lord of the universe, and cause the sun and moon to set and rise, I shall not be able to bear it. I shall never have another happy moment." She looked at him so wildly that it caused a shudder to run through him. "Alas, wife," he said, falling on his knees before her, "the flounder can't do that. Emperor and pope he can make, but that is indeed beyond him. I pray thee, control thyself and remain pope." Then she flew into a terrible rage. Her hair stood on end; she panted for breath, and screamed: "I won't bear it any longer; wilt thou go?" Then he pulled on his trousers and tore away like a madman. Such a storm was raging that he could hardly keep his feet; houses and trees quivered and swayed, mountains trembled, and the rocks rolled into the sea. The sky was pitchy black; it thundered and lightened, and the sea ran in black waves, mountains high, crested with white foam. He shrieked out, but could hardly make himself heard: "Flounder, flounder in the sea, Prythee, hearken unto me: My wife, Ilsebil, will have her own way Whatever I wish, whatever I say." "Now, what does she want?" asked the flounder. "Alas," he said, "she wants to be Lord of the Universe." "Now she must go back to her old hovel," said the flounder; "and there you will find her." And there they are to this very day! * * * * * LITTLE SNOW-WHITE BY WILHELM AND JAKOB GRIMM Once upon a time it was the middle of winter; the flakes of snow were falling like feathers from the sky; a Queen sat at a window sewing, and the frame of the window was made of black ebony. As she was sewing and looking out of the window at the snow, she pricked her finger with the needle, and three drops of blood fell upon the snow. And the red looked pretty upon the white snow, and she thought to herself: "Would that I had a child as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as the wood of the window-frame!" Soon after that she had a little daughter, who was as white as snow, and as red as blood, and her hair was as black as ebony; so she was called Little Snow-white. And when the child was born, the Queen died. A year after, the King took to himself another wife. She was beautiful but proud, and she could not bear to have any one else more beautiful. She had a wonderful Looking-glass, and when she stood in front of it, and looked at herself in it, and said: "Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall, Who in this land is the fairest of all?" the Looking-glass answered: "Thou, O Queen, art the fairest of all!" At last she was well pleased, for she knew the Looking-glass spoke the truth. Now Snow-white grew up, and became more and more beautiful; and when she was seven years old she was as beautiful as the day, and more beautiful than the Queen herself. And once when the queen asked her Looking-glass: "Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall, Who in this land is the fairest of all?" it answered: "Thou art fairer than all who are here, Lady Queen, But more beautiful by far is Snow-white, I ween." Then the Queen was angry, and turned green with envy. From that hour, whenever she looked at Snow-white, her breath came and went, she hated the girl so much. And envy grew higher and higher in her heart like a weed, so that she had no peace day or night. She called a huntsman, and said: "Take the child away into the wood; I will no longer have her in my sight. Kill her, and bring me back her heart as a token." The huntsman did as he was told, and took her away; but when he had drawn his knife, and was about to pierce Snow-white's little heart, she began to weep, and said: "Ah, dear huntsman, leave me my life! I will run away into the wild wood, and never come home again." And as she was so beautiful the huntsman had pity on her and said: "Run away, then, you poor child." The wild beasts will soon kill her, thought he; and yet it seemed as if a stone had been rolled from his heart, since it was no longer needful for him to kill her. As a young boar just then came running by he stabbed it, and cut out its heart and took it to the Queen as a proof that the child was dead. The cook had to salt this, and the wicked Queen ate it, and thought she had eaten the heart of Snow-white. But now the poor child was all alone in the great wood, and so afraid that she started at every bush, and did not know what to do. Then she began to run, and ran over sharp stones and through thorns, and the wild beasts ran past her, but did her no harm. She ran as long as her feet would go, until it was almost evening; then she saw a little cottage, and went into it to rest herself. Everything in the cottage was small, but neater and cleaner than can be told. There was a table on which was a white cover, and seven little plates, and by each plate was a little spoon; there were seven little knives and forks, and seven little mugs. Against the wall stood seven little beds side by side, covered with snow-white coverlets. Little Snow-white was so hungry and thirsty that she ate some fruit and bread from each plate, and drank a drop of milk out of each mug, for she did not wish to take all from one only. Then, as she was so tired, she lay down on one of the little beds, but none of them suited her; one was too long, another too short; but at last she found the seventh one was just right, and so she stayed in it, said her prayers, and went to sleep. When it was quite dark the owners of the cottage came back; they were seven dwarfs who dug in the hills for gold. They lit their seven candles, and as it was now light within the cottage they could see that some one had been there, for everything was not in the same order in which they had left it. The first said, "Who has been sitting on my chair?" The second, "Who has been eating off my plate?" The third, "Who has been taking some of my bread?" The fourth, "Who has been eating my fruit?" The fifth, "Who has been using my fork?" The sixth, "Who has been cutting with my knife?" The seventh, "Who has been drinking out of my mug?" Then the first looked round and saw that there was a little hole in his bed, and he said: "Who has been getting into my bed?" The others came up and each called out: "Somebody has been lying in my bed too." But the seventh, when he looked at his bed, saw little Snow-white, who was lying asleep there. And he called the others, who came running up, and they cried out with wonder, and brought their seven little candles and let the light fall on little Snow-white. "Oh, heavens! oh, heavens!" cried they, "what a lovely child!" and they were so glad that they did not wake her, but let her sleep on in the bed. And the seventh dwarf slept with the others, one hour with each, and so got through the night. When it was morning little Snow-white awoke, and was afraid when she saw the seven dwarfs. But they were friendly and asked her what her name was. "My name is Snow-white," she answered. "How have you come to our house?" said the dwarfs. Then she told them that the Queen had wished to have her killed, but that the huntsman had spared her life; she had run for the whole day, until at last she had found their house. The dwarfs said: "If you will take care of our house, cook, make the beds, wash, sew, and knit; and if you will keep everything neat and clean, you can stay with us, and you shall want for nothing." "Yes," said Snow-white, "with all my heart," and she stayed with them. She kept the house in order for them; in the mornings they went to the hills and looked for gold; in the evenings they came back, and then their supper had to be ready. The girl was alone the whole day, so the good dwarfs warned her and said: "Beware of the Queen; she will soon know that you are here; be sure to let no one come in." But the Queen, thinking she had eaten Snow-white's heart, began to suppose she was again the first and most beautiful person in the world; and she went to her Looking-glass and said: "Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall, Who in this land is the fairest of all?" And the Glass answered: "O Queen, thou art fairest of all I see, But over the hills, where the seven dwarfs dwell, Snow-white is still alive and well, And no one else is so fair as she." And so she thought and thought again how she might kill Snow-white, for so long as she was not the fairest in the whole land, envy let her have no rest. And when she had at last thought of something to do, she painted her face and dressed herself like an old peddler-woman, and no one could have known her. Then she went over the seven hills to the seven dwarfs, and knocked at the door and cried: "Pretty things to sell, very cheap, very cheap." Little Snow-white looked out of the window and called out: "Good-day, my good woman, what have you to sell?" "Good things, pretty things," she answered; "stay-laces of all colors," and she pulled out one which was woven of bright silk. "I may let the good old woman in," thought Snow-white, and she unbolted the door and bought the pretty laces. "Child," said the old woman, "what a fright you look! Come, I will lace you properly for once." Snow-white stood before her, and let herself be laced with the new laces. But the old woman laced so quickly and laced so tightly that Snow-white lost her breath and fell down as if dead. "Now I am the most beautiful," said the Queen to herself, and ran away. Not long after, in the evening, the seven dwarfs came home, but how shocked they were when they saw their dear little Snow-white lying on the ground! She did not stir or move, and seemed to be dead. They lifted her up, and, as they saw that she was laced too tightly, they cut the laces; then she began to breathe a little, and after a while came to life again. When the dwarfs heard what had happened they said: "The old peddler-woman was no one else than the wicked Queen; take care and let no one come in when we are not with you." But the wicked woman, when she was at home again, went in front of the Glass and asked: "Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall, Who in this land is the fairest of all?" And it answered as before: "O Queen, thou art fairest of all I see, But over the hills, where the seven dwarfs dwell, Snow-white is still alive and well, And no one else is so fair as she." When she heard that, all her blood rushed to her heart with fear, for she saw plainly that little Snow-white was again alive. "But now," she said, "I will think of something that shall put an end to you," and so she made a comb that was full of poison. Then she took the shape of another old woman. So she went over the seven hills to the seven dwarfs, knocked at the door, and cried, "Good things to sell, cheap, cheap!" Little Snow-white looked out and said: "Go away; I cannot let any one come in." "I suppose you can look," said the old woman, and pulled the comb out and held it up. It pleased the girl so well that she let herself be coaxed and opened the door. When they had made a bargain the old woman said, "Now I will comb you properly for once." Poor little Snow-white had no fear, and let the old woman do as she pleased, but hardly had she put the comb in her hair than the poison worked, and the girl fell down senseless. "You piece of beauty," said the wicked woman, "you are done for now," and she went away. But as good luck would have it, it was almost evening, and the seven dwarfs soon came home. When they saw Snow-white lying as if dead upon the ground, they knew at once the Queen had been there, and they looked and found the comb. Scarcely had they taken it out when Snow-white came to herself, and told them what had happened. Then they warned her once more to be upon her guard and to open the door to no one. The Queen, at home, went in front of the Glass, and said: "Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall, Who in this land is the fairest of all?" Then it answered as before: "O Queen, thou art fairest of all I see, But over the hills, where the seven dwarfs dwell, Snow-white is still alive and well, And no one else is so fair as she." When she heard the Glass speak thus she trembled and shook with rage. "Snow-white shall die," she cried, "even if it costs me my life!" She went into a quiet, secret, lonely room, where no one ever came, and there she made an apple full of poison. It was white with a red cheek, so that every one who saw it longed for it; but whoever ate a piece of it must surely die. When the apple was ready she painted her face, and dressed herself up as a country-woman, and so she went over the seven hills to the seven dwarfs. She knocked at the door. Snow-white put her head out of the window and said: "I cannot let any one in; the seven dwarfs have told me not to." "It is all the same to me," said the woman. "I shall soon get rid of my apples. There, I will give you one." "No," said Snow-white, "I dare not take anything." "Are you afraid of poison?" said the old woman. "Look, I will cut the apple in two pieces; you eat the red cheek, and I will eat the white." The apple was so cunningly made that only the red cheek was poisoned. Snow-white longed for the fine apple, and when she saw that the woman ate part of it she could stand it no longer, and stretched out her hand and took the other half. But hardly had she a bit of it in her mouth when she fell down dead. Then the Queen looked at her with a dreadful look, and laughed aloud and said: "White as snow, red as blood, black as ebony-wood! This time the dwarfs cannot wake you up again." And when she asked of the Looking-glass at home: "Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall, Who in this land is fairest of all?" it answered at last: "O Queen, in this land thou art fairest of all." Then her envious heart had rest, so far as an envious heart can have rest. When the dwarfs came home in the evening, they found Snow-white lying upon the ground; she breathed no longer, and was dead. They lifted her up, unlaced her, combed her hair, washed her with water and wine, but it was all of no use; the poor child was dead, and stayed dead. They laid her upon a bier, and all seven of them sat round it and wept for her, and wept three whole days. Then they were going to bury her, but she still looked as if she were living, and still had her pretty red cheeks. They said: "We could not bury her in the dark ground," and they had a coffin of glass made, so that she could be seen from all sides, and they laid her in it, and wrote her name upon it in golden letters, and that she was a King's daughter. Then they put the coffin out upon the hill, and one of them always stayed by it and watched it. And birds came too, and wept for Snow-white; first an owl, then a raven, and last a dove. And now Snow-white lay a long, long time in the coffin, and she did not change, but looked as if she were asleep; for she was as white as snow, as red as blood, and her hair was as black as ebony. It happened that a King's son came into the wood, and went to the dwarfs' house to spend the night. He saw the coffin on the hill, and the beautiful Snow-white within it, and read what was written upon it in golden letters. Then he said to the dwarfs: "Let me have the coffin, I will give you whatever you want for it." But the dwarfs answered: "We will not part with it for all the gold in the world." Then he said: "Let me have it as a gift, for I cannot live without seeing Snow-white. I will honor and prize her as the dearest thing I have." As he spoke in this way the good dwarfs took pity upon him, and gave him the coffin. And now the King's son had it carried away by his servants on their shoulders. And it happened that they stumbled over a tree-stump, and with the shock the piece of apple which Snow-white had bitten off came out of her throat. And before long she opened her eyes, lifted up the lid of the coffin, sat up, and was once more alive. "Oh, heavens, where am I?" she cried. The King's son, full of joy, said: "You are with me," and told her what had happened, and said, "I love you more than everything in the world; come with me to my father's palace; you shall be my wife." Snow-white was willing, and went with him, and their wedding was held with great show and splendor. The wicked Queen was also bidden to the feast. When she had put on her beautiful clothes, she went before the Looking-glass, and said: "Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall, Who in this land is the fairest of all?" The Glass answered: "O Queen, of all here the fairest art thou, But the young Queen is fairer by far I trow." Then the wicked woman gave a scream, and was so wretched, so utterly wretched, that she knew not what to do. At first she would not go to the wedding at all, but she had no peace, and must go to see the young Queen. And when she went in she knew Snow-white; and she stood still with rage and fear, and could not stir. But iron slippers had already been put upon the fire, and they were brought in with tongs, and set before her. Then she was forced to put on the red hot shoes, and dance until she dropped down dead. * * * * * THE GOOSE-GIRL BY WILHELM AND JAKOB GRIMM An old Queen had a beautiful daughter, who was betrothed to a young Prince of a neighboring kingdom. When the time for the marriage came near, it was arranged that she was to travel to his country accompanied only by her waiting-maid. Her mother, the Queen, provided her with many costly robes and jewels, such as a Princess about to marry the Prince of a great kingdom would require. She also gave her a horse named Falada, which had the gift of speech. Just before the Princess started on her journey, the Queen pricked her finger, and dropped three drops of blood upon a handkerchief. "Take this," she told her daughter, "and guard it carefully. It will serve you when in danger." The Princess took the handkerchief, and embraced her mother. They shed many tears at parting, but at last the Princess mounted the wonderful horse and started on the journey. When she and the maid had ridden for some time, they came to a stream of clear, cold water. Being very thirsty, the Princess asked the maid to bring her a drink in the golden cup. The maid insolently replied that she might get the water for herself, as she did not intend to serve her any longer. The Princess was so thirsty that she dismounted and drank from the stream. As she bent over to place her lips to the water, she said to herself, "O, Heaven! what am I to do?" The three drops of blood upon the handkerchief made answer: "If she knew this, for thy sake Thy queen-mother's heart would break." When the Princess had slaked her thirst, she mounted her horse and resumed her journey, and being gentle and forgiving, she soon forgot the maid's rudeness. The sun shone on them fiercely, and the road was filled with dust, so that they had not gone far before the Princess again became thirsty. When they came to a brook, she called to the maid: "Pray fetch me a drink in my golden cup." The maid's answer was even more insolent than before. "If you are thirsty, get down and drink. I do not mean to serve you any longer." The Princess's throat was parched, so she dismounted and drank from the stream, at the same time murmuring, "O, Heaven! what am I to do?" The three drops of blood again replied: "If she knew this, for thy sake Thy queen-mother's heart would break." As she raised her head from the water, the handkerchief bearing the three drops of blood fell unnoticed from her dress and floated down the stream. The maid, however, had observed the loss with no small satisfaction. Without the three drops of blood, the Princess was completely in her power, and the traitorous servant immediately took advantage of her helplessness. She obliged the Princess to disrobe and exchange the royal dress for her own mean one. After making her swear, on fear of death, never to betray the secret, the maid mounted Falada and left her own horse for the Princess. Falada bore the false Princess to the palace; but the horse had noted all, and bided his time. The Prince came out to meet them, and took the impostor bride to the royal chamber, while the true one was left waiting in the court below. Seeing her there, forlorn and beautiful, the old King inquired of the bride who it was she had thus left outside. "Only a woman who kept me company," she carelessly replied. "Give her some work to content her." The King could think of nothing suitable for such as she; but lacking something better to offer, sent her to help the boy Curdken herd geese. So it happened that the real bride became a goose-girl. The false bride at length remembered Falada's gift of speech and became alarmed lest he should betray the secret of her treachery. She told the Prince that the horse which had brought her was vicious and had given her much trouble, and that she desired his head cut off immediately. The Prince at once granted her request, and gave orders that Falada be beheaded. When the real Princess heard the sad news, she dried her tears and sought the executioner. She could not save her dear Falada from his doom, but with the aid of a gold piece she persuaded the slaughterer to nail his head over the great gate through which she had to pass on her way to and from the goose-pasture. The next morning, when she and Curdken drove their geese under the gate, the Princess wrung her hands and cried: "O Falada, hang you there?" And the head replied to her: "'Tis Falada, Princess fair. If she knew this, for thy sake Thy queen-mother's heart would break." When she had driven the geese to the field, she sat down and loosed her golden hair. Curdken, seeing it shining in the sun, caught at it to pull some out. Whereupon she sang: "Wind, blow gently here, I pray, And take Curdken's hat away. Keep him chasing o'er the wold, While I bind my hair of gold." When Curdken had recovered his hat and returned to where she was sitting, her hair was plaited, and he could get none of it. This made him very angry all day. The next morning they again came to the gate where Falada's head was nailed, and the goose-girl said as before: "O Falada, hang you there?" And the head as before replied to her: "'Tis Falada, Princess fair. If she knew this, for thy sake Thy queen-mother's heart would break." Again she passed on with the geese and Curdken under the gate, and when she came to the field where they were herded, sat down and loosed her hair. The sun shone upon it, and Curdken again caught at its golden threads. The goose-girl called to the wind: "Wind, blow gently here, I pray, And take Curdken's hat away. Keep him chasing o'er the wold, While I bind my hair of gold." The wind did as she asked, and Curdken ran so far for his hat that when he returned the golden hair was plaited and bound about her head. Curdken was sullen all day long, and when at night they had driven the geese home, he complained to the King: "The goose-girl so teases me that I will no longer herd the geese with her." When asked how she had offended, he told the King that she spoke every morning to the horse's head that was over the gate, and that the head replied and called her Princess. He also related how the goose-girl sat in the sun and combed her golden hair, while she sent him chasing for his hat. The King bade Curdken go the next day with his flock as usual. When morning came the King arose early and stood in the shadow of the town-gate. He heard the goose-girl say, "O Falada, hang you there?" and he heard the head make answer: "'Tis Falada, Princess fair. If she knew this, for thy sake Thy queen-mother's heart would break." Then the King followed on to the field, where he hid behind a bush and watched them herd the geese. After a time the goose-girl undid her glittering hair; and as Curdken snatched at it, the King heard her say: "Wind, blow gently here, I pray, And take Curdken's hat away. Keep him chasing o'er the wold, While I bind my hair of gold." The wind came at her bidding, and carried the herd-boy's hat across the fields; while she combed the shining hair and made it fast. The King quietly returned to the palace, and that night he sent for the goose-girl. He told her he had watched her at the gate and in the field, and asked her the meaning of her strange actions. "O King! I may not tell; for I have sworn, if my life were spared, to speak to no one of my woes," she replied. The King pleaded with her, but she was firm; and at last he told her to tell her troubles to the iron stove, since she would not confide in him. When he had left her, she fell upon her knees before the stove and poured forth her sorrows: "Here am I, the daughter of a Queen, doomed to the lowly service of a goose-girl, while the false waiting-maid steals my treasures and my bridegroom." She sobbed and wept, until the King, who had stood outside and heard all, came in and bade her dry her eyes. He ordered her arrayed in royal robes; and then she appeared as lovely as the sun. The Prince was summoned; and the old King told him the story, and showed him the true bride. She was so beautiful that the Prince knelt at her feet in admiration, and knew her to be the real Princess. A great banquet was given, to which many guests were invited. On one side of the Prince sat the false bride, and on the other the real Princess, who was so radiantly lovely that the maid did not know her. The King at last asked the waiting-maid what punishment should be dealt to a traitor. Not knowing that she was passing sentence on herself, the waiting-maid's answer was as cruel as she was wicked. Said she: "Let her be put into a barrel, and drawn by two white horses, up hill and down, till she is dead." When the wicked maid had been punished according to her own decree, the Princess was wedded to the young Prince, and reigned with him for many happy years over the kingdom where she had first served as a goose-girl. * * * * * THE GOLDEN BIRD BY WILHELM AND JAKOB GRIMM There was once a King who had a beautiful pleasure-garden behind his palace, in which grew a tree that bore golden apples. As fast as the apples ripened they were counted, but the next day one was always missing. This was made known to the King, who commanded that a watch should be kept every night under the tree. Now, the King had three sons, and he sent the eldest into the garden when night was coming on; but at midnight he fell fast asleep, and in the morning another apple was missing. The following night the second son had to watch, but he did not succeed any better, and again another apple was missing in the morning. Now came the turn of the youngest son, who was eager to go; but the King did not rely much upon him, and thought he would watch even worse than his brothers; however, at last he consented. The youth threw himself on the ground under the tree and watched steadily, without letting sleep master him. As twelve o'clock struck, something rustled in the air, and he saw a bird fly by in the moonlight, whose feathers were of shining gold. The bird alighted on the tree and was just picking off one of the apples when the young Prince shot a bolt at it. Away flew the bird, but the arrow had knocked off one of its feathers, which was of the finest gold. The youth picked it up and showed it to the King next morning, and told him all he had seen in the night. Thereupon the King assembled his council, and each one declared that a single feather like this one was of greater value than the whole kingdom. "However valuable this feather may be," said the King, "one will not be of much use to me--I must have the whole bird." So the eldest son went forth on his travels, to look for the wonderful bird, and he had no doubt that he would be able to find it. When he had gone a short distance, he saw a fox sitting close to the edge of the forest, so he drew his bow to shoot. But the fox cried out: "Do not shoot me, and I will give you a piece of good advice! You are now on the road to the golden bird, and this evening you will come to a village where two inns stand opposite to each other--one will be brilliantly lighted, and great merriment will be going on inside; do not, however, go in, but rather enter the other, even though it appears but a poor place to you." "How can such a ridiculous animal give me rational advice?" thought the young Prince, and shot at the fox, but missed it, so it ran away with its tail in the air. The King's son then walked on, and in the evening he came to a village where the two inns stood: in one there was dancing and singing, but the other was quiet, and had a very mean and wretched appearance. "I should be an idiot," thought he to himself, "if I were to go to this gloomy old inn while the other is so bright and cheerful." Therefore, he went into the merry one, lived there in rioting and revelry, and so forgot the golden bird, his father, and all good behavior. As time passed away, and the eldest son did not return home, the second son set out on his travels to seek the golden bird. Like the eldest brother, he met with the fox, and did not follow the good advice it gave him. He likewise came to the two inns, and at the window of the noisy one his brother stood entreating him to come in. This he could not resist, so he went in, and began to live a life of pleasure only. Again a long time passed by without any news, so the youngest Prince wished to try his luck, but his father would not hear of it. At last, for the sake of peace, the King was obliged to consent, for he had no rest as long as he refused. The fox was again sitting at the edge of the forest, and once more it begged for its own life and gave its good advice. The youth was good-hearted, and said: "Have no fear, little fox; I will not do thee any harm." "Thou wilt never repent of thy good nature," replied the fox, "and in order that thou mayest travel more quickly, get up behind on my tail." Scarcely had the youth seated himself, when away went the fox over hill and dale, so fast that the Prince's hair whistled in the wind. When they came to the village, the youth dismounted, and following the fox's advice, he turned at once into the shabby-looking inn, where he slept peacefully through the night. The next morning, when the Prince went into the fields, the fox was already there, and said: "I will tell thee what further thou must do. Go straight on, and thou wilt come to a castle before which a whole troop of soldiers will be lying asleep. Go right through the midst of them into the castle, and thou wilt come to a chamber where is hanging a wooden cage containing a golden bird. Close by stands an empty golden cage, for show; but be careful that thou dost not take the bird out of its ugly cage and put it in the splendid one, or it will be very unlucky for thee." With these words the fox once more stretched out its tail, and the King's son sat upon it again, and away they went over hill and dale, with their hair whistling in the wind. When they arrived at the castle, the Prince found everything as the fox had said, and he soon discovered the room in which the golden bird was sitting in its wooden cage; by it stood a golden one; while three golden apples were lying about the room. But the Prince thought it would be silly to put such a lovely bird in so ugly and common a cage; so, opening the door, he placed it in the golden cage. In an instant the bird set up a piercing shriek, which awakened all the soldiers, who rushed in and made him prisoner. The next morning he was brought before a judge, who at once condemned him to death. Still, the King said his life should be spared on one condition, and that was, that he brought him the golden horse, which ran faster than the wind; and if he succeeded he should also receive the golden bird as a reward. The young Prince set out on his journey, but he sighed and felt very sorrowful, for where was he to find the golden horse? All at once, he saw his old friend, the fox, sitting by the wayside. "Ah!" exclaimed the fox, "thou seest now what has happened through not listening to me. But be of good courage; I will look after thee, and tell thee how thou mayest discover the horse. Thou must travel straight along this road until thou comest to a castle; the horse is there in one of the stables. Thou wilt find a stable boy lying before the stall, but he will be fast asleep and snoring, so thou wilt be able to lead out the golden horse quite quietly. But there is one thing thou must be careful about, and that is to put on the shabby old saddle of wood and leather, and not the golden one which hangs beside it--otherwise everything will go wrong with thee." Then the fox stretched out his tail, the Prince took a seat upon it, and away they went over hill and dale, with their hair whistling in the wind. Everything happened as the fox had said. The Prince came to the stable where the golden horse was standing, but, as he was about to put on the shabby old saddle, he thought to himself, "It does seem a shame that such a lovely animal should be disgraced with this. The fine saddle is his by right; it must go on." Scarcely had the golden saddle rested on the horse's back when it began to neigh loudly. This awakened the stable boy, who awakened the grooms, who rushed in and seized the Prince and made him a prisoner. The following morning he was brought to trial and condemned to death, but the King promised him his life, as well as the golden horse, if the youth could find the beautiful daughter of the King of the golden castle. Once more, with a heavy heart, the Prince set out on his journey, and by great good fortune he soon came across the faithful fox. "I really should have left thee to the consequences of thy folly," said the fox; "but as I feel great compassion for thee, I will help thee out of thy new misfortune. The path to the castle lies straight before thee; thou wilt reach it about the evening. At night, when everything is quiet, the lovely Princess will go to the bath-house, to bathe there. As soon as she enters, thou must spring forward and give her a kiss; then she will follow thee wherever thou carest to lead her; only be careful that she does not take leave of her parents, or everything will go wrong." Then the fox stretched out his tail, the Prince seated himself on it, and away they both went over hill and dale, their hair whistling in the wind. When the King's son came to the golden palace, everything happened as the fox had predicted. He waited until midnight, and when everyone was soundly asleep the beautiful Princess went into the bath-house, so he sprang forward and kissed her. The Princess then said she would joyfully follow him, but she besought him with tears in her eyes to allow her to say farewell to her parents. At first he withstood her entreaties, but as she wept still more, and fell at his feet, he at last yielded. Scarcely was the maiden at the bedside of her father, when he awoke, and so did everyone else in the palace; so the foolish youth was captured and put into prison. On the following morning the King said to him: "Thy life is forfeited, and thou canst only find mercy if thou clearest away the mountain that lies before my windows, and over which I cannot see, but it must be removed within eight days. If thou dost succeed thou shalt have my daughter as a reward." So the Prince commenced at once to dig and to shovel away the earth without cessation, but when after seven days he saw how little he had been able to accomplish, and that all his labor was as nothing, he fell into a great grief and gave up all hope. On the evening of the seventh day, however, the fox appeared. "Thou dost not deserve that I should take thy part or befriend thee, but do thou go away and lie down to sleep, and I will do the work for thee." And the next morning, when he awoke and looked out of the window, the mountain had disappeared! Then the Prince, quite overjoyed, hastened to the King and told him that the conditions were fulfilled, so that the King, whether he would or not, was obliged to keep his word and give him his daughter. Then these two went away together, and it was not long before the faithful fox came to them. "Thou hast indeed gained the best of all," said he; "but to the maiden of the golden castle belongs also the golden horse." "How can I get it?" enquired the youth. "I will tell thee," answered the fox; "first of all, take the lovely Princess to the King who sent you to the golden palace. There will then be unheard-of joy; they will gladly lead the golden horse to thee and give it thee. Mount it instantly, and give your hand to everyone at parting, and last of all to the Princess. Grasp her hand firmly; make her spring into the saddle behind thee, and then gallop away; no one will be able to overtake thee, for the golden horse runs faster than the wind." This was all happily accomplished, and the King's son carried off the beautiful Princess on the golden horse. The fox did not remain behind, and spoke thus to the young Prince: "Now I will help thee to find the golden bird. When thou comest near the castle where the bird is to be found, let the Princess dismount, and I will take her under my protection. Then ride on the golden horse to the courtyard of the palace, where thy coming will cause great joy, and they will fetch the golden bird for thee. Directly the cage is in thy hands, gallop back to us and fetch the maiden again." When this plot was successfully carried out, and the Prince was about to ride home with his treasure, the fox said, "Now must thou reward me for all my services." "What is it that thou dost desire?" enquired the Prince. "When we come to yonder wood, thou must shoot me dead and cut off my head and paws." "That would be a fine sort of gratitude," said the King's son; "that I cannot possibly promise thee." "Then," replied the fox, "if thou wilt not, I must leave thee; but before I go I will give thee again some good advice. Beware of two things--buy no gallows'-flesh, and see that thou dost not sit on the brink of a well!" With this the fox ran off into the forest! "Ah!" thought the young Prince, "that is a wonderful animal with very whimsical ideas! Who would buy gallows'-flesh, and when have I ever had the slightest desire to sit on the brink of a well?" So he rode on with the beautiful maiden, and his path led him once more through the village in which his two brothers had stopped. Here there was great tumult and lamentation, and when he asked what it all meant, he was told that two men were going to be hanged. When he came nearer, he saw that they were his two brothers, who had committed every kind of wicked folly and had squandered all their money. Then the young Prince asked if they could not be freed. "Supposing you do pay for them," the people answered, "where is the good of wasting your money in order to free such villains?" Nevertheless, he did not hesitate, but paid for them, and when the brothers were freed they all rode away together. They came to the forest where they first encountered the fox, and as it was cool and pleasant away from the burning sun, the two brothers said: "Let us sit and rest a little by this well, and eat and drink something." The young Prince consented, and while they were all talking together he quite forgot the fox's warning, and suspected no evil. But suddenly the two brothers threw him backwards into the well, and, seizing the maiden, the horse, and the golden bird, they went home to their father. "We not only bring you the golden bird," said they, "but we have also found the golden palace." There was great rejoicing, but the horse would not eat, neither would the bird sing, and the maiden only sat and wept. But the youngest brother had not perished. By good fortune the well was dry, and he had fallen on soft moss without hurting himself, but he could not get out again. Even in this misfortune the faithful fox did not desert him, but came springing down to him and scolded him for not following his advice. "Still I cannot forsake thee," said he, "and I will help to show thee daylight once more." Then he told him to seize hold of his tail and hold on tightly; and so saying, he lifted him up in the air. "Even now thou art not out of danger," said the fox, "for thy brothers were not certain of thy death, and have set spies to watch for thee in the forest, who will certainly kill thee if they see thee." There was an old man sitting by the wayside with whom the young Prince changed clothes, and, thus disguised, he reached the court of the King. No one recognized him, but the golden bird began to sing, and the golden horse commenced to eat, and the lovely maiden ceased to weep. The King was astonished and asked: "What does this all mean?" Then said the maiden: "I know not, but I was so sad, and now I feel light-hearted; it is as if my true husband had returned." Then she told him all that had happened, although the other brothers had threatened to kill her if she betrayed them. The King then summoned all the people in the castle before him: and there came with them the young Prince dressed as a beggar in his rags, but the maiden recognized him instantly and fell upon his neck. So the wicked brothers were seized and executed, but the young Prince married the lovely Princess and was made his father's heir. But what became of the poor fox? Long afterwards the young Prince went again into the forest, and there he met once more with the fox, who said: "Thou hast now everything in the world thou canst desire, but to my misfortunes there can be no end, although it is in thy power to release me from them." So he entreated the Prince to shoot him dead and cut off his head and feet. At last the Prince consented to do so, and scarcely was the deed done than the fox was changed into a man, who was no other than the brother of the beautiful Princess, at last released from the spell that had bound him. So now nothing was wanting to the happiness of the Prince and his bride as long as they lived. * * * * * FRENCH STORIES * * * * * BEAUTY AND THE BEAST ADAPTED BY E. NESBIT Once upon a time there was a rich merchant, who had three daughters. They lived in a very fine house in a beautiful city, and had many servants in grand liveries to wait upon them. All their food was served on gold and silver dishes, and their gowns were made of the richest stuff sewn with jewels. The two eldest were called Marigold and Dressalinda. Never a day passed but these two went out to some feast or junketing; but Beauty, the youngest, loved to stay at home and keep her old father company. Now, it happened that misfortune came upon the merchant. Ships of his which were sailing the high seas laden with merchandise of great price, were wrecked, and in one day he found that he was no longer the richest merchant in the city, but a very poor man. There was still left to him a little house in the country, and to this, when everything else had been sold, he retired. His three daughters, of course, went with him. Marigold and Dressalinda were very cross to think that they had lost all their money, and after being so rich and sought after, they must now live in a miserable cottage. But Beauty's only thought was to cheer her old father, and while her two sisters sat on wooden chairs and cried and bewailed themselves, Beauty lighted the fire and got the supper ready, for the merchant was now so poor that he could not even keep a servant. And so it went on. The two eldest sisters would do nothing but sulk in corners, while Beauty swept the floors and washed the dishes, and did her best to make the poor cottage pleasant. They led their sister a dreadful life too, with their complaints, for not only did they refuse to do anything themselves, but they said that everything she did was done wrong. But Beauty bore all their unkindness patiently, for her father's sake. In this way a whole year went by, and then one day a letter came for the merchant. He hastened to find his daughters, for he was anxious to tell them the good news contained in the letter. "My dear children," he said, "at last our luck has turned. This letter says that one of the ships supposed to have been lost has come safely home to port, and if that be so, we need no longer live in poverty. We shall not be so rich as before, but we shall have enough to keep us in comfort. Get me my traveling-cloak, Beauty. I will set out at once to claim my ship. And now tell me, girls, what shall I bring you when I come back?" "A hundred pounds," said Marigold, without hesitating an instant. "I want a new silk dress," said Dressalinda, "an apple-green one, sewn with seed-pearls, and green shoes with red heels, and a necklace of emeralds, and a box of gloves." "And what shall I bring for you, my Beauty?" asked the father, as his little daughter helped him to put on his traveling-cloak. "Oh, bring me a rose," said Beauty hastily. Her father kissed her fondly, and set out. "You silly girl," said Marigold, "you just want our father to think you are more unselfish than we are--that's what you want! A rose, indeed!" "Indeed, sister," said Beauty, "that was not the reason. I thought our father would have enough to do in seeing to the safety of his ship, without being troubled to do shopping for me." But the sisters were very much offended, and went off to sit in their own room to talk of the fine things they would have when their father came back. In the meantime the merchant went his way to the city, full of hope and great plans as to what he would do with his money. But when he got there, he found that some one had played a trick on him, and no ship of his had come into harbor, so he was just as badly off as before. He spent the whole day looking about to make sure there was no truth in the letter he had received, and it was beginning to get dusk when he started out, with a sad heart, to make the journey home again. He was tired and miserable, and he had tasted no food since he left home in the morning. It was quite dark by the time he came to the great wood through which he had to pass to get to his cottage, and when he saw a light shining through the trees, he decided not to go to his home that night, but to make his way towards the light in the wood and ask for food and shelter. He expected to find a woodcutter's cottage, but what was his surprise, as he drew near to the light, to find that it came from the windows of a large and beautiful palace! He knocked at the gates, but no one answered, and presently, driven by hunger and cold, he made bold to enter, and mounted the marble steps into the great hall. All the way he never saw a soul. There was a big fire in the hall, and when he had warmed himself, he set out to look for the master of the house. But he did not look far, for behind the first door he opened was a cosy little room with supper set for one, a supper the mere look of which made you hungry. So the merchant sat down as bold as you please, and made a very hearty supper, after which he again thought he would look for the master of the house. He started off and opened another door, but there he saw a bed, merely to look at which made you sleepy, so he said to himself: "This is some fairies' work. I had better not look any farther for the master of the house." And with that he tumbled into bed, and, being very tired, he went to sleep at once, and slept like a top till it was time to get up in the morning. When he awoke he was quite surprised to find himself in such a soft and comfortable bed, but presently he remembered all that had happened to him. "I must be going," he said to himself, "but I wish I could thank my host for my good rest and my good supper." When he got out of bed he found he had something else to be grateful for, for on the chair by the bedside lay a fine suit of new clothes, marked with his name, and with ten gold pieces in every pocket. He felt quite a different man when he had put on the suit of blue and silver, and jingled the gold pieces of money in his pockets. When he went downstairs, he found a good breakfast waiting for him in the little room where he had supped the night before, and when he had made a good meal, he thought he would go for a stroll in the garden. Down the marble steps he went, and when he came to the garden, he saw that it was full of roses, red and white and pink and yellow, and the merchant looked at them, and remembered Beauty's wish. "Oh, my poor daughters," he said, "what a disappointment it will be to them to know that my ship has not come home after all, but Beauty at any rate can have what she wanted." So he stretched out his hand and plucked the biggest red rose within his reach. As the stalk snapped in his fingers, he started back in terror, for he heard an angry roar, and the next minute a dreadful Beast sprang upon him. It was taller than any man, and uglier than any animal, but, what seemed most dreadful of all to the merchant, it spoke to him with a man's voice, after it had roared at him with the Beast's. "Ungrateful wretch!" said the Beast. "Have I not fed you, lodged you, and clothed you, and now you must repay my hospitality by stealing the only thing I care for, my roses?" "Mercy! mercy!" cried the merchant. "No," said the Beast, "you must die!" The poor merchant fell upon his knees and tried to think of something to say to soften the heart of the cruel Beast; and at last he said, "Sir, I only stole this rose because my youngest daughter asked me to bring her one. I did not think, after all you have given me, that you would grudge me a flower." "Tell me about this daughter of yours," said the Beast suddenly. "Is she a good girl?" "The best and dearest in the world," said the old merchant. And then he began to weep, to think that he must die and leave his Beauty alone in the world, with no one to be kind to her. "Oh!" he cried, "what will my poor children do without me?" "You should have thought of that before you stole the rose," said the Beast. "However, if one of your daughters loves you well enough to suffer instead of you, she may. Go back and tell them what has happened to you, but you must give me your promise that either you, or one of your daughters, shall be at my palace door in three months' time from to-day." The wretched man promised. "At any rate," he thought, "I shall have three months more of life." Then the Beast said, "I will not let you go empty-handed." So the merchant followed him back into the palace. There, on the floor of the hall, lay a great and beautiful chest of wrought silver. "Fill this with any treasures that take your fancy," said the Beast. And the merchant filled it up with precious things from the Beast's treasure-house. "I will send it home for you," said the Beast, shutting down the lid. And so, with a heavy heart, the merchant went away; but as he went through the palace gate, the Beast called to him that he had forgotten Beauty's rose, and at the same time held out to him a large bunch of the very best. The merchant put these into Beauty's hand when she ran to meet him at the door of their cottage. "Take them, my child," he said, "and cherish them, for they have cost your poor father his life." And with that he sat down and told them the whole story. The two elder sisters wept and wailed, and of course blamed Beauty for all that had happened. "If it had not been for your wanting a rose, our father would have left the palace in safety, with his new suit and his gold pieces; but your foolishness has cost him his life." "No," said Beauty, "it is _my_ life that shall be sacrificed, for when the three months are over, I shall go to the Beast, and he may kill me if he will, but he shall never hurt my dear father." The father tried hard to persuade her not to go, but she had made up her mind, and at the end of the three months she set out for the Beast's palace. Her father went with her, to show her the way. As before, he saw the lights shining through the wood, knocked and rang in vain at the great gate, warmed himself at the fire in the big hall, and then found the little room with the supper on the table that made you hungry to look at. Only this time the table was laid for two. "Come, father dear," said Beauty, "take comfort. I do not think the Beast means to kill me, or surely he would not have given me such a good supper." But the next moment the Beast came into the room. Beauty screamed and clung to her father. "Don't be frightened," said the Beast gently, "but tell me, do you come here of your own free will?" "Yes," said Beauty, trembling. "You are a good girl," said the Beast, and then, turning to the old man, he told him that he might sleep there for that night, but in the morning he must go and leave his daughter behind him. They went to bed and slept soundly, and the next morning the father departed, weeping bitterly. Beauty, left alone, tried not to feel frightened. She ran here and there through the palace, and found it more beautiful than anything she had ever imagined. The most beautiful set of rooms in the palace had written over the doors, "Beauty's Rooms," and in them she found books and music, canary-birds and Persian cats, and everything that could be thought of to make the time pass pleasantly. "Oh, dear!" she said; "if only I could see my poor father I should be almost happy." As she spoke, she happened to look at a big mirror, and in it she saw the form of her father reflected, just riding up to the door of his cottage. That night, when Beauty sat down to supper, the Beast came in. "May I have supper with you?" said he. "That must be as you please," said Beauty. So the Beast sat down to supper with her, and when it was finished, he said: "I am very ugly, Beauty, and I am very stupid, but I love you; will you marry me?" "No, Beast," said Beauty gently. The poor Beast sighed and went away. And every night the same thing happened. He ate his supper with her, and then asked her if she would marry him. And she always said, "No, Beast." All this time she was waited on by invisible hands, as though she had been a queen. Beautiful music came to her ears without her being able to see the musicians, but the magic looking-glass was best of all, for in it she could see whatever she wished. As the days went by, and her slightest wish was granted, almost before she knew what she wanted, she began to feel that the Beast must love her very dearly, and she was very sorry to see how sad he looked every night when she said "No" to his offer of marriage. One day, she saw in her mirror that her father was ill, so that night she said to the Beast: "Dear Beast, you are so good to me, will you let me go home to see my father? He is ill, and he thinks that I am dead. Do let me go and cheer him up, and I will promise faithfully to return to you." "Very well," said the Beast kindly, "but don't stay away more than a week, for if you do, I shall die of grief, because I love you so dearly." "How shall I reach home?" said Beauty; "I do not know the way." Then the Beast gave her a ring, and told her to put it on her finger when she went to bed, turn the ruby towards the palm of her hand, and then she would wake up in her father's cottage. When she wanted to come back, she was to do the same thing. So in the morning, when she awoke, she found herself at her father's house, and the old man was beside himself with joy to see her safe and sound. But her sisters did not welcome her very kindly, and when they heard how kind the Beast was to her, they envied her her good luck in living in a beautiful palace, whilst they had to be content with a cottage. "I wish we had gone," said Marigold. "Beauty always gets the best of everything." "Tell us all about your grand palace," said Dressalinda, "and what you do, and how you spend your time." So Beauty, thinking it would amuse them to hear, told them, and their envy increased day by day. At last Dressalinda said to Marigold: "She has promised to return in a week. If we could only make her forget the day, the Beast might be angry and kill her, and then there would be a chance for us." So on the day before she ought to have gone back, they put, some poppy juice in a cup of wine which they gave her, and this made her so sleepy that she slept for two whole days and nights. At the end of that time her sleep grew troubled, and she dreamed that She saw the Beast lying dead among the roses in the beautiful gardens of his palace; and from this dream she awoke crying bitterly. Although she did not know that a week and two days had gone by since she left the Beast, yet after that dream she at once turned the ruby towards her palm, and the next morning there she was, sure enough, in her bed in the Beast's palace. She did not know where his rooms in the palace were, but she felt she could not wait till supper-time before seeing him, so she ran hither and thither, calling his name. But the palace was empty, and no one answered her when she called. Then she ran through the gardens, calling his name again and again, but still there was silence. "Oh! what shall I do if I cannot find him?" she said. "I shall never be happy again." Then she remembered her dream, and ran to the rose garden, and there, sure enough, beside the basin of the big fountain, lay the poor Beast without any sign of life in him. Beauty flung herself on her knees beside him. "Oh, dear Beast," she cried, "and are you really dead? Alas! alas! then I, too, will die, for I cannot live without you." Immediately the Beast opened his eyes, sighed, and said: "Beauty, will you marry me?" And Beauty, beside herself with joy when she found that he was still alive, answered: "Yes, yes, dear Beast, for I love you dearly." At these words the rough fur dropped to the ground, and in place of the Beast stood a handsome Prince, dressed in a doublet of white and silver, like one made ready for a wedding. He knelt at Beauty's feet and clasped her hands. "Dear Beauty," he said, "nothing but your love could have disenchanted me. A wicked fairy turned me into a Beast, and condemned me to remain one until some fair and good maiden should love me well enough to marry me, in spite of my ugliness and stupidity. Now, dear one, the enchantment is broken; let us go back to my palace. You will find that all my servants--who, too, have been enchanted, and have waited on you all this long time with invisible hands--will now become visible." So they returned to the palace, which by this time was crowded with courtiers, eager to kiss the hands of the Prince and his bride. And the Prince whispered to one of his attendants, who went out, and in a very little time came back with Beauty's father and sisters. The sisters were condemned to be changed into statues, and to stand at the right and left of the palace gates until their hearts should be softened, and they should be sorry for their unkindness to their sister. But Beauty, happily married to her Prince, went secretly to the statues every day and wept over them. And by her tears their stony hearts were softened, and they were changed into flesh and blood again, and were good and kind for the rest of their lives. And Beauty and the Beast, who was a Beast no more, but a handsome Prince, lived happily ever after. And indeed I believe they are living happily still, in the beautiful land where dreams come true. * * * * * THE WHITE CAT BY THE COMTESSE D'AULNOY There was once a King who had three sons, and because they were all so good and so handsome, he could not make up his mind to which of them to give his kingdom. For he was growing an old man, and began to think it would soon be time for him to let one of them reign in his stead. So he determined to set them a task to perform, and whichever should be the most successful was to have the kingdom as his reward. It was some time before he could decide what the task should be. But at last he told them that he had a fancy for a very beautiful little dog, and that they were all to set out to find one for him. They were to have a whole year in which to search, and were all to return to the castle on the same day, and present the various dogs they had chosen at the same hour. The three Princes were greatly surprised by their father's sudden fancy for a little dog, but when they heard that whichever of them brought back the prettiest little animal was to succeed his father on the throne, they made no further objection, for it gave the two younger sons a chance they would not otherwise have had of being King. So they bade their father good-bye, and after agreeing to be back at the castle at the same hour, and on the same day, when a year should have passed away, the three brothers all started together. A great number of lords and servants accompanied them out of the city, but when they had ridden about a league they sent everyone back, and after embracing one another affectionately, they all set out to try their luck in different directions. The two eldest met with many adventures on their travels, but the youngest saw the most wonderful sights of all. He was young and handsome, and as clever as a Prince should be, besides being brave. Wherever he went he enquired for dogs, and hardly a day passed without his buying several, big and little, greyhounds, spaniels, lap-dogs, and sheep-dogs--in fact, every kind of dog that you could think of, and very soon he had a troop of fifty or sixty trotting along behind him, one of which he thought would surely win the prize. So he journeyed on from day to day, not knowing where he was going, until one night he lost his way in a thick dark forest, and after wandering many weary miles in the wind and rain he was glad to see at last a bright light shining through the trees. He thought he must be near some woodcutter's cottage, but what was his surprise when he found himself before the gateway of a splendid castle! At first he hesitated about entering, for his garments were travel stained, and he was drenched with rain, so that no one could have possibly taken him for a Prince. All the beautiful little dogs he had taken so much trouble to collect had been lost in the forest, and he was thoroughly weary and disheartened. However, something seemed to bid him enter the castle, so he pulled the bell. Immediately the gateway flew open, and a number of beautiful white hands appeared, and beckoned to him to cross the courtyard and enter the great hall. Here he found a splendid fire blazing, beside which stood a comfortable arm-chair; the hands pointed invitingly towards it, and as soon as the Prince had seated himself they proceeded to take off his wet, muddy clothes, and dress him in a magnificent suit of silk and velvet. When he was ready, the hands led him into a brilliantly-lighted room, in which was a table spread for supper. At the end of the room was a raised platform, upon which a number of cats were seated, all playing different musical instruments. The Prince began to think he must be dreaming, when the door opened, and a lovely little White Cat came in. She wore a long black veil, and was accompanied by a number of cats, dressed in black, and carrying swords. She came straight up to the Prince, and in a sweet, sad little voice bade him welcome. Then she ordered supper to be served, and the whole company sat down together. They were waited upon by the mysterious hands, but many of the dishes were not to the Prince's liking. Stewed rats and mice may be a first-rate meal for a cat, but the Prince did not feel inclined to try them. However, the White Cat ordered the hands to serve the Prince with the dishes he liked best, and at once, without his even mentioning his favorite food, he was supplied with every dainty he could think of. After the Prince had satisfied his hunger, he noticed that the Cat wore a bracelet upon her paw, in which was set a miniature of himself; but when he questioned her about it, she sighed, and seemed so sad that, like a well-behaved Prince, he said no more about the matter. Soon after supper, the hands conducted him to bed, when he at once fell fast asleep, and did not awaken until late the next morning. On looking out of his window, he saw that the White Cat and her attendants were about to start out on a hunting expedition. As soon as the hands had dressed him in a hunting-suit of green, he hurried down to join his hostess. The hands led him up to a wooden horse, and seemed to expect him to mount. At first the Prince was inclined to be angry, but the White Cat told him so gently that she had no better steed to offer him, that he at once mounted, feeling very much ashamed of his ill-humor. They had an excellent day's sport. The White Cat, who rode a monkey, proved herself a clever huntress, climbing the tallest trees with the greatest ease, and without once falling from her steed. Never was there a pleasanter hunting party, and day after day the time passed so happily away that the Prince forgot all about the little dog he was searching for, and even forgot his own home and his father's promise. At length the White Cat reminded him that in three days he must appear at court, and the Prince was terribly upset to think that he had now no chance of winning his father's kingdom. But the White Cat told him that all would be well, and giving him an acorn, bade him mount the wooden horse and ride away. The Prince thought she must be mocking him, but when she held the acorn to his ear, he heard quite plainly a little dog's bark. "Inside this acorn," she said, "is the prettiest little dog in the world. But be sure you do not open the fruit until you are in the King's presence." The Prince thanked her, and having bidden her a sorrowful farewell, mounted his wooden steed and rode away. Before he reached the castle, he met his two brothers, who made fine fun of the wooden horse, and also of the big ugly dog which trotted by his side. They imagined this to be the one their brother had brought back from his travels, hoping that it would gain the prize. When they reached the palace, everyone was loud in praise of the two lovely little dogs the elder brothers had brought back with them, but when the youngest opened his acorn and showed a tiny dog, lying upon a white satin cushion, they knew that this must be the prettiest little dog in the world. However, the King did not feel inclined to give up his throne just yet, so he told the brothers that there was one more task they must first perform: they must bring him a piece of muslin so fine that it would pass through the eye of a needle. So once more the brothers set out upon their travels. As for the youngest, he mounted his wooden horse and rode straight back to his dear White Cat. She was delighted to welcome him, and when the Prince told her that the King had now ordered him to find a piece of muslin fine enough to go through the eye of a needle, she smiled at him very sweetly, and told him to be of good cheer. "In my palace I have some very clever spinners," she said; "and I will set them to work upon the muslin." The Prince had begun to suspect by this time that the White Cat was no ordinary pussy, but whenever he begged her to tell him her history, she only shook her head mournfully and sighed. Well, the second year passed away as quickly as the first, and the night before the day on which the three Princes were expected at their father's court, the White Cat gave the young Prince a walnut, telling him that it contained the muslin. Then she bade him good-by, and he mounted the wooden horse and rode away. This time the young Prince was so late that his brothers had already begun to display their pieces of muslin to the King when he arrived at the castle gates. The materials they had brought were of extremely fine texture, and passed easily through the eye of a darning-needle, but through the small needle the King had provided they would _not_ pass. Then the youngest Prince stepped into the great hall and produced his walnut. He cracked it carefully, and found inside a hazel-nut. This when cracked held a cherrystone, inside the cherrystone was a grain of wheat, and in the wheat a millet-seed. The Prince himself began to mistrust the White Cat, but he instantly felt a cat's claw scratch him gently, so he persevered, opened the millet-seed, and found inside a beautiful piece of soft white muslin that was four hundred ells long at the very least. It passed with the greatest ease through the eye of the smallest needle in the kingdom, and the Prince felt that now the prize must be his. But the old King was still very loth to give up ruling, so he told the Princes that before any one of them could become King he must find a Princess to marry him who would be lovely enough to grace her high station; and whichever of the Princes brought home the most beautiful bride should _really_ have the kingdom for his own. Of course, the Prince went back to the White Cat, and told her how very unfairly his father had behaved to him. She comforted him as best she could, and told him not to be afraid, for she would introduce him to the loveliest Princess the sun had ever shone upon. The appointed time passed happily away, and one evening the White Cat reminded the Prince that on the next day he must return home. "Alas!" said he, "where shall I find a Princess now? The time is so short that I cannot even look for one." Then the White Cat told him that if only he would do as she bade him all would be well. "Take your sword, cut off my head and my tail, and cast them into the flames," she said. The Prince declared that on no account would he treat her so cruelly; but she begged him so earnestly to do as she asked that at last he consented. No sooner had he cast the head and the tail into the fire than a beautiful Princess appeared where the body of the cat had been. The spell that had been cast upon her was broken, and at the same time her courtiers and attendants, who had also been changed into cats, hastened in in their proper forms again, to pay their respects to their mistress. The Prince at once fell deeply in love with the charming Princess, and begged her to accompany him to his father's court as his bride. She consented, and together they rode away. During the journey, the Princess told her husband the story of her enchantment. She had been brought up by the fairies, who treated her with great kindness until she offended them by falling in love with the young man whose portrait the Prince had seen upon her paw, and who exactly resembled him. Now, the fairies wished her to marry the King of the Dwarfs, and were so angry when she declared she would marry no one but her own true love, that they changed her into a White Cat as a punishment. When the Prince and his bride reached the court, all were bound to acknowledge that the Princess was by far the loveliest lady they had ever seen. So the poor old King felt that now he would be obliged to give up his kingdom. But the Princess knelt by his side, kissed his hand gently, and told him that there was no reason for him to cease ruling, for she was rich enough to give a mighty kingdom to each of his elder sons, and still have three left for herself and her dear husband. So everyone was pleased, and there was great rejoicing and feasting in the King's palace, and they all lived happily ever after. * * * * * THE STORY OF PRETTY GOLDILOCKS There was once a Princess so lovely that no one could see her without loving her. Her hair fell about her shoulders in waving masses, and because it was the color of gold, she was called Pretty Goldilocks. She always wore a crown of flowers, and her dresses were embroidered with pearls and diamonds. The fame of her beauty reached a young King, who determined to marry her, although he had never seen her. He sent an ambassador to ask her hand in marriage; and so confident was he that the Princess would return with him, that he made every preparation to receive her. The ambassador arrived at the palace of the Princess with a hundred horses and as many servants. With great ceremony, he presented the King's gifts of pearls and diamonds, together with his message. The Princess, however, did not favor the King's suit, and sent back his gifts with a polite refusal. When the ambassador returned without the Princess, every one blamed him for his failure; and the King's disappointment was so great that no one could console him. Now at the King's court was a young man so handsome and clever that he was called Charming. Every one loved him, except some who were envious because he was the King's favorite. One day Charming rashly remarked that if the King had sent _him_ for the Princess, she would have come back with him. His enemies at once went to the King and used the remark to influence him against Charming. "He thinks himself so handsome that the Princess could not have resisted him, although she refused his King," they told his Majesty. The boastful words so offended the King that he ordered Charming to be shut up in the tower, where he had only straw to lie on and bread and water to eat. In this miserable state he languished for some time, not knowing why he had been imprisoned. One day the King happened to be passing the tower and heard him exclaim: "I am the King's most faithful subject; how have I incurred his displeasure?" Then, in spite of the protests of Charming's enemies, the King ordered the tower-door opened and Charming brought forth. His old favorite sadly knelt and kissed his hand, saying: "Sire, how have I offended?" The King told him of the boast his enemies had repeated. "True, Sire, I did say that had I been sent to plead your cause, it would not have failed for lack of eloquence. Could the Princess see you as my tongue would picture you, I would not return without her." The King at once saw that he had been deceived, and restored Charming to favor. While at supper that night, he confided to him that he was as much in love with Goldilocks as ever, and could not be reconciled to her answer. "Do you think," asked the King, "that she could be induced to change her mind?" Charming replied that he was at the King's service and willing to undertake the task of winning the Princess for him. The King was delighted and offered him a splendid escort, but he asked only for a good horse. Early the next day he set forth, with a resolute heart and the King's letter to the Princess. One day when he had ridden a great distance, he dismounted and sat down under a tree that grew beside a river. He took from his pocket a little book, in which he jotted down some happy thoughts that he meant to use in his plea to the Princess. Not far from where he sat, a golden carp was springing from the water to catch flies, and a bound too high landed it on the grass at Charming's feet. It panted helplessly, and would have died had he not taken pity on it and thrown it back into the river. It sank out of sight, but presently returned to the surface long enough to say: "Thank you, Charming, for saving my life. Some day I may repay you." Naturally, he was greatly surprised at so much politeness from a fish. A few days later, while riding along his way, he saw a raven pursued by an eagle. In a moment more the eagle would have overtaken the raven, had not Charming aimed his arrow in time and killed the pursuer. The raven perched on a tree near by and croaked its gratitude: "You have rescued me from a dreadful fate," it said. "Some day I will repay you." A day or two afterward, in the dusk of early morning, he heard the distressful cries of an owl. Hunting about, he found the unfortunate bird caught in a net which some birdcatchers had spread. "Why will men persecute and torment harmless creatures!" exclaimed Charming, as he set the bird free. The owl fluttered above his head, saying: "You have saved me from the fowlers, who would have killed me. I am not ungrateful, and some day I will repay you!" After that it flew swiftly away. Charming at last reached the palace of the Princess, and asked an audience. His name so pleased her that she at once received him. He was ushered into the presence of the Princess, who sat on a throne of gold and ivory. Her satin dress was embroidered with jewels, and her golden hair was confined by a crown of flowers. Soft music and perfume filled the air, and Charming was so awed by all this splendor that at first he could not speak. Recovering himself in a moment, he told of his mission, and set forth the good qualities of the King in such glowing terms that the Princess listened. "You have argued so eloquently," replied she, "that I regret to deny you; but I have made a vow not to marry, until the ambassador can return to me a ring which I lost in the river a month ago. I valued it more than all my other jewels, and nothing but its recovery can persuade me to your suit." Charming could urge no more, but offered an embroidered scarf and his little dog Frisk as tokens of devotion. These were declined, so bowing low, he reluctantly took leave of the Princess. He believed that she had but used this means to put him off, and his disappointment was so great that he could not sleep. In the morning he and Frisk were walking by the riverside when the dog ran to the water's edge, barking furiously. Joining the little animal, he saw that his excitement was caused by a golden carp which came swimming swiftly toward them. In its mouth was a beautiful ring which it laid in Charming's hand. "You saved my life by the willow-tree," said the carp, "and I now repay you by giving to you the Princess's ring." Charming lost no time in presenting it to the Princess and claiming his reward. "What fairy aids you?" asked the Princess. "Only my wish to serve you," Charming replied. "Alas!" said the Princess, "I cannot marry until Galifron, the giant, is dead. Because I would not take him for my husband, he persecutes my subjects and lays waste my land." "Princess, I will bring back the giant's head to you or die in your defense," bravely declared Charming. The Princess and all the people tried to dissuade him, but he mounted his horse and rode off, accompanied only by his little dog, Frisk. He traveled straight to the giant's castle. All about it were strewn the bones of Galifron's victims. Inside the castle the giant was singing in a terrible voice: "Little children I love to eat; Their bones are tender, their flesh is sweet. I do not care, I eat so many, If their hair be straight, or if they haven't any." Charming called out loudly in reply: "Be not so boastful, Galifron, Till you've met a knight, who May be good to feed upon, But is here to fight you." The giant appeared at the door, club in hand. When he saw Charming fearlessly awaiting him, he came toward him in a terrible rage. But before he could wield his club, a raven lit on his head and pecked at his eyes, so that he dropped his weapon and was at Charming's mercy. When the valiant knight had killed the giant, the raven croaked from a tree near by: "You saved me from the eagle, and I in turn have saved you from the giant." Charming cut off the head of the giant, and carried it back with him to the Princess. Then the people shouted until they were hoarse, and welcomed him as a great hero. "Your enemy is dead," Charming told the Princess. "Will you now make my master the happiest of kings?" "There is," replied the reluctant Princess, "some water which gives eternal health and beauty to those who drink it. I would regret to leave my kingdom without possessing some of it; but no one has dared to brave the two dragons that guard the cavern where the fountain is to be found." "You do not need the water, Princess; but my life is yours to command," gallantly replied Charming; and he set out at once on the perilous mission. When he came to the mouth of the cavern, black smoke issued forth; and presently he perceived the terrible form of a dragon, from whose mouth and eyes fire was darting. Bidding good-by to faithful Frisk, he grasped his sword in one hand and the crystal flask which the Princess had given him in the other. Just then he heard his name called twice, and, looking back, he saw an owl flying toward him. "I can enter the gloomy cavern without danger," the owl said. "Give the flask to me, and I will repay the debt I owe you for having saved me from the net." Charming gladly surrendered the flask to the owl, who in a short time returned it to him filled with the precious water. The Princess this time consented to marry the King, and after many preparations she and Charming started for his kingdom. The journey was made so entertaining for the Princess that she one day said to Charming: "Why did I not make you King, and remain in my own country?" Charming replied that he must have considered his duty to his King, even before a happiness so great. The King, with presents of rich jewels and a splendid escort, met them on the way to the palace. The marriage was celebrated with great pomp, and Charming stood first in the King's favor. His good fortune, however, did not continue long, for envious enemies pointed out to the King that the Princess was never happy unless Charming was near. The unhappy knight was again put into prison, where he was cruelly chained and fed on bread and water. When Goldilocks learned this, she wept and implored the King to set him free. "But for him I never would have been here," she said. "Did he not perform every task I required, even that of getting for me the water whereby I shall never grow old?" The Princess's grief only made the King more jealous, but he determined to make use of this wonderful water of which she had told. It so happened that one of the Princess's ladies had broken the crystal flask and spilled all of the water. Not daring to confess, she put another in its place that exactly resembled it in appearance. This, however, contained a deadly poison. When the King bathed his face with it, he fell into a sleep from which he never awoke. There was great confusion in the palace when the King was found dead. Frisk ran immediately to Charming and told him the news. In a short time Goldilocks also appeared, unlocked his chains, and set him free. "You shall be my husband," said she, "and I will make you King." Charming fell at her feet and expressed his gratitude and joy. They were married soon afterward, and they reigned together for many happy years. * * * * * TOADS AND DIAMONDS A bad-tempered widow had two daughters. The eldest was like her mother, both in feature and disposition, while the youngest resembled her father. She was sweet-natured always, and as pretty as she was amiable. The widow doted on the daughter who was so like herself, but had no love for the other, whom she compelled to work hard all day, and to live upon the leavings of her elder sister. Among her other hard tasks, she was obliged to carry water every day from a great distance. One day when she had just filled her pitcher at the fountain, an old woman asked to drink from it. "With all my heart," replied the pretty girl. Glad to show a kindness to one old and infirm, she held the pitcher while the woman slaked her thirst. Now, this was not a trembling old peasant, as she appeared, but a fairy who rewarded good deeds. "Your face is pretty and your heart is gentle," said she. "For your kindness to a poor old woman, I will make you a gift. Every time you speak, from your mouth shall come a flower or a jewel." When the girl reached home her mother scolded her for her long absence. "Pardon me for being away so long," she sweetly replied. As she spoke some pearls and diamonds issued from her lips. "What is this I see, child?" asked the astonished widow. The forlorn girl was so happy to be called child by her mother that she eagerly related her experience with the old woman at the fountain, while, with her words, dropped precious stones and roses. The widow immediately called her favorite daughter to her. "Fanny, wouldst thou have the same gift as thy sister?" asked she. "Go thou to the fountain and fetch water. And if an old woman asks thee for a drink, mind thou treat her civilly." The girl refused to perform the menial task, until the widow lost patience and drove her to it. Finally, she took the silver tankard and sullenly obeyed. No sooner was she at the fountain than from the wood came a lady most handsomely attired, who asked the haughty girl for a drink from her pitcher. "I have not come here to serve you," she rudely replied, "but take the pitcher and help yourself, for all I care. I would have you know that I am as good as you." The lady was the fairy, who had taken the appearance of a princess to see how far the girl's insolence would go. "I will make you a gift," she said, "to equal your discourtesy and ill breeding. Every time you speak, there shall come from your mouth a snake or a toad." The girl ran home to her mother, who met her at the door. "Well, daughter," she said, impatient to hear her speak. When she opened her mouth, to the mother's horror, two vipers and two toads sprang from it. "This is the fault of your wretched sister," the unhappy mother cried. She ran to beat the poor younger sister, who fled to the forest to escape the cruel blows. When she was past pursuit, she threw herself upon the green grass and wept bitterly. The King's son, returning from the hunt, found her thus, and asked the cause of her tears. "My mother has driven me from my home," she told him. She was so pretty that he fell in love with her at once, and pressed her to tell him more. She then related to him the whole story, while pearls and diamonds kept falling from her lips. Enraptured, he took her to the King, who gave his consent to their immediate marriage. Meanwhile the ugly and selfish sister had made herself so disagreeable that even her own mother turned against her. She, too, was driven forth into the forest, where she died miserable and alone. * * * * * ENGLISH STORIES * * * * * THE HISTORY OF TOM THUMB ADAPTED BY ERNEST RHYS It is said that in the days of the famed Prince Arthur, who was king of Britain, in the year 516 there lived a great magician, called Merlin, the most learned and skilful enchanter in the world at that time. This great magician, who could assume any form he pleased, was traveling in the disguise of a poor beggar, and being very much fatigued, he stopped at the cottage of an honest plowman to rest himself, and ask for some refreshment. The countryman gave him a hearty welcome, and his wife, who was a very good-hearted, hospitable woman, soon brought him some milk in a wooden bowl, and some coarse brown bread on a platter. Merlin was much pleased with this homely repast and the kindness of the plowman and his wife; but he could not help seeing that though everything was neat and comfortable in the cottage, they seemed both to be sad and much cast down. He therefore questioned them on the cause of their sadness, and learned that they were miserable because they had no children. The poor woman declared, with tears in her eyes, that she should be the happiest creature in the world if she had a son; and although he was no bigger than her husband's thumb, she would be satisfied. Merlin was so much amused with the idea of a boy no bigger than a man's thumb, that he made up his mind to pay a visit to the queen of the fairies, and ask her to grant the poor woman's wish. The droll fancy of such a little person among the human race pleased the fairy queen too, greatly, and she promised Merlin that the wish should be granted. Accordingly, in a short time after, the plowman's wife had a son, who, wonderful to relate, was not a bit bigger than his father's thumb. The fairy queen, wishing to see the little fellow thus born into the world, came in at the window while the mother was sitting up in bed admiring him. The queen kissed the child, and giving it the name of Tom Thumb, sent for some of the fairies, who dressed her little favorite as she bade them. "An oak-leaf hat he had for his crown; His shirt of web by spiders spun; With jacket wove of thistle's down; His trousers were of feathers done. His stockings, of apple-rind, they tie With eyelash from his mother's eye: His shoes were made of mouses' skin, Tann'd with the downy hair within." It is remarkable that Tom never grew any larger than his father's thumb, which was only of an ordinary size; but as he got older he became very cunning and full of tricks. When he was old enough to play with the boys, and had lost all his own cherry-stones, he used to creep into the bags of his playfellows, fill his pockets, and, getting out unseen, would again join in the game. One day, however, as he was coming out of a bag of cherry-stones, where he had been pilfering as usual, the boy to whom it belonged chanced to see him. "Ah, ha! my little Tommy," said the boy, "so I have caught you stealing my cherry-stones at last, and you shall be rewarded for your thievish tricks." On saying this, he drew the string tight round his neck, and gave the bag such a hearty shake, that poor little Tom's legs, thighs, and body were sadly bruised. He roared out with the pain, and begged to be let out, promising never to be guilty of such bad practices again. A short time afterwards his mother was making a batter pudding, and Tom being very anxious to see how it was made, climbed up to the edge of the bowl; but unfortunately his foot slipped and he plumped over head and ears into the batter, unseen by his mother, who stirred him into the pudding-bag, and put him in the pot to boil. The batter had filled Tom's mouth, and prevented him from crying; but, on feeling the hot water, he kicked and struggled so much in the pot, that his mother thought that the pudding was bewitched, and, instantly pulling it out of the pot, she threw it to the door. A poor tinker, who was passing by, lifted up the pudding, and, putting it into his budget, he then walked off. As Tom had now got his mouth cleared of the batter, he then began to cry aloud, which so frightened the tinker that he flung down the pudding and ran away. The pudding being broke to pieces by the fall, Tom crept out covered over with the batter, and with difficulty walked home. His mother, who was very sorry to see her darling in such a woful state, put him into a tea-cup, and soon washed off the batter; after which she kissed him, and laid him in bed. Soon after the adventure of the pudding, Tom's mother went to milk her cow in the meadow, and she took him along with her. As the wind was very high, fearing lest he should be blown away, she tied him to a thistle with a piece of fine thread. The cow soon saw the oak-leaf hat, and, liking the look of it, took poor Tom and the thistle at one mouthful. While the cow was chewing the thistle Tom was afraid of her great teeth, which threatened to crush him to pieces, and he roared out as loud as he could, "Mother, mother!" "Where are you, Tommy, my dear Tommy?" said his mother. "Here, mother," replied he, "in the cow's mouth." His mother began to cry and wring her hands; but the cow, surprised at the odd noise in her throat, opened her mouth and let Tom drop out. Fortunately his mother caught him in her apron as he was falling to the ground, or he would have been dreadfully hurt. She then put Tom in her bosom and ran home with him. Tom's father made him a whip of a barley straw to drive the cattle with, and having one day gone into the fields, he slipped a foot and rolled into the furrow. A raven, which was flying over, picked him up, and flew with him to the top of a giant's castle that was near the sea-side, and there left him. Tom was in a dreadful state, and did not know what to do; but he was soon more dreadfully frightened; for old Grumbo the giant came up to walk on the terrace, and seeing Tom, he took him up and swallowed him like a pill. The giant had no sooner swallowed Tom than he began to repent what he hand done; for Tom began to kick and jump about so much that he felt very uncomfortable, and at last threw him up again into the sea. A large fish swallowed Tom the moment he fell into the sea, which was soon after caught, and bought for the table of King Arthur. When they opened the fish in order to cook it, everyone was astonished at finding such a little boy, and Tom was quite delighted to be out again. They carried him to the King, who made Tom his dwarf, and he soon grew a great favorite at court; for by his tricks and gambols he not only amused the King and Queen, but also all the Knights of the Round Table. It is said that when the King rode out on horseback, he often took Tom along with him, and if a shower came on, he used to creep into his Majesty's waistcoat pocket, where he slept till the rain was over. King Arthur one day asked Tom about his parents, wishing to know if they were as small as he was, and whether rich or poor. Tom told the King that his father and mother were as tall as any of the sons about court, but rather poor. On hearing this, the King carried Tom to his treasury, the place where he kept all his money, and told him to take as much money as he could carry home to his parents, which made the poor little fellow caper with joy. Tom went immediately to fetch a purse, which was made of a water-bubble, and then returned to the treasury, where he got a silver three-penny piece to put into it. Our little hero had some trouble in lifting the burden upon his back; but he at last succeeded in getting it placed to his mind, and set forward on his journey. However, without meeting with any accident and after resting himself more than a hundred times by the way, in two days and two nights he reached his father's house in safety. Tom had traveled forty-eight hours with a huge silver-piece on his back, and was almost tired to death, when his mother ran out to meet him, and carried him into the house. Tom's parents were both happy to see him, and the more so as he had brought such an amazing sum of money with him; but the poor little fellow was excessively wearied, having traveled half a mile in forty-eight hours, with a huge silver threepenny-piece on his back. His mother, in order to recover him, placed him in a walnut shell by the fireside, and feasted him for three days on a hazel-nut, which made him very sick; for a whole nut used to serve him a month. Tom was soon well again; but as there had been a fall of rain, and the ground was very wet, he could not travel back to King Arthur's Court; therefore his mother, one day when the wind was blowing in that direction, made a little parasol of cambric paper, and tying Tom to it, she gave him a puff into the air with her mouth, which soon carried him to the King's palace. Just at the time when Tom came flying across the courtyard, the cook happened to be passing with the King's great bowl of porridge, which was a dish his Majesty was very fond of; but unfortunately the poor little fellow fell plump into the middle of it, and splashed the hot porridge about the cook's face. The cook, who was an ill-natured fellow, being in a terrible rage at Tom for frightening and scalding him with the porridge, went straight to the King, and said that Tom had jumped into the royal porridge, and thrown it down out of mere mischief. The King was so enraged when he heard this, that he ordered Tom to be seized and tried for high treason; and there being no person who dared to plead for him, he was condemned to be beheaded immediately. On hearing this dreadful sentence pronounced, poor Tom fell a-trembling with fear, but, seeing no means of escape, and observing a miller close to him gaping with his great mouth, as country boobies do at a fair, he took a leap, and fairly jumped down his throat. This exploit was done with such activity that not one person present saw it, and even the miller did not know the trick which Tom had played upon him. Now, as Tom had disappeared, the court broke up, and the miller went home to his mill. When Tom heard the mill at work he knew he was clear of the court, and therefore he began to roll and tumble about, so that the poor miller could get no rest, thinking he was bewitched; so he sent for a doctor. When the doctor came, Tom began to dance and sing; and the doctor, being as much frightened as the miller, sent in haste for five other doctors and twenty learned men. When they were debating about this extraordinary case, the miller happened to yawn, when Tom, seizing the chance, made another jump, and alighted safely upon his feet on the middle of the table. The miller, who was very much provoked at being tormented by such a little pigmy creature, fell into a terrible rage, and, laying hold of Tom, ran to the King with him; but his Majesty, being engaged with state affairs, ordered him to be taken away, and kept in custody till he sent for him. The cook was determined that Tom should not slip out of his hands this time, so he put him into a mouse-trap, and left him to peep through the wires. Tom had remained in the trap a whole week, when he was sent for by King Arthur, who pardoned him for throwing down the porridge, and took him again into favor. On account of his wonderful feats of activity, Tom was knighted by the King, and went under the name of the renowned Sir Thomas Thumb. As Tom's clothes had suffered much in the batter-pudding, the porridge, and the insides of the giant, miller, and fishes, his Majesty ordered him a new suit of clothes, and to be mounted as a knight. "Of Butterfly's wings his shirt was made, His boots of chicken's hide; And by a nimble fairy blade, Well learned in the tailoring trade, His clothing was supplied-- A needle dangled by his side; A dapper mouse he used to ride, Thus strutted Tom in stately pride!" It was certainly very diverting to see Tom in this dress, and mounted on the mouse, as he rode out a-hunting with the King and nobility, who were all ready to expire with laughter at Tom and his fine prancing charger. One day, as they were riding by a farmhouse, a large cat, which was lurking about the door, made a spring, and seized both Tom and his mouse. She then ran up a tree with them, and was beginning to devour the mouse; but Tom boldly drew his sword, and attacked the cat so fiercely that she let them both fall, when one of the nobles caught him in his hat, and laid him on a bed of down, in a little ivory cabinet. The queen of the fairies came soon after to pay Tom a visit, and carried him back to Fairyland, where he lived several years. During his residence there, King Arthur, and all the persons who knew Tom, had died; and as he was desirous of being again at court, the fairy queen, after dressing him in a suit of clothes, sent him flying through the air to the palace, in the days of King Thunstone, the successor of Arthur. Every one flocked round to see him, and being carried to the King, he was asked who he was--whence he came--and where he lived? Tom answered: "My name is Tom Thumb, From the fairies I've come. When King Arthur shone, His Court was my home. In me he delighted, By him I was knighted; Did you never hear of Sir Thomas Thumb?" The King was so charmed with this address that he ordered a little chair to be made, in order that Tom might sit upon his table, and also a palace of gold, a span high, with a door an inch wide, to live in. He also gave him a coach, drawn by six small mice. The Queen was so enraged at the honor paid to Sir Thomas that she resolved to ruin him, and told the King that the little knight had been saucy to her. The King sent for Tom in great haste, but being fully aware of the danger of royal anger, he crept into an empty snail-shell, where he lay for a long time, until he was almost starved with hunger; but at last he ventured to peep out, and seeing a fine large butterfly on the ground, near his hiding-place, he approached very cautiously, and getting himself placed astride on it, was immediately carried up into the air. The butterfly flew with him from tree to tree and from field to field, and at last he returned to the court, where the King and nobility all strove to catch him; but at last poor Tom fell from his seat into a watering-pot, in which he was almost drowned. When the Queen saw him she was in a rage, and said he should be beheaded; and he was again put into a mouse-trap until the time of his execution. However, a cat, observing something alive in the trap, patted it about till the wires broke, and set Thomas at liberty. The King received Tom again into favor, which he did not live to enjoy, for a large spider one day attacked him; and although he drew his sword and fought well, yet the spider's poisonous breath at last overcame him: "He fell dead on the ground where he stood, And the spider suck'd every drop of his blood." King Thunstone and his whole court were so sorry at the loss of their little favorite, that they went into mourning, and raised a fine white marble monument over his grave, with the following epitaph: "Here lies Tom Thumb, King Arthur's knight, Who died by a spider's cruel bite. He was well known in Arthur's Court, Where he afforded gallant sport; He rode at tilt and tournament, And on a mouse a-hunting went. Alive he filled the Court with mirth; His death to sorrow soon gave birth. Wipe, wipe your eyes, and shake your head And cry--Alas! Tom Thumb is dead!" * * * * * JACK THE GIANT-KILLER ADAPTED BY JOSEPH JACOBS When good King Arthur reigned, there lived near the Land's End of England, in the county of Cornwall, a farmer who had one only son called Jack. He was brisk and of ready, lively wit, so that nobody or nothing could worst him. In those days the Mount of Cornwall was kept by a huge giant named Cormoran. He was eighteen feet in height, and about three yards round the waist, of a fierce and grim countenance, the terror of all the neighboring towns and villages. He lived in a cave in the midst of the Mount, and whenever he wanted food he would wade over to the mainland, where he would furnish himself with whatever came in his way. Everybody at his approach ran out of their houses, while he seized on their cattle, making nothing of carrying half-a-dozen oxen on his back at a time; and as for their sheep and hogs, he would tie them round his waist like a bunch of tallow-dips. He had done this for many years, so that all Cornwall was in despair. One day Jack happened to be at the town hall when the magistrates were sitting in council about the giant. He asked, "What reward will be given to the man who kills Cormoran?" "The giant's treasure," they said, "will be the reward." Quoth Jack, "Then let me undertake it." So he got a horn, shovel, and pickaxe, and went over to the Mount in the beginning of a dark winter's evening, when he fell to work, and before morning had dug a pit twenty-two feet deep, and nearly as broad, covering it over with long sticks and straw. Then he strewed a little mold over it, so that it appeared like plain ground. Jack then placed himself on the opposite side of the pit, farthest from the giant's lodging, and, just at the break of day, he put the horn to his mouth, and blew. This noise roused the giant, who rushed from his cave, crying: "You incorrigible villain, are you come here to disturb my rest? You shall pay dearly for this. Satisfaction I will have, and this it shall be, I will take you whole and broil you for breakfast." He had no sooner uttered this, than he tumbled into the pit, and made the very foundations of the Mount to shake. "Oh Giant," quoth Jack, "where are you now? Oh, faith, you are gotten now into a tight place, where I will surely plague you for your threatening words; what do you think now of broiling me for your breakfast? Will no other diet serve you but poor Jack?" Then having tantalized the giant for a while, he gave him a most weighty knock with his pickaxe on the very crown of his head, and killed him on the spot. Jack then filled up the pit with earth, and went to search the cave, which he found contained much treasure. When the magistrates heard of this they made a declaration he should henceforth be termed: JACK THE GIANT-KILLER and presented him with a sword and a belt, on which were written these words embroidered in letters of gold: "Here's the right valiant Cornish man. Who slew the giant Cormoran." The news of Jack's victory soon spread over all the West of England, so that another giant, named Blunderbore, hearing of it, vowed to be revenged on Jack, if ever he should light on him. This giant was the lord of an enchanted castle situated in the midst of a lonesome wood. Now Jack, about four months afterwards, walking near this wood in his journey to Wales, being weary, seated himself near a pleasant fountain and fell fast asleep. While he was sleeping, the giant, coming there for water, discovered him, and knew him to be the far-famed Jack the Giant-killer by the lines written on the belt. Without ado, he took Jack on his shoulders and carried him towards his castle. Now, as they passed through a thicket, the rustling of the boughs awakened Jack, who was strangely surprised to find himself in the clutches of the giant. His terror was only begun, for, on entering the castle, he saw the ground strewed with human bones, and the giant told him his own would ere long be among them. After this the giant locked poor Jack in an immense chamber, leaving him there while he went to fetch another giant, his brother, living in the same wood, who might share in the meal on Jack. After waiting some time Jack, on going to the window beheld afar off the two giants coming towards the castle. "Now," quoth Jack to himself, "my death or my deliverance is at hand." Now, there were strong cords in a corner of the room in which Jack was, and two of these he took, and made a strong noose at the end; and while the giants were unlocking the iron gate of the castle he threw the ropes over each of their heads. Then he drew the other ends across a beam, and pulled with all his might, so that he throttled them. Then, when he saw they were black in the face, he slid down the rope, and drawing his sword, slew them both. Then, taking the giant's keys, and unlocking the rooms, he found three fair ladies tied by the hair of their heads, almost starved to death. "Sweet ladies," quoth Jack, "I have destroyed this monster and his brutish brother, and obtained your liberty." This said he presented them with the keys, and so proceeded on his journey to Wales. Jack made the best of his way by traveling as fast as he could, but lost his road, and was benighted, and could find no habitation until, coming into a narrow valley, he found a large house, and in order to get shelter took courage to knock at the gate. But what was his surprise when there came forth a monstrous giant with two heads; yet he did not appear so fiery as the others were, for he was a Welsh giant, and what he did was by private and secret malice under the false show of friendship. Jack, having told his condition to the giant, was shown into a bedroom, where, in the dead of night, he heard his host in another apartment muttering these words: "Though here you lodge with me this night, You shall not see the morning light: My club shall dash your brains outright!" "Say'st thou so," quoth Jack; "that is like one of your Welsh tricks, yet I hope to be cunning enough for you." Then, getting out of bed, he laid a log in the bed in his stead, and hid himself in a corner of the room. At the dead time of the night in came the Welsh giant, who struck several heavy blows on the bed with his club, thinking he had broken every bone in Jack's skin. The next morning Jack, laughing in his sleeve, gave him hearty thanks for his night's lodging. "How have you rested?" quoth the giant; "did you not feel anything in the night?" "No," quoth Jack, "nothing but a rat, which gave me two or three slaps with her tail." With that, greatly wondering, the giant led Jack to breakfast, bringing him a bowl containing four gallons of hasty pudding. Being loth to let the giant think it too much for him, Jack put a large leather bag under his loose coat, in such a way that he could convey the pudding into it without its being perceived. Then, telling the giant he would show him a trick, taking a knife, Jack ripped open the bag, and out came all the hasty pudding. Whereupon, saying, "Odds splutters her nails, her can do that trick herself," the monster took the knife, and ripping open his belly, fell down dead. Now, it happened in these days that King Arthur's only son asked his father to give him a large sum of money, in order that he might go and seek his fortune in the principality of Wales, where lived a beautiful lady possessed with seven evil spirits. The King did his best to persuade his son from it, but in vain; so at last gave way and the Prince set out with two horses, one loaded with money, the other for himself to ride upon. Now, after several days' travel, he came to a market-town in Wales, where he beheld a vast crowd of people gathered together. The Prince asked the reason of it, and was told that they had arrested a corpse for several large sums of money which the deceased owed when he died. The Prince replied that it was a pity creditors should be so cruel, and said, "Go bury the dead, and let his creditors come to my lodging, and there their debts shall be paid." They came, in such great numbers that before night he had only twopence left for himself. Now Jack the Giant-killer, coming that way, was so taken with the generosity of the Prince, that he desired to be his servant. This being agreed upon, the next morning they set forward on their journey together, when, as they were riding out of the town, an old woman called after the Prince, saying, "He has owed me twopence these seven years; pray pay me as well as the rest." Putting his hand into his pocket, the Prince gave the woman all he had left, so that after their day's food, which cost what small store Jack had by him, they were without a penny between them. When the sun got low, the King's son said, "Jack, since we have no money, where can we lodge this night?" But Jack replied, "Master, we'll do well enough, for I have an uncle lives within two miles of this place; he is a huge and monstrous giant with three heads; he'll fight five hundred men in armor, and make them to fly before him." "Alas!" quoth the Prince, "what shall we do there? He'll certainly chop us up at a mouthful. Nay, we are scarce enough to fill one of his hollow teeth!" "It is no matter for that," quoth Jack; "I myself will go before and prepare the way for you; therefore stop here and wait till I return." Jack then rode away at full speed, and coming to the gate of the castle, he knocked so loud that he made the neighboring hills resound. The giant roared out at this like thunder, "Who's there?" Jack answered, "None but your poor cousin Jack." Quoth he, "What news with my poor cousin Jack?" He replied, "Dear uncle, bad news, God willing!" "Prithee," quoth the giant, "what bad news can come to me? I am a giant with three heads, and besides thou knowest I can fight five hundred men in armor, and make them fly like chaff before the wind." "Oh, but," quoth Jack, "here's the King's son a-coming with a thousand men in armor to kill you and destroy all that you have!" "Oh, cousin Jack," said the giant, "this is bad news indeed! I will immediately run and hide myself, and thou shalt lock, bolt, and bar me in, and keep the keys until the Prince is gone." Having secured the giant, Jack fetched his master, when they made themselves heartily merry whilst the poor giant lay trembling in a vault under the ground. Early in the morning Jack furnished his master with a fresh supply of gold and silver, and then sent him three miles forward on his journey, at which time the Prince was pretty well out of the smell of the giant. Jack then returned, and let the giant out of the vault, who asked what he should give him for keeping the castle from destruction. "Why," quoth Jack, "I want nothing but the old coat and cap, together with the old rusty sword and slippers which are at your bed's head." Quoth the giant: "You know not what you ask; they are the most precious things I have. The coat will keep you invisible, the cap will tell you all you want to know, the sword cuts asunder whatever you strike, and the shoes are of extraordinary swiftness. But you have been very serviceable to me, therefore take them with all my heart." Jack thanked his uncle, and then went off with them. He soon overtook his master and they quickly arrived at the house of the lady the Prince sought, who, finding the Prince to be a suitor, prepared a splendid banquet for him. After the repast was concluded, she told him she had a task for him. She wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, saying, "You must show me that handkerchief to-morrow morning, or else you will lose your head." With that she put it in her bosom. The Prince went to bed in great sorrow, but Jack's cap of knowledge informed him how it was to be obtained. In the middle of the night she called upon her familiar spirit to carry her to Lucifer. But Jack put on his coat of darkness and his shoes of swiftness, and was there as soon as she was. When she entered the place of the demon, she gave the handkerchief to him, and he laid it upon a shelf, whence Jack took it and brought it to his master, who showed it to the lady next day, and so saved his life. On that day, she gave the Prince a kiss and told him he must show her the lips to-morrow morning that she kissed last night, or lose his head. "Ah!" he replied, "if you kiss none but mine, I will." "That is neither here nor there," said she; "if you do not, death's your portion!" At midnight she went as before, and was angry with the demon for letting the handkerchief go. "But now," quoth she, "I will be too hard for the King's son, for I will kiss thee and he is to show me thy lips." Which she did, and Jack, when she was not standing by, cut off Lucifer's head and, brought it under his invisible coat to his master, who the next morning pulled it out by the horns before the lady. This broke the enchantment and the evil spirit left her, and she appeared in all her beauty. They were married the next morning, and soon after went to the Court of King Arthur, where Jack for his many great exploits, was made one of the Knights of the Round Table. Jack soon went searching for giants again, but he had not ridden far, when he saw a cave, near the entrance of which he beheld a giant sitting upon a block of timber, with a knotted iron club by his side. His goggle eyes were like flames of fire, his countenance grim and ugly, and his cheeks like a couple of large flitches of bacon, while the bristles of his beard resembled rods of iron wire, and the locks that hung down upon his brawny shoulders were like curled snakes or hissing adders. Jack alighted from his horse, and, putting on the coat of darkness, went up close to the giant, and said softly, "Oh! are you there? It will not be long before I take you fast by the beard." The giant all this while could not see him, on account of his invisible coat, so that Jack, coming up close to the monster, struck a blow with his sword at his head, but, missing his aim, he cut off the nose instead. At this, the giant roared like claps of thunder, and began to lay about him with his iron club like one stark mad. But Jack, running behind, drove his sword up to the hilt in the giant's back, so that he fell down dead. This done, Jack cut off the giant's head, and sent it, with his brother's also, to King Arthur, by a wagoner he hired for that purpose. Jack now resolved to enter the giant's cave in search of his treasure, and, passing along through a great many windings and turnings, he came at length to a large room paved with freestone, at the upper end of which was a boiling caldron, and on the right hand a large table, at which the giant used to dine. Then he came to a window, barred with iron, through which he looked and beheld a vast number of miserable captives, who, seeing him, cried out: "Alas! young man, art thou come to be one amongst us in this miserable den?" "Ay," quoth Jack, "but pray tell me what is the meaning of your captivity?" "We are kept here," said one, "till such time as the giants have a wish to feast, and then the fattest among us is slaughtered! And many are the times they have dined upon murdered men!" "Say you so," quoth Jack, and straightway unlocked the gate and let them free, who all rejoiced like condemned men at sight of a pardon. Then searching the giant's coffers, he shared the gold and silver equally amongst them and took them to a neighboring castle, where they all feasted and made merry over their deliverance. But in the midst of all this mirth a messenger brought news that Thunderdell, a giant with two heads, having heard of the death of his kinsman, had come from the northern dales to be revenged on Jack, and was within a mile of the castle, the country people flying before him like chaff. But Jack was not a bit daunted, and said, "Let him come! I have a tool to quiet him; and you, ladies and gentlemen, walk out into the garden, and you shall witness this giant Thunderdell's death and destruction." The castle was situated in the midst of a small island surrounded by a moat thirty feet deep and twenty feet wide, over which lay a drawbridge. So Jack employed men to cut through this bridge on both sides, nearly to the middle; and then, dressing himself in his invisible coat, he marched against the giant with his sword of sharpness. Although the giant could not see Jack, he smelt his approach, and cried out in these words: "Fee, fi, fo, fum! I smell the blood of an Englishman! Be he alive or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make me bread!" "Say'st thou so," said Jack; "then thou art a monstrous miller indeed." The giant cried out again, "Art thou that villain who killed my kinsmen? Then I will tear thee with my teeth, suck thy blood, and grind thy bones to powder." "You'll have to catch me first," quoth Jack, and throwing off his invisible coat, so that the giant might see him, and putting on his shoes of swiftness, he ran from the giant, who followed like a walking castle, so that the very foundations of the earth seemed to shake at every step. Jack led him a long dance, in order that the gentlemen and ladies might see; and at last to end the matter, ran lightly over the drawbridge, the giant, in full speed, pursuing him with his club. Then, coming to the middle of the bridge, the giant's great weight broke it down, and he tumbled headlong into the water, where he rolled and wallowed like a whale. Jack, standing by the moat, laughed at him all the while; but though the giant foamed to hear him scoff, and plunged from place to place in the moat, yet he could not get out to be revenged. Jack at length got a cart rope and cast it over the two heads of the giant and drew him ashore by a team of horses, and then cut off both his heads with his sword of sharpness, and sent them to King Arthur. After some time spent in mirth and pastime, Jack, taking leave of the knights and ladies, set out for new adventures. Through many woods he passed, and came at length to the foot of a high mountain. Here, late at night, he found a lonesome house, and knocked at the door, which was opened by an aged man with a head as white as snow. "Father," said Jack, "can you lodge a benighted traveler that has lost his way?" "Yes," said the old man; "you are right welcome to my poor cottage." Whereupon Jack entered, and down they sat together, and the old man began to speak as follows: "Son, I see by your belt you are the great conqueror of giants, and behold, my son, on the top of this mountain is an enchanted castle; this is kept by a giant named Galligantua, and he, by the help of an old conjurer, betrays many knights and ladies into his castle, where by magic art they are transformed into sundry shapes and forms. But above all, I grieve for a duke's daughter, whom they fetched from her father's garden, carrying her through the air in a burning chariot drawn by fiery dragons. When they secured her within the castle, they transformed her into a white hind. And though many knights have tried to break the enchantment, and work her deliverance, yet no one could accomplish it, on account of two dreadful griffins which are placed at the castle gate and which destroy every one who comes near. But you, my son, may pass by them undiscovered, then on the gates of the castle you will find engraven in large letters how the spell may be broken." Jack gave the old man his hand, and promised that in the morning he would venture his life to free the lady. In the morning Jack arose and put on his invisible coat and magic cap and shoes, and prepared himself for the fray. Now, when he had reached the top of the mountain he soon discovered the two fiery griffins, but passed them without fear, because of his invisible coat. When he had got beyond them, he found upon the gates of the castle a golden trumpet hung by a silver chain, under which these lines were engraved: "Whoever shall this trumpet blow, Shall soon the giant overthrow, And break the black enchantment straight; So all shall be in happy state." Jack had no sooner read this but he blew the trumpet, at which the castle trembled to its vast foundations, and the giant and conjurer were in horrid confusion, biting their thumbs and tearing their hair, knowing their wicked reign was at an end. Then the giant stooping to take up his club, Jack at one blow cut off his head; whereupon the conjurer, mounting up into the air, was carried away in a whirlwind. Then the enchantment was broken, and all the lords and ladies who had so long been transformed into birds and beasts returned to their proper shapes, and the castle vanished away in a cloud of smoke. This being done, the head of Galligantua was likewise, in the usual manner, conveyed to the Court of King Arthur, where, the very next day, Jack followed, with the knights and ladies who had been delivered. Whereupon, as a reward for his good services, the King prevailed upon the duke to bestow his daughter in marriage on honest Jack. So married they were, and the whole kingdom was filled with joy at the wedding. Furthermore, the King bestowed on Jack a noble castle, with a very beautiful estate thereto belonging, where he and his lady lived in great joy and happiness all the rest of their days. * * * * * THE THREE SILLIES ADAPTED BY JOSEPH JACOBS Once upon a time there was a farmer and his wife who had one daughter, and she was courted by a gentleman. Every evening he used to come and see her, and stop to supper at the farmhouse, and the daughter used to be sent down into the cellar to draw the beer for supper. So one evening she had gone down to draw the beer, and she happened to look up at the ceiling while she was drawing, and she saw a mallet stuck in one of the beams. It must have been there a long, long time, but somehow or other she had never noticed it before, and she began a-thinking. And she thought it was very dangerous to have that mallet there, for she said to herself: "Suppose him and me was to be married, and we was to have a son, and he was to grow up to be a man, and come down into the cellar to draw the beer, like as I'm doing now, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him, what a dreadful thing it would be!" And she put down the candle and the jug, and sat herself down and began a-crying. Well, they began to wonder upstairs how it was that she was so long drawing the beer, and her mother went down to see after her, and she found her sitting on the settle crying, and the beer running over the floor. "Why, whatever is the matter?" said her mother. "Oh, mother!" says she, "look at that horrid mallet! Suppose we was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down to the cellar to draw the beer, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him, what a dreadful thing it would be!" "Dear, dear! what a dreadful thing it would be!" said the mother, and she sat her down beside the daughter and started crying too. Then after a bit the father began to wonder that they didn't come back, and he went down into the cellar to look after them himself, and there they two sat crying, and the beer running all over the floor. "Whatever is the matter?" says he. "Why," says the mother, "look at that horrid mallet. Just suppose, if our daughter and her sweetheart was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down into the cellar to draw the beer, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him, what a dreadful thing it would be!" "Dear, dear, dear! so it would!" said the father, and he sat himself down aside of the other two, and started a-crying. Now the gentleman got tired of stopping up in the kitchen by himself, and at last he went down into the cellar too, to see what they were after; and there they three sat crying side by side, and the beer running all over the floor. And he ran straight and turned the tap. Then he said: "Whatever are you three doing, sitting there crying, and letting the beer run all over the floor?" "Oh!" says the father, "look at that horrid mallet! Suppose you and our daughter was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down into the cellar to draw the beer, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him!" And then they all started crying worse than before. But the gentleman burst out laughing, and reached up and pulled out the mallet, and then he said: "I've traveled many miles, and I never met three such big sillies as you three before; and now I shall start out on my travels again, and when I can find three bigger sillies than you three, then I'll come back and marry your daughter." So he wished them good-by, and started off on his travels, and left them all crying because the girl had lost her sweetheart. Well, he set out, and he traveled a long way, and at last he came to a woman's cottage that had some grass growing on the roof. And the woman was trying to get her cow to go up a ladder to the grass, and the poor thing durst not go. So the gentleman asked the woman what she was doing. "Why, lookye," she said, "look at all that beautiful grass. I'm going to get the cow on to the roof to eat it. She'll be quite safe, for I shall tie a string round her neck, and pass it down the chimney, and tie it to my wrist as I go about the house, so she can't fall off without my knowing it." "Oh, you poor silly!" said the gentleman, "you should cut the grass and throw it down to the cow!" But the woman thought it was easier to get the cow up the ladder than to get the grass down, so she pushed her and coaxed her and got her up, and tied a string round her neck, and passed it down the chimney, and fastened it to her own wrist. And the gentleman went on his way, but he hadn't gone far when the cow tumbled off the roof, and hung by the string tied round her neck, and it strangled her. And the weight of the cow tied to her wrist pulled the woman up the chimney, and she stuck fast halfway and was smothered in the soot. Well, that was one big silly. And the gentleman went on and on, and he went to an inn to stop the night, and they were so full at the inn that they had to put him in a double-bedded room, and another traveler was to sleep in the other bed. The other man was a very pleasant fellow, and they got very friendly together; but in the morning, when they were both getting up, the gentleman was surprised to see the other hang his trousers on the knobs of the chest of drawers and run across the room and try to jump into them, and he tried over and over again, and couldn't manage it; and the gentleman wondered whatever he was doing it for. At last he stopped and wiped his face with his handkerchief. "Oh dear," he says, "I do think trousers are the most awkwardest kind of clothes that ever were. I can't think who could have invented such things. It takes me the best part of an hour to get into mine every morning, and I get so hot! How do you manage yours?" So the gentleman burst out laughing, and showed him how to put them on; and he was very much obliged to him, and said he never should have thought of doing it that way. So that was another big silly. Then the gentleman went on his travels again; and he came to a village, and outside the village there was a pond, and round the pond was a crowd of people. And they had rakes, and brooms, and pitchforks, reaching into the pond; and the gentleman asked what was the matter. "Why," they say, "matter enough! Moon's tumbled into the pond, and we can't rake her out anyhow!" So the gentleman burst out laughing, and told them to look up into the sky, and that it was only the shadow in the water. But they wouldn't listen to him, and abused him shamefully and he got away as quick as he could. So there were a whole lot of sillies bigger than the three sillies at home. So the gentleman turned back home again and married the farmer's daughter, and if they didn't live happy for ever after, that's nothing to do with you or me. * * * * * CELTIC STORIES * * * * * KING O'TOOLE AND HIS GOOSE ADAPTED BY JOSEPH JACOBS Och, I thought all the world, far and near, had heerd of King O'Toole--well, well, but the darkness of mankind is untellable! Well, sir, you must know, as you didn't hear it afore, that there was a King, called King O'Toole, who was a fine old King in the old ancient times, long ago; and it was he that owned the churches in the early days. The King, you see was the right sort; he was the real boy, and loved sport as he loved his life, and hunting in particular; and from the rising o' the sun, up he got, and away he went over the mountains after the deer; and fine times they were. Well, it was all mighty good, as long as the King had his health; but, you see, in the course of time the King grew old, by raison he was stiff in his limbs, and when he got stricken in years, his heart failed him, and he was lost entirely for want o' diversion, because he couldn't go a-hunting no longer; and, by dad the poor King was obliged at last to get a goose to divert him. Oh, you may laugh, if you like, but it's truth I'm telling you; and the way the goose diverted him was this-a-way: You see, the goose used to swim across the lake, and go diving for trout, and catch fish on a Friday for the King, and flew every other day round about the lake, diverting the poor King. All went on mighty well until, by dad, the goose got stricken in years like her master, and couldn't divert him no longer, and then it was that the poor King was lost entirely. The King was walkin' one mornin' by the edge of the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate, and thinking of drowning himself, that could get no diversion in life, when all of a sudden, turning round the corner, whom should he meet but a mighty decent young man coming up to him. "God save you," says the King to the young man. "God save you kindly, King O'Toole," says the young man. "True for you," says the King. "I am King O'Toole," says he, "prince and plennypennytinchery of these parts," says he; "but how came ye to know that?" says he. "Oh, never mind," says Saint Kavin. You see it was Saint Kavin, sure enough--the saint himself in disguise, and nobody else. "Oh, never mind," says he, "I know more than that. May I make bold to ask how is your goose, King O'Toole?" says he. "Blur-an-agers, how came ye to know about my goose?" says the King. "Oh, no matter; I was given to understand it," says Saint Kavin. After some more talk the King says, "What are you?" "I'm an honest man," says Saint Kavin. "Well, honest man," says the King, "and how is it you make your money so aisy?" "By makin' old things as good as new," says Saint Kavin. "Is it a tinker you are?" says the King. "No," says the saint; "I'm no tinker by trade, King O'Toole; I've a better trade than a tinker," says he--"what would you say," says he, "If I made your old goose as good as new?" My dear, at the word of making his goose as good as new, you'd think the poor old King's eyes were ready to jump out of his head. With that the King whistled, and down came the poor goose, just like a hound, waddling up to the poor cripple, her master, and as like him as two peas. The minute the saint clapt his eyes on the goose, "I'll do the job for you," says he, "King O'Toole." "By _Jaminee_!" says King O'Toole, "if you do, I'll say you're the cleverest fellow in the seven parishes." "Oh, by dad," says St. Kavin, "you must say more nor that--my horn's not so soft all out," says he, "as to repair your old goose for nothing; what'll you gi' me if I do the job for you?--that's the chat," says Saint Kavin. "I'll give you whatever you ask," says the King; "isn't that fair?" "Divil a fairer," says the saint, "that's the way to do business. Now," says he, "this is the bargain I'll make with you, King O'Toole: will you gi' me all the ground the goose flies over, the first offer, after I make her as good as new?" "I will," says the King. "You won't go back o' your word?" says Saint Kavin. "Honor bright!" says King O'Toole, holding out his fist. "Honor bright!" says Saint Kavin, back again, "it's a bargain. Come here!" says he to the poor old goose--"come here, you unfortunate ould cripple, and it's I that'll make you the sporting bird." With that, my dear, he took up the goose by the two wings--"Criss o' my cross an you," says he, markin' her to grace with the blessed sign at the same minute--and throwing her up in the air, "whew," says he, jist givin' her a blast to help her; and with that, my jewel, she took to her heels, flyin' like one o' the eagles themselves, and cutting as many capers as a swallow before a shower of rain. Well, my dear, it was a beautiful sight to see the King standing with his mouth open, looking at his poor old goose flying as light as a lark, and better than ever she was; and when she lit at his feet, patted her on the head, and "_Mavourneen_," says he, "but you are the _darlint_ o' the world." "And what do you say to me," says Saint Kavin, "for making her the like?" "By Jabers," says the King, "I say nothing beats the art o' man, barring the bees." "And do you say no more nor that?" says Saint Kavin. "And that I'm beholden to you," says the King. "But will you gi' me all the ground the goose flew over?" says Saint Kavin. "I will," says King O'Toole, "and you're welcome to it," says he, "though it's the last acre I have to give." "But you'll keep your word true," says the saint. "As true as the sun," says the King. "It's well for you, King O'Toole, that you said that word," says he; "for if you didn't say that word, the divil the bit o' your goose would ever fly agin." When the King was as good as his word, Saint Kavin was pleased with him, and then it was that he made himself known to the King. "And," says he, "King O'Toole, you're a dacent man, for I only came here to try you. You don't know me," says he, "because I'm disguised." "Musha! then," says the King, "who are you?" "I'm Saint Kavin," said the saint, blessing himself. "Oh, queen of heaven!" says the King, making the sign of the cross between his eyes, and falling down on his knees before the saint; "is it the great Saint Kavin," says he, "that I've been discoursing all this time without knowing it," says he, "all as one as if he was a lump of a _gossoon_?--and so you're a saint?" says the King. "I am," says Saint Kavin. "By Jabers, I thought I was only talking to a dacent boy," says the King. "Well, you know the difference now," says the saint. "I'm Saint Kavin," says he, "the greatest of all the saints." And so the King had his goose as good as new, to divert him as long as he lived; and the saint supported him after he came into his property, as I told you, until the day of his death--and that was soon after; for the poor goose thought he was catching a trout one Friday; but, my jewel, it was a mistake he made--and instead of a trout, it was a thieving horse-eel; and instead of the goose killing a trout for the King's supper--by dad, the eel killed the King's goose--and small blame to him; but he didn't ate her, because he darn't ate what Saint Kavin had laid his blessed hands on. * * * * * THE HAUGHTY PRINCESS ADAPTED BY PATRICK KENNEDY There was once a very worthy King, whose daughter was the greatest beauty that could be seen far or near, but she was as proud as Lucifer, and no king or prince would she agree to marry. Her father was tired out at last, and invited every king, and prince, and duke, and earl that he knew or didn't know to come to his court to give her one trial more. They all came, and next day after breakfast they stood in a row in the lawn, and the Princess walked along in the front of them to make her choice. One was fat, and says she: "I won't have you, Beer-barrel!" One was tall and thin, and to him she said, "I won't have you, Ramrod!" To a white-faced man she said, "I won't have you, Pale Death;" and to a red-cheeked man she said, "I won't have you, Cockscomb!" She stopped a little before the last of all, for he was a fine man in face and form. She wanted to find some defect in him, but he had nothing remarkable but a ring of brown curling hair under his chin. She admired him a little, and then carried it off with, "I won't have you, Whiskers!" So all went away, and the King was so vexed, he said to her, "Now to punish your _impedence_, I'll give you to the first beggar-man or singing _sthronshuch_ that calls;" and, as sure as the hearth-money, a fellow all over rags, with hair that came to his shoulders, and a bushy red beard all over his face, came next morning, and began to sing before the parlor window. When the song was over, the hall-door was opened, the singer asked in, the priest brought, and the Princess married to Beardy. She roared and she bawled, but her father didn't mind her. "There," says he to the bridegroom, "is five guineas for you. Take your wife out of my sight, and never let me lay eyes on you or her again." Off he led her, and dismal enough she was. The only thing that gave her relief was the tones of her husband's voice and his genteel manners. "Whose wood is this?" said she, as they were going through one. "It belongs to the King you called Whiskers yesterday." He gave her the same answer about meadows and cornfields, and at last a fine city. "Ah, what a fool I was!" said she to herself. "He was a fine man, and I might have him for a husband." At last they were coming up to a poor cabin. "Why are you bringing me here?" says the poor lady. "This was my house," said he, "and now it's yours." She began to cry, but she was tired and hungry, and she went in with him. Ovoch! there was neither a table laid out, nor a fire burning, and she was obliged to help her husband to light it, and boil their dinner, and clean up the place after; and next day he made her put on a stuff gown and a cotton handkerchief. When she had her house readied up, and no business to keep her employed, he brought home sallies [willows], peeled them, and showed her how to make baskets. But the hard twigs bruised her delicate fingers, and she began to cry. Well, then he asked her to mend their clothes, but the needle drew blood from her fingers, and she cried again. He couldn't bear to see her tears, so he bought a creel of earthenware, and sent her to the market to sell them. This was the hardest trial of all, but she looked so handsome and sorrowful, and had such a nice air about her, that all her pans, and jugs, and plates, and dishes were gone before noon, and the only mark of her old pride she showed was a slap she gave a buckeen across the face when he axed her an impudent question. Well, her husband was so glad, he sent her with another creel the next day; but, faith! her luck was after deserting her. A drunken huntsman came up riding, and his beast got in among her ware, and made _brishe_ of every mother's son of 'em. She went home cryin', and her husband wasn't at all pleased. "I see," said he, "you're not fit for business. Come along, I'll get you a kitchen-maid's place in the palace. I know the cook." So the poor thing was obliged to stifle her pride once more. She was kept very busy, and the footman and the butler would be very impudent about looking for a kiss, but she let a screech out of her the first attempt was made, and the cook gave the fellow such a lambasting with the besom that he made no second offer. She went home to her husband every night, and she carried broken victuals wrapped in papers in her side pockets. A week after she got service there was great bustle in the kitchen. The King was going to be married, but no one knew who the bride was to be. Well, in the evening the cook filled the Princess's pockets with cold meat and puddens, and, says she, "Before you go, let us have a look at the great doings in the big parlor." So they came near the door to get a peep, and who should come out but the King himself, as handsome as you please, and no other but King Whiskers himself. "Your handsome helper must pay for her peeping," said he to the cook, "and dance a jig with me." Whether she would or no, he held her hand and brought her into the parlor. The fiddlers struck up, and away went _him_ with _her_. But they hadn't danced two steps when the meat and the puddens flew out of her pockets. Every one roared out, and she flew to the door, crying piteously. But she was soon caught by the King, and taken into the back parlor. "Don't you know me, my darling?" said he. "I'm both King Whiskers, your husband the ballad-singer, and the drunken huntsman. Your father knew me well enough when he gave you to me, and all was to drive your pride out of you." Well, she didn't know how she was, with fright, and shame, and joy. Love was uppermost, anyhow, for she laid her head on her husband's breast and cried like a child. The maids-of-honor soon had her away and dressed her as fine as hands and pins could do it; and there were her mother and father, too. While the company were wondering what would be the end of the handsome girl and the King, he and his Queen, _who_ they didn't know in her fine clothes, came in, and such rejoicings and fine doings as there was, none of us will ever see, anyway. * * * * * JACK AND HIS MASTER ADAPTED BY JOSEPH JACOBS A poor woman had three sons. The eldest and second eldest were cunning, clever fellows, but they called the youngest Jack the Fool, because they thought he was no better than a simpleton. The eldest got tired of staying at home, and said he'd go look for service. He stayed away a whole year, and then came back one day, dragging one foot after the other, and a poor, wizened face on him, and he was as cross as two sticks. When he was rested and had got something to eat, he told them how he had taken service with the Gray Churl of the Townland of Mischance, and that the agreement was whoever would first say he was sorry for his bargain should get an inch wide of the skin of his back, from shoulder to hips, taken off. If it was the master, he should also pay double wages; if it was the servant, he should get no wages at all. "But the thief," says he, "gave me so little to eat, and kept me so hard at work, that flesh and blood couldn't stand it; and when he asked me once, when I was in a passion, if I was sorry for my bargain, I was mad enough to say I was, and here I am disabled for life." Vexed enough were the poor mother and brothers; and the second eldest said on the spot he'd go and take service with the Gray Churl, and punish him by all the annoyance he'd give him till he'd make him say he was sorry for his agreement. "Oh, won't I be glad to see the skin coming off the old villain's back!" said he. All they could say had no effect: he started off for the Townland of Mischance, and in a twelvemonth he was back just as miserable and helpless as his brother. All the poor mother could say didn't prevent Jack the Fool from starting to see if he was able to regulate the Gray Churl. He agreed with him for a year for twenty pounds, and the terms were the same. "Now, Jack," said the Gray Churl, "if you refuse to do anything you are able to do, you must lose a month's wages." "I'm satisfied," said Jack; "and if you stop me from doing a thing after telling me to do it, you are to give me an additional month's wages." "I am satisfied," said the master. "Or if you blame me for obeying your orders, you must give me the same." "I am satisfied," said the master again. The first day that Jack served he was fed very poorly, and was worked to the saddleskirts. Next day he came into the parlor just before the dinner was served up. They were taking the goose off the spit, but, well becomes Jack, he whipped a knife off the dresser, and cut off one side of the breast, one leg and thigh, and one wing, and fell to. In came the master, and began to abuse him for his assurance. "Oh, you know, master, you're to feed me, and wherever the goose goes won't have to be filled again till supper. Are you sorry for our agreement?" The master was going to cry out he was, but he bethought himself in time. "Oh; no, not at all," said he. "That's well," said Jack. Next day Jack was to go clamp turf on the bog. They weren't sorry to have him away from the kitchen at dinner time. He didn't find his breakfast very heavy on his stomach; so he said to the mistress, "I think, ma'am, it will be better for me to get my dinner now, and not lose time coming home from the bog." "That's true, Jack," said she. So she brought out a good cake, and a print of butter, and a bottle of milk, thinking he'd take them away to the bog. But Jack kept his seat, and never drew rein till bread, butter, and milk had gone down the red lane. "Now, mistress," said he, "I'll be earlier at my work tomorrow if I sleep comfortably on the sheltery side of a pile of dry peat on dry grass, and not be coming here and going back. So you may as well give me my supper, and be done with the day's trouble." She gave him that, thinking he'd take it to the bog; but he fell to on the spot, and did not leave a scrap to tell tales on him; and the mistress was a little astonished. He called to speak to the master in the haggard, and said he, "What are servants asked to do in this country after aten their supper?" "Nothing at all, but to go to bed." "Oh, very well, sir." He went up on the stable-loft, stripped, and lay down, and some one that saw him told the master. He came up. "Jack, you anointed scoundrel, what do you mean?" "To go to sleep, master. The mistress, God bless her, is after giving me my breakfast, dinner, and supper, and yourself told me that bed was the next thing. Do you blame me, sir?" "Yes, you rascal, I do." "Hand me out one pound thirteen and fourpence, if you please, sir." "One divil and thirteen imps, you tinker! what for?" "Oh, I see, you've forgot your bargain. Are you sorry for it?" "Oh, ya--NO, I mean. I'll give you the money after your nap." Next morning early Jack asked how he'd be employed that day. "You are to be holding the plow in that fallow, outside the paddock." The master went over about nine o'clock to see what kind of a plowman was Jack, and what did he see but the little boy driving the bastes, and the sock and coulter of the plow skimming along the sod, and Jack pulling ding-dong agin' the horses. "What are you doing, you contrary thief?" said the master. "An' ain't I strivin' to hold this divil of a plow, as you told me; but that ounkrawn of a boy keeps whipping on the bastes in spite of all I say; will you speak to him?" "No, but I'll speak to you. Didn't you know, you bosthoon, that when I said 'holding the plow,' I meant reddening [plowing up] the ground?" "Faith, an' if you did, I wish you had said so. Do you blame me for what I have done?" The master caught himself in time, but he was so stomached [disconcerted], he said nothing. "Go on and redden the ground now, you knave, as other plowmen do." "An' are you sorry for our agreement?" "Oh, not at all, not at all!" Jack plowed away like a good workman all the rest of the day. In a day or two the master bade him go and mind the cows in a field that had half of it under young corn. "Be sure, particularly," said he, "to keep Browney from the wheat; while she's out of mischief there's no fear of the rest." About noon he went to see how Jack was doing his duty, and what did he find but Jack asleep with his face to the sod, Browney grazing near a thorn-tree, one end of a long rope round her horns, and the other end round the tree, and the rest of the beasts all trampling and eating the green wheat. Down came the switch on Jack. "Jack, you vagabone, do you see what the cows are at?" "And do you blame me, master?" "To be sure, you lazy sluggard, I do." "Hand me out one pound thirteen and fourpence, master. You said if I only kept Browney out of mischief, the rest would, do no harm. There she is as harmless as a lamb. Are you sorry for hiring me, master?" "To be--that is, not at all. I'll give you your money when you go to dinner. Now, understand me; don't let a cow go out of the field nor into the wheat the rest of the day." "Never fear, master!" and neither did he. But the churl would rather than a great deal he had not hired him. The next day three heifers were missing, and the master bade Jack go in search of them. "Where shall I look for them?" said Jack. "Oh, every place likely and unlikely for them all to be in." The churl was getting very exact in his words. When he was coming into the yard at dinner time, what work did he find Jack at but pulling armfuls of the thatch off the roof, and peeping into the holes he was making. "What are you doing there, you rascal?" "Sure, I'm looking for the heifers, poor things!" "What would bring them there?" "I don't think anything could bring them in it; but I looked first into the likely places, that is the cowhouses, and the pastures, and the fields next 'em, and now I'm looking in the unlikeliest place I can think of. Maybe it's not pleasing to you it is." "And to be sure it isn't pleasing to me, you aggravating goose-cap!" "Please, sir, hand me one pound thirteen and fourpence before you sit down to your dinner. I'm afraid it's sorrow that's on you for hiring me at all." "May the div--oh, no; I'm not sorry. Will you begin, if you please, and put in the thatch again, just as if you were doing it for your mother's cabin?" "Oh, faith I will, sir, with a heart and a half;" and by the time the farmer came out from his dinner, Jack had the roof better than it was before, for he made the boy give him new straw. Says the master when he came out: "Go, Jack, and look for the heifers, and bring them home." "And where shall I look for 'em?" "Go and search for them as if they were your own." The heifers were all in the paddock before sunset. Next morning says the master: "Jack, the path across the bog to the pasture is very bad; the sheep does be sinking in it every step; go and make the sheep's feet a good path." About an hour after he came to the edge of the bog, and what did he find Jack at but sharpening a carving knife, and the sheep standing or grazing around. "Is this the way you are mending the path, Jack?" said he. "Everything must have a beginning, master," said Jack, "and a thing well begun is half done. I am sharpening the knife, and I'll have the feet off every sheep in the flock while you'd be blessing yourself." "Feet off my sheep, you anointed rogue! and what would you be taking their feet off for?" "An', sure, to mend the path as you told me. Says you, 'Jack, make a path with the foot of the sheep.'" "Oh, you fool, I meant make good the path for the sheep's feet." "It's a pity you didn't say so, master. Hand me out one pound thirteen and fourpence if you don't like me to finish my job." "Divil do you good with your one pound thirteen and four-pence!" "It's better pray than curse, master. Maybe you're sorry for your bargain?" "And to be sure I am--not yet, anyway." The next night the master was going to a wedding; and says he to Jack, before he set out: "I'll leave at midnight, and I wish you to come and be with me home, for fear I might be overtaken with the drink. If you're there before, you may throw a sheep's eye at me, and I'll be sure to see that they'll give you something for yourself." About eleven o'clock, while the master was in great spirits, he felt something clammy hit him on the cheek. It fell beside his tumbler, and when he looked at it, what was it but the eye of a sheep. Well, he couldn't imagine who threw it at him, or why it was thrown at him. After a little he got a blow on the other cheek, and still it was by another sheep's eye. Well, he was much vexed, but he thought better to say nothing. In two minutes more, when he was opening his mouth to take a sup, another sheep's eye was slapped into it. He sputtered it out, and cried, "Man o' the house, isn't it a great shame for you to have any one in the room that would do such a nasty thing?" "Master," says Jack, "don't blame the honest man. Sure it's only myself that was throwin' them sheep's eyes at you, to remind you I was here, and that I wanted to drink the bride and bridegroom's health. You know yourself bade me." "I know that you are a great rascal; and where did you get the eyes?" "An' where would I get 'em but in the heads of your own sheep? Would you have me meddle with the bastes of any neighbor, who might put me in the Stone Jug for it?" "Sorrow on me that ever I had the bad luck to meet with you." "You're all witness," said Jack, "that my master says he is sorry for having met with me. My time is up. Master, hand me over double wages, and come into the next room, and lay yourself out like a man that has some decency in him, till I take a strip of skin an inch broad from your shoulder to your hip." Every one shouted out against that; but, says Jack, "You didn't hinder him when he took the same strips from the backs of my two brothers, and sent them home in that state, and penniless, to their poor mother." When the company heard the rights of the business, they were only too eager to see the job done. The master bawled and roared, but there was no help at hand. He was stripped to his hips, and laid on the floor in the next room, and Jack had the carving-knife in his hand ready to begin. "Now you cruel old villain," said he, giving the knife a couple of scrapes along the floor: "I'll make you an offer. Give me, along with my double wages, two hundred guineas to support my poor brothers, and I'll do without the strip." "No!" said he, "I'd let you skin me from head to foot first." "Here goes, then," said Jack with a grin; but the first little scar he gave, Churl roared out, "Stop your hand; I'll give the money." "Now, neighbors," said Jack, "you mustn't think worse of me than I deserve. I wouldn't have the heart to take an eye out of a rat itself; I got half a dozen of them from the butcher, and only used three of them." So all came again into the other room, and Jack was made to sit down, and everybody drank his health, and he drank everybody's health at one offer. And six stout fellows saw himself and the master home, and waited in the parlor while he went up and brought down the two hundred guineas, and double wages for Jack himself. When he got home, he brought the summer along with him to the poor mother and the disabled brothers; and he was no more Jack the Fool in the people's mouths, but "Skin-Churl Jack." * * * * * HUDDEN AND DUDDEN AND DONALD O'NEARY ADAPTED BY JOSEPH JACOBS There was once upon a time two farmers, and their names were Hudden and Dudden. They had poultry in their yards, sheep on the uplands, and scores of cattle in the meadow land alongside the river. But for all that they weren't happy, for just between their two farms there lived a poor man by the name of Donald O'Neary. He had a hovel over his head and a strip of grass that was barely enough to keep his one cow, Daisy, from starving, and, though she did her best, it was but seldom that Donald got a drink of milk or a roll of butter from Daisy. You would think there was little here to make Hudden and Dudden jealous, but so it is, the more one has the more one wants, and Donald's neighbors lay awake of nights scheming how they might get hold of his little strip of grass land. One day Hudden met Dudden, and they were soon grumbling as usual, and all to the tune of, "If only we could get that vagabond, Donald O'Neary, out of the country." "Let's kill Daisy," said Hudden at last; "if that doesn't make him clear out, nothing will." No sooner said than agreed; and it wasn't dark before Hudden and Dudden crept up to the little shed where lay poor Daisy, trying her best to chew the cud, though she hadn't had as much grass in the day as would cover your hand. And when Donald came to see if Daisy was all snug for the night, the poor beast had only time to lick his hand once before she died. Well, Donald was a shrewd fellow, and, downhearted though he was, began to think if he could get any good out of Daisy's death. He thought and he thought, and the next day you might have seen him trudging off early to the fair, Daisy's hide over his shoulder, every penny he had jingling in his pockets. Just before he got to the fair, he made several slits in the hide, put a penny in each slit, walked into the best inn of the town as bold as if it belonged to him, and, hanging the hide up to a nail in the wall, sat down. "Some of your best whisky," says he to the landlord. But the landlord didn't like his looks. "Is it fearing I won't pay you, you are?" says Donald; "why, I have a hide here that gives me all the money I want." And with that he hit it a whack with his stick, and out hopped a penny. The landlord opened his eyes, as you may fancy. "What'll you take for that hide?" "It's not for sale, my good man." "Will you take a gold piece?" "It's not for sale, I tell you. Hasn't it kept me and mine for years?" and with that Donald hit the hide another whack, and out jumped a second penny. Well, the long and the short of it was that Donald let the hide go, and, that very evening, who but he should walk up to Hudden's door? "Good evening, Hudden. Will you lend me your best pair of scales?" Hudden stared and Hudden scratched his head, but he lent the scales. When Donald was safe at home, he pulled out his pocketful of bright gold and began to weigh each piece in the scales. But Hudden had put a lump of butter at the bottom, and so the last piece of gold stuck fast to the scales when he took them back to Hudden. If Hudden had stared before, he stared ten times more now, and no sooner was Donald's back turned, than he was off as hard as he could pelt to Dudden's. "Good-evening, Dudden. That vagabond, bad luck to him----" "You mean Donald O'Neary?" "And who else should I mean? He's back here weighing out sackfuls of gold." "How do you know that?" "Here are my scales that he borrowed, and here's a gold piece still sticking to them." Off they went together, and they came to Donald's door. Donald had finished making the last pile of ten gold pieces. And he couldn't finish, because a piece had stuck to the scales. In they walked without an "If you please" or "By your leave." "Well, _I_ never!" that was all _they_ could say. "Good evening, Hudden; good evening, Dudden. Ah! you thought you had played me a fine trick, but you never did me a better turn in all your lives. When I found poor Daisy dead, I thought to myself: 'Well, her hide may fetch something'; and it did. Hides are worth their weight in gold in the market just now." Hudden nudged Dudden, and Dudden winked at Hudden. "Good evening, Donald O'Neary." "Good evening, kind friends." The next day there wasn't a cow or a calf that belonged to Hudden or Dudden but her hide was going to the fair in Hudden's biggest cart, drawn by Dudden's strongest pair of horses. When they came to the fair, each one took a hide over his arm, and there they were walking through the fair, bawling out at the top of their voices, "Hides to sell! hides to sell.'" Out came the tanner: "How much for your hides, my good men?" "Their weight in gold." "It's early in the day to come out of the tavern." That was all the tanner said, and back he went to his yard. "Hides to sell! Fine fresh hides to sell!" Out came the cobbler: "How much for your hides, my men?" "Their weight in gold." "Is it making game of me you are? Take that for your pains," and the cobbler dealt Hudden a blow that made him stagger. Up the people came running from one end of the fair to the other. "What's the matter? What's the matter?" cried they. "Here are a couple of vagabonds selling hides at their weight in gold," said the cobbler. "Hold 'em fast; hold 'em fast!" bawled the innkeeper, who was the last to come up, he was so fat. "I'll wager it's one of the rogues who tricked me out of thirty gold pieces yesterday for a wretched hide." It was more kicks than halfpence that Hudden and Dudden got before they were well on their way home again, and they didn't run the slower because all the dogs of the town were at their heels. Well, as you may fancy, if they loved Donald little before, they loved him less now. "What's the matter, friends?" said he, as he saw them tearing along, their hats knocked in, and their coats torn off, and their faces black and blue. "Is it fighting you've been? or mayhap you met the police, ill luck to them?" "We'll police you, you vagabond. It's mighty smart you thought yourself, deluding us with your lying tales." "Who deluded you? Didn't you see the gold with your own two eyes?" But it was no use talking. Pay for it he must and should. There was a meal-sack handy, and into it Hudden and Dudden popped Donald O'Neary, tied him up tight, ran a pole through the knot, and off they started for the Brown Lake of the Bog, each with a pole-end on his shoulder, and Donald O'Neary between. But the Brown Lake was far, the road was dusty, Hudden and Dudden were sore and weary, and parched with thirst. There was an inn by the roadside. "Let's go in," said Hudden; "I'm dead beat. It's heavy he is for the little he had to eat." If Hudden was willing, so was Dudden. As for Donald, you may be sure his leave wasn't asked, but he was dumped down at the inn door for all the world as if he had been a sack of potatoes. "Sit still, you vagabond," said Dudden; "if we don't mind waiting, you needn't." Donald held his peace, but after a while he heard the glasses clink, and Hudden singing away at the top of his voice. "I won't have her, I tell you; I won't have her!" said Donald. But nobody heeded what he said. "I won't have her, I tell you; I won't have her!" said Donald; and this time he said it louder; but nobody heeded what he said. "I won't have her, I tell you; I won't have her!" said Donald; and this time he said it as loud as he could. "And who won't you have, may I be so bold as to ask?" said a farmer, who had just come up with a drove of cattle, and was turning in for a glass. "It's the King's daughter. They are bothering the life out of me to marry her." "You're the lucky fellow. I'd give something to be in your shoes." "Do you see that, now! Wouldn't it be a fine thing for a farmer to be marrying a Princess, all dressed in gold and jewels?" "Jewels, you say? Ah, now, couldn't you take me with you?" "Well, you're an honest fellow, and as I don't care for the King's daughter, though she's as beautiful as the day, and is covered with jewels from top to toe, you shall have her. Just undo the cord and let me out; they tied me up tight, as they knew I'd run away from her." Out crawled Donald; in crept the farmer. "Now lie still, and don't mind the shaking; it's only rumbling over the palace steps you'll be. And maybe they'll abuse you for a vagabond, who won't have the King's daughter; but you needn't mind that. Ah, it's a deal I'm giving up for you, sure as it is that I don't care for the Princess." "Take my cattle in exchange," said the farmer; and you may guess it wasn't long before Donald was at their tails, driving them homeward. Out came Hudden and Dudden, and the one took one end of the pole, and the other the other. "I'm thinking he's heavier," said Hudden. "Ah, never mind," said Dudden; "it's only a step now to the Brown Lake." "I'll have her now! I'll have her now!" bawled the farmer from inside the sack. "By my faith and you shall, though," said Hudden, and he laid his stick across the sack. "I'll have her! I'll have her!" bawled the farmer, louder than ever. "Well, here you are," said Dudden, for they were now come to the Brown Lake, and, unslinging the sack, they pitched it plump into the lake. "You'll not be playing your tricks on us any longer," said Hudden. "True for you," said Dudden. "Ah, Donald, my boy, it was an ill day when you borrowed my scales!" Off they went, with a light step and an easy heart, but when they were near home, whom should they see but Donald O'Neary, and all around him the cows were grazing, and the calves were kicking up their heels and butting their heads together. "Is it you, Donald?" said Dudden. "Faith, you've been quicker than we have." "True for you, Dudden, and let me thank you kindly; the turn was good, if the will was ill. You'll have heard, like me, that the Brown Lake leads to the Land of Promise. I always put it down as lies, but it is just as true as my word. Look at the cattle." Hudden stared, and Dudden gaped; but they couldn't get over the cattle; fine, fat cattle they were, too. "It's only the worst I could bring up with me," said Donald O'Neary; "the others were so fat, there was no driving them. Faith, too, it's little wonder they didn't care to leave, with grass as far as you could see, and as sweet and juicy as fresh butter." "Ah now, Donald, we haven't always been friends," said Dudden, "but, as I was just saying, you were ever a decent lad, and you'll show us the way, won't you?" "I don't see that I'm called upon to do that; there is a power more cattle down there. Why shouldn't I have them all to myself?" "Faith, they may well say, the richer you get, the harder the heart. You always were a neighborly lad, Donald. You wouldn't wish to keep the luck all to yourself?" "True for you, Hudden, though it's a bad example you set me. But I'll not be thinking of old times. There is plenty for all there, so come along with me." Off they trudged, with a light heart and an eager step. When they came to the Brown Lake the sky was full of little white clouds, and, if the sky was full, the lake was as full. "Ah, now, look! there they are!" cried Donald as he pointed to the clouds in the lake. "Where? where?" cried Hudden, and "Don't be greedy!" cried Dudden, as he jumped his hardest to be up first with the fat cattle. But if he jumped first, Hudden wasn't long behind. They never came back. Maybe they got too fat, like the cattle. As for Donald O'Neary, he had cattle and sheep all his days to his heart's content. * * * * * CONNLA OF THE GOLDEN HAIR AND THE FAIRY MAIDEN ADAPTED BY PATRICK WESTON JOYCE Connla of the Golden Hair was the son of Conn the Hundred-fighter. One day as he stood with his father on the royal Hill of Usna, he saw a lady a little way off, very beautiful, and dressed in strange attire. She approached the spot where he stood; and when she was near, he spoke to her, and asked who she was, and from what place she had come. The lady replied: "I have come from the Land of the Living--a land where there is neither death nor old age, nor any breach of law. The inhabitants of earth call us Aes-shee, for we have our dwellings within large, pleasant, green hills. We pass our time very pleasantly in feasting and harmless amusements, never growing old; and we have no quarrels or contentions." The King and his company marveled very much; for though they heard this conversation, no one saw the lady except Connla alone. "Who is this thou art talking to, my son?" said the King. And anon she answered for the youth: "Connla is speaking with a lovely, noble-born young lady, who will never die, and who will never grow old. I love Connla of the Golden Hair, and I have come to bring him with me to Moy-mell, the plain of never-ending pleasure. On the day that he comes with me he shall be made King, and he shall reign for ever in Fairyland, without weeping and without sorrow. Come with me, O gentle Connla of the ruddy cheek, the fair, freckled neck, and the golden hair! Come with me, beloved Connla, and thou shalt retain the comeliness and dignity of thy form, free from the wrinkles of old age, till the awful day of judgment." "Thy flowing golden hair, thy comely face, Thy all majestic form of peerless grace, That show thee sprung from Conn's exalted race." King Conn the Hundred-fighter being much troubled, called then on his druid Coran, to put forth his power against the witchery of the banshee: "O Coran of the mystic arts and of the mighty incantations, here is a contest such as I have never been engaged in since I was made King at Tara--a contest with an invisible lady, who is beguiling my son to Fairyland by her baleful charms. Her cunning is beyond my skill, and I am not able to withstand her power; and if thou, Coran, help not, my son will be taken away from me by the wiles and witchery of a woman from the fairy hills." Coran the druid then came forward, and began to chant against the voice of the lady. And his power was greater than hers for that time, so that she was forced to retire. As she was going away she threw an apple to Connla, who straightway lost sight of her; and the King and his people no longer heard her voice. The King and the Prince returned with their company to the palace; and Connla remained for a whole month without tasting food or drink except the apple. And though he ate of it each day, it was never lessened, but was as whole and perfect in the end as at the beginning. Moreover, when they offered him aught else to eat or drink he refused it; for while he had his apple he did not deem any other food worthy to be tasted. And he began to be very moody and sorrowful, thinking of the lovely fairy maiden. At the end of the month, as Connla stood by his father's side among the nobles, on the Plain of Arcomin, he saw the lady approaching him from the west. And when she had come near, she addressed him in this manner: "A glorious seat, indeed, has Connla among wretched, short-lived mortals, awaiting the dreadful stroke of death! But now, the ever-youthful people of Moy-mell, who never feel age, and who fear not death, seeing thee day by day among thy friends, in the assemblies of thy fatherland, love thee with a strange love, and they will make thee King over them if thou wilt come with me." When the King heard the words of the lady, he commanded his people to call the druid again to him, saying, "Bring my druid Coran to me; for I see that the fairy lady has this day regained the power of her voice." At this the lady said: "Valiant Conn, fighter of a hundred, the faith of the druids has come to little honor among the upright, mighty, numberless people of this land. When the righteous law shall be restored, it will seal up the lips of the false black demon; and his druids shall no longer have power to work their guileful spells." Now the King observed, and marveled greatly, that whenever the lady was present his son never spoke one word to any one, even though they addressed him many times. And when the lady had ceased to speak, the King said: "Connla, my son, has thy mind been moved by the words of the lady?" Connla spake then, and replied, "Father, I am very unhappy; for though I love my people beyond all, I am filled with sadness on account of this lady!" When Connla had said this, the maiden again addressed him, and chanted these words in a very sweet voice: "A land of youth, a land of rest, A land from sorrow free; It lies far off in the golden west, On the verge of the azure sea. A swift canoe of crystal bright, That never met mortal view-- We shall reach the land ere fall of night, In that strong and swift canoe; We shall reach the strand Of that sunny land, From druids and demons free; The land of rest In the golden west, On the verge of the azure sea! "A pleasant land of winding vales, bright streams, and verdurous plains, Where summer all the live-long year in changeless splendor reigns; A peaceful land of calm delight, of everlasting bloom; Old age and death we never know, no sickness, care, or gloom; The land of youth, Of love and truth, From pain and sorrow free, The land of rest, In the golden west, On the verge of the azure sea! "There are strange delights for mortal men in that island of the west; The sun comes down each evening in its lovely vales to rest; And though far and dim On the ocean's rim It seems to mortal view, We shall reach its halls Ere the evening falls, In my strong and swift canoe; And evermore That verdant shore Our happy home shall be; The land of rest, In the golden west, On the verge of the azure sea! "It will guard thee, gentle Connla of the flowing golden hair, It will guard thee from the druids, from the demons of the air, My crystal boat will guard thee, till we reach that western shore, When thou and I in joy and love shall live for evermore: From the druid's incantation, From his black and deadly snare, From the withering imprecation Of the demon of the air, "It will guard thee, gentle Connla of the flowing golden hair; My crystal boat shall guard thee, till we reach that silver strand Where thou shalt reign in endless joy, the King of the Fairyland!" When the maiden had ended her chant, Connla suddenly walked away from his father's side, and sprang into the curragh, the gleaming, straight-gliding, strong, crystal canoe. The King and his people saw them afar off, and dimly moving away over the bright sea towards the sunset. They gazed sadly after them, till they lost sight of the canoe over the utmost verge; and no one can tell whither they went, for Connla was never again seen in his native land. * * * * * ITALIAN STORIES * * * * * PINOCCHIO'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND[1] BY CARLO LORENZINI I MASTER CHERRY FINDS A QUEER PIECE OF WOOD THERE was once upon a time ... "A king!" my little readers will instantly exclaim. No, children, you are wrong. There was once upon a time a piece of wood. This wood was not valuable; it was only a common log like those that are burnt in winter in the stoves and fireplaces to make a cheerful blaze and warm the rooms. I cannot say how it came about, but the fact is, that one fine day this piece of wood was lying in the shop of an old carpenter of the name of Master Antonio. He was, however, called by everybody Master Cherry, on account of the end of his nose, which was always as red and polished as a ripe cherry. No sooner had Master Cherry set his eyes on the piece of wood than his face beamed with delight; and, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction, he said softly to himself: "This wood has come at the right moment; it will just do to make the leg of a little table." Having said this he immediately took a sharp axe with which to remove the bark and the rough surface. Just, however, as he was going to give the first stroke he remained with his arm suspended in the air, for he heard a very small voice saying imploringly: "Do not strike me so hard!" Picture to yourselves the astonishment of good old Master Cherry! He turned his terrified eyes all around the room to try and discover where the little voice could possibly have come from, but he saw nobody! He looked under the bench--nobody; he looked into a cupboard that was always shut--nobody; he looked into a basket of shavings and sawdust--nobody; he even opened the door of the shop and gave a glance into the street--and still nobody. Who, then, could it be? "I see how it is;" he said, laughing and scratching his wig; "evidently that little voice was all my imagination. Let us set to work again." And taking up the axe he struck a tremendous blow on the piece of wood. "Oh! oh! you have hurt me!" cried the same little voice dolefully. This time Master Cherry was petrified. His eyes started out of his head with fright, his mouth remained open, and his tongue hung out almost to the end of his chin like a mask on a fountain. As soon as he had recovered the use of his speech, he began to say, stuttering and trembling with fear: "But where on earth can that little voice have come from that said 'Oh! oh!?'... Here there is certainly not a living soul. Is it possible that this piece of wood can have learnt to cry and to lament like a child? I cannot believe it. This piece of wood here it is; a log for fuel like all others, and thrown on the fire it would about suffice to boil a saucepan of beans.... How then? Can anyone be hidden inside it? If anyone is hidden inside, so much the worse for him. I will settle him at once." So saying he seized the poor piece of wood and commenced beating it without mercy against the walls of the room. Then he stopped to listen if he could hear any little voice lamenting. He waited two minutes--nothing; five minutes-nothing; ten minutes--still nothing! "I see how it is," he then said, forcing himself to laugh and pushing up his wig; "evidently, the little voice that said 'Oh! oh!' was all my imagination! Let us to work again." But all the same he was in a great fright; he tried to sing to give himself a little courage. Putting the axe aside he took his plane to plane and polish the bit of wood; but whilst he was running it up and down he heard the same little voice say, laughing: "Have done! you are tickling me all over!" This time poor Master Cherry fell down as if he had been struck by lightning. When he at last opened his eyes he found himself seated on the floor. His face was quite changed; even the end of his nose, instead of being crimson, as it was nearly always, had become blue from fright. II GEPPETTO PLANS A WONDERFUL PUPPET At that moment some one knocked at the door. "Come in," said the carpenter, without having the strength to rise to his feet. A lively little old man immediately walked into the shop. His name was Geppetto, but when the boys in the neighborhood wished to put him in a passion they called him by the nickname of Polendina, because his yellow wig greatly resembled a pudding made of Indian corn. Geppetto was very fiery. Woe to him who called him Polendina! He became furious, and there was no holding him. "Good day, Master Antonio," said Geppetto; "what are you doing there on the floor?" "I am teaching the alphabet to the ants." "Much good may that do you." "What has brought you to me, neighbor Geppetto?" "My legs. But to say the truth, Master Antonio, I am come to ask a favor of you." "Here I am ready to serve you," replied the carpenter getting on his knees. "This morning an idea came into my head." "Let us hear it." "I thought I would make a beautiful wooden puppet that should know how to dance, to fence, and to leap like an acrobat. With this puppet I would travel about the world to earn a piece of bread and a glass of wine. What do you think of it?" "Bravo, Polendina!" exclaimed the same little voice, and it was impossible to say where it came from. Hearing himself called Polendina, Geppetto became as red as a turkey-cock from rage, and turning to the carpenter he said in a fury: "Why do you insult me?" "Who insults you?" "You called me Polendina!" "It was not I!" "Would you have it then, that it was I? It was you, I say!" "No!" "Yes!" "No!" "Yes!" And becoming more and more angry, from words they came to blows, and flying at each other they bit, and fought, and scratched manfully. When the fight was over Master Antonio was in possession of Geppetto's yellow wig, and Geppetto discovered that the gray wig belonging to the carpenter had remained between his teeth. "Give me back my wig," screamed Master Antonio. "And you return me mine, and let us make friends." The two old men having each recovered his own wig shook hands, and swore that they would remain friends to the end of their lives. "Well then, neighbor Geppetto," said the carpenter, to prove that peace was made, "what is the favor that you wish of me?" "I want a little wood to make my puppet; will you give me some?" Master Antonio was delighted, and he immediately went to the bench and fetched the piece of wood that had caused him so much fear. Just as he was going to give it to his friend the piece of wood gave a shake and wriggling violently out of his hands struck with all its force against the dried-up shins of poor Geppetto. "Ah! is that the courteous way in which you make your presents, Master Antonio? You have almost lamed me!" "I swear to you that it was not I!" "Then you would have it that it was I?" "The wood is entirely to blame!" "I know that it was the wood, but it was you that hit my legs with it!" "I did not hit you with it!" "Liar!" "Geppetto, don't insult me or I will call you Polendina!" "Ass!" "Polendina!" "Donkey!" "Polendina!" "Baboon!" "Polendina!" On hearing himself called Polendina for the third time Geppetto, blind with rage, fell upon the carpenter and they fought desperately. When the battle was over, Master Antonio had two more scratches on his nose, and his adversary had two buttons less on his waistcoat. Their accounts being thus squared they shook hands, and swore to remain good friends for the rest of their lives. Geppetto carried off his fine piece of wood, and thanking Master Antonio returned limping to his house. III THE PUPPET IS NAMED PINOCCHIO Geppetto lived in a small ground-floor room that was only lighted from the staircase. The furniture could not have been simpler--a bad chair, a poor bed, and a broken-down table. At the end of the room there was a fireplace with a lighted fire; but the fire was painted, and by the fire was painted a saucepan that was boiling cheerfully, and sending out a cloud of smoke that looked exactly like real smoke. As soon as he reached home Geppetto took his tools and set to work to cut out and model his puppet. "What name shall I give him?" he said to himself; "I think I will call him Pinocchio. It is a name that will bring him luck. I once knew a whole family so called. There was Pinocchio the father, Pinocchia the mother, and Pinocchi the children, and all of them did well. The richest of them was a beggar." Having found a name for his puppet he began to work in good earnest, and he first made his hair, then his forehead and then his eyes. The eyes being finished, imagine his astonishment when he perceived that they moved and looked fixedly at him. Geppetto seeing himself stared at by those two wooden eyes, took it almost in bad part, and said in an angry voice: "Wicked wooden eyes, why do you look at me?" No one answered. Then he proceeded to carve the nose; but no sooner had he made it than it began to grow. And it grew, and grew, and grew until in a few minutes it had become an immense nose that seemed as if it would never end. Poor Geppetto tired himself out with cutting it off. But the more he cut and shortened it, the longer did that impertinent nose become! The mouth was not even completed when it began to laugh and deride him. "Stop laughing!" said Geppetto provoked; but he might as well have spoken to the wall. "Stop laughing, I say!" he roared in a threatening tone. The mouth then ceased laughing, but put out its tongue as far as it would go. Geppetto, not to spoil his handiwork, pretended not to see, and continued his labors. After the mouth he fashioned the chin, then the throat, and then the shoulders, the stomach, the arms and the hands. The hands were scarcely finished when Geppetto felt his wig snatched from his head. He turned round, and what did he see? He saw his yellow wig in the puppet's hand. "Pinocchio!... Give me back my wig instantly!" But Pinocchio instead of returning it, put it on his own head, and was in consequence nearly smothered. Geppetto at this insolent and derisive behavior felt sadder and more melancholy than he had ever been in his life before; and turning to Pinocchio he said to him: "You young rascal! You are not yet completed, and you are already beginning to show want of respect to your father! That is bad, my boy, very bad." And he dried a tear. The legs and feet remained to be done. When Geppetto had finished the feet he received a kick on the point of the nose. "I deserve it!" he said to himself; "I should have thought of it sooner! Now it is too late!" He then took the puppet under the arms and placed him on the floor to teach him to walk. Pinocchio's legs were stiff and he could not move, but Geppetto led him by the hand and showed him how to put one foot before the other. When his legs became flexible Pinocchio began to walk by himself and to run about the room; until, having gone out of the house door, he jumped into the street and escaped. Poor Geppetto rushed after him but was not able to overtake him, for that rascal Pinocchio leapt in front of him like a hare, and knocking his wooden feet together against the pavement made as much clatter as twenty pairs of peasant's clogs. "Stop him! stop him!" shouted Geppetto; but the people in the street, seeing a wooden puppet running like a racehorse stood still in astonishment to look at it, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed, until it beats description.... IV THE FIRE-EATER FRIGHTENS PINOCCHIO When Pinocchio came into the little puppet theater, an incident occurred that almost produced a revolution. I must tell you that the curtain was drawn up, and the play had already begun. On the stage Harlequin and Punchinello were as usual quarreling with each other, and threatening every moment to come to blows. The audience, all attention, laughed till they were ill as they listened to the bickerings of these two puppets, who gesticulated and abused each other so naturally that they might have been two reasonable beings, and two persons of the world. All at once Harlequin stopped short, and turning to the public he pointed with his hand to some one far down in the pit, and exclaimed in a dramatic tone: "Gods of the firmament! do I dream, or am I awake? But surely that is Pinocchio!" "It is indeed Pinocchio!" cried Punchinello. "It is indeed himself!" screamed Miss Rose, peeping from behind the scenes. "It is Pinocchio! it is Pinocchio!" shouted all the puppets in chorus, leaping from all sides on to the stage. "It is Pinocchio! It is our brother Pinocchio! Long live Pinocchio!" "Pinocchio, come up here to me," cried Harlequin, "and throw yourself into the arms of your wooden brothers!" At this affectionate invitation Pinocchio made a leap from the end of the pit into the reserved seats; another leap landed him on the head of the leader of the orchestra, and then he sprang upon the stage. The embraces, the hugs, the friendly pinches, and the demonstrations of warm brotherly affection that Pinocchio received from the excited crowd of actors and actresses of the puppet dramatic company beat description. The sight was doubtless a moving one, but the public in the pit, finding that the play was stopped, became impatient, and began to shout "We will have the play--go on with the play!" It was all breath thrown away. The puppets, instead of continuing the recital, redoubled their noise and outcries, and putting Pinocchio on their shoulders they carried him in triumph before the footlights. At that moment out came the showman. He was very big and so ugly that the sight of him was enough to frighten anyone. His beard was as black as ink, and so long that it reached from his chin to the ground. I need only say that he trod upon it when he walked. His mouth was as big as an oven, and his eyes were like two lanterns of red glass with lights burning inside of them. He carried a whip made of snakes and foxes' tails twisted together, which he cracked constantly. At his unexpected appearance there was a profound silence: no one dared to breathe. A fly might have been heard in the stillness. The poor puppets of both sexes trembled like so many leaves. "Why have you come to raise a disturbance in my theater?" asked the showman of Pinocchio in the gruff voice of a hob-goblin suffering from a severe cold in the head. "Believe me, honored sir, that it was not my fault!" "That is enough! To-night we will settle our accounts." As soon as the play was over the showman went into the kitchen where a fine sheep, preparing for his supper, was turning slowly on the spit in front of the fire. As there was not enough wood to finish roasting and browning it, he called Harlequin and Punchinello, and said to them: "Bring that puppet here; you will find him hanging on a nail. It seems to me that he is made of very dry wood, and I am sure that if he was thrown on the fire he would make a beautiful blaze for the roast." At first Harlequin and Punchinello hesitated; but, appalled by a severe glance from their master, they obeyed. In a short time they returned to the kitchen carrying poor Pinocchio, who was wriggling like an eel taken out of water, and screaming desperately, "Papa! papa! save me! I will not die, I will not die!" V. FIRE-EATER SNEEZES AND PARDONS PINOCCHIO The showman Fire-eater--for that was his name--looked, I must say, a terrible man, especially with his black beard that covered his chest and legs like an apron. On the whole, however, he had not a bad heart. In proof of this, when he saw Pinocchio brought before him, struggling and screaming "I will not die, I will not die!" he was quite moved and felt sorry for him. He tried to hold out, but after a little he could stand it no longer and he sneezed violently. When he heard the sneeze, Harlequin, who up to that moment had been in the deepest affliction, and bowed down like a weeping willow, became quite cheerful, and leaning towards Pinocchio he whispered to him softly: "Good news, brother. The showman has sneezed, and that is a sign that he pities you, and consequently you are saved." For you must know that whilst most men when they feel compassion for somebody either weep, or at least pretend to dry their eyes, Fire-eater, on the contrary, had the habit of sneezing. After he had sneezed, the showman, still acting the ruffian, shouted to Pinocchio: "Have done crying! Your lamentations have given me a pain in my stomach ... I feel a spasm, that almost.... Etci! etci!" and he sneezed again twice. "Bless you!" said Pinocchio. "Thank you! And your papa and your mamma, are they still alive?" asked Fire-eater. "Papa, yes: my mamma I have never known." "Who can say what a sorrow it would be to your poor old father if I was to have you thrown amongst those burning coals! Poor old man! I compassionate him!... Etci! etci! etci!" and he sneezed three times. "Bless you!" said Pinocchio. "Thank you! All the same, some compassion is due to me, for you see I have no more wood with which to finish roasting my mutton, and to tell you the truth, under the circumstances you would have been of great use to me! However, I have had pity on you, so I must have patience. Instead of you I will burn under the spit one of the puppets belonging to my company. Ho there, gendarmes!" At this call two wooden gendarmes immediately appeared. They were very long and very thin and had on cocked hats, and held unsheathed swords in their hands. The showman said to them in a hoarse voice: "Take Harlequin, bind him securely, and then throw him on the fire to burn. I am determined that my mutton shall be well roasted." Only imagine that poor Harlequin! His terror was so great that his legs bent under him, and he fell with his face on the ground. At this agonizing sight Pinocchio, weeping bitterly, threw himself at the showman's feet, and bathing his long beard with his tears he began to say in a supplicating voice: "Have pity, Sir Fire-eater!" "Here there are no sirs," the showman answered severely. "Have pity, Sir Knight!" "Here there are no knights!" "Have pity, Commander!" "Here there are no commanders!" "Have pity, Excellence!" Upon hearing himself called Excellence the showman began to smile, and became at once kinder and more tractable. Turning to Pinocchio he asked: "Well, what do you want from me?" "I implore you to pardon poor Harlequin." "For him there can be no pardon. As I have spared you he must be put on the fire, for I am determined that my mutton shall be well roasted." "In that case," cried Pinocchio proudly, rising and throwing away his cap of bread crumb "in that case I know my duty. Come on, gendarmes! Bind me and throw me amongst the flames. No, it is not just that poor Harlequin, my true friend, should die for me!" These words, pronounced in a loud heroic voice, made all the puppets who were present cry. Even the gendarmes, although they were made of wood, wept like two newly-born lambs. Fire-eater at first remained as hard and unmoved as ice, but little by little he began to melt and to sneeze. And having sneezed four or five times, he opened his arms affectionately, and said to Pinocchio: "You are a good brave boy! Come here and give me a kiss." Pinocchio ran at once, and climbing like a squirrel up the showman's beard he deposited a hearty kiss on the point of his nose. "Then the pardon is granted?" asked poor Harlequin in a faint voice that was scarcely audible. "The pardon is granted!" answered Fire-eater. He then added, sighing and shaking his head: "I must have patience! To-night I shall have to resign myself to eat the mutton half raw; but another time, woe to him who chances!" At the news of the pardon all the puppets ran to the stage, and having lighted the lamps and chandeliers as if for a full-dress performance, they began to leap and to dance merrily. At dawn they were still dancing. VI THE SHOWMAN BECOMES GENEROUS The following day Fire-eater called Pinocchio to one side and asked him: "What is your father's name?" "Geppetto." "And what trade does he follow?" "He is a beggar." "Does he gain much?" "Gain much? Why, he has never a penny in his pocket. Only think, to buy a spelling-book for me to go to school, he was obliged to sell the only coat he had to wear--a coat that between patches and darns was not fit to be seen." "Poor devil! I feel almost sorry for him! Here are five gold pieces. Go at once and take them to him with my compliments." You can easily understand that Pinocchio thanked the showman a thousand times. He embraced all the puppets of the company one by one, even to the gendarmes, and beside himself with delight set out to return home. But he had not gone far when he met on the road a Fox lame in one foot, and a Cat blind in both eyes, who were going along helping each other like good companions in misfortune. The Fox who was lame walked leaning on the Cat, and the Cat who was blind was guided by the Fox. "Good day, Pinocchio," said the Fox, accosting him politely. "How do you come to know my name?" asked the puppet. "I know your father well." "Where did you see him?" "I saw him yesterday at the door of his house." "And what was he doing?" "He was in his shirt sleeves and shivering with cold." "Poor papa! But that is over; for the future he shall shiver no more." "Why?" "Because I am become a gentleman." "A gentleman--you!" said the Fox, and he began to laugh rudely and scornfully. The Cat also began to laugh, but to conceal it she combed her whiskers with her forepaws. "There is little to laugh at," cried Pinocchio angrily. "I am really sorry to make your mouths water, but if you know anything about it, you can see that here are five gold pieces." And he pulled out the money that Fire-eater had made him a present of. At the sympathetic ring of the money the Fox with an involuntary movement stretched out the paw that had seemed crippled, and the cat opened wide two eyes that looked like two green lanterns. It is true that she shut them again, and so quickly that Pinocchio observed nothing. "And now," asked the Fox, "what are you going to do with all that money?" "First of all," answered the Puppet, "I intend to buy a new coat for my papa, made of gold and silver, and with diamond buttons, and then I will buy a spelling-book for myself." "For yourself?" "Yes, indeed, for I wish to go to school to study in earnest." "Look at me!" said the Fox. "Through my foolish passion for study I have lost a leg." "Look at me!" said the Cat. "Through my foolish passion for study I have lost the sight of both my eyes." At that moment a white Blackbird, that was perched on the hedge by the road, began his usual song, and said: "Pinocchio, don't listen to the advice of bad companions; if you do you will repent it!" Poor Blackbird! If only he had not spoken! The Cat with a great leap sprang upon him and without even giving him time to say "Oh!" ate him in a mouthful, feathers and all. Having eaten him and cleaned her mouth she shut her eyes again and feigned blindness as before. "Poor Blackbird!" said Pinocchio to the Cat. "Why did you treat him so badly?" "I did it to give him a lesson. He will learn another time not to meddle in other people's conversation." They had gone almost half-way when the Fox, halting suddenly, said to the puppet: "Would you like to double your money?" "In what way?" "Would you like to make out of your five miserable gold pieces, a hundred, a thousand, two thousand?" "I should think so! But in what way?" "The way is easy enough. Instead of returning home you must go with us." "And where do you wish to take me?" "To the Land of the Owls." Pinocchio reflected a moment, and then he said resolutely: "No, I will not go. I am already close to the house, and I will return home to my papa who is waiting for me. Who can tell how often the poor old man must have sighed yesterday when I did not come back! I have been a bad son, indeed, and the Talking-cricket was right when he said 'Disobedient boys never come to any good in the world.' I have found it to my cost, for many misfortunes have happened to me. Even yesterday in Fire-eater's house I ran the risk.... Oh! it makes me shudder only to think of it." "Well, then," said the Fox, "you are quite decided to go home? Go, then, and so much the worse for you." "So much the worse for you!" repeated the Cat. "Think well of it, Pinocchio, for you are giving a kick to fortune." "To fortune!" repeated the Cat. "Between to-day and to-morrow your five gold pieces would have become two thousand." "Two thousand!" repeated the Cat. "But how is it possible that they could have become so many?" asked Pinocchio, remaining with his mouth open from astonishment. "I will explain it to you at once," said the Fox. "You must know that in the Land of the Owls there is a sacred field called by everybody the Field of Miracles. In this field you must dig a little hole, and you put into it, we will say one gold piece. Then you cover up the hole with a little earth; you water it with two pails of water from the fountain, then sprinkle it with two pinches of salt, and when night comes you can go quietly to bed. In the meanwhile, during the night, the gold piece will grow and flower, and in the morning when you return to the field, what do you find? You find a beautiful tree laden with as many gold pieces as an ear of corn has grains in the month of June." "So that," said Pinocchio, more and more bewildered, "supposing I buried my five gold pieces in that field, how many should I find there the following morning?" "That is exceedingly easy calculation," replied the Fox, "a calculation that you can make on the ends of your fingers. Suppose that every gold piece gives you an increase of five hundred; multiply five hundred by five, and the following morning will find you with two thousand five hundred shining gold pieces in your pocket." "Oh! how delightful!" cried Pinocchio, dancing for joy, "As soon as ever I have obtained those gold pieces, I will keep two thousand for myself, and the other five hundred I will make a present of to you two." "A present to us?" cried the Fox with indignation, and appearing much offended. "What are you dreaming of?" "What are you dreaming of?" repeated the Cat. "We do not work," said the Fox, "for dirty interest, we work solely to enrich others." "Others!" repeated the Cat. "What good people!" thought Pinocchio to himself; and forgetting there and then his papa, the new coat, the spelling-book, and all his good resolutions, he said to the Fox and the Cat: "Let us be off at once. I will go with you." VII THE INN OF THE RED-CRAWFISH They walked, and walked, and walked, until at last, towards evening, they arrived dead tired at the Inn of The Red-Crawfish. "Let us stop here, a little," said the Fox, "that we may have something to eat and rest ourselves for an hour or two. We will start again at midnight, so as to arrive at the Field of Miracles by dawn to-morrow morning." Having gone into the inn they all three sat down to table, but none of them had any appetite. The Cat, who was suffering from indigestion and feeling seriously indisposed, could only eat thirty-five mullet with tomato sauce, and four portions of tripe with Parmesan cheese; and because she thought the tripe was not seasoned enough, she asked three times for the butter and grated cheese! The Fox would also willingly have picked a little, but as his doctor had ordered him a strict diet, he was forced to content himself simply with a hare dressed with a sweet and sour sauce, and garnished lightly with fat chickens and early pullets. After the hare he sent for a made dish of partridges, rabbits, frogs, lizards, and other delicacies; he could not touch anything else. He had such a disgust for food, he said, that he could put nothing to his lips. The one who ate the least was Pinocchio. He asked for some walnuts and a hunch of bread, and left everything on his plate. The poor boy, whose thoughts were continually fixed on the Field of Miracles, had got in anticipation an indigestion of gold pieces. When they had supped the Fox said to the host: "Give us two good rooms, one for Mr. Pinocchio, and the other for me and my companion. We will snatch a little sleep before we leave. Remember, however, that at midnight we wish to be called to continue our journey." "Yes, gentlemen," answered the host, and he winked at the Fox and the Cat as much as to say: "I know what you are up to. We understand one another!" No sooner had Pinocchio got into bed than he fell asleep at once and began to dream. And he dreamt that he was in the middle of a field, and the field was filled with shrubs covered with clusters of gold pieces, and as they swung in the wind they went zin, zin, zin, almost as if they would say: "Let who will come and take us." But when Pinocchio was at the most interesting moment, that is, just as he was stretching out his hand to pick handfuls of those beautiful gold pieces and put them in his pockets, he was suddenly wakened by three violent blows on the door of his room. It was the host who had come to tell him that midnight had struck. "Are my companions ready?" asked the puppet. "Ready! Why, they left two hours ago." "Why were they in such a hurry?" "Because the Cat had received a message to say that her eldest kitten was ill with chilblains on his feet, and was in danger of death." "Did they pay for supper?" "What are you thinking of? They are too highly educated to dream of offering such an insult to a gentleman like you." "What a pity! It is an insult that would have given me so much pleasure!" said Pinocchio, scratching his head. He then asked: "And where did my good friends say they would wait for me?" "At the Field of Miracles, to-morrow morning at daybreak." Pinocchio paid a gold piece for his supper and that of his companions and then he left. Outside the inn it was so pitch dark that he had almost to grope his way, for it was impossible to see a hand's breadth in front of him. In the adjacent country not a leaf moved. Only some night-birds flying across the road from one hedge to the other brushed Pinocchio's nose with their wings as they passed, which caused him so much terror that springing back, he shouted: "Who goes there?" and the echo in the surrounding hills repeated in the distance: "Who goes there? Who goes there? Who goes there?"... VIII THE PUPPET FALLS AMONG ASSASSINS He turned to look, and saw in the gloom two evil-looking black figures completely enveloped in charcoal sacks. They were running after him on tiptoe, and making great leaps like two phantoms. "Here they are in reality!" he said to himself, and not knowing where to hide his gold pieces he put them in his mouth precisely under his tongue. Then he tried to escape. But he had not gone a step when he felt himself seized by the arm, and heard two sepulchral voices saying to him: "Your money or your life!" Pinocchio, not being able to answer in words, owing to the money in his mouth, made a thousand low bows and a thousand pantomimes. He tried thus to make the two muffled figures, whose eyes were only visible through the holes in their sacks, understand that he was a poor puppet, and that he had not as much as a false penny in his pocket. "Come now! Less nonsense and out with the money!" cried the two brigands threateningly. And the puppet made a gesture with his hands to signify "I have got none." "Deliver up your money or you are dead," said the tallest of the brigands. "Dead!" repeated the other. "And after we have killed you, we will also kill your father!" "Also your father!" "No, no, no, not my poor papa!" cried Pinocchio in a despairing tone; and as he said it, the gold pieces clinked in his mouth. "Ah! You rascal! Then you have hidden your money under your tongue! Spit it out at once!" But Pinocchio was obdurate. And one of them seized the puppet by the end of his nose, and the other took him by the chin, and began to pull them brutally, the one up, and the other down, to constrain him to open his mouth, but it was all to no purpose. Pinocchio's mouth seemed to be nailed and riveted together. Then the shortest assassin drew out an ugly knife and tried to force it between his lips like a lever or chisel. But Pinocchio as quick as lightning caught his hand with his teeth, and with one bite bit it clean off and spat it out. Imagine his astonishment when instead of a hand he perceived that he had spat a cat's paw on to the ground. Encouraged by his first victory he used his nails to such purpose that he succeeded in liberating himself from his assailants, and jumping the hedge by the roadside he began to fly across the country. The assassins ran after him like two dogs chasing a hare; and the one who had lost the paw ran on one leg and no one ever knew how he managed it. After a race of some miles Pinocchio could do no more. Giving himself up for lost he climbed the stem of a very high pine-tree and seated himself in the topmost branches. The assassins attempted to climb after him, but when they had reached halfway up the stem they slid down again, and arrived on the ground with the skin grazed from their hands and knees. But they were not to be beaten by so little; collecting a quantity of dry wood they piled it beneath the pine and set fire to it. In less time than it takes to tell the pine began to burn and flame like a candle blown by the wind. Pinocchio, seeing that the flames were mounting higher every instant, and not wishing to end his life like a roasted pigeon, made a stupendous leap from the top of the tree and started afresh across the fields and vineyards. The assassins followed him, and kept behind him without once giving in. The day began to break and they were still pursuing him. Suddenly Pinocchio found his way barred by a wide, deep ditch full of dirty water the color of coffee. What was he to do? "One! two! three!" cried the puppet, and making a rush he sprang to the other side. The assassins also jumped, but not having measured the distance properly--splash, splash!... they fell into the very middle of the ditch. Pinocchio who heard the plunge and the splashing of water, shouted out, laughing and without stopping: "A fine bath to you, gentlemen assassins." He felt convinced that they were drowned, when, turning to look he perceived that, on the contrary, they were both running after him, still enveloped in their sacks with the water dripping from them as if they had been two hollow baskets.... IX THE FOX AND THE CAT Pinocchio set out; and as soon as he was in the wood he began to run like a kid. But when he had reached a certain spot, almost in front of the Big Oak, he stopped because he thought that he heard people amongst the bushes. In fact, two persons came out on the road. Can you guess who they were?... His two traveling companions, the Fox and the Cat, with whom he had supped at the Inn of the Red-Crawfish. "Why here is our dear Pinocchio!" cried the Fox, kissing and embracing him. "How come you to be here?" "How come you to be here?" repeated the Cat. "It is a long story," answered the puppet, "which I will tell you when I have time. But do you know that the other night, when you left me alone at the inn, I met with assassins on the road." "Assassins!... Oh, poor Pinocchio! And what did they want?" "They wanted to rob me of my gold pieces." "Villains!" said the Fox. "Infamous villains!" repeated the Cat. "But I ran away from them," continued the puppet, "and they followed me, and at last they overtook me and hung me to a branch of that oak-tree." And Pinocchio pointed to the Big Oak, which was two steps from them. "Is it possible to hear of anything more dreadful?" said the Fox. "In what a world we are condemned to live! Where can respectable people like us find a safe refuge?" Whilst they were thus talking Pinocchio observed that the Cat was lame of her front right leg, for in fact she had lost her paw with all its claws. He therefore asked her: "What have you done with your paw!" The Cat tried to answer but became confused. Therefore the Fox said immediately: "My friend is too modest, and that is why she doesn't speak. I will answer for her. I must tell you that an hour ago we met an old wolf on the road, almost fainting from want of food, who asked alms of us. Not having so much as a fish-bone to give to him, what did my friend, who has really the heart of a Cæsar, do? She bit off one of her forepaws, and threw it to that poor beast that he might appease his hunger." And the Fox, in relating this, dried a tear. Pinocchio was also touched, and approaching the Cat he whispered into her ear: "If all cats resemble you, how fortunate the mice would be!" "And now, what are you doing here?" asked the Fox of the puppet. "I am waiting for my papa, whom I expect to arrive every moment." "And your gold pieces?" "I have got them in my pocket, all but one that I spent at the Inn of the Red-Crawfish." "And to think that, instead of four pieces, by to-morrow they might become one or two thousand! Why do you not listen to my advice? why will you not go and bury them in the Field of Miracles?" "To-day it is impossible, I will go another day." "Another day it will be too late!" said the Fox. "Why?" "Because the field has been bought by a gentleman, and after to-morrow no one will be allowed to bury money there." "How far off is the Field of Miracles?" "Not two miles. Will you come with us? In half an hour you will be there. You can bury your money at once, and in a few minutes you will collect two thousand, and this evening you will return with your pockets full. Will you come with us?" Pinocchio thought of the good Fairy, old Geppetto, and the warning of the Talking-cricket, and he hesitated a little before answering. He ended however, by doing as all boys do who have not a grain of sense and who have no heart--he ended by giving his head a little shake, and saying to the Fox and Cat: "Let us go: I will come with you." And they went. After having walked half the day they reached a town that was called "Trap for Blockheads." As soon as Pinocchio entered this town, he saw that the streets were crowded with dogs who had lost their coats and who were yawning from hunger, shorn sheep trembling with cold, cocks without combs or crests who were begging for a grain of Indian corn, large butterflies who could no longer fly because they had sold their beautiful colored wings, peacocks who had no tails and were ashamed to be seen, and pheasants who went scratching about in a subdued fashion, mourning for their brilliant gold and silver feathers gone for ever. In the midst of this crowd of beggars and shamefaced creatures, some lordly carriage passed from time to time containing a Fox, or a thieving Magpie, or some other ravenous bird of prey. "And where is the Field of Miracles?" asked Pinocchio. "It is here, not two steps from us." They crossed the town, and having gone beyond the walls they came to a solitary field which to look at resembled all other fields. "We are arrived," said the Fox to the puppet. "Now stoop down and dig with your hands a little hole in the ground and put your gold pieces into it." Pinocchio obeyed. He dug a hole, put into it the four gold pieces that he had left, and then filled up the hole with a little earth. "Now, then," said the Fox, "go to that canal close to us, fetch a can of water, and water the ground where you have sowed them." Pinocchio went to the canal, and as he had no can he took off one of his old shoes and filling it with water he watered the ground over the hole. He then asked: "Is there anything else to be done?" "Nothing else," answered the Fox. "We can now go away. You can return in about twenty minutes, and you will find a shrub already pushing through the ground, with its branches quite loaded with money." The poor puppet, beside himself with joy, thanked the Fox and the Cat a thousand times, and promised them a beautiful present. "We wish for no presents," answered the two rascals. "It is enough for us to have taught you the way to enrich yourself without undergoing hard work, and we are as happy as folk out for a holiday." Thus saying they took leave of Pinocchio, and wishing him a good harvest went about their business. X PINOCCHIO IS ROBBED The puppet returned to the town and began to count the minutes one by one; and when he thought it must be time he took the road leading to the Field of Miracles. And as he walked along with hurried steps his heart beat fast, tic, tac, tic, tac, like a drawing-room clock when it is really going well. Meanwhile he was thinking to himself: "And if instead of a thousand gold pieces, I was to find on the branches of the tree two thousand?... And instead of two thousand supposing I found five thousand? and instead of five thousand that I found a hundred thousand? Oh! what a fine gentleman I should then become!... I would have a beautiful palace, a thousand little wooden horses and a thousand stables to amuse myself with, a cellar full of currant-wine, and sweet syrups, and a library quite full of candies, tarts, plum-cakes, macaroons, and biscuits with cream." Whilst he was building these castles in the air he had arrived in the neighborhood of the field, and he stopped to look if by chance he could perceive a tree with its branches laden with money; but he saw nothing. He advanced another hundred steps--nothing; he entered the field ... he went right up to the little hole where he had buried his gold pieces--and nothing. He then became very thoughtful, and forgetting the rules of society and good manners he took his hands out of his pockets and gave his head a long scratch. At that moment he heard an explosion of laughter close to him, and looking up he saw a large Parrot perched on a tree, who was preening the few feathers he had left. "Why are you laughing?" asked Pinocchio in an angry voice. "I am laughing because in preening my feathers I tickled myself under my wings." The puppet did not answer, but went to the canal and, filling the same old shoe full of water, he proceeded to water the earth afresh that covered his gold pieces. Whilst he was thus occupied another laugh, and still more impertinent than the first, rang out in the silence of that solitary place. "Once for all," shouted Pinocchio in a rage, "may I know, you ill-educated Parrot, what are you laughing at?" "I am laughing at those simpletons who believe in all the foolish things that are told them, and who allow themselves to be entrapped by those who are more cunning than they are." "Are you perhaps speaking of me?" "Yes, I am speaking of you, poor Pinocchio--of you who are simple enough to believe that money can be sown and gathered in fields in the same way as beans and gourds. I also believed it once, and to-day I am suffering for it. To-day--but it is too late--I have at last learnt that to put a few pennies honestly together it is necessary to know how to earn them, either by the work of our own hands or by the cleverness of our own brains." "I don't understand you," said the puppet who was already trembling with fear. "Have patience! I will explain myself better," rejoined the Parrot. "You must know, then, that whilst you were in the town the Fox and the Cat returned to the field; they took the buried money and then fled like the wind. And now he that catches them will be clever." Pinocchio remained with his mouth open, and not choosing to believe the Parrot's words he began with his hands and nails to dig up the earth that he had watered. And he dug, and dug, and dug, and made such a deep hole that a rick of straw might have stood up in it; but the money was no longer there. He rushed back to the town in a state of desperation, and went at once to the Courts of Justice to denounce the two knaves who had robbed him to the judge. The judge was a big ape of the gorilla tribe--an old ape respectable for his age, his white beard, but especially for his gold spectacles without glasses that he always was obliged to wear, on account of an inflammation of the eyes that had tormented him for many years. Pinocchio related in the presence of the judge all the particulars of the infamous fraud of which he had been the victim. He gave the names, the surnames, and other details, of the two rascals, and ended by demanding justice. The judge listened with great benignity; took a lively interest in the story; and was much touched and moved; and when the puppet had nothing further to say he stretched out his hand and rang a bell. At this summons two mastiffs immediately appeared dressed as gendarmes. The judge then, pointing to Pinocchio said to them: "That poor devil has been robbed of four gold pieces; take him up, and put him immediately into prison." The puppet was petrified on hearing this unexpected sentence, and tried to protest; but the gendarmes, to avoid losing time, stopped his mouth, and carried him off to the lockup. And there he remained for four months--four long months--and he would have remained longer still if a fortunate chance had not released him. For I must tell you that the young Emperor who reigned over the town of "Trap for Blockheads," having won a splendid victory over his enemies, ordered great public rejoicings. There were illuminations, fire-works, horse races, and velocipede races, and as a further sign of triumph he commanded that the prisons should be opened and all prisoners liberated. "If the others are to be let out of prison, I will go also," said Pinocchio to the jailor. "No, not you," said the jailor, "because you do not belong to the fortunate class." "I beg your pardon," replied Pinocchio, "I am also a criminal." "In that case you are perfectly right," said the jailor; and taking off his hat and bowing to him respectfully he opened the prison door and let him escape. [Footnote 1: Copyright, 1898, by Jordan, Marsh and Co. Used by permission.] * * * * * JAPANESE STORIES * * * * * THE STORY OF THE MAN WHO DID NOT WISH TO DIE ADAPTED BY YEI THEODORA OZAKI Long, long ago there lived a man called Sentaro. His surname meant "Millionaire," but although he was not so rich as all that, he was still very far removed from being poor. He had inherited a small fortune from his father and lived on this, spending his time carelessly, without any serious thoughts of work, till he was about thirty-two years of age. One day, without any reason whatsoever, the thought of death and sickness came to him. The idea of falling ill or dying made him very wretched. "I should like to live," he said to himself, "till I am five or six hundred years old at least, free from all sickness. The ordinary span of a man's life is very short." He wondered whether it were possible, by living simply and frugally henceforth, to prolong his life as long as he wished. He knew there were many stories in ancient history of emperors who had lived a thousand years, and there was a Princess of Yamato, who it was said, lived to the age of five hundred. This was the latest story of a very long life on record. Sentaro had often heard the tale of the Chinese King named Shin-no-Shiko. He was one of the most able and powerful rulers in Chinese history. He built all the large palaces, and also the famous great wall of China. He had everything in the world he could wish for, but in spite of all his happiness, and the luxury and splendor of his court, the wisdom of his councilors and the glory of his reign, he was miserable because he knew that one day he must die and leave it all. When Shin-no-Shiko went to bed at night, when he rose in the morning, as he went through his day, the thought of death was always with him. He could not get away from it. Ah--if only he could find the Elixir of Life, he would be happy. The Emperor at last called a meeting of his courtiers and asked them all if they could not find for him the Elixir of Life of which he had so often read and heard. One old courtier, Jofuku by name, said that far away across the seas there was a country called Horaizan, and that certain hermits lived there who possessed the secret of the Elixir of Life. Whoever drank of this wonderful draught lived forever. The Emperor ordered Jofuku to set out for the land of Horaizan, to find the hermits, and to bring him back a phial of the magic elixir. He gave Jofuku one of his best junks, fitted it out for him, and loaded it with great quantities of treasures and precious stones for Jofuku to take as presents to the hermits. Jofuku sailed for the land of Horaizan, but he never returned to the waiting Emperor; but ever since that time Mount Fuji has been said to be the fabled Horaizan and the home of hermits who had the secret of the elixir, and Jofuku has been worshipped as their patron god. Now Sentaro determined to set out to find the hermits, and if he could, to become one, so that he might obtain the water of perpetual life. He remembered that as a child he had been told that not only did these hermits live on Mount Fuji, but that they were said to inhabit all the very high peaks. So he left his old home to the care of his relatives, and started out on his quest. He traveled through all the mountainous regions of the land, climbing to the tops of the highest peaks, but never a hermit did he find. At last, after wandering in an unknown region for many days, he met a hunter. "Can you tell me," asked Sentaro, "where the hermits live who have the Elixir of Life?" "No," said the hunter; "I can't tell you where such hermits live, but there is a notorious robber living in these parts. It is said that he is chief of a band of two hundred followers." This odd answer irritated Sentaro very much, and he thought how foolish it was to waste more time in looking for the hermits in this way, so he decided to go at once to the shrine of Jofuku, who is worshipped as the patron god of the hermits in the South of Japan. Sentaro reached the shrine and prayed for seven days, entreating Jofuku to show him the way to a hermit who could give him what he wanted so much to find. At midnight of the seventh day, as Sentaro knelt in the temple, the door of the innermost shrine flew open, and Jofuku appeared in a luminous cloud, and calling to Sentaro to come nearer, spoke thus: "Your desire is a very selfish one and cannot be easily granted. You think that you would like to become a hermit so as to find the Elixir of Life. Do you know how hard a hermit's life is? A hermit is only allowed to eat fruit and berries and the bark of pine trees; a hermit must cut himself off from the world so that his heart may become as pure as gold and free from every earthly desire. Gradually after following these strict rules, the hermit ceases to feel hunger or cold or heat, and his body becomes so light that he can ride on a crane or a carp, and can walk on water without getting his feet wet. "You, Sentaro, are fond of good living and of every comfort. You are not even like an ordinary man, for you are exceptionally idle, and more sensitive to heat and cold than most people. You would never be able to go barefoot or to wear only one thin garment in the winter time! Do you think that you would ever have the patience or the endurance to live a hermit's life? "In answer to your prayer, however, I will help you in another way. I will send you to the country of Perpetual Life, where death never comes--where the people live for ever!" Saying this, Jofuku put into Sentaro's hand a little crane made of paper, telling him to sit on its back and it would carry him there. Sentaro obeyed wonderingly. The crane grew large enough for him to ride on it with comfort. It then spread its wings, rose high in the air, and flew away over the mountains right out to sea. Sentaro was at first quite frightened; but by degrees he grew accustomed to the swift flight through the air. On and on they went for thousands of miles. The bird never stopped for rest or food, but as it was a paper bird it doubtless did not require any nourishment, and strange to say, neither did Sentaro. After several days they reached an island. The crane flew some distance inland and then alighted. As soon as Sentaro got down from the bird's back, the crane folded up of its own accord and flew into his pocket. Now Sentaro began to look about him wonderingly, curious to see what the country of Perpetual Life was like. He walked first round about the country and then through the town. Everything was, of course, quite strange, and different from his own land. But both the land and the people seemed prosperous, so he decided that it would be good for him to stay there and took up lodgings at one of the hotels. The proprietor was a kind man, and when Sentaro told him that he was a stranger and had come to live there, he promised to arrange everything that was necessary with the governor of the city concerning Sentaro's sojourn there. He even found a house for his guest, and in this way Sentaro obtained his great wish and became a resident in the country of Perpetual Life. Within the memory of all the islanders no man had ever died there, and sickness was a thing unknown. Priests had come over from India and China and told them of a beautiful country called Paradise, where happiness and bliss and contentment fill all men's hearts, but its gates could only be reached by dying. This tradition was handed down for ages from generation to generation--but none knew exactly what death was except that it led to Paradise. Quite unlike Sentaro and other ordinary people, instead of having a great dread of death, they all, both rich and poor, longed for it as something good and desirable. They were all tired of their long, long lives, and longed to go to the happy land of contentment called Paradise of which the priests had told them centuries ago. All this Sentaro soon found out by talking to the islanders. He found himself, according to his ideas, in the land of _Topsy-turvydom_. Everything was upside down. He had wished to escape from dying. He had come to the land of Perpetual Life with great relief and joy, only to find that the inhabitants themselves, doomed never to die, would consider it bliss to find death. What he had hitherto considered poison these people ate as good food, and all the things to which he had been accustomed as food they rejected. Whenever any merchants from other countries arrived, the rich people rushed to them eager to buy poisons. These they swallowed eagerly hoping for death to come so that they might go to Paradise. But what were deadly poisons in other lands were without effect in this strange place, and people who swallowed them with the hope of dying, only found that in a short time they felt better in health instead of worse. Vainly they tried to imagine what death could be like. The wealthy would have given all their money and all their goods if they could but shorten their lives to two or three hundred years even. Without any change, to live on forever, seemed to this people wearisome and sad. In the drug-shops there was a drug which was in constant demand, because after using it for a hundred years, it was supposed to turn the hair slightly gray and to bring about disorders of the stomach. Sentaro was astonished to find that the poisonous globe-fish was served up in restaurants as a delectable dish, and hawkers in the streets went about selling sauces made of Spanish flies. He never saw anyone ill after eating these horrible things, nor did he ever see anyone with as much as a cold. Sentaro was delighted. He said to himself that he would never grow tired of living, and that he considered it profane to wish for death. He was the only happy man on the island. For his part he wished to live thousands of years and to enjoy life. He set himself up in business, and for the present never even dreamed of going back to his native land. As years went by, however, things did not go as smoothly as at first. He had heavy losses in business, and several times some affairs went wrong with his neighbors. This caused him great annoyance. Time passed like the flight of an arrow for him, for he was busy from morning till night. Three hundred years went by in this monotonous way, and then at last he began to grow tired of life in this country, and he longed to see his own land and his old home. However long he lived here, life would always be the same, so was it not foolish and wearisome to stay on here for ever? Sentaro, in his wish to escape from the country of Perpetual Life, recollected Jofuku, who had helped him before when he was wishing to escape from death--and he prayed to the saint to bring him back to his own land again. No sooner did he pray than the paper crane popped out of his pocket. Sentaro was amazed to see that it had remained undamaged after all these years. Once more the bird grew and grew till it was large enough for him to mount it. As he did so, the bird spread its wings and flew swiftly out across the sea in the direction of Japan. Such was the wilfulness of the man's nature that he looked back and regretted all he had left behind. He tried to stop the bird in vain. The crane held on its way for thousands of miles across the ocean. Then a storm came on, and the wonderful paper crane got damp, crumpled up, and fell into the sea. Sentaro fell with it. Very much frightened at the thought of being drowned, he cried out loudly to Jofuku to save him. He looked round, but there was no ship in sight. He swallowed a quantity of sea-water, which only increased his miserable plight. While he was thus struggling to keep himself afloat, he saw a monstrous shark swimming towards him. As it came nearer it opened its huge mouth ready to devour him. Sentaro was all but paralyzed with fear now that he felt his end so near, and screamed out as loudly as ever he could to Jofuku to come and rescue him. Lo, and behold, Sentaro was awakened by his own screams, to find that during his long prayer he had fallen asleep before the shrine, and that all his extraordinary and frightful adventures had been only a wild dream. He was in a cold perspiration with fright, and utterly bewildered. Suddenly a bright light came towards him, and in the light stood a messenger. The messenger held a book in his hand and spoke to Sentaro: "I am sent to you by Jofuku, who in answer to your prayer, has permitted you in a dream to see the land of Perpetual Life. But you grew weary of living there, and begged to be allowed to return to your native land so that you might die. Jofuku, so that he might try you, allowed you to drop into the sea, and then sent a shark to swallow you up. Your desire for death was not real, for even at that moment you cried out loudly and shouted for help. "It is also vain for you to wish to become a hermit, or to find the Elixir of Life. These things are not for such as you--your life is not austere enough. It is best for you to go back to your paternal home, and to live a good and industrious life. Never neglect to keep the anniversaries of your ancestors, and make it your duty to provide for your children's future. Thus will you live to a good old age and be happy, but give up the vain desire to escape death, for no man can do that, and by this time you have surely found out that even when selfish desires are granted they do not bring happiness. "In this book I give you there are many precepts good for you to know--if you study them, you will be guided in the way I have pointed out to you." The angel disappeared as soon as he had finished speaking, and Sentaro took the lesson to heart. With the book in his hand he returned to his old home, and giving up all his old vain wishes, tried to live a good and useful life and to observe the lessons taught him in the book, and he and his house prospered henceforth. * * * * * THE ACCOMPLISHED AND LUCKY TEAKETTLE ADAPTED BY A. B. MITFORD A long time ago, at a temple called Morinji, in the province of Jhôsiu, there was an old teakettle. One day, when the priest of the temple was about to hang it over the hearth to boil the water for his tea, to his amazement the kettle all of a sudden put forth the head and tail of a badger. What a wonderful kettle, to come out all over fur! The priest, thunderstruck, called in the novices of the temple to see the sight; and whilst they were stupidly staring, one suggesting one thing and another another, the kettle, jumping up into the air, began flying about the room. More astonished than ever, the priest and his pupils tried to pursue it; but no thief or cat was ever half so sharp as this wonderful badger-kettle. At last, however, they managed to knock it down and secure it; and, holding it in with their united efforts, they forced it into a box, intending to carry it off and throw it away in some distant place, so that they might be no more plagued by the goblin. For this day their troubles were over; but, as luck would have it, the tinker who was in the habit of working for the temple called in, and the priest suddenly bethought him that it was a pity to throw the kettle away for nothing, and that he might as well get a trifle for it, no matter how small. So he brought out the kettle, which had resumed its former shape and had got rid of its head and tail, and showed it to the tinker. When the tinker saw the kettle, he offered twenty copper coins for it, and the priest was only too glad to close the bargain and be rid of his troublesome piece of furniture. But the tinker trudged off home with his pack and his new purchase. That night, as he lay asleep, he heard a strange noise near his pillow; so he peered out from under the bedclothes, and there he saw the kettle that he had bought in the temple covered with fur, and walking about on four legs. The tinker started up in a fright to see what it could all mean, when all of a sudden the kettle resumed its former shape. This happened over and over again, until at last the tinker showed the teakettle to a friend of his, who said: "This is certainly an accomplished and lucky teakettle. You should take it about as a show, with songs and accompaniments of musical instruments, and make it dance and walk on the tight rope." The tinker, thinking this good advice, made arrangements with a showman, and set up an exhibition. The noise of the kettle's performances soon spread abroad, until even the Princes of the land sent to order the tinker to come to them; and he grew rich beyond all his expectations. Even the Princesses, too, and the great ladies of the court, took great delight in the dancing kettle, so that no sooner had it shown its tricks in one place than it was time for them to keep some other engagement. At last the tinker grew so rich that he took the kettle back to the temple, where it was laid up as a precious treasure, and worshiped as a saint. * * * * * THE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW Once upon a time a cross old woman laid some starch in a basin, intending to put it in the clothes in her wash-tub; but a Sparrow that a woman, her neighbor, kept as a pet, ate it up. Seeing this, the cross old woman seized the Sparrow and, saying "You hateful thing!" cut its tongue and let it go. When the neighbor woman heard that her pet Sparrow had got its tongue cut for its offense, she was greatly grieved, and set out with her husband over mountains and plains to find where it had gone, crying, "Where does the tongue-cut Sparrow stay? Where does the tongue-cut Sparrow stay?" At last they found its home. When the Sparrow saw that its old master and mistress had come to see it, it rejoiced, and brought them into its house and thanked them for their kindness in old times. It spread a table for them, and loaded it with rice wine and fish till there was no more room, and made its wife and children and grandchildren all serve the table. At last, throwing away its drinking-cup, it danced a jig called the Sparrow's dance, and thus they spent the day. When it began to grow dark, and there was talk of going home, the Sparrow brought out two wicker baskets and said, "Will you take the heavy one, or shall I give you the light one?" The old people replied, "We are old, so give us the light one; it will be easier to carry it." The Sparrow then gave them the light basket, and they returned with it to their home. "Let us open and see what is in it," they said. And when they had opened it and looked, they found gold and silver and jewels and rolls of silk. They never expected anything like this. The more they took out the more they found inside. The supply was inexhaustible, so that the house at once became rich and prosperous. When the cross old woman who had cut the Sparrow's tongue saw this, she was filled with envy, and went and asked her neighbor where the Sparrow lived and all about the way. "I will go, too," she said, and at once set out on her search. Again the Sparrow brought out two wicker baskets, and asked as before, "Will you take the heavy one, or shall I give you the light one?" Thinking the treasure would be great in proportion to the weight of the basket, the old woman replied, "Let me have the heavy one." Receiving this, she started home with it on her back, the sparrows laughing at her as she went. It was as heavy as a stone, and hard to carry, but at last she got back with it to her house. Then, when she took off the lid and looked in, a whole troop of frightful creatures came bouncing out from the inside, and at once they caught her up and flew away with her. * * * * * BATTLE OF THE MONKEY AND THE CRAB A monkey and a Crab once met when going round a mountain. The Monkey had picked up a persimmon-seed, and the Crab had a piece of toasted rice-cake. The Monkey, seeing this, and wishing to get something that could be turned to good account at once, said, "Pray, exchange that rice-cake for this persimmon-seed." The Crab, without a word, gave up his cake, and took the persimmon-seed and planted it. At once it sprung up, and soon became a tree so high one had to look far up to see it. The tree was full of persimmons, but the Crab had no means of climbing it, so he asked the Monkey to scramble up and get the fruit for him. The Monkey got up on a limb of the tree and began to eat the persimmons. The unripe ones he threw at the Crab, but all the ripe and good ones he put in his pouch. The Crab under the tree thus got his shell badly bruised, and only by good luck escaped into his hole, where he lay distressed with pain, and not able to get up. Now, when the relatives and household of the Crab heard how matters stood, they were surprised and angry, and declared war, and attacked the Monkey, who, leading forth a numerous following, bade defiance to the other party. The crabs, finding themselves unable to meet and cope with this force, became still more exasperated and enraged, and retreated into their hole and held a council of war. Then came a rice-mortar, a pestle, a bee, and an egg, and together they devised a deep-laid plot to be avenged. First, they requested that peace be made with the crabs; and thus they induced the king of the monkeys to enter their hole unattended, and seated him on the hearth. The Monkey, not suspecting any plot, took the _hibashi_, or poker, to stir up the slumbering fire, when bang! went the egg, which was lying hidden in the ashes, and burned the Monkey's arm. Surprised and alarmed, he plunged his arm into the pickle-tub in the kitchen to relieve the pain of the burn. Then the bee which was hidden near the tub stung him sharply in his face, already wet with tears. Without waiting to brush off the bee, and howling bitterly, he rushed for the back door; but just then some seaweed entangled his legs and made him slip. Then down came the pestle, tumbling on him from a shelf, and the mortar, too, came rolling down on him from the roof of the porch and broke his back, and so weakened him that he was unable to rise up. Then out came the crabs in a crowd, and brandishing on high their pinchers they pinched the Monkey so sorely that he begged them for forgiveness and promised never to repeat his meanness and treachery. * * * * * MOMOTARO, OR LITTLE PEACHLING A long long time ago there lived an old man and an old woman. One day the old man went to the mountains to cut grass; and the old woman went to the river to wash clothes. While she was washing a great thing came tumbling and splashing down the stream. When the old woman saw it she was very glad, and pulled it to her with a piece of bamboo that lay near by. When she took it up and looked at it she saw that it was a very large peach. She then quickly finished her washing and returned home intending to give the peach to her old man to eat. When she cut the peach in two, out came a child from the large kernel. Seeing this the old couple rejoiced, and named the child Momotaro, or Little Peachling, because he came out of a peach. As both the old people took good care of him, he grew and became strong and enterprising. So the old couple had their expectations raised, and bestowed still more care on his education. Momotaro finding that he excelled everybody in strength, determined to cross over to the island of the devils, take their riches, and come back. He at once consulted with the old man and the old woman about the matter, and got them to make him some dumplings. These he put in his pouch. Besides this he made every kind of preparation for his journey to the island of the devils and set out. Then first a dog came to the side of the way and said, "Momotaro! What have you there hanging at your belt?" He replied, "I have some of the very best Japanese millet dumplings." "Give me one and I will go with you," said the dog. So Momotaro took a dumpling out of his pouch and gave it to the dog. Then a monkey came and got one the same way. A pheasant also came flying and said, "Give me a dumpling too, and I will go along with you." So all three went along with him. In no time they arrived at the island of the devils, and at once broke through the front gate; Momotaro first; then his three followers. Here they met a great multitude of the devils' retainers who showed fight, but they pressed still inwards, and at last encountered the chief of the devils, called Akandoji. Then came the tug of war. Akandoji hit at Momotaro with an iron club, but Momotaro was ready for him, and dodged him adroitly. At last they grappled each other, and without difficulty Momotaro just crushed down Akandoji and tied him with a rope so tightly that he could not even move. All this was done in a fair fight. After this Akandoji the chief of the devils said he would surrender all his riches. "Out with your riches then," said Momotaro laughing. Having collected and ranged in order a great pile of precious things, Momotaro took them, and set out for his home, rejoicing, as he marched bravely back, that, with the help of his three companions, to whom he attributed all his success, he had been able so easily to accomplish his end. Great was the joy of the old man and the old woman when Momotaro came back. He feasted everybody bountifully, told many stories of his adventure, displayed his riches, and at last became a leading man, a man of influence, very rich and honorable; a man to be very much congratulated indeed!! * * * * * URASCHIMA TARO AND THE TURTLE Uraschima Taro, which means in Japanese "Son of the Island," was the only and dearly beloved son of an old fisherman and his wife: He was a fine, strong youth, who could manage a boat more cleverly than any one else on the neighboring coast. He often ventured so far out to sea that neighbors warned his parents that he would sometime go too far and never return. His parents knew, however, that he understood his boat and the sea very well, and they were never much concerned about him. Even when he failed to come back as soon as he was expected, they awaited his return without anxiety. They loved him better than their own lives, and were proud that he was braver and stronger than their neighbors' sons. Early one morning, Uraschima Taro went to haul in his nets, which had been set the night before. In one of them, among some fishes, he found a small turtle. This he placed in the boat, by itself, where it would safely keep, until he could take it home. To his amazement, the turtle begged for its life in most pitiful tones. "Of what use am I to you?" it asked. "I am too small to eat, and so young that it will take me a long time to grow. Have mercy and put me back into the sea, for I do not want to die." Uraschima Taro had a very kind heart and could not bear to see anything that was small and helpless suffer; so he did as the turtle asked him. Several years after this, when Uraschima Taro was one day far out at sea, a terrible whirlwind struck his boat and shattered it. He was a good swimmer, and managed for a long time to make progress toward the land; but as he was so far from shore in the rough sea, his strength at last gave out and he felt himself sinking. Just as he had given up hope, and thought that he would never see his dear parents again, he heard his name called and saw a large turtle swimming toward him. "Climb on my back," shouted the turtle, "and I will carry you to land." When Uraschima Taro was safely sitting on the turtle's back it continued: "I am the turtle whose life you saved when you found me, little and helpless, in your net, and I am glad of this opportunity to show that I am not ungrateful." Before they reached the shore, the turtle asked Uraschima Taro how he would like to be shown some of the wonderful beauties hidden under the sea. The young fisherman replied that the experience would please him. In a moment they were shooting down through the green water. He clung to the turtle's back, who carried him many, many fathoms below. After three nights they reached the bottom of the sea, and came to a wonderful palace of gold and crystal. Coral and pearls and precious stones dazzled his eyes; but inside, the palace was more beautiful still, and blazing fish scales lighted it. "This," said the turtle, "is the palace of the sea-god. I am a waiting-maid to his lovely daughter, the Princess." The turtle went to announce the arrival of Uraschima Taro to the Princess, and soon returning, led him to her presence. She was so beautiful that when she asked him to remain in the palace he gladly consented. "Do not leave me, and you shall always be as handsome as you are now, and old age cannot come to you," she said. So it happened that Uraschima Taro lived in the marvelous palace at the bottom of the sea with the daughter of the sea-god. He was so happy that the time passed by unheeded. How long he dwelt there he could not have told. But one day he thought of his parents; then he remembered that they must be troubled by his absence. The thought of them kept coming to him continually, and the longing to see them grew so strong that at last he told the Princess he must go to visit them. She begged him not to leave her and wept bitterly. "If you go, I shall never see you again," she sobbed. But he told her that he must see his father and mother once again; then he would return to the palace in the sea, to be with her always. When she found that she could not persuade him to remain, she gave him a small gold box, which, she told him, he must on no account open. "If you heed my words," said she, "you may come back to me. When you are ready, the turtle will be there to bring you; but if you forget what I have told you, I shall never see you again." Uraschima Taro fondly assured her that nothing in the world should keep him from her, and bade her farewell. Mounting the turtle's back, he soon left the palace far below. For three days and three nights they swam, and then the turtle left him on the familiar sands near his old home. He eagerly ran to the village and looked about for some of his comrades. All of the faces were strange, and even the houses seemed different. The children, playing in the street where he had lived, he had never seen before. Stopping in front of his own house, he regarded it with a sinking heart. There was the sound of music from a window above, and a strange woman opened the door to him. She could tell him nothing of his parents, and had never heard their names. Every one whom he questioned looked at him curiously. At last he wandered from the village and came to the burying ground. Searching about among the graves, he soon found himself beside a stone bearing the dear names he sought. The date showed him that his father and mother had died soon after he left them; and then he discovered that he had been away from his home three hundred years. Bowed with sorrow, he went back to the city. At each step he hoped to wake and find it all a dream, but the people and streets were real. He thought of the Princess, and remembered the gold box she had given to him. It might be that he was under some cruel enchantment, and that this box contained the charm to break the spell. He eagerly raised the cover, and a purple vapor escaped and left the box empty. To his alarm, he noticed that the hand that held it had shriveled and grown suddenly old. Trembling with horror, he ran to a stream of water which ran down from the mountain, and saw reflected in its waters the face of a mummy. He crawled fearfully back to the village, and no one recognized him as the strong youth who had entered it a few hours before. Nearly exhausted; he finally reached the shore, where he sat wearily on a rock and cried to the turtle. But he called to it in vain; the turtle never came, and soon his quavering voice was hushed in death. Before he died, the people of the village gathered about him and listened to his strange story. Long afterward they told their children of the young man who, for the love of his parents, left a marvelous palace in the sea, and a Princess more beautiful than the day. * * * * * EAST INDIAN STORIES * * * * * THE SON OF SEVEN QUEENS ADAPTED BY JOSEPH JACOBS Once upon a time there lived a King who had seven Queens, but no children. This was a great grief to him, especially when he remembered that on his death there would be no heir to inherit the kingdom. Now it happened one day that a poor old fakir came to the King and said, "Your prayers are heard, your desire shall be accomplished, and one of your seven Queens shall bear a son." The King's delight at this promise knew no bounds, and he gave orders for appropriate festivities to be prepared against the coming event throughout the length and breadth of the land. Meanwhile the seven Queens lived luxuriously in a splendid palace, attended by hundreds of female slaves, and fed to their hearts' content on sweetmeats and confectionery. Now the King was very fond of hunting, and one day, before he started, the seven Queens sent him a message saying, "May it please our dearest lord not to hunt toward the north to-day, for we have dreamed bad dreams, and fear lest evil should befall you." The King, to allay their anxiety, promised regard for their wishes, and set out toward the south; but as luck would have it, although he hunted diligently, he found no game. Nor had he more success to the east or west, so that, being a keen sportsman, and determined not to go home empty-handed, he forgot all about his promise and turned to the north. Here also he was at first unsuccessful, but just as he had made up his mind to give up for that day, a white hind with golden horns and silver hoofs flashed past him into a thicket. So quickly did it pass that he scarcely saw it; nevertheless, a burning desire to capture and possess the beautiful strange creature filled his breast. He instantly ordered his attendants to form a ring round the thicket, and so encircle the hind; then, gradually narrowing the circle, he pressed forward till he could distinctly see the white hind panting in the midst. Nearer and nearer he advanced, till just as he thought to lay hold of the beautiful strange creature, it gave one mighty bound, leaped clean over the King's head, and fled toward the mountains. Forgetful of all else, the King, setting spurs to his horse, followed at full speed. On, on he galloped, leaving his retinue far behind, keeping the white hind in view, never drawing bridle until, finding himself in a narrow ravine with no outlet, he reined in his steed. Before him stood a miserable hovel, into which, being tired after his long, unsuccessful chase, he entered to ask for a drink of water. An old woman, seated in the hut at a spinning-wheel, answered his request by calling to her daughter, and immediately from an inner room came a maiden so lovely and charming, so white-skinned and golden-haired, that the King was transfixed by astonishment at seeing so beautiful a sight in the wretched hovel. She held the vessel of water to the King's lips, and as he drank he looked into her eyes, and then it became clear to him that the girl was no other than the white hind with the golden horns and silver feet he had chased so far. Her beauty bewitched him, so he fell on his knees, begging her to return with him as his bride; but she only laughed, saying seven Queens were quite enough even for a King to manage. However, when he would take no refusal, but implored her to have pity on him, promising her everything she could desire, she replied, "Give me the eyes of your seven Queens, and then perhaps I may believe you mean what you say." The King was so carried away by the glamor of the white hind's magical beauty that he went home at once, had the eyes of his seven Queens taken out, and, after throwing the poor blind creatures into a noisome dungeon whence they could not escape, set off once more for the hovel in the ravine, bearing with him his horrible offering. But the white hind only laughed cruelly when she saw the fourteen eyes, and threading them as a necklace, flung it round her mother's neck, saying, "Wear that, little mother, as a keepsake, while I am away in the King's palace." Then she went back with the bewitched Monarch, as his bride, and he gave her the seven Queens' rich clothes and jewels to wear, the seven Queens' palace to live in, and the seven Queens' slaves to wait upon her; so that she really had everything even a witch could desire. Now, very soon after the seven wretched hapless Queens had their eyes torn out, and were cast into prison, a baby was born to the youngest of the Queens. It was a handsome boy, but the other Queens were very jealous that the youngest among them should be so fortunate. But though at first they disliked the handsome little boy, he soon proved so useful to them, that ere long they all looked on him as their son. Almost as soon as he could walk about he began scraping at the mud wall of their dungeon, and in an incredibly short space of time had made a hole big enough for him to crawl through. Through this he disappeared, returning in an hour or so laden with sweetmeats, which he divided equally among the seven blind Queens. As he grew older he enlarged the hole, and slipped out two or three times every day to play with the little nobles in the town. No one knew who the tiny boy was, but everybody liked him, and he was so full of funny tricks and antics, so merry and bright, that he was sure to be rewarded by some girdle-cakes, a handful of parched grain, or some sweetmeats. All these, things he brought home to his seven mothers, as he loved to call the seven blind Queens, who by his help lived on in their dungeon when all the world thought they had starved to death ages before. At last, when he was quite a big lad, he one day took his bow and arrow, and went out to seek for game. Coming by chance past the palace where the white hind lived in wicked splendor and magnificence, he saw some pigeons fluttering round the white marble turrets, and, taking good aim, shot one dead. It came tumbling past the very window where the white Queen was sitting; she rose to see what was the matter, and looked out. At the first glance of the handsome young lad standing there bow in hand, she knew by witchcraft that it was the King's son. She nearly died of envy and spite, determining to destroy the lad without delay; therefore, sending a servant to bring him to her presence, she asked him if he would sell her the pigeon he had just shot. "No," replied the sturdy lad, "the pigeon is for my seven blind mothers, who live in the noisome dungeon, and who would die if I did not bring them food." "Poor souls!" cried the cunning white witch. "Would you not like to bring them their eyes again? Give me the pigeon, my dear, and I faithfully promise to show you where to find them." Hearing this, the lad was delighted beyond measure, and gave up the pigeon at once. Whereupon the white Queen told him to seek her mother without delay, and ask for the eyes which she wore as a necklace. "She will not fail to give them," said the cruel Queen, "if you show her this token on which I have written what I want done." So saying, she gave the lad a piece of broken potsherd, with these words inscribed on it, "Kill the bearer at once, and sprinkle his blood like water!" Now, as the son of seven Queens could not read, he took the fatal message cheerfully, and set off to find the white Queen's mother. While he was journeying he passed through a town where every one of the inhabitants looked so sad that he could not help asking what was the matter. They told him it was because the King's only daughter refused to marry; therefore when her father died there would be no heir to the throne. They greatly feared she must be out of her mind, for though every good-looking young man in the kingdom had been shown to her, she declared she would only marry one who was the son of seven mothers, and who had ever heard of such a thing? The King, in despair, had ordered every man who entered the city gates to be led before the Princess; so, much to the lad's impatience, for he was in an immense hurry to find his mothers' eyes, he was dragged into the presence-chamber. No sooner did the Princess catch sight of him than she blushed, and, turning to the King, said, "Dear father, this is my choice!" Never were such rejoicings as these few words produced. The inhabitants nearly went wild with joy, but the son of seven Queens said he would not marry the Princess unless they first let him recover his mothers' eyes. When the beautiful bride heard his story, she asked to see the potsherd, for she was very learned and clever. Seeing the treacherous words, she said nothing, but taking another similar-shaped bit of potsherd, she wrote on it these words, "Take care of this lad, giving him all he desires," and returned it to the son of seven Queens, who, none the wiser, set off on his quest. Ere long he arrived at the hovel in the ravine where the white witch's mother, a hideous old creature, grumbled dreadfully on reading the message, especially when the lad asked for the necklace of eyes. Nevertheless she took it off and gave it him, saying, "There are only thirteen of 'em now, for I lost one last week." The lad, however, was only too glad to get any at all, so he hurried home as fast as he could to his seven mothers, and gave two eyes apiece to the six elder Queens; but to the youngest he gave one, saying, "Dearest little mother!--I will be your other eye always!" After this he set off to marry the Princess, as he had promised, but when passing by the white Queen's palace he saw some pigeons on the roof. Drawing his bow, he shot one, and it came fluttering past the window. The white hind looked out, and lo! there was the King's son alive and well. She cried with hatred and disgust, but sending for the lad, asked him how he had returned so soon, and when she heard how he had brought home the thirteen eyes, and given them to the seven blind Queens, she could hardly restrain her rage. Nevertheless she pretended to be charmed with his success, and told him that if he would give her this pigeon also, she would reward him with the Jogi's wonderful cow, whose milk flows all day long, and makes a pond as big as a kingdom. The lad, nothing loth, gave her the pigeon; whereupon, as before, she bade him go and ask her mother for the cow, and gave him a potsherd where on was written, "Kill this lad without fail, and sprinkle his blood like water!" But on the way the son of seven Queens looked in on the Princess, just to tell her how he came to be delayed, and she, after reading the message on the potsherd, gave him another in its stead; so that when the lad reached the old hag's hut and asked her for the Jogi's cow, she could not refuse, but told the boy how to find it; and bidding him of all things not to be afraid of the eighteen thousand demons who kept watch and ward over the treasure, told him to be off before she became too angry at her daughter's foolishness in thus giving away so many good things. Then the lad bravely did as he had been told. He journeyed on and on till he came to a milk-white pond, guarded by the eighteen thousand demons. They were really frightful to behold, but, plucking up courage, he whistled a tune as he walked through them, looking neither to the right nor the left. By and by he came upon the Jogi's cow, tall, white, and beautiful, while the Jogi himself, who was king of all the demons, sat milking her day and night, and the milk streamed from her udder, filling the milk-white tank. The Jogi, seeing the lad, called out fiercely, "What do you want here?" Then the lad answered, according to the old hag's bidding, "I want your skin, for King Indra is making a new kettledrum, and says your skin is nice and tough." Upon this the Jogi began to shiver and shake (for no Jinn or Jogi dares disobey King Indra's command), and, falling at the lad's feet, cried, "If you will spare me I will give you anything I possess, even my beautiful white cow!" To this the son of seven Queens, after a little pretended hesitation, agreed, saying that after all it would not be difficult to find a nice tough skin like the Jogi's elsewhere; so driving the wonderful cow before him, he set off homeward. The seven Queens were delighted to possess so marvelous an animal, and though they toiled from morning till night making curds and whey, besides selling milk to the confectioners, they could not use half the cow gave, and became richer and richer day by day. Seeing them so comfortably off, the son of seven Queens started with a light heart to marry the Princess; but when passing the white hind's palace he could not resist sending a bolt at some pigeons that were cooing on the parapet. One fell dead just beneath the window where the white Queen was sitting. Looking out, she saw the lad, hale and hearty, standing before her, and grew whiter than ever with rage and spite. She sent for him to ask how he had returned so soon, and when she heard how kindly her mother had received him, she very nearly had a fit. However, she dissembled her feelings as well as she could, and, smiling sweetly, said she was glad to have been able to fulfil her promise, and that if he would give her this third pigeon, she would do yet more for him than she had done before, by giving him the millionfold rice, which ripens in one night. The lad was of course delighted at the very idea, and, giving up the pigeon, set off on his quest, armed as before with a potsherd, on which was written, "Do not fail this time. Kill the lad, and sprinkle his blood like water!" But when he looked in on his Princess, just to prevent her becoming anxious about him, she asked to see the potsherd as usual, and substituted another, on which was written, "Yet again give this lad all he requires, for his blood shall be as your blood!" Now when the old hag saw this, and heard how the lad wanted the millionfold rice which ripens in a single night, she fell into the most furious rage, but being terribly afraid of her daughter, she controlled herself, and bade the boy go and find the field guarded by eighteen millions of demons, warning him on no account to look back after having plucked the tallest spike of rice, which grew in the center. So the son of seven Queens set off, and soon came to the field where, guarded by eighteen millions of demons, the millionfold rice grew. He walked on bravely, looking neither to the right nor left, till he reached the center and plucked the tallest ear, but as he turned homeward a thousand sweet voices rose behind him, crying in tenderest accents, "Pluck me too! oh, please pluck me too!" He looked back, and lo! there was nothing left of him but a little heap of ashes! Now as time passed by and the lad did not return, the old hag grew uneasy, remembering the message "His blood shall be as your blood"; so she set off to see what had happened. Soon she came to the heap of ashes, and knowing by her arts what it was, she took a little water, and kneading the ashes into a paste, formed it into the likeness of a man; then, putting a drop of blood from her little finger into its mouth, she blew on it, and instantly the son of seven Queens started up as well as ever. "Don't you disobey orders again!" grumbled the old hag, "or next time I'll leave you alone. Now be off, before I repent of my kindness!" So the son of seven Queens returned joyfully to his seven mothers, who, by the aid of the millionfold rice, soon became the richest people in the kingdom. Then they celebrated their son's marriage to the clever Princess with all imaginable pomp; but the bride was so clever, she would not rest until she had made known her husband to his father, and punished the wicked white witch. So she made her husband build a palace exactly like the one in which the seven Queens had lived, and in which the white witch now dwelt in splendor. Then, when all was prepared, she bade her husband give a grand feast to the King. Now the King had heard much of the mysterious son of seven queens, and his marvelous wealth, so he gladly accepted the invitation; but what was his astonishment when on entering the palace he found it was a facsimile of his own in every particular! And when his host, richly attired, led him straight to the private hall, where on royal thrones sat the seven Queens, dressed as he had last seen them, he was speechless with surprise, until the Princess, coming forward, threw herself at his feet and told him the whole story. Then the King awoke from his enchantment, and his anger rose against the wicked white hind who had bewitched him so long, until he could not contain himself. So she was put to death, and her grave plowed over, and after that the seven Queens returned to their own splendid palace, and everybody lived happily. * * * * * WHO KILLED THE OTTER'S BABIES ADAPTED BY WALTER SKEAT The Otter said to the Mouse-deer, "Friend Mouse-deer, will you be so good as to take charge of the children till I come back? I am going down to the river to catch fish, and when I come back, I'll share the catch with you." The Mouse-deer replied, "Very well! go along, and I'll look after the children." So the Otter went down to the river to catch fish. (Here the story of What the Otter Did stops and the story of What Happened when the Woodpecker Sounded the War-gong commences.) The Mouse-deer was Chief Dancer of the War-dance, and as he danced he trod on the Otter's babies and crushed them flat. Presently the Otter returned home, bringing a string of fish with him. Oh arriving he saw that his children had been killed, and exclaimed, "How comes it, Friend Mouse-deer, that my babies have died?" The Mouse-deer replied: "The Woodpecker came and sounded the war-gong, and I, being Chief War-Dancer, danced; and, forgetting about your children, I trod upon them and crushed them flat." On hearing this the Otter went and made complaint unto King Solomon, prostrating himself and saying: "Your Majesty's most humble slave craves pardon for presuming to address your Majesty, but Friend Mouse-deer has murdered your slave's children, and your slave desires to learn whether he is guilty or not according to the Law of the Land." King Solomon replied, saying, "If the Mouse-deer hath done this thing wittingly, assuredly he is guilty of death." Then he summoned the Mouse-deer before him. And when the Mouse-deer came into the presence of the King, the King inquired of the Otter, "What is your charge against him?" The Otter replied, "Your slave accuses him of the murder of your slave's children; your slave would hear the Law of the Land." Then the King said unto the Mouse-deer, "Was it your doing that the Otter's children were killed?" The Mouse-deer replied, "Assuredly it was, but I crave pardon for doing so." "How was it, then," said the King, "that you came to kill them?" The Mouse-deer replied, "Your slave came to kill them because the Woodpecker appeared and sounded the War-gong. Your slave, as your Majesty is aware, is Chief Dancer of the War-dance; therefore your slave danced, and, forgetting about the Otter's children, your slave trod upon them and crushed them flat." Here the King sent for the Woodpecker also, and the Woodpecker came before him. "Was it you, Woodpecker," said the King, "who sounded the war-gong?" "Assuredly it was," said the Woodpecker,--"forasmuch as your slave saw the Great Lizard wearing his sword." The King replied, "If that is the case, there is no fault to be found in the Woodpecker" (for the Woodpecker was Chief Beater of the War-gong). Then the King commanded the Great Lizard to be summoned, and when he arrived, the King inquired, "Was it you, Lizard, wearing your sword?" The Great Lizard replied, "Assuredly it was, your Majesty." "And why were you wearing your sword?" The Great Lizard replied, "Your slave wore it forasmuch as your slave saw that the Tortoise had donned his coat of mail." So the Tortoise was summoned likewise. "Why did you, Tortoise, don your coat of mail?" The Tortoise replied, "Your slave donned it forasmuch as your slave saw the King-crab trailing his three-edged pike." Then the King-crab was sent for. "Why were you, King-crab, trailing your three-edged pike?" "Because your slave saw that the Crayfish had shouldered his lance." Then the King sent for the Crayfish, and said, "Was it you, Crayfish, who was shouldering your lance?" And the Crayfish replied, "Assuredly it was, your Majesty." "And why did you shoulder it?" "Because your slave saw the Otter coming down to devour your slave's own children." "Oh," said King Solomon, "if that is the case, you, Otter are the guilty party, and your complaint of your children's death cannot be sustained against the Mouse-deer by the Law of the Land." * * * * * THE ALLIGATOR AND THE JACKAL ADAPTED BY M. FRERE A hungry Jackal once went down to the riverside in search of little crabs, bits of fish, and whatever else he could find for his dinner. Now it chanced that in this river there lived a great big Alligator, who, being also very hungry, would have been extremely glad to eat the Jackal. The Jackal ran up and down, here and there, but for a long time could find nothing to eat. At last, close to where the Alligator was lying among some tall bulrushes under the clear, shallow water, he saw a little crab sidling along as fast as his legs could carry him. The Jackal was so hungry that when he saw this he poked his paw into the water to try to catch the crab, when snap! the old Alligator caught hold of him. "Oh, dear!" thought the Jackal to himself, "what can I do? This great, big Alligator has caught my paw in his mouth, and in another minute he will drag me down by it under the water and kill me. My only chance is to make him think he has made a mistake." So he called out in a cheerful voice: "Clever Alligator, clever Alligator, to catch hold of a bulrush root instead of my paw! I hope you find it very tender." The Alligator, who was so buried among the bulrushes that he could hardly see, thought, on hearing this: "Dear me, how tiresome! I fancied I had caught hold of the Jackal's paw; but there he is, calling out in a cheerful voice. I suppose I must have seized a bulrush root instead, as he says," and he let the Jackal go. The Jackal ran away as fast as he could, crying, "O wise Alligator, wise Alligator! So you let me go again!" Then the Alligator was very much vexed, but the Jackal had run away too far to be caught. Next day the Jackal returned to the riverside to get his dinner as before; but because he was very much afraid of the Alligator he called out: "Whenever I go to look for my dinner, I see the nice little crabs peeping up through the mud; then I catch them and eat them. I wish I could see one now." The Alligator, who was buried in the mud at the bottom of the river, heard every word. So he popped the little point of his snout above it, thinking: "If I do but just show the tip of my nose, the Jackal will take me for a crab and put in his paw to catch me, and as soon as ever he does I'll gobble him up." But no sooner did the Jackal see the little tip of the Alligator's nose than he called out, "Aha, my friend! there you are. No dinner for me in this part of the river, then, I think." And so saying, he ran farther on and fished for his dinner a long way from that place. The Alligator was very angry at missing his prey a second time, and determined not to let him escape again. So on the following day, when his little tormentor returned to the waterside, the Alligator hid himself close to the bank, in order to catch him if he could. Now the Jackal was rather afraid of going near the river, for he thought, "Perhaps the Alligator will catch me to-day." But yet, being hungry, he did not wish to go without his dinner; so to make all as safe as he could, he cried: "Where are all the little crabs gone? There is not one here and I am so hungry; and generally, even when they are under water, one can see them going bubble, bubble, bubble, and all the little bubbles go pop! pop! pop!" On hearing this the Alligator, who was buried in the mud under the river bank, thought: "I will pretend to be a little crab." And he began to blow, "Puff, puff, puff! Bubble, bubble, bubble!" and all the great bubbles rushed to the surface of the river and burst there, and the waters eddied round and round like a whirlpool; and there was such a commotion when the huge monster began to blow bubbles in this way that the Jackal saw very well who must be there, and he ran away as fast as he could, saying, "Thank you, kind Alligator, thank you; thank you! Indeed, I would not have come here had I known you were so close." This enraged the Alligator extremely; it made him quite cross to think of being so often deceived by a little Jackal, and he said to himself, "I will be taken in no more. Next time I will be very cunning." So for a long time he waited and waited for the Jackal to return to the riverside; but the Jackal did not come, for he had thought to himself: "If matters go on in this way, I shall some day be caught and eaten by the wicked old Alligator. I had better content myself with living on wild figs," and he went no more near the river, but stayed in the jungles and ate wild figs, and roots which he dug up with his paws. When the Alligator found this out, he determined to try and catch the Jackal on land; so, going under the largest of the wild fig-trees, where the ground was covered with the fallen fruit, he collected a quantity of it together, and, burying himself under the great heap, waited for the Jackal to appear. But no sooner did the cunning little animal see this great heap of wild figs all collected together than he thought, "That looks very like my friend the Alligator." And to discover if it were so or not, he called out: "The juicy little wild figs I love to eat always tumble down from the tree, and roll here and there as the wind drives them; but this great heap of figs is quite still; these cannot be good figs; I will not eat any of them." "Ho, ho!" thought the Alligator, "is that all? How suspicious this Jackal is! I will make the figs roll about a little, then, and when he sees that, he will doubtless come and eat them." So the great beast shook himself, and all the heap of little figs went roll, roll, roll--some a mile this way, some a mile that, farther than they had ever rolled before or than the most blustering wind could have driven them. Seeing this, the Jackal scampered away, saying: "I am so much obliged to you, Alligator, for letting me know you are there, for indeed I should hardly have guessed it. You were so buried under that heap of figs." The Alligator, hearing this, was so angry that he ran after the Jackal, but the latter ran very, very fast away, too quickly to be caught. Then the Alligator said to himself: "I will not allow that little wretch to make fun of me another time and then run away out of reach; I will show him that I can be more cunning than he fancies." And early the next morning he crawled as fast as he could to the Jackal's den (which was a hole in the side of a hill) and crept into it, and hid himself, waiting for the Jackal, who was out, to return home. But when the Jackal got near the place, he looked about him and thought: "Dear me! the ground looks as if some heavy creature had been walking over it, and here are great clods of earth knocked down from each side of the door of my den, as if a very big animal had been trying to squeeze himself through it. I certainly will not go inside until I know that all is safe there." So he called out: "Little house, pretty house, my sweet little house, why do you not give an answer when I call? If I come, and all is safe and right, you always call out to me. Is anything wrong, that you do not speak?" Then the Alligator, who was inside, thought, "If that is the case I had better call out, that he may fancy all is right in his house." And in as gentle a voice as he could, he said, "Sweet little Jackal." At hearing these words the Jackal felt quite frightened, and thought to himself: "So the dreadful old Alligator is there. I must try to kill him if I can, for if I do not he will certainly catch and kill me some day." He therefore answered: "Thank you, my dear little house. I like to hear your pretty voice. I am coming in in a minute, but first I must collect firewood to cook my dinner." And he ran as fast as he could, and dragged all the dry branches and bits of stick he could find close up to the mouth of the den. Meantime, the Alligator inside kept as quiet as a mouse, but he could not help laughing a little to himself as he thought: "So I have deceived this tiresome little Jackal at last. In a few minutes he will run in here, and then won't I snap him up!" When the Jackal had gathered together all the sticks he could find and put them round the mouth of his den, he set them on fire and pushed them as far into it as possible. There was such a quantity of them that they soon blazed up into a great fire, and the smoke and flames filled the den and smothered the wicked old Alligator and burned him to death, while the little Jackal ran up and down outside dancing for joy and singing: "How do you like my house, my friend? Is it nice and warm? Ding-dong! ding-dong! The Alligator is dying! ding-dong, ding-dong! He will trouble me no more. I have defeated my enemy! Ring-a-ting! ding-a-ting! ding-ding-dong!" * * * * * THE FARMER AND THE MONEY-LENDER There was once a Farmer who suffered much at the hands of a Money-lender. Good harvests or bad the Farmer was always poor, the Money-lender rich. At the last, when he hadn't a farthing left, the Farmer went to the Money-lender's house and said, "You can't squeeze water from a stone, and, as you have nothing to get by me now, you might tell me the secret of becoming rich." "My friend," returned the Money-lender piously, "riches come from Ram--ask _him_." "Thank you, I will!" replied the simple Farmer; so he prepared three girdle-cakes to last him on the journey, and set out to find Ram. First he met a Brahman, and to him he gave a cake, asking him to point out the road to Ram; but the Brahman only took the cake, and went on his way without a word. Next the Farmer met a yogi, or devotee, and to him he gave a cake, without receiving any help in return. At last he came upon a poor man sitting under a tree, and finding out he was hungry the kindly Farmer gave him his last cake, and, sitting down to rest beside him, entered into conversation. "And where are you going?" asked the poor man, at length. "Oh, I have a long journey before me, for I am going to find Ram!" replied the Farmer. "I don't suppose you could tell me which way to go?" "Perhaps I can," said the poor man, smiling, "for _I_ am Ram! What do you want of me?" Then the Farmer told the whole story, and Ram, taking pity on him, gave him a conch-shell, and showed him how to blow it in a particular way, saying: "Remember! whatever you wish for, you have only to blow the conch that way, and your wish will be fulfilled. Only, have a care of that Money-lender, for even magic is not proof against his wiles!" The Farmer went back to his village rejoicing. In fact, the Money-lender noticed his high spirits at once, and said to himself, "Some good fortune must have befallen the stupid fellow, to make him hold his head so jauntily." Therefore he went over to the simple Farmer's house, and congratulated him on his good fortune in such cunning words, pretending to have heard all about it, that before long the Farmer found himself telling the whole story--all except the secret of blowing the conch, for, with all his simplicity, the Farmer was not quite such a fool as to tell that. Nevertheless, the Money-lender determined to have the conch by hook or by crook, and, as he was villain enough not to stick at trifles, he waited for a favorable opportunity and stole the conch. But, after nearly bursting himself with blowing the conch in every conceivable way, he was obliged to give up the secret as a bad job. However, being determined to succeed, he went back to the Farmer, and said coolly: "Look here! I've got your conch, but I can't use it; you haven't got it, so it's clear you can't use it either. Business is at a standstill unless we make a bargain. Now, I promise to give you back your conch, and never to interfere with your using it, on one condition, which is this--whatever you get from it, I am to get double." "Never!" cried the Farmer; "that would be the old business all over again!" "Not at all!" replied the wily Money-lender; "you will have your share! Now, don't be a dog in the manger, for, if _you_ get all you want, what can it matter to you if _I_ am rich or poor?" At last, though it went sorely against the grain to be of any benefit to a Money-lender, the Farmer was forced to yield, and from that time, no matter what he gained by the power of the conch, the Money-lender gained double. And the knowledge that this was so, preyed upon the Farmer's mind day and night, so that he had no satisfaction out of anything. At last there came a very dry season--so dry that the Farmer's crops withered for want of rain. Then he blew his conch, and wished for a well to water them, and lo! there was the well, _but the Money-lender had two_!--two beautiful new wells! This was too much for any Farmer to stand; and our friend brooded over it, and brooded over it, till at last a bright idea came into his head. He seized the conch, blew it loudly, and cried out, "Oh, Ram! I wish to be blind of one eye!" And so he was, in a twinkling, but the Money-lender, of course, was blind of both, and in trying to steer his way between the two new wells he fell into one, and was drowned. Now, this true story shows that a Farmer once got the better of a Money-lender--but only by losing one of his eyes. * * * * * TIT FOR TAT ADAPTED BY M. FRERE There once lived a Camel and a Jackal who were great friends. One day the Jackal said to the Camel, "I know that there is a fine field of sugarcane on the other side of the river. If you will take me across, I'll show you the place. This plan will suit me as well as you. You will enjoy eating the sugarcane, and I am sure to find many crabs' bones and bits of fish by the riverside, on which to make a good dinner." The Camel consented, and swam across the river, taking the Jackal, who could not swim, on his back. When they reached the other side, the Camel went to eating the sugarcane, and the Jackal ran up and down the river bank, devouring all the crabs, bits of fish, and bones he could find. But being a much smaller animal, he had made an excellent meal before the Camel had eaten more than two or three mouthfuls; and no sooner had he finished his dinner than he ran round and round the sugarcane field, yelping and howling with all his might. The villagers heard him, and thought, "There is a jackal among the sugarcanes; he will be scratching holes in the ground and spoiling the roots of the plants." And they all went down to the place to drive him away. But when they got there they found to their surprise not only a Jackal, but a Camel who was eating the sugarcanes! This made them very angry, and they caught the poor Camel and drove him from the field and beat him and beat him until he was nearly dead. When they had gone, the Jackal said to the Camel, "We had better go home." And the Camel said, "Very well; then jump upon my back, as you did before." So the Jackal jumped upon the Camel's back, and the Camel began to recross the river. When they had got well into the water, the Camel said: "This is a pretty way in which you have treated me, friend Jackal. No sooner had you finished your own dinner than you must go yelping about the place loud enough to arouse the whole village, and bring all the villagers down to beat me black and blue, and turn me out of the field before I had eaten two mouthfuls! What in the world did you make such a noise for?" "I don't know," said the Jackal. "It is a custom I have. I always like to sing a little after dinner." The Camel waded on through the river. The water reached up to his knees--then above them--up, up, up, higher and higher, until he was obliged to swim. Then turning to the Jackal, he said, "I feel very anxious to roll." "Oh, pray don't; why do you wish to do so?" asked the Jackal. "I don't know," answered the Camel. "It is a custom I have. I always like to have a little roll after dinner." So saying, he rolled over in the water, shaking the Jackal off as he did so. And the Jackal was drowned, but the Camel swam safely ashore. * * * * * SINGH RAJAH AND THE CUNNING LITTLE JACKALS ADAPTED BY M. FRERE Once upon a time, in a great jungle, there lived a great lion. He was rajah of all the country round, and every day he used to leave his den, in the deepest shadow of the rocks, and roar with a loud, angry voice; and when he roared, the other animals in the jungle, who were all his subjects, got very much frightened and ran here and there; and Singh Rajah would pounce upon them and kill them, and gobble them up for his dinner. This went on for a long, long time until, at last, there were no living creatures left in the jungle but two little jackals--a Rajah Jackal and a Ranee Jackal--husband and wife. A very hard time of it the poor little jackals had, running this way and that to escape the terrible Singh Rajah; and every day the little Ranee Jackal would say to her husband: "I am afraid he will catch us to-day; do you hear how he is roaring? Oh, dear! oh, dear!" And he would answer her: "Never fear; I will take care of you. Let us run on a mile or two. Come; come quick, quick, quick!" And they would both run away as fast as they could. After some time spent in this way, they found, however, one fine day, that the lion was so close upon them that they could not escape. Then the little Ranee Jackal said: "Husband, husband, I feel much frightened. The Singh Rajah is so angry he will certainly kill us at once. What can we do?" But he answered: "Cheer up; we can save ourselves yet. Come, and I'll show you how we may manage it." So what did these cunning little jackals do but they went to the great lion's den; and, when he saw them coming, he began to roar and shake his mane, and he said: "You little wretches, come and be eaten at once! I have had no dinner for three whole days, and all that time I have been running over hill and dale to find you. Ro-a-ar! Ro-a-ar! Come and be eaten, I say!" and he lashed his tail and gnashed his teeth, and looked very terrible indeed. Then the Jackal Rajah, creeping quite close up to him, said: "Oh, great Singh Rajah, we all know you are our master, and we would have come at your bidding long ago; but, indeed, sir, there is a much bigger rajah even than you in this jungle, and he tried to catch hold of us and eat us up, and frightened us so much that we were obliged to run away." "What do you mean?" growled Singh Rajah. "There is no king in this jungle but me!" "Ah, sire," answered the jackal, "in truth one would think so, for you are very dreadful. Your very voice is death. But it is as we say, for we, with our own eyes, have seen one with whom you could not compete--whose equal you can no more be than we are yours--whose face is as flaming fire, his step as thunder, and his power supreme." "It is impossible!" interrupted the old lion; "but show me this rajah of whom you speak so much, that I may destroy him instantly!" Then the little jackals ran on before him until they reached a great well, and, pointing down to his own reflection in the water, they said, "See, sire, there lives the terrible king of whom we spoke." When Singh Rajah looked down the well he became very angry, for he thought he saw another lion there. He roared and shook his great mane, and the shadow lion shook his and looked terribly defiant. At last, beside himself with rage at the violence of his opponent, Singh Rajah sprang down to kill him at once, but no other lion was there--only the treacherous reflection--and the sides of the well were so steep that he could not get out again to punish the two jackals, who peeped over the top. After struggling for some time in the deep water, he sank to rise no more. And the little jackals threw stones down upon him from above, and danced round and round the well, singing: "Ao! Ao! Ao! Ao! The king of the forest is dead, is dead! We have killed the great lion who would have killed us! Ao! Ao! Ao! Ao! Ring-a-ting--ding-a-ting! Ring-a-ting--ding-a-ting! Ao! Ao! Ao!" * * * * * AMERICAN INDIAN STORIES * * * * * THE WHITE STONE CANOE ADAPTED BY H. R. SCHOOLCRAFT There was once a very beautiful Indian maiden, who died suddenly on the day she was to have been married to a handsome young warrior. He was also brave, but his heart was not proof against this loss. From the hour she was buried, there was no more joy or peace for him. He went often to visit the spot where the women had buried her, and sat musing there, when, it was thought by some of his friends, he would have done better to try to amuse himself in the chase, or by diverting his thoughts in the warpath. But war and hunting had both lost their charms for him. His heart was already dead within him. He pushed aside both his war-club and his bow and arrows. He had heard the old people say, that there was a path that led to the land of souls, and he determined to follow it. He accordingly set out, one morning, after having completed his preparations for the journey. At first he hardly knew which way to go. He was only guided by the tradition that he must go south. For a while he could see no change in the face of the country. Forests, and hills, and valleys, and streams had the same looks which they wore in his native place. There was snow on the ground when he set out, and it was sometimes seen to be piled and matted on the thick trees and bushes. At length it began to diminish, and finally disappeared. The forest assumed a more cheerful appearance, the leaves put forth their buds, and before he was aware of the completeness of the change, he found himself surrounded by spring. He had left behind him the land of snow and ice. The air became mild, the dark clouds of winter had rolled away from the sky; a pure field of blue was above him, and as he went he saw flowers beside his path, and heard the songs of birds. By these signs he knew that he was going the right way, for they agreed with the traditions of his tribe. At length he spied a path. It led him through a grove, then up a long and elevated ridge, on the very top of which he came to a lodge. At the door stood an old man, with white hair, whose eyes, though deeply sunk, had a fiery brilliancy. He had a long robe of skins thrown loosely around his shoulders, and a staff in his hands. The young Chippewayan began to tell his story; but the venerable chief arrested him before he had proceeded to speak ten words. "I have expected you," he replied, "and had just risen to bid you welcome to my abode. She whom you seek passed here but a few days since, and being fatigued with her journey, rested herself here. Enter my lodge and be seated, and I will then satisfy your inquiries, and give you directions for your journey from this point." Having done this, they both issued forth to the lodge door. "You see yonder gulf," said he, "and the wide-stretching blue plains beyond. It is the land of souls. You stand upon its borders, and my lodge is the gate of entrance. But you can not take your body along. Leave it here with your bow and arrows, your bundle, and your dog. You will find them safe on your return." So saying, he re-entered the lodge, and the freed traveler bounded forward as if his feet had suddenly been endowed with the power of wings. But all things retained their natural colors and shapes. The woods and leaves, and streams and lakes, were only more bright and comely than he had ever witnessed. Animals bounded across his path, with a freedom and a confidence which seemed to tell him there was no blood shed here. Birds of beautiful plumage inhabited the groves, and sported in the waters. There was but one thing in which he saw a very unusual effect. He noticed that his passage was not stopped by trees or other objects. He appeared to walk directly through them. They were, in fact, but the souls or shadows of material trees. He became sensible that he was in a land of shadows. When he had traveled half a day's journey, through a country which was continually becoming more attractive, he came to the banks of a broad lake, in the center of which was a large and beautiful island. He found a canoe of shining white stone, tied to the shore. He was now sure that he had taken the right path, for the aged man had told him this. There were also shining paddles. He immediately entered the canoe, and took the paddles in his hands, when, to his joy and surprise, on turning round he beheld the object of his search in another canoe, exactly its counterpart in everything. She had exactly imitated his motions, and they were side by side. They at once pushed out from shore and began to cross the lake. Its waves seemed to be rising, and at a distance looked ready to swallow them up; but just as they entered the whitened edge of them they seemed to melt away, as if they were but the images of waves. But no sooner was one wreath of foam passed, than another, more threatening still, arose. Thus they were in perpetual fear; and what added to it, was the _clearness of the water_, through which they could see heaps of beings who had perished before, and whose bones lay strewed on the bottom of the lake. The Master of Life had, however, decreed to let them pass, for the actions of neither of them had been bad. But they saw many others struggling and sinking in the waves. Old and young of all ages and ranks, were there: some passed and some sank. It was only the little children whose canoes seemed to meet no waves. At length every difficulty was gone, as in a moment, and they both leaped out on the happy island. They felt that the very air was food. It strengthened and nourished them. They wandered together over the blissful fields, where every thing was formed to please the eye and the ear. There were no tempests--there was no ice, no chilly winds--no one shivered for the want of warm clothes: no one suffered hunger--no one mourned for the dead. They saw no graves. They heard of no wars. There was no hunting of animals; for the air itself was their food. Gladly would the young warrior have remained there forever, but he was obliged to go back for his body. He did not see the Master of Life, but he heard his voice in a soft breeze. "Go back," said this voice, "to the land from whence you came. Your time has not yet come. The duties for which I made you, and which you are to perform, are not yet finished. Return to your people, and accomplish the duties of a good man. You will be the ruler of your tribe for many days. The rules you must observe will be told you by my messenger, who keeps the gate. When he surrenders back your body, he will tell you what to do. Listen to him and you shall afterward rejoin the spirit, which you must now leave behind. She is accepted and will be ever here, as young and as happy as she was when I first called her from the land of snows." When this voice ceased, the narrator awoke. It was all the fabric of a dream, and he was still in the bitter land of snows, and hunger, and tears. * * * * * THE MAIDEN WHO LOVED A FISH There was once among the Marshpees, a small tribe who have their hunting-grounds on the shores of the Great Lake, near the Cape of Storms, a woman whose name was Awashanks. She was rather silly and very idle. For days together she would sit doing nothing. Then she was so ugly and ill-shaped that not one of the youths of the village would have aught to say to her by way of courtship or marriage. She squinted very much; her face was long and thin, her nose excessively large and humped, her teeth crooked and projecting, her chin almost as sharp as the bill of a loon, and her ears as large as those of a deer. Altogether she was a very odd and strangely formed woman, and wherever she went she never failed to excite much laughter and derision among those who thought that ugliness and deformity were fit subjects for ridicule. Though so very ugly, there was one faculty she possessed in a more remarkable degree than any woman of the tribe. It was that of singing. Nothing, unless such could be found in the land of spirits, could equal the sweetness of her voice or the beauty of her songs. Her favorite place of resort was a small hill, a little removed from the river of her people, and there, seated beneath the shady trees, she would while away the hours of summer with her charming songs. So beautiful and melodious were the things she uttered that, by the time she had sung a single sentence, the branches above her head would be filled with the birds that came thither to listen, the thickets around her would be crowded with beasts, and the waters rolling beside her would be alive with fishes, all attracted by the sweet sounds. From the minnow to the porpoise, from the wren to the eagle, from the snail to the lobster, from the mouse to the mole--all hastened to the spot to listen to the charming songs of the hideous Marshpee maiden. Among the fishes which repaired every night to the vicinity of the Little Hillock, which was the chosen resting-place of the ugly songstress, was the great chief of the trouts, a tribe of fish inhabiting the river near by. The chief was of a far greater size than the people of his nation usually are, being as long as a man and quite as broad. Of all the creatures which came to listen to the singing of Awashanks none appeared to enjoy it so highly as the chief of the trouts. As his bulk prevented him from approaching so near as he wished, he, from time to time, in his eagerness to enjoy the music to the best advantage, ran his nose into the ground, and thus worked his way a considerable distance into the land. Nightly he continued his exertions to approach the source of the delightful sounds he heard, till at length he had plowed out a wide and handsome channel, and so effected his passage from the river to the hill, a distance extending an arrow's-flight. Thither he repaired every night at the commencement of darkness, sure to meet the maiden who had become so necessary to his happiness. Soon he began to speak of the pleasure he enjoyed, and to fill the ears of Awashanks with fond protestations of his love and affection. Instead of singing to him, she now began to listen to his voice. It was something so new and strange to her to hear the tones of love and courtship, a thing so unusual to be told she was beautiful, that it is not wonderful her head was turned by the new incident, and that she began to think the voice of her lover the sweetest she had ever heard. One thing marred their happiness. This was that the trout could not live upon land, nor the maiden in the water. This state of things gave them much sorrow. They had met one evening at the usual place, and were discoursing together, lamenting that two who loved each other so, should be doomed always to live apart, when a man appeared close to Awashanks. He asked the lovers why they seemed to be so sad. The chief of the trouts told the stranger the cause of their sorrow. "Be not grieved nor hopeless," said the stranger, when the chief had finished. "The impediments can be removed. I am the spirit who presides over fishes, and though I cannot make a man or woman of a fish, I can make them into fish. Under my power Awashanks shall become a beautiful trout." With that he bade the girl follow him into the river. When they had waded in some little depth he took up some water in his hand and poured it on her head, muttering some words, of which none but himself knew the meaning. Immediately a change took place in her. Her body took the form of a fish, and in a few moments she was a complete trout. Having accomplished this transformation the spirit gave her to the chief of the trouts, and the pair glided off into the deep and quiet waters. She did not, however, forget the land of her birth. Every season, on the same night as that upon which her disappearance from her tribe had been wrought, there were to be seen two trouts of enormous size playing in the water off the shore. They continued their visits till the palefaces came to the country, when, deeming themselves to be in danger from a people who paid no reverence to the spirits of the land, they bade it adieu forever. * * * * * THE STAR WIFE In the days when the buffalo raced and thundered over the earth and the stars danced and sang in the sky, a brave young hunter lived on the bank of Battle River. He was fond of the red flowers and the blue sky; and when the rest of the Indians went out to hunt in waistcloths of skin he put on his fringed leggings all heavy with blue beads, and painted red rings and stripes on his face, till he was as gay as the earth and the sky himself. High-feather was his name, and he always wore a red swan's feather on his head. One day, when High-feather was out with his bow and arrows, he came on a little beaten trail that he had never seen before, and he followed it--but he found that it went round and round and brought him back to where he had started. It came from nowhere, and it went to nowhere. "What sort of animal has made this?" he said. And he lay down in the middle of the ring to think, looking up into the blue sky. While he lay thinking, he saw a little speck up above him in the sky, and thought it was an eagle. But the speck grew bigger, and sank down and down, till he saw it was a great basket coming down out of the sky. He jumped up and ran back to a little hollow and lay down to hide in a patch of tall red flowers. Then he peeped out and saw the basket come down to the earth and rest on the grass in the middle of the ring. Twelve beautiful maidens were leaning over the edge of the basket. They were not Indian maidens, for their faces were pink and white, and their long hair was bright red-brown like a fox's fur, and their clothes were sky-blue and floating light as cobwebs. The maidens jumped out of the basket and began to dance round and round the ring-trail, one behind the other, drumming with their fingers on little drums of eagle-skin, and singing such beautiful songs as High-feather had never heard. Then High-feather jumped up and ran towards the ring, crying out, "Let me dance and sing with you!" The maidens were frightened, and ran to the basket and jumped in, and the basket flew up into the sky, and grew smaller till at last he could not see it at all. The young man went home to his wigwam, and his mother roasted buffalo meat for his dinner; but he could not eat, and he could not think of anything but the twelve beautiful maidens. His mother begged him to tell her what the matter was; and at last he told her, and said he would never be happy till he brought one of the maidens home to be his wife. "Those must be the Star-people," said his mother, who was a great magician--the prairie was full of magic in those days, before the white man came and the buffalo went. "You had better take an Indian girl for your wife. Don't think any more of the Star-maidens, or you will have much trouble." "I care little how much trouble I have, so long as I get a Star-maiden for my wife," he said; "and I am going to get one, if I have to wait till the world ends." "If you must, you must," said his mother. So next morning she sewed a bit of gopher's fur on to his feather; and he ate a good breakfast of buffalo meat and tramped away over the prairie to the dancing ring. As soon as he came into the ring he turned into a gopher; but there were no gophers' holes there for him to hide in, so he had to lie in the grass and wait. Presently he saw a speck up in the sky, and the speck grew larger and larger till it became a basket, and the basket came down and down till it rested on the earth in the middle of the ring. The eldest maiden put her head over the edge and looked all around, north and east and south and west. "There is no man here," she said. So they all jumped out to have their dance. But before they came to the beaten ring the youngest maiden spied the gopher, and called out to her sisters to look at it. "Away! away!" cried the eldest maiden. "No gopher would dare to come on our dancing ground. It is a conjuror in disguise!" So she took her youngest sister by the arm and pulled her away to the basket, and they all jumped in and the basket went sailing up into the sky before High-feather could get out of his gopher skin or say a word. The young man went home very miserable; but when his mother heard what had happened she said: "It is a hard thing you want to do; but if you must, you must. To-night I will make some fresh magic, and you can try again to-morrow." Next morning High-feather asked for his breakfast; but his mother said, "You must not have any buffalo meat, or it will spoil the magic. You must not eat anything but the wild strawberries you find on the prairie as you go." Then she sewed a little bit of a mouse's whisker on to his red feather; and he tramped away across the prairie, picking wild strawberries and eating them as he went, till he came to the dancing ring. As soon as he was inside the ring he turned into a little mouse, and made friends with the family of mice that lived in a hole under the grass; and the mother mouse promised to help him all she could. They had not waited long when the basket came dropping down out of the sky. The eldest sister put her head over the edge, and looked all around, north and west and south and east and down on the ground. "There is no man here," she said, "and I do not see any gopher; but you must be very careful." So they all got out of the basket, and began to dance round the ring, drumming and singing as they went. But when they came near the mouse's nest the eldest sister held up her hand, and they stopped dancing and held their breath. Then she tapped on the ground and listened. "It does not sound so hollow as it did," she said, "The mice have a visitor." And she tapped again, and called out, "Come and show yourselves, you little traitors, or we will dig you up!" But the mother mouse had made another door to her nest, just outside the ring, working very fast with all her toes; and while the maidens were looking for her inside the ring she came out at the other door with all her children and scampered away across the prairie. The maidens turned round and ran after them; all but the youngest sister, who did not want any one to be killed; and High-feather came out of the hole and turned himself into what he was, and caught her by the arm. "Come home and marry me," he said, "and dance with the Indian maidens; and I will hunt for you, and my mother will cook for you, and you will be much happier than up in the sky." Her sisters came rushing round her, and begged her to go back home to the sky with them; but she looked into the young man's eyes, and said she would go with him wherever he went. So the other maidens went weeping and wailing up into the sky, and High-feather took his Star-wife home to his tent on the bank of the Battle River. High-feather's mother was glad to see them both; but she whispered in his ear: "You must never let her out of your sight if you want to keep her; you must take her with you everywhere you go." And he did so. He took her with him every time he went hunting, and he made her a bow and arrows, but she would never use them; she would pick wild strawberries and gooseberries and raspberries as they went along, but she would never kill anything; and she would never eat anything that any one else had killed. She only ate berries and crushed corn. One day, while the young man's wife was embroidering feather stars on a dancing-cloth, and his mother was gossiping in a tent at the end of the village, a little yellow bird flew in and perched on High-feather's shoulder, and whispered in his ear: "There is a great flock of wild red swans just over on Loon Lake. If you come quickly and quietly you can catch them before they fly away; but do not tell your wife, for red swans cannot bear the sight of a woman, and they can tell if one comes within a mile of them." High-feather had never seen or heard of a red swan before; all the red feathers he wore he had had to paint. He looked at his wife, and as she was sewing busily and looking down at her star embroidering he thought he could slip away and get back before she knew he had gone. But as soon as he was out of sight the little yellow bird flew in and perched on her shoulder, and sang her such a beautiful song about her sisters in the sky that she forgot everything else and slipped out and ran like the wind, and got to the dancing ring just as her sisters came down in their basket. Then they all gathered round her, and begged her to go home with them. But she only said, "High-feather is a brave man, and he is very good to me, and I will never leave him." When they saw they could not make her leave her husband, the eldest sister said: "If you must stay, you must. But just come up for an hour, to let your father see you, because he has been mourning for you ever since you went away." The Star-wife did not wish to go, but she wanted to see her father once more, so she got into the basket and it sailed away up into the sky. Her father was very glad to see her, and she was very glad to see him, and they talked and they talked till the blue sky was getting gray. Then she remembered that she ought to have gone home long before. "Now I must go back to my husband," she said. "That you shall never do!" said her father. And he shut her up in a white cloud and said she should stay there till she promised never to go back to the prairie. She begged to be let out, but it was no use. Then she began to weep; and she wept so much that the cloud began to weep too, and it was weeping itself quite away. So her father saw she would go down to the earth in rain if he kept her in the cloud any longer, and he let her out. "What must I do for you," he said, "to make you stay with us here and be happy?" "I will not stay here," she said, "unless my husband comes and lives here too." "I will send for him at once," said her father. So he sent the basket down empty, and it rested in the middle of the dancing ring. Now when High-feather reached Loon Lake he found it covered with red swans. He shot two with one arrow, and then all the rest flew away. He picked up the two swans and hurried back to his tent, and there lay the dancing-cloth with the feather stars on it half finished, but no wife could he see. He called her, but she did not answer. He rushed out, with the two red swans still slung round his neck and hanging down his back, and ran to the dancing ring, but nobody was there. "I will wait till she comes back," he said to himself, "if I have to wait till the world ends." So he threw himself down on the grass and lay looking up at the stars till he went to sleep. Early in the morning he heard a rustling on the grass, and when he opened his eyes he saw the great basket close beside him. He jumped up, with the two red swans still slung round his neck, and climbed into the basket. There was nobody there; and when he began to climb out again he found that the basket was half way up to the sky. It went up and up, and at last it came into the Star-country, where his wife was waiting for him. Her father gave them a beautiful blue tent to live in, and High-feather was happy enough for a while; but he soon grew tired of the cloud-berries that the Star-people ate, and he longed to tramp over the solid green prairie, so he asked his wife's father to let him take her back to the earth. "No," said the Star-man, "because then I should never see her again. If you stay with us you will soon forget the dull old earth." The young man said nothing; but he put on the wings of one of the red swans, and he put the other red swan's wings on his wife, and they leapt over the edge of the Star-country and flew down through the air to the prairie, and came to the tent where High-feather's mother was mourning for them; and there was a great feast in the village because they had come back safe and sound. The Star-wife finished embroidering her dancing-cloth that day; and whenever the Indians danced she danced with them. She never went back to the Star-maidens' dancing ring; but she still lived on berries and corn, because she would never kill anything,--except one thing, and that was the little yellow bird. It flew into the tent one day when High-feather had his back turned, and began to whisper into the Star-wife's ear; but it never came to trouble her again. * * * * * ARABIAN STORIES * * * * * THE STORY OF CALIPH STORK Caliph Charid, of Bagdad, was reclining on his divan one pleasant afternoon, smoking his long pipe and sipping coffee from a handsome dish which a slave was holding for him, when his Grand Vizier, Mansor, entered and told him of a peddler in the court below whose wares might interest him. The Caliph, being in an affable state of mind, summoned the peddler, who, delighted with the opportunity, displayed all the treasures of his pack. There were pearls, rings, silks, and many other rich things. The Caliph selected something for himself, a handsome present for the Vizier, and another for the Vizier's wife. Just as the peddler was putting the things back into his box, the Caliph noticed a small drawer and asked what it contained. "Only something of no value, which I picked up in a street of Mecca," the peddler replied. He thereupon opened the drawer and showed the Caliph a small box, containing a black powder and a scroll written in characters which neither the Caliph nor his Grand Vizier could make out. The Caliph immediately decided that he wanted this strange scroll, and the peddler was persuaded to part with it for a trifle. Then the Vizier was asked to find some one to decipher its meaning. Near the mosque lived a man called Selim, who was so learned that he knew every language in the world. When the Vizier brought him to interpret the scroll, the Caliph said to him: "They tell me that you are a scholar and can read all languages. If you can decipher what is written here, I shall know that it is true, and will give you a robe of honor; but if you fail, I shall have you punished with many strokes, because you are falsely named." Selim prostrated himself at the feet of the Caliph, and then took the scroll. He had not looked at it long when he exclaimed: "My lord and master, I hope to die if this is not Latin." "Well, if so, let us hear what it says," the Caliph impatiently answered. Selim at once began: "Let him who finds this box praise Allah. If he snuffs the powder it contains, at the same time pronouncing the word 'Matabor,' he will be transformed into any creature that he desires, and will understand the language of all animals. When he wishes to return to his own form, let him bow to the east three times, repeating the word 'Matabor.' But remember if, while he is bird or beast, he should laugh, the magic word would be forgotten, and the enchantment would be on him forever." The Caliph was delighted with the knowledge of Selim. He made him a splendid present, and told him to keep the secret. When he had dismissed the learned man, he turned to the Grand Vizier, and expressed a wish to try the powder. "Come to-morrow morning early," said he, "and we will go together to the country and learn what the animals are talking about." The Vizier came as he was ordered, and they left the palace without attendants. Beyond the town was a large pond where some handsome storks were often seen, and to this place they presently came. A grave and stately stork was hunting for frogs, while another flew about and kept him company. "Most gracious lord," said the Vizier, "what think you of these dignified long legs, and how would you like to know their chatter?" The Caliph replied that the stork had always interested him, and he would very much like a more intimate acquaintance. Taking the box from his girdle, he helped himself to a pinch of snuff and offered it to the Vizier, who followed his example. Together they cried "Matabor," and instantly their beards disappeared, and feathers covered their bodies; their necks stretched out long and slender, and their legs shriveled into red and shapeless sticks. The Caliph lifted up his foot to stroke his beard in astonishment, but found a long bill in its place. "By the beard of the Prophet, since I have not one of my own to swear by, but we are a pretty pair of birds, Mansor!" "If I may say so, your Highness, you are equally handsome as a stork as when you were a Caliph," replied the Vizier. "I see our two relations are conversing over there; shall we join them?" When they came near to where the storks were smoothing their feathers and touching bills in the most friendly manner, this was the conversation they overheard, "Will you have some of my frog's legs for breakfast, Dame Yellowlegs?" "No, thank you; I am obliged to practise a dance for my father's guests, and cannot eat." Thereupon Dame Yellowlegs stepped out, and began to pose most gracefully. The Caliph and the Vizier watched her, until she stood on one foot and spread her wings; then they both, at the same time, burst into such peals of laughter that the two storks flew away. Suddenly, however, the Vizier ceased his mirth, and commenced bowing to the east. The Caliph recovered himself and did the same, but neither could think of the magic word. "Mansor, just recall that unholy word, and I will become Caliph once more, and you my Grand Vizier. I have had enough of being a bird for one day." "Most gracious lord, that dancing stork has undone us, for, since laughing at her antics, I cannot remember the word that will restore us to human shape." So at last, in despair, the two unhappy birds wandered through the meadows. They appeased their hunger with fruits, for they could not bring themselves to eat frogs and lizards. As they dared not return to Bagdad and tell the people their chagrin, they flew over the city, and had the satisfaction of seeing signs of mourning and confusion. In a few days, however, while sitting on the roof of a house, they saw a splendid procession coming up the street, and the people welcoming the new ruler. "Hail! Hail Mirza, ruler of Bagdad!" they shouted. The procession came nearer. At the head of it the Caliph saw a man dressed in scarlet and gold, riding a handsome horse. He at once recognized the new ruler as the son of his worst enemy. "Behold," said he, "the explanation of our enchantment! This is the son of Kaschnur, the magician, who is my great enemy, who seeks revenge. Let us not lose hope, but fly to the sacred grave of the Prophet and pray to be released from the spell." They at once spread their wings and soared away toward Medina, but not being accustomed to such long flights, they soon became fatigued and descended to a ruin which stood in a valley below. The two enchanted birds decided to remain there for the night; then wandered through the deserted rooms and corridors, which gave of evidence of former splendor. Suddenly the Vizier stopped and remarked that if it were not ridiculous for a stork to be afraid of ghosts, he would feel decidedly nervous. The Caliph listened, and heard a low moaning and sobbing, which seemed to come from a room down the passage. He started to rush toward it, but the Vizier held him fast by a wing. He had retained the brave heart that he had possessed when a Caliph, however, and freeing himself from the Vizier's bill, he hurried to the room whence came the pitiful sounds. The moon shone through a barred window and showed him a screech owl sitting on the floor of the ruined chamber, lamenting in a hoarse voice. The Vizier had cautiously stolen up beside the Caliph; and at sight of the two storks, the screech owl uttered a cry of pleasure. To their astonishment it addressed them in Arabic, in the following words: "I have abandoned myself to despair, but I believe my deliverance is near, for it was prophesied in my youth that a stork would bring me good fortune." The Caliph, thus appealed to, arched his neck most gracefully and replied: "Alas! Screech Owl, I fear we are unable to aid you, as you will understand when you have heard our miserable story." He then related how the magician, Kaschnur, had changed them into storks and made his own son ruler of Bagdad. The screech owl became very much excited and exclaimed: "How strange that misfortune should have come to us through the same man. I am Tusa, the daughter of the King of the Indies. The magician, Kaschnur, came one day to my father, to ask my hand in marriage for his son Mirza. My father ordered him thrown down stairs, and in revenge he managed to have me given a powder which changed me into this hideous shape. He then conveyed me to this lonely castle, and swore I should remain here until some one asked me to be his wife, and so freed me from the enchantment." At the conclusion of her story, the screech owl wept anew and would not be consoled. Suddenly, however, she wiped her eyes on her wing and said: "I have an idea that may lead to our deliverance. Once every month the magician, Kaschnur, and his companions meet in a large hall at this castle, where they feast and relate their evil deeds. We will listen outside the door, and perhaps you may hear the forgotten word. Then, when you have resumed human form, one of you can ask to marry me, that I too may be freed from this wretched enchantment; and the prophecy that a stork would bring me happiness would be fulfilled." The Caliph and the Vizier withdrew and consulted over the situation. "It is unfortunate," said the Caliph, "but if we are to meet again, I think you will have to ask the screech owl to marry you." "Not so, your Highness, I already have a wife, and would rather remain a stork forever than take another; besides, I am an old man, while you are young and unmarried, and much better suited to a beautiful Princess." "That is it," said the Caliph. "How do I know that she will not prove to be some old fright?" As the Vizier was firm, the Caliph at last said he would take the chances and do as the screech owl required. That very night it so happened that the magicians met at the ruined castle. The screech owl led the two storks through difficult passages till they came to a hole in the wall, through which they could plainly see all that transpired in the lighted hall. Handsomely carved pillars adorned the room, and a table was spread with many dishes. About the table sat eight men, among whom was their enemy, the magician. He entertained the company with many stories, and at last came to his latest--that of turning the Caliph and Vizier into storks--in relating which he pronounced the magic word. The storks did not wait to hear more, but ran to the door of the castle. The screech owl followed as fast as she could, and when the Caliph saw her he exclaimed: "To prove my gratitude, O our deliverer! I beg you to take me for your husband." Then the two storks faced the rising sun, and bowed their long necks three times. "Matabor!" they solemnly cried, together; and in an instant they were no longer storks, but stood before each other in their natural forms. In their joy they fell on each other's necks and forgot all about the screech owl, until they heard a sweet voice beside them, and turning beheld a beautiful Princess. When the Caliph recovered from his astonishment he said that he was now, indeed, enchanted and hoped to remain so always. They then started at once for the gate of Bagdad; and when they arrived, the people were overjoyed, for they had believed their ruler dead. The magician was taken to the ruined castle and hanged, and his son was given the choice of the black powder or death. Choosing the powder, he was changed into a stork, and was kept in the palace gardens. Caliph Charid and the Princess were married; and when their children grew old enough, the Caliph often amused them with imitations of the Grand Vizier when he was a stork,--while Mansor sat smiling and pulling his long beard. * * * * * PERSEVERE AND PROSPER ADAPTED BY A. R. MONTALBA "He that seeketh, shall find, and to him that knocketh shall be opened," says an old Arab proverb. "I will try that," said a youth one day. To carry out his intention he journeyed to Bagdad, where he presented himself before the Vizier. "Lord!" said he, "for many years I have lived a quiet and solitary life, the monotony of which wearies me. I have never permitted myself earnestly to will any thing. But as my teacher daily repeated to me, 'He that seeketh shall find, and to him that knocketh shall be opened,' so have I now come to the resolution with might and heart to will, and the resolution of my will is nothing less than to have the Caliph's daughter for my wife." The Vizier thought the poor man was mad, and told him to call again some other time. Perseveringly he daily returned, and never felt disconcerted at the same often repeated answer. One day, the Caliph called on the Vizier, as the youth was repeating his statement. Full of astonishment the Caliph listened to the strange demand, and being in no humor for having the poor youth's head taken off, but on the contrary, being rather inclined for pleasantry, his Mightiness condescendingly said: "For the great, the wise, or the brave, to request a Princess for wife, is a moderate demand; but what are your claims? To be the possessor of my daughter you must distinguish yourself by one of these attributes, or else by some great undertaking. Ages ago a carbuncle of inestimable value was lost in the Tigris; he who finds it shall have the hand of my daughter." The youth, satisfied with the promise of the Caliph, went to the shores of the Tigris. With a small vessel he went every morning to the river, scooping out the water and throwing it on the land; and after having for hours thus employed himself, he knelt down and prayed. The fishes became at last uneasy at his perseverance; and being fearful that, in the course of time, he might exhaust the waters, they assembled in great council. "What is the purpose of this man?" demanded the monarch of the fishes. "The possession of the carbuncle that lies buried in the bottom of the Tigris," was the reply. "I advise you, then," said the aged monarch, "to give it up to him; for if he has the steady will, and has positively resolved to find it, he will work until he has drained the last drop of water from the Tigris, rather than deviate a hair's breadth from his purpose." The fishes, out of fear, threw the carbuncle into the vessel of the youth; and the latter, as a reward, received the daughter of the Caliph for his wife." "He who earnestly wills, can do much!" * * * * * CHINESE STORIES * * * * * THE MOST FRUGAL OF MEN A man who was considered the most frugal of all the dwellers in a certain kingdom heard of another man who was the most frugal in the whole world. He said to his son thereupon: "We, indeed, live upon little, but if we were more frugal still, we might live upon nothing at all. It will be well worth while for us to get instructions in economy from the Most Frugal of Men." The son agreed, and the two decided that the son should go and inquire whether the master in economic science would take pupils. An exchange of presents being a necessary preliminary to closer intercourse, the father told the son to take the smallest of coins, one farthing, and to buy a sheet of paper of the cheapest sort. The boy, by bargaining, got two sheets of paper for the farthing. The father put away one sheet, cut the other sheet in halves, and on one half drew a picture of a pig's head. This he put into a large covered basket, as if it were the thing which it represented--the usual gift sent in token of great respect. The son took the basket, and after a long journey reached the abode of the most frugal man in the world. The master of the house was absent, but his son received the traveler, learned his errand, and accepted the offering. Having taken from the basket the picture of the pig's head, he said courteously to his visitor: "I am sorry that we have nothing in the house that is worthy to take the place of the pig's head in your basket. I will, however, signify our friendly reception of it by putting in four oranges for you to take home with you." Thereupon the young man, without having any oranges at hand, made the motions necessary for putting the fruit into the basket. The son of the most frugal man in the kingdom then took the basket and went to his father to tell of thrift surpassing his own. When the most frugal man in the world returned home, his son told him that a visitor had been there, having come from a great distance to take lessons in economy. The father inquired what offering he brought as an introduction, and the son showed the small outline of the pig's head on thin brown paper. The father looked at it, and then asked his son what he had sent as a return present. The son told him he had merely made the motions necessary for transferring four oranges, and showed how he had clasped the imaginary fruit and deposited it in the visitor's basket. The father immediately flew into a terrible rage and boxed the boy's ears, exclaiming: "You extravagant wretch! With your fingers thus far apart you appeared to give him large oranges. Why didn't you measure out small ones?" * * * * * THE MOON-CAKE A little boy had a cake that a big boy coveted. Designing to get the cake without making the little boy cry so loud as to attract his mother's attention, the big boy remarked that the cake would be prettier if it were more like the moon. The little boy thought that a cake like the moon must be desirable, and on being assured by the big boy that he had made many such, he handed over his cake for manipulation. The big boy took out a mouthful, leaving a crescent with jagged edge. The little boy was not pleased by the change, and began to whimper; whereupon the big boy pacified him by saying that he would make the cake into a half-moon. So he nibbled off the horns of the crescent, and gnawed the edge smooth; but when the half-moon was made, the little boy perceived that there was hardly any cake left, and he again began to snivel. The big boy again diverted him by telling him that, if he did not like so small a moon, he should have one that was just the size of the real orb. He then took the cake, and explained that, just before the new moon is seen, the old moon disappears. Then he swallowed the rest of the cake and ran off, leaving the little boy waiting for the new moon. * * * * * THE LADLE THAT FELL FROM THE MOON Once there was an old woman who lived on what she got by wile from her relatives and neighbors. Her husband's brother lived alone with his only son, in a house near hers, and when the son brought home a wife the old woman went to call on the bride. During the call she inquired of the bride whether she had not, since her arrival in the house, heard a scratching at night among the boxes containing her wedding outfit. The bride said she had not. A few days later the old woman came again, and during the visit the bride remarked that, before the matter was mentioned, she had heard no scratching among her boxes, but that since that time she had listened for it, and had heard it every night. The old woman advised her to look carefully after her clothing, saying that there were evidently many mice in the house, and that she would be likely at any time to find her best garments nibbled into shreds. The old woman knew there was no cat in the house, but she inquired whether there was one, and on hearing that there was not, she offered to lend the young woman her own black-and-white cat, saying that it would soon extirpate all the mice. The bride accepted the loan, and the old woman brought the cat, and left it in the bride's apartment. After a few hours the cat disappeared, and the bride, supposing it to have gone home, made no search for it. It did, indeed, go home, and the old woman secretly disposed of it; but several days later she came to the young woman and said that, when she lent the cat, her house had been free from mice, but that, as soon as the cat was gone, the mice came and multiplied so fast that now everything was overrun by them, and she would be obliged to take the cat home again. The young woman told her that the cat went away the same day that it came, and she had supposed it had gone home. The old woman said it had not, and that nothing could compensate her for the loss of it, for she had reared it herself; that there was never before seen such a cat for catching mice; that a cat, spotted as that one was, was seldom found; and that it was of the rare breed which gave rise to the common saying: "A coal-black cat, with snowy loins, Is worth its weight in silver coins." and that the weight of her cat was two hundred ounces. The young woman was greatly surprised by this estimate of the value of the lost cat, and went to her father-in-law and related all that had occurred. The father-in-law, knowing the character of the old woman, could neither eat nor sleep, so harassed was he by the expectation that she would worry his daughter-in-law till the two hundred ounces of silver should be paid. The young woman, being a new-comer, thought but lightly of the matter, till the old woman came again and again to make mention of the cat. When it became apparent that she must defend herself, the young woman asked her father-in-law if he had ever lent anything to the old woman; and when he said he could not remember having lent anything, she begged him to think carefully, and see if he could not recall the loan of a tool, a dish, or a fagot. He finally recollected that he had lent to her an old wooden ladle, but he said it originally cost but a few farthings, and was certainly not worth speaking about. The next time the old woman came to dun for the amount due for her cat, the young woman asked her to return the borrowed ladle. The old woman said that the ladle was old and valueless; that she had allowed the children to play with it, and that they had dropped it in the dirt, where it had lain until she had picked it up and used it for kindlings. The bride responded: "You expect to enrich yourself and your family by means of your cat. I and my family also want money. Since you cannot give back the ladle, we will both go before the magistrate and present our cases. If your cat is adjudged to be worth more than my ladle I will pay you the excess; and if my ladle be worth more than your cat, then you must pay me." Being sure that the cat would, by any judge, be considered of greater value than the ladle, the old woman agreed to the proposition, and the two went before the magistrate. The young woman courteously gave precedence to the elder, and allowed her to make the accusation. The old woman set forth her case, and claimed two hundred ounces of silver as a compensation for the loss of the cat. When she had concluded her statement, the judge called on the young woman for her defense. She said she could not disprove the statement, but that the claim was offset by a ladle that had been borrowed by the plaintiff. There was a common saying: "In the moon overhead, at its full, you can see The trunk, branch and leaf of a cinnamon tree." A branch from this tree had one night been blown down before her father-in-law's door, and he had had a ladle made from the wood. Whatever the ladle was put into never diminished by use. Whether wine, oil, rice, or money, the bulk remained the same if no ladle beside this one were used in dipping it. A foreign inn-keeper, hearing of this ladle, came and offered her father-in-law three thousand ounces of silver for it, but the offer was refused. And this ladle was the one that the plaintiff had borrowed and destroyed. The magistrate, on hearing this defense, understood that the cat had been a pretext for extortion, and decided that the two claims offset each other, so that no payment was due from either one. * * * * * THE YOUNG HEAD OF THE FAMILY There was once a family consisting of a father, his three sons, and his two daughters-in-law. The two daughters-in-law, wives of the two elder sons, had but recently been brought into the house, and were both from one village a few miles away. Having no mother-in-law living, they were obliged to appeal to their father-in-law whenever they wished to visit their former homes, and as they were lonesome and homesick they perpetually bothered the old man by asking leave of absence. Vexed by these constant petitions, he set himself to invent a method of putting an end to them, and at last gave them leave in this wise: "You are always begging me to allow you to go and visit your mothers, and thinking that I am very hard-hearted because I do not let you go. Now you may go, but only upon condition that when you come back you will each bring me something I want. The one shall bring me some fire wrapped in paper, and the other some wind in a paper. Unless you promise to bring me these, you are never to ask me to let you go home; and if you go, and fail to get these for me, you are never to come back." The old man did not suppose that these conditions would be accepted, but the girls were young and thoughtless, and in their anxiety to get away did not consider the impossibility of obtaining the articles required. So they made ready with speed, and in great glee started off on foot to visit their mothers. After they had walked a long distance, chatting about what they should do and whom they should see in their native village, the high heel of one of them slipped from under her foot, and she fell down. Owing to this mishap both stopped to adjust the misplaced footgear, and while doing this the conditions under which alone they could return to their husbands came to mind, and they began to cry. While they sat there crying by the roadside a young girl came riding along from the fields on a water buffalo. She stopped and asked them what was the matter, and whether she could help them. They told her she could do them no good; but she persisted in offering her sympathy and inviting their confidence, till they told their story, and then she at once said that if they would go home with her she would show them a way out or their trouble. Their case seemed so hopeless to themselves, and the child was so sure of her own power to help them, that they finally accompanied her to her father's house, where she showed them how to comply with their father-in-law's demand. For the first a paper lantern only would be needed. When lighted it would be a fire, and its paper surface would compass the blaze, so that it would truly be "some fire wrapped in paper." For the second a paper fan would suffice. When flapped, wind would issue from it, and the "wind wrapped in paper" could thus be carried to the old man. The two young women thanked the wise child, and went on their way rejoicing. After a pleasant visit to their old homes, they took a lantern and a fan, and returned to their father-in-law's house. As soon as he saw them he began to vent his anger at their light regard for his commands, but they assured him that they had perfectly obeyed him, and showed him that what they had brought fulfilled the conditions prescribed. Much astonished, he inquired how it was that they had suddenly become so astute, and they told him the story of their journey, and of the little girl who had so opportunely come to their relief. He inquired whether the little girl was already betrothed, and, finding that she was not, engaged a go-between to see if he could get her for a wife for his youngest son. Having succeeded in securing the girl as a daughter-in-law, he brought her home, and told all the rest of the family that as there was no mother in the house, and as this girl had shown herself to be possessed of extraordinary wisdom, she should be the head of the household. The wedding festivities being over, the sons of the old man made ready to return to their usual occupations on the farm; but, according to their father's order, they came to the young bride for instructions. She told them that they were never to go to or from the fields empty-handed. When they went they must carry fertilizers of some sort for the land, and when they returned they must bring bundles of sticks for fuel. They obeyed, and soon had the land in fine condition, and so much fuel gathered that none need be bought. When there were no more sticks, roots, or weeds to bring; she told them to bring stones instead; and they soon accumulated an immense pile of stones, which were heaped in a yard near their house. One day an expert in the discovery of precious stones came along, and saw in this pile a block of jade of great value. In order to get possession of this stone at a small cost, he undertook to buy the whole heap, pretending that he wished to use it in building. The little head of the family asked an exorbitant price for them, and, as he could not induce her to take less, he promised to pay her the sum she asked, and to come two days later to bring the money and to remove the stones. That night the girl thought about the reason for the buyer's being willing to pay so large a sum for the stones, and concluded that the heap must contain a gem. The next morning she sent her father-in-law to invite the buyer to supper, and she instructed the men of her family in regard to his entertainment. The best of wine was to be provided, and the father-in-law was to induce him to talk of precious stones, and to cajole him into telling in what way they were to be distinguished from other stones. The head of the family, listening behind a curtain, heard how the valuable stone in her heap could be discovered. She hastened to find and remove it from the pile; and, when her guest had recovered from the effect of the banquet, he saw that the value had departed from his purchase. He went to negotiate again with the seller, and she conducted the conference with such skill that she obtained the price originally agreed upon for the heap of stones, and a large sum besides for the one in her possession. The family, having become wealthy, built an ancestral hall of fine design and elaborate workmanship, and put the words "No Sorrow" as an inscription over the entrance. Soon after, a mandarin passed that way, and, noticing this remarkable inscription, had his sedan-chair set down, that he might inquire who were the people that professed to have no sorrow. He sent for the head of the family, was much surprised on seeing so young a woman thus appear, and remarked: "Yours is a singular family. I have never before seen one without sorrow, nor one with so young a head. I will fine you for your impudence. Go and weave me a piece of cloth as long as this road." "Very well," responded the little woman; "so soon as your Excellency shall have found the two ends of the road, and informed me as to the number of feet in its length, I will at once begin the weaving." Finding himself at fault, the mandarin added, "And I also fine you as much oil as there is water in the sea." "Certainly," responded the woman; "as soon as you shall have measured the sea, and sent me correct information as to the number of gallons, I will at once begin to press out the oil from my beans." "Indeed," said the mandarin, "since you are so sharp, perhaps you can penetrate my thoughts. If you can, I will fine you no more. I hold this pet quail in my hand; now tell me whether I mean to squeeze it to death, or to let it fly in the air." "Well," said the woman, "I am an obscure commoner, and you are a famed magistrate; if you are no more knowing than I, you have no right to fine me at all. Now I stand with one foot on one side my threshold and the other foot on the other side; tell me whether I mean to go in or come out. If you cannot guess my riddle, you should not require me to guess yours." Being unable to guess her intention the mandarin took his departure, and the family lived long in opulence and good repute under its chosen head. * * * * * A DREADFUL BOAR A poor old woman who lived with her one little granddaughter in a wood was out gathering sticks for fuel, and found a green stalk of sugar-cane, which she added to her bundle. She presently met an elf in the form of a wild Boar, that asked her for the cane, but she declined giving it to him, saying that, at her age, to stoop and to rise again was to earn what she picked up, and that she was going to take the cane home, and let her little granddaughter suck its sap. The Boar, angry at her refusal, said that he would, during the coming night, eat her granddaughter instead of the cane, and went off into the wood. When the old woman reached her cabin she sat down by the door and wailed, for she knew she had no means of defending herself against the Boar. While she sat crying, a vender of needles came along and asked her what was the matter. She told him, and he said that all he could do for her was to give her a box of needles. This he did, and went on his way. The old woman stuck the needles thickly over the lower half of her door, on its outer side, and then she went on crying. Just then a man came along with a basket of crabs, heard her lamentations, and stopped to inquire what ailed her. She told him, and he said he knew no help for her, but he would do the best he could for her by giving her half his crabs. The old woman put the crabs in her water-jar, behind her door, and again sat down and cried. A farmer soon came along from the fields, leading his ox, and he also asked the cause of her distress and heard her sad story. He said he was sorry he could not think of any way of preventing the evil she expected, but that he would leave his ox to stay all night with her, as it might be a sort of company for her in her loneliness. She led the ox into her cabin, tied it to the head of her bedstead, gave it some straw, and then cried again. A courier, returning on horseback from a neighboring town, next passed her door, and dismounted to inquire what troubled her. Having heard her tale, he said he would leave his horse to stay with her, and make the ox more contented. So she tied the horse to the foot of her bed, and, thinking how surely evil was coming upon her with the night, she burst out crying anew. A boy just then came along with a snapping-turtle that he had caught, and stopped to ask what had happened to her. On learning the cause of her weeping, he said it was of no use to contend against sprites, but that he would give her his snapping-turtle as a proof, of his sympathy. She took the turtle, tied it in front of her bedstead, and continued to cry. Some men who were carrying mill-stones then came along, inquired into her trouble, and expressed their compassion by giving her a mill-stone, which they rolled into her back yard. A little later a man arrived carrying hoes and pickax, and asked her why she was crying so hard. She told him her grief, and he said he would gladly help her if he could, but he was only a well-digger, and could do nothing for her other than to dig her a well. She pointed out a place in the middle of her back yard, and he went to work and quickly dug a well. On his departure the old woman cried again, until a paper-seller came and inquired what was the matter. When she had told him, he gave her a large sheet of white paper, as a token of pity, and she laid it smoothly over the mouth of the well. Nightfall came; the old woman shut and barred her door, put her granddaughter snugly on the wall-side of the bed, and then lay down beside her, to await the foe. At midnight the Boar came, and threw himself against the door to break it in. The needles wounded him sorely, so that when he had gained an entrance he was heated and thirsty, and went to the water-jar to drink. When he thrust in his snout the crabs attacked him, clung to his bristles and pinched his ears, till he rolled over and over to disencumber himself. Then in a rage he approached the front of the bed, but the snapping-turtle nipped his tail, and made him retreat under the feet of the horse, who kicked him over to the ox, who tossed him back to the horse; and thus beset he was glad to escape to the back yard to take a rest, and to consider the situation. Seeing a clean paper spread on the ground, he went to lie upon it, and fell into the well. The old woman heard the fall, rushed out, rolled the mill-stone down on him, and crushed him. * * * * * RUSSIAN STORIES * * * * * KING KOJATA King Kojata ruled over a mighty kingdom, and was beloved by his subjects; but because he had no heir to his crown, both he and the Queen lamented. Once, while traveling through his territories, he came to a well that was filled to the brim with clear cold water; and being very thirsty, he stopped to drink. On the top of the water floated a golden vessel, which the King attempted to seize; but just as his hand touched it, away it floated to the other side of the well. He went around to where the vessel rested and tried again, with the same result. Every time the King touched the basin it glided from his grasp. At last, losing patience, he gave up trying to seize the vessel, and bending over the well, he began to drink. His long beard had fallen into the water, and when he had slaked his thirst and attempted to rise, he found himself held fast by it. After vainly pulling and jerking for some time, he looked down into the water and saw a hideous face grinning at him. Its eyes were green and shining, its teeth showed from ear to ear, and it held him by the beard with two bony claws. In horror, the king tried to extricate himself, but a terrible voice came from the depths of the well: "You cannot get away, King Kojata, so do not make me pull your beard too hard. There is something at the palace of which you do not know; promise to give it to me, and I will release you." The King did not know of anything that could have arrived at the palace during his absence worth the discomfort he was experiencing; so he very readily gave his promise, and was freed. When he had shaken the water from his beard, he looked in the well for the ugly monster which had held him captive, but he was nowhere to be seen. Summoning his attendants, he at once set out for home, where he arrived in a few days. The people along the way hailed him with delight; and when he reached the palace, the Queen led him to the royal chamber and showed him a beautiful son that had been born during his absence. His joy was so great that he forgot all else; but after a time he recalled with horror his compact with the monster of the well, and the meaning was all plain to him. The thought of what he had promised haunted him day and night, and the fear that something would happen to his little son tortured him. But as days and months passed, and the little Prince grew more beautiful all the time, the King at last forgot his fears and became happy once more. Years went by without anything happening to disturb his peace of mind, and the Prince grew to be a beautiful youth, who was the joy and pride of the King and Queen. One day he went with the hunters to the forest, and while pursuing a wild boar, became separated from them. He got farther and farther away from his companions, and at last found himself alone in a dark part of the wood where he never before had been. Not knowing in which direction his path lay, he called again and again to the hunters. At last a hoarse voice answered him, and from the hollow trunk of a lime-tree appeared a hideous man with green eyes and terrible teeth. "I've waited for you a long time, Prince Milan," said he. "Who on earth may you be?" asked the Prince. "Your father will tell you who I am. Just give my greetings to his Majesty, and tell him that I am ready to claim the debt he owes me." The green-eyed man then disappeared into the hollow tree from which he came; and when the Prince reached home, he related his experience to his father. The King turned white, and cried: "At last, it has come!" Then he explained to the Prince what had occurred at the well, and added, "Now my happiness is at an end, for you, my son, will be taken from me." The Prince told the King not to despair, for though he might go away, he was certain to return to him. His father provided him with a handsome horse with golden stirrups, and the Queen gave him a cross to wear about his neck. When he had said farewell to his unhappy parents, he mounted his horse and rode for two days without stopping. On the third day he came to a lake on whose smooth surface thirty ducks were swimming, while spread about upon the grass were thirty white garments. The Prince dismounted, and taking up one of the garments, seated himself behind a bush and waited to see what would happen. The ducks dived under the water and disported themselves for a time, then came ashore and putting on the little white garments, they became beautiful maidens, and disappeared. But there was one little duck, that remained on the lake and swam about in the most distracted manner, uttering piteous cries. The Prince came from behind the bush and the little duck begged him to give back her garment. He had no sooner done so than before him stood the loveliest maiden he had ever seen. "Thank you, Prince Milan, for restoring my garment," said she. "My name is Hyacinthia, and I am one of the thirty daughters of a King of the Underworld, to whose castle I will lead you, for he has waited long for you. Approach him on your knees and do not fear him, for I will be there to help you, whatever happens." She tapped her little foot on the ground, which opened; and they were immediately transported to the palace of her father in the Underworld, which was carved from a single carbuncle. When his eyes became accustomed to the radiant light, the Prince saw the magician of the lime-tree sitting on a dazzling throne. His green eyes looked out from under a golden crown, and his hideous claws clutched the air with rage when he saw the Prince. Remembering what the maiden had told him, Prince Milan walked boldly up to the throne and knelt at the feet of the magician, who cursed in a voice that shook the Underworld. As the youth was not at all frightened, the magician at last stopped swearing. Laughing at his courage, he welcomed him to his palace, and showed him to a beautiful chamber which he was to occupy. On the following day he sent for him and said; "You are very brave, Prince Milan, but you must pay the penalty for keeping me waiting so long for you. To-night build me a palace of gold and marble, with windows of crystal, and about it the most beautiful gardens in the world, or tomorrow I shall cut off your head." The Prince went back to his chamber and sadly awaited his doom. That evening a small bee flew in through his window, and as soon as it entered the room it became Hyacinthia. "Why are you sad, Prince Milan?" she asked. He told her of her father's impossible command and added, "Naturally, I am not happy at the thought of losing my head." "Do not be distressed about that," said she, "but trust to me." In the morning he looked out of the window and saw a wonderful marble palace, with a roof of gold. When the magician beheld it, he exclaimed, "You have accomplished a great wonder, but I cannot let you off so easily. To-morrow I will place my thirty daughters in a row, and if you cannot tell me which one is the youngest, you will lose your head." The Prince, however, was not cast down at this, for he thought he would have no trouble in recognizing Hyacinthia. That evening the little bee entered the room and told him that this task was quite as difficult as the first, because the sisters were all exactly alike. "But you will know me," said she, "by a little fly which you will discover on my cheek." The next day the magician summoned him to his presence, and showed him the thirty daughters standing in a row. The Prince passed before them twice, without daring to choose; but he saw the little fly on the pink cheek of one of the maidens. "This is Hyacinthia!" exclaimed he. The magician was greatly astonished; but not yet satisfied, he required of the Prince still another task. "If, before this candle burns to the bottom," said he, "you make me a pair of boots reaching to my knees, I will let you go; but if you fail, you will lose your head." "Then we must fly, for I love you dearly," said Hyacinthia, when the Prince had told her of this new task. She breathed on the window-pane, and straightway it was covered with frost; then, leading Prince Milan from the chamber, she locked the door, and they fled through the passage by which they had entered the Underworld. Beside the smooth lake his horse was still grazing, and mounting it, they were borne swiftly away. When the magician sent for the Prince to come to him, the frozen breath replied to the messengers, and so delayed the discovery of his escape. At last the magician lost patience and ordered the door burst open. The frozen breath mocked at him, and he hastened in pursuit of the fugitives. "I hear the sound of horses' feet behind us," said Hyacinthia. The Prince dismounted, and putting his ear to the ground, answered, "Yes, they are near." Hyacinthia thereupon changed herself into a river, and the Prince became a bridge, and his horse a blackbird. Their pursuers, no longer finding their footprints, were obliged to return to the magician, who cursed them, and again sent them forth. "I hear the sound of horses' feet behind us," again said Hyacinthia. The Prince put his ear to the earth and said, "Yes, they are nearly upon us." Thereupon Hyacinthia changed herself, the Prince and the horse, all into a dense forest in which many paths crossed, so that the followers were bewildered; and they again returned to the magician. "I hear horses' feet behind us," said Hyacinthia a third time; and this time it was the magician himself. Hyacinthia took the little cross from the neck of the Prince, and changed herself into a church, the Prince into a monk, and the horse into the belfry; so that when the magician came up he lost all trace of them, and was obliged to return to the Underworld in great chagrin. When he had departed, the Prince and Hyacinthia mounted the horse and rode till they came to a beautiful town. "We must not enter," said she, "for we may not come out again." But the Prince would not take her advice, and insisted upon passing through the gates. "Then," sadly replied the maiden, "when the King and Queen of the town come out to meet you, do not kiss the little child which they will lead by the hand, or you will forget me and never come back. As for me, I will become a milestone and wait for you here." It was all as Hyacinthia had said. The King and Queen came out to greet him, and when the lovely little child ran up to him for a caress, he kissed its pretty face and forgot Hyacinthia. The first and second day went by; and when the third day came, Hyacinthia wept, and became a little blue flower growing by the roadside. An old man came along, and digging up the flower carried it home with him and planted it in his garden. He watered and tended it carefully, and one day the little flower became a beautiful maiden. "Why did you not leave me to die by the roadside?" she asked, and told the old man her story. "To-morrow is Prince Milan's wedding day," said the old man. Hyacinthia at once dried her tears, and presented herself at the palace, dressed like a peasant. She went to the cook and asked to be allowed to make the wedding cake. The cook was so struck with her beauty that he could not refuse the request. When the guests were all seated about the table, Prince Milan was called upon to cut the cake. As soon as he had done so, out flew two beautiful doves, which circled about his head. "Dear mate," cried one of the doves, "do not leave me as Prince Milan left Hyacinthia." The Prince, who suddenly recollected all he had forgotten, ran from the room and at the door found Hyacinthia and his horse awaiting him. They mounted and rode swiftly away to the kingdom of King Kojata, where the King and Queen received them with tears of joy, and they all lived in happiness to the end of their days. * * * * * THE STORY OF KING FROST A shrewish peasant woman had a daughter on whom she lavished everything she could get, and a stepdaughter whom she neglected and ill treated. In the mother's eyes the daughter had no faults, while the stepdaughter was always blamed, and, try as she might, the poor girl never could please. So unhappy was she made that her eyes were often red from weeping. The sight of her tear-stained face only angered the stepmother the more, and caused her to say to the girl's father: "Send her away, old man. My eyes are tired of the sight of her, and my ears of the sound of her voice. Send her out of the house." The father begged to have his daughter remain, but the shrew was determined to be rid of her, and gave him no peace. At last, when he could gainsay her no longer, he placed his daughter in a sledge and drove her to the open fields. Here he left her, with nothing to shield her from the bitter cold. Kissing her good-by, he drove away, not daring to look back at Her. Left alone by her father, the girl wandered across the bleak fields to the edge of the forest, where she sat down under a fir-tree and wept. A crackling sound caused her to look up, and she saw King Frost springing from one tree to another. When he reached the fir-tree he jumped down beside her with a bound. Snapping his fingers in her lovely face, he asked: "Do you know who I am? I will tell you. I am King Frost." "Hail to you, great King!" smiled the maiden. "Have you come for me?" "Are you warm, fair maiden?" he asked in answer. "Yes, quite warm, King Frost," the maiden replied, although she was shivering. King Frost bent over her and snapped his fingers about her, until the air seemed full of needles. Again he asked, "Are you still warm, dear maiden?" Her lips could scarcely move to utter the words, "Quite warm, King Frost." He snapped his teeth and cracked his fingers, till all the air was filled with stinging things. His eyes glistened and for the last time he asked, "Are you warm, now, beautiful maiden? Are you still warm, my dear?" She was now scarcely able to speak, but managed to gasp, "Still warm, King Frost." The gentle girl's patience and uncomplaining endurance caused King Frost to take pity on her suffering. He arrayed her in a robe, embroidered in silver and gold, and decked her with sparkling diamonds. She glittered and shone, and was dazzling to behold. Then placing her in his sleigh, he wrapped her in furs; and six white horses bore them swiftly away. The stepmother, at home, was baking pancakes for the girl's funeral feast. "Go in the field," she said to her husband, "and bring your daughter's body home, so we can bury her." The old man rose to obey, when the little dog barked: "Your daughter shall not die; Her's cold and stiff shall lie." The woman kicked the dog, then tried to coax it with a pancake, telling it to say: "Her daughter shall have gold; His be frozen stiff and cold." When the little dog had swallowed the pancake, he barked: "His daughter shall be wed; Her's shall be frozen dead." The woman beat the dog, then coaxed it with more pancakes; but the blows could not terrify it nor food persuade. It barked always the same. Suddenly the door opened, and a huge chest was thrust into the room, followed by the radiant stepdaughter, in a dress that dazzled them with its beauty. As soon as the stepmother recovered from her astonishment, she ordered her husband to yoke the horses to the sledge, and take her own daughter to the field. "Take care you leave her in the same place," the old woman cautioned. The father left the girl as he was bidden, and returned to his home. She was not long alone when King Frost came by. "Are you warm, maiden?" he asked. "You must be a fool not to see that my hands and feet are nearly frozen," she angrily replied. The King danced in front of her, and cracked his fingers. "Are you warm, maiden?" he asked her, over and over. She cried with rage, and called him rude names, until he froze the words on her lips, and she was dead. The mother waited for her daughter's return until she became impatient; then she told her husband to take the sledge and go for her. "But don't lose the chest," she added. The dog under the table, barked: "Your daughter frozen cold, Will never need a chest of gold." The old woman was scolding the dog for telling lies, when the door opened. Rushing out to welcome her daughter and her treasures, she clasped the frozen body in her arms; and the chill of it killed her. * * * * * TALES FOR TINY TOTS * * * * * TELL US A TALE BY EDWARD SHIRLEY "Tell us a tale, dear mother-- A fairy tale, do, please, Take baby brother on your lap, We'll sit beside your knees, We will not speak, we will not stir, Until the tale is told; And we'll be, oh! so comfy, And just as good as gold." "What shall it be, my children? Aladdin and his Lamp? Or shall I tell the story Of Puss in Boots--the scamp? Or would you like to hear the tale Of Blue Beard, fierce and grim? Or Jack who climbed the great beanstalk?-- I think you're fond of him. "Or shall I tell you, children, About Red Riding Hood? Or what befell those little Babes Who wandered in the Wood? Or how sweet Cinderella went So gaily to the ball?" "Yes, yes!" we cried, and clapped our hands; "_We want to hear them all_!" * * * * * LITTLE RED HEN Little Red Hen found a grain of wheat. "Who will plant this?" she asked. "Not I," said the cat. "Not I," said the goose. "Not I," said the rat. "Then I will," said Little Red Hen. So she buried the wheat in the ground. After a while it grew up yellow and ripe. "The wheat is ripe now," said Little Red Hen. "Who will cut and thresh it?" "Not I," said the cat. "Not I," said the goose. "Not I," said the rat. "Then I will," said Little Red Hen. So she cut it with her bill and threshed it with her wings. Then she asked, "Who will take this wheat to the mill?" "Not I," said the cat. "Not I," said the goose. "Not I," said the rat. "Then I will," said Little Red Hen. So she took the wheat to the mill, where it was ground. Then she carried the flour home. "Who will make me some bread with this flour?" she asked. "Not I," said the cat. "Not I," said the goose. "Not I," said the rat. "Then I will," said Little Red Hen. So she made and baked the bread. Then she said, "Now we shall see who will eat this bread." "We will," said cat, goose, and rat. "I am quite sure you would," said Little Red Hen, "if you could get it." Then she called her chicks, and they ate up all the bread. There was none left at all for the cat, or the goose, or the rat. * * * * * IN SEARCH OF A BABY BY F. TAPSELL "Please, I'm lost." These words, and a thump! thump! on the door were what Mrs. Stone heard as she sat at supper in her tiny house in the wood. She went to open the door, and there she saw a dear little girl about three years old. "Please, I'm lost," again came the words, and two fat little fists went up to a pair of big blue eyes. "Come in, little girl, and tell me all about it," said the woman. "Maybe I can help you to find your way." The child let herself be led into the room; then all at once the two tiny fists came down from the two blue eyes, and she gave a quick look at the table. "Are you having supper?" she said. "May I have supper too? I am ever so hungry." "Yes, dear; of course you shall have some," was the reply. "See, you shall sit on this chair by my side. Now what will you have?" "I think I would like some bread and butter with sugar on it--brown sugar, you know;" and soon the little girl was as happy as could be. "What is your name, dear?" asked Mrs. Stone, when supper was over and the little girl had begun to think once more about how she was to find her way home. "Meg," was the reply. "But your other name, for you must have two names." "No, my name is just Meg, of course; I don't have any other name," she said, a look of wonder in the big blue eyes. "Do you know where you live?" "Yes; I lives in the nursery. Didn't you know that?" She was so sure that it did not seem any good to say any more about it. So Mrs. Stone only asked, "Where were you going when you came to my house?" "To find a baby," was the reply. "Rob said that if I went to a house in the wood they would give me one. Have you got a baby to give me?" "No, dear; I am afraid I have not. But why do you want a baby? I am sure you have lots of dolls." "Yes, of course I have; but then you see dolls are not alive. I want a real baby to play with. "Enid won't play with me much now, for she says I am too small, and Rob is at school all the time." "Why, who is that?" said a voice, and a man came in with a bag of tools. Then the two little fists again went up to the blue eyes, for the little maid was shy of this great big man. "Well, wife, so you have a friend, I see," he said. "Who is the little lass?" "I don't know," said his wife. "It seems she was lost, and came here to ask her way. She says she came to find a baby." "Come here, little one, and don't be afraid," said the man. "There never was a child yet who would not come to me," and as he spoke he drew her on to his knee. "Now, then, tell me all about it." After one glance at the man's kind face Meg nestled up to him and began,-- "Nurse was so busy she could not be in the room with me. "So I put on my hat and came to look for a baby; but I got lost on the way. At last I came to the wood and saw this house. She could not give me a baby as Rob said she would, but she gave me some tea, and bread and butter with sugar on it. We only have that on Sunday at home. Is this Sunday?" "No, little miss," said the man. "But I expect you had it just for a treat, as you had got lost." But just then steps were heard on the path, and there was a sharp knock at the door. The latch was lifted, and a voice said,-- "Have you seen a little girl in a white frock pass this way?" "Why, that must be Nurse," cried Meg. In spite of being cross at Meg's having run away, Nurse had to laugh; then she bent down and said, "But what made you run away like this, Miss Meg?" "Rob told me that if I came to the house in the wood I should find a real live baby; but he was wrong, for she," with a smile at Mrs. Stone, "is very nice, but she has not got a baby to give me." "Of course not, child; but do you know that I have some news for you?" "What is it? Do tell me?" cried the little girl. "While you were away in the wood to look for a baby we have found a baby at home. You have a new baby brother. Come home with me now and you shall see him." "A new little brother," said Meg, her eyes wide open with wonder. "He must have known I had gone out to look for one. So now I have got two new friends and a baby too. Come along, quick." "Good-bye," she said to her new friends. "Thank you ever so much for being so kind, and for the supper. "I am coming to have supper with you again soon, and then I will bring the new baby with me. You will give me and baby bread and butter with sugar on it, won't you?" and Meg trotted off as happy as a little queen. * * * * * JOCK AND I AND THE OTHERS First of all, I must tell you who I am. My name is PE-NEL-O-PE, but Jock always calls me Pen. I am eight years old; Jock is half-past six. We live with mother and father and Rover and Tibby in a house not very far from a large city. Mother is the nicest person I know in all the world. Father is a very big man. He always has lots of money in his pocket. He goes to business in a train every day. We have a real farm, quite near to our house, where they keep cows, chickens, pigs, horses, and geese. Jock and I often go to see them all. One day in summer we went to see the farmer. I had my blue dress on, so that the cows would not be angry when they saw me. We met the farmer near the stable. "Come," he said; "I have something to show you to-day." "What is it?" we said both at the same time. "Come and see," was all that he would say. Then he took us into the stable where he keeps Nobby, the big brown horse, who likes sugar. Now Nobby was not there, but in the straw were seven little puppy dogs--oh, so sweet and cuddly! Jock danced round and round the farmer. "May we have one?" he said. "Ask mother," said the farmer, and off we ran at once. Mother was at the garden gate. We ran up to her. Jock was first, but it was nearly a dead heat. Mother opened the gate and said,-- "Well, what have you seen to-day?" "O mother," said Jock, out of breath. "O mother _dear_" I said, out of breath also. "Farmer has such lovely puppies," we both said at once. "May we have one to keep?" By this time we both had our arms round mother's waist, and she was laughing. "Yes, we can," I said, for I _knew_. "If _father_ says yes," said mother. "You must ask him when he comes home." So we went to the station to meet him. Jock took his bag, and I took his paper parcel to carry it home for him. On the way home I asked him if he liked dogs, and he said, "Of course." Then Jock said, "_Little_ dogs?" "Oh, yes." "_Puppy_ dogs?" "One at a time is all right." "One puppy dog with brown spots on white?" Jock went on. "Where is it?" asked father, and his eyes were laughing; you could not see his mouth for his beard. Then we told him, and he said "Yes," just at the garden gate. So that was how we got Rover. * * * * * Rover was very soft and downy when he first came to us. But he soon grew to be a big dog. Jock and I taught him many tricks; and he can beg very nicely, if we let him get on the couch in the dining-room. We put sugar on his nose, and he waits until we count One, Two, THREE. Then he throws the sugar into the air and catches it. * * * * * DOLLY DIMPLE BY F. TAPSELL "Oh dear, I am so lonely, and it is so dark! I do want my dear Dolly Dimple. I think I will go and fetch her." And little four-year-old Babs got out of bed and felt her way to the door. The door was just a wee crack open. As she peeped in, Babs saw that there was a light in the room, and the sight which met her eyes almost made her cry out. On the floor stood Dolly Dimple in her very best frock, and Mr. Jollyman was asking her to dance with him. Teddy Bear was at work on the big drum, and the clown was turning the organ to make music for the dolls to dance to. The tin soldiers, on the backs of cows, pigs, and sheep from the Noah's Ark were having a sham fight. The dolls from the dolls' house were going for a ride in the big horse and cart. "It is too bad of them to go and have a good time like this when I am in bed," thought Babs, "and I am going to take Dolly Dimple away with me all the same." But when she tried to pick up the doll and carry her off, Mr. Jollyman flew at her in a fury. He began to kick her bare legs till Babs thought she would have no shins left at all; but she would not run away. "I want Dolly Dimple," she said. "She is my doll, and you have no right to try to keep her away from me." "She is yours in the day, but not at night," was the reply. "How do you think we toys could live if we had no life but the one we endure at your hands? It is in the night that we live and have our good times, for we know you are safe in bed then." "I don't care what you say; I will have her," cried Babs, very angry now. She tried once more to get hold of Dolly Dimple; but before she could do so, Mr. Jollyman turned to the soldiers, and said the one word, "Charge." There was a great noise and a rush, and right down upon the little girl came camels, horses, lions, tigers, sheep, and pigs. But just as she thought her last hour was come, she heard, the word "Halt," and then the sound of Dolly Dimple saying, "No, don't kill her. She is very good to me most of the time." The rest of the dolls had begun to dance once more, but Dolly Dimple came up to the little girl and took hold of her arm. "I am queen here in the night," she said. "I will not hurt you, as you have been good to me, and I know you love me. If you like, I will come and stay with you till you go to sleep. Pick me up." So Babs picked up the doll, and took it back to bed with her, and hugged it in her arms. * * * * * THE TALE OF PETER RABBIT BY BEATRIX POTTER Once upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names were--Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-Tail, and Peter. They lived with their Mother in a sandbank, underneath the root of a very big fir-tree. "Now, my dears," said old Mrs. Rabbit, one morning, "you may go into the fields or down the lane, but don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden: your Father had an accident there; he was put in a pie by Mrs. McGregor." "Now run along, and don't get into mischief. I am going out." Then old Mrs. Rabbit took a basket and her umbrella and went through the wood to the baker's. She bought a loaf of brown bread and five currant buns. Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail, who were good little bunnies, went down the lane to gather blackberries. But Peter, who was very naughty, ran straight away to Mr. McGregor's garden, and squeezed under the gate! First he ate some lettuces and some French beans, and then he ate some radishes; and then, feeling rather sick, he went to look for some parsley. But round the end of a cucumber frame, whom should he meet but Mr. McGregor! Mr. McGregor was on his hands and knees planting out young cabbages, but he jumped up and ran after Peter, waving a rake and calling out, "Stop, thief!" Peter was most dreadfully frightened; he rushed all over the garden, for he had forgotten the way back to the gate. He lost one of his shoes among the cabbages, and the other shoe amongst the potatoes. After losing them, he ran on four legs and went faster, so that I think he might have got away altogether if he had not unfortunately run into a gooseberry net, and got caught by the large buttons on his jacket. It was a blue jacket with brass buttons, quite new. Peter gave himself up for lost, and shed big tears; but his sobs were overheard by some friendly sparrows, who flew to him in great excitement, and implored him to exert himself. Mr. McGregor came up with a sieve, which he intended to pop upon the top of Peter, but Peter wriggled out just in time, leaving his jacket behind him; and rushed into the tool-shed, and jumped into a can. It would have been a beautiful thing to hide in, if it had not had so much water in it. Mr. McGregor was quite sure that Peter was somewhere in the tool-shed, perhaps hidden underneath a flower-pot. He began to turn them over carefully, looking under each. Presently Peter sneezed--"Kerty-schoo!" Mr. McGregor was after him in no time, and tried to put his foot upon Peter, who jumped out of a window, upsetting three plants. The window was too small for Mr. McGregor, and he was tired of running after Peter. He went back to his work. Peter sat down to rest; he was out of breath and trembling with fright, and he had not the least idea which way to go. Also he was very damp with sitting in that can. After a time he began to wander about, going lippity-lippity--not very fast, and looking all around. He found a door in a wall; but it was locked, and there was no room for a fat little rabbit to squeeze underneath. An old mouse was running in and out over the stone doorstep, carrying peas and beans to her family in the wood. Peter asked her the way to the gate, but she had such a large pea in her mouth that she could not answer. She only shook her head at him. Peter began to cry. Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but he became more and more puzzled. Presently, he came to a pond where Mr. McGregor filled his water-cans. A white cat was staring at some goldfish; she sat very, very still, but now and then the tip of her tail twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away without speaking to her; he had heard about cats from his cousin, little Benjamin Bunny. He went back toward the tool-shed, but suddenly, quite close to him, he heard the noise of a hoe--scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, scratch. Peter scuttered underneath the bushes. But, presently, as nothing happened, he came out, and climbed upon a wheelbarrow, and peeped over. The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions. His back was turned toward Peter, and beyond him was the gate! Peter got down very quietly off the wheelbarrow, and started running as fast as he could go, along a straight walk behind some black-currant bushes. Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner, but Peter did not care. He slipped underneath the gate, and was safe at last in the wood outside the garden. Mr. McGregor hung up the little jacket and the shoes for a scarecrow to frighten the blackbirds. Peter never stopped running or looked behind him till he got home to the big fir-tree. He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the floor of the rabbit-hole, and shut his eyes. His mother was busy cooking; she wondered what he had done with his clothes. It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter had lost in a fortnight! I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening. His mother put him to bed, and made some camomile tea; and she gave a dose of it to Peter! "One table-spoonful to be taken at bed-time." But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper. * * * * * THE MILLER, HIS SON, AND THEIR ASS Once upon a time there was a miller who lived in a little house beside his mill. All day long he worked hard, but at night he went home to his wife and his little boy. One day this miller made up his mind that he would take his ass to the fair and sell it. So he and his boy said farewell to the dame and started off. They had not gone far when they met a number of girls coming from the town. "Look!" said one of them. "Did you ever see such stupid fellows? They are walking when one of them might be riding." When the miller heard this he bade the boy get up on the ass, while he tramped along merrily by its side. Soon they came to a number of old men standing by the side of the road talking together. "Look at that," said one of them, "Look at that young rascal riding, while his poor father has to walk. Get down, you idle fellow, and let your father ride." Upon this the son got down from the ass, and the miller took his place. They had not gone very far when they met two women coming home from market. "You lazy old man!" they cried at once. "How dare you ride when your poor little boy is walking and can hardly keep pace with you?" Then the miller, who was a good-natured man, took his son up behind him, and in this way they went to the town. "My good fellow," said a townsman whom they met, "is that ass your own?" "Yes," replied the miller. "I should not have thought so, by the way you load him," said the man. "Why, you two are better able to carry the beast than he is to carry you." "Well," said the miller, "we can but try." So he and his son got down, and tied the legs of the ass together. Then they slung him on a pole, and carried him on their shoulders. It was such a funny sight that the people laughed and jeered at them. The poor ass was very uncomfortable, and tried hard to get off the pole. At last, as they were passing over a bridge, he pulled his legs out of the rope and tumbled to the ground. He was so frightened that he jumped off the bridge into the river and was drowned. Do you know what this story teaches you? _If you try to please everybody, you will please nobody._ * * * * * THE VISIT TO SANTA CLAUS LAND Jack and Margaret were growing more excited each day, because Christmas was so near. They talked of nothing but Santa Claus. "Don't you wish you could _see_ him?" they said over and over. One night, just before Christmas, Mother tucked them in bed and left them to go to sleep. But Jack wiggled, Margaret wriggled. At last they both sat up in bed. "Jack," Margaret whispered, "are you asleep?" "No," said Jack, "I can't go to sleep. Margaret, don't you wish you could see Santa Claus? What's that?" They both listened, and they heard a little _tap, tap_ on the window. They looked, and there, right in the window, they saw a funny little Brownie. "What's that I heard you say? You want to see Santa Claus? Well, I am one of his Brownies. I am on my way back to Santa Claus Land. I'll take you with me if you want to go." Jack and Margaret scrambled from their beds. "Come on, show us the way!" they cried in great excitement. "No, indeed," said the Brownie. "No one must know the way to Santa Claus Land. Kindly wait a moment." Then the Brownie took something soft and thick and dark, and tied it around Jack's eyes. Next he took something soft and thick and dark, and tied it around Margaret's eyes. "How many fingers before you?" he asked. Both of them shook their heads. They could not see a wink. "Very well, now we're off," said the Brownie. He took Jack's hand on one side, and Margaret's on the other. It seemed as if they flew through the window. They went on swiftly for a little while, then the Brownie whirled them round and round until they were dizzy, and off they went again. The children could not tell whether they were going north, south, east, or west. After a time they stopped. "Here we are," said the Brownie. He uncovered their eyes, and the children saw that they were standing before a big, thick gate. The Brownie knocked and the gate was swung open. They went through it, right into Santa Claus's garden. It was a very queer garden. There were rows and rows of Christmas trees, all glittering with balls and cobwebby tinsel, and instead of flower beds there were beds of every kind of toy in the world. Margaret at once ran over to a bed of dolls. "Let's see if any of them are ripe," said the Brownie. "Ripe?" said Margaret in great surprise. "Why, of course," said the Brownie. "Now if this one is ripe it will shut its eyes." The Brownie picked a little doll from the bed and laid it in Margaret's arms. Its eyes went half shut, and then stuck. "No, it's not ripe yet," said the Brownie. "Try this one." He picked another one, and this one shut its eyes just as if it had gone to sleep. "We'll take that one," he said, and he dropped it into a big sack he was carrying. "Now this one cries, if it's ripe," he said as he picked a lovely infant doll. The Brownie gave it a squeeze, and the doll made a funny squeaking noise. "Not quite ripe," he said, and he put it back into the bed. He tried several others, and he picked a good many. Some of them cried, some said "Mamma" and "Papa," and some danced when they were wound up. "Oh, do come over here, Margaret!" Jack called. Margaret ran over to another bed and there were drums--big drums, little drums, and middle sized drums; yellow drums, blue drums, green drums, red drums. "Can we gather some of these?" said Jack to the Brownie. "Why, of course. Let's see if this one is ripe." The Brownie took up a little red drum, and gave it a thump with a drum stick. But it made such a queer sound that Jack and Margaret both laughed out loud. The little red drum was put back into the bed, and the Brownie tried another big one. It went _Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom_! and Jack and Margaret marched all along the bed, keeping step to it. When they had finished picking drums, they went over to a bed filled with horns. That was the most fun of all. Some of them made very queer noises, and on some the Brownie played jolly little tunes. The next bed they came to was filled with toys which could be wound up. There were trains, automobiles, dancing dolls, climbing monkeys, hopping birds, funny wobbling ducks, and every kind of toy you could think of. The children stayed at this bed for a long time. At last Margaret said: "But where is Santa Claus? We wanted to see him." "Oh, to be sure," said the Brownie. "Come along," and he led them down a long, winding walk, to the edge of the garden. Then he pointed to a hill in the distance. "Do you see that large white house? There is where he lives." The children stared at it. It was so white that it seemed to shine in the distance. "Walk right across here," said the Brownie, "then up the hill to Santa Claus's house." "Oh, must we walk across there?" said Margaret. She stared down at the deep dark chasm between the garden and the hill; across it was stretched a narrow plank. "Walk carefully," said the Brownie, "and mind you don't look down; for if you do, I'm afraid you won't see Santa Claus to-night." "We'll be very careful," said Jack. "Come along, Margaret," and he took his little sister's hand and they started across the plank. They had almost reached the middle of it when Jack looked down. "Oh!" he said, and gave Margaret a pull. She looked down too, and cried "Oh, Oh!" and down, down, down they went. Suddenly they landed with a thump. They sat up and rubbed their eyes. There they were right in their own beds at home. Mother opened the door. "Are you awake, children?" she said. "Oh, Mother, we haven't been asleep. We've been to Santa Claus Land, and we nearly saw Santa Claus!" Then they told her all about it, and Mother just smiled. * * * * * THE GREEDY BROWNIE There was once a little Brownie who lived in a hollow tree stump. He had been busy all the day playing pranks. His pranks had taken him far away from home to the house of a very important laird. Into the laird's cup of wine he had dropped some sour berries which he had picked on his way. He also put thistles into his boots, so that when the laird had drawn them on he had screamed out with pain. The Brownie had been away all the day, so that when at last he turned to go back to his home he felt really very tired. On his way back to the wood he passed by a cozy-looking farmhouse. The door of the dairy was open. The Brownie thought this would be a very nice cool place in which to rest for a few moments. So he slipped into the dairy, and curled himself up underneath the bench to have a nice little doze. He was so weary that once he had fallen asleep he never woke up again until it was quite dark, when he was disturbed by two lassies who had come into the dairy. One was carrying a candle in her hand, and by its light the pair espied a big bowl of cream on the shelf. The naughty girls thought that they would drink it for supper. They could only find one spoon on the shelf, so they decided they would each have a spoonful in turn. Lassie Jean took the bowl and carried it to a bench in the corner, and Lassie Meg followed it with the candle. No sooner had the two girls settled themselves than the Brownie, who was now wide awake, and who was himself feeling that some supper might not be out of place, crept up behind them and blew out the candle. The lassies at first were very much concerned at being in the dark; nevertheless they determined they would drink the cream, all the same. Lassie Jean filled the spoon with the rich delicacy. She was about to raise it to her lips when the naughty Brownie poked his head over her shoulder, and lapped it out of the spoon before it had reached her mouth. Lassie Meg, believing that Lassie Jean had already swallowed some cream while she had had none, stretched out her hand to take away the spoon from her friend. Lassie Jean was not willing to give it up, since she said she had not yet tasted any cream. Lassie Meg was unwilling to believe her, for she declared she had heard her lapping the cream. Without waiting for Lassie Jean to explain, she snatched the spoon out of her friend's hand. She filled it with cream from the bowl, and was about to raise it to her lips when the Brownie jumped from behind Lassie Jean, and settling himself behind Lassie Meg's shoulders, poked forward his head, and again lapped up the cream from out of the spoon. Lassie Jean in her turn snatched back the spoon from Lassie Meg. Thus they went on, for every time one or the other raised the spoonful of cream to her lips it was lapped up by the Brownie. This continued until the bowl was emptied. The Brownie was full of cream, but the poor lassies had not so much as tasted one drop, although each believed the other had drunk it all. The lassies were still quarreling when the door of the dairy was opened, and the farmer's wife entered, carrying a lighted candle in her hand. The moment that she did so the Brownie hopped under the bench and the lassies started up guiltily. The farmer's wife caught sight of the empty basin. She was very angry with them indeed. When they tried hastily to explain, each blaming the other, the farmer's wife would not listen, but only grew the more angry. She told them that, since they had supped so well, they should have none of the scones and eggs which she had prepared for the evening meal in the kitchen. When the farmer's wife had entered she had left the door open, so while she was busily scolding the lassies the Brownie slipped out from under the bench and made his escape. As he ran chuckling down the road, he could still hear her angry voice drowning the attempted explanations of the bewildered lassies. When the little fellow curled himself up some time later in the tree trunk he was still laughing. * * * * * THE FAIRIES' PASSAGE BY JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN Tap, tap, tap, rap! "Get up, gaffer Ferryman," "Eh! Who is there?" The clock strikes three. "Get up, do, gaffer! You are the very man We have been long, long, longing to see." The ferryman rises, growling and grumbling, And goes fum-fumbling, and stumbling, and tumbling Over the wares on his way to the door. But he sees no more Than he saw before; Till a voice is heard: "O Ferryman dear! Here we are waiting, all of us, here. We are a wee, wee colony, we; Some two hundred in all, or three, Ferry us over the river Lee, Ere dawn of day, And we will pay The most we may In our own wee way!" "Who are you? Whence came you? What place are you going to?" "Oh, we have dwelt over-long in this land; The people get cross, and are growing so knowing, too! Nothing at all but they now understand. We are daily vanishing under the thunder Of some huge engine or iron wonder; That iron, ah! it has entered our souls." "Your souls? O gholes, You queer little drolls, Do you mean....?" "Good gaffer, do aid us with speed, For our time, like our stature, is short indeed! And a very long way we have to go; Eight or ten thousand miles or so, Hither and thither, and to and fro, With our pots and pans And little gold cans; But our light caravans Run swifter than man's." "Well, well, you may come," said the ferryman affably; "Patrick, turn out, and get ready the barge." Then again to the little folk; "Tho' you seem laughably Small, I don't mind, if your coppers be large." Oh, dear, what a rushing, what pushing, what crushing (The watermen making vain efforts at hushing The hubbub the while), there followed these words. What clapping of boards, What strapping of cords, What stowing away of children and wives, And platters and mugs, and spoons and knives, Till all had safely got into the boat, And the ferryman, clad in his tip-top coat, And his wee little fairies were safely afloat! Then ding, ding, ding, And kling, kling, kling, How the coppers did ring In the tin pitcherling. Off, then, went the boat, at first very pleasantly, Smoothly, and so forth; but after a while It swayed and it sagged this and that way, and presently Chest after chest, and pile after pile, Of the little folks' goods began tossing and rolling, And pitching like fun, beyond fairy controlling. O Mab! if the hubbub were great before, It was now some two or three million times more. Crash! went the wee crocks and the clocks; and the locks Of each little wee box were stove in by hard knocks; And then there were oaths, and prayers, and cries: "Take care"--"See there"--"O, dear, my eyes!" "I am killed!"--"I am drowned!"--with groans and sighs, Till to land they drew. "Yeo-ho! Pull to Tiller-rope thro' and thro'!" And all's right anew. "Now, jump upon shore, ye queer little oddities. (Eh, what is this? . . . where are they, at all? Where are they, and where are their tiny commodities? Well, as I live" . . .) He looks blank as a wall, Poor ferryman! Round him and round him he gazes, But only gets deeplier lost in the mazes Of utter bewilderment. All, all are gone, And he stands alone, Like a statue of stone, In a doldrum of wonder. He turns to steer, And a tinkling laugh salutes his ear, With other odd sounds: "Ha, ha, ha, ha! Fol lol! zidzizzle! quee quee! bah! bah! Fizzigig-giggidy! pshee! sha sha!" "O ye thieves, ye thieves, ye rascally thieves!" The good man cries. He turns to his pitcher, And there, alas, to his horror perceives That the little folk's mode of making him richer Has been to pay him with withered leaves! * * * * * THE WORLD "The world is wet," said the little frog; "What isn't water is mostly bog." "Oh, not at all!" said the little fly; "It's full of spiders, and very dry!" "The world is dark," said the moth polite, "With ruddy windows and bows of light." "My poor young friend, you have much to learn: The world is green," said the swaying fern. "O listen to me," sang the little lark: "It's wet and dry, and it's green and dark. To think that's all would be very wrong; It's arched with blue, and it's filled with song." * * * * * FANCIFUL STORIES * * * * * WHITE MAGIC Blind folks see the fairies, Oh, better far than we, Who miss the shining of their wings Because our eyes are filled with things We do not wish to see. They need not seek enchantment From solemn printed books, For all about them as they go The fairies flutter to and fro With smiling friendly looks. Deaf folk hear the fairies, However soft their song; Tis we who lose the honey sound Amid the clamor all around That beats the whole day long. But they with gentle faces Sit quietly apart; What room have they for sorrowing While fairy minstrels sit and sing Close to each listening heart? --From London _Punch_. * * * * * THE BROWNIES BY JULIANA HORATIA EWING I "Children are a burden," said the tailor, as he sat on his bench stitching away. "Children are a blessing," said the kind lady in the window. It was the tailor's mother who spoke. She was a very old woman and nearly helpless. All day she sat in a large armchair knitting rugs. "What have my two lads ever done to help me?" continued the tailor, sadly. "They do nothing but play. If I send Tommy on an errand, he loiters. If I ask him to work, he does it so unwillingly that I would rather do it myself. Since their mother died I have indeed had a hard time." At this moment the two boys came in, their arms full of moss which they dropped on the floor. "Is there any supper, grandmother?" asked Tommy. "No, my child, only some bread for breakfast to-morrow." "Oh, grandmother, we are so hungry!" and the boy's eyes filled with tears. "What can I do for you, my poor children?" said the good woman. "Tell us a story, please, so that we can forget we are hungry. Tell us about the brownie that used to live in your grandfather's house. What was he like?" "Like a little man, they say." "What did he do?" "He came early in the morning before any one in the house was awake, and lighted the fire and swept the room and set out the breakfast. He never would be seen and was off before they could catch him. But they often heard him laughing and playing about the house." "Did they give him any wages, grandmother?" "No, my dear, he did the work for love. They always set a pan of clear water for him, and now and then a bowl of bread and milk." "Oh, grandmother, where did he go?" "The Old Owl in the woods knows; I do not. When I was young many people used to go to see the Old Owl at moon-rise, and ask her what they wanted to know." "How I wish a brownie would come and live with us!" cried Tommy. "So do I," said Johnny. "Will you let us set out a pan of water for the brownie, father?" asked Tommy. "You may set out what you like, my lad, but you must go to bed now." The boys brought out a pan of water. Then they climbed the ladder to the loft over the kitchen. Johnny was soon in the land of dreams, but Tommy lay awake thinking how he could find a brownie and get him to live in the house. "There is an owl that lives in the grove," he thought. "It may be the Old Owl herself. When the moon rises, I'll go and find her." II The moon rose like gold and went up in the heavens like silver. Tommy opened his eyes and ran to the window. "The moon has risen," said he, "and it is time for me to go." Downstairs he crept softly and out into the still night. "Hoot! hoot!" cried a voice from the grove near the house. "That's the Old Owl," thought Tommy. He ran to a big tree and looked up. There he saw the Old Owl, sitting on a branch and staring at him with yellow eyes. "Oh, dear!" said Tommy, for he did not like the Owl very well. "Come up here! Come up here!" she cried. Tommy climbed the tree and sat face to face with her on the big branch. "Now, what do you want?" said the Owl. "Please," said Tommy, "I want to know where to find the brownies, and how to get one to come and live with us." "Oo-hoo! oo-hoo!" said the Owl. "That's it, is it? I know of three brownies." "Hurrah!" said Tommy. "Where do they live?" "In your house," said the Owl. "In our house! Whereabouts? Why don't they work?" cried Tommy. "One of them is too little," said the Owl. "But why don't the other two do something?" said Tommy. "Nobody does any work at our house except father." "They are idle, they are idle," said the Old Owl. "Then we don't want them," said Tommy. "What is the use of having brownies in the house if they do nothing to help us?" "Perhaps they don't know what to do." "I wish you would tell me where to find them," said Tommy. "I could tell them what to do." "Could you, could you? Oo-hoo! oo-hoo!" and Tommy could not tell whether the Owl was hooting or laughing. "Of course I could. They might get up early in the morning and sweep the house, and light the fire, and spread the table before my father comes downstairs." "So they might!" said the Owl. "Well, I can tell you where to find one of the brownies, and he can tell you where to find his brother. Go to the north side of the pond, where the moon is shining on the water, turn yourself around three times, while you say this charm: '_Twist me and turn me and show me the elf_-- I looked in the water and saw_--' Then look in the water, and think of a word which rhymes with 'elf' and makes the charm complete." Tommy knew the place very well. He ran to the north side of the pond, and turning himself around three times, he repeated the charm. Then he looked in and saw--himself. "Why, there's no one but myself. I can't think of the right word. What can it be? I'll go back and ask the Old Owl," thought Tommy. And back he went. There sat the Owl as before. "Oo-hoo," said she, as Tommy climbed up. "Did you find out the word?" "No," said Tommy, "I could find no word that rhymes with 'elf' except 'myself.'" "Well, that is the word! Now, do you know where your brother is?" "In bed in the loft," said Tommy. "Then all your questions are answered. Good night;" and the Old Owl began to shake her feathers. "Don't go yet," said Tommy, humbly; "I don't understand you. I am not a brownie, am I?" "Yes, you are, and a very idle one, too," said the Old Owl. "All children are brownies." "But are there really any brownies except children?" inquired Tommy, in a dismal tone. "No, there are not. Now listen to me, Tommy. Little people can do only little things. When they are idle and mischievous, they are called boggarts, and they are a burden to the house they live in. When they are thoughtful and useful, they are brownies, and are a blessing to every one." "I'll be a brownie," said Tommy. "I won't be a boggart. Now I'll go home and tell Johnny." "I'll take you home," said the Owl, and in a moment Tommy found himself in bed, with Johnny sleeping by his side. "How quickly we came," said Tommy to himself. "But is it morning? That is very strange! I thought the moon was shining. Come, Johnny, get up, I have a story to tell you." III While his brother was rubbing his eyes Tommy told him of his visit to the Old Owl in the grove. "Is that all true?" asked Johnny. "It is all just as I tell you, and if we don't want to be boggarts, we must get up and go to work." "I won't be a boggart," said Johnny, and so the two brownies crept softly down the ladder into the kitchen. "I will light the fire," said Tommy. "And you, Johnny, can dig some potatoes to roast for breakfast." They swept the room and laid the table. Just as they were putting the potatoes in a dish they heard footsteps. "There's father," said Tommy; "we must run." The poor tailor came wearily down the stairs. Morning after morning he had found an untidy room and an empty table. But now when he entered the kitchen, he looked around in great surprise. He put his hand out to the fire to see if it was really warm. He touched the potatoes and looked at the neat room. Then he shouted, "Mother, mother! boys, boys, the brownie has come!" There was great excitement in the small house, but the boys said nothing. All day the tailor talked about the brownie. "I have often heard of Little People," he said, "but this is wonderful. To come and do the work for a pan of cold water! Who would have believed it?" The boys said nothing until they were both in bed. Then Tommy said: "The Old Owl was right, and we must stick to the work if we don't want to be boggarts. But I don't like to have father thinking that we are still idle. I wish he knew that we are the brownies." "So do I," said Johnny. Day after day went by and still the boys rose early, and each day they found more and more to do. The brownies were the joy of the tailor's life. One day a message came for the tailor to go to a farmhouse several miles away. The farmer gave him an order for a suit of clothes, and paid him at once. Full of joy at his good fortune, he hurried home. As he came near the house, he saw that the garden had been weeded. "It's that brownie!" he said; "and I shall make a suit of clothes for him." "If you make clothes for the brownie, he will leave the house," said the grandmother. "Not if the clothes are a good fit, mother. I shall measure them by Tommy, for they say the brownies are about his size." At last a fine new suit with brass buttons was finished and laid out for the brownie. "Don't the clothes look fine?" said Tommy, when he came down in the morning; "I'll try them on." The tailor rose earlier than usual that day, for he wished to catch a glimpse of the brownies. He went softly downstairs. There was Johnny sweeping the floor, and Tommy trying on the new suit. "What does this mean?" shouted the father. "It's the brownies," said the boys. "This is no joke," cried the tailor, angrily. "Where are the real brownies, I say?" "We are the only brownies, father," said Tommy. "I can't understand this. Who has been sweeping the kitchen lately, I should like to know?" "We have," said the boys. "Who gets breakfast and puts things in order?" "We do! we do!" they shouted. "But when do you do it?" "Early in the morning before you come down." "But if you do the work, where is the brownie?" "Here," cried the boys; "we are the brownies, and we are sorry that we were boggarts so long." The father was delighted to find how helpful his boys had become. The grandmother, however, could hardly believe that a real brownie had not been in the house. But as she sat in her chair day after day watching the boys at their work, she often repeated her favorite saying, "Children are a blessing." * * * * * THE STORY OF PETER PAN Once upon a time there were three children named Wendy, John, and Michael, who lived with their father and mother in London. One evening the father and mother were invited to a party, and the mother, after lighting the dim lamp in the nursery and kissing them good-night, went away. That evening a little boy climbed in through the window, whose name was Peter Pan. He was a curious little fellow, very conceited, very forgetful, and yet very lovable. The most remarkable thing about him was that he never grew up. There came flitting in through the window with him his fairy, whose name was Tinker Bell. Peter Pan woke all the children up, and after he had sprinkled fairy dust on their shoulders, he took them away to the Neverland, where he lived with a family of lost boys. Tinker Bell was jealous of the little girl Wendy, and she hurried ahead of Peter Pan and persuaded the boys that Wendy was a bird who might do them harm, and so one of the boys shot her with his bow and arrow. When Peter Pan came and found Wendy lying lifeless upon the ground in the woods he was very angry, but he was also very quick-witted. So he told the boys that if they would build a house around Wendy he was sure that she would be better. So they hurried to collect everything they had out of which they could make a house. Though she was not yet strong enough to talk, they thought perhaps she might sing the kind of house she would like to have, so Wendy sang softly this little verse: "I wish I had a pretty house, The littlest ever seen, With funny little red walls And roof of mossy green." When the house was done Peter Pan took John's hat for the chimney, and the little house was so pleased to have such a capital chimney that smoke at once began to come out through the hat. All that night Peter Pan walked up and down in front of Wendy's house, to watch over her and keep her from danger while she slept. All these children lived in an underground cave, and the next day, when Wendy got well, they all went down into the cave and Wendy agreed to be their mother and Peter their father. They had many good times together. They also had some exciting adventures with the red-skins and with a pirate named Captain Hook and his crew. After a time the redskins became their friends, and Peter rescued his family from the pirates' ship. One day Wendy and her brothers realized that they had been away so long that perhaps their mother had forgotten them and shut the window of the nursery so that they could not get back. They decided to hurry home. When they reached home Peter Pan was before them, and he closed the window so that they could not get back. But when he heard the children's mother singing such a sad song inside, his heart was made tender and he opened the window and the children crept back safely into their mother's arms. Wendy's mother invited Peter Pan to stay and be her child, but Peter was so afraid that he would have to go to school and grow up and be a man that he went back to his home in fairy-land. Wendy promised to go once a year and stay a few days with Peter Pan and clean house and mend his clothes. Let us picture them in the little house that was built for Wendy, which the fairies had put up in the branches of a pine-tree. The birds are singing in their nests and in the branches, and far below the clouds you can see the land and the sea. Wendy is sewing for Peter and Peter Pan is playing his pipes while she works. When night comes the woods are full of flashing lights like little stars, because the fairies are flitting around the house where Peter and Wendy live, and are singing to them as they go to sleep. In a few days Wendy will go back to John and Michael to tell them what a good time she had on her visit in the little house in the woods. * * * * * SIR LARK AND KING SUN BY GEORGE MACDONALD "Good morrow, my lord!" in the sky alone, Sang the lark as the sun ascended his throne. "Shine on me, my lord; I only am come, Of all your servants, to welcome you home. I have flown right up, a whole hour, I swear, To catch the first shine of your golden hair." "Must I thank you then," said the king, "Sir Lark, For flying so high and hating the dark? You ask a full cup for half a thirst: Half was love of me, and half love to be first. There's many a bird makes no such haste, But waits till I come; that's as much to my taste." And King Sun hid his head in a turban of cloud, And Sir Lark stopped singing, quite vexed and cowed; But he flew up higher, and thought, "Anon The wrath of the king will be over and gone; And his crown, shining out of its cloudy fold, Will change my brown feathers to a glory of gold." So he flew--with the strength of a lark he flew; But, as he rose, the cloud rose too; And not one gleam of the golden hair Came through the depths of the misty air; Till, weary with flying, with sighing sore, The strong sun-seeker could do no more. His wings had had no chrism of gold; And his feathers felt withered and worn and old; He faltered, and sank, and dropped like a stone. And there on his nest, where he left her, alone Sat his little wife on her little eggs, Keeping them warm with wings and legs. Did I say alone? Ah, no such thing! Full in her face was shining the king. "Welcome, Sir Lark! You look tired," said he; "_Up_ is not always the best way to me. While you have been singing so high and away, I've been shining to your little wife all day." He had set his crown all about the nest, And out of the midst shone her little brown breast; And so glorious was she in russet gold, That for wonder and awe Sir Lark grew cold. He popped his head under her wing, and lay As still as a stone, till King Sun was away. * * * * * THE IMPS IN THE HEAVENLY MEADOW BY KATE E. BUNCE (after RUDOLF BAUNBACH) To Heaven's Meadows, bright with flowers and sunshine, The little children go, When they have had enough of life's sad dreaming, And leave the earth below. But as they had not time to learn their lessons Before they went away, There is a school, where all the angel children Must work four hours a day. With golden pencils upon silver tablets, They copy fairy tales, And learn to keep their halos bright and shining, And sing, and play their scales. And twice a week they glide with merry laughter All down the Milky Way, And homeward in the evening wander softly Upon a sunset ray. But Sunday is the day they love and long for, Then all the children go And play from morn till night within a meadow Where flowers in thousands grow. The meadow is not green, but blue and golden The flowers like dewdrops bright; When it is night, they burn and glow and glisten-- Men call them stars of light. Through Heaven's gate they all must pass to find it, Where Peter with the key Keeps watch and warns the little angels kindly How good they all must be. They must not fly about or run too quickly, Nor go too far away, And when upon his golden key he calls them, Then they must all obey. One day it was so very hot in Heaven That good St. Peter slept, And when the little angel children saw it, Away they quickly crept. Ah! then they ran and flew about with laughter, And fluttered far and wide, So far they wandered that of Heaven's meadow They reached the other side. They came to where the strong, tall, wooden paling Shuts all that place away, Where idle, careless, mischief-loving, naughty, The Imps of Darkness stray. And there the angels stopped, devoutly wishing Some opening there might be, So that they might each one in turn peep through it, And see what they could see. But not a chink or hole, for all their seeking, No gleam of light pierced through, So with their little wings outspread and eager, Right to the top they flew. And looking down they saw with awe and wonder. Imps all as black as soot; Each had two horns and each a tail to play with, And hoof, instead of foot. They heard the rustle of the angel feathers, They felt the cool sweet air, And, lifting up their little coal-black faces, They saw Heaven's children there. Then with one voice they cried: "Oh! angel Children, You look so good and fair, We pray you, let us come up into Heaven And play a little there. "We will not tweak nor pull your shining feathers, But be so very good; We will not try and steal your little halos, But all do as we should." Then quick they flew away for Jacob's ladder, (Peter was still asleep), And placed it safely, where from Heaven to Imp-land The way was dark and steep. Then every little imp, with shouts and laughter, Helped by an angel's hand, Scrambled right over the great wooden paling, And stood in Heaven's land. They all, with air sedate and pious faces, Discreetly walked around, Their tails like trains upon their arms upholding, And eyes upon the ground. The little angels fluttered round in rapture, And showed the lovely flowers, And bade them listen to the thrilling voices Of birds in Heaven's bowers. And gently led them by the crystal streamlets, Bade them on dewdrops feast, And showed them where the silver moon was rising To light them from the east. Alas! when all the little demons saw her, The moon, so large and round, They all began to roar, and growl, and gibber, And leap from off the ground; And mocked the great white moon with ugly faces, Turned somersaults in air, And when the angels prayed them cease, in terror, They vowed they did not care. They trampled down the grass in Heaven's Meadow, They tore the flowers about, And flung them on the earth beyond the paling, With gibe, and jeer, and shout. They chased the birds that sang among the tree-tops And hushed their music sweet, They pulled the little angels' tender feathers And trod upon their feet. Then to the good St. Peter cried the angels To help them in their pain, And if he would but this one time forgive them, They would be good again. Then rose St. Peter from his peaceful dreaming-- An angry saint was he-- He wrung his hands and clasped his head in horror, And seized his golden key. Then blew a mighty blast in wrath upon it; Back all the angels flew, And wide he threw the door of heaven open, And thrust the children through. And then he called two great and powerful angels, The strongest of the race, To chase the little demons out of Heaven, And clear the holy place. They gathered up the little imps in armfuls, Bore them with mighty stride, And flung them over the strong wooden paling Down on the other side. And though they fought and lashed their tails and whimpered, And kicked with might and main, To Heaven's Meadow, bright with sun and flowers They never came again. For two long months the little angel-children Were not allowed to play Before the door of Heaven in the meadow, But stayed in all the day. And when again they sought the Heavenly Meadow Each child with humble mind Must lay aside its little shining halo, And leave its wings behind. But all the flowers that on that day of sorrow, Flung out and scattered were, Took root and bloom again in earth's green meadows, As daisies white and fair. * * * * * THE BIRTHDAY HONORS OF THE FAIRY QUEEN[1] BY HAPGOOD MOORE Once upon a time there lived in green Erin a little girl by the name of Nora. Her home was a small thatched cottage of stone beside the brae at the foot of a mountain, in the midst of a woodland so deep that in the summer time when the trees were full the sun got its rays inside but a few hours of the day and you could see of the star-dust that covers the fields of the sky no piece larger than the palm of your hand. It was a famous meeting-place for the fairies, this haunt at the foot of the mountain by the stream, for the Little Folk from the heather above used nightly to foregather in the meadow with the Little Folk from the woodland below, and there they danced the long night through among the shamrocks. But although Nora had heard about the fairies from her grandmother, who sat all day tending the peat fire, and something more about them from her mother when of an evening after supper she had time to speak to Nora of herself when she was a girl, yet Nora had never in all her life set eyes upon one of these feasters of the forest. For the fairies, mind you, come only to two kinds of folk, to those who believe in them and to those who need them. Now Nora believed in the fairies all right, all right, but she had never been in need of them until now, at this time that I'm telling ye of. Now this same Nora was one of these lasses that is a wee bit gloomery. And ye don't know what this same gloomery is? Well, she was at times hindered by a rainy mornin' disposition. So it was plain enough to the fairies that she was in some need of them. One day Nora went into the deep of the wildwood a few steps below her mother's cottage to a trysting-place where she often resorted when she had the time from her daily duties. She had been unusually heckled that morning, as all of us are at times, by being obliged to do many things for the which she had little liking. The spot was a favorite one of Nora's. There was a shelter of rocks above, almost like a cave or roof, and below there was a tiny stream of water that ran out of a spring in the back of the hill and sang its way down the slope to the brae below. In this pool Nora nearly always laid some field flowers, because they kept fresher there than anywhere else. From the low seat that Nora had made out of a stone in the back of her shelter she looked out into a sunny place in the woods, around which stood, as if they were pillars of a woodland palace, six gray beeches. Now upon this sunny afternoon that I am speaking of, hardly had Nora reclined upon her bench, feeling a bit drowsy no doubt with the heat, yet not quite sleepy you know, listening to a robin singing with the voice of Eden, when she heard a light tapping on the wall of the largest beech, the one that was nearest to the place where she was lying. At first when she heard this sound she thought that it was the robin redbreast that she had noticed hopping up and down in the open place in the sunlight, and yet she knew well that robins do not drum upon the bark of trees like woodpeckers. So she jumped lightly up and ran to the tree, and at once she was aware that the tapping was from inside the tree. And between the taps that were no louder than those of a branch against a window-pane she distinctly heard a very tiny voice. "How tiny was the voice, Michael aroon?" You are asking me how tiny was the voice? Let me see if I can tell you. You have heard the sound of the rivulet when it falls upon the mossy stones in the pasture by the bar-way? Well, it was about as loud as the echo of that if you should walk thirty paces away and then listen. So Nora had to put her ear up close against the breast of the beech-tree and even then the voice sounded no louder than the sound of a beech-leaf when it falls from a branch into the moss-bed. But she could hear what that voice was saying, and it was these words: "Nora, my darling, turn the key and let me out." Nora looked around in amazement, but sure enough, there on the breast of the beech, about the height of her heart, was a small key of the color of the bark, that she had never noticed before, though she had hugged that beech-tree every morning of her life. So Nora turned the key at once, and out stepped----" "A fairy, Michael?" Yes, better than a fairy, a dryad, that is a fairy of the tree. For a fairy of a tree is as much higher in rank than a fairy of the meadow as a duchess is than a goose-girl. She was about the size of the robin redbreast, and she was dressed all in green, except a lovely cloak of red that, when it was folded about her, made her look very much indeed like the redbreast himself, and she was no bit bigger than the robin either. "Nora Mavourneen," said the dryad, "I have been noticing that you seem a bit sad-hearted of late, and for no reason either that anybody knows, so if you don't mind I will take you with me for a walk this afternoon through fairyland, and we will see if we cannot do something to restore your good spirits again." At these words Nora danced for joy, and you would never have been able to guess that she had ever known a downhearted moment. So the dryad clapped her tiny hands three times, and out of the open door into the beech-tree stepped a little gnome who came and bowed low before them, holding in his hands a silver salver on which lay a little pellet. "How little was the pellet, uncle?" "Well, what would you say if I told you that it was as small as a humming bird's egg? Oh, you think it was smaller than that? Well, how about the seed of a coriander? No? Then I will tell you the truth. It was as small as the gnat that gets into your eye, that feels as big as a rat." So Nora took the pellet from the platter and thanked the gnome kindly and she ate it down, and no sooner had she swallowed it than she was no bigger than the dryad herself. So the dryad took her by the hand and they walked gaily into the beech-tree door, and the door shut behind them. They went down and down a lot of winding stairs that were lighted only by small windows in the bark of the tree that Nora had never noticed before and could never find afterward. It was very cool and pleasant, for they could hear the sap go singing on its way from the roots up to the branches and leaves and when a summer shower went by they could hear the raindrops as they went singing down the trunk outside to the roots. After they had reached the foot of the stairs they walked for a long way through a cool corridor. It was not quite dark, for Little People stood at every turn who seemed to be doing what fireflies do on summer nights in the grass, and each one whistling to himself as he held his softly shaded lantern aloft. Down the side passages Nora could see thousands of tiny miners at work. And what do you think they are doing? "Digging for gold and diamonds." They were tending the woodland plants that hang their golden blossoms in the pathways and carrying up the dewdrops that sparkle like diamonds from their leaves in the daybreak. And it was pleasant to see them work, for they were all singing. By and by Nora and the dryad came to a place where there was a brighter light ahead, and as they drew nearer Nora could see that they had come to the bank of the pond that is below Nora's cottage, only that they were under the surface, looking up through a light so soft that it cast no shadows. And now the dryad took Nora's hand and she found herself in a little boat, no bigger than a leaf, sailing across the pond but still beneath its surface. And here she saw on every hand, working amid the mire and the mirk, such jolly little divers, who were feeding the fish and tending the pond lily roots, and, like all the others, singing at their tasks. Now you will know of course that they were on their way to the home of the fairy queen. And it was but a short while before they were there. I need not tell you, children, how lovely is her palace, with its golden floor and silver walls and its hangings of the colors of the rainbow. Nor need I say how beautiful is her majesty herself, with wings like the most splendid butterfly and a gown like the morning and a face like the sunshine. It seems that Nora had come upon the queen's birthday, and she was just giving the birthday honors. So Nora and the dryad stood in the background and watched the scene. Around the throne stood gallant fairy gentlemen clad like beetles and dragon flies for splendor and ladies whose long gowns hung like the light on the waterfall of Loughmareen. But to the amazement of Nora, those who came forward to receive the honors were for the most part dressed like workmen and many of them were bent with hard labor. As each advanced and made obeisance, the royal herald read the exploit for which the rank of knighthood was about to be conferred. For one he read: "To our faithful servant who covered the lilies of Moira from the attack of the Frost King"; and to another: "To the gallant yeoman who watered the grain field of Kilvellin"; and to still another: "To him who dug the trench by the roadside and kept safe the highway to Throselwait Fair." And as each came forward the trumpets pealed in triumph, and after a gold star had been pinned upon the new knight's breast the gentlemen and ladies of the court greeted them with hearty reverence. And Nora looked in the smiling face of the dryad, but said nothing. Then Nora herself, in a breathless moment of fear, was presented to the queen, and the queen kissed her daintily just above her lips on both sides. And suddenly Nora found herself back on her stony bench by the spring with the branches of the beech-tree waving silently before her. "Oh, mothereen and grandmotherkin," she cried as soon as she got home, and she ran home all the way--"let me tell you about the wonderful visit I have been making out in the wildwood." And after she had told her story, mothereen said, "I think Nora has been dreaming," but grandmotherkin said, "No, daughter, I think our little acushla has had her eyes opened the day." Then Nora in triumph showed the two dimples where the fairy queen had kissed her. And do you know, my darlings, I cannot but think that she told the truth after all, for ever after, if one kissed Nora upon those two dimples or even touched them or even looked at them, she would break into the sweetest smile, and she never was gloomerin' or lowerin' any more. [Footnote 1: First published in _John Martin's Book_. Reprinted by special permission.] * * * * * LIST OF BEST BOOKS OF FAIRY TALES AND CHILDREN'S POEMS * * * * * ANDERSEN, HANS CHRISTIAN ... _Fairy Tales_ ANDERSEN, HANS CHRISTIAN ... _Wonder Stories_ ASBJÖRNSEN, P. C. ... _Fairy Tales from the Far North_ BALLARD, SUSAN ... _Fairy Tales from Far Japan_ BARING-GOULD, S. .... _The Crock of Gold_ BRENTANO, CLEMENS ... _New Fairy Tales_ BREWER, DAVID H. ... _Adventures in Fairyland_ BROWNE, F. ... _The Wonderful Chair_ BUNGE, JOHN THACKERY ... _Fairy Tales: Their Origin and Meaning_ CARMEN SYLVA ... _A Real Queen's Fairy Tales_ CARROLL, LEWIS ... _Alice in Wonderland_ CARROLL, LEWIS ... _Through the Looking Glass_ CHISHOLM, LOUEY ... _The Golden Staircase_ COATES, H. T. ... _Children's Book of Poetry_ CROKER, T. CROFTON ... _Fairy Legends and Traditions of Ireland_ CURTIN, JEREMIAH ... _Tales of the Fairies and of the Ghost World_ EWING, J. H. ... _The Brownies_ FRERE, M. ... _Old Deccan Days, or Hindoo Fairy Legends_ GRIMM, THE BROTHERS ... _Fairy Tales_ HARRISON, MRS. BURTON ... _The Old Fashioned Fairy Book_ HERFORD, OLIVER ... _Child's Primer of Natural History_ HAUFF, WILLIAM ... _Fairy Tales_ HIGGINSON, THOMAS W. ... _Tales of the Enchanted Islands of the Atlantic_ HORWITZ, CARRIE NORRIS ... _Fairy Lore_ INGELOW, JEAN ... _Fairy Stories_ JACOBS, JOSEPH ... _Celtic Fairy Tales (2 vols.)_ JACOBS, JOSEPH ... _English Fairy Tales (2 vols.)_ JACOBS, JOSEPH ... _Indian Fairy Tales_ JERROLD, W. ... _The Reign of King Oberon_ KEIGHTLEY, T. ... _Fairy Mythology_ KENNEDY, H. A. ... _The New World Fairy Book_ KUPPER, GRACE H. ... _Stories of Long Ago_ LABOULAYE, E. ... _Fairy Tales_ LANG, ANDREW ... _Nursery Rhyme Book_ LANG, ANDREW ... _The Arabian Nights_ LANG, ANDREW ... _The Green Fairy Book_ LANG, ANDREW ... _The Red Fairy Book_ LANG, ANDREW ... _The Yellow Fairy Book_ LANG, ANDREW ... _The Princess Nobody_ LEAR, EDWARD ... _Nonsense Books_ LOCKWOOD, INGERSOLL ... _Baron Trump's Marvelous Underground Journey_ MULLNEY, IONE ... _Fairy Tales from Afar_ MULOCK, DINAH M. ... _Adventures of a Brownie_ MULOCK, DINAH M. ... _The Little Lame Prince_ MUNKITTRICK, J. ... _The Moon Prince_ MOTHER GOOSE ... _Nursery Rhymes_ NAAKE, J. T. ... _Slavonic Fairy Tales_ NICHOLS, IDA PRESTON ... _Princess Girlikin and other Fairy Tales_ OZAKI, YEI THEODORA ... _The Japanese Story Book_ PAULDING, JAMES KIRKE ... _A Christmas Gift from Fairyland_ PYLE, HOWARD ... _The Wonder Clock_ RHYS, ERNEST ... _Fairy Gold_ ROLFE, W. F. ... _Fairy Tales in Prose and Verse_ STOCKTON, F. R. ... _The Floating Prince_ STEVENSON, ROBERT LOUIS ... _Child's Garden of Verses_ STODDARD, R. H. ... _Adventures in Fairyland_ WAHLENBERG, ANNA ... _Swedish Fairy Tales_ WATERHOUSE, A. J. ... _Children's Poems_ WIGGIN, KATE DOUGLAS, AND NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH ... _Tales of Laughter_ WIGGIN, KATE DOUGLAS, AND NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH ... _Magic Casements_ Transcriber's Note: TOC: vii [corrected from v] xi [missing; added] Page 47: '?' corrected to '.' "When the dogs run after me, I can jump into a tree and save myself." Page 49: replaced missing opening quote-- ..."You see very well he is greater than I, for he stops me and makes me draw back." Page 62: replaced missing closing quote-- "So many stars are there in the sky as there are holes in this paper; now count them. Page 114: replaced missing end quote-- "Rise, little lie-a-beds," she said, "and... Page 120: replaced missing opening quote-- "Good day, Father Hollenthe. How do you do?" Page 147: replaced opening quote-- "It's a boy, I'm sure it is," he continued... Page 153: '.' corrected to '?' "... but how could little Thumbelina ever care for him? ..." Page 408: replaced missing end quote-- "Well, then," said the Fox, ... Page 461: replaced missing end quote-- "... Under my power Awashanks shall become a beautiful trout." Page 473: replaced missing opening quote-- "He that seeketh, shall find, and to him that knocketh shall be opened," says an old Arab proverb.