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Fables for the Frivolous (Version 2)

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<div style="text-align: center;">  <big><big><big>FABLES FOR THE FRIVOLOUS</big></big></big> (With Apologies to La Fontaine)  By GUY WETMORE CARRYL With Illustrations by Peter Newell 1898   FABLES FOR THE FRIVOLOUS TO MY FATHER </div> <center> <table border="0" width="400" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"> <tbody> <tr> <td> <div style="text-align: left;">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. </div> </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> </center> <div style="text-align: left;"> <div style="text-align: center;"> <big><big>CONTENTS</big></big> 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 </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><big style="font-weight: bold;"> ILLUSTRATIONS</big> "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" </div> <div style="text-align: center;"> </div> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE AMBITIOUS FOX AND THE UNAPPROACHABLE GRAPES </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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-à-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 élite       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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <div style="text-align: center;"> <ANTIMG src="images/Grapes.png" title="" alt="" style="width: 323px; height: 480px;"> </div> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE PERSEVERING TORTOISE AND THE PRETENTIOUS HARE </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: left;">    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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE PATRICIAN PEACOCKS AND THE OVERWEENING JAY </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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 recherché 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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE ARROGANT FROG AND THE SUPERIOR BULL </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <div style="text-align: center;"><ANTIMG src="images/Frog.png" title="" alt="" style="width: 308px; height: 480px;"> </div> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE DOMINEERING EAGLE AND THE INVENTIVE BRATLING </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE ICONOCLASTIC RUSTIC AND THE APROPOS ACORN </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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? </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <div style="text-align: center;"> <ANTIMG src="images/Acorn.png" title="" alt="" style="width: 302px; height: 480px;"> </div> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE UNUSUAL GOOSE AND THE IMBECILIC WOODCUTTER </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE RUDE RAT AND THE UNOSTENTATIOUS OYSTER </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE URBAN RAT AND THE SUBURBAN RAT </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE IMPECUNIOUS CRICKET AND THE FRUGAL ANT </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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! </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE PAMPERED LAPDOG AND THE MISGUIDED ASS </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <div style="text-align: center;"><ANTIMG src="images/Ass.png" title="" alt="" style="width: 367px; height: 480px;"> </div> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE VAINGLORIOUS OAK AND THE MODEST BULRUSH </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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! </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 400px;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE INHUMAN WOLF AND THE LAMB SANS GENE </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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! </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE SYCOPHANTIC FOX AND THE GULLIBLE RAVEN </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <div style="text-align: center;"><ANTIMG src="images/Crow.png" title="" alt="" style="width: 329px; height: 480px;"> </div> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE MICROSCOPIC TROUT AND THE MACHIAVELIAN FISHERMAN </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE CONFIDING PEASANT AND THE MALADROIT BEAR </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <div style="text-align: center;"><ANTIMG src="images/Bear.png" title="" alt="" style="width: 336px; height: 480px;"> </div> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE PRECIPITATE COCK AND THE UNAPPRECIATED PEARL </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE ABBREVIATED FOX AND HIS SCEPTICAL COMRADES </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE HOSPITABLE CALEDONIAN AND THE THANKLESS VIPER </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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 soupçon 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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <table cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" border="0" style="text-align: left; width: 350px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <tbody> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top; text-align: center;"> THE IMPETUOUS BREEZE AND THE DIPLOMATIC SUN </td> </tr> <tr> <td style="vertical-align: top;">   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. </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <div style="text-align: center;">THE END </div> </div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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