THE LION AND THE MAN.

A lion and a gentleman happened to fall into company with each other, and, as they were going the same way, they agreed to travel together. Among other conversation to make them forget the weariness of the road, they began to dispute which of the two was the nobler animal.

Said the man to the lion, you must not pretend to compare with me. You are a poor ignorant creature, that can neither read nor write. Remember what fine books men have composed: we can sing and dance, and paint, and act pantomimes: we can make all sorts of machines and instruments: it was a man that made the speeches of Demosthenes, and the plays of Shakespear. The works of human ingenuity cover the earth. Look at our parks, and palaces, and castles, and bridges, and cities. When a lion is dead, he is remembered no more; but Homer and Alexander and Cicero have immortalized themselves by what they performed, or what they wrote. Though they have been dead two or three thousand years, they are still fresh in every one's thoughts.

Remember, said the lion, that story belongs to the fabulous age, where every page is filled with impossibilities. The victory upon which you are thoughtless enough to pride yourself, belongs not to Hercules, but to the statuary. If we lions were the sculptors we should represent, with more truth, not the man subduing the lion, but the lion subduing the man.

The man saw that he was wrong in this instance. Still however he adhered to his opinion; and the very circumstance that all the sculptors were men, and none of them lions, confirmed him in his sentiment.

THE FOX AND THE MASK.

I will tell you now a very short fable, but a very clever one.

The fox is a sagacious, prying fellow. He turned the mask over and over. He looked at the outside, and looked at the in. The outside was quite sleek and complete; the inside was hollow. What a fine head is here! said the fox: what a pity it is there are no brains!

THE LEAP IN RHODES.

A traveller, who had been absent from home several years, and had seen a great many countries, amused his old friends when he returned, with a multitude of stories of the wonderful things he had seen. They were at first exceedingly pleased with his conversation. Whenever he told any thing about himself, it happened somehow or other, that he had done the most extraordinary things of any body he had occasion to speak of. They began to think that he was a wonderful fellow.

But this despicable traveller betrayed himself. He allowed himself to shoot with the long bow. I dare say, by the way, that the proverb arose from some traveller, as naughty as the man I am talking of, who pretended that he had shot with the long bow further than all the world beside.

The traveller observed that the Rhodians particularly excelled in leaping: no nation in the world could leap like them. There were two persons principally in Rhodes, when he came, that could beat the rest: but he determined to try; and in his first attempt he found he could outleap them both. I believe he said that he had leaped forty yards on level ground.

A grave old gentleman who was sitting by, turned up his nose with a sneer, and said, Now I like this story better than any that you have told us before. You must know that there are some young fellows in our town, who are impertinent enough to doubt of the truth of your stories. But you shall convince them in this instance, and I will insist upon their believing all the rest. There are no spring-boards, I suppose, in Rhodes; indeed you told us your leap was performed on common ground. I will therefore measure out the length for you, and you shall exhibit the same leap here that you did in Rhodes.

The traveller was confounded at this proposal; and before the words were well uttered, slunk out of the company. I suppose he set out again upon his travels; till he did so, he was pointed at by the town's people whenever he appeared in the streets, and he could hear them say, There goes the man that performed the wonderful leap in Rhodes!

THE COCK AND THE PRECIOUS STONE.

I ought not however to compare the cock of the straw-yard to such a boy; for, though he has not courage enough to face all sort of dangers, I believe he is seldom known to be ill-natured and tyrannical. All cocks however are fond of chuckling and crowing, and making a great splutter as if they were the bravest fellows in the world.

He scratched and scratched again. He did not find a single corn, but, as he scratched with might and main, by and by he turned up a precious stone. It sparkled and was a very pretty one; but the cock looked at it with dissatisfaction and disappointment. If a jeweller had found you, said he, he would have been in ecstacy with his prize: for my part I should prefer one grain of barley to all the precious stones in the world.

The cock of my fable had scarcely finished "his meditations upon a precious stone," when the farmer's wife came out with a handful of barley, and gave the poor fellow the very breakfast he wanted, as much as he could eat.

THE MOUNTAIN IN LABOUR.

Did you ever see a mountain? It is a grand and noble sight. Some mountains are three miles in perpendicular height, and the path is nine miles long by which you climb up the side of them. The sky seems to rest itself and to be supported upon the top. The sides are irregular; in some places perpendicular for a considerable way, so that you must make a great circuit before you can get any higher: in other places there are wide, black-looking chasms, so deep that nobody knows the bottom of them. In some places again, you can only climb upon your hands and knees, catching hold of the shrubs and tufts of grass you find in your way. In ascending high mountains you pass through the clouds, which are seldom so much as a mile above the plains; and then you may sometimes stand in a clear sunshine, and see the rain pouring down in torrents upon the meadows beneath. On the tops of mountains the air is always very cold. High mountains are capped with snow all the year; and, in crossing the Alps, the mountains which divide France from Italy, you are set astride upon a mule, a species of animal more sure-footed than a horse; and in descending over sheets of snow, you place yourself in a sledge, and sometimes slide down almost a mile in a minute. There are some mountains, which are called volcanic, particularly mount Etna, and mount Vesuvius, which have a fire for ever burning within them, that sometimes blazes out at the top, and throws up a red-hot substance, almost like a metal, which, wherever it falls, destroys every thing it finds in its passage. Previously to the eruptions of this metal, you may hear a terrible noise in the inside of the mountain; it rumbles and roars, with a noise grander and more deafening than thunder.

I suppose it was either at mount Etna or mount Vesuvius, that the thing happened I am going to tell you of. A loud and long noise was heard in the inside of the mountain, and the neighbours, greatly alarmed, were all assembled at the foot of it, to watch what would happen. They said one to the other, What a ruinous eruption took place only five years ago! The noise is now more fearful than it was then; we shall have our corn and our cattle destroyed; and all our houses laid in ashes!

This is a comical fable; but the meaning of it is, to ridicule large promises and small performances, and to say that, if any one boasts and brags of what he is going to do, and then does something not at all equal to what he had made you expect, he makes as silly a figure, as the mountain in labour, that was brought to bed of a mouse.

As to the people who lived at the foot of Mount Etna, finding that the mountain now became very quiet, they excused their disappointment, and were exceedingly glad, after all the fright they had suffered, to see no enemy march out against them but a mouse.

THE OAK AND THE REED.

Strong and noble creatures are too apt to be proud, and in their pride, they forget that they are subject to the accidents which beset all earthly things. The oak I am going to tell you of, was full of this foolish pride. He thought of his own strength, and looked with disdain upon every thing round him; he calculated that his roots struck as deep into the earth beneath, as his branches stretched into the air above him.

Among the other neighbours that were accustomed to his sneers, grew a humble reed that he laughed at more than the rest. You poor creature, said he, why do you grow so near my majestic presence? I really pity you from my heart. I know you must be terribly out of countenance, whenever you think of me. Every ass that comes by is in danger of trampling you to pieces. Every wind that blows lays you level with the ground. Poor creature! repeated the oak; not a day passes, that you can say your life is your own.

May it please your majesty, said the reed to the monarch oak, I am quite contented with my humble situation. Nature has planted me in an obscure nook, where not even the asses come. When the wind blows, I suffer its fury to pass over me; I never lose my courage and tranquillity of mind; and, when the storm subsides, I lift my head in as much health, and as little broken down by what has happened, as ever. Might I give my opinion, said the reed, I should think, sir, that your station is much more dangerous than mine.

My station dangerous! rejoiced the oak. You fool, you do not know what you are talking of! My strength is unconquerable, and I can safely defy the rage of the tempests.

It seemed as if the invisible master of us all had heard the insolent brags of the oak. Scarcely a minute elapsed, before a violent storm began to blow. It grew louder and louder; the element roared like the roaring of a lion. The reed was bent to the ground with the first blast. By and by willows and hawthorns were torn up by the roots. At last the oak itself, ponderous and immoveable as it seemed, was rent away from its place, and laid prostrate on the plain. In the mean time, the reed had suffered no injury, but what was entirely over, as soon as the sky cleared, and the weather grew calm.

THE FOX WITHOUT A TAIL.

He sneaked back to his hole as fast as he could, and did not venture out in the fields for some days. At length he sent his wife to all the foxes of the neighbourhood, to beg they would meet him behind the willows in a certain place, as he had a proposition of great use to them all to communicate.

The foxes came, and a fine assembly there was of them. Old and young, nimble and lame, lean and fat, they were all there. The farmer would have made terrible havoc, if he had come among them with his gun; but they were aware of that, and held their meeting in a snug, out-of-the-way corner, quite remote from danger and harm.

The company being all met, our fox's wife went to tell him he was waited for. The fox then crept through the bushes, and as soon as he was in the circle, sat down close to the place by which he had entered.

How do you do, gentlemen? says he. I hope, madam your wife is pretty well, and all the pretty little creatures at home. That he-young one of yours promises well; I hear he comes on bravely. The fox had some compliment or other for every one of them.

What I had to propose, was that we should all agree to cut off our tails.

The foxes stared.

The speaker went on. I have devoted a great deal of my time to the study of anatomy, and particularly of that part of anatomy which explains the uses of the different parts of the body. Let me then beg of you to ask yourselves, as I have done, what earthly use we have for our tails? They trail along on the ground. In summer they gather the dust; and in winter the dirt. When I come home from a morning's diversion, I am really quite ashamed to see my wife, and still more the lady-foxes of her acquaintance, with my tail in so filthy a condition as it often is. Man is the wisest creature in the universe. You see he is continually mending nature. He clips his trees, and transplants his flowers. He shortens the tails of his cart-horses, and cuts his own nails and hair. Let us imitate his glorious example.

You have made a wise speech, said an old fox; but before I answer it, be pleased to walk into the middle of the circle.

Stop, said the old fox; he will go fast enough of himself. And remember, my friend, another time, before you pretend to give advice, to learn to speak plain, and tell the truth. No advice is worth listening to, that is not given with an honest tongue. He that is to teach me what is for my good, must speak because he loves me, and not for any paltry by-ends of his own.

THE WAGGONER AND HERCULES.

Jesus Christ came into the world not quite two thousand years ago. He taught that there is but one God that makes the trees to grow, and the rain to fall, and the sun to shine. Before his time men believed that there were many Gods, a God of the sea, and a God of the winds, and a God of war, and a God of peace. The Greeks and Romans, who were the wisest of the Heathen nations, believed in Jupiter, who was the son of Saturn, and the father of Mars and Minerva and Venus and Apollo and Hercules; and many ridiculous stories they told about them. Hercules was the God of strength, insomuch that, when he was a baby, he killed two serpents, so vast and fierce that a man could not manage them, which had crept into his cradle to him.

A Heathen waggoner was once driving his team in a very bad road, when one of the wheels sunk in a deep hole, and stuck fast. It was necessary that his corn should be at market by seven o'clock in the morning, and it was already six. This waggoner was very kind to his horses, and the horses did all they could to drag the waggon out of the hole, but in vain.

The driver now began to be terribly frightened. He had a severe master, who would not hear any excuses, and he knew that, if the corn was not at market in time, his master would turn him out of his employment. Then thought the man, what will become of my poor wife, and my two pretty babies? I shall have no money, and they will have no breakfast to-morrow, and no dinner, and no supper: they will be starved to death. He never thought of himself.

The poor waggoner was almost out of his wits. He looked this way and that. The sun shone, and the birds sung in the hedges; but his waggon stuck fast. He looked at it, and the tears rolled down his cheeks. At length he fell on his knees in the midst of the mud. Oh, Hercules, God of strength, said he, help me in this hour of my distress!

While he was in this attitude, an old philosopher happened to come by. What are you doing there, my honest friend? said he. That is not the way to get your waggon out of the hole. Up, bestir yourself, and put your shoulder to the wheel. I am an infirm old man, but I will do what I can to help you. You look like a good fellow; and I perceive you are in distress. But see, here comes a couple of stout hearty looking young men, and I am sure they will help us. When a human creature has thought seriously of his situation, and done all he can to remove its difficulties, then he has a right to expect that God will bless him, and that his undertakings will prosper.

The young men were by this time come up. The philosopher worked; the waggoner put his shoulder to the wheel; and after some trouble the waggon was once more on even ground. God bless you, sir! said the driver to the philosopher; I see you are right; and another time I will never expect that my affairs will thrive, till I have done all I can on my part to put them in good order.

THE GRASS-GREEN CAT.

His father and mother sent messengers into different parts of Greece to procure new pleasures for him; they all returned with things beautiful, costly, and of exquisite workmanship, but to no manner of purpose; they were laid aside as soon as seen. At last a man came to town, who had sailed to the Antipodes, and brought home with him a most marvellous grass-green cat, that was the best mouser ever heard of. This grass-green cat took the young gentleman's fancy; no such creature had been seen in Athens within the memory of man; and at a high price the young gentleman's father bought her of the captain of the ship that had brought her to Athens. What was most extraordinary was that this cat, though so great a destroyer of mice, was exactly of the size of a mouse herself.

Contrary to all his former habits, the young nobleman never grew tired of his grass-green cat. He could not eat his dinner, unless the cat sat by the side of his plate; and when he went in his chariot to his country-seat, the cat was always carried in a sedan along with him (the chariot would have jolted her too much), and he stopped twenty times in his ride, to be sure the cat was not left behind, and that he might fondle and kiss her.

They immediately made vows, and sent costly offerings and presents to Venus, Goddess of Beauty, praying her that she would turn their son's cat into a beautiful lady. Venus, as the story says, took compassion on their distress, and granted their prayer. The cat was turned into a beautiful lady dressed in grass-green velvet, and with a turban of exquisite green gauze upon her head. Her cheeks were as fresh as the damask rose, and her eyes were of the most sparkling black that ever was seen. She swam along the room with inexpressible grace. She offered her cheek for the young nobleman to kiss; she told him, she was his dear Puss, and that Venus had bestowed the greatest of all favours upon her, by giving her the power of speaking her gratitude and love to him. There was not much in what the cat said, but the young nobleman thought them the wittiest and wisest observations that ever he heard. He was eager to marry her.

The wedding-dinner was prepared with all possible magnificence. Every body was charmed with the behaviour of the bride, especially when they considered she had so lately been a cat. She had something obliging to say to all her guests, and they were all happy.

Just at this moment the bride cried out, Bless me, what scratching is that I hear behind the wainscot! The scratching was repeated. I am sure it is a mouse, said she. In her eagerness the bride forgot she was no longer a cat, jumped out of bed in her nightdress, and ran like lightning to catch the mouse. The bride-maids, who wished to be grave, could not help bursting into a fit of laughter. The bridegroom blushed like scarlet for shame; the lady hung down her head, and fixed her eyes upon the ground. They both agreed to pray to Venus to make her a cat again, who graciously granted their request. The cat was convinced that it was best to be content as nature had made her; and the young nobleman grew ashamed of his perverted inclinations, and gladly took for his second wife the princess of Macedon.

THE WEASEL IN THE GRANARY.

A weasel once got into a granary. The weasel is a beast of prey; his bite is mortal to the object of his pursuit, and he is cunning enough frequently to destroy animals larger than himself. Beasts of prey are sometimes almost famished to death, and at other times gorge themselves with excessive eating. This poor weasel was in the former case; he was so thin and meagre, that you might have counted his ribs; he could well nigh have crept through a thumb-ring.

He had now lived some days at his ease, when he heard the sound of steps approaching the door. It was the farmer; he put his key into the padlock of the door. The yard-dog, and the greyhound, and the spaniel came jumping about him, and kept such a barking, the weasel was frightened out of his wits. He ran as fast as he could, to the hole by which he had come in. But what was his distress, when he found that the crevice through which he had crept with ease in his famished state, would on no account suffer him to pass in his present plump condition!

The door opened. The farmer saw the devastation that had been made, and guessed the truth. He drove the dogs away, who else would have killed the weasel in a moment. Back! he said to one. Lie down! to another.

The farmer then came up to the weasel, and took him gently in his hand. Do not be afraid, my fine fellow! said he. I see you have killed a great many rats and mice; if you had not, they would have eaten up my corn, and I and my children would perhaps have been ruined. Another time however use more discretion with your appetites; eat while you are hungry and no longer; if any body had opened the door but myself, whom the dogs know and obey as their master, you would have paid dear for your intemperance, and have had but one squeak for your life.

Miss Moggridge, that was the young lady's name, looked at Nango. Upon my word, said she, I think him a very handsome man. (That is a thing by no means impossible. The other day I stopped involuntarily to look at a negro I passed in the street. He was telling a story to some one of his acquaintance. I do not know what the story was about; but he was quite animated, and seemed to feel great interest in what he was saying. His features were finely formed. I have seldom seen a more open and manly countenance. His story was a gay one. But there was nothing brutal or insulting or coarse in his manner, while he told it.)

You have no objection to be washed, Nango?

None in the world; me always loves to be clean.

Miss Moggridge got sponges, and scrubbing-brushes, and soap, and all sorts of materials, enough to wash the linen of a regiment, and their barracks into the bargain. She stripped Nango to the skin down to his middle: she thought when she had shown him how to bleach his arms, and his shoulders, and his breast, he could do the rest for himself. She made him sit down in the middle of a large tub. She had no doubt that he would come out of it as blooming as a rose. She called in three washerwomen she had provided, beside her own maids, and set them to work.

When they began to apply their sponges to Nango's skin, Miss Moggridge was surprised at first to see it look blacker and more glossy than ever. She was not however a lady to be disheartened; she scorned to give out when she had once undertaken a thing. She exhorted her people to go on, and not allow themselves to be tired. Poor Nango was washed from nine o'clock in the morning till noon: Miss Moggridge began to believe that there were people naturally black, as well as others that are born white.

The washerwomen had agreed to do Miss Moggridge's work, because they wanted Miss Moggridge's money for themselves and their families. But secretly they laughed at her ignorance and folly. They told their neighbours what had happened. And when Miss Moggridge's one-horse chaise was brought to the door for the young lady to take an airing, people pointed, and said, That chaise and horse belong to the young lady who undertook to wash a blackamoor white. What a pity that her uncle, who could leave her such a pretty fortune, and who was otherwise so good a man, never thought of sparing a farthing to send her to school! She would then certainly have learned that there were negroes, as well as white people in the world; and would not have been silly enough to try at impossibilities.

INDUSTRY AND SLOTH.

There was once a very naughty young man, whom his mother, for all that she could say to him, could never persuade to rise betimes in the morning. She said to him, My son, my dear son, you have nothing to depend upon but your industry. Your father was a very good man, but he died unexpectedly, and has left us both unprovided for. As you never get up in the morning, you will never learn any thing properly, and never finish any thing you begin. I foresee that you will be despised by every body, and that I, your poor mother, shall die in a work-house.—I wonder how the son could resist such expostulations from the lips of his mother.

The naughty young man saw that he had no way to bring himself off, but by some joke or another. He had tried this method often: it sometimes made his sad-hearted mother cry, and sometimes it forced her to laugh in spite of all she could do. Still the young man and his mother grew poorer.

One day he said to her, Well, I have many a time put you off with one story or another, but now I will tell you a secret about it. I no sooner open my eyes in a morning, but there come (how they get at me I cannot tell) two girls to my bed-side, who, if I may be allowed to judge, are neither of them destitute of powers to charm.

Two girls! said the astonished mother. Oh, you wicked, ungracious boy! I always believed that it was bad company that was the ruin of you. And you pretend you do not know how they get at you! But why two? two at a time? Do they agree or quarrel?

No, indeed, mother. They do nothing but oppose one another in every thing. The name of one is Industry, and of the other Sloth. Industry is so grave and sedate-looking a girl, that it is impossible for me ever to look at her without having a good opinion of her. Sloth is full of roguery and smiles, but she has a soft, wheedling way with her, that I cannot find it in my heart to be angry with any thing she does. Industry tells me how respectable I shall become, if I do but rise in the morning. She assures me, that the morning is the finest part of the day, and that, if I rise with the lark, I shall be cheerful and happy all day long.

Upon my word, a good girl! said the mother, who now began to understand him. I hope you grow wiser by every thing she says to you.

That I do, mother! I never heard any body talk more sensibly or more to the purpose. But then that sly jade Sloth, she tells me how pleasant it would be to take another nap, and how comfortably one can think over all one's affairs as one lies in bed. Then she pats my pillow, and smooths my bed-clothes, that I can never have the courage to get up.

Son, son! said the mother, you see now all she says is nothing to the purpose, and that the whole strength of the argument is on the other side.

I am quite of your opinion, said the young man. Oh, never think that I give quarter to her wheedling, or forget any of the arguments of Industry: I am too fair a judge for that. But the worst of it is, mother, that they have such a vast deal to say for themselves, and I am obliged to show my fairness by hearing them out, that, by the time the arguments are well concluded, it is time to come to dinner.

Learn, from this, son, said the mother, that it is the first business of life to come to an early and firm resolution. He that continues long in uncertainty, and vibrates and varies between one plan and other, will make as ill a figure, and prove as useless a member of the community, as if he came to the worst and most vicious resolution that could be devised.

The son could make no reply to so just a remark; so he confessed he was conquered, and promised that for the future he would rise as early every morning as his mother herself could desire.

THE LABOURER AND HIS SONS.

A poor labourer, who had brought up a large family of children, had no estate to leave them when he died, except the cottage he lived in, and one field, which, by ploughing and harrowing and industrious care, he had contrived to make sufficient for the subsistence of them all. He was now old, and felt that he should live but a short time. His children, though they were very good on the whole, and attentive to what their father told them, had not so much sense and forecast as he to contrive their affairs, and were a little disposed to be idle. He had often sat up whole nights to contrive how he should pay for their schooling and other things they wanted, had gone to all the markets nine miles round to learn the price of commodities, and had always listened to the most experienced farmers, that he might know when to sow, when to reap, and how to manage his crop.

This poor labourer, who loved his children as well as a duke could have done, was very uneasy as to what would become of them when he was dead and gone. He could teach them to work, as I have already told you, but he could not teach them to think.

He was almost at his last gasp, when he called them round his bed, that they might hear his dying words. They were exceedingly grieved to see how weak their father was, and not one of them could forebear crying.

Oh, my dear father, said the youngest, what shall we do without you, you who were always so good to us? I hope you are not dying.

Hush, said the eldest, do not disturb father with your grief; he was going to say something to us; let us listen to his words and instructions. Pray heaven it be not for the last time!

My children, said the old man, may I depend upon your doing what I am now going to tell you?

That you may! answered one. That you may! answered another.

You will find a treasure in the field we have so often cultivated together. —

I do not know what more the old man was going to say. I dare say he only meant to tell them that a field, which had maintained them for so many years, would still prove a treasure, if they did not neglect to make the best of it. But he had no sooner spoken the words I have told you, than he was seized with a violent fit of coughing, after which he lay exhausted and speechless; and about sunset he died.

They were very poor however, and it was necessary they should think of something beside grief, otherwise they would all have been starved.

At last the second son said, Do not you remember the last words of our father about the treasure he had buried in his field?

I am surprised, said the eldest, that he should have buried his money. I have always heard that that was the act of very foolish people. I am sure our father was not a fool.

I wish, cried the second, he had lived a little longer, only to tell us in what part of the field it was hid.

Oh, do not say that! answered the youngest. I wish he was alive now, to call us in the morning, to bless us at night, to tell us stories of what he had seen in his youth, and to give us those advices that it did my heart good to hear.

It is a sad thing, said the second, that our father should have deceived us.

Come, said the eldest, since we have so thoroughly worked the field, we may as well sow it with corn; we shall make something of our labour that way.

They accordingly sowed the field, and it produced as plentiful a crop as their father had ever been able to raise with all his diligence.

I dare say, said the eldest, this is the treasure our father meant; he knew we were idle young fellows, and he thought the best way to make us industrious was to lead us on with a false hope.

Our father could not tell a lie! said the youngest. If he had lived to finish his speech, you would have seen that he could not!

All the brothers learned a lesson of diligence from this adventure. Young people improve twice as much by experience, as they do by precept. They saw the good effects of the hard labour they had performed, and they turned out more sober and respectable than their poor father had feared.

THE LARK AND HER YOUNG ONES.

The lark is a singing-bird, whose note is more clear, shrill and mellow, than almost any of her tribe. When she rises from her nest, she flies up in nearly a perpendicular line: you would think she never intended to return to the earth any more. Yet she builds her nest, not, as many birds do, among the branches of trees, but upon the ground; and, though so sweet a singer, she has nothing particular in her colour, which is a plain russet brown. Her nest is almost always in the middle of a corn-field, and is securely protected from invasion by the long, stiff, and close-ranked stalks, which like so many palisadoes occupy the field.

A lark, who had a numerous family of young ones, began to think that the ears of corn were fast turning yellow, and that the farmer would soon come into the field to reap. She was obliged to go out every morning to seek for food for her young to live on. At these times she desired her larklings to be very attentive, and to hark out for what the farmer should say; for, added she, the moment he is resolved to reap his field, it will be time for us to seek a new habitation.

The young larks listened for two or three mornings, but all was tranquil and silent. On the fourth morning they had a story to tell. Oh, mother, said they, as soon as they saw her, what you warned us of is come to pass. The farmer came with his son into the field, and said, Upon my word, son, this corn is fit to reap. Go immediately to our two neighbours, that I helped last year, and beg the favour of them to come to me now, and return the obligation.

You are good children, said the old lark, to have listened so carefully, but I do not design to change my lodging to-day. Go on however as you have begun, and tell me every thing you can hear.

The young larks were rather surprised at their mother's boldness, but they took it for granted that every thing she did was right.

The next day the farmer and his son came again into the field. Well, son, said he, neither farmer Jobson nor Hobson have attended to our summons; I take it main unkind of them. Go to-day to your two uncles at the end of the village; they are our own flesh and blood, and sure they will help us. The young larks told all this to their mother; but she replied just as before, Listen and tell me every thing the farmer shall say; I do not intend to change my lodging to-day.

The next day the farmer and his son came into the field for the third time. And so both your uncles sent their excuses, and said they had not time to help us. I see how it is: our corn will spoil for want of the sickle; son, you and I must come to-morrow, and cut it for ourselves.

When the old lark was told this, she said, Come, my young ones, it is time for us to be gone; since the old farmer speaks in so resolute a manner, I have no doubt he will be as good as his word.

THE FAGGOT-BINDER AND DEATH.

Have you ever thought of death? Do you know that we must all of us die? Perhaps you will have a good many years yet, to learn and be happy in; but you must die at last, and nobody can tell you how soon. We ought to think about death often enough not to be surprised when it comes; but we ought to regulate our tempers and our thoughts so as to be no more frightened at it, than at sleep, or fatigue, or the tooth-ach [sic], or any thing we cannot avoid. If we dislike it ever so much, that will not alter the case a bit.

A poor faggot-binder had all his life worked hard for his living. This he could bear very well when he was young and strong; but he was now grown old, and he was obliged to work still, for he had nothing to eat, but what he earned. This made him dissatisfied, and he sometimes cried out, I can bear this burthen of life no longer.

One evening he had to come home with a heavy load of wood upon his back. He dragged one foot after the other, and said, When shall I be by my own fire-side! At last, when he had got more than half way home, he threw down his load in a fit of despair, and said, Oh, Death! that puttest an end to the miseries of mortal men, why wilt thou not come to my relief?—The words were no sooner out of his mouth, than Death stood before him.

I know not what shape Death has, and I have great doubts whether there is any such person: no matter; this, you know, is a fable. Death is generally represented by the painters under the figure of a skeleton. You have bones in every one of your joints, and, if the skin and the flesh were gone, these bones would still hang together, and make a figure with legs, and arms, and fingers, and ribs, just as you now have. After a man has been dead some years, his skin and flesh waste away, and all that is left of him is a skeleton. A skeleton with a dart in his hand, is the figure that is painted for Death.

The old faggot-binder was terribly startled, when he saw Death standing before him. A minute before he wished to be rid of his life, but now he felt twenty reasons for liking it.

Do you want to die? said the figure.

No, indeed, replied the old man, I think myself vastly well as I am.

Are you not dissatisfied with your condition? Would you not be willing to shake off cares and poverty and infirmity and old age together? I come to your relief.

I feel quite happy, answered the faggot-binder. Cares are the lot of man, and I should be a blockhead to quarrel with them. Poor I have been all my life; use therefore has reconciled me to that. Infirmity I must expect; I have had my turn to be lusty and active and strong. And old age succeeds to youth, as regularly as evening comes after the morning.

Why did you call me then? What do you want of me?

Only if your honour (for the old man began to think he had better talk submissively, to one who had so heartily frightened him)—Only if your honour would condescend just to help me up with this load of wood, which I laid down to rest myself.

Have a care! said the figure. Tell no stories! Do you think you can put the cheat upon Death?

I see, said the faggot-binder, I have been very wrong. Excuse me this once. You have taught me a lesson, that I promise never to forget. I will never again repine and be discontented with human life, till I am quite sure I had rather be dead.

Upon that condition, answered Death, I release you for the present. But, remember, whether looked for or unlooked for, welcome or unwelcome, I shall some day come in earnest. We are acquaintances now, and therefore I beg you will not receive me hereafter, as if you had never looked me in the face.

I wonder whether Death helped the old man up with his load. If he did not, I dare say the old man had put it upon his own shoulder the first time, and could do so again.

THE MURDERER AND THE MOON.

There was a very wicked young man, who had neither father nor mother. They had met with great misfortunes, had lost all their possessions, and at last died with grief and disappointment. The calamity to the young man was the less, as he had a very rich uncle who took him into his house, and treated him as if he had been his own child. The uncle had no children.

Still it is difficult for any thing to make up the loss of a parent. The uncle was very good to his nephew, but he did not think of him so often, and give him such good advice, as a parent would have done. Perhaps the young man had naturally a vicious disposition. He fell into bad company; he played for great sums at cards and dice; he was very extravagant; and, when his generous uncle was tired of giving him money, this wicked young man would steal what his kind relation refused to give. He knew that by his uncle's will the whole estate would come to him, when the old man died; and he thought he should be so happy, when he had the disposal of every thing, instead of asking for a little at a time, as he was used to do. Ungrateful as he was, he was tired of waiting; and he determined to kill his benefactor.

One night that his uncle was engaged to sup with a neighbouring farmer, this wicked nephew resolved, that he would meet him on his return, and that his uncle should never enter his own house again alive. He knew that the old gentleman would come home exactly at twelve; and that he might not miss his object, he determined to be in the way a quarter before.

It happened to be a very fine moon-light night. The dogs had barked, and the owls had hooted a little before; but now every thing was still. You could hear nothing but the rippling of a little brook, which made its way among the rushes by the path-side. A little way out of the path there was a row of tall trees. The night seemed as bright as the day; the trees and the bushes looked quite black; and, as the wind barely moved the leaves, the shadow of them played gently and incessantly upon the grass. Every thing expressed quiet. It seemed as if no angry passions, and ill nature, and wickedness could ever come into such a scene. If I had been there, I should, out of mere happiness and peace of mind, have forgotten all the world, and thought myself in heaven.

How unlike to the stillness of the scene, were all the furious thoughts that passed in the murderer's mind! He could not stand still for a moment. He knitted his brow, and struck his clenched fist upon his forehead, as he passed this way and that. At length he saw his uncle coming. He pulled his hat over his face that he might not be known; he threw the poor old man on the ground, and was just going to kill him.

Who are you? said the uncle; and what is it you intend? I am not afraid to die: no good man is afraid to die. But look up! Does not the moon shining with mild radiance on the dark blue sky, ask you, Whether you can dare to violate the solemn splendours of her reign? No, if you would commit murder, go into the dark alleys of some profligate town, frequented by wretches like yourself, where it is impossible to hear the rippling of the rill, or see the dancing shadows of the leaves.

While the uncle spoke, a sudden change took place in the nephew's mind. Till now he had not looked up and observed the scene. He felt the power of nature, standing before him in all her beauty. The instrument of death dropped from his hand. He hurried away to the next sea-port, took ship, and sailed to foreign countries. The uncle never had the grief to know that it was his nephew who had intended to kill him; and, as the young fellow staid abroad a great many years, I hope he came home at last quite an altered man.

THE ASS AND THE LAP-DOG.

A country-farmer had a lap-dog of which he was exceedingly fond. It was a pretty little fellow; and it frisked and jumped about with such genuine expressions of joy, when the farmer came home from his rounds, that he must have had a hard heart who did not feel some kindness for the rogue. The farmer called him into his lap, and patted, and stroked him; you cannot think what good friends they were.

The door of a farm-house is generally open, at least in the summer time. The spacious and hospitable kitchen, where the farmer sits, is not far from the door, and the fowls and the ducks and the turkies will often walk into the kitchen without the least ceremony. The farmer I am speaking of was a very good natured man, and the jack-ass himself would sometimes find his way to the fire-side, along with the other inhabitants of the straw-yard.

The jack-ass, when he was in the kitchen, observed very attentively what passed between the master and the lap-dog. What a happy fellow, thought he to himself, is this little animal! He is caressed and fondled by our master, is fed out of his own plate, and sleeps all night upon a cushion in the chimney-corner. I on the contrary am obliged to carry heavy loads, get nothing in return but blows, and am forced to sleep summer and winter in the fields. I cannot see that the lap-dog does any thing for his living, but play and frisk about, to express his love for his benefactor; and surely I, if I were to try, could do that as well as he.

The ass thought he would not be in a hurry to begin his new trade. He took a great many lessons, and observed the lap-dog over and over. Then he would steal behind the barn-door, and practice his airs and graces. He did them in his own opinion to admiration.

One day, when he thought he was quite perfect, the farmer came home from his rounds later than usual, and threw himself a good deal fatigued into his elbow-chair. The ass walked into the kitchen with an air of self-approbation, like a person conscious of his own abilities. He began to kick and prance about the floor, and, flinging his head in a caressing way to his master, set up a furious bray. A farmer is not easily disturbed by an accidental noise; and this farmer burst into immoderate laughter at what he saw. Conceited people, if they see you are amused, are always willing to take it as a proof of their cleverness; and this was the case with the ass. Encouraged by his first attempt, the ass raised himself upon his hind legs, with his fore-feet pawed against the master's breast, and made an attempt to jump into his lap. The farmer did not relish this rough salute, and called one of his men, who came with a good stick, and with half-a-dozen hard blows drove the ass back into the straw-yard.

The ass murmured in his own mind at the unfairness with which he was treated, not recollecting that there is some one thing for which every creature is more fit than for any other, and that he who attempts something quite contrary to his nature, will often do mischief, and always be an object of ridicule and contempt.

THE SATYR AND THE TRAVELLER.

The good-natured demigod did not design to be hospitable by halves. He rightly judged that a man who had been exposed to such severe weather, would not only want a comfortable fire, but something comfortable to take. He therefore set before him a bowl of very nourishing broth. It smoaked upon the table, and the traveller thought it exceedingly inviting. He was however in a hurry to eat it, and, as he lifted it to his mouth, he blowed into the spoon. The satyr, who did not like to see any thing that he could not account for, asked the traveller why he did that? The man answered, he blowed his broth to cool it.

The traveller had no sooner uttered these words, than the satyr flew into a terrible passion. He insisted upon it, that his guest should quit his cave that moment. The satyrs, he said, were an honest, plain-spoken race, and he would not endure that the habitation of one of them should be disgraced with the presence of a creature, that could blow hot and cold with the same breath.

The satyr was in the wrong. The same thing is often found to serve two purposes. Fire will burn, and fire will warm us. Water will drown, and water will revive us, when we are perishing with thirst. In this very case, the breath of the traveller really served to warm his fingers, and as really served to cool his broth.

Though the satyr put himself into so unreasonable a passion, he had done great service to the poor traveller. The man was frightened, and got out of the cave as fast as he could. I wish the satyr had given him time to eat his broth. But he was thoroughly warmed with the fire before which his host had seated him, and had gained so much strength, that he was able to walk the rest of the way, and get home alive to his wife and children.

From this fable it has grown into a custom, to say, as the severest censure we can cast upon a man, when he is very civil to me to my face, and speaks ill of me behind my back, or is guilty of any other piece of duplicity, He blows hot and cold with the same breath.

THE APE AND HER CUBS.

Some sorts of monkies are tolerably handsome; I think those most so, that, when we look at them, least remind us of a man. A monkey, with all proper humility be it said, can only lose by the comparison. An ape therefore is ugliest of all, because he has least hair upon his body, and in other respects looks a hideous and deformed sort of manikin. I may as well tell you that all these sorts of creatures do several sly and odd tricks, make ugly faces such as I have seen foolish people make, eat apples, and crack nuts.

An ape had once two cubs at a birth. She loved one of them to distraction, and hated the other. I need not tell you there are foolish mothers of our own kind, who act as sillily as this ape. She thought her favourite the most beautiful and the cleverest creature in the world, though every body else could see that he was uncommonly distorted and stupid. She was however always fondling and coaxing her darling, indulged him in every thing, and was frightened out of her wits every moment that he was not in her sight.

Mamma's darling grew up sickly and peevish, could do nothing for himself, and was intolerable to himself and every body else. As to the other twin, he was left to shift as he could; and, as he saw that there was nobody to indulge him and think for him, he was obliged to think for himself. Hardships made him strong, and nimble, and circumspect. He could climb trees with inconceivable rapidity. There never was an ape that promised to acquire more knowledge and resources, than the young one which was thus unkindly used.

Apes are creatures that are thought of some value in London; they are put into the Tower, and other Museums; and of consequence are hunted by people who try to catch them, that they may sell them for such uses. The hunters once set upon the ape and her cub that I have mentioned: the mother was much more frightened for her darling than she was for herself, though this darling had twenty times behaved undutifully to her, as all spoiled children behave unkindly to the people that spoil them. She did not think for a moment of the other twin, though quite as nearly related to her.

The mother caught up her favourite, and ran as fast as her heels could carry her. In her hurry she stumbled against a stone; and, as she fell with great force, as people always do when they are running hard, the young one got a severe blow upon the head that killed him on the spot. The hunters drew nearer; the mother saw it was to no purpose to carry a dead ape in her arms; she dropped him to be devoured by the dogs, and thought now only of saving herself by flight, which with some difficulty she effected. The neglected one had from the first scrambled up a tree, and thus escaped both the danger and the fear.

THE TWO JARS.

The consequence in some countries of long and heavy rains is called a flood. We read in the Bible of a flood that drowned the world. In that instance we are told, that the windows of heaven were opened, and it rained forty days and forty nights (almost six weeks) without intermission. The flood I am going to tell you of was not quite so terrible as that. The usual history of a flood is, that the waters produced by the rain, run down from the hills, and swell the rivers, till they rise above their banks, and deluge a great portion of the flat country. A flood often begins so suddenly (for people are not always aware of the great quantity of water that has fallen upon the hills, and is coming down to them), that neither men, women nor children have time to escape; the flocks of sheep and oxen are carried away with the tide, and the cottages of the country-people are borne down with its force. Such a flood is a fearful calamity.

I do not know how many valuable articles were carried away by this flood; but among the rest, there were two jars, a china and a brazen one, that were seen on the top of the billows. I almost wonder they did not go to the bottom; but the force of the rushing waters was so great, as to overcome the tendency to sink, which metal or any heavy substance naturally has.

The china jar was terribly frightened with the peril to which she was exposed; but the jar of brass did not partake her fears, and endeavoured to comfort her. My dear friend, be not dismayed! said she. You and I are sisters; and I have a presentiment that we shall come out safe from our present disaster. Depend upon me for assistance. At all events I will keep as close to you as I can, and afford you every support in my power.

Good Mr. [sic] Brass, replied the china jar, the utmost I have to request of you is that you would keep your distance. I doubt of our being so nearly related as you say. I am of a delicate and brittle constitution, and if I am broken, an event which one hearty salute from you would effect, I shall lose my present beauty, for the sake of which I have been placed upon the top of my lord's most valuable cabinet, and shall be thought fit only for the dunghill. But you are of a hardy make, and capable of enduring many severe knocks; and, if you should sustain any damage on the present occasion, a few skilful blows from the smith will set all right again. Of all the things at present washed away by the tide, I perceive none which I have so much reason to fear as yourself.

THE CRAB AND HER DAUGTHER.

A snail is commonly said to be an animal that carries its house on its back. There are many conveniences in that: if I could do so, I need not consider, when I set out for a long walk, that, after having walked out as far as I like, I shall have just as far to walk home again. A house however, big enough for me to live in agreeably, would be a heavy load, that I should not much like to carry on my back; so I may as well be content as I am.

Lobsters and crabs sometimes walk, or rather crawl, upon the sand of the sea. A crab, I am told, has a very odd sort of walk, for, instead of going straight forward, he walks backward, as I remember I used sometimes to do when I was a school-boy. I never saw a crab walk, but I believe you may depend upon the truth of the account.

A crab and her daughter were once basking themselves on the sand. As they were moving along, the mother cast her eye upon her young one. My dear child, said she, how you walk! I will be boiled (a vulgar woman would have said, I will be hanged), if you do not go backward. Consider, my love, that the success of a young lady in the world greatly depends upon the gracefulness of her carriage. Upon my word you must cure yourself of this ungainly trick of yours, before it grows into a habit. Why do not you attend to these things, my child, without giving me the trouble to tell you of them?

The young crab answered her mother with perfect innocence and simplicity, My dear mamma, if you will only show me how I ought to walk, I will endeavour to imitate you as closely as I possibly can.

THE TRAVELLERS AND THE BEAR.

Two men, an old man and a young one, had to travel through a wide forest, infested with wild beasts. It was necessary for them to go, and therefore they were obliged to overlook the dangers which threatened them. Most people who traversed this savage country went in companies or caravans of thirty or forty each, sometimes more; but these two went alone. They agreed however, whatever happened, to stand by each other, and, as far as depended upon them, to run the same fortune, whether for life or death. The old man was noted through all the village where he dwelt, for one of the most honest, kind-hearted, and plain-speaking creatures that ever lived: the young man I do not know so much of: we shall see how he kept his word.

They took leave of their wives and families, and it was a very affecting sight to behold their parting. They kissed them all round, and many tears were shed. God bless you, husband. I God bless you, father! said the women and children, and preserve you through the dangers of this terrible journey!

The beginning of their walk, for they went on foot, was along agreeable lanes, with corn-fields and meadows on each side, in some places cows, in others sheep, with here and there a neat cottage of the people the cattle belonged to; you cannot think how pleasant it was. By and by however they came upon the forest, which sometimes consisted of wide heath, sometimes of sandy desert, and sometimes of trees and bushes so tangled together that it was difficult to force their way through them. There was no path, and the travellers were obliged to consult a compass they carried in their pockets to know in which direction they were to proceed. They also looked at the sun, for they knew that he would be to the east in morning, and to the west in the evening; and this was a great help to them. If you stand with your right hand to the east, or your left hand to the west, you have then the north directly before, and the south behind you. If you do this in London, you will have Cambridge before, and Brighthelmstone behind you, Canterbury will be on your right hand, and Bristol on your left.

At noon the travellers were so lucky as to find a fountain of fresh water, with a few trees growing near it. They sat down at the foot of the trees, and pulled a pasty or a joint of mutton out of their wallet. With this and some water from the spring they made a very comfortable meal.

At night they found some other shelter which answered their purpose. Night is the principal time when wild beasts come out of their dens or coverts, to seek for prey. They had heard however that they should be tolerably secure, if they lighted a fire, and slept by the side of it. The old man got a flint, and with the back of a knife he had in his pocket struck a light. With this he set fire to some dried leaves. The young man in the mean time picked up some sticks, and they contrived to make an agreeable blaze. They settled that one should wake and watch, while one should sleep; and this they took by turns the night through. It is thus that sailors do in ships. They kept up the fire by continually supplying it with fresh fuel; and, though the lions and tigers and bears growled and roared exceedingly with all kinds of noises, not one of them dared come near.

The next morning they pursued their journey, completely refreshed, and thankful that they had thus passed the first night in safety. Nothing particular happened in the course of the second day. The old man had not known much of his young companion before they set out; but now he began to love him. The youth had behaved very well hitherto; and the having passed with any one through a course of the same chances and dangers will always beget in me some portion of kindness for him.

There stood the old man. His companion had deserted him in the moment of danger. The youth was a hale, strong fellow, and, as his cudgel was a trusty one, he could very likely, if he had stood by his friend, have knocked out the brains of the bear. The old man could not follow the example of his treacherous associate. Though his strength was not yet worn out with age, his activity was exceedingly lessened. His understanding however was as quick and lively as ever.

In this terrible emergency he recollected that he had been told that lions will not prey upon carcasses. He did not know whether this would apply to a bear of an enormous size; but he could do no better than try. He threw himself on the ground flat upon his face, and held his breath as if he had been dead.

The bear, though he ran directly toward the place where the two travellers had been standing, did not see them, so soon as they saw him. The old man had laid himself motionless on the ground, and the young man climbed up into his tree, unobserved by their common enemy. Had it been otherwise, the tree would have been of very little service to the man who had recourse to it, for bears are expert in climbing trees.

When the bear came up to the unfortunate old man, he made a full stop. He looked at him from head to foot, and smelt him, and pushed against him with his snout. The old man, as the saying is, would have given his life for a farthing. When the bear however had examined him as much as he liked, he ran away as fast as before, toward the place to which he had previously been going: perhaps it was to visit a she-bear that he was in love with.

As soon as the young fellow saw that the bear was quite gone, he slid down from the tree, took up his club, and returned to his companion. He knew he had been doing a despicable thing; but he did not feel duly ashamed of it; and, like many other people who do despicable things, he thought he could carry it off with a joke. Well, old friend, said he, and clapped him on the back, how do you do? Now, my good fellow, do tell me what the bear whispered to you; for I observed he had his nose close in at your ear.

The old man did not think treachery and lying subjects for a joke. He put on therefore a very significant face. Since you ask me, said he, I will tell you: he charged me never again to engage in travel with a wretch, who in the hour of danger would desert his friend.

The bear, you know, said no such thing, for bears cannot speak. But the old man thought that so paltry a fellow deserved no better answer.

On the evening of the third day they arrived at their journey's end. When they had finished their business, they returned with a caravan. But the young fellow was very sorry and very much humbled for what he had done, before the people of the village would forgive him for deserting so honest, kind-hearted, and plain-speaking a man.

IGNORAMUS AND THE STUDENT.

It would have done you good to have seen them both together, when the country-bumpkin was shown into his cousin's study. The eyes of the rustic were starting from his head, and his cheeks were absolutely purple, with the punch and strong ale he had so plentifully drunk. You never saw any thing look so like a booby. The student, his relation, was pale, but not with ill health, for he took care to prevent that by wholesome exercise. His eye was bright, animated, and penetrating, but mild. His hairs were white, and his whole appearance venerable. His face was furrowed with thought, yet he looked calm, contented and happy. He was old; but his were the marks of a vigorous, and what I have seen somewhere called a green, old-age.

Ignoramus looked round upon the library with surprise; it was on every side lined with books. Why, coz, said he, what a power of books you have here? What in the name of wonder can you do with them? I could never read but in one book at a time; and a small book would serve me a month. One of your shelves would last me my whole life.

And what, cousin, do you remember of the books you have read?

Why even, answered Ignoramus, nothing at all. I never read but to amuse myself, or to say the truth, to compose myself to sleep after a hard day's coursing.

I will tell you, replied the student, what books I have got here. Those are Latin, and these Greek; further on are the French, the Italian, and the Spanish. On this side are the English writers, from the time of queen Elizabeth and before, to the reign of George the third. On the right hand of my fire-place are the books that tell me about the sun and the stars, and on the left the books that describe, and the maps that represent, all the nations of the earth.

And now, said Ignoramus, will you be so good as to show me the use of all this?

A great deal, answered the student. I could not bear to be ignorant, and you cannot imagine how great are the pleasures of knowledge. But, beside this, all my neighbours come to me for advice. If they quarrel, I can acquaint them with the decisions of the law, and the counsels of prudence. If one wants to dig a mine, I can inform him how to proceed. If another wishes to sink a well, I can tell him where he will find water. If my neighbour is engaged in merchandize, I can explain to him the productions of the different countries of the world. I can teach him how to farm, and how to build. Those who come to me, say that the advice I give them is better than gold; and yet I sometimes give them that too, for I have a moderate estate, and my modes of life are not expensive.

Well but, rejoined Ignoramus, what I wonder at is, how you can spend so great a portion of your life alone. For my part I cannot live an hour to an end, without having somebody to talk to me, and to amuse me.

Since you came in, cousin, my books have been shut. I no longer talk with Plato and Socrates, the wise and the good, the illustrious dead of all ages and countries. They talk like oracles, with the depth of enlightened knowledge, and the kindness of the most affectionate friend. Your talk is hardly worthy of a rational being. Yet among the lessons they have taught me is that of patience and good-humour; and I have listened to your unmeaning impertinence, without being once out of temper.

THE YOUNG MAN AND THE LION.

But the more this young gentleman was bent upon encountering dangers, that he might show himself worthy of the high blood that filled his veins, the more his father trembled for the life of his darling. The old nobleman was always miserable with a thousand alarms, whenever his son was out of his sight. They had many arguments on this subject. Though the son always behaved very respectfully to his father, yet he humbly represented to him the necessity there was, that he should distinguish himself in some way or other. By the station of life in which I am born, said he, I cannot go to plough, nor make ploughs and other implements for the husbandman; and I cannot bear to be of no use in the world. Besides, by that way of living, I shall not be fit company for other young gentlemen, my equals, and they will look upon me with merited contempt.—It did not signify: the old nobleman could not conquer his fears.

One night the father happened to dream that he saw his son a hunting. The animal he pursued was a furious lion. The son by some accident fell from his horse, and was devoured by the lion.

The nobleman woke with the imaginary shrieks of his dying son sounding in his ears. His face was covered with sweat, and every joint in his skin trembled. He was sure that his son would in reality one day fall a prey to a lion.

Full of this thought, he built a castle in a remote situation, on purpose to confine his son, that he might not be eaten alive. He adorned it with pictures, and filled it with instruments of music, that he might pass his time as agreeably as possible. He had the young gentleman watched carefully, with a centinel always at his door, though the son had too much respect for his father to thwart him in any thing on which his heart was set.

The young gentleman did not make any remonstrance against this dreary imprisonment; he endeavoured to appear easy and cheerful before his father; but he repined in secret. The thing dwelt so much upon his mind, that he fell into a fit of sickness. The old nobleman sat by his bed-side. What can I do for you, my son? I will do any thing, provided you will not go a hunting. The son promised he would not.

After a time the young gentleman grew better; but, as his health improved, he found the watch set upon him as closely as ever, by the misjudging affection of his father.

One day, that the son was walking alone in a spacious apartment of the castle, he said to himself, How unworthily my father uses me? Why am I shut out from the cheerful enjoyment of the woods, and the hills, and the open face of heaven? I envy even the poor hay-makers, that I perceive yonder singing at their work. Why must I languish for ever in solitude and obscurity? What crime have I committed to merit this treatment?

As he reflected in this manner, he chanced to cast his eye upon a fine picture of a lion. His father had hung this room with pictures of beasts, thinking that they would be particularly agreeable to his son.

Thou ugly wild beast! said he. It is for thy sake that I am shut up a prisoner here. If I had a sword, I would thrust it to thy heart.—In his passion the young gentleman behaved as if it had been a real lion.

Thus all the old nobleman's excessive cares were vain. He had better have let his son go at large, and employ himself like other young persons of his rank. He would then very probably have surmounted the dangers of real life, and have died at last in a good old age.

THE EAGLE AND THE CROW

The eagle is held to be the king of birds. It is impossible to imagine any thing in the form of a bird more beautiful than he is. His beauty does not consist in gaudy colors, like the jay's, nor in a huge tail, like the peacock's, which, though nature has painted it with an exquisite pencil, must after all be allowed to be somewhat disproportioned and monstrous. The colors of the eagle are a deep and a tawny brown, mottled like those of the partridge, sober, yet highly gratifying to the eye. His form is made for strength and action. His eye is lively and piercing; and the sight of it is so strong, that it is said he can gaze without blenching at the brightest rays of the noon-tide sun.

The eagle builds his nest in the crags of the rock. It hangs over the sea, and remains undestroyed by the most furious tempests. He is a bird of prey, and his scream is terrible to such animals as he is accustomed to devour. He feeds upon serpents, harts, hares, and various other animals, which he discerns from an immense distance, pounces upon them from his elevation in the sky, and carries them away in his talons.

A hungry eagle gazed from a distance upon a flock of sheep. With his eye he singled a lamb from the number, and flapping his wings, came down with immense swiftness, seized the poor animal with his talons, and flew away with him through the air.

A crow who beheld every thing that passed, was filled with admiration of the action of the eagle. He thought he would do the same, and show himself a bird of spirit. He imitated the king of birds in the sweep he had seen him take, and then lighted upon the back of the old ram, the bell-wether of the flock. Determined to do the business as completely as he could, he entangled his feet thoroughly in the fleece of the ram, and then spread his wings to fly away with him. He might as well have thought to fly away with the city of London.

The shepherd remarked his situation. He was exceedingly sorry for the loss of the lamb that the eagle had carried off, but he was not at all apprehensive of what the crow would do. He took him in his hand, disentangled his claws from the back of the ram, clipped his wings, and turned him into the garden for the amusement of his children.

There happened to be a magpye hanging in a cage by the garden-wall. He looked at the crow, and said, as the shepherd's children had taught him to do, What bird are you? The crow could not speak, but he hung down his head, and thought with himself, A very little while ago I mistook myself for an eagle, but I now find I am a very silly crow!

THE HART AND THE VINE.

There are many varieties of this creature, and as many names to call them by. In a former fable we read of the stag and the hind; that is the red deer: there is also the hart and the roe; that is the fallow, or tawny deer: the most ordinary names are buck and doe; those names are common to every kind.

The hart lay as still as a mouse, and the hunters walked by pensive and disappointed. The hart began to be convinced that he was safe; and, alas! security made him wanton. The leaves of the vines were green and fresh and tender; they just touched his nose. He opened his pretty mouth, and cropped one of them; it was very good. Finding one so palatable, he pulled another and another; he quite forgot why he had come there.

The archers, who were very near, heard a rustling of the leaves; they turned their eyes that way. They saw a motion and a shaking; they guessed what was the matter; they shot at a venture, and the poor hart was killed.

Before he died, he could not help thinking within himself with bitterness, I have deserved what has happened. The vine generously protected me with its shade, and I, ungrateful beast that I was, could not refrain from acting injuriously to my benefactor.

THE DYING EAGLE.

Shall I tell you one other fable of a creature killed? An eagle was sitting on a high rock, and saw a hare running across a field below. She determined to seize this hare for her prey. She rose majestically into the air, and prepared to pounce down upon the poor innocent, who thought no harm.

This was among the mountains; perhaps of Wales. Some archers were descending a neighbouring declivity. The eagle was so intent upon the hare, that she did not perceive them. One of them let fly an arrow, and gave the eagle a mortal wound, and the hare was saved. The archers thought nothing about that; they had only a mind to carry home an eagle.

One end of the arrow pierced this noble bird, the other stuck out from the wound. The eagle looked at it with her dying eyes. Do you know what an arrow is? It is a long, smooth bit of stick. At the end designed to inflict the wound, it has a point of metal, and sometimes this point is barbed or fanged, to make it the more difficult to pull it out of the wound. The other end is feathered, that is, the arrow-maker strips from the quill of some bird the feathery part which grows on each side the quill, and glues it on upon each side of his arrow. It was the feathery end of the arrow that the eagle looked at, and she saw that it was winged with plumage from one of her own quills, which a few weeks before had dropped from her when she moulted. This is double cruelty, said the eagle—I am killed; and they have furnished themselves from my own person with the means of my destruction.

THE LYNX AND THE MOLE.

The lynx looked with great contempt upon this inferior animal. Beside other articles of superiority upon which he valued himself, he was particularly proud of the brillancy of his eye and sharpness of his sight.

I thank you much for your charity, replied the mole, but I can do extremely well without it. I am contented and tranquil. If nature has denied me some organs and beauties which you possess, she has endowed me with what is better than both, a cheerful temper, enabling me to support my obscure existence without misery or murmuring. But, observe, if you surpass me in some of the senses, I am equally superior to you in others. Want of sight serves to sharpen my sense of hearing. And even at this moment, if I am not mistaken, I hear a sound, which seems to come from beyond you, and gives me notice that an enemy is near, and that it is time for me to fly to the safety of my caverns.

The noise proceeded from the approach of a hunter; and before the lynx could turn round to look, he received a mortal wound from a javelin. The mole was not so far off, but he could hear the last groan of the lynx's expiring agony; and now he felt more than ever thankful to providence, for having blessed him with a mind not to repine at his station.

There is too much about killing in these fables. We kill creatures for their flesh; we kill creatures for their skins; and, which is worst, we kill creatures, when we go a hunting and shooting, for our amusement. Men (though they are very kind and considerate to many animals) appear to most advantage in their conduct to one another. How much care do almost all parents take of their children! How many generous actions do we hear of, that men do for their friends, and even for strangers, giving them money, giving them their time, running into dangers, and sometimes sacrificing their lives to save them! Yes, my dear child, man, though imperfect, is a noble creature; and I hope you will attend to your improvement in your early days, that hereafter you may be worthy to be called, in the best sense of the word, a man.

THE DOG AND HIS CLOG.

The animals most important to man, are the horse and the cow; the animals that live with him upon the most familiar terms, are the dog and the cat. The dog is known by the honourable title of the friend of man. He feels a strong attachment for his master; he often gives him information of danger from bad people or from a falling house; he will drag a man or a child out of the water, and prevent their being drowned; he protects our persons, our clothes, and our houses, from people who would hurt the one, or steal from the other. I ought to tell you all this in favour of dogs, when I am going to relate a story of a naughty one.

Well; this naughty, silly dog had reason enough you will think to be ashamed of his clog; it told every body he came near, the paltry tricks he had done. But he never thought of that. I dare say his master said to him as he put it on, There, sir, remember how you worry sheep again! but the dog took no heed. He thought he had got a fine ornament. The bar he looked upon no less than a collar of knighthood, and the clog as equal to a king's train. So, instead of hanging down his head, he strutted, and pranced, and insisted upon all the other dogs making way for him. My dear friend, said a sly old codger, it is bad enough to be obliged to carry about every where the marks of one's disgrace; but the dog who mistakes them for emblems of honour, is the most incorrigible puppy I ever heard of.

THE LION AND THE GAD-FLY.

It is foolish to look upon any thing as unworthy of notice, merely because it is little. There is nothing little or great but by comparison. When Gulliver was in Brobdingnag (a country in the story-book where the people were sixty feet high), they could not help saying, Bless me, how little you are! If Homer, or Milton, or Sir Isaac Newton had been there, they would have said the same. Yet a man might be sixty feet high, without knowing more, or having one bit a greater soul, than Homer, and Milton, and Sir Isaac Newton.

Begone, miserable wretch, offspring of the dunghill! said a lion one day to a gad-fly. He thought it beneath him to suffer the majesty of his nature to be disturbed by such a pitiful insect.

Do you despise me? said the gad-fly. I will teach you another time to think twice, before you determine who you shall despise. I declare war against you.

The lion folded his legs under him with great composure, and lay down in the mouth of his den, without deigning to take any notice of what the gad-fly said. The insect began his hum, or drone, the signal that he was going to commence his attack. He took a circuit in the air, then lighted upon the lion's neck, and stung him. With another sweep he fastened on the lion's cheek, and drew blood there. The lion roared terribly; the strongest beasts ran to their hiding-places; all the inhabitants of the forest trembled; the whole was the work of a fly.

The assailant was not yet content. He stung the lion behind his ears. He got within his nostril, and stung him there; that was worst of all. The lion could do nothing to the fly. He lashed his sides with his tail; his eyes struck fire: he gnashed with his teeth; he tossed the foam from his lips. At last, quite exhausted, he fell flat upon the ground, and writhed, and bit the dust with agony.

Was not this an ill-natured insect, to teaze in this obstinate manner so noble and fine-spirited a creature as a lion, that had never done him any harm? I hope, while you are a little boy, you will never teaze a lame or a blind man, or a wild beast shut up in a cage, merely because he has not the power to cope with you. Every body knows that that is the act of a coward.

This coward gad-fly was quite puffed up with his victory, and boasted that he was the greatest hero in the world. Till I came, said he, the lion was acknowledged the king of animals; but see with what ease I have subdued him! I defy all the world; let me see the fool-hardy creature that dares to contend with me!

A spider in her hole heard this gasconading speech with amazement. She would have laughed, if nature had given to spiders the faculty of laughing. She thought she saw further into the darkness of future time, than the gad-fly.

THE ASTROLOGER IN A PIT.

You have heard I believe what an astronomer is. He is a man that has measured the size and distance of the sun and stars. He has found out the true length of the year, and marked the seasons when to plough, when to sow, and when to reap, which, till he interfered with them, men were continually apt to blunder about. He can tell how long every star, in the orbit it describes, will be before it returns to the same place again. His art teaches men how to steer a ship at sea, and makes the sailor able, when he is out of sight of land, to tell by other means which way the place lies that he wants to go to. What an admirable man is an astronomer!

We know nothing of events before they happen, except as prudence may enable us to foresee the consequences of our own actions and those of others. I know that, if I study hard, I shall be a learned man, and, that, if I behave well, people will love me. But as to when I shall die, and how often I shall marry, and whether I shall win a prize in the lottery, and other foolish things that astrologers and fortune-tellers pretend to foretell, we know nothing at all. It is well for us that we do not. Life would be a very dull business, if we could foresee every calamity before it reached us, and if no agreeable accident ever took us by surprise.

An astrologer was once walking in the fields at midnight, and looking up at the skies. It was a beautiful night, and every little star, which could at any time be discerned by the human eye, was visible now. He walked, and walked, so long, till at last he fell into a pit. A man's eyes cannot be every where; and, as this astrologer was intently gazing upon the stars, he could not see his path. I hope there was no water in the pit. But it was deep, and all that the poor fortune-teller could do, he could not help himself out again. He began to bawl and roar lustily for help. The country-people got out of their beds, and came to assist the poor man in distress. Some of them however said, It is nothing but our astrologer: could he watch the stars, which we are told are millions of miles off, and could not he see what was just under his nose? Does he pretend to tell us what will happen to us for all our lives, when he did not know what was going to happen to him the next moment?—If this had been an astronomer, instead of an astrologer, nobody could have laughed and jeered at him; or, if they had, they would only have exposed their own folly, in not considering how usefully and nobly he was employed.

Most of these people went to bed again. One good-natured man and his son went however, and got a rope, and pulled the poor fortune-teller out of the pit. But this accident spoiled his trade. Nobody after this was foolish enough to enquire of him, how many wives, and how many children they should have. The astrologer was obliged to apply himself to some honest calling, in which he could earn money to buy beef and mutton, without pretending to explain to others what he knew nothing about himself.

THE HERDSMAN AND JUPITER.

I have told you several fables about the Heathen Gods, and I like to tell you them, because then, when you come to read the ancients, you will not feel yourself like a man in a strange country, that he never heard of before.

The herdsman I was mentioning was very careful of his cattle; he counted them every morning when he turned them to pasture, and again every evening when he called them home to sleep. They multiplied and had young ones; the cows had calves, which, when they are a year or two old, are called steers or heifers; the goats had kids; and the sheep had lambs. The herdsman loved them all, and took care of them, and they were all happy.

One day to his great sorrow he found a sweet young heifer was missing from his herd. It was the prettiest creature ever seen. It ate out of its master's hand, and licked the palm, and had a thousand winning, agreeable tricks. The herdsman always loved his heifer very much; and, now it was missing, he thought he loved it better than all his stock. He was not a young man; he had three sons as tall as himself; he left them in the care of his herds; and went far and near, every where he could think of, in search of his heifer.

The Heathen nations, as I have told you, were many of them very pious. They were thankful to the Gods for all the good things of life, and they prayed to them, as you saw the waggoner do to Hercules, for what they had not got, and they thought would make them happy. But what seems strange to us, is their sacrifices. When they were thankful, they sacrificed of the first-fruits of the earth, and the first-born of their flocks; and when they prayed, they made sacrifices, as a sort of presents to the Gods to purchase their favours. They built up a short, broad pillar, like the pedestal of a statue, which was called an altar, and made a fire upon the top of it, and burned the fruits of the earth, and the choicest parts of the victims. They thought the Gods lived in the air a little above them, and that they were pleased when they snuffed the scent of the sacrifices. For this reason they often threw rich perfumes into the fires of the altar. As the Heathen Gods were of a purer and nobler nature than man, they fed upon a lighter and thinner diet, ambrosia, the sustenance of immortality, and were perhaps supposed to derive vigour and health from the smoke of the sacrifices which were offered to them.—I have before told you that the king of the Heathen Gods is Jupiter.

Jupiter, says the fable, granted the herdsman's prayer. The weary traveller had not gone many steps in the forest after rising from his knees, when he saw his dear heifer prostrate on the ground, and a furious lion bestriding and devouring him. He was just come up to this terrible object, before he perceived it. It was silly enough of the herdsman to be so curious what was become of his heifer: if it was lost to him for ever, it was no great matter how the thing had happened.

You may think how the poor herdsman was frightened. Though the lion was very busy with his feast, yet the herdsman could not tell how soon he might leave it, and come and tear him to pieces. Besides the herdsman had bolted upon him at unawares. A nobleman does not like to be interrupted at his dinner by the coming in of a common labourer, and the herdsman did not know but the lion might be of the same way of thinking, and punish him accordingly. He fell upon his knees in great terror, prayed more earnestly than before, and as he had then vowed a kid from his flock for a sight of the heifer, so he now promised the best bull from his herd, if Jupiter would be so good as to take him away, and send him home safe to his three sons.

Jupiter never intended any more than to give him a lesson, and therefore granted his second prayer as he had granted his first: and the herdsman remembered as long as he lived, that what ignorant mortals pray and wish for, and believe would make them exceedingly happy, is often the very worst thing that can happen to them.

THE OLD WOMAN AND HER MAIDS.

The old woman, whose story I am going to tell you, kept two maids on this plan: I dare say she was a Roman too, though her condition was humble. She did not want them to wait upon her; she could wait very well upon herself; but by their work and her own work, she turned a penny and lived very comfortably. She worked early and late, and she expected them to work too. I never knew a woman more industrious; I believe she was called the notable old woman of Tibur. The maids were by no means of their mistress's mind; they did not love work; as soon as her back was turned, the spinning-wheel stood still, and they began chattering; she persuaded and begged them to mind their work; and I believe sometimes she scolded them too. All was little enough.

The old woman did not make them work late; she sent them to bed, and often sat up two or three hours after them, minding the wool and the yarn, putting away the work of one day, and preparing every thing for the next. And, as she was always the last to go to bed, so she was the first up in the morning. To be sure, with all the pains she took, she deserved to be comfortable.

But, notwithstanding all the old woman's indulgence, the naughty maids did not mind. She thought they would be ashamed to see how much harder she worked: not they. Particularly these idle sluts loved their bed in the morning beyond every thing, and they thought it very hard that their mistress always came and called them early. If I had been she, I would have made them get up before me, and light the fire for me. The young should always do such services for the old.

This old woman had no clock (clocks were unknown in ancient Rome), and there were no watchmen where she lived, to cry the hours. So she kept a very fine cock in her back-court; and, when he crowed (which was about five every morning), the old woman woke herself, and got up. These naughty maids observed this. They said to one another, Every morning, as sure as the morning comes, we are obliged to rise with the peep of day: this is too much. We have but one holiday in the week, to toss our poor limbs in bed, and stretch and tumble as we like. This is all owing to that good-for-nothing, impertinent cock, who will never cease his squalling, till we have stopped his windpipe. So they consulted together; and one evening, wicked creatures that they were, they stole out in the dark, and killed the cock. If the old woman had not found a remedy, there would have been an end of her comforts and theirs too.

What do you think happened now? The first morning I believe the old woman overslept herself; she did not know her poor cock was dead. But, ever after, she rose herself, and called her maids, earlier than ever. All the care of the business was upon her; these idle maids never thought a bit; and, as she was afraid of being too late, she always kept on the right side in the affair. The maids complained; but she told them it was all their own fault; they deserved it for their cruelty; and other people would always find as they did, that "lazy folks take the most pains."

THE COCK AND THE FOX.

One more fable to bring us back to our favourite scene of the farm-yard, and to that standing emblem of all hypocrites and deceivers, the fox.

We had a fable of the Fox and Raven. A raven is but a silly sort of a bird, and the fox wheedled him out of his cheese; though he had better have gone without cheese all the days of his life, than have shown himself such a double-tongued, crafty deluder as he did.

Says the fox to the cock, Have you heard the news?

What news? answered Mr. Redcrest. I have heard nothing, since Esop told me so much about animals.

Oh, but this is spick and span new, that I have to tell you. A treaty of peace has just been concluded among all the animals.

That is great news indeed, said the cock. Let me hear how it was.

Why, there was a general council, and some one of all animals was there. They agreed how it is to be. The lion is no longer to tear the kid, the wolf is not touch the lamb, and even the spider has promised not to spread cobwebs for the flies.

Brave news truly! cried the cock.

Now all animals, continued the fox, may travel as safely by night as by day. There will be no more tricks upon travellers. The cat will not lie snug in a dark corner, and jump out in a moment to take a mouse in her claws. The weakest animal that lives may wander alone, and not want a stronger friendly one to take care of him. Every thing is holiday and rejoicings. I, who am famous at fire-brands, am to make a bonfire, and the glow-worm is to conduct the illuminations. Come, come down from your perch, my friend, and give me one hearty salute upon it, before I go.

I am coming this moment, said the cock. The cock did not rightly know what to make of it. The fox told the story so plausibly, that he could not well think it was a fib. But he thought it something extraordinary.

Just at that moment, the cock heard a noise at a great distance, and stretched out his neck to see what was the matter.

What do you see? said the fox, who is always upon the alert, and was more afraid than ever just now, when he had been telling a lie.

It is nothing, answered the cock, but a couple of very fine hounds, coming this way as fast as they can. I dare say they are couriers, to tell to their friends afar off, the news of the treaty you were mentioning.

The fox knew that his news was all a lie. As soon as he heard the word hounds, he took to his heels as quick as the wind. He ran the better, because he was hungry and light. He did but just keep his distance. The cock by his true speaking saved the fox's life, and the hounds by accident saved the life of the cock; so there was nobody killed, though the fox had done his best to kill the honest fowl, and while he was telling his cock-and-a-bull story, had nearly been killed himself. I hope he never told a lie any more.

THE LION, THE COCK AND THE ASS.

There is a comical story a-going in the world, that a lion is afraid of the crowing of a cock. It is not true. It is a tale of ancient times: and people necessarily made mistakes in some things, who lived a long while ago, and had not seen and heard so much as we have done now. I remember I heard this when I was a little boy; and I resolved that, if ever I had occasion to travel alone in the wilds of Africa, I would be sure to take a cock with me. I would not advise you, even with a cock in your company, to venture withinside [sic] a lion's den. In one of our fables we found a mouse frightened with the crowing of a cock; that was very natural; but I do not think a lion would much care for it. A fable however, as I told you before, is only a story very prettily invented: it is as true that a lion would run away from a cock, as that he talks English. Such books as these we write to amuse you; we do not intend to deceive any body.

An ass and a cock then, as the fable says, had occasion to cross the wilds of Africa. I do not know what their business was; I suppose it was something of great importance. As their road lay together, they agreed to be fellow-travellers. They are both good-humoured fellows, and they jogged on very peaceably. The cock is the merrier animal of the two; the ass is very grave. But a merry gentleman and a serious one are often found to suit one another extremely. It would have been a pity that such honest travellers as these should have come to any harm. The cock always called his friend in the morning; and perhaps the ass, when the cock was tired, let him ride a little way; a cock would be no great burthen on the back of an ass.

One morning soon after they set out, they met a lion. They were both frightened. Both however had recourse to the best means of defence with which nature had provided them; they could both make a great noise. The ass brayed so loud, that I wonder the lion could distinguish the crowing of the cock. The cock's note however was the shriller of the two, and well it was for them that it was so. The lion took to his heels, and never stopped till he got safe home to his wife and family.

The ass began to reflect, as a grave gentleman should do, upon the adventure he had just met with. He had never heard the story of the lion being frightened with the crowing of a cock. Which of us was it, said he to himself, that drove the lion to flight? To be sure the cock makes a fine noise of his own; but so do I too. My braying is as good as the crowing of a cock at any time; I will bray with him for a wager. Suppose however we are upon a level in this; next comes the consideration of our figures. There is no comparison in that. When I see myself in the river, I think I look very like a judge: I am ten times as big as the cock, and therefore ten times as terrible. The ass was satisfied with this argument. If he had asked the cock, the cock could have told him better.

On the strength of this the ass rose the next day before the cock. It was something difficult to do that; but he was determined upon his experiment. He was now in the very heart of the forest, where lions were as plenty as rabbits in a warren. I shall not go above a hundred yards, said the ass, before I shall see whether I am in the right. I will then wait for my fellow-traveller, or come back to him, and tell him what I have done.

The ass had not gone above a hundred yards, when he met four very furious lions. Furious as you are, said he, I do not value you at a farthing. He then began one of his very best brays. The lions did not mind, and one of them had already marked him for his breakfast. He had not two minutes to live.

The cock awoke as usual with the first ray of the sun, and missed his bedfellow. He began to fear all was not right, and flew from his roost as fast as possible. Just as he came in sight, the lion had given the ass his first hug. He had not hurt him, but he had laid him at his length upon the ground. The cock saw the danger; he set up a lusty crow; and the four lions ran away, just as their brother-lion had done the day before. It is a good thing to try experiments sometimes; but we should not get into such as are attended with too much hazard. If the cock had not been so wakeful and alert, this would have been the last experiment the ass would have made. I suppose the poor ass was less daring and more modest all his life afterward.

This cobbler worked in a stall; he was a dapper little fellow, but his stall was so narrow, that for the life of him he could not stand upright in it. It was at the corner of a street, and rested close against the wall of a magnificent mansion, which had just been bought by a contractor.

A contractor is a man whose trade it is to furnish commodities for the fleets and armies. He does not patch up old shoes like a cobbler; but, if he has ever any thing to do with that article, he sends out fifty thousand pairs of shoes at a time to furnish twenty regiments. A man who sells things in these large quantities soon grows rich. But I do not know how it is, nobody much likes a contractor. He thrives upon the misfortunes of mankind. When ten thousand men are killed at a time, and the people at home are oppressed with taxes and well nigh starved, then he is comfortable. If it is war-time, he prays it may last; and if it is peace, he is afraid that, if war does not break out soon, he shall never be able to make the money he wants. What makes him happy, makes all other people miserable.

As people had an evil eye upon this contractor, and wherever he met a human face, he met a frown; you may think he did not feel very comfortable. He had ornaments of diamonds, and services of gold: all would not do. Particularly he had very bad nights. I should think he had done something worse, than merely contracting for arms and accoutrements. I am afraid he had cheated the poor soldiers of the clothes that should have made them warm, and the victuals that should have made them strong. He lay hour after hour tossing and tumbling, fearful every day that some news would come that would make all the nation happy. Besides, he thought it was very ill-natured of people to look unkind upon him who had got so much money. He would have given a guinea for a smile; but a smile that is bought, is nothing like a smile that a man gives me for nothing.

The contractor especially took a dislike to his neighbour, the cobbler. You never saw two countenances so unlike. The contractor's brow was always furrowed with care; the cobbler's always smoothed with content. The merry songs which the cobbler sung from morning to night vexed the contractor to the heart; he could not be merry, and the contentment of the cobbler he thought was a reproach to him. But what was worst of all was this: the contractor could never get to sleep till about six in the morning; and just at that hour the cobbler opened his stall, and began his carrol which might have awoke the dead. So the contractor sent to the cobbler to desire to speak to him. The cobbler came.

My friend, said the rich man, I do not like you for a neighbour.

I am surprised at that, said the cobbler; I have always been noted for my sociable and neighbourly qualities.

Good-man cobbler, replied the contractor, how much may you earn by the year at your trade?

My friend, said the contractor, we cannot live together. Will you give up your stall to me?

What good would that do you? answered the cobbler. Your worship does not mean to mend shoes. Besides, I cannot spare my stall. All my old customers live within a run of me; and if I were to go away, I should lose them all. I think it is better that you should remove. Any palace in any street will suit you. Your friends, if you have any, will come to you in their coaches. But I must live just where I do. All my friends walk a-foot.

The contractor would not have condescended to parley thus with the cobbler in any country but England. But in England there are laws to defend the poor; and his rich neighbour would not have been suffered to take his stall by violence from the poor cobbler. It is true, the law is rather expensive; but this cobbler had always behaved well; and there were some gentlemen close by, that loved his merry heart, and would not have allowed him to be put upon.

The cobbler was tempted; he could not tell what was the matter with him. He would part with his stall, and he would not. At last, fool that he was, he took the money. Farewell, poor stall, said he, where I have worked, and my father before me! The stall was pulled down before his face.

From this day the cobbler could not sing one merry song. He tried; but he could never get beyond the third note. Something seemed to stick in his throat. He did no work, but lived upon his hundred guineas. He walked about, like a restless ghost; he came every day to the place where his stall had stood; and I believe a tear generally swelled in his eye when he looked up, and saw it was gone.

The contractor did not sleep a bit better, now that he had got rid of the singing cobbler. He removed to the warm climates of Italy, and thought he should be happier where nobody knew how he had come by his money. But he was deceived. In the mean time the good gentlemen I mentioned saw how the cobbler was altered, and asked him the reason. They built up his stall for him again. He stood every day to see the carpenters at work upon it; and the first time he sat down in it, he felt himself an altered man. He returned to his work just as before; he got paid for it in halfpence and shillings; but he could never after see a guinea, without stopping in his song, and feeling a twinge in his heart.

THE END.