A Hundred Fables of La Fontaine Part 12

The Acorn and the Pumpkin.

G.o.d's works are good. This truth to prove Around the world I need not move; I do it by the nearest pumpkin.

"This fruit so large, on vine so small,"

Surveying once, exclaim'd a b.u.mpkin-- "What could He mean who made us all?

He's left this pumpkin out of place.

If I had order'd in the case, Upon that oak it should have hung-- A n.o.ble fruit as ever swung To grace a tree so firm and strong.

Indeed, it was a great mistake, As this discovery teaches, That I myself did not partake His counsels whom my curate preaches.

All things had then in order come; This acorn, for example, Not bigger than my thumb, Had not disgraced a tree so ample.

The more I think, the more I wonder To see outraged proportion's laws, And that without the slightest cause; G.o.d surely made an awkward blunder."

With such reflections proudly fraught, Our sage grew tired of mighty thought, And threw himself on Nature's lap, Beneath an oak, to take his nap.

Plump on his nose, by lucky hap, An acorn fell: he waked, and in The scarf he wore beneath his chin, He found the cause of such a bruise As made him different language use.

"O! O!" he cried; "I bleed! I bleed!

And this is what has done the deed!

But, truly, what had been my fate, Had this had half a pumpkin's weight!

I see that G.o.d had reasons good, And all His works were understood."

Thus home he went in humbler mood.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE ACORN AND THE PUMPKIN.]

The Fool who Sold Wisdom.

A fool, in town, did wisdom cry; The people, eager, flock'd to buy.

Each for his money got, Paid promptly on the spot, Besides a box upon the head, Two fathoms' length of thread.

The most were vex'd--but quite in vain, The public only mock'd their pain.

The wiser they who nothing said, But pocketed the box and thread.

To search the meaning of the thing Would only laughs and hisses bring.

Hath reason ever guaranteed The wit of fools in speech or deed?

'Tis said of brainless heads in France, The cause of what they do is chance.

One dupe, however, needs must know What meant the thread, and what the blow So ask'd a sage, to make it sure.

"They're both hieroglyphics pure,"

The sage replied without delay; "All people well advised will stay From fools this fibre's length away, Or get--I hold it sure as fate-- The other symbol on the pate.

So far from cheating you of gold, The fool this wisdom fairly sold."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE FOOL WHO SOLD WISDOM.]

The Oyster and the Litigants.

Two pilgrims on the sand espied An oyster thrown up by the tide.

In hope, both swallow'd ocean's fruit; But ere the fact there came dispute.

While one stoop'd down to take the prey, The other push'd him quite away.

Said he, "'Twere rather meet To settle which shall eat.

Why, he who first the oyster saw Should be its eater by the law; The other should but see him do it."

Replied his mate, "If thus you view it, Thank G.o.d the lucky eye is mine."

"But I've an eye not worse than thine,"

The other cried, "and will be cursed, If, too, I didn't see it first."

"You saw it, did you? Grant it true, I saw it then, and felt it too."

Amidst this sweet affair, Arrived a person very big, Ycleped Sir Nincom Periwig.

They made him judge,--to set the matter square.

Sir Nincom, with a solemn face, Took up the oyster and the case: In opening both, the first he swallow'd, And, in due time, his judgment follow'd.

"Attend: the court awards you each a sh.e.l.l Cost free; depart in peace, and use them well."

_Foot up the cost of suits at law,_ _The leavings reckon and awards,_ _The cash you'll see Sir Nincom draw,_ _And leave the parties--purse and cards._

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE OYSTER AND THE LITIGANTS.]

The Wolf and the Lean Dog.

A Troutling, some time since, Endeavour'd vainly to convince A hungry fisherman Of his unfitness for the frying-pan.

The fisherman had reason good-- The troutling did the best he could-- Both argued for their lives.

Now, if my present purpose thrives, I'll prop my former proposition By building on a small addition.

A certain wolf, in point of wit The prudent fisher's opposite, A dog once finding far astray, Prepared to take him as his prey.

The dog his leanness pled; "Your lordship, sure," he said, "Cannot be very eager To eat a dog so meagre.

To wait a little do not grudge: The wedding of my master's only daughter Will cause of fatted calves and fowls a slaughter; And then, as you yourself can judge, I cannot help becoming fatter."

The wolf, believing, waived the matter, And so, some days therefrom, Return'd with sole design to see If fat enough his dog might be.

The rogue was now at home: He saw the hunter through the fence.

"My friend," said he, "please wait; I'll be with you a moment hence, And fetch our porter of the gate."

This porter was a dog immense, That left to wolves no future tense.

Suspicion gave our wolf a jog,-- It might not be so safely tamper'd.

"My service to your porter dog,"

Was his reply, as off he scamper'd.

His legs proved better than his head, And saved him life to learn his trade.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WOLF AND THE LEAN DOG.]

Nothing too Much.

Look where we will throughout creation, We look in vain for moderation.

The grain, best gift of Ceres fair, Green waving in the genial air, By overgrowth exhausts the soil; By superfluity of leaves Defrauds the treasure of its sheaves, And mocks the busy farmer's toil.