class="c6">The workmen, a rude, inexperienced crew;
They began to be doubtful if they should succeed
Very well in attaining the object in view.

To get rid of their trouble they fain would contrive,
By interring in state an old Bee that had died—
A notable Bee of a neighboring hive,
Of all her companions the model and pride.

With pomp and with honor they lauded her name,
In funeral obsequies, brilliant and grand;
Panegyrics immortal they buzzed to her fame,
For the whitest of wax and honey so bland.

This done, with much self-satisfaction they stop.
But a Bee said in scorn, "Is this all you can do?
Of the honey I make, not one single drop
Would I give for the fuss of your beggarly crew."

How many there are, who their emptiness mask,
By quoting wise words from the lips of the dead!
But with all their pretence, did they ever, I ask,
Produce any such from their own shallow head?

FABLE V.

THE TWO PARROTS AND THE MAGPIE.

A dame from St. Domingo
Brought with her Parrots twain.
Now this island is half Gallic,
Half owns the flag of Spain;
Thus, in two different languages,
The Parrots talked amain,
Till the gallery where their cages hung
Discordant was as Babylon.
Soon the French and the Castilian
They mixed up in such a bother
That, in the end, no soul could tell
If it were one or 't other.
The French Parrot from the Spaniard
Took a contribution small;
While the Spanish bird changed nigh each word
For the idiom of Gaul.

Their mistress parts the babblers—
And the Frenchman kept not long
The phrases he had borrowed
From less fashionable tongue.
The other still refuses
His jargon to give over;
But new merit rather chooses
In this hotchpotch to discover—
Exulting that he thus can vary
The range of his vocabulary.

In mongrel French, one day,
He eagerly begged after
The scrapings of the pot;
With hearty roar of laughter,
From balcony across the way,
A Magpie shouted out
At the folly of the lout.

The Parrot answered pertly,
As with argument conclusive,—
"You are nothing but a Purist,
Of taste foolishly exclusive."—?
"Thanks for the compliment," quoth Magpie, curtly.

Many men, in sooth, there are,
Like the Parrots, everywhere;
With their own language not content,
Would a mongrel tongue invent.

FABLE VI.

THE SHOWMAN'S MONKEY AND HIS MASTER.

That authentic author, Father Valdecebro,—
In his veracious Natural History,
Who exercised his warm imagination,
By spots and marks, each beast minutely painting,
And told, in style so fanciful and turgid,
About the Unicorn astounding marvels,
And to the fabulous Phoenix gave full credence,—
In his eighth book, or ninth,—which I've forgotten,—
Relates the story of a famous Monkey.

The story ran: That it was a Monkey skilful
In thousand tricks, who served a puppet showman:
That thought one day, in absence of his master,
To ask some beasts—his own especial cronies—
To witness all his entertaining juggles.
First he played dead man; then, like Harlequin,
Danced on the rope with somerset and shuffle;
Made desperate leaps, exhibited the sword-dance,
On hands and feet alternate spun in circles;
Last, did the Prussian manual, gun on shoulder.
With these and other tricks he long amused them.
But, better yet than any,—since the evening
Had now set in, nor yet the audience wearied,—
An exhibition with the magic lanthorn
He now would give, as he had seen his master.

When, by preliminary explanation,
He fixed attention,—as is showman's custom,—
Behind the lanthorn being duly stationed,
From side to side he shoved the painted glasses,
Each scene loquaciously, the while, explaining.

The chamber was all darkened, as is usual;
But the spectators strained their eyes attentive
In vain, for none could see the brilliant wonders
Which Monkey was so volubly announcing.

All were perplexed, and soon arose suspicion
That these proceedings were but empty humbug.
The Monkey, most of all, was disconcerted;
When Master Pedro, entering unexpected,
And,—what was going on at once perceiving,—
Half laughing and half angry, said to Monkey,
"What is the use of all your endless gabble,
You fool, if you forget to light your lanthorn?"

Pardon my hint, ye deep and subtile writers,
Who boast to be beyond our comprehensions;
Your brains are dark as the unlighted lanthorn.

FABLE VII.

THE CATHEDRAL BELL AND THE LITTLE BELL.

In a certain cathedral a huge bell there hung,
That only on solemn occasions was rung;
Its echoes majestic, by strokes three or four,
Now and then, in grave cadence, were heard—never more.
For this stately reserve and its wonderful weight,
Throughout the whole parish, its glory was great.

In the district the city held under its sway,
Of a few wretched rustics, a hamlet there lay;
And a poor little church, with a belfry so small,
That you hardly would call it a belfry at all.
There a little cracked cow-bell, that in it was swinging,
For the poor little neighborhood did all the ringing.

Now that this little belfry might ape in renown
The cathedral's huge tower, that loomed up o'er the town;
That briefly and seldom—on festivals noted—
The said little bell should be rung—it was voted.
By this cunning device, in their rustical eyes,
Its tinkle soon passed for a bell of great size.

Of true merit and excellence, many men try,
By grave airs and long faces, the place to supply;
And think that their wisdom is surely inferred
From their seldom vouchsafing to utter a word.

Indeed, it is true, in a general way,
Asses may not be known if they never should bray,
And for a wise animal safely may pass;
If one opens his mouth, then we know he's an ass.

FABLE VIII.

THE ASS AND THE FLUTE.

Be it good or bad,
This little lay
To me occurred to-day,
By chance.

Through a field in our village
A wandering ass
One day did pass,
By chance.

Left by a careless swain,
Forgotten on the ground,
There a flute he found,
By chance.

As he stopped to smell it—
This donkey grave—
A snort he gave,
By chance.

Into the flute his breath
Happened to find its way,
And the flute began to play,
By chance.

"Oho!" said the wise beast,
"How well I can play!
Who will say me nay?
By chance.".

There are donkeys plenty,
Who, without one jot of art,
May, for once, well play a part,
By chance.

FABLE IX.

THE ANT AND THE FLEA.

A curious affectation some put on
Of knowing everything they chance upon.
Whatever matter they may hear or