LA FONTAINE
A grasshopper gaySang the summer away,And found herself poorBy the winter's first roar.Of meat or of bread,Not a morsel she had!So a begging she went,To her neighbor the ant,For the loan of some wheat,Which would serve her to eat,Till the season came round."I will pay you," she saith,"On an animal's faith,Double weight in the poundEre the harvest be bound."The ant is a friend(And here she might mend)Little given to lend."How spent you the summer?"Quoth she, looking shameAt the borrowing dame."Night and day to each comerI sang, if you please.""You sang! I'm at ease;For 'tis plain at a glance,Now, ma'am, you must dance."
The translation of the following fable is that of W. Lucas Collins, in hisLa Fontaine and Other French Fabulists. This fable has always been a great favorite among the French, and the translator has caught much of the sprightly tone of his original.
LA FONTAINE
A pert young Mouse, to whom the world was new,Had once a near escape, if all be true.He told his mother, as I now tell you:"I crossed the mountains that beyond us rise,And, journeying onwards, bore meAs one who had a great career before me,When lo! two creatures met my wondering eyes,—The one of gracious mien, benign and mild;The other fierce and wild,With high-pitched voice that filled me with alarm;A lump of sanguine flesh grew on his head,And with a kind of armHe raised himself in air,As if to hover there;His tail was like a horseman's plume outspread."(It was a farmyard Cock, you understand,That our young friend described in terms so grand,As 'twere some marvel come from foreign land.)"With arms raised highHe beat his sides, and made such hideous cry,That even I,Brave as I am, thank heaven! had well-nigh fainted:Straightway I took to flight,And cursed him left and right.Ah! but for him, I might have got acquaintedWith that sweet creature,Who bore attractiveness in every feature:A velvet skin he had, like yours and mine,A tail so long and fine,A sweet, meek countenance, a modest air—Yet, what an eye was there!I feel that, on the whole,He must have strong affinities of soulWith our great race—our ears are shaped the same.I should have made my bow, and asked his name,But at the fearful cryRaised by that monster, I was forced to fly.""My child," replied his mother, "you have seenThat demure hypocrite we call a Cat:Under that sleek and inoffensive mienHe bears a deadly hate of Mouse and Rat.The other, whom you feared, is harmless—quite;Nay, perhaps may serve us for a meal some night.As for your friend, for all his innocent air,We form the staple of his bill of fare."Take, while you live, this warning as your guide—Don't judge by the outside.
John Gay (1685-1732) was an English poet and dramatist. His work as a whole has been pretty well forgotten, but he has been recently brought back to the mind of the public by the revival of his satiricalBeggar's Opera, the ancestor of the modern comic opera. Gay published a collection of fables in verse in 1727, "prepared for the edification of the young Duke of Cumberland." A second group, making sixty-six in all, was published after his death. Since these fables are probably the best of their kind in English, a few of them are frequently met with in collections. "The Hare with Many Friends" has been the favorite, and rightly so, as it has something of the humor and point that belong to the real fable. Perhaps the fact that it has a personal application enabled Gay to write with more vigor and sincerity than elsewhere.
JOHN GAY
Friendship, like love, is but a name,Unless to one you stint the flame.The child whom many fathers share,Hath seldom known a father's care.'Tis thus in friendship; who dependOn many rarely find a friend.A Hare, who, in a civil way,Complied with everything, like Gay,Was known by all the bestial trainWho haunt the wood, or graze the plain.Her care was, never to offend,And every creature was her friend.As forth she went at early dawn,To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,Behind she hears the hunter's cries,And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies.She starts, she stops, she pants for breath;She hears the near advance of death;She doubles, to mislead the hound,And measures back her mazy round:Till, fainting in the public way,Half dead with fear she gasping lay.What transport in her bosom grew,When first the Horse appeared in view!"Let me," says she, "your back ascend,And owe my safety to a friend.You know my feet betray my flight;To friendship every burden's light."The Horse replied: "Poor honest Puss,It grieves my heart to see thee thus;Be comforted; relief is near,For all your friends are in the rear."She next the stately Bull implored;And thus replied the mighty lord,"Since every beast alive can tellThat I sincerely wish you well,I may, without offence, pretend,To take the freedom of a friend;Love calls me hence; a favorite cowExpects me near yon barley-mow;And when a lady's in the case,You know, all other things give place.To leave you thus might seem unkind;But see, the Goat is just behind."The Goat remarked her pulse was high,Her languid head, her heavy eye;"My back," says he, "may do you harm;The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm."The Sheep was feeble, and complainedHis sides a load of wool sustained:Said he was slow, confessed his fears,For hounds eat sheep as well as hares.She now the trotting Calf addressed,To save from death a friend distressed."Shall I," says he, "of tender age,In this important care, engage?Older and abler passed you by;How strong are those, how weak am I!Should I presume to bear you hence,Those friends of mine may take offence.Excuse me, then. You know my heart.But dearest friends, alas, must part!How shall we all lament! Adieu!For see, the hounds are just in view."
Tomas de Yriarte (1750-1791) was a Spanish poet of some note, remembered now mainly as the author ofLiterary Fables, the first attempt at literary fable-writing in Spanish. As the name is meant to imply, they concern themselves with the follies and weaknesses of authors. There are about eighty fables in the complete collection, and they are full of ingenuity and cleverness. One of the simplest and best of these is given here in the translation by R. Rockliffe, which first appeared inBlackwood's Magazinein 1839. It laughs at the lucky chance by which even stupidity sometimes "makes a hit" and then stupidly proceeds to pat itself on the back.
TOMAS YRIARTE
The fable which I now presentOccurred to me by accident;And whether bad or excellent,Is merely so by accident.A stupid ass one morning wentInto a field by accidentAnd cropp'd his food and was content,Until he spied by accidentA flute, which some oblivious gentHad left behind by accident;When, sniffing it with eager scent,He breathed on it by accident,And made the hollow instrumentEmit a sound by accident."Hurrah! hurrah!" exclaimed the brute,"How cleverly I play the flute!"A fool, in spite of nature's bent.May shine for once—by accident.
Ivan Andreevitch Krylov (1768-1844) was a Russian author whose fame rests almost entirely upon his popular verse fables (200 in number) which have been used extensively as textbooks in Russian schools.They have "joyousness, simplicity, wit, and good humor." The following specimen is from I. H. Harrison's translation of Krylov'sOriginal Fables. It gives a good illustration of the necessity of "teamwork."
IVAN KRYLOV
When partners with each other don't agree,Each project must a failure be,And out of it no profit come, but sheer vexation.A Swan, a Pike, and Crab once took their stationIn harness, and would drag a loaded cart;But, when the moment came for them to start,They sweat, they strain, and yet the cart stands still; what's lacking?The load must, as it seemed, have been but light;The Swan, though, to the clouds takes flight,The Pike into the water pulls, the Crab keeps backing.Now which of them was right, which wrong, concerns us not;The cart is still upon the selfsame spot.
This fable from the Old Testament is one of the very oldest on record in which a story is practically applied to a human problem. The causes of political corruption apparently have not changed much in three thousand years. American citizens gather together at certain times to choose mayors and other officers to rule over them, and when they say to the fruitful olive tree, or fig tree, or vine, "Come thou and reign over us," he replies, "Should I forsake my productive factory, or mine, or profession, to be mayor?" But when they say to the bramble, "Come thou and reign over us," he replies, "Put your trust in me, and let those suffer who object to my management of public affairs." Jotham's lesson of political duty is one greatly needed in the present-day attempt to raise our standard of citizenship.
Judges ix: 6-16
And all the men of Shechem gathered together, and all the house of Millo, and went, and made Abimelech king, by the plain of the pillar that was in Shechem. And when they told it to Jotham, he went and stood in the top of Mount Gerizim, and lifted up his voice, and cried, and said unto them:—
"Hearken unto me, ye men of Shechem, that God may hearken unto you. The trees went forth on a time to anoint a king over them; and they said unto the olive tree, 'Reign thou over us.' But the olive tree said unto them, 'Should I leave my fatness, wherewith by me they honor God and man, and go to be promoted over the trees?'
"And the trees said to the fig tree, 'Come thou and reign over us.' But the fig tree said unto them, 'Should I forsake my sweetness and my good fruit, and go to be promoted over the trees?'
"Then said the trees unto the vine, 'Come thou and reign over us.' And the vine said unto them, 'Should I leave my wine, which cheereth God and man, and go to be promoted over the trees?'
"Then said all the trees unto the bramble, 'Come thou and reign over us.' Andthe bramble said unto the trees, 'If in truth ye anoint me king over you, then come and put your trust in my shadow: and if not, let fire come out of the bramble and devour the cedars of Lebanon.'"
The concrete illustrations by means of which Jesus constantly taught are called parables. "Without a parable spake he not unto them." The parable differs from the fable proper in dealing with more fundamental or ideal truth. The fable moves on the plane of the prudential virtues, the parable on the plane of the higher self-forgetting virtues. Because of that difference there is in the parable "no jesting nor raillery at the weakness, the follies, or the crimes of men." All is deeply earnest, befitting its high spiritual point of view. As a rule the parables use for illustration stories of what might actually happen. Two of the most familiar of the parables follow. What true neighborliness means is the message of "The Good Samaritan."
Luke x:25-37
And behold, a certain lawyer stood up and tempted him, saying, "Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?" He said unto him, "What is written in the law? how readest thou?" And he answering said, "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind; and thy neighbor as thyself." And He said unto him, "Thou hast answered right; this do, and thou shalt live." But he, willing to justify himself, said unto Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?"
And Jesus answering said, "A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead. And by chance there came down a certain priest that way; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. And likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked on him, and passed by on the other side. But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was; and when he saw him, he had compassion on him, and went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. And on the morrow, when he departed, he took out two pence and gave them to the host and said unto him, 'Take care of him: and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again I will repay thee.'
"Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbor unto him that fell among the thieves?"
And he said, "He that showed mercy on him."
Then said Jesus unto him, "Go and do thou likewise."
Luke xv:10-32
"Likewise I say unto you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth."
And he said, "A certain man had two sons; and the younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me.' And he divided unto them his living.
"And not many days after, the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and hebegan to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat; and no man gave unto him.
"And when he came to himself, he said, 'How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thy hired servants."'
"And he arose and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.' But the father said to his servants, 'Bring forth the best robe and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet; and bring hither the fatted calf and kill it; and let us eat and be merry; for this my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' And they began to be merry.
"Now his elder son was in the field; and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dancing. And he called one of the servants and asked what these things meant. And he said unto him, 'Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound.' And he was angry and would not go in; therefore came his father out and entreated him. And he answering, said to his father, 'Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment; and yet thou never gavest me a kid that I might make merry with my friends. But as soon as this thy son was come, which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf.' And he said unto him, 'Son, thou art ever with me; and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad; for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.'"
This little apologue is taken fromNorwood(1867), a novel written by Henry Ward Beecher for the New YorkLedgerin the days when that periodical, under the direction of Robert Bonner, was the great family weekly of America. In the course of the fiction Mr. Beecher emphasizes the value of stories for children. "Story-hunger in children," he says, "is even more urgent than bread-hunger." And after the story has been told: "How charming it is to narrate fables for children. . . . Children are unconscious philosophers. They refuse to pull to pieces their enjoyments to see what they are made of. Rose knew as well as her father that leaves never talked. Yet, Rose never saw a leaf without feeling that there was life and meaning in it."
HENRY WARD BEECHER
Once upon a time a little leaf was heard to sigh and cry, as leaves often do when a gentle wind is about.
And the twig said, "What is the matter, little leaf?"
And the leaf said, "The wind just told me that one day it would pull me off and throw me down to die on the ground!"
The twig told it to the branch on which it grew, and the branch told it to the tree.And when the tree heard it, it rustled all over, and sent back word to the leaf, "Do not be afraid; hold on tightly, and you shall not go till you want to." And so the leaf stopped sighing, but went on nestling and singing.
Every time the tree shook itself and stirred up all its leaves, the branches shook themselves, and the little twig shook itself, and the little leaf danced up and down merrily, as if nothing could ever pull it off.
And so it grew all summer long till October. And when the bright days of autumn came, the little leaf saw all the leaves around becoming very beautiful. Some were yellow, and some scarlet, and some striped with both colors.
Then it asked the tree what it meant. And the tree said, "All these leaves are getting ready to fly away, and they have put on these beautiful colors, because of joy."
Then the little leaf began to want to go, and grew very beautiful in thinking of it, and when it was very gay in color, it saw that the branches of the tree had no color in them, and so the leaf said, "Oh, branches! why are you lead color and we golden?"
"We must keep on our work clothes, for our life is not done; but your clothes are for holiday, because your tasks are over."
Just then, a little puff of wind came, and the leaf let go without thinking of it, and the wind took it up, and turned it over and over, and whirled it like a spark of fire in the air and then it fell gently down under the edge of the fence among hundreds of leaves, and fell into a dream and never waked up to tell what it dreamed about!
Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790), more than any other American, has emphasized for us the value of proverbial sayings and the significance of the symbolic story. This account of how one may pay too much for a whistle was written in 1779 while Franklin was representing the colonies at Paris, and addressed to his friend Madame Brillon. The making of apologues seemed to be a favorite sort of game in the circle in which Franklin moved, and his plain common sense is always uppermost in whatever he produces. The lesson of the whistle is always needed; we are prone to put aside the essential thing for the temporary and showy. More than a century ago Noah Webster put this story in his school-reader, and most school-readers since have contained it. The selection is here reprinted complete. Teachers usually omit some of the opening and closing paragraphs.
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
I am charmed with your description of Paradise, and with your plan of living there; and I approve much of your conclusion, that, in the mean time, we should draw all the good we can from this world. In my opinion, we might all draw more good than we do, and suffer less evil, if we would take care not to give too much forwhistles. For to me it seems that most of the unhappy people we meet with are become so by neglect of that caution.
You ask what I mean? You love stories, and will excuse my telling one of myself.
When I was a child of seven years old, my friends, on a holiday, filled my pockets with coppers. I went directly to a shop where they sold toys for children; and being charmed with the sound of awhistle, that I met by the way in thehands of another boy, I voluntarily offered and gave all my money for one. I then came home, and went whistling all over the house, much pleased with mywhistle, but disturbing all the family. My brothers, and sisters, and cousins, understanding the bargain I had made, told me I had given four times as much for it as it was worth; put me in mind what good things I might have bought with the rest of the money; and laughed at me so much for my folly, that I cried with vexation; and the reflection gave me more chagrin than thewhistlegave me pleasure.
This, however, was afterward of use to me, the impression continuing on my mind; so that often, when I was tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, I said to myself,Don't give too much for the whistle;and I saved my money.
As I grew up I thought I met with many, very many, whogave too much for the whistle.
When I saw one too ambitious of court favor, sacrificing his time, his repose, his liberty, his virtue, and perhaps his friends, to attain it, I have said to myself,This man gives too much for his whistle.
When I saw another fond of popularity, constantly employing himself in political bustles, neglecting his own affairs, and ruining them by that neglect,He pays, indeed, said I,too much for his whistle.
If I knew a miser, who gave up every kind of comfortable living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, all the esteem of his fellow-citizens, and the joys of benevolent friendship, for the sake of accumulating wealth,Poor man, said I,you pay too much for your whistle.
When I met with a man of pleasure, sacrificing every laudable improvement of the mind, or of his fortune, to mere corporal sensations, and ruining his health in their pursuit,Mistaken man, said I,you are providing pain for yourself, instead of pleasure; you give too much for your whistle.
If I see one fond of appearance, or fine clothes, fine houses, fine furniture, fine equipages, all above his fortune, for which he contracts debts, and ends his career in a prison,Alas!say I,he has paid dear, very dear, for his whistle.
When I see a beautiful, sweet-tempered girl married to an ill-natured brute of a husband,What a pity, say I,that she should pay so much for a whistle!
In short, I conceive that great part of the miseries of mankind are brought upon them by the false estimates they have made of the value of things, and by theirgiving too much for their whistles.
Yet I ought to have charity for these unhappy people, when I consider that, with all this wisdom of which I am boasting, there are certain things in the world so tempting, for example, the apples of King John, which happily are not to be bought; for if they were put to sale by auction, I might very easily be led to ruin myself in the purchase, and find that I had once more given too much for thewhistle.
"The Ephemera" was also addressed to Madame Brillon, the "amiable Brillante" of the final sentence. It is an allegorical story emphasizing the relative shortness of human life. Franklin's "Alas! art is long and life is short!" anticipates Longfellow's "Art is long and time is fleeting." But hundreds of writers had preceded both of them in calling attention to this at the same time commonplace and significant fact. At the end, Franklin's quiet acceptanceof the rather gloomy outlook suggested by the ephemeral nature of life is noteworthy, and is characteristic of his general temper.
An Emblem of Human LifeBENJAMIN FRANKLIN
You may remember, my dear friend, that when we lately spent that happy day in the delightful garden and sweet society of the Moulin Joly, I stopped a little in one of our walks, and stayed some time behind the company. We had been shown numberless skeletons of a kind of little fly, called an ephemera, whose successive generations, we were told, were bred and expired within the day. I happened to see a living company of them on a leaf, who appeared to be engaged in conversation. You know I understand all the inferior animal tongues. My too great application to the study of them is the best excuse I can give for the little progress I have made in your charming language. I listened through curiosity to the discourse of these little creatures; but as they, in their national vivacity, spoke three or four together, I could make but little of their conversation. I found, however, by some broken expressions that I heard now and then, they were disputing warmly on the merit of two foreign musicians, one acousin, the other amoscheto;in which dispute they spent their time, seemingly as regardless of the shortness of life as if they had been sure of living a month. Happy people! thought I; you live certainly under a wise, just, and mild government, since you have no public grievances to complain of, nor any subject of contention but the perfections and imperfections of foreign music. I turned my head from them to an old grey-headed one, who was single on another leaf, and talking to himself. Being amused with his soliloquy, I put it down in writing, in hopes it will likewise amuse her to whom I am so much indebted for the most pleasing of all amusements, her delicious company and heavenly harmony.
"It was," said he, "the opinion of learnèd philosophers of our race, who lived and flourished long before my time, that this vast world, the Moulin Joly, could not itself subsist more than eighteen hours; and I think there was some foundation for that opinion, since, by the apparent motion of the great luminary that gives life to all nature, and which in my time has evidently declined considerably towards the ocean at the end of our earth, it must then finish its course, be extinguished in the waters that surround us, and leave the world in cold and darkness, necessarily producing universal death and destruction. I have lived seven of those hours, a great age, being no less than four hundred and twenty minutes of time. How very few of us continue so long! I have seen generations born, flourish, and expire. My present friends are the children and grandchildren of the friends of my youth, who are now, also, no more! And I must soon follow them; for, by the course of nature, though still in health, I cannot expect to live above seven or eight minutes longer. What now avails all my toil and labor in amassing honey-dew on this leaf, which I cannot live to enjoy! What the political struggles I have been engaged in, for the good of my compatriot inhabitants of this bush, or my philosophical studies for the benefit of our race in general! for, in politics, what can laws do without morals? Our present race of ephemeraewill in a course of minutes become corrupt, like those of other and older bushes, and consequently as wretched. And in philosophy how small is our progress! Alas! art is long, and life is short! My friends would comfort me with the idea of a name, they say, I shall leave behind me; and they tell me I have lived long enough to nature and to glory. But what will fame be to an ephemera who no longer exists? And what will become of all history in the eighteenth hour, when the world itself, even the whole Moulin Joly, shall come to its end, and be buried in universal ruin?"
To me, after all my eager pursuits, no solid pleasures now remain, but the reflection of a long life spent in meaning well, the sensible conversation of a few good lady ephemerae, and now and then a kind smile and a tune from the ever amiableBrillante.
The brief allegory that follows is very generally regarded as the finest and noblest specimen of its type. It is here reprinted approximately in the form of its first appearance, now more than two hundred years ago, as more in keeping with its spirit than a modern dress would be. The world of recent times is not so much given to this kind of writing as the eighteenth century was. Like Franklin's "Ephemera," Addison's vision grows out of "profound contemplation on the vanity of human life." The key to the symbolism is found in the "threescore and ten arches" of the bridge, representing the scriptural limit of physical existence, with some broken arches for any excess of that limit. The fact that "the bridge consisted at first of a thousand arches" is a reference to the great number of years assigned to some of the patriarchs. The splendid concluding vision in which Mirzah sees the compensations for the ills of this life suggests a very different type of mind from that of the "this-worldly" closing paragraph in Franklin's apologue. "The Vision of Mirzah" is No.159of theSpectator(September 1, 1711).
JOSEPH ADDISON
When I was at Grand Cairo I picked up several oriental manuscripts, which I have still by me. Among others I met with one entitled The Visions of Mirzah, which I have read over with great pleasure. I intend to give it to the public when I have no other entertainment for them; and I shall begin with the first vision, which I have translated word for word as follows:
On the fifth day of the moon, which according to the custom of my forefathers I always kept holy, after having washed myself, and offered up my morning devotions, I ascended the high hills of Bagdat, in order to pass the rest of the day in meditation and prayer. As I was here airing myself on the tops of the mountains, I fell into profound contemplation on the vanity of human life; and passing from one thought to another, surely, said I, man is but a shadow and life a dream. Whilst I was thus musing, I cast my eyes towards the summit of a rock that was not far from me, where I discovered one in the habit of a shepherd, with a musical instrument in his hand. As I looked upon him he applied it to his lips, and began to play upon it. The sound of it was exceeding sweet, and wrought into a variety of tunes that were inexpressibly melodious, and altogether different from anything I had ever heard. They put me in mind of those heavenly airs that are played to the departed souls of good men upon theirfirst arrival in paradise to wear out the impressions of their last agonies, and qualify them for the pleasures of that happy place. My heart melted away in secret raptures.
I had been often told that the rock before me was the haunt of a genius; and that several had been entertained with music who had passed by it, but never heard that the musician had before made himself visible. When he had raised my thoughts by those transporting airs which he played, to taste the pleasure of his conversation, as I looked upon him like one astonished, he beckoned to me, and by the waving of his hand directed me to approach the place where he sat. I drew near with that reverence which is due to a superior nature: and as my heart was entirely subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell down at his feet and wept. The genius smiled upon me with a look of compassion and affability that familiarized him to my imagination, and at once dispelled all the fears and apprehensions with which I approached him. He lifted me from the ground, and taking me by the hand, Mirzah, said he, I have heard thee in thy soliloquies: follow me.
He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and placed me on the top of it. Cast thy eyes eastward, said he, and tell me what thou seest. I see, said I, a huge valley and a prodigious tide of water rolling through it. The valley that thou seest, said he, is the vale of misery, and the tide of water that thou seest is part of the great tide of eternity. What is the reason, said I, that the tide I see rises out of a thick mist at one end, and again loses itself in a thick mist at the other? What thou seest, says he, is that portion of eternity which is called time, measured out by the sun, and reaching from the beginning of the world to its consummation. Examine now, said he, this sea that is thus bounded with darkness at both ends, and tell me what thou discoverest in it. I see a bridge, said I, standing in the midst of the tide. The bridge thou seest, said he, is human life; consider it attentively. Upon a more leisurely survey of it, I found that it consisted of threescore and ten entire arches, with several broken arches, which added to those that were entire, made up the number about an hundred. As I was counting the arches the genius told me that the bridge consisted at first of a thousand arches; but that a great flood swept away the rest, and left the bridge in the ruinous condition I now beheld it. But tell me further, said he, what thou discoverest on it. I see multitudes of people passing over it, said I, and a black cloud hanging on each end of it. As I looked more attentively, I saw several of the passengers dropping through the bridge, into the great tide that flowed underneath it; and upon further examination, perceived there were innumerable trap-doors that lay concealed in the bridge which the passengers no sooner trod upon, but they fell through them into the tide and immediately disappeared. These hidden pit-falls were set very thick at the entrance of the bridge, so that the throngs of people no sooner broke through the cloud, but many of them fell into them. They grew thinner towards the middle, but multiplied and lay closer together towards the end of the arches that were entire.
There were indeed some persons, but their number was very small, that continued a kind of hobbling march on the broken arches, but fell throughone after another, being quite tired and spent with so long a walk.
I passed some time in the contemplation of this wonderful structure, and the great variety of objects which it presented. My heart was filled with a deep melancholy to see several dropping unexpectedly in the midst of mirth and jollity, and catching at everything that stood by them to save themselves. Some were looking up towards the heavens in a thoughtful posture, and in the midst of a speculation stumbled and fell out of sight. Multitudes were very busy in the pursuit of baubles that glittered in their eyes and danced before them, but often when they thought themselves within the reach of them, their footing failed and down they sank. In this confusion of objects, I observed some with scimetars in their hands, who ran to and fro upon the bridge, thrusting several persons upon trap-doors which did not seem to lie in their way, and which they might have escaped, had they not been thus forced upon them.
The genius seeing me indulge myself in this melancholy prospect, told me I had dwelt long enough upon it: take thine eyes off the bridge, said he, and tell me if thou seest anything thou dost not comprehend. Upon looking up, what mean, said I, those great flights of birds that are perpetually hovering about the bridge, and settling upon it from time to time? I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cormorants, and among many other feathered creatures several little wingèd boys, that perch in great numbers upon the middle arches. These, said the genius, are envy, avarice, superstition, despair, love, with the like cares and passions that infect human life.
I here fetched a deep sigh; alas, said I, man was made in vain! How is he given away to misery and mortality! tortured in life, and swallowed up in death! The genius, being moved with compassion towards me, bid me quit so uncomfortable a prospect. Look no more, said he, on a man in the first stage of his existence, in his setting out for eternity; but cast thine eye on that thick mist into which the tide bears the several generations of mortals that fall into it. I directed my sight as was ordered, and (whether or no the good genius strengthened it with any supernatural force, or dissipated part of the mist that was before too thick for the eye to penetrate) I saw the valley opening at the farther end, and spreading forth into an immense ocean that had a huge rock of adamant running through the midst of it, and dividing it into two equal parts. The clouds still rested on one-half of it, insomuch that I could discover nothing in it; but the other appeared to me a vast ocean planted with innumerable islands, that were covered with fruits and flowers, and interwoven with a thousand little shining seas that ran among them. I could see persons dressed in glorious habits with garlands upon their heads, passing among the trees, lying down by the sides of the fountains, or resting on beds of flowers; and could hear a confused harmony of singing birds, falling waters, human voices, and musical instruments. Gladness grew in me upon the discovery of so delightful a scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle, that I might fly away to those happy seats; but the genius told me there was no passage to them except through the gates of death that I saw opening every moment upon the bridge. The islands, said he, that lie so fresh and green before thee, and with whichthe whole face of the ocean appears spotted as far as thou canst see, are more in number than the sands of the sea-shore; there are myriads of islands behind those which thou here discoverest, reaching farther than thy eyes, or even than thine imagination, can extend itself. These are the mansions of good men after death, who, according to the degree and kinds of virtue in which they excelled, are distributed among these several islands, which abound with pleasures of different kinds and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of those who are settled in them; every island is a paradise, accommodated to its respective inhabitants. Are not these, O Mirzah, habitations worth contending for? Does life appear miserable that gives the opportunities of earning such a reward? Is death to be feared that will convey thee to so happy an existence? Think not a man was made in vain who has such an eternity reserved for him. I gazed with inexpressible pleasure on these happy islands. At length, said I, Show me now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark clouds which cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of adamant. The genius making me no answer, I turned about to address myself to him a second time, but I found that he had left me. I then turned again to the vision which I had been so long contemplating, but, instead of the rolling tide, the arched bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long hollow valley of Bagdat, with oxen, sheep, and camels grazing upon the sides of it.
"The Discontented Pendulum" was one of seventy-nine brief prose selections by Jane Taylor (1783-1824) which appeared first in a paper for young people and were, after the author's death, gathered together and published asContributions of Q. Q.(1826). This one selection only from that volume still lives, is reprinted often in school-readers, and by virtue of its cleverness and point deserves its happy fate. The author attached to it a "Moral" almost as long as the story itself, and that has long since fallen by the wayside. Perhaps that is because the story is too clear to need the "Moral." Here are a few sentences from it: "Thepresentis all we have to manage: the past is irrecoverable; the future is uncertain; nor is it fair to burden one moment with the weight of the next. Sufficient unto themomentis the trouble thereof. . . . One moment comes laden with its ownlittleburden, then flies, and is succeeded by another no heavier than the last; ifonecould be sustained, so can another, and another. . . . Let any one resolve to do rightnow, leavingthento do as it can, and if he were to live to the age of Methuselah, he would never err. . . . Let us then, 'whatever our hands find to do, do it with all our might, recollecting thatnowis the proper and the accepted time.'"
JANE TAYLOR
An old clock that had stood for fifty years in a farmer's kitchen without giving its owner any cause of complaint, early one summer's morning, before the family was stirring, suddenly stopped.
Upon this, the dial-plate (if we may credit the fable) changed countenance with alarm: the hands made an ineffectual effort to continue their course; the wheels remained motionless with surprise; the weights hung speechless; each member felt disposed to lay the blame on the others. At length the dial instituted a formal inquiry as to the cause of the stagnation; when hands, wheels,weights, with one voice, protested their innocence. But now a faint tick was heard below, from the pendulum, who thus spoke:
"I confess myself to be the sole cause of the present stoppage; and am willing, for the general satisfaction, to assign my reasons. The truth is that I am tired of ticking." Upon hearing this, the old clock became so enraged that it was on the point ofstriking.
"Lazy wire!" exclaimed the dial-plate, holding up its hands.
"Very good!" replied the pendulum, "it is vastly easy for you, Mistress Dial, who have always, as everybody knows, set yourself up above me—it is vastly easy for you, I say, to accuse other people of laziness! You, who have had nothing to do all the days of your life but to stare people in the face, and to amuse yourself with watching all that goes on in the kitchen! Think, I beseech you, how you would like to be shut up for life in this dark closet, and wag backwards and forwards, year after year, as I do."
"As to that," said the dial, "is there not a window in your house on purpose for you to look through?"
"For all that," resumed the pendulum, "it is very dark here; and although there is a window, I dare not stop, even for an instant, to look out. Besides, I am really weary of my way of life; and if you please, I'll tell you how I took this disgust at my employment. This morning I happened to be calculating how many times I should have to tick in the course only of the next twenty-four hours: perhaps some of you, above there, can give me the exact sum."
The minute hand, beingquick at figures, instantly replied, "Eighty-six thousand four hundred times."
"Exactly so," replied the pendulum: "well, I appeal to you all, if the thought of this was not enough to fatigue one? And when I began to multiply the stroke of one day by those of months and years, really it is no wonder if I felt discouraged at the prospect; so after a great deal of reasoning and hesitation, thinks I to myself—I'll stop."
The dial could scarcely keep its countenance during this harangue; but, resuming its gravity, thus replied:
"Dear Mr. Pendulum, I am really astonished that such a useful, industrious person as yourself should have been overcome by this sudden suggestion. It is true you have done a great deal of work in your time. So we have all, and are likely to do; and although this may fatigue us tothinkof, the question is, whether it it will fatigue us todo:would you now do me the favor to give about half a dozen strokes to illustrate my argument?"
The pendulum complied, and ticked six times at its usual pace. "Now," resumed the dial, "may I be allowed to inquire if that exertion was at all fatiguing or disagreeable to you?"
"Not in the least," replied the pendulum;—"It is not of six strokes that I complain, nor of sixty, but ofmillions."
"Very good," replied the dial, "but recollect that although you maythinkof a million strokes in an instant, you are required toexecutebut one; and that however often you may hereafter have to swing, a moment will always be given you to swing in."
"That consideration staggers me, I confess," said the pendulum.
"Then I hope," resumed the dial-plate, "we shall all immediately return to our duty; for the maids will lie in bed till noon if we stand idling thus."
Upon this, the weights, who had never been accused oflightconduct, used all their influence in urging him to proceed; when, as with one consent, the wheels began to turn, the hands began to move, the pendulum began to wag, and, to its credit, ticked as loud as ever; while a beam of the rising sun that streamed through a hole in the kitchen shutter, shining full upon the dial-plate, it brightened up as if nothing had been the matter.
When the farmer came down to breakfast that morning, upon looking at the clock he declared that his watch had gained half an hour in the night.