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so you have
away', waved his tail', kicked up his heels', and bounded off into the fields.
Now it happened, that, soon after this', the colt's master thought it best to catch this same colt’, put a rope around his neck', and cut off his ears' and tail. Having done this', he turned him into the field', where, after a few days', he chanced to meet the goose. “ Ahà !” says the old bird', lost your ears and tail I seé! whose turn is it to laugh now' ? Look at mē'. You see that nature is supplying me with nèw feathers', to take the place of those I lost"; but who will restore to yoù' your ears and tail ?":
This story may show us the folly of laughing at the misfortunes of those whom we may chance to meet in life ; and we may rest assured that whoever turns othérs into ridiculé, will be treated in the same way' if ever he becomes unfortunate.
THE FOREST TREES.
In a fine forest of trees of various kinds' there were several which were holding a conversation upon their particular beauty', use, strength', sizé, and other qualifications. Some boasted of one thing', some of another.
One of the tallest and finest treés said proudly', “ Which of you, my friends', is so tall and straight as I am'? I am the stateliest tree in the forest." Another said', “ Which of you is as strong as I am'? I have stood in the storm for years', and no beast has been able to bend or break me down. the strongest tree in the forest.” A third said', “ Which of you is so graceful' as !" am'? My branches all wave in the breezé in the most elegant manner. I am the most graceful tree in the forest.” Another said, “ You may all boast of your size, strength and elegance', but when winter has stripped you of your verduré, how naked and desolate you appear', while I am clothed in everlasting green'! I am the only tree worth looking at.
I am the bright`est and most unfàding' tree in the forest'."
While these vain trees were thus talking', each trying to appear better than the others', the owner of the forest came, with his wood-cutter', to mark some trees which he meant to have cut down. The tall', the strong, the graceful', and the evergreen' treé were all selected', and, in another hour', were lāid low by the axé, and cut up for use.
Thus you see how vain it is to boast of any qualifications we possess', as', like these boastful trees', we have not the power to ensure their continuance.
THE FROG AND HIS NEIGHBORS. A FROG,' which had made his dwelling in a bank of earth near an old hedgé, was one day very much alārmed by hearing a man, who was working not far off', say' that he was going to remove the hedge and dig down the bank' in a day or two.
The frog instantly set to work' and removed his habitation to another ditch hãrd by, for he was afraid that the laborer would destroy his house', and that he should lose his life. He also told all his neighbors of the man's intention', and warned them of their danger; but they only laughed at him', and called him a silly old croakēr.
The next day, as the frog found that the man had already begun his work’, he went agàin to his neighbors' and told them of their peril. “ Do you not see,” said hé,
“ that the hedge is already pulled down', and that the bank cannot long remain'?” “ Mind
your own' affairs",” said the uncivil frogs', “and we will mind oûrs. We have tiinè enough' before us. Wē, surely', know as well as you when it is necessary to leave our homes. We are very happy and comfortable here', and will not go till it is time.”
Notwithstanding the insults and ingratitude he met with', this wise and kind-hearted frog', seeing the dwellings of his friends
verge of destruction', went again to expostulate with them', and told them, that, if they did not all remove immediately, they would certainly lose their lives. “ Well, well, we will remove to-môrrow'," said the frogs.
To-morrow came', but the lazy frogs had not removed', and they were all killed or wounded', and their dwellings destroyed.
The frog that had warned his neighbors, was all the time sàfe and snùg in his house. He lamented the fate of his friends', but confessed that those who put off till to-morrow, what ought to be done to-day' can expect no better fortune.
Let this fable teach us all? never to procrastinaté, or put off till another timé, that which should be done now. To-morrow may never come; and if it does', if we are too idle to do our duty to-day', it is likely we shall be too idle to do it to-morrow.
THE COUNTRYMAN AND HIS PIG.
will not go
A COUNTRYMAN one day wished to take his pig to market. But when he tried to drive him one way, he would go the òther, and seemed obstinately bent on going every way but the right. If the man wanted him to turn to the right“, he insisted upon going to the leftV; and if he tried to drive him to the left', he was sure to turn to the right'.
At length, the countryman, being tired' and out of patiencé, tied a string to one of the pig's hind legs', and attempted to guide him with the whip as if he were a horse; but this would not dò, for grunter kickèd and squealed', ran for'ward and then backward', and persisted in attempting to return to his sty. Sò, then'," said the driver', you
on' and do as I want you to do. Well, well, we will sēe who shall be master, yoù or l'.” So saying', he took a strong rope out of his pocket,
' seized the squealing animal by the legs', and, tying them fast together, threw him on the back of his horsé, between two bags of grain.
In vain did the angry creature struggle and squeal. He could not get away', nor loosen the cord about his legs. He now repented of his ob'stinacy, for the cord hurt him', and the motion of the horsé made him ache all aver.
But the countryman did not mind this', but hurried on his horsé to make up for the time that had been lost.
“O, my dear mastér,” said the uneasy pig',“ dò práy lēt me get down. I am not accustomed to rīding. I know nothing' about it, and shall certainly break my neck. Besides that, the string hurts my legs sadly, and I feel brūised all ovēr. Dor lēt mē gēt down this once.” • That
shall not,” said the countryman'. “ You would not walk to please mē, and so you shall rīdè. You have had your way long enoughʼ; now I'must have mine.” So saying', he jolted the squealing pig all the way to market.
My little readers may learn from this story nēvēr to be obstinate ; for, if they āre só, they must expect to be treated roughly by those who would', doubtless', prefer to treat them with tenderness. It is much better to be obedient than to cry and resist like the foolish pig.
THE COCK AND THE FOX. A YOUNG cock, that was sitting upon the branch of a tree, crowed so loud that a fox' which chanced to be passing by heard him. So up' he trots and says', “How do you do', my dear friend'? I have not seen you for an āge."
“ Thànk you for your politeness', sir'," said the cock. “I am as well as usual.” “I am delighted to hear it'," said the for. “Prày come down from that high perch', that I may see you closer and admire your beautiful feathers'.”
No', I am much obliged to you," said the cock; "that will not do', for I have heard my old father say that a fox' is very fond of the flesh of a cock', and will eat him whenever he gets a chance. So, if you please“, sir, I will stay where I am.”
“ Pshaw, pshạw', child,” said the slý thief; "give me leave to tell you that your öld sīre is an old fool and does not speak a word of truth, for I know that all the beasts and birds are now at peace; therefore you need not mind that', but fly down and see me.”
“ Is this āll trûe ?” said the cock. “I am very glad to hear it, I am sure." And saying this, he stretched out his neck as far as he could', as if he saw something a great way off.
“ What do you see, my dear friend', that you look out so earnestly'?” said the fox. “O nothing at all,” said the cock',
only a pack of hounds', that seem to be running a race. It is a fine sight. Look, look', they are coming this way.”
“ Déar mē,” said the fox”; “ coming this way'! Then it is high time for mē' to be gonè !” “ Gonè!” said the cock'; “why should you go? What danger can there be to a fox“ in meeting hounds' in time of peace ?"
“ Yès," cried the fox“, “ all you say is trūe; but it is ten to one that these vile curs had not yet heard of the peace; therefore I must run as fast as I can to get out of the way.”
This story shows us', that, when a known enemy wishes to seem a friend, there is most cause for us to keep out of his reach; and also that shame is likely to follow from falsehood.
TIT FOR TAT.
A LITTLE chimney-sweeper was', one afternoon', sitting upon the steps of a door', rest'ing himself after his morning's work. He had a lārge piece of bread and butter in his hand, which the cook of the house had kindly given him', and which he intended to eat for his supper.
When he was quite rested, he began to eat. He found the bread and butter very sweet and good, and as he was hungry, he enjoyed it very much. So he ate as fast as he could', now and then 'humming a tune.
Not far from him, on the steps of another door', lay a dog quietly asleep in the sun. The
called out to him, and said', “ Come herè, sir, come hēre',” whistling and beckoning to him at the same time.
The dog', hearing himself called', and seeing that the boy was eating", got up, shook himself', wagged his tail', and advanced towards the boy', in the hopes that he would give him a piece of the bread and butter. The mischievous boy held out the bread to the dog', which instantly stretched out his nose to take it. But the young rogué, instead of giving the dog any of his supper', hastily drew back his hand', and struck him a severe blow on the nosè, which made the poor creature run howling away", while the cruel little sweep' laughed most heartily at the trick he had played.
A gentleman, who was sitting at a window on the opposite side of the street, saw this action', and determined to punish the wicked boy. So, opening the street door', he beckoned to the sweep to come over’, showing him a sixpence which he held in his hand.
“Would you like to have this sixpencé, my boy?” said the gentleman'. “It will buy you
a better supper
have “ Oʻ, yes' sir', if you please, with many thanks,” said the little sweep', eagerly stretching out his hand for the prize.
But, just as he was going to take the money', the gentleman hit him so smart a rap on his knuckles, with a cane which he held behind him', that the boy drew back his hand' screaming with pain.
“What did you do that for' ? ” said hè, sobbing', and rubbing his knuckles': “I did not ask for the sixpencé. “Why did you hurt the poor dog just now?” said the gentleman. “He