The Old Man in the Corner.
NO. V.
FABLES.
We must not be too much captivated with the deeds of those called great. It often happens that their victories and triumphs over others are obtained by unfair means; their successes are frequently purchased by meanness and treachery; and thus it is that, if we could see the truth even beneath their rays of glory, we should sometimes be taught to despise, rather than applaud their actions. The fable that follows may throw some light upon this subject.
THE GOLDEN SHIELD.
There was once a famous knight, who went forth in search of adventures. Now, he was a great coward and knave, but he got himself a shield of burnished gold, and so brilliant was it, that every eye was dazzled which looked upon it. When he met another knight, instead of giving him fair and honorable fight, he used to ride near him, and then slyly and unawares, would stab him with a dirk. His enemy would fall murdered to the ground, but the people, being dazzled by the glittering armor, would cry out, “Victory and honor to the knight of the golden shield!”
VANITY.
This folly or vice usually belongs to the weak and the idle—those who do little good to others, and are mostly occupied in thinking of themselves. Vanity is generally large and strong in proportion to the littleness of the individual who exercises it: one who is its victim, is incapable of judging of things rightly; even in the presence of what is great and sublime, he is blind to everything except his important self. Hear the story of the
GRASSHOPPER AND THUNDER-CLOUD.
Upon the top of a mullen-stalk, sat a grasshopper, who thus complacently sang of himself:--
Was ever seen, in earth or air,
As my sweet self, a thing so fair?
My coat is made of shining green,
My little wings are glossy sheen,
My form is such as fairies love,
My motions those that mark the dove;
But oh! my voice, so soft and low,
No music can so sweetly flow.
The thrush is silent when I sing—
The linnet stays on balanced wing—
The oak doth hush its whispering leaves,
No more its web the spider weaves,
The rill and river cease their roar,
And all around confess my power,
E’en yonder passing thunder-cloud
Pauses to hear, though yet so proud!
While the grasshopper thus indulged its strain of self-conceit, a bolt of lightning fell upon an oak near by, and shattered its trunk into a thousand splinters. One of them struck the mullen-stalk, and the vain insect was crushed in an instant.