FABLE L.
THE TWO THRUSHES.
A Thrush, with years grown gray,
And wise as well as old,
His grandson asked one day,—
An unpractised youth and bold,—
With him to go straightway,
Their morning flight to hold,
Where a well-stocked vineyard lay—
On its luscious fruit to prey.
"Where may this vineyard be?"—
The youngling answered coy,—
"And what fruit is there?"—"We'll see.
Learn how to live, my boy,"
Said the grandsire. "Come with me,
And a banquet rich enjoy."
As he spoke the words, he shew
Where thick the clusters grew.
The pert young pilferer saw;—
"Is this the fruit you puff?
Who would think you were so raw?
What puny, withered stuff!
Pooh! It isn't worth a straw.
Now, bigger fruit enough,
And better far than any here
I know of, in a garden near.
A single grape, I'll swear,
Will prove better than it all.
But we'll make a trial fair,"
When they reach the garden wall,
The fledgling shouts—"Look there—
How big and nice! I call
That fruit, indeed—no trash."
Reader, it was a yellow calabash.
It may not much surprise
That young birds by chaff are caught;
But that, by men reputed wise,
Books should, for bulk, be bought,
And valued for their size,
Is stranger, is it not?
If a good work, 'tis great of course;
If bad, the more there is the worse.
FABLE LI.
THE LACE-MAKERS.
Near a lace-weaver, lived
A man who made silver and gold galloons.
"Now, who would have believed,
Neighbor," said he, "that, even for more doubloons,
Three yards of your light lace are sold
Than ten of mine, though wrought in heavy gold!"
"That my articles exceed
In value, sir, so very much your own,
Is not strange; although, indeed,
You work in gold, and I in thread alone.
For skill is known to all
To be of greater worth than raw material."