'Poisonous though the tree of life be, two fair blossoms grow thereon:
One, the company of good men; and sweet songs of Poet's, one.'
"King!" said Slow-toes, "your error was getting too much, without giving. Give, says the sage—
'Give, and it shall swell thy getting; give, and thou shalt safer keep:
Pierce the tank-wall; or it yieldeth, when the water waxes deep.'
And he is very hard upon money-grubbing: as thus—
'When the miser hides his treasure in the earth, he doeth well;
For he opens up a passage that his soul may sink to hell,'
And thus—
'He whose coins are kept for counting, not to barter nor to give,
Breathe he like a blacksmith's bellows, yet in truth he doth not live.'
It hath been well written, indeed,
'Gifts, bestowed with words of kindness, making giving doubly dear:—
Wisdom, deep, complete, benignant, of all arrogancy clear;
Valor, never yet forgetful of sweet Mercy's pleading prayer;
Wealth, and scorn of wealth to spend it—oh! but these be virtues rare!'
"Frugal one may be," continued Slow-toes; "but not a niggard like the Jackal—