"Don't put yourself in a passion, old Grizzly! I regret that you are some years too late with your proposition. Your toothless jaws betray you. You would now pretend to play a disinterested part, in order that you may be fed more plenteously, without exposing yourself to the least danger."

IV.

The wolf became snappish; but restraining himself, went to the fourth shepherd. The faithful dog of the latter had just expired, and the wolf took advantage of this circumstance.

Shepherd," said he, "I have fallen out with my brethren in the forest, and in such wise, that I will never be reconciled to them. You know how much you have to dread from them! If, however, you will take me into your service, in the place of your deceased dog, I will pledge myself that they shall never even cast an irreverent glance on your sheep."

"You mean then, to protect them against your brethren in the forest?" said the shepherd.

"What else should I mean? Certainly."

"That were not so bad! But if I admitted you among my flock, tell me, who would then protect my poor sheep against yourself. To take a thief into the house, as a safeguard against those without, is considered by us men-”

"I understand," said the wolf: "you are beginning to moralize. Farewell!"

V.

"Were I not so old!" snarled the wolf. "But I must bend to circumstances." So saying he came to the fifth shepherd.

Do you know me, friend?" questioned the wolf.

"I know at least your equal;" replied the shepherd.

66

My equal? I doubt that considerably. I am so remarkable a wolf, that I well merit your friendship, and that of every shepherd."

And pray what makes you so remarkable?"

"This; if my life depended upon it, I could not possibly make up my mind to strangle and devour a living sheep. I eat nothing but dead sheep. Is not that praiseworthy? Allow me, therefore, occasionally to visit your flock, and ask whether you have not

"Spare your breath!" said the shepherd. "You must never eat sheep, not even dead ones, unless you wish me to become your enemy. A beast who makes no bones of devouring dead sheep, is easily taught by hunger to consider sick sheep, dead, and healthy ones, sick. Therefore don't reckon on my friendship; but be off!"

VI.

I must now bring my forlorn hope into action, in order to carry my point!" thought the wolf, wending his way to the sixth shepherd.

"Good morning to you, friend, how do you like my skin?" asked the wolf.

dition; the dogs can scarcely have tackled you often."

'Well then, listen my friend; I am old, and cannot carry on my game much longer. Cherish and feed me till death, and I will make my skin over to you." "Mighty fine!" said the shepherd. "A pretty old miser you are. No, no; your skin would in the end cost me seven times as much as its value. If, however, you really mean to make me a present, why give it me at once."-Hereupon the shepherd grasped his club, and the wolf fled.

VII.

"Oh! the heartless brutes!" shouted the wolf, flying into the most furious rage. "I will die then as I have lived, their implacable foe, rather than perish with hunger; for so they will have it!"

Rushing into the dwellings of the shepherds, he bit and lacerated their children, committing incredible mischief, before he could be slain.

Then spake the wisest of the shepherds: "We were in the wrong thus to bring the old robber to extremities, and to deprive him of all chance of improvement: even though he might have been driven to it from necessity alone!"

JUPITER AND THE SHEEP.

THE sheep was forced to submit to much harm from the other animals. He therefore appeared before Jupiter, and begged him to lessen his misery.

Jove appeared willing, and said to the sheep: "I see plainly, my pious creature, that I have created you too defenceless. Now choose how I had best remedy this fault. Shall I arm your jaws with terrible fangs, and your feet with claws?"— "O, no!" exclaimed the sheep, "I will have nothing in common with the beasts of prey."

"Or," said Jupiter," shall I make your bite poisonous ?"

"Alas!" replied the sheep: the poisonous snakes are so sadly detested.”"Well, what shall I do? Shall I plant horns on your forehead, and give strength to your neck?”

"Nor that, gracious father; I should then butt like the goat."

"At the same time you would be able to injure others, if I gave you the means of defending yourself."

"Should I, indeed ?" sighed the sheep. "Oh! then leave me, merciful father, as I am. For the power of injuring, would, I am fearful, awake the desire of doing so; and it is better to suffer harm, than to inflict it."

Jove blessed the pious sheep, who ceased from that moment his complaints.

THE RAVEN.

THE fox saw that the raven robbed the altars of the gods, and lived on the sacrifices offered to them. "I should like to know," thought he, "if the raven partakes of the sacrifice because he is a bird of prophecy; or whether he be esteemed such, because he has the boldness to share in the offerings made to the gods."

THE BUTTERFLY AND THE FLOWERS

ONE morning in May, a young butterfly rose
From a violet's breast where he carelessly lay,
And brushing the dew from his exquisite clothes
He opened his wings to the sun's early ray.

"Oh ho!" he exclaimed, " 'tis a frolicksome life,
For a joyous and light-hearted fellow like me.
No lecture I dread from a tutor or wife,
But live like a bachelor, airy and free."

Away then o'er many a blooming parterre,
Still smiling and flirting the butterfly flew,
He whispered his vows to the snowdrop so fair,
And sipped from the cheek of the lily the dew,

He toy'd with the cowslip-nor thought it amiss
To linger awhile in the jessamine bower:
He stole from the blushing carnation a kiss

And laughed in his sleeve at the innocent flow'r.

Thus gaily he dallied the summer day through,
As merrily onward the fleet minutes past,
From blossom to blossom the butterfly flew :

But pleasure and love must decay at the last.

For evening came down, and the vapours of night,
Fell heavy and chill on his holiday vest;
His pinions grew weary and flagging in flight,

And still he was far from his own bower of rest.

All lonely and tattered he flew to the rose,

But coldly she heard the false truant implore,

The tulip indignantly turned up her nose,

And wondered the creature dare come to her door.

The wall-flower and jonquil had gone to a rout,
The poppy had fallen asleep in her bed,
The starwort declared that the lights were put out,
And no one would shelter the wanderer's head.

"Alas!" sighed the butterfly, sinking to earth;

"A lesson I leave for the thoughtless and gay; I trifled with all in the noon-tide of mirth,

Nor kept one true heart for the close of life's day."