Cobwebs from an Empty Skull

higher faculties, devoting the remainder of my life to the cultivation of the propensities.'

'Allah be praised!' soliloquized the pig, 'there is nothing so godlike as Intellect, and nothing so ecstatic as intellectual pursuits. I must hasten to perform this gross material function, that I may retire to my wallow and resign my soul to philosophical meditation.'

This tale has one moral if you are a philosopher, and another if you are a pig.

LXIII.

'Awful dark-isn't it?' said an owl, one night, looking in upon the roosting hens in a poultry-house; 'don't see how I am to find my way back to my hollow tree.'

'There is no necessity,' replied the cock; 'you can roost there, alongside the door, and go home in the morning.'

'Thanks!' said the owl, chuckling at the fool's simplicity; and, having plenty of time to indulge his facetious humour, he gravely installed himself upon the perch indicated, and shutting his eyes, counterfeited a profound slumber. He was aroused soon after by a sharp constriction of the throat.

'I omitted to tell you,' said the cock, 'that the seat you happen by the merest chance to occupy is a contested one, and has been fruitful of hens to this vexatious weasel. I don't know how often I have been partially widowed by the sneaking villain.'

For obvious reasons there was no audible reply.

This narrative is intended to teach the folly-the worse than sin!-of trumping your partner's ace.

LXIV.

A fat cow who saw herself detected by an approaching horse while perpetrating stiff and ungainly gambols in the spring sunshine, suddenly assumed a severe gravity of gait, and a sedate solemnity of expression that would have been creditable to a Brahmin.

'Fine morning!' said the horse, who, fired by her example, was curvetting lithely and tossing his head.

'That rather uninteresting fact,' replied the cow, attending strictly to her business as a ruminant, 'does not impress me as justifying your execution of all manner of unseemly contortions, as a preliminary to accosting an entire stranger.'

'Well, n-no,' stammered the horse; 'I-I suppose not. Fact is I-I-no offence, I hope.'

And the unhappy charger walked soberly away, dazed by the preternatural effrontery of that placid cow.

When overcome by the dignity of any one you chance to meet, try to have this fable about you.

LXV.

'What have you there on your back?' said a zebra, jeeringly, to a 'ship of the desert' in ballast.

'Only a bale of gridirons,' was the meek reply.

'And what, pray, may you design doing with them?' was the incredulous rejoinder.

'What am I to do with gridirons?' repeated the camel, contemptuously. 'Nice question for you, who have evidently just come off one!'

People who wish to throw stones should not live in glass houses; but there ought to be a few in their vicinity.

LXVI.

A cat, waking out of a sound sleep, saw a mouse sitting just out of reach, observing her. Perceiving that at the slightest movement of hers the mouse would recollect an engagement, she put on a look of extreme amiability, and said:

'Oh! it's you, is it? Do you know, I thought at first you were a frightful great rat; and I am so afraid of rats! I feel so much relieved-you don't know! Of course you have heard that I am a great friend to the dear little mice?'

'Yes,' was the answer, 'I have heard that you love us indifferently well, and my mission here was to bless you while you slept. But as you will wish to go and get your breakfast, I won't bore you. Fine morning-isn't it? Au revoir!'

This fable teaches that it is usually safe to avoid one who pretends to be a friend without having any reason to be. It wasn't safe in this instance, however; for the cat went after that departing rodent, and got away with him.

LXVII.

A man pursued by a lion, was about stepping into a place of safety, when he bethought him of the power of the human eye; and, turning about, he fixed upon his pursuer a steady look of stern reproof. The raging beast immediately moderated his rate per hour, and finally came to a dead halt, within a yard of the man's nose. After making a leisurely survey of him, he extended his neck and bit off a small section of his victim's thigh.

'Beard of Arimanes!' roared the man; 'have you no respect for the Human Eye?'

'I hold the human eye in profound esteem,' replied the lion, 'and I confess its power. It assists digestion if taken just before a meal. But I don't understand why you should have two and I none.'

With that he raised his foot, unsheathed his claws, and transferred one of the gentleman's visual organs to his own mouth.

'Now,' continued he, 'during the brief remainder of a squandered existence, your lion-quelling power, being more highly concentrated, will be the more easily managed.'

He then devoured the remnant of his victim, including the other eye.

LXVIII.

An ant laden with a grain of corn, which he had acquired with infinite toil, was breasting a current of his fellows, each of whom, as is their etiquette, insisted upon stopping him, feeling him all over, and shaking hands. It occurred to him that an excess of ceremony is an abuse of courtesy. So he laid down his burden, sat upon it, folded all his legs tight to his body, and smiled a smile of great grimness.

'Hullo! what's the matter with you?' exclaimed the first insect whose overtures were declined.

'Sick of the hollow conventionalities of a rotten civilization,' was the rasping reply. 'Relapsed into the honest