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 Rh

He said: "The case is hard, I must allow;

Take you these hundred Crowns, and carefully

Keep them laid by against a time of dearth."

This glorious sum to the poor soul appears

The total treasure that the bounteous Earth

Has in a hundred years

Produced. The Man of Mirth

Goes home, and in his cellar buries deep

The Crowns,—and with them all his peace of mind.

No singing now; his one thought is to keep

Securely that which troubles so Mankind.

Instead of his light sleep,

Dark fancies fill his breast,

Fears, false alarms, the tortures of unrest.

All day his eye is on the watch; all night

His ear is on the strain;

Suspicions rack his brain.

To save himself from going mad outright.

He runs to him his singing wakes no more:

"Ah, Sir," he cries, "my sleep, my songs restore

And take your Crowns again!"

(La Fontaine, Fables, Vol. VI] I, No. 2. Translated by Paul Hookham.)

NE day a Rat, the smallest of his race,

&ensp;Observed a mighty Elephant pass by

With all his Equipage, at solemn pace.

Upon the Creature's back, three stories high.