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The storm, the snare, the deadly gun—

Here lies the hazard. Be so kind,

My gentle friends, to call in mind,

How many left this shore in May;

Then count the number here today.

By calculation thus alone

The profits of the journey's known."

(Nivernois, Fables. Cadell translation.)

THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE

LL day long, from early morning, a Bee clung to a stalk of wild thyme, feasting on its nectar. A Butterfly, flitting from flower to flower and constantly changing her fickle mind and her pasturage, met the Bee on her homeward way in the evening. "Bless me!" said the Butterfly, "you are a faithful soul or else a very stupid one, to single out just one flower and devote the whole day to it,—all day long the same, same flower! Oh, my poor dear, when I saw you clinging to that wild thyme stalk from early morning until sun-down, I tell you frankly, I thought of nothing in the world but an Oyster sadly glued to a rock, without ever being able to change its home!"

"You are perfectly right," replied the Bee, "and I like the comparison, for it suits us Bees admirably. We have no desire to imitate the idle pleasures of you Butterflies. We are satisfied to be useful; and that is what Nature designed us for. Those Oysters, sadly bound to a rock, produce pearls, and we Bees, well, we make honey."

(Nivernois, Fables, Vol. 11, No. 7.)