Literary Fables of Yriarte Part 16

I boast that I have done some little good, though small; Hold you your tongue! You do no good at all."

FABLE LXV.

THE BEETLE.

For a fable a subject I have, Which would do very well,--but for rhymes To-day my muse is too grave;

As she always will be at odd times-- And the topic for somebody stands, Whose fancy more cheerily chimes.

For this writing of fables demands That in verse our ideas should flow; Which not always are matched to our hands,

A Beetle contemptible, now, Of said fable the hero I choose;-- For I want one paltry and low.

Of this insect, every one knows That--although from no filth he refrains-- He will ne'er eat the leaf of a rose.

Here the author should lavish his pains, While, as well as his talents allow, This astonis.h.i.+ng taste he explains.

To wind up the whole, let him show, By a sentence pithy and terse, Just what he could have us to know.

And so let him trick out his verse, With adornments according to taste; But this moral conclusive rehea.r.s.e;

That, as the flowers' beautiful queen With no coa.r.s.e, filthy beetle agrees; So, some tasteless writers no keen Or delicate fancy can please.

FABLE LXVI.

THE RICH MAN'S LIBRARY.

In Madrid, there was a rich man--and, they say, That ten times as stupid, as rich, he was too;-- Whose magnificent mansion made ample display Of furniture gorgeous and costly and new.

"It vexes me much, that a house so complete,"-- To this wealthy dolt, said a neighbor one day,-- "Should a Library lack,--an ornament great,-- So useful and elegant, too, by the way."

"To be sure," said the other, "how strange that the case To me never occurred; I'll supply the want soon.

There is time enough yet; and, in the first place, I devote to the purpose the northern saloon.

Send a cabinet-maker to put up some shelves, Capacious, well finished,--no matter for cost, Then, in buying some books, we will busy ourselves;-- To make it all perfect, no time shall be lost."

The cases are done; the owner he comes, Inspects and approves: "And now,"--said the sn.o.b,-- "I must go out and look up some twelve thousand tomes.

'Pon my honor, 'twill be a pretty good job.

I am almost discouraged--of money a deal It will take; and 'tis work for a century, too.

Will it not be much better the cases to fill, With books made of pasteboard, as good to the view?

Just think now--why not? A painter I know, For such little jobs precisely the man; Can write t.i.tles out fair, and make pasteboard to show Like leather or parchment, if any one can."

And now to the work,--books precious and rare, Both modern and ancient, he caused to be painted; And, besides printed volumes, he also takes care To have ma.n.u.scripts, too, in same guise represented.

The precious old fool then, each day, set apart Some hours to wander his library round; Till, learning the t.i.tles of many by heart, He thought himself grown to a scholar profound.

Truly, what better needs the student,--contented Of books, nothing more than their t.i.tles, to know Than to own a collection right skilfully painted, Of genuine volumes presenting the show?

FABLE LXVII.

THE VIPER AND THE LEECH.

"A strangely inconsistent crew!"-- Said the Viper to the simple Leech,-- "Men fly from me and seek for you; Although they get a bite from each."

"All very true,"--the Leech replied,-- "But the two things are different quite.

I bite the sick, to give them aid; To kill the sound and well, you bite."

Now, gentle reader, with you take This counsel, as we part: And always due distinction make, If from the lash you smart.

Great is the difference between Correction kind and malice keen.