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blind of one eye, and hiring a boat rowed under the cliff where
she used to feed and shot her from the sea. "Ah," cried she with
her dying voice,

"You cannot escape your fate."



Belling the Cat


Long ago, the mice had a general council to consider what
measures they could take to outwit their common enemy, the Cat.
Some said this, and some said that; but at last a young mouse got
up and said he had a proposal to make, which he thought would meet
the case. "You will all agree," said he, "that our chief danger
consists in the sly and treacherous manner in which the enemy
approaches us. Now, if we could receive some signal of her
approach, we could easily escape from her. I venture, therefore,
to propose that a small bell be procured, and attached by a ribbon
round the neck of the Cat. By this means we should always know
when she was about, and could easily retire while she was in the
neighbourhood."

This proposal met with general applause, until an old mouse
got up and said: "That is all very well, but who is to bell the
Cat?" The mice looked at one another and nobody spoke. Then the
old mouse said:

"It is easy to propose impossible remedies."



The Hare and the Tortoise


The Hare was once boasting of his speed before the other
animals. "I have never yet been beaten," said he, "when I put
forth my full speed. I challenge any one here to race with me."

The Tortoise said quietly, "I accept your challenge."

"That is a good joke," said the Hare; "I could dance round you
all the way."

"Keep your boasting till you've beaten," answered the
Tortoise. "Shall we race?"

So a course was fixed and a start was made. The Hare darted
almost out of sight at once, but soon stopped and, to show his
contempt for the Tortoise, lay down to have a nap. The Tortoise
plodded on and plodded on, and when the Hare awoke from his nap,
he saw the Tortoise just near the winning-post and could not run
up in time to save the race. Then said the Tortoise:

"Plodding wins the race."



The Old Man and Death


An old labourer, bent double with age and toil, was gathering
sticks in a forest. At last he grew so tired and hopeless that he
threw down the bundle of sticks, and cried out: "I cannot bear
this life any longer. Ah, I wish Death would only come and take
me!"

As he spoke, Death, a grisly skeleton, appeared and said to
him: "What wouldst thou, Mortal? I heard thee call me."

"Please, sir," replied the woodcutter, "would you kindly help
me to lift this faggot of sticks on to my shoulder?"

We would often be sorry if our wishes were gratified.

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