Two Beetles brown, came up to Town, Beneath a load of pumpkins; With Simon Strong they rode along, A pair of Country Bumpkins. And though ’twas hot they murmured not, Nor thought upon the weather; For their delight, both day and night, Was just to be together! And this was so, as you may know, Because, by love incited, Their wedding tour began the hour That they were thus united! And so, ’twould seem, a foolish dream, By fate and Fortune aided, Began to be a true decree, When they the cart invaded. For Beetles’ tastes, whate’er else wastes. Run much to fruity flavours; And so, mayhap, they hoped to tap The best of orchard savours, When in the straw they thought they saw,— (And this the truth evinces!) Amid the heap of pumpkins cheap, The gleam of golden quinces! But hopes are vain and fraught with pain When backed by judgments hasty; And yellow gourds are hard as boards, And not like quinces, tasty! And so these twain must Town attain, By love sustained, but thinner; In hopes at least, that they might feast, When Simon stopped for dinner! Yet, sad to say, alack aday! The journey being ended, Upon their backs, on some old sacks. They found themselves extended! And then, instead of meat and bread, Or food of more pretension,— They heard the squeal of pigs at meal: Oh, sorry, sad declension! For to a pen of porkers ten, Old Simon tipped his pumpkins, And with the load, to that abode. Were thrown the Beetle-bumpkins! To them, indeed, an awful meed Of rude and rough requiting— When they had schemed and fondly dreamed Of pelf, with love uniting! And so, ’tis plain—that those who gain The World’s rewards and pleasures Can ne’er be sure they them secure, By raiding others treasures! And one more fact remains intact: (The doubters this convinces!) That those who rise to high emprise, Know yellow gourds from quinces! At the conclusion of the Recitation a number of what might be termed the brighter members of the audience took occasion to comment on it; but, judging by what they said to each other, they had not much sympathy for the silly little beetles. When they were quite quiet again, “Taste,” the second of the Five Story Tellers, began his tale as follows:— THE GRAPE VINE’S STORY “Once upon a time, a long while ago, faint and weary from the heat of the day, I sheltered myself under a shady vine. When I looked up I saw beautiful bunches of grapes—like ladies’ fingers—hanging all about me. A bunch I took, and found them so delicious that I said to the vine, ‘Tell me, Grape Vine, what is your story, and why do you grow such grapes?’ And this is what the Grape Vine said:—