One hot day a fox saw some grapes which hung on a wall, and he took a spring to seize them, but made too short a bound; so then he leapt with all his might, but could not quite reach them; and each jump he took was still too short. There hung the fine ripe grapes, but not for him. Then, as he found he could not get at them, he said, “It is not worth my while to try, for the grapes are sour.” They who can not as they will, must will as they can. THE FLY AND THE MOTH. A fly, one night, stood on the rim of a pot of jam, and as he could not turn from so rare a feast, he went down the jar that he might reach the fruit; but found to his cost that he stuck fast like a bird caught with lime. A moth that flew by, chid him thus: “It serves thee right! How couldst thou think that such legs and wings as thine, would be safe in a pot of jam?” By and by the moth saw a lamp in the same room, and flew in the light of it, but at last his sight grew dim, he sprang up to the flame, and was burnt to death. “What!” says the fly, who saw him, “How is this? You love to play with fire! You who took me to task for so small a crime as a taste for jam!” We tax our friends with faults, but see not our own. THE LYNX AND THE MOLE. A lynx by chance met a mole at the foot of a mound. “Ah, poor wretch!” said the lynx, “what a life is yours! Shut up in the cold, damp ground, you see no light, nor feel the warmth of the sun, for you do but move from mine to mine. If you could but see me as I vault by your dark mound with limbs so free, and my sight--ah! my sight--so keen, you would die of grief at your dull life. Would that I could change it for you, my friend!” “I thank you for your kind wish,” said the mole; “but I need not your help, nor do I feel so dull as you think, for I was bred and born in the ground, and all my days have been spent here. I have my dear young ones round me, and more than all, I am safe. My eyes are small, it is true, but that has made my ears sharp, and if they serve me well now, I hear a sound which seems to come from where you stand, and it tells of a foe.” Just then up rode some men from the hunt, who thrust a spear through the heart of the poor lynx, and he fell dead; but the mole went safe back to her hole in the bank, and said, when she got there, “Home is home for all that.” What the eye sees not, the heart rues not. Though the fox runs, the chick has wings. THE CHILD AND THE BROOK.