"I don't know the use of the telescope," said the dog, "and I don't know how wise our master may be. But I am satisfied of two things." "What are they?" the monkey asked. "First," said the dog, "that telescopes were not made for monkeys to look through; and second, that monkeys were not made to look through telescopes." [Illustration: THE LEARNED GEESE.] XI. THE LEARNED GEESE. A FABLE. A company of geese used to meet together very often, to talk about the affairs of the nation, and to contrive ways and means to do the public good. They were full of learning; had read all the valuable books that ever were printed in the goose language; and had got the notion into their heads that when they died, wisdom would perish in the earth. They looked down upon the great mass of goosehood about them with feelings of pity--almost of contempt. At their public meetings--which were held pretty often, for they had much more public than private business to attend to--they occupied a great share of their time in discussing questions which were so deep and muddy, that nobody but they ever saw to the bottom of them. Indeed, many very sensible geese, who made few pretensions to learning, have doubted whether they saw very clearly into these questions themselves. I, too, have my doubts on the subject, as well as these sensible geese; and I go farther than they in my doubts. I doubt whether, in case any learned goose could see to the bottom of very many of these muddy subjects, his knowledge would be worth much to him. I will give you a specimen of some of the questions they used to debate upon, and leave you to judge of their value for yourselves. They were such as these: "How _thick_ is the shadow of a goose in the moonlight?" "How much would the shadow of a tolerably learned gander weigh, if it could be weighed?" "How early do goslings begin to know a great many things, if not more?" "When a fox starts off after a goose, is it because he loves himself, or because he loves his wife and the little foxes?" "Whether geese ought not to be willing to die, for the sake of affording a good dinner to Christians on Christmas and Thanksgiving days?" "Whether there would be such a thing as a good, pious goose, who was not willing to die for such a purpose?" One day, our learned geese were holding a meeting in the barn yard, according to their custom, and were, if possible, more earnest and noisy than ever in their discussions. This time they were considering what it was best to do to prevent foxes from making such havoc in the neighborhood. The question was submitted, whether it would not be safer and better for geese to sleep with their heads up, instead of placing them under their wings, after the old fashion.