I am not one of those who coolly say, "It's nought but just a woman who is drowned!" I say it's much, yes, much in every way. The sex I reverence. Taking them all round, They are the joy of life, then let their praise resound. And these remarks are really <i>apropos</i>: My fable treating of a woman lost In a deep river. Ill luck willed it so. Her husband sought her, at each ford she'd crossed, To place her body in a fitting tomb. And as he wandered by the fatal shore Of the swift stream that bore his wife away, The people passing he asked o'er and o'er, If they had seen her on that luckless day. They'd not e'en heard of his sad loss before. "No," said the first; "but seek her lower down: Follow the stream, and you will find her yet." Another answer'd: "Follow her! no, no; that's wrong. Go further up, and she'll be there, I bet, Whether the current's weak, or the tide strong." It's my conviction, Such is a woman's love of contradiction, She'll float the other way, your soul to fret. The raillery was out of season; And yet the heedless boor had reason, For such is woman's humour still, To follow out her own good will; Yes, from her very birthday morn Till to the churchyard she is borne, She'd contradict to her last breath, And wish she could e'en after death. FABLE LXVII. THE WEASEL IN THE GRANARY. Once Madame Weasel, slender-waisted, thin, Into a granary, by a narrow chink, Crept, sick and hungry; quick she glided in, To eat her fill, and she was wise, I think. There at her ease, No fear of fees, She gnawed, and nibbled:--gracious, what a life! The bacon melted in the strife. Plump and rotund she grew, As fat as two. A week was over, Spent in clover. But one day, when she'd done--and that not badly-- A noise alarmed her sadly. She tried the hole she'd entered, wishing to retreat; 'Twas no such easy feat. Was she mistaken?--no, the selfsame door: She tried it, o'er and o'er. "Yes, yes," she said, "it is the place, I know; I passed here but a week ago." A Rat who saw her puzzled, slily spoke-- "Your pouch was emptier then, before your fast you broke. Empty you came, and empty you must quit: I tell you what I've told a dozen more. But don't perplex the matter, I implore; They differed from you in some ways, I do admit." FABLE LXVIII. THE LARK AND HER LITTLE ONES WITH THE OWNER OF A FIELD.