REAL PARENTHOOD.

A Dog said to a Lamb bleating among some She-Goats, "Simpleton, you are mistaken; your mother is not here; " and pointed out some Sheep at a distance, in a flock by themselves. "I am not looking for her," said the Lamb, "who, when she thinks fit, conceives, then carries her unknown burden for a certain number of months, and at last empties out the fallen bundle; but for her who, presenting her udder, nourishes me, and deprives her young ones of milk that I may not go without." "Still," said the Dog, "she ought to be preferred who brought you forth." "Not at all: how was she to know whether I should be born black or white? [i.e. for first sacrifice or not]. However, suppose she did know, seeing I was born a male, truly she conferred a great obligation on me in giving me birth, that I might expect the butcher every hour. Why should she, who had no power in engendering me, be preferred to her who took pity on me as I lay, and of her own accord showed me a welcome affection? It is kindliness makes parents, not the ordinary course of Nature."

DON'T QUARREL WITH FATE.

A Peacock came to Juno, complaining sadly that she had not given to him the song of the Nightingale; that it was the admiration of every ear, while he himself was laughed at the very instant he raised his voice. The Goddess, to console him, replied, "But you surpass the nightingale in beauty, you surpass him in size; the brilliancy of the emerald shines upon your neck; and you unfold a tail begemmed with painted plumage.' "Wherefore give me," he retorted, "a beauty that is dumb, if I am surpassed in voice?" "By the will of the Fates," said she, "have your respective qualities been assigned; beauty to you, strength to the Eagle, melody to the Nightingale, to the Raven presages, unpropitious omens to the Crow: all of these are contented with their own endowments."

THE FOX AND THE GRAPES.

Urged by hunger, a Fox, leaping with all her might, tried to reach a cluster of Grapes upon a lofty vine. When she found she could not reach them, she left them, saying, "They are not ripe yet; I don't like to eat them while sour."

BITING OFF THE NOSE TO SPITE THE FACE.

While a Wild Boar was wallowing, he muddied the shallow water, at which a Horse had been in the habit of quenching his thirst. Upon this, a disagreement arose. The Horse, enraged with the beast, sought the aid of man, and, raising him on his back, returned against the foe. After the Horseman, hurling his javelins, had slain the Boar, he is said to have spoken thus: "I am glad that I gave assistance at your entreaties, for I have captured a prey, and have learned how useful you are; and so compelled him, unwilling as he was, to submit to the rein. Then said the Horse, sorrowing, "Fool that I am! while seeking to revenge a trifling matter, I have met with slavery."

STRONG SPIRITS CAN DISDAIN SLANDERERS.

A Viper came into a smith's workshop; and while on the search whether there was anything fit to eat, fastened her teeth upon a File. The latter, however, disdainfully exclaimed," Why, fool, do you try to wound me with your teeth, who am in the habit of gnawing asunder every kind of iron?"

SUSPECT A SCAMP'S GOOD OFFICES.

A Fox having fallen into a well, and being closed in by the sides, which were too high for her, a Goat parched with thirst came to the same spot, and asked whether the water was good and in plenty. The other, devising a stratagem, replied, "Come down, my friend: such is the goodness of the water that my pleasure in drinking cannot be satisfied." Longbeard descended; then the Fox, mounting on his high horns, escaped from the well, and left the Goat to stick fast in the inclosed mud.

OF THE VICES OF MEN.

Jupiter has loaded us with a couple of Wallets the one, filled with our own vices, he has placed at our backs; the other, heavy with those of others, he has hung before.

From this circumstance we are not able to see our own faults; but as soon as others make a slip, we are ready to

censure.

THE SHE-GOATS AND THEIR BEARDS.

The She-Goats having obtained of Jupiter the favor of a beard, the He-Goats, full of concern, began to be indignant that the females rivaled them in their dignity. "Suffer them," said the God, "to enjoy their empty honors, and to use the badge that belongs to your rank, so long as they are not sharers in your courage.

THE MAN AND THE SNAKE.

A Man took up a Snake, stiffened with frost, and warmed her in his bosom, being compassionate to his own undoing; for when she had recovered, she instantly killed the Man. On another one asking her the reason of this crime, she made answer, "That people may learn not to assist the wicked."

THE MOUNTAIN IN LABOR.

A Mountain was in labor, sending forth dreadful groans, and there was in the districts the highest expectation. After all, it brought forth a Mouse.

THE BALD MAN AND THE FLY.

A Fly bit the bare pate of a Bald Man, who, endeavoring to crush it, gave himself a heavy blow. Then said the Fly, jeeringly: "You wanted to revenge the sting of a tiny insect with death; what will you do to yourself, who have added insult to injury?" The Man made answer: "I am easily reconciled to myself, because I know that there was no intention of doing harm. But you, worthless insect, and one of a contemptible race, who take a delight in drinking human blood, I could wish to destroy you, even at a heavier penalty."

AVOID ILL-GOTTEN WEALTH.

A Man having sacrificed a young boar to the god Hercules, to whom he owed performance of a vow made for the preservation of his health, ordered the remains of the barley to be set for the Ass. But he refused to touch it, and said, "I would most willingly accept your food, if he who had been fed upon it had not had his throat cut."

FIN MCCOUL.

A LEGEND OF KNOCKMANY.

BY WILLIAM CARLETON.

[WILLIAM CARLETON, a leading writer of Irish peasant stories and sketches and novels of Irish life in general, was born in County Tyrone in 1798. A poor boy, scantily educated in a hedge school, he passed two years (16–18) in a relative's academy, went to Dublin, and in 1830 and 1832 published two series of "Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry," which were very successful. In 1839 he produced a novel, "Fardorougha, the Miser"; and in 1841 three volumes of tales mostly pathetic-but one story in a more buoyant vein, "The Misfortunes of Barney Branagan," was very popular. In 1845 he issued "Valentine M'Clutchy," a "repeal" novel; 1846, "Rody the Rover"; 1847, "The Black Prophet "; 1849, "The Tithe Proctor"; 1855, "Willy Reilly," 3 vols. ; 1860 "The Evil Eye." He long received a pension of £200 a year for his great literary merits. He died January, 1869.]

WHAT Irish man, woman, or child has not heard of our renowned Hibernian Hercules, the great and glorious Fin M'Coul? Not one, from Cape Clear to the Giant's Causeway, nor from that back again to Cape Clear. And by the way, speaking of the Giant's Causeway, brings me at once to the beginning of my story. Well, it so happened that Fin and his gigantic relatives were all working at the Causeway, in order to make a bridge, or what was still better, a good stout pad road, across to Scotland; when Fin, who was very fond of his wife Oonagh, took it into his head that he would go home and see how the poor woman got on in his absence. To be sure, Fin was a true Irishman, and so the sorrow thing in life brought him back, only to see that she was snug and comfortable, and, above all things, that she got her rest well at night; for he knew that the poor woman, when he was with her, used to be subject to nightly qualms and configurations, that kept him very anxious, decent man, striving to keep her up to the good spirits and health that she had when they were first married. So, accordingly, he pulled up a fir tree; and after lopping off the roots and branches, made a walking stick of it, and set out on his way to Oonagh.

Oonagh, or rather Fin, lived at this time on the very tip top of Knockmany Hill, which faces a cousin of its own called Cullamore, that rises up, half hill, half mountain, on the opposite side east-east by south, as the sailors say, when they wish to puzzle a landsman.

Now, the truth is, for it must come out, that honest Fin's affection for his wife, though cordial enough in itself, was by no manner of means the real cause of his journey home. There was at that time another giant, named Cucullin, some say he was Irish, and some say he was Scotch, but whether Scotch or Irish, sorrow doubt of it but he was a targer. No other giant of the day could stand before him; and such was his strength that, when well vexed, he could give a stamp that shook the country about him. The fame and name of him went far and near; and nothing in the shape of a man, it was said, had any chance with him in a fight. Whether the story is true or not, I cannot say, but the report went that by one blow of his fists he flattened a thunderbolt, and kept it in his pocket in the shape of a pancake, to show to all his enemies when they were about to fight him. Undoubtedly he had given every giant in Ireland a considerable beating, barring Fin M'Coul himself; and he swore, by the solemn contents of Moll Kelly's Primer, that he would never rest, night or day, winter or summer, till he would serve Fin with the same sauce, if he could catch him.

Fin, however, who no doubt was the cock of the walk on his own dunghill, had a strong disinclination to meet a giant who could make a young earthquake, or flatten a thunderbolt when he was angry; so he accordingly kept dodging about from place to place, not much to his credit as a Trojan, to be sure, whenever he happened to get the hard word that Cucullin was on the scent of him. This, then, was the marrow of the whole movement, although he put it on his anxiety to see Oonagh; and I am not saying but there was some truth in that too. However, the short and long of it was, with reverence be it spoken, that he heard Cucullin was coming to the Causeway to have a trial of strength with him; and he was naturally enough seized, in consequence, with a very warm and sudden fit of affection for his wife, poor woman, who was delicate in her health, and leading, besides, a very lonely, uncomfortable life of it (he assured them) in his absence. He accordingly pulled up the fir tree, as I said before, and having snedded it into a walking stick, set out on his affectionate travels to see his darling Oonagh on the top of Knockmany, by the way.

In truth, to state the suspicions of the country at that time, the people wondered very much why it was that Fin selected such a windy spot for his dwelling house, and they even went so far as to tell him as much.