us dainties that were
set before them: the one loading his thigh at intervals with
provisions for the hive against the distant winter, the other
revelling in sweets, without regard to anything but his present
gratification.

At length, they found a wide-mouthed vial, that hung beneath the
bough of a peach-tree, filled with honey ready tempered, and
exposed to their taste in the most alluring manner. The
thoughtless Epicure, spite of all his friend's remonstrances,
plunged headlong into the vessel, resolving to indulge himself in
all the pleasures of sensuality. The Philosopher, on the other
hand, sipped a little with caution, but, being suspicious of
danger, flew off to fruits and flowers; where, by the moderation
of his meals, he improved his relish for the true enjoyment of
them.

In the evening, however, he called upon his friend, to inquire
whether he would return to the hive, but found him surfeited in
sweets, which he was as unable to leave as to enjoy. Clogged in
his wings, enfeebled in his feet, and his whole frame totally
enervated, he was but just able to bid his friend adieu, and to
lament, with his latest breath, that though a taste of pleasure
may quicken the relish of life, an unrestrained indulgence is
inevitable destruction.

MORAL.

Moderation rewards and intemperance punishes itself.

FABLE LXI.

THE TURKEY AND THE ANT.

A TURKEY, tired of common food,
Forsook the barn, and sought the wood;
Behind her ran her infant train,
Collecting here and there a grain.
"Draw near, my birds," the mother cries,
"This hill delicious fare supplies;
Behold the busy negro race,
See millions blacken all the place.
Fear not: like me, with freedom eat;
An Ant is most delightful meat.
How blessed, how envied were our life,
Could we but 'scape the poulterer's knife!
But man, cursed man, on Turkeys preys,
And Christmas shortens all our days.
Sometimes with oysters we combine;
Sometimes assist the savoury chine:
From the low peasant to the lord,
The Turkey smokes on every board;
Sure, men for gluttony are cursed,
Of the seven deadly sins, the worst."

An Ant, who climbed beyond her reach,
Thus answered from the neighbouring beech:
"Ere you remark another's sin,
Bid thy own conscience look within;
Control thy more voracious bill,
Nor, for a breakfast, nations kill."

MORAL.

In oth