ore real joy than the well-fed captive in a gilded
cage.

FABLE LXIII.

THE SATYR AND THE TRAVELLER.

A SATYR, as he was ranging the forest in an exceedingly cold, snowy
season, met with a Traveller half starved with the extremity of the
weather. He took compassion on him, and kindly invited him home to a
warm, comfortable cave he had in a hollow of a rock. As soon as they
had entered and sat down, notwithstanding there was a good fire in
the place, the chilled Traveller could not forbear blowing his
finger-ends.

Upon the Satyr asking him why he did so, he answered that he did
it to warm his hands. The honest Sylvan having seen little of the
world, admired a man who was master of so valuable a quality as
that of blowing heat; and, therefore, was resolved to entertain
him in the best manner he could. He spread the table before him
with dried fruits of several sorts, and produced a remnant of
cold cordial wine, which, as the rigour of the season made very
proper, he mulled with some warm spices, over the fire, and
presented to his shivering guest. But this the Traveller thought
fit to blow likewise; and upon the Satyr's demanding the reason
why he blowed again, he replied, to cool the dish.

This second answer provoked the Satyr's indignation, as much as
the first had kindled his surprise; so, taking the man by the
shoulder, he thrust him out, saying he would have nothing to do
with a wretch who had so vile a quality as to blow hot and cold
with the same mouth.

MORAL.

Double dealing is always detestable. The man that blows hot and
cold at the same time is not worthy to be trusted; the sooner we
part from him the better.

FABLE LXIV.

THE BARLEY-MOW AND THE DUNGHILL.

As 'CROSS his yard, at early day,
A careful farmer took his way,
He stopped, and leaning on his fork,
Observed the flail's incessant work.
In thought he measured all his store;
His geese, his hogs, he numbered o'er;
In fancy weighed the fleeces shorn,
And multiplied the next year's corn.

A Barley-Mow, which stood beside,
Thus to its musing master cried:

"Say, good sir, is it fit or right,
To treat me with neglect and slight?
Me, who contribute to your cheer,
And raise your mirth with ale and beer!
Why thus insulted, thus disgraced,
And that vile Dunghill near me placed?
Are those poor sweepings of a groom,
That filthy sight, that nauseou