ving
a dead ant carried off by the living colonists for burial
that he had forgotten his engagement.

The first six volumes of the Fables--published in 1668,
when he was 47, and in Paris--were an immediate and
brilliant success, at a time when French genius was in
full flower. But the literary men of that golden age got
their pecuniary reward not from the public, but from
patrons. Later in life, when La Fontaine at last was
graciously recognized by the grand monarch, he
appeared before the royal presence to receive his due.
Even then, with his usual absentmindedness, he forgot
to bring the book he was to present, and left behind him
in the carriage the purse of gold the King bestowed
upon him.

However, the Fables brought him much in fame and
friendship. Everybody loved La Fontaine. Favorite of great
lords and ladies, the court of Louis XIV could not make
him otherwise than natural. Poor and improvident, poverty
had no pangs for him. No sorrow ever gave him a
sleepless hour. To the last he lived up to his
nickname--Bon-homme. And it is the gentle and good
man who is always looking out at us at us from the
fables he refashioned for all time.

William Trowbridge Larned.
New York, July 1918.

This book contains the following Fables
from the French of La Fontaine:

The Frog Who Wished To Be As Big As The Ox.
The Grasshopper And The Ant.
The Cat And The Fox.
The Hen With The Golden Eggs.
The Dog And His Image.
The Acorn And The Pumpkin.
The Raven And The Fox.
The City Mouse And The Country Mouse.
The Lion And The Gnat.
The Dove And The Ant.
The Fox And The Grapes.
The Ass In The Lion's Skin.
The Fox And The Stork.
The Monkey And The Cat.
The Hare And The Tortoise.
The Heron Who Was Hard To Please.
The Raven Who Would Rival The Eagle.
The Miller, His Son And The Ass.

The Frog Who Wished To Be As Big As The Ox.

There was a little Fog
Whose home was in a bog,
And he worried 'cause he wasn't big enough.
He sees an ox and cries:
"That's just about my size,
If I stretch myself--Say Sister, see me puff!"

So he blew, blew, blew,
Saying: "Sister, will that do?"
But she shook her head. And then he lost his wits.
For he stretched and puffed again
Till he cracked beneath the strain,
And burst, and flew about in little bits.

The Grasshopper And The Ant.

The Grasshopper, singing
All summer long,
Now found winter stinging,
And ceased in his song.
Not a morsel or crumb in his cupboard--