JEAN DE LA FONTAINE. JEAN DE LA FONTAINE, a noted French fabulist and poet, was born in Champagne, July 8, 1621; died in Paris, April 13, 1695. In his early youth he learned almost nothing, and at the age of twenty was sent by his father to the Oratory at Rheims, in a state of extreme ignorance. Here, however, he began to exhibit a decided taste for the classics and for poetry. Though selfish and vicious to the last degree, he possessed withal a certain childlike bonhommie; it was not grace, or vivacity, or wit, but a certain soft and pleasant amiability of manner, so that he never wanted friends. He successively found protectors in the Duchess de Bouillon, who drew him to Paris; in Madame de Sablière, and in M. and Madame Hervert. He enjoyed the friendship of Molière, Boileau, Racine, and other contemporary celebrities; and even the saintly Fénelon lamented his death in extravagant strains. In 1693, after a dangerous illness, he carried into execution what a French critic characteristically terms his projet de conversion, and spent the brief remainder of his life in a kind of artificial penitence, common enough among licentious men and women in those sensual days. His best, which, however, are also his most immoral, productions are "Contes et Nouvelles en Vers" (1665; 2d part, 1666; 3d part, 1671). His "Fables Choisies mises en Vers" (1668–1693), in this respect are without blemish, while as works of literary art they stand in the foremost rank. He wrote some dramas, of little worth; also a version in prose and verse of "The Loves of Psyche" (1669). THE WOLF AND THE DOG. A PROWLING Wolf, whose shaggy skin Once met a mastiff dog astray. Sir Wolf, in famished plight, But then he first must fight; Inquires the wolf. "Light work indeed," To bark a little now and then, To chase off duns and beggar-men, To fawn on friends that come or go forth, For which you have to eat A galled spot on the mastiff's neck. - "What's that?" he cries. "Oh, nothing but a speck." "A speck?"-" Ay, ay; 'tis not enough to pain me; Perhaps the collar's mark by which they chain me." "Chain! chain you! What! run you not, then, Just where you please and when? "Not always, sir; but what of that?" THE TWO DOVES. Two doves once cherished for each other Thy heart may bear, but me it kills. Your courage somewhat quell. Prevailed at last; and so said he: A store of tales I shall relate: Say, There I lodged at such a date, |