’Half-known knowledge, present pleasure purchased with a future woe,
And to taste the salt of service—­greater griefs no man can know.’

’And herein, also—­

’All existence is not equal, and all living is not life;
Sick men live; and he who, banished, pines for children, home, and
wife;
And the craven-hearted eater of another’s leavings lives,
And the wretched captive waiting for the word of doom survives;
But they bear an anguished body, and they draw a deadly breath,
And life cometh to them only on the happy day of death.’

Yet, after all these reflections, I was covetous enough to make one more attempt on Chudakarna’s meal, and got a blow from the split cane for my pains.  ‘Just so,’ I said to myself, ’the soul and organs of the discontented want keeping in subjection.  I must be done with discontent:—­

’Golden gift, serene Contentment! have thou that, and all is had; Thrust thy slipper on, and think thee that the earth is leather-clad.’

’All is known, digested, tested; nothing new is left to learn When the soul, serene, reliant, Hope’s delusive dreams can spurn.’

’And the sorry task of seeking favor is numbered in the miseries of life—­

’Hast thou never watched, a-waiting till the great man’s door unbarred?  Didst thou never linger parting, saying many a last sad word?  Spak’st thou never word of folly, one light thing thou wouldst recall?  Rare and noble hath thy life been! fair thy fortune did befall!’

‘No!’ exclaimed I, ’I will do none of these; but, by retiring into the quiet and untrodden forest, I will show my discernment of real good and ill.  The holy Books counsel it—­

’True Religion!—­’tis not blindly prating what the priest may prate, But to love, as God hath loved them, all things, be they small or great; And true bliss is when a sane mind doth a healthy body fill; And true knowledge is the knowing what is good and what is ill.’

“So came I to the forest, where, by good fortune and this good friend, I met much kindness; and by the same good fortune have encountered you, Sir, whose friendliness is as Heaven to me.  Ah!  Sir Tortoise,

    ’Poisonous though the tree of life be, two fair blossoms grow thereon: 
    One, the company of good men; and sweet songs of Poet’s, one.’

“King!” said Slow-toes, “your error was getting too much, without giving.  Give, says the sage—­

    ’Give, and it shall swell thy getting; give, and thou shalt safer keep: 
    Pierce the tank-wall; or it yieldeth, when the water waxes deep.’

And he is very hard upon money-grubbing:  as thus—­

    ’When the miser hides his treasure in the earth, he doeth well;
    For he opens up a passage that his soul may sink to hell,’

And thus—­

’He whose coins are kept for counting, not to barter nor to give,
Breathe he like a blacksmith’s bellows, yet in truth he doth not live.’