The Caterpillar erected himself upon his tail, and looked sternly at the Philosopher.  The Philosopher’s countenance fell.  A thrush, darting from an adjacent tree, seized the opportunity and the insect, and bore the latter away in his bill.  At the same moment the shower prognosticated by the Sage burst forth, scattering the Butterflies in all directions, drenching the Philosopher, whose foresight had not assumed the shape of an umbrella, and spoiling his new hat.  But he had ample consolation in the superiority of his head.  And the Caterpillar was right too, for after all he never did become a Butterfly.

TRUTH AND HER COMPANIONS

Jupiter.  Daughter Truth, is this a befitting manner of presenting yourself before your divine father?  You are positively dripping; the floor of my celestial mansion would be a swamp but for your praiseworthy economy in wearing apparel.  Whence, in the name of the Naiads, do you come?

Truth.  From the bottom of a well, father.

Jupiter.  I thought, my daughter, that you had descended upon earth in the capacity of a benefactress of men rather than of frogs.

Truth.  Such, indeed, was my purpose, father, and I accordingly repaired to the great city.

Jupiter.  The city of the Emperor Apollyon?

Truth.  The same; and I there obtained an audience of the monarch.

Jupiter.  What passed?

Truth.  I took the liberty of observing to him, father, that, having obtained his throne by perjury, and cemented it by blood, and maintained it by hypocrisy, he could entertain no hope of preserving it unless the collective baseness of his subjects should be found to exceed his own, which was not probable.

Jupiter.  What reply did he vouchsafe to these admonitions?

Truth.  He threatened to cut out my tongue.  Perceiving that this would interfere with my utility to mankind, I retired somewhat precipitately from the Imperial presence, marvelling that I should ever have been admitted, and resolved never to be found there for the future.  I then proceeded to the Nobles.

Jupiter.  What said you to them?

Truth.  I represented to them that they were, as a class, both arrogant and luxurious, and would, indeed, have long ago become insupportable, only that the fabric which their rapacity was for ever striving to erect, their extravagance as perpetually undermined.  I further commented upon the insecurity of any institution dependent solely upon prescription.  Finding these suggestions unpalatable, I next addressed myself to the priesthood.

Jupiter.  Those holy men, my daughter, must have rejoiced at the opportunity of learning from you which portion of their traditions was impure or fabricated, and which authentic and sublime.

Truth.  The value they placed upon my instructions was such that they wished to reserve them exclusively for themselves, and proposed that they should be delivered within the precincts of a certain subterranean apartment termed a dungeon, the key of which should be kept by one of their order.  Whereupon I betook myself to the philosophers.