low-built; and one of so diminutive a size, among the crowd, could not so much as get a glimpse of him.  Well then he struts, stands on tiptoes, bustles, and bestirs his stumps, shoves and makes way, and with much ado clambers up a sycamore.  Upon this, the Lord, who knew his sincere affection, presented himself to his sight, and was not only seen by him, but heard also; nay, what is more, he came to his house and blessed his family.

One of the sons of the prophets in Israel felling would near the river Jordan, his hatchet forsook the helve and fell to the bottom of the river; so he prayed to have it again (’twas but a small request, mark ye me), and having a strong faith, he did not throw the hatchet after the helve, as some spirits of contradiction say by way of scandalous blunder, but the helve after the hatchet, as you all properly have it.  Presently two great miracles were seen:  up springs the hatchet from the bottom of the water, and fixes itself to its old acquaintance the helve.  Now had he wished to coach it to heaven in a fiery chariot like Elias, to multiply in seed like Abraham, be as rich as Job, strong as Samson, and beautiful as Absalom, would he have obtained it, d’ye think?  I’ troth, my friends, I question it very much.

Now I talk of moderate wishes in point of hatchet (but harkee me, be sure you don’t forget when we ought to drink), I will tell you what is written among the apologues of wise Aesop the Frenchman.  I mean the Phrygian and Trojan, as Max.  Planudes makes him; from which people, according to the most faithful chroniclers, the noble French are descended.  Aelian writes that he was of Thrace and Agathias, after Herodotus, that he was of Samos; ’tis all one to Frank.

In his time lived a poor honest country fellow of Gravot, Tom Wellhung by name, a wood-cleaver by trade, who in that low drudgery made shift so to pick up a sorry livelihood.  It happened that he lost his hatchet.  Now tell me who ever had more cause to be vexed than poor Tom?  Alas, his whole estate and life depended on his hatchet; by his hatchet he earned many a fair penny of the best woodmongers or log-merchants among whom he went a-jobbing; for want of his hatchet he was like to starve; and had death but met with him six days after without a hatchet, the grim fiend would have mowed him down in the twinkling of a bedstaff.  In this sad case he began to be in a heavy taking, and called upon Jupiter with the most eloquent prayers—­for you know necessity was the mother of eloquence.  With the whites of his eyes turned up towards heaven, down on his marrow-bones, his arms reared high, his fingers stretched wide, and his head bare, the poor wretch without ceasing was roaring out, by way of litany, at every repetition of his supplications, My hatchet, Lord Jupiter, my hatchet! my hatchet! only my hatchet, O Jupiter, or money to buy another, and nothing else! alas, my poor hatchet!