After Hans had gone the way of all men, his heirs found the chests full of gold in the cellar, and therewith they bought fat lands and became noblemen and gentlemen; but that made Hans’s luck none the better.

From all this I gather: 

That few folks can turn ill luck into good luck. 
That the best thing for one to do is to let well enough alone. 
That one cannot get happiness as one does cabbages—­with
    money. 
That happiness is the only good luck, after all!

[Illustration:  Ye Song of ye Rajah & ye Fly.  This illustrated poem depicts the Rajah in the various stages of the poem.]

YE SONG OF YE RAJAH & YE FLY

Great and rich beyond comparing
Was the Rajah Rhama Jaring,
As he went to take an airing
  With his Court one summer day. 
All were gay with green and yellow;
And a little darky fellow
Bore a monstrous fun umbrella,
  For to shade him on the way.

Now a certain fly, unwitting
Of this grandeur, came a-flitting
To the Royal nose, and sitting
  Twirled his legs upon the same. 
Then the Rajah’s eyes blazed fire
At the insult, and the ire
In his heart boiled high and higher. 
  Slap! he struck, but missed his aim.

Then all trembled at this passion,
For he spoke in furious fashion. 
“Saw ye how yon fly did dash on
  To our august nose!” he said. 
“Now let all within our nation
Wage a war without cessation
War of b-lood, ex-ter-mi-nation,
  Until every fly is dead!!!!”

Now the while this war was raging,
That the rajah was a-waging,
Things that should have been engaging
  His attention went to pot. 
So he came at last to begging,
Though the flies continued plaguing. 
For it’s not so easy pegging
  Out vexation thus, I wot.

From this you may see what all have to expect,
Who, fighting small troubles, great duties neglect.

H. Pyle

[Illustration:  Pride in Distress.  This full page illustrated poem shows the mistress walking along with others watching, until she steps into a small pool and scares some geese aloft.]

PRIDE IN DISTRESS

Mistress Polly Poppenjay
Went to take a walk one day. 
On that morning she was dressed
In her very Sunday best;
Feathers, frills and ribbons gay,—­
Proud was Mistress Poppenjay.

Mistress Polly Poppenjay
Spoke to no one on her way;
Passed acquaintances aside;
Held her head aloft with pride;
Did not see a puddle lay
In front of Mistress Poppenjay.

Mistress Polly Poppenjay
Harked to naught the folk could say. 
Loud they cried, “Beware the puddle!”
Plump! She stepped into the middle. 
And a pretty plight straightway
Was poor Mistress Poppenjay.

Mistress Polly Poppenjay;
From your pickle others may
Learn to curb their pride a little;—­
Learn to exercise their wit, till
They are sure no puddles may
Lie in front, Miss Poppenjay.