A Fox once came near a very fine garden, where he beheld lofty trees laden with fruit that charmed the eye.  Such a beautiful sight, added to his natural greediness, excited in him the desire of possession.  He fain would taste the forbidden fruit; but a high wall stood between him and the object of his wishes.  He went about in search of an entrance, and at last found an opening in the wall, but it was too small to admit his body.  Unable to penetrate, he had recourse to his usual cunning.  He fasted three days, and became sufficiently reduced in bulk to crawl through the small aperture.  Having effected an entrance, he carelessly roved about in this delightful region, making free with its exquisite produce and feasting on its more rare and delicious fruits.  He remained for some time, and glutted his appetite, when a thought occurred to him that it was possible he might be observed, and in that case he should pay dearly for his feast.  He therefore retired to the place where he had entered, and attempted to get out, but to his great consternation he found his endeavours vain.  He had by indulgence grown so fat and plump that the same space would no more admit him.  “I am in a fine predicament,” said he to himself.  “Suppose the master of the garden were now to come and call me to account, what would become of me?  I see my only chance of escape is to fast and half starve myself.”  He did so with great reluctance, and after suffering hunger for three days, he with difficulty made his escape.  As soon as he was out of danger, he took a farewell view of the scene of his late pleasure, and said:  “O garden! thou art indeed charming, and delightful are thy fruits—­delicious and exquisite; but of what benefit art thou to me?  What have I now for all my labour and cunning?  Am I not as lean as I was before?”—­It is even so with man, remarks the Talmudist.  Naked he comes into the world—­naked must he go out of it, and of all his toils and labour he can carry nothing with him save the fruits of his righteousness.

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From fables to parables the transition is easy; and many of those found in the Talmud are exceedingly beautiful, and are calculated to cause even the most thoughtless to reflect upon his way of life.  Let us first take the parable of the Desolate Island, one of those adapted by the monkish compilers of European mediaeval tales, to which reference has been made in the preceding sections: 

The Desolate Island.

A very wealthy man, who was of a kind, benevolent disposition, desired to make his slave happy.  He therefore gave him his freedom, and presented him with a shipload of merchandise.  “Go,” said he, “sail to different countries; dispose of these goods, and that which thou mayest receive for them shall be thy own.”  The slave sailed away upon the broad ocean, but before he had been long on his voyage a storm overtook him, his ship was driven on a rock and went to pieces; all on board