He who can read a flower aright
Will surely soar to wisdom’s height;
But he who nought therein can see,
A rustic clown for aye will be.”
“Sirrah, I think you are mocking us!” exclaimed the peasant who had told the story, in great wrath.
“Yes, yes,” murmured another, “the fellow is taking his sport off us. I am sure none of us could ever read what was written on the leaf of a tree; and therefore are we to understand that we are all blockheads?”
“Now, you see, my respected friends,” replied the student, “you see how instantly you begin to quarrel with me! Would that I had remained silent; but I trusted to your promise!”
The rustics, thus reminded of their pledge, promised to observe it, and another of them proceeded thus:
“Now, my good master student, I will tell you a story about one of your own sort of folks, for it is but fit that we should have our joke in turn at your expense. One of your scholar-kind of people was one day crossing the mountain; he wore a sword dangling at his side, and carried a guitar in his hand, and ever as he stalked along, he shouted some of his love songs into the blue air.”
“Nay, then he was a great deal bolder than I am,” interrupted the youth.
“I think so too, sir,” replied the peasant. “But as my gentleman marched onwards, what think you befell him? A young spark, whom he took for a student like himself, comes up to him, and, after talking all sorts of learned stuff, takes his guitar, pretending that he was going to teach him a very pretty song. But no sooner has he got hold of the instrument than up he jumps with it, faster than any squirrel, into a very high tree, and there he sits among the green branches, and sings and plays away quite at his ease! At first this nimble-footed magician chose such merry and pleasant songs, that the poor fellow at the foot of the tree stood and lis-
