"I have no doubt," said the fox, after a last futile attempt to reach them,
"that the grapes are sour;" and he went off slowly down the hill.
At the bottom of the hill a barrel was lying, and the philosopher was
filled with new hope. "The very thing," he said to himself.
He put his shoulder to the barrel and pushed and panted and panted and
pushed till he got it nearly to the top. But it broke away at the last
moment and rolled down the hill.
He rolled it up again and again perseveringly. He tried as often as
Sisyphus. He tried indeed just once more, because at last he succeeded and
the barrel was placed on end under the vine.
Joyfully he climbed on the barrel and bit at the fruit.
Then he jumped down with a bark of disgust.
The grapes _were_ sour.
* * * * *
"Mutiny aboard a German U-boat, aided by the demolarizing effects of a
submarine bomb, made the diver a prize of the British Admiralty and her
crew the willing prisoners of a patrol boat."--_Ottawa Evening
Journal._
This kind of bomb--the demolariser--is just what we want to draw the
enemy's teeth.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE END OF THE THOUSAND-AND-ONE NIGHTS.
THE OFFICIAL STORY-TELLER (_to Wilhelm-al-Raschid_). "I CAN'T THINK OF ANY
FRESH FAIRY TALES. WOULD YOU LIKE A TRUE ONE NOW?"
[April 30th was the thousand-and-first day of the War.]]
* * * * *