One hot day, a Stag, who came down from the hills to quench his thirst
at a pool of clear water, saw his form in the stream. "Ah!" said he,
"what fine horns these are--with what grace do they rise above my head!
I wish that all the parts of my body were as good as they. But sometimes
I quite blush at these poor, thin, weak legs of mine." While he thought
thus, all at once the cries of the huntsman and the bay of the hounds
were heard. Away flew the Stag, and by the aid of these same thin, weak
legs he soon outran the hunt. At last he found himself in a wood, and he
had the bad luck to catch his fine horns in the branch of a tree, where
he was held till the hounds came up and caught him. He now saw how
foolish he had been in thinking so ill of his legs which would have
brought him safely away, and in being so vain of those horns which had
caused his ruin. _The useful is better than the beautiful._