The Damsel and the Sage | Page 4

interested. But gradually, as he became certain the Tiger adored
him, and would show none but velvet claws and make only purring
sounds, his keenness waned. He still loved it, but certainty is
monotonous, and his eyes wandered to other objects. 'The Tiger is
nothing but a domestic cat,' he said; 'I will pet and caress it when the
mood takes me, and for the rest of the time it can purr to itself by the
fire.' At last one day, after the Tiger was especially gracious and had
purred with all essence of love, the man yawned. 'It is really a charming
beast,' he said, 'but it is always the same; and then he went away and
forgot even to feed it. The Tiger felt hungry and restless. Its quietness
and gentleness became less apparent. The man on his travels chanced to
think of it and sent it a biscuit. So the Tiger waited, and when the man
returned and expected the usual docile caresses, it bit his hand. 'Vile
beast!' said the man. 'Have I not fed and kept you for weeks, and now
you bite my hand!' Now tell me, Sage, which was right--the man or the
Tiger?"
"Both, and neither," said the Sage, decidedly. "The man was only
obeying the eternal law in finding what he was sure of monotonous; but
he mistook the nature of the beast he had to deal with. Tigers are not of
the species that can ever be really monotonous, if he had known. The
Tiger was foolish to allow its true nature to be so disguised by its love
for the man that he was deceived into looking upon it as a domestic cat.

It thought to please him thereby and so lost its hold."
"And what will be the end?" asked the Damsel.
"The man's hand will smart to the end of his life, and he will never
secure another Tiger. And the Tiger will go elsewhere and console
itself by letting its natural instincts have full play. It will not be foolish
a second time."
But the Damsel's conclusion was different.
"No," she said. "The man's hand will heal up, and the Tiger will caress
him and make him forget the bite, and they will love each other to
eternity because they have both realized their own stupidity."
And without speaking further she allowed the Sage to close the door.
* * * * *
It is wiser to know the species one is playing with: do not offer Tigers
hay--or Antelopes joints of meat.
* * * * *
Next day, in a pouring shower of rain, the Damsel knocked at the
Sage's door. It was for shelter, she said, this time, until the storm should
pass.
The Sage was fairly gracious, and to while away the time the Damsel
began a story.
"A man once owned a brown Sparrow. It had no attractions, and it
made a continuous and wearying noise as it chattered under the eaves.
It did the same thing every day, and had monotonous domestic habits
that often greatly irritated the man, but--he was accustomed to it, and
did not complain. After several years a travelling Showman came along;
he had a large aviary of birds of all sorts, some for sale, some not.
Among them was a glorious Humming Bird of wonderful brilliancy
and plumage, a creature full of beauty and grace and charm and

elegance. The man became passionately attached to it; he was ready to
perpetrate any folly for the sake of obtaining possession of it, and
indeed he did commit numbers of regrettable actions, and at last stole
the bird from the Showman and carried it away. Then, in a foreign
palace, for a short while he revelled in its beauty and the joy of owning
it. The Humming Bird did its best to be continually charming, but it felt
its false position. And the worry and annoyance of concealing the theft
from the Showman, and the different food the Humming Bird required,
and the care that had to be taken of it, at last began to weary the man.
He chafed and was often disagreeable to it, although he realized its
glory and beauty and the feather it was in his cap. Finally, one day, in a
fit of desperation, the man let the Humming Bird fly, and crept back
home to the homely brown Sparrow, with its irritating noises and utter
want of beauty. Why was this, Sage?"
The Sage had not to think long.
"Custom, my child," he said. "Custom forges stronger chains than the
finest plumage of a Humming Bird. The man had to put himself out and
exert himself to retain the Humming Bird in a way that was not
agreeable to his self-love, whereas the