Ambrose Bierce - Fantastic Fables

The Dog, as created, had a rigid tail, but after some centuries of a cheerless existence, unappreciated by Man, who made him work for his living, he implored the Creator to endow him with a wag. This being done he was able to dissemble his resentment with a sign of affection, and the earth was his and the fulness thereof. Observing this, the Politician (an animal created later) petitioned that a wag might be given him too. As he was incaudate it was conferred upon his chin, which he now wags with great profit and gratification except when he is at his meals.

A Farmer, an Artisan, and a Labourer went to the King of their country and complained that they were compelled to support a large standing army of mere consumers, who did nothing for their keep.

“Very well,” said the King, “my subjects’ wishes are the highest law.”

So he disbanded his army and the consumers became producers also. The sale of their products so brought down prices that farming was ruined, and their skilled and unskilled labour drove the artisans and labourers into the almshouses and highways. In a few years the national distress was so great that the Farmer, the Artisan, and the Labourer petitioned the King to reorganize the standing army.

“What!” said the King; “you wish to support those idle consumers again?”

“No, your Majesty,” they replied—“we wish to enlist.”

A Silken-Eared Spaniel, who traced his descent from King Charles the Second of England, chanced to look into a mirror which was leaning against the wainscoting of a room on the ground floor of his mistress’s house. Seeing his reflection, he supposed it to be another dog, outside, and said:

“I can chew up any such milksoppy pup as that, and I will.”

So he ran out-of-doors and around to the side of the house where he fancied the enemy was. It so happened that at that moment a Bulldog sat there sunning his teeth. The Spaniel stopped short in dire consternation, and, after regarding the Bulldog a moment from a safe distance, said:

“I don’t know whether you cultivate the arts of peace or your flag is flung to the battle and the breeze and your voice is for war. If you are a civilian, the windows of this house flatter you worse than a newspaper, but if you’re a soldier, they do you a grave injustice.”

This speech being unintelligible to the Bulldog he only civilly smiled, which so terrified the Spaniel that he dropped dead in his tracks.

“My friend,” said a distinguished officer of the Salvation Army, to a Most Wicked Sinner, “I was once a drunkard, a thief, an assassin. The Divine Grace has made me what I am.”

The Most Wicked Sinner looked at him from head to foot. “Henceforth,” he said, “the Divine Grace, I fancy, will let well enough alone.”

A Young Ostrich came to its Mother, groaning with pain and with its wings tightly crossed upon its stomach.

“What have you been eating?” the Mother asked, with solicitude.

“Nothing but a keg of Nails,” was the reply.

“What!” exclaimed the Mother; “a whole keg of Nails, at your age! Why, you will kill yourself that way. Go quickly, my child, and swallow a claw-hammer.”

A Convention of female writers, which for two days had been stuffing Woman’s couch with goose-quills and hailing the down of a new era, adjourned with unabated enthusiasm, shouting, “Place aux dames!” And Echo wearily replied, “Oh, damn.”

An Inventor went to a King and was granted an audience, when the following conversation ensued:

Inventor .—“May it please your Majesty, I have invented a rifle that discharges lightning.”

King .—“Ah, you wish to sell me the secret.”

Inventor .—“Yes; it will enable your army to overrun any nation that is accessible.”

King .—“In order to get any good of my outlay for your invention, I must make a war, and do so as soon as I can arm my troops—before your secret is discovered by foreign nations. How much do you want?”

Inventor .—“One million dollars.”

King .—“And how much will it cost to make the change of arms?”

Inventor .—“Fifty millions.”

King .—“And the war will Cost—?”

Inventor .—“But consider the glory and the spoils!”

King .—“Exactly. But if I am not seeking these advantages? What if I decline to purchase?”

Inventor .—“There is no economy in that. Though a patriot, I am poor; if my own country will not patronise me, I must seek a market elsewhere.”

King (to Prime Minister).—“Take this blackmailer and cut off his head.”

Having been summoned to serve as a juror, a Prominent Citizen sent a physician’s certificate stating that he was afflicted with softening of the brain.

“The gentleman is excused,” said the Judge, handing back the certificate to the person who had brought it, “he has a brain.”

Hardly had that ancient order, the Sultans of Exceeding Splendour, been completely founded by the Grand Flashing Inaccessible, when a question arose as to what should be the title of address among the members. Some wanted it to be simply “my Lord,” others held out for “your Dukeness,” and still others preferred “my Sovereign Liege.” Finally the gorgeous jewel of the order, gleaming upon the breast of every member, suggested “your Badgesty,” which was adopted, and the order became popularly known as the Kings of Catarrh.

A Dying Man who had been shot was requested by officers of the law to make a statement, and be quick about it.

“You were assaulted without provocation, of course,” said the District Attorney, preparing to set down the answer.

“No,” replied the Dying Man, “I was the aggressor.”

“Yes, I understand,” said the District Attorney; “you committed the aggression—you were compelled to, as it were. You did it in self-defence.”

“I don’t think he would have hurt me if I had let him alone,” said the other. “No, I fancy he was a man of peace, and would not have hurt a fly. I brought such a pressure to bear on him that he naturally had to yield—he couldn’t hold out. If he had refused to shoot me I don’t see how I could decently have continued his acquaintance.”

“Good Heavens!” exclaimed the District Attorney, throwing down his note-book and pencil; “this is all quite irregular. I can’t make use of such an ante-mortem statement as that.”

“I never before knew a man to tell the truth,” said the Chief of Police, “when dying of violence.”

“Violence nothing!” the Police Surgeon said, pulling out and inspecting the man’s tongue—“it is the truth that is killing him.”

Some Holy Missionaries in China having been deprived of life by the Bigoted Heathens, the Christian Press made a note of it, and was greatly pained to point out the contrast between the Bigoted Heathens and the law-abiding countrymen of the Holy Missionaries who had wickedly been sent to eternal bliss.

“Yes,” assented a Miserable Sinner, as he finished reading the articles, “the Heathens of Ying Shing are deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. By the way,” he added, turning over the paper to read the entertaining and instructive Fables, “I know the Heathenese lingo. Ying Shing means Rock Creek; it is in the Province of Wyo Ming.”