in which the clergy condoned moral sins of the blackest dye, but showed the utmost severity when the slightest injury was done to the temporal welfare of the Church, he illustrated his subject by a story to this effect:
The beasts were once determined to keep Lent strictly, and to begin by making their confessions. The Lion was appointed confessor. First to be shriven came the Wolf, who with expressions of remorse acknowledged himself a grievous sinner, and confessed that he had yes, he had once eaten a lamb.
“Any extenuating circumstances?” asked the Lion.
“Well, yes, there were,” quoth the Wolf; “for the mother who bore me, and my ancestors from time immemorial, have been notable lamb-eaters, and ‘what’s born in the bone comes out in the flesh,’”
“Quite so,” said the confessor; “your penance is this,—say one Pater Noster.”
The next to approach the tribunal of penance was the Fox, with drooping tail, a lachrymose eye, and humble gait.
“I have sinned, father!” began Reynard, beating his breast; “I have sinned grievously through my own fault; I—I—I—yes, I once did eat a hen.”
“Any extenuating circumstances?”asked the Lion.
“Two,” replied the penitent; “I must say, the fault was not quite my own. The hen was grossly fat, and it roosted within reach. Now, had she been an ascetic, and had she gone to sleep in some tree, I should never have touched her, I assure you, father.”
“There is some truth in that,” said the confessor; “say as penance one Pater Noster.”
