A FABLE.
"The Oyster and the Ascidian" [Read at Biology Club, April 5, 1895, Lulu Rock.]
It was a warm August morning and down in his wet home Mr. Tunicata was astir. He was an active little fellow and even as early as eight o'clock, he had prepared himself for his morning airing.
Mr. Mollusca also was up. The portly doors of his mansion were thrown open, and while he was being refreshed by the pure air, he was busily engaged in washing out his mantle.
Now it happened that the path which Tunicata had chosen that morning for his stroll led by the house of Mollusca. Mollusca did not know this until he saw Tunicata coming toward him. They had met before and often enough for Mollusca to realize that Tunicata's company was not desirable. He wished to withdraw into his house this morning, but Tunicata was so near before he recognized him, that he could not do so without seeming rudeness and Mollusca was never rude to anyone.
Heaving a great sigh and giving his robe a vigorous shake, as though he would shake all of his ill feeling out with it, he leaned wearily up against the wall and prepared for the taunts and jeers which he knew would come with Tunicata.
"Hi, there, dear little Mollusca, how are you this morning?" Tunicata called out as he came nearer. "What's the matter with you now? You look tired out already and there's the whole day before you yet. Is it liver trouble? Ha! ha! your whole body must ache then if you've got it in your liver!"
"I'm quite as well as usual, thank you," replied modest Mollusca, taking no notice of his cruel words. "Say, now, maybe you're going to have curvature of the spine,--you really do look pale this morning.' "Ha! ha!" he laughed to himself. "I call that a rich joke."
Mollusca wisely decided that it was better not to make any reply just then, for he well knew that it would only provoke Tunicata to more severe jests, while Tunicata thought his words had been unheeded. This daunted him, as he meant that his jokes should wound his friend; so he determined to say something before he departed that would impress Mollusca. With a patronizing air, he again opened the conversation.
"Mollusca." he said, in a tone which implied condescension, "if you will put off that dignity I will stop jesting and we will talk a little sense for a while. Tell me how it is that you can be content to remain here in this one place all your life and do nothing. I want to get away from home--out into this wide, wide sea of ours and be somebody--to make all the fishes know me and let every one know I live."
"You are mistaken if you think I do nothing," Mollusca replied. "Why, I have worked all my life on this house of mine--building a little on it every day. Look at my work, do you think I have done nothing? And though I have remained in this same place I have made friends also. The fishes do know me and often stop to talk with me as they pass by."
"Well," Tunicata continued, "since you have completed your work, why can't you go and enjoy yourself--take a rest from this humdrum life?
"I do enjoy myself now," returned Mollusca. "But I cannot leave my work and go because it is not finished yet. I must go on building all my life. As I grow larger day by day, my house that has satisfied me, becomes too small for my body and I cannot be content to live in an imperfect building when I realize that I am able to make it better."
"Your mansion is a fine one, but you are not going to spend all your life in working on it are you and then when you die, let it lie here empty?" asked Tunicata.
"It may be used by some one who is in need of just such a home as I have made and lived in. I die, but my work will remain to tell that I have lived. And while I work away on my shell, making it just as beautiful and strong and lasting as it is in my power to do, I am carrying on another work which you, Tunicata, will never see. Here within my shell I have a pearl. It is growing purer and more nearly perfect every day, but its true perfection will never be seen until I have died, and it has been taken from me, up from out this sea into the land. There are other precious stones up there. The diamond is the most precious of them all, and the others cannot approach it in brilliancy. There will be other pearls there too, and some will be much better than mine, but I will make mine just as good as I can and perhaps it may win a place near the diamond."
"Oh, well," replied Tunicata, not in the least impressed by what Mollusca had been saying, "You may go on with your noble work, but I'll take a little comfort out of my short life. If you want to work your life away here by yourself, you may--I choose to have pleasure. Yet while I pity your lonesome life and your bodily deformity, Mollusca, I do envy your poverty of nerves. They keep one in such a state of restlessness. But I must be going. Goodbye."
"Poor Tunicata," mused Mollusca, as his little tormentor departed, "I can't make him realize that I am happy and contented even though I do work steadily." Then he entered his pretty home and closed the doors that he might have a little rest before he carried his work for that day any farther.
The weeks rolled by and before the August days of the next year. Tunicata had died. And what an ignoble death was his! In his youthful days he possessed many desirable qualities and his sole object in living had been to keep every one around him mindful of his charms. But finally, tired of his frivolous life he settled down on a rock and degenerated to such an extent that he became even plainer and more quiet than Mollusca. Poor little fellow! his nerves never troubled him then.
Many human beings tunicate. They are born with talent which promises for them a useful future; but talent is nothing without application; it must be cultivated and the tunicating person has not the energy of mind to appreciate this so he loses his gift.
Man, like the little oyster, has a work to do. He aspires to a certain end, believing that if it were reached there would be no need of further effort; but as his mind develops and his heart enlarges, he becomes conscious that he can do greater things and he sets for himself a higher ideal. Thus his work is never finished. His body dies--his work lives to tell he has lived and to show whether or not he has proved faithful to duties placed upon him to perform.
And his soul--the pearl of his body--is taken beyond his earthly home. Then the greater the effort he made on earth to expand and purify it, the nearer will it be to Christ--the brightest jewel in heaven.
