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发表于 2014-4-10 22:22:25
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| with his song.The banker complained sadly that Providence had not made sleep a saleable commodity,like
 edibles or
 drinkables.Having at length sent for the songster,he said to him,"How much a year do you earn,Master
 Gregory?"
 "How much a year,sir?"said the merry cobbler laughing,"I have reckon in that way,living as I do from one
 day to
 another;somehow I manage to reach the end of the year;each day brings its meal."
 "Well then!How much a day do you earn,my friend?"
 "Sometimes more,sometimes less;but the worst of it is,-and,without that our earnings would be very
 tolerable,-a
 number of days occur in the year on which we are forbidden to work;and the curate,moreover,is
 constantly adding some
 new saint to the list."
 The banker,laughing at his simplicity,said,"In the future I shall place you above want.Take this hundred
 crowns,preserve them carefully,and make use of them in time of need."
 The cobbler fancied he beheld all the wealth which the earth had produced in the past century for the use
 of
 mankind.Returning home,he buried his money and his happiness at the same time,No more singin;he lost
 his voice,the
 moment he acquired that which is the source of so much grief.Sleep quitted his dwelling;and
 cares,suspicions,and
 false alarms took its place,All day,his eye wandered in the direction of his treasure;and at night,if some
 stray cat
 made a noise,the cat was robbing him.At length the poor man ran to the house of his rich neighbor;"Give
 my back."
 said he,"sleep and my voice,and take your hundred crowns."
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