This is a novel book. A baa-sheep was lying under the paw of a black-maned lion. Whatever was going to be done had to be done quickly. A thought flashed upon the sheep and he said: 'Most dread lord and master, I have heard your voice extolled beyond that of all others. Will you not sing me a little selection from Wagner before I die?' The lion, touched in his vanity, immediately started up and roared away until the goose-flesh stood out on the rocks. When he had finished, the sheep was in tears. 'What means this?' growled the lion in a rage. 'Do you presume to criticise my singing?' 'Oh, no!' sobbed the sheep. 'That is not it. But I have heard that wool was the worst thing in the world for the voice, and when I think of the ruin of that beautiful organ of yours, consequent upon eating me, I weep to think that I was not born hairless'. The lion regarded him out of the corner of his eye. Then, in his grandest manner, said: 'Run along home to your ma, little sheep; I was only playing with you', and walked off through the forest with a great deal of dignity.