THE FLY AND THE MOTH.
A fly, one night, stood on the rim of a pot of jam, and as he could not turn from so rare a feast, he went down the jar that he might reach the fruit; but found to his cost that he stuck fast like a bird caught with lime. A moth that flew by, chid him thus: “It serves thee right! How couldst thou think that such legs and wings as thine, would be safe in a pot of jam?” By and by the moth saw a lamp in the same room, and flew in the light of it, but at last his sight grew dim, he sprang up to the flame, and was burnt to death. “What!” says the fly, who saw him, “How is this? You love to play with fire! You who took me to task for so small a crime as a taste for jam!”
We tax our friends with faults, but see not our own.