The City Mouse Her friendship, but not the friend, died about a year ago today. The City Mouse knew her twenty year old friendship was over and, now it was over, she was having some difficulty imagining how it had begun. The brief note she had received from her former friend was the coffin in which their once vibrant friendship lay lifeless. She knew it. She knew she could not answer her friend, although she had prepared in her throbbing brain a point by point response that would have satisfied the most exacting prosecutor. No, there could be no answer. Let the dead bury their dead; life belongs to the living. “I wish,” she thought of answering, “we had thrashed all this out face to face. Because then, if you had seen my face as you said these things, you would have seen in my eyes how unjust they were. Letters are blind; they have no eyes. We might have smiled at each other, laughed even, and gone our different ways, our friendship intact, remembered fondly over the ta...
go home from us in peace. We seek not your counsel or your arms. Crouch down and lick the hand that feeds you;
may your chains set lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that ye were our countrymen!"
--Samuel Adams