"How much would the shadow of a tolerably learned gander weigh, if it
could be weighed?"

"How early do goslings begin to know a great many things, if not
more?"

"When a fox starts off after a goose, is it because he loves himself,
or because he loves his wife and the little foxes?"

"Whether geese ought not to be willing to die, for the sake of
affording a good dinner to Christians on Christmas and Thanksgiving
days?"

"Whether there would be such a thing as a good, pious goose, who was
not willing to die for such a purpose?"

One day, our learned geese were holding a meeting in the barn yard,
according to their custom, and were, if possible, more earnest and
noisy than ever in their discussions. This time they were considering
what it was best to do to prevent foxes from making such havoc in the
neighborhood. The question was submitted, whether it would not be
safer and better for geese to sleep with their heads up, instead of
placing them under their wings, after the old fashion.

But right in the midst of the debate, while one of the speakers was
astonishing himself as well as the rest of the company, with his
reasoning and his eloquence, a fox, who had been slily listening to
the debate, stepped into their ranks, and seized the orator, cutting
short his neck and his speech at the same instant.