any scar made upon its snow-white coat is doubly conspicuous. If the
pelt is torn or injured it is rejected; so the trapper must take his
captive clean and scarless. The weasel will not enter a cage trap, and
the much used snap-jaw steel trap would tear the skin. But the weasel
likes to lick a smooth surface, especially if it is the slightest bit
greasy; so the trapper smears with grease the blade of a large knife
and lays it on top of the snow, secured by a chain attached to the
handle, and covers the chain with snow to hide it.

The weasel comes along and immediately indulges its natural desire to
lick the smooth blade, and instantly the end of its tongue clings fast
to the cold steel. Try as it may, it cannot pull loose without tearing
its tongue out, which usually it will not do, but sits quietly by,
until released by the trapper, released only to die. Luckless weasel,
trapped by the tongue.

Now, fellows, the weasel does no more wicked thing than to follow its
natural inclinations; but natural inclinations are not safe guides;
they more frequently lead to death. We folks are much like the weasel;
we are much of the time dead bent in the direction of what is worst
for us. Is not our God good to give us the plain warnings which we as
intelligent beings can see and understand--and, seeing and
understanding, "Stop, Look, and Listen!"--turn about and head toward
safety, success, and happiness! Surely, He _is good_. But what matters
how good God is and how plain His warnings if we go right on in the
wrong direction?

If a weasel could understand a warning and should say, "Yes, I know,
but I am just going to lick this once," what would it matter how clear
the warning was?