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evening contemplating with pleasure on the various objects that lay diffused before him. The woods were dressed in the brightest verdure; the thickets adorned with the gayest blossoms. The birds caroled beneath the branches; the lambs frolicked around the meads; the peasant whistled beside his team ; and the ships driven by gentle gales were returning safely into their proper harbours. In short, the arrival of spring had doubly enlivened the whole scene before his eye; and every object yielded a display either of beauty or of liappiness.

On a sudden arose a violent storm. The winds mustered all their fury, and whole forests of oak lay scattered on the ground. Darkness instantly succeeded ; hailstones and rain were poured forth in cataracts, and lightening and thunder added horror to the gloom.

And now the sea, piled up in mountains, bore aloft the largest vessels, while the horrid uproar of its waves drowned the shrieks of the wretched mariners. When the whole tempest had exhausted its fury, it was instantly followed by the shock of an earthquake.

The poor inhabitants of a neighbouring village flocked in crowds to our hermit's cave, religiously hoping that his well-known sanctity would protect them in their distress. They were, however, not a little surprised at the profound tranquillity that appeared in bis countenance. “My friends,". said he,“ be not dismayed. Terrible to me, as well as to you, would have been the war of elements we have just beheld ; but that I have meditated with so much attention on the various works of Providence, as to be persuaded that his goodness is equal to his power.”

THE DISCONTENTED AS$. In the depth of winter a poor ass prayed heartily for the spring, that he might exchange a cold lodging and a heartless truss of straw, for a little warm weather and a mouthful of fresh grass. In a short time, according to his wish, the warm weather, and the fresh grass came on; but brought with them so much toil and business, that he was soon as weary of the spring as before of the winter; and he now becaine impatient for tbe approach of suinmer. · Summer arrives : but the heat, the barvest-work, and other drudgeries and inconveniences of the season, set him as far from happiness as before, which he now flattered himself would be found in the plenty of autumn. But here too he was 'disap,

pointed; for what with the carrying of apples, roots, fuel for the winter, and other provisions, he was in autumn more fatigued than ever. “Having thus trod round the circle of the year, in a course of restless labour, uneasiness, and disappointment, and found no season nor station of life without its business and its trouble, he was forced at last to acquiesce in the comfortl:ss season of winter, where his complaint began; convinced that in this world every situation has its inconvenience.

What whispers must the beauty bear!
What hourly nonsense haunts her ear!
Where'er her eyes dispense their charms,
Impertinence around her swarms.
Did not the tender nonsense strike,
Contempe and scorn might look dislike;
Forbidding airs might thin the place,
The slightest flap a fly can chase.
But who can drive the num'rous breed ?
Chase one, another will succeed.
Who knows a fool, must know bis brother;
One fop will recommend another:
And with this plague she's rightly curs’d,
Because she listen'd to the first.

As Doris, at her toilet's duty,
Sat meditating on her beauty,
She now was pensive, now was gay,
And lollid the sultry hours away.

As thus in indolence she lies,
A giddy wasp around her flies:
He now advances, now retires,
Now to her neck and cheek aspires.
Her fan in vain defends her charms;
Swift he returns, again alarms;
For by repulse he bolder grew,
Perch'd on her lip, and sipp'd the dew.

She frowns, she frets. “Good Heaven!" she cries,
“ Protect me from these teasing flies:
Of all the plagues that thou hast sent,
A wasp is mest impertinent."

The bov'ring insect thus complain'd:
"Am I then slighted, scorn'd, disdain'd?

Can such offence your anger wake?
'Twas beauty caus'd the bold mistake;
Those cherry lips that breathe perfume,
That cheek so ripe with youthful bloom,
Made me with strong desire pursue
The fairest peach that ever grew:

« Strike him not, Jenny,” Doris cries,
“ Nor murder wasps like vulgar flies:
For though he's free, to do him right,
The creature's civil and polite."
In ecstasies away he

posts; Where'er he came the favour boasts; Brags how her sweetest tea he sips, And shows the sugar on his lips.

The hint alarm'd the forward crew : Sure of success, away they flew. They share the dainties of the day, Round her with airy music play; And now they flutter, now they rest, Now soar again, and skim her breast. Nor were they banish'd, till she found That wasps have stings, and felt the wound.

THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL. “ Is there no hope?" the sick man said ; The silent doctor shook his head, And took his leave with signs of sorrow, Despairing of his fee to-morrow.

When thus the man, with gasping breath; “ I feel the chilling wound of death : Since I must bid the world adieu, Let me my former life review. I grant, my bargains were well made, But all men over-reach in trade; 'Tis self-defence in each profession : Sure self-defence is no transgression, The little portion in my hands, By good security on lands, Is well increas'd. If unawares My justice to myself and heirs Hatb let my debtor rot in jail, For want of good sufficient bail; If I by writ, or bond, or deed, Reduc'd a family to need,

My will hath made the world amends;
My hope on charity depends.
When I am number'd with the dead,
And all my pious gifts are read,
By heav'n and earth 't will then be known,
My charities were amply shown."

An angel came. “Ah, friend!” he cry’d,
“No more in fatt'ring hope confide:
Can thy good deeds in foriner times
Outweigh the balance of thy crimes ?
What widow or what orphan prays
To crown thy life with length of days?
A pious action's in thy pow'r,
Embrace with joy the happy hour.
Now, while you draw the vital air,
Prove your intention is sincere.
This instant give a hundred pound;
Your neighbours want, and you abound."

“But why such haste?" the sick man whiaes , “Who knows as yet what heaven designs: Perhaps I may recover still: That sum and more are in my will."

“ Fool!” says the vision, « now 'tis plain, Your life, your soul, your heav’n was gain. From ev'ry side, with all your might, You scrap’d, and scrap'd beyond your right; And after death would fain atone, By giving what is not your own.' “While there is life, there's hope," he cry'd ; “ Then why such haste?" so groan'd-and dy'd.


Why are those tears? why droops your head?
Is then your other husband dead?
Or does a worse disgrace betide,
Has no one since his death apply'd ?

Alas! you know the cause too well;
The salt is spilt, to me it fell.
Then to contribute to my loss,
My knife and fork were laid across;
On Friday too! the day I dread!
Would I were safe at home in bed!
Last night (I vow to beav'n tis true)
Bounce froin the fire a coffin flew;

Next post some fatal news shall tell :
I hope my Cornish friends are well!
Unhappy widow! cease thy tears,
Nor feel affliction in thy fears.
Let not thy stomach be suspended;
Eat now, and weep when dinner's ended;
And when the butler clears the table,
For thy dessert I'll read my fable.

Betwixt her swagging pangiers' load
A farmer's wife to market rode;
And, jogging on, with thoughtful care
Summ'd up the profits of her ware;
When, starting from her silver dream,
Thus far and wide was heard her scream:

“That raven on yon left-hand oak
(Curse on his ill-betiding croak)
Bodes me no good.”. No more she said,
When poor blind Ball, with stumbling tread,
Fell prone; o'erturn'd the panniers lay,
And her mash'd eggs bestrew'd the way.

She, sprawling in the yellow road, Raild, swore, and curs'd: “Thou croaking toad, A murrain take thy whoreson throat! I knew misfortune in the note.”

“ Dame," quoth the raven, “ spare your oaths, Unclench your fist, and wipe your clothes. But why on me those curses thrown ? Goody, the fault was all your own; For had you laid this brittle ware Oa Dun, the old sure-footed mare; Though all the ravens of the hundred, With croaking had your tongue out-thunder'd, Sure-footed Dun had kept her legs, And you, good woman, sav'd your eggs.”

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Friendship, like love, is but a name,
Unless to one you stint the flame.
The child, whom many fathers share,
Hath seldom known a father's care.
'Tis thus in friendship; who depend
On many rarely find a friend.

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