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 happiness. 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 his 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 ASS. 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 became impatient for the approach of summer. Summer arrives: but the heat, the harvest-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 comfortless season of winter, where his complaint began; convinced that in this world every situation has its inconvenience. THE LADY AND THE WASP. What whispers must the beauty bear! Who knows a fool, must know his brother; One fop will recommend another: And with this plague she's rightly curs'd, As Doris, at her toilet's duty, 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, The bov'ring insect thus complain'd: Can such offence your anger wake? "Strike him not, Jenny," Doris cries, Where'er he came the favour boasts; 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, When thus the man, with gasping breath; I grant, my bargains were well made,. My will hath made the world amends; When I am number'd with the dead, By heav'n and earth 'twill then be known, An angel came. "Ah, friend!" he cry'd, This instant give a hundred pound; Your neighbours want, and you abound." "But why such haste?" the sick man whines, "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, 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. THE FARMER'S WIFE AND THE RAVEN. 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? Next post some fatal news shall tell; Betwixt her swagging panniers' load Bodes me no good." No more she said, Rail'd, swore, and curs'd: "Thou croaking toad, 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 On 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. THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. Friendship, like love, is but a name, |