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HUMANE DRIVER REWARDED.

The good-natured deity, in order to induige their request with as little mischief to the petitioners as possible, threw them down a log. At first, they regarded their new monarch with great reverence, and kept from him at a most respectful distance; but perceiving his tame and peaceable disposition, they, by degrees, ventured to approach him with more familiarity, till, at length, they conceived for him the utmost contempt.

In this disposition, they renewed their request to Jupiter, and entreated him to bestow upon them another king. The thunderer, in his wrath, sent them down a Crane; who no sooner took possession of his new dominions, than he began to devour his subjects, one after another, in a most capricious and tyrannical man

ner.

They were now more dissatisfied than before; when, applying to Jupiter a third time, they were dismissed with this reproof; that the evil they complained of they had brought upon themselves; and that they had no remedy now, but to submit to it with patience.

MORAL.

Be content; or you may change from bad to worse.

HUMANE DRIVER REWARDED. A POOR Macedonian soldier was one day leading before Alexander a mule, laden with gold for the king's The beast being so tired that he was neither able to go, nor to sustain the load, the mule-driver took it off, and carried it himself, with great difficulty, a considerable way. Alexander, seeing him just sinking under the burden, and about to throw it on the ground, cried out, "Friend, do not be weary yet; try and carry it quite through to thy tent, for it is all thine own."

TO JANE.--A REPARTEE.

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TO JANE.

THE wild dove, to the garden spring,
May come and lave its wandering wing,
And bend above the waters bright,
And murmur, with a dove's delight:
But holier, in the solitude,

Its own pure fountain of the wood,
That blessed home, that shadowed nest,
Where, soft and sweet, its dear ones rest!
And flinging from those pinions fair
The silver drops that linger there,
The dove will leave the garden spring,
And wave for home its weary wing;
Ah! thus for thee in haunts of light
The stream of joy will sparkle bright,
And thou wilt stay thy step, and sip
The fairy draught with smiling lip,
And linger long amid the flowers,
That blooming, wreathe in pleasure's bowers;
And thou wilt weary, like the dove,

And turn thee from the wave away,
To that fair fount of truth and love,
That springs within thy home for aye:
Oh! calm and blest be there thy rest,
As the wild bird's in woodland nest.

A REPARTEE.

In reply to some observations of Mr. Dundas in the House of Commons, Sheridan observed "The right honorable gentleman is indebted to his memory for his jests, and to his imagination for his facts."

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THE POOR OLD LION. -SWEARING.

THE POOR OLD LION.

A FABLE.

A LION, who was so much worn out with age that he had lost his strength, lay groaning in his den ready to die. First came the boar to take his revenge upon him, with foaming tusks, for an old affront; next advanced the bull, and gored the sides of the enemy with his pointed horn. A spiteful ass, who saw the old monarch thus lying at the mercy of every one that had a mind to abuse him, trotted up, and gave him a kick on his forehead.

"Ah," said the dying lion, "I thought it hard to be insulted in my last moments, even by the brave; but to be thus spurned at by thee, who art the meanest of beasts-this, alas! is a double death!"

The resentment of the noble is more easily to be borne than the malice of the base.

SWEARING.

Of all the nauseous, complicated crimes
That both infect and stigmatize the times,
There's none that can with impious oaths compare,
Where vice and folly have an equal share."

THERE is something so low, coarse, and wicked in swearing, that it is surprising that men, who wish to be considered as wise and polite, should ever be found in the habit of it. It is a vice to which there is no temptation, and one of those sins, which are called presumptuous.

Swearing is not only reprobated by the laws of good taste and good manners, but forbidden by the command

TO SENECA LAKE.

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ment of God. He who makes use of oaths, would seem to tell us, that his bare word is not to be takeu

TO SENECA LAKE.

On thy fair bosom, silver lake!
The wild swan spreads its snowy sail.
And round his breast the ripples break,
As down he bears before the gale.

On thy fair bosom, waveless stream!
The dipping paddle echoes far,
And flashes in the moonlight gleam,
And bright reflects the polar star.

The waves along thy pebbly shore,

As blows the north wind, heave their foam,

And curl around the dashing oar,

As late the boatman hies him home.

As sweet, at set of sun, to view
Thy golden mirror, spreading wide,
And see the mist of mantling hue
Float round the distant mountain's side

At midnight hour, as shines the moon,
A sheet of silver spreads below,
And swift she cuts, at highest noon,

Light clouds, like wreathes of purest snow

On thy fair bosom, silver lake!

O! I could ever sweep the oar,
When early birds at morning wake,
And evening teils us toil is o'er.

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MIDNIGHT. THE FLY AND MULE.

MIDNIGHT.

WHEN the unfortunate duke D'Enghien was awakened, in his cell at Valenciennes, to be led to the place of execution, he said to the officer who brought the order, "What do you want?" The officer made no answer. "What o'clock is it?" "Midnight;" answered the officer, with a faltering voice. "Midnight!" exclaimed the prince; "ah, I know what brings you here; this hour is fatal to me-it was at midnight, that I was taken from my house at Ettenheim-at midnight, the dungeon of Strasburg was opened for me at midnight, again, I was taken out to be brought here it is now midnight, and I have lived long enough to know how to die!"

THE FLY AND THE MULE.

A FABLE.

A CONCEITED fly, who sat upon the shaft of a carriage, thus insulted the mule that drew it: "What a lazy beast you are," said she, "wo'nt you move your legs a little faster? Take care, then, that I do not pinch your skin for you, with my pointed sting." "Thou trifling insect!" said the mule, "whatever you can say, is beneath my notice. The person I am afraid of, is he who sits upon the box, and checks my speed with the foaming reins. Away, then, with your triffing insolence; for I know when to hasten, and when to slacken my pace, without being directed by such an impotent being as you are."

This fable is levelled against those frivolous mortals, who affect to give direction, without skill, and to threaten, without power.