'And, now, to show how much I prize 'The joys which from your bounties rise, Each coupled with so dear a brother, 'I'll give you one to take the other. 'Avaunt! depart from whence you came, 'And think it well that I am lame.' Enrag'd and griev'd, away she flew, And with her gifts from Hodge withdrew. Now, in this sad repentant hour, Celestial Virtue tried her pow'r; For Wealth, Content and Health she Th' unenvied treasures of the slave. From wild desires she set him free, And fill'd his breast with Charity! No more loud trumpets Riot breeds, And Temp❜rance Gluttony succeeds. Hodge, in his native cot at rest,

Now Virtue found and thus address'd:

gave,

Say, for 'tis your's, by proof, to know, 'Can Virtue give thee bliss below? • Content my gift, and Temp'rance mine, 'And Charity, tho' meek, divine!*

With blushing cheeks, and kindling eyes, The man, transported, thus replies : 'Fair Virtue, on this favour'd head, "The life of life, thy blessings shed! 'My annual thousands when I told, 'Insatiate still, I sigh'd for gold; 'You gave Content, a boundless store, 'And, rich indeed! I sigh'd no more—

• With Temp'rance came, delightful guest!
'Health, tasteful food, and balmy rest;
'With Charity's seraphic flame,

Each gen'rous, social pleasure came;
'Pleasures, which in possession, rise,
* And retrospective thoughts supplies.
Long to attest it may I live,

That, all Vice promises, you give."

Vice heard, and swore that Hodge, for hire, Had giv'n his verdict like a lawyer;

And Virtue, turning with disdain,
Vow'd ne'er to speak to Vice again.c

FABLE LVIII.

THE ANT AND THE BEE.

By Thomas Adney.

THIS life, 'tis said, is all a bubble,
And Man is born to toil and trouble!
I grant the fact, and likewise know
His bread is earn'd by sweat of brow,
So 'tis ordained! But yet this creature
Is so perverse and strange in nature,
That all your favours, to conclude,
Meet with the worst ingratitude!

An Ant remote from noise and strife, Each year regal'd her active life: Her cell she form'd with busy art, And stor'd it well in ev'ry part; In summer months she roam'd abroad, And ev'ry day increas'd her hoard ;So, when stern Winter rul'd the plains, And bound the streams with icy chains, Within her cell she plenty shar'd, Nor e'er the hand of famine fear'd. It chanc'd, as loaded home one day A Bee she met in colours gay; Intent the strangers stood awhileAt length the Bee, with courteous smile, The little Negro Queen address'd:

Hey, neighbour! why not yet at rest? My burthen can't with your's compare, 'I take it buzzing thro' the air,

'While you upon an uncouth road, 'Are doom'd to drag a cumb'rous load!' 'It may be so,' the Ant replied,

''Tis mine to toil in humble pride;

My wealth in winter proves a treat, And serves me with delicious meat; 'I then my labour much commend, • For that will always yield a friend! In higher life you spend your hours, And, blest with all the choicest flowers, You cull each sweet, and soon contrive 'To wing it to your straw-built hive;

'With loaded thighs of colours bright, 'To give that creature, Man, delight! 'Your honey'd comb he takes away, 'Your wax, the work of ev'ry day, "With cruel hands, in plunder warm, He claims as his-and burns the swarm! And thus his gratitude is plain,—

He kills you for the sake of gain.'

'True,' said the Bee, with savage ire,

And unprovok'd, he lights the pyre;

But view him to his fellow creature, 'He's just as savage in his nature;

And all the favours you extend,

Are ill-requited in the end.'

Thus good conferr'd, in ev'ry stage, Too oft, is left to passion's rage; Which, uncontrol'd, the stronger grows, And brings us to the brink of woes. Ingratitude, of crimes the worst, Is Man's! Yet held by Men accurst!

FABLE LIX.

THE LOAD-STONE AND THE MIRROR.

By William Ashburnham, Jun.

A LOAD-STONE of peculiar taste,
The inmate of a tweezer case,
(This case the present of an Earl,
Blaz'd bright with jewels, foil, and pearl)
Exulting in his splendid station,
Broke forth into a grand oration:
'Merit, like mine, is sure to find
The admiration of mankind;

My palace shines with gems and gold 'Like Persian Palaces of old;

Applauded by the fair and great, Environ'd with the pomp of state; 'Like any prince I pass my days, Fum'd with the flattery of praise.

My Lady comes; the bell she rings,— 'Le Blois the silver platter brings; 'Needles of steel, in number plenty, 'Are flung thereon (from ten to twenty): 'I make them caper, dance the hays, A thousand different freakish ways. 'If one is lost from mortal sight, 'My genius brings it quick to light: