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FAVOURITE FABLES.

The panting of each labouring beast
Disturbed her at her fragrant feast ;

The sudden stop, the driver’s sigh,
Awoke her generous sympathy.

And, seeing the distressing case

She cried, while springing from her place,
(Imagining her tiny freight

A vast addition to the weight,)

‘“‘T must have pity—and be gone,

Now, master Waggoner, drive on.”

MORAL.

Do not admire this Butterfly,
Young reader; I will tell you why.
At first, goodnature seems a cause,
Why she should merit your applause ;
But ’twas conceit that filled her breast:
Her self-importance made a jest
Of what might otherwise have claimed
Your praise,—but now she must be blamed.
Should any case occur, when you
May have some friendly act to do;
Give all your feeble aid—as such,
But estimate it not too much.