nd elephant,
In awful ranks where brazen statues stand,
The polish'd works of Grecia's skillful hand;
Nor dazzling palace view, whose portals proud
Each morning vomit out the cringing crowd;
Nor wear the tissu'd garment's cumb'rous pride,
Nor seek soft wool in Syrian purple dy'd,
Nor with fantastic luxury defile
The native sweetness of the liquid oil;
Yet calm content, secure from guilty cares,
Yet home-felt pleasure, peace, and rest, are theirs;
Leisure and ease, in groves, and cooling vales,
Grottoes, and bubbling brooks, and darksome dales;
The lowing oxen, and the bleating sheep,
And under branching trees delicious sleep!
There forests, lawns, and haunts of beasts abound,
There youth is temperate, and laborious found;
There altars and the righteous gods are fear'd,
And aged sires by duteous sons rever'd.
There Justice linger'd ere she fled mankind,
And left some traces of her reign behind!

_Georgics II. Warton._

EMPLOYMENTS OF THE BEE.

(_By Virgil._)

If all things with great we may compare,
Such are the bees, and such their busy care:
Studious of honey, each in his degree,
The youthful swain, the grave, experienced bee;
That in the field; this in affairs of state,
Employed at home, abides within the gate,
To fortify the combs, to build the wall,
To prop the ruins, lest the fabric fall:
But late at night, with weary pinions come
The laboring youth, and heavy laden home.
Plains, meads, and orchards, all the day he plies,
The gleans of yellow thyme distend his thighs:
He spoils the saffron flowers, he sips the blues
Of violets, wilding blooms, and willow dews.
Their toil is common, common is their sleep;
They shake their wings when morn begins to peep;
Rush through the city gates without delay,
Nor ends their work but with declining day:
Then, having spent the last remains of light,
They give their bodies due repose at night;
When hollow murmurs of their evening bells
Dismiss the sleepy swains, and toll them to their cells.

_Georgics IV. Dryden._

[Illustration: VIRGIL AND HORACE.]

PUNISHMENTS IN HELL.

(_By Virgil._)

Now to the left, AEneas darts his eyes,
Where lofty walls with tripple ramparts rise.
There rolls swift Phlegethon, w