You ever parents knew, whose love
Nought to your wishes left;

Think then the wretch that he must prove,
Of parents' care bereft!

Then your lov'd sister's feeling heart

It must for misery bleed;

For her dear sake the boon impart,
Ah! can she vainly plead.

Oh then, sweet master, break my chain,
And grant me liberty;

Give me to taste of LIFE again;

He only LIVES, who's FREE.

(Original.)

THE MATERNAL EXPEDIENT.

A TALE FOR MOTHERS.

B.

Founded on a beautiful Greek Epigram, supposed to have been written by Archias.

WHERE Crissa's cliff, high rising o'er the main,
In sullen majesty o'erhangs its base,
An ivy'd cottage graced the verdant plain,
Full oft reflected on the watery space.

There sad Lysippe wept her busband lost,

Torn from her arms by honour's stern command; Those waves had borne him from that fatal coast, Those waves restored him, lifeless, on the sand! There oft at eve, unseen, she walk'd alone, Now gazing on the vast expanse below, Now listening to the murmuring billows' moan, She seem'd a moving monument of woe! Obtrusive memory lov'd each hour to trace Some sacred vestige of her husband's name; Nor could creation's brightest charms efface His heart-drawn picture from its drooping frame. Yet, 'midst her woes, one comfort she received, One cheering solace to her lonely hours; A lovely pledge of tried affection liv'd,

And waken'd all the mother's latent powers.

With watchful eye she mark'd his dawning worth,
And fondly hung upon his infant smile;
Maternal fondness lov'd to lead him forth,

And with her charge the lingering hours beguile.
One morn, when chance had op'd the cottage door,
On hands and knees the babe had crept, unseen,
Beyond the precincts of his native floor,

Delighted with the sun-beams on the green. LYSIPPE miss'd her charge-her anxious breast Swell'd at th' imagin'd danger of her child; Breathless, she rang'd the cot in frantic haste, Search'd every spot, and call'd in accents wild. She sought the plain---but who can paint the shock That seiz'd her frame, when, on a jutting edge, She spied her infant bending o'er the rock,

His little hands grasping th' o'erhanging sedge. In speechless agony-quite void of breath,

Feeling as mothers feel, transfix'd she stood;
What could she dare? to stir was instant death-
And not to stir---to hear the roaring flood.

O thou blest Providence, who rul'st the skies;
Sure 'twas thy voice inspir'd the sudden thought !---
She bar'd her breast---hope trembl'd in her eyes---
The well-known breast the child's attention caught.
One moment he had roll'd into the flood---

Lysippe darted towards the air-borne glebe,
And seiz'd her boy.---Ah, Nature's softest food!
Thou art a mother's bribe to save her babe!

G. P. B.

THE HEIRESS OF GLENALVON.

A Tale, by Selina Davenport, continued.

The lady, thus compelled to continue the guest of Mrs. Archdall, requested, that, if convenient, her ser vant might be allowed to attend her; this request was instantly complied with, and late in the evening a very respectable elderly female arrived, who said that she was the person to whom Mrs. Archdall's messenger had delivered the letter of her lady.

.

The stranger had now passed a week in the house of Captain Archdall, during which time, although constantly attended by her own domestic, she nevertheless received the tenderest attentions from Mrs. Archdall, who made a point of devoting to lier the chief of her leisure moments; while, with a delicacy of mind which was not lost upon her visitor, she refrained from touching upon the subject of her family or of her concerns, nor ever once dropped a hint that she felt the remotest curiosity to learn the name and connexions of the per-i son to whom she, was thus performing the kindest offices of friendliness and disinterested benevolence.

Disinterested it might be termed, in the perfect sense of the term, for neither the Captain nor Mrs. Archdall ever for a moment looked forward to any remuneration from one, whose appearance, if any thing, bespoke finances even more slender than their own, and whe VOL. I. No. II.

G

perhaps was labouring under difficulties which ren dered the concealment of her name and circumstances necessary. This seemed to be the case, as the lady's servant observed the strictest caution as to every thing which related to her mistress and her affairs.

At length the stranger was pronounced by her medical attendant to be in a state of sufficient convalescence to remove, if she wished, to her own abode, as his visits were no longer necessary for the continuation of her health.

"In that case, sir," said the stranger," it is customary to deliver in an early account of the medicines which the patient has taken, receive your money, make your bow, and perhaps forgot that such a person ever existed. Our knowledge of each other must not, however, be of so transient a date. Since the day on which your assistance became necessary, I have received from you every attention, every kind support; I am therefore too much your debtor to pay the whole at once : for the present I must beg your acceptance of this trifle, and shall expect to see you the first leisure hour you have to spare.'

She then presented him with her card of address, and a bank note of twenty pounds. This generous and handsome reward for his services greatly astonished the doctor, who, as well as Mrs. Archdall, had conceived the idea of his patient being any thing but rich. He, however, expressed his thanks for her liberality, and promised not to let many days elapse before he called

on her in town.

"And now, my dear friends," said the lady as soon as he was gone, 66 you hear that I have free permission to leave you as soon as I please, but would you believe it, I could almost find the heart to feign sick again, that I might continue some time longer under your hospitable roof."

"There is no occasion for that," replied Mrs. Archdall, smiling affectionately on her guest; "since we shall be equally sorry to lose your society. I regret that the smallness of our house, and other circumstances, have circumscribed our means of rendering your stay more agreeable.”

"It has been just what I wished, and more than I

had expected," said the stranger gravely. "I have been happy---happier than I ever imagined I should be again. To you and Captain Archdall I am a perfect stranger, yet you received me into your house, made me partake of its comforts, and bestowed on me all the endearing attentions and watchful assiduities of the tenderest relations. You did this to an utter stranger, and without the hope of reward, except from Heaven."

The countenance of Captain Archdall became crimson at these last words of the stranger, but she continued: "Yes, without the hope of reward, for neither my appearance, nor conversation, could lead you to suppose that I was capable of offering you any remuneration for the expense which you must necessarily have incurred on my account.'

"We do not wish, my dear madam, for any other remuneration," cried the captain hastily," than what we have already received in witnessing your recovery, and the pleasure which I have enjoyed in your society since you have been well enough to admit me into your chamber."

"My very dear friend," said the lady, placing her hand on his shoulder," my heart, torn and bleeding as it is from disappointments which poison my existence, still faithfully believes the disinterestedness of your conduct, still cherishes with delight the new-born hope, that time may make amends, in some degree, for the past, and that your friendship and that of Mrs. Archdall may be granted to my prayers, that my future years may not be unblest by the soothing voice of pure affection, and that my last moments may be spent with one, who I can feel assured loves me with all that ardour and enthusiasm of tenderness, which it shall be my business to excite. You look surprised, but I will explain."

After a pause of a moment, the stranger resumed: "At a period not far distant, you shall be acquainted with my history;. at present, it is only necessary to say, that since my thirtieth year, I have passed my life in the country, in endeavouring, I hope, to render those who depended on me for support, happier than myself. The world has long ceased to hold forth to me any charms, any allurements; and I have, until lately, very lately, believed that it scarcely contained one being,