ANACREONTIC. BY MRS. CORNWELL-BARON WILSON. Drink, Man! drink! thy cheek is pale Thy blood is cold and chill! Drink, Man! drink! 'tis vain to mourn; As the bright moments pass! Drink, Man! drink! the World for thee Hath still in store much revelry, For youth is on thy brow; The roses have not ceased to blow, BALLAD. BY JOHN LUKE CLENNELL, ESQ. I love the girl whose sunny smile I love, yes, how I love to see That storm and sunshine meet; For on her cheek tears soon will be, And oh! such tears are sweet! I love the girl whose ruby lip Can breathe as soft a strain, Yet I can listen like a child, And oh! it makes me glad! I love the girl whose heart can beat I love the voice whose tones are sweet, I love the girl whose spirit knows I love, but oh! each symptom shows, BALLAD. He placed his arms around me, As he kiss'd my hueless cheek, Though he cared not to reprove; And I felt like one rejected By a heart too proud to love! They will bid me not to falter, As they deck my brow with gold; But my heart will never alter Till its pulse is still and cold! GENEROSITY AND INJUSTICE. A TALE. BY MISS ANNA MARIA SARGEANT. "How delighted am I to see you, my dear Maria, I was thinking of you, and wishing you might call," exclaimed Georgiana Derwin, as she hastily arose, and flew to embrace her friend with an expression of countenance which proved the words she uttered, to be the genuine feelings of her heart. "I hope you are come to spend the day with me?" she pursued "I have been receiving several unmeaning visits from persons for whom I care not a straw, and your society will relieve me from the ennui which was fast creeping over me." "I am sorry my dear," the young lady addressed made answer, as they together returned to the sofa; "I am sorry I cannot comply with your wishes at this time. Hold!" she added, playfully putting her finger on the lips of her companion, 'stay your reproaches till I have made you acquainted with the object of my present visit; I am on an errand of charity, and have at least twenty persons to call upon this morning. I came to my dear Georgiana first, thinking her generosity would be a stimulus for others to follow her example." Georgiana immediately drew her purse from her reticule. "I have to plead," Maria continued, "for indigent merit. A poor votary of the Muses, who has lately suffered great hardships from the failure of the business by which he once supported himself and family, has resolved to attempt bettering his condition by the publication of a poem, and has requested me to advocate his cause among my friends." "What will be the price of each copy?" Miss Derwin eagerly inquired." "Half a guinea.' "Put my name down then for ten." "Ten?" inquired her companion in surprise. “Yes, I shall make presents of them among my friends, they will make very charming presents for my cousins. You know I always purchase them a birth-day gift, there will therefore be economy in my liberality; I shall serve this poor man, and spend no more than I otherwise should do before many months are over." Her companion smiled. "Well my dear," she made reply, "I am pleased with your generous subscription. It will be a noble example for others but I feared your finances might not be able to bear so heavy a call just now.' "As to that Georgiana," returned, at the same time throwing the contents of her silken purse carelessly into her lap, "this is all I have remaining of my present quarter's allowance. Let me see; six sovereigns-well that will leave me fifteen shillings, and I know not that I shall want to purchase anything till another is due, excepting it may be a few pair of gloves or some such trifle, and that I can get without paying for. Oh I shall be so glad when I am of age, that I may have all my money at my own disposal, that I may buy what I like, and give away what I like; but that will not be for nearly four years, for I am but just turned seventeen you know" and she sighed heavily. "My Aunt really keeps me very short," she rejoined," she tells me I want discretion. Oh I hate the very word, I hear so much of it, it is sounding in my ears from morning till night; however, I do not mean to complain of her, she is a kind good creature notwithstanding old people are apt to be a little penurious, but I think the only value of money is in spending it abroad in purchasing what we want for ourselves and making others happy." "Some my dear," Maria made answer, "but it is requisite our very generosity should be tempered by prudence." Certainly, we should not bestow our bounty on unworthy objects." "Nay more," her friend pursued, "we should not only prove if the object is worthy, but whether the means we use to relieve that object is directed in the right channel; otherwise, we may sometimes injure rather than benefit.” "Ah Maria, you are more of a philosopher than I am, but you are a few years older, and perhaps I shall be wiser in time; however, take the five guineas, there is nothing I love better than to relieve genius and merit in distress. Your protegée has my best wishes, and I will not even be so selfish as to detain you, dearly as I prize your society." Here the young ladies again embraced and parted. Ah, sighed Georgiana, as she threw herself again upon the sofa, I wish I could make every heart that is unhappy as light as my own. I have not a single care, excepting when I have spent my quarter's allowance too soon, or my Cousin Grahame looks distressed, which he sometimes does at what he terms my follies,-I should not wonder, indeed, if he knew of it, if he would condemn me now for giving away five guineas to one person, and leaving myself only fifteen shillings for acts of charity, and necessary expenses. I must not ask a loan of him if I am in ever such distress, or he will want an account of every shilling I have spent. I know not why I should gratify his curiosity though, and yet I love him so dearly I can refuse him nothing, and I know he does not ask from idle curiosity but from a wish to do me good-dear creature. Ah, he will be home from College in a few days, and then I shall be happy. Thus soliloquised the young lady, whose character we deem has by this time developed itself, but whose history it may not be amiss to present to our readers. Georgiana Derwin had lost both her parents before she was able to understand the title; but their tender care had been well supplied by the kindness of an Aunt on the maternal side, under whose fostering hand she was educated, together with her six cousins. Mrs. Catesby was a woman of high principles, good understanding, and accomplished mind; she chose rather to fulfill the office of governess towards her children than hire a stranger for that purpose, hoping by this means to more effectually ground them in matters she deemed the most essential in forming the right basis for the superstructure. But this good lady with all her excellencies wanted that winning manner and gentle persuasive power which never fails to subdue youth, which renders discipline light, and easy to be endured and labour almost recreation. The result was, her children feared and respected rather than loved her, and Georgiana naturally volatile and gay, conceived from her rigid manners something like a dislike of instruction. Thus she was continually in some disgrace, and but for the pleadings of Grahame, the eldest of her Cousins who was ever her advocate, she would far oftener have been the subject of chastisement; whenever an opportunity occurred of his bearing the blame in her stead, he never failed to do so, and it was this generosity so consonant with her own feelings which won her deep regard; he became the dearest object life contained, and his quitting the parental roof for College was the first severe sorrow she endured. As they grew older, and reason expanded, this fervent affection strengthened, nor did it meet with the disapproval of the elders of the family. Mrs. Catesby had discernment to per ceive the sterling good qualities which dwelt in he Neice's breast, notwithstanding her volalitity anc indiscretions, and hoped that time and her Son's superior judgment and firmer mind, would counteract and subdue their ill-consequences. How long Georgiana would have remained in delightful musings on the expected happiness of seeing her beloved cousin is uncertain, had she not been interrupted by the entrance of the girl who acted the part of waiting-woman to all the young ladies (Mrs. Catesby rightly deeming it quite superfluous for each to have a maid). She bore in her hand a long piece of paper containing an account of articles purchased at different periods of a milliner when the quarterly allowance had been expended too soon, which was not a very rare occurrence. Georgiana trembled as she took the paper in her hand, and her trepidation increased when she viewed the amount, and Janet at the same time informed her the milliner's daughter waited below for the sum. "I have not a tenth part of the money!" she exclaimed, "you must tell her to call in a fortnight, and by that time I shall have my fresh quarter and be able to settle it." "The girl made me promise, I would entreat you to let me have it," Janet pursued, as she said her mother, who is a widow, was in great distress; she has been for some weeks ill, which has put a stop to her business, increased her expenses, &c." "Hold, hold," interrupted Georgiana, "pray tell me no more; what shall I do, I have only a few shillings in the world; my Aunt, I dare not apply to; she would be angry if she knew I had contracted a debt; my cousins, have none of them any money, I know, excepting Harriet, and she is from home, what shall I do?" "I do not know indeed, Miss," was Janet's answer, and Georgiana burst into a fresh paroxyism of grief. "Oh! that I had not bought these articles! Oh! that Harriet or Grahame were here! Oh! that I had not given away that five guineas! But it is too late to repent. Here, Janet, take this fifteen shillings, perhaps you can add to it a few of your own; if you can, I will repay you double when I receive some more; tell her I have given her my all, but she shall have the rest soon-yes, | the expressions of pleasure reiterated, it looks as in a few days, for I will borrow it of Grahame when he comes." Janet retired to follow her mistress's commands, leaving that young lady in a state of mind far from enviable. On the day appointed Grahame Catesby arrived, and the heart of Georgiana beat high with pleasure, only interrupted by the thought of the disclosure she was to make of her indiscretions, and the leave she was to ask. But she could not enter upon it on the first day of his arrival; she could not bear to incur his rebuke so soon. The next was devoted to a variety of visits; no opportunity therefore occurred during its hours for she saw him not alone; she retired dissatisfied to her pillow, but on the following day they had planned an equestrian excursion. Grahame would, of course, be her companion, and as they rode alone she resolved the disclosure should be made; with this determination, Georgiana closed her eyes for sleep. The party were to assemble to breakfast at the house of Mrs. Catesby; they came, and the morning was bright and favourable, but he, for whom the excursion was planned, was absent. In some alarm his mother made inquiry of the servants if he was up or had been seen; the answer was, "that he had arisen early as was his custom to take a morning stroll." Breakfast was concluded, and Mrs. Catesby in increased anxiety rung to desire some one might be sent in quest of her son. Georgiana with tears in her eyes longed to propose herself as the messenger, and whilst things were in this state the object of their solicitude entered. An exclamation of pleasure escaped the lips of every one present, and Georgiana, whose feelings were not often subject to restraint, burst into tears. Grieved at the distressing fears he had awakened Grahame apologized for his absence; an act of mercy, he said, had alone caused his detention, and he trusted the party would pardon his seeming neglect. The horses were ordered, the equestrians equipped, and soon the gay cavalcade moved in procession from the door forgetful of the anxiety of which they had so lately been the subjects, Georgiana alone excepted, who longed to know what act of goodness her dear Grahame had performed, and trusted he would make it known to her during the course of the day. though the heart felt what the lips uttered. "What a lovely morning," cried Georgiana for about the twentieth time. "Oh, how happy and how gay every thing looks! The birds, how sweetly they are singing, they must be happy! The flowers, I could fancy the flowers look happy, they seem to raise their beautiful heads, and smile, amid their most odoriferous perfumes! winds seem happy as they murmur by! The brooks and rivers appear joyous in the warm sunbeams! and the very skies seem to look down upon us with smiles !" The Georgiana," returned he, accompanied with a scrutinizing look, "what is happiness?" "I know not, dear Grahame," replied the lighthearted girl, "in what the happiness of others may consist, but mine depends on the affection and presence of those I love, and in seeing every thing joyous around me." "Then you could be happy supposing all the misery of the world were hidden from your sight?" he added with further emphasis. "There is always misery in this wide world," Georgianna made answer, "and if we were continually to think of it we should be unceasingly wretched; surely, Grahame, you do not deem such is the will of God, else would the most sensitive ever feel the heaviest load of misery ?" .6 Nay, nay" and Grahame paused, "Can you conceive dear Georgiana," he pursued, "of been the means of injuring another?" a generous person being happy when they had Georgiana started. "Surely Grahame could not be made acquainted with her late indiscretions?" and the conscience-stricken girl cast her eyes to theground. "No," she with difficulty articulated, "certainly not." "Shall I tell you the circumstance which caused plaining the drift of his last question. my delay this morning ?" he asked, without ex Oh, yes, dear Grahame, I am all anxiety to know," was her eager reply, delighted to drop the subject. "You are aware, my dear Georgiana," he began, "I am in the habit of taking a morning walk; I find it braces the frame, and gives me more vigour both of body and mind for the studies or other occupations of the day. This morning I rambled up and down some of the lesser streets, It was a brilliant morning in May, and as our which were almost vacant, when I was attracted party quitted the confines of the town a fresh life to a shop in which were some beautiful artificial seemed to animate their frames; a gentle breeze flowers for sale. I thought of you and my sisters, wafted the odours of the innumerable flowers to and entered with the intention of being a purchaser. regale the smell, the ear caught the music of the As no one answered my repeated calls and knocks, groves, and the eye wandered over a landscape of and I was unwilling to go without your presents, surpassing loveliness. There are some of Nature's I ventured to tap at a door at the extremity of the most enchanting scenes in the very neighbourhood shop, which I judged must lead into the sittingof the metropolis, as though her Almighty Maker room of the family-nor was I mistaken; but the had designed its inmates should with little diffiscene which presented itself in that apartment culty embrace the pleasures they afford. when the door opened to my touch, I think I "Oh, whata lovely morning," was the oft-repeat-shall never forget! A man of ruffian-like aspect ed exclamation of Georgiana as she rode by the side of her cousin, with a heart beating in unison with the scene. Gentle reader have you not often done the same when enjoying a similar treat? if you have not I envy not your feelings. I love to hear was dragging a middle-aged respectable-looking woman, pale and haggard with sickness and distress, from a couch upon which she seemed to have been reclining; a girl, of about fifteen, knelt with clapsed hands and upraised eyes, imploring him to desist, while two younger children clung around their mother, weeping bitterly." "Was he dragging her to a prison?" Georgiana asked in breathless anxiety. "Even so, I shortly understood, for a debt it was not in the poor woman's power to liquidate; not from any extravagance of her own, but from the unprincipled and thoughtless conduct of those persons she in her turn trusted." "Poor woman!" sighed Georgiana, thoughtfully. "How little," Grahame pursued, "do persons of fashion consider, when they give an order for the decorations of their persons, and fail to make the just return in its proper time,--how little do they think of the wretchedness they may be causing; they forget their tradespeoples' bills will be due at certain seasons, whether they pay or not, and if the latter, their ruin must be the consequence." "And did you do any thing to relieve the poor woman and her family?" Georgianna asked in great concern. "I did-I paid the man his claim, and thus relieved them from their heaviest calamity." About five years transformed Georgiana Derwin into Mrs. Grahame Catesby, and never were nuptials solemnized under happier auspices. Hers was not now the happiness she formerly felt, derived from the elastic spirits of youth, wrought upon by pleasurable scenes and smiling faces, but that happiness which is far more permanent, grounded upon the approval of her conscience and the unwavering and deserved love and esteem of him who was the world to her. In a small but elegant mansion, not far removed from the metropolis, they reside, dispensing joy to all within the precincts of their abode. Georgiana has now learned to temper generosity with prudence and justice; and often does she talk of the incident which first impressed, by dear-bought experience, the wholesome duty on her mind. "Dear, kind, generous Grahame!" she inter- TO A BELOVED WIFE, NOW NO MORE, rupted, and she could with difficulty prevent herself from endeavouring to throw her arms round his neck. "Then," he pursued, "I sat down to consult with her as to the best means of re-establishing her in her business." "And what means did you adopt?" "She gave me a list of her debtors; I agreed to visit them severally for her, and state her situation, pressing on them to settle the demands she claimed, that she may be once again reinstated in competence." Georgiana turned pale. "One of her creditors," Grahame continued, fixing his eyes on his companion, " is a young lady, who, though amiable, generous, and one who could not deliberately injure a fly, must be thoughtless and inconsiderate in the highest degree; she has an allowance from her family quite sufficient to satisfy all her demands, yet she incurs debts without their knowledge, for articles quite superfluous, nay almost useless." Spare me, spare me !" interrupted Georgiana, bursting into a passion of tears; spare me, dear Grahame, I am punished enough without your reproaches-I shall die beneath your anger.' "I am not angry," he answered, and he cast on her one of his most affectionate smiles; "I only trust it will be a lesson to you for the future." "It shall! oh, yes, it shall !" she sobbed. "Dry your tears, I entreat you, dear cousin," Grahame continued, "I cannot bear to see you weep; the widow and her little ones are happy now, and you must be happy too,-only bear in mind the circumstances when you again feel tempted to incur a debt which is unnecessary." "The articles were many of them presents for my younger cousins, of artificial flowers and ribbons" she returned. "You must for the future, my dear Georgiana, be just before you are generous," he pursued; ON HER BIRTH-DAY. Once more we see a tinge of green Adorn each budding tree; Once more we hail Spring's op'ning scene, Heedless of Winter's bygone hours, We cast off thoughts of gloom, A joy of higher tone; My hopes, my fears,-my all- I come to bless thee, love, and praise Who thus with lengthen 'd life repays The pious heart's firm trust. Thy lot has been too full of pain, To make thee long for life; E'en when thy pray'rs have been to die, To-day thou blessest us with smiles, That shew thy heart's at peace; That ere we run out Time's last glass, Our children may around us rise, Then, when they close our dying eyes, J. M. LACEY. THE POWER OF SONG. In the centre of a garden stood a small though beautiful Grecian temple, surrounded by the choicest flowers; the rising sun was shedding on them his first beams, and each passing breeze was loaded with the most delicious perfume; within the Temple sat a young Greek maiden, in all her native loveliness, her braided locks descending on a neck of snow; a simple robe of purest white, veiled, though it could not hide, the beautiful proportions of her perfect form; no gorgeous ornament marred the effect of Nature's own handy-work, one blushing rose alone carelessly entwined amid her dark tresses contrasted with the whiteness of her polished forehead; her eyes were cast downward, and now and then a tear trembled in their deeplyfringed lashes; beside her was a youthful warrior, whose arm encircled her slender waist, and whose cheek rested on her silken hair, as he fondly bent over her, and murmured in accents of tendernses, "Bear up, my sweet Ione, for soon proud Syracuse must yield to the Athenian arms, and fear not thou but soon I shall return with laurels crowned to claim my lovely bride! "Nay, nay, cheer thee, fond one; their blind security will make our conquest easy; then cast away thy fears, and let the remembrance of thy parting smile support me in the weary hours of absence." The distant hum of busy voices came floating on the morning breeze, with the measured tramp of many feet; there seemed a general stir, and now a trumpet's shrill and lengthened blast strikes on the warrior's ear, he clasps the maiden in a close embrace, and then with quick and eager pace he hurries forth, yet turns to cast on her one lingering look of love. Ione's soul seemed to have caught the enthusiasm of his, and a bright smile lighted up her lovely countenance as she waved a last adieu. caught a glimmering light, a faint idea, of that great Being in his works, which made the proudest efforts of vain man sink into insignificance, and though not unmoved when the trumpet's animating sound issued from a hundred ships at once, met by loud acclamations from the shore, yet (when solemn prayers had been offered to the Gods, the usual libations poured out, the triumphant pœan sung in full chorus, and their swelling sails were loosened to the wind, their gay streamers fluttering in the breeze, and their stately barks gliding gracefully out of port, and breasting the foaming waves) then did his features for a moment wear an expression of mournful foreboding, as gathering his plain robe around him, the boast of Greece and wonder of after ages-Socrates, left the Piræus. Alas! how short the time ere in a damp unwholesome cavern, shut out from the light of day, and condemned to hard labour, were many of the noblest and the bravest of those Athenian troops, among whom was the young Aigonides, his fine form wasted, his features rigid, his brow contracted, his spirit broken, his eye fixed in vacancy, he seemed to move like an automaton, and now "O my Aigonides, too well I know thy daring threw himself down beside his miserable pittance spirit will bear thee midst the thickest of the fight of barley-and-water, unheedful of his companions and oh! I fear some hostile spear may pierce the in misfortune, and unconscious that their number noble heart which beats for poor Ione!" was increased by the presence of a Spartan boy, for such his dress bespoke him, as much as it might be seen in the dim light which surrounded them; he had entered tremblingly, and gazing anxiously and silently around him, he at length seemed attracted by the fixed and stern woe of Aigonides, he suddenly retreated, and apparently overcome by some strong emotion, leant for support against a jutting crag, he again retreated, and soon from the deep obscurity of the Mine arose sounds which, to the ear of the Athenians, seemed something more than human; they thrilled to the heart of the before insensible Aigonides; for the first time the hero wept. It was a sweetly plaintive air, breathed by a voice soft as the downy breath of morning, and in the melodious accents of their country, described the parting of lovers; in mute astonishment, they listened with strained ear to the last mournful sounds, as they gradually died away, and then rushed simultaneously to the spot from whence the voice had proceeded, but no one was there they saw only their harsh guards, who roughly reminded them the time allotted for their coarse meal was past, and bade them renew their labours. In blank and sullen disappointment they obeyed, but when the toil of the day was over, and they threw themselves on their hard couch to snatch the short repose allowed them, then did the remembrance of that sweet voice haunt their dreams, and soothe their uneasy slumbers, until awakened to commence their daily toil. As the hour approached at which they were accustomed to receive their coarse food, the stern apathy of Aigonides was changed to restlessness, and as he threw himself beside his untasted meal, his eye was no longer fixed, but wandered constantly in seeming expectation of some object, but still in vain, though ere long the same sweet voice broke on their eager ear; it sung not now of love, but told a tale of heroes; more and more animated became the martial strain, as in the verses of their Brilliant was the spectacle beheld that morning from the Piraeus by the groupes of citizens and strangers there assembled. The flower of the Athenian youth were embarking under the command of the heroic Nicias, vieing with each other in the costliness and elegance of their equipment; here the fond wife, the tender parent, the smiling offspring, were seen in interesting groups, watching the departure of those most dear to them in life; fear, sorrow, then a proud consciousness of the superior force of the Athenian arms, possessed their hearts by turns, and gave an ever-varying expression to their features. But one there was standing apart, with placid countenance and calm observing eye, on whom the splendid pageant seemed to lose its imposing effect; and as he gazed upon each parting friend, a look of pity seemed to say he thought such glory bought at far too high a price, and then his eye was raised as though some holier thought had caused him to survey the vast and boundless canopy of Heaven; and when next he viewed the splendid armament, his look of pity was mingled with a smile of scorn, as though his mind, soaring beyond all others, in that age of darkness, had |