gage as a servant with the intruder, and thus unsuspected, carry into effect such instructions asl should give him. The plan was successful, and my trnsty agent was gladly engaged on the strength of the very respectable references which he was allowed to give. My first directions were, that he should as early as might be done without exciting attention, gain access to the chamber where Mr. F. breathed his last, and secure the bible, a description of which I furnished him from the lips of Miss Lucy. Thus tutored, my spy went into the camp of the enemy, and until I again saw him every day seemed a year, so strong an interest does a man involuntarily take in a scheme of his own suggestion. My pains were, however, nobly repaid, when my intelli- gent agent brought me the bible which I had enjoined him to obtain, with the important and long lost will, laid in that portion of it appro- priated to the Record of Births and Deaths. The document was open, and the deceased had probably been consulting this Register of his joys and sorrows with reference to some addition to his testamentary dispositions, very shortly before the fatal blow that left his interesting niece without a protector. To those who love to taste the luxury of doing good,” I leave it, to imagine the pleasure with which I again accom- panied Mr. Percival to the humble dwelling of my lovely client, and the delight with which I received the warm expressions of her gratitude, for my successful exertions. The provisions of the will were distinguished by the same liberal spirit as the character of the testator; a sum sufficient to meet every reasonable want of his profligate son, was to be paid him annually, from a fund in the hands of Mr. Percival, as trustee, and after the death of Augustus, the principal was to fall into the bulk of the estate which was to be paid to Lucy on her arrival at the age of maturity. The remaining incidents in my tale are easily anticipated; the will was duly proved, and although some quibbling attempts were made to invalidate it, a few weeks saw my fair client re-instated in all the affluence of her former en- viable situation. Her wretched cousin, like the generality of those addicted to his disgraceful vices, soon fell a victim to intemperance, and his wife, as I supposed the person to be with whom he associated, I think became an inhabitant of a prison, for a larceny or burglary. It may seem an imputation on my gallantry, as well as a de- parture from the acknowledged proprieties of any tale in which a lovely girl figures conspicu- ously, but the truth must be told; the reward of my services was not the fair hand of Lucy Bel- travers, for a good reason, to wit, that I never solicited it, but merely the unsentimental but very professional quid pro quo, a check from Mr. Percival, to a very respectable amount. Let no admirer of “* The Sorrows of Werter,” sneer at this avowal; let it be remembered that I, nut choosing to address her, lovely and spotless as she was, had no right to force an obligation upon one, who very properly refused to accept as a gratuity, services which she was so abund- antly able ‘to compensate. With this defence against the anticipated criticisms of the ill na- tured or the sentimental, I terminate my first "Reminiscence.”
THE FREED BIRD.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
Returns, return, my bird!
I have dressed thy cage with flowers,
’Tis lovely as a violet bank
In the heart of forest bowers.
“I am free, I am free,—I return no more!
The weary time of the cage is o'er!
Through the rolling clouds I can soar on high,
The sky is around me—the blue bright sky!
“The hills lie beneath me, spread far and clear,
With their glowing heath-flowers and bounding deer,
I see the waves flash on the sunny shore—
I am free, I am free,—I return no more!”
Alas, alas, my bird!
Why seek’st thou to be free?
Wert thou not blest in thy little bower,
When thy song breathed nought but glee?
“Did my song of summer breathe nought but glee?
Did the voice of the captive seem sweet to thee?
Oh! had'st thou known its deep meaning well,
It had tales of a burning heart to tell.
“From a dream of the forest that music sprang,
Through its notes the peal of a torrent rang;
And its dying fall, when it soothed thee best,
Sighed for wild flowers ang a leafy nest."
Was it with thee thus, my bird?
Yet thine eye flash’d clear and bright!
I have seen the glance of the sudden joy
In its quick and dewy light.
“It flash'd with the fire of a tameless race,
With the soul of the wild wood, my native place!
With the spirit that panted through heaven to soar—
Woo me not back—I return no more!
“My home is high, amidst rocking trees,
My kindred things are the star and breeze,
And the fount unchecked in its lonely play,
And the odours that wander afar—away!”
Farewell, farewell, thou bird!
I have called on spirits gone,
And it may be they joy like thee to part,
Like thee that wert all my own.
“If they were captives, and pined like me,
Though love might calm them, they joyed to be free;
They sprung from the earth with a burst of power,
To the strength of their wings, to their triumph’s hour!
“Call them not back when the chain is riven,
When the way of the pinion is all through heaven.
Farewell!—With my song through the clouds I soar,
I pierce the blue skies—I am earth’s no more!”’
