Then she made a great parade
Of her sympathy and aid,-
Not that she did really grieve,
It was only make-believe,

And she car'd for nothing, so
She might her fine feelings shew,
And get credit, on her part,

For a soft and tender heart.

With such speeches, smoothly made, She found methods to persuade

Margaret (who, being sore

From the doubts she'd felt before,

Was prepared for mistrust)

To believe her reasons just;

Quite destroy'd that comfort glad,
Which in Mary late she had ;
Made her, in experience' spite,
Think her friend a hypocrite,
And resolve, with cruel scoff,
To renounce and cast her off.

See how good turns are rewarded!

She of both is now discarded,

Who to both had been so late

Their support in low estate,

All their comfort, and their stay-
Now of both is cast away.

But the league her presence cherish'd,
Losing its best prop, soon perish'd;
She, that was a link to either,
To keep them and it together,
Being gone, the two (no wonder)
That were left, soon fell asunder ;—
Some civilities were kept,

But the heart of friendship slept;
Love with hollow forms was fed,
But the life of love lay dead :-
A cold intercourse they held,
After Mary was expell'd.

Two long years did intervene
Since they'd either of them seen,
Or, by letter, any word

Of their old companion heard,-
When, upon a day, once walking,
Of indifferent matters talking,
They a female figure met;
Martha said to Margaret,

"That young maid in face does carry A resemblance strong of Mary."

Margaret, at nearer sight,
Own'd her observation right;
But they did not far proceed
Ere they knew 'twas she indeed.
She-but, ah! how chang'd they view her-
From that person which they knew her!
Her fine face disease had scarr'd,
And its matchless beauty marr'd :-

But enough was left to trace

Mary's sweetness-Mary's grace.

When her eye did first behold them,

How they blush'd !—but, when she told them,,

How on a sick bed she lay

-

Months, while they had kept away,
And had no inquiries made
If she were alive or dead ;-
How, for want of a true friend,
She was brought near to her end,
And was like so to have died,
With no friend at her bed-side ;-
How the constant irritation,
Caus'd by fruitless expectation

Of their coming, had extended

The illness, when she might have mended,

Then, O then, how did reflection

Come on them with recollection!

All that she had done for them,
How it did their fault condemn!

But sweet Mary, still the same, Kindly eas'd them of their shame; Spoke to them with accents bland, Took them friendly by the hand; Bound them both with promise fast, Not to speak of troubles past; Made them on the spot declare A new league of friendship there; Which, without a word of strife, Lasted thenceforth long as life. Martha now and Margaret

Strove who most should pay the debt Which they ow'd her, nor did vary Ever after from their Mary.

TO A RIVER IN WHICH A CHILD WAS DROWNED.

SMILING river, smiling river,

On thy bosom sun-beams play};
Though they're fleeting, and retreating,
Thou hast more deceit than they.

In thy channel, in thy channel,

Choak'd with ooze and grav❜lly stones, Deep immersed, and unhearsed,

Lies

young Edward's corse: his bones

Ever whitening, ever whitening,
As thy waves against them dash;
What thy torrent, in the current,
Swallow'd, now it helps to wash.

As if senseless, as if senseless
Things had feeling in this case;
What so blindly, and unkindly,

It destroy'd, it now does grace.