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That is broken with sighs,
The moonlight is hid
ALICE Clay was born near Cincinnati, Ohio, in the year 1822, and lived there till 1950, when she removed to New-York city. Like many others, whom obstacles rather help than hinder, despite of early educational disadvantage, she found her way to generous culture; a fact which abundantly appears in her writings. She has a younger sister, Phæbe, who is, also, an authoress, and, in connection with whom, in 1850, she published a volume of poems: the work being the result of their joint labor. Under the name “ Clovernook,” she has published some sketches of rural life, which were deservedly received with considerable favor The following is one of her best efforts.
PICTURES OF MEMORY.
Among the beautiful pictures
That hang on memory's wall,
That seemeth best of all :
Dark with the misletoe;
That sprinkle the vale below;
That lean from the fragrant hedge,
And stealing their shining edge;
Where the bright red berries be,
It seemeth best to me.
I once had a little brother,
With eyes that were dark and deep-
He lieth in peace asleep:
Free as the winds that blow,
The summers of long ago;
And, one of the autumn eves,
A bed of the yellow leaves.
My neck in a meek embrace,
Silently covered his face:
Lodged in the tree-tops bright,
Asleep by the gates of light.
That hang on memory's wall,
Seemeth the best of all.
PA&BE CARY, sister of Alice, mentioned in the Note on the preceding Exercise, has been a frequent contributor to periodicals. She published, in 1854, a volume of “ Poems and Parodies," which evince no small poetica) talento THE ILLS OF LIFE.
How oft, when pursued by evils,
We falter and faint by the way,
We pause, and turn at bay.
When storms in the distance have gathered,
I have trembled their wrath to meet,
Has fallen at my feet.
My soul, in the shadows of twilight,
Has groaned beneath its load,
And felt at the solemn midnight
Secure in the hand of God.
I have been with friends who were cherished
All earthly things above,
Than the pangs of parting love.
Yet with one fearful struggle,
When, at last, the dread blow fell,
For my kindred treading near,
My soul forgot its fear.
Nor so hard to bear below,
Is more than our present woe.
MRS. EMILY C. Judson, better known, however, to the reading world, as " FANNY FORRESTER," was born in Eaton, Madison county, New York, August 220, 1817, and died in June, 1854. She began her career, as a teacher, at the early age of fourteen, and continued a long time in that useful and honorable vocation. But a more brilliant career,—that of authorship,--awaited her. While succeeding admirably, in this line, a new direction was given to her whole life by her marriage with the celebrated Dr. Adoniram Judson, the missionary. This took place in June, 1846. About a month afterwards, she sailed with her husband for India, on which occasion, in a style gay and sparkling, as was her manner, she penned some natural observations, of which the following Exercise forms a part. In 1851, upon the death of Mr. Judson, she returned to America. The rest of her life was mainly occupied in literary labors.
EMILY C. JUDSON. 1. Hurrah, hurrah, how gayly we ride! How the ship careers ! How she leaps! How gracefully she bends! How fair her white wings! How trim her hull! How slim her tall, taper masts! What a beautiful dancing fairy! Up from my narrow shelf in the close cabin, have I crept for the first time since we loosed cable, and swung out upon the tide, and every drop of blood in my veins jostles its neighbor drop exultingly; for here is sublimity unrivaled.
2. The wild, shifting, restless sea, with its playful waves, chasing one another laughingly, ever and anon leaping up, shivering themselves by the force of their own mad impulse, and descending again in a shower of pearls,—the soft, azure curvature of the sky, shutting down upon its outer rim, as though we were fairly caged between blue and blue,—and the ship, the gallant ship, plowing her own path in the midst, bearing human souls upon her tremulous breast, with her white wings high in air and her feet in the grave.
3. And then the tumult, the creaking of cordage, the dash of waters, and the howling of winds— the wind and the sea roaring." I have felt my heart swell and my blood tingle in my veins, when I stood in the silent forests of Alderbrook,* and
* The name given by the writer to her own rustic homo.