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The maid from her lattice
Looks down on the lake,
To see the foam sparkle,
The bright billow break,
And to hear in his boat,
Where he shines like a star,
Her lover so tenderly
Touch his guitar.

She opens her lattice
And sits in the glow
Of the moonlight and starlight,
A statue of snow;
And she sings in a voice

That is broken with sighs,
And she darts on her lover
The light of her eyes.

The moonlight is hid
In a vapor of snow;
Her voice and his rebec
Alternately flow;
Re-echoed they swell
From the rock on the hill;
They sing their farewell,
And the music is still.


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.



Among the beautiful pictures

That hang on memory's wall,
Is one of a dim old forest,

That seemeth best of all :
Not for its gnarled oaks olden,

Dark with the misletoe;
Not for the violets golden

That sprinkle the vale below;
Not for the milk-white lilies

That lean from the fragrant hedge,
Coquetting all day with the sunbeams,

And stealing their shining edge;
Not for the vines on the upland

Where the bright red berries be,
Nor the pinks, nor the pale, sweet cowslip

It seemeth best to me.


I once had a little brother,

With eyes that were dark and deep-
In the lap of that old dim forest

He lieth in peace asleep:
Light as the down of the thistle,

Free as the winds that blow,
We roved there the beautiful summers,

The summers of long ago;
But his feet on the hills grew weary,

And, one of the autumn eves,
I made for my little brother

A bed of the yellow leaves.

Sweetly his pale arms folded

My neck in a meek embrace,
As the light of immortal beauty

Silently covered his face:
And when the arrows of sunset

Lodged in the tree-tops bright,
He fell, in his saint-like beauty,

Asleep by the gates of light.
Therefore, of all the pictures,

That hang on memory's wall,
The one of the dim old forest

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,
But are fearless when, o'ertaken,

We pause, and turn at bay.


When storms in the distance have gathered,

I have trembled their wrath to meet,
Yet stood firm when the arrowy lightning

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,
Till I deemed the death-pangs lighter

Than the pangs of parting love.

Yet with one fearful struggle,

When, at last, the dread blow fell,
I have kept my heart from breaking,
And calmly said, Farewell !

I have looked at the grave and shuddered

For my kindred treading near,
And, when their feet had entered,

My soul forgot its fear.

Our ills are not so many

Nor so hard to bear below,
But our suffering, in dread of the futuro,

Is more than our present woe.

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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.

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