VIII. The maid from her lattice IX. She opens her lattice Of the moonlight and starlight, And she sings in a voice And she darts on her lover The light of her eyes. X. The moonlight is hid In a vapor of snow; Her voice and his rebec Alternately flow; Re-echoed they swell EXERCISE CLXIV. ALICE CLAY was born near Cincinnati, Ohio, in the year 1822, and lived there till 1850, 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, Phœbe, 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. I Among the beautiful pictures Not for the violets golden That sprinkle the vale below; Not for the milk-white lilies That lean from the fragrant hedge, ALICE CARI. II. I once had a little brother, With eyes that were dark and deep In the lap of that old dim forest Free as the winds that blow, 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. III. Sweetly his pale arms folded EXERCISE CLXV. PHOEBE 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 poetical talent. When storms in the distance have gathered, And felt at the solemn midnight Secure in the hand of God. IV. I have been with friends who were cherished All earthly things above, Till I deemed the death-pangs lighter V. Yet with one fearful struggle, When, at last, the dread blow fell, I have kept my heart from breaking, And calmly said, Farewell! VI. I have looked at the grave and shuddered And, when their feet had entered, VII. Our ills are not so many Nor so hard to bear below, But our suffering, in dread of the future, VIII. We see, with our vision imperfect, IX. When, if we would trust in His wisdom We should find, whatever our trials, EXERCISE CLXVI. MRS. EMILY C. JUDSON, better known, however, to the reading world, as "FANNY FORRESTER," was born in Eaton, Madison county, New York, August 22d, 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. OUTWARD BOUND! 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 home. |