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CAROLINE M. FISHER was born in the latter part of the year 1812, in the village of Newton, Massachusetts. She was carefully educated at home by an invalid uncle, who was thoroughly conversant with foreign literature, and succeeded in imparting his fine taste as well as varied accomplishments to his pupil. She menced writing at an early age, but did not make her appearance in the magazines until after her marriage with the Rev. T. J. Sawyer, an eminent Universalist divine, in 1832, when she removed to New York. In 1847 her husband accepted the presidency of the Universalist Seminary at Clinton, New York, where they have since resided.

Mrs. Sawyer has written a number of poems and prose tales for the periodicals of the day, which have not been collected. She has also translated in prose and verse from the German.

THE BLIND GIRL.

Crown her with garlands! 'mid her sunny hair Twine the rich blossoms of the laughing May, The lily, snowdrop, and the violet fair,

And queenly rose, that blossoms for a day.
Haste, maidens, haste! the hour brooks no delay-
The bridal veil of soft transparence bring;
And as ye wreathe the gleaming locks away,
O'er their rich wealth its folds of beauty fling-
She seeth now!

Bring forth the lyre of sweet and solemn sound,
Let its rich music be no longer still;
Wake its full chords, till, sweetly floating round,
Its thrilling echoes all our spirits fill.
Joy for the lovely: that her lips no more

To notes of sorrow tune their trembling breath;
Joy for the young, whose starless course is o'er;
Io! sing Pæeans for the bride of Death!

She seeth now!

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A lonely lot! yet oftentimes a sad

And mournful pleasure filled her heart and brain, And beamed in smiles-e'er sweet, but never glad, As sorrow smiles when mourning winds complain. Nature's great voice had ever for her soul

A thrilling power the sightless only know;
While deeper yearnings through her being stole,
For light to gild that being's darkened flow.
She seeth now!

Strike the soft harp, then! for the cloud hath past,
With all its darkness, from her sight away;
Beauty hath met her waiting eyes at last,
And light is hers within the land of day.

'Neath the cool shadows of the tree of life,
Where bright the fount of youth immortal springs,
Far from this earth, with all its weary strife,
Her pale brow fanned by shining seraphs' wings,
She seeth now!

Ah, yes, she seeth through yon misty veil,
Methinks e'en now her angel-eyes look down,
While round me falls a light all soft and pale-
The moonlight lustre of her starry crown;
And to my heart as earthly sounds retire,
Come the low echoes of celestial words,
Like sudden music from some haunted lyre,

That strangely swells when none awake its chords.
But, hush! 'tis past; the light, the sound, are o'er:
Joy for the maiden! she is dark no more!
She seeth now!

LOUISA C. TUTHILL

LOUISA C. HIGGINS, a member of an old New England family, was born at New Haven, and at an early age, in 1817, married Mr. Cornelius Tuthill of that city. Mr. Tuthill was a gentleman of terary tastes, and edited, for two years, a periodical called The Microscope, in which the poet Percival was first introduced to the public.

After the death of Mr. Tuthill, in 1825, Mrs. Tuthill became an anonymous contributor to the magazines. Her first appearance in propriâ persona as an author was on the title-page of The Young Ladies' Reader, a volume of selections published in 1839. This volume was followed by The Young Ladies' Home, a collection of tales and essays illustrating domestic pursuits and duties. Her next production consisted of a series of tales for young persons. They are entitled I will be a Gentleman; I will be a Lady; Onward, right Onward; Boarding School Girl; Anything for Sport; A Strike for Freedom, or Law and Or der; each occupying a volume of about one hundred and fifty pages of moderate size, published between 1844 and 1850.

In 1852 Mrs. Tuthill commenced a new series with a tale entitled Braggadocio. Queer Bonnets, Tip Top, and Beautiful Bertha, followed in 1853 and 1854. She has now in progress another series entitled Success in Life, including six volumes, with the titles The Merchant, The Lawyer, The Mechanic, The Artist, The Farmer, and The Physician.

Mrs. Tuthill is also the author of a novel for mature readers published in 1846 with the title My Wife, and of a tasteful volume, The History of Architecture, published in 1848. In 1849 she prepared The Nursery Book, a volume of counsel to mothers on the care of their young offspring.

The writings of Mrs. Tuthill are admirably adapted for the class to whom they are addressed, and have met with success. They are sensible and practical in their aims, and written in an agreeable style. Mrs. Tuthill is at present a resident of Princeton, New Jersey.

PLINY MILES.

PLINY MILES, whose name is pleasantly sugges tive of his principal pursuit, that of a traveller and observer of nature, is a son of Captain Jonathan E. Miles, one of the early settlers of Watertown, New York. He was educated on the farm, but on coming of age engaged in merchan

dise, and afterwards studied law. He next passed five years in travelling through the United States, supporting himself by lecturing and writing letters in the newspapers. At the expiration of this period he passed a second term of five years in a similar manner in the Old World.

PlüyMiles.

Mr. Miles's newspaper correspondence, under the staid signature, on the lucus a non lucendo principle, of Communipaw, would fill several vofumes. But a single episode of his journeyings, Rambles in Iceland, has yet appeared in book form. It is a pleasant record of a tour, involving some adventure and exposure in an unfrequented part of the world. In place of a citation from its pages we however present a more comprehensive, and at the same time concise account of Mr. Miles's " voyages and travels," which we find in the New York Illustrated News of October 29, 1853. The statement was elicited by some exception being taken at one of Mr. Miles's letters on Western railroads,-his accuracy being called in question on the plea that he was "the stationary correspondent of the

Post."

In the name of buffaloes and sea breezes what would you have, my dear fellow? I've been in every sea-port on the Atlantic, from Newfoundland to Key West; danced over the sparkling waves of the Moro Castle; schoonered" it through the Gulf of Mexico; travelled every foot of the Mississippi, 'from the Belize to the Falls of St. Anthony, 2,300 miles, and the most of it several times over; wandered five hundred miles into the Indian territory, beyond the white settlements; steamed up the Illinois; stayed a while at Peoria, got caught there in an awful snow storm, and then went through the great lakes and the St. Lawrence to the Falls of the Montmorency. I have visited every great curiosity, nearly every state capital, and every State in the Union except California and Texas. Across the "herring pond" I travelled through almost every kingdom, and saw nearly every crowned head in Europe; wandered over the highlands of Scotland; stoned the cormorants in Fingal's cave; shot seagulls in Shetland; eat plovers and other wild birds in Iceland; cooked my dinner in the geysers; cooled my punch with the snows of Mount Hecla, and toasted my shins at the burning crater on its summit. I trod the rough mountains of Norway; celebrated"Independence Day" off its coast; fished in the Maelstrom, or near it; ate our crout with the Dutch, frogs with the Frenchmen, and macaroni with the Italians; walked over the top of Vesuvius in one day, from Pompeii to Naples; lay all night near Etna's summit, seeing an eruption with red hot rocks shooting a thousand feet in the air; sailed by Stromboli at midnight; landed where St. Paul did at Rhegium, saw the Coliseum by moonlight, visited Corsica's rocky isle, Sardinia and Elba, and steamed close to Monte Christo's home; admired the Chateau d'If at Marseilles, and spent months among the vine-clad hills of la belle France. Why, yes, man, I've been up in a balloon and down in a diving bell; shot alligators in the Mississippi and sparrows in Northumberland; eaten "corn dodgers" in Tennessee, black bread in Denmark, white bread in London, and been where I found it precious hard

work to get any bread at all. I've rode in a Jersey wagon in Florida, a go-cart in Illinois, and on an English express train at fifty miles an hour, and gone a-foot and carried a knapsack when I found travelling dear and wanted to save money. I've been sixty-five voyages at sea; rode over nearly every railroad in Europe and more than one-half in this country, and travelled over a hundred thousand miles, and scarcely slept six nights in a place for more than ten years.

RICHARD B. KIMBALL,

A DESCENDANT from an old and influential family, was born in Lebanon, New Hampshire. After completing his collegiate course at Dartmouth in 1834, and devoting the year following to the study of the law, he went to Europe, where he continued his legal studies in Paris, and made an extensive and thorough tour in Great Britain and on the Continent. On his return he commenced the practice of his profession at Waterford, New York, but soon after removed to the City of New York, where, with the exception of the time occupied in a second European tour in 1842, he has since resided.

Mr. Kimball has for several years been a constant contributor to the Knickerbocker Magazine.

In 1849 his novel St. Leger or the Threads of Life was reprinted from the pages of that periodical. It is the story of a mind in pursuit of truth, and the mental repose consequent on a decided faith. In connexion with this main thread we have many scenes of active life, romantic adventure, and picturesque description.

In the same year Mr. Kimball published Cuba and the Cubans, and in 1853 a pleasant volume of tales and sketches, entitled, Romance of Student Life Abroad.

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land, in 1821. She removed with her father early to the West, and resided in Kentucky at Lexington and Louisville, where she was married to Mr. George Welby. She died in 1852.

The chief edition of Mrs. Welby's poems was published by Messrs. Appleton in 1850, with a series of tasteful illustrations by R. C. Weir. The frequent elegiac topics of the verses of this author may have assisted their popularity. They are mostly upon themes of domestic life and natural emotion; and, without profound poetical culture, are written with ease and animation.

THE OLD MAID.

Why sits she thus in solitude? her heart
Seems melting in her eyes' delicious blue;
And as it heaves, her ripe lips lie apart,

As if to let its heavy throbbings through;
In her dark eye a depth of softness swells,

Deeper than that her careless girlhood wore;
And her cheek crimsons with the hue that tells
The rich, fair fruit is ripened to the core.
It is her thirtieth birthday! With a sigh

Her soul hath turned from youth's luxuriant bowers,

And her heart taken up the last sweet tie

That measured out its links of golden hours! She feels her inmost soul within her stir

With thoughts too wild and passionate to speak; Yet her full heart--its own interpreter

Translates itself in silence on her cheek.
Joy's opening buds, affection's glowing flowers,
Once highly sprang within her beaming track;
Oh, life was beautiful in those lost hours!

And yet she does not wish to wander back!
No! she but loves in loneliness to think

On pleasures past, though never more to be; Hope links her to the future, but the link

That binds her to the past is memory! From her lone path she never turns aside, Though passionate worshippers before her fall, Like some pure planet in her lonely pride,

She seems to soar and beam above them all! Not that her heart is cold! emotions new

And fresh as flowers are with her heart-strings knit;

And sweetly mournful pleasures wander through
Her virgin soul, and softly ruffle it.

For she hath lived with heart and soul alive
To all that makes life beautiful and fair;

Sweet thoughts, like honey-bees, have made their hive

Of her soft bosom-cell, and cluster there; Yet life is not to her what it hath been;

Her soul hath learned to look beyond its gloss, And now she hovers, like a star, between

Her deeds of love, her Saviour on the cross! Beneath the cares of earth she does not bow, Though she hath ofttimes drained its bitter cup, But ever wanders on with heavenward brow, And eyes whose lovely lids are lifted up! She feels that in that lovelier, happier sphere, Her bosom yet will, bird-like, find its mate, And all the joys it found so blissful here Within that spirit-realm perpetuate.

Yet sometimes o'er her trembling heart-strings thrill

Soft sighs, for raptures it hath ne'er enjoyed; And then she dreams of love, and strives to fill With wild and passionate thoughts the craving void.

And thus she wanders on,-half sad, half blest,Without a mate for the pure, lonely heart, That, yearning, throbs within her virgin breast, Never to find its lovely counterpart!

JANE T. WORTHINGTON.

THIS lady, the wife of Dr. F. A. Worthington, a physician of Ohio, whose maiden name was Jane Tayloe Lomax, was a native of Virginia. Her writings in prose and verse appeared frequently in the Southern Literary Messenger. Her compositions were in a vein of excellent sense and refinement.

MOONLIGHT ON THE GRAVE.

It shineth on the quiet graves
Where weary ones have gone,
It watcheth with angelic gaze
Where the dead are left alone;
And not a sound of busy life

To the still graveyard comes,
But peacefully the sleepers lie
Down in their silent homes.
All silently and solemnly

It throweth shadows round,
And every gravestone hath a trace
In darkness on the ground:
It looketh on the tiny mould
Where a little child is laid,
And it lighteth up the marble pile
Which human pride hath made.

It falleth with unaltered ray

On the simple and the stern,
And it showeth with a solemn light
The sorrows we must learn;
It telleth of divided ties

On which its beam bath shone,
It whispereth of heavy hearts
Which "brokenly live on."

It gleameth where devoted ones
Are sleeping side by side,
It looketh where a maiden rests
Who in her beauty died.
There is no grave in all the earth
That moonlight hath not seen;
It gazeth cold and passionless
Where agony lath been.

Yet it is well that changeless ray
A deeper thought should throw,
When mortal love pours forth the tide
Of unavailing woe;

It teacheth us no shade of grief
Can touch the starry sky,
That all our sorrow liveth here-
The glory is on high.

LUCY HOOPER.

MISS HOOPER was born in Newburyport, Massachusetts, February 4, 1816. She was carefully trained by her father, and was wont in after life to attribute her facility in composition to the exertions of this parent. At the age of fifteen she removed with her family to Brooklyn, where the remaining ten years of her life were passed.

Most of Miss Hooper's poems were contributed to the Long Island Star, a daily paper, where they appeared signed with her initials. She was also the author of a few prose sketches, collected in a volume in 1840, with the title Scenes from Real Life, and a prize essay on Domestic Happiness.

Lucy Hooper died on Sunday, August 1, 1841.

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Even as a prophet by his people spoken

And that high brow, in death, bears seal and token Of one whose words were flame:

Oh! Holy Teacher! could'st thou rise and live, Would not these hushed lips whisper, "I forgive?"

Away with lute and harp,

With the glad heart for ever, and the dance,
Never again shall tabret sound for me;
Oh! fearful mother! I have brought to thee

The silent dead, with his rebuking glance,
And the crushed heart of one, to whom are given
Wild dreams of judgn.e it and offended Heaven!

CATHARINE LUDERS.

A NUMBER of brief poems of a delicate and simple turn of expression and of a domestic pathetic interest have appeared from time to time in the

* 8vo. pp. 404.

magazines and the Literary World, by "Emily Hermann." The author is Mrs. Catharine Luders, lately a resident of the West, in Indiana.

THE BUILDING AND BIRDS.

We are building a pleasant dwelling,
And the orchard trees are set;
Yellow violets soon will open,
With tiny streaks of jet.
The wild-cherry buds are swelling,
And the brook runs full below;
Dim harebells in the garden,
And crocuses are in blow.
In the tops of the tulip-giants,

In the red-bud and the onk,
The spring-birds are all beginning
The pleasures of home to invoke.
They've built in our little parlour,
Where the floor was lately laid,
And it pleased us to give them shelter
In the nice new nest they made.
Those merry grey forest-rangers

To the green West now have come, Wayfarers, like us, and strangers, To build them a pleasant home. They've reared a domestic altar

To send up their hymns at even; Their songs and our own may mingle Sometimes at the gates of heaven!

PLANTING IN RAIN.

We planted them in the rain,

When the skeleton building rose, And here we sit, in the sultry day, Where grateful shadows close. We read in our pleasant books, Or help the children play, And weave long wreaths of dandelions When the down is blown away.

The murmuring bell we hear,

For lowing herds are nigh,

With softened twilight in our heart,
And memories gone by.

Wild doves and orioles

Build in the orchard trees,

And where, on earth, are people poor Who greet such friends as these?

They at our porch peep

in

And sing their roundelay,

While bright-eyed rabbits near the steps, In their nimble, fearless way.

In autumn, with apron in hand,

Cornelia waits near yon tree,

To catch the fruit from the grateful root,
Here set by our brothers and me.
Thus, where dense thickets rose,

And mouldering trees have lain,
Much happiness dwells for human hearts,
Under vines that were planted in rain.

THE LITTLE FROCK.

A common light blue muslin frock
Is hanging on the wall,
But no one in the household now
Can wear a dress so small.

The sleeves are both turned inside out,
And tell of summer wear;
They seem to wait the owner's hands
Which last year hung them there.

"Twas at the children's festival

Her Sunday dress was soiled-
You need not turn it from the light-
To me it is not spoiled!

A sad and yet a pleasant thought

Is to the spirit told

By this dear little rumpled thing,

With dust in every fold.

Why should men weep that to their home

An angel's love is given

Or that before them she is gone

To blessedness in heaven!

ESTELLE ANNA LEWIS.

MRS. LEWIS was born near Baltimore, Maryland, at the country-seat of her father, Mr. J. N. Robinson, who died while his daughter was in her infancy. He was a gentleman of large fortune, and of strongly marked qualities of character. His wife was a daughter of an officer of the Revolutionary war.

Our author was educated at the Female Seminary of Mrs Willard at Troy, where she added to the usual accomplishments of a polite education, a knowledge of Latin and even the study of law. During these chool days, she published a series of stories in the Family Magazine, edited by Solomon Southwick at Albany. Leaving the seminary in 1841, she was married to Mr. S. D. Lewis, a lawyer of Brooklyn, N. Y., in which city she has since resided.

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Estelle Anna Lewis.

Her first volume of poems, chiefly lyrical, The Records of the Heart, was published by the Appletons in 1844.

In 1846, Mrs. Lewis published a poem, The Broken Heart, a Tale of Hispaniola, in the Democratic Review. The Child of the Sea, and Other Poems, appeared from the press of Mr. George P. Putnam, in 1848.

In 1849, The Angel's Visit, The Orphan's Hymn, The Prisoner of Perote, etc., were printed in Graham's Magazine. In 1851, appeared in the

same magazine, The Cruise of Aureana, Melodiana's Dream, Adelina to Adhemer, a series of sonnets from the Italian, and during the sanie year, a series of sonnets entitled, My Study, in the Literary World. In 1852, the Appletons issued the Myths of the Minstrel. In 1854, Mrs. Lewis published in Graham's Magazine, Art and Artists in America, a series of critical and biographical essays.

The poems of Mrs. Lewis are marked by a certain passionate expression, united with the study of poetic art. Her chief production, The Child of the Sea, exhibits ability in the construction of the story-a tale of sea adventure, of love and revenge, and has force of imagination as a whole, and in its separate illustrations.

MY STUDY.

This is my world-my angel-guarded shrine,
Which I have made to suit my heart's great need,
When sorrow dooms it overmuch to bleed:
Or, when aweary and athirst I pine
For genial showers and sustenance divine;
When Love, or Hope, or Joy my heart deceive,
And I would sit me down alone to grieve-
My mind to sad or studious mood resign.
Here oft, upon the stream of thought I lie,
Floating whichever way the waves are flowing-
Sometimes along the banks of childhood going,
Where all is bud, and bloom, and melody,
Or, wafted by some stronger current, glide,
Where darker frown the steeps and deeper flows the

tide.

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Yes, 'tis my Cáabá-a shrine below,

Where my Soul sits within its house of clay,
Listing the steps of angels come and go-

Sweet missioned Heralds from the realms of day.
One brings me rays from Regions of the sun,
One comes to warn me of some pending dart,
One brings a laurel leaf for work well done,
Another, whispers from a kindred Heart.-
Oh! this I would not change for all the gold
That lies beneath the Sacramento's waves,
For all the Jewels Indian coffers hold,
For all the Pearls in Oman's starry caves-
The lessons of all Pedagogues are naught

To those I learn within this holy Fane of thought.

Here blind old Homer teaches lofty song;
The Lesbian sings of Cupid's pinions furled,
And how the heart is withered up by wrong;
Dante depictures an infernal world,

Wide opening many a purgatorial aisle;
Torquato rings the woes of Palestine,
Alphonso's rage and Leonora's smile-
Love, Beauty, Genius, Glory all divine;
Milton depaints the bliss of Paradise,

Then flings apart the ponderous gates of Hell,
Where Satan on the fiery billow lies,
"With head uplift," above his army fell,-
And Avon's Bard, surpassing all in art,
Unlocks the portals of the human heart.

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