676 com 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. Bring forth the lyre of sweet and solemn sound, To notes of sorrow tune their trembling breath; She seeth now! 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; Strike the soft harp, then! for the cloud hath past, 'Neath the cool shadows of the tree of life, Ah, yes, she seeth through yon misty veil, That strangely swells when none awake its chords. 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. 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 As if to let its heavy throbbings through; Deeper than that her careless girlhood wore; 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. And yet she does not wish to wander back! 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 For she hath lived with heart and soul alive 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 To the still graveyard comes, It throweth shadows round, It falleth with unaltered ray On the simple and the stern, On which its beam bath shone, It gleameth where devoted ones Yet it is well that changeless ray It teacheth us no shade of grief 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. 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, The silent dead, with his rebuking glance, 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, In the red-bud and the onk, 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, 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, And mouldering trees have lain, THE LITTLE FROCK. A common light blue muslin frock The sleeves are both turned inside out, "Twas at the children's festival Her Sunday dress was soiled- 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. e 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, tide. Yes, 'tis my Cáabá-a shrine below, Where my Soul sits within its house of clay, Sweet missioned Heralds from the realms of day. To those I learn within this holy Fane of thought. Here blind old Homer teaches lofty song; Wide opening many a purgatorial aisle; Then flings apart the ponderous gates of Hell, |