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to support, a dreary interval in her life succeeded, which was broken by the successful publication of her first novel, Retribution, in 1849. She had anonymous previously published, in 1846, an

sketch in the National Era, with which the editor, Dr. Bailey, was so well pleased, that he sought out the writer, and induced her to write other sketches and tales of a similar kind. Retribution was commenced as one of these, and was intended to be concluded in two numbers, but the subject grew under the author's hand. Every week she supplied a portion to the paper, “until weeks grew into months, and months into quarters, before it was finished." During its composition she was supporting herself as a teacher in a public school, and in addition to the entire charge of eighty boys and girls thus imposed upon her, and of one of her children who was extremely ill, was forced by the meagreness of her pecuniary resources to give close attention to her household affairs. Her health broke down under the pressure of these complicated labors and sorrows. Meanwhile her novel reached its termination, and was published complete by Harper and Brothers. The author, to use her own words, "found herself born, as it were, into a new life; found independence, sympathy, friendship, and honor, and an occupation in which she could delight. All this came very suddenly, as after a terrible storm a sunburst." Her child recovered, and her own malady disappeared.

The successful novel was rapidly followed by others. The Deserted Wife was published in 1850; Shannondale and The Mother-in-Law in 1851; Children of the Isle and The Foster Sisters in 1852; The Curse of Clifton; Old Neighborhoods and New Settlements, and Mark Sutherland in 1853, The Lost Heiress in 1854, and Hickory Hall, in 1855. These novels display strong dramatic power, and contain many excellent descriptive passages of the Southern life and scenery to which they are chiefly devoted.

SUSAN WARNER-ANNA B. WARNER.

MISS WARNER is the daughter of Mr. Henry Warner, a member of the bar of the city of New York. She has for some years resided with the remainder of her father's family on Constitution Island, near West Point, in the finest portion of the Hudson highlands.

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Miss Warner made a sudden step into eminence as a writer, by the publication in 1849 of The Wide, Wide World, a novel, in two volumes. It is a story of American domestic life, written in an easy and somewhat diffuse style.

Her second novel, Queechy, appeared in 1852. It is similar in size and general plan to The Wide, Wide World, and contains a number of agreeable passages descriptive of rural life. The heroine, Fleda, is introduced to us as a little girl. Her sprightly, natural manner, and shrewd American common sense, contribute greatly to the attractions of the book. The "help" at the farm,

VOL. II.-40

male and female, are pleasantly hit off, and give a seasoning of humor to the volumes.

Miss Warner is also the author of The Laro and the Testimony, a theological work of research and merit, and of a prize essay on the Duties of American Women.

MISS ANNA B. WARNER, a younger sister of Miss Susan Warner, is the author of Dollars and Cents, a novel, as its title indicates, of practical American life, published in 1853, and of a series of juvenile tales, Anna Montgomery's Book Shelf, three volumes of which, Mr. Rutherford's Children and Carl Krinken, have appeared.

CHESTNUT GATHERING FROM QUEECHY,

In a hollow, rather a deep hollow, behind the crest of the hill, as Fleda had said, they came at last to a noble group of large hickory trees, with one or two chestnuts, standing in attendance on the outskirts. And also as Fleda had said, or hoped, the place was so far from convenient access that nobody had visited them; they were thick hung with fruit. If the spirit of the game had been wanting or failing in Mr. Carleton, it must have roused again into full life at the joyous heartiness of Fleda's exclamations. At any rate no boy could have taken to the business better. He cut, with her permission, a stout long pole in the woods; and swinging himself lightly into one of the trees showed that he was a master in the art of whipping them. Fleda was delighted but not surprised; for from the first moment of Mr. Carleton's proposing to go with her she had been privately sure that he would not prove an inactive or inefficient ally. By whatever slight tokens she might read this, in whatsoever fine characters of the eye, or speech, or manner, she knew it; and knew it just as well before they reached the hickory trees as she did afterwards.

When one of the trees was well stripped the young gentleman mounted into another, while Fleda set herself to hull and gather up the nuts under the one first beaten. She could make but little headway, however, compared with her companion; the nuts fell a great deal faster than she could put them in her basket. The trees were heavy laden, and Mr. Carleton seemed determined to have the whole crop; from the second tree he went to the third. Fleda was bewildered with her happiness; this was She tried to calculate. doing business in style. what the whole quantity would be, but it went beyond her; one basketful would not take it, nor two, nor three, it wouldn't begin to, Fleda said to herself. She went on hulling and gathering with all possible industry.

upon

After the third tree was finished Mr. Carleton threw down his pole, and resting himself the. ground at the foot, told Fleda he would wait a few moments before he began again. Fleda thereupon left off her work too, and going for her little tin pail presently offered it to him temptingly, stocked with pieces of apple-pic. When he had smilingly taken one, she next brought him a sheet of white paper with slices of young cheese. No, thank you," said he. "Cheese is very good with apple-pie," said Fleda, competently.

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Is it?" said he, laughing. Well-upon thatI think you would teach me a good many things, Miss Fleda, if I were to stay here long enough."

"I wish you would stay and try, sir," said Fleda, who did not know exactly what to make of the shade of seriousness which crossed his face. It was. gone almost instantly.

"I think anything is better eaten out in the woods than it is at home," said Fleda.

"Well, I don't know," said her friend. "I have no doubt that is the case with cheese and apple-pie, and especially under hickory trees which one has been contending with pretty sharply. If a touch of your wand, Fairy, could transform one of these shells into a goblet of Lafitte or Amontillado we should have nothing to wish for."

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'Amontillado' was Hebrew to Fleda, but goblet' was intelligible.

"I am sorry," she said, "I don't know where there is any spring up here,-but we shall come to one going down the mountain."

"Do you know where all the springs are?"

"No, not all, I suppose," said Fleda, "but I know a good many. I have gone about through the woods so much, and I always look for the springs."

They descended the mountain now with hasty step, for the day was wearing well on. At the spot where he had stood so long when they went up, Mr. Carleton paused again for a minute. In mountain scenery every hour makes a change. The sun was lower now, the lights and shadows more strongly contrasted, the sky of a yet calmer blue, cool and clear towards the horizon. The scene said still the same that it had said a few hours before, with a touch more of sadness; it seemed to whisper "All things have an end-thy time may not be for ever -do what thou wouldest do- while ye have light believe in the light that ye may be children of the light.""

Whether Mr. Carleton read it so or not, he stood for a minute motionless, and went down the mountain looking so grave that Fleda did not venture to speak to him, till they reached the neighborhood of the spring.

"What are you searching for, Miss Fleda?" said her friend.

She was making a busy quest here and there by the side of the little stream.

"I was looking to see if I could find a mullein leaf," said Fleda.

"A mullein leaf? what do you want it for?"

"I want it-to make a drinking cup of," said Fleda; her intent bright eyes peering keenly about in every direction.

"A mullein leaf! that is too rough; one of these golden leaves--what are they?-will do better; won't it?"

"That is hickory," said Fleda. "No; the mullein leaf is the best, because it holds the water so nicely,-Here it is!"

And folding up one of the largest leaves into a most artist-like cup, she presented it to Mr. Carle

ton.

"For me was all that trouble?" said he. "I don't deserve it."

"You wanted something, sir," said Fleda. "The water is very cold and nice."

He stooped to the bright little stream, and filled his rural goblet several times.

"I never knew what it was to have a fairy for my cup-bearer before," said he. "That was better

than anything Bordeaux or Xeres ever sent forth."

He seemed to have swallowed his seriousness, or

thrown it away with the mullein leaf. It was quite

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MISS EMILY CHUBBUCK was born at Morrisville, a town of Central New York. Soon after ceasing to be a school girl, with a view of adding to the limited means of her family and increasing her own knowledge, she became a teacher in a female seminary at Utica. It was with similar views that she commenced her literary career by writing a few poems for the Knickerbocker Magazine, and some little books for children, of a religious character, for the American Baptist Publication Society. In 1844 she sent a communication to the New York Weekly Mirror, with the signature of "Fanny Forester." Mr. Willis, the editor, wrote warmly in favor of the writer, who soon became a frequent contributor to his paper.

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Fanny Forester

While passing the winter at Philadelphia with a clerical friend, the Rev. Mr. Gillette, Miss Chubbuck became acquainted with Dr. Judson, the celebrated Baptist missionary. He had recently lost his second wife, and applied to the young author to write her biography. Intimacy in the preparation of the work led to such mutual liking that the pair were married not long after, in July, 1846, and sailed immediately for India. They arrived at the missionaries' residence at Maulmain, where they resided until Dr. Judson fell sick, and was ordered home by his physicians.

His wife was unable to accompany him, and he embarked in a very weak state in the early part of 1850 for America. He died at sea on the twelfth of April of the same year. His widow returned not long after, her own health impaired by an Eastern climate, and after lingering a few months, died on the first of June, 1854.

The

Mrs. Judson was the author of Alderbrook, a Collection of Fanny Forester's Village Sketches and Poems, in two volumes, published in 1846. A Biographical Sketch of Mrs. Sarah B. Judson, 1849. An Olio of Domestic Verses, 1852, a collection of her poems; How to be Great, Good, and Happy, a volume designed for children; a small prose volume, My Two Sisters, a Sketch from Memory, and a number of other poems and prose sketches for various periodicals. sprightliness and tenderness of Mrs. Judson's early sketches gained her a reputation which was rapidly extended by her subsequent publications, especially by those embodying, in a simple and unostentatious manner, her wider experiences of life as the wife of a missionary. The modest title of her collection of poems is an indication of her character, but should not be suffered to overshadow the merits of the choice contents of the book.

One of the latest productions of Mrs. Judson's pen was an admirable letter in defence of her children's property in her deceased husband's literary remains. His papers had been placed in the hands of President Wayland, and incorporated by him in a life of their author, when a rival and unauthorized work from the same materials was announced, and finally published. The letter of Mrs. Judson was addressed to the publisher of the last named volume, and came before the public in the evidence produced on the trial of the alleged invasion of copyright. It deserves to be remembered not only from the interest connected with the circumstances which called it forth, but as a spirited and well reasoned assertion of the rights of literary property.

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Of golden-nested birds in heaven were singing; And with a lulling sound

The music floats around,

And drops like balm into the drowsy ear;
Commingling with the hum

Of the Sepoy's distant drum,
And lazy beetle ever droning near,
Sounds these of deepest silence born,
Like night made visible by morn;
So silent, that I sometimes start
To hear the throbbings of my heart,
And watch, with shivering sense of pain,
To see thy pale lids lift again.

The lizard with his mouse-like eyes,
Peeps from the mortise in surprise

At such strange quiet after day's harsh din;
Then ventures boldly out,

And looks about,

And with his hollow feet,
Treads his small evening beat,
Darting upon his prey

In such a tricksy, winsome sort of way,
His delicate marauding seems no sin.
And still the curtains swing,
But noiselessly;

The bells a melancholy murmur ring,
As tears were in the sky;

More heavily the shadows fall,
Like the black foldings of a pall,

Where juts the rough beam from the wall;
The candles flare

With fresher gusts of air;

The beetle's drone

Turns to a dirge-like solitary moan;

Night deepens, and I sit, in cheerless doubt, alone.

ANNE CHARLOTTE BOTTA.

ANNE C. LYNCH was born at Bennington, Vermont. Her father, at the age of sixteen, joined the United Irishmen of his native country, and was an active participant in the rebellion of 1798. He was offered pardon and a commission in the English army on the condition of swearing allegiance to the British government. On his refusal, he was imprisoned for four years, and then banished. He came to America, married, and died in Cuba during a journey undertaken for the benefit of his health, a few years after the birth of his daugh

ter.

After receiving an excellent education at a ladies' seminary in Albany, Miss Lynch removed to Providence, where she edited, in 1841, the Rhode Island Book, a tasteful selection from the writings of the authors of that state. She soon after came to the city of New York, where she has since resided.

A collection of Miss Lynch's poems has been published in an elegant volume, illustrated by Durand, Huntington, Darley, and other leading American artists. Miss Lynch is also favorably known as a prose writer by her contributions of essays and tales to the magazines of the day.

In 1855, Miss Lynch was married to Mr. Vin

Anne C Lynch

cenzo Botta, formerly Professor of Philosophy in the College of Sardinia, and member of the National Parliament.

THOUGHTS IN A LIBRARY.

Speak low-tread softly through these halls;
Here Genius lives enshrined;
Here reign, in silent majesty,

The monarchs of the mind.

A mighty spirit host they come,
From every age and clime;
Above the buried wrecks of years,
They breast the tide of Time.
And in their presence chamber here
They hold their regal state,
And round them throng a noble train,
The gifted and the great.

Oh, child of Earth! when round thy path
The storms of life arise,

And when thy brothers pass thee by
With stern unloving eyes;

Here shall the poets chant for thee
Their sweetest, loftiest lays;
And prophets wait to guide thy steps
In wisdom's pleasant ways.
Come, with these God-anointed kings
Be thou companion here;
And in the mighty realm of mind,
Thou shalt go forth a peer!

TO WITH FLOWERS.

Go, ye sweet messengers,
To that dim-lighted room
Where lettered wisdom from the walls
Sheds a delightful gloom.
Where sits in thought profound
One in the noon of life,
Whose flashing eye and fevered brow
Tell of the inward strife;
Who in those wells of lore

Seeks for the pearl of truth,
And to Ambition's fever dream
Gives his repose and youth.

To him, sweet ministers,

Ye shall a lesson teach;
Go in your fleeting loveliness,
More eloquent than speech.
Tell him in laurel wreaths
No perfume e'er is found,
And that upon a crown of thorns
Those leaves are ever bound.

Thoughts fresh as your own hues
Bear ye to that abode-
Speak of the sunshine and the sky
Of Nature and of GOD.

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PARKE GODWIN.

PARKE GODWIN was born at Paterson, New Jersey, February 25, 1816. His father was an offcer of the war of 1812, and his grandfather a soldier of the Revolution. He was educated at Kinderhook, and entered Princeton College in 1831, where he was graduated in 1834. He then studied law at Paterson, N. J., and having removed to the West, was admitted to practice in Kentucky, but did not pursue the profession. In 1837, he became assistant editor of the Evering Post, in which position he remained, with a single year excepted, to the close of 1853-thirteen years of active editorial life. In February, 1843,

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Mr. Godwin commenced the publication of a weekly, political, and literary Journal, somewhat on the plan of Mr. Leggett's Plaindealer, entitled "The Pathfinder." Mr. John Bigelow, at present associated with Mr. Bryant in the proprietorship and editorship of the Post, and the author of a volume of travels, Jamaica in 1850, contributed a number of articles to this journal. Though well conducted in all its departments, it was continued but about three months, when it was dropped with the fifteenth number. During the period of Mr. Godwin's connexion with the Post, be sides his constant articles in the journal, he was a frequent contributor to the Democratic Review, where numerous papers on free trade, political economy, democracy, course of civilization, the poetry of Shelley, and the series on law reformers, Bentham, Edward Livingston, and others; and the discussion of the subject of Law Reform. in which the measures taken in the state of New York were anticipated, are from his pen. He has since written a similar series of papers on the public questions of the day, in Putnam's Monthly Magazine, with which he is prominently connected. In 1850, he published a fanciful illustrated tale, entitled Vala, in which he turned his acquaintance with the quaint mythologies of the north, and the poetic arts connecting the world of imagination with the world of reality, to the illustration of incidents in the life of Jenny Lind. It is a succession of pleasant pictures constructed with much ingenuity. The volume was published in quarto with illustrations, by the author's friends, Hicks, Rossiter, Wolcott, and Whitley.

Another proof of M. Godwin's acquaintance with German literature, is his translation of

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In 1849 Mr. Saxe published a volume of Poems including Progress, a Satire, originally delivered at a college commencement, and a number of shorter pieces, many of which had previously appeared in the Knickerbocker Magazine.

In the same year Mr. Saxe delivered a poem on The Times before the Boston Mercantile Library Association. This production is included in the enlarged edition of his volume, in 1852. He has since frequently appeared before the public on college and other anniversaries, as the poet of the occasion, well armed with the light artillery of jest and epigram. In the summer of 1855 he pronounced a brilliant poem on Literature and the Times, at the Second Anniversary of the Associate Alumni of the Free Academy in New York.

RHYME OF THE RAIL.

Singing through the forests,
Rattling over ridges,
Shooting under arches,
Rumbling over bridges,
Whizzing through the mountains,
Buzzing o'er the vale,-
Bless me! this is pleasant,
Riding on the rail!

Men of different "stations"
In the eye of Fame,
Here are very quickly
Coming to the same.
High and lowly people,
Birds of every feather,
On a common level
Travelling together!
Gentleman in shorts,
Looming very tall;
Gentleman at large;
Talking very small;
Gentleman in tights,

With a loose-ish mien ;
Gentleman in gray,

Looking rather green.
Gentleman quite old,

Asking for the news;
Gentleman in black,
In a fit of blues;
Gentleman in claret,
Sober as a vicar;
Gentleman in Tweed,
Dreadfully in liquor!

Stranger on the right,
Looking very sunny,
Obviously reading

Something rather funny.
Now the smiles are thicker,
Wonder what they mean?
Faith, he's got the KNICKER-
BOCKER Magazine!

Stranger on the left,

Closing up his peepers,
Now he snores amain,
Like the Seven Sleepers;
At his feet a volume

Gives the explanation,
How the man grew stupid
From "Association!"

Ancient maiden lady
Anxiously remarks,
That there must be peril
'Mong so many sparks;
Roguish looking fellow,
Turning to the stranger,
Says it's his opinion

She is out of danger!

Woman with her baby,
Sitting vis-a-vis;
Baby keeps a squalling,

Woman looks at me;
Asks about the distance,
Says it's tiresome talking,
Noises of the cars

Are so very shocking! Market woman careful Of the precious casket, Knowing eggs are eggs,

Tightly holds her basket;

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