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beneath her own transplanted forest-vine,* and the fragrant wildflowers deck its verdant sod, often will imagination visit the consecrated spot, and drop a tear to the memory of departed worth. The loss of one possessing such rare talents, superior mental endowments, and sincere devotedness to the cause of humanity, though it can never be duly estimated, will long be felt and deplored in the circle of her acquaintance. And while we deeply lament the untimely bereavement, let us ever cherish the fond remembrance of her exalted virtues, under the full assurance that her immortal spirit is at rest, in the perfect fruition of unalloyed peace and eternal felicity.

We conclude by presenting the reader with the final effusion of her pious and sentimental muse. What humility and purity of heart—what living earnestness of devotion-do we here perceive! It is especially recommended to the notice of those who profess and practise the pure Christian principles of philanthropy which distinguished her own actions. It was the LAST ARTICLE that she wrote for the “GENIUS OF UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION.”

Praise! for slumbers of the night,
For the wakening morning's light,
For the board with plenty spread,
Gladness o'er the spirit shed,
Healthful pulse and cloudless eye,
Opening on the smiling sky.
Praise ! for loving hearts that still
With life's bounding pulses thrill ;
Praise, that still our own may know-
Earthly joy and earthly woe.
Praise for every varied good,
Bounteous round our pathway strew'd !

Prayer! for grateful hearts to raise
Incense meet of prayer

and praise !

* The charming and sentimental piece entitled, “ The Forest Vine," was one of the latest productions of her pen. was written during the period of her affliction, and breathes the loftiest strains of poetic genius and pious aspiration.



Prayer, for spirits calm and meek,
Wisdom life's best joys to seek;
Strength 'midst devious paths to tread
That through which the Saviour led.

Prayer ! for those who, day by day,
Weep their bitter lives away;
Prayer, for those who bind the chain
Rudely on their throbbing vein, -
That repentance deep may win
Pardon for the fearful sin !"









My foot has climb’d the rocky summit's height,
And in mute rapture, from its lofty brow,
Mine eye is gazing round me with delight,
On all of beautiful, above, below :
The fleecy smoke-wreath upward curling slow,
The silvery waves half hid with bowering green,
That far beneath in gentle murmurs flow,

Or onward dash in foam and sparkling sheen,-
While rocks and forest-boughs hide half the distant scene.

In sooth, from this bright wilderness 't is sweet
To look through loop-holes form'd by forest boughs,
And view the landscape far beneath the feet,
Where cultivation all its aid bestows,
And o'er the scene an added beauty throws ;
The busy harvest group, the distant mill,
The quiet cattle stretch'd in calm repose,

The cot, half seen behind the sloping hill,-
All mingled in one scene with most enchanting skill.

The very air that breathes around my cheek,
The summer fragrance of my native hills,
Seems with the voice of other times to speak,
And, while it each unquiet feeling stills,

* A beautiful stream, flowing near the author's place of nativity.


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