I see her; 'tis she of the ivory brow
And heaven-ting'd orbs: I know her now,
With her glancing step, and look of life,
And voice out-breaking in music's strife.

"Not she. There's a beauty that lovelier glows
"Though her coral lip with melody flows."

Then it must be she of the brilliant mind,
With her spirit attun'd to thoughts refin'd,
With her high look soaring away, away,
To ideal worlds where angels stray.

"Not she. There's another more lovely still,
"With a chasten'd mind, and a tempered will.”

I see her, 'tis goodness that gilds her brow,
Like the sun on the fruit of an autumn bough;
I can read her heart like an opening book,
Thro' each change serene of her innocent look.

"Yes; this is the beauty that blossoms fair,
"And will blossom for aye, in life's garden of care."

то

ON pure and gentle ones, within your ark
Securely rest!

Blue be the sky above-your quiet bark
By soft winds blest!

Still toil in duty, and commune with Heaven,
World-weaned and free;

God to his humblest creatures room has given,

And space to be.

Space for the eagle in the vaulted sky
To plume his wing-

Space for the ring-dove by her young to lie,
And softly sing.

Space for the sun-flower, bright with yellow glow To court the sky

Space for the violet, where the wild woods grow, To live and die.

Space for the ocean, in its giant might
To swell and rave-

Space for the river, tinged with rosy light,
Where green banks wave.

Space for the sun, to tread his path in might
And golden pride-

Space for the glow-worm, calling, by her light,
Love to her side.

Then, pure and gentle ones, within your ark
Securely rest!

Blue be the skies above, and your still bark
By kind winds blest.

CHILDREN AT PLAY.

SPORT on; sport on;

A mother's thought, shadow of heavenly love,
Dwells on you. In her home, mid household cares,
Kindle up hopes, which deep in its soft folds
Her inmost soul has wrapt: She musing asks,—

"What his high fate, that boy with eagle eye,
And well-knit limbs, and proud impetuous thought?
A patriot, leading men, and breathing forth.
His warm soul for his country? or a bard,
With holy song refining earth's cold ear?
A son, holding the torch of love to age
As its closed eye turns dimly to the grave?
Or husband, wrapping with protecting arms,
One who leans on him in her trusting youth?"

"And for those girls," she asks, "what gentle fate
Lies cradled on the softest down of time ?
A rosy lot must garland out their years—
Those sunny eyes with laughing spirits wild,
Those rounded limbs are all unfit for want,
Or sterner care. Gently will they be borne
On beds of flowers, beneath an azure sky."

Oh dreams, fair dreams! God's dower to woman's
heart,

Your light and waving curtains still suspend

Before the future, which lies dark behind.

ELIZABETH F. ELLET.

THE literary career of Mrs. Ellet has been brief, but thus far very successful. It is only about three years since she became known as a writer, and already her fame is established as a poetess of much promise, and her elegant translations from the Italian and French poets have proved her an accomplished scholar in those beautiful languages.

Mrs. Ellet was born at Sodus, a small town on the shores of Lake Ontario. Her father, the late Doctor Lummis, was a man of learning, and good taste; but he lived at a distance from all learned society — and the advantages of a common school education were, in that retired place, very limited. However, genius does not depend on the schools: Elizabeth was early distinguished for vivacity of intellect and poetical talents; and then she had the good fortune to attract the attention and secure the affections of a congenial mind. This was Doctor William H. Ellet, then Professor of Chemistry, in Columbia College, N. Y. He married her when she was very young, only about seventeen, and under his tuition she immediately commenced the study of the modern languages. He was himself a sound scholar, and possessed much poetical taste; and the proficiency of Mrs. Ellet not only proves her own superior powers of intellect, but also the superior talents and learning of her

tutor, as well as the devotion he must have paid to her improvement.

In 1833, she began to venture her productions before the public eye, her first poems appearing in the American Ladies' Magazine. These were very favorably reviewed, and she has gone on increasing her literary acquaintance, till she is now a regular contributor to several periodicals. The articles on "Italian and French Literature" and in the "Italian and French Poets, and Poetry," which have, at different times, appeared in the "American Quarterly," and in "The Southern Literary Journal" are from her pen. In 1834, appeared her translation of "Euphemio of Messina, one of the most admired productions of Silvio Pellico. Since then she has written two original tragedies, one of which, (Teresa Contarini) is printed in her volume of Poems, published a few months since, at Philadelphia. This tragedy bears the same impress of pure thoughts, expressed in chaste and beautiful language, which marks all her poetry. There is not much originality of invention displayed in her productions; but her versification is very correct, and the images and illustrations such as show a heart-warm love for the charms of nature, and a fancy that has revelled in the beauties of the classic world. Her eritical taste is refined by a thorough acquaintance with the choice writings of the Italian and French schol ars; and she has lately added the study of the German language and literature to her many acquisitions. Nor are her accomplishments confined to the merely literary; in music and drawing she also excels; and in the graces that adorn society, and make the charm of social and domestic intercourse, she is described as being eminently gifted. She now resides at Columbia, S. C.-her husband, Dr. Ellet, being chosen to a Professorship in the College at that place. Her fervid and active mind will doubtless find much gratification in the new and rich scenery of the South-her genius, like the " orange blossom," seems to