orbing ocean.
Such was she
Who left us yesterday. Her speaking smile
Her earnest footstep hastening to give aid
Or sympathy, her ready hand well-skill'd
In all that appertains to Woman's sphere,
Her large heart pouring life o'er every deed,
And her warm interchange of social joy
Stay with us as a picture.
There, we oft
Musing, shall contemplate each lineament
With mournful tenderness, through gushing tears,
That tell our loss, and her unmeasured gain.

MADAM POND,

Widow of the late CALEB POND, Esq., died at Hartford, February 19th
1861, aged 73.

Would any think who marked the smile
On yon untroubled face,
That threescore years and ten had fled
Without a wrinkling trace?

Yet age doth sometimes skill to guard
The beauty of its prime,
And hold a quenchless lamp above
The water-floods of time.

And she, for whom we mourn, maintained
Through every change and care,
Those hallowed virtues of the soul
That keep the features fair.

They raised a little child to look
Into the coffin deep,
Who dream'd the lovely lady lay
But in a transient sleep,

And gazed upon the face of death
With eye of tranquil ray,
Well pleased, as with the snowy flowers,
That on her bosom lay.

Then on the sad procession moved,
And mid funereal gloom,
The only son was there to lay
His mother in the tomb.

Oh, memories of an only child,
How strong and rich ye are!
A wealth of concentrated love
That none beside can share.

And hence, the filial grief that swells,
When breaks its latest tie,
Flows onward with a fuller tide
Than meets the common eye.

With voice of holy prayer she pass'd
Forth from her pleasant door,
Where tender recollections dwell
Though she returns no more.

Even so the pure and pious rise
From tents of pain and woe,
But leave a precious transcript here
To guide us where they go.

ANNIE SEYMOUR ROBINSON,

Daughter of LUCIUS F. ROBINSON and Mrs. ELIZA S. ROBINSON, died at
Hartford, Wednesday, April 10th, 1861, aged 6 years and 2 months.

Dids't hear him call, my beautiful?--
The Sire, so fond and dear
Who ere the last moon's waning ray,
Pass'd in his prime of days away,
And hath not left his peer?

Say, beckoning from yon silver cloud
Though none beside might see,
A hand that erst with love and pride
Its little daughter's steps would guide--
Stretch'd out that hand for thee?

The wreathin