Oh! she was young, and beautiful, and good, But called away, while Age toils faintly on:— Gone to the voiceless land of shadows—gone In the bright morning of her womanhood. Cheered by the blue-bird’s warble of delight, Springtime, the tender childhood of the year, With bursting bud and sprouting grass is here, And Nature breathes of resurrection bright: It seems unmeet that one so fair should die, When sounds are heard so charming to the ear, And sights beheld so pleasant to the eye: Hush vain regrets! a land of fadeless bloom Is now her home—its passage-way the tomb. Wm. H. C. Hosmer. * * * * * =THE PEDANT:= =OR CHAPTERS FROM A LIFE SPENT PARTLY IN CAROLINA.= =BY HENRY HOLM, ESQ.= PROEM. I never had the least thought of writing any anecdotes of my youth till last summer, when I was in Holland, and met with your correspondent Mr. B——, at the Oùde Doelen, in Amsterdam. As we were chatting over a bottle of Bordeaux wine, in a very dark, long, wainscotted dining-room—the weather being rainy—Professor Broeck, of Utrecht, came in, and being a monstrously inquisitive old man, extracted from me quite an account of my travels in America and my youthful studies. “Why, Holm,” said my American friend, “you ought to put this into a book.”