A living spring of cool, clear water, on the banks of the Fox River, Appleton, Wis.: said to have been first discovered by, and named after, a beautiful Indian girl by the name of “TELULAH” who, many years ago, lived near the spot. I’ve heard it told, that many years ago, When here deep groves stood in their majesty, Ere they had felt the white man’s fatal stroke, And peace and happiness breathed over all,-- That near this spring an Indian maiden dwelt. Most beautiful was she, so runs the tale, With tresses like the darkest raven’s coat, And eyes to match their hue. Her lips, ’tis said, Surpassed the reddest berries on the hill; And the bright glow which rested on her cheek Was like the morning beam, or like the rays Of eve, that ling’ring, paint the western sky. Such was the one, ’tis said, who first beheld This living stream of water, cool and clear, Uprising from the bosom of the earth. Here many a traveler on his weary way ’Mid summer’s heat, retires to cool his brow, And freely drink the ever crystal tide. And men oppressed with city care and strife, Stroll hither when the toils of day are o’er; Or when the weary week draws to a close, Upon that day when all men cease their toils, Approach this calm retreat to meditate On nature’s wonders and the Mighty One By Whom all things were formed and still exist. And happy lovers strolling hand in hand Amid these pleasant bowers, pause to behold This sparkling fount forever gushing forth, And linger ’round this scene of beauty, which Still bears the name of that sweet Indian girl. _DAYBREAK._ We behold the bright joys of another day’s dawn, As time swiftly flies “like a bird on the wing;” Let’s improve every moment, now, ere it has gone, For no one can tell what the next one may bring. Our hopes of the future we never may see; Our days that are past we can never redeem; But to-day every heart, love and joy may impart, Which surpasses the sun’s most radiant beam. _TO A BROWN THRUSH_, On finding its nest and young. O little thrush, what gives thee such alarm? Pray fear thee not, nor think that I am come To injure or disturb thy happy home; Thy little ones so sweet I ne’er would harm. Thy love, like all true parents’ love, is strong-- At all times anxious for thy young so dear; But put away now ev’ry needless fear, And once again resume thy happy song. Sweet bird, I wish thee never-ceasing cheer! Who, with devoted love and tender care, Look’st on thy nestlings now so young and fair. May never cruel enemy come near, Led by blood-thirsty instincts, to destroy Thy little home--now filled with peace and joy. _HOPE._ Ne’er lose thy courage, tho’ dark seems the strife; The blackest night dies with the golden dawn: Let not thy hope cease while there still is life, For Hope is what the world is living on! _THE ANGEL OF HOME._