One, this day Hath gone, whose memory like a loving smile Lingereth behind her. She was skilled to charm And make her pleasant home a cloudless scene Of happiness to children and to guests; But most to him whose heart for many years Did safely trust in her, finding his cares Divided and his pleasures purified. A sweet-voiced kindness, prompting word and deed, Dwelt ever with her; and, when hours of pain Narrowed the scope of her activities, Its radiance comforted the friends who came To comfort her. With soul serenely calm She felt the cherished ties of earth recede That long had bound her in such fond control, And with a hymn upon her whitening lip, A thrilling cadence tremulously sweet, Into the valley of the shade of death Entered unshrinkingly. How blest to rise With song of praise, unto that tuneful choir Whose harps are ne'er unstrung, and have no tone Of weary dissonance. The rose of June Was in its flushing, and a few brief moons Had cast upon her lovely daughter's grave Their hallowed lustre, when we laid so low Her perishable part, seeming to hear Their chant of welcome, unto whom the Sun No more goes down, and partings are unknown. MISS LAURA KINGSBURY, Died at Hartford, July, 1861. Faithful and true in duty's sacred sphere, How like the summer-lightning hath she fled! One moment bending o'er the letter'd page,-- The next reposing with the silent dead. No more by shaded lamp, or garden fair;-- Yet hath she left a living transcript here, Yon helpless orphans will remember her,[1] And the young invalid she skilled to cheer; And he who trusted in her from his birth, As to a Mother's love,--and friends who saw Her goodness seeking no applause from earth, But ever steadfast to its heavenly law: For she, like her of old, with listening ear Sate at the Saviour's feet and won His plaudit dear. [1] She was a judicious and faithful manager of the Female Beneficent Society of Hartford. GOVERNOR JOSEPH TRUMBULL, Died at Hartford, August 4th, 1861; and his wife, Mrs. ELIZA STORRS TRUMBULL, the night after his funeral. Death's shafts fly thick, and love a noble mark. --And one hath fallen who bore upon his shield The name and lineage of an honor'd race Who gave us rulers in those ancient days Where truth stood first and gain was left behind.