Hagar, a Story of To-day, 1852; Lyra and other Poems, 1853; enlarged editions, including The Maiden Flascala, 1855; Married, not Mated, 1856; Pictures of Country, 1859; Lyrics and Hymns, 1866; The Bishop's Sons, 1867; The Lover's Diary, 1867; and Snow Berries, a Book for Young Folks, 1869.

Phoebe's poems were more independent in style and more buoyant in tone than those of her sister. One of her first poems, printed in 1842, attracted much attention. Her works, besides her contributions to her sister's volumes, are Poems and Parodies, 1854; Poems of Faith, Hope and Love, 1868; and most of the Hymns for all Christians, compiled in 1869, by Rev. Dr. Deems.

The writings of Alice and Phoebe are "marked with great sweetness and pathos," and their home became a noted. resort for their literary friends.

Among the Beautiful Pictures.

MONG the beautiful pictures

That hang on Memory's wall

Is one of a dim old forest,
That seemeth best of all;
Not for its gnarled oaks olden,
Dark with the mistletoe;

Not for the violets golden

That sprinkle the vale below;

Not for the milk-white lilies

That lean from the fragrant ledge,
Coquetting all day with the sunbeams
And stealing their golden edge;
Not for the vines on the upland,

Where the bright red berries rest;

Nor the pinks, nor the pale, sweet cowslip.

It seemeth to me the best.

I once had a little brother

With eyes that were dark and deep;

In the lap of that old dim forest
He lieth in peace asleep;
Light as the down of the thistle,
Free as the winds that blow,
We roved there the beautiful summers,
The summers of long ago;

But his feet on the hills grew weary

And one of the autumn eves
I made for my little brother

A bed of the yellow leaves.

Sweetly his pale arms folded

My neck in a meek embrace,
As the light of immortal beauty
Silently covered his face;
And when the arrows of sunset

Lodged in the tree-tops bright,
He fell, in his saint-like beauty,
Asleep by the gates of light.
Therefore of all the pictures

That hang on Memory's wall,
The one of the dim old forest
Seemeth the best of all.

An Order for a Picture.

GOOD painter, tell me true,

Has your hand the cunning to draw Shapes of things that you never saw? Ay? Well, here is an order for you.

Woods and cornfields, a little brown,-
The picture must not be over-bright,
Yet all in the golden and gracious light
Of a cloud, when the summer sun is down.

Alway and alway, night and morn,
Woods upon woods, with fields of corn
Lying between them, not quite sere,

And not in the full, thick, leafy bloom,
When the wind can hardly find breathing room
Under their tassels,-cattle near,

Biting shorter the short, green grass,
And a hedge of sumach and sassafras,
With bluebirds twittering all around,-
(Ah, good painter, you can't paint sound!)

These, and the house where I was born,
Low and little, and black and old,
With children, many as it can hold,

All at the windows, open wide,—

Heads and shoulders clear outside,

And fair young faces all ablush:

Perhaps you may have seen, some day

Roses crowding the self-same way,

Out of a wilding, wayside bush.

Listen closer. When you have done

With woods and cornfields and grazing herds,

A lady, the loveliest ever the sun

Looked down upon, you must paint for me;