Stilled are the merry notes of childish glee,
And she is left—of all that family!
She looks abroad—and sees no welcome smile,
No cheerful sounds her weary hours beguile,
She looks within—and all is mute despair,
She looks to Heaven—oh! joy! her all is there.
M. S. B. D.
WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK.
Since our last number went to press, we have been called upon to mourn the death of Willis Gaylord Clark, one of the contributors to this Magazine, and a poet of unusual sweetness, elegance, melody and pathos. He died, in his thirty-second year, of pulmonary consumption. He had more than once been almost prostrated by this fell disease, but his constitution had rallied against its attacks, and he, as well as his friends, entertained hopes of his recovery; but about two months before his death, the disease apparently returned with renewed violence, and, after sinking gradually beneath its power, Mr. Clark’s life terminated on Sunday, the 13th of June, 1841.