MADAM HANNAH LATHROP,

Had I an artist's pencil, I might sketch

Her as she was, in her young matronhood

Graceful and dignified, serene and fair.

— I well remember, when at Sabbath-morn,

With pious zeal, the rural church she sought,

Our rural church,— by rocks o'er-canopied,—

Where with her stately husband and their group

Of younglings bright, each in the accustom'd seat,

How many a glance was toward her beauty bent

Admiringly.

In those primeval days

The aristocracy that won respect,

Sprang not from wealth alone, but laid its base

In goodness and in virtue. Thus she held

Her healthful influence in society

Without gainsaying voice.

The polity

Of woman's realm,— sweet home,— those inner cares

And countless details that promote its peace,

Prosperity and order, were not deem'd

Beneath the highest then, nor wholly left

To hireling hands. This science she upheld,

And with her circle of accomplishments

And charms so mingled it, that all combined

Harmoniously.

That energy and grace

So often deem'd the exclusive property

Of youth's fresh season, or of vigorous prime,

She brought to Age, an unencumbered dower,

Making the gift of being beautiful,

Even beyond ninety years.

And though the change

Of mortal life, dispers'd her cherish'd band,

And some had gone their own fair nests to build

And some arisen to mansions in the skies

Alone, yet undismay'd, her post she kept,

Guiding a household in the same good ways

Of order and of hospitality.

So, when with mild decline, the sunset came,

Her powers still unimpair'd, all willingly

As a confiding and obedient child

Goes to its father's house, she went above.