A. D. WOODBRIDGE.

and became connected with the Brooklyn Female Seminary, a new institution, which was opened during that year. On the occasion of the dedication of this Seminary she wrote the following poem :—

If in yon glorious arch on high
Another star should purely shine,

How would we gaze with wond'ring eye!
How fervent bless the light divine!
The miser turning from his gold,

The penitent from contrite prayer;
The child of joy-of grief untold,
Would join to hail the stranger fair.

That star hath risen! Even now

Its first faint beam salutes the earth, -
Father of Lights! To Thee we bow,

Oh! bless the hour that gave it birth!

Long may it shine with steady ray;

Long gild these heights' with purest beam;

Star of our hopes, still cheer our way,

Until we wake from Life's long dream.

How long she remained at this Seminary, we cannot learn, or whether she is still connected with it. In her private character, and also in her literary productions she reminds us very much of that gifted young lady, Miss Lucy Hooper, whose early death was so deeply lamented by all who knew her, or were familiar with her writings. Miss Woodbridge, to a large extent, possesses the same gentleness of disposition, purity of heart, and winning manner, which made this lady so much beloved. Her writings are characterized by a deep religious purity and earnestness, and are not without their proper share of

merit.

LIFE'S LIGHT AND SHADE.

How strangely, in this life of ours,

Light falls amid the darkest shade!

How soon the thorn is hid by flowers!
How Hope, sweet spirit, comes to aid
The heart oppressed by care and pain,
And whispers, all shall yet be well!'
We listen to her magic strain,

And yield the spirit to her spell.

How oft when Love is like a bird

Whose weary wing sweeps o'er the sea,
While not an answering note is heard,
She spies a verdant olive-tree;
And soon within that sheltering bower,
She pours her very soul in song,
While other voices wake that hour,
Her gentle numbers to prolong.

Thus, when this heart is sad and lone,

As Memory wakes her dirge-like hymn, When Hope on heavenward wing has flown, And earth seems wrapped in shadows dim; O! then a word, a glance, a smile,

A simple flower, a childhood's glee, Will each sad thought, each care beguile, Till joy's bright fountain gushes free.

A. D. WOODBRIDGE.

To-day, its waters softly stirred,

For Peace was nigh, that gentle dove! And sweet as song of forest-bird,

Came the low voice of one I love;

And flowers, the smile of Heaven,' were mine,

6

They seemed to whisper Why so sad?

Of love we are the seal and sign,

We come to make thy spirit glad.'

Thus ever in the steps of grief

Are seen the precious seeds of joy, Each fount of Marah' hath a 'leaf,' Whose healing balm we may employ. Then 'midst Life's fitful fleeting day,

Look up! the sky is bright above; Kind voices cheer thee on thy way,

Faint spirit! trust the God of Love!