And, 'a mind _richly_ stored with general information!'
It is a pity that magic is out of date. Something might be done for our Superintendent with the ghost of Hypatia!
Will our friends and readers during the approaching book-buying and holiday presenting times be so kind as to occasionally bear in mind the fact that 'SUNSHINE IN THOUGHT,' by CHARLES GODFREY LELAND, has just been published? As the work in question, while publishing in a serial form, was very warmly and extensively praised by the press, and as high literary authority has declared that 'it presents many bold and original views, very clearly set forth,' we venture to hope that our commendation of it to the public will not seem amiss.--EDMUND KIRKE.
Our lady readers wanting a constant and most commendable companion for the work-basket, would do well to obtain the daintily bound _Ladies' Almanac_ for 1863, issued by GEORGE COOLIDGE, 17 Washington street, Boston, and sold by HENRY DEXTER, New York. It is an almanac; contains a blank memorandum for every day in the year, recipes, music, and light reading--and is altogether an excellent subject for a small and tasteful gift.
A Letter from a brave and jolly friend of ours, now i' the field, says, that during the Maryland battles,
'We bolted dinner almost at a single mouthful, with shot singing around us. JIM had the knife knocked out of his hand by a bullet.'
The CONTINENTAL does not wonder that the dinner in question was finished in one course. Under such very warlike circumstances, we hardly see how it could have been disposed of in the usual piece-meal manner.
Then she arose with solemn eyes, And, moving through the vocal dark, Sat down, with bitter, ceaseless sighs, The river tones to hark-- Deep in the forest dark.
Sick, sick she was of life and light-- She longed for shadow and for death; And, by the river in the night, Thus to her thought gave breath-- Her hungry wish for death:
'Shall I not die, beloved, and free My weary, hopeless, breaking heart? Shall I not dare death, love,' said she, 'And seek thee where thou art? _Life_ keeps our souls apart!'
'So weak, my darling, couldst thou be?' A far voice stirred the pulseless air: 'Thus vainly wouldst thou seek for me-- My heaven thou couldst not share: Such death were love's despair!'