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SONG OF THE WATER-LILY.

Sisters, come up, and breathe the air.
Come up, come up! the world is fair!
There's life and gladness everywhere.
Sisters, come up!

Sisters, come up, and see the light:
The sky is such a beautiful sight,

The blue is so blue, and the white is so white!
Sisters, come up!

Sisters, come up! If you only knew

This gentle warmth, how it thrills me through!
O, I long for the sun to be shining on you!
Sisters, come up!

Sisters, come up. The beauty may go;

For the world was made but this morning, I know.
And if you should lose all this wonderful show!
Sisters, come up!

Sisters, come up! There's music so gay,

And all around such a bright array,

That methinks I have come on a festival day.
Sisters, come up!

Insects bright their way are winging,

Birds on leafy boughs are swinging.

There's humming and buzzing and chirping and singing,

And all the air with joy is ringing.

Sisters, come up!

And the trees are out in their brightest bloom,

And the flowers have brought their rich perfume.

The world is full; but still there 's room.

Sisters, come up!

O, glad am I that, down in the cold,

The Fairy bade me spin my gold,

And draw things beautiful out from the mould.
Sisters, come up!

What grief should I suffer, when everything

Some gift of beauty or joy doth bring,

If I alone had no offering!

Sisters, come up!

Sisters, come up! The world is gay,
And all, of their best, are giving away:

I'm sure it must be a festival day.

Sisters, come up!

Mrs. A. M. Diaz.

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Till every gorge and cavern seems

Thrilled through and through with fairy dreams?

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UST now, and for five years past, all our ideas of cripples have been associated with some poor maimed soldier, one of the heroes who, though no less brave than they who lost their lives, nor more so than the more fortunate, who saved both life and limb, yet demand our full sympathy and respect.

But stop our title says, Written by herself. Was she, then, of those devoted, though mistaken ones, who felt themselves more useful in carrying the musket than when wielding their truer weapons, the pen and the needle, for the comfort and encouragement of dear ones in the field?

No, our cripple was none of these. She can only say that, though in one sense born almost under the walls of that fort against which Treason first exploded its long pent-up malice and deadly hate of Freedom, yet her earliest conscious breath was drawn equally near those not less sacred walls where was wisely conceived, and bravely urged upon a doubting world in the shape of two thousand negro soldiers, an idea in grandeur and importance second only to that of Emancipation itself, the idea that the oppressed should, could, and would fight for their own lives and liberties.

And so our cripple claims to be a true Union - female.
But who was she, and what was the matter with her?

The latter question will be answered in her own words; but it is no more than fair to tell our readers beforehand what kind of a person she is, lest, if they should suppose her to belong to the human species, and near the beginning of her story she should bewail the loss of three and a half of her legs, they should suspect, either her of a moral as well as bodily deficiency, or us, the translator, of inserting some absurd things for our own amusement. And so, as it is all true and not even embellished, — as we have read in one of the Rollo books of a story told by that prince of small boys' friends, Jonas, — we are willing, at the risk of their not reading it at all, to tell them that this individual was large, but very handsome (for she was yellow, with splendid anklets of black hairs), and useful (for out of her body came the most beautiful golden silk you ever saw), and good (for she would eat and drink from my hand), — was a great, handsome, good, and useful spider.

Yes, a spider,-one of the "silk spi

ders of South Carolina," and, in our opinion, a very well-behaved individual, considering where she came from.

She was a favorite pet of ours. Her large size and good temper, but, above all, her remarkable and never-beforeheard-of calamities, made her the chief among many others of her kind; and though a record of them all was kept, yet hers was most full and complete, and abounds in incidents very curious and instructive.

But now you say, If this is a true story, tell us how your wonderful spider told it to you; for we never heard of a spider talking, nor even writing, though we have seen writing that would have passed for a spider's handiwork.

Now this is a secret that we cannot explain to you; but we can suppose an explanation. While dying, this spider lay in a box upon a cushion of a silk handkerchief folded up; and, with her

sharp jaws, she may have cut the words Fig. 1. Female Spider (minus first right leg, and which we alone could decipher and trans

first, second, and tip of fourth left legs).

late; and if you insist upon seeing this same handkerchief, and find yourself unable to read a word of this story, that is no reason why we should be, for spider language is very peculiar, and only to be acquired after long practice. But in whatever way it was written and read, the story is a true one. Hear it:

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