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. Echo. The book is finely gotten up (in the style of its time) in red embossed cover, the central feature of each being a wreath-encircled lyre imposed upon a scroll, pen, and sprays of flowers, the front figures in gold. Each page is bordered with wavy ruled lines, and each of the articles begins with ornamental capitals and have head and tail pieces of intricate geometrical design. The author and editor was the daughter of Ebenezer Smith, and became the wife of Thomas P. Smith, who in 1852 erected the Mystic Hall building at West Medford, and whose death soon after was a loss to Medford. Mr. Smith contributed two articles, one A Word to Mothers, to the book. For her educative work in Medford, the reader is referred to Regis-Ter, Vol. XI, p. 49. In Literary Medford, Register, Vol. XV, p. 4, is a mention of the seminary and studies, but the name of its preceptress does not there appear, nor direct mention of her as an author, nor is this book under consideration in Medford'
rifle was her Echo Song, with introductory note- On the shores of the Adriatic the women come down to the shore at nightfall and sing, then listen for a response from their husbands and friends on the water, that they may be guided home by the sound of their voice. Her verses beginning The curfew tells the closing day, The last sun-rays have left the bay And the shore; imitate the women's song, the men's echo and the chorus, and are preceded by the music Soft and slow, adapted by S. Hill, in which occurs twice pp. Echo. The book is finely gotten up (in the style of its time) in red embossed cover, the central feature of each being a wreath-encircled lyre imposed upon a scroll, pen, and sprays of flowers, the front figures in gold. Each page is bordered with wavy ruled lines, and each of the articles begins with ornamental capitals and have head and tail pieces of intricate geometrical design. The author and editor was the daughter of Ebenezer Smith, and became the wife
Ebenezer Smith (search for this): chapter 14
oft and slow, adapted by S. Hill, in which occurs twice pp. Echo. The book is finely gotten up (in the style of its time) in red embossed cover, the central feature of each being a wreath-encircled lyre imposed upon a scroll, pen, and sprays of flowers, the front figures in gold. Each page is bordered with wavy ruled lines, and each of the articles begins with ornamental capitals and have head and tail pieces of intricate geometrical design. The author and editor was the daughter of Ebenezer Smith, and became the wife of Thomas P. Smith, who in 1852 erected the Mystic Hall building at West Medford, and whose death soon after was a loss to Medford. Mr. Smith contributed two articles, one A Word to Mothers, to the book. For her educative work in Medford, the reader is referred to Regis-Ter, Vol. XI, p. 49. In Literary Medford, Register, Vol. XV, p. 4, is a mention of the seminary and studies, but the name of its preceptress does not there appear, nor direct mention of her as a
Eliza T. P. Smith (search for this): chapter 14
My father. by Eliza T. P. Smith. And I am conscious of affecting thoughts, And dear remembrances, whose presence soothes And elevates the mind. Wordsworth. My father! What remembrance dear Arises when that name I hear. Memory's voice brings back to me Childhood's moments full of glee, All its gambols, all its plays, All my father's kindly ways. Ah! it brings to me again Days of weariness or pain, When soft cradled in his arms, Gentle songs soothed all alarms. Those years, alas! how quickly flown— Those years, with love and blessings strewn. Memory's voice it wakes again— That parental, tender strain; Love and precept, line on line Did my father's word combine— Yes, it was his lavish hand Ever placed at my command All that could adorn and bless, Knowledge, truth and happiness. Those halcyon days have passed away— But his counsels with me stay. My father! yes I see him now, With generous hand and sunny brow, Making happy those around— Soothing grief wherever found, And
Thomas P. Smith (search for this): chapter 14
page is bordered with wavy ruled lines, and each of the articles begins with ornamental capitals and have head and tail pieces of intricate geometrical design. The author and editor was the daughter of Ebenezer Smith, and became the wife of Thomas P. Smith, who in 1852 erected the Mystic Hall building at West Medford, and whose death soon after was a loss to Medford. Mr. Smith contributed two articles, one A Word to Mothers, to the book. For her educative work in Medford, the reader is refeMr. Smith contributed two articles, one A Word to Mothers, to the book. For her educative work in Medford, the reader is referred to Regis-Ter, Vol. XI, p. 49. In Literary Medford, Register, Vol. XV, p. 4, is a mention of the seminary and studies, but the name of its preceptress does not there appear, nor direct mention of her as an author, nor is this book under consideration in Medford's Public Library, which has a special case for Medford authors. Well worthy of perusal in the present days, it is a recent accession to the library of the Medford Historical Society.
Wordsworth (search for this): chapter 14
My father. by Eliza T. P. Smith. And I am conscious of affecting thoughts, And dear remembrances, whose presence soothes And elevates the mind. Wordsworth. My father! What remembrance dear Arises when that name I hear. Memory's voice brings back to me Childhood's moments full of glee, All its gambols, all its plays, All my father's kindly ways. Ah! it brings to me again Days of weariness or pain, When soft cradled in his arms, Gentle songs soothed all alarms. Those years, alas! how quickly flown— Those years, with love and blessings strewn. Memory's voice it wakes again— That parental, tender strain; Love and precept, line on line Did my father's word combine— Yes, it was his lavish hand Ever placed at my command All that could adorn and bless, Knowledge, truth and happiness. Those halcyon days have passed away— But his counsels with me stay. My father! yes I see him now, With generous hand and sunny brow, Making happy those around— Soothing grief wherever found, And t