Celestia Rice and June Rose Colby Collection

To make chloride of lime Dissolve a bushel of salt in a barrel of water, and with this salt water slake a barrel of lime

E/R [Quire?]

R/

"Now fired by wrath and now by reason cooled" Illiad

Cynthia L Weeks [all words underlined twice] Celestia M. Rice's Book [Cherry Valley - underlined twice]

Cyntha Vine Colby

[pressed flowers] Plummer

Mrs. Cordelia R. Davis Geneva Kane So. Ill. May 22ond 1852

C.R.C.

[AA?] Mass [Mn C?] [Celes? C]

celestia M. Rices

To S.L.C. March 22ond 1857

What a curse is ignorance! How destructive to enjoyment! I've been reading "Nile Notes of a Howadji," but my ignorance prevents a full appreciation of its beauty. A [haze?] the sense in many places by not understanding the classical [po- erased] historical and poetical references and allusions with which it abounds, yet it is interesting, dreamy, and practical.

I feel while reading it as I can imagine I should if roaming among the scenes described. I could gaze upon the tropical splendar of the earth and sky, could admire the strange rare beauty of the floral lace, and the majestic grandeur of the palm, could stand in breathless awe amid the awful solotude[s-crossed out] of the desert , but no voice would come to me [underlined] from the sacred shrine of Memnon to thrill my soul with the mighty music of the past, and from the pryamids no shadowy forms of ancient greatness should look down on me [underlined] with wisdom in its glance, "Each palm is a poet "Says the Howadji; but the melody of the poem would be lost on my [minstructed?] ear.

Thus it is that the dark veil of ignornce shuts out the sunlight of enjoyment from the mind, closes a thousand avenues of exquisite pleasure which, are open to the favored few who possess the golden [?] and I [most - crossed out] can only gaze wistfully at the flowery path I cannot enter as Moses from Pisgah's top viewed the promised land which he was forbidden to enter,

Loose Papers

On the Death of C A Weeds August 1847.

I saw a flower untimely blasted By the cruel frost of spring Yet beautiful while it lasted And lovely when withering. - - - - - - - - - - - - I like the leaf that decays When the forest is green When the bright fair days Of summer are seen. So then dear friend has perished In innocense and truth, like the hopes that are cherished In the first days of youth. - - - - - - - - - 4 Go thou from earth lost fade Away In thy early youthful bloom Thy soul hath gave to realms of day Thy body to the tomb.

To the Spring Breeze. April 24th 1846

Blow ye spring breezes, blow ye scented gales, Strong wild in your mirth o'er hills and dales, Go to your love cottage and carry tales of joy, Go tell them of their long lost absent boy. Say that in your wanderings him you've seen, Kissed his cheek and marked his noble mein. Go to that son, and tell him of his parents old and gray Tell him of that house far, far away, Of that love cot, cheek hid among the trees. Of each familiar flower, and the hum of the bees, Where once his own merry voice rung wild and free In those innocent days of boyish glee. Go bid his return to his childhood sweet home. Bid him in foreign climes no log hre to sanger roam But to go and cheer that father and mother, And to be to that sister as once he was - a brother.

Aspirations I scrap.

There are in the human heart high and holy aspirations, that sleep there in its hidden recesses like pearls in the bossoms of an shell because their home is not on earth, and they meet with nothing here to satisfy them.

Loose Papers.

To H. H. For her Album

Learn not a strangers wish fair maiden Nor grudge the pages that bears her name, For she would wish thy life with blossoms laden And thy memory live in fame. May the fire of thine eye ne'er be quenched in sorrow Nor the bloom of they cheek be less lovely than now May each day be happy, but happier thy morrow, And the gems of Content encircle thy brow. May thy life be like a long summers day And thy death like the close of the same, As useful in thy own happy way, And blessings be breathed on thy name. One hour for herself, the stranger would crave Thy pardon for sullying this page The pleasures now, to thee who has pardon gave And blessings on thy age.

To a Friend August 1844

When in its wild majesty the storm is roaring by And Nature's pall is spread o'er all the darkened sky And each element in wild confusion blending And sheets of liquid fire to earth descending Then think of me.

When morning dawns and freshly fair, The sun breaks forth on the fragrant air, And flowerets ope their face to the day, To drink the light of the suns first ray Then think of me.

A world which cannot furnish aught to satisfy the longings of the soul.

Loose Papers November 1847

Nature is beautiful in the morning in splendor, and reflects its first rays upon the thousand drops of pearly dew that glitterd on every leaf and flower, when the mists and vapor's [roll-crossed out] of night roll up the mountain side and disappear in the transparent ether. When the feathery warblers carol forth then earliest mating and the bee flits forth to kiss the roses, and the butterfly is drinking the dew from their painted cups, and the little insects are on the wind eager to enjoy their hour of existence. The merry schoolboy is no less happy than they as he carelessly throws his satchel across his shoulder, and as he gaily trips over the dew spangled meadow he rivals the bird in his glee, and the butterfly in the variety of his motions All is joyful and happy. Yet Nature is no less beautiful when twilight returns and "Evening drops her curtain down And pins it with a star," for there the silver eyed quiet of night throws her mild beams over the face of nature and the sweet Nightingale tunes her song anew, unaided save by other minstrels save the plaintive notes of the Whippoor will which occasionally vibrate on the still air of evening. Then myriads of stars are gazing fondly down when sleeping nature, and all is hushed in repose, and the flower Angel is folded in each bud and blossom, no sound is heard save the murmurring roll as it softly winds its way among snow while lillies, kissing their delicate green leaves as they bend over its cooling waters. How beautifulis Nature then. = - = = -

I am not what I seem, That careless gay and thoughtless one Which many deem; The course of thought will sometimes run Across my giddy brain Swift as the clouds pass o'er the sun And all is thoughtlesness again.

Loose Papers. January 1848

To the Serenaders

When the pale glimmering queen of night Sheds her mild lustre, and her silver light, Then music wafts her charms along, Borne in the midnight air her sweetest song, The sons of music chose her silvery light, And pour their sweetest lays on the ears of night When the breezes are hushed in stillness to rest, And the last hues of light have you from sweetest And the laughing stars look down upon earth 'Tis then that sweetest music has its birth, And bids farewell to departing day. When locked in drowsy slumber's arms, Imagination brings her false alarms, [O-crossed out] And dreams are hovering o'er our pillow, Then music, soft as the breeze that plays with the willow. From the sons of song, that are lingering near, Pours its soft notes in the enraptured ear.

There is music in Heaven, and music here, There is music in all that is good and dear There is music in nature when the wild breezes play; But Night has her music when the [music-crossed out] last ray, Of her silvery green lights the serenaders along. To greet the fair with a cheerful song.

Then what care we though the moralists say That 'tis sinful and wrong in the viol to play Or the music that has the darkened hall

Loose Papers

Of night to hide it is no music at all; Yet the music that floats on the night's still air Is the sweetest of all to the young and the fair.

Then play, ye merry songsters play, For we listen with delight to every ray, That drives the drowsy God away. Or lends to night another charm, To snatch its hours from Oblivions arm. So play ye merry songsters play.

Acoustics March 16th 1845

Father, there is a magic spell around thy name A halo, though it breathes not of fame; There's a cord entwined around thy heart Here centred, finds its port, Even now I feel its thrilling Rich treasure to my heart instilling.

Mother, ever dear, thy name dwells with me here Oh may thy fined spirit linger near, To comfort and console and cheer my lonely way, Here oft at the calm sunset hour Each evening come, I'll own thy power, Return to thy native skies with the sun's last ray.

A Thought.

The

and he seemed in serious mood, and gazed around with an air of wonder upon his baby face. I sat down upon the faded fallen leaves, and folded him in my arms and thought of the past & the future and wept that the finest things of earth must fade. The rude winds swept through the branches above my head with a tone of saddening melody. My heart beat in unison with its wild music and felt the truth, the sad truth that all these must "pass away", that earth can boast as unfading flowers but decay is written on all things here below. I trust natures teaching did not fall unheeded upon my heart but that I may learn more to place my affectons above.

November 1st Alone in the solitude of my chamber, and the silence and darknes of night around me; sad thoughts arise in my heart; and feelings to which I may not give expresion, fills my soul with gloominess.

Nov 3rd. I have just heard the sad news of the early death of my friend Cynthia. I loved her as a sister and can but mourn the early death. She has gone from earth in her early youth, [and - crossed out] in that bright season when the heart beats high, in anticipation of future happiness. If could I have been with her, in her last moments it would have afforded me a sort of mournful pleasure to administer to her wants, and relieve, by the sympathy of affection, her long and painful sickness. But she has gone; as the early flowers pass away. so the loved ones of the heart are snatched from our love, and placed beneath the cold sod. Her memory has ever been precious but death has stole her away.

Nov 8th. Another day of toil has gone and the still evening is with me alone. I feel that my time is too much occupied with earthly cares for my own good. Darkness seems to overspread my mind, and I learn too much upon earth for support. O for strength to act as my own conscience dictates.

Loose Papers

Earth is Beautiful Oct 1842

Lo moonlight is waking the sunrise of soul And thoughts of the beautiful over we roll, See the moon as she rises in her majesty above Seems telling the stars of Saviors light.

See Earth as she's clothed in her evening dress Her moonlight mantle of loveliness, The flowers around her brow their leaves are closing And in spirit and beauty the buds are reposing.

The Spirit of Beauty is afloat on the air On hilltop and mountain that spirit is there, On your quiet river 'tis floating along, Sweet is the notes of the swans last song.

On the wave of the Ocean that Spirit is roaming On the white crested billow, all brightly 'tis foaming 'Tis walking the sands as a being of night Holding converse with the calm spirit of night.

Oh; list to their whipsers; how charming to hear The Spirit of Beauty whispering in our ear, It tells us of earth star and Heaven, That to each the mantle of beauty is given.

That Spirit is in our garden of flowers, And it visits our sweet moonlight bowers; And I've seen, on the bud of a rose, The Spirit of Beauty by moonlight repose.