JROSELLA RICE. RosELLA Rice is a native of Ashland county, Ohio. Her father, Alexander Rice, was among the earliest settlers at Perrysville, and Rosella has always resided at the old homestead, where she was born, about the year 1830, Miss Rice is a born poet, and has nursed her strange, wild fancies, amid the equally wild hills and glens and rocky caves which she has haunted with a devotion that has amounted to a life pas- sion. Meeting with but few associates who could appreciate the depth of her passion for such communings, her spirit was wont to retire within herself, except when it was called forth by the presence of the sylvan gods among whom she worshiped. Her early contributions to the county papers are marked by her own rude, but genuine original characteristics. Coming but little in contact with the world at large, she built upon ideal models, wherever she departed from her own original. Miss Rice has read much and well, and within the last few years has visited the wide world con- siderably. She has contributed to Arthur's Home Magazine, Philadelphia, and to sev- eral of the Cleveland, Columbus, and other papers in Ohio. Her prose writings al- ways attract attention and secure a wide cu-culation, from their peculiar original vigor and directness. In 1859 she published a considerable volume, entitled "Mabel, or Hejirt Histories, a Novel," from the press of FoUett, Foster & Company, of Colum- bus, Ohio. CHARLIE LEE. I WILL whisper, Charlie Lee, Olden memories to thee ; Tell thee of the alder shade "Where we two together played, How the bended bough we rode, Till our ruddy faces glowed — Then our horses tethered fast Till the weary lesson past. Light again, we bounded free-r- Little Rose, and Charlie Lee. I will whisper, Charlie Lee, Other stories unto thee ; Tell thee of the grassy meads, Where white lilies hang their heads, (<516) Where sweet-williams purple grew, And low violets wet with dew ; Where the pinky clover blooms. Nodding, scattered soft perfumes. And, with dimpled hands full we Roved delighted, Charlie Lee. I will whisper, Charlie Lee, Treasured stories unto thee ; How we waded in the rill, Panting, clambered up the hill, 'Mong the lithe and waving pines, Sobbing low to summer winds. From the leaves of winter-green Berries of a crimson sheen. Chatting gaily, gathered we, In aprons tiny, Charlie Lee.
