COIINELIA W. LAWS. Cornelia Ellicott Williams is the daugliter of the late M. C. "Williams of Col- lege Hill, near Cincinnati. She was educated at the Ohio Female College, at College Hill, where, in addition to her attainments in more sedate studies, she took high rank for the elegance of her composition, in prose and verse, and for artistic skill in mu?ic. Pier soul is full of song, and her poetry is the offspring of the melodies of heart and voice. Miss "Williams was married, in 1857, at Syracuse, New York, to Joseph P. Laws, a merchant of Richmond, Indiana, where she now resides. Her poems have been contributed to the Cincinnati Commercial, the St. Louis Democrat, and Syracuse Journal, and some of them very extensively copied by the Press. She first published "The Empty Chair," in 1856; the next year, "Six Little Feet on the Fender," and " Behind the Post." Of the " Empty Chair," as it first appeared in the Commercial, George "W. Cutter thus wrote to that paper: " If my poor judgment is worth any thing in matters of this kind, I unhesitatingly pronounce it ' beautiful exceedingly.' I know of few poems in our language, that, for freshness and originality of thought, justness of meta- phor, picturesque arrangement, pleasing melody, and depth of pathos, surpass or even approach this * gem of purest ray serene,' these beautiful buds of promise." These commendations apply with still more force to some of her later compositions. Mrs. Laws is still in the bloom and freshness of early womanhood ; and these effu- sions from her pen may be happily styled " the beautiful buds of promise" that pre- cede and foretell the flowers and fruitage of a brilliant summer and golden autumn of life. THE EMPTY CHAIR. On the hearth, the embers dying. Flush the darkness as they fall. And the shadows flitting, flying, Play like waves upon the wall. Hither, thither they are winging. Reeling routes around the room, O'er the silent pictures flinging Fitful palls of sullen gloom. On the pool the rain is wreathing Circlets, tripping here and there, Golden gleams oft interweaving. Stolen from some casement's glare. Through the drifting darkness whirling, IMadiy race the yellow leaves, And down the darkened pane are purling Streamlets from the dripping eaves. The parted curtains white are streaming. By the fagot's light more fair, ( 670^
