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 MARY A. FOSTER. Mary A. Foster — " Mary Neville " — was born on the seventeenth of November, 1823, in a quiet English town near the famous University of Oxford. Her ancestors on both sides were of high respectability, and those of her paternal grandfather had lived and died, for many generations, in the neighborhood. There too the Nevilles, also progenitors, had resided many years. " Maiy Neville's" father was a man of some note in the community, and was much respected ; her deceased mother, Eliza- beth Bright, a woman of remarkable beauty, grace and intelligence. In 1840, having had reverses of fortune, they removed to London, changing their rural life for the busy hum of the great city. vSeveral sons had attained to manhood, and the parents were, with great difficulty, persuaded by them to emigrate to the United States. They went first to Michigan with the intention of buying land, but abandoning that idea resided for two years in Detroit. The family then removed to Cincinnati, and finally to Columbus, Ohio. " Mary Neville's " prose compositions are quite equal to her poems. In the style and sentiment which make the charm of epistolary writing, she excels. She assumed the ancestral name of " Neville " in commemoration of the fallen greatness of that ancient family once so renowned in English history. Miss Foster has been, for six or seven years, a frequent contributor to the Cincin- nati Gazette, the Cincinnati Commercial, and the Ohio Statesman. HYMN TO THE STARS. Ye countless orbs that shine upon us night- Serene and silent teachers from afar. Fain would I read your lesson well and rightly. No sentence mar ! Ages on ages, in unvarying splendor. Have ye not preached, all eloquent and still, The sermon, that our hearts unaptly ren- der, Yield to His will ? Ye shone as calmly, in the by-gone ages, On the Chaldean, with his eager eye. Who sought to read your mystic, holy pages. And read awry. Ah me ! fore-guessing not your mightier glory, He sought man's destiny in your bright gleams, And turned to nothing but an earthly story, Your warning beams. Do we more truly learn your wondrous message. Ye host of witnesses, with voiceless cry? (449) 29