bantling has been dutiful to its father, but the father has made it a foundling, trusting it to the mercies of a work-house world. Still I trust it will find a home as good as the one it has left; a home in good and quiet hearts; hearts which respect even an impotent striving after the truth.

New BEDFORD, JAN. 10, 1840.

Go! little brain-begot!

Companion of lone hours !
Go, tell the world, how a journeyer

On life's way, has been plucking flowers ! And though the flowers were humble,

That the poet plucked here and there, Yet say

that still he watched them With a father's care. Say, how, when life grew darksome,

They were gentle stars to him, And shone to light him on his way,

With a steady light though dim. Oh! let no rude hand tear them!

Good critic! hast thou no flowers,
Which have been to thee like children,

With low prattle for lone hours ?
If thou hast, thou know'st how gladly

Come these little fairies up;

Thou know'st how gently they steal away

Bitterness from wo's cup; And give thee to drink of the crystal stream,

Where sunlight has ever shone, Over which no rainy cloudlet

By misfortune has been blown. Then spare these little blossoms,

That for my delight have grown! Respect a brother's hopings,

And may God smile on thy own.

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