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102

Juvenile Letters.

alloted a small portion of ground to be managed at my discretion; and I wish you to come in season to assist me in laying it out to the best advantage.
Papa has planted many fruit trees, of almost every kind, which begin to bear abundantly; and he thinks the prospect for the approaching summer is flattering.  The walk among this grove is pleasant beyond description.  If you could but ramble through it once with me, which all the trees are loaded with their variety of fruits, I know your gratificaiton would be no less than mine.  Already the redbreast, the lark, and the thrush, have returned to their summer haunt, anticipating a plentiful harvest; and, in melodious notes, have commenced the praises of Him who "feedeth the fowls of the air, which neither sow nor reap, nor gather into barns."
Hasten then, dear Helen, to join your Fanny; and we will repeat to these animating songsters the following lines of Rev Mr. Graves.
INVITATION

103

Juvenile Letters. 

INVITATION TO THE FEATHERED TRIBE.

AGAIN the balmy Zephyr blows,
Fresh verdure decks the grove,
Each bird with vernal rapture glows,
And tunes his notes to love.

Ye gentle warblers, hither fly,
And shun the noontide heat;
My shrubs a cooling shade supply,
My groves a safe retreat.

Here freely hp from spray to spray,
Or weave the mossy nest;
Here rove and sing the live-long day;
At night here sweetly rest.

Amidst this cool translucent rill,
That trickles down the glade,
Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill,
And revel in the shade.

No school-boy rude, to mischief prone,
E'er shows his ruddy face,
Or twangs his bow, or hurls a stone,
In this sequester'd place.

Hither the vocal Thrush repairs,
Secure the Linnet sings,
The Goldfinch dreads no slimy snares,
To clog her painted wings.

Sad