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16 Juvenile Letters. 
Yet I was once a mother's pride,
And my brave father's hope and joy;
But in the Nile's proud fight he died, 
And I am now an ORPHAN BOY!

Poor foolish child, how pleas'd was I, 
When news of Nelson's victory came !
Along the crowded streets to fly ;
And see the lighted windows flame. 

To force me home my mother sought ;
She could not bear to see my joy ;
For with my father's life 'twas bought,
And made me a poor ORPHAN BOY.

The people's shouts were long and loud ;
My mother shudd'ring clos'd her ears :
"Rejoice, rejoice," still cried the crowd ;
My mother answered with her tears !

"Oh ! why do tears steal down your cheek,"
Cried I, "While others shout for joy !"
She kiss'd me ; and in accents weak, 
She call'd me her poor ORPHAN BOY !

"What is an ORPHAN BOY ?" I said ;
When suddenly she gasp'd for breath, 
And her eyes clos'd ! I shriek'd for aid : 
But ah ! her eyes were clos'd in death!
My 

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Juvenile Letters. 17 

My hardships since I will not tell ;
But now, no more a parent's joy,
Ah, Lady, I have learn'd too well
What 'tis to be an ORPHAN BOY !

Oh, were I by your bounty fed !
Nay, gentle Lady, do not chide :
Trust me, I mean to earn my bread ;
The sailor's ORPHAN BOY has pride. 

Lady, you weep ; –what is't you say? 
You'll give me clothing, food, employ !
Look down, dear parents, look and see
Your happy, happy ORPHAN BOY !


LETTER VIII. 
From Miss Sophronia Bellmont to Miss Caroline Courtland. 
New-York, May 15, 1801. 

DEAR FRIEND, 
ACCORDING to my promise, be-
fore I left Boston, I will attempt to give you 
a short history of our journey, and a description
of some of the places we have passed through. 
We had a pleasant ride in the stage to Prov-
idence, where we arrived the dirst night. We lodged
B2