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Juvenile Letters.

My stockings there I often knit,
My 'kerchiefs there I hem,
And there upon the ground I sit ;
I sit and song to them.

And often after sun-set, sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

The first that died was little Jane,
In bed she mourning lay,
Till God releas'd her from her pain,
And then she went away.

So in the Church-yard she was laid,
And all the summer dry,
Together round her grave we play'd,
My brother John and I.

And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forc'd to go,
And he lies by her side.

How many are you then, said I,
If they two are in heaven ?
The little maiden did reply,
O, Master! we are seven.

But they are dead ; those two are dead !
Their spirits are in heaven !
'Twas throwing words away ; for still
The little maid would have her will,
And said, Nay, WE ARE SEVEN.
But

Juvenile Letters
But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little maid would have her will,
And said, Nay, WE ARE SEVEN.

LETTER XIV.
From the Same to her Mother
Boston, Nov. 9th, 1802.

DEAR MAMMA,
I FEAR I do not Sufficiently prize the blessing I enjoy, in having parents who take such an interesting concern in my education. Your last letter, which you feared would be tedious on account of its length, appeared to me much too short. I took the liberty to read some parts of it to Miss Friendly, who shed tears on the occasion. Ah ! Maria, said she, you know not what it is to be deprived of the greatest of all earthly blessings! As for me, I can hardly remember either of my parents. Yet I have great cause of thankfulness, that I have so many friends left.
I

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-05 11:26:09