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60 [[center]]Juvenile Letters.

  Your information was correct; the African school has commenced. All good people will wish its prosperity. Poor old Cesar shook his head, on hearing of this new institution for the children of his own colour. "Ah!" said he, "what a sad reverse of fortune did I experience! My father was a king in his own country, and beloved and respected by a numerous people. I was his darling child; and being desirous of giving me the learning of white men, that I might fill his place with more honor to myself, and advantage to the nation, he sent me to this country to be educated. The captain of the ship, which was to carry me, was under many obligations to my father, and was considered by him as a true friend. My father placed unbounded confidence in him, and furnished him with a large quantity of gold dust, and other rich presents, as a compensation for his trouble and expense. On the captain's part, he promised to be faithful to his trust. But, alas! what trust is there to be put in depraved man! No sooner had the vessel reached the American coast, than I was sold with the 
rest

[[center]] Juvenile Letters.
[[right margin]]61

rest of the slaves; and my wretched parents have probably never heard of their lost son."

The poor old man concluded this mournful tale with a prayer, that the captain, if in the land of the living, might be forgiven before he died. Write often to
[[center margin]] Your affectionate friend,
[[right margin]]HENRY HOPEFUL.
Master Thomas Truman.

P.S. I here send you a specimen of Phillis Wheatley's poetry, and will send you the volume as soon as I can procure it. [[right margin]] H.H.
[[right margin]][[handwritten]]Phyllis Wheatley[[?]]

[[center margin]]ODE TO THE EVENING.
SOON as the sun forsook the eastern main, 
The pealing thunder shook the heavenly plain;
Majestic grandeur! from the zephyr's wing,
Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.

Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,
And through the air their mingled music floats.
Thro' all the heav'ns what bounteous dies are spread!
But the west glories in the deepest red.

So may our breasts with every virtue glow;
The living temples of our God below!
[[center margin]] F [[right margin]] Fill'd

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-05 17:15:33