literary effort. It has ever seemed to have too flimsy a wing for sustained and satisfactory flight. Candid criticism, and the voice of friendship, have been coveted correctives and tonics. Still the only adequate payment are the hope and belief that, by enforcing some salutary precept, or prompting some hallowed practice, good may have been done to our race.
I ought to speak with more emphasis of the encouragement kindly addressed to me since first, as a timid waif, I ventured into regions then seldom traversed by the female foot. It has breathed upon me from highways and hedges, from boughs where nesting birds reared their young, from the crested billows, and the islands of the sea. Thanks be to Him who hath thus touched the hearts of my fellow-creatures with kindness toward me!
Letters of appreciation have reached me from crowned heads—from the King of Prussia, the Empress of Russia, and the late Queen of France; marks of favor from nobles of high degree; and what was to me still more animating, from monarchs in the realm of mind. I have felt humbled by such distinctions, as transcending my merits. Some degree of chastening counterpoise has arisen from the marked indifference of my native city, which I have loved almost with the fervor of the ancient Jews for Zion. Neither by word nor smile can I recollect that she has fostered the mental labors of the child who went out from her fair borders,
