The account given of my infancy and of my father's
burial, is not only poetically, but strictly true, and with me it has its
weight accordingly. I have witnessed the destruction described in my
brother's family: and I have, in my own, insured the lives of four
children by Vaccine Inoculation, who, I trust, are destined to look back
upon the Small-pox of the scourge of days gone by.--My hopes are high, and
my prayers sincere, for its universal adoption.
The few notes subjoined are chiefly from "Woodville on Inoculation;" and
if I may escape the appearance of affectation of research, or a scientific
treatment of the subject, I think the egotism, so conspicuous in the poem,
(as facts give force to argument,) ought to be forgiven.
GOOD TIDINGS;
OR,
_NEWS FROM THE FARM_.
Where's the Blind Child, so admirably fair,
With guileless dimples, and with flaxen hair
That waves in ev'ry breeze? he's often seen
Beside yon cottage wall, or on the green,
With others match'd in spirit and in size,
Health on their cheeks and rapture in their eyes;
That full expanse of voice, to childhood dear,
Soul of their sports, is duly cherish'd here:
And, hark! that laugh is his, that jovial cry;
He hears the ball and trundling hoop brush by,
And runs the giddy course with all his might,
A very child in every thing but sight;
With circumscrib'd but not abated pow'rs,--
Play! the great object of his infant hours;--
In many a game he takes a noisy part,
And shows the native gladness of his heart;
But soon he hears, on pleasure all intent,
The new suggestion and the quick assent;
The grove invites, delight thrills every breast--
To leap the ditch and seek the downy nest
Away they start, leave balls and hoops behind,
And one companion leave----the boy is blind!
[Illustration: a child beneath a tree.
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