The Editor of this little book thus introduces it to the public: He says his "purpose has been to adopt it for the juvenile circle. The verses have, accordingly, been written by the authoress for the capacity of the youngest readers, and have been printed in large, bold type. The prose parts of the book which are well suited for being read aloud in the family circle, are printed in a smaller type, and it is presumed that in these our younger friends will claim the assistance of their older brothers or sisters, or appeal to the ready aid of mamma."

This little volume entirely fulfils the design of the authoress. It is just the book for little children; and we hope that thousands among them will learn the verses by heart: and then we can forsee that a goodly band of youthful abolitionists will, ere long, arise, who will ask, with tears, why little boys like "Harry" are sold, and why little girls like "Topsey" are slaves?

We give, with much pleasure, the first little poem of the series. We are sure it will find favor in the eyes of our young readers; and we hope their papas and mammas will buy the book for them. It has a great many pretty pictures in it, and may be purchased at D. M. Dewey's.

Come read my book good boys and girls
That live on freedom's ground,
With pleasant homes, and parents dear,
And blithesome playmates round;
And you will learn a woeful tale,
Which a good woman told,
About the poor black negro race,
How they are bought and sold.

Within our own America
Where these bad deeds are done,
A father and a mother lived
Who had a little son;
As slaves, they worked for two rich men,
Whose fields were fair and wide—
But Harry was their only joy,
They had no child beside.

Now Harry's hair was thick with curls
And softly bright his eyes,
And he could play such funny tricks
And look so wondrous wise,
Oh children dear, 'twas sad to hear,
That for the trader's gold,
To that hard-hearted evil man
Her own sweet boy was sold.
That all about the rich man's house
Were pleased to see him play,
Till a wicked trader buying slaves
Came there one winter day.

The trader and the rich man sat
Together, at their wine,
When in poor simple Harry slipped
In hopes of something fine.
He shewed them how the dandy danced,
And how old Cudjoe walked,
Till loud they laughed and gave him grapes,
And then in whispers talked.

The young child knew not what they said,
But at the open door
Eliza, his poor mother, stood,
With heart all sick and sore.
Oh children dear, 'twas sad to hear,
That for the trader's gold,
To that hard-hearted evil man
Her own sweet boy was sold.

And he would take him far away,
To where the cotton grew,
And sell him for a slave to men
More hard and wicked too.
She knew that none would heed his woe,
His want, or sickness there,
Nor ever would she see his face,
Or hear his evening prayer.

And when the house was all asleep,
And when the stars were bright,
She took her Harry in her arms,
And fled through that cold night:—
Away through bitter frost and snow
Did that poor mother flee;
And how she fared, and what befell.
Read on, and you shall see.

Literary Notices.