Oh, he has done so many bad things, and is still doing bad; for he makes little boys and girls do bad. I must tell you something he makes them do; he makes little boys run away from their mother and tell lies and smoke segars and do a great many bad things; he makes little girls primp themselves up and think they are young ladies, and must not help their mothers any more; he makes children quarrel and fight and call names to get advantage of each other; he makes a little boy that I know call his little playmate----. And now boys what do you think of my giant, old and ugly and every way bad? Do you think you will be his subjects, or will you kill him when you meet him, as David did Goliath with a sling and stone? I should like to hear you guess his name, but as you are so far away I shall have to tell you; his name is "GIANT SELF." See what a great big fellow he is and what bad things he can make you do. Now if you don't want to be his subjects, I will tell you what you must do. When you meet him, for I know you will meet him, you must take the sling of faith and the stone of prayer and kill him. That is, when you feel any selfish thoughts coming into your heart you must ask your Heavenly Father to take them all away, and keep you from pleasing Giant Self, and make you good boys, help you to grow up good men, and ever keep you in His care---- Your grandma prays. The little scraps of poetry which follow, have lain among my mother's papers for over thirty years. I do not think they were ever shown to any of her most intimate friends. They were written mostly in 1846, when my mother was about twenty-six years of age, and were simple heart effusions, never intended for public eye. Even those addressed to particular persons I do not think were ever presented; and my mother, though fond of the poets, seems never to have thought herself gifted to write poetry. I selected the few found in these pages from an old scrap-book, and I may say I regard these as the best, and perhaps the only ones adapted to public reading, found in the meagre collection. I make no corrections in them. T. G. S. Poetry Thoughts suggested by the Return of Spring. Once more I hail the happy spring Tho' sadness to my heart it brings, It brings to mind the seasons past When sporting in the joys of youth I sallied forth to meet the spring And hear the birds so sweetly sing. But ah, those days are past and gone Those happy days forever flown And now, through weariness and care I wander on all through the year My youthful friends are fled and gone And not a friend for me remains I feel deserted and unknown A stranger in this world alone--