JAMES--I have just received your letter that you wrote so long ago. You want to know all, of course. I left New Bedford and went to Concord, N. H. and from there to Niagara Falls and Vermont State, and back to New York, and now I am in Boston. They have got Albert; they caught him in New Bedford; he got bailed out and will have his trial next Monday; I expect he will be sent to Charlestown. They found him with me, but said it was not me they wanted--but I know they want me for a witness. I am secreted in Boston, and no one knows where except those I stay with. He directed a letter to the Boston post office for me, and says they are trying so find out my name. I have not got one cent; if I had I would come home. I wish you would write to me as soon as you receive this--direct your letter to Mary Jackson. Your MARIA. FINIS. * * * * * Letters, &c. exhibited to the Coroner’s Jury. DECEMBER 10th, 1844. MY DEAR MARIA:--I shall have to depart for New Bedford by the first train to-morrow, to be absent 8 or 9 days. I much regret not being able to see you, but hope you will be reconciled to my absence, though I am not to yours. But perhaps the following lines will better express my sentiments of regard for you, than I could have done verbally. You know you often say I shall forget you: PARTING WORDS TO MARIA. FORGET THEE?--If to dream by night and muse on thee by day, If all the worship deep and wild a loving heart can pay-- If prayers in absence, breathed for thee to heaven’s protecting power-- If winged thoughts that flit to thee, a thousand in an hour-- If busy fancy, blending thee with all thy future lot,-- If this thou call’st FORGETTING, thou Indeed shalt be forgot. FORGET THEE?--Bid the forest birds forget their sweetest tune! Forgot thee! Bid the sea forget to swell beneath the moon! Bid the thirsty flowers forget to drink the eve’s refreshing dew; Thyself forget thine own dear Maine, its mountains wild and blue-- Forget each old familiar face, each long-remembered spot: --When these things are forgot by thee, then thou shalt be forgot! P. S.--Write to me Sunday. Send your letters to the Parker House, where I shall stay. Be true to me, my love, since all others are false. A. J. T. * * * * * BRATTLE SQUARE, Jan. 3.