And where be they who sang their rugged hymns
O'er freedom's cradle-cherished now no more
Save in their hearts who stood in that dark hour
Battling for hearth and home? Let pious hands
Embalm those lays ere yet their echoes die,
And give our early bards their fame.

NEW YORK:

H. C. SLEIGHT, CLINTON HALL.

"Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1832, by Henry C. Sleight, in the office of the Clerk of the Southern District of New York."

TO

DOCTOR J. WHITREDGE,

CHARLESTON, S. C.

DEAR SIR,

THE following publication is an attempt to rescue from oblivion the scattered relics of a genius which, had it reached maturity, would have shed lustre on the age that produced it. Dr. Ladd, as you are aware, perished nearly fifty years ago, in the very dawn of manhood. In this age of fastidious taste and severe criticism, when it requires no small degree of courage even for matured talent to come before the public with its most elaborate efforts, it may appear presumptuous to bring forward these imperfect productions. In justice to their author, they ought to be compared only with the writings of his cotemporaries, due allowance being made for his youth and limited means of education. This indulgence granted, it is hoped they will prove not an unwelcome offering to those who love to dwell upon the early history of our republic; since genius and the labors of genius form an important ingredient in that glory of a nation, which the patriot is wont to contem

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