[Footnote 47: 
     Who was it nestled on my breast,
     And on my cheek sweet kisses prest,
     And in whose smile I felt so blest? 
                                  Sweet Willy.

Who hail’d my form as home I stept,
And in my arms so eager leapt,
And to my bosom joyous crept? 

          
                                                My Willy.

Who was it wiped my tearful eye,
And kiss’d away the coming sigh,
And smiling, bid me say, “good boy?”

          
                                                Sweet Willy.

Who was it, looked divinely fair,
Whilst lisping sweet the evening pray’r,
Guileless and free from earthly care? 

          
                                                My Willy.

Where is that voice attuned to love,
That bid me say “my darling dove?”
But, oh! that soul has flown above,

          
                                                Sweet Willy.

Whither has fled the rose’s hue? 
The lily’s whiteness blending grew
Upon thy cheek—­so fair to view,

          
                                                My Willy.

Oft have I gaz’d with rapt delight,
Upon those eyes that sparkled bright,
Emitting beams of joy and light! 

          
                                                Sweet Willy.

Oft have I kiss’d that forehead high,
Like polished marble to the eye,
And blessing, breathed an anxious sigh,

          
                                                For Willy.

My son! thy coral lips are pale—­
Can I believe the heart-sick tale,
That I thy loss must ever wail? 

          
                                                My Willy.

The clouds in darkness seemed to low’r,
The storm has past with awful pow’r,
And nipt my tender, beauteous flow’r! 

          
                                                Sweet Willy.

But soon my spirit will be free,
And I my lovely son shall see,
For God, I know did this decree! 
My Willy.
]

17th.  This being St. Patrick’s day, we dined with our excellent, warm-hearted, and truly sympathizing friend, Mr. Johnston, in a private way.  He is the soul of hospitality, honor, friendship, and love, and no one can be in his company an hour without loving and admiring a man who gave up everything at home to raise up a family of most interesting children in the heart of the American wilderness.  No man’s motives have been more mistaken, no one has been more wronged, in public and private, by opposing traders and misjudging governments, than he, and no one I have ever known has a more forgiving and truly gentle and high-minded spirit.