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‘ [49] and hope you may merit the approbation of them all by your good behavior. O Lloyd, if I was to hear and have reason to think you was unsteady, it would break my heart. God forbid! You are now at an age when you are forming character for life, a dangerous age. Shun every appearance of evil for the sake of your soul as well as the body. . . . I am still keeping house and have a woman to take care of me, and, thank God! I have accumulated friends that are very kind to me. I have not money, but I do not want for anything to make me comfortable.’

Mr. Allen's prolonged absence at the South made it impossible for Lloyd to go to his mother until his master's return in May, when he wrote a long letter to her, explaining why he could not at once hasten to her, and requesting her, as Mr. Allen was loth to let his valued apprentice go, even for a short time and on such an errand, to write directly to him and state the urgency of the case. This letter, written in his clear hand and punctuated with scrupulous exactness, is especially interesting for its allusions to his anonymous contributions to the Herald:

W. L. Garrison to his mother.

Newburyport, May 26th, 1823.
1 Dear Mother: . . . Your letter was alike a source of pleasure and of pain. Of pleasure, because it was pleasing to receive a letter couched in such tender language from an affectionate mother, whose prop of comfort and consolation devolves upon her son, who, should he fail, would bring her in sorrow to the grave.—Of pain, because it brought the intelligence of your having experienced another bleeding at the lungs, which had almost laid you at death's door—but this was mitigated in some degree with the assurance that you had recovered in some measure from the effects of the same.

Since I have received your letter, my time has been swallowed up in turning author.—I have written in the Herald three long political pieces, under the caption of ‘Our Next Governor,’ and the signature of ‘One of the People’—rather a great signature, to be sure, for such a small man as myself.—But vain were the efforts of the friends and disciples of Washington, the true

1 Ms.

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