ps learn to love me
better when I am gone." So saying, he began to prepare. Having filled
two large carpet bags with such articles as were most necessary he moved
quietly out of the house and by a back stairway reached the street.
Having placed himself in a Hansom-cab stationed near by he was quickly
conveyed to the station and in time for the night train to Liverpool.

On the following morning he embarked upon the Moravian, belonging to the
Allan Line of Steamships, plying at that time of the season between
Liverpool and Portland, in Maine, U.S.

The steam is up; anchors are weighed; and the vessel is soon riding out
from the harbor towards mid-ocean. Although the air is cold, the deck is
crowded with persons, among whom is Frederick Charlston, viewing the
receding objects, and at length taking their farewell view of the dimly
distant shores of their native land.

Day passed,--and the shadows of the night came down. The vessel was
dashing over the foaming billows. The winds were whistling dolefully
amid the sails. A feeling of loneliness crept over the soul of poor
Fred, and he retired to his hammock. Visions of the past and future
floated across his mind, and under the poetic mantle of inspiration he
gave vent to his feelings in the following verses:

Farewell to thee, England, the land of my birth,
The dearest, the fairest of countries on earth,
I love thee, yet leave thee, perhaps to deplore,
Alas, it may be to behold thee no more.

If at home I've a friend, yet true friends are but few,
In duty to friendship I breathe him adieu,
But joy to this bosom no friends can restore.
I love them, yet leave them, I may see them no more.

Old London, farewell,--my birth-place and home,
Far distant from thee I am destined to roam,
On the home I once loved a fond wish too I'll pour,
Tho' its household and hearth I may visit no more.

Sweet child of my love! Ah! the thought breaks my heart,
To know that thy mother hath caused us to part,
I love thee, yet leave thee, nor can she restore
A joy to this soul that may see thee no more.

To the land of the stranger I go--yes--I go,
In search of those blessings which it can bestow,
Its forests, its lakes, I shall proudly explore,
Far, far from that home I may visit no more.

Thus sang the young poet. But before morning had dawned upon the billows
of the ocean all the poetic fancy that was flicke