1st_. Having concluded the Indian business in the Upper Lakes for
the season, I returned with my family to Detroit, and employed my
leisure in literary investigations.
_Dec. 3d_. Mr. Josiah Snow apprizes me that he is about, in a few weeks,
to issue the first number of a newspaper devoted to agriculture, in
which he solicits my aid.
_15th_. J. K. Tefft, Esq., of Savannah, informs me of my election, on
the 9th Sept. last, as an honorary member of the Georgia
Historical Society.
_19th_. I wrote the following lines in memory of my father:--
The drum no more shall rouse his heart to beat with patriot fires,
Nor to his kindling eye impart the flash of martial ires:
Montgomery's fall, Burgoyne's advance, awake no transient fear;
E'en joy be dumb that noble France grasped in our cause the spear.
The cloud that, lowering northward spread, presaging woe and blight,
In that wild host St. Leger led, no longer arm for fight;
The bomb, the shell, the flash, the shot, the sortie, and the roar,
No longer nerve for battle hot--the soldier is no more.
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