For sale by Veery Books:

Wood, Charles B., III, History, Technology, and Art of the Book in the 19th Century; Catalogue 93 Wood, Charles B., III, History, Technology, and Art of the Book in the 19th Century; Catalogue 93 Wood, Charles B., III, History, Technology, and Art of the Book in the 19th Century; Catalogue 93
• Wood, Charles B., III
  History, Technology, and Art of the Book in the 19th Century; Catalogue 93
  Charles B. Wood, III, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1997, Wraps, , , Very Good
  
  

  86 pp. 210 items. Small chips at top and bottom of spine, probably from folding machine. A small smudge on front wraps, else fine. Illustrated with 16 pages of hors-text black and white plates. Fascinating detailed descriptions.

  
  Price: $9.97
  BUY from Veery Books at Abebooks.com
  
  
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The American Language Reprint Series

The American Language Reprint (ALR) series aims to compile the various word-lists, vocabularies and phrase books which were collected in the early years of North American settlement. The series begins with the languages and dialects of the Eastern Woodlands, with a primary emphasis on the Eastern Algonquian and Iroquoian families. We hope to progressively extend the geographical scope of the project to form a comprehensive linguistic record of native North America prior to the advent of modern linguistics.

"WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE"

Woodman, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot;
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy axe shall harm it not!

That old familiar tree,
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o'er land and sea, -
And wouldst thou hew it down?
Woodman, forbear thy stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties;
O, spare that aged oak,
Now towering to the skies!

When but an idle boy
I sought its grateful shade;
In all their gushing joy
Here, too, my sisters played.
My mother kissed me here;
My father pressed my hand -
Forgive this foolish tear,
But let that old oak stand!

My heart-strings round thee cling,
Close as thy bark, old friend!
Here shall the wild-bird sing,
And still thy branches bend.
Old tree! the storm still brave!
And, woodman, leave the spot;
While I've a hand to save,
Thy axe shall harm it not.