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 Half Title
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Title: Story of the Moreton family
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Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00001998/00001
 Material Information
Title: Story of the Moreton family
Physical Description: <12>, 168, <16> p. <1> leaf of plates : ill. ; 18 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Measom, George S ( Engraver )
Thomas Nelson & Sons ( Publisher )
Publisher: Thomas Nelson and Sons
Place of Publication: London
Publication Date: 1852
Subject: Family -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Travelers -- Juvenile fiction -- West (U.S.)   ( lcsh )
Frontier and pioneer life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
West (U.S.) -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Home -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Embossed cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1852   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1852
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Publishers' catalogues   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
General Note: Added title page, engraved.
General Note: Illustration engraved by George Measom.
General Note: Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
Statement of Responsibility: by the author of The village boys.
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Bibliographic ID: UF00001998
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002238026
oclc - 07932298
notis - ALH8521
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Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front page 1
        Front page 2
        Front page 3
        Front page 4
    Half Title
        Front page 5
        Front page 6
    Title Page
        Front page 7
        Front page 8
        Front page 9
        Front page 10
    Table of Contents
        Front page 11
        Front page 12
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Full Text

Who 4z'.-

r j lips, WE Of









Te Baldwin Libry

^t* a O
f~l"f f:36fULf^

* rI










OF Tll




And sweet it is the growth to trace
Of worth, of Intellect, of grace,
In bosoms where our labours frst
Bid the young seed of spring-time burst,
And lead It on from hour to hour,
To ripen Into perfect lower.



THE details of domestic life must, to a great extent,
be everywhere the same. The object of the following
story is to combine these with healthful moral instruc-
tion, and to show how a firm reliance upon an over-
ruling Providence, and earnest endeavours to promote
the good of others, will insure our own happiness.
A family in moderate circumstances constitute the
actors in this narrative, and show that the ability
to do good lies not so much in wealth as in well-
directed effort. The sweet ties of family affection and
individual influence are recognized; and our readers
will permit the hope, that, without startling incident,
great exploit, or magnificent undertaking, the simple
history of the Moreton Family may possess an interest
for them, and awaken in their hearts an earnest desire
so to live, and so to use the means God may put in
their power, as to promote the true prosperity of their
own happy land, so peculiarly favoured by the Divine
blessing, and realizing, by their own experience, that
"happy is that people whose God is the Lordl"


1. The Family Conclave, ... ... *** ** 1
II. Preparations for Removal, ... .. ... 9
I1L Notes of Warning, ... ... .. ... ... 18
IV. Dr. Newton, ... ... ... ... ... 25
V. Uncle Alfred's Gift, ... ... ... ... ... 81
VI. The Departure, ... ... ... 4 ... 86
VIL Journeying through the Woods, ... ... ... 40
VIII. Encampment in the Woods, ... ... ... 46
IX. A Sabbath in the Woods, ... ... ... ... 60
X. The Rainy Day's Journey, ... ... ... ... 67
XI. Lakeland, ... ... ... ... ... ... 63
XII. The Log-Cabin, ... ... ... ... ... 72
XIII. Patrick's Home, ... ... ... ... ... 82
XIV. Neighbors, ... ... ... ... ... 87
XV. Thomas Revere, ... ... ... ... ... 9
XVI. Mary's Letter, ... ... ... ... ... 102
XVII. Farming, ... ... .. .. ... ... 108
XVIII. Charles Moreton, ... ... .. ... ... 115
XIX. Letters, ... ... ... ... ... ... 127
XX. The Church and the Minister, ... ... ... 133
XXI. The Steam Saw-Mill and the Distillery, ... ... 141
XXIL Willie Moreton's Death, ... ... ... ... 147
XXIII. Conclusion, ... ... ... ... ... 152




" Now, what do you all say about it I" said Mr. Moreton,
appealing to the members of his cheerful family circle,
in the prospect of an important change. "I want the
opinion of every one of you. But let your mother speak
The change will affect the future life of the children
more than my own, my dear husband; and my feelings
must not unduly influence our decision. Let them tell
us their opinion, and then we will tell them ours."
"Well, Robert, you are the eldest."
"I say, father, let us go. I am young, but am strong,
and almost a man; and I know that we can succeed. I
am ready to go."
"And so am I, father," said Henry. "I say with
Robert, let us go and take a new farm. I am willing to
work hard upon it.
Mary came next in order of age, and all eyes were
turned towards her. She sat with her head resting upon
her hand, evidently in serious thought. She paused but
a moment; then, raising her head, she said-
"I am willing to go, father."


The mother saw a tear glistening in the daughter's eye,
and kindly said-
Speak your feelings freely, my child. Remember
that we are all one family, and that the wishes and happi-
ness of each member of our little circle is the wish and
happiness of the whole; and that the opinion of each
will have its due weight in our family conclave."
"I am willing to go, mother," again replied Mary;
"but, for the moment, our home here seemed too plea-
sant to leave; and I thought of our many friends, the
dear old trees, and my beautiful garden. It was only for
a moment, though," she added, with a bright smile.
"We can soon make a home there, and find friends,
while I shall learn to love the wide forests and the beau-
tiful wild flowers."
Father, are there any bears out there ?" asked little
"No, my darling," said the father, smiling with the
others to see the wondering eyes and alarmed counte-
nance of his flaxen-haired pet.
Willie says that there are bears and Indians in the
"Willie does wrong to try to frighten you with such
stories. There are both bears and Indians in some parts
of the world; but where we think of going there are
neither of them now."
If there are no bears there, and mother is going, and
Willie, I want to go too. Are you going, Willie ?"
"I rather think I shall, Ally. That is, if father thinks
I am worth taking," said he, roguishly.
"Perhaps he may not think you are worth leaving,"
said Robert. "But you are all talking out of your turns.
Frank ought to have spoken next to Mary."
Frank's opinion was evidently guided by Mary's, and
was given guardedly.
We are very happy here," said he; and if we are



poor, we shall be soon old enough to help father and
mother. Robert has almost learned his trade now. If I
am to be a printer, I think I had better stay here. Print-
ing is of no use out in the woods."
"It will not always be 'the woods' out there," replied
his father. We may want a newspaper started where
we are, and you will be just the one to carry it on. If,
after you are old enough to learn printing as a trade,
you still desire it, whether we live here or there, I pro-
mise you that you shall have the opportunity."
"That ought to satisfy you, Frank," said Charles, who
was a year younger than his brother. I should like to
go. I read the other day about the wild turkeys and
ducks, the deer and the woodcock. O! I should like to
live in the woods!" and visions of the time when he
should be the happy possessor of a gun and a dog, float-
ing through his mind, made his earnest, expressive coun-
tenance beautiful.
"Charlie shall keep us supplied with game," said
Henry, entering into the enthusiasm of his brother;
"and Robert and I will help father to raise the wheat
for bread"-
"Which I will make," said Mary-
"And I will eat," said Willie. "Who says I cannot
help I"
"There is one more to speak. Annie, dear, what do
you say?" asked the father.
Annie, the twin-sister of Charles, was a bashful, timid
child, of ten years of age, and was often overlooked in
the noisy movements of her brothers and sisters. A
naturally thoughtful habit of mind had been increased by
almost constant feeble health and a slight deformity of
person. But her invariable sweetness of disposition and
gentleness of character and manner made her the darling
of the family circle. As they now looked at her little
pale face, and large, beaming, intellectual eyes, and


remembered how dependent she was upon joys that were
brought to her, and how unable she was to seek active
pleasures, there came a hush and silence over the little
group, for they now recollected that to her the change
would be greater than to the others, and be fuller of
privations and hardships. Nor was this silence broken,
until, in gentle tones, she said-
If we all live together, and God dwell with us there,
we shall be happy."
They all understood little Annie's reference to the
question asked by a child, when moving to a new house
-" Will God live with us there And to them, brought
up and taught as they were to love and reverence the
great and blessed truths of revelation, the thought of
God, at this crisis of their family history, was not an
unwelcome one.
"Annie is right," said the mother, after a moment's
silence. If we love each other, and the God of love
dwell with us, it matters not where we are, we must be
happy. I believe, with your father, that it is better for
us, as a family, to move to the West. The majority
agree with me; and," she added playfully, under our
government, the majority must rule. Is it not so,
"Yes, my dear, and a large majority we seem to have
this time. We shall all have inconveniences and troubles
connected with the moving, and with the new home.
There will be severe labours to be performed, hardships
to be.endured, and some privations, accompanied with
great fatigue. But a spirit of love and hopeful cheerful-
ness will enable us to bear these, and not let them
become too burdensome to us. We are all strong, well,
and able to labour, except Annie; and Dr. Newton tells
me that the change of climate will, without doubt,
benefit her; so, if we have God's blessing on our under-
taking, I can see no reason why we should not go. In



all probability we shall gain, as it regards worldly pros-
perity; and you will have abetter and a more independent
start in life than you could have here, where there is
more competition, and the means of living are more
divided. But our own advantage ought not to be the
only motive in going, nor our own prosperity the only
consideration. We were not placed upon this earth to
think at and labour only for ourselves. Whether we try
to do it or not, we influence those about us. By saying
and doing those things that are right, we can gain a good
influence-one that shall make others better and happier;
and we may thus fulfil the great end and object of life.
If we do not mean to aim at this, as well as our own
advantage, in removing to another place, it will be better
that we stay where we are; for, to succeed fully in our
enterprise, we must go as a God-fearing family. The
restraints of society will, in a measure, be removed from
us, leaving us to make known by our actions how far we
are governed by love to God, and by a desire to make his
will our law. There must be a unity of purpose with
us, each one, as it were, pulling with the rest, and striving
to help on the welfare and comfort of the whole. We
must go with a determination to be happy-' to look,' as
Jean Paul says, on the sunny side of the events and busi-
ness oi life.' Such a disposition will materially lessen our
labours and brighten our hearts. If we have discontented
longings for our old home (as we may have), we may
not let our murmurings and repinings affect the cheerf l-
ness or hopefulness of those who do not suffer from
them. Being strangers in a strange land, we must cling
to each other for our support and comfort, and seek our
pleasure in each other's society, and each of us contribute
to the happiness of the whole. I do not doubt, my dear
children, that you will fulfil my expectations; but we
shall be placed in new circumstances, and cannot now
tell what traits of character those circumstances may


develop in us all. It is better, then, to speak of these
matters openly and freely, calmly to think of what we
relinquish, and with deliberation to form our plans for
future action; for to forewarn is to forearm ourselves.'
Do yoa all say that we had better go I"
There was now a unanimous vote in favour of a new
home, and that home one in the great West. Even the
little Alice, scarcely seven years of age, gave her opinion
understandingly and seriously; while to the older mem-
bers of the family the project assumed a more enlarged
aspect and bearing, and their personal responsibilities in
the removal gave to each of them a feeling of deep in-
terest in its success. As they afterwards kneeled about
the family altar, and commended themselves, with all
their plans, to the care and guidance of their heavenly
Father, there was an earnest desire in every heart for
God's direction and blessing; for they felt that it was
" not in man who walketh to direct his steps." ..
It cousin Susan would but go with us, mother," said
Mary, as she sought her room before retiring, I should
desire nothing more."
We can ask her; and perhaps she may be persuaded
to join her fortunes to ours," replied her mother.

The family circle to which we have so unceremoniously
introduced our readers, was that of MR. JAMES MORETON.
He was the father ot eight children, five of whom were
boys-the eldest, Robert, being a young man of seventeen.
His school education was completed, and for the last year
he had been engaged in learning the trade of carriage-
building; his father deeming it best to gratify a natural
taste which he showed for mechanics.
Henry was a year and a half younger than Robert, with
more taste for books and quiet employment; but he was
practical and persevering, with a ready will and a strong
hand for labour. For several years le had been employed,


during the summer months, working with his father upon
the farm, and spent the winter in school studies and duties.
Mary was fourteen years of age, of a quick apprehen-
sion and tenacious memory. She was like Henry in dis-
position and character; but she had also inherited tromn
her mother an appreciation and abiding love for the beau-
tiful in nature, which seemed to govern her whole life.
It was not romance or sentiment which actuated her, so
much as love; and her own affectionate impulses, sanoti-
fled by the Spirit of God, led her to view those by whom
she was surrounded as objects of loving interest and
tender affection. She was a gay, cheerful, bright-eyed
young girl, with some personal beauty; but her chief
charm was her singular disinterestedness and constant
watchfulness for the comfort and good of others. Happy
as the bird, her voice would be heard like it, sending
forth, now here, now there, sweet notes of joy, as she,
with busy hands, but light untroubled heart, was em-
ployed in the daily pursuits of domestic life-her cheerful
thoughts finding utterance in song so constantly, that her
mother was wont to call her "her bird."
Frank was naturally selfish and impatient; yet, over
the infirmities of his temper had Mary thrown the mantle
of her love: oftenby a gentle, persuasive word, quieting his
ebullitions of passionate anger, and with her sunny smile
winning him back to peace with others and with himself.
He was an object of solicitude to his parents; yet they
could see, year by year, that the domestic influence of
home was rendering him more considerate, softening his
temper, and making him less hasty in his words and
Charlie was an impetuous, rash little fellow, ten years
of age, f all of daring, and with a disposition to think quite
as much of himself as he ought to think. He was as im-
pulsive in his affections as in his pursuits-often bois-
terously fond of his mother and sisters, and then again


as noisily devoted to something else. Yet he was yield-
ing and easily guided, for his feelings were tender and
quick; and if he did wrong, no one could be more sorry
and penitent than he was, as soon as he saw that it was
so. Annie was too feeble to enter into his sports or plans;
yet, in her dependence, he found a reason why he should
constitute himself her protector and guide; and it was into
her ear that he poured forth all the plans which his active
brain formed, and it was her feeble voice which dissuaded
him from undertaking one-tenth part of them; though,
in justice to our young friend Charlie's firmness, we ought
to state that it was impossible to think twice of most of them
without seeing both their impracticability and useless-
Willie was roguish and mischievous, fond o! fun to an
alarming degree for a boy of eight years of age. Little
Alice was his chosen playmate and companion, and his
tenderness and love for her had won her heart completely.
The family appellation given to this little one, the youngest
of them all, was "our curly-head," or little Miss Curly-
head," from her flaxen ringlets, which were abundant
and beautiful; but, from the length of time consumed in
their arrangement, a source oi great annoyance to her.
She was a capricious little being, full of freaks and fan-
cies, but warm-hearted and loving.
Mr. Moreton had married in early life, and for several
years had engaged in mercantile pursuits. Owing to some
unsuccessful speculations in business, and a combination
of adverse circumstances, he lost much of his property, and
decided to gather up the small remainder of what had
originally furnished a handsome income, and purchase a
farm near his native town, a quiet Massachusetts village.
For fourteen years he had lived happily and prosperously
there, respected and usetul as a citizen and as a man,
fulfilling all his duties to his family and to society with
faithfulness and success. But his means were limited;


and while there was an abundance produced from the farm
for their daily wants, both Mr. and Mrs. Moreton felt that
there was nothing beyond this upon which to rely for
their children.
Their plan of moving to the West was neither a sudden
nor a hasty project. It was the result of much thought
and prayerful deliberation, and together they had decided
to ascertain the feelings of the children on the subject;
and should they find them desirous or willing to go, to
remove early in the coming spring. Calling them to-
gether, as his custom was, when any affair which con-
cerned the family required action or decision, Mr. Moreton
placed it before them; he plainly spoke to them of his
own pecuniary affairs and of his prospects, so far as they
might be interested in knowing them. He then men-
tioned their plan of emigration, set its advantages and
disadvantages before them, and told them of its cares as
well as of its pleasures, trying to bring the whole matter
clearly before their minds.
The result we have laid before our readers, whose in-
terest in the family history, we hope, will lead them to
follow us during our detail of their future course.



Letter from Mr. Moreton.
MICHIGAN, Nov. 9,18-

to start upon what Willie called my voyage of dis.
covery" that is, my journey, I thought that by this time
I should be able to give you some definite information
as to your future home. But I have not ret seen any


farm suitable, both to my means and my desires, that I
could purchase. I start to-morrow to examine some
lands lying in Indiana and Illinois, and in a week or two
I shall be able to let you know my decision. I am very
glad that I came to see for myself before purchasing, for
I find that much of the land which was highly recom-
mended to me is hardly worth the "taking up," as they
say here, when they speak of buying land. I believe the
land-agents think me very particular, and not easy to be
suited; but they do not know how dear to me are the
interests of my wife and children. I must look first for
a healthy location. I cannot consent that either they or
I shall live on the banks of a sluggish stream, or in the
neighbourhood of a swamp. Then, I do not want afarm
far from some market-town, though far and near have a
different signification in the West from what they have
in New England. Thirty miles is notfar here. I must
look for a place where I can get lumber for a house; and
in order to do this, a saw-mill, within dragging distance,
must be taken into consideration. A grist-mill, too, must
be thought of, where we can get our wheat and corn
ground; and it is desirable that both of these should be
within a few miles distance of our home, and should
already have passable roads leading to them. A school
and a church, that there may be food for the mind and
the soul, are what you will all desire. Then your mother
will like to have a good doctor within reach, if you should
be sick; and that you may not be likely to get home-sick
for news from Laurelton, there must be a post-ofice not
very far away. I must be careful, too, not to spend too
great a proportion of my money for land; for I shall want
a house and barn, and some stock for the farm. I must
remember that there are taxes to pay, and be careful not to
buy more land than I can make profitable. These are some
of the things which I find every wise and would-be suc-
cessful emigrant must look after.



My travelling adventures, thus far, have been various--
some pleasant, and some not at all agreeable. At this
season of the year, I cannot look for fine weather, or for
any great beauty of scenery. I have seen many of the
people who dwell in these parts of the world, and have
met with civility and even kindness wherever I have been.
Even in business matters, I have experienced nothing but
what was pleasant, and am indebted to many for valuable
hints and instructions concerning matters of which I had
been ignorant, and which I have set down in my memo-
randum-book as things to be remembered. I should have
been disappointed if I had allowed myself to look for any
great elegance of manner, or for what is called style, in
dress or mode of living. So I should, if I had expected
good roads, or elegant houses, or very magnificent sho ow
.farm. These things I have not found.
As to the land itself, it answers all my expectations.
There is much poor land-low, damp, and unhealthy; but
a large proportion of it is rich, fertile, easily worked, and
yielding an abundant reward to the labourer.
On my way to this place, I stopped at the door of a
log-cabin by the roadside, to ask if I could have some
dinner. I was hospitably received, and even welcomed,
when they knew that I was from New England, for that
had been the home of my host and hostess. My wants
were provided for and my horse fed, for which I could
not persuade Mr. Thomas to take pay; for, he said, "We
would pay anybody who would come from New England
to see us; and do you not think we like to give you a
dinner 1"
I went with Mr. Thomas about his farm. He had bought
one hundred acres. Eighty of them he had put under
cultivation; or rather, according to the Western fashion,
forty were lying idle this year, and the forty now sown
were, after this year, to change places with them; thus
alternating with each other. The wheat was promising



finely, and he hoped soon to be able to put himself up a
frame-house. I gathered his story as we went along,
and found that in early life he had been an inmate of the
alms-house. Indeed, that was his birth-place; and
there he remained until his mother's death, which
occurred when he was seven years of age. He was soon
bound out to a neighboring farmer; And," said he I
seem to ha1 e had luck ever since. The man I went to
live with was a good man, as well as a goodfarmer. He
sent me to school in the winter, and took the trouble
sometimes to see if I understood what I studied. I had
to work pretty hard, but I was taught the best way of
doing everything, and how to save and take care of what
my labour gained. I stayed with him until my time was
up, and after that he paid me good wages, and gave me
chances to earn money, until I had five hundred dollars
in the savings' bank. Then, by his advice, I came out
here, bringing my wife with me. I have been here three
years, and you can see how much headway I have made.
I have a good farm. Glorious land! Is it not You
saw my wife and baby, and my log-house, and my large
frame-barn. I have a good team of horses, two cows, a
flock of sheep-I wish you could see my sheep !-and
I've got a contented heart. I mean to see my old birth-
place again, if I live; but not until my house is finished,
and paid for."
When I told him I intended to bring my family out
hero to reside, he said he was glad of it; it was a good
country, and it only wanted good people to live in it:
and, with true Western hospitality, invited me to bring
you all to see them. I thanked him, but said that there
were quite too many of us for their cabin, with its one
sitting-room and its little bed-room. He laughed, and
said, "that they could make a place for us. I might be
This is one instance, of many that I have met, of pros



perous emigration. Industry, good sense, and judgment,
and good habits, "do bring good luck;" or rather, to speak
more truly, they do bring the blessing of Providence.
It may be that I was the more forcibly impressed with
this case, because I had the opportunity to contrast it
with that of a settler with whom I had passed the pre-
vious night.
If I wished to picture discomfort in its perfection, I
would endeavour to represent the interior of that log-
cabin. There was a family-man, woman, and eight chil-
dren (just our number)-all living, sleeping, eating, and
cooking in one room, sixteen by twenty feet in size, and
dimly lighted by its two little windows! There were two
bedsteads, one of which was appropriated to myself;
and if both bedstead and myself had not been in the
way of the cooking-stove, and the cooking-stove in the
way of both the bedstead and myself, I might, personally,
have been well accommodated. As it was, I passed a
sleepless night, and had full opportunity to watch the
movements of my host's family.
I ought to have said, that some of them stayed in the
loft above the room during the night; and a trundle-
bed, drawn from beneath mine, was the place where a
poor sick little girl lay, with flushed cheeks, parched lips,
and a burning skin. It was nothing but a neglected
chill-fever, they said; but the little thing tossed and
moaned in her fitful slumbers, awakening my sympathies
and compassion, which were not lessened, you may be
sure, when the mother brought her a dose of calomel,
mixed with water, and held up a piece of a large yellow-
ish pickle, as an inducement to take the unpalatable
I should frighten you all out of your desires even to
see this country, if I gave you the details of that night,
or filled up the picture with all its carelessness and want
ot cleanliness. Nor would the morning meal of poorly-



prepared food, have awakened in any of you strong appe-
tites. I was glad to pay my bill, and be off early in the
morning, satisfied that more uncomfortable feelings
could scarcely be crowded into the experience of one
night than I had supposed possible. If there had been a
necessity for all this suffering, I would have pitied, but
not complained of it; but it could not escape the eye of
the dullest observer, that it was brought by the union of
sloth with intemperance.
An originally good and productive farm was, year by
year, growing smaller and yielding less, for the want of
a thrifty and industrious owner; while he and his whole
family indulged in continual complaints and murmurings
against their lot, finding fault with everything about
them, and never seeing that the whole blame of their ill
success lay with themselves, and that they were reaping
the result of their own doings.
These two extreme cases I have written about, because
they have come so directly under my notice. There is
every variety of life and circumstance here, and these mus.
be taken by themselves, rather than as samples of Western
life; and we can easily draw our own lesson from them.
If the strong bonds of poverty do not hold people here in
such homes as the last I have described, the stronger
bonds of intemperance and indolence will assuredly do it.
There is no romance in life here. It is a plain, straight.
forward, practical character and course, guided by firm
faith in an overruling Providence, which will advance the
best interests of one's-self and of the community. And
when I think of the vast influence that these newly-settled
states will eventually have upon the welfare of the nation;
of the asylum they offer to the poor and oppressed of every
clime and country; of the wealth of lands here lying ready
for the toil and skill of the agriculturist; above all, when,
as a Christian, I indulge in far-extending anticipations of
its moral progress, and the part it is yet to act in the



evangelizing of the world-I rejoice in the thought that
I may be permitted to help on the good work; and, as
each drop goes to fill the bucket, so may each good citizen
aid in swelling the tide of its prosperity and civilization.
My letter is a long one, but I have hardly written the
half I purposed. My first feeling of dismay at the new-
ness and coarseness of things has passed away; so has
that of discouragement at the great work to be done
here; and I now view our enterprise as one in which we
may and ought to engage hopefully and happily; for I fully
believe that, in a great measure, a man's prosperity is
here placed in his own keeping; and the heart to labour
and do right will not fail to bring success, both as
regards ourselves and those among whom we may be
Let us all ask the blessing of our heavenly Father, and
his direction in all our ways !-With love to all,
I am, yours affectionately,

P. S.-I cannot say with any confidence at what time
you may expect me at home; but a kind Prov:dence will
keep us, I trust, while we are apart, and give us the plea-
sure to meet again in health and peace. J. M.

Letter from Robert to his Father'.
LAURELToN, Nov. -, 18--
DEAR FATHER,- Your very welcome letter has just been
received, and I am appointed by mother to reply to it, in
the name of the family. We were pleased to hear of
your good health, and of your favourable impressions of
Western life. You do not know how much we think
about you, nor how often we talk about you, guess-
ing where you are, and what you are doing: We have
most thoroughly imbibed the spirit of emigration. Even
Alice told Mr. Speare that you had gone to buy us a farm



at the West; and each of us is at work, in some way,
busying ourselves with preparations for moving in the
As you recommended, I have made an arrangement
with Mr. S--, by which I am released from farther
obligation to stay with him, and have transferred myself,
tools and all, to Mr. Redding's cabinet-shop. I have
learned already the way to put a chair or table together,
and can put up a shelf or fix a drawer quite like a work-
man. Mr. Redding told me himself that I was quite a
handy fellow at the trade.
Henry looks after the farm and the family at home,
but has commenced the study of surveying. This occu-
pies most of his leisure.
Mary is at school. Mother says that it is her last
winter here, and that she must devote her time to the
study of those branches in which a teacher is most neces-
sary. Music, as a science, and French, take most of her
attention, although she and Henry are trying in the
evenings to study German with Mr. Perrot. Mary de-
clares that to know how to make bread will be likely to
be of more benefit to her than how to speak German;
but mother only smiles, and says that there is time and
opportunity for both.
Frank and Charlie are at school; but, in their leisure
hours, earnest in their preparations, though in rather
different lines. Frank is looking up and sorting out all
the books in the house, and has petitioned mother so
earnestly to allow him to take lessons in drawing and
perspective, that she has consented; and he is really
making rapid progress in this accomplishment.
Charlie, true to his native propensity, asked old Captain
Stetson if he would teach him to fire a gun; and the old
gentleman has undertaken to initiate him in the mysteries
of holding both gun and rifle, and shooting with the
same. At first, mother objected to this, thinking he



might be troublesome; and, indeed, she felt that he was
too young to be trusted with such dangerous articles;
but, upon his passing his solemn word never to touch
them without Captain Stetson's leave, she gave her con-
sent. At her request, I made it a point to be present
during his first and second days' exercise, that I might
look after him; but I found the responsibility of the em-
ployment had sobered his little wild head, and that if I
continued to be with him (which I was inclined to do), it
would be to take advantage of the instruction of so ex-
perienced a sportsman as Captain Stetson for myself.
He meanwhile says-and I believe he means what he
says-" that it is a pleasure to him to have us come."
Annie took me up into her sunny little room yester-
day, that I might see how nicely she had put up and
labelled the garden and flower-seeds. She told me that
she was making some bags to put the larger seeds in.
She really seems better and brighter for the prospect of
the change. She has promised Willie a bag for his mar-
bles, is to make a travelling dress for Alice's doll, has
helped Frank to cover his books; and I heard Charles
tell her that he should want a large flannel bag made,
with a strap to go over the shoulder, for his game.
As for Willie and Alice, their arrangements would be
more apparent, and their success more complete, if they
did not pull to pieces something that they have before
done, to finish what they are now doing. But they are
well, and their bright happy faces and pleasant words
help us all along.
Cousin Susan is with us; and, since she consented to
accompany us, Mary has been as full of anticipation as
the rest of us. She goes about singing all the day, help-
ing first one and then another in their plans. Cousin
Susan said, laughingly, that she must have a trade before
she went, as a resource against a day of want. We told
her that she could teach school there; but she said, "No,



that was Mary's calling; and she goes now every day to
sew with Mrs. Dearborn, and learns how to make bonnets
and cut dresses; and, when that is over, she says that
she will not say she is ready to go until she has also
learned how to cut and make clothes for us boys. Be-
fore we finish, we are likely to have every trade in the
family. I hope these plans will'all meet with your ap-
probation, and that you will soon be at home to tell us so.
All send their best love to you. Mother wishes to add
a postscript for herself.
Your affectionate son,

MY DEAR HUSBAND,-" Mother's postscript" is only to
say, that a Mr. Glover has made an offer for the farm
here, and for the homestead, which your brother thinks a
very advantageous one for us. I send his letter with
this. We are all well. Robert has given you a very
detailed account of our movements and employment;
but he has not added what my heart prompts me to say,
that our children are our treasures-good, obedient, and
loving. May we not claim for them the promise which
belongs to those that honour father and mother And
may it not be to us a token, a providential omen of suc-
cess in our undertaking I
Yours ever.



THE winter was past and gone, with all its cold storms
and piercing winds, its heavy snows and blustering tem-
pests. The noble Connecticut, for three months "in icy


fetters bound," was released, and its blue waters were
floating calmly on towards the ocean, glistening in the
bright sunshine, or gently rippled by the passing breeze.
The birds, in noisy companies, were returning from their
winter-quarters. By the sides of fences, and about sunny
door-steps, little delicate tufts of grass were starting,
fresh and green; and the garden-borders were gay with
bright pinks and daffodils, mingled with the crocus and
Spring had come; and an early spring it was. "It
could not last," and "one swallow does not make a
summer." So the weather-wise ones said, and shook
their heads. But it did last; and if by swallows they
meant beautiful, warm, sunshiny days, there were a dozen
of these, following each other in rapid succession. It
was safe now to prophesy an early season, for it was
already there; and bustle and life it brought with it.
O how much out-of-doors playing had the Laurelton
children to do I How many boys were there, who, under
the influence of that balmy vernal air, were happy in
their sports! How many little groups of schoolfellows
loitered on their way home to exchange the pleasant
words that sprung fAom their light, merry hearts. Not
less busy were the older people. Merchants had taken
in the red and green flannel hangings about their doors,
and put in their place the bright calicoes and brighter
ribbons. Gardening tools were in demand, and the far-
mers were looking after their ploughs and harrows, won-
dering if it was too early to plant their fields; while busy
housewives were busily making ready for the summer,
with their white curtains laid out 'o bleach in the sunshine.
Amidst all this, there was one family who rejoiced
most heartily in the early opening of the season; and
that was Mr. Moreton's. He had returned early in Janu-
ary from his western journey, having found and pur-
chased a farm in Indiana.



This farm consisted of a section of good land, partly
lying on a small prairie, and partly wooded. The loca-
tion was healthy, the distance from the village of Lake-
land about two miles. Lakeland was a thriving interior
village, containing between three and four hundred in-
habitants, who had been brought there from many coun-
tries, impelled by diverse motives, and governed by various
tastes and habits; so that it was not strange that there
should be exceedingly opposite characters in society, as
it regarded its moral and intellectual state. Some of
those wants and necessities which it had at first seemed
indispensable to provide for, Mr. Moreton found he
should be obliged to give up; for the supply of others he
must wait; and for some of them he was ready to labour
and work with those among whom he was to live; so
that it was with hope for the future, and a strong deter-
mination to help on the good time coming," rather than
with the feeling that everything was right already, that
he concluded to settle at Lakeland. But we must leave
the little village, with all its privileges and deficiencies,
for another chapter, and go back to our friends, who were
rejoicing in the early spring that was so auspicious for
their journey.
By the last of April their preparations for removal were
completed, and they were ready to start. The younger
children were at times impatient at their delay, and
Robert and Henry felt, every fine day, that it was time
lost to remain any longer. But there were still many
last things to be done-articles to be disposed of, friends
to see, good-byes to be spoken. It could not be accom-
plished hastily and well; and, with Mr. Moreton, a thing
that was not done well was not considered well done.
Another reason for delay was, that, having concluded
to travel with their household goods, it became necessary
and desirable to know that the different lines of trans-
portation had completed their summer arrangements



before they left their New England home; otherwise,
hindrances that were unpleasant might arise, and pro-
tract the time spent upon the journey.
To Mr. and Mrs. Moreton, every day brought with it
its cares and its labours; and, as they had learned from
actual experience to anticipate less from change than
their children did, they did not regret the delay which
gave them a few more weeks of pleasant intercourse
with tried friends and acquaintances. Not a few would
have persuaded them to remain quietly where they were,
and many sought, by argument and advice, to lead them
to reconsider their determination. "We cannot spare
you," said their good pastor, as he and a few of their in-
timate friends were gathered in their little parlour, a few
evenings before their departure. We cannot spare you.
I do not become reconciled to your going away. We
need you here, in our village matters, in our social ga-
therings, in our church meetings, in the sanctuary, the
Sabbath-school, and our pleasant prayer-meetings. We
shall miss you in all these. Has not God given you a
work to do here, and why should you seek another I Or
why should you seek for greater blessings than he has
here bestowed upon you ?"
"I have no reason to leave my New England home to
seek for blessings or mercies," replied Mr. Moreton.
Our lot has been cast in a pleasant place. Yet, regret
as I may the separation from my friends, I am convinced
that it is better for us to go. If I do but little good at
the West, my children will have been brought up there;
and, as Western men and women, may make amends for
all my deficiencies."
There was a brother of Mr. Moreton's, who, from the
first, had discouraged the idea of the family going west;
and he, half replying to Mr. Moreton, half soliloquizing,
"But you will all be sick, and either die in that climate,



or else drag on a miserable life, with broken constitutions
and impaired health."
"Not quite so bad as that, I hope," said Dr. Newton,
who had just arrived. "No, indeed!" said he, laying
aside his overcoat, and drawing nearer the fire. While
journeying west last summer, I found, to my entire satis-
faction, that there is reason to believe the climate had
been much belied."
You will hardly assert that it can be called a healthy
country, though," observed the pastor.
With the exception of fever and ague, I could find no
disease that might be said to belong to the climate ex-
clusively. Congestive fevers and other epidemics will
spread over villages here as well as there, and many will
But there are notoriously unhealthy regions through-
out the West?"
I know that well," replied Dr. Newton. "A swamp
that is filled with rank vegetation, or a sluggish stream,
with its green, slimy waters, will cause fevers and other
diseases. But with such localities no wise man will have
anything to do. Rich land, great crops, or abundant
harvests, will never compensate for the loss of bodily
vigour. But all the West is not a low, swampy, marshy
country. There are dry elevated lands; there are clear,
lively streams; there are rich fertile fields, stretching for
miles and hundreds of miles, upon which the sun shines
day by day, and about which no deadly miasma hovers,
and which, if not as healthful as the poorer lands here in
this rocky country, yet offer no hindrances to those who
would settle on them on account of their unhealthiness."
Why is the proportion of deaths greater there than
here ?" asked Mr. Alfred Moreton.
"I can tell you one reason that might make it so,
though I am not sure that it is true. A large proportion
of the emigrants going West are in circumstances of


great poverty and want. Many of them have already
become prepared for disease by a long and wearisome
voyage. Their means are barely sufficient to enable them
to reach their destination and purchase their farms; they
must necessarily suffer from privation and exposure;
their food is poorly prepared, and they are not guarded
from changes of weather. It is no wonder that they
sicken. Then bad nursing, and the imprudent use of
powerful medicines, prolong their sicknesses, and often
death kindly ends the struggle; then another class of
emgrants are healthy, stout, young people, from tho
Eanern States. They are, through ignorance of sickness,
impudent as regards exposure, and only desire to make
money fast. If there are facilities for carrying on a mill,
wht do they think about the marsh beyond ? Just no-
thilg at all! And the richer and blacker the earth, so
muh the more promise of great harvests. They are in
hash to be rich, and will throw their lives, which no
weath could purchase, under that Juggernaut of Chris-
tian lands-the god of money-for the sake of gain. If
they are crushed, must the climate take all the blame I"
.' There must be something to compensate for the giv-
i*i up of their homes, and to pay for the loss of luxuries
aOd comforts that a man relinquishes when he leaves
civilized life and goes into the woods. What would you
Iave this something to be, if not gain in wealth V"
Freedom from heavy duties imposed by government,
And the blessing of equal rights and privileges, the
poor emigrant from foreign countries would consider an
equivalent for all he has given up. Add to this, the
liberty to worship God in his own way, without molesta-
tion or fear; and, if he has suffered, as many have done,
he will be satisfied. To others, there is the comfort of
finding a little money go far in securing to their families
the necessaries of life, and of feeling that poverty is no



"But these are a pjor man's blessings-and blessings I
acknowledge them to be. Yet, why should a man whose
education has fitted him to move in a large circle, whose
habits are those formed by the usages of good society,
and whose tastes are refined and intellectual-why should
he leave a home such as we enjoy, go far away from all
his social and religious privileges, to a place where his
very acquirements and knowledge will be a hindranceto
him, his tastes and habits only sources of annoyance, be-
cause ungratified, and where a strong back and a stout
arm are the only personal things that can avail for his
help I"
"Why do we need the best corn for seed, and whj do
we seek a field to plant it in that has lain fallowand
unused At the West, every well-regulated famik is
like seed sown in good ground. Their example camot
fail to influence others. Oftentimes, those who couldn't
be driven to industry and sobriety, can be lured to loth
by the sight of the prosperity which follows good habits,
as evidence in their favour. A Christian family, if ton-
sistent, can do still more. The good they do is upon a
sure foundation; and God has wisely ordered it that sudh
families shall be scattered here and there. As to tie
objection, that education and accomplishments are lot
there, I do not agree with you. I believe that there s
no gift of God to the intellect of man, and no acquire
ment or accomplishment, which may not be made a
available there as here for the promotion of happiness
and prosperity; and, while I may not go there myself, 1
honour those who are willing to go, and who have the
courage to enable them to meet the trials and disappoint-
ments that a removal will bring."
"I suppose you are right," replied the pastor; "and,
unwilling as I am to lose our friends from our circle, I
must be satisfied to see them depart, and bid them God-
speed. But I do not often have a greater trial to my


own will than thhtt which I felt when writing these for
you"-and he laid upon the table certificates of church-
membership for Mr. and Mrs. Moreton, Mary, and Henry,
and letters of recommendation to the care and good
offices of any church to which they might be presented,
" especially," he added, as you will now be as sheep
without a shepherd."
"Shall we not still be under the care of the great
Shepherd, and does he suffer any ill to befall those with
whom he has entered into covenant ?" asked Mrs. More-
ton. "You will, yourself, implore for us his guidance;
and, 'under the covert of his wings,' we shall be as safe
there as here."
It was not without a struggle that the good pastor
yielded up, to what he considered a life of toil and dan-
ger, these precious members of his own flock. As he
departed, it was with great emotion that he clasped the
extended hands of Mr. and Mrs. Moreton within his own,
and, in solemn, earnest tones, tremulous with feeling,
repeated the beautiful scriptural benediction:-
The Lord bless thee, and keep thee; the Lord make
his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee; the
Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give theo


"I, TOO, came with a parting gift, accompanied with a
dose of advice," said Dr. Newton, as the door closed
upon their beloved minister. My work is done as you
desired, Mrs. Moreton."
Numb. vL 24-26.




And saying this, he placed upon the table a small
square mahogany box, which he opened with a polished
key, and displayed a small, b~rt well-selected stock of
"I have added to this," he continued, "as my gift, this
little manual of medicine; and my advice to you is, to
take as little of the contents of the box as possible; for,"
he added playfully, "medicine without a doctor is often
worse than no medicine at all. If you find a good doc-
tor in Lakeland, throw away or burn the book as you
I cannot burn the recollection of valuable hints that
I have received from you, Dr Newton; and, if we are
really sick, I shall doubtless rely more upon what I have
already learned than upon the book or the new doctor."
But you are not going to be sick, I hope," replied Dr.
Newton. A family of healthy boys and girls like yours,
brought up to love habits of regularity and order, with
little inclination to pamper their appetite, and supplied
with the means to insure a comfortable, wholesome liv-
ing, will not often be visited with any distressing sickness.
Do you hear, boys ?" he added; "don't think that you can
spend your summer evenings out of doors, or go tramp-
ing through the wet swamps and woods before sunrise to
shoot the poor little birds. And you, Miss Mary, must
give up sentimental rambling by moonlight, even if those
old forest-haunts bewitch and entice you. Let the sun
give the air a good cooking before you take too much of
"It was you, Dr. Newton, that first taught me that--
'Early to bed, and early to rise,
Is the way to be healthy, wealthy, and wise.'"

"You are duller than I think, Miss Mary," answered
Dr. Newton, if you can see no difference between not
going out of doors and not getting up early. It will do


Robert and Henry good to chop a little wood in the
wood-house, or work in the barn; and I expect that your
talents will be devoted to the preparing a good breakfast
when they come in. Some of these days I will come and
partake of one with you."
Exclamations of" Will you, indeed I" Oi! will you I"
and "How happy it will make us!" broke fiom the lips
of all.
Yes, if I live, I will certainly pay you a visit after you
are fairly settled; but mind, Miss Mary, I must have
good light bread. I must have a chamber, too, to sleep
in. I do not like bed-rooms on the ground-floor, espe-
cially in that Western country. They cannot be as airy
or well-ventilated as upper rooms, and there is always a
dampness about them, which comes from the ground.
Let the sun shine into your house a part of every day.
Be regular in your habits of work, as well as of rest. In
eating, drinking, and sleeping, live, as nearly as possible,
as you have been accustomed to; and if the sunshine of
faith and trust in a good Providence warm your hearts
and lighten your path, you will have the best preventive
of sickness that I know of."
"Will a contented mind keep off fever and ague1"
asked Robert.
"It will help you to bear it patiently; and that is a
great gain, if you ever have it. But I am a doctor, not a
preacher, Robert; and I tell you plainly, that if you are
neither rash nor imprudent, you may live many years,
and never suffer from it at all. Perhaps, if it should
come, you will find that it is not so very hard, after al,
to bear."
"You are an encouraging friend, Dr. Newton," said
Mr. Moreton; "and, if all our neighbours viewed this
matter of emigration as you do, we might be saved some
ot those fears and anxieties concerning the future that, I
must confess, they sometimes compel me to feel. But




we are fairly committed for the change now, and I have
no desire to imitate Lot's wife, and look back.'"
"Nor do I believe you will have anything to regret,
after you are once there. I am no prophet, but I think
I can foresee for you all many happy and prosperous
days. If wishes could bring them to you, they certainly
would be yours. The same hand which has directed you
thus far in making the change, will guide you step by
step, and all you need will He supply from his abun-
dance. We can ask nothing more or better than his
guardianship for you who go, or for ourselves who re-
main. Now for your plans: what are they I"
"We propose to let Henry and Robert start early
next week, with our boxes and chests, for Albany, by
water. As soon as we hear of their arrival at that place,
we shall join them as expeditiously as possible. Then
we all take the canal, and go to Buffalo. From there,
across Lake Erie, to whichever port we shall decide
to be most desirable -Toledo, Monroe, or Detroit.
There shall we fit ourselves out with what are called
'emigrant fixings,' and travel south-west to our place of
The last part of your journey will be the most
I am aware of that," said Mrs. Moreton; "and yet I
enter into the feelings and anticipations of the children,
in thinking that it will be the pleasantest of all; for it
will have the charm of novelty, with all its freshness."
There is something so delightful in the thought of
beginning life afresh," said Dr. Newton; "it wakens up in
my mind an almost childish enthusiasm, and I really
should like to go with you; but my good wife says, nay;
and, while her aged parents live, we ought not to give it
a moment's thought."
Still later in the evening, Mr. and Mrs. Moreton, with
their three elder children, were gathered around the


little blaze that faintly flickered on the hearth. A large
part of the furniture belonging to the room had been
removed, and it contained only such articles as were
absolutely necessary for daily use. Thoughts of the
friends who had just parted from them had taken the
place of anticipations for the future; and their words of
interest and advice were the subject of their thoughts.
Mary was the first to speak.
"Father," said she, "why is it that Dr. Newton and
uncle Alfred take such different views of life at the
West ? They have both been there, and are both clear-
headed and intelligent men; yet one says we shall
prosper and be happy, while the other prophesies misery
and sickness!"
The two men are of different temperaments naturally,
Mary. Dr. Newton is active, hopeful, bound down by
no habits of luxury which have become necessary to his
comfort, and possesses good health. Then he is what is
termed a self-made man, and is accustomed to meet and
to conquer difficulties. Your uncle is in feeble health,
and his home has, ever since his youth, been supplied
with all that wealth can purchase. Every want has been
met, and every wish gratified; while his love for us
makes his fears the greater, lest we should suffer. Look
about this room now, and think how differently the two
men would regard it. One would think that it had every-
thing in it that we required, because there were tables,
carpet, and chairs; the other would deem it unfurnished
and comfortless, because the sofa, rocking chairs, and
argand lamp were gone."
But which thinks rightly about it asked Robert.
"I have that confidence in the judgment of each which
leads me to adopt modified views of both opinions, and
endeavour to strike the medium between them. Doubt-
less, we shall find that in many things their estimates of
our pleasures and trials are correct; but it is not neces-



sary that we look through the spectacles of the one or
the other while we have our own honest eyes. There
are few troubles in this world which a habit of looking
upon the bright side will not lighten or disperse; and
there are sunny spots in everybody's life, if there is not
the disposition to overshadow them with the clouds of
despondency and doubt."
But do not strong hopes and ardent expectations often
become disappointments ?"
"Certainly they do; for such hopes and expectations
are not ordinarily based upon reason. There is a some-
thing, which we call common sense, implanted in the
mind of man. This is given to us as a guide, and,
through experience and education, is, or ought to be,
daily improving. If, contrary to its teachings, we let our
imaginations run away with our hopes, we ought not to
complain if the realities of life will not keep pace with
them. If we found our hopes upon what we know to be
fixed facts and principles, and hold them (as dependent
creatures should hold all they possess) subject to the
will of an all-wise Dispenser, there is little fear of great
and heart-crushing disappointments."
Then I suppose," said Mary, that when my common
sense, which has been educated by experience, tells me
that if I sit up any later to-night, I shall be tired and
sleepy to-morrow, I had better obey its counsels, and seek
my pillow, notwithstanding my hopes would lead me to
consult my pleasure by talking longer."
Quite a timely, practical illustration," said her father;
" and I, to encourage so laudable an exercise of your
common sense, will light you a candle."
And they laughingly bade each other Good-night."






" A GIFT a gift!" shouted Frank, as he entered the sit-
ting-room the next day. A gift to each of us children
from uncle Alfred, of which I am the bearer!"
It must be a small one," said Robert, for you bear
nothing in your hand 1"
"But I do in my pocket, Robert;" and he took, with
great care, from it a small packet, upon which was
written, "To be equally divided between my nephews
and nieces."
It did not take many minutes to undo the fastenings,
which enclosed a sum of money, upon counting which,
it was found to give to each the sum of twenty-one
"Where did you get this, Frank ?" asked Mr. Moreton.
"Uncle asked me what I would like as a parting gift
from him, and I answered that I could not decide without
thinking a while; for that you, father, had often told me
never to make up my mind in a hurry. Then he went
to his desk, got this money, and gave it to me; and said
that I must tell you all that he sent it, and wished each
of us to choose for ourselves some present that would
please us, as a remembrancer of him."
"We hardly need it for that purpose," said Mary.
"Uncle Alfred will not be forgotten, I am sure."
"I will tell you what I shall buy," said Frank to Mary;
"a nice little writing-desk for you and me. My money
will just pay for one."
"Then, Frank, if I am to use your writing-desk, my
money shall go as a subscription to some magazine that
we shall both like to read."



I shall buy a pony," said Willie, with an elegant
bridle and saddle; and, beside "-
There was a burst of merriment from the assembled
children as Willie spoke. It lasted but a moment, for
Mr. Moreton's voice rose above it.
"Your plan is too magnificent for your money, my son,
and you will have to give it up. Twenty-one shillings is
a great sum for a boy like you to possess ; but it will buy
neither a pony nor a saddle."
Discomfited as Willie was, and annoyed by the mis-
chievous glances of his brothers and sisters, his good-
nature did not fail, and laughing with the rest, he only
"You will all loc many a good ride, then; that is all."
Why don't 3 ou buy some candy I" asked Alice.
Little Alice had not relished the laugh at her brother's
expense, and unconsciously took the readiest way to
divert attention from him; for they were all in that ex-
cited state of mind, when every incident would furnish
food for gleeful merriment.
"Your plan is no better than Willie's, my darling,"
said her father, caressing her. "While he aims at too
much, you go to the other extreme, and would get too
little for your money."
What can we buy, then ?" asked Alice, impatiently.
"Nothing to-night, Alice; but you can keep your
money until you know what you want. There is no ne-
cessity of spending it for several days, and you can think
about it."
I have a plan to propose," said Robert; "and I think
it will please uncle Alfred as well as ourselves. Let us,
each one, contribute five or ten shillings, as we please, for
a book fund; then let us appoint committees to buy some
books, that are new, for our family library, and to decide
upon a newspaper and magazine, for which to subscribe
for the year."



"I like that," said Frank.
We may take one or two periodicals; and they will
come every week, like visits-from uncle Alfred "-
Here Willie and Frank, instigated by Charlie, clapped
their hands, and cried Hear, hear!"
With the rest of the money we can each buy some-
thing which pleases us, to keep as tokens of uncle Alfred's
remembrance of us; or we can use it as spending-money;
or, dividing it, can use it for both purposes."
There was not a dissenting voice; and when, in regular
business-like order, the vote was taken, it was declared
unanimous. Robert and Frank were appointed a com-
mittee to select books; and we may mention that faith-
fully did they fulfil their offices, making such a judicious
selection as pleased every one, and, through the long win-
ter evenings, adding to their pleasure as well as to their
There were little after-scenes between the different
members of that family, to which we will be wit-
nesses .
This breaks up my plan, Mary," said Frank; for I
have not money enough left to get even a plain writing-
But, together, we have, Frank; and I was just think-
ing how much pleasanter it would be to really buy it
together, so that it might seem equally to belong to
both." .
Dear Mary, will you go to the store with me to-
morrow, that I may buy some silks and worsteds, and
other little things for I must tell you my secret-now I
shall be able to make that pin-cushion for mother against
next New-Year; and, beside, I shall have time to do many
other little pieces of work, while you are all busy with
the new house, and I shall be alone."
Mary willingly consented; and Annie's dark eyes
brightened, and her cheek flushed, with the hope of


being able to give pleasure to those she loved by the
use of her needle .
"Father," said William, as he sat contemplating the
pictures upon his bank-note," why does the Bible say
that money is the root of all evil I It brings us much
pleasure, and helps us to obtain many good things."
"The Bible does not say that money is the root of all
evil, my son. It says the love of money is; and it is an
important distinction. Money (gold, silver, and copper
coin) is our medium of circulation. With it (or with
bank-notes, which, for convenience, have taken the place
of coins,) we can procure any article which we may desire,
giving it in exchange for such things as we think will add
to our comfort, our pleasure, or our convenience. This
you know very well; and you know as well that money or
riches are unequally divided. From some, God has seen
fit to withhold them; while to others he has committed an
overflowing abundance. Why he has done this we do not
know, any more than we know why he gives one health
and another sickness, one happiness and another trouble.
A wise man, and a Christian, will believe that God has
some purpose in this, and that these differences do not
come from chance; and will be contented and happy with
such a portion of this world's goods as his own honest
efforts will secure to him. There are others to whom a
want of money is a great evil; for it awakens in their
hearts such strong desires for its possession, and such love
for it, that they will be ready to envy or hate those who
possess it; they become covetous and miserly, from set-
ting an inordinate value upon it; they become grasping
and dishonest, from their determination to be rich; and
some will cheat, lie, steal, or even murder, for the pur-
pose of attaining it. With such consequences resulting
from the love of money, is it strange that it should be called
"the root of all evil "
But is it not a good thing to be rich, father("



Yes, my son; money is a blessing, and should be
sought after, as we seek after other blessings. But its
possession often leads to evil: for instance, if it makes
its possessor proud or haughty, or hard-hearted and un-
charitable, or if it leads him to be wse in his own conceit.
It is its abuse that leads to these consequences. It may
also be abused, by scattering it with a heedless, thought-
less hand, or by spending it for that which will do harm
to ourselves or others. If we desire to be rich to gain
the admiration of others, or wish to excite their envy, it
becomes to us a root of evil, which we may well fear to
have increase and grow in our hearts. But, on the other
hand, if we desire it only to gratify our natural wants,
to add to our innocent pleasures, to give us the means to
make others happy, and to extend our power of doing
good, we may seek for it earnestly, and labour for it; and
if God blesses our efforts, we may, and ought to enjoy it,
as one of the mercies with which he has crowned our lives,
and which should be used as we think will best please him."
"Robert thought of pleasing uncle Alfred in his plan
of spending our money, father. Is it in such a way that
every rich man ought to think of pleasing God I"
Yes, the principle is the same; and it is a sure test of
gratitude if the donor's wishes are consulted in our
thoughts and plans, before making use of his gifts. Your
uncle Alfred would not think you very grateful if you
threw away his gift; neither would he think you valued
it properly if you should give it in exchange for what was
not of half its value. He would not be pleased if you
spent it for what would harm you; or even if you should
put it away in your strong box, and never use it at all. It
would be far more gratifying to him to know that you
made it add to your pleasures, or did good with it in some
way. Do not you see how you can apply all this to the
case of a rich man's use of his property, so as to please
and honour God I"



"I think I do, father. I should like to be rich, though !
It seems so pleasant to have everything one wants, just
when wanted. I think I should try to spend my money
so as to get a great deal of good from it."
We can tell aboiu that better when we see how you
spend your gift."
"I must try to remember to get something which I
think will please uncle Alfred, please myself, be good to
use, or good to keep."
So thought and so said Willie Moreton, as he retired.
And as for his brother Charlie, who sat near by and heard
this-what were his thoughts ?
My mind is made up. I must buy Bob Palmer's dog I
Bob offered it to Samuel Frink for five shillings. That
is it, exactly. It will please uncle Alfred, who loves
dogs. It will please me. It will be a good thing to keep,
and a good thing to use; pleasant to own, and very use-
ful." And, with high hopes of future pleasure, it was
with difficulty he refrained from waking Willie to tell
him all about it. With visions of Carlo dragging Annie
on a little sled, and of Carlo in the woods with him, he
laid his head upon his pillow, feeling as if he had nearly
reached the pinnacle of human happiness.


"IT really seems as if we were fated never to start!"
said Frank, impatiently. "I am tired of thinking and
talking about going, and never getting off!"
"If you are tired, Frank, who are only a looker on,
think what must father and mother be, who have all the


care and so much of the labour I I thought, last evening,
when I saw how tired they were, that they were trying
every day to do more than they ought."
Frank was fretful, and Mary's reply fell upon his ear
like a reproof, to which he had no heart to listen.
You are all just alike;' said he; "slow, slow-never
ready 1"
But hardly had he given utterance to these words of
impatience before he regretted, and would have recalled
them, for he saw tears in Mary's eyes. At first he thought
he would take no notice of them, turn away, and pretend
that he did not see them. He had tried this plan many
times before, but had never found it to answer the pur-
pose of satisfying his own conscience. This he remem-
bered, and his better feelings prevailed.
I did not mean just so, Mary; but I do wish we could
get off! I am so tired of waiting 1"
So are we all, Frank; and the only way to content
ourselves is to keep busy. Suppose, now, you draw a
picture of the old house and place before we go. That
will be better than getting tired of doing nothing, and
then complaining about it."
Some of our readers may be of Frank's opinion, and
think that we are protracting our account of preparation,
without regard to their feelings; and it may be a relief
to them to know that on the second Monday of May, 18-,
there was a final breaking up in the homestead of Mr.
James Moreton. Before the evening of that day they
had said good-bye to all the near neighbours, and taken
a farewell of all the old haunts of their childish sports.
They had gone over the now empty chambers, even into
the garret, and looked out for the last time from the little
dormer-window upon the fair fields and the old orchard
beneath. They had been to the wood-house; the little
room that they used for a workshop had been visited ;
the old red barn, the scene of many a noisy romping frolic,




had received a last parting visit; they had gazed once
more into the depths of the well, and taken a merry
bumper in honour of the old place, and pledged them-
selves in its cold clear waters to stand by the new home
in Hoosier-land: and now they were ready to go.
Yet there were mingled emotions of pain and sorrow
with all their golden anticipations of the West; strange
feelings, in which hope, wonder, and curiosity, struggled
with the grief at parting from what was dear to them, and
hallowed by the love of childhood. The past was as a plea-
sant reality. What would be the future I Would its
promises be fulfilled I Were its bright shadows to end in
dreams, or would they too become real I Who could
tell I
Sunset found them all scattered. Henry and Robert
were gone, and, with them, the last of the boxes, the
trunks, the barrels, and the chests. The key had been
delivered to the new owner of the place, and the remain-
ing members of the family were already divided among
friends and relatives, for a visit of the few days that must
intervene before they should hear from Robert.
It matters not that we should follow them through the
detail of leave-taking. They were beloved and honoured;
their destination was far away; they were not to return;
and it was not strange that there should be some sad
hearts, some tears shed, some expressions of regret, as
well as of love, and of kindly-spoken words, accompany-
ing pleasant acts of neighbourly attention and friendly
interest. But all this we must leave untold.
Nor will we dwell upon the incidents of their journey.
It is true that the rapid movements on the railway, the
slow, monotonous progress of the canal-boats, the swift
course of the noble steamer, that, like a thing of life,"
bore them quickly over the clear green waters of Lake
Erie, were alike full of novelty and interest to them. It
is true that there was no end to the questions of the chil-


dren-no limit to their desires for information. It is true
that, the very first day, such wonderful events transpired,
and such marvellous objects were seen, that the record of
them, in Willie's large hand, threatened to fill every leaf
of his journal; and that to tell which was the strangest,
most curious, and most worthy of note, he thought, would
puzzle even his father. It is true that, to Mary, Robert,
and Henry, their way was strewn with pleasures, and that
each day's experience was crowded with thoughts and
feelings which could not fail to be awakened upon theirfirst
long journey from home. Intelligent and observing, how
could it be otherwise ? They were passing through scenes
new to their eyes, but familiar to their minds, places of
which they knew the history, and gazing upon objects
which they had seen pictured forth.
A happy, merry party they were; the little ones all the
happier for being guided by certain rules, which were
strictly observed. Mrs. Moreton was free from the
anxiety, now that she had directed them to stay away
from dangerous parts of the boats. Mr. Moreton and the
elder brothers were never interrupted in any conversa-
tion to answer their curious questions; for they knew
that, as soon as their conversation was over, they would
find either of them ready to reply patiently to their in-
Then they were never wearied in watching the huge
iron shaft of the steam-boat, as it rose and sunk. How
earnestly they gazed, with wondering eyes, at the cum-
brous machinery, though they could not comprehend its
workings. How they delighted to take a run along the
tow-path of the canal, and almost lose their breath in
their endeavours to keep up with the horses. How full
of mystery was that first passing through a canal-lock,
with its rushing sound of waters, its darkness, and its
peculiar motion. And, when ranged upon their hammock-
beds at night, how merrily their little heads and bright


faces peeped out, finding great delight in their very dis-
Their delays, what were they to them all, but so many
opportunities of seeing different towns and villages?
Then, who could tire while watching the white foamy
track by which they marked their way through the clear
lake, or feel weary of gazing upon the white caps that
adorned each rising wave I Who could think that to be
out of sight of land was nothing wonderful, or that, if
they neared the shore, the little villages or towns, or even
the woods themselves, were not worth looking at I Not
they I And older travellers gazed upon them, and envied
them the possession of their fresh young hearts, which
could find pleasure and interest in all they saw, while they
admired their considerate, quiet attention to each other's
wishes, and their evident desire that all should enjoy
what gave them so much delight. And, in their hearts,
they blessed them, and wished them all prosperity on their
course, as they witnessed, day by day, the kind actions
that spoke so loudly of the bond of love which united
them as a family, and through which they were happy
themselves, and the diffusers of happiness to others.
Too quickly did the days fly by, and it required all the
eager anticipation of youth, and the expectation of some-
thing still more delightful, to reconcile them to the
thought that their journey was so far accomplished.



IT was a bright morning in June-" leafy June," the month
of flowers and foliagc-that three large emigrant wag-
gons stood before the hotel door in The first, to



which four horses were attached, was capacious as a small
room. Arches of ash saplings were bent over its top, and
upon them was stretched an oiled canvass, of a yellow
colour, which contrasted pleasantly with the new green
paint upon its sides and wheels. Upon the floor, sweet,
fresh straw had been scattered like a carpet. In the front,
beneath its covering, seats were arranged, with springs,
and cushioned with folded quilts and blankets. Beneath
these were boxes containing stores necessary for daily
use, such as tea, coffee, sugar, salt, &c., and a basket packed
with tea-cups and saucers, plates, spoons, and knives and
forks. Then, beds were neatly tied up in white coverings,
and stowed snugly away in the far corners, with blankets
folded nicely and laid upon them; thus leaving a semi-
circular opening in the rear, which gave free circulation
of air, and permitted access to articles otherwise out of
reach. This was the travelling carriage of the Moreton
family; and it was with some pride that Charles, Frank,
and Willie, viewed it, and made known its manifold beau-
ties and conveniences. They gazed upon its strongly-
built wheels, with their heavy spokes and firm tires, and
thought they could never break nor wear out. More than
once they opened the boxes which projected on each side
between the wheels, to see if, in the one, had been placed
the preparation for greasing the wheels, and the brush for
using it, and, in the other, if there were nails of all sizes,
the ball of twine, the strips of stout leather, the small coil
of rope, the hammer, saw, and hatchet, with other smaller
tools. Nothing had been forgotten that might be neces-
sary in case of accident; and the large box on the back of
the vehicle was filled with oats for the horses, while be-
neath it hung a huge water-pail, which swung back and
forth, swayed by every motion of the w*ggon. Their
unanimous verdict was, that it was a very complete
The second waggon was like the first in size and in



external appearance, but was not new, nor so tidily
arranged. It was filled with furniture, boxes, trunks,
bundles, and chests, closely packed, and securely protected
from the weather, leaving only room for the accommoda-
tion of the driver and his companions. This was a hired
team, and Robert was to drive it. With him, a carpenter,
hired by Mr. Moreton to superintend the building of his
house, was going, and a young man, as his assistant, ac-
companied them. The next vehicle contained such a
variety of miscellaneous articles, that Willie's patience
failed in enumerating them, and he pronounced them to
be too numerous to mention. A cooking-stove, pots,
kettles, a crate of crockery, barrels of provision and sacks
of grain, were but a part of its contents. This was also
hired for the journey, and was to be drawn by six mules,
guided by their owner, Michael Dorrance, an Irishman by
birth, but for many years a teamster in the Western
country. He had often been over this same route, and
Frank's choice was to ride with him, for the sake of gather-
ing such information as he might be able to give concern-
ing life in the woods."
Between these two last carriages Henry was to ride on
horseback, and, with the aid of a young man, who went
to drive the second waggon back, he was to guide the
movements of two cows, a yoke of oxen, and half a
dozen sheep-no easy matter to an inexperienced person,
where the road was often but a track through the woods,
and no fences were built to serve as restraints upon them,
if unruly, or disposed to crop the herbage beneath the
trees. And here ought to be introduced to our readers
Carlo, Charlie's dog, who has been neglected quite too
long by us, considering that, until now, he had made him-
self very troublesome, but important, by his continual
uneasiness and mournful howls, so that "pleasant to own"
was omitted in his master's later summing up of the ad-
vantages of his purchase. But time and good usage had


reconciled him to the idea of emigration, and he now
trotted contentedly along by the side of Henry's horse,
sometimes barking at or biting the heels of a refractory
animal, and, at others, darting off into the depths of the
forest, and returning in a few minutes panting and weary,
but wagging his tail, and looking quite satisfied with the
result of his search.
Every preparation had been made for starting, yet no
little time was consumed in the getting off, and the satis-
factory settling of themselves in their new quarters.
Even when they did start, they were so occupied with the
novelty of their position, and with their arrangements for
seats, and for a comfortable passing of their time, that
they hardly noticed the country through which they were
For the same reason their progress was slow. Only
fifteen miles were accomplished at sunset, and then, in
rude but decent quarters, they passed the night.
But the next morning, the journey was really com-
menced in good earnest, for sunrise found them all up,
dressed, and ready for a start. Breakfast was soon dis-
posed of, but not before they had gathered themselves to-
gether for family prayer. Together they sang their
morning hymn of praise and thanksgiving, and together
they commended themselves to the care of their heavenly
We have no right to think God will remember us, and
take care of us, while we forget him. By the way, as well
as within the house, we need his directing hand. He is
the friend we cannot leave-watchful, loving, and power-
ful to protect. Let us thank him for all his goodness to
us "
Thus said and thus felt Mr. Moreton, as the morning
sun rose bright and clear, and they were once more upon
their way. The forests lay stretched out about them, as
they proceeded upon their route, dressed in the fresh,



early green of June. Dew-drops, like glistening dia-
monds, sparkled on the sprays of grass, and the sweet
carollings of birds filled the air with melody. No dust
had soiled the fair buds and leaves-no hand had plucked
the gay and brilliant blossoms that covered the ground.
Too quiet were those deep woods for fear, too full of
beauty and pleasure for loneliness; and, under these
gentle ministrations, a calm but determined happiness
rose in the hearts of our travellers.
There was something so sweet in that fresh vernal air,
loaded with the fragrance of the early flowers, so invi-
gorating in its influences, that sadness was dispelled and
weariness forgotten. And the gushes of melody from
the busy birds, in the leafy branches of the forest-trees,
now trilling, now whistling, now flowing on in soft, con-
tinued notes, or interrupted with the cheerful chatter of
the blackbird, or the discordant cawing of the crow, as
the gentle breezes bore to the ear more distant sounds;
who could listen to these, and not feel that the world
about them was indeed a treasure-house of pleasure,"
an up-springing fountain of delight ?
And the small streams that danced joyously along
between their green banks-were they not emblems of
quiet happiness I Or if, in their course, they spread them-
selves into little lakes, did they not shine like burnished
silver in the sunlight, and reflect the beauty and bright-
ness of the blue heavens above Did they not tempt the
flying birds to bathe in the clear waters Did they not
give back to the gorgeous dragon-fly the image of his
own beautiful form, as he played above the waves, or
rested for the moment upon the ripples I
And the little swarms of yellow butterflies-were they
not happy in their social companies? The speckled
quails, that, in loving pairs, rustled among the dry leaves
-was there no sympathy for them, as they sought to find,
or make for themselves, a new home Was there no



bounding of heart, as that fleet deer was seen for the
moment, and then vanished in the covert of the woods I
In the early summer, imagination can hardly picture
more beautiful scenes than those presented by the West-
ern "oak-openings," through which, for many miles,
the path of our travellers lay. The level surface of the
country, permitting the eye to range to a great distance;
the picturesque grouping or planting of the trees; the
spreading formation of their branches; their graceful
but light foliage, that admits at once the warm sunlight
and gentle zephyrs, yet forms an agreeable shade; the
absence of undergrowth; the winding tracks, extending
in many directions; the profuse sprinkling of flowers,
with brilliant petals-all tend to awaken emotions of
pleasure in any breast not callous or dead to a sense
of the beautiful. It is as if you entered a vast park
or pleasure-ground, fresh from the hand of its Maker,
where man had neither destroyed nor marred the first
impress of God's manifest care for the happiness of his
creatures; and, in its little daisy-tufts, that spring by the
roadside as well as in its loftiest tres, the lesson of His
existence, and care, and protection, may be read.
There was not a heart but was quick to feel this among
the company of emigrants whose fortunes we are follow-
ing; nor one in whose mind were not gratitude and
thankfulness to Him who had brought them thus far on
their way safely, and was opening to them prospects of
life, so full of joy and hope, :n the wide woods of the
Nor did these feelings vanish when an occasional house
or cabin was passed. Even when the rumbling of their
wheels brought to the door swarms of children, and men
unshaven and roughly clad, their eyes were quick to de-
tect tokens of success in the newly-planted apple-tree,
the extent of the clearing, the potato-patch, the feeble
effort at a barn, and in them all they read a lesson of


hope for the future; for, from these small beginnings--
these struggles of labour with poverty-were to come,
they knew well, the competence and independence that
distinguish the lot of their hard-working but free coun-



ROUND and round move the heavy wheels of the large
emigrant waggons. Round and round they go, through
wood and swamp, over log-bridges, and through "tim-
bered lands;" now rumbling, now creaking; now con-
tending with stump or projecting root, now moving at
a brisker pace over a smooth, level spot; and then,
again, toiling along, half buried in a deep rut, left by the
spring frosts and rains. Slowly they move, but surely.
The stout driver of the first waggon has kept the reckon-
ing of the section-trees, and proclaims that twenty miles
have been accomplished before the mid-day rest. Yet,
as the shades of evening draw on, our travellers are
weary and wayworn, and disappointed too. They had
hoped to reach the settlement of Lupine Prairie before
nightfall, for the next day was the Sabbath.
But Lupine Prairie was still ten miles distant when the
dusk of evening was drawing near; and the fatigue, both
of travellers and horses, made it desirable to stop for the
night. It was not their first experience of camping-out,
for they had been five nights upon the road, and only two
of these had they been able to find comfortable quarters
beneath the shelter of a roof. Every possible arrange-
ment had been made, before starting, for the passing of
the nights by the wayside; and it was almost incompre-


sensible, even to them, how easily they could accommodate
themselves, and be rendered comfortable under these new
circumstances. But our readers shall judge for them-
The setting sun, with its gorgeous array of golden
clouds, had sunk below the western horizon, before they
had reached a dry, elevated place, suitable for an encamp-
ment. Then, after a few words of consultation with Mr.
Moreton, the stout driver (whose good sense and practi-
cal knowledge of the country had placed him in the capa-
city of guide and adviser) turned the heads of his horses,
and drew carefully up beneath the green trees, standing
back some distance from the road. The horses were then
taken out, relieved of the weight of their harness, and
placed in a safe position to rest and cool themselves,
before being allowed to eat.
Then slowly came on the second "team," guided by
the careful hand of Robert. This also drew up, and was
placed at a right angle with the first, and the horses care-
fully looked after.
Before a half hour passed, therewas heard, echoing
through the woods, the sharp voice of Michael Dorrance,
crying, "Whoa I whoa I" in tones that even the slow-
witted animals he was master of could not mistake.
They too drew up, and placed themselves opposite to
Robert's waggon-thus forming three sides of a hollow
square, opening to the south. Henry and his aid soon
gathered their charge, and made them fast not far from
this opening, taking particular care that they should be
comfortable this night; for the rest of the Sabbath was
approaching, and Mr. Moreton desired that its hours
might be spent in peace and quietness, so far as their
situation would allow.
But these arrangements were not all. Scarcely had
they stopped, before Charles, Willie, and Alice, were
scattered, picking up dry bits of wood and dead branches,



that would burn quickly and easily. Mr. Moreton, leaving
the care of the horses to the driver, had taken his hatchet
from the box at the side of the waggon, and soon finding
a windfall, (a tree that had fallen some time previous, and
was now dead and dry), he had easily chopped some of its
branches into lengths suitable for burning. Just without
the enclosure he then placed two large green logs, form-
ing two sides of a triangle with them. These were to
hold up the wood, and to protect the blaze while it was
kindling. Then came Alice, with a basket full of small
chips and light sticks, which were carefully and loosely
placed upon each other, between the logs. They were
then lighted from a match, and soon blazed up, crackling
merrily. When fairly burning, Willie cast on his trea-
sures; but even he was cautious lest he put out the little
blue flame that, in darting tongues, was climbing here
and there over the wood. As it gained in power and
strength, Charlie laid sticks of wood upon it, until the
united strength of the children hardly sufficed to lift the
logs that it was desirable to place over the coals, in order
to insure their continuance until morning. By the time
that Michael reached there with his mules, there was a
good roaring fire, brightening up with its light the in-
creasing shades of evening, and offering a bed of live
coals to any one who would use them to cook their
evening meal.
But where was Robert Away with the water-pails,
looking for a stream or spring, from which they might
be filled; and not long was he gone! As for Susan and
Mary, they were busy enough! Out of the back of
Michael's waggon, they had had a table lifted; upon it
they had briskly mixed the bread, which was to be baked
for the morning's use. Frank was there, too, placing the
little tin reflector just far enough from the fire; while
one of the girls speedily washed the potatoes, and hung
them over the fire to boil. The little square gridiron,



with its shining black bars, was spread with slices of
meat; and, over those glowing embers, how nicely it
cooked! Then there was the coffee to be made; and then
wiping off the little table, a clean white cloth was spread
upon it, and it was covered with dishes, ready for their
evening meal; the cake of butter, the pile of slices of
wheaten bread, and the full sugar-dish, were not forgotten.
And Susan I She it was who slipped away with her milk-
pail, but found that Henry had been quicker than she,
and already sat by the side of one of the cows, with a
pail nearly full of foaming, creamy milk I By the time
that supper was ready, there was not one who was not
ready too, to eat the simple, but to them delicious
repast, with a good appetite and a keen relish ....
The round moon rose red and clear, and glided high
into the heavens, casting upon the sleeping emigrants a
mellowed light, which was heightened or obscured as the
watch-fire burned high or low. At intervals might be
heard the restless horses, terrified at imaginary sounds,
or disturbed by the movements of their companions ; or
the strokes of the axe, plied by the watchman of the hour
as a help to wakefulness. But peacefully they slumbered,
while He who never slumbereth nor sleepeth" was a
;'guard upon their right hand, and upon their left, to pre-
serve them from evil." And when, at the previously-
arranged hours, one after another, the young men took
their places quietly, to guard the encampment from
intrusion, the pleasant words of All's well!" was their
only greeting. At the foot of each new-comer would
Carlo wag his tail, look up in his face for a word or sign
of recognition, and then again compose himself to his
little naps.





IF we allowed our readers to suppose that all those per-
sons employed by Mr. Moreton in the prosecution of his
journey were pleased with his plan of stopping upon the
Sabbath, we should give a wrong impression. Although
it had been agreed upon before starting, the fine weather,
and their having been delayed upon the road beyond
their expectation, had awakened a strong desire to go on.
Michael Dorrance, particularly, remonstrated against the
delay, and expressed his opinion that "it was all non-
sense to stop ;" to which Mr. Moreton calmly replied-
"But, Michael, last Friday, when you said that your
religion permitted you to eat no meat, I did not say that
that was all nonsense. We both profess to be guided by
the precepts of the Bible. You cannot read it, and take,
upon the authority of your priest, what he tells you are
words of command and promise. He tells you to eat no
meat on Fridays, and we tried, at some inconvenience
to ourselves, to accommodate you with food that you
thought it right to eat, although we knew that there
was no command in God's Word concerning it. This is
the Bible," said Mr. Moreton, holding one in his hand;
"and I read it for myself, and find it says-' Six days
shalt thou labour and do all thy work; but the seventh
day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou
shalt not do any work; thou, nor thy son, nor thy
daughter, thy man-servant, nor thy maid-servant, nor thy
cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates: for in
six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and
all that in them is, and rested the seventh day: where-
fore the Lord blessed the Sabbath-day, and hallowed it.'


This is very plain; and I should not do what I consider
right, if, in obedience to this command, I did not allow
each one of us a day of rest, and an opportunity to honour
God by observing his Sabbath."
"If you could go to church," said Michael, "and see
the praist, and get absolution, it would be worth yer while."
My priest is Jesus Christ," said Mr. Moreton, who
lives with God in heaven, and he is everywhere present;
as near me here in these woods as if I were in any church.
To him I shall go in prayer this day, and confess my sins;
and I know that he will forgive them and grant me
pardon; for the Bible says, If we confess our sins, he is
faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us
from all unrighteousness;' and, 'If any man sin, we have
an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous.'
And as a family we shall gather together and ask God's par-
don for our sins, and his blessing upon us. We shall hope
that you will unite with us in thanking Him who has
made our journey thus far pleasant and prosperous."
There was another person as much dissatisfied as
Michael with the proposed delay, and this was the stout
driver. He was a Western man, in middle-life, of good
natural abilities, but uneducated and without religious
principle. He made no complaint to Mr. Moreton, but to
Robert he said-
"I don't myself see the use of stopping thirty-six
hours here in this place, just because it happens to be
Sunday instead of Monday. I should think that folks
might be just as good and pious going along. Besides,
it is my opinion that God is good and merciful, and if
we die, will take us all to heaven whether we bother
ourselves with keeping Sunday or not."
Do you think there are two heavens I" asked Robert;
"one for those who love God, and endeavour to serve
him, and another for those who do not care for him or
his commandments 1"


"Why, no! I guess they'll all share pretty much
Then, according to your own showing, should they
even be taken to the same place, one class must be happy
and the other miserable. You would not be happy in a
heaven where the worship of God was the sole employment,
and every day a Sabbath; and my father could never enjoy
any place where God was forgotten and never praised.
Now, I leave it to you to say whether you think that a
God who should reward those who have never even re-
membered him, and punish those who have tried to serve
him and to do his will, is a good God, or such a one as
you think rules this universe. But people do not all go
to the same place when they die. The Bible says that
' the wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations
that forget God :' 'Be not deceived; God is not mocked;
whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap:' God
will render to every man according to his deeds: to them
who, by patient continuance in well-doing, seek for glory,
and honour, and immortality, eternal life,; but unto them
that are contentious, and obey not the truth, but obey
unrighteousness, indignation and wrath, tribulation and
anguish, upon every soul of man that doeth evil; but glory,
honour, and peace to every man that worketh good. "
As Robert read these texts, the eye of his companion
was fixed upon him. When he had finished, he said-
"Death will change us, and make heaven pleasant to
us, by making us fit to enter it."
"I cannot say that it will," said Robert. "I know
nothing about it but what the Bible says. I read there,
'And if the tree fall toward the south, or toward the north,
in the place where the tree falleth there it shall lie.'*
'He that is unjust, let him be unjust still, and he that is
filthy, let hirt be filthy still; he that is righteous, let him
be righteous still, and he that is holy, let him be holy
Eccles zL &




still.' And, behold, I come quickly, and my reward is
with me, to give to every man according as his work shall
be.' These texts don't sound much as if wd could hope
that dying was to make us fit to go to heaven."
The necessary arrangements for the day were few and
easily made; and none but Mr. Moreton and Robert knew
of these discussions, as, in a spirit of gladness, they assem-
bled about the little table spread with the morning meal.
"How shall we spend the dayt" was the natural in-
quiry. It was soon settled, that at ten o'clock they should
come together to hear a sermon read by Mr. Moreton,
accompanied with the other services of public worship;
that in the afternoon there should be a kind of Sunday-
school, and in the evening a meeting should be held for
reading, after family prayers; the intervening hours to
be employed in that way which to each one seemed most
To this plan they cheerfully consented; and, before long,
Mrs. Moreton produced a basket of books, tracts, and
papers, which the children soon scattered about, as they
seated themselves beneath the overspreading branches of
some gnarled oak, or were overshadowed by the hanging
vines of a climbing wild-grape; and either singly, or in
clusters of two or three, sought to commit to memory a
self-imposed lesson for the afternoon, or read aloud for
the gratification of others, or silently perused the Word
of God for themselves. Who could doubt, as they gazed
upon the seriously happy faces of these little groups, that
(od was with them, leading their young hearts by the
influence of his good Spirit to remember the day, to keep
it holy r' Or, as they looked upon them gathered to-
gether for united worship, who could feel that it was a
vain thing to serve the Lord, when each beaming coun-
tenance told of hope, and joy, and peace I
In the little church of Laurelton, the good pastor re-
membered them, and besought the blessing of Jehovah


to rest upon any servants of his, who that day might be
far from the ordinances of the sanctuary; and asked that
his presence might be with them, whether in the house or
by the way. Even then was that prayer answered, and
that petition granted, as-

"In the darkling wood,
Amidst the cool and silence, they knelt down,
And offered to the Mightiest, solemn thanks
And supplication."

Those prayers were no tedious ceremony, no wearisome
service, or one in which the heart had no part, but the
offering of their sincere desire unto God for things agree-
able to his will, in the name of Christ, with confession of
sin, and thankful acknowledgment of his mercy." Then
upon the air, borne by the soft winds in tuneful notes,
rose the voice of praise:

"Through all the changing scenes of life,
In trouble or in joy,
The praises of our God shall still
Our hearts and tongues employ.

"0 make but trial of Ills love:
Experience will decide
How blest are they, and only they,
Who in his truth confide.

SFear him, ye saints; and you will then
Have nothing else to fear;
Come, make his service your delight,
He'll make your wants his care."

A portion of God's Word was listened to, another song
of praise was sung, and then the discourse selected by Mr.
Moreton was read. Its subject was the "Keeping of the
Sabbath." It spoke of its advantages as a day of rest,
and of its adaptation to the wants of man, both as a mor-
tal and an immortal being, and of its meeting his neces-



cities, physical and moral. Its observance was urged for
the reasons:-
That it was the command of God that it should be kept
holy, as a commemoration of the creation, and a token of
our entire dependence on him as our Creator:
That it tended, by giving stated seasons of rest and
change of occupation, to keep clear and unimpaired the
intellectual and reasoning faculties as well as the bodily
health of man:
That its observance as a day of worship awakened
proper emotions of love and gratitude to Him who gives
us all our time, and through whose death and resurrec-
tion we have hope of eternal life:
And finally, because, by giving us an opportunity to
study and contemplate the character of Jehovah and his
perfections, we might learn to love him and seek his
friendship; so that at the great day of judgment we
might be accepted through the Saviour, and be made
welcome by him as good and faithful servants.
It was aplain, practical sermon, written in simple lan-
guage. Its subject was illustrated both by Scripture aptly
applied, and by anecdotes showing the value of the Sab-
bath in a physical point of view. There were the written
or expressed opinions of eminent men, such as Wilber-
force, who says, 0 what a blessing is Sunday inter-
posed between the waves of worldly business, like the
divine path of the Israelites through Jordan I can
truly say that to me the Sabbath is invaluable." There
was the opinion of Dr. Bewall, whose observation led him
to write: "I have remarked that those to whom the
Sabbath brings the most entire rest from their habitual
labours performed the secular duties of the week more
vigorously and successfully than those who continued
them without intermission." And that of Dr. Warren,
who says, I have a firm belief that persons who observe
the Sabbath are able to do more work, and do it in a more



perfect manner in six days, than if they worked the whole
seven. A change of thought seems to give a fresh spring
to the mental operations, as a change of food does to the
body. The breathing of the pure and sublime atmo-
sphere of the religious Sabbath refreshes and invigorates
the spirit; it forms an epoch in our existence, from which
we receive a new impulse, and thus constitutes the best
preparation for the labours of the coming week."
These truths and facts fell upon the ears of an attentive
and interested audience, for all had drawn near to listen,
either from lack of occupation, or from respect to Mr.
Moreton. There was an unaffected seriousness and an
apparent pleasure in contemplating the truths of God's
Word, which gave to Mr. Moreton's tones a power to arrest
and enchain the attention; and the fitness of the subject
to the circumstances in which they were placed could not
fail to be felt even by those to whom the delay had been
at first unwelcome.
None sat there listlessly or with wandering minds; and
as, in devout gratitude, Mr. Moreton offered the closing
prayer to Him who in wisdom had set apart the Sabbath,
and hallowed it, and asked him to incline their hearts to
keep it holily unto the end, even the heart of Michael
Dorrance was touched. Unconsciously to himself, the
strongholds of superstition were loosened in his mind;
and though, after the custom of his church, he raised his
hat, and made the sign of the cross upon his forehead and
breast, yet, in his soul, he acknowledged that true worship
was not confined to temples made with hands, or to forms
devised by the hearts of men.
Thus passed the hours of that Sabbath morning; and
thus, from beneath the green trees, went up to the throne
of God the incense of devotion and love. It was a fit
temple for the worship of the Most High-far from the
cares and tumults of the busy world-far from the throng
of thoughtless mortals, pressing on in their worldly pur-


suits. And there, surrounded by the manifestations of
Almighty goodness, warmed by the light of that sun which
he guides, and refreshed by the cool breezes of his be-
stowing, fed from his bounty, and sustained by his pro-
tecting hand, can we doubt but his pure eye looked upon
these, his worshippers, with love, and that upon them
should be fulfilled the promise, "Them that honour me,
will I honour I"*



RAINY, stormy days there are in everybody's experience;
days when employment is hindered, when progress is
delayed, when anticipated pleasures are marred, and the
spirits will flag and sink, unless sustained by active em-
ployment or governed by principle. These often happen
to dwellers at home; and to them, surrounded with every
in-door comfort that wealth or thrift can procure, they
bring little temptation to complain or murmur. But to
the poor, whose dwellings are not proof against the
storm, whose habitations are dark and disconsolate, un-
less cheered by the light of the sun, whose out-door labour
it is that puts bread into their mouths, such days come as
seasons of discipline, and bring with them discomfort and
trial, that must be realized to be known.
To emigrants of every class a rainy day is a disappoint-
ment. To see the blue sky overcast with threatening
clouds, and a settled gloom spread over the whole hori-
zon; to hear the breezes rustle fitfully in the tree-tops;
to see the birds move off with rapid wing, and hear their
1 Sm. L 80.



short, quick notes, telling of a coming storm; to feel tho
pattering rain-drops, as they fall upon the green leaves;
and to know that, with the exception of an occasional cabin,
the road stretches for miles through paths unfrequented,
save by travellers like themselves; and to know that their
only resources for comfort, warmth, and dryness, are
comprised within the narrow limits of their own waggon;
it is all this which makes a rainy day so much dreaded by
an emigrant. Such a day was the one preceding the ar-
rival of Mr. Moreton's family at their new home.
The early morning had come with a bright dawning,
yet there were tokens of coming rain that caused them
hurriedly to despatch their breakfast, and to gather them-
selves together for starting as soon as possible. To do
this there must be some hurry and bustle, some anxiety
and care, lest anything should be forgotten or misplaced.
Cloaks and shawls must be found for Mrs. Moreton and
the girls, and the waterproof coats and leggings, with the
sou'-wester hats," must be taken out for Mr. Moreton and
his sons. The mid-day meal must be arranged, so that it
could be easily reached, and taken without exposure to
the weather. Little Annie must have the warmest, driest
place, and the best cushion must be placed for the mother.
All this done, and cheerfully done, and everything finally
arranged, the horses started at a brisk trot, while our
travellers, forgetful of the past inconvenience attending
so hasty a transit, were considering the causes they had
for congratulation in their present circumstances. Frank
was the first to say-
How fortunate that it did not begin to rain until all
our goods were under cover, and we almost ready for the
start !"
"Yes," said Annie; and how fortunate, too, that the
clouds came as messengers, to let us know that we must
hurry 1"
"We shall not be troubled with the dust to-day, dear



Annie," whispered Mary; "and that will be better for
your cough."
It really seems quite like home," said Mrs. Moreton,
"to get so many of us together again. When one of you
were in Michael's waggon, and another with Henry, and
some of you walking by the roadside, I was almost lonely,
and had to take my knitting-work for company. To-day
we are are quite a family-party."
How beautifully the rain-drops lie on the fresh green
leaves!" exclaimed Mary. "A bright sun would make
them glisten like jewels !"
And a longer withholding of his beams will make the
fresh green leaves fresher and greener," replied Mr.
Moreton. "This rain falls opportunely for the wheat-
fields, and probably reaches ours."
Our wheat-fieldsl" How pleasantly that sound fell
upon their ears, telling of a resting-place for the weary,
the end of their fatiguing journey, their home, and that,
too, near at hand. The natural hopefulness of youth
painted that home in bright colours to the fancies of our
youthful friends; and, in guessing how it would look, in
hearing how it did look, and in telling how they meant it
should look, the hours sped on. When weary of this,
there was Willie, with his never-ending fund of riddles
for them to guess; there was Susan, who could narrate
such beautiful tales and stories; there was the mother,
with her memory stored with beautiful ballads and curi-
ous verses; there was Mary, ever ready to give them a
song; and Frank and Charlie, with strong lungs, always
good it a chorus. Then Robert called out to them, with
his genial laugh and merry tones, proposing hard ques-
tions in arithmetic and history-questions that puzzled
even Susan and Mary; and, above all, there was the
father, without whom no enjoyment was quite complete,
entering into each and every endeavour to make the
rainy day pass pleasantly. Then, when Henry, attracted



by the merriment, looked in upon them, with his coat-
collar turned up above his ears, and his glazed hat covered
with rain-drops, and made believe that he was a stray
traveller, and asked for charity, 0 how merrily they
laughed, and how curiously they questioned him concern-
ing his family, his home, and his prospects I But he did
not laugh; not he! Who ever saw a beggar-man laugh
while asking for help t But steadily and soberly he be-
sought :
Pity the sorrows of a hungry man,
Whose stout young legs have borne him to your cart;
Who, out of breath, hath hither quickly ran,
But, alas! no rhyming line could he think of, and it was
Mary who supplied his need, by adding-
"To get a bit to eat, before you start."

Then, no famous ode of famous poet was ever received
with more rapturous applause than Henry's extempore
attempt at a parody, and no performance ever so entirely
satisfied an audience as his personation of a beggar.
With liberal hands they filled his pockets, showering upon
him crackers and cakes, and, with more liberal tongues,
bestowed their praise and words of admiration.
It was towards the close of this day that our travellers
suddenly halted in their course, and drew up together.
There, in the road, was a cart, loaded to its utmost capa-
city, with one wheel fast in a deep hole, or, in Western
phrase, slewed. The strength of the two miserable and
worn-looking horses attached to the vehicle was insuffi-
cient to start it from its position, and the master, Patrick
M'Coney, had put his shoulder to the wheel, in the hope
of adding his strength to theirs, while his wife had placed
her three children on the grass by the roadside, and, with
whip in hand, was vainly striving to prompt the wearied
animals to greater effort.


To take two of the best horses from Mr. Moreton's
waggon, and yoke them before those belonging to M'Coney,
was the work of but a few moments. To lift fom the
waggon the heavy chest and box, and then to give the
long pull, the strong pull, and the pull altogether," that
would release them from their unwilling durance, to aid
in tying up the broken and strained harness, to fasten
and make sure the unfortunate wheel, and to replace chil-
dren and goods in the waggon, occupied not many more.
And then, falling in the rear of the company, Patrick
M'Coney strove to keep his place with them, that he might
have the benefit of their guidance, their company, and
their assistance, if he again fell into trouble.
Now, Patrick was a sample of emigration that was not
very inviting. He was an Irishman, who had landed, two
years before, with his wife and family, at Quebec. Those
two years he had struggled with great poverty and want.
Discouraged with his condition, and feeling that there was
no prospect of bettering it there, he had availed himself
of the first opportunity to change it. With the money
raised by the sale of such household goods as he possessed,
they had passed up the St. Lawrence and through the
lakes, as steerage or deck passengers, and finally landed
in Sandusky. This had been in the fall; and although, on
first arriving, they had, from their destitute condition, been
objects of public charity, yet, by dint of hard labour and
hard fare, and a willingness to ask for and accept aid,
they had been enabled to get together, by the next sum-
mer, the miserable outfit of an old waggon and two bro-
ken-down horses. A bundle of straw served for a bed,
a tattered quilt or two answered for covering and protec-
tion. Two stools, an iron kettle, a painted chest, tied up
with a rope, a cask of pork, and a sack of potatoes, com-
pleted their assortment of what Willie called, not "goods,"
but "bad8." They were, indeed, objects of compassion, not
so much for their destitute condition, as for their ignorance.



Patrick's plan, so far as he had any, was to go on until he
found a spot where he could stop; and after that, his only
idea seemed to be to plant some wheat I Where this
place was to be, he knew not. That he had little or no
money to buy land, he deemed of slight consequence; for,
" sure, and wasn't their land enough for him and the cra-
thurs anywhere I" And, as for getting a living out of it,
"and couldn't he work !"
That he had health, strength, and good-nature, was
plainly to be seen; but that he was ignorant, and, from his
want of judgment, unable to provide for himself and
family, there could be little doubt. Mr. Moreton tried in
vain to convince him, that when he found the place to
stop, which it seemed that he would do soon, from his
horses "giving out," he had no right to any land; and that,
even if allowed to live and work upon it for a time, as he
might be, he was liable at any moment to be forced by
its owner to leave it, and give up any little improvements
he had made upon it, thus losing the benefit of his own
hard labour. Patrick could not, or would not, understand.
His only reply was, And, sure, if I wouldn't go, and why
couldn't I stay I"
"I will help him, even against his will," thought Mr.
Moreton. After a while he called him to him, and said-
Patrick, I am going to be a farmer, and have bought
some land, which my sons and I intend to work. But
there will be a great deal of digging, and ditching, and
cutting down of trees, that I hall have to get done for
us. Now, you are strong and well, and able to work, if
you are willing, and can be a great help to us. So I am
going to propose that you shall stop where we do, put up
a shanty on one corner of my land, for this year, and
live there. You shall promise to do what work I ask
you to do, and I will promise to give you employment
and pay you fair wages for all that you do. What do
you say 1"


Patrick's heart was more easily reached than his com-
prehension; but when he understood Mr. Moreton's
proposal, with true Irish eloquence of tongue, he poured
forth a torrent of thanks and praise, in which his wife
Winne joined, with less noise, but more true feeling.
Poor woman A home would be to her a blessing; and
she knew it; for, worn and weary with her many cares
and labours, she had looked, day by day, for a time of
rest, which had never yet come. Thriftless and ignorant
as she was, she knew better than Patrick the value of
Mr. Moreton's offer to them, for she had experienced
too many disappointments to place much dependence
uponi her husband's plans, and knew well the delusive
nature of those hopes with which he had been buoyed up.
From this time, Patrick M'Coney was a part of Mr.
Moreton's family; and our readers will pardon this
digression, as it serves to introduce to them one who,
with his strong arm and willing mind, became an aid and
a helper to our emigrant family.



"Now we see the lights I There Look! look I Don't
you see them twinkle I There! Between the trees, Ally.
Now, don't you see them I'
Ally's eyes were heavy with sleep, and so were Willie's;
but his expectation being stronger, he roused himself to
look in the direction that Charles pointed out. And
there they were I
"One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven," he
counted; and then, after a pause, eight, nine, ten; and




a very pale one ten is," said he. "Is it really Lakeland,
father !"
"Yes, my son."
"It don't look as Buffalo did at night, father," said
Willie, in a disappointed tone.
Not much, to be sure, my son. Did you think that
it would "
I don't know; but it is not much to see."
"Had you not better wait until you really see it,
Willie, before you decide about it "
The nightfall had just set in, and, still riding in the
woods, it was hardly fair to judge of the appearance of
the little Western settlement, when the shadows of trees
and houses could hardly be distinguished from each
other. Yet, as they approached nearer, and more lights
threw their twinkling beams across the dim prospect,
they found the houses nearer and nearer together, and
the trees fewer and farther between. The approach to
the village was nearly straight for a mile or two, so that
they had been able to discern the first glimmerings of light
while at a distance. It would be difficult to analyze or
describe the various feelings that were awakened in those
different minds, as these first met their view. Although
every settlement through which they had passed had
been compared with Lakeland, as to its situation, its size,
its houses, its stores, and its farms, and Mr. Moreton
had aimed at giving a correct impression of the place,
there was an undefinable feeling that it must be rather
a wonderful place, or it never would have been selected
by their father as a residence. And the children were
disappointed; for it was far from being a remarkably
attractive-looking village. But the disappointments of
early youth are not lasting, and this bade fair to pass away,
even before the place was reached. The older ones had
judged more rationally. Every object was to them full
of interest. Their curiosity was powerfully excited, and


they were too thoughtful to be talkative or very merry,
as they neared their new home.
That night they were to go to the village inn, where
Mr. Moreton had made arrangements for their staying for
a few days, until they were rested from their fatigue, and
had time to make the necessary preparations for removal
to their own dwelling.
As Mrs. Moreton alighted upon the rude platform at
the hotel door, and saw herself surrounded by the faces
of those whom curiosity had drawn from the bar-room to
gaze bpon the new-comers, there was some sinking of
heart; for she felt that they were strangers in a strange
land. When she looked around upon the room into
which she was ushered, and saw indubitable marks of
poverty and labour, with little of that neatness or tidiness
which a careful husbanding of small means will produce,
she felt almost discouraged by the annoyances and incon-
veniences which she felt would soon surround her. The
responsibility of the happiness and interests of her chil-
dren fell heavily upon her heart, and for the moment she
almost regretted having left New England. It was but for
a moment. Like a wise woman, she had counted the cost
before starting; and, like a Christian, she now cast aside
every personal feeling, and subdued every selfish emo-
tion-summoning up all her powers of resolution, while
again she silently committed her way unto Him who
alone could lighten her path.
The cheerful voice of the landlady, Mrs. Blake, aroused
her from her reverie, as she entered the room and cor-
dially bade her welcome to Lakeland 1" Then, bustling
about, she took the bonnets and outer garments off the
little ones, giving each a pleasant word, and telling them
that she had been looking for them every day for a week.
Who can tell the power of a cheerful smile 1 of an encour-
aging, hopeful word I How they come to the oppressed
heart as balm to a wound! How they awaken confidence




and pleasant expectation, dispelling sadness and distrust!
" A word spoken in due season, how good is it!" was the
saying of the wise man; and who has not experienced
its truth I
Food and places of rest were soon provided for our
travellers. It mattered little to them that the one was
plain and simple, the other rude and coarse. Sound and
refreshing sleep visits no more readily the luxurious
couch than the humblest; and they were too tired and
weary to care, save for quiet and cleanliness. This they
found in the home of Mrs. Blake; and she herself was
ready, with true-hearted kindliness, to do whatever was
in her power to assist them, or to add to their comfort
or pleasure.
But what kind of a place was Lakeland I do any of
my readers ask. Was there anything peculiar in it or
about it !
No; nothing at all. It differed so little from other
Western villages, that it might be taken as a sample of
the whole. It had every advantage of position that an
inland Western town can have, save that of water-power;
and that is not always a desirable one in a new country.
It was situated on the travelled road between two of the
larger towns in Indiana. The village (for so they called
the cluster of houses which stood together) was upon the
edge of a small prairie, but was itself in an opening, from
which all the original growth of forest-trees had been
cleared, and the fields on every side, for the distance of
one or two miles, had been fenced in and cultivated.
The village streets and lots had been regularly laid out;
the houses were mostly frame buildings, painted with a
thin coat of white, and placed directly upcn the street.
Occasionally, one would have green blinds; while a log-
house here and there served to make all the others
inviting, by way of contrast. Every Western village has
some advantage-such as a grist-mill, a saw-mill, a


tannery, a foundry, or a court-house. Lakeland was not
deficient in its share of such conveniences; it had the
court-house; and besides, there was a dilapidated grist-
mill and a tannery. Among the inhabitants there were
some doctors, some lawyers, some farmers, some mer-
chants; a shoemaker, a tailor, a carpenter,. a wheel-
wright; some people who lived by letting out their
land upon shares; some whose business it was to buy
and sell land; some who spent their time in bartering;
and some whose employment, or enjoyment (for it
seemed to partake of both), was trading in horses.
Among the men there appeared little of the hurry and
bustle of going about their occupation and business
that characterizes Eastern communities; for either the
climate or the manner of life had tended to give a
lassitude of motion, that left a doubt in the minds of
our friends as to whether those about them were lazy or
sick, or whether any one meant to work at all that day.
The arrival of a family is quite an event in a quiet
Western village. It interests the principal men, because
they are often the landholders, and are desirous of seeing
their town growing and flourishing; so that the success
of the settlers is of importance to them. It interests the
mechanics; for they look for work, and its consequent
remuneration. It interests the benevolent and public-
spirited; for they hope to have their hands sustained and
their hearts cheered by congenial minds. It interests the
poor and the needy; for they think another source of
help will be opened to them.
The women are interested; for the prospect of com-
panionship and extended social intercourse is ever plea-
sant to those whose active minds and friendly feelings
do not find full scope in the quietly monotonous life
they lead. The young people, too, are pleased with
every arrival; for change and variety ever interests
them. All these causes conspired to make the arrival of




Mr. Moreton's family the news of the day. There was
hardly a family who did not know, before breakfast on
the day following, that they had come; and many stopped
to gaze upon them, as they stood near the doorway, or
sauntered in the village street.
The farm which Mr. Moreton had purchased was out
from the village, and was an improved one; that is, it
had been lived upon and worked by a previous owner, and
was sold with all its improvements and its planted fields.
It was considered a very desirable location, having several
acres of prairie-land, which were now fenced in with a
rude Virginia fence, and planted with wheat, which was
growing and promising finely. Part of this farm was also
heavily timbered with maple, basswood, beech, and walnut
trees, growing thickly together in the dark, rich soil, to a
great height.
That part of the land lying towards the village had an
irregular surface, and the field nearest the road presented
a fine slope, stretching up from the residence of the pre-
sent occupant. A poor forlorn habitation did the house
of Mr. Hinckley seem to the party who visited it from
among our friends, the morning after their arrival. It
was a double cabin, built of half-hewn logs, i.e. logs
rough upon the outside, but hewn within; there was no
connection between the two parts, though they stood at
the distance of but a few feet from each other. One of
these rooms or houses had a chimney, built of mud and
stones. This was upon the outside of the house, and
presented there rather an uncouth appearance, but
left the inner v"all smooth, with only a cut for the
fire-place. The windows were small and few. The door
opened with a latch, which was. raised by a leather
string on the outside, and secured by drawing the
string in.
The family to whom it had belonged had remained until
Mr. Moreton came to claim possession, according to agree-


ient, and were still living in one part of the cabin. A
troop of white-haired, sun-burnt children, scattered at the
approach of our friends, as if frightened, leaving behind
them only one boy, who was milking a cow just in front
of the closed door. He was about twelve years of age,
well-grown, bright-eyed, and intelligent-looking; but his
face had an expression of impudent boldness that was un-
pleasant. To Mr. Moreton's "Good morning," his only
reply was, "What ?"
"Good morning !" repeated Mr. Moreton. Is your
father at home?"
"He ain't anywhere else," answered the boy.
Can I see him I" asked Mr. Moreton.
To which the response was made by the lad rising sud-
denly from his sitting posture, lifting his pail, and giving
the poor cow a kick on the leg, which sent her hurriedly
away; lie then opened the door, and walked in first, leav-
ing the others to follow, if they pleased.
This was a specimen of manners that was new to the
children, and fom which they revolted, as contrary to
their ideas of politeness, of respect, and almost of decency.
Neither did it pave the way for a pleasant impression
when they were admitted within the house. Mrs. Hinck.
ley had seen the strangers coming, and had hurriedly put
on a clean cap, and pinned a little bright-coloured shawl
about her neck. She now came forward to speak with
Mr. Moreton, and, wiping the seats of two chairs, she
handed one to him and another to Mary, who had accom-
panied him. While doing this, the quick eyes of our
friiends had wandered hither and thither about the room,
taking in at a glance its present uninviting appearance,
and its capabilities for comfort as their own summer resi-
dence. The room was about eighteen feet square, but
clean and in decent order, though the walls and floor
were dilapidated and out of repair. The fire-place was
opposite the door. The hearth, of hard-dried clay mortar,




was cracked and sunken. The floor was roughly-planed
and uneven; the walls about eight feet high. The sleepers
of the chamber floor were small sticks, like rails, and the
boards above rough and full of knots. By the window
there hung a number of small bottles, or phials, some
filled and others empty, fastened to nails, with strings
passed around their necks. Upon the window-seat there
was a piece of chalk, and, on the logs above, a rude kind
of scoring, the only business memorial of Mr. Hinckley,
who thus kept an account of the bushels of wheat and
corn he had taken to market. A cheap looking-glass was
hung upon the wall, but it was upside down, and a picture
meant to ornament its top did not answer that purpose,
because the houses and trees were seen in an inverted
position. Under the glass there was a little table or
stand, covered with a white cloth, and upon it there stood
a candlestick ; a brush and comb lay there too, and a
large piece of bees-wax, in whose sides stout threads had,
in passing, cut large dents and gashes. Besides, there
were some horn button, some coarse knitting-work, a reel
of black thread, and a pair of large shears. The chairs
that Mrs. Hinckley had offered to her visitors were all that
the house afforded, except a low one, on the seat of which
lay a pillow, and, upon the pillow, a little baby. That it
might be quiet, an older girl rocked it to and fro, with hard,
irregular movements; and, while doing this, it was kept
safely in its position by a shawl, which passed over it and
under the seat of the chair, holding both baby and pillow
tightly in their places. Another child, just able to go
alone, was amusing itself upon the bed with a large green
glass bottle and a dry ear of corn, in the husk, as play-
things, considering first one, then the other, as dolls, and
tending them with the utmost care. There were two beds,
but it was early yet, and they were not put in order for
the day; and the breakfast-table was still standing, with
the remains of the morning repast upon it, proving that


that repast had been one at which no luxury had appeared
to tempt or please the appetite.
Whatever their thoughts or fancies, Mr. Moreton and
Mary were too considerate of Mrs. Hinckley's feelings to
express either surprise or pity. It was plainly to be seen
that poverty and hard labour had wrought in her mind
discouragement and sadness; and, while she strove to
speak cheerfully of their coming there to live, and praised
the melon-patch and the young peach-trees and currant-
bushes, that she had herself taken care of, as well as
planted, there were tears in her eyes, and her tones told
4t disappointment and sorrow.
It was from no sudden freak of fancy, or desire to move,
that Mr. Hinckley had disposed of his farm in Lakeland.
lie knew its value and appreciated its advantages. But
his course had been deficient in good judgment, and he
was obliged to sell. Having taken up too much land at
first, he had become embarrassed for means to pay his
yearly taxes. Every year he became more and more in-
volved, and seeing that there was no apparent means of
escape from his liabilities, he had become desperately
careless, and, with a rash indiscretion, made his condi-
tion worse than it need have been, appealing to the old
proverb, that one might as well be hung for stealing a
sheep as a lamb." This is an old maxim, but an untrue
and an unsafe one to act upon. So Mr. Hinckley found
it; for this course had made it unavoidable that his farm
should pass from his hands, and, with it, he had lost his
reputation as a good farmer, besides contracting habits of
indolence and thriftlessness, that were sure barriers to his
future prosperity. The first tool that he left to pass the
winter in the field where it was used, and the first door that
he allowed to remain off its hinges, were greater losses to
him than money could repay, for they were the beginnings
of carelessness-the openings to that sloth and heedless-
niess that were now prominent traits in his character.




After chatting a few moments with Mrs. Hinckley, Mr.
Moreton left the house to seek her husband. Mary, mean-
while, tried to talk with the children, and, with the aid of
kind words and pleasant smiles, had, before his return, so
far progressed in acquaintance with them, that she had the
little one in her lap, and another, shyly sidling up to her,
was feeling the trimming on her dress with as much care
and caution as if it were some new species of animal that
must be approached by stratagem.
Robert and Henry were still exploring the fields and
woods when Mr. Moreton, Mary, and Frank, returned to
the inn, carrying the pleasant intelligence that the log-
cabin was to be given up to them on the following day,
and that, as soon as they pleased after that, they could
take possession.



To make a good and pleasant home may seem, to some of
my readers, a very easy matter. They may think that
a family like Mr. Moreton's would have only to place their
furniture within their house, move in, and the work was
done. Others may think that it was impossible to make
a comfortable home in such a house as Mr. Hinckley's log-
cabin, and that, as the necessary lumber for the new house
was already upon the ground, it would be better to wait
until it was finished before taking possession of the pre-
But with neither of these opinions would Mr. and Mrs.
Moreton have agreed. To keep together and be by them-
selves were, with them, desirable objects; and to attain



them, they were willing to subject themselves to addi-
tional fatigue and care. As they were, the habits of re-
gularity and family order (already broken in upon during
their journey) might be forgotten. Idleness was en-
couraged, too, by the desultory modes of life that are
unavoidably seen about a public-house. Charlie already
stood by the bar-room door, with his hands thrust into his
pockets, eagerly listening to such chance stories or con-
versation as he could gather from passers-by or from tra-
vellers. He, as well as the others, must have employment,
and something which would interest them and occupy
their hands and thoughts. And, above all, Mr. Moreton
dreaded their becoming familiarized, and consequently
indifferent, to the sad sights and sounds that are always
to be seen and heard in those places where intoxicating
liquors are bought and sold. For all these reasons, as
well as for the sake of freedom from observation, they
decided to remove to their new home as soon as possible.
And now did the strong-bodied and willing Winne
M'Coney serve them well; for scrubbing and cleaning
were just what she could do, and here there was plenty
of it to be done.
A thin partition was run across the cabin in which
was the fire-place, making a small bed-room and pantry
on one side, and still leaving the larger room of suffi-
cient size to answer as the family gathering-place--par-
lour, sitting-room, and kitchen, all in one. Two more
windows were cut; and, with the fresh air, came in the
bright sunshine, giving to the apartment a new and cheer-
ful aspect. The loft above was to be used as a store-
house for such boxes and trunks, chests and provisions,
as needed a dry and warm place.
The other cabin was also cleaned thoroughly, and
divided into rooms. One of these was appropriated to
Susan, Mary, and the little girls; while the other and the
room above were to be divided between the boys. No



little loving strife was there before the younger lads
would consent to occupy the lower room, which was by
far the best and most pleasant. They declared that
" they were of little use, and deserved the worst;" while
Henry and Robert as loudly averred that they intended
" to work so hard every day, and to be so tired every
night, that they should consider any bed a luxury;" and,
besides, they were always sound sleepers." So, finally,
it was settled as the older ones desired.
It seemed as if every difficulty vanished the moment
they fairly considered it. The little shelf here and the
row of stout nails there, the hanging of a curtain, the
placing of a trunk in one spot and of a table in another,
appeared wonderfully to suit every one, and to accommo-
date every want. Ah! it was not that, but the spirit of
disinterestedness, that smoothed their way and made little
sacrifices of personal feeling easy. It was love that
lightened their burdens and warmed their hearts-each
seeking to please the others rather than themselves, and
cheerfully yielding their own will to the desire of another!
A busy and cheerful scene did they present on the
morning of the day when they, as a family, took posses-
sion of the log-house. The carpenter's work had been
accomplished, and Winne's severer labours in cleaning
finished the day previous; but now she stood leaning
over a wash-tub that was placed under the shade of the
only tree near the house, busy at her work, while her
children were playing within sight of her maternal eye,
and within hearing of her voice, as, in rather harsh notes,
she sang some Irish melody-wild, but not without har-
mony, as it sounded in the open air. Pat, meanwhile,
-was going round, outside of the building, with Mr. More-
ton, carrying a pail full of clay-mortar and a wooden
trowel manufactured for the occasion; and, under his
direction and superintendence, filling up the chinks be-
tween the logs. Within, Henry and Frank took turns in



using a whitewash-brush, laying the thick white liquid in
smooth, straight stripes upon the discoloured logs, and
calling every minute to the others to come and admire
their work.
Robert, meanwhile, with saw and rule in hand, was
measuring and fitting up an emptied box with shelves,
and fastening it in a corner near the fire-place. This
was to be their cupboard ; and Susan's nimble fingers had
a chintz curtain hemmed and drawn, ready to hang before
it long before it was finished. Then, with Annie's help,
she hung clean white curtains at the little windows; and
upon the little shelf which had been placed between
them for the clock, she found room for the Bible and
almanac, and for a thermometer. These she called their
emigrant fortune-indispensable to their comfort and
Mary and Frank had unpacked and washed the crockery,
and carefully placed it upon the cupboard-shelves, long
before noon; and Mrs. Moreton had her daughter's aid in
arranging their beds and sleeping apartments--seeing
that each one was lodged comfortably, and that they had
such conveniences about them as should insure health,
and, so far as circumstances permitted, comfort.
But where were Willie and Alice Not idle, I can
assure you. There were errands to be done from one to
another, that kept their little feet running and their
tongues busy; there were needles to be threaded, nails
and hammers to be held until the moment they were
wanted. Then the dinner was to be brought from the
village inn, and Charles and Willie were its bearers.
After that, they scoured the knives, and made themselves
generally useful about the premises-looking up little
things to do which would help the older ones in their
Before sundown, everything was arranged in their new
quarters, and they began to feel at home as the sight of



familiar household articles gave a home-look to the place.
.... .The excitement of the day was over, and they were
fairly fixed in their Western home. The little flickering
blaze from the deep chimney cast its fitful light upon the
whitened walls, and the lengthened twilight from without
streamed in at the open door, showing the family group
-father, mother, and children-gathered together in the
cool of the day, resting from its fatigues-weary, but
satisfied with the result of their labours, and contented
with their present condition, while the future was to
them full of hope.
"How comfortable this is!" said Mary. "I should
never have thought that, in so short a time, such a change
could have been made as there has been here. When I
came out here to see Mrs. Hinckley, and knew that, in a
week's time, her house was to be our home, I felt dis-
couraged. It seemed impossible to make it decent; and,
as for comfort, I thought that, as uncle Alfred said, 'We
must dispense with that, and make up for the want of it
by boasting about the West being a great country.'"
Many hands have made light and quick work here,"
was Mrs. Moreton's reply, and willing hearts have made
it easy !"
If any one is to have a compliment, where all have
done well," said Mr. Moreton, "it must be given to your
mother, my children; to whose forethought and labour,
before we left Laurelton, we have been, to-day, so much
indebted. To have selected and packed together the very
articles we should be likely to need first, and then to re-
member just what they were, was to us a great matter,
and involved much thought and judgment upon her part.
Perhaps you think it happened that there were just dishes
enough for us to use, put up in one box, and all the rest
put away in another; and that this square piece of car-
pet that covers all the middle of this room, and makes it
look and feel so comfortable, was a piece that we have



always had in just this form, and that it came first in the
package of carpets as a matter of chance; but I know
who arranged both of these things, and many others, of
which we have experienced the benefit, both on our jour-
ney and to-day. It took time and made some delay, but
she judged rightly that it would help us in the end."
Mary cast a knowing look at Frank, to see if he remem-
bered his impatience; but, though he saw it not, he felt
that he had been wrong, and said-
I am glad that you have told us this, father; for it did
seem a great while to wait; but it is not the first time I
have thought that nothing was doing because I was not
at work, and have afterwards found out that I was mis-
We should have had less to do, if we had not had so
many boxes and chests to stow away," said Henry. We
have more things than we need. Half we brought is all
we can use here."
We shall need it all in the new house; shall we not,
father "
"Yes; and much more, I think."
"But shall we need the new house ?" asked Susan.
"That remains to be proved," replied Mr. Moreton. "As
Mary says, we are comfortably fixed; but as time passes,
we shall be cramped for room; and the novelty of our
position passing away, we shall be more disposed to see
and feel inconveniences than at present. It will be more
healthful, as well as agreeable, to live in a better house,
and a larger. By the time the new home is ready, I think
we shall be ready too."
Home is not a house, is it ?" asked Willie.
"No, my son. Home has to us a deeper, taller signifi-
cation than a mere dwelling-house-a shelter from the
weather. We consider it a refuge from the business and
cares of life; a place where we are surrounded by others
who are bound to us, and we to them, by the ties of kin-



dred and affection; where the objects that surround us
are those with which we are pleasantly familiar; and
with whose inmates we can have that happy freedom in
speaking and acting, which springs from a loving heart
and good principles."
I remember an old saying," said Robert, "Give an
Indian a fire, and you give him a home !"
Yes, that is true. His wants, in the savage state, are
but few. A kind of stoical pride prevents him from exer-
cising any domestic virtues, or acknowledging that his
happiness depends upon any external comfort. His wife,
or squaw, is acknowledged as an inferior, and agrees to it.
His children are of little account to him; and to be warm
and to have food, are all that he cares for. Anywhere,
if these are furnished, he has his home."
"I wonder what Patrick's idea of a home is!" said Mary.
"We shall soon see, for our first duty must be to have
a house furnised for him. The village is too far from us
for them to stay there long."
Shall you take the carpenters from their work upon
the frame of our house to build one for him 1"
"No, Henry. For a few weeks Mr. Hinckley stays to
superintend the farm; and there is little for you and
Robert to do. I intend to have you and Patrick put up
a house for him; and you can exercise your skill and
judgment in the matter as if you yourselves were young,
poor emigrants out here alone; and upon your own re-
sponsibility. I will stay to direct about affairs here."
First, father, let us put up a passage-way between the
two cabins, so that we can pass from one to the other
without going out of doors."
"That is a good idea, Robert; and you can have some
of the rough lumber purchased for the barn, to use."
If we build that," said Henry, "why not make it wide
enough to put the cooking-stove in, and then in the hot
weather we can keep this room cool for our parlour i"


That will be nice," said Mary. It will be so much plea-
santer and easier; and then," she added, turning to Susan,
" we can pull the carpet over that rough hearth that we
agreed was so very ugly."
I shall like the arrangement very much," said Mrs.
Moreton; 'and I thank you, Robert, for planning it for
my convenience and comfort."
"Then it shall be done, and that right speedily ; for
what it pleases you to have, mother, it pleases me to
That is the true spirit, Robert," returned his mother.
"Without that feeling on the part of every member of
the family, there is little home-felt joy in the domestic
circle. Cross words or discontented hearts break up the
pleasure of any family for the time; and an habitual dis-
regard for the comfort of others, by indulging in these
faults, will destroy family peace and harmony; while a
spirit of disinterestedness will create happiness in the
heart of its possessor, even while dispensing its gifts."
Are kind actions gifts ?" asked Mary.
Yes, my dear, they are truly gifts, and more valuable
in diffusing happiness than the most costly presents. No
actual gift could give me so much gratification as the
knowledge that your brothers think of my comfort, and
are willing to do something to promote it."
"I suppose it is the good-will manifested that always
makes a present acceptable."
"I think it is, even to those whose wants are actually
supplied by such gifts. A needy or poor person will
value a kind word or sympathising look which accom-
panies the aid bestowed, quite as much as the charity it-
self, and will gratefully remember it much longer. To
those who are the recipients of what are usually called
presents, there is nothing which awakens more uncom-
fortable feeling than an appearance of superiority."
We can all bestow beautiful gifts upon each other,




then, every day," said Annie, by loving and trying to
help one another."
And when we get acquainted we can give such spendid
presents to everybody about us! Why, Frank, you did
not tell of that elegant one you and Charles made to the
old woman that lives by the roadside, between us and
Mrs. Blake's; I mean the one that the children call aunt
To tell of such gifts would spoil them, Willie," an-
swered Frank.
"Not for me to tell of yours ; would it, father ? At any
rate I must tell of this, if only for the sake of the com-
pliment the old woman gave you. When we were coming
here yesterday, we saw aunt Rachel out in tfont of the
house splitting wood. She was at work on a green
knotty stick, and the hatchet that she was using did not
cut very well. Frank walked up straight to the wood-
pile, and asked her if she wouldn't like to have him chop
it for her. At first she looked pretty sharply at him
through her spectacles, I can tell you, to see if he was
making fun of her; but when she saw that he was in
earnest, she said, 'Yes, and thank you, too!' Her little
grandson, who is about as old as Alice, ran in and brought
out an axe, which, she said,' was too heavy for her to use,
now she was so old;' and in a few minutes the boys had
her a couple of armfuls of wood cut, which they carried in
and put down on the hearth beside the stove. I don't
know exactly what she thought about it, for it seemed to
surprise her; but she said, once or twice, 'Ah! I see
your young blood ain't poppy-juice!'"
Mr. Moreton smiled at the compliment the boys had
won, and commended the action.
"I am glad you had it in your power to confer even
this small favour; for it was to her, no doubt, a favour.
By this one little action you have probably gained a
friend; and if she sees nothing in you hereafter to coun-



teract its influence, her friendship is yours and ours for
life; for in the public estimation we are associated as a
family, and for good or evil the acts of each will affect the
whole. I have seen aunt Rachel, and Mrs. Blake told me of
her, as our nearest neighbour. God, who has liberally be-
stowed blessings upon us, has made her lot to differ from
ours. She is alone and poor. With that little grandson
clinging to her, as his only friend, she has laid upon her
the heavy burden of her past bereavements and sorrows,
and the care of his and her own support. Perhaps neither
you nor I can estimate the value to her of a kind action
or word; for we know nothing of the discouragement
and anxiety that extreme poverty brings, nor of the heart-
sinkings that must come with its perplexities in the time
of old age and failing strength. But Frank was right in
thinking that such actions are spoiled by boasting of them
-spoiled in the sight of God, who looks upon the heart,
and judges its motives. Our little Annie might have seen
the old woman's trouble with the wood, and not have
been able to help her, as your brothers did; yet the de-
sire to do so might have been as strong and as free from
selfishness as theirs; and both would have pleased God,
because the heart was right, and the spirit such as Christ
manifested in his intercourse with men.
"Let the heart, then, be right; let it be kept with all
diligence; let it be purified from selfishness by the inspi-
ration of the Holy Ghost, and our eyes will be opened to
a sense of others' wants and desires: then good actions
will follow naturally. We all know where and how to
seek for this purification of our souls. By earnest prayer
to God for the gift of his Spirit, and an earnest effort to
follow its guidance, we shall not fail to become free from
the dominion of selfishness; for the love of Jesus, our
Saviour, is pledged, and his intercession promised, for
our help and our aid. Our own hearts will first be
made peaceful and happy, then our home will be bright



through the manifestation of our own joy, and the circle
of our influence will be extended, and those who observe
us will gradually be led to feel that peace, happiness, and
prosperity, are alone to be found in a calm, quiet, but
steady performance of every duty towards God and man,
while the heart rests for comfort and support in this life,
and for salvation in that which is to come, solely upon
the merits of a crucified Redeemer."



"No Patrick! Not a shanty! I don't like them; but a
good log-cabin, such as becomes the country, built as
well and as substantially as we can do it. That is my idea
of a house for you; and now, where shall it be I"
Thus said Robert, as he, with Henry and Patrick, stood
together in the woods, with their working frocks on, and
spades over their shoulders. Through the land that Mr.
Moreton owned there was running a little brook, which,
though in the summer months it dwindled away to a mere
tiny streamlet, yet, after a rain, it rapidly filled, and ran
its course over its pebbly bed merrily enough. Near its
bank Patrick chose to have his residence, and there they
decided it should be.
The first thing undertaken was the digging of a cellar.
This, to Patrick, seemed totally unnecessary, for a
potato-heap" was as good as any cellar in his estimation;
but neither Robert nor Henry would consent to such an
arrangement. Two days' work, and the cellar was dug;
another day, and it was logged with good white-oak logs,
so that it looked tidy, and the danger of its sides caving
in was obviated. Then they cut forty logs of tho same



length, roughly hewed them on two sides, stripped the
bark from them, that there might be fewer harbours for
the insects (which are often so troublesome in a new
country), notched their ends, and piled them up, one
above another, fitting them at the corners, until they
formed a square enclosure, ten feet high. Then a ride to
a neighboring swamp and a day's work were necessary,
to get some tamarac poles, to lay across as supporters for
the chamber-floor. Two more logs gave the requisite
height to the back and front of the building. Poles
were joined together in the middle, and, with a gentle
slope, met opposite corners of the building, leaving the
height of the centre of the room nearly eight feet. The
gable ends were boarded in with split stuff, leaving a
window on each side. Split boards were laid on the
rafters, their lower edges overlapping each other. These,
at regular intervals, were fastened by slender poles laid
across, and nailed at the ends, forming what is called a
" haky roof."
A door was cut in the centre of the front side of the
cabin, and another just opposite to it, on the back. Two
windows were made, having each twelve lights. The
floor was of sawed lumber, laid on hewn sleepers, with a
trap-door in one corner to go into the cellar, and a ladder,
or steps, to the loft above, near it. The establishment
began now to look quite like a house; but it was not yet
done. There was still the chinking, or filling up of the
openings between the logs (which must necessarily be
left, because of their irregularities) with bits of split stuff,
or chips, or small rails, and then covering it smoothly
over with clay-mortar. A greater task for them was to
build a chimney. This was to be made on the outside of
the house; and, as they had but little stone, and bricks
were expensive, they were obliged to make it of logs,
covered with thick coatings of clay. A frame, the size of
the fire-place desired, was made of boards; another fame,



the same shape, but smaller in size, was temporarily fixed
within it, leaving a space between the two. This was
filled with moist clay and such bits of stone or brick as
they could gather together, pressed tightly down, and
forming one solid compact mass. A hearth of the same
material, and the ends of the cut logs well plastered over,
made this, when dry, a safe and neat-looking fire-place.
Above, out of the reach of the fire, the chimney was of
sticks, covered with clay. A little shanty was built over
the back-door, with a shelf, and a piece of plank was fas-
tened against the side of the house to answer as a table.
This finished the work of the young men, and it was with
no little pleasure that they viewed it. Counting their
own labour as nothing, it had cost them but little. The
logs were taken from a field which Mr. Hinckley had be-
gun to clear. The digging, splitting, and sawing, they
themselves had accomplished. With some aid in drawing
and raising the logs, and some little expense for nails,
window-frames, and glass, and the lumber for the
floors, it was the work of their own hands-the crea-
tion of their own industry; and no workmen on a royal
palace were ever more delighted than they with their
Winne's admiration equalled theirs, and fully repaid
them for their labour. It is true that the poor woman
had little or nothing to put in the house, save her husband
and children, yet there was a comfortable feeling asso-
ciated with the having a habitation of her own, and it
seemed to give her new life and energy to see the change
that a little encouragement and a few words of kindness
had wrought upon her husband. When Mr. Moreton
came to see them, after they were fairly established, he
found Patrick and Winne, with the children, seated out-
side of the door, apparently as happy as earthly prosperity
can make mortals-contented to work, if work could be
provided, but with no thrift nor judgment, either in seek-



ing labour, or making the bodily vigour and strength they
possessed available for their own comfort.
And thus it is with many a poor emigrant, whose wants
have driven him into the Western world, whose means
are all consumed in the mere getting there, and whose
want of education and habits of life have totally unfitted
him to act for himself. Alas! that even his religion,
superstitious and cruel to his own soul, should, in so many
instances, have been used further to degrade the man;
and, instead of exalting and purifying the spirit, should
have been, in the hands of a crafty priesthood, subser-
vient only to the deepening and darkening of the be-
nighted, sinful heart, and to the stupifying of every sensi-
bility, so that he can be led, like a beast, hither and
thither, at the will of those who stand between God and
his soul!
How easily such can fall into the hands of the wicked
and designing, it is not difficult to see. But, thanks be to
God! better influences may also be successfully exerted
upon them. A well-disposed, honest, benevolent em-
ployer,-one who gives work, not charity; who, by a
timely word, encourages habits of industry, and gradually
lays the foundation for increase of knowledge and the
growth of good principles; and who, by his example, is
constantly making known the benefits of well-directed
labour, integrity, and uprightness,-such a man is doing
a missionary work; a work in which the hearts of all
lovers of their country must bid him God-speed; a work
which is laying deep and sure the foundations of national
prosperity. And his influence is felt, not only over the
few with whom he personally comes in contact, but over
all who are witnesses of the rapid and sure improvements
that usually follow his endeavours to do good as God
gives him opportunity.
Nor is "tihe bread thus cast upon the waters" never
found. In a country where progress is speedy, where



change follows change in quick succession, the "many
days" dwindle to a few; and already had Mr. Moreton
begun, not only to feel repaid for his trouble and the risk
he had run in engaging to employ one who seemed so
ignorant, so poor, and so needy, but he was also receiving
the first fruits of the promise, He that watereth shall be
watered also himself," in the earnest and successful en-
deavours of Patrick and Winne to make themselves use-
ful to their employers, and to please their benefactors.
Though their first object was now to testify their grati-
tude, yet, under its influence, there were springing up
pleasant manifestations of neatness and steady applica-
tion. They began to think more of each other's comfort,
and to feel as if their children were of more consequence.
A praiseworthy ambition was aroused, and they were
willing to seek for information and advice from those who
had proved themselves friendly. Patrick was bound by
no promise to Mr. Moreton; nor was Mr. Moreton obliged
to retain him longer than he was willing to work. The
rent of his house and his family's support from the farm
were his wages for the first year, with the understanding
that either the house or its worth in money should be
given him at its close, if he was faithful to his employer.
After that, he was to be paid, with a regular yearly in-
crease of wages, in such way as they might, at the time,
agree upon. But it was not in wages alone that Mr.
Moreton's family helped Patrick M'Coney. Susan showed
Winne how to fit neat dresses for herself and the chil-
dren, and, out of her own wardrobe, helped their defi-
ciencies. Mary's voice directed about the scanty furni-
ture of the cabin, showing how it could be cleansed and
made more available for comfort. Robert helped to put
the fence in order in front of the house, and promised
little Pat a penny a week to keep the pigs out of the
yard. Henry sold the old horses and waggon, and some-
how made the money received for them go far enough to


buy a cow and two young steers, that, in a few years,
would be of great value to Patrick. Annie would look
after the toddling little one, when Winne came to the
house to work, and taught it and little Patrick their let-
ters from one of her own story-books; while Mrs. Moreton
patiently drilled the mother into the best way of doing
house-work, and taught her how to prepare food-accom-
plishments in which, like too many of her country women,
she was strangely deficient.
Thus it was that they sought to insure their confidence
and gain their respect, hoping that, these being secured,
they might be instrumental in leading them in the way
of life; and that, while they trusted them as friends who
were solicitous for their earthly welfare, they would also
learn to view with favour any efforts which they might
make for their personal conversion. Ignorance and
superstition have ever gone hand in hand, and he is wise
who seeks Almighty aid before attacking its strongholds
in the heart of one who has been trained in the papal
faith. Daily were these benighted ones remembered
before God, as the Moreton family assembled for domestic
worship; and strength and wisdom were asked for them-
selves, that they might each of them so live as to recom-
mend the religion oi Jesus, the religion of the Bible, to
those around them.



IN this century of the world, and in our own beloved
country, it is difficult to find, and more difficult to retain,
a home without neighbours. Very few are there to whom
companionship and social intercourse are undesirable.




Man is (as has been often said) a gregarious animal,"
drawn to his fellow-man by ties of sympathy and interest.
He needs his assistance-he craves his friendship. A
life of seclusion has few charms for a healthy, vigorous
mind: it has no attractions for a man who is intent on
bettering his condition, and on rising in the world. Thus
we see, in the great West, that a farm near a settlement
is always sought for. If that settlement is likely to in-
crease and become of importance, so much the better.
As farmers, men are there necessarily scattered and
hidden from the sight of travellers, as well as from each
other; but an election-day, a court-week, or a national
celebration, will draw together, in any county, many men,
women, and children, who, living a little on one side or
the other of the highway, are seldom seen save on such
occasions. It was the number drawn together on a
national holiday that first gave our friends any idea of
those by whom they were surrounded. Without any ar-
rangement for their entertainment, there was a general
feeling among the people that it should be a day of
recreation, and a resort to the village was as natural as it
was certain. Here they loitered about, lingering at the
tavern, strolling up and down, chatting with each other,
until a party of young people arriving, who had a violin-
player with them, they had a dance in the court-house!
The grocery-store was a place of attraction to the men;
and Mr. Blake's bar-room had many in it who went away
less sober than they came. But there was no quarrelling.
What of evil appeared was from want of something good
or useful to do; and Mr. Moreton's eye was quick to
discern this, and his heart as quick to resolve that another
year, if life and health were granted him, it should be
otherwise, and that they who came together should, at
least, have the choice between evil and good.
But, this time, he could do little but obtain an intro-
duction to some of the people; and then, going home, he,


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