Front Cover
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Childhood's home
 Letters from absent ones
 Sarah's letter
 Passing away
 The angel of death
 Back Cover

Group Title: Sarah Neal : a tale of real life
Title: Sarah Neal
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00002075/00001
 Material Information
Title: Sarah Neal a tale of real life
Physical Description: 76 p. : ill. ; 15 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Edwards, C. M ( Catharine M )
Carlton & Porter ( Publisher )
Methodist Episcopal Church -- Sunday School Union
Publisher: Carlton & Porter <for> Sunday-school Union
Place of Publication: New-York
Publication Date: c1852
Subject: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Family -- Religious life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children and death -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Embossed cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: Embossed cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
Statement of Responsibility: by the author of "Roland Rand"...
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00002075
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002237049
oclc - 45834941
notis - ALH7528
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Table of Contents
        Page 7
        Page 8
    Childhood's home
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
    Letters from absent ones
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
    Sarah's letter
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
    Passing away
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
    The angel of death
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
    Back Cover
        Page 77
        Page 78
Full Text




3$Ext it if xl Vift.

3! T15 AUTUSS or

Nnt-Sork :

Entered scoordlng to Act of Congrem, in the year 18S, by
in the Clerk's Office or the District Court of the Southra
District of New-York.


THE following is the history of a little
girl, whose moral character was deve-
loped by privation and suffering ;---who,
while surrounded with Christian privi-
leges, was a giddy, thoughtless child:
but when, in the order of Providence,
she found herself alone, with nothing
to lean upon but the Divine arm-with
no one to instruct her but the great
Father-she yielded her heart to the
Saviour, and became wise unto sal-
Let little children, who are bleed


with Sabbath and sanctuary privileges,
family prayers, and all those helps that
Christians so much enjoy, read the his-
tory of Sarah Neal, that they may learn
to appreciate them.
Others, too, who inhabit the wilder-
ness and solitary place, may'here learn
that God can work, with or without
means, according to circumstances.

Uc. -

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A 0LDs OOD O-B&L&BlOTAIB MUr .WT aswn-
SARAH NEA was born in Massachu-
setts; I do not remember the name of
the town, but it was not far from the
city of Boston. She told me it was a
delightful village, and she had many
friends there. Her mother's parents
lived in the brick house just across the
street; her grandfather Neal resided in
the next town, not more than six:or
eight miles from them, and used to
comr in his hais to se them aJut


every week. He would often take
Sarah home with him, and then how
happy she was, as she rambled over the
old fara, its green field%, -nd shady
orchard, with the ground all covered
with golden fruit Sarah's uncle Wil-
liam lived there, with his half-a-score of
children, and aunt Nabby (good easy
soul!) wouldsay it was no use to think
of anything like order when Sarah

Saabh Neal was a pleasant, kind-
hearted girl, and made herself many
friends, by her affectionate disposition,
and the pleasure ahe aeemed to take in
everything she engaged ia. GRad-
ifther Neal mai there was more musio
i one of Jher ear laugh than in the
whole church choir, it is no wonder
arah was happy, ble~ld witM d o any
iritriHftiM^ ^j^Li^W(^~f { /



iag them, for she could not look into
the future. A wise Providence has
kindly drawn a curtain between us and
the future, else perhaps we should some*
times faint in view of the gloomy pros*
pect: but with the star of hope ever
beaming on our pathway, we walk ou,
dreading no evil. Had Sarah been a
Christian, she might have gleaned c-
solation from the promises of God; but
she had too much sense to appropriate
to herself promises that she knew be.
longed only to those who had bees
"born again." And Sarah, like nman
children, thought herself too young o
attend to such things.
Her parents were Chuch member,
and used to take her and her two. by-
thers to meeting with them. They ia
tended the Sabbaih sbwol too^ and
wea y 4Iegh ttpe p f M d


they received for diligence and good at-
tention. Mr. Neal prayed with his
family, and Andrew and Sarah sung a
hymn, either alone or accompanying the
piano, which their mother played.
Walter Neal, Sarah's eldest brother,
was a tall, dignified youth, the very
"pink of propriety." From him she
used to receive many lectures for her
unladylike manners, and she would
blush, and promise to be more dignified,
and not laugh so much, or so loud. But
no sooner would her merry brother An-
drew beckon her through the open
window, than away she would go like a
fawn down the garden-walks and over
the fences, leaving Walter to finish his
lecture to his mother for allowing Sarah
to be such a sad "romp."
One day, when Walter had been very
-a about BSsO's boius wM W



aers, Mrs. Nedt answered, "Le. her. be
happy while she may, for if we go.em
as your father talks of, she will find use
for her joyous spirits; Heaven grant tat
they may not become exhausted."
At the mention of. down east, Wal-
ter's face saddened, and he looked upoa
the book before him, while his mother
turned away with a sigh.
M Neal had been unfortunate in
business and with an impatieneowhib,
I am sorry to say, was a part of hi
character, had utterly refused the gene-
rous offer of his wife's father, (Mr.
Carl,) to "set him up again," merely
because the old gentleman had added a
little whodsome advice to his profered
assistance. "I think I shall go east,
wife, and make a farm," said Mr. Neal,
and then I can manage my owan busi-
-wi. W-hii being Wi der



is not to my nmnd; beside, dowd eastis
the place to make property."
Our readers must know that the
eastern wilds of Maine were then the
"land of prwnise" to New-England
emigrants. It is true, people did not
talk of "mountains of gold," but they
told of allies of bright golden corb,
with its wonderful "yield," and broad
fields of the finest of wheat; and what
was more wonderful still, the splendid
"timber lots," giving the possessor a
greater harvest in the spring than their
autumnal crops had yielded. Down
east, too, promised, what has never
been promised in the brightest dreams
of this "golden age," and that was
health, and vigor of body and mind.
And somewhere in that fruitful re
gion Mr. Neal determined to locate
himself, and establish an independence


of his own. And so Waler s twa ta
from school, much against hi wihesr
for the ambitious boy had already won
the favor of his teacher, and was ast
preparing himself to ascend another
round in the ladder of learning. Lofty
air-eastles was he building, too, in the
dim future, when his father's stem
mandate dissolved them all, and for a
while consigned him to cheerless dis
content, Walter did not complain: he
knew there was no one of the family
that could sympathize with him but his
mother, and he loved her too well to
wish to burden her with his trials. Mrs,
Neal regretted his silence and reaerm.
"I wish he would comiplin," said abe
mentally, "a1id then I should know
how sad he feels, aud perhaps I might
console him." Poor woman I why did
not shq~,et the example ? Was ther



nothing for her to complain of? Did
she conceal no tears, or suppress no
sighs ?
Ah yes! her woman's heart was
clinging around her childhood's home,
her aged parents, the church where the
bread of life had so long been broken to
her, the Sabbath school where she hoped
her children would become wise unto
salvation, and even the grave-yard,
where so many of her friends were
sleeping their last, long sleep.
"Ah, women are silly things !" so
said Mr. Neal, "and it will not do to
mind them ;" and so he told his wife he
should leave for the eastern country
soon, taking with him the two boys;
and, after they had made a little prepara-
tion, he should return for her and Sarah.
Mrs. Neal smiled, (very sadly to be
sure,) but then it was a smile, and



proved to her husband that she was
getting over her whims about moving.
Moreover, she set about preparing for
their journey ; and the long months that
they would be absent and destitute of
her care, coats, jackets, pants, stock-
ings, and shirts, all new and strong,
with not a button missing; needles,
thread, and buttons to sew on them
when they became loose; medicines,
salve, plasters, and patches; and, last of
all, a Bible, hymn-book, tracts, and some
religious periodicals were crowded into
the ample chest, and all was ready for
their departure.
One bright morning in May, just as
the sun was peeping over the hills, you
might have discovered a loaded wagon
standing without the front yard of Mr.
Netd's white cottage..
Had you entered, you would have



seen Mr. Neal and Walter taking a
silent breakfast. Mrs. Neal sat at the
head of the table, pouring the choco-.
late; but 0, how sad and .pale she
Andrew, the only talkative one, was
standing in the door, with a broad piece
of bread and butter in one hand, and a
mug of chocolate in the other. He was
giving sundry- messages to Sarah for
their school-mates, at which she would
often laugh nervously, though her big
blue eyes were swimming in tears.*
When they rose from the table, Mr.
Neal shook hands with his wife and
Sarah. He told the little girl to be at-
tentive to her mother's wishes, and try
to learn to be useful. "And try to be
gentle and lady-like," said Walter, as he
put back her hair and touched his lips
o See Frontispiece.



to her forehead. Andrew threw his
arms around her, and kissing off the big
round drops that were running down
her cheeks, bade her, by all means, to
be happy; "and don't get too dignified,"
said he, whispering: "if you get starched
up, I will adopt one of the dark-skinned
natives for my sister." Mr. Neal was
now heard calling from the wagon, and,
snatching a kiss from his mother, An-
drew ran out-the heavy wagon rolled
from the door, and Sarah and her mo-
ther were alone.
For a while Mrs. Neal abandoned her-
self to the sad forebodings that filled
her bosom. Sarah, too, sat by the win-
dow, weeping.
They had cause to weep, for, in the
bustle of departure, Mr. Neal had for-
gotten-no, not forgotten, but neglected
-to pray with his family ; and now he



had gone forth, without asking the
blessing of God upon them, Mrs. Neal
felt it to her very heart; there was a
mingling, too, of self-reproach in her
grief. True, her husband had been very.
impatient and irritable of late, and she
had dreaded any retort just as he was
leaving them; but now she felt 'that she-
ought not to have let them depart
without their usual family prayers. But
it was too late now, and she wisely re-
solved to do her duty in future. So
telling Sarah to give her the Bible, she
read a portion of Scripture, and kneel-
ing down with her little girl, she im-
plored pardon for past neglect, and grace
to enable her to do her duty in future.
She then commended the absent ones to
the care of their heavenly Father; and Sa-
rah arose calm'and cheerful, and was soon
caroling a sweet Sabbath-school song.



"They will be preserved," .said she,
as she proceeded to arrange the chamber
of her brothers; "for mother has asked
God to take care of them, and father,
too, (how odd that he forgot to pray!)
but mother is always good, and patient,
and never gets angry or fretful: I hope
I may be like her."
Ah! even in childhood we feel the
soothing influence of prayer.
Young reader! have you not felt,
when you arose from your knees, and
retired to your chamber, a sense of se-
curity, as though God would protect
you, in answer to the prayers of a pious
parent ? And how much more, when you
are enabled to present petitions to God
yourself, through faith in Jesus Christ!
Sweet sleep descends my eyes to close,
And now, while all the world is still,
I give my body to repose,
My spirit to my Father's will.



WHATEVER may have been Mrs. Neal's
feelings during the absence of her hus-
band and sons, Sarah very soon recov-
ered her former gayety.
Every month they received a letter
from some one of the emigrants, always
characteristic of the writer. First there
would come a letter from Mr. Neal, cold
and business-like, just assuring them of
his health, and that of the boys. But
it was a comfort to hear that. Then
would come Walter's epistle, so nicely
written, and so properly; it was tender,
too, very tender to his mother, and af-
fectionate to Sarah, although he never
omitted to hint to her how much room



there was for improvement in her man-
ners and appearance. But the little,
queer-looking missives of Andrew were
always received by Sarah with perfect
ecstasy; and she woula laugh till the
tears ran down her rosy cheeks at the
reading of them, as the merry boy would
describe his adventures in housekeeping.
"'You must know," said he, (in one
of his letters,) that I became so absent-
minded in writing to you this forenoon,
that when I went to cooking dinner I
plumped my biscuits into the coffee-pot,
and poured boiling water upon them, and
set them upon the coals. I thqn sat
down to finish my letter, under the im-
pression that I had coffee boiling and
bread baking; but, on looking up, I
saw a big white pudding sticking out of
the coffee-pot. I was rather frightened
at first, and then I concluded to, ake


some sauce, and if father came in before
it was done, to make him think I had
got a new receipt for boiling pudding.
Luckily, however, he did not appear
until it was cooked to a charm. I then
drained the water off, and got it out,
merely breaking it twice. Father
praised the pudding, only wondering
where the black motes came from that
dotted it. Walter said it looked like
ground coffee. When father went out
I told Walter all about it. He was con-
vulsed with laughter, and said I must
write you about my first attempt at
pudding-making." .
Mrs. Neal's friends would not permit
her to be much alone. She and her
daughter made frequent and long visits
to Mr. Carl's, and old Mr. Neal's. And
as the winter came on, at their urgent
solicitation they shut up their house and



resided with them altogether. Could
Mr. Neal have seen his little daughter,
so actively busy at the old farm-house
of his father, he would have thought her
in a fair way to become useful. Now
assisting aunt Nabby in making pump-
kin-pies, and now stringing apples to
dry, and hanging them in festoons
around the old kitchen, and then sing-
ing at the top of her fine voice some
baby-cousin to sleep. Or could An-
drew have seen her, when the work was
all done up, playing at "blind man's
buff" in that same long kitchen, or
sliding down the glassy hill-side with
her cousins, he would never have
troubled himself about her getting "dig-
As the spring advanced, grandfather
Carl insisted that his daughter was be-
coming pale and thin. Ie had laid two


daughters in the grave-yard, and this
last one was an object of extreme solici-
tude to the father. Mrs. Neal assured
him her health was good; that her lan-
guor was all owing to the season. He
would not believe it, but wrote to Mr.
Neal, urging him to return and live with
his family again, promising him any
amount of money to aid him in his
former business.
Mr. Neal returned his acknowledg-
ments to the old gentleman; but added,
that he could not think of leaving his
new farm, he had become so much at-
tached to it, unless indeed his wife was
really ill, which she assured him was
not the case.
Our emigrant, however, found the
process of getting settled a much longer
one than he had anticipated. But his
enterprise was in no way checked by


the obstacles that presented themselves.
At length he had the satisfaction of
seeing an extensive "clearing," a fine
crop growing, a large new barn ready
for the harvest, and a snug log-house
for his family.
With what pleasure did the boys
hear their father announce his intention
of starting for his wife and Sarah on the
morrow. Andrew especially was in
ecstasies; for, beside being quite tired
of his office of housekeeper, he was
pining to see again his beloved mother
and sister. You will take care of the
farm, Walter, and see that everything is
safe till I return. Andrew will keep
house as usual, and I hope will be
steady for once. Andrew promised to
have everything nice as a pin, and Mr.
Neal set off for the rest of his family.
Mrs. Neal was all. prepared for her



journey, and was anxious to start im-
mediately. Her little family had been
so long separated, that she was willing
to make any sacrifice to see them again
You will not want much furniture, *
wife," said Mr. Neal. Our new house
is very small; the old piano you can
leave at your father's." The piano !"
said his wife, sadly; it will seem like
leaving one of the family: besides, I was
teaching Sarah to play."
"Sarah will find business enough be-
side practicing music," retorted the fa-
ther. "We shall have a dairy, and she
must learn to make butter and cheese,
and Andrew will teach her to cook."
Sarah burst into a hearty laugh, for she
was thinking of Andrew's pudding,
while her mother smiled with that pa-
tient and submissive smile which Mr.

SanHa JaUL.

Neal always interpreted in his own
favor. And so her piano, the gift of
her father, and the companion of her
girlhood, was left behind. "Here, Sa-
rah," said her father, as he drew a soiled
little paper from his pocket. Sarah
seized it with eagerness, tore open the
envelope, and read as follows :-

DEAR SISTER,-Fetch all the old pa&
pers from the attic; we shall be glad to
read them all again, and then they
would be acceptable donations to our
Neighbors. And be sure you fetch the
prayer-book that has been idle so long,
because father does not pray now, and I
think he must have forgotten how: you
don't know how odd it seems. I would
Sas soon go without breakfast as prayers;
but mother will set every thing to
rights." ANDnEW.


"Sarah, what are you doing so long
over that crumpled paper?" said her
father authoritatively. "Why don't you
help your mother fold those clothes ?"
"I was thinking," said Sarah, "how
a family could get along without prayers."
Mr. Neal did seem a little embarras-
sed, as he answered, "You will find
many families in our country who live
without prayer."
I hope ours will not be one of
them," said Mrs. Neal; and this time
there was decision in her voice, and Mr.
Neal did not reply.
At length the preparations for their
departure were all completed-the last
adieus were bidden, and the family com-
menced their arduous journey.
Sarah found it was possible for her to
tire of riding even the first day; and
after traveling nearly .a week, it was a




pleasure to find the road so rough that
she could keep up with the horses in
walking. The last half-day of their
journey there was a violent shower, and,
in spite of cloaks and umbrellas, both
Sarah and her mother found themselves
completely drenched with rain. As the
clouds rolled over, a fresh breeze sprang
up, and by the time they came in sight
of their new home, Mrs. Neal was shiv-
ering with cold.
"There is our farm," said Mr. Neal,
much more gayly than he was accus-
* tomed to speak; for, in truth, he had
been, for the last hour, watching his
wife, by occasional glances, and the
death-like pallor of her countenance was
really alarming to him.
"Father," said Sarah, "I see a nice
new barn and a pig-sty; but where is
your house ?"


"A pig-sty, ha!" (and Mr. Neal
laughed at Sarah's mistake.) "Why,
that is where Walter and Andrew live,
and I have a nice little pen in it for
0 father! that is n't our house, is
it ?" and Sarah ended her laugh with a
shower of tears.
But Mrs. Neal did not weep; she
even brightened up at the sight of her
home. It was a place of rest, and she
strained her eyes to catch a glimpse of
her dear boys. For nearly a year had
they been separated from her; and no 4
mother will wonder, that the log-cabin
where they resided looked like a very
palace in her sight.
As they neared the house, Andrew
came out with a water-pail in his hand,
and, seeing the wagon, he bounded up
the rough path to meet them. "I



knew you would be here tonight,"
* said he, as he leaped into the carriage,
and tore away the veils of first his mo-
ther, and then Sarah, to kiss them.
Walter met them at the door, assisted
his motherto alight, and led her gently in.
"Have you become dignified, sister ?"
said Andrew, offering his arm; but, be-
fbre Sarah could take it, he had thrown
it round her waist, and was bearing her
along, struggling and screaming, to the
"Come, Andrew, none of your pranks,
my son," said his mother, smiling; "but
let us see some specimens of your
"Now for a nice supper," said An-
drew, as he whirled his round table into
the middle of the floor. Light wheat
loaves, warm fritters, fried fish, caught
from a neighboring pond, and a bowl of


maple syrup, certainly formed a nice
supper, even without the roll of rich .
yellow butter which Andrew myste-.
riously took from a covered basket.
That, then, was the errand that sent
you across the woods so early this
morning ?" said Walter.
"It was," replied the happy cook.
"And now, mother, let me set your*
chair, and let us see you at the head of
the table once more."
After the tea-table was removed, and
the little furniture arranged neatly
around the cottage, Mrs. Neal requested
Walter to unlock the chest, and take
out the large Bible. Andrew sprang
up, with a glance of triumph at Sarah,
and arranged the stand, and laid the
family Bible upon it. "Husband," said
Mrs. Neal, gently, "let us begin our
first housekeeping in this country by


imploring the blessing of God;" and
S she drew a chair toward the stand for
Poor man! how easy it would have
been then for him to have returned to
the path from which he had so widely
strayed Long after, when his 'ul
was bowed with affliction, diA ~e look
bak to that auspicious evening, 6i d
wish he could recall it. But a tMange
di~dence had taken possession 4 him.
It had been so long since he had prayed
he knew not what te-ay; beside, what
right had his wife to dictate to him?
And so he just answered, in a sullen
manner, that he was tired to death, and
walked into the back room, and threw
himself upon the bed.
Andrew and Sarah again exchanged
glances, and then both of them looked
at their mother, wondering what she


would do next. Walter sat down by
his mother's side, as though he would
gladly assist in bearing the cross that
seemed all thrown upon her. Mrs.
Neal opened the Bible, and, in a weak,
tremulous voice, read the eleventh and
twelfth psalms. She then bowed, with
her children by her side, and committed
them all to the care of their heavenly
Father; praying that they might each
be enabled to discharge the duties of
this life, so as to come up, a family un-
broken, in the kingdom of God.
IT is prayer supports the soul that's weak:
Though thought be broken, language lame;
Pray, if thou canst or canst not speak;
But pray with faith in Jesus' name.

0--".'.m -

I__ ___ __



PERHAPS we cannot better pursue Sa-
rah's history, than by giving a letter
written to. her cousin Ellen, several
months after she parted with her.
M--, Jam ary 6 18-
MY DEAR COUSIN,-I promised to
write as soon as we got settled in our
new home; but heretofore have been
4 unable, and even now I can hardly
spare time; but, mother says, I had
better begin, and write a little every
day till I fill a sheet. Walter wrote to
grandfather Carl soon after we arrived,
and I believe mentioned that mother
took cold riding in the rain. She con-
tinued unwell till the middle of Novem-



ber, and was then taken down so very
sick, that we thought she could not live
a week. Walter went twenty-five miles
after a physician, who, when he came,
said she had a violent inflammation of
the lungs. He stayed three days, and
I shall never forget his kindness. He
would watch with father or me half of
every night he was here. We could
get no one to nurse mother, so that fa-
ther and I had to do everything. Once
Andrew went two miles to get a watcher,
and returned with a young girl about
my age. She said her mother was ill,
and her older sister could not leave.
She was very kind and capable, and the
next day stayed, and washed and ironed
for us. You would be amused to see
the little girls work here: those not
larger than you or I, hire out to nurse,
or take charge of a family.


sAi= rMT. i

You cannot think what little old
things they are: and I don't wonder;
for it seems to me to have been an age
since I left Massachusetts, I have had
so much care and anxiety. But mother
is better now; she sits up most of the
day, and we all go to bed at night; but
very often I get up, and run into mo-
ther's room, to see if she don't want
drops, or something. Father says my
head and heart are full of care. An-
drew says he can begin to see the
crow's feet peeping from the covers of
my eyes. I suppose Walter feared that
Andrew's nonsense would trouble me,
for he answered that I never looked or
appeared so well, and he loved me very
much for being so attentive to mother.
We have seen but little of the eastern
people. Soon after we moved, a Mr.
Rcfhard,4 with hid whole fmily, osNe to



spend the Sabbath. Father did not
seem very glad to see them, and when
they went away mother gave them some
tracts about keeping the Sabbath. They
have not called since. Mother said, if
that family was a specimen of her neigh-
bors, she- thought we should be better
off without them. Andrew replied, that
they were not, as we should see in
a few days. And sure enough, the
same week two very interesting girls
visited us. Their names are Wilber,
and they have lived here six years; and
yet I was really ashamed to find they
knew much more than I did. Amanda,
the youngest, is about my age, and the
liveliest girl I have ever seen. Martha
is almost seventeen: she is very gentle;
Sand mother said, appeared as though she
was accustomed to good society,: yet
- he -has lived in.a logwin,. mde sp t



her time in waiting on a feeble mother,
and taking care of a large family of bro-
thers and sisters, ever since she was
eleven years old. We have become
acquainted with their parents, who are
very nice people. Mrs. Wilber appears
like your mother: I wanted to call her
aunt Nabby. Mr. Wilber told father he
was rejoiced when he heard a pious fa-
mily had come among -them, and he
hoped that father would establish a Sab-
bath school. Father answered very
politely, but I could see he did not like
to talk about it.
The truth is, dear Ellen, my father is
strangely altered: perhaps I ought not
to say anything about it; but I know
you will keep it secret, as you have al-
ways shared my little griefs,-how little
they always were, in comparison with
t4pposeast onesJ BuI nothin, g xoahes

ImtIH uL.

^ ^. MMy mother's sickness, my own
l and the loss of all my little friends
I Bld bear, if father would only pray.
Dear mother kept up evening prayer
until she was taken sick: since then
we have been one of the families that
do not call upon God. Do you remem-
ber once when you spent the night with
me, and we were going strawberrying,
that I was angry with mother for making
us stop till after morning prayers, and I
peeped through my chair while father
was praying, -and made up a face, to
make you laugh ? I think of such things
now, cousin, and wish I had been good
while I had a chance,
0 Ellen, I begin to feel as though we
"children had a duty to do. I dreamed,
a few nights ago, that we were all lost
i thi w6ldas-4ther, mother, Waltr,

_ _______ __ .__ __ ___

Andrew, and I. Father became m es,
cited that I thought he was going mad,
and I ran to him, and led him out, and
set his feet in a large place and be
clasped me in his arms, and wept. I
awoke, sobbing as though my heart
would break.
Please tell Miss Ames, my: Supday
school teacher, that I hope he wu't
forget me.
But I must close. Give my love to
all our relatives and friends.
Your affectionate cousin,

As I before hinted, Sarah Neal was
not a Christian. Although iablend
affectionate, attentive and obedient,
there was yet a "still small vice"
whispering to her heart, Yet one thing
thbl lackeO. Shhe had beon bought


up amid Christian privileges, and Chris-
tian society. She had attended public
worship at the chime of the Sabbath-
bells, while religious periodicals strewed
the table. Each day had been'com-
menced and closed with prayer, yet
Sarah dreamed not of other responsibili-
ties beyond being a good child or a
good scholar.
Now, when such a change had come
over her whole life, having access to no
church, no Sabbath schools, and no re-
ligious papers; and, worse than all, her
dear father dwelling far down by Ba-
bel's murky stream,"-now Sarah felt
the necessity of being a Christian. But,
like many older inquirers, she was won-
dering how" it could be accomplished.
"Were I at home," she would say
mentally, "I could go to the altar with
other anxious souls, or attend the iW:.

___ __ __ __

SALLE -N5A&-l]

quiry meeting." But now Sarah, in these
circumstances, felt very much as she
did when her mother was so ill, with no
nurse or physician,--she considered h6r
case quite hopeless.
Had Sarah been enjoying her usual
privileges, and become awakened, no
doubt the enemy of souls would have
whispered, What need of such efforts ?
God can as well save without them."
But now, while destitute of them all, he
was endeavoring to make her believe
them absolutely essential in her case.
AhI he is a wily foe; happy are they
who have grace to resist him 1
As the .spring months came on, and
the merry birds came forth to welcome
them with their joyous notes, Mrs. Neal
would walk to the door, and look out
upon the lake that stretched itself in
front of their dwelling. But Sarah saw



that her health was not improving, Sha
was pale and emaciated; and there
were times when the beaming of her
eye, and the burning of her cheek,
forcibly reminded the vigilant child of
her aunt Eliza Carl, that died not three
years before. And then that cough of
her mother's! 0, it went to poor Sa-
rah's heart. Mr. Neal, too, began to
see, and told his wife he thought, as
soon as he got his seed into the ground,
he had better carry her back to her
father's, to spend the summer, and rer
cruit heg health.
At first, Mrs. Neal would not consent
to leave her children again; but when
Walter and Andrew urged that it would
not fail to cure her, to be with so many
kind friends and skillful physicians, and
all that, she acquiesced. Sarah ~d
nothing; .she remembered that none



of them could save her poor aunt
By the side of the lake, and in full
view of Mr. Neals cottage, was.a little
hillock, rising abruptly from the level,
and terminating almost in a peak. On
the top it was quite clear of shrubbery,
and only covered with wild grass. The
maple and pine grew around its base,
and interlocked their branches far above
the summit, forming a delightful bower
beneath. This was Sarah's favorite re-
treat. From this spot she had a full
view of the outlet of the lake, gliding
along, and becoming narrower in its
windings through the dark forest. The
merry Andrew called the hill Sarah's
"Look-out," and promised to build an
observatory there, when he became a
man. Often, on pleasant Sabbaths, the
little girl would take her book and



spend many hours alone on thatdelight.
ful spot, indulging the new thoughts
and feelings which were agitating her
One Sabbath afternoon, about the last
of April, as she was sitting there hour
after hour, Andrew became impatient at
her long absence, and followed her.
Like a deer he bounded up the rough
path, and placing himself before her,
begged to know of what she was think-
ing. "I was just thinking," said she,
"that we would persuade father to com-
mence a Sabbath school. We can clear
out the barn, and hold it there. Mr.
Wilber said that we lived in the center
of several settlements, and people could
come from the public 'clearing,' and
across the pond, and all round."
Andrew. Well, suppose they do, and
you get a barn full; what then ?


3Asr flAL.

farak. We will have a nice Sabbeth
school, to be sure.
Andrew. Who would conduct it ?
Sarah. Hesitating. Perhaps fther;
and Mr. Wilber said he should be happy
to assist; and Walter could take a class,
and Martha Wilber.
Andrew. Well, what would Amanda
and I do ? We would not be scholars;
at least, I should not. I came down
east, to be useful in this benighted
Sarah. O, Andrew, you make sport
of everything; but, tell me, will you
help me persuade father to do something
about it ?
-Andrew. Can't do it, sister; I will
tell you why. You see that father is
not the man he used to be, else he
would not let mother do all the praying.
And as I d&n't exactly fellowship him,


I can't unite with him in this enterprise.
Anything else I could do for you, Miss
Neal, I should be happy to--. (And
Andrew bowed affectedly.)
Sarah. O, Andrew, if we were only
good, we might both of us be useful.
You know Mr. Rowe, our superintend-
ent, said, he had known many little
children become converted, and do a
great deal of good in their families, and
among their playmates.
Andrew. I thought you were good,
Sarah, and I was the only sinner. I
am sure I get all the scoldings.
Sarah. That is because you are so
mischievous, and so full of jokes. But
we all have wicked hearts: none of us
love the Lord Jesus, but dear mother;
and she Here Sarah paused, and
burst into tears.
Andrew. Why, Sarah, how strangely



you have altered of late !-you used to
be as gay as a lark, but now everything
troubles you. Mother is not going to
die. Father will carry her back to
Massachusetts, and our friends there will
nurse her well Come, sister, wipe your
eyes, and let's go home, and get supper.
So, hand in hand, they descended
from the "Look-out."
That evening Sarah asked her father
about the Sabbath school. He answered
coldly, that he expected to go away
soon, and could not attend to it.
That night, when Sarah retired to
her room, she knelt beside her bed, and
asked God to make her wise unto sal-
vation, and that she might become ue-
ful. Did God hear her? We sball see.
If p&a aict, or wrongs oppress,
If cares distract, or fears dismay,
If guilt deject, or sin distress,
In wasy se, til watM h a" d rAq.


CONTRARY to the expectations of Mr.
Neal, his wife's health continued to fhil,
and, at the time that he intended to
start for their old home, she was too
feeble to leave her room. Still he was
slow'to believe that she was "passing
away." He wrote to Mr. Carl that
Mary was now quite feeble, but he
hoped that in September she would be
able to return, and spend the winter
with them. About this time Sarah re-
ceived a letter from her cousin Ellen,
one page of which was written by Miss
Ames, her former Sabbath-school teacher.
We find it so interesting, that we con-
clude to give it to our readers:-



MY DEAR SARAH,-I am very much
grieved to hear of the continued ill-
health of your mother. It is a sad
thing to see beloved parents suffering,
when we have no power to relieve
them,-sadder still to lay them in the
deep cold grave, and to feel that you are
all alone. This grief has been mine, as
you know I was left an orphan at twelve
years of age. Long may you be spared
that bitter pang, my dear girl; but if
God have ordered it otherwise, may you
be taught, as I was, to bow in meek
submission to the will of your heavenly
Father! You request your cousin to
tell Miss Ames not to forget you. I
have not forgotten you, dear; there is
a sacred hour, each day, that I spend
alone with my Saviour. At such times
I bring all my dear friends and present
them-to him; and. I bl, rpived


sacred assurances that my prayers for
you will be answered. The conviction
you express, that there is a duty for you
to do, is proof to me that my prayers
are being answered. Believe me, my
dear Sarah, the Hand that directed you
to that wilderness country is one that
does nothing in vain. Small and simple
as you may feel yourself to be, it is pos-
sible for you to become a bright and
shining light-such a one as will in-
duce others to glorify God. "You say
that you wish you had been good while
you had a chance." There is always a
chance when the Holy Spirit is striving
with us. If there is no human aid to
guide you in the path of duty, go to
God for direction, for strength, for grace,
and everything you need: and be sure,
that by so doing you will not be misled.
May God bless you, my dear girl,



and speedily number you with the heirs
of salvation .

The above letter Sarah read over and
over, till every word was impressed
upon her memory.
Still there was a great weight upon
her spirits; fbr she felt almost sure that
her dear mother would not recover, and
she nursed her night and day, until her
own cheek grew pale, and her eye,
formerly so bright, was heavy and
At twilight, when the labors of the
day were over, and Mr. Neal would
take a seat by his feeble wife, Sarah
would steal away to her sweet sum-
mer bower, and meditate and pray,
until it became, indeed, a "bower of
Almost unconsciously to herself Sa-



rah was following on to know the Lord.
One morning, Mrs. Neal observed that
her daughter looked unusually cheerful,
and as she went softly about arranging
her mother's room, she would now and
then break forth in a song of praise. "I
wonder what has come over Sarah,"
thought Mrs. Neal; "but she will tell
me if anything pleasant has happened.
Perhaps they have received a letter, and
some of her uncles are coming."
Soon Sarah entered, with her apron
full of wild flowers and evergreens.
After placing them tastefully around the
room, she took her sewing, and sat down.
"You look happy this morning, my
child," said her mother; "have you
heard any news that pleases you ?"
"No," said Sarah, coloring; but I
begin to think the Lord does everything
for the beat"


How long have you felt thus Q aid
Mrs. Neal.
Sarah then went on to tell her mo-
ther how sad, and lonely, and unrecon-
ciled she had been through the spring,
and that at last she began to feel the
need of a Saviour; and she prayed
every night and morning, that God
would, in some way, restore her relih
gious privileges, that she might have an
opportunity to become a Christian. For
do you know, mother," continued she,
while a sweet smile played around her
mouth, and even reached her tearful
eyes, "do you know that I was so ig-
norant as to think I could not be a
Christian without a minister to pray for
me, or some such thing. At last I
went to the Bible, and studied it a great
deal. ,There I found many passages
that seemed written on purpose for me;


seUh as: Against thee, and thee only,
have I sinned.' 'I will cry unto God
Most High, unto God that performeth
all things for me.' 'As for me, I will
call upon God; and the Lord shall save
me.' And then I believed that God
could give me a new heart, even with-
out meetings or ministers, or anyone to
pray with me; and I prayed earnestly
many times that he might, and-now I
feel better."
"And do you think, my dear, that
God has given you a new heart ?"
"I don't know, mother; but I am
sure that my heart is very light, and
there is no sadness in it."
"And do you think that you could
be happy, if you thought God was about
to take your mother away ?" asked Mrs.
"I thought of ths w dar mother,

aswMn uran

when I wad gathering these wild flow*
ers, and I tridd to pray that you might
get well; but the words almost choked
me: and then I said,-yes, mother, I
said it, and was very happy all the
while,-' Nevertheless, not my will, but
thine be done.'
"My dear child, it is enough," said
the weeping mother. "I am now cou
fident that your name is enrolled with
Christ's little ones. Be faithful, my
precious one, and you may yet be an
instrument of good. Ever bear it in
mind that God can bless us, with or
without means, according to our cir-
cumstances. We are not accountable
for blessings which we do not receive.
It is unquestionably the duty of us all
to avail ourselves of the means of grace.
But if, in the order of Providence, we
are deprived of these means, still we


have duties to perform. Watch and
pray, my dear child, and God will pre-
pare a work for you."
That evening Amanda Wilber called,
to leave some sirup, and other delica-
cies, that her mother had prepared for
the wasted invalid. As soon as Sarah
oould be spared from her mother's room,
she called Amanda, and went with her
to the "Look-out." When they re-
turned, Mrs. Neal observed that their
visitor's eyes were red and swollen with
weeping, while Sarah's manner toward
her was full of tenderness.



sAmr A

lS2 AGaL or DALnT MA-d olow-Vter-- WBljrO

MRs. NEAL continued to fail; but so
gradually and quietly did disease waste
the fountain of life, that none perceived
how nearly over was the last conflict.
Mr. Neal thought she would not be able
to go west, and he feared the rigors of
another northern winter. Walter did
not tell his fears; as usual, he was af-
fectionate and attentive, but said no-
thing. Andrew was hopeful, and merry
as ever. But poor Sarah, as she looked
at her mother, would think, "In au-
tumn, when the leaves fall"--and she
shuddered, as she remembered how the
cold wind whirled around the dry leaves


on the day they followed her aunt Eliza
to her grave.
One evening, the last of August, Mr.
Neal and the boys came in from labor
earlier than usual. A tempest had
risen, and they feared that the fearfully
dark clouds would frighten Mrs. Neal
and Sarah. Mr. Neal found, his wife
much distressed for breath, and in alarm
insisted on going for Mrs. Wilber. His
wife said it was unnecessary; she should
be better when the shower had passed,
and the atmosphere became clear again.
At bed-time she did seem relieved, and
told them they might all retire, as she
wished to sleep. "Let me sit by you
while you sleep," said the husband.
"It is useless," said the sick woman:
" Sarah can lie down by my Wide; she
wakes easily, and will call you, if ne-

Thus urged, the tired laborers sought
repose, and, seeing her mother very
drowsy, Sarah too lay down. Once in
the night Mrs. Neal asked for a little
water. Sarah sprang from the bed, and
gave her a glass from the table. She
tasted it, and sank back, saying it was
warm. Sarah offered to call Walter to
fetch some cool from the spring. "No,"
said her mother, "I will wait-it will
soon be morning I"
0 what a lesson of patient endurance
did these few simple words teach: "It
will soon be morning I" and how faith-
fully were they embalmed in the me-
mory of the daughter! Not that they
made an impression at the time they
were uttered: Sarah only thought her
mother's voice sounded very faint; but
it was often thus. Besides, the poor
child was almost fainting herself with


fatigue and drowsiness. What wonder
that she lay down again, and in a mo-
ment more was fast asleep!
When she awoke the sun was shining
into the room, and she could hear An-
drew going about softly, setting the
table. "Mother, are you better ?" said
Sarah, as she threw on her wrapper,
and came around in front of the bed.
0 what a shriek! it pierced every
cranny of that log-cabin, and reached
the ears of Mr. Neal and Walter, who
were in the garden. As they rushed
into the room, Andrew was trying to
raise the insensible form of his sister in
his arms. On withdrawing the curtain
to lay her on the bed, Mr. Neal, at one
glance, discovered the fatal mystery.
While they had slept, the angel of
death had visited them. The meek
spirit of the wife and mother had yield-


sBAdH NUa.

ed to hi s anmons, quiegy and calmly,
as the lovely remains gave evidence.
The unruffled pillow, the smooth robes,
and those hands so meekly clasped
upon her breast, showed how gently
she had passed away. "It was as if
she had wrapped the drapery of her
couch about her, and laid down to plea
sant dreams."
"I might have ksown," said the
weeping girl, as she sat beside her
father, while kind neighbors were pre-
paring for the funeral; "I might have
known that she was dying, when she
asked for water in that weak, faint
voice." My poor stricken child," said
the father, "it is I that should have
known it; faithfdly have you performed
your duty. Would to Heaven I could
say the same of myself And that
strong man turned away and wept.


On the north side of the same hill
that had so long been Sarah's resort,
was there excavated a new tomb. The
sides and roof were supported by rude
pillars of cedar. A slab of granite was
laid for a shelf, and there were brought
the remains of Mrs. Neal, to repose
until a public burial-place should be lo-
cated. The entrance was guarded by a
door of rough boards, which was con-
cealed by a cypress and willow that
Walter planted there. Andrew, too,
brought an offering characteristic of him-
self-a mountain ash and a sweet lilac.
There those trees bloom and flourish,
spite of the tears that have watered
them. That place has since become
Sarah's bower of prayer, while the
Look-out is deserted.
One evening Mr. Neal sat alone in
'his cottage. Sarah had gone to visit


her mother's grave; the boys had seen
her go; and though they would not
attend her, thinking she wished to be
alone, they could not bear to enter the
cottage till she returned,-their mo-
ther's room looked so gloomy. Sarah
always kept the door open, that they
might become accustomed to it. But,
as I was saying, Mr. Neal was alone,
and he felt sad and peevish. "I wish,'
said he, "the children would stay with
me. I wonder where Sarah is." And
he put on his hat, and sauntered out to
find her.
Instinctively Mr. Neal took the
path that Sarah had chosen, and
walking slowly and softly, he came
within hearing of her voice, without
being discovered. Sarah was singing;
and, pausing to listen, he heard the fol-
lowing beautiful lines :-


"No more fatigue, no more distress,
Nor sin, nor death shall reach the place;
No groans shall mingle with the songs
Which warble from immortal tongues."
After a short pause, the low sweet
sound of prayer rose above the rust-
ling of the leaves, and Mr. Neal listened
in surprise. Sarah prayed for herself
and brothers, left without a mother's
care, and implored the guidance of
Heaven for them. But when she prayed
for her father, "her poor widowed
father," that he might be comforted and
blessed and revived in his mind, Mr.
Neal felt the hot tears coursing down
his cheeks. And when, in conclusion
of her petitions for him, she said, 0
God, let us once more hear his voice in
prayer; let the family altar again be
built up in our dwelling," an involuntary
groan burst from the poor man. Sarah
paused, and, coming forth, she discov-





ered her father, bathed in tears. Come
here, my child," said he; "you have
taught me a lesson, and, by the assist
ance of God, I will profit by it."
He then led his daughter home, and
called in his sons. Sarah, guessing at
what was in her father's mind, shook
her head at Andrew, as he was moving
toward the stairs. She imuedaey
brought a light. Mr. Neal then read a
portion of Scripture, and, kneeling do"wn
with a voice low, and broken with occa
sional sighs, he implored pardon for br-
mer neglect of duty, and grae to dis-
charge it in future.
After this, the cottage was no more
deserted at twilight. It was made
bright and cheerful, and the voice of
prayer was heard evening and morning
there. Thus the family became con-
tented and happy.


"Sarah," said Andrew, one day, as
she was garnishing her mother's little
room with wild autumn flowers: "is
not this room very lonely to you ?"
Not now, dear brother," said she;
"since father has begun to pray again;
for I think the spirit of our dear mo-
ther visits us, and sees how happy
we are."
It is all your work, Sarah," said her
brother; "and, as Walter says, you are
becoming more and more like mother
every day."
Several years have passed since the
death of Mrs. Neal. Sarah, now a
sweet-looking young lady, is still her
father's housekeeper. They have built
a neat farm-house, and it stands in the
centre of a little thriving village. Sarah
and her father, assisted by Mr. Wilber



and his daughters, have established a
flourishing Sabbath school. Walter is
pursuing his studies at a distant univer-
sity. Before his departure from home,
he confessed to Sarah that her prayers
and counsel had been blessed to him,
and he felt resolved to devote his future
life to the service of his Maker. An-
drew is an enterprising young far-
mer. Gay and witty as ever, but
blessed with great good sense, Sarah
says he lacks but one thing. I hope
that he may soon seek and find that
one thing needful.
The remains of Mrs. Neal have never
been removed, as the villagers have
chosen that spot for their, place of
Mr. Neal has finished the tomb con-
taining the remains of his wife. A

76 BAIfAH NAt .

monument of plain marble is placed at
its entrance,.on which are inscribed the
name and age of his wife. Below, by
the particular request of Sarah, are her
mother's dying words,-



F;F-~- ~ -~TT~- I~~--_7T-rr--ii ~~_ ____~______~_____~ ___ __~r_~_~-*~.- 1~F~-T---

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