Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 The Quaker village
 The Montrose family
 Little Arthur's sister
 Little Arthur in infancy
 Joseph Irving
 Character tested
 A change
 Removal to the west
 Arrival at Pittsburg
 Departure from Cincinnati
 Settlement in Ohio
 Arthur's return
 Arthur's residence in the city
 New and affecting scenes in Arthur's...
 His baptism
 Arthur a medical student
 His father's visit and death
 He graduates and commences...
 Loss of health
 His return to the east
 Final settlement in the west
 Back Cover

Title: The child of providence, or, Arthur Montrose
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00020320/00001
 Material Information
Title: The child of providence, or, Arthur Montrose
Alternate Title: Arthur Montrose
Physical Description: 169 p., <1> leaf of plates : ill. ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Charles, George ( Stereotyper )
American Baptist Publication Society ( Publisher )
King & Baird ( Printer )
Publisher: American Baptist Publication Society
Place of Publication: Philadelphia
Manufacturer: King & Baird
Publication Date: c1852
Subject: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Family -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Travelers -- Juvenile fiction -- West (U.S.)   ( lcsh )
Frontier and pioneer life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
Statement of Responsibility: by the author of Henry Curran and The bereaved mothers.
General Note: Stereotyped by George Charles.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00020320
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002224002
oclc - 20571319
notis - ALG4259

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover
    Front Matter
        Front Matter 1
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Table of Contents
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
    The Quaker village
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
    The Montrose family
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
    Little Arthur's sister
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
    Little Arthur in infancy
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
    Joseph Irving
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
    Character tested
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
    A change
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
    Removal to the west
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
    Arrival at Pittsburg
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
    Departure from Cincinnati
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
    Settlement in Ohio
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
    Arthur's return
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
    Arthur's residence in the city
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
    New and affecting scenes in Arthur's life
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
    His baptism
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
    Arthur a medical student
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
    His father's visit and death
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
    He graduates and commences practice
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
    Loss of health
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
    His return to the east
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
    Final settlement in the west
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
    Back Cover
        Back Cover
Full Text

dvliiU' of grnguihnrt.







Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by the


In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in
and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.



PREFACE, ..................................... 9
THE QUAKER VILLAGE,....................... 11
THE MONTROSE FAMILY,...................... 17
LITTLE ARTHUR'S SISTER,...................... 23
ARTHURIN INNFANCY, ......................... 29
ARTHUR'S SCHOOL-MATE,...................... 35
CHARACTER TESTED,.......................... 49
A CHANGE,................................. 53
REMOVAL TO THE WEST, ...................... 59


DEPARTURE FROM CINCINNATI, ................. 77
SETTLEMENT IN OHIO,........................ 84
His BAPTISM, ............................... 133
ARTHUR A MEDICAL STUDENT,................ 144
HIS FATHER'S VISIT AND DEATH, .............. 149
HIs Loss or HEALTH,........................ 155
HI RETURN TO THE EAST,. .................... 158
FINAL SETTLEMENT IN THE WEST,............... 166


THE incidents contained in the fol-
lowing narrative, were related to the
writer by a person of undoubted vera-
city, and one who was well acquainted
with the circumstances. They are deem-
ed of sufficient interest to form a little
volume for the Sunday School Library.
The narrative is a striking illustration
of the watchful care of Providence over
the child of a dying mother's faith;-
His power to sustain in affliction, and
give grace to glorify Himself, under all


circumstances, and in every condition
of life. It also shows how that a child
when trained up in the way he
should go, will not depart from it in
after life.
The scene commences in Pennsyl-
vania; but most of the incidents tran-
spired in the "Great Western Valley."
To those who have never traveled
beyond the Alleghanies, it may not be
uninteresting to learn something of the
manners and habits, as well as the toils
and privations of the early settlers of
that rapidly growing, and important
portion of our country.



AMONG the numerous families which
fled from the fearful ravages of the
yellow fever in the city of Philadelphia,
in the year 1793, was that of Mr.
Montrose, who with his wife and five
children, had escaped the desolating
His property, having become some-
what reduced by adverse circumstances,
Mr. Montrose, in selecting a place of
retreat, found it necessary to consult
economy as well as health. The two,
in his mind, seemed most likely to be
found in a village' recently settled by
the society of Friends.


A few wealthy individuals had be-
stowed much of their means in building
up this little colony. They had selected
one of nature's choicest spots. Much
like the prairie lands of the west, it
embraced a broad expanse of level as
far as the eye could see, and the wide
turnpike passing through its centre,
was no small consideration in those
days of slow traveling in wagons and
stage coaches.
The village was built in the most
precise uniformity of style. On each
side of the road, which ran north and
south, and at some distance from it,
were situated the houses; all of them
two stories in height. Some were made
of brick, some of stone, and a few of
rough cast material. Of all these build-
ings not one dared to raise its walls a
single foot above its neighbours, however


aspiring might be the feelings of its
inhabitants. All, were elevated con-
siderably above the road, each having
its own little yard of green, enclosed by
a stone wall, with a little gravel walk
leading to the door of the house. Be-
hind these dwellings and attached to
each, was an enclosure of about four
acres, which its owners cultivated, as
their tastes and wishes directed.
A walk through the centre of this
quaint little village, would lead the
traveler to its termination, where stood,
in close proximity, the meeting house
and the school house. Adjacent to
these was the grave-yard, and in rear
of the meeting house was extended
before the eye, a spacious grove of
venerable oaks, beneath whose amply
spreading boughs were constructed seats
on which the delighted wanderer might


sit and admire the great Master Builder,
as he gazed on those palace halls of
Who can tell how many have gone
out into these grand old woods in the
twilight hours to meditate, as did Isaac
of old ? Who can tell how many silent
breathing after God have ascended to
the Hearer of Prayer from "amidst
these shades sublime ?" And how often
may the mothers of that little commu-
nity have led their children to these
embowered seats, and taught them
lessons of wisdom, made doubly impres-
sive by the scenery around them. The
temple dedicated to the living God
stood in simple majesty before them,
ever reminding them of the worship
due to their Creator.
From the primeval grandeur of this
scene, the eye could easily turn to the


resting place of the dead. There no
marble monuments proudly rose over
the unconscious sleepers. Neither was
there any grouping of families within
some tasteful enclosure. The same
uniformity which pervaded the dwell-
ings of the living, reigned over the
abode of the deceased. The graves
were ranged in rows of various lengths
from the man of six feet, to the infant
of a span long.
Occasionally, some loving daughter
would plead to be laid by the side of
her parents who had gone before, or a
husband by his cherished wife. Their
wishes in such cases were ever respect-
ed. Here and there some heart, which
could not restrain its expressions of
affection, would mark the spot where
reposed the ashes she loved, by some
precious flowering shrub, or tree of


gentle growth. But these were only
occasional exceptions to the general
The place was guarded from the
intrusions of the world without by a
massive stone wall, itself protected by a
roof of wood. There was nothing in
this city of the dead to invest it with
the least air of poetry or romance.
Simple and plain as their modes of
living, was the destined abode of all
that was mortal in the inhabitants of
Such was the spot to which Mr.
Montrose retreated with his family, and
such the birth-place of the Child of
Providence, or Arthur Montrose.



MR. MONTROSE was by occupation a
clock and watch maker, and had at-
tained considerable skill in his art. He
was a member of a Christian church,
and possessed the most undeviating
principles of moral integrity. The law
of God was the rule of his life, and the
text-book of instruction in his family.
Though somewhat reserved in manner,
yet his mild and upright deportment
ever rendered him an object of affection
and respect to those around him.
Mrs. Montrose was a woman who
stood high in the estimation of all who
knew her. Although she was amiable,
2* (17)


dignified, and intelligent, yet her crown-
ing grace was her Christian character.
She also was a member of a church
differing in some respects from that of
her husband. Though firmly attached
to her own principles, she never for a
moment made them the object of diffi-
culty between herself and husband.
Standing alone in her belief, amidst the
community to which she had removed,
she adhered to it with unwavering con-
stancy, while occasionally mingling in
the peculiar form of worship adopted in
It has before been stated, that the
health of his family was the chief object
of Mr. Montrose in seeking his present
abode. But alas! how often are our
designs frustrated by the decree of the
Almighty. Not many months after
their removal, Mrs. Montrose took a


sudden cold, which, yielding to no
remedies, terminated in lingering con-
sumption. She became too feeble to
perform her domestic duties, and con-
sequently much of the care fell upon
her husband. But the children were
still guarded by their usual moral re-
straints. During this time, their two
eldest daughters were married and went
to preside over their own households.
One still remained to take her mother's
place in the cares of the family. The
two eldest sons, also, went into business
for themselves. Thus the changes
which mark the progress of all families
had begun to occur in the pathway of
this hitherto unbroken home.
About four years after the health of
Mrs. Montrose had begun to decline,
she became the mother of little Arthur.
Tiny and frail as the flower-buds of


autumn, he promised nought but to
die as early as they. His mother was
so feeble that she was denied the privi-
lege of performing for him those duties
so peculiarly a mother's own, and which
in his weakness, he so much needed.
Often in the silence of her apartment
she would shed bitter tears over her
inability to nurse her helpless infant.
She was fully aware that it could not
be long before she must pass away from
her earthly home, and leave him en-
tirely to the care of others. Thus the
warm affections of her heart, struggling
with the feebleness of her frame, caused
her, at times, almost to sink in despon-
dency. But her faith, at length, rose
triumphant over those sorrows which
she knew to be under the control of
that Father in Heaven, who "knoweth
our frame and remembereth that we


are dust." To him she carried her
burden of soul, dedicating to his service
the helpless child of her affections.
Having done this frequently she was
at last enabled cheerfully to await her
release from earth, reposing her entire
confidence in Him who is the hope of
Israel. She felt that He who carries
the lambs in his arms, had folded her
babe in his bosom, and would ever sur-
round him with his love.
O who can think of a suffering dying
mother, about to leave her infant and
one who needed her tenderest care, a
family capable of enjoying with her the
blessings of life, the husband of her
youth so dearly loved, commending all
to the care of an unseen Friend with
perfect serenity, without feeling that
the Christian's hope is indeed an anchor
to the soul. 0 if there is one vial of


odor before the throne of the Eternal,
sweeter than all the rest, it must be the
prayer and simple confidence of a dying
mother, under circumstances like these.
Thus with her hope of heaven found-
ed on the Rock, Christ Jesus, the
mother of little Arthur passed away;-
and her end was peace. Her dust has
long since reposed in the simple grave-
yard of Friendsville, unknown to the
passer by, and her only epitaph is writ-
ten in the affectionate remembrance of
her husband and children. Truly the
memory of the just is blessed." They
rest from their labors, and their works
do follow them."



THE loneliness and grief of Mr. Mon
trose under this bereavement are not
to be described. Those only who have
suffered in like manner can fully enter
into the feelings of his desolated heart,
as he moved on in the performance of
his daily duties. But as months passed
away, those broken tendrils of his affec-
tions seemed to cluster with all their
warmth around the little being now
thrown more exclusively upon his care,
as well as around the beloved daughter
who still remained at home, and had
watched and attended to the wants of
her suffering mother.


Clara Montrose in character was a
living illustration of all that was excel-
lent in the bright example of her
mother. Though young, intelligent,
and beautiful, when the tender little
Arthur made his appearance, laying
claim to her sisterly affection, yet when
she saw her afflicted mother's inability
to nurse him, she nobly resolved to de-
vote her life to the care of both. The
gay pleasures of earth no doubt pre-
sented many attractions to her youthful
spirit, but all these seemed to her as
trifles, compared to the high responsi-
bilities she felt it her duty to assume;
which were nothing less than the
double charge of attending to her dying
mother, and rearing her infant brother.
Eighteen long months after the birth
of little Arthur, did Mrs. Montrose lin-


ger in great suffering. And who can
tell how much those sufferings were re-
lieved by the kind attentions of her
devoted Clara, or how much her sorrow-
ing heart was cheered when she saw
them extended to the precious little one
over whom her heart yearned with all
the ardor of a mother's love.
After the death of Mrs. Montrose,
Clara assumed the entire charge of her
father's household. His straightened
circumstances she was well aware, ren-
-dered it difficult to allow the additional
expense of keeping a domestic. She
therefore, cheerfully volunteered to per-
form the task alone, though her small
and delicate frame would seem almost
entirely to forbid it. Early in the morn-
ing she might have been seen adjusting
the household affairs with neatness and


despatch, and then she would take her
little brother from his bed, and kindly
administer to all his wants.
After a time, finding that her system
of arrangements afforded her some hours
of leisure, she resolved to employ them
in sewing for the neighboring families.
Such was her success in this department
of business, that the close of the week
generally found her in possession of
funds, amply sufficient to clothe herself,
not only comfortably, but genteelly, and
that too, without diminishing ought of-
her domestic duties; nor did she neglect
the cultivation of her mind. A part of
every day was devoted to reading the
bible, and after that, works of history,
or of entertainment.
While recording such traits of charac-
ter in a young and motherless girl, a


vision of the inert and fashionable idlers
of the day, spending their time and
money in dress, visiting, and useless em-
ployments, appears in painful contrast.
How many daughters of America are
wholly regardless of home duties; how
many are ignorant of home pleasures,
and thoughtless of the end for which
they were made, or the destiny which
awaits them in a coming eternity. Alas,
the visits of such as Clara Montrose on
the stage of life, are truly like those of
angels, "few and far between."
How few there are to whom it may so
justly be said, Many daughters have
done virtuously, but thou excellent them
all." Who can find a virtuous woman;
for her price is above rubies? She
seeketh wool and flax, and worketh will-
ingly with her hands. She is like the


merchant ships; she bringeth her food
from afar. She riseth also while it is
yet dark, and giveth meat to her house-
hold, and a portion to her maidens."



SELDOM has the lamp of life burned so
dimly and with so little prospect of con-
tinuance as in the infancy of Arthur
Montrose. Often did the feeble flickering
of the tiny light seem almost extinct.
But the breath of his Heavenly Father,
through the kind assiduity of friends,
gently fanned the dying taper, and it
did not quite expire.
Though many times his feeble breath
seemed to be almost gone, yet he lived
on through one attack of disease after
another, and seemed to live, only, be-
cause he could not die; while many a
blooming cheek faded, and many a
3* (29)


hardy child went down to the grave.
" How unsearchable are the ways of
Providence." "He raiseth up one, and
casteth down another, and who shall
say, What doest thou ?"
As is often the case with children that
are remarkably weak in body, little Ar-
thur presented the contrast of great
mental vigor. But, like many in the
same circumstances, he was not spoiled
by improper indulgences. Though his
father regarded him with almost a
doting fondness, and would spend hours
each day in trying to amuse him, yet he
would not allow this precious memento
of his dear departed wife, to be contami-
nated by the growth of unholy passions,
or unrestrained evil propensities. In
return, little Arthur regarded his father
with the greatest veneration and love,


and reposed in him the most unlimited
The aptitude of Arthur to learn, led
his father to spend much time in teach-
ing him to read whenever he was able
to bear it, and by the time he was three
years old, he could read fluently all the
first lessons in the primer, though he
was unable to walk, or hardly to stand.
It was really affecting, as well as inter-
esting, to see the little helpless creature,
with his pale cheeks, sitting in his
father's arms, and conning over some
favorite lesson in his book.
Whenever little Arthur cried from
weariness or pain, his kind sister, though
her task might not yet be finished,
would take him up and carry him in
her arms while completing her work.
Thus he was surrounded with an atmos-
phere of love, and he knew not that any


other existed. No example was before
him but that of his father and sister,
and this, added to his own natural traits,
being truthful and lovely, made him a
child to be admired, not only at home,
but by all who knew him.
He was considered in many respects
as a kind of living miracle.
After little Arthur began to walk, his
growth in size and strength was more
apparent. His father continued to give
him short lessons; Clara would hear him
while she was at work, and his progress
in learning was indeed wonderful. Be-
ing much confined to the house, all his
pastime and pleasure were derived from
his book.
More exercise in the open air, would,
no doubt, have been beneficial to his
general health, but his sensitive lungs
seemed entirely to forbid it. The


slightest cold would often reduce him so
low that he would be obliged to keep
his bed for many days, and their neigh-
bours would gather around to bid the lit-
tle sufferer their last farewell. At such
times his eye would brighten, and a
smile of pleasure illumine his features
while he would sweetly whisper, I shall
be so glad to die I shall be so happy; I
shall never be sick in heaven.
From attacks like this, he recovered
again, and again. Afterwards, by slow
degrees, he became inured to the warm
sunshine and the fresh air, and when he
was eight years old he joyfully entered
the village school. He was permitted
to go, under the care of some boys older
than himself, with whom he was so great
a favorite, that if the ground was in the
least damp, they would take him up
and carry him all the way in their arms.

In his studies he often excelled those
who were older; but this never seemed
at all to excite their envy, for he was
the pet of the whole school.




AMONG little Arthur's companions was
Joseph Irving, a stout, healthy boy, a
year and a half older than himself.
Joseph had a noble and generous heart,
and he became strongly attached to poor
little Arthur. The very contrast in
their physical natures, seemed to form a
bond of union between them. Often,
the hardy Joseph, with his eyes spark-
ling, and his cheek glowing with health,
in the warmth of his affections, might
be seen, leading his pale-faced little
friend away to one of the seats in the
grove, and there, by themselves, they
would spend almost the whole of the


noon recess, in the enjoyment of each
other's society, and in dividing and shar-
ing each other's dinners. They would
then ramble away to the grove, till little
Arthur would become tired, when Joseph
would sit down and take him in his lap;
and they would converse together for a
long time.
Their themes of conversation were
often far more elevated than those of
many older children. The blue sky
above them, the bright sun, the shining
stars, and the beautiful moon were each
in turn the subject of their childish re-
marks and admiration. I wish I
could live up among the stars," said one,
"how pleasant it must be up there." I
Should be willing to die any time," said
Arthur, "if I couldjust go to that beauti-
ful place." "And I wonder," said Joseph,
"what we shall do there ? I do wish I


knew. But one thing I do know, no-
thing bad can get up there; it is too
pretty." Such were their usual expres-
sions; though sometimes their words
were expressive of greater seriousness
and deeper emotion. 0, how simple and
lovely is the character of some children
before actual sin has added its fearful
stain to their young hearts.
Though poor little Arthur had suf-
fered much pain, never having known
the blessing of health, yet knowing no
other nature than his own, he could not
sorrow for the loss of what he had never
enjoyed; and always living as he did,
in an atmosphere of love, it cannot be
said that he ever had had any real sor-
row of heart. But he was now about to
experience some of its severest pangs.
Having taken a violent cold, which
resulted in dysentery, he was brought


very low; yet every day the kind-
hearted little Joseph was found by his
bed-side, cheering his suffering com-
panion with looks and words of affection.
But one day he was missing-another,
he came not; and a third, brought the
intelligence that he too was fearfully ill.
When Arthur heard this, he seemed to
gather up his little remaining strength
and exclaimed, 0, do let me go and see
Joseph; you can carry me to him-O,
I must see him-and such was the
strength of his desire to visit his sick
friend that he could hardly be persuaded
from it, when the danger of doing so
was explained, and he was promised to
be gratified as soon as possible.
But the next day brought the sadder
news that the once blooming and noble-
hearted Joseph was cold in death. This
they would fain conceal from Arthur;


but their looks and whispers revealed,
that all was not right, and they were
obliged to tell him the truth. Poor lit-
tle Arthur-what could he do but
bury his pale face in the pillow, and
there utter in tears and expressive sobs
the bitter tale of all his grief? The ties
of true friendship had been sundered,
and they must bleed, though it should
cost him his life.
When the first gush of feeling was
over he fainted, and seemed for some
time on the very point of following his
departed friend to the "spirit world."
But on the day of Joseph's funeral he
was so much revived that he begged to
be carried to the window where he could
take a farewell look at the coffin, as it
was borne away from his sight to its
final resting-place. This was done;
and from a distance little Arthur wit-


nessed the burial of his beloved Joseph,
with a composure of mind quite unex-
pected to his friends.
When all was over, they laid him
again in his bed. He then looked up to
his sister, and smiling, said, "I shall
not be long behind. I shall soon go to
see him; bury me beside him when I
am gone. Will you ?" As his father
and sister stood by his bed, they wept
over him the tears of sympathy and love.
Little Arthur closed his eyes and sunk
rapidly away, until they thought him at
rest in the arms of death. But even
then the lamp of life did not go out.
His gentle spirit did not go to meet Jo-
seph's in the bright world beyond the
stars. But the frail tenement of earth
still retained the soul, and soon little
Arthur was seen moving feebly around
the room.


Again he sought his books, and his
mind seemed to have lost nothing of all
he had learned. But the memory of his
dear deceased playmate would often
make his heart sad, and he would say
so mournfully to his sister, I wish I
could have died and gone to Joseph in
heaven." Then his sister would tell
him to take the bible and read to her,
and in doing this, he would again be
Sometimes she would take him by
the hand and lead him to their mother's
grave, tell him her history and describe
her virtues. Often at such times hie
was unable to repress the tears which
these sad remembrances called forth.
Then little Arthur would draw close to
her side, and whispering, say, O, Clara,
dear, I do want to live for your sake,


and be a good boy; and when I am a
man I think I can comfort you."
Clara would often retire to her own
room, close the door, and with little Ar-
thur by her side, she would kneel down
and earnestly crave the blessing of
Heaven on the dear object of her love
and care. Though little Arthur might
not have comprehended the meaning of
all this, yet the sight of his sister on her
knees, and the knowledge that she held
communion with an unseen Father, had
a most salutary effect on his mind, and
no doubt brought down the blessing of
God upon his young spirit. Thus, per-
haps, it was, that the chosen vessel was
prepared finally, to receive the "Word
of Life."
His father watched over his morals
and behavior with great vigilance, and
when he became able to mingle in the


sports of other children, he used every
effort to prevent their having any inju-
rious influence over him. 0, how few
among these plants of immortal growth,
are thus reared and cultivated. How
few, according to the Divine command,
tell their children these things when
they go out, and when they come in,
when they rise up and when they sit
down, in the field and by the way. It
is no wonder then, that "brawls disturb
the streets, and that profanity, sabbath-
breaking, and irreligion stalk abroad at
noon-day, when the children of men
make void the law of God." *



THE perseverance and fidelity with
which Clara Montrose still continued to
discharge her domestic duties, her good
sense, her elegance of person and nnm-
ners, won the admiration of several
young men, who considered her desira-
ble, as a companion for life. From one
young gentleman of great wealth, she
received very marked and generous at-
tentions, which resulted in a proposal of
marriage; to this she replied, that she
could never marry except in accordance
with her father's wishes, nor even then,
unless her house could be a home for
Arthur during his life, and he provided


for, in all respects, as an own child.
Here the young man hesitated, perhaps
considering the child as too great an in-
cumbrance. But finding Clara firm in
her determination, he agreed to comply
with her terms. But his hesitation of
manner created doubts in her mind, as
to the final welfare of her darling Ar-
thur, should she enter on such a change
of Circumstances. She therefore, gave
him a decided refusal, dismissing all
thoughts of any change that might
separate her from the child that in her
view, was the legacy of a dying mother.
Arthur looked up to her in all respects
as he would have done to his mother,
and his love and obedience seemed to
the noble girl, as an equivalent for all
her care.
Though Arthur was generally obe-
dient and amiable, yet as he grew older


and associated with other boys, new
desires and new passions seemed to be
unfolded. He was one of the human
family, with a heart prone to evil,
though the restraints of circumstances,
had, in a great measure, prevented his
falling into the sinful practices of many
Though Arthur had ever considered
his father as a model of wisdom, as well
as of kindness, and reposed in him a
confidence similar to that which the
child of God should repose in his Hea-
venly Father, yet the time was now
come when Arthur's faith in his father
was to be shaken.
A scene of amusement which was
considered by sober-minded people as
immoral in its tendency, in passing
through the village, stopped for exhibi-
tioA at a public house. The graver part


of community lamented its appearance
very much, knowing it would stir up all
the rowdies, and deprive of their sober
senses many who otherwise would never
think of such folly. Their apprehen-
sions, it appears, were well founded, for
the little people of Friendsville seemed
determined to show to the world, that
human nature is the same everywhere.
They crowded around the tavern
doors, and gathered in groups before the
places where the flaming hand-bills were
posted up. Pockets were searched and
pennies counted, with as much interest
as if the exhibition had really been worth
paying for. The malady was not only
epidemic, but contagious, and our friend
Arthur did not escape its influence.
He ran home to obtain his father's per-
mission to go. And what was his sur.
prise and disappointment when he re-


ceived a decided refusal. Arthur had
never dreamed of insisting on any thing
which his father denied him, but now
he felt tempted to urge his request and
inquire the reasons of his refusal. But
his habits of obedience, and respect to
his father's judgment, were so thorough-
ly confirmed; that he turned away with-
out saying a word. But his disappoint-
ment was much increased when he met
the boys, and told them that he was for-
bidden to go; for they began with most
eloquent descriptions of the sights to be
seen and the wonders to be performed.
Arthur went to his room, feeling, for
the first time, that his father was un-
kind, and there in tears gave vent to
his grief. His father came in, and find-
ing him thus, said, "Arthur, what are
you crying for? are you ill, my son ?"
No, sir."


"What then is the matter? Is it be-
cause I would not let you go to the
shows ?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did I ever refuse you any thing
that was for your good ?"
No, sir."
"I thought you believed that I always
knew what was best for you."
So I did, but the boys are all going,
and they want me to go too, and they
say it will be- so nice." And then Ar-
thur sobbed again.
"And so you had rather be a com-
panion of fools, than please your father.
That being the case I shall leave you
where you can have leisure to deter-
mine whether your father knows best
or not." So saying, he took Arthur by
the hand, led him to a closet, and telling
him to enter, said, "If you wish to cry


to see a puppet show, you can cry
there." He then fastened the door and
left him alone.
This was Arthur's first manifestation
of self-will, and this, his first punish-
ment. His reflections while a prisoner
were very sad indeed, and it was a long
time after his release, before he could
become composed. During this time
his sister drew him to her side, ex-
plained to him the evils of such exhibi-
tions, the character of those concerned
in them, and the bad use they made of
their money. When Arthur heard this,
he felt ashamed that he had not first
enquired of his friends a little more
about the shows, instead of listening to
the boys. 0, if children would only ask
of their friends before they do any thing,
whether it would be right or wrong to


do so, they would not so often be led
astray by evil companions.
This was not the only instance of error
in the early life of Arthur. In associat-
ing with other boys he would sometimes
be drawn aside from the path of duty,
which his careful parent had marked
out for him. Once, and once only, he
was betrayed into willful disobedience.
For this he suffered the deserved pun-
ishment, which prevented his ever doing
so again. "Chasten thy son while
there is hope, and let not thy soul spare
for his crying. He that spareth the
rod, hateth his son. For the rod and
reproof give wisdom."
Children, which of you, in looking
back upon your past lives, can see only
one instance in which you have will-
fully disobeyed your parents? 0, I fear
that a hundred would not be the amount


of all the times which some of you have
done it. And how are you going to
meet that God who has said, Children
obey your parents in the Lord, for this
is right?" When he has also said, "The
soul that sinneth, it shall die." But if
you are sorry for this, and resolved to do
it no more, he will forgive you for the
sake of the blessed Redeemer, if you
ask him; and keep you from further
sin. Be sure then to Seek the Lord
while he may be found, and call upon
him while he is near."



ABOUT the time that Arthur had attain
ed the age of eleven years, Mr. Montrose,
thinking a change of location might be
advantageous to his business, resolved
to make the experiment.
Arthur, though slender and delicate,
was as tall as other boys of his age.
Friends and physician were agreed
that some light work would benefit his
health, it was decided best for him to
learn a trade. He was accordingly
placed under the tuition of his eldest
brother, who being unmarried took him
to board in the same family with him-
self. When Mr. Montrose left Friends-
5* (53)


ville, the family was broken up, and
Clara went to reside with a friend.
This was very sad for poor Arthur.
Being always accustomed to the tender
care of his sister, he keenly felt the
change of finding himself among stran-
gers who felt no special interest in him.
The weakness of his lungs had so
affected his voice that he became averse
to conversation, He was timid and
shy. Hie could not even eat with free-
dom, or feel at home any where. He
would often retire and weep alone, at
the sad change which had deprived him
of his father's house. His grief was
visible in his countenance, but cold eyes
were on him, and cold hearts around
him, and none cared for the poor orphan
Finding his situation no longer beara-
ble he went to his sister, and into her


sympathizing bosom he poured the sad
tale of all his sorrows. To a stout boy
of manly arid courageous spirit, they
would have been just no sorrows at all,
but to one of his physical weakness, and
sensitive temperament, they were too
great to be borne.
Clara instantly resolved that if she
could shield her brother from the harsh
storms which were now beating upon
his tender spirit, she would certainly do
so. She therefore went to her eldest
brother, and proposed to him to com-
mence house-keeping, stating as a rea,
son, that it would be less expensive than
to board both himself and Arthur; and
also, that it would be more pleasant;
adding further, her own willingness to
attend to the comfort of the family, and
perform all the labor without any com-
pensation. Finding her brother pleased


with this proposal, arrangements were
soon made, and for the sake of her dar-
ling Arthur, Clara Montrose again as-
sumed the cares and labor of house-
It was indeed a happy day for the
poor motherless boy, when returning
from his task he could seat himself by
his beloved sister, lay his weary head
on her kind lap, listen to her instructive
conversation, and feel once more that he
had a home. 0, the charm of that word.
He who was never touched with its soft
and thrilling melody, is indeed deaf to
all the music of the soul.
Very beautifully has some writer in-
vested with pre-eminence above all
others, the three tender, expressive
words, MOTHER, HOME and HEAVEN. O,
what is life ? and what is language de-


prived of these? but more than all, the
Arthur being once more surrounded
by the fostering influences of home, it
became evident that the occupation he
had chosen, was adapted to the delicacy
of his constitution. His attacks of dis-
ease were less frequent and severe, and
his system gradually gained strength.
Thus the Providence that sustained the
mother in the hour of her extremity,
had raised up a kind shepherd to lead
this tender lamb into green pastures,
and beside still waters. "I have been
young," says the Psalmist, and now
am old, but I have never seen the
righteous forsaken or his seed begging
At home, Arthur spent most of his
leisure, in aiding his sister in her domes-
tic labors, in reading to her, or pursuing


some useful study. Thus passed hap-
pily away the days, weeks and months,
of about two years, when Charles, the
elder brother, was married to an amiable
young lady, a member of the Society of
Friends. Being thoroughly domestic in
her habits, she proved herself a valuable
acquisition to the family. She was sin-
cerely welcomed to the home of their
brother by Clara and Arthur. The lat-
ter soon learned to love her for her
sweetness of disposition and the interest
she seemed to take in him. The law of
kindness which ever dwelt upon the
tongue of Mrs. Montrose, harmonized so
sweetly with the tender, refined, and
gentle spirit of Arthur, that it would
seem as if Providence had directed
angels to minister to the son of her who
slept in Jesus.



MR. Charles Montrose was now be-
coming quite interested in the subject of
emigration to the west, but nothing was
decided upon, until about two years
after his marriage.
It was one frosty evening in the ear-
ly spring of 1814, when the chilly wind
without, made home and the fire-side
the most desirable retreat, the Montrose
family, to which had been added a little
daughter, just now beginning to prattle,
were seated, and hourly expecting Mr.
M. to join them. Later than usual, he
made his appearance, and with a coun-
tenance expressing unusual interest in


something. The little one supposing
herself of course, to be the subject, put
up her hands to be taken. The father
took her and tossing her up, said play-
fully, "I wonder how little Sis would
like a trip to the 'West.'" All looked
up in surprise.
"What does thee mean by that,
Charles ?" inquired Mrs. Montrose, with
a smile.
"I mean," said he, "that I have a
notion to pack up soon, and be off, to try
my luck in the 'West.' I am tired of
dragging on here, day after day, just to
make a bare living, and that is all."
"Well Charles, we ought to be thank-
ful," said Mrs. M., if we can make a
living. There are a great many in the
world that can't even do that. And
while we have health, and a plenty to


eat and drink, we certainly fare much
better than we deserve."
"I am aware of all that," said Charles,
"but I believe that in that fine growing
country, I could soon have a home for
thee, and for all of us, and perhaps, be-
come a rich man before I die."
"Well," said Mrs. M., "if thee
chooses to go, I shall not oppose thee,
or shed many tears about it. But,
must we leave Clara and Arthur be-
hind ?"
"Just as they say about that," said
he: "Arthur, my boy, how do you think
you would endure a tramp over the
mountains, and a float on a raft down
the Ohio ?"
"First rate," said he, "first rate;
that is, if Clara would go too."
Well, Charles," said Clara, if thee
does really go, and Arthur wishes to go


with thee, I do not object to trying it
myself. If I don't like it, I can return
sometime you know."
Thus the matter was settled, and
quite in earnest too.
During the spring Mr. Montrose was
busily engaged in making the necessary
arrangements for a removal. Arthur's
anticipations were formed from his read-
ing, and the descriptions of those whose
views of the West had invested it with
almost a paradisaical charm.
He therefore watched with the most
intense interest, every arrangement con-
nected with the proposed journey.
There were no railroads in those
days. The stage road over the moun-
tains, though commenced, was not yet
open for travelers. The best means of
conveyance which they could obtain,
that would bear the dragging up, the


jolting down, and the winding along
hill-sides, and around stumps and trees,
was a one-horse wagon. A comfortable
and substantial article of the kind was
therefore obtained, with a strong and
faithful horse. Then a thousand and
one little conveniences were procured,
such as the prospect of their journey,
and a future residence in a new country
suggested, might be necessary; and
many were the tokens of remembrance
presented to therh by their kind neigh-
bours, in Friendsville. These, with
materials for entering into business,
were packed at the bottom of the
wagon. Next the family furniture,
such as beds, bedding, etc., and lastly,
things necessary for their journey. Ar-
rangements were made for but one of
the family to ride at the same time;


and the one enjoying this privilege, of
course, was to carry the baby.
Such an expedition as this, would
hardly be thought practicable by some,
in these days of easy and rapid travel-
ing. But this little party set forward
under circumstances far more comforta-
ble than many who have threaded their
toilsome way through forests, over moun-
tain, prairie, and stream, to find a
home somewhere in the broad extent of
the Great Western Valley.
The place determined on as a future
residence, was a town in one of the
eastern counties of Ohio. A relation
who had settled there some time pre-
vious, had written urgent requests for
Mr. Montrose to come on, in view of
the fine prospects the place afforded for
The anticipated removal of the Mon-


Stroke family had caused much excite-
ment in the little community of Friends-
ville. Some thought they would turn
about and come back, before they got
half way there. Others, that they
would be sick and die on the way, or be
devoured by wild beasts. Some were
very certain that Arthur and the baby
could never endure such a journey; and
some thought if they all lived to get
there, they would die of home-sickness,
and that the fever and ague would cer-
tainly kill some of them, if they did not
die with any thing else. Thus the un-
dertaking was considered as extremely
perilous, and attended with certain
failure. But the purpose of Mr. Mon-
trose once fixed, he was not to be
Many parting visits were made on
both sides, and many tokens of remem4


brance exchanged. Arthur and Clara
made a long visit to the grave of their
dear mother, and wept over it with deep
emotions of filial gratitude, love, and
When the hour of departure arrived,
and the wagon actually stood before the
door, there was a general rush of the
inhabitants to the place, and in a short
time between sixty and seventy were pre-
sent. The gathering was composed of
men, women and children. Many tears
were shed, many farewells were given,
and many blessings invoked. Clara
and Mrs. Montrose were nearly over-
come with emotion. ,Such expressions
of attachment and regret, the sunder-
ing of early ties, the breaking off of old
and loved associations, was to them well
nigh overwhelming. Arthur, though
proud of being one in a party of such


prominent interest, yet wept freely
at the thought of parting with some
dear friends whom he might never
again see.
Poor boy, he will never stand it; it
will be the death of him before he gets
half way there," was the language of
many who had watched his delicate
childhood, and knew him still to be
very frail.
After the last article was placed in
the wagon, and Mrs. M., with her babe
seated therein, her husband took the
reins, and when he had given the part-
ing grasp to the hand of many an old
friend, they moved on. Clara and Ar-
thur followed on foot, with a number of
friends who walked along with them
some distance on the way.
Having arrived in Philadelphia, they
were joined by several families with like


equipment for traveling, and a similar
destination. Being personally acquaint-
ed with some of them, the meeting was
very pleasant on the part of our friends,
and they proceeded right merrily on
their way, exciting no small degree of
curiosity wherever they passed.
Their slow rate of traveling, especial-
ly when ascending the mountains, would
be deemed quite insupportable in these
days of steam and improved turnpikes.
Though it was now in the blooming
month of June, when nature is clad in
her loveliest robes, though the music of
birds was heard in the trees, though the
air was fragrant with flowers, and the
scenery now picturesque, then beautiful,
wild or grand; yet they had not much
time or disposition to study the beau-
ties of nature; for their pathway often
led over mountains of almost perpen-


dicular steepness, and sometimes it was
barricaded with fallen timbers, stumps
and underbrush. Now their way was
through a dense forest, where their
wagon could hardly advance a step
without being broken to pieces; now
winding around a dangerous declivity;
and anon, on the edge of a frightful
When one was bruised and sore with
being jolted along in the wagon, and the
care of the babe, one who was walking
would take his place; thus alternat-
ing, as the necessity of the case might
demand. Often, being weary or pained
with riding, or fatigued with walking,
they were glad when the shades of night
closed in around them, if they could but
find a place of repose. But frequently,
on coming to a house for public enter-
tainment they would find the accommo-


dations so uninviting, that they would
rather encamp in the woods, but for the
numerous robbers which then infested
the country. Rains too, were so fre-
quent and abundant, that the otherwise
difficult way was often rendered quite
impassable, and they were sometimes
compelled to halt for several days and
accept of almost anything which would
afford them a shelter.
Alas, how many are the sacrifices
and how numerous the perils that man is
willing to endure to find an earthly
home, and lay up here, that which must
be resigned at the hour of death. But
how few are willing to yield any part of
their personal ease, and comfort, or for-
tune, for an unfailing portion beyond
the grave, or to disseminate the light
of the glorious Gospel, and plant the
churches of Christ in the dark places of


the earth. Ah, truly, the love of self must
be supreme in the human heart, when
God is not honored, or his kingdom de-
sired, above the fading treasures of earth.
The first and second days of the jour-
ney, Arthur was much fatigued. But
the third he suffered less; then his ap-
petite began to improve, and in a little
more than a week he was found to have
gained considerable flesh. But to Mrs.
Montrose and Clara, it was a toilsome
and fatiguing journey indeed; yet while
they were in health they would not com-
plain, for the sake of Charles and Ar-
thur, to whose anxiety for them, they
would by no means, add another pang.
How much, and how cheerfully we can
suffer for those we love and how much
are the rough places in the pathway of
life, smoothed by the kindness and
affection of friends.



AFTER a journey of three weeks, Mr.
Charles Montrose and family arrived at
Pittsburg, without having met with any
serious accident, or illness. The watch-
ful care of Providence had been as a
pillar of cloud by day, and fire by
night, to shield them from danger, and
guide them thus far on their proposed
Pittsburg, though then called the key
of the "West," was not the crowded
bustling place which it has since be-
come. No lines of steamers lay an-
chored along its spacious wharves.
Neither stage, or omnibus greeted the


eye or ear of the traveler, pack-horses
and wagons being the only conveyances
for persons and goods. It was, never-
theless, a considerable town, with a fair
prospect of future greatness. Here our
travelers stopped for a while to rest and
look about and gain some necessary in-
formation in regard to the prospects for
business. After consulting various indi-
viduals on this subject, they decided in
favor of Cincinnati, as a location.
This place was then the centre of at-
traction for western emigrants; and
expeditions thither were then made in
barges and keel boats, and occupied
nearly a whole season in making a sin-
gle trip. Of these, none were to be ob-
tained at present; but after waiting
several days, they succeeded in getting
an ark, a kind of boat with a house in
it, like the pictures of Noah's ark which


are seen in children's books. On board
this rude and incommodious vessel were
crowded sixty souls with their horses
and baggage. But even here, they were
much more comfortable than in travel-
ing by land.
On one occasion in attempting to pass
a narrow part of the boat occupied by
the animals, Arthur fell overboard.
Knowing that he was unable to swim,
his friends were greatly alarmed, but a
rope being thrown to him before the
boat had time to pass over him, he
grasped it with a firm hand, and was
drawn up in safety. Had he remained
in the water a moment longer, the force
of the waves occasioned by the passing
of the boat, would have overwhelmed
him, and he must have sunk to rise no
When asked if he felt afraid, he re-


plied, "Not in the least; he knew he
should be saved somehow, though he
could not swim." His trust in God did
not forsake the child of Providence in
this fearful hour, but it bore him above
the flood, and nerved him to lay hold on
strength, by which he was delivered
from a watery grave. After a passage
down the river of many days, the party
arrived at Cincinnati, which was then
but a thriving village, with about five
hundred dwellings, and a proportionate
number of stores and public buildings.
Now it is one of the largest and most
flourishing cities in the United States,
with hundreds of steamers crowding its
wharves, and a vast population. It is
also the terminating point of canals and
railroads from almost every direction.
Mr. Montrose clearly foresaw the fu-
ture prosperity of this place, and he ac-

cordingly spent several days in endea-
voring to procure a comfortable resi-
dence and location for himself and
family, but owing to the great influx of
strangers at this time, he found it utter-
ly impossible to do so. He was there-
fore obliged to abandon the idea of re-
maining at that place.




OUR young friend Arthur had been
highly interested in the various things
which he saw during his stay in the
emporium of the west, every thing being
so different from the mature and staid
elegance of Philadelphia. But before
his eyes were half satisfied with seeing,
the wagon was again packed and the
faithful animal harnessed, and our
travelers again took their departure for
what was then, a far off country.
Cincinnati, by the course of the river,
is distant four hundred miles below
Pittsburg, and across the State to the
place where Mr. M. designed to locate,
7# (77)


nearly two hundred more. A part of
the way lay through swamps which had
been bridged with large logs. Over
these the poor horse could scarcely draw
his burdens; and the foot-paths were
even worse than those in their native
State. But notwithstanding the diffi-
culties, not to say perils of the under-
taking, our heroes were not to be
diverted from their purpose by any
thing but stern necessity.
The'watchful eye of Providence being
over them all the time, our travelers
arrived at the place which was to be
their future home, on the morning of a
bright and pleasant fourth of July,
without having experienced any greater
evils than those of fatigue and home-
The friend of Mr. M., not residing in
the village, but on a farm a few miles


distant, they passed on, purposing to
remain at his house until they could
provide a home for themselves.
There were but few dwellings in the
village as yet, and the streets were only
foot-paths studded with stumps of trees,
which had been cut down and burned.
One tree of large size, still remained
in the centre, under whose friendly
shade the boys often resorted for sport,
the tired laborer for rest, and the social
for conversation.
Soon they came to a beautiful grove
where the villagers had spread a rural
table, and were just now commencing
the festivities of the day. The men
had left their fields, and in their best
attire, with friends and neighbours, had
gathered around a common board, load-
ed with all the luxuries which the sea-
son and country afforded. The women


too, were there in their coarse straw
hats, which their own fingers had
platted, and made in the form of men's,
tied down at the ears. But few of them
even sported the elegance of a calico
dress, and a silk one was as rare as the
robes of royalty. They were clad in
homespun linen, and many of them
never wore a shoe except in winter.
But notwithstanding these privations
they were social in their feelings, and
as happy as the sunny birth-day anni-
versary of their country's freedom could
possibly make them. The men too gave
their toasts as freely and as heartily
over their glasses of whiskey, beer, or
punch, as they would over the spark-
ling champagne or Madeira. Some
who had moral courage enough to ad-
vocate the principles of entire absti-
nence, pledged devotion to their coun-


try in glasses of cold water from the
springs around them. The red men
of the forest were also there, gathered
in groups at no great distance, some
cooking their own food, others receiv-
ing portions from the table of the white
The wildness of the scenery was a
source of admiration to our young
hero. The dense forests and newly
cleared openings, the rude log cabins,
and rail fences, he contrasted with
the highly cultivated regions of his
early home. But the wild men that
he saw, were objects of terror to his
young and timid spirit. Yet he need
not have feared these, for they were
a part of the Wyandott tribe, who
had distinguished themselves for their
kind treatment of prisoners who fell


into their hands in time of war. They
were friendly towards the settlers, and
often visited the town in great num-
bers, for the purpose of trading with
them. They excited no fears and did
no harm.
Had the white men always met this
apparently doomed and withering peo-
ple with the gospel alone, had they
ever dealt with them sincerely and
justly, had the intoxicating and poi-
sonous cup never been put to their lips,
there might have been but few scenes
of cruelty and bloodshed on their part,
to record in the annals of our country.
The gospel is a system of peace, and
never fails to secure it when it is re-
ceived. But far too few have been
its messages to the "Red men of the
Our travelers would fain have lin-


gered awhile with the gathering in the
grove, but being way-worn and weary,
they were glad to move on to a place of



AFTER examining several sections of
the country, Mr. Montrose decided on lo-
cating in the town which he had passed
through on the day we have before men-
tioned. It was the county seat of a
very fertile tract of country, and well
situated for the purpose of business.
Alas, how often it is, that these con-
siderations are the first to engage the
attention of good men even, in the
choice of a residence. They seem not
to be aware that their growth in grace,
and the salvation of their children de-
pend on the constant application of the
means. Hence it is that there is so


much destitution of this, in many parts
of the western country.
Had the early settlers of this exten-
sive region, sought first the kingdom of
God and his righteousness, as is the
duty of every one, they would have
planted their settlements in colonies,
rather than in isolated families, taking
with them the word of life, the man of
God, and a teacher for their children.
And while they secured a fertile soil,
and an advantageous position, the same
season they cut down the trees and built
their own log houses, they would have
built one for their minister, one .for a
place of worship, and one for the instruc-
tion of their children. Then on the
Sabbath they would have said, "Come,
let us go up to the house of the Lord, to
the testimony of the God of Israel."
On week days, they would have sent


their children to school, while they,
with less interruption, could work to
sustain them.
Had all the western and southwestern
emigrants done this,long before now, the
wilderness and solitary place would have
been glad for them, and the desert re-
joiced and blossomed as the rose. The
Man of Sin" would never have gained
the vantage ground which he now has,
or Infidelity, with shameless front, giv-
ing the lie to nature, and carrying in its
train profanity, falsehood, discord, and
other deeds of darkness. How can we
pray, "Lead us not into temptation,"
when we go out and locate ourselves in
the midst of such unholy influences,
with no other object than that of earth-
ly gain?
The example of Lot in choosing to
dwell in Sodom, merely, "because it was


a well watered and fertile country," fur-
nishes an apt illustration of the folly of
that course, which seeks first the riches
of earth, rather than to dwell with
the people of God. How can one "dwell
in the house of the Lord forever," if he
locates himself so far from it that he
can seldom or never reach it? How
can the strength of a community be in
the sanctuary, and their heart in its
ways, when they never appear in Zion
before the Lord? And how can child-
ren be trained up in the way they
should go, in the wilds of a new coun-
try, where the privileges of the gospel
and the means of education do not
exist? Far better would it be for child-
ren, as a general thing, never to have
been born, than to be trained up away
from these holy influences.
Arthur now found himself in a new


location, entirely different from his for-
mer home, and calmly settled down at
his trade. The simple novelties around
him and the wildness of nature, soon
ceased to excite his attention.
His brother readily became assimi-
lated to the ways of the new country,
leaving the providing for his family en-
tirely to his wife, and spending his time
in planning and executing various modes
of speculation, in order to become speedily
rich. Hence, it fell to the lot of Arthur
to perform many tasks to which he had
hitherto been unaccustomed, and which
it would seem were too hard for one so
frail and delicate. This his kind sister
regretted deeply, but no remedy ex-
Their only means of procuring them-
selves fuel, was to go into the woods,
cut down such small trees as their


strength permitted, search for what
might lie strewed on the ground, and
carry it home, sometimes a long dis-
tance, in their arms. Such work as
this, is even now, performed frequently
by the females of a family, not only
while the husband and father is at work
in the field, but when he is going about
with his hands in his pockets, talking of
trade, speculation, or politics.
Arthur, almost every day, would
have to make a long excursion into the
woods in search of stray cattle, and fre-
quently, with his sister, and carrying
the babe, he would have to ascend the
high hills, to bring water for family use.
No wells had yet been dug, and no
assistance could be obtained, even when
a high compensation was offered, for
every family had as much as all could
do; consequently there were no spare


hands. But strange as it may seem to
some, Arthur's health daily improved.
His very toils, privations, and hard-
ships gave strength and elasticity to his
Clara found ample employment for
her skill in needle-work; doing all which
was necessary in the family, and much
that was sent her by other families in
the settlement.
Mrs. Montrose applied herself to the
care of her child, her home, her garden,
her spinning and weaving, knitting, &c.
Besides this, she would often take her
babe into the field, lay it down under
the shade of a tree, while she assisted
her husband in whatever he was then
Occasionally there would be divine
service in the place on the Sabbath, led
by some one who was making the cir-


cult of the county, and sometimes for a
few weeks in the winter there existed
something that had the name of a
Such is life in a new country, and
such the scenes through which young
Arthur was now daily passing.
It will not be thought strange that
Arthur soon became tired of such con-
tinued draughts upon his time and
strength, unaccompanied by the recrea-
tions of his former mode of living. The
quietude and neatness of Friendsville;
the memory of his schoolmates, and the
haunts of his boyhood, the great dis-
tance which now lay between, the un-
cultivated manners of the settlers, and
his want of the comforts which once
surrounded him, were now contrasted,
and he experienced that heart-sinking
disease of home-sickness. Yet he felt


ashamed to acknowledge it. He had
been so eager to tread the soil of the
" Great West," had endured the journey
so bravely, that he could not bear to let
even his favorite sister know his
thoughts and feelings. He feared it
would make her unhappy. To do him
justice, he tried to banish them from
his mind, by the hope that he would
soon get used to his condition. But it
would not do. Above the dwelling in
which they resided, was an old loft used
for lumber. Through this loft ran one
of those huge chimneys peculiar to the
log cabin. It had a broad Dutch fire-
place, which had fallen into disuse. Into
a corner of this chimney would Arthur
creep, whenever he felt overburdened
with a fit of sorrow, and there give vent
to a plentiful burst of tears. After thus
.relieving himself, he would stay until he


could become calm, and then away from
the observation of the family, he would
bathe his eyes and his face, and return
to his work bench as if nothing had
occurred. But Clara was too keen in
her perceptions to be long deceived, and
one day after the usual scene had taken
place, she called Arthur to her side, and
inquired if he was not well ?"
He replied in the affirmative.
Well, what is the matter with
"Don't say that, I have watched you
for some time, and I believe you often
cry by yourself. Are you not homesick
out here ?"
"Why yes, I am a little so, some-
"Tell me all, Arthur. I came here


for your sake, and if you are unhappy,
you shall not stay."
Touched by her kind sympathy, Ar-
thur burst into tears, and said, I have
been unhappy a long time, but did not
want you to know it. I do not like this
country, nor do I think I ever shall;
and it is so long since I saw my
"Well, don't cry, keep up heart a
little longer, and I will take you back
again to see our father, and our brothers
and sisters. I do not like it here very
well myself, and if Charles and his wife
can get along without us, we will go
home the first opportunity."
Thus comforted, Arthur cheered him-
self up, and determined to do his duty
while he remained.



IT was not long before Clara announc-
ed to her brother Charles, her intention
to return and take Arthur with her.
Her presence being a source of comfort
and usefulness, and that of Arthur the
same, both Mr. and Mrs. M. were un-
willing to part with them. The resolu-
tion Clara had formed by the bed of her
dying mother, had never been forgotten.
Arthur's happiness was her care. And
she saw plainly that for a lad like him,
the rough usages and few privileges of a
new country, were alike unfitted. She
possessed much firmness and resolution,
and her plans once formed, were prompt-


ly executed. A party of wagoners were
about to visit Philadelphia, to obtain
goods to supply the dealers of that re-
gion. With one of them, a sober, re-
spectable man, she engaged passage for
herself and Arthur. Two long years
had elapsed since their arrival, and each
was glad to return once more to their
former home, and old friends.
Their journey was undertaken at a
pleasant time of the year. The roads
had improved considerably since they
passed over them before, and in about
two weeks after leaving Ohio, they ar-
rived at Friendsville.
The good mothers could scarcely be-
lieve their own eyes. They could not
think that Arthur Montrose had crossed
the mountains twice, and was yet living
and well. All were pleased to welcome
them back. And their hospitalities


were freely tendered, while Arthur and
Clara could not satisfy their curiosity to
"hear about the West."
Their father on learning of their arri-
val hastened to greet his children. He
rejoiced to embrace in his arms once
more the "Benjamin" of his old age.
No one could tell how deeply he lament-
ed the circumstances which rendered his
absence from his children, arid their
scattered condition unavoidable. Glad-
ly would he have clustered them as in
days gone by, around one hearthstone.
But he had learned to acquiesce in the
disposal of an all-wise Providence.
The haunts sacred to memory and
affection were once more revisited, by
this loving sister and brother. Once
more they stood beside their mother's
grave-and once more Clara reminded
Arthur of the confidence their dying


parent had expressed, that God could
preserve the child she had dedicated to
his service.
Clara had never professed a personal
interest in religion; but latterly, her
life had given evidence that she thought
much of its importance. She -seemed
more deeply anxious that her brother
should become all that his dying mother
had hoped and prayed for. Arthur
willingly submitted his feelings to the
influence of his gentle sister, yet re-
mained a stranger still to the power of
converting grace.
Two years at the West "-mingling
in a society devoid of formality or refine-
ment, accustomed to witness the native
expressions of emotion, whether in kind-
ness or in anger, had effected a change
in the feelings of both Clara and Ar-

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