PEB 1 _K0 F'ROMTH 'fj\ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES HASTINGS, ThoiiiasC' musician, b. in Wash- ington, Litchfield co., Conn., 15 Oct., 1784 ; d. in New York city, 15 May, 1872. In 1796 he removed with his parents to a farm in Clinton, N. Y. He attended the district-school, and began to study music with a sixpenny gamut-book of four small pages. When about eighteen he became leader of the village choir. His brother presented him at this time with an elaborate treatise on music, which he mastered without aid, and in 1806 he was invited to take charge of a singing-school. He soon achieved reputation in training church-choirs, and his services were much in demand. He went 1817 to Troy, subsequently to Albany, and afterward took editorial charge of a religious news- paper in Utica entitled the " Western .Recorder," which gave large space to church-music. He held this post for nine years, during which time he lec- tured repeatedly in Albany, New York, Philadel- phia, and Princeton, N. J. In 1832 he went to New York, where he remained till his death. He endeav- ored to improve the character of the church-music in the churches of New York. For many years he was choir-director in Dr. Mason's church in Bleecker street, and devoted his time to preparing collections of sacred music, the composition of tunes and hymns, and the editing of musical peri- odicals. He was a constant contributor to the re- ligious press, and in 1835-'7 issued the "Musical Magazine." The University of the city of New York gave him the degree of doctor of music in 1858. His publications number nearly fifty sepa- rate volumes, and include " The Musical Reader " (Utica, 1818) ; " Dissertation on Musical Taste " (Albany, 1822 ; 2d ed., rewritten, New York, 1853) ; " Spiritual Songs " (New York, 1831) ; " The Moth- er's Nursery Songs " (1834) ; " Anthems, Motets, and Set Pieces " (1836) ; " The Manhattan Collec- tion "(1837); "Elements of Vocal Music " (1839) ; " Sacred Songs " (1842) ; " Indian Melodies Har- monized " (1845) ; " Devotional Hymns and Poems " (1850) ; " The Presbyterian Psalmodist " (Philadel- phia, 1852) : " The History of Forty Choirs " (New York. 1853); " Selah " (1856) : " Hastings's Church Music " (1860) ; and "Introits" (1865). His son, Thomas Samuel, clergyman, b. in Utica, N. Y., 28 Aug., 1827, was graduated at Hamilton in 1848, and at the Union theological seminary. New York city, in 1851. He was pastor of Presbyterian churches in Mendham, N. J., in 1852-'6, and in New York city in 1856-'82. He then became pro- fessor of sacred rhetoric in Union theological sem- inary, which post he now holds (1887). He received the degree of D. D. from the University of the city of New York in 1865. He edited "Church 1857. V PEBBLES FROM THE PATH OF A PILGRIM, BY HARRIET B. HASTINGS. BOSTON: H. L. HASTINGS, 47 CORNHILL, LONDON AGENTS : MARSHALL BROTHERS, 5a PATKRNOSTKR Kow, E. C. PHINTKD IN AMERICA. COPYRIGHT, ]8?1, H. L. HASTINGS, BOSTON, MASS, Pebbles, 13M 2, '94. KEPOSITOKT FKESS, VJ COKNUILL 8V PREFACE. In the path of pilgrimage there are many rough and (s> toilsome places, and often tlie wayfarer's feet are worn uj and wearied with the march, and bruised by pebbles that are scattered ulong the road. Yet some of these oc are precious stones, and are well worth preserving. gg And so I have gathered up a few of the pebbles in the Zi path, and as the journey's end seems drawing on, I love to look over the treasures which memory has stored up, ^ and show to my fellow travelers some of the precious things which I have found in the way that the Lord CM hath led me. This little book is a book of facts, not of fancies ; of pebbles, not of fables. It has been the distinct inten- tion, to embellish nothing and to invent nothing; but Q simply to represent facts as they actually occurred in the gone-by years. Many precious things have escaped O from memory, and names and dates and places have 2 sometimes been lost beyond recall; but the facts here ui related stand clearly out upon memory's pages, and in many instances they have been and can be confirmed by the testimony of two or three witnesses, by which every word shall be established. This little book is sent forth in response to the earnest call of many interested friends, some of them, long and 448141 Preface. well known, and others who have sent a stranger's greet- ing, and offered a stranger's prayer for a benediction upon the little volume, even while it was yet unfinished. It will not be needful to explain to such persons the purpose of this book, and it only remains to ask of those who love to pray, that they will beseech the Most High to grant his blessing on those who peruse these simple records that they also may be guided in the path of pilgrimage, and led into the goodly land with all the ransomed of the Lord. May we meet there, is the prayer of THE AUTHOR. October, 1881. CONTENTS. PAGE THE FATHERLESS GIRL 9 " THE STORY OF AN APRON 34 ^ A BLESSED CHILD 45 ' THE ORPHAN GIRL 5G i THE BROKEN SNARE 66 THE REFUGE 75 A SAD, SAD TALE 76 ^ THE FOUR BED-QUILTS 81 "ONE MORE UNFORTUNATE." 91 MY THANKSGIVING DINNER 100 r Two SUITS OF CLOTHES 117 LENT AND PAID AGAIN 124 SOUTHERN MISSION WORK 142 // TO MY WIFE 150 THE PARTING 153 Contents. INCIDENTS IN SOUTHERN WORK 156 AMONG THE SAND HILLERS ... . 156 A CARPENTER PROVIDED 164 UNDERGROUND TELEGRAPHS . . . 170 OVERCOMING EVIL WITH GOOD. . 181 A THOUSAND DOLLARS 187 THE REGIONS BEYOND 191 A TRIP TO TENNESSEE 202 A SOUTHERN TRIP 206 SUMMARY OF SOUTHERN WORK 2b4 RECEIPTS AND EXPENSES 240 SUPPLIES DISTRIBUTED 242 REPOSITORY OUTLAY 245 UNSECTARIAN WORK 250 SCRIPTURAL TRACT REPOSITORY 257 "TRIED WITH FIRE" 265 DELIVERANCES FROM DEATH 275 THE FALLING BRIDGE 279 A FEARFUL RIDE 281 DREAMS AND IMPRESSIONS 287 MURDER IN THE AIR 288 CALLED FROM DINNER 291 OMINOUS DREAMS 294 A JONAH VOYAGE 300 G THE FATHERLESS GIRL. There is no school like experience in which to learn lessons of pity, sympathy, and love. There God teaches us to care for those who are in trouble and affliction. There we are pre- pared to weep with those that weep ; and the lessons thus graven on our souls can never be erased. Thus, by bitter sorrows and suffering, God taught me in the days of my early childhood to pity the fatherless and sympathize with the afflicted. "Keep together, Harriet," said my father, half deliriously, to his wife, who watched by his side, while he lay upon his dying bed. "Keep together," he repeated; as if some premonition of scattering and trouble was in his mind ; and so he died. But there were seven of us children , six of whom were unmarried and at home, and I was the youngest of them all ; and poor mother, though full of energy, economy, and thrift, 9 The Fatherless Girl. found it a task to care for and watch over such a flock of growing and headstrong children as we were. Soon after father died a man named C. came to visit my mother. He professed great sym- pathy for her, and pretended that he had been one of my father's warmest friends. My mother knew but little of him, except that he had formerly carried the mail ; but as he seemed greatly interested in our welfare and appeared very kind, she consented to have him appointed as guardian for her children, as she felt that the care of them was too great a task for her. After he was appointed as our guardian he persuaded her that it was better to have the children bound out. He wanted the eldest boy ; another was taken away thirty miles ; another forty ; a sister was taken twelve miles in another direction, and only myself and my sister next older remained at home. Mr. C. wanted mother to give me to him, but she was unwilling to do it ; but she con- sented that my sister should go with him and remain in his family for a while. She accord- ingly went, to my great sorrow, for the parting was very bitter. Not long after my mother married again, 10 The Fatherless Girl. and then my sister returned, and we were at home together once more, where we remained until my guardian took her away again, to a place forty miles distant, where he bound her out till she was eighteen. When I was eight years old, my guardian came to the school-house on the last day of the school and called for me to go with him. He said he had come to take me home. I felt badly, but did not dare to refuse. He told me to get my books and go to his house on a visit. As my step-father was not very partial to me, and my guardian seemed to think a great deal of me, I did not make much objection to the arrangement. It seemed that he thought I would make a good scholar, and he said he always meant to have me live with him, any way. But it was not home for me. I had never been absent from my home a night before, and I soon became very homesick. My guardian sent me to school in his neighborhood, but I became so homesick that I would cry day and night to go home and see my mother. They had little patience with my sorrows, and gave me no encouragement about return- ing home, but he told me I was' to live with him. He had also sent word to my mother that 11 The Fatherless Girl. I had pleaded so hard for him to take me home from school with him that he could not refuse, though he was not willing to do it ; and had in- formed her that I was contented and happy in his family. My mother knew that he had long been anx- ious to get me into his family, and thought he must be a kind man, and as I manifested no uneasiness or discontent, so far as she knew, she was satisfied with my condition. But I did not like the family. They had a boy ten or twelve years of age, who was rather passionate, and seemed inclined to find fault. He com- plained of me ; said he did not like me, and that I would run away from him on the way to school; he would snow-ball, hector and plague me, call me "cry-baby," and twit me about my father being dead, and so tease me in very many ways, till I was heart-sick and homesick enough. At length I told the scholars in school of my troubles, and they sympathized with me, for the whole school disliked the boy. But their taking my part of course set the whole family more against me, and made my situation still more unpleasant. Mr. C. proved to be a harsh and cruel man. Rumor said that he had lived at the South, 12 The Fatherless Girl. and had left there on account of cruelties com- mitted against servants or others beneath his charge. How this was I know not. I can only speak of what I know. His eldest daughter had grown up a kind, ten- der-hearted girl, and pitied me and showed me kindness ; but the rest of the family seemed much like the father ; and in such hands a fatherless girl could but fare hard. Meat that was so poor that others did not wish to eat it, they would give to me , with crusts of bread to carry to school for dinner, while they put up pies and cakes for their son's dinner. The difference in our fare was so great that both pupils and teacher noticed it, and spoke to me about it, and at length, seeing how I longed and pined to get home , they advised me to run away and go and see my mother. Home was seven miles away, and Mr. C.'s house stood between the school-house and home ; but liberty was sweet, and I longed to see my mother's face once more, and deter- mined to go home. Sunday came, but my con- science would not let me start to go so far that day, but on Monday morning, while the wintry rain was pouring down, I undertook to make my escape, as I had fully determined that I would go home that day if possible. 13 The Fatherless Girl. Accordingly I arose early, before the family were astir, put my scanty wardrobe in a pillow- case, and carried it out a little way toward the school-house and buried the parcel in the snow by the roadside. When I returned, Mr. C. had arisen, and as he saw me coming toward the house he wondered at my appearance at such an hour, and asked me where I had been. I told him I had been to walk, and so left him in ignorance of my plans. About school-time it rained so hard that they thought it was not prudent for their son to go to school ; but I pleaded so hard, and told how long I had been at the head of the class, and how much I wanted to gain the prize, that they let me go. I told them the truth, for I did want to go to school and get the prize ; but I wanted to see my mother so much more, that I felt I could not be denied the privilege. And I saw no way to get home but to pretend that I was going to school. I do not say that it was right ; but I was only a little girl, and was in great trouble. After I had started, and got well out of sight, the women went to get my clothes for washing. Everything belonging to me was missing ; what could it mean? It meant something, of course. My morning walk was also remem- 14 The Fatherless Girl. bered, and Mr. C. at once started out upon my track. I had meanwhile gone on to the place where I had deposited my clothing, and taking this I got over the fence and went around a large hill and through a piece of woods, till I could get past the house and on the road towards my home. It was raining hard, and I sank down deep into the snow at every step ; but my heart was so light at the thought of home that I hardly knew what I was suffering, and went bravely on. When I had gone past the house, as my feet were wet and cold, I sat down and put on a pair of dry stockings ; but while doing it I saw a man whom Mr. C. had sent to trace me fol- lowing on my track. I supposed it was Mr. C., and, filled with fright and dread, I hurried on my stockings and ran through the woods into the road, when who should I meet but Mr. C. himself, who had gone on before to intercept me, and was coming to meet me with a large whip in his hand. I was very much frightened and ran toward him, crying with fear. " Put for home !" said he, and he whipped me all the way home, and continued to whip me after I had arrived there. The next day they sent me to school, and charged me not to tell any one what had hap- 15 The Fatherless Girl. pened. Their boy, however, told the scholars that I had been whipped, but this only made them hate him and pity me the more. After enduring the irksomeness of my po- sition about a week longer, the school children advised me to start for home again. I went the same way, but left my clothes behind me. I got past the house and into the road, and had gone about two miles when I heard the noise of sleigh-bells behind me. I had been taught that it was not polite for children to look around when travellers were passing, and so I walked along, minding my own business, when, to my astonishment, Mr. C. drove past me, on his way to the next village. He saw me, turned his sleigh around, and without saying a word, took me back into a room where his youngest daughter was weav- ing suspenders, tied me to the loom beside her, and then went about his business. After he had gone, this daughter, who in- herited her father's disposition, came along where I stood crying, and tied my hands more closely, drawing them up so that my feet barely touched the floor. While in this cruel position, I wrung and twisted my wrists around, and this hurt so that I screamed with pain. Mrs. C. came in a rage to see what 16 The Fatherless Girl. the matter was, and said she would have the noise stopped. On inquiring into the case, she scolded her daughter severely, and untied my wrists and took me down. She then put some mutton tallow on my wrists, tied them up in cloths, and then put some knit woollen wristlets on, which pleased me much. She then told me if I showed my wrists to any one I should have another whipping, but if I would be a good girl and say nothing about it, they would let me go to school in the afternoon, and would not tie me up any more if I would ask Mr. C.'s forgiveness when he came home. I agreed to the pro- posal, and accordingly asked his forgiveness. I went to school again in the afternoon, but was so homesick during school-time that I cried as if my heart would break. The teacher inquired what I was weeping about. I told him I did not wish to tell. My wrists pained me greatly, for I had taken cold in them, and they were badly swollen. He saw the cloths under my wristlets ; I wanted him to see them, but did not dare to tell him anything ; and he wished to know what was the matter with my arms. I would not tell. "What does all this mean?" said he. 17 The Fatherless Girl. "If I tell I shall have a whipping," was my reply. He was so indignant that he could hardly contain himself. At recess all gathered around me to know w T hat had happened, and said if I would tell them, Mr. C. should know nothing about it. So I told them, and some of the children went home and told their parents, and Mr. C.'s boy went home and told his folks that I had told the matter to the school; this, of course, enraged them still more, and Mr. C. gave me such a shaking that it seemed as if he would shake my head off. The next week the school was to close, and there was not much more said or done about the matter. Mr. C.'s family disliked me much, with the exception of the eldest daughter, who used to put her arms around me, and kiss me, and call me a poor father- less girl, and say, "R loves Hattie." Her sympathy comforted me much, but she did not dare let her father or mother know any- thing about it. The teacher said the neigh- bors must do something about the matter, for it would not do to have that poor fatherless girl suffer so. The people sympathized with me, for they knew Mr. C.'s character much better than my mother did. Little did she, 18 The Fatherless Girl. poor woman, think how her child was obliged to suffer while away from her and among strangers. One Saturday night, the last week but one of the school, I borrowed a book belonging to one of the school boys, and took it home to Mr. C.'s to read. On Sunday the youngest daughter came to my room to see what I was about, and found me reading it. " How did you come by this book ?" said she. I told her that I borrowed it. She took the book down stairs, saying, "Father, here is a book she has got. It is n't her book." " I know whose it is, and she has stolen it," said the boy. It seemed that they wanted some pretext for punishing me, and now they had it. The night before the snow had fallen to the depth of nearly two feet ; and it was still snowing. But they sent me off to the school-house alone in the storm, a distance of three quarters of a mile, over a road where not a track had been made, to return the " stolen " book. It was an awful day ; the cold was severe, the wind blew like a hurricane, and as a result of the exposure, I took a hard cold, and my limbs were swollen very badly indeed. 19 The Fatherless Girl. Monday came, and on my return to school I went to the boy who owned the "stolen" book and asked him if he did not lend it to me. He said he did. I then told him and the teacher that Mr. C.'s boy said I stole it. The teacher was indignant, and punished the false accuser ; and that of course enraged his parents still more against me ; and the boys also threw him down and abused him so that his parents took him out of school. The neighbors now contemplated doing some- thing to stop Mr. C.'s ill-treatment of me ; but I was so homesick that I felt I could wait no longer. I was losing flesh rapidly ; my rosy cheeks had gone, and I seemed like a walking ghost, instead of a healthy, happy child ; and I thought I might as well die one way as another, and so I determined to go home if possible. I waited a while, and then went up stairs and took my cloak and bonnet and threw them out of the window, my other clothes having been hidden ; and then I carried them up into the woods and hid them under a log. I returned in a playful way, singing as I came, and took dinner with the family. After dinner I went out back of the house, thinking to go and get my bonnet and start for home, singing as I went ; but my singing, which they once had 20 The Fatherless Girl. delighted in, now only added to their hatred, and presently I heard an awful call, it seemed like a lion's roar ; it was Mr. C., calling my name. I knew by the tone of his voice that iny plans were discovered. "Where is your cloak and bonnet?" said Mr. C., roughly. "Up in the woods," I replied. He ordered me to go and get them. I did so, and he and his boy followed me, and on my way back they would push me down about as fast as I could get up. Once I fell on my face, causing my nose to bleed, but still they fol- lowed me and pushed me before them, till we reached the house, when Mr. C. opened the door and pushed me in w r ith such force that I went headlong across the room, and fell flat upon my hands and face, feeling such a thrill of pain at the fall as I have not yet forgotten. Mr. C. then sent his son to get two of the roughest and knottiest beech whips he could find. He brought them, and they were cruel- looking things ; and the father then took me into a back parlor, away from the street, so that passers-by could not hear what was going on, and tied my hands behind me, lifted my clothes, laid me face downward upon a table, told me that I had committed twenty-one 21 The Fatherless Girl. offences, such as running away, stealing the book, lying about my morning walk, and other things which I have forgotten, and that he was now going to strike me twenty-one blows, a blow for every fault. He also called his eldest daughter to count the blows, and then began his cruel work. Blow after blow fell upon my quivering flesh, the knotty stick being wielded by a strong and cruel hand, and falling thick and fast, until the blood gushed and trickled over the bruised and swollen flesh, and my cries would have melted a heart of stone. He had given me fifteen blows when his daughter could bear it no long- er, and cried out, "Father, father, don't whip her any more ; you will kill her." But he was full of rage and whipped the harder for her pleading, threatening to do the same by her if she did not mind her own business, till at length the dear girl could bear it no longer, but stepped between us, saying, "Father, you must not." He then stopped striking me, and got the camphor bottle, placed me upon my feet, poured the camphor over my bleeding limbs, and rubbed it into the wounds, while I danced and shrieked with agony, and came very near going into con- vulsions. The Fatherless Girl. The punishment was over, but the results re- mained. My flesh was bruised, and torn, and swollen, and I took a cold which settled in my limbs, so that for more than two weeks I could not walk a step without severe pain. One day Mr. C. told me if I would walk across the floor I might go and see my mother. I started up, highly delighted, but could not do it to save my life, and so he said I could not go. Things were by this time getting in rather bad shape for Mr. C., and it seemed high time that I was sent out of that neighborhood. So he engaged Mr. K,., the mail-carrier, who was not so well acquainted with him as some were, to carry me immediately to the neighboring town of W., to a place which he had provided for me at the house of Mr. S. I knew not what was before me, no place could be much worse than where I was, but I knew I could not go home, and this made me very sad. I went in the mail-wagon, which passed down the river road just opposite my home , and in plain sight of the cottage where I was born, and where my poor mother still lived, unconscious of the sorrows of her child. Two miles below there the road crossed the river and ran on the same side where my home was. I looked with longing eyes across the stream as 23 The Fatherless Girl. we passed, hoping to catch a glimpse of my mother's form, that she might see me and know where I was going ; but it was all in vain ; no mother appeared, and the poor fatherless girl was carried away among strange voices and strange faces once more. But still the Lord had his eye upon the lonely child, and led me to a Christian home. The family where I was sent had every confidence in Mr. C. as a professor of religion, he being a member of the church to which they belonged. He had told them that my step-father was very ugly to me, and he had taken me away from home on that account, and he wanted them to take care of me. He said my mother was not capable of taking care of me, and he thought it his duty to do it. He told them also that I was a very stubborn child and difficult to manage, and represented to them that the soreness of my skin was caused by a disease which I had contracted, and a cold which had settled in my limbs. All this seemed plausible to them, but when I arrived there their faith in it seemed somewhat shaken. Mr. C. had threatened to whip me again if I told any one what was the matter with me, and had told me what I must say if I was asked what ailed me. 24 The Fatherless Girl. The lady looked at my hands, and examined me, but saw no signs of the disease she had been told I had ; and finally asked me if I had the "itch." I told her "Yes ;" as I had been commanded. "But how came these gashes f said the good woman. "I don't know," said I, for I dared not tell the truth about it, and Mr. C. had provided me with no answer to that question. "Did your step-father ever whip you or abuse you?" said she. "He never did anything to me only pour some water on my head once, that was all," said I. Mr. C. had told them that I might tell wrong stories, as my step-father had abused me, and I stood greatly in fear of him. So they were prepared for evasions, and yet they hardly knew what to make of the case as it presented itself. They found me quiet and obedient, and liked me much better than they had expected to, after hearing Mr. C.'s reports about me. My mother was a praying woman, and had always taught me to go to the Lord in prayer. So when I went to bed at night, what good times I would have, telling all my troubles to 25 The Fatherless Girl. the Lord ! It was my only comfort. I was so homesick that it seemed as if I should never rise above my griefs ; but in prayer I found con- solation. When I retired to rest the night after my ar- rival at Mr. S.'s, they heard me in my chamber praying; and creeping softly up, they listened to my prayer. And they kept up this practice continually, as I was afterwards informed. Alone with God, I poured out my griefs be- fore him. I would say, "O Lord, I am sorry I told a lie about what ailed me ; I am sorry that I told Mr. C. that I would not tell anybody how he whipped me ;" and thus I would go on, and cry, and grieve, and tell the Lord how much I suffered, and how I longed to see my mother, and I would pray that the Lord would send some one else to tell Mr. S. how Mr. C. had made me lie, and that I did not have the disease he represented, but that it was where he whipped me ; and so on to the end. Night after night they listened to my prayers, till it came to be almost an old story, wondering by day at my quiet and peaceable disposition, until they were convinced that I was too young to use art or play the hypo- crite in such a matter. At length they could stand it no longer, and taking me into a 26 J 'O LORD, I AM SORRY I TOLD A LIE." l '< The Fatherless Girl. room alone, they questioned me about how I came to leave my home. I told them I was at school, and Mr. C. came and wanted me to go with him, and he had not time for me to go and see my mother. They looked significantly at each other, and I knew that they were satisfied with my story. I gathered courage from their looks, anc 1 a hope dawned within my heart that they would befriend me. They sought to win my confidence. They saw I was pining away, and feared I might die on their hands ; and they told me that they were my friends, and bade me tell them the whole truth, and they would never tell Mr. C. about it if I did. They feared something was wrong, and they could endure the suspense no longer. They told me to tell them the whole story, and they would let me go home to my mother. Thus encouraged, I told them my piteous tale, and they sobbed and wept while I related my sufferings at the hands of my guardian. The next day they wrote to Mr. C. that they could not in conscience keep me any longer under the circumstances. They feared I was going into a decline. I cried almost day and night, would eat nothing and could sleep but little, and cried, "Mother ! Mother !" almost all 27 The Fatherless Girl. the while. And as Mrs. S. was a very sensi- tive woman, it so affected her nervous system that they were obliged to send me away. The next day they took me to the mail- wagon, and told Mr. R., the driver, to carry me to my mother. I rode on with a light heart, for I thought my troubles were near an end. Whei we reached the bridge which crossed the rivei on the other side , two miles below my mother's house, where I must leave the carriage to go home, I began to beg him to let me out. He said, "No, I have orders from Mr. C. not to let you go to your mother's, but bring you directly to his house." I begged him to let me go and see my mother. He refused. I said, "I will go up to Mr. C.'s to-morrow, if you will let me go home to-night and see my mother." "No," said he, "I am afraid to trust you." I kept begging and pleading with him to allow me to get out and go and see mother, but in vain ; he kept driving along. At length the passengers became interested, and began to inquire into the case. They stopped the stage, and told the driver they wanted to Know all about this matter. 28 The Fatherless Girl. I then told them my story ; how I had been taken from my mother, and whipped, and abused, and how much I wanted to see her, and that Mr. S.'s folks told the driver to take me home to my mother, and I desired to go there, and did not wish to return to my guardian's. The women wept to hear my story ; the men were enraged ; and all the passengers took my part. The driver told them that my guardian had said that I would lie, and they ought not to take any notice of what I said. But the men in the stage insisted that it was perfectly right that I should be permitted to go and see my mother, and I should go; and that it was cruel to think of taking me away from her in such a way. The driver, however, seemed determined to cross over the bridge which spanned the rocky chasm, through which the river rushed like a torrent ; but the men in the carriage were de- termined, and said, "If you don't let that child go to her mother we will tip you over into the river !" He saw that he was in danger, and yielded: and said that I might get out, but could not have my clothes. I cared little for that, but got out of the carriage, and ran with all my might for home. How my side ached before I 29 The Fatherless Girl. got there ! But I ran, I think, every step of the whole two miles to my mother's house. Mother was weaving in the chamber, but 1 ran up stairs with a light step and a joyful heart, not thinking of my weariness, in my longing for her loving welcome. ' ' Well, whose little girl is this ?"asked my moth- er, as she plied her shuttle, little thinking that the pale child before her was the rosy-cheeked daughter that left her three months before. "Mother !" said I, "don't you know me?" "Whose little girl is it?" said she. "Why, mother," said I, "it is me!" She saw the old familiar smile break over my wan face and springing from her loom, ex- claimed, "O my God, is this my child?" "Yes," said I, "it is me, mother." I shall not soon forget that meeting, so joyful to me, and so sad to my poor mother. I told my story quickly, and though / had no thought of crying then, she wept as if her heart would break. And then she took me to the village the next day and showed the Judge the marks of my guardian's cruelty and abuse. He questioned me, and after listening to my story seemed much incensed, and said, "That man shall suffer." My mother carried me home, a poor, emacia- 30 The Fatherless Girl. ted child. My health was feeble, and my clus tering curls had been cut off during my absence ; I had lost many pounds of flesh, and our near neighbors did not recognize me when they saw me. A few days after, Mr. C. rode down and hung my bundle of clothes on a stake in the door-yard fence. He did not stop to face my mother, but as he saw me playing in the front door-yard, he said, "Oh ! you naughty girl !" I made no reply, but thought to myself, "Well, you haven't got me, and I am glad of that ;" and he rode away. At the next court my guardian was forced to appear. His two youngest children who had persecuted me tried to testify in his favor. His wife did not come ; but his eldest daughter, who pitied me so much, and who stood and counted the cruel blows, had to come into court and tell the story as it was, and her statement and mine agreed. Mr. and Mrs. S. were also called, with Mr. R., the mail-carrier, and one of the pas- sengers who was in the carriage with me. The judge was terribly indignant with Mr. C. "You reprobate scoundrel," said he, "to treat a poor, fatherless child in such a way ; hanging is too good for you." Mr. C. was turned out of his guardianship, was made to refund al] the money he had charged 31 The Fatherless Girl. against me, and would have had to pay a heavy sum besides had not my mother told them that she only wanted her own again., and had no de- sire to anticipate the work of Him who is " a father to the fatherless, and a judge of widows in his holy habitation," and who hath said, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay." The affair, however, was ruinous to the man. He was disgraced in society, and excluded from the church, and, though for a while he kept up a semblance of piety, yet his true character was well understood, and the last I heard of him he as said to be a wretched inebriate. What his motives were in his treatment of me I cannot decide. Whether, as some sup- posed, he coveted the few dollars which was my portion of my father's estate, or whether, enraged by my persistent efforts to get home he simply gave w r ay to an ungoverned temper, I cannot say ; I bear no ill will to him or his, and only hope that he may be found at last among the pardoned and the saved. More than thirty years have passed since these things occurred. My poor old mother has found rest in the tomb ; Mr. C. is also dead, and few of the actors in those scenes remain upon the earth. I still live, and to this day bear about in my 32 The Fatherless Girl. body the marks of that cruel scourging which 1 then received, and my memory still keeps the vivid record of those scenes of childish grief. But though the trial seemed exceedingly bit- ter when it occurred, yet there was no doubt a "need be" for it all. And when in my matur- er years I have trodden the lanes and alleys where the poor abide, and have looked upon the sufferings of the widows and the fatherless, and when traversing the Southern States, alle- viating the miseries that war had caused, and laboring among the orphaned and afflicted there, in their hunger, cold, and nakedness, and tears , though others, perhaps, might look care- lessly on, I could not turn away my ear from the cry of \vant, nor forget that I too had once been a fatherless and suffering child. And at this late day I give this simple story to the world, not to revenge myself for cruel wrongs, but to excite in some heart a feeling of pity for the fatherless around, who may be suf- fering now even as I suffered then, and have none to plead their cause, or grant them aid and consolation. God grant that this story may be the means of shedding a ray of comfort on the sad path of some other poor fatherless girl ! B 33 THE STORY OF AN APRON. When I was about thirteen years old, I went to live in the family of a distant relative, to assist in doing the work about the house. The man was well-to-do in this world, but wicked and profane, and his interest was in anything rather than the religious training of children. The work was hard, and the prevailing irrever- ence and the profanity was harder still to bear ; but I was needed there, and so endeavored to fulfill my appointed duties faithfully. One Lord's day morning, I heard that there was to be a religious meeting some three or four miles away, and my heart was set upon attend- ing it. But how could I go ? Would they give their consent ? I feared not, as they might think it too far for me to walk, and their horses would be too tired to be driven such a distance. What could I do ? I had not yet learned the way of salvation, and knew not how to trust in God as in after years ; yet I was religiously inclined, and I believe the sweet Spirit of Christ was already at work upon my heart, and its still 34 The Story of an Apron. small voice seemed to whisper, "All things, whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive." Matt. xxi. 22. I had from childhood been taught to pray, and following the convictions of my heart, I left the house without saying anything to any one, and ran up a little path which led me into a se- cluded spot upon the mountain side, where there was a rock which seemed to be made on purpose for me, and where I often used to go and pray. The man with whom I lived, mistrusting my object, followed stealthily up the mountain, and hid on the other side of the rock to listen to what I had to say. I opened my dear little Bible and read, "For if ye live after the flesh ye shall die, but if ye through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live. For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God." Rom. viii. 13, 14. I was ignorant of the Scriptures , but I firmly believed that this passage was put there for me, and that I had some cross to take up, and though I knew not what it could be, yet I thought I must do something that would "mortify" me, and I inquired, What can I do to "mortify the deeds of the body" ? I was young, and had no mother near to advise me, nor any Christian friend to whom I could go for instruction. I was entirely 35 The Story of an Apron. alone, as far as religious matters were con- cerned, and so I asked God to show me what I could do to "mortify the deeds of the body." I wanted to attend the meeting that day, and desired that the Lord would influence my rela- tives to let me go ; and though the distance was so great that I was fearful I could not gain their consent, yet I thought I would tell the Lord about it, and he might possibly open a way for me to go. Then the question arose again , How could I "mortify the deeds of the body " ? The passage was a mystery to me ; I did not understand it. But after a little I thought I had found the key. My mother had made for me a long calico apron, which came down to my feet, to wear when washing dishes, and to do house-work in. I always hated that apron ; it was so much longer than my dress, and of a very homely color, and it always mortified me to wear it. It almost made me cry every time I put it on. There was nothing in the world that I disliked as I did that apron, and I concluded that this was my cross, and that there was nothing I could do to "mortify the deeds of the body" like putting on that apron, and wearing it to meet- ing! Like many another devotee who has thought to gain the favor of God by doing some 36 The Story of an Apron. disagreeable work, or suffering severe penance I felt that this was my way of obtaining his blessing ; and as I felt great need of help, I fell upon my knees and asked the Lord to put it into the hearts of my relatives to permit me to go to the meeting, and if they consented I would wear my long apron. After I had done pray- ing about it, on rising, who should I see but the man with whom I lived, who had been concealed over the other side of the rock, and who having heard all that I had been saying, came out from his hiding-place, and started for the house, shouting and laughing at my foolishness. Of course I knew what to expect, and went down the hill with a trembling heart, wondering if they would let me go, and thinking if they did I must be true to my promise, and wear the apron ! When I reached the house, my relative began to laugh at me, and make fun of my prayers. I said nothing, but finally asked him* if I could go to the meeting. He laughed, and said, "Yes, if you will 'mortify the deeds of the body.'" So I prepared myself, and secreting the long apron under my shawl, started for meeting. There was a small river which I had to cross, either by wading or going over in a boat. I 37 The Story of an Apron. was somewhat afraid, as the water was quite high, but I finally got into a boat, the same old boat which had once carried me down stream when a little child, and rowed across. When over the river I knelt again in prayer to thank the Lord that I was so far safely on my journey, and I then put on the long apron. I thought at first of going directly by the road to the meeting, but afterwards concluded I would not, for I wore a short dress, and over this the apron, which came down to my feet ; and to go along the public road in this costume was a little too much for my courage ; so I went around through the fields, dodging among the trees and woods and stumps and fences, some of the time coming out into the highway, and then going back into the pastures and over the hills to avoid passing any houses or meeting any one on the road. At length I came within sight of the school- house where the meeting was held, and I saw that the house was crowded with people, out- side and in, old and young, most of whom were my acquaintances. As they 'looked out from the corner of the school-house and saw me com- ing in my long apron, I could see them laugh- ing and pointing at me, and I was too sensitive to face their mirth ; and with a trembling heart I turned back to a convenient place, and quickly 38 " THEY SAW ME COMING IN MY LONG APRON." fuye 38. The Story of an Apron. removed the troublesome apron, hiding it under the fence, wishing my mother had never made it, and feeling sorry that I had ever promised the Lord to wear it. I started on again, and came to a little stream of water which lay between me and the school-house, over which a beam was thrown for foot-passengers to cross. As I was crossing the stream I looked down into the water, and thought of Christ and his words commanding us to "repent and be baptized," and of the baptism with which he had been bap- tized for us, and I thought within myself, Since Christ has done so much for me, could I not be willing to do so little a thing as I thought I was called to do for him? These words also came to my mind, "Whosoever, therefore, shall be ashamed of me and my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him also shall the Son of Man be ashamed, when he cometh in the glory of his Father with the holy angels." Mark viii. 38. My heart was filled with sad- ness. How wretched I was ! I had never openly professed my faith in Christ, nor had I learned the way of peace, but I felt a love for the Lord and a desire to do his will, and the Lord pitied me in my ignorance and my hon- esty of purpose and desire. I turned back again to the place where the 39 The Story of an Apron. apron was hidden, and knelt upon it to seek help from the Lord, and while I was praying the Lord seemed very near to strengthen and encourage me. It seemed as if the angels of the Lord were round about me, and I received such joy and courage from God that I felt I could do anything for Christ, no matter what it might be. So I put on my apron which I had taken off, and started again for the meeting. As I approached the school-house the people began to snicker and laugh. With a firm step and a determined will I pressed my way through the crowd of boys and girls who were holding their mouths to keep from laughing and disturbing the meeting. I thought I would take a back seat, but the school-house was filled, and the only seat I could find was in front, where the little folks usually sat, and where I was exposed to the gaze of all the people. My presence and strange dress of course created quite a sensation among both old and young in the house, and at short intervals some of the younger folks out- side would put their heads inside the door, and then draw back snickering and laughing ; and I well knew what it was for. The mirth produced was of course annoying to the preacher, who was an old, gray-haired gentleman, and who seemed to be much broken down and discour- 40 The Story of an Apron. .aged. He said he had been there three weeks laboring with the people, and not a soul had been converted, and he had concluded that it was of little use to do any more in that place, and it was probably the last time they would ever hear his voice, as that was the closing meeting. He soon concluded his remarks, and sat down, giving others opportunity to follow him in testimony or exhortation as the Spirit should give them utterance. The sadness and discouragement of the old preacher touched my heart, and after he con- cluded I arose, and in my childish way told my simple story about my prayer by the rock and about the long apron, and the reason why I put it on, that I might "mortify the deeds of the body" how my courage failed, and I had taken it off; and how I had prayed to God for strength to bear the scoffs and taunts of my acquaintances, and had determined to do right and serve the Lord, and not to be ashamed of his words, believing that the Lord would take care of me, and how he had blessed, strengthened, and comforted me, in my determination to do his will. The effect of the simple story was remark- able. The power of the Spirit of God seemed to rest upon the congregation. Both old and young were bathed in tears. The gray-headed 41 The Story of an Apron. minister buried his face in his hands and wept aloud, and rising, said, "This little child has condemned us all. She has been willing to tako up her cross, and has done it with such courage it ought to be a lesson for us all." The congregation were greatly affected ; those out- side crowded to the doors and the windows to look in, and before the old minister had con- cluded every eye seemed filled with tears ; there was sobbing all over the house, and those who had been making sport of the long apron were weeping with the rest. Curiosity, mirth, and laughter had changed to solemn thoughtfulness. One after another broke down in penitence and confessed their faults ; sinners voluntarily arose to ask the people of God to pray for them, con- fessing with sorrow their wickedness and their abuse of the Lord's goodness and the precious privileges they had enjoyed ; and the most powerful revival ever known in that neighbor- hood commenced with that meeting. The prophet once reproved those who despised the day of small things. God's ways are not as our ways ; he knows the hearts of all men, and can use the feeblest instruments to accomplish his work. Small things maybe used by him to accomplish great results, and matters which may seem too trivial or absurd for our notice may 42 The Story of an Apron. yet be blessed of God and result in great good. I went home a happier child ; and I think the Lord then and there called me to his service. This was my first effort in public confession of Christ before men ; and though I was young, and did not understand the ways of the Lord, nor know how I could follow out the teachings of Scripture, yet the Lord understood my motives, and I was blessed, and taught that the Lord uses the weak things of this world to con- found the wisdom of the wise. I have since seen many instances where the Lord has blessed the ignorant and lowly on account of their hum- bleness and submission, rather than those whose ways have been more in accordance with the thoughts and desires of men. The long apron passed from sight years ago, and is probably forgotten by all except the one who wore it, but the power that filled and encouraged the heart of the despondent old preacher, and which so strangely moved the feelings of the people and changed the whole spirit of the meeting, might be traced back, not to the long apron, which had no more value than the long robes and sacerdotal trappings with which some professing Christians now array themselves, but to the public confession of Christ by a young disciple, and to her broken, 43 The Story of an Apron. child-like prayer by the old rock on the hillside in Vermont ; yea, farther still than that, to the presence of the Comforter which is sent into the world to abide forever, not only to comfort the children of the Lord, but also to convince the world of sin, of righteousness, and of judgment. I am convinced that the Spirit of God often makes impressions on the minds of little chil- dren as well as older persons, and that parents and grown people think too little of these things. God may call little ones to do errands for him, and if Christian parents had more confidence in the Lord, and would teach their children to watch the leadings of his Spirit, and believe in his providential guidings, they would be better prepared to serve their Master, and endure the temptations which surround them. Little Samuel heard the call of God, and gave heed to his command, and so other chil- dren may be called to do something in the Lord's cause, and if any of my readers are tempted to disobey the divine call, let them bow the knee and ask the help which God alone can give, and so find strength to bear each cross and do the work which God requires. Oh, let Him guide your feet aright, And he will keep you in his fear; Trust Him, and serve Him with your might, And you shall find Him ever near. 44 A BLESSED CHILD. There are no words of scripture more pre- cious to me than those which speak of little children as the objects of the blessed Saviour's love and care. Nor can I understand how any follower of the gentle-hearted Jesus can fail to feel a strong solicitude for the welfare and sal- vation of those who are such special subjects of divine affection. Ever since God was pleased to call me by his grace, when young in years, and make me *'as a little child" indeed, I have felt a deep in- terest in his little ones ; and with each confes- sion of my love to Christ has come back to me the answering word, "Feed my lambs." And so I have been much among children, and have seen many of them brought to Christ, and wit- nessed many instances of sincere piety among them. But among all the little ones I have ever met, one blessed child shines forth pre-eminent ns a subject of special grace, and an instru- ment of peculiar mercy to those around her. In the year 1841, when I was but a little girl A Blessed Child. amoug the green hills of my native Vermont, I attended a meeting where a few disciples were gathered in a small and humble room. Among them I noticed a kindly, intelligent looking lady, by whose side sat a little girl about three years old ; a rosy, blue-eyed, curly-headed little one, whose sedate and thoughtful look attracted my attention. Desiring to be near her, girl-like, I edged along till I found myself seat- ed by her side, and I got my arm around the shy little creature, and looked into her modest, loving face. The meeting soon commenced, and the pro- ceedings were not the most hopeful. The oc- casion was a painful one. A brother in the church had been overtaken in a fault ; in an evil hour he had become intoxicated, and had fallen into sin and brought disgrace upon him- self, his family, and the church of which he was a member ; and this meeting had been called to take action in his case. After the usual preliminary exercises, the business was broached by the leader, who, in his remarks, laid the matter before the meeting, and spoke with much severity of the offending one ; and when he had concluded, the offender being called upon for explanations, acknowl- edged the truthfulness of the charges, but in a 46 A Blessed Child. harsh and scornful spirit resented the severity of the leader, and expressed a desire to be freed from all connection with such a church as that. He sat down, and the leader arose and again commented upon his case with still greater sever- ity, and suggested his immediate expulsion. This caused unpleasant feelings in the meet- ing, and many were grieved with the injudi- cious conduct of the leader, as well as with the sin of the offender. Some of the members wept to see the bitter spirit manifested by the leader ; some pitied the offender and desired to bear with him longer ; some loved him and were unwilling to cut him off from their fellow- ship. Among others, I observed that the lady I had noticed was in tears. The meet- ing was divided, some suggested one course and some another, and considerable contention arose ; and no one seemed to have the skill and wisdom needed to avert a serious rupture in the church. One after another spoke, but with no good result, and the prospect looked quite discouraging. In the midst of the trouble and sorrow I overheard this little girl whispering to her mother, and saying, "Mother, I want to speak." Her mother smiled on her little daughter, and made no reply. Shortly after A Blessed Child. she whispered again, "Mother, / want to speak ;" and her mother, to quiet her entreat- ies, said, "Well, wait till that man gets through speaking." This pacified the little child, who considered that her request was granted ; and the moment the man closed his remarks she slipped down from her seat, and in an instant was in the middle of the floor, and looking around upon the agitated and con- tending company she lifted her eyes upward, while her bosom heaved with sighs, and the tears ran down her flushed countenance, and in a timid voice broken by sobs of grief, she said : "LET BROTHERLY LOVE CONTINUE," and hastened back to her seat again. Mighty as the "Peace, be still," which calmed the stormy waters of Genesarst, were these Avords of strength ordained by the Holy Ghost to be uttered by that blessed child. The storm was hushed and there was a great calm. Anger was gone ; bitterness was quelled. Every eye gushed out with tears. The poor offending brother fell at the feet of him who had so bit- terly reproved him, and with tears of penitence streaming down his cheeks, desired his brethren to forgive him once more, and the returning prodigal was received again with open arms ; 48 A. Blessed Child. peace was restored to the church ; brotherly love did continue ; and instead of a torn, dissenting, divided, and ruined people, the world beheld the spectacle of a united band of Christian brethren who parted in peace, and fellowship, and love, praising God that he had caused a little child to lead them, and had preached to them from the lips of that blessed babe such a sermon on brotherly love as they had never heard before. And in their union there was strength ; and from that hour their steadfast and united testi- mony was blessed of God to the awakening of many to a sense of danger and of duty, and much people were added to the Lord. Two years from the time when the scene which has been described transpired, I saw my little friend once more. I had left my home and gone forth, a fatherless girl, to meet the changeful scenes of earthly life, and my lot was cast in th thrivin town During my sojourn there an adjacent village was favored with rich displays of God's convert- ing mercy, and many souls were led to Christ, while others were awakened from their slumbers, and more fully instructed in the gospel of the kingdom of God. One Sunday noon I stood among a crowd that 49 A 13 less ed Child. gathered by the margin of a mountain stream, which leaped, and dashed, and eddied on its way amid the rocks that filled its bed and lined its channel, and waited there, to behold the new converts publicly confess their faith in the death and resurrection of the Divine Redeemer, as shadowed forth in the expressive symbol of an holy baptism. The solemn song of praise arose above the murmuring of the stream, and swelled and float- ed on the silent air ; the voice of prayer went up to crave the blessing of Him who declared him- self well pleased in Jesus, his beloved Son, when he was baptized of Johil in Jordan : and then the minister led the converts, one by one, down into those dark and chilling waters, a fit emblem of death's darker billows beneath which Jesus bowed his head, and beneath which human pride and strength and hope must sink, and which Christ alone can lead us safely through, and having buried them there, he raised them gently up and led them back again to enter upon their new and glorious race, ' 'that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so" they "also should walk in newness of life." Rom. vi. 4. One after another had trod the chilling path- way and sunk into the watery grave, until some 50 A Blessed Child. forty persons had been "buried" with Christ ' 'by baptism into death ;" and among them were the parents of this little girl. Her mother was the last one, and as she reached the shore, and the services were about to close, this little girl, who had watched the solemn scene, and who knew ' this was the last opportunity, reached up her childish hands to the minister, and with tearful eyes and imploring look, said, in a voice of deep emotion , ' ' May n't I be bairtized ? " The minister paused, and glanced inquiringly at the parents to see if they consented to her request ; their tearful countenances showed that they could not "forbid water," nor restrain a little one Avho sought to tread the narrow way. They consented ; he took the little maiden in his arms, and walking out into the waters of the sullen stream, planted her in the likeness of the Saviour's death, and raised her up in the image of his resurrection ; and while he bore her, shepherd-like, as a lamb upon his bosom, to the shore, the pent-up feelings of her heart gushed out in joyous words of praise, and clapping her little hands in gladness, she shouted, "Glory, glory, glory to God !" Language cannot describe the effect of that thrilling scene. It seemed that He who blessed the little ones in Palestine was there to bless 51 A Blessed Child. this little child. Tears flowed from eyes unused to weep, and deep conviction settled on many a careless heart ; and solemnly the gazing crowd turned from the river side and sought their homes, to meet again in the evening at the house of prayer. The hour for the evening services arrived ; the .multitude assembled to listen to the glad tidings of the kingdom of God at hand, and to hear the proclamation of the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God. The discourse of the servant of God was full of power, and the Holy Spirit of God attended the word. After the sermon an opportunity was afforded for further testimony and exhortation, and again this little girl who had been baptized desired to speak. Who could refuse the re- quest ? Surely none but the Pharisees who tried to hush the hosannas of the children of Jeru- salem, when, out of the mouth of babes and sucklings, God perfected praise. Too small to be seen by the assembled multi- tude, her father arose and lifted her up in his arms, that all might behold her ; and with a tremulous voice she invited sinners to Christ, and with outstretched hands entreated them to come. So earnest was her appeal, so fervent her prayers, so deep and wonderful the wisdom of 52 "HE TOOK THE LITTLE MAIDEN IN HIS AKMS. A Blessed Child. her words, coming from the lips of a child only five years old, that it pierced the hearts of sin- ners and backsliders like a sharp, two-edged sword. Hardened scoffers and hoary-headed infidels felt the power of that wondrous testi- mony, and it was thought that three or four hundred persons manifested their desire for the prayers of God's people upon that night. I shall never forget that little child, nor the exhortation which she gave. It was her last. Six weeks from that time she bade adieu to earth and loved ones here, and fell asleep in Christ; the grave closed over her little form, and she waits the awakening voice of Him who said, "Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of God." And I have indited this truthful record of circumstances of which I Avas an eye-witness, that I might magnify the grace of Jesus Christ, who loves and saves the little ones, and Avho often makes them messengers of his mercy to the lost and perishing around. And while, with advancing years, I have come to feel the untold yearnings of a mother's heart, and to look upon the precious ones that God has placed beneath my charge, these recol- lections of this blessed child have come to me 53 A Blessed Child. oftimes as cheering proofs of Jesus' love for the lambs of his flock, and as encouragements to me to labor on through toils and tears and trials and temptations, to train my children up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, and to lead them, even in their earliest days, to "Behold the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world." JL_ And if these lines should meet a mother's eye, let me say, you cannot commence too early to teach your little ones to know the love of Christ. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom : happy are they who learn their first lessons in their mothers' arms. Do not think your children are too young to know the Lord. Children old enough to sin are old enough to repent ; children old enough to do wrong are old enough to be gently guided right. Satan does not wait , why then should you ? Sow the good seed before the enemy has time to scatter his tares. Then shall your children gladden your hearts even in early days, with the beginnings of that divine life which shall grow with their growth and strengthen with their strength, until they shall be perfect and complete in all the will of God. Or if, per- chance, some bitter day your tears fall thick M A Blessed Child. and fast above a little grave, there shall corne like balm to your stricken and afflicted spirit the precious memories of prayers prattled by an infant's tongue, of promises lisped by little lips, and of songs sung by gentle voices that shall then be silent in the grave. And all these fragrant recollections shall be to you as prophecies f the coming of that brighter day, when the long night of tearful separations shall have passed away, and when the children shall come' again from the land of the enemy, to the city of the redeemed, the paradise of God. 65 THE OKPHAtf GIRL. It was about the year 1845, that I became a resident of the thriving village of C , a place around which lingers many a fragrant recollec- tion of mercies and blessings bestowed by the good hand of God. During my sojourn there the Lord gave me to feel an especial spirit of labor and a deep sympa- thy of heart for the fallen and lost. Such was the burden of my soul for the salvation of sin- ners, that at times I could not rest day or night, and I was led to cry to the Lord for help, and strength, and boldness, that I, child though I was, might be used to the glory of God, and the good of those around me. It pleased the Lord to hear my prayers, and to help me in my weakness by his all-suffi- cient grace, and direct my footsteps by his guiding hand. Doors of usefulness were opened to me on every side, and I found plenty of work to do ; for among the hundreds employed in the extensive cotton manufactories, were many 56 The Orphan Girl. poor, weary, homeless orphan children, friend- less and forgotten, and yet needing friends and kindly remembrances from day to day. As I studied the character of my Divine Pat- tern, I found that his work was among the poor, the outcast, and the dejected ; that he condescended to men of low estate ; and I desired to be a follower of my lowly Lord. Here, thought I, is plenty of work for me among these forsaken ones ; and work such as the proud professors of a worldly religion will not undertake to do. No one thinks of these poor children, especially if they do not put themselves in the way of being noticed. The great ones can not condescend to hunt up these poor wanderers, and hence they are left to go their own way, as if no man cared for their souls. This then was to be my work ; a work which I, a fatherless child, who knew by sad exper- ience the sufferings of an orphan's lot, and the sorrows of a stranger's heart, and who, though far from friends and home, had felt the blessed power of Christian sympathy and love, might understand how to engage in, among those around me who so much needed this assistance. Among the faces which still linger indelibly impressed upon my memory, I recall that of a fair young maiden , some fifteen or sixteen years 57 The Orphan Girl. of age, a sunny, bright-eyed, laughing creature, who went to her work from day to day in all the guileless happiness of innocence and youth, cheerful as a sunbeam amid the toiling multi- tude around her. Days and weeks passed away, and I marked in her the change so usual in per- sons of frail constitution, when exposed to the unhealthy air and dust of the cotton mills. She grew pale and sad, and sometimes I saw the silent tear drop from her eyes, when engaged about her daily toil. Touched with sympathy for her troubles, I sought her acquaintance ; but though I learned that she was a lonely orphan, homesick and weary, and tried to point her to the heavenly Friend who has called the heavy laden to come to him and rest ; yet she seemed to shrink back from confiding her feelings to those who were followers of Jesus, and as I did not wish to intrude upon her sorrows, I left off conversing with her, and only endeavored to remember her before the Lord in prayer. Before long I missed her well-remembered face among the hurrying crowd of busy toilers there, and upon subsequent inquiry I ascer- tained that she had been sick ; her wages, always scanty, had left no surplus for such an emeiv gency ; and before she was able to return to her work, she had become indebted for her 58 The Orphan Girl. board, her boarding-mistress had put her trunk out of doors, and turned the poor girl penniless into the street, and no one knew what had become of her. Shortly after this I heard of her, elegantly dressed, among the gay throng who gathered at places of public resort and amusement, and my heart sank with sad surmises concerning her. But I could only bear her case before the Lord, and await his time, and the direction of his guid- ing hand, that I might do her good. Some little time elapsed, and one evening, just at nightfall, while passing down one of the principal streets, I saw her standing on a cor- ner in close conversation with an elderly, well- dressed person, whom I recognized at once as a wealthy man and a member of a church the father of an interesting family of grown-up chil- dren and my heart sank with horror as I remembered the rumors of his vileness which had reached me, from those who had pointed him out to rne as worthy of the abhorrence of the virtuous and the good. While I observed them, they presently turned down the street together. AVilh a shuddering heart I followed them, determined to know the worst. Another corner turned, and a short walk led them to a disreputable house ; they entered 59 The Orphan Girl. the door, while I passed unnoticed by. Hastily retracing my steps, I called at a milliner's shop, begged the privilege of writing a note, and taking it in my hand, I walked quickly back to the place which I had seen them enter, knocked at the door, and called for this wretched child. She came to the door. I told her I had called to talk and pray with them, invited her to come and see me, and placed in her hand the note which contained my address, and appointed an hour for her to meet me at my room. She promised to come, weeping bitterly, and saying that I was the first person who had spoken an encouraging word to her. She invited me to enter the house. I did so, for I feared no danger when going on the errand of the Lord. A number of persons were present in the sitting-room, among them the man with whom she came there, and who looked sober, guilty, and ashamed. I talked with them ; some wept; others spoke lightly of the matter, and thought it very foolish that one so young as I should forsake the gay world to lead a religious life. I asked the privilege of praying there ; it was granted, and I knelt among them and poured out the pent-up feelings of my heart to God in earnest prayer and supplication for those poor, fallen ones. The Holy Spirit was 60 The Orphan Girl. present to help my infirmities ; tears fell from eyes unused to weep, and stilled sobs and sigh? mingled with suppressed and sneering laughter around the room. When done I rose from my knees and hastily left the house in tears. Time passed, the hour appointed for the inter- view at my room approached, and I repaired tc my closet and earnestly besought the blessing of God upon this poor, erring child. A rap was soon heard at my door, and I hastened to admitthe sorrowing wanderer. I welcomed her, and sat down to listen to her tale of grief. Left without parents or friends, with no rela- tives to aid or care for her, she had come many miles to work in the cotton factory, and thus secure a living, but had been unable to earn enough to pay her expenses ; and having run in debt for her board to the amount of ten dollars, her boarding mistress had put her trunk into the street and turned her out of doors. She sat down on her trunk, faint and sick at heart. It was night, and "Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity," she knew not where to go for shelter, counsel, or assistance. Young and inexperienced, pen- niless and alone, she knew not what course to pursue. And there in the darkness and the bitterness of her soul, this man, of all the men 61 The Orphan Girl. that thronged those streets, had met her with words of sympathy and proffers of friendship such friendship! and she in her trouble was glad to accept the assistance of any one. He guided her to this house ; for when all other houses are closed against a poor, homeless girl, this house stands open, and though every kindly heart is sealed up, and every holy home is locked and barred against her, the gate of hell is always open to a helpless child of sorrow, and there are plenty waiting to welcome her to the hospitable haunts of sin and shame. I heard her tale. What could I do? With no home of my own, and unwilling to confide her story to another, I took her, a torn and bleeding lamb, to the Good Shepherd's arms : thank God, there is always room enough in Jesus' tender heart, and He casts no one out. And I could not leave her to perish. I received her into my own lodgings, and shared with her my shelter and my food. None of those around us knew her history. The dews of kindly sym- pathy revived the freshness of her stricken life, and in that blood that cleanseth from all sin she found a remedy for every blot and every stain. I led her to the place where a few disciples of the Lord gathered to pray one for another, and to exhort one another, and so much the more 62 The Orphan Girl. as they saw THE DAY approaching, and there she confessed the Saviour as her Lord and God. She was saved, saved from plunging into the gulf of ruin, and perhnps from dragging others down after her ; and saved by the bless- ing of God upon a few kind words. And how many others, treading the same perilous path, might be saved by the whispers of some gentle voice, and the outstretching of some helping hand. "Oh, lady," said a poor child of shame to one who met her by the way with words of pitying love, "If there were more like you in this world, there would be less like me!" "A little word in kindness spoken, A motion or a tear, Hath often healed the heart that's broken, And made a friend sincere." Subsequently I met the man whose cursed friendship had ensnared the stricken one. lie quailed with shame as I reproved him in the fear of God, and invited him to come to the place of prayer and seek forgiveness for his sins. He was ashamed to come, lest I should publicly expose his vileness. I told him I would not do it, but, said I, "I will expose you, if you do not turn from your present course." He commended me, and thanked me for my faithfulness, and to my surprise I saw him afterward in a little social meeting where, with tears of penitence, he con- fessed that he had led a sinful life, and pointing 63 The Orphan Girl. to me said, with a depth of meaning which I alone could fathom, "That young girl has been the means of my salvation." I trust his penitence was genuine, but I only know this, that when my poor, stricken com- panion had seen the waves of sorrow ebb away, when the bitterness of those dark hours in her history had come to be among the memories of things gone by, when brighter and better days had dawned upon her, and when, restored to health and improved in mind, she had won the heart and hand of an excellent young man, and became his wife, this man, who long before had humbly sought her forgiveness for the wrong he had done her, was to them as a father and a friend, and sought by varied acts of kind con- sideration to atone for the wrong that he had done, and scatter sunshine upon a path on which he had cast so black a shade. Many years have passed since then ; and some of the circumstances have already passed from my mind. But I have thought it good to place on record this story of my first effort to recover from the snare of the devil one who had been led captive by Satan at his will, that other hearts may be stirred up to pity, and other hands stretched out to save those who, for lack of help and sympathy, are going down to death, and 64 The Orphan Girl. leading others in the path to ruin and perdition. I hare narrated the facts as exactly as I can recollect them. I could go to-day and point out the places where they occurred ; but the name of every person mentioned in this narra- tion has passed entirely from my memory ; and this is well, for I trust that God has blotted from his book the record of the sins that caused such sorrow then. But memory still recalls the beaming eye and youthful beauty of that orphan girl, and the meekened smile of that poor wan- derer, upon whom the Lord had mercy, and who was thus brought home in peace. Where she may be to-day I cannot tell . Our paths have diverged widely, and for many years I have heard no tidings of her. Perhaps I may recog- nize her some day beneath the tree of life, when the burdens of mortality are laid aside. Till then let us labor on. Let us lift up the bowed down. Let us seek the erring. Let us save the lost. "And of some have compas- sion, making a difference : and others save with fear, pulling them out of the fire ; hating even the garment spotted by the flesh." "Speak gently to the erring, Thou kiiowest not the power With which the dark temptation came, In some unguarded hour. Thou mayest not know how earnestly They struggled, nor how well ; Until the hour of darkness came. And sadly then they fell." C 65 THE BROKEN SNARE. The orphan girl whose rescue I have narrated had left me, and had gone to an excellent situ- ation which had been obtained for her. I still resided in C , and retained my rooms, board- ing myself, preferring to be alone with God in my hours of repose, rather than to be in the whirl and bustle of a public boarding-house, and also finding opportunities of usefulness in my seclusion which I could not otherwise enjoy. As I sought from day to day to know and follow the leadings of the guiding hand of God, I felt at one time a strong impression that I must go again to the same house of infamy from which the orphan girl had so providentially been delivered. I hesitated about doing so, as some of my friends had expressed their disapproval of my previous adventure, and as I was not prepared to inform them of the results attained, I could not well reply to the objections which they urged. The impression of duty, however, followed me from day to day, and became too strong to C6 The Broken Snare. be forgotten or neglected, and I laid the matter before a Christian lady who, with her believing husband, volunteered to accompany me. Thus encouraged, I invited two other Christian friends, and at eventide we set forth upon our mission. A short walk led us to the place of our des- tination. Knocking for admittance, the door was opened by a beautiful young lady some twenty years of age, whose whole appearance indicated that this was no place for her, and that she had been accustomed to other and far different scenes. She invited us to enter. "We did so, made known our errand, and requested the privilege of praying with them there. After some hesi- tation a reluctant consent was given, and we bowed the knee in the presence of the Lord, and lifted up our cries to Him. The Holy Ghost was present. "Two or three" were agreed to implore the divine blessing. One after another we poured out the deep longings which were begotten within our hearts by that 'Spirit which "maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God," and "He who knoweth the mind of the Spirit" heard our prayers. And while the realities of coming judgment rose up before their minds, pressed 67 The Broken Snare. home by the convincing power of the divine messenger, the hardest hearts quailed in view of the approaching day of God, and sighs and sobs of grief were heard throughout the room. Rising from prayer we observed that the young lady who admitted us had covered her face with her handkerchief, and sat weeping as if her heart would break. Oh how I pitied her ! I could not leave her without speaking an encouraging word, and trying to win her from the ways of sin and degradation ; and I found opportunity to whisper my name and residence in her ear, and to invite her to call on me, appointing an hour when I would be at home to receive her. She promised me that she would come, and we took our leave, and turned homeward with sad and burdened hearts. On arriving at my rooms we again united in fer- vent prayers for the deliverance of this poor child, whose sorrow had so touched our hearts, and we earnestly pleaded with God to interpose in her behalf. The following day I remained at home, that I might fulfill the engagement I had made, and' continued still to seek the help and wisdom of the Lord in prayer. The designated hour arrived, a knock was heard, I opened the door, and admitted the poor stricken one to my 68 The Broken Snare. dwelling. As she crossed the threshold the pent-up feelings of her heart gushed out, and she fell upon my neck and burst into tears. I could but weep with her in her trouble ; and w r e sat down together, and I drew from her the bitter story of her sorrows ; the old story ; alas ! that it should be ever fresh and new to many torn and bleeding hearts ! I learned that my visitor was the daughter of a respectable widow lady residing in another county, some twenty-five miles away. She was intelligent, refined, and educated ; acquainted with French, Latin, music, painting, embroid- ery, and the various useful and ornamental accomplishments taught in the academy of which she was recently a graduate, but like many young and unsuspecting girls, she was ignorant of the snares of Satan, and had fallen a prey to his devices. For some time a young man had been paying her his addresses, which' she had encouraged. Her mother warned her faithfully against him, but she regarded the warnings as untimely, and her suspicions as unjust. Poor girl ! she had yet to learn in a dark and bitter school the truth that so few young people understand, that a true mother is the best earthly friend the young can hope to find. The Broken Snare. Deluded by the artful ways and wheedling speeches of this miserable villain, she had con- sented to leave her mother's house, that home of innocence and love and peace, and had eloped xvith him to a neighboring town where a mar- riage ceremony had been performed, and then he had brought her to that house to board. Her enjoyment was brief. After a few days he told her that their marriage was a sham, per- formed by one of his villainous friends, and that she was not his wife and need never expect to be. Thus passed the day-dreams that had beguiled her from the straight path, and thus the snare of Satan closed itself around its help- less victim. He left her to her fate. Homeless, helpless, penniless and disgraced, she knew not what to do. Broken in spirit, she felt that she could not return to her home, and bring dishonor on her friends, and she was ready to bid adieu to hope and joy, and sink in helplessness and despair. But God had pitied her, and it was while she thus sat in darkness and dejection, that I was urged by an inward impulse, I knew not why, to go and seek the lost ; and if ever there was a soul made glad with one ray of hope of deliverance from a snare of Satan, she was that soul. I heard the story, and we bowed before 70 The Broken Snare. the Lord in prayer ; and her petition for mercy and salvation broke out, not in words, but in such tears as Mary poured upon the blessed Saviour's feet, and like Mary, she was forgiven much and she loved much. We then considered what to do. She was an outcast from all society, and the gay and fail- that would smile upon the author of her calam- ities would have gathered their silken robes about them, and spurned her from their pres- ence as a thing unclean. But Jesus had received her ; and how could I reject her and cast her out? I could not do it, and I invited her to come with me, and promised to be to her a friend and helper through whatever might occur. She gladly accepted my invitation, left the wretched place where she had been, and came to share my home. She went with me to the place of prayer and praise, and there, in tears and broken-hcartedness, she confessed herself a helpless sinner, trusting only for salvation in the grace and love of Jesus Christ the sinner's friend. She remained with me, and wrought by my side from day to day, and with mo found a hearty welcome among the people of the Lord, none of them knowing of the troubles she had undergone. And though sometimes she 71 The Broken Snare. reproved herself for the part she was acting, I held her back from making more explicit con- fessions to others who might not have known how to sympathize with her, and who had no interest in or business with sins which God had forgiven, and which no one else had a right to know. A few months passed on thus, until one eve- ning she told the friends whose fellowship she had shared, that she must leave them, and bade them an affectionate farewell. They expressed their regret at parting with one whom they had loved so dearly ; and we bade them adieu and returned to our lodgings. I had an upper room, remote from my other apartments, and this was assigned to her. Here she remained, unseen save by myself. A letter was written to her mother, rehearsing all the sad and bitter tale, and she came at once, broken-hearted with her great affliction. She remained with us a month, and was supposed to be a boarder whom I had taken to accommodate during a brief sojourn in the place, and when she returned home she bore with her a helpless babe, that "she had taken out of pity, as its father had deserted it, audits mother was unable to care for it." Her daugh- ter soon followed her to her home, and remained with her mother for a season, and then she came 72 The Broken Snare. back again to our circle , and was warmly wel~ comed with genuine affection by numerous friends who congratulated her upon her safe return. She still continued with me. From that time forward her life was one of humble, consistent, unaffected service in her Master's cause. The snare was broken, and she had escaped. She was saved, and her gratitude to her Saviour and to those who had been instrumental in her deliv- erance knew no bounds. The ransomed captive glorified the God of her salvation, and, happy in the loving fellowship of those who respected her for her rare gifts and earnest piety, she labored not in vain to induce others to share the grace which she had known. Our fellow- ship in Christ became most intimate and sweet, and our humble home became a blessed Bethel to many tossed and troubled souls, who turned aside to it as to an oasis in the desert, for refreshment and for rest. Time passed on, and changes came. An excellent and useful young man, admiring her Christian zeal and fidelity, sought her acquaint- ance and solicited her hand. This was a new and bitter trial for her. She desired to do right. She could not deceive him, and she felt con- strained to refuse his offer. He sought to know the reason, but she could not give it. Unknown 73 The Broken Snare. to her I wrote and told him all ; and when he knew the story, with a nobleness of feeling, alas too rare ! his judgment, his conscience, and his affections still led him to press his suit, and at length they were married "in the Lord." Heaven's blessings of life and health and love and peace abode upon them. The absent little one found its way back into its mother's arms ; and walking together in the commandments and ordinances of the Lord, they were useful, zeal- ous and beloved laborers in the cause of Christ ; and when last I saw them they were still press- ing on in their heavenly way and looking for "that blessed hope and the glorious appearing of the great God and our Saviour Jesus Christ." For a few years past I have lost sight of them, and I may see them no more in this world ; but I hope to meet them by and by in the presence of Him who said to one of old, "Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more." In the hope that others may seek to save the lost and fallen, this record is given to the world. The circumstances related are facts, and the rec- ord is as accurate as my recollections can make it. The identity of the parties has never been T disclosed ; their secret is with themselves and \ me. And when my husband hears men say \ that "women cannot keep a secret," he says he 74 J The Broken Snare. knows better than that, for though he has met the parties to these transactions he has not the slightest suspicion as to who they are. The promises that I made to that rescued one are sacred still, and till the secrets of all hearts are made known before the throne of One "who knows how to have compassion on the ignorant and them that are out of the way, "I hide in the inner chambers of my memory the name of her who was delivered from "the broken snare." THE REFUGE. By many sorrows burdened, weighed down by sin and guilt, My soul hath fled to Jesus, whose blood for me was spilt; And in his boundless mercy my heart hath found repose, From all my inward sorrow, from all my outward foes. When Satan would affright me, and sins disturb my soul ; When tempests lower above me, and waters o'er me roll; When all around is vocal witli terror and alarm, I flee to Christ for refuge and trust his mighty arm. My house, though small and lowly, is built upon a rock; It fears no torrent's fury, and dreads no tempest's shock; Though helpless and unworthy, yet confident I cling, And trust in God to hide me beneath his sheltering wing. Strong in my mighty refuge my soul secure doth sit: I hear my Saviour's counsels, while lingeiing at his feet; And. looking up confiding. 1 meet the loving eye Of him who bore my sorrows aiul for my sins did die. In him all grace and mercy, all power and love unite; He is my strength and wisdom, my righteousness and light; In him iny soul has pardon, and rest and joy and peace; His smile, like summer sunshine, bids doubts and anguish cease. I find him near in troubles, I come to him in prayer; I tell him all my sorrows, I oust on him my care; My soul looks out with longing, and waits to see him come. And gather all his pilgrims to rest with him at home. it. L. H. 75 A SAD, SAD TALE. About the year 1848 there was a time of special awakening arid religious interest in all the churches in the village of G . Among those who boarded in the family with me was a young lady of superior talents and accomplish- ments, a daughter of one of the first families in her native town ; beautiful, brilliant, gay, and thoughtless. I had frequent conversations with her con- cerning her soul's eternal interests, and in writ- ing to her father, who was a Methodist class- leader, she mentioned her acquaintance and association with me. I soon received a letter from him expressing his joy that his daughter had become acquainted with a Christian friend, and wishing me to take a special interest in her welfare, for which he felt a deep anxiety. I endeavored by every appropriate means to engage her thoughts upon the subject of personal religion, but she had become proud and vain ; and having formed the acquaintance of many of the gay and worldly around, she at length 76 A. Sad f Sad Tale. avoided me, and finally left the family and sought another boarding-place, that she might pursue her course of pleasure undisturbed. The work of grace progressed with mighty power ; many were converted among all the churches, especially among the Baptists, and the believers in the near coming of the Saviour. This young lady attended the Baptist meet- ings, and shared in the deep conviction of sin which was wrought in many hearts by the power of the Holy Spirit, but she strove to resist the heavenly influence. She had four young com- panions, gay and thoughtless like herself. The minister of the Church solemnly and faithfully warned the ungodly of their danger, and told them that no one could pass through that revival without feeling the influence of the Spirit of God. These five young ladies scoffed at the idea, and promised each other to resist all such impressions ; and boasted among their acquaint- ances that they would show them that they could pass through the revival and not be affected by it. Accordingly they attended the meetings and sneered and trifled with all the tears shed and prayers offered on their behalf. I sent a note to the minister requesting special prayers for this young lady ; the request was laid before 11 A Sad, Sad Tale. the meeting, no name being mentioned ; but it provoked fresh scoffing from them, and they seemed determined to harden their hearts and brave it out against all convictions, admonitions, and entreaties. But "though hand join in hand tho wicked shall not be unpunished," and "it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the liv- ing God." For some weeks after this young lady left my boarding-place to avoid my entreaties, I did not meet her, though I frequently heard of her course, and did not forget to pray for her. One morning when engaged about my daily task, a lady came to see me and said, "Mary Jane C y is dying, and wants to see you." I left my work and hastened to her boarding- place ; as I entered her room she stretched her hands frantically towards me and said, "You have come to see me die, but don't pray for me; it is of no use." I tried to point her to the sinner's friend and Saviour, but she spoke of her having grieved the Holy Spirit away, and screamed, "Don't talk to me! It is too late! there is no hope for me!" I tried to speak to her, but it was in vain ; her eyes glared wildly in their sockets, her cheeks were flushed with the hues of mortal disease, and there burst from her lips a torrent of cursing and blasphemy such 78 A. Sad, Sad Tale. as I had never heard before. She continued this till her voice grew fainter and fainter, and she soon sank in death with whispered curses on her lips. I have witnessed many sights of sadness and horror, but this was the most awful scene I ever beheld. I felt relieved when her lips were sealed in death. I looked upon her face as she lay coffined and shrouded, the most beautiful corpse I ever saw, but I could not banish from my memory those awful oaths and imprecations which marked the giddy scoffer's closing hours. They carried her to the home of her child- hood, that home that she had so lately left, all radiant with youth and beauty and joy and hope, and buried her out of their sight. It fell to my lot to write to her father concerning her death ; and though I was constrained to say that I feared she died without hope, I could not distress his sorrowing heart with the recital of the fearful details of the dying scene. Another of this giddy circle, Mary Jane's most intimate associate, was taken sick about the same time with tht- same disease, typhoid fever, and sank beneath its power. Her last hours were mostly passed in the stupor of dis- ease. Now and then she would rouse herself from her lethargy, and gnzing about her, say, 79 A Sad, Sad Tale. "Am I going to die?" and then sink back into insensibility. One week from the time of poor Mary Jane's awful death, she, too, died, not in wildness of frenzy, but in despairing stupor, and without hope in Christ. Her death broke the spell that bound these proud young ladies, and the other three gave over their rebellious scoffings, yielded to the voice of mercy and of love, and confessed them- selves the followers of Christ, the Son of God. Many years have passed since these things occurred, but I can never forget the dying hour of poor Mary Jane C y. For more than a year her expiring screams and blasphemies haunted me by night and day. And now for the first time this truthful record is given to the world, in the hope that some poor, thoughtless sinner who is resisting the gentle strivings of the Holy Ghost, may be warned to escape a fate like hers, may yield to the call of heavenly mercy, and heed the word of God which says, "To-day, if ye will hear His voice harden not your hearts." 80 THE FOUR BED-QUILTS. The world's way to wealth is, get and keep ; keep what you get and get all you can. The Christian course is to give and receive, to sow generously and reap bountifully ; to cast the bread upon the waters and find it again after many days. Man's doctrine is, "Look out for number one." Christ's doctrine is, "Give, and it shall be given unto you : good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom." Both of these principles cannot be correct. Which is the right one? My experience testifies that God is true, that his plan is right, and that his promises will never fail. The poor of this world are under the especial charge of God and of his church. Their pov- erty, it is true, may often be in part their fault, and so was that of the prodigal son ; and yet it may be God's means of bringing them to con- sider and repent. And while God thus deals with the distressed and stricken children of men, his hand may guide them to us for help and 81 The Four Bed-quilts. comfort, and if so, shall we refuse to heed his providential call ? I know the objections and excuses of unbelief and covetousness and worldly prudence ; but God's word gives ample answers to them all. And God's word is safest and best. To "sell and give alms" is safer than to "buy and get in debt ;" and many can bear witness to this truth. Often have I found the increase that comes of scattering abroad, and sometimes the poverty that results from the withholding more than is meet ; and to the praise of God, and for the en- couragement of others in the path of obedience, I record the following facts, which show the faith- fulness of our heavenly Father to his promises. In the autumn of 1856, we removed to Roch- ester, N. Y., a place which became to us a fur- nace of affliction, and also a scene of numerous and varied mercies at the hand of God. Our stock of household gear was small, for we began with almost nothing, and the publication of tracts for free distribution, and the preaching of the gospel freely to the poor, had brought us little worldly gain. We were poor in this world, but rich in faith. The providence of God prepared for us a rest- ing-place among Christian friends while we were waiting to secure a tenement, and while there 82 The Four Bed-quilts. we became slightly acquainted with a young woman who was sometimes employed to do work for the family. Her appearance indicated that she was not a stranger to trouble, and upon inquiring into her circumstances I found that she was very poor. A sick husband, a mother ill with cancer, and four little girls, all depen- dent for support upon the labor of her own unskilled hands, furnished about as heavy a load as one poor woman was able to bear. My sympathies were enlisted for her, but I hardly knew what to do. She was destitute and needy, and I was unable to help her as I desired. I had, however, two dresses, some- what worn, which I had purposed to make into bed-quilts for myself ; but feeling that her need was greater than my own, I proposed to the friend where I was stopping, to give the poor woman my dresses to cut over for her little girls, so that they might be comfortable, and have something to wear to meeting and to Sun- day-School. The good sister replied, "If you begin in this way to look after all the poor in the city, you will have your hands full, and never have anything yourself ;" and I confess this looked like a very reasonable statement of the state of the case, for neither she nor I had learned as 83 The Four Bed-quilts. much of the goodness of God as we have since been made to experience. Another friend was equally decided in her objections to my plan. I however mentioned the matter to my husband, and asked his counsel. He said, "Go ahead, and clothe up the children with what you have got, and the Lord will provide for us." So I was all right now, and I determined to go on with good courage. About this time we obtained a house on G street, and were anxious to get settled. My husband, however, was called away to some distance by a special request to attend the wed- ding of an intimate friend, and also to preach the gospel to the people there. He was sorry to be absent at such a time, but as he had to go, and as the house was vacated, I determined to move in and get settled while he was gone ; and as my health was not firm I sent for this poor woman to come and help me. She worked for me half a day, and on paying her at noon I found I had just twenty-five cents left. As I gave her her wages I noticed her sad countenance , and a tear stood in her eye as she turned and said, "Can't you hire me the rest of the day?" I inquired if she was in pressing need. She replied that she had no food, and no wood, and that her little children had not clothing sufficient 84 The Four Bed-quilts. to protect them from the cold either by day or night. I saw that her case was much worse than mine, for we had friends and credit, while few would trust a poor woman who had nothing to help herself with. So I concluded to engage her for the rest of the day, and give her what money I had. Accordingly she helped me on through the afternoon. I gave her the money at night, and should have been glad to have ministered to her wants, but I had no food in the house, as we had only just moved, and I could do nothing more for her. But just as she was preparing to leave at night, the door- bell rang, and a teamster brought a load of wood, which he unloaded in the yard. I was glad, for "Xow," thought I, "the poor woman can have some wood." A few moments later there came a quarter of beef, and a barrel of flour. Then I felt better, and cutting her a piece of beef, and filling her a little bag with flour, I sent the poor woman home to her family, loaded down with the good things which the Lord had given me, and thankful that he had enabled me thus to dispense his bounty. During the week one of my old dresses got worked over into new ones for the little girls, another sister provided shoes for two of them, and I gave one of my dresses to the mother, and 85 The Four Bed-quilts. very soon we had them all out to Sunday-School. In the meantime, while my husband was at S , a Christian woman came to him and said, "What shall I send to your wife? what does she need?" "Oh, I don't know : send her just what you please," said he, for he felt no call to go about and tell our special wants among his friends. "Well," said she, "I have just quilted a bed- quilt, and I believe I will send that ;" he accepted it thankfully, and finally she concluded to send another with it, though she knew noth- ing of our circumstances. My husband brought them home, and threw them into my lap. I understood what it all meant, for it was "just like my Father." Directly after his return, he went in an oppo- site direction some forty miles to preach in some of the school-houses in "the regions beyond." He was there a little time, and on the afternoon before he returned he called at the house of a Christian brother, whose wife was just finishing a bed-quilt, and also remarked, as she completed it, that she was going to send it to Sister Hast- ings. Another lady present said she had one at home that she would like to send if it was only there ; and taking her team she drove four miles to her home, got the bed-quilt, and returned 86 The, Four Bed-quilts. with it in season for the meeting in the evening. " O The following morning my husband came home and showed me what the Lord had sent me in return for what I had lent to him. He bade me however say nothing about it, but wait and see what might follow. When we were comfortably settled the two sisters who had objected so strongly to my giving my clothes away, came to me and said, "AVe want you to hurry and get those quilts ready, and we will come over some day and quilt them for you." So one day the dear helpful souls came, bring- ing provisions with them, so that I should have no extra work, and equipped with needles and thimbles, prepared to do the j.>b. I welcomed them, asked them to sit down and made them as happy as I could. They however wanted to go to work. "We did not come to visit," said they, "we came to work ; and we Avant you to get our work ready for us." I still delayed them a little, and at length, when they were getting impatient, I brought out the four bed-quilts, and told them to see how well the Lord had paid me for the two old dresses that I had lent to Him. The tears stood in their eyes as I told them the story, and the 87 The Four Bed-quilts. dear sisters gladly confessed that the way of faith was the best way, and that it was safe to trust in the Lord. But this was not all ; the poor woman and her children, relieved from their pressing needs, attended the little evening meetings which we held in our own hired house, and there she was enabled to confess the Saviour as her Lord and God, and, as we trust, accept the salvation that he freely offers to the lost. This was many years ago ; and through all these years the Lord has been to us a present help in every time of need. We have been pil- grims and strangers on the earth. But we have never been left to suffer, or to complain of want, and we have had to look solely to the Lord for help and support, for in all these years we had no promises but His to trust. But he has carried us safely through. I do not know as I have ever made an old dress into a bed-quilt yet. When we have had two gar- ments, we have given to those that had none, and God has given us new clothes for old, bed- quilts all made, forworn-out dresses, dollars for cents, and much for little while we have trusted him. And now, while the chill of winter is in the frosty air, as I think how many of the poor are 88 The Four Bed-quilts. shivering with cold, and suffering for the lack of the old garments which others are hoarding up, I have felt led to relate this story, simple though it may seem to many, in the hope that it may encourage some among tha scattered thousands O O who may read it to take the Lord at his word, remembering that " He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord, and that which he hath given will he repay him again." It is safe to trust in God ; and when his children refuse to lend to Htm he has many ways to show them that there is nothing gained by disobeying his precepts. Well do I remember a few years after this, when passing through Rochester, N. Y., on my way to my eastern home, I called at the house of a friend and found a young convert there who seemed to need the strength and encourage- ment to be derived from the fellowship of the saints of God. A large and interesting meet- ing was to be held at W., a place through which I was to pass on my homeward journey, and this young brother very much desired to attend the meeting, but poverty prevented. While there I felt it my duty to pay his fare thither, but as I had been spending considerable money that season in consequence of ill health, and as the eight dollars needed would have O 89 The Four Bed-quilts. taken the last dollar that I had left after paying my own passage, I felt that it might be draw- ing too heavily upon my husband's limited means, and so I said nothing about it, and came away without him. I purchased my ticket, took my seat in the cars, and came as far as Albany, feeling all the while fearful that I had done wrong in with- holding the Lord's money when duty seemed to call for its disbursement. At Albany we changed cars, crossed the river, and though I took extra care of my pocket and my purse, yet, as I carried my little boy in my arms, when I got seated in the cars again and the conductor came for my ticket, I found, for the first time in my life, that my pocket had been picked, and purse, ticket, eight dollars and all were gone. Quick as thought came the reflection, "Why didn't I let H have that money?" But it was too late, the money was gone, and to my great mortification, for once I had to liter- ally beg my way along to my place of destina- tion, enduring the scowls of a cross conductor, and the reproaches of my own conscience. But I learned a good lesson which I have not forgot, and the reader can find out just what it was by referring to the eleventh chapter of Proverbs, twenty-fourth verse. 90 "ONE MORE UNFORTUNATE. "A word in season, how good is it; "but how often the word remains unspoken until the season is forever past. Many a poor, sad soul is yearning now for comfort and for help ; to-day they are within our reach and we may speak the saving word, to-morrow it may be too late, and our hearts may be filled with deep and vain regrets. Oh, how this truth was stamped upon my soul by a scene which I once witnessed, and which I never can forget. It was one midsummer evening in the year 1857, that I left my home in Rochester, N.Y., and, accompanied by my niece and little son not three years old, took steamer at Charlotte, on the southern shore of Lake Ontario, to go via Ogdensburg, N. Y., to visit a sister whose life was despaired of, and who resided in my native place in Vermont. The night was dark, and the gathering clouds soon gleamed with lightnings and poured their waters down, but we were safely embarked on board the steamer that ploughed her way onward through storm 91 " One More Unfortunate" and darkness to her destined port. Retiring for the night we rested as best we could, and awoke the following morning to witness the splendor of the rising day as it gilded the placid bosom of the beautiful Ontario, through which our steamer cut its foaming path. Early in the morning my niece went out upon the deck, and soon came back to my berth and said, "There is a girl out there that is crying and feeling real bad. I asked her what the matter was and she would not tell me ; but I determined I would find out, and I asked her if she was going home, and she said, * I haven't any home to go to.' I asked her where her friends lived, and she said, < I haven't got any friends.' I wish, Aunt H., that you would go out and talk with her." I arose from my berth, made a hasty toilet, and went out to find the sorrowing stranger, but she was gone, and I knew not where to look for her, and returned to the cabin. The sail was pleasant, the company agreeable, and I remained in the cabin most of the time, until, yielding to the importunities of my little boy who wanted to "go out and see the wasser," I went out upon the deck at the hinder part of the steamer, that I might gratify his childish curi- osity. While leaning against the railing, holding 92 " One More Unfortunate" him in my arms, he, in his delight at the scene, gave a sudden spring and almost escaped from my grasp into the water. I shuddered at the danger which he had mercifully escaped, and drew back to return into the cabin . But the little fellow cried and disliked to go in, and as I turned to go back again, I noticed a young girl of some eighteen years sitting with her arms on the railing and her face buried in her handkerchief, weeping and sobbing as if in bitterness of soul. By her side stood a man between forty and fifty years of age, who had been conversing with her, but who quickly retired at my approach, and left the girl alone. I noticed her apparent distress, and concluding that she must be the one of whom my niece had spoken, I felt moved to go to her and draw from her the story of her griefs. For three or four minutes, perhaps, I walked backward and forward near her, considering how I might best approach her, when suddenly she started up and climbed over the rail. Thinking she might have dropped her handkerchief, I looked over to see if there was another deck or railing below, and as I saw nothing but the dark and foaming waters beneath, a horrible suspicion flashed across my mind, and I sprang forward, and holding my child in my left arm, reached round 93 " One More Unfortunate? on the outside of the post, and with my right hand grasped her arm. She turned her head toward me with a wild, despairing look, and with a sudden movement, which almost drew me over the railing, she tore herself from my grasp, and plunged into the foaming wake of the vessel, which shot away like an arrow, leaving her far astern. I shrieked with terror, and burst into the cabin, screaming, "A girl overboard ! a girl overboard ! " and rushed through the confusion to the captain's office and gave the alarm. Instantly the steamer was stopped, a boat was lowered and pulled back over the vessel's wake in hope of recovering the)] lost one. Alas ! it was in vain ; a shawl floating on the water was all that remained of the pool girl. They returned to the vessel, the boat was hoisted in, and the throbbing engine pro- pelled the steamer on her course, while passen- gers, officers and crew, gathered around me in anxious solicitude, to learn the facts with which the reader has been made acquainted. Inquiry into the circumstances which attended this rash act developed the fact that some of the crew had observed this girl sitting there all the previous night, and had tried in vain to induce her to enter the cabin ; and early in the morning, before the passengers were astir, some 94 " One More Unfortunate" one had noticed a man similar in appearance to the one whom I had described, talking very earnestly with her, when no one else was in hearing. Search was instantly made for this man, who after awhile was found secreted near the engine, and was placed in confinement to await an investigation. The captain of the boat recollected the man as having paid the fare of this girl when she embarked at Char- lotte ; and he was identified by persons on board as being a man who had a wife and children residing at one of the ports at which we touched. The man seemed agitated and guilty, but denied all knowledge of the girl, and as there seemed to be no evidence which would warrant the retaining of him in custody, he was set at liberty, and left the boat at Oswego. The circumstances introduced me to the notice of the passengers on board the boat, and I endeavored to improve the opportunity by distributing tracts and conversing with them upon 'the important themes suggested by the occurrences of the day ; and I hope that the labor was not in vain in the Lord. But the poor girl was gone. Sleeping beneath the waters of the Ontario, until all that are in their graves shall hear the voice of the Son of God and come forth, when the sea shall give up the 95 " One More Unfortunate" dead that are therein, to stand in judgment before the "great white throne," she had passed beyond the reach of human effort, and sunk in sadness down to death. And to me was given the last opportunity to speak a word in season to that weary heart, and that opportunity had passed me unimproved. Long did the remembrance of that scene haunt my mental vision ; often did my little boy in his childish prattlings refer to the sad event ; and while it ever filled my spirit with a name- less dread, it seemed also to press upon my conscience that inspired admonition, "What- soever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might ; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest." Eccl. ix. 10. And I recall this circumstance, hoping that it may impress some other heart with the impor- tance of constant faithfulness to God, and obe- dience to the call of duty, while yet there is time and opportunity to seek and save the lost. God only knows how many quivering, bleeding hearts are to-day longing for a healing word which we may speak. He only knows how many poor, homeless girls are driven by the craft of evil men to make a fearful choice, and are crowded to the very verge of ruin, and 96 " One More Unfortunate" have no one to extend to them a helping hand, or speak to them a sympathizing word. Alas ! that among so many kindly, friendly ones that sailed together that day, there was not one in whose face this burdened child could discern the sympathy she needed, not one to whom she dared to confide her sorrows, not one to tell her of the infinite compassion of a loving God, not one to hold her back from the consummation of her sad design. "Alas ! for the rarity of Christian charity, Under the sun ; Oh, it was pitiful ! near a whole city full, Home she had none." Shall not her fate be a solemn warning to young and unwary girls to shun the flatteries and avoid the traps that are set to take their feet? And shall it not furnish a most impres- ive argument to persuade us to work while the day shall last, before the night cometli wherein no work can be done ? And if, in the providence of God, this story should fall into the hands of some poor dejected child of sorrow and sin, who is thinking dark thoughts, and shuddering on the verge of the abyss, let me beg you to stop just where you are. Do not rush on ; do not brave the ter- rors of the judgment-throne. There is a better way for you, a way of hope and peace. God D 97 " One More Unfortunate" in heaven looks down and pities you to-day ; and Jesus Christ, whose blessed feet were bathed by the tears of the repentant Mary ; whose gracious messages fell kindly upon the ears of the outcast and the sad ; who spoke to the lowest and the vilest, even when his disci- ples "marvelled that he talked with the woman ;" and who invited publicans and harlots to that kingdom which Pharisees were -too proud to enter or accept; that Jesus Christ lives, and loves, and pities you to-day; you, who despise yourself, and curse the day of your birth ; you , who are hated, and outcast, and rejected by those who have trampled you down to the gates of hell, when they might have lifted you up to life and joy and peace ; you poor, sad, lonely, homeless, stricken one, Jesus pities YOU. Do not despair of his love nor of his grace. He watches you, and he can deliver you. And there are those who follow him, who also pity you, and would gladly lift you up. Cry to the Lord f r his mercy and his forgiveness. Pray with the publican, "God be. merciful to me a sinner." Believe in Christ as your Saviour and your friend, and he can bring you out of all 3'our distresses, ransomed and restored. You do not know how many long to help you. Little did this poor girl imagine that 98 " One More Unfortunate" there was one so near her who longed to com- fort and lift her up from darkness and from death. Had she waited ; had she stayed her rash act, she might have been saved. And there may be helpers nearer to you than you imagine. Do not despair. Cry to God. Some city missionary, some tract distributor, some loving Christian, may be near you. Pray God to guide you, and you will surely find some helper; wait for his providence, and he will surely send relief. He knows how to deliver you from the snares which Satan weaves about the victims of his wiles, and so surely as he sees your heart is turned to Him he will be your God and your guide. "Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord : though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow ; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool." Isa. i. 18. "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." 1 John i. 9. 09 No person not born or reared in New Eng- land can well understand the full meaning of "Thanksgiving Day," especially in the olden time. But in every quarter of the globe those who remember some little cottage among New England's russet hills and purple forests and rocky fields as their "old home," can never forget the pleasures of this annual festival almost the only one in the year which came down to them from the Pilgrim Fathers who landed on Plymouth Rock. When seed-time and harvest had come and gone, and the severer labors of the season were accomplished, then, at the appointed day, the skillful housewife, gathering the choicest prod- ucts of the farmer's toil, and every delicacy of land or sea which she could command, prepared a bounteous feast to which all the members of the family, old and young, were invited. Pleasant gatherings were those. The grand- parents in their easy chairs, the robust men, with the unfashionably healthy women ; the 100 My Thanksgiving Dinner. younger heads of families, with the little ones who perpetuated the paternal stock and name ; the hardy boys and happy girls who laughed, and romped, and played, before "boys and girls " gave place to the tobacco-using dandies and wasp-waisted invalids termed ' ' young gen- tlemen and ladies," who are now so frequently seen the aunts, and uncles, and cousins, who came from far and near ; the bluff sailor from beyond the seas, and the city relatives who turned their faces backward to the scenes of childhood for a day, all these, and more, gathered under the old roof-tree, where thank- fulness, and praise, and simple mirth, en- deared the annual festival to every heart and home. Even the humble dwellings of poverty were not without their festive joys on " thanks- giving day," and kindly hearts took care that none were hungry amid the plenty that sur- rounded them. And though many things have changed since those olden days, yet this feast is still observed, and retains something of its ancient interest ; and on one occasion, at least, it is associated in my own mind with circumstances so pleasing that I have felt they are worthy of recital. In the summer of 1861, while residing in the city of Providence, I heard of a neighboring 101 My Thanksgiving- Dinner. family who were said to be in straitened cir- cumstances. The matter being mentioned to the family, one of our helpers, Miss M., proposed to call on them, and at my request she did so, learned their history, talked and prayed with them, and returned to report concerning them. They were Scotch people, named A , and they said they had lived in this country eight years, and Miss M. was the first person who had ever called to speak to them of Jesus Christ, and hers was the first voice that had been raised in prayer beneath their roof during that time. The family consisted of a husband, wife, nine children, and a homeless Scotchman, whom they, with the pity that poverty feels for pov- erty, had taken in because he had nowhere else to go. Only the father and one son were able to do much for the support of the family. They worked in an adjacent mill, but their small wages could hardly fill so many hungry mouths. They received the visit kindly, and wept as their visitor bore their case in prayer before the Lord ; and on her return we endeavored to send them something for their pressing needs ; and we detected another of our helpers almost as poor as they, spending her scanty shillings for five loaves of bread and a half a bushel of potatoes, which she ordered the market-man to 102 My Thanksgiving Dinner. deliver there without delay. The family were induced to attend public worship, and the parents made profession of their faith in Jesus Christ ; a cottage-meeting was held weekly in their dwelling, and with industry and economy they were made quite comfortable until autumn, when work became scarce, and the wolf again looked in at the door. The day before "Thanksgiving" I went down to see them. As I passed along the street I met the people carrying their provisions home, and making ready for the coming feast. Al- most every person carried a turkey, goose, or chicken, or something for " Thanksgiving Day." It was noon, and as I came to their door, I heard the little ones begging with tears and sobs for some little Indian cakes which the mother was baking on the stove. ' ' Can't I have another cake ? " "Ye canna ha' more," said the mother; " there's only ane apiece, and father has na' come from the mill yet, and there's only ane left for him." When I went in the children hushed their clamor, and the woman apologized, saying : " I guess you think my children are making a great noise." " Oh, no," I said, "but I heard them ask 103 My Thanksgiving Dinner. you for another cake, and I heard what you said, and now I want to know if this is all you have?" She hesitated a little, and said, " I nae like to tell ; but sin' ye ha' asked me the question I'll tell ye : this is the last mouthfu' but the Lord will send us more." I remained a few moments and lifted up my heart to God. The father came in, and feeling unwilling to remain longer a witness of their poverty, I retired, and went home thinking how many hundreds and thousands around me were supplied with everything that luxury and extravagance could desire, while here were industrious, honest people, hungry for want of the plainest food. On my way home these words came to my mind, " When thou makest a dinner or a sup- per, call not thy friends, nor thy brethren, neither thy kinsmen, nor thy rich neighbors ; lest they also bid thee again, and a recompense be made thee. But when thou makest a feast, call the_poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind ; and thou shalt be blessed : for they cannot recompense thee : for thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just." Luke xiv. 12- 14. I thought then that I would make a feast, and call in this hungry family, and also an Irish 104 My Thanksgiving Dinner. woman who did our washing, who had two children, and whose husband was dying of con- sumption . But I had no money to spare to make a feast, even for myself; my husband was hundreds of miles away, preaching in western New York : our friends around us were few and poor, and I could only look to God in time of need. But I knew that He knew these persons were desti- tute, and it was long since some of them had had a comfortable meal ; and I knew that it was according to Scripture to feed the hungry, and my heavenly Father knew my motives, and I had perfect confidence to trust in him, and I said in my heart, " I will make a feast." So I prayed the Lord to give me the means to pro- vide a dinner for these poor families. There was a wealthy man in the neighbor- hood, Mr. S., a president of a bank, whom I had never spoken to but once or twice, and I asked the Lord to put it into his heart to send me a turkey for the feast ; and before I reached home I felt he would surely hear my prayer. On entering the house I said to my husband's mother, " Mother, I am going to have a present of a turkey." She laughed at the suggestion, and said: "Who is going to give you a turkey? " 105 My Th a n ksgiv ing D in ner. "Mr. S.," I replied. " How do you know ? Have you seen him ?" " No," said I ; " but I have been asking the Lord to impress his mind to send me a turkey to make a Thanksgiving dinner." " Well, I'm afraid you won't get your turkey this year ; I guess we shall have to make our thanksgiving dinner of potatoes and bread." "Yes, I'm going to have a turkey," I con- tinued ; but she remained incredulous still. Evening came, and I had neither turkey nor vegetables, except potatoes, and I went up into my chamber to ask the Lord again to answer my prayer, and felt that he would grant my request. While I was praying there was a rap at the front door ; my little boy ran to answer the call, and as he opened the door saw a turkey hang- ing from the door-knob, and a boy running at full speed down the street. " Who sent this ? " said Johnnie. " I was told not to tell," said the boy ; and away he ran, carrying another turkey and two chickens in his hands. I came down stairs feeling that all was right, and mother said, " Hattie, your present has come, here is your turkey." I said, " Thank the Lord ; I knew it would 106 'SEE, WHAT A FAITHFUL GOD WE HAVE! " Page 107. My Thanksgiving Dinner. come." On looking at it I saw that it was abundantly large for our family, yet it would not furnish a meal for the "multitude" that I desired to invite to my feast, and I said, " I'm afraid that it isn't enough. I must have an- other." "Well," said mother, "I shall not say any- thing more about it ; I guess you'll get your dinner." I Avent up stairs and told the Lord I wanted another turkey, and some vegetables also, for my feast. While I was praying I heard a wagon pass down our street ; and before I had finished I heard a heavy rap at the kitchen door, which opened, and I heard the heavy fall of something on the floor. I knew that the other turkey had come : and hurrying down stairs I saw a fifteen-pound turkey on the kitchen floor ; while as I looked out of the door I caught a glimpse of the retreating form of our good neighbor, Brother Case, who was laughing heartily, and travelling for home as if he did not mean to let his left hand know what his right hand had been doing. "There, mother," said I, as I carried my present in, " see what a faithful God we have ;" and I rejoiced with solemn awe at such visible manifestations of his power and providence. 107 My Thanksgiving Dinner. Pretty soon Mrs. M., who was to have been invited to the feast, came in with her face wreathed with smiles, saying, " I have come in to tell you what a present I have had. Mr. S. has sent me a turkey and two chickens for Thanksgiving. Don't you think he was kind?" " Who did he send them by ? " I asked. " A little boy brought them." "There," said I, "that is the very man that sent me a turkey. I have been praying to the Lord for something to make a dinner of, and was going to ask you to come over. But you seem to be provided for." "Oh, yes," said she thankfully, "and this isn't all ; other things have been sent, and I am well supplied." The next morning, Jenny, our house girl, was astir bright and early, full of sympathy for the poor, and went to the house of Mrs. R., the washer-woman, to invite them to the feast, while I went to Mr. A.'s and informed them of the plan. The children were full of glee, and the parents were glad, and told IIOAV badly they had felt to see others supplied with every lux- ury, while their children cried in vain for bread. We went home and prepared the dinner. They came with clean faces, and dressed in their best which was poor enough but the mother 108 My Thanksgiving Dinner. had stripped the children, and washed and dried their clothes, and made them quite presentable for the dinner hour two o'clock P. M. We had room for all, and our house was " filled with guests," for none of them " began to make excuses " when we called them ; and after giving thanks to God for his abundant goodness, we carved the food and fed the hungry company. And such ravenous appetites ! The old folks talked and laughed, and told stories of their younger days, and said it seemed the most like "Auld Scotland" of anything they had seen in this country ; w r hile the children sat in silence, behaving as well as need be, but making remarkably quick work with the pro- visions which were heaped upon their plates. It was a pleasure to see them eat, and I enjoyed it quite as much as they did. " Oh, mother," said one laborious little five- year-old, "I feel as if I should split ! " We laughed, and the mother said, " My child, what makes ye eat sae much, if ye dinna want it?" " 'Cause she keeps putting it on my plate," said the little fellow. I told him he need not eat any more than he wanted, and he seemed quite relieved when he found he had permission to stop. 109 My Thanksgiving Dinner. When all were fed we adjourned to the library, and spent the afternoon in reading and prayer, and in listening to pleasant tales of "Auld Scotia," till at an early hour they took their leave, and the happy day was done. The smallest turkey was left, and we had that for our thanksgiving feast the following day. On the forenoon of thanksgiving day, Bro. Case came in and I told him how the Lord had heard my prayers. Then ho told me how he came to purchase the larger turkey. " I was going down this street last night," said he, " and I saw a team coming down past your house, loaded with poultry for the market. The thought came to me, 'I will inquire the price of that poultry ; may be I can get some cheaper than I could down town ; ' for poultry was so dear I had concluded to go without a thanksgiving turkey. I found that he was selling out cheap, as it was late, and he feared he might have difficulty in disposing of them. After I had bought a turkey for myself, the team moved on. As I was standing nearly opposite your gate, the thought came to me that I did not believe anybody had given you a turkey, so I hailed the man and bought another turkey, and gave you the biggest one." I thanked him, and told him what w r as to be no My Thanksgiving Dinner. done with it. He seemed pleased with the way that things had been brought about, and could not fail to mark the Providence which had sent the team down an unfrequented street with hardly a house upon it, just at the moment I was praying about that very thing. A few weeks afterwards Miss S. called at our house, and I thought I would like to know if her father did really send the turkey ; and thinking I could find out by asking, even if she did not answer, I said : "Did your father send me a turkey for Thanksgiving ? " "My father!" said she, blushing, "why should you think my father would send you a turkey?" "Because I have reasons; didn't he send me a turkey for Thanksgiving ? " " You will have to ask him," said she, with an arch look which satisfied me that the Lord had heard my prayers ; but I have never seen the old gentleman to ask the question since. I have, however, known enough of God's kind providence to be convinced that he will hear the poor and the needy when they cry, and glorify himself in providing for their wants. This little incident is but one of many which I have known that illustrate the truth of the in My Thanksgiving Dinner. care of God for the poor, and his care for others who consider and assist them in their necessity, if they trust in him and seek to glorify his name. Many a time has the Lord listened to the cries of his little ones in the time of perplexity, and trial, and many an answer of peace and help have we received from his gracious hand, both for ourselves and for others who were in need. Some time after this, in- the year 1867, I had another experience of God's provide nee. AVe were residing in the city of L., and one of our nearest neighbors, who had been very kind and friendly to us, a widow woman with two sons, whose husband had died from a disease con- tracted in the war, came to me in great trouble, telling me that the landlord had sold the house she lived in over her head, and she had only three days' time to get out of the house. There were no desirable tenements to be had at that season of the year, and what to do she did not know. As I could not see a neighbor turned into the street, I took the family into my own cot- tage, and stowed their goods away as well as I could; not, however, without considerable in- convenience ; and then we considered what had better be done. She wished to keep her family together, and out of evil associations ; rents 112 My Thanksgiving' Dinner. were high, and she did not succeed in getting any place, and was in much perplexity. One day she came to me weeping, and asked my advice about building a house. There was a lot near by she could get on a long credit, and she wanted to know if I thought she could build. I told her we would pray over the matter, and ask counsel of the Lord and see what he would do. She had no money, and I had none, and my husband was in no condition to render aid in the matter ; but I knew that there was One who had promised to be "a father of the fatherless and a judge of widows," who owned the earth and the fullness thereof, and the cattle upon a thousand hills, and who was able to provide the means to build, if it was his will that the work should go forward. I knew also that he had faithful children who knew the Shepherd's voice, and would obey his direction, if he laid upon them the duty of aid- ing in the work. So I asked the Lord, if it was his will that I should go on and build that house, and if he would provide the means, so that I could complete it without embarrassing my husband or becoming involved in debt, to send me fifty dollars as a sign that I should go forward with the w r ork. About this time I attended a camp-meeting, 113 My Thanksgiving Dinner. and falling in with a Christian brother, Mr. L., who was engaged in the lumber business, I consulted with him as to the cost of materials for the building, and told him what I desired to do. Other friends overheard the conversation, and were surprised at my project, wondering why I should undertake such a thing. I did nothing for the time, but kept praying. By and by my husband brought me a letter containing ten dollars from sister L. of S., with whom I had talked of my plan when at the meeting. This money I laid aside for the house. One day I went with my husband to Boston, and called on a Miss O. While conversing with her on the subject of my thoughts, she said, "I am glad you came; I have twenty dollars, and I have been asking the Lord what to do with it, and I will give it to you to help that widow woman." I told her perhaps she had better keep it and pray over the matter, till she was fully satisfied what the Lord would have her do, and then if she felt it duty she could send it to me, as I did not wish to take it unless she was sure it was the will of God that I should have it. She waited and prayed, but could not keep the money, and, I think, the next day brought it to the Tract Repository, and gave it to my husband to bring to me for 114 My Thanksgiving Dinner. the house. From various other sources money kept coming in to me to be used at my discre- tion, some of it from persons who knew nothing of my plan, until I had a hundred dollars on hand. I then felt that it was time to ' ' arise and build." The land was purchased, and I ordered Brother L. to send mo a car-load of lumber. It came ; carpenters and workmen Avere en- gaged, and the work pushed forward with all convenient haste. It was not, however, finished without some trials, both of faith and patience ; but through them all the Lord was pleased to be our helper and our trust. While the building progressed, I at one time needed a hundred dollars, which I prayed the Lord that a certain man, Brother F., might lend to me ; and soon after I attended a meet- ing in the city where he lived, where I met his wife, who said to me when we met, and before I had an opportunity to so much as intimate my desire, " Oh, sister II., you are just the one I wanted to see ; I want to know if you have not been needing some money. I have felt so uneasy about you for three weeks, that I haven't taken any comfort, aad I told Mr. F. he must send you some money, for I knew that you were needing some." 115 My Thanksgiving Dinner. "I wrote you a letter yesterday," said I; " have n't you received it?" Mr. F. said, "No; I haven't been to the office, but I will go over now and get it." He went, and found the letter in which I had asked him for the loan, which was gladly granted, and I was told not to trouble myself about repaying it at present. So the work went on ; in a few weeks the house w r as finished and occupied ; the bills set- tled, the deficiencies temporarily provided for, and I had a new lesson of trust, which was to be profitable to me in the midst of the care and trials of the days that were to come, and which has since encouraged my heart when other burdens were laid upon my shoulders, and other labors occupied my hands. 116 TWO SUITS OF CLOTHES. BY II. L. HASTINGS. "Trust in the Lord and do good ; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed." God's word joins together precept and promise, obedience and blessing. It is not, "Trust in the Lord and do evil" nor is it, "Trust in the Lord and do nothing ," as some would seem to think; but it is, "Trust in the Lord and do good ; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed." And yet just here unbelief steps in with varied arguments. To trust in God and do nothing is presumption ; and M'hen those who try it, fail in the attempt, the unbeliever taunts them with the worthlessness of faith. On the other hand, when those who trust in God are yet active and diligent in labor, the logic of unbelief leaves God out of the result, and says it is all by nat- ural laws, good calculation, and hard work. And even some who are sincerely following Christ, being too unmindful of the gracious prov- idence of God, are led to question the special guidance of his hand, under circumstances where 117 Tivo Suits of Clothes. a more intimate acquaintance with all the facts would put these questionings and doubts to flight, and lead them to the childlike confidence O 7 of simple faith. Some thoughts of this description, expressed by an esteemed friend, and coming to the writer in a day of special depression, led him to turn his mind backward over the experiences of the past, and recall some of the tokens of providen- tial mercy which had marked a checkered life. Mentioning the subject to a Christian lady of his acquaintance, the following story was told in reply : "In the autumn or winter of 1860, we lived in the city of Providence, and I was able to devote a portion of my time to laboring among the poor of the city. One day while out upon this errand, I entered a large, old tenement-house, inhab- ited by a number of poor families. In one of these tenements I found a woman and seven little children. The woman seemed to be one who had seen better days, but by disappoint- ment the family had been reduced to poverty, and her husband, becoming discouraged, had taken to the bottle to drown his sorrows. This, of course, had produced still greater wretched- ness. *'I invited the children to Sunday-school, and 118 Two Suits of Clothes. the parents to meeting. They replied that they had no clothes fit to wear. I inquired if they would go if clothes could be provided for them : the wife and children promised that they would. And the wife thought that her husband would go also, if raiment was provided. I talked and prayed with them, and left them with a promise that I would see what could be done for them, and call again. "My acquaintance in the city was small, and mostly among the poor of this world ; and we had already clothed so many for our Sunday- school that hardly a spare garment could be found. I called upon some of the more wealthy people of the city, but no one seemed to have much to bestow, and I returned to my home. "My husband was absent preaching the gospel of Christ. He had only two suits of clothes, and both of them were well worn. One suit he wore away, the other was hanging in the closet at home. The words of the Saviour came to my mind, 'He that hath two coats, let him im- part to him that hath none' (Luke iii. 11), and I determined to obey the command. I took the clothes and told my family what I intended to do, and asked them what they thought of it. I found out what they thought very soon. 'I think.' said one, a relative and visitor there, 119 Two Suits of Clothes. 'you must be crazy. If your head wasn't tied to your body you would give that away. I should hardly think you would dare to give them away without your husband's consent, for fear he would be displeased.' I told them I was not afraid of that, for he and I were agreed in trusting God, and whatever I felt was duty he would say Amen to ; and besides, we had a rich Father who knew all our needs. "They, however, had no faith in such pro- ceedings ; they believed that God helped those that helped themselves ; my husband was poor and needed the clothes himself; charity began at home ; and there was an almshouse provided for such people as those were. I told them that no one else might look after their souls' inter- ests, and I felt that God had laid it upon me to do this work, and it must be done. He knew all I needed, and was abundantly able to provide. "I stopped no longer to confer with flesh and blood, but taking my husband's coat, pantaloons, vest, shirt, stockings, and boots, I took also from my own scanty wardrobe a bonnet, shawl, dress, etc., for the woman, and a suit of my little boy's clothes for one of the children. I made them up in a parcel and carried them my- self to the dwelling of the poor family. 120 Two Suits of Clothes. "It was in the evening, and the husband was at home. I asked him to try on the boots, and they fitted exactly. The man seemed very thankful, and said he was glad that there was one Christian in the city, for he had been nigh discouraged, and had thought that there were none. His voice trembled with emotion, and his eyes filled with tears, as I talked to him and told him that there were other sympathizing Christians there who would gladly lend him a helping hand ; and I invited him to come out to meeting. He promised to come. I told the children to come to my house the following day, and I would see what I could do for them. The wife followed me to the door, deeply affected, and said it was the first time she had seen her husband weep or show any sign of feeling for a /ong while. He had seemed very much hard- ened, and had sneered at religion and those who professed it ; until now it seemed that God had softened his heart. I left her and returned home, satisfied that I had done right, and feel- ing the richer for it. "On reaching home, I found the family busily engaged in opening and inspecting a box that had been brought to me by express, from a dis- tant place. On examining the contents, I found a number of suits of clothes, enough, with what 121 Two Suits of Cluthes. I had carried, to fit out all the children who were old enough to attend Sunday-school, a new suit for my little boy, and a good, new dress, which I was directed to keep for my own use. This arrival produced a change in the atmos phere, and some were ready to admit that the Lord had repaid that which I had lent to him. "The next day the children came and ob- tained their garments, and were fitted out with sufficient clothes for Sunday-school, excepting two cloaks, which were afterwards procured from another source ; and so the family were ready for meeting. The next Sunday the husband came to meeting, and the children, bright and happy, came to Sunday-school. You ought to have seen their faces shine as they came in. "In the evening the wife came with her hus- band, and the tears rolled down his cheeks while she publicly confessed her desire to follow and obey the Lord. "My husband had come home in the mean time, and I told him what I had done ; and h< said, 'It is all right.' I went and told my visit- ing relative of it, who replied, 'Yes, you, both of you, w r ill give awa} r all you have got.' I said, 4 The Lord is able to give my husband a new suit of clothes before Saturday night.' 'You don't know that,' was the reply. I Jaid the 122 " A CHANGE IN' THE ATMOSPHERE." Page 122. Tivo Suits of Clothes. matter before the Lord in prayer, and asked Goa to glorify his own name, and let it be known that there was a God who knew his children's needs. "Near the end of the week my husband went to the post-office, and returned Avith a letter from W , Conn., informing him that they had measured a man there who had formerly tried on his coat when he was preaching there, and they had prepared him a suit of clothes, which were ready for him whenever he would come that way ; or they would send them by ex- press to his order at once. He called me into the library and read me the letter, and I carried it and read it before the family. "The clothes came in due time, and fitted well, and were a good deal better than those that were given away." This was the lady's story ; and the writer can vouch for its essential fact.s, for he wore the new suit of clothes himself. 123 LENT AND PAID AGAIN. BY AUNT ABBY. Borrowing and lending are universal sources of supply and gain. There are few who never wish to borrow, and few who are not sometimes able to lend. But yet great trouble and dissatis- faction often result from these transactions. Securities given for repayment sometimes prove worthless, and loans meant to be temporary prove permanent and entirely unproductive. Every thing human is uncertain, and it is well for us while heeding the command, *'Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would boiTow of thee turn not thou away," to remem- ber also that we are to "lend, hoping for nothing again," for it is only in this way that we can secure ourselves from vexation and disappoint- ment. There is, however, one mode of investment which is absolutely secure ; for an immutable word has recorded that "He that hath pity upon the poor, lendeth unto the Lord ; and that which he hath given will he pay him again ;" and, little as the worldly-wise may count this promise 124 Lent and Paid Again. worth, it stands, and will stand, when bonds and stocks and notes and securities topple like falling walls, or collapse like broken bubbles. The Lord will not suffer his word to fail. Though our judgment may be imperfect, our confidence sometimes misplaced, and our efforts to do good lavished upon those who do not seem to be profited, still our faithful, well intended service, done for the sake of Christ, even to the evil and the unthankful , while it may accomplish little more than to teach us lessons of needful circumspection, will yet be remembered and re- warded by the Lord, for whose sake it was done. In the summer of 1862, the providence of God directed my weary footsteps to the dwell- ing of some Christian friends named H , who were endeavoring to serve their generation by the will of God in the diffusion of light and truth, and in active efforts to win the perishing to Christ. The family was large, numbering some twelve or fourteen, including an aged grandmother, her son, his wife and two children, and various other persons cast upon their hands by the providence of God for refuge and for training, or employed by them as helpers in the various departments of Christian labor carried on in the building, including the setting of type, 125 Lent and Paid Again. the folding and stitching of tracts, and other callings which seemed to promise good to man- kind. The delicate health of their oldest son, a lad of about seven years old, rendering it needful that he should have out-door exercise, I, at the request of Mr. H , undertook to accompany him in morning walks, both for his benefit and my own ; and our second walk was the occa- sion of some adventures \vhich I will now relate. It was on the morning of the twenty-sixth of June, 1862, as I find by reference to my jour- nal, that I waked my little companion, and took my way to a neighboring hill-top, crowned by a lofty granite monument, erected in com- memoration of the battle of Bunker hill. As- cending the stone steps, we stood upon the memorable field, once slippery with the gore of valiant men, but now quiet in the peaceful glory of the coming dawn. Brushing away the dew from one of the seats, we sat down ; I to read a book which I had brought along, and my little friend to view the morning glow that flushed the eastern sky, and to watch the sun ascending over the hilly shores of the dark Atlantic before us. Presently the little boy spoke up, "Oh, Aunt Abby, here comes an old beggar woman !" and 126 Lent and Paid Again. on looking up I saw a woman clad in poor and ragged clothes, her head covered with an old, uncomfortable hood, and her sore and blistered feet protruding through her worn-out shoes and stockings. The wretched-looking creature approached, and bidding us good-morning, asked if we could give her a few cents, with which she might buy some breakfast. I replied that we had no money, and, wondering at her early appearance and her poverty, I asked her where she stayed the night before. After some hesitation she told me that she had come to Boston, hoping to meet her hus- band, who was on board a United States vessel ; and, failing to meet him in the city, she had spent the day in vainly seeking for employment, and at night had been forced to take refuge in the watch-house, from which she had just emerged, hoping to obtain some food, and then to pursue her search for employment again. As she finished her story, the little boy at my side pulled my dress, and whispered, "Take her home with you, Aunt, and I'll give her my breakfast ; and mother or you, perhaps, will have a pair of better shoes for her than those." I said, ''Well, I guess we will, if she would like to go with us ;" and receiving her assent to the proposal, we started for home. 127 Lent and Paid Again. Passing down the bill, we reached Main street as the people were beginning to take down their shutters and open their shops : and ourselves and company attracted quite as much attention as was agreeable to me. Shrinking from an unpleasant publicity, I thought of telling my little companion to run on before with the woman ; but as courage failed, grace came to the rescue : "Working for Jesus," I said, half audibly ; and I walked by her side as though I owned all the town. The little boy ran a few steps before us, and said, "Mother, Aunt Abby has found a poor woman that wants some breakfast, and I'll give her mine." I spoke and said, "No, Johnny may have his breakfast, and I will give her mine." Mrs. H replied, "I guess I have got breakfast enough for all ;" but looked at the stranger rather suspiciously, and said she must go and wash herself, and then she would give her some food. When she had gone into the wash-room I said, "I don't know, Sister H , but you will blame me for bringing her here, but I could not help it she was suffering so much with her blistered feet, and I thought that we ought to give her a pair of shoes, if nothing more." This awakened her sympathy, 128 Lent and Paid Again. and upon examination, finding that the soles of her feet were covered with sores and blisters, after they had been washed she bound them up with rags and ointment, furnished her with some clean clothes, and her husband's slippers, and told her she might stay till her feet got well, I proposing to leave my work in the tract room, and assist about the household duties mean- while. The woman sat down and ate heartily of the plain and wholesome food provided, and then kneeled with us around the family altar ; and while we prayed for the poor, homeless wan- derer, she wept in the bitterness of her soul, and arose from her knees bathed in tears. Mrs. H conversed with her, and drew from her the story of her poverty and wander- ings. She said she had walked from Fall River, some forty miles, and this accounted for the condition of her feet. She lay on the lounge that day, and at night a bed was prepared for her in grandmother's room, where she could be comfortable, and yet be under constant super- vision. In three days her feet were well , and then I went to my work among the tracts, while she remained in the kitchen to assist Mrs. H about her household cares. She proved to be 129 Lent and Paid Again. a strong, neat, active, intelligent, and service- able helper in all departments of household labor ; and performed her duties very satisfac- torily. Sunday came, and we desired to have her go to church, but she had not suitable clothes to wear. Mrs. H had, however, just got an outfit for the summer ; this she offered to loan her for the occasion, that the poor wanderer might hear once more the message of the grace of God. To this proposal the rest of the family objected, saying, "You will never see your clothes again." Mrs. H asked me what it was best to do. I said, "Go ahead, and we will keep an eye on her." So she put on the new clothes, Mrs. H wearing her winter suit, and we all went to the meeting together. When the services were over, the woman pro- posed to walk home alone ; but to this Mrs. H would not consent, but insisted that she must ride in the horse-car with her, as her feet were so tender. They entered the car together, and started for home. The car was full, and presently the woman was missing, having left the car unperceived, and gone, no one knew whither. This caused Mrs. H some surprise, and much uneasiness ; not merely because the clothes 130 Lent a;id Paid Again. were gone, but for fear lest those of the family who had opposed her course should triumph over her mishap, and dishonor Him who said, "Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away ;" and, "He that hath two coats, let him impart to him that hath none," whose promises she had trusted, whose name she had sought to honor in the whole transaction ; and she could only cry mightily to the Lord in her heart, that he would interpose for his own glory, and for the honor of his word, and send the woman back again. I reached home first, and was preparing sup- per when Mrs. H arrived, looking very much distressed. I asked her if she was sick, and where that woman was. "Abby, she is gone, as sure as life, "said she. "My ! she has not," said I. "Yes she has, but God is able to bring her back." "Yes, "said I, "and she has got to come back with those clothes, any way !" I rang the supper bell ; the family came down. "Oh, do you think," said J, "that woman has gone off with all Sister H 's best clothes, an old deceiver ! But I believe the Lord will bring her back yet." 131 Lent and Paid Again. 'I told you so." "I told you so." "It'sno matter if you do lose them." "You ought to have known better" were the comforting responses that greeted our ears. I looked at Mrs. H who replied, "I have a rich Father, and he is able to make it all up." "Yes, I have heard that H had a rich father, once before," dryly remarked one of the young men. Just then I looked out of the window and saw the woman coming. I jumped up from the table, and said, "There she is, thank the Lord ! I knew she would come. There ! what do you think now ?" She entered ; the tide was turned, and the family were quiet again for a while. On Monday the woman washed ; Tuesday morning she ironed, doing her work well ; and by this time we thought that we might, perhaps, recommend her as a capable servant ; and obtain a situation for her. After noon she said to Mrs H , "I have got a nice shawl, all the one I had, which I pawned, and am to redeem it to-day or I shall lose it." Mrs. H asked her how much money she needed to redeem it ; she said, a dollar. She felt very reluctant to entrust her with money, but the story was plausible, and as she was unable to go herself and attend to it, she ventured, perhaps unwisely, 132 Lent and Paid Again. to give her the money for the purpose. Hav- ing finished the work, she arrayed herself in the same clothes that she had worn on Sunday, and left the house, unperceived by any one except- ing grandmother, who rang the bell, and told Mrs. H , "She has gone with your clothes ; did you know it ?" "Why! with my Sunday suit?" said Mrs. H . "I gave her no permission to take my clothes, but gave her a dollar to redeem her shawl from the pawn-shop." Mrs. H called me down from my work, and told me the circumstances. "Miserable old thief at last !" I exclaimed. She was gone now, clothes and all, sure enough. "Perhaps she will come back again," said Mrs. H . "I don't know," I replied ; "it looks rather suspi- cious." Previously I had not entirely lost con- fidence in her, but now my faith was shaken. We sat down upon the stairs together, and talked the matter over. We recalled the cutting remarks of members of the family, and of Chris- tian friends, concerning our lack of judgment, and we felt rather sore. We did not care so much for the clothes, but it was a trial to have our confidence misplaced and our expectations of good disappointed. We considered, however, that Christ was 133 JLent and Paid Again. rich, and that he made himself poor for the sake of his enemies ; and we knew that we had never been rich, nor had we yet become poor, but had simply tried to do our duty to one for whom Christ had died ; and we desired to be children of the Highest, who "is kind unto the unthankful and the evil ;" and, as our motives had been to honor God and do good in his name, we laid the whole matter before the Lord in earnest, importunate prayer, not doubting that he would send back the woman, replace the clothes, or in some way make all these things work together for our good. In a little while Mr. H arrived at home from a long journey, in great haste, and pro- posed that we should go with him the next morning to attend an outdoor meeting at T , some forty miles distant, which was to continue over the fourth of July and the follow- ing Lord's day. I watched to see what Mrs. H would say, for I knew she had no sum- mer clothing to wear. "I have no clothes fit to Avear," said she. "I believe I have heard that complaint ever since we were married," he humorously replied. "Sister H , aren't you going to tell him?" said I. "You tell him," was the reply; and so I 134 Lent and Paid Again. briefly stated the leading facts of the case ; and just then the other members of the family hap- pening in, gave their version of the matter from their stand-point, and he presently got rather an extended view of the various aspects of the case. One blamed us, and another blamed us, and finally, to our astonishment, Mr. II , to whom we had looked for sympathy, said, "I should have thought you both would have known better than to let such a woman have your best clothes." "Mrs. H looked at him with surprise, her feelings being touched by a reproof from a source so unexpected, and said, perhaps hastily, "Well, I don't care ; I am glad I did just as I did. The Lord will give me back every one of those things before Saturday night. You see if he doesn't !" "I believe it" said I. Who is going to give you a shawl that will cost seven or eight dollars, before next Satur- day night?" asked Mr. H , incredulously. "The Lord! and I'll have it to-night!" said Mrs. H , with earnest emphasis. "Better be careful, and not say anything that you will be sorry for," said Mr. H ; and turning away, he continued, "Come up stairs; we have talked long enough about that, 135 Lent and Paid Again. and I must be getting ready to go to meeting." We went up into the library, where he com- menced unpacking his carpet-bag ; and taking out some articles which a lady in Honeoye, N. Y.,had given him, while on his journey, he tossed them into his wife's lap, saying, "There are some things Sister Allen sent you." "There are the stockings ! and there are the boots ! and pocket-handkerchief and collar, and better ones, too, than those that are gone !" I exclaimed with delight, as she unfolded the parcel. Mrs. H shook them in triumph before her husband's face, and said, "There are some of the things, I shall get the rest too!" It was now time for meeting. "Who is going to prayer-meeting ?" said Mr. H . ; 'I expect to go," said I; but Mrs. H- remarked, "I think I shall stay at home and pray." She did not go with us, but spent the evening in prayer and reading of the Scriptures. She felt some uneasiness about her positive assertion so hastily made, that she should have the shawl that night, and asked God to pardon her if she had spoken unadvisedly with her lips. She waited through the evening, hoping that the Lord would in some way send her the expected shawl, but no one came in, and at 136 Lent and Paid Again. last she retired with a heart heavy with disap- pointment, and full of fears lest the Lord should be dishonored by her too confident assertions. Meanwhile I went to the meeting. As I entered the chapel, a wealthy Christian lady, Miss P , said to me, "Is Sister H com- ing to meeting to-night?" I replied, "No; but Brother H is here." The meeting passed on as usual, and at the close, the lady came to Mr. H with a parcel in her hands, and said, "Here is a shawl I wish you would give to Sister H to give to some worthy person, or to use herself if she needs it." He took the package along, remarking to me as we walked on, "What will wife say when she sees this shawl? I believe I shall never object to anything she does, after this, for she always comes out right." On reaching home the parcel was opened, and a fine, all-wool shawl was found, fully equal in quality, and superior in appearance, to the one which had been lost. I laid it down, and said, "The shawl has come. Thank the Lord." Mrs. H , having retired for the night, knew nothing of it till morning came, when she found it on her table, and her anxiety was turned to joyful confidence and praise. But this was not the end. During the fore- 137 Lent and Paid Again. noon, while we were preparing to go to the grove meeting, the carriage of the lady who sent the shawl, drove up, and herself and another Christian friend came in, each bearing a parcel, saying that they had somethings which they wished to dispose of, and felt impressed to bring them to Mrs. H . The lady had a new bonnet, which she had just had made for herself, but which, somehow, would not jit or set easily upon her head, and she had brought it over to see if Mrs. H could wear it. She tried it on, and it fitted to perfection. The other lady brought cloth for a nice dress, a skirt, and cloth for under-garments, which she begged her to accept and use as she pleased ; and so, before Wednesday night, every article which had been carried away was replaced by another of better quality. Other articles were also sent afterwards, and all this was done by persons who, when they sent their gifts, were entirely ignorant of the existing need, and who had not had the slightest hint of the circumstances of the case. We were all quite content with the issue of the affair, but Mrs. H said, "The Lord has brought these things back that his name may be glorified, and he is able to send that woman back with the clothes, also." 138 'IT FITTED TO PERFECTION 1'aye 138. Lent and Paid Again. Sure enough, a few days after, as Mrs. H- was working in the kitchen, the poor woman returned, wearing the lost clothes, which were badly soiled, and reported that she had been sick during her absence, and could not return before, and begging pardon with many tears. She was told that she might keep the clothes that she had worn away, and was allowed to stay for a little while. One morning she left again, taking a cape belonging to a member of the family, and I saw her no more. Six months afterward, I was told that she had returned, bringing the cape, and saying that she had been in the house of correction for six months, from which she had just been discharged. She said she could not keep things belonging to persons who had been so kind to her ; and came back as soon as she was released, confessed her faults, and went away. We afterward learned, from persons who knew her, that she was a person of excel- lent character and abilities, with one exception : she could not restrain her appetite for intoxica- ting drinks, when they came in her way. If I were writing a romance, it would be proper now to bring this story to some pleas- ant conclusion, and tell how the woman was converted, and settled for life ; or that she died 139 Lent and Paid Again. happy and went shouting home to glory. But as I am simply narrating facts, and facts, for tlie correctness of which the editor of these pages can fully vouch, I have to drop the story here. I have not heard from the woman since, and whether she be dead or alive, saved or lost, I do not know. This is all left with the Lord, whom we served, and for whom, with single- ness of heart, we sought to labor for the wel- fare of the lost. Perhaps the memory of those hours and acts of Christian kindness, and those holy influences of a Christian home, may yet linger about poor Mary's heart, and lead her to the heavenly home at last ; and possibly we may see her face beyond the sorrows of the stormy present, radiant with the calm of endless life and peace. But this story may yet have its use. It may lead some one to be more circumspect and dis- criminate, as well as more merciful and faithful in well-doing. It may encourage some who, in their kindness to the unthankful and the evil, are regarded as "members of the Society for the Relief of the Vicious Poor ;" it may give some one an insight into some of the ups and downs, trials, perplexities, and uncertainties of the Christian laborer's life ; it. may incline some one to study more carefully the leadings of the 140 Lent and Paid Again. Holy Spirit, and to cling more closely to the guiding hand ; and it may teach some troubled soul, vexed with the thanklessuess of those they sought to benefit, that, as there are risks in all business, so there is a risk in this ; but that if they do their service heartily, as to the Lord, and trust wholly in him, he will assume those risks, and show them in his own good time that "He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord ; and that which he hath given will lie pay him again." And if the labor proves fruitless of results, the experience is often worth more than gold, for consolation, and con- firmation of faith and hope. And to make others partake of this benefit, this truthful tale is told, in the hope that they, as well as we, may be encouraged to labor onto save the lowly and the lost, confidently believing that He who said, "It is more blessed to give than to receive," and who gave his life to save a ruined and unthankful race, will not desert his trusting children, who seek to follow in his steps in the midst of a crooked and perverse nation, among whom they shine as lights in the Avorld. 141 SOUTHERN MISSION WORK. After the close of the late war, there came from the Southern states the most touching appeals for assistance and relief. Desolation was everywhere, accompanied by widowhood, orphanage, poverty, and distress. In war, we took no part ; our Master's king- dom is not of this world ; hence his servants did not fight, even to rescue their Lord from the hands of his foes. But when the blood and wreck of fraticidal strife was past, what disci- ple of Jesus could refuse to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and comfort the afflicted and distressed ? Such thoughts as these were often in my mind. The death of my husband's help- less mother, in the spring of 1867, relieved me from a burden of care which I had borne for years, and left me with only my household duties to detain me from the work. But my health, wrecked years before by remedies urged upon me by "physicians of no value," seemed now utterly to give way under accumulating cares and labors, and the general aspects of my 142 Southern Mission Work. case warranted the gravest fears of speedy decline which my medical advisers expressed. My husband's only sister was already at work in South Carolina, and authentic accounts of the needs of the people reached us, from time to time. From day to day, the conviction grew on me, that I must go South and help the impoverished and afflicted sufferers, and cany the tidings of salvation to the lost. It also seemed to me that the warmer weather of the Southern states would favorably affect my health. Various untoward circumstances, however, conspired to detain me at home ; I was reluctant to leave my pleasant cottage and my little ones ; and sometimes my health was so frail that it seemed impossible for me to undertake such a charge. But while I lingered, affliction came. Winter closed in with its chilly winds, aggravating my pulmonary and pleuritic difficulties, and a com- plication of diseases indicated most clearly, that unless speedy relief was afforded, I must rest from my labors, and sink to the grave with my mission unfulfilled. The call of duty seemed imperative. Day and night, waking or sleeping, the impression con- tinued. One night, while asleep, my husband U3 Southern Mission Wore. heard me repeating words of invitation to mourning souls : "Come, for all things are now ready !" and with tender expostulation inviting them to Christ. Then, as they seemed gather- ing to the altar of prayer, I was heard counting, ' ' Five ten fifteen twenty thirty , Oh , see them ! forty fifty " until rny voice choked with emotion, and the tears ran down upon my face. It were too long a tale to relate the story of sorrows, of tears, of prayers, of despair of recovery, of the struggle with doubt, and finally, the wondrous healing in answer to the prayer of faith which saved the sick, and was crowned with abundant blessing, and honored by return- ing health. And yet, even when thus rescued from death, I was unwilling to leave my little ones, and, after going on my way as far as New York, turned back, drawn home once more by the pale face of my little daughter; only to experience new sufferings of the most excruci- ating description, until at length I yielded to the Master's call, and went forth to do his will. My husband could not oppose my calm con- victions ; nor question my confident assertion that with me it was to obey and live, or disobey and die ; and so, though unable to accompany me, by reason of pressing cares at the Tract 144 " Southern Mission Work. Repository, he bade me God-speed, and I went forth to do my work. On the 16th of May, 18(53, 1 sailed from New York for Charleston, S. C., accompanied by my eldest son, aged thirteen years, purposing to see for myself something of the condition of affairs at the South. After a seasick voyage, I arrived in safety at Charleston, and then, after a little time, proceeded a hundred miles up into the country, to the place where my sis- ter was laboring. My health was improving. I found poverty and wretchedness enough. There were scores of little orphans that had no place to live ; one night a little orphan girl slept under our house, glad of shelter anywhere. Hundreds of poor people were turned into the fields after the war, some of them to suffer and to starve. From a letter which I wrote June 5, 1868, I quote: "Last week a poor woman and two little children were found dead in the woods, and partially eaten by turkey-buzzards. She was turned into the street because she could not pay her rent, and starved to death. I rode out on a plantation last week, and went into the cabins, and saw more suffering than I ever saw before in my life. I found little infants, three months old and upwards, with scarcely a rag 145 Southern Mission Work. of clothing upon them, with fleas and gnats covering them, screaming and crying for their mothers, who were at work in the field. Some have dropped dead in the field from exhaustion and lack of food. Mothers are compelled to leave their infants alone with two or three elder ones, and sometimes the houses have taken fire, and the mother has returned to see her home and children consumed by the flames. Many die from exposure ; the old and infirm have been turned out houseless and helpless. Mary buys a barrel of meal, and deals it out to the sick and old and hungry, as they come. Some come a dozen miles to get a little food. There are hundreds who have only one meal a day, and scores who do not see a meal in three days. Oh ! I am afraid it will be said to the proud ones, *I was an hungered, and ye gave me no meat ; . . . naked, and ye clothed me not.' "I am feeling strong and well ; no cough, is it not wonderful ? I have not felt as well as I do now for three years. I am perfectly content to stay as long as the Lord wants me to, though I think it possible the Lord will let me come home next month ; but I expect to come back again. The Lord has a work for me to do in this desolate land. I feel it in every bone. My wants are many, but my Father knows all 146 Southern Mission Work. about it. Oh, the helpless and homeless ones ! what can be done ?" From another letter, dated June 7th, I quote : "I have just returned from a Sunday-school. The scholars were of both sexes and all ages, from the child of three years old up to the old man of eighty; and they walk six, eight, and ten miles to Sunday-school. One woman eighty years old used to walk ten miles to public wor- ship. All were poor, and many of them were suffering ; many, notwithstanding a dozen bar- rels had been forwarded from the Repository to this point, were yet ragged, shoeless, hatless, and shirtless, but all anxious to study, and all so eager to learn as to put to shame some of the Sunday-schools of the North . They sung almost like nightingales ; I never heard sweeter voices ; and their devotion was far more quiet and sub- dued than is usually the case with the colored people at the North. "Saturday, June 14th, I visited a distant plantation, having been unable to get a convey- ance before. There were perhaps thirty cabins in an open field surrounded by pine forests. They were quite destitute, and we distributed all the remainder of our clothing among the most needy, leaving others sad because there was nothing for them. As soon as I came, they 147 Southern Mission Work. sent word to the neighboring plantations, and within a little while I should think between two and three hundred gathered, weary and worn with weakness and labor, yet eager to hear the words of life and peace. I read to them the precious promises of God, and talked to them about the blessed hope of coming glory, and stood on the ground until I was weary, then sat in the carriage and continued my testimony until the setting sun cast its rays through the forest, and admonished me that we must depart. The interest was intense ; they crowded around the carriage to hear the gracious message. I o c> o read to them and talked to them about the sad condition of this world, the curse that was on it, and the wickedness that was in it ; and explained to them the Christian's hope, and told them of the day of peace and blessing, when "the meek shall inherit the earth," and God's kingdom shall come, and his will be done on earth as it is in heaven. I read to them of the tabernacle of God that shall be with men, when he shall dwell with them and be their God, and they shall be his people ; and of the immortal life which Christ shall give, when he shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto his glorious body. Tears trickled down their dusky cheeks as I contrasted their present 148 Southern Mission Work. sorrows with their future joys, and bade them be of good cheer and wait patiently for the day of redemption. They would hardly allow me to stop, they were so hungry for the word. "'Oh, my Lord ! Avhat promises!' said one man. " 'Do you hear that? Be them for us?' said another. " 'Yes, they are for you.' " 'Oh, Missus, read us more of that blessed book," said one woman, who fairly jumped for joy to hear the glad tidings. "They were sad at parting, and urged us to return. 'You and your sister must come back this fall ; what shall we do when you and Miss Hastings be gone?' 'You will have to come back, there will be some mighty praying for you this summer,' said one old man." Such were the scenes that we witnessed in the opening of our Southern labor. Monday, June 15th, we prepared for our northward jour- ney, as our supplies were gone, our means nearly exhausted, and the summer heat was approaching. Friends gathered for a parting prayer-meeting with their beloved teachers ; and on Tuesday the 16th, we started. On arriving at the railway station, we found the 149 Southern Mission Work. young and old, the lame, the halt, and blind, assembled to bid us good-by. They sung to us their sweetest hymns, they prayed us to come again ; they wept when the time of parting arrived, and long after we had started, AVC could look back and see them waving their farewells. On the first of July, I was at home with my family, in better health than I had enjoyed for years. After spending the summer at the North, we again broke up housekeeping, and I disposed of my little ones among kind Christian friends, and accompanied by two other Christian women, Mrs. Pierce and Mrs. Judkins, we started Octo- ber 10th, for the South. Two days afterwards, on the fifteenth anniversary of our marriage, my husband wrote the following lines, which were sent on to cheer me in my pilgrim way: TO MY WIFE. Bride of my heart, while memory fondly turning, Reviews the joys and sorrows of life's way ; I long for thee, and with an inward yearning Recall to mind our long-past marriage day. Full fifteen times the Autumn's gathering splendor Hath crowned the ripened harvest of the land, Since, in the twilight's shade, in accents tender, We made the promise, as we clasped the hand. 150 Southern Mission Work. For us there were no scenes of festal greeting. No gifts of friendship, and no bridal dower ; But poverty with sickness, there were meeting, And faith conjoined them in our marriage hour. Thanks be to Him whose arm supports and gathers Those who would walk according to his word. Houses and lands may come to us from fathers, "A prudent wife is," surely, "from the LorcV/ Man's sons have ever toiled Eve's daughters suffered ; Yet God in love to each their portion gave ; And he to us a mingled cup hath proffered, An empty cradle, and a little grave. Mercies outnumber sorrows, and around us. Like olive plants, our precious children grow ; With bands of love their little hands have bound us ^ With sunny hopes their happy faces glow. And though to-day, mountain, and plain, and river, Rises, and spreads, and rolls, the loved to part, Yet in the sunshine of the glad forever, We hope to dwell, joined both in hand and heart. And till we meet in climes forever vernal, Where Jesus reigns, and life's fair fountains play, God keep us faithful to those vows eternal We made just fifteen years ago to-day. , A little later, October 19, 1868, the Repository was cleared of its accumulated stores, and thirty-one barrels of supplies were shipped southward for the poor. A month later other helpers came, accompanied by my eldest son ; and from that date onward, until 151 Southern Mission Work. the spring of 1872, a large portion of my time was spent in laboring in the South among the poor and distressed, distributing clothing, pro- visions, Bibles .and tracts, planting schools, laboring in meetings, and doing what we could to save the perishing. Before June, 1879, my husband had shipped from the Repository about one hundred and thirty densely packed barrels of clothing and supplies, which had been con- tributed by readers of THE CHRISTIAN, to say nothing of books, tracts, boxes, utensils, seeds, etc. The careful distribution of all these things among the poor, made labor for many workers in the different Southern states. We had some trials and many lonely hours, but were not without consolation. In Febru- ary, 1870, my husband took a flying trip through Virginia to Tennessee, where I was then stop- ping, and after a brief stay I accompanied him thence to South Carolina ; whence, after a short tarry, he started northward, taking with him some of our helpers who were worn and sick, and needed strong arms to bear them up ; and leaving me behind with an aching heart, to care f for sick helpers, close up the spring work, and bring the others with me when I came. We had some anxiety as to how he would manage with his helpless charge, but he had 152 Southern Mission Work. gone but a few miles before he met at the rail- way junction several dear friends bound north- ward from Florida, and so had ample aid for every emergency. A little while afterwards I received the fol lowing lines, written by him on a railway car- riage, in South Carolina, April 4, 1870, while on his homeward journey : THE PARTING. To H. B. H. Once more our lips the farewell word have spoken, Once more we from each other sadly part ; Again the sweet, glad spell of joy is broken, And leaves a saddened, aching, hungry heart. Distance and time again are us dividing ; Each passing moment makes that distance more. Swiftly from thee away, away, I'm gliding, Thinking 1 , "When shall these parting scenes be o'er? 1 Jesus, for Thee this bitter cross enduring, We trust thy love to heal our grief and pain ; And gladly read thy precious word, assuring That we shall meet and never part again. Yes, meet again, though life is all uncertain, And we no more may clasp these mortal hands ; Meet when God rolls aside time's misty curtain, Meet where the blest shall gather from all lands. Courage, thou partner of my tribulation ; God never was a wilderness to thee ; He is thy strength, and shield, and sure salvation, And where he is there shall his servants be. H. L. H. 153 Southern Mission Work. Toward the close of the month of May, 1 started for home, reaching Boston on the last day of the month, completely prostrated with weeks of anxiety and care incident to the closing of our work. I took my bed and for six weeks did not leave the house. Broken down with fatigue, and tortured with neuralgia, it hardly seemed possible that I could recover. At length I began to improve, and as the autumn came, I once more started, October 6, 1870, with my little daughter, for the South. My husband accompanied me as far as Philadelphia. I remained through the winter, and the spring following, I passed up the Mississippi, visited some friends in Iowa, reaching home the first day of June, 1871. On the 4th of October, 1871, I started south again, accompanied by brother H. Davis with a large tent, which was loaned by Bro. T. H. Ford, as our old Bethel Tent, under which so many had been converted, had been worn out, and cut up, the cloth being distributed among the poor in South Carolina for bed-ticks. We had several tent meetings in Tennessee and Alabama, seeing sinners converted, and believ- ers strengthened, arriving at home in safety, January 26, 1872. The following autumn the Repository was 154 Southern Mission Work. destroyed in the Boston fire, and though I once more started South, going as far as Chicago, yet failure to receive needed funds caused me to return, to find my husband prostrate with hemorrhage from the lungs ; and after that, cir- cumstances for a time prevented the further personal prosecution of labors in the Southern states ; though I have been privileged to aid many others who have gone thither, as the Lord has given me means and opportunity. 155 INCIDENTS IN SOUTHERN WORK. I cannot undertake to give a connected his- tory of our years of labor in the Southern field, but may, perhaps, be excused for sketching a few incidents which will give some idea of the lights and shadows of southern mission work. And I will begin with an experience in starting A MISSION AMONG THE SAND HILLEKS. During our sojourn in South Carolina, I was impressed in spirit to visit the Sand Hills, about twenty miles distant. I heard that there were many destitute people there, who were naked and starving. The region was inhabited by poor whites, whose condition was very dis- tressing ; they owned no land, and were with- out means of support, with the exception of picking cotton for the planters around them. And now this scanty dependence had failed, as the cotton season was now past, and winter was coming on. My mind was led thither in the hope that I could do them some good ; and as I was expecting from our northern friends 156 Incidents in Southern Work. some thirty barrels of supplies to aid us in carrying on the work, I felt that it was my privilege and duty to afford some help to these poor people. Accordingly, I started one day with my little son, on a mission to this place. At the depot where I was to take the cars, I met a government officer, who asked me where I was going. I told him, and he said : "Mrs. Hastings, I have great confidence in your work, and my sympathies are enlisted in your behalf; and if I were at liberty to-day, I would go up with you, for I am afraid that you will not find a place to lay your head to-night." The feeling against northern people was then so strong that he thought it was hardly safe for me to go there alone ; but fear had departed from me, and I felt that I was doing a work with which the Lord was pleased ; and, as there was no one there, at the time, to go with me, I felt that I must go alone with my boy. So we started on, and arrived in good season. Being an entire stranger, and having never been in that part ot the country before, I prepared myself for any trials that might await me, knowing that I had in God a resting-place ; and if I was doing his will I felt assured that he would take care of me. I inquired for the colored preacher, and was 157 Incidents in Southern Work. directed to his home. Calling on him, he kindly invited me to stay over night ; I felt very glad, although I saw they were quite poor, and the accommodations were scanty. I noticed that they had only one window, Avith a wooden shutter instead of glass, which, when it was closed, left the house as dark as night; and if it was opened, exposed the inmates of the dwell- ing to the weather, which was quite severe. We, however, stayed there over night, and Lhey made us as comfortable as they could. The next day I engaged a man with a team, and we started for the Sand Hills. We rode a long way, and it seemed as if we should never find them ; but finally we came to the woods, and there they showed us the Sand Hills, which were nothing but sand, covered with tall pine trees and a few scrub oaks, with some poor cabins scattered at long intervals among them, looking dilapidated enough. Having found where these poor people lived, and talked with them and learned their condi- tion, we then returned to the village. The preacher's house being cold, and my health not very good, I soon thought best to seek more conv fortable quarters ; and so went to the hotel, where they rented me quite a decent room. As I had come up expecting to make only a short stay 158 Incidents in Southern Work. among the Sand Hills, and then to return, I had taken but little money with me. I paid the man who carried me to the Sand Hillsj^ve dollars, as he insisted upon that amount, though he perhaps could not have earned so much in any other way in a month. And now what was I to do ? I had no money left, and was at the hotel with nothing to eat; for when I returned from my ride, I found that the cars had gone, and it was too late to go back to the place whence I came. It was Saturday night, and no more trains went until Monday, and as we were in a strange place, we hardly knew what course to take. We had but a few dry biscuits for supper and had eaten little since morning. We had bor- rowed, however, a little coarse corn meal of our colored friend, for Sunday, and concluded to get along the best way we could, without running into debt. We hsi.ii nothing but the meal, and unless we could bake that, it would do us little good. Sunda} morning I sent my son to gather some wood, and made a fire. There was a pitcher in the room which he filled with water. "And now," said he, "how are we going to bake our cakes and how are we to mix up the meal?" I had a saucer in my lunch-basket, and a 159 Incidents in Southern Work. tea-spoon. We stirred up a little meal in the saucer, and also discovered a fire-shovel in the corner of the room, and I said, "We can clean that, and heat it, and bake our cake on that." We were glad enough to do so, for we had eaten but little food since Saturday morning. So we prepared the meal. I would bake one cake while John was getting water and mixing another. It was fun for him, and as he would eat his cakes he would jump up and down and say, "Oh, Mother, isn't this glorious !" And I think myself that I never ate food when it tasted better and sweeter than did that corn-cake, baked on a fire-shovel. So Sunday passed, and we thanked God that it was as well with us as it was. The next day the hotel-keeper said that he had a cabin, and if we liked it we could have it for four dollars a month. I could get no other place, although there were several vacant dwellings in town ; for the feeling was so intense against northern people that no person to whom we applied would rent us a place to lay our heads. So we engaged the cabin, although it was in a very bad condition. There were only two rooms, and some of the cracks in the doors were an inch wide. The chimney, also, had partly fallen down. In calm weather we could be quite 160 THAT CORN-CAKE BAKED ON A FIRE-SHOVEL. Page MO Incidents in Southern Work. comfortable, but when the wind blew, the smoke came into the room and drove us out of doors. We moved into our new quarters Dec. 30, 1868. After fitting our cabin up as well as we could, we lay down to sleep upon some straw without any bed-tick, and covered ourselves with a blanket and a shawl, and were quite comforta- ble, notwithstanding our circumstances. But in the night we were disturbed by rats and mice, which ran over us so that no sleep came to our eyes. If this had been all, we could have got along very well ; but when we lighted our little candle, we saw something yet more annoying. There, in the middle of the floor, was a snake as large as my wrist and five or six feet long, which, though it had come up through the broken floor to hunt the rats and mice that tormented us, was not at all welcome. He did not, however, attempt to molest us, but glided noiselessly away from our sight. But this did not quiet us at all ; for the thought of venomous snakes, coming into our cabin and around our 7 O bed at midnight, was not the pleasantcst thing that could occupy our minds. We concluded that unless the Lord had a mission for us here, our stay would.be a short one. The next day, Mrs. Judkins came to our relief, bringing us many articles from the other 101 Incidents in Southern Work. mission, so that we were made more comforta- ble ; but we were not satisfied, and felt that it was not safe for us to remain in the cabin ; and finally began to pray that we might be directed to a piece of land that we could buy, so that we could build us a habitation. The day following, sister Judkins and mys ^lf started out to find land. We made several attempts, but without success. Finally we passed down a delightful road, shaded by noble live-oaks, with sombre drapings of Spanish moss. A sheet of water, from which arose green cypress trees, was just visible through the foliage across the way. Suddenly we found ourselves in front of one of those fine, roomy mansions, so often remarked by travelers in the South. A broad veranda ran along the front ; well kept flower beds adorned the level, sandy floor of the yard ; while the background was filled in with large masses of evergreen and other beautiful trees. A gentleman met us, and courteously invited us within. We ex- plained our mission as well as we were able, but Avere conscious, as we proceeded, of a marked change in the man's deportment. We asked him if he would sell us a small piece of land in these woods, at a fair price, on which we might build a free school-house for the benefit of the IG2 Incidents in Southern Work. poor people in the vicinity. He sprang quickly to his feet with an oath, and exclaimed, "I'll sell you a thousand acres if you want it, but not a foot for any white trash to tread on." We did not prolong our call at that house. It is but justice to southern manners for me to add that this was the first and only approach to an insult ever offered me in the South. Before and since that time I have traveled alone, or with only a lady as companion, from Virginia to Georgia, and from the Atlantic to the Missis- sippi, in every style of conveyance, and at all hours of the day and night, and it gives me pleasure to record that, personally, I have everywhere been treated with courtesy and respect to my face. On Saturday, Jan. 2, 1869, Mr. Austin W. Taylor, a brother of Mrs. Judkins, came from Maine to aid us. We searched diligently for a building spot, but were thwarted on every side. The people were so prejudiced that they seemed determined that we should have no land. Finally there came the welcome word from a gentleman in the village, who had been away when we first arrived, that he would sell us land, as much or as little as we wanted. Thus our first prayer was answered, an eligible site was selected, and the writings were duly made. 163 Incidents in Southern Work. Our land being purchased, sister Judkin.s and myself began to pray for a house. We had then only money enough for our personal expenses, but we knew that our heavenly Father owned the cattle upon a thousand hills, that the silver and the gold were his, and as in the past he had cared for us, so he would still furnish us with the means for carrying on our work. We were not, however, free from difficulties. We had no carpenter, and where to find one whom we could trust, and on whom we could depend, we knew not. But in this matter as in all others we could say : "What a privilege to carry Every thing to God in prayer." A CARPENTER PROVIDED. About this time, a northern man, a stranger whom we had never seen or heard of, Mr. John Clifford, came to our Mission. To see a north- erner in this country was indeed pleasant, and we gave him welcome. We found he was from the state of Maine ; and that we were acquainted with a sister of his in Lawrence, Mass. As his health was not firm, he was on his way to Florida, for a change of climate. Arriving at the rail- road junction, something said to him, "Go up and visit the Mission." As he did not know 164 Incidents in Southern Work* of our new work in this place, he left the inain road, and went up to our old Mission. Our teachers there told him of the new field, and accordingly he had came up to pay us a short visit, and then proceed on his way fur- ther south. He told us some of his experi- ences, and it appeared, incidentally, in the course of conversation, that the very morning while we had laid the matter of our house before the Lord, he was impressed to go South ! We told him freely of our plans, and how we had been prospered ; and that we had faith the Lord was now about to provide us with a house. "Why," said he, surprised, "lam an experi- enced carpenter. House-building has beeu my life occupation ! Can it be that this >s what I have turned aside for?" He remained silent for a moment, then added, "Sister Hastings, if you want to build a house, I will be your carpenter, and my work shall be no expense to you, aside from my board." How glad we were to see him ! We had found another "friend in need, "and all believed that it was through the direction and guidance of God's hand that he had come to us. Ou,* new friend lost no time, but went to work in a way that showed he thoroughly understood his 1G5 Incidents in Southern Work. business. In a few hours the site was selected, the entire building planned, and every needed timber specified on paper. I now had no doubt that our prayers were to be fully answered, and accordingly requested our visitor to order the lumber sawed out at the mill immediately. But he was cautious as well as willing. He knew that we had no money Avith us for such an undertaking. "Sister Hastings," inquired he, "does your husband know of this ?" "No," replied I, "but he has told me always to do as I believed the Lord directed ?" "Well, you don't want to bring him into trouble with these people." "Oh, no," said I, "by no means. I am very careful to look out for all that, and I think he has confidence that I shall do nothing rashly." "Very well, just as you say ;" and the lumber was ordered forthwith. Days passed, during which we were planning, praying, trusting, and expecting help from some source unknown to us. The brethren, however, began to be anxious. The lumber had been sawed, hauled, and delivered on our land, and but two days remained before the bill was to be presented for payment. I was expect ing letters from home, and on the contents of 166 Incidents in Southern Work. these letters our two helpers based their last hopes of my being able to meet the bill promptly. The letters came, bringing to our little circle words of sympathy and cheer from the loved ones at home, but no money; indeed, I had asked for none, and so could hardly expect any from this source. The faith of the two brethren now seemed al- most ready to fail. The matter seemed to them serious and gloomy enough, but sister Judkins and myself were trustful and at rest. As the evening came on, the brethren engaged in a pri- vate discussion aside, as to the advisability of building without some assurance of funds. Sad at heart, one said to the other, without the knowledge of sister Judkins or myself, "Come, let us take the Word and read wher- ever it opens. If anything is given which seems clearly to afford encouragement, we will go ahead ; but if not, it will be evident that we have been mistaken." I myself had also at the same time been secretly asking the Lord to give me something to strengthen my heart for the work. Brother Taylor accordingly took the Bible, and as he opened it, I watched the words ; the first passage his eye fell upon was in the fifth chapter of Zechariah, beginning with the 167 Incidents in Southern Work. ninth verse : "Then lifted I up mine eyes, and looked, and behold, there came out two women, and the wind was in their wings ; for they had wings like the wings of a stork ; and they lifted up the ephah between the earth and the heaven. Then said I to the angel that talked with me, Whither do these bear the ephah ? And he said unto me, To build it an house in the land of Shinar : and it shall be established, and set there upon her own base." Zech. v. 11. An audible smile, Avhich became more and more audible as it progressed, ran around our little circle, as the good brother gravely read the passage, which none of us remembered hav- ing ever seen before. "Well," said brother Clifford,"! have nothing more to say. I guess the Lord is in it." We did not profess to understand the mean- ing or application of the prophecy, but the "two women," who were zealous to "build an house," took courage from it as a good omen, and the doubters laughed and fell into line. Very soon after, a letter postmarked, Spring- field, Mass., was placed in my hands. The mission family gathered about Avith eager antic- ipation. As I opened it, a separate piece of paper fell out. It was a check for about one hundred and fifty dollars the precise amount 1GS Incidents in Southern Work. has been forgotten, but it was enough to pay the entire lumber bill, leaving a surplus of six dollars. This was forwarded to us by sister It. G. Ladd, the wife of Randolph E. Ladd, who had been as a father to me in my youthful days when I was a stranger far from home. They knew nothing of our present necessities, but had collected and contributed this money, to aid us in the general work. Those who have read about the widow's house in the story of "My Thanksgiving Dinner," will recognize the hand that ministered to our needs in the present instance as the same that sent such seasonable aid at that time. The lumber being paid for, our brethren went to work with a will ; and, through their industry and perseverance, and the timely arrival of Stephen Taylor, another brother of Mrs. Jud- kins, the building went on apace. Xever did I feel more intimate communion with God than at that time. We were strangers in a strange land, in the midst of a people who did not understand our designs, and who looked upon us with great suspicion, but the Lord had opened our way. At one time, when things looked dark, I asked the Lord to show me that I was not wrong in trying to build. Just then I received a letter from IT. PI. Tilley, of Wash- 169 Incidents in Southern Work ington, D. C., in answer to some inquiries about purchasing windows for the mission-house, in which he said, "My father has a lot of windows on hand, which he bought at a government sale a year ago, and says if they will answer your purpose he Avill give you what you need ;" so we took courage once more, hoping soon to have a place where we could lay our heads in safety, and were truly thankful for the prospect. UNDERGROUND TELEGRAPHS. Our work seemed now well under way, but we were not without difficulties. As our house went up we found our lumber began to disap- pear mysteriously in the night ; and we were at a loss to know how to guard it. We found it necessary to watch by night as well as to work by day. My husband, some years before, had purchased a large "Bethel Tent," which would accommodate several hundred people, and which had been our meeting-house when laboring where no other house could be obtained. This he had sent down to us, and also a smaller lodg- ing tent, which accompanied it. The smaller tent had been pitched near the building, and the men occupied it during the night, for the pur- pose of being nearer to the lumber than when they were in the cabin. 170 Incidents in Southern Work. One Saturday evening, our brethren having gone away to labor in the gospel, the task of watching the lumber fell upon sister Judkins and myself. It was quite an undertaking, and we knew that if the Lord did not watch over us we were not safe. But we felt that he would hear our cries, and send his messengers to shield us in our defenselessness. We accord- ingly left our cabin, and went down to the little tent, to watch the lumber lest it should be stolen. Soon after arriving we heard the bark of a dog. Sister Judkins said, "What is that? Don't you suppose his mas- ter is near?'' As we looked out we saw a watch-dog close by the door of our tent ; we called him in, patted his head, and noticing that he seemed very lean and hungry, we told him that if he would be a good dog, and watch our lumber that night, we would give him a good breakfast in the morning. His eyes showed as much intelligence as a human being's, and ne w r agged his tail, as much as to say, "It's a bargain." As soon as he had heard our promise, he went out and took his stand by the pile of lumber, and we felt that the Lord had sent us a pro- tector. We could hear footsteps in the night around our tent, but the bark of our faithful 171 Incidents in Southern Work. sentinel would soon, teach intruders that it was not safe for them to come that way. In the morning, the dog had no notion of leaving until he had received his wages. So sister Judkins went up to the cabin and cooked him a nice breakfast, which seemed very acceptable. He went away, but came back again that night, and every night until our brethren returned. In fact he made his home with us for some time, until we ceased to need him, and so sent him away. Not long after this our mission family removed entirely to the two tents. Our Bethel Tent was oblong, and required a great deal of care to prevent its being blown down and torn by the winds. One time a terrible wind arose, and very soon the canvas was flap- ping in all directions. We turned out to save the tent. The wind would blow in at the open- ing, and the old cloth would rip and tear in rents from ten to fifteen feet long at a time. I would run to one end to sew up an opening, and sister Judkins would go to the other, while my son and others were holding on to the ropes to keep it from blowing away. It was serious business for us, but it was rare sport for the boy ; and at one time, when they clung to the aides of the tent, and the wind lifted them up 172 Incidents in Southern Work. several feet from the ground, Johnny sung out, "Good-by, Mother, I'm going i" He did not go very far, however, but came down soon, and we made the tent fast and safe as we could . Time passed on, and our mission work in- creased in interest. Six weeks after we com- menced our labors there, our house was up and enclosed, and we were in it. As soon as the roof was finished, and the chamber floor laid, we moved from the tents and went into the attic. The lower part of the house was boarded up, but we had no windows. We found it necessary to build a fence round our premises, and accordingly, the brethren had dug holes for the posts around the yard, and placed them in position, but had not yet fastened them in their places. We soon ob- served that some unknown friends were improv- ing the night watches by carrying off the posts, which had been procured with so much labor that we were unwilling to lose them. How to prevent this was a question, until Stephen Tay- lor, who was an experienced hunter, and famil- iar with traps and wood-craft, hit upon a plan. We had a few large spools of strong black thread ; and he tied the ends of the threads to a bell which was placed on. a little shelf over the window, carried the threads out into the 173 Incidents in Southern Work. yard after dark, tied them around the posts, car- rying them over branches of trees, so that per- sons could traverse the grounds without noticing them, while if they meddled with the posts, the alarm bell would jingle. In the morning the whole contrivance was taken in again. We had but one bell, and so, to fix an alarm to protect the lower part of the house, which was boarded up, but without doors or windows, brother Clifford, who came up stairs last of all, devised another plan, which he forgot to explain to the rest of us. To bar the passage way, he took a couple of barrels and put a board on the top, tied a string to a wash-boiler cover, and stretching this string from one side of the house to the other, fixed it in such a way that we could hear if any person entered the house from either side. Besides this he placed a dozen or more boards edgewise on the floor, in such a manner that a slight touch would cause all to fall at once. Having made our arrangements, we waited to see what would come. After watching until quite late, as we were very weary, we con- cluded that no one would come that night, and all began to prepare for rest. We had hardly retired before the bell began to jingle violently. The Taylor brothers sprang for the stairs, entirely forgetting that before retiring 174 Incidents in Southern Work. they had carefully laid over the top of the unfinished stair-way some boards which were barely long enough to cover the opening and prevent the wind from coming up into our attic. Austin Taylor being nearest the stairs, was foremost in the race, and starting forward with a rush, he stepped on the boards, which instantly gave way, fell, and covered the steps with an inclined plane, which baffled all his attempts to gain a footing. He went to the bottom with surprising celerity. Mr. Clifford, meeting with the same unexpected aid to loco- motion, could only follow, foiling upon Austin's back, but having no time to make apologies or explanations before Stephen Taylor arrived, accompanied by a large tin wash-boiler, several boots, shoes, and whatever other moveables he had seized upon to retard his rapid descent. We had agreed beforehand, that if the bell rung, nobody was to speak or make a noise, hoping, by keeping silence, to discover who was outside, stealing the posts. But the situation was too comical, and all hands broke out into a roar of laughter, while Austin, who had man- aged to extricate himself, was meeting with new surprises in the body of the house, which seemed filled with traps and snares and gins, as he stumbled over boiler cover, boards, kegs, 175 Incidents in Southern Work, barrels, and divers other contrivances of the carpenter, making a marvelous racket. Nobody was hurt, in any way, but we who stayed within, laughing till our sides ached, could hear the men outside, running like horses across the yards, where they found several posts lying in confusion. The thieves had fled even an honest man might have been frightened at such a noise. The brethren soon returned, and a merrier crowd than those who made that mission-house ring with laughter that night, it would be hard to find any where. Two or. three days later, as one of our com- pany was passing through the yard, but con- cealed by a clump of shrubbery, he overheard the following conversation between two or three of our dusky neighbors, one of whom was very cautiously stepping over the boundary on to our ground. " Look out ! they say they have got under- ground telegraphs here." The intruder seemed incredulous, and his friend continued: " Well, all I has to say is, you jes better keep clar of thar ! " "Why?" " Well, I say you better keep clar ! Now mind what I tells you. 1 knows something 176 Incidents in Southern Work. about it. / done try it myself; and now you better mind ; them Yankees has some curus sort er underground telegraphs 'round lhar. You can't go nowhar nigh 'thout their knowin' it. Now mind what I tells you /" "Whether the person admonished chose to "mind" or not, we cannot say ; but some one did, and the next day when a disagreeable and garrulous old "auntie" made us her daily call, we determined to utilize her powers of speech in return for some of the services we had ren- dered her. "Auntie," said one of our number, "you know we northerners are true friends to your people, and are trying to help them all that we can." A smile of gratitude came over her face her gratitude being perhaps like that of some white people, "a lively sense of favors to be received" and she exclaimed with clasped hands, "Yes, bress de Lor', dat you is !" "Well, Auntie, what should you think if any of your people, for whom we are working so hard, should come and steal from us?" (We had some reason for suspecting that "Auntie" could justly be classed among this number.) The pious look of horror with which she regarded the suggestion was indescribable, while 177 Incidents in Southern Work. the punishments which she assigned the evil doers would have satisfied the demands of the most rigid justice. "Well, Auntie, I am sorry to say that some one has been stealing from us" (another look of horror) ; "but no one can do it any more, because we are Yankees, you know, and Yankees find out what is going on, in very strange ways. We don't w r ish to see any of the people whom we have come to help, get into trouble, but if our telegraph tells us when they come around, and we catch them, what can we do?" "Telegraph ! Is you got a telegraph?" "Why, haven't you heard about our tele- graph? No one can walk a rod on our ground without our knowing all about it." A look of superstitious fear, far more genuine than the previous "pious" expression, came over her countenance, and she hurriedly left the house. In a short time, accounts of "the underground telegraph at the Yankees' new house," much fuller than our consciences would allow us to give, were current in the neighborhood. We received no more calls from our visitor, and we lost no more fence posts. Things moved along very quietly for a little time, but while our house was building, hun- 178 Incidents in Southern Work. drecls of poor people flocked around. Some- times they were so thick that it was impossible for us to work or get our regular meals. Some- times perhaps a hundred would come to the house before breakfast. They were a motley crowd, white and black, sick and well, sound and crippled, some hungry, some lazy, but all ragged and wretched enough to move one's pity ; though we sometimes detected among the most ragged, persons whose wants we had already relieved, but who had come to try their luck a second time. We soon found out this little de- vice, and endeavored to guard against imposi- tion, and confine our distribution to the hun- dreds who were sick, crippled, and in extremest need, to the exclusion of the idle and vicious, and those who were better able to provide for themselves. There were comical incidents. One day when I was weary and unwell, and sisters Judkins and Esserine had sent me to bed to get some rest, a white woman, perhaps fifty years old, called and inquired for me. She was told that I was resting, and must not be disturbed. "But I must see the 'old lady'" said she, "for I have walked twelve miles on purpose to see her." Hearing her importunities, I came down 179 Incidents in Southern Work. stairs and met her at the door. When she saw me she still inquired for the *'old lady," mean- ing the mistress of the house. When I told her that I was the one she was seeking, she started back and raised her eyes to heaven in amazement, and looking around on her companions said : "La, me ! she looks just like any of us ! Aint she pretty I why, they told me that the Yankees had horns !" A burst of laughter, hearty enough to settle a dinner, followed this frank confession, and I gave the poor woman a dress, some clothing for her children, and a Testament, etc. ; and reliev- ing the wants of her companions, we sent them away with kind words to their homes. So the days came and went, while we ministered to the needs of the poor souls who, through four years of war, privation, and dis- tress, had come to lack every thing, and to have no means of getting ary thing. Money was worthless ; clothing was worn out ; food was scarce ; war had robbed wives of their hus- bands, children of their fathers, and old people of their sons ; and the calls for help were so numerous, and so importunate that we could hardly find an hour to rest. HoAvever, our building progressed, and we soon had a place ISO Incidents in Southern Work. to lay our heads ; and our little church and school-house and mission-rooms, all under one roof, were finished by our faithful brethren, John Clifford, and Austin and Stephen Taylor. All this while our schools were in progress in the Tent ; rapid improvement was made by the children, and we were trying to do all the good we could. Though we had many obsta- cles and discouragements, yet every thing that we undertook prospered, and we were well sat- isfied that God was in the work, and was guid- ing us in our way. OVERCOMING EVIL WITH GOOD. At one time, during our sojourn in the South, we were having profitable and interesting meet- ings some six miles away from our mission- house. We hud a good horse which sister Judkins had bought for the mission work ; and a nice carriage which the Taylor brothers had purchased with money received by the sale of spruce gum which they had gathered in the woods of Maine. With this equipment we went to and fro to do the Master's will, and attend these meetings among the Sand Hills. Three miles of this region we traveled through pine forests and openings, without seeing a house. In these woods were many workmen, 181 Incidents in Southern Work. employed in making turpentine, which they gathered from the pine trees, scraping the bark from one side of the tree, and cutting channels and cavities where the turpentine could collect. It was a strange sight to look through the forests and see hundreds of these trees, with the bark peeled off on one side to the height of five or six feet, the trees looking almost like an army of men in white frocks. The turpentine workers were generally a rough class, destitute of Christian principle or influences, and at this time enmity toward the North was very intense, and any person who came from the North was regarded with great dislike ; especially any one interested in the education and advancement of the people. Such persons at once brought upon themselves the hatred of a certain class in the community. It was during these meetings that we were threatened by a gang of men who spent most of their time in this piece of woods. We were warned that they had threatened to shoot us if we passed through again to attend any meetings. Some were worried about us, fearing that we might forget to watch, and that some evil might happen to us ; but we felt that the great God had watched over us in the past and carried us through many trying scenes, and would still 182 Incidents in Southern Work. take care of us while we were endeavoring to do his will, and seeking to save the lost. 7 O We accordingly started on our way, trusting in Him who said, "I will never leave thee nor forsake thee." As we were riding through the woods and approached the turpentine camp, we saw the turpentine gatherers at a little distance, hurrying along to meet us We were well pre- pared for them, as we had brought some books and tracts for their benefit ; such things being very rare in the neighborhood, and likely to be acceptable to any person who could read, who lived in the pine woods. As they came up to us, w r e stopped our horse, and bade them good- morning. We told them that we had some books which we had brought them, to while away the hours when their work was done. We talked to them kindly, and soon saw that the spirit of fight was departing, and that their hearts were touched as we told them of our errand there, and our desire to relieve suffering and misery, and save the perishing around us. We felt quite encouraged when we saw the tears standing in the eyes of some, and we invited them to attend the meeting, which they prom- ised to do, and afterward fulfilled their promise. We then rode on our way, feeling greatly re- lieved and encouraged, hoping that we might 183 Incidents in Southern Work. yet do them good ; and soon came to the place of meeting. It was a little log church, Avhere there were not many comforts. The floor was rough, and the crevices between the logs were O ' O large, and all through the cold winter the wind came whistling up through the floor, and driv- ing through the windows and walls ; and as we looked at the people, and saw the little children with their bare feet and scanty clothing, our hearts were touched with sympathy for them, and we resolved to help them so far as it was in our power. So the little log church was repaired, and made more comfortable, and the meetings were attended with blessing. The people manifested deep feeling, and trembled under the preaching of the word. The gospel was the power of God unto salvation, and I think some fifteen or twenty expressed their desire for baptism, and a day was appointed for the ceremony. This served as an occasion for opposers to carry out their threats previously made. The leader announced openly that he would "break up that meeting next time." We were informed of his intentions by faithful friends, but did not see fit to change our plans. Our trust was in God ; and when Saturday night came, our mission family earnestly sought his protecting care for the morrow. Sunday, as 184 Incidents in Southern Work. our company was gathered on the margin of a forest stream to witness the public profession of faith in Christ Jesus, we observed the dark looks of our chief opposer, but manifested no apprehension. As the time for singing was at hand, I offered him a hymn book telling him he might keep it and invited him to join with us in the hymn, as I knew that he had some musical talent. He hesitated, turned pale, and then, with a trembling hand, accepted the book, and, later, even attempted to sing. But his plans were evidently disarranged. Neither he nor his companions created the slightest dis- turbance, and, at the close of the service, we went on our way rejoicing. But this was not the end. Vexed at himself for his display of weakness before those whom he had set out to lead in evil deeds, he vowed that he would "fix 'em next time, and no fool- invas found the following day. His brother-in-law, Ira Stout, and his sister, the wife of the deceased, each of them was found with a broken arm; and it was subsequently ascertained that the murder had been committed by the brother-in- law in return for the cruel and abusive treat- ment of his sister by her husband, and that the brother and sister together, in attempting to throw the corpse into the river, had fallen over the precipitous bank, and themselves received severe injuries. On investigation, it appeared that they lived on Munroe St., just around the corner from our house; their back yard coming within perhaps ten feet of our house, and the 290 Dreams and Impressions. house standing but a, very few rods from where my husband lay groaning and praying under this terrible, strange impression, while this woman was suffering from her husband's abuses, and the murder was, perhaps, being plotted by her brother. It was found that the family had a criminal record, the young man having pre- viously been in state's prison, though he was a person of marked ability, and was at this time a student in a law office. He was tried, found guilty, and suffered the penalty of his crime ; while his poor sister was imprisoned for years at Sing Sing, as an accessory after the fact. CALLED FROM DINNER. At one time, when we were living in Charles- town, Mass. , a Christian brother, Captain G , invited several minister's wives to have "a fish dinner" on board his vessel. I went with the rest, leaving at home my youngest boy, then about a year and a half old, well and happy. Soon after I came on board the vessel, such a restless, unhappy feeling came over me that I could not stay. The friends insisted upon my remaining until after dinner, but nothing could induce me to stay. I felt that I must go home! I started without waiting for dinner ; but on my way, while passing along the street, T met 291 Dreams and Impressions. a lady who said to me that there was a young girl, her daughter, whom she wished I would go and see. She told me that she had heard of me, and had heard me speak the Sunday night before ; and had been wishing that she could come across me, somehow, and persuade me to call upon her daughter. This daughter was an only child, and had come to Boston and become acquainted with a young man, the son of wealthy parents, and was now living with him without having been married. The mother was nearly insane about the matter. "We walked together to the house, where she left me to go in alone. I rang the bell, and inquired for the daughter. They told me that she could not be seen ; but I sent back word that a friend desired to see her, who was acquainted with her circumstances, and with reluctance they finally admitted me to her presence. She looked at me with surprise. I spoke to her and said, "I sent you word that I was a friend, and so I am, although I am a stranger to you, but you are not a stranger to me. I have come to befriend you, not to con- demn you ; to give you good counsel and advice, and to stand by you." It was some time before I could reach her heart, but at length she burst into tears. I flung my arms around her, and after a little she 292 Dreams and Impressions. was quite free to tell me her troubles. She was a beautiful girl, and keenly felt her condi- tion. Before long the young man came in, and I talked with them both. They promised me that they would be married, and the next week I had the pleasure of learning that they had fulfilled their promise. Leaving their house, I then hastened home, and found on my arrival, that at the time when I was so restless on board the vessel, my little boy was very badly burned, the whole palm of his hand being burned with a hot iron, the flesh being crisped in places to the bone, in conse- quence of which, through taking cold, he nearly lost his life, and received a scar which has never been removed. I knew no earthly reason why I should have any uneasiness about the child, for everything was right when I left home, and there were plenty there to care for him ; but, nevertheless, I found him as I have described, and knew then the secret of the strange rest- lessness and anxiety which forbade my remain- ing at the dinner to which I had been invited. Many other instances might be mentioned, but these may instruct some inexperienced soul to hearken to the inward call, and obey the voice that so often speaks, saying, "This is the way, walk ye in it." 293 Dreams and Impressions. OMINOUS DREAMS. There has been one remarkable circumstance in my own experience, and that is, during many years past I have often boon warned of the presence or approach of enemies, by dreams of snakes! Again and again this has occurred; and such dreams have so invariably been fol- lowed by troubles, persecutions, slanders, or assaults of unreasonable and wicked men, that my hushand would groan and say : "Oh, dear ! don't dream any more of your snake dreams!" for he always knew what was coming. It would be of no particular use to cite many instances of this kind, but I will relate one or two dreams which were somewhat impressive to me. Sometime about the year 1878, when we occupied rooms in the Tract Repository, at 342 Washington St., Boston, I one night dreamed that I was looking out of the window westward, and the sky was shrouded in blackness. I looked, and to my astonishment, the whole heavens seemed covered with imps of darkness, some of whom were very large, each of the larger ones being surrounded by a host of smaller ones, which seemed really to fulfill the hymn of Wesley, where, speaking of the powers of darkness he wrote : 294 Dreams and Impressions. "They throng the air and darken heaven, And rule the lower world." I called my husband to look out and see how dark it was. After gazing a little at the horri- ble sight, he said, "Hattie, get me my lantern and I will hold it out of the window, and perhaps that will give a little light." I did so, and he held out the lantern, but it seemed to have no effect on the thick blackness that surrounded us. It was all light within, however, and he turned to me and said, "Well, Hattie, we have light in our own house ; thank God for that !" Suddenly he turned and said, "Hattie, get me my trumpet ; we will try what God's word will do." I started off to get it, expecting to find a sil- ver trumpet, audio, w r hen I found it, it proved to be an old ram's horn which looked as if it had come down from the days of Joshua and Jericho, and was so old that it was worn full of holes. "Get that old Bible," said he, "and cut out that text of Scripture w r hich says : 'There is none other name under heaven, given among men, whereby we must be saved.' " Acts iv. 12. I cut out the text, and as it lay in my hand 295 Dreams and Impressions. it seemed to crumble to pieces, until each word and letter separated, each letter seeming as large as a buckshot. He then took them one at a time and blew them through the trumpet into the darkness, with all his might, each blast seeming to force its way partly through the jjloom. But still the cloud hum; thick, and O O everything above seemed dense, dark, and devilish. Presently he said, "This will not be sufficient ; Hattie, get me another passage : 'If any man preach any other gospel unto you than that ye have received, let him be accursed !'" Gal. i. 9. I did as I was requested, and he sent that message out through the trumpet, in the same way. This seemed to produce a little more effect ; it shot through the horrible pall that overhung us ; so that we could see, shining through the gloom, a 'light like one bright, solitary star ! "AVe are making some progress," he said; "but there is another passage we want, which I think will do the work : 'Behold, he cometli with clouds; and every EYE SHALL SEE HIM, and they also which pierced him ; and all kindreds of the earth shall wail because of him.'" Rev. i. 7. I cut the passage out, and it crumbled up M Dreams and Impressions. like the others, and he blew it through the trumpet ; and as he sounded blast after blast, the words seemed to cut their way through the hosts of evil. The foul spirits would give back, allowing the light of heaven to shine through ; then they would gather up again, but would seem repelled as by an electric shock, until, finally, confusion seemed to roll through the infernal hordes ; they began to bite and devour each other, and at last the whole host were scattered, dispersed, and driven away out of sight. When this was done, and the sky was clear, he sank down pale and exhausted. It seemed as if he hardly had any life remaining in him ; but I thought, "Oh how glad I am that he has blown this last trumpet-blast before he was exhausted and worn out !" Upon this I awoke and told the dream, shortly after surprisingly suggested by events of a personal nature. Sometime about the year 1879, while residing at the same place, I had another dream, which impressed me most disagreeably. I dreamed that I entered a spacious room, and looking up, saw what seemed to be a large picture-frame, and my husband standing in it. His body seemed concealed behind the frame, but his head and chest were visible, and the material 297 Dreams and Impressions. of the frame seemed closely fitted around him, so that he was hemmed and packed in, and could not move. I exclaimed, "Why, Horace ! how did you get in there?" His appearance worried me. He seemed surrounded by a mass of marble of lighter and darker shades of drub, which seemed to be sculptured in alto-relievo, or raised work. 1 drew near to examine it, and found to my hor- ror, that it was nothing but snakes, packed and matted together as closely as they could be, and all turned to solid rock. They had been alive, but were now dead and petrified. There were three large ones, which seemed to stand out prominently from the others, and every crev- ice and interstice between them was filled with little snakes, all solid stone, dead and cold, and polished till they shone like a mirror. My hus- band seemed entirely conscious of his position, and remained quite composed, unable to escape, and yet entirely void of fear or anxiety. "Well," I said, "if they are snakes, they are dead ; they won't bite you ; they cannot hurt you. But how can we ever break that frame ?" He seemed perfectly calm and cool, as much as to say, "It is useless to struggle or fret." And there my dream ended ; and I awoke in a state of mind not particularly enviable or com- 298 Dreams and Impressions. fortable, and not anxious to have my dream interpreted or to see it fulfilled. Some similar dreams had been followed by suc'.i experiences with '"snakes in the grass," and " perils amono- false brethren," that my husband had said to me, "For mercy's sake don't dream any more of your snake dreams; " and here was a now one, which seemed worse than its predecessors. And in the trying experiences that followed, and the "many adversaries" that strove to block the " great and effectual door" that was opened, there were many things which we need not recount, which reminded us most forcibly of this strange dream. I do not lay stress upon such things as these, but while I cling closely and simply to the word of God for guidance and direction, I do not know that I am warranted in disregarding any admonitions that come to me, whether asleep or awake, that so powerfully impress my mind. And while I do not profess to have the skill of Joseph or Daniel in the interpretation of dreams, I have yet seen many circumstances which have led me to give heed to warnings which have seemed to be bestowed in kindness and in mercy ; and which, in the end, have been fully justified by facts in the experience of myself and those near and dear to me. 299 A JONAH YOYAGE. It has been said that the general who never made a mistake never won a battle. Some people claim that they always do right, perhaps because they are too ignorant to see their own faults, or too stubborn to confess them when they do see them. I can make no such claims to perfection of judgment or conduct, but am obliged to confess that I have often erred from O the right path, and can heartily join with those who say, "AU we, like sheep, have gone astray ; we have turned every one to his own way ; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all." Isa. liii. 6. It has been hard at times to decide between differing courses, and when I have felt a mother's responsibilities, and the love of home and family have asserted themselves, my heart has so longed for the peace and quiet of my humble dwelling, and the society of the loved ones there, that it has been difficult to decide to protract my labors in distant regions, often surrounded by strangers and those who have ^300 A Jonah Voyage. little sympathy with the work of the Lord ; and sometimes I have shrunk back from duties, or hastened home from fields that were white and ready for the harvest. The summer of 1880 was to me a continued scene of sickness and distress. In the early spring my husband's sister returned from a six years' absence in Mexico, where she had worn herself out in mission labor, teaching, and orphanage work. Before she had recovered her health, I was taken ill with a complication of diseases which brought me to the gates of death. Repeatedly, my life was despaired of by physicians and friends, who watched over me with constant care, but with little, and often no, hope of my recovery. But the Lord had mercy upon me, and I was raised up from my bed of pain and suffering ; and with increasing strength came a desire to labor in the Master's cause ; and after a silence of about eleven months, I was permitted to engage again in gospel work, and had the joy of seeing several precious souls confess their faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Near the close of the year 1880, I received a letter from one of our old-time southern friends, who had removed from Tennessee to the western borders of Arkansas, containing the Macedonian 301 A Jonah Voyage. cry, "Come over and help us." Souls were perishing there, the young were growing up without Christ, and my friends were urgent in entreating me to visit them, and enjoy the oenefits of a milder climate during the winter months, and improve the time by seeking to save some souls from death. I laid the matter before the Lord, telling him that I had not the means for the journey, and that my husband could not afford to pay the expense, as his own unpaid labors in the gospel, accompanied with his large distribution of religious reading among the destitute, had left him without funds for such a purpose ; and hence, if it was the Lord's will that I should go, he must provide the money for the journey. A few days later, a lady, Mrs. S , was impressed to call at the Repository, and leave "twenty-five dollars for Mrs. Hastings." She did so, making no suggestions as to the disposal of it. This money I laid aside, as it was not enough for the journey, and prayed for more, if it was the Lord's will that I should go to Arkansas. About a week later, another lady in Maine, who had formerly been an inmate of our family, sent a postal order for thirty dollars, "for sister Hastings." When my husband came home and told me that this thirty dollars 302 A Jonah Voyage. had come, my heart sunk at the thought of again leaving my family, and I almost regretted that I had prayed thus. But the way of duty seemed plain, as I had money enough to pay my fare to the place of my destination, pro- vided by persons who knew nothing of my plans or prayers ; and so, without gainsaying, I prepared for the journey. On the evening of January 5, 1881, after having my trunk packed with Bibles, books, tracts, and papers, I bade adieu to my dear ones and started alone from the Providence railway station, via New York and St. Louis, for Arkansas, somewhat feeble from my late sickness, but full of inward peace and trust. I arrived in New York Thursday morning, Jan- uary 6th, in a driving storm. For my morning walk from the boat to the railway station, I had snow, rain, w r ater, and mud, and went in over shoes. My feet were as wet as though I had been in a bath ; there was no one near to render assistance ; and had my friends been there, they would probably have said, "That will be the end of her mission w r ork." I soon got on board the train, and found a nice warm place in the carriage, where the steam-pipes ran through, Avhere my feet were well warmed until they were perfectly dry ; 303 A Jonah Voyage. after which, though I had previously been quite lame, I had no more lameness in my feet for a long time. Saturday morning I arrived in St. Louis, quite well, having stood the journey grandly ; and had an excellent visit with sister Prescott, after which she accompanied me to the station and saw me safe on board the train en route for Little Rock, Arkansas, where I arrived next day, and was well cared for by brother and sister Graham. After resting until the mor- row, and enjoying the fellowship of the saints there, I started on my way, January 14th, fol- lowed by the prayers and blessings of the kind, Christian friends at Little Rock. At the depot in Little Rock was a great crowd of poor white and colored people, bound for Texas ; some of the women having scarcely clothes enough to keep them half comfortable, their children being without shoes to their feet. If ever I coveted means to help the poor, it was then. My heart ached when one poor woman asked me if I could give her a postage stamp so that she could write to her poor old mother. I had one stamp and a sheet of paper which I had saved to write home with ; I gave it to her, with some words of cheer, and longed for the time when sin and the curse should be 304 A Jonah Voyage. removed, when the desert should blossom as the rose, and the poor find peace and joy and rest. The railway carriages were full of emigrants ; the men dressed well and warmly, with heavy overcoats, but the women and children very scantily clad, and shivering with cold ; the stove being surrounded with men, so that the women could hardly get near it. After a day's ride, I reached Van Buren, where I was gladdened by meeting brother O / O M , whose wife had written me to come to Arkansas. I found on arriving that the weather was unusually cold for that region the mercury was said to be ten degrees below zero, and the ice on the river ten inches thick. We crossed on a ferry-boat, which was frozen in, and was two or three hours making its way across the river. We arrived at Fort Smith in the evening, and the next day pursued our way in a big lumber wagon, which was the best con- veyance for those roads, so new and rough that a lighter carriage would last there but a short . time. We soon came in sight of brother M 's, and I w r as rejoiced to see once more the faces of old friends who loved the gospel, and were ready to do anything in their power to spread it abroad. I found in this new south-western field an 305 A JonaJi Voyage. open door, and held meetings here and there, almost daily. Different places of worship were open to me, and people came from far and near to hear the word of truth. Some fifteen souls, at different times, expressed their deter- mination to follow the Lord and start for the heavenly kingdom. One stranger, who had not been in a religious meeting for years, was passing by, and stopped in to hear a lady speak ; his heart was touched, and he came out rejoic- ing in the Lord, and confessed his faith in his Saviour. Christians rejoiced to see their chil- dren turn to God, and recent communications give reason for believing that permanent good was done in the Master's name. The weather, however, was so intensely cold that many suffered from it ; as the houses there, though more comfortable and commo- dious than in many parts of the South, were not adapted to resist such unusual cold. I felt also some discouragement because those who professed a desire for salvation did not seem to make the progress I had anticipated ; and as the weather was unfavorable, the cold intense, and my friends from Iowa had written, urging me to visit them, under all the circum- stances, I began to think of starting on my homeward journey. 306 A Jonah Voyage. It was proposed by some, that I visit certain mineral springs, some twenty-five or thirty miles away, and labor there for a while, using the mineral waters for my own benefit ; but money was not very abundant, and I was getting homesick ; so, finally, on the fourteenth day of February I started, via St. Louis, for Iowa. I stayed in St. Louis a day or two, telegraph- ing to my husband for counsel as to what course to take. He wanted to say, "Come home," but felt afraid to dictate, and left me to follow my own convictions ; and I concluded to visit my friends in Iowa, and then return East. Accordingly, on the evening of February 18th, I took the train north from St. Louis, and started on what proved to be the most terrible journey of my life. The exceptional cold of the early part of the winter was fol- lowed by terrific storms, tempests, hurricanes, and "blizzards." Obstructions hemmed us in on every side ; railway tracks were buried, trains were snow-bound, mails were stopped, commu- nication was cut off, and for weeks my friends at home and elsewhere could get no tidings from me, and knew not whether I was sick or well, dead or alive. At length, by telegraph- ing to my friends at Lake Mills, Iowa, my 307 A Jonah Voyage. husband learned, March 20th, that I was well and about to start for home. The following account is extracted, with additions, from a letter written to a friend in Arkansas after my return to Boston : "I suppose the dear ones in Arkansas are wondering what has become of me, as I prom- ised you a letter soon after leaving. Perhaps I may as well begin from the commencement and tell the whole story. "After leaving you I came to Little Rock ind stayed one night. They urged me to remain ^ith them and labor a little, but I was in doubt concerning duty, and in some haste to visit my friends in Iowa, and so I thought it was best to go on. Coming to St. Louis, I remained a short time, and then started, February 18th, for Iowa, expecting to arrive at Lake Mills, where my friends resided, in about a day and a half. "When I reached Cedar Rapids, Iowa, I learned to my sorrow that we could not get through on account of the depth of the snow, and so we were snow-bound there for two or three days. When .word came that we should soon start on our journey, all hearts were glad, and there was great rejoicing among the trav- elers, for we hoped in a few hours to see our SOS A Jonah Voyage. loved ones. A short ride brought us to Water- loo, where we stopped again, and found that the roads were all blocked by the snow, and it was not possible to get through. "You may well believe that by this time I began to question whether it was right for me to go on, and to feel that I was a Jonah, who had left work which I should have remained to finish. Of course this was not very pleasant for me to think of, and I was heart-sick, and wished myself back in Arkansas ; but I could neither get one way or the other, for we were hemmed in on every hand. So we tried to be as happy as we could, being obliged to spend our spare money, which was not very pleasant, as my funds were getting low. But the hotel keepers found a mine in the travelers' pockets, and they did not neglect their opportunities. "By and by the news came that we should go on at such an hour, and we started in high spirits, expecting that we should soon reach our place of destination. After the train had started, some of the travelers were so happy that we were favored with several sweet songs, which served to pass away the time pleasantly. Soon after, we came to a stop, and lo ! before us lay a snoAv-bound train that had jumped the track. The engine had bounded along without 309 A Jonah Voyage. regard to rule or rail, until it had ploughed its way into a deep snow-drift, bringing everything to a stand-still. The passenger carriages were overturned, one man was killed, and several wounded, and we again found that we must go back, for there was no possibility of clearing the track that night. There was not help enough to be obtained, and there was only one engine, as the others had already been injured ; so we returned to Waterloo in a very different state of mind from that in which we left it. The next morning they said we should probably go soon ; and so, in order to be on hand at a moment's notice, we took the coach and went down to the station ; where there w r as only one room, occupied by two or three women with children, one sick person, and a crowd of men, smoking, drinking, and playing cards to pass away the time. "We waited there until twelve o'clock; and then counted the hours until one, two, and three in the afternoon, and began to grow discouraged and heart-sick. Finally, at four o'clock, we heard them getting up steam, and at the word, 'All aboard !' were soon again on our way. We w r ent on a few miles to Osage, where w r e learned that the track northward was buried in snow, and had not been open for 310 A Jonah Voyage. some days. Here I found a hearty welcome and a comfortable home at the house of my niece, Mrs. Belding. The rest of the company had still to endure disappointment and delay. "After remaining at Osage three or four days, word came that the line was open; and I took the train at five o'clock, on Tuesday morning, March 1st, accompanied by my nephew's little daughter, who had been visit- ing at her aunt's, and was going with me to her parents at Lake Mills, and started for a short ride, expecting to be at my journey's end in about two hours. "In about half an hour after we started, the snow commenced to fall. The storm from the south had overtaken us, and another from the north was driving down upon us, and both seemed to meet and pile the snow upon us in the most terrific manner. People said there had never been such a storm known in that country since its settlement, and I never in my life witnessed anything like this terrible 'bliz- zard.' The very air seemed dark with the flying masses of snow and ice, and it was impossible to see any distance, through the raging storm. "A short ride brought us to Austin, on the borders of Minnesota, where we were obliged 311 A Jonah Voyage. to wait several hours. While in the station at Austin, a gentleman came into the waiting room, and sitting clown by the stove, buried his face in his hands, and groaned and sighed in anguish. Another man came in and asked him, " 'How many did you order?' " 'I ordered a hundred,' said he, 'and God only knows how many more will be needed when I get home.' " 'Good mercy ! ' said the other, 'a hundred coffins ! ' "I inquired of one of the men in the station, and he said the coffins were ordered for the poor settlers in Dakotah, who had perished in the terrible cold. "On the wide, treeless prairies, where the people depend for fuel on supplies of coal obtained at the railway stations, some families, blockaded by snow-drifts, had burned their furniture and buildings ; and many, unable to obtain material to feed their fires, had frozen to death. My heart was sick at the thought of the wide-spread woe of the poor frontiersmen, who were exposed to such fearful sufferings. "After waiting at Austin, we went on two or three miles to Ramsey Junction, where we were obliged to stop and change cars, w'e' 312 A yonah Voyage. taking a train westward, while the train we left started northward towards Minneapolis. "There was a lady on the train who Avas removing to the West with four little children, three of them under six years of age, who was going the same way we were. We learned that there was no hotel, and only one little restaurant at the Junction. Most of the pas- sengers went back to Austin to the hotel, but as my money was nearly expended, and as I wanted to start at the first opportunity, I remained at Ramsey. The station was small, and the floor looked as if it would take several washings to find it. The mother of the four little ones had no bedding, but she put the children away to rest upon the floor, covering them as best she could, and sat and watched over them through the night. Fires were kept up in the station, which made the room quite comfortable. I went down to the saloon, and begged the privilege of stopping there. The woman said she had no beds or rooms, all were taken up, and there was no fire in the parlor and no place for any ; but if I could make myself comfortable I could stay. I found there was nothing for me to do but to lie down on the floor without pillow or blanket. My little niece was frail, and I was afraid she would 313 A Jonah Voyage. take cold, so I covered her us well as I could with a shawl, and kept my cloak buttoned close about me ; but I was so cold ! No one but the Lord knows what I suffered that night. I was really afraid of having congestive chills. As soon as the day broke, I went over to the station and warmed myself by the fire, thanking God that I had lived through the night. After a while the saloon keeper brought me some cakes and tea, so I was somewhat refreshed. "In the morning, as the accommodations were meagre, some of the railway men told us that we had better get on board the train, and they would try to make us as comfortable as they could. TV'e did so, and they took us out quite a distance on a prairie, which was many miles in length, without a tree in sight. There was no station or hotel near, but there were two farm-houses in sight, standing in a track- less waste of snow, the nearest being perhaps a mile distant. The men then filled the boxes with coal, uncoupled the engine, leaving us, two women with five little children, to make ourselves as comfortable i\s we could in the storm, while they went on to shovel snow with a company of men who had been sent out to clear the track. "After they left us the storm increased, and 314 A Jonah Voyage. became so severe that they themselves were bound in with the snow, which buried the line between them and us, so that there was no going forward or backward. And there we were, on a prairie wild with storm and tempest, the wind howling enough to take the train from the track, if there had not been so much snow that it was impossible. "The rest of the week seems like a horrible dream. The day passed away and there was no news from the engine; the night was dark, and full of storm and tempest ; the next day came, and the half-dozen little biscuits which I had brought with me were gone ; the children were crying for bread, and I was so ill it was almost impossible for me to lift my head, having been taken with a severe bilious attack, accompanied with vomiting, which continued for three days and nights. The mother of the four little ones, alarmed and almost desperate, started for the nearest house to get bread for her children. We watched her as she waded through snow to her waist, to the house, and after a long delay we were glad when we saw her turn back with her arms full of provisions. The men were all gone to shovel snow on the railway, but the women gave her what aid they could. On her way back we saw her halt in 315 A Jonah Voyage. the snow-drifts, and \ve knew that she had hard work to get through ; but I could do nothing, I was so ill. She finally reached us, having nearly perished with the cold, being almost ready before she got there to give up the struggle and freeze to death. She had become drowsy, and was beginning to feel comfortable, which was a sign the vital forces were yielding to the terrible cold ; but the thought of her hungry children nerved her to press forward, and you may be sure there was great rejoicing when she reached us. "My memory of these terrible days is some- what confused and indistinct, but it was, I think, about twelve o'clock the second night, that we heard the sound of the whistle, and knew that the engine was near. Our coal was getting low, and we rejoiced when we heard the sound. The men said they should not have dared to start and push through, but they were afraid we should freeze to death. But the Lord heard prayer, the track was cleared, and on Saturday night, we reached the village of Albert Lea, Minn., where we found our- selves again blockaded by snow. We stayed there Saturday night and Sunday, and on Monday started on, arriving at Lake Mills, Iowa, that night, alive, with a glad heart but 316 A Jonah Voyage. a sick head, having been attacked with severe neuralgia on my journey. "I think I made a mistake when I turned my back on the Springs you wished and urged me to visit. I never felt so much like a 'Jonah ' as I did on this journey, and would have given much to have the privilege of going back and asking the Lord once more to guide my feet in the path that he would have me take. But I could only repent, and ask pardon of the Lord ; and my tender Father was ready to forgive. This I knew, and it was a great comfort to me ; but I was ill all the time I was with my friends, so that it was impossible for me to get around and have meetings. "After remaining in Lake Mills a few days, and speaking there one evening, I started homeward, and came to Norttnvood, Iowa, and there learned that trains could not get through ; so I was snow-bound again. I stayed at North- wood until Monday, March 22d, then started again for Cedar Rapids, being told that the track Avas clear. By this time the snow had begun to thaw, and at one place, for some tw r o or three miles, the track Avas covered with water, through which the train slowly and cautiously made its way. At Cedar Rapids, we again, to our great disappointment, found 317 A Jonah Voyage. the line blockaded with snow. Another night was spent at the hotel, and the next day we started for Clinton ; but soon came to a halt and were told that we could cents or more to II. L. HASTINGS, 49 Cornhill, Boston, Mass , L" S.A., for some specimens of THE ANTI-INFIDEL LIBRARY, edited by him, and read them. Then you can judge whether the work should be extended. Over thirty numbers of the ANTI-INFIDEL LIBRARY are now issued. Others to follow. Second Make them known to others. Third Ask your local bookseller or newsagent to order some copies, and place showbills in his windows. And, to induce him to do it, you might guarantee him against loss, by ottering to take, at cost, whatever copies he might fail to sell. Fourth Call the attention of Clergymen, Ministers, Colpor- teurs, and City Missionaries to these publications, as especially useful among Sceptics, Infidels, Secularists, and persons who are undecided or unsettled in their religious convictions. Fifth Give copies to sceptics and unbelievers ; or, better still, send them, or order them to be sent, by j>o*t, that they may not know the source from whence they come, sending one at a time at short intervals, and praying for a blessing upon them. Sixth Suggest to persons who are in the habit of purchasing quantities of tracts for distribution, that it would be well to include copies of these among others. Seventh Enclose copies of these suggestions (furnished freely), and also specimens of the various numbers of the ANTI-INFIDEL LIBRARY and GRAPE SHOT Leaflets, to Christian friends, and ask them to use their influence in extending their circulation. And remember that every tract purrhaictl furnishes means to print another to take its place. Copies may also be sent by post to Ministers of the Gospel, City Missionaries, Foreign Missionaries, and Christian Workers, many of whom have found help in their labours by suggestions contained in these publications. Eighth There are many expenses connected with an enterprise like this, such as printing, postage, stationery, &c., and numerous calls for publications for gratuitous distribution. We do not feel that, after meeting all these demands, to the best of our ability, we are further called upon to specially solicit the aid of others who may best learn their duty from their Master and ours. But, if friends desire to help us in a work that is far beyond our own strength and means to accomplish, their contributions will be thankfully received and carefully applied. While it is intended that the work shall, so far as possible, be self-supporting, yet the Enemy has had a long start, and it is important that immediate and energetic efforts I e put forth to stay the progress of unbelief, and to publish abroad truths which have long been neglected and assailed. Hence extra expenses shoitlcl be provided for to give the work a fair start at once. Chucks, for donations, > . . J- Mrs. H. L. Hastings, 1867. --*=r- Sh"all we meet beyond the riv-er, Where the surges cease to roll? ) Where, in all the bright for- ev - er. Sor- row ne'er shall press the soul? J Shall we meet th? ho-ly myr-iads, Who are ransomed from the grave? - * Fine. D.C. J ^-jrJM^r ~9* "*" ^ Shall iff we meet with those de-part - ed, Who have bow'd be-neath death's wave? t C 7 "T pi !T ^- *=ft=? t r~*i Chorut. EK 9 5AaW tre meetf Shall we