HBam 
 
 rr&BHiH^KKiK 
 

 
LIFE IX THE WEST; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 MORETON FAMILY. 
 
 BY TUE AUTHOR OF -TIIE VILLAGE BOYS/' 
 
 WRITTEX FOR THE AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UKIOJT. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA I 
 AMERICAN SfNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 
 
 No. 14G CHK.-TNUT STREET. 
 
 NEW YORK, No. 147 Nassau Street BOSTON, No. 9 Qomhitt. 
 
 LOUISVILLE, Ab. 103 Fourth Street. 
 
I 
 
 Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1851, by the 
 
 AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCIIOOL UNION, 
 
 iu the Clerk's Office of the District Court of th* Eastern Di>trirt of 
 Pennsylvania. 
 
 4- No books are published by the AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION 
 without the sanction of the Committee of Publication, consisting of 
 fourteen members, from the following denominations of Christian- 
 Baptist, Methodist, Congrogationalist, Episcopal, Presbyterian, and Re- 
 formed Dutch. Not more than three of the members can b- 
 same denomination, and no book can be published to which any mem- 
 ber of the Committee shaJl object. 
 
Libraxy 
 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Tin: f plain domestic life must, in a- 
 
 measure, be une. The object 
 
 of the following story is to combine these with 
 healthful moral instruction, and to show how a 
 firm reliance upon an overruling Providence, 
 and earnest endeavours to promote the good 
 of others, will insure our own happiness. 
 
 The scene has been laid in one of our West- 
 ern States ; the one, as yet, but imperfectly 
 developed in its resources or in its power, but, 
 nevertheless, advancing with great rapidity in 
 civilization, and destined to take its true place 
 among the fertile regions of the West. A 
 family in moderate circumstances has been 
 chosen, to show that the ability to do good lies 
 not so much in wealth as in well-directed effort. 
 The sweet ties of family affection and indivi- 
 
6 PREFACE. 
 
 dual influence are recognised ; and our readers 
 will permit the hope, that, without startling 
 incident, great exploit, or magnificent under- 
 taking, the simple history of the Moreton family 
 will possess an interest for them, and awaken 
 in their hearts a growing love for our beloved 
 country, and an earnest desire so to live, and 
 so to use the means God may put in their 
 power, as to promote its true prosperity real- 
 izing, by our own experience, that "happy is 
 that people whose God is the Lord!" 
 
PART I. 
 
 LAURELTOK 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. I. THE FAMILY CONCLAVE 11 
 
 II. PREPARATIONS FOE REMOVAL 23 
 
 III. NOTES OF WARNING 36 
 
 % IV. DR. NEWTON 46 
 
 V. UNCLE ALFRED'S GIFT 63 
 
 VI. THE DEPARTURE 61 
 
 VII. JOURNEYING THROUGH THE WOODS 67 
 
 VIII. ENCAMPMENT IN THE WOODS 75 
 
 IX. A SABBATH IN THE WOODS 81 
 
 
 
 X. TUB RAINY-DAY'S JOURNEY 92 
 
LIFE IX Till- AV1-ST; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 AD\ :s OF TIII-: Mniirrox FAMILY. 
 
 niAiTEIl I. 
 
 TIIE FAMILY CONCLAVE. 
 
 " Now, what do you all say about it ? I want the 
 opinion of every one of you. But let your mother 
 speak first." 
 
 "The change will affect the future life of the 
 children more than my own, my dear husband ; and 
 my feelings must not bias their decision. Let them 
 tell us their opinion, before we speak ours." 
 
 " Well, Kobert, you are the eldest." 
 
 " I say, father, let us go. I am young, but am 
 strong, and almost a man ; and I know that we can 
 succeed. I am ready to go." 
 
 " And so am I, father," said Henry. " I say, 
 with Robert, let us go, and take hold of a new farm. 
 I am willing to work hard upon it." 
 
 11 
 
12 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 Mary came next in order of age, and all eyes were 
 turned towards her. She sat with her head resting 
 upon her hand, evidently in serious thought. She 
 paused but a moment ; then, raising her head, she 
 said 
 
 "I am willing to go, father." 
 
 The mother saw a tear glistening in the daugh- 
 ter's eye, and kindly said 
 
 " Speak your feelings freely, my child. Rem-m- 
 ber that we are all one family, and that the wishes 
 and happiness of each member of our little circle is 
 the wish and happiness of the whole ; and that the 
 opinion of each has equal weight in our family 
 conclave." 
 
 " I am willing to go, mother/' again replied 
 Mary; "but, for the moment, our home here 
 seemed too pleasant to leave ; and I thought of our 
 many friends, the dear old trees, and my beautiful 
 garden. It was only for a moment, though," she 
 added, with a bright smile. "We can soon make a 
 home there, and find friends, while I shall learn 
 to love the wide forests and the beautiful wild 
 flowers." 
 
 "Father, are there any bears out there?" asked 
 little Alice. 
 
 " No, my darling," said the father, smiling, with 
 the others, to see the wondering eyes and alarmed 
 countenance of his flaxen-haired pet. 
 
THE FAMILY CONCLAVE. 13 
 
 'illic says that there are bears and Indians ill 
 the woods." 
 
 4> Willie does wrong to try to frighten you with 
 There are both bears and Indians 
 in some parts of the world; but where we think of 
 going, th- ither of them now." 
 
 " It' t!i. -re a iv no bears there, and mother is going, 
 and Willie, I want to go, too. Are you going, 
 Will! 
 
 "I rather think T shall. Ally. That is, if father 
 think- I am worth taking," said he roguishly. 
 
 I hr may not think you are worth l-av- 
 ing," bert. "But you are all talking out of 
 
 your turns. Frank ought to ha'. \t to 
 
 Frank's opinion was evidently guided by Mary's, 
 and was gi\vn guardedly. 
 
 " We are very happy here," said he; "and if we 
 are poor, we shall be soon old enough to help along. 
 Robert has almost learned his trade now. If I am 
 to be a printer, I think I had better stay here. 
 Printing is of no use out in the woods." 
 
 " It will not always be ' the woods 7 out there," 
 replied his father. "We may want a newspaper 
 started where we are, and you will be just the one 
 to carry it on. If, after you are old enough to learn 
 printing as a trade, you still desire it, whether we 
 live here or there, I promise you that you shall have 
 the opportunity." 
 
14 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 " That ought to satisfy you, Frank," said Charles, 
 who was a year younger than his brother. " I should 
 like togQ. I read, the other day, about the wild tur- 
 kies and ducks, the deer and the woodcock. Oh ! 
 I should like to live in the woods !" and visions of 
 the time when he should be the happy pos^-.^nr "f 
 a gun and a dog, floating through his mind, made 
 his earnest, expressive countenance beautiful. 
 
 " Charlie shall keep us supplied with <: 
 Henry, entering into the enthusiasm of his brother; 
 " and Robert and I will help father raise the wheat 
 for bread " 
 
 " Which I will make," said Mary 
 
 "And /will eat," said Willie. "Who a 
 cannot help ?" 
 
 " There is one more to speak. Annie, dear, what 
 do you say ?" asked the father. 
 
 Annie, the twin-sister of Charles, was a bashful, 
 timid child, of ten years of age, and was often over- 
 looked in the noisy movements of her brothers and 
 sisters. A naturally thoughtful habit of mind had 
 been increased by almost constant feeble health and 
 a slight deformity of person. But her invariable 
 sweetness of disposition and gentleness of character 
 and manner made her the darling of the family 
 circle. As they now looked at her little pale face, 
 and large, beaming, intellectual eyes, and remem- 
 bered how dependent she was upon joys that were 
 brought to her, and how unable she was to seek ac- 
 
THE FAMILY CONCLAVE. 15 
 
 :.e a hu.-h and silence over the 
 
 little group, for tin >llected that, to her, the 
 
 change would be greater than to the others, and be 
 fuller of privations and hardships. Nor was this 
 silence broken, until, in gentle tones, she said 
 
 "If we all live together, and God dwell with us 
 there, we shall be happy." 
 
 They all understand little Annie's reference to the 
 Mid, when I > a new 
 
 house "Will God live with us there '.'" and to 
 them, brought up and ; they were, to love 
 
 and : and blessed truths of r 
 
 lation, the thought of God, at this eriM> of their 
 family history, was not an unwelcome one. 
 
 " AnniV i '.<]-, ;iftT a mo- 
 
 ment's silence. " If we love each ,Qtker, and the 
 God uf 1 with us, it mat&re not \\ 
 
 are, we must be happy. I believe, with your father, 
 that it is better I'-r u-, as a family, t<> the 
 
 St. The majority agree with me; and, under 
 our republican government, the majority must rule, 
 not so, husband ?" 
 
 "Yes, my dear; and a largo majority we seem to 
 hall all have inconveniences 
 
 and troubles connected with the moving, and with 
 the new home. There will be severe labours to be 
 performed, hardships to be endured, and some pri- 
 vations, connected with great fatigue. But a spirit 
 
 of love and hopeful cheerfulness will enable us to 
 2 
 
16 LIFE IN THE WEST 
 
 bear these, and not let them become too burdensome 
 to us. We are all strong, well, and able to labour, 
 except Annie ; and Dr. Newton tells me that the 
 change of climate will, without doubt, benefit her ; 
 so, if we have God's blessing on our undertaking, I 
 TOfcn see no reason why we should not* go. In all 
 probability, we shall gain, as it regards worldly 
 prosperity; and you will have a K-ttn- and a more 
 independent start in life than you could hav, 1 
 where there is more competition, and the means of 
 living are more divided. But our own advantage 
 ought not to be the only motive in going, nor our 
 own prosperity the only consideration. We were 
 not placed upon this earth to think of and labour 
 only for ourselves. Whether we try to do it or not, 
 we influence those about us. By saying and doing 
 those things that are right, we can gain a good in- 
 fluence one that shall make others better and hap- 
 pier; and we may thus fulfil the great end and ob- 
 ject of life. If we do not mean to aim at this, 
 as well as our own advantage, in removing to 
 another place, it will be better that we stay where 
 we are ; for, to succeed fully in our^enterprise, we 
 must go as a God-fearing family. The* restraints 
 of society will, in a measure, be removed from us, 
 leaving us to make known by our actions how far 
 we are governed by love to God, and by a desire to 
 make his will our law. There must be an unity of 
 purpose with us, each one, as it were, pulling with 
 

 FAMM WE. 17 
 
 to help on the welfare and 
 comfort oi' the whole. Wo must go with d 
 mi/t'ifin to be hujipy ' to look,' as Jean Paul 
 i he siiuth side of the events and business 
 of life.' Such a disposition will materially lessen 
 nur labours and brighten our hearts. If we L 
 
 r our old home, (as we may 
 
 have, .- we may not let our inuriiiurings and repinings 
 rf uluess or hopefulness of those who 
 do not suffer from them. Being st. in a 
 
 we must cling to each other for our 
 support and eomfort, and seek our pk-asinv in ,-adi 
 other's society, and ach of us contribute to the happi- 
 3 "t" the whole. I do not doubt, my dear children, 
 that you will fultil my expectations ; but we shall 
 be placed in new circumstances, and cannot now tell 
 wh;i i' character those circumstances may 
 
 develop in us all. It is better, then, to speak of 
 the- "penly ami freely, calmly to think of 
 
 what we relinquish, and with deliberation to form 
 our plans fur future action ; for < to forewarn is to 
 forearm ourselves/ Do you all say that we had 
 better g 
 
 TherAwas now an unanimous vote in favour of a 
 new home, and that home one in the great West. 
 Even the little Alice, scarcely seven years of age, 
 gave her opinion understandingly and seriously ; 
 while, to the older members of the family, the pro- 
 iect assumed a mure enlarged aspect and bearing, 
 
18 LIFE IN THE 
 
 WEST. 
 
 and their personal responsibilities in the removal 
 gave to each of them a feeling of deep interest in its 
 success. As they afterwards kneeled about the 
 family altar, and commended themselves, with all 
 their plans, to the care and guidance of their hea- 
 venly Father, there was an earnest desire in every 
 heart for God's direction and blessing ; for they felt 
 that it was " not in man who walketh to direct his 
 steps. " 
 
 " If Cousin Susan would but go with us, mother," 
 said Mary, as she sought her room, before retiring, 
 " I should desire nothing more." 
 
 " We can ask her; and perhaps she may be per- 
 suaded to join her fortunes to ours," replied her 
 mother. 
 
 The family circle, to which we have so unceremo- 
 niously introduced our readers, was that of Mr. 
 JAMES MORETON. He was the father of eight 
 children, five of whom were boys the eldest, Ro- 
 bert, being a young man of seventeen. His school 
 education was completed, and, for the last year, he 
 had been engaged in learning the trade of carriage- * 
 building; his father deeming it best to grafSfy a na- 
 tural taste which lie showed for mechanics. 
 
 Henry was a year and a half younger than Robert, 
 with more taste for books and quiet employment ; 
 but he was practical and persevering, with a ready 
 will and a strong hand for labour. For several years, 
 
FAMILY CONCLAVE. 19 
 
 he bad been employed, during the summer months, 
 working with his father upon the farm, and spent 
 the winter and fall in school studies and duties. 
 Mary wafl fourteen years of age, of a quick appre- 
 heiiMon and tenacious memory. She was like Hen- 
 ry in disposition and character; but she had also 
 inherited from her mother an appreciation and 
 abiding love for the beautiful in nature, which 
 seemed to govern her whole life. It was not ro- 
 inanee n.,r sentiment whieh actuated her, so much 
 as love; and her own affectionate impulses, sancti- 
 fied by the spirit of <;..d, led her to view those by 
 whom she was surrounded as objects of loving inte- 
 .-iiid tender affection. She was a gay, cheerful, 
 bright-'-yed young girl, with some personal beauty; 
 but her chief charm was her singular disinterestedness 
 and constant watchfulness for the comfort and good 
 of others. Happy as the bird, like a bird, her voice 
 would be heard sending forth, now here, now there, 
 sweet notes of joy, as she, with busy hands, but 
 light, untroubled heart, was employed in the daily 
 pursuits of domestic life her cheerful thoughts 
 finding utterance in song so constantly, that her 
 mother was wont to call her " her bird." 
 
 Frank was naturally selfish and impatient; yet, 
 over the infirmities of his temper had Mary thrown 
 the mantle of her love often, by a gentle, persua- 
 sive* word, quieting his ebullitions of passionate an- 
 ger, and, with her sunny smile, winning him back to 
 2* 
 
20 LIFE IN THE WEST, 
 
 peace with others and with himself. He was an 
 object of solicitude to his parents ; yet they could 
 see, year by year, that the domestic influence of 
 home was rendering him more considerate, soften- 
 ing his temper, and making him less hasty in his 
 words and actions. 
 
 Charlie was an impetuous, rash little ft-lW, 
 ten years of age, full of daring, and with a disposi- 
 tion to think quite as much of himself as he ought 
 to think. He was as impulsive in his afi'.vtinns as 
 in his pursuits often boisterously fond of his mo- 
 ther and sisters, and then, again, as noisily devoted 
 to something else. Yet he was yielding and easily 
 guided, for his feelings were tender and quick ; and 
 if he did wrong, no one could be more sorry and 
 penitent than he was, as soon as he saw that it was 
 wrong. Annie was too feeble to enter into his sports 
 Jtt plans ; yet, in her dependence, he found a reason 
 why he should constitute himself her protector and 
 guide ; and it was into her ear that he poured forth 
 the mighty torrent of plans which his active brain 
 formed, and her feeble voice which dissuaded him 
 from undertaking one-tenth part of them; though, 
 in justice to our young friend Charlie's firmness, we 
 'ought to state that it was impossible to think twice 
 of most of them without seeing both their impracti- 
 cability and uselessness. 
 
 Willie was roguish and mischievous, fond of fun 
 to an alarming degree, for a boy of eight years of age. 
 
THE FAM11 \VK. 
 
 Little Alice was his ohosen playmate aftd companion, 
 and his tenderness and love fr her h;id won her heart 
 completely. The family appellation pven t> this little 
 one, the youngest of them all. I eurly-head," 
 
 or " little Miss Curly-head/' from her flaxen ringlets, 
 which were abundant and beautiful, but, from the 
 
 _:h of time consumed in their arrangement, a 
 source of great annoyance to her. She was a capri- 
 cious little being, full of freaks and fancies, but 
 warm-hearted and loving. 
 
 Mr. Moreton had married in early life, and for 
 several years had .tile pursuits. 
 
 Owing to sonn Cations in business 
 
 and a combination of adverse circumstances, he !<>>t 
 much of his property, and decided to gather up the 
 small rei f what had originally been a hand- 
 
 some estate, and purchase a farm near his native 
 town, a quiet Massachusetts village. For fourteen 
 years he had lived happily and prosperously there, 
 respected and useful a.s a citizen and as a man, ful- 
 filling all his duties to his family and to society with 
 faithfulness and success. Uut his nieanswere limited; 
 and while there was an abundance produced from 
 the farm for their daily wants, both Mr. and Mrs. 
 Moreton felt that there was nothing, beyond this, 
 upon which to rely for their children. 
 
 Their plan of moving to the West was neither a 
 sudden nor a hasty project. It was the result of 
 much thought and prayerful deliberation, and, toge- 
 
22 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 ther, they had decided to ascertain the feelings of 
 the children on the subject, and, should they find 
 them desirous or willing to go, to remove early in 
 the coming spring. Calling them together, as his 
 custom was, when any affair which concerned the 
 family required action or decision, Mr. Moreton 
 placed it before them ; he plainly spoke to them of 
 his own pecuniary affairs and of his prospects, so far 
 as they might be interested in knowing them. IK 
 then mentioned their plan of emigration, set its ad- 
 vantages and disadvantages before them, and told 
 them of its cares as well as of its pleasures, trying to 
 bring the whole matter clearly before their minds. 
 
 The result we have laid before our readers, whose 
 interest in the family history, we hope, will lead 
 them to follow us during our detail of their future 
 course. 
 
PREPARATIONS FOR REMOVAL. 23 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PREPARATIONS FOR REMOVAL. 
 
 Letter fr<> >ton. 
 
 , Michigan, Nov. 9th, 18 . 
 
 MY DEAR WIFE AND CIIIU>KKN: When I left 
 you, to start upon what Willie called "my ..voyage of 
 discovery," that is, my journey, I thought that, by 
 this time, I should be able to give you some definite 
 information as to your future home. But I have not 
 yet seen any farm, that suits both my means and my 
 desires, that I could purchase. I start to-morrow, to 
 examine some lands lying in Indiana and Illinois, and 
 in a week or two I shall be able to let you know my 
 decision. I am very glad that I came to see for myself 
 n i>i'r<-]iti*infjj for I find that much of the land, 
 which was highly recommended to me, is hardly worth 
 the " taking up," as they say here^rhen they speak 
 of buying land. I believe the land-agents think me 
 very particular, and not easy to be suited ; but they 
 do not know how dear to me are the interests of my 
 wife and children. I must look, first, for a In'tilthy 
 'I'l'-atioiL*. I cannot consent that cither they or I 
 shall live on the banks of a sluggish stream, or in 
 
24 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 the neighborhood of a swarnp. Then, I do not ?/'/// ' 
 a farm, far from some market-town, though far and 
 near have a different signification in the West from 
 what they have in New England. Thirty miles is 
 not/orr here. I must look for a place where I can 
 get lumber for a house ; and, in order to do this, a 
 saw-mill, within dragging distance, must be taken 
 into consideration. A yri&t-mill, too, must be 
 thought of, where we can get our wheat and corn 
 ground; and it is desirable that both of these should 
 be within a few miles' distance of our home, and 
 should already have passable roads leading to them. 
 A 'school and a church, that there may be food for 
 the mind and the soul, are what you will all d-' 
 Then your mother will like to have a good doctor 
 within reach, if you should be sick; and, that 
 may not be likely to get homesick for news from 
 LaureltoD, there must be a post-office not very far 
 away. I must be careful, too, not to spend iwyreat 
 a proportion of my money fur land; for I shall want 
 a house and barn, and some stock for the farm. I 
 must remember that there are taxes to pay, and be 
 careful not to 6% more land titan I can innL-t -pro- 
 fitable. These are some of the things which I find 
 every wise and would-be successful emigrant must 
 look after. 
 
 My travelling adventures, thus far, have been va- 
 rious, some pleasant, and some not at all agreeable. 
 At this season of the year, I cannot look for fine 
 
PREPAKA . 't IlKMoVAL. 25 
 
 weather, or for any great beauty nf SCOIKTV. I 1. 
 seen many of the people who dwell in these parts of 
 the world, and have met with civility and even 
 kindness wherever I have been. Even in business 
 matters, I have experienced nothing but what was 
 pleasant, and am indebted to many for valuable 
 hints and instructions concerning matters of which 
 I had been ignorant, and which I have set down in 
 my memorandum-book as things to be remembered. 
 I should have been disappointed if I had allowed 
 myself to look for any great elegance of manner, or 
 fur what is called style, in div-s ir mode of living. 
 So I should, if I had expected good roads, or elegant 
 houses, or very magnificent show-farms. These 
 things I have not found. 
 
 As to the land itself, it answers all my expecta- 
 tions. There is much poor land low, damp, and 
 unhealthy ; but a large proportion of it is rich, fer- 
 tile, easily worked, and yielding an abundant reward 
 to the labourer. 
 
 On my way to this place, I stopped at the door 
 of a log-cabin, by the roadside, to ask if I could 
 have some dinner. I was hospitably received, and 
 even welcomed, when they knew that I was from 
 New England, for that had been the home of my 
 host and hostess. My wants were provided for and 
 my horse fed, for which I could not persuade Mr. 
 Thomas to take pay ; for, he said, " We would pay 
 anybody who would come from New England to 
 
26 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 see us; and do you not think we like to give jou a 
 dinner ?" 
 
 I went with Mr. Thomas about his farm. lie 
 had bought one hundred acres. Eighty of them he 
 had put under cultivation ; or, rather, according to 
 the Western fashion, forty were lying idle this year, 
 and the forty now sown were, after this year, to 
 change places with them; thus alternating with cadi 
 other. The wheat was promising finely, and ho 
 hoped soon to be able to put himself up a frame 
 house. I gathered his story, as we went along, and 
 found that in early life he had been an inmate nf 
 the **** alms-house. Indeed, that was his birth- 
 place; and there he remained until his moth 
 death, which occurred when he was seven year 
 age. He was soon bound out to a neighbouring 
 farmer: "And," said he, "I seem to have had 
 luck ever since. The man I went to live with was 
 a good man, as well as a good/a/-///- /. lie sent me 
 to school, winters, and took the trouble, sometimes, 
 to see if I understood what I studied. I had to 
 work pretty hard, but I was taught the best way of 
 doing every thing, and how to save and take care 
 of what my labour gained. I stayed with him until 
 my time was up, and after that, he paid me good 
 wages, and gave me chances to earn money, until I 
 had five hundred dollars in the savings' bank. 
 Then, by his advice, I came out here, bringing my 
 wife with me. I have been here three years, and 
 
PREPARATIONS FOR REMOVAL. -7 
 
 you can see how much headway I have made. T 
 hive a good farm. Glorious land ! Ain't it '/ You 
 saw my wife and baby, and my log-house, and my 
 large frame-barn. I have a good team of h<>: 
 two cows, a flock of sheep I wish you could see 
 my sheep ! and I've got a contented heart. T i; 
 to see old Connecticut again, if I live; but not 
 until my house is done, and paid for." 
 
 When I told him, I intended to bring my family 
 out here, to resid--, he said In- was glad of it ; i* 
 
 od country, and it only wanted good people to 
 live in it : and, with true W -stern hospitality, in- 
 vited me to bring you all to see them. I thanked 
 him, but said that there were quite too many of us 
 for their cabin, with its one sitting-room and its 
 little bed-room. lie laughed, and said, "that th<-y 
 could make a place for us, I might be sure." 
 
 This is one instance, of many that I have met, 
 of prosperous emigration. Industry, good sense, and 
 judgment, and good habits "do &//'//;/;. ." or, 
 
 rather, to speak more truly, they do bring the ble.- 
 of Providence. It may be that I was the more 
 forcibly impressed with this case, because I had the 
 opportunity to contrast it with that of a settler, with 
 whom T had passed the previous night. 
 
 If I wished to picture <H*ri)niftn't in its perfection, 
 I would endeavour to make the canvas shadow forth 
 the interior of that log-cabin. There was a family, 
 man, woman, and eight children, (just our number,) 
 
28 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 all living, sleeping, eating, and cooking in one room, 
 sixteen by twenty feet in size, and dimly lighted by 
 its two little windows! There were two bedsteads; 
 one of which was appropria : and, if 
 
 both bedstead and myself had not been in the way 
 of the cooking-stove, and the cooking-stove in the 
 way of both the bedstead and my.- /If, L might, per- 
 sonally, have been well accommodated. A- it was, 
 I passed a sleepless night, and had full opportunity 
 to watch the movements of my host's family. 
 
 I ought to have said, that some of tlu n 
 the loft above the room during the night; and a 
 trundle-bed, drawn from beneath mine, was the 
 place where a poor sick little girl lay, with flushed 
 cheeks, parched lips, and a burning skin. It was no- 
 thing but a neglected chill-fever, they said ; but the 
 little thing tossed and moaned in her fitful slumbers, 
 awakening my sympathies and compassion, which 
 were not lessened, you may be sure, when the mo- 
 ther brought her a dose of calomel, mixed with 
 water, and held up a piece of a, large yellowish 
 pickle, as an inducement to take the unpalatable 
 medicine ! 
 
 I should frighten you all out of your desires even 
 to see this country, if I gave you the details of that 
 night, or filled up the picture with all its careless- 
 ness and want of cleanliness. Nor would the morn- 
 ing meal, of poorly-prepared food, have awakened in 
 any of you strong appetites. I was glad to pay my 
 
i AUATloNS FOR REMOVAL. 29 
 
 bill, and be off early in the morning, satisfied that 
 more uncomfortable feelings could be crowded into 
 the experience <f one night than 1 had supposed 
 
 -ihle. If there had < cessity for all this 
 
 buffering, I would have pitied, but not complained 
 
 of it; but it could nut escape the eye of the dullest 
 
 U brought about by the union of 
 
 ^loth with . 
 
 An originally good and productive fannwa-. 
 
 -mailer and yielding less, for the 
 want of a thrifty and industrious owner; while h< 
 and his whole family indulged in continual com- 
 nd murmurings against their lot, finding 
 fault with every thing about them, and never seeing 
 that the whole blame of their ill success lay with 
 themselves, and they were reaping the result of their 
 own doit. 
 
 These two extreme cases I have written about, 
 
 i use they have coine so directly under my notice. 
 
 There is every variety of life and circumstance here, 
 
 and these must be taken by themselves, rather thau 
 
 simples of Western life ; and we can easily draw 
 our own lesson from them. If the strong bonds of 
 poverty do hold people here in such homes as the 
 i have described, the stronger bonds of intem- 
 perance and indolence will assuredly do it. 
 
 There is no romance in life here. It is a plain, 
 straight-forward, practical character and course, 
 
30 LIFE IN THE 
 
 guided by firm faith in an overruling Providence, 
 which will advance the best interests of one's- 
 self and of the community. And, when I think of 
 the vast influence that these newly-settled St; 
 will eventually have upon the welfare of our free 
 and happy nation ; of the asylum they offer to the 
 poor and oppressed of every clime and country ; of 
 the wealth of lands, here lying ready for the toil 
 and skill of the agriculturist ; above all, when, as a 
 Christian, I indulge in far-extending anticij)u.tions 
 of its moral progress, and the part it is yet to act 
 in the evangelizing of the world, I rejoice in the 
 thought that I may be permitted to help on the good 
 work ; and, as each drop goes to fill the bucket, so 
 may each good citizen aid in swelling the tide of its 
 prosperity and civilization. 
 
 My letter is a long one, but I have hardly written 
 the half I purposed. My first feeling of dismay at 
 the newness and coarseness of things has passed 
 away ; so has that of discouragement at the great 
 work to be done here ; and I now view our enter- 
 prise as one in which we may and ought to engage 
 hopefully and happily ; for I fully believe that, in a 
 great measure, a man's prosperity is here placed in 
 his own keeping ; and the heart to labour and do 
 right will not fail to bring success, both as regards 
 ourselves and those among whom we may be 
 placed. 
 
PREPARA il REMOVAL. 31 
 
 Let us all ask the ble.-sing of our h^venly Father, 
 and his direction in all our v> ith love to all, 
 
 I am your's, affectiona 
 
 JAMKS MoRETON. 
 
 P. S. I cannot say, with any confidence, at what 
 you may expect me at home ; but a kind Pro- 
 vidence will keep us, I trust, while we are apart, 
 and give us the pleasure to meet again in health and 
 peace. J. 31. 
 
 Letter from Robert to liis Fat' 
 
 Laurelton, Nov. , 18 . 
 
 DEAR FATHER : Yi-ur very welcome letter has 
 just been . and I am appointed by mother 
 
 to reply to it, in the name of the family, 
 pleased to hear of your good health, and of your fa- 
 vourable impressions ot life. You do not 
 know how much we think about you, nor how often 
 we talk about you, exercising our Yankee privilege 
 of guessing where yon are, and what you are doing. 
 We have most thoroughly imbibed the spirit of emi- 
 gration. Even A. Ir. Speare that you had 
 gone to buy K.S a farm at th nd each of us 
 is at work, in some way, busying ourselves with pre- 
 parations for moving in the spring. 
 
 As you recommended, I have made an arrange- 
 ment with Mr. S , by which I am released from 
 
 further obligation to stay with him, and have trans- 
 
 3* 
 
32 LIFE IN THE -\Vi:sT. 
 
 forrccl myself, t<<>ls and all, to Mr. Redding's cabinet- 
 shop, n^jj^rcarned, already, the way to put a chair 
 or table together, and can put up a shelf or fix a 
 drawer, quite like a workman. Mr. lU-dding told 
 me, himself, that I was quite a hmuly follow at the 
 trade. 
 
 Henry looks after the farm and the family at 
 home, but has commenced the study of surveying. 
 This occupies most of his leisure. 
 
 Mary is in school. Mother says that it is her 
 last winter here, and that she must devote her time 
 to the study of those branches in which a teacher is 
 most necessary. Music, as a science, and French, 
 take most of her attention, although she and Henry 
 are trying, evenings, to study German with Mr. 
 Perrot. Mary declares that to know how to make 
 gingerbread will be likely to be of more benefit to her 
 than how to speak German ; but mother only smiles, 
 and says that there is time and opportunity for 
 both. 
 
 Frank and Charlie are in school ; but, in their 
 leisure hours, are in earnest with their preparations, 
 though in rather different lines. Frank is looking 
 up and sorting out all the books in the house ; and 
 has petitioned mother so earnestly to allow him to 
 take lessons in drawing and perspective, that she 
 has consented, and he is really making rapid pro- 
 gress in this accomplishment. 
 
 Charlie, true to his native propensity, asked old 
 
FRET. 
 
 ARATInNs n>R REMOVAL. 33 
 
 Captain Stetson if he would " teach him t\///v a gun ;" 
 and the old gentleman has undertaken to initiate him 
 in the mysteries of holding both gun and rifle, and 
 shooting with the same. At first, mother objected 
 to this, thinking he might be troublesome; and, 
 indeed, she felt that he was too young and impulsive 
 to be trusted with such dangerous articles ; but, upon 
 ng his solemn word never to touch them 
 without Captain Stetson's leave, and quoting General 
 Washington's speech about the hatchet, " I cannot 
 tell a lie, mother/' she gave her consent. At her 
 request, I made it a point to be present during his 
 first and second days' exercise, that T miirht look 
 after him ; but I found the responsibility of the 
 employment had sobered his little wild head, and 
 that if I continued to be with him, (whieh 1 was 
 inclined to do,) it would be to take advantage of the 
 instruction of so experienced a sportsman as Captain 
 Stetson for myself. lie meanwhile says, and, I 
 lieve, he means what he says, " that it is a plea- 
 to him to have us come." 
 
 Annie took me up into her sunny little room, yes- 
 terday, that I might see how nicely she had put up 
 and labelled the garden and flower seeds. She told 
 me that she was making some bags to put the larger 
 seeds in. She really seems better and brighter for 
 the prospect of the change. She has promised Willie 
 a bag for his marbles, is to mak- '''<j Jrcss 
 
 for Alice's doll, has helped Frankcover his books, 
 
34 LIFE IX THE WKST. 
 
 and I 'heard Charles tell her that he should want a 
 large flannel bag made, with a strap to go over the 
 shoulder, for his game. 
 
 As for Willie and Alice, their arrangements would 
 be more apparent, and their success more complete, 
 if they did not pull to pieces something that they 
 have before done to finish what they are now doing. 
 But they are well, and their bright, happy faces and 
 pleasant words help us all along. 
 
 Cousin Susan is with us ; and, since she con 
 to accompany us, Mary has been as full of anticipa- 
 tion as the rest of us. She goes about singing all 
 the day, helping first one and then another in their 
 plans. Cousin Susan said, laughingly, that -he 
 must have a trade before she went, as a resource 
 against a day of want. We told her that she could 
 teach school there, but she said, "No, that was 
 Mary's calling ;" and she goes now, ., to 
 
 sew with Miss Dearborn, and learns how to make 
 bonnets and cut dresses ; and, when that is over, she 
 says that she will not say she is ready to go until 
 she has also learned how to cut and make clothes 
 for us boys. Before we finish, we are likely to have 
 every trade in the family. I hope these plans will 
 all meet with your approbation, and that you will 
 soon be at home to tell us so. 
 
 All send their best love to you. Mother wishes 
 to add a postcript, and Willie says, " Ask father to 
 
RA R REMOVAL. 35 
 
 let us know, right away, whether we are to be Buck- 
 eyes. Wolverines, or Hoosiers?" 
 
 Yur all'. -ct innate son, 
 
 ROBERT. 
 
 MY DEAR HUSBAND : "Mother's postscript" is 
 only to say, that a Mr. (Ilover has made an offer for 
 the farm here, and for the homestead, which your 
 brother thinks a v TV a'hanta_vtius one for us. I 
 i his letter with this. We are all well. Robert 
 has given you a very d< -tail* ! -< count of our move- 
 iih-nts aii-1 einployuicnts; but he has not added what 
 my heart prompts me to say, that our children are 
 our tiva-uivs good, obedient, and loving. May we 
 not claim for them the promise which belongs to 
 till-in that honour father and mother! And may it 
 not be to us a token, a prnvi-kntial omen of success 
 in our undertaking ' 
 
 Your's, ever. 
 
36 LIFE IX THE 
 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 NOTES OP WARMN-:. 
 
 THE winter was past and gone, with fill its cold 
 storms and piercing winds, its heavy snows and blus- 
 tering tempests. The noble Connecticut, for three 
 months "in icy fetters bound," was release.!, and 
 its blue waters were floating calmly on towards the 
 ocean, glistening in the bright sunshine, or gently 
 rippled by the passing breeze. The birds, in i, 
 companies, were returning from their winter quar- 
 ters. By the sides of fences, and about sunny door- 
 steps, little delicate tufts of grass were starting, fresh 
 and green ; and the garden-borders were gay with 
 bright pinks and daffodils, mingled with the crocus 
 and snowdrop. 
 
 Spring had come ; and an early spring it was. 
 "It could not last," and "One swallow does 
 make a summer :" so the weatherwise o$es 
 and shook their heads; but it did last; and 
 swallows, they meant beautiful, warm, sunshiny 
 days, there were a dozen of these, following each 
 other in rapid succession. It was safe now to pro- 
 
LBNING. 37 
 
 phesy an early season, for it was already there ; and 
 bustle and life it brought with it. Oh ! how much 
 out-of-doors playing had the Laurelton children to 
 do ! How many boys there were, who, under the 
 influence of that balmy vernal air, were happy in 
 their sports ! How many little groups of school- 
 fellows loitered, on their way home, to exchungr 
 pleasant words that sprung from their light, in 
 hearts ! Not less busy were the older people. 
 ^leivhants had taken in the red and green flannel 
 hangings about their doors, and put, in their ] ' 
 the bright calicoes and brighter ribbons. ( 
 ing tools were in demand, and the fanners I 
 looking after their ploughs and harrows, wondering 
 if it was too early to plant their fields ; while 1 
 housewives were busily making ready for th" <um- 
 mer, with their white curtains laid out to bleach in 
 the sunshine. 
 
 Amidst all this, there was one family who rcj<>Kv<l 
 most heartily in the early opening of the season ; and 
 that was Mr. Moreton's. He had returned early in 
 January from his Western journey, having found 
 and purchased a farm in Indiana; and, unlike ni<st 
 N^-Englanders, was contented not to go as far a< 
 sBwn could carry him. 
 
 This farm consisted of half a section of good land, 
 partly lying on a small prairie, and partly wooded. 
 The location was healthy; the distance from the 
 village of Lakeland, about two miles. Lakeland 
 
38 LIFE IN THE 
 
 was a county-seat, and was, itself, a thriving inte- 
 rior village, containing between three and four hun- 
 dred inhabitants, who had been brought there from 
 many countries, impelled by diverse motives, un<l 
 governed by various tastes and habits; so that it 
 was not strange that there should be exceedingly 
 opposite characteristics in society, as it regarded it- 
 moral and intellectual state. Some of those wants 
 and necessities which it had at first seemed indispen- 
 sable to provide for, Mr. Moreton found he >hou! 
 obliged to give up; for the supply of others he i 
 wait; and for some of them he was ready to labour 
 and work with those among whom he was to li 
 so that it was with hope for the future, and a strong 
 determination to heb^on the " good time coming," 
 rather than with the fueling that every thing was 
 right already, that he concluded to locate himself at 
 Lakeland. But we must leave the little village, with 
 all its privileges and deficiencies, for another chapter, 
 and go back to our friends, who were rejoicing in the 
 early spring, that was so auspicious for their journey. 
 By the last of April, their preparations for re- 
 moval were completed, and they were about ready to 
 start. The younger children were, at times, imj 
 tient at their delay, and Robert and Henry 
 every fine day, that it was time lost to remain any 
 longer. But there were still many last things to be 
 done : articles to be disposed of; friends to see ; 
 good-byes to be spoken. It could not be accom- 
 
 nipa- 
 
 10 IT, 
 
>TES OF WARM 39 
 
 plished hastily and well ; and, with Mr. Moreton, a 
 thing that was not done well was not considered 
 
 Another reason for delay was, that, having con- 
 eluded to travel with their household goods, it be- 
 came necessary and desirable to know that the dif- 
 ferent lines of transportation had completed their 
 MiiiiiH.-r arrangements, before they left their Xew- 
 
 jland home; otherwise, hindrances that \ 
 unpleasant might H 'me spent 
 
 up-m the journey. 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs. Moreton, every day brought with 
 it its cares and its labours; and, as they had learned, 
 from actual experience, to anticipate Lett from oiuu 
 than their children did, they did imt ivgivt the de- 
 lay which gave them a f-\v more \vrck< .f pl.-a-ant 
 intercourse with tried friends and acquaintances. 
 Nt a ft-w would have persuaded them to remain 
 quietly where they were, and many sought, by argu- 
 ment and advice, to lead them to reconsider their 
 determination. " We cannot spare you," said their 
 good pastor, as he and a few of their intimate friends 
 wciv gathered in their little parlor, a few evenings 
 before their departure. " We cannot spare you. I 
 do not become reconciled to your going away. We 
 need you here, in our village-matters, in our social 
 gatherings, in our church-meetings, in the sanctuary, 
 the Sabbath-school, and our pleasant prayer-meet- 
 ings. We shall miss you in all these. Has not 
 
40 LIFE IN THE 
 
 God given you a work to do here, and why should 
 you seek another ? Or why should you seek for 
 greater blessings than he has here bestowed upon 
 you?" 
 
 " I have no reason to leave my New-England 
 home to seek for blessings or mercies," replied Mr. 
 More ton. " Our lot has been cast in a pleasant place. 
 Yet, regret as I may the separation from my friends, 
 I am convinced that it is better for us to go. If I 
 do but little good at the West, my children will have 
 been brought up there, and, as Western men and 
 women, may make amends for all my deficiencies." 
 
 There was a brother of Mr. Moreton's, who, from 
 the first, had discouraged the idea of the family 
 going West; and he, half replying to Mr. Moreton, 
 half soliloquizing, said 
 
 " But you will all be sick, and either die in that 
 climate, or else drag on a miserable life, with broken 
 constitutions and impaired health." 
 
 u Not quite so bad as that, I hope," said Dr. 
 Newton, who had just arrived. "No, indeed!" 
 said he, laying aside his over-coat, and drawing 
 nearer the fire. " While journeying West, last 
 summer, I found, to my entire satisfaction, that 
 there is reasbn to believe the climate had been 
 much belied." 
 
 " You will hardly assert that it can be called a 
 healthy country, though ?" pbserved the pastor. 
 
 " With the exception of fever and ague, I could 
 
ES OF WARNING. 41 
 
 find no disease that might be said to belong to the 
 climate exclusively. Cong' ers and other 
 
 epidemics will spread over villages here, as well as 
 there, and many will die/' 
 
 " But there are notoriously unhealthy regions 
 throughout the West ?" 
 
 "I know that well," replied Dr. Newton. "A 
 swamp that is filled with rank vegetation, or a slug- 
 gish stream, with its green, slimy waters, will cause 
 fevers and other diseases. But with such localities 
 no wise man will have any thing to do. Kich land, 
 great crops, or abundant harvests will never com- 
 pensate for the loss of bodily vigour. But all the 
 West is not a low, swampy, mar>hy country. There 
 aredry, elevated la: ins; 
 
 there are rich, fertile fields, >tretching for miles and 
 hundreds of miles, up"ii which the sun shines day 
 by day, and about which no deadly miasma hov 
 and which, if not as healthful as the poorer lands 
 here in this rocky country, yet offer no hindrances 
 to those who would settle them, on account of their 
 unhealthiness." 
 
 " Why is the proportion of deaths greater there 
 than here ?" asked Mr. Alfred More ton. 
 
 " I can tell you one reason that might make it so, 
 though I am not sure that it is true. A large pro- 
 portion of the emigrants going West are in circum* 
 stances of great poverty and want. Many of them 
 have already become prepared for disease, by a long 
 
42 LIFE IN THE 
 
 and wearisome voyage. Their means are barely 
 sufficient to enable them to reach their destination 
 and purchase their farms. They must necessarily 
 suffer from privation and exposure. Their food is 
 poorly prepared, and they are not guarded from 
 changes of weather. It is no wonder that they 
 sicken. Then bad nursing and the imprudent use 
 of powerful medicines prolong their sicknesses, and 
 often death kindly ends the struggle. Then, another 
 class of emigrants are healthy, stout young people, 
 from the Eastern States. They are, through igno- 
 rance of sickness, imprudent, as regards exposure, 
 and only desire to make money fast. If there are 
 facilities for carrying on a mill, what do they think 
 about the marsh beyond ? Just nothing at all ! And 
 the richer and blacker the earth, so much the more 
 promise of great harvests. They are in haste to be 
 rich and will throw their lives, which no wealth 
 could purchase, under that Juggernaut of Christian 
 lands the god of money for the sake of gain. If 
 they are crushed, must the climate take all the 
 blame?" 
 
 " There must be something to compensate for the 
 giving up of their homes, and to pay for the loss of 
 luxuries and comforts that a man relinquishes when 
 he leaves civilized life and goes into the woods. 
 What would you have this something to be, if not 
 gain in wealth ?" 
 
 " Freedom from heavy duties imposed by govern- 
 
DTES OF WARN IN 43 
 
 ment, and the blessing of that equality which is 
 recognised by our Constitution, the poor emigrant 
 from foreign countries would consider an equivalent 
 for all he has given up. Add to this the liberty to 
 worship God in his u\vn way, without molestation or 
 fear ; and, if he has suffered, as most likely he will 
 have done, he will be satisfied. To others, t In-l- 
 ine comfort of having a little money go far in secur- 
 ing to their families the necessaries of life, and of 
 feeling that poverty is no degradation." 
 
 " But these are a poor man's blessings; and bless- 
 ings I ackuov\ in to be. Yet, why should 
 a man whose education has fitted him to move in a 
 large circle, whose habits are those formed by 
 ventional usages, and who- ivtin-'d and 
 intellectual why should he leave a home, such as 
 we enjoy, go far away from all his social and reli- 
 gious privileges, to a place where his very acquire- 
 ments and knowledge will be a hindrance to him, 
 his tastes and habits only sources of annoyance, be- 
 cause ungratified, and where a strong back and a 
 stout arm are the only personal things that can avftil 
 for his help?" 
 
 " Why do we need the best corn for seed, and 
 why do we seek a field to plant it in that has lain 
 fallow and unused ? At the West, every well-regu- 
 lated family is like seed sown in good ground. 
 Their example cannot fail to influence others. 
 Oftentimes, those who could not be driven to indus- 
 
 4* 
 
M 
 
 44 LIFE IN THE WES* 
 
 try and sobriety, can be lured to both l.y th.- sight 
 of the prosperity which follows good habits, as evi- 
 dence in their favour. A Christian family, if con- 
 sistent, can do still more. The good they do is upon 
 a sure foundation; and God has wi^-ly ordered it 
 that such families shall be scattered here and there. 
 As to the objection, that education and accoinpli.-h- 
 ments are lost there, I do not agree with you. I 
 believe that there is no gift of God to th in t .licet 
 of man, and no acquirement or accpjpplishment, 
 which may not be made as available there as here 
 for the promotion of happiness and prosperity. 
 And, while I may not go there myself, I honour 
 those who are willing to go, and who have the cou- 
 rage to enable them to meet the trials and disap- 
 pointments that a removal will bring." 
 
 " I suppose you are right," replied the pas- 
 tor; "and, unwilling as I am to lose our friends 
 from our circle, I must be satisfied to see them de- 
 part, and bid them God-speed. But I do not often 
 have a greater trial to my own will, than that which 
 I felt when writing these for you ;" and he laid upon 
 the table certificates of church-membership for Mr. 
 and Mrs. Moreton, Mary, and 'Henry, and letters 
 of recommendation to the care and good offices of 
 any church to which they might be presented ; 
 "especially," he added, "as you will now be as 
 sheep without a shepherd." 
 
 " Shall we not still be under the care of the great 
 
DTK- (iF WARM 45 
 
 Shepherd, and does he suffer any ill to befall those 
 with whom he has run-red into covenant?" asked 
 Mrs. Moreton. " You will, yourself, implore for us 
 his guidance ; and, l under the covert of his wings/ 
 we shall be safe there as here." 
 
 It was not without a struggle that the good pas- 
 tor yielded up, to what he considered ti lite of toil 
 and danger, these precious members of his own 
 flock. As he departed, it was with great emotion 
 that he clasped the extended hands of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Moreton within his own, and, in so: 
 tones, tremulous with tVviiinr, repeated the beautiful 
 scriptural benediction : 
 
 " The Lord bless thee, and keep thee. The Lord 
 make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious 
 unto thee. The Lord lift up his countenance upon 
 thee, and give thee peace."* 
 
 * Num. vi. 2126. 
 
46 LIFE IN THE WES' 
 
 T - 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DR. NEWTON. 
 
 " I, TOO, came with a parting gift, accompanied 
 with a dose of advice/' said Dr. Newton, as the door 
 closed upon their beloved minister. " My work is 
 done, as you desired, Mrs. Moreton." 
 
 And saying this, he placed upon the table a small, 
 square mahogany box, which he opened with a po- 
 lished key, and displayed a small, but well-selected 
 stock of medicines. 
 
 "I have added to this/' he continued, "as my 
 gift, this little manual of medicine ; and my advice 
 to you is to take as little of the contents of the box 
 as possible; for/' he added, playfully, "medicine 
 without a doctor is often worse than no medicine at 
 all. If you find a good doctor in Lakeland, throw 
 away or burn up the book, as you please." 
 
 " I cannot burn up the recollection of valuable 
 hints that I have received from you, Dr. Newton; 
 and, if we are really sick, I shall doubtless rely 
 more upon what I have already learned than upon 
 the book or the new doctor." 
 
 "But you are not going to be sick, I hope/' 
 
DR. NEWTON. 47 
 
 replied Dr. Xewton. " A family of healthy boys 
 and girls, like yours, brought up to love habits of 
 regularity and order, with little inclination to pam- 
 
 'iit-ir appetites, and supplied with the means to 
 insure a comfortably wholesome living, will not 
 
 i IK I vi>ited with any distressing sickness. Do 
 you hear, boys?" he added; "don't think that you 
 can spend your summer e\eiiinirs out of doors, or go 
 tramping through the wet swamps and woods before 
 sunrise, to shoot the poor little birds. And you, 
 31 i- -Mary, must give up sentimental rambling by 
 moonlight, even if those old forest-haunts bewitch 
 and entice you. Let the sun give the air a good 
 cooking, before you take too much of it." 
 
 " It was you, Dr. Xewton, that first taught me 
 that 
 
 ' Early to bed, and early to rise, 
 Is the way to be healthy, wealthy, and wise.' " 
 
 " You are duller than I think, Miss Mary," an- 
 swered Dr. Newton, " if you can see no difference 
 between not going out of doors and not getting up 
 early. It will do Robert and Henry good to chop 
 a little wood in the wood-house or work in the barn; 
 and I expect that your talents will be devoted to the 
 preparing a good breakfast when they come in. 
 Some of these days, I will come and partake of one 
 with you." 
 
 Exclamations of, " Will you, indeed?" "Oh! 
 
48 LIFE IN THE 
 
 will you?" and "How happy it will make us!" 
 broke from the lips of all. 
 
 "Yes, if I live, I will certainly pay you a visit, 
 after you are fairly settled; but mind, Mi.-- Mary! 
 I must have good light bread none of your warm 
 biscuits or griddle-cakes ! I must have a cliamln-r, 
 too, to sleep in. I do not like bed-rooms on the first 
 floor, especially in that Western country. They 
 cannot be as airy or well ventilated as upper rooms, 
 and there is always a dampness about them, which 
 comes from the ground. Let the sun shin*; into 
 your house a part of every day. Be regular in your 
 habits of work, as well as of rest. In eating, drink- 
 ing, and sleeping, live, as nearly as possible, as you 
 have been accustomed to; and if the sunshine of 
 faith and trust in a good Providence warm your 
 hearts and lighten your path, you will have the best 
 preventives of sickness that I know of." 
 
 " Will a contented mind keep off fever and ague ?" 
 asked Robert. 
 
 " It will help you to bear it patiently ; and that 
 is a great gain, if you ever have it. But I am a 
 doctor, not a preacher, Robert; and I tell you, 
 plainly, that if you are neither rash nor imprudent, 
 you may live many years, and never suffer from it at 
 all. Perhaps, if it should come, you will find that it 
 is not so very hard, after all, to bear." 
 
 " You are an encouraging friend, Dr. Newton/' 
 said Mr. Moreton ; " and, if all our neighbours 
 
DR. NEWTON. 49 
 
 viewed this matter of emigration as you do, we 
 might be saved some of those fears and anxieties 
 concerning the future that, I confess, they some- 
 times compel me to feel. But we are fairly com- 
 mitted for the change, now, and I have no desire to 
 imitate Lot's wife, and 'look back.' " 
 
 " Nor do I believe you will have any thing 
 gret, after you are once there. I am no proplu't, 
 but I think I foresee for you all many h:ippy and 
 perous days. If wishes could bring them to 
 you, they certainly would be yours. The same 
 hand which has directed you thus far, in making 
 the change, will guide you step by step, and all you 
 need will He supply from his abundance. Wr can 
 ask nothing more or better than his guardianship, 
 for you, who go, or for ourselves, who remain. Now 
 for your plans : what are they ?" 
 
 " We propose to let Henry and Robert start early 
 next week, with our boxes and chests, for Albany, 
 by water. As soon as we hear of their arrival at 
 that place, we shall join them as expeditiously as 
 possible. Then all take the canal, and go to Buffalo. 
 From there, across Lake Erie, to whichever port we 
 shall decide to be most desirable Toledo, Monroe, 
 or Detroit. There we shall fit ourselves out with 
 what are called ' emigrant fixings/ and travel south- 
 west to our place of destination/' 
 
 " The last part of your journey will be the most 
 fatiguing." 
 
50 LIFE IN THE WEST/ 
 
 " I am aware of that," said Mrs. Moreton ; " and 
 yet I enter into the feelings and anticipations of the 
 children, in thinking that it will be the pleasantest 
 of all ; for it will have the charm of novelty, with 
 all its freshness." 
 
 "There is something so delightful in the thought 
 of beginning life afresh," said Dr. Newton, "it 
 wakens up in my mind an almost childish enthu- 
 siasm, and I really should like to go with you; but 
 my good wife says, nay ; and, while her aged par 
 
 ,e ought not to give it a moment's thought." 
 
 till later in the evening, Mr. and Mrs. M<u 
 with their three older children, were gathered around 
 the little blaze that faintly flickered on the hearth. 
 A large part of the furniture belonging to the room 
 had been removed, and it contained only Mich articles 
 as were absolutely necessary for daily use. Thoughts 
 of the friends who had just parted from them had 
 taken the place of anticipations for the future; and 
 their words of interest and advice were the subject 
 of their thoughts. Mary was the first to speak. 
 
 "Father," said she, "why is it that Dr. Newton 
 and Uncle Alfred take such different views of life 
 at the West ? They have both been there, and are 
 both clear-headed and intelligent men ; yet one says 
 we shall prosper and be happy, while the other pro- 
 phesies misery and sickness !" 
 
 "The two men are of different temperaments 
 naturally, Mary. Dr. Newton is active, hopeful, 
 
DR. NEWTON. 51 
 
 bound down by no habits of luxury which have be- 
 come necessary to his comfort, and possesses good 
 health. Then, he is what is termed a self-made 
 man, and is accustomed to moot and to conquer dif- 
 ficulties. Your uncle is in feeble health, and his 
 home has, ever since his youth, been supplied with 
 all that wealth can purchase. Kvery want has ' 
 met, and every wish gratified ; while his love for us 
 makes his fears the greater, le.-t we should suffer. 
 Look about this room, now, and think how differ- 
 ently the two men would regard it. One would 
 think that it had every thing in it that we required, 
 because there were tables, carpet, and chairs; the 
 other would deem it unfurnished and comfortless, 
 because the sofa, rocking-chairs, and astral-lamp were 
 gone/' 
 
 "But which thinks rightly about it?" asked 
 Robert. 
 
 " I have that confidence in the judgment of both 
 which leads me to adopt modified views of both 
 opinions, and endeavour to strike the medium be- 
 tween them. Doubtless, we shall find that, in many 
 things, their estimates of our pleasures and trials are 
 correct ; but it is not necessary that we look through 
 the spectacles of the one or the other, while we have 
 our own honest eyes. There are few troubles in 
 this world which a habit of looking upon the bright 
 side will not lighten or disperse; and there are sunny 
 spots in everybody's life, if there is not the dispo- 
 
52 LIFE IN THE v 
 
 sition to overshadow them with the clouds of de- 
 spondency and doubt." 
 
 "But do not strong hopes and ardent expectations 
 often become disappointments ?" 
 
 " Certainly, they do ; for such hopes and ex; 
 tions are not ordinarily based v upon reason. There 
 is a something, which we call t-nmn- im- 
 
 planted in the mind of man. This is given to us as 
 a guide, and, through experience and education, is, 
 or ought to be, daily improving. If, contrary to its 
 teachings, we let our imaginations run away with our 
 hopes, we ought not to complain if the realities of 
 life will not keep pace with them. If we found our 
 hopes upon what we know to be fixed facts and 
 principles, and hold them (as dependent creatures 
 should hold all they possess) subject to the will of 
 an all-wise Dispenser, there is little fear of great 
 and heart-crushing disappointments." 
 
 " Then I suppose," said Mary, " that when my 
 common sense, which has been educated by ex] 
 ence, tells me that, if I sit up any later to-night, I 
 shall be tired and sleepy to-morrow, I Lad better 
 obey its counsels, and seek my pillow, notwith- 
 standing my hopes would lead me to consult my 
 pleasure, by talking longer." 
 
 " Quite a timely, practical illustration," said her 
 father ; " and I, to encourage so laudable an exer- 
 cise of your common sense, will light you a candle." 
 
 And they laughingly bade each other "Good 
 night !" 
 
UNCLE ALFRED'S GIFT. 53 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 UNCLE ALFRED'S GIFT. 
 
 " A GIFT ! a gift !" shouted Frank, as he entered 
 the sitting-room, the next day. " A gift to each 
 of us children, from Uncle Alfred, of which I am the 
 bearer!" 
 
 "It must be a small one," said llobert; "for you 
 bear nothing in your hand !" 
 
 "But I do in my pocket, Robert;" and he took, 
 with great care, from it, a small package, upon 
 which was written, " To be equally divided between 
 my nephews and nieces." 
 
 It did not take many minutes to undo the fasten- 
 ings, which enclosed a sum of money, upon counting 
 which it was found to give to each the amount of 
 five dollars. 
 
 "Where did you get this, Frank?" asked Mr. 
 Moreton. 
 
 " Uncle asked me what I would like as a parting 
 gift from him, and I answered that I could not de- 
 cide without thinking awhile ; for that you, father, 
 had often told me never to make up my mind in a 
 hurry. Then he went to his desk, got this money, 
 
54 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 and gave it to me ; and said that I must tell you all 
 that he sent it, and wished each of us to choose for 
 ourselves some present that would please us, as a 
 remembrance of him." 
 
 " We hardly need it for that purpose/' said Mary. 
 " Uncle Alfred will not be forgotten, I am sure/' 
 
 "I will tell you what I shall buy," >:ii<l I-' rank to 
 Mary : " a nice little writing-desk, for you and me. 
 My money will just pay for one." 
 
 " Then, Frank, if I am to use your writing-desk, 
 my money shall go as a subscription to some maga- 
 zine that we shall both like to read/' 
 
 " I shall buy a pony," said Willie, " with an ele- 
 gant bridle and saddle; and, beside" 
 
 " There was a burst of merriment from the assem- 
 bled children, as Willie spoke. It la^t.-.l but a 
 moment, for Mr. Moreton's voice rose above it. 
 
 " Your plan is too magnificent for your money, 
 my son, and you will have to give it up. Five 
 dollars is a great sum for a boy like you to possess; 
 but it will buy neither a pony nor a saddle/' 
 
 Discomfited as Willie was, and annoyed by the 
 mischievous glances of his brothers and sisters, his 
 good nature did not fail, and, laughing with the 
 rest, he only said 
 
 " You will all lose many a good ride, then ; that 
 is all/' 
 
 " Why don't you buy some candy ?" asked 
 Alice. 
 
UNCLE ALFRED'S GIFT. 55 
 
 Little Alice bad not relished the laugh at her 
 brother's expense, and unconsciously took the 
 readiest way to divert attention from him; for they 
 were all in that excited state of mind, when every 
 incident would furnish food for gleeful merriment. 
 
 "Your plan is no better than Willie's, my dar- 
 ling/' said her father, caressing her. " While ho 
 aims at too much, you go to the other extreme, and 
 would get too little for your money." 
 
 " What can we buy, then ''" asked Alice, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 "Nothing, to-night, Alice; but you can keep 
 your money until you know what you want. There 
 is no necessity of spending it for several days, and 
 you can think about it." 
 
 "I have a plan to propose/' said Robert; "and 
 I think it will please Uncle Alfred, as well as our- 
 < s. Let us, each one, contribute a dollar apiece, 
 for a newspaper fund; and then, one or two dollars, 
 as we please, for a book fund ; then let us appoint 
 committees to buy some books, that are new, for our 
 family library, and to decide upon a newspaper and 
 magazine, for which to subscribe for the year." 
 
 " I like that," said Frank. 
 
 " We may take one or two newspapers ; and they 
 will come every week, like visits from Uncle Al- 
 fred" 
 
 Here Willie and Frank, instigated by Charlie, 
 clapped their hands, and cried, " Hear ! hear I" 
 
 6* 
 
56 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 " With the rest of the money, we can each buy 
 something which pleases us, to keep as tokens of 
 Uncle Alfred's remembrance of us ; or we can use 
 it as spending-money ; or, dividing it, can use it for 
 both purposes." 
 
 There was not a dissenting voice ; and when, in 
 regular business-like order, the vote was taken, it 
 was declared unanimous. Robert and Frank were 
 appointed a committee to select books; Mary and 
 Henry to decide upon the newspapers ; and here, as 
 well as elsewhere, may we mention, that faithfully 
 did they fulfil their offices, making such a judicious 
 selection as pleased every one, and, through the 
 long winter evenings, adding to their pleasure, as 
 well as to their knowledge. 
 
 There were little after-scenes, between the differ- 
 ent members of that family, to which we will be 
 witnesses 
 
 " This breaks up my plan, Mary," said Frank ; 
 " for I have not money enough left to get even a 
 plain writing-desk." 
 
 "But, together, we have, Frank; and I was just 
 thinking how much pleasanter it would be to really 
 buy it together, so that it might seem equally to 
 belong to both." 
 
 " Dear Mary, will you go to the store with me, 
 to-morrow, that I may buy some silks and worsteds, 
 and other little things? for I must tell you my 
 secret now I shall be able to make that pincushion 
 
i.E ALFRED'S GIFT. 57 
 
 for mother, against next X< \v Year; and, beside, I 
 .shall have time to Jo many other little pieces of 
 work, while you are all busy with the new house, 
 and I shall be alone." 
 
 Mary willingly consented; and Annie's dark eyes 
 
 brightened, and her cheek flushed, with the hope of 
 
 ;g able to give pleasure to those she loved, by the 
 
 f her needle 
 
 ther," said William, as he sat contemplating 
 the pictures upon his bank-bill, "why does the 
 Bible say that money is the root of all evil '{ It 
 brings us much pleasure, and helps us to obtain 
 many good things/' 
 
 " The Bible does not say that money is the root 
 of all evil, my son. It says the love of money is; 
 and it is an important distinction. Money (gold, 
 silver, and copper coin) is our medium of circulation. 
 With it, (or with bank-notes, which, for convenience, 
 have taken the place of coin any 
 
 article which we may desire, giving it in exchange 
 for such things as we think will add to our comfort, 
 our pleasure, or our convenience. This you know 
 very well; and you know as well that money or 
 riches are unequally divided. From some, God has 
 seen fit to withhold them ; while to others he has 
 committed an overflowing abundance. Why he has 
 done this, we do not know, any more than we know 
 why he gives one health and another sickness, one 
 happiness and another trouble. A wise man, and a 
 
58 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 Christian, will believe that God has some purpose in 
 this, and that these differences do not come from 
 chance; and will be contented and happy with such 
 a portion of this world's goods as his own honest 
 efforts shall secure to him. There are others, to 
 whom a want of money is a great evil; for it 
 awakens in their hearts such strong desires for its 
 possession, and such love for it, that they will be 
 ready to envy or hate those who possess it ; they 
 become covetous and miserly, from setting an inor- 
 dinate value upon it; they become grasping and 
 dishonest, from their determination to be rich ; and 
 some will cheat, lie, steal, or even murder, for the 
 purpose of attaining it. With such consequences 
 resulting from the love of money, is it strange that 
 it should be called ' the root of all evil ?' ;J 
 
 " But is it not a good thing to be rich, father?" 
 " Yes, my son ; money is a blessing, and should 
 be sought after, as we seek after other blessings. But 
 its possession often leads to evil : for instance, if it 
 makes its possessor proud or haughty, or hard- 
 hearted and uncharitable, or if it leads him to be 
 wise in his own conceit. It is its abuse that leads 
 to these consequences. It may also be abused, by 
 scattering it with a heedless, thoughtless hand, or 
 by spending it for that which will do harm to our- 
 selves or others. If we desire to be rich to gain the 
 admiration of others, or wish to excite their envy, it 
 becomes to us a root of evil, which we may well fear 
 
UNCLK AI.FRKD'S GIFT. 59 
 
 to have increase and grow in our hearts. But, on the 
 other hand, if we desire it only to gratify cur natural 
 wants, to add to our innocent plea.-uivs. to give us 
 the means to make others happy, and to extend our 
 power of doing good, we may seek for it earnestly, 
 and labour for it ; and, if God blesses our efforts, 
 we may and ought to enjoy it, as one of the mercies 
 with which he has crowned our lives, and which 
 should be used as we think will best please him." 
 
 " Robert thought of pleasing Uncle Alfred in his 
 plan of spending our money, father. Is it in such 
 a way that every rich man ought to think of pleas- 
 ing God?" 
 
 " Yes, the principle is the same ; and it is a sure 
 test of gratitude, if the donor's wishes are consulted 
 in our thoughts and plans, before making use of his 
 gifts. Your Uncle Alfred would not think you very 
 grateful, if you threw away his gift ; neither would 
 he think you valued it properly, if you should give^ 
 it in exchange for what was not of half its value. 
 He would not be pleased, if you spent it for what 
 would harm you ; or even if you should put it away 
 in your strong-box, and never use it at all. It would 
 be far more gratifying to him to know that you made 
 it add to your pleasures, or did good with it in some 
 way. Do not you see how you can apply all this 
 to the case of a rich man's use of his property, so as 
 to please and honour God ?" 
 
 " I think I do, sir. I should like to be rich, 
 
60 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 though ! It seems so pleasant to have every thing 
 one wants, just when they want it. I think I should 
 try to spend my money so as to get a great deal of 
 good from it." 
 
 " We can tell about that better when we see how 
 you spend your five dollars." 
 
 " I must try to remember to get something which 
 I think will please Uncle Alfred, please myself, be 
 good to use, or good to keep." 
 
 So thought and so said Willie Mon'toii, as lie 
 retired. And, as for 'his brother Charlie, who sat 
 near by and heard this what were his tin MIL 
 
 " My mind is made up. I must buy Bob Palmer's 
 dog! Bob offered it to Samuel Frink for a dollar. 
 That is it, exactly. It will please Uncle Alfivl, 
 who loves dogs. It will please me. It will be a 
 good thing to keep, and a good thing to use, plea- 
 sant to own, and very useful." And, with high 
 hopes of future pleasure, it was with difficulty he 
 refrained from waking Willie, to tell him all about 
 it. With visions of Carlo dragging Annie on a 
 little sled, and of Carlo in the woods with him, he 
 laid his head upon his pillow, feeling as if he had 
 nearly reached the pinnacle of human happiness. 
 
THE DEPABTURE. 61 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 " IT really seems as if we were fated never to 
 start!" said Frank, impatiently. "I am tired of 
 thinking and talking about going, and never getting 
 off!" 
 
 " If you are tired, Frank, who are only a looker- 
 on, think what father and mother mu>t be, who 
 have all the care and so* much of the labour ! I 
 thought, last evening, when I saw how tired they 
 were, that they were trying every day to do more 
 than they ought." 
 
 Frank was fretful, and Mary's reply fell upon his 
 ear like a reproof, to which he had no heart to 
 listen. 
 
 " You are all just alike," said he ; " slow, slow 
 never ready !" 
 
 But hardly had he given utterance to these words 
 of impatience, before he regretted, and would have 
 recalled them, for he saw tears in Mary's eyes. At 
 first, he thought he would take no notice of them, 
 turn away, and make believe that he did not see 
 them. He had tried this plan many times before, 
 
62 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 but had never found it to answer the purpose of 
 satisfying his own conscience. This he remem- 
 bered, and his better feelings prevailed. 
 
 " I did not mean just so, Mary ; but I do wish 
 we could get off! I am so tired of waiting !" 
 
 u So are we all, Frank ; and the only way to con- 
 tent ourselves is to keep busy. Suppose, now, you 
 draw a picture of the old house and place, before we 
 go. That will be better than getting tired of doing 
 nothing, and then complaining about it." 
 
 Some of our readers may be of Frank's opinion, and 
 think that we are protracting our account of prepara- 
 tion, without regard to their feelings; and it may be a 
 relief to them to know that on the second Monday 
 of May, 18 , there was a final breaking up in the 
 homestead of Mr. James Moreton. Before the 
 evening of that day, they had said good-bye to all 
 the near neighbours, and taken a farewell of all the 
 old haunts of their childish sports. They had gone 
 over the now empty chambers, even into the garret, 
 and looked out, for the last time, from the little 
 dormer-window, upon the fair fields and the old or- 
 chard beneath. They had been to the wood-hou.se ; 
 the little room that they used for a workshop had 
 been visited ; the old red barn, the scene of many a 
 noisy romping frolic, had received a last, parting visit; 
 they had gazed once more into the depths of the 
 well, and taken a merry bumper in honour of the 
 old place, and pledged themselves, in its cold, clear 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 63 
 
 waters, to stand by the new home in Iloosier-land : 
 and now they were ready to go. 
 
 r there were mingled emotions of pain and 
 sorrow with all their golden anticipations of the 
 feelings, in which hope, wonder, and 
 curi.ity struggled with the tender p-ief at parting 
 from what was dear to them, and hallowed by the 
 l"Yr <>f rhildhood. The past was as a pleasant reality ! 
 What would be the future ? Would its promises 
 be fulfilled ? Were its bright shadows to end in 
 dreams, or would they too become real ? Who 
 could tell y 
 
 Sunset found them all scattered. Henry and 
 Robert were gone, and, with them, the last of the 
 boxes, the trunks, the ham-Is and tin- chests. The key 
 had been delivered to the new owner of the pi; 
 and the remaining members of the family \v 
 already divided among friends and relatives, for a 
 visit of the few days that must intervene before they 
 should hear from Robert. 
 
 It matters not that we should follow them through 
 the detail of leave-taking. They were beloved and 
 honoured ; their destination was far away ; they 
 were not to return ; and it was not strange that 
 there should be some sad hearts, some tears shed, 
 some expressions of regret, as well as of love, and 
 of kindly-spoken words, accompanying pleasant acts 
 of neighbourly attention and friendly interest. But 
 all this we must leave untold. 
 
64 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 Nor will we dwell upon the incidents of their 
 journey. It is true that the rapid movements of 
 the rail-cars, the slow, monotonous progress of the 
 canal-boats, the swift course of the noble steamer, 
 that, " like a thing of life/' bore them quickly over 
 the clear, green waters of Lake Erie, were alike full 
 of novelty and interest to them. It is true that 
 there was no end to the questions of the children 
 no limit to their desires for information. It is true 
 that, the very first day, such wonderful events tran- 
 spired, and such marvellous objects were seen, that 
 the record of them, in Willie's coarse hand, threat- 
 ened to fill every leaf of his journal ; and that to 
 tell which was the strangest, most curious, and most 
 worthy of note, he thought, would pu/y.li- rvni his 
 father. It is true that, to Mary, Robert, and Henry, 
 their way was strewn with pleasures, and that e;u h 
 day's experience was crowded with thoughts and 
 feelings which could not fail to be awakened upon 
 their first long journey from home. Intelligent and 
 observing, how could it be otherwise ? They were 
 passing through scenes new to their eyes, but fami- 
 liar to their minds, places of which they knew the 
 history, and gazing upon objects which they had 
 seen pictured forth. 
 
 A happy, merry party they were ! the little ones 
 all the happier for being guided by certain rules, 
 which were strictly observed. Mrs. Moreton was 
 free from the anxiety, now that she had directed them 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 65 
 
 to stay away from dangerous parts of the boats. Mr. 
 M<>ret "ii and the older brothers were never inter- 
 rupted in any conversation, to answer their curious 
 qin'stinns ; t'nr they knew that, as soon as their con- 
 ation was over, they would tind cither of them 
 
 :v}.ly patiently to their inquiries. 
 Then, they were never wearied iu watching 
 the huge iron shaft of the steamboat, as it rose 
 and sunk. How earnestly they gazed, with wonder- 
 in L r eyes, at the cumbrous machinery, though they 
 could not comprehend its workings ! How they 
 delighted to take a run along the tow-path of 1 the 
 canal, and almost lose their breath in their en- 
 deavours to keep up with the horses ! How full of 
 mystery was that tirst passing through a canal-lock, 
 with its rushing sound of waters, its darkness, and 
 its peculiar motion ! How they laughed, as they 
 crouched down upon the deck, bowing far lower than 
 necessary, at the sound of, "Bridge ! Bridge I" And, 
 when ranged upon their hammock-beds at night, how 
 merrily their little heads and bright faces peeped 
 out, finding great delight in their very discomfort ! 
 
 Their delays what were they, to them all, but so 
 many opportunities of seeing different towns and 
 villages ? Then, who could tire while watching the 
 white, foamy track by which they marked their way 
 through the clear lake, or feel weary of gazing upon 
 the white caps that adorned each rising wave ? Who 
 could think that to be out of sight of land was no- 
 
66 LIFE IX THE WEST. 
 
 thing wonderful, or that, if they neared the shore, 
 the little villages or towns, or even the woods them- 
 selves, were not worth looking at ? Not they ! And 
 older travellers gazed upon them, and envied them 
 the possession of their fresh young hearts, which 
 could find pleasure and interest in all they saw, 
 while they admired their considerate, quiet atten- 
 tion to each other's wishes, and their evident d 
 that all should enjoy what gave them so much 
 light. And, in their hearts, they blessed them, an-l 
 wished them all prosperity on their course, as they 
 witnessed, day by day, the kind actions that spoke 
 so loudly of the bond of love which united them as 
 a family, and through which they were happy them- 
 selves and the diffusers of happiness to others. 
 
 Too quickly did the days fly by ; and it required 
 all the eager anticipation of youth, and the expecta- 
 tion of something still more delightful, to reconcile 
 them to the thought that their journey was so far 
 accomplished. 
 
JOURNEYING TURUUGII THE WOODS. G7 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 JOURNEYING THROUGH THE WOODS. 
 
 IT was a bright morning in June " leafy June," 
 the month of flowers and foliage that three large 
 emigrant wagons were standing before the hotel-door 
 in . The first, to which four horses were at- 
 tached, was capacious as a small room. Arches of 
 ash saplings were bent over its top, and upon them 
 was stretched an oiled canvas, of a yellow colour, 
 which contrasted pleasantly with the new green 
 paint upon its sides and wheels. Upon the floorjl 
 sweet, fresh straw had been scattered like a < arjn t. 
 In the front, beneath its covering, seats w^iv ar- 
 ranged, with springs, and cushioned with folded 
 quilts and blankets. Beneath these, were boxes 
 containing stores necessary for daily use, such as 
 tea, coffee, sugar, salt, etc., and a champagne-bas- 
 ket, packed with tea-cups and saucers, plates, spoons, 
 and knives and forks. Then, beds were neatly tied 
 up in white coverings, and stowed snugly away in 
 the far corners, with blankets folded nicely and laid 
 upon them ; thus leaving a semicircular opening in 
 the rear, which gave free circulation of air, and per- 
 
 6* 
 
68 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 mitted access to articles otherwise out of reach. This 
 was the travelling carriage of the Moreton family ; 
 and it was with some pride that Charles, Frank, and 
 Willie viewed it, and made known its manifold beau- 
 ties and conveniences. They gazed upon its strongly- 
 built wheels, with their heavy spokes and firm t 
 and thought they could never break nor ^pear out. 
 More than once they opened the boxes which pro- 
 jected on each side, between the wheels, to see if, 
 in the one, had been placed the preparation for 
 greasing the wheels, and the brush for using it, 
 and, in the other, if there were nails of all sizes, the 
 ball of twine, the strips of stout leather, the small 
 coil of rope, the hammer, saw, and hatchet, with 
 other* smaller tools. Nothing had been forgotten, 
 that might be necessary in case of w<-i<l-nt ; and 
 ^he large box, on the back of the vrhi-]r. was filled 
 with oats, for the horses, while beneath it hung a 
 huge water-pail, which swung back and f'.rth, >\\ 
 by every motion of the wagon. Their unanimous 
 verdict was, that " it was a very complete affair." 
 
 The second wagon was like the first, in size and 
 in external appearance, but was not new, nor so 
 tidily arranged. It was filled with furniture, boxes, 
 trunks, bundles, and chests, closely packed, and se- 
 curely protected from the weather, leaving only room 
 for the accommodation of the driver and his com- 
 panions. This was a hired team, and Robert was 
 to drive it. With him, a carpenter, hired by Mr. 
 
JOURNEYING THROUGH THE WOODS. 69 
 
 Moreton to superintend the 'building of his house, 
 was g ( ing, and a youn. - his assistant, ac- 
 
 companied them. The next vehicle contained such 
 a variety of miscellaneous articles, that Willie's 
 patience gave out in enumerating them, and he 
 pronounced them as "too numerous to mention/' 
 A cookie-stove, pots, k t te of crockery, bar- 
 
 rels of provision and sacks of grain, were but a part 
 of its contents. This was also Imvd for the journey, 
 and was to be drawn by six mules, guided by their 
 owner, Michael Dorrance, an Irishman by birth, but, 
 for many years, a team>t-T in th- W it HI country. 
 II. had often been over this same route, and Frank's 
 choice was to ride with him, for the sake of 
 gathering such information as he might be able to 
 give concerning " life in the woods." 
 
 Between these two last carriages, Henry was to 
 ride on horseback, and, with the aid of a young 
 man, who went to drive the second wagon back, he 
 to guide the movements of two cows, a yoke of 
 oxen, and half a dozen sheep no easy matter, to an 
 inexperienced person, where the road was often but 
 a track through the woods, and no fences were built, 
 to serve as restraints upon them, if unruly, or disposed 
 to crop the herbage beneath the trees. And here 
 ought to be introduced to our readers, Carlo, Char- 
 lie's dog, who has been neglected quite too long by 
 us, considering that, until now, he had made himself 
 very troublesome, but important, by his continual 
 
70 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 uneasiness and mournful howls, so that "pleasant 
 to own" was omitted in his ma.-ter's summing-up of 
 the advantages of his purchase. But time and good 
 usage had reconciled him to the idea of emigration ; 
 and he now trotted contented along by the side 
 of Henry's horse, sometimes barking ut or biting the 
 heels of a refractory animal, and, at others, darting 
 off into the depths of the forest, and returning, in 
 a few minutes, panting and weary, but wagging his 
 tail, and looking quite satisfied with the result of 
 his search. 
 
 Every preparation had been made for starting ; 
 yet no little time was consumed in the getting off, 
 and the satisfactory settling of themselves in their 
 new quarters. Even when they did start, they were 
 so occupied with the novelty of their position, and 
 with their arrangements for seats, and for a com- 
 fortable passing of their time, that they hardly no- 
 ticed the country through which they were travel- 
 ling. 
 
 For the same reason, their progress was slow. 
 Only fifteen miles were accomplished at sunset, and 
 then, in rude but decent quarters, they passed the 
 night. 
 
 But, the next morning, the journey was really 
 commenced in good earnest; for sunrise found them 
 all up, dressed, and ready for a start. Breakfast 
 was soon disposed of; but not before they had 
 gathered themselves together, for family prayer. 
 
JOURNEYING THROUGH THE WOODS. 71 
 
 ther they sang their morning hymn of praise 
 and thanksgiving, and together they commended 
 themselves to the care of their heavenly Father. 
 
 \\\- have no right to think God will remember 
 us, and take care nf us, while we forget him. By 
 the w;i\ , as well as within the house, we need his 
 directing hand. He is the friend we cannot leave 
 watchful, loving, and powerful to protect. Let us 
 thank him for all his goodness to us !" 
 
 Thus said and thus frit Mr. Moreton, as the morn- 
 ing sun rose bright and clear, and they were once 
 more upon their way. The forests lay stretched out 
 about them, as they proceeded upon their course, 
 dressed in the fresh, early green of June. Dew- 
 drops, like glistening diamonds, sparkled on the 
 sprays of grass, and the sweet carollings of birds 
 filled the air with melody. No dust had soiled the 
 fair buds and leaves no hand had plucked the gay 
 and brilliant blossoms that covered the ground. Too 
 quiet were those deep woods for fear, too full of 
 beauty and pleasure for loneliness ; and, under these 
 gentle ministrations, a calm but determined happi- 
 ness rose in the hearts of our travellers. 
 
 There was something so sweet in that fresh vernal 
 air, loaded with the fragrance of the early flowers, 
 so invigorating in its influences, that sadness was 
 dispelled and weariness forgotten. And the gushes 
 of melody from the busy birds, in the leafy branches - 
 of the forest-trees, now trilling, now whistling, now 
 
72 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 flowing on in soft, continued notes, or interrupted 
 with the cheerful chatter of the blackbird, or the 
 discordant cawing of the crow, as the gentle breezes 
 bore to the ear more distant sounds; who could lis- 
 ten to these, and not feel that the world about them 
 was indeed a " treasure-house of pleasure/ ' an up- 
 springing fountain of delight? 
 
 And the small Mivums that danced joyously along 
 between their green bunks wore they not emblrms 
 of quiet happiness ? Or if, in their course, they 
 spread themselves into little hikes, did they not 
 shine like burnished silver in the sunlight, and re- 
 flect the beauty and brightness of the blue heavens 
 above ? Did they not tempt the flying birds to 
 bathe in the clear waters? Did they not give back 
 to the gorgeous dragon-fly the image of his own 
 beautiful form, as he played above the waves, or 
 rested, for the moment, upon the ripples ? 
 
 And the little swarms of yellow butterflies were 
 they not happy in their social companies? The 
 speckled quails, that, in loving pairs, rustled among 
 the dry leaves was there no sympathy for them, 
 as they sought to find, or make for themselves, a 
 new home ? Was there no bounding of heart, as 
 that fleet deer was seen for the moment, and then 
 vanished in the covert of the woods ? 
 
 In the early summer, imagination can hardly 
 picture more beautiful scenes than those presented 
 by the Western " oak-openings/' through which, for 
 
JOURNEYING THROUGH THE WOODS. 73 
 
 many miles, the path of our travellers lay. The 
 level surface of the country, permitting the eye to 
 range to a great distance ; the picturesque grouping 
 or planting of the trees ; the spreading formation of 
 their branches ; their graceful but light foliage, that 
 admits, at once, the warm sunlight and gentle ze- 
 phyrs, yet forms an agreeable shade ; the absence 
 of undergrowth ; the winding tracks, extending in 
 many directions ; the profuse sprinkling of flowers, 
 with brilliant petals, all tend to awaken emotions 
 of pleasure in any breast not callous or dead to a 
 sense of the beautiful. It is as if you entered a 
 park or pleasure-ground, lYt.-h from the hand 
 of its Maker, where man had neither destroyed nor 
 marred the first impress of God's manifest care 
 for the happiness of his creatures ; and, in its little 
 daisy-tufts, that spring by the roadside, as well as 
 in its loftiest trees, the lesson of His existence and 
 care and protection may be read. 
 
 There was not a heart but was quick to feel this, 
 among the company of emigrants whose fortunes we 
 are following ; nor one in whose mind were not gra- 
 titude and thankfulness to Him who had brought 
 them thus far on their way safely, and was opening 
 to them prospects of life, so full of joy and hope, in 
 the wide woods of the West. 
 
 Nor did these feelings vanish when an occasional 
 house or cabin was passed. Even when the rum- 
 bling of their wheels brought to the door swarms of 
 
74 
 
 LIFE IX THE WEST. 
 
 children, and men unshaven and roughly clad, their 
 eyes were quick to detect tokens of success in the 
 newly-planted apple-tree, the extent of the clear- 
 ing, the potato-patch, the feeble effort at a barn, 
 and, in them all, they read a lesson of hope for the 
 future ; for, from these small beginnings these 
 struggles of labour with poverty were to come, 
 they knew well, the competence and independence 
 that distinguish the lot of our hard-working but free 
 countrymen 
 
ENCAMl'.MKNT IN THE WOODS. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 X THE WOODS. 
 
 ROUND and round move tin 1 h u\ y wheels of the 
 large emigrant-wagons. Rouii'l and round tin-;. 
 through wood and swamp, over log-bridges, an I 
 through "timbered lands;" now rumbling, now 
 creaking; now contending with >tump or } 
 root; now ni" l-ri-kiT pav Y.T a smooth, 
 
 .nd then, again, toiling al'iig, halt- 
 buried in a deep rut, 1 spring frosts and 
 rains. Slowly they move, but surely. The stout 
 driver of the first wagon has krpt tlu- ivekoning of 
 the nd proclaims that twenty m 
 have been accomplished before the mid-day rest. 
 he shades of evening draw on, our travel- 
 lers are weary and wayworn, and disappointed, too. 
 They had hoped to reach the settlement of Lupine 
 Prairie before nightfall, for the next day was the 
 Sabbath. 
 
 But Lupine Prairie was still ten miles distant 
 when the dusk of evening was drawing near ; and 
 the fatigue, both of travellers and horses, made it 
 
76 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 desirable to stop for the night. It was not their 
 first experience of campiny-out, for they had been 
 five nights upon the road, and only two of these 
 had they been able to find comfortable quarters be- 
 neath the shelter of a roof. Every possible arrange- 
 ment had been made, before starting, for the passing 
 of the nights by the wayside ; and it was almost in- 
 comprehensible, even to them, how easily they could 
 accommodate themselves, and be rendered comfort- 
 able under these new circumstances. But our readers 
 shall judge for themselves. 
 
 The setting sun, with its gorgeous array of golden 
 clouds, had sunk below the western horizon, before 
 they had reached a dry, elevated place, suitable for 
 an encampment. Then, after a few words of con- 
 sultation with Mr, Moreton, the stout driver (whose 
 good sense and practical knowledge of the country 
 had placed him in the capacity of guide and adviser) 
 turned the heads of his horses, and drew carefully 
 up beneath the green trees, standing back some dis- 
 tance from the road. The horses were then taken 
 out, relieved of the weight of their harness, and placed 
 in a safe position to rest and cool themselves, before 
 being allowed to eat. 
 
 Then, slowly came on the second " team," guided 
 by the careful hand of Robert. This also drew up, 
 and was placed at a right angle with the first, and 
 the horses carefully looked after. 
 
 Before a half hour passed, there was heard, echo- 
 
ENCAMPMENT IN THE WOODS. 77 
 
 ing through ti the sharp voice of Michael 
 
 Dorrance, crying, "Whoa! whoa!" in tones that 
 even the sk>w-witted animals lie was master of could 
 not mistake. They too drew up, and placed them- 
 selves opposite to Ilob< .11 thus forming 
 
 - of a hollow square, opening to the south. . 
 Henry and his aid soon gathered their charge, and $ 
 made them fast not far from this opening, taking 
 particular care that they should be comfortable this 
 night; for the rest of the Sabbath was approaching, 
 and Mr. Moreton desired that its hours might be 
 spent in peace and quietness, so far as their situa- 
 tion should allow. 
 
 But these arran_' n not all. Scarcely 
 
 had they stopped, 1 i 1 Alice 
 
 . picking up dry bits nf WHM! and ! 
 branches, that would burn quickly airl e.;>ily. Mr. 
 Moreton, leaving the care of the horsi-s t<> th-li;, 
 had taken his hatchet from the box at the .side of the 
 wagon, and soon finding a *///<<//)///, (a tree that had 
 fallen some time previous, and was now dead and 
 dry,) he had easily chopped some of its branches 
 into lengths suitable for burning. Just without the 
 enclosure, he then placed two large green logs, form- 
 ing two sides of a triangle with them. These w r ere 
 to hold up the wood, and to protect the blaze while it 
 was kindling. Then came Alice, with a basket full 
 of small chips and light sticks, which were carefully 
 and loosely placed upon each other, between the logs. 
 
78 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 They were then lighted from a match, and soon 
 blazed up, crackling merrily. When fairly burn- 
 ing, Willie cast on his treasures, but even he was 
 cautious lest he should put out the little blue flame 
 that, in darting tongues, was climbing here and there 
 the wood. As it gained in power and strength, 
 Charlie laid sticks of wood upon it, until the united 
 strength of the children hardly sufficed to lift the 
 logs that it was desirable to place over the coals, in 
 order to insure their continuance until morning. By 
 the time that Michael reached there with his mules, 
 there was a good roaring fire, brightening up with 
 its light the increasing shades of evening, and offer- 
 ing a bed of live coals to any one who would use 
 them to cook their evening meal. 
 
 But where was Robert? Away with the water- 
 pails, looking for a stream or spring, from which 
 they might be filled ; and not long was he gone ! 
 As for Susan and Mary, they were busy enough ! 
 Out of the back of Michael's wagon, they had had a 
 table lifted; upon it they Lad briskly mixed the 
 bread, which was to be baked for the morning's use. 
 Frank was tfiere, too, placing "the little tin reflector 
 just far enough from the fire ; and, with one of the 
 girls' aprons tied around his waist, he speedily 
 washed the potatoes, and hung them over the fire 
 to boil. The little square gridiron, with its shining 
 black bars, was spread with slices of meat; and, 
 over those glowing embers, how nicely it cooked ! 
 
ENCAMPMENT IN THE WOODS. 79 
 
 Then there was the coffee to be made ; and then 
 wiping off the little table, a clean white cloth was 
 spread upon it, and it was covered with dishes, ready 
 for their evening meal; the cake of golden-coloured 
 butter, the pile of slices of wheaten bread, and the 
 full sugar-dish were not forgotten. And Susan ! 
 She it was who slipped away with her milk-pail, but 
 found that Henry had been quicker than she, and 
 already sat by the side of one of the cows, with a 
 pail nearly full of foaming, creamy milk ! Iy the 
 time that supper was ready, tin-re was not one who 
 was not ready, too, to eat the simple, but, t <> tin -in, 
 delicious repast, with a goud appetite and a 1. 
 
 relish 
 
 The round moon rose red and clear, and glided 
 high into the hea 'inir upon the sVepinir 
 
 emigrants a melh>\ . which was heightened 
 
 or obscured as the watch-tire burned high or low. 
 At intervals, might be heard the restless horses, 
 terrified at imaginary sounds, or disturbed by the 
 movements of their companions ; or the strokes of 
 the axe, plied by the watchman of the hour as a 
 help to wakefulness. But peacefully they slum- 
 bered, while " He who never slumbereth nor sleep- 
 eth" was a " guard upon their right hand, and Upon 
 their left, to preserve them from evil." And when, 
 at the previously-arranged hours, one after another, 
 the young men took their places quietly, to guard 
 the encampment from intrusion, the pleasant words 
 
80 
 
 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 of " Air s well !" was their only greeting. At the 
 foot of each new-comer would Carlo wag his tail, 
 look up in his face for a word or sign of recog- 
 nition, and then again compose himself to his little 
 naps. 
 
A SABBATH IN THE WOODS. 81 
 
 CIIA1TKU IX. 
 
 A SAKHATII IN THE WOODS. 
 
 IF we allowed our readers to suppose that all those 
 
 -ms employed by Mr. M.uvton, in the proM-cii- 
 
 tion of his jnurm -\ . h his plan of 
 
 ping upon the Sabbath, we >hnuld give a w: 
 impression. Although it had been a^riv. d upon be- 
 fore starting, the fine weather and thtir haying 
 been delayed upon the nd their 
 
 tion, had awaken. d a strong desire to go on. 
 had Dorrancc, particularly, remonf Vmst 
 
 the delay, and expressed his opinion, that "it was 
 all nonsense to stop;" to which Mr. Moreton calmly 
 replied 
 
 "But, Michael, last Friday, when you said that 
 your religion permitte 1 at no meat, I did 
 
 not say that that was all nontcnse. AVe l>th pro- 
 to be guided by the precepts of the Bible. You 
 cannot read it, and take, upon the authority of your 
 priest, what he tells you arc words of command and 
 promise. He tells you to eat no meat on Fridays ; 
 and we tried, at some inconvenience to ourselves, to 
 accommodate you with food that you thought? it right 
 to eat, although we knew that there was no command 
 
82 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 in God's word concerning it. This is the Bible/' 
 said Mr. Moreton, holding one in his hand; "and I 
 read it for myself, and find it says, ' Six days shalt 
 thou labour and do all thy work : but the seventh 
 day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God : in it thou 
 shalt not do any work; thou, nor thy son, nor thy 
 daughter, thy man-servant, nor thy maid-servant, nor 
 thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates : 
 for in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the 
 sea, and all that in them is, and rested the seventh 
 day : wherefore, the Lord blessed the Sabbath-day, 
 and hallowed it.' This is very plain ; and I should 
 not do what I consider right, if, in obedience to this 
 command, I did not allow each one of us a day of 
 rest, and an opportunity to honour God, by observ- 
 ing his Sabbath." 
 
 "If you could go to church," said Michael, "and 
 see the praist, and get absolution, it would be worth 
 yer while." 
 
 " My priest is Jesus Christ," said Mr. Moreton, 
 " who lives with God in heaven, and he is every- 
 where present ; as near me here, in these woods, as 
 if I were in any church. To him I shall go in 
 prayer this day, and confess my sins ; and I know 
 that he will forgive them, and grant me pardon ; for 
 the Bible says, i If we confess our sins, he is faith- 
 ful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us 
 from all unrighteousness/ and 'If any man sin, we 
 have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ, the 
 
A SAEBATII IN THE WOODS. 83 
 
 righteous.' And, as a family, we shall gather to- 
 
 r, and ask God's pardon for our sins, and his 
 
 upon us. We shall hope that you will 
 
 unite with us in thanking Him who has made our 
 
 journey, thus far, pleasant and prosperous." 
 
 Tin-re was another person as much di>sati>nVd as 
 Michael with the proposed delay, and this was the 
 stout driver. He was a We- tern man, in middle 
 life, of good natural ahilities, but in. and 
 
 without religious principle. lie made no complaint 
 
 'ii, but to Robert he said 
 
 " I d 96 of stopping thirty- 
 
 3 here, in this place, just becausr it happens 
 
 Sunday, in>: ttdaj, I should think 
 
 that folks might be just as good and pious, going 
 
 along. ]>esidcs, it is my opinion that God is good 
 
 and merciful, and, if we die, will take us all to hea- 
 
 . whether we bother ourselves with keeping Sun- 
 
 day, or not." 
 
 "Do you think there are two heavens?" a.-ked 
 K"bert; "one for those who love God, and endea- 
 vour to serve him, and another for those who do not 
 
 for him or his commandments?" 
 " Why, no ! I guess they'll all share pretty much 
 
 "Then, according to your own showing, should 
 they even be taken to the same place, one class must 
 be happy and the other miserable. You would not 
 be happy in a heaven where the worship of God was 
 
84 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 the sole employment and every day a Sabbath, and 
 my father could never enjoy any place where God 
 was forgotten and never praised. Now, I leave it to 
 you to say, whether you think that a God who 
 should reward those who have never even remem- 
 bered him, and punish those who have tried to serve 
 him and to do his will, is a good God, or such an 
 one as you think rules this universe. But people 
 do not all go to the same place when they die. The 
 Bible says that ' the wicked shall lie turned into 
 hell, and all the nations that forget God/ 'l>e nut 
 deceived; God is not mocked: whatsoever a man 
 soweth, that shall he also reap;' ' God will render 
 to every man according to his deeds: t> them who, 
 by patient continuance in well-doing, seek for glory 
 and honour and immortality, eternal life; but unto 
 them that are contentious, and obey not the truth, 
 but obey unrighteousness, indignation and wrath, 
 tribulation and anguish, upon every soul of man 
 that doeth evil; but glory, honour, and peace to 
 every man that worketh good/ " 
 
 As Robert read these texts, the eye of his com- 
 panion was fixed upon him. When he had finished, 
 he said 
 
 "Death will change us, and make heaven pleasant 
 to us, by making us fit to enter it." 
 
 " I cannot say that it will/' said Robert. " I know 
 nothing about it, but what the Bible says. I read 
 there, ' And if the tree fall toward the south or to- 
 
A SABBATH IN THE WOODS. 85 
 
 ward the north, in the place where the tree falleth, 
 there it shall lie/* ' He that is unjust, let him be 
 unjust still, and he that is filthy, let him be filthy 
 still; he that is righteous, let him be righteous still, 
 and he that is holy, let him be holy still.' ' And, 
 behold, I come quickly, and my reward is with me, 
 to give to every man according as his work shall be.' 
 These texts don't sound much as if we could hope 
 that dying was to make us fit to go to heaven." 
 
 The necessary arrangements for the day were few 
 and easily made ; and none but Mr. Moreton and 
 Robert knew of these discussions, as, in a spirit of 
 gladness, they assembled about the little table SJT 
 with the morning meal. 
 
 " How shall we spend the day ?" was the natural 
 inquiry. It was soon settled that, at ten o'clock, 
 they should come together, to hear a sermon read by 
 Mr. Moreton, accompanied with the other services 
 of public worship; that, in the afternoon, there 
 should be a kind of Sunday-school, and, in the even- 
 ing, a temperance meeting should be held, directly 
 after family prayers; the intervening hours to be 
 employed in that way which to each one seemed most 
 desirable. 
 
 To this plan they cheerfully consented ; and, before 
 long, Mrs. Moreton produced a basket of books, 
 tracts, and papers, which the children soon scattered 
 
 * Eccl. xi. 3. 
 
86 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 about, as they seated themselves beneath the over- 
 spreading branches of some gnarled oak, or were 
 overshadowed by the hanging vines of a climbing 
 wild-grape ; and either singly, or in clusters of two 
 or three, sought to commit to memory a self-imposed 
 lesson for the afternoon, or read aloud for the grati- 
 fication of others, or silently perused the word of 
 God for themselves. Who could doubt, as they 
 gazed upon the seriously happy faces of these little 
 groups, that God was with thrm, K-adinir their young 
 hearts, by the influences of his good spirit, " to 
 member the day, to keep it holy?" Or, as they 
 looked upon them, gathered together for united 
 worship, who could feel that it was a vain thing to 
 serve the Lord, when each beaming countenance 
 told of hope and joy and peace ? 
 
 In the little church of Laurelton, the good pas- 
 tor remembered them, and besought the Massing of 
 Jehovah to ivst upon any servants of his who, that 
 day, might be far from the ordinances of the sanc- 
 tuary ; and asked that his presence might be with 
 them, whether in the house or by the way. Even 
 then was that prayer answered and that petition 
 granted, as, 
 
 " In the darkling wood, 
 
 Amidst the cool and silence, they knelt down, 
 And offered, to the Mightiest, solemn thanks 
 And supplication." 
 
!',BATII IX THE WOODS. 87 
 
 Those prayers were no tedious ceremony, no weari- 
 some service, or one in which the heart had no part, 
 but " the offering of their sincere desire unto God, for 
 things agreeable to his will, in the name of Christ, 
 with confession of sin, and thankful acknowledgment 
 of his mercy/' Then upon the air, borne by the soft 
 winds in tuneful n- 'he voice of prai 
 
 "Through all the changing scenes of life, 
 
 In trouble or in j..y. 
 The praises of our God shall still 
 Ourl; tongues employ. 
 
 Oh ! make but trial of his love : 
 
 Kxperience will <leei'le 
 How l.k-st are th.-y. :;iil only they, 
 
 AYho iu his truth con- 
 Fear him, ye saints : ami yu will then 
 
 Have nothing el 
 Come, make hi- 
 
 He'll make your want 
 
 A portion of God's word was listened to, another 
 song of praise was sung, and then the discourse 
 selected by Mr. More ton was read. Its subject was 
 the " Keeping of the Sabbath." It spoke of its 
 advantages as a day of rest, ami of its adaptedness 
 he wants of man, both as a mortal and an im- 
 mortal being, and of its meeting his necessities, 
 b 
 * 
 
LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 physical and moral. Its observance was urged for 
 the reason, 
 
 That it was the command of God that it should 
 be kept holy, as a commemoration of the creation, 
 and a token of our entire dependence on him as our 
 Creator ; 
 
 That it tended, by giving stated seasons of rest, 
 to prolong human life ; 
 
 That such rest and change of occupation kept 
 clear and unimpaired the intellectual and reasoning 
 faculties of man ; 
 
 That its observance as a day of worship awakened 
 proper emotions of love and gratitude to Him who 
 gives us all our time, and through whose death and 
 resurrection we have hope of eternal life ; 
 
 That its tendency was to elevate and enli 
 the affections; 
 
 And, finally, because, by giving us an oppor- 
 tunity to study and contemplate tlx- r of 
 Jehovah, and his perfections, we might learn to love 
 him and seek his friendship; so that, at the day of 
 judgment, we might be accepted through the Sa- 
 viour, and be made welcome by him as good and 
 faithful servants. 
 
 It was a plain, practical sermon, written in sim- 
 ple language. Its subject was illustrated both by 
 Scripture, aptly applied, and by anecdotes, showing 
 the value of the Sabbath in a physical point of view. 
 There were the written or expressed opinions of 
 
'.BATH IN THE WOODS. 89 
 
 eminent men, such as Wilberforce, who says : "Oh ! 
 what a blessing is Sunday ! interposed between the 
 waves of worldly business, like the divine path of 
 the Israelites through Jordan ! I can truly say 
 that, to mo, the Sabbath is invaluable." There 
 was the opinion of Dr. Sewall, whose observation led 
 him to write: U I have remarked that those to whom 
 the Sabbath brings the most entire rest from their 
 habitual labours, performed the secular duties of the 
 week more vigorously and siircess/ulty than those 
 who continued them without intermission." And 
 that of Dr. Warren, who says: " I have a firm be- 
 lief that persons who observe the Sabbath are able 
 to do more work, and d it in a m<>r.- man- 
 
 ner, in six days, than if they worked the whole 
 seven. A change of thought seems to give a fre>h 
 spring to the mental operations, as a change of food 
 does to the body. The breathing of the pure and 
 sublime atmosphere of the reli >l>ath re- 
 
 freshes and invigorates the spirit : it forms an 
 epoch in our existence, from which we receive a 
 new impulse, and thus constitutes the best prepara- 
 tion for the labours of the coming week." 
 
 These truths and facts fell upon the ears of an 
 attentive and interested audience, for all had drawn 
 near to listen, either from lack of occupation, or 
 from respect to Mr. Moreton. There was an unaf- 
 fected seriousness and an apparent pleasure in con- 
 templating the truths of God's word, which gave to 
 
90 LIFE IX THE WEST. 
 
 Mr. Moreton's tones a power to arrest and enchain 
 attention; and the fitness of the subject to the cir- 
 cumstances in which they were placed could not fail 
 to be felt, even by those to whom the delay had 
 been, at first, unwelcome. 
 
 None sat there listlessly or with wandering minds; 
 and as, in devout gratitude, Mr. Moreton offered the 
 closing prayer to Him who in wisdom hath set apart 
 the Sabbath, and hallowed it, and asked him to incline 
 their hearts to keep it holily unto the end, even the 
 heart of Michael Dorrance was touched. Uncon- 
 sciously to himself, the strongholds of superstition 
 were loosened in his mind ; and though, after the 
 custom of his church, he raised his hat and made 
 the sign of the cross upon his forehead and breast, 
 yet, in his soul, he acknowledged that true worship 
 was not confined to temples made with hands, or 
 to forms devised by the hearts of men. 
 
 Thus passed the hours of that Sabbath morning ; 
 and thus, from beneath the green trees, went up to 
 the throne of God the incense of devotion and love. 
 It was a fit temple for the worship of the Most 
 High far from the cares and tumults of the busy 
 world ; far from the throng of thoughtless mortals, 
 pressing on in their worldly pursuits. And there, 
 surrounded by the manifestations of Almighty 
 goodness, warmed by the light of that sun which 
 he guides and refreshed by the cool breezes of his 
 bestowing, fed from his bounty and sustained by 
 
A SABBATH IN Till-: WOODS. 
 
 91 
 
 his protecting hand, can we doubt but his pure eye 
 looked upon tlu^e, his worshippers, with love, and 
 that unto them should be fulfilled the promise, 
 " Them that honour me, will I honour ?"* 
 
 * 1 Sam. ii. 30. 
 
92 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE RAINY DAY*S JOURNEY. 
 
 RAINY, stormy days there are in everybody's ex- 
 perience; days when employment is hin<U-iv<l ; when 
 progress is delayed, when antici] are 
 
 marred, when good-nature, if dependent upon the 
 weather, is apt to become bad-nature, and the spirits 
 will flag and sink, unless sustained by active em- 
 ployment or governed by principle. These often 
 happen to dwellers at hmno; and to tin-in, sur- 
 rounded with every in-door comfort that wealth <>r 
 thrift can procure, they bring little temptation to 
 complain or murmur. But, to the poor, whose 
 dwellings are not proof against the strin; whose 
 habitations are dark and disconsolate, unless cheered 
 by the light of the sun; whose out-door labour it is 
 that puts bread into their mouths, such days come 
 as seasons of discipline, and bring with them discom- 
 fort and trial, that must be known to be realized. 
 
 To emigrants of every class, a rainy day is a dis- 
 appointment. To see the blue sky overcast with 
 threatening clouds, and a settled gloom spread over 
 the whole horizon ; to hear the breezes rustle fit- 
 
THE RAINY PAY'S JOURNEY. 93 
 
 fully in the tree-tops; to see the birds move off with 
 rapid wing, and hear their short, quick notes, tell- 
 ing of a coming storm ; to feel the pattering rain- 
 drops, as they fall upon the green leaves ; and to 
 know that, with the exception of an occasional 
 cabin, the road stretches for miles through paths 
 unfrequented, save by travellers like themselves; 
 and to know that their only resources for comfort, 
 warmth, and dryness are comprised within the nar- 
 row limits of their own wagon, it is all this which 
 makes a rainy day so much dreaded by an emigrant. 
 Such a day was the one preceding the arrival of Mr. 
 Moreton's family at their new home. 
 
 The early morning hud come with a bright dawn* 
 ing; yet there were tokens of coming rain that 
 caused them hurriedly to despatch their breakfast, 
 and to gather themsi !. VT for starting as 
 
 soon as possible. To do this, th be some 
 
 hurry and bustle, some anxiety and ear.', lest any 
 thing should be forgotten or misplaced. Cloaks 
 and shawls must be found for Mrs. Moivtmi and the 
 girls, and the "rubber coats and leggins," with " the 
 SQu'-u:c*tc.r hats," must betaken out for Mr. Moreton 
 and his sons. The mid-day meal must be arranged, 
 so that it could be easily reached, and taken without 
 exposure to the weather. Little Annie must have 
 the warmest, driest place, and the best cushion 
 must be placed for the mother. All this done, and 
 cheerfully done, and every thing finally arranged, 
 
94 LIFE IX THE AVI>T. 
 
 the horses started at a brisk trot, while our travel- 
 lers, forgetful of the past inconvenience attending so 
 hasty a transit, were looking up the causes they had 
 for congratulation in their present circumstances. 
 Frank was the first to say 
 
 " How fortunate that it did not begin to rain 
 until all our goods were under cover, and we almost 
 ready for the start !'' 
 
 B," said Annie; "and how fortunate, too, 
 that the clouds came as messengers, to let us know 
 that we must hurry !" 
 
 "We shall not be troubled with the du.-t, t 
 dear Annie/' whispered Mary ; " and that will be 
 better for your cough." 
 
 "It really seems quite like home," said Mrs. 
 Moreton, "to get so many of us together again. 
 AVhen one of you were in Michael's wagon, and an- 
 other with Henry, and some of you walking by the 
 roadside, I was almost lonely, and had to take my 
 knitting-work, for company. To-day, we are quite u 
 family party." 
 
 " How beautifully the rain-drops lie on the fresh, 
 green leaves !" exclaimed Mary. " A bright sun 
 would make them glisten like jewels !" 
 
 "And a longer withholding of his beams will 
 make the fresh, green leaves fresher and greener," 
 replied Mr. Moreton. " This rain falls opportunely 
 for the wheat-fields, and probably reaches ours." 
 
 " Our wheat-fields!" How pleasantly that sound 
 
THE RAINY PAY*S Jol'IlNKY. 95 
 
 fell upon their cars, telling of a resting-place for the 
 weary, the end of their fatiiruhiir journey, their 
 Jiomc, and that, too, near at hand ! The natural 
 hopefulness of youth painted that home in bright 
 colours to the fancies of our youthful friends ; and, 
 in guessing how it would look, in hearing how it 
 did look, and in telling how they meant it should 
 look, the hours sped on. When weary of this, there 
 was Willie, with his never-ending fund of riddles 
 for them to guess; there was Susan, who could 
 narrate such beautiful tales and stories; th<-iv \\;is 
 the mother, with her memory stored with beautiful 
 ballads and curious verses; there was Mary, 
 ready to give them a song; and Frank and Charlie, 
 with strong lungs, always good at a chorus. Then 
 Robert called out to them, with his genial laugh and 
 merry tones, proposing hard questions in arithmetic 
 and history questions that puzzl tan and 
 
 Mary ; and, above all, there was the father, without 
 whom no enjoyment was quite complete, entering 
 into each and every endeavour to make the rainy 
 day pass pleasantly. Then, when Henry, attracted 
 by the merriment, looked in upon them, with his 
 coat-collar turned up above his ears and his glazed 
 hat covered with rain-drops, and made believe that 
 he was a stray traveller, and asked for charity, oh ! 
 how merrily they laughed, and how curiously they 
 questioned him concerning his family, his home, 
 and his prospects ! But he did not laugh ; not he ! 
 
96 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 Who ever saw a beggar-man laugh, while asking for 
 help ? But steadily and soberly he besought : 
 
 "Pity the sorrows of a hungry man, 
 
 Whose stout young legs have borne him to your cart ; 
 Who, out of breath, hath hither quickly ran, 
 To to " 
 
 But, alas ! no rhyming line could he think of; and 
 it was Mary who supplied his need, by adding 
 
 "To get a bit to eat, before you start." 
 
 Then, no famous ode of famous poet was ever re- 
 ceived with more rapturous applause than Henry's 
 extempore attempt at a parody ; and no performance 
 ever so entirely satisfied an audience as his pn-sona- 
 tion of a beggar. With liberal hands, they filled 
 his pockets, showering upon him crackers and cakes, 
 and, with more liberal tongues, bestowed their praise 
 and words of admiration. 
 
 It was towards the close of this day, that our tra- 
 vellers suddenly halted in their course, and drew up 
 together. There, in the road, was a cart, loaded to 
 its utmost capacity, with one wheel fast in a deep 
 hole, or, in Western phrase, slewed. The strength 
 of the two miserable and worn-looking horses at- 
 tached to the vehicle was insufficient to start it from 
 its position ; and the master, Patrick McConey, had 
 put his shoulder to the wheel, in the hope of adding 
 his strength to theirs, while his wife had placed her 
 three children on the grass by the roadside, and, 
 
THE RAINY PAY'S JOURNEY. 97 
 
 with whip in hand, was vainly striving to prompt the 
 wearied animals to greater effort. 
 
 To take two of the best horses from Mr. Moreton's 
 :n, and "hitch" them before those belonging to 
 McConey, was the work of but a few moments. To 
 lift from the wagon the heavy chest and box, and 
 then to give " the long pull, the strong pull, and the 
 pull all together/' that would release them from 
 their unwilling durance; to aid in tying up the 
 broken and strained harness; to fa.-tm and make 
 sure the unfortunate wheel; and to replace children 
 and irnnds in the wagon, occupied not many i;, 
 And then, falling in the rear nf th- company, Patrick 
 p his place with them, that 
 
 he might have the benefit of their guidance, their 
 company, and their assi>tann-, if h- again fell into 
 
 trouble. 
 
 Now Patrick was a sample of emigration that was 
 not very inviting, lie was an Irishman, who had 
 landed, two years before, with his wife and family, 
 at Quebec. Those two years, he had struggled with 
 great poverty and want. Discouraged with his coji- 
 dition, and feeling that thi-iv was no prospect of bet- 
 tering it there, he had availed himself of the first 
 opportunity to change it. With the money rui- <l 
 by the sale of such household goods as he possessed, 
 they had passed up the St. Lawrence and through 
 the Lakes, as steerage or deck passengers, and 
 finally landed in Sandusky. This had been in 
 
98 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 the fall ; and although, on first arriving, they had, 
 from their destitute condition, been objects of public 
 charity, yet, by dint of hard labour and hard fare, 
 and a willingness to ask for and accept aid, they had 
 been enabled to get together, by the next summer, 
 the miserable outfit of an old wagon and two broken- 
 down horses. A bundle of straw served for a bed, 
 a tattered quilt or two answered for covering and 
 protection. Two stools, an iron kettle, a painted 
 chest, tied up with a rope, a cask of pork, and a 
 sack of potatoes, completed their assortment of what 
 Willie called, not goods/' but " lads." They were, 
 indeed, objects of compassion not so much for their 
 destitute condition, as for their ignorance. Patrick's 
 plan, so far as he had any, was to go on until lie 
 found a spot where he could stop; and, after that, 
 his only idea seemed to be to plant some wheat ! 
 Where this place was to be, he knew not. That he 
 had little or no money to buy laud, he deemed of 
 slight consequence; for, "sure, and wasn't there 
 land enough for him and the crathurs anywhere ?" 
 And, as for getting a living out of it, " and couldn't 
 he work ?" 
 
 That he had health, strength, and good-nature 
 was plainly to be seen ; but that he was ignorant, 
 and, from his want of judgment, unable to provide 
 for himself and family, there could be little doubt. 
 Mr. Moreton tried, in vain, to convince him, that 
 when he found the place to stop, which it seemed 
 
THE RAINY DAY*fl JOURNEY. 99 
 
 that he would do soon, from his horses giving out, 
 he had no right to any land ; and that, even if al- 
 lowed to live and wrk upon it for a time, as he 
 mii:ht be, he was liable, at any moment, to be 
 forced by its owner to leave it and give up any 
 little improvements he had made upon it thus 
 lining the benefit of his own hard labour. Patrick 
 could not, or would not, understand. His only re- 
 ply was, " And, sure, if I wouldn't go, and why 
 couldn't I stay?" 
 
 "I will help him, evm Mgainst his will," thought 
 Mr. Moreton. After a while, he called him to him, 
 and said 
 
 " Patrick, I am going to be a farmer, and have 
 bought some land, which my sons and I intend to 
 work. But there will be a great deal of digging, 
 and ditching, and cutting down of trees, that I shall 
 have to hire done for us. Now, you are strong and 
 well, and able to work, if you are willing, and can 
 be a great help to us. So I am going to propose 
 that you shall stop where we do, put up a shanty on 
 one corner of my land, for this year, and live there. 
 You shall promise to do what work I ask you to do, 
 and I will promise to give you employment and 
 pay you fair wages for all that you do. What do 
 -ay ?" 
 
 Patrick's heart was more easily reached than his 
 comprehension ; but, when he understood Mr. More- 
 ton's proposal, with true Irish eloquence of tongue, 
 
100 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 he poured forth a torrent of thanks and praise, in 
 which his wife Winne joined, with less noise, but 
 more true feeling. Poor woman ! A home would 
 be to her a blessing; and she knew it; for, worn 
 and weary with her many cares and labours, she 
 had looked, day by day, for a time of rest, which 
 had never yet come. Thriftless and ignorant as she 
 was, she knew, better than Patrick, the value of 
 Mr. Moreton's offer to them, for she had i*xperi< i 
 too many disappointments to place much dependence 
 upon her husband's plans, and knew well the delu- 
 sive nature of those hopes with which lie had been 
 buoyed up. 
 
 From this time, Patrick McConey was a part of 
 Mr. Moreton's family ; and our readers will pardon 
 this digression, as it serves to introduce to them one 
 who, with his strong arm and willing mind, became 
 an aid and a helper to our emigrant family. 
 
PART II. 
 
 LAKELAND. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. XI. LAKELAND 107 
 
 XII. THE LOG-CABIN 1~<> 
 
 XIII. PATRICK'S UOME l-l 
 
 XIV. NEIGHBOURS 1 !- 
 
 XV. THOMAS REVERE !">- 
 
 XVL MART'S LETTER 
 
 XVII. FARMING 170 
 
 XVIII. CHARLES MORETOX 1M 
 
 XIX. LETTERS 1'.'7 
 
 \r* 
 XX. THE CHURCH AND THE MINISTER 200 
 
 XXI. THE STEAM SAW-MILL AND THE DISTILLERY J 1 7 
 XXII. WILLIE MORETON'S DEATH ^ 
 
 106 
 
CHAPTER XT. 
 
 I.AKl 
 
 " Now we see the lights ! There ! Look ! look! 
 Don't you see them twinkle ? There ! Between 
 the trees, Ally. Now, don't you see th 
 
 Ally's eyes were heavy with sleep, and s<> \V.TO 
 Willie's ; but his expectation being stronger, he 
 roused himself to look in the direction that Charles 
 pointed out. And there they were ! 
 
 "One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven/' he 
 counted ; and then, after a pause, " eight, nine, ten; 
 and a very pale one ten is," said he. " Is it really 
 Lakeland, father?" 
 
 " Yes, my son." 
 
 "It don't look as Buffalo did, at night, father," 
 said Willie, in a disappointed tone. 
 
 " Not much, to be sure, my son. Did you think 
 that it would ?" 
 
 "I don't know, sir; but it is not much to see." 
 
 " Had you not better wait until you really see it, 
 Willie, before you decide about it ?" 
 
 The nightfall had but just set in, and, still riding 
 
 in the woods, it was hardly fair to judge of the aj>- 
 
 107 
 
108 LIFE IX THE WEST. 
 
 pearance of the little Western settlement, when the 
 shadows of trees and houses could hardly be distin- 
 guished from each other. Yet, as they approached 
 nearer, and more lights threw their twinkling beams 
 across the dim prospect, they found the houses 
 nearer and nearer together, and the trees fewer and 
 farther between. The approach to the village was 
 nearly straight for a mile or two, so that they had 
 been able to discern the first glimmerings of light 
 while at a distance. It would be difficult to analyze 
 or describe the various feelings that were awakened 
 in those different minds, as these first met their view. 
 Although every settlement through which they had 
 passed had been compared with Lakeland, as to its 
 situation, its size, its houses, its stores, and its farms, 
 and Mr. Moreton had aimed at giving a correct im- 
 pression of the place, there was an undcfinable feel- 
 ing that it must be rather a wonderful place, or it 
 never would have been selected by their father 
 residence. And the children were disappointed; 
 for it was far from being a remarkably attractive- 
 looking village. But the disappointments of early 
 youth are not lasting, and this bid fair to pass away, 
 even before the place was reached. The older ones 
 had judged more rationally. Every object was to 
 them full of interest. Their curiosity was power- 
 fully excited, and they were too thoughtful to be 
 talkative or very merry, as they neared their new 
 home. 
 
LAKELAND. 100 
 
 Tli;it night, they Were to L r " to the village public- 
 hou- M 'on lia<l made arrangements 
 
 for their -trying f'r a few days, until they wore 
 1 fnm their fatigue, and had time t- make 
 the prej> a rations f-r removal to their own 
 
 dwelling. 
 
 A - Mrs. Moreton alighted upon the rude platform 
 at the hotel-door, and saw herself surrounded hy the 
 whom curiosity had drawn from the 
 bar-room to gaze upon the new-comers, there was 
 some sinking of heart ; for she felt that they were 
 strangers in a ^ 1. When she, looked around 
 
 upon the room into which sbe wa . and saw 
 
 indubitable marks of poverty and labour, with little 
 of that neatness or tidiness which a careful husbanding 
 of small means will produce. llmOfl discou- 
 
 raged by the annoyances and inconveniences which, 
 she felt, would soon surround her. The responsi- 
 bility of the happiness and interests of her children 
 fell heavily upon her heart, and, for the moment, 
 sbe almost regretted having left New England. It 
 was but for a moment. Like a wise woman, sbe 
 bad counted the cost before starting; and, like a 
 Christian, she now cast aside every personal feeling, 
 and subdued every selfish emotion summoning up 
 all her powers of resolution, while again she silently 
 committed her way unto Him who alone could lighten 
 ber path. 
 
 The cheerful voice of the landlady, Mrs. Blake, 
 
110 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 fo: 
 
 aroused her from her reverie, as she entered the 
 room and cordially bade her " welcome to Lakeland I" 
 Then, bustling about, she took the bonnets and outer 
 garments of the little ones, giving each a j.l 
 word, and telling them that she had been looking 
 
 >r them, every day, for a week. Who can tell 
 power of a cheerful smile ? Of an encotirugiu<:, 1. 
 ful word ? II ow they come to the oj 
 as balm to a wound ! How they awaki -n 
 and pleasant expectation, dispelling sadness and dis- 
 trust ! " A word spoken in due season, how good 
 is it!" was the saying of the wise man; and who 
 has not experienced its truth ? 
 
 Food and places of rest were soon provided for 
 our travellers. It mattered little* to them that the 
 one was plain and simple, the other rude and c 
 Sound and refreshing sleep visits no more readily the 
 luxurious couch than the humblest; and they were 
 too tired and weary to care, save for quiet ami - 
 liness. This they found in the home of Mrs. Blake; 
 andtshe herself was ready, with true Western whole- 
 heartedness, to do whatever was in her power to as- 
 sist them, or to add to their comfort or pleasure 
 deeming no service menial, if it contributed to their 
 good, nor any office trifling, if it increased their hap- 
 piness. 
 
 But what kind of a place was Lakeland ? do any 
 of my readers ask. Was there any thing peculiar 
 in it or about it ? 
 
LAKELAND. Ill 
 
 f all. It differed so little from other 
 Western villages, that it might he tak< niple 
 
 of the whole. It had every advantage of position that 
 an inland Western town can have, save that of water- 
 power ; and that is not always a desirahle one in a 
 new country. It was situated on the travelled road 
 
 veen two of the larger t>wns in Indiana, and was 
 itself a county-seat. 7 (for so they called 
 
 the cluster of houses which stood together) was upon 
 the edge of a small prairie, but was, itself, in an 
 opening, from which all the original growth of 
 forest-trees had been cleared, and the iields on every 
 
 . for the distance of one or two miles, had been 
 
 -.'d in and cultivated. The villa- and 
 
 lots had been regularly laid out ; the houses were 
 buildings, painted with a thin coat of 
 white, and placed directly upon the street. ( ) 
 sionally, one would have gre ; while a log- 
 
 house, here and there, served to make all the others 
 inviting, by way of contrast. Kv< TV \\V.-tTU village 
 has some advantage such as a grist-mill, a saw-mill, 
 
 :;nery, a foundry, or a court-house. Lakeland 
 was not deficient in its share of such conveniences ; 
 for, of course, it had the court-house ; and, besides, 
 there was a dilapidated grist-mill and a tannery. 
 Among the inhabitants, there were some doctors, 
 some lawyers, some farmers, some merchants; a 
 shoemaker, a tailor, a carpenter, a wheelwright; 
 some people who lived by letting out their land 
 
112 LIFE IX THE WEST. 
 
 upon shares ; some whose business it was to buy 
 and sell land ; some who spent their time in barter- 
 ing, or "dickering;" and some whose employment, 
 or enjoyment, (for it seemed to partake of both,) 
 was trading in horses. Among the men, there ap- 
 peared little of the hurry and bustle of going about 
 their occupation and business that characterizes 
 Eastern communities ; for either the climate or the 
 manner of life had tended to give a lassitude of mo- 
 tion, that left a doubt in the minds of our friends 
 as to whether those about thorn were lazy or Mck, 
 or whether any one meant to work, at all, that day. 
 
 The arrival of a family is a cir in a 
 
 quiet Western village. It interests the principal 
 men, because they are often the landholders, and 
 are desirous of seeing their town growing and flou- 
 rishing ; so that the success of the settlers is of im- 
 portance to them. It interests the mechanics; for 
 they look for work, and its consequent remuneration. 
 It interests the benevolent and the public-spirited ; 
 for they hope to have their hands sustained and 
 their hearts cheered by congenial minds. It inte- 
 rests the poor and the needy ; for they think an- 
 other source of help will be opened to them. 
 
 The women are interested ; for the prospect of 
 companionship and extended social intercourse is 
 ever pleasant to those whose active minds and 
 friendly feelings do not find full scope in the quietly 
 monotonous life they lead. The young people, too, 
 
118 
 
 arc pleased with every arrival ; for change and va- 
 itfl them. All these causes con- 
 spired to make the arrival of Mr .'s family 
 the new? of the day. There was hardly a family 
 who did not know, before breakfast, on the day fol- 
 lowing, that they had come ; and many stopped to 
 
 upon them, as they stood near the doorway, or 
 sauntered in the village Bfc 
 
 The farm which M. D had purchas- 
 
 from the village, and was an // "lie ; 
 
 that is. it had been li : and worked by a 
 
 ' 1 with all its improve- 
 ments and its planted ti-l Is. It was C 
 a v TV d '^cation, having Ml s of 
 
 prairie-land, which were now fenced in with a | 
 Virginia fence, and planted with wlx-at, which was 
 
 in;.: and promising finely. Part nf this farm 
 mil fcfao heavily-timbered with 
 
 ihj and black-walmr g thickly to* 
 
 <T in the dark, rich soil, to a great height. 
 That part of the land lying towards the village 
 had an irregular surface, and the fie!-' the 
 
 ! presented a fine slope, stretching up from the 
 
 lence of the present occupant. A poor, forlorn 
 
 habitation did the house of Mr. llinckley seem, to 
 
 the party who visited it from among our friends, the 
 
 after their arrival. It was a double cabin, 
 
 built of half-hewn logs; i. 6.1ogs rou^h upon the 
 
 Me, but hewn within ; t no connection 
 
 10 
 
114 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 between the two parts, though they stood at the 
 distance of but a few feet from each other. One of 
 these rooms or houses had a chimney built of mud 
 and stones. This was upon the outside of the house, 
 and presented, there, rather an uncouth appearance ; 
 but left the inner wall smooth, and only cut for the 
 fire-place. The windows were small aud few. The 
 door opened with a latch, which was niaed by a 
 leathern string on the outside, and secured by draw- 
 ing the string in. 
 
 The family to whom it had belonged had remain- 
 ed until Mr. Moreton came to claim possession, ac- 
 cording to agreement, and were still living in one 
 part of the cabin. A troop of white-haired, sun- 
 burnt children scattered at the approach of our 
 friends, as if frightened, leaving behind them only 
 one boy, who was milking a cow just in front of the 
 closed door. He was about twelve years of age, 
 well grown, bright-eyed, and intelligent-looking; 
 but his face had an expression of impudent boldness, 
 that was unpleasant. To 31 r. Moreton' s "Good 
 morning !" his only reply was, " What ?" 
 
 " Good morning !" repeated Mr. Moreton. " Is 
 jour father at home ?" 
 
 " He ain't anywhere else," answered the boy. 
 
 " Can I see him ?" asked Mr. Moreton. 
 
 To which the response was made by the lad rising 
 suddenly from his sitting posture, lifting his pail, 
 and giving the poor cow a kick on the leg, which 
 
LAKELAND. 115 
 
 sent her hurriedly away ; he then opened the door, 
 and walked in first, leaving the others to follow, if 
 they pleased. 
 
 This was a specimen of manners that was new to 
 the children, and from which they revolted, as con- 
 trary to their ideas of politeness, of .Mid, 
 almost, of decency. Neither did it pave the way 
 for a pleasant impression when th-y were a<lm: 
 within the Lmi.-e. Mrs. Hinekley had seen the 
 strangers coming, and had hurriedly put -n a clean 
 cap, and pinned a little bright-c< (Inured shawl about 
 her neck. She now came forward to speak with 
 Mr. Moreton, and, wiping out the seats of two 
 chairs, she hai to him and another to -Mary, 
 who had accompanied him. While doing this, tho 
 quick eyes of our friends had wainl.'ivd hither and 
 thither about the room, taking in, at a glance, its 
 present uninviting appearance, and its capabi! 
 for comfort as their own summer roMcm-.- ! The 
 room was about eighteen feet Bquare, but clean and 
 in decent order, though the walls and floor were 
 dilapidated and out of repair. The fire-place was 
 opposite the door. The hearth, of hard-dried clay 
 mortar, was cracked and sunken. The floor was 
 roughly-planed and uneven ; the walls about eight 
 feet high. The sleepers of the chamber-floor were 
 small sticks, like rails, and the boards above rough 
 and full of knots. By the window, there hung a 
 number of small bottles, or phials, some filled and 
 
116 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 others empty, fastened to nails, with strings passed 
 around their necks. Upon the window-seat, there 
 was a piece of chalk, and, on the logs above, a rude 
 kind of scoring the only business memorial of Mr. 
 Hinckley, who thus kept an account of the bushels 
 of wheat and corn he had taken to market. A cheap 
 looking-glass was hung upon the wall, but it \ 
 upside down, and a picture meant to ornament its 
 top did not answer that purpose, because the houses 
 and trees were seen in an inverted position. Under 
 the glass, there was a little table or stand, covered 
 with a white cloth, and upon it there stood a candle- 
 stick ; a brush and comb lay -there, too, and a 
 large piece of beeswax, in whose sides stout threads 
 had, in passing, cut large dents and gashes. Be- 
 sides, there were some horn-buttons, some coarse 
 knitting-work, a snarl of black thread, and a pair of 
 large shears. The chairs that Mrs. Hinckley had 
 offered to her visitors were all that the house af- 
 forded, except a low one, on the seat of which lay a 
 pillow, and, upon the pillow, a little baby. That it 
 might be quiet, an older girl rocked it to and fro, 
 with hard, irregular movements; and, while doing 
 this, it was kept safely in its position by a shawl, 
 which passed over it and under the seat of the chair, 
 holding both baby and pillow tightly in their places. 
 Another child, just able to go alone, was amusing 
 itself upon the bed with a large green glass bottle 
 and a dry ear of corn, in the husk, as playthings, 
 
l.AKKI.AND. 117 
 
 -idering first one, then the other, as dolls, and 
 
 'HIT them with the utmost care. There were 
 
 ] --ds : Uit it was early yet, and they were not 
 
 spread-up for the day ; and the hivakfa.-t-talde was 
 
 still . with the remains of the morning re- 
 
 upm it proving that that repast had been one 
 
 at which no luxury had appeared to tempt or please 
 
 the appetite. 
 
 Whatever their thoughts or fancies, Mr. Moreton 
 
 and Mary were too cor Hit, I line!-; ' 
 
 feelings to express either surprise or pity. It was 
 
 plainly to be seen that poverty and hard labour had 
 
 wrought in her mind <!;- nent and sadness; 
 
 . while she strove to sj> r fully of their 
 
 ling there to live, and praised the melon-patch 
 
 and the young peach-trees and eurrant-lm-hes, that 
 
 If taken care of, as well U 
 
 there were tears in her eyes, and her tones told of 
 disappointment and sorrow. 
 
 It was from no sudden freak of fancy, or desire to 
 move, that Mr. Hinckley had disposed of his farm 
 in Lakeland. lie knew its value and appiv 
 advantages. But his course had been deficient in 
 good judgment, and he was obliged to sell. Having 
 u up too much land at first, he had become em- 
 barrassed for means to pay his yearly taxes. Every 
 year he became more and more involved ; and, see- 
 ing that there was no apparent means of escape from 
 10* 
 
118 LIFE IX THE WEST. 
 
 his liabilities, lie had become d 
 and, with a rash indiscretion, made his condition 
 worse than it need have been saying, that "one 
 might as well be hung for stealing 
 Umb/ 1 This is an old maxim, but an untrue and an 
 unsafe one to act upon. So Mr. Ilinckl.-y found it; 
 for this course had made it unavoidable that his 
 farm should pass from his hands, and, with it, ho 
 had lost his reputation as a good farmer, be 
 contracting habits of indolence and thriftlcssness, 
 that were sure barriers to his future prosperity. 
 The first tool that he left to pass the winter in the 
 field where it was used, and the first door that he 
 allowed to remain off its hinges, were greater losses 
 to him than money could repay ; for they were the 
 beginnings of carelessness the openings to that 
 sloth and heedlessness that were now prominent 
 traits in his character. 
 
 After chatting a few moments with Mrs. Ilinckley, 
 Mr. More ton left the house to seek her husband. 
 Mary, meanwhile, tried to talk with the children ; 
 and, with the aid of kind words and pleasant smiles, 
 had, before his return, so far progressed in acquaint- 
 ance with them, that she had the little one in her 
 lap, and another, shyly sidling up to her, was feel- 
 ing the trimming on her dress, with as much care 
 and caution as if it were some new species of animal, 
 that must be approached by stratagem. 
 

 110 
 
 Robert and Henry we iv still exj'irin;: the lields 
 and w ..;> whrii Mr. ' Mary, ami 1-Yunk 
 
 return-''! t) tlit- inn, rarryini: the plra-ant inti-lli- 
 gcnce that the log-cabin was to bo Driven up to 
 tin-in nn th> f.illn\vinir day, and that, as soon as 
 they j'loa-,;d after that, they could take possession. 
 
120 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE LOG-CAT. IN. 
 
 To make a good and pleasant home may seem, to 
 some of my readers, as a very easy matter. They 
 may think that a family like Mr. Moreton's would 
 have only to place their furniture within their li 
 move in, and the work was done. Others may 
 think that it was impossible to make a comfortable 
 home in such a house as Mr. Ilinckley's Ing-cabin, 
 and that, as the necessary lumber for the new house 
 was already upon the ground, it would be better to 
 wait until it was finished, before taking possession 
 of the premises. 
 
 But with neither of these opinions would Mr. and 
 Mrs. Moreton have agreed. To keep together and 
 to be by themselves were, with them, desirable ob- 
 jects; and, to attain them, they were willing to sub- 
 ject themselves to additional fatigue and care. As 
 they were, the habits of regularity and family order 
 (already broken in upon during their journey) might 
 be forgotten. Idleness was encouraged, too, by the 
 desultory modes of life that are unavoidably seen 
 about a public-house. Charlie already stood by the 
 
THE LOG-CABIN*. 121 
 
 . dn'-.r, with his hands thrust into his pock 
 
 ing to such ch;r 
 
 tii'ii add gather from passers-by or from 
 
 travellers. He, as well as the others, must have cm- 
 
 i something which would interest them 
 and occupy their hands and thoughts. And, above 
 all, 31 r. Mure ton dreaded their becoming familiari. 
 and consequently iudiff i 1 1 sights and 
 
 .ds that are alv, Mid heard in tk 
 
 plans uhere intoxicating liquors are bought and 
 sold. For all tliese reasons, as well as for the I 
 of freedom from observation, they deeided to "move 
 in" a> x.on as possible. 
 
 And now did the strong-bodied and willing "NVinuc 
 in well; for scrubbing and clean- 
 just what she could do, and here there was 
 plenty of it to be done. 
 
 A thin partition was run across the cabin in which 
 
 the lire-place, mak ..,m and 
 
 pantry on one side, and still leaving the larger room 
 
 of sutlicicnt size to answer as the family gathering- 
 
 parlour, sitting-room, and kitchen, all in one. 
 
 Two more windows were cut; and, with the IV 
 
 air, came in the bright sunshine, giving to the apart- 
 
 .t a new and cheerful aspect. The loft above 
 
 was to be used as a store-house for such boxes and 
 
 trunks, chests and provisions, as needed a dry and 
 
 warm place. 
 
 The other cabin was also cleaned thoroughly, and 
 
122 LIFE IN THE AVMST. 
 
 divided into rooms. One of these was appropri- 
 to Susan, Mary, and the little girls; while the other 
 and the room above were to be divid< d the 
 
 boys. No little loving strife of words was t! 
 before the younger lads would consent to occupy the 
 lower room, which was, by far, the best and i 
 pleasant. They declared that " they were of little 
 use, and deserved the worst prii. '''/<//';" while Henry 
 and Robert as loudly avenvd that they intended 
 " to work so hard every day, and to be so tired 
 every ni<_ r ht, that they should e<>nsi<l 1 ;i 
 
 luxury;" and, besides, "they were always sound 
 sleepers." So, finally, it was settled as the older 
 desired. 
 
 It seemed as if every difficulty vanished tb 
 inent they fairly considered it. The little shelf 
 here and the row of stout nails there, the han_ 
 of a curtain, the placing of a trunk in one spot and 
 of a table in another, appeared wonderfully to suit 
 every one and to accommodate every want. Ah ! 
 it was not that, but the spirit of disinter* 
 that smoothed their way and made little sacrifices 
 of personal feeling easy. It was love that lightened 
 their burdens and warmed their hearts each seek- 
 ing to please the others rather than themselves, and 
 cheerfully yielding their own will to the desire of 
 another ! 
 
 A busy and cheerful scene did they present on 
 the morning of the day when they, as a family, 
 
THE LOG-CABIN. 123 
 
 took in of the l'g-h<mse. The carpenter's 
 
 work had been accompli shed, and Whim's serem 
 lal><urs in the cleaning line finished, the day pre- 
 vious; but now she stood leaning over a wa<h-tub, 
 that was placed under the shade nf the only tree 
 near the house, busy at her work, while her children 
 were playing within sight of her maternal eye and 
 within hearing of her voice, as, in rather harsh 
 !ig some Irish melody wild, but not 
 without harmony, as it sounded in tin- ..pen air. 
 meanwhile, was going round, outside of the 
 building, with Mr. Muretnn, carrying a pail full <>f 
 clay-mortar and a wooden trowel manufactured for 
 the occasion ; and, under his direction and superin- 
 tendence, filling up the chinks between the logs. 
 Within. Henry and Frank took turns in using a 
 whitewash-brush, laying the thick, white liquid in 
 smooth, straight stripes upon the di>coluured ! 
 and calling, every minute, to the others, to come 
 and admire their work. 
 
 Robert, meanwhile, with saw and rule in hand, 
 was measuring and fitting up an emptied box with 
 sbelves, and fastening it in a corner near the fire- 
 place. This was to be their cupboard; and Susan's 
 nimble fingers had a chintz curtain hemmed and 
 drawn, ready to hang before it, long before it was 
 finished. Then, with Annie's help, she bung clean 
 white curtains at the little windows ; and upon the 
 little shelf, which had been placed between them 
 
124 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 for the clock, she found room for the Bible and 
 almanac, and for a thermometer. These she called 
 their emigrant fortune utterly indispensable to 
 their comfort and success. 
 
 Mary and Frank had unpacked and washed the 
 crockery, and carefully placed it upon the cupboard- 
 shclves, long before noon ; and Mrs. Moreton had her 
 daughter's aid in arranging their beds and 
 apartments seeing that cadi one was lodged com- 
 fortably, and that they had such conveniences about 
 them as should insure health, and, so far ; 
 stances permitted, comfort. 
 
 But where were Willie and Alice ? Not idle, I 
 can assure you. There were errands to be done 
 from one to another, that kept their little feet run- 
 ning and their tongues busy; there wrr- needles to 
 be threaded, nails and hammers to be In -Id until 
 the moment they were wanted. Then the dinner 
 was to be brought from the village-inn, and Charles 
 and Willie were its bearers. After that, they 
 scoured the knives, and made themselves generally 
 useful about the premises looking up little things 
 to do, which would help the older ones in their 
 work. 
 
 Before sundown, every thing was arranged in their 
 new quarters, and they began to feel at home, as the 
 sight of familiar household articles gave a home- 
 look to the place. . . . The excitement of the day 
 was over, and they were fairly fixed in their Western 
 
TIIK LOG-CABIN. 1-5 
 
 home. The little flickering blaze from the deep 
 chinm.'Y :pon the whitened walls, 
 
 and the lengthened twilight from without streamed 
 in at the open door, showing th.> family group 
 father, mthcr, and children gathered together in 
 the cool of the day, resting from its fatigues weary, 
 but satisfied with the result of their labours, and 
 contented with their present condition, while the 
 futur. ihein, full of hope. 
 
 "How c'.mfortable this is!'' said Mary. "I 
 
 should n thought that, in so short a time, 
 
 such a change could have been made as there has 
 
 n here. When I came out here to see Mrs. 
 
 Iliiu-kley, and knew that, in a LUkft, her 
 
 house was to be our home, I felt discouraged. It 
 
 -siblc to make it (i id, as for 
 
 I thought that, as Uncle Alfred said, l we 
 
 must dispv.-n.se with that, and take it out in boasting 
 
 about the West being a great country.'" 
 
 my hands have made light and quick work 
 here," wa< Mrs. MoreUm's reply, "and willing 
 made it t 
 
 " If any one is to have a compliment, where all 
 have done well," said Mr. Moreton, "it must be 
 given to your mother, my children ; to whose fore- 
 thought and labour, before we left Laurelton, we 
 have been, to-day, so much indebted. To -have se- 
 lected and packed together the very articles we 
 should be likely to need first, and then to remem- 
 11 
 
126 LIFE IN Tin: 
 
 ber just where they were, v, 
 
 and involved much thought and ju<l_ D h r 
 
 part. Perhaps you think it ////y/ >///"/ that t 
 were just dishes enough for us to use, put up in one 
 box, and all the rest put. aw;iy in another ; and that 
 this square piece of carpet, that covers all the middle 
 of this room, and makes it look and ! i'>rt- 
 
 able, was a piece that we have al\vay< had in just 
 this form, and that it came first in th> packftgi 
 carpets as a matter of chance; but I know who ar- 
 ranged both of these things, and many others, of 
 which we have experienced the benefit, both mi our 
 journey and to-day. It took time and made e 
 delay, but she judged, rightly, that it would help us 
 in the end/' 
 
 Mary cast a knowing look at Frank, to s< e if he 
 remembered his impatience; but, though he saw it 
 not, he felt that he had been wnu id 
 
 " I am glad that you have told us thi<. father; 
 for it did seem a great while to wait ; but ir iafeot 
 the first time I have thought that nothing was d<.iiiL r 
 because I was not at work, and have afterwards 
 found out that I was mistaken." 
 
 11 We should have had less to do, if we had not 
 bad so many boxes and chests to stow away/' said 
 Henry. " We have more things than we need. 
 Half we brought is all we can use here." 
 
 " We shall need it all in the new house ; shall we 
 not, father ?" 
 
TIIK 1 127 
 
 Y. e : :>ud much more, I think." 
 
 "But shall we need the new house?" asked 
 ,11. 
 
 "That ivmainstobr replied Mr. Moreton. 
 
 AJ "'! comfortably fixed ; but, as 
 
 tini' ,',1 be cramped for 1-00:11, and, the 
 
 novelty of our position passing away, we shall be 
 more dis; 1 inooiivenieiiCBi than 
 
 at present. It will he more healthful, as well as 
 
 . t. liv in a better house and a lar 
 ]>y the time the now homo is ready, I think we shall 
 be ready 
 
 ' Home is not a house, is it '!" asked Willie. 
 
 , my son. II<>in> has, to us Ann-ric 
 ;-er, fuller si^nilieation than a mere lwellin t L r - 
 lioiis.- a shelter from the weather. We eonsider it 
 
 t'ure from the ] nd eares of life : 
 
 wh- : surrounded by others, who are bound 
 
 to us, and we to them, by the ties of kindred and 
 affection; where the objects that surround us are 
 th"> L ' with which we are pleasantly familiar; and 
 with whose inmates we can have that happy free- 
 dom, in speaking and acting, which springs from a 
 loving heart and good principles." 
 
 " I remember an old saying," said llobert : 
 "Give an Indian a fire, and you give him a home!" 
 
 "Yes, that is true. His wants, in the savage 
 state, are but few. A kind of stoical pride prevents 
 him from exercising any domestic virtues, or acknow- 
 
128 LIFE IN Till; 
 
 lodging that his happiness d ] rnal 
 
 comfort. His wife, or p<iuaw, is ackii"-. > an 
 
 inferior, and agrees to it. His children arc of little 
 account to him; and to be warm and to have f 
 are all that he cares for. Anywhere, if : 
 furnished, he lias his // 
 
 "I wonder what Patrick's idea <.f a hon. 
 said Mary. 
 
 " We shall soon see, for our first duty must he to 
 have a house furnished for him. The village is too 
 far from us for them to stay there long/' 
 
 "Shall you take the carpenters from th'-ir work, 
 upon the frame of our house, to build one fur him;'" 
 
 "No, Henry. For a few weeks, Mr. Ilinckley 
 stays to superintend the farm; and there is little 
 you and Robert to do. I intend to have you and 
 Patrick put up a house for him ; and you can exer- 
 cise your skill and judgment in the matter, ;: 
 you, yourselves, were young, poor emigrants, out 
 here alone, and upon your own responsibility. I 
 will stay to direct about affairs here." 
 
 " First, father, let us put up a passage-way be- 
 tween the two cabins, so that we can pass from one 
 to the other, without going out of do< 
 
 " That is a good idea, Robert ; and you can have 
 some of the rough lumber purchased for the barn, 
 to use." 
 
 " If we build that," said Henry, " why not 
 make it wide enough to put the cooking-stove in, 
 
Tin. :.\. 
 
 and then, in th lnt weather, we can keep this 
 parlour '!" 
 
 'That \vill be 1 Mary. It will be so 
 
 niudi pleasanter and easier; and then," .-he added, 
 tun. -an, ".we ean pull the Oftl that 
 
 rough hrarth, that \. 
 
 -hall like the aiTangem.-nt very much," 
 31 r- .nd L thank you, Il-.bcrt, for plan- 
 
 ning it fur my convenience and comfort." 
 
 "Then it shall be done, and that right speedily; 
 for wbat it pleases you to have, mother, it pi 
 me to d<> 1" 
 
 " That is tbe true home-spirit, Robert/' returned 
 his mother. u Without that feeling on the pa; 
 every member of the family, there is little lion. 
 joy in the doi H words or discon- 
 
 tented h' I; up the pleasure of any family 
 
 for the time; and an habitual f.ir the 
 
 comfort of others, ly indulging in these faults, 
 will destroy fami! . anil harmony; whh 
 
 spirit of disinteres* ppiness in the 
 
 heart of its possessor, even while di.-p'ii.-ing its gi: 
 
 " Are kind actions gii 1 Mary. 
 
 " Yes, my dear, they are truly gifts, and more 
 valuable in diffusing happiness than the most costly 
 presents. Xo actual gift could give me so much 
 gratification as the knowledge that your brothers 
 think of my comfort, and are willing to do something 
 to promote it." 
 
 11* 
 
130 LIFE IN THE WKST. 
 
 "I suppose it is the good-will manifested that 
 always makes a present acceptable." 
 
 "I think it is, even to tlm.-o wh< :TC ac- 
 
 tually supplied by such gifts. A needy or poor 
 person will Value a kind word or svmpathi, 
 which accompanies the aid bestowed, quite a> much 
 as the charity itself, and will gratefully remember it 
 much longer. To those who ar 
 what are usually called presents, th<Te is noth 
 whieh awakens more uncomfortable feeling than an 
 appearance of superiority." 
 
 "We can all bestow beautiful gifts upon 
 other, then, every day," said Annie. , ing 
 
 and trying to help one another/' 
 
 "And when we get acquainted, we can give such 
 splendid presents to eveiybody about us ! Why, 
 Frank, you did not tell of that elegant one yu and 
 Charles made to the old woman that live- by the 
 roadside, between us and Mrs. IJluke's; I mean the 
 one that the children call Aunt llac-ht-l.'' 
 
 " To tell of such gifts would spoil them. Willie," 
 answered Frank. 
 
 "Not for me to tell of yours; would it, father? 
 At any rate, I must tell of this, if only fur the sake 
 of the compliment the old woman gave you. When 
 we were coming here, yesterday, we saw Aunt Ea- 
 chel, out in front of the house, splitting wood. She 
 was at work on a green, knotty stick, and the hatchet 
 that she was using did not cut very well. Frank 
 
A1MN. 
 
 and asked II-T 
 uldn't like to have him el. her. 
 
 i j-n-tty - ' 
 
 . 1 can tell you, Mak- 
 
 ing fan . ' i\v that' In- Wpfl in 
 
 . ;:li'l ll-a: Her 
 
 little grandson, who is a' M in 
 
 'n.uight out an ax too 
 
 r her to i; 1, in 
 
 ha-1 h-r a couple f annsful 
 
 of wood cut, which tli in, and j.ut down 
 
 on tlie heart 1.. ; f\ know, 
 
 v.hat she thought al I to 
 
 surprise her; I iid, (nee <r twice, "Ah! I 
 
 ain't p'-i^py-jiL % 
 
 31 r. 
 had won, and cnimiieiided th.- a; tiun. 
 
 " I am glad y,u had it in y'ur ]m \vt-r t.i confer 
 !1 favour; f r it was to her, no doubt, 
 a favour. By this one litt!.- j-ro- 
 
 ba' ' a friend; and, if she sees nothing in 
 
 you hereafter to counteract its iniiui-nce, ln-r friend- 
 is yours and our's for life; for, in the public 
 estimation, we are i u a family, and, for 
 
 good or evil, the acts of each will affect the whole. 
 I have seen Aunt llachel, and Mrs. Blake told mo 
 of her, as our nearest neighbour. God, who has 
 liberally bestowed blessings upon us ; has made her 
 
132 LIFE IX THE WEST. 
 
 lot to differ from mir's. She i^ alone and poor. 
 "With that little grandson eliniring to her, as lii.s 
 only friend, she has laid upon her the heavy burd-n 
 of her past bereavements and sorrows, and the care 
 of his and her own support. Perhaps neither you 
 nor I can otimate the value to her of a kind action 
 or word ; f<r we know nothing of tin- discourage- 
 ment and anxiety that extreme poverty brings, nor 
 of the heart-.-inkings that must come, with its per- 
 plexities, in the time of old age and failing 
 But Frank was right in thinking that such a< ' 
 
 d by boasting of them spoiled in the sight 
 of God, who looks upon the heart and j 
 
 ives. Our little Annie might have seen the old 
 
 trouble with the wood, and not have 1 
 able to help her, as your brothers did; yet the de- 
 sire to do >o might have been as strong and as : 
 from selfishness as their's ; and both would have 
 pleased God, because the heart was right, and the 
 spirit such as Christ manifested in his intercourse 
 with men. 
 
 " Let the heart, then, be right ; let it be kept 
 with all diligence ; let it be purified from selfishness 
 by the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, and our eyes 
 will be opened to a sense of others' wants and de- 
 sires : then good actions will follow naturally. We 
 all know where and how to seek for this purification 
 of our souls. By earnest prayer to God for the gift 
 of his spirit, and as earnest effort to follow its guid- 
 
THE L<><;-rADIX. 
 
 133 
 
 ance, we shall not fail to become free from the do- 
 minion of selfishness ; f<>r the love of Jesus, our 
 
 lour, is pledged, and his inteive>siin j.roml- 
 for our help and our uid. Our nn-n /*/,-/* nill ih>t 
 be made peaceful and happy ; then our /i''tu> will be 
 bright, through the manifestation of our own joy; 
 and the circle of our influence will he extruded, and 
 those who observe us will gradually be Ird to feel 
 that peace, happiness, and prosperity are alone to 
 be found in a calm, quiet, but steady performance of 
 every duty towards God and man, whi!-- tin- heart 
 be, for comfort and support in this life, and for 
 
 ition in that which is to come, solely upon tho 
 merits of a crucified Redeemer." 
 
134 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 PATRICK'S HOME. 
 
 " No, Patrick ! Not a shanty ! I don't like them; 
 but a good log-cabin, such as becomes the country 
 built as well and as substantially as we can do it. 
 That is my idea of a house for you; and, now, 
 where shall it be ?" 
 
 Thus .said Robert, as he, with Henry and Patrick, 
 stood together in the woods, with their working- 
 frocks on, and spades over their shoulders. Through 
 the land that 31 r. 31 ore ton owned there was running 
 a little brook, which, though in the summer months 
 it dwindled away to a mere tiny streamlet, yet, after 
 a rain, it rapidly filled, and ran its course over its 
 pebbly bed merrily enough. Near its bank, Patrick 
 chose to have his residence, and there they decided 
 it should be. 
 
 The first thing undertaken was the digging of a 
 cellar. This, to Patrick, seemed totally unneces- 
 sary, for "a potato-heap" was as good as any cellar, 
 in his estimation \ but neither Robert nor Henry 
 would consent to such an arrangement, Two 
 days' work, and the cellar was dug; another day, 
 
PATRICK'S HOME. Io5 
 
 and it was logged with good white-oak logs, so that 
 it looked tidy, and the danger of its sides caving in 
 
 obviated. Then they cut forty logs of the same 
 length ; roughly hewed them on two sides ; stripped 
 the bark from them, that there might be fewer har- 
 bours for the insects and bugs, (which are often so 
 troublesome in a new country;) notched their ends, 
 and piled them up, one above another, fitting them 
 at the corners, until they formed a square enclosure j 
 ten feet high. Then a ride to a neighbouring swamp 
 and a day's work were i .to get some tama- 
 
 rac poles, to lay across as supporters f.r the chamber- 
 floor. Two more logs gave the r< jui it to 
 the back and front of the building. Tam 
 were joined together in the middle, and, with a 
 gentle slope, met opposite corners of the building, 
 leaving the height of the centre of the room nearly 
 eiiiht feet, The gable ends were boarded in with 
 split stuff, leaving a window on each >ide. Split 
 clapboards were laid on th . their lower 
 
 s overlapping each other. Tlu-e, at regular in- 
 tervals, were fastened by slender tamara- j..,lcs laid 
 across, and nailed at the ends, forming what is called 
 a " shaky roof" 
 
 door was cut in the centre of the front side of 
 cabin, and another, just opposite to it, on the 
 back. Two windows were made, having each 
 twelve lights. The floor was of sawed lumber, laid 
 on hewn sleepers, with a trap-door in one corner, to 
 
136 LIFE IX THE \VEST. 
 
 go into the cellar, and a ladder, or steps, to the loft 
 above, near it. The establishment began now to look 
 quite like a house; but it was not yet done. T; 
 was still the clihilcuuj, or filling up of the openings 
 between the logs, (which must necessarily be left, 
 because of their irregularities,) with bits of split 
 stuff, or chips, or small rails, and then covering it 
 smoothly over with clay-mortar. r task f>r 
 
 them was to build a chimney. This was to be made on 
 the outside of the house ; and, as they had but little 
 stone, and bricks w r ere expensive, they were obliged 
 to make it of logs, covered with thick coatings of 
 clay. A frame, the size of the fire-; 
 was made of boards; another frame, ti 
 shape, but smaller in porarily G 
 
 within it, leaving a space 1- the two. ] 
 
 was filled with moist clay and nidi bits of stone or 
 brick as they could gather t ..htly 
 
 down, and forming one solid, compact m -u-th 
 
 of the same material, and the ends of the cut 
 well plastered over, made this, when dry, a Baft an I 
 neat-looking fire-place. Above, out of the reach of 
 the fire, the chimney was of sticks covered with clay. 
 A little shanty was built over ^the back-door, 
 with a shelf, and a piece of plank fastened ugauut 
 the side of the house, to answer &~4* 
 finished the work of the young 9tm"; and it was 
 with no little pleasure that they viewed it. Count- 
 ing their own labour as nothing, it had cost them 
 
HOME. ^7 
 
 but little. The logs were taken from a field which 
 31 r. llinckley had begun to clear. The digging, 
 splitting, and >awing they themselves had accom- 
 plished. With some aid in drawing and raising the 
 logs, and some little expense for nails, window- 
 franie>, and i_ r la-s and the lumber for the floors, it 
 was the work of their own hands the creation of 
 their own industry; and no workmen on a myal pa- 
 ; more delighted than they with their 
 
 1688. 
 
 Whine's admiration equalled their's, and fully 
 ivpaid ihrin f..r their labour. It is true that the 
 poor woman had little or nothing to put in the 
 hniiM.', save her hu.-band and ehildn-n ; ;, 
 afortable feeling a oriuted with th 
 a habitation nf In r own; and it seemed t< giT6 h-T 
 new life and the change that a little 
 
 encouragement and a few words of kindness had 
 wrought upon her husband. When Mr. Mreton 
 came to see them, after they 
 he found Tatriek and Winne, with the children, 
 
 ed outside of the door, apparently as hap]-;. 
 
 hly prosperity can make mortals cnntented to 
 work, if work could be provided, but with no thrift 
 ttor judgment, either in seeking labour, or making the 
 bodily vigour and strength they possessed available 
 for their own comfort. 
 
 And thus it is with many a poor foreigner, whose 
 
 wants have driven him into this Western world, 
 12 
 
138 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 whose means are all consumed in the mere ycttiny 
 there, and whose want of education and habits of life 
 have totally unfitted him to act for himself. Alas ! 
 that even his religion, superstitious and cruel to his 
 own soul, should, in so many instances, have been u<e< 1 
 further to degrade the man; and, instead of exalting 
 and purifying the spirit, should have been, in the hands 
 of a crafty priesthood, subservient only to the deepen- 
 ing and darkening of the benighted, sinful heart, and 
 to the stupifying of every sensibility, so that he can 
 be led, like a beast, hither and thither, at the will of 
 those who stand between God and his soul ! 
 
 How easily such can fall into the hands of the 
 wicked and designing, it is not difficult to see. But, 
 thanks be to God ! better influences may also be suc- 
 cessfully exerted upon them. A well-disposed, honest, 
 benevolent employer; one who gi . net cha- 
 
 rity; who, by a timely word, encourages habits of 
 industry, and gradually lays the foundation for in- 
 crease of knowledge and the growth of good principle; 
 and who, by his example, is constantly making known 
 the benefits of well-directed labour, integrity, and up- 
 rightness, such a man is doing a mis-ion a ry work : 
 a work in which the hearts of all lovers of their coun- 
 try must bid him God-speed; a work which is laying 
 deep and sure the foundations of national prosperity. 
 And his influence is felt, not only over the few with 
 whom he personally comes in contact, but over all 
 who are witnesses of the rapid and sure improve- 
 
PATRICK'S HOME. 139 
 
 mcnts that usually follow his endeavours to do good 
 
 11 opportunity. 
 
 Nor is " the bread thus cast upon the waters'' 
 never found. In a country where progress is 
 speedy, where change follows change in quick suc- 
 tion, tlie "many days" dwindle to a few; and 
 Ir. Moreton begun, not only to feel re- 
 i for his trouble and the risk he had run in en- 
 :iploy one who seemed so ignorant, so 
 poor, and so needy, but he was also receiving the 
 lii>t fruits of the promise, "He that watereth, shall 
 be watered also him>elf," in the earnest and success- 
 ful < n of Patrick and Winne to make them- 
 selves useful ; and to please their 
 benefactors. 
 
 Though their first object was, now, to testify their 
 gratitude, yet, under its influence, there were spring- 
 ing up pleasant manife.-tati'iiis of neatness and >tea<ly 
 application. They began to think more of each oti. 
 comfort, and to feel as if their children were of u, 
 
 A praiM-wm-thy ambition was aroused, 
 and they were willing to seek for information and 
 advice from those who had proved themselves friendly. 
 Pan-irk was bound by no promise to Mr. Moreton; 
 nor was Mr. Moreton obliged to retain him longer 
 than he was willing to work. The rent of his 
 house and his family's support from the farm were 
 his wages for the first year, with the understanding 
 that either the house or its worth in money should 
 
140 LIFE IN TUP: WEST. 
 
 be given him at its close, if he was faithful to his 
 employer. After that, he was to be paid, with a 
 regular yearly increase of wages, in such way as 
 they might, at the time, agree upon. But it was 
 not in wages alone that Mr. Moreton's family helped 
 Patrick McConey. Susan showed Winne how to fit 
 neat dresses for herself and the children, and, out, of 
 her own wardrobe, helped their deficiencies. Mary's 
 voice directed about the scanty furniture of the 
 bin, showing how it could be cleansed and made 
 more available for comfort. It was Robert who 
 helped put the fence in order in front of the house, 
 and who promised little Pat a penny a week to keep 
 the pigs out of the yard. It was Henry who sold 
 the old horses and wagon, and somehow made the 
 money received for them go far enough to buy a 
 cow and two young steers, that, in a few y 
 would be of great value to Patrick. It was Annie 
 that would look after the toddling little ,,ne, when 
 AVinne came to the house to work, and Annie who 
 taught it and little Patrick their letters from one of 
 her own story-books; while Mrs. M>ivtni patiently 
 drilled the mother in the best way of doing house- 
 work, and taught her how to prepare food accom- 
 plishments in which, like too many of her country- 
 women, she was strangely deficient. 
 
 Thus it was that they sought to insure their con- 
 fidence and gain their respect, hoping that, these be- 
 ing secured, they might be instrumental in leading 
 
ME. 141 
 
 them in the way of life; and that, while they 
 trusted them as friends who were solicitous for 
 their earthly welfare, they would also learn to view 
 with favour any efforts which, in the days to come, 
 they might make f..r the!: .1 c. nversi.ui. 
 
 Ignorance and superstition have ever gone hand in 
 hand, and he is wi.-e who seeks Almighty aid be- 
 fore attacking its strongholds in the heart of one 
 who ha- been trained i;i the i ';. l>aily 
 
 were these benighted on- s r- I before (I 
 
 as the Morcton family a t uibled for \vor- 
 
 shij . and wisdom v>\ 
 
 .at tliey i : , of them so live I 
 
 recommend the religion of ,K'.-ns, the religion of the 
 J3> J )le. around them. 
 
 12* 
 
142 LIFE IX THE WEST. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 IN this century of the world, and in our own be- 
 loved country, it is difficult to find, and more difficult 
 to retain, a home without neighbours. Yerv few are 
 there to whom companionship and social intercourse 
 are undesirable. Man is (as has been often said) 
 "a gregarious animal," drawn to his fellow-man by 
 ties of sympathy and interest. lie needs 1 
 ance he craves his friendship. A life of seclusion 
 has few charms for a healthy, vigorous mind : it has 
 no attractions for a man who is intent on bettering 
 his condition, and on rising in the world. Thus we 
 see, in the great AVest, that a farm near a settlement 
 is always sought for. If that settlement is likely to 
 increase and become of importance, so much the 
 better. As farmers, men are there neeessarily 
 scattered and hidden from the sight of travellers,, as 
 well as from each other; but an elect ion-day, a 
 court-week, or a Fourth-of-July celebration will 
 draw together, in any county, many men, women, 
 and children, who, living a little on one side or the 
 other of the highway, are seldom seen ; save on such 
 
BBOTTR8. 14 J 
 
 occasions. It was the number drawn together by 
 the return of our national holiday, that first gave 
 our friends any idea of those by whom they were 
 surrounded. Without any arrangement for their 
 entertainment, there was a general fivling among 
 the people that it should be a day of recreation, ;md 
 sort to the village was as natural as it was cer- 
 tain. Here they loitered about, lingering at the 
 tavern, strolling up and down, chatting with each 
 other, until a party of young people arriving, who 
 had a violin-player with them, they had a dance in 
 the ci'"rf-/t"n.wl The grocery-store was a place of 
 attraction to the men; and Mr. Blake's bar-room 
 had many in it, who went away less sober than they 
 came. But there was no quarrelling. What of 
 evil appeared was from want of something good or 
 useful to do ; and Mr. Moreton's eye was quick to 
 discern this, and his heart as qui< !ve that 
 
 another year, if life and health vd him, 
 
 it should be otherwise, and that they who came to- 
 gether should, at least, have the choice between evil 
 and good. 
 
 But, this time, he could do little but obtain an 
 introduction to some of the people; and then, going 
 home, he, with his family, sought r place in 
 
 the adjoining woods, and played gipsy-life, by boiling 
 their tea-kettle and spreading their table beneath 
 the green trees; while Charles, Willie, and Alice 
 wandered off, and soon brought back a plentiful sup- 
 
144 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 ply of field-strawberries. Before they partook of 
 their repast, they were all crowned with garlands of 
 bright flowers, made by Mary's skilful hands, and 
 fantastic wreaths were about the shoulders of the 
 little girls; while Frank, with a huge bouquet in 
 his button-hole, made an extempore address on 
 Liberty; and, joining hands, they all, with great 
 energy and zeal, sang "Hail Columbia" to their 
 mother, wlio was their only auditor, and who after- 
 wards returned her thanks for the great honour 
 they had done her, and invited them, one and all, 
 to partake of the feast spread for them. ]>< 
 they were through, who should come but Patrick 
 and Winne, who had heard the voices, and were 
 drawn towards them by their desire both to see 
 what was going on and to help, if they could ; and 
 they were just in time to have their share of the 
 supper, and to gather up for them the things brought 
 from the house. 
 
 Thus passed their first Independence-day in In- 
 diana. But it was not of this we designed only to 
 tell. Their pleasures, this day, had been shared by 
 none but themselves, but thus they did not desire 
 that it should always be. 
 
 Their immediate neighbours on one side were few, 
 for their farm was a large one ; but between them 
 and the village there were several families, and the 
 village people themselves were not far away. For 
 the first few weeks ; all advances made towards ac- 
 
NKKJHKOURS. 145 
 
 re on their part. They showed them- 
 selves to be friendly, by a pleasant recognition of 
 those whom they had ever met, and by a manifest 
 desire to extend their knowledge of those around 
 them ; and, in due time, this course had the effect 
 to draw out the good feeling and hospitality of 
 r.th. -r.<. Airs. Blake, the landlady of the village- 
 inn, has already been introduced to our readers; 
 but we may here speak of her steady, constant 
 friendliness, and of that value and esteem that grew 
 :iey knew her better. IK r husband was an in- 
 temperate man, idle in his habits, and little to be 
 depended on; but she, with energy and self-denial, 
 laboured on, hoping almost against hope for him, and 
 doing what she could to remedy the evils of his ex- 
 ample upon his children. Her's was no easy life. 
 To maintain the reputation of their house, (upon 
 which their support depended,) to restrain and guide 
 the restless minds of her children, and, with inge- 
 nuity and ceaseless care> to watch over her husband's 
 course, oftentimes preventing those drunk. -n carou- 
 sals which he called frolic*, this was her task, and 
 who shall say that it was easy, or the burden light ? 
 Directly across the street from her, lived a lawyer 
 ll ' Sytiii-r Thomas," as he was styled a man of 
 talents and well educated; but d with his 
 
 home in the West. His property had become so 
 involved with the place in which he lived, that he 
 could not, without sacrifice, leave Lakeland. He 
 
146 LIFE IX THE TV'EST. 
 
 had health, a good profession, and was steadily ac- 
 quiring riches ; but the poison of discontent mingled 
 with his cup of mercies, and he knew not that that 
 poison was placed there by his own hand, that its 
 fountain was in his own heart, and that, go whither 
 he would, the stream would still flow. Mrs. Thomas 
 scarcely knew her neighbours, and her children as- 
 sociated but little with others of their age ; while 
 the reputation of the whole family was that of 
 proud, overbearing people, who felt as if they were 
 of more consequence than their neighbours. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Stetson were plain, straight-forward, 
 honest, industrious people, originally from Peni; 
 vania, but residents of Lakeland since it became a 
 town. They began with only a small capital ; but, 
 as a merchant or trader, he had 
 able competency. There vras Mr. Trufant, another 
 merchant, and Mr. Jilaek, still another buth of 
 whom had families, and were ] in their 
 
 worldly concerns. There was l>r. Mason, a man of 
 limited education, but of strong good sense kind- 
 hearted, and in earnest to relieve suffering; and 
 Mrs. Mason, who warmly seconded his endeavours 
 to make both sick people well and well people 
 happy. There was Mr. John Dudley, a young law- 
 yer, who boarded with Mrs. Blake a man of edu- 
 cation and intelligence, seeking his fortune far 
 away from his home. There was Mr. Stabler, a 
 German house-builder, who called his workmen from 
 
147 
 
 their employment, when dinner was read}', with the 
 sweetest notes upon a French horn. There was the 
 little German shoemaker, whose wife was a native 
 of the State, and who counted the ages of her chil- 
 dren by the running of the sap of the sugar-maple, 
 saying that little "Dora was nine years old, last 
 run, and Herman would be three, come the 
 next." There was Mr. Klagden, the school-teacher 
 for the time, but intending soon to return to his 
 farm, which he had left only on account of ill 
 health. There was Aunt Rachel, of whim w have 
 \en before; and, ju.-t beyond her, a French 
 family lived, miserably poor an-i 
 were but a part of the neighbours by whom 31 r. 
 M oreton's family was surrounded, but sufficient to 
 A- the variety of life that they would meet with. 
 Among them all, there were, doubtless, those 
 whom they should learn to love and respect, and the 
 disposition to do so was not wanting in our friends. 
 That some of the homes of these j n. -itlu-r 
 
 neat nor tidy, and that, in most of them, tln-iv was 
 evident little ambition to Inn ///.<///// 1,. 
 
 is true. One or two rooms were made to accommo- 
 date a whole family; but, living in the same way 
 themselves, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Moreton could find 
 fault with it. One thing they did observe and no- 
 tice, viz. that there was lacking neither capabilities 
 nor the ambition to improve ; but that, beneath the 
 cumbrous load of labour and care thrown upon them, 
 
148 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 the people were seen to great disadvantage; and 
 that, year by year, the increased advantages of their 
 condition and the possession of conveniences for 
 performing labour, would give them more freedom 
 from fatigue, and leisure to develop those tastes, 
 which were not dead, but hidden by the necessity 
 that now existed to supply actual physical wants. 
 
 "There is nothing here to discourage us," 
 Mrs. Moreton, "or to disappoint our expectations in 
 regard to social intercourse with those about us. 
 Neither for ourselves nor our children need we IV-ar 
 that we shall be lonely, or without the advantages 
 of others' friendship. If we hear of village factions 
 and quarrels, they need not be our's; and, if home- 
 is pleasant to the boys, they will hardly run to the 
 grocery or ball-room for soci- 
 
 "I own that 1 have sonir t'-arsthat the monotony 
 of life may be tedious to Koli-Tt and Henry, and that 
 Mary, with her fastidion many th' 
 
 to disgust her with so rude a life as that alout 
 said Mr. Moreton. 
 
 " I have little fear for our sons, until the house 
 and farm are in good order. Employment, full 
 employment, is the best safeguard against the evil 
 tendency of youthful restlessness; and work is 
 abundant with us now, and will be for two years to 
 come. Beside, under the influence of Christian 
 principle, as we hope they are, they are learning to 
 look upon those about them as creatures of God, 
 
NEIGHBOT 149 
 
 whom, on no account, may they neglect or despise. 
 Will not this keep them from being weary of their 
 daily life ?" 
 
 "But Mary and you? Will you be satisfied 
 here ?" 
 
 " Do not fear for us. Susan supplies the need of 
 a companion to both of us, and she is happy always. 
 Mary came with an aggravated idea of the loneli- 
 ness and misery she might find here. It was, to her, 
 like leaving a paradise for a desert. Every thing is 
 far better and more agreeable than she looked for, 
 and the reaction is favourable for her. So far, she 
 is perfectly satisfied more than that, pleased with 
 the change. For myself, I need nothing more for 
 my happiness than to see you all happy. A wife 
 and a mother need look no farther than her own 
 fireside for society ; yet there are resources open for 
 me beyond this. Already instances of good it i-linis 
 of amiability, and of native refinement have come 
 under my notice among our acquaintances here. I 
 have seen energy and hope exhibited, and powers 
 of self-denial and endurance manifested, which have 
 compelled my admiration, even while I owned that 
 I was not equal to them." 
 
 " It was my strong desire for your happiness that 
 has made me anxious/' replied Mr. Moreton. "I 
 am neither discouraged nor disheartened myself; but 
 I feared for you." 
 
 " Then fear no longer, I beg of you. ( The good 
 
 13 
 
150 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 time coming' will be as powerful a motive with us 
 as with our neighbours ; and I am thankful that we 
 are here now, when Lakeland is in its transition- 
 state. A few years more, and our influence would 
 have been lost, for its character will then be fixed. 
 As There is 
 
 * A tide in the affairs of men, 
 
 "Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune,' 
 
 so there is with places and towns. Now is the time 
 to work for Lakeland, and now is the time that work- 
 ing will do us good prove our patience 1 , a\vak<-u our 
 powers of judgment, and impress upon our children 
 a sense of responsibility to man and God." 
 
 "You are right in your judgment ; and, if it is 
 blessed to be permitted to labour, how thankful 
 should we be for the gracious gospel, in which is 
 our only sure hope of success! Never, until I came 
 here, have I realized its full tendency to reform and 
 elevate society, or the ennobling influence of a cor- 
 dial belief in Christianity. To each individual, the 
 message it brings is one of love. It tells him that, 
 as the possessor of an immortal soul, he is of the 
 highest importance ; that, for that soul, Christ died 
 for its salvation he now intercedes. Why should 
 he despise himself, or debase the spirit for which 
 God cares ? Why should he despair, when eternal 
 life is offered on terms so simple so sure ? How 
 can he be thoughtless, when his way is watched by 
 Jesus himself, and that with eyes of divine love ? 
 
NEIGHBOURS. 151 
 
 How can he be careless of his words or actions, 
 when he realizes that they are to influence his eter- 
 nal state ? Only once impress upon his mind the 
 great truth of his immortality, and fix it there, with 
 the knowledge of Jesus as his Saviour, and personal 
 thought, personal responsibility, personal hope, and 
 personal effort will be aroused. Oh ! the blessed 
 gospel of Christ, that can awaken attention, that 
 can sustain under trying effort, that can comfort in 
 tribulation and sorrow, and assure of ultimate suc- 
 
 aud eternal salvation ! 
 
 " Under its influence, how small appear tho out- 
 ward circumstances with which a gracious God has 
 I fit to invest each soul ! I hope that wo shall 
 all be enabled to see this, and that the valur of each 
 immortal spirit will be manifest to us. W-- 
 help it in its struggle, we may guide it in its cii 
 we may win its confidence; our example may be a 
 co-worker with the spirit of God ; our words may fix 
 or dissipate serious impressions ; our actions may 
 lead into temptation. Together made in tho image 
 of God together sinners in his sight together we 
 niay be heirs of a blessed immortality ! With what 
 a vast interest does this thought invest our own per- 
 sonal effort our every-day intercourse with our 
 neighbours ! May God grant us the desire and 
 the strength to be faithful I" 
 
152 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THOMAS REVERE. 
 
 IT was under the influence of sentiments such as 
 those expressed in the last chapter, that Mr. Moreton 
 looked around him for opportunities to do good. To 
 combat existing plans of operation was not, in his 
 opinion, wise or desirable. He deemed it better to 
 fall in with those already in progress, and help in 
 the carrying out of schemes that had been arranged 
 by others, whose longer residence in the country, 
 and greater knowledge of the prevailing modes of 
 thought and action, made them better judges of 
 what was likely to be successful. When fairly 
 initiated himself, he could propose changes, if he 
 then thought such changes would add any value to 
 projects already started, or invest them with increased 
 attractions. Nor was he willing to awaken envy or ill- 
 will, or to excite comment, by assuming any promi- 
 nent place in the community, without it was sure to 
 add to his usefulness. 
 
 The Sabbath, as a day of worship, must have its 
 due observance by his family, or they would not be 
 satisfied. There was no church, no religious ser- 
 
THOMAS UKYl.Ui:. 
 
 a-iing of the people for prayer and 
 praise, the Sabbath after their arrival. AVhy 
 
 Had ?dr. Moreton forgotten it, when deciding 
 upon Lakeland as a residence, or had he deemed it 
 a ry consideration? Neither. At the time 
 he purchased his farm, there was a missionary 
 labouring there, and a little church of seven mem- 
 - hud gathered thems-lves under his ministra- 
 tions. It was with great regret that our frii 
 found, <>n their arrival, that he had left the little 
 flock, discouraged and disheartened himself, because 
 he ) little progress, and had 
 
 the little baud of Christians hardly less de- 
 1 than he himself. The variety 
 of denominational feeling had prevented unity of 
 whose feelings were iu harmony 
 had been too poor to build a church or support a 
 minister. A Sabbath-school had been organized, 
 and was again re-opened with the returning spri 
 but it was feebly sustained, for want of interest in 
 the people. 
 
 To become members of this, in whatever capacity 
 they might, was the determination of our friends; 
 and, accordingly, the first Sabbath after their arrival, 
 31 r. 3Ioreton, with all his children, were there. 
 
 It was held at five o'clock in the afternoon, and 
 
 their party was too large to escape notice, as they 
 
 rod the room and found their seats. A Mr. 
 
 Johnson was the superintendent, and the cordial 
 
 13* 
 
154 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 " I am glad to see you 1" with which he welcomed 
 them, was from the heart. He soon placed Susan 
 with a little class about her, Annie and Alice 
 among the number. Mary found a seat among the 
 older girls under Mrs. Stetson's care, but they w- 
 with one exception, much younger than herself. 
 Robert and Henry entered themselves, as the nucleus 
 about which a Bible-class might gather, under the 
 instructions of their father; and right glad v. 
 they, when John Dudley, the young lawyer, having 
 seen them go into the school-house, followed and 
 took his place by them. Places for the younger 
 lads were found, which suited them; and such an 
 accession to their numbers and strength could not 
 fail to give new life and vigour to the whole school. 
 At the commencement of the school, Mr. Moreton 
 was requested to offer prayer; aud when the simple 
 hymn was read, and, in uncertain, faint, and tremu- 
 lous tones, the children began to sing, Mary's sweet, 
 clear voice, accustomed to guiding the notes of 
 younger and feebler voices, joined with them, 
 giving character and correctness to the harmony. 
 
 As Robert lingered at the close of the school, 
 waiting for his father's company home, Mr. John- 
 son expressed the hope that they might be able to 
 give him a class soon. 
 
 "I would rather stay where I am," was Robert's 
 reply. " I am not too old to be a learner ; and we 
 may be able ta gather a Bible-class together/' 
 
THOMAS UKVKRE. 155 
 
 That foolish pride that makes one ashamed to ac- 
 knowledge his best feelings, and leads to the con- 
 cealment of his purest affections and most valuable 
 impulse's, had no place in Hubert's mind. His was 
 true independence of heart true manliness. lie 
 loved his home he loved his family circle. The 
 i-aints that parental watchfulness imposed, he 
 felt to be safeguards to his prosperity ; and would 
 on no account have shaken them off as impediments 
 in the path of pleasure. Nor did the spirit of world- 
 ^s or vanity prevent his making the interests of 
 his home his objects of attraction, or the fear of 
 criticism or ill-natured remark hinder his associating 
 with those who were younger or more ignorant than 
 himself. 
 
 Straight-forward and with honesty of purpose, he 
 pursued his way, seeking no distinction and asking 
 for no notoriety yet, when called upon by circum- 
 stances, he could openly defend the right, and, with 
 what ability he possessed, maintain his cause. They 
 had been in Lakeland several months, when, one 
 evening, Robert went to the village grocery -store to 
 procure some family necessary, and found himself 
 thrown into a new, and, to him, strange scene. 
 
 Drunkenness still prevails too widely over our 
 fair land, and, year by year, lays low the fortunes 
 and prospects of many, to whom life opened with 
 the brightest expectations and the highest hopes. 
 
 Such could be found in Lakeland. Among others, 
 
156 LIFE IX THE 
 
 there was one, scarcely thirty years of age, who, by 
 great and continued indulgence, had earned for him- 
 self the nickname of " Whisky Tom/' He \\ 
 native of New England. His i-arly life or family 
 friends were unknown to the Lakflan-1 people. It 
 was evident that he had received a complete colle- 
 giate education, and equally evident that his dissi- 
 pated habits had rendered that education of no avail 
 to him. He came to the West with money to pur- 
 chase a small farm, and to build upon it a frame- 
 house. This farm lay some miles out of the village, 
 and was rented to a family, with whom he iv-ided, 
 and who were his assistants about the farm. At 
 first, he pursued his business diligently, and Thomas 
 Revere was known only as a moderate drink / . An 
 occasional glass at the tavern or grocery counter, a 
 drink with a friend, orata raising or hu.-' yed 
 
 no strong habits of intemperance ; but, soon, longer 
 tarryiugs where it could be found and nmiv fiv^uent 
 visits, were noticeable. Then, the bottle was brought 
 in his pocket, that it might be filled to carry home. 
 The bottle became too small, and a jug was now 
 openly carried in his hand. Two years passed, and 
 he entered upon the third with few friends, except 
 his boon companions ; with little ability and less in- 
 tention of labouring daily for his bread ; and with 
 " the chains of the monster" firmly riveted on his 
 neck ! One more year, and he lost all control over 
 his property ; for the farm, nominally his own, was 
 
THOMAS REVERE. 157 
 
 1 1 v mortgages and incumbrances, that it 
 was actually in the possession of those who had sup- 
 plied his craving thirst and fed the flames that were 
 now consuming him. Yet he was suffered to live 
 there unmolested ; for his personal effects were of 
 some value, and the money-making rumseller would 
 fain have all ! Such was the state of Thomas Re- 
 vere's affairs on the arrival of Mr. Moreton's family 
 in Lakeland. Prematurely infirm and broken-down 
 in physical strength, his mind shattered, but reveal- 
 ing, in moments of partial inebriation, its former 
 brilliant powers, he needed only the stimulus of one 
 or two glasses to call forth his powers of argumenta- 
 tion and the quick repartee and bright sallies of 
 wit that showed the man of talent. 
 
 Under such an influence was it that Robert .' 
 ton first encountered him. The village store was 
 quiet ; though, within it, as he entered, he found 
 nil men, with " Whisky Tom," each holding 
 their glasses, and drinking, more or less eagerly, 
 their contents. Behind the counter, stood the store- 
 keeper, marking the new score against Revere, who, 
 with his accustomed liberality, was /// ntin<j them all. 
 He started upon Robert's entrance, and, with mock 
 obsequiousness, bowed twice or thrice nearly to the 
 floor. The salutation was coolly but civilly re- 
 turned, and Robert passed on to do his errand. 
 But he was interrupted. With his own unsteady 
 hand did the half-drunken man fill an empty glass, 
 
158 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 and, in high-flown phrase, loudly invited Robert 
 to participate in their carousal, and honour him by 
 taking a glass of whisky ! 
 
 "I never drink whisky," was Robert's laconic 
 reply ; for he sought quickly to terminate this (to 
 him) disgusting scene. 
 
 " Not whisky ! Then, what may it please your 
 honourable worship to have ? Rum, brandy, gin, 
 wine, cordial ?" and he ran through the list of 
 liquors displayed upon the shelf. 
 
 " Neither," said Robert, politely; " 1 o 
 water man !" 
 
 Revere was not so easily to be set a 
 tossing off the contents of the glass, its heating ;' 
 running through his veins, he still per>i.>tnl in offer- 
 ing him a glass, until, from invitation, it I 
 to assume the character of entreaty, and af 
 that of threats, if he would not drink with him. 
 
 In this crisis, what could our young friend do ? To 
 turn and go without accomplishing his purpose- i 
 rand, would only add to the ridicule and illy-suppn 
 merriment of the lookers-on. To pretend to drink, 
 and thus relieve himself, he would not. To < 
 tend with an intoxicated man was, he well ki. 
 worse than folly. His temper was beginning t 
 aroused; and as Revere stood by his side, holding 
 the amber-coloured draught, his face flushed and 
 purple with drunken eagerness, his tottering limbs 
 almost refusing to support him, his trembling hands 
 
THOMAS REVERE. 159 
 
 and bloodshot eye revealing his own bondage, and 
 his thick and husky tones, half-articulate, pressing 
 :i and again upon him the poisoned cup from 
 th'.> impulse of the moment, Robert exclaimed, with 
 energy, as he pushed aside the glass 
 
 " No, no ! Would you make me like yourself, 
 
 iirr 
 
 There is left to almost every one, however aban- 
 doned, some power to appreciate what "is lovely 
 and of good report." When the power to rule one- 
 self is admitted to be gone, and even the wish to do 
 BO is all but extinguished, there will still lurk a per- 
 ception of goodness when it is seen ; and thus was 
 it that the contrast thrust upon Revere by Robert's 
 tion produced its efiVct. I low could it be other- 
 ? In the strength of his young manhood, his 
 1 lifted with the energy of a determined mind, 
 his fac.- beaming with health and intelligence, stmn^ 
 in the consciousness of rectitude, and with bright and 
 'Ifast trust in the future, as a future of good, 
 what a contrast did he present to him who would 
 tempt him! It was too palpable, too evident for 
 even the half-closed eye and dimmed perceptions of 
 Revere ! 
 
 "I will not ! I will not !" he muttered, a$ he sank 
 into a seat ; and he groaned a bitter groan, as there 
 flashed upon him a remembrance of the past : how, 
 even to him, it had once been true that life was hope- 
 ful, and death and eternity not to be dreaded; how he 
 
160 LIFE IX THE WEST. 
 
 had started buoyant and strong in expectation, his 
 life crowned with blessings, his path strewn with 
 mercies, and his course watched with eyes of anxious, 
 yearning love. Ah ! yes ; and the recollection of 
 ihatjirxt y/r/ss came now to him ! That first indul- 
 gence in what had proved his ruin ! And was lie 
 one to force upon another the like destruction ? To 
 that first yielding to temptation could he now look 
 as the beginning of bis downward course; to it 
 could he now attach that weakened strength nf prin- 
 ciple, and its consequent prostration, which had left 
 him powerless in the hand of the tempter. It 
 an hour of bitter thought. The same draught which 
 had impelled him to use all his powers to j 
 Robert, now awakened in him unnatural di.-'. 
 and new remorse. No future dawned upon bin 
 he sat and thought. It was all dark, all night ! 
 His own course had been madness its end was ruin. 
 He himself was but the wreck of a man the broken 
 remains of a goodly temple, whereof the polished 
 shafts and chiselled stones lay scattered and half- 
 buried, like his own youthful hopes and ; < >ns ! 
 AYuld that this truth could be impressed upon 
 the heart and mind of every youth : \\'!mt yt,n 
 doing to-day, you are doing for eternity! A simple 
 act, small and insignificant as you may regard it, 
 may stain for ever the purity of your soul. You 
 may deem it trifling, but its performance may com- 
 mit you for a lifetime ; it may seem to be of no ac- 
 
THOMAS REVERE. 161 
 
 count, but it may rest for ever in the scale of dis- 
 honest purposes ; foolish, but it may endanger your 
 reputation through a long course of years; hardly 
 sinful, but it may lead to consequences fearful and 
 lasting beyond life yes, even beyond death itself ! 
 That first-proffered glass made Thomas Revere a 
 drunkard, because he yielded to its temptation ; that 
 first glass, resisted, made Robert Moreton firm as a 
 temperance man; and, from this time, he was 
 known and respected as one whose appetite was not 
 to be overcome when tempted, nor his principles 
 successfully assailed. 
 
 
 14 
 
162 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MARY'S LETTER. 
 
 " TIME, in passing, takes us along with it." Un- 
 consciously, the spring glides into KUIHIKT, the 
 autumn into winter, until it is only by looking far 
 back that we can realize the rapidity with which 
 life is passing away. 
 
 It is not our intention to dwell minutely upon 
 every-day occurrences in the Moreton family. The 
 summer's work and pleasures, the v plans 
 
 and entertainments are more concisely narrated in 
 the following letter of Mary's to her iVi-.-nd Lucy 
 Leighton, which we take the liberty to lay before 
 our readers : 
 
 Lakeland, January 2d, 18 . 
 
 DEAR LUCY : Oh ! that rough leather mail-bag that 
 rides past our house on horseback, once every week ! 
 What good things it sometimes brings ! When it 
 was slowly moving along, last week, I had a pre- 
 sentiment that it held something more precious than 
 our weekly supply of papers and pamphlets ; and I 
 was not disappointed ! HarcLj one of us but re- 
 ceived some token of remembrance from absent 
 friends, telling us that we were not forgotten. 
 
 
MARY'S LETTER. 10 
 
 Your's, dear Lucy, with its promise of good for our 
 Sunday-school library, was not the least welcome. 
 You have accomplished much for us, in getting so 
 choice a supply of books, and they cannot fail to 
 help us in our work. AVe thank you for your 
 efforts, and we thank all who have aided you. 
 
 And our letters ! How we listened, as we heard 
 parts or the whole, first of one, then of another. 
 ry item of news was discussal every expres- 
 sion of affection treasured. "\\Yiv this not our home, 
 there might have been some longings, some wishes ! 
 Dear old Laurelton, with its beautiful homes and 
 pleasant friends ! No home will efface the remem- 
 brance of that from our memories no friends ever 
 be dearer than those we K-ft t; 
 
 But here we are truly happy; even at the AV< -t, 
 and wintering in a log-cabin with whitewashed walls ! 
 The barn was finished, and the horses, cows, and 
 crops provided for; but by no possible effort was 
 father able to get the house into a habitable state for 
 the winter. He was disappointed, and says that 
 the only trouble he has had here has been the little 
 dependence to be placed upon the word of others, 
 many of whom like to work only when there is no- 
 thing else to do. 
 
 Even in the log-house, as I said, we are happy. 
 We are well, and a fresh chinking outside made the 
 walls all tight; while the abundance of fire-wood, 
 which would delight poor people at the East, keeps 
 
104 LIFE IX THE WEST. 
 
 us warm. The climate is more mild than that of 
 New England, and only a few days have been too 
 cold to be pleasant. Charles, Willie, and Alice go 
 to school to Mr. Blagden. Susan accompanies them 
 three afternoons in the week, having been engaged 
 by Mr. Blagden to give instruction in needlework to 
 the girls. This plan pleases all. The mothers like 
 it; for they have many a nice piece of mending 
 or making accomplished without their oversight. 
 The girls like it, as a variation from their school 
 studies. And Susan, far from being weary of the 
 monotony of " stitch, stitch, stitching/' seems more 
 and more pleased, as she sees the improvement and 
 ambition of her scholars. 
 
 Our domestic labours are not great or heavy; 
 yet mother, Susan, and I find sufficient occupation- 
 for every morning. Winne stands rea<ly to aid us, 
 whenever we need her help ; and we call upon her 
 often, considering that we live in a small house, and 
 dispense with all but absolute wants. Besides t ! 
 I hear Annie recite every day, and, on Saturday of 
 each week, I have a singing-school for the Sunday- 
 school children. This was brought about by acci- 
 dent. Annie, in her rambles soon after we came 
 here, followed, for some distance, the little brook 
 near which Patrick's dwelling stands. Its course 
 was not remarkably interesting at first, for it was 
 straight and sunny ; but suddenly it took a turn, 
 and came back into the woodland owned by father, 
 
MARY'S LETTKK. 105 
 
 making a bend which left some rods of ground, 
 covered with green, soft grass, and shaded by large 
 black walnut trees. It was a pleasant surprise to 
 Annie. The soft western sunlight spread cheerfully 
 over it, the little stream flowed so quietly on, and the 
 trees were so alive with birds, that she was charmed. 
 On her return, she told us of it with delight, and 
 dwelt so long upon the multitude of birds she saw 
 there, that Willie, always ready with a word, de- 
 clared it must be " the birds' parlour." The name 
 pleased us; and, when we vi.-iu-d it in a company, 
 the next day, we voted unanimously that it was 
 well named, and from that time it should be our 
 chosen gathering-place. 
 
 Frank and Charles entered immediately upon the 
 work of clearing out the undergrowth and trimming 
 the trees. This done, Charlie, who admiivs ;/ 
 widcrtakui'j*, thought some stones judiciously pi; 
 where there was a slight fall of water, would make 
 its course more melodious, for it was evident that, 
 in the matter of noise, the birds had the pre-emi- 
 nence. Stones are not very plenty hereabouts, and 
 the old rocky hills of Laurelton had the honour of 
 a sigh to their memory ; but, by dint of perseverance, 
 enough were gathered, and it was a great improve- 
 ment. Robert made some rough seats for the place; 
 and, when all was finished, mother gave permission 
 for the children to have a rural party there. 
 
 It was quite a gathering of the village boys and 
 i-t* 
 
160 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 girls, and a merry time they made of it. An attempt 
 to have some music seemed to please ; and one song 
 that I sang suited so well, that I offered to teach it to 
 one or two. So many pressed forward to try their 
 skill at learning it, that we frightened the birds out 
 of their home ; and, after practising some time, we 
 parted, with the promise to meet a^ini. Fnnn that 
 time, Saturday has been the day, and I have been 
 regularly installed as leader, with the understanding 
 that my efforts shall be mainly directed for the 
 benefiting of the Sabbath-school. 
 
 We had no hymn-books, and it was rather dull at 
 first to learn verses ; but they have per and 
 
 now their memories are stored with enough hymns 
 and tunes to make a variety for the school, I have 
 begun to try and drill them in "the rudiments/' 
 My success is not remarkable, but it is enough to 
 keep off discouragement. 
 
 For several weeks after we came, we had no pub- 
 lic worship on the Sabbath. Father proposed to 
 Mr. Johnson to have our Sabbath-school earlier, and 
 thus leave time for a sermon to be read afterwards. 
 Together they asked Mr. Blagden to be the reader ; 
 he consented, and our congregation has every week 
 been becoming larger; and, if we can only have a 
 missionary sent, we shall try hard to find a better 
 place than the school-house for him to preach in. 
 Beside this service, we have occasional preaching 
 from clergymen from the neighbouring settlements. 
 
MARY'S LETTER. 167 
 
 Did you know that Ilk-hard ("I ray WM coming out 
 to us in the spring? This arrangement has made 
 TV happy, as it makes Susan's >tay with us, or 
 near us, almost certain. A shop is to be rented in 
 the village, and over its door is to be a sign, lour- 
 ing upon it the names of "Gray & Moreton," and 
 in it there is to be all kinds of furniture for which 
 there may be any market. 
 
 Frank has decided to accept father's offer of a 
 collegia!:' education, but will not leave home fora 
 . lie studies with Mr. Hlagden, and has found 
 a Mr. Van "\Veichteii, who is willing : him 
 
 in his (1- Tman. These lessons he repeats to me, so 
 that 1 am able to make some progress. 
 
 You ask how we amuse ourselves these long win- 
 ter evenings. Our newspapers and books are invalu- 
 able; but, just now, we have had the holidays, and 
 have kept them, too, as holidays ! Christ in a- mft- 
 ing, the Van Weiehtens invited us there; fi.r, like 
 all Germans, it was to be their great family festival. 
 The old gentleman, at whose house the gathering 
 was to be held, is the father of Frank's t< aelur, and 
 lives some miles out from us. "\Ve went, as it be- 
 gan to be evening, all packed in the great wagon- 
 sleigh, and covered with buffalo robes, for the air 
 was cold and sharp. The moonli-Iir struggled with 
 scattered clouds, and revealed, indistinctly at times, 
 the great bare trunks and branches of the old 
 forest-trees, glittering with their covering of frost ; 
 
168 LIFE IN THE AYE ST. 
 
 and the snow upon the ground creaked beneath the 
 runners of our vehicle. My letter is too long for 
 me to describe it all : from the huge bonfire outside 
 the door, to the hearty welcome and boisterous 
 greetings within ; from the social conversation, to 
 the merry games; from the bountiful feast, to the 
 Christmas-tree, laden with the simple offerings of 
 love for each and all. Nor can I tell you of the 
 warm affection that prevailed amongst them, and 
 made them all so charming. Grandfather and 
 grandmother, parents, children, and all, seemed ac- 
 tually to live for each other, and, as father said, were 
 truly an exemplification of the beauty of 
 toyi-tlu-r in unify. The getting away from such 
 hospitality was not easily accomplished ; and then 
 the ride home, the moon hidden behind dark masses 
 of clouds, and the snowflakes, falling thick and fast, 
 covering us with a fleecy mantle ! 
 
 But I must tell you of our own New Year, which 
 was so quietly pleasant. Frank's picture of the old 
 homestead, for mother, was the gift which appeared 
 to give most pleasure. The little secrets and sur- 
 prises of us children were quite well managed ; and 
 Annie's pincushions and watch-cases, and Charles's 
 tame pigeon for Annie, and his little gray owl for 
 Alice, were as wonderful as ever gifts were. Willie 
 had made us some thread-winders; Frank had 
 gathered a huge basket of cranberries for family 
 use; Eobert had a picture-frame, which fitted 
 
MARY'S LETTER. 169 
 
 Frank's offering to mother so exactly, that it ex- 
 cited a suspicion of confederation ; and Henry, who 
 had nothing to give, got up, shook hands with each 
 one, and offered his services for the next year to 
 whoever should want them. Alice, when it came 
 her turn, jumped upon his neck, and would not 
 release him until she had received a good, hearty, 
 sonorous kiss. Mother's large Xew-Year's cake was 
 not wanting, nor were the apples and nuts; and 
 then, when all our merriment was hushed, father 
 reminded us of our obligations to Him who had 
 taken care of us; and ivad that K-autiful psalm,* 
 beginning " Bless the Lord, oh my soul : and all 
 that is within me bless his holy name, who redeem- 
 eth thy life from destruction, and crowneth thee 
 with loving-kindness and tender mercies;" and the 
 evening was closed with prayer. 
 
 Thus we live, dear Lucy. I have not told you 
 all that I would like, but enough to have you know 
 that life in the woods is far from uninteresting or 
 uninviting to us. We mis.s our old friends; and it 
 is their absence alone that makes us ever look with 
 longing desires toward our Northern home. I 
 shall have to write to you again ; for I can say no 
 more now than that I am 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 MAKY MORETON. 
 
 * Ps. ciii. 
 
170 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "THERE is scarcely any well-informed person, 
 who, if he has the will, has not the power to add 
 something essential to the general stock of know- 
 
 -o, if he will only observe, regularly and method- 
 ically, some particular class of facts, which may 
 most excite his attention, or which his situation may 
 best enable him to study with eft- 
 
 This observation of Sir John Herschel* still 
 holds true ; and of no class of persons is it more true 
 than of farmers, whose hourly and daily business 
 brings before their minds facts in the natural world 
 which must awaken curiosity, and results which 
 baffle their powers of investigation. The geogra- 
 phical distribution of plants ; the characteristics of 
 soils; the growth of trees; the eradication of weeds; 
 the perfecting of various kinds of grain ; the im- 
 provement of vegetables; the knowledge of the 
 structure and habits of animals that are useful or 
 troublesome, and of insects and diseases that hinder 
 
 * Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy. 
 
FARMING. 171 
 
 or destroy their crops ; and the improvement and 
 good-keeping of domestic stock, are among the 
 most obvious of a farmer's cares. 
 
 In a new country, we must add to these, the 
 clearing and subduing of wild lands, the wood-chop- 
 ping, the logging, the burning of brush-heaps, the 
 making of potash from the ashes, the laying out 
 and fencing of lands, the rotation of wheat and 
 grass crops, giving time for the decay of roots and 
 stumps, and the draining of marshes ; and we can 
 readily see that to be " a tiller of the soil" brings 
 with it many and arduous labours, which call 
 for strength of body, and no less for ingenuity 
 of plans and wise calculations. The introduction 
 of scientific agriculture has ahvrnly benefited the 
 farmer, and we may look for still greater results in 
 his behalf from the careful and close investigations 
 of chemists and men of observation. Only with 
 the illiterate is the term of a " book-fanner" one of 
 reproach; for experience has proved the value of 
 many a suggestion and the utility of many a scheme 
 which has originated in the mind of some secluded 
 student, working away in silence upon the basis of 
 facts brought to his knowledge by the practical 
 labouring-man. 
 
 The partial clearing and cultivation of Mr. More- 
 ton's farm, while it increased the present comfort of 
 its occupants, did not preclude the necessity of at- 
 tending to all these earlier duties of an emigrant. 
 
172 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 Many a winter's day did the young men take an 
 early start for the woods, with dinner-basket in 
 hand, and Carlo frisking by their side. With axes 
 over their shoulders, would they briskly go to their 
 day's labour; and the merry ringing echo of 
 stroke after stroke resounded through the still 
 woods, while, with mighty crash, one old monarch- 
 tree after another was laid low. Then the loud 
 " Gee ! whoa ! Gee up !" might be heard, day after 
 day, as, with heavy chains and the help of the 03 
 they drew the huge logs together, an-1 In -aped on the 
 brush, ready for the first still, dry weather, in ot 
 to burn them. Nor were their woods less pi 
 and beautiful than others, as, with great delight, the 
 younger boys kindled tires beneath these hea^, anl 
 watched them lighting up so brilliantly, by night, 
 the forests around, and sending forth, by day, their 
 columns of blue smoke, that rose gracefully and diffu- 
 sed a mild, soft haziness throughout the atmosphere. 
 
 It had been of great benefit to Mr. M>iv; 
 retain the services of Mr. llinckley through his 
 first summer. A new and large farm, with imper- 
 fect means of culture and but little hired aid, 
 very different from his small and highly-cultivated 
 homestead in Laurelton; and it was with interest 
 that he watched the contrivances and devices of his 
 predecessor in securing from the land all the advan- 
 tages it could be made to yield. This knowledge of 
 the hindrances he must meet, and the expedients 
 
FARM INT.. 173 
 
 >me difficulties, placed him on au 
 equality with the neighbouring farmers; while his 
 acquaintance with the later modes of producing a 
 greater increase of crops, gave him, in some respi 
 the superiority. 
 
 The return of spring was welcomed by all. 
 Again did the lark, the robin, the phebe-bird, and 
 the whip-poor-will make themselves heard. Again 
 did the yellow cowslips appear on the margin of the 
 brooks and gayly nod to the snowy "arrow-hca 
 that gently reposed on the waters. Again did the 
 humming-bees daintily vi>it, iirst one, then the 
 other, but tarried not long, as it' they would say, 
 " You do very well, for the present ; but we know 
 that your cousins, the eglantine and the sweet violeJ, 
 are coming, and we will just wait, if yuu }<K-;. 
 so they but sipped of their cups, and away they 
 flew. Again did the golden sunshine brighten the 
 borders of the fleecy clouds above, and gleam 
 cheerily, peeping in under the spreading branches 
 of the trees, and calling out the " eye-brights," the 
 blue lupines, and the crimson lieh-nedia, to welcome 
 its genial warmth. After the long winter, who would 
 not rejoice at its return ? The birds loudly sang 
 their happiness; the flowers blossomed in their joy; 
 little children shouted with pleasure, as they threw 
 off their hats, and its warm beams fell upon their 
 clustering hair ; staid housewives opened their doors, 
 that its golden light might come in ; and its cheerful 
 
 15 
 
174 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 influence reached their hearts; and the farmers, 
 ready with their open furrows, cast in the grain that 
 it came to quicken into life. " Truly the light is 
 sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to be- 
 hold the sun." 
 
 If " weather be the farmer's master," as has been 
 said, its ordering is for his happiness. The accumu- 
 lated labours of spring, as the seed-time, can be met 
 by the anticipatory work of a leisure winter ; and, 
 if the growing weeds of summer must be rooted 
 out, the ripening of growing crops gives the time ; 
 while the bright, warm days of autumn, with their 
 invigorating atmosphere, invite to the extra toil of 
 harvesting. 
 
 Mr. Moreton's design, in removing to his Western 
 farm, was to prosecute his occupation in all its varied 
 branches. A large wheat or a large corn farm was 
 not what he wanted. To raise such supplies as he 
 might need for family use, both in summer and 
 winter, was his first object; after that, to adapt 
 such crops as might be marketable to his locality, 
 and gradually to enlarge his cultivated fields, as op- 
 portunity offered for making them profitable. 
 
 His new house, into which the family had now 
 removed, was a substantial two-story wooden house. 
 It stood on the elevated land back of the log-cabin ; 
 and, at first, with its white walls and need of shade, 
 it was not very attractive. Busy hands soon gave 
 its interior a different aspect. Familial* articles of 
 
FARMINVr. 175 
 
 furniture tastefully arranged, a few old pictures 
 hung upon its walls, and vases of wild flowers upon 
 the table and mantel, gave to the new parlour a very 
 ! v appearance. Then, a Western kitchen, 
 with its shining black stove and its tidy cupboards, 
 alwav- has a eozy, comfortable look. The " mo$ 
 room!'' what family knows not that sociable spot 
 that h*n,'t of the house? To it go the weary, the 
 . and the happy, all sure of sympathy 
 and of aid all secure in their expectation of meet- 
 ing there the cheering word, the comforting smile, 
 and the loving friend. The " spare room," with its 
 in demurely placed, its well-shaken bed, and its 
 snowy curtains. Annie's " little sunny-side," open- 
 ing out of the mother's room, fitted with its pillows 
 and cushions, and showing, on every hand, gifts 
 ;'ted to soothe her hours of weariness and lan- 
 guishing. The boys' rooms, with their -lulves of 
 books, and drawers for their varied possessions; and 
 the pleasant sleeping apartments of the girls, so 
 white with muslin drapery. Who could say that, 
 even in its freshness, Mr. Moreton's was not a 
 pleasant house'? 
 
 Who should care for the chickens, little feathery 
 broods of which rapidly made their appearance in 
 the yard ; whose labour it should be to watch the 
 wandering ducks and geese ; who should feed the 
 pigs and look after the new lambs ; and that the 
 first calf should be called "Snowball," was all 
 
176 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 duly settled. The flower-garden was planned and 
 planted, Annie's flower-seeds, in spite of their age, 
 proving good and true to their labels. The kitchen- 
 garden, with its beds of light-green lettuce, its grow- 
 ing cabbage-plants, its vines, and its bushes, was 
 finished. Mrs. Hinckley's currant-bushes were 
 found to be in a bearing state, and the small green 
 peaches took the place of those rosy garlands that 
 hung so beautifully over the garden-fence. Then 
 the corn-fields were green, the potato-patches pro- 
 mising, and the melon-spot was doing itself great 
 credit. Beyond all, were the wheat-fields, spreading 
 out their broad acres to the borders of the farm ! That 
 first year, (as if to encourage their hopes,) no mil- 
 dew, nor blight, nor rust came to mar their fn -sh- 
 ness or promise. From the first bright green 
 covering of the ground, to the full swaying of their 
 laden and bearded heads, yellow with ripeness and 
 ready for the sickle, it was one progressive course, 
 without hindrance or drawback; and with joyful 
 hearts did they reap their grain and bear it to the 
 new threshing-floor, adding themselves to the last 
 heaping load, and loudly shouting their Western 
 et harvest-home/' 
 
 During the whole year, Robert and Henry, with 
 the natural impetuosity of youth, would often have 
 overtasked their strength by undertaking labours too 
 severe or protracted for them to accomplish. To 
 prevent this, their father would propose plans of 
 
FARMING. 177 
 
 entertainment and excursions to the neighbouring 
 settlements, to occupy hours that could be spared 
 from the farm-work, and which would give them 
 opportunities for social intercourse with their neigh- 
 bours. The Sabbath came, too, with its hall, 
 rest, refreshing both their physical and spiritual 
 natures with its benigu influences. In the early 
 spring, the roads were to be mended and new 
 bridges built, and cheerfully did they all asso< 
 with their townsmen in their efforts for the public 
 good. 
 
 As for the younger children, there was school, 
 with its ph-asant intercourse. There was fishing for 
 the buys, and holiday walks after crai.' ;!K-H 
 
 came the maple-sugar season, and the clump of 
 - left for a sugar-orchard was the place of 
 resort. To tap the trees and gather the sap : 
 keep the large iron kettle 1- 
 
 then to bear the thick, luscious liquid to the limi--, 
 where Susan and Mary were ready to purify . 
 finish it more slowly, this was pleasure, not work ! 
 The gathering of wild flowers, the improvement of 
 " the bird's parlour," the taming of squirrels, and 
 the attempt to naturalize some plants and shrubs 
 sent from home, these were the employments that 
 gave a variety to their life. 
 
 But the bearer of those plants and shrubs who 
 was he ? That very Richard Gray, of whom Mary 
 wrote to her friend, Lucy Leighton. Days, even 
 
 15* 
 
178 LIFE IX THE WEST. 
 
 weeks, passed before the stock of news he brought 
 from home was exhausted. Every thing and every- 
 body in Laurelton was discussed, messages received 
 from friends, and tokens of affection admired. Of 
 Richard's plans and prospects, there was no little 
 talk among themselves ; for was he not to be one of 
 them? Susan herself, though more nearly int. r* 
 in their success, was not more earnest in her hopes 
 than they, or more ingenious in her schemes to help 
 him in this, his first start in business; while 31 r. 
 Moreton's words of encouragement brightened the 
 future of both, and his advice and aid smoothed 
 away the first difficulties in their path. 
 
 "This shall be your home, Richard/' said he, 
 " until you have one for yourself. Begin carefully 
 and economically. Remember my motto for all 
 sure progress, 'Never haste, never rest/ With a 
 good trade, industrious habits, and a bright prospect 
 ahead, you will succeed. I shall keep Robert, your 
 partner, with me this year, and you shall have all 
 the labour and all the profits of the e.-taljli.^lnnent. 
 After that, we will see." And, with an order for 
 some furniture, he left him to work his way on. 
 
 There were two great events to mark the summer, 
 in the estimation of the children. One was the 
 arrival of a little girl at Patrick's a nice little 
 baby, whom Winne, from gratitude, desired to call 
 after " Miss Annie ;" and the other, the due cele- 
 bration of the yearly-recurring national holiday. 
 
FARMING. 179 
 
 For this, all ordinary labour on the farm was sus- 
 pended, and the day given up to amusement. 
 
 The Lakeland people readily responded to the 
 call for help in this festival, (ostensibly given in be- 
 half of the Sunday-school,) and as readily aovpted 
 the general invitation to be present. Children, 
 teachers, and parents assembled in the court-house, 
 and there they had music and speeches; after which 
 they marched, in not very orderly procession, to a 
 neighbouring grove. There were bountiful tables 
 prepared for their refreshment, of which all par- 
 took. An oration from Robert Moreton, short, but 
 directly bearing upon the subject of temperance, 
 and a hymn in honour of cold water, sweetly sung 
 by the children, finished their public exercises ; but 
 an impression was left upon the minds of most, 
 which firmly remained then r, that Sun- 
 
 day-schools and temperance were good things; and 
 all agreed, as they disperse Dotting of the 
 
 sun, that this Fourth of July had been "a very 
 pleasant day." 
 
 Our readers will easily see that in all these em- 
 ployments there were toil and labour. For none is 
 there exemption from that sentence which pro- 
 claimed that by the sweat of his face should man 
 eat bread ; and our friends looked not for a life of 
 inaction or freedom from care. Would they have 
 desired it? Did not the weary physical frame 
 sometimes faint by the way, and did not rest, bodily 
 
180 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 rest, seem inviting to them ? Yes ! and sleep, re- 
 freshing sleep, brought it ! " sweet" to them, as 
 " labouring men." For a life of indolence, a list- 
 less state of personal ease, their habits and educa- 
 tion had unfitted them, even if their tastes had led 
 them in that direction. Industry, cheered on by a 
 love of all that was beautiful in nature, character- 
 ized them as a family. Labour, directed to a d. 
 able cud, was praiseworthy; and the lesser cares 
 and toils were all made light and pleasant, as they 
 were seen to promote the comfort and well-being 
 of those around. " The hand of the diligent m;iketh 
 rich," not only in the attainment of outward posses- 
 sions, but in that wealth of the heart. 
 Day after day did they experience this, as, rising 
 from their beds, they shook off slumber, and wtnt 
 forth to their daily duties, "providing meat in sum- 
 mer, and gathering food in harvest ;" and to them 
 was the promise fulfilled : " He that tilleth his land 
 shall have plenty of bread." 
 
CHARLES MURETON. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 CHARLES MORETON. 
 
 CHARLIE MORETON in trouble! Can it be? 
 Why else does he, so long before evening, seek his 
 chamber, and remain there, too ? Why sits he dis- 
 consolately on the foot of his bed, pressing his throb- 
 bing temples with his hot hands ? Why does he 
 refuse to hear the gentle knock at his door, and 
 when Annie's soft voice says, " Charlie! Charlie I 1 ' 
 why does he not hasten to receive IHT ? Why offer 
 no word of welcome or thanks, as she herself opens 
 the door, and carefully brings in the little salver, 
 with its burden of choice food for his evening meal? 
 Is he sick, or weary, or discouraged? Notwith- 
 standing Annie's care for him, it is easy to see that 
 she is grieved; her eyes gleam through a misty 
 veil of tears, her pale cheek is paler than usual, and 
 sighs, that she vainly seeks to repress, come one 
 after another from her lips. 
 
 As she lays her soft hand on Charlie's head, he im- 
 patiently says, " Don't, Annie." She sees that he can- 
 not yet bear sympathy, and she waits in silence, quietly 
 seating herself by his side. As the minutes pass away, 
 
182 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 so passes the anger and impulsive passion of Charles 
 Moreton. He knew that he had done wrong. 
 Although, on his way from school, and while the 
 shouts of the boys were ringing in his ears, he had 
 deemed himself a hero fighting a worthy battle, the 
 stillness of home and the sad looks of father, mother, 
 brothers, and sisters, as he came, torn and soiled, 
 with flushed face and bruised eye, into their quiet 
 circle, gave a different aspect to the whole case. 
 If he had not pleased the Scotch boy, Duncan 
 Dunwoodie, in their bargain, and had been called 
 "a cheating Yankee/' why need he have resented 
 it, and called him "a mean thistle-thorn back?" 
 Was there any necessity of " giving as good as he 
 sent/' when Duncan heaped opprobrious epithets 
 upon him, or of returning that first, half-accidental 
 blow he received ? Ah, Charlie ! is that quick, 
 passionate temper of your's ungovernable ? Shall 
 it be master, and Charles Moreton be its servant ? 
 
 " Don't stay, Annie," at last he said; "don't 
 stay with me." 
 
 " But shall I not tell father you are sorry ?" she 
 answered. " They are all so sad, Charlie." 
 
 There was no answer, and she pointed to the plate 
 and asked 
 
 "Won't you have this nice cake, that Mary sent 
 you ? And a glass of milk ?" 
 
 "I cannot take it, Annie. Do go and leave 
 me !" 
 
CHARLES MORETON. 183 
 
 "But let me first bathe your head with this fresh, 
 cool water, Charlie/' she persisted ; " it will make 
 it so much better/' 
 
 Busying herself about him, she led him to talk 
 of his quarrel, and give a continuous account of it. 
 He found it hard to justify himself; and when she 
 said 
 
 " You did wrong, Charlie !" he was ready to 
 answer 
 
 " I know it ; and that is the worst of it ; that is 
 why father is so much displeased, and why mother 
 looked so grieved, and why I feel so unhappy." 
 
 " Then I may tell father you are sorry. Oh, I 
 am so glad ! Now we shall be happy again, and 
 father will let you come down. May I tell him, 
 too, that you promise not to quarrel with the boys 
 
 . o j j 
 
 again : 
 
 " I cannot make any promises, Annie. I always 
 break them/' 
 
 " But you will try ; and I may tell them that ?" 
 With permission to do this, she gladly departed 
 on her joyful errand, leaving him to solitude and 
 repose. 
 
 The following morning, Charles was early 
 strolling in the garden. The flitting clouds were 
 no unfitting emblems of the gloom that oversha- 
 dowed his face. His anger was gone, his temper 
 subdued ; but, with the remembrance of the past, 
 there came a distrust of the future ; and, as he 
 
184 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 seated himself on one of the garden-benches, he ex- 
 claimed 
 
 " I cannot do it ! I know I never can !" 
 
 " What is it that you cannot do, my son ?" asked 
 a voice behind him, which %e knew to be his 
 father's. 
 
 Charles hesitated. lie had thought himself alone, 
 and had spoken from the impulse of the moment. 
 Should he confide his griefs to his father, anil tell 
 him the struggle that was going on his mind, or should 
 he sit silent, and strive alone and unaided ? Should 
 pride conquer, and he lose the blessing of a wise coun- 
 sellor, or should he unburden his heart and tell his 
 perplexities ? It was a turning-point, a crisis iu his 
 history. But Charles was now in earnest, and he 
 nerved himself to meet his father's eye, as he 
 said 
 
 " I never can be rid of my bad temper, sir !" 
 
 " Have you ever tried ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. Last fall, after Willie broke up my bird- 
 traps, and I struck him, I could not help thinking 
 that if I had only the strength, I might have been 
 like Cain, and killed my brother; and I resolved 
 that I would fight against my temper, and that I 
 would conquer it; but I kept failing, and now I 
 have donejft worse thing, and for a less cause." 
 
 "Look here, Charles; what is this?" said Mr. 
 Moreton, stooping to the ground, and carefully re 
 moving some loose dirt that seemed thrown up. 
 
rilAKLF.S MORETOX. 185 
 
 Charlie looked, and, with brightened face, ex- 
 claimed 
 
 " That is one of my peach-stones, that I planted 
 last fall ; it has just sprouted. Now I shall have a 
 peach-tree !" 
 
 " How do you know that, my son ?" 
 
 "Because I shall take care of it, father; and 
 things that are taken care of, almost always 
 grow." 
 
 " What care shall you give it, Charlie ?" asked 
 Mr. Moreton. 
 
 " I shall put some little sticks around it, so that 
 no one will tread upon it or dig it up, sir. Then, I 
 shall keep the earth loose about its roots. If it is 
 dry weather, I shall water it every day ; and, as it 
 grows older, I shall make the earth richer, and tic 
 it to a stout stake, that the wind need not break it 
 down ; and in four years, or less, if nothing happens, 
 it will begin to bear peaches." 
 
 Mr. Moreton was often in the habit of inquiring 
 into the knowledge that his boys had gained in tin- 
 way ; and Charles saw no other object in this con- 
 versation but an intention of testing his ability to 
 take care of a tree, and he eagerly talked on, endea- 
 vouring to show that, as regarded the culture of 
 peach-trees, nobody knew more than he ! 
 
 "Is not four years too long to wait for the fruit?" 
 asked Mr. Moreton again. 
 
 " Why, no, father; four years is a very short time 
 
 16 
 
186 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 for a tree to grow. An apple-tree sometimes takes 
 ten, and a pear-tree as many." 
 
 "And are you willing to wait four years for 
 peaches, working away every summer, and not 
 being disheartened; and are six months long 
 enough to discourage you about a little resolution 
 planted in your heart, and to make you ready to cry 
 out, ' It never will come to any thing ! I cannot 
 get rid of my bad temper !" 
 
 " A resolution is different from a peach-tree," said 
 Charles. 
 
 " Yes, a very different thing, and of far more con- 
 sequence to your happiness, my son ; yet their pro- 
 per treatment may not be so unlike in principle as 
 you think. You will guard your peach-tree, you 
 say; and you must guard your resolution while it 
 is young and tender. One way to do this is to talk 
 with me about it, as you are doing. Can you think 
 of no other way ?" 
 
 " I must ask Duncan's pardon, and let him know 
 that the resolution is planted, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes ; then, every day, you must think about it, 
 and repeat it to yourself as a resolution. But you 
 will water your peach-tree, and enrich the soil it 
 grows in ! What can you do to make your resolu- 
 tion increase?" 
 
 "I must keep telling myself why I ought to 
 keep it." 
 
 u Observation will quickly show you, Charles, the 
 
CHARLKS MORETOX. 
 
 worldly adrantagea to be reaped from a quiet, c pu- 
 bic temper. You will see that it enables a man to 
 judge rationally and to act consistently. An angry 
 man is, f.-r the time, a rra/.y man; nobody res}> 
 him, or is guided by his wishes. He is liable to 
 commit acts i-f which, at other times, he is heartily 
 
 lined, and which disgrace his character and mor- 
 tify his : Then, what does he gain by in- 
 dulging iu hi- -ut of abusive lan- 
 guage may How fmm his lips; but it lowers bis own 
 
 Mlity, by showing the evil of his h 
 more than it alters public opinion regarding its ob- 
 
 . M ; and this report 
 
 to 1 " will cause him to be shunned and 
 
 despised, nulicr than admired. If 1, 
 strength, he may even be considered a //////;// W/y; 
 and what is that but a noisy,, quarrelsome fellow, 
 who, by all reasonable people, is con>i<lrivd a village 
 nuisance? Beyond this, there are other reasons, far 
 
 :htier, why you should keep your resolution. 
 Can you not think what they an- '.'" 
 
 " The reasons that the Bible gives, you mean, 
 don't you, sir?" 
 
 " There you find such words as these : i The pa- 
 tient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit;' 
 
 i bearing one another and forgiving one another, 
 if a man have a quarrel against any : even as Christ 
 forgave you, so also do ye ;' ' The discretion of a 
 man deferreth his anger ; and it is his glory to pass 
 
188 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 over a transgression ;' ( Not rendering evil for evil, 
 or railing for railing, but, contrariwise, blessing; 
 knowing that ye are thereunto called, that ye should 
 inherit a blessing.' Any one of these texts, well- 
 remembered, would help your resolution to grow; 
 and, firmly fixed upon the promises of God, no 
 storm of life could uproot it. Then, to those who 
 ask help, help is promised. You say that you can- 
 not keep your resolution. Remember, that he that 
 seeks the aid of God's Spirit, seeks the aid of a true 
 and able friend." 
 
 " There is so much to do," said Charles, " before 
 evry thing is right in a man's character." 
 
 " That is true, my son ; but the work once seri- 
 ously entered upon, and earnestly prosecuted, the 
 difficulties diminish; and now is your planting-time 
 in the garden of your heart. You would like to 
 have it fruitful and well cultivated. In order to 
 this, the weeds of idleness, impatience, foolish pre- 
 judice, and the like, must be rooted out. The soil 
 must be enriched with knowledge ; the seeds of in- 
 dustry and good habits sown, and closely watched. 
 If the unsightly offsets of vice or error are there, 
 you must not spare the sharp pruning-knife ; nor 
 must you loosen the tight-binding cords of prin- 
 ciple. All this requires effort and watchfulness; 
 but not greater than it is in your power to exercise. 
 One fault conquered, is a step towards the subduing 
 of the spirit ; one right habit gained, is an advance 
 
CHARLES MORETOX. 189 
 
 which opens the way and smooths the path for 
 another. No miraculous power will cause your 
 peach-tree to grow in a night; neither will any be 
 exerted to make your resolution at once firm and 
 
 II 1U : . You musf irnrl: nut ynnr Oli'it .Ww- 
 
 :i;itu-r ; c\vry day watching your reso- 
 lution with fear, lest it may be overcome ; and God 
 will, if you rely upon him, work in and with you." 
 
 The breakfast bell rang, and they returned to the 
 house. Charles's way was now clear before him. 
 II j . -in easy nor a pleasant one to en 
 
 but its end shone out in bright relief, and hope 
 buoyant hope beckoned him on. Cheerful mirth- 
 ful i: r long absent from. 1. . resumed 
 its > i reply to Willie's question, ' \\ . 
 have you KTII '.'" he replied, u Learning how to keep 
 my resolution." 
 
 Finn as that resolution was at first, it was stag- 
 gered a little, when, on approaching the school- 
 house, he saw the boys drawn up in a line, with 
 Duncan Dunwoodie at their bead. Ob, how he 
 wished Willie was with him! And then bow he 
 wished he could let them know his determination 
 not to quarrel, without telling them so ! But there 
 he was, alone, and the bearer of bis own message. 
 As if to test the strength of that resolution, one of 
 the boys called out, " Halloo ! black-eye !" but 
 Charlie repeated to himself, " He that ruleth his 
 own spirit is better than he that taketh a city." 
 
 16* 
 
190 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 Quickening his steps, he reached forth his hand to 
 Duncan, and, despite the choking in his throat, said, 
 loud enough for all to hear 
 
 " Duncan, I did wrong to quarrel with you yes- 
 terday. We will settle our bargain over again, 
 and try to make it right. I am sorry I struck 
 
 you ! Will you forgive me, and let us be friends 
 
 *))> 
 again : 
 
 If Jack Sumner did say, " Coward ! he durst not 
 fight !" and if Henry Brown did sneeriugly turn 
 upon his heel, there were a dozen of the boys that 
 rejoiced ; and among them was Duncan, who really 
 loved Charlie and was truly glad to have the fool- 
 ish altercation ended. lie readily took the prof- 
 fered hand, and responded to Charles's declaration, 
 "I don't mean to quarrel with any of you, bo\ 
 by adding, " And that will make it far pleasauter ; 
 for why shouldn't we all be good friends?" 
 
 As the little sticks guarded the young peach-tree 
 from harm, so did these few words serve to protect 
 that young and still feeble resolution. Frum that 
 time, either he had fewer provocations, or, having 
 openly committed himself on the side of what was 
 right, he was stronger in his purpose and power of 
 resistance to temptation in that form. Be it which 
 it might, he continued steadfast and firm, persisting 
 in his efforts to overcome his besetting sin, until he 
 gained the victory over his own passions, and was 
 master of his own temper ! 
 
CIIAIU.KS MORETOX. 191 
 
 Charles was not the only member of Mr. More- 
 ton's family who found out that, at the West, there 
 are manifold temptations to do wrong. Kury one 
 has need of the prayer taught by our Divine Master, 
 " Lead us not into temptation, but dcliv-T us from 
 evil;" and to every soul, whatever its acquirements, 
 comes the exhortation, "Watch and pray, tha* 
 enter not into temptation !" The unregenerate 
 heart may think that there is no danger; that the 
 path of life is a path of ease; and that its own 
 ngth is sufficient to meet every peril to which it 
 may be exposed : but how differently are we taught 
 in the word of God ! There we find life set forth 
 as a journey, a scene of probation, and we as pil- 
 grims, whose walk here is amidst dangers; i 
 bearing within us an immortal treasure, commi 
 to our trust by the king of that country whither we 
 are journeying. For its safe-keeping and its improve- 
 ment each one is responsible; and, knowing our 
 kness, for each is provided two able and willing 
 helpers Jesus, the High-priest, who, having been 
 himself tempted, is able to succour those who are 
 tempted ; and the Holy Ghost, the Comforter. 
 
 To those who, with wary steps, and careful, earn- 
 est hearts, are travelling on, there comes the gra- 
 cious message, " God is faithful, who will not suffer 
 us to be tempted above that we are able to bear;" 
 and far on, in the distance, Jesus holds up to their 
 view the golden crown and harp, bidding them walk 
 
192 LIFE IN THE AViiST. 
 
 steadfastly on their, way, with that wonderful pro- 
 mise : " To him that overcometh, will I grant to sit 
 with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and 
 am set down with my Father in his throne." 
 
 The hidden evils of our hearts, our selfish <1 
 our grasping after earthly pleasures, our low and 
 ignoble hopes, even our bodies, with th.-ir ajipct! 
 are all to be subdued, before the soul shines in the 
 beauty of holiness. Our senses must be u 
 willing channels of none but pure j>! our 
 
 tastes must be cultivated to a high appreciation of 
 things lovely in the sight of a holy God ; while our 
 affections must hold all earthly objects of love sub- 
 ordinate to the claims of our heavenly Father. 
 
 "Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil 
 the vines," said the wise king. Take us the K 
 the little sins, that ruin the soul, we would say to 
 every youth to whom future character is a matter 
 of interest or effort. It is the little sins that make 
 up the whole evil character, even as drops fill the 
 rivers, and the rivers swell the mighty ocean. 
 Think no failing too small or too trivial to be 
 watched and striven against; and let these words 
 help you in your struggle : " He that is faith- 
 ful in that which is least, is faithful also in 
 much." 
 
 Carelessness of personal appearance^ carelessness 
 of manners, carelessness of words, and carelessness of 
 morals, these are all temptations in a new country. 
 
CHARLES MORETOX. 193 
 
 The -on that prompts to unmindfulness of 
 
 one's appearance, makes a person chary of their 
 words of welcome aud politeness. The temptation 
 to be witty leads to slang phrases and stories with- 
 out truth, while this, in its turn, blunts the percep- 
 tion of what is true and desirable, and the whole 
 moral man is injured. Little do those whose 
 homes are guarded by Christian watchfulness 
 and whose lives are passed amidst Christian com- 
 munities, surrounded by all the amenities and 
 jos of well-ordered society, realize how much of 
 their safety they owe to these i <>r with 
 
 how much reason they too might say, "Thou pre- 
 
 -t (me) with the blessings of goodness !" 
 " Aunt Rachel/' who has before been introduced 
 to our readers, was quite a favourite with the 
 younger members of the Moreton family. The 
 rojuTtfiil attention they paid her, and their uniform 
 kindness to her little grandson, who bore the lofty 
 name !' A .</.-/, had gained her confidence. 
 
 It was in their power to perform many small acts 
 of kindness for her, and she, in her turn, was always 
 ready to meet them with a cordial greeting. If they 
 stopped to pay her a passing visit on their way from 
 school, she often had some little offering for them, 
 such as a few plums, a peach, a cup of maple-sap, a 
 baked potato, hot and smoking from the hearth, or 
 a generous slice of johnny-cake, full of dried whor- 
 
194 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 tleberries, which, with true Western, whole-hearted 
 hospitality, she urged upon them. 
 
 But the readiness with which she met their un- 
 wearied demand for tales of adventure and of per- 
 sonal history was the great attraction which drew 
 them so frequently to her cabin. Her life had 1 
 full of change. A comfortable but plain Connecti- 
 cut home had been exchanged, at the early age of 
 eighteen, for a cabin in the woods of Mich: 
 where, for six years, she lived and laboured as the 
 wife of a Methodist missionary-preacher. I! 
 was her first great sorrow; but, with two y" 
 children to support, she had no time to spend in 
 grief and fruitless mourning. After a struggling 
 life of two years or more, she married again, and 
 removed to Indiana. Here her hu]>}.i 
 spent, though toil and some hardship fell to her lot. 
 Her children left her for homes of their own ; an I 
 when her husband, Mr. Whitely, died, she 
 up what property she could, and left the farm to the 
 care of a tenant, that she might spend her last years 
 with her kindred. Her son had removed from his 
 first location, no one knew whither ; but her daugh- 
 ter was a resident in Lakeland, and there a cheerful 
 welcome awaited her. It would seem that there 
 she might find rest, but it was not thus to be. The 
 sudden falling of a tree, which her son-in-law was 
 cutting down, so injured him, that, after a year of 
 suffering, he died, and, in a few months, his wife 
 
CHARLES MORETON. 195 
 
 him to the grave. Thus was the little 
 grandson thrown entirely upon her care ; and her 
 object in life was to keep the farm his father 
 left, not only entire, but in some order for him, 
 when he should be old enough to work it. 
 
 It is easy to see that, with an unimpaired memory 
 and a good deal of natural shrewdness, Aunt Rachel 
 Whitely had at her command a fund of stories that 
 pos> it fharms for listeners. One talc of an 
 
 adventure with her first husband, when, in riding 
 through the woods, they had encountered, or rather 
 wildcat, fierce and resolute to protect 
 its young ones, had great attractions for Charlie. 
 To be sure, it ended in nothing but their beini: 
 wonderfully frightened, and whipping up their 
 horse. to get out of its way; but, in his estimation, 
 it made her a heroine. 
 
 i she sometimes let her imagination take the 
 reins, and would describe the beauties of the wood- 
 land scenery, and the brilliant autumnal nights ; or 
 else she invented personages and scenes in the fable 
 form, that she might convey instruction to her hearers. 
 
 Further than that, she had dwelt three years near 
 the royal hunting-ground of Tecumseh, and was 
 familiar with the traditions and legends connected 
 with his history, as well as with those of Pontiac, 
 the famous Indian chief. She had herself received 
 frequent visits from parties of the Pottawatimie 
 tribe, and could tell of dealings between them and 
 
196 LIFE IX THE WEST. 
 
 her husband, and of their sorrowful countenances as 
 they began to realize that they were perishing as a 
 nation. 
 
 Occasionally, she would revert to her own home- 
 experience ; and then she would not fail to mingle 
 with her narrative words of Christian love and good 
 counsel, and cheerfully recommend trust in the 
 Almighty as the only sure foundation upon which 
 to build happiness. 
 
 Thus it was that she, alone, surrounded with the 
 evils of poverty, and possessing few attractions j 
 sonally, was yet enabled to do good in her humble 
 sphere, and to prove that the Spirit of God can 
 refine and elevate the tastes as well as comfort the 
 hearts of his lowly followers. 
 
LETTERS. 197 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AGAIN must we have recourse to a letter of Mary's, 
 as the s} ;id most agreeable manner of in- 
 
 forming our readers of the .-tute of affairs at Lake- 
 land and about the More ton farm, during the third 
 year of their residence at the West : 
 
 Lakeland, October , 18. 
 DEAR THANK : Your letter, written upon the 
 
 anniversary of your reaching , was received 
 
 .re. One year of the prescribed j -';/// 
 has passed away quickly enough, to make us feel 
 that the three remaining will soon be gone; bu; 
 have not yet become so accustomed to your absence 
 as to feel that home is home without you, and it 
 seems a long time to wait. 
 
 You would be surprised to see how much our 
 place has improved. The grass, tbis year, entirely 
 covered the site of the old log-cabin, and the trees 
 bordering the carriage-walk and about the house were 
 sufficiently grown to cast a shadow. The green 
 blinds upon the house, the new barn, the arbour at 
 
198 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 the foot of the garden-walk, and the well at the top 
 of the hill, with its real old-fashioned curb, > 
 against the sky, and the new fences, tln-so are all 
 this year's improvements, in the true dictionary 
 sense of the word, as well as in its Western meaning. 
 Within the house, the great change has been the ar- 
 rival of Uncle Alfred's present the new piano ; and 
 such a source of pleasure as it is ! For a IV \\- i! 
 we made it talk incessantly ; now, it is not silent 
 long at a time; and I find I shall readily regain my 
 knowledge of playing. Being the first instrument 
 of the kind in the village, it has attn ider- 
 
 able attention, and, I can assure you, it is much ad- 
 mired. I hope it will be in my power, through it, 
 to convey pleasure to many beside our own circle ; 
 if not, half its charms will be dispelled, for the iden- 
 tifying of ourselves with the village-people, and of 
 our pleasures and interests with tlu-ir's, i.-, to my 
 mind, one of the strongest ties which bind us here. 
 The great occasion upon which I intended to dwell 
 in this letter, was the approaching marriage of Susan 
 and Richard Gray. The time fixed upon is the 
 20th ; and, as they will move directly to his new 
 house in the village, every preparation for leaving 
 us must now be made. Their house is small, but 
 new and convenient; Richard having aimed to make 
 it easy for Susan in her household duties. The 
 wedding will be here, and will be as quiet as it can 
 be and ask all the people we have learned to know 
 
LETTERS. 199 
 
 and love in three years. Our new minister, Mr. 
 Nesbit. will officiate; and we all rejoice that he has 
 arrived in time for the ceremony. We like Mr. 
 it; and his wife we hope to welcome here soon. 
 They propose to commence housekeeping as soon as 
 a house can be procured, when she will come imme- 
 diately with her three children 
 
 I had written thus fur, when Charles came in, 
 and called "Mary! Mary!" so loudly, that Iran 
 to meet him, fearing some accident. 
 
 "Put on your bonnet, and come with me, quick !" 
 iid; which I did, and followed him across the 
 fields to the new road leading to Lupine Prairie. 
 There we i'-iund a woman >itting by the road.-ide, 
 holding in her arms a dying baby, and another child 
 standing by her side. The wagon in th r>ad, with 
 its chests and trunks, showed that she was a travel- 
 ler, and her moaning and sorrowful ejaculations 
 soon I her origin. She was a Frenchwoman; 
 
 and I did rejoice most heartily when I found she 
 could understand me; and she, poor woman ! in her 
 joy at meeting with one who spoke her native lan- 
 guage, took my hand and kissed it again and again ; 
 then turned to her "pauvre enfant" and begged 
 me to help it. I soon found that her husband had 
 gone to the village to get some medicine; but I sent 
 Charlie home for a pillow, and thought that, upon 
 it, we might carry the baby as far as the house. 
 Before he came back, though, the poor little thing 
 
200 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 died; and when her husband returned, her first parox- 
 ysm of grief was subdued, and she was ready to 1: 
 to any proposal from us. They were poor, and would 
 feel it no degradation to go to a poor home ; while 
 to be with those who could understand her seemed 
 a great comfort. I thought of Pierre IJonU', and 
 ventured to bid them drive the horses there, while 
 the woman and I took the shorter path through the 
 woods, she carrying the little dead baby in her arms. 
 You should have seen us, and listened to her out- 
 pourings of grief, as, overpowered with emotion, 
 she would linger behind Charlie and me, cast her- 
 self down upon the wayside bank, and, in accents 
 of tenderness, talk to the child address it with en- 
 dearing epithets, as if its ear were li.- truing to her 
 voice and its little heart still beating in unison with 
 her's. 
 
 Oh, it was worth ten times the labour and .<tudy 
 that the knowledge I possess of French has been to 
 me, to be able to speak to the sorrowful heart of the 
 mourning woman, and to try to comfort her. Ma- 
 dame Bontd received us as cordially as I could desire; 
 and, when I left them, she had taken the child away 
 from its mother, stored enough of their own po 
 sions in one corner of the room to make another 
 corner empty and ready for the strangers' bed and 
 chest, and was cooking supper against the man's ar- 
 rival. Then Charlie and I went home, to ask father 
 if we had done right ; and were glad to find that he 
 
LETT! 201 
 
 thought we luul. Ho went over that evening with 
 me; ami, while he and Uonte made arrangements to 
 bury the baby in the morning, I sat and talked to 
 the woman. They all went away in the wagon, the 
 day after the funeral, and we know nothing more of 
 them si lire. It hardly seemed possible to me, when 
 I saw how comfortable Madame Bonte made this 
 poor woman, that I had ever gone to that same hovel 
 (for it is nothing else now) to cure my home 
 feelings, by seeing some one worse off than myself. 
 To set off for " the poor Frenchman's" was equiva- 
 lent to a confession of sad and desponding longings 
 on my part; but no one but Susan knew it at the 
 time; imr should I tell of it now, if I had occasion 
 to employ it as a remedy. 
 
 I must not forget to tell you that the new school- 
 house is completed and occupied. Mr. IJlagdeu is 
 still the teacher; but he has now, in Susan's place, 
 a young lady whom we all like. Annie is well 
 enough to go to the school-hou lay, and 
 
 the two buys escort the two girls there daily. 
 After this summer, Charles will work on the farm 
 during the warm weather, and study only in the 
 winters. 
 
 We have had quite an excitement here lately 
 about the burning woods. The atmosphere is often 
 smoky, and the hot air has reached us, rising with 
 the gusts of wind, before ; but, this time, the red 
 and glary horizon, and the trees standing out at 
 
 17* 
 
202 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 night as pillars of fire, and by day with smoke issu- 
 ing from their tops, showed it to be quite near our 
 premises. One night, father and the boys heard 
 that it was approaching a fenced field, full of stand- 
 ing corn, and that it had already commenced its 
 ravages upon some piles of split rails that they had 
 prepared for the winter's fencing. We begged to 
 go with them, and had the satisfaction of seeing 
 them 'wht'p out fire] which, you know, is to beat 
 down the burning grass with branches broken from 
 the trees; and we girls helped kindle and keep 
 within bounds a lack-firc, that father thought it 
 best to have set. It was all pleasure to us to 
 march back and forth before our burning strip of 
 grass, and turn its course towards the heated forests, 
 using our verdant branches as if they v *res; 
 
 but to one who sees his best crop iu danger of the 
 devouring element, and whose barns are in the 
 course of its march, it must be with extraordinary 
 energy that he works. Father says the best way is 
 to plough six or eight furrows about a field, outside 
 of the fence, and that he shall not again neglect to 
 
 doit 
 
 Now, Frank, you must confess this letter to be as 
 long as even your craving for news from home can 
 desire. But Charles begs for the remaining half- 
 page, and I yield my place to him. 
 
 Your loving sister, 
 
 MARY. 
 
LETT: 203 
 
 Will our readers have Charles's letter? Ilnv it 
 1-iit wo must premise that Charlie Moreton was 
 not a wry wonderful scholar for a boy of fourteen 
 years of age ; and, if they should find it somewhat 
 disconnected, some of them ean remember, from 
 their own experience, how hard it is to write letters, 
 and will readily pardon its del 
 
 DEAR BROTHER FRANK : I thought you would 
 like to hear from me and Carlo ; and I write to say 
 
 that I am very well, but that he is getting 
 lazy. Henry says he is too old for any thing l>ut a 
 house-dog, and that is the reason why he won't go 
 into the woods with us; but I think he is afraid. 
 If you see Bob Palmer, you ean tell him about him. 
 Henry has got a first-rate dog. We went out last 
 week, and had the best of lu 
 
 enough for ourselves for two days. Of all the birds 
 we ever get, I think prairie-chickens arc the best. 
 Oh! I must tell you that Snowball got m!rJ last 
 week, over in the swamp, back of Aunt Rachel's 
 farm. She was missing two whole days and a night, 
 and father told us that we must look her up. We 
 found her in a few hours ; or, I mean, Carlo found 
 her. You have seen cattle mired, so you will know all 
 about this, when I tell you that she was very deep in 
 the soft mud, and so exhausted with trying to get out, 
 that at first we thought she was dead. She seemed 
 to know Carlo's bark, and tried once more to move, 
 
204 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 but could not. With help, we soon got her out; 
 but you would never luivo known whose cow she 
 was, if her white forehead had not kept clean. She 
 has been steadier ever since, and has not tried to 
 run away at all. May be, it has done her good. 
 I like the new school-house ; and Mr. Blagden is 
 going to make us study hard this winter. I wish I 
 knew a great deal, but I think it is harder to study 
 than it is to work. Patrick has got over his ague ; 
 but he will have it again, if he isn't more careful. 
 You should see his steers ! Young Pat is in school, 
 and is a real clever boy. Father lets Willie and 
 me go to mill by ourselves this year. Last week, 
 we took the largest grist over that we ever carried, 
 because Susan must share with us now. When we 
 came back, we took the new road, that you and 
 Henry helped survey and lay out. The log-bridge 
 is finished ; and you never knew a better one, or 
 one that gave a driver such heavy jolts; for the 
 earth has not yet filled up between the logs, and 
 the logs were very large. It is a great deal of work 
 to make a road. I used to think, before we came 
 here, that they came of themselves, but now I know 
 better. The old horse is dead. Father bought a 
 rnare of Mr. Johnson, that we can drive in double 
 harness; but the reason that he got her was because 
 she was such a gentle one for Mary to ride. It is 
 as frisky as a kitten, but has no tricks. We call 
 

 
 her " Dancing Molly;" and her mistress, Mary, says 
 
 in riding now. 
 
 Willie and T run I t > tlie village. 
 
 We have all the errands t- do, and have regular 
 times uf starting and a depot for bundles. We t 
 no i , for we go on our own feet, and have 
 
 no accommodations for others. As it is time for us 
 to start, I must close my letter. I hope you will 
 
 write to me. 
 
 CHARLES. 
 
203 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE CHURCH AND THE MINISTER. 
 
 MR. NESBIT, the new minister, of whom Mary 
 wrote to Frank, came to Lakeland as a missionary. 
 He was not a very young man, and had been settled 
 over a church before. His appearance was prepos- 
 sessing, his manners agreeable, and he had receivt 1 
 a liberal education. lie knew, beforehand, the 
 varieties of character he should probably come in 
 contact with, and that he must accustom himself to 
 meet with difficulties, and expect to experience per- 
 sonal inconvenience. Ili< salary was small; part 
 of it guaranteed by the society under whose patron- 
 age he was, and part promised by the people among 
 whom he had come to live. "The labourer i- 
 worthy of his hire." Truly might this be said of 
 him, for, with all his natural and acquired abilities, 
 he brought with him a heart willing and desirous of 
 labour, a love for the souls of men, and a spirit so 
 earnest in the cause of his blessed Master, that to 
 exert all his powers of body and mind to extend the 
 knowledge of his name was, with him, a pleasure 
 a privilege. How many such are now living and 
 
THE CHURCH AND THE MINISTER. 207 
 
 toiling in the wide Western woods, of whom the 
 wrU knows little, but who are God's workmen, 
 
 h in his place helping to raise the fallen sou' 
 nun, and to lift their earth-hound :iilYvti>n- 
 higher and eternal joys ! How many such joyfully 
 encounter hardship and deprivation, if souls can be 
 1 and God's name be honoured ! Their reward 
 is in hraven ; and the last great day can alone show 
 to men the mighty influence wielded by these chosen 
 of the Lord, as, in weariness of bod v, they 
 go from place to place to make known the unsearch- 
 able riches of God's redeeming love sustained by 
 faith in his promises, and 1 :i granted ac- 
 
 cording to their day. 
 
 Tint all the Lakeland people gladly welcomed the 
 arrival of a clergyman among th-m, our readers will 
 not suppose. Some were opposed to the sentiments 
 he sought to inculcate ; others differed from him in 
 opinion ; many cared nothing about religion and the 
 concerns of their souls; while a few received him 
 as the messenger of God, and earnestly sought a 
 blessing upon him and his mission. Yet nearly all 
 promised to contribute to his support : one man 
 would give so many bushels of wheat ; another, po- 
 tatoes ; another, corn ; another " would have a fine 
 young pig for the minister in the fall ;" some few 
 had money; and one or two would give certain 
 amounts in groceries or store-pay. Mr. Blagden 
 was indefatigable in his efforts, and undertook to 
 
208 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 collect these various things and put them in an 
 available shape for Mr. Nesbit ; so that, when his 
 family arrived, there was every reason to hope that 
 a comfortable living would be provided for them. 
 
 The Sunday-school, now attractive enough, with 
 its fine library and well-conducted lessons, to 
 gather within it most of the young people of the 
 village, had been continued through the whole of 
 the past winter. 
 
 No one, who has not seen the blessed influence of 
 such a Sunday-school in preparing the way for the 
 introduction of the stated ministrations of the gospel, 
 can have any just conception of its importance. The 
 labours of those devoted men who explore the des- 
 titute places and give to the rude materials their 
 earliest shape, cannot be too diligently employed 
 nor too highly valued. The regularly-read sermon, 
 with devotional exercises, which followed the ser- 
 vices of the Sunday-school, had formed the habit of 
 church-going among the people, so that a congr 
 tion of attentive listeners was gathered, ready for 
 the ministrations of Mr. Nesbit. 
 
 To form a church, and to have him regularly in- 
 stalled over it, were the first steps to be taken. The 
 little band who had before associated together, again 
 met, and others, like-minded, united with them, as, 
 in the prescribed order and form, they renewed their 
 public covenant to be the Lord's servants hereafter 
 and for ever. Some new-comers, and others who 
 
THE CIIVKt II AND THE MINISTER. 209 
 
 had, in former homes, taken vows of obedience and 
 love to their Saviour, but had here (to their great 
 peril) hesitated and doubted, now united with them. 
 Others still, moved by the Spirit of God, for the 
 time professed their faith in Jesus, and joined 
 themselves unto his people; so that a church of 
 twenty members welcomed Mr. Xesbit, as he pub- 
 licly promised " to live and labour for them in the 
 name of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ/' 
 not only was he welcomed he was sust 
 bv their n in all his plans. The 
 
 was given to his people; for he deemed the pr> 
 and strict observance of the day, by public worship, 
 as i! n the confidence of look 
 
 on. At other times, he was ready t< go into ,ther 
 
 1 to the m-ar settlements t> j>i 
 
 or perform other ministerial duties. Ouee during the 
 week did the church gather, for social prayer and 
 praise, at his house an engagement which no duty 
 in other places was allowed to infringe upon. To 
 Mr. Nesbit's decision and regularity in meeting these 
 home-duties, did he afterwards impute the feeling 
 of stability and trust, regarding the church, which 
 prevailed in the community; and which extended 
 into the adjoining country, bringing, from quite a 
 distance, many constant attendants upon the Sab- 
 bath services. 
 
 No doubt it had this effect; but the consistent and 
 unswerving devotion of his life to the one great ob- 
 is 
 
210 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 ject of elevating the moral condition of bis follow 
 creatures, gained for him, in time, the respect of all. 
 A well-regulated life, a well-ordered conversation, a 
 cheerful reliance upon God, true benevolence and 
 sympathy for man, and a hand ready to help any in 
 need, with these characteristics, is it wonderful 
 that, in some measure, differences of opinion should 
 lessen, opposition become weak, ill-will be forgotten, 
 and jealousies be subdued ? 
 
 When he had been with them but a few months, 
 the proposal to build a church was made. It was 
 an advance upon their position, which all agreed 
 was natural and desirable. But how should it be 
 done ? Sufficient subscriptions in ready-money were 
 not to be expected in such a community as th 
 while promises, though plenty, could not be made 
 available, unless put into some reliable and substan- 
 tial form. 
 
 A union church was first proposed. This would 
 unite their means, and make them better able to 
 accomplish the proposed end. Many thought this 
 the better way ; but Mr. Nesbit was of the opinion 
 that, as different denominations increased in num- 
 bers and strength, so difficulties came in proportion, 
 and that quarrels and animosities were awakened, 
 which no present ease or good were an equivalent 
 for ; and that, therefore, the most desirable way for 
 them was to have the church-property belong to one 
 society, held together by one common faith and in- 
 
THE CIIU1K II AN I> TIIK MINISTER. 211 
 
 tcrest. With the responsibility thus thrown upon a 
 
 . w.>ukl come increased interest iu its behalf; 
 while they could and should, with proper restric- 
 tions, Mj.i-n their doors to others at all times, when 
 their own staU-d gatherings would not be interfered 
 with. All might thus be accommodated, and all 
 help t'urni>h the means and place suitable for their 
 object. 
 
 The matur was at length decided upon. Mr. 
 M"ivt"ii \va> to procure the plan and specifica- 
 tions of a church, such as they required. It was to 
 be a wooden building, plain but tasteful, with pews 
 and a neatly-finished pulpit; and its cost not to 
 exceed one thousand dollars. This money he was 
 to hiiv at as reasonable a rate of int. n>t as possible, 
 and was himself or his heirs responsible for it by a 
 mortgage upon bis farm to that amount. A sub- 
 Boription-papQr was then to be circulated, and as 
 much money collected as the people were ready to 
 give ; and (to their credit be it told) there was no 
 grudging or unwilling hand among them.* 
 
 Notes, payable in money, produce, or labour, were 
 received by Mr. Moreton, to secure him for the re- 
 mainder of the sum ; and, as he himself subscribed 
 handsomely and freely, no jealousy or fear of being 
 
 * This account of the mode of obtaining a place of 
 worship falls naturally into the narrative, but is not de- 
 D approved example in any respect 
 except the energy and liberality which were shown. 
 
212 LIFE IX THE 
 
 overreached was awakened in the minds of any. 
 Three years was to be the limit of time for which 
 the money was to be loaned, and no note running 
 after that time was to be received. 
 
 When all this was arranged, the work was begun. 
 To work rapidly is no novelty in a new country; but 
 this church sprang up as if by more than ordinary 
 power. Robert Moreton, Mr. Blagden, and Mr. 
 Johnson were the acting committee, and devoted 
 much time and thought, as well as labour, to it. 
 One man, with his oxen, came to cart lime ; ano- 
 ther had a load of wheat to take to the market-town, 
 and would bring back lumber; one would give so 
 many days' work in digging for the foundation j 
 and yet another would contribute so many thou- 
 sands of brick. When the frame was ready to be 
 raised, nearly every man in the village came to work; 
 and, according to Western custom, the women had 
 prepared for them, upon tables within the court- 
 house, abundant refreshment and entertainment 
 when the afternoon's work was done. 
 
 Thus, " with a willing mind," they progressed 
 and speedily finished their work. As the year 
 passed on, and every month saw notes redeemed and 
 promises performed, Mr. Moreton felt more strongly 
 the wisdom of Mr. Nesbit's plan, and acknowledged 
 it openly thus confirming others in their good 
 opinion of their minister; while he himself willingly 
 relinquished a part of his salary, small as it was, 
 
THE CHURCH AND THE MINISTER. 
 
 that in such a crisis they might not be overbur- 
 dened. 
 
 The dedication of their new sanctuary, with the 
 ndance of all clergymen from adjoining counties 
 and States that would COMIC; the preparation for 
 singing, and the formation of a choir; the gathering 
 of the young women to make suitable drapery and 
 cushions for the pulpit; and, finally, the presenta- 
 tion of a large and beautiful JJiMe for the mini.- 1 
 use, i but a week before the dedication, from 
 
 a friend in New York, who interested himself in 
 what hit . Blagden,) all these Wt I 
 
 '.ikeland. 
 
 Thus /<///</ / th> \\'nr,I was established 
 
 among them ; not without effort and sacrifice, nor 
 without some opposition, it is true; but the success 
 was complete. In a Western community, there is 
 a fair and open field for the spread of religious 
 truth. Most minds are prepared by experience of 
 life to acknowledge its uncertainty, and the un>atis- 
 fying nature of worldly pursuits ; and the heart 
 craves a future of promise. Infidelity is not so 
 thoroughly rooted, even in the hardened hearts of 
 those who openly boast of it, that they will not lis- 
 ten to truth forcibly illustrated, be it only to gain- 
 say it ; and, while they may affect to despise fear 
 as unmanly, and love as too effeminate a passion for 
 men, yet the great truths of the Bible will bear the 
 broad sunlight of investigation, and commend them- 
 
 18* 
 
214 LIFE IX THE WEST. 
 
 selves to their consciences as right, and just, and 
 good. 
 
 Practical wliyion crrry-day holiness, this it is 
 which must win its way, whether preached or prac- 
 tised by the minister or the humble follower of 
 Christ. Its manifest power over the life of one will 
 influence the life of another. Its control over the 
 heart and life roll on until the life and heart of still 
 another is reached. The traveller who JKI-S'-S through 
 village after village, disturbing the worship of little 
 assemblies, gathered in humble school-houses or in 
 Sunday-schools, and himself forgets it is God's day, 
 or flatters himself that, riding through the lonely 
 woods, he lifts his heart acceptably to his Maker, 
 he it is who is wasting a treasure of influence com- 
 mitted to him. The children who see him, the 
 loiterers at the tavcrn-stqis, the stable-boy who 
 feeds and grooms his horse, the family whose day 
 of quiet is broken, all these remember him ; and, 
 in proportion to his appearance of respectability, so 
 is his power to lessen their reverence for the Sab- 
 Lath. 
 
 " I remember," said a useful and intelligent wo- 
 man, whose life was passed in a Western village, 
 " one man that stopped at my father's over a Sab- 
 bath, when I was about fifteen years old. He 
 seemed so surprised that we should think two miles 
 far to go to church, that we all accompanied him, 
 though it was unusual for us to do so. And then, 
 
THE CHURCH AND THE MINISTER. 215 
 
 when we reached the log school-house, he seemed so 
 pleased and happy, and lisU-ned t<> what I thought a 
 very dull sermon as if he liked it and understood it. 
 But the fact of his 7,-/i "/'<*//// /// //<"//, and singing 
 witl. a hymn expressive of love to 
 
 Jesus, made an impression on my mind which has 
 r been effaced. He was a man in middle life, 
 healthy and well-looking, evidently a man of wealth, 
 and thus in possession of all I had considered neces- 
 sary to happiness. But I could not deny that he 
 had ; of enjoyment in religion that I knew 
 
 nothing about. His look, his manner, his voice, all 
 told me this; beside, he knew th<' hymn, and would 
 never have- learned it, if he did not like it. After 
 I reached home, I got the book and read it over and 
 over. Then I went to the Bible, to see if there I 
 found the same sentiments. From that time, I d 
 all my interest in religious matters; and from that 
 man's silent influence upon my own heart, I have 
 learned that no imm Ih-'th to him* (f nlone. 
 
 The influence of settlers from other and more ad- 
 vanced States; their indifference towards the insti- 
 tutions of the gospel; their disregard for its humbly- 
 administered ordinances ; their forgetfulness of the 
 Christian covenant into which they have entered in 
 other homes, are all powerful hindrances to the 
 work and success of the Western missionary. 
 Christians, so called, plant obstacles to the progress 
 of Christianity, and professed believers become a 
 
216 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 hindrance to the spread of the gospel, by their 
 ungodly or inconsistent lives and actions. The 
 eyes of those who love not the Saviour are not 
 blinded, nor their perceptions dimmed towards the 
 failings or short-comings of the church of God; 
 neither are their hearts insensible to the power of 
 example from such a source. Let but the influ- 
 ence of all who know the will of God, and who ac- 
 knowledge the excellency and divine origin of the 
 Scriptures, be seen openly exerted, and we need fear, 
 for our beloved country, neither the reign of super- 
 stition, nor of open infidelity. " While men si 
 the enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, 
 and went his way." " Let us not sleep, then, a 
 others ;" but, each at his post, wherever God may 
 appoint, rouse ourselves to the great work of />'//// 
 good, that we may do good ; heartily entering into 
 those great plans of our Creator which are in pro- 
 gress for the redemption and salvation of a fallen 
 world. 
 
AW-MILL AND DISTILLERY. 217 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE STEAM SAW-MILL AND THE DISTILLERY. 
 
 IT is unnecessary for us, as it would be uninte- 
 
 ing to our to enter into the detailed his- 
 
 t"i -y of the progress of improvement in the village 
 
 of Lakeland. The fresh, new paint upon the church 
 
 and school-house contrasted too glaringly with the 
 
 worn colour and gray sides of the court-house, and 
 
 a unanimous vote was passed at a county meeting to 
 
 the building repaired and painted, while John 
 
 I>ii<lK y headed the enterprise of planting the open 
 
 re in which the three stood, with thrifty young 
 
 maple-trees. 
 
 Ambition was aroused among the people to make 
 the village attractive; and streets were graded, decay- 
 ed stumps removed, fences repaired, wood-piles taken 
 to the rear of the buildings, flower-borders made, and 
 fruit-trees planted. Rose-vines were seen clambering 
 about doors and windows, refreshing the eye and 
 pouring out upon the air their wealth of sweetness. 
 
 Xnw that the school-house was pleasant and 
 cheerful, the children were more regular in their 
 attendance, and cleanliness * and tidiness of dress 
 
218 LIFE IX THE WEST. 
 
 prevailed, making the effort to instruct more agree- 
 able to their teachers and more successful in its 
 results. 
 
 The Sabbath, too, was better observed. Seldom 
 was a load of wheat now brought to the village on 
 that day. The grocery-store was never oprn to 
 customers ; and if parties were made to go in quest 
 of nuts or to gather cranberries, they appointed some 
 week-day, instead of Sunday, as the most fitting time. 
 
 We do not intend to convey the i< It -a that thrre 
 was no evil abroad in Lakeland at this stage of its 
 history ; but to show that it was advancing, and that 
 changes, trivial in themselves, and gradual imj>r 
 ments, made up an aggregate of good which was 
 perceptible, and to them important. 
 
 Under these combined influences, Lakeland had 
 become a decidedly thrifty Western village, so de- 
 sirable as a location, that some other families had 
 removed there for the purpose of educating tlu-ir 
 children, there being greater inducements in other 
 respects for the removal. In society, in schools, in 
 the establishment of regular divine worship, in in- 
 creased facilities for reaching market-towns, in the 
 improved mode of cultivating their lands, in the 
 planting of young orchards, and the improvement 
 in the stock of their farms, one might see the sure 
 tokens of advance in public opinion and the more 
 general diffusion of useful knowledge among the 
 people. 
 
STEAM SAW-MILL AND DISTILLERY. 219 
 
 It was in the autumn of 18 that the good peo- 
 ple of Lakeland were all alive to two projects which 
 were simultaneously started. One of them concerns 
 our friend Robert Moreton, and our readers shall be 
 informed of its particulars. 
 
 As far back as the building of their own house, 
 the difficulties attending the transportation of lum- 
 ber had been felt by Mr. Moreton as a serious ob- 
 jection to locating there. Every new building, 
 whether public or private, had brought the subject 
 up fn-shly i''i -JIM ussion between him and his sons; 
 but their own wants being supplied, and the press 
 of farm-labour sufficient to occupy tlu-ir time and 
 thoughts, it had heretofore been but a subject of 
 conversation. 
 
 The time for action, however, had now come. 
 llniry. advanced in knowledge and with robust 
 health, had become an able and efficient helper to 
 his father; while Charles, now a well-grown lad 
 of sixteen, was rapidly developing strong fancies and 
 decided abilities for a farming life. Then, Patrick 
 and his boy Pat were still employed by Mr. More- 
 ton; so that Robert rightly thought he was no 
 longer needed at home. 
 
 To erect a steam saw-mill, and to superintend its 
 operations, became the object of his desires. To do 
 this, he must have capital and knowledge. The 
 latter, reading, thought and observation had al- 
 ready given him in some degree, and a visit made 
 
220 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 to other parts of the country soon put him in pos- 
 session of its practical details. 
 
 The money necessary for his object was not so 
 easily attained. Richard Gray was in a sufficiently 
 prosperous condition to repay the sum loaned by 
 Mr. Moreton, as Robert's share in his enterprise. 
 This, with the use of his father's name, enabled him 
 to commence his undertaking; while some of his 
 townsmen, sufficiently alive to the best interests of 
 the village, themselves came forward and offered as- 
 histain-c, >hould it be needed, on easy terms. 
 
 The spot for the location of the mill had long 
 been selected. A belt of timbered land, covered 
 with the magnificent growth of years, ran to the 
 east of the village, and spread itself out for a long 
 distance. This lay partly on the farm belonging to 
 Mr. Moreton; and the timber growing upon adjoin- 
 ing ground was easily procurable from those who 
 were anxious to have their best farming-land cleared. 
 This, of itself, was sufficient inducvnient to place 
 his mill there ; but the gift of the land from his 
 father, and the abundant supply of water near by, 
 seemed to make it, without doubt, the best place for 
 him. 
 
 Beaver Lake was the name of the small pond 
 upon whose banks he broke ground for the founda- 
 tion of his buildings. 
 
 A never-failing spring, of considerable -depth, 
 appeared to have overflowed its bounds, and spread 
 
VW-MILL ANDgOlSTILLERY. -ll 
 
 ^J 
 
 itself between the gently-slopBg hills that lay 
 around it, the clear waters of which bathed the fresh 
 H that grew quite down to its edge, leaving nei- 
 ther swamp nor sedgy land upon its borders. What 
 had undoubtedly been its natural outlet was now 
 closed by an over-grown beaver-dam, deserted many 
 n before by its amphibious inhabitants, but still 
 bearing marks of their ingenuity in constructing a 
 home; while the waste-water had forced. for it 
 another channel upon the opposite side ; there, 
 meeting with descending land, it ran gayly on, lik 
 
 Bhrer thread in width, but rapid in its coi: 
 until it i ith the current of a river and 
 
 was lost to the 
 
 "Too beautiful a spot to spoil with a mill. 
 Mary ; Imt the West is full of such beautiful spots, 
 where Nature has been lavish of her favours, and 
 scattered her gifts with a liberal hand : an<l even 
 her dfvotr.l admirer, Mary, yielded the point, that, 
 in an utilitarian sense, none could be better adapted 
 to Robert's object than this. 
 
 To work, then, he went, favoured by an early fall 
 of snow, that made it easy to transport from other 
 and more distant towns the necessary materials for 
 his use. As far south as the Moreton family lived, 
 sleighing in the winter, although uncertain in its 
 duration, is highly prized. The leisure of winter 
 gives time for the taking of produce to market, 
 while a smooth and even road made by the fall of 
 
 19 
 
222 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 snow presents families, that even a dweller in an 
 old country, where highways and turnpikes are 
 known, docs not despise. Robert's mind was of 
 the systematic order. His plans were thoroughly 
 made and considered, and all his arrangements were 
 the result of mature thought; while his mechanical 
 education had fitted him to meet emergencies with a 
 ready hand and a quick wit. Thus it was that he 
 was able to accomplish his object so successfully. 
 The same power that was used to drive his I 
 was also made to work a run of stones for the grind- 
 ing of wheat; thus obviating the necessity which 
 had existed among the villagers of going a greater 
 distance : and the whole was in operation the follow- 
 ing summer, with a good prospect of soon paying 
 for itself, and afterwards yielding a fair income to 
 its owner. 
 
 But another work of nearly equal magnitude was 
 started at the same time with the saw-mill, and pro- 
 secuted with equal ardour. This was the erection 
 of a distillery, under the superintendence of John 
 Thomas, the eldest son of Mr. Thomas, the lawyer. 
 His means were more ample than Robert's, and the 
 speed with which he accomplished his purpose was 
 wonderful, even at the West. The abundant har- 
 vest of the first year brought the price of grain so 
 low, that great profits were to be made on whisky, 
 and purchasers were not wanting. A feeling of 
 rivalry or jealousy spurred young Thomas on ; to 
 
STEAM SAW-MILL AN DISTILLERY. *2'2:i 
 
 make i_ r i to eclipse ^J^rt Moreton in the 
 
 perfection of his arrangements and the amount of 
 business done. I\nl>ert \vas human, and it is no 
 wonder that he felt uneasy, and sometimes disturbed, 
 by the apparent success of his neighbour, or that he 
 sometimes wished tor greater means uf extending his 
 busi; 
 
 Nefwhaato, never rest/ " said Mr. Moreton to 
 him, one evening, as he heard Robert's account of a 
 large order received by John Thomas for pi 
 
 haste, n .' and you will 
 
 ;iit. Wore you as old as I, Robert, you 
 would have learned better than to allow y'iir feel- 
 ings to 1. d because your neighbour is pros- 
 pering. Candidly, with all his apparent success, 
 wmild you, to-day, exchange phuvs with him '.'*' 
 
 was the hearty response of Robert. 
 " I would rather be a poor man all my days than 
 furnish ; - of ruin to one of my fellow- 
 
 creatu 
 
 "But," said Mr. Moreton, willing to try him 
 
 further, " young Thomas sells whisky only by the 
 
 quantity, and thus evades the name and undesirable 
 
 fame of Her. He is a manufacturer, and 
 
 a drunkard is never- to be seen on his premises. 
 
 n hear that he will have none but temperate 
 
 for him ; and he himself never tastes 
 
 hi- >wn whisky !" 
 
 much the worse, father/' said Charles, who 
 
224 E IN THE WLST. 
 
 was listening to mis conversation; "for he thus 
 acknowledges the evil of intemperance" 
 
 "And shifts the responsibility upon others, while 
 he pockets the profits of his establishment," added 
 Robert. " But, where he stands, it is impossible to 
 meet him with any proof of his doing wrong. When 
 Mr. Bradley told him, last week, that he was making 
 drunkards by wholesale, while poorer men made 
 them so by retail, he answered, that i the appetite 
 was there, and, if he did not supply its cravings, 
 others would ;' and even added, that ' it was better 
 to give them yood whisky than poor, poisoned stuff, 
 that was not fit to drink !' " 
 
 " By such arguments he doubtless satisfies him- 
 self," replied Mr. Moreton; "but the end is to come, 
 lie may accumulate riches every thing now seems 
 i favour it; but the influence which goes out from 
 that establishment one would not wish to be respon- 
 sible for. Ten years from now, we shall be better 
 able to judge of its amount, as well as of his success. 
 Meantime! let us remember the words of David: 
 ( Be not thou afraid when one is made rich, when 
 the glory of his house is increased ; for, when he 
 dieth, he shall carry nothing away, his glory shall 
 not descend after him.' In the choice of an em- 
 ployment, as well as in the care of our hearts, it is 
 well to have this ' testimony, that it pleases God / 
 and those professions and callings of which this can 
 be said are so abundant, that we need not resort 
 
STEAM SAW-MILL AND DISTILLERY. 
 
 225 
 
 to unlawful pursuits to gain a livelihood or to 
 insmv a competence. As you caunot hope to influ- 
 ence John, let him and his success alone. It is not 
 to interfere with your prosperity. Keep the end 
 steadily in view when we must all give an account 
 ;it us by our Maker; and be 
 
 sure that your's are exercised in such a way that the 
 bodies and soul< f your fellow-men are not thereby 
 injured, if you, at the close of life, would look 1 
 with jy ; and not with grief." 
 
 19* 
 
226 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 WILLIE MORETON'S DEATH. 
 
 HITHERTO, we have had to record only the pros- 
 perity and blessings which had attended the course 
 of the Moreton family. The minor ills to which all 
 are liable, and the infirmities of body from which 
 none are exempt, had sometimes visited them. The 
 same causes which had destroyed the crops of other 
 farmers had operated unfavourably for their's ; and 
 the fluctuations in the prices of staple commodities 
 they had felt as others did : but their history, on 
 the whole, had been one of mercy, and gratefully 
 did they acknowledge the guiding and protecting 
 hand of Providence. 
 
 The ensuing summer brought with it a sad change. 
 The prevalence of a fever, contagious in its nature, 
 and often fatal in its attacks upon the young, was 
 felt throughout that portion of country. Unknow- 
 ingly, Willie Moreton was exposed to it, and for days 
 suffered all the agonies of its worst form, while his 
 mind wandered in delirious imaginings. Oh ! how 
 anxiously was he watched, how tenderly nursed by 
 his fond mother, who, forgetful of self in the care 
 
WILLIK MOUKTOX'S DEATH. 
 
 for his safety, would allow none but Mary to help 
 her in her labour of love ! Those nights of wake- 
 fulness; those days of tender ministration to his 
 wants; those gentle words of love and sympathy, 
 whose tones were felt, even when their import was 
 not understood ; above all, those earnest prayers for 
 submission to the divine will, and for willing aajui- 
 escence in whatever tlu'ir heavenly Father should 
 order, who but those who know a mother's heart, 
 and wh<> have dwelt, both in health and sickness, 
 in trouble and joy, beneath the l>eannii_: light of a 
 mother's love, can tell ? The full fountain of sym- 
 pathy which was opened for them in the hearts of 
 re, the ready acts of friendship, and the willing 
 lu-lp which was at their disposal, all showed the 
 strong hold which they had upon the affections of 
 .rhbours. B nds 
 
 had cause for anxi own 
 
 d\v ;d some, who had laid l-^vd ones in 
 
 their last narrow beds, came to proffer help fr 
 the invalid, hoping that their f re to 
 
 the disease might prove a sufficient reason with 
 Mrs. Moreton for employing their services, while 
 she sought necessary rest. 
 
 "What a change came over that family group, as 
 they realized, from their own experience, fur the 
 first time, their slender hold upon life ! With what 
 tenderness did they gaze upon each other, as they 
 felt that they knew not who should next be laid 
 
228 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 low, beneath the withering hand of disease ! How 
 gently did they speak, how patiently bear the small 
 mistakes or infirmities of brother or sister ! How, day 
 by day, did they comfort each other with words of 
 hope, which, their own hearts whispered, were feeble 
 to soothe ! How their own desires went up in silent 
 petition to God, to look upon them in their sorrow 
 and to grant them healing mercies ! 
 
 Then Alice, the darling of their hearts, sickened, 
 and, for days, she too was dangerously ill. Never, 
 until now, had they felt how dear they were to < 
 other how their lives were entwined together in 
 loving bonds, and their happiness dependent upon 
 the happiness of the whole. 
 
 But Willie was never more to take his place in 
 their family circle. From the first attack of illi 
 his case had been deemed nearly hopeless, both by 
 Dr. Mason and his mother. Watchful nui>inir and 
 
 D 
 
 efficient care only served to prolong his life a few 
 days more upon earth, and then he closed his w< 
 eyes upon the world and slept his last sleep. 
 
 Reason was granted him in that last hour of life. 
 Feeble and faint the vital current moved in his veins. 
 He awoke from a disturbed slumber to recognise his 
 beloved mother bending over his pillow with mater- 
 nal tenderness. The change which she saw in his 
 countenance, her experience too truly told her, was 
 the change of approaching death. Silently she sum- 
 moned to his side father, brothers, and sisters, each 
 
TYILLII: Mu;ETn.\ f .s DEATH. 229 
 
 of whom he recognised with looks of love and faintly- 
 
 .11 w.'rds. Their tearful eyes and saddened 
 
 med to grieve him, and, as he asked for 
 
 "dear Ally," and was t<ld how very sick >he was, 
 
 _> of affection to her and Frank. 
 
 Then, looking in his mother's face, he earnestly re- 
 
 if to comfort her 
 
 " You know I love Jesus ! You know I love 
 Saviour !'' 
 
 It in grayer by that dying bedside. In 
 faith did those parents again yield up the beloved 
 ehil i surrendering themselves, with all that 
 
 ; ) his sovereign disposal, and asking 
 for themselves unwavering submission and eariioi 
 tru.-t in his love. The dying one they commended, 
 oh, how fervently! to the Saviour fur whom, with 
 his fleeting breath, In- had avowed his love, beseech- 
 ing him to place beneath him his everlasting arms, 
 ; him in this his time of need, and, when 
 ild be freed from his weary and perish- 
 ing body, to bear him to that world of L r lry \\ ' 
 he might eternally dwell with angels and saints, and 
 with Jesus himself, the Saviour, the Redeen 
 
 For the further comforting of the departing soul, 
 Mr. Moreton repeated portions of God's word : 
 " Yea, though I walk through the valley of the 
 !ow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art 
 with me ; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort 
 me." 
 
230 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 " And they remembered that God was their rock, 
 and the high God their Redeemer/' 
 
 " For God so loved the world, that he gave his 
 only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on 
 him should not perish, but have everlasting life." 
 
 " Lord, I believe ; help thou my unbelief." 
 
 " Into thy hands I commit my spirit : thou hast 
 redeemed me, Lord God of truth." 
 
 " Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death 
 of his saints." 
 
 Thus, upon the ear of Willie, fell the sound of 
 God's precious word, until that ear was dull, and the 
 eye, wont to beam with affection, was dimmed with 
 the shadow of death. A.s they looked upon (1 
 features, lately so bright and joyous with the sunshine 
 of a loving heart, now fixed and mutin: :ln-y 
 
 viewed the stiffened form, which they had 
 active and buoyant; as they remembered the plea- 
 sant voice and words, now hushed in n -\* -r-tn -he- 
 broken silence; as they recalled his many little acts 
 of kindness and of self-denying love, it s 
 if the blessed gift of memory itself would turn trai- 
 tor to their happiness using the remembrance of 
 past pleasures to heighten the present grief. 
 
 What, then, could give them comfort? Upon 
 what can the afflicted heart rest, when earthly joys 
 and earthly hopes are taken away? The promises 
 of God's word; and upon these only could our sor- 
 rowing friends rely. Willie's appeal to his mother 
 
WILLIE MORKTOX'S DEATH. 
 
 "You know I love Jesus" so emphatically iitt 
 
 the connecting link between his soul and 
 
 o 
 
 thrir's. A life free from open sins, they thought 
 
 his to have been, but they knew that faith in Jesus 
 
 the only plea which sinful man could make at 
 
 the throne of God; and these remembered words, 
 
 \iiiii of trust and confidence as well as of love, 
 
 lingered in their memories, soothing their grief and 
 
 mitL ir sorrow, as they, with them, recalled 
 
 that word, " V r believeth on him shall not 
 
 be ashamed."* 
 
 same promises they were also consoled, 
 when, accompanied by neighbours and frit-i 
 bore his body to the village burial-ground and 
 t until the resurrection-day. To 
 : out some quiet retreat upon his own land, wl. 
 it minlit silently repose near them, was the iii>t 
 thought .f Mr. Moreton. But he had oonfc 
 live and die with his fellow-men, and where tli y 
 were buried, there should he and his be laid. Nor 
 did he regret this decision, as, around that <JM-U 
 grave, he saw the countenances of sympathi, 
 acquaintances and witnessed their sorrow in his 
 sorrow. 
 
 A few words of consolation to all mourning hearts 
 were spoken by Mr. Nesbit, a hymn sung, and then 
 
 * Rom. x. 10. 
 
232 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 friendly hands lowered the coffin into the earth, and 
 all silently withdrew. 
 
 But where was Susan Gray, in this time of trouble ? 
 She, too, sat by the side of the sick ; but it was in 
 her own house, and it was her only child to whom 
 she ministered. Now nearly two years old, it had 
 become an endeared member of their circle, winning 
 their hearts with its infantile charms and expand- 
 ing rapidly in intelligence and physical growth. 
 
 It was spared, after a struggle with diseaM and bo- 
 dily suffering scarcely less to be dreaded than death 
 itself, and lived to be a further source of joy to its 
 parents and to all at the farm. Alice, too, recovered, 
 but her recovery was slow; and they received her 
 once more to their fireside circle only as the first frosts 
 of autumn were gorgeously tinting the forest-trees. 
 As she took her accustomed place near her mother's 
 chair, they remembered more vividly the departure 
 of one who would never return ; but no heart was 
 ungrateful, or forgetful that God, in sending chas- 
 tisement, had mingled mercy with it; mercy in 
 staying the ravages of death and mercy in their 
 hope for the happiness of Willie. 
 
THE SEQUEL. 
 

CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 T\vo years after the date of our last chapter, a 
 wagon drawn by a fine pair of horses might be seen 
 ing from a country-inn, in the vicinity of Lake- 
 land. 
 
 " Only ten miles farther/' said the young man 
 who was acting as driver, "and the road good all 
 the w- 
 
 u Which last sentence could not be added, Ro- 
 bert, when you and I passed this way together, 
 years and a half since." 
 
 answered Robert. "Your five 
 years' absence has given time for great improve- 
 ments, Frank. Five years at the "\Vest are e<|ual 
 to twenty in Xew England, in marked external 
 change." 
 
 " I shall not complain, if the alteration does not 
 affect people as well as places." 
 
 " Xor should you, if it did," said an elderly gen- 
 tleman, who sat by Frank's side ; " for, if I mistake 
 not, the Frank Moreton who left the West to go to 
 college does not look exactly like the ' Kquirc More- 
 ton that is coming back." 
 
 237 
 
238 LIFE IN THE AVEST. 
 
 "You arc right, Dr. Newton; and, if they don't 
 know me at home, I shall rely upon you to intro- 
 duce me," responded the younger man, laughingly. 
 
 " Only see that forest of girdled trees !" said Dr. 
 Newton. " What a sad sight ! It looks like an 
 army of skeletons; and this breeze, that rocks their 
 dry arms, makes them more hideous still." 
 
 It was, indeed, a wild landscape, and calculated 
 to arrest the eye of a stranger. They had passed 
 fields in all stages of cultivation : some spotted with 
 stumps of trees so thickly, that there was little room 
 for the plough or the spade others free, and 
 stretching out a broad expanse of smooth, 1 
 land, rich and fertile; they had ridden for niih.-s 
 through woodland covered with gigantic trees, at 
 whose roots grew an impenetrable mass of underwood, 
 and around whose hoary trunks were clinging tendrils 
 of wild vines, full of crimson berries; they had started, 
 from the forest-coverts, partridges and quails innume- 
 rable ; had watched the wild-ducks fluttering about 
 the margin of ponds ; had seen the nimble squirrels 
 almost fly at their approach; and had often come 
 unexpectedly upon some farm-house, set down, Jike 
 a whip-poor-will's nest, all alone in the woods. 
 
 All these gave evidence and bore the impress of 
 life and activity. But not so the girdled field. The 
 ground was half-cleared, the underbrush all rooted 
 out and the plough had passed more than once 
 through the earth. Perhaps three years had passed 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 since each tree had had the fatal mark set upon it ; 
 and yet they stood in all their former magnitude, 
 but dead, throwing out their leafless and whitened 
 branches, that creaked with a hollow sound as they 
 waved to and fro in the wind. There were scat- 
 tered branches lying upon the earth; and, occasion- 
 ally, one weaker than its neighbour, leaned heavily, 
 their boughs locked together and together waited 
 the shock of the tempest that would uproot them, 
 .ore desohi- <>uld not be imagined; and 
 
 the more so, because, around it and upon the 
 oarth in which they stood, there was full and luxu- 
 rian f i), as yet untouched by frost or wintry 
 
 blight. 
 
 . gazed upon it as they slowly passed along. 
 
 " It is a murderous practice and a slovenly one, 
 too/' said Robert; " but the farmer who has little 
 mon > if wind and sun, tempest and ; 
 
 mu>t be mi ployed as his servants; and the marks 
 of each, as a labourer, can be seen there." 
 
 "Be:. i l-'rank, on a guide- 
 
 board that stood at the angle of two roads. " How 
 far to your mill, llobert, from this high\. 
 
 " Less than a quarter of a mile. We are earlier 
 than they will look for us at home ; what say you 
 to a turn which takes you out of your way that 
 distance ?" 
 
 'hing, but that I should like it," said Dr. 
 
 Newton ; and in a few minutes, they were in hearing 
 20* 
 
240 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 of its saws; and in a few minutes more, stood within 
 its walls. 
 
 Robert took them about its precincts, showed 
 them its machinery and its manner of working, and 
 then went with them to another apartment, where 
 two men, covered with flour, moved industriously 
 about. 
 
 " Well, Bonte*," said Robert, " are you at work 
 on the new wheat to-day, as I directed ?" 
 
 " Yes, sare." 
 
 "And the alterations we made, do they work 
 well?" 
 
 " Yes, sare ; he go nicely." 
 
 "Is that your 'poor Frenchman?'" asked Dr. 
 Newton. 
 
 " Yes, sare" replied Robert ; " and he go / 
 too, since he came here. You know he was a tinker 
 by trade, and strolled about the country, mending 
 tin-pans and doing odd jobs, for which he received 
 little or nothing. When this mill was building, he 
 applied for work, and he really showed so much me- 
 chanical skill, and was so ha?ut?/j (as the Yankees 
 say,) that I have kept him in my employ constantly, 
 advancing him, as he is competent, to more respon- 
 sible posts. He has been honest and sober ; and, 
 while he himself adheres to many French ways that 
 we do not consider praiseworthy or desirable, his 
 wife and children, with their regular and extended 
 means, have kept up with the tide of improvement, 
 
V 241 
 
 having become cleanly and tidy in their personal 
 habits ; and his oldest son and daughter are among 
 Mr. Blagden's best pupils; the boy is even studying 
 Latin and mathematics." 
 
 They left the mill, and stood among piles of 
 boards, planks and bundles of shingles. 
 
 "These," said Robert, pointing to some fine black- 
 walnut logs, "are only squared off, and ready to 
 send East. We find a ready market for them there. 
 Pine-wood we bring back, for our white-wood is too 
 sensitive to changes of temperature to take its place 
 entirely, unless we use paint more freely than most 
 of us can afford. These" (pointing to a lot of boards) 
 " are sold, and so are these." 
 
 k had left them, and was talking earnestly to 
 some one who seemed an acquaintance. 
 
 " Ah, Frank ! and so you and Revere knew each 
 other, did you ?" 
 
 "That we did," said Frank; "and I am right 
 glad to see him here." 
 
 : 1 I to be here," said Revere. 
 
 Thomas Revere was an important personage now 
 in the affairs of the Beaver Lake mill. With great 
 effort, he had broken off from his farmer companion- 
 ship ; and though in that struggle he had suffered, yet 
 he came off victorious over his own appetite, and had 
 remained firm thus far. His former intellectual 
 standing no habits of sobriety could restore; neither 
 could abstemiousness repair the shattered bodily 
 
242 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 vigour. The vacant eye and the trembling hand, 
 the frequent indisposition and the fits of despond- 
 ency, all betrayed the sad inroads that had been 
 made by intemperance. 
 
 But Robert met him as a man : sympathized with 
 him in his efforts; was not discouraged if he once 
 or twice failed; he assisted him in the settlement 
 of his affairs with his creditors ; saved for him some 
 little personal property from the grasp of the rum- 
 seller; procured board for him in a good, plain 
 family ; and, finally, gave him employment which 
 was constant and remunerative. 
 
 " Are you going to take into your establishment 
 all the poor fellows in the country?" asked Frank. 
 
 " Willingly, if they would do me as good .*. 
 as Revere/' answered Robert. "I enjoy much in 
 his society, for he is a shrewd man, and his know- 
 ledge is of advantage to me. He is my book-keeper; 
 he measures my lumber and prepares it for trans- 
 portation; he pays my workmen. In truth, he 
 docs as much for me as I ever can do for him ; so 
 that, in the matter of obligation, we are about 
 equal." 
 
 It would not do to linger longer, and they were 
 soon at Mr. More ton's door. Frank leaped from 
 the wagon, eager to greet his mother first; nor did 
 he heed Carlo's first welcome of a growl, and after- 
 wards of fawning caress. 
 
 Father and mother were there, with eyes tearful 
 
243 
 
 through joy; and seam-ly h:ul the word< of saluta- 
 tween them and the new-comers, when 
 
 ntered up to the door upon her pony, and 
 threw hermit' into Frank's arms, gave him a hearty 
 kiss, which he as heartily returned, and then she 
 greeted Dr. Newton with the same salutation. 
 
 D was the next to come. A light wagon, 
 holding herself, the bahy and Richard, appeared at 
 the door; they having been invited to meet Frank 
 and gond Dr. Newton at the tca-taMe. 
 
 il little Dick?*' asked Man. 
 niiig with Annie," answered Susan; "and 
 they should be here now/' she said, going to the 
 door. 
 
 There they were, and Annie's cordial voice was 
 heard 
 
 u Ah ! are they here already ? I thought we 
 should have been before them /' but Frank stopped 
 her mouth with kisses, for he was boisterous in his 
 joy at being once more among them. 
 
 II you called Henry ?" asked Mary. " We 
 promised we would." 
 
 Robert started for the adjoining room, and, in an 
 instant, a loud-sounding note on a horn re-echoed 
 through the air. 
 
 " That is the very same old horn/' said Frank, 
 "and makes just the same fine music it did years 
 ago, when it used to say, ' Boys, come in to supper !' 
 and ' Boys, you've played out long enough !' " 
 
244 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 When Robert returned, he complimented him 
 upon his musical skill and proficiency upon his fa- 
 vourite instrument, adding 
 
 " Time was, Robert, when three abortive attempts 
 would be made, before one such successful blast as 
 you just now favoured us with could be heard. But 
 I must go and meet Henry." 
 
 Henry was hastening from the field. He was 
 dressed in coarse trousers and a short whit, 
 frock, while a broad-brimmed straw hat shaded his 
 face, though it had not prevented his acquiring, in 
 his out-of-door pursuits, a high-coloured and some- 
 what dark complexion. 
 
 What a hearty greeting was there ! No 
 degree of strength, on either side, was exhibited and 
 felt in that old-fashioned shaking of hands, and mu- 
 tual exclamations of surprise at the personal change 
 cadi found in the other. 
 
 Henry tarried awhile in the shed, ere he was 
 ready to greet Dr. Newton. The trousers were 
 taken off; a clean coat substituted for the carter's 
 frock; house-boots, black and shining, were pulled 
 on in place of the stout cowhide ones with which he 
 followed the oxen and traversed the ploughed fields. 
 
 Pure cold water was at hand, and in a shu; 
 time than it has taken to record it, he was ready 
 appear, fresh and acceptably clad, before his friends. 
 
 Frank waited for him ; and, as he joined him, he 
 said 
 
 yto i 
 ads. 
 
CONCLUSION. 1J45 
 
 "You keep up the old habit, Henry, that we 
 
 I to think mother so particular about. Do you 
 find it as burdensome as we formerly thought it 
 was?" 
 
 " Oh, no, Frank ! I am old enough and wise 
 enough now to see that it adds to my own comfort, as 
 well as to that of mother. Besides, every arrangement 
 
 .:i<le here in this outside room for one's doing it 
 witl; ami it really takes scarcely 
 
 five minutes a day 'to doff the old habit and on 
 with the new.' ;) 
 
 The E .:il which had summoned IK -HIT had 
 
 . heard farther away, and Char! Alice 
 
 hurried up the hill, panting with <|iiiek exertion, 
 and soon were in the midst of the 1 family. 
 
 And now those few wonder-working 
 seen to have wrought many changes! Mr. and 
 .vton, with Dr. Newton, had still the same 
 appearance, unless a thread of white was seen here 
 and there more visibly on the temple. Robert 
 and Richard Gray had only matured and strength- 
 ened their well-expanded forms, and put on the 
 look of business-men; but "Henry had really 
 grown ; that," said Frank, " is certain." As cer- 
 tain was it, and rather more perceptible, that he 
 himself had; while Charles and Alice, one would 
 have thought, could have done nothing else. Mary 
 
 a woman, too, still bright, and with a counte- 
 nance that told of a heart full of melody; Alice, tall, 
 
246 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 fair, with clustering ringlets about her face, shrink- 
 ing from observation, but eager in her love ; Annie 
 " sweet Annie !" as everybody called her calm and 
 self-possessed, thinking of all the others' joy, and 
 of their happiness, and allowing no selfish wish to 
 arise that she too was fair and straight and strong ; 
 Charles, robust and ruddy, even now, in the midst 
 of his joy, finding time to tell little Cousin Dick how 
 many "nuts he and Alice had gathered that after- 
 noon, and of a fine squirrel he had in training for 
 him ;" information that set the little one in such an 
 ecstasy of pleasure as fairly lifted him off l.i- 
 and could only be allayed by successive hops and 
 skips. Notwithstanding this development of love 
 for boyish pleasures, Charles was a man in tl'rlinir 
 and in aim, but retained a freshness and vigour that 
 usually belong only to earlier years. Si: 
 (Mrs. Gray with everybody else, but still holding 
 the appellation of "Cousin Susan" here,) sin- 
 like a young matron, now hushing the little boy in 
 his noisy demonstrations of happiness, now gazing 
 tenderly on the baby, whose existence was numbered 
 by months, instead of years, and, again, looking 
 around that family circle, with an evident satisfac- 
 tion that she was embraced within its boun 
 
 Then came that gathering about the hospitable 
 table. Plenty, that characteristic of Western fare, 
 was here seen, but in conjunction with the nicer 
 culinary arts, and with an evident reference to the 
 
CONCLUSION. 247 
 
 health, instead of fastidious appetite, of its partici- 
 pants. 
 
 Do my readers ask, Was Willie forgotten in this 
 family reunion ? Passed away from earth, had he 
 also passed away from the remembrance of those 
 who had loved him ? Oh, no ! Little do those 
 who could thus inquire, know of the depth of that 
 love which still reigned in their hearts for him who 
 was not lost, but gone to their heavenly Father's 
 house. Little do they think of those yearning de- 
 3 which were only stilled and quieted with the 
 confluent belief that for him to have departed and 
 to "be with l'hri>t is far bett 
 
 IIall<wed and subdued by a remembrance of mor- 
 tality, life lost not its charms. It came as a gift 
 from the hand of a gracious God. Their creation 
 was with them a matter of thankfulness. The 
 mercies surrounding their path WL-IV so many in- 
 creased obligations neither to abuse it nor pervert it 
 from its true end. The uncertainty of life was but 
 a stronger reason for valuing and improving it as it 
 passes ; and to its end they looked as opening to the 
 J Jesus a higher service and endless bliss. 
 
 Sunset came, with all its gorgeous drapery of 
 clouds, golden, violet and crimson; it found Henry 
 and Dr. Newton in the fields, looking at changes and 
 advances which Mr. Moreton pointed out. There 
 was much conversation about ploughing and plant- 
 ing, of subsoil and sandy loam, of pasture and wood- 
 
248 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 land, of draining and fencing, and all that vast 
 variety of subjects which mixed husbandry necessa- 
 rily includes. Frank walked away, for it did not 
 interest him as it did the others. He found his 
 mother and sisters together, and with them explored 
 the garden and orchard. In the latter they found 
 Charles, with his hand full of late yellow peaches, 
 which he offered to them. 
 
 "Do take one, Frank/' said he; "I went pur- 
 posely to show you and Dr. Newton some of this 
 new kind. We call them resolution-peaches, and 
 think them wonderfully good for preserving !" 
 
 Frank was quite in the dark as regarded the his- 
 tory of the peach-tree, but he praised the fruit, 
 which he very safely might do ; and we as safely 
 praise Charlie, who had kept his resolution watch- 
 fully, until it was bringing forth the fair fruits of 
 forbearance, kindness and consideration. 
 
 At the side door stood Annie, talking with a lad. 
 
 " You have been very successful, Patrick," said 
 she; "and very nice roots these are. Now put 
 them with the others, on the floor of the wood-house 
 chamber ; and one more Saturday afternoon's work, 
 like this, will finish your task." 
 
 AVith these words, she turned and saw Frank. 
 
 " Ah, Frank ! this is Patrick McConey ; and we 
 all think him a real clever boy. See what a quan- 
 tity of ginseng-roots he has gathered since noon I" 
 and she put her slender hand into his basket and held 
 
CONCLUSION. 249 
 
 up some of the joints. " lie has quite a quantity 
 ut' it already, and we store it here until it is nicely 
 dried and ready fir - 
 
 What will he do with the money it sells for/' 
 asked Frank. 
 
 " Oh ! that is a secret between us ; is it not, 
 
 k : x " gayly responded Annie, with a genial 
 
 smile overspreading her features. "But we will 
 
 yon with it, si nee visitors should receive extra 
 
 attention. A JIi-<''>i\y of tk 1'nitnt States, price 
 
 's, is to be the purchase. 
 
 Then Patrick can go into one of Mr. J>lagden's 
 -ses, if he has a little perseverance and a 
 little help in learning his lessons." 
 
 The pcrsi : ii ust be on Patrick's side, but 
 
 e where the daily patience, in //>//>- 
 I 'inewhai obtuse intellect in keeping pac-- with 
 ijuieker minds, was to come from. 
 
 i on r .nl," said Frank. "And, Annie, I 
 'a boy and girl your old pets are 
 both bright and improving." 
 
 , :mie ; u and such a comfort as 
 
 " Did the mother ever learn to read ?" asked her 
 brother. 
 
 "No; I was not wise enough to know how to 
 teach an older person ; but I go and read to her 
 very often. Were it not for her and Aunt Rachel, 
 I should have little to do." 
 
250 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 But where were Mr. Moreton and Dr. Newton ? 
 They had strolled over the field and come out by 
 Patrick's house. The lingering twilight sufficed to 
 show the place to advantage. Its master and mis- 
 tress were both at the back of the cabin, mending 
 the cracks which a summer's sun had caused in a 
 hollowed log of wood. This log was the trunk of a 
 tree, and sufficiently long to extend the length of 
 the house. It was placed under the projecting ea 
 and would both catch and retain (when whole) a large 
 quantity of water. The "water-wagons" as the 
 clouds were called, which had been floating in the 
 sky, betokened rain to come, and busily were 
 Patrick and Winne employed, filling these cracks 
 and openings with the bark of the slippery-elm, 
 which, when moistened, would swell and make it 
 tight and whole. 
 
 Looking about the premises, Dr. Newton was struck 
 with the manifold uses to which wood, in its natural 
 state, could be turned. A little hewing and split- 
 ting, and there were materials for a house. There 
 was a snug fence, the gate of which was held toge- 
 ther by a wooden pin, fitted to a knot-hole in the post. 
 There was a log-stable, with a manger made of a hol- 
 lowed tree. There was a well, and its surrounding 
 curb was but a thick slice out of an immense tree, 
 hollowed by fire and by slight cutting. The bucket 
 itself was swinging from a flexible tamarac pole, held 
 by a stout walnut arm. A grape-vine was stretched 
 
CONCLUSION. 251 
 
 across the yard, from pole to pole, upon which hung 
 
 children's aprons, stockings, &c., to dry. A pile of 
 
 logs, lake a miniature cabin, was the place to keep 
 
 s. Another stored potatoes and turnips for the 
 
 use of the animals in winter. Bancroft Libn 
 
 He remarked this to Mr. Moreton, who replied 
 
 "Yt s, it is wonderful; but you do not here see 
 
 it exemplified in all its varieties. I have sometimes 
 
 lifted the wooden latch to a door, and seen, within, 
 
 and a bedstead, seats and table, even the 
 
 hook 1 ><iiliii^ kettle over the fire, made of 
 
 The cradle was a short one, hollowed, and a 
 
 blanket within it ; the bedstead, two stout ones, of 
 
 . securely nailed to the floor; resting 
 
 on t' kba wall ;. 
 
 two ends, and r at the m ihis were 
 
 1 grape-vines, or else small pole-like bran 
 
 >n it and upon the side-logs of the cabin. 
 The seats would be good-sized logs, smoothly nit, with 
 :]-p'rt for the back ; the 
 r and higher log, such as you 
 about the well, only whole. A crotched branch of 
 a tree held the kettle, and a large wood-pile fur- 
 nished the fire for its necessities. The candlestick 
 I of wood, with shingle-nails set in a circle ; 
 while the babies played with peeled sticks, dressed, 
 upon which faces were marked at one end, and with 
 the fruit of buckeye-trees, husks of corn, and nuts 
 of every kind." 
 
 21* 
 
252 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 " Thus their necessities are met," said Dr. Now ton, 
 " however uninvitingly it may appear to us to be. 
 Our power of adaptation to circumstance,'} and 
 the contrivance often shown in procuring the 
 means of satisfying our wants, is, to me, often 
 wonderful/' 
 
 But this is a digression ; and we would draw our 
 reader's attention to one scene more, passing over 
 even a visit to Aunt Rachel, with the presentation 
 of a pair of spectacles by Frank, which, she averred, 
 made her eyes young again. More than this, we 
 may not stop to tell of an excursion into a neigh- 
 bouring county, which was taken to show Dr. > 
 ton a large prairie-farm, with embankments of earth 
 instead of fences, and its immense fields, with cor- 
 responding corn-cribs and threshing-floors. Nor 
 may we dwell upon Frank's welcome in the vill 
 nor his arrangement to enter himself with a party 
 of engineers who were surveying the land in that 
 region, in view of a railroad-rout ; his father think- 
 ing that he would be the better for an active life for 
 a while. 
 
 Before Dr. Newton left, he became aware that 
 John Dudley and his favourite, Mary, were to unite 
 their fortunes, and he begged them to hasten that 
 event, that he might witness it. This was not done, 
 but he saw daily progressing the building of the cot- 
 tage in which they purposed to live, and was witness 
 for himself that this union was to be one of conge- 
 
CONCLUSION. 253 
 
 niality, enlisting hearts, as well as hands, and pro- 
 mising a future of happiness for both. 
 
 " But I saw a cottage much like this one, near 
 the mill, the day I came," said he, after going about 
 the little building. " Whose is that ?" 
 
 " Mine," said Robert; "and I only wait for this 
 to be finished, to take Mary's chosen friend, Dora 
 Van Weichten, to it ; for, the same day that mother 
 gives her daughter to John, I bring her another, 
 whom she says will be wclcon 
 
 The last Sabbath of Dr. Newton's stay had come. 
 They had , < hurch and heard the word of 
 
 God preached, uniting in worship with an earnest 
 and listening congregation, and singing the praises of 
 their Maker with the voice and heart. The duties of 
 the Sunday-school had been attended, and were \ 
 
 \ , from their ordinary routine, by an adlr-s 
 from their Eastern visitor, and by a vote to bestow 
 the old library on a new school, some twelve miles 
 distant from them. As a school they felt rich 
 enough now to have a fresh one and to pay for it; 
 and they would show their thankfulness, for that 
 given to them in their weakness, by sending its well- 
 read but well-kept volumes to those who were needy. 
 
 The walk home was long, but the gentlemen 
 preferred it to riding. The wagons had all 
 passed them ; the children hurried along, turning, 
 as, they overtook Mr. Moreton, for their accustomed 
 
254 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 salutation : even the women who came on horse- 
 back to church, and brought babies with them, had 
 slowly moved past; and, when Mr. Blagden over- 
 took them, he seemed to be the last of the congre- 
 gation who went their way. 
 
 They passed Aunt Rachel's, and received a plea- 
 sant nod of recognition from the old woman, as she 
 stood leaning on her crutches while Sobieski let 
 down the bars for her to enter the yard. 
 
 " That boy is growing up into a very likely man/' 
 said Mr. Blagden. " He is no longer in school, but 
 comes often for books from my library; and, in my 
 opinion, bids fair for respectability and usefulness 
 among us/' 
 
 " Your whole Sunday-school seems full of likely 
 boys and girls !" said Dr. Newton. (t I never spoke 
 to an audience of youth whose faces so generally 
 denoted intelligence." 
 
 " We have no reason to be ashamed of our village 
 youth/' said Mr. Blagden. " Their advantages have 
 been steadily increasing for the past eight years; 
 and, for that period, their improvement has been, 
 from one season to another, marked. I date from 
 the time of Mr. More ton's arrival here ; for his 
 coming gave us an impetus in many matters, which 
 we still feel." 
 
 " How was that ?" asked Dr. Newton. 
 
 " Our people were just in that state in which a 
 leading mind is needed. We were ready to unite 
 
CONCLUSION. *2.")5 
 
 in objects of public good, if we could clearly see 
 our way before us, and could have them put in 
 a practicable shape. When 31 r. Moreton came, he 
 
 I fitted by position and by education to be that 
 leader. More than all, his example was eminently 
 calculated to do us good. Good, plain common 
 sense we saw he had. His way of working showed 
 this. We soon found that he feared God, and that 
 his religion was a part of his every-day life. He 
 prai advance we had made. This pleased 
 
 stern people are not much accustom <l 
 to praise; ami thus jealousies wen- \v;:nl. d off. If 
 he did not approve of a thini:. h<- > u<l n"thiii_r. We 
 found him and all his family ready to help; and 
 their influence in matters of religion, in the cause 
 of < in social intercourse, in manners and 
 
 It the more powerful ly, because 
 unco 
 
 Mr. Moreton, who was walking in advance of 
 :n, here turned, and inquired if Mr. Thomas had 
 been heard from? 
 
 ' V i bftfl sent to his son John to make the 
 best settlement he can with his creditors, and join 
 him in a proposed journey to California to dig gold/' 
 
 "I hope he will not go !" returned Mr. Moreton. 
 " A mine of wealth lies buried in his own fields, if 
 he will but dig for it." 
 
 He turned away, and Mr. Blagden resumed 
 
 " That Mr. Thomas and his family were a perfect 
 
256 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 contrast to our friends, the Moretons. They were 
 always intending to leave us and their place ; conse- 
 quently, they made no effort at improvement in either. 
 "With equal means and equal advantages, Mr. Tho- 
 mas always complained that he was not appreciated , 
 and that Mr. Moreton usurped his place ; while his 
 success was ever a mystery, for he would not see it 
 as the result of well-directed labour.' ' 
 
 " To what do you attribute the higher state of 
 morality I have heard you mention ?" inquired Dr. 
 Newton. 
 
 " To the more elevated ideas respecting education, 
 and the demand which they have made for more 
 thorough instruction. Our Sabbath service has 
 awakened attention, and the hearing of a well-writ- 
 ten sermon every week has had an effect upon the 
 intellect and elicited inquiry. Americans are natu- 
 rally ambitious for their children ; and a feeling of 
 ignorance on their part awakened anxiety for the 
 better information of the young." 
 
 " But were the young people obedient and willing 
 to be under restraint ? In new countries, it is not 
 ordinarily so." 
 
 " Now we come to the first cause of the change ; 
 and of it I may speak the more freely, as I had so 
 small a share in it. Our Sunday-school was really 
 the foundation of our improvement. Here the 
 children were taught the commandments of God, 
 and were led to feel that they were holy and just 
 
CONCLUS! 257 
 
 and true. As they grew up, the impression still 
 remained. Qwr children j eight years since, are our 
 j/tfi/: 1 u-Hmrji now some of them heads of 
 
 families, and all of them exerting an influence.'* 
 
 "Has the school affected the interests of the 
 church here materially, do you think ?" 
 
 " Nearly every accession to its numbers has come 
 from the school. At our last communion season, 
 it persons were received to our church, who had 
 been scholars or teachers for several years. One of 
 learned to ivad in the Sunday-school, ami has 
 never, through poverty, had any ntlu-r opportunity 
 for instruction. Mary Moreton found her out, and 
 lent her book after book to study at home, until 
 is a tolerable srlmlur. In ttrr than all, sli 
 an i i ; and i.f thos.- recei 
 
 to church-membership i generally 
 
 feel quite confident of their knowledge and have 
 good hope of their sincerity." 
 
 " You value the Sunday-school, then, as a help to 
 the church, as elevating our ideas of education, and 
 as an influence promotive of a higher state of public 
 morals ?" 
 
 " Yes, and as an efficient aid to every one. The 
 parent feels it in family government; the teacher 
 feels it as promotive of effort ; the town-officers feel 
 it as an instrument of good order ; the minister re- 
 gards it as his own right-hand man : even the farmer 
 looks to it as a protection to his orchards and garden. 
 
258 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 It has done us good; and, in wise and judicious 
 hands, I believe it to be a powerful and wonder- 
 working instrument for the good both of the body 
 and souls of men." 
 
 They drew near to the house. There it stood, with 
 its green blinds, and shaded with trees just tinged 
 with autumn hues. The blue smoke curled gracefully 
 from its chimney. Alice stood in the doorway, wait- 
 ing for her beloved father. Charles, who had has- 
 tened home from church, and was already attending 
 to the necessary duties of the evening, that he might 
 be at leisure for the social worship of the family, 
 now held open the side-gate to admit a flock of 
 geese, who, in single iilo, were returning to their 
 safe night-quarters. The lowing of the distant 
 herds, as they clustered at nightfall about the well- 
 filled barns, was audible ; and old Carlo himself, 
 with unwonted effort, roused himself to meet and 
 welcome the master of the house. 
 
 Thus would we leave them. With no real want 
 unsupplied no imaginary one created by an arti- 
 ficial state of society; where honest labour is honour- 
 able; where industry secures a sufficient fortune; at 
 harmony with the world, and dwelling together in 
 unity; with habits of sobriety, intelligent minds, and 
 a wide and open field for exerting a good and wise 
 influence, who shall say that, in the broad fields 
 of the West, they had not found a happy home f 
 
 THE END.