Book 2 — XIX.

Upon these songs no farther I comment; They speak a language dear unto my soul; And I could dwell through all my life content To gaze on Nature, who doth never pall A mind well tuned to listen to the call Of her pure minstrelsy, which yields delight Unmixed, enduring, as the seasons roll In quick succession, hymning forth the Might Of their All-wise Creator, who doth all things right.

XX.

'Tis "Indian Summer," and the sun looks down As if afraid to show his blazing face. And now the woods assume a darker brown, While in the weather there is not a trace Of Summer's ardent heat that doth unbrace The nerves of most, and makes one long to feel The cooling breeze as Winter comes apace To scatter forest leaves with savage zeal, Which do the narrow wood-paths by their fall conceal.

XXI.

And now the copious rains come pouring down, Filling the creeks and swamps and rivers full; Or in the woods or in the growing town, Things wear an aspect truly dark and dull. Through deep, stiff mud the stoutest oxen pull With much ado the very smallest load; While many a blow across his patient skull Urges the meek ox slowly on the road, Tiring the settler out ere he reach his abode.

XXII.

Anon the angry northwest winds arise, Bringing dark scowling clouds full fraught with snow. This all discharged, perhaps for months there lies One vast white sheet which screens the plants below From biting frosts, while easier to and fro The settlers move in their convenient sleighs. These heed not cold if they have hearts aglow With friendly feelings, but will speed for days Along the snow-paved roads and on some strange highways.

XXIII.

At such a time Goodworth and eldest son Left home and all its inmates in God's care; But ere they had their first day's journey done A circumstance occurred by no means rare. An English emigrant had settled where The woods were heavy and no neighbors near. He had partaken of the morning's fare And armed with axe dreamt not of cause for fear— Thought he'd be back at noon to wife and children dear.

XXIV.

But noontide came and brought no father fond To take his place and share the frugal meal. They little knew that his loved form beyond In that dark wood could no emotion feel. The loving wife could very ill conceal Dread thoughts which rose within her faithful breast. Should he be dead her own and children's weal Were fled forever. So, with mind distressed She went to search the woods and gave herself no rest.

XXV.

At last she came to where a huge tree lay Athwart the body of the hapless man. By grief distracted there she could not stay, But up the road with frightful speed she ran. Soon she met Goodworths and forthwith began To tell her tale most incoherently. Few words were needful at such a time to fan Love's flame in them or make them prove to be Both Good Samaritans to that poor family.

XXVI.

They took her up and tried to calm her mind Until they came to that soul-harrowing scene. Now all alight; ere long the axe they find, Which had so late the man's companion been. His stiffened corpse was wedged quite fast between The tree and frozen earth, and naught remained But first the widow with sleigh-robes to screen From bitter cold; and this point having gained They soon cut through the tree, so well had they been trained.

XXVII.

It then became their melancholy duty To take the lifeless form from the sad spot. And now the widow in sweet, mournful beauty Directs the new-found friends to her log cot. A tearless eye within that home was not— All felt the dreadful nature of the loss Which had that day occurred, for naught could blot His great worth from their minds. He ne'er was cross To those who clung to him as to the tree the moss.

XXVIII.

To leave this family in such piteous state Was out of question, so young GOODWORTH took The horses out—for now 'twas growing late— To quench their thirst at a clear purling brook, And gave them food within a sheltered nook; Then found some boards and made a coffin rude. Meanwhile the father took God's holy Book And read such portions as teach fortitude To us, that all immoderate grief may be subdued.

XXIX.

'Twas well that mother long had known the Lord, For wondrous strength is now to her imparted; And each clear promise in the Holy Word Proved balm unto her soul, though much she smarted. In both the GOODWORTHS she found friends warm hearted, Friends who could give their love and sympathy; And ere they from her humble home departed They showed such proofs of generosity As did with their profession very well agree.

XXX.

For such a work by sad experience trained, They soon proceeded to lay out the dead; And though fatigued they ne'er of it complained. Nor would they let the widow spread a bed For their joint use, but sat and watched instead. She, much refreshed by prayer and conversation Retired to rest her weaned heart and head. They spent the night in solemn contemplation Or read that precious Book which does unfold Salvation.

XXXI.

When morning came their plans were well matured, And each went off to tell the mournful news. Ere noon appeared assistance they secured, For help at such time who can well refuse? Some brought their tools which they knew how to use, And dug a grave in the selected spot. There round it grew no stately, somber yews, But these and other things it needed not To be fit resting-place for one not soon forgot.

XXXII.

When all was ready GOODWORTH lent support To the bereaved one following the bier. In sweet-toned language he did her exhort To look to Him who "bottles up each tear" His children shed while in deep sorrow here. They reached the grave, where she with firmness stood And felt such comfort as dispelled her fear. Such fruits spring from true Christian Brotherhood To all who rest their hopes on Christ's atoning blood.

XXXIII.

Due rites performed, the settlers flock around The widowed mother and warm offers make Of humble service, with respect profound. This wished the boy and that the girl to take, And treat them well for their dear parents' sake. She heard these offers with much thankfulness, But said to part with them her heart would break— Would miss them, too, in this her sad distress, And they could get along if God their efforts bless.

XXXIV

That night the Pastor ventured to enquire What were her prospects? Did she money need? The answer made he could not but admire: "Her God had ever proved a friend indeed; Cheered by His promises which she could plead, She doubted not He would them still protect, And, make their labors on the farm succeed; Her boy was strong, and had such great respect For what was right that he his work would not neglect."

XXXV.

Next day the friends prepared again to start On their cold journey soon as it was light. Both urged their hostess freely to impart To them from time to time her prospects bright Or the reverse, as she might deem it right. In fervent prayer they her to God commend, Then bade Farewell and soon were out of sight They reached that day their lengthy journey's end, And gained a hearty welcome from their loving friend.

XXXVI.

That friend lived in a village destined soon To show few traces of the times gone past When its fair site was woods where the racoon, The bear, and wolf had munched their stolen repast. In wealth and people 'twas increasing fast, But not in morals—these were very low; Yet some there lived who roused themselves at last And with great vigor met the monster foe— Ev'n vile Intemperance—to give him his death blow.

XXXVII.

This end they hoped for by the simple means Of total abstinence from liquors strong. The frequent use of these gives rise to scenes Which all good men would scorn to be among. Vile oaths, the boisterous mirth, the wanton song, Were constant heard within each horrid den Where these vile drinks were retailed all day long. 'Twas sad indeed to view such filthy pen Filled with poor ruined wretches who once had been men.

XXXVIII.

Throughout the village there were many such, And as a consequence great mischief done. It is surprising and has grieved me much To think our Magistrates have laurels won By doing what all devils view as fun! Why grant a license to each Groggery When it is evident men only run To those low places for iniquity, Till they become as vile as wicked men can be?

XXXIX.

Our Pastor's friend was one among the number That first came forward openly to stand On "total Abstinence," nor did he slumber, But to the work lent willing heart and hand. GOODWORTH knew this, and having at command A little leisure held a meeting there. He spoke with warmth in language bold yet bland, Using such arguments as made men stare Who went for sake of fun, but got some better fare.

XL.

With ready tact he showed the means insidious Used oft by those who sold the drunkard drink. To lure him on by stimulants oblivious, Till he lost self-command, and ceased to think. Then showed him tottering on the fearful brink Of the wide-opening grave and drunkard's hell, And truthfully described how link by link Of sacred ties were severed, as the spell Grew daily stronger, and a sot confirmed he fell.

XLI.

And now he drew as with a master's hand, A vivid picture of sad family woes; The broken-hearted wife oft forced to stand Betwixt her children and their father's blows— He mad with rum, thus trampling Nature's laws; Or gave a life-like sketch where parents vie In drunken riot, every day the cause Of strife and discord, the poor home a sty Where filth and rags surround them, till like beasts they die.

XLII.

And then he gave with most consummate skill A true description of Sobriety, Where man and wife walk up and down Life's hill In sweet conjugal peace and piety; Their love increasing as more years they see, Their children growing up like olive plants To love and cherish much their memory, And if need be in Age supply their wants, Then meet with that reward which God to such still grants.

XLIII.

While he was speaking there was some excitement, And at the meeting's close a number came To sign the Pledge, expressing much delightment. Yet some were there who slunk away in shame, Muttering that they were not a whit to blame For the poor drunkard's fate, although they had Used every means to keep alive the flame Which burned their vitals and made them quite mad. That these escape due punishment is far too bad.

XLIV.

I here would try to speak my mind in brief Upon the Temperance movement ere I pass To other scenes, either of joy or grief, In which our Pastor figures—for alas, "Man's best laid schemes are only like to grass Which springs up for a season and then dies." Just so this question 'mongst the world's great mass Sometimes seems gaining ground, but the Foe plies His sly ensnaring waits and all reform defies.

XLV.

Now why is this? Can any tell me why? Some feel quite sure all we now want's a law To stop the godless traffic. These rely Perhaps too much on man to strike the blow Which is to bring the fell Destroyer low. Others are sure that it is useless quite To curb the monster. These ne'er felt the glow Of pure Philanthropy move them aright Or they would rise and aim to crush this demon's might.

XLVI.

Try this scheme, friends: Let all true Christians stand Fast in one body, and use fervent prayer And self-denial, that the Lord's right hand May be stretched out to break each chain and snare Which binds mankind. Then let it be our care To act consistently in all we do. Of resting on an arm of flesh beware! For in this case our plans will all fall through; We shall be put to shame and feel deep anguish too.

XLVII.

May we no opportunity neglect Of spreading wide the Gospel's joyful sound For those who never do indeed expect That God's rich blessing will their steps surround. Thrice happy shall we be if we are found Engaged still thus when Jesus calls us hence. Rise, Christians, then, and let your zeal abound! The Savior calls! In earnest now commence This Godlike work, and let his name be our defence.

XLVIII.

I now resume my simple narrative, To tell how GOODWORTHS reached their home again. More striking views of them I yet must give, If I may strike my harp and use my pen. To me who rank not 'mongst well learned men 'Twill prove a task of no small magnitude; Yet after hard bench-labor, now and then It gives relief from much solicitude To sit in my arm chair and form my verses rude.

XLIX.

Once more our friends are gliding o'er the road, While their clear bells most lively music make. The sleighing good, and past each log abode They swiftly fly and soon a side-line take To gain an Indian village near the Lake. Here they intend to spend a little time The poor Red Men from sin and death to wake By speaking to them of those Truths sublime, Which can renew the souls of men sunk low in crime.

L.

The Indian Chiefs received them with much pleasure; They saw in GOODWORTH what did suit them well. Of outward charms he had an ample measure, And his fine voice was like a deep-toned bell. These all combined cast as it were a spell Over those haughty rangers of the wood, And made them ponder what he had to tell. It was a sight to see those natives rude List to God's Gospel-message in a serious mood.

LI.

They listened, and the Holy Ghost with power Sent home the word to some of savage heart. These since have seen great cause to bless the hour In which our Pastor visited that part. A few, deep-skilled in blackest "heathen art" Were full of rage and would have done him harm, But lacked the power, which but increased their smart. Meanwhile the others with fresh feelings warm, Pressed hospitable rites and quelled the fierce alarm.

LII.

With these he had some very earnest talk Of that obedience which the Lord requires From his Disciples, to ensure a walk Such as may tend to curb our vain desires And nurture that which to all good aspires. He deemed it proper not to press at first The rite Baptismal; and while one admires His views on this, another seems to thirst For full initiation lest he die accursed.

LIII.

This from an Indian did excite surprise; But soon 'twas known this man had heard before A hint of it from some one he thought wise— One truly skilled in strong Sectarian lore. To try to set him right Goodworth forbore, At least at that time, as too well he knew Men oft in controversy feel more sore On things of which they have but partial view; That they will argue most for what to them is new.

LIV.

Upon the morrow ere they took their leave, It was arranged—God willing—to return Within a week or two those to receive Into strict Fellowship who wished to learn God's will, which all in Scripture may discern, That in Church standing they a light might be To their poor friends whose state required concern. This settled, GOODWORTHS then most cheerfully Resumed their journey home to join their family.

LV.

The first few miles in safety soon they passed, And reach the edge of a most dismal swamp Stretched out before them in dimensions vast; A huge receptacle of gloom and damp. There savage wolves and beasts of such a stamp Might lodge secure and plan most daring deeds. Gloomy the prospect, though the solar Lamp Was full two hours from setting, and the steeds Restive become and faster fly as instinct leads.

LVI.

The men knew well what they had to expect, And sent a prayer into their Father's ear. This done, they did no proper means neglect To meet what danger might be hovering near, And also strove each others' hearts to cheer. Swifter the horses speed o'er the rough logs That form the road, and now some wolves appear Hungry and fierce and fresh from noisome bogs, To pounce upon our friends who lack their faithful dogs.

LVII.

The murderous gang now spring but miss their prey, And plunging in deep snow vent forth their rage In horrid yells, then strive to reach the sleigh. Again they fail; again afresh engage With double fury bloody war to wage! Vain their attempts. A Mighty Hand unseen Aids those two men. This does their fears assuage, And nerves their arms, and keeps their minds serene, Or they had failed to tell how good the Lord had been.

LVIII.

The swamp is cleared, yet on the smoother road Their speed they slack not till they reach the house Of a poor drunken settler then abroad On his nocturnal revels, while the spouse Was left to mourn his oft-indulged carouse, And tremble for his safety from the cold. No sense of danger e'er could him arouse From his sad sunken state. Drink had such hold On his gross appetite he seemed to Satan sold.

LIX.

And yet the wife, the mother of his babes, Ne'er breathed reproach against her low-sunk mate. Such love as her's it is which sometimes saves A wretched husband from a drunkard's fate. 'Tis true such love is oft repaid with hate, And driven to distraction wives may say Hard things of men who bring them to a state Of heartfelt woe, and drive their feet astray From Virtue's paths, until they shun the light of day.

LX.

But here and there a character shines forth, As in this case, most worthy of all praise. For this sweet wife was one of matchless worth, And her dear name should grace my artless lays, If I by that means could her triumphs raise. She was in truth a noble heroine, Whose brow might well have been bedecked with bays; For deeds like hers through every age should shine To show the strength of Love and prove it is divine.

LXI.

O, woman! who has skill of mind or pen Those feelings to portray that fill thy breast? All we yet see are glimpses, now and then, Which make us long the more to know the rest. Self-sacrificing woman! thou'rt possessed Of that which does enable thee to bear A load of misery on thy heart impressed By wrongs from him who should thy sorrows share, And make the daily weal his ever constant care.

LXII.

His home in that far North wild wilderness, Had naught about it which could tell the tale Of what that mother suffered of distress, For hope—fond hope had kept her strong and hale. It was still whispering she would soon prevail Upon her husband to renounce his sin. This cheered her heart although her face grew pale With anxious care how best she could begin And what means to employ that she might victory win.

LXIII.

So GOODWORTH found her on that bitter night With house quite trim and table neatly laid, And hopeful still though in a serious plight, As we have hinted, very much afraid Lest her dear man should freeze. "He is," she said, "As good a husband as I could desire But lot his fault. He always has displayed Such love for me that I will never tire Of loving him, though none my conduct may admire."

LXIV.

And saying this she would have gone alone The absent one upon the road to seek. Her ardent love conspicuously shown On that occasion, and I fain would speak Her praise with trumpet tongue, though she so meek Might blush to hear it and feel half offended. Now GOODWORTHS thought that one whom they deemed weak Was best at home, yet they her love commended, And volunteered to go, by trusty dog attended.

LXV.

'Twas not in vain. Behind a Huge pine tree The man, o'ercome, was lying fast asleep; Nor could they rouse him, so far gone was he, Or from the cold or from potations deep. An unseen Eye did faithful vigils keep O'er that poor sinner though he knew it not; And thoughts of this has since oft made him weep Tears of true penitence in that lone spot, Which gave to him a lesson that he ne'er forgot.

LXVI.

This spot was very near to where he lived, And the kind friends Drink's hapless victim bore To his own home, both feeling truly grieved That his sad state would make his wife's heart sore. And now the faithful dog trots on before, Most clearly glad because his master's found. Anon he whines and scratches at the door, Which makes his mistress' heart within her bound As she peers through the dark and tries to catch some sound.

LXVII.

Each moment seemed an hour as thus she stood In doubt, expecting some great evil near; And when they came the sight nigh froze her blood. She fainting fell, through mingled grief and fear. Meanwhile the children in the chamber hear A noise below, and leave their snug, warm bed, Then in deep sorrow view their parents dear, And big, warm tears each youngling freely shed, For their idea was that both were lying dead.

LXVIII.

Our friends knew better and strove eagerly To still their cries and consciousness restore Unto the sufferers. Soon with joy they see The mother fast recovering; her they bore Into her bed-room that they might give more Attention to the drunken father's case. He in deep stupor did most loudly snore And looked quite frightful with frost-bitten face, Which kept him long in mind of that—his great disgrace.

LXIX.

Next they rub hard with snow the frozen parts, Until the flesh displays a ruddy glow. This task accomplished they with lighter hearts Deeper concernment for the mistress show. She, quite awake, most anxious was to know Their full opinion of her partner's state. The favorable answer made her bow Her heart to God for this his mercy great, In having kept her man from such an awful fate.

LXX.

From bed she rose and pressed on them to eat, But GOODWORTH asked if he might go to prayer. She gave consent, and 'fore the Mercy Seat They poured forth thanks for all their Father's care, And prayed that all within the house might share God's rich forgiving love, and ever be Devoted to his service: so prepare By constant practice of true piety To join the heavenly ranks a happy family.

LXXI.

And now they eat with keenest appetite Of the good things so temptingly displayed— Prime venison with bread both sweet and light; And charming butter as e'er housewife made Were with tea, cream, and rich preserves arrayed In plentiful supply upon the table. These, backed by welcome, all their toil repaid, And they found backwoods cheer indeed no fable; Yet to partake thereof their hostess was not able.

LXXII.

Their noble team they came so near forgetting, Had been provided for with care by one Who gave his parents no just cause for fretting— A rather small but very hopeful son. Around the blazing hearth-fire they begun To draw their chairs to dwell in converse pure Another hour on what the Lord had done; How he had kept them all from death secure And caused their love and faith through trials to endure.

LXXIII.

The guests both slept in peace and early rose, And found their host already stirring round, And suffering much from being badly froze, And strangely nervous at the slightest sound. The elder GOODWORTH spoke to him and found That Conscience was at work within his breast. She made him hear with reverence profound Truths suited to the case of one distressed By sense of heinous guilt, which drives away all rest.

LXXIV.

He also brought most forcibly to view The need there was of "total abstinence" For such as he; and step by step he drew The man along till an o'erwhelming sense Of his great crime made him wish to commence At once a life of strict Sobriety. He signed a pledge and straightway banished thence The fiery fluid, his great enemy,— And did thenceforward keep his pledge most sacredly.

LXXV.

The breakfast o'er, our two friends bade adieu To parents, children, in their kindly way. 'Twas now their wish to push the journey through Before the close of that short Winter day. The Sun was up and made a grand display Upon the trees and shrubs on every hand; These all were clad in silvery array, As if transformed by some Magician's wand, But 'twas the work of Him who counts the grains of sand.

LXXVI.

For through the night a change had taken place— Such as we frequent view without surprise. Rain falls and freezes—this is oft the case—, And trees look pretty to our outward eyes, But is this all that such a view supplies? Can we not trace a Mighty Artist's skill, Which competition from mankind defies? Then let us learn to reverence Him still, Who forms these beauteous scenes according to His will.

LXXVII.

Dear GOODWORTH gazed upon the glittering scene Until his soul was filled with ecstacy. Here he perceived that God indeed had been To clothe dull Winter in great majesty. To him it was so full of poetry That he was led to frame another lay, Which seems to me to breathe such melody I must ev'n give it without more delay, And rest in hope 'twill live far, far beyond my day.

PASTOR'S SONG ON THE FROST-WORK OF A FOREST SCENE.

Last night's air was keen and the snow lay around; All the trees, stript of leaves, were quite naked and black, And naught broke the stillness so very profound Save the jingle of bells as we passed o'er the track.

And little we thought of the sorrowful state Of that fond, loving, wife by whose bountiful cheer Our needs were supplied, nor yet dreamt of the fate Impending o'er one—to her heart ever dear.

As little expected the clouds of despair Hanging terribly pregnant with evils so dire Would all quickly vanish in answer to prayer, And sweet comfort spring forth from the midst of the fire.

As little we thought that the rude rising blast Would bring rain to transform every dark forest scene To richness of splendor by nothing surpassed That we mortals have witnessed of wonders' terrene.

Yon maple trees bend with their silvery load Like the frail sons of earth under ponderous wealth. These feel keen affliction their consciences goad, Yet they heed not the warning till Death comes by stealth.

And those, though they look on this calm, sunny day, To be robed in pure beauty so strikingly grand, Should Boreas arise his least might to display, Would be stript of their charms by his merciless hand.

And yonder dark pines that seem still to aspire To pre-eminence over their comrades below, Which shine in Sol's rays like huge masses of fire, To the earth their proud heads may be soon made to bow.

Yon oaks, which, like kings of the forest appear, With their thick, crooked branches all coated with ice, Never dream that the loss of their splendor is near, That each branch may be broke by the wind in a trice.

Just so we vain mortals indulge foolish pride, When we deck our poor bodies in splendid attire; And oft has the Tempter successfully tried With such means us to lead to most sinful desire.

How seldom we think that the primitive use Of the first suit of clothing by Adam and Eve Was not for adornment with trappings profuse, But as cover for nakedness—guilt to relieve.

This lesson more frequently brought to our view Might preserve all our souls from much sorrow and sin, And make us more anxious each day to renew Those adornings which Christians should all have within.

With reflections like these in true pleasure I gaze On this landscape so fair—so transcendently bright, And utter my heart's feeble tones of sweet praise To my Father who formed it by Wisdom and Might.

LXXVIII.

Thus to a mind by sacred Truth impressed Nature at all times is an open book, And he who reads aright is truly blest. But ah, how much her teachings we overlook! One who his Scripture Guide has quite forsook Makes her an idol, and her praises sings In warmest strains; he hears in every nook Of her domain a thousand different things Proclaim her Godship, which to him much pleasure brings.

LXXIX.

Another, dreaming he is taught of God, Will hardly deign to look on her sweet face. His feet may press the flower-bespangled sod, But to admire the carpet would disgrace A mind so holy, and perhaps displace Far better thoughts which rise within his breast! In such a one 'twere difficult to trace The influence of Truths sublime expressed By our Great Master in discourse to us addressed.

LXXX.

As on most questions, mine's the middle view, And looks on all creation as the work Of God All-wise, most kind and mighty too. This frees my mind from all vain thoughts which lurk In its recesses, dissipates the murk Of idol worship and religious pride, And makes me proof 'gainst each insidious quirk Thrown out by those who do my views deride; Whose judgment seems to me from truth and reason wide.

LXXXI

In musings deep or Lively conversation, The time flies quickly as our friends draw near Their woodland home, which, after separation So long from those it holds, is still more dear. Anon, friends' farms successively appear, And at Luth's house they stop to rest awhile Themselves and team. There they lack not good cheer Nor kindly welcome, shown by many a smile From man and wife, a loving pair quite free from guile.

LXXXII.

From Luth they learned all their dear folks were well, And this relieved them from anxiety; So now with grateful hearts awhile they dwell Upon those themes which dear to Saints should be— Spoke of the love displayed so lavishly In journeying mercies, wheresoe'er they went; Of good accomplished—though with modesty— By them as instruments most timely sent; And thus an hour or two was profitably spent.

LXXXIII.

Ere very long they reached their own abode— That Nest well lined with Love, Content and Peace, Where true home feelings in each bosom glowed, And solid comforts day by day increase, Bidding quite fair to last till life shall cease. This their return the trusty dogs first hear, And they by joyous barking rouse the geese, The ducks and poultry, which in chorus clear At once their voices raise, dreaming that harm is near.

LXXXXIV.

The household listen to the noise outside A few short moments, when the youngest son Struck by a pleasant thought could not abide Longer suspense, but in a trice begun To don his hat and gloves, both quickly done. He hurries forth and by fair Luna's gleam His eyes beheld what made him faster run To bid the loved ones welcome, and the team To house, and give such food as he may fittest deem.

LXXXV.

The two well loaded with their traveling gear, Make for the cottage fast as they can go. There the three females cheerfully appear Determined they a welcome will bestow Such as most virtuous minds alone can show. Sweet smiles bedeck the mother's comely face, The daughters too with joy are all aglow, Quite pleased to have a kiss or warm embrace From those they love so well at such a time and place.

LXXXVI.

Reader, dost thou possess imagination? If so, just use that precious faculty And join with me in making observation On love scenes drawn from this dear family. Thou art no eavesdropper, but yet I see An interest sparkling in thy earnest face Which shows thy heart doth go along with me As I such secrets do my best to trace And hold them up to view to benefit my race.

LXXXVII.

Imagine then the cordial reception That I above have feebly tried to paint. My picture has the charm of no deception— A thing of which there's oft not much complaint. Behold this loving band without restraint Gathered mound the evening's social board, Each in such frame of mind as seems a Saint, Even in their eating honoring the Lord, As they with temperance use whate'er their means afford.

LXXXVIII.

The father in most truly Pastoral style Spoke of the dangers they had just passed through; Dwelt on the English settler's death awhile. And the sweet conduct of the widow, too, Until the listeners had enough to do To calm their feelings and restrain their fears. Their sympathy was pure, to nature true, Which made them deeply feel the griefs and fears Of fellow mortals; and their father's heart it cheers.

LXXXIX.

He next informed them of the low sunk state Of that new village where he meetings held. How some few men were snatched from drunkard's fate, How drink's most worthless traffic had been quelled, And prejudice by force of Truth dispelled. Next of their visit to the Indian tribe; Told who received the Truth and who repelled Its influx to their souls and Satan's bribe Received, which did of Life Eternal them deprive.

XC.

The wolf adventure and Inebriate's case Received due notice and called loud for praise To Him whose hand they could-so clearly trace, Who had most kindly cared for them always. Then the Doxology at once they raise To the "Old Hundred," the immortal air, The clear, full harmony of which displays Such skill that mortals now may well despair Of making better tune though they have talents rare.

XCI.

This done once more they read God's holy Word, Choosing such portion as their minds may suit. Then in great reverence kneel with full accord, And fervent pray, though all save one are mute. Are there who deem such acts of no repute? Sad is their state, for they have nothing learned As well worth learning. Will they this dispute? Alas, poor sinners, you are not concerned That you have Christ refused and thus your soul's good spurned.

XCII.

We'll draw the curtain while the family sleep— Such sleep as pure contentment ever brings; And while good Angels, o'er them vigils keep, Let's pause a little that my rude harp's strings May be drawn tighter, that my Muse her wings Afresh may plume, ere she completes her song For she has yet to sing of pleasant things And the reverse, so she must needs be strong To execute her task as time fast flies along.

XCIII.

The occasion I will take to introduce More fully to my patient reader's view This worthy household; which will be of use In after scenes, as I my tale renew. Joseph, the eldest, we have seen was true To God and Nature in some trials great: Much like his father year by year he grew Until he reached to manhood's full estate; In manners humble, and in preaching gifts first rate.

XCIV.

William, the younger, was not quite so grave; As kind in heart, but still more blithe and free; Quite serious on occasions and most brave, There were few youths more loveable than he. In Sunday school 'twas his delight to be, There he still led the singing and took part In teaching children the "great Mystery" Of gospel truth, and many a childish heart Felt that the loss of him would yield unceasing smart.

XCV.

The sisters, younger still, I must compare To two fair roses very lately blown; Who, though they lived in the woods, were debonair As any town's girls I have ever known. Their skill in housewifery was clearly shown In the discharge of all their household duties. They both had voices of the sweetest tone— Not shrill nor harsh, but more like what the flute is, And were by all who saw them looked upon as beauties.

XCVI.

But those were naught compared with Faith and Love Possessed by both, evinced by all their acts; And nothing pleased them better than to prove That pure Religion never aught subtracts From real enjoyment, as is shown by facts Which all who can may read if so inclined. 'Tis true our Father evermore exacts Complete obedience, but our hearts refined By the Spirit through the Truth know all's in love designed.

XCVII.

Clarissa and Louisa were the names Bestowed upon these daughters at their birth, And 'twas foretold by some attendant dames That each when grown would have uncommon worth. This prophecy gave rise to harmless mirth In after years, and led the girls to say That in their conduct there should be no dearth Of loveliness, for fear it should betray The fame of those good dames still living in their day.

XCVIII.

"Surely those parents must have been well off!" Some reader may exclaim in scorn or jest; But if 'twere not so there's no need to scoff, And if it were I have the truth expressed. Mine eyes have seen some parents quite as blest In all their offspring, and I hope to see My own dear children in their day attest That what I write is true, and ever be A loving, happy band and useful family.

XCIX.

I have an aim in making this digression, Can anyone divine what it may be? Though not a Papist I will make confession And clear at once the seeming mystery. Luth had a son now grown to man's degree, Who made proposals for Clarissa's hand, And GOODWORTH thought for aught that he could see It was not well their wishes to withstand, So let things take the way they were already planned.

C.

And Joseph, wishing not to be behind His darling sister, cast about his eyes And soon found one possessing generous mind, Whose fund of worth proved his selection wise. Her name methinks the reader may surmise, For it was Ruth and also Luth, a maid Who did prepare for matrimonial ties In prayerful spirit, and who ne'er betrayed That love of coquetry by many girls displayed.

CI.

Both these young folks had followed the example Of worthy parents, and as Christians stood In that young Church. Their worldly means were ample At least for such as wed from motives good. Besides if needful they could earn their food, Which made their marriage prospects bright and cheering, Things thus far settled they did all they could To haste the nuptials, and grew more endearing As the auspicious day drew nearer its appearing.

CII.

Again the Sabbath day came duly round, And Goodworth met his flock with heartfelt joy. Once more he faithful preached "the joyful sound," Or taught the Saints sin's fetters to destroy, And how their time and talents to employ. Then just before the "Breaking of the Bread" He of his journey spoke in manner coy, And deep attention by the Church was paid As he recounted mercies sent by Christ their Head.

CIII.

Upon the work especial stress he laid, Begun by God amongst the poor Red Men, And moved by sacred zeal he boldly said That something must be done; but how or when Was for the Church to say. As he stood then Chosen of God and them to oversee, His little flock, he could not go again Without depriving some of Ministry Most needful at that time if he would faithful be.

CIV.

He further said it was a settled thing With him that if the Holy Spirit call One to the Pastorship, no good could spring From frequent absence, for the Church needs all His time and talents; and should ill befall A flock so left God might the question ask, "Why didst thou leave my sheep and lambs at all? I placed thee there; attend thou to the task If in my smiles approving thou wouldst wish to bask!"

CV.

He cited many texts to prove his view, [Footnote: See at least one amongst many in I Peter, V, 1-4] And felt much grieved some Churches in our day Should to their interest be seldom true, And Pastors for slight causes turn away. From personal observation he would say That many men who make a great profession Begrudge the mite so needful as the pay Of those whose Pastoral worth's their sole possession; Who could not wink at sin nor make undue concession.

CVI

"Some folks, again," he said, "quite overlook The nature of the office as laid down For Churches' guidance in the holy Book, And substitute opinions of their own. Such meet their fellow Christians with a frown If they insist upon the Scripture plan, And deem him little better than a clown Who has the courage their false views to scan: And should he not desist might place him under ban."

CVII.

"Thus saith the Lord, in all religious matters, As the thing; needful should our minds impress. We've naught to do with the unseemly tatters Of creeds and ceremonials on which stress Is laid by many who the Truth profess. The Scriptures teach that Pastors should take heed To all their flock, that faith and holiness May grow apace; that they the sheep should feed With Heaven-inspired food according to their need."

CVIII.

"But Churches for most part make choice of him Who does a splendid preaching talent show; Or else they seek to gratify some whim Lest hearers should their purse strings tighter draw. 'Tis easy for one taught of God to show That those so chosen cannot well fulfill True Pastoral duty, which consists, we know, In oversight according to God's will— Not Lords o'er his inheritance, but humble still."

[Footnote: The author would not like to be misunderstood. All he intends to say is that a talent for preaching, however good, is not the only qualification for Elder or Pastor. See I Tim. iii and Tit. i.]

CIX.

The Church agreed in what the Pastor said And Luth suggested that young GOODWORTH might Act as Evangelist in his father's stead, Should he 'fore God consider it quite right. Joseph assured them it was his delight To aid in any way his Master's cause, But thought that all should seek for further light By fervent prayer, and therefore Would propose To leave it unto Him from whom all wisdom flows.

CX.

This as determined on and they attended Unto the "Supper of the Lord" in love. Once more their Sacrifice of Praise ascended From grateful hearts unto their God above, Who heard it all and did such acts approve. Refreshed in soul once more they separate In friendly manner, as it does behove The joint possessors of such blessings great As heirs of bliss and glory in a future state.

CXI.

Throughout the week the members freely gave Unto this subject due consideration; And Joseph looked, to anxious friends, more grave, Was oft in prayer or wrapped in contemplation. The father, who of this made observation, Encouraged him to frankly speak his mind. This led them soon to mutual explanation And fuller confidence, which all combined To lead them both to be unto God's will resigned.

CXII.

It caused a struggle in that parent's breast To part with one grown dearer every day; And Joseph at the first felt quite distressed At leaving friends so very far away. As was but natural, thoughts of wedding day Would also cross his mind and make him sigh; But yet he felt determined to display True Christian courage and himself deny, If to his fellow men 'twould bring Redemption nigh.

CXIII.

The father; saw no very great occasion For much of self-denial in the case. The Bride-expectant would with small persuasion Share any trials he might have to face. Besides the Indians would prepare a place With needful comforts, should he there remain. 'Twas therefore his advice to seek for Grace, Such as the work demanded, and thus gain The glorious Reward which faithful ones obtain.

CXIV.

To this the son made not the least objection, And so the matter stood till next Lord's Day, When, as the Church approved of the selection, Much unfeigned love the all to him display; Rejoicing to see one so young obey Duty's strong impulse, and to God commend Their much loved brother, who without delay Made preparation that ere the week's end He might the Indians reach and to his work attend.

CXV.

At the reformed Inebriate's house he called In passing, and was truly glad to find The man his vice inveterate had controlled, And was improving daily in his mind. He owned that had his wife not proved most kind He might have been again to drinking drove. This Joseph hears, but hopes the pledge he signed Would be some safeguard if he should lack love; Yet urged him much to seek for help from God above.

CXVI.

To miss the swamp he took another road Not so direct, but pleasanter by far. Most holy feelings in his bosom glowed As he gazed on the glittering Evening Star. The sleighing good, such traveling was no bar To his sweet musings as he nearer drew Unto the village where he had to war With heathen darkness, and for aught he knew, Where trials great and many might his steps pursue.

CXVII.

On his arrival joy sincere was felt By those who had the Gospel's sound regarded. These in full council passed the Wampum Belt, And by their confidence his zeal rewarded. None had the influence of Truth discarded Who first professed by it to be made free, And 'twas their wish, since nothing now retarded, To be baptized with due solemnity, That those who disbelieved might their obedience see.

CXVIII.

The Preacher this performed by full immersion Of the whole body in the deep blue lake, And none but those who evidenced conversion Did of that holy ordinance partake. I state not this from a desire to wake Any contention in a Christian's breast; I rather "strive for things which peace do make," That I my love for all saints may attest. This course I long have deemed the wisest and the best.

CXIX.

Those thus baptized in fellowship then stood, And as instructed, to Christ's laws attended. Their souls reposed on His atoning blood For full salvation, and their lives commended The saving Truth to those who were offended At the first preaching of the Joyful News. What these beheld their outward rage suspended, And now no longer dared they to accuse The Preacher of vile motives and his work abuse.

CXX.

For some few weeks he labored there with pleasure, And his Red brethren urged on him to take The Pastor's office, but so grave a measure Demanded time for its importance's sake. "Should I be spared," he said, "I wish to make My life a useful one where'er I live; To Duty's call to keep my ear awake, And as I have received to freely give, Aiming to show I wish for no alternative."

CXXI.

With this resolve so very freely spoken We bid the Red Man for the time Adieu, For other scenes most clearly do betoken That genial pleasure is not lost to view. The lovers to their vows continued true, And fixed upon the following New Year's day As best for entering on their duties new, When it was planned a Wedding jaunt to pay In visit to Niagara, many miles away.

CXXII.

The day arrived—a bright and cheering one, With which came Settlers on kind thoughts intent. Then gratitude for what the Lord had done They wished to show by love and substance spent Upon their Pastor, whom they viewed as bent On seeking their advantage since he came. One, by a neighbor, had two turkeys sent, Both fine young birds, well fed and very tame— A gift which well might put some richer men to shame.

CXXIII.

This neighbor brought upon his own account An ewe and ram of most superior breed. Another had a very fair amount Of splendid timothy and clover seed. A fourth good maple sugar as his meed Bestowed with blandest smiles and modest mien. A fifth had apples, of which all agreed They were the best they in that part had seen; While a sixth brought savory sausages quite fresh and clean.

CXXIV.

These as an average sample of the gifts, I mention merely with a view to show That Gratitude is put to no mean shifts In kindly hearts whose love keeps them aglow. Those who have naught but water to bestow Upon a thirsty Saint, reward will gain From Heaven's high King, who loves to have it so. We must from sneering at small gifts refrain. For the poor widow's mite did great reward obtain.

CXXV.

Surprise and joy that Christian family felt At this display of love and gratitude; While with their friends they reverently knelt To give God thanks, they for rich blessings sued For the kind donors, now more strongly viewed As brethren in the very strongest bond. Each at the Mercy Seat their love renewed, And heart to heart did fervently respond. All merely worldly pleasure this is far beyond.

CXXVI.

This past, the marriage knot was quickly tied For those young well matched couples, who appeared In all respects well pleased and satisfied This tended much to keep the parents cheered, And to the friends around them more endeared The wedding feast parta'en, they soon prepare For their long journey, as a change they feared In the fine weather, which might make roads bare And the good sleighing spoil—a thing by no means rare.

CXXVII.

On that delightful jaunt I need not dwell, Only to say that all the drive enjoyed. When safe returned each had a tale to tell Of the great Cataract's wonders, never void Of thrilling interest to minds employed In viewing Nature right. I now would haste Lest my dear readers feel themselves annoyed, To finish what has brought me no small taste Of Poet's joy, and often has my heart solaced.

CXXVIII.

That earthly pleasure's not without alloy Poets have sung and sages oft have said, And none did e'er such pleasure long enjoy Without being to the same conclusion led. Our Pastor's dear Louisa took to bed Soon after New Year's visit to the Falls; Ere Spring came round she bowed her lovely head To Death's stern summons! Yet sweet hope consoles The friends for loss of her, and undue grief controls.

CXXIX.

Her death-bed was a scene I love to view With chastened pleasure, for her faith was strong. She to her Savior had for years been true. And then to be with Him did daily long, Yet not impatiently, for 'twould be wrong; But with strong fortitude—so calm and pure That one who saw her left the World's gay throng, And since has had great trials to endure, But found the Savior's aid was ever near and sure.

CVXX.

But little now remains for me to sing, Not that I matter lack—a large supply Exists where I got this from, and may spring Into poetic joy if I should try Again to tune my harp, this time laid by At Duty's call. Our friend and spouse live where We found them first. William and wife are nigh, And with their children choicest comforts share. While Joseph of the Red Men's Church takes Pastoral care.

CXXXI.

Luth and Clarissa own a good sized farm, Well tilled, well stocked and fronting to the Lake. Around their hearthstone boys and girls do swarm, So that they soon a larger house must make. Some members of the Church now sometimes take Their turns in preaching, and the elder Luth Shares Pastoral duty for his Master's sake. As Deacons they have men who love the Truth, All proving that the Church is in a state most sooth.

CXXXII.

The Lord's Forget-me-nots grow everywhere Along the Christian's path as he pursues His Heavenward journey. And a Father's care Gives each sweet odors and most lovely hues. And they throughout the darkest days diffuse A balmy fragrance strikingly delicious! Yet we, vain mortals, oft these sweets refuse And choose instead that which is most pernicious,— Thus wandering far from God, who always is propitious.