travelled before. Night overtook me before I got to the end of my journey, but through a kind providence man and horse got there safe and sound; and as preaching was to be the next day, I had time for refreshment on my arrival, which I much wanted after my tedious journey.

My host gave me some account of his pedigree, saying, his father came from Germany at the age of 14 without any of his relations with him. He sold himself for three years for his passage, which proved to be a distressing one of nineteen weeks! For seven weeks they had a storm, were driven out of their course, and all their provision consumed. In this state, and death staring them in the face, they experienced the truth of that saying, "In the time of man's extremity is God's opportunity;" they fell in with a ship well stored, and from which they had a supply.

Mr. Swartz is a wealthy farmer, living on his own land in a spacious well finished house, that an English gentle, man might be well pleased with, and has a saw-mill which one of his sons superintends, or perhaps has it as part of his patrimony: above all, he appears to have found the pearl of great price.

17th. Several came in their carriages to preaching, which was at eleven o'clock in the morning. The Americans prefer riding to walking, if it be only half a mile.

1

After meeting I went to post* office, expecting a letter from Bethany, and returned as far as Mr. Northgrave's to sleep. This was one of the most difficult and tedious journeys I ever had. Could the reader imagine a person travelling up hill and down over a sheet of clear ice or glass, so that he could scarcely either ride or walk,when he walked the snow freezing to the bottom of his boots like balls of ice, and when riding up over a hill of ice, man and horse both down together, the best carks not sufficient to guard the horse going up hill, where he has to pitch on his toes, but slipping at every step, the man before, sometimes on his hands and knees, and the

* One letter from Bethany about 500 miles, (as may be seen in the list of roads,) was nearly six weeks from the time it was mailed, until it reached us. In winter the mails go slow, in the new countries especially, but some negligence may be charged on postmasters, as it is a young country. This delay creates anxiety.

1833

horse struggling after, he may form some idea of this journey.

18th. Returned to my home about 29 miles: the weather was dry, and clear, which made travelling more pleasant, and being on the main road, it was not so dangerous as on the cross and by-roads. In the morning I had the horse's shoes new carked,—the smith would take no money, turning it into a free-will offering. Some may think such a circumstance too little to be recorded. The writer might have thought so too, had not a greater than he, recorded the offering of a widow's cake, and cup of water; and of another's two mites, and if the Lord of glory had not informed us that he keeps a record of every cup of cold water given to a disciple of his. This man may shame some rich professors. Though not a professor, he approved of what he heard, and had so much good sense as to know that those who are taught ought to communicate to them that teach.

In the evening my daughter came down from Danville, and stayed over night. We rejoiced to meet again in peace and safety, still under the protection of a kind providence. The following piece of poetry, may be acceptable to some, especially being for the most part of female's production. On WM. PENN.

The Quaker stood under his smooth broad brim,
In the plain drab suit, so simple and trim,

'Twas better than royal robes to him,

Who looked to the inward part.

Foregoing the honours and wealth of earth,
And emptied his breast of the praise of birth,
To seek the treasures of matchless worth,
Reserved for the pure in heart.

And he heav'd a sigh at the lofty look,
Of the mitr'd head o'er the gilded book,
And a view of the costly drapery took,
With a meek and pitying eye.

"Alas," said he, as he turned away,
From the splendid temple, the grand display,
"What honour to worldly pomp they pay,,
In the name of the king Most High.'

Then he look'd around on his proud land,
Where those of his faith were a suff'ring band,
Enchained in conscience, and under the hand
Of merciless power opprest.

"I'll seek, said the Quaker, a happier shore,
There they and my people may kneel before
The shrine we erect to the God we adore,
And none shall cur rights molest.

And sick of the sounding of empty things,
Of beggarly strife in the Island of kings,
His dove-like spirit unfurled her wings,
For a bold and venturous sweep.

She wafted him over billow and spray,
"Twixt the sea and the sky a pathless way,
To a beautiful sylvian scene that lay,
Fat over the boiling deep.

And when he came down unruff'd and staid,
Where along the skirt of a peaceful shade,
The Schuylkill and Delaware roll'd and made,
Their friendly waters unite.*

The Indian sprang from his light canoe,-
The bird to the topmost bough withdrew,-
And the deer skipt up on the clift to view,
The new and unseemly sight.

But the tomahawk dropt from the red man's hand,
When he saw the Quaker advance and stand,
Presenting his purse but to share the land,
He had come to possess with him ;-

And scanning his bland and noble face,
Where goodness was all that his eye could trace,
He haughtily smil'd at its hiding place,

Far under the hat's broad brim.

"Thou'lt find, said the Quaker, in me and in mine,
But friends and brothers to thee, and to thine,

Who abuse no power, and admit no line,

"Twixt the red man and the white;

Save the cords of love as a sacred tie ;

For our one great Father who dwells on high,
Regards the child with an angry eye,
Who robs from his brother's right."

The Indian paus'd,-and the Quaker stood,
The righteous lord of the shadowy wood,

Like the genius of thought in his solitude,
"Till his spirit the inner man,

Became too mighty to be represt,

Beneath his drab in his ample breast,

Had mov'd and with neatness and plainly drest,
Came forth, and his lips began.-

4

* Philadelphia is built at the juncture of the Schuylkill and Delaware rivers.

"I may not swear, but I'll prophesy,-
This lofty forest, that towers so high,
Must bow, and its stately head will lie,
On the lap of its mother earth.

When the stroke of the axe shall its pride subdne,
Dismantle the dale and mountain too,

Their branching honours the ground shall strew,
To blaze on the peaceful hearth.

Where now the poor Indian scatters the sod,
With off'rings brought to an unknown god,
By gospel light shall the path he trod,
To the courts of the Prince of peace.
And here will commerce appoint her mart,
The marble will yield to the hand of art,
From the sun of science his rays will dart ;
And the darkness of nature cease."

And thus did the vision of prophesy,
Expand, and blaze to the prophet's eye,
Till it grew so vast, and rose so high,
That the gentle words that hung

Like a string of pearls from his cautious lip,
On their silver thread, he was fain to clip,
Lest something more than the truth might slip
For once, from a Quaker's tongue.

But the trees quak'd too, at the things he spoke,
For they knew that the knee of the knotted oak
Must bend ere the vow of the Quaker's broke,
And they bow'd and kiss'd the ground.

The hammer and axe had abjur'd repose,
And the mountains rang with their distant blows,
As the forest fell and the city rose;

And her glory beam'd around.

Her laws were as righteous pure and plain,
As the warm in heart and cool in brain,
To bind the strong in a silken chain,
Could in wisdom and love devise.
The tongue needed not the bond of a vow;
And man to his fellow-man, did not bow,
Nor doff the screen o'er his open brow,
To any beneath the skies.

The Quaker pass'd on from land to land,
With the lowly heart, and the open hand,
Of one who felt where he soon must stand,
And his final account give in:

For long had he made up his sober mind,
That he could not depart and fully resign'd,
To leaving the fields of the earth behind,
No better than they had been.

And bright was the spot where the Quaker came,
To leave it his hat, his drab, and his name,

That will sweetly sound from the trump of fame,
'Till its final blast shall die.

The city he reard from the sylvian shade,
His beautiful monument now is made;
And long have the rivers their pride display'd
In the scenes they are rolling by.

A

Lord's-day 20th. I went to Danville to prayer-meeting in the forenoon as usual. But soon after I got into the chapel, a form was placed in front of the pulpit, forming a square with the movable seats, on which some strangers sat. A man stood in the midst, and those on the said seats sounded the Gamut, Sol, la, me fa &c. The centre man said "Sound again"-they did. He then called out, "Merrifield!" which I took to mean, the tune. strange man was in the pulpit, who I understood was a presbyterian preacher, and the singers, some of his society; and that he intended to preach there at certain times. When I saw so much will worship and formality, feeling unpleasant, I withdrew, believing I could profit more at home reading the Bible, or other religious book. In the evening, we held a meeting at R. Banbury's.

27th. My daughter visited us from Danville. One of her scholars was lately married, staid away a week, and returned to school again.

Lordsday 3rd. At eleven spoke in the School house in Jefferson township near the Mohecan. Took dinner with Mr. Trimly; crossed the river and in the afternoon spoke at Mr. Cash's. After preaching a farmer called John Hiet, living about three or four miles on, invited me to preach at his house. I appointed for monday the 11th. two in the afternoon.

Mr. Cash informed me that a meeting had been appointed, for the neighbours to meet the next day, to consult about building a School-house. There was no Schoolhouse nor meeting house for some miles, on the south side the river Mohecan where I had opened preaching, now they were contriving to build a house to serve for both purposes. They much wished one of my family to have the School, and for me to come and live among them. Mr. Coffered to get a house built for me would I pur