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country, I felt my mind so bound to the present concern that I took little notice of these things as I passed along. The request of Jacob has frequently taken hold of my mind since I left my habitation. We got safe to New York about sunset, and were kindly re

ceived by our valuable friend Edmond Pryor. My

companion ill with the ague.

18th.-Fine morning. John Marsaillac came and breakfasted with us, and expressed great satisfaction in reading the letters which I brought him, viz.: one from his wife, and another from William Savery, who were both in Europe. John Marsaillac, having just returned from Oneida, informed us that the yellow fever was among the natives. This morning I went to meeting, which was large, and being their preparative meeting I stayed, and several pertinent remarks were made on a case that came before the meeting. Dined with Thomas Eddes and family, whose wife is a serious improving woman, singularly kind to my sick companion, and one who labored to run her own house well, having her children in much subjection.

19th.-A fine clear morning. Having procured

(as per order) the goods for our Indian girls, clothing, etc., we engaged a vessel bound to Poughkeepsie, under the command of Captain North. Several friends came to see us, fully approving of our engagements, which seemed pleasant, but the Lord must be our dependence.

20th.-My companion still afflicted. Hannah Eddy read the letter she drew up for Catherine Solomon, an Indian, which we thought well adapted. Notwithstanding this family enjoying all the comforts of life, they have a portion of bitterness therein, for their son, a youth of sixteen years of age, and promising future comfort, having bestowed on him a considerable education, was four years ago taken ill with the scarlet fever, and in this condition he lost his hearing, and every effort has proved in vain for his recovery. He very rarely speaks, and when he does his articulation is scarcely intelligible. Thomas Eddy received a letter from Jacob Taylor, giving an account of the yellow fever taking off some of the Oneida Indians.

21st.—Left New York and many kind friends for Poughkeepsie, having on board 46 passengers and 3 children, some of the passengers being full of idle conversation. In order to prevent it spreading I handed to some of the most sober some religious books, called The Power of Religion on the Mind. These books claimed the attention of many. My companion continues ill.

22d.-Rainy weather. Came near forty miles in

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were quiet, which was a favor.

of stone. Being up on the hills, and viewing a vast extensive country, the expressions of David often entered my mind: “The cattle of a thousand hills are thine’—the Lord's. Travelled 64 miles to-day, and being thus far preserved on our journey is cause of thankfulness. 24th.-A fine clear morning. Rode with a member of Congress, and a person who had been a Continental officer, being the only passengers. Notwithstanding our business they much approved of the conduct of Friends. We at length arrived at Albany, and breakfasted at Our friend Peter Field's. From here we took our passage for Schenectady, and lodged at one Guilbert's, who were remarkably obliging. It being cold, and having a comfortable fire in a private room, it would have been agreeable to have enjoyed it, and wrote a few lines, but this Continental officer, before mentioned, coming in, and speaking so much in favor of our engagement, I presently withdrew to bed, two or three hours before the usual time, desiring to have my dependence on Him who is far superior to the praise of man. 25th.-A clear cold morning. My companion afflicted with the ague. I am, through favor of the

great Physician, in good health. The roads are rough,

and hills on one side, the fine meadows and Mohawk River on the other, then ascending a mountain, where the lofty hemlocks grew among the sturdy oaks. The former are particularly beautiful, being always green. Such are the works of Providence, who not only calls in every place for admiration, but at all times for adoration. Our company, who are twelve in number, Got in to lodge rather late, where a company of profane men were gathered,

challenging each other to fight.

26th.—Cloudy morning and windy roads; very plenty of fruit. The inhabitants are chiefly Germans. We were furnished here, with a noisy, cruel, profane driver, who kept the horses mostly upon a gallop, but happily for the creatures the gears often broke, which gave them a little respite. We generally made a crust of bread suffice for dinner, to save expenses, and sometimes it contributed to forward our day's journey. When we got within a mile of Fort Schuyler, our swingle-tree broke, when we had got in a hole, and by the pale light of the moon, we saw our disagreeable situation. We could not well get out, the road being like the bed of a river. In this juncture I had many cogitations, but at length concluded to walk to Fort Schuyler. In this attempt I got very muddy, but

caught no cold, and some of the passengers recollect

ing there was a rope in the carriage, by the assistance of it they soon extricated themselves, and about eight P. M. we all arrived safe at our lodging in Utica,

which was cause of thankfulness to the Great Preserver of men. . . . . . . . . . . . 27th.-Very sharp frost. Here the stages, both by land and water stopped, on account of winter being near, and the roads further forward almost impassable, but unexpectedly my landlord informed me he had a

wagon and a good driver, which I readily agreed to


take, as delays were expensive and dangerous, winter just commencing. Notwithstanding we had a good pair of horses, and no other persons but the driver and ourselves, we were a day and a half nearly traveling this 21 miles, considerable part of which I walked upon the logs. 28th.-A foggy, damp morning, the roads almost impassable, arrived at Oneida about 2 P.M., for which my heart felt thankful to my Great Preserver. Shortly after my arrival I was taken to the house of one of the Chiefs of the Oneidas. His wife, being informed concerning my coming, she pleasantly informed me, by means of an interpreter, that she had seen the third generation. She had neither shoes nor stockings on, though the ground about this time was covered with snow six or seven inches deep. 29th.-A snowy morning. This morning three surveyors called upon Jacob Taylor, one of our Friends, who is stationed there, for a breakfast, provision being hard to be procured. One of them informed us that four of them were a few days past crossing Lake Erie, and she was the only one of the four who escaped, the vessel having overset. Nicholas Cusick, chief of the Tuscaroras, with his wife, paid us a visit. He is an orderly and sensible person, in good esteem with his Nation, being their minister and schoolmaster. - . 30th.-Cold morning. Indian informed my friend that only 40 miles north the snow is three feet deep. Through Divine favor I feel well in health, but the ague continues with my companion. We had a conference with the Stockbridge and Tuscarora Indians, we having produced our certificates, which were read not only by paragraphs but by sentences and words. Hendrick Aupaumut was interpreter for the Stockbridge, and Nicholas Cusick for the Tuscarora Indians. They seemed fully satisfied with the proposals. At this conference some warriors from Niagara were present; in this conference we informed them that Friends had nothing but love in their hearts both to them and their children, and as it was their great desire we should take their children, we would do it at our expense—meaning Friends’—at which they acknowledged Friends' love for them. (To be continued.)

THERE is not much gain in thinking about the things over which one can have no control. It is better to leave them prayerfully with God. The man who tries to think of such things worries. He is worried about his health, and about the weather, and about his family, and about the wickedness of the world, until he has learned the lesson of prayer. Then he does the best he can each day, and leaves the rest with God.—S. S. Times.

GoD knows your need. It seems to you that no one can know it, it is so vast. He knows it better than you do yourself. The multitude of your own aspirations are not present to you, are lost to you ; but he has caught them all.—Selected.


THE biography of the author of “Uncle Tom's Cabin" was well written by her son, Charles E. Stowe, in her lifetime, and published in a handsome volume, but we have now a fuller and more complete work, in which the materials then used have been availed of, and many new letters and other material have been added. The editor, as she modestly terms herself, is the widow of the late James T. Fields, of Boston, the publisher, whose successors now print Mrs. Stowe's

books, and this biography has been prepared to

accompany the complete edition of her works. “The moment has at last arrived,” says Mrs. Fields in her Preface, “when the story of Mrs. Stowe's life can be given in full. The cause to which she lent herself is not forgotten ; one by one the figures of those who bore a part in the great sacrifice begin to shine like bronze after the smelting, and stand cut in imperishable forms, upon the tablets of memory. Therefore it is fitting that one who led the vanguard, one who was born, nevertheless, to carry neither gun nor bayonet, but to bear upon her heart the burden of a great love for suffering men, should now herself be known.” - . Mrs. Stowe's married name signifies less than that to which she was born, (Sixth month 14, 1811). She was a Beecher, descended from John, who came with his mother from England, 1638, and settled at New Haven. His descendants were always marked people, “strong in spirit as well as in body, always readers and thinkers, always animated with love of the public good, and holding it predominant above private good,” —this last a good trait indeed. From them came in Revolution time John Beecher, grandfather of Harriet, a farmer, blacksmith, and maker of tools, a man of much force of character, but absent-minded, which we are told is a Beecher trait. “‘Your Aunt Esther,’ says Dr. [Lyman] Beecher, ‘has known him at least twelve times to come in from the barn, and sit down on a coat-pocket full of eggs, jump up and say, “Oh, wife I’” “Why, my dear,” she would reply, “I do wonder you can put eggs in your pocket after you have broken them so once.” “Well,” he would say, “I thought I should remember this time.””” Dr. Lyman Beecher, the famous “divine,” father of a large family of remarkable children, including Henry Ward and Harriet, was the oldest child of this John Beecher. The latter's wife was of Scotch descent, a Lyman, “tall, well proportioned, dignified in her movements, fair to look upon, intelligent in conversation, and in character lovely.” She died of consumption two days after her only child, Lyman, was born. “I was a seven months' child; ” he said, “and when the woman that attended on her saw what a puny thing I was, and that the mother could not live, she thought it useless to attempt to keep me alive. I was actually wrapped up and laid aside. But after

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died with his mother.’ So you see it was but by a hair's breadth I got a foothold in this world.” Yet Lyman Beecher lived to be more than eightyseven years of age Lyman Beecher's first wife, (he was three times married), Roxana Foote, the mother of most of his children, including Henry Ward and Harriet, was a woman of fine character. Mrs. Fields remarks of the three Beecher generations, John, Lyman, and Henry, that “they all married women distinguished for intellect and character. Whatever appreciation of grace and refinement may have been theirs, their wives possessed qualities born of energy of mind and piety of heart.” Harriet was hardly four years old when her mother died “leaving eight little children weeping round her bed,” but she considered her own character to have been greatly influenced by her memories of that excellent parent. She says (in passages quoted by Mrs. Fields): *

“Although Mother's bodily presence disappeared from our circle, I think her memory and example had more influence in moulding her family, in deterring from evil and inciting to good, than the living presence of many mothers. It was a memory that met us everywhere, for every person in the town, from the highest to the lowest, seemed to have been so impressed by her character and life that they constantly reflected some portion of it back upon us. “Even our portly old black washerwoman, Candace, who came once a week to help off the great family wash, would draw us aside and, with tears in her eyes, tell us of the saintly virtues of our mother. “I recollect that at first the house was full of little works of ingenuity, and taste, and skill, which had been wrought by her hand,-furniture adorned with painting ; pictures of birds and flowers, done with minutest skill ; fine embroidery, with every variety of lace and cobweb stitch ; exquisite needle-work, which has almost passed out of memory in our day. I remember the bobbin and pillows with which she made black lace. Many little anecdotes were told me among her friends of her ceaseless activity and contrivance in these respects.” “There was one passage of Scripture always associated with her in our minds in childhood ; it was this : ‘Ye are come unto Mount Zion, the city of the living God, to the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels ; to the general assembly and Church of the first born, and to the spirit of just men made perfect.” “We all knew that this was what our father repeated to her when she was dying, and we often repeated it to each other. It was to that we felt we must attain, though we scarcely knew how. In every scene of family joy or sorrow, or when father wished to make an appeal to our hearts, which he knew we could not resist, he spoke of mother. “I remember still the solemn impression produced on my mind when I was only about eight years old. I had been violently seized with malignant fever, and lain all day insensible, and father was in an agony of apprehension for my life. I remember waking up just as the beams of the

setting sun were shining into the window, and hearing his

voice in prayer by my bedside, and of his speaking of “her blessed mother who is now a saint in heaven,” and wondering in my heart what that solemn appeal might mean.

“I think it will be the testimony of all her sons that her image stood between them and the temptations of youth as a sacred shield ; that the hope of meeting her in heaven has sometimes been the last strand which did not part in hours of fierce temptation ; and that the remembrance of her holy life and death was a solemn witness of the truth of religion, which repelled every assault of skepticism, and drew back the soul from every wandering to the faith in which she lived and died.”

It is quite impossible for us to linger over the story of Harriet's childhood. She spent much time with her aunt, Harriet Foote (after whom she was named), a “Churchwoman,” who lived at Nutplains. She went, before she was thirteen, to the school her older sister, Catharine, had established at Hartford, (1826) and later taught there, for a time. Her father had then removed from Litchfield, Conn., (where, as a Congregational minister he had long been “settled),” to Boston, to the charge of the Hanover Street church. Her health was not strong; for women, in that day, “life in the open air was not thought to be necessary,” says Mrs. Fields. “They were always tired from the ceaseless round of indoor duties and lack of true relaxation.” In 1832, Dr. Beecher removed to Cincinnati, to become president of Lane Theological Seminary; his family, of course, went with him. There Harriet lived, teaching for a time, until in 1836, she married Prof. Calvin E. Stowe, one of the faculty of the Theological Seminary. She was his second wife; his first wife, Harriet Tyler, had been her intimate friend. Her married life began at Cincinnati, and included many trials and privations, for her husband's means were very slender. Then they removed to Bowdoin College (Brunswick), Maine, where he had been appointed a professor, and it was here, in 1851–52, that she wrote “Uncle Tom's Cabin.” It was published first, as many know, in the anti-slavery newspaper edited at Washington by Dr. Gamaliel Bailey, the National Era, and the writer of this notice well remembers reading parts of it in a bundle of carefully preserved copies of that journal.

The publication of this world-known and epochmaking book was of course the great event in Mrs. Stowe's life. She was a woman of great genius, as this powerful story proved,—and her other books would have entitled her to long remembrance even if it had never been written. It, however, brought her fame, made her known to a wide circle of influential people, and brought her moderate wealth. Her friend, Mrs. John T. Howard, of Brooklyn, has written a most interesting account of the production of the story, which, though Mrs. Fields points out one or two discrepancies in detail, she accepts as of entire accuracy in the main points. Mrs. Howard says:

“The newspapers were then filled with accounts of the wonderful success of the book at home and abroad,” writes Mrs. Howard. “When ready to return to her home in Andover, she urged my going with her, an invitation that I gladly accepted. To lessen the fatigue of the long railroad journey, we spent one night in Hartford with Mrs. Stowe's sister, Mrs. Perkins. After a pleasant evening with the family, we retired, sharing the same room at Mrs. Stowe's request. I soon disrobed and lay upon the bed, looking at her little childish figure gathered in a heap upon the floor as she sat brushing out the long curls with a thoughtful look upon her face, which I did not disturb by words.

“At last she spoke, and said, ‘I have just received a

letter from my brother Edward from Galesburg, Illinois. He is greatly disturbed lest all this praise and notoriety should induce pride and vanity, and work harm to my Christian character.” She dropped her brush from her hand and exclaimed with earnestness, ‘Dear soul, he need not be troubled. He doesn’t know that I did not write that book.” “What l” said I, ‘you did not write “Uncle Tom " ?’ ‘No,' she said, ‘I only put down what I saw.” “But you have never been at

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the South, have you ?' I asked. ‘No,' but it all came before me in visions, one after another, and I put them down in words.' But being still skeptical, I said, ‘Still you must have arranged the events.’ ‘No,' said she, ‘Your Annie reproached me for letting Eva die. Why, I could not help it ! I felt as badly as anyone could ! It was like a death in my own family, and I could not write a word for two weeks after her death.” “And did you know,' I asked, ‘ that Uncle Tom would die P’ ‘Oh, yes,” she answered, ‘I knew that he must die from the first, but I did not know how. When I got to that part of the story, I saw no more for some time. I was physically exhausted, too. Mr. Stowe had accepted a call to Andover, and had to go there to find a house for the family. “‘ He urged my going with him for the change, and I went. No available home could be found, and the faculty gave us permission to occupy a large stone building which had been built for a gymnasium. I had always longed to plan a house for myself, and we entered into the work with great interest. We consulted an architect, and had been with him

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arranging the plans for rooms, pantries, and other household conveniences, all the morning. “‘ I was very tired when we returned to our boarding house to the early mid-day dinner. After dinner we went to our room for rest. Mr. Stowe threw himself upon the bed ; I was to use the lounge ; but suddenly there arose before me the death scene of Uncle Tom with what led to it—and George's visit to him. I sat down at the table and wrote nine pages of foolscap paper without pausing, except long enough to dip my pen into the inkstand. Just as I had finished, Mr. Stowe awoke. “Wife,” said he, “ have not you lain down yet P " “No,” I answered. “I have been writing, and I want you to listen to this, and see if it will do.” I read aloud to him with the tears flowing fast. He wept, too, and before I had finished, his sobs shook the bed upon which he was lying. He sprang up, saying, “Do I should think it would do 1" and folding the sheets he immediately directed and sent them to the publisher, without one word of correction or revision of any kind. I have often thought,” she continued, ‘ that if anything had happened to that package in going, it would not have been possible for me to have repro

duced it.’

“As I lay there and listened to this wonderful account, how could I help believing that God inspires His children, and that mighty works do still show forth themselves in those who are prepared to be His mediums.”

Mrs. Stowe died, as our readers will recall, at Hartford, on the first of the Seventh month, 1896, “ and her body was buried beside those of her husband and children who had preceded her, in the burial ground at Andover.” In her closing years, the powers of her mind were impaired. Like her father in many things, “the scorching fire of the brain seemed to devour its essence, and she endured, as he did before her, some years of existence, in which the motive power of the mind almost ceased to act. She became ‘like a little child,’ wandering about, pleased with flowers, fresh air, the sound of a piano or a voice singing hymns, but the busy inspiring spirit was asleep.”

It should be said, in justice to Mrs. Fields, that she has made an admirable book. It is full of animation and interest—as our extracts testify—and it is governed throughout by good taste and sound judgment.


President Isaac Sharpless, of Haverford College, spoke at the Fifth Baptist Church, Philadelphia, on the 19th ult, in a course of lectures by members of different denominations, his subject being the Friends. The following is a portion of his address:

QUAKERISM arose in England in the midst of the seething religious excitement and earnestness which characterized the middle decades of the seventeenth century. The country was full of warring sects. Catholicism lurked in the corners. The Anglican Church, closely allied with the fortunes of Charles I, was in conflict with the more advanced Protestantism of the dissident bodies. At first the chief of these was the Presbyterian, which had carried Scotland with enthusiasm and numbered its devotees by the thousands in England. It struck at the formalities and church construction of the ritualistic bodies, but demanded for itself a complete national organization. This was resisted by a growing party within itself, the Independents, finally triumphant under Oliver Cromwell, which, substantially agreeing with the Presbyterians in matter of doctrine, opposed their centralizing tendencies, asserted the independence of the local congregation, and was sure that “ new presbyter was old priest writ large.”

There had also just come into being as an organized body the Baptists, or Anabaptists, as they were usually called. They agreed with the Independents in matters of church discipline, but objected to infant baptism, urging the use of the rite to represent conscious admission to the Church of God.

In addition to these there were Antinomians, who laid but little stress on conduct and asserted the omnipotence of faith. There were Fifth Monarchy Men, who were looking for the speedy coming of Christ to inaugurate the reign of the Saints; Seekers, who vainly tried to find in any organized body soul-satisfying truth, and were expecting a new and fuller revelation; Brownists, a company of extreme Independents; Familists, who taught that the Church of Christ was a private body apart from the world; Socinians, embracing various forms of anti-Trinitarianism; atheists, and many others.

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