tenderness for the
promptings of her own conscience, has in it something sublimely
beautiful, if we look at it in its own pure light. The parting took
place with more love than words can express, and yet without a tear on
either side. Even during the long and tedious voyage, Elizabeth never
wept. She preserved a martyr-like cheerfulness to the end.

The house prepared for her reception stood in a clearing of the forest,
three miles from any other dwelling. She arrived in June, when the
landscape was smiling in youthful beauty; and it seemed to her as if the
arch of heaven was never before so clear and bright, the carpet of the
earth never so verdant. As she sat at her window and saw evening close
in upon her in that broad forest home, and heard for the first time the
mournful notes of the whippowil and the harsh scream of the jay in the
distant woods, she was oppressed with a sense of vastness, of infinity,
which she never before experienced, not even on the ocean. She remained
long in prayer, and when she lay down to sleep beside her matron friend,
no words were spoken between them. The elder, overcome with fatigue,
soon sank into a peaceful slumber; but the young enthusiast lay long
awake, listening to the lone voice of the whippowil complaining to the
night. Yet, notwithstanding this prolonged wakefulness, she arose early
and looked out upon the lovely landscape. The rising sun pointed to the
tallest trees with his golden finger, and was welcomed by a gush of song
from a thousand warblers. The poetry in Elizabeth's soul, repressed by
the severe plainness of her education, gushed up like a fountain. She
dropped on her knees, and, with an outburst of prayer, exclaimed
fervently; "O Father, very beautiful hast thou made this earth! How
beautiful are thy gifts, O Lord!"

To a spirit less meek and brave, the darker shades of the picture would
have obscured these cheerful gleams; for the situation was lonely, and
the inconveniences innumerable. But Elizabeth easily triumphed over all
obstacles, by practical good sense and the quick promptings of her
ingenuity. She was one of those clear, strong natures, who always have a
definite aim in view, and who see at once the means best suited to the
end. Her first inquiry was what grain was best suited to the soil of her
farm, and being informed that rye would yield best, "Then I shall eat
rye bread," was her answer. But when Winter came, and the gleaming snow
spread its unbroken