To work with these must be his chief concern; But where was he to go such work to learn, Unless he made too great a sacrifice Of Christian privilege? This, in his eyes, Was of such moment, that he rather chose To struggle with chill Want, and other woes, Until such time as G.o.d saw fit to show To him the path in which he ought to go.

Meanwhile, as _tinker_, he two irons took, With solder, rosin, and the Christian's Book!

Equipped in this way 'mongst his friends he went, And happy hours in work and trav'ling spent.

Of mending tins he had enough to do; And got good board, and decent wages, too.

Ere long he visited more distant farms, And found his calling not devoid of charms.

On Nature's varied face he still could gaze, And each new scene presented fresh displays Of G.o.d's Omnipotence and boundless love, Which raised his thoughts from Earth to things above.

While, ever and anon, he found a friend To give him work, and press on him to spend The night, in comfort, 'neath his friendly roof; And thus afford the most substantial proof, That Human-kindness in its warmest glow Wants but Occasion, its full worth to show!

Sometimes a Settler viewed him with suspicion, And paused ere he would give the least permission For him to enter his small, rude, log dwelling, While WILLIAM'S heart was with keen feelings swelling.

Anon, a gentle word would turn the scale-- The man would list the youthful tinker's tale; Would give a hearty welcome to his house, And introduce him to his thrifty spouse; Would bid her bring; that leaky _pail_, or _pan_, Which had been tinkered by "that other man,"

Who got from her the pewter spoons, and lead, His supper, breakfast, and a nice clean bed; Then took the metal every bit away, Saying he got not half enough for pay!

When WILLIAM heard such things he did not wonder That farmers, sometimes, looked as black as thunder When he applied for work, or lodging sought With earnestness, which fear of want had taught.

All he now earned went to the family store, And thus he kept 'as poor as heretofore.

About this time, an invitation came To their small Church, to spread Christ's glorious name.

Two Brethren were deputed each Lord's Day To do the work, but not for worldly pay.

They tried to carry out the Lord's command, Which few, in this our day, can understand: "Freely ye have received--so freely give; More blessed 'tis to give than to receive."

On one of these occasions COOPER went With a dear Brother, who to preach was sent.

That Brother was ta'en sick, and could not preach; WILLIAM, in public, was not wont to teach.

But He, whose sacred name they bore, was there; On Him the youth now strove to cast his care.

The school-room--such it was--was crowded quite, Yet he felt nothing daunted at the sight.

'Twas well, perhaps, that every face was new To him, and all the future hid from view; For in that very room two maidens sate, Both destined to be his in marriage state.

And greatly influence his future fate!

Had he known this--so sensitive was he-- It might have him unmanned to such degree, As to prevent completely the discharge Of duties which, to him, looked very large.

But as it was, he saw before him there The old and young, whose looks bespoke some care For their salvation. That most precious theme, Of whose great worth the worldly-wise ne'er dream, He with strong feelings urged upon them all; And there were hearts responding to the call!

Such deep attention never had he seen In any Meeting, in his life, I ween!

It thrilled his very soul, and made him speak, In glowing language, of the Savior meek-- Whose love to sinners moved him to lay by His own great Glory, and come here to die!

The good accomplished on that Sabbath day, Ten thousand fold his labor did repay.

His unpremeditated preaching went Home to some hearts--a Heavenly message, sent By G.o.d's good Spirit, as a proof to be Of Grace most wondrous to Eternity!

The simple service reached at last its close; When the sick Brother to some hearers goes To learn their welfare, and his own impart, With strongest tokens of a friendly heart.

Those persons were both English--man and wife-- Who knew, for years, the toils of Bush-farm life.

To them was introduced the new-made preacher, Just then mistaken for an older teacher.

Due explanations made, they him invite To call and see them, and stay over night.

He, nothing loath, the invitation kind At once accepted, with delighted mind.

The two return, and with their Brethren meet To join in worship--simple, pure and sweet.

The incidents of that blest Sabbath day Haunted his mind, till he could not delay A visit to his new-made, kindly friends, In hopes that it might tend to make amends For great privations, every day endured, Whilst but a mere subsistence was secured.

He therefore took his bag and tools once more, To call at places never seen before.

He, in his wanderings, to a Village came, Which had, for water-power, acquired some fame; There he found work that did a day employ, And learned what gave to him much greater joy-- How some five miles would bring him to the farm, Where he might hope to meet a welcome warm.

Fatigued, he reached the house in strangest plight-- For sweat and dust made him a sorry sight.

The mother was engaged in converse there With her first-born--a daughter blithe and fair.

These knew him not--so different his array From What it was upon that Sabbath day.

And though he gave to each a friendly greeting, It might have proved a rather chilly meeting, Had not the youngest daughter whispered thus; "'Tis the young preacher come to visit us."

This was enough; apologies were made, And perfect welcome speedily displayed.

In sweet discourse they sat a little while, When _tea_ was served, in most superior style, Cooper of such a meal had never tasted, Since he from his dear native land had hasted.

This o'er, the conversation they resume, While truth's clear rays afresh their minds illume.

This was to him a most important day; For gloomy clouds then broke and fled away.

His future, once so dark, now brighter grew, And filled his soul with grat.i.tude anew.

That mother's care a.s.signed him the "best bed,"

On which to lay his weary limbs and head.

Most sweetly did the Wanderer sleep and rest, As though by grief he ne'er had been oppressed, He rose, refreshed, soon after break of day, And thankfully his "Orisons did pay."

While these dear folks the breakfast were preparing, He to mend leaky _tins_ no pains was sparing.

For what he did he would not make a charge-- His Independence was a trait too large; But that kind mother would not be repaid In work or money for her love displayed.

She fixed the price--a very liberal one-- And paid the _cash_ for all that he had done.

Perhaps my readers think this matron's eyes Saw, in the tinker, a most likely prize To win, as husband, for her daughter fair; But surely they must be mistaken there!

This family's standing was considered good; WILLIAM, amongst the very poorest stood: And, in his tinkering garb, was not a match For that fair girl, whom many strove to catch.

Let this be as it might; he left the house Without proposing to make her his spouse.

Yet not without the strongest inclination To make short intervals of separation.

Their daughter, Jane, was in her twentieth year, And did to him a lovely maid appeal.

He knew her soon as skilled in house affairs, But ever lacking vain, coquettish airs.

Her form was graceful, and of medium size, And sweet good nature beamed in her bright eyes.

Her face, for most part, wore a pleasant smile, While her dear heart ne'er harbored aught of guile.

Her charms were such that COOPER'S heart, ere long, Could not resist their influence so strong.

Nor need we wonder much, for soon he learned She had good offers, in great plenty, spurned, Before she knew the Tinsmith--so forlorn-- Whose poor appearance ne'er drew forth her scorn.

Phebe, the youngest girl, was quite a la.s.s, Who might not yet have used a looking-gla.s.s.

Possessed of bright brown eyes and cheerful face, On which, of sorrow, none could find a trace-- Unless her paleness might be viewed as such; Yet all who read her eyes would doubt it much.

Of lively spirits, and most active turn, Still fond of work, she could not fail to learn Such household duties as her mother thought Best that her girls should, in their youth, be taught.

To be a favorite, Phebe scarce could fail; And parents rightly named her, "Nightingale!"

For, while asleep, she oft would sing at night Some lively tune, and always sing it right.

Between these two, in age and temperament, Another girl was to that couple lent.

She, than her sisters, always seemed more shy, At least, if strangers happened to be nigh.

All three grew up good-looking, and became As faithful wives as e'er were known to fame.

One chubby babe, and three more sprightly boys, Ranked 'mongst the number of this family's joys.

Meanwhile a curious incident occurred, To mention which may harmless mirth afford.

Our hero long had wished to take a tour Still further North, 'mongst farmers far from poor; And when returning--say on _Friday night_-- To hold a _meeting_, if his friends thought right.

The place agreed upon was their "large room"-- One large enough, if neighbors all should come.

This, settled, off he went for several days, Toiling and sweating under Sol's strong rays.

Sometimes with Christians of most generous souls; Anon, with those whose conduct him appals, Till the important day at last came round; When at a house, hard by, he _tinkering_ found.

The work all done, they ask him to partake Refreshment with them, for pure kindness' sake.

He thankfully complied with their request, And found their cheer was of the very best.

The meal was served beneath a pleasant shade, And he, to each good thing was welcome made.

Soon there rode by a gentleman well dressed, And the host's daughter thus herself expressed: "Most likely that's the Preacher just gone by; He's dressed in black, and wears a white neck-tie."

"Perhaps so," said the father; "'tis the night The Meeting's held, and they did us invite."

WILLIAM, meanwhile, beheld the mother's eyes Cast oft upon him; and, with some surprise, She asked, "Did you not preach a month ago At the Plains School House?" He replied, "'Twas so."

"And is it you that's going to preach ere long At our near neighbors?" _He_ asked, "Is it wrong?"

"No; only--" There's the rub! O contrast great, Betwixt the well-dressed man, and _tinker_'s state!

To do them justice, 'tis but right to add-- They went to hear him, and for it were glad.

Ere many weeks he is prevailed upon To take that kind friend's offer, and has gone To Buffalo for tools; and on his way Makes for Niagara, without delay.

Years he had longed to see that splendid sight, And now this journey took with great delight.

'Twas in the month of August; when, he found Himself for Lewiston, by steamer, bound.

The night he reached that was a sultry one-- And such excitement he had never known.

The room in which he tried to get some sleep Had six poor drunkards in it! [Footnote: Fact] 'So, at peep Of early dawn, he rose; then washed his face; Paid off his bill, and strove his nerves to brace By walking o'er the seen remaining miles, With glowing feelings, and face clad in smiles.