ading of those to whose guardianship he had
been thus mistakenly committed. A letter which he wrote to his friend,
George Herman, will, perhaps, explain something of his condition and
feelings:--

Dear George,

I should have written to you long ago, as I promised; but I
am kept all the time so busy, and now I am afraid Mr. Walters
will scold me for wasting time. I call him Mr. Walters (the
others call him master), and not uncle, for he is not my
uncle, although his first wife was my aunt. I do not like
this big city of New York, everything is so different from my
own home when my dear mother was alive. You never saw
anything so grand as the houses here; but I would rather be
back, living in the smallest house there, than have to stay
in this great city, where there are so many rich people, and,
yes, George, a great many more poor folks than I thought were
in the whole world. I have cried so much since I have been
here; Mr. Walters is almost always in a bad humour, and I
cannot bear to mend shoes; I would almost rather do without
wearing them. There is always a great pile of torn boots and
shoes lying in the corner, and I have to help to mend them.
Oh, how much pleasanter it was to work for the farmers round
M---- all the week, and then go to church on Sunday! They
have the grandest churches here, and I have heard beautiful
music from the organ when I passed or stood at the door; but
I have never been inside of a church since I left M----, for
none of our people ever go, nor do we have any family prayer.

There is one thing, however, in New York that I do like; you
ought to see the beautiful picture-shops in Broadway. I
cannot help drawing a little, although I resolve every time
shall be the last. I did a very wrong thing two days ago,
which I must tell you of. I do not love Mrs. Walters, for she
is always scolding me, and she has a very sharp nose and
chin. I had a piece of chalk in my pocket, and I drew her
likeness on the end of the work-bench. Jem Taylor, our
journeyman, laughed so, that Mr. Walters would know what
amused him so. When he saw it, he beat me with a last, and
hurt me greatly. I cried, not for the beating, but because I
felt I had done wrong. I remembered what my dear mother said
about caricaturing, and I was so sorry I ha