There were no children to gladden this sullen household by their
mirth, and there was no piety to send its gleams of sunlight to lessen
the gloom that dwelt within its precincts; there was no one there who
loved God and honoured his laws, neither did the words of prayer or
praise ever ascend from the family altar. They were contented to live
for this world alone, caring nothing for that heavenly inheritance
promised to those who love God and keep his commandments. Poor
William! this was a dreadful place for him to be, with every
inducement, from bad example, to stray from the true path in which he
had until now been trained to walk; how great was the danger that he
would now follow the leading 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