In looking back upon the records made by Squirrel Hunters in early days there may be seen a most wonderful faith in the providences of practical religion--that religion which stays with the individual throughout his daily occupations of life. A simple instance of this old-fashioned piety is sufficient to illustrate its meaning and spirit of the times, taken from the biography of one born in the Quaker Church, written by himself: “I owned two hundred acres of choice land, heavily timbered and well watered with springs and brooks. Of this, only five acres were cleared for cultivation. My family consisted of wife and two small children. Of domestic animals, I had two horses, a cow and a dog. One evening, in the spring of 1813, the cow failed to come home. Her pasture was an unfenced wilderness. The bell could not be heard, and search beyond its sounds was impractical after night. Three days were ineffectually spent without obtaining the least clue to her location; and bodings of bad luck seemed standing in the high way to prosperity. [Illustration: Man of Special Providences.] “I gave the cow up for lost and resumed the work of grubbing and burning brush to enlarge the five acres a little. In the afternoon, while busily engaged with my thoughts in smoke and brush, my wife and two children appeared on the ground. She came to tell me there was a man at the house with a sad story. He had been burned out, and lost everything, and wanted help to start again. I told her we were too poor to help any body; that the half dollar in the house was all the money we had, and I did not think it best to part with the last cent; that he should go to work and earn something and not spend his time begging of people who have nothing. My good nature had got around on the north side. “As my wife turned toward the cabin, she observed, ‘The man looks much distressed.’ And either her words, spirit, or something else, brought before my eyes in large capital letters the creed or motto of my life, ‘Do right and all will come right.’ And I called her, saying, ‘Give the unfortunate man the half dollar, and tell him we feel for him.’ The beggar left rejoicing. And while at supper the sound of the cow-bell was at the door--the lost had returned, and we were all happy again.”