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 silence over hill and plain, was it not dreary then?  It would have been dreary to one who entered upon this mode of life from mere love of novelty, or a vain desire to do something extraordinary.  But the idea of extended usefulness, which had first lured this remarkable girl into a path so unusual, sustained her through all trials.  She was too busy to be sad, and leaned too trustingly on her Father’s hand to be doubtful of her way.  The neighboring Indians soon loved her as a friend, for they found her always truthful, just, and kind.  From their teachings she added much to her knowledge of simple medicines.  So efficient was her skill, and so prompt her sympathy, that for many miles around, if man, woman, or child were alarmingly ill, they were sure to send for Elizabeth Haddon; and, wherever she went, her observing mind gathered some hint for farm or dairy.  Her house and heart were both large, and as her residence was on the way to the Quaker meeting-house in Newtown, it became a place of universal resort to Friends from all parts of the country traveling that road, as well as an asylum for benighted wanderers.