To a boy of fifteen, whose life has mostly been passed in a quiet country village, the first sight of the city of Montreal is somewhat imposing.  Presently I noticed a gentleman who appeared to be looking for some one, and I felt sure it was Mr. Baynard.  He appeared to be about forty years of age and during the whole course of my life I have never seen a more agreeable countenance than he possessed.  I felt attracted toward him at once.  I stood still watching his movements, as with some difficulty he made his way through the crowd, and soon his quick eye rested upon me; approaching and laying his hand on my shoulder, he said “Is your name Walter Harland, my boy?  My name is Mr. Baynard, and I drove round by the depot to meet a boy I was expecting to arrive on this train.”  “My name is Walter Harland,” I replied, “and I am the boy of whom Dr. Gray wrote to you.”  He shook hands with me, speaking a few kind and encouraging words at the same time.  After giving orders concerning my trunk, he told me to follow him, and we soon reached his carriage, and telling me to jump in he drove to a beautiful residence, sufficiently distant from the business centre of the city to render it pleasant and agreeable.  Mr. Baynard’s family consisted of his wife, two daughters and one little boy.  They all treated me with much kindness, and seemed anxious that I should feel at home with them.  I arrived at Montreal on Thursday, and Mr. Baynard said I had best not begin my regular duties in the store till the following Monday.  I shall long remember the first Sabbath I spent in the city, for on that day I suffered severely from an attack of home-sickness.  Mr. Baynard’s eldest daughter, Carrie was twelve years old, her sister Maria was ten, and their little brother Augustus was only seven years old.  In the morning I attended church with the family, and a very lonely feeling came over, as I looked around over the large congregation and among them all could not discover one familiar countenance.  The most lonely portion of the day was the afternoon; we did not attend church, and feeling myself as a stranger in the family I spent most of the time in my own room, and naturally enough my thoughts turned to my far distant friends, and I must confess that, although a boy of fifteen, I shed some very bitter tears that lonely Sabbath afternoon.  In the evening I again attended church, and after our return spent the remainder of the evening in reading, and so passed my first Sabbath in the city of Montreal.  I rose the next morning determined to be hopeful and look upon the bright side.

Before I took my place in the store, Mr. Baynard requested me to accompany him to the library, where he passed much of his leisure time, and he talked to me kindly and earnestly, informing me what would be expected of me, and giving me instructions regarding the duties of my position.  “Many years ago,” said he, “I came to this city a poor boy like yourself, as assistant clerk in a large store, I was