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SKETCHES AND TALES

ILLUSTRATIVE OF

LIFE IN THE BACKWOODS

NEW BRUNSWICK,

NORTH AMERICA,

GLEANED PROM ACTUAL OBSERVATION AND EXPERIENCE DURING A
RESIDENCE OF SEVEN YEARS IN THAT INTERESTING COLONY.

BY MRS. F. BEAVAN.

" Son of the Isles ! talk not to me,
Of the old world's pride and luxury !
Tho' gilded bower and fancy cot,.
Grace not each wild concession lot;
Tho' rude bur hut, and coarse our cheer,
The wealth the world can gi ^e is here."

LONDON:
GEOUGE ROUTLEDOE, 36, SQHO SQUARE.

1845.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

TAGK

Introductory llemaiksi j

New^Brunswick — by whom settled o

lleiiiarks on State of Morals and J veli;^Iou 4

American IMiysiognoniy r,

Tlie Spring Fresliets ^

Cranl)erries j.

ytream Driving jl,

Moving a House 10

Frolics 11

Sugar jVfaking I3

Breaking uj) of the Ice m

First a])pearances ef Spring ly

Burning a Fallow ^

A Walk through a Settlement 2(»

Log lluts 2\

Description of a Native New Brunswicker's House iiii

Blowing the Horn j^^

A Deserted Lot ;^5

The Bushwacker , ;j/.

Tlie Postman t^tj

American Newspapers 4(j

Musquitoes ^2

An Emigrant's House 44

Unsuccessful Lumberer 47

l^he Law of Kindness exemplified in the Case of a

Criminal , ^ r^O

fi' -

f'ONTKNrs.

^^■'lools PA0J5

TJio Scliool ]\Iistrc.ss .... 52

TlicvWoods .'_.... •"'•">

33aj)tists' A.s.soci.itioii . ^ 5"

Av^^ittothoirousoofaR^n;;;;;*; «»

1 i- I„d,an Jindc, u K<.fu,.oo's Story. .' .". /'«

Burning of Miramichi...... 79

The Lost Ono-a tale of theE'iVl v'^ \\'i ^^*

Tii« Ar- • -Liariy bettJers

Sonfi- of the Irish Moiirnor 07

AWinter'sEveningSkotch!!^;;;; ' ^^

Iho-School-niisf ress's Dream ^^^

Library in tlio Backwoods. . ..".'." ^^f;

The Indian Summer .... 129

The Lost Childron-a ToVm ^^•

Sloi-h Hiding '• 133

Aurora Borealis l-'O

Getting into the Ice ....*.' 141,

Conclusion

• • t ,

' • tat

142

ib.

VAOF.

5JJ

f>G

«1

> • • ■ • 85

101

.... 120
.. .. 129
• . . . ib.
. . . . 133
.... l.<0
1.... 141
... 142
••t ib.

SKETCHES, &o

These sketches of the Backwoods of New Bruns-
wick are intended to illustrate the individual and
national characteristics of the settlers, as displayed
in the living pictures and legendary tales of the
country. They have been written during the short
intervals allowed from domestic toils, and may, per-
haps, have little claim to the attention of the public,
save that of throwing a faint light upon the manners
and customs of that little-known, though inter-
esting, appendage of the British empire. A long
'lesidence in that colony havirig given me ample
means of knowing and of studyijng them in all their
varying hues of light and shade. There, in the
free wide solitude of that fair land whose youthful
face " seems wearing still the first fresh fragrance
of the world," the fadeless traces of character, pe-
culiar to the dwellers of the olden climes,.arebrought
into close contrast with the more original feelings
of the " sons of the soil," both white and red, and
are there more fully displa3^ed than in the mass
of larger communities. Of political, or depth of
topographical information, the writer claims no
share, and much of deep interest, or moving inci-
dent, cannot now be expected in the life of a set-
tler in the woods. The days when the war-whoop
of the Indian was yelled above the burning ruins
of the white man's dwellinir are <rone — their me-
Xnory exists but in the legend of the winter's eye;

and the struggle is now wllli the elements wliich
form tlio climate ; the i»npiilse of '* going a-licad'*
giving impetus to people's ** getting along" — tbrc-
mg the woods to bow beneath their sturdy stroke,
and fields to shine with ripened grain, where
erst the forest shadows fell ; or floating down the
broad and noble streams the tall and stately pine,
taken from the ancient bearded wilderness to bear
the might of England's fame to earth and sea's
remotest bounds.

New Brunswick is partly settled by French
Acadians from the adjoining province of Nova
Scotia, but these, generally speaking, form a race
by themselves, and mingle little with the others,
still retaining the peculiarities of their nation,
although long separated from it — they like gaiety
and amusement more than work, and consequent-
ly are rather poorer than the other inhabitants;
but, of course, there are exceptions. In the win-
ter I have often seen them on their way to market,
with loads of frozen oysters, packed in barrels, ancl
moss cranberries (rather a chance crop); but they
looked happy and comfortable, and went singing
merrily to the ringing of their horse bells. The
French were the pioneers of the province, and
often had to do battle with the Indians, the ancient
possessors of the soil : of these last there now
remains but a fast-fading remnant — objects more of
pity or laughter than of dread. Of the other
original settlers, or, as they are particularly termed,
"blue noses," they are composed of the refugees
and their descendants, being those persons who,
at the separation of England from America, pre-
fering the British government, sought her protec-
tion and came, another band of pilgrims, and

sworo Icalty lo tlwit lantl from whence their latliers
liiul so Iiulioiuuitly fled — lli' y are certainly a most
iiitlescribabie genus those blue noses — the traces
of descent from tlje Dutch and French blood
of the United States, being mingled with the in-
dependent spirit of the American and the staunch
firmness of the " Britisher," as they delight to call
themselves, showing their claim to it by the most
determined hatred of the Yankees, whose language
and features they yet retain : yet these differing
(|ualities blend to form a shrewd, intelligent, active,
and handsome people — intelligence and strong
sense, to a far greater amount than could be found
in persons of the same class in England. A trace,
albeit a faint one of the Saxon serf, still lingers
with the Knglish peasant ; but the free breeze of
America soon sweeps the shadows from his brow,
and his sons all proudly take their place as men,
knowing that by their own conduct and talents
they may work their way to fortune, or, at least,
*' rough hew" it, without dread that the might of
custom's icy breath can blight their fate for
lack of birth or fortune. This gives a noble
feeling to the heart and a higher tone to the cha-
racter, although a sense of the ridiculous is often
attached to this by a native of the old countries,
when it is shown forth by the "squire" yoking his
oxen, a major selling turkies, and the member
for the county cradling buckwheat. Yet all this Is
productive of good, and opens a path for intellect
and genius, and when a colonel and member of
the Legislative CoimcW eats pa7icakes and molasses
in a friendly way with his poorer neighbours, is it
not likely (as the Persian fable tells us of the peb-
ble lying near the rose, and thereby imbibing some

13 2

■5'

I I

orits fra<rrance) that some of the graces and poHte-
ness of the liighcr circl«js, to which these <rciitle-
mcn bcK)iig both by rortmic and cckication, shoiikl
be imparted, in some degree, to those with wliom
they converse. So it undonbtedly does, and the
air of refinement, native tu the New Ihunswicker,
is never so strongly visible as when contrasted w Ith
the new-caught emigrant. Rudeness and vulgarity
in glaring forms one never meets from them ; odd
and inquisitive ways may be thought impertinent,
and require both time and patience to be rightly
understood.

The state of morals and religion is fast pro-
gressing; these, of course, have all their main-
spring from education, for an uneducated people
can never be, rightly speaking, either moral or reli-
gious. So New Brunswick may have the apology
ibr whispered tales that float about, of corn being-
reaped and wood being felled on the Sabbath-day,
and of sacred rites being dispensed with. She is
yet in her infancy, and when one thinks that 'tis
but sixty years since they first set foot on the
shore, where stood one lonely hut, on the site of
the now flourishing city of St, John, we must
know that their physical wants were then so many
that but little attention could be given to the wants
of the mind. But now, thanks to the parental
care of Britain, schools and churches are rising
fast throughout the country, and learning is receiv-
fed with an avidity that marks the active intellect
it has to work upon ; besides, all these old stories
of failings occurred long before the tide of emi-
gration caused them to be enlightened by the
visitation of the inhabitants of the gifted climes of
the olden world. Well would it be if all those

! polilc-

gOMllL'-

siioiilil
I whom
lul the
dicker,
id with
I^arity
1 ; Olid
tiiicnt,
•ightly

t pro-
niiiin-
people
)r reli-

•oloirv

I •

»-day,
5he is
It 'tis
the

e of

nust

lany

ants

ntal

sing

eiv-

lect

ries

nii-

the

5 of

ose

showed as much desh'c to avail tliemselvcs of theli*
means ol' improvement, as a New Briinswicker
does of those enjoyed by hin). Their personal
appearance diflers much from the J0n<^llsh. Cooper
says, " the American physiognomy has ah'eady its
own peculiar cast" — so it lias, a'id can easily be dis-
tinouLshed — in oeneral the^ rtrc handsomer than the
emigrants — darker in complexion, but finer in
feature and more graceful in form — not so strong,
and fading sooner. Many of the children are per-
fectly beautiful, but the cherub beauty changes
soon, and the women particularly look old and
withered while yet young in years. Infantine
beauty seems peculiar to the country, for even the
children of emigrants born there are much
handsomer than those born at home. Such are
some of the traits of the natives-then comes the
wide circle of emigrants, each (at least the older
ones) retaining the peculiarities of their different
countries. Many of them, although better off
than they could possibly expect to be at home,
yet keep railing at the country, and thirsting after
the " flesh-pots of Egypt." The Yorkshireman
talks of nothing but the ** white cakes and bag
I)uddings" of old England, regardless of the
"pumpkin pies and buckwheat pancakes" of New
Brunswick; and one old lady from Cornwall
(where they say the Devil would not go for fear
of being transformed into a pasty) revenges her-
self on the country by making pies of everything,
from apples and mutton down to parsley, and all
for the memory of England; while, perhaps, were
she there, she might be without a pie. The hon-
est Scotchman is silent upon the subject of
"vivers," and wisely talks not of either " crowdy"

B 3

show ng J,is Chnsi,rS,^ '''\ ^'"""'I'ex.,
^und contempt as welltr h^ % I'e most ,,ro-
Church of En^glandas f^'tl'f ri'"^»«- °f the
Baptists. He attends non« VW"'gs"ofthe
^y^. "he canna thole it "t.°^ ""■'"' '"'"• ''«
a minister of the kirk JL,''?^ '''''" ^^^ '^'■"noe
jnay see hini, with well Z i J",'7»y' «hen you
"g anxiousll fortrrd fn?^ t^^^'^ ^'"'. Press-
the sanctuary: rnol^'"''"'^ droppin' of
obstacle to hiCzea" Th^'T -'r^^'"^ °ff"i„| „„

breast, fli„gi„ ^ '/^ , "?« ''"h a medal on his

Routing 4 5'£„„eVt^t°'"'.'"^ ''^«'' ""d
to the "pious, ffloiious ,n^ • ''"°"'^'" '■« q"«ffing
King William "^initW Tl? '"""°"''' '"^'no'^ of
together in an Oranoe^r ?"" '"■?"'"' ^'m to join
"ity he certainly shot^^nf' °^ ^^'^'^ •^"•""'u-
but by degrees fhese nltfonaf f°r ^'^ 'P'''""'^ '
t'es become more softened . 5^^ '"«' ^"'^ ^^P^H-
rafon feuow little of hem ' t1 "'" 'f^""'' S^^^-
* -ence these sketcl e 3" drT^ ''^"''^'"ent from

a motley mixture of TtuTa' ^'''' ^°"^^^ "^
Blue Nose, EnalL <= 'v '^ t?*'"^"t nations-
Dutch. "S"''"' S'°tch, Irish, Welch, and

calKt'S't^i"- ^°'»« "■•"« «t a place
rapid stream, which 'h?'"'"«>V'°f" broad and
more dignified appdlal^'^" T' ' ^""^ borne the

Its borders was thW'ich°rT''-'''« '""^ o»
Prjzed, formed by alWi.V '"^''^'''^'^° highly

beheve two desc£ns fc"'-- '^''^■•^ «"■' ^^
covered with low TmaH if l^" '«'«'-»«&.-one

»-« easily cleared- ie'o"ttr\kh' ''''''''''?'

^ otaer with a gigantic

lie was
iidtext,
^t [)ro-
of the
of the
for he
chance
n you
press-
ngs of
i^g no
> there
on his
d and
jaffing
lory of
;o join
mmu-
inien ;
speri-
jrene-
froni
ed of
|)ns —
and

)lace
and
the

[ on

:hjy

ie,I

one
re,
itic

growth of the butternut, the oak, and the elm. Tliis
where we lived was of the latter description. A
few of the stately monarchs of the forest yet stood
upon the emerald plains, spreading their magnifi-
cent branches to the sunlight, and telling of the
kindly soil that nourished them. Along the
fences wild liops festooned themselves in graceful
wreaths of wild luxuriance. A few clumps of
cranberry bushes had also been permitted to re-
main, notwithstanding the American's antipathy
to trees or bushes is such, that his axe, which he
hardly ever stirs without, is continually flying
about him ; but this berry, one amongst the many
indigenous to the country, is a useful addition to
the winter store — they grow abundantly, and,
after the first frost which ripens them they have
a brilliant appearance, hanging like clustering ru-
bies, reminding one of the gem-clad boughs of
Aladdin. When gathered, they are hung up
in bunches, when they become frozen, keeping
good till the spring. They are used for tarts and
jellies, the frost neither altering their colour nor
flavour. Those places are overflown in the
spring; the " freshets" caused by the melting of
the snow raising the waters above their ordinary
level. I have often sailed over them, and 'twas
strange to see each familiar footpath and straw-
berry bank far down beneath the shining waves.
As the creek goes onward to the river the iVi-
tervale disappears, and the banks become grey
and steep, crowned v/ith the tall and slender stems
of the spruce and cedar. New Brunswick is rich
in minerals, and veins of coal and iron abound at
this place ; but many years must elapse ere mines
are worked to any extent, A few are in opera-

i -»^

tion at present; but while the pine waves the
wealth of her green plumai]fe to the lumber-man,
or the new-cleared groiincl will yield its virgin
crop to the farmer, the earth must keep her deeper
treasures. In the spring, this creek presents a
busy picture. The rivers of New Brunswick are
to her what the railroads are now to other coun-
tries : and richly is she blessed with sparkling
waters from the diamond flashings of the mountain
rill to the still calm beauty of the sheltered lake,
die silvery streams, the sweeping river, and the
unfrozen width of the winter harbour of her noble
bay. True, much can be done on the icy ways of
winter, but then the home work must be minded,
and market attended. Fire-wood for the year
must be hauled; the increasing clearings call
for extended fences, and these also must be drawn
from the woods on the snow, so that when the
spring opens, the roots and other spare produce
are quickly shipped off (boated would be a bet-
ter expression) into large open boats, called mar-
ket-boats. Another description, called wood-
boats, arc used for carrying deals and cord-wood,
so called from the stick forming the measure of a
cord, which is the mode of selling it in the city
for fuel. The deals are floated from the saw
mills over the shallows, and piled into the boats.
One could sometimes walk across the river on the
quantities of wood floating about. The larger
pieces of wood or timber are floated singly down
the stream nearest to the place whence they are
cut. This operation is called stream-driving, and
commences as soon as the rapid melting of the snow
and ice has so swollen the small streams as to give
them power to force and carry the huge pieces of

■J.i:'j!iiii&.f.

ives the
er-man,
5 virgin
' deeper
isents a
-^ick are
r coun-
arkling
ountain
d lake,
nd the
r noble
vays of
linded,
e year
7s call
drawn
?n the

oduce
I bet-

mar-
ivood-

^'ood,
of a
city
saw

oats,
the

Irger

{own
are

land
low

jive

Is of

timber, until, at the confluence o\ the streams,
the water becomes wide enough tocMiable them to
form it into rafts, on which raft a hut is built and
furnished with the necessaries for subsistence.
The gang who have been employed in bringing
it so far lay themselves upon it, and allow it to
float down the stream, until the breeze wafts them
to their destination. These are the scenes of the
spring, when all life seems awakening. The
tree-buds are bursting their cerements — the wa-
ters are dancing in light and song — and the
woods, before all still, now echo a few wild
notes of melody. The blue wing of the haly-
con goes dazzlingly past, and tells us his own
bright days are come ; and the " whip-poor-wiW*
brings his lay so close, that the ear is startled
with the human sound on the soft damp air. The
scene is changed when Sirius is triumphant, tell-
ing us of the tropics, and that we live in rather
an inexplicable climate. Beneath his burning in-
fluence I have glided down this creek when no
sound was heard on earth or air save the ripples
of the paddle as it rose or fell at the will of the
child-like form which guided the fragile bark.
The dwellers on the margin of these fair waters
are as much at home upon them as on land, and
the children in particular are as amphibious as the
musk rats which people its banks, and which
scent the air somewhat heavily with what, in a
fainter degree, would be thought perfume. One
can hardly recall these dog-star days at that later
season when the pearly moon and brilliant stars
shine down from the deep blue sky on the crusted
snows ; when fairy crystals are reflecting their
cold bright beams on the glistening ice, while

the sleigh flies merrily along, " witli bell and
bridle ringing," on the same path we held in sum-
mer with the light canoe ; when the breath con-
geals in a sheet of ice around the face, and the
clearness of the atmosphere makes respiration
difficult. To tell us that we are in the same lati-
tude with the sunny clime of Boulogne, in France,
shows us that America cannot be measured by
the European standard. A quarter of the globe
lies between us ; they go to bed four hours before
we do, and are fast asleep while we are wide
awake. No one attempts to live in the country
districts without a farm. As the place where we
lived had but a house and one acre of land, none
being vacant in that immediate neighbourhood,
and finding firing and pasturage expensive, and
furthermore wishing to raise our own potatoes,
and, if we liked, live in peas, a lot of two
hundred acres was purchased in the settlement,
styled, <*joar excellence,** "the English," (from the
first settlers being of that illustrious nation,) a
distance of two miles from where we then lived.
Our house was a good one. We did not like to
leave it. Selling was out of the question : so we
e'en resolved to take it with us, wishing, as the
Highland robber did of the haystack, that it
had legs to walk. A substitute for this was found
in the universal resource of New Brunswickers
for all their wants, from the cradle to the coffin,
" the tree, the bonny greenwood tree," that gives
the young life-blood of its sweet sap for sugar
— and even when consumed by fire its white ashes
yield them soap. I have even seen wooden fire-
irons, although they do not go quite so far as
their Yankee neighbours, who, letting alone

wooden clocks, deal besides in wooden hams, nut-
megs, and cucumber seeds. Two stout trees
were then felled (the meanest would have graced
a lordly park), and hewed with the axe into a
pair of gigantic sled runners. The house was
raised from its foundation and placed on these.
Many hands make light work ; but, had those
hands been all hired labourers, the expense would
have been more than the value of the house, but
'twas done by what is called a " frolic." When
people have a particular kind of work requiring
to be done quickly, and strength to accomplish it,
they invite their neighbours to come, and, if ne-
.cessary, bring with them their horses or oxen.
Frolics are used for building log huts, chop-
ping, piling ploughing, planting, and hoeing.
The ladies also have their particular frolics,
such as wool-picking, or cutting out and making
the home'spun woollen clothes for winter. The
entertainment given on such occasions is such as
the house people can afford ; for the men, roast
mutton, pot pie, pumpkin pie, and rum dough
nuts ; for the ladies, tea, some scandal, and plenty
of " sweet cahe^'' with stewed apple and custards.
There are, at certain seasons, a great many of
these frolics, and the people never grow tired of
attending them, knowing that the logs on their
own fallows will disappear all the quicker for
it. The house being now on the runners,
thirty yoke of oxen, four abreast, were fastened
to an enormous tongue, or pole, made of an
entire tree of ash. No one can form any idea,
until they have heard it, of the noise made in
driving oxen; and, in such an instance as this, of
the skill and tact required in starting them, so

that they are all made to pull at once. I have
olten seen the drivers, who are constantly shout-
ing, completely hoarse ; and after a day's work so
exhausted that they have been unable to raise
the voice. Although the cattle are very docile, and
understand well what is said to them, yet from
the number of turnings and twistings they re-
quire to be continually reminded of their duty.
Amid, then, all the noise and bustle made by in-
timating to such a number whether they were to
"haw" or "gee," the shoutings of the younger
parties assembled, the straining of chains and the
creaking of boards, the ponderous pile was set in
motion along the smooth white and marble-like
snow road, whose breadth it entirely filled up.
It was a sight one cannot well forget — to see it
move slowly up the hill, as if unwilling to leave
the spot it had been raised on, notwithstanding
the merry shouts around, and the flag they had
decked it with streaming so gaily through the green
trees as they bent over it till it reached the site
destined for it, where it looked as much at home
as if it were too grave and steady a thing to take
the step it had done. This was in March — we
had been waiting some time for snow, as to move
without it would have been a difficult task ; for,
plentifully as New Brunswick is supplied with
that commodity, at some seasons much delay and
loss is experienced for want of it — the sleighing
cannot be done, and wheel carriages cannot run,
the roads are so rough and broken with the frost
— the cold is then more intense, and the cellars,
(the sole store-houses and receptacles of the chief
comforts) without their deep covering of snow,
become penetrated by the frost, and their con-

-3»»

tents much injured, if not totally destroyed — this
is a calamity that to be known must be experi-
enced — the potatoes stored here are the chief
produce of the farm, at least the part that is most
available for selling, for hay should never go off
the land, and grain is as yet so little raised that
'tis but the old farmers can do what is called
" bread themselves :" thus the innovation of the
cellars by the frost fiend is a sad and serious oc-
currence — of course a deep bank of earth is
thrown up round the house, beneath which, and
generally its whole length and breadth, is the cel-
lar; but the snow over this is an additional and
even necessary defence, and its want is much felt
in many other ways — in quantity, however, it
generally makes up for its temporary absence by
be'ng five and six feet deep in April. About this
season the warm sun begins to beam out, and
causes the sap to flow in the slumbering trees —
this is the season for sugar-making, which, al-
though an excellent thing if it can be managed,
is not much attended to, especially in new settle-
ments, and those are generally the best off for a
" sitgar'hush ;** but it occurs at that season when
the last of the winter work must be done — the
snow begins to melt on the roads, and the " saw
whet," a small bird of the owl species, makes it s
appearance, and tells us, as the natives say, that
" the heart of the winter is broken.'* All that
can be done now must be done to lessen the
toils of that season now approaching, from which
the settler must not shrink if he hope to prosper*
Sugar-making, then, unless the farmer is strong
handed, is not profitable. A visit to a sugar-
camp is an interesting sight to a stranger — it may^

>-{

perhaps, be two or three miles through the woods
to where a sufficient number of maple trees may
be found close enough together to render it eligi-
ble for sugar-making. All the different kinds of
maple yield a sweet sap, but the ** rock maple" is
the species particularly used for sugar, and per-
haps a thousand of these trees near together con-
stitute what is called a sugar-bush. Here,
then, a rude hut, but withal picturesque in its
appearance, is erected — it is formed of logs, and
covered with broad sheets of birch bark. For
the universal use of this bark I think the Indians
must have given the example. Many beautiful arti-
cles are made by them of it, and to the back settlers
it is invaluable. As an inside roofing, it effectually
resists the rain — baskets forgathering the innumer-
able tribe of summer berries, and boxes for pack-
ing butter are made of it — calabashes for drink-
ing are formed of it in an instant by the bright
forest stream. Many a New Brunswick belle
has worn it for a head-dress as the dames
of more polished lands do frames of French wil-
low ; and it is said the title deeds of many a broad
acre in America have been written on no other
parchment than its smooth and vellum-like folds.
The sugar-maker's bark -covered hut contains his
bedding and provisions, consisting of little save
the huge round loaf of bread, known as the
*« shanty loaf" — his beverage, or substitute for
tea, is made of the leaves of the winter green,
or the hemlock boughs which grow beside him,
and his sweetening being handy bye, he wants
nothing more. A notch is cut in the tree, from
which the sap flows, and beneath it a piece of
shingle is inserted for a spout to conduct it into

troughs, or bark dishes, placed at the foot of the
tree. The cold frosty nights, followed by warm
sunny days, making it run freely, clear as water,
and slightly sweet — from these troughs, or bark
dishes, it is collected in pails, by walking upon
the now soft snow, by the aid of snow shoes, and
poured into barrels which stand near the boilers,
ready to supply them as the syrup boils down.
When it reaches the consistence required for
sugar, it is poured into moulds of different forms.
Visits to these sugar camps are a great amuse-
ment of the young people of the neighbourhood
in which they are, who make parties for that pur-
pose — the great treat is the candy, made by dash-
ing the boiling syrup on the snow, where it in-
stantly congeals, transparent and crisp, into sheets.
At first the blazing fire and boiling cauldron
look strange, amid the solemn loneliness of the
forest, along whose stately aisles of cathedral-like
grandeur the eye may gaze for days, and see no
living thing — the ear hear no sound, save it may
be the tapping of the woodpecker, or the whis-
pering of the wind as it sighs through the boughs,
seeming to mourn with them for the time when
the white man knew them not. But these
thoughts pass away when the proprietor, with his
pale intelligent face, shaded by a flapping sun
hat from the glaring snow, presses us hospitably
to " take along a junk of candy, a lump of sugar,"
or a cup of the syrup. He sees nothing pic-
turesque or romantic in the whole affair, and only
calculates if it will pay for the time it occupies ;
at the same time, with the produce of his labours
he is extremely " clever" this being the term for
generous or hospitable, and one is sometimes

T'fl

;

startled at its appiicaiion, especially to wotnen $
the persons in England, to whom it is applied, are
so unlike the clever women of New Brunswick,
those dear old creatures, who know not the differ-
ence between Milton and Dii worth, and whose
very woollen gowns are redolent of all-spice and
apples.

Towards the latter part of March and April the
breaking up of the ice goes on gradually — some
seasons, however, a sudden storm causes the ice
and snow to disappear rapidly, but generally a
succession of soft warm winds, and days partly
sunshine and rain, does it more effectually, and
prevents the heavy freshets in the rivers, which
are often destructive, overflowing the low banks
and carrying away with resistless force whatever
buildings may be on them. After the disappear-
ance of the snow, some time must elapse ere the
land be in a fit state for sowing, consequently
fencing, and such like, is now the farmer's employ-
ment, either around the new clearings, or in re-
pairing those which have fallen or been removed
during the winter. This, with attending to the
stock, which at this season require particular care,
gives them sufficient occupation — the sheep, which
have long since been wearied of the '* durance
vile" which bound them to the hay-rick, may now
be seen in groups on the little isles of emerald
green which appear in the white fields ; and
the cattle, that for six long weary months have been
ruminating in their stalls, or <' chewing the cud of
sweet and bitter fancy'* in the barn yards, now
begin to extend their perigrinations towards the
woods, browsing with delight on the sweet young
buds of the birch tree. At this season it is, for

I '!

ranee
now

lerald
and
been

;udof
now
the

obvious reasons, (lesirabln that the " milky mo-
thers" should not stray far I'roni home -many "a
staid brovv'd matron" has disappeared iiUlie spring,
and, after lier summer rambles in the woods, re-
turned in the " fall" with her full-grown calf by
her side, but many a good cow has gone and been
seen no more, but as a white skeleton gleaming
among the green leaves. To prevent these mis-
chances, a bell is fastened on the leader of the
herd, the intention of which is to guide where
they may be found. This bell is worn all sum-
mer, as their pasture is the rich herbage of the
forest. It is taken off* during the winter, and its
first sounds now tell us, although the days are
cold, and the snow not yet gone, that brighter
timer> aro coming. .The clear concerts of the
frogs ring loudly out from marsh and lake, and at
this season alone is heard the lay of the wood-
robin, and the blackbird. Ihe green glossy leaves '
of the winter green, whose bright scarlet berries
look like clu^^ters of coral on the snow, now seem
even brighter than they were--the blue violet
rises among the sheltered moss by the old tree
roots, and the broad-leaved adder tongue gives
out its orange and purple blossoms to gladden the
brown earth, while the trees are yet all black and
barren, save the various species of pine and spruce,
which now wear a fringe of softer green. The
May flowers of New Brunswick seldom blossom
till June, which is rather an Irish thing of them
to do, and although the weather has been fine,
and recalls to the memory the balmy breath of
May, yet I have often seen a pearly wreath of
new fallen snow, deck the threshhold on that
* merrie morn.* After the evaporation of the

> 1

steaming vapour of Rprln/r has gone forwnrtl,
and llie larinor has opeiatct! in tlie way o>f plough-
ing and sowing, on whatever ready-prcpwired land
he may have for the purpose, the first dry '• speil"
is looked forward to most anxiously to burn off'
the land which has been chopped during the win-
ter — it is bad policy, however, to depend for the
whole crop on this ** spring hum,** as a long con-
tinuance of wet weather may prevent it. The
new settler, on his first season, has nothing else
to depend upon ; but the older ones chop the land
at intervals during the summer, and clear it off
in the autumn, and thus have it ready for the en-
suing spring. Burning a chopping, ox fallow, as
it is called, of twelve or fourteen acres in extent,
is a grand and even awful sight : rushing in tor-
rents of flame, it rolls with the wind, crackling
and roaring through the brushwood, and often
extending beyond the limits assigned it, catching
the dry stems of ancient trees, the growth of the
earlier ages of this continent, which lie in gigan-
tic ruins, half buried in the rising soil, and which
will be themes of speculation to the geologists of
other days — it rushes madly among the standing
trees of the woods, wreathing them to their sum-
mits in its wild embrace — they stand at night like
lofty torches, or a park decked out with festal
lamps for some grand gala. After this first burn,
Vi fallow presents a blackened scene of desola-
tion and confusion, and requires, indeed, a strong
arm and a stout heart to undertake its clearance ;
the small branches and brush-wood alone have
been burnt, but the large logs or trunks lie all
blackened but unconsumed. These must all be
placed in regular piles or heaps, which are again

fired, and burn steadily for a few liours, after
which all traces of the noble forest arc gone, save
the bhickencd stumps and a few white ashes ; it
is then ready for planting or sowing, with the as-
sistance of tlie hoe or harrow.

And now, kind reader, if you have accompani-
ed me thus far, will you have the kindness to sup-
pose us fixed at last in our habitation — white-
washing, painting, and scrubbing done, and all
the fuss of moving over — our fallow fenced and
filled — the dark green stems of the wheat and
oats standing thick and tall — the buck-wheat
spreading its broad leaves, and the vines of the
pumpkins and cucumbers running along the rich
soil, where grows in luxuriance the potatoe, that
root, valuable to New Brunswick

" As the brea(I>fruU tree

To the sunny isles of Owhyhee."

Suppose it, then, a bright and balmy day in the sun-
ny ides of June — the earth is now in all the luxuri-
ant pride of her summer beauty ; for although
the summer is long coming, yet, when it does be-
gin, vegetation is so rapid that a few short days
call it forth in all its loveliness ; nay, the transi-
tion is so quick, that I have observed its workings
in an hour's space. In the red sunlight of the
morn I have seen the trees with their wintry
sprays and brown leaf-buds all closed— when
there fell a soft and refreshing shower — again the
sunbeams lit the sky, and oh I the glorious change
— the maple laughed out with her crimson blos-
soms and fair g.een leaves — the beech-tree un-
folded her emerald plumes— the fairy stems of tiie
aspen and birch were dancing ia light, and the

mmmm

\\'

1 1

stately ash was enwrcathed with her garland ot
verdant green — the spirit of spring seemed to
have waved o'er them the wand of enchantment.
On this bright day, of which I now speak, all this
mighty change had been accomphshed, and earth
and air seemed all so delightful, one could hardly
imagine that it could be improved by aught added
to or taken from it.

I am now just going to walk along the settle-
ment to visit a friend, and if you will accompany
me, I shall most willingly be your Asmodeus. A
straight and well-worked road runs through the
settlement, which is about nine miles in length.
This part of the country is particularly hilly, and
from where we now stand we have a view of its
whole extent. Twenty years ago a blazed track
was the only path through the dense forest to
where, at its furthest extremity, one adventurous
settler had dared to raise his log hut. The
older inhabitants, who lived only on the margin
of the rivers, laughed at the idea of clearing those
high " back lands'* where there was neither in-
tervale or rivers, but he heeded them not, and
his lonely hut became the nucleus of one of the
most flourishing settlements in New Brunswick.
The woods have now retreated far back from the
road, and at this season the grass and grain are
so high that the stumps are all concealed. The
scene is very different to the country landscapes
of England. There there are square smooth
fields enclosed with stone walls, neat white pal-
ings, or the hawthorn hedge, scenting the breezes
with its balmy ** honeysuckle," or sweet wild rose
— song-birds filling the air with melody, and state-
ly castles, towering o'er the peasant's lowly home}

land of
mecl to
ptment.
, all this
id earth
I hardly
It added

J settle-
lompany
leus, A
uffh the
\ length,
illy, and
iw of its
ed track
orest to
jnturous
The
margin
ng those
her in-
iot, and
of the
nswick.
rom the
•ain are
The
dscapes
smooth
lite pal-
breezes
ild rose
id state-
y homC}

while far as the eye can reach 'twill rest but on
some fair village dome or farm. Here the worm
or zigzag fence runs round the irregularly-shaped
clearings, in the same rustic garb it wore when a
denizen of the forest. The wild flowers here have
no perfume, but the raspberries, which grow lux-
uriantly in the spaces made by the turnings of the
fences, have a sweet smell, and there is a breath
which tells of the rich strawberry far down
among the shadowy grass. The birds during
the hot months of summer have no song, but
there are numbers of them, and of the brightest
plumage. The fairy humming-bird, often in size
no larger than a bee, gleams through the air like
a flower with wings, and the bald eagle sits majes-
tically on the old grey pines, which stand like lone
monuments of the past, the storms and the light-
nings having ages ago wreaked their worst upon
them, and bereft them of life and limb, yet still
they stand, all lofty and unscathed by the axe or
the fire which has laid the younger forest low. The
dwellings, either the primitive log-hut, the first
home of the settler, or the more stately frame-
buildings, stand each near the road, on the verge
of its own clearing, which reaches back to where
the dark woods form a back-ground to the scene.
These stretch far and wide over the land, save
where appears, amid their density, some lonely
settlement or improvement of adventurous emi-
grant. Those little spots, of how much import-
ance to their owners, yet seem as nothing amid
the vast forest. Each dwelling in this country is
in itself a theme for study and interest. Here,
on one side, is the home of an English settler —
amid all the bustle and chopping and burning of

t t

f >

1 I-

a new farm, he has found time to plant a few fruit
trees, and has now a flourishing young orchard,
and a garden wherein are herbs of " fragrant
smell and snicy taste," to give a warm relish to
the night's repast. Foi tne cultivation of a gar-
den the natives, unless the more opulent of them,
seem to ca-e little ; and outside the dwelling of a
blue nose there is little to be seen, unless it be
a cucumber bed among the chips, or a patch of
Indian corn. Again, the Scotch settlers may be
known by the taste shown in selecting a garden
spot — a gentle declivity, sloping to a silvery
stream, by which stand a few household trees that
he has permitted to remain — beneath them a seat
is placed, and in some cherished spot, watched
over with the tenderest care, is an exotic sprig of
heath or broom. About the Hibernian's dwell-
ing may be a mixture of all these differing tastes,
while perhaps a little of the national ingenuity
may be displayed in a broken window, repaired
with an old hat, or an approximation towards
friendliness between the domestic animals and the
inmates. With the interior of these dwellings
one is agreeably surprised, they (that is, generally
speaking) appear so clean and comfortable. Out-
side the logs are merely hewed flat, and the in-
terstices filled up with moss and clay, the roof and
ends being patched up with boards and bark, or
anything to keep out the cold. They certainly
look rough enough, but within they are ceiled
above and around with smooth shining boards ;
there are no walls daubed with white-wash, nor
floors strewn with vile gritty sand, which last cer-
tainly requires all the sanctity of custom to ren-
der it endurable, but the walls and floors are as

rk, or
tainly
veiled
lards ;
I, nor
\t cer-
ren-
Lre as

brignt and clean as the scrubbing-brush and
plenty of soap can make them. This great ac-
cessary to cleanliness, soap, is made at home in
large quantities, the ashes of the wood burnt in
the fire-place making the "ley," to which is
added the coarser fat and grease of the animals
used for home consumption. It costs nothing
but the trouble of making, and the art is little. As
regards cleanliness, the natives have something al-
most Jewish in their personal observances of it
as well as of their food. The blood of no animal
is ever used, but flows to the earth from whence
it sprung, and the poorest of them perform their
ablutions before eating with oriental exactness ;
these habits are soon imparted to the emigrants,
many of whom, when they first come out, all
softly be it said, are by no means so nice.

The large bright fires of the log house prevent
all possible ideas of damp i they certainly are
most delightful — those magniticent winter fires of
New Brunswick — so brilliant, so cheerful, and so
warm — the charred coals, like a wlss of burning
rubies, giving out their heat beneath, while be-
tween the huge " back-log" and ^^ fore-stick,^' the
bright flames dance merrily up the wide chimney.
I have often heard people fancy a wood fire as al-
ways snapping and sparkling in your face, or green
and smoky, chilling you with its very appearance,
but those would soon change their opinion if they
saw a pile of yellow birch and rock maple laid
right "fore and aft" across the bright fire-dogs,
the hearth swept up, and the chips beneath fanned
with the broom, they would then see the union of
light and heat in perfection. In one way it is pre-
ferable to coals, that is, while making on the fire

i i
I

t :

' 1 1!

I-

you might if you chose wear white kid gloves with-
out danger of soiling them. Another comfort to
the settler in the back woods is, that every stick
you burn makes one less on the land. Stoves,
both for cooking and warming the houses, have
long been used in the United States, and are
gradually coming into common use in New
Brunswick. In the cities they are generally
used, where fuel is expensive, as they require less
fuel, and give more heat than open "fire-places ;"
but the old^r inhabitants can hardly be reconciled
to them; they prefer the rude old hearth stone,
with its bright light, to the dark stove. I remem-
ber once spending the evening at a house where
the younger part of the family, to be fashionable,
had got a new stove placed in the fire-place of
*' Hother roonii* which means, what in Scotland
is termed *^ben** the house, and in England ** the
parlour,** This was the first evening of its being
put in operation. I observed the old gentleman
(a first-rate specimen of a blue nose) looked
very uncomfortable and fidgetty. For a time he
sat twirling his thumbs in silence, when suddenly
a thought seemed to strike him : he left the room,
and shortly after the draught-hole of the stove
grew dark, and a cloud of smoke burst forth from
it. The old gentleman came in, declaring he
was almost sufibcated, and that it was " all owing
to that nasty ugly Yankee critter,** the stove. He
instantly had it taken down, and was soon gazing
most comfortably on a glorious pile of burning
"wood, laid on by himself, with the most scientific
regard to the laws of levity, concavity, and conti^
ffuity requisite in fire-making ; and by the twinkle
of his eye I knew that he was enjoying the ruse

kle
use

2ry

he had employed to get rid of the stove, for he
had quietly stopped the flue. For the mere con-
venience of the thing, 1 think a stove is decidedly
preferable. In this country, where people are ge-
nerally their own cooks as well as everything else,
they learn to know how the most and the best work
can be done with the least time and trouble.
With the stove there is not that roasting of the
face and hands, nor confused jumble of pots and
pans, inseparable from a kitchen lire ; but upon
the neat little polished thing, upon which there
is nothing to be seen but a few bright covers, you
can have the constituents of a New Brunswick
breakfast, ^^ cod-fish and taters,*^ for twice laid,
fried ham, hot rolls, and pancakes, all prepared
while the teakettle is boiling, and experience whilst
arranging them no more heat than on a winter
morning, is quite agreeable. In the furniture of
these back-wood dwellin^js there is nothing rich
or costly, yet there is such an air of neatness dif-
fused over it, and effect brought out, that they al-
ways recalled to me the painted cottage scenes of
a theatre. But here is a house at which I have
a call to make, and which will illustrate the "we-
nage'^ of a New Brunswicker. Remember, this
is not one of the old settlers, who have overcome
all the toil and inconvenience of clearing and
building, and are now enjoying the comforts they
have earned, but it is the log-house of a new
farm, around which the stumps yet stand thick
and strong, and where the ringing of the axe is
yet heard incessantly. In this working country
people are, in general, like the famous Mrs. Gilpin,
who, though on pleasure bent, had yet a frugal
mind^ and contrive to make business and amuse-

11!

iii

'1 I

iHi:

lliM

r^.\

i! H

9^m

lip

ment go together ; and although I had left home
ivith the intention of paying a visit, a little busi-
ness induces me to pause here, ere I proceed to
where I intended; and even here, while arranging
this, I shall enjoy myself as much as though I
were sackless of thought or interest in anything
save amusement. The manufacture of the wool
raised on the farm is the most important part of
the women's work, and in this the natives particu-
larly excel. As yet I knew not the mysteries of
colouring brown with butternut bark, nor the
propei proportion of sweet fern and indigo to
produce green, so that our wool, on its return
from the carding mill, had been left with this person
— lady, " par courtesie,*' — who was a perfect adept
in the art, to be spun and wove : and the business
on which I now call is to arrange with her as to
its different proportions and purposes. What for
blankets, for clothiufr, or for socks and mittens,
which all require a different style of manufacture,
and are all items of such importance during the
winter snows. Melancthon Grey, whose most
christian and piotestant appellation was abbrevi-
ated into *' Lank," was a true-blooded blue
nose. His father had a noble farm of rich in-
tervale on the banks of the river Saint John, and
was well to do in the world. Lank was his eldest
son, yet no heritage was his, save his axe and the
arm which swung it. The law of primogeniture
exists not in this country, and the youngest son is
frequently heir to that land on which the older
ones have borne the " heat and burthen of the
day," and rendered valuable by their toil, until
each chooses his own portion in the world, by
taking unto himself a wife and a lot of forest

land, and thus another hard-won homestead is
raised, and sons enough to choose among for
heirs. Melancthon Grey had wedded his cousin,
a c;^stom common among the " blue noses," and
whici most Hkely had its origin in the patriarchal
days of the earlier settlers, when the inhabitants
were few. Sybel was a sweet pretty girl, deficient,
as the Americans all are, in those high-toned feel-
ings which characterise the depth of woman's love
in the countries of Europe, yet made, as they ge-
nerally do, an affectionate wife, and a fond and
doating mother. Those two names, Sybel and
Melancthon, had a strange sound in the same
household, awaking, as they always did in my
dreamy fancy, a train of such differing memories.
Sybel recalling the days of early Rome, the
haughty Tarquin and his mysterious prophetess,
while Melancthon brought back the " Reforma-
tion," and the best and most pious of its fathers.
In the particular of names, the Americans have a
decided *' penchant" for those of euphonious and
peculiar sound — they are selected from sacred
and profane history, ancient and modern. To
them, however, there is little of meaning attached
by those who give them save the sound. I have
known one family reckon among its members a
Solon and Solomon, a Hector and Wellington, a
Bathsheba and Lucretia ; and the two famous
Johns, Bunyan and Wesley, have many a name-
sake. These, in their full length, are generally
saved for holiday terms, and abbreviations are
made for every-day use. In these they are inge-
nious in finding the shortest, and Theodore, that
sweetest of all names, I have heard curtailed to
" Oflf," which seems certainly an odd enough

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cognomen. SybeFs bridal portion consisted of
a cow and some sheep — her father's waggon
wliich brought her home contained some house-
hold articles her mother's care had afforded
— Melanctijon had provided a barrel of pork
and one of flour, some tea and molasses, that
staple commodity in transatlantic housekeeping.
Amongst Sybel's chattels were a bake-pan
and tea-kettle,> and thus they commenced the
world. Melancthon has not yet had time to nicikc
a gate at his dwelling, and our only mode of en-
trance must be either by climbing the" fenv':e" or
unshipping the " barSy'* which form one panneJ,
and wliich are placed so as to be readily removed
for the passage of a carriage, but from us this
will require both time and strength, so at the
risk of tearing our dress we will e'en take the
fence. This is a feat which a novice does most
clumsily, but which those who are accustomed to
it do most gracefully.

As we approach the dwelling, the housewife's
handy-work is displayed in a pole hung with
many a skein of snow white yarn, glistening in
the sunlight. Four years have passed since Sy-
bel was a bride — her cheek has lost the bloom of
girlhood, and has already assumed the hollow
form of New Brunswick matrons; her dress is
home-spun, of her own manufacture, carded
and spun by her own hands, coloured with dye
stuffs gathered in the woods, woven in a pretty
plaid, and neatly made by herself. This is also
the clothing of her husband and children ; a bright
gingham handkerchief is folded inside her dress,
and her rich dark hair is smoothly braided. In
this particular the natives display a good taste — >

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young women do not enshroud themselves in a
cap ihe day alter their marriage, as if glad to bo
done with the trouble of dressing their hair; and
unless from sickness a cap is never worn by any
one the least youthful. The custom commences
with the children, for infants never have their
heads covered during the day. At first the little
bald heads seem unsightly to a stranger, but when
the eye gets accustomed, they look much better
in their own natural beauty then when decked
out in lace and muslin. The plan of keeping the
head coal seems to answer well, for New Bruns-
wick may rival any country in the world for a
display of lovely infants. Sybel has the delicacy
of appearance which the constant in-door occu-
pation of the women gives them, differing much
from the coarse, but healthier look of those coun-
tries where the females assist in field labours.
The " blue nose" considers it " agin all nature*
for women to work out, and none are ever seen
so employed, unless it be the families of emi-
grants before they are naturalised. A flush of
delight crimsons SybeFs pale face as she wel-
comes me in, for simple and retired as her life is,
she yet cherishes in her heart all the fondness
for companj' and visiting inherent to her sex, and
loves to enjoy them whenever opportunity per-
mits. No excuse would be listened to, — I must
stay dinner — my bonnet is untied, and placed up-
on the bed — Sybel has churned in the early cool
of the morning, and she has now been working
over the golden produce of her labours with a
wooden ladle in a tray. With this ladle the but-
ter is taken from the churn ; the milk beaten out,
and formed by it into rolls — nothing else is em-

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employed, for moulds or prints nre not used as iu
Enp^land. She 1ms just finished, and placed it in
her dairy, a little bark-lined recess adjoining the
house — and now, on hospitable thoughts intent,
she has caught up her pail and is gone for water — in
this we are most luxurious in New Brunswick,
never keeping any quantity in the house, but using
it bright and sparkling as it gushes from the
spring. While she is gone, we will take a pen-
cilling of her dwelling. A beautiful specimen of
still-life, in the shape of a baby six months old,
reposes in its cradle — its eye-lids' long and silky
fringes are lightly folded in sleep on its smooth
round cheek. Another older one is swinging in
the rocking chair, playing with some chips and
bark, the only toys of the log house — this single
apartment serves the family for parlour, for kit-
chen, and hall — the chamber above being merely
used as a store room, or receptacle for lumber—
'tis the state bed-room as well, and on the large
airy-looking couch is displayed a splendid cover-
let of home-spun wool, manufactured in a peculiar
style, the possessing of which is the first ambition
ot a back-wood matron, and for which she will
manoeuvre as much as a city lady would for some
bijou of a chiffionier, or centre table — Sybel has
gained her*s by saving each year a portion of the
wool, until she had enough to accomplish this sure ..
mark of industry, and of getting along in the
world ; for if they are not getting along or im-
proving in circumstances their farms will not
raise sheep enough to yield the wool, and if they
are not industrious the yarn will not be spun for
this much-prized coverlet, which, despite the local
importance attached to it, is a useful, handsome

hnd valuuble article in itself. On a large chest
beside the bed are laid piles of snow white blan-
kets, and around the walls are hung the various
woollen garments which form the wardrobe of
the family. Bright-hued Indian baskets stand on
top of each other — a pair of beaded moccasins
and a reticule of porcupine quills are hung up for
ornament. The pine table and willow-seated
chairs are all made in the *< bush,'* and even into
this far back settlement has penetrated the prow
ess of the renowned "Sam Slick, of Slick ville."
One of his wooden-made yankee clocks is liere —
its case displaying " a most elegant picture" of
Cupid, in frilled trowsers and morocco boots, the
American prototype of the little god not being
allowed to appear so scantily clad as he is ge«
nerally represented. A long rifle is hung over
the mantle-piece, and from the beams are sus-
pended heads of Indian corn for seed; by them,
tied in bunches, or in paper bags, is a complete
" hortus siccus" of herbs and roots for medicinal
as well as culinary purposes. Bone set and lo-
belia, sage and savory, sarsaparilla, and that mys-
terous bark which the natives say acts with a dif-
ferent effect, according as it is peeled up or down
the tree — cat-nip and calamus root for the baby,
with dried marigold leaves, balm of gilead buds,
and a hundred others, for compounding the vari-
ous receipts they possess, as remedies for every
complaint in the world. Many of these they have
learnt from the Indians, whose " ancient medicine
men" are well versed in the healing powers with
which the herbs of the forest and the field are
gifted. On a small shelf is laid the library, which
consists but of the bible, cv new almanac, and

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Humbert's Union Ilnnnony, the province imniial
■of sacred music, of which they arc most particu-
larly fond ; but the air of the coimtry is not fa-
vourable to song, and their melody always seemed
to me "harmony not understood/* Meanwhile,
for the last half-hour, Sybel has been busily en-
gaged in cooking, at which the natives are most
expeditious and expert. I know not how they
would be in other countries, but I know that
at home they are first-rate— no other can come
up to them in using the materials and imple-
ments they are possessed of. By the accustomed
sun-mark on the floor, which Sybel prefers to
the clock, she sees 'tis now the hungry hour
of noon, and blows the horn for Lank to come
to dinner. This horn is a conk shell, bored at
one end, and its sound is heard at a great
distance. At the hours of meal-time it may be
heard from house to house, and, ringing through
the echoing woods from distant settlements, tell-
ing us, amid their loneliness, of happy meetings
at the household board; but it comes, too, at times,
when its sounds are heralds of trouble and dismay.
I have heard it burst upon the ear at the silent
hour of midnight, and, starting from sleep, seen
the sky all crimsoned with the flames of some far
off dwelling, whose inmates thus called for assist-
ance ; but long ere that assistance could be given,
the fire would have done its worst of destruction,
perhaps of death. I have also heard it, when
twilight gathered darkly o'er the earth, floating
sad and mournfully since sun-set, from some
dwelling in the forest's depths, whose locality, but
for the sounds, would not be known. Some
member of the family has been lost in the woods.

nncl the liorii is blown to guide him homewards
through the trackless wiUicrncss. How sweet
must those sounds be to the benighted wanderer,
bearing, as they do, the voice of the heart, and
telling of love and affectionate solicitude I But
Mehuicthon has driven liis ox-team to the barn,
and now, with the baby on his lap, which, like all
the blue-noses, he loves to nurse, sits down to
table, where we join him. The dinner, as is of-
ten the case in the backwoods in summer, is " a
regular pick-up one," that is, composed of any
thing and every thing. Poople care little for
meat in the hot weather ; and, ii. fact, a new settler
generally uses his allowance of beef and pork
during the long winter, so that the provision for
summer depends principally on fish, with which
the country is amply supplied, and the produce of
the dairy. The present meal consists of fine
trout from the adjoining stream, potatoes white
as snow-balls, and, pulverising on the dish, some
fried ham, and young French beans, which grow
there in the greatest luxuriance, climbing to the
top of their lofty poles till they can grow no higher.
I have often thought them scions of that illustrious
bean-stalk owned by Jack in the fairy tale. We have
also a bowl of salad, and home-made vinegar prepar-
ed from maple sap, a large hot cake, made with In-
dian meal, and milk and dried blue-berries, an
excellent subuitute for currants. Buscuits, of
snow white Tenessee flour, raised with cream
and sal-a-ratus. This last article, which is used
in place of yeast, or eggs, in compounding light
cakes, can also be made at home from ley of the
wood ashes, but it is mostly bought in town.
The quantity of this used is surprising, country

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"store-keepers" purcliasinpr barrels (o supply
their ciistom<^rs. A raspberry pie, and a splen-
did dish of strawberries and cream, with tea (the
inseparable beverage of cxery meal in New
Brunswick), forms our repast ; and such would it
be in ninety-nine liouses out of a hundred of the
class I am describing. Many of the luxuries, and
all the necessaries of lil'e, can be raised at home,
by those who are industrious and spirited enough
to take advantage of their resources. Melanc-
thon this year oxpects to bread himself, as well
as grow enough of hay to winter his stock. Since
lie commenced farming he purchased what was
not raised on t!)e lanti by the sale of what was
cut off' it — that is, by selling ash timber and cord-
wood he procured what lie required. This,
however, can only be done where there is wa-
ter conveyance to market. The indefatigable
Melancthon had four miles to *' haul" his market-
able wood ; but, when the roads were badj he was
chopping and clearing at the same time, and whea
the snow was well beaten down, with his little
French horse and light sled he soon drew it
to the place from whence the boats are
loaded in the spring. Dinner being now
finished, and after some conversation, which
must of course be of a very local description,
although it iy brightened with many a quiet
touch of wit, of which the natives possess a great
original fund, and Melancthon, having finished in
the forenoon harrowing in his buck-wheat, has
now gone with his axe to hew at a house-frame
which he has in preparation, and Sybel and I
having settled our affiiir of warp and woof, it is
now time for me to proceed. She with hei*

large Swiss-looking sun-hat, placed lightly on her
brow, accompanies me to the **bars," and there,
having parted with her, we will now resume our
walk. The next lot presents one of those scenes
of desolation and decay which will sometimes ap-
pear even in this land of improvement. What
had once been a large cleariiig is now grown wild
with bushes, the stumps have all sprouted afresh,
and the fences fallen to the ground. The house
presents that least-respectable of all ruins, a de-
serted log -building. There is no solidity of ma-
terial nor remains of architectural beauty to
make us respe^^ its fate. 'Tis decay in its plain-
est and most uninteresting aspect. A ^evf flowers
have been planted near the house, and even now,
where the weeds grow dark and rank, a fair
young rose is waving her lovely head. The per-
son who had gone thus far on in the toils of set-
thng was from England, but the love of his
native iind burned all too bright within his heart.
In vain he toiled on those rude fields, and though
his own, they seemed not his home. The spirit
voices of tliC land of his childhood called him
back — he obeyed their spell, and just at the time
his labours would have been repaid, he left,
and, with all the money he could procure, paid his
passage to England, where he soon after died in
the workhouse of his parish. Yet even there
the thought, perhaps, might soothe him, that
though he filled a pauper's grave., it was in the
soil where his fathers slept. The forsaken lot
is still unclaimed, for people prefer the wood-
lands to those neglected clearings, from which to
procure a crop infinitely more trouble and expense
would be required than in taking it at once from

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the forest. Our way is not now so lonely as it
was in the mornin£r. Parties of the male [)opii-
lation are frequently passing. One of the settlers
has to-day a "barn-raising frolic," and thither
they are bound. They present a fair specimen of
their class in the forest settlements. The bush-
whacker has nothing of the " bog-trotter" in his
appearance, and his step is firm and free, as though
he trod on marble floor. The attire of the younger
parties which, although coarse, is perfectly clean
and whole, has nothing rustic in its arrangement.
His kersey trowsers are tightly strapped, and the
little low-crowned hat, with a streaming ribbon,
is placed most jauntily on his head. His axe is
carried over one shoulder and his jacket over the
other, which in summer is the common mode of
carrying thi? part of the apparel. Those wiio
Lave been lumbering may easily be known
among the others, by sporting a flashy stock or
waistcoat, and by being arrayed in " houghteri^
clothes, procured in town at a most expensive
rate in lieu of their lumher. Little respect is,
however, paid here to the cloth, (that is, broad-
cloth), for it is a sure sign of bad management,
and most likely of debt, for the back settlers to
be arrayed in any thing but their own home -made
clothing. The grave and serious demeanour of
these people is a^ rdilFerent from the savage
scowl of the disco!*5jei.ited peasant, murmuring
beneath the burthei, -f taxation and ill-remune-
rated toil, as from the tree, light-hearted, and care-
less laughter, both of which characterise the rural
groups in the fertile fields of England. New
Brunswick is the land of strangers ; even the first
settlers, th^ *' sons of the soil,'* as they claim tq

bo, have hardly yet forgot their exile, a trace of
which character, be he prosperous as lie may, still
hovers over the emigrant. Their early home,
with its thousand ties of love, cannot be all for-
gotten. This feeling descends to their children,
losing its tone of sadness, but throwing a seri-
ous shade over the national character, which
otherwise has nothing gloomy or melancholy in
its composition. There is also a kind of " looking
a-liead* expression of countenance natural to the
country, which is observed even in the children,
who are not the careless frolicsome beings they
are in other countries, but are here more truly
miniature men and women, looking, as the Yankees
express it, as if they had ail cut their " eye-teeth^
But here we are, for the present, arrived at the
bourne of our journey. High on a lofty hill be-
fore us stands a large frame-building, the place
of worship as well as the principal school-house of
the settlement. This double purpose it is not,
however, destined long to be devoted to, for the
building of a church is already in contemplation,
and will, no doubt, soon be proceeded with. The
beaming sun is shining with dazzling radiance on
its white walls, telling, in fervent whispers, that a
shelter from the heat will be desirable; so here
we will enter, where the shadowy trees, and bright
stream glancing through the garden flowers, speak
of inhabitants from the olden world. A frame
building has been joined to the original log-house,
and the dwelling thus made large enough to ac-
commodate the household. Mrs. Gordon, the
lady of the mansion, and the friend 1 have come thus
far to see, is one of those persons the biilliance
of whose gem-like character has been increased

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by the hard rubs of the world. She has experi-
enced much of Time's chance and change — expe-
riences and trials which deserve relating at large,
and which I shall hereafter give, as they were told
me by herself. Traces of the beauty she once
possessed are yet pourtrayed on her faded but
placid broWj ??iH appear in brighter lines on the
fair faces of her daughters. Her husband is
from home, and the boys are gone to the frolic,
so we will have a quiet evening to ourselves. The
arrangement of this dwelling, although similar in
feature to Sybel Gray's, is yet, as it were, different
in expression ; for instance, there is not such a
display made of the home-manufactured garments,
which it is the pride of her heart to look upon.
These, of course, are here in existence, but are
plfced in another receptacle; and the place they
hold along the walls of Sybcl's dweUing is here
occupied by a book-case, in which rests a store of
treasured volumes ; our conversation, too, is of a
different cast from the original, yet often common-
place, remarks of Melancthon. 'Tis most likely
a discussion of the speculative fancies contained
in those sweet brighteners of our solitude, the
books; or in tracing the same lights and shadows
of character described in them, as were occurring in
the passages of life around us; or, perliaps, some-
thing leads us to talk of him whose portrait hangs
on the wall, the peasant bard of Scotland, whose
heart-strung harp awakens an answering chord in
every breast. The girls — who although born in
this country and now busied in its occupations,
one in guiding the revolving wheel, and the other in
braiding a hat of poplar splints — join us in a man-
ner which tells how well they have been nurtured

in the lore of the " mountain heathery land," the
birth-place of their parents ; and the youngers is-
ter Helen's silvery voice breathes a soft strain of
Scottish melody.

Meanwhile a pleasant interruption occurs in
the post-horn winding loud and clear along
the settlement. This is an event of rare oc-
currence in the back woods, where the want
of a regular post communication is much felt,
not so much in matters of worldly importance
in business — these being generally transacted with-
out the medium of letters — as by those who have
loved ones in other lands. Alas ! how often has
the heart pined with the sickness of hope deferred,
in waiting in vain for those long-expected lines,
from the distant and the dear, which had been
duly sent in all the spirit of afFeciion, but which
had been mislaid in their wanderings by land or
sea; or the post-masters not being particularly
anxious to know where the land of Goshen, the
Pembroke, or the Canaan settlements were situ-
ated, had returned them to the dead letter office,
and thus they never reached the persons for whom
they were intended, and who lived on upbraid-
ing those who, believing them to be no longer
dwellers of the earth, cherished their memory with
fondest love. Taking all these things into con-
sideration, a meeting had been called in our set-
tlement to ascertain if by subscription a sufficient
sum could be raised to pay a weekly courier to
assert our rights at the nearest post-office. This
was entered into with spirit, all feeling sensible of
the benefits which it would bring ; they who could
afford it giving freely of their abundance, and
those who could not pay their subscription all in

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money, giving half a dollar cash, and a bushel oi*
half a bushel of buck wheat or potatoes to the
cause; and thus the sum necessary was soon
raised — the courier himself subscribing a dolhir
towards his own salary. The thing had gone on
very well — communication with the world seemed
to have commenced all at once. Nearly every
family took a different newspaper, and these being
exchanged with each other, afforded plenty of
food for the mind, and prevented it brooding too
deeply over the realities of life.

The newspapers in this countrj', especially
those of the United States, are not merely
dull records of parliamentary doings, of bill
and debate, the rising of corn or falling of
wheat, but contain besides reviews and whole
copies of the newest and best works of the
day, both in science and lighter literature.
We dwellers of the forest had no jjuineas to ffive
for new books, and if we had, unless we freighted
ships home on purpose, we could not have procur-
ed them. But this was not felt, while for our few
yearly dollars the Albion's pearly paper and clear
black type brought for society around our hearths
the laughter-loving " Lorrequer," the pathos of
the portrait painter, or the soul-winning Christo-
pher North, whose every word seems written in
letters of gold, incrusted with precious jewels.
In the " New World" Froissart gave his chronicles
of the olden time, and the mammoth sheets of
" Era" and " The Notion" brought us the peer-
less pages of '' Zanoni," or led us away with
" Dickens" and " Little Nell," by the green
glades and ancient churches of England. Little
did we think while we read with delight of this

author's princely welcome to the American conti-
nent, what would be the result of his visit. He
cania niul passed like the wild Simoom. Soon
after his return to £ns[land an edict came, for-
bidding in the British provinces of America
publications containing reprints of English works.
Of the deeper matters connected with the copy-
right question I know not, but this I do know, that
our long winter nights seemed doubly long and
drear, with nothing to read but dark details of
horrid murder, or deadly doings of Rebeccaite
and Chartist. As yet, however, this time was not
come, and each passing week saw us now enlight-
ened with the rays of some new bright gem of
genius.

The postman blew his horn as he passed each
dwelling for whose inmates he had letters or pa-
pers ; and for those whose address lay beyond his
route, places of depository were appointed in the
settlement. Mrs. Gordon's was one of these,
from whence they were duly despatched by the
first chance to their destinations on the Nashwaak,
Waterloo, or Windsor clearings. Although our
Mercury would duly have signalised his approach
as he passed our own dwelling, I possessed myself
of my treasure here — my share of the priceless
wealth of that undying intellect which is allowed
to pour its brilliant flood, freely and untramelleJ,
to the lowliest homes of the American world,
Ilaviu": glanced alon^r the lines and seen that our
first favourites had visited us this week, our tea
seemed to bear with it an added fragrance; and
this, although the walls around us were of logs,
we had in fairy cups of ancient porcelain from
the distant land of Scotland. And now the sun's

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broad disc having vanished behind the lofty pines,
and the young moon rising in the blue heavens,
tell us our short twilight will soon be gone, and
that if we would reach home before the stars look
out upon our path, 'tis time we were on our way.
The cow bells are ringing loud and clear as the
herd winds slowly homeward, looking most luxu-
riantly comfortable, and bearing with them the
spicy scent of the cedar-woods in which they
have been wandering, and which they seem to
leave so unwillingly. Philoprogenitiveness, or a
deep feeling of motherly affection, being the only
thing that does voluntarily induce them to come
home. To encourage this desirable feeling the
leader of the herd, the lady of the bell, is allow-
ed to suckle her calf every evening. For this
happy task she leaves all the delights of her pas-
ture, plodding regularly homeward at the hour of
sunset, the rest all meekly following in her train.
The evening is dry and clear, with no trace of
rain in the atmosphere, or we would be surround-
ed with clouds of those awful critturs^ the musqui-
toes, which the cattle bring home. These are
often a dreadful annoyance, nothing but a thick
cloud of smoke dispelling them, and that only for
a time. At night they are particularly a nuisance,
buzzing and stinging unceasingly through the si-
lent hours, forbidding all thought of sleep till the
dawn shows them clinging to the walls and win-
dows, wearied and bloated with their night]s
amusemert. Those who are sufficiently accli-
mated suffer comparatively little — 'tis the rich
blood of the stranger that the musquito loves, and
emigrants, on the first season, especially in low
marshy situations, suffer extremely from their at-
tacks.

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Mary Gordon having now gone with her pails
to meet her milky charge, while her mother ar-
ranges the dairy within, Helen comes to set me on
my way. Again we meet the frolickers return-
ing rather earlier than is usual on such oc-
casions; but there was sickness at the dwelling
wher? they had been, which caused them to dis-
perse soon after they had accomplished the " rais-
ing." Kindly greetings passed between us ; for
here, in this little world of ours, we have hardly
room for the petty distinctions and pettier strifes
of larger communities. We are all well acquaint-
ed with each other, and know each other's busi-
ness and concerns as well as our own. There is
no concealment of affairs. This, however, saves
a vast deal of trouble — people are much easier
where there is no false appearance to be kept up ;
and in New Brunswick there is less of " behind
the scenes'* than in most pla<;es. Many a bright
eye glances under Helen's oliadowy hat: and, see,
one gallant axe-man lingers behind the others —
he pauses now by the old birch tree — I know he
is her lover, and in charity to their young hearts
I must allow her to turn, while we proceed on-
ward.

The fire-flies now gleam through the air like
living diamonds, and the evening star has opened
her golden eye in the rich deep azure of the sky.
Our home stands before us, with its white walls
thrown in strong relief by the dark woods behind
it : and here, on this adjoining lot, lives our neigh-
bour who is ill-^he who to-day has had the " barn
raising." It would be but friendly to call and
enquire for him. The house is one of the best
description of log buildings. The ground floor

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contains two ]avrrc apartments and a spaciouji
porch, which extends alon<T the front, has the
dairy in one end and a workshop in the other,
that most nset'ul adjunct to a New Brunswick
dwelling; vvliere the settlers are often their own
blacksmitlhi and carpenters, as well as splint
pounders and shingle weavers. The walls are
raised high enough to make the chamber suffi-
ciently lofty, and the roof is neatly shingled. As
we enter, an air of that undefinable English ideal-
ity — comfort — seems diffused, as it were, in the at-
mosphere of the place. There is a look of retire-
ment about the beds, which stand in dim recesses
of the inner apartment, with their old but well-
cared-for chintz hangings, differing Irom the free
uncurtained openness of the blue nose settler's
couch ; a })ublicity of sleeping arrangements being
common all over America, and much disliked by
persons from the old countries, a bed being a ])ro-
minent piece of furniture in the sitting and
keeping rooms of even those aristocratic per-
sonages, the first settlers. The large solid-
looking dresser, which extends nearly along
one side of the house, differs too i'rom the
light shelf of the blue nose, which rests no
more crockery than is absolutely necessary. Here
there is a wide array of dishes, large and small —
old China tea-cups, wisely kept for show, —
little funny mugs, curious pitchers, mysterious
covered dishes, unearthly salad bowls, and a
host of superannuated tea-pots. Above them is
ranged a bright copper kettle, a large silvery pew-
ter basin, and glittering brazen candlesticks, all
brought from their English home, and borne
through toil and danger, like sacred relics, from

llie shrine of the liousehoUl gods. The light of
the fire is reflected on tiie polished surface of a
venerable oaken bureau, whose unwieldy form has
also come o'er the deep sea, being borne along the
creeks and rivers of New Brunswick, and dragged
through forest paths to its present resting place.
In the course of its wanderings by earth and
ocean it has become minus a foot, the loss of
which is suppliec^ by an unsmoothed block of
pine, the two forming not an inapt illustration of
tlieir different countries. The polished oaken
symbol of England receiving assistance in its
hour of need from the rude but hardy pine em-
blem of New Brunswick. The room is cool and
quiet ; the young people being outside with a few
who liave lingered after the frolic. By the open
window, around which a hop vine is en wreathed,
in memory of the rose-bound casements of Eng-
land, and through which comes a faint perfume
from the balm of gilead trees, sits the invalid,
seemingly refreshed with the pleasant things
around him. He has been suffering from rheu-
matic fever caught in the changeful days of the early
spring, when the moist air penetrates through
nerve and bone, and when persons having the
least tendency to rheumatism, or pulmonary com-
plaints, cannot nse too much caution. At no
other season is New Brunswick unhealthy ; for the
winter, although cold, is dry and bracing. The
hot months are not so much so as to be injurious,
and the bland breezes of the fall and Indian sum-
mer are the most delightful that can be imagined.
Stephen Morris had come from England, like the
generality of New Brunswick settlers, but lightly
burthened with worldly gear — but gifted with the

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un purchasable treasures of a strong arm and wil-
ling spirit, that * spirit resolvod to do its best,
and not be overcome with the difficulties to be en-
countered in the struf^gh* of subduing the mighty
wihierness. Wliile he felled the forest, his wife,
accustomed in her own country to assist in all field
labours, toiled with him in piling and fencing as
well as in planting and reaping. Even their
young children learned to know that every twig
they lifted off the ground left space for a blade of
grass or grain ; beginning with this, their assist-
ance soon became valuable, and the labour of their
hands in the field soon lightened the burthen of
feeding their lips. Slowly and surely had Ste-
phen gone onward, keeping to his farm and mind-
ing nothing else, unlike many of the emigrants,
who, while professing to be farmers, yet engage in
other pursuits, particularly lumbering, which, al-
though the mainspring of the province and source
of splendid wealth to many of the inhabitants,
has yet been the bane of others. Allured by the
visions "^ speedy riches it promises, they have
iieglecc - iheir farms, and engaged in its glitter-
ing speculations with the most ardent hopes,
which have far oftener been blighted than realised.
A sudden change in trade, or an unexpected storm
in the spring, having bereft them of all, and left
them overwhelmed in debt, with ne":lected and
ruined lands, with broken constitutions, (for the
himberer's life is most trying to the iiealth,) and
often too with broken hearts, and minds all unfit-
ted for the task of renovating their fortune. Their
life afterwards is a bitter struggle to get above wa-
ter; that tyrant monster, their heavy debt, still
chaining them downwards, devouring with insa-

tinte greed their wliolc menns, for interest or bond,
until it be discharged; a hard matter for them to
accomplish — so hard that few do it, and the ruined
lumberer sinks to the grave with its burthen yet
upon him. Stephen had kept aloof from this, and
now surveyed,

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Hi* honc'Sf nnii'ii own subjugated toil.'

A neighbour of his had come out from Eng-
land at the same time he had done and com-
menced farming an uiijoining lot, but he soon
wearied of the slow rv^turns of his land and com-
menced lumbering. For a time he went on dash-
ingly, the merchants in town supplying him freely
with provisions and everything necessary to carry
on his timber-making — whilst Stephen worked
hard and lived poor, he enjoyed long intervals
of ease and fared luxuriantly. But a change
came : one spring the water was too low to get
his timber down, the next the freshet burst at
once and swept away the labour of two seasons,
and ere he got another raft to market, the
price had fallen so low that it was nearly value-
less. He returned dispirited to his home and
tried to conceal himself from his creditors, the
merchants whom the sale of his timber was to
have repaid for the supplies tfrty had advanced;
but his neglected fields showed now but a crop of
bushes and wild laurel, or an ill-piled clearing,
with a scanty crop of buck-wheat; while Stephen
Morris looked from his window on fair broad
fields from whence the stumps had all disappear-
ed, where the long grass waved rich with clover-
flowers between, and many a tract that promised

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to shine with autunin wreaths of golden grain ;
leaflets and buds were close and thick on the
orchard he had planted, and where erst the wild-
bush stood now bh)omed the lovely rose. On a
green hill before him stood the lofty frame of the
building this evening raised, with all its white
tracery of beam and rafter, i new but welcome
feature in the landscape. A frame barn is tlie
first ambition of the settler's heart ; without one
much loss and inconvenience is felt. Hay and
grain are not stacked out as in other countries,
but are all placed within the shelter of the barn ;
these containing, as they often do, the whole hay
crop, besides the grain and accommodation for the
cattle, must, of course, be of large dimensions,
and are corsequently expensive. With this
Stephen had proceeded surely and cautiously as
was his wont. In the winter he had hauled logs
off his own land to the saw-mill to be made into
boards. He cut down with much trouble some
of the ancient ]iines which long stood in the cen-
tre of his best field, and from their giant trunks
cut well-seasoned blocks, with which he made
shingles in the stormy days of winter. Thus by
degrees he provided all the materials for enclos-
ing and roofing, and was not obliged, as many
are, to let the frame, (which is the easiest part pro-
vided, and which they often raise without seeming
even to think how they are to be enclosed,) stand
for years, like a huge grey skeleton, with timbers
all warped and blackened by the weather. Stea-
dily as Stephen had gone on, yet as the comple-
tion of his object became nearer he grew impa-
tient of its accomplishment, and determined to have
his barn ready for the recep'ion of his hay harvest i

and for this purpose lie worked on, hewing at the
frame in the spring, reckles? of the penetrating
rain, the chill wind, or *the damp earth beneath,
and thus, by neglect of the natural laws, he was
thrown upon the couch of sickness, where he \ay
long. This evening, however, he was better, and
sat gazing v/ith pleased aspect on the scene, and
then I saw his eyes turn from the fair green hill
and its new erection to where, in the hollow of a
low and marshy spot of land, stood the moss-
grown logs and sunken walls of the first shelter
he had raised for his cattle— his old log barn,
which stood on the worst land of the farm, but
when it was raised the woods around were dark
and drear, and he knew not the good soil from the
bad; yet now he thought how, in this unseemly
place, he had stored his crop and toiled for years
with unfailing health, where his arm retained its
nerve, unstrung neither by summer's heat nor
winter's cold, when the voice of his son, a tall
stripling, who had managed affairs during his ill-
ness, recalled him to the present, which certainly
to him I thought might wear no unfavourable
aspect. He had literally caused the wilderness
to blossom as the rose, and saw rising around him
not a degenerate but an improving race, gifted far
beyond himself with bright mental endowments,
the spontaneous growth of the land they lived in,
and which never flourish more fairly than
when engrafted on the old English stem ; that is,
the children of emigrants, or the Anglo-blue-
noses, have the chance of uniting the high-aspir-
ing impulses of young America to the more solid
principles of the olden world, thus forming a de-
cided improvement in the native race of both

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countries. But Stephen has too much of human
nature in hhn not to prefer the past, and I saw
that the sunbeams of memory rested brightly on
the old log barn, obscuring the privations and
yenrs of bitter toil and anxiety connected with it,
and dimning his eyes to ought else, however bet-
ter; so that I left him to his meditations, and af-
ter a step of sixty rods, the breaddi of the lot, I
am once more at home, where, as it is nov/ dark,
we will close the door and shut out the world, to
this old country prejudice has made us attach a
small wooden button inside, the only fastening,
except the latch, I believe, in the settlement.
Bolts and bars being all unused, the business
of locksmith is quite at a discount in the back
woods, where all idea of a midnight rob-
bery is unknown ; and yet, if rumo.r was true,
there were persons not far from us to whom
the trade of stealing would not be new. One
there was of whom it was said, that for this reason
alone was New Brunswick graced with his pre-
sence. He had in his own country been taken in
a daring act of robbery, and conveyed in the dark
of night to be lodged in gaol. The officers were
kind-hearted, and, having secured his hands, al-
lowed his wife to accompany him, themselves
walking a short distance apart. At first the lady
kept up a most animated conversation, apparently
upbraiding the culprit for his conduct. He an-
swered her, but by degrees he seemed so overcome
by her remarks that he spoke no more, and she
liad all the discourse to herself. Having arrived
at their destination, the officers approached theii
prisoner, but he was gone, the wife alone remain-
ed. The darkness of the night had favoured hif

escape while she feigned to be addressing him,
and, having thus defeated the law, joined her
spouse, and made the best of their way to Ame-
rica, where the workings of the law of kindness
were exemplified in his case. His character
being there generall}^ unknown, he was treated
and trusted as an honest man, r.nd he broke
not his faith. The better feelings were called
into action; conscientiousness, though long sub-
dued, arose and breathed through his spirit the
golden rule of right.

The days in America are never so short in
winter as they are in Europe, nor are they so
long in summer, and there is always an hour
or two of the cool night to be enjoyed ere the
hour of rest comes. Our evening lamp is already
lighted, and our circle increased by the presence
of the school-mistress.

Although in this country the local government
has done much towards the advancement of schools,
yet much improvement requires to be made — not
in their simple internal arrangements, for which
there is no regular system, but in the more im-
portant article of remuneration. The government
allows twenty pounds a year to each school ; the
proprietors, or those persons who send their chil-
dren to the school, agreeing to pay the teacher a
like sum at least (though in some of the older
settled parts of the country from forty to fifty
pounds is paid by them) ; as part payment of this
sum providing him with board, &c., &c., and this
alone is the evil part of the scheme ; this boarding
in turn with the proprietors, who keep him a week
or a month in proportion to the number of the
pupils they send, and to make up their share of

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the year, for which term he is hired, as his en-
gagement is, termed — an expression how derogatory
to the dignity of many a learned dominie ? From
this cause the teacher has no home, no depository
for his books, which are lost in wandering from
place to place ; and if he had them, no chance for
study : for the log-house filled with children and
wheels is no fit abode for a student. This
boarding system operates badly in many ways.
The nature of the blue nose is still leavened with
that dislike of coercive measures inherited from
their former countrymen, the Yankees. It extends
to their children, and each little black-eyed urchin,
on his wooden bench and do":-eared dilworth in
hand, must be treated by his teacher as a free en-
lightened citizen. But even without this, where
is there in any country a schoolmaster daring
enough to use a ratan, or birch rod, to that unruly
darling from whose mother he knows his even-
ing reception will be sour looks, and tea tinged
with sky-blue, but would not rather let the boy
make fox-and-geese instead of ciphering, say his
lesson when he pleased, and have cream and
short-cake for his portion. Another disagreeable
thing is, that fond and anxious as they are for
" laming" they have not yet enough of it to ap-
preciate the value of educativ'm. The schoolmaster
is not yet regarded as the mightiest moral agent
of the earth ; the true vicegerent of the spirit from
above, by which alone the soul is truly taught to
plume her wings and shape her course for Heaven.
And in this country, where operative power is
certain wealth, he who can neither wield axe or
scythe may be looked on with a slight shade of
contempt : but this only arises from constant

*■

nssociatlon with the people ; f'or wel*e the school-
master more his own master, and less under their
surveillance by having a dwelling of his own, his
situation otherwise would be comfortable and lu-
crative.

The state of school affairs begins to attract
much notice from the legislature, and no doubt
the present system of school government will soon
be improved. A board of education is appointed
in each county, whose office it is to examine can-
didates for the office of parish school teacher, and
report to the local governor as to their competency,
previous to his conferring the required license.
Trustees are also appointed in the several parishes,
who manage the other business connected with
them, such as regulating their number, placing
masters where they are most wanted, and receiving
and apportioning the sum appropriated to their
support, or encouragement, b}' the government.
Mr. B. held this situation, and frequent were the
visits of the lords of the birch to our domicile,
either asking redress for fancied wrongs, or to
discuss disputed points of school discipline.

The female teachers are situated much the same,
save that many of them, preferring a quiet home to
gain, pay for their board out of their cash salary,
and give up that which they could otherwise
claim from the people. This, liowever, is by no
means general, and the present mistress has come
to stay her term with us, although having no oc-
casion for the school, yet wishing to hasten the
march of intellect through the back woods, we
paid towards it, and boarded the teacher, as if we
had. Grace Marley, who held this situation now,
was a sweet wild -flower from the Emerald Isle,

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with spirii^s bright and changeful as the dewy skies
of her own loved Erin. Her graceful but fully
rounded figure shows none of those anatomical cor-
ners described by Captain Hamilton in the ap-
pearance of the native American ladies. Her
dark eye speaks with wondrous truth the prompt-
ings of her heart, and her brown hair lies like folds
of satin on her cheek, from which the air of
America has not yet drank all the rose light. From
her fairy ear of waxen white hangs a golden pen-
dant, the treasured gift of one far distant. Before
her, on the table, lies Chambers* Journal, which
always found its way a welcome visitant to our
settlement, soon after the spring fleet had borne it
ov^ the Atlantic. She has been reading one of
Mrs. Hall's stories, which, good as they are, are
yet little admired by the Irish in America. The
darker hues which she pourtrays in the picture of
their native land have become to them all softened
in the distance ; and by them is their country cher-
ished there, as being indeed thatbeautiful ideal "first
flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea." A
slight indignant flush, raised by what she had been
reading, was on her brow as I entered; but this gave
place to the heart-crushing look of disappointment!
had often seen her wear, as I replied in the negative
to her question, if there was a letter for her. From
where or whom she expected this letter I knew
not, yet as still week after week passed away and
brought her none, the same shade had passed over
her face.

And now, reader, as the night wanes apace,
and you no doubt are wearied with this day's
journey through our settlement, I shall wish to you
** A fair good night, with easy dreams and slumbers light,"

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while I, who like most authors am not at all in-
clined to sleep over my own writing, will sketch
what I know of the history of Grace Marley,
whose memory forms a sweet episode in my trans -
atfantic experiences.

Grace had been left an orphan and unprovided
for in her own country, when a relation, who had
been prosperous here, wrote for her to come out.
She did come, and at first seemed happy, but
'twas soon evident her heart was not here, and she
sighed to return to her native land, where the
streams were brighter, and the grass grew greener
than elsewhere. Her friends, vexed at her obsti-
nacy in determining so firmly to return, would
give her no assistance for this purpose, fancying
that she felt but that nostalgic sickness felt by all
on their first arrival in America, and that like
others she would become reconciled in time. But
she was firm in her resolve, and to procure funds
wherewithal to return she commenced teaching a
school, for which her education had well qualified
her. It was not likely that such a girl as Grace
would, in this land of marrying and giving in
marriage, be without fonder solicitations to in-
duce her to remain, and a tall blue nose, rejoicing
in the appellation of Leonidas van Wort, and
lord of six hundred noble acres, was heard to de-
clare one fall, that she, for an Irish girl, was "raal
downright good-looking," and guessed he knew
which way "his tracks would lay when snow came."
Snow did come, and Leonidas, arraved in his best
" go-to-meeting style," geared up his sleigh, and
what with bear skins and bells, fancying l)imself
and appurtenances enough to charm the heart of
any maid or matron in the back woods, set off to

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spark Grace Marley. " Sparking,'* the term used
in New Brunswick for courtship, now ihat the old
fashion of " bundling" is gone out, occupies much
of the attention (as, indeed, where does it not ?)
of young folks. They, for this purpose, take
Moore's plan of lengthening theirdays,by "stealing
a few hours from the night," and generally breathe
out their tender vows, not beneath the ** milk-
white thorn," but by the soft dim light of the
birch-wood fire ; the older members of the family
retiring and leaving the lovers to their own sweet
society.

Although it has been sometimes observed that
mothers who, in their own young days, have been
versed in this custom, insist most pertinaciously in
sitting out the wooer, in spite of insinuations as to
the pleasure their absence would occasion, still
keep their easy chair, with unwearied eyes and
fingers busied in their everlasting knitting. Grace's
beau was most hospitably received by her aunt and
uncle, who considering him quite an " eligible,"
wished to further him all in their power, soon left
the pair to themselves, telling Grace that it would
be the height of rudeness not to follow the custom
of the country. She politely waited for Leonidas
to commence the conversation, but he, unused to
her proceeding, could say nothing, not even ask her
if she liked maple sugar ; and so, being unused to
deep study, while thinking how to begin, fell
asleep, a consummation Grace was most delighted
to witness. By the fire stood the small American
churn, which, as is often the casein cold weather,
had been placed there to be in readiness for the
morrow ; this Grace, with something of the quiet
humour which made Jeanie Deans treat Dumbie-

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dykes to fried peats inplaceofcollops, slielifted and
placed it by the sleeper's side, throwing over it ii
white cloth, which fell like folds of drapery, and
softly retired to rest herself. Her uncle, on com-
ing into the room at the dawn of morning, beheld
the great Leonidas still sleeping, and liis arm most
lovingly encircling the churn dash, which no doubt
in his dreams he mistook for the taper waist of
Grace, when the loud laugh of the old man and his
"helps," who had now risen, roused him. He got
up and looked round him, but, with the Spartan
firmness of his name-sake, said nothing, but went
right off and married his cousin Prudence Prague,
who could do all the sparking talk herself.

Many another lover since then had Grace — many
a mathematical schoolmaster, to whom Euclid
was no longer a mystery, became,- for her
sake, puzzled in the problem of love, and
earnestly besought her to solve the question
he gave, with the simple statement of yes.
But still her heart was adamant, and still she
was unwon, and sighed more deeply for her
island home. She disliked the countr}'^, and its
customs more. Her religion was Roman catho-
lic, and she cherished all the tenets of her
faith with the deepest devotion. 1 remember
calling on her one Sunday morning and finding
her alone in her solitary dwelling ; her relations,
themselves catholics, havinrr gone, and half the
settlement with them, to meeting, but she pre-
ferred her solitude rather than join in their un-
consecrated worship. This want of their own
peculiar means of grace is much felt by religious-
ly inclined persons in the forest settlements, and
this made her wish more earnestly for the closing

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of the year to come, when, with the produce of
her school labours, she would be enabled to leave.

Such was, up to this period, what I knew of
Grace's character and history. I was extremely
fond of her society and conversation, as she, com-
ing from that land of which *tis said, her evefy
Word, her wildest thought, is poetry, had, in her
imaginings, a twilight tinge of blue, which made
lier remarks truly delightful. She had become a
little more softened in her prejudice, especially
as she expected soon to leave the country, so
that one day during her stay with us, in this same
bright summer weather, I induced her to accom-
pany me to a great baptist meeting, to be held in
a river settlement some four or five miles off'.
On reachihg the creek, the rest of our party, who
had accpiired the true American antipathy to pe-
destrianism, proceeded in canoes and punts to the
place, but we preferred a walk to the dazzling
glare of the sunshine on the water, so took not
the highway, but a path through the forest, call-
ed the blazed track, from a chip or slice being
made on the trees to indicate its line, and which
you must keep sight of, or else go astray in the
leafy labyrinth.

When I first trod the woods of New Bruns-
wick, I fancied wild animals would meet me
at each step — every black log was transform-
ed into some shaggy monster —visions of bears
and lucifee*s were ever before me — but these
are now but rarely seen near the settlements, al-
though bruin will sometimes make a descent on
the sheepfolds ; yet they have generally retreated
before the axe, along with the more valuable
moose deer and caraboo, with which the country

"wri

used to abound. The ugliest animal I ever
saw was a huge porcupine, which came close to
the door and carried off, one by one, a whole
flock of young turkies ; and the boldest, the beau-
tiful foxes, which are also extremely destructive
to the poultry ; so that in walking the woods one
need not be afraid, even if a bear's foot-print be
indented in the soil, as perhaps he is then far
enough off, and besides *tis only in the hungry
spring, after his winter's sleep, he is carniverous,
preferring in summer the roots, nuts, and berries
with which the forest supplies him. The living
things one sees are quite harmless — the bright
eyed racoon looking down upon us through the
branches, or the squirrels hopping from spray to
spray, a mink or an otter splashing through the
pond of a deserted beaver dam, from which the
ancient possessors have also retired, and a hare or
sable gliding in the distance, are all the animals
one usually sees, withflocksof partridges, so tame
that they stir not from you, and there being no
game laws, these free denizens of the wild are
the property of all who choose to claim them.
The forests, especially in the hard wood districts,
are beautiful in their fresh unbroken solitude —
not the solitude of desolation, but the young wild
loveliness of the untamed earth. The trees stand
close and thick, with straight pillar-like stems,
unbroken by leaf or bough, which all expand to
the summit, as if for breathing space. There is
little brush wood, but myriads of plants and
creepers, springing with the summer's breath.
The beautiful dog-wood's sweeping sprays and
broad leaves, the maiden-hairs glossy wreathe*
and pearly buds, and the soft emerald moss, cloth-

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ing the old fallen trees with its velvet tapestry, and
hiding their decay with its cool rich beauty, while
the sun light falls in golden tracery down the
birch trees silver trunk, and the sparkling water
flashes in the rays, or sings on its sweet melody
unseen amid the luxuriant vegetation that con-
ceals it.

Through this sweet path we held on our way,
talking of every bard who has said or sung
the green wood's glories, whose fancied beauties
were here all realized. As we neared the clear-
ings, we met frequent groups of blue nose child-
ren gathering, with botanical skill, herbs for dye-
ing, or carrying sheets of birch bark, which, to be
fit for its many uses, must be peeled from the trees
in the full moon of June. On these children,
beautiful as young Greeks, with lustrous eyes and
faultless features, Grace said she could hardly
yet look without an instinctive feeling of awe and
pity, cherishing as she did the partiality of her
creed and nation for infant baptism. To her
there was something awful, in sight of those un-
hallowed creatures, whose brows bore not tlie
first symbol of Christianity. We having passed
through the woods, were soon in a large assem-
blage of native and adopted colonists.

The greater number of the native population, I
think, are baptists, and their ministers are either
raised among themselves, or come from the United
States, or Nova Scotia. Once in every year a
general association is convened of the members of
the society throughout the province, the atten-
dance on which gives ample proof of the great-
ness of their numbers, as well as their fervency of
feeling. This association is held in a different

part of the province each season — and generally
lasts a week. Reports are here made of the pro-
gress of their religion, the state of funds, and of
all other matters connected with the society.
There is, generally, at these conventions a revival
of religious feeling, and during the last days nu-
merous converts are made and received by bap-
tism into the church. This meeting is looked
forward too by the colonists with many mingled
feelings. By the grave and good it is hailed as an
event of sacred importance, and by the gay and
thoughtless as a season of sight-seeing and dress-
displaying. Those in whose neighbourhood it
was last year are glad it is not be so this lime ;
and those near the place it is to be held, are cal-
culating the sheep and poultry, the molasses and
flour it will take to supply the numerous guests
tliey expect on the occasion — open tables being
kept at taverns, and private houses are so no
longer, but hospitably receive all who come. No
harvest is reaped by exorbitant charges for lodg-
ing, and all that is expected in return, is the same
clever treatment when their turn comes. This
convocation, occurring in the leisure spell between
the end of planting and the commencement of
haying, is consequently no hindrance to the agri-
cultural part of the community ; and old and
young "off they come'' from Miramichi, from Aca-
dia, and the Oromocto, in shay and waggon,
steam-boat and catamaran, on horseback or on
foot, as best they can. This day, one towards
the conclusion, the large frame building was
crowded to excess, and outside were gathered
groups, as may be seen in some countries around
the catholic chapels. Within, the long tiers of

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benches display :is fair nn array of fashion and
flowers PS would be seen in any similar congre-
gation in any country. The days of going to
meeting in home-spun and raw hide moccasins
are vanishing fast all through the province. These
are the soHd constituents of every-day apparel,
but for holidays, even the bush maiden from the
far-off settlements of the gulph shore has a lace
veil and silken shawl, and these she arranges with
infinitely more taste and grace than many a dam-
sel whose eye has never lost sight of the clearings.
By far tht. greater portion of the assembly have
the dark eyes and intellectual expression of face
which declares them of American origin; and,
sprinkled among them, are the features which tell
of England's born. The son of Scotland, too, is
here, alll ough unvvont to grace such gather-
ings with his piesence ; yet this is an event of rare
importance, and from its occurrence in his imme-
diate neighbourhood, he has come, we dare not
say to scoff, and yet about his expressive mouth
their lingers a slight curl of something like it.
And here, too, the Hibernian forgets his preju-
dices in the deliglii of being in a crowd, i do
not class my friend Grac^- along with this com-
mon herd, but even she became as deeply inter-
ested as others in the discussion which was now
gomg forward — this was the time of transacting
business, and the present subject one which had
occupied much attention. It was the appropria-
tion of certain funds— whether they should be ap-
plied towards increasing their seminary, so as to
fit it for the proper education of ministers for
their church, or whether they should not l>e ap-
plied to some other purpose, and their priesthood

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be still allowed to spring uncultured from the
mass. The different opinions expressed regard-
ing this, finely developed the progress of mind
throui^hout the land. Some white-headed fathers
of the sect, old refugees, who hud left the bounds
of civilization before they had received any edu-
cation, yet wlu) had been gifted in the primitive
days of the colony to lead souls from sin, sternly
declaimed against the education system, declar.
ing that grace, and grace alone, was what formed
the teacher. All else was of the earth earthy,
and had nought to do with heavenly things.
One said that when he commenced preaching he
could not read tiiC t^ible — he could do little more
now, and yet throughout the country many a soul
owned its sickness to have been healed through
him. Another then rose and answered him — a
native of the province, and of his own persuasion,
but who had drank from the springing fountains
of science arsd of holiness — the bright gushing of
whose clear streams sparkled through his dis-
course. I have since forgotten his language, but
I know that at the time nothinc: I had ever heard
or read entranced me as did it, glowing as it was
witli the new world's fervency of thought, and the
old world's wealth of learning. He pleaded, as
such should, for extended education, and his
mighty words had power, and won the day. The
old men, stern in their prejudices as their zeal,
were conquered, and the baptists have now well
conducted establishments of learning throughout
the province.

This discussion occupied the morning, and,
at noon, we were invited home to dinner by a
person who 3.nt next us at the meeting, but whom

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\ve had never before seen. Some twelve or four'*
teen others formed our party, rather a small one
considering, but we were the second relay, ano-
ther party having already dined and [)roceeded
to the meeting house, where religious worship
had commenced as soon as we left. Our meal
was not so varied in its details of cookery as the
wealthier blue noses love to treat their guests
with. The number to be supplied, and the
quantity of provisions required, prevented this.
It consisted of large joints of veal and mut-
ton, baked and boiled, with a stately pot-pie,
on its ponderous platter, — the standing dish
in all these parts. Soon after dinner we were
given to understand the dipping was about
to commence; and walked along the shore to the
place appointed for the purpose, in the bright
blue waters of tlie bay, which is here formed by
an inlet of the chief river of the province, the silver-
rolling St. John. The scene around us was won-
drously rich and lovely -the bright gretn intervale
meadows with their lofty trees, the cloudless sky,
the flashing waters, and the balmy breeze, which
bore the breath of the far-off spruce and cedars.
From the assembled throng, who had now left the
meeting-house, arose the hymns which form the
principal part of their worship,

I have said the New Brunswickers are not, as
yet, greatly favoured with the gift of m. -ic ; this
may, in a great measure, arise from deficient cul-
tivation of the science, but at this time there was
something strange and pleasant in the quick chaunt-
ing strain they raised, so different from the soleraa
sounds of sacred melody usual in other countries;
and even Grace, accustomed to the organ's j>eal-

as
this
cul-
was

lunt-
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fies;

ing grandeur and lofty anthems of her own church,
was pleased with it. Still singing the minister
entered the water, the converts one by one joining
him, and singly became encircled in the shining
waves : many of them were aged and bowed with
time, and now took up the cross in their declining
days ; and others of the young and fair, who
sought their creator in youth. It was wondrous
now to think of this once lonely stream of the
western world, the Indian's own Ounagandy. A
few years since no voice had broke on its solitude
save the red man's war-whoop, or his shrieking
death song — no form been shadowed on its depths
but the wild bird's wing, or the savage speeding on
the blood chase. Now its living pictures told
the holy records of the blessed east, and its waters
typed the healing stream of Jordan. After some
more singing and prayers offered for the newly-
baptized, the ceremony was finished. 'Tis strange
that on these dipping occasions no cold is caught
by the converts. I suppose the excitement of the
mind sustains the body ; but persons are often
baptised in winter, in an opening made through
the ice for the purpose, and walk with their gar-
ments frozen around them without inconvenience,
seeming to prove the efficacy of hydropathj', by
declaring how happy and comfortable they feel.
We, at the conclusion of the prayers, left the place,
and proceeded homewards in a canoe ; this is a
mode of locomotion much liked by the river set-
tlers, but to a stranger anything but agreeable.
They glide along the waters swift and smooth, but
a slight cause upsets them, and as perhaps you are
not exactly certain about being born to be hanged,
you must sit jjerfectly still —you are warned to do

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this, but if you are the least nervous, you will
hardly dare to breathe, much less move, and this,
in a journey of any length, is not so pleasant.
This feeling, however, custom soon dispels ; and
when one sees little fairy girls paddling themselves
and a cargo of brothers and sisters to school, or
women with babies taking their wool to the card-
ing mill, they feel ashamed, and learn to keep the
true balance.

Our light skiiF, or bark rather, as it might be
truely styled, being a veritable Indian canoe, made
of birch bark most cunningly put together, these
being so light as to float in shallow water, and to
be easily removed, are for this reason preferred by
the Indians to more solid materials, who carry them
on their backs from stream to stream during their
peregrinations through the country, soon bore
us over the diamond water, whose mirror-
ed surface we scarcely stirred, to the land-
ing place, whose marshy precincts were now all
gemmed with the golden and purple flowers of the
sweet flag or calamus ; and as the sun was yet high
in the glorious blue, we resolved to spend the re-
mainder of the day with a family living near; feel-
ing, in this land of New Brunswick, no qualms
about a sudden visitation, knowing that a people
so proverbial for being "wide awake" can never
be taken unawares. Their dwelling, a large frame
building painted most gaily in the bright warm
hues the old Dutch fancies of the states love to
cherish, stands in the centre of rich parks of
intervale. The porch is here, as well as at the
more humble log-house, answering as it does in
summer for a cool verandah, and in winter as a
shelter from the snows. Tiiis, the taste of the

to
of
the
in

country artist has erected on pillars, not recog-
nisable as belonging to any known order of archi-
tecture, yet here esteemed as tasty and beautifuly
and, as is his custom in the afternoon, is seated
the owner of the dwelling, Silas Mavin, one of
that fast declining remnant— the refugees. He
had come from the United States at the revolu-
tion, and possessed himself of this fair heritage
in the days when squatting was in vogue ; those
palmy days which the older inhabitants love to re-
call, when government had not to be petitioned, as
it has now, for leave to purchase land, and when,
in place of the now many-worded grant, with its
broad seals and official signatures, people made
out their own right of possession by raising their
log-house, and placing the sign manual of their
axe in whatever trees they chose; when moose and
caraboo were plentiful as sheep and oxen are now ;
when salmon filled each stream, and the wood-
sheltered clearings ripened the Indian corn with-
out failing.

In this land, young as it is, there are those
who mourn for the times gone by, and con-
sider the increasing settlement of the country as
their worst evil ; wilfully closing their eyes against
improvement, they see not the wide fields, waving
fair with grass and wheat, but think it was better
when the dense forest shut out the breeze and re-
flected the sunbeams down with greater strength
on the corn, so dearly loved by the American.
They hear not the sound of the busy mill when
they mourn for the fish -deserted brooks, and for-
get that when moose meat was more plentiful than
now bread stuffs were ground in the wearying
hand-mill. One of this respectable class ot'

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grumblers was our present acquaintance, and here
he sat in his porch, with aspect grave as the stoics
— his tall form, although in ruins now, was stately
in decay as the old forest's pines. His head was
such as a phrenologist would have loved to look
upon ; the true platonic breadth of brow, and
lofty elevation of the scalp silvered over, told of a
mind fitting in its magnitude lo spring from that
gigantic continent whose streams are mighty ri-
vers and whose lakes are seas; but, valueless as
these, when embosomed in their native woods,
were the treasures of the old man's mind, una-
wakened as they were by education, and unpolish-
ed even by contact with the open world, yet
still, amid the crust contracted in the life he had
led, rays of the inward diamond glittered forth.
The wilderness had always been his dwelling — in
the land he had left, his early days had been pass-
ed in hunting the red deer or the red man on the
Prairie fields — there, with the true spirit of the
old American, he had learned to treat the Indian
as " varment," although a kindlier feeling was
awakened towards them in this country, where
white as well as red were recipients of England's
bounty, and many a tale of wild pathos or dark
horror has he told of the experience of his youth
with the people of the wild. In New Bruns-
wick his days had passed more peacefully. He
sat this evening with his chair poised in that aerial
position on one leg which none but an American can
attain. Ambitious emigrants, wishing to be though t
cute, attempt this delicate point of Yankee cha-
racter, but their awkwardness falling short of the
easy swing necessary for the purpose, often brings
them to the ground. A beautiful English cherry

pass-
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Irec, with its snowy wreathes in full blow, stood
before him ; he had raised it from the seed, and
loved to look upon it. It had evidently been the
object of his meditations, and served him now as
a type wherewith to illustrate his remarks re-
specting the meeting we had attended — like those
professors of religion we to-day heard, he said,
was his beautiful cherry tree. It gave forth fair
green leaves of promise and bright truth-seeming
blossoms, but in summer, when he sought for
fruit there was none ; and false as it, were they of
words so fair and deeds so dark, and he*d " dou-
ble sooner trust one who laughed more and prayed
less, than those same whining preachers." This
was the old man's opinion, not only respecting
the baptists, but all other sects as well. What
his own ideas of religion were I never could
make out. Universalism I fancied it was, but
differing much from the theories of those evanes-
cent preachers who sometimes flashed like me-
teors through the land, leaving doubt and reck-
lessness in their path. The first truths of Chris-
tianity had been imparted to him, and these, miu"
gling with his own innate ideas of veneration, form-
ed his faith; as original, though more lofty in its ua-
pirations, than the wild Indian's who tells of the
flowery land of souls where the good spirit dwells,
and where buffalo and deer forsake not the hunt-
ing grounds of the blessed. He held no outward
form or right of sanctity. The ceremony which
bound him to his wife was simply legal, having
been read over by the nearest magistrate. His
children were unbaptised, and the green graves
of his household were in his own field, although a
public burying-ground was by the meeting-house
of the settlement.

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Meanwhile the old lady, who had hailed our
advent with the hospitality of her country, set
about preparing our entertainment. Tradition
says of the puritans, tiie pilgrims of New England,
that when they first stood on Plymouth Rock, on
their first arrival from Europe, they bore the bible
under one arm and a cookery book under the other.
Now, ns to their descendants, the refugees, I am
not exactly sure if, when they pilgrimised to New
Brunswick, they were so careful of the bible, but
I am certain they retain the precepts of the cook-
ery book, and love to embody them when they
may. Soon as a guest comes within ken of a blue
nose, the delightful operations commence. The
poorer class shifting with Johnny-cake and pump-
kin, while, with the better off, the airy phantoms
of custard and curls,which flit through their brains,
are called into tangible existence. The air is
impregnated with allspice and nutmeg — apple
"sarce" and cranberry "persarves" become visi-
ble, while sal-a-ratus and molasses are evidently
in the ascendant.

And now, while our hostess of this even-
ing busied herself in compounding these sweet
mysteries, the old man related to ns the following
love passage of his earlier days, which I shall give
in my own language, although his original expres-
sions rendered it infinitely more interesting.

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THE INDIAN BRIDF,

A refugee's story.

On the margin of a bright blue western stream
stood a small ibrt, surrounding the dwellings of
some hunters who had penetrated thus far into
the vast wilderness to pursue their calling. The
huts they raised were rude and lowlvj and yet the
walls surrounding them were high and lofty.
Piles of arms filled their block house, and a con-
stant guard was kept. Thcs,e precautions were
taken to j)rotect them from the Indians, whose
ancient hunting grounds they had intruded on,
and whose camp was not far distant. Deadly
dealings had passed between them, but the whites,
strong in number and in arms, heeded little the
settled malice of their foes, and after taking the
usual precautions of defence, carried on their
hunting, shooting an Indian, or ought else that
came across them, while the others, savage and
unrelenting, kept on their trail in hope of ven-

geance.

Strange was it, that in an atmosphere dark
as this, the light of love should beam. Lee-
mah, a beautiful Indian girl, met in the forest a
young white hunter. She loved, and wasbeloved
in return. The roses of the few summers she
had lived glowed warm upon her cheek, and
truth flashed in the guileless light of her deep
dark eyes — but Lecmah was already a bride, be-
trothed in childhood to a chieftain of her tribe ;

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he liad now summoned her to his dwelling, and
her business in the forest was collecting ma-
terials for her bridal store of box and basket.
Her sylph-like form of : rowy grace was arrayed
in his wedding gifts of costly furs, and glittering
bright with bead and shell. But few were the
stores that Leemah gathered for her Indian chief.
The burning noon was passed with her white love
in the leafy shade — there she brought for him
summer berries, and gathered for him the water
cup flower, with its cooling drauglit of fragrant
dew. Her time of marriage came, and at mid-
night it was to be celebrated with torch light and
dance. The other hunters knew the love of
Silas for the gem of the wilderness, and readily
offered their assistance in his project of gaining
her. To them, carrying off an Indian girl was
an affair of light moment, and at dark of night,
with their boat and loaded rifles, they proceeded
up the stream towards the Indian village. As
they drew near, the wild chaunt of the bridal
song was heard, and as all silently they approached
the shore, the red torch light gleamed out upon
the scene of mystic splendour. The chieftains of
the tribe in stately silence stood around. The
crimson beams lit up the plumes upon their
brow, and showed in more awful hues the fearful
lines of their painted faces, terrible at the festival
as on the field of battle. Tl squaws, in their
gayest garb, with mirrors J — ') mg on their breasts,
and beads all shining as they moved, danced
round the betrothed ; and there she stood, the
love-lorn Leemah, her black hair all unbraided,
and her dark eyes piercing the far depths of night,
as if looking for her lover. Nor looked she long

in vain, for suddenly and fearlessly Silas sprung
upon the shore, dashed through the circle, and
bore o(F the Indian bride to his bark. Then
rose the war-.-.hout of her people, while pealed
among them the rifles of the hunters. Again
<?ame the war-whoop, minf^led with the death
shriek of the wounded. A hunter stood up and
echoed them in mockery, but an arrow quivered
through his brain and he was silent, while the
stream grew covered with shadowy canoes, filled
with dark forms shontinfj for reven<re. On came
they with lightning's speed, and on sped the hun-
ters knowing now that their only safety was in
flight. On dashed they through the waters which
now began to bear them forward with wondrous
haste. A thought of horror struck them : they
were in the rapids, while before them the white
foam of the falls flashed through the darkness.
The tide had ebbed in their absence, and the river,
smooth and level when full, showed all across it,at
the flood, a dark abyss of fearful rocks and boil-
ing surf. This they knew, but it was now too
late to recede ; the dark stream bore them on-
ward, and now even the Indians dare not follow,
but landed and ran along the shore shouting with
delight at their inevitable destruction. It was a
moment of dread, unutterable horror to Silas and his
comrades. Their bark whirled round in the giddy
waves — then was there a wild plunge — a fearful
shock — a shriek of death, and the flashing foam
gathered over them, while loudly rang the voices
from the shore. But suddenly, by some mighty
effort, the boat was fluno; clear of the rocks and
n!iinjured into the .smooth current of the lower
stream,

A few strokes of the oar brought them

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to tlie fort, which they entered, anrl heard the In-
dians howlinf' behind them like wolves l);ifHed of
their prey. But they and the dangers they had
so lately passed were alike fbr^jjotten in the night's
C''\roUsal ; and, when the season was ended, they
returned to their homes in the settlements, enrich-
ed with the spoils they had gained in hunting,
and Silas witli his treasured pearl of the prairie.

But here, some months after they returned, and
while his heart was yet brightened with her smiles,
a dark shade passed over her sunny brow, and she
vanished from his home. An Indian of her tribe
was said to liave been lincjerinij near the villaije,
and she no doubt had joined him and returned to
her kindred. Other tidings of her fate Silas heard
not. Alas I she knew the undying vengeance of
Her people, and by giving herself up to them
thought to shield him from their hatred.

Again the time of hunting came, and the same
party occupied the fort in the wilderness. As yet
they had been unmolested by the Indians: they
even knew not of their beincr in the neighbour-
hood, yet still a form of guarding was kept up,
and Silas and a comrade held the night-watch in
the block house. The others had fallen asleep, and
Silas, as he sat with half-closed eyes, fancied he
saw before him his lost love, Leemah ; he started
as he thought from a dream, but 'twas real, and
'twas her own cool fingers pressed his brow — by
the clear fire light he saw her cheek was deadly
pale, but her eyes were flashing like sepulchral
lamps, and a white-browed babe slept upon her
bosom. In a deep thrilling whisper she bade him
rise and follow her. Wondering how she had
found entrance, he obeyed, and she led him

outside the walls of the fort; a murmuring gounU
as of leaves stirred by the wind was heard. ' * '
'Tis the coming of the Red Engle, said Lee-
mah, Ills beak is wlietted for the blood draughts;
here enter, and if your own life or Leemah's be
dear, keep still ; — as she spoke she parted aside
the young shoots which had sprung up from the
root of a tree, and twined like an arbour about it.
Her detp earnestness left no time for speculation;
he entered the recess, and hardly liad the flexile
boughs sprung back to their places, wlien the fleet
footsteps of the Indians came neaier, and the fort
was surrounded by them ; the building was fired,
and then their deadly yell burst forth, while the
unfortunate inmates started from sleep at the
sound of horror. Mercy for them there was pone ;
the relentless savage knew it not ; but the shout
of delight rose louder as they saw the flames
dance higher o'er their victims ; and Silas looked
on all — but Leemah's eye was on his — he knew
liis slightest movement was deatli to her as well as
to himself. Like a demon through the flame leap-
ed the ghastly form of the Red Eagle, (he to
whom Leemah had been espoused) and with
searching glance glared on his victims, but saw
not there the one he sought with deeper vengeance
than the others — 'twas Silas he looked for; and,
with the speed of a winged fiend, he bounded to
where Leemah stood, and accused her of having
aided in his escape. She acknowledged she had,
and pointed to the far-off' forest as his hiding
place. Li an instant his glittering tomahawk
cleft the hand she raised off* at the wrist. Silas
knew no more. Leemah's hot blood fell upon his
brow, and he fainted through excess of agony ,

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but like Mazeppa, he lived to repay the Red Ea-
gle in after-years for that night of horror — when
his eyes had been blasted with the burning fort,
his ears stunned with the shrieks of his murdered
friends, and his brain scorched through with Lee-
mah's life blood.

Long years after, when he had forsaken the
hunter's path, and fought as a loyalist in the Bri-
tish ranks, among their Indian allies who smoked
•with them the pipe of peace and called them bro-
thers, was one, in whose wild andwithered features
he recalled the stern Red Eagle ; blood called for
blood ; he beguiled the Indian now with copious
draughts of the white man's fire-water, and he and
another (brother of one of the murdered hunter::)
killed him, and placing him in his own canoe with
the paddle in his hand, sent the fearful corpse down
the rapid stream, bearing him unto his home. The
wild dog and wolf howled on the banks as it floated
past, and the raven and eagle hovered over it
claiming it as their prey. The tribe, at the death
of their Sagamore, withdrew from their allies, and,
following the track of the setting sun, waged war
indiscriminately with all.

And long after, though more than half a cen-
tury had elapsed since the death of the Red Ea-
gle, and when the snows of eighty winters had
whitened the dark tresses of the young hunter, and
bowed the tall form of the loyalist soldier ; when
he who had trod the flowery paths of the prairie,
and slept in the orchard bowers by the blue stream
of the Hudson, had, for love of England's laws,
become a refugee from his native land; and when
here, in New Brunswick, he beheld raised around
him a bappy and comfortable home — his house,

which had always been freely opened to religious
worsliip, and in which had been held the prayer-
incetinos ol" the ba})tisis and love-leasts of the
niethodists, became one day transformed into a
catholic cluipel.

A bishop of tlie Romish church was passing
throuoh the province, and his presence in this
sequestered spot was an event of unwonted inter-
est ; many who had forjrotten the creed of their
fathers returned to the faith of their earlier days,
and among the most fervent of those assembled,
there was a small group of Milicete Indians iroin
the woods hard by. \\ ith the idolatrous devo-
tion of their half savage nature they fell prostrate
before the ]"/ricst. Amoni> them was an ancient
woman, but not of their tribe, who, while raising
her hand in t)rayer, or in crossing herself, Silas ob-
served she used but one hand — the other was
gone. This ciicumstance recalled to light the
faded love-dream of his youth. lie questioned
her and found her to be I^eemah, his once beau-
tiful Indian bride, who had wandered here to
escape the daik tyranny of her savage kindred.
She died soon after, and " she sleeps there," said
the old man, pointing to where a white cross
marked a low grassy mound before us, and time
had not so dried up his heart springs but I saw a
tear drop to her memory.

I turned my eyes from Lecmah's grave to see
what effect the tale had made on the old lady,
but she was so enoaaetl in contemplatiuii: the m>l(l-
en curls ol' her doughnuts, and leathery iightuess
of her pound cake, she had heard it not ; and
even if she had, it had all happened such a long

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time ago, that her impressions respecting it must all
liave worn out by now. After having partalcen
of the hixurious feast she set before us, and
hearing some more of the old man's legends, we
proceeded forward.

The evening, with one of those sudden changes
of New Brunswick, had become cold and chilly.
The sun looked red and lurid through the heavy
masses of fo(r clouds driftiuir throujih the sky;
this fog, which comes all the way from the
Banks of Newfoundland, and which is par-
ticularlv disagreeable sometimes alon^ij the
Bay shore and in St. John, in opposition
to the general clearness of the American at-
mosphere is but little known in the interior of the
country. Numerous summer fallows are burning
around, and the breeze flings over us showers of
blackened leaves and blossoms. As we approach-
ed home, we were accosted by one Mr. Isaac
Hanselpecker, a neighbour of ours; he was lean-
ing over the bars, apparently wanting a lounge
excessively. He had just finished milking, and
had handed the pails to Miss Hanselpecker, as
he called his wife. If there be a trait of Ameri-
can character peculiar to itself, displayed more
fully than another by contrast with Europeans, it is
in the treatment of the gentler sex, diflcring as it
does materially from the picture of the English-
man, standing with his back to the fire, while the
ladies freeze around him ; or the glittering polite-
ness of the Frenchman, hovering like a butterfly
by the music stand ; it has in it more of intellect
and real tenderness than either, although tending
as it does to the advancement of national charac-
ter, some of their own talented ones begin to com-

:lt.

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plain that In the refined circles of the States they
are becoming almost too civilised in this respect :
the ladies requiring rather more than is dne to
them. Yet among the working classes it has a
sweet and wholesome influence, softening as it does
the asperities of labour, and lightening the bur-
then to each. Here woman's empire is within, and
here she shines the household star of the poor
man's hearth; not in idleness, for in America, of
all countries in the world, prosperity depends on
femnh industry. Here "she looketh well to the
ways of her household, and eateth not the bread
of idleness," and for tliis reason, perhaps, it is,
that their husbands arise and call them blessed.
Now Mr. Hanselpecker had all the respect for his
lady natural to his country, and assisted her domes-
tic toils by milking the cows, making fires, and
fetch ino- wood and water. Yet there was one mate-
rial point in which he failed : she was often " scant
of bread," he being one who, even in this land of
toil, got along, somehow or other, with wondrous
little bodily labour; professing to boa farmer, he
held one of the finest pieces of land in the set-
tlement, but his agricultural operations, for the
most part, consisted in hoeing a few sickly stems
of corn, while others were reaping buckwheat, or
sowing a patch of flax, " 'cause the old woman
wanted loom gears ;" shooting cranes, s})caring
salmon, or trapping musquash on the lake, he })re-
fers to raising fowl or sheep, as cranes find their
own provisions, and fish require no fences to keep
them from the fields. His wife's skill, however,
in managing the dairy department, is, when butter
rates well in the market, their chief dependence ;
and he, when he chooses to work, which he would

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much ratlier do for aiiotlier than Iiimself, can earn
cn()u<r|i in one day, if lie take truck, to keep liiiii
three, and but tliat he })i'efers fixing cucumbers to
thrashing', (uid making moccasins to clearintr land,

[ht(i<

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le nngni do well enougn. i iiougn ])oor, ne is none
the least inclined to grovel, but, with the spirit of
his land, feels quite at ease in company with any
judge or general in the country.

Having declined his invitation to enter the lo'r
erection,— which in another country would hardly
V)e styled a house, he having slill delayed to en-
close the tiiirantic iVame, whose skeleton form was
reared hard by-— he gave his o{)inion of the wea-
ther at present, with some shrewd guesses as to
what it would be in future: reaardinir the smoke

vrea

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rom

the ii

res arounc

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lere wcr<3 none

n his land however), he said, it reminded him
f the fire in Miramichi. "llo long is it, old
ni," said he, tiirninjj: to his wife, who had

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now joined us, "since tliat ere burning-?
"Well," said she, "I aint exactly avaihid to
tell you right off how many years it is since, but
1 gu'^SL ir Jake was a week old when it happen-
ed."

Now, as the burning of Miramichi was one of
the most interesting historical events in the pro-
vince records, we gave him the date, which was
some twenty years since; this also gave us the
sum of Jacob's lustres — rather few considering
lie had planted a tater patch on shares, and laid
out to marry in the fall.

" Well," said he, *• Von may depend that was
a fire — my hair cur's yet when 1 think of it —
it ■ -as the same summer we got married, and
Washington Welford having been out a timber*

i,|K?»ji

liunting witli me the fall afore, we discovered a
most elegant growth of j)ine — I never see'd be-
fore nor since the eqnal on it — regular sixty foot-
ers, every log on 'em — the trees slood on the
banks of the river, as if growing there on })urpose
to be handy for raiting, and we having got a first-
rate supply from our merchants in town, toted
our things with some of the old woman's house
trumpery to the spot we soon had up a slianty,
and went to work in right airnest. There was no
mistake in Wash; he was as clever a fellow
as ever I knowed, and as handsome a one — seven
feet without iiis shoes — eyes like diamonds, and
hair slick as silk ; when he swunor his axe amonjr
the timber, you may depend he looked as if he
had a mind to do it — our fellin<r and hewinnr went
on great, and with the old woman for cook we
made out grand — she, however, being rather deli-
cate, we hired a help, a daughter of a neighbour
about thirty miles olf. Ellen Ross was as smart
a gal as ever was raised in these clearings — her
parents were old country folks, and she had most
grand larning, and was out and out a regular
first-rater. Washington and her didn't I'eel at
all small together — they took a liking to each
other right away, and a prettier span was never
geared. Well, our Jake was born, and the old
woman got smart, and about house again. Wash
took one of our team horses, and he and Ellen
went off' to the squire's to get yoked. It was a
most beautiful morning when they stnrted, but
the weather soon began to change — there had
been a most uncommon dry spell — not a drop of
rain for many weeks, nor hardly a breath of air
in the woods, but now there came a most fegrful

'ilii

wind and storm, and awful black clouds rjather-
iug llirough the sky — the sun grew blood red, and
looked most terrible through the smoke. I had
heard of such things as 'clipses, but neither the
; 'manac, nor the old woman's universal, said a
\,(nd about it. Altho* there was such a wind,
there was the most burning heat — one could
hardly breathe, and the baby lay pale and gasp-
ing — we thought it was a dying. The cattle
jirew oneasv, and all ot once a herd of moose
bounded into our chopping, and a lot of bears
after them, all running as if for dear life. I got
down the rifle, and was just a going to let fly at
them, when a scream from the old woman made
me look about. The woods were on fire all
round us, and the smoke parting before us, show-
ed the flames cracklinir and roarinji: like ;nad,
*till the very sky seemed on fire over our heads.
I did'nt know what to do, and, in lact, there was
no time to calculate about it. The blaze glared
hotly on our faces, and all the wild critturs of the
woods began to carry on most ridiculous, and
shout and holler like all natur; I caught up my
axe, and the old woman the baby, and took the
only open space left for us, where the stream was
Mir, and the fire couldn't catch. Just as we

I'unui

•ful

were going, a horse came gallo})U)g most aw
fast right through the fire — it was poor Washing-
ton; his clothes all burnt, and his black hair turn-
ed white as snow, and oh ! the fearful burden he
carried in his arms. Ellen Kosy, the beautiful
bright-eyed girl, who had left us so smilingly in

le moriHUir, lav now

r.j

bef

ore us a score

hed

an(

blackened corpse — the scared horse fell dead on
the ground. 1 hollered to Washington to follow us

tl'

to the water, but lie heard me not; and the flames
closed last o'er him and his dead bride— poor
fellow, that was the last on him— and creation
might be biled down, ere yon could ditto him
any how. By chance our timber was lying near
in the stream, and I got the old woman and the
baby on a log, and stood beside them up to the
neck in water, which now grew hot, and actilly
began to hiss around me. The trees on the other
side of the river had caught, and there was an
arch of flame right above us. My stars ! what a
time we had of it ! Lucifees and minks, carra-
boo and all came close about us, and an Indian
devil got upon the log beside my wife; poor crit-
tuis, ihey were all as tame as possible, and half
fri"htened to denth. 1 thouijht the end of the
woi Id was come tor sartain. 1 tried to pray, but
I was got so awl'ul hungry, that grace before meat
was all I could think olf. How long we had been
there I couldn't tell, but it seemed tome a 'tarni-
ty — fire, howsomever, cannot burn always — that's
a fact; so at the end of what we afterwards found
to be the third dav, we saw the sun shine down
on the still smoking woods. The old wonmn
was weak, 1 tell you ; and for me, I felt consider-
ably used up — howsomever I got to the shore,
and hewed out a canoe from one of our own lim-
ber sticks — there was no need of iucil'ers to strike
a light — lots of brands were burning about. I
laid some on to it and burnt it out, and soon had
a capital craft, and away we went down the stream.
Jead bodies ol animals were floating about, and
there were souie living ones> looking as it they
had got out of their latitude, and didn't think they
would find it, I reckon we weren't the only

U'.:i!

sufferers by that ere conflagration. As we came
down to the settlements folks took us for ghosts,
we looked so miserable like — howsomever, with
good tendin, we soon came round again; but, to
tell you the truth, it makes me feel kind a narv-
ous, when I see a fallow burning ever since.
Tho' folks could'nt tell how that ere fire hap-
pened, and say it was a judgment on lumber men
i>nd sich like, I think it came from some settlers'
improvements, who, wishing to raise lots of taters,
destroyed the finest block of timber land in the
province, besides the ships in Miramichi harbour,
folks' buildings, and many a clever feller, whose
latter end was never known.'*

*' And so I suppose Mr. H.," said his wife,
** that is the reason you make such slim clearings."
*'I estimate your right," said lie; and we, not ex-
pecting the spice of sentiment which flavored Mr.
H.'s story, left him, and reached home, where we
closed the evening by putting into the following
shape one of Silas Marvin's legends, not written
with a perryian pen and azure fluid, but with a
quill from the wing of a wild goose, shot b}' our
friend Ilanselpecker, (who by the way was fond
of such game,) as last fall it took its flight from
our cold land to the sunny south, and with home-
made ink prepared from a decoction of white
maple bark.

THE LOST ONE,

A TALE OF THE EARLY SETTLERS.

Beyond the utmost verge of the h'mits which
the white settlers had yet dared to encroach on
the red owners of the soil, stood ♦he Iiumble
dweliinfr of Kenneth Gordon, a Scotch emif»rant,
whom necessity hud driven from tlie bhic hills and
fertile vallies of his native land, to seek a shelter
in the tangled mazes of the forests of the new
world. Few would have had the courage to ven-
ture thus into the very power of the savage — but
Kenneth Gordon possessed a strong arm and a
hopeful heart, to give the lips he loved unbor-
rowed bread ; this nerved him against danger,
and, 'spite of the warning of friends, Kenneth
pitched his tent twelve miles from the nearest set-
tlement. Two years passed over the family in
their lonely home, and nothing had occurred to
disturb their peace, when business required
Kenneth's presence up the river. One calm and
dewy morning he prepared for his journey; Ma-
rion Gordon followetl her husband to the wicket,
and a tear, which she vaiidv strove to hide with a
smile, trembled in her large blue eye. She wedded
Kenneth when she might well have won a richer
bridegroom : she chose him for his worth ; their
lot had been a hard one — but in all the changing
scenes of life their love remained unchanged ;
and Kenneth Gordon, although thirteen years a

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Juisband, was still a lover. Marion strove to ral-
ly her spirits, as her husband gaily cheered her
with an assurance of his return before night.
'* Why so fearful, Marion ? See here is our ain
bonny Charlie for a guard, anil what better could
an auld Jacobite wish for ?" said Kenneth, look-
ing fondly on his wife ; while their son marched
past them in his Highland dress and wooden
claymore by his side. Marion smiled as her hus-
band playfully alluded to the difference in their
religion; for Kenneth was a staunch presbyterian,
and his wife a Roman catholic; yet that differ-
ence — for which so much blood has been shed in
the world — never for an instant dimmed the lus-
tre of their peace; and Marion told her glittering
beads on the same spot where her husband breath-
ed his simple prayer. Kenneth, taking advan-
tage of the smile he had roused, waved his hand
to th(; little group, and was soon out of sigl)t.
The hot and sultry day was passed by Marion in
a state of restless anxiety, but it was ibr Kenneth
alone she feared, and the hours sped heavily till
she might expect his return. Slowly the burning
sun declined in the heavens, and poured a flood
of golden radiance on the leafy trees and the
bright waves of the majestic river, which rolled
its graceful waters past the settlers dwelling.
Marion left her infant asleep in a small shed at
the back of the log-house, with Mary, her eldest
daughter, to watch by it, and taking Charlie by
the hand went out to the gate to look for her hus-
band's return. Kenneth's father, an old and al-
most superannuated man, sat in the door-way,
with twin girls of Kenneth's sitting on his knees,
singing their evening hymn, while he bent fondly
over them.

Scarcely had Mai'ion reached the wicket, when
a loud yell — the wild war-whoop of the sava<re
— rang on her startk'd oar. A thousand dark
lignres seemed to start iVoni the uaier's edi^e
— the hous(» was surrounded, and she heheld
the grey hairs of the old man twined round in the
hand of one, and the brinht curls ol he »• daughters
gleamed in that ot another ; while the glittering
tomahawk glared like lightning in her eyes.
Madly she rushed forward to siiield her children ;
the vengeance of the Indian was glutted, and tiie
life-blood of their victims crimsoned tin; hearth-
stone ! The house was soon in flames — tiie war
dance was finished — and their canoes houiuled
iightly on the waters, bearing them far from the
scene of their havoc.

As the sun set a heavy shower of rain fell and
refreshed the parched earth — the flowers sent u})
a irrateful IVaorance on the eveiiino' air the few
singing birds of the woods jioured forth their
notes of melody — the blue jay screamed among
the crimson buds of the ma})le, and the humming
bird gleamed through the emerald sprays of the
beech tree.

The pearly moon was slowly rising in the
blue juther, when Kenneth Gordon a})proach-
ed his home. He was weary with his journey,
but the pictured visions of his happy home,
his smiling wife, and the caresses of his sunny
haired children, cheered the Ikthe/s heart, though
his step was languid, and hij; brow feverish. Hut
oh ! what a sight of horror for a fond and loving
heart met his eyes, as he came in sight of the
spot that contained his earthly treasures — the
foreboding silence had surprised him — he heard

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IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

^.^^

1.0

1.1

■ 50

115

2.2

140

L25 11.4

2.0

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Hiotographic

Sciences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

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not the gleeful voices of his children, as they
were wont to bound forth to meet him, he saw
not Marion stand at the gate to greet liis return
— but a thick black smoke rose heavilv to the
summits of the trees, and the smouldering logs of
the building fell with a sullen noise to the ground.
The rain had quenched the fire, and the house
was not all consumed. Wild with terror, Ken-
neth rushed forward ; his feet slipped on the
bloody threshhold, and he fell on the mangled
bodies of his father and his children. The de-
moniac laceration of the stiffeninir victims told
too plainly who had been their murderers. How
that night of horror passed Kenneth knew not.
The morning sun was shining bright — when the
bereaved and broken-hearted man was roused
from the stupor of despair by the sound of the
word *' father" in his ears ; he raised his eyes, and
beheld Mary, his eldest daughter, on her knees
beside him. For a moment Kenneth fancied he
had had a dreadful dream, but the awful reality
was before him. He pressed Mary wildly to his
bosom, and a passionate flood of tears relieved his
burning brain. Mary had heard the yells of the
savages, and the shrieks of her mother convinced
her that the dreaded Indians had arrived. She
threw open the window, and snatching the infant
from its bed, flew like a wounded deer to the
woods behind the house. The frightened girl
heard all, remained quiet, and knowing her father
woidd soon return, left the little Alice asleep on
some dried leaves, and ventured from her hiding
place.

No trace of Marion or of Charles could
be found — they had been reserved for a worse

8J)

fate ; and for months a vigilanf, search was kept
up — parties of the settlers, leci on hy Kenneth,
scoured the woods night and day. Many miles
off' a bloody battle had been fought between two
hostile tribes, where a part of Marlon's dress and
of her son's was found, but here all trace of the
Indians ended, and Kenneth returned to his deso-
lated home. No persuasion could induce him to
leave the place where the joys of his heart had
been buried: true, his remaining children yet
linked him to life, but his love fol* them only in-
creased his sorrow for the dead and the lost.
Kenneth became a prematurely old man — his
dark hair faded white as the mountain snow — his
brow was wrinkled, and his tall figure bent down-
wards to the earth.

Seventeen years had rolled on their returnless
flight since that night of withering sorrow. Ken-
neth Gordon still lived, a sad and broken-spirited
man ; but time, that great tamer of the human
heart, v/hich dulls the arrows of affliction, and
softens the bright tints of joy down to a sober
hue, had shed its healing influence even over his
wounded heart. Mary Gordon had been some
years a wife, and her children played around
Kenneth's footsteps. A little Marion recalled the
wife of his youth; and another, Charlie, the image
of his lost son, slept in liis bosom. There was
yet another person who was as a sunbeam in the
sight of Kenneth ; her light laugh sounded as
music in his ears, and the joy-beams of her eyes
fell gladly on his soul. This gladdener of sorrow
was his daughter Alice, now a young and lovely
woman ; bright and beautiful was she, lovely as u
rose-bud, with a living soul —

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** No fountain from its nafive cave,
E'er tripped witli foot so free ;
She was as happy as a wave
That dances o'er the sea."

Alice was but five months old when her mother
was taken from her, but Mary, who watched over
her helpless infancy with a care far beyond her
years, and with love equal to a mother's, was re-
paid by Alice with most unbounded affection;
for to the love of a sister was added the veneration
of a parent.

One bright and balmy Sabbath morning Ken-
neth Gordon and his family left their home for
the house of prayer. Mary and her husband
walked together, and their children gambolled on
the grassy path before them. Kenneth leaned on
the arm of his daughter Alice; another person
walked by her side, whose eye, when it met her's,
deepened the tint on her fair cheek. It was Wil-
liam Douglas — the chosen lover of her heart, and
well worthy was he to love the gentle Alice, to-
gether they proceeded to the holy altar, and the
next Sabbath was to be their bridal day.

A change had taken place since Kenneth Gor-
don first settled on the banks of the lonely river.
The white walls and graceful spire of a church
now rose where the blue smoke of the solitary
log-house once curled through the forest trees;
and the ashes of Kenneth's children and his fa-
ther reposed within its sacred precincts. A large
and populous village stood where the red deer
roved on his trackless path. The white sails of
the laden barque gleamed on the water, where
erst floated the stealthy canoe of the savage; and

a pious throng offered tlieir aspirations where
fhe war-whoop had rung on tlie air.

Alice was to spend the remaining days of her
maiden life with a young friend, a few miles from
her father's, and they were to return together on
her bridal eve. William Douglas accompanied
Alice on her walk to the house of her friend.
Tliey parted within a few steps of the house,
William returned home, and Alice, gay and glad-
some as a bird, entered a piece of wood, which
led directly to the house. Scarcely had she en-
tered it when she was seized by a strong arm ;
her mouth was gagged, and something thrown
over her herd ; she was then borne rapidly down
the bank of the river, and laid in a canoe. She
heard no voices, and the swift motion of the canoe
rendered her unconscious. How long the jour-
ney lasted she knew not. At length she found
herself, on recovering from partial insensibility,
in a rude hut, with a frightful- looking Indian
squaw bathing her hands, while another held a
blazing torch of pine above her head. Their hi-
deous faces, frightful as the imagery of a dream,
scared Alice, and she fainted again.

The injuries which Kenneth Gordon had suf-
fered from the savages made him shudder at the
name of Indian — and neither he nor his family
ever held converse with those who traded in the
village. Metea, a chief of the Menomene Indians,
in his frequent trading expeditions to the village,
had often seen Alice, and became enamoured of
the village beauty. He had long watched an op-
portunity of stealing her, and bearing her away
to his tribe, where he made no doubt of winning
her love. When Alice recovered the squaws left

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her, and Metea entered the hut ; he commenced
by tellinfr her of the great honour in being allow-
ed to share the hut of Metea, a" brave" whose bow
was always strung, whose tomahawk never missed
its blow, and whose scalps were as numerous as
the stars in the path-way of ghosts ; and he
pointed to the grisly trophies hung in the smoke
of the cabin. He concluded by giving her furs
and strings of beads, with which the squaws de-
corated her, and the next morning the trembling
girl was led from the hut, and lifted into a circle
formed of the warriors of the tribe. Here Metea
stood forth and declared his deeds of bravery, and
asked their consent for " the flower of the white
nation" to be his bride. When he had finished,
a young warrior, whose light and graceful limbs
might well have been a sculptor's model, stood
foi vard to speak. He was dressed in the richest
Indian costume, and his scalping knife and beaded
r>ioccasins glittered in the sunshine. His features
bore an expression very different from the others.
Neither malice nor cunning lurked in his full dark
eye, but a calm and majestic melancholy reposed
on his high and smooth brow, and was diffused
over his whole mein; and, in the clear tones of
his voice, " Brothers," said he to the warriors,
'* we have buried the hatchet with the white na-
tion — it is very deep beneath the earth — shall we
dig it because Metea scorns the women of his
tribe, because he has stolen 'the flower of the
white nation ?* Let her be restored to her peo-
ple, lest her chiefs come to claim her, and Metea
lives to disgrace the brave warriors of the woods?"
He sat down, and the circle rising, said, " Our
brother speaks well, but Metea is very bra
It was decided that Alice should remain.

»>

Towards evening Metea entered tlie hut, and
opproacliing Alice, caught hold of her hand, —
the v'ildest passion gleamed in his glittering eyes,
and Alice, shrieking, ran towards the door.
Metea caught her in his arms and pressed her to
his bosom. Again she shrieked, and a descend-
ing blow cleft Metea's skidl in sunder, and his
blood fell on lier neck. It was the young Indian
who advised her liberation in the morninfr who
dealt Metea's death-blow. Taking Alice in his
arms, he stepped hghtly from the hut. It was
a still and starless night, and the sleeping Indians
saw them not. Unloosing a canoe, he placed
Alice in it, and pushed softly from the shore.

Before the next sunset Alice was in sight of
her home. Her father and friends knew nothin<r
of what had transpired. They flmcied her at her
friend's house, and terror at her peril and joy at
her return followed in the same breath, Mary
threw a timid, yet kind glance on the Indian war-
rior who had saved her darling Alice, and Ken-
neth pressed the hand of him who restored liis
child. In a few minutes William Douglas joined
the happy group, and she repeated her escape on
his bosom. That night Kenneth Gordon's prayer
was longer and more fervent than usual. The fa-
ther's thanks arose to the throne of grace for
the safety of his child; he prayed for her deliverer,
and for pardon for the hatred he had nurtured
against the murderers of his children. During
the prayer the Indian stood apart, his arms were
folded, and deep thought was marked on his
brow. When it was finished, Mary's children
knelt and received Kenneth's blessing, ere they
retired to rest. The Indian n shed forward, and,

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bursting into tears, threw himself at the old man's
feet — he bent his feathered head to the earth.
1'he stern warrior wept like a child. Oh ! who
can trace the deep workin<rs of the human heart?
Who can tell in what hidden fount the feelings
have their spring ? The forest chase — the bloody
field — the war dance — all the pomp of savage life
passed like a dream from the Indian's soul ; a
cloud seemed to roll its shadows from his memo-
ry. That evening's prayer, and a father's bless-
ing, recalled a time faded from his recollection,
yet living in the dreams of his soul. He thought
of the })eriod when he, a happy child like those
before him, had knelt and heard the same sweet
words breathed o'er his bending head : he remem-
bered having received a father's kiss, and a mo-
ther's smile gleamed like a star in his memory ;
but ihe fleeting visions of childhood were fading
again into darkness, when Kenneth arose, and,
clasping the Indian wildly to his breast, exclaim-
ed, " My son, my son I my long lost Charles !"
The springs of the father's love gushed forth to
iTieei his son, and the unseen sympathy of nature
guided him to " The Lost One." 'Twas indeed
Charles Gordon, whom his father held to his
breast, but not as he lived in his father's fancy.
He beheld him a painted savage, whose hand was
yet stained with blood; but Kenneth's fondest
prayer was granted, and he pressed him again to
his bosom, exclaiming again, " He is my son." A
small gold cross hung suspended from the collar
of Charles. Kenneth knew it well ; it had be-
longed to Marion, who hung it round her son's
neck e'er her eyes were closed. She had sickened
early of her captivity, and died while her son was

n, '

yet a child : but the relics she had left were prized
by him as somethin«T holy. From his wampum
belt he took a roll of the bark of the birch tree,
on which somethirif^ had been written with a pen-
cil. The writing was nearly effaced, and the sig-
nature of Marion Gordon was alone distinguish-
able. Kenneth pressed the writing to his lips,
and again his bruised spirit mourned for his
sainted Marion. Mary and Alice greeted their
restored brother with warm affection. Kenneth
lived but in the sight of his son. Charles re-
joiced in their endearments, and all the joys of
kindred were to him

" New as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcome as if known for years."

But soon a change came o'er the young warrior;
his eye grew dim, his step was heavy, and his
brow was sad : he sought for solitude, and he
seemed like a bird pining for freedom. They
thou<rht he siohed for the liberty of his savaj^e
life, but, alas ! it was another cause. The better
feelings of the human heart all lie dormant in the
Indian character, and are but seldom called into
action. Charles had been the " stern stoic of the
woods" till he saw Alice. Then the first warm
rush of young affections bounded like a torrent
through his veins, and he loved his sister with a
passion so strong, so overwhelming, that it sapped
the current of his life. The marriage of Alice
had been delayed on his return — it would again
have been delayed on his account, but he himself
urged it forward. Kenneth entered the church
with Charles leaning on his arm. During the ce-
remony he stood apart from the others. When it

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was finished, Alice went up to him and took his
hand ; it was cold as marble — he was dead ; his
spirit fled with the bridal benediction. Kenneth's
heart bled afresh for his son, and as he laid his
head in the earth he felt that it would not belong
till he followed him. Nor was he mistaken; for
a few mornintijs after he was found dead on tho
grave of " 27ie Lost One'*

And now the bright summer of New Brunswick
drew onward to its close. The hay, which in
this country is cut in a much greener state than
is usual elsewhere, and which, from this cause, re-
tains its fragrance till the spring, was safely lodg-
ed in the capacious barns. The buck wheat had
changed its delicate white flower for the brown
clusters of its grain, and the reaper and the
thrasher were both busied with it, for so loosely
does this grain hang on its stem that it is general-
ly thrashed out of doors as soon as ripe, as much
would be lost in the conveyance to the barn.

Grace Marley's time of departure now drew
near ; her governmert stipend had arrived. The
proprietors, who paid in trade, had deposited the
butter and oats equivalent to her hire in the mar-
ket boat, in which she intended to proceed to town.
And as this is decidedly the pleasantest method of
travelling, I laid out to accompany her by the
same conveyance, and we were spending the last
evening with Mrs. Gordon, who also was to be
our companion to St. John ; we walked with He-
len through her flower-garden, who showed us
some flowers, the seeds of which she had received
from the old country, I saw a bright hue pass
o'er the brow of Grace as we walked among them,

and tears gushed forth from her warm and feeling
heart. Next day she explained what occasioned
her emotion, a feelii:j which all must have felt,
awakened by as slight a cause, when wandering
far from their native land. Thus she pourtrayed
what she then felt —

THE MIGNIONETTE.

'Twas when tlic summer's golden evo
Fell dim o'er flower and fruit,
A mystic spell was o'er me thrown,
As I'd drank of some charmed root.
It came o'er my soul as the breeze swept by,
Like the breath of some blessed thing ;
Again it came, and my spirit rose
As if borne on an angel's wing.
It bore me away to my native land,
Away o'er the deep sea foam ;
And I stood, once more a happy child,
By the hearth of my early home.
And well-loved forms were by me therf,
That long in the grave had lain ;
And I heard the voice's I heard of old,
And they smiled on me again.
And I knew once more the dazzling light,
Of the spirit's gladsome youth ;
And lived again in the sunny light
Of the heart's unbroken truth.
Yet felt I then, as we always feel.
The sweet grief o'er me cast,
"When a chord is waked of the spirit's harp,
"Which telleth of the past.
And what could it be, that blissful trance ?
What caused the soul to glide ^
Forgetting alike both time and change,
So far o'er memory's tide.

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Oh ! could that deep mysterious power

Bo but the breath of an earthly tlowor?

'Twas not the rose with her leaves so bri<yht,

That flung o'er my soul such dazzling lignt,

Nor the tiger lily's gorgeous dies,

That changed the hue of my spirit's eyes.

'Twas not Irom the pale, but gifted leaf,

That bringeth to mortal pain relief.

Not where the blue wreaths of the star-flower shine,

Nor lingered it in the airy bells

Of the graceful columbine.

But again it cometh, I breathe it yet,

'Tis the sigh of the lowly mignionette.

And there, 'mid the garden's leafy gems,

Blossomed a group of its fairy stems ;

Few would have thought of its faint perfume,

While they gazed on the rosebud's crimson bloom.

But to me it was laden with sighs and tears,

And the faded hopes of by-gone years.

Many a vision, long buried deep.

Was waked again from its dreamless sleep.

Thoughts whose light was dim before,

Lived in their pristine truth once more.

Well might its Ibrm with my fancies weave.

For in youth it seemed with me to joy,

And in woe with me to grieve.

Oft have 1 knelt in the cool moonlight.

Where it wreathed the lattice pane,

'Till 1 felt that lie who formed the flower

Would hear my prayei' again.

Then, welcome sweet thing, in this stranger land.

May it smile upon thy birth.

Light fall the rain on thy lovely head.

And genial be the earth ;

And blest be the power that gave to thee,

All lowly as thou art,

The gift unknown to prouder things,

To soothe and teach the heart.

aE^

Next day we proceeded on our journey, and,
preferrintr the coolness of the dock to the lieated
atmosphere of tlie cabin, seated ourselves there
to enjoy the (piiet hc:iuly of tlie nii^lit. Tliii
full ^lory of a September's moon was beaming
bri^^rht in the clear rich blue of heaven; the
stars were glitterin<^ in the water's de})lhs, and
ever and anon the fire flie;4 flashed like diamonds
throiinh the dark foliage on the shore — the light
fair breeze scarce stirred the ripples on the stream
— when, from one of the white dwellings on the
beach iti whose casement a light was yet burning,
came a low, sad strain of sorrow, 1 had heard
that sound once before, and knew now it was the
wail of Irish grief. Strange that mournful dirge
of Erin sounded in that distant land. Grace
knevv the language of her country, and ere the
** keen" had died upon the breeze, she translated
thus

THE SONG or THE lEISH MOUllNER.

Lifflit of the widow's heart ! art thou then dead?
And is then thy spirit from earth over fled?
And shall we, then, see Ihce and 1 ear thee no more,
All radiant in beauty and life as before ?

My own blue-eyed darling, Oli, why didst thou die,
Ere the tear-drop of sorrow had dimmed thy bright eye,
Ere thy cheek's blooming hue felt one touch of decay,
Or thy long golden ringlets were mingled with grey ?

Why, star of our path-way, why didst thou depart?
"VVhy leave us to weep for the jmlse of the heart ?
01), darkened for ever is life's sunny liour,
"V^hen robbed of its brightest and lovehe&t flower!

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Around thy low biei* sacred incense is flingini^,
Anu soft on tho air are the silver bells ringinor ;
For the peace of thy soul is the holy mass said,
And on thy fair forehead tho blessed cross laid.

Soft, soft be thy slumbers, our lady receive thee,
And shining in glory for ever thy soul be ;
To the climes of the blessed, my own grama-chree.
May blessings attend thee, sweet cushla ma-chree.

As we passed the jcmsefy, we spoke of the time
when Madame la Tour so bravely defended the
fort in the absence of her husband— -this occurred
in the early times of the province, and strange
stories are told of spirit forms which glide along
the beach, beneath whose sands the white bones
of the French and Indians, who fell in the deadly
fight, lie buried. Talking of these things,
induced Mrs. Gordon to tell us the following
tale, which she had heard, and which I have
entitled

101

,1 Mi

A WINTER'S EVENING SKETCH,

WRITTEN IN NEW BRUNSWICK.

** Oh ! there's a dream of early youth,

And it never comes again ;

'Tis a vision of joy, and light, and truth,

That flits across the br&in ;

And love is the theme of that early dream,
' So wild, so warm, BO new.

And oft I ween, in our after-years,

That early dream we rue."~*Mr8. IIemans.

The winter's eve had gathered o*er New Bruns-
wick, and the snow was tailing, as in tliat clime it
onlyknowshowtofall. The atmosphere was hkethe
face ot" Sterne's monk, "calm, cold, and penetrat-
ing,'' and the faint tinkling of the sleigh bells came
mournfully on the ear as a knell of sadness — so
utterly cheerless was the scene. Another hour
passed, and our journey was ended. The open
door of the hospitable dwelling was ready to re-
ceive us^ and in the light and heat of a happy
home, toil and trouble were alike forgotten.

There is always something picturesque in the
interior of a New Brunswick farm house, and
this evening everything assumed an aspect of in-
tercGt and beauty. It might have been the com-
fortable contrast to the scene without that threw its
mellow tints aroimd. Even the homely loom and
spinning-wheel lost their uncouthness, and recalled
to the mind's imagery the classic dreams of old
romance -Hercules in the chambers of Omphale

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the story of Arachne and Penelope, the faithful
wife of brave Ulysses ; but there was other food
for the spirit which required not the aid of fancy
to render pahitable. On the large centre table,
round which were grouped the household band,
with smiling brows and liappy hearts, lay the ma-
gazines and papers of the day, with their sweet
tales and poetic gems. The " Amulet" and
" Keepsake" glittering in silk and gold, and
" Chambers," with plain, unwinning exterior, the
ungarnished casket of a mine of treasure, gave
forth, like whisperings from a better land, their
gentle influence to soothe and cheer the heart,
and teach the spirit higher aspirations, whilebreath-
ing the magic spells raised by their fairy power —
those sweet creators of a world unswayed by earth,
where hope and beauty live undimmed by time or
tears — givers to all who own their power, a solace
*mid the pining cares of life. Thus, with the aid
of these, and the joys of converse, sped the night;
and as the wind which had now arisen blew heavy
gusts of frozen rain against the windows, we re-
joiced in our situation all the more, and looked
complacently on the great mainspring of our
comfort, the glowing stove, which imparted its
grateful caloric through the apartment, and bore
on its polished surface shining evidence of the
housewife's care. 'Twas apparently already a
favourite, and the storm without had enhanced its
value. Without dissent, all agreed in its perfec-
tion and superiority over ordinary fire-places.

Twas a theme which called forth conversation,
and when all had given their opinion, uncle Ethel
was asked for his.

:- The persoT so addressed was an aged mawj

103

who reclined in an arm cliair apart from the
others, sharing not in v/orils with their dis-
course or mirth, but smiling like a benignant
spirit on them. More than eighty years of shade
and sunshine had passed o*er him. The few snowy
locks which Hngered yet around his brow were
soft and silky as a child's — time and sorrow had
traced him but a gentle path, 'twould seem by the
hght which yet beamed in his calm blue eye and
placid smile, the expression was far different from
mirthful happiness, but breathed of holy peace
and spirit pure, tempered with love and kindness
for all — living in the past dreams of youth, he loved
the present, when it recalled their sweet memo-
ries in brighter beauty from the tomb of faded
years, and then it seemed as if a secret woe arose
and dimmed the vision when it glowed brightest.
A deeper sorrow than for departed youth flashed
o'er his brow, brief but fearful, as though he once,
and but once only, had felt a pang of agony which
had deadened all other lighter woes, and, over-
come by resignation, left the spirit calmer as its
strong feeling passed away. Such was what we
knew of uncle Ethel, but ere the night had worn
we knew him better. Joining us in our conver-
sation regarding the stove, he smiled, and said he
agreed not with us — our favourite was more
sightly, and more useful, but it bore not the
friendly face of the old hearthstone — one of me-
mory's most treasured spots was gone— they?rc-
side of our home — the thought of whose hallowed
precincts cheers the wanderer's heart, and has
won many from the path of error, to seek again
its sinless welcome.

'Tis while sitting by the fireside at eve, said

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he, that the vanished forms of other days ga-
ther round me — there where our happiest
meetings were in the holy sanctity of our
home. Where peace and love hovered o*er us, I
see again kind faces Ht by the ruddy gleam, and
hear again the evening hymn, as of old it used to
rise from the loving band assembled there. Alas !
long years have passed since I missed them from
the earth, but there they meet me still — in the
glowing fire's bright light I trace their sweet
names, and the vague fancies of childhood are
waked again from their dim repose to live in light
and truth once more, amid the fantastic visions and
shadowy forms, flitting through the red world of
embers, on which I loved to gaze when thought
and hope were young. 1 love it even now — the
sorrow that is written there makes it more holy
to my mind, telling me, as it does, of a clime where
grief comes not, and where the blighted hope and
broken heart will be at rest. v J/

But why, said the old man, do I talk so long
— I weary you, my children, for the fancies
of age are not those of youth — hope's fairy
flowers are bright for you — the faded things
of memory are mine alone — with them I live,
but rejoice ye in your happiness, and gather
now, in the spring time of your days, treasures
to cheer you in the fall of life. As to your
favourite, the stove, although I love it not so well
as the old familiar fire-place, 1 can admire and
value it as part of the spirit of improvement which
is spreading o'er our land — her early troubles are
passing away, and she is rising fast to take her
place among the nations of the earth — bitter has
been her struggle for existence, but the clouds are

165

fading in the brightness of her coming years, and
her past woes will be forgotten.

He ceased, but we all loved to hear him talk,
he was so kind and good, and he was earnestly
requested for one of those tales of the early times
of our own land, which had often thrilled us with
their simple, yet often woeful interest.

I am become an egotist to-night, for self is the
only theme of which I can discourse. My spirit,
too, is like the minstrel harp of which you have
to-night been reading, 'twill *' echo nought but
sadness ;" but if it please you, you shall have un-
cle Ethel's love story — well may we say alas 1 for
time,

" For he taketh away the heart of youth.
And its gladness Avhich hath been
Like the summer's sunshine on our path,
Making the desert green."

More than sixty years have elapsed since the
time of which I now shall speak. We lived then,
a large and happy family, in the dwelling where
our fathers' sires had died — sons and daughters
had married, but still remained beneath the sha-
dow of the parent roof tree, which seemed to ex-
tend its wings like a guardian spirit, as they in-
creased in number. 'Twas near the city of New
York, and stood in the centre of sunny fields,
which had been won from the forest shade. Our
parents were natives of the soil, but theirs had
come from the far land of Germany, and the me-
mories of that land were still fondly cherished by
their descendants. The low-roofed cottage, with
its many-pointed gables and narrow casement, was
gay with the bright flowers of that home of their

ill;

106

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hearts — cherished and guarded there with the
tenderest care — all hues of earth seemed blended
in the bright parterre of tulips, over which the
magnificent dahlia towered, tall and stately as a
queen - the rich scent of the wallflower breathed
around, and the jessamine went climbing freely
o*er the trellissed porch and arching eaves — each
flower around my home bore to me the face of a
friend — they bore to me the poetry of the earth, as
the stars tell the sweet harmonies of heaven — but
there is a vision of fairer beauty than either star
or flower comes with the thought of these bye-
gone days — the face of my orphan cousin Ella
Werner arises in the brightness of its young
beauty, as it used to beam upon me from the lat-
ticed window of my home : for her's, indeed,

"Was a form of life and light,
1 hat seen became a part of sight,
And comes where'er I turn mine eye,
'• . ; • The morning star of memory."

Ella's mother was sister to my father : she lived
but long enough to look upon her child, and her
husband died of a broken heart soon after her.
Thus the very existence of the fair girl was fatal
to those who best loved her — not best, lor all
living loved her. lu after-years it seemed
as though it was her beauty, that fatal gift,
which ne'er for good was given to many,
caused her woe. Ella's spirit was pure and bright
as the eyes through which it beamed — the glad-
ness of her young heart's happiness rung in the
silvery music of her voice, and in the fairy magic
of her smile she looked as if sorrow could never
dim the golden lustre of her curls, or trace a cloud

lOT

on her snowy brow— gentle and lovely she was,
and that was all. There was no depth of thought,
no strength of mind, to form the character of one
so gifted. Her faculties fo^^ reasoning were ine
impulses of her own heart: these were generally
good, and constituted her principle of action — but
changeful as the summer sky are the feelings of
the human heart, unswayed by the deeper power
of the head. Such were Ella's, and their power
destroyed her. Alas ! how calmly can I talk now
of her faults; but who could think of them when
they looked upon her, and loved her as I did-~
*tis only since she is gone I discover them.

Of the other members of the family I need not
speak, as you already know of them; but there is
one whose name you have never heard, for crime
and sorrow rest with it, and oblivion shrouds his
memory. Conrad Ernstein was also my cousin,
and an orphan — he was an inmate of our dwelling,
and my mother was to him as a parent. He was
some years older, but his delicate constitution and
studious mind withdrew him from the others, and
made him the companion of Ella and myself. I
have said that Ella's mind was too volatile, so in
like degree was Conrad's, in its deep unchanging
firmness and immutability of purpose. Nothing
deterred him from the pursuit of any object he
engaged in — obstacles but increased his energy to
overcome and call forth stronger powers of
mind — this was observable in his learning.
Science the most abstruse and difficult was his
favourite study, and in these he attained an ex-
cellence rarely arrived at by one so situated.
Wondered at and admired by all, his pride which
was great was amply gratified, and what was evil

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in his nature was not yet called into being— his
disposition was melancholy, and showed none of
the joyousness of youth — yet that very sadness
seemed to make us love him all the more — his air
of suffering asked for pity — 'twas strange to see
the glad-hearted Ella leave my mother's side,
while she sang to us the songs of the blue Rhine,
and bend her sunny brow with him over the an-
cient page of some clasped volume, containing the
terrific legends of the " black forest,*' till the tales
of the wild huntsmen filled her with dread — then
again would she spring to my mother, and bury-
ing her head in her bosom, ask her once more to
sing the songs of her native land, for so we still
called Germany ; and, as you see, the romances
and legends of that country formed our child-
hood's lore, my early love for Ella grew and in-
creased with my years, and I fancied that she
loved me.

On the first of May, or, as it was by us styled,
*' Walburga's eve," the young German maidens
have a custom of seeking a lonely stream, and
flinging on its waters a wreath of early flowers,
as an offering to a spirit which then has power.
When, as the legend tells, the face of their lover
will glide along the water, and the name be borne
on the breeze, if the gift be pleasing to the spirit.
Ella, 1 knew, had for some time been preparing
to keep this ancient relic of the pagan rites — she
had a treasured rose tree which bloomed, unex-
pectedly, early in the season — these delicate things
she fancied would be a fitting offering to the
spirit. She paused not to think of what she was
about to do —the thing itself was but a harmless
folly — from aught of ill her nature would have

109

drawn instindively ; but evil there might have
been — slie stayed not to weigh the result — at the
last hour of sunset she wreathed her roses, and
set out. In the lightness of my heart I followed
in the same path, intending to surprize her. 1
heard her clear voice floating on the air, as she
sung the invocation to the spirit — the words were
these : —

'f I

Blue-eyed spirit of balmy spring,
Bright young flowers to tlice I bring,
Wreaths all tinged witli hues divine.
Meet to rest on thy fairy ''hririe.
With these I invoke thy gentle care,
Queen of the earth and ambient air,
Come with the liglit of thy radiant skies,
Trace on the stream my true love's eyes,
Show me the face in the silvery deep,
Whose image for aye my lieart may keep;
Bid the waters echoing shell,
Whisper the name thy breezes tell. '
And still on the feast of Walburga's eve,
Bright young flowers to thee I'll give ;
Beautiful spirit I've spoken the spell,
And offered the gift thou lovest well."

The last notes died suddenly away, and Ella,
greatly agitated, threw herself into my arms. I
enquired the cause of her terror, and forgetting
her secrecy, she said a face had appeared to her
on the stream. Just then we saw Conrad, who
had followed on the same purpose I had, but had
fallen and hnrt his ancle, and was unable to pro-
ceed. He joined not with me when I laughed at
Ella*s fright, but a deeper paleness overspread his
countenance. Raising his eyes to the heavens,
they rested on a star beaming brightly in the blue
— its mild radiance seemed to soothe him. See
ye yonder, said he, how clear and unclouded the

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lustre of that shining orb — these words seemed
irrelevant, but I knew their meaning. His know-
ledge of German litf»rature had led him into the
mazes of its mingled philosophy and wild romance.
Astronomy and astrology were to him the same ;
the star to which he pointed was what he called
the planet of his fate, and its brightness or obscurity
were shadowed in his mind — its aspect caused him
either joy or woe. The incident of Ella's fright
agitated him much, for the occurrences of this
real world were to him all tinged with the super-
natural ; but he looked again at the heavens, and
the mild lustre of the star was reflected in his eyes ;
he leaned upon my arm, and we passed onward.
I knew not then that his dark spirit felt the sun-
beams which illumined mine own.

That same balmy evening I stood with Ellaby the
silver stream which traced its shining path around
our home, watching the clear moonbeams as they
flashed in the fairy foambells sparkling at our
feet. There I first told my love — her hand was
clasped in mine — she heard me, and raising her
dewy eyes, said, " Dearest Ethel, I love you well ;
but not as she who weds must love you — be still
to me my own dear friend and brother, and Ella
will love you as she ever has. Ask not for more."
She left me, and 1 saw a tear-drop gem the silken
braid on her cheek, and thus my dream of beauty
burst. My spirit's light grew dark as the treasured
spell which bound me broke, Some hours passed
in agony, such as none could feel but those who
loved .as I did — so deep, so fondl3\

As I approached my home the warm evening
light was streaming from the windows, and I heard
her rich voice thrilling its wild melody* Every

Ill

brow smiled upon her : even Conrad's was unbent.
I looked iijion her, and prayed she might never
know 11 grief like mine. The ringing music of
her laugh greeted my entrance, and ere the night
had passed she charmed away my woe.

While these things occurred with us, the as-
pect of the times without had changed. America
made war with England. What were herinjuries
we asked not, but *twas not likely that we, come
of a race who loved so well their "fatherland and
king,'* would join with those who had risen against
theirs. As vet the crisis was not come, and in
New York British power was still triumphant.

Among the many festivities given by the offi-
cers, naval and military, then in the country, was
a splendid ball on board a British frigate then in
the harbour. To this scene of magic beauty and de-
light I accompanied Ella— 'twas but a few days af-
ter that unhappy first of May; but the buoyant spi-
rits of youth are soon rekindled, and Ella yet, I
thought, might love me. The scene was so new,
and withal so splendid in its details, that it comes
before me now fresh and undimmed. The night
was one of summer's softest, earliest beauty: the
moonlight slept upon the still waters, and the tall
masts, with all their graceful tracery of spar and
line, were bathed with rich radiance, mingled with
the hundred lights of coloured lamps, suspended
from festoons of flowers ; low couches stood along
the bulwarks of the noble ship, and the meteor
flag of England, which waved so oft amid the
battle and the breeze, now wafted its ruby cross
o'er fair forms gliding through the dance, to the
rich strains of merry music — 'twas an hour that
sent glad feeling to the heart. The gay dresses

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and noble bearing of tlie nulitary officers, all glls»
tening in scarlet and gold, conlrasteil well with the
white robes and delicate beauty of the fair girls
by their sides. But they had their rivals in the
gallant givers of the fete. Many a lady's heart
was lost that night. ** What is it always makes a
sailor so dangerous a rival ?" Ella used to say,
when rallied on her partiality for a " blue jacket,"
that she loved it because it was the colour of so
many things dear to her : the sky was blue, the
waves of the deep mysterious sea were blue, and
the wreaths of that fairy flower, which bears the
magic name forget-me-not, were of the same
charmed hue. Some such reason, I suppose, it is
that makes every maiden love a sailor.

While we stood gazing on the scene, enchanted
and delighted, one came near and joined our
group. Nobility of mind and birth was written
on his brow in beauty's brightest traits. He
seemed hardly nineteen, but, young as he was,
many a wild breeze had parted the wavy ringlets
of his hair, and the salt spray of the ocean raised
a deeper hue on his cheek. His light and grace-
ful figure was clad in the becoming costume of his
rank, and on his richly braided bosom rested three
half blown roses. Ella's eyes for an instant met
his, they felluponthe flowers, and she dropped faint-
ing from my arm. The mystery was soon explained.
De Clairville, such was the stranger's name, had
been walking on the cliffs when Ella sought the
stream — he heard her voice and approached to see
from whence it came — his was the face she had
seen upon the waters ; he heard her scream, and
descended to apologise, but she was gone, and he
bad found and worn her rose buds —

** oil ! there nre looks and ton«s that darl
An instant 8un«hine through the hearty
As ir the soul that instant caught
Some treasure it through lire hud sought ;
As if tlie very lips und eyes,
Predestined to have all our sighs,
And never he forgot again,
Sparkled and spoke berore us then.'*

So sings the poet, and so seemfctl it with Ella and
De Clairville ; and when the rosy morn, tinging
the eastern sky, announced to the revellers the
hour of parting, that night of happiness was deem-
ed too short.

To hasten on my story, I must merely say that
they became fondly attached, and when De Clair-
ville departed for another station, he left Ella as
his betrothed bride. On love such as theirs 'twould
seem to all that heaven smiled ; but inscrutable
to human eyes are the ways of Providence, for
deadly was the blight thrown o'er them.

Meanwhile the events in which the country was
engaged drew to a close. England acknowledged
the independence of America, and withdrew her
fcrces ; but while she did so, offered a home and
protection to those who yet wished to claim it.
We were among the first to embrace the proposal :
and though with sadness we left our sunny home
with all ir fond remembrances, yet integrity of
mind was dearer still. We might not stay in the
land with whose institutions we concurred not.
Conrad, with his learning and talents, 'twas
thought, might remain to seek the path of fame
already opening to him ; but what to him were
the dreams of ambition, compared to the all-en-
grossing thought which now bound each faculty
of his mind beneath its power. Ella, my mother

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also wished to stay, nor attempt with ns the perils
of our new life; for here her betrothed, when
he returned, expected to meet her ; but she flung
her arms around my mother, saying in the lan-
guage of Rulh,"thy home, dearest, shall be mine,*'
and there shall De Clairville join us. Suffice it,
then, to say, that after bidding farewell to scenes
we loved, our wearisome voyage was ended, and
we landed on these sterile and dreary shores. We
dared not venture from the coast, and our abode
was chosen in what appeared to us the best of
this bleak and barren soil. *Twas a sad change,
but those were the days of strong hearts and trust-
ing hopes.

Our settlement was formed of six or eight dif-
ferent households, all connected, and all from the
neighbourhood of the beautiful Bowery. Each
knew what the other had left, and tried to cheer
each other with brighter hopes than they hardly
dared to feel ; but sympathy and kindness were
among us.

Why need I tell you of our blighted crops and
scanty harvests, and all the toil and trouble which
we then endured. 1 must go on with what I
commenced — the story of my own love. Shall I
say that when Ella accompanied us I hoped De
Clairville might never join us. 'Tis true, but what
were my feelings to discover the love of Conrad
for the gem of my heart, and that he cherished it
with all the deep strength of his nature. I saw
Ella's manner was not siich as became a betrothed
maiden, but she feared Conrad, tnd trembled be-
neath the dark glance of his eye. A feeling more
of fear and pity than of love was her's ; but I was
fearful for the result, for I knew he was one not
to be trifled with.

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The last dreary days of the autumn were
gathered round us — the earth was ah-eady bound
in her frozen sleep, and all nature stilled in
her silent trance — all, save the restless waves,
dashing on the rocky shore; or the wind, which
first curled their crests, and then went sweeping
through the wiry foliage of the pines — when, at
the close of the short twilight, we were all gather-
ed on the highest point which overlooked the f ea,
earnestly gazing o'er the dim horizon, where night
was coming fast. Ere the sun had set a barque
had been seen, and her appearance caused
unwonted excitement in our solitudes. Ships in
those days were strange but welcome visitants.
Not merely the necessaries of life, but kind letters
and tidings from distant friends were borne by
them. As the darkness increased, signal fires
were raised along the beach, and ere long a gun
came booming o'er the waters ; soon after came
the noble ship herself; her white sails gleam-
ing through the night, and the glittering spray
flashing in diamond sparkles from her prow. She
came to, some distance from the shore, and, as
if by magic, every sail was furled. A boat came
glancing from her side ; a few minutes sent it to
the beach, and a gallant form sprung out upon the
strand. It was De Clairville come to claim his af-
fianced bride ; and with a blushing cheek and
tearful eye Ella was once more folded to his
faithful heart.

A pang of jealous feeling for an instant darted
through me, but Conrad's face met mine, and its
dark expression drove tlie demon power from me.
I saw the withering scowl of hate he cast upon
De Clairville, and I inwardly determined to shield

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the noble youth from the malice of that dark one;
forj bright as was to me the hope of Ella's love, I
loved her too well to be ought but rejoiced in her
happiness. Although it brought sorrow to my-
self, yet she was blessed. Mirth and joy, now
for a while cheered our lonely homes; we knew
we were to lose our flower; but love like theirs is
a gladsome thing to look at. Many were th^^
gifts De Clairville brought his bride from the rich
shore of England. Bracelets, radiant as her own
bright eyes, and pearls as pure as the neck they
twined. Among olhjr things was a fairy x;ase of
gold, in the form of a locket, which he himself
wore. Ella wished to see what it contained, and
laughingly, he unclosed it before us : 'twas the
faded rose leaves of her offerings to the love spirit
on Walburga's eve. They had rested on his
heart, he said, in the hours of absence; and there,
in death, should thev be still. Klla blushed and
hid her face upon his bosom. I sighed at the
memory of that day, but Conrad's gloomy frown
recalled me to the present — this was their bridal
eve. Our pastor was with us, and the lowly
building where we worshipped was decorated with
simple state for the occasion.

It stood on an eminence some distance fronl
the other houses. That night I was awakened
from sleep by a sudden light shining through the
room— a wild dream was yet before me, and a
death sfiriek seemed ringing in my ears. I looked
from the window ; our little church was all in
flames; 'tuds built of rough logs, and was of
little value, save that it was hallowed by its use.
A fire had probably been left on to prepare it for
the morrow, and from this the mischief had arisen.

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I thought little about it, and none knew of its
destruction till the morn.

The sun rose round and red, and sparkled o*er
the glittering sheen of the frost king's gems, flung
in wild symmetry o'er the earth, till all that be-
fore looked dark and drear was wreathed with a
veil of dazzling beauty; even the blackened logs
where the fire had been had their delicate tracery
of pearly fringe. The guests assembled in our
dwelling, and the pastor stood before the humble
altar, raised for the occasion. The walls were
rude, but the bride in her young beauty might
have graced a palace. She leaned on Conrad's
arm, according to our custom, as her oldest un-
married relative. The tables were spread with
the bridal cheer, and the blazing fire crackled
merrily on the wide hearth-stone. The bride-
groom's presence alone was waited for. Gaily
hung with flags was the ship, and cheers rung
loudly from her crew as a boat left her side. It
came, but bore but the officers invited to the
wedding. Where was De Clairville ? None
knew ! We had expected he passed the night on
board ; but there he had not been. 'Twas most
strange I The day passed away, and others like
it, and still he came not. He was gone for ever.
Had he proved false and forsaken his love ? Such
was the imputation thrown on his absence by
Conrad.

The sailors joined us; a band of Indian hunt-
ers led the way, and for miles around the woods
were searched, but trace of human footsteps, save
our own, we saw not. Long did the vessel's crew
linger by the shore, hoping each day for tidings
of their loved commander's fate, but of him

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they heard no more, and it was deemed hehad
met his death by drowning.

Conrad, whose morose manner suddenly disap-
peared for a bold and forward tone, so utterly at
variance from his usual that all were surprized,
still persisted in asserting that he had but pro-
ceeded along the coast, and would join his vessel
as she passed onward. One of the sailors, an
old and grey-haired man, who loved De Clairville
as a son, indignantly denied the charge. He was
incapable of such an action. "God grant," said he,
" he may have been fairly dealt witii." ** You would
not say he had been murdered," said Conrad.
**No," said the old man, " I thought not of that:
if he were, not a leaflet in your woods but would
bear witness to the crime."

We were standing then by the ruined church —
a slender beech tree grew beside it — one faded
leaf yet hovered on its stem — for an instant it
trembled in the blast, then fell at Conrad's feet,
brushing his cheek as it passed. If the blow of
a giant had struck him he could not have fallen
more heavily to the ground. An inward loath-
ing, such as may mortal man neverfeel to hisfellow,
forbade me to assist him. He had fainted ; but
the cold air soon revived him, and he arose, com-
plaining of sudden illness. The sailors left us,
and the ship sailed slowly from our waters, with
her colours floatinsf sadly half-mast high.

Ella thus suddenly bereaved, mourned in wild
and bitter grief, but woman's pride, at times her
guardian angel, at others her destroyer, took up
its stronghold in her heart. The tempter Conrad
awoke its tones — with s})ecious wile he recalled
De Clairvilie's lofty ideas of name and birth — how

119

proudly he spoke of his lady mother and the cas-
tled state of his father's hall. Was it not likely
that, at the last, this pride had rallied its strength
around him, and bade him seek a nobler bride than
the lowly maiden of the " liefugees?" Too readi-
ly she heard him, for love the fondest is nearest
allied to hate the deepest, and De Clairvilie's
name became a thin^rr for scorn and hate. 'Twas
vain for me to speak — what could I say ? A spe-
cies of fascination seemed to be obtained by Con-
rad o'er her — a witching spell was in his words —
'twas but the power, swayed by his strong and ill-
formed mind, over her weak but gentle one —
which, if rightly guided, would have echoed such
sweet music — and, ere the summer passed, she had
forgotten her lost lover, and was to wed him.

To others there was nothing strange in this,
but to me it brought a wild and dreary feeling;
not that my early dreams were unchanged, for I
had learned to tliink a love like her's, so lightly
lost and won, was not the thing to be prized.
Alas ! 1 knew not the blackness of the spirit that
beguiled her, and wrought such woe. Still she
had done wrong — the affections of man's heart

may not be idly dealt with —the woman who feigns
what she feels not, has her hand on the lion's
mane. Ella at one time had done this, and she
reaped a dark guerdon for her falsehood.
Yet in her it might have been excused, for the
very weakness ot" her nature led her to it. Let
those who are more strongly gifted beware of her
fate.

The earth was in the richest flush of her green
beauty. On the morn, Ella was again to be a
bride — the golden light streamed through the glad

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blue sky, and all looked bright and fair — the re-
mains of the church, which had long looked black
and dreary, were gay with the richness of vege-
tation — the bracken waved its green plumes, and
the tall mullen plant, with its broad white leaves,
raised its pale crest above the charred walls.
While the dew was shining bright I had gone
forth — surprise and consternation greeted my
solitary approach when I returned. Again the
holy book had been opened — the priest stcod
ready with the bride, and tarried for the lover —
they thought he was with me, but I had not seen
him— daylight passed away, night came, but
brought him not — the moon arose, and her sha-
dowy light gave to familiar things of day the
spectral forms of mystery.

While we sat in silence, thinking of Conrad's
absence, a dog's mournful whine sounded near-
it grew louder, and attracted our attention. We
followed the sound — it came from the ruins of
the church, and there, among the weeds and flow-
ers lay Conrad stiff and cold — he was dead, and,
oh the horrible expression of that face, the demo-
niac look of despair was never written in such
fearful lines on human face before. All felt re-
lief when 'twas covered from the sight* One
hand had 'twined in the death grasp round the
reed-like stem of the mullen plant~we unc' sed
it, and it sprung back, tall and straight as belore ;
something glittered in the other — 'twas the half
of De Clairville's golden locket — how it came to
be in his possession was strange, but we thought
not of it then.

Events like these have a saddening influence
on the mind, and the gloom for Conrad's sudden

121

death hung heavy o'er us— Ella's mourning was
long anil deep. I was not grieved to see it, for
sorrow makes the spirit wiser.

Three years passed away — little change had
been among us, save that some of our aged were
gone, and the young had risen around us. Once
more it was the first of May — the night was dark
and still, but the silvery sounds of the waking
earth came like balm o'er the soul — there was a
murmur in the forest, as though one heard the
song of the young leaves bursting into life, and
the glad gushing of the springing streams rose
with them. The memory of other days was float-
ing o'er my mind, when a soft voice broke on my
reverie. Her thoughts had been with mine —
"Ethel," said she, " remember you, how on such a
night as this, you once sought my love. Alas I
how little knew I then of my own heart — your'sit
should then have been — ^you know the shades that
have passed over it. Is Ella's love a worthless
gift, or will you accept it now as freely as 'tis offer-
ed. How long and sternly must we be trained
e'er love's young dream can be forgotten." The
events that intervened all passed away, and Ella
was again the same maiden that stood with me so
long ago by the streamlet's side on Walburga's
eve. My heart's long silenced music once more
rung forth its melody at her sweet words, and life
again was bright with the gems of hope and fond
affection.

In places so lone as that in which we lived, the
fancies of superstition have ample scope to range.
It had long been whispered through the settle-
ment that the spirit of Conrad appeared on the
spot where he had died at certain times, ^^'hen

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the moon beamed, a shadowy form was seen to
wave its pale arms among the ruins of the church,
which yet remained unchanged. So strongly was
the story believed, that after night-fall none dared
to pass the spot alone. Ella, too, had heard it,
and trembled whilst she disbelieved its truth.
Our marriage morning came, and Ella was for the
third time arrayed in her bridal dress. A wreath
of pearl gleamed through her hair, and lace and
satin robed her peerless form — the tinge upon her
cheek might not have been so bright as once it
was, but to me she vas lovely — more of mind was
blended with the feelings of the heart, and gave
a higher tone to her beauty. The holy words
were said, and my fondest hopes made truth. Is
it, that because in our most blissful hours the spirits
are most ready fall, or was it the sense of coming
ill that threw its dreary shade of sadness o'er
me all that day? The glorious sun sunk brightly
to his rest, but the rose cloud round his path
3eemed deepened to the hue of blood. A wail-
ing sound came o'er the waters, ?»nd a whisper-
ing, as of woe, sighed through the leafy trees*
This feeling of despondency 1 tried in vain to
banish ; as the evening came, it grew deeper, but
Ella was more joyous than ever, for a long time,
she had been. All the fairy wiles of her winning
youth seemed bright as of old — glad faces were
around us, and she was the gayest of them all ;
when, suddenly, something from the open door
met her eyes — one loud shriek broke from her,
and she rushed wildly from among us. I saw
her speed madly up the hill, where stood the
church. I was hastening after, when strong arms
held me back, and fina[ers, tremblinii: with awe

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and dread, pointed to the object of their terror —
there among the ruins stood a tall and ghost-like
form, whose spectral head seemed to move with a
threatening motion — for an instant I was paralys-
ed, but Ella's white robes flashed before me, and
I broke from their grasp. Again I heard her
shriek — she vanished from me, but the phantom
form still stood. I reached it, and that thing of fear
was but a gigantic weed — a tall mullen that had
outgrown the others on the very spot where we
had found the body of Conrad ; the waving of its
flexile head and long pale leaves, shining with
moonlight, were the motions we had seen — but
where was Ella? The decaying logs gave way
beneath her, and she had fallen into a vault or
cellar beneath the building. Meanwhile those at
the house recovered their courage, and came to-
wards us, bearing lights. We entered the vault,
and, on her knees before a figure, was Ella — the
form and dress were De Clairville*s, such as we
had seen him in last, but the face, oh ! heaven,
the face showed but the white bones oF a skeleton.
The rich brown curls still clung to the fleshless
skull, and on the finger glittered the ring with
which Ella was to have been wed. The half of
the golden locket v^^as clasped to his breast— the
ribbon by which it hung seemed to have been
torn rudely from its place, but the hand had kept
its hold till the motion caused by our descent — it
fell at Ella's feet, a sad memento of other days,
and recalled her to sensation. Horror paled the
brows of all, but to me was given a deeper woe,
to think and know what Ella must have felt.
Every feeling was deepened to intensity of
agony in the passing of that night — that dreary

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closing of my bridal day. How came the morn-
ing's light I know not, but when it did, the fVcsh
breeze blew on my brow, and I saw the remains
of De Clairville lying on the grass before mt —
they had borne him from below, and it showed
more plainly the crime which had been among us.
The deep bhie of the dress was changed to a
darker hue where tiie red life blood had flowed,
and from the back was drawn the treacherous im-
plement of death. The hearts of all readily whis-
pered the murderer's name, and fuller proof was
given in that ancient dagger that had long been
an heir-loom in the family of Conrad — a relic of
the old Teutonic race from whence they sprung
— well was it known, and we had often wondered
at its disappearance. He, Conrad, was the mur-
derer — he had slain De Clairville, and fired the
building to conceal his crime. God was the
avenger of the dark deed — the mighty hand of
conscience struck him in his proudest hour — the
humblest things of earth, brought deathly terror
to his soul. 'Twas evident the appearance of the
mullen plant, which drew us to the spot, had been
the cause of his death. The words of the old
sailor seemed true. The lowly herb had brought
the crime to light, and in the hand of heaven had
punished the murderer. ' ■ ^ ^ -r .i .tt.

We buried De Clairville beneath a mossy
mound, where the lofty pine and spicy cedar
waved above, and hallowed words were said o'er
his rest. A blight seemed to hover o'er our lone-
ly settlement by the deed which had been done
within it. Nothing bound us to the spot; but
hues of sadness rested with it, and ever would.
*Twas an unhallowed spot, and we prepared to
leave it, and seek another resting place.

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Our boats lay ready by the beach, and some
were ah'endy embarked. T took a last look
around — something white gleamed among the
trees around De Clairville's grave - 'twas Elhi,
who lay there dead. She always accused herself
as the cause of De Clairville's death, and indi-
rectly, too, she had been — but restitution now
was made. We laid her by his side, and thus I
lost my early, only love.

Here then was it where we chose our heritage,
and here we have since remained, but everything
is changed since then. Many an aged brow has
passed from earth, and many a bright eye closed
in death. Every trace of old is passing awa}',
save where their shadows glide in the memory.
Even the grave where Ella slept is gone from
earth.

Twenty years after her death I made a pilgrim-
age to the place — the young sapling pines which
shaded it had grown to lofty trees — human voice
seemed never to have broken in tones of joy or
woe the deep solitude around — the long grass
waved rank and dark above the walls we had
raised, and the red berries hung rich and ripe by
the ruined hearthstone. Again, when another
twenty years passed, I came to it once more —
the weight of age had gathered o'er me, but there
lay the buried sunlight of my youth, and the spirit
thoughts of other days drew me to it. A gam
there was a change — a change which told me my
own time drew near. The woods were gone long
since — the reaper had passed o'er the lowly graves,
and knew them not The last record of my love
and of my woe, was gone. Dwellings were raised
along the lonely beach, and laden ships floated

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on the long silent waters. I bade tie place fare-
well for ever, and returned to await in peace and
hope iny summons to the promised rest.

The old man paused — the dreams of the past
had weakened him, and he retired for the night.
Next morn we waited long for his presence, bnt
he came not. We sought his chamber, and found
him dead. The soul had passed away — one hand
was folded on his heart, and oh ! the might of
earthly love. It clasped a shining braid of silken
hair, and something, of which their faint perfume
told to be the faded rose leaves — frail memorials
of his fondly loved Ella, but lasting after the warm
heart which cherished them was cold. He was
gone where, if it be not in heaven " a crime to
love too well," his spirit may yet meet with her*s,
in that holy light, whose purity of bliss may not
be broken by the vain turmoil of earthly feelings.
So ends the story of uncle Ethel.

Well, said Grace, after we had discussed Ethel's
melancholy story, although I don't believe in
ghosts, I cannot do away with my faith in dreams,
and last night I had a most disagreeable one,
which disturbed me much. I thought I had en-
gaged my passage, and when I unclosed my
purse to pay down the money, nothing was in
it but a plain gold ring and a ruby heart. My
money was gone, and, oh ! the grief I felt was
deeper than waking langua; • e can describe. Then,
Grace, said I, you must receive consolation for
your disagreeable dream, in the words of your
own favourite song, " Rory o'More," that
dreams always go by contrary you know, and so I
shall read your dream. The plain gold ring

127

means that tie, which, like it, has no ending.
The heart lias, in all ages, been held symbolical
of its holiest feeling, and thus unite love and
marriage, and your sorrow will be turned to joy.
So I prognosticate your dream to mean. And
time told I had foretold ari<rht-for soon after we
had arrived in St. John's, tne entrance to which,
from the main river, is extremely beautiful, show-
ing every variety of scenery, from the green mea-
dows of rich intervale, where stand white dwellings
and orchard trees, to the grey and barren rocks,
with cedary plumage towering to the sky.

Grace having engaged her passage home, we
were turning from the office, when a stranger
bounded to us, and cauglit her by the hand.
Grace Marley, he exclaimed — my own, my beau-
tiful. I felt her lean heavily on my arm ; she had
fainted. And so deep was that trance, we fancied
she was gone — but joy rarely kills, and she awoke
to the passionate exclamations of her lover — for
such he was, come o*er the deep sea to seek her.
An explanation ensued. Their letters to each
other had all miscarried. None had been re-
ceived by either. (All this bitter disappoint-
ment, however, happened before the establishment
of our post.) So Grace, instead of returning to
Ireland, was wedded next day, her husband hav-
ing brought means with him to settle in the coun-
try. The magician, Love, flung his rose-light o*er
her path, and, when I saw her last, she fancied
the emerald glades of Oromot, where her home
now lay, almost as beautiful as those by the blue
lakes of Killarney, in the land of her birth.

With the end of September commence the
night frosts. The woods now lose their green-

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ness ; and the most brilliant hues of crimson, and
ffold, and purple, are flung in gorgeous flakes of
beauty over their boughs, as though each leaf
were crystal, and reflected and retained the light
of some glorious sunset. In this lovely season,
which is most appropriately termed the fall, we
wished to get along with our church, and have it
enclosed before the winter. This was rather an
archious undertaking in a young settlement like
ours ; but there were those here who loved

*' Old England's holy church,
And loved her form of prayer right well."

And liberally they came forward to raise a tem-
ple to their faith in the wilderness,. The " So-
ciety for the Propagation of the Gospel in
Foreign Lands" had promised assistance ; but
the frame must first be erected and enclosed ere
it could be claimed. In this country cash is a
most scarce commodity, and many species of spe-
culation are made with the aid of little real spe-
cie. Large sums are spoken of, but rarely
appear bodily: and our church got on in the same
way. The owner of the saw-mill signed twenty
pounds as his subscription towards it, and paid it
in boards — the carpenters who did the work re-
ceived from the subscribers pork and flour for
their pay — and our neighbour, the embarrassed
lumber-man, who was still wooden-headed enough
to like anything of a timber spec, got out the
frame by contract, himself giving most generously
five pounds worth of work towards it. And thus
the church was raised, and now it stands, with
white spire, pointing heavenward, above the an-
cient forest trees.

129

As winter was now approachinof, liow to pass its
long evenings agreeably and rationally was a
question which was agitated. The dwellers of
America are more enlightened now than in those
old times when dancing and feasting were the sole
amusements, so a library was instituted and form-
ed by the same means as the church had been — a
load of potatoes, or a barrel of buckwheat, being
given b}' each party to purchase books witii. The
selection of these, to suit all tastes, was a matter
of some difficulty, the grave and serious declaim-
ing against light reading, and regarding a novel
as the climax of human wickedness. One old
lady, who by the way was fond of reading, and
had studied the ancient tale of Pamela regularly, at
her leisure, for the last forty years, was the strong-
est against these, and, on being told that her favour-
ite tome was no less than a novel, she consigned
it to oblivion, and seemed, for a time, to have lost
all faith in sublunary things. After sc^ne little
trouble, however, the thing was satisfactorily ar-
ranged. Even here, to this lone nook of the
western world, had reached the fame of the Cax-
tons of modern times. Aught that bore the name
of Chambers had a place in our collection, and
the busy fingers of the little Edinburgh 'devils*
have brightened the solitude of many a home on
the banks of the Washedemoak.

The Indian summer, which, in November,
comes like breathing space, ere the mighty power
of winter sweeps o'er the earth, is beautiful,
with its balmy airs and soft bright skies, yet me-
lancholy in its loveliness as a fair face in death —
'tis the last smile of summer, and when the last
wreath of crimson leaves fall to earth, the erratic

:t;!r!

! i

130

birds take their flight to warmer lands — the bear
retires to his hollow tree — the squirrel to his win-
ter stores- — and man calls forth all his genius to
make him independent of the storm king's power.
In this country we have a specimen of every cli-
mate at its utmost boundary of endurance; in
summer we have breathless days of burning heat
shining on in shadowless splendour of sunlight ;
but it is in the getting up of a winter's scene that
New Brunswick is perfect. True, a considerable
tall sample of a snow-storm can sometimes be en-
joyed in England, but nothing to compare with
thi^ free and easy sweep with which the monarch
of clouds flings his boons over this portion of his
dominions. After the first snow storm the woods
have a grand and beautiful appearance, festooned
with their garlands of feathery pearls — the rain-
drops which fall with the earlier snows hang like
diamond pendants, and flash in the sun, "^ As f
gems were the fruitage of every bough,"

1 remember once coming from 8t. John's by
water. The frost set in rather earlier than we
expected. The farther from the sea the sooner it
commences ; so as we proceeded up the river our
boat was stopped by the crystal barrier across
the stream, not strong enough yet to admit of
teaming, and we had nothing for it but a walk of
seven miles through the forest, — home we must
proceed, though evening was closing in and
darkness would soon be around us, the heavy at-
mosphere told of a coming storm, and ere to -morrow
our path would be blocked up. America is the
land of invention ; and here we were, on the
dreary shore, in the dusky twilight — a situation
which requires the aid of philosophy. We were

131

the bear
his win-
enius to
's power,
very cli-
ance; in
ing heat
un light ;
ene that
siderable
:;s be en-
ire with
monarch
>n of his
le woods
estooned
he rain-
ang Hke

"^ As ';r

l)hn's by
than we
ooner it
iver our
Ir across
[dm it of
Iwalk of
e must
n and
avy at-
norrow
is the
on the
tuation
e were

something in the predicament of the Russian sail-
ors in Spitzbergen, we wanted light to guide us on
the " blaze," without which we could not keep it;
but beyond the gleam of a patent congreve, our
means extended not. One of our company,
liowever, a native of the country, took the matter
easy. Some birch trees were growing near, from
which he stripped a portion of the silvery bark,
which being rolled into torches, were ignited ;
each carried a store, and by their brilliant light we
set out on our pilgrimage. The effect of our most
original Bude on the snow-wreathed forest was ma-
gical — we seemed to traverse the palace gardens
of enchantment, so strange yet splendid was the
scene — the snow shining pure in the distance, and
the thousand ice gems gleaming ruby red in the
rays of our torches. They are wondrous to walk
through, those boundless forests, when one thinks
that by a slight deviation from the track the
path would be lost ; and, ere it could be found
again, the spirit grow weary in its wanderings,
and, taking its flight, leave the unshrouded brows
to bleach on summer flowers or winter snows, in
the path where the graceful carraboo bounds past,
or the bear comes guided by the tainted breeze
to where it lies.

It was on this midnight ramble that the facts of
the following lines were related to me, ending not,
as such tales generally do, in death, but in what
perchance was worse, — civilisation lost in barbar-
ism.

Many years ago two children, daughters of a
person residing in this province, were lost in the
woods. What had been their fate none knew
— no trace of them could be found until, after a

132

long period of time had elapsed, one of tliem was
discovered among some Indians, by whom they
had been taken, and with whom this one had re-
mained, tlie other having joined another tribe.
She appeared an Indian squaw ii\ every respect —
lier complexion had been stained iz dark as theirs
—her costume was the same, but she had blue
eyes. This excited suspicion, which proved to be
correct. The story of the lost children was re-
membered, which event occurred thirty years be-
fore. With some difficulty she was induced to
meet her mother, her only remaining parent. The
tide of time swept back from the mother's mind,
and she hastened to embrace the child of her
memory, but, alas ! the change. There existed
for her no love in the bosom of the lost one.
Her relatives wishing to reclaim her from her sa-
vage life, earnestly besought her to remain with
them, but their ways were not as her's — she felt as
a stranger with them, and rejoined the Indian
band, with whom she still remains.

"' ■ 1

r I

I i

1: ;

133

hem was
om they

had re-
?r tribe,
espect —
as theirs
lad blue
red to Lc
was re-
ears be-
uced to
nt. The
s mind,

of her
existed
)st one.
her sa-
in with
J felt as

Indian

THE LOST CHILDREN.

At early morn a mother stood,

Her hands were raised to heaven.
And she praised Almighty God

For the blessings He had given ;
rJut far too deep were they

Encircled in her heart, i

Too deep for human weal.

For earth and love must part.
She looked with hope too bricrljt
On the forms that by her bent
And loved, by far tooYondly, '
Those treasures God had sent.
1 hey bound her to the earth.

With love's own golden chain,
How were its bright links severed

By the spirit's wildest pain ?
She parted the rich tresses,

And kissed each snowy brow,
And where, oh ! happy mother,'

Was one so blest as thou ?
The summer sun was shining

All cloudless o'er the lea.
When forth her children bounded.

In childhood's summer glee.
They strayed along the woody banks,
fur "^"g^^ With sunny green,
Where, like a silver serpent.
The river ran between.

J :

1 ' '

In' '

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ir '

'Is ^^ 'f

J,r.'^

134

Their glad young voices rose,

As tiiey thought of flower or bird,
And they sang the joyous fancies

That in each spirit stirred.
Oh ! sister, see that humming bird ;

Saw ye ever ought so fair ?
With wings of gold and ruby,

He sparkles through the air ;
Let us follow where he flies

0*er yonder hazel dell,
For oh ! it must be beautiful

Where such a thing can dwell.
Yet to me it seemeth still,

That his rest must be on high;
Methinks his plumes are bathed

In the even's crimson sky :
How lovely is this earth.

Where such fair things we see.
And yet how much more glorious

The power that bids them be !
Nay, sister, let us stay

Where those water lilies float.
So spotless and so pure

Like a fairy's pearly boat.
Listen to the melody

That cc^eth soft and low.
As through the twining tendrils

The water glides below.
Perchance 'twas in a spot like this,

And by a stream as mild.
Where the Jewish mother laid

Her gentle Hebrew child.
Then rested they beneath the trees,

Where, through the leafy shade,

135

In ever-changing radiance,

The broken sun-light played ;
And spoke in words, whose simple truth

Revealed the guileless soul,
Till softly o*er their senses

A quiet slumber stole.
Lo ! now a form comes glancing

Along the waters blue.
And moored among the lilies
Lay an Indian's dark canoe.
The days of ancient feud were gone,

The axe was buried deep,
And stilled the red man's warfare,

In unawaking sleep.
Why stands he then so silently.

Where those fair children lie ?
And say, what means the flashing

Of the Indian's eagle eye?
He thinks him of his lonely spouse,

Within her forest glade ;
Around her silent dwelling
No children ever played.
Ko voice arose to greet him

When he at eve would come.
But sadness ever hovered

Around his dreary home.
Oh !^ with those lovely rose-buds

W^ere my lone hearth-stone blest.
My richest food should cheer them.

My softest furs should rest.
Their kindred drive us onward.

Where the setting sunbeams shine;
Ihey claim our father's heritage,
\Vhy may not these be mine ?

N 2

■H

mtm

it; :i

;

t i

136

He raised the sleeping children,

Oh ! sad and dreary day I
And o*er the dancing waters

He bore them far away.
He wiled their hearts* young feelings

With words and actions kind,
And soon the past went fading

All dream-like from their mind.

Oh ! brightly sped the beaming sun

Along his glorious way,
And feathery clouds of golden light

Around his parting lay.
In beauty came the holy stars.

All gleaming mid the blue,
It seemed as o'er the lovely earth

A blessed calm they threw.
A sound of grief arose

On the dewy evening air,
It bore the bitter anguish

Of a mortal's wild despair;
A wail like that which sounded

Throughout Judea*s land.
When Herod's haughty minions

Obeyed his dark command.
The mourning mother v/ept

Because her babes were not,
Their forms were gone for ever

From each familiar spot.
Oh I had they sought the river.

And sunk beneath its wave ;
Or had the dark recesses

Of the forest been their grave.
The same deep tinge of sorrow,

Each surmise ever bore ;

p-fi

137

Her gems from her were taken ;

Of their fate she knew no more.
Long years of withering woe went on,

Each sadly as the last,
To other's ears the theme became

A legend of the past.
But she, oh ! bright she cherished

Their memory enshrined,
With all a mother's fondness

And fadeless truth entwined.
Many a hope she treasured

In sorrow's gloom had burst,
But still her spirit knew

No grieving like the first.
Along her faded forehead

The hand of time had crost,
And every furrow told

Her mourning for the lost.
With such deep love within her.

What words the truth could give,
Howe'er she heard the tidings —

*' Thy children yet they live."
But one alone was near,

And with rushing feelings wild,
The aged mother flew

To meet once more her child.
A moment passed away —

The lost one slowly came.
And stood before her there —

A tall and dark-browed dame.
Far from her swarthy forehead

Her raven hair was roH'd ;
She spoke to those around her.

Her voice was stern and cold :
^ ^ N 3

I: , 1

\il:\ '

138

<* Why seek ye here to bind me, m~

I would again be free;
They say ye are my kindred —

But what are ye to me ?
My spring of youth was past

Wilh the people of tlie wild :
And slumber in the green-wood

My husband and my child.
*Tis true I oft have seen ye

In the visions of the night ;
But many a shadow comes

From the dreamer's land of light.
If e*er I've been among ye,

Save in my wandering thought,
The memory has passed away —

Ye lonfT have been forffot."
And were not these hard words to come

To that fond mother's heart, ' '

Who through such years of agony

Had kept her loving part.
Her wildest wish was granted —

Her deepest prayer was heard —
Yet it but served to show her

How deeply she had err'd.
The mvsteries of God's hiijh will

May not be understood ;
And mortals may not vainly ask,

To them, what seemeth good.
With spirit wrung to earth.

In grief she bowed her head :
<« Oh I better far than meet thee thus,

To mourn thee with the dead."
But, think ye, He who comforted

The widowed one of Nain —

It.

) come

1S9

Who bade the lonely Hagar
Witli hope revive again ?
Think ye that mother's trusting love

Should bleed without a balm ?
No! o'er the troubled spirit

There came a blessed calm.
Amid the savage relics

Around her daughter flung,
Upon her naked bosom

A crucifix there hung.
And though the simple Indian

False tenets might enthral-
Yet, 'twas the blessed symbol

Of Him who died for all.
And the mourner's heart rejoiced

For the promise seemed to say

She shall be thine in Heaven,

When the world has passed away.
Tho* now ye meet as strangers,

Yet there ye shall be one ;
And live in love for ever.

When time and earth are gone.

hus,

:':,i;; »-

*r'» V*i

I'll

,1' ■ \

liO

Tn the days of the early settling of the country,
marriages were attended with a ceremony called
slumping. This was a local way of publishing
thebaniis, the names of the parties and the an-
nouncement of the event to take place being written
on a slip of paper, and inserted on the numerous
stumps bordering the corduroy road, that all who
ran might read, though perchance none might
scan it save some bewildered fox or wandering
bear ; the squire read the ceremony from the
prayer-book, received his dollar, and further form
for wedlock was required not. Now they order
these things differently. A wedding is a regular
frolic, and generally performed by a clergyman
(though a few in the back settlements still adhere
to the custom of their fathers), a large party be-
ing invited to solemnise the event. The last win-
ter we were in the country we attended one some
distance from home ; but here, while flying along
the ice paths, distance is not thought of. N Sing
can be more exhilarating than sleigh-ridi he
clear air bracing the nerves, and the hells ringing
gladly out. These bells are worn round the horse's
neck and on the harness, to give warning of the
sleigh's approach, which otherwise would not be
heard over the smooth road. The glassy way was
crowded with skaters, gliding past with graceful
ease and folded arms, " as though they trod on
tented ground." We soon reached our destina-
tion, and found assembled a large and joyous
party. The festival commenced in the morning,
and continued late. The fare was luxuriant, and
the bride, in her white dress and orange blossoms
(for, be it known, such things are sometimes seen,
even in this region of spruce and pine), looked as

e country,
>ny called
aiiblishing
d iJie aii-
f'g written
numerous
It all wi)o
lie might
hindering
from the
Iier form
ey order
a regular
ergyman
II adhere
'arty be-
last win-
ne some
g along
N 'ling
i he
ringing
horse's
of the
not be
rny was
raeeful
rod on
estina- ^
joyous
:)rning,
It, and
)ssoms
! seen,
ced a3

141

all brides do, bashful and beautiful. The "grave
and pompous father," and busy-minded mother,
had a look which, though concealed, told that at
heart they rejoiced to see their " bairn respeckit
like the lave," and " all indeed went merry as a
marriage bell." We and some others left at mid-
night. The air was piercingly cold, and the bear
skins in which we were wrapped soon had a
white fringe, where fell the fast congealing breath.
There was no moon, and the stars looked dim, in
the Htful gleam of the streamers of the aurora
borealis, which were glancing in corruscations of
awful grandeur along the heavens, now throwing
a blood red glare on the snow, their pale sepul-
chral rays of green or blue imparting a ghastly
horror to the scene, or arranging themselves like
the golden pillars of some mighty organ, while,
ever and again, a wild unearthly sound is heard,
as if swords were clashing. Those mysterious
northern lights, whose appearance in superstitious
times was supposed to threaten, or be the fore-
runner, of dire calamity; and no wonder was it,
for even now, with all the light science has thrown
upon such things, there is attached to them, seen
as they are in this country, a feeling of dread
which cannot all be dispelled.

Travelling on the ice is not altogether free from
danger ; and even when it is thought safe, there
are places where it is dangerous to go. The best
plan of avoiding these is to follow the track of
those who have gone before — never, but with cau-
tion, and especially at night, striking out a new
one.

One of the parties who accompanied us wished
to reach the shore. There wasapath which, though

' ','l\

'■^

■ .:i

' i ;

i^ \

-4

142

rather longer, would have led him safely to it,
but he determined to strike across the unmarked
ice, io where he wished to land. AH advised him
to take the longer way, but he was resolute, and
turned his horse's head from us. The gallant
steed bounded forward — the golden light was
beaming from the sky — and we paused to watch
his progress. A fearful crashing was heard — then
a sharp crack, and sleigh, horse, and rider vanish-
ed from our sight. 'Twas horrible to see them
thus enclosed in that cold tomb.

Assistance was speedily sought from the shore,
but ere it came I heard the horrid shout of
" steeds that snort in agony," while the blue sul-
phurous flash from above showed the man strug-
ling helplessly among the breaking ice. Poles
were placed from the solid parts to where he was,
and he was rescued. He was carried to the near-
est house, and with some difficulty restored to
warmth. The sleighing rarely passes without
many such accidents occurring, merely through
want of caution.

When the balmy breezes of spring again blew
over New Brunswick, circumstances had arisen
which induced me to leave it, and though I loved
it not as my native land, I sighed to go, so much
of kindness and good feeling had I enjoyed among
its dwellei'S ; and I stood on the vessel's deck,
gazing on it till the green trees and white walls of
Partridge Island faded in the distance, and the
rolling waves of the Bay of Fundy, throwing me
into that least terrestrial of all maladies, the
" mal du mer," rendered me insensible of all sub*
lunary cares.

NEWCASTLE : PRINTED BY J. BLACK¥?ELL AND CO.

safely to it,
e unmarked
! advised him
•esolute, and
The gallant
n light was
sed to watch
lieard— then
rider vanish-
f> see them

1 the shore,
d shout of
e blue sul-
man strug-
e. Poles
lere he was,
to the near-
restored to
es without
\y through

•gain blew
lad arisen
gh I loved
S so much
^ed among
iel's deck,
te walls of '
I and the
owing nie
adies, the
of all sub-

CO*