"Why, Mister H—-, is this you? I have not seen you since you gave your consort at N—-; it seems a tarnation long while ago. I thought, perhaps, you had got blowed up in one of those exploded steam-boats. But here you are as large as life—and that's not over large neither, (glancing at the slight dimensions of my figure,) and as ready to raise the wind as ever. I am highly gratified to meet with you, as I have one of the greatest songs you ever he'rd to show you. If you can but set it to music, and sing it in New York city, it will immortalize you, and immortalize me tew."

Amused at the earnestness with which the fellow spoke, I inquired the subject of his song.

"Oh, 'tis des-crip-tive; 'tis tre-men-dous. It will make a sensation all over the Union."

"But what is it about?—Have you got it with you?"

"No—no, mister; I never puts these things down on paper, lest other folk should find them and steal them. But I'll give you some idee of what it is. Look you, mister. I was going from Syracuse to Rochester, on the canal-boat. We met on our way a tre-men-dous storm. The wind blew, and the rain came down like old sixty, and everything looked as black as my hat; and the passengers got scared and wanted to get off, but the captain sung out, 'Whew—let 'em go, Jem!' and away we went at the rate of tew miles an hour, and they could not stop. By and by we struck a rock, and down we went."

"Indeed!" said I, "that's very unusual in a canal-boat; were any lives lost?"

"No, but we were all dreadfully sceared and covered with mud. I sat down by the en-gine till I got dry, and then I wrote my pome. I will repeat what I can to you, and what I can't I will write right off when I gets hum.—Hold on—hold on—" he continued, beating his forehead with the back of his hand, as if to awaken the powers of memory—"I have it now—I have it now,—'tis tre-men-dous—"

"Oh Lord, who know'st the wants of men, Guide my hand, and guide my pen, And help me bring the truth to light, Of that dread scene and awful night, Ri, tu, ri, tu, ri, tu. There was Mister Cadoga in years a-bud, Was found next morning in tew feet mud; He strove—he strove—but all in vain, The more he got up, he fell down again. Ri, tu, ri, tu, ri, tu."

The poet paused for a moment to gain breath, evidently overcome by the recollection of the awful scene. "Is not that bee-u-tiful?" he exclaimed. "What a fine effect you could give to that on the pee-a-ne, humouring the keys to imitate his squabbling about in the mud. Let me tell you, mister, it would beat Russell's 'Ship on Fire' all hollow."

Wiping the perspiration from his face, he recommenced—

"The passengers rushed unto the spot, Together with the crew; We got him safe out of the mud, But he had lost his shoe. Ri, tu, ri, tu, ri, tu."

I could not listen to another line of this sublime effusion, the passengers who had gathered around us drowning his nasal drawl in a complete roar of laughter. Seeing that I was as much infected as the rest, the poet turned to me, with an air of offended dignity,—

"I don't take the trouble, mister, to repeat any more of my pomes to you; nor do I take it kind at all, your laughing at me in that ere way. But the truth is, you can't comprehend nor appreciate anything that is sublime, or out of the common way. Besides, I don't think you could set it to music; it is not in you, and you can't fix it no-how."

This singular address renewed our mirth; and, finding myself unable to control my inclination to laugh, and not wishing to hurt his feelings, I was about to leave him, when the man at the helm sung out, "Bridge!"

The passengers lowered their heads to ensure their safety—all but my friend the poet, who was too much excited to notice the signal before he came in contact with the bridge, which sent him sprawling down the gangway. He picked himself up, clambered up the stairs, and began striding up and down the deck at a tremendous rate, casting from time to time indignant glances at me.

I thought, for my part, that the man was not in his right senses, or that the blow he had received had so dulled his bump of caution, that he could no longer take care of himself; for the next moment he stumbled over a little child, and would have been hurt severely if I had not broken his fall, by catching his arm before he again measured his length on the deck. My timely assistance mollified his anger, and he once more became friendly and confidential.

"Here, take this piece of poetry, Mister H—-, and see if you can set it to music. Mind you, it is none of mine; but though not quite so good, it is som'at in my style. I cut it out of a newspaper down East. You are welcome to it," he continued, with a patronizing nod, "that is, if you are able to do justice to the subject."

I took the piece of dirty crumpled newspaper from his hand; and, struck with the droll quizzing humour of the lines, I have preserved them ever since. As I have never seen them before or since, I will give you them here.

To The Falls Of Niagara.

"I wonder how long you've been roarin' At this infernal rate; I wonder if all you've been pourin' Could be cipher'd on a slate.

"I wonder how such a thunderin' sounded When all New York was woods; 'Spose likely some Injins have been drownded, When the rains have raised your floods.

"I wonder if wild stags and buffaloes Have stood where now I stand; Well—s'pose being scared at first, they stubb'd their toes; I wonder where they'd land.

"I wonder if that rainbow has been shinin' Since sun-rise at creation; And this waterfall been underminin' With constant spatteration.

"That Moses never mention'd ye—I've wonder'd, While other things describin'; My conscience!—how ye must have foam'd and thunder'd When the deluge was subsidin'!

"My thoughts are strange, magnificent, and deep, When I look down on thee;— Oh, what a glorious place for washing sheep Niagara would be!

"And oh, what a tremendous water power Is wash'd over its edge; One man might furnish all the world with flour, With a single privilege.

"I wonder how many times the lakes have all Been emptied over here; Why Clinton did not feed the grand Canal Up here—I think is queer.

"The thoughts are very strange that crowd my brain, When I look up to thee; Such thoughts I never expect to have again, To all eternity."

After reading the lines, I begged my friend to excuse me, as I wanted to go below and take a nap. I had not been long in the cabin before he followed me. To get rid of him I pretended to be asleep. After passing me two or three times, and leaning over me in the most inquisitive manner, until his long nose nearly went into my eye, and humming a bow-wow tune in my ear to ascertain if I were really napping, he turned from me with a dissatisfied grunt, flung himself into a settee, and not long after was puffing and blowing like a porpoise. I was glad of this opportunity to go on deck again, and "I left him alone in his glory." But, while I was congratulating myself on my good fortune, I found him once more at my side.

Good heavens! how I wished him at the bottom of the canal, when he commenced telling me some awful dream he had had. I was too much annoyed at being pestered with his company to listen to him, a circumstance I now rather regret, for had his dreams been equal to his poetry, they certainly must have possessed the rare merit of originality; and I could have gratified my readers with something entirely out of the common way.

Turning abruptly from him, I entered into conversation with another gentleman, and quite forgot my eccentric friend until I retired for the night, when I found him waiting for me in the cabin.

"Ho, ho, mister,—is that you? I was afear'd we had put you ashore. What berth are you goin' to take?"

I pointed to No. 4.

"Then," said he, "would you have any objection to my locating in the one above you, as I feel a leetle afear'd? It is so awful dark out-doors, and the clouds look tre-mend-ous black, as if they'd be a-pourin' all night. The reason why I prefer the upper berth is this," he continued confidentially; "if we should fall in with a storm, and all go to the bottom, I should have a better chance of saving myself. But mind you, if she should sink I will give you half of my berth, if you'll come up."

I thanked him for his offer, and not being at all apprehensive, I told him that I preferred staying where I was. Soon after I retired, hoping to sleep, but I had not calculated on the powers of annoyance possessed by my quondam friend. I had just laid myself comfortably down, when I felt one of his huge feet on the side of my berth. Looking out, I espied him crawling up on all-fours to his place of security for the night. His head had scarcely touched the pillow before he commenced telling me some long yarn; but I begged him, in no very gentle tone, to hold on till the morning, as I had a very severe headache, and wanted to go to sleep.

I had fallen into a sort of doze, when I thought I heard some one talking in a low voice close to my ear. I started into a sitting posture, and listened a moment. It was pitch dark; I could see nothing. I soon, however, discovered that the mysterious sounds proceeded from the berth above me. It was my friend reciting, either for my amusement or his own, the poem he had favoured me with in the morning. He was apparently nearly asleep, and he drawled the half-uttered sentences through his nose in the most ludicrous manner. He was recapitulating the disastrous condition of Mr. Cadoga:—

"There was Mister Ca-do-ga—in years a-bud— Next morning—tew—feet—mud— He strove—he—but—in vain; The more he fell—down—he got up—a-g-a-in. Ri—tu—ri—tu."

Here followed a tremendous snore, and I burst into a prolonged fit of laughter, which fortunately did not put a stop to the sonorous bass of my companion overhead, whose snoring I considered far more tolerable than his conversation.

Just at this moment the boat struck the bank, which it frequently does of a very dark night, which gave the vessel such a shock, that it broke the cords that secured the poet's bed to the beam above, and down he came, head foremost, to the floor. This accident occasioned me no small discomfort, as he nearly took my berth with him. It was fortunate for me that I was awake, or he might have killed me in his descent; as it was, I had only time to throw myself back, when he rushed past me with the speed of an avalanche, carrying bed and bed-clothes with him in one confused heap; and there he lay upon the floor, rolling and roaring like some wild beast caught in a net.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! I wonder where I is; what a tre-men-dous storm—what a dreadful night—not a soul can be saved,—I knew it—I dreampt it all. Oh Lord! we shall all go to the bottom, and find eternity there—Captain captain—where be we?"

Here a child belonging to one of the passengers, awakened by his bellowing, began to cry.

"Oh, dear! Some one else sinking.—Captain—captain—confound him! I s'pose he's drownded, like the rest. Thank heaven! here's something to hold on to, to keep me from sinking;" and, clutching at the table in the dark, he upset it, and broke the large lamp that had been left upon it. Down came the broken glass upon him in a shower which, doubtless, he took for the waves breaking over him, for he raised such a clatter with his hands and feet, and uttered such doleful screams, that the passengers started simultaneously from their sleep,—

"What's the matter? is that man mad or drunk?" exclaimed several voices.

The gentleman beneath the bed-clothes again groaned forth,—"We are all lost. If I once get upon dry land, you'll never catch me in a canal-boat agin."

Pitying his distress I got up, groped my way to the steward's berth, and succeeded in procuring a light. When I returned to the cabin, I found the poet lying on the floor, with the table upon him, and he holding it fast with both hands, crying vehemently, "I will never let go. I will hang on to the last."

"You are dreaming," said I; "come, get up. The cords of your bed were not strong enough to hold you, and you have got a tumble on to the floor; nothing else is the matter with you."

As I ceased speaking the vessel again struck the bank, and my friend, in his eagerness to save himself, upset me, light and all. I again upset all the small pieces of furniture in my reach, to the great amusement of the passengers, who were sitting up in their berths listening to; and laughing at our conversation. We were all once more in the dark, and I can assure my readers that my situation was everything but comfortable, as the eccentric gentleman had hold of both my legs.

"You foolish fellow," cried I, kicking with all my might to free myself. "There is no harm done; the boat has only struck again upon the bank."

"Where is the bank?" said he, still labouring under the delusion that he was in the water. "Give me a hold on it. If I can only get on the bank I shall be safe."

Finding it impossible to convince him how matters really stood, I left him to unroll himself to his full dimensions on the floor, and groping my way to a sofa, laid myself down once more to sleep.

When the passengers met at the breakfast-table, the poor poet and his misfortunes during the night gave rise to much quizzing and merriment, particularly when he made his appearance with a black eye, and the skin rubbed off the tip of his nose.

One gentleman, who was most active in teasing him, cried out to me,—"Mr. H—-, do try and set last night's adventures to music, and sing them this evening at your concert. They would make a tre-men-dous sensation, I assure you."

The poet looked daggers at us, and seizing his carpet-bag, sprang to the deck, and from the deck to the shore, which he fortunately reached in safety, without casting a parting glance at his tormentors.

The Mountain Air.

"Rave not to me of your sparkling wine; Bid not for me the goblet shine; My soul is athirst for a draught more rare, A gush of the pure, fresh mountain air!

"It wafts on its currents the rich perfume Of the purple heath, and the honied broom; The golden furze, and the hawthorn fair, Shed all their sweets to the mountain air.

"It plays round the bank and the mossy stone, Where the violet droops like a nun alone; Shrouding her eyes from the noon-tide glare, But breathing her soul to the mountain-air.

"It gives to my spirits a tone of mirth— I bound with joy o'er the new-dress'd earth, When spring has scatter'd her blossoms there, And laden with balm the mountain air.

"From nature's fountain my nectar flows, 'Tis the essence of each sweet bud that blows; Then come, and with me the banquet share, Let us breathe together the mountain air!"



CHAPTER VI

The Singing Master

The Singing-School.

"Conceit's an excellent great-coat, and sticks Close to the wearer for his mortal life; It has no spot nor wrinkle in his eyes, And quite cuts out the coats of other men." S.M.

"He had a fiddle sadly out of tune, A voice as husky as a raven croaking, Or owlet hooting to the clouded moon, Or bloated bull-frog in some mud-hole choking."

During my professional journies through the country, I have often had the curiosity to visit the singing-schools in the small towns and villages through which I passed. These are often taught by persons who are perfectly ignorant of the common rules of music—men who have followed the plough all their lives, and know about as much of the divine science they pretend to teach as one of their oxen.

I have often been amused at their manner of explaining the principles of their art to their pupils, who profit so little by their instructions, that they are as wise at the end of their quarter as when they began. The master usually endeavours to impress upon them the importance of making themselves heard, and calls him the smartest fellow who is able to make the most noise. The constant vibration they keep up through their noses gives you the idea that their teacher has been in the habit of raising sheep, and had caught many of their peculiar notes. This style he very kindly imparts to his pupils; and as apt scholars generally try to imitate their master, choirs taught by these individuals resemble a flock of sheep going bahing one after another over a wall.

I will give you a specimen of one of these schools, that I happened to visit during my stay in the town of W—-, in the western states. I do not mean to say that all music masters are like the one I am about to describe, but he bears a very close resemblance to a great many of the same calling, who practise their profession in remote settlements, where they are not likely to find many to criticise their performance.

I had advertised a concert for the 2nd of January, 1848, to be given in the town of W—-. I arrived on the day appointed, and fortunately made the acquaintance of several gentlemen amateurs, who happened to be boarding at the hotel to which I had been recommended. They kindly manifested a lively interest in my success, and promised to do all in their power to procure me a good house.

While seated at dinner, one of my new friends received a note, which he said came from a singing master residing in a small village a few miles back of W—-. After reading the epistle, and laughing heartily over its contents, he gave it to me. To my great astonishment it ran as follows:—

"My Dear Roberts,

"How do you do? I hope you will excuse me for troubling you on this occasion; but I want to ax you a partic'lar question. Is you acquainted with the man who is a-goin' to give a sing in your town to-night? If you be, jist say to him, from me, that if he will come over here, we will get him up a house. If he will—or won't cum—please let me know. I am teaching a singing-school over here, and I can do a great deal for him, if he will only cum.

"Yours, most respectfully, "John Browne."

"You had better go, Mr. H—-," said Roberts. "This John Browne is a queer chap, and I promise you lots of fun. If you decide upon going we will all accompany you, and help to fill your house."

"By all means," said I. "You will do me a great favour to return an answer to the professional gentleman to that effect. I will send him some of my programmes, and if he can get a tolerable piano, I will go over and give them a concert next Saturday evening."

The note and the bills of performance were duly despatched to —-, and the next morning we received an answer from the singing master to say that all was right, and that Mr. Browne would be happy to give Mr. H—- his valuable assistance; but, if possible, he wished that I could come out on Friday, instead of Saturday, as his school met on that evening at six o'clock, and he would like me to witness the performance of his scholars, which would only last from five in the evening till six, and consequently need not interfere at all with my concert, which was to commence at eight.

We ordered a conveyance immediately, and as it was the very day signified in the note, we started off for the village of —-. On our arrival we were met at the door of the only hotel in the place, by the man a "leetle in my line."

"Is this you, Mr. Thing-a-my. I can't for the life of me think of your name. But no matter. Ain't you the chap as is a-goin' to give us the con-sort this evening?"

I answered in the affirmative, and he continued—

"What a leetle fellow you be. Now I stand six feet four inches in my boots, and my voice is high in proportion. But I s'pose you can sing. Small fellows allers make a great noise. A bantam roaster allers crows as loud as an game crower, to make folks believe that the dung-hill is his'n."

I was very much amused at his comparing me to a bantam cock, and felt almost inclined to clap my wings and crow.

"I have sent all your bills about town," continued the odd man, "and invited all the tip-tops to cum and hear you. I have engaged a good room, and a forty pound pee-a-ne. I s'pose it's worth as much, for 'tis a terrible smart one. It belongs to Deacon S—-; and his two daughters are the prettiest galls hereabouts. They play 'Old Dan Tucker,' and all manner of tunes. I found it deuced hard to get the old woman's consent; but I knew she wouldn't refuse me, as she is looking out to cotch me for one of the daughters. She made many objections—said that she would rather the cheese-press and the cook-stove, and all the rest of the furniture went out of the house than the pee-a-ne, as she afear'd that the strings would break, and all the keys spill out by the way. The strings are rusty, and keys loose enough already. I told the old missus that I would take good care that the right side was kept uppermost; and that if any harm happened to the instrument, you could set it all right agin."

"I am sorry," said I, "to hear such a poor account of the instrument. It is impossible to sing well to a bad piano—"

"Phoo, phoo, man! there's nobody here that ever he'rd a better. Bad or good, it's the only one in the village. I play on this pee-a-ne a leetle myself, and that ought to be some encouragement to you. I am goin' to do a considerable business in the singing line here. I have stirred up all the leetle girls and boys in the place, and set them whistling an' playing on the Jew's harp. Then I goes to the old 'uns, and says to them, what genuses for music these young 'uns be! it is your duty to improve a talent that providence has bestowed on your children. I puts on a long face, like a parson, when I talks of providence and the like o'that, and you don't know how amazingly it takes with the old folks. They think that providence is allers on the look out to do them some good turn.

"'What do you charge, Mr. Browne?' says they, instanter.

"Oh, a mere trifle, say I, instanter. Jist half-a-dollar a quarter—part in cash, part in produce.

"''Tis cheap,' says they agin.

"Tew little, says I, by half.

"'Well, the children shall go,' says the old man. 'Missus, you see to it.'

"The children like to hear themselves called genuses, and they go into it like smoke. When I am tuning my voice at my lodgings in the evening, just by way of recreation, the leetle boys all gets round my winder to listen to my singing. They are so fond of it I can't get them away. They make such a confounded noise, in trying to imitate my splendid style. But I'll leave you to judge of that for yourself. 'Spose you'll be up with me to the singing-school, and then you will hear what I can do."

"I shall be most happy to attend you."

"You see, Mr. Thing-a-my, this is my first lesson, and you must make all allowances, if there should be any trouble, or that all should not go right. You see one seldom gets the hang of it the first night, no how. I have been farming most of my life, but I quits that about five weeks ago, and have been studying hard for my profession ever since. I have got a large school here, another at A—- and another at L—-; and before the winter is over, I shall be qualified to teach at W—-. I play the big bass fiddle and the violin right off, and—"

Here a little boy came running up to say that his father's sheep had got out of the yard, and had gone down to Deacon S—-; and, said he, "The folks have sent for you, Mister Browne, to cum and turn 'em out."

"A merciful intervention of providence," thought I, who was already heartily weary of my new acquaintance, and began to be afraid that I never should get rid of him. To tell the truth, I was so tired of looking up at him, that I felt that I could not converse much longer with him without endangering the elasticity of my neck, and he would have been affronted if I had asked him to walk in and sit down.

He was not very well pleased with Deacon S—-'s message.

"That comes of borrowing, mister. If I had not asked the loan of the pee-a-ne, they never would have sent for me to look arter their darned sheep. I must go, however. I hope you'll be able to keep yourself alive in my absence. I have got to string up the old fiddle for to-night. The singing-school is about a mile from this. I will come down with my old mare arter you, when its just time to be a-goin'. So good-bye."

Away he strode at the rate of six miles an hour; his long legs accomplishing at one step what would have taken a man of my dimensions three to compass. I then went into the hotel to order dinner for my friends, as he had allowed me no opportunity to do so. The conceited fellow had kept me standing a foot deep in snow for the last hour, while listening to his intolerably dull conversation. My disgust and disappointment afforded great amusement to my friends; but in spite of all my entreaties, they could not be induced to leave their punch and a warm fire to accompany me in my pilgrimage to the singing-school.

We took dinner at four o'clock, and the cloth was scarcely drawn, when my musical friend made his appearance with the old mare, to take me along to the school.

Our turn-out was everything but prepossessing. A large unwieldy cutter of home manufacture, the boards of which it was composed unplained and unpainted, with rope harness, and an undressed bull's hide by way of buffalo's, formed our equipage. But no description that I could give you would do justice to the old mare. A sorry beast she was—thick legged, rough coated, and of a dirty yellow-white. Her eyes, over one of which a film was spread, were dull as the eyes of a stale fish, and her temples so hollow, that she looked as if she had been worn out by dragging the last two generations to their graves. I was ashamed of adding one more to the many burdens she must have borne in her day, and I almost wished that she had realized in her own person the well-known verse in the Scotch song—

"The auld man's mare's dead, A mile ayont Dundee,"

before I ever had set my eyes upon her.

"Can she carry us?" said I, pausing irresolutely, with my foot on the rough heavy runner of the cutter.

"I guess she can," quoth he. "She will skim like a bird over the snow; so get into the sleigh, and we will go straight off to the singing-school."

It was intensely cold. I drew the collar of my great-coat over my ears, and wrapped my half of the bull's hide well round my feet, and we started. The old mare went better than could have been expected from such a skeleton of a beast. To be sure, she had no weight of flesh to encumber her motions, and we were getting on pretty well, when the music master drove too near a stump, which suddenly upset us both, and tumbled him head foremost into a bank of snow. I fortunately rolled out a-top of him, and soon extricated myself from the difficulty; but I found it no easy matter to drag my ponderous companion from beneath the snow, and the old bull's hide in which he was completely enveloped.

The old mare stood perfectly still, gazing with her one eye intently on the mischief she had done, as if she never had been guilty of such a breach of manners before. After shaking the snow from our garments, and getting all right for a second start, my companion exclaimed in an agonized tone—

"My fiddle! Where, where is my fiddle? I can do nothing without my fiddle."

We immediately went in search of it; but we did not succeed in finding it for some time. I had given it up in despair, and, half-frozen with cold, was stepping into the cutter to take the benefit of the old bull's hide, when, fortunately for the music master one of the strings of the lost instrument snapped with the cold. We followed the direction of the sound, and soon beheld the poor fiddle sticking in a snow-bank, and concealed by a projecting stump. The instrument had sustained no other injury than the loss of three of the strings.

"Well, arn't that too bad?" says he. "I have no more catgut without sending to W—-. That's done for, at least for to-night."

"It's very cold," I cried, impatiently, seeing that he was in no hurry to move on. "Do let us be going. You can examine your instrument better in the house than standing up to your knees in the snow."

"I was born in the Backwoods," say he; "I don't feel the cold." Then jumping into the cutter, he gave me the fiddle to take care of, and pointing with the right finger of his catskin gloves to a solitary house on the top of a bleak hill, nearly a mile a-head, he said, "That white building is the place where the school is held."

We soon reached the spot. "This is the old Methodist church, mister, and a capital place for the voice. There is no furniture or hangings to interrupt the sound. Go right in, while I hitch the mare; I will be arter you in a brace of shakes."

I soon found myself in the body of the old dilapidated church, and subjected to the stare of a number of very unmusical-looking girls and boys, who, certainly from their appearance, would never have led you to suppose that they ever could belong to a Philharmonic society. Presently, Mr. Browne made his debut.

Assuming an air of great importance as he approached his pupils, he said—"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to your notice Mr. H—-, the celebrated vocalist. He has cum all the way from New York on purpose to hear you sing."

The boys grinned at me and twirled their thumbs, the girls nudged one another's elbows and giggled, while their eloquent teacher continued—

"I don't know as how we shall be able to do much tonight; we upset, and that spilt my fiddle into the snow. You see,"—holding it up—"it's right full of it, and that busted the strings. A dropsical fiddle is no good, no how. Jist look at the water dripping out of her."

Again the boys laughed, and the girls giggled. Said he—

"Hold on, don't laugh; it's no laughing matter, as you'll find."

After a long pause, in which the youngsters tried their best to look grave, he went on—

"Now all of you, girls and boys, give your attention to my instructions this evening. I'm goin' to introduce a new style, for your special benefit, called the Pest-a-lazy (Pestalozzi) system, now all the fashion. If you are all ready, produce your books. Hold them up. One—two—three! Three books for forty pupils? That will never do! We can't sing to-night; well, never mind. You see that black board; I will give you a lesson to-night upon that. Who's got a piece of chalk?"

A negative shake of the head from all. To me: "Chalk's scarce in these diggings." To the boys: "What, nobody got a piece of chalk? That's unlucky; a piece of charcoal out of the stove will do as well."

"No 'ar won't," roared out a boy with a very ragged coat. "They be both the same colour."

"True, Jenkins, for you; go out and get a lump of snow. Its darnation strange if I can't fix it somehow."

"Now," thought I, "what is this clever fellow going to do?"

The boys winked at each other, and a murmur of suppressed laughter ran through the old church. Jenkins ran out, and soon returned with a lump of snow.

Mr. Browne took a small piece, and squeezing it tight, stuck it upon the board. "Now, boys, that is Do, and that is Re, and that is Do again, and that is Mi, this Do, and that Fa; and that, boys, is a part of what we call a scale." Then turning to a tall, thin, shabby-looking man, very much out at the elbows, whom I had not seen before, he said—"Mr. Smith, how is your base viol? Hav'nt you got it tuned up yet?"

Well, squire, I guess it's complete."

"Hold on; let me see," and taking a tuning-fork from his pocket, and giving it a sharp thump upon the stove, he cried out in a still louder key—"Now, that's A; jist tune up to A."

After Mr. Smith had succeeded in tuning his instrument, the teacher proceeded with his lucid explanations:—"Now, boys, start fair; give a grand chord. What sort of a noise do you call that? (giving a luckless boy a thump over the head with his fiddle-stick). You bray through your nose like a jackass. I tell you to quit; I don't want discord." The boy slunk out of the class, and stood blubbering behind the door.

"Tune up again, young shavers! Sing the notes as I have made them on the board,—Do, re-do, mi, do-fa. Now, when I count four commence. One—two—three—four. Sing! Hold on!—hold on! Don't you see that all the notes are running off, and you can't sing running notes yet."

Here he was interrupted by the noise of some one forcing their way into the church, in a very strange and unceremonious manner, and

"The chorister's song, that late was so strong, Grew a quaver of consternation."

The door burst open, and a ghastly head was protruded through the aperture. "A ghost!—a ghost!" shrieked out all the children in a breath; and jumping over the forms, they huddled around the stove, upsetting the solitary tallow candle, the desk, and the bass viol, in their flight. One lad sprang right upon the unfortunate instrument, which broke to pieces with a terrible crash. We were now left in the dark. The girls screamed, and clung round me for protection, while the ghastly apparition continued to stare upon us through the gloom, with its large, hollow eyes, I must confess that I felt rather queer; but I wisely kept my fears to myself, while I got as far from the door as I possibly could. Just as our terror had reached a climax, the grizzly phantom uttered a low, whining neigh.

"It's the old mare! I'll be darned if it isn't!" cried one of the older boys, at the top of his voice. This restored confidence to the rest; and one rather bolder than his comrades at length ventured to relight the fallen candle at the stove, and holding it up, displayed to our view the old white mare, standing in the doorway. The poor beast had forced her way into the porch to protect herself from the cold; and she looked at her master, as much as to say, "I have a standing account against you." No doubt her sudden intrusion had been the means of shortening her term of probation by at least half an hour, and of bringing the singing-school to a close. She had been the innocent cause of disabling both the musical instruments, and Mr. Browne could not raise a correct note without them. Turning to his pupils, with a very rueful countenance, and speaking in a very unmusical voice, but very expressive withal, he said—"Chore (meaning choir), you are dimissed. But, hold on!—don't be in such a darnation hurry to be off. I was a-going to tell you, this ere gentleman, Mr. H—- (my name, for a wonder, poppping into his head at that minute) is to give a con-sort to-morrow night. It was to have been to-night; but he changed his mind that he might have the pleasure of hearing you. I shall assist Mr. H—- in the singing department; so you must all be sure to cum. Tickets for boys over ten years, twenty-five cents; under ten, twelve and a half cents. So you leetle chaps will know what to do. The next time the school meets will be when the fiddles are fixed. Now scamper." The children were not long in obeying the order. In the twinkling of an eye they were off, and we heard them shouting and sky-larking in the lane.

"Cum, Mr. H—-," said the music-master, buttoning his great-coat up to his chin, "let us be a-goin'."

On reaching the spot where we had left the cutter, to our great disappointment, we found only one-half of it remaining; the other half, broken to pieces, strewed the ground. Mr. Browne detained me for another half-hour, in gathering together the fragments. "Now you, Mr. Smith, you take care of the crippled fiddles, while I take care of the bag of oats. The old mare has been trying to hook them out of the cutter, which has been the cause of all the trouble. You, Mr. H—-, mount up on the old jade, and take along the bull's hide, and we will follow on foot."

"Yes," said I, "and glad of the chance, for I am cold and tired."

Not knowing a step of the way, I let Mr. Browne and his companion go a-head; and making a sort of pack-saddle of the old hide, I curled myself up on the back of the old mare, and left her to her own pace, which, however, was a pretty round trot, until we reached the outskirts of the town, where, dismounting, I thanked my companions, very insincerely I'm afraid, for my evening's amusement, and joined my friends at the hotel, who were never tired of hearing me recount my adventures at the singing-school.

I had been obliged to postpone my own concert until the next evening, for I found the borrowed piano such a poor one, and so miserably out of tune, that it took me several hours rendering it at all fit for service. Before I had concluded my task, I was favoured with the company of Mr. Browne, who stuck to me closer than a brother, never allowing me out of his sight for a moment. This persevering attention, so little in unison with my feelings, caused me the most insufferable annoyance. A thousand times I was on the point of dismissing him very unceremoniously, by informing him that I thought him a most conceited, impertinent puppy; but for the sake of my friend Roberts, who was in some way related to the fellow, I contrived to master my anger. About four o'clock he jumped up from the table, at which he had been lounging and sipping hot punch at my expense for the last hour, exclaiming—

"I guess it's time for me to see the pee-a-ne carried up to the con-sort room."

"It's all ready," said I. "Perhaps, Mr. Browne, you will oblige me by singing a song before the company arrives, that I may judge how far your style and mine will agree;" for I began to have some horrible misgivings on the subject. "If you will step upstairs, I will accompany you on the piano. I had no opportunity of hearing you sing last night."

"No, no," said he, with a conceited laugh; "I mean to astonish you by and by. I'm not one of your common amateurs, no how. I shall produce quite a sensation upon your audience."

So saying, he darted through the door, and left me to finish my arrangements for the night.

The hour appointed for the concert at length arrived. It was a clear, frosty night, the moon shining as bright as day. A great number of persons were collected about the doors of the hotel, and I had every reason to expect a full house. I was giving some directions to my door-keeper, when I heard a double sleigh approaching at an uncommon rate; and looking up the road, I saw an old-fashioned, high-backed vehicle, drawn by two shabby-looking horses, coming towards the hotel at full gallop. The passengers evidently thought that they were too late, and were making up for lost time.

The driver was an old farmer, and dressed in the cloth of the country, with a large capote of the same material drawn over his head and weather-beaten face, which left his sharp black eyes, red nose, and wide mouth alone visible. He flourished in his hand a large whip of raw hide, which ever and anon descended upon the backs of his rawboned cattle like the strokes of a flail.

"Get up—go along—waye," cried he, suddenly drawing up at the door of the hotel. "Well, here we be at last, and jist in time for the con-sort." Then hitching the horses to the post, and flinging the buffalo robes over them, he left the three females he was driving in the sleigh, and ran directly up to me,—"Arn't you the con-sort man? I guess you be, by them ere black pants and Sunday-goin' gear."

I nodded assent.

"What's the damage?"

"Half a dollar."

"Half a dollar? You don't mean to say that!"

"Not a cent less."

"Well, it will be expensive. There's my wife and two darters, and myself; and the galls never seed a con-sort."

"Well," said I, "as there are four of you, you may come in at a dollar and a half."

"How; a dollar and a harf! I will go and have a talk with the old woman, and hear what she says to it."

He returned to the sleigh, and after chatting for a few minutes with the women, he helped them out, and the four followed me into the common reception room of the inn. The farmer placed a pail of butter on the table, and said with a shrewd curl of his long nose, and a wink from one of his cunning black eyes, "There's some pretty good butter, mister."

I was amused at the idea, and replied, "Pretty good butter! What is that to me? I do not buy butter."

"Not buy butter! Why you don't say! It is the very best article in the market jist now."

For a bit of fun I said,—"Never mind; I will take your butter. What is it worth?"

"It was worth ten cents last week, mister; I don't know what it's worth now. It can't have fallen, no-how."

I took my knife from my pocket, and in a very business-like manner proceeded to taste the article. "Why," said I, "this butter is not good."

Here a sharp-faced woman stepped briskly up, and poking her head between us, said, at the highest pitch of her cracked voice,—"Yes, it is good; it was made this morning express-ly for the con-sort."

"I beg your pardon, madam. I am not in the habit of buying butter. To oblige you, I will take this. How much is there of it?"

"I don't know. Where are your steelyards?"

"Oh," said I, laughing, "I don't carry such things with me. I will take it at your own valuation, and you may go in with your family."

"'Tis a bargain," says she. "Go in, galls, and fix yourselves for the con-sort."

As the room was fast filling, I thought it time to present myself to the company, and made my entrance, accompanied by that incorrigible pest, the singing master, who, without the least embarrassment, took his seat by the piano. After singing several of my best songs, I invited him to try his skill.

"Oh, certainly," said he; "to tell you the truth, I am a leetle su rprised that you did not ask me to lead off."

"I would have done so; but I could not alter the arrangement of the programme."

"Ah, well, I excuse you this time, but it was not very polite, to say the least of it." Then, taking my seat at the piano with as much confidence as Braham ever had, he run his hand over the keys, exclaiming "What shall I sing? I will give you one of Russell's songs; they suit my voice best. Ladies and gentlemen, I am going to favour you by singing Henry Russell's celebrated song, 'I love to roam,' and accompany myself upon the pee-a-ne-forty."

This song is so well known to most of my readers, that I can describe his manner of singing it without repeating the whole of the words. He struck the instrument in playing with such violence that it shook his whole body, and produced the following ludicrous effect:

"Some love to ro-o-o-a-me O'er the dark sea fo-o-ome, Where the shrill winds whistle fre-e-e; But a cho-o-sen ba-a-and in a mountain la-a-a-and, And life in the woo-o-ds for me-e-e."

This performance was drowned in an uproar of laughter, which brought our vocalist to a sudden stop.

"I won't sing another line if you keep up that infernal noise," he roared at the top of his voice. "When a fellow does his best, he expects his audience to appreciate his performance; but I allers he'rd as how the folks at W—- knew nothing about music."

"Oh, do stop," exclaimed an old woman, rising from her seat, and shaking her fist at the unruly company,—"can't yee's; he do sing butiful; and his voice in the winds do sound so natural, I could almost hear them an 'owling. It minds me of old times, it dew."

This voluntary tribute to his genius seemed to console and reassure the singing master, and, stemming with his stentorian voice the torrent of mistimed mirth, he sang his song triumphantly to the end; and the clapping of hands, stamping of feet, and knocking of benches, were truly deafening.

"What will you have now?" cried he. "I thought you would comprehend good singing at last."

"Give them a comic song," said I, in a whisper.

"A comic song! (aloud) Do you think that I would waste my talents in singing trash that any jackass could bray? No, sirra, my style is purely sentimental. I will give the ladies and gentlemen the 'Ivy Green.'"

He sang this beautiful original song, which is decidedly Russell's best, much in the same style as the former one, but, getting a little used to his eccentricities, we contrived to keep our gravity until he came to the chorus, "Creeping, creeping, creeping," for which he substituted, "crawling, crawling, crawling," when he was again interrupted by such a burst of merriment that he was unable to crawl any further.

"Well," said he, rising; "if you won't behave, I will leave the instrument to Mr. H—-, and make one of the audience."

He had scarcely taken his seat, when the farmer from whom I had bought the butter forced his way up to the piano. Says he, "There's that pail; it is worth ten cents and a half. You must either pay the money, or give me back the pail.—(Hitching up his nether garments)—I s'pose you'll do the thing that's right."

"Oh, certainly, there are twelve and a half cents."

"I hav'nt change," said he, with a knowing look.

"So much the better; keep the difference."

"Then we're square, mister," and he sank back into his place.

"Did he pay you the money?" I heard the wife ask in an anxious tone.

"Yes, yes; more than the old pail was worth by a long chalk. I'd like to deal with that chap allers."

I now proceeded with the concert. The song of the drowning child saved by the Newfoundland dog drew down thunders of applause. When the clamour had a little subsided, a tall man rose from his seat at the upper end of the room, and, after clearing his throat with several loud hems, he thus addressed me,—"How do you do, Mr. H—-? I am glad, sir, to make your acquaintance. This is my friend, Mr. Derby," drawing another tall man conspicuously forward before all the spectators. "He, tew, is very happy to make your acquaintance. We both want to know if that dog you have been singing about belongs to you. If so, we should be glad to buy a pup." He gravely took his seat, amid perfect yells of applause. It was impossible to be heard in such a riot, and I closed the adventures of the evening by giving out "'Hail, Columbia,' to be sung by all present." This finale gave universal satisfaction, and the voice of my friend the singing master might be heard far above the rest.

I was forced, in common politeness, to invite Mr. Browne to partake of the oyster supper I had provided for my friends from W—-. "Will you join our party this evening, Mr. Browne?"

"Oh, by all manner of means," said he, rubbing his hands together in a sort of ecstasy of anticipation; "I knew that you would do the thing handsome at last. I have not tasted an i'ster since I sang at Niblo's in New York. But did we not come on famously at the con-sort? Confess, now, that I beat you holler. You sing pretty well, but you want confidence. You don't give expression enough to your voice. The applause which followed my first song was tremendous."

"I never heard anything like it, Mr. Browne. I never expect to merit such marks of public approbation."

"All in good time, my leetle friend," returned he, clapping me familiarly on the shoulder. "Rome was not built in a day, and you are a young man—a very young man—and very small for your age. Your voice will never have the volume and compass of mine. But I smell the i'sters: let's in, for I'm tarnation hungry."

Gentle reader! you would have thought so to have seen him eat. My companions looked rather disconcerted at the rapidity with which they disappeared within his capacious jaws. After satisfying his enormous appetite, he washed down the oysters with long draughts of porter, until his brain becoming affected, he swung his huge body back in his chair, and, placing his feet on the supper-table, began singing in good earnest,—not one song in particular, but a mixture of all that had appeared in the most popular Yankee song books for the last ten years.

I wish I could give you a specimen of the sublime and the ridiculous, thus unceremoniously huddled together. The effect was so irresistible, when contrasted with the grave exterior of the man; that we laughed until our side ached at his absurdities. Exhausted by his constant vociferations, the musician at length dropped from his chair in a drunken sleep upon the floor, and we carried him into the next room and put him to bed; and, after talking over the events of the evening, we retired about midnight to our respective chambers, which all opened into the great room in which I held the concert.

About two o'clock in the morning my sleep was disturbed by the most dismal cries and groans, which appeared to issue from the adjoining apartment. I rubbed my eyes, and sat up in the bed and listened, when I recognized the well-known voice of the singing master, exclaiming in tones of agony and fear—"Landlord! landlord! cum quick. Somebody cum. Landlord! landlord! there's a man under my bed. Oh, Lord! I shall be murdered! a man under my bed!"

As I am not fond of such nocturnal visitors myself, not being much gifted with physical strength or courage, I listened a moment to hear if any one was coming. The sound of approaching footsteps along the passage greatly aided the desperate effort I made to leave my comfortable pillow, and proceed to the scene of action. At the chamber door I met the landlord, armed with the fire-tongs and a light.

"What's all this noise about?" he cried in an angry tone.

I assured him that I was as ignorant as himself of the cause of the disturbance. Here the singing master again sung out—

"Landlord! landlord! there's a man under the bed. Cum! somebody cum!"

We immediately entered his room, and were joined by two of my friends from W—-. Seeing our party strengthened to four, our courage rose amazingly, and we talked loudly of making mincemeat of the intruder, kicking him down stairs, and torturing him in every way we could devise. We found the singing master sitting bolt upright in his bed, his small-clothes gathered up under his arm ready for a start; his face as pale as a sheet, his teeth chattering, and his whole appearance indicative of the most abject fear. We certainly did hear very mysterious sounds issuing from beneath the bed, which caused the boldest of us to draw back.

"He is right," said Roberts; "there is some one under the bed."

"What a set of confounded cowards you are!" cried the landlord; "can't you lift the valance and see what it is?"

He made no effort himself to ascertain the cause of the alarm. Roberts, who, after all, was the boldest man of the party, seized the tongs from the landlord, and, kneeling cautiously down, slowly raised the drapery that surrounded the bed. "Hold the light here, landlord." He did so, but at arm's length. Roberts peeped timidly into the dark void beyond, dropped the valance, and looked up with a comical, quizzing expression, and began to laugh.

"What is it?" we all cried in a breath.

"Landlord! landlord!" he cried, imitating the voice of the singing master, "cum quick! Somebody cum! There's a dog under the bed! He will bite me! Oh, dear! oh, dear! I shall die of hydrophobia. I shall be smothered in a feather-bed!"

"A dog!" said the landlord.

"A dog!" cried we all.

"Aye, a black dog."

"You don't say!" cried the singing master, springing from his bed. "Where is he? I'm able for him any how." And seizing a corn broom that stood in a corner of the room, he began to poke at the poor animal, and belabour him in the most unmerciful manner.

The dog, who belonged to a drover who penned his cattle in the inn-yard for the night, wishing to find a comfortable domicile, had taken a private survey of the premises when the people were out of the way, and made his quarters under Mr. Browne's bed. When that worthy commenced snoring, the dog, to signify his approbation at finding himself in the company of some one, amused himself by hoisting his tail up and down; now striking the sacking of the bed, and now tapping audibly against the floor. These mysterious salutations became, at length, so frequent and vehement that they awoke the sleeper, who, not daring to ascertain the cause of the alarm, aroused the whole house with his clamours.

Mr. Browne finding himself unable to thrash the poor brute out of his retreat, and having become all of a sudden very brave, crawled under the bed and dragged the dog out by his hind legs.

"You see I'm enough for him; give me the poker, and I'll beat out his brains."

"You'll do no such thing, sir," said the landlord, turning the animal down the stairs. "The dog belongs to a quiet decent fellow, and a good customer, and he shall meet with no ill usage here. Your mountain, Mr. Browne, has brought forth a mouse."

"A dog sir," quoth the singing master, not in the least abashed by the reproof. "If the brute had cut up such a dido under your bed, you would have been as 'turnal sceared as I was."

"Perhaps, Mr. Browne," said I, "you took it for the ghost of the old mare?"

"Ghost or no ghost," returned the landlord, "he has given us a great deal of trouble, and nearly frightened himself into fits."

"The fear was not all on my side," said the indignant vocalist; "and I look upon you as the cause of the whole trouble."

"As how?"

"If the dog had not cum to your house, he never would have found his way under my bed. When I pay for my night's lodging, I don't expect to have to share it with a strange dog—no how."

So saying he retreated, grumbling, back to his bed, and we gladly followed his example.

I rose early in the morning to accompany my friends to W—-. At the door of the hotel I was accosted by Mr. Browne—

"Why, you arn't goin' to start without bidding me good-bye? Besides, you have not paid me for my assistance at the con-sort."

I literally started with surprise at this unexpected demand. "Do you expect a professional price for your services?"

"Well, I guess the con-sort would have been nothing without my help; but I won't be hard upon you, as you are a young beginner, and not likely to make your fortune in that line any how. There's that pail of butter; if you don't mean to take it along, I'll take that; we wants butter to hum. Is it a bargain?"

"Oh, yes; if you are satisfied, I am well pleased." (I could have added, to get rid of you at any price.) "You will find it on the table in the hall."

"Not exactly; I took it hum this morning—I thought how it would end. Good-bye to you, Mr. H—-. If ever you come this way again, I shall be happy to lend you my assistance."

I never visited that part of the countryside since, but I have no doubt that Mr. Browne is busy in his vocation, and flattering himself that he is one of the first vocalists in the Union. I think he should change his residence, and settle down for life in New Harmony.

To Adelaide,[1] A Beautiful Young Canadian Lady.

"Yes, thou art young, and passing fair; But time, that bids all blossoms fade, Will rob thee of the rich and rare; Then list to me, sweet Adelaide. He steals the snow from polish'd brow, From soft bewitching eyes the blue, From smiling lips their ruby glow, From velvet cheeks their rosy hue.

"Oh, who shall check the spoiler's power?— 'Tis more than conquering love may dare; He flutters round youth's summer bower, And reigns o'er hearts like summer fair. He basks himself in sunny eyes, Hides 'mid bright locks, and dimpled smiles; From age he spreads his wings and flies,— Forgets soft vows, and pretty wiles.

"The charms of mind are ever young, Their beauty never owns decay; The fairest form by poet sung, Before their power must fade away. The mind immortal wins from time Fresh beauties as its years advance; Its flowers bloom fresh in every clime— They cannot yield to change and chance.

"E'en over love's capricious boy They hold an undiminish'd sway; For chill and storm can ne'er destroy The blossoms of eternal day. Then deem these charms, sweet Adelaide, The brightest gems in beauty's zone: Make these thine own,—all others fade; They live when youth and grace are flown."

[1] The daughter of Colonel Coleman, of Belleville; now Mrs. Easton.



CHAPTER VII

Camp Meetings

"On—on!—for ever brightly on, Thy lucid waves are flowing: Thy waters sparkle as they run, Their long, long journey going." S.M.

We have rounded Ox Point, and Belleville is no longer in sight. The steamboat has struck into mid channel, and the bold shores of the Prince Edward District are before us. Calmly we glide on, and islands and headlands seem to recede from us as we advance; and now they are far in the distance, half seen through the warm purple haze that rests so dreamily upon woods and waters. Heaven is above us, and another heaven—more soft, and not less beautiful—lies mirrored beneath; and within that heaven are traced exquisite forms of earth—trees, and flowers, and verdant slopes, and bold hills, and barren rugged rocks. The scene is one of surpassing loveliness, and we open our hearts to receive its sweet influences, while our eyes rest upon it with intense delight, and the inner voice of the soul whispers—God is here! Dost thou not catch the reflection of his glory in this superb picture of Nature's own painting, while the harmony that surrounds his throne is faintly echoed by the warm balmy wind that stirs the lofty branches of the woods, and the waves that swell and break in gentle undulation against these rocky isles?

"So smiled the heavens upon the vestal earth, The morn she rose exulting from her birth; A living harmony, a perfect plan Of power and beauty, ere the rebel man Defiled with sin, and stain'd with kindred blood, The paradise his God pronounced as good."

That rugged point to the left contains a fine quarry of limestone, which supplies excellent building materials. The stones are brought by the means of a scow, a very broad flat-bottomed boat, to Belleville, where they are sawn into square blocks, and dressed for doors sills and facings of houses. A little further on, the Salmon river discharges its waters into the bay, and on its shores the village of Shannonville has risen, as if by magic, within a very few years. Three schooners are just now anchored at its mouth, receiving cargoes of sawn lumber to carry over to Oswego. The timber is supplied from the large mill, the din of whose machinery can be heard distinctly at this distance. Lumber forms, at present, the chief article of export from this place. Upwards of one million of sawn lumber was shipped from this embryo town during the past year.

Shannonville owes its present flourishing prospects to the energy and enterprise of a few individuals, who saw at a glance its capabilities, and purchased for a few hundred pounds the site of a town which is now worth as many thousands. The steamboats do not touch at Shannonville, in their trips to and from Kingston. The mouth of the river is too narrow to admit a larger vessel than a schooner, but as the place increases, wharfs will be built at its entrance into the bay.

On the road leading from Belleville to this place, which is in the direct route to Kingston, there is a large tract of plain land which is still uncultivated. The soil is sandy, and the trees are low and far apart, a natural growth short grass and flowering shrubs giving it very much the appearance of a park. Clumps of butternut, and hiccory trees, form picturesque groups; and herds of cattle, belonging to the settlers in the vicinity, roam at large over these plains that sweep down to the water's edge. This is a very favourite resort of summer parties, as you can drive light carriages in all directions over this elevated platform. It used formerly to be a chosen spot for camp-meetings, and all the piously disposed came hither to listen to the preachers, and "get religion."

I never witnessed one of these meetings, but an old lady gave me a very graphic description of one of them that was held on this spot some thirty years ago. There were no churches in Belleville then, and the travelling Methodist ministers used to pitch their tents on these plains, and preach night and day to all goers and comers. A pulpit, formed of rough slabs of wood, was erected in a conveniently open space among the trees, and they took it by turns to read, exhort, and pray, to the dwellers in the wilderness. At right they kindled large fires, which served both for light and warmth, and enabled the pilgrims to this sylvan shrine to cook their food, and attend to their wants of their little ones. Large booths, made of the boughs of trees, sheltered the worshippers from the heat of the sun during the day, or from the occasional showers produced by some passing thunder cloud at night.

"Our bush farm," said my friend, "happened to be near the spot, and I went with a young girl, a friend and neighbour, partly out of curiosity and partly out of fun, to hear the preaching. It was the middle of July, but the weather was unusually wet for that time of year, and every tent and booth was crowded with men, women, and children, all huddled together to keep out of the rain. Most of these tents exhibited some extraordinary scene of fanaticism and religious enthusiasm; the noise and confusion were deafening. Men were preaching at the very top of their voice; women were shrieking and groaning, beating their breasts and tearing their hair, while others were uttering the most frantic outcries, which they called ejaculatory prayers. One thought possessed me all the time, that the whole assembly were mad, and that they imagined God to be deaf, and that he could not hear them without their making this shocking noise. It would appear to you like the grossest blasphemy were I to repeat to you some of their exclamations; but one or two were so absurdly ridiculous, that I cannot help giving them as I heard them.

"One young woman, after lying foaming and writhing upon the ground, like a creature possessed, sprang up several feet into the air, exclaiming, 'I have got it! I have got it! I have got it!' To which others responded—'Keep it! keep it! keep it!' I asked a bystander what she meant. He replied, 'she has got religion. It is the Spirit that is speaking in her.' I felt too much shocked to laugh out, yet could scarcely retain my gravity.

"Passing by one of the tents, I saw a very fat woman lying upon a bench on her face, uttering the most dismal groans, while two well-fed, sleek-looking ministers, in rusty black coats and very dirty-looking white chokers, were drumming upon her fat back with their fists, exclaiming—'Here's glory! here's glory, my friends! Satan is departing out of this woman. Hallelujah!' This spectacle was too shocking to provoke a smile.

"There was a young lady dressed in a very nice silk gown. Silk was a very scarce and expensive article in those days. The poor girl got dreadfully excited, and was about to fling herself down upon the wet grass, to show the depth of her humility and contrition, when she suddenly remembered the precious silk dress, and taking a shawl of less value from her shoulders, carefully spread it over the wet ground.

"Ah, my dear friend," continued the old lady, "one had a deal to learn at that camp-meeting. A number of those people knew no more what they were about than persons in a dream. They worked themselves up to a pitch of frenzy, because they saw others carried away by the same spirit; and they seemed to try which could make the most noise, and throw themselves into the most unnatural positions. Few of them carried the religious zeal they manifested in such a strange way at that meeting, into their own homes. Before the party broke up it was forgotten, and they were laughing and chatting about their worldly affairs. The young lads were sparking the girls, and the girls laughing and flirting with them. I remarked to an old farmer, who was reckoned a very pious man, 'that such conduct, in persons who had just been in a state of despair about their sins, was very inconsistent, to say the least of it;' and he replied, with a sanctimonious smile—'It is only the Lord's lambs, playing with each other.'"

These camp-meetings seldom take place near large towns, where the people have the benefit of a resident minister, but they still occur on the borders of civilization, and present the same disorderly mixture of fanaticism and vanity.

More persons go for a frolic than to obtain any spiritual benefit. In illustration of this, I will tell you a story which a very beautiful young married lady told to me with much glee, for the thing happened to herself, and she was the principal actor in the scene.

"I had an aunt, the wife of a very wealthy yeoman, who lived in one of the back townships of C—-, on the St. Lawrence. She was a very pious and hospitable woman, and none knew it better than the travelling ministers, who were always well fed and well lodged at her house, particularly when they assembled to hold a camp-meeting, which took place once in several years in that neighbourhood.

"I was a girl of fifteen, and was staying with my aunt for the benefit of the country-air, when one of these great gatherings took place. Having heard a great deal about their strange doings at these meetings, I begged very hard to be allowed to make one of the spectators. My aunt, who knew what a merry, light-hearted creature I was, demurred for some time before she granted my request.

"'If the child does not get religion,' she said, 'she will turn it all into fun, and it will do her more harm than good.'

"Aunt was right enough in her conjunctures; but still she entertained a latent hope, that the zeal of the preachers, the excitement of the scene, and the powerful influence produced by the example of the pious, might have a beneficial effect on my young mind, and lead to my conversion. Aunt had herself been reclaimed from a state of careless indifference by attending one of these meetings, and at last it was determined that I was to go.

"First came the ministers, and then the grand feed my aunt had prepared for them, before they opened the campaign. Never shall I forget how those holy men devoured the good things set before them. I stood gazing upon them in utter astonishment, wondering when their meal would come to an end. They none wore whiskers, and their broad fat faces literally shone with high feeding. When I laughed at their being such excellent knife and fork men, aunt gravely reproved my levity, by saying, 'that the labourer was worthy of his hire; and that it would be a great sin to muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn; that field preaching was a very exhausting thing, and that these pious men required a great deal of nourishment to keep up their strength for the performance of good work.'

"After they were gone, I dressed and accompanied my aunt to the scene of action.

"It was a lovely spot, about a mile from the house. The land rose in a gentle slope from the river, and was surrounded on three sides by lofty woods. The front gave us a fine view of the St. Lawrence, rushing along in its strength, the distant murmur of the waves mingling with the sigh of the summer breeze, that swept the dense foliage of the forest trees. The place had been cleared many years before, and was quite free from stumps and fallen timber, the ground carpeted with soft moss and verdant fresh looking turf.

"The area allotted for the meeting was fenced around with the long thin trunks of sapling trees, that were tied together with strips of bass-wood. In the centre of the enclosure was the platform for the preachers, constructed of rough slabs, and directly behind this rural pulpit was a large tent connected with it by a flight of board steps. Here the preachers retired, after delivering their lectures, to rest and refresh themselves. Fronting the platform was a sort of amphitheatre of booths, constructed of branches of trees, and containing benches of boards supported at either end by a round log laid lengthwise at the sides of the tent. Behind these rough benches persons had placed mattrasses, which they had brought with them in their waggons, that such as came from a distance might not want for a bed during their stay—some of these meetings lasting over a week.

"The space without the enclosure was occupied by a double line of carts, waggons, light carriages, and ox sleds, while the animals undivested of their harness were browsing peacefully among the trees. The inner space was crowded with persons of all classes, but the poorer certainly predominated. Well dressed, respectable people, however, were not wanting; and though I came there to see and to be seen, to laugh and to make others laugh, I must confess that I was greatly struck with the imposing and picturesque scene before me, particularly when a number of voices joined in singing the hymn with which the service commenced."

There is something very touching in this blending of human voices in the open air—this choral song of praise borne upwards from the earth, and ascending through the clear atmosphere to heaven. Leaving my friend and her curious narrative for a few minutes, I must remark here the powerful effect produced upon my mind by hearing "God save the King," sung by the thousands of London on the proclamation of William IV. It was impossible to distinguish good or bad voices in such a mighty volume of sound, which rolled through the air like a peal of solemn thunder. It thrilled through my heart, and paled my cheek. It seemed to me the united voice of a whole nation rising to the throne of God, and it was the grandest combination of sound and sentiment that ever burst upon human ears. Long, long may that thrilling anthem rise from the heart of England, in strains of loyal thanksgiving and praise, to the throne of that Eternal Potentate in whose hand is the fate of princes!

"There were numbers of persons who, like myself, came there for amusement, and who seemed to enjoy themselves quite as much as I did. The preaching at length commenced with a long prayer, followed by an admonitory address, urging those present to see their danger, repent of their sins, and flee from the wrath to come.

"Towards the middle of his discourse, the speaker wrought himself up into such a religious fury that it became infectious, and cries and groans resounded on all sides; and the prayers poured out by repentant sinners for mercy and pardon were heart-rending. The speaker at length became speechless from exhaustion, and stopping suddenly in the midst of his too eloquent harangue, he tied a red cotton handkerchief round his head, and hastily descended the steps, and disappeared in the tent provided for the accommodation of the ministers. His place was instantly supplied by a tall, dark, melancholy looking man, who, improving upon his reverend brother's suggestions, drew such an awful picture of the torments endured by the damned, that several women fainted, while others were shrieking in violent hysterics.

"I had listened to the former speaker with attention and respect, but this man's violent denunciations rather tended to harden my heart, and make me resist any religious feeling that had been growing up in my breast. I began to tire of the whole thing, and commenced looking about for some object that might divert my thoughts into a less gloomy channel.

"The bench on which I, together with a number of persons, was sitting, was so insecurely placed on the round rolling logs that supported it, that I perceived that the least motion given to it at my end would capsize it, and bring all the dear groaning creatures who were sitting upon it, with their eyes turned up to the preacher, sprawling on the ground.

"'Would it not be glorious fun?' whispered the spirit of mischief—perhaps the old one himself—in my ears. 'I can do it, and I will do it—so here goes!' As I sat next to the round log that supported my end of the plank, I had only to turn my face that way, and apply my foot like a lever to the round trunk, on which the end of the bench had the slightest possible hold, and the contemplated downfall became a certainty. No sooner thought than done. The next moment old and young, fat and lean, women and children, lay sprawling together on the ground, in the most original attitudes and picturesque confusion. I, for my part, was lying very comfortably on one of the mattrasses, laughing until real tears, but not of contrition, streamed down my face.

"Never shall I forget a fat old farmer, who used to visit at my aunt's, as he crawled out of the human heap on all fours, and shook his head at me—

"'You wicked young sinner, this is all your doings.'

"Before the storm could burst upon me, I got up and ran laughing out of the tent, and hid myself among the trees to enjoy my wicked thoughts alone. Here I remained for a long time, watching, at a safe distance, the mad gesticulations of the preacher, who was capering up and down on the platform, and using the most violent and extravagant language, until at length, overcome by his vehemence, he too tied the invariable red handkerchief round his head, and tumbled back into the tent, to be succeeded by another and another.

"Night, with all her stars, was now stealing upon us; but the light from a huge pile of burning logs, and from torches composed of fat pine, and stuck in iron grates supported on poles in different parts of the plain, scattered the darkness back to the woods, and made it as light as noon-day.

"The scene was now wild in the extreme: the red light streamed upon the moving mass of human beings who pressed around the pulpit, glaring upon clenched fists and upturned faces, while the preacher standing above them, and thrown into strong relief, with his head held back and his hands raised towards heaven, looked like some inspired prophet of old, calling down fire from heaven to consume the ungodly. It was a spectacle to inspire both fear and awe, but I could only view it in the most absurd light, and laugh at it.

"At length I was determined to know what became of the preachers, after tying the red handkerchief round their heads and retreating to their tents. I crept carefully round to the back of this holy of holies, and applying my eyes to a little aperture in the canvas, I saw by the light of a solitary candle several men lying upon mattrasses fast asleep, their noses making anything but a musical response to the hymns and prayers without. While I was gazing upon these prostrate forms, thus soundly sleeping after the hubbub and excitement their discourse had occasioned among their congregation, the last speaker hastily entered the tent, and flinging himself on to the floor, exclaimed, in a sort of ecstacy of gratitude—'Well, thank God my task is ended for the night; and now for a good sleep!'

"While I was yet pondering these things in my heart, I felt the grasp of a hand upon my shoulder. I turned with a shriek; it was my aunt seeking me. 'What are you doing here?' she said, rather angrily.

"'Studying my lesson, aunt,' said I, gravely, pointing to the sleepers. 'Do these men preach for their own honour and glory, or for the glory of God? I have tried to find out, but I can't tell.'

"'The night's grown chilly, child,' said my aunt, avoiding the answer I expected; 'it is time you were in bed.'

"We went home. I got a sound lecture for the trick I had played, and I never went to a camp-meeting again; yet, in spite of my bad conduct as a child, I believe they often do good, and are the means of making careless people think of the state of their souls."

Though the steamboats do not stop at Shannonville, they never fail to do so at the pretty town of Northport, on the other side of the bay, in order to take in freight and passengers.

Northport rises with a very steep slope from the water's edge, and the steamer runs into the wharf which projects but a few feet froth the shore. Down the long hill which leads to the main street, men and boys are running to catch a sight of the steamboat, and hear the news. All is bustle and confusion. Barrels of flour are being rolled into the boat, and sheep and cattle are led off—men hurry on board with trunks and carpet-bags—and women, with children in their arms or led by the hand, hasten on board;—while our passengers, descending to the wharf, are shaking hands with merchants and farmers, and talking over the current prices of grain and merchandise at their respective towns. The bell rings—the cable that bound us to the friendly wharf is cast off and flung on the deck the steamer opens her deep lungs, and we are once more stemming our way towards Kingston.

While we sail up that romantic part of the Bay of Quinte, called the "Long Reach," at the head of which stands the beautiful town of Picton, I will give you a few reminiscences of Northport. It is a most quiet and primitive village, and one might truly exclaim with Moore—

"And I said if there's peace to be found on the earth, The heart that is humble might hope for it here."

No gentler picture of society in a new country could be found, than the one exhibited by the inhabitants of Northport. The distinctions, unavoidable among persons of wealth and education, are hardly felt or recognised here. Every one is a neighbour in the strictest sense of the word and high and low meet occasionally at each other's houses. Even the domestics are removed by such a narrow line of demarcation, that they appear like members of one family.

The Prince Edward district, one of the wealthiest rural districts in Upper Canada, was settled about sixty years ago by U.E. loyalists; and its inhabitants are mainly composed of the descendants of Dutch and American families. They have among them a large sprinkling of Quakers, who are a happy, hospitable community, living in peace and brotherly kindness with all men.

The soil of this district is of the best quality for agricultural purposes; and though the march of improvement has been slow, when compared with the rapid advance of other places that possessed fewer local advantages, it has gone on steadily progressing, and the surface of a fine undulating country is dotted over with large well-cleared farms, and neat farmhouses.

One of the oldest and wealthiest inhabitants of Northport, Captain —-, is a fine specimen of the old school of Canadian settlers; one of nature's gentlemen, a man respected and beloved by all who know him, whose wise head, and keen organs of observation, have rendered him a highly intelligent and intellectual man, without having received the benefit of a college education. His house is always open for the reception of friends, neighbours, and strangers. He has no children of his own, but has adopted several orphan children, on whom he has bestowed all the affection and care of a real parent.

This system of adopting children in Canada is one of great benevolence, which cannot be too highly eulogized. Many an orphan child, who would be cast utterly friendless upon the world, finds a comfortable home with some good neighbour, and is treated with more consideration, and enjoys greater privileges, than if his own parents had lived. No difference is made between the adopted child and the young ones of the family; it is clothed, boarded, and educated with the same care, and a stranger would find it difficult to determine which was the real, which the transplanted scion of the house.

Captain —- seldom dines alone; some one is always going and coming, stepping in and taking pot-luck, by accident or invitation. But the Captain can afford it. Sociable, talkative, and the soul of hospitality, he entertains his guests like a prince. "Is he not a glorious old fellow?" said our beloved and excellent chief-justice Robinson; "Captain —- is a credit to the country." We echoed this sentiment with our whole heart. It is quite a treat to make one of his uninvited guests, and share the good-humoured sociability of his bountiful table.

You meet there men of all grades and conditions, of every party and creed,—the well-educated, well-dressed clergymen of the Establishment, and the travelling dispensers of gospel truths, with shabbier coats and less pretensions. No one is deemed an intruder—all find excellent cheer, and a hearty welcome.

Northport does not want its native poet, though the money-making merchants and farmers regard him with a suspicious and pitying eye. The manner in which they speak of his unhappy malady reminds me of what an old Quaker said to me regarding his nephew, Bernard Barton—"Friend Susanna, it is a great pity, but my nephew Bernard is sadly addicted to literature."

So Isaac N—-, gentleman farmer of the township of Ameliasburgh, is sadly gifted with the genuine elements of poetry, and, like Burns, composes verses at the plough-tail. I have read with great pleasure some sweet lines by this rural Canadian bard; and were he now beside me, instead of "Big bay" lying so provokingly between, I would beg from him a specimen of his rhyming powers, just to prove to my readers that the genuine children of song are distinguished by the same unmistakeable characteristics in every clime.

I remember being greatly struck by an overcoat, worn by a clergyman I had the pleasure of meeting many years ago at this village, which seemed to me a pretty good substitute for the miraculous purse of Fortunatus. The garment to which I allude was long and wide, and cut round somewhat in the shape of a spencer. The inside lining formed one capacious pocket, into which the reverend gentleman could conveniently stow away newspapers, books, and sermons, and, on a pinch, a fat fowl, a bottle of wine, or a homebaked loaf of bread. On the present occasion, the kind mistress of the house took care that the owner should not travel with it empty; so, to keep him fairly balanced on his horse, she stowed away into this convenient garment such an assortment of good things, that I sat and watched the operation in curious amazement.

Some time after I happened to dine with a dissenting minister at Mr. —-'s hous e. The man had a very repulsive and animal expression; he ate so long and lustily of a very fat goose, that he began to look very uncomfortable, and complained very much of being troubled with dyspepsy after his meals. He was a great teetotaller, or professed to be one, but certainly had forgotten the text, "Be ye moderate in all things;" for he by no means applied the temperance system to the substantial creature comforts, of which he partook in a most immoderately voracious manner.

"I know what would cure you, Mr. R—-," said my friend, who seemed to guess at a glance the real character of his visitor; "but then I know that you would never consent to make use of such a remedy."

"I would take anything that would do me good," said black-coat with a sigh.

"What think you of a small wine-glass of brandy just before taking dinner?"

"Against my principles, Sir; it would never do," with a lugubrious shake of the head.

"There is nothing on earth so good for your complaint."

"Do you reelly think it would serve me?" with a sudden twinkle of his heavy fishy eyes.

"Not a doubt of the fact" (pouring out a pretty large dram); "it will kill the heartburn, and do away with that uncomfortable feeling you experience after eating rich food. And as to principles, your pledge allows it in case of disease."

"True," said black-coat, coquetting with the glass; "still I should be sorry to try an alcoholic remedy while another could be found."

"Perhaps you would prefer eating less," said my friend slyly, "which, I have been told by a medical man, is generally a certain cure if persevered in."

"Oh, ah, yes. But, Sir, my constitution would never stand that. I think for once I will try the effect of your first prescription; but, remember, it is only medicinally."

The next moment the glass was returned to the table empty, and the good man took his leave.

"Now, Mr. —-, was it not too bad of you to make that man break his pledge?" observed a person at table.

"My dear Sir, that man requires very little temptation to do that. The total abstinence of a glutton is entirely for the public."

The houses built by the Dutch settlers have very little privacy, as one bed-chamber invariably opens into another. In some cases, the sleeping apartments all open into a common sitting-room occupied by the family. To English people, this is both an uncomfortable and very unpleasant arrangement.

I slept for two nights at Mr. —-'s house, with my husband, and our dormitory had no egress but through another bed-chamber; and as that happened to be occupied on the first night by a clergyman, I had to wait for an hour, after my husband was up and down stairs rejoicing in the fresh air of a lovely summer morning, before I could escape from my chamber,—my neighbour; who was young and very comely, taking a long time for his prayers, and the business of the toilet.

My husband laughed very heartily at my imprisonment, as he termed it; but the next day I had the laugh against him, for our sleeping neighbours happened to be a middle-aged Quaker, with a very sickly delicate wife. I, of course, was forced to go to bed when she did, or be obliged to pass through her chamber after brother Jonathan had retired for the night. This being by no means desirable, I left a very interesting argument, in which my husband, the Quaker, and the poet were fighting an animated battle on reform principles, against the clergyman and my very much respected Tory host. How they got on I don't know, for the debate was at its height when I was obliged to beat my retreat to bed.

After an hour or so I heard Jonathan tumble upstairs to bed, and while undressing he made the following very innocent remark to his wife,—"Truly, Hannah, I fear that I have used too many words tonight. My uncle is a man of many words, and one is apt to forget the rules of prudence when arguing with him."

If the use of many words was looked upon as a serious transgression by honest Jonathan, my husband, my friend, and the poet, must have been very guilty men, for they continued their argument until the "sma' hours ayont the twal."

My husband had to pass through the room occupied by the Friends, in order to reach mine, but he put a bold face upon the matter, and plunged at once through the difficulty, the Quaker's nose giving unmistakeable notice that he was in the land of Nod. The pale sickly woman just opened her dreamy black eyes, but hid them instantly beneath the bed-clothes, and the passage, not of arms, but of the bed-chamber, was won.

The next morning we had to rise early to take the boat, and Jonathan was up by the dawn of day; so that I went through as bold as a lion, and was busily employed in discussing an excellent breakfast, while my poor partner was sitting impatiently nursing his appetite at the foot of his bed, and wishing the pale Quakeress across the bay. The steamer was in sight before he was able to join us at the breakfast-table. I had now my revenge, and teased him all the way home on being kept a prisoner, with only a sickly woman for a jailor.

A young lady gave me an account of a funeral she witnessed in this primitive village, which may not be uninteresting to my English readers, as a picture of some of the customs of a new country.

The deceased was an old and very respectable resident in the township; and as the Canadians delight in large funerals, he was followed to his last home by nearly all the residents for miles round.

The use of the hearse is not known in rural districts, and, indeed, is seldom used in towns or cities here. The corpse is generally carried to the grave, the bearers being chosen from among the gentlemen of most note in the neighbourhood, who, to the honour of the country be it spoken, never refuse to act on these mournful occasions. These walking funerals are far more imposing and affecting spectacles than the hearse with its funeral plumes; and the simple fact of friends and neighbours conveying a departed brother to his long home, has a more solemn and touching effect upon the mind, than the train of hired mourners and empty state-carriages.

When a body is brought from a distance for interment, it is conveyed in a waggon, if in summer, spring, or autumn, and on a sleigh during the winter season, and is attended to the grave by all the respectable yeomen in the township.

I cannot resist the strong temptation of digressing from my present subject, in order to relate a very affecting instance I witnessed at one of these funerals of the attachment of a dog to his deceased master, which drew tears from my eyes, and from the eyes of my children.

The body of a farmer had been brought in a waggon from one of the back townships, a distance of twenty or thirty miles, and was, as usual in such cases, attended by a long train of country equipages. My house fronted the churchyard, and from the windows you could witness the whole of the funeral ceremonial, and hear the service pronounced over the grave. When the coffin was lifted by the stalwart sons of the deceased from the waggon, and the procession formed to carry it into the church, I observed a large, buff Flemish dog fall into the ranks of the mourners, and follow them into the sacred edifice, keeping as near the coffin as those about it would permit him. After the service in the church was ended, the creature persevered in following the beloved remains to the grave. When the crowd dispersed, the faithful animal retired to some distance, and laid himself quietly down upon a grave, until the sexton had finished his mournful task, and the last sod was placed upon the fresh heap that had closed for ever over the form he loved.

When the man retired, the dog proceeded to the spot, walked carefully round it, smelt the earth, lifted his head, and uttered the most unearthly howls. He then endeavoured to disinter the body, by digging a large hole at one end of the grave; but finding that he could not effect his purpose, he stretched himself at full length over it, as if to guard the spot, with his head buried between his fore-paws, his whole appearance betokening the most intense dejection.

All that day and night, and the next day and night, he never quitted his post for an instant, at intervals smelling the earth, and uttering those mournful, heart-rending cries. My boys took him bread and meat, and tried to coax him from the grave; but he rejected the food and their caresses. The creature appeared wasted and heartbroken with grief. Towards noon of the third day, the eldest son of his late master came in search of him; and the young man seemed deeply affected by this instance of the dog's attachment to his father. Even his well-known voice failed to entice him from the grave, and he was obliged to bring a collar and chain, and lift him by force into his waggon, to get him from his post.

Oh, human love! is thy memory and thy faith greater than the attachment of this poor, and, as we term him, unreasoning brute, to his dead master? His grief made an impression on my mind, and on that of my children, which will never be forgotten.

But to return to the village funeral. The body in this case was borne to the church by the near relatives of the deceased; and a clergyman of the establishment delivered a funeral sermon, in which he enumerated the good qualities of the departed, his long residence among them, and described the trials and hardships he had encountered as a first settler in that district, while it was yet in the wilderness. He extolled his conduct as a good citizen, and faithful Christian, and a public-spirited man. His sermon was a very complete piece of rural biography, very curious and graphic in its way, and was listened to with the deepest attention by the persons assembled.

When the discourse was concluded, and the blessing pronounced, one of the sons of the deceased rose and informed the persons present, that if any one wished to take a last look of the dear old man, now was the time.

He then led the way to the aisle, in which the coffin stood upon the tressels, and opening a small lid in the top, revealed to the astonishment of my young friend the pale, ghastly face of the dead. Almost every person present touched either the face, hands, or brow of the deceased; and after their curiosity had been fully satisfied, the procession followed the remains to their last resting-place. This part of the ceremony concluded, the indifferent spectators dispersed to their respective homes, while the friends and relations of the dead man returned to dine at the house of one of his sons, my friend making one of the party.

In solemn state the mourners discussed the merits of an excellent dinner,—the important business of eating being occasionally interrupted by remarks upon the appearance of the corpse, his age, the disease of which he died, the probable division of his property, and the merits of the funeral discourse. This was done in such a business-like matter-of-fact manner, that my friend was astonished how the blood relations of the deceased could join in these remarks.

After the great business of eating was concluded the spirits of the party began to flag. The master of the house perceiving how matters were going, left the room, and soon returned with a servant bearing a tray with plates and fork, and a large dish of hiccory nuts. The mourners dried their tears, and set seriously to work to discuss the nuts, and while deeply engaged with their mouse-like employment, forgot for awhile their sorrow for the dead, continuing to keep up their spirits until the announcement of tea turned their thoughts into a new channel. By the time all the rich pies, cakes, and preserves were eaten, their feelings seemed to have subsided into their accustomed everyday routine.