by the merriment, looked in upon them, with his coatcollar turned up above his ears, and his glazed hat covered with rain-drops, and made believe that he was a stray traveller, and asked for charity, O how merrily they laughed, and how curiously they questioned him concerning his family, his home, and his prospects! But he did not laugh; not he! Who ever saw a beggar-man laugh while asking for help? But steadily and soberly he besought:

Pity the sorrows of a hungry man,

Whose stont young legs have borne him to your cart;
Who, out of breath, hath hither quickly ran,

To-to-"

But, alas! no rhyming line could he think of, and it was Mary who supplied his need, by adding―

"To get a bit to eat, before you start."

Then, no famous ode of famous poet was ever received with more rapturous applause than Henry's extempore attempt at a parody, and no performance ever so entirely satisfied an audience as his personation of a beggar. With liberal hands they filled his pockets, showering upon him crackers and cakes, and, with more liberal tongues, bestowed their praise and words of admiration.

It was towards the close of this day that our travellers suddenly halted in their course, and drew up together. There, in the road, was a cart, loaded to its utmost capacity, with one wheel fast in a deep hole, or, in Western phrase, slewed. The strength of the two miserable and worn-looking horses attached to the vehicle was insufficient to start it from its position, and the master, Patrick M'Coney, had put his shoulder to the wheel, in the hope of adding his strength to theirs, while his wife had placed her three children on the grass by the roadside, and, with whip in hand, was vainly striving to prompt the wearied animals to greater effort.

To take two of the best horses from Mr. Moreton's waggon, and yoke them before those belonging to M'Coney, was the work of but a few moments. To lift f.om the waggon the heavy chest and box, and then to give "the long pull, the strong pull, and the pull altogether," that would release them from their unwilling durance, to aid in tying up the broken and strained harness, to fasten and make sure the unfortunate wheel, and to replace children and goods in the waggon, occupied not many more. And then, falling in the rear of the company, Patrick M'Coney strove to keep his place with them, that he might have the benefit of their guidance, their. company, and their assistance, if he again fell into trouble.

Now, Patrick was a sample of emigration that was not very inviting. He was an Irishman, who had landed, two years before, with his wife and family, at Quebec. Those two years he had struggled with great poverty and want. Discouraged with his condition, and feeling that there was no prospect of bettering it there, he had availed himself of the first opportunity to change it. With the money raised by the sale of such household goods as he possessed, they had passed up the St. Lawrence and through the lakes, as steerage or deck passengers, and finally landed in Sandusky. This had been in the fall; and although, on first arriving, they had, from their destitute condition, been objects of public charity, yet, by dint of hard labour and hard fare, and a willingness to ask for and accept aid, they had been enabled to get together, by the next summer, the miserable outfit of an old waggon and two broken-down horses. A bundle of straw served for a bed, a tattered quilt or two answered for covering and protection. Two stools, an iron kettle, a painted chest, tied up with a rope, a cask of pork, and a sack of potatoes, completed their assortment of what Willie called, not "goods," but "bads." They were, indeed, objects of compassion, not so much for their destitute condition, as for their ignorance.

Patrick's plan, so far as he had any, was to go on until he found a spot where he could stop; and after that, his only idea seemed to be to plant some wheat! Where this place was to be, he knew not. That he had little or no money to buy land, he deemed of slight consequence; for, and wasn't their land enough for him and the crathurs anywhere?" And, as for getting a living out of it, "and couldn't he work?"

66

sure,

That he had health, strength, and good-nature, was plainly to be seen; but that he was ignorant, and, from his want of judgment, unable to provide for himself and family, there could be little doubt. Mr. Moreton tried in vain to convince him, that when he found the place to stop, which it seemed that he would do soon, from his horses "giving out," he had no right to any land; and that, even if allowed to live and work upon it for a time, as he might be, he was liable at any moment to be forced by its owner to leave it, and give up any little improvements he had made upon it, thus losing the benefit of his own hard labour. Patrick could not, or would not, understand. His only reply was, "And, sure, if I wouldn't go, and why couldn't I stay?"

"I will help him, even against his will," thought Mr. Moreton. After a while he called him to him, and said—

"Patrick, I am going to be a farmer, and have bought some land, which my sons and I intend to work. But there will be a great deal of digging, and ditching, and cutting down of trees, that I shall have to get done for us. Now, you are strong and well, and able to work, if you are willing, and can be a great help to us. So I am going to propose that you shall stop where we do, put up a shanty on one corner of my land, for this year, and live there. You shall promise to do what work I ask you to do, and I will promise to give you employment and pay you fair wages for all that you do. What do you say?"

Patrick's heart was more easily reached than his comprehension; but when he understood Mr. Moreton's proposal, with true Irish eloquence of tongue, he poured forth a torrent of thanks and praise, in which his wife Winne joined, with less noise, but more true feeling. Poor woman! A home would be to her a blessing; and she knew it; for, worn and weary with her many cares and labours, she had looked, day by day, for a time of rest, which had never yet come. Thriftless and ignorant as she was, she knew better than Patrick the value of Mr. Moreton's offer to them, for she had experienced too many disappointments to place much dependence upon her husband's plans, and knew well the delusive nature of those hopes with which he had been buoyed up.

From this time, Patrick M'Coney was a part of Mr. Moreton's family; and our readers will pardon this digression, as it serves to introduce to them one who, with his strong arm and willing mind, became an aid and a helper to our emigrant family.

CHAPTER XI.

LAKELAND.

"Now we see the lights! There! Look! look! Don't you see them twinkle? There! Between the trees, Ally. Now, don't you see them?"

Ally's eyes were heavy with sleep, and so were Willie's; but his expectation being stronger, he roused himseli to look in the direction that Charles pointed out. And there they were!

"One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven, he counted; and then, after a pause, દ eight, nine, ten; and

a very pale one ten is," said he. "Is it really Lakeland, father?"

"Yes, my son."

“It don't look as Buffalo did at night, father,” said Willie, in a disappointed tone.

"Not much, to be sure, my son. Did you think that it would?"

"I don't know; but it is not much to see."

"Had you not better wait until you really see it, Willie, before you decide about it?"

The nightfall had just set in, and, still riding in the woods, it was hardly fair to judge of the appearance of the little Western settlement, when the shadows of trees and houses could hardly be distinguished from each other. Yet, as they approached nearer, and more lights threw their twinkling beams across the dim prospect, they found the houses nearer and nearer together, and the trees fewer and farther between. The approach to the village was nearly straight for a mile or two, so that they had been able to discern the first glimmerings of light while at a distance. It would be difficult to analyze or describe the various feelings that were awakened in those different minds, as these first met their view. Although every settlement through which they had passed had been compared with Lakeland, as to its situation, its size, its houses, its stores, and its farms, and Mr. Moreton had aimed at giving a correct impression of the place, there was an undefinable feeling that it must be rather a wonderful place, or it never would have been selected by their father as a residence. And the children were disappointed; for it was far from being a remarkably attractive-looking village. But the disappointments of early youth are not lasting, and this bade fair to pass away, even before the place was reached. The older ones had judged more rationally. Every object was to them full of interest. Their curiosity was powerfully excited, and