was cracked and sunken. The floor was roughly-planed and uneven; the walls about eight feet high. The sleepers of the chamber floor were small sticks, like rails, and the boards above rough and full of knots. By the window there hung a number of small bottles, or phials, some filled and others empty, fastened to nails, with strings passed around their necks. Upon the window-seat there was a piece of chalk, and, on the logs above, a rude kind of scoring, the only business memorial of Mr. Hinckley, who thus kept an account of the bushels of wheat and corn he had taken to market. A cheap looking-glass was hung upon the wall, but it was upside down, and a picture meant to ornament its top did not answer that purpose, because the houses and trees were seen in an inverted position. Under the glass there was a little table or stand, covered with a white cloth, and upon it there stood a candlestick; a brush and comb lay there too, and a large piece of bees-wax, in whose sides stout threads had, in passing, cut large dents and gashes. Besides, there were some horn buttons, some coarse knitting-work, a reel of black thread, and a pair of large shears. The chairs that Mrs. Hinckley had offered to her visiters were all that the house afforded, except a low one, on the seat of which lay a pillow, and, upon the pillow, a little baby. That it might be quiet, an older girl rocked it to and fro, with hard, irregular movements; and, while doing this, it was kept safely in its position by a shawl, which passed over it and under the seat of the chair, holding both baby and pillow tightly in their places. Another child, just able to go alone, was amusing itself upon the bed with a large green glass bottle and a dry ear of corn, in the husk, as playthings, considering first one, then the other, as dolls, and tending them with the utmost care. There were two beds, but it was early yet, and they were not put in order for the day; and the breakfast-table was still standing, with the remains of the morning repast upon it, proving that

that repast had been one at which no luxury had appeared to tempt or please the appetite.

Whatever their thoughts or fancies, Mr. Moreton and Mary were too considerate of Mrs. Hinckley's feelings to express either surprise or pity. It was plainly to be seen that poverty and hard labour had wrought in her mind discouragement and sadness; and, while she strove to speak cheerfully of their coming there to live, and praised the melon-patch and the young peach-trees and currantbushes, that she had herself taken care of, as well as planted, there were tears in her eyes, and her tones told of disappointment and sorrow.

It was from no sudden freak of fancy, or desire to move, that Mr. Hinckley had disposed of his farm in Lakeland. He knew its value and appreciated its advantages. But his course had been deficient in good judgment, and he was obliged to sell. Having taken up too much land at first, he had become embarrassed for means to pay his yearly taxes. Every year he became more and more involved, and seeing that there was no apparent means of escape from his liabilities, he had become desperately careless, and, with a rash indiscretion, made his condition worse than it need have been, appealing to the old proverb, that "one might as well be hung for stealing a sheep as a lamb." This is an old maxim, but an untrue and an unsafe one to act upon. So Mr. Hinckley found it; for this course had made it unavoidable that his farm should pass from his hands, and, with it, he had lost his reputation as a good farmer, besides contracting habits of indolence and thriftlessness, that were sure barriers to his future prosperity. The first tool that he left to pass the winter in the field where it was used, and the first door that he allowed to remain off its hinges, were greater losses to him than money could repay, for they were the beginnings of carelessness-the openings to that sloth and heedlessness that were now prominent traits in his character.

After chatting a few moments with Mrs. Hinckley, Mr. Moreton left the house to seek her husband. Mary, meanwhile, tried to talk with the children, and, with the aid of kind words and pleasant smiles, had, before his return, so far progressed in acquaintance with them, that she had the little one in her lap, and another, shyly sidling up to her, was feeling the trimming on her dress with as much care and caution as if it were some new species of animal that must be approached by stratagem.

Robert and Henry were still exploring the fields and woods when Mr. Moreton, Mary, and Frank, returned to the inn, carrying the pleasant intelligence that the logcabin was to be given up to them on the following day, and that, as soon as they pleased after that, they could take possession.

To make a good and pleasant home may seem, to some of my readers, a very easy matter. They may think that a family like Mr. Moreton's would have only to place their furniture within their house, move in, and the work was done. Others may think that it was impossible to make a comfortable home in such a house as Mr. Hinckley's logcabin, and that, as the necessary lumber for the new house was already upon the ground, it would be better to wait until it was finished before taking possession of the premises.

But with neither of these opinions would Mr. and Mrs. Moreton have agreed. To keep together and be by themselves were, with them, desirable objects; and to attain

them, they were willing to subject themselves to additional fatigue and care. As they were, the habits of regularity and family order (already broken in upon during their journey) might be forgotten. Idleness was encouraged, too, by the desultory modes of life that are unavoidably seen about a public-house. Charlie already stood by the bar-room door, with his hands thrust into his pockets, eagerly listening to such chance stories or conversation as he could gather from passers-by or from travellers. He, as well as the others, must have employment, and something which would interest them and occupy their hands and thoughts. And, above all, Mr. Moreton dreaded their becoming familiarized, and consequently indifferent, to the sad sights and sounds that are always to be seen and heard in those places where intoxicating liquors are bought and sold. For all these reasons, as well as for the sake of freedom from observation, they decided to remove to their new home as soon as possible.

And now did the strong-bodied and willing Winne M'Coney serve them well; for scrubbing and cleaning were just what she could do, and here there was plenty of it to be done.

A thin partition was run across the cabin in which was the fire-place, making a small bed-room and pantry on one side, and still leaving the larger room of sufficient size to answer as the family gathering-place-parlour, sitting-room, and kitchen, all in one. Two more windows were cut; and, with the fresh air, came in the bright sunshine, giving to the apartment a new and cheerful aspect. The loft above was to be used as a storehouse for such boxes and trunks, chests and provisions, as needed a dry and warm place.

The other cabin was also cleaned thoroughly, and divided into rooms. One of these was appropriated to Susan, Mary, and the little girls; while the other and the room above were to be divided between the boys. No

little loving strife was there before the younger lads would consent to occupy the lower room, which was by far the best and most pleasant. They declared that "they were of little use, and deserved the worst;" while Henry and Robert as loudly averred that they intended "to work so hard every day, and to be so tired every night, that they should consider any bed a luxury;" and, besides, "they were always sound sleepers." So, finally, it was settled as the older ones desired.

It seemed as if every difficulty vanished the moment they fairly considered it. The little shelf here and the row of stout nails there, the hanging of a curtain, the placing of a trunk in one spot and of a table in another, appeared wonderfully to suit every one, and to accommodate every want. Ah! it was not that, but the spirit of disinterestedness, that smoothed their way and made little sacrifices of personal feeling easy. It was love that lightened their burdens and warmed their hearts—each seeking to please the others rather than themselves, and cheerfully yielding their own will to the desire of another!

A busy and cheerful scene did they present on the morning of the day when they, as a family, took possession of the log-house. The carpenter's work had been accomplished, and Winne's severer labours in cleaning finished the day previous; but now she stood leaning over a wash-tub that was placed under the shade of the only tree near the house, busy at her work, while her children were playing within sight of her maternal eye, and within hearing of her voice, as, in rather harsh notes, she sang some Irish melody-wild, but not without harmony, as it sounded in the open air. Pat, meanwhile, was going round, outside of the building, with Mr. Moreton, carrying a pail full of clay-mortar and a wooden trowel manufactured for the occasion; and, under his direction and superintendence, filling up the chinks between the logs. Within, Henry and Frank took turns in