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bending branches of a great hemlock pine; Constance remarked the sublimity of those almost boundless forests. "Yes," replied Mortimer, sublime, indeed! I never before felt how powerless man is!"-adding, after a pause,"I feel but a poor support and guide for my patient and enduring wife! How complying, to come to these wild regions!

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She turned her eyes bright with pleasure upon him, rejoicing in his sentiments, and in his restored affection.

"I know what you are going to say-yes, my Constance -that they are not wild to you while with your husband and your child."

"But where is our child!" exclaimed Constance, a sudden dread startling her from her momentary delight. While they sat there he had several times ran away in play, each time extending his brief liberty to a wider range; sure of his quick return, they had not withheld him. Now, recollecting that they had not seen him for some time, they became alarmed, listened while they called in every direction, went to and fro in search of him, but never leaving the place for any time where he had left them. A long time elapsed-it was a painful suspense and many agonising fears overpowered the anxious mother. At last they heard his voice, and were going, as they thought, to his assistance, supposing him in some danger, when they saw him hastily making his way back, pushing aside the wild vines that crossed his path, and leaping over every little obstacle. On approaching them, he exclaimed, anxiously,

She is,

"Oh, mamma! come and see a very sad sight-a poor sick person lying under a tree-a woman starving! indeed. And lying beside her is a young child, fastened very cruelly to a board-quite flat-in a very shocking manner. I am sure it cannot stir!"

Constance had been going to chide Noel for escaping from them, but would not at that moment check the good feeling of his little heart.

"I wish," continued he, "we had some of the bottle of milk which the good-natured farmer gave us this morning. I know the woman and child must be hungry, for she pointed to her own mouth, and then to the baby's-it was her moans that made me go so far away."

"Come, then, lead us to her, Noel; there is still some

milk but don't go so far from us again. Can you find your way, my dear child?"

"Yes, yes, mamma; I recollected what the farmer we were with yesterday told us about marking the trees; and I did so with the knife papa gave me lately, that I might be sure of returning to her with some food, or something to do her good."

"That is my own wise boy," said Mortimer, patting his shoulder; and, turning to Constance-" You were right when you suggested the education of our child as an object. However, I am convinced I should not have succeeded as well as you have for so far, at least. His good sense and good actions, during his life, will be the result of the principles which you are instilling, and you will be blessed in your son."

Noel leading them forward with the ardour of childish good-nature, they soon came to a large tree, at the foot of which lay a female Indian, apparently unable to assist the infant beside her. She smiled at Noel when she saw him return, and clasping her hands as if in supplication to Mortimer and Constance, made signs that she had had no food all day, shewing, at the same time, a wound in her foot which prevented her from walking.

Mortimer had carried the bread and milk which remained from their own repast, and Noel had the pleasure of giving it himself to the poor woman, whose eyes brightened at the sight, while she fervently poured forth her evident gratitude in her own unintelligible language. Constance washed the wound on her foot with some milk, and, binding a handkerchief about it, signed to the woman to let it stay on, and then took leave of her, again receiving her grateful thanks.

On reaching the waggon, they once more resumed their wandering journey. Just as daylight began to fade, their notice was attracted by the barking of dogs.

"that

"I'm a-thinking," said the driver of the waggon, them Indian people are not far off. They are apt to encamp near a new settlement, but never in a clearing; they are too shy for that, but like to be near enough to get spirits from us. I know we are not far from a settlement."

The Indian station appeared in sight shortly after. Mortimer, pleased at the opportunity of seeing them, stopped the

waggon at some distance from their huts, alighted, and, advancing alone, made friendly signs to the first whom he met, endeavouring to make known to him his want of a lodging for the night. The native shook his head in token of refusal, saying, No, no-pointed to his wigwam, beat his breast, and exclaimed, half in French, that it was empty. Mortimer, disappointed, hesitated, and was retiring, when a venerable-looking Indian advanced, and placing his right hand on his heart as an assurance that they might confide in him, kindly offered his wigwam, which Mortimer gladly accepted. The old man instantly mixed some gunpowder with powdered cedar bark, which the Indians always carry about with them, and having lighted a bit of spunk (the decayed knots of maple wood), he whirled it round and round till the gunpowder exploded, when the cedar bark immediately took fire.

As the old man understood a few French words, Mortimer informed him, though with some difficulty, of the desolate state of the poor native woman whom they had succoured, and he, knowing that a woman was missing, immediately communicated the intelligence to the melancholy man whom they had first accosted on arriving. His countenance lighted up instantly, and he hastened to find his wife, who had been some days missing.

HAD it been predicted to Constance, in the gay and blithesome days of early youth, or in her prosperous life at Pool Basset, when wealth and affection waited on her wishes, that she would gladly seek shelter in an Indian wigwam, she would have thought it a vain idea. Yet so it happened, for the day had been a fatiguing one, and repose was welcome.

Mortimer, pleased to be among the natives, resolved to abide a few days in their encampment, and study their manners and dispositions. In his progress hitherto he had met with but few, thinly-scattered as they now are, in the country of which they were formerly masters.

Those kind-hearted people were delighted with the little Noel, whose gaiety and open countenance won their goodwill. Pleased with the activity and boldness of his movements, they danced and sang for him—even built a wigwam for his amusement-and were highly gratified when they perceived how much it interested his father and mother also.

"You see now, my little boy," said Mortimer, "the first kind of dwelling probably erected by man. Observe its simplicity-slender poles firmly fixed in a circle in the ground, their ends brought close at the top of the hut, and fastened together while the spaces between them are filled by small branches, or wattle, as it is called, woven in. There is a door, you see, but no windows."

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be to live in," said Noel. "I could archand his father, "it is merely as a the warber. These people have not the home

I happy,

suppose; for mamma says

page are unhappy. But, papa, do you recollect our the woods a poor little infant fastened to a board? ——— you know I saw one to-day, and they shewed

ne how it is strapped

on the board, and two or three hoops

placed over one end to protect the head of the Pupousie, as 168 mother called it; she seemed very fond of it."

You see, Noel, it is not from cruelty that infants are so placed. These wandering people, who change from one encampment to another, have contrived that method of carrying them, in order to secure their safety. You may perceive, too, that the board may be placed in any position—

the child cannot fall.”

«Yes, mamma; and when the child cries, the mother puts one end of the board on her feet, which she moves so as to rock the child like a cradie.”

"I have observed it, my dear, and also their tenderness to their infants. Though we term them savages, these good people are affectionate and faithful.”

They have a surprising power of repressing their emotions,” said Mortimer, “and will bear any torture rather than yield, if they think it wrong to do so. No influence can

persuade them to act dishonourably; and they are, when excited to warfare, as brave as honourable.”

Noel having obtained permission to go again to amuse himself with the Indians, Mortimer and Constance sauntered under the shade of the trees.

“Like all who are emerging from barbarism," said Mortimer, "these people are inconsistent in their dress. Look at those women wearing a blanket by way of a shawl, and yet such a mixture of colours! Simple as the Indians are, even they shew the love of ornament which belongs to your sex. Observe the short gown of one colour, the petticoat of another, and that border of silver buckles laid so closely along the edge. When I see ornament thus prized by savages, I am astonished that it is not despised by the fashionable world. How preferable perfect simplicity! "