AND now—winter had set in; but not the clear, frosty winter that used to revive the Greys in the first years of their residence in Canada, when the dry pure air seemed to bring health to all, and bright sunshine gave them renewed energy. The damp weather of November continued for an unusual time. Glad to find something to engage his thoughts, Mortimer was employed in improving his rough dwelling, in both neatness and comfort. He laboured himself, with whatever assistance he could procure, in preparing a garden for his wife; roots and stumps of trees were stubbed up and burned; the ground was trenched, and the enclosure surrounded by a paling made of cedars from the swamp, split and dressed chiefly by his own hands. To this garden Constance looked forward as a source of interest for herself and her companions, anticipating the happiness of Noel in the delightful occupations it would supply to him ; and forming plans for collecting and cultivating native shrubs and flowers.

Such was the peculiar mildness of this season, that the buds of poplar trees already began to swell; and little bunches of white violets were seen peeping from beneath the logs that chanced to lie on the ground, and in warm sheltered spots in the woods.

The soft, damp weather soon changed, however, to rain and snow, in nearly regular alternation, attended by unusual fogs, and by just sufficient frost to prevent boats from plying on the rivers, though not enough to render the ice passable.

It is a curious fact, that while a clearing is in progress, the climate is rendered more unwholesome by the opening of the woods, which, by exposing the decaying vegetable soil to the influence of the sun, causes the exhalation of noxious vapours, that overpower the constitution, and produce fever and ague. Those exhalations now filled the atmosphere, and many who had been in vigorous strength a few weeks before, sunk into illness and languor.

The attendant who had accompanied Constance from England, though at first inclined to complain, and frequently murmuring at little hardships in the course of their travels, had learned, at Maple Bank, to be less discontented, and had acquired much useful knowledge from Mrs Grey, relative to Canadian housekeeping, by which she for a time prevented Constance from suffering many of the difficulties belonging to backwoods life. All had gone on comfortably till this useful maid became ill, and completely incapacitated by the effects of the climate. Constance had been so fortunate as to procure a hard-working servant, a treasure not always to be obtained in that country, where each member of a poor family is too much engaged in home duties to be spared. A second maid-servant, though now requisite, could not immediately be found; and, as some assistance was necessary for the one poor drudge whom they had, Constance—the refined and accomplished Constance, who but a few months before had been surrounded by all the appliances of station and wealth -by friends and domestics, all eager to obey her smallest wish-was now obliged to take part herself in those homely labours in which she had often thought, while at Maple Bank, she never could succeed.

Meanwhile the confinement and consequent inactivity of such a season oppressed Mortimer's spirits, tending strongly to increase the misery of his feelings with regard to Sydenham. When disappointed in his hope of meeting him, he had written him a letter of explanation, exculpating Julia; but he had received no reply, and this inflexible silence tended at once to aggravate the pain of self-reproach, and to produce that irritation which we feel when we find people determined to resist explanation and conviction. Besides these harassing feelings, Mortimer now began to want some object to occupy his mind and exercise its powers, for he had

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done all that could be done in the garden: he admired the activity of Constance, but he could not join in her occupations; and, much as he enjoyed reading, it was not sufficient -he required more active employment. For a time he was busily engaged in contriving shelves, and many other small comforts; but they were soon completed. His present life was ill adapted to his character-there was nothing that required mental exertion. Sometimes the truth flashed across his mind-the self-evident truth-that if he had fled from idleness at home, he had met the evil in a worse form-imprisoned in the woods of Canada. "But he was free".

free?-unable to leave those boundless woods!

"Il n'y a qu'à être en Espagne pour n'avoir plus d'envie d'y bâtir des châteaux," has been said of castle-building-and it was as applicable to Mortimer's anticipations of a life of freedom in the forest. He enjoyed the calm of retirement completely-but what was that calm? 'Tis true, as an old poet says,

"Retired thoughts enjoy their own delights;"

yet the course of his reflections, and the sameness of the daily round of his present life, cast a shade of dulness over all. His powers were adapted to active life, to conquering difficulties, to the attainment of some object; but in his present life there was no object to obtain-nothing to overcome. His slumbers delayed no business, for he had none-his indolence interfered with no duties, or arrangements, for here they were nothing.

Here, as in the old world, household cares were the indispensable duty of each day-and the regular exertions of the family were directed to the preparation of their meals— in all countries the grand object of the labours of domestic life but with this great difference, in the old country, menials performed those labours, and Constance could be his companion. Here she was frequently a slave, and he but too well knew, and was vexed to think, that such unsuitable occupations had been inflicted on her by his whims. Here, as at home, he was master-to exercise out of doors, or repose in the house; but here no horse could flounder pleasantly through swampy woods-the chase was impossible—and a short and bounded walk was his only resource. The wholesome exercise and varied objects of an English country

gentleman were out of his reach; he reflected with pain on the active usefulness, the example, the influence belonging to his station at home-on the power that he had relinquished; and he felt that his repose was but the ennui of indolence. His only interesting occupation was the instruction of Noel; yet, imagining Constance better qualified to teach, it pleased him more to listen to her, and observe her skilful method of developing the intellectual powers of the child, than to attempt it himself.

"How is it," said he, to Mrs Grey, "that neither you nor Grey ever seem to feel ennui in this depressing weather?"

"It is because we have a great deal to occupy us. My husband dislikes idleness, and when so much confined to the house in winter, he kindly relieves me from some of the labours of instruction; he examines the children from time to time in the knowledge we endeavour to give them; when allowed to read to papa, they consider it as a peculiar indulgence; and I find that his interference, at intervals, has a salutary effect on their attention and ambition."

"How fortunate Grey is to possess such various talents! I have them not."

"Would you but try," said Amy, "to bring down your ideas to the level of a child's capacity, you would undoubtedly succeed in the education of your little Noel; and observing his daily progress, and following it, would supply you with constant variety and exercise for your mind."

"It is too late now to try," replied Mortimer. And it was too late, for he was really ill. The climate and the inactivity of his life conspired to increase the depression of his spirits. Symptoms of the intermitting fever peculiar to the country appeared, and soon overwhelming both mind. and body, their influence rendered him miserable.

He was dissatisfied with everything. Nothing was rightnothing was palatable; and the disease lent its hue to all which had used to interest him. Constance, ever on the watch to amuse or please him, found even her conversation fail; but, though her consequent mortification would for a time depress her, she restrained her feelings, and with the energy of affection would attempt some other method of engaging his mind.

It was painful to see him so changed; a weight of

unhappiness seemed to bow him down; the expression of his countenance was altered; his eyes had lost their brightness,— those fine penetrating eyes which always spoke the feelings of his soul-those eyes, the glance of which had ever caused a thrill of tenderness or of admiration in the heart of Constance -were now dull and inanimate.

To add to her anxieties, the obstruction of all intercourse with the more inhabited parts of the country rendered it impossible to procure medical aid, or any of the comforts and luxuries suitable to invalids. Even necessaries had become scarce; such a winter had not been anticipated, and now that the half-frozen rivers equally prevented the working of the neighbouring mill, and the conveyance of supplies by boat from any distance, there was reason to fear that the stores of flour in the district would be exhausted before there was a possibility of obtaining more.

Mortimer now learned that even his command of money could not shield him from distress in circumstances which place the rich and poor almost on a level. He saw with pain the difficulty and thrift with which his good wife tried to manage; how much more would he have felt, had he discovered that it was to insure her being able to continue to supply him with nice bread or biscuit, that she copied the Greys in using rye bread and potatoes as substitutes !—an economy to which they also had been reduced by the same circumstances.

The Greys had, however, the power of assisting their friends with potatoes, of which Mr Grey had saved an ample crop, in the manner he had been accustomed to in the old country.

In addition to her other anxieties, Constance felt more and more the want of letters from home. The grief of absence was painfully increased, and her mind tortured by the fears embodied by imagination almost into reality. How often did she think of that fanciful paper in the Spectator, where he almost prophetically describes a supposed correspondence by means of magnets between far distant friends! How much did she wish for such magnets! Yet how little could she then have foreseen the actual and almost momentary intercourse by the electric telegraph !

In the midst of such painful cares and reflections,