up in different ways for family use.

"Every little dwelling you see," said she, "has its lot of land, and,
consequently, its flock of sheep; and, as the children are early taught
to spin, and knit, and help dye the yarn, their parents can afford to
see them well and comfortably clothed.

"Many of these very farms you now see in so thriving a condition were
wild land thirty years ago, nothing but Indian hunting-grounds. The
industry of men, and many of them poor men, that had not a rood of land
of their own in their own country, has effected this change."

I was much gratified by the reflection to which this good woman's
information gave rise. "We also are going to purchase wild land, and why
may not we see our farm, in process of time," thought I, "equal these
fertile spots. Surely this is a blessed country to which we have
emigrated," said I, pursuing the pleasing idea, "where every cottage
abounds with the comforts and necessaries of life."

I perhaps overlooked at that time the labour, the difficulties, the
privations to which these settlers had been exposed when they first came
to this country. I saw it only at a distance of many years, under a high
state of cultivation, perhaps in the hands of their children or their
children's children, while the toil-worn parent's head was low in the
dust.

Among other objects my attention was attracted by the appearance of open
burying-grounds by the roadside. Pretty green mounds, surrounded by
groups of walnut and other handsome timber trees, contained the graves
of a family, or may be, some favoured friends slept quietly below the