waters of that noble sheet of water; no steamer had then furrowed its
bosom with her iron paddles, bearing the stream of emigration towards
the wilds of our northern and western forests, there to render a
lonely trackless desert a fruitful garden. What will not time and the
industry of man, assisted by the blessing of a merciful God, effect?
To him be the glory and honour; for we are taught that "unless the
Lord build the house, their labour is but lost that build it: without
the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain."

But to my tale. And first it will be necessary to introduce to the
acquaintance of my young readers the founders of our little settlement
at Cold Springs.

Duncan Maxwell was a young Highland soldier, a youth of eighteen, at
the famous battle of Quebec, where, though only a private, he received
the praise of his colonel for his brave conduct. At the close of the
battle Duncan was wounded; and as the hospital was full at the time,
he was billeted in the house of a poor French Canadian widow in the
Quebec suburb. Here, though a foreigner and an enemy, he received much
kind attention from his excellent hostess and her family, consisting
of a young man about his own age, and a pretty black-eyed lass not
more than sixteen. The widow Perron was so much occupied with other
lodgers--for she kept a sort of boarding-house--that she had not much
time to give to Duncan, so that he was left a great deal to her son
Pierre, and a little to Catharine, her daughter.

Duncan Maxwell was a fine, open-tempered, frank lad, and he soon won
the regard of Pierre and his sister. In spite of the prejudices of
country, and the difference of language and national customs, a steady
and increasing friendship grew up between the young Highlander and the