autumnal glow, and the lovely bay, and its fairy isles, never appeared
more enchanting in my eyes. Often as I had gazed upon it in storm and
shine, its blue transparent waters seemed to smile upon me more lovingly
than usual. With affectionate interest I looked long and tenderly upon
the shores we were leaving. There stood my peaceful, happy home; the
haven of rest to which Providence had conducted me after the storms and
trials of many years. Within the walls of that small stone cottage,
peeping forth from its screen of young hickory trees, I had left three
dear children,--God only could tell whether we should ever meet on earth
again: I knew that their prayers would follow me on my long journey,
and the cherub Hope was still at my side, to whisper of happy hours and
restored health and spirits. I blessed God, for the love of those young
kindred hearts, and for having placed their home in such a charming
locality.

Next to the love of God, the love of nature may be regarded as the
purest and holiest feeling of the human breast. In the outward beauty of
his creation, we catch a reflection of the divine image of the Creator,
which refines the intellect, and lifts the soul upward to Him. This
innate perception of the beautiful, however, is confined to no rank or
situation, but is found in the most barren spots, and surrounded by the
most unfavourable circumstances; wherever the sun shines and warms, or
the glory of the moon and stars can be seen at night, the children of
genius will find a revelation of God in their beams. But there is not
a doubt that those born and brought up among scenes of great natural
sublimity and beauty, imbibe this feeling in a larger degree, and their
minds are more easily imbued with the glorious colouring of
romance,--the inspired visions of the poet.

Dear patient reader! whether of British or Canadian origin, as I wish