Mr. Hoskins retired immediately to his own chamber, and I saw no more of him that night, nor was I willing to have had discourse then with him, or with any other person; so I walked out into the open air, and, in the view of the moon and the heavenly host, offered the homage of a resigned spirit.

It was a holy night, a sweet breathing of the soft west wind just so stirred the leaves that they twinkled in the moonlight; the sound of the distant falls came swelling with alternate pauses, through the silent air, as if the wilderness had received a voice; and the solemn tinkling of the cow-bells from the woods, awakened pious thoughts and Sabbath recollections—the remembrance of my mother's grave, and the hopes of my father's prayers;—it was a holy and a beautiful night.

Having strolled some two or three hundred paces, I returned towards the house, ruminating on the misfortune which had befallen my young family, and thankful that, great as it was, it yet bred in me no repining; for, in turning the heart of Mr. Hoskins to take up his residence near us, it seemed that Providence had provided a mother for my daughters in his excellent wife; having in its wonderful ways seen meet to remove their own, untimely, from them.

In this composed frame of mind, I sat down on the swinging chair in the stoop, and laying the reins on the neck of reason, ruminated on all that had befallen me from the time I had left my father's house. The old man was then still living, and, but a day before we embarked in the scow, I had written to him of the cheering prospects which had again opened to me, and of the blessings that were budding around me:—I had now matter for another tale.