at least a dozen of these creatures in full possession of the table, helping themselves from our plates with a nervous haste that betokened an evil conscience. Nothing escaped their ravenous appetites. The very débris of their brothers and cousins were not sacred from their cannibalish propensities. A plate of butter, upon which Rose had exhausted her decorative powers, was pecked into the similitude of an iceberg; and potatoes were scattered on every side, like shot after a battle. Some of the intruders, not having been able to make good a footing on the table, had condescended to the floor; carrying every one a slice of bread or a bit of meat with him. Such a mess you can never picture to yourself, until you have lived in the woods, and been subject to the irruptions of the fowls.

"Where is your poultry-yard?" methinks I hear you say. Alas! Echo might answer, "Where!" if Echo were not tired of replying to such questions. It is at least six weeks since I engaged the proper materials at the saw-mill, but the poor miller's dam was carried away by a freshet, and by over-exerting himself in attempting to repair it, he took the ague - so what could I do but wait ?

"But what did you do for dinner?" Mrs. Williamson says. This query is more easily answered. Our drive was all planned, and it was voted impossible to await the result of another cooking process. The side-table having fortunately eluded the horny noses of our invaders, from its being covered with a napkin, we made a very delicate repast on West India preserves with cream and biscuits. But after the said drive had been accomplished, and the fresh air and the exhilarating exercise had revived the "sacred rage," we called that light meal lunch, and had a substantial dinner at a fashionable hour, and probably (for I did not inquire) at the expense of some of our ravenous foes.

And to have seen the good-humored facility with which Mr. Ellis helped to laugh off our perplexities, and the awkwardness which one cannot but feel, spite of philosophy, in such cases, one might have supposed him one who had never breathed the air of courts, but who had been all his days accustomed to the shifts and expedients of an emigrant's life.

We insisted on his remaining for the night, if only for the sake of saying that he had slept in a box; namely, the one which once served to envelop a parcel of chairs, and which now fills the office of a spare bedstead. Mr. Ellis declares that he never slept more soundly, and I can well believe it, for he had earned a good night's rest by his exertions in threading the farm and the country round it, during the whole day.

As we sat at breakfast in the morning, an old man, one of our good neighbors, came in with a long-handled dipper, and asked if we kept lightning in the house.

"No indeed!" said Mrs. Sibthorpe, looking of

course somewhat puzzled.

"Why, do tell!" said the old man. "But may be you don't know what it is, if you don't, I'll bet you a cookie you can't guess."

We all tried. Florella's guess was gunpowder, -Mr. Ellis's, oil, - mine, candles. The old man laughed.

"No, no," said he, "you haven't come within rifle distance! Why, it's emptins! My woman wants to set some griddles, and she took a notion she must have risin' to put in 'em."

"How is the good lady?" asked Mrs. Sibthorpe. "She! you couldn't kill her with a meat-axe! She's real savage upon vittles since this last turn of agur. I'd sooner board an Irishman! There's no whoa to her, when once she gits a goin' upon pork!"

And our friend took up his lightning and departed, without the ceremony of good morning.

As I was showing Mr. Ellis the piece of land which I intend planting with morus multicaulis, he called my attention to a fragment of fine bituminous coal which he had turned up with his foot. The land hereabout is not what is usually considered as a coal formation, but I should not be at all surprised to discover a stray stratum. The state is known to abound in coal. I think I shall make some small examination either this autumn or early next spring. At present, laborers are too precious to be spared for any new plan. I begin to fear we shall not be ready to plaster before the frosts set in. We met with an accident the other day, which, though of no great consequence in pecuniary amount, will necessarily delay us somewhat. I had purchased a quantity of green lumber, which was to be kiln-dried before it was fit for use. But, by some unaccountable accident, the whole took fire and was consumed while the workmen were gone to dinner. So I have either to send a great distance for seasoned materials, or to wait the repairing of the milldam, and then the chance of another attempt at kiln-drying. I think I shall prefer the former mode, although it is much more expensive; since time is just now of more consequence than money. The conflagration cost me about two hundred dollars.

A smaller disaster was the loss of a quantity of lime which was on its way from a place about fifteen miles off. The teamster was benighted, and obliged to stop for the night at a log-tavern, owing to the extreme darkness caused by an approaching storm. The wagon, with its load of lime, was placed under a shed, and my man went quietly to sleep, lulled doubtless all the sooner by the pleasant pattering of the shower. About midnight all were awakened by a sudden blaze of light, and it was found that the lime, not having been protected from the wet by the leaky shed, had set all on fire, and it was only by great exertion that the house was saved. So I was obliged, not only to put up with the loss of the lime, but to satisfy the teamster for the damage done to his wagon, as well as the tavern-keeper for the loss of his shed. One learns something by these things, though at a rather costly rate.

You have gathered doubtless from my sketches of affairs in general, that I, who came here for boundless leisure, am the busiest of men. It is even so, but I find much to interest me. I read no books, it is true, but I am continually turning some new leaf in the book of life, and the study of human nature. Mrs. Sibthorpe is not very well, but she is in fine spirits; and Charlotte is as brown and as happy as a gypsy, and with the same reason; health, unbounded freedom, and a life in the open air. A little companion or two would leave her nothing to desire; but even this deficiency she scarcely feels; for her mother is of that cheerful facility of temper which makes her good company for any body.

We are all embrowned beyond belief. I am always, you know, something of a bonze in figure; now I am a bronze in complexion. Conceive the attractions of a bronze bonze!

Under any color however,

Ever truly yours,

T. SIBTHORPE.