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tracks of fire on the lake. Wild-ducks were floating out from their coverts, and arranging their feathers with their bills; woodcocks and snipes, in considerable numbers, added to the exhiliration of the scene; and, as the lake narrowed, she heard the loud clarion notes of a pair of majestic swans, that moved slowly and heavily over the surface of the water. The heat increased;—but she walked onwards with the steadiness and speed of one who had from her birth been inured to danger, hardship, and fatigue, and who was supported by a resolution based upon no common motives, which buoyed up her spirits to a pitch above that usual with woman.

About the time of noon she rested in a sweetly shaded spot, where she providentially found a piece of bisonmeat and some scraps of venison, which had been cooked and left by hunters; there were other remnants scattered around, all of which she collected in the skirt of her frock, as she acknowledged with tears, the kindness of Him who feeds the young ravens when they cry. Thus replenished, she felt new vigour, and, hope leading the way, she pressed on once more, having bound around her feet some broad leaves which defended them for a time from the ground. When the leaves wore off she replaced them with fresh ones, but by this time the way had grown much softer and easier, lying on a gentle descent, and covered with a thick layer of turf, and tender grass; a breeze, most grateful and refreshing, abated the fervent heat ; and cascades, and small water courses, delightfully varied the plain upon which she was now entering, and replied to the soft murmurings of the breeze with a soothing and stilly sound.


" I would you did but see how the storm chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore ! but that's not to the point.” --Shakspeare.

They hurried us aboard a bark ;
Bore us some leagues to sea! where they prepar'd
A rotten carcase of a boat, not rigg'd,
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
Instinctively had quit it: there they hoist us,
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us; to sigh
To the winds, whose pity sighing back again,
Did us but loving wrong."-Shakspeare.

The recollections of the young girl just introduced, went as far back as her fourth birthday. On that day she was in the interior of a ship which tossed very much under one of those violent storms which are so frequent and dangerous on Lake Superior.—This lake is the largest and most elevated, as well as the most remote, of the singular inland chain of great North American seas of fresh water, which, says a writer, “ may well be considered the wonder and admiration of the world;" beyond this lake, lie interminable wastes of the dreariest possible description, utterly uninhabitable, and buried under perpetual winter.

During that storm she remembered lying in her tàther's cabin, while he sat by her, endeavouring in a very

kind manner, to keep down the terror which every now and then caused her to scream aloud, and to cling round his neck in convulsions. Frequently he was called upon deck, by the title of “ Mate !" and then an old sailor, called Toby Haverstraw, took her father's place, and administered brandy to her. The storm being over, she was led by her father to the forepart of the vessel, and shown the boiling waves, which, as far as the eye could see, appeared like mountains of white foam, intersected by pitchy vallies, and gulfs of frightful depth. The clouds seemed to hang so low as almost to touch the crests of these dazzling and innumerable heights-and altogether, the spectacle was such as the child could never forget. It precipitated her mind forwards in intelligence, and roused her faculties to premature action. She could retrace with what extraordinary quickness, after that day, she had imbibed new ideas, and how swiftly her capacity for affection had enlarged itself. Her father was loved with more and more devotedness ;-the water and the sky unfolded more and more wonders ;the ship was more and more a place of strange occurrences ;—and these composed her world for several years. She became pleased with every variation of the atmosphere. She learnt by degrees to admire the very phenomena which caused her dread. Isolated from all but her father, and ignorant of the world, she early entertained the design of devoting her life to his good. He was a man of proud and careless mien, and of a reserved, disdainful temper, which had procured him the nickname of “ Seignior,” among the crew, who, nevertheless, paid great deference to his distinguished nautical skill and courage. He seldom suffered his child to leave his cabin in order to go on deck, unless in company with him, and then never kept his eye off from her until she returned to it again. When she was getting dull, he would send in Toby Ilaverstraw to entertain her by answering her multitudinous questions concerning such a coast, such a sea, or such a storm; and to provoke her to question him further, the sailor would tell tales of marvellous events that he had picked up from seamen at different periods of his marine life. Hence, Toby became also much loved by Little Jenny, which was the name he bestowed on her. The use of these two words was a particular favour permitted to Toby by the mate her father, and to him only, for none else were allowed to address her by any other but the English appellation -Miss Anderson. Her father himself called her Jane, as did likewise the captain--a grave, good old man, who seemed to leave all the active management of the ship to Leonard Anderson-his mate.

Jane was sometimes left on shore in the care of persons on whom her father could rely—once she was left at Quebec, in Lower Canada, in the house of the captain's lady, where she learnt more of the true nature of right and wrong, of good and evil-with the addition of the ordinary rudiments of female education—than ever she had learnt before. There was an originality about the little girl that delighted Madame Barry, and she took considerable pains with her.

This lady was childless, having lost ber only son in the disease known as the March fever. Long-enduring grief for his loss had imparted to her bearing an air of touching melancholy, which called forth the sympathy of all who approached her. She constantly. retained her mourning dress, which she purposed wearing without change during the remainder of her life. Its nevervarying style, a la Francaise, rather stiff and antique, but charmingly relieved with snowy-white frills, kerchiefs, and ruffles, harmonised with, and expressed her character; her precise head-dress, composed of white crape, under the surveillance of a reputed FrenchCanadian milliner of Quebec-suited very well the settled placidity and gravity of her matron features, which were marked with the sorrows and trials of fifty years. The captain, her husband, was fifteen years older than herself, and it was while Jane Anderson was at his house that he was gone upon what he had hoped would prove his last expedition, before he finally gave up a sea life. And his last expedition it provedfor he never returned more. Madame Barry, leading Jane by the hand, daily visited the Quebec Harbour in search of her husband's vessel, or with the expectation of receiving some intelligence of it; but month after month passed away, after the period when his return was expected, and hope was gradually changed into agonising doubt and apprehension. At length Madame Barry received tidings that a vessel had been cast away in the north channel of the St. Lawrence, between Ile aux Coudres and Quebec, where many shipwrecks had before occurred. Further particulars arrived to confirm her worst fears; and at length it was proved, beyond all' doubt, that it was Captain Barry's vessel which had sunk almost in sight of the bay of La Prairie, on the north side of lle aux Coudres, and it was supposed that all on board had perished.

But in a short time after came still more distressing

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