The darker hues which she pourtrays in the picture of their native land have become to them all softened in the distance; and by them is their country cherished there, as being indeed that beautiful ideal “first flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea.”  A slight indignant flush, raised by what she had been reading, was on her brow as I entered; but this gave place to the heart-crushing look of disappointment I had often seen her wear, as I replied in the negative to her question, if there was a letter for her.  From where, or whom she expected this letter I knew not, yet as still week after week passed away and brought her none, the same shade had passed over her face.

And now, reader, as the night wanes apace, and you no doubt are wearied with this day’s journey through our settlement, I shall wish to you

    “A fair good night, with easy dreams and slumbers light,”

while I, who like most authors am not at all inclined to sleep over my own writing, will sketch what I know of the history of Grace Marley, whose memory forms a sweet episode in my transatlantic experiences.

Grace had been left an orphan and unprovided for in her own country, when a relation, who had been prosperous here, wrote for her to come out.  She did come, and at first seemed happy, but ’twas soon evident her heart was not here, and she sighed to return to her native land, where the streams were brighter, and the grass grew greener than elsewhere.  Her friends, vexed at her obstinacy in determining so firmly to return, would give her no assistance for this purpose, fancying that she felt but that nostalgic sickness felt by all on their first arrival in America, and that like others she would become reconciled in time.  But she was firm in her resolve, and to procure funds wherewithal to return she commenced teaching a school, for which her education had well qualified her.  It was not likely that such a girl as Grace would, in this land of marrying and giving in marriage, be without fonder solicitations to induce her to remain, and a tall blue nose, rejoicing in the appellation of Leonidas van Wort, and lord of six hundred noble acres, was heard to declare one fall, that she, for an Irish girl, was “raal downright good-looking,” and guessed he knew which way “his tracks would lay when snow came.”  Snow did come, and Leonidas, arrayed in his best “go-to-meeting style,” geared up his sleigh, and what with bear skins and bells, fancying himself and appurtenances enough to charm the heart of any maid or matron in the back woods, set off to spark Grace Marley.  “Sparking,” the term used in New Brunswick for courtship, now that the old fashion of “bundling” is gone out, occupies much of the attention (as, indeed, where does it not?) of young folks.  They, for this purpose, take Moore’s plan of lengthening their days, by “stealing a few hours from the night,” and generally breathe out their tender vows, not beneath the “milk-white thorn,” but by the soft dim light of the birch-wood fire; the older members of the family retiring and leaving the lovers to their own sweet society.