Can a corrupted stream pour through the land
  Health-giving waters?  Can the slave, who lures
  His wretched followers with the hope of gain,
  Feel in his bosom the immortal fire
  That bound a Wallace to his country’s cause,
  And bade the Thracian shepherd cast away
  Rome’s galling yoke; while the astonish’d world—­
  Rapt into admiration at the deed—­
  Paus’d, ere she crush’d, with overwhelming force,
  The man who fought to win a glorious grave?

The long-protracted harvest was at length brought to a close.  Moodie had procured another ox from Dummer, by giving a note at six months date for the payment; and he and John E—–­ were in the middle of sowing their fall crop of wheat, when the latter received a letter from the old country, which conveyed to him intelligence of the death of his mother, and of a legacy of two hundred pounds.  It was necessary for him to return to claim the property, and though we felt his loss severely, we could not, without great selfishness, urge him to stay.  John had formed an attachment to a young lady in the country, who, like himself, possessed no property.  Their engagement, which had existed several years, had been dropped, from its utter hopelessness, by mutual consent.  Still the young people continued to love each other, and to look forward to better days, when their prospects might improve so far that E—–­ would be able to purchase a bush farm, and raise a house, however lowly, to shelter his Mary.

He, like our friend Malcolm, had taken a fancy to buy a part of our block of land, which he could cultivate in partnership with Moodie, without being obliged to hire, when the same barn, cattle, and implements would serve for both.  Anxious to free himself from the thraldom of debts which pressed him sore, Moodie offered to part with two hundred acres at less than they cost us, and the bargain was to be considered as concluded directly the money was forthcoming.

It was a sorrowful day when our young friend left us; he had been a constant inmate in the house for nine months, and not one unpleasant word had ever passed between us.  He had rendered our sojourn in the woods more tolerable by his society, and sweetened our bitter lot by his friendship and sympathy.  We both regarded him as a brother, and parted with him with sincere regret.  As to old Jenny, she lifted up her voice and wept, consigning him to the care and protection of all the saints in the Irish calendar.

For several days after John left us, a deep gloom pervaded the house.  Our daily toil was performed with less cheerfulness and alacrity; we missed him at the evening board, and at the evening fire; and the children asked each day, with increasing earnestness, when dear E—–­ would return.