His presence made Jenny all alive; she dared him at once to a trial of skill with her in the wheat-field, which E—–­ prudently declined.  He did not expect to stay longer in Canada than the fall, but, whilst he did stay, he was to consider our house his home.

That harvest was the happiest we ever spent in the bush.  We had enough of the common necessaries of life.  A spirit of peace and harmony pervaded our little dwelling, for the most affectionate attachment existed among its members.  We were not troubled with servants, for the good old Jenny we regarded as an humble friend, and were freed, by that circumstance, from many of the cares and vexations of a bush life.  Our evening excursions on the lake were doubly enjoyed after the labours of the day, and night brought us calm and healthful repose.

The political struggles that convulsed the country were scarcely echoed in the depths of those old primeval forests, though the expulsion of Mackenzie from Navy Island, and the burning of the Caroline by Captain Drew, had been discussed on the farthest borders of civilisation.  With a tribute to the gallant conduct of that brave officer, I will close this chapter:—­

THE BURNING OF THE CAROLINE

  A sound is on the midnight deep—­
    The voice of waters vast;
  And onward, with resistless sweep,
    The torrent rushes past,
  In frantic chase, wave after wave,
  The crowding surges press, and rave
    Their mingled might to cast
  Adown Niagara’s giant steep;
  The fretted billows foaming leap
    With wild tumultuous roar;
  The clashing din ascends on high,
  In deaf’ning thunders to the sky,
    And shakes the rocky shore.

  Hark! what strange sounds arise—­
    ’Tis not stern Nature’s voice—­
  In mingled chorus to the skies! 
    The waters in their depths rejoice. 
  Hark! on the midnight air
    A frantic cry uprose;
  The yell of fierce despair,
    The shout of mortal foes;
  And mark yon sudden glare,
    Whose red, portentous gleam
    Flashes on rock and stream
  With strange, unearthly light;
    What passing meteor’s beam
  Lays bare the brow of night?

  From yonder murky shore
    What demon vessel glides,
    Stemming the unstemm’d tides,
  Where maddening breakers roar
    In hostile surges round her path,
  Or hiss, recoiling from her prow,
    That reeling, staggers to their wrath;
  While distant shores return the glow
    That brightens from her burning frame,
  And all above—­around—­below—­
    Is wrapt in ruddy flame?

  Sail on!—­sail on!—­No mortal hand
    Directs that vessel’s blazing course;
  The vengeance of an injured land
    Impels her with resistless force
  ’Midst breaking wave and fiery gleam,
    O’er-canopied with clouds of smoke;