Oh, the cold of Canada nobody knows,
The fire burns our shoes without warming our toes;
Oh, dear, what shall we do? 
Our blankets are thin, and our noses are blue—­
Our noses are blue, and our blankets are thin,
It’s at zero without, and we’re freezing within! 

                    (Chorus)—­Oh, dear, what shall we do?

“But, joking apart, my dear A—–­, we ought to be very thankful that we are not travelling this night to B—–.”

“But to-morrow,” said my eldest boy, lifting up his curly head from my lap.  “It will be fine to-morrow, and we shall see dear papa again.”

In this hope he lay down on his little bed upon the floor, and was soon fast asleep; perhaps dreaming of that eagerly-anticipated journey, and of meeting his beloved father.

Sleep was a stranger to my eyes.  The tempest raged so furiously without that I was fearful the roof would be carried off the house, or that the chimney would take fire.  The night was far advanced when old Jenny and myself retired to bed.

My boy’s words were prophetic; that was the last night I ever spent in the bush—­in the dear forest home which I had loved in spite of all the hardships which we had endured since we pitched our tent in the backwoods.  It was the birthplace of my three boys, the school of high resolve and energetic action in which we had learned to meet calmly, and successfully to battle with the ills of life.  Nor did I leave it without many regretful tears, to mingle once more with a world to whose usages, during my long solitude, I had become almost a stranger, and to whose praise or blame I felt alike indifferent.

When the day dawned, the whole forest scenery lay glittering in a mantle of dazzling white; the sun shone brightly, the heavens were intensely blue, but the cold was so severe that every article of food had to be thawed before we could get our breakfast.  The very blankets that covered us during the night were stiff with our frozen breath.  “I hope the sleighs won’t come to-day,” I cried; “we should be frozen on the long journey.”

About noon two sleighs turned into our clearing.  Old Jenny ran screaming into the room, “The masther has sent for us at last!  The sleighs are come!  Fine large sleighs, and illigant teams of horses!  Och, and its a cowld day for the wee things to lave the bush.”

The snow had been a week in advance of us at B—–­, and my husband had sent up the teams to remove us.  The children jumped about, and laughed aloud for joy.  Old Jenny did not know whether to laugh or cry, but she set about helping me to pack up trunks and bedding as fast as our cold hands would permit.

In the midst of the confusion, my brother arrived, like a good genius, to our assistance, declaring his determination to take us down to B—–­ himself in his large lumber-sleigh.  This was indeed joyful news.  In less than three hours he despatched the hired sleighs with their loads, and we all stood together in the empty house, striving to warm our hands over the embers of the expiring fire.