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Next to seeing yourself, my dear Williamson,
I can scarcely think of any thing that would have
afforded me more pleasure than the sight of a friend
of yours bearing credentials under your hand and
seal. And over and above this title to my esteem,
Mr. Ellis brings with him an open letter of recommendation
in that very handsome and pleasing
countenance of his, and a frank and hearty manner
which put us quite at ease with him directly, notwithstanding
a certain awkward consciousness of
the narrowness of our present accommodations,
which might have made a visit from any other
stranger rather embarrassing. His willingness to be
pleased, his relish for the amusing points of the
half-savage state, and the good-humor with which
he laughed off sundry rather vexatious contre-temps
really endeared him to us all. Half a dozen
men of his turn of mind for neighbors, with wives
of “kindred strain,” would create a paradise in
these woods, if there could be one on earth.

He chose the early morning hour to drive over
from—,in a light, open carriage, and reached
here soon after our lazy breakfast, in raptures with

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the fine natural road, the soft beauty of the scenery,
and the delicious temperature of the lone and solemn
old woods through which he passed. He is
an enthusiast in scenery, and as soon as we discovered
this, we felt easy as to the homely aspect of
things within doors. While we have such grand
avenues and cloistered promenades for the entertainment
of our city guests, we may consent without
scruple to receive their visits, sure that they
can never surpass us in points of architectural
grandeur, luxurious divans, or mossy carpets.

By the way—I attempted to analyze, for curiosity's
sake, the slight feeling of embarrassment
which beset me at first sight of Mr. Ellis. It could
of course have no reference to our real standing in
his estimation; for I knew he must be well acquainted
with all that is to be known of us both as
to character and condition, and that the mere outward
aspect of a temporary residence could have
no influence upon his opinion. So that it could
not be the vulgar dread of not appearing “genteel”
to a stranger. I was obliged to refer my sensations
to a jealousy for the honor of rural life. I was unwilling
that a man of Mr. Ellis's stamp should be
led to think we had already become coarse, or
rather accustomed and reconciled to coarseness, by
a residence in this rough new country. This was,
as nearly as I could guess, the true ground of my
sudden consciousness of the rough appearance of
things about us. Before Mr. Ellis came, I thought

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we were getting on very well, but the sight of an
elegant stranger brought to mind a thousand deficiencies
that we had forgotten. I was saying,
before I turned aside to give you this glimpse of
my inward thoughts, that we relied on out-door
attractions in entertaining Mr. Ellis. As to other
matters we cannot boast—as par exemple.

We were seated with your pleasant friend at an
early dinner, when word was brought that a man
without had a nest of young bears that he wished
to dispose of. We had not the least desire for such
pets, characteristic as they would be at present;
but we all wished to have a peep at them; and so,
without ceremony, every body quitted the table,
and ran to the back-yard, where the bear-merchant
waited very impatiently. There were no less than
four of those charming creatures, packed in a coarse
basket, to the sides of which they were chained; so
that when the owner set the basket on the grass,
and poked up its occupants a little, they all pulled
in different directions, or dragged each other about,
and then fell to biting and scratching in revenge
for their frequent tumbles. This was amusing
enough for a few moments, but did not detain us
long, for the dinner was only begun; and we had
a long drive in contemplation for the afternoon.

We returned to the parlor to behold the strangest
sight! We had forgotten the intrusive habits of
the chickens, and so had left the table unguarded
and the doors and windows open; and there were

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at least a dozen of these creatures in full possession
of the table, helping themselves from our plates
with a nervous haste that betokened an evil conscience.
Nothing escaped their ravenous appetites.
The very débris of their brothers and cousins were
not sacred from their cannibalish propensities. A
plate of butter, upon which Rose had exhausted
her decorative powers, was pecked into the similitude
of an iceberg; and potatoes were scattered on
every side, like shot after a battle. Some of the
intruders, not having been able to make good a
footing on the table, had condescended to the floor;
carrying every one a slice of bread or a bit of meat
with him. Such a mess you can never picture to
yourself, until you have lived in the woods, and
been subject to the irruptions of the fowls.

“Where is your poultry-yard?” methinks I hear
you say. Alas! Echo might answer, “Where!” if
Echo were not tired of replying to such questions.
It is at least six weeks since I engaged the proper
materials at the saw-mill, but the poor miller's dam
was carried away by a freshet, and by over-exerting
himself in attempting to repair it, he took the
ague—so what could I do but wait?

“But what did you do for dinner?” Mrs. Williamson
says. This query is more easily answered.
Our drive was all planned, and it was voted impossible
to await the result of another cooking
process. The side-table having fortunately eluded
the horny noses of our invaders, from its being

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covered with a napkin, we made a very delicate
repast on West India preserves with cream and biscuits.
But after the said drive had been accomplished,
and the fresh air and the exhilarating exercise
had revived the “sacred rage,” we called that
light meal lunch, and had a substantial dinner at a
fashionable hour, and probably (for I did not inquire)
at the expense of some of our ravenous foes.

And to have seen the good-humored facility with
which Mr. Ellis helped to laugh off our perplexities,
and the awkwardness which one cannot but
feel, spite of philosophy, in such cases, one might
have supposed him one who had never breathed
the air of courts, but who had been all his days
accustomed to the shifts and expedients of an emigrant's
life.

We insisted on his remaining for the night, if
only for the sake of saying that he had slept in a
box; namely, the one which once served to envelop
a parcel of chairs, and which now fills the
office of a spare bedstead. Mr. Ellis declares that
he never slept more soundly, and I can well believe
it, for he had earned a good night's rest by his exertions
in threading the farm and the country round
it, during the whole day.

* * * * * *

As we sat at breakfast in the morning, an old
man, one of our good neighbors, came in with a
long-handled dipper, and asked if we kept lightning
in the house.

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“No indeed!” said Mrs. Sibthorpe, looking of
course somewhat puzzled.

“Why, do tell!” said the old man. “But
may be you don't know what it is,—if you don't,
I'll bet you a cookie you can't guess.”

We all tried. Florella's guess was gunpowder,—
Mr. Ellis's, oil,—mine, candles.

The old man laughed.

“No, no,” said he, “you haven't come within
rifle distance! Why, it's emptins! My woman
wants to set some griddles, and she took a notion
she must have risin' to put in 'em.”

“How is the good lady?” asked Mrs. Sibthorpe.

“She! you couldn't kill her with a meat-axe!
She's real savage upon vittles since this last turn
of agur. I'd sooner board an Irishman! There's
no whoa to her, when once she gits a goin' upon
pork!”

And our friend took up his lightning and departed,
without the ceremony of good morning.

* * * * * *

As I was showing Mr. Ellis the piece of land
which I intend planting with morus multicaulis, he called my attention to a fragment of fine bituminous
coal which he had turned up with his foot.
The land hereabout is not what is usually considered
as a coal formation, but I should not be at all
surprised to discover a stray stratum. The state is
known to abound in coal. I think I shall make

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some small examination either this autumn or early
next spring. At present, laborers are too precious
to be spared for any new plan. I begin to fear we
shall not be ready to plaster before the frosts set
in. We met with an accident the other day,
which, though of no great consequence in pecuniary
amount, will necessarily delay us somewhat. I had
purchased a quantity of green lumber, which was to
be kiln-dried before it was fit for use. But, by some
unaccountable accident, the whole took fire and was
consumed while the workmen were gone to dinner.
So I have either to send a great distance for seasoned
materials, or to wait the repairing of the milldam,
and then the chance of another attempt at
kiln-drying. I think I shall prefer the former mode,
although it is much more expensive; since time is
just now of more consequence than money. The
conflagration cost me about two hundred dollars.

A smaller disaster was the loss of a quantity of
lime which was on its way from a place about
fifteen miles off. The teamster was benighted,
and obliged to stop for the night at a log-tavern,
owing to the extreme darkness caused by an approaching
storm. The wagon, with its load of lime,
was placed under a shed, and my man went quietly
to sleep, lulled doubtless all the sooner by the
pleasant pattering of the shower. About midnight
all were awakened by a sudden blaze of light, and
it was found that the lime, not having been protected
from the wet by the leaky shed, had set all

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on fire, and it was only by great exertion that the
house was saved. So I was obliged, not only to
put up with the loss of the lime, but to satisfy the
teamster for the damage done to his wagon, as
well as the tavern-keeper for the loss of his shed.
One learns something by these things, though at a
rather costly rate.

You have gathered doubtless from my sketches
of affairs in general, that I, who came here for
boundless leisure, am the busiest of men. It is even
so, but I find much to interest me. I read no
books, it is true, but I am continually turning some
new leaf in the book of life, and the study of human
nature. Mrs. Sibthorpe is not very well, but
she is in fine spirits; and Charlotte is as brown and
as happy as a gypsy, and with the same reason;—
health, unbounded freedom, and a life in the open
air. A little companion or two would leave her
nothing to desire; but even this deficiency she
scarcely feels; for her mother is of that cheerful
facility of temper which makes her good company
for any body.

We are all embrowned beyond belief. I am
always, you know, something of a bonze in figure;
now I am a bronze in complexion. Conceive the
attractions of a bronze bonze!

Under any color however,

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