others, by sporting a
flashy stock or waistcoat, and by being arrayed in "_boughten_" clothes,
procured in town at a most expensive rate in lieu of their _lumber_.
Little respect is, however, paid here to the cloth, (that is,
broadcloth), for it is a sure sign of bad management, and most likely of
debt, for the back settlers to be arrayed in any thing but their own
home-made clothing. The grave and serious demeanour of these people is
as different from the savage scowl of the discontented peasant,
murmuring beneath the burthen of taxation and ill-remunerated toil, as
from the free, light-hearted, and careless laughter, both of which
characterise the rural groups in the fertile fields of England. New
Brunswick is the land of strangers; even the first settlers, the "sons
of the soil," as they claim to be, have hardly yet forgot their exile,
a trace of which character, be he prosperous as he may, still hovers
over the emigrant. Their early home, with its thousand ties of love,
cannot be all forgotten. This feeling descends to their children, losing
its tone of sadness, but throwing a serious shade over the national
character, which, otherwise has nothing gloomy or melancholy in its
composition. There is also a kind of "_looking a-head_" expression of
countenance natural to the country, which is observed even in the
children, who are not the careless frolicsome beings they are in other
countries, but are here more truly miniature men and women, looking, as
the Yankees express it, as if they had all cut their "_eye-teeth_."

But here we are, for the present, arrived at the bourne of our journey.
High on a lofty hill before us stands a large frame building, the place
of worship as well as the principal school-house of the settlement. This
double purpose it is not, however, destined long to be devoted to, for
the building of a church is already in contemplation, and will, no
doubt, soon be proceeded with. The beaming sun is shining with dazzling
radiance on its white walls, telling, in fervent whispers, that a
shelter from the heat will be desirable; so here we will enter, where
the shadowy trees, and bright stream glancing through the garden
flowers, speak of inhabitants from the olden world. A frame building has
been joined to the original log-house, and the dwelling thus made large
enough to accommodate the household. Mrs. Gordon, the lady of the
mansion, and the friend I have come thus far to see, is one of those
persons t