edly advancing to bury his house in its cold embrace. He
hurried the unmindful sharer of his destiny from her bed, gathered the
most precious of his household goods, and knew not how or where to
fly. Loudly and oft the angry spirit of the water shrieked: Niagara
was mounting the hill.

The soldiers, perceiving his imminent peril, ventured down the bank,
and shouted to him to fly to them. He moved not; they entreated him,
and, knowing his great age and infirmity, and the utter imbecility of
the poor old dame, insisted upon taking them out.

But the man withstood them. He looked abroad, and the glimmering night
showed him nothing but ruin around.

"I put my trust in Him who never fails," said the veteran. "He will
not suffer me to perish."

The soldiers, awed by the wreck of nature, rushed forward, and took
the ancient pair out by strength of arms; and, no sooner had they done
so, than the waters, which had been so eager for their prey, reached
the lower floor, and a large wooden building near them was toppled
over by waves of solid ice. Much of the poor man's ingeniously-wrought
furniture was injured; but, although the neighbouring buildings were
crushed, cracked, rent, and turned over, the old man's habitation was
spared, and he still dwells there, waiting in the sunshine for his
appointed time, with the same faith as he displayed in the utter
darkness of the storm.

He had built his cottage on land belonging to the Crown; and, in
consequence of an act recently passed, he, with many others who had
thus taken possession, had been ordered to remove. But his affecting
history had gained him friends, and he has now permission to dwell
thereon, until he shall be summoned away by another and a higher
authority, by that Power in whom he has his being, and in whom he put
his trust.

We landed once more at Toronto, at present "The City" of Upper Canada,
on the 7th of July, and left it again on the 8th, in the fine and very
fast steamer Eclipse for Hamilton, in the Gore district, at three
o'clock, p.m. The day was fine; and thus we saw to advantage the whole
shore of Ontario, from Toronto to Burlington.

Our first stopping place was Port Credit, a place remarkable for the
settlement near it of an Indian tribe, to which the half-bred Peter
Jones, or Kekequawkonnaby, as he is called, belongs.

This man, or, rather, this somewhat remarkable person, and, I think,
missionary teacher of the Wesleyan Methodists, attained a sha