to mind the beautiful
park at Wexton, which they had quitted, after having resided there so
long and so happily; the hall, with all its splendour and all its
comfort, rose up in their remembrance; each room with its furniture,
each window with its view, was recalled to their memories; they had
crossed the Atlantic, and were now about to leave civilisation and
comfort behind them--to isolate themselves in the Canadian woods--to
trust to their own resources, their own society, and their own
exertions. It was, indeed, the commencement of a new life, and for
which they felt themselves little adapted, after the luxuries they had
enjoyed in their former condition; but if their thoughts and
reminiscences made them grave and silent, they did not make them
despairing or repining; they trusted to that Power who alone could
protect--who gives and who takes away, and doeth with us as He judges
best; and if hope was not buoyant in all of them, still there was
confidence, resolution, and resignation. Gradually they were roused
from their reveries by the beauty of the scenery and the novelty of what
met their sight; the songs, also, of the Canadian boatmen were musical
and cheering, and by degrees, they had all recovered their usual good
spirits.

Alfred was the first to shake off his melancholy feelings and to attempt
to remove them from others; nor was he unsuccessful. The officer who
commanded the detachment of troops, and who was in the same _bateaux_
with the family, had respected their silence upon their departure from
the wharf--perhaps he felt as much as they did. His name was Sinclair,
and his rank that of senior captain in the regiment--a handsome, florid
young man, tall and well made, very gentleman-like, and very gentle in
his manners.

"How very beautiful the foliage is on that point, mother," said Alfred,
first breaking the silence, "what a contrast between the leaves of the
sycamore, so transparent and yellow, with the sun behind them, and the
new shoots of the spruce fir."

"It is indeed very lovely," replied Mrs Campbell; "and the branches of
the trees, feathering down as they do to the surface of the water--"

"Like good Samaritans," said Emma, "extending their arms, that any
unfortunate drowning person who was swept away by the stream might save
himself by their assistance."

"I had no idea that trees had so much charity or reflection, Emma,"
rejoined Alfred.

"I cannot answer for their charity, but, by