own grief while they vainly tried to administer to the sorrows of the other. The question was not asked kow did father come to bring us here? that was unnecessary. He had lost his

pride of character, and the finer feelings of his soul had become seared. Hope, they had ceased to cherish; and the heart grew sick at their present prospects, not daring for a moment to think of the future. Wearied with fatigue and excitement the travellers lay down on their miserable bed; exhausted nature was soon locked in the arms of sleep. About two o'clock in the morning they were suddenly aroused by the cry of "Murder! Murder!" terrified, they sprang from their beds and threw open a window, where they heard one man ask another, “Who stabbed him?” the answer was, "Jack Windsor."

"Have they got him?"

"No, nor they wont, for he will be in Canada in fifteen minutes ?"

"Will Sheffield die?"

"No, I think it is only a flesh wound," was the answer; but he did die in consequence of his wound, after lingering ten days.

Mrs. Willard and her daughters did not venture to get into bed again that night.

At length the long wished for morning came, but it brought with it no relief. Everything without and within wore the same aspect of desolation, and the dark pall of death seemed to spread itself over everything on which the eye rested. Few were the words they spoke, their looks were bordering on despair.

Alba looked first at her mother and then at her sister, then buried her face in her sister's lap and wept aloud. The fountain of tears that refused to

come to the relief of Odora and Mrs. Willard, was now unlocked-their heads were buried in each other's bosoms, as they sat on the side of the bed, for there were no chairs in the room. Odora at length said, "Dear mamma, 'Weeping endureth but for a night, joy cometh in the morning;' here is another precious promise from which we can derive consolation."

Odora opened her Bible, and read the first verse of the thirtieth Psalm, 66 Wait on the Lord, be of good courage and he shall strengthen thy heart: wait, I say, on the Lord."

Mrs. Willard was in a measure comforted with Odora's words; she thought of the words of Mr Morse, on that memorable occasion: "In your dear little Odora, you will be blessed."

The mother and daughters bowed before God, and their full hearts found relief not only from his word, but by

pouring out their complaints into the ear of one that could be touched by the feelings of their infirmties.

Mr. Willard's entrance interrupted their devotions; he knew that he was not worthy of the welcome smile they gave him. Seating himself upon the side of the bed, he told them that he was about making a bargain with the landlord to become his partner. To avoid the distressed looks of his family, he walked to the dirt-begrimed window, and took from it an old hat that looked as if it had suffered martyrdom in the cause, and as he looked out, continued "The few hundreds that we have with us will make this a very different place from what it is now." Not venturing to look at Mrs. Willard, "I think, wife, you will make a very different landlady from the one we have down stairs; and our two girls will make everything look so nice and tidy."

They were now summoned to their breakfast. While they were sitting at the table, little disposed to eat, the bar room door was thrown open into the kitchen; the landlord unceremoniously entered, saying, "Here are all the Willards that I know anything about."

At this Mrs. Willard looked around, and to her utter astonishment, Alpheus stood before her. In the joy of the moment, her troubles were all forgotten, notwithstanding Alpheus looked as cross as they had ever seen him.

Odora asked, "Why are you here? Where did you come from?"

"I think, sis, you had better wait and let me ask how you came here," setting his teeth as he glanced around the room. "You, all of you, look as if you had been sick a month, and it is only fourteen days since you left Champlain."