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FOREST LIFE.

CHAPTER XXX.

“ The friendly shade Shuts out the world's bright glare.”

OUR friend Mr. Hay has a noble farm. His cleared and cultivated acres may be counted by hundreds, and his “stock” of all kinds will far outnumber them. A wide tract of forest land hems in his clearing, and this too calls him master. He is wont to boast that he has more land enclosed within a ring-fence than any man in the county; and he boasts still louder that it is all the fruit of his own industry; and, loudest of all, that it has never made him proud. He maintains, and insists upon his family's maintaining, the simplicity of habits and manners that is usual in the neighbourhood, and

VOL. II.

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watches with jealous eye every tendency towards an imitation of those who attempt fashion and style among us.

He goes daily into the field with his men, and his wife and daughters spin and wear wool and flax of home production. No imported luxury graces their daily table. Mrs. Hay, to be sure, has her tea, but she has it in the afternoon, before the family supper; and the sugar (for the few who like "sweet'nin?” in their tea) comes from no further off than the farm “sugar-bush.” Notwithstanding these strict sumptuary laws, however, no family lives in greater comfort and abundance.

Mr. Hay's house is large enough to make a respectable figure any where, though it lacks as yet the beautifying aid of the paintbrush. His barn would make a hotel of tolerable dimensions, and the various outhouses and sheds, and coops and pens, that cluster round it, make passing travellers fancy they are coming upon a rising village in the deep woods. A fine young orchard adorns the sloping bank behind the house; whole

rows of peach and cherry trees border the ample door-yard ; hedges of currant and gooseberry bushes intersect the garden; thick screens of wild grape and honeysuckle overshadow the porch and drapery the “squareroom” windows.

When you enter, you find bare but wellscrubbed floors; the only exception being found in the aforesaid “square-room,” which is decorated with a home-made carpet of resplendent colours, large enough to reach (almost) the border of chairs, and shaken every morning on the grass to avoid the ravages of the wasteful broom, eight-day clock, with a moon on its face, is the most conspicuous ornament of the common or “keepin’-room;" but there is, besides this, in a favoured corner near the window, a small mirror, round which hang black profiles of all the family, including aunts and uncles; pincushions of every size and hue; strings of little birds' eggs; vials of camphor, peppermint, and essence of lemon; and perhaps a dozen other small articles much prized by different members

A great of the family; while over the glass wave a few peacock's feathers, and a whole plume of asparagus.

Pass into the kitchen, and you will find Mrs. Hay kneading bread or rolling pie-crust, to give her stout handmaid time for some less delicate service; her daughter MarthyAnn preparing dinner; her daughter SophiaJane shelling peas; her daughter Harriet’Lizy rocking the cradle, in which lies yet another daughter, whose name is Apollonia,

- not quite Apollyon, but so like it that I almost wonder that people who read John Bunyan should be fond of the appellation. The truth is, we do love high-sounding names, and the more syllables or adjuncts the better.

The kitchen has a great fire-place, with a crane stout enough to swing a five-pail kettle of soup, and a great oven too, that will hold at least a dozen country loaves. About the walls are disposed all the conveniences necessary for the full use of fireplace and oven, on the same plenteous scale. A rifle and a shot-gun hang on wooden

hooks driven into the rafters over-head; two or three gleaming butcher-knives ornament a leather strap fixed against the chimney. A meal-room near at hand contains several varieties of flour, and a buttery and milkhouse supply other rustic dainties in profusion. Is it not to be supposed that Mr. Hay and Mrs. Hay, and their five daughters, and their “help," and their three hired men, live well?

One daughter we have not introduced into the kitchen because she was seldom found there. Caroline Hay was delicate from her infancy, so much so that even her father was willing to see her excused from the more arduous part of domestic duty, and sent to school more constantly than were her sisters. But it was not without many misgivings that Mr. Hay observed the distinction which this circumstance made between his daughters. He dreaded, and with reason, that Caroline should become that useless and uncomfortable being, a pretty girl with just education enough to fill her with conceit and pretension, while her ex

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