"I sketch from Nature, and the draught is true. Whate'er the picture, whether grave or gay, Painful experience in a distant land Made it mine own." "Dear foster-mother, on whose ample breast The hungry still find food, the weary rest; The child of want that treads thy happy shore, Shall feel the grasp of poverty no more; His honest toil meet recompense can claim, And Freedom bless him with a freeman's name!" S.M. In our work of "Roughing it in the Bush," I endeavoured to draw a picture of Canadi

By the purple haze that lies On the distant rocky height, By the deep blue of the skies, By the smoky amber light, Through the forest arches streaming. Where nature on her throne sits dreaming, And the sun is scarcely gleaming Through the cloudlet's snowy white, Winter's lovely herald greets us, Ere the ice-crown'd tyrant meets us. A mellow softness fills the air-- No breeze on wanton wing steals by, To break the holy quiet there, Or make the waters fret and sigh. Or the golden alders shiver, Th

"The land of our adoption claims Our highest powers,--our firmest trust-- May future ages blend our names With hers, when we shall sleep in dust. Land of our sons!--last-born of earth, A mighty nation nurtures thee; The first in moral power and worth,-- Long mayst thou boast her sovereignty! Union is strength, while round the boughs Of thine own lofty maple-tree; The threefold wreath of Britain flows, Twined with the graceful fleur-de-lis ; A chaplet wreathed mid smiles and tears, In which all h

"Prophet spirit! rise and say, What in Fancy's glass you see-- A city crown this lonely bay? No dream--a bright reality. Ere half a century has roll'd Its waves of light away, The beauteous vision I behold Shall greet the rosy day; And Belleville view with civic pride Her greatness mirror'd in the tide." S.M. S.M. The town of Belleville, in 1840, contained a population of 1,500 souls, or thereabouts. The few streets it then possessed were chiefly composed of frame houses, put up in the most unar

"Truth, Wisdom, Virtue--the eternal three, Great moral agents of the universe-- Shall yet reform and beautify the world, And render it fit residence for Him In whom these glorious attributes combined, To render perfect manhood one with God!" S.M. There is no calculating the immense benefit which the will colony will derive from the present liberal provision made for the education of the rising generation. A few years ago schools were so far apart, and the tuition of children so expensive, that n

"Life hath its pleasures, stern Death hath its fears, Joy hath gay laughter, and Grief bitter tears; Rejoice with the one, nor shrink from the other,-- Yon cloud hides the sun, and death is life's brother! As the beam to the day, so the shade to the night-- Be certain that Heaven orders all for the right." S.M. My dear reader, before we proceed further on our journey, it may be as well to give you some idea of how the Canadian people in towns spend their time. I will endeavour to describe to you

"The man that hath not music in his soul." I will say no more. The quotation, though but too true, I is too well known; but it will serve as the best illustration I can give to the various annoyances which beset the path of him who is musically inclined, and whose soul is in unison with sweet sounds. This was my case. I loved music with all my heart and soul, and in order to give myself wholly up to my passion, and claim a sort of moral right to enjoy it, I made it a profession. Few people have

"Conceit's an excellent great-coat, and sticks Close to the wearer for his mortal life; It has no spot nor wrinkle in his eyes, And quite cuts out the coats of other men." S.M. "He had a fiddle sadly out of tune, A voice as husky as a raven croaking, Or owlet hooting to the clouded moon, Or bloated bull-frog in some mud-hole choking." During my professional journies through the country, I have often had the curiosity to visit the singing-schools in the small towns and villages through which I pa

"On--on!--for ever brightly on, Thy lucid waves are flowing: Thy waters sparkle as they run, Their long, long journey going." S.M. We have rounded Ox Point, and Belleville is no longer in sight. The steamboat has struck into mid channel, and the bold shores of the Prince Edward District are before us. Calmly we glide on, and islands and headlands seem to recede from us as we advance; and now they are far in the distance, half seen through the warm purple haze that rests so dreamily upon woods an

"What is death?--my sister, say." "Ask not, brother, breathing clay. Ask the earth on which we tread, That silent empire of the dead. Ask the sea--its myriad waves, Living, leap o'er countless graves!" "Earth and ocean answer not, Life is in their depths forgot." Ask yon pale extended form, Unconscious of the coming storm, That breathed and spake an hour ago, Of heavenly bliss and penal woe;-- Within yon shrouded figure lies "The mystery of mysteries!" S.M. That breathed and spake an hour ago, O

"Dear merry reader, did you ever hear, Whilst travelling on the world's wide beaten road, The curious reasoning, and opinions queer, Of men, who never in their lives bestow'd One hour on study; whose existence seems A thing of course--a practical delusion-- A day of frowning clouds and sunny gleams-- Of pain and pleasure, mix'd in strange confusion; Who feel they move and breathe, they know not why-- Are born to eat and drink, and sleep and die." S.M. S.M. The shores of the Prince Edward Distric

"I dare not think--I cannot pray; To name the name of God were sin: No grief of mine can wash away The consciousness of guilt within. The stain of blood is on my hand, The curse of Cain is on my brow;-- I see that ghastly phantom stand Between me and the sunshine now! That mocking face still haunts my dreams, That blood-shot eye that never sleeps, In night and darkness--oh, it gleams, Like red-hot steel--but never weeps! And still it bends its burning gaze On mine, till drops of terror start Fro

"His day of life is closing--the long night Of dreamless rest a dusky shadow throws, Between the dying and the things of earth, Enfolding in a chill oblivious pall The last sad struggles of a broken heart. Yes! ere the rising of to-morrow's sun, The bitter grief that brought him to this pass Will be forgotten in the sleep of death." S.M. We left Kingston at three o'clock, P.M., in the "Passport," for Toronto. From her commander, Captain Towhy, a fine British heart of oak, we received the kindest

"Ah, human hearts are strangely cast, Time softens grief and pain; Like reeds that shiver in the blast, They bend to rise again. But she in silence bowed her head, To none her sorrow would impart; Earth's faithful arms enclose the dead, And hide for aye her broken heart!" S.M. While the steamboat is leaving Cobourg in the distance, and, through the hours of night and darkness, holds on her course to Toronto, I will relate another true but mournful history from the romance of real life, that was

"Oh, how I love the pleasant woods, when silence reigns around, And the mighty shadows calmly sleep, like giants on the ground, And the fire-fly sports her fairy lamp beside the moonlit stream, And the lofty trees, in solemn state, frown darkly in the beam!" S.M. There was a poor woman on board the steamer, who was like myself in search of health, and was going to the West to see her friends, and to get rid of (if possible) a hollow, consumptive cough. She looked to me in the last stage of pulmo

"Fiction, however wild and fanciful, Is but the copy memory draws from truth. 'Tis not in human genius to create : The mind is but a mirror that reflects Realities that are, or the dim shadows Left by the past upon its placid surface Recalled again to life." The glow of early day was brightening in the east, as the steamer approached Toronto. We rounded the point of the interminable, flat, swampy island, that stretches for several miles in front of the city, and which is thinly covered with scru

"Alas! poor maniac; For thee no hope can dawn--no tender tie Wake in thy blighted heart a thrill of joy; The immortal mind is levelled with the dust, Ere the tenacious chords of life give way!" S.M. Our next visit was to the Lunatic Asylum. The building is of white brick,--a material not very common in Canada, but used largely in Toronto, where stone has to be brought from a considerable distance, there being no quarries in the neighbourhood. Brick has not the substantial, august appearance that

"A happy scene of rural mirth, Drawn from the teeming lap of earth, In which a nation's promise lies. Honour to him who wins a prize!-- A trophy won by honest toil, Far nobler than the victor's spoil." S.M. Toronto was all bustle and excitement, preparing for the Provincial Agricultural Show; no other subject was thought of or talked about. The ladies, too, taking advantage of the great influx of strangers to the city, were to hold a bazaar for the benefit of St. George's Church; the sum which t

"Come and worship at a shrine, Rear'd by hands eternal, Where the flashing waters shine, And the turf is ever vernal, And nature's everlasting voice For ever cries--rejoice, rejoice!" S.M. The night had been one of pouring rain, and the day dawned through a thick veil of misty clouds, on the morning of which we were to start from Toronto to visit the Falls of Niagara. "It is always so," I thought, as I tried to peer through the dense mist that floated round the spire of St. George's church, in o

"Adown Niagara's giant steep, The foaming breakers crowding leap, With wild tumultuous roar; The mighty din ascends on high, In deafening thunder to the sky, And shakes the rocky shore." S.M. The lady with the ringlets was absent with her party from the tea-table; I was not sorry to learn that she was gone. I had conceived a prejudice against her from the remark I heard her make about the Falls. Her gustativeness predominated so largely over her ideality, that she reminded me of a young lady who

"Why dost thou fear to speak the honest truth? Speak boldly, fearlessly, what thou think'st right, And time shall justify thy words and thee!" S.M. We left Niagara at noon. A very pleasant drive brought us to Queenstone, and we stepped on board the "Chief Justice" steamboat, that had just touched the wharf, and was on her return trip to Toronto. Tired and ill, I was glad to lie down in one of the berths in the ladies' cabin to rest, and, if possible, to obtain a little sleep. This I soon found w