in their search, she had secretely taken a horse and followed them.

The party rode first to Tom Cooper's hut, and there having dismounted, leading their horses through the forest, followed the trail, as only men long accustomed to savage life can do. At night they lay on the ground, covered with their thick bear-skin cloaks; for Susan only they heaped up a bed of dried leaves; but she refused to occupy it, saying it was her duty to bear the same hardships they did. Ever since their departure she had shown no sign of sorrow. Although slight and delicately formed, she never appeared fatigued; her whole soul was absorbed in one longing desire to find her husband's body; for from the first she had abandoned the hope of ever again seeing him in life. This desire supported her through everything. Early the next morning they were again on the trail. About noon as they were crossing a a small brook, the hound suddenly dashed away from them, and was lost in the thicket. At first they fancied they might have crossed the track of a deer or wolf; but a long mourn ful howl soon told the sad truth, for not far from the brook lay the faithful dog on the dead body of his master, which was pierced to the heart by an Indian arrow.

The hound was trotting to and fro with his nose to the ground, as if endeavoring to pick out a cold scent. Edward laughed at his brother, and pointed to the track of a deer that had come to the river to drink. At last he agreed to follow Nero, who was now cantering slowly across the prairie. The pace gradually increased, until on a spot where the grass had grown more luxuriantly than elsewhere, Nero threw up his nose, gave a deep bay, and started off at so furious a pace, that although well mounted, they had great difficulty in keeping up with him. He soon brought them to the borders of another forest, where, finding it impossible to take their horses further, they tethered them to a tree and set off on foot. At last they fancied it sounded nearer instead of becoming less dis tinct; and of this they were soon convinced. They still went on in the direction whence the sound proceeded until they saw Nero sitting with his fore-paws against the trunk of a tree, no longer mouthing like a welltrained hound, but yelling like fury. They looked up in the tree, but could see noth ing; until at last Edward espied a large hollow about half way up the trunk. "I was right, you see," he said. "After all it's nothing but a bear-but we may as well shoot the brute that has given us so much trouble."

The murderer had apparently been afraid to approach on account of the dogs, for the body was left as it had fallen-not even the They set to work immediately with their rifle was gone. No sign of Indians could be axes to fell the tree. It began to totter, discovered save one small foot-print, which when a dark object they could not tell what was instantly pronounced to be that of a in the dim twilight, crawled from its place squaw. Susan showed no grief at the sight of concealment to the extremity of a branch, of the body; she maintained the sanie forced and from thence into the next tree. Snatchcalmness, and seemed comforted that it was ing up their rifles they both fired together, found. Old Wilton staid with her to remove when to their astonishment, instead of a bear, all that now remained of her darling husband, a young Indian squaw, with a wild yell, fell and his two sons again set out on the trail to the ground. They ran to the spot where which soon led them into the open prairie, she lay motionless, and carried her to the where it was easily traced through the tall, borders of the wood, where they had that thick grass. They continued riding all that morning dismounted. Richard lifted her on afternoon, and the next morning by day-break his horse, and springing himself into the sadwere again on the track, which they follow- dle, carried the almost lifeless body before ed to the banks of a wide but shallow stream. him. The poor creature never spoke. SevThere they saw the remains of a fire. One eral times they stopped, thinking she was of the brothers thrust his hand among the dead; her pulse only told the spirit had not ashes, which were still warm. They crossed flown from its earthly tenement. When the river, and in the soft sand on the opposite they reached the river which had been bank saw again the print of small moccasined footsteps. Here they were at a loss: for the rank prairie grass had been consumed by one of those fearful fires so common in the pairies, and in its stead grew soft, sweet herbage, where even an Indian's eye could observe no trace. They were on the point of abandoning the pursuit, when Richard, the younger of the two, called his brother's attention to Nero, who had of his own accord left his mistress to accompany them, as if he now understood what they were about.

crossed by them before, they washed the wounds, and sprinkled water on her face. This appeared to revive her, and when Richard again lifted her in his arms to place her on his horse, he fancied he heard her mutter in Iroquois, one word-"revenged!" It was a strange sight, these two powerful men tending so carefully the being they had a few hours before sought to slay, and endeavoring to staunch the blood that flowed from wounds they themselves had made! Yet so it was. It would have appeared to them a

sin to leave the Indian woman to die; yet they felt no remorse at having inflicted the wound, and doubtless would have been better pleased had it been mortal; but they would not have murdered a wounded enemy, even an Indian warrior, still less a squaw. The party continued their journey until midnight, when they stopped to rest their jaded horses. Having wrapped the squaw in their bearskins, they lay down themselves with no covering except the clothes they wore. They were in no want of provisions, as not knowing when they might return, they had taken a good supply of bread and dried venison, not wishing to lose any precious time in seeking food whilst on the trail. The brandy still remaining in their flasks they preserved for the use of their captive. The evening of the following day they reached the trapper's hut, where they were not a little surprised to find Susan. She told them that although John Wilton had begged her to live with them, she could not bear to leave the spot where every thing reminded her of one, to think of whom was now her only consolation, and that whilst she had Nero, she feared nothing. They needed not to tell their mournful tale-Susan already understood it too clearly. She begged them to leave the Indian woman with her. "You have no one," she said, “to tend and watch her as I can do; besides, it is not right that I should lay such a burden on you." Although unwilling to impose on her the painful task of nursing her husband's, murderess they could not but allow that she was right; and seeing how earnestly she desired it, at last consented to leave the Indian woman with her.

For many long weeks she nursed her charge as tenderly as if she had been her sister. At first she lay motionless, and rarely spoke; then she grew delirious, and raved wildly. Susan fortunately could not understand what she said, but often turned shudderingly away when the Indian woman would strive to rise from her bed, and move her arms as if drawing a bow; or wildly yell and cower in terror beneath the clothes, reacting in her delirium the fearful scenes through which she had passed. By degrees reason returned; she gradually got better, but seemed restless and unhappy, and could not bear the sight of Nero. The first proof of returning reason she had shown was to shriek in terror when he once accidentally followed her into the room where she lay. One morning Susan missed her; she searched around the hut, but she was gone, without having taken

farewell of her kind benefactress.

A few years after Susan Cooper (no longer "pretty Susan," for time and grief had done their work) heard late one night a hurried

knock, which was repeated several times be-
fore she could unfasten the door, each time
more loudly than before. She called to ask
who it was at that hour of the night. A few
hurried words in Iroquois were the reply, and
Susan congratulated herself on having spoken
before unbarring the door. But on listening
again, she distinctly heard the same voice
say, "Quick-quick!" and recognized it as
the Indian Woman's whom she had nursed.
The door was instantly opened, when the
squaw rushed into the hut, seized Susan by
the arm, and made signs to her to come
away. She was too much excited to remem-
ber the few words of English she had picked
up while living with the white woman. Ex-
pressing her meaning by gestures with a
clearness peculiar to the Indians, she dragged
rather than led Susan from the hut. They
had just reached the edge of the forest when
the wild yells of the Indians sounded in their
ears. Having gone with Susan a little way
into the forest her guide left her. For nearly
four hours she lay there half dead with cold
and terror, not daring to move from her place
of concealment. She saw the flames of the
dwelling where so many lonely hours had
been passed, rising above the trees, and heard
the shrill whoops of the retiring Indians.
Nero, who was lying by her side, suddenly
rose and gave a low growl. Silently a dark
figure came gliding among the trees directly
to the spot where she lay. She gave herself
up for lost; but it was the Indian woman who
came to her, and dropt at her feet a bag of
money, the remains of her late husband's
The grateful creature knew where
savings.
it was kept; and while the Indians were
busied examining the rifles and other objects
more interesting to them, had carried it off
Waving her arm around to
unobserved.
show that all was now quiet, she pointed in
the direction of Wilton's house, and was
again lost among the trees.

Day was just breaking when Susan reached
the squatter's cabin. Having heard the sad
story, Wilton and two of his sons started
immediately for the spot. Nothing was to
be seen save a heap of ashes. The party
had apparently consisted of only three or
four Indians; but a powerful tribe being in
the neighborhood, they saw it would be too
hazardous to follow them. From this time
She was a
Susan lived with the Wiltons.
daughter to the old man, and a sister to his
sons, who often said; that as far as they were
concerned, the Indians had never done a
kindlier action than in burning down Susan
Cooper's hut."

WE should live well by day, if for no other reason than that we should not have bad dreams at night.

SAUNDERS MUIRHEAD'S TROUBLES
AS A LODGING-HOUSE KEEPER.
[It is proper to inform the reader, that the following
homely narrative, except a few sentences in the be-
ginning, is the actual production of a poor man, who
has seen and experienced all which he relates.]

known many people who kept lodgings, we thought we would try that way of doing. Accordingly, having sold off our effects in the country, we came into town at a Whitsunday term, and having taken what was thought a tolerably genteel house, we laid out a considerable sum in furnishing it with It is a common thing for students and every thing necessary. We also put a small others who live in lodgings, to be put on sum into the bank, for safety, in case of any their guard by friends and acquaintances distress coming upon us, and we kept a little against the dishonest and pilfering propensi- in hand, to live upon till we saw how we ties of landladies and landlords, or those who should come on. We had a good kitchen, let rooms. Many stories are told with a and a small room that looked backwards. view of proving the necessity of caution in This little room we let to two trades lads, this respect. For example, the adventure is who paid us punctually every week, and often repeated of the student, who, finding with them we had very little trouble. Then his eatables frequently disappear from the we had an elegant room and bed-closet to cupboard or press in which he kept them, the front, and with that we hoped to do great and of which he carried the key, at last fell things. We put out a painted ticket, notiupon the following method of punishing the fying that there was a "good room to let" author of the depredations. For want of within; yet the summer, and then the harother room, his landlady had obtained leave vest passed over, and still it stood empty. to place her best set of tea-china, which was The month of October came, and brought seldom used, on a shelf of the student's cup- with it the period when the students were to board. This china-set he encompassed with come to town. Our hopes began to revive, a string, and affixed the end of the cord to and this just in time; for the little money the inside of the door in such a way, that that we had in hand was nearly done, notany one attempting to open it, who was igno- withstanding the strictest economy. rant of the state of matters within, must The long-looked-for class week came, and cause a grand catastrophe. The scheme a great many young men arrived to attend was completely successful. On her next the classes. We had a number of calls; visit to the student's victual-store, the landlady tasted the merited fruits of her dishonesty, in beholding her cherished china smashed to pieces before her face! And what was, perhaps, no slight part of the punishment, she was forced to bear it in silence.

This, and a number of stories of the same kind, that are often told, may be true, but I am very far mistaken if lodging-house keepers do not much more frequently suffer, and that in a thousand ways too, from their lodgers, than the lodgers do from them. I do not speak on this point without experience, and the best way, perhaps, of convincing my readers of the hardships that befall those who follow that way of life, will be to record the details of my own career as a lodging-house keeper.

I possessed for many years a small farm about twenty miles south from Edinburgh, but, getting pretty far advanced in life, and my lease being expired, I declined taking it again, as my health was very indifferent, and my family had all left me; for the place was so poor that it would not pay one of my sons to stay with me to help to work it, and I was unable to do the whole myself. My wife, however, who is a good many years younger than I am, was still stout and healthy, and so we resolved that we would go and live in Edinburgh; and as we had heard of and

but the first week passed away, and nothing was done. Some said they would call again; others objected to the rent; and others offered just a mere trifle. At last, when the second week had almost elapsed, and we were just beginning to despair, a good-looking young man called, who said he was a medical student, and, after some chaffering backward and forward, we at last agreed to let him our room and closet. He went out to get his luggage brought in, and after seeing every thing safely put past, he said, "I am going out for a little, but I will be back about nine o'clock. Let me have a good fire, and a little of something for supper, as I may perhaps bring a friend or two with me." On asking what he would have for supper, "Oh, just get two pounds of beefsteak," said he, "with some English cheese, and plenty of bread, half a dozen of the very best London porter, a bottle of whisky, and some lump sugar."

This request was totally unexpected. We had never contemplated the possibility of having to supply food as well as lodging to our customers; but there was no help for it; the gentleman had gone off the moment he had issued the order, and much against my will I had to contract an account with the neighboring grocer for the articles in question. After this we were obliged to get a number of other things for our best room

SAUNDERS MUIRHEAD'S TROUBLES AS A LODGING-HOUSE KEEPER.

lodger, with which to carry on through the
rest of the week. Still we hoped that all
would be settled on Saturday. When that
day came, the gentleman got dinner between
three and four o'clock, and went out, we
never doubting but that he would come back
early in the evening, and pay every thing.
We accordingly waited with considerable
patience till nine o'clock, after which we
began rather to weary. However, ten came,
then eleven, and then twelve, and still he
did not come. We wanted some few things
to serve us over the Sabbath, but by this time
the shops were all shut, and we could have
got nothing, even if he had come to give us
the money.
At last we shut our door, and
went to bed; and, about two o'clock, the
gentleman came home. He appeared to be
drunk, and made a nost unreasonable noise.
I rose and opened the door, but said nothing
at that time, as he did not seem to be in a
state to attend to any thing. Next day it
was eleven o'clock before he got up. We
got him some breakfast, and he asked if we
had provided any thing for dinner, on which
my wife said we had not, as he did not come
in to give us any money, or to pay for what
he had already got. He said nothing, but
seemed to be in a very sulky humor; how-
ever, he dressed himself and went out, after
which we saw him no more that day. Next
morning we told him that he must pay for
his own provisions, as we had too little money
to lay out any for other people; on which he
paid us-up for the bygone week, telling us
that we must carry on for a little, as he had
not brought much money from home.

475

but still insisted very much that I would get him what drink and eatables were wanted; and at last I consented to get some multon for roasting, but would do nothing more. On this he went out, and in a short time sent in whisky, rum, ale, and porter, in abundance. About eight o'clock his company came, consisting of six besides himself. After supper, the drinking began, and the party became noisy to a very great degree. At first they sang only one at a time, but at length they lost all sense of propriety, and sang, and clamored, and hurraed all together, without intermission.

In the midst of this wild uproar, when it was drawing near to midnight, I heard a smart rap at the outer door, and on opening it, beheld two men, one of them a stout, hale, sedate-looking old man, and the other I knew to be an Edinburgh man, although I did not know his name. I was asked if one James Purves lodged with me. I said he did, on which the old man said he wished to speak to me for a little. I took them into the kitchen, as I had no other place, and desired them to sit down, which they did. The old man then said, "I am the father of James Purves, and understanding that he has been your lodger for some time, I wish to know how he has behaved himself during the time he has been with you, and if he has paid you as he went on." I was rather at a loss what to reply to this. I could not say much that was good, and I did not wish to come out with the very worst. Common prudence, however, made me admit that he owed me a considerable sum; on which the old man After this he got more and more trouble- ordered me to make out my account, and some: his hours of coming in were insuffer- give it to him next day; "and now," said able. Eleven o'clock we counted very early, he, "I wish to see James himself." I said but from twelve to three in the morning was that he happened to have company, and that his usual time. He seemed to have the I thought it might be as well to call next utmost aversion against paying any money. morning. "No, no," said he, "I must see If a pair of boots or shoes came from the him now, and see what kind of company he mending, we must lay out the cash; if a has, that are making such a noise." He letter came, we had to pay the postage. then went straight to the room door, and Matters went on for a considerable time in giving a loud rap, it was opened by James this way, and it was with great difficulty himself. 'Bless me, James," said the father, that we could get any money at all, though" what is all this noise about? They may he ever seemed to be quite regardless as to hear you that do not see you;" on which the what debt he came under. At last, when it old man and his friend pushed in, and James was getting near the end of January, he told was obliged to introduce them. "Gentleus one morning that he wished to give a men," said he, "this is my father come from supper to a few comrades, at whose lodgings the country, and this is Mr. Brown, a parhe had often been entertained. I told him ticular friend." Some of the young revellers plainly, that if he wished to give a supper, rose to receive their visitors, and others were he must lay out the money himself, as I had so drunk that they could not rise. One nothing to spare for such expensive enter- called out, "Come forward, old fellow; glad tainments; and that if I had money, I was to see you; give us a shake of your fist." not under any obligation to lay it out for him, Another cried, "Here's a seat, old father; but far less was I obliged to come under a clap yourself down." Another, lifting a heavy debt to feast him and his companions. glass, said, "Here's your health, my old He seemed to be rather disconcerted at this, buck! Glad to see you; just spending the

1

night with your son; a glorious fellow, your which speaks more powerfully than any son. "He's a glorious prodigal!" were the thing I can say. What do you think of words that broke from the old man, who yourself? What are you owing these poor started to his feet, and made for the door. people for spoiling their room and their fur"Don't be testy, old fellow, don't be testy," niture, which they perhaps bought with much hiccupped out some of them; "we meant no difficulty, and on which they greatly depend offence." To this he made no answer; but, for their living? What are you and your giving an angry look at his son, he ordered companions but a set of heartless prodigals him to stay in the house next day till he -I can call you nothing else-who distress called, and so he left them without another their relations to keep them in Edinburgh, word. No sooner was he gone than James and after all spend their money in riot and cried out, "What a most unlucky business dissipation. I gave you enough to serve you that he should have come here at this time." liberally till the month of April, and yet you However, it was soon forgot by all except have sent for a further supply before the half James, who appeared crest-fallen for a time, of the time is done. I heard such accounts until he had swallowed some additional of your conduct from a friend here, that bumpers. He then got quite elevated, and I thought it necessary to come and see appeared to forget altogether that his father how matters stood; and from what I have had been there. The company did not part seen, I am sorry to say your behaviour is till it was near five o'clock in the morning, beyond any thing that I ever could have at which time there was not a drop of drink credited. I have traced out some of your left, and the whole were as much intoxicated tavern-bills, and find them so enormous that as they could possibly be. Owing to such an I cannot think of paying a single farthing of extraordinary revel, my wife and I were so them. If the people wish to put you in jail, wearied that we could get nothing done that they may do it; you must lie there for me; night in the way of cleaning the room, and but I think it a pity to let the poor people so it was left to be done in daylight. Un- here be such heavy sufferers, first by running luckily, however, the old man came far in debt for you, and then by having their sooner than we thought he would have done, and when we were only getting up. He went straight to his son's apartment, and there such a scene presented itself as perhaps he had never seen before. The smell of the room, when the door was opened, was quite offensive, and all was one mass of confusion. The side-board was overturned; the floor was strewed with broken glasses and empty bottles; the carpet was cut in several places by their treading upon the broken glass; and the floor was quite soaked with porter, whisky, and all that had been spilt upon it. James was lying on the bed, bareheaded, with the most part of his clothes on; and he would not have been in bed at all, had not my wife and I, with much ado, got him lifted into it after all the rest of the company were gone. He was then quite unable to undress himself, and we had only been able to get off his coat and shoes, and to loosen his neckcloth. I forbear to mention some other particulars, which could only offend the good taste of the reader. His poor old father held up his hands in horror and amazement. "Well," said he, "all that I ever saw in this world was nothing to this; get up, you beast!" But James was too fast asleep to hear him. "Get up," cried the old man again, shaking him most violently, till at last he began to open his eyes. Seeing his father, he attempted to rise. "James," said the old man, "I have no words to express what I think of your conduct. Just look at this room, the state of

furniture spoiled." The old man then asked for my account, which I gave him. Having looked it carefully over, he handed it to his son, and asked if he had any thing to say against it. The son said he had not, on which the old man counted me out the money, and at the same time amply remunerated me for the damage which had been done, and the trouble to which we had been put. "And now, sir, as for you," addressing his son, "put all your luggage together immediately, and let us be going. I have found a place of abode for you, with a friend of my own, with whom I will leave some money, at a certain rate per week, which he is not to exceed without my leave. I will also allow you a moderate sum every week for your pocket; and if you are not pleased with these conditions, you may just come home and take the plough by the handles, which is a job far too good for you; or you may do better if you can." Soon after this, the porters were loaded with the luggage, and they marched off, the father and son bringing up the rear. I hope the young man profited by this lesson, and mended his ways; but I cannot say whether he did or not, as we never heard of him again.

This was our first important adventure in the way of keeping lodgers, and though we ultimately, as has been related, lost nothing by the affair, yet we suffered much vexation and annoyance while the young man was under our roof. Many other lodgers had we after this period, and many troubles of various