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Lark.—The matin chorister, that first sets the light of heaven to music.

Law.—That in which we are still as far behind some portions of Europe as we are ahead of them in cottons and cutlery, owing principally to the blind obstinacy of its professors, who have in all ages been the last to abandon a legal abuse. Even the statutes against witchcraft were not repealed until after France had set us the example, and many of our law-officers strenuously opposed the measure to the last!

labyrinth.—See Law.

learning.—Too often a knowledge of words and an ignorance of things; a mere act of memory which may be exercised without common sense.

Licenser (dramatic).—One who attempts to atone for his own licentiousness by over-acting the puritan and the rigorist towards others.

Loan.—A means of robbing our successors for the purpose of destroying our contemporaries.

Logic.—Substituting sound for sense, and perverting reason by reasoning.

LogxDood.—A dye much used in the manufacture of wine.

Longevity.—Adding a few years to the wrong end of life, and surviving oneself

Lottery.—The only game of chance where you are certain to lose your money.

Lover.—One who in his desire to obtain possession of another has lost possession of himself.

Loyalty.—Sometimes a profession, sometimes a trade, sometimes art; generally self-love disguised as a love of the king.

Martyr.—That which all faiths have produced in about equal proportions; so much easier is it to die for religion than to live for it.

Marriage.—Taking a yoke-fellow, who may lighten the burden of existence if you pull together, or render it insupportable if you drag different ways.

May.—" I had rather live twenty Mays," says Sir Thomas Wotton, "than forty Novembers," and yet in his old age he was anxious to prolong the winter of his days—

"And from the dregs of life thought to receive
What the first sprightly running would not give."

Medicine.—Guessing at Nature's intentions and wishes, and then endeavouring to substitute our own.

Melancholy.— Ingratitude to Heaven.'

Milk, London.—The joint production of the cow and the pump.

Misanthrope.—One who is uncharitable enough to judge of others by himself.

Money—May be accused of injustice towards mankind,—inasmuch as there are only a few who make false money, whereas money makes many men false.

Monastery.—A house of ill-fame, where men and women are seduced from their public duties, and generally fall into guilt from attempting to preserve an unnatural innocence.

Mouth.—An useless instrument to some people,—in as far as it renders ideas audible, but of special service for rendering victuals invisible.

Mummy.—A flesh statue—an immortal of the dead.

Muzzle.—A contrivance to prevent biting or barking, put upon the rnouths of dogs in England, and upon those of human beings in the dominions of the Holy Alliance.

Negro.—A creature treated as a brute, because he is black, by greater brutes who happen to be white.

Nightingale.—The musician kindly appointed by Heaven to cheer us in the darkness.

Nobleman.—One who is indebted to his ancestors for a name and an estate, and not unfrequently to himself for being unworthy of both.

Nose.—See Snuff-box.

Nonsense—Generally applied to any sense that happens to differ from our own.'

November.—The period at which every Englishman takes leave of the sun for nine months, and not a few of them for ever.

STANZAS.

I Love to hear at mournful eve
The ploughman's pensive tone.

And still be wending on my way
When the last note is done.

I love to see the misty moon,

And cross the gusty hill,
And wind the darksome homeward lane

When all is hush'd and still.

From way thus distant, lone and late,

How sweet it is to come,
And, leaving all behind so drear,

Approach our pleasant home;

While every lowly lattice shines

Along the village street,
Where round the blazing evening fire

The cheerful household meet!

And passing by each friendly door,
At length we reach our own,—

And find the smile of kindred love
More kind by absence grown.

To sit beside the fire, and hear
The threatening storm come on,—

And think upon the dreary way
And traveller alone.

To see the social tea prepared,

And hear the kettle's hum,
And still repeated from each tongue—

"How elad we are you're come!"

To sip our tea, to laugh and chat

With heartfelt social mirth,
And think no spot in all the world

Like our own pleasant hearth.

THE CANADIAN EMIGRANT.—NO. I.

After several years of active service, our battalion was re-formed, in the year 1816, and, like many others at the peace, I was thrown upon the world without fortune or profession. I was pressed by some friends to enter into their offices, and promised certain advancement; but I could not bear to think of submitting to the petty caprices of cold, calculating money-getters, after having for seven painful years lived the slave of military tyranny; and though my early education had qualified me for entering upon a learned profession, yet the time necessary for securing a subsistence by my own talents, my former habits of strenuous idleness, and the want of funds of my own to carry me through the trial, compelled me, without hesitation, to reject the choice of either. After looking about me for many months, and finding myself as far from a decided resolution as ever, I reluctantly accepted the invitation of a brother demi-solde, to settle in the wilderness of Upper Canada. To leave my native land at the moment I was beginning to enjoy it, was indeed painful to my feelings; but then I had a prospect of becoming free and independent by a few years of active exertion; and, at the worst, should be exposed to no scorn of the rich or powerful: but if adversity followed me to the New World, I could bear it boldly and recklessly, for " a stranger is a stranger in a strange land"— if I met no pity, I should feel no shame ;—unknowing and unknown I could exert myself as far as honour and integrity would sanction in any situation, without the reluctance I must necessarily feel on entering the ranks of common life in such an aristocratical country as England.

Such were the impressions that induced me to promise my friend B

that I would accompany him to America. For myself, how little soever I relished the predominant feelings of English society, I felt no love for America nor the Americans; it was not, therefore, any political feeling, nor any romantic illusion of retirement in the woods, that had any influence on my deoision. My resolution being once formed, 1 bustled through the preparations for my departure, and with a smiling face, but aching heart, jumped into the coach that conveyed us to Liverpool, there to embark for new scenes and adventures.

We decided on traversing the United States on our way to Upper Canada; and, accordingly, took our passage to New York. The evening before we embarked, I went out of the city alone, ascended a slight rising ground, and thence took a last survey of the wide prospect that lay before me of the wonders of commerce, the applications of science, and the splendid creations of wealth and knowledge. "Here," I said to myself, " is the last view I shall, perhaps, ever enjoy of the wonderful effects of human talent,—of the incessant dominion of mind over the properties of matter,—of civilized man over the distant and uncivilized regions of the earth! I go to scenes where Nature reigns supreme—where the influence of man is scarcely felt amidst the immensity of wilderness—where he appears only as the red hunter of the woods, or the wretched exile from distant and more genial climes. I am to lose the society that lightens all the evils of life, that makes life itaelf a boon—those friends whose smile gladdens the heart, whose sympathy consoles, whose experience guides :—all these I leave for cold, unsympathizing, uncultivated strangers,—for solitude in all its desolation, —for seclusion from the very face of man;—and from the smile of woman, of educated woman, I must be for ever debarred. But why do 1 bring up these sad anticipations in ghostly perspective before my mental eye, when I must now stand the hazard of the die! Away, then, with regret! Let Adversity shower her pitiless arrows on my head: once embarked on the Western wave, my heart shall be steeled to fortune and to fate—every thought of the home of my fathers I will dissipate by constant exertion and by pressing forward to the hopes of the future. The wilderness 1 shall change into the fruitful field; I shall tame the wild Indian; guide the untutored emigrant; and, amidst the diversified cares of a rising colony, find no leisure to revert to the pleasures, hopes, or occupations of the country I have left behind." Fired with the thought, I speedily re-entered the city, and retired to my chamber to dream of woods, waterfalls, Indian hunters, the rifle, and the tomahawk.

Next morning we were at sea. To say that I was not sad on leaving England, would be untrue; but the second morning saw me rise careless of the past, and almost reckless of the future. Beyond the bounds of our vessel every thing was forgotten. I enjoyed, in a word, that delightful quietude which fine weather at sea can alone produce, when no fear of the future intrudes but " such as fancy can assuage,"— when every thought and feeling of the past is wholly obliterated from the mind. Whether other travellers have experienced at sea the same oblivion of care, I know not; but in my own case, the absence of mind was complete: every morning saw me rise calm and contented; every evening saw me retire to my couch careless of the morrow.

After a six weeks' passage we reached the bustling city of New York. The bay, with its beautiful islands, the neat houses and country-seats on the shore, offering to my fancy a grateful retreat from the toils and torments of European existence; and the city of "the Manhattans," rising proudly above the waters, surrounded by countless ships from every country on the globe, presented to me one of the most beautiful and interesting prospects I had ever beheld. Nor were we disappointed at the appearance of cultivated and uncultivated nature on the shore. The maize-fields were then waving in the full luxuriance of an American autumn; the gardens teemed with the finest fruits and most fragrant flowers; and the general impression made on me by the aspect of the New World, was one of joy and satisfaction. Notwithstanding their charms, New York, Hoboken, and Long Island did not detain us long; for like those who see an evil impending, and hasten forward to escape the anguish of suspense, we hastily left these interesting scenes, travelled by the steam-boat to Albany, thence on horseback to Lake Ontario, and, after visiting the falls of Niagara, reached York, the capital of Upper Canada.

We found here little to interest any one but a land-surveyor or a government-agent; the one to decoy the unwary emigrant to the/ree lands in the back settlements, and the other to pocket the fee required for making a grant. The fee for these poor lands is not much greater than the selling price of the most fertile tract! Not choosing to settle on the government lands, my friend and myself purchased two small sections that had been partially cleared by American emigrants, near the shores of Lake St. Clair, a few hundred miles from York; and we repaired immediately to our respective stations. Winter was approaching, and not finding myself sufficiently acquainted with living in the woods to commence my career with the savage gloom of a Canadian winter, I left my small farm and log-house at the end of November, and established myself at Amherstburg with a pleasant Yankee family, which had lately removed from Detroit. Snow soon covered the ground, the rivers and lakes were frozen over, and travelling could only be performed in the sleigh or traineau. Upper Canada does not participate in the bustle, feasting, and jollity that pervade the Lower Province, where winter is the season of pleasure. The cold perhaps is not so intense, but the weather is infinitely more variable; the snow does not lie long on the ground at any one time; and what is worse than all, the inhabitants have none of the gaiety, open-heartedness, and hospitality for which the French Canadians are so distinguished. In fact, nothing could be more dismal than the face of the country: the lofty trees, covered with icicles or masses of frozen snow, seemed like obelisks on the banks of the solitary streams; a deer, a raccoon, or a wolf occasionally varied the monotony of the scene, but there was enough to appal the stoutest breast. I sometimes accompanied my fellow-boarders to hunt the bear and the raccoon, but the pleasures of the chase at this season and in this climate were not such as to create envy. With the thermometer at 20 degrees below zero, we passed ten or twelve hours without refreshment, and then perhaps found shelter in some loghut, open to all the winds of heaven. Often, during the night, have I stretched my hand through the logs while asleep, and been hastily awaked by finding them resting on the snow without. The solitary blanket, or buffalo skin, that covered me, was each morning hard with the congealed respiration of the night. The morning light was always a relief to my wearied limbs, for I could then animate them by active exertion. Yet there were pleasant incidents even in a Canadian winter. Sometimes a numerous party in sleighs would set off in the afternoon to visit some neighbouring village, not more than thirty miles off; and there the plentiful, if not luxuriant, board of a new country, the venison, the turkey, the apple-butter, the apple-toddy, and the numberless hors d'acuvre of American cookery, would console for the biting ferocity of the cold; while the dance, the song, and the frolicking of the evening, unconstrained by the fashionable prudery of European mauvaise honte, would have warmed the blood of the Esquimaux in their subterranean retreats, and were sufficiently attractive even to the ci-devant amateur of the waltzes of Vienna, the entrechats of Paris, and the luscious boleras of Andalusia! No inconsiderable part of the merriment of these frolics arose from the want of accommodation for the male and female visitors: some danced or courted till dawn; some adjourned to the twenty-bedded room, where travellers of all ages and sexes reposed, or did not repose, till the call of morn. But why expose the memorabilia of a Canadian frolic : Poor souls' they have but few relaxations in their monotonous existence; and from those that lie within their reach, who shall pretend to debar them? Not I, my dear Canadians !, Sparkle away till the northern blast shall no longer freeze the stormy bosom of Michigan, till Niagara shall no longer pour its waters into the foaming abyss, till Erie shall be free from storms, snakes, and fevers! May your sleigh meet no stumps in its path— may your steed never refuse to glide you and your fair companion to

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