His only son, a young man of twenty-eight years of age had received a serious injury in the brain by falling upon a turf-spade from a loft window when a child, and his intellect had remained stationary from that time. Poor Harry was an innocent child; he loved his parents with the simplicity of a child, and all who spoke kindly to him he regarded as friends. Like most persons of his caste of mind, his predilection for pet animals was a prominent instinct. He was always followed by two dogs, whom he regarded with especial favour. The moment he caught your eye, he looked down admiringly upon his four-footed attendants,--patting their sleek necks, and murmuring, “Nice dogs--nice dogs.” Harry had singled out myself and my little ones as great favourites. He would gather flowers for the girls, and catch butterflies for the boys; while to me he always gave the title of “dear aunt.” It so happened that one fine morning I wanted to walk a couple of miles through the bush, to spend the day with Mrs. C----; but the woods were full of the cattle belonging to the neighbouring settlers, and of these I was terribly afraid. Whilst I was dressing the little girls to accompany me, Harry W---- came in with a message from his mother. “Oh,” thought I, “here is Harry W----. He will walk with us through the bush, and defend us from the cattle.” The proposition was made, and Harry was not a little proud of being invited to join our party. We had accomplished half the distance without seeing a single hoof; and I was beginning to congratulate myself upon our unusual luck, when a large red ox, maddened by the stings of the gadflies, came headlong through the brush, tossing up the withered leaves and dried moss with his horns, and making directly towards us. I screamed to my champion for help; but where was he?--running like a frightened chissmunk along the fallen timber, shouting to my eldest girl, at the top of his voice, “Run, Katty, run!--The bull, the bull! Run, Katty!--The bull, the bull!”--leaving us poor creatures far behind in the chase. The bull, who cared not one fig for us, did not even stop to give us a passing stare, and was soon lost among the trees; while our valiant knight never stopped to see what had become of us, but made the best of his way home. So much for taking an innocent for a guard. The next month most of the militia regiments were disbanded. My husband's services were no longer required at P----, and he once more returned to help to gather in our scanty harvest. Many of the old debts were paid off by his hard-saved pay; and though all hope of continuing in the militia service was at an end, our condition was so much improved that we looked less to the dark than to the sunny side of the landscape.