I, too, was wearying for the snow, and was tempted to think that it did not come as early as usual, in order to disappoint us. But I kept this to myself, and comforted the expecting child with the oft-repeated assertion that it would certainly snow upon the morrow. But the morrow came and passed away, and many other morrows, and the same mild, open weather prevailed. The last night of the old year was ushered in with furious storms of wind and snow; the rafters of our log cabin shook beneath the violence of the gale, which swept up from the lake like a lion roaring for its prey, driving the snow-flakes through every open crevice, of which there were not a few, and powdering the floor until it rivalled in whiteness the ground without. “Oh, what a dreadful night!” we cried, as we huddled shivering, around the old broken stove. “A person abroad in the woods to-night would be frozen. Flesh and blood could not long stand this cutting wind.” “It reminds me of the commencement of a laughable extempore ditty,” said I to my young friend, A. C----, who was staying with me, “composed by my husband, during the first very cold night we spent in Canada: “Oh, the cold of Canada nobody knows, The fire burns our shoes without warming our toes, Oh, dear, what shall we do? Our blankets are thin, and our noses are blue-- Our noses are blue, and our blankets are thin, It's at zero without, and we're freezing within. (_Chorus_.) Oh, dear, what shall we do? “But, joking apart, my dear A----, we ought to be very thankful that we are not travelling this night to B----.” “But to-morrow,” said my eldest boy, lifting up his curly head from my lap. “It will be fine to-morrow, and we shall see dear papa again.” In this hope he lay down on his little bed upon the floor, and was soon fast asleep; perhaps dreaming of that eagerly-anticipated journey, and of meeting his beloved father. Sleep was a stranger to my eyes. The tempest raged so furiously without that I was fearful the roof would be carried off the house, or that the chimney would take fire. The night was far advanced when old Jenny and myself retired to bed. My boy's words were prophetic; that was the last night I ever spent in the bush--in the dear forest home which I had loved in spite of all the hardships which we had endured since we pitched our tent in the backwoods. It was the birthplace of my three boys, the school of high resolve and energetic action, in which we had learned to meet calmly, and successfully to battle with, the ills of life. Nor did I leave it without many regretful tears, to mingle once more with a world to whose usages, during my long solitude. I had become almost a stranger, and to whose praise or blame I felt alike indifferent.