He was a curious sample of cunning and simplicity--quite a character in his way--and the largest eater I ever chanced to know. From this ravenous propensity, for he eat his food like a famished wolf, he had obtained the singular name of “Wittals.” During the first year of his settlement in the bush, with a very large family to provide for, he had been often in want of food. One day he came to my brother, with a very long face. “'Fore God! Mr. S---, I'm no beggar, but I'd be obliged to you for a loaf of bread. I declare to you on my honour that I have not had a bit of wittals to dewour for two whole days.” He came to the right person with his petition. Mr. S---- with a liberal hand relieved his wants, but he entailed upon him the name of “Old Wittals,” as part payment. His daughter, who was a very pretty girl, had stolen a march upon him into the wood, with a lad whom he by no means regarded with a favourable eye. When she returned, the old man confronted her and her lover with this threat, which I suppose he considered “the most awful” punishment that he could devise. “March into the house, Madam 'Ria (Maria); and if ever I catch you with that scamp again, I'll tie you up to a stump all day, and give you no wittals.” I was greatly amused by overhearing a dialogue between Old Wittals and one of his youngest sons, a sharp, Yankeefied-looking boy, who had lost one of his eyes, but the remaining orb looked as if it could see all ways at once. “I say, Sol, how came you to tell that tarnation tearing lie to Mr. S---- yesterday? Didn't you expect that you'd catch a good wallopping for the like of that? Lying may be excusable in a man, but 'tis a terrible bad habit in a boy.” “Lor', father, that worn't a lie. I told Mr. S----, our cow worn't in his peas. Nor more she wor; she was in his wheat.” “But she was in the peas all night, boy.” “That wor nothing to me; she worn't in just then. Sure I won't get a licking for that?” “No, no, you are a good boy; but mind what I tell you, and don't bring me into a scrape with any of your real lies.” Prevarication, the worst of falsehoods, was a virtue in his eyes. So much for the old man's morality.