Close by the side of this little stream was a small log-shanty, which had been erected by the people who had been employed by the men cutting out the new road, which, from this to the southern boundary of the Huron tract, was already cleared out, the full width of sixty-six feet, preparatory to its being turnpiked.[1] [1] This is merely an American term for a road which has been ploughed on each side, and the earth, so raised, thrown up in the centre by the means of a road-scraper, or turnpike shovel, worked either with horses or oxen. A road engineer or surveyor would call this grading, preparatory to gravelling or planking. We reached our destination about five o’clock, where we were received with every mark of respect and hospitality. We were shown upstairs into a newly-finished room—the only apartment as yet completed in the tavern old Von Egmond was building. Here we found an excellent supper ready for us, to which, after a walk of eighteen miles, you may be sure we did ample justice. In the morning, we walked over the farm with the old Colonel, and were much gratified by seeing the prosperous condition of the crops, which argued well for the goodness of the land. I think I never saw a finer crop of oats, or better promise for turnips, in my life. The wheat also looked extremely well. It was certainly an interesting sight, after walking for miles through a dense forest, suddenly to emerge from the wooded solitude upon a sea of waving grain, white for the harvest. “The Harvest! the Harvest! how fair on each plain It waves in its golden luxuriance of grain! The wealth of a nation is spread on the ground, And the year with its joyful abundance is crowned. The barley is whitening on upland and lea, And the oat-locks are drooping, all graceful to see; Like the long yellow hair of a beautiful maid, When it flows on the breezes, unloosed from the braid. “The Harvest! the Harvest! how brightly the sun Looks down on the prospect! its toils are begun; And the wheat-sheaves so thick on the valleys are piled, That the land in its glorious profusion has smiled. The reaper has shouted the furrows among; In the midst of his labour he breaks into song; And the light-hearted gleaners, forgetful of care, Laugh loud, and exult as they gather their share. Agnes Strickland. About noonday, we all proceeded to the harvest-field, headed by our host and his lady, and her fair daughters. As soon as we arrived at the scene of action, a sickle was placed in the hands of Madame Von Egmond; and she was requested to cut and bind the first sheaf of wheat ever harvested in the Huron tract—an honour of which any person might be justly proud. “Lord! thou hast blessed the people, And made the plant of bread To spring, where’er beneath thine eye Fair Nature’s carpet spread. Earth’s thirst drank in thy freshening rain, Earth’s bosom wooed thy sun, Beautiful grew the golden grain, Like prize of labour won!”