ing-machine, consisted of a suit of black cloth, a white shirt sadly soiled, and the remains of a pair of Wellington boots, through which his naked toes protruded. His hands were brown and hairy, and, viewed closely, his resemblance to Bruin was strikingly great.

It was some time, the woman said, before her husband could get a word from the stranger's lips; but he lay groaning and trembling before him, as if he still feared mischief at his hands. He put down his gun, and assuring him he was with one who would not harm him, but, on the contrary, would gladly contribute to the alleviation of his evident wants, he drew from him at last that he was an Englishman, that he had lost himself in the forest, and had not tasted food for many days. Why he fled he would not explain; but it was evident he was suffering as much from mental disquietude as from physical debility.

When at last he was prevailed upon to rise, he was so weak he could scarce stand upon his feet; and it was with great difficulty that, half leaning on, half carried by the woodman, he was brought at length to the hut. No sooner had he reached it than he fainted, and remained insensible so long, that at first they thought he never would awake to consciousness; but by chafing his hands

and temples with whisky, and pouring a little down his throat, they managed to restore animation; and then they fed him very cautiously with some broth, which seemed to revive him greatly, and after a little time he fell into a deep sleep.

After sleeping tranquilly for several hours he began to start and turn uneasily on the bed, and to groan and mutter to himself. At last he began to call out aloud, as if in the extremity of terror; perhaps he fancied himself in the forest again, and the woodman pursuing him with his gun; and then he sat upright, opened his eyes, and gazed about him wildly, with every appearance of surprise and alarm.

A few kind words soothed him, and he seemed to be aware of how he came into his present abode. The woman fed him again, and he once more dropped off to sleep, but still seemed uneasy and disturbed.

The next day he appeared decidedly better, and was able to sit up. She took off his old rags, washed him thoroughly, and dressed him in a suit of her husband's clothes. He was very gentle, quite child-like in his manner, suffering her to do with him as she thought fit; but he would give no other account of himself than he had given to her good man when he first found

him. He neither said where he came from, nor whither he was journeying. Perhaps he thought he had already reached his journey's end, so far as this world was concerned.

In his pockets she had found a few copper coins, and an old leathern purse, containing a few dollars in silver. There was also a common buckhorn-handled knife, and a mourning ring wrapped up in part of an old newspaper; and about these the poor wanderer seemed very anxious, whilst the money he took no heed of.

For several days after his arrival at the hut he had been able to sit up, and to play with the younger children, of whom he seemed remarkably fond, as they were evidently of him; but for the last three or four days he had not left his bed, and appeared sinking fast. Though quite sensible and calm when awake, his sleep seemed always troubled by frightful dreams, and he commonly awoke from it with shrieks and screams of terror.

His manner remained gentle and mild as ever, but nothing could overcome his taciturnity. He did not so much refuse to give an account of himself, as cautiously evade all questions that might seem to lead to the subject; and the good woman said they could not bear to press him much, he seemed so near his last.

I felt greatly interested in the account given of the stranger, and, at the woman's request, followed her into the inner room where he then was. He was sleeping quietly when I entered, and I had an opportunity of examining his features narrowly. He could not be more than four or five and twenty at the most, though sickness, exposure to the elements, and the workings of fiery passions, perhaps, gave him at first sight the appearance of a man several years older. His features were decidedly handsome, though wasted by famine and disease, and, as he slept calmly, had a mild and pleasing expression.

There was an old cicatrice, of a contused wound apparently, over the left temple, and the mark of a cut about an inch and a half long across his throat.

As I stood gazing thoughtfully on him his brow began to contract, his lips to compress themselves, and then to utter some indistinct sounds. He turned two or three times restlessly in his bed, started, and, with a cry of wild alarm, awoke.

My presence by his bedside seemed at first to cause him great uneasiness and trepidation; but the woman assured him I was a doctor come to restore him to health—a little harmless invention

I

of the good woman's to lull his fears, for I was entirely ignorant of the healing art— and by degrees he became composed again.

I sat down by the poor fellow's pillow, and began to talk to him on the subject. of his illness, and touched slightly on the propriety of making known to his friends the situation he was in; but, though he seemed conscious of his precarious state, I could not induce him to make the slightest reference to his connections, or the place from whence he came.

I had not been long in the hut, when the woodman himself returned from his labour, and confirmed all that his wife had previously told me; and, before leaving, it was arranged that on the following day he should span his oxen, and propping the poor invalid with pillows and blankets, so as to save him as much as possible from the jolting of the wagon, he should convey him to my abode, distant some twelve or fifteen miles, where he would not only have the advantage of a more spacious apartment, and more suitable diet than the good people who had taken compassion on him could offer, but might also have the benefit of medical attendance.

It seemed but fair, also, to the poor people whose scanty means had been so freely shared