Once more he bade us farewell; but it was to go and make ready a home for us, that we should no more be separated from each other.
Heartily did I return thanks to God that night for all his mercies to us; and Sir George Arthur was not forgotten in those prayers.
From B——, my husband wrote to me to make what haste I could in disposing of our crops, household furniture, stock, and farming implements; and to prepare myself and the children to join him on the first fall of snow that would make the roads practicable for sleighing. To facilitate this object, he sent me a box of clothing, to make up for myself and the children.
For seven years I had lived out of the world entirely; my person had been rendered coarse by hard work and exposure to the weather. I looked double the age I really was, and my hair was already thickly sprinkled with grey. I clung to my solitude. I did not like to be dragged from it to mingle in gay scenes, in a busy town, and with gaily-dressed people. I was no longer fit for the world; I had lost all relish for the pursuits and pleasures which are so essential to its votaries; I was contented to live and die in obscurity.
My dear Emilia rejoiced, like a true friend, in my changed prospects, and came up to help me to cut clothes for the children, and to assist me in preparing them for the journey.
I succeeded in selling off our goods and chattels much better than I expected. My old friend, Mr. W——, who was a new comer, became the principal purchaser, and when Christmas arrived I had not one article left upon my hands save the bedding, which it was necessary to take with us.
THE MAGIC SPELL
The magic spell, the dream is fled,
The dream of joy sent from above;
The idol of my soul is dead,
And naught remains but hopeless love.
The song of birds, the scent of flowers,
The tender light of parting day—
Unheeded now the tardy hours
Steal sadly, silently away.
But welcome now the solemn night,
When watchful stars are gleaming high,
For though thy form eludes my sight,
I know thy gentle spirit's nigh.
O! dear one, now I feel thy power,
'Tis sweet to rest when toil is o'er,
But sweeter far that blessed hour
When fond hearts meet to part no more.