But of all evils, to borrow money is perhaps the worst.  If of a friend, he ceases to be one the moment you feel that you are bound to him by the heavy clog of obligation.  If of a usurer, the interest, in this country, soon doubles the original sum, and you owe an increasing debt, which in time swallows up all you possess.

When we first came to the colony, nothing surprised me more than the extent to which this pernicious custom was carried, both by the native Canadians, the European settlers, and the lower order of Americans.  Many of the latter had spied out the goodness of the land, and borrowed various portions of it, without so much as asking leave of the absentee owners.  Unfortunately, our new home was surrounded by these odious squatters, whom we found as ignorant as savages, without their courtesy and kindness.

The place we first occupied was purchased of Mr. B—–­, a merchant, who took it in payment of sundry large debts which the owner, a New England loyalist, had been unable to settle.  Old Joe R—–­, the present occupant, had promised to quit it with his family, at the commencement of sleighing; and as the bargain was concluded in the month of September, and we were anxious to plough for fall wheat, it was necessary to be upon the spot.  No house was to be found in the immediate neighbourhood, save a small dilapidated log tenement, on an adjoining farm (which was scarcely reclaimed from the bush) that had been some months without an owner.  The merchant assured is that this could be made very comfortable until such time as it suited R—–­ to remove, and the owner was willing to let us have it for the moderate sum of four dollars a month.

Trusting to Mr. B—–­’s word, and being strangers in the land, we never took the precaution to examine this delightful summer residence before entering upon it, but thought ourselves very fortunate in obtaining a temporary home so near our own property, the distance not exceeding half a mile.  The agreement was drawn up, and we were told that we could take possession whenever it suited us.

The few weeks that I had sojourned in the country had by no means prepossessed me in its favour.  The home-sickness was sore upon me, and all my solitary hours were spent in tears.  My whole soul yielded itself up to a strong and overpowering grief.  One simple word dwelt for ever in my heart, and swelled it to bursting—­“Home!” I repeated it waking a thousand times a day, and my last prayer before I sank to sleep was still “Home!  Oh, that I could return, if only to die at home!” And nightly I did return; my feet again trod the daisied meadows of England; the song of her birds was in my ears; I wept with delight to find myself once more wandering beneath the fragrant shade of her green hedge-rows; and I awoke to weep in earnest when I found it but a dream.  But this is all digression, and has nothing to do with our unseen dwelling.  The reader must bear with me in my fits of melancholy, and take me as I am.