One brother died comparatively early; but the father of mine host lived long to enjoy the fruit of his labours.

He lived to see industry and self-denial metamorphose that forest and its straggling Indian band into a land bursting with the rich fruits of the soil, and buzzing with a busy hive of human energy and intelligence.

Yes; and he lived to see temple after temple, raised for the pure worship of the True God, supplant the ignorance and idolatry which reigned undisturbed at his first coming.
Say, then, reader, has not the son of such a father just cause for pride--a solemn call to emulation?
The patriarchal founder of his family and their fortunes has left an imperishable monument of his greatness in the prosperity of this rich vale; and Providence has blessed his individual energies and forethought with an unusual amount of this world's good things.

"Honour and fame--industry and wealth," are inscribed on the banner of his life, and the son is worthily fighting under the paternal standard.

The park grounds below the house bear evidence of his appreciation of the beauties of scenery, in the taste with which he has performed that difficult task of selecting the groups of trees requisite for landscape, while cutting down a forest; and the most cursory view of his library can leave no doubt that his was a highly-cultivated mind.