There is peace in the cabin, my dear mother. "The angels of the Lord encamp around about those who fear him." Far off across the river, in my wakefulness, I hear the whoop of the Indian, or the echo of a rifle; or quite as often, the quarrelling sound of angry and hungry wolves. We accustom ourselves to new and disagreeable things with wonderful facility. The mouse, that I have just ordered off my bed, is no longer an object of terror, but simply a disagreeable fact, such as one meets with, in some form, every day of one's life.
I now calculate the amount necessary for breakfast, for the fastidious little company in the cabin; remember with relief the large loaf of light bread not yet encroached upon; the beef, from which the best steak can be cut, if needed; the corn-cake which can be stirred in a moment if begged for; and sleep, so coveted, comes in and puts out my lamp.
Nov. 8th. We are having a very soft air, and the most charming weather: no frosts, and as warm as your June. It gives no
