go on before our party, promising to have me at his house the next morning, and to see that I reached Schoolcraft in good condition. This request was referred to my mother, who felt much misgiving and was disposed to see in the honorable gentleman a sort of brigand on wheels, plotting to carry off the firstling of her flock to his fastness, and there either torture or hold him for ransom; but the objectchanged from objct in original of her distrust having established his claim to be a civil sort of person, and nowise associated with any band of robbers, drove away with me, somewhat to the terror of my brothers and after much excellent advice from my mother, quite as if leaving her for an indefinite period on a risky adventure. Indeed, after getting into the great solitude of the woods, quite out of sight and hearing of the cheerful stir of the caravan, I began to feel not quite at ease as I glanced from time to time at the countenance which all who knew Mr. Lathrop will recall as one in its steady seriousness unprovocative of glee in the heart of childhood; but all discomfort of feeling wore away under the kindness of my host, and there has always remained with me a sense of enjoyment in that long drive over a road unobstructed by rocks and bordered by virgin forests. We lay that night in a room of the unfinished house of Mr. John Smith of Three Rivers, then an exceedingly crude, confused and unfinished hamlet wrapped in malarial airs, where Mr. Smith was engaged in building a flour-mill or saw-mill, I am uncertain which. We were up with the dawn and drove swiftly to the residence of Mr. Lathrop, where we breakfasted, and at my urgent request I was allowed to make my way to Schoolcraft on foot. And so I set out from the southern border of the prairie, with elastic step and quick beating heart, eager for the goal of this long pilgrimage.

The east was flushed with the glory of a perfect Sunday morning, the air crisp and clear, the green of the native grass still lingered in an autumn of unusual mildness, and many flowers still bloomed. A flag flying from the frame-work of the belfry of the recently raised schoolhouse soon became a guide to my course, but I could not then understand why my rapid pace did not consume the distance at a greater rate, so near appeared remote objects in that transparent atmosphere over the level plain. I suppose I am not correct in saying that I did not pass an enclosed spot, nor step on ground ever cultivated by man, but such is my recollection.

The longest way comes to its ending to the most impatient, and well before the sun attained its meridian I stood upon the black road before the village tavern. I had heard that the younger James Smith had the extraordinary habit of throwing up his head and staring upward at quite regular intervals, and there, like a weatherwise little sea-man, actually stood a grave lad winking familiarly at the sun. Making myself known to him I was soon among the friendly faces of his family, where I waited for the slow caravan which arrived the following day. The journey from Vermont occupied fifteen days.

Thus was I transplanted to the soil where I grew to my appointed stature;—a kindly soil and habitat wherein not a few fibers of my affections are left infixed.

REMINISCENCES OF THE LIFE OF A YOUNG PIONEER

BY H. P. SMITH.

Read by Miss Isa Smith.

My earliest recollections of Prairie Ronde date back to the spring of 1830, when, one evening, I was lifted out of a covered wagon and set down upon my short legs, in front of Esquire Duncan's log house. It stood upon a rise of ground, among stately trees; a little stream, with white sand and clear water, running close by, making it a cheerful place, even with no fences or other evidences of civilization. Years afterward, a saw-mill was built a few feet from the site of this log house, known as Duncan's saw mill. There is no vestige now of log cabin or mill, and very little evidence that a tree ever stood there.

I was tired, hungry and sleepy, and perhaps cross, for this was the end of a long, toilsome journey through swamps and dense forests. While I stood there, scratching my mosquito bites, with no very pleasant countenance, father and mother crawled out and stretched their weary limbs. Mr. Duncan's people welcomed us, as they did all emigrants and travelers, no matter when or how they came. Very soon after, we were gathered into the one square room of the house and I was allowed to absorb a bowl of bread and milk. Father and mother and the teamster also had their supper of corn bread and butter, washed down with sage tea, eating with an appetite, which everybody carried about in those days of scanty fare and hardship. As soon as the sun disappeared, mother prepared to put me to bed, at which I kicked up a small row, because I did not wish to be thus disposed of without my supper, and I dimly remember that, at last, she managed to convince me that bread and milk was supper in that house, after which, very little force was necessary to put my tired frame to rest for the night. Late next morning, when the woods were alive with the songs of birds, mother succeeded in getting my eyes open again, and took me directly from the bed out into the sunshine, sat me down in the middle of the brook, where the sparkling water was hardly knee deep, and then I had a good time, kicking and splashing and allowing the minnows to nibble my toes. Then I was considered washed and ready for dressing and breakfast. I am told we were at Esquire Duncan's about a week, of which I remember nothing further, but afterwards can recall another log house, about two miles north of Mr. Duncan's, in the edge of the prairie, with its vast, open green expanse on the east, and an impenetrable forest on the west. Abner Calhoun, who was the owner of the house, had come, from Ohio, in advance of us a few weeks, and had just completed it, and nearly built a log stable, all but the door and the "chinking." Mr. Calhoun being a very hospitable settler, allowed us, (who were of the tender-foot class,) to occupy his house, while he, with a family of wife and three children, moved into the unfinished barn. Of the Calhoun's, there was one boy about my own age, one younger and one older. Mr. and Mrs. Calhoun were just plowing up a bit of the prairie near the house, for immediate cultivation. The long, wooden mold board plow, with the end of its beam resting upon the axle of a lumber wagon, or rather the front wheels, drawn by two pairs of small oxen and one pair of young heifers, I well remember. In the morning, while Mrs. Calhoun busied herself in washing up the scanty assortment of breakfast dishes, and putting the house in order for the day, Mr. Calhoun would gather his miscellaneous team and hitch them to the plow. By that time his wife was ready for work, and placing herself between the plow handles, the business of the day commenced. I presume our modern plow-men would criticise their work, but it was sufficient to raise mammoth corn and splendid potatoes with which to feed everybody another season. Not long after we were settled, an event occurred, which suspended the plowing for two and a half days. Preparatory to that event, I was turned loose to run with the other children, hedged in by many earnest warnings to keep from the woods and snakes. Mr. Calhoun went to work chinking his stable, and the cattle revelled in the fresh prairie grass and rested. Mother was very busy, both at home and across the way, all the first day. The next day she invited me to go to the other house and see a new baby, probably the first one I was ever introduced to. This was Calhoun No. 4. On the third day Mr. C. gathered up his team again and made an addition of an oblong box, fastened between the wheels