lse than his dogs, gun and uncle,
whose superior knowledge of all that pertained to the forest, made him
an oracle among the less experienced.

Edward, a boy of seventeen, passionate and headstrong, but generous and
brave.

Jane, a girl of fifteen, the mother's supporter and helper, high
spirited, energetic and courageous.

Martin, a pleasure-seeking, fun-loving, mischief-making lad of twelve
years.

Anne, a timid child of ten years, who went by the soubriquet of the
baby, by all except Lewis, who understood her better and called her the
"fawn."

And last, but not least, the son of his adoption, Sidney Young, a noble
young fellow of eighteen, whose parents dying left him to the care of
Mr. Duncan, who had reared him with as tender care as that he bestowed
upon his own children.

"Little Benny," or Benjamin more properly, we must not forget to
introduce, a manly little fellow of eight, who could handle a bow and
arrow, or hook and line, and propel a canoe with as much dexterity as a
young Indian.

Such was the family of Mr. Duncan, when he resolved to penetrate the
almost unknown region of the west. No hypochondriac papa or aristocratic
mamma, can I introduce, but a hale, robust yeoman, who looks upon
himself as in the prime of manhood, though nearly fifty years of age,
and who boasts of never having consulted a physician or taken a drug.
Mrs. Duncan wore her own glossy hair at forty-five, without a thread of
silver among it, while her step was as elastic, and eye as bright, as
in her girlhood. Her cheek was less rounded than it was formerly; but
the matronly dignity and motherly kindness that characterized her,
amply compensated for its loss. True types of man and womanhood were
they, whom no dangers or vicissitude could daunt, no trials swerve
from the path of right or _inclination_. Mr. Duncan well knew the
undertaking he proposed was not one to be entered into thoughtlessly,
or without due preparation. His habits from earliest infancy, of daily
encountering the perils of border life, had taught him this, and with
it taught him to love the boundless forest, the dashing waterfalls, and
the deep stillness that retreated as refinement advanced.

"This is no place for me," he said, as he heard of some new innovation
on old customs, as having taken place in the vicinity. But when a
favorite haunt by a small stream was taken possession of, the trees
felled, the brooklet dammed, and a factory set in motion, he for