ER XV.

"Where wild in woods the lordly savage ran."
DRYDEN.

What changes a few years make in places! That spot over which the
Indians roved, free of all control, is now a large and wide-spreading
town. Those glorious old trees are fast fading away, the memory only
of them remains to some of the first settlers, who saw them twenty-five
years ago, shadowing the now open market-place; the fine old oaks have
disappeared, but the green emerald turf that they once shaded still
remains. The wild rushing river still pours down its resistless spring
floods, but its banks have been levelled, and a noble bridge now spans
its rapid waters. It has seen the destruction of two log-bridges,
but this new, substantial, imposing structure bids fair to stand from
generation to generation. The Indian regards it with stupid wonder: he
is no mechanic; his simple canoe of birch bark is his only notion of
communication from one shore to another. The towns-people and country
settlers view it with pride and satisfaction, as a means of commerce and
agricultural advantage. That lonely hill, from which Catharine viewed
the rapid-flowing river by moonlight, and marvelled at its beauty and
its power, is now the Court-house Hill, the seat of justice for the
district,--a fine, substantial edifice; its shining roof and pillared
portico may be seen from every approach to the town. That grey village
spire, with its groves of oak and pine, how invitingly it stands!
those trees that embower it, once formed a covert for the deer. Yonder
scattered groups of neat white cottages, each with its garden of flowers
and fruit, are spread over what was once an open plain, thinly planted
with poplar, oaks, and pine. See, there is another church; and nearer,
towards the west end of the town, on that fine slope, stands another,
and another. That sound that falls upon the ear is not the rapids of the
river, but the dash of mill wheels and mill dams, worked by the waters
of that lovely winding brook which has travelled far through woods and
deep forest dingles to yield its tribute to the Otonabee. There is the
busy post-office, on the velvet carpet of turf; a few years, yes, even
a few years ago, that spot was a grove of trees. The neat log building
that stood then alone there, was inhabited by the Government Agent, now
Colonel Macdonald, and groups of Indians might be seen congregated on
the green, or reposing under the trees, forming meet subjects for the
painter