--_minus_ the felicity--it does
not quite satisfy people who have been used most part of their lives to
beefsteak and stout.

"`George came to me a week ago. The little rascal would have been here
sooner, but first of all the stage-coach upset, and then he fell asleep
and was carried ten miles beyond our clearing, and had to walk back as
best he could with a big bundle on his shoulder. He is an uncommonly
silent individual. We can hardly get him to utter a word. He does what
he is told, but I have first to show him how, and generally end by doing
it myself. He appears to be a remarkably dead boy, but my excellent
wife has taken him in hand, and will certainly strike some fire out of
him if she can't put it into him! She has just gone into town on a
foraging expedition, and I fondly hope she may succeed in making a raise
of some edibles.

"`I have distinguished myself lately by manufacturing a sideboard and
dresser, as well as a table and bench for the female authority, and
expect to accomplish a henhouse and a gate next week. You see we work
in hope. I fervently wish we could live on the same. However, I'm
pretty jolly, despite a severe attack of rheumatism, which has not been
improved by my getting up in the night and rushing out in my shirt to
chase away trespassing cows and pigs, as we have not got a watch-dog
yet.

"`When my wife shuts her eyes at night her dreams are of one invariable
subject--blackberries! She cannot get rid of the impression, and I have
serious fears that we shall all break out in brambles. There are not so
many mosquitoes here as I had expected; just enough to keep us lively.
How I shall rejoice when we have got a cow! It will be a great saving
in butter and milk to our neighbours, who at present supply us with such
things on credit! We can raise here wheat, oats, Indian corn, etcetera.
The only difficulties are the want of seed and money! But it is unkind
in me writing to you, mother, in this strain, seeing that you can't help
me in my difficulties. However, don't take on about me. My motto is,
"Never give in." Give our love to father, also to Tom. He's a
good-hearted fellow is Tom, though I fear he'll never come to much
good.--Believe me, your affectionate son, SAM. RIGGLES.'"

"There," said Tom, folding up the letter; "what d'ye think o' that,
mates?"

Tom did not at that time get an answer to his question, for just as he
spoke the order was given to beat to quarters f