"I know thee, though the world's strife on thy brow
Hath beaten strangely. Altered to the eye,
Methinks I look upon the self-same man,
With nature all unchanged."
THE boat from the unknown vessel reached the point jutting out into the river, in front of the dwelling of the old pastor; and the seaman, already more than once introduced to our notice, leaving the two men in charge of it, took his way to the habitation in question. The old man received the stranger with all the hospitalities of the region, and ushered him into the presence of his family with due courtesy, though as a stranger. The seaman seemed evidently to constrain himself while surveying the features of the inmates, which he did with some curiosity; and had Harrison been present, he might have remarked, with some dissatisfaction, the long, earnest, and admiring gaze which, in this survey, the beautiful features of Bess Matthews were made to undergo, to her own evident disquiet. After some little chat, with that bluff, free, hearty manner which is the happy characteristic of the seafaring man, — the frankness, in some degree, relieving the roughness of the man's speech and manner, — the stranger contrived to remove much of the unfavourable impression which his gross and impudent cast of face had otherwise made; and, in reply to a natural inquiry of the pastor, he gave a brief account of the nature of his pursuits in that quarter. A close and scrutinizing legal mind might have picked out no small number of flaws in the yarn which he spun, yet to the unsophisticated sense of the little family, the story was straightforward and clear enough. The trade in furs and skins, usually carried on with the Indians, was well known to be exceedingly valuable in many of the European markets; and, with this declared object the seaman accounted for his presence in a part of the world, not often honoured with the visit of a vessel of so much pretension as that which he commanded. From one thing to another, with a fluent, dashing sort of speech, he went on — now telling of his own, and now of the adventures of others, and, bating an occasional oath, which invariably puckered up the features of the old Puritan, he