OUR HOME.
For my own part I take an almost daily drive
around the bay or a stroll over the hills or out upon
the frozen sea. Sometimes I carry my rifle, hoping
to shoot a deer or perhaps a bear, but usually I go
unarmed and unaccompanied, except by a sprightly
Newfoundland pup which rejoices in the name of General.
This little beast has shared with me my cabin
since leaving Boston, and has always insisted upon
the choicest place. We have got to be the best of
friends. He knows perfectly well when the hour
comes to go out after breakfast, and whines impatiently
at the door; and when he sees me take my
cap and mittens from their peg his happiness is complete.
And the little fellow makes a most excellent
companion. He does not bore me with senseless talk,
but tries his best to make himself agreeable. If in
the sober mood, he walks beside me with stately gravity;
but when not so inclined he rushes round in the
wildest manner,—rolling himself in the snow, tossing
the white flakes to the wind, and now and then tugging
at my huge fur mittens or at the tail of my fur
coat. Some time ago he fell down the hatch and
broke his leg, and while this was healing I missed him
greatly. There is excellent companionship in a sensible
dog.
I try as much as a reasonable regard for discipline will allow to cultivate the social relations and usages of home. True, we cannot get up a ball, and we lack the essential elements of a successful tea-party; but we are not wholly deficient in those customs which, in the land where the loved ones are, take away so much of life's roughnesses. And these little formal observances promote happiness and peace. There is no place in the world where habits of unrestrained famil-
