DU PAGE BENIGHTED. 233 



and in course of my travels duly appreciated the most homely 

 fare and accommodation, when it was the best my entertainers 

 could supply. 



The inhabitants in this part of the country reside on the 

 skirts of the prairie, for the convenience of obtaining fire and 

 fencing timber, and I felt hungry before getting across a large 

 one, after setting out from the Doctor s. Here, as in some 

 parts of Canada, there are few taverns, but almost every 

 inhabitant entertains travellers for payment. On . entering 

 the first house I reached, two well-dressed, genteel-looking 

 women were sewing at a window, one of whom said she could 

 not furnish breakfast without some inconvenience, and on 

 apologizing for mistaking her house for a tavern, she directed 

 me to one about a mile distant, near the banks of the river 

 Du Page. After partaking of breakfast, I examined a mill 

 on the river, and again faced a prairie, the limits of which 

 were beyond the reach of vision. The day was extremely 

 warm, and I sauntered slowly along, collecting seeds of the 

 various plants, and washing my feet in the different streams 

 I had to wade without my stockings and shoes, by way of 

 excusing myself from exertion under so hot a sun. At length 

 I met two travellers in a vehicle, who asked me how far they 

 were from the next house. After replying, I put the same 

 question, and was told twenty-five miles. At this time the 

 sun was sinking towards the horizon. I had no alternative 

 but to push on, and as evening approached, got into my best 

 pace. Night, however, set in before I could discern the forest 

 at the termination of the prairie, and while ruminating on the 

 still seclusion which surrounded me, I was cheered by the 

 faint barking of a dog. The road diverged into two lines, 

 and darkness prevented me selecting the most beaten path, 

 when the appearance of a light in the distance decided the 

 choice. I was now in high spirits at the near prospect of 

 terminating my walk, and disregarded getting off the tract I 

 had chosen, still keeping straight on the light, w r hich re 

 called to memory the song of &quot; the Beacon light&quot; I had 

 often heard sung by my youngest sister. Whatever may 

 have been the degree of interest excited by scenes and occur 

 rences in a foreign land, the associations connected with my 



