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wrâ€" "? St. Mary of the Angels; OR, “IS FIRST AND LAST LOVE. Bv Thomas A. unwrap. CHAPTER IV. 'Hard "2 nature never had been a gentle one, am there certainly had been nothing softening in the experiences which had come to him during his three years of life on the frontier; being now stirred to its very depths, a burning passion had been aroused in him, in which every turbulent element in his be- ing was involved. As he strode backward and forward through the length of the two small rooms, he closed and opened hishands, his breath came hot and short, his eyes shone dangerously, on his face was a dark flush. He remembered the touch of Mary's hand on histshoulder that morning. Had Barwood happened to come into the station just then, he certainly would have shot him on sight. At last the hour of waiting was end- ed. Hardy shivered a. little as he return- ed his watch to his p«)cketâ€"â€"duriiig the final minutes he had held it in his hand-« and went out into the quivering heat. In all the time that he had known her, in the old days, he had not even kissed her, he thought, as he walked along. A little below the point at which the rail- road crossed it, the river bent sharply, and beyond this turn was the bluff on which stood the town. Hardy walked toward the railroad bridge, but. on the side of the em- bankment farthest from the engine-house and tank. In case any wakeful person chanced to see him. the natural inference would be that he was on his way to join Kit-wood at the pump â€"â€"the steady beating of which sounded regularly through the hot air. A footpath, the shortest way between Barwood’s house and the pump, ran along the valley, parallel with the stream, through thickets of no 'LICB and mesquite, and follow- ing this, Har y came in afew minutes to the spot where he had hidden Mary meet him. She was waiting for him in the path. As he caught sight of her-â€"a look of eagerness on her face as she heard the sound of his foot- steps, the sunlight sparkling in her hair, her round white arm showing, as she shaded her eyes from the sun-«his heart gave a bound. He did not. trust. him- self to speak. For a moment a dizziness came over him, and he puthis hand to his forehead as though in pain. Nourished by the near-by water, the ines- quitc bushes hereabouts were grown to be little trees, which formed a. grove, screening ~ the face of the bluff. A faintly marked path, wurn by the goats, led crookedly through this grove to a narrow open space, above which rose the bluff, trending outward. He drew her along this path, and seated her on a fallen stone in the shadowy nook formed by the rocky overhang. Here they were hidden completely; but above the bushes they could see down the valley, and out across the great sun~beaten plain, that far away rose in long slopes to the flanks of the grayâ€"blue mountains which girdcd it in. A slow current of airâ€"dry, hot, stimulatingâ€"- set "up the valley. The only sound that broke the almost palpable stillness was the low throbbingof the pump. To them both this saund brought back vividly the memory of that Sunday afternoon in the “'yoniing Val- ley, three years before. :Hardy seated himself beside her and drew her toward him. “Oh, J ohnâ€"you mustn’t," she said, speak- ing in a low, frightened voice. But (3 made no effort to loose herself from his grasp. , He did not answer, but he settled her head against his shoulder and drew her still more c osely to him. The flush on his face had deepened. Suddenly she gave a short, quick sob, and her head drooped forward until it rested on his breast. Then she began to cry, softly, as a child cries while being comforted. “It all has been so dreadful,” she moaned. “Yourâ€"your curse came true, John." He didnot answer for a moment, but his arm clasped hcr less closely uudmorc ten- derly, while the flush on his face slowly faded and left him very pale. "My poor little girl,” he said. “Tell me all that has happened. I can help you, you know : and I mean to do it.” And then slowly, bit by bit, she told him the same story that Barwood had told himâ€" , but from the‘I point of view not of the wrong- door, but of the wronged. It did not seem to occur to her that she had in anywise contributed toher own sorrow : and, without the mitigating facts of her own ' moodiness and coldness, tho case that she made out against Barwood was a black one‘ indeed. “ And it is worse here in Santa Maria than it has been at all, John,” she went on. “\Vill was wild and cruel, and got drunk in those other places: but here he is mixed up with these dreadful Mexicans in all sorts of wicked things which make me shiver to think about~ There is smuggling going on all the time, and they all are robbers, and I know that he was with them when that| much was raided and those poor men were killed." Mary shudderod violently. “ Oh, it is horrible, horrible ‘." “And this Mexican woman?” Mary's face grew crimson, and then pale. She tried to draw away from him, trembling. Thcn in a voice scarcely above a whisper, silip‘said, “Thatâ€"that is the very worst of a . Foralittlc time they both were silent. The flush had come back to Hardy's face and his hold upon her had tightened. She could feel the strong beating of his heart. His voice was unsteady, and had a strange sound in it when he spoke. “Mary, will you let me talk you out of all this?" “\Vhat do you mean?" she asked, in a troubled. frightened tone. "‘I mean, will you Como away with me from this brutc and let me takccarc of you? Don't. )ush me away. Don't answer yet"â€" he hel hcr closely, and spoke rapidly in or- dcr to check her rising words. "You know how I loved you in the old times, Mary. You were everything in life to me. And now I love you more, greatly more, than even I did then. ' This man has no right to you: he has thmum away his right to youmhc has thrown it awav, I tell you ! Think of what his life has "ll-'Of what it is now~â€"0f the insult ho has put upon you here in your own home. Ho has no right to you, Mary. And I haven right to you becausoI love you so. I will take such good care of you, Mary ; I will spend all my life in makin ' you happy once morowin tryin to man: you ’furget how unhappy you have been. Don’t w«lon't so away from me, .\l;\rv~v-~-whathave I Don't you under- ouc to make you angry 3 stand that I love youâ€"that I must have you? Don't you " She broke away from him and sprang to her feet. She was far from being a majestic women under ordinary circumstances, but there certainly was an air of majesty about her now. Hardy stood u , facing her. I “ How dare you?" s to panted. “ Be- ' cause my husband isâ€"because my husband has hurt me so. is that any reason why you should hurt me still more? You are as bad as he is. You are worse than he is. Isn’t- , there such a thing as one single honorable man in the world 1'" Then the heroic tones died out of her voice, and her comauding - pose changed to a look of fear and Weakness, : “Oh, John, John E” she said, “I thought lthat you really would help me. I never .thought of anything like this.” She sank down on the stone again, and buried her ' face in her hands and began to cry. ! Hardy felt, and looked a little, like a dog that had received a deserved beating. _Mary’s piteous appeal, even more than her ‘ indignant protest, had made him realize how bitterly cruel he had been ; how, if he had ' deliberately set himself to make the horror ’ of her life greater he could not have done it 'more effectually. Of course she would not i trust him any more ;he could not blame her ; and so his purposeâ€"~an honest and maul ' purpose uowâ€"â€"to help her could do no good). the end of most bitter thoughts. At last Mary spoke : “ John, tell me th-Lt you didn’t mean it. I’m sure you didn’t. I’m so very, very unhappy, John. And un- less you help me I don’t see any hope at all. Tell me that you didn’t mean it, John.” 1 There was an infinite pathos in her words ; a despairing pathosâ€"for that she still should appeal to him for help showed how desperate her plight must be. But for him there was comfort in this appeal, since it made clear the 1 way for his atonement. “ I can tell you from the very core of my heart that I don’t mean it now, Mary,” he said. “Please God, I really will be an honest friend to you now, and I will get you out of this honestly, and home safely to the States. I guess I must have (been crazy, Mary; but I’m not crazy any ' longer, and you can trust me right straight through. ” Mary looked up at him 'ladly. "Those are the best w rds I’ve licartIiIi three years,” she said. “Oh, John, you nearly killed me a little while ago ; but you must have been crazy, just as you said; and now you are giving me hope that is worth living for. Somehow, alone as I’ve been, I haven’t had the strength to try to break away and get home. I’ve been afraid. I guess I haven’t much of what they call backbone. But I have your strength now, John, and things will all come right, I’m sure. You’ll get me home safe, won’t you, John?” I She came close to him, eagerly, and took his hand. As a father might, have done, he put his arm around her and drew her head upon his breast. “But you must be ver ' careful, John,” she went on. “\Yill is such a masterful sort of a man I If he finds out anything I know that he’ll kill us.” Hardy smiled confidently. “I guess if there’s any killing going around I won’t get left,” he said. “I don’t want to kill your husband, of course, but. if it’s got to be done I’ll do it all the same.” “But maybe not while he’s got the drop on you 1” j Hardy‘ turned quickly. Barwood was , standing in the path not ten feet away, 5. holding aside the mesquite branches with Ihis left hand, while in his right hand, lev- fclcd at Hardy's head was a cocked revol vcr. “It may be your ante; but I’ve got the cards,” he said coolly. Had Hardy been a tenderfoot he would have made an effort to draw his pistolâ€"and would: have been shot instantly. Having had the benefit of three years’ experience of l Southwestern manners and customs, he stood perfectly still and awaited developments. Mary had screamed when she heard her v husband’s voice and saw him standing before ‘110!‘, grimly threatening ; and then she had sunk cowering down, with her face bent close 6 to her knees, and her hands pressed tightly l to her ears to deaden the sound of the pistol- shot. To her surprise, this sound did not - come. Slowly she raised her head. “Now, Mr. Hardy,” Barwood said, “if you’ll give me your word of honor that you’ll be on the square, as I promise you I’ll be with you, we won’t have any shootin’ just at present. Is it a go ‘2” ‘ “ch,” Hardy answered. “No monkey tricks, on your word of ' honor?” Barwood said, letting his revolver fall slowly. V “On my word of honor." “All ri Tht, then. Maybe one‘of us‘ll have ‘t’ be use: as th' beginnin’ of an American , graveyard in these parts before we get ! through with each other, but th’ pcrccssion , needn't start just yet. Here, you 001 Mary, ' go back t' th’ house." . Hardy quivcrcd as this order was given, but Maryaâ€"used to orders thus tersely word- edâ€"-rose quietly to obey it. She stood for a inn-uncut looking at the two men as they Confronted each other. “Oh, what have I done, what have I done," she moaned, “that I should be the cause of such dreadful things ‘3" “\Vhat have you done 2" liarwood answer- ed. “\Yell. I’ll tell you what you’ve done. I From first t’ last in all you‘ve had t’ say or ' Ido with mo an‘ Hardy here, you've made an‘ everlastin’ infernal fool of yourself an' of us too. East of all, you said you’d marry me: an‘ I went off in good faith ‘t‘ make a comfortable home for you. An" then what. did you do? \Vhy, you coax- ed Hardy along into fallin’ in love with you! An' then, instead of shakin' me 'and marryin’ himâ€"which would ‘a' been tough on me. but at least would ’a' had ‘ sense in itâ€"-for th’ fool that you are you shook him an’ ’ then, married m", . An’ ‘ when you'd made my life so dâ€"â€"-â€"-n mean t’ . me. that I took t' knockin' around with th‘ boys, just t‘ try t' forget how mis‘rable I " was, up you goes on your car an' says that I ‘m a drunken brute, an' that you was a martyr ! Au’ now, after you’ve been rowin’ me off au’ on for six months an' more because I’ve got a Mexican lady friend who's not all moods an' stuck-upncss, an‘ who‘s got a heart in her body. I can't go t' my work nn’ come back ageu without findiu' you an' another man in th' thick of ahuggin' match 2 There‘s no consistency anywheres about you. There's ‘ had finished ; and then, walking in a dazed, A Broad Hint. For a long while he stood in silence, looking Mr. Dolly jack and I sat there smoking away from her out over the plain, chewing Cinurettes and blowing rings_ D ‘ Mrs.Billusâ€"â€"“ Mr. Hankinson seems to me, take hold of an’ tie to. a ferlorn, useless fool 2" Barwood delivered this extended opinion in a tone of sincere conviction and utter con- tempt. He was so deeply moved that he. even forgot to interpolate into his discourse his customary lardim: of heavy, mouth~till- Hardy listened with a white ing oaths. face ; and he was the more stirred, perhaps, by an uneasy consciousness that Barwood was cutting terribly close to the truth. Mary ‘ scarcely grasped the sense of a single word. She was too stunned and shaken to under- stand anything just then. She united, with the stolid bearing beneath abuse that had become habitual with her, until her husband uncertain way that made Hardy long to go to her support, she went slowly along the path. As the mesquite bushes closed behind her, Barwood said briskly : “ Now, Hardy, you an’ me’ll tall-9 this matter right out now, an’gct that grave- yard business settled onct for all.” (To BE coxrixcnn.) Pedestrisnism. Mrs. C.-â€"â€"Just think of it. Poor Mrs. Blank has died, and her youngest child is not able'to walk. ' Mrs. D~Not able to walk ! I dare say that the disconsolute widower will make it an excuse for marrying again that the child needs a step-mother right off. 0 Miss Oldgirlâ€"Howl wish I had been there. Mr. Dollyâ€"\Vhy ‘3 Miss Oldgirlâ€"So Icould have run the third finger of my left hand through one of the rings A Mind-Reader. Dudely-” You look at me as if you thought I was a fool, ch ‘3” Strangerâ€"“ Why, no ; you can’t be such afool, after all. Your remark shows that you read a. man’s thoughts at a glance. How He Oompromised Witthonscience- A man, who it. were base flattery to call John Smith, came into this office this morn- ing and offered the following advertisement for publication: "Notice.â€"lf the homely woman about forty years of age who lost a pocketbook con- tainin g $14.55, on Spadina‘avcnue this morn- ing, will apply to â€"- she can have the by paying for this notice.” He explained thathe had seen the woman drop the pocketbook, but that he was anx- ious to keep the contents, and he was of the opinion that no woman for as small a stun as $14.55 would ever answer to the advertise- ment as he had written it The Objection Removed. ' Mr. Billusâ€"“ Maria, I don’t; like to have that. spider-legged dude of a Hankinson hanging about the house. Does he come to see one of our girls? Is it possible any of them would encourage the idiot ?” John, to be a very worthy young man. He comes to see Bessie, and since his aunt left him that handsome legacy he isâ€"â€"” Mr. Billus (greatly mollified)â€"“ Oh, if he means business I’ve no objection. Ididn’t I ‘ nothin’ about you, good or bad, for a man t’ You‘rejust a fool- l W V l play “ hi rh-low-jack,“ and mitch ‘5’ tire, - I ._ kettle. am each other. ._ OI How the C-anucks Made Maple Syrup in the Past and How it is Made at Present. Progress in Its Manufacture Has Kept Sugaiing Seascn. It Is lhc Farmers‘ (“arnlvnl Monthâ€"Sugar Parties In the Woodsâ€"The 01d and Young nuke Merry. About this season of the year the young and old of many portions of Canada realize that sugar season is at hand and the long looked for picnic is within their grasp. The butternuts have nearly all been sacked, a good portion of the cider has filled its misâ€" sion, although there is always a reservation made for haying. But to “sugar.” In this, like all others, things are not as they used to be. An age ago the farmer and his boys, ' in the fall of the year when the harvest was lended, would take their axes and hie to some hard-wooded locality well stocked with ma )les and lay out for a spring camâ€" paign. licaulquartcrs Would be established near some mammoth rock : ofttimes this was so located that it furnished shelter in time of storm and gave a bed for the night. A plan of operations was then decided upon. Young trees about one and one-half feet in diameter were cut down, cut up about two feet in length, and then dug out, making troughs holding not far from four or five gallons. “'hcn 200 or 300 of these had been manufactured large maples were selected and by the side of each was placed one of these troughs. Then a cord or two of wood was gathered and piled up against a rock, two big logsâ€"â€" called back-logsâ€"were placed in position to , support the kettle, and some large tree near by was cut down and that dug out into one immense trough for storage. This work would use up the best part of a week, one of the number going home at night to look after the stock and bring back in the morn- ing the BRO\\'N BREAD, PORK, AND BRASS. In those days these articles constituted the staff of life and an age ago there was no dyspepsia, chronic complaints, or loss of apâ€" petite among thc average Canadian furthers. I To be sure they sometimes died, but died healthy. About the middle of March the old “ five- pail kittle” was unearthed ; the hand-s1 ed which had been doing service all winter 'was ordered up ; pork, beans, a few pota- toes, and several loaves of home-nuule bread, ' with a fewdozen of eggs, were gathered to- gether, placed on the sled, and the kettle turned over them ; and two young men, with snowshoes, an ax, two or three pails, the family flint-look, some powder and shot, and a good supply of “ punk”â€"an article found in decayed wood, which is about as com- ubustible as tissuopaper or young oratoryâ€" und two blankets, started out for nearly two months of “ sugaring.” Upon reaching the rock the first thing in order was a fire, but there were no matches then, so the old mus- . ket was brought into service. One man i held the “ punk” near the flint-hammer and ’caught a spark. This he nursed, and soon had shavings from a shingle ablaze, and latcra big fire, which was never allowed to ; go out until of no further use. At once the Even Pace with the Times'l‘he‘ In the old days a very respectabld qualitv sugar was made. but only a little mom than was ucwssary for home use. although 3 100 pounds or so was sometiuu-s exchanged for store-pay. The farmer who then con- trolled A SI‘GAR ORCHARD of 300 or 400 trees was recognized as one of {:9 biggest men in town. At the present time tuc farmer is not content \vithlcss than 1,000 trees, and he holds them as precious as the owner of an orange orchard does his fruit trees. livery young maple is carefully looked after. If there is a serubouk, beech, or birch near by to impede its growth it- is cut into firewood. Many an orchard today is so cleared of fallen timbers and under brush that in the summer months one can drive. over nearly every portion of it with a horse and buggy. The small streams are bridged and good roads are found on all sides. If there be u cheerful spot on earth ‘ during the sumn‘c? months it‘s the farmers sugir‘place. Here are the finest sougstcrs in the world and the squirrel is the prince of' the field. Many farmers will not allow a l gun to be taken into a sugar-bush and oft. I times in the spring they place in easy , reach ' of the squirrels near the. sugar-house a few i ears of corn, because they enjoy the com- ptny of the lively creatures, which often a ‘c quite domestic. I To-day the maple suguinluish is in every way truly home-like. Near the center of fifty or more acres of hardwood timber land â€"-mostly maple. a fewbccch and birchâ€"you find a commodious sugar-house, one room of which is much larger than the entire 1 house of seventy years ago. In this well- ‘ floored room are stored the buckets 'during the summer and in the spring- time it is used for kitchen, reception- room, parlor. or dance hall. In it. you will see a fine brick urch, an evaporator, and ample storage-room for the sup, while outside is a thrifty pair of oxen yoked to in. gathering sled, on which is a tub hold- fing from twenty-five to forty pails. Like l the rest, the oxen take their dinner in the woods, and five or six “rounds” are consid- - ercd a good day’s work. Three hundred pails a day is called good work. The sup is DRAWN TO THE SCOAR-llOI‘SE, and from along spout is conveyed to large storage~tubs, and thence to the evaporator, 1 or pan, kettles having long since been dis. . carded. The evaporator is of mulleublc iron lpartitioned ofl‘. The sap, entering at the ~' head of the arch, meanders across the pan a dozen times or so, and on reaching the foot a heavy, clear, and pure syrup is produced. This is carefully set aside until “ suguriug- off day ” comes, when it is cooked still more and is ready for the tub or cakin". About twice each Week the owner of a sugar bush has a sugaring-ofl' party. First all the old folks for miles around come in on ox-sleds and on foot, and a good old-fash- ioned time is enjoyed, No one seems to realize that they are growing old. Lateron the coming reiteration are on hand and‘ buxom girls, topeful young men, maidens, and boys gather at the sugar-house. They are in for a good time. First there may be a. ....._. m ..--.â€"â€". , girls take an active part, and an Ontario, ! girl can throw a snow-ball with hitting cf- ffect. She uses more )recision firing at u ‘ young man for whom sire has no admiration l than when she tries'to “shoo a hen ” off 3 the garden patch. \Vhen the war is over i the manufacture of paddles is in order. To cut sugar with a spoon in the woods want him to come here triflingâ€"that’s all.” old troughs were looked up, an ugly gash was , would be regarded as a violation of all the Didn't Like The Teacher. “Are you still taking painting lessons, Mamie ‘1” “No ; I left off yesterday. I don’t like my teacher.” “\Vhy not ?” “He has such a disagreeable way of talking. He told me that if I kept on for some time long- er I might. be able to whitewash a fence.” “Liters. Scripts." \Vooerâ€"“O Missâ€"O Lavinia ! may I not still hope? â€"â€"-or is your cruel rejection of my suit final and irrevoc “Yes, Mr. Brown, I seriously desire you will regard it so.” \Yooerâ€"“Then, dearest, i may I ask you ”â€"-(producing the materials 1 from adjacent writing table )â€"“toâ€"ahâ€"-â€" put it on paper ! I shall feel safer !’ A Leading Question. “\Vhich would you rather be, a knuve or ' a fool ‘3" asked Idioticus. “ I don’t know,” replied Cynicus, “ \Vhat , has been your experience l” l A Survival of Paganism. , The J ridgeâ€"\Vhat is your Christian name : J ohnson‘.’ 1 Mr. Johnsing»â€"Hain’t got none, sah. My fust name am Jupiter. .__.__.. The Epicure. “ Croquet is the deadest game I know," said Snubley. “ Well, many people like their game pretty dead." Always Sgfilexing l 1 He (and he really meant” all he said)â€"-â€"” I j assure you I’ll do my best. to make you a good husband.” She (in the agitation of I the moment, perhaps, forgetting that “tho woman who hesitates is lost”)â€"" Oh !-â€"I’ve no doubt your intention is excellent ; but good husbands are not easily made. If you could assure me~â€"â€"you hadâ€"ever before made one [Nolaâ€"As he could not con. seientiously give her the suggested assurance, shefinallyconscnted to marry him on the cus» tomary terms, that is to say, on speculation] l And Didn't Pa Catch It ? Tommyâ€"â€"-“Gmn'ma, aren’t. you going into the kitchen? They’re making sucha jolly lot of mince pies.” Tommy's Maternal Grandmotherâ€"“I, my dear ‘3 Bless my soul, no! Your mamma and cook will see to them." 'l‘ommyâ€"-â€"“ Oh, but pa told ma to- day that you wanted to have a finger in every pie. ' 3 Should be Engaged. e A mesâ€"“I should think these long tunnels Won d be very dangerous while traveling.” Mabelâ€"“They are, if you are not engaged.‘ l Faults are always thick where love is thin. " Spinster (firmly)â€"â€"- I made in a fine maple, then “ gouger,”‘ and a spout was driven in to carry the sap to the trough, and when the sun shone sufficiently the tree gave forth iits sweetness. Then the manufacturers of l sugar saddled their neckyokes and gathered in the sap, ofttimes walking one-half a mile to secure two pailfuls, which made about one-half of a pound of sugar, such as it was. An early breakfast, dinner as near meridian as the eye and stomach could judge, and “ text” when work was done comforted the ' inner man. For Java or Mocha syrup was a substitute, for sirloin of beef a fine slice of pork or the best of ham broiled on coals, and an ample supply of brown bread and roasted potatoes made up a rcpast that would do the stomach of royalty good. For dinner a few boiled eggs broke the mono- tony and “at tea” most anything that was left was eaten. There is NO PLACE IN Tle \VORLD where you can cook beans which equals the woods and this is how they used to be cook- cd in the sugar~bush : An old earthen pot well filled with beans, a good “hunk of pork” and some native molasses furnished the foundation. Almost beneath the kettle of boiling sap a pit was dug and the pot and contents were buried in it and in the morn- ing out came a dish that no hotel or restuar- ant in all Canada can duplicate. At the end of six weeks, when the party took stock, they usually had all told, 200 pounds of an '- ur as black as Ethiopia and flavored witi snow, rain, everything that could come off the trees, with now and then the body of a forlorn mouse or darin r chipmunk who had ventured too near t to trough. This was pure maple sugar something like 60 years ago. Another cneration realized that the world mover , and we find a shanty in some fine grove of maples filled with 300 or 400 buckets and sometimes more. Outside is an arch for the kettle, not built of cut stone, but the material easiest at command. This is not an isolated spot; people here come and go ; the "sugar place” is near-by home; the wife or daughter at noontimc lbrinns up the dinner, and a good dinner it is ; t icre is a small kettle at command and a “ sugar off" is then in order and an hour's sport that king. prinCc, or potcntate might envy, but not covet. To the assuming daughter of papa, to say nothing of the complacent manipulator of the typewriter, ’ the idea of a girl tramping a mile or two in . the woods, carrying dinner for men dressed f in course woolens, may not be pleasant, but ' could they see that girl with her dinner-pail or “waxing sugar" with honest, hardy men, they would realize that there is such a thing in life as enjoyment. Ufttimes it is fount necessary to boil sap all night in order to catch up with the flow of sap, and during a “ big run " this sometimes asts for a Week. Then nearly the entire family moves to the bush. The head of the house getsa little .sleep while the wife or some of the ‘childrcn keep the kettle full and the fire “admmping.” A “ humping fire ” is what the sugar-maker always enjoys. Ofttimes these sugar orchards are near each other, and family visits are in order and some love- making is indulged in. Lads and lasscs rules of etiquet. So the young man takes ahis “best girl” one side, and sclectingu sofaâ€"usually a large log, or if lighter furniture is required two buckets are in- vertedâ€"they sit, down and commence work on their paddles. The paddles being made, down to the sugarhouse they go secure upiut o: more of the syrup, and start for a snow“ ' bunk upon which they pour it. This at once ' burdens and furnishes a sugar repast that - can not be excelled. For aquartcr of a mile about the sugar-house you will see these I pairs cooling and eating maple sugar in its primitive state. .I The pure Ontario maple syrup is an en tirely different article from that veuded aboutthc streets oflargc cities,which isnmstly made of glucose and foreign sugars. l’urc maple syrup today-readily brings $1 a gallon in the woods, and when it reaches Toronto it is sold for 75 cents and often less. The first make of maple sugar sells for 15 cents a pound, and here you get it for 7 to 8~a reconstructed article but not improved. i ‘4‘ Wreckers of Belle Isle. f The report of the minister of marine and fisheries, which was laid before Parliament at Ottawa on the 22ml inst., contains an ex- traordiuary story, which indicates that the wrecker still exists and plies his calling along the shores of the gulf of St. Lawrence. In the fall of last year the steamship Mon- treal went ashore on the desolate rocks of Belle Isle. H. M. S. Emerald came along, and the reply of the master in the Montreal ' led the captain of the Emerald to believe that his services were not re« uircd, and he steamed away. This is what mppencd after he went away, and led to the master of thc ' Montreal complaining of the descrtion. The following day some wreckers lnurdcd the Vessel and plundered her. Laferon they came into the cove with their schooner»; and anchored, then made their boat fast along- side of the steamer and swarmed on board in large numbers. 'l’hcy intimidated the crew, stole the deck fittings, sails, and gear, and, with liutchcts and crowbam destroyed a large portion of the decks in their endeavor to get at the cattle and sheep. {opus \verc put down the opening and various ul‘ticlcFof the cargo were secured and inuncdiately removed from the steamer. 'l‘he cattle and sheep which had previously been landed were hunted about the island, caught and killed, the cur- casscs dragred down the cliffs, where boats were in readiness to receive them. Similar scenes have occurred whenever vessels have been lost in the straits of licllc Isle, either upon the Labrador or Newfoundland coasts. The commissioner who investigated the mat- ter states that it is very difficult to discover and punish these pirates, but Hill“: attempts to do so will be made. .â€"â€"-â€"â€"-â€"â€"-â€"-.â€"â€"â€"-â€"â€"â€"- English stouts and wcasebs are being ex- ported to New anland from England in urge numbers to kill offthc rabbits, and the rats, which have been food for the stunts and weasels in England, are increasing enor- mously in some districts. There is talk of a movement to prevent the exportation of any more rat destroyers. tug-of-war, with snow-bulls, in which they v .1 a '- W'a‘arm‘. i5aiz'lww:{':“" - awn. -.;.‘«.,,-.:u5:k.c. v «A 3. Li. 45' akinâ€"4.13 ‘ .