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242 
 
 stewaut's quaktekly, 
 
 ■I'llK 15.\1,LA1) OK r. BLOSSOM. 
 
 Villi luvir know 1". IJlo.-soin ? (ind. I vimHv iIduhIu lliiit ho 
 
 Wa?; known iis woll b.v all llio uorld as over ho was by nK' ; 
 
 llo had inonoy and youth and wit : nnd all of us aro aware 
 
 'Ihat oahor will do for a man at a iiiiioh— ho Jrovo a spaiikinn- pair — 
 
 While 1—1 drovi' my woodon hoiso who-o ^tall was in tho S(|iiaro! 
 
 At all tlio voiito> and all tlio lialls a conti'al sun was ho, 
 
 Konnd which lovolvod of widows and maids a i!a//lin,n Halavf. 
 
 And mothors fond lii> oar would >ook, to iirai.-o tlioir danuhtcrs fair; 
 
 oh. what a niatil;, tiny said to ihomsolvosi tho was old (ioIdlinchV hoir* 
 
 Ana I — 1 drovo my woodon hoi'so whoso stall was in tho Siiuaro I 
 
 Tlio JikIkp himself wa> hoard to hint to 1!Io.-miim t.iat a wil'o 
 
 Would di,!;nify his station and smooth the path of life, 
 
 Ami tho Judsjo's daniihtor, Enulino, to hor friends would oft dorlare 
 
 Sho iiovtr saw such whislaTs nor .-uch a head of hair! 
 
 While 1 — I drovo my wooden horse whose stall was in the Square I 
 
 Oh. what a lucky, hf'ky dojr I I iiovrr oould explain 
 
 Why he should ne\( ow to care nor feel the :4rip of pain ; 
 
 His path was always .uoked with Mowers, hi> sky was always fair, 
 
 lie was courted, iietled. Ilattcieil — he was weleonie overywliuro — 
 
 Anil I — I drove my wooden horse whose stall was in the Sijuare I 
 
 But (ioldfineh died as all uien iniist, after makiii-.; a sconndroMy will. 
 The tenor of which fjave lUossoni a stitch in his side and an aj;uey chill ; 
 Ir reail, Jly housekeeper [ make of all my wealth i!ie heir I 
 ThoMflkssom ^rew ii passion flower — he stamped and tore hi> hair — 
 WlnieT— I drove my wooden liorso whosi' stall was in tho S(|uarc I 
 
 And Blossom failed out ot sijjht-his hour of Moom was done — 
 
 Kor other fi.di the nets wore spri'ad that wove for Blossom spun — 
 
 'I'liouijli envied once l)y thousands his fate was hard to hear, 
 
 But so doth run the world away with all its joy ami cnre — 
 
 While 1 — I drive my woodon hor.M' whose stall is in the Square I i;..v 
 
 STORIHS WE UE.AUD AMONC THE IMN'ES. 
 
 11\ .1. «.. UOLIUNor. 
 
 Oiv ii cloiir, cold uighl, one .January, luilt" a iloy.eu men were .seated 
 avoimd a roariug fire o\' hii<,'e loj^s, lieaped ou the rude licarth of a 
 ^luiuty, amid.st tlie pines of the Ottawa. Tlie pine knots crackled aud 
 .sent up ft vivid flame wliich lit up the little hut (|uito brilliantly. The 
 atmosphere was certainly not of the clearest, for all were sniokiu}; 
 euerjjetically, only removing their pipes in the pauses of the couvcrsa- 
 tion which >vas apparently of an iuteresting character. One of the 
 party was an old lumberman, with a pleasant, frank expression on his 
 
\h\ I 
 
 icir 
 
 ■TOIMKS Wi: HKAIID AMUNii Till: IMSKS. 
 
 213 
 
 well brou/.eil liieo. Another was a luu'tuer of ilic former, uiiJ had 
 lieea for many years of liis life a surveyor. IIo had bii! recently 
 urriveil to explore some new •• limits," situated in the vi(4iiity of those 
 where his own nii-u were en;j;a;4e(l in cutlin;;- down the pines which 
 rose lar iunl wjile, in all tlic'r primeval majesty. Two of the })arty 
 were visitors from the >oltIeineiits. who had come up to see a little of 
 shanty lite, and one of these was the writer. The couver.sation had 
 turned on advcniure> which the lumbermau aud surveyor had met 
 with in tlui course of their iourueyings throu.^h the forest or ou the 
 river. T\v<i ol tlu-^e -lories I -hall atteiu])! to relate. 
 
 DOWN THE ••SNOWS." 
 
 i;|]-t' 
 
 ehiJl: 
 
 li.A. 
 
 0(1 
 
 "u 
 
 1(1 
 
 It! 
 
 i- 
 e 
 
 8 
 
 J. — MAKV MOKTIMEi;. 
 
 When you eall on me to enutribute my share to the amusement of 
 the company — it is the himhennau who is speaking' — you must re- 
 member that 1 am only a homespuu sort of old tellow, accustomed to 
 the rouizh lite of the sliautie.-, aud haviuglittU' aciiuaiutauce with what 
 you call book learning. My father was also a lumberman and my 
 boyhood was generally i)assed among the pines with the axemen, or 
 oil the river with the rat'tsmeu. 31y story will uot be long, aud has 
 heeu recalled to mv mind by some reference Miss Fanny made last 
 evening to tiie tJnowa which you saw in the early part of las. week. 
 Of course u is roiuiecied with lumbering lile, for I would not travel 
 out of that palii o;i whicli 1 have l)eeu going now for fifty years ami 
 more : 
 
 I need not tell you thai the Ottawa Valley has passed through a 
 very great cliange during tiie ))ast thirty years ; but no one can appre- 
 ••iatc it except those wiio. like myselt', have always lived by the banks 
 of (he great river. I can rc(,'all the time when u steamboat was never 
 dreamed of on the river, aud all our operations had to be carried on 
 with canoes iuiil battcaux. The Uovernmeut uow builds "slides'' 
 aud (jaiKils for our commerce, but in old times the logs had hivrd 
 work to run the rapitls. The houses of settlers were few aud far be- 
 tween, and ihe voyageur and lumbermen were the only persons you 
 I'ould meet for mauy hundreds of miles, after you had passed a cer- 
 tain point on the I'pper (Jttawu. I can even recollect when there 
 were not a dozen houses to be seen near the hike, aud when i often 
 encamped on the shore, after runuing the "• Snows," and cooked my 
 own food, because it would take me too long ' ) go to the nearest 
 settler's cabin. The scenery is still very liuc about tlic '"Snows" aud 
 other rapids, with their white foam, so like the pure snow of a 
 January storm ; but forty years ago, the forest was richer, for the 
 islands, and the banks of the great river Avere covered with noble trees 
 which have long since disappeared before lircs or the axe of the lum- 
 bermen or farmer. 
 
 You can still see (dose to the banks ot the river, in the midst of u 
 little grove ot" birch, about half a mile from the '• Snows,'' a comfort- 
 able frame house, and alongside it a log-hut which auswers for a barn. 
 
 HiJcuuL. 
 
 ^'i'mfmauk 
 
wmmmi^m 
 
 tmmm 
 
 !Rnn 
 
 BBI^&B 
 
 •211 
 
 STEWART S QUARTERLY. 
 
 'riie frame house is owueil by the f-uu ol' tho same itC'i>oii who Imih 
 uiul lived for years iu tlie log-hut, for lie Avas one of the lir.--t settler.- 
 in that part of the couulry. Thomas Mortimer was a raftsman, wlio 
 .«()nic fifty years ago, took a fauey to the place, and commenced farm- 
 iug in the summer, while he and his boys went ottto the woods iu tiic 
 winter. He was a rough, good tempered fellow, a Canadian by birth, 
 and did very well in the course of time : for his laud was good, and Iu- 
 could always sell his hay, potatoes, and oats at a good price to th«' 
 siiauties. But my story lias little to do with my old friend. 3Iortimer. 
 except so far as he had tlic good tbrtnne to be the father of the prettiest 
 and sauciest girl in the valley. Many a farmer au<l lumberuiau would 
 go far out ol his way to buy something from old INIortimer. just for 
 tlic sake of getting a smile from Mary, wiio. at the time of wliich I 
 am speaking, was about twenty years of age. Mary knew lier power 
 — what pretty girl does not? — but siie Iiad such a way of sliowing her 
 dislike of all those wliom she did not favour tluvt many said she was ton 
 proud of her good looks and thought herself above iier father's friend> 
 and visitors. She frei|ucntly made visits to the older settlements, and 
 it Avas on one of tiiese occasions that siie became ac([Haiuted witii two 
 young men. who were employed as foremen in mills during the sum- 
 mer and in the siiauty during the winter. Charles ^Nlarston was a iiard- 
 workiug young man of twenty-four years, with a bright, liouest look 
 iu his large blue eyes, which would make you say ' hero's a fellow tliat 
 I can trust.' Thilip Simoud. tlte other young man. was the .son of a 
 French Canadian widow wlio iiad suddenly dieil iu the house of the eUler 
 Marston. The wife of tlie latter was also a I'rcnch Canadian and was 
 an oUl friend of Simoiul's mother. Though INIrs. JSlarstou had se\- 
 eral children oi her own. sJie did not hesitate to adopt the boy at the 
 ))edside of tiie dying woman. "One uiouth more." said Alarston 
 to me afterwards. •' won't hurt us. for we luive cuougli and to .span" : 
 and then it more than repaid us to see the joyful look iu > poor 
 creature's eves wlien inv good wife promised to take care of little 
 Pliilip." 
 
 Philip was the very opposite of his foster brother iu appearance, lor 
 he had the dark luiir and eyes of his French Canadian parents ; but 
 both were handsome, sturdy lads, very popular anunig tiieir associates. 
 whether rough lumbermen or gentle women. Thilip was of less regu- 
 lar habits thau tlie other, and as he was exceedingly passionate he wns 
 often brought into trouble among the rough companions he met in the 
 woods, ami who are always ready to make the blow follow the angry 
 word. He was, as I have just said, of a roving disposition, without any 
 great liking for steady work ; his delight was to wander in the forest, 
 and none of the half-breeds in the numerous .shanties of the ( )ttawii 
 and the smaller rivers, had a keener eye for an un.sound tree or for 
 hunting out the finest groves for limber; but tliis was not strange in 
 one who could number on his mother's side many famous Imi's-hrnlei', 
 and voyageurs, whose adventiu'ous exploits iu forest and river were 
 .still remembered by the old raftsmen and formed the material for 
 many a story on the long winter evenings \.,ien the niou gathered 
 round the roaring fives of the shanties. 
 
 311 
 
MnlMl> \VK 11I;AI!I> A.MONti IHI; I'lNK.- 
 
 110 
 
 Jt was of course very iiatunil tliat u tiiic yoiiii^ lellow like Chai'lie 
 31arstoii sl-oiild iall in love with a pretty girl like Mary Mortimer ; 
 Itut lie was very modest and bashful and could not muster up eoura,2;e 
 iMiough to come to an understanding with her on the subject. We 
 can have little doubt, however, that ]\Iiiry knew that he was hopelessly 
 in love with her — young ladies we all know too well, have a wondcr- 
 t'ul cleverness in fuiding out such things ; but certaiuly she did not for 
 a long while give him any more encouragement than she gave to her 
 other admirers who were plentifid enough, you may be sure, in a 
 settlement where pretty ;^irl9 do not grow on every ])iue tree. Mary, 
 I may as well tel) you at once, always liked the yoiuig man from the 
 beginning of her ac(|uaintance with him, for he was much superior to 
 the rough, and rollicking iellows who made up the majority ot visitors 
 at the house ; and besides he was an industrious, intelligent man who 
 (!ould otl'ei' his wife a comfortable home. 
 
 11. — hIMONU's .IliAI.OLSV. 
 
 Mary's love tor admiration soon led to what became a very untbr- 
 tunate inisuuderstaniling between the two young men who had been 
 always taught to consider themselves as brotliers. In justice to Philip, 
 I nuist say that, from what I have heard, he had come under the iu- 
 thience of 3Iary's bright eyes l)cfore he had any knowledge; of the 
 state ol' the case between her and his fostei'-brother. lie was a good 
 looking lad, and j\Iary coidd not resist trying the etlect of her artillery 
 upon him. without thinking as to the results that might spring from 
 such an indiscretion in the case of a fiery, uncertain temper. I'hilip's 
 ft!clings were, as I have before hinted, liable to take th.; direction of 
 atlection or hatred, on very slig'.it provocation. When he asked JIary 
 lit la>t to be hi> wife, >he only laughed at liim. and wondered how he 
 could even have supposed she cared the least for him. Hot woi'ds 
 passed between them, for 3lary had a temper of her own, and Philip 
 rushed out to look for his brother in a tit of ungovernable rage. lie 
 accused Marstou of treachery towards liinu and swore a fearful oath 
 that the girl would marry him or none at all. 
 
 '• Who but a sneak," he aildcd, '• would have taken the girl from luc ; 
 perhaps some day, you'll find I've not forgotten it." 
 
 Marstou tried to reason with him, but it wns useless to say that he had 
 not even asked her to be his wife. 
 
 •' Vou know you love her, or else you would promise not to see her 
 again." 
 
 Marstou could not tell a Ho — liis face, indeed, gave a suUicicnt reply 
 to the indiiiuant <|uestion. 
 
 •• I knew you dared not promise ; you'll act the sneak to the end. If 
 you are not a coward, you'll speak out." 
 
 Then the young man, tiius appealed to, confessed that he loved the 
 girl, but he had no reason to know she returned his love , tor he had 
 never said a word to her up to that time. 
 
 Philip thereupon tauntc<l him with telling a falsehood, saying: 
 
 " When T asked her if -lie loved some one else b.'ttcr, she would not 
 
 r^F- 
 
240 
 
 STF-WAUT's QL'.\RTEK[.y. 
 
 tol! nic, but lier liu'i- licciniK' siulik'nlv letl liki- ;i tlini. ■. '1 liiii tlie .su»i.i. 
 cioii (.•jiiiip acn'ss inr, vlu mi'^lit lu' tlio iimu, tor inj oiio went flu'ic .«o 
 iVc'iincntlv :i> voin^^clf! T si-ked licv il' it were ><>: Imt i-lio woiilil not 
 iinswcr me at first. I ]iiit tin' (|iie>tioii auain. und tlini !-iic ^■ai(l. lier 
 face redder than ever, if >!ie did eare for you. slie wonld eare lor a Ijcttcr 
 man tliaii I eon]d ever linjn' to lie. Botli yon and tliat false i:irl liavo 
 Itcen only playinu with me '" 
 
 Marston, thonuli excited by the unjust aeeu.-ation.- ol liis fo.'^ter-ljrotlier, 
 eoiild feel his heart jump with joy at tlu'M- words wliieli st emed to him 
 to prove that Mary eared for him ; Init he still wcit on to remonstrate 
 with Philip who was walkini: u]) a; d down in a tit of unmvernaMe rage. 
 
 " Xothing.'' said .Simond at last. -'eau make me lielievo that you've 
 not b?en aeting unfairly towards me ; luil if yon will ]>ronii-e not to ask 
 the girl to be vour wile for a year, and tiien Kt u- 1 iih tiy oni' ehanet 
 again. 1 may think better of yon." 
 
 What was I'liiliji's olijeet in uiakinu this olkr, it is ditlieult to say ; 
 perhaps lie thought the girl might get tired of waiting when she saw 
 Clntrles did not ask her to be liis wii'c ; perhaps he had a faint hope that 
 ]Mar>;ton himself might see some one he would like better; but no doubt 
 SimondV nueontrollablc jcalonsy was Ibreing him to do something that 
 wonld prevent Mtiry marrying another. .-\s respects Ch.arles Marston. 
 anxious to keej^ on good terms with his foster-brother, he gave the prom- 
 ise after some hesitation. I'crliaps lie was not a little comforted by tin- 
 assur.'uice that I'bilip had given liim, in tlie excitement of the moment, 
 that Mary was favonrably disjiosed towards him, and was al.-o bimycd u]> 
 by the hope that .she would not forget him in n few months, during 
 which he would see her more than once; lor iMUioiid bad imt made 
 jdw<;uee Irom the house one of the condition- of lii> agreement with him. 
 
 A year passed by, and when the woods wore their .scarlet and crimson 
 and russet — all the bright lines of autuinii tide— (.'iiarlcs Marston was 
 free to fry his luck with fair ^Iary ."NJortiincr. The two yoiuig men had 
 seen little of each other during the year, except at th.e shanty (hiring the 
 winter, and then I'hilip had a moody, irritable way with him, which his 
 comrades noticed but eonid not account lor in our wlui bad generally 
 been the gayest amont;' the men when song ami svory wiled tlway 
 the evenings. Charles Marston tried mure than once In return to the 
 fii'^ndly relations whii h existed before Mary <listurbi'd them -o unheed- 
 ingly, liiu to veiy little purpose, for Simond studi(ui-ly avcmlcd every- 
 thing like the lirotherly intercourse of former ye.ars. Kaeli of them had 
 .seen 31ary during the twelve moi'ths, on sever.-d oce.'i.-ions, but neither 
 had mueii reason to congratulate himself. The girl always treatcil l'hili|>, 
 after the conversation relerred to, with a coldness whi(d\ burnt into his 
 very soni, and was disposed at first to encourage .^ltlrston to m.ike tlii' 
 ]iroposal which probably she began to expect from him ; but wheii he 
 continued silent she was perplexed for a while and at last so pii(ued as to 
 receive him apparently with the same inditt'crencc which she cerfai'ily 
 felt towards I'hilip. More than once young ."Marston was ready to ask 
 liis foster-brother to relea-e liini from tlie promise he had so cruellv ex- 
 torted, when he saw Marv surrounded bv utlicr :idii irovs and was treated 
 
 uu 
 
 Ulll 
 
 sell 
 nul 
 
 Oil 
 III 
 
 " ' 
 .hi 
 
 he 
 
STfinil'.s ni IIKAIM) AMONi, Tfli; I'lNKS. 
 
 •j»; 
 
 1- .ni.sj,i. 
 
 ii<I. her 
 
 l<ettor 
 
 1 liavc 
 
 Vdii have nut slnnvu such I'aiKV 
 I am not sure now wlio is tlio 
 
 liy lior witli siicli ciittin^^ coldness. He Hit that riiiliii hail acted niip>t 
 unjiracionsly and that lie iiii,u,ht hu excused I'or breakini:' a iironiise yivcn 
 under sucli circnnmtanccs ; but nevertheless he had ahout him a dee]i 
 sense (tf honour, and kept his word Tnost lnyally for those loni:. wcai y 
 months. 
 
 When the year was out Sinmnd suddenly icit lor the upper part ol' the 
 Ottawa, and then Marston f'ullowed and called to sec Mary on his way. 
 lie met her, as it liapitencd, walking hy the hank.s of the river, not far from 
 " 'flio Snows." with her hands full nl' hriuht .lUtumn leaves, some ol whiidi 
 she Inid carelessly arranged in her dark hair. 
 
 She was ])assinj:; him with that coM mid of the head, imw u>nal with 
 her whenever tliey met. 
 
 '• Mary, don't pass nic hy like that," said Marston hurriedly, '■ I've 
 Irni.u wished to s])eak to yon, ami — .' 
 
 •■ Jt seems tn me,'' interrupted 3lary 
 i'or my company, for a year and more 
 nuist disa^reeahle — yon or Philip'.'" 
 
 •' Perhaps, .Mary, you can t(dl why I'hilip i 
 plied 3Iar.ston, provoked hy her cold tone. 
 
 "1 am not to he ealleil to account for all tin- fancies you younji' men 
 may take," answered ,Mai'y with a saucy shake of her pretty curl.-- ; " hut 
 1 must make haste hoini-, \'nv it is uettini:- late." 
 
 " Vou can surely spare me five minutes," exclaimed Charles. ea;;erly. 
 
 " How much you seem to value my com])any now," sui<l the girl, us 
 she pretended to walk' on ; i'nv I diil'iir liclicve for a moment that she in- 
 temlcd to ],rovoke Marston to the extent ofdriviiii^ him away, but only 
 wished to punish him a little for what slie had rca.son certainly to think 
 was i;reat ncLilect on Ids part. 
 
 Then .Mar.«tou, unable to keep silence loii'.^er, out of the fullness of his 
 heart, told that story ns olil .-is the wiuld itself. What he may huve said 
 .1 cannot say — 1 suppose he could not have repeated it himself ; but at 
 .all events his defence was most successful. If the eH'ect ol a speech is 
 weighed hy the sympathy it excite-i in an audi"nce. then Marston jiosscssed 
 the elements of a most eli'eetive orat;u' ; for the result of his appeal was 
 to win .Marv's willin-j; consent to be !>is wife. 
 
 o altered 
 
 late '.' ' re- 
 
 111. — i;i .WIN' 
 
 Tilt. SNdWS. 
 
 i»ut business had to be atteiidivl to, and Marston wus soon freed to 
 leave the company of his bethrothed and hasten to the woods, where he 
 was the I'fircinan of a larue uan^ (if men em]iloycd in t.ikiiii;' out timber 
 on one of the smaller streams emptyinj; into the Ipjier Ottawa. You 
 may be sure that he left with a i;ayer heart than he had for many months ; 
 so joyou.s was he, that he thought little even ol the lirst moctinu' with his 
 foster-brother, to whom he carried a conciliatory messai;e tiom Mary 
 who now bcnau to re;;ret that she had ever trifled with the iiassionate 
 youn^' imin. iMarstou hoped that Philip had become nearly cured t)f hi.- 
 attachment and would yladly meet his friendly approaches. It was about 
 u week after the im])ortant event just mentioned, before the two younu 
 men met each other at the shantv. and then Charles Marston tolil Simond 
 
 ^ '■■■■■'•:r^m''-,mmi 
 
348 
 
 sti:w.\1!t'.« <^lai:ti-,i:ly. 
 
 the suci-essrul issue ot'Iiis lourt^liiii unci hopiul tliat now tlicy wouM )jc 
 better Iriemls tliaii ever. IMiilip liearil the story in silciK'C, ami without 
 tiiiving the hand that was held to hiui, turned abru})tly into the woods, 
 (.'harles, liowever. was too lull of his own hapjiiness to pay mueh attention 
 to tlio moody demeanour ol'his old assoeiat(i and eonilbrtcd hinisell' with 
 the thought that a lew months would soon hrim;' Simond to a better 
 iVamc of mind. 
 
 nurinff the busy months that followed, neither saw much of the other, 
 rxeept when they assembled in the eveninj: with the men at the shanty. 
 ^Iarston worked, perha],s more ener;;etica!ly than ever, for he had now 
 additional stimulous ; I'hilip, still moody and reserved, seemed to lind 
 only pleasure in tiie deep forests, but his assoeiatcs had lon.n sinee ceased 
 to wonder at his manner us sometliiii}^ entirely lioyond their ken. It 
 was, however, very evident to Cmu-les, and mueh to his sorrow, that his 
 foster-brother avoided him ; but he ielt that the fault was not his own 
 and that he eould not repair (he mischief whilst .Simond would not meet 
 him half way. 
 
 Winter jjassed, and Marston saw Mary twiee vvlion he liad oeea- 
 .sion to make trips down the river for fresh supplies. The .seation had 
 not been i^ood for hunbering operations, the thaws having been unusually 
 trei|Uent and heavy snow-falls having oeeurred during I'ebruary and 
 3Iareh. Sot only had it been ditlieult to get the tindjer down to the 
 stream, but the season had been hard on the men, for fresh provisions 
 towards the eloso of winter failed entirely and eould not bo supplemented 
 by supplies from the settlements or by game which was scarce that 
 winter. I'nder such circumstances you maybe sure that all hailed the 
 disappearance of the snow and the freeing of the rivers in April. 
 .Niar,ston bad worked hard all winter and had suH'ered jierliajjs as much as 
 any of the others from the privations of the camp ; but hi' bore it un- 
 comjduiningly, for he knew the efl'ect of his example upon others. 
 
 I'he men now commenced to drive the timber, and Marston found it 
 ni!cessary to make a visit immediately to heail ((uurters at Bytown. 
 Whilst he was getting ready, to his surpri-so, Philip came to him and .said 
 that he would like to accompany him. .Marston con.sidered this as an at- 
 tempt on the part of Simond to make uj) friends and resume their old re- 
 lations towards each other, for they hud always worked together in the past 
 before jNIary's pretty face came between thom. I'crhaps if Murston's mind 
 had not been so much taken up with issuing oidci-s and with the thought 
 of seeing jMary after an absence of many weeks, he might liave noticed, 
 a.s others did at the time, I liave heard, the strange manner of Simond, 
 wlien he made the offer of accompanying him down the river. For some 
 time those who had been M'orking in the woods with Simond had noticed 
 at times a strange, unusual, look in his eyes, which was undoubtedly the 
 reflection of some strong feelings which were warring in hi.s heart. If 
 Marston noticed anything peculiar he attributed it to the same cau.ses 
 that aflected the others — the hard winter which had caused a great deal 
 of sickness in the camp. 
 
 The Ottawa was now rajiidly tilling up with the surplus waters of its 
 numerous tributary streams, at thi; rate of seven or eight inches a day — 
 
 St 11 
 
 thj 
 
 Wi| 
 
"-ToniKs \v\: iii.Arn) amum: tiik I'INks. 
 
 210 
 
 mill Ijc 
 ivitliotit 
 
 WdOlls. 
 
 teiition 
 
 If with 
 
 bt'ttor 
 
 othor, 
 i;iiit_y. 
 I now 
 I) (ind 
 
 it 
 at hi.s 
 
 own 
 meet 
 
 I have sometimes seen it rise more than a loot after spring rains in 
 rwonty-four hours — ami Murstoii lost no time in slartini; as lie had to be 
 liaek when the i.ien had got the timber out of the ercek and on the main 
 stream. The two men took a small eanoe, whieh they could easily handle, 
 ind soon got down to the Ottawa without any difficulty. The weather 
 was warm and springlike ; the nij^hts were ehilly, but Marston and 
 Siniond found shelter, the first night, at the eabiu of a settler, elose by 
 the banks of the river. Marston did not feel particularly well, his eyes 
 were inflamed a little, and lie was therefore anxious to reach his destina- 
 tion where a change of air and food would soon bring him round. 
 Simond said vory little on the trip, but 3Iarston cared little as long a.s he 
 had his pleasant thoughts to oi'cupy his mind ; for he told his companion 
 that he hoped to be married as soon as all the timber was out and he 
 <-ould get a few days' leave. Simond muttered something in an under- 
 tone which 3Iarstoii did not hear, and his eyes shone with a passionate 
 glare as liis companion went on speaking of Mary Mortimer. No doubt 
 ■Simond was tortured by the most intense jealousy, and a tierce contest 
 was raging in his breast — the atlectiou for his loster-brothcr was net en- 
 tirely dead but it was rapidly dying away under the strong passions 
 which had only gathered strength during the long winter, when he had 
 nursed bis wrath in the solitude of those grand woods which ought to 
 have calmed and soothed hini, for I know that I have often found rest 
 and peace in the forest when wearied with many (;ares. I*erhaps if 
 Marston had said less about his aj)proacliing marriagi; with Mary, it 
 would liave been more jjrudent, for every tinu! he referred to the girl he 
 was adding fuel to the demoniac spirit which was struggling for the 
 mastery in his comrade's bosom. 
 
 It was not far from dusk when the two men reached the vicinity of 
 ■• The Snows." The day had been tine when they started, but it had 
 clouded over towards the afternoon ; the wind came round to the south- 
 <'ast and it seemed cold enough for a fall of snow, wliieh is not uncommon 
 in the uncertain spring-time of this northern country. Marston, how- 
 <n'er, persisted In pushing forward and running the rapids before dark, 
 as he was very an.\ious to reach Clary's home that night. Both the men 
 Jiad often run the Snows when they were more swollen than they appeared 
 to be at that time, but it had been invariably on tine, clear weather. 
 1 lowever, bis anxiety to sec his bethrothed that evening overcame any 
 hesitation he might have had in consigning himself to the snow-white 
 tlood which danced and whirled amid the green isles of the river. 
 Siniond said nothing about the peril they nii;dit run, but apparently 
 nerved himself for the encounter with the luad waters. As the canoe 
 neared tb.e mpids, the expected snow came down in heavy, blinding 
 gutts, and it suddenly became so dark that it was diflieult to see many 
 yards ahead. As they darted by, they recognized the danger of proceed- 
 ing further and 31arstou seized hold of a small tree and brought the canoe 
 alongside a rock which was partly under water at that season when the 
 water was rising rapidly, he held on whilst Simond steadied the canoe 
 with liis paddle, for perliaps twenty minutes or half an hour, when a 
 heavier sf|uall than ever came rushing down the river and the canoe was 
 
2.'l(' 
 
 sii;\v.\i:r'.r. «ic.\i{Tr.i:LV. 
 
 iii.-tniitaiitously wliirloil info ilic ciinvnt. laH'ir.iriiii; tlu'iii-elvf- iniuji.'- 
 fliati'Iy, the jiicii sei/etl tluiv |)a<lflli'> a;i'l ciniva.L'consIy L;rai)]iloil with 
 tin wiM waters" tliat Icai t avdiiinl tliiiii. Aimther uu-it .-ci/i'il and 
 wiiirk'J tliCMii in an eddy ler a iniiiute nr twe.and tlie darivm s.^ eontituiod 
 t(i eivcp over laml and wati r. ."Suddenly. IMarston, a** lie wus aiding' the 
 etVeit.- of 111- eoniiade to kro]' tlir < aiirie steady, exeliimed in a tune ' 
 liovi'ur : 
 
 *'Ciood lleavoiis! I'liilip 1 am li'.ind ; 1 cannot see you, eln<i' as you 
 nve." 
 
 •• Vou are vij;iit Idind. tlK-n,' r(|>lied ,'^iniond almost exultantly. " I've 
 seen it eoniinu on you lor the past three days. We are lo-t. ibr a man 
 nui>t have a steady hand and ii clear eve fo run the ."^nows on an evpiun.; 
 like this.- 
 
 '• l^hili]'." exclaimed .Mar-ton, '• turn tlie eaimc towards the island 
 which was nn onr left a niunnnt a<^o, and wo cannnt yet have iiasse*!; I 
 can still Use niv paddle if ymrll L'uide nir. For the love you've hud for 
 iSlary and for me — iiir the sake of our old friendship, wm'k as ncvci 
 Itt'foro." 
 
 To this appeal, uttered in a tone of the dei;iest atrony — iiir was it not a 
 horrihlc thouu-ht to he lost, as it were, .almost within sij^ht of Mary's 
 lionie '! — ^imond niadr no an.'Wer, Siniond ai'terwards ennfessed that at 
 that iiiuuiont the unhallowed ]ilans which li.-id hoen inaturiuL' in his ndncl 
 took form and shape, and lie determined to let INlarston liurry lui to 
 death. Hoth ndirht have heen saved hy him. for the canoe had entereil 
 the least dauLieiiius channel and, at the time ISIarston was stru( k hlind. 
 was hardly more than a dozen i'eet iroin a point of roek on which Simond 
 niiiiht run the canoe and where they eotdd rcuuiin until niorniui: when 
 they wiiuld he rescued l>v sonic raftsmen or -settlers. ^>imond struek iiis 
 paddle into the water Irantically and hrou'.dit the eanoe close to the 
 piece of roek. and then s|)run,u upon it liki' a hird. As he spraui::, the 
 eanoe was whirled oil' into the fierce rapid, and as it disappeared lie 
 shouted after it like a mad nmii : 
 
 •• (,'liarles Marston. I swore tn you a year ago, that you wouhl never 
 wed .Mary ]\lo.tinier ; your wedding-nijrht will lie among the icy ,'^nows 
 — Philip, I've paid my deht !" 
 
 The snow eanic down in heavy si|ualls. dense darkness swcfit uvcr the 
 swollen waters: hut the keen eyes cd' Sinmnd could still see the pale, 
 horror-stricken face ol' the unfortimate Alaistoii, whiter even than the 
 snowy foam amid which he was whirled hy the furious current. Simnnd 
 watched him without pity — all his best feelings had yiidded at last to the 
 une introUahlc passion and jeakKHy that had so long heen fighting for the 
 mastery in his heart— and saw the canoe carried into an eddy and tlie 
 next instant tossed bottom upwards to the crest of the snowy hillows of 
 the rapids. 
 
 IV. — Till', vov.\(;ki k'.s c.rav k. 
 
 'Twas a month Inter, the .shanty was deserteil, and the tiniher on its 
 way down the Ottawa. l;ut the men were still kept constantly busy driv- 
 ing the logs on the smaller .streams of which 1 have heen speaking. Thf 
 water had ri?en rapidly and then lowered witli eqnal suddenness, leaving 
 
<!TOI!II> ^VI■, lir.AIM' AMdMi IIIK I'lM' 
 
 2r.i 
 
 ■J whit 
 il ;ui(i 
 itiiuiod 
 n,u- fill' 
 "in- 
 
 ;i f;iv;it iiiaiiy In^s 'stiifk' in tlic crcc^lcs ;in(l j<Ii;i1I()\v iiliiccs, iiml causiiii; 
 iiKH'c tliMii one vcvv trmiljlc-oim' 'Jmiii.' Ainnii;^ flic mni Wii> Siinoiifl 
 wlio liail iiiiinodiiiti'Iy ivtiiriu>(l to tli« slianty iil'tt'i- tlic frniriciil cvoiit I 
 liiivojii^t related, instead of u;()in,ir "n to the sottlciuciit. lie had found 
 no difficulty in Licttini; off, sonio lunirs after he had left his comrade to 
 his fate, when the moon had risen ; for he knew c^vcry inch of tlie local- 
 ity, anil maiiaj^ed, hy the assistance of lo^s jammed hclween the islets, to 
 reach the isle nearest the shoro where there was always a hoat kept hn- 
 flic use of the voyaL'eurs at that [mint, where dilliculfies in rnnninu; the 
 lou's were of very frc<(nciit oci'nrrence. ' c told the men <pn the river a 
 story of the canoe having' eajisi/ed wdiilst tie . ' Mar.ston were attemptinj;' 
 to run the Chenanx, late in the eveiiinir, and ol" the narrow escape that ho 
 had whilst his comrade had hecn drowned. The liimhevnien were sorry 
 for the loss of their (juiet. L:ood-natnred foreman, hut they were not sur- 
 prised at the manner ol" his death, fur such occurrem-es were very com- 
 mon on the river in those days, when the voya^eurs and raftsmen were 
 exposcil to more jierils than they are now, wlien the naviLiation of the 
 Ottawa has heen renderc(l eonijiaratively safe. The liimhcrnian, then, as 
 now, was proverliially reckless of his life, and such adair.s as the drowniiii; 
 of a sinule man wi'rc too trivial in their eyes to create any excitement hut 
 were soon forgotten in the d.aily work of hurr\ inu' the drivi^ and releas- 
 ing:' the jams, Simond told his story nervonsly. and then relapsed intu 
 his ordinary uioody ways — keeping; to himself as mneh as jiossihle and 
 working desperately, no douht with the hope of driving:' away that drcail 
 imai^e of his murdered friend which was never ahsent tVom his f,'uilty 
 conseicnee. 
 
 (lose to the spot where the men were eneaniped whilst fi'eeinu; the 
 loss friini the creek, there wiis — and 1 daresay if is still there — an old 
 cross nididy eonstiau'led out of ii couple of small spruce saplinirs. and 
 ulready nioss-^'row n. This cross had heen put up. nnmv vears before, 
 —no one eoidd exactly tell when — over the grave of a voyageiir. who 
 had mot his death iu performing some not of reckless darins on tlio. 
 occasif)u of !i tremendous •• jam" which had resisted the ellorls of the 
 most skilled and courageous of his Cwmrades, Such crosses are fre- 
 ([Uently met with on the hanks of the Ottawa, and speak of the perils 
 that beset the jiaths ot' the adventurous raftsmen (;f these Xorlh-wost- 
 eru rivers. They ai'e always held in high respect oy the voyngcurs 
 and Inndiernu'n, ami many a time are they renewed and strengthened 
 by i-everent hands when storms or years have laid them low. With 
 these crosses are associateil many stories of heroic daring or ol ei'im- 
 inal passion ending in death. These stories will be told around the 
 tires o{' the shanties, with all the exaggerations with which time and 
 fancy have invested tliem. lor the French Canadian voyagcurs aud 
 luml>ermen have no mean inventive faculty and have a great love (or 
 the marvellous and the ghostly, which ofieii induces them to diverge 
 very considerably from the truth with Ihe view of produe' g a start- 
 ling effect upon their listeners. So superstitious are many of the 
 French Canadians that they will, under no eironmstanees. veuture 
 near these graves .- i'ter niLdit-l'ali, tiiou'ih I've seen lai'L'e nionev re- 
 
 «t'.-«»,:¥.JlMM.?!f»p 
 
»^«.-. -UttMiKIt^, 
 
 IM- 
 
 SlKWAllTS OrAUTKIU.y. 
 
 wiirds cH'cred to them if tlicy woiihl go i\uil remove some ol the moss 
 or bark. 1 ilo not kuow iliiit there was iiuy juirticuhir .siiijerstitioii 
 <'liiiging to the cross I am speaking of, or that Simonil was auy way 
 atleeted by the tears of his oomriules — ou tlie eoiitrary, I am sure tliat 
 he was not : and in referring to the voyagciir's grave now, I do so 
 simply beeanse it is connected witii a somewhat striking im-ident which 
 oeciirrcd a ii" weeks after Simond's return to the woods. 
 
 h was a utifnl Friday niglit, in tlie middk^ of May, the moon 
 was inst sliowing itself above the ))ine forests and lighting up their 
 <ombre tops, when Simond was walking slowly, with liis axe on his 
 shoidder, from the river to the camp. His (•omradcs had gone ahead 
 some time before, for he shunned the society of all ot' flieni, as I have 
 ltefor(> told you. He walked along slowly, with that fearful secret 
 •ever uppermost in his thoughts, and came at last to a spot where the 
 shortest way to the camp took the direction of the voyageur's grave. 
 Siniond walked up that i)ath nnconscicnisly, and soon came within 
 siiiht of the cross, around which the moon was siieddiuji a silvery 
 
 'leam. It was a siicht which mi";ht make the most reckk 
 
 spirit 
 
 silent and awe-struck, to see that peaceful symbol arising iu tlie moon- 
 light, and the solitude of the pines. As Simond stood still for an 
 instant, he fell an involuntary shudder i)ass over him, and at the same 
 moment hear.! what appeared to be a slow footstej) coming up the 
 j)ath. Some belated lumberman no doubt : and he passed on quickly, 
 l'or he had no wish I'or company in his frame ot mind. He made a 
 slight detour to avoid the cross, and then came out again upon the 
 path, where he stood and ttirned back to see if he could recogni/e the 
 person, whose steady footstep again struck, uiiou his car. Whoever it 
 was his figure was wrapped in the shades of the woods : but Simoud 
 waited thirty seconds perhaps until the person came into the open, 
 within a few steps of the voyageur's cross; and then, in the weird- 
 like moonlight Simond saw the face. Was it the mere phantasy of a 
 guilty conscience? There it was, the pale, white face of ("harles 
 3Iarstoii. as when he last saw it amid the snowy rajiids. Simoud 
 stood for a mo--"ut rooted to the earth beneath the shadow of the 
 l)incs, with the perspiration in drops upon his brow, and with fear and 
 trembling in all his limbs ; and then, with a mad shriek, ho rushed 
 wildly into the forest, thinking of naiiglit Init how he might save him- 
 self from the awful presence of the friend he had ln.traved. 
 
 V. — Tin; i{ES( I i;. 
 
 Xow I must break the tliread ot' my narrative for a few moments 
 and ask you to go l)ack with me to tluit same evening when Simoud 
 aud Marstou attempted to run the rapids, and the latter was left, as 
 his companion believed, to meet certain death amid the wild waters ol 
 the •• Snows." A little steamer, the Greyhound— so called, I suppose, 
 because she had some of the swiftness of her canine namesake— luul 
 been delayed on her trip up the lake, aud it was nearly dark when she 
 reached the '• Snows." The captain would not venture up at that late 
 hour, bat came to anchor under the shelter of one of the islands amid 
 
sTonir.> vi; iirarh .\m<<S(. iirr. i*im>. 
 
 85S 
 
 wliicli tlio waters were nisihlng witli sucli iini)etiiosi(y. During the 
 iii^^lil. which cleared up quite Hue us soou as tiic moou rose, several 
 jiersons ou hoard the (ireyhound were positive tiiat they heard a call 
 from tlie directiou of one of the isiauds, hut it was so iudistiuct and 
 died away as the wind culined. so that tlu- souud was believed at last 
 to he but the whistling amid the trees, or some break of the water 
 upon a rock. Early ue\t nioruina;, the (Ircyhouud Mas moved up the 
 rapids, and hardly had she puffed iind struggled a few yards, before 
 the man at the bow saw ii canoe bottom up. aud firudy wedged be- 
 tween two sharp rocks, around which the water whirled and sent up 
 its foam like spray. An accidenl iiad dearly occurred there some 
 time the day before, and .he men looked eagerly around to see if any 
 one iuul been thrown upon the rocks or islands, but it was not until 
 they had passed some distain^e further up that they saw a man, lying 
 ])rostrate on a ledge of rocks, which jutted out from one of the islets. 
 So far as tiiey could tell, he was dead, lor he i\iade no moxement to 
 rise when the little boat steamed noisily by : but they were uiuvble to 
 take him ort' luitil the (ireyiiound had arrived at the head of the rapids, 
 and then they sent a boat, in I'harge of four experiencetl rattsmen in 
 the hoj>e that the poor fellow might still be ali\i'. and with the objeci' 
 at all events of giving the body Christian burial. 
 
 Marstou. I'or you have of course gues.-<ed the boily was his. iiad 
 fainted from exhaitstion, hut when he revived under the restoratives 
 that were ai)plied, lie ga\i' the tollo^\ing accf>iuu nf the circumstances 
 of his escape : 
 
 '• It was not the sin-ay frmu the rajiids. nv even the , old that 1 felt most 
 wlule clinging to the rock on which 1 Iuul been tossed after the upsetting 
 of the canoe, and I had l)een carried by the ra))ids a few yards down the 
 stream: but it was that fearful blindness that unule my heart beat so. 
 fast. I knew ^\■hen the moon rose, for 1 could see a faint glimmer 
 amid the darkness that snri-ounded me ; but otherwise had it not been 
 for the splash of the water and the whistling ol the wind amid the 
 isiauds I could have thought that 1 Mas buried ali\o in my gra\c. 
 TIk! water, now and then, rushed upon my exposed body and drenched 
 me to the skin continually. 1 could feel that the water was rising 
 throughout the night, for wlien 1 first got upon the rock it had only 
 i)eeu up to my aiu'les. but gradually it ro.-^e iuijf way up to my knees, 
 and it was only by rubbing myself constantly that I could keep my 
 limbs from being paralyzed by tlie cold. Luckily for me the niglii. 
 uas not severe, for when the .-now siiuail passed away, it becanu' 
 i|uite mild; but the water — it was icy, icy cold I What wouhl I iu)r, 
 liaM' given for the use of my eyes for a few moments that 1 might get. 
 an idea of my situation. Morning came, ami with it the veil of dark- 
 ness covering me. gradually lifted, until 1 saw perfectly well by the 
 lime the sun was rising. Then, to my great joy, 1 found that the 
 rock to which I had been clinging tiiat weary, weary night was not 
 more than a do/.eu yards from a little rocky island, on which a lew 
 stunted trees were growing, and that it Mas (piite possible for me. if J 
 could muster up the strength, to reacli thi? spot. I felt vrry Aveak aiul 
 
 TJlJf,%hM'L,W^i! !! «S 
 
J-**tti»...J«*li»,«i<.J 
 
 ll 
 
 STKWAUT S QUAKXEHLY. 
 
 di/./.y tVoiu cxhtuislioii auil e.\i)OHmv,.iUKl my eyes were slill iulliimu<l 
 1111(1 swulloii, but 1 iiiailo up my iniuil ([iiickly to got to the -.'rcou ^ru:<s 
 uiiilor till! Irocs wlieri' I woiilil be warmcil by the .^mi, aiul Tree of tbe 
 cold waters. My le^s were still', and 1 could Iiardly move, but after a 
 few minutes I managed to stir fliciu and stepped into tlie water 
 wl'.icli I gui.'ssed. from the appearance of the current, was not deep 
 there ; but hardly had I ,-tepped on the shelvin;^' rock, wliich eMended 
 to the island as I supposed, when my limbs gave way, and tlu' iTi))id 
 current carried me dow:i the stream. What followed I cannot tell, 
 i'or I fainted ami did not come to my .seu.ses till I felt my.S(>lf being 
 curried into ihe lioal." 
 
 Marston remained in tiic steamer until it returned to the C'iiats on 
 the next day, when he was carried to the house of his bcthrothed, 
 whose grief cannot I»e describeil ; and there lie remained until he felt 
 iiimselt'sullicientiy recovered to venture again up the ri\er. llis ex- 
 ])osurc to llie icy waters of the rapid, at a lime when his sy.stem was 
 so M'cak, shook him fearfully, and he arose from the bed of sickness 
 very thin and })a!c, and it was not surprising that his foster-brother 
 should have -upixjsed him to be a spectre when he cann; up to the 
 Cross on the \nyageur"s gra\e, ou his way to tiu! (•amp from tlie river 
 where he and some others had just arrived with supplies. 
 
 Marston long concealed the story of the treachery whicli had so 
 nearly de>lroy(!d ids life on that eventful night, lie was always a 
 generous, forgiving fellow, and he made a resolve to say notiiing 
 about .Simoud, but to try and reclaim him for he Ijclieved the act had 
 beeu doue by a madman ; and indeed Simoud's conduct throiigout 
 that winl(!r had not beeu like that of one in the full posses.siou of his 
 senses. .Mary, lor a lime, was ilarslon's only coutidante, and slie 
 i)lteu reproached herself for having unwittingly excited such a revenge- 
 ful spirit in Simoud's passionate heart. 
 
 Simond was never seen by any of his old associates from the time 
 he tied in sucii terror into the woods; but about tifteeu years after- 
 wards, a i)riest at Red lvi\ er, wa.s called to the bed-side of a dying 
 iiuutcr who had come to the country a loujr while before and siatled 
 on the banks of the Assinuiboiue. He had been known as a bold, 
 reckless man, always hunting ou the jtruirie, or on ihe distant hills of 
 the Saskatchewan, and it was with surprise that the prie-st got his mes- 
 .sage. There, on his death-bed, amid \Vcsteru wilds, Simond told the 
 main facts of this .•^tol•y and died with the strong belief tiuit he hud 
 really seen ;Marst,)u's ghost. It was vain for the priest to reason with 
 him — to tell him thai it was probably the uuk image of a guilty con- 
 science. The priest knew uothing of the rescue of Marston and could 
 not give the poor wrtitch, the oidy a.ssurance thai would luive (piielod 
 llis dying moments. Three years afterwards 1 met the same priest at 
 3Ioatrcal, and when he heard that 1 came from tiie Upper Ottawa, he 
 a.sked me some questions which led to further (ionversatioii and to the 
 revelation of the manner of Simoud's death. 
 
 My story ends happily for uoue of the actors in it ; lor Simoiul lind 
 beeu after all the murderer of Marston in fact. Tliough the latter 
 
"TDKIU- Wr. in. AIM' AM'iNi; I UK l-IM'.!:. 
 
 ).) 
 
 Iiiul been siiveil tVom ininu'iliii.c d(Miii iu ilii- iry Snows, lii^ cim^iiui- 
 lioii roi;eivetl a slioi'k troiu wliifli It iicvor r(>(!Overoil, und lie ilieil -oiiie 
 fijflitcfii moiitlis iit'tcr lii^ c-caiic, Iciiv iiiu' M.iry a yoiuiji' wiilovv, witli 
 iiu only cliilil. 
 
 ••Tliat \\iis ii ('uriuiis iiicidi'i't in tlu' -inry. wlicn- .Miirstou livcauio 
 siuldculy so blind:" >ai(l tlu; writer, " I've i.i'iird of iiiglit-bliirhies.s. 
 Ijiit I Inivi' idways tlioii;,dit it was like sn'jw-l)liiidiiess." 
 
 "Oil, 110," replied tlie liiiuberiiiaii, ■' snow-bliudiiess nuly nnne- in 
 tlie day tinu', wlu'i'ea-: tbe otlioi', acrcn'diiii;' to those who know iinythiiiu; 
 about it. oidy arises as soon its ni^lit sets in and proceeds, from want 
 nl'lK.'sli loud an<l a di-ordered system." 
 
 Tin; MVSTHKY (iF HKKf 11 Nl'T FAKM. 
 
 I. — tin; I'.M.'M. 
 
 1 tliiid< that I eaii salely hazard the remark, bet'oro proreedinL' to 
 i( 11 ii)y >tory, said the Surveyor, al'lei" a short pause, whilst he laid 
 aside his pipe, that tew men, iii a new cimntry like this, hav(! l)eitcr 
 (ipport unities Inr observini:- the habits and pecidiaritios ol the rural 
 ]Mipulat!(jn than the Surveyors who are enuaued in layinn' out the 
 settlements. The pursuit ot their laboriiuis avocation neces^nvily 
 brings them into eontact with all ila-scs. and is not unrrc(pieiuly at- 
 leuded with eonsiderable dllli''"idly. arising from the ignorance and 
 obstinai-y of the settlers. I'armers will (piarrel about their division 
 lines, and if they do imt come to blows they arc sure, in nine cases 
 <iut of ten, to liiul their w ay into court and carry ou litigation I'or 
 months, and sometimes for yijars. wliicli is sure to end iu the ruin of 
 <jne of the parties at letist. A patient an<l good ten\))erei| Snr- 
 veyor may, in many cases. )ireveui a .i'reiit tletil of tronl)le in the 
 future by his tact, iu nuiiiaging the contending iJiirties, aii'l an crasible, 
 careless man will of course only add fuel t<» the llame. Srpiatters are 
 perhaps the. most troiiblesome class we have to deal with, tor many 
 of them are very ignorant and cannot under>tand why it is thai they 
 are disp(jsse,-sed ».if lands, which are left iu a wilderness state by the 
 owner. 1 remember, on one occasion, being waylaid by a tall, rough- 
 looking IcUow ol this class, who presented a ritle at me, with the sig- 
 nitioanl warning that if I did not very (piiekly leave his clearing 1 
 would receixe its commits ; but such cases an; of rare occurrence, ami 
 when they do arise there is generally law enough even in the new 
 settlements to dispose of them. 
 
 The prot'e-sion is also attended with many hardships of no itisignili- 
 caut (.'haracter when it is carried on in a rough country, where there 
 are necessarily few comforts to be had at any ])riee. Your Civil Hn- 
 gineer, iu the large towns and cities of the old and thickly populated 
 districts may pursue a rich and lucrative business, compared with the 
 humbler members of his profession like myselt', who have east their 
 lot iu the new .settlemeuts, where tfie work of civilizatiou is only iu it.s 
 infancy. The great part of the time is passed in the solitude of the 
 forest, tramping through almost impenetrable thickets or over danger- 
 ous swamps. His only home lor weeks maybe the rudely constructed 
 
250 
 
 STF.WART's QUAnTERtY. 
 
 camp, beucatli the shade of tall piucs or .soml)fc spruce. Vet tlio lil'o. 
 viulc a.s it is at times, has its cami)ciisating charms, for it is a life ol 
 freedom. With your frtui on your shoulder, your hatchet iu your bell, 
 and plenty of amnumition you can wander where you please wh".a you 
 are weary of yoin- companions and wisli for solitude, and enjoy natun- 
 in all its primeval beauty, without troubling yourself about your 
 wardrobe or the conventionalities of society, Oamc of all kinds is 
 always to be found in the new districts — tliough it is rapidly bccomin<: 
 scarce here ou account (/ the extensive hnuberinjr operations — and as 
 all of us are obliged to know something of Ihe art of Soyer, we an- 
 seldom without what would be considered dainties i?i the city. Wlieu 
 a party gather around the fire (which is necessary even in summer to 
 keep otf the flics) with our pipes, some one has generally a story li> 
 tell, drawn from his ])ersonal experience : and indeed when I look 
 Viack to the past thirty years. 1 am sorry that 1 am not a short-hand 
 writer, for the stories that I have lieard in caniji wouM eipnil in 
 interest many that I have read. 
 
 But your uneasy movements warn me tluit my preface is longer than 
 it should be, and that you are becoming impatient to hear the story 
 you have asked me, and I have made up my mind to tell to the best of 
 my ability which is not remarkable in '.his particular way. Fifteen 
 years ago, I was engaged in the Wes.ern country, laying off a ue\\ 
 road which was to run through some .settlements just opening up. ami 
 to give them easier communication with the principal villages, where 
 the farmers had their only markets. One evening I was obliged to 
 put uji at a small frame liouse. at the remote oiul of the settlement, in 
 conse(iueiicc of a heavy rain stomi whicli prevented me going on t(> 
 my usual lodgings three miles further. The only inmates of the 
 house were a man of some sixty years, an old woman, and a yonug 
 girl of very attractive appearance. 'I'lie old man gave a very chur- 
 lish re])ly to my request lor a nigiil's lodgings, somewhat to my sur- 
 prise, for the people, thereabouts, were always glad to see a stranger 
 who could tell them something of that busy world from which they 
 were so distant in that remote section. I paid little attention, bow - 
 ever, at the time to my host's al)rni)t manner, for I was only too nappy 
 to get under .•^belter. Perhaps I was more content with the fact tluii 
 the girl received me with a pleasant smile and asked me to take a seal 
 by the fire which looked and felt comfortable on that stormy Septem- 
 ber night, ^^■hile she prepared me some supper. The old farmer 
 seemed little disjioscd to enter into conversation with me before 1 had 
 partaken of the plain, tliough substantial repast which the two wonu'u 
 soon laid out for me on a snowy, home-made table-cloth ; but when I 
 resumed my seat and offered to .-sliare tlie contents of my tobacco 
 pouch, he "thawed" considerably, particularly when he found out the 
 uatnre of my occupation and that I was not such a suspicious charac- 
 ter as my dirt-stained, bedraggled* appearance would indicate when I 
 iirst spoke to him. The young girl also joined us in the conversation, 
 and I was surprised to find her voice and manner so much in harmony 
 with tiic pretty face. Iler dark, hazel eyes, shrouded liv deep lashes. 
 
STORIES WK IIKAIID AMONG THE PINES. 
 
 •2:>7 
 
 tiKi lili-. 
 
 a lii'o of 
 
 our belt . 
 
 li'-.a you 
 
 iintiirc 
 
 i\t yoiu- 
 
 i'uuh i> 
 
 ccomiiii; 
 
 -iiml as 
 
 wc lllc 
 
 WIllMl 
 
 lunier Id 
 .story In 
 
 I look 
 irt-liaiid 
 
 jiiiil ill 
 
 were full of softness, ami the wealth of her dark, brown hair would 
 be envied in these days of chignons and i)ads. ller complexion was 
 of a beautiful, clear olive tint, and her figure was lithe and graceful, 
 though little set off by the jioor cotton gown which she wore. Tiic 
 dress of all, indeed, was of the poorest kind — the coat of the old man 
 having been mended luitil it was a good deal like Joseph's garment, 
 so far as it was of many colours. The furniture, too, was of tin- 
 rudest kind, though everything was very neat and clean. The appa- 
 rent poverty of the surroundings seemed hardly in keej)ing with the 
 general appearance of tlic farm and its buildings ; while both the old 
 man and his daughter were decidedly sujierior in many ways to the 
 people I had met in thu» neighbourhood, (^ue docs not generally 
 wonder at such things in a new settlement ; but at all events these 
 were my first impressions, and they were strengthened by my subse- 
 (juent visits to the farm. 
 
 Next morning I took my departure at an early hour, but my l)usi- 
 iiess obliged me to call at the liou.«e more than once, and though tin- 
 old man never became more frieu«lly or confidential with me than he 
 had been on the first evtning of our accpiaintance, 1 was invariably 
 received most kindly by the female inmates. Now, I hope that you 
 do not imagine that you are al)out to hear a love passage in my own 
 life, for I see Miss Faiuiy smiling at my frcijuent references of Mary 
 Manning, f may as well say at tlio outset that my part in this story 
 is only that of a very inferior actor — perhaps not more than that of a 
 spectator at times. But Mary JNIanning had her admirers, as I soon 
 found out before I iiad made many vi.-its to tiie cottage. Witli one ol 
 her lovers, Henry (Jordon, a well-to-do farmer, who lived closer to the 
 village than Manning. I became well aciiuainted in the course of time, 
 and recognised his amiability and iionesty, which, to my mind, would 
 make him u good husband to any girl. On the score of property, too. 
 he would be suitable for Mary, as he was the only son of one of the 
 most respectable farmers in that section, who was a widower. Of the 
 other young man, ivobert Sutton. 1 knew little, and that was not in 
 iiis favour, lie owned a grist mill on a small stream in the \ iciuity. 
 and was a dark, morose man. who was by no means liked by his 
 neighbours. 
 
 Manning was for a long time a mystery to me aswcll as to his ac- 
 (|uaintances. No one seemed to know anything about his jmst history, 
 tor he had come from auother part of the country twelve years before : 
 but he was a good farmer, and iuid succeeded in making his farm, 
 which was partly cidtivated wlien he bought it. one of the very best 
 in tiui district. He was penurious in the extreme, and was believed 
 to have saved some money, though he was never known to speiul any 
 in the village, but always ))aid for anything he wanted in farm pro- 
 <luoc. His daughter was always very poorly clothed, and had more 
 than once confes.sed to her I'kw friends, my.welf among the number, that 
 she did not know what her father did with his money ; but neither slu^ 
 nor the other women ever made any remarks about their previous life. 
 When either was questioned on the subject, they replied that the old 
 
31 
 
 tS 
 
 STEWAUT's QUAiniMU.V. 
 
 luiiu (ilil not wif'li tliein to .say aiiytliiiiii uliout II. ll was, Iiuuivor, 
 whispiM-od i!iat tlii' iiiniHT Iiad lu.-t a large sum of money many 
 voai's before, l»y llie i'ailiii'e of a hank in llie jilace wliere la; had pre 
 
 vion.-lv lived ; l)Ul notliini.' positive was Unown on the suhjeet tor many 
 years, nnlil the e' cnts nt' wliieli 1 am about to speak happeni'd, and 
 slarlleil the whole eominuuity. lUit Ion;; lielore, he hud become known 
 anioni; tlie laiiners ns Mi>er Jlanniii^- ol' Ueeelmnl I'arm. 
 1 had not jiaid niany vi.-' 
 
 ■ ■ " ■ 1 that 
 
 I IlilU liwr IMini lllitll\ >l.'^ir-* M' lliv. iiwii.-<v. ti\,tui\i k nio» " ' • V 1 *. V* tut* 
 
 Henry ( lovdon was ilie fa\onrite lover of fair Mary ^Maunin-;-, and tha 
 slie was ready to lieeouu^ his wife whenever he asked her and obtained 
 the eunsiiil of her father, to whom .-he was always a very alVeetionati! 
 
 ^'itlon, howevei'. was jdwiiys j)resenl with his 
 
 i'(pudly a favonrile with the father. Indeed. 
 
 ihr old man's conlideuee, thongh with 
 
 ai' as I eonld Judge, lie would lake ev(!ry 
 
 with ^launini; about tin- farm, and nd'ercd 
 
 daughler. Robert 
 
 ri\al, and apjieareil 
 
 Sutton took every jiains to win 
 
 nn salislaetory residt so 
 
 <ippcM'tnnity ul' eonsulting - ,_ -, . 
 
 more than once in my own hejiriug to assi>t iiim in certain little jobs, 
 but ^Manning alway.s curtly refnsi'd his aid. On the whole. 1 saw 
 no reason to desjjairof the >uccessfnl issue of Portion's suit, when a 
 little cloud appeared on tlu! luiri/iiii niul lln'e.'iti'ued to blight all his 
 long elicrisiicd Impes and plans. 
 
 The elder (iorilon had bdUglil a tract ol' hind — (jai'lly wilderness, 
 parily cullisaled — ad/ioiniug the larm owned by Planning, and I was 
 called (in to liiy it out : and in doing so, I found thai I must cut oil' a 
 part, a \ .m'v con>idcrable part, of the land which was claimed and 
 aetiudly enclosed by the latter. On looking more closely into the 
 matler. it was <piite clear that (lordon's specilication.s w -re wrong, 
 anil 1 (udeaNonred to bring the iiarties to .imicable terms ; but both 
 were c(|nally iicad.-trong, and roortcd at last to the t-oiirls, whicji in 
 the coiu'se of lime decided, a,- 1 hail told (Jordiin nuist be the case, 
 in liehalf of ^lanniug. tiordon was e.Mremely irate, and. like most 
 obstinate "people when they liud llu.mseKcs in the wiong, vented his 
 wrath on all those -who happened to be netir him. lie told bis sou that 
 he would never leave him an acre of his property if he kept '•hanging 
 about the daughter of that (dd rascal, ^Mamiinf." 'J'he young man met 
 me iti the village on the \cry day that his father had used this 
 threat, and seeing his gloomy coiinienaiice, J (piestioned him and soon 
 found out the secret of his iroublc. 1 ad\ ised him to wait patiently, 
 with the hope that his father would eMutnally (.•nine to a better i'rame 
 of iniiul. 
 
 "I caiiiajt give n\) 3Iary," he .said. "If father does not yield 
 I niu,st leave himaial trv mv ibrtnne elsewhere, until I can iret euoiiirh 
 to start tis on a small farm ; but I Icar to go away when I think of 
 leaving 3Iary sid)ject to the i)er.--ecutious of Snllon." 
 
 "■ You need have no fear of JIary," I replied, in my an.\iety to 
 .soothe him, " she cares nothinj; for Siittou." 
 
 The worst is that I dare not even go near Mainiin'j:'s house ; I 
 
 or 
 
 he has forbade me darkening hi.-5 door^ after the insuh he received 
 from my father to-day." 
 
yi<ii!ii> \vi; iii;.\i;i> amdm. mi: I'ink 
 
 •.'.V.t 
 
 UOIIgll 
 
 ink d!' 
 
 It was Diiws to i)i>> l!iat tlio di'^initiuits — iis I sdoii a-'Ci-rtaiucil from 
 
 young (Jordon — Iiad, on tlie closi! of (ho irial. really conic to blows in 
 
 flu! tavern, and that ^fannin;.' Iiad refused • » listen to the son when 
 
 iUfcniptcd to make exensits for iiis father, and Inul warned liim 
 
 er to set his feet a^^aiu inside his doors. Ills position was certainly 
 
 oarrassinj^, and I did not very clearly see how 1 eoidd help him. 
 
 However, I promised to sec both the ol i men when I thoiij^jit they 
 had time to cool down, ami attempt to briii'i; about a frit-ndly un'ler- 
 standing ; but before I could carry out my intention I was called 
 away to a distant part of the ccuintry. 
 
 II. DKAK 1 NItl.l! liiK lii;ia'HF.>. 
 
 I was absent I'or a little over ihrci- weeks, and returned some time 
 in the middle of October. Some ten or twelve miles from the village 
 — 1 mention this circmnstance in eonneetiou with the events T am 
 about to relate — I passed a rough !'■ king laboui'iiig man. with a jtaok 
 on his back. As 1 bade him •• gooi. day," I -aw his fact:, over which 
 his hat was slouched, and it ap|)eared to me strangely familiar; but 
 ho went on, and I soon forgot all about him in the excitement of the 
 news ] heard at the villa.Lre an hour or two later. I ilo not snjipose 1 
 would then have thought anylhiug more ab(nit him. for F am accus- 
 tomed to emidoy a good many of his (dass in the course of my busi- 
 ness ; but what pnz/led iik^ was the fact that 1 coidd uot vocolloct his 
 name, though iiis face was known to me. His manner, loo, was a 
 little peculiar; for he pas>ed me ipiickly, ami did not seem disposed 
 to stop and talk, though I reined irj) my horse with that object. 
 
 It was a cold day for the time of the year, and well do I remember 
 now, thougii thirty years have i)a<sed, every trilling thing that hap- 
 pened on that occasion. I recollect thinking wluU a dreary appear- 
 aiu'e the muddy street of the village presented, with the trees already 
 denuded of their leaves, which lay about ail withered and sere. 
 
 •' Vou must be a reader oi' l*oc." interjioscd tiic writer, as the story- 
 teller paused for a moment. "Don't you recollect the lines? — 
 
 "The skies tliey were M^Iiiii atnl si)l)Or, 
 
 'IMie leaves thiv wcit cri«|nd lUiil ^erc— 
 The leaves tliey were willierc'. uiiil sere. 
 It was night in Idni'sonie October 
 Of my most iiniucniorial yriir." '' 
 
 No, couliuued tlu' surveyor, I never read the lines you recite. Hut 
 I must go on with my story. I was releri'ing to the gloomy appear- 
 ance of the village on that diill October day, as I rode slowly through 
 it. Few persons were moving on the prieipal, and in faitt only street ; 
 but as I drew near the inn where I was living, I saw a great many 
 people assembled about it — some standing in the road, others on the 
 doorsteps or on the little gallery that ran along the front. I wondered 
 at so much excitement ; but as soon as I rode up to the door I h.ad a 
 dozen persons around me, all equally anxious to tell me the news that 
 was HOW the absorbing topic in that generally (piict village. 
 
 A coroner's inquest had just close<I its etnpiiries into the manner of 
 
•2C0 
 
 STKWAUT's QCAnTERLt. 
 
 the (Icath of ohl John INIauning. whoso (loud body Iind Itccii found, oidy 
 tlic day before, in the woods, about a (juartcr of a mile I'rom bis own 
 doors. He luid been shot ihrongh the liuigs by a rifle, and llio mcdicul 
 man who had exjimined the body was of the opinion that death could 
 uot have been instantaneous, but tliat he had bled to death — an opinion 
 corroborated by tlie position in whicii liie body was found. But who 
 was the miu'derer? — and what was the motive that instigated the deed? 
 
 The evidence brought lorward at the iu<iuest pointed uumistnkably 
 to the elder (iordon. whose quarrel witii Manning was now too well 
 remembered. The old woman in the employ of the deceased stated 
 that her master, on the afternoon of the day he had been nuu'dered. 
 left for tiic woods with Iiis gun. saying that he would try and find 
 some partridges in llie birch gro\c which commenced about a quarter 
 of a mile ofl' and stretched for some distance to the rear of the farm. 
 He had hardly left the house when the elder Gordon came in and asked 
 for Manning, not a little to the surprise of the woman who was tin- 
 only person at tlie time in liie liouse, Mary having gone to the village 
 in the morning and was not expected to return until the next day. 
 Gordon oflercd no explanntion of his unexpected call, but .seemed very 
 restless, and soon left wIumi he found there was no prospect of the speedy 
 return of Manning. The old woman noticed that, instead of taking 
 the direct path to the main road he went otl' by the same path whicli 
 her master had taken, and which led past the birch grove and finally 
 came out close to the road, but as it was a short cut she thought 
 uothiug of it for the time. The woman then went into the house, and 
 whilst engaged about her work lieard tiie report of a gun about a 
 • luarter of an hour afterwards, in the direction of the birch grove. 
 This was all the evidence that the woman could give, but a mau, whi) 
 Avas on his way to the village testified tiiat he had seen (Jordon conu- 
 ((uickly out of the woods on IManuing's farm, just where the short cut 
 ended, and disappear up the main road, about ten minutes after the 
 report of the gnu which he had also heard, but thought notliiuL'^ about 
 it at the time as himting jjurtridges was then very common. 
 
 Gordou volunteered the explanation that since his (juarrel with 
 Manning he had thought nuich about it and began to regret that he 
 had acted so hastily. lie confessed that he might not liave made up 
 liis mind to renew his intercourse with his opponent, had it uot been 
 for the earnest persuasion of his son who had appeared \ery unha]>py 
 siucc the dilficnlty, and had more than once stated it to be his intention 
 to leave the farm and seek a living elsewhere unless his father agreed 
 to his marriage with Mary. Tiuit very moruiug his son came to him 
 and said that he liad finally made up his mind to go away in the course 
 of the next week, as he had a chance of getting employment in a large 
 .'lour-mill which was just commencing operations in the neighbouring 
 county. Gordon, who was known to act very much on impulse, then 
 resolved to bury his pride and approach Mannmg in a friendly spirit, for 
 he felt that he could uot allow liis only son to leave him, aud besides 
 he had always liked Mary above all the other girls in the neighbour- 
 hood. When he had once resolved on his course, he lost no time in 
 
■^TOIMKS WK HKARI) AMOXC I III: l'INl> 
 
 2f;) 
 
 start iii;^ to sec his ueitrlibour. Tlic woman, he said, had eorrcrtly 
 described his <'ondiiot ; but the reason of iiis rcstlessucss whs his 
 doubts as to the manner in which ^Iiiniiin!^ wnuhl receive his iViendly 
 lulvances. lie ackuowleged tliat lie felt almost glad when he found 
 that his meeting with his opponent was deferred over for a few hours, 
 forhisniiinl was fully made up to <'an again the next morning. lie, 
 had taken the patli through the woods, not with the hope of coming 
 across Manning, but simply becaiisc he had always gone that way, on 
 previous visits, as if shortened tin; distance to his own farm by at least 
 a quarter of a mile. To his surprise he did meet the old man close 
 to the lieeches, who received him very angrily, and in fact drove him 
 away with the hnrshest langunge. lie had only restrained himself 
 with great dilliculty Irom retaliating with equally strong language, 
 from tlie conviction that it would only increase the breach between 
 them, and still further defer that reconciliation which he uow so 
 anxiously wished, for his son's sake. lie had left tlie old man hur- 
 riedly — in fact, ran away from him for fear that his feelings might 
 overcome his priidcnce at the last ; and this fact would account for 
 the excited manner in which he !uid made his way Jiomeward. 
 These explanations were ])Iausible enf)iig1i, and were corroborated by 
 the son so far as they referred to the willingness of his father to make 
 friendly advances to ^Manning ; but they availed little on the opinion of 
 those who remembered his quarrel with the old man, and the threat 
 he had used, in the presence of a number of persons, that he would 
 "pay liim up some of those <lays." It was certainly mysterious that 
 the gun could not be found, but it was generally l)elicved that (lorilou, 
 in the sipuibble, succeeded in getting possession of the weapon 
 and instantly shooting Manning with it, and that he had then conceal- 
 ed it somewhere in the woods after he had committed the terrible 
 crime. Several instances of the elder (Jordou's passion, when he was 
 once aroused, now came up in array against him, rather than many 
 acts of generosity he had displayed when his neighbours had suffered 
 from short crops or family afllictions. Tnder all the circumstances, 
 the Jury had no alternative except to bring in a verdict which led to 
 the arrest of the elder ( rordou and his subsocjuent commitment for trial 
 by the Local Magistracy. 
 
 Acquainted as I was with all tlie parties, I took much interest in 
 this singular case from the outset. Whether Gordon was guilty or not, 
 I could not but deeply sympathize with the sou who seemed fated to 
 be so unhappy in his love. My impression, at first, Avas that (iordon . 
 had committed the deed under very strong i)rovocation, and that it was 
 ipiite possible that he had sought out his neighbour with the object of 
 '•oming to some friendly arrangement ; tor it was very improbable that 
 any one in his sober senses would have acted as he hiul done, had he 
 premeditated the crime. But when I had seen tin, accused in gaol 
 more than once, J came to the conclusion that if he were really guilty 
 then he must have a I'cmarkable command of language and demeanour, 
 for he did not show any of the signs of a man who had stained his 
 hands with the blood of a ueijjhbour. 
 
 • ^'^ww w w a wMiw w^jwi- 
 
■>t'>: 
 
 stkwaut's quarti.im.y, 
 III. — A ci.ri;. 
 
 TIr! imblic .-i.'iiliiiiciil nl' (nir lillln fiuuimiuily, il is tnu«, did not 
 jif.'rcc witli iiio ixK If) tlic iiiiKKTUCi" of (iordoii. Iml I did not on that 
 uccnnnt alter my o]iiiiion. for I knew too well lliiit j)nl)lic .sctitiniont i.> 
 Nometinios l)a.<i'd mi I'al:^!' pn'misef. >v1k'i: llioir pivjndices and pas- 
 sions all- oxi-iti'd. IV-rliajis T was aroused into heeoniing a wa.-mer 
 advocate ol' (iordon tlian I otlierwise wonid liave been, by the fact tliut 
 Robert Sutton was among tlie hmdcst in dcuoiincing liim as the guilty 
 inau 1 had never liked Sntton and did not wish him to win Mary 
 away Irom his rival wiio. wiialever his I'atiier mi^iit be, was in every 
 way'the best litted to make her a good husband. 
 
 Then one day as I wa- riding slowly nji the road, to a spot where 
 the men were employed digging a drain, the thonglit darted across my 
 mind — ol a strange, sn>pi('io\is looking I'ellow I saw on the very morn- 
 ing of the iu(iuest. At last. I remembered where J had seen him — il 
 Ava.? on Maiming's farm at harvest time. 
 
 I ira\e some liasty directions to the men ami went on immediately 
 to Beechnut l'"arm wliere 1 i|uestioned the (dd wonum with respect to 
 this man : and she ivcogni/ed him immediattdy Irom my descrijjtion. 
 He had been employed about the farm at the busiest time and received 
 his discharge j)revions to her muster's death. Jlc was a surly sort of 
 fellow, she saiil. and not a bit too honest, for she had jnisse<l several 
 things .-ince he Inid left. She had forgotten all about him, and never 
 mentioned him at the Imincst, simply becaii.sc no one asked her; but 
 she did not believe be killed her nnister, for lie had left at least a duv 
 before. 1 began to entertain a different opinion, however, and lost no 
 lime in setting the authorities on the alert to bring him back. When 
 I had doui' this, I felt easier in my mind. 
 
 I saw i\Iary a few days after her father's burial, which was largely 
 attended by peo])Ie from far and near — so intense was the interest 
 created by the case — and despite her great grief I was ania/.ed and not 
 di?plca.*cd to tiud her make the first reference to the accusation under 
 whicli the fnther of her lover was now lying in the village jail. 
 
 '• Nothing." she said sobbingly, '-can make me believe that poor 
 Harry's father could ever have murdereil my dear, unhap[>y oulv 
 parent. The Almighty will bring the murderer to light, I feel as 
 sure as J see you now before me. " 
 
 IMary was likely to be well provided for, as the farm was large; and 
 in cai)ital order. Curious to say, however, no will was to be I'oiind, 
 though both the women were nnder the belief that he had made one 
 some months ])rcviously. Neither could any money be found any- 
 w here about the house. Mary .said her father must have saved con- 
 siderable, for he had always been penurious in the extreme since lie 
 liad come into that part of the country. The shop-keepers with whom 
 lie did his business statcil that at one time or other they had paid him 
 n good many dollars for his grain and other produce ; but they did not 
 know any more than the members of hi.? own household what he had 
 been in the habit of doing with it. 
 
 th( 
 su 
 wl 
 M 
 
 so 
 oil 
 
 \n\ 
 
 cii 
 lit 
 I 
 
 11 
 
 .si I 
 
STOlMI-i \VK IIIAIil" AM<>\(, I 1 1 1'. VINO. 
 
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 lerc 
 
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 loni- 
 
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 Wliilsl We wore >till piizzliii;:- niir liemU aluMil tlii" compliciiti'il ciim'. 
 tlio will was (lisco\'crc(I in llic Imiids of tiio hi*^t person we would liavc 
 siispectcil of lia\ iiii; it. and tiial- was tin- Episcopalian clcrirynian, o|' 
 wlinsc cliurcli tlic doccasod had jjccn only a iitfnl visitant. 'I'lu' IJex . 
 i\Ir. Everett was alisent, when tlie Irajredy oecnrred. on a visit to liis 
 son in a distant pail ol' tlie I'onntry Iiorderinj; on liake ( )nlaii() : ImiI 
 as soon as he retiti'iieil, nbont a rortiii;;lit hotfire ilie trial, lie ipiietcd 
 oiir apprelieiisions with res]iect to liie will. 
 
 " I'oor i\[anninir," said the I'eetor. •■ I'm s(MTy to say was not a 
 ]ifofessed christian, lint I had had in(Mi' than one convisrsation w ilh 
 liim on fcligioMs snhjects and was hopcfnl of winnin'_' him to tluj 
 chiircli at last. Fii his daughter, who was a h"0(|neiit attendant in onr 
 little chnrch, \vhich, nnlortunatidy for hei", was distant from her home. 
 I ielt a deep interest and made my wife invite Ikm' to our hon.x- 
 tlinii;:li she had oidy Iiei-n alile to accept the invitation on one occa- 
 sion, and that only lor a part of the day. Nearly six months ajro 
 — yon .sec the exact date on the ontsidc of the packaire with my 
 initials — I was surprised liy a visit from the old nam who Itronuht me 
 this bnndle with the rei|Mest that I \vonld promise to take char^ie of 
 it in case oj' his smlden death at any moment, for ho .said that it con- 
 tained his will and that he did not always f'e(d i\s w<dl as lie did a year 
 or two lielore. I asked him why it was that he did not leave it in the 
 hands of some hiwyer. ''iit he replieil that he had more confidence in 
 mo as a Minister of tlio ( looped. After some little hesitation. I ac- 
 cepted the trnst on the coinlilion that he would soon come and hiivi- 
 some serious talk with nn", and he promised and even requested me to 
 call iind see himself and daughter occasionally. 1 calletl two or thri'e 
 times, bat lie was alway.s out. and I have never seen him from the 
 day li(^ placed tliis will in my hands,' 
 
 AVhen the will was opened and read, the contents were such as to 
 .-nrroimd the trti^rcdy with still deeper cloments of interest. The |)nli- 
 lic, for once, had not been wrcnij: when it suspected that Maiuiin.ii' 
 j)osscssed considerable money for a nuin in his rank of life. It 
 appcar(Ml that he hiul lost a laru:e sum of money by the rascality of 
 his own brother who was employed in some Western bank, and this 
 had so preyed on his mit\d tlnit he >vas obliged to leave his home and 
 seek a new one. Then ho formed the resolve never to trust any living 
 man Avith his savings, which, in the course of time. amoiciKid to 
 several hnndrod pounds, including a small sum left over after the pur- 
 chase of his new farm. 
 
 lint where was the nKJuey all tiii-^ wiiile'r A natural iinostiou. and 
 I will not provoke ytmr curiosity much fiu'tlier. lie had exbaustcil 
 his ingouuity to devise what lie coii.-)idcreil M-ould be the most effec- 
 tual moiiiiR of concealing its Avhereabouts from curious eyes. In 
 fact, the loss of his money, many years previously, appears to iiavo 
 developed a sort of monomiinia for secreting hi.s .savings. lie had 
 given the Mill, safely sealed, into the cu.stody of the only man in whom 
 lie had anytbing like confidence, but even tliat coutidcnco appears to 
 
 "'""vmrnmevf^g^ 
 
264 
 
 stewaut's quarterlt. 
 
 have becu only partial ; for the will did not reveal the place of con- 
 cealment, hnt simply inJicuted a place where there was) a paper which 
 gave the necessary due. After .some search, this paper was found in 
 u little drawer to which nobody ever had access except himself, and 
 which would have been uiiintclli;iible to any except those who first 
 saw the will. On tiiis slip of paper were simjjly the words : 
 
 •• The liiu rock — old cli'iirins; 
 N. E. M(le." 
 
 We had little ditVicuUy now in liiidinj^ the spot, but you may in>agino 
 our perplexity and astonishment when we could see no sij^n of the 
 money. At lirst we thought that we miiiht have mistaken the direc- 
 tions, but a lilllc patient investigation showed that we were ([uitc 
 right, and tliat ,«ome one had been there before us or else Manning 
 had secreted the money elsewiiere after he had written the will. But 
 it .seemed most probable that the money had been stolen ; and if that 
 were tlie case, who was the robber. Whoever it was, he was most 
 likely the murderer. The w hole matter gave ns plenty to think al)out ; 
 but whatever the others thougiit, I could not believe that (iordon would 
 have murdered the old man for his money. 
 
 My own suspicions were still turned to the surly fellow I had met 
 on the ro.id, and who could have easily followed the old man, and dis- 
 covered the hiding place, whilst he was employed about the farm. 
 When he had been ilischarged he might have lurked in the woods and 
 and then came upon the old nuin whilst secreting the money, and shot 
 Iiiiu in the tus.«el that probably ensued when Planning saw iiim. The 
 (•onstable, with whom I had talked a great deal about the whole case, 
 agreed with me that it was very important that we should catcii this 
 suspicious fellow ; but so far no news of him had come from the 
 dilferent places where the authorities had been put on the alert to 
 arrest him. I was much worried at our want of success in this par- 
 ticular; but I buoyed myself up with the hope that he might turn up 
 at the last moment, ami that in any event Gordoi's counsel might 
 strengthen iiis case l)y bringing uut the facts concerning the missing 
 individual. 
 
 The tirst day of the Assizes arrived whilst we were still in the dark, 
 f.'ourt week is always a bu.sy time in the towns and villages of the 
 country, and only yields in excitement to election time ; but never in 
 the history of our little village — a history, it is true, not extending 
 beyond twenty years — had the " oldest inhabitant " seen such a throng 
 as assembled to hear the trial which had been for weeks the absorbing 
 topic at every lireside. Tlie best counsel had been engaged for Gor- 
 don, and he was (piite confident the jury would hardly convict on such 
 purely circumstantial evidence ; but 1 had my fears of the result for the 
 Queen's counsel was a very able and popular lawyer, never allowing any 
 personal feelings to interfere witii what he considered his duty. The 
 (iraud Jury were called together in due form, and lost no time in bring- 
 ing in a true bill against Gordon, and the trial was put down for the 
 next day. That same evening — I moan of the day before the trial — I 
 
 conl 
 
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 conf 
 
 doll 
 
 vcrl 
 
 mol 
 
 litlf 
 
 or 
 
 bell 
 
 yoil 
 
 iirs 
 
 bo( 
 
 of 
 
ST«mlKS Wi; HKAKI) AMONti THE PINKS. 
 
 S65 
 
 was seated siiifikiiig in my vooju, and thinking;; over llio approaclihig 
 trial, wlieu I was ilistiirbcil by tlic ciitraii(;e of tliu eouHtahlc I liavo 
 before iiieiitionetl. Had bo at last received some now.') of tbo straiijior? 
 
 IV. A STKAMiK ItKVKI.ATlON. 
 
 iiiMigfno 
 ol' the 
 direc- 
 <|iiitc 
 aiinii);Lf 
 Hut 
 if tliat 
 most 
 al>oiit ; 
 1 would 
 
 " I liuve found sometbiu}? wbieli pn/./.les me wonderfully," said the 
 constable as be wiped bis forebeail, wbicli was wet witli perspira- 
 tion ; '"and as I know bow niiicb interest yuu take in the matter, I'vo 
 eome to talk it over before I've seen liie Sberid. I've always bad my 
 doubts, you know, about (!ordon bein;^ the murderer, and bave i)een 
 very anxious to put my band on that su<i)i('ious fellow you saw Ibat 
 moruinp; on tbc road. I bave bunted everywbere for tbe gim, but to 
 little purpose ; and I'vo no doubt tbat tbe murderer was a yreen band, 
 or be woidd bavo left tbe weapon by tbo old man's side to make folks 
 believe be bad shot bimsclf. IJut tbat's not wbat I want to talk to 
 you about at tbis late hour. I batl a talk yesterday witb tbe men who 
 first found Planning, and (|ncstioned tbeni a;.?ain alfout tbo way tbo 
 body was lying and tben T learned '.bat wben it was lifted up, a pieco 
 of bark dropped out of bis hand. 1 asked whether they had picked it 
 up. They said that they had kicked it aside. • I s'pose,' said one of 
 fbeiu, * that be miist bavo fallen against tbc tree close by and grasped 
 some of tbo bark, wbicb 's all loosely curled about it, in his dying 
 throes.' I guessed tbe speaker was rigiit, but somehow this little cir- 
 ctimstauco kept tossing about my head all night, and once I woko np 
 with a start, for I dreampt that old Manning was standing by my bed. 
 Well, tbis morning, I got up at daylight, and poked about tbo rubbish 
 in tbo woods, but I found nothing. This afternoon, when the court 
 rose, 1 bad au hour or two to spare, and so 1 went off again to tbe 
 same spot, and bunted about till my back ached just as it does with 
 the lumbago sometimes in winter ; but at last, when T was thinking 
 I'd come on a fool's errand, I stumbled upon a piece of birch bark, 
 not a dozen paces from the spot where tbe body was discovered, bid- 
 <leu by the branches of a small spruce tree. See, here it is, can yoti 
 make anything out of it? I'vo puzzled over it and am afraid to tell 
 you wbat I think." 
 
 Were wc on tbc brink of some fearful discovery':' Was tbo veil of 
 mystery to be at last lifted from this tragedy? 
 
 It was only a scrap of soft, white bark of the canoe birch, a little 
 soiled with blood, but otherwise uninjured from tlie fact that it bad 
 been under the spruce. 
 
 '• See those scratches," said tbo constable, as be laid it flat on the 
 table, " don't they look like writing to you ?" 
 
 True enough, I could decipher some irregularly formed letters, as if 
 scratched with the point of a knife or sharp stone. We sat down 
 together and patiently worked to unravel the mystery, if it were any. 
 Some letters were liardly decipherable in places, and others entirely 
 defaced by clots of blood. Here a letter would bo deeply scratched 
 and it3 jagged edges would show that the instrument was a sharp 
 
^cc, 
 
 STEWAKT S QUARTF.RLT. 
 
 stuiio : iiiil ;i little tiirtlior on. tlic writing would be fainter. a« if tiic 
 linp;(M's tiiilcil, from want of strongtli, to perform tlic task. 
 
 I''or two lioiirs and more wc poicd over this me.s.'^agc from liie dead, 
 and at lasst wc were able, witli the assistance of a microscope whicii 1 
 liad anioiiL! my surveying instruments, to make out these letters: 
 
 Mind r 
 
 I)V KolllT 
 
 (I 
 Silt 
 
 We looked at each other silently, when we had made this astounding 
 discovery. Each of us could easily supply the few letters that were 
 defaced in this extraordini'.ry manuscript, and no tijne was to be lost 
 in following out the clue and arresting the murderer. In our minds 
 there Avas not the shadow of a doubt that Ave had got ou the right 
 track at last. We had both seen Sutton that day in the village, but 
 not to sjieak to Iiim, and the constable had noticed him driving of!' 
 homeward about dusk. AVe went immediately to the Sheriff, who 
 lived only a few houses distant from the inn, and told him of the re- 
 markable revelation. At first I think he was inclined to laugh at us, 
 but we scon made the messiige as intelligible to him as it had been to 
 us : and th'ni. he put a revolver in his pocket and told us to wait for 
 a few minutes whilst he ordered his buggy to be got ready. 
 
 It was pa^t el(>veu o'clock mIicu we ilrove off to Sutton's place, 
 which was only two miles from the village, and the night was exceed- 
 ingly dark and rain was threatening, but the road was good and rpiite 
 hard at that season, and it 'Md not take us more than twenty minutes 
 to rea<'h the turn in the highway where we had decided to stop. We 
 got out of the buggy and tied the horse to a tree a I'aw feet from the; 
 road a 1 then made for the mill, from which we could see the glim- 
 mer of light. 
 
 The Ui was some fifty paces oil' the road, at the edge of a small 
 stream wi 'h afforded the necessary water power. Sutton had no 
 relatives in that jiart of the country, and the only inmate of the house 
 besides himself was an old woman In- had hired in the village. We 
 board no sound whatever about the preniises, except the sjilash of the 
 water from the mill sluice ; and the oidy sign of life was the solitary 
 light burning in au upper room Avhich we supposed to be Sutton's. 
 The constable proposed to reconnoitre and clindjed a tree which grew 
 up against the side of the mill, and o\erlooked the I'oom, 
 
 " We're just in time," he said hurriedly, when he got down and re- 
 joined us. " he's i)acking up his clothes in a big leather valise — about 
 fo cut the country, ! guess. What's best to be done?" 
 
 '•Wait till he comes out." replied the Sheriff, laconically, as he 
 took f)Ut his revolver and ti'ied it: "there's only one door and as lie 
 cannot suspect anything at present, he will not escape us." 
 
 Twenty minutes went by. though they .seemed fo me the longest 
 hour I had ever passed in my life ; but at last we were rewarded by 
 hearing him step down stairs and show himself at the door, with a 
 lantern in his hand. In an instant he was hand-cuffed and a prisoner. 
 So surprised was he that he dropped the lantern instantaneously and 
 
>i(inir.-i \vi; iii.Aiin .\Mox(. Ttir. imni>. 
 
 2(;7 
 
 juatle 111) altcmjil lo resist Imt stood like one iiavaly/i'il wlit-u ho lioard 
 the SluM-itVsay: 
 
 " It's 1)0 Urtc tniug lo iT>i.--l, Sutton, it's all up with you." 
 '* Wliiit's the nieaniu^' oi' all this?" he said at length, vheu lie had 
 somcwliut recovered himself. 
 
 " You'll know soon euough." replied the SherilV. 
 liCaving the constahle to watch the prisoner, we went into the house, 
 and ascended to the room where we had seen the light hnruing, .lud 
 there we f'ouiul tluit he luul cverythiug packed up f'-^r leaving the mill. 
 !n a portmauteau, we found an old leat!ier hag all ,^.1cd by the dainji 
 and age, and coutaiiiiug a (piantity of gold coins, sovereigns, douh- 
 loous and eagles — all the horde which the unhappy miser had been 
 accumulating for years. 
 
 Snttou never said a word from the time wo drove oil' from the mill 
 until Ave handed him over lo the custody of the gaoler. 'I'lien, when 
 he lieard how he had been snsjiected, he shuddered, and burying his 
 head in his hands, remaiued silent and depressed for liours. 
 " AVas he hanged?" asked the lumberman. 
 
 No, he cheated the gallows after all. Before the crown ollicers 
 could bring on his trial, he was found dead in his cell ; for the morn- 
 ing after his capture he was taken by a series of fits, and died at last, 
 from disease of the heart, according to the attending phy.-ician. N(> 
 doubt, the excitement had overcome him and hastened a disease which 
 had more than once laid him up tor weeks, liefore he died he left a 
 confession behind him, which explained many circumstances which 
 may not seem very clear to you. lie had suspected, like many others, 
 that Planning had considerable money hid away, and his fre<|uenl 
 visits to the cottage were not so much to see IMary — for he soon dis- 
 covered .she liad no liking for him — as to try and obtain some clue to 
 the hiding place of the treasure. His business was not very profit able 
 and the mill Avas alreatly luortgaged to its full value, and he wantcvl 
 lo get away from that settlement and live in some large city. Tlie 
 idea of killing the old man never entered his mind, though he had no 
 licsitaliou in rolibini'' him of anv monev he might have. In the course 
 of lime lu.^ had noticed that Manning matle many visits to a par- 
 ticular part of the fariu, and had commenced a regular .system ol 
 espionage, which was at Inst rewarded by discovering that a large 
 rock, in a [-articular clearing, was the place where he generally 
 brought up whenever he hail been to iIk- village and sold anytliin:;. 
 The day j)revious to the uun"<ler. he had maile up his mind to rob the 
 old man, now that he was certain he had discovered the right place 
 iVccordingly the next day he commenced liis search, and was not long 
 in discovering the bag of coin, in a deep lude between a tree and the 
 rock. lie had not more than left the rock, when he heard footsteps 
 behind him, and was brought to a stand by Manning himself, who ac- 
 cused liim of th(( rolibery and threatt'Ued to shoot him mdess he ga\t' 
 up the money. Sutton threw the bag at his feet, and at that ,-ame 
 moment the old man, uho was trembling with excitement, stumbled 
 forward over a broken stump and let the gun tall out of hi- hand. 
 
 ■■«i'iwo.?t. 
 
IWIimUHJl.. PIU«..4lJW ,UHJlMii 
 
 268 
 
 STEWARTS QCAKTERLT. 
 
 Ii i : 
 
 Thcu Sutton seized the gun .and poured its contents into Mnnniug's 
 prostrate body. •' I was disgraced forever," said Suttou, " if that 
 in.in went out alive from the woods ; I liad gone for the moucy and 
 was determined to have it. I did not Avish to take his life, but when 
 [ saw my chance, some demon whispered to me to shoot him. When 
 I had lired, I was horror-struck, for all the consequences of my crime 
 came up in an instant before me. I seized the bag of gold that had 
 cost me so dearly, and fled into the forest, entirely unconscious that I 
 Iiad still kept the gun on my shoulder ; but when I discovered my 
 mistak'i, I was some distance from the spot and was afraid to return. 
 I cursed my folly in not having so arranged the gun as to create the 
 belief that the old man had accidentally sliot himself Then I hid it 
 uway in a deep ravine, under the rocks, at least a half a mile from the 
 place where the old man lay. When I heard that Gordon was taken 
 up, I knew that I was safe ; all that I cared for then was to save my- 
 self; what did 1 care if an innocent man were hanged. I dared not, 
 however, leave the country then, for fear it might draw suspicion on 
 me, so I waited until the trial was to commence. I had disposed of 
 my mill to the mortgagee, and was on the point of leaving in my 
 buggy when the SherifT seized me. Then I knew that the avenger 
 had followed me, and that I must die." Sutton also added in his con- 
 fession that he had been much perplexed by the fact that the body 
 was discovered some hundred yards distant from the spot where he 
 had fired the fatal shot. The evidence of the medical man together 
 with the position of the body, all went to show that Manning must 
 have lived for some hours after he was mortally wounded. He had 
 probably tried to crawl towards home, but his strength had gradually 
 ebbed away, and then he had scratched that message which had 
 brought the guilty to account and saved the life of an innocent man. 
 My story is now ended, for all that remains for me to say is that 
 young Gordon married Mai-y 3Ianning, some months after the terrible 
 occurrence which, for a time, overshadowed their young lives. The 
 old farm, however, was sold, as Mary could not bear to live on a place 
 fraught with sucii «ad memories. 
 
 \ : 
 
 THE THREE AGES. 
 
 TJFK AGE OF SPECULATION, 1000, A. I).- 
 mSE OF BACOX. 
 
 -1.".00. A. D. 
 
 By PHoirESsoR Cameron, Kingston, Ontario. 
 
 {Second Paper.) 
 
 AVc have seen in what a sad condition the world was at the close of the 
 last period, how fearful of the gloomy prospect that secured awaiting 
 it. how the innumerable channels of activity were frozen over, and how 
 
 mmm