in vast squadrons. There had lately been,
Phillis said, three more men employed on the
farm at wages: one Irishman a nephew of
Terence, and two "coloured gentlemen," but
these had all been tempted away to work at a
cooperage where the people were busy, day and
night, in making vats, kegs, and casks, to catch
the oil which would otherwise be wasted. Much
labour had been withdrawn from tillage, I
learned, for the same purpose, and in many
places the crops were neglected, that the mineral
treasures of the earth might be garnered
up. Of the crude oil I saw enough, and
smelt enough, to satiate an amateur for life,
during the weeks I spent at Sparta. Although
there were only two flowing wells in the
parish, there were plenty of pump wells, where
machinery more or less rude, from the chain
of hand buckets to the small steam gin or
Ericsson engine, were in almost constant
employment. The streams had a film of oil on
their surface, the carts dripped oil, the talk
of the whole neighbourhood was saturated with
oil.

But the two who profited most by this sudden
outpouring of an oleaginous cornucopia were
Deacon Boone and another farmer, with whom
the deacon was on bad terms. This was Elder
Hiram Rutherford, a middle-aged man, whose
land at Wyandot Creek adjoined the Mallory
property. He possessed the other flowing
well: a still finer one than Mr. Boone's: and it
was a sore alloy to Mr. Boone's triumph to know
that the person he hated was getting rich at
least as rapidly as he himself was. It matters
little why these two men were foes. They had
thwarted each other, I believe, about some
affairs of bargain and sale; and since then, in
church assemblies, sheriffs' courts, market, or
merry-making, they never met but to bicker
and oppose each other. Elder Hiram was a
gaunt lean old sinner, with white hair, a
leering bloodshot eye, and a wrinkled face,
replete with cunning; whereas old Boone had
a vacuous face, that expressed little beyond
conceit and love of pelf. Mrs. Boone, whose
acquaintance I also made, was a flighty silly
woman, much over-dressed, and already looking
forward to the time when her husband's
wealth should buy her a place among the Upper
Ten Thousand.

But in Susan, whom I had fancied a cold
coquette, I found to my surprise a very charming
girl, extremely pretty, gentle, and sweet-tempered;
rather too much so, indeed, since she
had been half-persuaded it was her duty to give
up Joe. But she loved him still, and she
detested Mr. Tapper, whose visits and attentions
received every sanction and encouragement
from her parents. It appeared that the wily
young lawyer had found out the weakness of
the old folks, and was dazzling them with
pictures of New York grandeurs, and of the lofty
position which his New York connexions
would ensure to the Boone family. And at
last old Boone actually found courage to
tell Joe Mallory that he must give Susan
up, unless, in a month's time, he could show
that he had the means to "keep her as a
lady."

Poor Joe was willing and able to keep her as
became a farmer's wife and a farmer's daughter,
and he did not ask for a cent of dowry; but the
old man was inexorable, and gave Joe plainly
to understand that he intended looking
elsewhere for a son-in-law. It needed no conjuror
to discover where the deacon intended to look.
Mr. P. C. Tapper came over, at least twice a
week, from Lanesville, driving his own tandem,
and attended by a black groom in a sky-blue coat:
that being the nearest permissible republican
approach to livery. My young host was in despair,
and but that Miss Esther and I seriously took the
alarm, and used all our efforts to keep him and
the legal dandy apart, I have no doubt that
mischief would have ensued. In this time of
trouble, Susan's conduct puzzled us all. She
was sincerely attached to Joe, for her eyes
brightened and her cheek flushed when they
met, and she was evidently unfascinated by
the Lanesville lawyer; but she seemed a
mere puppet in her parents' hands. The
probable explanation is, that she was too
young, plastic, and docile, to offer any decided
opposition to the ambitious projects of the old
folks.

Joe did not resign himself to useless and
idle murmuring at his fate. At my suggestion
he availed himself of the services of Barney
Leech, the old well-sinker, whose income had
been greatly increased by the petroleum
discoveries, and he made a bold push to find oil upon
his land, which, as I have mentioned, was next to
that of Elder Hiram. And very tantalising it was
to see the thick jet of rock oil spirting from the
soil at Wyandot Creek, hard by; to see men
ladling it up with tubs and crocks, coopering it
up in casks, stowing it in jars, old bottles,
empty "breakers" of spirits, anything, and yet
allowing hundreds of gallons to run to waste
over the creek waters; while not a drop could
Joe Mallory find.

"Sorry for it, for your sake, Mr. Mallory,"
said the old well-digger, when the excavation
had been made, and deepened, and deepened, all
in vain. "Sorry for it, but it would be robbing
your pocket, I guess, to go on. A'ready you've
spent dollars enough on the grope, and its plain
you'll get no ile: not if you dig through the
world, mister."

This was sad news for poor Joe, who had been
informed that morning by Deacon Boone that the
day of grace was nearly spent, that Susan and
he had best forget one another, and that from
Monday next his visits at the Boones' house
must cease.

I could give the poor fellow no comfort.
Indeed, I had been compelled to endorse the verdict
of the experienced old well-digger, that the
search was hopeless; and my opinion, as that of
a professional engineer, had great weight with
Joe. I have not previously mentioned my errand
in Ohio, which was connected with this very oil.
My business was, to conclude a contract between