than he could have been in a log-house at the
next opening. He had sundry adventures in
his forest solitude. He cleared his land, leaving
a knoll for his house, and he left some grand old
forest trees in the places where he would have
set them had not nature forestalled his labour of
love. Trees to most of the settlers were only
enemies, to be got rid of. They spared none
but the maples, for sugar. Paul left groves of
young trees, though it cost him much care in
burning. Others turned the growth of ages,
and which none can recal to shade the naked
laud, into ashes, and then into salts, and then
into money. Paul had his time of making salts,
a time of tiresome and profitable interest, but
his beautiful home at this day is embellished with
a glory of trees.

One Sunday morning Paul was getting ready
to go to church at Woodville—notwithstanding
the common property in the curls and other
treasures, he felt more as if he had them when he
saw them in church—this morning he made a
kettle of maize meal mush for his breakfast, and
set it out of doors to cool, while he shaved, for no
one was hirsute in those days who was within
hailing distance of civilisation. Presently he heard
a series of horrid grunts, and, looking out, he saw
a bear who had put his head into the kettle of
mush without leave, and who was caught by
the bail falling over the back of his ears; the bail
having been accidentally left upright. As Bruin
was trapped, Paul split his head with his axe,
and had enough to do that day to dress the
carcase. No doubt Emily was disappointed in
not seeing him at church, and Paul was
disappointed in having plenty of bear's grease, a
barrel of salted meat for winter, and a grand
bear-skin for his bed.

Day after day our hero went on felling trees,
burning them to ashes, and then, with a leach
tub made of a hollow log, he leached his ashes,
and he boiled away the ley in a huge cast-iron
caldron kettle, and made salts. Salts are
always silver to the settler. The land is
cleared of trees, when this money is earned, and
gold comes of the rich cleared lands of this part
of Canada.

He built a house of hewn logs, and the
neighbours helped him to roll it up, when the
time came, and then he put a neat paling
around a goodly space for a garden, with the
house in the centre. His fence, the first of the
kind in that region, was made by driving
sharpened poles into the ground. Next spring
he planted scarlet runners, and his fence
became highly ornamental when it was festooned
all over with vines in bloom.

He planted currant-bushes, and strawberries,
plum-trees, and even rose-bushes, among the
great black stumps. He went on for a year
improving his farm, and dreaming of an Emily for
his Eve, all that time, without saying a word to
the young lady. He had seen her at church,
and he had called at her home, but he had never
found opportunity to speak of his love or his
hope. At last, with his cage built, he determined
to try to catch his bird. One bright
morning he found himself in Woodville, and not
alone, for the people were all smartly dressed,
and out in the street. Paul asked a lad where
the people were going, and he said, "To the
wedding, be sure."

"Where?"

"At Mr. Joe Joneses."

Paul gasped out, "Which of the girls is
going to be married ?"

"Why, the prettiest one, be sure." The boy
starting to run lest he should miss the show.

Paul sank down on a rock by the wayside.
What cared he now for his pretty hewn log-
house, with real glass windows, twelve seven by
nine panes in each. What cared he for pole
paling, scarlet runners, rose-bushes, and fruit,
and great trees, and groves of trees, and sugar
orchard? His Eve was lost to him. The bears
might eat him, instead of the hasty pudding, if
it pleased their appetite to do so.

He sat still in his misery, till the thought
struck him that he ought to go on and wish the
happy couple joy. Like a good generous youth
he rose, and with a sad heart and faltering steps
he entered the house of feasting. The clergyman
had just married the couple, and was making
a long prayer for their happiness, when Paul
found himself at the door of "the best room" in
Mr. Jones's square house, which no one ever
dreamed of calling a cottage. The happy couple
were standing together looking what is called
cheap. Their awkward and sheepish appearance
made the joyful revelation to Paul that
the bride was Miss Seraphina Elvira, and not
Miss Emily Letitia Jones. How Paul wooed
his Emily, or how happily she was won, I can
hardly tell. Years have gone by since that
happy wedding. Sons and daughters have
grown in my brother's home. That faded
mother has lived many years with Emily, a setting
sunbeam upon her children aud her grand-children.
Though she is sixty years old, she is
fairer and fresher than she was twenty years
ago. It is sad to think that the kindest thing
Joseph Jones ever did for his wife and children
was to die. The bird-nesting out-at-elbow boys
took warning by their father, and all came to
good. There are no heavy timbers now, but one
of the finest farming counties in Canada occupies
their site.

NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS,
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," "Copperfleld," &c.
Now publishing, PART VI., price 1s., of
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
London: CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.