tain ill-humour at being considered a fool, added to the perplexity of Zacky's meditations as he swung along with a quick gait, trampling down the heath-lilies heedlessly.

k

With a slower step, and at some distance, followed the big man, his thoughts as clear and practical as Zacky's were confused. "Et's very odd," thought Zacky, that some folks should be so much wiser than others. Et's all nonsense, es et, 'bout tha pixies, and we shaen't cut tha lode next week 'cause we've heard 'em working, as there aren't no pixies to work, that's et, es et. Auh! my dear, something do work, ef tha pixies don't, and that something do maake we work weth a good heart, and a spell of work done with a good heart es worth three done with a bad un.'

Still Zacky was not satisfied with his conclusions, and reached home by no means in the best of tempers, as his wife Betty soon discovered.

"Look here, Zacky," she said, "I want a nail druv in the wall to hang tha cage to. Tha burd wull like to be out in tha sun, now tha summer's so fine."

"I shaen't waaste no nails about un," said Zacky, sturdily, turning his back on the linnet, and looking up the heath towards the stranger, who walked briskly on, flourishing his stick.

"Shaen't-waaste- -no nails!" repeated Betty, slowly.

"No, shaen't, I tels ee."

"Why, hark to un, Zacky! How beautiful he do sing, to be sure."

دو

"And what else can he do?" asked the sour man, stopping at their garden-gate to look in on the old couple." Of what use is his song? Does he turn it to any account; does he spin with it, or set a wheel a-going, or boil the soup with it ?."

"Lor-a-massy?" ejaculated Betty.

And how much does he cost you in the year?" continued the sour man, shaking his forefinger at them. "First, there's the seedsthat's a big item in the account, I expect; then there's the cage, and nails, and strings, things always rusting and wearing out. Why, the money all this has cost put in the savingsbank would be a fortune. And when I think of the time wasted over that useless little animal"-here the sour man groaned-"I am horrified! This time devoted to some useful occupation would bring you in a revenue, old people, make you comfortable in your last days, bury you tidily and decently when you die, old people, and save the parish, and consequently your country, the expense of doing it for you.'

Lor-a-massy," said Betty, again, rubbing her nose snappishly.

"My good old couple, you are fools. You know nothing. You waste your time, which is money; you waste your money, which is life; and you waste your work, which is money and life too. Now here is a little book which will teach you better. Study it, and see how much your bird costs you in a year, counting time, seeds, cage, and nails. Get rid of that idle mouth and you'll be all that the richer. You are poor enough I suppose? "Poor as coots," said Zacky.

"We've never had nothing from the parish," muttered Betty.

"Parish!" cried the sour man. "I should think not. People with pinks and pansies in their garden, and a bird in a cage hanging up to a nail, pluming themselves on not having robbed their country !-what next I wonder ?" "You are very emperent," said Betsy. "I don't know as we've axed you for anything," remarked Zacky.

"You have not, old people," said the sour man, buttoning his pocket; "nevertheless I come to you out of sheer compassion. I am a benevolent person, pitying ignorance wherever I see it, and seeking to enlighten it with this."

He held up the little book, spreading open the leaves, and gloating over them with a smile of serene satisfaction. "Beautiful," he murmured, "conclusive, satisfactory, and filling." "What is it?" said Betty, curiously.

""Taint so fillin' as a 'taty-pasty, I reckon," observed Zacky.

"I pass over that ignorant remark," continued the sour man. "Seeing you so poor and miserable, I am inclined to help you, so, to begin with, I'll sell you this book.'

The old couple seemed by no means impressed with fitting gratitude. "We aint got no money to buy books," grumbled Zacky.

66

And the most of they new story books that have come down to these paerts," said Betty, "have been chock-full of cheats and swindlers, or else of fools, who was asheamed of their old wages, and made b'lieve as their faythers and mauthers weren't none of theirs of they weren't as big stuck-up gawks as theirselves. I'm weary to read 'em; they makes me feel kind of like a dog swallering flies-I'm jist as hungry when I leave off as when I begun."

"You don't expect me to give you the book for nothing," said the sour man, sticking to business with the inflexibility of sour men impervious to discussion; "and, besides, is this a story-book, do you think?"

"Auh, it aint a story-book!" said Betty: "well, that's comforting, and we can read et wi'out feeling as ef we ought to be hanged arterwards?

Certainly," said the sour man. "It is a talisman which, properly understood, should do away with the halter altogether. By aid of this, clever men can calculate chances and steer clear of perils."

"Auh!" said Zacky, in a long drawl.

"Now," said the man, "to do you a kindness, I'll let you have the book, and I'll take your bird in exchange. Getting rid of that bird will be the making of you. It's ruining you-it's bringing you to the workhouse. Stop, here's a slate! Now, just see what a frightful calculation this is; observe the sum that useless pet will cost you in five years.' Old people, old people, I'm sorry for you!"

Lor!-are ye sure, now?" said Betty.

66

"I am," answered the sour man, solemnly. He undid the garden-gate and walked in, cutting at the carnations with his stick as he passed them. Ah, my book will teach you better than this; you'll soon have up those flowers, and plant leeks instead. A twelvemonth will make a wonderful difference to you two. You'll be neat as nine-pins when I

pass by again. Here, take the talisman, and give me the bird."

Staggered by the immense sum the poor bird had already cost them, trembling at the money yet to be spent, and the prospect of the workhouse, and dazzled by the talisman, Betty and Zacky in an evil hour listened to the tempter's words.

They gave him the bird, and got in exchange -the Multiplication Table.

"Pull up the pinks," said the sour man, as he walked away, giving a last cut at them with his evil-looking stick.

II.

THE worst was, that it was not the bird only that was gone.

At the same moment that Betty and Zacky parted with that tender, loving little songster, a wicked sprite, who is always hovering about to do mischief drew near, and plucked from their hearts a living tenderness and love of beauty that had flourished green about them ever since their days of childhood; and though they knew it not, this had kept them young, and was the secret bond of their love and gentleness one for the other. Now that it was gone, they looked in each other's faces, and knew that they were old and ugly, and that each cost the other some time, which is money, and some money which is life. They did not forget the man's words, and they looked angrily at one another, and studied the multiplicationtable hard.

It was useful, it was good, it was practical; but it did not sing, and it had no voice to answer when the weary spirit called for comfort. There were ten thousand wants in those two human souls which the dry figures could never touch, never wake, never soothe, and you see the bird could- there's the difference. Surely, there is not a fancy or sweet faith born in the soul to which God has not given its appointed lesson, and which does not answer to some craving, some anguish in the spirit which would otherwise wander unsoothed, and untaught through all the avenues of our restless human nature, till we grew mad, or withered away. Alas! this last fate is the worst of all; for if we succeed, through toil and coarseness, and selfish gains, in destroying one half of the mystery within us, so that the stir, and the life, and the yearning die away, we shrink into machines, human, indeed, but withered, impoverished, and dead on the side next the heart.

Betty and Zacky did this. They grew hard, dry, sarcastic, and cruel. Somehow too, although the bird was gone, they were none the richer. The sum the seeds cost was never seen or found, much less could it grow bigger, or deposit itself magnificently in a savingsbank. And the time once spent in tending the bird, or listening to its song, either mysteriously took wings to itself and flew away, or with leaden moments weighed down Betty's eyes into a selfish slumber. Sometimes, indeed, this time wrangled itself out in a bitter quarrel, and broke into other times with fierce invectives and cruel speech. The little garden

was changed. All the pinks and roses were pulled up, the myrtle-tree was cut down, and burnt, the scarlet geraniums and fuchsias were dead. Onions, leeks, and parsley flourished in their stead. Yet the garden did not bear so well as in the old time, and the crops were not worth those gathered in, in the pansy days. The old couple worked certainly; but as the side next the heart was dead, so their work had but half a life in it, and garden and home both withered like themselves.

"He's growing to, at last," said Betty to herself one day, looking at her husband with a sour mien. "Et's my belief he don't know that seven times nine makes sixty-three, and sixty-three es a good eage, and et's time for 'un to go."

The roadlin ould pattick," said Zacky, at the same moment regarding his wife with a sinister eye. "She forget's that ten times six is sixty, and sixty is well up in years for a woman. She costs me well nigh 'pon haafe a crown a week she do, and that comes to a pewer bit of money in tha year."

Now, Zacky took out the talisman, and reckoning up the money dexterously, began to hate Betty for robbing him.

66

Et's very hard," he said out loud.

"Whaat's hard ?" cried Betty, turning round sharp, and sniffing a quarrel in the air with vicious eagerness.

"How many years es et sence you arned any waages, I should like to know ?" said Zacky, in a drawling logical tone, tapping his talisman at the same time.

"How many years es et sence I've bin a slave to a dreuling auld tim-noodle, I should like to know?" cried Betty, fiercely. Darning his auld tatterdemalion clauthes, making pasties for his gashly auld stummic, and putting up weth hes oogliness, till I'm fit to wesh myself dead, I am.”

Zacky growled something indistinctly about its being a good thing for him if she got her wish; but he evidently considered it would be impolitic to say this aloud.

Get out of the way, Buffle-head," said Betty; "can't ee see tha fire's out? A creening wisht auld toad, thee art, thee'st so oogly, thee'st put tha fire out weth oogliness. What am I to light un weth, I wonder, when there aint narr a bit of stick en the house ?"

Zacky went over to a corner, and took down from a shelf a child's cart and horse. It was very dusty, broken, and old. It had belonged, long ago, to their only child. He had been a weak, sickly boy, and died at seven years old, with his pale, small fingers in his mother's hand, while his father's tears fell down on his young, withered cheek. The cart and horse rested on the little bed where he drew his last breath, and not long before, his wan fingers, with weakened clasp, drew it up and down the quilt, while he listened, with a pale pleasure, to the tinkle of the tiny bell within. Then, looking in his mother's face, with a gentle smile, the sick child unclasped the wan fingers, and lay down to die.

"This 'ull do to light tha fire weth, I reckon," said Zacky.

Oh, if the bird had only been there! Or, if the summer wind could have wafted through the

window the scent of the carnations that little Tommy had loved so well!

"We've had that little caert a pewer spell," said Betty, shrinking a little.

"More's tha shame," answered Zacky; 'lumbering up the shelf so long, and never bringing no good to nobody."

He cracked it over his knee, and presented the pieces to Betty. She knelt down, and dug the horse deep into the coals by the head, with his four legs sticking up in a helpless way, that should have brought back to her heart, half in tears, half in laughter, many a recollection of Tommy. But her heart was dead, and no loving memories warmed it, as she took the cart also, and poking the pieces between the bars of the grate, blew them into a flame, without a single tear in her eye, except through the smoke.

The last little fairy who lingered about the house, when he saw that sight, wrapped himself in a mist to hide his weeping, and fled away for ever. Zacky lit his pipe at the horse's tail, and sat down to warm himself by the flame that sparkled round the dead child's cart. Betty put the kettle right on the four upturned, pleading legs, and ramming that fountain of her comforts down tight, broke the poor horse's back in two, thereby bringing suddenly some water from the kettle's spout over her hands.

"Drat tha thing," she said; "I caan't fix tha kettle on fitty for use." Yes, she said it. She positively dratted poor little Tommy's horse, which was worse than burning him.

I assert that that tea, although drank in a Christian country, and bought at a Christian grocer's, was an offering to Moloch.

How do I know whether the beautiful fairy who fled weeping away may not be little Tommy himself shocked at seeing his memory burnt thus ?

At all events, while the dusty toy rested on the shelf, like a garland on the child's grave, there was still something sacred and lovely in the house, still a green spot in the desert, a lingering leaf on the withered tree. But it is fallen now, and the old couple mark it not, save that they feel more wintry, and a deal older-oh, a deal older! He lives long who lives with young affections, and the wisdom of love makes a man live young for ever.

"Holla!" cried the king of the pixies, "this will never do you know. Hating each other, are they?-wishing each other deadcasting up the cost of each other's bit of pastry -the woman thinking she could do without the man, the man believing he does not want the woman.

"And they've burned poor little Tommy's horse and cart," said the weeping fairy piteously.

"What!" exclaimed the king, jumping from the top of the rush on which he was seated, and flourishing his sword in his anger, in a way which made all the pixies shrink.

And I'm come away," sighed the little

pixy.

"We are all come away," said the other pixies, sorrowfully.

"Come away!" murmured the echoes, while the tiny blades of grass trembled, and shed their dewdrops on the ground like cold white tears. The trees moaned in the faint wind, and their leaves shook and shivered as though some chill breeze from a churchyard had crept over them; a thick cloud passed over the moon, and its shadow fell dark and drear over the cluster of little pixies gathered shrinkingly together on the tearful grass around their king.

"We are passing away!" said one voice, lifting up a wailing cry into the night, and then shrinking down beneath a waving tuft of grass that quivered like the feather in a hearse.

The pixies were silent, and the shadow passed over them, deep, dark, and still. Everything shivered, and all the shadows beneath the trees, and the shadows of the rocks and hillocks seemed to creep towards them stealthily, to swallow them up, and bury them in darkness. The king of the pixies held his breath for a moment, then drew his sword and stepped forward. In the creeping darkness of those advancing shadows his blade crossed another blade. Who are you?" cried the king in a gallant voice.

A loud laugh sounded ghastly out of the night, and then died away. The pixies shrank up before that laugh, and visibly grew smaller.

'Speak!" cried the king. Again the laugh rang out sharp and shrill, with a sneering tone in it, that froze the pixies to the soul.

"Nine times nine!" sneered the voice of the laugh. "If you take nothing from nothing, there's nothing left, and that's just what you are. Prove yourselves. Cast yourselves up, and work out the proof. You can't. I don't believe in you. Ha! ha! ha!"

Again the laugh rang out among the shadows -a ghastly lifeless laugh like the rattling of dry bones, and then it sank down into the ground and vanished. At the same moment the moon made a leap, and sprang beyond the cloud, the stars sparkled for joy at the sight, and sprinkled a shower of gold on the earth, the leaves grew silver on the trees, the shadows crept back to their silent places, and the blades of grass lifted their dewy heads to rejoice.

"It is well that he is gone," said the king of the pixies. "Who is he? the miserable caitiff!"

"I know him," cried a tiny sprite radiant with fun. "It is the spirit of the multiplication-table. He is hard, dry, sarcastic, polished. He carries with him an iron besom with which he sweeps away the good with the bad, and raises a dust of worldliness that blinds while it pretends to awaken."

"Alas!" said the pixies.

"And 'tis this spirit has worked such woe to the old couple on the moor?" asked the king. "No other than he," answered the pixy.

66

"It is our feast to-morrow," said the king, 'we will invite Zacky to join us.”

tinent is still an "undiscovered country" to a good many people. The great island of Manitoulin especially, although it occupies a place on the map, seems to puzzle persons whose geographical knowledge one would certainly be disposed to consider less circumscribed. I have very recently visited this place, in company with some officials connected with the Canadian government, and now proceed to record my experiences and impressions, which I trust will afford instruction and amusement to the reader, objects always desirable, more especially in narrations of travel.

The Grand Manitoulin Island, which ex

Huron, is 135 miles long, and varies in breadth from 20 to 25 miles. It is indented by seven or eight large and deep bays (some of which are from 10 to 12 miles in extent), as well as by a considerable number of smaller ones. The entire shores of the island, and of these bays, are bordered by high mountains, for the most part covered with cedar, pine, and white birch; but much of the soil is stony and barren. On the summit of many of these mountains are extensive beds of bare rocks, in the fissures of which stunted cedar trees are occasionally interspersed. In the interior of the island there are at least twenty lakes, some of which are from 15 to 18 miles long, and from 8 to 10

miles wide, varying in depth from three to twenty fathoms. Two or three of these lakes empty themselves into Lake Huron, by means of tolerably large rivers. Small streams from the surrounding mountains preserve the waters at the same level. Most of these lakes are situated at a considerable height, some of them ascending 200 feet above Lake Huron, although having no apparent connection with it. All these inland lakes abound with fish of moderate sizes, such as trout, pike, white-fish, sturgeon, bass, pickerel, perch, herring, roach, and carp; they are not, however, equal either in size or flavour to those found in larger bodies of water.

Although there are very valuable fisheries about many parts of the island, yet comparatively few of the Indians pursue fishing to any extent. Those who do generally may be found around the whisky stations and white man's fisheries, where all their "catch" becomes exchanged for "fire-water." Although there exists a stringent enactment against persons bringing spirits into the island, still Yankee traders violate the same with impunity. The soil is, for the most part, sufficiently fertile to grow corn and potatoes, even with the very imperfect cultivation practised by the Indians. Attempts to raise spring wheat have been successful; and I have seen tropical fruits growing, last October, in the doctor's garden; gourds and melons being in luxuriance. During winter, the snow is from four to five feet deep. It comes early, and keeps the ground from frost. No sooner does the snow dissolve than vegetation commences, and is rapid in its development; frequently more so than on the south shore of the Georgian Bay. Potatoes of a large size are raised in considerable quantities; and the disease called the "rot" has not been known to affect them. When dug up they are placed away in cellars during the winter, and sold to traders in the spring. This esculent is seldom nipped by early frosts, rather a remarkable circumstance considering the geographical position of the island, and the immense body of fresh water that tempers the air. Corn is raised with certainty year after year on the same soil, without the advenient and ordinary aids of manure or ploughing, or indeed of any process that may properly be called cultivation. The modus operandi adopted by the Indians is primitive in the extreme. They raise up the ground with their feet in the first instance, throw in the seed, and then stamp upon it. I have noticed corn and turnips growing together in patches of land almost covered with stumps and fallen trees. It is not an uncommon practice for the Indians to scatter turnip seed through hillocks of corn, so that both may arrive at maturity about the same time. A gentleman who for four years has been in charge of the fisheries, assured me that corn can be grown on Manitoulin Island with greater facility than in the neighbourhood of Toronto, so notorious for the quality and abundance of its agricultural produce.

The timber on the main portion of the island consists of maple, various sorts of pine, the white birch, and cedar, which, on the shores, are generally interspersed with balsam, spruce, tamarack, and poplar. A few oak and beech trees may be found scattered here and there.

The maple yields a somewhat valuable product, of which the Indians take advantage. Maple sugar is made in large quantities,-some families producing as much as 1,600 lbs. annually. This article invariably commands a ready sale at seven cents per lb., to local traders, to the Hudson's Bay Company, and to traders from the States, the Bruce Mines, Owen Sound, Goderich, and other places; vessels regularly coming up, during the navigable season, from those ports for cargoes of this commodity. The soil of Manitoulin Island is principally clay, o. a reddish tinge, frequently covered with small pieces of limestone-not so thickly, however, as to form an impediment to cultivation. That portion of the island situated between South Bay and Horse Island, is said to be very poor. I believe the Indian idea is that no land is of much use except it be contiguous to the lake or a river. The Indians have certainly picked out the most eligible and productive frontier sites, the best harbours, and most secure landing-places-a circumstance which seems to favour the prevalence of this notion.

On the island are ten villages, scattered in every direction, most of which are sparsely inhabited. The entire population does not exceed 1,200 persons. Of these 100 are Protestants, 950 Roman Catholics, and about 150 heathens. The principal villages are Manitowaning and Wikwemikong, the latter being at the opposite side of the island, some three miles distant from the Georgian Bay.

The most considerable village is Wikwemikong, on the eastern side of the island-a settlement exclusively established by Jesuit missionaries. This village rises gracefully and gradually upon the high hill which looks down the magnificent bay of the same name. From it the eye extends eighteen or twenty miles over the great Lake Huron towards the Georgian Bay. The village itself is regularly laid out, and consists of several rows of houses, rising in amphitheatrical form, one above another. At morning and evening tide the bay presents an animated spectacle, being covered by a fleet of small vessels, called Makinaw boats, going and returning from fishing excursions: for each family has its own boat, as the Indians are very expert in the construction of such craft. Canoes are seldom used, except by the roving tribes. The houses are all built of logs, and possess little exterior elegance or interior comfort: beds, chairs, and stoves being concomitants of civilized life for which the Indians have no relish.

The Indian tribes are, for the most part, indigent, indolent, and of extremely filthy and loose habits. When they drink whisky (which is smuggled into the island) they become perfectly ungovernable; and numerous crimes and accidents occur in consequence. Lying and stealing form the leading characteristics of some of the bands; nor are those attributes affected by the moral and religious teachings of the missionaries who labour amongst them. They have their own specifics for diseases, and a class of people called " bowwows," or doctors, attend upon them when they are seriously ill. One of their remedies, resorted to in some cases, is the "vapour-bath," which is improvised after the following fashion: A circular lodge of bent branches is formed,