the trunk of a fallen tree, on which sat our friend the artist,
delineating the whole with the eagerness of an enthusiast who had _at
last_ fallen upon a scene truly worthy of his genius.

How Bounce did dance, to be sure! How the young trappers and the
blooming backwoods maidens did whirl and bound, on heel and toe, and, to
a large extent, on the whole sole of the foot! Yes, their souls were in
the work, and their spirits too; and that although there was not a drop
of spirits in the settlement. Happily, owing to the unaccountable delay
of a provision boat, there was not a glass of "fire-water" in the place
at that time. The whole affair was got up, carried on, and concluded on
tea. It was a great teetotal gathering, which would have drawn tears of
joy from the heart of Father Mathew and all his successors, whether
Romanist or Protestant, had they witnessed it.

Yet the excitement was tremendous. The Wild Man of the West, strange to
say, and, owing to some peculiar contradictoriness of character which
was unaccountable, was almost the only sane man of the whole party. He
flung himself on the ground beside his wife, and locking his arm round
the tough root of a pine tree refused to budge from the spot. As the
united efforts of all the men who could lay hold of him at one time
failed to root him up, he was suffered to lie there and amuse himself by
watching the dancers, looking up occasionally at Mary's blue eyes, and
playing with such of the juveniles as he could attract within the reach
of his long arm.

As for March Marston, he was mad now if ever he had been so in his life!
He danced with all the girls, and wrestled with all the men, and played
hide-and-seek with all the boys, and fraternised with all the old
people, and chased all the dogs, and astonished, not to say horrified,
all the cats. Yet, although he did all this, he did not neglect the
vision in leather, by no manner of means.

Long before the dawn of early morning that jovial party drank a parting
cup of cold tea, and, dispersing to their several homes, left the field
in possession of the village curs.

Now, dear reader--with a feeling of sadness we write it--all things must
have an end! We make this unquestionable assertion in order to break to
you, as gently as may be, the news that our tale has reached its close.
Had we taken in hand to write the life and adventures of our hero and
his friends from first to last, we should have had to prepa