ants now to salve the wound over."

"My young friend, what is the reason of this heat?" asked Mr. Clamp,
mildly.

"I don't care to talk further," Mark retorted. "I might as well explain
the pathology of flesh bruises to a donkey who had maliciously kicked me."

Mr. Clamp wiped his bald head, on which the perspiration was beginning to
gather. His stock of pious commonplaces was exhausted, and he saw no
prospect of calming Mark's rage, or of making any deep impression on the
blacksmith. He therefore rose to depart. "Good evening," said he. "I pray
you may become more reasonable, and less disposed to judge harshly of your
friend and brother."

Mark turned his back on him. Mr. Hardwick civilly bade him good-night.
Lizzy and Anna, who had retreated during the war of words, came back, and
the circle round the table was renewed.

"Yer-you'll see one thing," said Mr. Hardwick. "He'll b-bring you, and
p'r'aps me, too, afore the church for this talk."

"The sooner, the better," said Mark.

"I d'no," said Mr. Hardwick. "Ef we must live in f-fellowship, a der-
diffi-culty in church isn't per-pleasant. But 'tis uncomf'table for
straight wood to be ker-corded up with such ker-crooked sticks as him."

[To be continued.]

A PERILOUS BIVOUAC.

It is a pleasant June morning out on the Beauport slopes; the breeze comes
laden with perfume from shady Mount Lilac; and it is good to bask here in
the meadows and look out upon the grand panorama of Quebec, with its
beautiful bay sweeping in bold segments of shoreline to the mouth of the
River St Charles. The king-bird, too lazy to give chase to his proper
quarry, the wavering butterfly, sways to and fro upon a tall weed; and
there, at the bend of the brook, sits an old kingfisher on a dead branch,
gorged with his morning meal, and regardless of his reflected image in the
still pool beneath. The _goguelu_[1] rises suddenly up from his tuft of
grass, and, having sung a few staves of his gurgling song, drops down
again like a cricket-ball and is no more seen. Smooth-plumaged wax-wings
are pruning their feathers in the tamarac-trees; and high up over the
waters of the bay sails a long-winged fish-hawk, taking an extended and
generally liberal view of sundry important matters connected with the
fishery question.

[Footnote 1: This name is given by the French Canadians to the bobolink or
rice bunting. It is an old, I believe an obsolete, French word, and means
"braggart."]

Man