CHAPTER 20.

“Away! nor let me loiter in my song,
For we have many a mountain-path to tread.”—Byron.

As the spring gradually approached, the immense piles of snow that, by
alternate thaws and frosts, and repeated storms, had obtained a
firmness which threatened a tiresome durability, began to yield to the
influence of milder breezes and a warmer sun.  The gates of heaven at
times seemed to open, and a bland air diffused itself over the earth,
when animate and inanimate nature would awaken, and, for a few hours,
the gayety of spring shone in every eye and smiled on every field.
But the shivering blasts from the north would carry their chill
influence over the scene again, and the dark and gloomy clouds that
intercepted the rays of the sun were not more cold and dreary than the
reaction.  These struggles between the seasons became daily more
frequent, while the earth, like a victim to contention, slowly lost
the animated brilliancy of winter, without obtaining the aspect of
spring.

Several weeks were consumed in this cheerless manner, during which the
inhabitants of the country gradually changed their pursuits from the
social and bustling movements of the time of snow to the laborious and
domestic engagements of the coming season, The village was no longer
thronged with visitors; the trade that had enlivened the shops for
several months, began to disappear; the highways lost their shining
coats of beaten snow in impassable sloughs, and were deserted by the
gay and noisy travellers who, in sleighs, had, during the winter,
glided along their windings; and, in short, everything seemed
indicative of a mighty change, not only in the earth, but in those who
derived their sources of comfort and happiness from its bosom.

The younger members of the family in the mansion house, of which
Louisa Grant was now habitually one, were by no means indifferent
observers of these fluctuating and tardy changes.  While the snow
rendered the roads passable, they had partaken largely in the
amusements of the winter, which included not only daily rides over the
mountains, and through every valley within twenty miles of them, but
divers ingenious and varied sources of pleasure on the bosom of their
frozen lake.  There had been excursions in the equipage of Richard,
when with his four horses he had outstripped the winds, as it flew
over the glassy ice which invariably succeeded a thaw.  Then the
exciting and dangerous “whirligig” would be suffered to possess its
moment of notice.  Cutters, drawn by a single horse, and handsleds,
impelled by the gentlemen on skates, would each in turn be used; and,
in short, every source of relief against the tediousness of a winter
in the mountains was resorted to by the family, Elizabeth was
compelled to acknowledge to her father, that the season, with the aid
of his library, was much less irksome than she had anticipated.

As exercise in the open air was in some degree necessary to the habits
of the family, when the constant recurrence of frosts and thaws
rendered the roads, which were dangerous at the most favorable times,
utterly impassable for wheels, saddle-horses were used as substitutes
for other conveyances.  Mounted on small and sure-footed beasts, the
ladies would again attempt the passages of the mountains and penetrate
into every retired glen where the enterprise of a settler had induced
him to establish himself.  In these excursions they were attended by
some one or all of the gentlemen of the family, as their different
pursuits admitted.  Young Edwards was hourly becoming more
familiarized to his situation, and not infrequently mingled in the
parties with an unconcern and gayety that for a short time would expel
all unpleasant recollections from his mind.  Habit, and the buoyancy
of youth, seemed to be getting the ascendency over the secret causes
of his uneasiness; though there were moments when the same remarkable
expression of disgust would cross his intercourse with Marmaduke, that
had distinguished their conversations in the first days of their
acquaintance.

It was at the close of the month of March, that the sheriff succeeded
in persuading his cousin and her young friend to accompany him in a
ride to a hill that was said to overhang the lake in a manner peculiar
to itself.

“Besides, Cousin Bess,” continued the indefatigable Richard, “we will
stop and see the ‘sugar bush’ of Billy Kirby; he is on the east end of
the Ransom lot, making sugar for Jared Ransom.  There is not a better
hand over a kettle in the county than that same Kirby.  You remember,
‘Duke, that I had him his first season in our camp; and it is not a
wonder that he knows something of his trade.”

“He’s a good chopper, is Billy,” observed Benjamin, who held the
bridle of the horse while the sheriff mounted; “and he handles an axe
much the same as a forecastleman does his marling-spike, or a tailor
his goose.  They say he’ll lift a potash-kettle off the arch alone,
though I can’t say that I’ve ever seen him do it with my own eyes; but
that is the say.  And I’ve seen sugar of his making, which, maybe,
wasn’t as white as an old topgallant sail, but which my friend,
Mistress Pettibones, within there, said had the true molasses smack to
it; and you are not the one, Squire Dickens, to be told that Mistress
Remarkable has a remarkable tooth for sweet things in her nut-
grinder.”

The loud laugh that succeeded the wit of Benjamin, and in which he
participated with no very harmonious sounds himself, very fully
illustrated the congenial temper which existed between the pair.  Most
of its point was, however, lost on the rest of the party, who were
either mounting their horses or assisting the ladies at the moment.
When all were safely in their saddles, they moved through the village
in great order.  They paused for a moment before the door of Monsieur
Le Quoi, until he could bestride his steed, and then, issuing from the
little cluster of houses, they took one of the principal of those
highways that centred in the village.

As each night brought with it a severe frost, which the heat of the
succeeding day served to dissipate, the equestrians were compelled to
proceed singly along the margin of the road, where the turf, and
firmness of the ground, gave the horses a secure footing.  Very
trifling indications of vegetation were to he seen, the surface of the
earth presenting a cold, wet, and cheerless aspect that chilled the
blood.  The snow yet lay scattered over most of those distant
clearings that were visible in different parts of the mountains;
though here and there an opening might be seen where, as the white
covering yielded to the season, the bright and lively green of the
wheat served to enkindle the hopes of the husbandman.  Nothing could
be more marked than the contrast between the earth and the heavens;
for, while the former presented the dreary view that we have
described, a warm and invigorating sun was dispensing his heats from a
sky that contained but a solitary cloud, and through an atmosphere
that softened the colors of the sensible horizon until it shone like a
sea of blue.

Richard led the way on this, as on all other occasions that did not
require the exercise of unusual abilities; and as he moved along, he
essayed to enliven the party with the sounds of his experienced voice.

“This is your true sugar weather, ‘Duke,” he cried; “a frosty night
and a sunshiny day.  I warrant me that the sap runs like a mill-tail
up the maples this warm morning.  It is a pity, Judge, that you do not
introduce a little more science into the manufactory of sugar among
your tenants.  It might be done, sir, without knowing as much as Dr.
Franklin—it might be done, Judge Temple.”

“The first object of my solicitude, friend Jones,” returned Marmaduke,
“is to protect the sources of this great mine of comfort and wealth
from the extravagance of the people themselves.  When this important
point shall be achieved, it will be in season to turn our attention to
an improvement in the manufacture of the article, But thou knowest,
Richard, that I have already subjected our sugar to the process of the
refiner, and that the result has produced loaves as white as the snow
on yon fields, and possessing the saccharine quality in its utmost
purity.”

“Saccharine, or turpentine, or any other 'ine, Judge Temple, you have
never made a loaf larger than a good-sized sugar-plum,” returned the
sheriff.  “Now, sir, I assert that no experiment is fairly tried,
until it be reduced to practical purposes.  If, sir, I owned a
hundred, or, for that matter, two hundred thousand acres of land, as
you do.  I would build a sugar house in the village; I would invite
learned men to an investigation of the subject—and such are easily to
be found, sir; yes, sir, they are not difficult to find—men who unite
theory with practice; and I would select a wood of young and thrifty
trees; and, instead of making loaves of the size of a lump of candy,
dam’me, ‘Duke, but I’d have them as big as a haycock.”

“And purchase the cargo of one of those ships that they say are going
to China,” cried Elizabeth; “turn your pot ash-kettles into teacups,
the scows on the lake into saucers, bake your cake in yonder lime-
kiln, and invite the county to a tea-party.  How wonderful are the
projects of genius! Really, sir, the world is of opinion that Judge
Temple has tried the experiment fairly, though he did not cause his
loaves to be cast in moulds of the magnitude that would suit your
magnificent conceptions.”

“You may laugh, Cousin Elizabeth—you may laugh, madam,” retorted
Richard, turning himself so much in his saddle as to face the party,
and making dignified gestures with his whip; “but I appeal to common
sense, good sense, or, what is of more importance than either, to the
sense of taste, which is one of the five natural senses, whether a big
loaf of sugar is not likely to contain a better illustration of a
proposition than such a lump as one of your Dutch women puts under her
tongue when she drinks her tea.  There are two ways of doing
everything, the right way and the wrong way.  You make sugar now, I
will admit, and you may, possibly, make loaf-sugar; but I take the
question to be, whether you make the best possible sugar, and in the
best possible loaves.”

“Thou art very right, Richard,” observed Marmaduke, with a gravity in
his air that proved how much he was interested in the subject.  “It is
very true that we manufacture sugar, and the inquiry is quite useful,
how much? and in what manner? I hope to live to see the day when farms
and plantations shall be devoted to this branch of business.  Little
is known concerning the properties of the tree itself, the source of
all this wealth; how much it may be improved by cultivation, by the
use of the hoe and plough.”

“Hoe and plough!” roared the sheriff; “would you set a man hoeing
round the root of a maple like this?” pointing to one of the noble
trees that occur so frequently in that part of the country.  “Hoeing
trees! are you mad, ‘Duke? This is next to hunting for coal! Poh! poh!
my dear cousin, hear reason, and leave the management of the sugar-
bush to me.  Here is Mr. Le Quoi—he has been in the West Indies, and
has seen sugar made.  Let him give an account of how it is made there,
and you will hear the philosophy of the thing.  Well, monsieur, how is
it that you make sugar in the West Indies; anything in Judge Temples
fashion?”

The gentleman to whom this query was put was mounted on a small horse,
of no very fiery temperament, and was riding with his stirrups so
short as to bring his knees, while the animal rose a small ascent in
the wood-path they were now travelling, into a somewhat hazardous
vicinity to his chin.  There was no room for gesticulation or grace in
the delivery of his reply, for the mountain was steep and slippery;
and, although the Frenchman had an eye of uncommon magnitude on either
side of his face, they did not seem to be half competent to forewarn
him of the impediments of bushes, twigs, and fallen trees, that were
momentarily crossing his path.  With one hand employed in averting
these dangers, and the other grasping his bridle to check an untoward
speed that his horse was assuming, the native of France responded as
follows:

“Sucre! dey do make sucre in Martinique; mais—mais ce n’est pas one
tree—ah—ah—vat you call—je voudrois que ces chemins fussent au diable
- vat you call—steeck pour la promenade?”
“Cane,” said Elizabeth, smiling at the imprecation which the wary
Frenchman supposed was understood only by himself.
“Oui, mam’selle, cane.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Richard, “cane is the vulgar name for it, but the
real term is saccharum officinarum; and what we call the sugar, or
hard maple, is acer saccharinum.  These are the learned names,
monsieur, and are such as, doubtless, you well understand.”

“Is this Greek or Latin, Mr. Edwards?” whispered Elizabeth to the
youth, who was opening a passage for herself and her companions
through the bushes, “or per haps it is a still more learned language,
for an interpretation of which we must look to you.”

The dark eye of the young man glanced toward the speaker, but its
resentful expression changed in a moment.

“I shall remember your doubts, Miss Temple, when next I visit my old
friend Mohegan, and either his skill, or that of Leather-Stocking,
shall solve them.”

“And are you, then, really ignorant of their language?”

“Not absolutely; but the deep learning of Mr. Jones is more familiar
to me, or even the polite masquerade of Monsieur Le Quoi.”

“Do you speak French?” said the lady, with quickness.

“It is a common language with the Iroquois, and through the Canadas,”
he answered, smiling.

“Ah! but they are Mingoes, and your enemies.”

“It will be well for me if I have no worse,” said the youth, dashing
ahead with his horse, and putting an end to the evasive dialogue.

The discourse, however, was maintained with great vigor by Richard,
until they reached an open wood on the summit of the mountain, where
the hemlocks and pines totally disappeared, and a grove of the very
trees that formed the subject of debate covered the earth with their
tall, straight trunks and spreading branches, in stately pride.  The
underwood had been entirely removed from this grove, or bush, as, in
conjunction with the simple arrangements for boiling, it was called,
and a wide space of many acres was cleared, which might be likened to
the dome of a mighty temple, to which the maples formed the columns,
their tops composing the capitals and the heavens the arch.  A deep
and careless incision had been made into each tree, near its root,
into which little spouts, formed of the I bark of the alder, or of the
sumach, were fastened; and a trough, roughly dug out of the linden, or
basswood, was I lying at the root of each tree, to catch the sap that
flowed from this extremely wasteful and inartificial arrangement.

The party paused a moment, on gaining the flat, to breathe their
horses, and, as the scene was entirely new to several of their
number, to view the manner of collecting the fluid.  A fine, powerful
voice aroused them from their momentary silence, as it rang under the
branches of the trees, singing the following words of that inimitable
doggerel, whose verses, if extended, would reach from the Caters of
the Connecticut to the shores of Ontario.  The tune was, of course, a
familiar air which, although it is said to have been first applied to
this nation in derision, circumstances have since rendered so glorious
that no American ever hears its jingling cadence without feeling
a thrill at his heart:

“The Eastern States be full of men,
The Western Full of woods, sir,
The hill be like a cattle-pen,
The roads be full of goods, sir!
Then flow away, my sweety sap,
And I will make you boily;
Nor catch a wood man’s hasty nap,
For fear you should get roily.
The maple-tree's a precious one,
‘Tis fuel, food, and timber;
And when your stiff day’s work is done,
Its juice will make you limber,
Then flow away, etc.

“And what’s a man without his glass.
His wife without her tea, sir?
But neither cup nor mug will pass,
Without his honey-bee, sir!
Then flow away,” etc.

During the execution of this sonorous doggerel, Richard kept time with
his whip on the mane of his charger, accompanying the gestures with a
corresponding movement of his head and body.  Toward the close of the
song, he was overheard humming the chorus, and, at its last
repetition, to strike in at “sweety sap,’ and carry a second through,
with a prodigious addition to the “effect” of the noise, if not to
that of the harmony.

“Well done us!” roared the sheriff, on the same key with the tune; “a
very good song, Billy Kirby, and very well sung.  Where got you the
words, lad? Is there more of it, and can you furnish me with a copy?”
The sugar-boiler, who was busy in his “camp,” at a short distance from
the equestrians, turned his head with great indifference, and surveyed
the party, as they approached, with admirable coolness.  To each
individual, as he or she rode close by him, he gave a nod that was
extremely good-natured and affable, but which partook largely of the
virtue of equality, for not even to the ladies
did he in the least vary his mode of salutation, by touching the
apology for a hat that he wore, or by any other motion than the one we
have mentioned.

“How goes it, how goes it, sheriff?” said the wood-chopper; “what’s
the good word in the village?”

“Why, much as usual, Billy,” returned Richard.  “But how is this?
where are your four kettles, and your troughs, and your iron coolers?
Do you make sugar in this slovenly way? I thought you were one of the
best sugar-boilers in the county.”

“I’m all that, Squire Jones,” said Kirby, who continued his
occupation; “I’ll turn my back to no man in the Otsego hills for
chopping and logging, for boiling down the maple sap, for tending
brick-kiln, splitting out rails, making potash, and parling too, or
hoeing corn; though I keep myself pretty much to the first business,
seeing that the axe comes most natural to me.”

“You be von Jack All-trade, Mister Beel,” said Monsieur Le Quoi.

“How?” said Kirby, looking up with a simplicity which, coupled with
his gigantic frame and manly face, was a little ridiculous, “if you be
for trade, mounsher, here is some as good sugar as you’ll find the
season through.  It’s as clear from dirt as the Jarman Flats is free
from stumps, and it has the raal maple flavor.  Such stuff would sell
in York for candy.”

The Frenchman approached the place where Kirby had deposited his cake
of sugar, under the cover of a bark roof, and commenced the
examination of the article with the eye of one who well understood its
value.  Marmaduke had dismounted, and was viewing the works and the
trees very closely, and not without frequent expressions of
dissatisfaction at the careless manner in which the manufacture was
conducted.

“You have much experience in these things, Kirby,” he said; “what
course do you pursue in making your sugar? I see you have but two
kettles.”

“Two is as good as two thousand, Judge.  I’m none of your polite
sugar-makers, that boils for the great folks; but if the raal sweet
maple is wanted, I can answer your turn.  First, I choose, and then I
tap my trees; say along about the last of February, or in these
mountains maybe not afore the middle of March; but anyway, just as the
sap begins to cleverly run—”

“Well, in this choice,” interrupted Marmaduke, “are you governed by
any outward signs that prove the quality of the tree?”

“Why, there’s judgment in all things,” said Kirby, stirring the liquor
in his kettles briskly.  “There’s some thing in knowing when and how
to stir the pot.  It’s a thing that must be larnt.  Rome wasn’t built
in a day, nor for that matter Templeton either, though it may be said
to be a quick-growing place.  I never put my axe into a stunty tree,
or one that hasn’t a good, fresh-looking bark: for trees have
disorders, like creatur’s; and where’s the policy of taking a tree
that’s sickly, any more than you’d choose a foundered horse to ride
post, or an over heated ox to do your logging?”

“All that is true.  But what are the signs of illness? how do you
distinguish a tree that is well from one that is diseased?”

“How does the doctor tell who has fever and who colds?” interrupted
Richard.  “By examining the skin, and feeling the pulse, to be sure.”

“Sartain,” continued Billy; “the squire ain’t far out of the way.
It’s by the look of the thing, sure enough.  Well, when the sap begins
to get a free run, I hang over the kettles, and set up the bush.  My
first boiling I push pretty smartly, till I get the virtue of the sap;
but when it begins to grow of a molasses nater, like this in the
kettle, one mustn’t drive the fires too hard, or you’ll burn the
sugar; and burny sugar is bad to the taste, let it be never so sweet.
So you ladle out from one kettle into the other till it gets so, when
you put the stirring-stick into it, that it will draw into a thread—
when it takes a kerful hand to manage it.  There is a way to drain it
off, after it has grained, by putting clay into the pans; bitt it
isn’t always practised; some doos and some doosn’t.  Well, mounsher,
be we likely to make a trade?”

“I will give you, Mister Etel, for von pound, dix sous.”

“No, I expect cash for it; I never dicker my sugar, But, seeing that
it’s you, mounsher,” said Billy, with a Coaxing smile, “I'll agree to
receive a gallon of rum, and cloth enough for two shirts if you’ll
take the molasses in the bargain.  It’s raal good.  I wouldn’t deceive
you or any man and to my drinking it’s about the best molasses that
come out of a sugar-bush.”

“Mr. Le Quoi has offered you ten pence,” said young Edwards.

The manufacturer stared at the speaker with an air of great freedom,
but made no reply.

“Oui,” said the Frenchman, “ten penny.  Jevausraner cie, monsieur: ah!
mon Anglois! je l'oublie toujours.”

The wood-chopper looked from one to the other with some displeasure;
and evidently imbibed the opinion that they were amusing themselves at
his expense.  He seized the enormous ladle, which was lying on one of
his kettles, and began to stir the boiling liquid with great
diligence.  After a moment passed in dipping the ladle full, and then
raising it on high, as the thick rich fluid fell back into the kettle,
he suddenly gave it a whirl, as if to cool what yet remained, and
offered the bowl to Mr. Le Quoi, saying:

‘Taste that, mounsher, and you will say it is worth more than you
offer.  The molasses itself would fetch the money,”

The complaisant Frenchman, after several timid efforts to trust his
lips in contact with the howl of the ladle, got a good swallow of the
scalding liquid.  He clapped his hands on his breast, and looked most
piteously at the ladies, for a single instant; and then, to use the
language oft Billy, when he afterward recounted the tale, “no
drumsticks ever went faster on the skin of a sheep than the
Frenchman’s legs, for a round or two; and then such swearing and
spitting in French you never saw.  But it’s a knowing one, from the
old countries, that thinks to get his jokes smoothly over a wood-
chopper.”

The air of innocence with which Kirby resumed the occupation of
stirring the contents of his kettles would have completely deceived
the spectators as to his agency in the temporary sufferings of Mr. Le
Quoi, had not the reckless fellow thrust his tongue into his cheek,
and cast his eyes over the party, with a simplicity of expression that
was too exquisite to be natural.  Mr. Le Quoi soon recovered his
presence of mind and his decorum; and he briefly apologized to the
ladies for one or two very intemperate expressions that had escaped
him in a moment of extraordinary excitement, and, remounting his
horse, he continued in the background during the remainder of the
visit, the wit of Kirby putting a violent termination, at once, to all
negotiations on the subject of trade.  During all this time, Marmaduke
had been wandering about the grove, making observations on his
favorite trees, and the wasteful manner in which the wood-chopper
conducted his manufacture.

“It grieves me to witness the extravagance that pervades this
country,” said the Judge, “where the settlers trifle with the
blessings they might enjoy, with the prodigality of successful
adventurers.  You are not exempt from the censure yourself, Kirby, for
you make dreadful wounds in these trees where a small incision would
effect the same object.  I earnestly beg you will remember that they
are the growth of centuries, and when once gone none living will see
their loss remedied.”

“Why, I don’t know, Judge,” returned the man he ad dressed; “it seems
to me, if there’s plenty of anything in this mountaynious country,
it’s the trees.  If there’s any sin in chopping them, I’ve a pretty
heavy account to settle; for I’ve chopped over the best half of a
thousand acres, with my own hands, counting both Varmount and York
States; and I hope to live to finish the whull, before I lay up my
axe.  Chopping comes quite natural to me, and I wish no other
employment; but Jared Ransom said that he thought the sugar was likely
to be source this season, seeing that so many folks was coming into
the settlement, and so I concluded to take the ‘bush’ on sheares for
this one spring.  What’s the best news, Judge, consarning ashes? do
pots hold so that a man can live by them still? I s’pose they will, if
they keep on fighting across the water.”

“Thou reasonest with judgment, William,” returned Marmaduke.  “So long
as the Old Worm is to be convulsed with wars, so long will the harvest
of America continue.”

“Well, it’s an ill wind, Judge, that blows nobody any good.  I’m sure
the country is in a thriving way; and though I know you calkilate
greatly on the trees, setting as much store by them as some men would
by their children, yet to my eyes they are a sore sight any time,
unless I'm privileged to work my will on them: in which case I can’t
say but they are more to my liking.  I have heard the settlers from
the old countries say that their rich men keep great oaks and elms,
that would make a barrel of pots to the tree, standing round their
doors and humsteds and scattered over their farms, just to look at.
Now, I call no country much improved that is pretty well covered with
trees.  Stumps are a different thing, for they don’t shade the land;
and, besides, you dig them—they make a fence that will turn anything
bigger than a hog, being grand for breachy cattle.”

“Opinions on such subjects vary much in different countries,” said
Marmaduke; “but it is not as ornaments that I value the noble trees of
this country; it is for their usefulness We are stripping the forests,
as if a single year would replace what we destroy.  But the hour
approaches when the laws will take notice of not only the woods, but
the game they contain also.”

With this consoling reflection, Marmaduke remounted, and the
equestrians passed the sugar-camp, on their way to the promised
landscape of Richard.  The wood-chop-per was left alone, in the bosom
of the forest, to pursue his labors.  Elizabeth turned her head, when
they reached the point where they were to descend the mountain, and
thought that the slow fires that were glimmering under his enormous
kettles, his little brush shelter, covered with pieces of hemlock
bark, his gigantic size, as he wielded his ladle with a steady and
knowing air, aided by the back-ground of stately trees, with their
spouts and troughs, formed, altogether, no unreal picture of human
life in its first stages of civilization.  Perhaps whatever the scene
possessed of a romantic character was not injured by the powerful
tones of Kirby’s voice ringing through the woods as he again awoke his
strains to another tune, which was but little more scientific than the
former.  All that she understood of the words were:

“And when the proud forest is falling, To my oxen cheerfully calling,
From morn until night I am bawling, Whoa, back there, and haw and gee;
Till our labor is mutually ended, By my strength and cattle
befriended, And against the mosquitoes defended By the bark of the
walnut-trees. Away! then, you lads who would buy land; Choose the oak
that grows on the high land, or the silvery pine on the dry land, it
matters but little to me.”