flowery land of souls where the good spirit dwells, and where buffalo
and deer forsake not the hunting grounds of the blessed. He held no
outward form or right of sanctity. The ceremony which bound him to his
wife was simply legal, having been read over by the nearest magistrate.
His children were unbaptised, and the green graves of his household were
in his own field, although a public burying-ground was by the
meeting-house of the settlement.

Meanwhile the old lady, who had hailed our advent with the hospitality
of her country, set about preparing our entertainment. Tradition says of
the puritans, the pilgrims of New England, that when they first stood on
Plymouth Rock, on their first arrival from Europe, they bore the bible
under one arm and a cookery book under the other. Now, as to their
descendants, the refugees, I am not exactly sure if, when they
pilgrimised to New Brunswick, they were so careful of the bible, but I
am certain they retain the precepts of the cookery book, and love to
embody them when they may. Soon as a guest comes within ken of a blue
nose, the delightful operations commence. The poorer class shifting with
Johnny-cake and pumpkin, while, with the better off, the airy phantoms
of custard and curls, which flit through their brains, are called into
tangible existence. The air is impregnated with allspice and
nutmeg--apple "sarce" and cranberry "persarves" become visible, while
sal-a-ratus and molasses are evidently in the ascendant.

And now, while our hostess of this evening busied herself in compounding
these sweet mysteries, the old man related to us the following love
passage of his earlier days, which I shall give in my own language,
although his original expressions rendered it infinitely more
interesting.