Many a farmer sits up all night boiling his sap, when the run has
been an extra good one, and a lonely vigil he has of it amid the
silent trees and beside his wild hearth. If he has a sap-house, as
is now so common, he may make himself fairly comfortable; and if a
companion, he may have a good time or a glorious wake.

Maple sugar in its perfection is rarely seen, perhaps never seen, in
the market. When made in large quantities and indifferently, it is
dark and coarse; but when made in small quantities--that is, quickly
from the first run of sap and properly treated--it has a wild
delicacy of flavor that no other sweet can match. What you smell in
freshly cut maple-wood, or taste in the blossom of the tree, is in
it. It is then, indeed, the distilled essence of the tree. Made into
syrup, it is white and clear as clover-honey; and crystallized into
sugar, it is as pure as the wax. The way to attain this result is to
evaporate the sap under cover in an enameled kettle; when reduced
about twelve times, allow it to settle half a day or more; then
clarify with milk or the white of an egg. The product is virgin
syrup, or sugar worthy the table of the gods.

Perhaps the most heavy and laborious work of the farm in the section
of the State of which I write is fence-building. But it is not
unproductive labor, as in the South or West, for the fence is of
stone, and the capacity of the soil for grass or grain is, of
course, increased by its construction. It is killing two birds with
one stone: a fence is had, the best in the world, while the
available area of the field is enlarged. In fact, if there are ever
sermons in stones, it is when they are built into a stone
wall,--turning your hindrances into helps, shielding your crops