wool, and if they are not industrious the yarn will not be spun for this much-prized coverlet, which, despite the local importance attached to it, is a useful, handsome and valuable article in itself.  On a large chest beside the bed are laid piles of snow white blankets, and around the walls are hung the various woollen garments which form the wardrobe of the family.  Bright-hued Indian baskets stand on top of each other—­a pair of beaded moccasins and a reticule of porcupine quills are hung up for ornament.  The pine table and willow-seated chairs are all made in the “bush,” and even into this far back settlement has penetrated the prowess of the renowned “Sam Slick, of Slickville.”  One of his wooden-made yankee clocks is here—­its case displaying “a most elegant picture” of Cupid, in frilled trowsers and morocco boots, the American prototype of the little god not being allowed to appear so scantily clad as he is generally represented.  A long rifle is hung over the mantle-piece, and from the beams are suspended heads of Indian corn for seed; by them, tied in bunches, or in paper bags, is a complete “hortus siccus” of herbs and roots for medicinal as well as culinary purposes.  Bone set and lobelia, sage and savory, sarsaparilla, and that mysterous bark which the natives say acts with a different effect, according as it is peeled up or down the tree—­cat-nip and calamus root for the baby, with dried marigold leaves, balm of gilead buds, and a hundred others, for compounding the various receipts they possess, as remedies for every complaint in the world.  Many of these they have learnt from the Indians, whose “ancient medicine men” are well versed in the healing powers with which the herbs of the forest and the field are gifted.  On a small shelf is laid the library, which consists but of the bible, a new almanac, and Humbert’s Union Harmony, the province manual of sacred music, of which they are most particularly fond; but the air of the country is not favourable to song, and their melody always seemed to me “harmony not understood,” Meanwhile, for the last half-hour, Sybel has been busily engaged in cooking, at which the natives are most expeditious and expert.  I know not how they would be in other countries, but I know that at home they are first-rate—­no other can come up to them in using the materials and implements they are possessed of.  By the accustomed sun-mark on the floor, which Sybel prefers to the clock, she sees ’tis now the hungry hour of noon, and blows the horn for Lank to come to dinner.  This horn is a conk shell, bored at one end, and its sound is heard at a great distance.  At the hours of meal-time it may be heard from house to house, and, ringing through the echoing woods from distant settlements, telling us, amid their loneliness, of happy meetings at the household board; but it comes, too, at times, when its sounds are heralds of trouble and dismay.  I have heard it burst upon the ear at the silent hour of midnight, and, starting from sleep, seen the sky all crimsoned