The Wedding, an Arrival, a Feast, and a Ball.  
New Year’s Day came at last, and on the morning of that day Jasper Derry and Marie Laroche were made man and wife. They were married by the Reverend Mr Wilson, a Wesleyan missionary, who had come to Fort Erie, a few days before, on a visit to the tribes of Indians in that neighbourhood.
 
The North American Indian has no religion worthy of the name; but he has a conscience, like other men, which tells him that it is wrong to murder and to steal. Yet, although he knows this, he seldom hesitates to do both when he is tempted thereto. Mr Wilson was one of those earnest missionaries who go to that wilderness and face its dangers, as well as its hardships and sufferings, for the sake of teaching the savage that the mere knowledge of right and wrong is not enough—that the love of God, wrought in the heart of man by the Holy Spirit, alone can enable him to resist evil and do good—that belief in the Lord Jesus Christ alone can save the soul.
 
There are several missionaries of this stamp—men who love the name of Jesus—in that region, and there are a number of stations where the good seed of God’s Word is being planted in the wilderness. But I have not space, and this is not the place, to enlarge on the great and interesting subject of missionary work in Rupert’s Land. I must return to my narrative.
 
It was, as I have said, New Year’s day when Jasper and Marie were married. And a remarkably bright, beautiful morning it was. The snow appeared whiter than usual, and the countless gems of hoar-frost that hung on shrub and tree seemed to sparkle more than usual; even the sun appeared to shine more brightly than ever it did before—at least it seemed so in the eyes of Jasper and Marie.
 
“Everything seems to smile on us to-day, Marie,” said Jasper, as they stood with some of their friends at the gate of the fort, just after the ceremony was concluded.
 
“I trust that God may smile on you, and bless your union, my friends,” said Mr Wilson, coming forward with a small Bible in his hand. “Here is a copy of God’s Word, Jasper, which I wish you to accept of and keep as a remembrance of me and of this day.”
 
“I’ll keep it, sir, and I thank you heartily,” said Jasper, taking the book and returning the grasp of the missionary’s hand.
 
“And my chief object in giving it to you, Jasper, is, that you and Marie may read it often, and find joy and peace to your souls.”
 
As the missionary said this a faint sound, like the tinkling of distant bells, was heard in the frosty air.
 
Looks of surprise and excitement showed that this was an unwonted sound. And so it was; for only once or twice during the long winter did a visitor gladden Fort Erie with his presence. These sweet sounds were the tinkling of sleigh-bells, and they told that a stranger was approaching—that letters, perhaps, and news from far-distant homes, might be near at band.
 
Only twice in the year did the Europeans at that lonely outpost receive letters from home. Little wonder that they longed for them, and that they went almost wild with joy when they came.
 
Soon the sleigh appeared in sight, coming up the river at full speed, and a loud “hurrah!” from the men at the gate, told the visitor that he was a welcome guest. It was a dog-sleigh—a sort of conveyance much used by the fur-traders in winter travelling. In form, it was as like as possible to a tin slipper bath. It might also be compared to a shoe. If the reader will try to conceive of a shoe large enough to hold a man, sitting with his legs out before him, that will give him a good idea of the shape of a dog cariole. There is sometimes an ornamental curve in front. It is made of two thin hardwood planks curled up in front, with a light frame-work of wood, covered over with deer or buffalo skin, and painted in a very gay manner. Four dogs are usually harnessed to it, and these are quite sufficient to drag a man on a journey of many days, over every sort of country, where there is no road whatever. Dogs are much used for hauling little sledges in that country in winter. The traveller sits wrapped up so completely in furs, that nothing but his head is visible. He is attended by a driver on snow-shoes, who is armed with a large whip. No reins are used. If the snow is hard, as is usually the case on the surface of a lake or river, the driver walks behind and holds on to a tail-line, to prevent the dogs from running away. If the traveller’s way lies through the woods, the snow is so soft and deep that the poor dogs are neither willing nor able to run away. It is as much as they can do to walk; so the driver goes before them, in this case, and beats down the snow with his snow-shoes—“beats the track,” as it is called. The harness of the dogs is usually very gay, and covered with little bells which give forth a cheerful tinkling sound.
 
“It’s young Cameron,” cried Mr Pemberton, hastening forward to welcome the newcomer.
 
Cameron was the gentleman in charge of the nearest outpost—two hundred and fifty miles down the river.
 
“Welcome, Cameron, my boy, welcome to Fort Erie. You are the pleasantest sight we have seen here for many a day,” said Pemberton, shaking the young man heartily by the hand as soon as he had jumped out of his sleigh.
 
“Come, Pemberton, you forget Miss Marie Laroche when you talk of my being the pleasantest sight,” said Cameron, laughing.
 
“Ah! true. Pardon me, Marie—”
 
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” interrupted Jasper, with much gravity, “I know ............