It was a day that awakened feelings that seemed sacred. Have you ever lived in the country? Have you ever visited in the country in springtime? Have you ever asked yourself: "I wonder if the sap in the sugar trees is stirring yet? Is the sugar water dripping?" Have you ever worked in a sugar camp, such as there were in old Fayette County in those days? Nearer the south than bleak New England, the trees more full of sap, the sap sweeter than it flows anywhere on earth. The trees in the camp tapped, the spiles driven, the sweet water dropping; the boys and girls, the men, yes, the women too, gathering the sap. The day is warm, the run a big one; to save it, all must hustle the big barrels loaded on the sleds as the horses move from one tree to another, turning over the mosses and dried leaves, exposing the Johnny-jump-ups and violets as if they were just peeping up through the ground at the busy scene. The redbird is singing in the tree, his plumage all the brighter for the winter's bleaching. The day is not long enough, the night is consumed. The boys from all the country about gather at the camp. The moon was a book and every star a word that read fun and frolic to the jolly crowd at the camp at Uncle Jake's that night. Alfred sang songs, and told jokes. They had sugared off, made a big kettle of sugar. Some dipped big spoonfuls of the thickened syrup from the kettle, and poured it slowly into tin cups filled with ice cold water. As it cooled the large lump of wax was pulled out of the water with the fingers. Some, with buttered hands, worked the wax until they had whitish taffy, others filled their mouths with the wax as it came from the water. The writer will engage to cure any case of stomach trouble that ever worried man or woman with this maple wax. The night wore on, the fun flagged. Ben Paul, a husky country boy, proposed that two or three go to Nick Yonse's still house and procure a little "licker." Cousin Wilson frowned upon this proposal but as the boys were his guests he did not further protest. It was impossible to awaken anyone to get the matured article from the distillery; therefore, with the aid of a clothesline fastened to a jug which Ben lowered into a vat filled with corn juice distilled the day previous, a supply was secured. Ben returned to the camp. He was truthful when he explained that the offering he brought was no old stale stuff such as they were accustomed to, but something new and fresh.