early times, customs, and inhabitants.

Some instances of the mode of administering justice in those days, I happen to recall.

There was an old Frenchman at the Bay, named Réaume, excessively ignorant and grasping, although otherwise tolerably good-natured. This man was appointed justice of the peace. Two men once appeared before him, the one as plaintiff, the other as defendant. The justice listened patiently to the complaint of the one and the defence of the other; then rising, with dignity, he pronounced his decision:

"You are both wrong. You, Bois-vert," to the plaintiff, "you bring me one load of hay; and you, Crély," to the defendant, "you bring me one load of wood; and now the matter is settled." It does not appear that any exceptions were taken to this verdict.

This anecdote led to another, the scene of which was Prairie du Chien, on the Mississippi.

There was a Frenchman, a justice of the peace, who was universally known by the name of "Old Boilvin." His office was just without the walls of the fort, and it was much the fashion among the officers to lounge in there of a morning, to find sport for an idle hour, and to take a glass of brandy-and-water with the old gentleman, which he called "taking a little quelque-chose."

A soldier, named Fry, had been accused of stealing and killing a calf belonging to M. Rolette, and the constable, a bricklayer of the name of Bell, had been dispatched to arrest the culprit and bring him to trial.

While the gentlemen were making their customary morning visit to the justice, a noise was heard in the entry, and a knock at the door.

"Come in," cried Old Boilvin, rising and walking toward the door.

Bell,—Here, sir, I have brought Fry to you, as you ordered.

Justice—Fry, you great rascal! What for you kill M. Rolette's calf?

Fry,—I did not kill M. Rolette's calf.

Justice (shaking his fist).—You lie, you great —— rascal! Bell, take him to jail. Come, gentlemen, come, let us take a leetle quelque-chose.

* * * * *

The Canadian boatmen always sing while rowing or paddling, and nothing encourages them so much as to hear the "bourgeois"[5] take the lead in the music. If the passengers, more especially those of the fair sex, join in the refrain, the compliment is all the greater.

Their songs are of a light, cheerful character, generally embodying some little satire or witticism, calculated to produce a spirited, sometimes an uproarious, chorus.

The song and refrain are carried on somewhat in the following style:

  BOURGEOIS.—Par-derrière chez ma tante,
              Par-derrière chez ma tante.

        CHORUS.—Par-derrière chez ma tante,
                 Par-derrière chez ma tante.

  BOURGEOIS.—Il y a un coq qui chante,
              Des pommes, des poires, des raves, des choux,
              Des figues nouvelles, des raisins doux.

        CHORUS.—Des pommes, des poires, des raves, des choux,
                 Des figues nouvelles, des raisins doux.

  BOURGEOIS.—Il y a un coq qui chante,
              Il y a un coq qui chante.

CHORUS.—Il y a un coq qui chante, etc.

  BOURGEOIS.—Demande une femme à prendre,
              Des pommes, des poires, des raves, des choux, etc.

CHORUS.—Des pommes, dos poires, etc.

  BOURGEOIS.—Demande une femme à prendre,
              Demande une femme à, etc.

And thus it continues until the advice is given successively,

  Ne prenez pas une noire,
  Car elles aiment trop à boire,
  Ne prenez pas une rousse,
  Car elles sont trop jalouses.

And by the time all the different qualifications are rehearsed and objected to, lengthened out by the interminable repetition of the chorus, the shout of the bourgeois is heard—

"Whoop la! à terre, à terre—pour la pipe!"

It is an invariable custom for the voyageurs to stop every five or six miles to rest and smoke, so that it was formerly the way of measuring distances—"so many pipes," instead of "so many miles."

The Canadian melodies are sometimes very beautiful, and a more exhilarating mode of travel can hardly be imagined than a voyage over these waters, amid all the wild magnificence of nature, with the measured strokes of the oar keeping time to the strains of "Le Rosier Blanc," "En roulant ma Boule_," or "Lève ton pied, ma jolie Bergère."

The climax of fun seemed to be in a comic piece, which, however oft repeated, appeared never to grow stale. It was somewhat after this fashion:

  BOURGEOIS.—Michaud est monté dans un prunier,
              Pour treiller des prunes.
              La branche a cassé—

CHORUS.—Michaud a tombé?

BOURGEOIS.—Ou est-ce qu'il est?

CHORUS.—Il est en bas.

  BOURGEOIS.—Oh! reveille, reveille, reveille,
              Oh! reveille, Michaud est en haut![6]

It was always a point of etiquette to look astonished at the luck of Michaud in remaining in the tree, spite of the breaking of the branch, and the joke had to be repeated through all the varieties of fruit-trees that Michaud might be supposed able to climb.

By evening of the first day we arrived at the Kakalin, where another branch of the Grignon family resided. We were very pleasantly entertained, although, in my anxiety to begin my forest life, I would fain have had the tent pitched on the bank of the river, and have laid aside, at once, the indulgences of civilization. This, however, would have been a slight, perhaps an affront; so we did much better, and partook of the good cheer that was offered us in the shape of hot venison steaks and crêpes, and that excellent cup of coffee which none can prepare like a Frenchwoman, and which is so refreshing after a day in the open air.

The Kakalin is a rapid of the Fox River, sufficiently important to make the portage of the heavy lading of a boat necessary; the boat itself being poled or dragged up with cords against the current. It is one of a series of rapids and chûtes, or falls, which occur between this point and Lake Winnebago, twenty miles above.

The next morning, after breakfast, we took leave of our hosts, and prepared to pursue our journey. The bourgeois, from an early hour, had been occupied in superintending his men in getting the boat and its loading over the Kakalin. As the late rains had made the paths through the woods and along the banks of the river somewhat muddy and uncomfortable for walking, I was put into an ox-cart, to be jolted over the unequal road; saluting impartially all the stumps and stones that lay in our way, the only means of avoiding which seemed to be when the little, thick-headed Frenchman, our conductor, bethought him of suddenly guiding his cattle into a projecting tree or thorn-bush, to the great detriment not only of my straw bonnet, but of my very eyes.

But we got through at last, and, arriving at the head of the rapids, I found the boat lying there, all in readiness for our