could, placed him in the calêche, and returned to Quebec.

The next morning he was worse, feverish, and his spirits much depressed; he ceased to talk, poor boy! of the sleigh he was to have in the winter, the moose-hunting, and the gaieties he and his companions looked forward to with so much pleasure-his conversation was of home.

That night he was bled; the day after, he was no better, his ideas wandered a little, and his head was shaved; the fever was very high, but no one was alarmed about him, he was so strong and robust. I went again in the evening to see him, but he did not quite know me. It was necessary to keep him quiet; as he seemed inclined to sleep, we left him alone. In the next room five or six of his brother officers were assembled round the open window; I joined them, and we sat talking for some time on various subjects, the conversation gradually taking a more serious tone as the night advanced.

Near midnight we were startled by the door suddenly opening; the sick man came in, and walked close up to us. He had just risen from his bed; his eyes were wild and wandering, his flushed face and bare head gave him a frightful

appearance. "I am very ill," he said, none of you think so, but I know I am dying." As we carried him back to his room every vein throbbed, the fever raged through him. All the medical advice the town afforded was summoned, and he was watched with anxious care all night. They fancied he slept towards morning: he seemed much better; it was said the crisis had passed; he was weak, but quite tranquil. They thought he was out of danger, and his friends left him for a little space, some to rest, others to pursue the amusements of the day.

At three o'clock that afternoon, a military band was playing a lively overture on the esplanade close by; well-filled carriages were ranged on the road outside; two or three riding parties of ladies and gentlemen cantered about; gay groups wandered to and fro on the fresh green turf; merry, laughing faces looked out of the windows of the houses on the animated scene; the metal roofs and spires glittered in the bright, warm sunshine.

At three o'clock that afternoon, on a small, ironframed bed, in a dark, bare, barrack-room, thousands of miles away from his kindred, with a hospital nurse by his pillow, the young Ensign died.

All the rides and drives about Quebec are very beautiful of the six or seven different roads, it is hard to say which is the best to choose, as we found one evening when arranging a large ridingparty for the following day; but at length we fixed on that to Lake Calvaire. At two o'clock on a fresh afternoon in October, some five or six ladies and as many attendant squires assembled on the esplanade, variously mounted, from the English thorough-bred to the Canadian pony; we passed out by St. Louis Gate at a merry trot, a slight shower having laid the dust and softened the air; we crossed the bleak plains of Abraham, now a race-course, and continued for four or five miles through woods and small parks, with neat and comfortable country houses; scarcely checking bit till we reached the top of the steep hill at Cap Rouge, where the road winds down the front of the bold headland to the low country beyond, on the banks of the St. Lawrence.

As we descended, the glimpses of the great river, caught every now and then through the close and still brilliant foliage of the woods, were enchanting. Several large ships, with all sail set, were running down before the wind; on the bank beyond, stood the picturesque cottages and shores of the hamlet of

St. Nicholas; the rustic bridge over the Chaudière River filled up the back ground of the landscape.

The younger people of the party paid but little attention to this scene, but a great deal to each other. When at the bottom of the hill, away they went again as fast as before; and, the road here becoming narrow, no more than two could ride abreast; as the pace began to tell, the cavalcade was soon half a mile in length.

up

Our way lay through country hamlets, winding

and down small hills, and crossing over rickety wooden bridges. Here and there above the little streams, stood a quaint old mill which in former times the Seigneur was bound to build for the use of the habitans on his estate. The people appeared very simple and ignorant; the farms wretchedly managed; the cattle poor; and the instruments of husbandry the same as the rude forefathers of the hamlet used a hundred years ago.

In every village there is a well, furnished with very primitive means for drawing water: a post is fixed in the ground close by, and on its top a cross bar moves on a pivot; from the light end of this bar hangs the bucket, by a long rod, the other end being heavy enough to outweigh and raise the

bucket when filled with water by forcing it down into the well with the long rod.

The dress of the habitans, in the country parts, is very homely; they always wear the red or blue worsted cap; their complexion is nearly as dark as that of the Indians, but they are a smaller and less active race. As we passed along, they turned out in crowds to stare stupidly at the unusual sight; the lazy cattle moved farther away from the road; fierce little dogs ran from the cottages, and, secure behind the high wooden fences, barked at us furiously; trotting back contentedly when they saw us clear, as if they had done their duty.

Our way soon became only a path through the "bush ;" we could see but a few yards before and behind above, the sky; on either side the wall of firs, pines, and cedars, with some few flowers and creepers which had outlived their companions of the summer. The sound of our horses' feet on the hard turf rang through the glades, disturbing nothing but the echoes. There is no place more still and lonely than the American forest.

The woods were cleared away where we opened on Lake Calvaire-a narrow sheet of water about a mile and a half long, with populous and cultivated shores; every here and there, a