A sharp fire opened upon the troops when they appeared, and the efforts against the entrenched position failed, the resistance being very determined. The ammunition of the assailants was soon exhausted, and they were obliged to yield the victory; the roads had become impassable, a gun was abandoned in the retreat, and sixteen men were killed and wounded.

This first and last gleam of sunshine on rebellion, was darkened by as ruthless and cowardly an assassination as ever stained a cause. An officer of the 32nd regiment, Lieutenant Weir, had been sent with despatches to this detachment; on his way, he fell into the hands of the rebels at St. Denis. They sent him, as a prisoner, to St. Charles, under the charge of Francois Jalbert, formerly a Captain of militia, and other men. The former, I believe, is still alive to bear the curse of his foul crime.

They tied their victim's hands behind his back with cords, placed him in a cart, and went on their journey. The roads were so bad that the horse soon stopped; Jalbert told their prisoner to get out of the conveyance and walk; as he could not move his hands, and his limbs were chilled and stiff, he had some difficulty in reaching the ground, and then leaned against the cart to support himself,

at the same time remonstrating, and insisting on having his arms unbound. Jalbert, irritated at this, rushed at him from behind, and stabbed him in the back with a sword. He fell, and the weapon remained firmly fixed, from the strength of the blow. The murderer, holding the hilt still in his hand, stamped with his heavy heel on the prostrate body, till he had dragged out the blade: writhing with pain, tied down, and helpless, the poor young man crept under the cart wheels for protection; but the human tigers, one with the sword, another with an axe, struck at him as he lay, mangling him at every blow.

There was no hope of escape; but, by a sort of instinct, he struggled up and made an effort to limp away; pursued, he turned and tried feebly with his foot to parry the assassin's sword. The other was behind him, and swung the heavy axe down on his bare head; he felt the coming blow, bent to avoid it, and threw up his bound hands to avert the fall: the blunt steel tore off his fingers and beat in his skull. The murderers then threw the body into the Richelieu river, and covered it with stones; some brother officers, guided by the villagers, found it there, but could scarcely recognize, in the battered corpse, the gay and gallant young officer they had so lately seen. Who can be surprised

that some of the exasperated soldiery took a fierce revenge?

On the same night the troops marched on St. Denis, Lieutenant-Colonel Wetherall left Chambly, with five hundred men and two guns, for St. Charles. The intention was that these two attacks should have been simultaneous, but the bridges were destroyed, the weather was very severe, and the roads were difficult, so that the detachment did not arrive till noon of the 25th. The rebels were numerous, strongly posted in field works, and animated by the news of the success at St. Denis. The gallant Colonel Wetherall, as soon as he had formed his troops, led them to the assault. After a sturdy defence the position was carried, and the village burnt. The insurgents suffered a heavy loss: the troops had twenty-one killed and wounded.

This disaster was fatal to the hopes of the rebels on the Richelieu; and, soon after, they all dispersed. A man named Brown had been their leader; he shewed himself a dastard through the brief struggle; and, at the first symptom of reverse, deserted his deluded followers, and fled to the United States. All the leaders, except Nelson, added disgraceful cowardice to their treason. He was taken, having stood by his people to the last.

There is a rich and beautiful district, called "The County of the Two Mountains," thirty miles up the Ottawa river, west of Montreal. The highest

of the hills from which it derives its name is called Calvary, held sacred by the Canadians and the remnants of two great Indian nations, the Mohawks and Algonquins, living at its base. A large lake lies in its shade, terminated by the rapids of St. Anne; here, in the old time, the voyageurs used to bid farewell to the haunts of men, in the church of their tutelary saint, and receive the blessing on their journeys. We have all heard their beautiful boat-song in our English homes; its tones are very sweet on their own bright waters. Moore's words are of this spot, in the line—

"We'll sing at St. Anne's our parting hymn."

At the time of our story, this lovely country was deformed by the evil passions of men; it was the centre of the revolt, the scene of its worst excesses. A numerous body of the disaffected had assembled here, led by a man named Girod, a clever demagogue, who had received a good education, but was devoid of courage or principle.

On the morning of the 13th of December, Sir John Colborne, the commander of the forces in

Canada, with about thirteen hundred men, advanced

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from Montreal towards this district, along the left bank of the Ottawa. On the opposite side was the fortified village of St. Eustache; on the 14th the army crossed the river and invested it. The greater number of the insurgents, terrified at the approach of danger, fled in the night: among these was Girod; he was overtaken, and put the seal upon his shame by suicide. A brave, misguided enthusiast, named Chènier, with about four hundred men, threw themselves into the church and the adjoining buildings, and defended themselves with courage and constancy; but their cover was beaten down, and finally fired, by the artillery; their leader and many of their number were slain, the remainder taken or dispersed.

The next day the troops advanced on St. Benoit, where had been the stronghold of the insurrection; a vigorous resistance was expected, but the leaders who were so bold in speech dared not act out their treason; a deputation from the inhabitants came to beg for mercy; they said that those who had incited them to rise had deserted them in their time of trial. Their submission was accepted, and they were allowed to depart to their homes.

On the 16th, Sir John Colborne returned to Montreal, leaving a detachment to reduce the rest