Lake Mangemagooz, and is taken care of by his daugher and son-in-law, and by a wife about forty years of age, to whom the old gentleman was, as we learned, wedded about twelve months before we met with him. A fine boy of about seven, we were informed, was his son by a former wife; but we observed no appearance of any farther probable increase to his establishment.

The other chief of whom I have to speak, is a much more extraordinary person; and the accounts which we were continually listening to had greatly excited our curiosity to see him-in which expectation, as I before noticed, we were disappointed, but have since had good reason to believe that he was not unobservant of our motions. This man's name (almost Italian) is Menessino, and he is son to old Majeshk. His usual residence is on the shores of Lake Kempt, the largest expanse we discovered, and almost a water labyrinth, from the extraordinary shapes of its deep bays, its narrow straits, and numerous large islands. Here lives Menessino, with his wives and children, in solitude; for he is a murderer, proscribed by the law, and seldom ventures to leave his haunts to visit the post Wemontachinque.

At one time he was pursued and secured by an officer, sent up purposely from Three Rivers, and who was conveying him down the St. Maurice for trial, when, at La Tuque, on that river, he seized an opportunity, although handcuffed, of plunging in below the rapid, and swam over to the other side in safety, leaving the constable only to wonder at his escape. As the canoe had not been brought over the portage, and he, in consequence, could not pursue him, Menessino easily found his way back to his lakes. In person he is described as a tall, active, athletic man, with an expression of countenance not unpleasing, but even indicative of mildness and quietude. calm exterior is, however, concealed a disposition to cruelty and violent passion which renders him fearful to all when excited by anger or jealousy. Our guide's rude draught of him reminded me somewhat of Byron's “Corsair”-dark and dangerous. Two wives have died by his hand: the grave of one we visited on the shores of Lake Kempt. He killed her in a paroxysm of anger, by cleaving her

Under this

head with an axe. The manner in which he destroyed the other I do not remember. Strange to relate, the place where he has chosen to bury the first unfortunate woman seems to be a favourite spot of the murderer; for there we found his bath and summer cabin, which the guide told us he is accustomed to inhabit.

On the same spot are also two other graves-one filled hy his own mother, who was murdered on a sand-beach of Lake Malawin, by the hands of Menessino's daughter, her own grandchild. Our guide was present when this unnatural murder was perpetrated. He and another were crossing Lake Malawin on a "derrouine" excursion, when, observing two women fighting on the sand, they approached in their canoe, and found they were the mother and daughter of Menessino, who himself was seated by, coolly looking on and smoking. The Canadians expressed a desire to separate them; but Menessino forbade them, and said, "let the women fight." The next minute our guide saw the young girl get the head of her antagonist under her arm, and twist it round, when the old woman fell dead. Her body was then conveyed more than forty miles, by Menessino, to the burialplace which we visited. The remaining grave there found is that of a child who died naturally. Nothing can surpass the neatness and care with which these graves are covered and defended from the attacks of wild beasts.

Another striking characteristic of this Indian is, that he never, like others, was in the habit of intoxicating himself at the posts with ardent spirits. Whatever he required he took with him to the lakes. Amongst his other peculiar whims, Menessino at one time insisted on having a wooden-boarded real house, built for him by the Hudson's Bay Company, on a point of Lake Kempt, under penalty of carrying his furs elsewhere; and this was actually done, all the timbers, &c., being conveyed from Wemontachinque. This building we had a great desire to see; but the guide pretended that he could not find it while in Lake Kempt, though he said he had several times been at it, and really had so. The fact is, the guide knew the spot, but was probably afraid of offending Menessino by discovering to us his retreat-another proof of the reverential awe which this chief has spread around

him. Why the fur-traders have so long refrained from securing and delivering him up to justice, I know not: it may be no concern of theirs, and Menessino is the best hunter of all the tribe of Tête de Boules. On one occasion two Canadians undertook to seize and carry off Menessino from his lake. They tracked him into one of the deep bays, which we were shown, and whence they concluded he could not escape. Menessino was, how

ever, aware of their intention: he left his canoe, and, stealing along among the trees, the wary Indian took deliberate aim at the men as they were cautiously passing, and killed either one or both on the spot at all events neither returned from the lake. But it is now time for me to close this paper. I will only add, that for several years no communication has existed between this lone man and old Majeshk, his father.

He had, some years ago, a half brother, whose grave we visited on Lake Ne

micachinque-a murderer also, whose catalogue of crime exceeds in horror even that of Menessino, and who was at length destroyed by another Indian, whose wife he had repeatedly endeavoured to carry off, and three times attempted to murder the husband. In the last of these encounters Menessino's brother was at length killed by a blow from the axe of his enemy, and the ruffian lies buried on the very spot where, seven years before, he had shot a Canadian woman in cool blood, and dashed out the brains of a poor child who had witnessed the deed. Such are some of the lawless acts that have been perpetrated in that wild region, where human life seems scarcely to be valued at "a button in a man's cap;" nor will they probably be the last of the same kind. There is no exaggeration in this sketch : I have merely repeated what I heard, and which, for the most part, the corresponding testimony of different persons tended to corroborate.'

If

If

J. W.

Revolutions, whatever good they may otherwise do, it must be allowed are very inimical to the picturesque. The celebrated three days of July swept away all the old crosses in France that used to group so harmoniously with the spires of the village churches. Ask any landscape painter whether their loss is not to be regretted ?

The arid form of the Old Cross, rearing itself high above the surrounding cottages, always contrasted finely with the verdure and waving foliage of the neighbouring trees. "There were many uses," says a lively French writer of the present day, "belonging to the Old Cross of my native village, which makes it greatly regretted. I know not whether the modern utilitarian would allow these uses to be actually utilities; but many of them were pleasant things to remember. The Old Cross of our primitive village stood on the banks of the Rhone, within view of the sea and of the port of Marseilles it was raised on Gothic stone steps, rising from the fresh bright turf. When the cottagers went to labour in the fields, these steps were the rendezvous for their little children to wait thereon for their return. The summit was always crowned with a wreath of the earliest wheat-ears, when the grain grew hard and harvest drew near; and it wore a garland of paquerettes or daisies at Easter, and of holly at Christmas, these being the great rustic festivals. On the steps of the Cross were settled all the commercial transactions of the village, the price of grain, the price of butter and eggs, and the rate of wages of labourers and mariners. Upon its shaft were engraven all memorable dates; as the return of Napoleon, and the Restoration. It was the landmark and terminal god of the village, and stood like a link between the middle ages and modern times. Poor Old Cross ! it was charged with reliques, votive offerings, and remembrances. It had stood safely the storms of the first revolution, and had been greeted as a faithful seamark by many a homeward-bound bark making for the blue arrowy Rhone. More than all, the truest vows of love were made at the foot of the Old Cross. Our timid young girls thought themselves as safe when, with their lovers, they stood VOL. I.-No. 6.

beneath its venerable shadow, as if they had not quitted the protection of their mothers. One night some sacrilegious person, inspired by the fervour of liberty and a fury against what he considered priestcraft, hewed down our Old Cross, and broke half the hearts in our village; for many lovers, who had called on it to witness their vows, from that moment considered their contracts broken and void.

"A few months previous to its destruction, a young sailor of Marseilles had paid his addresses to the prettiest girl in our village. He vowed, after his return from the Levant, to marry her. The sun shone as it loves to shine in the south of France -the blue river rushed along joyously, and glittered like a bright glare—and the budding vines that hung over the cliffs, waved above the Rhone in the breeze of a gay April eve. The lovers parted at the foot of our Old Cross.

،، Adieu, Robert.' 'Adieu, Adèle.' Thou wilt return, Robert, to the Old Cross, and fulfil thy vow?'

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،،، Never, Adele, will I forget it while the Old Cross stands.'

"Adele took off her new straw hat, trimmed with rose-coloured ribbons, and gave it to Robert, that it might adorn the saint figured at his ship's head, in order that, whenever he offered his devotions, he might be reminded of her. For many days after did this rover of the salt waters think of the contrast between the delicate features and complexion of Adèle, that showed so charmingly coy beneath the verge of this straw hat, and the weatherbeaten St. Anne, rudely daubed with vermillion, to whom it was now transferred. But the rose-coloured ribbons of the pretty straw hat soon got faded with the glare of the sun and the dash of salt water, and a black-eyed brunette of Livorno carried off the heart of the inconstant Robert at the first port made by his ship.

"And poor Adèle! Adèle sighed and wept, and prayed faithfully for his speedy return. One bright July evening, in 1830, she offered up vows for the safety of her betrothed, and with a devotedness of soul, and earnestness of look and attitude that contrasted strangely with the simple action, she attached to the Old

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