had addressed him in French, and in the same language, plentifully interlarded with broken English, he gave me to understand that for the cart and horse they were luxuries I had no chance of procuring; that the beast I had met was, by my description, the "loup cervier," but that I need be under no alarm so long as the starlight remained as bright as it was; for though there were such, as well as bears, in the immediate neighbourhood, they would not prowl out unless the sky became obscured, in which case danger, no doubt, might be apprehended. This was poor comfort, but I had at all events the pleasure of listening to his description of the loup cervier whilst I remained in his hut, and it agreed so exactly with what I had had time to observe of the animal that had just passed before me, that I could not doubt its being the same. He particularly described the size as that of a calf, to which I had compared it in my own mind; and from what I gleaned I have come to the conclusion that the loup cervier, which is often confounded with the wolvereene, is altogether a distinct animal.

The loup cervier of the French, by its Latin name "lupus cervarius," commonly called the lynx, is described by naturalists as being in Europe the size of a fox-in Canada, that of a wild cat; the Canadian animal being classed by them as the "felix cervarius or small species of lynx, whereas it in reality is the larger of the two, standing higher than the wolf itself. Its legs, moreover, are long in proportion to its body, contrary to the usual supposition that the lynx is a short-legged animal. In every other description given of it by Buffon and other naturalists, it is a very active creature, moves by bounds and leaps, and climbs trees in pursuit of its prey. From its spotted skin and its being of the cat genus, it is often called by the settlers the "tigercat," which has given rise to the conjecture that there is a new species of wild cat exclusively belonging to this part of America.

The wolvereene and loup cervier are often confounded together, though they are of a totally different species, more, perhaps, from the similarity

in the first syllable of their names than from any other circumstance, for the wolvereene is one of the most formidable animals of the Canadian portion of British America, being very imperfectly classed and described by naturalists under the name of the "gulo arcticus."

By what I could gather concerning the wolvereene whilst I was in the province, it appeared to be a creature of much the same nature as the hyena, prowling by night in the neighbourhood of towns and villages for the purpose of carrying off any stray animal it might be able to overpower, or, in fault of better prey, to gorge itself upon such offal as had been thrown out by the inhabitants

to rot.

I had the good fortune, while in Quebec, to have a close rencontre with this animal myself. The house at which I was staying was some distance without the gates, and had a garden attached to it, portioned off from some fields which lay between the house and a cemetery or graveyard without the town; on the other side of the dwelling-place were the residences of several neighbours. It had been many times observed that a dog or some other animal was in the habit of laying at night in the garden, the grass being pressed down by its weight, and footmarks traced upon the garden path. These were described by a man, who had been much in the woods, as the trail of a wild beast; and the animal having once or twice been descried in the dusk of the evening, I was warned not to stay out after dark as I had been in the habit of doing.

I paid little attention, however, to the matter, thinking it probable that the animal would, after all, turn out to be some bitch who, on a former occasion, might have been deprived of her offspring, and now sought to litter a new progeny in safety, until, one evening, as I entered the garden, at something after nine o'clock, a huge black animal stole past me in the gateway, leisurely making towards the burying-ground. I turned and followed the creature, which permitted me to run almost by its side the distance of about 150 yards, during which I had ample opportunities of observing my companion, the first glance convincing me that it was no

dog. The animal was of a dark colour, and something bigger than a Newfoundland dog of the largest size, enormous in the bulk of the body, with a thick tail, resembling the brush of a fox; short legs, the fore ones much shorter than the hind, and apparently bandy, whilst the front quarters bore the appearance of great muscular strength. I noted the animal well, for it was new to me, and I observed that its hair was short and furry, and its pace awkward and shuffling like that ascribed to the hyena, while with a sly, skulking appearance it kept its head downwards like a dog on the scent, until I came close to the graveyard, when it slackened its pace, and and shewed a decided inclination to turn and attack me; seeing which I had recourse to my switch (a piece of whalebone with a ball of lead at the end, technically called a "supplejack"). This I whirled quickly and repeatedly round my head, accompanying the performance with a hurrah! that might have been expected to awaken the neighbouring dead, upon which my friend, arching up his back like a cat at the spring, bounded off with the speed of a greyhound, and, crossing some swampy ground in the direction of the St. Louis road, disappeared. I returned home, thinking I had lost all trace of my wild companion, but not so; in a few days I found him figuring in all the newspapers of the province, in an adventure with a Mr. Philips, which occurred not many hours after my own rencontre. It stated that this gentleman had been attacked, within a short distance of Quebec, by a wolvereene, which, flying from the town, met him coming on horseback in a contrary direction. The brute turned to the attack, and flying at the rider repeatedly endeavoured to seize his leg and dismount him, being each time driven back by a shout similar to the one by which I had scared the creature from myself; for the courage of most wild animals is cowed by the human voice. In this manner, pursued by the wolvereene, the horseman continued at his utmost pace for upwards of a mile, till, at length, he reached a house and obtained shelter; no doubt owing his life to his own presence of mind and the speed of his horse, for

he was without arms of any description.

Such adventures, however, are extremely rare in this part of Canada; but what rendered the case in question still more singular was the circumstance of the animal's directing its attack entirely against the rider, for it is more the nature of beasts of prey to fasten upon the animal. However, the assailant of Mr. Philips was proved, without a doubt, to be the nightly guest that had infested our garden; and, from after circumstances, it was supposed to have been a she wolvereene with young, who, having by some chance been driven from the woods to the neighbourhood of the town, had become confused at the novelty of her situation, and, being afraid to move during the day, had hung about the graveyard and garden (which, as I before said, were close to each other), until, being dislodged, and irritated by the dislodgment, she galloped straight to the woods again, and then meeting the unfortunate Mr. Philips, as it were, intersecting her pathway, she took him for an opponent, and, rendered doubly savage by her situation and previous rencontre with myself, pursued him in the unusual manner described.

Some months after this I heard that the carcass of a sheep had been discovered partially buried in a hole on the top of a high bank, not far from the spot where I first met the wolvereene; that is, about 100 yards from our house. With my old companion fresh in my recollection, I repaired to the spot, and found that the bank, thick with brushwood, was full eighty feet high, so steep that no sheep could, unassisted, have climbed its height. To have first killed and then dragged the body up the bank, was a feat surpassing the strength of a dog; whilst to have left the body exposed to public view, would have been as little the act of a rational being. Moreover, that the sheep when killed could scarcely have been occupying the upper ground, which was ploughed land, and strongly enclosed; whilst a day or two previous to the discovery of the carcass, a small flock had been seen feeding from a meadow of excellent pasturage beneath. Under all these circumstances, I was much disposed to think

of the deed as the work of the redoubtable wolvereene, who had generally been supposed since the rencontre with Mr. Philips to have lurked in a wood two or three miles distant from the town. In the hope that the animal would return at dark to devour his prey, I repaired with a friend to the spot where the carcass lay, and watched for some hours after dark (both of us being well armed), but to no purpose, beyond our own disappointment; for the wolvereene (if such it were), having probably gorged itself during the day, had abandoned the carcass which by this time had become a mere skeleton; for though when it was first discovered the animal was fresh killed, it was even then one half devoured; whilst the bank on which it lay being so thickly covered with bushes and extending nearly to the small wood (the reported haunt of the wolvereene), it was very possible for that creature to have visited the spot unperceived, even during the day, and to have finished at his leisure what he had previously begun. Besides, it is a well-known fact that the wolvereene, though possessed of great power of enduring hunger, is capable of gorging an animal much larger than itself in two or three days' time; in this respect almost surpassing the boa constrictor.

It is singular enough that though the skin of this animal is well-known in the furriers' shops, its habits have never been fully described; naturalists seem to know but little of it beyond its name.

But I must regain the thread of my day's adventure to the Vale Cartier settlement, which I have almost lost in my digression with the "loup cervier" and "wolvercene."

After I quitted, in disappointment, the lone hut in the wood, an hour's walk brought me into the open country again; and thankful was I that the clouds, which began rapidly to obscure the starlight, had delayed their work, until I was freely out of the region of the wild gentry. The inhabitants scattered over the valley of the St. Charles were fast retiring to rest. Here and there I could discern lights burning in the houses, and sometimes had the mortification to find them cautiously put out, as

my footsteps were heard near the door. At one of these, however, I knocked; and, looking through the low glass window to ascertain if those within were sleeping or awake, I discerned a French Canadian farmer, apparently just returned from a day's chusse, at a considerable distance from his dwelling. The man held one of the long Spanish-looking guns (commonly used by the habitans) in one hand, and a candle in the other; and upon the table near which he stood, there lay a powder-horn and a pouch. He came to the door upon my summons, courteously enough; upon which, addressing him in French with a bare question regarding my route (by way of introduction), I received in return an answer after the well-mannered tone of his race; which, tempting me to open upon him my real business in the question, "Could he supply me with horse and cart ?" a sudden change in the tide of things became perceptible. He who had been, not to say courteous, but polite, falsely presuming my country, either by my appearance or the accent of my French, turned angrily away, and muttering between his teeth, "Irlandois," stalked, gun and all, into an inner room, shutting to the door with an evident determination to leave my question unanswered. Somewhat wearied, but not altogether daunted by these fruitless efforts, I made still another trial, and then but another. In the first the lights were put out, and the family carefully closed in, the moment I knocked at the door; which so angered me, that, raising a tremendous din, I hammered with all my might against the door, expecting at least to find a head popped out of the window to inquire into the cause of such disturbance; but no, every thing remained as before, and even more still, from the contrast of my own angry summons; so giving them the benefit of an awful farewell salute (but, at the same time, fancying that these inmates who had so suspiciously questioned my right to hospitality, might take it in, as part of the account between us, to send a bullet after me in my retreat), I slipped cautiously behind a lonely barn, which ran from a short distance in front of the door of the house, nearly to the road-side, some forty yards from the dwelling-place, and

so got again to the highway. I had determined upon but one more trial, which made me cautious in selecting it, and, presenting myself at the window, by way of reconnoitre, I discerned within a young man and two women, evidently keeping later hours than the generality of their neighbours, for they were seated in comfortable enjoyment by their fireside.

Knocking at the doors having proved ineffectual, I thought I would this time make known my wants by means of the window; so calling to the man within, I begged he would come and speak to me at either one or the other. A muttered denial, however, given by a dogged shake of the head, and the churlish monosyllable, "No, no!" was all I could gain from him; until the women, probably discerning from my appearance that I was much fatigued, looked wistfully in their companion's face; a silent appeal in my favour, but a vain one; until the two, tauntingly upbraiding him with “vous avez peur, vous avez peur !" the man rose gingerly, and with slow, cautious step, approached the window.

To my question respecting a cart and horse, he informed me in as few words as possible that at a house a little farther on, there was a cart to be had, but, alas! there was no horse; and where there was a horse, the owner had no cart; the fact being, that they would not stir out of their bed to assist what they supposed to be an "Irlandois," were it to save his life; so seeing that all efforts to obtain a conveyance were ineffectual, I gathered up the little strength I had left, and proceeded the rest of the way (about ten miles) still on foot.

The whole valley was now in darkness, the inhabitants having all retired to rest; but a large fire, kindled by the Indians on the outskirts of the wood, which I understood to be at that minute in use for the manu

facture of maple sugar, burnt brightly, and served me as a beacon on my way. I had not proceeded far before I was met by a cart, leisurely driving along, with two Canadians in it. I ran joyfully forward, but to little purpose, for to all my entreaties to them to stop and take me in, I could get no answer; the horse was put to the top of his speed, and, with themselves, soon out of sight. Thus compelled, I blundered on the rest of the way upon foot, reaching my home at three o'clock in the morning, so completely exhausted, that I believe a mile farther would have knocked me up, or rather would have been "impossible," for "knocked up" I certainly was to the full extent of the word, having walked nearly forty miles without rest, and passed seventeen hours unable to obtain food; for, relying upon the chance of getting some

con

veyance by means of which I might finish my expedition with ease, I had set off wholly unprovided with a traveller's comforts, save and except a stout heart and a well-practised pair of legs.

In conclusion, it is but fair to say, that want of hospitality or even of politeness is not a general trait in the character of the French Canadians, for they excel in both these qualities. Their antipathy and fear of the Irish (for one of whom, no doubt, they mistook me) will account for the behaviour I have observed upon in the instance before us. In broad daylight I have gone amongst these same people, experiencing from them nothing but the utmost kindness and attention, and often I have been surprised and delighted to find the habitan courteously and even gracefully performing the functions of host, guide, or ferryman, as might be required, without claiming or expecting the slightest compensation.

London, Feb. 20, 1846.

MY DEAR SIR,-Our good friend and patron, the publisher of this Magazine, has brought me your message from Rome, and your demand to hear news from the other great city of the world. As the forty columns of the Times cannot satisfy your reverence's craving, and the details of the real great revolution of England which is actually going on do not sufficiently interest you, I send you a page or two of random speculations upon matters connected with the literary profession: they were suggested by reading the works and the biography of a literary friend of ours, lately deceased, and for whom every person who knew him had the warmest and sincerest regard. And no wonder. It was impossible to help trusting a man so thoroughly generous and honest, and loving one who was so perfectly gay, gentle, and amiable.

A man can't enjoy every thing in the world; but what delightful gifts and qualites are these to have! Not having known Blanchard as intimately as some others did, yet, I take it, he had in his life as much pleasure as falls to most men; the kindest friends, the most affectionate family, a heart to enjoy both; and a career not undistinguished, which I hold to be the smallest matter of all. But we have a cowardly dislike, or compassion for, the fact of a man dying poor. Such a one is rich, bilious, and a curmudgeon, without heart or stomach to enjoy his money, and we set him down as respectable : another is morose or passionate, his whole view of life seen blood-shot through passion, or jaundiced through moroseness : or he is a fool who can't see, or feel, or enjoy any thing at all, with no ear for music, no eye for beauty, no heart for love, with nothing except money: we meet such people every day, and respect them somehow. That donkey browses over five thousand acres; that mad

man's bankers come bowing him out to his carriage. You feel secretly pleased at shooting over the acres, or driving in the carriage. At any rate, nobody thinks of compassionating their owners. We are a race of flunkies, and keep our pity for the poor.

I don't mean to affix the plush personally upon the kind and distinguished gentleman and writer who has written Blanchard's Memoir; but it seems to me that it is couched in much too despondent a strain; that the lot of the hero of the little story was by no means deplorable; and that there is not the least call at present, to be holding up literary men as martyrs. Even that prevailing sentiment which regrets that means should not be provided for giving them leisure, for enabling them to perfect great works in retirement, that they should waste away their strength with fugitive literature, &c., I hold to be often uncalled for and dangerous. I believe, if most men of letters were to be pensioned, I am sorry to say I believe they wouldn't work at all; and of others, that the labour which is to answer the calls of the day is the one quite best suited to their genius. Suppose Sir Robert Peel were to write to you, and, enclosing a cheque for 20,000l., instruct you to pension any fifty deserving authors, so that they might have leisure to retire and write "great" works, on whom would you fix?

People in the big-book interest, too, cry out against the fashion of fugitive literature, and no wonder. For instance,

The Times gave an extract the other day from a work by one Doctor Carus, physician to the King of Saxony, who attended his royal master on his recent visit to England, and has written a book concerning the journey. Among other London lions, the illustrious traveller condescended to visit one of the largest and most