into the garden, that is now crowded with pinks, roses, and honeysuckles, and the window into my neighbor's orchard. It formerly served an apothecary as a smoking-room; at present, however, it is dedicated to sublimer uses; here I write all that I write in summer time, whether to my friends or to the public. It is secure from all noise, and a refuge from all intrusion."

In another letter he says, "My greenhouse is never so pleasant as when we are just upon the point of being turned out of it. The gentleness of the autumnal suns, and the calmness of this latter season, make it a much more agreeable retreat than we ever find it in summer; when, the winds being generally brisk, we cannot cool it by admitting a sufficient quantity of air, without being at the same time incommoded by it. But now I sit with all the windows and the door wide open, and am regaled with the scent of every flower in a garden as full of flowers as I have known how to make it. We keep no bees, but if I lived in a hive I should hardly hear more of their music. All the bees in the neighborhood resort to a bed of mignonette opposite to the window, and pay me for the honey they get out of it by a hum, which, tho' rather monotonous, is as agreeable to my ear as the whistling of my linnets. All the sounds that nature utters are delightful, at least in this country. I should not perhaps find the roaring of lions in Africa, or of bears in Russia, very pleasing; but I know no beast in England

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whose voice I do not account musical, save and except always the braying of an ass. The notes of all our birds and fowls please me, without one exception. I should not indeed think of keeping a goose in a cage, that I might hang him up in the parlour for the sake of his melody, but a goose upon a common or in a farm-yard, is no bad performer; and as to insects, if the black beetle, and beetles indeed of all hues, will keep out of my way, I have no objection to any of the rest; on the contrary, in whatever key they sing, from the gnat's fine treble to the bass of the humble bee, I admire them all. The fields, the woods, the gardens, have each their concert, and the ear of man is for ever regaled by creatures who seem only to please themselves."

When Cowper was in a merry mood, and his 'blue' disorder out of the way, just see how pleasantly he could trifle :

pace and talk about grace, that she and her bard have little regard for the taste and fashions, and ruling passions, and hoydening play, of the modern day; and though she assume a borrowed plume, and now and then wear a tittering air, 'tis only her plan to catch if she can, the giddy and gay, as they go that way, by a production on a new construction; she has baited her trap, in hopes to snap all that may come, with a sugar plum.'— This opinion in this will not be amiss; 'tis what I intend, my principal end; and if I succeed, and folks should read, till a few are brought to a serious thought, I should think I am paid for all I have said, and all I have done, though I have run, many a time after a rhyme, as far from hence, to the end of my sense, and by hook or crook, write another book, if I live and am here, another year.

floor, laid upon springs, and such like things, with so much art in every part, that when you went in, you was forced to begin a minuet pace, with an air and a grace, swimming about, now in and now out, with a deal of state, in a figure of eight, without pipe or string, or any such thing. And now I have writ in a rhyming fit, what will make you dance, and as you advance, will keep you still, tho' against your will, dancing away, alert and gay, till you come to an end of what I have penned ; which that you may do, ere madam and you are quite worn out, with jigging about, I take my leave, and here you receive a bow profound, down to the ground, from your humble me—W. C.

The present engraving of Cowper's Summer-House is taken from a design

LETTER II.

Sailing up the St. Lawrence river-The great Timber Ships-The Rapids—Lake St. Peter-Wooden Light Houses—Montreal, and its Mountain-Roman Cath

edral-The Ottawa River and the Chaudiere Falls.

IF you look at the map again, you will see that the St. Lawrence winds in a westerly course. You must consider now that I am going to Montreal, and that I am about to tell you something of the places between Quebec and Montreal. As soon as I had passed Quebec I found that the river widened considerably, and

the banks on each side were much lower, but the country was very beautiful and rich in groves, orchards and cornfields. I ought to have told you that near Quebec were built those two immense ships called the Columbus and Baron Renfrew, which carried timber to England, and were nearly 320 feet long, and 40 deep. Just find the length by comparison, and you will be astonished.

Well, to go on with my voyage up the river. About forty-five miles above Quebec is Richlieu Rapid. Perhaps you do

not know what I mean by a rapid; it is this. At the bottom of rivers the ground or bed is sometimes very uneven, and occasionally a considerable fall of many feet, but pretty level of course; when the water runs over these places, as the descent is greater, it runs much more rapidly. This continues sometimes a considerable distance, and makes it rather dangerous for boats to descend the river, and almost impossible to ascend it, except by keeping close to the edge, or by the tides setting upwards. Such places are called Rapids—and rapid enough is a boat's course upon them, I can tell you.

About six miles above the rapids the St Lawrence expands itself into a level country as far as lake St Peter, and this lake is only a widening of the river, as you will see marked on the map. In those parts of the river where the channel is difficult by reason of shoals and banks, there are little lighthouses upon wooden posts, not much larger than pigeon-houses. These droll little pigmy houses are inhabited by persons who light them at night to warn those boats going up or down the river.

From this place to Montreal the whole of the scenery is very beautiful. There are many little knolls of grass in various parts of the river, on which cows were feeding, and where they are milked by persons going to them in boats.

I now came towards Montreal, which is situated on the left of the river, just where it expands itself into a fine basin,

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diversified with several islands, on one of which stands the town. Above it rises a lofty hill, from which the town takes its name, and which is a corruption of Mount Royal, The island is about thirty miles in length and seven broad, and the town is built on the southernmost point. I was much disappointed with Montreal, after what I had heard of it. The river was full of floating timber, and although some tolerably good wharves have been recently built, yet the town itself is far from agreeable. The whole of the lower town is covered with gloomy-looking houses, with dark iron shutters, and the streets are dirty, narrow, and ill-paved.

One of the handsomest buildings is the Roman Catholic cathedral; and its eastern window, which is seventy feet high, throws down a soft and beautiful light on the gorgeous fittings up common to a catholic place of worship. One thing that struck me is the pretty manner in which the buildings fronting the river are constructed. They are mostly furnished with wooden ballustrades to the upper and lower stories, ascended by broad stairs from the outside; and when fronting the water, with a nice path leading to them, they look very pretty.

If you look again at the map, you will see that just above Montreal, on the north side, a river falls into the St Lawrence. This is called the Ottawa or Grand River, and has its origin in the lake of Temiscaming, upwards of 350 miles to the north-west. Of the country through which this river runs little is

CHAPTER IX.

Mr W. That is because I have been crying. Let me look in your eyes-and

seventy-three years.

Mr W. Did you ever hear of a man who cried without ceasing seventy-three years?

Tom. I have not-of that I am quite certain.

Mr W. And I am equally certain that you and your sisters have cried ever

Tom. We cannot tell what you mean.

Mr W. Did you ever see the eye of a dead sheep or cow?

Tom. Often; it has lost its clearness and brightness.

Mr W. What causes it to lose its transparency?

Tom. It is exposed to the air.
Mr W. And so has your eye

been;

and yet it is very bright and clear. Tom. How is it kept from drying? Mr W. By the most simple and beautiful contrivance. Under the outer edge of the bone, upon which the eyebrow is placed, is a little gland.

Tom. Like the spittle gland?

Mr W. Yes, but very small; and this is the little tear manufactory. Every time we shut our eyes this is pressed upon, and a tear is squeezed out, and is made to wash the whole eye.

Tom. I have often wondered why every body I saw kept winking. I see now-it is to make the eyeball clear and bright. Mr W. Tom.

Has it no other use?
None that I know of.