It was pleasant to people, secluded in such a degree from the world at
large, to bear all the news we had brought--all the particulars of life
and manners--the thousand little items that the newspapers of that day
did not dream of furnishing--the fashions, and that general gossip, in
short, which a lady is erroneously supposed more _au fait_ of, than a
gentleman.

I well remember that, in giving and receiving information, the day
passed in a pretty uninterrupted stream of communication. All the party
except myself had made the journey, or rather voyage, up the Fox River
and down the Wisconsin to the Mississippi.

There were plenty of anecdotes of a certain trip performed by the
three, in company with a French trader and his two sisters, then making
their debut as Western travellers. The manner in which Mademoiselle
Julie would borrow, without leave, a fine damask napkin or two, to wipe
out the ducks in preparation for cooking--the difficulty of persuading
either of the sisters of the propriety of washing and rinsing their
table apparatus nicely before packing it away in the mess-basket, the
consequence of which was, that another nice napkin must be stealthily
whisked out, to wipe the dishes when the hour for meals arrived--the fun
of the young gentleman in hunting up his stray articles, thus
misappropriated, from the nooks and corners of the boat, tying them with
a cord, and hanging them over the stern, to make their way down the
Wisconsin to Prairie du Chien.

Then there was a capital story of M. Rolette himself. At one point on
the route (I think in crossing Winnebago Lake) the travellers met one of
the Company's boats on its way to Green Bay for supplies. M. Rolette was
one of the agents of the Company, and the people in the boat were his