head-waters of the Mississippi, and had a vast fund of anecdote
regarding early times, customs, and inhabitants.

Some instances of the mode of administering justice in those days, I
happen to recall.

There was an old Frenchman at the Bay, named Réaume, excessively
ignorant and grasping, although otherwise tolerably good-natured. This
man was appointed justice of the peace. Two men once appeared before
him, the one as plaintiff, the other as defendant. The justice listened
patiently to the complaint of the one and the defence of the other;
then rising, with dignity, he pronounced his decision:

"You are both wrong. You, Bois-vert," to the plaintiff, "you bring me
one load of hay; and you, Crély," to the defendant, "you bring me one
load of wood; and now the matter is settled." It does not appear that
any exceptions were taken to this verdict.

This anecdote led to another, the scene of which was Prairie du Chien,
on the Mississippi.

There was a Frenchman, a justice of the peace, who was universally known
by the name of "Old Boilvin." His office was just without the walls of
the fort, and it was much the fashion among the officers to lounge in
there of a morning, to find sport for an idle hour, and to take a glass
of brandy-and-water with the old gentleman, which he called "taking a
little _quelque-chose."_

A soldier, named Fry, had been accused of stealing and killing a calf
belonging to M. Rolette, and the constable, a bricklayer of the name of