On the following day we crossed the lake to Georgeville, and drove around another lake called the Massawhippi back to Sherbrooke.  This was all very well, for it showed us a part of the country which is comparatively well tilled, and has been long settled; but the Massawhippi itself is not worth a visit.  The route by which we returned occupies a longer time than the other, and is more costly, as it must be made in a hired vehicle.  The people here are quiet, orderly, and I should say a little slow.  It is manifest that a strong feeling against the Northern States has lately sprung up.  This is much to be deprecated, but I cannot but say that it is natural.  It is not that the Canadians have any special secession feelings, or that they have entered with peculiar warmth into the questions of American politics; but they have been vexed and acerbated by the braggadocio of the Northern States.  They constantly hear that they are to be invaded, and translated into citizens of the Union; that British rule is to be swept off the continent, and that the star-spangled banner is to be waved over them in pity.  The star-spangled banner is in fact a fine flag, and has waved to some purpose; but those who live near it, and not under it, fancy that they hear too much of it.  At the present moment the loyalty of both the Canadas to Great Britain is beyond all question.  From all that I can hear, I doubt whether this feeling in the provinces was ever so strong, and under such circumstances American abuse of England and American braggadocio is more than usually distasteful.  All this abuse and all this braggadocio come to Canada from the Northern States, and therefore the Southern cause is at the present moment the more popular with them.

I have said that the Canadians hereabouts are somewhat slow.  As we were driving back to Sherbrooke it became necessary that we should rest for an hour or so in the middle of the day, and for this purpose we stopped at a village inn.  It was a large house, in which there appeared to be three public sitting-rooms of ample size, one of which was occupied as the bar.  In this there were congregated some six or seven men, seated in arm-chairs round a stove, and among these I placed myself.  No one spoke a word either to me or to any one else.  No one smoked, and no one read, nor did they even whittle sticks.  I asked a question, first of one and then of another, and was answered with monosyllables.  So I gave up any hope in that direction, and sat staring at the big stove in the middle of the room, as the others did.  Presently another stranger entered, having arrived in a wagon, as I had done.  He entered the room and sat down, addressing no one, and addressed by no one.  After awhile, however, he spoke.  “Will there be any chance of dinner here?” he said.  “I guess there’ll be dinner by-and-by,” answered the landlord, and then there was silence for another ten minutes, during which the stranger stared at the stove.  “Is