When Mike's fiddle was not going, our lumbering companions were wont to spin long yarns, as we sat at the supper-table.  Several of them had worked up the northern rivers of Canada, where the winter lasts much longer than it does in the district I am describing; and among these was a fine old French Canadian, Jacques Michaud by name, who had come south with a party, tempted by the prospect of obtaining a pocketful of dollars.  He stood six feet two inches in his stockings; and his strength was in proportion to his size.  At the same time, he was one of the most good-natured and kind-hearted men I ever met.