Marie Gourdon / A Romance of the Lower St. Lawrence

mon pays, t

her à me

anadian

are not yet out of date in this part of the country, and many a table-cloth and fine linen sheet, spun by the women of the district, find their way to the shops of Quebec and Montreal. A quaint picturesque little village this; the houses are scattered and at uneven distances from each other. Nearly all of them have large verandahs projecting far out on the roadside, which is covered with uneven planks,-pitfalls in many places to the benighted traveller. There are not many houses o

he inevitable tin roof common to most Canadian churches, a glaringly ugly object to behold on a hot afternoon, taking away by its obtrusiveness the restful feeling one naturally associa

ery quiet this afternoon, for except at the seasons of the pilgrimages to the church of the Good Sai

Père) is a long dusty road, very flat, and, except where the gulf

s on this road, and

n ten p.m. and six a.m. In spite of her seventy-six years, was she hale and hearty, bright and active. She was a brisk little body, and had a most intelligent face. Her eyes were dark and bright with animation, and her coloring was brown and healthy, unlike that of her neighbors of the sa

ts of the young Pretender. Disappointed in his hopes, he had come out to Quebec to help in the wars against the French, and, after his regiment had been disbanded near Rimouski, he remained in the district. His colonel, a c

e a stronghold for his rather erratic chieftain

trict, and intermarried with the Fr

prince, so unworthy of his true devotion, he had been estranged from his family, and ha

sensible things he ever did was to marry Eugenie Laforge, the daughter of the mayor of Rimouski. She was a pretty girl, and ha

Prince Charlie's adventures. This unfortunate young man, I need hardly remind the reader, had long ago, in th

loden-Ivan McAllister died quietly after a few hours' illness. Even at the last he was true to his idol, for his parting words were not addressed to wife or child, but it seemed that mem

ad of his grave was placed a roughly hewn cross, bearing on it this inscription: "Here lies Ivan McAllister, Colone

under the influence of the curé of Ri

ated between Father Point and Rimouski, and the McAllisters continue

ed two years ago, leaving one son, a promising young man of three-and-twenty. Just now she was waiting for the ho

riedly, as her son drew near, and cried out in her pretty French voice: "Oh, No?l, my son, is that you?-is it ind

ing. We have had such good sport, and very hard work. I am hungry,

nd yet you did not come. I was beginning to get anxious, though the Gulf is like glass, and t

itting and dining room. Like most other French Canadian houses, Madame McAllister's was carpeted in all the rooms with a rag carpet of three colors-red, whit

St. Anne, the mother of the Blessed Virgin, and of Pope Pius IX. Indeed, it would be diffi

snowy white, with here and there a bright-colored mat spread on it; the brown roughly-hewn bedstead was covered

elf getting supper ready, all

did you get this time? I

he first day we captured a fine porp

s good," rep

only Parisian French. For, not only is the pronunciation different, but several Scotch words are used by the inhabi

ave your boat?" q

. He is to drive up with the pilot to-morrow,

teamer is lat

to-morrow morning; she was telegraphed from

you had such goo

sell them at Quebec for a good round price. So far so good. But this is the first

xt week. Hundreds of lame, blind and sick folk are coming from all parts of the country-from Quebe

"but I want to hear the news of th

an at the church, and M. Bois-le-Duc encourages her. I call it nons

r, she sings l

; so Eugène Lac

No?l, starting; "I thou

ek. He came down for a holiday, a

oix. He seems to me a dreamy, impractical sort of person, and only

em absurd?" r

w that, for a time the curé sent him to Laval at his

and for wha

ainter. He is always painting during his ho

r man, and whatever he does is good, but I, for

McAllister was nothing if not practical, and cooking was one of her strong points. Her bouillon, a sort of hotch-potch, was so g

ezes, and after enjoying a pipe, said, "Now, my mother, I think I

old lady, and, as she heard the door close on

! That is to say in pla