At two we sat down to dinner in the General's quarters, surrounded by friends old and new, for those who had withstood each other so stoutly in the field now vied only in expressions of personal admiration and esteem. Poulariez, Malartic, and le petit Joannès sat side by side with Fraser, Burton, and Rollo, while the two Generals shared the honors of the feast with Margaret and Angélique.

M. de Lévis did me the honor to request that I would supplement his encomium on our hosts by a few words in English, which I did with poor enough effect; but on being called upon on all sides for a song, I retrieved my halting prose with the following, which I had set to the old air of "Dalmeny":

Though unrelenting fate hath cast
In camps opposed our lot,
Though we have faced each other oft,
And Scot hath drawn on Scot,

I cannot hold that chance, or time,
Or waste of sundering sea,
Can part the banished hearts that meet
At one in their Ain Countrie.

We've sprung from every mile that lies
'Twixt Tweed-side and Ardshiel,
To wake the corners of the world
With clash of Scottish steel.

We've kept our faith to King and Prince,
And held it ample fee

If life or death might keep our name
Alive in our Ain Countrie.

We've ridden far for name and fame,
We've never stooped for gold,
We've led the flying columns back
With victory in our hold.
We've won undying name and fame!
Yet all o' it I'd gie

To see the red sun set at hame,

At hame, in my Ain Countrie.

The enthusiasm of our generous hosts over my effort formed a fitting close to the festivity, and the refrain of "Our Ain Countrie" was carried forth from the room to pass from lip to lip until the whole garrison was wild over it, and many a homesick fellow found sad consolation in my poor effusion of an idle hour. Such a gratification is the highest which a man of taste can receive, and it is to be regretted that more men of genius do not direct their efforts to such pleasing ends.

With our friends Poulariez, Joannès, and others in command of the Royal Rouissillon, we were provided for in the Duke, Captain Renwick, where Kit, Angélique with her husband, and a score of English officers assembled to bid us fare

well, so that our leaving resembled more a party of pleasure than the embarkment of a defeated army.

But as we dropped down the stream and stood watching the great rock of Quebec, with its fringe of batteries, and the English flag flying where ours had so proudly held its place for many a day, a sadness fell upon us all.

Margaret and I stood somewhat apart from the others.

"Hugh, dear, cannot you find some cause for thankfulness?" she said, softly.

"Oh yes; like Bougainville I can at least quote the Psalmist: In exitu Israel de Ægypto, domus Jacob de populo barbaro-""

“Oh, Hugh, do not say that! It has been a blessed land to us. Listen, dear, to what has been my comfort all these years," and with her beauteous face filled with the exaltation of her love she repeated:

"The span o' Life's nae lang eneugh,
Nor deep eneugh the sea,

Nor braid eneugh this weary warld,
To part my Love frae me."

EPILOGUE.

The desolate point known as Tadousac, at the mouth of the river Saguenay, in Canada, is the place of exile of a few of ficials who guard the interests of the fur trade.

Their quarters, a few storehouses, and the little church with its modest presbytère form an outpost to the civilized world. During the summer season the wandering Indians flock down in their canoes, build their temporary huts, and a constant bustle of trade and barter sets in. Furs are examined, valued, and exchanged for guns, ammunition, clothing, and other luxuries of a savage existence. The arrival of the few ships necessary to this primitive commerce makes the only other break in the monotonous existence of the little colony. At the approach of winter the Indians scatter, and the officials and the solitary priest are prisoners until the spring once more opens for them the doors of the outside world.

Here it was, on the evening of the 11th of April, 1782, that the priest sat with his companions in the house of the principal official.

At nine o'clock he rose and said goodnight to his hosts in his usual manner, but suddenly his whole appearance

changed. Drawing back from them, he raised his hand, and said, in tones of deepest earnestness:

"My friends, it is not only 'good-night,' it is good-by. Good-by for all time, for you will never see me again alive. To night at twelve I shall be called hence."

The little company were shocked beyond expression. The priest stood before them tall, commanding, his figure full of life and vigor, his eye bright and unfaltering, but his face lighted with a mys terious solemnity that forbade questioning.

"At midnight the bell of the chapel will sound. You may come then, but do not touch my body. To-morrow you will seek M. Compain, the curé of the Isle aux Coudres, and he will prepare my body for burial."

He withdrew, leaving the company in affrighted silence; ten, eleven struck, and VOL. XCVIII-No. 586.-80

at midnight the bell of the chapel began to toll. They arose, awe-stricken, and took their way to the little church.

By the dim light before the sanctuary they caught sight of the robe of the priest. He was lying on the ground motionless, his face covered by his hands as if in prayer on the first steps of the altar.

That same night the bells of all the churches along the river, at Mal Baie, at Les Eboulemens, at the Isle aux Coudres, at Baie St. Paul, and up through every parish to Quebec, rang without the touch of mortal hands, and soon the wondering faithful knew that the passing soul for which they rang was that of le père Jean, the missionary to the Indians, once known as Jean Marie Gaston de Caldeguès, Vicomte de Trincardel.

"Happy the people who still believe these sweet and holy legends."

THE END.

department store.

The store being in a university town, there were always plenty of college boys to admire Miss Pansy's long lashes and violet eyes. She had lived twenty-five years, but she looked eighteen. And she fluttered about and giggled at bold compliments, and forgot to tidy up her stock in trade in leisure moments, quite like eighteen.

"I suppose she does draw the college trade," grumbled young Carter to old Carter, but I declare I'm so out of patience with her carelessness that I'd like to send her off this minute. She let Mrs. Ogden wait ten minutes yesterday while she was fooling with one of the boys, who had bought a fifty-cent tie."

66

She draws the boys, though," the older man urged, mildly. "You're ex

she does well."

"More times she doesn't. Take Kitty Foy, and give her the place, and you'll see we'll sell more gloves, although Kitty's face would break the camera any day. Look at her now! What's that chain she's got on?"

Unconscious of the critic's eye, Pansy, at this speaking, was balancing her light shape on the edge of the counter, the chain extended for two other clerks to admire.

"And there are the Martins with no one to wait on them," snapped young Carter. "I tell you she's no more of clerk than the cat is.".

"The Martins got me to take Miss Green, so I guess they can't complain," said his father.

Pansy laughed-a shrill, cackling little laugh that affronted her pretty face; and at the laugh one of the other girls lanced up with a start and a cry-"Graious! there's Mr. Sam looking!"

She hastily began to arrange her stock, while the other girl darted at the Marins; but Pansy merely showed her little white teeth and laughed again.

"Let him look," sneered she, jocosely; 'I don't care; he ain't my beau." "Well, Pansy Green, if you ain't a case!" the other breathed between admiration and panic. 'Well, he's going the other way."

66

"Where are you going? You act awful funny this morning."

"Most folks act funny when they are going to be married.”

"Pansy Green, you're fooling!"

Pansy tossed her shining bronze head and fiddled with the chain. It was a slender gold chain, set at intervals with small rubies, sapphires, opals, emeralds, amethysts, and diamonds.

"Say, did he give you that chain? Is it Tommy Lawrence?"

"Yes, he gave me that chain. And it isn't Tommy Lawrence, nor any of the students."

"Well, I'm sorry for Tommy."

in front of him. His frown dwindled into surprise, the surprise broadened into a smile; actually he shook hands with her in his most gracious manner. Pansy went on, her eyes shining and the color dabbling her cheeks. A second later she was joined by a young man in a golf suit who had just entered. By this time the clerk whom Pansy had left was confiding the situation to another girl; and both gazed with excitement. "That's the professor," cried the first girl; "he's come in; he's given her the rose."

'How cross he looks!" said the other. "Well, I don't wonder; it wasn't a nice thing in Pansy to do."

The young man had a splendid figure, and if his dark features were irregular, there was refinement in them, and power. He certainly did not wear the air of a happy lover; his shaven lips were set in . a straight line, and his black brows met over steady, ungentle eyes. Having given the rose, he walked down the aisle with no more than a nod and forced smile for the Martins. Mrs. Martin was his cousin.

"Dick," she exclaimed, "did you see that? Pansy beckoned to him out of the window."

"And he came," said Martin.

"I must speak to Pansy," Mrs. Martin went on, with a worried look on her pretty face. She had gone to school with Pansy, and her people had befriended Pansy's mother through a long widow

"Well, you know you let him kiss you." "I never did!" "Not last Wednesday night on the porch at your aunt's?"

"Shoo! that was only taking a dare. I never thought of Tommy seriously. He ain't but a babe in arms. Guess again."

"Nobody in the university?"

"I didn't say that, smarty. He is in the university. I'm going to marry Professor Kenneth Barton."

The shock forced an exclamation out of the listener-"You ain't!"

"Ain't I? I'll show you," cried Pansy. 'Look out of the window. There he comes down the street. I'll make him come in and give me that rose in his button-hole. See!"

She left her counter, and the other girl saw her flutter to the door before the very eyes of Mr. Sam. For a second she halted

the rich man of the town, had taken care of the tiny estate which Mrs. Green left to her daughter, making no charges. To do something for nothing-if the generosity be long enough continued-always makes the doer more or less responsible for the beneficiary.

"Pansy 'll get herself talked about!" sighed Mrs. Martin.

'Not as you expect. He means to marry her."

Mrs. Martin's fine eyes positively rolled in her head with the shock of her dismay. Martin laughed. "I'll tell you all about it outside," said he.

Mrs. Martin forgot all her errands; she let him steer her out of the store and into the smart stanhope waiting outside at a friendly hitching-post. She was so dazed that she did not open her lips.

"Well," said her husband, “explode, Susy; it's safe; we're out of hearing. I know you want to."