features of Mère Marie de l'Incarnation, the first Superioress of the Ursulines of Quebec, who in obedience to heavenly visions, as she believed, left France to found schools for the children of the new colonists, and who taught her own womanly graces to her own sex, who were destined to become the future mothers of New France."

-"Well said," my eloquent friend! I chimed in. You seem to have left little to add anent the whilhom splendor of the old Chateau St. Louis. One thing yet remains to complete the ornamentation of the historic site on which it stood: A MONUMENT TO THE IMMORTAL FOUNDER OF QUEBEC; worthy of Champlain, worthy of Quebec. To me it is a dream of my youth. May we both be spared to see it!

SPENCER GRANGE,

Christmas Eve, 1890.

EARLY CANADIAN HISTORY.

To the Editor of Canada.

DEAR SIR,

Benton, New Brunswick,

I have pleasure in tendering the following for publication. It is the English version of a dry-as-dust document which an esteemed friend, now deceased, the late Henri Duchesnay, Esq., M. P., for Beauce county, P. Q., allowed me to transcribe from the voluminous. French correspondence inherited by him from his sturdy ancestors, the Duchesnays, seigniors of Beauport, opposite Quebec.

Among the old noblesse of primitive Canada, few rank higher than the warlike Juchereau Duchesnays— now represented, at Quebec, by the athletic and worthy Brigade-Major and Deputy-Adjutant General, Lt.-Col. Théodore Duchesnay, and the numerous and highly respected clan of the Taschereau, of Beauce, P. Q., from which sprang our present archbishop, Cardinal Taschereau.

Quebec, December, 1891.

[Translation.]

J. M. L.

A GUSHING LETTER FROM A FRENCH SCHOOL GIRL.

Quebec, 1759.

REINE MARIE DUCHESNAY TO HERMINE TASCHEREAU.

My Dear Mine.-You doubtless are wondering why I did not write sooner to you. I have enjoyed my holidays very much, though not exactly as Mère St.

George would approve of; the fact is the town has been, uncommonly gay. Our Intendant (Bigot), the young men say, is a galant homme. My mother, with a sneer, says he is un peu trop galant, and that she would' rather cut our heads off, than that we should ever darken the doors of his glittering palace, for such, really he has made the Intendance.

There seems no hurry for school girls attending balls, either at the Intendance or at the Château St-Louis; though a young French Lieutenant I was introduced to, last week, told me he thought it an abominable shame that grown up ladies, like Clémentine and myself, should be debarred the pleasures of la bonne société, even if we should be younger than our appearance indicates; for you must know that I am quite as tall as my mother, though only fourteen years of age. Much of my time, this summer, has been taken up with showing round that handsome English Captain (1), who saved my good father's life just as the Indians were going to scalp him. This captain, as you know, is a prisoner on parole, and has had every liberty to wander about Quebec and the vicinity. Not only is he handsome, he is young and witty; his repartees would grace a Paris salon, his daring and courage manifest themselves in his very foot-steps. He is full of prevenances for the ladies, accompanies my mother on the streets, dines occasionally with my father.

(1) Major Robert Stobo, after three unsuccessful attempts succeeded in escaping from his prison in Quebec, in May, 1759. He was a hostage taken at Fort Duquesne in 1755, and brought to Quebec,-where he was to be tried as a spy. He was commander of a Virginia corps. He joined Wolfe's fleet at Louisburg, returned with him to Quebec, and is credited with having shown him the spot where to land and assault the city. Evidently our charming young friend was not proof against the fascinations of the brave, but unscrupulous, Virginia captain. A full account of his adventurous career, appears in Maple Leaves, 1873.

But of late my poor father, and it grieves him much, seems to mistrust the gay captain, whose only fault appears to be too great a curiosity to learn everything concerning the doings of our Government in Paris and in Quebec. His inquisitiveness at times certainly surprises all hands, and he is, when alone, constantly writing; some say he is gathering secret information, for his friends in Virginia; others, actually go so far as to say he is preparing a plan of Quebec and the fortifications; with what object I cannot see. Our gratitude towards the saviour of our father is, of course, as it ought to be, boundless. I speak unreservedly. would not wish you to think for a moment that I could cherish for Captain Stobo any other feeling than that of esteem and gratitude.

For all that his tournure, conversation and looks are such, that many a girl would select him as un héros de roman. Major Péan, as you know, is often away, and his lovely wife, forgetting the early piety instilled in her at the Ursulines Convent as far back as 1735, gets herself much talked about. Her wondrous beauty, her accomplishments, her sweetness of manner, are calculated to create envy in this little world of ours; and I think there is no foundation for these slanders. As just stated, I do not yet form part of the grand monde, and do not know all that is going on. One thing I am sure of, one portion of the society is all that it ought to be; I mean the ladies and the gentleman, my father and mother associate with. We go to-morrow to sup with Monsieur Jean Taché, an eminent merchant who has a pretty country-seat on the south side of the Ste. Foye road the same who was, as you remember, charged with a diplomatic mission to the court four years ago, to plead the cause of the colony with the King's ministers. Bigot and his gay entourage are not likely to be there. Your turretted old manor of Ste. Marie (Beauce) cannot be very gay, though your lively cousins, the LaGorgendières, are a host in themselves.

Do you still adhere to your former idea of keeping a diary of what may happen to you daily; if so, please copy into it my epistle and your answer, and when I go up to Beauce next summer we shall read over our letters, and ascertain the changes which have happened since the date on which the letters were written. I long to meet you in that noble avenue of waving elms, on the sounding banks of the river Chaudière. Cannot you sketch for me that dear old feudal dungeon of yours, elms and all, and make interest with the good old curé of the parish to take it to us in Quebec, as you have no post, nor postmen, yet!

A singular feeling, a craving for something, has come over me this summer. My harp and my drawing have ceased to please; I could (previously) practice for hours. Lieutenant Stevenson of the Rangers, to whom I complained, jestingly, said he could think of nothing so likely as love at my age, and that if Capt. Stobo were not so much my senior in years, he would swear the captain was for much in the case. Stevenson is not a bad fellow by-the-by, only I wish he would not be incessantly joking at my expense. My pious mother says that there is only one fault to be found with Stevenson he is a heretic. She seems determined to bring him over to the true faith."

:

MAJOR ROBERT STOBO TO COL. GEORGE WASHINGTON.

From my French Prison, Quebec,

"Is

Christmas Day, 1755.

DEAR GEORGE," Is not mine a glorious finale-for me, your trusty and well beloved compagnon d'armes : don't be surprised at my getting to learn French. I am now prisonnier de guerre. Here is your dashing leader