boards, curious person, were cut at his own saw-mill, from which
boards he fashioned the furniture with his hands. "But how," you
persist, "did he bring the machinery for his sawmill?"

That was easy; he brought it here in a steamboat. Any one could tell
you that.

"But where did he get the steamboat?"

Oh! he built the boat himself--the first steamboat on the Lesser Slave
Lake. In it, if he cared, he could carry his printing press and his
canvases also.

It will not be surprising if the historians of the future appraise
Bishop Grouard's combination of wisdom and action as something keenly
akin to genius. Indeed, they are almost sure to.

I cannot tell you what the anniversary services meant--it cannot be
expected of any one who is versed in the Thirty-nine Articles of the
English Church instead of the Rosary of the Blessed Virgin--but I came
away from them with languorous impressions of golden robes, silver
censers, and wavering lights, the odour of lilies and lilacs that
wilted in the heat; a suspended cross with an agonized Christ, wan and
attenuated; of purple and scarlet cloths, of dark-haired young priests,
husky and brown-skinned. There were other things like a shepherd's
crook, and smoke of incense, but, most of all, there was a music that
mothered you and stayed with you. In some way or other these old
plaintive songs of Egypt seem fitted to the boreal regions, but why I
cannot explain.

In the city we must perforce set a stage for a drama, but here Nature
has made a setting for us high on a hill overlooking a wide meadow that
slopes to the bay. You have read something like this in classic myths,
or maybe it was in Shakespeare, but it doesn't greatly matter; the play
is the thing. For myself, I made believe that is the slope of
Parnassus--for the Pythian hero was also a promoter of colonization, a
founder of cities, a healer of the sick, an institutor of games, a
patron of arts.

It is on this outdoor stage in its June-tide glory that we banquet;
that we sing; that we play our parts. And it is here that Keenosew the
Fish, chief of the Crees, with rapid rush of speech and voice of
military sharpness, presents the homage of his tribe. In like manner
do also the other representatives of other northerly tribes. Each
chief wears a Treaty medal as a pledge from her Gracious Majesty, Queen
Victoria.

It is here also that a fair-faced woman of our company expresses the
reverence of her sisters of