he path to the steps of
Montmorency, Grande called out in delight at some new and beautiful
white flowers beside the path. What were they? I did not know. What
are they, Halicarnassus? "Ah! wax-flowers," says he, coming up, and
Grande passed on content, as would ninety-nine out of a hundred; but an
indescribable something in his air convinced me that he was not drawing
on his botany for his facts. I determined to get at the root of the
matter.

"Do you mean," I asked, "that the name of those flowers is wax-flowers?"

"Of course," he replied. "Why not?"

"Do you mean," I persisted, confirmed in my suspicions by his
remarkable question, "that you know that they are wax-flowers, or that
you do not know that they are not wax-flowers?"

"Why, look at 'em for yourself. Can't you see with your own eyes?" he
ejaculated, attempting to walk on.

I planted myself full in front of him. "Halicarnassus, one step
further except over my lifeless body you do not go, until you tell me
whether those are or are not wax-flowers?"

"Well," he said, brought to bay at last, and sheepishly enough whisking
off the heads of a dozen or two with his cane, "if they are not that,
they are something else." There!

So when he showed his delicate consideration for my conscience, I was
not grateful, but watchful. I detected under the glitter something
that was not gold. I made very indifferent and guarded
acknowledgments, and silently detached a corps of observation. In five
minutes it came out that no train left Quebec on Sunday!

PART V.

So we remained over Sunday in Quebec, and in the morning attended
service at the French Cathedral; and as we all had the American
accomplishments of the "Nonne, a Prioresse," who spoke French

"ful fayre and fetisly
After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe,
The Frenche of Paris was to hire unknowe,"

it may be inferred that we were greatly edified by the service. From
the French, as one cannot have too much of a good thing, we proceeded
without pause to the English Cathedral,--cathedral by courtesy?--and
heard a sermon by a Connecticut bishop, which, however good, was a
disappointment, because we wanted the flavor of the soil. And after
dinner we walked on the high and sightly Durham terrace, and then went
to the Scotch church, joined in Scotch singing, and heard a broad
Scotch sermon. So we tried to worship as well as we could; but it is
impossible not to be sight-seeing wh