of the manor. This colombiere was capable of
containing a large army of pigeons, but the regard which the Lady de
Tilly had for the corn-fields of her censitaires caused her to thin out
its population to such a degree that there remained only a few favorite
birds of rare breed and plumage to strut and coo upon the roofs, and
rival the peacocks on the terrace with their bright colors.

In front of the mansion, contrasting oddly with the living trees around
it, stood a high pole, the long, straight stem of a pine-tree, carefully
stripped of its bark, bearing on its top the withered remains of a bunch
of evergreens, with the fragments of a flag and ends of ribbon which
fluttered gaily from it. The pole was marked with black spots from the
discharge of guns fired at it by the joyous habitans, who had kept the
ancient custom of May-day by planting this May-pole in front of the
Manor House of their lady.

The planting of such a pole was in New France a special mark of respect
due to the feudal superior, and custom as well as politeness required
that it should not be taken down until the recurrence of another
anniversary of Flora, which in New France sometimes found the earth
white with snow and hardened with frost, instead of covered with flowers
as in the Old World whence the custom was derived.

The Lady de Tilly duly appreciated this compliment of her faithful
censitaires, and would sooner have stripped her park of half its live
trees than have removed that dead pole, with its withered crown, from
the place of honor in front of her mansion.

The revels of May in New France, the king and queen of St. Philip, the
rejoicings of a frank, loyal peasantry--illiterate in books but not
unlearned in the art of life,--have wholly disappeared before the
levelling spirit of the nineteenth century.

The celebration of the day of St. Philip has been superseded by the
festival of St. John the Baptist, at a season of the year when green
leaves and blooming flowers give the possibility of arches and garlands
in honor of the Canadian summer.

Felix Beaudoin with a wave of his hand scattered the bevy of maid
servants who stood chattering as they gazed upon the new arrivals. The
experience of Felix told him that everything had of course gone wrong
during his absence from the Manor House, and that nothing could be
fit for his mistress's reception until he had set all to rights again
himself.

The worthy majordomo was in a state of pers