ciful as it is brave and
considerate.

The Governor was already well-advanced in years. He had entered upon the
winter of life, that sprinkles the head with snow that never melts, but
he was still hale, ruddy, and active. Nature had, indeed, moulded him
in an unpropitious hour for personal comeliness, but in compensation had
seated a great heart and a graceful mind in a body low of stature,
and marked by a slight deformity. His piercing eyes, luminous with
intelligence and full of sympathy for everything noble and elevated,
overpowered with their fascination the blemishes that a too curious
scrutiny might discover upon his figure; while his mobile, handsome lips
poured out the natural eloquence of clear thoughts and noble sentiments.
The Count grew great while speaking: his listeners were carried away by
the magic of his voice and the clearness of his intellect.

He was very happy this morning by the side of his old friend, Peter
Kalm, who was paying him a most welcome visit in New France. They had
been fellow-students, both at Upsal and at Paris, and loved each other
with a cordiality that, like good wine, grew richer and more generous
with age.

Herr Kalm, stretching out his arms as if to embrace the lovely landscape
and clasp it to his bosom, exclaimed with fresh enthusiasm, "See Quebec,
and live forever!"

"Dear Kalm," said the Governor, catching the fervor of his friend, as he
rested his hand affectionately on his shoulder, "you are as true a lover
of nature as when we sat together at the feet of Linnaeus, our glorious
young master, and heard him open up for us the arcana of God's works;
and we used to feel like him, too, when he thanked God for permitting
him to look into his treasure-house and see the precious things of
creation which he had made."

"Till men see Quebec," replied Kalm, "they will not fully realize the
meaning of the term, 'God's footstool.' It is a land worth living for!"

"Not only a land to live for, but a land to die for, and happy the
man who dies for it! Confess, Kalm,--thou who hast travelled in all
lands,--think'st thou not it is indeed worthy of its proud title of New
France?"

"It is indeed worthy," replied Kalm; "I see here a scion of the old
oak of the Gauls, which, if let grow, will shelter the throne of France
itself in an empire wider than Caesar wrested from Ambiotrix."

"Yes," replied the Count, kindling at the words of his friend, "it
is old France transplanted, transfi