tree, and the ragged bananas and spiky palms in the gardens stand out against the deepening glow in the west—as evening draws on. We wander down to the sea-wall, which is nearly deserted now. There are one or two wild-looking men on horseback, their saddles mere mats of crimson or blue embroidered cloth, their feet thrust into the unsightly bags known as Mexican stirrups. There are several dogs, one large yellow mastiff taking his siesta on the sea-wall, occupying the entire width of the "promenade"; a canine friend, coming to interview him, stands on his hind legs, with his fore-paws on the top of the wall. This somehow makes the "Lover's Walk" look a very small affair. One of the riders spurs his horse up on to the wall, and, like the successful admirer of "the Lady Kunigonde of the Kynast," he "rides along the battlemented parapet," breaking up the canine tête-à-tête. Fortunately, there are no lovers on the wall to be startled from off their own particular domain, only the yellow mastiff scuttles down in a hurry as horse and rider gallop by.

The sun is setting behind the town, and the eastern sky before us catches a tender reflected blush just on the horizon. Beyond the sea-wall lies a stretch of water, blue as heaven and calm as a dream; it scarcely laps against the old stones; the little boats on its surface "float double" boat and shadow; an indescribable softness, like a sleep, broods over its waveless tide. Beyond this entranced water lies the long dark shade of Anastasia Island; beyond that, the pale reflected rose of the eastern sky fades slowly with the dying day. The one or two stragglers on the sea-wall stand out

in vivid silhouette against the blue water and blushing sky; the clatter of the horse's hoofs, as the equestrian Blondin dashes along the top of the wall, seems to shatter the silence like the breaking of a spell.

L

ST. ANNE DE BEAUPRÉ, QUEBEC'

ONG ago,

ANNA T. SADLIER

in some far away time too distant for actual history to have recorded the fact, a few Breton sailors, coming up the great river were surprised by a terrific storm. In all the terror of the moment, the blackness of the night, the howling of the winds and the rushing of the waters, their hearts went back to distant Brittany. In childhood and in youth they had been taught to have recourse to the beloved patroness of their chère Bretagne. Never had St. Anne d' Auray failed to hear a simple and heartfelt prayer. They registered a vow: if the good saint brought them once more to land, there where their feet touched they would build her a shrine. A morning came blue and cloudless. These brave men were ashore and where? They looked about them. To the northward rose the Laurentian hills, to the southward the wide-rolling St. Lawrence, to the eastward a little stream, now the St. Anne, dividing the settlement from the neighbouring parish of St. Joachim. In such surroundings they built a simple wooden chapel and laid the foundation of a shrine now famous throughout America.

The years went on; these hardy voyageurs passed on their way and were heard of no more in the village they had founded. But habitations soon grew up, and the settlement

1 Reprinted by permission of the Editor of the Catholic World.