Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-morrow. Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons of all

kinds;

Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge, and the scythe of the mower."

Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial farmer "Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our cornfields,

Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the ocean, Than were our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's

cannon.

Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of

sorrow

Fall on this house and hearth; for this is the night of the contract."

Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the

village

Strongly have built them and well; and, breaking the glebe round about them,

Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth.

René Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn.

Shall we not, then, be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children?"

As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her

lover's,

Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had

spoken;

And as they died on his lips the worthy notary entered.

BENT like a labouring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary

public;

Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses

with horn bows

Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal. Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick.

Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive,

Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English.

Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion, Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and child

like.

He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children;
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest,

And of the goblin that came in the night to water the

horses,

And of the white Létiche, the ghost of a child who un

christened

Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children;

And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable, And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell,

And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes;

With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village. Then uprose from his seat by the fireside Basil the black

smith,

Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand,

"Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast heard the talk in the village,

And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships und their errand."

Then with modest demeanour made answer the notary public:

66

Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the

wiser;

And what their errand may be I know not better than others.

Yet I am not of those who imagine some evil intention Brings them here, for we are at peace; and why then molest us?"

"God's name!" shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith,

"Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the wherefore?

Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest."

But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary

public:

"Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice

C

Triumphs and well I remember a story that often con

:

soled me

When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port. Royal."

This was the old man's favourite tale, and he loved to repeat it

When his neighbours complained that any injustice was done them.

"Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand,

And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the

people.

Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the

balance,

Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them.

But in the course of time the laws of the land were cor

rupted;

Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the mighty

Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's

palace

That a necklace of pearls was lost; and ere long a suspicion Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household. She, after form of trial, condemned to die on the scaffold, Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice. As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, Lo! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts of the thunder Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand

Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance,

And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven."

Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith

Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no

language;

All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face as the vapours

Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter.

Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table, Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with homebrewed

Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand-Pré;

While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and ink

horn,

Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the

parties,

Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in

cattle.

Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were com

pleted,

And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin.

Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the

table

Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver; And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the

bridegroom,

Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare. Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed;

While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its

corner.

Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old

men

Laughed at each lucky hit or unsuccessful manœuvre,