spiritual and temporal well-being.

Nor can it be said that his talents were entirely thrown away, for from
time to time some highly polished poem or literary critique would find
its way from the lonely little house on the banks of the St. Lawrence
to a standard French magazine; and old schoolmates of the curé would
shrug their shoulders and say, "Oh, here is a capital thing by Réné
Bois-le-Duc. I thought he was dead and buried long ago."

And he was, indeed, so far as men of his own standing and education were
concerned. Except for an annual visit from his bishop, and occasionally
one from a pilot or sea captain, M. Bois le-Duc seldom heard news of the
outer world. On the whole, his life was not an unhappy one, and certainly
not idle. Most of the hours not spent in parish work were occupied in
perfecting the education of several of the young men in whom he was
interested. With Noël McAllister he took special pains. Whether the
results were satisfactory in this particular case may be doubted; still
he did what he considered best, and left the issue to Providence.

In Marie Gourdon, too, he took a great interest. Her mother had died when
she was scarcely six months old. Her father had never troubled his dull
head about her; and, after she left the convent at Rimouski, she led a
very lonely life for so young a girl.

There was much to interest even such a cultivated man as M. Bois-le-Duc
in Marie Gourdon. She had inherited from her mother a remarkable talent
for music, such as many of the French Canadians have strongly developed.
Her soprano voice was powerful, clear and flexible, and her ear was very
correct. The good curé judged that, if given proper training, and the
advantages Paris alone could afford, the little Canadian girl might