The Natural Steps.

Montmorenci Falls In Summer.

Montmorenci Falls In Winter.

"Beautiful wheel of blue above my head, Will you be turning still when I am dead? Were you still turning long before I came? O bitter thought to take with me to bed!"

The Montmorenci cataract is only one of many in the neighborhood of Quebec. This portion of the Province is of necessity a land of waterfalls. The densely wooded region north of the St. Lawrence, studded with lakes and threaded with innumerable streams, supplies a score of tributaries to the sovereign river, each of which is compelled by the formation of the country either to cut its way through lofty, rock-ribbed hills, or else to take the easier course of clearing the most difficult barriers in one or more prodigious bounds. Among the grandest of these falls are those of the Ste. Anne. Here again we behold a battle raging evermore between the pliant water and the stubborn rocks, and here are also the results of ages of such conflict. The secret of the river's ultimate victory-is, first, that it never ceases its attack; and, second, that it is continually reinforced. Millions of drops are hurled against these cliffs each moment, and rebound into the abyss without apparently producing on the enemy the least effect. But these are instantly replaced by others, and these again by more and more, in an unending series, whereas the cliff, when its disintegrated fragments are swept down the stream, can never be renewed. Gaunt, mutilated, seamed with scars, and furrowed with the wrinkles of remote antiquity, these black rocks face the maddened flood in silence, as if aware of their inevitable fate, however long deferred. Meantime the river, prescient of victory, is exultant. "If not in ours, at all events in our successors' day," its breakers seem to shout defiantly, as they leap down from ledge to ledge, and white with fury fling themselves upon the tusk-like crags that tear them into shreds, but cannot check their course.

The Gorge Of Ste. Anne Falls.

Ste. Anne Falls.

"Ste. Anne" is a favorite name in Canada. It is bestowed not only on this river and its cataract, but also on a mountain somewhat farther north, and on a great variety of towns and churches. Of one of these, Ste. Anne de Bellevue, Moore has written in his familiar boat song: -

"Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time; Soon as the woods on shore look dim, Well sing at Ste. Anne's our parting hymn".

Street In Ste. Anne De Beaupre.

But much more famous than that little town is the village of Ste. Anne de Beaupre, picturesquely situated on the northern bank of the St. Lawrence, twenty miles below Quebec. Without the sanctity pertaining to the place, this would be naturally one of the sleepy hamlets of French Canada, with quiet, tree-embowered streets, small, steep-roofed, wooden houses, and simple-hearted "habitants." But in addition to the usual features of such towns, we find here an imposing stone church, known throughout all Catholic Christendom at least as one of the most remarkable sites for modern miracles. In 1668, the priests of Carcassonne in France sent to the first Canadian bishop, Monseigneur Laval, the finger bone of Ste. Anne, mother of the Blessed Virgin. The sacred relic is still piously preserved within this church, and is believed to have effected all the marvelous cures alleged to have taken place here in the last two centuries. The small, original sanctuary of Ste. Anne, so tremulous with age as to be dan-gerous, was taken down some years ago and rebuilt largely with the same materials; but as a place of public worship, it has been almost superseded by the modern edifice, which bears the title of "basilica," and was declared by Pope Pius IX. to be a shrine of the first magnitude.

Church Of Ste. Anne De Beaupre.