The mere spanking along through the cold, brisk air, when you are well muffled in furs is exhilarating, especially when the sun is shining in a cloudless blue sky. The beautiful scenery at Quebec was, besides, a feast for eyes tired with the monotonous flatness of America. The old city is on a perfect mountain, and as we came bumping down its side in our sleigh over the roads which were there in a perfect state of sherbet, there was a lovely picture spread out in front of us. In the distance the bluest mountains I ever saw (to paint them one must use pure cobalt); away to the right the frozen St. Lawrence and the Isle of Orléans, all snow-covered, of course, but yet distinguishable from the farm lands of Jacques Bonhomme, whose cosy, clean cottages we soon began to pass. The long, ribbon-like strips of farm were indicated by the tops of the fences peeping through the snow, and told us of French thrift and prosperity. [Illustration: "THAT QUIET, ATTENTIVE FRENCH GIRL."] Yes, it was all delightful. When I left Quebec I felt as much regret as I do every time that I leave my little native town. * * * * * I have been told that the works of Voltaire are prohibited in Quebec, not so much because they are irreligious as because they were written by a man who, after the loss of Quebec to the French Crown, exclaimed: "Let us not be concerned about the loss of a few acres of snow." The memory of Voltaire is execrated, and for having made a flattering reference to him on the platform in Montreal two years ago, I was near being "boycotted" by the French population. The French Canadians take very little interest in politics--I mean in outside politics. They are steady, industrious, saving, peaceful, and so long as the English leave them alone, in the safe enjoyment of their belongings, they will not give them cause for any anxiety. Among the French Canadians there is no desire for annexation to the United States. Indeed, during the War of Independence, Canada was saved to the English Crown by the French Canadians, not because the latter loved the English, but because they hated the Yankees. When Lafayette took it for granted that the French Canadians would rally round his flag, he made a great mistake; they would have, if compelled to fight, used their bullets against the Americans. If they had their own way, the French in Canada would set up a little country of their own under the rule of the Catholic Church, a little corner of France two hundred years old.