When Mère St. Monique asked me to go and visit the Catacombs under the church, I decidedly objected, but Josephte, as I called her in our youth, always would have her way, and I am glad she did so here, for I do not know whether similar places for burial are existent elsewhere in this country or only a new creation in Canada, but I am glad I went into them. This seems to be the perfection of burying. Leading me through a long light passage under the church, we came to a very heavy iron door; then on its being opened a second appeared with its blank emblems and death’s head and cross bones, sufficiently indicative of where we were going. Entering this door Mère St. Monique struck a light, and we found ourselves in a fire-proof brick chamber and passages. On every side shelves to hold one coffin. There is only one occupant so far—Mr. Gingras—but there are places for ninety. The coffin is placed on a shelf just large enough, then masoned up, and the name put on the masonry. A great improvement on old-fashioned vaults, as all possibility of disturbance is precluded and no danger from foul air. This building is under the High Altar, so to a devout Roman Catholic much of the feeling of gloom is taken away. A few miles west is St. David’s Church, a pretty new edifice, and further on at the village of St. Romuald, St. Romuald’s Church, so filled with choice paintings and works of art by its late Pastor, the Rev. Mr. Saxe, it has become quite a worthy show place for our sight-seeing American friends. The Rev. Mr. Saxe was of such clever wit and genial presence, he exercised great influence over those with whom he came in contact. I remember saying how proud his parishioners must be of this lovely little edifice. "They well may be," he said, "it has hardly cost them anything for all these works of art. I made the old country, that could afford it, give them, you know. I travelled in Europe for contributions, and impressed on each community how necessary it was that each city should give of its best—something to redound to its own credit, and I got it," the old gentleman said with a merry twinkle in his eye. So much, my friends, for tact and a knowledge of human nature. *BEAUMONT—ST. THOMAS.*