Going by the Canadian Pacific Railroad to Louiseville, we took a trap awaiting at the station, and, after a drive over a rather pretty country road, arrived at St. Leon Springs. Alas! the season was over, only Mr. Thomas and his son, and Mr. Langlois, were there, and a few servants. Nevertheless, we saw enough to convince us what a delightful health resort this must be in summer. When I say health resort, I do not mean pleasure resort, though there is plenty of amusement for reasonable people, who would find pleasant companionship, dancing, music, drives, croquet, lawn-tennis sufficient for summer heat; but, we speak now of St. Leon Springs as a retreat for the really ill or convalescent, and as such it must simply be perfection. A large hotel, nicely kept, numerous bath-rooms, all fitted up with an abundant supply of St. Leon water for bathing, excellent meals, well-cooked and nicely served, as we saw even during our brief and unexpected stay (I have never eaten such perfect home-made bread as there), with the drinking of these health-giving waters, must surely be of incalculable benefit. Twitting Mr. Langlois on the supposition that perhaps in cities the St. Leon water is in part manufactured, Mr. Langlois told us a funny incident. He said, I think it was in Toronto, he overheard some one saying, as his trucks came in loaded with barrels: "I wonder how much of this is manufactured?" On the impulse of the moment, Mr. L—— gave a hint to the carters to dump the casks on the pavement instead of taking them through the yard. As anticipated, a policeman came up and remonstrated on impeding the sidewalk. Soon a crowd gathered. Just what Mr. L—— desired. When spoken to, he said: "Of course, it was an oversight, the water should have been taken into the yard; but as it was there, he would like to prove to the people assembled how genuine was the water, by tapping several barrels, and, igniting with a match the gas, said: "My friends, can any of you manufacture gas in water to burn like this?" Mr. L—— is not by any means a man you would credit with being a religious enthusiast; but I will never forget the solemnity of the act, as, raising his hand towards Heaven, he uttered these words: "He who made these waters can alone make the gas." Mr. Thomas, a wealthy gentleman, with his son, for health and occupation, takes the management here. The latter, quite a sport, drove us with his blood horses to the station, at a pace that made me tremble. There a grand old-fashioned coach with four spanking horses waits at the railroad station to drive you in style to the hotel. Come and try them, my fast American friends. I will conscientiously stick to the old-fashioned one-horse buckboard—not elegant and hardly comfortable, but very safe. *ST. RAYMOND.*