"Canadians!" Chamilly closed, his figure drawn up like a hero's and his rich voice sounding the name again with that wonderful utterance, "the memories of our race are compatible only with the good of the world and our country. If you are unwilling to accept me on this basis, do not elect me, for I will only express my convictions." CHAPTER XXX. AN ORATION UNDER DIFFICULTIES. "On high in yonder old church tower, * * * * * The ancient bell rings out the hour, Sometimes with voice of wondrous power." --JOHN BREAKENRIDGE. Monsieur Editor Quinet mounted the platform and stood there, cool and masterful. At the same moment the Cure in his black gown, bolted up from his chair beside his young vicar, on the gallery of the parsonage, and regarding the orator with indignation, raised his breviary towards the church with outstretched arm. "Messieurs, what ruins us".... Quinet commenced. His sentence was shattered to pieces! "KLING-KLANG-G-G-G!" a loud church bell resounded from one of the towers, sending a visible shock over the assembly and drowning the succeeding words. "What ruins us".... Quinet, with imperturbable composure, commenced again in a louder voice. A cashing peal from the opposite belfry replied to the first and compelled him to stop. The Cure, swelling with triumph, marched up and down his gallery, turning quickly at each end; while the bells of both the towers, swinging confusedly in their belfries, sent forth one horrible continued torrent of clangor over the amazed crowd. The speaker was soon convinced that no amount of cool waiting would prevail. He did, therefore, what was a more keenly effective continuation of his sentence than any words,--raised his finger and pointed it steadily for a few moments at the Cure, and then withdrew. For many a day the story of Quinet and the bells was told in Dormilliere. CHAPTER XXXI. LIBERGENT.