On September 1st, 1900, I landed at Quebec, with introductions from the late Governor-General of Canada (the Earl of Aberdeen), to be warmly welcomed by the great historian of that country, Sir James Le Moine. He had written endless volumes on the Dominion, among the best known being _The Legends of the St. Lawrence_ and _Picturesque Quebec_. As to the writings of this Canadian “worthy,” to quote the word fitly describing him, the following extract from an article dealing with them will best explain to some who may not know what a work of filial love was his in chronicling the history of his native province. “Nearly half a century ago James Macpherson Le Moine, advocate, and inspector of inland revenue for the district of Quebec, published a modest little volume of historical and legendary lore relating to the city and environs of Quebec, under the title of _Maple Leaves_. Little had been accomplished, prior to that time, in the way of collecting the scattered wealth of Lower Canadian legends and folklore, and English-speaking Canadians knew scarcely anything of the extremely valuable collections of manuscript sources of early Canadian history, scattered through the vaults of various public buildings in Quebec. To Le Moine, whose maternal grandfather was a Macpherson, though on his father’s side the young author was a French-Canadian, belongs much of the credit, through his English books, in interesting English-speaking Canadians in the history, the traditions, and the archæology of French Canada. It was at his initiative and under his presidency that the Quebec Literary and Historical Society, founded by the Earl of Dalhousie in 1824, undertook the publication of some of the most important existing manuscripts concerning the early history of the country.” The morning after my arrival in Montreal, a week later, various people presented themselves before me—they had seen long notices in the two papers that morning, and came on errands of friendship, or through introductions. One was announced as “Dr. Drummond.” I looked up; the name conveyed nothing to me; and as I was not ill, I wondered at the visit. “If I can be of any service to you,” he said, “you have but to command me. I knew your father, his profession is my profession, your profession is mine too.” “You write? Are you any connection of _the_ Dr. Drummond who wrote the _Habitant_?” I asked. “I am he.” “Oh, then, you can indeed do something for me.” “And that is?” “Take me to see the Habitants in their own homes.”