LETTER I. ii 



were we in September, on the highest point in 

 Montreal, gasping for heat. Even the chip- 

 munks were too hot to chatter, and the water- 

 barrel, with its little tin pannikin, put out on the 

 grass by some benevolent citizen, looked (and 

 was) as dry as a husband's homily on tidiness. 



There must be some very wealthy people here 

 amongst the 250,000 who make up the popula- 

 tion, for the houses are, some of them, quite 

 magnificent stone structures, with smart grass- 

 plots and ornamental trees round them. As the 

 owners and their servants are away or asleep this 

 hot afternoon, the trees and grass-plots are alive 

 with robins. ' Kobins,' Lena ! I'll trouble you ! 

 birds, my dear, about as big as domestic fowls, 

 with big red waistcoats and heavy gait, about as 

 much like our smart little birds as a Scotch cook 

 is like a French maid. 



After ' doing ' the Mount, we walked down 



o 



Notre Dame Street and along the lines of the 

 tramcars, to the country outside Montreal. 



But what are the shops like ? I hear you ask. 

 Well, dear, there are only two kinds here which 

 would interest you, and if you had such a husband 

 as mine you would not be able to see much of 

 them. What a hurry men always are in when a 

 bonnet-shop is anywhere near ! I have seen 

 my better-half almost steeplechasing over the 



