A CHRISTMAS JAUNT 



IT HAS become impossible to picture 

 Quebec to one's self without the "Fron- 

 tenac," and indeed there may be a few 

 slow-going, old-fashioned people who 

 harbour the idea in a corner of their 

 minds that Quebec has too much "Fron- 

 tenac" in its cosmos, that it was some- 

 thing of a pity to make of the old, gray 

 battlemented town a mere background 

 for an inn. Even such folk as I write of 

 are glad enough to pass at a step from 

 the night, and the bitter snow-laden air 

 into warmth, and light, and spacious 

 comfort. That jewel, consistency, is not 

 so precious that a man is bound to part 

 with all he has to possess it. The Done- 

 gal lad who carried our bags to a room 



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