ed; and with it came many of the
peculiar features which man elaborates in his struggle toward the finest
civilization--afternoon teas, and amateur theatricals, and claw-hammer
coats, and a casino, and even a few servants in livery.

The very name of Bytown was discarded as being too American and
commonplace. An Indian name was discovered, and considered much more
romantic and appropriate. You will look in vain for Bytown on the map
now. Nor will you find the old saw-mill there any longer, wasting a vast
water-power to turn its dripping wheel and cut up a few pine-logs into
fragrant boards. There is a big steam-mill a little farther up the
river, which rips out thousands of feet of lumber in a day; but there
are no more pine-logs, only sticks of spruce which the old lumbermen
would have thought hardly worth cutting. And down below the dam there is
a pulp-mill, to chew up the little trees and turn them into paper, and a
chair factory, and two or three industrial establishments, with quite a
little colony of French-Canadians employed in them as workmen.

Hose Ransom sold his place on the hill to one of the hotel companies,
and a huge caravansary occupied the site of the house with the white
palings. There were no more bleeding-hearts in the garden. There were
beds of flaring red geraniums, which looked as if they were painted; and
across the circle of smooth lawn in front of the piazza the name of the
hotel was printed in alleged ornamental plants letters two feet long,
immensely ugly. Hose had been elevated to the office of postmaster, and
lived in a Queen Antic cottage on the main street. Little Billy Ransom
had grown up into a very interesting young man, with a decided musical
genius, and a tenor voice, which being discovered by an enterprising
patron of genius, from Boston, Billy was sent away to Paris to learn to
sing. Some day you will hear of his debut in grand opera, as Monsieur
Guillaume Rancon.

But Fiddlin' Jack lived on in the little house with the curved roof,
beside the river, refusing all the good offers which were made to him
for his piece of land.

"NON," he said; "what for shall I sell dis house? I lak' her, she
lak' me. All dese walls got full from museek, jus' lak' de wood of dis
violon. He play bettair dan de new feedle, becos' I play heem so long.
I lak' to lissen to dat rivaire in de night. She sing from long taim'
ago--jus' de same song w'en I firs come here. W'at for I go away? W'at I
get? W'a