ch had passed from English hands
during the war. To New England, whose blood and valour had achieved
the demolition of the frowning fortress, this restitution was a
sorrowful blow. But only ten years were to pass before this menace was
removed for ever.

La Jonquiere, Governor-designate of Quebec, had been taken prisoner at
the naval battle of Finisterre; and, pending his release, the Marquis
de la Galissoniere presided over the fortunes, or misfortunes, of New
France. The indefiniteness of the western boundary between French and
English territory was perhaps the chief source of his perplexity; and
to put an end to persistent English encroachments in the valley of the
Ohio, Galissoniere sent Celoron de Bienville, a colonial captain, to
establish a formal boundary line. This expedition nominally
accomplished its purpose; but, judging from the report submitted to
the Governor of Quebec, its chief result was a painful revelation. It
was shown that, in spite of an expensive chain of fortified posts, the
great West was fast slipping from the martial grasp of New France, and
passing under the stronger influence of English trade. The huge,
unwieldy empire was clearly falling to pieces, and La Jonquiere's
arrival in Quebec brought no improvement to the situation. Of high
merit as a naval officer, the new Governor had less distinction in
morals, and he had frankly come to Canada to mend his fortune. His
administration marks the advent of that official robbery which
disgraced Quebec and sapped the remaining vitality of the country.
Though the country had prospered materially under Vaudreuil, the
subsequent war had stopped all progress, and the people were dreaming
of empire when they needed bread.

[Illustration: BIENVILLE
(Governor of Louisiana, 1732)]

To-day, walking down Palace Hill and turning near the bottom into the
Rue St. Vallier, you will find yourself close to the site of the
ancient intendancy, where the official ruin of New France began. Here
it was that Francois Bigot, the evil genius of Quebec, held corrupt
sway in the guise of a royal minister. Here stood, in mordant comment,
the Palais de Justice, so wickedly profaned by the last of the
intendants. Through several fires and two sieges of later generations
parts of this ancient structure persisted in surviving. Only a few
years ago the heavier timber still hanging together was called "The
King's Wood-yard." But nothing now remains of it, and imagination only