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Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense

ascending, Rose from a hundred heartbs, the homes of peace

and contentment. Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian

farmersDwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike

were they free from Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the

vice of republics. Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to

their windows; But their dwellings were open as day and the

hearts of the owners; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived

in abundance.

Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the

Basin of Minas, Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of

Grand Pré, Dwelt on his goodly acres; and with him, direct

ing his household, Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride

of the village. Stalworth and stately in form was the man of

seventy winters; Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered

with snow-flakes; White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks

as brown as the oak-leaves. Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen

summers. Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the

thorn by the wayside, Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the

brown shade of her tresses !! Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that

feed in the meadows.

upon them.

When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers

at noontide Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah! fair in sooth was

the maiden. Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the

bell from its turret Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest

with his hyssop Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet

of beads and her missal, Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue,

and the ear-rings, Brought in the olden time from France, and since,

as an heir-loom, Handed down from mother to child, through long

generations. Buta celestial brightness-a more ethereal beautyShone on her face and encircled her form, when,

after confession, Homeward serenely she walked with God's bene

diction upon her. When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing

of exquisite music. Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of

the farmer Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea ;

and a shady Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine

wreathing around it. Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath ;

and a footpath Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in

the meadow. Under the sycamore tree were hives overhung by

a penthouse, Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the

road side,

Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image

of Mary. Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well

with its moss-grown Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for

the horses. Shielding the house from storms, on the north,

were the barns and the farmyard. There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the an

tique ploughs and the harrows. There were the folds for the sheep; and there, in

his feathered seraglio, Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock,

with the self-same Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent

Peter. Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a

village. In each one Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; and a

staircase Under the sheltering eaves led up to the odorous

corn loft. There too the dovecot stood, with its meek and

innocent inmates Murmuring ever of love while above in the

variant breezes Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang

of mutation.

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the

farmer of Grand Pré. Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed

his household. Many a youth, as he knelt in the church, and

opened his missal, Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of his deepest

devotion; Happy was he who might touch her hand or the

hem of her garment

Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness

befriended, And as he knocked, and waited to hear the sound

of her footsteps, Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the

knocker of iron; Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the

village, Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as

he whispered Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the

music. But among all who came, young Gabriel only was

welcome; Gabriel Lajeunnesse, the son of Basil the black

smith, Who was a mighty man in the village, and honoured

of all men; For since the birth of time, throughout all ages

and nations, Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by

the people. Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from

earliest childhood Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father

Felician, Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had

taught them their letters Out of the self-same book, with the hymns of the

church and the plain-song. But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson

completed, Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the

blacksmith. There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes

to behold him Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a

plaything, Nailing the shoe in its place; while ncar him the

tire of the cart wheel

Looked with the eye of love through the golden

vapours around him; While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and

yellow, Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering

tree of the forest Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned

with mantles and jewels. Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection

and stillness. Day with its burden and heat had departed, and

twilight descending Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the

herds to the homestead. Pawing the ground they came, and resting their

necks on each other, And with their nostrils distended inhaling the

freshness of evening. Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beantiful

heifer, Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that

waved from her collar, Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human

affection. Then came the shepherd back with his bleating

flocks from the sea-side, Where was their favourite pasture. Behind them Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride

of his instinct, Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and

superbly Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the

stragglers ; Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept;

their protector, When from the forest at night, through the starry

silence, the wolves howled.

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