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St. Pierre, Miquelon, is one of the quaintest towns in all of

picturesque French Canada. It is on the island of the same name

(there are three Miquelon islands), which is in itself a bold

chunk of granite sticking up out of the ocean at a distance of

some ten miles southwest of May Point, Newfoundland.

Rough and craggy, with few trees, sparse vegetation, and a very

thin coating of soil, there is no agriculture, and the whole

glory of the island is centered in the roaring city on its

southeast side.

It is a strange city, lost in the midst of busy up-to-date

Canada, with French roofs, narrow tilting streets, and ever the

smell of fish. There is a good harbor, and there are wharfs where

blackfaced men with blue stockings, caps, and gold earrings

chatter the patois and smoke their pipes. In the busy time of

year there are ten thousand men in the town and it is a scene of

constant revelry and wildness.