fusion. They were carried home by their own carriages; that is to say, by the vehicles nature had provided them, excepting such of the wealthy as could afford to keep a wagon. The gentlemen gallantly attended their fair ones to their respective abodes, and took leave of them with a hearty smack at the door; which, as it was an established piece of etiquette, done in perfect simplicity and honesty of heart, occasioned no scandal at that time, nor should it at the present; if our great-grandfathers approved of the custom, it would argue a great want of reverence in their descendants to say a word against it. THE FALL OF QUEBEC JOHN FISKE OLFE sat buried in thought, occasionally repeating aloud verses from Gray's "Elegy," which had been published a few years before, and one line, "The paths of glory lead but to the grave," betrayed what was passing in his mind. "Gentlemen," he said to the officers with him, WOLFE zag path was overcrowded, but there were so many bushes as to afford an abundance of handles and footholds on that steep precipice. The height of the climb was a little over two hundred feet, or about the same as that of Bunker Hill Monument. But at length it was safely accomplished, and just as the first streaks of dawn glimmered on the eastern horizon, the gallant Howe with his men leaped upon the summit and scattered the French sentinels, who were seized with panic and stood not upon the order of their going. It was still early dawn when the sixteen hundred were drawn up in order on the plains of Abraham. Other boats were following close behind, and by six o'clock three thousand more had climbed the rocky wall. The alarm was now spreading in many directions, but it was a long march for any of the French forces to reach the spot where Wolfe stood. When the tidings came to Montcalm his countenance fell. "This is a very serious business," he said, and instantly put a large portion of his force under marching orders. Not a moment was to be lost, for Wolfe on the Heights of Abraham was in possession of his line of communication. Nothing was to be done but to go and fight the English in a position where defeat meant destruction. By nine o'clock in the morning Montcalm had about five thousand men on the plateau, while Wolfe was waiting for the numbers of the French to reach a point where their defeat might be final; for now Wolfe had good grounds for confidently expecting victory. Only two thousand of the force opposed to him were French regulars. The rest were Canadian militia, unsurpassed in bush fighting, but hardly fit to withstand a charge of British grenadiers. The attack was made by the French, who rushed forward with great spirit. Wolfe's orders to his men, like those of Prescott in later days at Bunker Hill, were to withhold their fire till the enemy were within very close range. This order was strictly obeyed. When the volley was delivered, it made sad havoc in the French ranks, and when the British followed it with a solid bayonet charge on the double-quick, the French line was hopelessly broken. The firing in some parts of the field remained very brisk on both sides. In crossing an exposed place, Wolfe received a ball in the wrist which shattered the arm, but he tied it up with his handkerchief and kept on. Presently a second ball struck him in the groin without causing him to stop, and almost immediately afterward a third passed through one of his lungs. As he staggered, he was seized by four men, who carried him to the rear and laid him upon the ground. He was already somewhat comatose, when one of the officers exclaimed, "My God! See how they run!" "Who run?" exclaimed Wolfe, rousing himself. "The enemy," replied the officer, "is giving way everywhere." The young general's eyes lighted up once more as he eagerly cried out, "Go, one of you, my lads, to Colonel Burton and tell him to march down to the Charles River Bridge and cut off their retreat; " then turning upon his side he murmured, "Now, God be praised, I will die in peace." For Montcalm, too, the final summons had come, and he was no more to see the beautiful Provençal home for which he had so wearily yearned. As he was approaching one of the gates of the city, mounted on his black horse, a bullet was lodged in his chest, which in the intensity of excitement he hardly seemed to feel. As he passed through the gate a party of women, seeing the blood streaming down his waistcoat burst into loud lamentations: "He is killed! The Marquis is killed!" "Do not weep for me, my children," said he; "it's nothing." But as he said the words, he fell from his horse and was caught in the arms of his officers. When the surgeon informed him that the wound was mortal, his reply was, "So much the better. I shall not live to see Quebec surrendered." Thus came to a close one of the greatest scenes in the history of mankind, the final act in the drama which gave the North American continent into the keeping of the English race instead of the French; and perhaps there has never been a historic drama in which the leading parts have been played by men of nobler stuff than Montcalm and Wolfe. After the fall of Quebec there could be no doubt that the fate of Canada was decided. HAIL, COLUMBIA! JOSEPH HOPKINSON This song was written in 1798, when there was danger of a war with France. It was written to be sung to the music of a piece known as the "President's March," and was first sung for the benefit of a noted actor, and was received by the audience with the greatest enthusiasm. In a very short time it was sung from Maine to Georgia. H AIL, Columbia! Hail, ye heroes! Happy land! And when the storm of war was gone Immortal patriots! Rise once more; Sound, sound the trump of fame! Ring through the world with loud applause, Let every clime to Freedom dear, Listen with a joyful ear. With equal skill and godlike power, He governed in the fearful hour |