ON GATE BEBTOK 289 



of the inlets and rivers of the noble lakes, then in the sublimity of their ancient beauties 

 — vistas of the great forests untouched by the axe, and of mountains where the foot of Eu- 

 ropean never trod. Then suddenly a town rises on its eastern shores — a town with walls 

 of stone, where the cannon and the lilies of Franci. tell of the ambition of the nations of 

 Europe to seize the new world, with its enormous possibilities. Then it is no longer the 

 sails of adventurous fishermen that dot these waters. We see great fleets with their 

 armaments of heavy metal ranged for miles off the harbour that now represents the 

 power of France. We can hear the shouts of triumph as the flag comes down 

 on the Vigilante, surprised on her way to succour Louisbourg. We can see the dim 

 hull of the Arélhuse stealing, amid the darkness of night, through the vessels of 

 the blockading squadron, to tell the French king that his dream of empire in America 

 is fast drawing to an end. We can see the old leaky Notre-Dame de Délivrance — no 

 longer a name of auspicious omen — carried into port with its rich cargo of gold and silver 

 from the mines of Peru, amid the cheers of the sailors on the English ships, and of the 

 soldiers as they crowd the ramparts of the town over which the French flag still floats in 

 mockery of the hopes of De UUoa and his French companions when they sought the port as 

 a safe refuge after their storm-tossed voyage from the Spanish colonies of the south. We 

 can see the men working like so many ants in the trenches, and manning the batteries 

 from which the shot flies fierce and hot upon the devoted town, making great breaches 

 in its wails. Farmers, fishermen, and mechanics of New England, sturdy, energetic, 

 sharp-witted, full of wise saws and scriptural quotations spiecially adapted to themselves 

 and their own wishes ; men from the grass-meadows of Devon and the hop-gardens of 

 Kent ; stalwart highlaudmeu whose hearts still go across the water to Prince Charlie, or 

 linger in their Scottish glens which may know them no more ; sturdy English sea-dogs, 

 as ready to swear as to fight ; the self-reliant, calm merchant of the Piscataqua ; the tall, 

 gaunt form of Wolfe, with his emaciated face on which illness had left its impress ; 

 Duchambou and Drucour with disappointment and care depicted in their eyes, as they 

 survey the ruins of their fortress ; silent sullen Frenchmen mourning their fate as they 

 see the red cross of England flying above their citadel ; a gentle cultured lady amid the 

 storm of shot and shell, showing Frenchmen that their women would, if they could, 

 fight for France and her honour to the last ; a sturdy sailor who, in later times, was to 

 give England the right to claim an Australasian continent in the Southern seas. All 

 these pass in a rapid panorama before our eyes as we recall the shadowy past with its 

 associations of victories won on three continents. Here we stand on ruins which link us 

 with the victories of Plassy, Eossbach, and Minden — with new empires won in Asia 

 and Europe, with the rise of dynasties, and the defeated schemes of kings and princes, 

 once dominant in Europe. Three continents were here allied in the days of Pitt, and 

 whether we walk over these old ruins in Cape Breton or bow reverently before the 

 monuments that tell of England's famous men in her ancient Abbey, and see most con- 

 spicuous among them all the stately figure of Chatham, with his outstretched arm, 

 " bidding England to be of good cheer, and hurling defiance at her foes," we feel that 

 though this land of ours be new and have few of those historic memories that make every 

 inch of England or of France so dear to the historian, the poet and the novelist, yet here 

 at least at Louisbourg as on the heights of Quebec, and on the banks of Lake Champlain 



Sec II, 1891. 37. 



