"You have had a good lesson this morning, my children, on th_The Travellers: A Tale, Designed for Young People.

of association. When we first saw that ruin, it looked to you like any

other stone wall--mere mason-work: and you, Julia, afraid of being

buried in its shadow, wondered what interest any one could feel in

looking at it; and now, I see you are venturing on the most tottering

part of it for a piece of moss, which I suppose is to be carefully

treasured in your herbal."

"Yes, mama, as a keep-sake for Marguerite and Louis."

* * * * *

We shall not condemn our readers to attend the travellers in their

tedious passage down the St. Lawrence. Sometimes a favoring breeze

filled the single sail of their little boat, and aided by the oars of

the lazy boatmen, wafted them gently forward, till, coming to a more

rapid descent in the river, their light vessel seemed urged on by an

irresistible force to the 'rapids,' where the waves, fretting and

foaming over the invisible rocks, threatened to engulph it. The boatmen

threw themselves prostrate on the bottom of the boat to avoid the

splashing of the waves; their oars lay useless beside them, while the

pilot strained every nerve to guide the boat in safety through the

perilous channel. These passages, like the brilliant events of life,

are rare and brief, and are succeeded by the sleepy lakes of the river,

bordered by shores uniformly low and monotonous, save where the green

mountains of Vermont dimly define the eastern horizon.

Arrived at Montreal, Mrs. Sackville, from consideration for Mrs. Barton,

determined to avoid delay, and therefore deferred the examination of

this city, so singular and picturesque to an American eye, till their

return from Quebec. There was, however, no boat to sail before the

evening, and a half day of leisure afforded our industrious travellers

an opportunity to visit the churches and convents of Montreal.

The churches are spacious, and decorated with gaudy tinselled ornaments,

and indifferent pictures. Edward and Julia were dazzled and delighted

with the seeming splendor. A little demure Presbyterian girl, who acted

as their guide, smiled at the animated expressions of their wonder.

"Notre Dame, is," she said, "as my grandmother often says, just fit for

a baby-house for children."

This remark caused a sudden revulsion in Edward's mind. He had a truly

manly, or rather boyish aversion to be suspected of a juvenile taste,

and averting his eye from his conductor, it fell on a miserable,

half-famished looking old woman, who was kneeling in one of the aisles

absorbed in her devotions.

"Look there, mother," said he, pointing to the wretched object, "what

a contrast to all this pomp.--It reminds me of an anecdote I have

somewhere read of a pious pilgrim to whom one of the popes was

ostentatiously displaying the decorations of the Vatican.

"Dites a ces ornemens," said the pilgrim, "de se changer en pain."[4]

[4] Command these decorations to be changed into bread.

Quite satisfied with this display of his superiority to the childishness

indirectly ascribed to him by his conductor, though it was entirely lost

on her, Edward left the church, and attended his friends to the Hotel

Dieu, the convent of the black nuns. They were shown the different

apartments by one of the sisterhood, a well-bred Irish lady, whose fine

intelligent dark eyes, benevolent and happy expression of countenance,

and short plump figure, made a delightful impression on Edward and

Julia, who had always fancied a nun must be tall and thin, with a sad

solemn face, condemned to wither under an immoveable veil. She led them

to the hospital where the sick of every nation are received and treated

with equal kindness according to the law of christian benevolence, which

is of universal obligation.

"Do the rules of your order, (the order of St. Joseph I believe,")

inquired Mr. Sackville of the sister, "impose on you the performance of

severe penances?"

"No," she replied, "we are exempted from extraordinary penances, on

account of the fatiguing and often loathsome offices that we have to

perform for the sick; these are received as sufficient mortifications.

We open our doors to the sick mendicant and wounded soldiers. We had in

this apartment at one time during the late war seventeen American

soldiers."

"My countrymen," replied Mr. Sackville, "had abundant reason to be

grateful that they fell into your skilful and benevolent hands,--the

beautiful order and neatness of your hospital prove with what fidelity

your samaritan duties are performed."

While the nun, courteously bowing her head at this merited compliment,

led the way to an adjoining ante-room appropriated to medicines,

surgical instruments, &c. Mrs. Sackville said in a low voice to Edward,

"Take notice, my dear son, that where the _precepts_ of the christian

religion are strictly applied they produce the same fruits; no matter by

what name the particular faith is called, Catholic or Protestant."

"Oh look there, mother," exclaimed Julia, pointing to large cases with

glass doors which contained the medicines, "I am sure that in spite of

your laws of association, those vials and gallipots look quite

beautiful."

"And I suspect they contain nothing very disagreeable," replied her

mother; "these sisters do not appear to deal in the harsh medicines

of our daring doctors, but content themselves with emollients and

palliatives. See those labels, 'eau hysterique'--'eau celeste;' even

you, Julia, would have no objection to medicines that deserve such

pretty appellatives."

From the Hotel Dieu they went to the chapel and sacristie. Julia pointed

to the altars on which were standing vases filled with white lilies and

carnations. "Every where, mother," she said, "we see these beautiful

flowers, even in the churches."

"And they are certainly not inappropriate, Julia," replied her mother,

"in His temple whose pencil paints and breath perfumes them."

After all had been shown that is usually exhibited, the sister invited

her visiters to go to the garden. Mrs. Sackville said that though she

had heard it much extolled, their time would not permit them the pleasure

of seeing it, but she said there was a farther trouble that she must

venture on imposing. She understood the sisters sometimes permitted

their visiters to buy specimens of their work; and she was anxious to

carry some to their friends.

Their conductor seemed gratified with this hint, and directly left them,

and returned with a large basket filled with embroidered needle-books,

reticules, work-boxes, purses, scissor-cases, &c. &c.

Edward and Julia eagerly examined the beautiful productions of the taste

and industry of the cloistered sisters. Edward was particularly struck

with a sack or purse, made of birch bark, and wrought with porcupine

quills of the richest dyes. On one side of it was an indian woman,

carrying an infant according to the aboriginal fashion, laced to a board

which was laid on her back; the little creature's head was just visible,

peeping over her shoulder. A boy was standing beside her with a bow and

arrow, on the reverse was a group of indians seated under an oak tree,

smoking the long feathered and beaded pipe, which they call the calumet

of peace, "Oh, mother," said Edward, holding up the sack, "is not this

very valuable?"

"It is certainly very handsome," replied his mother.

"But that is not all, mother--it is certainly very valuable, as an

illustration of indian customs.--I wish"----he added and paused.

"What do you wish, Ned?" asked his mother.

"Nothing, mama," he replied, sighing, laying down the sack, and turning

away; "I only wish I had not seen it."

Julia was all this time looking at a very curious work-basket, which she

thought a masterpiece. She turned it from side to side, examined the

roses, carnations, jessamines, and violets, that had been wrought with

such exquisite skill as to represent to the life the peerless flowers

they were made to imitate; and for one moment she too wished that her

five dollars was still at her own disposal. Mrs. Sackville read what

was passing in the minds of her children. She took them aside: "My dear

Ned and Julia," she said, "I fear you may be regretting your hasty

benevolence, when you devoted to a charitable purpose all the money your

father gave you for such gratifications as are now offered to you; you

did it from a sudden impulse of generosity: you have, I believe, as yet

expended but a small portion of your money, and if you now prefer to

appropriate it to the purchase of these very tempting articles, I will

myself assume the expense of getting Mrs. Barton to Quebec."

Edward and Julia looked at their mother, and at one another without

replying a word. Mrs. Sackville returned to the table to make some

selections for herself.

"What had we best do, Ned?" whispered Julia.

"Why do you ask me, Julia? you know as well as I. I should like to have

something to show that I had been in Canada."

"So should I excessively--but then"--

"But what, Julia? I am sure mama says it shall make no difference to

Mrs. Barton."

"No, that is true--it will make no difference to her; but it will make a

great difference to us."

The last member of Julia's sentence was quite lost on Edward, for he had

abruptly returned to the table, and to the examination of the coveted

purse. Julia stood for one half instant wavering, and then walked to a

window, and kept her eye steadily fixed on the garden it overlooked.

Mrs. Sackville ventured one glance at her children. 'Ah,' thought she,

'Julia, you will prove faithful, but Ned I fear for you; 'he who

deliberates is lost,'' Her mind was more intent on her children than on

the little traffic she was making, and when she had set aside articles

to a considerable amount, and was about to pay for them, the nun said,

"I think, madam, you might make a better selection--allow me to exchange

this basket for the awkward one you have there. I am a little vain of

this, for I made it myself, and I should have begged your daughter to

accept it when I saw her admiring it, but these articles are devoted to

a specific object, and I have no control over them. I should, however,

be particularly gratified if you would purchase this for Miss Julia,

instead of that you have taken."

"You are very good," replied Mrs. Sackville, "but I have permitted my

daughter to select for herself. Julia, do you hear what this lady says?"

"Yes, mama."

"Will you look at the basket, my love?"

"No, I thank you, mama."

This last reply was uttered in a faltering voice, and caught Edward's

attention. He had just taken out his pocket-book to pay for the purse.

He looked towards Julia, and then to his mother. Mrs. Sackville's eyes

were fixed on Julia with an expression of love and approbation which

flashed to Edward's heart; he dropped the purse, put up his pocket-book,

and going up to his sister, whispered a proposal that they should return

to the inn, without waiting for their mother to finish her business.

They then took a respectful, though rather a hurried leave of the kind

sister, impatient to be out of sight of a temptation, which no one will

deride as inconsiderable, when it is remembered that Edward was twelve,

Julia ten years old.

"What upon earth ails the children?" asked Mr. Morris, who saw that

something agitated them. Mrs. Sackville explained as far as she could

without making a display of their charity. "They are good children, very

good children," said Mr. Morris, "and I think you have tried them a

little too far, sister; but, dear souls, it shall all be made up to

them. Where is that purse poor Ned was fingering? and that basket for

Julia? I'll buy them both; they shall have them."

"No, my dear brother, you must not indeed interpose your kindness--you

will spoil all. The result has proved that I did not try them too far,

though I confess I was at one time a little afraid I had done what I

have often seen children do, pulled up the flower in trying to ascertain

whether it had taken root. I have now more confidence that their hearts

have that good soil into which the roots of virtue may strike deeply;

and they now know the full cost of a charitable action which is

performed by the voluntary and deliberate sacrifice of personal

indulgence."

"You are right, perfectly right my dear," said Mr. Sackville.

"Yes, I believe you are right," said Mr. Morris, reluctantly replacing

the articles, "but it's deuced hard upon the children."

"It is more blessed to give than to receive," said the nun, in a sweet

tone of voice, and added, "I assure you madam, I never missed a sale of

our little wares with so much satisfaction."

The visiters then took leave of the amiable sister, and in the course

of the evening embarked on board the steam-boat. When they arose in the

morning, they had already reached the mouth of the Sorrel. It was one

of the most beautiful of all the bright days of summer. A gentle west

wind tempered the sun's heat, and if, as saith the good book, 'a

cheerful countenance betokeneth the heart in prosperity,' it might be

inferred from the happy faces of our friends, that their minds were

as bright and clear as the cloudless sky. Even Mrs. Barton had lost

her downcast despondent look, and the pleasant light of gratitude and

hope was diffused over her honest countenance. Edward and Julia were

unusually animated, and their mother observed their joyous step as they

bounded over the decks, their sparkling glances, and their gleeful

chatterings which fell like music on her ear: she traced their uncommon

spirits to the little struggle and victory of the preceding day, and

rightly, for it is active goodness that commands the secret spring of

joy--virtue that opens all the sweet fountains of happiness within us.

It was late in the afternoon when the level and uniform shores of the

river, studded with an unbroken line of white-washed houses, or only

broken where they clustered around a catholic church, as children gather

under the wing of a parent, began to assume more picturesque forms. Bold

promontories stretched into the river, and beautiful hills presented

their verdant and graceful slopes to the clear mirror. There was a band

of musicians on board the boat, who at the command of the captain, (who

understood the laws of international courtesy,) had been playing yankee

doodle. Edward was far enough from home to feel grateful for this

tribute from the English captain, and when the music suddenly changed,

at a signal from him, to a mournful requiem, Edward inquired with a look

of disappointment, the cause of the transition.

"Look there," he replied, "my young friend, at that pretty grassy point.

It is called Cape Laboniere; just above the point you see a thicket of

tall trees, which extend their shadows now beyond the church. Under

those trees were buried three beautiful girls, the daughters of the

honourable Mrs. Laboniere. The young ladies were called by the villagers,

'Les s[oe]urs de la charite;' and are now, I am told, reckoned as their

guardian saints by these poor catholic peasants. I happened to be there

when the last was buried. You know the catholics have great pomp and

expense at their funerals; but I believe the childless parents had no

heart for this, for though the father is seignior of the place, and

a man of great wealth, he granted the request of the poor villagers

who went in a body to him, to beg permission to bury their beloved

benefactress. I saw the procession--every one in it was a mourner. The

girls strewed the grave with white roses, and all, even the old men and

the little children, shed tears on the turf that covered it; and I could

not but think how much better than their consecrated water were these

tears of gratitude. We call the place the 'Three sisters,' now,"

concluded the captain, "and I never pass it without some tribute of

respect."

* * * * *

Before nine o'clock the steamboat was gliding along under the heights

of Quebec. Having, as Mr. Morris (who kept strict note of time) remarked,

achieved a sail of 180 miles in 18 hours. Edward stood on the deck

beside his mother, straining his eyes to the proud summit of Cape

Diamond, where the British flag waved in a flood of moonlight. "Oh,

mother," he exclaimed, "what a kind friend the moon has been to us."

"She has indeed," replied Mrs. Sackville; "and I am very glad that you

notice and enjoy her favors; her pale crescent was reflected in the

waters of Ontario--her beams revealed to us some of the secret places

of the 'thousand isles'--the glittering spires of Montreal sent back her

silver rays, and now she pours a flood of light from her full orb, upon

these fortified heights. But, come, dear Ned, I believe it is time for

us to leave the moon, and attend to our sublunary concerns. Your uncle

has gone to settle our bill, and you had best attend to yours." Julia

poured the contents of her purse into Edward's, and he left them, and

returned in a few moments holding a single shilling between his fingers;

"here is all we have left," he said; "what is to be done now, mother? I

cannot bear to turn poor Mrs. Barton adrift the moment we arrive."

"No, dear Ned," replied his mother; "she shall be cared for still

further. I had too much respect for good examples," she continued,

smiling, "to spend all my money for fancy articles, and I shall take

Mrs. Barton to the City Hotel with us, till she can make some provisions

for herself. I confess I have not much expectation that the governor

will think proper to do any thing for her, but your father has letters

to him, and he will call at the Chateau to-morrow, and say and do what

he can in her behalf." Mrs. Barton received this additional kindness

with unfeigned gratitude; "But after to-morrow, ma'am," she said, "I

will trouble you no further, for I am sure to find some acquaintance

here, who will help me to shift for myself."

The next morning passports were procured to visit the fortifications.

Edward, who had a great regard to our own heroes and patriots, had

previously sallied forth in quest of the spot where the gallant

Montgomery fell in our cause; and his father, after awaiting his return

for some time, proceeded without him, leaving a note of directions how

he should follow him.

Edward obeyed the directions. He reached Cape Diamond without meeting

his friends, and he was biting his lips with vexation, that he should

have come to this celebrated fortification alone, without any one to

explain it to him, and must leave it as ignorant as he had entered; when

he was accosted by a good natured looking soldier, who, doffing his

military cap and making a slight bow, said, "This is a pleasant place,

young gentleman, of a sunny summer's day."

Edward turned his bright glance on the man, delighted to have found any

one who could answer the questions that were rushing to his lips. "Is

not that," he said, pointing to the island opposite, "the island of

Orleans?"

"The very same, sir: and the point there, is point Levi, which Wolfe

fortified, and destroyed from it all the lower town of Quebec: but brave

as he was, I think he never would have come within the rampart, if

Montcalme had not been the fool to go out and meet him on the Plains of

Abraham--once there, you know, we beat of course; for, other things

being equal, one Englishman is as good as two Frenchmen any day--and

that's what every English soldier knows."

"But," replied Edward, with a smile, "what every French soldier does not

admit I suspect."

"No--no--not exactly--for you know they are a bragging nation."

"Well," said Edward, "they seem to have something to brag of about you

here in these beautiful villages:" and he pointed towards Beauport and

Charlebourg, whose white houses, green fields, and churches, seem to

promise every thing that poets have dreamed of village simplicity,

peace, and contentment.

"Yes, sir," said the soldier, "those have a decent genteel appearance

from here, but if you were once to go to them, and see the houses like

painted pigeon-holes--white without, but within full of all manner of

uncleanliness; the bits of gardens with little but onions in them;

whole fields overrun with Canada thistles; and then the little bits of

dowdy images that they worship; and slivers of wood set in frames, that

they call pieces of the true cross, and there are enough of them, as I

have heard said, to build a seventy-four. If you were to see all this,

my young master, you would agree with me, they were but a set of poor

ignorant superstitious deluded creatures, far enough behind us English,

or even the Americans." The soldier then proceeded to point out and name

the most attractive objects from this commanding point of view. The deep

black ravine, through which the Montmorenci, after taking its graceful

and wondrous leap, passes into the St. Lawrence; and the indentation of

the shore beyond the Plains of Abraham, called Wolfe's Cove, where he

landed his forces on the morning of his victory and death. Edward found

it very difficult to tear himself from a spot which has so much natural

beauty, and historic interest, but anxious to follow his friends, he

offered the soldier a few pieces of change, and asked him if he was

willing to show him the fortification, and then guide him to the Plains

of Abraham, whither his father had gone.

The soldier civilly, and indeed thankfully assented, and they proceeded

together. The man, evidently pleased with the intelligent questions put

to him by Edward, which he answered in a way that indicated a knowledge

of his profession quite unusual in a common soldier. Edward inquired the

design of the Martello towers, of the bastions, scarps and counterscarps,

of this fosse, that glacis, &c. &c. at last, stopping suddenly, while

his dilating form and beaming face expressed the youthful heroism that

glowed in his breast, he said, "It is a strong place, a very strong

place indeed; but I do think _we_ could take it."

"_We!_" exclaimed the soldier, darting at him a look of eager inquiry;

"who are _we_?"

"Why, we Americans."

"Americans!" echoed the soldier, and then starting back and dashing the

silver Edward had given him to the ground. "Have I," he said, "served my

king four and twenty years, to be bribed by an American boy at last? has

it come to this, Richard Barton?"

"Richard Barton!" echoed Edward in his turn.

"Yes, my young man, Richard Barton; a poor name, but an honest one,

thank God."

"Richard Barton!" again repeated Edward. "But it cannot be the Richard

Barton I mean."

"I don't know who you mean, sir, but I shall take care and report you to

my officer, and clear myself of all blame."

"Do not be so hasty, my good friend," said Edward, with an expression of

innocence and good nature, that went far to remove the honest soldier's

suspicions; "it is true I have troubled you with a great many questions,

but I had no motive but curiosity; we yankees, you know, are a curious

race. Come, I shall hold you to your agreement; take up the money and go

along with me."

"No--no--I never will touch the money; but I will go with you, there can

be no harm in that."

"Well," said Edward, picking up the pieces, "if you won't take it, I

know a Richard Barton that will, and he shall have it too; and now, if I

was not afraid you would take me to the guard-house, I would put some

"You have had a good lesson this morning, my children, on the pleasures