s
nation. The next time came in its due season, but the man who "did
better," who carried that "banner of the Leopard" high over the Lilies,
was not Braddock, but James Wolfe.

England thirsted for revenge. The years came and the years went, and
at last they brought the hour and the men. An elaborate campaign in
1759 had been prepared, by which Amherst, coming by Lake George,
Ticonderoga, and Lake Champlain; Prideaux and Johnson coming by Fort
Niagara, Lake Ontario, and Montreal; and Wolfe coming by the St.
Lawrence River, were to unite in attacking Quebec. But the first two
divisions of the whole force were unable to make the connection in the
due time, and to Wolfe's command alone was given the honor of assailing
Quebec. He advanced up the St. Lawrence with some 7000 men and the
fleet under Admiral Saunders, and encamped on the Island of St. Orleans
in the St. Lawrence River, some eight miles from Quebec. The whole
world, perhaps, hardly holds a scene more picturesque, whether looked
at from above or from below, from the rock or from the river, than that
which is given by the city of Quebec. At some places the bold mass of
rock and clay descends almost sheer to the lower level and the
river-shore. One can see that splendid heap of rock and clay from the
distant Falls of Montmorency, standing out as the Acropolis of Athens
or as Acrocorinth may be seen from some far-off point of view. The
newer part of the city and the fortifications are perched high upon the
great mound or mass of clay and rock, which looks over the {288}
confluence of a mighty river and a great stream. The lower and older
town creeps and straggles along the base of the rock and by the edges
of the river. Here are the old market-places, the quaint old streets,
the ancient wharfs, the crumbling houses, the narrow lanes, the curious
inlets, of past generations, and the crude shanties of yesterday and
the day before yesterday. From this lower level broad roads now wind
up to what would be called the better part of the city--the region of
the hotels, and the clubs, and the official buildings, and the
fashionable residences. But until lately these roads passed under the
ancient gate-ways of the city--gate-ways that reminded one of the Gate
of Calais, and brought back suggestions of Hogarth's famous picture.
In more recent years, however, the restless spirit of modern
improvement has invaded even Quebec, and all, or nearly all, the
ancient gat