that
memorable promise of marching from Quebec to Boston, with a force he saw
fit to name--a pledge that he afterwards redeemed by going over the same
ground, with twice the number of followers, as captives; and it was under
this infatuation that England subsequently threw away her hundred thousand
lives, and lavished her hundred millions of treasure.

The history of that memorable struggle is familiar to every American.
Content with the knowledge that his country triumphed, he is willing to
let the glorious result take its proper place in the pages of history. He
sees that her empire rests on a broad and natural foundation, which needs
no support from venal pens; and, happily for his peace of mind, no less
than for his character, he feels that the prosperity of the Republic is
not to be sought in the degradation of surrounding nations.

Our present purpose leads us back to the period of calm which preceded the
storm of the Revolution. In the early days of the month of October 1759,
Newport, like every other town in America, was filled with the mingled
sentiment of grief and joy. The inhabitants mourned the fall of Wolfe
while they triumphed in his victory. Quebec, the strong-hold of the
Canadas, and the last place of any importance held by a people whom they
had been educated to believe were their natural enemies, had just changed
its masters. That loyalty to the Crown of England, which endured so much
before the strange principle became extinct, was then at its height; and
probably the colonist was not to be found who did not, in some measure,
identify his own honour with the fancied glory of the head of the house of
Brunswick. The day on which the action of our tale commences had been
expressly set apart to manifest the sympathy of the good people of the
town, and its vicinity, in the success of the royal arms. It had opened,
as thousands of days have opened since, with the ringing of bells and the
firing of cannon; and the population had, at an early hour, poured into
the streets of the place, with that determined zeal in the cause of
merriment, which ordinarily makes preconcerted joy so dull an amusement.
The chosen orator of the day had exhibited his eloquence, in a sort of
prosaic monody in praise of the dead hero, and had sufficiently manifested
his loyalty, by laying the glory, not only of that sacrifice, but all that
had been reaped by so many thousands of his brave companions also, most
humbly at the foot of