the common fame of Wolfe and Montcalm. The
sounding Latin inscription celebrates the royal governor-general who
erected it almost as much as the heroes to whom it was raised; but these
spectators did not begrudge the space given to his praise, for so fine a
thought merited praise. It enforced again the idea of a kind posthumous
friendship between Wolfe and Montcalm, which gives their memory its rare
distinction, and unites them, who fell in fight against each other, as
closely as if they had both died for the same cause.

Some lasting dignity seems to linger about the city that has once been a
capital; and this odor of fallen nobility belongs to Quebec, which was
a capital in the European sense, with all the advantages of a small
vice-regal court, and its social and political intrigues, in the French
times. Under the English, for a hundred years it was the centre
of Colonial civilization and refinement, with a governor-general's
residence and a brilliant, easy, and delightful society, to which the
large garrison of former days gave gayety and romance. The honors of
a capital, first shared with Montreal and Toronto, now rest with
half-savage Ottawa; and the garrison has dwindled to a regiment
of rifles, whose presence would hardly be known, but for the natty
sergeants lounging, stick in hand, about the streets and courting
the nurse-maids. But in the days of old there were scenes of carnival
pleasure in the Governor's Garden, and there the garrison band still
plays once a week, when it is filled by the fashion and beauty of
Quebec, and some semblance of the past is recalled. It is otherwise a
lonesome, indifferently tended place, and on this afternoon there was
no one there but a few loafing young fellows of low degree, French and
English, and children that played screaming from seat to seat and path
to path and over the too-heavily shaded grass. In spite of a conspicuous
warning that any dog entering the garden would be destroyed, the place
was thronged with dogs unmolested and apparently in no danger of the
threatened doom. The seal of a disagreeable desolation was given in
the legend rudely carved upon one of the benches, "Success to the Irish
Republic!"

The morning of the next day our tourists gave to hearing mass at the
French cathedral, which was not different, to their heretical senses,
from any other mass, except that the ceremony was performed with a
very full clerical force, and was attended by an uncommonly