eny them
graves in their native soil. The dead were happy; for they were not
exiles!

While they thus stood upon the wharf, the curiosity and inquisitiveness of
the New England people would naturally lead them into the midst of the
poor Acadians. Prying busy-bodies thrust their heads into the circle,
wherever two or three of the exiles were conversing together. How puzzled
did they look, at the outlandish sound of the French tongue! There were
seen the New England women, too. They had just come out of their warm,
safe homes, where every thing was regular and comfortable, and where their
husbands and children would be with them at night-fall. Surely, they could
pity the wretched wives and mothers of Acadia! Or, did the sign of the
cross, which the Acadians continually made upon their breasts, and which
was abhorred by the descendants of the Puritans--did that sign exclude all
pity?

Among the spectators, too, was the noisy brood of Boston school-boys, who
came running, with laughter and shouts, to gaze at this crowd of oddly
dressed foreigners. At first they danced and capered around them, full of
merriment and mischief. But the despair of the Acadians soon had its
effect upon these thoughtless lads, and melted them into tearful sympathy.

At a little distance from the throng, might be seen the wealthy and
pompous merchants, whose warehouses stood on Long Wharf. It was difficult
to touch these rich men's hearts; for they had all the comforts of the
world at their command; and when they walked abroad, their feelings were
seldom moved, except by the roughness of the pavement, irritating their
gouty toes. Leaning upon their gold-headed canes, they watched the scene
with an aspect of composure. But, let us hope, they distributed some of
their superfluous coin among these hapless exiles, to purchase food and a
night's lodging.

After standing a long time at the end of the wharf, gazing seaward, as if
to catch a glimpse of their lost Acadia, the strangers began to stray into
the town.

They went, we will suppose, in parties and groups, here a hundred, there a
score, there ten, there three or four, who possessed some bond of unity
among themselves. Here and there was one, who, utterly desolate, stole
away by himself, seeking no companionship.

Whither did they go? I imagine them wandering about the streets, telling
the town's-people, in outlandish, unintelligible words, that no earthly
affliction ever equalled what had b