ortion of the Gospel
of St. John, made the sign of the cross, and uttered a prayer, not
for their bodies only, but for their miserable souls. Next he read the
passion of the Saviour, to which, though comprehending not a word, his
audience listened with grave attention. Then came a distribution of
presents. The squaws and children were recalled, and, with the warriors,
placed in separate groups. Knives and hatchets were given to the men,
and beads to the women, while pewter rings and images of the Agnus
Dei were flung among the troop of children, whence ensued a vigorous
scramble in the square of Hochelaga. Now the French trumpeters pressed
their trumpets to their lips, and blew a blast that filled the air with
warlike din and the hearts of the hearers with amazement and delight.
Bidding their hosts farewells the visitors formed their ranks and
defiled through the gate once more, despite the efforts of a crowd of
women, who, with clamorous hospitality, beset them with gifts of fish,
beans, corn, and other viands of uninviting aspect, which the Frenchmen
courteously declined.

A troop of Indians followed, and guided them to the top of the
neighboring mountain. Cartier called it Mont Royal, Montreal; and hence
the name of the busy city which now holds the site of the vanished
Iloclielaga. Stadacone and Hochelaga, Quebec and Montreal, in the
sixteenth century as in the nineteenth, were the centres of Canadian
population.

From the summit, that noble prospect met his eye which at this day is
the delight of tourists, but strangely changed, since, first of white
men, the Breton voyager gazed upon it. Tower and dome and spire,
congregated roofs, white sail, and gliding steamer, animate its vast
expanse with varied life. Cartier saw a different scene. East, west, and
south, the mantling forest was over all, and the broad blue ribbon of
the great river glistened amid a realm of verdure. Beyond, to the bounds
of Mexico, stretched a leafy desert, and the vast hive of industry,
the mighty battle-ground of later centuries, lay sunk in savage torpor,
wrapped in illimitable woods.

The French re-embarked, bade farewell to Hochelaga, retraced their
lonely course down the St. Lawrence, and reached Stadacone in safety. On
the bank of the St. Charles, their companions had built in their absence
a fort of palisades, and the ships, hauled up the little stream, lay
moored before it. Here the self-exiled company were soon besieged by the
r