Kitabı oku: «Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 60, No. 372, October 1846», sayfa 11

"When you have heard from Mr Wilson, let me know. I wish to arrange an interview with him, and have not the heart to write myself. Tell him I am in town – that I must see him."

"I will do it. Can I offer you a glass of wine, Mr Sinclair, or any refreshment? You look pale and languid."

"None, I thank you!"

"And the little lady in the parlour?"

"I am obliged to you – nothing. I must go to her – I have kept her waiting. Good-morning, sir."

Sinclair joined his daughter, and proceeded with her to his hotel. She was still his constant companion. He did not move without her. His anxiety to have the child always at his side bordered on insanity. Whether he quitted his home for amusement or business, she must accompany him, and clasp the only hand that he had now to offer her. He dreaded to be alone, and no voice soothed him but that of the little chatterer. How fond he was of it – of her – who shall say! or how necessary to his existence the treasure he had snatched from ruin in the hour of universal wreck!

Before visiting his lawyer, Sinclair had dispatched a private communication to his old serving-man, John Humphreys, who, upon the breaking up of Rupert's establishment, had returned to the service of Lord Railton, his ancient master. That trusty servant was already at the hotel when Sinclair reached it.

"You have spoken to nobody of my being here, Humphreys," said Rupert, when he saw him.

"To nobody, your honour."

"Then follow me!"

When they had come to Sinclair's private room, he continued —

"My father, Humphreys – Tell me quickly how he is."

"Oh, a world better, sir."

"Thank God! And my mother?"

"Breaking, sir. This last affair" —

"They are in town?"

"Yes, your honour – you will call upon them, won't you? It will do her ladyship's heart good to see you again – though, saving your honour's presence, you looks more like a spectre than a human being."

"No, Humphreys, I cannot see them. They must not even know that I am now in London. I would have avoided this interview, could I have quitted England again without some information respecting them. I shall be detained here for a few days – it may be for weeks – but I return again to the Continent, never again to leave it."

"Do you think them foreign doctors understand your case, sir?"

"My case!"

"Yes, sir – you are not well, I am sure. You want feeding and building up – English beef and beer. Them foreigners are killing you."

Rupert smiled.

"You'll excuse me, sir, but laughing isn't a good sign, when a man has reason to cry."

Rupert shuddered.

"I beg your pardon, sir – I didn't mean that," continued the honest fellow. "I did not refer to your feelings. I meant your health, sir. Live well, sir; eat good English fare, and take the bilious pills when you are out of sorts."

John Humphreys was dismissed with many thanks for his sympathy and advice, and with strict injunctions to maintain silence respecting Rupert's movements. Had Sinclair learned that his parents were ill, or needful of his presence, he would have gone to them at once. They were well – why should he molest them, or bring fresh anguish to their declining years?

I received the communication of Sinclair's lawyer, and answered it respectfully, refusing the interview that was asked. As I have already intimated, I had avoided his house and himself from the very moment that I had obtained what seemed ocular demonstration of guilt, which that of his friend and patron, the Earl of Minden himself, could not surpass. Whilst reports of that guilt came to me through the medium of servants, however trustworthy, and strangers, however disinterested, I had resisted them as cruel inventions and palpable slanders. With the attestation of my own eyes, I should have been an idiot had I come to any but one conclusion, how degrading soever that might be to my friend, or contradictory to all my past experience or preconceived hopes. Nothing, I solemnly vowed, should induce me to speak again to the man, branded with infamy so glaring, brought by his own folly and vice so low. I had heard, in common with the rest of the world, of the elopement, and possibly with less surprise than the majority of my fellow-men. If I wondered at all at the affair, it was simply as to how much Rupert had been paid for his consent, and as to the value he had fixed upon his reputation and good name. I received the application of the lawyer, and declined to accede to it.

As I sat reading in my room, upon the second morning after I had dispatched my answer to Mr Cribbs, of Carey Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, I was roused by a knock at the inner door. I requested my visitor to walk in. He did so. – Rupert Sinclair, and his child, stood before me!

I was fearfully shocked. He looked, indeed, more like a ghost than a living man. Fifty years of pain and anxiety seemed written on a brow that had not numbered thirty summers. His eye was sunk, his cheek was very wan and pallid. There was no expression in his countenance; he stood perfectly passionless and calm. The little girl was a lovely creature. A sickening sensation passed through me as I mentally compared her lineaments with those of the joyous creature whom I had met in Bath, and then referred to those of the poor father, so altered, so wofully and so wonderfully changed! She clung to that father with a fondness that seemed to speak of his desertion, and of his reliance upon her for all his little happiness. I was taken by surprise; I knew not what to do; the memory of past years rushed back upon me. I saw him helpless and forsaken. I could not bid him from my door; I could not speak an unkind word.

I placed a chair before the man, whose strength seemed scarce sufficient to support its little burden.

"Sinclair," I exclaimed, "you are ill!"

"I am!" he answered. "Very ill; worse than I had feared. They tell me I must leave the country, and seek milder air. I shall do so shortly; for her sake, not my own."

The little Alice put her delicate and alabaster hand about her parent's face, and patted it to express her gratitude or warm affection. My heart bled in spite of me.

"You refused to meet me, Wilson," said Sinclair quietly.

I blushed to think that I had done so; for I forgot every thing in the recollection of past intimacy, and in the consciousness of what I now beheld. I made no answer.

"You refused to meet me," he repeated. "You did me injustice. I know your thoughts, your cruel and unkind suspicions. I have come to remove them. Walter, you have cursed my name; you shall live to pity my memory."

"Rupert," I stammered, "whatever I may have thought or done, I assert that I have not willingly done you injustice. I have" —

I looked at the child, unwilling to say more in that innocent and holy presence.

Sinclair understood me. He asked permission for her to retire into an adjoining room. I told him that there was no one there to keep her company. He answered, that it did not matter; she was used to be alone, and to wait hours for her parent when business separated them in a stranger's house. "They made it up at home," he added, "and she was happier so than in the society of her governess."

"Is it not so, Alice?" he asked, kissing her as he led her from the apartment.

She answered with a kiss as warm as his, and a smile brighter than any he could give.

"Wilson," began Sinclair, as soon as he returned to me, "you know my history. The whole world knows it, and enjoys it. I have come to England to disannul our marriage. That over, I must save this life if possible: the doctors tell me I am smitten – that I shall droop and die. The mild air of Italy alone can save me. Oh, I wish to live for that young creature's sake! I cannot yet afford to die."

"Things are not so bad, I trust."

He shook his head, and proceeded.

"You, Wilson, must further my views. I have acquainted my solicitor with our former intimacy, and of the part which you took in this unfortunate business. You may accelerate the affair by your co-operation and aid. You must not deny it! Three months to me now are worth ten times as many years. I need peace of mind – repose. I would seek them in the grave, and gladly, but for her. I must find them in a land that will waft health to me, and give me strength for coming duties. You must stand by me now, if ever; you must not leave me, Wilson, till we have reached the opposite shore, and are safely landed."

"What can I do!"

"Much! The solicitor says, every thing. Your evidence is of the utmost consequence. Your assistance cannot be dispensed with. See him, and he will tell you more. We cannot depart until the marriage is dissolved. Should I die, she must have no claim upon that tender innocent!"

"Rupert," I exclaimed, "shall I speak plainly to you?"

"Ay," he answered, growing erect, and looking me full in the face, "as a man!"

"You demand of me," I continued, "a simple impossibility! I can do nothing for you. I can give you no help, no counsel. Ask your own once-faithful conscience, that once stern and honest monitor, how I, of all men, can befriend you? I may speak only to destroy you and your cause together. Seek a better ally – a less shackled adviser. Is it not publicly known? – do I not know it? Rupert, you have told me to speak plainly, and I will, I must. I say, do I not know that you yourself pandered to her profligacy? Did I not, with these eyes, which, would to Heaven, had been blind ere they had seen that miserable day – did I not, with these eyes, behold you walking before your door, whilst Lord Minden was closeted with your wife? Did you not turn back when you discovered he was there? Did I not see you turn back? Answer me, Rupert. Did I? – did I?"

"You did," he answered, with perfect equanimity.

"And," I continued, "acknowledging this horror, you ask me to advance your cause, and to speak on your behalf!"

"I do," he said, with a majestic calmness that confounded and abashed me – so prophetic was it of an approaching justification, so thoroughly indicative of truth and innocence.

"I do," he repeated, looking at me steadily, and speaking with more emotion as he proceeded. "Listen to me, Walter. I am a dying man! Say what they will, the seeds of an incurable disease are sown within me. Do what I may, my hours are numbered, and life is nearly spanned. I speak to you as a dying man. You saw that child! She is friendless, motherless, and will be shortly fatherless. I am about to consign her to Heaven and its mercy. I cannot utter falsehood upon the verge of eternity, leaving that dear pledge behind me. Upon my sacred honour, I speak the truth. Listen to it, and believe, as you would believe a messenger accredited from the skies. I have been a fool, an idiot, weaker than the creature whom the law deprives of self-control, and places in the custody of guards and keepers; but my honour is as spotless as you yourself could wish it. You knew of my difficulties: something you knew also of my introduction to the Earl of Minden – an aged villain – yes aged and old enough to disarm suspicion, if no stronger reason existed to destroy it; but there was a stronger. I marvelled at the extraordinary interest evinced for a stranger by this powerful and wealthy nobleman; but wonder ceased with explanation – and explanation from whom? from one whom I trusted as myself – from my wife, whom I loved better than myself. It is nothing that I look back with sickening wonder now. I was her devoted husband then, and I believed her. I would have believed her had she drawn upon my credulity a thousand times more largely. What devil put the lie into her soul I know not, but early in the friendship of this lord, she confided to me the fact that General Travis was not her father; she had been consigned to him, she said, at an early age, but her actual parent was who? – the brother of this same Lord Minden. It was a plausible tale coming from her lips. I did not stay to doubt it. Other lies were necessary to maintain the great falsehood; but the fabric which they raised was well-proportioned and consistent in its parts. Why did I not enter my home when Lord Minden was closeted with my wife? You will remember that we speak of a time when there was daily discussion concerning my promotion. 'Her uncle,' she said again and again, 'would do nothing for me if I were present. He was a singular and obstinate man, and would make our fortune in his own way. He was angry with me for running off with his niece – whom, though illegitimate, he had destined for greater honour than even an alliance with Lord Railton's heir; he was further hurt at Lord Railton's treatment of Elinor, and the proud neglect of my mother; the conduct of my parents had inspired him with a dislike for their son, and although for Elinor's sake he would advance our interests, yet he would not consult me, or meet me in the matter. If I were present, her uncle would say nothing – do nothing. This was reiterated day after day. From fountains that are pure, we look not for unclean waters. Trusting her with my whole heart and soul, I should have committed violence to my nature had I doubted her. It was impossible: with the plausibility of Satan, she had the loveliness of angels! Now I see the artifice and fraud – now I feel the degradation – now the horrible position in which I stood is too frightfully apparent! But what avails it all! God forgive me for my blindness! He knows my innocence!"

The injured and unhappy husband stopped from sheer exhaustion. Shame overspread my face; bitter reproaches filled my heart. I had done him cruel wrong. I rose from my seat, and embraced him. I fell upon my knees, and asked his forgiveness.

"Walter," he said, with overflowing eyes; "you do not think me guilty?"

"Punish me not, Rupert," I answered, "by asking me the question. The sorceress was a subtle one. I knew her to be so."

"Name her not, friend," proceeded Sinclair; "I have already forgiven her. I seek to forget her. Life is hateful to me, yet I must live if possible for my darling Alice. You will return to town with me, will you not, and hasten on this business?"

"I will not leave you, Rupert," I replied, "till I have seen you safely through it, and on the seas. We will lose no time. Let us go to London this very day."

No time was lost. We set out in the course of a few hours, and the next day were closeted with Mr Cribbs. Letters produced by Sinclair corroborated all that he had said touching the cheat that had been played upon him. Astounded as I had been by his explanation, it would have argued more for my wisdom, to say nothing of my friendship, had I suspected at the outset some artifice of the kind, and shown more eagerness to investigate the matter, than to conclude the hitherto unspotted Sinclair so pre-eminently base. The fault of his nature was credulity. Did I not know that he trusted all men with the simplicity of childhood, and believed in the goodness of all things with the faith and fervour of piety itself? Had I no proofs of the wilyness of the woman's heart, and of the witchery of her tongue? A moment's reflection would have enabled me to be just. It was not the smallest triumph of the artful Elinor that her scheme robbed me of that reflection, and threw me, and all the world besides, completely off the scent.

Mr Cribbs was the very man to carry on this interesting case. He lost not a moment. He had been concerned, as he acknowledged, in more actions of the kind than could be satisfactory to himself, or complimentary to the virtue of his country, and he knew the salient points of a case by a kind of moral instinct. His witnesses were marshaled – his plan was drawn out; every thing promised complete success, and the day of trial rapidly approached.

That day of trial, however, Rupert was not to see. The great anxiety which he suffered in the preparation of his unhappy cause – the affliction he had already undergone, preying upon a shattered frame, proved too great an obstacle to the slow appliances of healing nature. He sank gradually beneath the weight of his great sorrows. About a month previously to the coming off of the suit which he had brought against the Earl of Minden, conscious of growing still weaker and weaker, he resolved to have a consultation of his physicians, and to obtain from them their honest opinion of his condition. That consultation was held. The opinion was most unfavourable. Rupert heard it without a sigh, and prepared for his great change.

He spent the day upon which his doom was pronounced – alone. The following day found him at an early hour at the family mansion in Grosvenor Square, – not alone, – for his little Alice was with him. He knocked at the door, – the well-known porter opened it, and started at the melancholy man he saw. Sorrow and sickness claim respect, and they found it here. The porter knew not whether he should please his master by admitting the visitors, but he did not think of turning them away. They passed on. His name was announced to his mother. She came to him at once.

"Rupert!" cried Lady Railton, looking at him with astonishment.

"Mother," he answered placidly, "I have brought you my child – the innocent and unoffending. She will be an orphan soon – as you may guess. You will protect and be a mother to her?"

The proudest of women was sufficiently humbled. The prodigal was received with a tenderness that came too late – a welcome that had nothing of rejoicing. He was forgiven, but his pardon availed him nothing. He was watched and attended with affectionate care, when watching and attention could not add an hour to his life, or one consolation to his bruised spirit. The trial came on, a verdict was pronounced in favour of the plaintiff. The knot that had been violently tied was violently broken asunder. Upon the evening preceding that day, Rupert Sinclair had finished with the earth. He died, with his little darling kneeling at his side. He died, breathing her name.

Years have passed since that hour. I have seen much since I followed my poor friend to his last resting-place. It has been my lot to behold a proud and haughty woman instructed by misfortune, and elevated by human grief. Lady Railton repaired the folly of a life by her conduct towards the child committed to her charge. She did her duty to the lovely Alice; she fulfilled her obligations to her father. – I have seen vice terribly punished. A few months ago, I stood at a pauper's grave. It was the grave of Elinor Travis. Deserted by Lord Minden, she descended in the scale of vice, – for years she lived in obscurity, – she was buried at the public charge. The family of General Travis has long since been extinct. The money with which his daughter supplied him in Lyons enabled him to compound with a merchant, whose name he had forged, and to leave Europe for ever.

The little Alice is a matron now, but lovely in the meridian of her virtuous life, as in her earlier morn. She is the mother of a happy family – herself its brightest ornament.

HOCHELAGA. ⁴

Let not the unsophisticated reader be alarmed at the somewhat barbarous and unintelligible word that heads this article. Let him not be deterred by a name from the investigation of facts, nor hindered by the repulsive magic of harshly-sounding syllables from rambling with us through the pages of an amusing and clever book. Hochelaga is neither a heathen god nor a Mohawk chief, an Indian cacique nor a Scandinavian idol, but simply the ancient and little known name of a well-known and interesting country. Under it is designated a vast and flourishing territory, a bright jewel in England's crown, a land whose daily increasing population, if only partially of British origin, yet is ruled by British laws, and enjoys the blessings of British institutions. On the continent of North America, over whose southern and central portions the banner of republicanism exultingly floats, a district yet remains where monarchical government and conservative principles are upheld and respected. By nature it is far from being the most favoured region of that New World which Columbus first discovered and Spaniards and English first colonized. It has neither the mineral wealth of Mexico nor the luxuriant fertility of the Southern States. Within its limits no cotton fields wave or sugar-canes rustle; the tobacco plant displays not its broad and valuable leaf; the crimson cochineal and the purple indigo are alike unknown; no mines of silver and gold freight galleons for the Eastern world. Its produce is industriously wrung from stubborn fields and a rigid climate – not generously, almost spontaneously, yielded by a glowing temperature and teeming soil. The corn and timber which it exchanges for European manufactures and luxuries, are results of the white man's hard and honest labour, not of the blood and sweat and ill-requited toil of flagellated negroes and oppressed Indians. From the Lakes and the St Lawrence to Labrador and the Bay of Hudson this country extends. Its name is Canada.

Mr Eliot Warburton, a gentleman favourably known to the English public, as author of a pleasant book of travel in the East, has given the sanction and benefit of his editorship to a narrative of rambles and observations in the Western hemisphere. We put little faith in editorships; favour and affection have induced many able men to endorse indifferent books; and we took up Hochelaga with all due disposition to be difficult, and to resist an imposition, had such been practised. Even the tender and touching compliments exchanged between author and editor in their respective prefaces, did not mollify us, or dispose us to look leniently upon a poor production. We are happy to say that we were speedily disarmed by the contents of the volumes; that we threw aside the critical cat-o'-nine-tails, whose deserved and well-applied lashes have made many a literary sinner to writhe, and prepared for the more grateful task of commending the agreeable pages of an intelligent and unprejudiced traveller. Since the latter chooses to be anonymous, we have no right to dispel his incognito, or to seek so to do. Concerning him, therefore, we will merely state what may be gathered from his book; that he is plump, elderly, good-tempered, and kind-hearted, and, we suspect, an ex-militaire.

Before opening the campaign in Canada, let us, for a moment, step ashore in what our author styles the fishiest of modern capitals, St John's, Newfoundland. Here codfish are the one thing universal; acres of sheds roofed with cod, laid out to dry, boats fishing for cod, ships loading with it, fields manured with it, and, best of all, fortunes made by it. The accomplishments of the daughter, the education of the son, the finery of the mother, the comforts of the father, all are paid for with this profitable fish. The population subsist upon it; figuratively, not literally. For, although the sea is alive with cod, the earth covered with it, and the air impregnated with its odour, it is carefully banished from the dinner table, and "an observation made on its absence from that apparently appropriate position, excited as much astonishment as if I had made a remark to a Northumberland squire that he had not a head-dish of Newcastle coals." But the abundance which renders it unpalatable to the Newfoundlanders, procures them more acceptable viands, and all the luxuries of life. The climate ungenial, the soil barren, crops are difficult to obtain, and rarely ripen; even potatoes and vegetables are but scantily compelled from the niggard earth; fish, the sole produce, is the grand article of barter. In exchange for his lenten ration of bacallao, the Spaniard sends his fruits and Xeres, the Portuguese his racy port, the Italian his Florence oil and Naples maccaroni. Every where, but especially in those "countries of the Catholic persuasion" where the fasts of the Romish church are most strictly observed, Newfoundland finds customers for its cod and suppliers of its wants.

Excepting in the case of a boundary question to settle, or a patriot revolt to quell, Canada obtains in England a smaller share than it deserves of the public thoughts. It does not appeal to the imagination by those attractive elements of interest which so frequently rivet attention on others of our colonies. India is brought into dazzling relief by its Oriental magnificence and glitter, and by its feats of arms; the West Indies have wealth and an important central position; our possessions towards the South pole excite curiosity by their distance and comparative novelty. But Canada, pacific and respectable, plain and unpretending, to many suggests no other idea than that of a bleak and thinly-peopled region, with little to recommend it, even in the way of picturesque scenery or natural beauty. Those who have hitherto entertained such an opinion may feel surprised at the following description of Quebec.

"Take mountain and plain, sinuous river and broad tranquil waters, stately ship and tiny boat, gentle hill and shady valley, bold headland and rich fruitful fields, frowning battlement and cheerful villa, glittering dome and rural spire, flowery garden and sombre forest – group them all into the choicest picture of ideal beauty your fancy can create – arch it over with a cloudless sky – light it up with a radiant sun, and, lest the sheen should be too dazzling, hang a veil of lighted haze over all, to soften the lines and perfect the repose; you will then have seen Quebec on this September morning."

The internal arrangements of the chief port and second town of Canada do not correspond with its external appearance and charming environs. The public buildings are ugly; the unsymmetrical streets twist and turn in every possible direction – are narrow and of quaint aspect, composed of houses irregularly placed and built. The suburbs, chiefly peopled by French Canadians, are of wood, with exception of the churches, hospitals, and convents. The population of the city, which now amounts to forty thousand souls, has increased fifteen thousand during the last fifteen years. The people are as motley as their dwellings; in all things there is a curious mixture of French and English. "You see over a corner house, 'Cul de Sac Street;' on a sign-board, 'Ignace Bougainville, chemist and druggist.' In the shops, with English money you pay a Frenchman for English goods; the piano at the evening party of Mrs What's-her-name makes Dutch concert with the music of Madame Chose's soirée in the next house. Sad to say, the two races do not blend; they are like oil and water – the English the oil, being the richer and at the top." The difference of descent tells its tale; the restless, grumbling Anglo-Saxon pushes his way upwards, energetic and indefatigable; the easy-going, contented French-Canadian, remains where he is, or rather sinks than rises. The latter has many good qualities; he is honest, sober, hardy, kind, and courteous. Brave and loyal, he willingly takes the field in defence of the established government and of British rights. The most brilliant exploit of the last American war is recorded of three hundred French Canadians under M. de Salaberry, who, by their resolute maintenance of a well-selected position, compelled General Hampton, with a park of artillery and a body of troops twenty times as numerous as themselves, to evacuate Lower Canada. Simple, credulous, and easily worked upon, it was at the incitation of a few knaves and adventurers that a portion of the French population were brought to share in the rebellion of 1837. There is little danger of another such outbreak, even though colonial demagogues should again agitate, French republicans again rave about British tyranny towards their oppressed brethren, and though the refuse and rabble of the States should once more assemble upon the frontier to aid and abet an insurrection. The abortive result of the last revolt, the little sympathy it found amongst the masses of the population, the judicious and conciliatory measures of recent governors, have combined to win over the disaffected, and to convince them that it is for their true interest to continue under the mild rule of Great Britain. An excellent feeling has been shown by all parties during our late difficult relations with the United States. "The Americans are altogether mistaken," said the leader of the Upper Canada reformers, "if they suppose that political differences in Canada arise from any sympathy with them or their institutions; we have our differences, but we are perfectly able to settle them ourselves, and will not suffer their interference."

"My countrymen," said one of the most influential French Canadians, during a discussion on the militia bill, "would be the first to rush to the frontier, and joyfully oppose their breasts to the foe; the last shot fired on this continent in defence of the British crown will be by the hand of a French Canadian. By habits, feeling, and religion, we are monarchists and conservatives."

When such sentiments are expressed by the heads of the opposition, there is little fear for Canada, and ambitious democrats must be content to push southwards. In a northerly direction it would be absurd for them to expect either to propagate their principles or extend their territory. They believe that in the event of a war with England, twenty or thirty thousand militia would speedily overrun and conquer Canada. In a clear and comprehensive statement of Canada's means of defence, the author of Hochelaga shows the folly of this belief, which assuredly can only be seriously entertained by men overweeningly presumptuous or utterly oblivious of the events of thirty years ago. When, in 1812, we came to loggerheads with our Yankee cousins, and they walked into Canada, expecting, as they now would, to walk over it, they soon found that they were to take very little by their motion. The whole number of British troops then in the colony was under two thousand four hundred men. Upper Canada was comparatively a wilderness, occupied by a few scattered labourers, difficult to organise into militia, and including no class out of which officers could be made. Yet, even with this slender opposition, how did the invaders fare? Where were the glorious results so confidently anticipated? Let the defeat at Chrystler's farm, the rout and heavy loss at Queenstown, the surrender of General Hall with his whole army and the territory of Michigan, reply to the question. And to-day how do matters stand? "Within the last twenty years, several entire Scottish clans, under their chiefs – M'Nabs, Glengarys, and others, worthy of their warlike ancestors – have migrated hither. Hardy and faithful men from the stern hills of Ulster, and fiery but kind-hearted peasants from the south of Ireland, with sturdy honest yeomen from Yorkshire and Cumberland, have fixed their homes in the Canadian forests. These immigrants, without losing their love and reverence for the crown and laws of their native country, have become attached to their adopted land, where their stake is now fixed, and are ready to defend their properties and their government against foreign invasion or domestic treason." The militia, composed in great part of the excellent materials just enumerated, is of the nominal strength of 140,000 men. Of these a fourth might take the field, without their absence seriously impeding the commerce and industry of the country. The Canadian arsenals are well supplied, and nearly eight thousand regular troops occupy the various garrisons. Quebec, with its strong fortifications and imposing citadel, may bid defiance to any force that could be brought against it from the States; important works have been erected upon the island of Montreal; Kingston and its adjacent forts would require a large army and corresponding naval force to subdue it; Toronto would give the invaders some trouble. Defensive works exist along the frontier of Lower Canada. In no way has the security of the colonies been neglected, or the possibility of a war overlooked. But there is yet one measure whose adoption the author of Hochelaga strongly urges, whose utility is obvious, and which we trust in due time to see carried out. This is the construction of a railroad, connecting the whole of British America; commencing at Halifax and extending, by Quebec, Montreal, Kingston, and Toronto, to Amherstburg and the far west. The essential portion of the line is that from Halifax to Quebec, by which, when the St Lawrence is closed by ice, troops might be forwarded in a couple of days to the latter city. In the spring of 1847, we are told, the canals will be completed which are to open the great lakes to our fleets. For summer time that may suffice. But the five months' winter must not be overlooked. And apart from the military view of the case, the benefit of such a railway would be enormous. "It will strengthen the intimacy between this splendid colony and the seat of government: the emigrant from home, and the produce from the west, will then pass through British waters and over British territories only, without enriching the coffers of a foreign state. The Americans, with their great mercantile astuteness, are making every effort to divert the trade of Canada into their channels, and to make us in every way dependent on them for our communications. The drawback bill, by which the custom-duties on foreign goods are refunded on their passing into our provinces, has already been attended with great success in obtaining for them a portion of our carrying trade, especially during the winter, when our great highway of the St Lawrence is closed."