hree hundred years ago, came the mariner of
St. Malo,--turning in from the sea till his straining eyes beheld on
both sides land, and planted the lilies of France. Now it is the
boundary line of empires. Those green banks on the other side are a
foreign country, and for the first time I am not monarch of all I
survey. That fine little city, with stately trees towering from the
midst of its steeples and gray roofs, is Prescott. At the right rise
the ramparts of Fort Wellington, whence cannon-balls came hissing over
to Ogdensburg some fifty years ago. We stand within a pretty range,
suppose they should try it again! Farther on still is a plain, gray
tower, where a handful of "patriots" intrenched and destroyed
themselves with perverse martyrophobia in a foolish and fruitless
endeavor. The afternoon is before us; suppose we row over; here is a
boat, and doubtless a boatman, or the ferry-steamer will be here
directly. By no means; a ferry-steamer is thoroughly commonplace; you
can ferry-steam anywhere. Row, brothers, row, perhaps you will never
have the chance again. Lightly, lightly row through the green waters of
the great St. Lawrence, through the sedge and rank grass that wave
still in his middle depths, over the mile and a half of great rushing
billows that rock our little boat somewhat roughly: but I am not
afraid,--for I can swim.

"You can, can you?" says the Anakim, incredulously.

"Indeed I can, can't I, Halicarnassus?" appealingly.

"Like a brick!" ejaculates that worthy, pulling away at the oars, and
on we shoot, steadily nearing the rustic stone city that looks so
attractive, so different from our hasty, brittle, shingly American
half-minute houses,--massive, permanent, full of character and solid
worth. And now our tiny craft butts against the pier, and we ascend
from the Jesuit river and stand on British soil. No stars and stripes
here, but Saint George and his dragon fight out their never-ending
brawl. No war, no volunteering, no Congress here; but peace and a
Parliament and a Queen, God bless her! and this is her realm, a
kingdom. Now if it had been a year ago I do not know that I should
not, like Columbus, have knelt to kiss these dingy stones, so much did
I love and reverence England, and whatever bore the dear English name.
But we--they, rather--have changed all that. Among the great gains of
this memorable year,--among the devotions, the sacrifices, the
heroisms,--all the mighty, noble,