tles were to be won.

At length, in 1759, Sir Jeffrey Amherst was appointed commander-in-chief
of all the British forces in America. He was a man of ability and a
skilful soldier. A plan was now formed for accomplishing that object
which had so long been the darling wish of the New-Englanders, and which
their fathers had so many times attempted. This was the conquest of
Canada.

Three separate armies were to enter Canada from different quarters.
One of the three, commanded by General Prideaux, was to embark on Lake
Ontario and proceed to Montreal. The second, at the head of which
was Sir Jeffrey Amherst himself, was destined to reach the river St.
Lawrence by the way of Lake Champlain, and then go down the river to
meet the third army. This last, led by General Wolfe, was to enter the
St. Lawrence from the sea and ascend the river to Quebec. It is to Wolfe
and his army that England owes one of the most splendid triumphs ever
written in her history.

Grandfather described the siege of Quebec, and told how Wolfe led his
soldiers up a rugged and lofty precipice, that rose from the shore of
the river to the plain on which the city stood. This bold adventure was
achieved in the darkness of night. At daybreak tidings were carried to
the Marquis de Montcalm that the English army was waiting to give him
battle on the Plains of Abraham. This brave French general ordered his
drums to strike up, and immediately marched to encounter Wolfe.

He marched to his own death. The battle was the most fierce and terrible
that had ever been fought in America. General Wolfe was at the head
of his soldiers, and, while encouraging them onward, received a mortal
wound. He reclined against a stone in the agonies of death; but it
seemed as if his spirit could not pass away while the fight yet raged so
doubtfully. Suddenly a shout came pealing across the battle-field. "They
flee! they flee!" and, for a moment, Wolfe lifted his languid head. "Who
flee?" he inquired.

"The French," replied an officer. "Then I die satisfied!" said Wolfe,
and expired in the arms of victory.

"If ever a warrior's death were glorious, Wolfe's was so," said
Grandfather; and his eye kindled, though he was a man of peaceful
thoughts and gentle spirit. "His life-blood streamed to baptize the
soil which he had added to the dominion of Britain. His dying breath was
mingled with his army's shout of victory."

"Oh, it was a good death to die!" cried Charley, with glisten