with persecutions to blunt the sharpness of their sting and hinder the
unfortunate from being overwhelmed, and sinking under the load of
their afflictions, never dies out--never abandons the distressed. "We
don't believe in dangers," says Machiavel, "until they are over our
heads; but we entertain hopes of escaping them when at a great
distance." Hope does not abandon the pale, dying man: in his agony he
still fells life, and in his thoughts he does not detach himself from
it. Death strikes, before his heart has realized that he could cease
to live. Search in the prisons: hope dwells there with the wretch who
next day is to undergo his sentence of death. Every time the bolts
rattle, he believes his deliverance entering with the jailer. Whole
years of slavery have not been able to wear out this consoling
sentiment. These contradictions,--these differences of seeing,--these
returns,--this stormy flow and ebb, are so many effects of hope, which
plays upon us and never ceases. It is inherent in human nature to hope
in adversity for a favorable change of fate, however the appearances
may be ill-grounded of an end to its pain and suffering.

The Canadians, without the least apparent reason, still flattered
themselves to save their country, and did not lose the hope of
retaking Quebec, though without artillery and warlike stores. All
minds were occupied during the winter in forming projects of capturing
that town, which were entirely chimerical, void of common sense, and
nowise practicable. No country ever hatched a greater number--never
projects more ridiculous and extravagant; everybody meddled. The
contagion spread even to my Lord Bishop and his seminary of priests,
who gave their plan, which, like all the others, lacked only common
sense and judgment. In short, a universal insanity prevailed at
Montreal. Amongst thousands of the productions of these distempered
brains, that of surprising Quebec by a forced march in winter and