that was to follow so striking an exhibition of human intellect.

Notwithstanding these high and beneficent gifts, their possessor was now
as unconsciously engaged in that portion of his professional labours which
bore the strongest resemblance to the occupation of a scrivener, as though
nature, in bestowing such rare endowments had denied him the phrenological
quality of self-esteem. A critical observer might, however, have seen, or
fancied that he saw, in the forced humility of his countenance, certain
gleamings of a triumph that should not properly be traced to the fall of
Quebec. The habit of appearing meek had, however, united with a frugal
regard for the precious and irreclaimable minutes, in producing this
extraordinary diligence in a pursuit of a character that was so humble,
when compared with his recent mental efforts.

Leaving this gifted favourite of fortune and nature, we shall pass to an
entirely different individual, and to another quarter of the place. The
spot, to which we wish now to transport the reader, was neither more nor
less than the shop of a tailor, who did not disdain to perform the most
minute offices of his vocation in his own heedful person. The humble
edifice stood at no great distance from the water, in the skirts of the
town, and in such a situation as to enable its occupant to look out upon
the loveliness of the inner basin, and, through a vista cut by the element
between islands, even upon the lake-like scenery of the outer harbour. A
small, though little frequented wharf lay before his door, while a certain
air of negligence, and the absence of bustle, sufficiently manifested that
the place itself was not the immediate site of the much-boasted commercial
prosperity of the port.

The afternoon was like a morning in spring, the breeze which occasionally
rippled the basin possessing that peculiarly bland influence which is so