I was born at St. John's, New Brunswick, in the year
1835. My father was from the city of Dublin, Ireland,
where he spent his youth, and received an education in
accordance with the strictest rules of Roman Catholic
faith and practice. Early manhood, however, found him
dissatisfied with his native country, longing for other
scenes and distant climes. He therefore left Ireland,
and came to Quebec.

Here he soon became acquainted with Capt. Willard, a
wealthy English gentleman, who, finding him a stranger
in a strange land, kindly opened his door, and gave him
employment and a home. Little did he think that in so
doing he was warming in his bosom a viper whose poisonous
fangs would, ere long, fasten on his very heart-strings,
and bring down his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave.
His only child was a lovely daughter of fourteen. From
what I have heard of her, I think she must have been very
beautiful in person, quiet, gentle and unassuming in her
deportment, and her disposition amiable and affectionate.
She was exceedingly romantic, and her mental powers were
almost, if not entirely uncultivated; still, she possessed
sufficient strength of character to enable her to form
a deep, ardent, and permanent attachment.

The young stranger gazed upon her with admiring eyes,
and soon began to whisper in her ear the flattering tale
of love. This, of course, her parents could not approve.
What! give their darling to a stranger? Never, no, never.
What could they do without her? Grieved that their kindness