"And I snap my fingers at a foeman's taunts!"

Then the Citadel, the very name of which revives reminiscences of
Quebec, and suggests something out of the every-day order of summer
jaunts. As we ascend the hill to the fortress, the first thing
attracting our attention is amusing. The "squatty" looking clock tower,
which appears as if part of a church spire, had been carried away by a
high wind and dropped down on this embankment. Octavius says, "What a
jolly place for coasting, if it were not for the liability of being
plunged into the harbor at the foot!" as we mount the hill. At the gate
we are consigned to the care of a tall soldier, whose round fatigue cap
must be _glued_ to his head, or it certainly would fall off, so extreme
is the angle at which it inclines over his ear. A company of soldiers
are drilling within the enclosure, their scarlet coats quite dazzling
in the bright sunlight and in contrast with the cold gray granite; while
others, at opposite angles of the walls, are practicing signals with
flags, the maneuvers of the latter being quite entertaining as they
wave the banners, now slowly, now rapidly, diagonally, vertically,
horizontally, or frantically overhead, as if suddenly distraught.
Probably this exercise could be seen in any of our forts; but as we are
now beyond the borders of the United States, every detail interests us,
and we have become astonishingly observant. The gloomy and massive bomb
proof walls of the soldiers' quarters appear quite prison-like, with
their narrow windows; and our guide, speaking of the monotony of
garrison life, rejoices that in a few months his term of service will
expire, and then he "will go to the States".

"The States" seem to be a Land of Promise to many people of this region;
and, though this is gratifying to our national pride, we cannot but see
that many make a mistake in going to "America"; as, for instance, the