picture--for I was ignorant of Wolfe. I had never heard of Montcalm--
the plains of "Abraham" were to me but grassy slopes, and "nothing
more." It was the life and stir,--the tide of that human ocean, on
which I longed myself to be a swimmer--these were what charmed me. Nor
was the deck of the old "Hampden" inactive all the while, although
seldom attracting much of my notice: soldiers were mustering,
knapsacks packing, rolls calling, belts buffing, and coats brushing on
all sides; men grumbling, sergeants cursing; officers swearing; half-
dressed invalids popping up their heads out of hatchways, answering to
wrong names, and doctors ordering them down again with many an
anathema: soldiers in the way of sailors, and sailors always hauling
at something that interfered with the inspection-drill: every one in
the wrong place, and each cursing his neighbour for stupidity. At last
the shore-boats boarded us, as if our confusion wanted anything to
increase it. Red-faced harbour-masters shook hands with the skipper
and pilot, and disappeared into the "round-house" to discuss grog and
the gales. Officers from the garrison came out to welcome their
friends--for it was the second battalion we had on board of a regiment
whose first had been some years in Canada;--and then what a rush of
inquiries were exchanged. "How is the Duke?"--"All quiet in England"--
"No sign of war in Europe!"--"Are the 8th come home!"--"Where is
Forbes?"--"Has Davern sold out?" with a mass of such small interests
as engage men who live in coteries." (Confessions of Con. Cregan, Chap
XIII.)

There are yet among the living in Quebec many who can recall the good
olden times when our garrison contained two regiments and more of the red-
coated soldiers of England, at the beck of the "Iron Duke"--_him_ of
Waterloo.