On such an evening more than half a century ago when the present site of Government House was occupied by the plain wooden structure known as “Old Government House,” a group of ladies was seated on the balcony apparently occupied in watching the lingering rays descending behind the hills.  Suddenly the foremost one, a lovely and animated girl whose beauty baffled description, espied a gentleman busily engaged in admiring some choice specimens of flowers which were being carefully cultivated by a skilful gardener.  Bounding away with the elasticity of a fawn, her graceful form was seen to advantage as she stood beside the high-bred and distinguished botanist.  The simple acts of pleasantry that passed shewed their relationship as that of parent and child.  Sir Howard Douglas was proud of his beautiful and favorite daughter.  He saw in her the wondrous beauty of her mother blending with those graces and rare qualities of the heart which won for Lady Douglas the deep admiration of all classes.  Beauty and amiability were not the entire gifts of Mary Douglas.  She was endowed with attainments of no ordinary stamp.  Though young, she displayed uncommon ability in many different branches of education; shewing some skill as a composer and musician, also a talent for composition and poetry.  With simple earnestness she placed her hand lovingly upon her father’s shoulder, exclaiming “Papa, dear, I have come to watch you arrange those lovely flowers.”  “Well, my dear, you are welcome to remain.  I am certainly complimented by such preference.  You must allow me to acknowledge it by this,” saying which, the fond parent plucked a white rosebud and fastened it in the snowy lace upon the bosom of his child.  “Papa, dearest, one act of love certainly deserves another,” exclaimed Mary, as she fondly pressed the lips of Sir Howard, adding “remember that you are my chevalier for the remainder of the evening.  When you have finished, we will rejoin the company.”  Mary Douglas seated herself in a rustic chair and chatted in gay and animated tones while her father listened with a deep interest.  The well tried soldier, the gallant commander at Badajos, at Corunna, the hero of many fierce conflicts, and the firm friend and favourite of the Duke of Wellington, listened to the conversation of his daughter with as much keenness as a question involving the strongest points of diplomacy.

“Papa, this garden will fully repay you for your labour.  I do wish that I could understand and enter into the study of plants and flowers as you do.”  “Ah, my Mary,” exclaimed Sir Howard in a deep reverential tone, as his thoughts went back to the days of his boyhood, “I had a kind benefactress, and I may say mother in my aunt Helena.  She created in me an early love for flowers, and I have always cherished it.  Often during my campaign in the Peninsula, the sight of a lovely flower would call up emotions that would for the time unman me for the raging conflicts of battle.