“Ay, so he calls himself; but ’tis certain that he is not of the earth.  Flesh and blood could never do what he has done—­the hand of God is in it.  Besides, no one knows who he is, or whence he comes.  When the cholera was at the worst, and the hearts of all men stood still with fear, and our doctors could do nothing to stop its progress, this man, or angel, or saint, suddenly made his appearance in our streets.  He came in great humility, seated in an ox-cart, and drawn by two lean oxen and a rope harness.  Only think of that!  Such a man in an old ox-cart, drawn by rope harness!  The thing itself was a miracle.  He made no parade about what he could do, but only fixed up a plain pasteboard notice, informing the public that he possessed an infallible remedy for the cholera, and would engage to cure all who sent for him.”

“And was he successful?”

“Successful!  It beats all belief; and his remedy so simple!  For some days we all took him for a quack, and would have no faith in him at all, although he performed some wonderful cures upon poor folks, who could not afford to send for the doctor.  The Indian village was attacked by the disease, and he went out to them, and restored upward of a hundred of the Indians to perfect health.  They took the old lean oxen out of the cart, and drew him back to Montreal in triumph.  This ’stablished him at once, and in a few days’ time he made a fortune.  The very doctors sent for him to cure them; and it is to be hoped that in a few days he will banish the cholera from the city.”

“Do you know his famous remedy?”

“Do I not?—­Did he not cure me when I was at the last gasp?  Why, he makes no secret of it.  It is all drawn from the maple-tree.  First he rubs the patient all over with an ointment, made of hog’s lard and maple-sugar and ashes, from the maple-tree; and he gives him a hot draught of maple-sugar and ley, which throws him into a violent perspiration.  In about an hour the cramps subside; he falls into a quiet sleep, and when he awakes he is perfectly restored to health.”  Such were our first tidings of Stephen Ayres, the cholera doctor, who is universally believed to have effected some wonderful cures.  He obtained a wide celebrity throughout the colony.[1]

[1] A friend of mine, in this town, has an original portrait of this notable empiric—­this man sent from heaven.  The face is rather handsome, but has a keen, designing expression, and is evidently that of an American, from its complexion and features.

The day of our arrival in the port of Montreal was spent in packing and preparing for our long journey up the country.  At sunset, I went upon deck to enjoy the refreshing breeze that swept from the river.  The evening was delightful; the white tents of the soldiers on the Island of St. Helens glittered in the beams of the sun, and the bugle-call, wafted over the waters, sounded so cheery and inspiring, that it banished all fears of the cholera, and, with fear, the heavy gloom that had clouded my mind since we left Quebec.  I could once more hold sweet converse with nature, and enjoy the soft loveliness of the rich and harmonious scene.