“Joy, to those hardy sires who bore
  The day’s first heat—­their toils are o’er;
  Rude fathers of this rising land,
  Theirs was a mission truly grand. 
  Brave peasants whom the Father, God,
  Sent to reclaim the stubborn sod;
  Well they perform’d their task, and won
  Altar and hearth for the woodman’s son. 
  Joy, to Canada’s unborn heirs,
  A deathless heritage is theirs;
  For, sway’d by wise and holy laws,
  Its voice shall aid the world’s great cause,
  Shall plead the rights of man, and claim
  For humble worth an honest name;
  Shall show the peasant-born can be,
  When call’d to action, great and free. 
  Like fire, within the flint conceal’d,
  By stern necessity reveal’d,
  Kindles to life the stupid sod,
  Image of perfect man and God.

  “Joy, to thy unborn sons, for they
  Shall hail a brighter, purer day;
  When peace and Christian brotherhood
  Shall form a stronger tie than blood—­
  And commerce, freed from tax and chain,
  Shall build a bridge o’er earth and main;
  And man shall prize the wealth of mind,
  The greatest blessing to mankind;
  True Christians, both in word and deed,
  Ready in virtue’s cause to bleed,
  Against a world combined to stand,
  And guard the honour of the land. 
  Joy, to the earth, when this shall be,
  Time verges on eternity.”

CHAPTER I

A VISIT TO GROSSE ISLE

  Alas! that man’s stern spirit e’er should mar
  A scene so pure—­so exquisite as this.

The dreadful cholera was depopulating Quebec and Montreal when our ship cast anchor off Grosse Isle, on the 30th of August 1832, and we were boarded a few minutes after by the health-officers.

One of these gentlemen—­a little, shrivelled-up Frenchman—­from his solemn aspect and attenuated figure, would have made no bad representative of him who sat upon the pale horse.  He was the only grave Frenchman I had ever seen, and I naturally enough regarded him as a phenomenon.  His companion—­a fine-looking fair-haired Scotchman—­though a little consequential in his manners, looked like one who in his own person could combat and vanquish all the evils which flesh is heir to.  Such was the contrast between these doctors, that they would have formed very good emblems, one, of vigorous health, the other, of hopeless decay.

Our captain, a rude, blunt north-country sailor, possessing certainly not more politeness than might be expected in a bear, received his sprucely dressed visitors on the deck, and, with very little courtesy, abruptly bade them follow him down into the cabin.

The officials were no sooner seated, than glancing hastily round the place, they commenced the following dialogue:—­

“From what port, captain?”

Now, the captain had a peculiar language of his own, from which he commonly expunged all the connecting links.  Small words, such as “and” and “the,” he contrived to dispense with altogether.