"The British sent a detachment to _Place d'Armes_ with artillery, whither our battalions marched one after another, to lay down their arms, and the enemy took possession of the posts and watches of the city." As they filed past the Chateau, which was on their line of march, many a heavy heart beat beneath the blue coats, and when a few days later they embarked with their chief for France, even valour need not have been ashamed if tears dimmed the sight of the English colours flying from their flag staffs, and the fair land fading from their sight forever. The Chateau de Vaudreuil was then dismantled of its treasures of fine china and specimens of the arts revived in what is known as the _Renaissance_, when everything that was exquisite in painting, sculpture, working in metals, and art in all its forms had received such an impetus from the Italian artists whom Louis the Fourteenth gathered around his court, as well as from the influence of Madame de Pompadour, whose taste, unhappily, far exceeded her morals. It was purchased by Chartier de Lotbiniere, and it is pleasant to chronicle that a few years ago his direct descendant, M. de Lery Macdonald, while visiting France, had the honour of meeting la Comtesse de Clairemont-Tonnerre, the last living representative of the De Vaudreuil family, who graciously presented to him the "_Croix St. Louis_," which had been bestowed upon the first Vaudreuil who held an official position in Canada, which relic is now to be seen in the Chateau de Ramezay. The old fortifications of Ville Marie were planned by a de Lery; he, and the military engineer who traced out his campaigns with Bonaparte, and whom he called the "_Immortel General_," were members of this family, in the possession of which are priceless old tapestries, which were gifts from royalty as rewards of diplomatic or personal services. About a year after the evacuation of Quebec, Murray was sitting in the chilliness of an October evening by the chimney meditating. As he gazed at the glowing fire of maple logs, he may have fancied that he saw again the face of his dead commander, and may have thought of that desperate charge outside the gates--of the shouts of victory and cries of defeat--where then the only sound to be heard was the wind rustling the withered grass that had been dyed red in the blood of so many gallant young hearts. The soldier's face may have softened as he thought of the old hearthstone among the heather hills, where tales of the Border and the traditions of his clan had fired his young soul for the glory of conquest.