Among the many friends we made during our stay in Montreal, none were so thoroughly beloved by myself and family as the Sinclairs. Mr. Sinclair was an English artist who had settled in Canada some time previous to our arrival, and, being generally well informed, as well as a shining light in his own profession, he was made much of by the English residents here, and had as pupils many of the wives and daughters of the officers of the garrison, besides some of the more cultivated Canadians. Mrs. Sinclair was a refined English lady of good family, and had several children, mostly girls, who were greatly admired not only for their beauty, but also for their many and various accomplishments. The Sinclair girls were frequently at our house, being, in fact, looked upon as members of our family, and no social gathering of ours was considered complete without them. In time Mr. Sinclair became tired of Montreal. Many of his patrons left with their regiments for England, and he became weary of the dull routine and scanty income which he saw was all he could ever look forward to in Canada, so, breaking up his household, he departed for the United States, and, having lived for a time in various cities, finally settled in Boston, where he became quite successful, and soon obtained an enviable reputation as a portrait painter. Lulu Sinclair, the eldest of the girls, was a sprightly blonde of about sixteen when her father left Montreal, and the family had not been long in Boston before she became engaged as a teacher at one of the conservatories, and a mutual attachment sprang up between the pair. Miss Sinclair had already made her _début_ in Boston Music Hall as a vocalist, and the pair were frequently engaged at the same concerts and entertainments, so that the natural sequence was that they in time became engaged, and afterwards--_married_! “Nothing very mysterious in that,” I think I hear my fair reader say, a little disappointed that I have not prepared a spicy bit of scandal for her delectation; but as Balaam the Prophet could only speak as he was impelled by the spirit, so likewise must I confine myself to _the realities_ of the case, and I therefore make no apology for this commonplace bit of history, but proceed with my story. One evening Lulu made her appearance at our house, in Montreal, accompanied by Mr. Hill, her husband. It seems that they were on a concert tour, and were to give two concerts in Saint Patrick’s Hall, which at that time stood on the corner of Craig street and Victoria square, and, as we had often invited them to do so, they promised to avail themselves of our hospitality during their stay, as their engagement terminated with these concerts and they were anxious to take a little rest before returning to Boston.