Once more you see a young soldier advancing. He is a hero of heroes, yet never was the soul of a hero enshrined in a more unhero-like frame. His features are homely, his hair is fiery-red, his shoulders are narrow, and his limbs are veritable spindle-shanks. But look at his eyes, and you will instantly forget his plain features and his rickety body. They are bright, searching, brimful of intelligence and vivacity, and speak eloquently of the indomitable spirit within. This is James Wolfe, the man who gave us Canada—“eldest daughter of the Empire”—that vast land of fertile prairie, dense forest, widespreading pasture, rich mines, unrivalled waterways, fine cities, and, above all, of a sturdy nation, heart-warm towards the mother-country, and eager to give her tangible proofs of kinship and affection. Wolfe gave Canada to the Empire at the price of his heart’s blood. In one “crowded hour of glorious life” he gave us the heritage of this majestic land, already the greatest and most prosperous of all British lands beyond the seas, and yearly advancing towards a mighty destiny. James Wolfe was a soldier from his youth. His father was an officer of distinction; his mother a woman of great sweetness and charm, deeply beloved by her two sons, of whom James was the elder. He was born on June 2, 1727, at Westerham in Kent. Of his brief boyhood’s days we know little—indeed, there are but meagre details of his whole life. We know, however, that he was a delicate, sensitive, highly-strung boy, who inherited his mother’s frailty though not her beauty. We know, too, that he saw little of his father, who was almost constantly absent from home on active service. Nevertheless, he was tenderly and judiciously reared by his devoted mother. When a mere schoolboy—a little over fifteen years of age—he became an ensign, and carried the colours in one of his Majesty’s regiments. From the beginning of his career he set himself to study the art of war, and at sixteen he was adjutant of his regiment, then serving in Flanders. He discharged his duties with great intelligence, and very early demonstrated his capacity for leading men. Even though an adjutant, he had not lost his schoolboy tastes, for we find him writing to his mother warmly thanking her for a plum-cake which she had sent him. At twenty-one he had seen seven campaigns, and was a major. He had been present at the victories of Dettingen and Culloden, and it is said that on the latter battlefield he proved the nobility of his nature by refusing to shoot a wounded Highlander when ordered to do so by “Butcher” Cumberland. It is also said that he recommended the enlistment of Highlanders as soldiers in the British army. This may or may not be true, but it is certain that the Highland regiments first began to win their great renown under his command.