Quebec, the grey old city on the hill, Lies with a golden glory on her head, Dreaming throughout this hour so fair, so still, Of other days and all her mighty dead. The white doves perch upon the cannons grim, The flowers bloom where once did run a tide Of crimson, when the moon was pale and dim Above the battle-field so grim and wide. Methinks within her wakes a mighty glow Of pride, of tenderness—her stirring past— The strife, the valour, of the long ago Feels at her heart-strings. Strong, and tall, and vast, She lies, touched with the sunset’s golden grace, A wondrous softness on her grey old face. B. BISHOP. Time plays strange tricks with the affairs of men, and it is not without significance to recall that the conqueror of Quebec was in the year 1746 engaged in crushing the defeated Highlanders after Culloden. More than that his hatred for the Jacobites was very genuine, though his dislike was tempered with mercy. It was for that human quality that the Highlanders bore him no grudge, and won for the name of Wolfe the victor of Quebec. Wolfe was born in Kent in 1727. In 1743 he fought at Dettingen, and in 1745-6 in the Highlands. He was a most able and determined leader, with an odd and not inspiring presence. In _Fort Amity_ Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch’s hero remarks: “‘What like is he?’ says you; ‘just a sandy-haired slip of a man,’ says I, ‘with a cocked nose, but I love him, Jack, for he knows his business.’” In that sentence lies the whole secret of successful generalship. The troops who stormed Quebec had an implicit confidence in their leader. General Wolfe embarked with his forces at Sandy Hook on May 8, 1759, and, after putting in at Louisburg, entered the St. Lawrence and disembarked off the Isle of Orleans in preparation for the formidable task before him. The outposts of Canada were fast falling into British hands, but the key to ultimate supremacy was Quebec, and Wolfe had only 8000 men to take it. For a long time he besieged the place, knowing that to engage upon an open assault would be a piece of madness; and in those days artillery was not sufficiently powerful to reduce a position of such strength. The city of Quebec was also heavily fortified and entrenched. But as time went on more active measures were necessary. Days were speeding into weeks, winter was drawing nigh, and the British ships were likely enough to be held up or destroyed in the freezing of the St. Lawrence. Disease was weakening the army even more than shot, and in the end Wolfe himself was overcome by sickness. The expedition promised to be an utter failure.