Whatever might have been the moral condition of its proprietors at the precise period of 1759, the island itself was never more enticing and lovely.  Its swelling crests were still crowned with the wood of centuries; its little vales were then covered with the living verdure of the north; and its unpretending but neat and comfortable villas lay sheltered in groves, and embedded in flowers.  The beauty and fertility of the place gained for it a name which, probably, expressed far more than was, at that early day, properly understood.  The inhabitants of the country styled their possessions the “Garden of America.”  Neither were their guests, from the scorching plains of the south, reluctant to concede so imposing a title to distinction.  The appellation descended even to our own time; nor was it entirely abandoned, until the traveller had the means of contemplating the thousand broad and lovely vallies which, fifty years ago, lay buried in the dense shadows of the forest.

The date we have just named was a period fraught with the deepest interest to the British possessions on this Continent.  A bloody and vindictive war, which had been commenced in defeat and disgrace, was about to end in triumph.  France was deprived of the last of her possessions on the main, while the immense region which lay between the bay of Hudson and the territories of Spain submitted to the power of England.  The colonists had shared largely in contributing to the success of the mother country.  Losses and contumely, that had been incurred by the besotting prejudices of European commanders were beginning to be forgotten in the pride of success.  The blunders of Braddock, the indolence of Loudon, and the impotency of Abercrombie, were repaired by the vigour of Amherst, and the genius of Wolfe.  In every quarter of the globe the arms of Britain were triumphant.  The loyal provincials were among the loudest in their exultations and rejoicings; wilfully shutting their eyes to the scanty meed of applause that a powerful people ever reluctantly bestows on its dependants, as though love of glory, like avarice, increases by its means of indulgence.

The system of oppression and misrule, which hastened a separation that sooner or later must have occurred, had not yet commenced.  The mother country, if not just, was still complaisant.  Like all old and great nations, she was indulging in the pleasing, but dangerous, enjoyment of self-contemplation.  The qualities and services of a race, who were believed to be inferior, were, however, soon forgotten; or, if remembered, it was in order to be misrepresented and vituperated.  As this feeling increased with the discontent of the civil dissensions, it led to still more striking injustice, and greater folly.  Men who, from their observations, should have known better, were not ashamed to proclaim, even in the highest council of the nation, their ignorance of the character of a people with whom they had mingled their