made him indifferent to the sufferings of others, with the approbation of a ministry of which the Duke of Newcastle was the head, after the ancient device of oriental despotism, it was ordered by the king in council, and "had been long determined upon," that the French inhabitants of Acadia should be carried away into captivity. "His Majesty's council," wrote Lawrence, then governor of Nova Scotia, "has come to the resolution of clearing the whole country." To hunt them into the net was impracticable; artifice was resorted to. By a general proclamation, on one and the same day, the allunconscious Acadians, "both old men and young men, as well as all the lads of ten years of age," were peremptorily ordered to assemble at their respective posts. On the said fifth of September they obeyed. At Grand Pré, for example, four hundred and eighteen unarmed men came together. They were marched into the church, and its avenues were closed; when Winslow placed himself in their centre and spoke.

"You are convened together to manifest to you, his Majesty's final resolution to the French inhabitants of this his province. Your lands and tenements, cattle of all kinds, and live stock of all sorts, are forfeited to the crown and you yourselves are to be removed from this his province. I am, through his Majesty's goodness, directed to allow you liberty to carry off your money and household goods, as many as you can without discommoding the vessels you go in." And he then declared them the king's prisoners. Their wives and families shared their prison: their sons, five hundred and twenty-seven in number, their daughters, five hundred and seventy-six; in the whole, women and babes

and old men and children all included, nineteen hundred and twenty-three souls. The blow was sudden: they had left home but for the morning, and they never were to return. Their cattle were to stay unfed in the stalls, their fires to die out on their hearths. They had for that first day even no food for themselves or their children, and, pleading hunger, were compelled to beg for bread.

The tenth of September was the day for the embarcation of the exiles. They were drawn up six deep: and the young men, one hundred and sixty-one in number, were ordered to march first on board the vessel. They could leave their farms and cottages, the shady rocks on which they had reclined, their herds and their garners; but nature yearned within them, and they would not be separated from their parents. Yet of what avail was the frenzied despair of the unarmed youth? They had not one weapon; the bayonet drove them to obey; and they marched slowly and heavily from the chapel to the shore, between women and children, who, kneeling, prayed for blessings on their heads; they themselves weeping, and praying, and singing hymns. The seniors went next; and the wives and children must wait till other transport vessels arrive. In like manner were seven thousand of these banished people driven on board ships and scattered among the English colonies from Carolina to New Hampshire. They were cast ashore without resources; hating the poor-house for a shelter to their children; and abhorring the thought of selling themselves as laborers. Households, too, were separated; the colonial newspapers contained advertisements of members of families seeking their companions,

of sons anxious to reach and relieve their parents, of mothers mourning for their lost children.

The exiles sighed for their native country, but to prevent their return, their villages had been laid waste. Near Annapolis, a hundred heads of families fled to the woods and a party was detached on the hunt to seize them and bring them in. "Our soldiers hate them," wrote an officer on this occasion, "and if they can but find a pretext to kill them, they will." Did a prisoner seek to escape? He was shot down by the sentinel. Yet some escaped to Canada; some were sheltered from the English in the wigwams of the savages. Their old homes were in ruins. In the district of Minas, for instance, two hundred and fifty houses and more than that number of barns were consumed. A beautiful and fertile tract of country was reduced to a solitude. There was none left round the ashes of the cottages of the Acadians but the faithful watchdog, vainly seeking the hands that fed him. Thickets of forest trees choked their orchards: the ocean broke over their neglected dikes, and desolated their meadows.

37

TO A DEAR DEPARTED FRIEND.

BY MARY S. B. DANA.

I SEE thee in my dreams,

Thou who hast gone before me,
And faithful mem'ry seems
My loved one to restore me.
Thou 'rt clad in robes of light,
Thy face with joy is beaming;
Thus, dearest! every night

I see thee, when I'm dreaming.

The songs we loved so well,

I hear my dear one singing,
And sweet o'er hill and dell,
Melodious notes are ringing.
The tears bedim my sight,

Which on my eyelids glisten,
While, trembling with delight,
I hold my breath to listen.

I stretch my arms to thee,
But, suddenly awaking,

My love no more I see,

O then my heart is breaking!
But when I think that thou

An angel art in glory,

Again to sleep I go,

And dreams repeat the story.

Though thou hast gone above,
And left this world for ever,

'Tis true, 't is true, my love!
I can forget thee never.
Then come in robes of light,

Thy face with rapture beaming, And let me, every night,

Behold thee when I'm dreaming.