If Trees Could Reveal What Has Passed Under
Their Boughs, Would Not The Veteran Hawthorn Tell Of Wounded Men Resting
Beneath it; of the strange garb and cries of combatants, English, French,
Celts, Canadians and Indians, on that luckless 28th
April, 1760, when
Murray's soldiers, were retreating in hot haste from St. Foye and placing
the city walls between them and Levi's victorious legions; of shot, shell
and bullets, [281.] whistling through its hoary branches, on that
memorable 13th of September, 1759, when the Sauvages d'Ecosse, with
their reeking claymores, were slashing at, and pursuing the French, flying
from the battle field, over the St. Foye heights, to the French Camp on
the north bank of the St. Charles, in a line with the Marine Hospital.
Various indeed for as are the attractions of stately trees; we can
understand why this one is the pride of Westfield. To us, an old denizen
of the country, a stately tree has ever been a companionable; in fact, a
reverential object. In our eyes 'tis not only rich in its own native
beauty; it may perchance also borrow interest from associations and become
a part of our home - of ourselves: it may have overshadowed the rustic
seat, where, in our infant years, one dear to us and now departed, read
the Sunday hymn or taught us with a mother's sanctifying love to become a
good citizen, in every respect worthy of our sire. Perchance it may have
been planted on the day of our birth; it may also commemorate the natal
hour of our first-born, and may it not like ourselves, in our early days,
have required the fostering care of a guardian spirit, - the dews from
heaven to refresh it and encourage its growth.
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