This eBook was produced by Andrea Ball, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
"Every one for his own.
The night is starry and cold, my friend,
And the New Year blithe and bold, my friend
Comes up to take his own."—Tennyson.
New Year's Eve in the fair city of St. John, that queenly littlecity which sits upon her rocky throne overlooking the broad expanseof bay at her feet.
Reader, we do not wish to weary you with the known, but love for ourown dear New Brunswick is surely sufficient apology.
It is one of the feelings of human nature to be possessed with adesire to worship the great and titled, to become enamoured withthose appendages, which are the symbols of social distinction. Letus consider how we, as a people, are privileged. Is there anygrander title this side of Heaven than found in these words, "I am aBritish subject," and next "I am a New Brunswicker"? You who havetravelled have often felt your hearts rebound when listening to theeulogiums passed upon our country and its gifted sons through themedium of the pulpit, the platform and the press. "He is a NewBrunswick boy." Ah, those words are sufficient to inspire us withthoughts ennobling, grand and elevating. There are to be foundgrowlers in every clime, and it is only such that will desert theirfatherland and seek refuge under foreign skies. We have liberty,right, education, refinement and culture in our midst; we have agood government, noble reforms, and all advantages to make us goodand happy. Then let us cherish every right and institution whichmakes our beloved New Brunswick the pride of its loyal people. It issuch feeling which prompts this work, and if the different scenesthroughout the province which we will endeavor to portray, theusages of society, custom, &c., and the few characters introducedfrom real life, meet your approbation, our highest expectation willbe realized.
Now back to our fair city.
On this New Year's Eve the moon was holding high carnival. Wrappedin a costume of silvery radiance, she was displaying her charms tothe busy throng beneath with all the coquetry she could summon, toher aid, darting quick glances at youths and maidens, and bycovert smiles bringing even the middle-aged man of business to herfeet. The air is also influenced by her wooing, and is inclined tobe less severe than some hours earlier. Floods of light areradiating King Square, giving even to its leafless trees a charmof softness and effect. Pedestrians are going to and fro, whileseveral halt in the vicinity of the fountain to smoke their pipesand discuss the news of the day. Presently a quick step is heardapproaching, and a trim little figure greets us, wrapped in afur-lined cloak, which, despite its ungainliness, cannot concealthe grace of the wearer. As the maiden casts a passing glance weare impressed by the sweet purity of her face—a face that willstamp its image upon more than one heart, and leave memories thatcannot be forgotten.
Such was Marguerite Verne as we now attempt to introduce her in thefond hope that others will see her as we do.
"Marguerite," exclaimed the child who had overtaken her as shereached the pavement in front of the Royal Hotel, "Marguerite I amtired running, I thought I never would get up to you