Tory is a sealed book. Where once was the life and bustle of a military post, garrisoned by warlike Britons, now are only the remains and sad ones — of the populous and well built garrison town. There are broad and well graded avenues lined with Lombardy poplars, roads upon which was handled the heavy artil lery, great chimnevs of stone with their ample fireplaces. Marking where stood upwards of fifty buildings, kitchen garden plats grown up to luxuriant grass, wild ?owers and under brush intermingled with rose bushes which still bear their sweet blossoms, while apple, cherry, plum and pear trees are not infrequent, and still yield their fruit. And at no great dis tance lies the city of the sleeping dead, who since their comrades were driven thence. Have been undisturbed by the sunrise gun, and over whom the winds alone have chanted requiems.
