thousand has ever read the earlier chapters of that Aeneid.

The best and the meanest of France were of the company that set out from
Dieppe to be its colonists: men of highest condition and character, and
vagabonds, Catholic priests and Huguenot ministers, soldiers and artisans.
There were theological discussions which led to blows before the colonists
were far at sea. Fiske, the historian, says the "ship's atmosphere grew as
musty with texts and as acrid with quibbles as that of a room at the
Sorbonne." There was the incident of the wandering of Nicolas Aubry, "more
skilled in the devious windings of the [Latin Quarter] than in the
intricacies of the Acadian Forest," where he was lost for sixteen days and
subsisted on berries and wild fruits; there was the ravage of the
relentless maladie de terre, scurvy, for which Cartier's specific could
not be found though the woods were scoured; there were the explorations of
beaches and harbors and islands and rivers, including the future
Massachusetts Bay and Plymouth, and the accurate mapping of all that coast
now so familiar; there were the arrivals of the ship _Jonas_ once with
temporal supplies and again, as the _Mayflower of the Jesuits_, with
spiritual teachers; there was the "Order of Good Times," which flourished
with as good cheer and as good food at Port Royal in the solitude of the
continent as the gourmands at the Rue aux Ours had in Paris and that, too,
at a cheaper rate; [Footnote: "Though the epicures of Paris often tell us
we have no Rue aux Ours over there, as a rule we made as good cheer as we
could have in this same Rue aux Ours and at less cost." Lescarbot,
"Champlain Society Publication," 7:342.] there was later the news of the
death of Henry IV heard from a fisherman of Newfoundland; and there was,
above all else except the "indomitable tenacity" of Champlain, the
unquenchable enthusiasm, lively fancy, and good sense of Lescarbot, the
verse-making advocate from Paris.