"The young maid stole through the cottage door, And blushed as she sought the plant of power; Then silver glow-worm, O lend me thy light, I must gather the mystic St. John's Wort to-night, The wonderful herb whose leaf must decide If the coming year shall make me a bride. And the glow-worm came With its silvery flame, And sparkled and shone Through the night of St. John; While it shone on the plant as it bloomed in its pride, And soon has the young maid her love-knot tied. With noiseless tread To her chamber she sped, Where the spectral moon her white beams shed.

"Bloom here, bloom here, thou plant of power, To deck the young bride in her bridal hour; But it dropped its head, the plant of power, And died the mute death of the voiceless flower And a withered wreath on the ground it lay, And when a year had passed away, All pale on her bier the young maid lay; And the glow-worm came, With its silvery flame, And sparkled and shone Through the night of St. John; And they closed the cold grave o'er the maid's cold clay, On the day that was meant for her bridal day."

Let us see what flowers sultry July has in store for us in her bountiful cornucopia. "In July," says a fervent lover of nature, "bogs and swamps are glorious indeed," so look out for Calopogons, Pogonias, rose-colored and white and purple-fringed Orchises, Ferns, some thirty varieties, of exquisite texture,

"In the cool and quiet nooks, By the side of running brooks; In the forest's green retreat, With the branches overhead, Nestling at the old trees' feet, Choose we there our mossy bed.

On tall cliffs that won the breeze, Where no human footstep presses, And no eye our beauty sees, There we wave our maiden tresses,"

the Willow-herb, the true Partridge-berry, the Chimaphila, Yellow Lily, Mullein, Ghost Flower, Indian Pipe, Lysimacha Stricta, Wild Chamomile. August will bring forth a variety of other plants, amongst others the Spirantes, or Ladies' Tresses, a very sweet-scented Orchis, with white flowers placed as a spiral round the flower stalk, the purple Eupatorium, the Snake's head, and crowds of most beautiful wild flowers, too numerous to be named here. [244] (From Maple Leaves, 1865).

BEAUVOIR.

"The merchant has his snug retreat in the vicinity of the metropolis, where he often displays as much pride and zeal in the cultivation of his flower garden, and the maturing of his fruits, as he does in the conduct of his business, and the success of a commercial enterprise." —Rural Life in England—Washington Irving.

Situated on the left bank of the River St. Lawrence, about four miles from the city, on the Sillery heights, and overlooking the river. The site was selected about half a century back by the late Hon. A. N. Cochrane, who acquired the property in September, 1830, and after holding it for nineteen years sold it to the Hon. John Stewart, who built the residence, which was occupied for a number of years by the late Henry LeMesurier, Esq., and was finally destroyed by fire in 1866. It was subsequently rebuilt, and afterwards purchased by the present occupant R. R. Dobell, Esq., who has since added considerably to the building and extended the property by the addition of about twelve acres purchased from the Graddon estate, and about the same quantity purchased from Mr. McHugh, the whole now comprising about thirty-five acres. The grounds are beautifully wooded and descend by a series of natural terraces to the river, on the banks of which are the extensive timber coves and wharves known as Sillery Cove, with the workmen's cottages, offices, &c., fringing the side. There is also telegraphic communication between this cove and the city. Here too is the site of the ancient church of the Recollet Fathers, within the precincts of which lie buried the remains of Rev. Ed. Masse, one of the earliest missionaries sent from France to Canada by the Jesuits, the expense of the mission was chiefly borne by the Chevalier Brulart de Sillery. Here also is the old MANSION HOUSE, and a little higher up the cliff is the ancient burial ground of the Huron Indians, where the remains of many of this tribe can still be found. The property is bounded on the west by the historical stream of St. Michaels brook, so often mentioned in the narratives of the siege of Quebec in 1759. This stream used to be well stocked with trout, and promises to regain its former character in this respect, as the present proprietor intends to re-stock it.

Mr. Dobell has collected here some very fine specimens of Canadian Game, which the art of the taxidermist has rendered very life-like. His oil paintings are deserving of notice and attracted attention at a recent exhibition of art, &c., at the Morrin College, they appear in the printed catalogue as follows:—

A Scene in Wales, (Morning).............. by Marcham. A Scene in Wales, (Evening).............. " Reading the Bible, ...................... " Our Saviour,—an old painting on copper.. Dead Canary,............................. S. M. Martin. Fox and Ducks,........................... " Prairie Hen,............................. " View of Quebec,.......................... Creswell. Egyptian Interior,....................... Kornan. Dead Game,............................... " Two Oil Paintings,....................... after Guido Reni. Girl and Birdcage,—a Dutch painting..... Prisoners,............................... by Jacobi. Flower Piece,............................ Victor Pandora and Casket,—old painting........

The chief charm of Beauvoir is in its beautiful level lawn and deep overhanging woods, recalling vividly to mind the many beautiful homes of merry England. Mr. Dobell the proprietor is largely engaged in mercantile operations, and for many years past has carried on the most extensive business in the lumber trade.

In 1865 we alluded as follows to this bright Canadian Home, which the shadow of death was soon to darken:

"Crowning a sloping lawn, intersected by a small stream, and facing the Etchemin Mills, you notice on the south side of the St. Lewis road, next to Clermont, a neat dwelling hid amongst huge pines and other forest trees; that is one of our oldest English country seats. Family memories of three generations consecrate the spot. Would you like a glimpse of domestic life as enjoyed at Sillery? then follow that bevy of noisy, rosy- cheeked boys in Lennoxville caps, with gun and rod in hand, hurrying down those steep, narrow steps leading from the bank to the Cove below. How they scamper along, eager to walk the deck of that trim little craft, the Falcon, anchored in the stream, and sitting like a bird on the bosom of the famed river. Wait a minute and you will see the mainsail flutter in the breeze. Now our rollicking young friends have marched past ruins of "chapel, convent, hospital," &c., on the beach; you surely did not expect them to look glum and melancholy. Of course they knew all about "Monsieur Puiseaux," "le Chevalier de Sillery," "the house where dwelt Emily Montague"; but do not, if you have any respect for that thrice happy age, the halcyon days of jackets and frills, befog their brains with the musty records of departed years. Let the lads enjoy their summer vacation, radiant, happy, heedless of the future. Alas! it may yet overtake them soon enough! What care could contract their brow? Have they not fed for the day their rabbits, their pigeons, their guinea-pigs? Is not that faithful Newfoundland dog "Boatswain," who saved from drowning one of their school-mates, is he not as usual their companion on ship-board or ashore? There, now, they drop down the stream for a long day's cruise round the Island of Orleans. Next week, peradventure, you may hear of the Falcon and its jolly crew having sailed for Portneuf, Murray Bay, the Saguenay or Bersimis, to throw a cast for salmon, sea-trout or mackerel, in some sequestered pool or sheltered bay.

"There we'll drop our lines, and gather Old Ocean's treasures in."

Are they not glorious, handsome, manly fellows, our Sillery boys? No wonder we are all proud of them, of the twins as much as the rest, and more so perhaps. "Our Parish" you must know, is renowned for the proportion in which it contributes to the census: twins—a common occurrence; occasionally, triplets.

Such we knew this Canadian home in the days of the late Henry Lemesurier.

MONTAGUE COTTAGE.

"I knew by the smoke which so gracefully curled, Above the green wood that a cottage was near." —Moore's Woodpecker.

Facing Sillery hill, on the north side of "Sans Bruit," formerly the estate of Lieut.-Col. the Hon. Henry Caldwell, Mr. Alfred P. Wheeler, [245] the Tide Surveyor of H. M. Customs, Quebec, built in 1880, a comfortable and pleasing little cottage. He has called it Montague Cottage [246] in memory of Wolfe's brave assistant Quarter Master General Col. Caldwell, of Sans Bruit, the Col. Rivers of "The Novel and the preferred suitor of Emily Montague who addressed her romantic 'Sillery letters to Col. Rivers from a house not far from the Hill of Sillery.

It is stated in all the old Quebec Guide Books that the house in which the 'divine Emily then dwelt stood on the foot of Sillery Hill, close to Mrs. Graddon's property at Kilmarnock, her friend Bella Fermor probably lived near her. Vol. I of the Work, page 61, states; "I am at present at an extremely pretty farm on the banks of the River St. Lawrence, the house stands as the foot of a steep mountain covered with a variety of trees forming a verdant sloping wall, which rises in a kind of regular confusion, shade above shade a woody theatre, and has in front this noble river, on which ships continually passing present to the delighted eye the most charming picture imaginable. I never saw a place so formed to inspire that pleasing lassitude, that divine inclination to saunter, which may not improperly be called the luxurious indolence of the country. I intend to build a temple here to the charming goddess of laziness. A gentleman is coming down the winding path on the side of the hill, whom by his air I take to be your brother. Adieu. I must receive him, my father is in Quebec. Yours,

ARABELLA FERMOR.

THE HISTORY OF EMILY MONTAGUE.

On the 22nd March 1769, a novelist of some standing Mrs. Frances Brooks an officer's lady, [247] author of Lady Julia Mandeville published in London a work in four volumes, which she dedicated to His Excellency the Governor of Canada, Guy Carleton afterwards Lord Dorchester, under the title of the History of Emily Montague being a series of letters addressed from Sillery by Emily Montague the heroine of the tale, to her lively and witty friend Bella Fermor—to some military admirers in Quebec, Montreal, and New York—to some British noblemen, friends of her father.

This novel, whether it was through the writer's entourage in the world or her entree to fashionable circles, or whether on account of its own intrinsic literary worth, had an immense success in its day. The racy description it contains of Canadian scenery, and colonial life, mixed with the fashionable gossip of our Belgravians of 1766, seven years after the conquest, caused several English families to emigrate to Canada. Some settled in the neighborhood of Quebec, at Sillery, it is said. Whether they found all things couleur-de- rose, as the clever Mrs. Brooke had described them,—whether they enjoyed as much Arcadian bliss as the Letters of Emily Montague had promised—it would be very ungallant for us to gainsay, seeing that Mrs. Brooke is not present to vindicate herself. As to the literary merit of the novel, this much we will venture to assert, that setting aside the charm of association, we doubt that Emily Montague if republished at present, would make the fortune of her publisher. Novel writing, like other things, has considerably changed since 1766, and however much the florid Richardson style may have pleased the great grandfathers of the present generation, it would scarcely chime in with the taste of readers in our sensational times. In Mrs. Brooke's day Quebecers appear to have amused themselves pretty much as they do now, a century later. In the summer, riding, driving boating, pic-nics at Lake St. Charles, the Falls of Montmorenci, &c. In winter tandems, sleigh drives, toboganing at the ice cone, tomycod fishing on the St. Charles, Chateau balls; the formation of a pont or ice-bridge and its breaking up in the spring—two events of paramount importance. The military, later on, the promoters of conviviality, sport and social amusements; in return obtaining the entree to the houses of the chief citizens; toying with every English rosebud or Gallic-lily, which might strew their path in spite of paternal and maternal admonitions from the other side of the Atlantic; occasionally leading to the hymeneal altar a Canadian bride, and next introducing her to their horror-stricken London relatives, astounded to find out that our Canadian belles, were neither the colour of copper, nor of ebony; in education and accomplishments, their equals—sometimes their superiors when class is compared to class. Would you like a few extracts from this curious old Sillery novel? Bella Fermor, one of Emily Montague's familiars, and a most ingrained coquette, thus writes from Sillery in favour of a military protege on the 16th September, 1766, to the "divine" Emily, who had just been packed oft to Montreal to recover from a love fit. "Sir George is handsome as an Adonis ... you allow him to be of an amiable character; he is rich, young, well-born, and he loves you..."

All in vain thus to plead Sir. George's cause, a dashing Col. Rivers (meant, we were told, by the Hon. W. Sheppard, to personify Col. Henry Caldwell, of Belmont) had won the heart of Emily, who preferred true love to a coronet. Let us treasure up a few more sentences fallen from Emily's light-hearted confidante. A postscript to a letter runs thus— "Adieu, Emily, I am going to ramble in the woods and pick berries with a little smiling civil captain [we can just fancy we see some of our fair acquaintances' mouths water at such a prospect], who is enamoured of me. A pretty rural amusement for lovers." Decidedly; all this in the romantic woodlands of Sillery, a sad place it must be confessed, when even boarding school misses, were they to ramble thus, could scarcely escape contracting the scarlet fever. Here goes another extract:—

(BELLA FERMOR TO MISS RIVERS. LONDON)

"Sillery, Sept. 20th, (1766)—10 o'clock.

"Ah! we are vastly to be pitied; no beaux at all at the general's, only about six to one; a pretty proportion, and what I hope always to see. We—the ladies I mean—drink chocolate with the general to- morrow, and he gives us a ball on Thursday; you would not know Quebec again. Nothing but smiling faces now: all gay as never was—the sweetest country in the world. Never expect to see me in England again; one is really somebody here. I have been asked to dance by only twenty-seven. ..."

Ah! who would not forgive the frolicsome Bella all her flirtations? But before we dismiss this pleasant record of other days, yet another extract, and we have done.

(BELLA FERMOR TO LUCY RIVERS)

"Sillery—Eight in the evening.

"Absolutely, Lucy, I will marry a savage and turn squaw (a pretty soft name for an Indian Princess!) Never was anything so delightful as their lives. They talk of French husbands, but commend me to an Indian one, who lets his wife ramble five hundred miles without asking where she is going.

"I was sitting after dinner, with a book, in a thicket of hawthorn near the beach, when a loud laugh called my attention to the river, when I saw a canoe of savages making to the shore. There were six women and two or three children, without one man amongst them. They landed and tied the canoe to the root of a tree, and finding out the most agreeable shady spot amongst the bushes with which the beach was covered, (which happened to be very near me) made a fire, on which they laid some fish to broil, and fetching water from the river, sat down on the grass to their frugal repast. I stole softly to the house, and ordering a servant to bring some wine and cold provisions, returned to my squaws. I asked them in French if they were of Lorette, they shook their heads—I repeated the question in English, when the eldest of the women told me they were not, that their country was on the borders of New England, that their husbands being on a hunting party in the woods, curiosity and the desire to see their brethren, the English, who had conquered Quebec, had brought them up the great river, down which they should return as soon as they had seen Montreal. She courteously asked me to sit down and eat with them, which I complied with and produced my part of the feast. We soon became good company, and brightened the chain of friendship with two bottles of wine, which put them in such spirits that they danced, sung, shook me by the hand, and grew so fond of me that I began to be afraid I should not easily get rid of them.

"Adieu! my father is just come in and has brought some company with him from Quebec to supper.

"Yours ever,

"A. FERMOR."

KIRK ELLA

"This villa, erected in 1850 on the north side of the St. Lewis road, facing Cataracoui, affords a striking exemplification of how soon taste and capital can transform a wilderness into a habitation combining every appliance of modern refinement and rustic adornment. It covers about eighty-two acres, two thirds of which are green meadows, wheat fields, &c., the remainder, plantations, gardens and lawn. The cottage itself is a plain, unpretending structure, made more roomy by the recent addition of a dining room, &c., in rear. On emerging from the leafy avenue, the visitor notices two parterres of wild flowers—kalmias, trilliums, etc.,— transplanted from the neighboring wood, with the rank, moist soil of the Gomin marsh to derive nourishment from, they appear to thrive. In rear of these parterres a granite rockery, festooned with ferns, wild violets, &c., raises its green gritty, rugged outline. This pretty European embellishment we would much like to see more generally introduced in our Canadian landscape; it is strikingly picturesque. The next object which catches the eye is the conservatory in which are displayed the most extensive collection of exotics in Sillery. In the centre of some fifty large camellia shrubs there is a magnificent specimen of the fimbriata variety—white leaves with a fringed border; it stands twelve feet high with corresponding breadth. When it is loaded with blossoms in the winter the spectacle is exquisitely beautiful. In the rear of the conservatory are a vinery, a peach and apricot house; like the conservatory, all span- roofed and divided off in several compartments, heated by steam-pipes and furnaces, with stop-cocks to retard or accelerate vegetation at will. On the 31st May, when we visited the establishment, we found the black Hamburg grapes the size of cherries; the peaches and apricots correspondingly advanced; the cherries under glass quite over. One of the latest improvements is a second flower garden to the west of the house, in the English landscape style. In rear of this garden to the north, there existed formerly a cedar swamp, which deep subsoil draining with tiles has converted into a grass meadow of great beauty; a belt of pine, spruce, tamarack, and some deciduous trees, thinned towards the south-west, let in a glimpse of the St. Lawrence and the high-wooded Point Levi shores, shutting out the view of the St. Lewis road, and completely overshadowing the porter's lodge; out-houses, stables, root-house, paddocks and barns are all on a correspondingly extensive scale. We have here another instance of the love of country life which our successful Canadian merchant likes to indulge in; and we can fancy, judging from our own case, with what zest Mr. Burstall the portly laird of Kirk Ella, after a toilsome day in his St. Peter street counting-house, hurried home to revel in the rustic beauty which surrounds his dwelling." Such was Kirk Ella in 1865.

Mr. Burstall having withdrawn from business, removed to England and died there a few years back. Kirk Ella has now become the property of Charles Ernest Levey, Esq., only son of the late Charles E. Levey, Esq., formerly of Cataracoui. The dwelling having been destroyed by fire in 1879, the new owner decided on erecting a handsome roomy mansion on the same site. The visitor at Kirk Ella, after paying his devoirs to the youthful Chatelain and Chatelaine, can admire at leisure Mr. Levey's numerous and expensive stud: "Lollypop", "Bismark," "Joker," "Jovial," "Tichborne," "Burgundy," "Catch-him-alivo," a crowd of fleet steeds, racing and trotting stock, surrounded by a yelping and frisky pack of "Peppers," "Mustards," "Carlos," "Guys," "Josephines," "Fidlers;" Mastiffs, French Poodles, Fox Terriers, Bulldogs,—Kirk Ella is a perfect Elysium for that faithful though noisy friend of man, the dog.

CATARACOUI.

The conflagration of Spencer Wood, on the 12th March, 1860, made it incumbent on the Provincial Government to provide for His Excellency Sir Edmund Head a suitable residence. After examining several places, Cataracoui, the residence of Henry Burstall, Esquire, opposite to Kirk Ella was selected, and additions made, and still greater decorations and improvements ordered when it became known that the First Gentleman in England, our Sovereign's eldest son, was soon to pay a flying visit to Her Majesty's Canadian lieges. Cataracoui can boast of having harbored two princes of the blood royal, the prince of Wales, and his brother Alfred; a circumstance which no doubt much enhanced its prestige in the eyes of its owner. It was laid out about 1836 by Jas. B. Forsyth, Esq., the first proprietor, and reflects credit on his taste.

This seat, without possessing the extensive grounds, vast river frontage, and long shady walks of Spencer Wood, or Woodfield, is an eminently picturesque residence. A new grapery with a lean-to roof, about ninety feet in length, has just been completed: the choicest [248] varieties of the grape vine are here cultivated. Several tasty additions have, also, recently been made to the conservatory, under the superintendence of a Scotch landscape gardener, Mr. P. Lowe, formerly in charge of the Spencer Wood conservatories, &c. We had the pleasure on one occasion to view, on a piercing winter day, from the drawing room of Cataracoui, through the glass door which opens on the conservatory, the rare collections of exotics it contains,—a perfect grove of verdure and blossoms,—the whole lit up by the mellow light of the setting sun, whose rays scintillated in every fantastic form amongst this gorgeous tropical vegetation, whilst the snow-wreathed evergreens, surrounding the conservatory waved their palms to the orb of day in our clear, bracing Canadian atmosphere—summer and winter combined in one landscape; the tropics and their luxuriant magnolias, divided by an inch of glass from the realms of old king frost and his hardy familiars, the pine and the maple. Charming was the contrast, furnishing a fresh proof of the comfort and luxury with which the European merchant, once settled in Canada, surrounds his home. What, indeed, can be more gratifying, during the arctic, though healthy, temperature of our winter, than to step from a cosy drawing-room, with its cheerful grate-fire, into a green, floral bower, and inhale the aroma of the orange and the rose, whilst the eye is charmed by the blossoming camellia of virgin whiteness; the wisteria, spirea, azalea, rhododendron, and odorous daphne, all blending their perfume or exquisite tints. Cataracoui has been recently decorated, we may say, with regal magnificence, and Sillery is justly proud of this fairy abode, for years the country seat of the late Charles B. Levey, Esq., and still occupied by Mrs. Levey and family.

ROSEWOOD.

"Along their blushing borders, bright with dew, And in yon mingled wilderness of flowers, Fair-handed Spring unbosoms every grace; Throws out the snow-drop and the crocus first; The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue, And polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes; The yellow wall-flower, stain'd with iron-brown; And lavish stock that scents the garden round; From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed, Anemones; auriculas, enrich'd With shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves; And full ranunculas, of glowing red. Then comes the tulip race, where beauty plays Her idle freaks; from family diffus'd To family, as flies the father dust, The varied colors run; and while they break On the charm'd eye th' exulting florist marks, With sweet pride, the wonders of his hand. No gradual bloom is wanting; from the bud, First-born of spring, to summer's musky tribes Nor hyacinths, of purest virgin white, Low bent, and blushing inward; nor jonquils Of potent fragrance; nor narcissus fair, As o'er the fabled fountain hanging still; Nor broad carnations, nor gay spotted pink; Nor, shower'd from every bush, the damask rose."

A tiny and unostentatious cottage buried among the trees. All around it, first, flowers; secondly, flowers; thirdly, flowers. The garden, a network of walks, and spruce hedges of rare beauty; occasionally you stumble unexpectedly on a rustic bower, tenanted by an Apollo or Greek slave in marble, or else you find yourself on turning an angle on the shady bank of a sequestered pond, in which lively trout disport themselves as merrily as those goldfish you just noticed in the aquarium in the hall hung round with Krieghoff's exquisite "Canadian scenery." You can also, as you pass along, catch the loud notes issuing from the house aviary and blending with the soft, wild melody of the wood warblers and robin; but the prominent feature of the place are flowers, sweet flowers, to charm the eye and perfume the air. Do not wonder at that; this was the summer abode of a gentleman whose name usually stood high on the Montreal and Quebec exhibition prize list, and who was as successful in his commercial ventures as he had been in the culture of carnations, zenias, gladiolus, roses and dahlias. We remember seeing six hundred dahlias in bloom at Rosewood at the same time, the coup d'oeil and contrasts between the varieties were striking in the extreme.

This rustic cottage was the summer residence of the late Jas. Gibb, Esq., of the old firm of Lane, Gibb & Co., a name remembered with gratitude, in several educational and charitable institutions of Quebec for the munificent bequests of its owner.

RAVENSWOOD.

Near some fair town I'd have a private seat, Built uniform, nor little, nor too great; Better if on a rising ground it stood,— On this side fields, on that a neighboring wood; A little garden, grateful to the eye, Where a cool rivulet runs murmuring by."

In the year 1848, Mr. Samuel Wright, of Quebec, purchased from John Porter, Esq., that upper portion of Meadowbank (the old estate of Lieutenant Governor Cramahe in 1762), which lies to the north of the Cap Rouge or St. Lewis road, and built a dwelling thereon. In 1846 Mr. Wright's property was put in the market, and Ravenswood acquired by the present owner, William Herring, Esq., of the late firm of Charles E. Levey & Co. No sylvan spot could have been procured, had all the woods around Quebec been ransacked, of wilder beauty. In the centre, a pretty cottage; to the east, trees; to the west, trees; to the north and south, trees— stately trees all around you. Within a few rods from the hall door a limpid little brook oozes from under an old plantation, and forms, under a thorn tree of extraordinary size and most fantastically shaped limbs, a reservoir of clear water, round which, from a rustic seat, you notice speckled trout roaming fearlessly. Here was, for a man familiar with the park-like scenery of England, a store of materials to work into shape. That dense forest must be thinned; that indispensable adjunct of every Sillery home a velvety lawn, must be had; a peep through the trees, on the surrounding country, obtained; the stream dammed up so as to produce a sheet of water, on which a birch canoe will be launched; more air let in round the house; more of the forest cut away; and some fine beech, birch, maple, and pine trees grouped. The lawn would look better with a graceful and leafy elm in the centre, and a few smaller ones added to the perspective. By dint of care, elms of a goodly size were removed from the mountain brow. The efforts of the proprietor to plant large trees at Ravenswood have been eminently successful, and ought to stimulate others to add such valuable, such permanent elements of beauty, to their country seats. One plantation, by its luxuriance, pleased us more than any other, that which shades both sides of the avenue. Few of our places can boast of possessing a more beautifully-wooded and gracefully-curved approach to the house than Ravenswood. You see nothing of the dwelling until you emerge from this neat plantation of evergreens. We once viewed it under its most fascinating aspect; 'tis pretty in the bright, effulgent radiance of day, but when the queen of night sends forth her soft rays, and allows them to slumber silently on the rustling boughs of the green pines and firs, with the dark, gravelled avenue, visible here and there at every curve, no sounds heard except the distant murmur of the Chaudiere river, the effect is striking.

THE WOODS OF SILLERY.

I know each lane, and every valley green, Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wild wood; And every bosky bourn from side to side, My daily walks and ancient neighborhood. —Comus, Shakespeare.

"You, doubtless, imagine you have now seen Sillery under every aspect; there never was a greater mistake, dear reader. Have you ever viewed its woods in all their autumnal glory, when September arrays them in tints of unsurpassed loveliness? We hear you say, no. Let us then, our pensive philosopher, our romantic blushing rose bud of sweet sixteen, our blase-traveller, let us have a canter over Cap Rouge road out by St. Louis gate, and returning by the St. Foy road, nine miles and more, let us select a quiet afternoon, not far distant from the Indian summer, when

The gentle wind a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life Within the solemn woods of ash, deep crimsoned, And Silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved,"

and then you can tell us whether the glowing description below is overdrawn:

"There is something indescribably beautiful in the appearance of Canadian woods at this season of the year, especially when the light of the rising or setting sun falls upon them. Almost every imaginable shade of green, brown, red and yellow, may be found in the foliage of our forest trees, shrubs, and creeping vines, as the autumn advances and it may truly be said that every backwood's home in Canada is surrounded by more gorgeous colourings and richer beauties than the finest mansions of the nobility of England.

"Have our readers ever remarked the peculiarly beautiful appearance of the pines at this season of the year? When other trees manifest symptoms of withering, they appear to put forth a richer and fresher foliage. The interior of the tree, when shaded from the sun, is a deep invisible-green, approaching to black, whilst the outer boughs, basking in the sunlight, show the richest dark-green that can be imagined. A few pine and spruce trees scattered among the more brightly-colored oaks, maple, elms and beeches, which are the chief denizens of our forests, give the whole an exceedingly rich appearance. Among the latter, every here and there, strange sports of nature attract attention. A tree that is still green will have a single branch, covered with red and orange leaves, like a gigantic bouquet of flowers. Another will have one side of a rich maroon, whilst the other side remains green. A third will present a flounce or ruffle of bright buff, or orange leaves round the middle, whilst the branches above and below continue green. Then again some trees which have turned to a rich brown, will be seen intertwined and festooned by the wild vine or red root, still beautifully green; or a tree that is still green will he mantled over by the Canadian ivy, whose leaves have turned to a deep reddish-brown. In fact, every hue that painters love, or almost could imagine, is found standing out boldly or hid away in some recess, in one part or another of a forest scene at this season, and all so delicately mingled and blended that human art must despair of making even a tolerable imitation. And these are beauties which not even the sun can portray; the photographer's art has not yet enabled him to seize and fix them on the mirror which he holds up to nature. He can give the limbs and outward flourishes, but not the soul of such a scene. His representation bears the same relation to the reality that a beautiful corpse does to the flashing eye and glowing cheek of living beauty."—(From "Maple Leaves," 1865.)

LONGWOOD.

THE COUNTRY SEAT OF THE HON. WM. SMITH (1760-1847.)

Here there was laughing of old, there was weeping, Haply of lovers none ever will know, Whose eyes went seaward a hundred sleeping Years ago.

The ghost of a garden fronts the sea, A girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses The — square slope of the blossomless bed Where the weeds that grew green from the graves of its roses Now lie dead.

The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken, To the low last edge of the long lone land, If a step should sound or a word be spoken Would a ghost not rise at the strange guest's hand? SWINBURNE'S Forsaken Garden.

On a grey, cheerless May afternoon, I visited what I might call the ruins of this once bright abode—Longwood—at Cap Rouge. Here the eccentric, influential and scholarly historian of Canada and statesman, the Honorable William Smith, spent the evening of his long and busy life. Whence the name Longwood? Did the Hon. William bestow on his rustic home the name of the residence where sojourned his illustrious contemporary—his admired hero, Napoleon I. (born like himself in 1769), to commemorate his own release from the cares of State? Was Cap Rouge and its quiet and sylvan bowers to him a haven of rest like St. Helena might have been to the Petit Caporal?

The locality, at present, can only attract from its woodland views. The house, of one story, is about eighty feet in length by forty in breadth, of wood, with an oval window over the entrance to light up that portion of the large attic. Its roomy lower apartments and attics must have fitted it admirably for a summer retreat. It is painted a dull yellow; the blinds may have been once green. When I saw it, I found it as bleak, as forlorn, as the snows and storms of many winters can well make a tenantless dwelling.

Outside, the "ghost of a garden" had stared at me, and when the key turned and grated in the rusty old lock of this dreary tenement, with its disjointed floors, disintegrated foundations, darkened apartments with shutters all closed, I almost thought I might encounter within the ghost of the departed historian;

All within is dark as night: In the windows is no light; And no murmur at the door, So frequent on its hinge before,

still the time had been when the voice of revelry, the patter of light feet, the meeting of many friends, had awakened gladsome echoes in these now silent halls of Longwood. Traditions told of noted dinner parties, of festive evenings, when Quebec could boast of a well appointed garrison, and stately frigates crowded its port.

How many balls at the Barons' Club? how many annual dinners of the Veterans of 1775, at Menut's? how many levees at the old Chateau, had the Laird not attended from the first, the historical levee of Dec. 6, 1786, "where the Governor-General, Lord Dorchester, monopolised the kissing," so graphically depicted by William's dignified papa, [249] the Chief Justice, down to the jocund fetes champetres of Sir James Craig at Powell Place immortalized by old Mr. DeGaspe—to the gay soirees of the Duke of Richmond—the literary reunions of the scholarly Earl of Dalhousie—the routs and lawn parties at Spencer Wood.

The Honorable William Smith, a son of the learned chief Justice of New York in 1780—of all Canada in 1785, was indeed a prominent figure in Quebec circles for more than half a century; his high, confidential and official duties, his eminent position as member of the Executive Council, to which his powerful protector Earl Bathurst had named him in 1814—his refined and literary tastes, his tireless researches in Canadian annals, at a time when the founts of our history as yet unrevealed by the art of the printer, lay dormant under heaps of decaying—though priceless—M.SS. in the damp vaults of the old Parliament Buildings; these and several other circumstances surround the memory, haunts and times of the Laird of Longwood with peculiar significance.

But for the Honorable William one bleak autumn came, when the trees he had planted ceased to lend him their welcome shade—the roses he had reared, to send perfume to his tottering frame—the garden he had so exquisitely planned, to gladden his aged eyes. He then bid adieu forever to the cherished old spot and retired to his town house, now the residence of Hon. Chas. Alleyn, Sheriff of Quebec, [250] where those he loved received his last farewell on the 7th December, 1847, bequeathing Longwood to his son Charles Webber Smith, who lived some years there as a bachelor, then decked out his rustic home for an English bride and retired to England where he died in 1879. Desolation and silence has reigned in the halls of Longwood for many a long day, and in the not inappropriate words of Swinburne,

Not a flower to be prest of the foot that falls not. As the heart of a dead man the seed plots are dry; From the thickets of thorns whence the nightingale calls not, Could she call, there were never a rose to reply.

Chief Justice Smith [251] concerning house-keeping, house-furnishing chateau ceremonies, etc, at Quebec in 1786, wrote thus in a letter to his wife:

QUEBEC, 10th Dec., 1786.

Mrs. Janet Smith, New York.

My dear Janet,

"Not a line from you yet! so that our approach to within 600 miles is less favourable to me hitherto, than when the ocean divided us by three thousand. It is the more vexatious, as we are daily visited by your Eastern neighbors, who, caring nothing for you, know nothing of you, and cannot tell me whether McJoen's or the Sopy Packet is arrived. If the latter is not over, there will be cause for ill boding respecting Mr. Lanaudiere, who, I imagine, left the channel with the wind that brought us out.

If the packet is on the way for Falmouth, get my letters into it for Mr. Raphbrigh, it contains a bill for L300 sterling to enable him to pay for what you order. You have no time to spare. A January mail often meets with easterly winds off the English coast, that blows for months, and we shall be mortified if you arrive before the necessary supplies, which, to be in time, must come in the ships that leave England in March or on the beginning of April.

I have found no house yet to my fancy. None large enough to be hired. We shall want a drawing-room, a dining or eating-room, my library, our bedroom, one for the girls, another for Hale and William, and another for your house-keeper and hair-dresser. Moore and another man servant will occupy the eight. And I doubt if there is such a house to be hired in Quebec. To say nothing of quarters for the lower servants who, I think must be negroes from New York as cheapest and least likely to find difficulties. My Thomas's wages are 24 guineas and with your three from England will put us to L100 sterling per annum.

If you bring blacks from New York with you, let them be such as you can depend upon. Our table will always want four attendants of decent appearance. The hurry of the public arrangements prevents me from writing, as I intended, to my friends on the other side of the water, nor even to Janet upon the great wish of my heart, tell her so, but she will know what can be done in time, for she cannot leave England till April or May, at any time before August to be here in good season. I have written to Vermont upon the subject of Moore Town and hear nothing to displease me, as yet, if no mischief has been done to our interests in that country, there will be peace, I believe; but of this more when I have their Governor's answer to my letters. They already ask favours and must first do justice.

Our winter is commenced and yet I was never less sensible of the frost. The stoves of Canada, in the passages, temper the air through all the house. I sit ordinarly by a common hearth which gives me the thermometer at 71 or 72, nearly summer heat. The close cariole and fur cap and cloak is a luxury only used on journeys. The cariole alone suffices in town. The Rout of last Thursday demonstrates this: 50 ladies in bright head dresses and not a lappet or frill discomposed. All English in the manner, except the ceremony of kissing which my Lord D. (Dorchester) engrossed all to himself. His aide-de-camp handed them through a room where he and I were posted to receive them. They had given two cheek kisses and were led away to the back rooms of the chateau, to which we repaired when the rush was over. The gentlemen came in at another door. Tea, cards, etc., that till 10 o'clock and the ceremony ended. I stole away at 9 and left your son to attend the beauty of the evening, a Mrs. Williams, wife to a major Williams and a daughter to Sir John Gibbons of Windford, a lady of genteel manners as well as birth. He did not find his lodging till near midnight. We had a dance that day at the Lt. Governor's. You must know General Hope. He was often at General Robertson's under the name of Col. Harry Hope, nephew to Lord Hopetown in Scotland, to Lord Darlington (by his mother's second marriage) in England. His table is in very genteel fashion. It reminds me that Mrs. Mallet must not forget all those little ornaments of plate, glass, etc., that belong to a dining-room. No water plates, the rooms don't require them, the plates being sufficiently heated by the stoves. But water dishes are necessary for soup and fish fricassees all in the shape of the proper dishes for such articles. Don't forget, among others, the silver gravy cups with double cavities, the larger for hot water. They are small hand ones, not unlike a tea pot. Mrs. Mallet will find these at all the great shops and particularly at Jones, in Cockspur street, near Charing Cross, where I bought my Mary's watch chain. William that understands Latin and French letters better than his native tongue, importunes my ordering a set of classical books, which he is welcome to, if you can purchase at N. Y. a small bill for about L15 sterling and enclose it in my letter to Mr. Ryland. If that is inconvenient to you stop my letter, and I will find other means to gratify his inclination. There is a very good library [252] here, and many private ones at my friends. How wretched your general affairs? if our Yankey informers speak the truth, multitudes are disposed to turn their heads from that draught, which I thought they would not long relish. Lord D. with the generosity and charity he always indulged, bids them welcome, disposed as he says to favour even the independant Whigs of America, above any other nation under heaven, for tho' no longer brethren, they are at least our cousins, branches from the same stock.

I have infinite consolation, in having dissuaded the parties from the steps, that led to all the calamities they have felt and still dread and more cheerfully will grasp at the means to lessen these afflictions, as the surest path to the greatest glory. I am solicited from Cambridge for a gift for pious uses, and find that you have been applied to, and probably will again. My promise shall most certainly be fulfilled. It was to give a lot for a church. But as I told them it was to be a gift to Christianity and not to Sectarianism. Religion and party are two different things. Tell them so that my gift will be to all Protestants, that is to say to the majority of the town being protestants, be the denomination what it may, and that I may not be imposed upon, I shall put my seal to no deed, before they bring me Dr. Rodger's certificate upon the subject. My best respects to him with compliments to Mrs. T., Mr. Ainslie, Mr. and Mrs. Foxcraft and all your friends.

The snapping of my wood fires makes me think of yours. Don't forget them yourself. Your three hundred acres of shingles, chills the blood in my veins.... Adieu. The broad hand of Heaven protect you!

I am, my dearest,

Most faithfully yours,

W. S.

MEADOWBANK.

"THE COUNTRY SEAT OF LIEUT.-COL. ANDREW CHARLES STUART.

Happy, is he who in a country life Shuns more perplexing toil and jarring strife, Who lives upon the natal soil he loves And sits beneath his old ancestral groves." —Downing.

Facing Ravenswood, on the road to Cape Rouge, on the breezy banks of the noble river, there lies a magnificent expanse of verdure, with here and there a luxuriant copse of evergreens and sugar maple. It crowns a graceful slope of undulating meadows and cornfields. The dwelling, a plain, straggling white cottage, lies perdu among the green firs and solemn pines. Over the verdant groves, glimpses of the white cottages of Levi and New Liverpool occasionally catch the eye. This rustic landscape, pleasant at all times, becomes strikingly picturesque, at the "fall of the leaf"—when the rainbow-tinted foliage is, lit up by a mellow, autumnal sun. Under this favored aspect it was our happiness to view it in September, 1880.

"Bright yellow, red and orange The leaves came down in hosts; The trees are Indian princes— But soon they'll turn to ghosts."

In 1762, this broad, wild domain was owned by Lt.-Gov. Hector Theophilus Cramahe of Quebec, and according to an entry in the Diary of Judge Henry, he apparently was still the proprietor in 1775, at the time of the blockade of Quebec. In 1785, the land passed by purchase to one of Fraser's Highlanders, Capt. Cameron. It was from 1841 to 1875, the cherished abode of a cultured English gentleman, the late John Porter, the able secretary and treasurer of the Quebec Turnpike Trust. It did one good to see the courteous old bachelor, cosily seated in his ample, well selected library, surrounded by a few congenial friends, the toils of the day over—the dust of St. Peter Street shaken off. Mr. Porter was a fair type of the well-informed English country gentleman, well read in Debrett, with a pedigree reaching as far back as William the Norman. At his demise, he bequeathed this splendid farm to the son of a valued old friend. Andrew Chs. Stuart, Esq., of the law firm of Ross, Stuart & Stuart, Quebec, now Lt.-Col. Andrew Charles Stuart, of the 8th Batt. "Royal Rifles," Quebec.

Col. Stuart, the possessor of ample means, having a taste for agricultural pursuits, has lately become an active member of the Quebec Turf Club, as well as a successful breeder of prize cattle. His stud is renowned all over Canada. Col. Stuart lately took up his residence at Meadowbank, since which time a transformation seems to have come over the land; sprightly parterres of flowers, dainty pavilions, trim hedges, rustic seats, hanging baskets of ferns, are conspicuous, where formerly hay alone flourished. A neighboring rill has been skilfully enlisted to do duty, dammed up, bridged over, gently coaxed to meander, whimple and bubble, like Tennyson's brook, here and there rippling over and rushing into cool trout ponds, under the shade of moss and trees, until it leaps down to the St. Lawrence.

A small race-course has been laid out, south of the house, in a declivity towards the St. Lawrence to exercise the thoroughbreds and keep healthy the pet charger for parade days, as well as ladies' palfreys, which are not forgotten at Meadowbank.

In an enclosure protected by stone pillars and chains, under the shade of a handsome tree, may be read on a board, the following name, recently inscribed,

"ASTREA"

This marks the spot where a favourite saddle-horse, who died prematurely, now rests. All now wanting to perfect this scene of rustic beauty is a cottage orne or a Chalet Suisse.

A RAID ON MEADOWBANK IN 1775, AND HOW KING GEORGE'S FRIENDS, THE "QUEBEC TORIES" WERE THEN PLUNDERED.

The following extract from Judge Henry's Diary seems to refer to the country seat, now known as Meadowbank:

Arnold's little army had retreated to Pointe aux Trembles on the 15th Nov. On the 2nd December, 1775, they retraced their steps to Quebec and in the evening arrived at St. Foy. On the 12th of December, Henry [253] says "The officers and men still wore nothing else than the remains of the summer clothing, which being on their back, had escaped destruction in the disaster of the wilderness." At this time the snow lay three feet deep over the whole country. One fine morning a fellow addressed Simpson who was the only officer in quarters and said "that about two miles up the St. Lawrence lay a country seat of Governor Cromie's (Cramahe?) stocked with many things they wanted and he would be our guide. Carioles were immediately procured. The house, a neat box, was romantically situated on the steep bank of the river, not very distant from a chapel. [254] Though in the midst of winter the spot displayed the elegant taste and abundant wealth of the owner. The house was closed; knocking, the hall door was opened to us by an Irishwoman who, of the fair sex, was the largest and most brawny that ever came under my notice. She was the stewardess of the house. Our questions were answered with an apparent affability and frankness. She introduced us into the kitchen, a large apartment, well filled with these articles which good livers think necessary to the happy enjoyment of life. Here we observed five or six Canadian servants huddled into a corner of the kitchen trembling with fear. Our prying eyes soon discovered a trap door leading into the cellar. The men entered it; firken after firken of butter,—lard, tallow, beef, pork, fish and salt, all became a prey. While the men were rummaging below the lieutenant descended to cause more despatch. My duty was to remain at the end of the trap door with my back to the wall, and rifle cocked as a sentry, keeping a strict eye on the servants. My good Irishwoman frequently beckoned to me to descend; her drift was to catch us all in the trap. Luckily she was comprehended. The cellar and kitchen being thoroughly gutted, and the spoil borne to the carriages, the party dispersed into the other apartments. Here was elegancy. The walls and partitions were beautifully papered, and decorated with large engravings, maps, &c., and of the most celebrated artists. A noble view of the City of Philadelphia upon a large scale taken from the neighborhood of Cooper's Ferry drew my attention and raised some compunctive ideas; but war and the sciences always stand at arms length in the contests of mankind. The latter must succumb in the tumult. Our attention was much more attracted by the costly feather beds, counterpanes, and charming rose blankets, which the house afforded. Of these there was a good store and we left not a jot behind us. The nooks and crevices in the carioles were filled with smaller articles; several dozen of admirably finished case knives and forks; even a set of dessert knives obtained the notice of our cupidity. Articles of a lesser moment nor a thousandth part so useful, did not escape the all-grasping hands of the soldiery. In a back apartment there stood a mahogany couch or settee in a highly finished style. The woodwork of the couch was raised on all sides by cushioning, and costly covered by a rich figured silk. This to us was lumber, besides our carioles were full. However, we grabbed the mattrass and pallets all equally elegant as the couch. Having, as we thought, divested his Excellency of all the articles of prime necessity, we departed, ostensibly and even audibly accompanied by the pious blessings of the stewardess for our moderation. No doubt she had her mental reservations; on such business as this we regarded neither. Near the chapel we met a party of Morgan's men coming to do that which we had already done. The officer appeared chagrined when he saw the extent of our plunder. He went on, and finally ransacked the house, and yet a little more the stables. The joy of our men, among whom the plunder was distributed in nearly equal portions was extravagant. Now an operation of the human mind, which often takes place in society, and is every day discernable by persons of observation, became clearly obvious. Let a man once with impunity desert the strict rule of rules, all subsequent aggression is not only increased in atrocity, but is done without a qualm of conscience. Though our company was composed principally of freeholders, or the sons of such, bred at home under the strictures of religion and morality, yet when the reins of decorum were loosed and the honorable feeling weakened, it became impossible to administer restraint. The person of a Tory or his property became fair game, and this at the denunciation of some base domestic villain.

On the morning following December 13, the same audacious scoundrel again returned, and another marauding expedition started under his guidance to a farm "said to belong to Gov. Cromie (Cramahe?) or some other inhabitant of Quebec. It was further than the former scene." The farm-house, though low, being but one story, was capacious and tolerably neat. The barn built of logs, with a thrashing floor in the centre, was from 70 to 80 feet in length. The tenant, his wife and children shuddered upon our approach. Assurances that they should be unharmed relieved their fears. The tenant pointed out to us the horned cattle, pigs and poultry of his landlord. These were shot down without mercy or drove before us to our quarters. Thus we obtained a tolerable load for our caravan, which consisted of five or six carioles. "With this disreputable exploit marauding ceased. A returning sense of decency and order emanating from ourselves produced a sense of contrition. It is a solemn truth that we plundered none but those who were notoriously Tories and then within the walls of Quebec."

THE HIGHLANDS.

The range of heights extends from Spencer Wood, west, to the black bridge over the stream at Kilmarnock, gradually recedes from the road, leaving at its foot a spacious area interspersed with green pastures, lawns, ploughed fields and plantations. On the most elevated plateau of this range stands "The Highlands," a large substantial fire-brick dwelling, with an ample verandah, erected a few years back by Michael Stevenson, Esquire, merchant, of Quebec. The site is recommended by a fine view of the river St. Lawrence, an airy and healthy position, and the luxuriant foliage of the spruce, pine and maple in the background. The internal arrangements of the dwelling, whether regard be had to ventilation in summer or heating in winter, are on the most modern and improved plan. "The Highlands" lie above St. Michael's Cove teeming with historical recollections, a little to the west thereof, in front of St. Lewis road of historic renown, over which pranced, in 1663, the Marquis of Tracy's gaudy equipage and splendid body-guard wearing, as history tells, the uniform of the Gardes de la Reine. In Sept., 1759, [255] the Rochbeaucourt Cavalry, with their "blue uniforms and neat light horses of different colours," scoured the heights in all directions, watching the motions of the English fleet, which may be seen in the plate of the siege operations, lying at anchor at Sillery, ready, the huge black leviathans, to hurl destruction on the devoted city. In 1838, we remember well noticing Lord Durham's showy equipage with outriders, thundering daily over this same road: the Earl being a particular admirer of the Cap Rouge scenery. This seat has passed over, by purchase, to Chas. Temple, Esq., son of our late respected fellow-townsman, Major Temple, who for a series of years served in that 15th regiment, to whose prowess the Plains of Abraham bore witness during the war of the conquest. "The Highlands" are now occupied by J. W. Stockwell, Esquire.

WINTER FOX HUNTING IN CANADA.

From time immemorial, Merry England has been renowned for her field sports; prominent amongst which may be reckoned her exciting pastime of Fox-hunting, the pride, the glory, par excellence of the roystering English squire. Many may not be aware that we also, in our far-off Canada, have a method of Fox-hunting peculiarly our own—in harmony with the nature of the country—adapted to the rigors of our arctic winter season—the successful prosecution of which calls forth more endurance, a keener sight, a more thorough knowledge of the habits of the animal, a deeper self-control and greater sagacity, than does the English sport; for, as the proverb truly says, "Pour attraper la bete, faut etre plus fin qu'elle." [256]

A short sketch [257] of a Canadian Fox-hunt may not, therefore, prove uninteresting. At the outset, let the reader bear in mind that Sir Reynard Canadensis is rather a rakish, dissipated gentleman, constantly turning night into day, in the habit of perambulating through the forests, the fields, and homesteads, at most improper hours, to ascertain whether, perchance, some old dame Partlett, some hoary gobbler, some thoughtless mother-goose, allured to wander over the farm-yard by the jocund rays of a returning March sun, may not have been outside of the barn, when the negligent stable-boy closed up for the night; or else, whether some gay Lothario of a hare in yonder thicket may not, by the silent and discreet rays of the moon, be whispering some soft nonsense in the willing ear of some guileless doe, escaped from a parent's vigilant eye. For on such has the midnight marauder set his heart: after such does noiselessly prowl, favoured by darkness—the dissipated rascal—querens quem devoret— determined to make up, on the morrow, by a long meridian siesta on the highest pinacle of a snow-drift, for the loss of his night's-rest. Should fortune refuse the sly prowler the coveted hen, turkey, goose, or hare, warmly clad in his fur coat and leggings, with tail horizontal, he sallies forth over the snow-wreathed fields, on the skirts of woods, in search of ground mice, his ordinary provender. But, you will say, how can he discover them under the snow? By that wonderful instinct with which nature has endowed the brute creation to provide for their sustenance, each according to its nature, to its wants. By his marvellously acute ear, the fox detects the ground mouse under the snow, though he should utter a noise scarcely audible to a human ear. Mr. Fox sets instantly to work, digs down the earth, and in a trice gobbles up mus, his wife, and young family. Should nothing occur to disturb his arrangements, he devotes each day in winter, from ten or half-past ten in the forenoon, to repose; selecting the loftiest snow-bank he can find, or else a large rock, or perchance any other eminence from which—

"Monarch of all he surveys"—

he can command a good view of the neighborhod, and readily scent approaching danger. Nor does he drop off immediately in a sound sleep, like a turtle-fed alderman; but rather, like a suspicious, blood- thirsty land pirate, as he is, he first snatches hastily "forty winks," then starts up nervously, for several times, scanning all around with his cruel, cunning eye—snuffing the air. Should he be satisfied that no cause of alarm exists, he scrapes himself a bed, if in the snow and, warmly wrapped in his soft fur cloak, he coils himself up, cat-fashion, in the sun, with his brushy tail brought over his head, but careful to keep his nose to the direction from which the wind blows, so as to catch the first notice of and scent the lurking enemy. On a stormy, blustery day, the fox will, however, usually seek the shelter of some bushes or trees, and on such occasion is usually found under the lee of some little wooded point, where, steeped in sweetest sleep, he can at leisure dream of clucking hens, fat turkeys, and tender leverets—sheltered from the storm, and still having an uninterrupted view before him. The hunter, when bent on a fox hunt, is careful to wear garments whose colour blends with the prevailing hue of frosted nature: a white cotton capot, and capuchon to match, is slipped over his great coat; pants also white—everything to harmonize with the snow; a pair of snow-shoes and a short gun complete his equipment. Once arrived at the post where he expects to meet reynard, he looks carefully about for signs of tracks, and having discovered fresh ones, he follows them, keeping a very sharp look-out. Should he perceive a fox, and that animal be not asleep, it is then that he has need of all his wits and of all the knowledge of the animal's habits he may possess. As previously stated, the fox depends principally on his scent, to discover danger; but his eye is also good, and to succeed in approaching within gun shot of him in the open country, the gunner must watch every motion most carefully, moving only when the animal's gaze is averted, and stopping instantly the moment he looks towards him, no matter what position the sportman's may be at that time. No matter how uncomfortable he may feel; move he dare not, foot nor limb; the eye of the fox is on him, and the least movement would betray him and alarm his watchful quarry. It will be easily conceived that to succesfully carry out this programme, it requires nerves of steel and a patience a toute epreuve. It has been the good luck of one of our friends once to approach thus a fox, within twenty feet, without his detecting him; needless to say, it was done moving against the wind. Some few hunters can so exactly imitate the cry of the ground mouse, as to bring the fox to them, especially if he is very hungry; but it is not always that this plan succeeds. The animal's ear is keen; the slightest defect in the imitation betrays the trap, and away canters alarmed reynard at railroad speed. Some sportsmen prefer to watch the fox, and wait until he falls asleep which they know he will surely do, if not disturbed, and then they can approach him easily enough against the wind. It is not unusual for them to get within fifteen feet of the animal, before the noise of their footsteps causes him to wake.—As may readily be supposed in such cases, his awakening and death are generally simultaneous.

It is a fact worthy of note, that the fox, if undisturbed, will every day return to the same place to sleep, and about the same hour. These animals are not as abundant as they were a few years back.

The extent of country travelled by a fox by moonlight, each night, is very great. Not many years ago, a Quebec hunter [258] who is in the habit of enjoying his daily walk at peep of day, informed the writer that on many occasions he has seen the sly wanderer, on being disturbed from the neighborhood of the tanneries in St. Vallier street, hieing away at a gallop towards the Lorette and Charlesbourg mountains, a distance of nine miles each way.

CAPE ROUGE COTTAGE.

With its rear facing St. Augustin parish, eight miles from the city a commodious dwelling graces the summit of the lofty cape or promontory, which terminates westward the elevated plateau, on the eastern extremity of which, Champlain, in 1608, raised the lily-spangled banner of the Bourbons. Unquestionably the environs of Quebec are rich in scenery, revelling one half of the year in rural loveliness, the other half enjoying that solid comfort, which successful enterprise, taste and free institutions communicate to whatever they touch; but no where, not even at Spencer Wood, or Woodfield, has nature lavished such beautiful landscapes, such enchanting views. Three centuries ago, Europeans had pitched here their tents, until the return of spring, attracted by the charms of the spot; three hundred years after that, a man of taste—to whom we may now without fear, give his due, as he is where neither praise nor censure can be suspected,—an English merchant had selected this site for its rare attractiveness; here he resided for many summers. In 1833 he removed to Spencer Wood. We allude to the late Henry Atkinson, who was succeeded at the Cap Rouge Cottage by William Atkinson, Esq., merchant of London, England. Mr. William Atkinson lived in affluence and happiness at Cap Rouge, several years. There are yet at Quebec those who remember the kind- heartedness and hospitality of this English gentleman of the old school.

Geo. Usborne, Esq., was the next occupant of the cottage. The estate consisted formerly of close on one hundred acres of land, extending north across the king's highway, with a river frontage of about twenty acres, the lot on the south side of the road is laid out, one half in a park, the remainder in two or three fruit and flower gardens, divided by brick walls to trail vines and ripen fruit. It lies quite sheltered with a southerly exposure, bounded by the lofty, perpendicular river banks; the base, some two hundred feet below, skirted by a narrow road, washed by the waves of the St. Lawrence. A magnificent avenue extends along the high bank under ancient, ever-verdant pines, whose far outspreading branches, under the influence of winds, sigh a plaintive but soothing music, blending their soft rustle to the roar of the Etchemin or the Chaudiere rivers before easterly gales; how well Pickering has it:—

"The overshadowing pines alone, through which I roam, Their verdure keep, although it darker looks; And hark! as it comes sighing through the grove, The exhausted gale, a spirit there awakes That wild and melancholy music makes."

From the house verandah, the eye plunges westward down the high cape, following the capricious windings of the Cap Rouge stream far to the north, or else scans the green uplands of St. Augustin, its white cottages rising in soft undulations as far as the sight can reach. Over the extreme point of the southwestern cape hangs a fairy pavilion, like an eagle's eyrie amongst alpine crags, just a degree more secure than that pensile old fir tree which you notice at your feet stretching over the chasm; beneath you the majestic flood, Canada's pride, with a hundred merchantmen sleeping on its placid waters, and the orb of day dancing blithely over every ripple. Oh! for a few hours to roam with those we love under these old pines, to listen to the voices of other years, and cull a fragrant wreath of those wild flowers which everywhere strew our path.

Is there not enough of nature's charm around this sunny, truly Canadian home? And how much of the precious metal would many an English duke give to possess, in his own famed isle, a site of such exquisite beauty? We confess, we denizens of Quebec, we do feel proud of our Quebec scenery; not that on comparison we think the less of other localities, but that on looking round we get to think more of our own.

Cap Rouge, from it having been the location of Europeans, early in the sixteenth century, must claim the attention of every man of cultivated mind who takes a pleasure in scrutinizing the past, and in tracing the advent on our shores of the various races of European descent, now identified with this land of the West, yearning for the bright destinies the future has in store.

At the foot of the Cape, on which the Cape Rouge Cottage now stands, Jacques Cartier and Roberval wintered, the first in 1541-2; the second in 1543-4. Recent discoveries have merely added to the interest which these historical incidents awaken. The new Historical Picture of Quebec, published in 1834, thus alludes to these circumstances:—

"We now come to another highly interesting portion of local history. It has been stated that the old historians were apparently ignorant of this last voyage of Cartier. Some place the establishment of the fort at Cape Breton, and confound his proceedings with those of Roberval. The exact spot where Cartier passed his second winter in Canada is not mentioned in any publication that we have seen. The following is the description given of the station in Hakluyt: 'After which things the said captain went, with two of his boats, up the river, beyond Canada'—the promontory of Quebec is meant—'and the port of St. Croix, to view a haven and a small river which is about four leagues higher, which he found better and more commodious to ride in, and lay his ships, than the former. * * * The said river is small, not passing fifty paces broad, and ships drawing three fathoms water may enter in at full sea; and at low water there is nothing but a channel of a foot deep or thereabouts. * * * The mouth of the river is towards the south, and it windeth northward like a snake; and at the mouth of it, towards the east, there is a high and steep cliff, where we made a way in manner of a pair of stairs, and aloft we made a fort to keep the nether fort and the ships, and all things that might pass as well by the great as by the small river." Who that reads the above accurate description will doubt that the mouth of the little river Cap Rouge was the station chosen by Jacques Cartier for his second wintering place in Canada? The original description of the grounds and scenery on both sides of the river Cap Rouge is equally faithful with that which we have extracted above. The precise spot on which the upper fort of Jacques Cartier was built, afterwards enlarged by Roberval, has been fixed by an ingenious gentleman of Quebec, at the top of Cap Rouge height, a short distance from the handsome villa and establishment of H. Atkinson (now of James Bowen) There is, at the distance of about an acre to the north of Mr. Atkinson's house, a hillock of artificial construction, upon which are trees indicating great antiquity, and as it does not appear that any fortifications were erected on this spot, either in the war of 1759, or during the attack of Quebec by the Americans in 1775, it is extremely probable that here are to be found the interesting site and remains of the ancient fort in question.

"On his return to the fort of Charlesbourg Royal, the suspicions of Cartier as to the unfriendly disposition of the Indians were confirmed. He was informed that the natives now kept aloof from the fort, and had ceased to bring them fish and provisions as before. He also learned from some of the men who had been at Stadacona, that an unusual number of Indians had assembled there—and associating, as he always seems to have done, the idea of danger with any concourse of the natives, he resolved to take all necessary precautions, causing everything in the fortress to be set in order.

"At this crisis, to the regret of all who feel an interest in the local history of the time the relation of Cartier's third voyage abruptly breaks off. Of the proceedings during the winter which he spent at Cap Rouge, nothing is known. It is probable that it passed over without any collision with the natives, although the position of the French, from their numerical weakness, must have been attended with great anxiety.

"It has been seen that Roberval, notwithstanding his lofty titles, and really enterprising character, did not fulfil his engagement to follow Cartier with supplies sufficient for the settlement of a colony, until the year following. By that time the Lieutenant General had furnished three large vessels chiefly at the King's cost, having on board two hundred persons, several gentlemen of quality, and settlers, both men and women. He sailed from La Rochelle on the 16th of April, 1542, under the direction of an experienced pilot, by name John Alphonse, of Xaintonge. The prevalence of westerly winds prevented their reaching Newfoundland until 7th June. On the 8th they entered the road of St. John, where they found seventeen vessels engaged in the fisheries. During his stay in this road, he was surprised and disappointed by the appearance of Jacques Cartier, on his return from Canada, whither he had been sent the year before with five ships. Cartier had passed the winter in the fortress described above, and gave as a reason for the abandonment of the settlement, 'that he could not with his small company withstand the savages which went about daily to annoy him.' He continued, nevertheless, to speak of the country as very rich and fruitful. Cartier is said, in the relation, of Roberval's voyage in Hakluyt, to have produced some gold ore found in the country, which on being tried in a furnace, proved to be good. He had with him also some diamonds, the natural production of the promontory of Quebec, from which the Cape derived its name. The Lieutenant General having brought so strong a reinforcement of men and necessaries for the settlement, was extremely urgent with Cartier to go back again to Cap Rouge, but without success. It is most probable that the French, who had recently passed a winter of hardship in Canada, would not permit their Captain to attach himself to the fortunes and particular views of Roberval. Perhaps, the fond regret of home prevailed over the love of adventure, and like men who conceived that they had performed their part of the contract into which they had entered, they were not disposed to encounter new hardships under a new leader. In order, therefore, to prevent any open disagreement, Cartier weighed anchor in the course of the night without taking leave of Roberval, and made all sail for France. It is impossible not to regret this somewhat inglorious termination of a distinguished career. Had he returned to his fort, with the additional strength of Roberval, guided by his own skill and experience, it is most probable that the colony would have been destined to a permanent existence. Cartier undertook no other voyage to Canada; but he afterwards completed a sea chart, drawn by his own hand, which was extant in the possession of one of his nephews, Jacques Noel, of St. Malo, in 1587, who seems to have taken great interest in the further development of the vast country discovered by his deceased uncle. Two letters of his have been preserved, relating to the maps and writings of Cartier: the first written in 1587, and the others a year or two latter, in which he mentions that his two sons, Michael and John Noel, were then in Canada, and that he was in expectation of their return. Cartier himself died soon after his return to France, having sacrificed his fortune in the case of discovery. As an indemnification for the losses their uncle had sustained, this Jacques Noel and another nephew, De la Launay Chaton, received in 1588, an exclusive privilege to trade to Canada during, twelve years, but this was revoked four months after it was granted.

"Roberval, notwithstanding his mortification at the loss of Cartier's experience and aid in his undertaking, determined to proceed, and sailing from Newfoundland, about the end of June, 1543, he arrived at Cap Rouge, 'four leagues westward of the Isle of Orleans,' towards the end of July. Here the French immediately fortified themselves, 'in a place fit to command the main river, and of strong situation against all manner of enemies.' The position was, no doubt, that chosen by Jacques Cartier the year previous. The following is the description given in Hakluyt of the buildings erected by Roberval: 'The said General on his first arrival built a fair fort, near and somewhat westward above Canada, which is very beautiful to behold, and of great force, situated upon a high mountain, wherein there were two courts of buildings, a great tower, and another of forty or fifty feet long, wherein there were divers chambers, a hall, a kitchen, cellars high and low, and near unto it were an oven and mills, and a stove to warm men in, and a well before the house. And the building was situated upon the great River of Canada called France-Prime by Monsieur Roberval. There was also at the foot of the mountain another lodging, where at the first all our victuals, and whatsoever was brought with us, were sent to be kept, and near unto that tower there is another small river. In these two places above and beneath, all the meaner sort was lodged.' This fort was called France-Roy, but of these extensive buildings, erected most probably in a hasty and inartificial manner, no traces now remain, unless we consider as such the mound above mentioned, near the residence of Mr. Atkinson, at Cap Rouge.

"On the 14th September, Roberval sent back to France two of his vessels, with two gentlemen, bearers of letters to the King; who had instructions to return the following year with supplies for the settlement. The natives do not appear, by the relation given, to have evinced any hostility to the new settlers. Unfortunately, the scurvy again made its appearance among the French and carried off no less than sixty during the winter. The morality of this little colony was not very rigid—perhaps they were pressed by hunger, and induced to plunder from each other—at all events the severity of the Viceroy towards his handful of subjects appears not to have been restricted to the male sex. The method adopted by the Governor to secure a quiet life will raise a smile; 'Monsieur Roberval used very good justice, and punished every man according to his offence. One whose name was Michael Gaillon, was hanged for his theft. John of Nantes was laid in irons, and kept prisoner for his offence; and others also were put in irons, and divers whipped, as well men as women, by which means they lived quiet.'

"We have no record extant of the other proceedings of Roberval during the winter of 1543. The ice broke up in the month of April; and on the 5th June, the Lieutenant General departed from the winter quarters on an exploring expedition to the Province of Saguenay, as Cartier had done on a former occasion. Thirty persons were left behind in the fort under the command of an officer, with instructions to return to France, if he had not returned by the 1st of July. There are no particulars of this expedition, on which, however, Roberval employed a considerable time. For we find that on the 14th June, four of the gentlemen belonging to the expedition returned to the fort, having left Roberval on the way to Saguenay; and on the 19th, some others came back, bringing with them some six score weight of Indian corn; and directions for the rest to wait for the return of the Viceroy, until the 22nd July. An incident happened in this expedition, which seems to have escaped the notice of the author of the treaties on the canon de bronze (Amable Barthelot), which we have noticed in a former chapter. It certainly gives an authentic account of a ship wreck having been suffered in the St. Lawrence, to which, perhaps, the finding of the cannon, and the tradition about Jacques Cartier, may with some possibility be referred. The following is the extract in question: 'Eight men and one bark drowned and lost, among whom were Monsieur de Noire Fontaine, and one named La Vasseur of Constance.' The error as to the name might easily arise, Jacques Cartier having been there so short a time before, and his celebrity in the country being so much greater than that of Roberval, or of any of his companions."

Cap Rouge Cottage is now owned by James Bowen, Esq.

BEAUSEJOUR.

Flooded in sunny silence sleep the kine, In languid murmurs brooklets float and flow, The quaint farm-gables in rich light shine And round them jasmined honeysuckles twine, And close beside them sun-flowers burn and blow.

About one mile beyond the St. Foye Church, there is a fertile farm of one, hundred acres, lying chiefly on the north side of the road. The dwelling, a roomy, one story cottage, stands about two acres from the highway, from which a copse of trees interrupts the view.

There are at present in this spot, several embellishments—such as trout ponds—which bid fair to render it worthy of the notice of men of taste. It was merely necessary to assist nature in order to obtain here most gratifying results. Between the road fence and the dwelling, a small brook has worn its bed, at the bottom of a deep ravine, sweeping past the house lawn westward, and then changing its course to due north-west the boundary in that direction between that and the adjoining property. The banks of the ravine are enclosed in a belt of every imaginable forest shrub,—wild cherry, mountain ash, raspberry, blueberry, interspersed here and there with superb specimens of oak, spruce, fir and pine. A second avenue has been laid out amongst the trees between the road fence and the brook, to connect with the lawn at the west of the house, by a neat little bridge, resting on two square piers about twenty-five feet high: on either side of the bridge a solid dam being constructed of the boulders and stones removed from the lower portion of the property, intended to form two trout ponds of a couple of acres in length each, a passage in the dam is left for the water-fall, which is in full view of the bridge. On the edge of the bank, overhanging the ravine, nature seems to have pointed out the spot for a pavilion, from which the disciples of Isaac Walton can throw a cast below. The green fringe of the mountain shrubs in bud, blossom or fruit, encircling the farm, materially enhances the beauty of this sylvan landscape,—the eye resting with particular pleasure on the vast expanse of meadow of vivid green, clothed in most luxuriant grass, some 10,000 bundles of hay for the mower, in due time. About two acres from the house, to the west, is placed a rustic seat, under two weather-beaten, though still verdant oaks, which stretch their boughs across the river: closer again to the cottage, the eye meets two pavilions. The new avenue, rustic bridges, ponds and pavilions, are due to the good taste of the present owner, Louis Bilodeau, Esq. This rural home was for several years occupied in summer by Stephen Sewell, Esq., and does not belie its name— Beausejour.

BELMONT.

Owners—Intendant Talon, 1670; General James Murray, 1765; Sir John Caldwell, 1810; J. W. Dunscomb. Esquire, 1854-81.

That genial old joker, Sir Jonas Barrington, in his Sketches, has invested the Irish homes and Irish gentry with features certainly very original—at times so singular as to be difficult of acceptance. True, he lived in an age and amongst a people proverbial for generous hospitality, for conviviality carried to its extreme limit. Gargantuan banquets he describes, pending which the bowls of punch and claret imbibed appear to us something fabulous. Irish squires, roystering Irish barristers, toddling home in pairs after having stowed away under their belts as many as twelve bottles of claret a piece, during a prolonged sitting, i.e., from 6 P.M. to 6 A.M. Such intrepid diners-out were known as "Twelve bottle men;" and verily, if the old Judge is to be credited, they might have been advantageously pitted even against such a Homeric guzzler as history depicts Aurora Konigsmark's sturdy son, Marechal de Saxe, who, in his youth, 'tis said, tossed off, at one draught and without experiencing any ill-effects, one whole gallon of wine.

The first time our eye scanned the silent and deserted banquetting halls of Belmont, with their lofty ceilings, and recalling the traditional accounts of the hospitable gentlemen, whose joviality had once lit up the scene, visions of social Ireland of Barrington's day floated uppermost in our mind. We could fancy we saw the gay roysterers of times by-gone—first a fete champetre of lively French officers from Quebec, making merry over their Bordeaux or Burgundy, and celebrating the news of their recent victories at Fontenoy, [259] Lauffeld or Carillon, to the jocund sound of Vive la France! Vive le Marechal de Saxe! a la Claire Fontaine, &c then Governor Murray, surrounded by his veterans, Guy Carleton, Col. Caldwell, Majors Hale, Holland, and some of the new subjects, such as the brave Chs. De Lanaudiere, [260] complimenting one another all around over the feats of the respective armies at the two memorable battles of the Plains, and all joining loyally in repeating the favorite toast in Wolfe's fleet, British colours on every French fort, port and garrison in America! Later on, at the beginning of the present century, a gathering of those Canadian Barons, so graphically delineated by John Lambert in his Travels in Canada, in 1808—one week surrounding the festive board of this jolly Receiver General of Canada at Belmont, the next at Charlesbourg, making the romantic echoes of the Hermitage ring again with old English cheers and loyal toasts to "George the King," or else installing a "Baron" at the Union Hotel, Place d'Armes,—possibly in the very Council-room in which the State secrets of Canada were in 1865 daily canvassed—and flinging down to the landlord as Lambert says, "250 guineas for the entertainement." Where are now the choice spirits of that comparatively modern day, the rank and fashion who used to go and sip claret or eat ice-cream with Sir James Craig, at Powell Place? Where gone the Mures, Paynters, Munros, Matthew Bells, de Lanaudieres, Lymburners, Smiths, Finlays, Caldwells, Percevals, Jonathan Sewells? Alas! like the glories of Belmont, departed, or living in the realms of memory only!

This estate, which, until lately, consisted of four hundred and fifty acres, extending from the line of the Grande Allee down to the Bijou wood, was conceded in 1649 by the Jesuit Fathers to M. Godfroy. It passed over, in 1670, to the celebrated Intendant Talon, by deed of sale executed on the 28th of September, 1670, before Romain Becquet, Notaire Royal. Messire Jean Talon is described in that instrument as "Conseiller du roi en ses conseils d'etat et premier Intendant de justice, police et finance de la Nouvelle France, Isle de Terreneuve, Acadie et pays de l'Amerique Septentrionale." Shortly after the conquest it was occupied by Chief Justice Wm. Gregory. In 1765 it was sold for L500 by David Alves of Montreal, to General James Murray, who, after the first battle of the Plains, had remained Governor of Quebec, whilst his immediate superior, Brigadier Geo. Townshend, had hurried to England to cull the laurels of victory. In 1775, we find that one of the first operations of the American General Montgomery was to take possession of "General Murray's house, on the St. Foy road." General Murray also, probably, then owned the property subsequently known as Holland's farm, where Montgomery had his headquarters. All through our history the incidents, actors and results of battles are tolerably well indicated, but the domestic history of individuals and exact descriptions of localities are scarcely ever furnished, so that the reader will not be surprised should several lacunae occur in the description of Belmont, one of the most interesting Canadian country seats in the neighbourhood of Quebec. The history of Holland House might also, of itself, furnish quite a small epic; and, doubtless, from the exalted social position of many of the past owners of Belmont, its old walls, could they obtain utterance, might reveal interesting incidents of our past history, which will otherwise ever be buried in oblivion.

In the memory of Quebecers, Belmont must always remain more particularly connected with the name of the Caldwells, three generations of whom occupied its spacious halls. The founder of this old family, who played a conspicuous part in Canadian politics for half a century, was the Hon. Col. Henry Caldwell, for many years Receiver General of the Province, by royal appointment, and member of the Legislative Council. He came first to Canada in 1759, says Knox, [261] as Assistant Quartermaster General to Wolfe, under whom he served. When appointed Receiver General, the salary attached to that high office [262] was L400 per annum, with the understanding that he might account at his convenience, he never accounted at all, probably as it was anything but convenient to do so, having followed the traditional policy of high officials under French rule, and speculated largely in milk, &c. The fault was more the consequences of the system than that of the individual, and had his ventures turned out well, no doubt the high-minded Colonel and Receiver General would have made matters right before dying. In 1801 Col. Caldwell was returned member for Dorchester, where he owned the rich Seigniory of Lauzon, and most extensive mill at the Etchemin river, the same subsequently owned by J. Thomson, Esq., and now by Hy. Atkinson, Esq. The colonel was re-elected by the same constituency in 1805, and again in 1809, lived in splendor at Belmont, as a polished gentleman of that age knew how to live, and died there in 1810. Belmont is situated on the St. Foye road, on its north side, at the end of a long avenue of trees, distant three miles from Quebec. The original mansion, which was burnt down in 1798, was rebuilt by the Colonel in 1800 on plans furnished by an Engineer Officer of the name of Brabazon. It stood in the garden between the present house and main or St. Foye road. The cellar forms the spacious root house, at present in the garden. Col Caldwell's exquisite entertainments soon drew around his table some of the best men of Quebec, of the time, such as the gallant Gen. Brock, John Colt man, William Coltman, the Hales, Foy, Haldimand, Dr. Beeby of Powell Place, J. Lester, John Blackwood. In 1810 Mr. John Caldwell, son of the Colonel, accepted the succession with its liabilities, not then known. He however made the Lauzon manor his residence in summer, and was also appointed Receiver General. In 1817 Belmont was sold to the Hon. J. Irvine, M.P.P., the grandfather of the present member for Megantic, Hon. George J. Irvine. Hon. Mr. Irvine resided there until 1833. The beautiful row of trees which line the house avenue and other embellishments, are due to his good taste. In 1838 the property reverted to the late Sir Henry Caldwell, the son of Sir John Caldwell, who in 1827, had inherited the title by the death of an Irish relative, Sir James Caldwell, the third Baronet (who was made a Count of Milan by the Empress Maria Theresa, descended by his mothers' side from the 20th Lord Kerry). John Caldwell of Lauzon, having become Sir John Caldwell, menait un grain train, as the old peasants of Etchemin repeat to this day. His house, stud and amusements were those of a baron of old, and of a hospitable Irish gentleman, spreading money and progress over the length and breadth of the land. At his death, which happened at Boston in 1842, the insignificant Etchemin settlement, through his efforts, had materially increased in wealth, size and population. There was, however, at his demise, an error in his Government balance sheet of L100,000 on the wrong side!

Belmont lines the St. Foye heights, in a most picturesque situation. The view from the east and north-western windows is magnificently grand; probably one might count more than a dozen church spires glittering in the distance—peeping out of every happy village which dots the base of the blue mountains to the north. In 1854 this fine property was purchased by J. W. Dunscomb, Esq., Collector of Customs, Quebec, who resided there several years, and sold the garden for a cemetery to the Roman Catholic Church authorities of Quebec, reserving 400 acres for himself. The old house, within a few years, was purchased by Mr. Wakeham, the late manager of the Beauport Asylum. His successful treatment of diseases of the mind induced him to open, at this healthy and secluded spot, under the name of the "Belmont Retreat," a private Maison de Sante, where, wealthy patients are treated with that delicate care which they could not expect in a crowded asylum. The same success has attended Mr. Wakeham's enterprise at Belmont which crowned it at Beauport.

AN IRISH EDUCATION IN THE OLDEN TIMES.

Among the old stories handed down in Canadian homes

"In the long nights of winter, When the cold north winds blow,"

of the merry gatherings and copious feasts of other days, one is told of a memorable entertainment at Belmont, given a crowd of friends.

Some assert it was the Belmont anniversary dinner of the battle of Waterloo and bring in of course Blucher, Hougomont! Belle-Alliance and what not. It is, however, more generally believed among the aged, judging from the copious libations and kindly toasts drank, that it partook of a more intimate character and was merely a fete de famille, to commemorate the safe return of sir John Caldwell's only son from Ireland, where he had just completed his collegiate course at Dublin, be that as it may, it unquestionably was meant to solemnise an important family or national event.