As was wont, in those hospitable times, the "landlord's flowing bowl," alas! had been emptied too often. Some of the "Barons of the round table" were in fact preparing for a timely retreat, before the city gates should be closed, [263] the genial host soon put a stop to such a treasonable practice, exclaiming that the sentry would let them pass at any hour, so they need only follow the Commandant, their fellow guest, who of course had the countersign, closing his well timed remarks, by raising his voice and proclaiming in an authoritative tone "no heel taps here," the stately banquet hall re-echoed with cheers "a bumper, a bumper," resounded on all sides, "to the future Sir Harry, who has just completed his Irish education." The future Sir Harry was soon on his legs, and in a voice mellow with old port, youth and fun, responded "Friends, fellow countrymen, brothers, (this last expression was challenged as he was an only son) I am indeed proud of my Dublin education, we have something, however better before us than a disquisition on the excellence of the various systems of continental courses, to be brief, I now challenge any here present to meet me on the classics, astronomy, the cubic root or glass to glass, you have your choice." "Glass to glass," they one and all replied. Toasts, songs, healths of every member of the Royal family, were gone through with amazing zest as time advanced towards the small hours of the morning, the guests, one by one disappeared from the banqueting room, some, alas! under the mahogany, more with the genial commander of the garrison, whilst the stalwart Irish student, still undaunted and meeting the foe, glass to glass—a veritable giant, fresher as he went on.

Old Sir John, a well seasoned diner-out, at last found himself solitary at his end of the table, whilst his son adorned the other end defiantly.

Looking round in dismay and fearing, if he continued the healths, to be unequal to cope with such an intrepid Dublin student, he the last gave up, flinging himself majestically back in his chair, exclaiming "D——n your Irish education!"

HOLLAND FARM.

This estate, which formerly comprised two hundred acres of ground, extending from the brow of the St. Foye heights to St Michael's Chapel on the Samoa or St. Lewis road, possesses considerable interest for the student of Canadian history, both under French and English rule. The original dwelling, a long high-peaked French structure, stood on an eminence closer to the St. Foye road than does the present house. It was built about the year 1740, by a rich Lower Town merchant, Monsieur Jean Tache [264] who resided there after his marriage in 1742 with Mademoiselle Marie Anne Jolliet de Mingan, grand-daughter to the celebrated discoverer of the Mississippi, Louis Jolliet. Monsieur Jean Tache was also Syndic des Marchands, member of the Supreme Council of Quebec, and ancestor to Sir. E. P. Tache. He at one time owned several vessels, but his floating wealth having, during the war of the conquest, become the prize of English cruisers, the St. Peter street Nabob of 1740, as it has since happened to some of his successors in that romantic neighbourhood, —lost his money. Loss of fortune did not, however, imply loss of honour, as old memoirs of that day describe him, "Homme integre et d'esprit." He had been selected, in the last year of French rule, to go and lay at the foot of the French Throne the grievances of the Canadians. About this time, the St. Foye road was becoming a fashionable resort, Hawkin's Picture of Quebec calls it "The favorite drive of the Canadian Belle before the conquest." This is an interesting period in colonial life, but imperfectly known,—nor will a passage from Jeffery, an old and valued English writer, illustrative of men, manners and amusements in the Colony, when it passed over to the English monarch, be out of place:—

"The number of inhabitants being considerably increased, they pass their time very agreeably. The Governor General, with his household; several of the noblesse of exceeding good families; the officers of the army, who in France are all gentlemen; the Intendant, with a Supreme Council, and the inferior magistrates; the Commissary of the Marine; the Grand Provost; the Grand Hunter; the Grand Master of the Woods and Forests, who has the most extensive jurisdiction in the world; rich merchants, or such as live as if they were so; the bishops and a numerous Seminary; two colleges of Recollets, as many of Jesuits; with three Nunneries; amongst all those yon are at no loss to find agreeable company and the most entertaining conversation. Add to this the diversions of the place, such as the assemblies at the Lady Governess's and Lady Intendant's; parties at cards, or of pleasure, such as in the winter on the ice, in sledges, or in skating; and in the summer in chaises or canoes; also hunting, which it is impossible not to be fond of in a country abounding with plenty of game of all kinds.

"It is remarked of the Canadians that their conversation is enlivened by an air of freedom which is natural and peculiar to them, and that they speak the French in the greatest purity and without the least false accent. There are few rich people in that Colony, though they all live well, are extremely generous and hospitable, keep very good tables, and love to dress very finely.... The Canadians have carried the love of arms, and glory, so natural to their mother country, along with them.... War is not only welcome to them but coveted with extreme ardor." [265]

During the fall of 1775, the old mansion sheltered Brigadier Richard Montgomery, [266] the leader of the American forlorn hope, who fell on the 31st December of that year, at Pres-de-Ville, Champlain street, fighting against those same British whom it had previously been his pride to lead to victory. About the year 1780, we find this residence tenanted by a worthy British officer, who had been a great favourite with the hero of the Plains of Abraham. Major Samuel Holland had fought bravely that day under General Wolfe, and stood, it is said, after the battle, close by the expiring warrior. His dwelling took the name of Holland House: he added to it, a cupola, which served in lieu of a prospect tower, wherefrom could be had a most extensive view of the surrounding country. [267] The important appointment of Surveyor General of the Province, which was bestowed on Major Holland, together with his social qualities, abilities and education, soon gathered round him the elite of the English Society in Quebec at that time. Amongst the distinguished guests who frequented Holland House in 1791, we find Edward, afterwards Duke of Kent. The numerous letters still extant addressed by His Royal Highness from Kensington Palace, as late as 1814, to the many warm friends he had left on the banks of the St. Lawrence, contain pleasant reminiscences of his sojourn amongst his royal father's Canadian lieges. Amongst other frequenters of Holland House, may also be noted a handsome stranger, who after attending—the gayest of the gay—the Quebec Chateau balls, Regimental mess dinners, Barons' Club, tandem drives, as the male friend of one of the young Hollands was, to the amazement of all, convicted at a mess dinner of being a lady [268] in disguise. A fracas of course ensued. The lady-like guest soon vamosed to England, where he became the lawful spouse of the Hon. Mr. C——, the brother to Lord F——d. One remnant of the Hollands long endured; the old fir tree on that portion of the property purchased by James Creighton, farmer. Holland tree was still sacred to the memory of the five slumberers, who have reposed for more than a century beneath its hoary branches. Nor has the recollection of the "fatal duel" faded away. Holland farm, for many years, belonged to Mr. Wilson of the Customs Department, Quebec, in 1843 it passed by purchase to Judge George Okill Stuart, of Quebec; Mr. Stuart improved the place, removed the old house and built a handsome new one on a rising ground in rear, which he occupied for several summers. It again became renowned for gaiety and festivity when subsequently owned by Robert Cassels, Esquire, for many years Manager of the Bank of British North America at Quebec. Genl. Danl. Lysons had leased it in 1862, for his residence, when the unexpected vote of the House of Assembly on the Militia Bill broke through his arrangements. Holland House is still the property of Mr. Cassels.

THE HOLLAND TREE.

(BY THE AUTHOR OF "MAPLE LEAVES")

"Woodman spare that tree."

It has often been noticed that one of the chief glories of Quebec consisted in being surrounded on all sides by smiling country seats, which in the summer season, as it were, encircle the brow of the old city like a chaplet of flowers; those who, on a sunny June morning, have wandered through the shady groves of Spencer Wood, Woodfield, Marchmont, Benmore, Kilmarnock, Kirk Ella, Hamwood, Beauvoir, Clermont, and fifty other old places, rendered vocal by the voices of birds, and with the sparkling waters of the great river or the winding St. Charles at their feet, are not likely to gainsay this statement.

Amongst these beautiful rural retreats few are better known than Holland Farm, in 1780 the family mansion of Surveyor-General Holland, one of Wolfe's favourite engineer officers. During the fall of 1775 it had been the headquarters of Brig. General Montgomery, who chose it as his residence during the siege of Quebec, whilst his colleague, Col. Benedict Arnold, was stationed with his New Englanders at the house southeast of Scott's Bridge, on the Little River road, for many years the homestead of Mr. Langlois. This fine property, running back as far as Mount Hermon Cemetery, and extending from the St. Louis or Grand Allee road, opposite Spencer Wood, down to the St. Foye road, which it crosses, is bounded to the north by the cime du cap, or St. Foye heights. For those who may be curious to know its original extent to an eighth of an inch, I shall quote from Major Holland's title-deed, wherein it is stated to comprise "in superficies, French measure, two hundred and six arpents, one perch, seven feet eight inches, and four eighths of an inch," from which description one would infer the Major had surveyed his domain with great minuteness, or that he must have been rather a stickler for territorial rights. What would his shades now think could they be made cognizant of the fact that that very chateau garden, [269] which he possessed and bequeathed to his sons in the year 1800, which had been taken possession of for military purposes by the Imperial authorities, is held by them to this day? Major Samuel Holland had distinguished himself as an officer under General Wolfe, on the Plains of Abraham, lived at Holland House [270] many years, as was customary in those days, in affluence, and at last paid the common debt to nature. He had been employed in Prince Edward Island and Western Canada on public surveys.

The Major, after having provided for his wife, Mary Josette Rolet, bequeathed his property to Frederick Braham, John Frederick, Charlotte, Susan and George Holland, [271] his children. In 1817, Frederick Braham Holland, who at that time was an ordnance storekeeper at Prince Edward Island, sold his share of the farm to the late William Wilson, of the Customs. Ten years later, John Frederick and Charlotte Holland also disposed of their interest in this land to Mr. Wilson, who subsequently, having acquired the rights of another heir, viz., in 1835, remained proprietor of Holland Farm until 1843, when the property by purchase passed over to Judge Geo. Okill Stuart, of this city. Mr. Stuart built on it a handsome mansion now known as Holland House, which he subsequently sold to Rob. Cassells, Esq., of Quebec, late manager of the Bank of British North America.

Holland Farm has been gradually dismembered: Coulonge Cottage, at the outlet of the Gomin Road, [272] is built on Holland farm. A successful gold digger by the name of Sinjohn purchased in the year 1862 a large tract of the farm fronting the St. Louis road with Thornhill as its north eastern and Mr. Stuart's new road as its south-western boundary. His cottage is shaded by the Thornhill Grove, with a garden and lawn and adjoins a level pasturage entirely denuded of shrubs and forest trees. [273] To a person looking from the main gate, at Spencer Wood in the direction of the south gable of Holland House, exactly in a straight line, no object intervenes except a fir tree which detaches itself on the horizon, conspicuous from afar over the plantation which fronts the St. Foye road. That tree is the Holland Tree. Well! what about the Holland Tree? What! you a Quebecer and not to know about the Holland Tree? the duel and the slumberers who have reposed for so many years under its shade!

Oh! but suppose I am not a Quebecer. Tell me about the Holland Tree. Well, walk down from the St. Louis road along Mr. Stuart's new road and we shall see first how the rest of the 'slumberers' has been respected. Hear the words which filial affection dictated to Frederick Braham, John Frederick and Charlotte Holland, when on the 14th July 1827, they executed a deed [274] in favor of Wm. Wilson conveying their interest in their father's estate.

"Provided always and these presents as well as the foregoing deed of sale and conveyance are so made and executed by the said Robert Holland acting as aforesaid (as attorney of the heirs Holland) upon and subject to the express charge and condition that is to say, that the said William Wilson his heirs and assigns shall forever hold sacred and inviolable the small circular space of ground on the said tract or piece of land and premises enclosed with a stone wall and wherein the remains of the late Samuel Holland, Esquire, father of the said vendors and of his son the late Samuel Holland jr., Esq., are interred, and shall and will allow tree ingress and egress at all times to the relatives and friends of the family of the said Samuel Holland for the purpose of viewing the state and condition of the said space of ground and making or causing to be made such repairs to the wall enclosing the same or otherwise providing for the protection of the said remains as they shall see fit."

Not many years back the 'small circular space' which Mr. Wilson bound himself to hold sacred and inviolable and which contained two neat marble slabs with the names of Messrs. Holland, senior and junior, and other members of the family engraved on them, was inclosed within a substantial stone wall to which access was had through an iron gate, the walls were covered with inscriptions and with the initials of those who had visited a spot to which the fatal issue of a deadly encounter lent all the interest of a romance. Nothing now is visible except the foundation, which is still distinct: the monument stones have disappeared, the wall has been razed to the ground, some modern Vandal or a descendant of the Ostrogoths [275] (for amongst all civilized nations, the repose of the dead is sacred) has laid violent hands on them! When Mr. Wilson sold Holland farm in 1843 he made no stipulation about the graves of the Hollands, he took no care that what he had agreed to hold inviolable should continue to be so held.

The tragical occurrence connected with the Holland Tree is much out of the ordinary run of events, it seems very like the plot of a sensation novel—a dark tale redolent with love, jealousy and revenge. Two men stood, some sixty years ago, in mortal combat, not under the Holland Tree, as it has generally been believed but near Windmill Point, Point St Charles, at Montreal, one of them Ensign Samuel Holland, of the 60th Regiment, the other was Capt Shoedde. The encounter, it was expected would be a deadly one in those duelling days blood alone could wipe out an insult. Old Major Holland, on bidding adieu to his son is reported to have said, "Samuel, my boy, here are weapons which my loved friend General Wolfe, presented me on the day of his death. Use them, to keep the old family name without stain." Of this memorable affair W. H. Henderson, Esq., of Hemison, has kindly furnished me with the following details.

'The duel originated from some, it was considered, unjustifiable suspicions on the part of Capt. Shoedde of his (Holland's) intimacy with Mrs. Shoedde so palpably unfounded that young Holland applied to his father as to whether in honour he was bound to take notice of the matter. The Major replied by forwarding by post his pistols. Ensign Holland was mortally wounded at the first shot, but in his agony rose on his knees and levelled his pistol, aiming for Capt. Shoedde's heart, who received the ball in his arm laid over his breast.'

Mr. Holland was conveyed to the Merchants Coffee House, in the small lane, near the river side, called Capital street, where he expired in great pain. The battalion in which this gentleman served was at that time, commanded by Major Patrick Murray, a relative of the British General of Quebec fame, with whom I became very intimate in the years 1808 and 1809. Major Murray's account of the duel agreed with the general report prevalent in 1799 in Montreal. Murray thought that the challenge had been given by young Holland and not by Shoedde. Murray subsequently married sold his commission, and purchased the seignory of Argenteuil. At that time Sir George Prevost was also a Major In the 60th Regiment of 1790, whilst Murray's commission dated of 1784. Sir George gave Murray in 1812 a colonel's commission in the militia, who raised the corps of lawyers in Montreal known, as styled by the humorous old man, "as The Devil s Own."

A SCANDAL OF THE LAST CENTURY.

One of the young Hollands had also been a party to a scandalum magnum, which created much gossip amongst our grandfathers, about the time H.R.H the Duke of Kent was at Quebec.

At a regimental mess dinner a handsome young fellow, having, in these days of hard swearing and hard drinking, exceeded in wine, was convicted of being a lady in disguise, attending as the guest of young Holland, and whose sex was unknown to young Holland.

This lady, whom all Quebec knew as Mr. Nesbitt, turned out to be a Miss Neville, left for England, and was eventually married to Sir J. C—-, brother of Lord F——, a British nobleman.

One of the Nestors of the present generation, Col. J. Sewell, has related to me the circumstances as he heard them in his youth from the lips of a man of veracity and honour—Hon. W. Smith, son of Chief Justice Smith.

Here are his own words:—"Hon. Mr. Smith told me that Mr. Nesbitt, alias Miss Neville, was dining at a mess dinner of the 24th Grenadiers at the Jesuits' Barracks, upper Town market place—Having sacrificed too freely to the rosy god, an officer of the 24th, Mr. Broadstreet, I think, helped him to the balcony ... when having to lean on his supporter, Mr. Broadstreet became confident Nesbitt was a girl in disguise. Nesbitt drove out after dinner to Holland House and Broadstreet told the joke all round. Nesbitt hearing of it, sent him, next day, a challenge for originating such a report.

Mr. Broadstreet, not knowing how to act, applied to one of his superior officers—Capt. Doyle (subsequently Genl. Doyle, who married at Quebec, a Miss Smith), for advice, saying: "How can I fight a girl?" to which Capt. Doyle rejoined, "I will act as your second. If Nesbitt is a girl, you shall not fight him, and I engage to prove this fact." He then drove out to Holland House, and found the gay Lothario Nesbitt flirting with the young ladies. He observed him attentively, and having tried an experiment, calculated to throw light on the mysterious foreigner, he went to complain direct to the Governor and Commander in Chief; Lord Dorchester, who, on hearing the perplexity caused by Mr. Nesbitt, sent for Dr. Longmore, the military physician, and ordered him to investigate of what sex Nesbitt might be.

Mr. Nesbitt stormed—refused to submit—vowed he would go direct to England and make a formal complaint of the indignity with which he was threatened.

Hon. Jonathan Sewell,—later on Chief Justice, by persuasion, succeeded in pouring oil on the troubled waters. Nesbitt confessed, and Quebec was minus of a very handsome but beardless youngster, and the English Court journals soon made mention of a fashionable marriage in high life.

HAMWOOD.

How sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks The wayward brain, to saunter through a wood An old place, full of many a lovely brood, Tall trees, green arbours, and ground-flowers in flocks And wild rose tiptoe upon hawthorn stocks, —Wordsworth.

How many vicissitudes in the destinies of places, men, families, nations! See yonder mansion, its verdant leaves, with the leafy honours of nascent spring encircling it like a garland, exhaling the aroma of countless buds and blossoms, embellished by conservatory, grapery, avenues of fruit and floral trees. Does not every object bespeak comfort, rural felicity, commercial success!

When you enter that snug billiard-room, luxuriously fitted up with fire place, ottomans, &c., or when, on a balmy summer evening, you are seated on the ample verandah, next to the kind host, do you not my legal friend, feel inclined to repeat to yourself "Commerce, commerce is the turnpike to health, to affluence, the path to consideration." But was the scene always so smiling, and redolent of rustic enjoyment.

If so, what means yon stately column, [276] surmounted by its fat, helmetted Bellona, mysteriously looking round as if pregnant with a mighty unfathomable future. Ask history? Open Capt. Knox's Journal of the Siege of Quebec, and read therein how, in front of that very spot where you now stand, along that identical road, over which you emerged from the city, war once threw her sorrows, ask this brave British officer to retrace one of those winter scenes he witnessed here more than one hundred years ago: the howling blast of the north sighing through the few remaining gnarled pines and oaks spared by Albion's warriors; add to it tired teams of English troops, laboriously drawing, yoked eight by eight, long sledges of firewood for Murray's depressed, harassed garrison, and you have something like John Knox's tableau of St. Foye Road on the 7th December, 1759.—

"Our garrison, now undergo incredible fatigue, not only within but also without the walls, being obliged to load and sleigh home firewood from the forest of St. Foy, which is near four miles distant, and through snow of a surpassing depth, eight men are allowed to each sleigh, who are yoked to it in couples by a set of regular harness, besides one man who guides it behind with a long stout pole, to keep it clear of ruts and other obstructions. We are told that M. de Levis is making great preparations for the long-meditated assault on this place (Quebec) with which we are menaced. Christmas is said to be the time fixed for this enterprise, and Monsieur says, 'if he succeed he shall be promoted to be Marechal de France, and if he fail, Canada will be lost, for he will give it up.'" [277]

Do not, dear reader, however fear for the old rock, it is tolerably secure so long as Fraser's Highlanders and British Grenadiers garrison it.

We have here endeavored to contrast the smiling present with the dreary past; peace, progress, wealth, as we find it to-day in this important appendage of the British Crown, ready to expand into an empire, with the dismal appearance of things when it was scantily settled, and in those dark days when war stalked through our land. Hamwood takes its name from that of the paternal estate of the Hamiltons, county of Meath, Ireland, and without pretending to architectural excellence, it is one of the loveliest spots on the St. Foye road. It belongs to Robert Hamilton, Esq., a leading merchant of Quebec.

BIJOU.

And I have heard the whispers of the trees, And the low laughter of the wandering wind, Mixed with the hum of golden-belted bees, And far away, dim echoes, undefined,— That yet had power to thrill my listening ear, Like footsteps of the spring that is so near. —(Wood Voices, KATE S. McL.)

Shall we confess that we ever had a fancy for historical contrasts? It is our weakness, perhaps our besetting sin; and when, on a balmy June day, at the hour when the king of day it sipping the dew-drops from the flowers, we ride past this unadorned but charming little Canadian home, next to Westfield, on the St. Foye heights, as it were sunning itself amidst emerald fields, fanned by the breath of the fragrant morn, enlivened by the gambols of merry childhood; memory, in spite of us, brings back the ghastly sights, the sickening Indian horrors, witnessed here on the 28th April, 1760. There can be no doubt on this point; the mute, but eloquent witnesses of the past are dug up every day: shot, shell, bullets, old bayonets, decayed military buttons, all in the greatest profusion.

"The savages," says Garneau, "who were nearly all in the woods behind during the fight, spread over the battle-field when the French were pursuing the enemy, and killed many of the wounded British, whose scalps were afterwards found upon neighboring bushes. As soon as De Levis was apprised of the massacre, he took vigorous measures for putting a stop to it. Within a comparatively narrow space nearly 2,500 men had been struck by bullets. The patches of snow and icy puddles on the ground were so reddened with the blood shed, that the frozen ground refused to absorb, and the wounded survivors of the battle were immersed in pools of gore and filth, ankle deep."

Such was the deadly strife in April, 1760, on the identical spot on which, reader, you and we now stand on the St. Foye heights. Such is now the smiling aspect of things as you see them at Bijou, which crowns the heights over the great Bijou marsh, etc., the dwelling of Andrew Thomson, Esq., (now President of the Union Bank of Quebec.) Some natural springs in the flower garden, in rear of the dwelling, and slopes of the ground, when turned to advantage, in the way of terraces and fountains, bid fair to enhance materially the beauty of this rustic spot.

ANECDOTE OF WOLFE'S ARMY (1760).—QUEBEC.

By a volunteer (J. T.).

"At the Battle of the Plains of Abraham we had but one Piper, and because he was not provided with Arms and the usual other means of defence, like the rest of the men, he was made to keep aloof for safety:—When our line advanced to the charge, General Townshend observing that the Piper was missing, and knowing well the value of one on such occasions, he sent in all directions for him, and he was heard to say aloud. "Where's the Highland Piper?" and "Five pounds for a Piper;" but devil a bit did the Piper come forward the sooner. However, the charge, by good chance, was pretty well effected without him, as all those that escaped could testify. For this business the Piper was disgraced by the whole of the Regiment, and the men would not speak to him, neither would they suffer his rations to be drawn with theirs, but had them serv'd out by the Commissary separately, and he was obliged to shift for himself as well as he could.

The next spring, in the month of April, when the Garrison of Quebec was so madly march'd out, to meet the French, who had come down again to attack us, and while we were on the retreat back to the Town, the Highlanders, who were a raw undisciplin'd set, were got into great disorder, and had become more like a mob than regular soldiers. On the way I fell in with a captain Moses Hazen, [278] a Jew, who commanded a company of Rangers, and who was so badly wounded, that his servant, who had to carry him away, was obliged to rest him on the grounds at every twenty or thirty yards, owing to the great pain he endured. This intrepid fellow, observing that there was a solid column of the French coming on over that high ground where Commissary General Craigie [279] built his house, and headed by an Officer who was at some distance in advance of the column, he ask'd his servant if his fuzee was stil loaded? (The servant opened the pan, and found it is still prim'd). "Do you see," says Captain Hazen, "that fellow there, waving his sword to encourage those other fellows to come forward?"—Yes, says the servant, I do Sir;—Then, says the Captain again, "just place your back against mine for one moment, 'till I see if I can bring him down." He accordingly stretch'd himself on the ground, and, resting the muzzle of his fuzee on his toes, he let drive at the French Officer. I was standing close behind him, and I thought it perfect madness to attempt it. However, away went the charge after him, and faith down he was in an instant. Both the Captain and myself were watching for some minutes, under an idea that altho' he had laid down, he might perhaps take it into his head to get up again. But no. And the moment that he fell, the whole column that he was leading on, turn'd about and decamp'd off leaving him to follow as well as he might! I could'nt help telling the Captain that he had made a capital shot, and I related to him the affair of the foolish fellow of our grenadiers who shot the savage at the landing at Louisbourg, altho' the distance was great, and the rolling of the boat so much against his taking a steady aim. "Oh! yes, says Captain Hazen, you know that a chance shot will kill the Devil himself."

But, to return to the Highlanders: so soon as the Piper had discovered that his men had scatter'd and were in disorder, he as soon recollected the disgrace that still hung upon him, and he likely bethought to give them a blast of his Pipes. By the Lord Harry! this had the effect of stopping them short, and they allow'd themselves to be formed into a sort of order. For this opportune blast of his chanters, the Piper gain'd back the forgiveness of the Regiment, and was allow'd to take his meals with his old messmates, as if nothing- at-all had happened.

On the 6th May, 1760, which was after we had been driven back to the town by the French, and while they yet lay in their trenches across that high ground where the martello tower now stands, there came a ship of war in sight, and she was for some considerable time tacking across and across between Pointe Levis and the opposing shore. We were at a loss to know the meaning of all this, when the commanding Officer of Artillery bethought himself to go and acquaint General Murray (who had taken up his Quarters in Saint Louis Street, now (1828) the Officer's Barracks) of the circumstance: He found the General in a meditative mood, sitting before the fire in the chimney place. On the Officer acquainting him that there was a ship of war in sight, the General was quite electrified! He instantly got up, and, in the greatest fury, order'd the Officer to have the colours immediately hoisted on the citadel! Away he went, but dev'l a bit could the halliards be made to go free until at last, a sailor was got hold of, who soon scrambl'd up the flagstaff, and, put all to rights in a jiffy.

All this time the ship of war did not show her own colours, not knowing whether the town was in the hands of the French or the English, but as soon as she perceived our flag, she hoisted English colours, and shaped her course towards the town, and was soon safe at anchor opposite to the King's Wharf. Our men had been all the winter in bad spirits from coughs and colds, and, their having been obliged to retreat from the French, did'nt help much to mend the matter. However, when they heard that an English man-o-war was come, it was astonishing how soon they became stout-hearted; faith, they were like lions, and just as bold! The man-o-war prov'd to be the "Lowestoffe," which had been detached from the main fleet below, with orders to make the best of time through the ice, and take up the earliest intelligence of the approach of the fleet. Her sides were very much torn by the floating ice. Our having hoisted colours for the first time since the conquest, and a ship of war having made her appearance, led the French to imagine that there was something strange going on. Indeed they expected a fleet as well as ourselves, and this arrival brought them out of their trenches, as thick as midges; they appeared to us like so many pigeons upon a roost! whilst they were gaping at us in such an exposed position, they received a salute from the whole line of our guns, extending from Cape Diamond down to the Barrack Bastion, and yet they went off almost like a single volley. It was fearful enough to see how they tumbled down in their intrenchments, like so many sacks of wool! Their seeing soldiers passing ashore from our frigate, they thought that we were about to receive powerful reinforcements, and they scamper'd away, their killed and wounded men along with them. Our men soon were allow'd to go out, and they regaled themselves upon the soup and pork which the French had left cooking on the fires. That single discharge disabled so many of our guns, that we had to get others then in the lower town, and our men were so weak that they could not drag them up, but which was at last done with the help of the sailors just arrived in the Fleet.

In about three days after the arrival of the "Lowestoffe" the remainder of the Fleet came up to Quebec, and finding that the French had some ships lying above Wolfe's Cove, they went up to look after them. As soon as the French had seen them coming on, they slipp'd their cables, and endeavor'd to get out of the way with the help of the flood-tide, but the Commodore's ship got upon a ledge of rocks, and stuck fast, and the crew took to the boats, and got ashore, leaving the ship to take care of itself. There was found, on board of this ship, one Mons. Cugnet and an Englishman call'd Davis, both of whom had their hands tied behind their back, and a rope about their neck, and they were inform'd that they both were to be hang'd at the yard-arm so soon as the ship's company had finish'd their breakfast!

Monsieur Cugnet was the person who, at the Island of Orleans, gave General Wolfe the information where would be the best place to get up the bank above the Town, and Davis, who had been taken prisoner by the French, some years before, had given some other kind of information, and they both were to be punish'd as spies. However, they not only got off with their lives, but were afterwards, well rewarded by our Government. The former was appointed French-Translator to the Government Offices, and something more, which enabled him to live respectably; and Davis, who had been a grenadier-soldier, got a pension of twenty five pounds a year: they both lived a long time in the enjoyment of it."

MORTON LODGE.

The extensive green pastures which General James Murray owned, in 1768, on the St. Foy road, under the name of Sans bruit, [280] form at present several minor estates. One of the handsomest residences of this well wooded region was Morton Lodge, on the south side of the highway, and bounded by the Belvidere road,—about thirty-two acres in extent. It was honored with this name by one of its former owners, the builder of the lodge, some sixty years ago—the late James Black, Esquire. Morton Lodge is built in the cottage style, with a suite of roomy apartments forming a spacious wing in rear; the lawns in front of the house, with a grove of trees, add much to its beauty; a handsome conservatory to the east opens on the drawing room; it is located in the centre of a flower garden. The additional attraction of this residence, when owned by the late David Douglas Young was an extensive collection of paintings, purchased at various times by the owner both in Canada and in Europe: the French, Flemish and Italian schools were well represented, as well as Kreighoff's winter scenery in Canada.

Morton Lodge, for many years was the residence of David Douglass Young, Esquire, once President of the Quebec Bank, and formerly a partner of the late George B. Symes, Esquire. Mr. Young claimed, on the maternal side, as ancestor, Donald Fraser, one of Fraser's (78th) Highlanders, a regiment which distinguished itself at the taking of Quebec, whilst fighting under Wolfe, on these same grounds.

Forming a portion of this estate, to the west, may be noticed a cosy little nest, Bruce's Cottage, as it was formerly called—now Bannockburn—surrounded on all sides by trees, lawns and flowers.

WESTFIELD.

"What, sir, said I," cut down Goldsmith's hawthorn bush, that supplies so beautiful an image in the DESERTED VILLAGE! 'Ma foy,' exclaimed the bishop (of Ardagh,) 'is that the hawthorn bush? then ever let it be saved from the edge of the axe, and evil to him that would cut from it a branch."—Howitt's Homes and Haunts of British Poets.

At Mount Pleasant, about one mile from St. John's Gate, a number of agreeable suburban residences have sprung up, as if by enchantment, within a few years. This locality, from the splendid view it affords of the valley of St. Charles, the basin of the St. Lawrence and surrounding country, has ever been appreciated. The most noticeable residence is a commodious cut-stone structure, inside of the toll, erected there a few years back by the late G. H. Simard, Esq., member for Quebec, and later, purchased by the late Fred. Vannovous, Esq., Barrister. Its mate in size and appearance a few acres to the west, on the St. Foye road, is owned by the Hon. Eugene Chinic, Senator. In the vicinity, under the veil of a dense grove of trees, your eyes gather as you drive past, the outlines of a massive, roomy homestead, on the north side of the heights, on a site which falls off considerably; groups of birch, maple, and some mountain ash and chesnut trees, flourish in the garden which surrounds the house; in rear, flower beds slope down in an enclosure, whose surface is ornamented with two tiny reservoirs of crystal water, which gushes from some perennial stream, susceptible of great embellishment at little cost, by adding Jets d'eau. The declivities in rear seem as if intended by nature to be laid out into lovely terraces, with flowers or verdure to fringe their summits.

In the eastern section of the domain stands,

"The hawthorne bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made."

Whether it blossoms on Christmas Day, like the legendary White Thorn of Glastonbury, "which sprang from Joseph of Arimathea's dry staff, stuck by him in the ground when he rested there" deponent sayeth not. This majestic and venerable tree, branching out like a diminutive cedar of Lebanon, is indeed the pride of Westfield. It is evidently of very great age, though each summer as green, as fruitful as ever; the oldest inhabitant cannot recall when it was smaller. If trees could reveal what has passed under their boughs, would not the veteran hawthorn tell of wounded men resting beneath it; of the strange garb and cries of combatants, English, French, Celts, Canadians and Indians, on that luckless 28th April, 1760, when Murray's soldiers, were retreating in hot haste from St. Foye and placing the city walls between them and Levi's victorious legions; of shot, shell and bullets, [281.] whistling through its hoary branches, on that memorable 13th of September, 1759, when the Sauvages d'Ecosse, with their reeking claymores, were slashing at, and pursuing the French, flying from the battle field, over the St. Foye heights, to the French Camp on the north bank of the St. Charles, in a line with the Marine Hospital. Various indeed for as are the attractions of stately trees; we can understand why this one is the pride of Westfield. To us, an old denizen of the country, a stately tree has ever been a companionable; in fact, a reverential object. In our eyes 'tis not only rich in its own native beauty; it may perchance also borrow interest from associations and become a part of our home—of ourselves: it may have overshadowed the rustic seat, where, in our infant years, one dear to us and now departed, read the Sunday hymn or taught us with a mother's sanctifying love to become a good citizen, in every respect worthy of our sire. Perchance it may have been planted on the day of our birth; it may also commemorate the natal hour of our first-born, and may it not like ourselves, in our early days, have required the fostering care of a guardian spirit,—the dews from heaven to refresh it and encourage its growth. Yes, like the proprietor of Westfield, we dearly love the old trees of our home.

We were invited to ascend to the loftiest point of this dwelling, and contemplate from the platform on the roof the majestic spectacle at our feet. Far below us waved the nodding pinnacles of countless forest trees; beyond and around us, the site of the old battle-fields of 1759 and 1760, to the east, the white expanse of the St. Lawrence sleeping between the Beauport, Orleans and Point Levi shores; to the northwest, the snake-like course of the St. Charles, stealing through fertile meadows, copses of evergreens—until, by a supreme effort, it veers round the compass at the Marine Hospital; there, at sunset, it appears as if gamboling in the light of the departing luminary, whose rays anon linger in fitful glances on the spires of Lorette, Charlesbourg and St. Sauveur, until they fade away, far away in the cerulean distance, over the sublime crags of Tsononthouan,

—"of these our hills the last that parleys with the setting sun."

or else gild in amber tints, the wooded slopes of the lofty ridges to the west.

Westfield, forms part of a larger expanse of land, formerly known as the "Upper Bijou," crowning the heights, overhanging the valley of the St. Charles, where existed the "Lower Bijou," marshy and green meadows, once sacred to snipe, and on which the populous suburb St. Sauveur has recently sprung up. It was granted in free and common soccage, to the late Charles Grey Stewart, Esq., in 18—; he resided there many years.

In 1870, this lovely old homestead, became the property of the Hon. David Alex. Ross, Barrister, M.P.P. for the county of Quebec, its present occupant. Several embellishments have been added to it by this gentleman and his lady; at present, the views, groves, parterres of Westfield during the summer months are more attractive than ever.

COUCY-LE-CASTEL.

"Sol Canadien, terre cherie Par des braves tu fus peuple, Ils cherchaient, loin de leur patrie, Une terre de liberte, Qu'elles sont belles, nos campagnes, Au Canada qu'on vit content!

About the year 1830 that portion of the environs of Quebec watered by the River St. Charles, in the vicinity of Scott's bridge, had especially attracted the attention of several of our leading citizens as pleasant and healthy abodes for their families. Two well known gentlemen in particular, the bearers of old and respected names, the late Honorable Mr. Justice Philippe Panet, and his brother the Honorable Louis Panet, "Senator selected two adjoining lots covering close on eighty acres, on the banks of the St. Charles, the Cahire-Coubat of ancient days. The main road to the east intervenes between the Hon. Judge Panet's seat and the mossy old dwelling in which Col. Arnold had his head-quarters during the winter of 1775-76, now the residence of the Langlois family. Judge Panet built there an elegant villa on an Italian design, brought home after returning from the sunny clime of Naples, the rooms are lofty and all are oval. Several hundred sombre old pines surround the house on all sides.

The neighboring villa, to the west, was planted by the Honorable Louis Panet, about 1830; also the grounds tastefully laid out in meadows, plantations and gardens, symmetrically divided off by neat spruce, thorn, and snowball hedges, which improve very much their aspect. One fir hedge, in particular, is of uncommon beauty. To the west an ancient pine, a veritable monarch of the forest, rears his hoary trunk, and amidst most luxuriant foliage looks down proudly on the young plantation beneath him, lending his hospitable shades to a semi-circular rustic seat—a grateful retreat during the heat of a summer's day. Next to this old tree runs a small rill, once dammed up for a fish-pond, but a colony of muskrats having "unduly elected domicile thereat," the finny denizens disappeared as if by magic; and next, the voracious rodents made so many raids into the vegetable garden that the legal gentleman, who was lord of the manor, served on them a notice to quit, by removing the dam. The ejected amphibii crossed the river in a body and "elected domicile" in the roots of an elm tree at Poplar Grove, opposite and in full view of the castle, probably by way of a threat. On the high river banks is a twelve- pounder used formerly to crown a miniature fort erected over there. We remember on certain occasions hearing at a distance its loud boom. Coucy-le-Castel is surrounded on two sides by a spacious piazza, and stands on an elevated position close to the river bank. From the drawing- room windows is visible the even course of the fairy Cahire-Coubat, hurrying past in dark eddies, under the pendulous foliage of some graceful elms which overhang the bank at Poplar Grove, the mansion of the late L. T. McPherson, Esq. Now and again from the small fort, amidst the murmur of rapids not far distant, you may catch the shrill note of the king-fisher in his hasty flight over the limpid stream, or see a lively trout leap in yonder deep pool; or else, in the midsummer vacation, see a birch canoe lazily floating down from la mer Pacifique, impelled by the arm of a pensive law student, dreaming perchance of Pothier or Blackstone,— perchance of his lady love, whilst paddling to the air:—

"Il y a longtemps que je t'aime Jamais je ne t'oublierai."

The neighborhood of running water; the warbling of the birds; the distant lowing of kine in the green meadows; the variety and beauty of the landscape, especially when the descending orb of day gilds the dark woods to the west, furnish a strikingly rural spectacle at Coucy-le-Castel, thus named from a French estate in Picardy, owned by the Badelarts, ancestors, on the maternal side, of the Panets.

In 1861 Coucy-le-Castel was purchased by Judge Jean Thomas Taschereau, of Quebec, under whose care it is acquiring each year new charms. A plantation of deciduous trees and evergreens has taken the place of the row of poplars which formerly lined the avenue. The Judge's Chateau stands conspicuous amongst the pretty but less extensive surrounding country seats, such as the old mansion of Fred. Andrews, Esq., Q. C., the neat cottage of Fred. W. Andrews, Esq., Barrister, festooned with wild vines.

RINGFIELD.

FRANCISCUS PRIMUS, DEI GRATIA, FRANCORUM REX REGNAT. Inscription on cross erected 3d May, 1536, by Jacques Cartier.

We will be pardoned for devoting a larger space than for other country seats, in describing Ringfield, on account of the important events of which it was the theatre.

Close to the Dorchester Bridge to the west, on the Charlesbourg road, there was once an extensive estate known as Smithville—five or six hundred acres of table land owned by the late Charles Smith, Esq., who for many years resided in the substantial large stone dwelling subsequently occupied by A. Laurie, Esq., at present by Owen Murphy, Esq., opposite the Marine Hospital. Some hundred acres, comprising the land on the west of the ruisseau Lairet, known as Ferme des Anges, [282] were detached from it and now form Ringfield, whose handsome villa is scarcely visible from the Charlesbourg road in summer on account of the plantation of evergreens and other forest trees which, with white-thorn hedge, line its semicircular avenue on both sides. One might be inclined to regret that this plantation has grown up so luxuriantly, as it interferes with the striking view to be had here of the Island of Orleans, St. Lawrence, and surrounding parishes. Before the trees assume their vernal honours there can be counted, irrespective of the city spires, no less than thirteen steeples of churches in so many parishes. Ringfield takes its name from its circular meadow (Montcalm's hornwork). In rear it is bounded to the west by the little stream called Lairet, with the ruisseau St. Michel in view; to the south, its natural boundary is the meandering Cahire-Coubat. [283]

Ringfield has even more to recommend it than the rural beauty common to the majority of our country seats; here were enacted scenes calculated to awaken the deepest interest in every student of Canadian history. On the banks of the River St. Charles, 1535-36, during his second voyage of discovery, Jacques Cartier, the intrepid navigator of St. Malo, more than three centuries back, it is now generally supposed, wintered. We have Champlain's [284] authority for this historical fact, though, Charlevoix erroneously asserts that the great discoverer wintered on the banks of the River Jacques Cartier, twenty-seven miles higher up than Quebec. A careful examination of Lescarbot's Journal of Cartier's Second Voyage, and the investigations of subsequent historians leave little room to doubt Champlain's statement. [285] Jacques Cartier in his journal, written in the quaint old style of that day, furnishes us curious descriptions of the locality where he wintered, and of the adjoining Indian town, Stadacone, the residence of the Chief Donacona. The Abbe Ferland and other contemporary writers have assigned as the probable site of Stadacona that part of Quebec which is now covered by a portion of the suburbs of St. John, and by that part of St. Roch looking towards the St. Charles. How graphically Jacques Cartier writes of that portion of the River St. Lawrence opposite the Lower Town, less than a mile in width, "deep and swift running," and also of the "goodly, fair and delectable bay or creek convenient and fit to harbour ships," the St. Charles (St. Croix or Holy Cross) river! and again of the spot wherein, he says, "we stayed from the 15th of September, 1535, to the 6th May, 1536, and there our ships remained dry." Cartier mentions the area of ground adjoining to where he wintered "as goodly a plot of ground as possible may be seen, and, wherewithal, very fruitful, full of goodly trees even as in France, such as oak, elm, ash, walnut trees, white-thorns and vines that bring forth fruit as big as any damsons, and many other sort of trees; tall hemp as any in France, without any seed or any man's work or labor at all." There are yet some noble specimens of elm, the survivors of a thick clump, that once stood on the edge of the hornwork. The precise spot in the St. Charles where Cartier moored his vessels and where his people built the fort [286] in which they wintered may have been, for aught that could be advanced to the contrary, where the French government in 1759 built the hornwork or earth redoubt, so plainly visible to this day, near the Lairet stream. It may also have been at the mouth of the St. Michel stream which here empties itself into the St. Charles, on the Jesuits' farm. The hornwork or circular meadow, as the peasantry call it, is in a line with the General Hospital, Mount Pleasant, St. Bridget's Asylum and the corporation lots recently acquired by the Quebec Seminary for a botanical garden and seminary, adjoining Abraham's Plains. Jacques Cartier's fort, we know to a certainty, must have been on the north bank of the river, [287] from the fact that the natives coming from Stadacona to visit their French guests had to cross the river, and did so frequently. It does seem strange that Champlain does not appear to have known the exact locality where, seventy years previously, Stadacona had stood; the cause may lie in the exterminating wars carried on between the several savage tribes, leaving, occasionally, no vestige of once powerful nations and villages. Have we not seen in our day a once warlike and princely race—the Hurons— dwindle down, through successive decay, to what now remains of them?

A drawing exists, copied from an engraving executed at Paris, the subject of which, furnished by G. B. Faribault, Esquire, retraced the departure of the St. Malo mariner for France on the 6th of May, 1536. To the right may be seen, Jacques Cartier's fort, [288] built with stockades, mounted with artillery, and subsequently made stronger still, we are told, with ditches and solid timber, with drawbridge, and fifty men to watch night and day.

Next comes the Grande Hermine, his largest vessel, of about one hundred and twenty tons, in which Donacona, the interpreter, and two other Indians of note, treacherously seized, are to be conveyed to France, to be presented to the French monarch, Francis I. Close by, the reader will observe l'Emerillon, of about forty tons in size, the third of his ships; and higher up, the hull of a stranded and dismantled vessel, the Petite Hermine, of about sixty tons, intended to represent the one whose timbers were dug up at the mouth of the St. Michel in 1843, and created such excitement amongst the antiquaries of that day. On the opposite side of the river, at Hare Point, the reader will notice on the plate, a cross, intended to represent the one erected by Cartier's party on the 3rd May, 1536, in honour of the festival of the Holy Cross; at the foot a number of Indians and some French in the old costume of the time of Francis I. So much for Jacques Cartier and his winter quarters, in 1535- 36.

Two hundred and twenty-three years after this date we find this locality again the arena of memorable events. In the disorderly retreat of the French army on the 13th of September, 1759, from the heights of Abraham, the panic-stricken squadrons came pouring down Cote d'Abraham and Cote a Cotton, hotly pursued by the Highlanders and the 58th Regiment, hurrying towards the bridge of boats and following the shores of the River St. Charles until the fire of the hulks anchored in the river stopped the pursuit. On the north side of the bridge of boats was a tete de pont, redoubt or hornwork, a strong work of pentagonal shape, well portrayed in Tiffeny's plan of the Siege Operations before Quebec. This hornwork was-partly wood, defended by palisades, and towards Beauport, an earthwork—covering about twelve acres, the remains (the round or ring field), standing more than fifteen feet above the ground, may be seen to this day surrounded by a ditch, three thousand [289] men at least must have been required to construct, in a few weeks, this extensive entrenchment. In the centre stood a house, visible on a plan of Mr. Parke's, in which, about noon on that memorable day, a pretty lively debate was taking place. Vaudreuil and some of the French officers were at that moment and in this spot debating the surrender of the whole colony. Let us hear an eye-witness, Chevalier Johnstone, General de Levis' aide- de-camp, one of the Scotchmen fighting in Canada for the French king, against some of his own countrymen under Wolfe, after the disaster of Culloden. It was our good fortune to publish the recently-discovered journal of this Scotch officer for the first time in 1864. Chevalier Johnstone's description will strike every one from its singular accuracy:—

"The French army in flight, scattered and entirely dispersed, rushed towards the town. Few of them entered Quebec; they went down the heights of Abraham opposite the Intendant's Palace (past St. John's gate) directing their course to the hornwork, and following the borders of the River St. Charles. Seeing the impossibility of rallying our troops I determined myself to go down the hill at the windmill near the bake house [290] and from thence across over the meadows to the hornwork resolved not to approach Quebec from my apprehension of being shut up there with a part of our army which might have been the case if the victors had drawn all the advantage they could have reaped from our defeat. It is true the death of the General-in-chief—an event which never fails to create the greatest disorder and confusion in an army—may plead as an excuse for the English neglecting so easy an operation as to take all our army prisoners.

The hornwork had the River St. Charles before it about seventy paces broad which served it better than an artificial ditch; its front facing the river and the heights was composed of strong thick and high palisades planted perpendicularly with gunholes pierced for several pieces of large cannon in it, the river is deep and only fordable at low water at a musket shot before the fort: this made it more difficult to be forced on that side than on its other side of earthworks facing Beauport which had a more formidable appearance and the hornwork certainly on that side was not in the least danger of being taken by the English by an assault from the other side of the river. On the appearance of the English troops on the plain of the lake house Montguet and La Motte, two old captains in the Regiment of Bearn, cried out with vehemence to M. de Vaudreuil, that the hornwork would be taken in an instant, by an assault sword in hand, that we would all be cut to pieces without quarter and nothing else would save us but an immediate and general capitulation of Canada giving it up to the English.

Montreul told them that a fortification such as the hornwork was not to be taken so easily. In short there arose a general cry in the hornwork to cut the bridge of boats. [291] It is worth of remark that not a fourth part of our army had yet arrived at it and the remainder by cutting the bridge would have been left on the other side of the river as victims to the victors. The regiment Royal Roussillon was at that moment at the distance of a musket shot from the hornwork approaching to pass the bridge. As I had already been in such adventures, I did not lose my presence of mind, and having still a shadow remaining of that regard which the army accorded me on account of the esteem and confidence which M. de Levis and M. de Montcalm had always shewn me publicly, I called to M. Hugon, who commanded, for a pass in the hornwork and begged of him to accompany me to the bridge. We ran there and without asking who had given the order to cut it, we chased away the soldiers with their uplifted axes ready to execute that extravagant and wicked operation.

"M. Vaudreuil was closeted in a house in the inside of the hornwork with the Intendant and some other persons. I suspected they were busy drafting the articles for a general capitulation and I entered the house, where I had only time to see the Intendant with a pen in his hand writing on a sheet of paper, when M. Vaudreuil told me I had no business there. Having answered him that what he said was true, I retired immediately, in wrath to see them intent on giving up so scandalously a dependancy for the preservation of which so much blood and treasure had been expended. On leaving the house, I met M. Dalquier, an old, brave, downright honest man, commander of the regiment of Bearn, with the true character of a good officer—the marks of Mars all over his body. I told him it was being debated within the house to give up Canada to the English by a capitulation, and I hurried him in, to stand up for the King's cause, and advocate the welfare of his country. I then quitted the hornwork to join Poulanes at the Ravine [292] of Beauport, but having met him about three or four hundred paces from the hornwork, on his way to it, I told him what was being discussed there. He answered me, that sooner than consent to a capitulation, he would shed the last drop of his blood. He told me to look on his table and house as my own, advised me to go there directly to repose myself, and clapping spurs to his horse, he flew like lightning to the hornwork."

Want of space precludes us from adding more from this very interesting journal of the Chevalier Johnstone, replete with curious particulars of the disorderly retreat of the French regiments from their Beauport camp, after dark, on that eventful 13th September, how they assembled first at the hornwork, and then filed off by detachments on the Charlesbourg road, then to Ancient Lorette, until they arrived, worn out and disheartened without commanders, at day break at Cap Rouge.

On viewing the memorable scenes witnessed at Ringfield,—the spot where the French discoverer wintered in 1535-36, and also the locality, where it was decided to surrender the colony to England in 1759—are we not justified in considering it as both the cradle and the tomb of French Dominion in the new world?

Ringfield has, for many years, been the family mansion of George Holmes Parke, Esquire.

CASTOR VILLE

"In woods or glens I love to roam, * * * * Or by the woodland pool to rest."

In the deepest recesses of the Lorette woods, amongst the most shady meanders of the sinuous Cahire Coubat, some five miles due north from Castel-Coucy, we know a bank, not precisely where

"The wild thyme grows,"

but where you are sure, in spring and summer, to pluck handfuls of trilliums, wild violets, ferns of rare beauty, columbines, kalmias, ladies' slippers, ladies' tresses (we mean of course the floral subjects). In this beauteous region, sacred to Pan, the Naiades, Dryades, and the daughters of Mnemosyne, you might possibly, dear reader, were you privileged with a pass from one of our most respected friends, be allowed to wander; or perchance in your downward voyage from Lake Charles to the Lorette Falls, in that vade mecum of a forester's existence—a birch canoe—you might, we repeat, possibly be allowed to pitch your camp on one of the mossy headlands of Castor Ville, and enjoy your luncheon, in this sylvan spot, that is, always presuming you were deemed competent to fully appreciate nature's wildest charms, and rejoice, like a true lover, in her coyest and most furtive glances.

Castor Ville, a forest wild, where many generations of beavers, otters, caribou, boars, foxes and hares once roamed, loved and died, covers an area of more than one hundred acres. Through it glides the placid course of the St. Charles—overhung by hoary fir trees—from the parent lake to the pretty Indian Lorette Falls, a distance of about eight miles of fairy scenery, which every man of taste, visiting Lake St. Charles, ought to enjoy at least once in his life. It is all through mantled over by a dense second growth of spruce and fir trees, intersected by a maze of avenues. The lodge sits gracefully, with its verandah and artillery, on a peninsula formed by the Grand Desert and St. Charles streams. You can cross over in a canoe to that portion of the domain beyond the river: along the banks, a number of resting places—tiny bowers of birch bark—dingies and canoes anchored all round—here and there a portage—close by, a veritable Indian wigwam—Oda Sio [293] by name. On a bright morning in early spring, you may chance to meet, in one of the paths, or in his canoe, a white-haired hunter, the Master of Castor Ville, returning home after visiting his hare, fox, or otter traps, proudly bearing Lepus in his game bag, next to which you may discover a volume of Moliere, Montaigne or Montesquieu. On selling Castle-Coucy, its loyal-hearted old proprietor, taking with him the guns of the fort, retired to the present wild demesne, in which occasionally he passes, with his family, many pleasant hours, amidst books, friends and rural amusements, far from city noises and city excitement.

Castor Ville belongs to the Hon. Louis Panet, member of the Legislative Council of Canada." (Written in 1865.)

Since this little sketch was penned, sixteen years ago, the unwelcome shadow of years has crept over our old friend, eighty-six winters and then frost has cooled the ardor of the Chasseur, Castor Ville for Mr. Panet has lost much of its sunshine.

THE JOYS OF WINTER.

"Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow, Filling the earth and sky below, Over the house-tops, over the street, Over the heads of the people you meet, Dancing, Flirting, Skimming along, Beautiful snow, it can do no wrong, Flying to kiss a lady's cheek, Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak, Beautiful snow from the heaven above, Pure as an angel, gentle as love!

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow How the flakes gather and laugh as they go, Whirling about in the maddening fun, It plays in its glee with every one, Chasing, Laughing, Hurrying by, It lights on the face and sparkles the eye! And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound, Snap at the crystals that eddy around, The town is alive, and its heart is aglow! To welcome the coming of the beautiful snow

How the wild crowds go swaying along, Hailing each other with humour and song, How the gay sledges, like meteors, pass by, Bright for the moment, then lost to the eye, Ringing, Swinging, Dashing they go, Over the crust of this beautiful snow, Snow so pure when it falls from the sky, To he trampled and tracked by the crowd rushing by, To be trampled and tracked by the thousands of feet, Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street."

Has it ever been your fortune, kind reader, to enjoy, in the depth of winter, a ramble in a Canadian forest, at the mystic hour when the Queen of Night asserts her silent sway? Have you ever revelled in this feast of soul, fresh from the busy hum of city life—perchance strolling up a mountain path with undulating plains of spotless whiteness behind you, or else canopied by the leafy dome of odorous pines or green hemlock, with no other companion but your trusty rifle, nor other sound but the hoot of the Great Horned Owl, disturbed by the glare of your camp fire—or the rustle of the passing hare, skulking fox, or browsing cariboo? Have you ever been compelled, venturesome hunter as you are, with the lengthening shades of evening, after a twenty miles' run, to abandon the blood-stained trail, reserving for the morrow the slaying of the stricken cariboo? Can you recall the sense of weariness, with which you retraced your heavy steps to the camp—perspiring at every pore,—panting with thirst—famished— perhaps bewildered with the flakes of the gathering storm—yea, so exhausted, that the crackling of the pine faggots of your mountain hut— watched over in your absence by your faithful Indian "Gabriel" [294]— struck on your quickened senses amidst the winter gloom like heavenly music—sounds as soft, as welcome as the first April sunbeam? Have you ever had the hardiness to venture with an Indian guide and toboggin on an angling tour far north in the Laurentian chain, to that Ultima Thule sacred to the disciples of old Isaac. Snow Lake, over chasm, dale, mountain, pending that month dear above all others to King Hiems— inexorable January? If so, you can indeed boast of having held communion with the grim God of Winter in some of his stern, though captivating, moods. Nor are these the only charms which the capricious monarch has in store.

Never shall I forget, one balmy March morning, sauntering along the green uplands of Sillery, towards the city, while the "sun god" was pouring overhead, waves of soft, purple light. The day previous, one of our annual, equinoctial storms had careered over the country; first, wind and snow; then wind and sleet, the latter dissolving into icy tears, encircling captive Nature in thousands of weird, glossy crystals; every tree of the forest, according to its instinct, its nature, writhing in the conqueror's cold embrace—rigid, creaking, ready to snap in twain rather than bend, as the red oak or sugar maple, or else meekly, submissively curving to the earth its tapering, frosted limbs, like the silver birch— elegant, though fragile, ornament of the Canadian park, or else, rearing amid air a graceful net-work—waving, transparent sapphire-tinted arabesques, stretched on amber pillars; witness the Golden Willow. Each gleam of sunshine investing this gorgeous tapestry with all the glories of Iris; here, rising above his compeers, a stately lord of the grove, hoary with frost and years, whose outspreading boughs are burnished, as if every twig had been touched by the hand of an enchanter, whilst there, under his shade, bends a mountain ash, smeared with the crimsoned berries of the preceding summer, now ice-coated bon-bons eagerly plucked by troops of roseate grosbeaks resting on the whitened branches. How lovely the contrasts!

Such, the scene in the winsome light of day. But of those objects, viewed by moonlight, who would have dared becomingly depict the wild beauty? The same incomparable landscape, with Diana's silver rays softly sleeping on the virgin snow; on each side, an avenue of oak, spruce and fir trees, the latter with their emerald boughs wreathed in solid ice, and to the earth gracefully bending in festoons—now and again kissed by the night wind; at each wavy motion disclosing their dark trunks, under the frozen foliage, like old Ocean's billows breaking on dark rocks; the burnished gold of the morn changed into silver floss, twinkling with a mild radiance, under the eye of night, like diamond tiaras—a vista fit for Queen Mab! Of such, mayhap dreamed Moorish maid, under the portals of the Alhambra. Were Armida's enchanted forests brighter?

Who can describe all thy witchery? Thy nameless graces, who can compass, serene majesty of Winter in the North? And yet all these glories of frost and moon-lit snows we once did see round our Canadian Home.

Wouldst thou fancy another view of winter less serene; a contrast such as glorious old KIT NORTH would have revelled in? Step forward, my witty, my sarcastic friend of the Evenement newspaper—by name Henri Fabre!

"The true season of Canada is winter; winter with its bright skies by day and its brighter stars by night. Of spring we have none. April is nothing better than a protracted thaw, with scenes of mud and melting snow. May, the month dear to poets, is frequently but an uninterrupted succession of showers to fecundate the earth; its symbol, an array of outspread umbrellas in our streets. As to our summer, it is but the epitome of the lovely summer of France and Italy for the use of new countries. Autumn is a shade better; but anon, the first frost hurries on to blanch and disperse the leaves and dim the hues of mellowed nature. When the fields slumber under ten feet of snow; when human noses freeze before their sneezing owners have time to utter a cry for help, then is the beau ideal of our climate. He who on such an occasion dares to sigh for the boasted shade of trees and the murmur of gushing waters, that man is no true Canadian. The searching wind, the cold, the northern blast, [295] are part and parcel of our country; one is bound to love them. Should they increase in intensity, rub your hands, first to keep yourself warm, nest to denote your patriotic joy!"

But all this won't prevent us from exclaiming with a Canadian son of song:

"Oh! dear is the Northern forest home, Where the great pine shoots on high; And the maple spreads its soft, green leaves In the clear, blue, taintless sky; Though the summer mantle paleth fast Into winter's virgin veil— There is health in the fierce, quick lightning blast, And strength in the icy gale; And life glides on in a quiet calm, Like our own great river's flow; And dear to the hearts of her children all Is our own FAIR LAND OF SNOW!"

SILLERY, near Quebec, 1881.

THE MANOR HOUSE, BEAUPORT.

Let us view a remnant of feudal times.

On the Beauport road, four miles from the city and about forty feet from the late Colonel B. C. A. Gugy's habitation, stood until 1879 an antiquated high-gabled French stone dwelling, very substantially put together. About thirty years back there was still existing close to and connected with it, a pavilion or tower, used in early days as a fort to protect the inmates against Indian raids. It contained the boudoir and sleeping apartments of some of the fair seignieuresses [296] of Beauport in the house which Robert Giffard, the first seignor built there more than two centuries ago; it is the oldest seignorial manor in Canada. Robert Giffard's house—or, more properly, his shooting box—is thought to have stood closer to the little stream to the west. The first seignior of Beauport had two daughters who married two brothers, Juchereau, the ancestors of the Duchesnays; and the manor has been in the possession of, and occupied by, the Duchesnays for more than two hundred years.

Robert Giffard had visited Canada, for the first time, in 1627, in the capacity of a surgeon; and being a great sportsman, he built himself a small house on the banks of the Beauport stream, to enjoy to perfection, his favorite amusements—shooting and fishing. No authentic data exist of the capacity of Beauport for game in former days; we merely read in the Relations des Jesuites that in the year 1648. 1200 ptarmigan were shot there, we also know that the quantities of ducks congregating on the adjoining flats caused the place to be called La Canardiere. There is a curious old record in connection with this manor, exhumed by the Abbe Ferland; it is the exact formula used by one of the tenants or censitaires in rendering foi et hommage to the Lord of the Manor. Guion (Dion?), a tenant, had by sentence of the Governor, Montmagny, been condemned on the 30th July, 1640, to fulfil this feudal custom. The document recites that, after knocking at the door of the chief manorial entrance, and in the absence of the master, addressing the farmer, one Boulle, the said Guion, having knelt down bare headed without his sword or spurs, repeated three times the words,—"Monsieur de Beauport, Monsieur de Beauport, Monsieur de Beauport, je vous fais et porte la foy et hommage que je suis tenu de vous porter, a cause de mon fief du Buisson, [297] duquel je suis homme de foy relevant de votre seigneurie de Beauport, lequel m'appartient au moyen du contrat que nous avons passe ensemble par devant Roussel a Mortagne, le 14 Mars, 1634, vous declarant que je vous offre payer les droits seigneuriaux et feodaux quand dus seront, vous requerant me recevoir a la dite foy et homage." "Lord of Beauport, Lord of Beauport, Lord of Beauport, I render you the fealty and homage due to you on account of my land du Buisson ... which belongs to me by virtue of the title-deed executed between us in presence of Roussel at Mortagne, the 14th March, 1634, avowing my readiness to acquit the seignorial and feudal rents whenever they shall be due, beseeching you to admit me to the said and homage." This Guion, a mason by trade, observes the Abbe Ferland, was the man of letters and scribe of the parish. There is still extant a marriage contract, drafted by him, for two parishioners; it is one of the earliest on record in Canada, bearing date the 16th July, 1636. It is signed by the worthy Robert Giffard, the seignior, and by Francois Bellanger and Noel Langlois; the other parties affixed their mark. It possesses interest as serving to illustrate the status and education of the early French settlers. In 1628, Robert Giffard had been taken a prisoner of war by the English, on board of Rocmont's fleet. On his return, and in acknowledgement of the services rendered by him to the colonial authorities, he obtained a grant of the seigniory of Beauport, together with a large tract of land, on the River St. Charles. For many long years the ancestral halls of the Duchesnays, at Beauport, rang with the achievements of their warlike seigneurs. One of them, Nicholas Juchereau de St. Denys, so distinguished himself at the siege of Quebec in 1690, that his sovereign granted him "a patent of nobility." ("Le sieur de St. Denys, seigneur de Beauport, " says Charlevoix, "commandait ses habitants, il avait plus de soixante ans et combattait avec beaucoup de valeur, jusqu'a ce qu'il eut un bras casse d'un coup de feu. Le Roi recompensa peu de temps apres son zele en lui accordant des lettres de noblesse.") His son distinguished himself in Louisiana. Two other members of the family won laurels at Chateaugay. A descendant, Lieut.-Col. Theodore Duchesnay, is Deputy Adjutant General of Militia.

The late Col. Gugy, built himself, in 1865, close to the manor, a comfortable dwelling, wherein, amidst rural retirement, he divided his existence between literature, briefs and his stud, noted all over Canada. He had recently added to his domain, by purchase, a large tract of land from the adjoining property, the De Salaberry homestead, where H.R.H. the Duke of Kent, the father of our beloved Queen, in 1791 enjoyed more than one petit souper. The broad acres which in 1759 resounded to the tread of Montcalm's heavy squadrons, for years the quiet home of a barrister of note, now bear the name of Darnoc. Cedant arma togae.

Darnoc, since the death of Col. Gugy, in 1878, is occupied by Mrs. Gugy and Herman Ryland, Esq., who married a daughter of the late proprietor. The ruins of the Duchesnay Manor, more than once have been disturbed by the pick and shovel of the midnight seeker for hidden French piastres: though religiously protected against outrage by Mrs. Gugy's family, and more especially watched over by the Genius Loci, the divining rod and a Petit Albert have recently found their way there; however successfully poised and backed by the most orthodox incantations and fumigations, the magic rod has failed so far to bring to the surface either gold or silver coin. This was probably owing to the omission of a very important ceremony: the production on the spot of "a candle [298] made out of the fat of an executed murderer, as the clock strikes twelve at midnight," under suitable planetary influence.

The recent discovery of the corner stone of the old manor, and of an inscription dating back to 1634, have given rise to a spicy newspaper discussion among our antiquarians.

THE SEIGNIORIAL MANOR OF THE FIRST SEIGNEUR OF BEAUPORT, 1614.

I.H.S. M.I.A. LAN 1634 LE NTE 25 IVILET.IE.ETE-PLA PREMIERE.P.C.GIFART SEIGNEVR.DE CE.LIEV

In March 1881, the Literary and Historical Society of Quebec, received from the widow of the late Col. B. C. A. Gugy, of Darnoc, Beauport, a lead plate, with the above quoted inscription, and a note, stating under what circumstances Col. Gugy's family became possessed of it. This lead plate, affords a written record of the laying of the foundation stone, on the 25th July, 1634, of the historical homestead of the fighting Seigneurs of Beauport: the Gifart, the Juchereau, the Duchesnay.

The massive old pile alleged to have been the headquarters of the Marquis de Montcalm, during the siege of Quebec, in 1759, and in which many generations of Duchesnays and some of Col. Gugy's children were born, became the prey of flames in 1879, 'tis said, by the act of a Vandal. Thus perished the most ancient stronghold of the proud feudal Lairds of Beauport, of the stone manor of Surgeon Robert Giffard; the safe retreat against the Iroquois of the warlike Juchereau Duchesnays, one of whose ancestors, in 1645, had married Marie Gifart, or Giffard, a daughter of the bellicose Esculapius from Perche, France,—Surgeon Robert Gifart. Grim and defiant the antique manor, with its high-peaked gables, stood in front of the dwelling Col. Gugy had erected, at Darnoc, in 1865: it rather intercepted the view to be had from this spot, of Quebec. One of the memorable landmarks of the past, it has furnished a subject for the pencil of Col. Benson J. Lossing, author of the "American Revolution," and "Life of Washington," who, during his visit to Quebec, in July, 1858, sketched it with others, for Harper's Magazine, where it appeared, over the heading "Montcalm's Headquarters, Beauport," in the January number, 1859, page 180, from which drawing it was transferred to the columns of the Canadian Illustrated News, for May, 1881.

Whilst the deciphering of some of the letters I.H.S.—M.I.A. at the top of the inscription has exercised the ingenuity of our Oldbucks and Monkbarns, the plate itself and its inscription will furnish to the student of history an indefeasible proof of the exact spot, and of the date, when and where stood the oldest of our seigniorial manors,—that of Robert Gifart, on the margin of the ruisseau de l'ours, at Beauport, in 1634.

J. M. LeMoine Esquire, President Literary and Historical Society, Quebec:

BEAUPORT, 26th March, 1881

"SIR.—The tablet found in the Manor House of Beauport by some workmen, last summer, and only recently restored to the proprietors, is a circular plate of lead or pewter much injured by the fire which consumed the building.

Owing to the unwillingness of the men concerned to give any information, it is difficult to learn much about whereabouts in the building it was found, nor what other articles may have accompanied it, but as far as can be ascertained, this oval plate (about 1/4 of an inch in thickness) was rolled up and contained a few coins and some documents; the first cannot be traced and are spoken of as "quelques sous;" the latter, they say, crumbled into dust at once.

The inscription, as well as can be deciphered, is as follows:—

I.H.S. M.I.A. LAN 1634 LE NTE 25 IVILET.IE.ETE-PLA PREMIERE.P.C.GIFART SEIGNEVR.DE CE.LIEV

This is rudely but deeply cut into the plate, and underneath may be seen in patches, traces of a fainter etching, part of which may be a coat of arms, but this is uncertain; underneath can be seen a heart reversed, with flames springing from it upwards. All these are enclosed in a larger heart, point downwards.

The enclosed rough simile may give an idea of the lettering at the top of the circle, the plate itself being about nine inches in diameter."

(With Mrs. Gugy's compliments.)

Darnoc, 26th March, 1881.

THE BEAUPORT MANOR INSCRIPTION.

(To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle.)

"Whilst regretting the loss of the coins and document accompanying the inscription of the Beauport Manor, on account of the light it might have thrown on this remote incident of Canadian history, let us examine the case as it stands.

This rude inscription of 25th July, 1634, gives priority as to date to the Beauport Manor over any ancient structure extant in Canada this day. The erection of the manor would seem to have preceded by three years the foundation of the Jesuits' Sillery residence, now owned by Messrs. Dobell and Beckett, which dates of July, 1637. Who prepared the inscription? Who engraved the letters? Who cut on the lead the figure of the "flaming heart?" The stars? Are they heraldic? What did they typify? Did the plate come out, ready prepared from France? Had the Academie des Inscriptions, etc., or any other academie, any hand in the business? No, for obvious reasons.

The lead-plate was imbedded in solid masonry. It is too rude to be the work of an engraver. Could it have been designed by Surgeon Gifart, the Laird of Beauport and cut on the lead-plate by the scribe and savant of the settlement, Jean Guion (Dion?) whose penmanship in the wording of two marriage contracts, dating from 1636, has been brought to light by an indefatigable searcher of the past—the Abbe Ferland? probably.

But if the lettered Beauport stone mason, who never rose to be a Hugh Miller, whatever were his abilities, did utilize his talents in 1634, to produce a durable record in order to perpetuate the date of foundation of this manor, he subsequently got at loggerheads with his worth seignieur, probably owing to the litigious tastes which his native Perche had instilled in him. Perche, we all know, is not very distant from Normandy, the hot-bed of feuds and litigation, and might have caught the infection from this neighborhood:

Governor Montmagny, in the space of eight short years, had been called on to adjudicate on six controversies which had arisen between Gifart and his vassals, touching boundaries and seigniorial rights, though the learned historian Ferland, has failed to particularize, whether among those controverted rights, was included the Droit de Chapons and Droit de Seigneur; could the latter unchaste, but cherished right of some Scotch and German feudal lords, by a misapprehension of our law, in the dark days of the colony, have been claimed by such an exacting seignior as M. de Gifart? One hopes not.

Be that as it may, the stone mason and savant Jean Guion had refused to do feudal homage to "Monsieur de Beauport," and on the 30th July, 1640, six years after the date of the inscription, under sentence rendered by Governor de Montmagny, he was made to do so.

Who will decipher the I.H.S.—M.I.A. the letters at the top of the plate? Is there no defendant of the haughty Seignior of Beauport, Rob. Gifart, to give us his biography, and tell us of his sporting days; of the black and grey ducks, brant, widgeon, teal, snipe, and curlew, etc., which infested the marshy banks of the stream—the Ruisseau de l'Ours, on which he had located, first his shooting box, and afterwards his little fort or block-house, against Iroquois aggression? Dr. Gifart was a keen sportsman, tradition repeats. Did the locality get the name of Canardiere on account of the Canards, the ducks, he had bagged in his time? Who will enlighten us on all these points?

ENQUIRER.

Quebec, 8th April, 1881.

QUERY.—Would I. H. S. stand for Jesus Hominum Salvator? and M.I.A. for Maria-Josephus-Anna?—the Holy Family—asks Dr W. Marsden.

COUNT D'ORSONNENS LETTER

A monsieur J. M. LeMoine, president de la Societe Litteraire et Historique de Quebec, etc., etc, etc.

CHER MONSIEUR,.—Votre lettre du 1er avril, publiee dans le Morning Chronicle, en groupant, autour du premier Manoir canadien, des grands noms canadiens, des faits historiques et des traditions, semble vouloir nous faire regretter encore plus la perte d'un monument dont il ne reste plus qu'une plaque de plomb gravee sans art, avec une inscription sans orthographe. Je suis alle, comme bien d'autres, voir ce morceau de plomb, qui contient, autant que l'imprimerie peut le representer, l'inscription suivante:

I.H.S. M.I.A. LAN 1634 LE NTE 25 IVILET.IE.ETE-PLA PREMIERE.P.C.GIFART SEIGNEVR.DE CE.LIEV

La premiere ligne a ete, sans doute, gravee avec une pointe, l'incision plus indecise est aussi moins profonde, de meme que les lettres NTE ajoutees au-dessus de PLA, pour faire le mot plante, que l'art du graveur ou la largeur du ciseau n'avait pas su contenir dans la troisieme ligne.

Les lettres des trois dernieres lignes ont ete coupees avec un ciseau de un demi-pouce de large, l'incision est nette et bien dessinee; on voit encore les lignes qui ont ete tracees dans toute la largeur de la plaque, an moyen d'une pointe pour guider le ciseau du graveur.

Dans le centre de la plaque, on distingue avec peine un ecusson. portant un coeur renverse et fiamme; au centre de l'ecu, trois etoiles. Impossible de dire si elles sont posees en face ou sur un champ quelconque. Le tout a du etre surmonte d'un heaume, car on voit encore de chaque cote de l'ecu des lignes courbes multiples, qui doivent necessairement representer les lambrequins; sur le cote gauche, un bout de banderolle, mais l'artiste a du abandonner sa premiere idee, car le haut de la banderolle se perd dans les lignes du lambrequin.

J'ai lu dans la lettre qui accompagnait l'envoi de Madame Gugy, que les ouvriers, qui avaient travaille aux ruines, disaient avoir trouve la plaque de plomb, roulee avec certains documents qui seraient tombes en poussiere au toucher. La chose me parait impossible. Le dessous de la plaque indique qu'elle a ete posee a plat sur un lit de mortier, et la partie gravee, du moins celle ou sont gravees les armoiries qu'une pierre pesante a ete placee dessus, et c'est par l'enfoncement de sa surface inegale que la plupart des lignes gravees ont ete detruites. On voit encore dans le plomb oxide l'empreinte d'une coquille petrifiee qui se trouvait agregee au calcaire.

En roulant le bloc superieur, les ouvriers ont pu plier le metal; de la l'erreur de croire que la plaque etait roulee, elle a du, comme toutes choses de ce genre, etre placee dans une cavite comme fond, ou on avait depose le document tombe en poussiere et les "quelques sous" que ces honnetes ouvriers ont gardes pour eux, sans doute, sans en connaitre la valeur.

Peu habitue a lire de telles inscriptions, mais connaissant la piete des premiers colons du Canada, j'essayai de donner un sens courant a l'inscription et je trouvai qu'on pouvait lire ici:

Iesu Hominum Salvatore, Maria Immaculata Auspice

(Sous les auspices ou la protection de Jesus sauveur des hommes et de Marie-Immaculee)

L'an 1634, le 25 juillet—je—ete plantee premiere par (ou pour) C. (chirur.) Gifart, Seigneur de ce lieu.

Jusqu'a present la chose se lit bien, le sens en est raisonnable et positif. Supposant le chirurgien un homme instruit et lettre, l'inscription latine se complete d'elle-meme. Mais, helas! il y un mais,—la lettre C avant Gifart me trouble un peu. Comme je n'ai sous la main aucun volume, aucune tradition du temps a consulter, je suis oblige de m'en tenir aux correspondances de journaux, et je trouve dans toutes le prenom de Robert—ce qui ne commence pas du tout par un C! [299] Mais le C, le malheureux C, ne serait-il pas l'initiale de Cloutier, le charpentier ou l'entrepreneur avec lequel Gifart avait fait un contrat a Mortaigne, le 14 mars 1634, quatre mois a peu pres avant la pose de la premiere pierre? Alors il faudrait lire j'ai ete plantee par Cloutier, Gifart etant seigneur de ce lieu.

Je m'arrete, le souvenir de certaine inscription sur certain pont vient troubler toutes ces belles speculations. A force de vouloir etre savant, on pourrait faire dire a Robert Gifart des choses qu'il n'a jamais pensees.

Si, apres tout, ce Gifart n'etait pas savant, et qu'il eut voulu dire par I. H. S., Jesus-Christ, et M. I. A., Maria, ce serait trop fort—J'aimerais mieux la theorie de M. le Dr. Marsden, et de M. Bedard, Maria, Joachim, Anna. Le 25 juillet etant la fete de saint Jacques, et la vigile de saint Joachim, il serait plus raisonnable de penser qu'on aurait mis la construction du premier Manoir canadien sous la protection et les auspices du saint du jour

Reste a savoir si la Saint Jacques se fetait le 25 juillet, la Saint Joachim le 26, en l'an de notre Seigneur 1634.

Je laisse a d'autres de mieux trouver.

Quoiqu'il en soit, cette date 1634, est un centenaire memorable, car c'est en 1534 que Jacques Cartier, visita le golfe Saint-Laurent et c'est en 1535, qu'il remonta notre beau fleuve jusqu'a Hochelaga, cent ans avant la premiere concession seigneuriale de Beauport.

J'ai l'honneur d'etre, Monsieur, votre humble servt., Cte. d'ORSONNENS

L'INSCRIPTION DU MANOIR DE BEAUPORT.

Parmi une masse de vieux documents que je possede, concernant la seigneurie de Beauport et ses seigneurs, j'ai trouve le recu suivant:

"Je, soussigne, confesse avoir recu un billet de cent cinquante livres de monsieur de Beauport, pour ce qu'il m'avait promis pour faire sa batisse de logis de Beauport.

"faict ce 27ieme juillet 1642.

"P. CLUST."

Cela donnerait peut-etre une explication des abreviations "P. C." de l'inscription trouvee dans les ruines du vieux manoir.

En effet, il est loisible de supposer que cet architecte a fait ce que ses confreres modernes font encore, et qu'il a grave ses initiales sur l'inscription commemorative de la pose de la premiere pierre plantee dans la batisse de Beauport.

H. J. J. DUCHESNAY.

La Beauce, 14 avril, 1881.

H. V'S LETTER.

(ABBE H. VERREAU?)

Une relique historique.

La Minerve a publie l'inscription de la plaque trouvee a Beauport. Le Journal de Quebec l'a reproduite aussi; mais avec une certaine difference. Pour l'etude des personnes eloignees et pour l'utilite de la science, il est bien desirable qu'on en prenne de nombreuses impressions sur platre. Si madame Gugy accorde la permission necessaire, elle meritera certainement la reconnaissance de ceux qui etudient notre histoire.

Il parait que le dernier chiffre de la date se lit avec difficulte. Il est toutefois tres important de le determiner avec toute la precision possible.

A mes yeux, la date du 25 juillet entraine plusieurs consequences qui disparaissent avec un autre chiffre.

I. Le 25 juillet est consacre a l'apotre saint Jacques-le-Majeur. Ne peut-on pas traduire le second groupe trilittere M. J. A. par Majori Jacobo Apostolo, Le premier groupe, si connu d'ailleurs, etant latin, il est naturel de supposer que le second l'est aussi.

II. La fete de saint Jacques-le-Majeur, qui tombait un mardi en 1634, etait chomee; par consequent les travaux serviles ont du etre suspendu ce jour-la.

III. Le meme jour, 25 juillet 1634, Robert Gifart assistait a un mariage a Quebec, ce qui peut expliquer pourquoi il etait remplace a Beauport par son fils Charles.

Mais la pose de la pierre angulaire d'une simple maison, un jour de grande fete, me semble difficile a expliquer, qu'on veuille ou non y faire intervenir les ceremonies de la Religion.

L'expression Je ete plantee offre aussi une difficulte. A cette epoque on faisait de nombreuses fautes d'orthographe, mais on avait presque toujours le mot propre.

Il est bien vrai qu'en terme d'architecture, on disait planter un edifice pour l'asseoir sur la maconnerie de ses fondements, mais je ne sache pas qu'on ait dit planter les pierres des fondements.

Cette plaque n'aurait-elle pas ete destinee a une croix plantee a l'endroit que Giffard voulait defricher?

Il est d'autant plus naturel qu'il ait commence ses travaux par cet acte de foi qu'il devait songer a faire batir une eglise pres de sa demeure. Dans cette supposition, on s'explique facilement que la croix ait ete plantee un jour de fete solennelle ou tout le monde surtout a cette epoque, devait vaquer a ses devoirs religieux. Je vois dans les Archives de Beauport par Mgr. Langevin que la maison de Giffard, d'apres M. Ferland, devait etre plus pres de la petite riviere que le manoir actuel.