The daughters married as follows: the eldest, Eliza, was wedded to Sir George Denys, Bart.; the second, Caroline, to Col. Alexander Houstoun, of Clerkington; the third, Isabella, to a wealthy French nobleman, Baron de Veauce; the fourth, Mary Jane, to Sir James Matheson, Bart.; the fifth died at the age of 18. The eldest son [229] "Spencer" is a General officer. There were several other sons; George Ramsay, who entered the army, Michael Henry and Col. Charles Perceval.

I can recall the time also when Lady Dalhousie and Mrs. Sheppard, of Woodfield, would come to Spencer Wood, in their botanizing excursions. Spencer Wood, later on, was also a favorite resort of Lady Aylmer, in 1832, whilst at an earlier period, the Duke of Richmond's family, in 1818, used to come and ramble about the grounds, lunching there with all the junior folks.

This charming and beloved lady, my old friend, Ann Perceval, died at Lewes Castle, Stornaway. Scotland, the seat of her son in law, Sir James Matheson, on the 23rd Nov., 1876, most deservedly regretted, at the very advanced age of eighty-seven years."—24 January, 1877.

Spencer Wood garden is described in London's Encyclopedia of Gardening, page 341, and also in the Gardener's Magazine for 1837, at page 467. Its ornate style of culture, which made it a show-place for all strangers visiting Quebec, was mainly due to the scientific and tasty arrangements of an eminent landscape gardener, M. P. Lowe, [230] now in charge of the Cataraqui conservatories.

Well can we recall the time when this lordly demesne extended from Wolfefield, adjoining Marchmont, to the meandering Belle-Borne brook, which glides past the porter's lodge at Woodfield, due west, the historic stream Ruisseau Saint Denis, up which clambered the British hero, Wolfe, to conquer or die, intersecting it at Thornhill. It was then a splendid old seat of more than one hundred acres, a fit residence for the proudest nobleman England might send us as Viceroy—enclosed east and west between two streamlets, hidden from the highway by a dense growth of oak, maple, dark pines and firs—the forest primeval—letting in here and there the light of heaven on its labyrinthine avenues; a most striking landscape, blending the sombre verdure of its hoary trees with the soft tints of its velvety sloping lawn, fit for a ducal palace. An elfish plot of a flower garden, alas! how much dwarfed, then stood in rear of the dwelling to the north, it once enjoyed the privilege of attracting many eyes. It had also an extensive and well-kept fruit and vegetable garden, enlivened with flower beds, the centre of which was adorned with the loveliest possible circular fount in white marble, supplied with the crystal element from the Belle-Borne rill by a hidden aqueduct; conservatories, graperies, peach and forcing houses, pavilions picturesquely hung over the yawning precipice on two headlands, one looking towards Sillery, the other towards the Island of Orleans, the scene of many a cosy tea-party; bowers, rustic chairs perdues among the groves, a superb bowling green and archery grounds. The mansion itself contained an exquisite collection of paintings from old masters, a well- selected library of rare and standard works, illuminated Roman missals, rich portfolios with curious etchings, marble busts, quaint statuettes, medals and medallions, objets de vertu purchased by the millionaire proprietor during a four years' residence in Italy, France and Germany. Such we remember Spencer Wood in its palmiest days, when it was the ornate home of a man of taste, the late Henry Atkinson, Esquire, the President of the Horticultural Society of Quebec.

May I be pardoned, for lingering lovingly on this old spot, recalling "childhood scenes" of one dear to me and mine!

The following, written by a valued old friend of Mr. Atkinson, is dated Brighton, England:

On a sketch of Spencer Wood sent to the writer (Miss A.), with her album, Oct. 18, 1848.

Dear Spencer Wood! What a group of pleasing remembrances are clustered around me as I gaze upon this visible image and type of thee. Thy classic lawn, with its antiquated oaks and solemn pines; thy wood- crowned cliffs and promontories, with the sparkling sunlight reflected on a thousand sheaves from the broad surface of Jacques Cartier's river, hundreds of feet below. And then the quiet repose of thy ample mansion, with its stores of art and models of taste within and without; thy forest shades, thy gardens, thy flowers and thy fruit. But most of all, thy gay and happy inmates, their glad and joyous hearts beating with generous emotions, and their countenances brightened with the welcome smile. Ah! how I seem to hear, as in time past I have heard, their lively prattle, or their merry laugh echoing across the lawn, or through the flower garden, or along the winding paths down the steep slope to the pavilion.

And can it be that I shall never again realize these happy scenes! I would fain hope otherwise; but life is a changeful drama, and time fleeting; this world is not our home.

Adieu, then, dear friends. May God's blessing ever rest upon you; and should it be His providence that we meet not again here, may we all so use His dealings with us in this disciplinary state that we may be sure to meet.

Brighton, Dec. 20th. In memory of some pleasant moments.

E. E. DOUGLASS.

In the beginning of the century Spencer Wood, as previously stated, was known as Powell Place. His Excellency Sir James Henry Craig spent there the summers of 1808-9-10. Even the healthy air of Powell Place failed to cure him of gout and dropsy. A curious letter from Sir James to his secretary and charge d'affaires in London, H. W. Ryland, Esquire, dated "Powell Place, 6th August, 1810," has been, among others, preserved by the historian Robert Christie. It alludes in rather unparliamentary language to the coup d'etat which had on the 19th March, 1810, consigned to a Quebec dungeon three of the most prominent members of the Legislature, Messrs. Bedard, Taschereau and Blanchet, together with Mr. Lefrancois, the printer of the Canadien newspaper, for certain comments in that journal on Sir James' colonial policy. Sir James had spent the greatest part of his life in the army, actively battling against France; a Frenchman for him was a traditional enemy. This unfortunate idea seems more than once to have inspired his colonial policy with regard to the descendants of Frenchmen whom he ruled.

Born at Gibraltar, of Scotch parents, James Henry Craig entered the English service in 1763 at the age of 15, and on many occasions distinguished himself by his courage. During the war of the American revolution he served in Canada, and was present at the unfortunate affair of Saratoga.

SIR JAMES CRAIG TO MR. RYLAND.

QUEBEC, Powell Place, 6th August, 1810.

My Dear Ryland,—Till I took my pen in my hand I thought I had a great deal to say to you, and now I am mostly at a loss for a subject. * * * We have remained very quiet; whatever is going on is silently. I have no reason to think, however, that any change has taken place in the public mind; that I believe remains in the same state. Bishop Plessis, on the return from his tour, acknowledged to me that he had reason to think that some of his cures had not behaved quite as they ought to have done; he is now finishing the remainder of his visitations.

Blanchette and Taschereau are both released on account of ill-health; the former is gone to Kamouraska to bathe, the latter was only let out a few days ago. He sent to the Chief Justice (Sewell) to ask if he would allow him to call on him, who answered, by all means. The Chief Justice is convinced he is perfectly converted. He assured him that he felt it to be his duty to take any public occasion, by any act whatever that he could point out, to show his contrition and the sense he entertained of his former conduct.

He told the Chief Justice in conversation that Blanchette came and consulted him on the subject of publishing the paper, "Prenez vous par le bout du nez," and that having agreed that it would be very improper that it should appear, they went to Bedard, between whom and Blanchette there were very high words on the occasion. I know not what Panet is about, I have never heard one word of or about him. In short, I really have nothing to tell you, nor do I imagine that I shall have, till I hear from you. You may suppose how anxious I shall be till that takes place. We have fixed the time for about the 10th September; till then I shall not come to any final resolution with respect to the bringing the three delinquents to trial or not. I am, however, inclined to avoid it, so is the B——; the C. J. is rather, I think, inclined to the other side, though aware of the inconvenience that may arise from it. Blanchette and Taschereau have both, in the most unequivocal terms, acknowledged the criminality of their conduct, and it will be hinted that if Bedard will do the same it may be all that will be required of them; at present his language is that he has done nothing wrong, and that he does not care how long he is kept in prison.

We have begun upon the road to the townships (the Craig Road, through the Eastern Townships) * * * We shall get money enough, especially as we hope to finish it at a third of what it would have cost if we would have employed the country people. (It was made by soldiers.)

The scoundrels of the Lower Town have begun their clamour already, and I should scarcely be surprised if the House should ask, when they meet, by what authority I have cut a road without their permission. The road begins at St. Giles and will end at the township of Shipton.

Yours most faithfully,

(Signed,) J. H. CRAIG.

(History of Canada, Christie, vol. VI., p. 128.)

Very different, and we hope more correct, views are now promulgated on colonial matters from Powell Place.

If Sir James, wincing under bodily pain, could write angry letters, there were occasions on which the "rank and fashion" of the city received from him the sweetest epistles imaginable. The 10th of August of each year (his birthday, perhaps) as he informs us in another letter, was sacred to rustic enjoyment, conviviality and the exchange of usual courtesies, which none knew better how to dispense than the sturdy old soldier.

The English traveller, John Lambert, thus notices it in his interesting narrative in 1808:—"Sir James Craig resided in summer at a country house about four or five miles from Quebec, and went to town every morning to transact business. This residence is called Powell Place, and is delightfully situated in a neat plantation on the border of the bank which overlooks the St. Lawrence, not far from the spot where General Wolfe landed and ascended to the heights of Abraham. Sir James gave a splendid breakfast al fresco at this place in 1809 to all the principal inhabitants of Quebec, and the following day he allowed his servants and their acquaintances to partake of a similar entertainment at his expense."—(Lambert's Travels, 1808, p. 310.)

Spencer Wood has ever been a favourite resort for our Governors—Sir James Craig—Lord Elgin—Sir Edmund Walker Head—Lord Monk—Lord Lisgar, and Lord Dufferin on his arrival in 1872, none prized it so highly, none rendered it more attractive than the Earl of Elgin. Of his fetes champetres, recherches dinners, chateau balls, a pleasant remembrance still lingers in the memory of many Quebecers and others. Several circumstances added to the charms and comfort of Spencer Wood in his day. On one side of St. Louis Road stood the gubernatorial residence, on the opposite side at Thornhill, dwelt the Prime Minister, Sir Francis Hincks. Over the vice-regal "walnuts and wine," how many knotty state questions have been discussed, how many despatches settled, how many political points adjusted in the stormy days which saw the abolition of the Seignioral Tenure and Clergy Reserves. At one of his brilliant postprandial speeches,—Lord Elgin was much happier at this style of oratory than his successor, Sir Edmund Head,—the noble Earl is reported to have said, alluding to Spencer Wood, "Not only would I spend here the rest of my life, but after my death, I should like my bones to rest in this beautiful spot;" and still China and India had other scenes, other triumphs, and his Sovereign, other rewards for the successful statesman.

Sir Edmund Head's sojourn at Spencer Wood was marked by a grievous family bereavement; his only son, a promising youth of nineteen summers, was, in 1858, accidentally drowned in the St. Maurice, at Three Rivers, while bathing. This domestic affliction threw a pall over the remainder of the existence of His Excellency, already darkened by bodily disease. Seclusion and quiet were desirable to him.

A small private gate still exists at Spencer Grange, which at the request of the sorrowful father was opened through the adjoining property with the permission of the proprietor. Each week His Excellency, with his amiable lady, stealing a few moments from the burthen of affairs of State, would thus walk through unobserved to drop a silent tear on the green grave at Mount Hermon, in which were entombed all the hopes of a noble house. On the 12th March, 1860, on a wintry evening, whilst the castle was a blaze of light and powdered footmen hurried through its sounding corridors, to relieve of their fur coats and mufflers His Excellency's guests asked at a state dinner that night—Sir John A. Macdonald, Sir Geo. E. Cartier, Mr. Pennefather and others—the alarm of fire was sounded, and in a couple of hours, of the magnificent pile a few charred ruins only remained. There was no State dinner that night.

One of the last acts of the Ministry in retiring in 1861, was the signing of the contract to rebuild Spencer Wood. The appropriation was a very niggardly one, in view of the size of the structure required as a vice- regal residence. All meretricious ornaments in the design were of course left out. A square building, two hundred feet by fifty, was erected with the main entrance, in rear, on the site of the former lovely flower garden. The location of the entrance and consequent sacrifice of the flower garden for a court, left the river front of the dwelling for the private use of the inmates of the Chateau by excluding the public. Lord Monk, the new Governor-General, took possession of the new mansion and had a plantation of fir and other trees added to conceal the east end from public gaze. Many happy days were spent at Spencer Wood by His Lordship and family, whose private secretary, Denis Godley, Esq., occupied the picturesque cottage "Bagatelle," facing the Holland Road, on the Spencer Grange property. If illustrious names on the Spencer Wood Visitor's Register could enhance the interest the place may possess, foremost, one might point to H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, visiting in 1860 the site probably more than once surveyed and admired, in 1791-4, by his grand-father, Prince Edward, Duke of Kent, in his drives round Quebec, with the fascinating Baroness de St. Laurent. Conspicuous among all those familiar with the portals of Spencer Wood, may be mentioned other Royal Princes—the Duke of Edinburgh and Prince Arthur, Princess Louise, Prince Leopold; with Dukes and Earls—the Duke of Newcastle, Manchester, Buckingham, Argyll, Athol. Sutherland, Prince Napoleon, Generals Grant, Sherman, &c.

Since Confederation, Spencer Wood has been successively tenanted by Sir. N. F. Belleau, Lieutenant-Governor Caron, Lieutenant-Governor Letellier de St. Just, and Lieutenant-Governor Robitaille, the present occupant of the seat.

To the late Lieut.-Governor Letellier is due the initiation of the soirees litteraires, which united under his hospitable roof the literary talent of the Ancient Capital, and his successor, Lieut.-Governor Robitaille, not only followed this enlightened course, but also added soirees musicales and artistiques.

Spencer Wood was not included in the schedule and division of property handed over by the Dominion Government to the Province of Quebec—it was, however, about that time presented as a gift to our province, solely as a gubernatorial residence—as such to be held, and consequently cannot be sold by the Government of the Province of Quebec.

HENRY WATSON POWELL was commissioned a Lieutenant in the 46th Foot, March 10th, 1753. He was promoted to a captaincy in the 2nd Battalion of the 11th Foot, September 2nd, 1756, but upon that battalion's being detached from the 11th and renumbered in 1758, his regimental number became the 64th. He served in the expedition against the French West India Islands in 1759, and went with his regiment to America in 1768. June 2nd, 1770, he became Major of the 38th Foot, and July 23rd, 1771, Lieutenant-Colonel of the 53rd Foot, which was then stationed at Minorca. He accompanied his corps to Canada in the spring of 1776, and on June 10th of that year, a few days after his arrival, Sir Guy Carleton appointed him a Brigadier General and assigned him to the 2nd Brigade, which consisted of the 34th, 53rd and 20th Regiments. When Gen. Gordon's brigade was broken up on the death of that officer, August 1st, 1776, the 62nd was added to Powell's brigade, and in November of that year, upon General Nesbit's death, Gen. Powell was transferred to the command of the 1st Brigade, consisting of the 9th, 47th, 31st and 21st Regiments, save that the 53rd was substituted for the 21st. Gen. Powell served under Gen. Carleton in 1776, and the next year accompanied Burgoyne. In organizing the troops for Burgoyne's expedition in 1777, Gen. Powell was assigned to the 2nd Brigade, consisting of the 20th, 21st and 62nd Regiments. The 62nd was left at Ticonderoga, however with Prince Frederick's (German) Regiment and a portion of Captain Borthwick's company of the Royal Artillery July 5th when the Americans evacuated that fort, and August 10th Gen. Powell was sent back to assume command of that post, his regiment, the 53rd, being also ordered to relieve the 62nd. Though he successfully repelled the American Col. Brown's attack on Ticonderoga and for four days maintained a gallant defence, the enemy retreating September 22nd, yet inasmuch as a considerable part of four companies of the 53rd were surprised in the old French lines and at the outposts by the American advance, and a number of American Prisoners were recaptured, the affair was not one of unmixed satisfaction to either side.

When the toils of adversity began to tighten round Burgoyne in October Gen. Powell was sorely puzzled as to his duty for though he was out of Sir Guy Carleton's military jurisdiction yet that officer was accessible while Burgoyne, his own proper commander was not. The following letter, there fore, written by Sir Guy to Gen. Powell, after Burgoyne's surrender, though in ignorance of that event, throws some light upon the awkwardness of Powell's situation. The letter reads as follows:—

QUEBEC, the 20th October, 1777.

SIR,—I have this moment received your letter of the 19th instant, wherein you demand orders from me for your guidance in your present emergency. It is impossible that I should give orders to you, not alone because the post you are in has been taken out of my command, but the distance is too great for my being able to judge of the situation of Gen Burgoyne or of the exigencies of the place you are at which must depend upon the other, as if you were subject to my commands ignorant as I am of the strength or weakness of your post, I should under all the other circumstances think it best for His Majesty's service to suffer you to act by your own judgment, so you will there fore easily see the greater necessity there is as matters are for my leaving you to pursue such steps, as shall be suggested to you by your own prudence and reason. I can only recommend to you not to balance between two opposite measures, whereby you may be disabled from following the one or the other with advantage but that either you prepare, with vigour to put to place in such a situation as to be able to make the longest and most resolute defence or that you prepare in time to abandon it with all the stores while your retreat may be certain. Your own sense will tell you that this latter would be a most pernicious measure if there be still hopes of General Burgoyne coming to your post.

I am, sir, &c.

Though Sir Guy did not feel at liberty to issue orders to Gen. Powell yet he immediately despatched Gen. Maclean with the 31st regiment, the Royal Highland Emigrants and a detachment of artillery with four guns to take post and entrench at Chimney Point, near Crown Point, in order to keep up communication with Ticonderoga. Two or three weeks later Gen. Powell abandoned Ticonderoga and withdrew to Canada. After a short tarry at St. John's he was posted at Montreal, where he commanded during the winter of 1777-8. Then he was stationed at St John's and in the autumn of 1780, after Lieut.-Colonel Bolton's unfortunate loss on Lake Ontario, we find him in command of the upper posts with his headquarters at Niagara. By Gen. Haldimand's order of October 21st, 1782, Brig.-Gen. Maclean was assigned to the command of the upper posts, and Gen. Powell was appointed commandant of Quebec. How long he remained at Quebec has not been ascertained, but in 1780 he bought a fine estate on the St. Lewis Road, about two and a half miles from Quebec to which he gave the name of Powell Place and which he did not dispose of until 1796, when he sold it to Francis Lehoullier. This place was subsequently known as Spencer Wood, but it has since been divided, the larger portion being still known as Spencer Wood, and serving as the residence of the Lieutenant-Governor, while the smaller portion consisting of about forty acres and known as Spencer Grange, belongs to and is the property of J. M. LeMoine, President of the Literary and Historical Society of Quebec.

Gen. Powell became a Colonel in the army February 19th, 1779; a Major General, November 20th, 1782; Colonel of the 69th Foot, April 16th, 1792; Colonel of the 15th Foot, June 20th, 1794 (not April 20th, as printed in Burgoyne's Orderly Book); A Lieutenant-General, May 3rd, 1796, and a General, January 1st, 1801. He died at an advanced age at Lyme, England, July 14th, 1814.

Army Lists—Gentleman's Magazine, vol. 84, p. 190; Burgoyne's Orderly Book, p. 10; Hadden's Journal; Haldimand Papers; LeMoine's Maple Leaves, 3rd series; J. M. LeMoine's Title Deeds." (From Gen. Horatio Rogers' Notes on HADDEN'S JOURNAL of Burgoyne's Campaign, 1776.)

A FETE CHAMPETRE AT POWELL PLACE.

(From the French of P. A. DeGaspe.)

"At half-past eight A.M., on a bright August morning (I say a bright one, for such had lighted up this welcome fete champetre during three consecutive years), the elite of the Quebec beau monde left the city to attend Sir James Craig's kind invitation. Once opposite Powell Place (now Spencer Wood) the guests left their vehicles on the main road, and plunged into a dense forest, following a serpentine avenue which led to a delightful cottage in full view of the majestic St. Lawrence; the river here appears to flow past amidst luxuriant green bowers which line its banks. Small tables for four, for six, for eight guests are laid out facing the cottage, on a platform of planed deals—this will shortly serve as a dancing floor al fresco; as the guests successively arrive, they form in parties to partake of a dejeuner en famille. I say en famille, for an aide-de-camp and a few waiters excepted, no one interferes with the small groups clubbed together to enjoy their early repast, of which cold meat, radishes, bread, tea and coffee form the staples. Those whose appetites are appeased make room for new comers, and amuse themselves strolling under the shade of trees. At ten the cloth is removed; the company are all on the qui vive. The cottage, like the enchanted castle in the Opera of Zemira and Azor, only awaits the magic touch of a fairy; a few minutes elapse, and the chief entrance is thrown open; Little King Craig followed by a brilliant staff, enters. Simultaneously an invisible orchestra, located high amidst the dense foliage of large trees, strikes up "God Save the King." All stand uncovered, in solemn silence, in token of respect to the national anthem of Great Britain.

"The magnates press forward to pay their respects to His Excellency Those who do not intend to "trip the light fantastic toe" take seats on the platform where his Excellency sits in state; an A.D.C. calls out, gentlemen, take your partners, and the dance begins.

"Close on sixty winters have run by since that day, when I, indefatigable dancer, figured in a country dance of thirty couples. My footsteps, which now seem to me like lead, scarcely then left a trace behind them. All the young hearts who enlivened this gay meeting of other days are mouldering in their tombs, even she, the most beautiful of them all, la belle des belles—she, the partner of my joys and of my sorrows—she who on that day accepted in the circling dance, for the first time, this hand, which two years after was to lead her to the hymeneal altar—yes, even she has been swept away by the tide of death. [231] May not I also say, with Ossian, 'Why art thou sad, son of Fingal! Why grows the cloud of thy soul! the sons of future years shall pass away, another race shall arise! The people are like the waves of the ocean, like the leaves of woody Morven—they pass away in the rustling blast, and other leaves lift their green heads on high.'

"After all, why, indeed, yield up my soul in sadness? The children of the coming generation will pass rapidly, and a new one will take its place! Men are like the surges of the ocean, they resemble the leaves which hang over the groves of my manor, autumnal storms cause them to fall, but new and equally green ones each spring replace the fallen ones. Why should I sorrow? Eighty-six children, grand-children, and great-grand-children, will mourn the fell of the old oak when the breach of the Almighty shall smite it. Should I have the good fortune to find mercy before the Sovereign Judge: should it be vouchsafed to me to meet again the angel of virtue who cheered the few happy days I passed in this vale of sorrow, we will both pray together for the numerous progeny we left behind us. But let us revert to the merry meeting previously alluded to. It is half-past two in the afternoon, we are gaily going through the figures of a country-dance, 'Speed the plough' perhaps, when the music stops short, everyone is taken aback, and wonders at the cause of interruption. The arrival of two prelates, Bishop Plessis and Bishop Mountain, gave us the solution of the enigma; an aide-de-camp had motioned to the bandmaster to stop on noticing the entrance of the two high dignitaries of the respective churches. The dance was interrupted whilst they were there, and was resumed on their departure. Sir James had introduced this point of etiquette from the respect he entertained for their persons.

"At three the loud sound of a hunters horn is heard in the distance; all follow His Excellency in a path cut through the then virgin forest of Powell Place. Some of the guests from the length of the walk, began to think that Sir James had intended those who had not danced to take a "constitutional" before dinner, when, on rounding an angle a huge table, canopied with green boughs, groaning under the weight of dishes, struck on their view—a grateful oasis in the desert. Monsieur Petit, the chef de cuisine, had surpassed himself, like Vatel, I imagine he would have committed suicide had he failed to achieve the triumph by which he intended to elicit our praise. Nothing could exceed in magnificence, in sumptuousness this repast—such was the opinion not only of Canadians, for whom such displays were new, but also of the European guests, though there was a slight drawback to the perfect enjoyment of the dishes—the materials which composed them we could not recognize, so great was the artistic skill, so wonderful the manipulations of Monsieur Petit, the French cook.

"The Bishops left about half an hour after dinner, when dancing was resumed with an increasing ardor, but the cruel mammas were getting concerned respecting certain sentimental walks which the daughters were enjoying after sunset. They ordered them home, if not with their menacing attitude with which the goddess Calypso is said to have spoken to her nymphs, at least with frowns; so said the gay young cavaliers. By nine o'clock, all had re-entered Quebec."

SPENCER GRANGE.

"Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books"—Thomson

When Spencer Wood became the gubernatorial residence, its owner (the late Hy. Atkinson) reserved the smaller half, Spencer Grange, some forty acres, divided off by a high brick wall and fence, and terminating to the east in a river frontage of one acre. A small latticed bower facing the St. Lawrence overhangs the cliff, close to where the Belle Borne rill—nearly dry during the summer months—rushes down the bank to Spencer Cove, in spring and autumn,—a ribbon of fleecy whiteness. To the south, it is bounded by Woodfield, and reaches to the north at a point opposite the road called Stuart's road which intersects Holland farm, leading from the St. Lewis to the Ste. Foye highway. The English landscape style was adopted in the laying out of the flower garden and grounds; some majestic old trees were left here and there through the lawns; three clumps of maple and red oak in the centre of the meadows to the west of the house grouped for effect; fences, carefully hidden away in the surrounding copses; hedges, buildings, walks and trees brought in here and there to harmonize with the eye and furnish on a few acres a perfect epitome of a woodland scene. The whole place is girt round by a zone of tall pine, beech, maple and red oaks, whose deep green foliage, when lit up by the rays of the setting or rising sun, assume tints of most dazzling brightness,—emerald wreaths dipped into molten gold-overhanging under a leafy arcade, a rustic walk, which zigzags round the property, following to the southwest the many windings of the Belle Borne streamlet. This sylvan region most congenial to the tastes of a naturalist, echoes in spring and summer with the ever-varying and wild minstrelsy of the robin, the veery, the songsparrow, the red-start, the hermit-thrush, the red-eyed flycatcher and other feathered choristers, while the golden-winged woodpecker or rain fowl, heralds at dawn the coming rain of the morrow, and some crows, rendered saucy by protection, strut through the sprouting corn, in their sable cassocks, like worldly clergymen computing their tythes. On the aforesaid walk, once trodden over by the prince of American naturalists, the great Audubon, whilst on a visit to Mr. Atkinson at Spencer Wood, was conferred the name of _Audubon Avenue_, by his Sillery disciple, the author of the _Birds of Canada. The grand river views of Spencer Wood, are replaced by a woodland scenery, sure to please the eye of any man of cultivated taste, accustomed to the park-like appearance of the south of England. In front of the mansion, close to the lawn, stands the noblest elm tree of Sillery (_Ulmus Americanus_), leafy to its very roots. Here, amidst literature and flowers, after leaving Spencer Wood, lived for several years Henry Atkinson, a name in those regions once synonymous with ornamental gardens and flowers. Graperies, conservatories, an orchid house soon sprung up under his hand at this spot, larger than Spencer Wood had ever boasted of in its palmiest days, since 1860, it is the seat of J. M. LeMoine.

The advent in Quebec of the great Audubon is heralded thus in the Quebec Gazette of the 23rd September, 1842:—

"To the Editor of the Quebec Gazette"

SIR,—It does not appear to be known to the Quebec public that one of the most distinguished men of the present age is now on a visit to our city—John James Audubon, the author of the magnificent work entitled 'Ornithological Biography; or an Account of the Habits of the Birds of America, etc.' I understand that Mr. Audubon devoted nearly fifty years of his life to this interesting subject, and has placed before the world, at a cost of L27,000 sterling, the whole family of the feathered tribe, giving to each its natural size, and coloured to the very life. Mr. Audubon has brought one copy [232] of his work with him, let as hope it may be secured by our citizens. It is his first visit to Quebec, the splendid scenery of which has induced him to prolong his stay a few days. His present portfolio contains several beautiful specimens of the quadrupeds of America, now in course of publication by him as a companion to the above splendid work, which only requires to be seen to ensure him a numerous list of subscribers in this neighborhood.

"In order to afford Mr. Audubon every facility in the pursuit of his arduous and interesting undertaking, the President of the United States and the Commander-in-Chief, General Winfield Scott, have furnished him the necessary documents to ensure him a cordial reception throughout the Union.

"Mr. Audubon thus speaks of his meeting on the coast of Labrador, a British officer well known to us all in Quebec—"But few days had elapsed, when one morning we saw a vessel making towards our anchorage, with the gallant flag of England waving in the breeze and as she was moored within a cable's length of the Ripley, I soon paid my respects to her commander, Captain Bayfield, of the Royal Navy. The politeness of British naval officers is proverbial, and from the truly frank and cordial reception of this gentleman and his brave companions in arms, I felt more than ever assured of the truth of this opinion. On the Gulnare there was an amiable and talented surgeon, who was a proficient in botany. We afterwards met the vessel in several other harbors.'

"The name of John James Audubon, we should hope, is quote sufficient to ensure him a cordial welcome throughout the British dominions in America, and we sincerely hope that his visit to Quebec may hereafter be a source of pleasing remembrance to him.

"H.

"Quebec, Sept. 23, 1842."

(From the Antiquarian and Numismatic Journal.)

MY VISIT TO SPENCER GRANGE, QUEBEC, IN 1856, THE COUNTRY SEAT OF J. M. LEMOINE.

BY BENJAMIN SULTE, THE HISTORIAN OF "THREE RIVERS."

[Translated from the French.]

One of the greatest attractions for me, says Mr. Sulte, in visiting Spencer Grange, was its museum of Canadian birds, comprising two- thirds of the Feathered tribe of the Dominion, with a fair sprinkling of foreign specimens in the skin, and a collection of birds' eggs. Our friend, long known among Canadian naturalists for his persevering efforts during twenty years to popularize [233] the beautiful and instructive study of ornithology, had evidently met with more than one ally—in fact, many sympathizers. I am inclined to think—in his special branch of natural history., Each class of birds, in this apartment, has its corner; judging by the label, its "habitation,", as well as name.

The thrushes and flycatchers of Canada, from their exquisite bright tints or delicate arrow-shaped markings, are particularly conspicuous.

The cinnamon-backed cuckoo must be a graceful minstrel in our green hedges in July, though I am ashamed to admit I never was lucky enough to meet him. The oriole, blue jay, officer-bird, summer red-bird, indigo-bird and golden-winged woodpecker form a group of striking beauty; a most excellent idea, I would say, to thus place in juxtaposition the most gorgeously habited of our feathered choristers for the sake of contrasts.

A succession of drawers contain the nests and eggs, scientifically labelled, of many Canadian species, and of some of the most melodious songsters of France and England; pre-eminent stands the Italian, French and Devonshire nightingale and its eggs. Our time was much too limited to allow us to treasure up all the anecdotes and theories anent birds, their mysterious spring and autumn migrations, their lively memory of places, so agreeably dealt out to us. We cannot, however, entirely omit noticing some curious objects we saw—the tiny nest of a West Indian humming bird male out of a piece of sponge, and he cubiculum of a redheaded woodpecker, with its eggs still in it, scooped out of the decayed heart of a silver birch tree, with the bird's head still peering from the orifice in the bark. Here, as well as in the library, the presentations were numerous: Col. Rhodes was represented by a glossy Saguenay raven. I listened, expecting each moment to hear it, like Poe's nocturnal visitor, "ghostly, grim and ancient," croak out "nevermore!"

The late Hon. Adam Fergusson Blair, once a familiar of Spencer Grange, was remembered by some fine Scotch grouse, ptarmigan and a pair of capercailzie, in splendid feather, brought from Scotland. A good specimen of the silvery gull, shot at Niagara Falls, was a gift from John William McCallum, Esq., now of Melbourne, E.T.—an early friend of our friend, whilst a very rare foreign bird (a Florida or glossy ibis), shot at Grondines, had been contributed by Paul J. Charlton, Esq., a Quebec sportsman. What had brought it so far from home?

At the bead of the grave, omniscient owls, like the foreman of a grand jury, stood a majestic "grand duc," the largest owl of the Pyrenees, resembling much our Virginian species,—a donation from a French savant, Le Frere Ogerien. The owls have ever been to me a deep subject of study, their defiant aspect, thoughtful countenances, in which lurks a soupcon of rapacity, remind me of a mayor and town council bent on imposing new taxes without raising too much of a row.

A gaudy and sleek bird of Paradise had been donated by Miss Caron, of the adjoining chateau. There was also a newly-patented bird- trap, sent by a New York firm, in the days of Boss Tweed, Conolly, Field and other birds of prey I noticed boxes for sparrows to build in, designed by Col W Rhodes. On the floor lay a curious sample of an Old World man-trap, not sent from New York, but direct from England, a terror to poachers and apple stealers, French swords and venomous looking bayonets, of very ancient design, a rusty, long Indian musket barrel together with tibiae and tarsi, labelled 1759-60, presents from H. J. Chouinard, Esq., the owner in 1865 of the site of the battlefield at St. Foye, where stands Le Monument des Braves. A bristling-fretful porcupine, a ferocious-looking lynx, and several well-mounted specimens of game had been donated by McPherson Le Moyne, Esq., the President of the "Montreal Fish and Game Protection Club," also several other contributions from the same.

Who had sent the colossal St. Bernard dog, like another Maida, talking over the lawn, we had not an opportunity of asking. We patted him, all trembling.

The flower garden is laid out in the modern landscape style. Fences carefully concealed, a deep fringe of hard wood trees on one side, a trim lilac hedge on the other, and a plantation of shrubs, roan, barbary, sumac, lilac and young maple. On the side west of the house was observable, next to a rustic seat, in the fork of a white birch, an archaeological monument made with the key-stone of Prescott and Palace Gates when removed by order of the City Corporation, [234] it stands about ten feet in height.

From this spot, spanned by a little rustic bridge, a walk meanders round the property to the west, canopied by a grove of silver birch, oak, beach, pine and maple. Along the serpentine brook, Belle-Borne, now so diminutive, and which, according to the historian Ferland, two centuries ago turned the wheel of a mill below, is visible a dam, creating a small pond in May, June and July, a favorite bathing place, we are told, for the thrushes, robins and other songsters of the adjoining groves. This tiny runlet is fringed with several varieties of ferns, dog-tooth violets and other algae—(From L'Opinion Publique.)

SPENCER OR BAGATELLE COTTAGE.

"We have many little Edens Scattered up and down our dales; We've a hundred pretty hamlets, Nestling in our fruitful vales, Here the sunlight loves to linger, And the summer winds to blow, Here the rosy spring in April, Leapeth laughing from the snow."

On the western corner of the Spencer Grange property, and dependant to it, can be seen from the road, _Bagatelle_—a long, straggling, picturesque cottage, in the Italian style, with trees, rustic seats, walks and a miniature flower-garden round it; a small prospect pavillion opens on the St. Lewis road, furnishing a pretty view of the blue range of mountains to the north; in summer it peeps from under clusters of the green or purple leaves of some luxuriant _Virginian_ creepers—our American ivy—which climb round it. _Bagatelle was generally occupied by an _attache_ of Spencer Wood, in the days of the Earl of Elgin and Sir Edmund W. Head.

Bagatelle is a quiet little nest, where our Canadian Laureate, Frechette, might be tempted to pen an invitation to his brother bard of the city, LeMay, somewhat in the manner of the soft warbler of Albion towards his friend the Revd. P. D. Maurice:

"Where, far from smoke or noise of town, I watch the twilight falling brown All round a careless ordered garden, Close to the ridge of a noble down.

You'll have no scandal while you dine, But honest talk and wholesome wine, And only hear the magpie gossip Garrulous under a roof of pine.

For groves of pine on either hand, To break the blast of winter, stand; And further on the hoary channel Tumbles a breaker on chalk and sand."

The poet has sometimes received as well as sent out poetical invitations. Here is one from Water Savage Landor.

"I entreat you, Alfred Tennyson, Come and share my haunch of venison, I have, too, a bin of claret, Good, but better when you share it. Though 'tis only a small bin There's a stock of it within, And, as sure as I'm a rhymer, Half a butt of Rudesheimer, Come, among the sons of men is none Welcomer than Tennyson?"

THE WOODFIELD OF THE PAST.

"Deambulatio per loca amoena."—Frascatorius

"Unquestionably the most ornate and richly laid-out estate around Quebec is Woodfield, formerly the elegant mansion of the Honorable Wm. Sheppard, afterwards of Fairymead, Drummondville. For many years past it has become the permanent residence of the Gibb family. The horticultural department and conservatory are under the immediate charge of Andrew Torrance, Esq., Mrs. Gibb's brother. His taste is too well known to require any praise, and truly may it be said that the lovers of sweet flowers, trim hedges, and fairy scenery, can easily beguile several hours together in exploring the broad acres of Woodfield, equal in extent to Spencer Wood itself. In the year 1646, the company of New France, under M. de Montmagny, conceded this land, a lot of ground, with a frontage of three arpents, to Jean Bouvart dit Lafortune. Jean Beauvart resold in 1649 to Barthelemy Gaudin, in 1702 this land was possessed by Guillaume Page dit Garey. In 1724, Nicholas de la Nouiller purchased it and sold it in 1731 to Monseigneur Dosquet, Bishop of Samos. In 1762, the seminary, then proprietor of these grounds, conceded to Thomas Ainsley, the portion on which stood the house, built by Bishop Dosquet. Judge Mabane acquired it in 1769, he died in 1792, when his sister Miss. Isabella Mabane purchased it in 1794 and held it until 1805, when the Honorable Matthew Bell purchased it.

Let us hear on this subject one who knows how to describe and embellish a country seat.—

"In the early part of the last century," says the Honorable Wm. Sheppard, "this estate was in the possession of Monseigneur Dosquet, [235] titular Bishop of Samos in partibus infidelum, and he gave it that name after his Episcopal title. He built a substantial stone residence near the brow of the hill, overlooking the St. Lawrence—a one story house—with a high peaked roof, long and narrow, after the mode of building in those days, something in the style of the manor house at Beauport. The name of Samos is now superseded by that of Woodfield, yet it is still in use as applied to the high road passing on its western side, commencing at the termination of the road leading from Quebec in that direction, called the Grand Allee, where it forks into the Samos road and the Chemin Gomin at Spencer Wood. It is not known how long Bishop Dosquet occupied his estate.

"Soon after the cession of Canada to the British Crown, this property passed into the hands of Judge Mabane, [236] by purchase, from the reverend proprietors of the seigniory. Mr. Mabane changed the name to Woodfield, and made extensive alterations to the house, adding to it a second story, giving it by other additions a more imposing appearance from the river, and adding two pavillion wings, connected with the house by corridors. In 1775-6 it was converted into an hospital for American soldiers.

"About the year 1807, the late Honorable Matthew Bell purchased Woodfield from Miss Mabane, the Judge's sister. Mr. Bell occupied the house as a summer dwelling only, and it is not known that he improved the estate to any extent, unless it were the garden, which he enlarged and stocked with choice fruit trees. Previous to the purchase of Mr. Bell, Woodfield was occupied as a dwelling during several years (1795-1802) by Bishop Mountain, the first Protestant Bishop of Quebec. During his occupation he removed a bridge which spanned Bell Borne Brook, with the intention of cutting off communication with Powell Place (Spencer Wood), the neighboring estate, for reasons which it is not now necessary to enter into. The bridge was subsequently restored, by the sons of Sir R. S. Milnes, Governor General, and was known by the name of Pont Bonvoisin.

"In 1816 Woodfield passed into the possession of Mr. William Sheppard, by purchase, from Mr. Bell. Mr. Sheppard improved the house and grounds greatly, erecting vineries and a large conservatory, changing the front of the house so as to look upon a rising lawn of good extent, interspersed with venerable oaks and pine, giving the whole a striking and pleasing aspect. The alteration in the house gave it a very picturesque appearance, as viewed from the foot of the old avenue, backed by sombre pines Mr. Sheppard added to the estate about sixty acres of land on its southern side, it being now bounded by the road leading to St. Michael's Cove. During the alterations made in the house, a leaden foundation plate was discovered, stating that the house was built in 1732, by Bishop Dosquet. This plate was deposited for safe keeping in the Museum of the Literary and Historical Society, where (if still extant) it may be consulted.

"In December 1842, the house was unfortunately destroyed by fire, and with it a valuable library of some three thousand volumes, many of them costly illustrated works on Natural History and other sciences. Shortly afterwards a new house was built on a more desirable and commanding site, in the midst of splendid old oaks and pines, looking down upon an extensive lawn, with the St Lawrence in the middle distance, the view terminated by the South Shore, studded with cheerful-looking cottages. To suit the new site Mr. Sheppard laid out a new approach, placing the entrance somewhat nearer Quebec, than the old avenue, following the roundings of Belle Borne Brook, and leaving it with a striking sweep, among groups of trees, to the house. This approach is one of the greatest attractions of the place. He also built a large conservatory in connection with the house.

"Woodfield changed hands in 1847, having been purchased by Thos. Gibb, Esq., who exchanged it with his brother, Jas. Gibb, Esq., a wealthy merchant of Quebec, president of the Quebec Bank, who added much to the beauty of the estate. [237] Woodfield, with the improvements and embellishments made by the preceding proprietor is one of the most imposing and showy places in Canada, well worthy the encomiums passed upon it by J. Jay Smith, Esq., of Philadelphia, editor of the Horticulturist, who, with a party of friends, visited it in 1857. He says, in that work, 'James Gibb, Esq., at Woodfield, possesses one of the most charming places on the American continent. Thoroughly English in its appurtenances, and leaving out its views of the St. Lawrence, its lawns, trees, and superb garden are together, a model of what may be accomplished. The whole scene was enchanting. The traveller felt as if he was transported to the best parts of England, our whole party uniting in an exclamation of pleasure and gratification. Here is everything in the way of well-kept lawns, graperies and greenhouses, outhouses for every possible contingency of weather, gardens, redolent of the finest flowers, in which bulbs of the best lilies make a conspicuous figure, and every species of fruit that can be grown. The traveller who does not see Woodfield hah not seen Canada in its best trim.'

"The remains of one redoubt [238] are visible near Belle Borne Brook, just above Pont Bonvoisin, or Bridge of Friendship, no doubt intended to guard the approach to Quebec by the footpath from Pointe a Puiseaux. Another large one was on the west side of Samos road, nearly opposite the entrance gate of the new approach to Woodfield, it commanded the Samos road.

"Woodfield once could boast of a well-stocked aviary. The garden, of large extent, has always been celebrated for its fruit and flowers, for the taste in which it was laid out, and for the beautiful prospect obtained from it of the Citadel of Quebec, of the intervening portion of the St. Lawrence, with the numerous shipping in the harbour busily engaged in taking in their return cargoes of the staple article of exportation."

Since this sketch was published in the Maple Leaves for 1865, death has borne heavily on the estimable Gibb family we then knew at Woodfield; and in 1879, Mr. John Lawson Gibb sold the old homestead as a site for an ornate rural cemetery.

"WOODFIELD CONSERVATORY—On 10th Feby, 1869 we availed ourselves of the opportunity afforded to the public of visiting this celebrated conservatory, and feasting our eyes on the immense mass of floral treasures which it contains. Flora's rarest gifts from every quarter of the globe are here in full bloom. The Indian Azaleas are magnificent beyond description—the one near the entrance called 'Criterion" is exquisitely beautiful, Roi Leopold, purpurea and alba are also very handsome. The Dielytra, or Bleeding Heart, is chaste and beautiful the Joy plant (Chorozema) from the Swan River, struck us as particularly interesting, the colours of the flower are so harmoniously blended, the Golden-leaved Geranium (Cloth of Gold)—well worthy the name, with intense scarlet flowers, is very pretty Numerous Camelias of every shade and colour, these we think may well be called the Queen of winter flowers rivalling in beauty the famous "rose." The Cinerarias and Cape cowslips are very fine, and so are the Acacias Many beautiful and interesting Ferns, the most remarkable being the elks-horn, walking fern, hearts-tongue, maiden-hair and silver- braken."—Morning Chronicle.

SOUS LES BOIS.

This country seat, two miles from the city limits, stands in view of Pointe a Puiseaux, at Sillery, exactly fronting the mouth of the Etchemin River Imagine a roomy, substantial, one story cottage equally well protected in winter against the piercing north, east and west winds, surrounded by large oaks and pines to temper the rays of an August sun, and through whose foliage the cool river breeze murmurs in the vernal season, wafting pleasure and health to the inmates Add one of those unrivalled river landscapes, peculiar to Sillery, well cultivated fruit gardens, pastures, meadows, and lawns intersected by a long curving avenue, fringed with single trees at times, at others tastefully concealed in a clump of evergreens, and leading to the house by a circuitous approach, which hides the mansion until you are a few feet of it Place in it a toiling professional man, eager, after a dusty summer day's work in St Peter street, to breathe the coolness and fragrance of his rustic homestead, and enjoy the presence of his household gods, again, add to it the conviction in his heart that country life has increased the span of his existence by twenty years, and you have a faint idea of one of our many Canadian homes, of Sous les Bois the former residence of Errol Boyd Lindsay, Esq., one of the few remaining Quebecers who can recall the festivities of Powell Place, when Sir James Craig flourished there in 1809.

In 1870, Sous les Bois was disposed of for educational purposes. The flourishing Jesus Marie Academy, with its shiny dome and lofty walls, looms out in the very centre of the demesne The Lindsay manor, at present, is the hospitable lodge of the devoted and talented almoner of the Convent, Rev. Abbe Octave Audette.

SILLERY HOUSE.

This handsome dwelling, is situated at the foot of the Cape, close to the Jesuits' old house, on a line with the river: it stands in the centre of an extensive garden, with here and there some large forest trees interspersed.

The residence was built a few years back by the late John Sharples, Esquire, of the firm of Sharples & Co., whose vast timber coves are in view from Sillery house.

ST. MICHAEL'S CHURCH, SILLERY

"A rural chapel neatly dress'd, In covert like a little nest; And thither young and old repair This Sabbath day, for praise and prayer." —The White Doe of Rylstone.

St. Michael's Church was built by some spirited parishioners, in front of Mount Hermon Cemetery; a not inappropriate monument on their part to the memory of the ancient and worthy patron of the parish. St. Michael's Church was weekly honoured by the attendance of the Sovereign's representative and suite when inhabiting Spencer Wood; and on fine summer days by the rank and fashion of the neighbouring metropolis. It is a handsome cut-stone church, in the Gothic style. The incumbent for many years has been the Rev. Anthony A. Von Iffland.

This neat Gothic structure was erected in 1854, at a cost of $12,400, the proceeds of the munificent donations of several members of its congregation and others. The ground on which it stands was presented, as a gift, by Mrs. Jas. Morrin. Several handsome stained-glass windows, representing scriptural scenes, have been recently added. We read, amongst others, the following names on the list of subscribers to the foundation of the chapel, parsonage and school-house:—

Sir Edmund Head Lord Monck The Lord Bishop Mountain Colonel Rhodes Henry Lemesurier Denis Godley Ed. Burstall Charles E. Levey Jos. B. Forsyth Captain Retallack Captain Pemberton Colonel Boomer J. Walker E. Jackson F. H. Andrews Miss Mountain D. D. Young C. N. Montizambert Miss Cochran Rev. A. Mountain Mrs. Carroll F. Burroughs W. F. Wood Robert Hamilton Wm. Petry Honorable W. Walker Mrs. J. Gibb W. Price Michael Stevenson Major H. W. Campbell T. K. Ramsay Mrs. Helmuth Okill Stuart Lieut.-Colonel Mountain John Jordan Miss Guerout Hon. Henry Black G. B. Symes & Co. J. F. Taylor Mrs. Montizambert C. Coker G. Alford Mrs. Forsyth H. S. Scott. N. H. Bowen G. Hall Mrs. G. R. Mountain Charles Hamilton J. K. Boswell James Gibb Rich Tremain T. G. Penny J. H. Oakes Miss Taylor W. Drum Mrs. Woodbury Dr. Boswell W. Herring Miss George Charles Wilson John Giles Charles O'Neill Preston Copeman Thomas Nelson Society for the Promotion Thomas Beckett Barthy W. Goff of Christian Knowledge

Through the aid and efforts of the late Charles E. Levey, Esq., of Cataracoui, a handsome organ was subscribed for in England, and now graces St. Michael's Chapel.

MOUNT HERMON

A SPOT DEAR TO QUEBECERS

Oh, Hermon! oft I wander o'er, Thy silent records of the past, In fancy, when the storm and roar Of icy winter holds thee fast, But, when the gentle spring-time tells 'Tis time to rove amid the flow'rs, I love to walk amid thy dells, And dream once more of happy hours.

All seems a dream! thy lovely slopes, O'ershadowed with primeval trees, Are rich with many blighted hopes, And ceaseless tears, He only sees What broken hearts, and scatter'd homes, And grief of mourners ne'er since met, One pictures by these solemn tombs, This scene of parting and regret!

Bless'd spot! though long, long years ago That loving one was buried here, My soul still ever seeks to know When once again we shall be near! A day ne'er pass'd in foreign climes, At home, or on the restless sea, But I have sought thee many times, Oh, Hermon! ever dear to me. S. B. F.

In this neighbourhood is situated Mount Hermon Cemetery. It is about three miles from Quebec, on the south side of the St. Lewis road, and slopes irregularly, but beautifully, down the cliff which overhangs the St. Lawrence. It is thirty two acres in extent, and the grounds were tastefully laid out by the late Major Douglas, U. S. Engineers, whose taste and skill had been previously shown in the design of Greenwood Cemetery, near New York. A carriage drive, upwards of two miles in extent, affords access to all parts of the grounds, and has been so arranged as to afford the most perfect view of the scenery. The visitor, after driving over the smooth lawn-like open surface, finds himself suddenly transferred by a turn of the road into a dark avenue of stately forest trees, from which he emerges to see the broad St. Lawrence almost beneath him, with the city of Quebec and the beautiful slopes of Point Levi in the distance.

Many beautiful monuments now adorn the grounds, some of which are from Montreal and some from Scotland; but the great majority are the productions of Mr. Felix Morgan, of Quebec, and do credit to his taste and skill. Many of them are beautiful and costly structures of Italian marble. The Aberdeen and Peterhead granite is much used at present for monuments to the departed.

A neat gothic lodge at the entrance of the grounds contains the office and residence of the superintendent. In the former, a complete plan of the grounds is kept, every separate grave being marked upon it with its appropriate number, so that at any future time, on consulting it, the exact spot of interment can be ascertained, and the Register which is also kept, affords information respecting the places of birth, age, and date of death.

There are few sites round Quebec more attractive to visit, especially during the month of September, than the last abode of the departed, crowning the green banks of the St. Lawrence at Sillery—the Cemetery of Mount Hermon. Apart from possessing some of the most picturesque scenery in America, this spot borrows from the glories of autumn tints of a fairy brightness. In providing for the repose of the dead, the citizens of all denominations seemed to have vied to surpass one another. Scarcely had the skilful designer, Major Douglas, U.S.E., completed the laying out of the Mount Hermon grounds, when a strong desire was manifested in all quarters to do away with intra mural burials. In a very short time, the Roman Catholics had selected as a cemetery the lovely old seat of the late Mr. Justice P. Panet, on the banks of the St. Charles, whilst a few years later the shady groves of Belmont, on the Ste. Foye road, were required for a similar object. The ornamentation of a necropolis must naturally be a work of time, trees do not spring up in one summer, nor do lawns clothe themselves with a soft, green velvety surface in one season, and if the flowers in Mount Hermon are so beautiful and so well attended to, the secret in a measure possibly rests with the landscape gardener located at the entrance, and who professes to furnish flowers for the adornment of cemetery lots, and to plant and keep them fresh during the summer. The St. Charles, St. Patrick and Belmont Cemeteries, which do not enjoy in the same measure these facilities, cannot be expected to possess all the rustic adornments of their elder brother. One may safely predict that ere many summers go by, our public cemeteries, by their natural beauty, are likely to attract crowds of strangers, as Greenwood and Mount Auburn do in the States. Chaste monumental marbles, on which can be detected the chisel of English, Scotch and Canadian artists, are at present noticeable all over the grounds, tastefully laid out and smiling parterres of annuals and perennials throw a grateful fragrance over the tomb where sleeps mayhap a beloved parent, a kind sister, an affectionate brother, a true friend, a faithful lover. How forcibly all this was brought to our minds recently on strolling through the shady walks of Mount Hermon. Under the umbrageous trees, perfumed by roses and lilies, tombs, [239] silent, innumerable tombs on all sides, on marble, the names of friends, kindred, acquaintances, solemn stillness all round us, at our feet the placid course of our majestic flood. There were indeed many friends round us, though invisible, nay, on counting over the slumberers, we found we had more, though not dearer friends, in this abode of peace than within the walls of yonder city. Overpowered by mournful, though soothing thoughts, we walked along pondering over those truthful reflections of Washington Irving:—

"There is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song, there is a recollection of the dead to which we turn ever from the charms of the living Oh, the grave! the grave! It buries every error, covers every defect, extinguishes every resentment. From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. * * * The grave of those we loved—what a place for meditation. There it is that we call up in long review the whole history of virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon us almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy; there it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful tenderness of the parting scene; the bed of death with all its stifled grief; its noiseless attendants; its mute, watchful assiduities; the last testimonies of expiring love; the feeble, faltering, thrilling (oh, how thrilling!) pressure of the hand; the last fond look of the glazing eye, turning upon us from the threshold of existence; the faint, faltering accents struggling in death to give once more assurance of affection! aye, go to the grave of buried love and meditate! There settle the account with thy conscience for every past benefit unrequited, every past endearment unregarded of that being who can never, never, never return to be soothed by thy contrition. If thou art a child and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent; if thou art a husband and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth; if thou art a friend and hast ever wronged in thought, word or deed the spirit that generously confided in thee; if thou art a lover and hast ever given one unmerited pang to that true heart that now lies cold and still beneath thy feet, then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action will come thronging back upon thy memory and knocking dolefully at thy soul....

Then weave that chaplet of flowers and strew the beauties of nature about the grave; console thy broken spirit if thou canst with these tender, though futile, tributes of regret; but take warning over the dead, and be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge of thy duties to the living." Reader, allow not pensive September to close in without visiting Mount Hermon, linger under its silent shades, go partake of the joy of grief, and meditate at the grave of a buried love.

"MONUMENT TO LIEUT. BAINES, R.A.—Few of our readers but recollect and cherish the name of Lieut. Baines, who unfortunately lost his life while gallantly endeavoring to arrest the progress of the conflagration which destroyed the greater portion of St. Roch's suburbs in October, 1866. His gallant devotion to duty, and his zeal in one of the most praiseworthy and charitable objects that ever engaged the attention of man, has caused his memory to be cherished with love and respect by every one of our citizens. Last year the ladies of the General Hospital sent a tribute of their gratitude to his widowed mother in England, worked by their own hands. Now the citizens of Quebec have completed their share of the grateful task. We had the mournful pleasure yesterday of viewing one of the most chaste and graceful monuments that adorn Mount Hermon Cemetery, erected by public subscription, and placed over the grave of one whose memory is so dearly cherished by all. The monument is of the Egyptian style of architecture, an obelisk 18 feet in height, with a base of 4 feet 10 inches, designed and modelled by our talented fellow-citizen, Mr. F. Morgan, sculptor, St. John street, so many of whose classic memorials of the dead grace Mount Hermon. It is cut from a solid block of imported sandstone, and in chasteness of design or execution is not excelled on this continent. It bears the following inscription:—

Erected by the citizens of Quebec To preserve the memory and to record their gratitude for the gallant services of Lieut. Henry Edmund Baines, Royal Artillery, whose death was occasioned by his noble efforts to arrest the progress of the calamitous fire which, on the 14th Oct., 1866 destroyed a large portion of the city. Born at Shrewsbury, England, April 4, 1840 Died at Quebec Oct. 27, 1866

Surmounting the epitaph is the coat of arms of the Royal Artillery, chiselled out of the solid block by the hands of a finished artist, with the motto of the regiment in a scroll underneath—"Quo fas et gloria ducunt' The erection of this, monument to the memory of the brave but unfortunate young officer is a noble tribute of gratitude on the part of our citizens, and in entrusting its execution to our talented fellow-townsman, Mr. Morgan, the committee has shown a wise, discretion that makes the completion of their task one upon which they may heartily congratulate themselves.

A VOICE FROM MOUNT HERMON

DEDICATED TO MRS. BAINES, BY MRS. A. CAMPBELL

My dust lies sleeping here, Mother dear! In this, far off distant land, Away from your little band, And the touch of loving hand, Your boy lies sleeping here, Mother dear!

The Ocean rolls between Mother dear! You and your own boy's grave, And the distant rush of waves On the pebbly shore to lave, Is the requiem sung between, Mother dear!

Mine is a sweet green spot. Mother dear! And the song of the bird Is ever heard In the trees that gird Us, in this quiet spot Mother dear!

And echo answers here Mother dear! The tinkle of chapel bell, And the murmur of its knell And the mourners "It is well,' Echo answers here, Mother dear!

To picture my last home, Mother dear! I am laid me down to rest, Where "Our Father" saw 'twas best, In this quiet little nest, For my last home, Mother dear!

And my spirit is with Him, Mother dear! In the precious home above, Where all is light and love, There rests your own dear dove, Now with Him, Mother dear!

Through Jesus' blood I'm here, Mother dear! In this happy, heavenly land, One of a glorious band, Touched by His healing hand, Through Jesus I am here, Mother dear!

So dry that bitter tear, Mother dear! 'Twill not be very long Ere with Jesus you'll sing the song, Sung by those who to Him belong, And wipe that bitter tear— Mother dear!

BARDFIELD

THE LATE BISHOP MOUNTAIN'S COUNTRY SEAT.

"Far from me and my friends be that frigid philosophy, which can make us pass unmoved over any scenes which have been consecrated by virtue, by valour, or by wisdom."—JOHNSON.

Pleasant the memories of our rustic homes! 'Tis pleasant, after December's murky nights, or January and February's inexorable chills, to go and bask on the sunny banks of our great river, under the shade of trees, in the balmy spring, and amidst the gifts of a bountiful nature, to inhale fragrance and health and joy. Pleasant, also, to wander during September in our solemn woods, "with footsteps inaudible on the soft yellow floor, composed of the autumnal sheddings of countless years." Yes, soothing to us are these memories of home—of home amusements, home pleasures, and even of home sorrows. Sweeter still, even though tinged with melancholy, the remembrance of the departed friends,—those guardian spirits we once saw moving in some of our Canadian homes in the legitimate pride of hospitality—surrounded by young and loving hearts—enshrined in the respect of their fellow men.

Oft has it been our privilege at that festive season of our year, when a hallowed custom brings Canada's sons and daughters together with words of greeting and good-fellowship, to wend our way to Bardfield, high on the breezy hills of Sillery, and exchange a cordial welcome with the venerable man who had dwelt in our midst for many long years. Seldom has it been our lot to approach one who, as a scholar, a gentleman, a prelate, or what is more than all those titles put together, a truly good man, impressed himself more agreeably on our mind.

Another revolution of the circling year and the good pastor, the courteous gentleman, the learned divine, our literary [240] friend and neighbour, the master of Bardfield, had been snatched from among us and from an admiring public. Where is the Quebecer who has not noticed the neat cottage on the north of the St. Lewis road, where lived and died the Lord Bishop Mountain? As you pass, you see as formerly its lovely river view, gravelled walks, curving avenue, and turfy lawns, luxuriant hedges designed by a hand now cold in death. Bardfield continues to be occupied by Miss Mountain and other members of the late Bishop's family. A school house, in the rural Gothic style, quite an ornament to Sillery, has been erected by His Lordship's family, as a memorial of the sojourn at this spot of this true friend of suffering humanity and patron of education.

Bardfield, founded about forty years ago by an eminent merchant of Quebec, Peter Burnet, Esquire, was recently purchased by Albert Furness, Esquire and by him leased to Charles Earnest Levey, Esquire, until Kirke Ella, the property of Mr. Levy, is rebuilt.

THE FAMILY OF MOUNTAIN

The family of Mountain, which is a very old Norman family, and therefore of French extraction, originally wrote their name "de Montaigne," from the name of their estates at Perigord, near Bordeaux, and as stated in the life of one of its members, the well-known Michael Seigneur de Montaigne, the essayist and philosopher, "This race was noble, but noble without any great lustre till his time, which fortune showed him signal favours, and, together with honorary and titular distinctions, procured for him the collar of the Order of St. Michael, which at that time was the utmost mark of honour of the French noblesse, and very rare. He was twice elected mayor of Bordeaux, his father, a man of great honour and equity, having formerly also had the same dignity."

Michael left only a daughter—Leonor or Leonora, who by marrying a distant cousin of the same name, preserved the estates in the family, as they had been for more than a century before they were inherited by her father. These remained in possession of the senior branch until the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, when, having espoused the Protestant cause, they were forced to sacrifice them and quit the country in 1685, with what ready money they could hastily get together. With this they purchased an estate in Norwich, England; from which in after generations several of the family went out to Canada, and among them the late Bishop of Quebec.

To him, likewise I have heard attributed the irreverent piece of wit alluded to by the Witness; but with equal injustice, as his son, the late Bishop of Quebec assured me. [241]

It is one of those sayings evidently made up for people whose names or position suit for hanging them on.

George Mountain, D.D., Archbishop of York, was a contemporary of Michael de Montaigne, and a scion of the same family, though through a younger branch, which appears to have crossed over from France about the time of the massacre of St. Bartholomew in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and for the same reason that the elder branch did afterwards, namely, because of their religious tenets.

It is not by any means improbable that by this separation from the rest of his family, who were still adherents of the Roman Catholic faith, and the consequent abandonment of worldly prospects for the sake of religious principles, the Archbishop's progenitors may have been reduced in circumstances, but only comparatively with what he had lost before, for history shows that the Archbishop himself was, born at Callwood Castle, educated at Queen's College, Cambridge, chosen a Fellow in 1591, and Junior Proctor of that University in 1600, Dean of Westminster in 1610, Bishop of Lincoln in 1617, Bishop of London in 1621, Bishop of Durham in 1627, and Archbishop of York in 1628.

JACOB J. C. MOUNTAIN,

Formerly of Coteau de Lac, Canada, now Vicar of Bulford, England. BULFORD VICARAGE, Amesbury, Salisbury, May 30, 1877.

BENMORE.

We like to portray to ourselves our energetic neighbour of Benmore House, such as we can recall him in his palmy, sporting days of 1865; we shall quote from the Maple Leaves of that year:

"It will not be one of the least glories of 'Our Parish,' even when the Province will have expanded into an empire, with Sillery as the seat of Vice Royalty, to be able to boast of possessing the Canadian, the adopted home of a British officer of wealth and intelligence, known to the sporting world as the Great Northern Hunter. Who had not heard of the battues of Col. Rhodes on the snow-clad peaks of Cap Tourment, on the Western Prairies, and all along the Laurentian chain of mountains? One man alone through the boundless territory extending from Quebec to the North Pole, can dispute the belt with the Sillery Nimrod, but then, a mighty hunter is he; by name in the St. Joachim settlement, Olivier Cauchon, to Canadian sportsmen known as Le Roi des Bois. It is said, but we cannot vouch for the fact—that Cauchon, in order to acquire the scent, swiftness and sagacity of the cariboo, has lived on cariboo milk, with an infusion of moss and bark, ever since his babyhood, but that this very winter (1865) he killed, with slugs, four cariboo at one shot, we can vouch for.

A few weeks since, a habitant with a loaded sleigh passed our gate; on the top of his load was visible a noble pair of antlers. "Qui a tue— ces cariboo?" we asked. Honest John Baptiste replied, "Le Colonel Rhodes, Monsieur." Then followed a second—then a third. Same question asked, to which for reply—"Le Colonel Rhodes, Monsieur." Then another sleigh load of cariboo, in all twelve Cariboo, two sleighs of hare, grouse and ptarmigan, then a man carrying a dead carcajou, then in the distance, the soldier-like phiz of the Nimrod himself, nimbly following on foot the cavalcade. This was too much, we stopped and threatened the Colonel to apply to Parliament for an Act to protect the game of Canada against his unerring rifle. Were we not fully aware of the gratifying fact, that, under recent legislative enactment, the fish and game of Canada have much increased, we might be inclined to fancy that the Colonel will never rest until he has bagged the last moose, the last cariboo in the country.

Benmore nestles cosily in a pine grove on the banks of the great river, the type of an English Country gentleman's homestead. In front of the house, a spacious piazza, from which you can watch the river craft; in the vast surrounding meadows, a goodly array of fat Durhams and Ayrshires, in the farm-yard, short-legged Berkshires squeaking merrily in the distance, rosy-cheeked English boys romping on the lawn, surrounded by pointers and setters: such, the grateful sights which, greeted our eyes one lovely June morning round Benmore House, the residence of the President of the Quebec Game Club, and late member of Parliament for Megantic." (Written in 1865.)

IMPORTATION OF BIRDS.

Sixteen years have elapsed since these lines were penned, and the Colonel has devoted much time, spent a large amount of capital on his vegetable farm and his green houses. Agriculturalists and naturalists will know him as the introducer of the English sparrow and the Messina quail.

THE SPARROW AND QUAIL.

Information for Mr. Lemoine on the importation of the European house sparrow and on that of the migratory quail. In consequence of great complaints all over the United States of the ravages of insects and particularly of caterpillars, amongst street and park trees and their visible destruction, it was generally recommended to girdle the trees with tin troughs containing oil or some liquid, also to pick the insects off the infected trees. This course had been followed to a very considerable extent, when it struck me the importation of the common house sparrow would meet the difficulty. In 1854 I imported sparrows. I turned loose six birds at Portland, Maine, and brought about as many more to Quebec.

On turning the birds loose at Portland, I wrote a letter to the Portland Advertiser, recommending the English sparrow as an insect destroyer, especially in the early spring months when the native birds are away on their migrations. This idea of picking off insects with birds commended itself to the municipal authorities of Boston and other large cities, who made large importations of sparrows, with the result of saving their ornamental trees from destruction.

The first colony of sparrows failed at Quebec. I therefore made two more importations, succeeding at last by wintering over thirteen birds —This occurred about ten years ago, there are now house sparrows all over Canada, our French Canadians say "C'est un oiseau qui suit la Religion" frequenting churches, convents and sacred places, and it is considered a privilege to have so good a bird about the house. The sparrow lives readily in Canada, as it feeds on the droppings of the horse and takes shelter down the chimneys or under the roofs of the houses. The enemies of the sparrow are very numerous, notably the great Northern Shrike, the owls, hawks and in summer the swifts and swallows. I have seen the English sparrow from New York to St. Francisco, and from the Saguenay to Florida. In some places the bird is used as an article of food, and there is no doubt this will be the case generally; it will also become an object of sport for young shooters and trappers in America, the same as it has always been in Europe.

THE QUAIL.

I imported this bird in 1880, turning loose over 100 birds between Quebec and the river Saguenay, I cannot say what has been the result; the French population have taken much interest in this importation, because they understand it is a bird well known in France as La Caille, and I have no doubt it will become quite numerous in our French settlements wherever it is established.

Large numbers of migratory quail have been imported for the State of Maine, 2,500 birds were turned loose in 1880, in all about 10,000 quails have been imported for the United States and Canada during the last few years, and as no importations are being made this year we shall see what the migratory instinct does for the North in the spring of the year?

It is very certain the migratory quail leave for parts unknown at an early period in the autumn, but where they go to and whether they return to the north has not been established; whilst they are with us, they are very friendly, frequently mixing with the chickens in the back yards. It is not improbable the feeling which gives hospitality to the house sparrow will extend itself to the Farmer's Quail, and that the latter bird may receive the same treatment from the settler as he gives to ordinary domestic fowl, such as Pigeons, Guinea fowl, and so on.—W. Rhodes.

BENMORE, 4th February, 1881.

N.B.—The house sparrow has indeed multiplied amazingly and though an emigrant and not "un enfant du sol" has found a hearty welcome. 'Tis said that he scares away our singing birds, if he should thus interfere with the freedom of action of the natives, he will get the cold shoulder, even though he should be an emigrant.

The sparrow though a long suffering bird is neither meek nor uncomplaining. A "limb of the law" is, we are told, responsible for the following:

A HUMBLE APPEAL.

(To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle.)

DEAR SIR,—Oft, doubtless, passing through the Ring, Me you have seen in autumn, summer, spring— Picking, with gleesome chirp, and nimble feet, My scanty living from the public street; Or else devouring in those golden hours, Insects from cabbages and other flowers:— Ah me! those happy days!—but they are past, And winter with his harsh and biting blast Remind me and my fellow-sparrows bold Of coming snow-storms, ice and sleet and cold; Reminds us, too, of those far-off abodes, Whence we were rudely reft by Col. R——s, On his acclimatizing purpose bent, And moved by scientific sentiment, My heart is anxious, Sir, from what I know Of last years sufferings from cold and snow, Another winter's hardships, will, I fear, Cause us poor colonists to disappear. What shall we do, Dear Sir?—how shall we live, Unless our charitable townsmen give Us aid in food and shelter, otherwise Each of us young and old, and male and female, dies! Could we not make our friend our Garnishee, And seize his chattels by a tiers saisi? (I tell him, Sir, that living mid the frosts Is harder far than paying lawyers' costs) Or do you think, (I write in great anxiety,) We have a claim on the St. George Society? We are compatriots—an exiled band, From the fair pickings of our native land, Cast on this frigid shore by savage Fate, With mouths to fill, and bills to liquidate. Dear Sir, I leave our case now with you, pray To make it public do not long delay, But give it, (I don't mean to be ironical,) A prominent position in the CHRONICLE. My wife and children cry to me for corn With feeble earnestness and chirp forlorn, My eye is dim, my heart within me pines, My claws so numb I scarce can scratch two lines, My head—no more will I your feelings harrow, But sign me, Truly yours, Till death, All Souls' Day. COCKSPARROW.

CLAREMONT.

THE SEAT OF THOMAS BECKETT, ESQUIRE.

"A house amid the quiet country's shades, With length'ning vistas, ever sunny glades, Beauty and fragrance clustering o'er the wall. A porch inviting, and an ample hall."

Claremont was founded by Lieut.-Governor R. E. Caron, and was his family mansion—ever since he left Spencer Grange which he had temporally leased,—until he was named Lt.-Governor of the Province of Quebec. We find in it, combined the taste and comfort which presides in Canadian homes; and in the fortunes of its founder, an illustration of the fact, that under the sway of Britain, the road to the highest honours has ever been open to colonists, irrespective of creed or nationality.

Claremont stands about one acre from the main road, three miles from Quebec, a handsome, comfortable and substantial villa. The umbrageous grove of trees which encloses it from view, is a plantation laid down by the late occupant about twenty-five years ago; its growth has been truly wonderful. The view from the veranda and rear of the house is magnificent in the extreme. To the west of the dwelling, environed in forest trees well protected against our northern "blizzards," lies the fruit, flower and vegetable garden, laid out originally by Madame Caron; watered by an unfailing spring, its dark rich soil produces most luxuriant vegetables, and Mr. Beckett's phlox, lilies, pansies, roses, generally stand well represented on the prize list of the Quebec Horticultural Society, of which Mr. Beckett is a most active member.

Claremont [242] is indicated by one of the most reliable of our historians, the Abbe Ferland, as the spot where one of the first Sillery missionaries, Frere Liegeois met with his end at the hands of some hostile Indians. This occurred in the spring of 1655. The missionary at the time was helping the colonists to build a small redoubt to protect their maize and wheat fields from the inroads of their enemies. On viewing, at Sillery, in 1881, Claremont the luxurious country seat of a successful merchant, memory reverts to the same locality two centuries back, when every tree of the locality might have concealed a ferocious Iroquois bent on his errand of death.

From the cupola of Claremont, a wondrous vista is revealed. The eye gazing northward, rests on the nodding pinnacles of the spruce, hemlock and surrounding pine. Towards the south-east and west you have before you nearly every object calculated to add effect to the landscape. Far below at your feet, rushes on the mighty St. Lawrence, with its fleet of merchantmen and rafts of timber; the church of St. Romuald, half way up the hill; facing you, the Etchemin stream, its mills, its piers, crowded with deals; to the west, the roaring Chaudiere, "La Riviere Bruyante" of early times, in the remote distance, on a bright morning, are also plainly visible, the hills of the White Mountains of Maine.

THE WILD FLOWERS OF SILLERY.

"Everywhere about us are they glowing, Some like stars, to tell us spring is born; Others, their blue eyes, with tears o'erflowing, Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn."

Are you an admirer of nature, and sweet flowers? Would you, most worthy friend, like to see some of the bright gems which spring, whilst dallying over the sequestered, airy heights and swampy marshes of our woods drops along our path? Follow, then, sketch book and pencil in hand, the fairy footsteps of one of the most amiable women which old England ever sent to our climes, accompany the Countess of Dalhousie on a botanizing tour through Sillery woods; you have her note book, if not herself, to go by. For May, see what an ample store of bright flowers scattered around you; fear not to lose yourself in thickets and underbrush; far from the beaten track a noble lady has ransacked the environs over and over again, sometimes alone, sometimes with an equally enthusiastic and intelligent friend, who hailed from Woodfield; [243] sweet flowers and beautiful ferns attract other noble ladies to this day in that wood. Are you anxious to possess the first-born of spring? Whilst virgin snow still whitens the fields, send a young friend to pluck for you, from the willow, its golden catkins:—

"The first gilt thing Decked with the earliest pearls of spring."

The Gomin Wood will, with the dawn of May, afford you materials for a wreath, rich in perfume and wild in beauty. The quantity of wild flowers, to be found in the environs of Quebec has called forth the following remarks from one of Flora's most fervid votaries, a gentleman well known in this locality:—"A stranger," says he, "landing in this country, is much surprised to find the flowers which he has carefully cultivated in his garden at home, growing wild at his feet. Such as dog-tooth violets, trilliums and columbines. I was much excited when I discovered them for the first time; the trillium, for which I had paid three shillings and six-pence when in England, positively growing wild. I could scarcely believe that I had a right to gather them; having paid so much for one, I felt that it was property, valuable property running wild, and no one caring to gather it. No one? Yes! some did, for we carried all that we could find, and if the reader will stroll along the hedges on St. Lewis road he will find them in abundance: dark purple flowers, growing on a stalk naked to near the summit, where there is a whorl of three leaves, its sepals are three, petals three, stamens twice three, and its stigmas three, hence its name of trillium. We have a few of the white varieties. After the purple trillium has done flowering, we have the painted trillium of the woods; the trillium grandiflorum is abundant at Grosse Isle. The dog-tooth violet early arrested my attention; the spotted leaves and the bright yellow flowers, fully recurved in the bright sunshine, contrasted beautifully with the fresh green grass on the banks on which they are usually found, the bulbs are deep-seated, and the plant will at once, from the general appearance of the flower, be recognized as belonging to the lily family.

"The marsh marigolds, with the bright yellow buttercup-looking flowers, are now in full luxuriance of bloom in wet places near running water; they may not be esteemed beautiful by all, and yet all God's works, and all his flowers, are good and beautiful. Let any one see them as I have seen them, a large flowerbed of an acre and more, one mass of the brightest yellow, a crystal stream meandering through their midst, the beautiful Falls of Montmorenci across the river rolling their deep strains of Nature's music, the rising tide of the St. Lawrence beating with refreshing waves at their feet, and a cloudless azure sky over head, from which the rosy tints of early morn had hardly disappeared, and if his soul be not ready to overflow with gratitude to the Supreme Being who has made everything so beautiful and good, I do not know what to think of him. I would not be such a man, 'I'd rather be a dog and bay the moon.'"

The whole Gomin bog is studded with Smilacina Bifolia, sometimes erroneously called the white lily of the valley, also the Smilacina Trifolia, the Dentaria, the Streptopus roseus or twisted stem, a rose-colored flower, bearing red berries in the fall. There are also in this wood, trillium, the May flower, Hepatica, and Symplocarpus, thickets crowned with Rhodoras in full bloom—a bush a few feet high with superb rose-colored flowers—the general appearance of a cluster of bushes is most magnificent. In the same locality, further in the swamp, may be found the Kalmia angustifolia bearing very pretty compact rose- colored flowers like small cups divided into five lobes, also the beautiful Ladies' Slipper Orchis (Cypripedum humile) in thousands on the borders of the swamp,—such is Sillery wood in May. The crowded flora of June is the very carnival of nature, in our climes. "Our Parish" is no exception. The Ladies' Slippers, Kalmia Smilacina, etc., may still be gathered in the greatest abundance throughout most of this month. Here is also the bunch of Pigeon berry, in full bloom, the Brooklime Spedwell, the Blue-eyed-grass, the herb Bennet, the Labrador Tea, the Oxalis Stricta and Oxalis acetosella, one with yellow, the other with white and purple flowers: the first grows in ploughed fields, the second in the woods. "Our sensitive plant; they shut up their leaves and go to sleep at night, and on the approach of rain. These plants are used in Europe to give an acid flavor to soup." Here also flourishes the Linnea Borealis, roseate bells, hanging like twins from one stalk, downy and aromatic all round. In the middle of June, the Ragwort, a composite flower with yellow heads, and about one-half to two feet high, abounds in wet places by the side of running streams. Also, the Anemone, so famous in English song, principally represented by the Anemone Pennsylvanica, growing on wet banks, bearing large white flowers; add the Corydalis, Smilacina racemosa resembling Solomon's Seal. Here we light on a lovely Tulip bed; no—'tis that strangely beautiful flower, the pitcher plant (Saracenia Purpurea). Next we hit on a flower not to be forgotten, the Myosotis palustris or Forget-me-not. Cast a glance as you hurry onwards on the Oenothera pumila, a kind of evening primrose, on the false Hellebore—the one-sided Pyrola, the Bladder Campion—silene inflata, the sweet-scented yellow Mellilot, the white Yarran, the Prunella with blue labrate flowers the Yellow Rattle, so called from the rattling of the seeds. The perforated St. John's Wort is now coming into flower everywhere, and will continue until late in August; it is an upright plant, from one to two feet high, with clusters of yellow flowers. The Germans have a custom for maidens to gather this herb on the eve of St. John, and from its withering or retaining its freshness to draw an augury of death or marriage in the coming year. This is well told in the following lines:—