Quebec.

Quebec. June.

I came from Montreal to this city in the day time, and consequently had an opportunity of examining this portion of the St. Lawrence. The river opposite Montreal runs at the rate of six miles per hour, and is two miles wide; it preserves this breadth for about sixty miles, and then expands into the beautiful and emerald-looking Lake of St. Peter, after which it varies from one to five in width until it reaches Quebec, which is distant from Montreal one hundred and eighty miles. Above St. Peter, the shores vary from five to fifteen feet in height, but below the lake they gradually become more elevated, until they measure some three hundred feet in the vicinity of Quebec. The country between the two Canadian cities is well cultivated, and on either side may be seen a continued succession of rural cottages.

Our steamer approached Quebec at the sunset hour, and I must say that I have never witnessed a more superb prospect than the lofty Citadel-city, the contracted St. Lawrence, the opposite headland called Point Levi, and the far-distant land, which I knew to be Cape Tourment. A stiff breeze was blowing at the time, and some twenty ships were sailing to and fro, while we had to make our way into port by winding between and around some three hundred ships which were at anchor.

I have seen much in this goodly city which has made a deep impression on my mind. The promontory called Cape Diamond, upon which it stands, is formed by the junction of the St. Charles and St. Lawrence rivers, and rises to the height of three hundred and fifty feet above the water. The city is built from the water’s edge along the base of the cliff, and from thence in a circuitous manner ascends to the very borders of the Citadel and ramparts. There is but one street leading from the Lower to the Upper Town, and that is narrow and very steep, and the gateway is defended by a number of large cannon. The city is remarkably irregular, and, as many of the buildings are very ancient, its appearance is picturesque and romantic. The fortifications cover an area of forty acres, and beneath them are many spacious and gloomy vaults, for the reception of ammunition and stores during a time of war. Receding into the interior, from the very brow of the Fortress, are the Plains of Abraham, which are covered with a rich green sod, and planted with unnumbered cannon. Their historical associations are numerous, and, as they would fill a chapter in themselves, I will refrain from dwelling upon them at this time.

The religious establishments of Quebec are numerous, and belong mostly to the Roman Catholics; like those of Montreal they are very ancient and well endowed; but they did not interest me, and I am sure my description of them would not interest my reader. As a matter of course, I visited the French Cathedral. It seems to be as old as the hills, and yet all the windows of the principal tower are roughly boarded up. On entering the edifice, which is crowded with gilded ornaments, I could not fix my eye upon a single object which suggested the idea of richness. The sculpture, the paintings, and even the gilding, are all without merit; and what greatly added to my disgust was, that I could not obtain a civil answer from a single one of the many boorish boys and men, who were fussing about the church.

In the front of an extensive promenade, just below the Citadel, stands the monument erected to the memory of Montcalm and Wolfe. The gentleman who contributed the largest sum for its erection, was Lord Dalhousie. It is a handsome obelisk, and was designed by a military gentleman named Young. The principal inscription on the column is characteristic of the English nation, and is what an American would call “a puff of Dalhousie”—even though it be chiselled in Latin. The annoying effect of this inscription, however, is counteracted by another, which is also in Latin, and very beautiful. It was composed by J. C. Fisher, Esq., LL.D., founder of the Quebec Gazette, and is as follows:

The Golden Dog is another curiosity which will attract the attention of the visitor to Quebec. It is the figure of a dog, rudely sculptured in relievo, and richly gilded, which stands above the entrance of an ancient house, which was built by M. Phillibert, a merchant of this city, in the time of M. Bigot, the last Intendant under the French Government. Connected with it is the following curious story, which I copy from an old record:

“M. Phillibert and the Intendant were on bad terms, but, under the system then existing, the merchant knew that it was in vain for him to seek redress in the colony; and, determining at some future period to prefer his complaint in France, he contented himself with placing the figure of a sleeping dog in front of his house, with the following lines beneath it, in allusion to his situation with his powerful enemy:

“This allegorical language was, however, too plain for M. Bigot to misunderstand it. A man so powerful easily found an instrument to avenge the insult, and M. Phillibert received, as the reward of his verse, the sword of an officer of the garrison through his back, when descending the Lower Town Hill. The murderer was permitted to leave the colony unmolested, and was transferred to a regiment stationed in the East Indies. Thither he was pursued by a brother of the deceased, who had first sought him in Canada, when he arrived to settle his brother’s affairs. The parties, it is related, met in the public street of Pondicherry, drew their swords, and, after a severe conflict, the assassin met a more honourable fate than his crime deserved, and died by the hand of his antagonist.”

I know not that there are any other curiosities in Quebec really worth mentioning, and I willingly turn to its natural attractions. The Fortress itself is undoubtedly one, if not the most formidable on the Continent, but I fell in love with it on account of its observatory features. To ramble over its commanding ramparts, without knowing or caring to know a solitary individual, has been to me an agreeable and unique source of entertainment. At one time I leaned upon the balustrade, and looked down upon the Lower Town. It was near the hour of noon. Horses and carriages, men, women, and children, were hurrying through the narrow streets, and ships were in the docks discharging their cargoes. I looked down upon all these things at a single glance, and yet the only noise I heard was a hum of business. Even the loud clear shout of the sailor, as he tugged away at the mast-head of his ship, could hardly be heard stealing upward on the air. Doves were flying about high above the roofs, but they were so far below my point of vision, that I could not hear the beating of their wings.

But the finest prospect that I have enjoyed in this city was from the summit of the Signal-House, which looms above the Citadel. I visited this spot just as the sun was setting, and every thing was enveloped in a golden atmosphere. Beneath me lay the city, gradually lulling itself to repose; on the west, far as the eye could reach, faded away the valley of the Upper St. Lawrence; towards the north, winding its way between high and well-cultivated hills, was the river St. Charles; towards the eastward, rolling onward in its sublimity like an ocean across the continent, was the flood of the Lower St. Lawrence, whitened by more than a hundred sails; and towards the south reposed a picturesque country of hills and dales, beyond which I could just discern some of the mountain-peaks of my own dear “Fatherland.” Strange and beautiful beyond compare was the entire panorama, and how was its influence upon me deepened, as a strain of martial music broke upon the silent air, and then melted into my very heart! I knew not whence it came, or who were the musicians, but I “blessed them unaware,” and as my vision again wandered over the far-off hills, I was quite happy.

The population of Quebec is estimated at thirty thousand, and the variety is as great as in Montreal. A large proportion of the people whom you see parading the streets are soldiers, and chief among them I would mention the Scotch Highlanders, who are a noble set of men, and dress in handsome style.

Quebec, upon the whole, is a remarkable place, and well worth visiting. The environs of the city are also interesting, and a ride to the Falls of Montmorency, seven miles down the river, and back again by an interior road, will abundantly repay the tourist for all the trouble and expense to which he may be subjected.