Mrs. Daniel MacPherson

Produced by Al Haines.

OLD MEMORIES:

AMUSING AND HISTORICAL

A SEQUEL TO

"REMINISCENCES OF OLD QUEBEC."

BY

MRS. DANIEL MACPHERSON,

AN OLD QUEBECER.

MONTREAL:
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR.

Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in the
year one thousand eight hundred and ninety, by
MRS. DANIEL MACPHERSON, in the office of the Minister of
Agriculture and Statistics at Ottawa.

DEDICATION.

TO

JAMES MACPHERSON LEMOINE, ESQ.,

AUTHOR OF

QUEBEC PAST AND PRESENT, MAPLE LEAVES, ETC.,

MY DEAR HUSBAND'S COUSIN AND TRIED FRIEND,

I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME AS A SLIGHT MARK OF ESTEEM.

CHARLOTTE HOLT GETHINGS MACPHERSON.

CONTENTS.

To my Subscribers and the Public
Sequel to Old Congregational Convent
St. Louis Hotel
The Quebec Bank
Horse Boats and Ice Boats
Beaumont, St. Thomas
St. Michel
A Chronicle of St. Michel
Second Visit to Roberval, Lake St. John
St. Leon Springs
My Second Visit to St. Leon Springs
St. Raymond
St. Augustin
St. AndrÉ
Les Eboulements
Society in Quebec Fifty Years Ago
Spencer Grange
Society in 1854
New Year's Day, 1840
A Point of Honor
Country Post Offices Forty and Fifty Years Ago
The Subterranean Passages of the Citadel of Quebec
The First St. Patrick's Society in Quebec
Sillery Church
St. Matthew's Chapel
Bishop Hamilton
St. Patrick's Cemetery
Mount Hermon Cemetery
In Memoriam
November
To the Oyster

TO MY SUBSCRIBERS AND THE PUBLIC.

MY FRIENDS,

You have been so good to me, in purchasing, within a few weeks, five hundred copies of a feuilleton, only intended for private circulation, I should like to show my appreciation, by catering to your desire for information regarding our dear old city, Quebec; but what can I do? My learned friend, James Macpherson LeMoine, Esq., with his wonderful knowledge of facts, so exhausted the subject in his excellent and beautifully got up book, "Picturesque Quebec," I am utterly overwhelmed. Until I began to study the matter I was quite ignorant that he had written so fully on these matters, so I can only play Boswell to his Johnson, and as without Boswell many of the sayings of the immortal Johnson would have been lost, I too may have my use in recording crumbs of information, interesting and instructive, though lacking the dignity of history.

Yours truly,
CHARLOTTE HOLT GETHINGS MACPHERSON

OLD MEMORIES:

AMUSING AND HISTORICAL.

SEQUEL TO "REMINISCENCES OF OLD QUEBEC,"
BY MRS. DANIEL MACPHERSON.

My first recollection is that of being drawn in a child's carriage by old Germain, messenger of the Quebec Bank (where I was born), to the old convent, formerly occupying the site of McCall, Shehyn & Co.'s store at the foot of Mountain Hill in St. Peter Street, Quebec. This convent has been non-existant for forty-seven years. Its community now reside in St. Joseph Street, St. Roch's. When this convent was there, there was no St. Peter Street, there were no wharves, and an old sister told me the batteau men often struck their sails against their convent. I remember my father often called at the convent to take me out boating on the St. Lawrence River that lapped its shores, for the lower town of Quebec was then a delightful residence for Quebec people, only the military then residing in the Upper Town. Applying for information about this old convent to Ville Marie, the Mother House of this order, I received the following letter from one of the ladies:

CONGREGATION DE NOTRE DAME,

Montreal, October 10, 1890.

Madam,

As I am obliged to absent myself, I have only time to give the year of the present foundation at Quebec. The first house was in the Upper Town, established in 1688 under the direction of the venerable Mother Bourgeois. This house was transferred to the Lower Town in 1692, under Mons. de St. ValliÈre, and in 1844 the convent of the Lower Town not being any more convenient, the sisters went and fixed themselves in St. Roch's under Monseigneur Signai and the Rev. CurÉ Mr. Charest. Rev. MÈre St. Madeleine was Superioress of the Congregation of Notre Dame.

I am sorry not to be able to give you further details.

Your humble servant,

Sr. St. Alexis de St. Joseph.

SEQUEL TO OLD CONGREGATIONAL CONVENT.

FRIDAY, October 10, 1890.

I have just returned from a very pleasant visit (my first) to Villa Maria, the Maison MÈre of the old Convent of the Congregation, forty-seven years ago at the foot of Mountain Hill, Quebec.

Taking the St. Catherine street cars as far as the Post-Office, at the toll-gate you enter an omnibus (at certain hours) which takes you, for the moderate sum of five cents, to the gate leading into the grounds of Villa Maria, the first educational establishment of the Congregation de NÔtre Dame, formerly Moncklands.

The approach on the CÔte St. Antoine Road is beautiful, especially at this season, when the trees surrounding the various pretty homes to some of our Montreal gentry are just taking on their autumn tints. At one residence especially I noticed the leaves of every color, from varied green and red, pale pink, and deep crimson. One small house especially attracted my attention, that of Maxime St. Germain—a real old-fashioned humble country stone cottage, with the cross standing, a rendezvous in old time for prayer when churches were few and far between.

It was told me that this Maxime St. Germain, from a humble habitant, by the rise of the value of his property, has risen to great wealth, though still living in his humble way, and with his wife and brother still occupy the old homestead.

To make one understand the beauty of Moncklands, you must pay it a personal visit, and, in default of that, I cannot do better than copy a page of its prospectus. I can only say that I was utterly charmed even during my hurried visit.

The view is so lovely from the front. The parlors so tastefully, even elegantly, furnished, with a fine library in one of them, every token of refinement, and the spirit of order prevails with a carefulness of detail which must conduce to the comfort of its inmates.

"In this Institution for Young Ladies will be found all the advantages, comfort, etc., in harmony with its pre-eminence among the various houses of this Order.

In point of situation, salubrity, and picturesque scenery, Villa Maria is unrivalled; the grounds are extensive, and comprise a delightful grove and a lovely little lake, with gondolas, for the healthful amusement of the pupils.

The house, which was formerly the residence of the Governor-General of Canada, is fitted up in a style of comfort and in a degree of elegance not surpassed by any establishment of the kind. French being the language of the Institution, the pupils possess rare facilities for acquiring a thorough and practical knowledge of this language. French conversation is compulsory, and enters into the competition for the highest honors. The course in the English language is thorough and complete.

The Governor-General of the Dominion of Canada has graciously given this institution a magnificent medal, to be awarded for general proficiency.

Hon. Ed. Murphy, Montreal, a valuable microscope, to the young lady who excels in natural history.

Mrs. Ed. Murphy, a magnificent gold medal, for excellence in the art of house-keeping.

The Countess de Beaujeu, a rich gold medal, to the young lady who excels in French conversation.

The Lieutenant-Governor of the Province of Quebec, a medal for universal history.

The Rev. L. Collin, Sup. S. S. S., a gold medal for literature.

The Rev. J. Marechal, a gold medal for religious instruction.

The Hon. P. J. O. Chauveau, ex-minister of Education, a gold medal for composition.

The Rev. Mother Sup. General, a gold medal for excellence in deportment.

J. J. McElhone, Esq., of Washington, a gold medal for phonography and type-writing.

J. M. McGirr, Esq., Ont., a gold medal for mathematics.

Awarded by an artist, a gold lyre, for proficiency in music.

ST. LOUIS HOTEL.

I have just returned from Quebec, and must record one of the most pleasurable incidents of that visit, namely, my meeting accidentally an old acquaintance, the handsome Miss Bouchette, now Lady Shea, and her gifted husband, Sir Ambrose Shea. The pleasure of a prolonged interview with the latter, and I must say an hour's conversation with him, is an education. He has the happy gift of conveying so much information in such easy flowing language, words seem to come specially to express his meaning; you learn so much while apparently only chatting. Truly may the Bahamas bless the day when he went there, and evolved from the noxious weed they complained of (Sisal Fibre) an industry which will be its grand prosperity. Already the importance of this great branch of commerce has been so great that he has, in view of Canadian interests, come on a visit to Ottawa, to effect, if possible, a divergence of the trade to Canada instead of permitting our American Cousins to reap all the profits. He showed me a plait of fibre about two feet long or more, so delicate yet so strong. There is no doubt it will produce a rival to the famous manilla rope, and so facile of handling, it may yet be used for the manufacture of linen and other articles, for it needs very little preparation for use, and that of the simplest kind.

This wonderful plant suddenly sprung into prominent notice. It is a weed particularly fertile in the Bahamas. It grows about two feet high, and the fibre is the length of the plant, and when extracted by the simple process of pressing out, and then wet and dried in the sun, looks exactly like horse hair, and so strong one could not break even four threads twined together. This Sisal Fibre is creating such a sensation now. I need say nothing further on the subject, only wish Sir Ambrose and his wife a pleasant trip, and thank Mr. Russell for the particular courtesy I received from him. But when will you fail to receive attention at the St. Louis! From mine host down to the humblest bell boy, all are so watchful for your comfort, so civil in their demeanor, it is a pleasure to put up there.

THE QUEBEC BANK, QUEBEC.

On a recent visit to Quebec I was shown by the present courteous and able manager, James Stevenson, Esq., a notice he had written in the Shareholder, February 22, 1884, and there is so much of interest in it for the public, I transmit the valuable information it contains to you, my friends. Mr. Stevenson had directed my attention to this article, as he had therein so kindly noticed my dear father, the late Charles Gethings:—

The Quebec Bank, with the exception of the Bank of Montreal, is the oldest bank in the Dominion. On the 9th July, 1818, merchants, and others interested in the establishment of a bank in the city of Quebec, held a meeting at the Exchange, and drafted articles of association. The document is headed, "Articles of Association of the Quebec Bank," and consists of twenty-five sections. No. 3 provides that, for the good management of the bank, there shall be thirteen directors; No. 6, that there shall be no recourse upon the separate property of any shareholder. Other sections severally provide for the issue of notes; the calling-up of the capital, which is to be £75,000; the term of the bank's existence; and its dissolution. The bank is now in its sixty-seventh year. Distinguished men, legislators, lawyers and merchants have served on the directorate. During the term of its existence it has been exposed to severe financial storms; it has weathered them all, preserved its capital intact, and has paid several millions in the shape of dividends.

At the first meeting of the shareholders, which was held on the 7th September, 1818, the following gentlemen were elected to serve on the board of directors, namely, John W. Woolsey, Thomas White, J. McCallum, John Jones, Charles Smith, Louis Massue, Jean Langevin, Henry Black, Ph. Aubert de GaspÉ, W. G. Sheppard, John Goudie, Etienne Lagreux, and Benjamin Tremain. Mr. Woolsey was elected president, and Mr. White, vice-president; and the Board engaged the services of Noah Freer, as cashier. Mr. Freer held a commission as captain in the army; he had seen service, and had been military secretary to Sir George Prevost, during the war of 1812. Steady-going merchants may have shrugged their shoulders and questioned the wisdom and propriety of appointing a soldier to such a position; but Captain Freer took kindly to the business of civil life. He was accurate, precise, and methodical in all he did; and a courteous gentleman in his intercourse with the public. The customers of the bank were men of high standing—including the leading officials of the capital, namely, the Governor-General, the Bishop, the Commander-in-Chief, legislators and lawyers, in addition to the regular commercial clientele. Holograph cheques of all its principal customers since 1818 have been carefully preserved in the bank, a review of which is almost as interesting as a cursory perusal of the annals of the city.

That able jurist, the late Honorable Andrew Stuart, was appointed legal adviser; and he appears on several occasions to have steadied the directors, and guided them into a course of safety.

In the absence of an "Act of Incorporation," the shareholders no doubt incurred unlimited liability to the depositors and share-holders; but application was made to Parliament for a charter, and an "Act of Incorporation," extending the existence of the bank to 1831, was passed in 1819. This Act received the Royal assent of George IV. on the 16th September, 1822. At the expiration of the term, the charter was renewed, and extended to the 1st August, 1836; and, by a subsequent Act, to the same date in 1837. That year constitutional government was suspended in consequence of the disturbed state of the Province; and all the powers and privileges of the bank expired by the effluxion of the time limited by the Act of Incorporation. The directors were at a loss what course to pursue under the circumstances. They thought seriously of winding up the bank. In 1838 the government of the country was vested in Sir John Colborne, as Administrator, and a special council held in the city of Montreal. The same year, the Habeas Corpus Act was suspended, and an ordinance was passed authorizing the incorporated, chartered, and other banks in the Province to suspend the redemption of their notes in specie till the 1st of June, 1839—limiting the circulation of each bank to the amount of its capital stock actually paid up. It was further enacted that all specie then held by the bank should be retained, and should not be sold, excepting to Her Majesty's Government.

Political disturbances having been quelled, trade revived, and all thought of winding up the bank was abandoned. To supply the absence of silver, the bank, in addition to its ordinary issue, issued notes of 15d., or 30 sous, and 2s. 6d., or 3 francs; and the several banks struck off a copper currency for the convenience of the public. The suspension of specie payments lasted three years.

In the absence of Parliamentary authority for the existence of the bank, the directors we readvised to apply for a royal charter, and Captain Freer, the cashier, was deputed to proceed to England, for the purpose of communicating with the Home Government on the subject. Captain Freer was well received by the authorities, and every assistance was rendered to him in furtherance of the object of his mission. A royal charter was granted with authority to apply to Parliament for a renewal as soon as constitutional government should be restored; at the same time the authorized capital of the bank was increased to £100,000.

Several changes had taken place in the personnel at the Direction since 1818. In 1823, Mr. W. Sheppard was elected president; in 1832, Mr. Charles Smith; in 1838, Mr. John Fraser; and in 1842, Mr. James Gibb. In 1852 Captain Freer retired from the service of the bank upon a pension, having held office for thirty-four years. In 1848 Sir N. F. Belleau was elected a director. He has since been a constant member of the Board, and punctual in his attendance, even while he held the office of Lieutenant-Governor of the Province of Quebec. On the death of the Honorable Andrew Stuart, the Honorable Henry Black was appointed legal adviser; and on his assuming the duties of Judge of the Vice-Admiralty Court, he was succeeded by the Honorable George O. Stuart, the present Judge of the same Court. J. C. Vannovous, Q.C., held the office till his death, and was succeeded by the present legal advisers of the bank, Messrs. Andrews, Caron & Andrews.

Mr. Charles Gethings, a man of inflexible integrity of character, was appointed to fill the office of cashier, vacated by the retirement of Captain Freer, and under his management, and the careful supervision of the president, Mr. Gibb, who was rarely absent from the office, the bank continued to pay its dividends, namely, in 1853 at the rate of 7 per cent. per annum: in 1854, 7 per cent.; 1855, 7 per cent.; 1856, 7 per cent.; 1857, 6½ per cent.; 1858, 6 per cent.; 1859, 6½ per cent.; 1860, 7½.

In 1860 the president, one of the oldest and most esteemed merchants in the city, died, deeply regretted by the whole community, and Mr. W. H. Anderson, the vice-president, was elected president in his place. The following year Mr. Gethings, the cashier, retired upon a pension; and Mr. William Dunn, a gentleman well qualified to fill an important place in any bank, was appointed his successor. The bank, under his management, continued to pay dividends, namely, in 1861, 8 per cent; 1862, 8 per cent.; 1863, 7½ per cent.; 1864, 7 per cent.

In 1864 Mr. David Douglas Young, a leading and highly esteemed merchant, who had served several years on the directorate, was elected president. Mr. Dunn, the cashier, retired soon after his appointment, and was succeeded by the present general manager, Mr. James Stevenson, in December, 1864.

Since the death of Mr. Young, which happened in 1869, the Honorable James G. Ross has been president of the bank, and Mr. William Withall, vice-president.

Such, in brief, is the history of this old institution, the doors of which were opened for business in 1818, in a small house in Sault-au-Matelot Street. Some years afterwards, a portion of a commodious building erected by the Quebec Fire Insurance Company, in Peter Street, was occupied by the bank. But in 1863 the directors resolved to have a building of their own, and they purchased from Mr. H. Atkinson the site upon which the present handsome banking house is built. A certain historical interest attaches to almost every spot and locality in Quebec; and to none more so than to that very site. There, on a cold stormy December morning, in 1775, when the simultaneous assault on Quebec was made by Montgomery and Arnold, stood a small body of resolute men, ready to sacrifice their lives in defence of the city. While the life of Montgomery was ebbing away with the flow of his blood at Cape Diamond, Arnold was advancing, with a comparatively formidable force, from St. Roch's, upon Sault-au-Matelot, a little lane not over twelve feet wide, opposite the site of the bank. It is not too much to say that the fate of Canada, as a dependency of Great Britain, hung upon the issue of the impending contest in the lane. The struggle was a desperate one.

It lasted several hours; but the repulse was complete; and Arnold, carried off wounded, retired with the remnant of his force upon the General Hospital, the head-quarters of the Americans, which they held till the siege of Quebec was abandoned in the following month of May, 1776.

HORSE BOATS AND ICE BOATS.

Near the site of the old convent just described, we used to embark on a horse boat to cross to Levis in summer, and in winter a canoe, managed by expert boatmen, who paddled their way through shoal ice, and, on reaching any large piece, with wonderful strength and skill raised the canoe and pulled it on the ice as we do a sleigh. These boatmen were so inured to their work that an accident rarely happened. But there are records of a whole canoe full of people being swamped. Fortunately a regular service of ice boats exists in winter now, and with rare intervals (some extraordinary storm) with as much regularity as the summer ferry boats.

Some of my young readers may never have seen a horse boat, so I will tell them they looked like some of the very small steamboats, but the machinery was put in movement and carried on by horses attached to a pole in the centre and walking round and round.

Previous to the year 1857 there were no other means of crossing to Levis but by the canoes, when Capt. Semple chartered a boat, which ran up to December, as it could only go through floating ice. But an enterprising gentleman, the recently deceased Mr. Tibbits, talking over the matter with a young relative of mechanical genius, made out plans for machinery, had them sent to Montreal, made here and sent on to Quebec, were fitted up and at once proved successful, and thus in the year 1862 started his passenger boat, "The Arctic," which would cut through the heaviest ice and became a perfect success. I copy from a newspaper the following notice of Mr. Tibbits, who died March 26, 1889:

"On Friday last the mortal remains of the late James Tibbits were committed to their last resting place in Mount Hermon Cemetery. For many years the deceased was a prominent figure in the mercantile community. He was a man of great physical and mental energy, and of unbounded enterprise, always willing to risk in public enterprises the money with which many of his ventures were crowned. One lasting monument of his enterprise and ability remains to us in the excellent ferry service we enjoy with the South Shore. He was the first to demonstrate the possibility of a steamer cutting its way through the masses of ice which obstructed the navigation opposite the city during the winter. Like many others of our enterprising merchants, Mr. Tibbits died poor. Quebec owes his memory a debt of gratitude, which might well have been slightly repaid by a public funeral. It is, however, such a long time since Mr. Tibbits resided in the city, the generation that succeeded are hardly aware of the services rendered by the deceased. It is not fitting, however, that they should be lost sight of."

The ferry boats, summer and winter, land you in close proximity to the railroad, and carriages take you west towards St. David or east to St. Joseph. After driving up a very steep hill you come to a road branching off to the west beside which is the little old English Church and Cemetery, the former being now renewed under the supervision of its popular pastor, Rev. Mr. Nicholls, grandson of the much-esteemed Bishop Mountain. Higher up and last is the Roman Catholic parish church, a monument to the zeal and perseverance of the late Rev. Mr. Dalzeil. Almost a riot was in the parish when he asked for it to be built of its present size, but with far-seeing wisdom he insisted, and now it is crowded to overflowing though two other churches have been built in the space of the last few years. Levis also possesses a fine college in this locality. On the summit of the hill called rue des Marchands is a very handsome and spacious store and residence belonging to Mr. Couture, and opposite to it is a tiny little building kept in good repair, though unused, which Mr. Couture tells you with pride is the shop where he first earned the shillings which were to end by making him a millionaire. Mr. Edouard Couture carries on the business in the same place now, but the Hon. Geo. Couture, Senator, sleeps under a handsome obelisk in Levis Cemetery. The noblest monument that exists to his memory, however, is the beautiful church, built by money left for that purpose in his will, adjoining the splendid hospital, built within about ten years, to which he contributed so largely during his lifetime. One of the head ladies of the institution (a very old friend, sister-in-law of our well-known citizen, Hon. P. Casgrain) took me through this building about a week ago, and I was astonished to find it almost filled already. The poor, the crippled, old women, young children, have here a comfortable home, with delightful surroundings, and on a height and with a view of the Citadel, Quebec.

When MÈre St. Monique asked me to go and visit the Catacombs under the church, I decidedly objected, but Josephte, as I called her in our youth, always would have her way, and I am glad she did so here, for I do not know whether similar places for burial are existent elsewhere in this country or only a new creation in Canada, but I am glad I went into them. This seems to be the perfection of burying. Leading me through a long light passage under the church, we came to a very heavy iron door; then on its being opened a second appeared with its blank emblems and death's head and cross bones, sufficiently indicative of where we were going. Entering this door MÈre St. Monique struck a light, and we found ourselves in a fire-proof brick chamber and passages. On every side shelves to hold one coffin. There is only one occupant so far—Mr. Gingras—but there are places for ninety. The coffin is placed on a shelf just large enough, then masoned up, and the name put on the masonry. A great improvement on old-fashioned vaults, as all possibility of disturbance is precluded and no danger from foul air. This building is under the High Altar, so to a devout Roman Catholic much of the feeling of gloom is taken away. A few miles west is St. David's Church, a pretty new edifice, and further on at the village of St. Romuald, St. Romuald's Church, so filled with choice paintings and works of art by its late Pastor, the Rev. Mr. Saxe, it has become quite a worthy show place for our sight-seeing American friends. The Rev. Mr. Saxe was of such clever wit and genial presence, he exercised great influence over those with whom he came in contact. I remember saying how proud his parishioners must be of this lovely little edifice. "They well may be," he said, "it has hardly cost them anything for all these works of art. I made the old country, that could afford it, give them, you know. I travelled in Europe for contributions, and impressed on each community how necessary it was that each city should give of its best—something to redound to its own credit, and I got it," the old gentleman said with a merry twinkle in his eye. So much, my friends, for tact and a knowledge of human nature.

BEAUMONT—ST. THOMAS.

Previous to the year 1853, or thereabouts, there was no railroad below Quebec, and vehicles were the only means of transport; but when time and means permit, it is surely the most agreeable of all ways of travelling. We were frequent visitors at Crane Island, and our downward drive to St. Thomas, where we took sail boat to cross, were in the habit of stopping at various way-side houses, not inns, simply neat commodious places where we were always expected and welcomed, and sure of a meal and bed. One of these was the Fraser House at Beaumont: it still exists, but sadly deteriorated, and occupied by a French farmer and family. It is a very long low house in a very small quiet country village, prettily situated with a view of the St. Lawrence.

On one occasion my husband and myself drove up to the door. "Welcome!" (we were frequent visitors) "but it is well you did not come a few days sooner. Who do you think has just left? Lord and Lady Elgin,"—and I forget whether she said any children. "Come, and I'll show you the room as I arranged it for Lady Elgin." If you have never, my readers, seen a genuine old-fashioned habitant bedstead, I would almost fail to impress you with its height; you could not possibly get into it without standing on a chair, and two of these were placed side by side, taking in one whole side of a room, with the long white curtains pendant from a rod attached to the ceiling. I can hardly think of it now without smiling. Of course, it must have been for the novelty of the thing that Lady Elgin used it instead of having one brought from Quebec. Perhaps one gets so tired of formality and grandeur, a change becomes a welcome relief. We said we had but twenty minutes to stay, and must have lunch at once. In about ten minutes we had a most delicious fricassee of chicken in white sauce. On complimenting Mrs. Fraser, she said, "I learnt how to make that from Lord Elgin's cook, and was I not smart? those chickens were running about when you came." That spoilt all, ah—if she only had not told us? There are numerous pretty villages all along the south shore. None prettier than that of St. Michel, adjacent to Beaumont. It much resembles Kamouraska, though much prettier as the foliage is so lovely.

ST. MICHEL.

St. Michel is a delightful summer residence, about fifteen miles from Quebec, reached directly by steamer every day, or by railroad a few miles from the village.

We resided there for a couple of years, and then made the acquaintance of the Rev. Mr. Drolet, who with his mother and sisters tendered us such kindly hospitality. The Parsonage became to all of us a Maison Paternelle, for the family all spoke English as well as French, and the genial curÉ, a very clever and devoted priest, was in his home an admirable host. I shall have occasion elsewhere to speak of him. I will conclude this article with a few verses I found lately, written on the spur of the moment from the circumstance of one of the ladies nearly falling through a trap door into the cellar of the dining-room of the old-fashioned house we then occupied.

A CHRONICLE OF ST. MICHEL.

A REMEMBRANCE OF HAPPY DAYS.

It was a winter evening,

The moon was shining bright,

When from a lady's parlor

Came sounds of laughter light.

But, suddenly, the scene is changed,

There's heard a warning shriek,

And borne upon the air the words,

"Oh! dear, will no one speak?"

Unheeding trap, just at her feet,

Comes with majestic mien

A damsel of sweet presence,

And smiling all serene.

Her eyes are like the glowworm,

Her cheeks like damask rose,

She holds her head so loftily,

She looks not at her toes;

When, roused from contemplation sweet

Of bottles ale and stout,

A head above the trap appears—

"What's all this row about?

I see, I see, Miss Flora, dear,

You'd all but tumbled down;

One further step, and you'd have fall'n

On my unlucky crown.

Oh! had you tumbled on my head

In yonder cellar well,

We now, alas, been both quite dead"—

A sad old tale to tell.

How youth and beauty often fall

Into some snare unseen,

As so hath chanced in many a day

And yet full oft I ween,

While thoughtless youth with eager step

Pursues its heedless way.

MORAL.

Then damsels all who hear my tale

Hold not your heads so high,

A downward glance give now and then,

Hid dangers to descry.

 

We arrive at St. Thomas after a forty miles drive, and stay over, if the tide does not serve for coming, at Madame F.'s well-known hotel—not far from which is the residences of the late Sir Etienne TachÉ and Mr. Bender, father of the present well-known Boston physician, Dr. Bender.

A short distance from here is the house now occupied by E. P. Bender, formerly owned by Mr. William Patton, a splendid specimen of an English gentleman. A lumber merchant, doing a large business with ample means, his house was the home of generous hospitality. It is thirty years since I visited it or more—it then gave you an idea of one of England's far-famed country homes; Everything handsome, well ordered grounds, its steel grates (then a novelty), and handsome paperings, a host so courteous, his wife a refined lady of the old school—all appeared to promise long years of happiness to its inmates, when in a day, alas! all was changed. Mr. Patton was most energetic in his efforts to hasten the building of the railroad from Quebec to St. Thomas, and went into town to see Messrs. Morton, Peto & Brassey, when he met his fate. Overheated by his exertions, he lay down to rest opposite an open window facing the St. Lawrence, a gale sprung up, he got a chill, and in twenty-four hours he was dead, of inflammation, before his wife could reach him, and yet she arrived almost in time, due to a mysterious warning of some kind, I forget what it was—she told me of it herself.

Sitting quietly in her room she heard or saw something, and, convinced that her husband needed her, she ordered a carriage, and, despite all remonstrance, drove all night, and passed in the darkness the carriage sent for her, and arrived in the grey dawn of morning to find her husband just dead.

How many such unaccountable occurrences happen. I could tell of at least six such experiences in my own history. My theory is this, that under certain conditions thought meets thought, and so mesmerically impresses on the loved one its own yearnings and wishes.

Previous to Mr. Patton's purchasing it, this house had been occupied by several families of note, the De Beaujeus, Olivas, etc. It was purchased a few years since by E. P. Bender, Esq., who now occupies it with his family.

SECOND VISIT TO ROBERVAL,
LAKE ST. JOHN.

I was unfortunately prevented from visiting Roberval until late in the season—in fact, only a few weeks before the hotel closed—but I saw enough to confirm my first impressions as to its desirability as a summer resort for people who really need to recuperate after the wear and tear of town life. It was late in August, a cold spell was on; we arrived per railroad on Pullman car, which brings you to the very gate of the hotel premises. A dull heavy rain came down as we got off the cars, but what of that? you are ushered into a hallway where burns a generous grate fire. Courteous officials greet you and inquire your wants. Shown to a comfortable bedroom, and then to a supper as good in quality as meals served in most town hotels, with excellent attendance, you fancy you are in fairy land, as, gazing on the wild country around, you remember that this locality a few years ago was not even inhabited by farmers, but all was bush. Ushered into the ladies' parlor you are greeted by a most winning hostess, Mrs. Scott, daughter of the Honorable Mr. Shehyn, who, residing here at present with her children, does the honors, and welcomes you as if to her own private parlor. The season was so nearly over there were comparatively few guests, but those of the most pleasant—Dr. and Mrs. Lovely, Rev. Mr. —— and his wife, and several members of the Beemer family, who by their musical talents contributed largely to our enjoyment. Roberval I am sure has a grand future before it. Dr. Lovely, one of the most eminent physicians of the United States, assured me that he had discovered coal-oil there, not five miles from the hotel, and also some stone (I forget what) of which he was taking specimens away with him. He said if it was what he thought, it would indeed be a bonanza.

It appears to me that Roberval would be especially beneficial for those suffering from nervous exhaustion or debility, or tendency to consumption. The pure mountain air, the quiet, the absence of rush and excitement, must surely be most grateful to such parties, while for those who want a livelier existence, the trips in excursion steam-boats, the visits to various other fishing grounds, the power of jumping on the railroad that comes to your door and whirls you off for a few hours to other lakes, is a matter not to be lost sight of. Added to the perfect inside comfort of this hotel—baths on your bedroom flat—the immense piazza runs the full length of the building, affording in wet weather an excellent promenade, with a view of the lovely lake, and what I much appreciated was the absence of the horrid gong calling you to meals. Here you are told the time for meals, and if you so desire a civil waiter calls you at the hour you name, but the fearful din that elsewhere rouses you from your pet morning sleep is absent.

Entering the ladies' parlor in the evening you feel almost that you are in a private house. A bright fire burns in an open grate. Some fair lady is employing her talents at the piano in your service, and you enjoy some really good music, when one of the ladies asks are you to have a little dance or a small game of cards—the first at once, the latter when we are tired. After a short time small tables are brought in, the guests group into little coteries, each one retires when he will, after enjoying all the comforts of a home with the liberty of an hotel.

I must not forget to state that at the village, about a mile from the hotel, is a Roman Catholic Church and fine Ursuline Convent, a delightful boarding school for young ladies, who enjoy boating every day and pleasant little trips to an island now belonging to the Nuns. There is also a telegraph in the hotel, and any amount of vehicles and horses and boats for visitors—also cheaper boarding houses in the village for those who require them.

During the few days I stayed there, one or two funny incidents occurred. On one occasion I had an old man to drive me, when I said, "I hope it will not rain before we get home." "I hope it won't, indeed," he said, "I am not dry yet since yesterday." "How is that?" I asked. Said he: "I was out with that party from the hotel who when out fishing were so drenched, and the storm being so great I stayed by the hotel kitchen fire instead of going home to change; but, madame," as a sudden thought struck him, "you live at the hotel, is there a doctor living there?" Having been there only a few hours, I did not know, but inquired why he asked. "The fact is, I hear that when people come from Louisiana or Paris, a party of ten always brings a doctor with them" (a party recently arrived just numbering ten), "and hearing that I had a son ill, one gentleman said if I would take him to see my son or bring my son to him, he would try and cure him." "Well," I asked, "have you done so?" "But no," he said, "he is English." (I spoke in French and he thought I was a French Canadian.) "What difference would that make?" "Why, madame, do you think the English know anything?" "Well," I said, "perhaps a little; you might try the doctor." At the same time I was quite prepared to hear that he was a victim of some practical joke from his statement that every ten persons coming from Louisiana or Paris brought a doctor with them; I little expected the dÉnouement. "Oh! my son would not see him at all. He said, 'father, do you wish me to die at once?' But, madame, I would not have minded taking him to the doctor myself. You don't think that even though English he would have given him something to kill him at once?" "Oh! no," I answered, "I am sure he would not do that." But my story does not end here. On entering the parlor, where several were seated, I addressed a peculiarly pleasant lady near me, and began to narrate for their benefit my conversation with the old driver, when I noticed my hearer give a kind of warning glance: and then she went off into a merry peal of laughter as the door opened and a gentleman popped in his head. "Come here, my dear, learn a lesson of humility. This, my dear lady, is my husband, Dr. Lovely" (I have learned since that he is one of the most well-known of American physicians); "he is the Englishman, who can't know anything."

The doctor, who enjoyed the joke, engaged the same driver next day to have his fun as much as anything. After a good deal of skirmishing, he elicited all from the old coachman, who, however, said, though English, if Dr. L—— was a Roman Catholic, he might induce his son to trust him, as he believed that the little bottles he showed him really contained des remÈdes. I know that the doctor explained to him that, though not a Roman Catholic, he attended nearly all the members of that denomination in the United States, and there was some kind of negotiation going on when I left. They may have come to terms, and the boy cured, despite himself. Perhaps this poor old chap, living for many years utterly isolated from civilization, might have the same horror of Les terribles Anglais that the English peasantry had of Napoleon the First, who, when children were refractory, were threatened to be given to 'Bonaparte. And, now, as some of our English people may be hard on this old French-Canadian, I must tell you that the clergyman's wife, attached to some very prominent hospital in one of the large cities of the United States, said they came across sometimes very odd cases, and instanced that of a patient coming to the hospital, and, being ordered to take a bath, said he had never taken a bath in his life, and must go home and consult his wife. He went and never returned!!! This, in one of the largest cities of America. So don't too much despise the old backwoodsman's prejudice. As Mrs. Lovely most kindly invited me to pay her a visit, I may yet tell you more about this very true tale.

ST. LEON SPRINGS.

It is fully fifty years ago since my father took me to Three Rivers en route for St. Leon Springs. We were most hospitably received by Mr. Lajoie (father of the present dry goods merchant of Three Rivers), and his good lady, and Mr. Faucher de St. Maurice, father of the present gentleman of the same name. Of the party were, I think, Mr. Gingras, whose son, brother-in-law of Mr. Dorion, recently deceased, was the first I think to establish the reputation of these waters. After a sumptuous repast at Mr. Lajoie's, we were driven to St. Leon Springs, and this us what I remember of it then: a steep sandy hill, up which was walking a pale, thin young lady, whom my father pointed out to me as Miss G——; that lady has been in bed seven years, you see her walking now; whether the cure was permanent or not I have no means of ascertaining, but Mr. Campbell, late proprietor of St. Leon Springs, told me only two weeks since that he remembered Miss G—— perfectly. Mr. Campbell further told me since that his father had noticed the cattle drinking at this spring, and finding it had a peculiar taste, had it analyzed, and gave to the public this boon for the afflicted, and health-preserving drink for the sick. We had tea that day at the Springs on a deal table, without table-cloth, seated on wooden benches, while carpenters were putting the roof on a large building we sat in. I presume this was the first hotel, rather a contrast to that of the present day, which is yearly crowded with an increased number of fashionable visitors from all parts of the Dominion, in search of health or amusement. This hotel has been very lately enlarged and fitted up with every modern convenience. Parties leaving Montreal by the Canadian Pacific Railroad, and getting off at Louiseville, will find vehicles waiting to take them to St. Leon Springs.

This lady just alluded to, Miss G——, was one of those peculiar patients one hears of in a lifetime, and, as all her near relatives are dead and few will recognize the initial, I will inform my readers that Dr. A——, one of my father's physicians (now deceased), told me that she was afflicted with a kind of fit—cataleptic, I think, they called it—when she fell into a state so closely resembling death that two of Quebec's most prominent medical men were about to perform a post-mortem examination on her, when the slight quiver of an eyelid proved her still alive, and on her recovering she told them that, though unable to make the slightest motion, she had heard and seen all that had passed, and Dr. A—— was exceedingly indignant that such a subject should have been sent to him as an ordinary patient, as the same thing might have occurred again. He was, if I mistake not, then residing in Halifax and he told me that all the instructions he received were to provide a suitable lodging for a nervous patient, who could afford to pay well for a quiet private residence. Accordingly, Dr. A—— persuaded a well-to-do Scotch farmer to take her as a boarder. For a time all went well, though she would go off into a sort of trance, when she lay apparently dead for perhaps three days and returned to consciousness, often cognizant of what had occurred during her semi-deathlike state. But on one occasion her second sight, if you can so term it, was so great, she terrified the old people so, they begged the doctor to remove her, saying she was no canny. The facts were these:—On one occasion Miss G—— fell into her cataleptic state, and the doctor not expecting her to revive before a certain time, said he would not call till the following Thursday. But on the Tuesday, receiving a summons from a very old patient, twenty miles distant, he decided on calling on her en route. The weather being rainy, he asked for a covered vehicle, and the only one procurable was a shabby, very old-fashioned waggon. In the meantime, Miss G—— awoke from her trance, and said, "the doctor is coming." "No," said the mistress of the house; "he is not coming till Thursday." "He is coming now," said Miss G——, "he is at the red gate" (a gate some distance from the back of the house, and too far for any sound to reach)—"what a funny carriage he has." When he really drove up in this queer-looking vehicle, the landlady was so scared, she uttered that exclamation, "she is no canny," and insisted that board should be taken elsewhere. I offer no explanation—let the savants do that—I only narrate facts I vouch for.

MY SECOND VISIT TO ST. LEON SPRINGS.

Going by the Canadian Pacific Railroad to Louiseville, we took a trap awaiting at the station, and, after a drive over a rather pretty country road, arrived at St. Leon Springs. Alas! the season was over, only Mr. Thomas and his son, and Mr. Langlois, were there, and a few servants. Nevertheless, we saw enough to convince us what a delightful health resort this must be in summer. When I say health resort, I do not mean pleasure resort, though there is plenty of amusement for reasonable people, who would find pleasant companionship, dancing, music, drives, croquet, lawn-tennis sufficient for summer heat; but, we speak now of St. Leon Springs as a retreat for the really ill or convalescent, and as such it must simply be perfection. A large hotel, nicely kept, numerous bath-rooms, all fitted up with an abundant supply of St. Leon water for bathing, excellent meals, well-cooked and nicely served, as we saw even during our brief and unexpected stay (I have never eaten such perfect home-made bread as there), with the drinking of these health-giving waters, must surely be of incalculable benefit. Twitting Mr. Langlois on the supposition that perhaps in cities the St. Leon water is in part manufactured, Mr. Langlois told us a funny incident. He said, I think it was in Toronto, he overheard some one saying, as his trucks came in loaded with barrels: "I wonder how much of this is manufactured?" On the impulse of the moment, Mr. L—— gave a hint to the carters to dump the casks on the pavement instead of taking them through the yard.

As anticipated, a policeman came up and remonstrated on impeding the sidewalk. Soon a crowd gathered. Just what Mr. L—— desired. When spoken to, he said: "Of course, it was an oversight, the water should have been taken into the yard; but as it was there, he would like to prove to the people assembled how genuine was the water, by tapping several barrels, and, igniting with a match the gas, said: "My friends, can any of you manufacture gas in water to burn like this?" Mr. L—— is not by any means a man you would credit with being a religious enthusiast; but I will never forget the solemnity of the act, as, raising his hand towards Heaven, he uttered these words: "He who made these waters can alone make the gas."

Mr. Thomas, a wealthy gentleman, with his son, for health and occupation, takes the management here. The latter, quite a sport, drove us with his blood horses to the station, at a pace that made me tremble. There a grand old-fashioned coach with four spanking horses waits at the railroad station to drive you in style to the hotel. Come and try them, my fast American friends. I will conscientiously stick to the old-fashioned one-horse buckboard—not elegant and hardly comfortable, but very safe.

ST. RAYMOND.

About eight years ago my dear husband and myself took rooms for the summer with a Mr. Ignace DÉry, a carpenter. The house, a very large one of many buildings, was prettily situated on the banks of the river. Facing the house an immense barn indicated the prosperity of the farm. In course of conversation I remarked to Mr. D. how astonished I was to find such a handsome church, fine shops, and a musical choir, with a thriving village, in a place we had only heard of a few years before. "You will be more surprised, dear lady," he said, "when I inform you that I came here fifty years ago, a boy of fifteen, against my people's will, with another cousin, and broke the first road in what was all then bush." "How did you hear of this place at all?" "Well, from the Indians, and I went out with the surveyors and thought what a splendid place it was for a settlement, and said so, but my father would not hear of it. However, one day, my cousin, Joseph DÉry, said to me after church, 'Have you decided on coming to squat or take possession and make an opening on these lands?' 'My family will not hear of it,' I answered. 'Well, then, come without their leave; if they see you succeed, they will be quite satisfied.'" So DÉry and his cousin started off right after mass, the equipment of the former being a loaf of bread and piece of pork procured from his sister, whom he let into the secret, about half a bag of potatoes for seed, a hatchet, and his working clothes and a little salt. The boys walked out about fifteen miles: the one, my friend DÉry, remained at the east end, his cousin at the west. These two houses now form the boundary in a certain measure of the village of St. Raymond. Mr. DÉry told me his first occupation was to plant some potatoes, then build a small hut, and he said for food he had only to dip a line into the river back of the site of his house to procure all the fish he needed. On this he lived, with fruit and a little flour procured later. Such was the commencement of this prosperous village. The cousin, Joseph DÉry, still kept a few years ago intact his first cottage, though building a comfortable house beside it.

ANOTHER PIONEER

In the autumn we moved for a month nearer the village, and occupied the house owned by Mr. BeauprÉ. It was a commodious dwelling, neatly furnished, and on my remarking a rather nice bureau in my room, and inquiring if they had a cabinet-maker in the village, my landlady answered, "Oh! my husband made that himself, and, though never apprenticed to any trade, built nearly the whole of this house himself." and then the old gentleman, pointing to the other side of the river, said, "Do you notice, madame, that clump of trees; well, beneath that rock is a cavern which I discovered and made a residence of when, as a boy of thirteen, I walked from St. Augustine across the country to there, to see what I could do for myself. I had no near relations, and determined if possible, by squatting, to get a home. I built a projecting porch, and lived for many a month in that cavern. I earned my living by doing odd jobs for the farmers, who came from some distance, and helped to row them over in a scow to St. Raymond proper, now the village, to get their horses shod, and while waiting for their return, noticed how the blacksmiths worked; then it occurred to me how well a blacksmith would do on my side of the river (thus saving the crossing), and I commenced to learn, and here I am, the master of a comfortable home and several farms"—the reward of energy and favorable circumstances, which brought the railroad to their very doors, and with large stores opening for the supply of the railroad employees, and the influx of summer visitors, has made the desert blossom like a rose, and a charming village (the intersecting waters spanned by a pretty bridge), spring in a few years from the bush.

Mr. Panet, advocate, and his charming wife are residents here. Mr. P., representative and nephew of Mrs. Shakspeare, wife of General Shakspeare, daughter of Bernard Panet, of old Quebec memory.

OCTOBER 28, 1890.

I have just returned from St. Raymond and learnt some additional facts anent the DÉrys I found interesting, and detail them for public benefit. The daughter-in-law of Joseph DÉry said her father-in-law was the first, except sportsmen and Indians, who had ever been to St. Raymond; a little pathway through the woods was their inroad. He started to find the River St. Anne, which runs through St. Raymond; he found his walk very fatiguing from Lorette, and arriving at the Cape, under which runs the St. John railway now, was delighted to find he was nearing his destination. He named the hill Cap Joyeuse, which name it still bears. On wishing to see the first cabin he had built, she said, by recent surveys, it would be situated in the middle of the river, as the waters of the St Anne river had gradually washed the bank away. The end of the first cottage built is still extant, every plank used in it being sawed by hand, and the portrait of Mr. Joseph DÉry hangs on its walls.

ST. AUGUSTIN,

ABOUT 15 MILES WEST OF QUEBEC.

I do not know that I ever heard much of St. Augustin in my earlier days, except as the residence of Mr. Gale, an oldtime school master, who fixed his residence there, and taught many of the (after) prominent men of Quebec. His wife, a prim little lady of wax-doll complexion and flaxen hair done up in frizzes, was quite a character as well as her husband. A very kind-hearted little lady she was, with a peculiar gift of hospitality, and her cakes and home-made wine were of wide renown. Mr. Gale had a taste for antiquities; a small museum, in great part contributions of curiosities, the gifts of his admiring scholars, was one of his cherished parlor ornaments.

His was a school of the ancien rÉgime, but in its best sense, though religiously a day was appointed for the pulling out of teeth, those for administering sulphur and molasses and other time-honored medicines, happily or unhappily exploded.

Nevertheless, Mr. Gale's was a thoroughly comfortable home, and his students had a true regard for himself and good wife, testified often in later years by his anciens ÉlÈves constantly sending him contributions of rare articles to add to his collection.

ST. ANDRÉ—NEXT PARISH BELOW KAMOURASKA.

"In the days when we went gipseying a long time ago."

About seventy-five years ago or more a wealthy Englishman, John S. Campbell, came out from the old country and commenced a large business in lumber and ship building at the part of St. AndrÉ called Pointe SÈche. Here he built a beautiful residence with every luxury and appliances then known, splendid walks in the shrubbery, beautiful gardens, and even a residence for a physician, as at that time there was a great deal of ship fever, and he employed a great number of workmen in his ship building and other mercantile business. He brought out his wife (with her lady's maid), who, accustomed to society life, must have been indeed startled at the contrast of her surroundings, for here she was virtually in a wilderness. It is true that previous to the railroad from Quebec to the lower ports, these same villages had much more life in a business point than to-day, for then all travellers stopped at the wayside inns, and there being no facilities for going or coming from Quebec, the shopkeepers who brought down in their schooners goods at certain seasons of the year did a fine business, and really large fortunes were made by many: an apt illustration of the truth of the vulgar old proverb, "that what is one man's meat is another man's poison," for the railroad, which is such a boon to the farmers and those bordering its route, has proved utterly destructive to the old-fashioned inns and shops on the old route, for the transfer being solely by vehicles, a regular influx of travellers was expected and received, thus giving life to the village and current cash.

Mr. J. S. Campbell and his lady becoming after some years thoroughly disgusted, abandoned the place, and so swiftly, I many years after, about forty years ago, found a book belonging to the family in the disused dining-room. I heard from one of the family to-day who own this lovely property now, and use it as a summer residence (Mrs. Rankin of Dorchester street), that a caretaker had been left in charge of the property; if so, his conscience must have been very lax, for it was the custom of all those giving picnics at Kamouraska, who wished to do so, to use the house as well as the grounds, and to simply walk in at open doors and take temporary possession. Well, on one occasion my father-in-law's family had a kind of picnic, but, though going up to the Campbell grounds, had brought their provisions to a neat little wayside inn a short distance, from the mill and wharf built by the aforesaid J. S. Campbell; and as I always preferred a quiet read to those excursions (I fear I am naturally rather lazy), I said I would await their return at the small hotel—its quiet and cleanliness were very inviting. "But," said Mr. McP. (I think I hear the words as he addressed me often in fun), "Mistress Charlotte, if you stay behind, you are responsible for the dinner." I promised in good faith, and with a firm resolve of doing my duty, that all should be in order on their return, and, telling the landlady at what hour lunch must be ready, made arrangements for an hour of delightful repose, by ensconcing myself into the most cosy of sofas with an interesting novel. As the old grandmother's clock tolled forth the midday hour, it struck me I had better see how the dinner was progressing for the hungry folks expected soon. Fortunately, I did not delay, for, to my dismay, I found the lamb-chops put to boil, and the green peas frying in the frying-pan. By hastily changing their positions, I managed matters so as to disguise my carelessness, and so all was well that ends well.

A thoroughly respectable house like the Campbell House, of Pointe SÈche, could not be without its ghost, and it's doubly guaranteed by having two of them: one a lady who is heard to moan and sob and say she was shut up from every one (it is presumed Mrs. C., who, instead of dying of ennui and country fare, took the more sensible plan of returning to England); the other, the apparition of a gentleman, supposed to have been murdered because he disappeared—a rejected suitor put on board a vessel by Mr. C. for making too violent love to a cousin and quarrelling with a more favored lover. I have exorcised several ghosts already, and would like to try my observations on those inhabitants of a higher, or, more likely, our earthly sphere, to whom the unoccupancy of this fine mansion might be a convenience.

LES EBOULEMENTS.

So called from the tremblings of constant earthquakes, which with apparent volcanic action has thrown up hill after hill so steep. I can compare the ascent and descent to nothing else but a winter sleighing slide. In fact, the hills are almost perpendicular, and almost inaccessible to a nervous party, who in descending feels as if he must fall on the horse's tail, and ascending drop out of the cart behind. Yet to the young and active it is a wild, lovely summer resort, its unusual scenery presenting a most pleasurable and novel spectacle. In fact, my friends, if you have a desire to visit Switzerland and cannot compass it, just go to Les Eboulements, and very little imagination will help you to transport yourself there. Cradled in mist, perched on some rocky elevation, with the simple people about you, you can easily deem yourself in the land of William Tell. But, did I say simple? yes, with a spice of modern craft, for I well remember a friend being ill asking me, as it was a non-licensed place, to ask the landlady for a little stimulant of any kind, as she might give it to me instead of a gentleman. The answer to my demand was the query, "What would you have?" "Well, if possible, port wine," and a bottle of excellent quality was forthcoming, and also the remark, "if more is required, in fact, as much as is necessary can be obtained. We have plenty for our own use." As these people were great fish traders with St. Pierre Miquelon, in view of recent developments as to the smuggling business I have my thoughts, but as I believe in free trade between all nations, and I should think it no sin to smuggle myself, I do not condemn them.

Apropos of smuggling, a funny incident came under my observation. A young married cousin some years ago lived on the border dividing Canada from the United States, and while (with the fresh memory of the Fenian raids) countenanced, as was said, by the Americans, expressed great dislike to Brother Jonathan. He dubbed her a thorough Yankee, and she proved herself a very cute one. Well, these ladies had been accustomed under lax custom house discipline to drive over to St. Albans and purchase many effects, cotton especially, at a very much less price than on Canadian soil, and were very indignant when a new official was appointed, who openly boasted that no tricks would be played upon him. That was enough for my sprightly cousin. She arranged a plan with her sister, went over in a light waggon, and when stopped at the frontier by the aforesaid young clerk on her return, who, with many apologies, requested leave to search her vehicle, answered in a tone of impatience, "Well, search my waggon as much as you please, but don't wake my baby." She held in her arms a good-sized baby in long clothes, a heavy veil covering the face. The official searched and found nothing contraband. He was, however, very much disgusted to hear later that the baby was a mass of dress and cotton goods, and that Mrs. K., as she walked up and down the platform soothing her supposed infant, was inwardly chuckling over her clever trick played on the too confident custom house clerk.

SOCIETY IN QUEBEC FIFTY YEARS AGO.

Fifty years ago Quebec was a prominent military station, and from that circumstance, as well as the fact that it counted amongst its members so many of the truly good old French families of the ancienne noblesse, there was then none of that petty jealousy between French and English. They had fought valiantly, but when peace was declared they shook hands heartily and became friends. The English reserve was tempered by French suavity, and as Captain Warburton, in his Stadacona Feuilleton, says, "There were such a number of pretty girls in Quebec, and so attractive, such pleasant manners, combining maidenly reserve with refined out-spokenness, they were irresistible, and some English mammas, it was said, murmured sadly when they heard their darling sons were to be sent to Canada, fearing they would be effectually captured, as they certainly would be, in the silken but enduring nets of the fair demoiselles; however, they must have been satisfied eventually, for the ladies of whom the military gentlemen deprived us of have done credit to their native city."

Old Quebecers will remember Miss L., wife of General Elliot; Miss A., wife of General Pipon; Miss P., wife of General Shakspeare, and dozens of others; but I have before me at least twenty beautiful and accomplished ladies, our society belles who accompanied the red coats to England. What a different aspect Quebec wore when the military were first taken away! it seemed as if the silence of death reigned, and why all should have been taken has ever been an unanswered question.

Of people prominent in society in my early days were Mr. Lemesurier, Judge McCord, Mr. Berthelot (he gave me a French grammar, I remember, he had published; he was father-in-law of Sir Louis LaFontaine), Mr. Faribault, the Hon. John Malcolm Fraser, Mr. Symes, whose pretty and amiable daughter married the son of the Empress Eugenie's trusty friend, the Marquis de Bassano.

Besides the house occupied by the Hon. George Primrose, there was at that time but one small house used by the military, and now the site of the splendid residence of the Hon. Mr. Thibodeau, facing the Governor's garden. At the intersecting street facing the river is the old Langham house, still occupied by her grand-daughter, Mrs. T.; a few doors from there the residence of Chief Justice Bowen, whose ladies entertained a great deal, and one of whose daughters was the wife of the late Rev. Mr. Houseman.

We will take a skip now to where Palace gate formerly stood, and watch G. H. Parke, Esq., a noted whip (father of Dr. Parke), and see him guide his tandem through one of the sally-ports to the houses of the members of the tandem, who could in vain hope to follow him. Mr. P., who delighted in guiding the club through most intricate places, had taken the measure of the sally-port and knew his cariole would pass through, and thus triumphantly headed the others, who feared to follow him. Should he read this account of his old exploit, I am sure it would yet bring up a smile.

The remembrance of this feat recalls a story I have heard of the time of the noted Chamberlain gang. There were no houses at one time between the grand house here and a large one opposite St. Patrick's church, at that time occupied by Miss or Mrs. M., an elderly lady of ample means, who occupied the present residence of J. Scott, Esq., formerly the home of Mr. Faucher de St. Maurice. This Chamberlain was the leader of a notorious gang, who for some time held Quebec in a state of terror; their rapacity, cruelty and audacity exceeded anything ever before seen, and they continued their course with impunity till a most providential circumstance caused their discovery. Well, one of their exploits was to get one of their gang into Mrs. M.'s as ostensible man servant to rob the house. Late at night one of the maids discerned a light in the basement and heard voices, indicating that there were robbers in the dwelling. She thought for a moment of trying to run and get help from the guard, but fearing that unlocking the back door might arouse the burglars, she decided on barricading the room in which her mistress slept, hoping to be able to call for help to some passer-by; but alas! none came; the robbers came up, quickly destroyed her barricade, and though she fought bravely with some fire-wood,—the only weapon at her hand—was overpowered, gagged, tied up with her mistress in a carpet, and so left for hours. When the milkman and butcher came and called ineffectually for admittance, the doors were forced, and they were released after much suffering; such was a sample of some of their exploits.

Leaving St. Patrick's church, nearly opposite this residence, we go on to and up Esplanade Hill, till we come to a pretty little church, and it was the sacrilege perpetrated here that was the cause of their discovery. Amongst other articles they had stolen a solid silver statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Every effort was made to trace the thieves, but ineffectually, till the curiosity of an old country woman found them out. Somewhere, I think, back of Point Levis, there lived a Canadian farmer, whose old domestic had become very much disgusted at the changed aspect of the home—from a respectable, quiet domicile it had become a most disorderly house; half intoxicated people coming in and out at all hours, arriving with carioles loaded with things kept out of her sight. She noticed that she was always sent off while they unloaded, and they made their way to a hut in the woods built for boiling maple sugar, and that huge fires were built, though no sugar was made. Finally, she followed the gang secretly, and went close enough to hear, though not to see, what was going on, and overheard these words uttered: "I am very sorry for you, my poor little virgin, but you must boil in the pot too. Ah! I'll keep this little finger to remember you by." Horrified beyond expression, the old woman returned swiftly to the house and kept a terrified watch; her master came in, and most of the men drove off; but the one whose voice she had recognized was so intoxicated that he fell into a heavy sleep, and out of his pocket fell the tiny silver finger of the statue. Seizing the first opportunity, she sought the parish priest and told him all. He at once connected the small finger with the recent church robbery, enjoined the most absolute silence on the woman, and advised her for her own sake as well as that of others to go about her work as usual and so excite no suspicion. In the meantime he communicated with the authorities, who wisely determined to make no display of their knowledge, as the silver was melted and all traces destroyed; but on the occasion of the next burglary, a posse of police instantly surrounded the place, and effectually captured in time the whole gang, several of whom were hanged.

They owed their long immunity to the fact that several people of position were implicated. Some, against their will, too terrified to break from them. One man, on the scaffold, confessed that a young man unwarily brought into their meshes had begged leave to be permitted to break off from them on his taking oath never to betray them. A seeming acquiescence was yielded, and an appointment made to take a row on the river to negotiate where no one could overhear their conversation. As soon as out of sight and sound the man confessed he had silenced him effectually by a knock on the head and a pitch into the river.

Leaving the little church on the Esplanade, on reaching St. Ann, and turning to the left, at the top of Ursule hill, you find a double brown house, with peculiar pointed turret windows. Here I lived when about eight years old, but most distinctly do I remember its surroundings. Come in and sit with me in the end parlor window and I will point out to you Colonel (afterwards General) Macdonald, in his brave uniform, the picture of dignity, coming down, the steps of the building formerly occupied by Dr. Boswell; also the house where Dr. Lemieux now lives, some officers (Guards, I think) had their quarters, and pretty lively quarters they were. Most of these gentlemen were rich, young, full of fun, and quite regardless of consequences. One of their eccentricities was to insist on a favorite horse being brought in by the front door and harnessed in one of the large rooms off the entrance. I used to watch these proceedings with great glee. No doubt they paid richly for their whistle when settling day came with their landlord. But they could well afford to pay for their pranks.

Opposite this house, the door facing Ann street is still the solid residence, the home some years since of the much-lamented Judge Alleyne; in the early days I speak of, the house of Mr. Le Mesurier, a merchant then, but previously an officer in ——, and carrying a reminder of the same in an empty sleeve, a noble mark of valor.

To be a good carver was then an absolute necessity, for all carving was done at table, and Mr. Le Mesurier piqued himself on always discharging this duty himself, which he did most skillfully by means of a peculiarly constructed knife and fork. Once seated at a side-table (I had been invited to tea with some of the younger members of the family), I watched him do so with great admiration. I do not recall precisely who else were there; but one figure is specially impressed on my memory, that of Mrs. Kerr (mother of the late Judge Kerr), a very stately lady in pink silk and high white plumes.

Mrs. Le Mesurier, although at the head of fashionable society, was one of the old-time good housekeepers. I think I see her now with her keys in hand, giving directions to some domestic. She had a large family—all popular; but the two special favorites were, I think, Miss Harriet, who is married to General Elliot, and Henry Le Mesurier, whose former lovely residence on the St. Lewis road still exists. He had a peculiarly winning charm of manner, inherited, as I saw in a very short interview I had with him, by his son George.

I will now take you up the Esplanade and stop at a cut-stone house on the corner of St. Lewis road, once used as the residence of the Lieut.-Governor. It was conveniently situated, and there was great indignation expressed when the project was mooted of buying Spencer Wood, for, though in most respects suitable, many said it was too far, for those whose position entitled them to vice-regal entertainments would find horse hire a heavy tax. For, my friends, in those early days the almighty dollar was not worshipped as now; in fact, very few of those moving in the highest society were rich—good family, culture and education were the tests, and no amount of money would have introduced a vulgar person into the charmed circle; in fact, permission to subscribe to the Quebec assemblies was a matter of almost as great moment as admittance to old London Almacks. An instance of which may be found in this over-true tale told me by an aged aunt who knew all the circumstances. Briefly, it was this: A rich tradesman lived on Mountain Hill, who had a pretty wife, who, not content with every needful luxury for her happiness, must needs sigh for, to her, the unattainable (that was entrÉe to the castle). On one occasion a military gentleman of high position who owed this tradesman some money said he regretted the circumstance, and that if he would give him time he would do anything possible for him in return. "Well," said Mr. Blank, "if you could do something for my wife, I should not only consider the bill paid, but be grateful too." "What is asked?" said the colonel. "Just this: you see, sir, my wife is young, and has taken it into her foolish little head she must get to one of the castle balls. Could you get her in?" "Nothing easier, my dear sir; on my arm she can come in unquestioned." So grand preparations were made by the lady, and at the appointed time she went to the castle, triumphant, on her cavalier's arm, advanced to the door where the cards of admission were received, when the official in waiting said, "Enter, colonel, but Mrs. —— is not known here, where is her invitation?" Mortified to death, it was said that Mrs. Blank, unwilling to face the occupants of the ladies' dressing-room, turned and fled precipitately in her slippers and without her outward wraps, rushed home, and that chagrin and cold brought on a severe illness that resulted in consumption. On her death-bed, unable to forgive the wound to her pride, she made her daughter promise that, eschewing all thoughts of love, she would promise her to marry only a man of such position she would be able to look down on those who had snubbed her mother. Being young, rich and pretty, this young girl accepted an aged man of very high rank, refusing one of the finest young men in Quebec, of whom she was fond, and commenced a life of unhappiness with a gentleman who in his dotage made her live almost a recluse in the country, and dress up and go through the drill as if he were commanding still.

His death finally rescued her from such a life, but by that time her nervous system had become so thoroughly unhinged, her mind gave way, and the last I knew of her was her being sent to the lunatic asylum, having no child or relative to care for her. A sad comment on an ill-placed mother's ambition.

At the opposite corner of said stone house was a pretty little residence occupied at one time and owned by the late Major Temple, adjoining which was his father-in-law's residence, the late Hon. Chief Justice Jonathan Sewell. Both these houses still stand, but in vain I look for the pretty lace curtains, and the two parrots on their stands, calling to you through the bright flowers in the window of the late Major Temple's residence. As an old Quebecer I am ashamed to say that pretty house has been the one blot on the whole of Quebec's loveliest street. It has been turned into a petty candy shop, a couple of bottles of sweets, two or three sugar-sticks and halfpenny cakes, and a notice, "Registry Office for Servants," replaces the view of the parrots and flowers. Were I rich I should purchase the property myself, and for old times let some one occupy it who would keep up somewhat its former appearance. Such a thing would not have occurred in Montreal. The Montrealers have too much ambition for their city to let it deteriorate, and consequently property becomes more valuable every day. Why, to think Americans should have been permitted to carry off bodily the house where Montgomery's body was laid and are making a fortune out of it, having set it up as an Indian curiosity shop in some part of the States. Why not have done it here?

Strolling on through the beautiful St. Louis Gate, past the new armory, certainly a credit to the old city, and past rows of handsome new houses, we come to a solid looking building with a golden lion sign. When I looked at it, I wondered if it was chosen to beguile the innocent into the impression that they were at the old chien d'or. It does not need that it has memories enough of its own, for here lived the late A. Joseph, Esq., and his amiable wife, one of the most charming of hostesses, and who gave us any number of pleasant parties, but almost every house on that street (then, as now, quite a fashionable one) is associated with pleasant recollections. The one just inside the toll gate on the left was then occupied by Capt. Charles Campbell, a retired officer of Her Majesty's 99th, I think, father of our old friend, A. C., joint Prothonotary of Quebec.

Mr. Le Moine, in his able work, "The Explorations of Eastern Latitudes," by Jonathan Old Buck, F. G. S. Q., so graphically depicted the Plains of Abraham and its surroundings, I can but touch on old personal memories, which as they please me in writing, for I live but in the past, may serve to amuse you, my readers, in an idle hour. I will now stop at Spencer Wood, and visit the pretty home of our favorite author.

The house at present occupied by Judge Bosse, Quebec, was fitted up in 1860 for Lord Monck, Spencer Wood having been burnt down on 12th March, 1860. Spencer Wood residence having been rebuilt and fitted up in accordance with the requirements of a permanently selected vice-regal residence, was successively occupied by the following parties:

Sir Edmund Head, 1860; Lord Monck, 1861; Sir N. F. Belleau, Lieut.-Governor, 1867; Hon. R. E. Caron, Lieut.-Governor, afterwards Sir R. E. Caron, 1870; Hon. Luc Letellier, 1878; Hon. Theodore Robitaille, 1879; Hon. Mr. Masson, 1884; Hon. Auguste RÉal Angers, 1889, who married in April, 1890, Emelie Le Moine, daughter of the late Alex. Le Moine, who now resides there, Oct. 15th, 1890.