Chapter V: Modern Quebec (8)

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

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

In the eastern section of the domain stands,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_COUCY-LE-CASTEL._

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

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

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

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

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

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

_RINGFIELD._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CASTOR VILLE

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

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

"The wild thyme grows,"

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

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

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

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

_THE JOYS OF WINTER._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SILLERY, near Quebec, 1881.

_THE MANOR HOUSE, BEAUPORT_.

Let us view a remnant of feudal times.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BEAUPORT, 26th March, 1881

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

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

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

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

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

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

(With Mrs. Gugy's compliments.)

Darnoc, 26th March, 1881.

_THE BEAUPORT MANOR INSCRIPTION._

(To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ENQUIRER.

Quebec, 8th April, 1881.

QUERY.--Would I. H. S. stand for _Jesus Hominum Salvator_? and M.I.A.
for _Maria-Josephus-Anna_?--the Holy Family--asks Dr W. Marsden.

_COUNT D'ORSONNENS LETTER_

_A monsieur J. M. LeMoine, président de la Société Littéraire et
Historique de Québec, etc., etc, etc._

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

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

La première ligne a été, sans doute, gravée avec une pointe,
l'incision plus indécise est aussi moins profonde, de même que les
lettres NTE ajoutées au-dessus de PLA, pour faire le mot planté, que
l'art du graveur ou la largeur du ciseau n'avait pas su contenir dans
la troisième ligne.

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

Dans le centre de la plaque, on distingue avec peine un écusson.
portant un coeur renversé et fiammé; au centre de l'écu, trois
étoiles. Impossible de dire si elles sont posées en face ou sur un
champ quelconque. Le tout a du être surmonté d'un heaume, car on voit
encore de chaque coté de l'écu des lignes courbes multiples, qui
doivent nécessairement représenter les lambrequins; sur le côte
gauche, un bout de banderolle, mais l'_artiste_ a dû abandonner
sa première idée, car le haut de la banderolle se perd dans les lignes
du lambrequin.

J'ai lu dans la lettre qui accompagnait l'envoi de Madame Gugy, que
les ouvriers, qui avaient travaille aux ruines, disaient avoir trouve
la plaque de plomb, _roulée_ avec certains documents qui seraient
tombés en poussière au toucher. La chose me paraît impossible. Le
dessous de la plaque indique qu'elle a été posée à plat sur un lit de
mortier, et la partie gravée, du moins celle où sont gravées les
armoiries qu'une pierre pesante a été placée dessus, et c'est par
l'enfoncement de sa surface inégale que la plupart des lignes gravées
ont été détruites. On voit encore dans le plomb oxidé l'empreinte
d'une coquille pétrifiée qui se trouvait agrégée au calcaire.

En roulant le bloc supérieur, les ouvriers ont pu plier le métal; de
là l'erreur de croire que la plaque était roulée, elle a dû, comme
toutes choses de ce genre, être placée dans une cavité comme fond, où
on avait deposé le document tombé en poussière et les "quelques sous"
que ces honnêtes ouvriers ont gardés pour eux, sans doute, sans en
connaître la valeur.

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

_Iesu Hominum Salvatore, Mariâ Immaculatâ Auspice_

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

L'an 1634,
le 25 juillet--je--été plantée
première par (ou pour) C. (chirur.) Gifart, Seigneur de ce lieu.