MONTREAL.
Now, in steam palace, we shoot in swift career o’er thy tranquil surface, Lake Champlain—thy rolling mountains, in wavy outline, accompanying us in our rapid progress. Vast primeval forests sleep in stillness along thy borders—their sylvan patriarchs, reigning for centuries, untouched by woodman’s axe, stretch proudly their far-reaching branches, ’till ancient Time, pointing with extended finger the wild spirit of the winds breathes on them as he passes, and they succumb with sullen uproar, long with mock semblance retaining form and length, as if deriding the puny offspring shooting up around them; bestowing sore fall, I ween, and tumble on adventurous hunter, as stumbling through the undergrowth he plunges prostrate o’er them.
Forests immense cover the mountains, the gorges, valleys, reigning in stern solitude and silence, save where the fierce fire-god, serpent-like, pursues his flaming journey. There, followed by wreathing smoke columns, forward he leaps, with fiery tongue licking up acres—while the waterpools hissing in mist, join in his escort, and the wild game, with frantic swiftness, strive to escapethe hot destruction of his embraces. With steady, noiseless progress, the white villages appear and disappear beside us. Rouse’s skeleton Tower looms largely in the distance;—now ’tis passed.
Thy military works, and crimson flag, Isle Aux Noix,—town of St. Johns, Richelieu, La Prairie,—we pass ye all; and advancing in soft summer atmosphere, Chambly, we behold thy mountain ramparts filling the far distance. St. Lawrence, majestic river, stretched like sheet of polished steel, as far as eye can reach, we stand upon thy level shores. Rapid—wide, rushing expanse of waters, with what glorious brightness thou look’st upon thy verdant shores, covered with continuous lines of snow-white cottages, and listenest to the soft music of the religious bells of the kind-hearted, cheerful habitans—as, with rude painted cross upon their door posts, they scare away the fiend, and joyously intercommune, in honest simple neighbourhood. La Chine—we speed o’er thy surface, with race-horse swiftness, and nowMontreal,—beautiful—most beautiful,—couched at the foot of emerald mountain, liest thou upon the river’s margin, thy spires, roofs, cupolas, glittering in the sunbeams with silver radiance, and thy grand cathedral chimes floating onwards till lost in dreamy distance. We land upon thy granite quay—measure the extended esplanade—now climb thy narrow streets and alleys. Almost we think we tread one of thy antique cities, ancient France,—alleysnarrow, dark and gloomy courts, grim inhospitable walls,—in place of airy casement, gratings and chained iron portals,—military barracks,—nunneries,—prisons,—fantastic churches, and Notre Dame’s cloud-piercing towers, in huge architectural pile, looming high above all. Noisy, chattering habitans, in variegated waist-belts, and clattering sabots, rotund dark-robed priests, lank voyageurs—red-coated soldiers, and haughty officers,—jostle each other on the narrow trottoir—but, mark! the sullen, down-cast Indian, in blanket robed, with gaudy feathers and shining ornaments, his patient squaw, straight as an arrow, her piercing-eyed papoose clinging to her shoulders, silently following him, in noiseless moccasins, moves along thekennel. Verily, poor forest child, it hath been written, and Moslem-like, thou to thy destiny must bow—the fire-water and the Christian will it—fold thee closer in thy blanket robe, and—die. See yon Indian girl, standing at the corner—with what classic grace the blue fold drapery thrown o’er her head, descends her shoulders, as, fawn-like, she stands, avoiding the rude passer’s stare.
Hardy ponies, in light calash, dash through the narrow streets, of passengers’ safety regardless; or, tugging at great trucks, strive, in renewed exertion, to vociferous cries and exclamations of the volatile Canadian. How well these Englishmen sit their horses. See that gentleman—with what delicatehand he reins the fiery blood that treads as if on feathers beneath him—and how picturesque appear, amid the motley throng, these red-coated soldiers.
Picturesque! I like them not—they indicate a subjugated people. Come! here stands one at the Champ de Mars—how martially he deports himself—his exactly poised musket, and his brazen ornaments—how bright! Inscribed upon his gorget are the actions which have signalized his regiment,—“Badajos”—“Salamanca”—“Vittoria”—“Waterloo.” We will address him. Soldier, your regiment was at Salamanca,—“S-i-r.” By the inscription on your gorget, your regiment distinguished itself at Salamanca—“scaled the imminent deadly breach” at “Badajos”—stood the Cuirassiers wild charge amid the sulphurous smoke at Waterloo?—“Don’t know, indeed, s-i-r.” And is this the gallant soldier! Why, for years, under the menace of thy sergeant, thou hast scoured that gorget to regulation brightness—for years hast marched under thy regimental colours emblazoned with those characters, and still in ignorance, need’st a Champoillion to decipher them. ’Tis well. Thou art the machine, indeed, that they require.—Verily, thy daily wage of sixpence, and thy ration, are full compensation for thy service.
Listen! The masses hurrying forward in the western hemisphere—whether to happiness and equality,—or furious license and bloody anarchy—withjoyous shouts, and cries of freedom, arouse the echo. Dost hear above hoarse cries of “bread,” and mob hurrah’s—confused sounds—low muttering thunder—the rend and clank of chains that o’er the broad Atlantic roll from old Europe? ’Tis the chariot wheels of Liberty, as charging onwards she sweeps away rust-covered chains, and feudal bands, like maze of cobwebs, from her path. Hear! The Nations cry for Constitutions—the monarchs hurrying with ghastly smilesgranttheir request—the people wouldtakethem else. Therefore prepare thee, for wilt thou or thy rulers—the time surely approaches. Expand thy mind—cultivate thy intelligence—study thy God—so that when the hour arrives, in the first wild bounds of freedom, as the desert steed thou dash not thyself to pieces; nor, like the frantic Gaul, bursting from imprisonment of ages, gore thyself with thine own broken fetters, rushing on to deeds of blood and frenzy that cause humanity to shudder. Ponder it, soldier! fare thee well.