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 heren 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 PIONEERIn 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 theancien 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 hisanciens élèvesconstantly 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 theancienne 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 StadaconaFeuilleton, 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 wasentréeto 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.SPENCER GRANGE, RESIDENCE OFJAMES MACPHERSON LE MOINE,F.R.L.C.You drive through a pretty road, heavily lined with trees, but through the foliage discern a neat cottage at the left, frequently occupied by the pastors of St. Michael's church. On the right, facing the grass plots and bedded in trees stands a very pretty residence, quite spacious inside, and containing every comfort and elegance, presided over by a charming hostess and her daughters. Mrs. L., the most amiable of ladies, spares no fatigue in showing you all that can interest, and there is a great deal to see at the Grange. The parlor windows look on a lawn skirted with various trees, where many a wild bird makes its nest, and looking outwards, and listening to their varied notes, you could fancy yourself in a deep wood. From a pretty dining-room you pass through a passage lined with marble busts of the ancient heroes of Greece and Rome, into the grapery, where the heavy clusters of grapes look too lovely to be plucked. An aviary adjoins this, and at times the soft cooing of doves mingles with the other caged inmates and the notes of the wild birds in the adjacent shrubbery. All is so quiet here, you might fancy yourself miles from civilization. It is a fitting home for a literary man, and bears everywhere an impress of elegance and refinement. Mr. Le Moine has some very curious heads of rare animals and numerous trophies of the chase and rare birds sent by admiring friends. The odor of the new-mown hay and the varied scent of the flowers complete the charm of this pretty home. Amongst other curiosities, Mr. Le Moine has the original key of one of the city gates, which has been presented to him. It is a very ponderous looking affair.SOCIETY IN 1854.We will take a stroll back, citywards, coming down the Esplanade, about the year 1850. We notice, as we near the Esplanade, the sound of the band in full force. The Esplanade benches are crowded with ladies. From the windows of many houses, spectators look on the gay scene; while lord and lady, cavalier and belle, pass to and fro to enjoy the military music and a chat with their acquaintances. The militia, in some measure, replace the regular army, but with a difference: the latter were, as a general rule, men of wealth, culture, travel, and leisure with little else to do but make themselves, agreeable to the ladies, which they did so successfully as to arouse the ire of the civilians. Even from the few houses that face the Esplanade alone, one, at least, and, as in the family of Sheriff Sewell (now occupied by Mr. Hunt), no less than three, if not four, were carried off by English officers; and from houses nearly adjoining went Miss Panet, Miss Healy, two Misses Motz, the handsome Miss Joly, Miss Bradshaw, Miss Maxham; and a few doors around the corner, on St. Anne street, Miss Ashworth.Amongst the noted belles living on the Esplanade were the handsome Burrage ladies and the Misses Mackenzie, whose father met his death in a very sad manner. There was a house situated on the St. Louis road called the "H—— House," where (there being very large rooms to let for picnic use) were often held evening entertainments. On one occasion the bachelors gave us a ball there. It was a lovely moonlight night, but very cold, and, wherever there was little snow, glare ice. Mr. Mackenzie and his daughters drove out in safety to the door; but, on alighting, he slipped and broke his leg. Being a man beyond middle age, he never quite recovered. The shock was, I think, the prime cause of his death.C. E. Levy, Esq., occupied the house, former corner of St. Anne and the Esplanade. The first house opposite, on St. Anne street, was then the residence of Captain, afterwards Admiral Boxer, and the propinquity was so favorable, he induced the handsome daughter of Captain B—— to change her father's home for his. His widow now owns one of Quebec's most beautiful and costly residences on the St. Louis road. The house now occupied by Sir William Meredith was, when I was a child, the house of Judge, after Sir William Stuart. His daughter, most kindly I remember, sent me a doll, dressed in crimson satin, velvet and train, to represent Her Majesty. Its gorgeousness is still before me. The corner house above that was at one time occupied by Mrs. White, whose two handsome daughters married the brothers G—— and another took captive a favorite army doctor. One, her pretty young niece, if I mistake not, Miss McG——, afterwards Mrs. B——, lived with her here.Some years later one sees the erect, handsome old gentleman, Town-Major Knight, taking his daily stroll always arm-in-arm with one of his sons, as hale and hearty a year or two before his death as he was almost twenty years before. One of his daughters still resides in Quebec, the wife of our old but always young friend, Henry A——.It gives me so much pleasure to recall these old days, to people the streets of my old birthplace with dead and gone friends, who come up so vividly before my mental vision, I could sit for hours and bring them up before you; but to strangers this would be wearisome, so I'll only glance at one or two more, and then, with a few hasty memories of some of our most eminent Quebec gentlemen, turn from the past to the present. I cannot close without speaking of two gentlemen who occupied such a prominent place in gay society, Messrs. Angers and Lelièvre, lawyers, partners and near neighbors. We always looked to them for a succession of most agreeable entertainments. If I am not mistaken, at the time they lived on Haldimand hill, and before they purchased the St. Louis hotel, it was divided into two houses,—one occupied by that gay old gentleman, Mr. Burroughs and his family, one of whose handsome daughters, Cecil, not long deceased, married the Hon. Mr. Garneau; the other still lives, I think, in Paris (Mrs. Kimber). His son John, a very quiet looking gentleman, most unexpectedly carried off our great society belle at that time, the lovely Leda L., from numerous competitors, mother of Madame Masson, wife of the late Governor Masson. But if I go on to speak of all the pretty girls of which we could boast at that time, I should go on for ever, so I will present to you a slight sketch of some of our most prominent men. Of Hon. George Okill Stuart, Sir James Stuart, and Hon. Henry Black so much has been written that I will only mention their names, and give you a slight sketch of Mr. Faribault, a most genial gentleman, of particularly courteous manners, very literary, of good old French family, and universally respected. He lived in the old house on whose site is built that now occupied by his only child and daughter, who married Quebec's famous artist, Mr. Hamel. Mr. Hamel had a most particular gift for catching likenesses, demonstrated when quite a boy. He died unfortunately quite young, leaving a son and daughter, who with their mother reside in her father's old home.Charles Gethings, son of Captain James Gethings, an Irish officer of the old 100th Regiment, was born in Bona Vista, Newfoundland, and came to this country with his father. His first residence was that occupied formerly by Hon. George Primrose. Captain Gethings was stricken with paralysis while mounting guard at Hope Gate, and died at the fourth house on the right hand going up towards the Fabrique. His son Charles, after being employed a short time in the Commissariat, then with Gillespie, Moffatt & Co., Montreal, subsequently in the City Bank of Quebec, spent many years as manager of the Quebec Bank, Quebec, receiving to the day of his death a liberal pension from the Quebec Bank. A kind father, a scrupulously upright man, the family all honor his memory. He sleeps in St. Matthew's churchyard vault.
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 heren 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 theancien 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 hisanciens élèvesconstantly 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 theancienne 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 StadaconaFeuilleton, 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 wasentréeto 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.
SPENCER GRANGE, RESIDENCE OFJAMES MACPHERSON LE MOINE,F.R.L.C.
You drive through a pretty road, heavily lined with trees, but through the foliage discern a neat cottage at the left, frequently occupied by the pastors of St. Michael's church. On the right, facing the grass plots and bedded in trees stands a very pretty residence, quite spacious inside, and containing every comfort and elegance, presided over by a charming hostess and her daughters. Mrs. L., the most amiable of ladies, spares no fatigue in showing you all that can interest, and there is a great deal to see at the Grange. The parlor windows look on a lawn skirted with various trees, where many a wild bird makes its nest, and looking outwards, and listening to their varied notes, you could fancy yourself in a deep wood. From a pretty dining-room you pass through a passage lined with marble busts of the ancient heroes of Greece and Rome, into the grapery, where the heavy clusters of grapes look too lovely to be plucked. An aviary adjoins this, and at times the soft cooing of doves mingles with the other caged inmates and the notes of the wild birds in the adjacent shrubbery. All is so quiet here, you might fancy yourself miles from civilization. It is a fitting home for a literary man, and bears everywhere an impress of elegance and refinement. Mr. Le Moine has some very curious heads of rare animals and numerous trophies of the chase and rare birds sent by admiring friends. The odor of the new-mown hay and the varied scent of the flowers complete the charm of this pretty home. Amongst other curiosities, Mr. Le Moine has the original key of one of the city gates, which has been presented to him. It is a very ponderous looking affair.
SOCIETY IN 1854.
We will take a stroll back, citywards, coming down the Esplanade, about the year 1850. We notice, as we near the Esplanade, the sound of the band in full force. The Esplanade benches are crowded with ladies. From the windows of many houses, spectators look on the gay scene; while lord and lady, cavalier and belle, pass to and fro to enjoy the military music and a chat with their acquaintances. The militia, in some measure, replace the regular army, but with a difference: the latter were, as a general rule, men of wealth, culture, travel, and leisure with little else to do but make themselves, agreeable to the ladies, which they did so successfully as to arouse the ire of the civilians. Even from the few houses that face the Esplanade alone, one, at least, and, as in the family of Sheriff Sewell (now occupied by Mr. Hunt), no less than three, if not four, were carried off by English officers; and from houses nearly adjoining went Miss Panet, Miss Healy, two Misses Motz, the handsome Miss Joly, Miss Bradshaw, Miss Maxham; and a few doors around the corner, on St. Anne street, Miss Ashworth.
Amongst the noted belles living on the Esplanade were the handsome Burrage ladies and the Misses Mackenzie, whose father met his death in a very sad manner. There was a house situated on the St. Louis road called the "H—— House," where (there being very large rooms to let for picnic use) were often held evening entertainments. On one occasion the bachelors gave us a ball there. It was a lovely moonlight night, but very cold, and, wherever there was little snow, glare ice. Mr. Mackenzie and his daughters drove out in safety to the door; but, on alighting, he slipped and broke his leg. Being a man beyond middle age, he never quite recovered. The shock was, I think, the prime cause of his death.
C. E. Levy, Esq., occupied the house, former corner of St. Anne and the Esplanade. The first house opposite, on St. Anne street, was then the residence of Captain, afterwards Admiral Boxer, and the propinquity was so favorable, he induced the handsome daughter of Captain B—— to change her father's home for his. His widow now owns one of Quebec's most beautiful and costly residences on the St. Louis road. The house now occupied by Sir William Meredith was, when I was a child, the house of Judge, after Sir William Stuart. His daughter, most kindly I remember, sent me a doll, dressed in crimson satin, velvet and train, to represent Her Majesty. Its gorgeousness is still before me. The corner house above that was at one time occupied by Mrs. White, whose two handsome daughters married the brothers G—— and another took captive a favorite army doctor. One, her pretty young niece, if I mistake not, Miss McG——, afterwards Mrs. B——, lived with her here.
Some years later one sees the erect, handsome old gentleman, Town-Major Knight, taking his daily stroll always arm-in-arm with one of his sons, as hale and hearty a year or two before his death as he was almost twenty years before. One of his daughters still resides in Quebec, the wife of our old but always young friend, Henry A——.
It gives me so much pleasure to recall these old days, to people the streets of my old birthplace with dead and gone friends, who come up so vividly before my mental vision, I could sit for hours and bring them up before you; but to strangers this would be wearisome, so I'll only glance at one or two more, and then, with a few hasty memories of some of our most eminent Quebec gentlemen, turn from the past to the present. I cannot close without speaking of two gentlemen who occupied such a prominent place in gay society, Messrs. Angers and Lelièvre, lawyers, partners and near neighbors. We always looked to them for a succession of most agreeable entertainments. If I am not mistaken, at the time they lived on Haldimand hill, and before they purchased the St. Louis hotel, it was divided into two houses,—one occupied by that gay old gentleman, Mr. Burroughs and his family, one of whose handsome daughters, Cecil, not long deceased, married the Hon. Mr. Garneau; the other still lives, I think, in Paris (Mrs. Kimber). His son John, a very quiet looking gentleman, most unexpectedly carried off our great society belle at that time, the lovely Leda L., from numerous competitors, mother of Madame Masson, wife of the late Governor Masson. But if I go on to speak of all the pretty girls of which we could boast at that time, I should go on for ever, so I will present to you a slight sketch of some of our most prominent men. Of Hon. George Okill Stuart, Sir James Stuart, and Hon. Henry Black so much has been written that I will only mention their names, and give you a slight sketch of Mr. Faribault, a most genial gentleman, of particularly courteous manners, very literary, of good old French family, and universally respected. He lived in the old house on whose site is built that now occupied by his only child and daughter, who married Quebec's famous artist, Mr. Hamel. Mr. Hamel had a most particular gift for catching likenesses, demonstrated when quite a boy. He died unfortunately quite young, leaving a son and daughter, who with their mother reside in her father's old home.
Charles Gethings, son of Captain James Gethings, an Irish officer of the old 100th Regiment, was born in Bona Vista, Newfoundland, and came to this country with his father. His first residence was that occupied formerly by Hon. George Primrose. Captain Gethings was stricken with paralysis while mounting guard at Hope Gate, and died at the fourth house on the right hand going up towards the Fabrique. His son Charles, after being employed a short time in the Commissariat, then with Gillespie, Moffatt & Co., Montreal, subsequently in the City Bank of Quebec, spent many years as manager of the Quebec Bank, Quebec, receiving to the day of his death a liberal pension from the Quebec Bank. A kind father, a scrupulously upright man, the family all honor his memory. He sleeps in St. Matthew's churchyard vault.