OLD MEMORIES: AMUSING AND HISTORICAL
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Title: Old Memories: Amusing and Historical
Author: Mrs. Daniel Macpherson
Release Date: October 29, 2016 [EBook #53403]
Language: English
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*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD MEMORIES: AMUSING AND
HISTORICAL ***
Produced by Al Haines.
*OLD MEMORIES:*
*AMUSING AND HISTORICAL*
_A SEQUEL TO_
*"REMINISCENCES OF OLD QUEBEC."*
BY
MRS. DANIEL MACPHERSON,
AN OLD QUEBECER.
MONTREAL:
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR.
Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in the
year one thousand eight hundred and ninety, by
MRS. DANIEL MACPHERSON, in the office of the Minister of
Agriculture and Statistics at Ottawa.
DEDICATION.
TO
JAMES MACPHERSON LEMOINE, ESQ.,
AUTHOR OF
QUEBEC PAST AND PRESENT, MAPLE LEAVES, ETC.,
MY DEAR HUSBAND’S COUSIN AND TRIED FRIEND,
I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME AS A SLIGHT MARK OF ESTEEM.
CHARLOTTE HOLT GETHINGS MACPHERSON.
*CONTENTS.*
To my Subscribers and the Public
Sequel to Old Congregational Convent
St. Louis Hotel
The Quebec Bank
Horse Boats and Ice Boats
Beaumont, St. Thomas
St. Michel
A Chronicle of St. Michel
Second Visit to Roberval, Lake St. John
St. Leon Springs
My Second Visit to St. Leon Springs
St. Raymond
St. Augustin
St. André
Les Eboulements
Society in Quebec Fifty Years Ago
Spencer Grange
Society in 1854
New Year’s Day, 1840
A Point of Honor
Country Post Offices Forty and Fifty Years Ago
The Subterranean Passages of the Citadel of Quebec
The First St. Patrick’s Society in Quebec
Sillery Church
St. Matthew’s Chapel
Bishop Hamilton
St. Patrick’s Cemetery
Mount Hermon Cemetery
In Memoriam
November
To the Oyster
*TO MY SUBSCRIBERS AND THE PUBLIC.*
MY FRIENDS,
You have been so good to me, in purchasing, within a few weeks, five
hundred copies of a feuilleton, only intended for private circulation, I
should like to show my appreciation, by catering to your desire for
information regarding our dear old city, Quebec; but what can I do? My
learned friend, James Macpherson LeMoine, Esq., with his wonderful
knowledge of facts, so exhausted the subject in his excellent and
beautifully got up book, "Picturesque Quebec," I am utterly overwhelmed.
Until I began to study the matter I was quite ignorant that he had
written so fully on these matters, so I can only play Boswell to his
Johnson, and as without Boswell many of the sayings of the immortal
Johnson would have been lost, I too may have my use in recording crumbs
of information, interesting and instructive, though lacking the dignity
of history.
Yours truly,
CHARLOTTE HOLT GETHINGS MACPHERSON
*OLD MEMORIES:*
*AMUSING AND HISTORICAL.*
SEQUEL TO "REMINISCENCES OF OLD QUEBEC,"
BY MRS. DANIEL MACPHERSON.
My first recollection is that of being drawn in a child’s carriage by
old Germain, messenger of the Quebec Bank (where I was born), to the old
convent, formerly occupying the site of McCall, Shehyn & Co.’s store at
the foot of Mountain Hill in St. Peter Street, Quebec. This convent has
been non-existant for forty-seven years. Its community now reside in
St. Joseph Street, St. Roch’s. When this convent was there, there was
no St. Peter Street, there were no wharves, and an old sister told me
the batteau men often struck their sails against their convent. I
remember my father often called at the convent to take me out boating on
the St. Lawrence River that lapped its shores, for the lower town of
Quebec was then a delightful residence for Quebec people, only the
military then residing in the Upper Town. Applying for information
about this old convent to Ville Marie, the Mother House of this order, I
received the following letter from one of the ladies:
CONGREGATION DE NOTRE DAME,
Montreal, October 10, 1890.
Madam,
As I am obliged to absent myself, I have only time to give the year of
the present foundation at Quebec. The first house was in the Upper
Town, established in 1688 under the direction of the venerable Mother
Bourgeois. This house was transferred to the Lower Town in 1692, under
Mons. de St. Vallière, and in 1844 the convent of the Lower Town not
being any more convenient, the sisters went and fixed themselves in St.
Roch’s under Monseigneur Signai and the Rev. Curé Mr. Charest. Rev. Mère
St. Madeleine was Superioress of the Congregation of Notre Dame.
I am sorry not to be able to give you further details.
Your humble servant,
Sr. St. Alexis de St. Joseph.
*SEQUEL TO OLD CONGREGATIONAL CONVENT.*
FRIDAY, October 10, 1890.
I have just returned from a very pleasant visit (my first) to Villa
Maria, the Maison Mère of the old Convent of the Congregation,
forty-seven years ago at the foot of Mountain Hill, Quebec.
Taking the St. Catherine street cars as far as the Post-Office, at the
toll-gate you enter an omnibus (at certain hours) which takes you, for
the moderate sum of five cents, to the gate leading into the grounds of
Villa Maria, the first educational establishment of the Congregation de
Nôtre Dame, formerly Moncklands.
The approach on the Côte St. Antoine Road is beautiful, especially at
this season, when the trees surrounding the various pretty homes to some
of our Montreal gentry are just taking on their autumn tints. At one
residence especially I noticed the leaves of every color, from varied
green and red, pale pink, and deep crimson. One small house especially
attracted my attention, that of Maxime St. Germain—a real old-fashioned
humble country stone cottage, with the cross standing, a rendezvous in
old time for prayer when churches were few and far between.
It was told me that this Maxime St. Germain, from a humble habitant, by
the rise of the value of his property, has risen to great wealth, though
still living in his humble way, and with his wife and brother still
occupy the old homestead.
To make one understand the beauty of Moncklands, you must pay it a
personal visit, and, in default of that, I cannot do better than copy a
page of its prospectus. I can only say that I was utterly charmed even
during my hurried visit.
The view is so lovely from the front. The parlors so tastefully, even
elegantly, furnished, with a fine library in one of them, every token of
refinement, and the spirit of order prevails with a carefulness of
detail which must conduce to the comfort of its inmates.
"In this Institution for Young Ladies will be found all the advantages,
comfort, etc., in harmony with its pre-eminence among the various houses
of this Order.
In point of situation, salubrity, and picturesque scenery, Villa Maria
is unrivalled; the grounds are extensive, and comprise a delightful
grove and a lovely little lake, with gondolas, for the healthful
amusement of the pupils.
The house, which was formerly the residence of the Governor-General of
Canada, is fitted up in a style of comfort and in a degree of elegance
not surpassed by any establishment of the kind. French being the
language of the Institution, the pupils possess rare facilities for
acquiring a thorough and practical knowledge of this language. French
conversation is compulsory, and enters into the competition for the
highest honors. The course in the English language is thorough and
complete.
The Governor-General of the Dominion of Canada has graciously given this
institution a magnificent medal, to be awarded for general proficiency.
Hon. Ed. Murphy, Montreal, a valuable microscope, to the young lady who
excels in natural history.
Mrs. Ed. Murphy, a magnificent gold medal, for excellence in the art of
house-keeping.
The Countess de Beaujeu, a rich gold medal, to the young lady who excels
in French conversation.
The Lieutenant-Governor of the Province of Quebec, a medal for universal
history.
The Rev. L. Collin, Sup. S. S. S., a gold medal for literature.
The Rev. J. Marechal, a gold medal for religious instruction.
The Hon. P. J. O. Chauveau, ex-minister of Education, a gold medal for
composition.
The Rev. Mother Sup. General, a gold medal for excellence in deportment.
J. J. McElhone, Esq., of Washington, a gold medal for phonography and
type-writing.
J. M. McGirr, Esq., Ont., a gold medal for mathematics.
Awarded by an artist, a gold lyre, for proficiency in music.
*ST. LOUIS HOTEL.*
I have just returned from Quebec, and must record one of the most
pleasurable incidents of that visit, namely, my meeting accidentally an
old acquaintance, the handsome Miss Bouchette, now Lady Shea, and her
gifted husband, Sir Ambrose Shea. The pleasure of a prolonged interview
with the latter, and I must say an hour’s conversation with him, is an
education. He has the happy gift of conveying so much information in
such easy flowing language, words seem to come specially to express his
meaning; you learn so much while apparently only chatting. Truly may
the Bahamas bless the day when he went there, and evolved from the
noxious weed they complained of (Sisal Fibre) an industry which will be
its grand prosperity. Already the importance of this great branch of
commerce has been so great that he has, in view of Canadian interests,
come on a visit to Ottawa, to effect, if possible, a divergence of the
trade to Canada instead of permitting our American Cousins to reap all
the profits. He showed me a plait of fibre about two feet long or more,
so delicate yet so strong. There is no doubt it will produce a rival to
the famous manilla rope, and so facile of handling, it may yet be used
for the manufacture of linen and other articles, for it needs very
little preparation for use, and that of the simplest kind.
This wonderful plant suddenly sprung into prominent notice. It is a
weed particularly fertile in the Bahamas. It grows about two feet high,
and the fibre is the length of the plant, and when extracted by the
simple process of pressing out, and then wet and dried in the sun, looks
exactly like horse hair, and so strong one could not break even four
threads twined together. This Sisal Fibre is creating such a sensation
now. I need say nothing further on the subject, only wish Sir Ambrose
and his wife a pleasant trip, and thank Mr. Russell for the particular
courtesy I received from him. But when will you fail to receive
attention at the St. Louis! From mine host down to the humblest bell
boy, all are so watchful for your comfort, so civil in their demeanor,
it is a pleasure to put up there.
*THE QUEBEC BANK, QUEBEC.*
On a recent visit to Quebec I was shown by the present courteous and
able manager, James Stevenson, Esq., a notice he had written in the
_Shareholder_, February 22, 1884, and there is so much of interest in it
for the public, I transmit the valuable information it contains to you,
my friends. Mr. Stevenson had directed my attention to this article, as
he had therein so kindly noticed my dear father, the late Charles
Gethings:—
The Quebec Bank, with the exception of the Bank of Montreal, is the
oldest bank in the Dominion. On the 9th July, 1818, merchants, and
others interested in the establishment of a bank in the city of Quebec,
held a meeting at the Exchange, and drafted articles of association. The
document is headed, "Articles of Association of the Quebec Bank," and
consists of twenty-five sections. No. 3 provides that, for the good
management of the bank, there shall be thirteen directors; No. 6, that
there shall be no recourse upon the separate property of any
shareholder. Other sections severally provide for the issue of notes;
the calling-up of the capital, which is to be £75,000; the term of the
bank’s existence; and its dissolution. The bank is now in its
sixty-seventh year. Distinguished men, legislators, lawyers and
merchants have served on the directorate. During the term of its
existence it has been exposed to severe financial storms; it has
weathered them all, preserved its capital intact, and has paid several
millions in the shape of dividends.
At the first meeting of the shareholders, which was held on the 7th
September, 1818, the following gentlemen were elected to serve on the
board of directors, namely, John W. Woolsey, Thomas White, J. McCallum,
John Jones, Charles Smith, Louis Massue, Jean Langevin, Henry Black, Ph.
Aubert de Gaspé, W. G. Sheppard, John Goudie, Etienne Lagreux, and
Benjamin Tremain. Mr. Woolsey was elected president, and Mr. White,
vice-president; and the Board engaged the services of Noah Freer, as
cashier. Mr. Freer held a commission as captain in the army; he had
seen service, and had been military secretary to Sir George Prevost,
during the war of 1812. Steady-going merchants may have shrugged their
shoulders and questioned the wisdom and propriety of appointing a
soldier to such a position; but Captain Freer took kindly to the
business of civil life. He was accurate, precise, and methodical in all
he did; and a courteous gentleman in his intercourse with the public.
The customers of the bank were men of high standing—including the
leading officials of the capital, namely, the Governor-General, the
Bishop, the Commander-in-Chief, legislators and lawyers, in addition to
the regular commercial clientele. Holograph cheques of all its
principal customers since 1818 have been carefully preserved in the
bank, a review of which is almost as interesting as a cursory perusal of
the annals of the city.
That able jurist, the late Honorable Andrew Stuart, was appointed legal
adviser; and he appears on several occasions to have steadied the
directors, and guided them into a course of safety.
In the absence of an "Act of Incorporation," the shareholders no doubt
incurred unlimited liability to the depositors and share-holders; but
application was made to Parliament for a charter, and an "Act of
Incorporation," extending the existence of the bank to 1831, was passed
in 1819. This Act received the Royal assent of George IV. on the 16th
September, 1822. At the expiration of the term, the charter was
renewed, and extended to the 1st August, 1836; and, by a subsequent Act,
to the same date in 1837. That year constitutional government was
suspended in consequence of the disturbed state of the Province; and all
the powers and privileges of the bank expired by the effluxion of the
time limited by the Act of Incorporation. The directors were at a loss
what course to pursue under the circumstances. They thought seriously
of winding up the bank. In 1838 the government of the country was
vested in Sir John Colborne, as Administrator, and a special council
held in the city of Montreal. The same year, the Habeas Corpus Act was
suspended, and an ordinance was passed authorizing the incorporated,
chartered, and other banks in the Province to suspend the redemption of
their notes in specie till the 1st of June, 1839—limiting the
circulation of each bank to the amount of its capital stock actually
paid up. It was further enacted that all specie then held by the bank
should be retained, and should not be sold, excepting to Her Majesty’s
Government.
Political disturbances having been quelled, trade revived, and all
thought of winding up the bank was abandoned. To supply the absence of
silver, the bank, in addition to its ordinary issue, issued notes of
15d., or 30 sous, and 2s. 6d., or 3 francs; and the several banks struck
off a copper currency for the convenience of the public. The suspension
of specie payments lasted three years.
In the absence of Parliamentary authority for the existence of the bank,
the directors we readvised to apply for a royal charter, and Captain
Freer, the cashier, was deputed to proceed to England, for the purpose
of communicating with the Home Government on the subject. Captain Freer
was well received by the authorities, and every assistance was rendered
to him in furtherance of the object of his mission. A royal charter was
granted with authority to apply to Parliament for a renewal as soon as
constitutional government should be restored; at the same time the
authorized capital of the bank was increased to £100,000.
Several changes had taken place in the personnel at the Direction since
1818. In 1823, Mr. W. Sheppard was elected president; in 1832, Mr.
Charles Smith; in 1838, Mr. John Fraser; and in 1842, Mr. James Gibb.
In 1852 Captain Freer retired from the service of the bank upon a
pension, having held office for thirty-four years. In 1848 Sir N. F.
Belleau was elected a director. He has since been a constant member of
the Board, and punctual in his attendance, even while he held the office
of Lieutenant-Governor of the Province of Quebec. On the death of the
Honorable Andrew Stuart, the Honorable Henry Black was appointed legal
adviser; and on his assuming the duties of Judge of the Vice-Admiralty
Court, he was succeeded by the Honorable George O. Stuart, the present
Judge of the same Court. J. C. Vannovous, Q.C., held the office till
his death, and was succeeded by the present legal advisers of the bank,
Messrs. Andrews, Caron & Andrews.
Mr. Charles Gethings, a man of inflexible integrity of character, was
appointed to fill the office of cashier, vacated by the retirement of
Captain Freer, and under his management, and the careful supervision of
the president, Mr. Gibb, who was rarely absent from the office, the bank
continued to pay its dividends, namely, in 1853 at the rate of 7 per
cent. per annum: in 1854, 7 per cent.; 1855, 7 per cent.; 1856, 7 per
cent.; 1857, 6½ per cent.; 1858, 6 per cent.; 1859, 6½ per cent.; 1860,
7½.
In 1860 the president, one of the oldest and most esteemed merchants in
the city, died, deeply regretted by the whole community, and Mr. W. H.
Anderson, the vice-president, was elected president in his place. The
following year Mr. Gethings, the cashier, retired upon a pension; and
Mr. William Dunn, a gentleman well qualified to fill an important place
in any bank, was appointed his successor. The bank, under his
management, continued to pay dividends, namely, in 1861, 8 per cent;
1862, 8 per cent.; 1863, 7½ per cent.; 1864, 7 per cent.
In 1864 Mr. David Douglas Young, a leading and highly esteemed merchant,
who had served several years on the directorate, was elected president.
Mr. Dunn, the cashier, retired soon after his appointment, and was
succeeded by the present general manager, Mr. James Stevenson, in
December, 1864.
Since the death of Mr. Young, which happened in 1869, the Honorable
James G. Ross has been president of the bank, and Mr. William Withall,
vice-president.
Such, in brief, is the history of this old institution, the doors of
which were opened for business in 1818, in a small house in
Sault-au-Matelot Street. Some years afterwards, a portion of a
commodious building erected by the Quebec Fire Insurance Company, in
Peter Street, was occupied by the bank. But in 1863 the directors
resolved to have a building of their own, and they purchased from Mr. H.
Atkinson the site upon which the present handsome banking house is
built. A certain historical interest attaches to almost every spot and
locality in Quebec; and to none more so than to that very site. There,
on a cold stormy December morning, in 1775, when the simultaneous
assault on Quebec was made by Montgomery and Arnold, stood a small body
of resolute men, ready to sacrifice their lives in defence of the city.
While the life of Montgomery was ebbing away with the flow of his blood
at Cape Diamond, Arnold was advancing, with a comparatively formidable
force, from St. Roch’s, upon Sault-au-Matelot, a little lane not over
twelve feet wide, opposite the site of the bank. It is not too much to
say that the fate of Canada, as a dependency of Great Britain, hung upon
the issue of the impending contest in the lane. The struggle was a
desperate one.
It lasted several hours; but the repulse was complete; and Arnold,
carried off wounded, retired with the remnant of his force upon the
General Hospital, the head-quarters of the Americans, which they held
till the siege of Quebec was abandoned in the following month of May,
1776.
*HORSE BOATS AND ICE BOATS.*
Near the site of the old convent just described, we used to embark on a
horse boat to cross to Levis in summer, and in winter a canoe, managed
by expert boatmen, who paddled their way through shoal ice, and, on
reaching any large piece, with wonderful strength and skill raised the
canoe and pulled it on the ice as we do a sleigh. These boatmen were so
inured to their work that an accident rarely happened. But there are
records of a whole canoe full of people being swamped. Fortunately a
regular service of ice boats exists in winter now, and with rare
intervals (some extraordinary storm) with as much regularity as the
summer ferry boats.
Some of my young readers may never have seen a horse boat, so I will
tell them they looked like some of the very small steamboats, but the
machinery was put in movement and carried on by horses attached to a
pole in the centre and walking round and round.
Previous to the year 1857 there were no other means of crossing to Levis
but by the canoes, when Capt. Semple chartered a boat, which ran up to
December, as it could only go through floating ice. But an enterprising
gentleman, the recently deceased Mr. Tibbits, talking over the matter
with a young relative of mechanical genius, made out plans for
machinery, had them sent to Montreal, made here and sent on to Quebec,
were fitted up and at once proved successful, and thus in the year 1862
started his passenger boat, "The Arctic," which would cut through the
heaviest ice and became a perfect success. I copy from a newspaper the
following notice of Mr. Tibbits, who died March 26, 1889:
"On Friday last the mortal remains of the late James Tibbits were
committed to their last resting place in Mount Hermon Cemetery. For many
years the deceased was a prominent figure in the mercantile community.
He was a man of great physical and mental energy, and of unbounded
enterprise, always willing to risk in public enterprises the money with
which many of his ventures were crowned. One lasting monument of his
enterprise and ability remains to us in the excellent ferry service we
enjoy with the South Shore. He was the first to demonstrate the
possibility of a steamer cutting its way through the masses of ice which
obstructed the navigation opposite the city during the winter. Like
many others of our enterprising merchants, Mr. Tibbits died poor. Quebec
owes his memory a debt of gratitude, which might well have been slightly
repaid by a public funeral. It is, however, such a long time since Mr.
Tibbits resided in the city, the generation that succeeded are hardly
aware of the services rendered by the deceased. It is not fitting,
however, that they should be lost sight of."
The ferry boats, summer and winter, land you in close proximity to the
railroad, and carriages take you west towards St. David or east to St.
Joseph. After driving up a very steep hill you come to a road branching
off to the west beside which is the little old English Church and
Cemetery, the former being now renewed under the supervision of its
popular pastor, Rev. Mr. Nicholls, grandson of the much-esteemed Bishop
Mountain. Higher up and last is the Roman Catholic parish church, a
monument to the zeal and perseverance of the late Rev. Mr. Dalzeil.
Almost a riot was in the parish when he asked for it to be built of its
present size, but with far-seeing wisdom he insisted, and now it is
crowded to overflowing though two other churches have been built in the
space of the last few years. Levis also possesses a fine college in this
locality. On the summit of the hill called rue des Marchands is a very
handsome and spacious store and residence belonging to Mr. Couture, and
opposite to it is a tiny little building kept in good repair, though
unused, which Mr. Couture tells you with pride is the shop where he
first earned the shillings which were to end by making him a
millionaire. Mr. Edouard Couture carries on the business in the same
place now, but the Hon. Geo. Couture, Senator, sleeps under a handsome
obelisk in Levis Cemetery. The noblest monument that exists to his
memory, however, is the beautiful church, built by money left for that
purpose in his will, adjoining the splendid hospital, built within about
ten years, to which he contributed so largely during his lifetime. One
of the head ladies of the institution (a very old friend, sister-in-law
of our well-known citizen, Hon. P. Casgrain) took me through this
building about a week ago, and I was astonished to find it almost filled
already. The poor, the crippled, old women, young children, have here a
comfortable home, with delightful surroundings, and on a height and with
a view of the Citadel, Quebec.
When Mère St. Monique asked me to go and visit the Catacombs under the
church, I decidedly objected, but Josephte, as I called her in our
youth, always would have her way, and I am glad she did so here, for I
do not know whether similar places for burial are existent elsewhere in
this country or only a new creation in Canada, but I am glad I went into
them. This seems to be the perfection of burying. Leading me through a
long light passage under the church, we came to a very heavy iron door;
then on its being opened a second appeared with its blank emblems and
death’s head and cross bones, sufficiently indicative of where we were
going. Entering this door Mère St. Monique struck a light, and we found
ourselves in a fire-proof brick chamber and passages. On every side
shelves to hold one coffin. There is only one occupant so far—Mr.
Gingras—but there are places for ninety. The coffin is placed on a
shelf just large enough, then masoned up, and the name put on the
masonry. A great improvement on old-fashioned vaults, as all
possibility of disturbance is precluded and no danger from foul air.
This building is under the High Altar, so to a devout Roman Catholic
much of the feeling of gloom is taken away. A few miles west is St.
David’s Church, a pretty new edifice, and further on at the village of
St. Romuald, St. Romuald’s Church, so filled with choice paintings and
works of art by its late Pastor, the Rev. Mr. Saxe, it has become quite
a worthy show place for our sight-seeing American friends. The Rev. Mr.
Saxe was of such clever wit and genial presence, he exercised great
influence over those with whom he came in contact. I remember saying
how proud his parishioners must be of this lovely little edifice. "They
well may be," he said, "it has hardly cost them anything for all these
works of art. I made the old country, that could afford it, give them,
you know. I travelled in Europe for contributions, and impressed on
each community how necessary it was that each city should give of its
best—something to redound to its own credit, and I got it," the old
gentleman said with a merry twinkle in his eye. So much, my friends,
for tact and a knowledge of human nature.
*BEAUMONT—ST. THOMAS.*
Previous to the year 1853, or thereabouts, there was no railroad below
Quebec, and vehicles were the only means of transport; but when time and
means permit, it is surely the most agreeable of all ways of travelling.
We were frequent visitors at Crane Island, and our downward drive to St.
Thomas, where we took sail boat to cross, were in the habit of stopping
at various way-side houses, not inns, simply neat commodious places
where we were always expected and welcomed, and sure of a meal and bed.
One of these was the Fraser House at Beaumont: it still exists, but
sadly deteriorated, and occupied by a French farmer and family. It is a
very long low house in a very small quiet country village, prettily
situated with a view of the St. Lawrence.
On one occasion my husband and myself drove up to the door. "Welcome!"
(we were frequent visitors) "but it is well you did not come a few days
sooner. Who do you think has just left? Lord and Lady Elgin,"—and I
forget whether she said any children. "Come, and I’ll show you the room
as I arranged it for Lady Elgin." If you have never, my readers, seen a
genuine old-fashioned habitant bedstead, I would almost fail to impress
you with its height; you could not possibly get into it without standing
on a chair, and two of these were placed side by side, taking in one
whole side of a room, with the long white curtains pendant from a rod
attached to the ceiling. I can hardly think of it now without smiling.
Of course, it must have been for the novelty of the thing that Lady
Elgin used it instead of having one brought from Quebec. Perhaps one
gets so tired of formality and grandeur, a change becomes a welcome
relief. We said we had but twenty minutes to stay, and must have lunch
at once. In about ten minutes we had a most delicious fricassee of
chicken in white sauce. On complimenting Mrs. Fraser, she said, "I
learnt how to make that from Lord Elgin’s cook, and was I not smart?
those chickens were running about when you came." That spoilt all,
ah—if she only had not told us? There are numerous pretty villages all
along the south shore. None prettier than that of St. Michel, adjacent
to Beaumont. It much resembles Kamouraska, though much prettier as the
foliage is so lovely.
*ST. MICHEL.*
St. Michel is a delightful summer residence, about fifteen miles from
Quebec, reached directly by steamer every day, or by railroad a few
miles from the village.
We resided there for a couple of years, and then made the acquaintance
of the Rev. Mr. Drolet, who with his mother and sisters tendered us such
kindly hospitality. The Parsonage became to all of us a Maison
Paternelle, for the family all spoke English as well as French, and the
genial curé, a very clever and devoted priest, was in his home an
admirable host. I shall have occasion elsewhere to speak of him. I
will conclude this article with a few verses I found lately, written on
the spur of the moment from the circumstance of one of the ladies nearly
falling through a trap door into the cellar of the dining-room of the
old-fashioned house we then occupied.
*A CHRONICLE OF ST. MICHEL.*
A REMEMBRANCE OF HAPPY DAYS.
It was a winter evening,
The moon was shining bright,
When from a lady’s parlor
Came sounds of laughter light.
But, suddenly, the scene is changed,
There’s heard a warning shriek,
And borne upon the air the words,
"Oh! dear, will no one speak?"
Unheeding trap, just at her feet,
Comes with majestic mien
A damsel of sweet presence,
And smiling all serene.
Her eyes are like the glowworm,
Her cheeks like damask rose,
She holds her head so loftily,
She looks not at her toes;
When, roused from contemplation sweet
Of bottles ale and stout,
A head above the trap appears—
"What’s all this row about?
I see, I see, Miss Flora, dear,
You’d all but tumbled down;
One further step, and you’d have fall’n
On my unlucky crown.
Oh! had you tumbled on my head
In yonder cellar well,
We now, alas, been both quite dead"—
A sad old tale to tell.
How youth and beauty often fall
Into some snare unseen,
As so hath chanced in many a day
And yet full oft I ween,
While thoughtless youth with eager step
Pursues its heedless way.
MORAL.
Then damsels all who hear my tale
Hold not your heads so high,
A downward glance give now and then,
Hid dangers to descry.
We arrive at St. Thomas after a forty miles drive, and stay over, if the
tide does not serve for coming, at Madame F.’s well-known hotel—not far
from which is the residences of the late Sir Etienne Taché and Mr.
Bender, father of the present well-known Boston physician, Dr. Bender.
A short distance from here is the house now occupied by E. P. Bender,
formerly owned by Mr. William Patton, a splendid specimen of an English
gentleman. A lumber merchant, doing a large business with ample means,
his house was the home of generous hospitality. It is thirty years
since I visited it or more—it then gave you an idea of one of England’s
far-famed country homes; Everything handsome, well ordered grounds, its
steel grates (then a novelty), and handsome paperings, a host so
courteous, his wife a refined lady of the old school—all appeared to
promise long years of happiness to its inmates, when in a day, alas! all
was changed. Mr. Patton was most energetic in his efforts to hasten the
building of the railroad from Quebec to St. Thomas, and went into town
to see Messrs. Morton, Peto & Brassey, when he met his fate.
Overheated by his exertions, he lay down to rest opposite an open window
facing the St. Lawrence, a gale sprung up, he got a chill, and in
twenty-four hours he was dead, of inflammation, before his wife could
reach him, and yet she arrived almost in time, due to a mysterious
warning of some kind, I forget what it was—she told me of it herself.
Sitting quietly in her room she heard or saw something, and, convinced
that her husband needed her, she ordered a carriage, and, despite all
remonstrance, drove all night, and passed in the darkness the carriage
sent for her, and arrived in the grey dawn of morning to find her
husband just dead.
How many such unaccountable occurrences happen. I could tell of at
least six such experiences in my own history. My theory is this, that
under certain conditions thought meets thought, and so mesmerically
impresses on the loved one its own yearnings and wishes.
Previous to Mr. Patton’s purchasing it, this house had been occupied by
several families of note, the De Beaujeus, Olivas, etc. It was
purchased a few years since by E. P. Bender, Esq., who now occupies it
with his family.
*SECOND VISIT TO ROBERVAL,
LAKE ST. JOHN.*
I was unfortunately prevented from visiting Roberval until late in the
season—in fact, only a few weeks before the hotel closed—but I saw
enough to confirm my first impressions as to its desirability as a
summer resort for people who really need to recuperate after the wear
and tear of town life. It was late in August, a cold spell was on; we
arrived per railroad on Pullman car, which brings you to the very gate
of the hotel premises. A dull heavy rain came down as we got off the
cars, but what of that? you are ushered into a hallway where burns a
generous grate fire. Courteous officials greet you and inquire your
wants. Shown to a comfortable bedroom, and then to a supper as good in
quality as meals served in most town hotels, with excellent attendance,
you fancy you are in fairy land, as, gazing on the wild country around,
you remember that this locality a few years ago was not even inhabited
by farmers, but all was bush. Ushered into the ladies’ parlor you are
greeted by a most winning hostess, Mrs. Scott, daughter of the Honorable
Mr. Shehyn, who, residing here at present with her children, does the
honors, and welcomes you as if to her own private parlor. The season
was so nearly over there were comparatively few guests, but those of the
most pleasant—Dr. and Mrs. Lovely, Rev. Mr. —— and his wife, and several
members of the Beemer family, who by their musical talents contributed
largely to our enjoyment. Roberval I am sure has a grand future before
it. Dr. Lovely, one of the most eminent physicians of the United States,
assured me that he had discovered coal-oil there, not five miles from
the hotel, and also some stone (I forget what) of which he was taking
specimens away with him. He said if it was what he thought, it would
indeed be a bonanza.
It appears to me that Roberval would be especially beneficial for those
suffering from nervous exhaustion or debility, or tendency to
consumption. The pure mountain air, the quiet, the absence of rush and
excitement, must surely be most grateful to such parties, while for
those who want a livelier existence, the trips in excursion steam-boats,
the visits to various other fishing grounds, the power of jumping on the
railroad that comes to your door and whirls you off for a few hours to
other lakes, is a matter not to be lost sight of. Added to the perfect
inside comfort of this hotel—baths on your bedroom flat—the immense
piazza runs the full length of the building, affording in wet weather an
excellent promenade, with a view of the lovely lake, and what I much
appreciated was the absence of the horrid gong calling you to meals.
Here you are told the time for meals, and if you so desire a civil
waiter calls you at the hour you name, but the fearful din that
elsewhere rouses you from your pet morning sleep is absent.
Entering the ladies’ parlor in the evening you feel almost that you are
in a private house. A bright fire burns in an open grate. Some fair
lady is employing her talents at the piano in your service, and you
enjoy some really good music, when one of the ladies asks are you to
have a little dance or a small game of cards—the first at once, the
latter when we are tired. After a short time small tables are brought
in, the guests group into little coteries, each one retires when he
will, after enjoying all the comforts of a home with the liberty of an
hotel.
I must not forget to state that at the village, about a mile from the
hotel, is a Roman Catholic Church and fine Ursuline Convent, a
delightful boarding school for young ladies, who enjoy boating every day
and pleasant little trips to an island now belonging to the Nuns. There
is also a telegraph in the hotel, and any amount of vehicles and horses
and boats for visitors—also cheaper boarding houses in the village for
those who require them.
During the few days I stayed there, one or two funny incidents occurred.
On one occasion I had an old man to drive me, when I said, "I hope it
will not rain before we get home." "I hope it won’t, indeed," he said,
"I am not dry yet since yesterday." "How is that?" I asked. Said he: "I
was out with that party from the hotel who when out fishing were so
drenched, and the storm being so great I stayed by the hotel kitchen
fire instead of going home to change; but, madame," as a sudden thought
struck him, "you live at the hotel, is there a doctor living there?"
Having been there only a few hours, I did not know, but inquired why he
asked. "The fact is, I hear that when people come from Louisiana or
Paris, a party of ten always brings a doctor with them" (a party
recently arrived just numbering ten), "and hearing that I had a son ill,
one gentleman said if I would take him to see my son or bring my son to
him, he would try and cure him." "Well," I asked, "have you done so?"
"But no," he said, "he is English." (I spoke in French and he thought I
was a French Canadian.) "What difference would that make?" "Why,
madame, do you think the English know anything?" "Well," I said,
"perhaps a little; you might try the doctor." At the same time I was
quite prepared to hear that he was a victim of some practical joke from
his statement that every ten persons coming from Louisiana or Paris
brought a doctor with them; I little expected the dénouement. "Oh! my
son would not see him at all. He said, ’father, do you wish me to die
at once?’ But, madame, I would not have minded taking him to the doctor
myself. You don’t think that even though English he would have given
him something to kill him at once?" "Oh! no," I answered, "I am sure he
would not do that." But my story does not end here. On entering the
parlor, where several were seated, I addressed a peculiarly pleasant
lady near me, and began to narrate for their benefit my conversation
with the old driver, when I noticed my hearer give a kind of warning
glance: and then she went off into a merry peal of laughter as the door
opened and a gentleman popped in his head. "Come here, my dear, learn a
lesson of humility. This, my dear lady, is my husband, Dr. Lovely" (I
have learned since that he is one of the most well-known of American
physicians); "he is the Englishman, who can’t know anything."
The doctor, who enjoyed the joke, engaged the same driver next day to
have his fun as much as anything. After a good deal of skirmishing, he
elicited all from the old coachman, who, however, said, though English,
if Dr. L—— was a Roman Catholic, he might induce his son to trust him,
as he believed that the little bottles he showed him really contained
_des remèdes_. I know that the doctor explained to him that, though not
a Roman Catholic, he attended nearly all the members of that
denomination in the United States, and there was some kind of
negotiation going on when I left. They may have come to terms, and the
boy cured, despite himself. Perhaps this poor old chap, living for many
years utterly isolated from civilization, might have the same horror of
_Les terribles Anglais_ that the English peasantry had of Napoleon the
First, who, when children were refractory, were threatened to be given
to ’Bonaparte. And, now, as some of our English people may be hard on
this old French-Canadian, I must tell you that the clergyman’s wife,
attached to some very prominent hospital in one of the large cities of
the United States, said they came across sometimes very odd cases, and
instanced that of a patient coming to the hospital, and, being ordered
to take a bath, said he had never taken a bath in his life, and must go
home and consult his wife. He went and never returned!!! This, in one
of the largest cities of America. So don’t too much despise the old
backwoodsman’s prejudice. As Mrs. Lovely most kindly invited me to pay
her a visit, I may yet tell you more about this very true tale.
*ST. LEON SPRINGS.*
It is fully fifty years ago since my father took me to Three Rivers en
route for St. Leon Springs. We were most hospitably received by Mr.
Lajoie (father of the present dry goods merchant of Three Rivers), and
his good lady, and Mr. Faucher de St. Maurice, father of the present
gentleman of the same name. Of the party were, I think, Mr. Gingras,
whose son, brother-in-law of Mr. Dorion, recently deceased, was the
first I think to establish the reputation of these waters. After a
sumptuous repast at Mr. Lajoie’s, we were driven to St. Leon Springs,
and this us what I remember of it then: a steep sandy hill, up which was
walking a pale, thin young lady, whom my father pointed out to me as
Miss G——; that lady has been in bed seven years, you see her walking
now; whether the cure was permanent or not I have no means of
ascertaining, but Mr. Campbell, late proprietor of St. Leon Springs,
told me only two weeks since that he remembered Miss G—— perfectly. Mr.
Campbell further told me since that his father had noticed the cattle
drinking at this spring, and finding it had a peculiar taste, had it
analyzed, and gave to the public this boon for the afflicted, and
health-preserving drink for the sick. We had tea that day at the
Springs on a deal table, without table-cloth, seated on wooden benches,
while carpenters were putting the roof on a large building we sat in. I
presume this was the first hotel, rather a contrast to that of the
present day, which is yearly crowded with an increased number of
fashionable visitors from all parts of the Dominion, in search of health
or amusement. This hotel has been very lately enlarged and fitted up
with every modern convenience. Parties leaving Montreal by the Canadian
Pacific Railroad, and getting off at Louiseville, will find vehicles
waiting to take them to St. Leon Springs.
This lady just alluded to, Miss G——, was one of those peculiar patients
one hears of in a lifetime, and, as all her near relatives are dead and
few will recognize the initial, I will inform my readers that Dr. A——,
one of my father’s physicians (now deceased), told me that she was
afflicted with a kind of fit—cataleptic, I think, they called it—when
she fell into a state so closely resembling death that two of Quebec’s
most prominent medical men were about to perform a post-mortem
examination on her, when the slight quiver of an eyelid proved her still
alive, and on her recovering she told them that, though unable to make
the slightest motion, she had heard and seen all that had passed, and
Dr. A—— was exceedingly indignant that such a subject should have been
sent to him as an ordinary patient, as the same thing might have
occurred again. He was, if I mistake not, then residing in Halifax and
he told me that all the instructions he received were to provide a
suitable lodging for a nervous patient, who could afford to pay well for
a quiet private residence. Accordingly, Dr. A—— persuaded a well-to-do
Scotch farmer to take her as a boarder. For a time all went well,
though she would go off into a sort of trance, when she lay apparently
dead for perhaps three days and returned to consciousness, often
cognizant of what had occurred during her semi-deathlike state. But on
one occasion her second sight, if you can so term it, was so great, she
terrified the old people so, they begged the doctor to remove her,
saying she was no canny. The facts were these:—On one occasion Miss G——
fell into her cataleptic state, and the doctor not expecting her to
revive before a certain time, said he would not call till the following
Thursday. But on the Tuesday, receiving a summons from a very old
patient, twenty miles distant, he decided on calling on her _en route_.
The weather being rainy, he asked for a covered vehicle, and the only
one procurable was a shabby, very old-fashioned waggon. In the
meantime, Miss G—— awoke from her trance, and said, "the doctor is
coming." "No," said the mistress of the house; "he is not coming till
Thursday." "He is coming now," said Miss G——, "he is at the red gate"
(a gate some distance from the back of the house, and too far for any
sound to reach)—"what a funny carriage he has." When he really drove up
in this queer-looking vehicle, the landlady was so scared, she uttered
that exclamation, "she is no canny," and insisted that board should be
taken elsewhere. I offer no explanation—let the savants do that—I only
narrate facts I vouch for.
*MY SECOND VISIT TO ST. LEON SPRINGS.*
Going by the Canadian Pacific Railroad to Louiseville, we took a trap
awaiting at the station, and, after a drive over a rather pretty country
road, arrived at St. Leon Springs. Alas! the season was over, only Mr.
Thomas and his son, and Mr. Langlois, were there, and a few servants.
Nevertheless, we saw enough to convince us what a delightful health
resort this must be in summer. When I say health resort, I do not mean
pleasure resort, though there is plenty of amusement for reasonable
people, who would find pleasant companionship, dancing, music, drives,
croquet, lawn-tennis sufficient for summer heat; but, we speak now of
St. Leon Springs as a retreat for the really ill or convalescent, and as
such it must simply be perfection. A large hotel, nicely kept, numerous
bath-rooms, all fitted up with an abundant supply of St. Leon water for
bathing, excellent meals, well-cooked and nicely served, as we saw even
during our brief and unexpected stay (I have never eaten such perfect
home-made bread as there), with the drinking of these health-giving
waters, must surely be of incalculable benefit. Twitting Mr. Langlois
on the supposition that perhaps in cities the St. Leon water is in part
manufactured, Mr. Langlois told us a funny incident. He said, I think it
was in Toronto, he overheard some one saying, as his trucks came in
loaded with barrels: "I wonder how much of this is manufactured?" On
the impulse of the moment, Mr. L—— gave a hint to the carters to dump
the casks on the pavement instead of taking them through the yard.
As anticipated, a policeman came up and remonstrated on impeding the
sidewalk. Soon a crowd gathered. Just what Mr. L—— desired. When
spoken to, he said: "Of course, it was an oversight, the water should
have been taken into the yard; but as it was there, he would like to
prove to the people assembled how genuine was the water, by tapping
several barrels, and, igniting with a match the gas, said: "My friends,
can any of you manufacture gas in water to burn like this?" Mr. L—— is
not by any means a man you would credit with being a religious
enthusiast; but I will never forget the solemnity of the act, as,
raising his hand towards Heaven, he uttered these words: "He who made
these waters can alone make the gas."
Mr. Thomas, a wealthy gentleman, with his son, for health and
occupation, takes the management here. The latter, quite a sport, drove
us with his blood horses to the station, at a pace that made me tremble.
There a grand old-fashioned coach with four spanking horses waits at the
railroad station to drive you in style to the hotel. Come and try them,
my fast American friends. I will conscientiously stick to the
old-fashioned one-horse buckboard—not elegant and hardly comfortable,
but very safe.
*ST. RAYMOND.*
About eight years ago my dear husband and myself took rooms for the
summer with a Mr. Ignace Déry, a carpenter. The house, a very large one
of many buildings, was prettily situated on the banks of the river.
Facing the house an immense barn indicated the prosperity of the farm.
In course of conversation I remarked to Mr. D. how astonished I was to
find such a handsome church, fine shops, and a musical choir, with a
thriving village, in a place we had only heard of a few years before.
"You will be more surprised, dear lady," he said, "when I inform you
that I came here fifty years ago, a boy of fifteen, against my people’s
will, with another cousin, and broke the first road in what was all then
bush." "How did you hear of this place at all?" "Well, from the
Indians, and I went out with the surveyors and thought what a splendid
place it was for a settlement, and said so, but my father would not hear
of it. However, one day, my cousin, Joseph Déry, said to me after
church, ’Have you decided on coming to squat or take possession and make
an opening on these lands?’ ’My family will not hear of it,’ I
answered. ’Well, then, come without their leave; if they see you
succeed, they will be quite satisfied.’" So Déry and his cousin started
off right after mass, the equipment of the former being a loaf of bread
and piece of pork procured from his sister, whom he let into the secret,
about half a bag of potatoes for seed, a hatchet, and his working
clothes and a little salt. The boys walked out about fifteen miles: the
one, my friend Déry, remained at the east end, his cousin at the west.
These two houses now form the boundary in a certain measure of the
village of St. Raymond. Mr. Déry told me his first occupation was to
plant some potatoes, then build a small hut, and he said for food he had
only to dip a line into the river back of the site of his house to
procure all the fish he needed. On this he lived, with fruit and a
little flour procured later. Such was the commencement of this
prosperous village. The cousin, Joseph Déry, still kept a few years ago
intact his first cottage, though building a comfortable house beside it.
ANOTHER PIONEER
In the autumn we moved for a month nearer the village, and occupied the
house owned by Mr. Beaupré. It was a commodious dwelling, neatly
furnished, and on my remarking a rather nice bureau in my room, and
inquiring if they had a cabinet-maker in the village, my landlady
answered, "Oh! my husband made that himself, and, though never
apprenticed to any trade, built nearly the whole of this house himself."
and then the old gentleman, pointing to the other side of the river,
said, "Do you notice, madame, that clump of trees; well, beneath that
rock is a cavern which I discovered and made a residence of when, as a
boy of thirteen, I walked from St. Augustine across the country to
there, to see what I could do for myself. I had no near relations, and
determined if possible, by squatting, to get a home. I built a
projecting porch, and lived for many a month in that cavern. I earned
my living by doing odd jobs for the farmers, who came from some
distance, and helped to row them over in a scow to St. Raymond proper,
now the village, to get their horses shod, and while waiting for their
return, noticed how the blacksmiths worked; then it occurred to me how
well a blacksmith would do on my side of the river (thus saving the
crossing), and I commenced to learn, and here I am, the master of a
comfortable home and several farms"—the reward of energy and favorable
circumstances, which brought the railroad to their very doors, and with
large stores opening for the supply of the railroad employees, and the
influx of summer visitors, has made the desert blossom like a rose, and
a charming village (the intersecting waters spanned by a pretty bridge),
spring in a few years from the bush.
Mr. Panet, advocate, and his charming wife are residents here. Mr. P.,
representative and nephew of Mrs. Shakspeare, wife of General
Shakspeare, daughter of Bernard Panet, of old Quebec memory.
OCTOBER 28, 1890.
I have just returned from St. Raymond and learnt some additional facts
anent the Dérys I found interesting, and detail them for public benefit.
The daughter-in-law of Joseph Déry said her father-in-law was the first,
except sportsmen and Indians, who had ever been to St. Raymond; a little
pathway through the woods was their inroad. He started to find the
River St. Anne, which runs through St. Raymond; he found his walk very
fatiguing from Lorette, and arriving at the Cape, under which runs the
St. John railway now, was delighted to find he was nearing his
destination. He named the hill Cap Joyeuse, which name it still bears.
On wishing to see the first cabin he had built, she said, by recent
surveys, it would be situated in the middle of the river, as the waters
of the St Anne river had gradually washed the bank away. The end of the
first cottage built is still extant, every plank used in it being sawed
by hand, and the portrait of Mr. Joseph Déry hangs on its walls.
*ST. AUGUSTIN,*
ABOUT 15 MILES WEST OF QUEBEC.
I do not know that I ever heard much of St. Augustin in my earlier days,
except as the residence of Mr. Gale, an oldtime school master, who fixed
his residence there, and taught many of the (after) prominent men of
Quebec. His wife, a prim little lady of wax-doll complexion and flaxen
hair done up in frizzes, was quite a character as well as her husband.
A very kind-hearted little lady she was, with a peculiar gift of
hospitality, and her cakes and home-made wine were of wide renown. Mr.
Gale had a taste for antiquities; a small museum, in great part
contributions of curiosities, the gifts of his admiring scholars, was
one of his cherished parlor ornaments.
His was a school of the _ancien régime_, but in its best sense, though
religiously a day was appointed for the pulling out of teeth, those for
administering sulphur and molasses and other time-honored medicines,
happily or unhappily exploded.
Nevertheless, Mr. Gale’s was a thoroughly comfortable home, and his
students had a true regard for himself and good wife, testified often in
later years by his _anciens élèves_ constantly sending him contributions
of rare articles to add to his collection.
*ST. ANDRÉ—NEXT PARISH BELOW KAMOURASKA.*
"In the days when we went gipseying a long time ago."
About seventy-five years ago or more a wealthy Englishman, John S.
Campbell, came out from the old country and commenced a large business
in lumber and ship building at the part of St. André called Pointe
Sèche. Here he built a beautiful residence with every luxury and
appliances then known, splendid walks in the shrubbery, beautiful
gardens, and even a residence for a physician, as at that time there was
a great deal of ship fever, and he employed a great number of workmen in
his ship building and other mercantile business. He brought out his
wife (with her lady’s maid), who, accustomed to society life, must have
been indeed startled at the contrast of her surroundings, for here she
was virtually in a wilderness. It is true that previous to the railroad
from Quebec to the lower ports, these same villages had much more life
in a business point than to-day, for then all travellers stopped at the
wayside inns, and there being no facilities for going or coming from
Quebec, the shopkeepers who brought down in their schooners goods at
certain seasons of the year did a fine business, and really large
fortunes were made by many: an apt illustration of the truth of the
vulgar old proverb, "that what is one man’s meat is another man’s
poison," for the railroad, which is such a boon to the farmers and those
bordering its route, has proved utterly destructive to the old-fashioned
inns and shops on the old route, for the transfer being solely by
vehicles, a regular influx of travellers was expected and received, thus
giving life to the village and current cash.
Mr. J. S. Campbell and his lady becoming after some years thoroughly
disgusted, abandoned the place, and so swiftly, I many years after,
about forty years ago, found a book belonging to the family in the
disused dining-room. I heard from one of the family to-day who own this
lovely property now, and use it as a summer residence (Mrs. Rankin of
Dorchester street), that a caretaker had been left in charge of the
property; if so, his conscience must have been very lax, for it was the
custom of all those giving picnics at Kamouraska, who wished to do so,
to use the house as well as the grounds, and to simply walk in at open
doors and take temporary possession. Well, on one occasion my
father-in-law’s family had a kind of picnic, but, though going up to the
Campbell grounds, had brought their provisions to a neat little wayside
inn a short distance, from the mill and wharf built by the aforesaid J.
S. Campbell; and as I always preferred a quiet read to those excursions
(I fear I am naturally rather lazy), I said I would await their return
at the small hotel—its quiet and cleanliness were very inviting. "But,"
said Mr. McP. (I think I hear the words as he addressed me often in
fun), "Mistress Charlotte, if you stay behind, you are responsible for
the dinner." I promised in good faith, and with a firm resolve of doing
my duty, that all should be in order on their return, and, telling the
landlady at what hour lunch must be ready, made arrangements for an hour
of delightful repose, by ensconcing myself into the most cosy of sofas
with an interesting novel. As the old grandmother’s clock tolled forth
the midday hour, it struck me I had better see how the dinner was
progressing for the hungry folks expected soon. Fortunately, I did not
delay, for, to my dismay, I found the lamb-chops put to boil, and the
green peas frying in the frying-pan. By hastily changing their
positions, I managed matters so as to disguise my carelessness, and so
all was well that ends well.
A thoroughly respectable house like the Campbell House, of Pointe Sèche,
could not be without its ghost, and it’s doubly guaranteed by having two
of them: one a lady who is heard to moan and sob and say she was shut up
from every one (it is presumed Mrs. C., who, instead of dying of ennui
and country fare, took the more sensible plan of returning to England);
the other, the apparition of a gentleman, supposed to have been murdered
because he disappeared—a rejected suitor put on board a vessel by Mr. C.
for making too violent love to a cousin and quarrelling with a more
favored lover. I have exorcised several ghosts already, and would like
to try my observations on those inhabitants of a higher, or, more
likely, our earthly sphere, to whom the unoccupancy of this fine mansion
might be a convenience.
*LES EBOULEMENTS.*
So called from the tremblings of constant earthquakes, which with
apparent volcanic action has thrown up hill after hill so steep. I can
compare the ascent and descent to nothing else but a winter sleighing
slide. In fact, the hills are almost perpendicular, and almost
inaccessible to a nervous party, who in descending feels as if he must
fall on the horse’s tail, and ascending drop out of the cart behind.
Yet to the young and active it is a wild, lovely summer resort, its
unusual scenery presenting a most pleasurable and novel spectacle. In
fact, my friends, if you have a desire to visit Switzerland and cannot
compass it, just go to Les Eboulements, and very little imagination will
help you to transport yourself there. Cradled in mist, perched on some
rocky elevation, with the simple people about you, you can easily deem
yourself in the land of William Tell. But, did I say simple? yes, with
a spice of modern craft, for I well remember a friend being ill asking
me, as it was a non-licensed place, to ask the landlady for a little
stimulant of any kind, as she might give it to me instead of a
gentleman. The answer to my demand was the query, "What would you
have?" "Well, if possible, port wine," and a bottle of excellent
quality was forthcoming, and also the remark, "if more is required, in
fact, as much as is necessary can be obtained. We have plenty for our
own use." As these people were great fish traders with St. Pierre
Miquelon, in view of recent developments as to the smuggling business I
have my thoughts, but as I believe in free trade between all nations,
and I should think it no sin to smuggle myself, I do not condemn them.
Apropos of smuggling, a funny incident came under my observation. A
young married cousin some years ago lived on the border dividing Canada
from the United States, and while (with the fresh memory of the Fenian
raids) countenanced, as was said, by the Americans, expressed great
dislike to Brother Jonathan. He dubbed her a thorough Yankee, and she
proved herself a very cute one. Well, these ladies had been accustomed
under lax custom house discipline to drive over to St. Albans and
purchase many effects, cotton especially, at a very much less price than
on Canadian soil, and were very indignant when a new official was
appointed, who openly boasted that no tricks would be played upon him.
That was enough for my sprightly cousin. She arranged a plan with her
sister, went over in a light waggon, and when stopped at the frontier by
the aforesaid young clerk on her return, who, with many apologies,
requested leave to search her vehicle, answered in a tone of impatience,
"Well, search my waggon as much as you please, but don’t wake my baby."
She held in her arms a good-sized baby in long clothes, a heavy veil
covering the face. The official searched and found nothing contraband.
He was, however, very much disgusted to hear later that the baby was a
mass of dress and cotton goods, and that Mrs. K., as she walked up and
down the platform soothing her supposed infant, was inwardly chuckling
over her clever trick played on the too confident custom house clerk.
*SOCIETY IN QUEBEC FIFTY YEARS AGO.*
Fifty years ago Quebec was a prominent military station, and from that
circumstance, as well as the fact that it counted amongst its members so
many of the truly good old French families of the _ancienne noblesse_,
there was then none of that petty jealousy between French and English.
They had fought valiantly, but when peace was declared they shook hands
heartily and became friends. The English reserve was tempered by French
suavity, and as Captain Warburton, in his Stadacona _Feuilleton_, says,
"There were such a number of pretty girls in Quebec, and so attractive,
such pleasant manners, combining maidenly reserve with refined
out-spokenness, they were irresistible, and some English mammas, it was
said, murmured sadly when they heard their darling sons were to be sent
to Canada, fearing they would be effectually captured, as they certainly
would be, in the silken but enduring nets of the fair demoiselles;
however, they must have been satisfied eventually, for the ladies of
whom the military gentlemen deprived us of have done credit to their
native city."
Old Quebecers will remember Miss L., wife of General Elliot; Miss A.,
wife of General Pipon; Miss P., wife of General Shakspeare, and dozens
of others; but I have before me at least twenty beautiful and
accomplished ladies, our society belles who accompanied the red coats to
England. What a different aspect Quebec wore when the military were
first taken away! it seemed as if the silence of death reigned, and why
all should have been taken has ever been an unanswered question.
Of people prominent in society in my early days were Mr. Lemesurier,
Judge McCord, Mr. Berthelot (he gave me a French grammar, I remember, he
had published; he was father-in-law of Sir Louis LaFontaine), Mr.
Faribault, the Hon. John Malcolm Fraser, Mr. Symes, whose pretty and
amiable daughter married the son of the Empress Eugenie’s trusty friend,
the Marquis de Bassano.
Besides the house occupied by the Hon. George Primrose, there was at
that time but one small house used by the military, and now the site of
the splendid residence of the Hon. Mr. Thibodeau, facing the Governor’s
garden. At the intersecting street facing the river is the old Langham
house, still occupied by her grand-daughter, Mrs. T.; a few doors from
there the residence of Chief Justice Bowen, whose ladies entertained a
great deal, and one of whose daughters was the wife of the late Rev. Mr.
Houseman.
We will take a skip now to where Palace gate formerly stood, and watch
G. H. Parke, Esq., a noted whip (father of Dr. Parke), and see him guide
his tandem through one of the sally-ports to the houses of the members
of the tandem, who could in vain hope to follow him. Mr. P., who
delighted in guiding the club through most intricate places, had taken
the measure of the sally-port and knew his cariole would pass through,
and thus triumphantly headed the others, who feared to follow him.
Should he read this account of his old exploit, I am sure it would yet
bring up a smile.
The remembrance of this feat recalls a story I have heard of the time of
the noted Chamberlain gang. There were no houses at one time between
the grand house here and a large one opposite St. Patrick’s church, at
that time occupied by Miss or Mrs. M., an elderly lady of ample means,
who occupied the present residence of J. Scott, Esq., formerly the home
of Mr. Faucher de St. Maurice. This Chamberlain was the leader of a
notorious gang, who for some time held Quebec in a state of terror;
their rapacity, cruelty and audacity exceeded anything ever before seen,
and they continued their course with impunity till a most providential
circumstance caused their discovery. Well, one of their exploits was to
get one of their gang into Mrs. M.’s as ostensible man servant to rob
the house. Late at night one of the maids discerned a light in the
basement and heard voices, indicating that there were robbers in the
dwelling. She thought for a moment of trying to run and get help from
the guard, but fearing that unlocking the back door might arouse the
burglars, she decided on barricading the room in which her mistress
slept, hoping to be able to call for help to some passer-by; but alas!
none came; the robbers came up, quickly destroyed her barricade, and
though she fought bravely with some fire-wood,—the only weapon at her
hand—was overpowered, gagged, tied up with her mistress in a carpet, and
so left for hours. When the milkman and butcher came and called
ineffectually for admittance, the doors were forced, and they were
released after much suffering; such was a sample of some of their
exploits.
Leaving St. Patrick’s church, nearly opposite this residence, we go on
to and up Esplanade Hill, till we come to a pretty little church, and it
was the sacrilege perpetrated here that was the cause of their
discovery. Amongst other articles they had stolen a solid silver statue
of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Every effort was made to trace the thieves,
but ineffectually, till the curiosity of an old country woman found them
out. Somewhere, I think, back of Point Levis, there lived a Canadian
farmer, whose old domestic had become very much disgusted at the changed
aspect of the home—from a respectable, quiet domicile it had become a
most disorderly house; half intoxicated people coming in and out at all
hours, arriving with carioles loaded with things kept out of her sight.
She noticed that she was always sent off while they unloaded, and they
made their way to a hut in the woods built for boiling maple sugar, and
that huge fires were built, though no sugar was made. Finally, she
followed the gang secretly, and went close enough to hear, though not to
see, what was going on, and overheard these words uttered: "I am very
sorry for you, my poor little virgin, but you must boil in the pot too.
Ah! I’ll keep this little finger to remember you by." Horrified beyond
expression, the old woman returned swiftly to the house and kept a
terrified watch; her master came in, and most of the men drove off; but
the one whose voice she had recognized was so intoxicated that he fell
into a heavy sleep, and out of his pocket fell the tiny silver finger of
the statue. Seizing the first opportunity, she sought the parish priest
and told him all. He at once connected the small finger with the recent
church robbery, enjoined the most absolute silence on the woman, and
advised her for her own sake as well as that of others to go about her
work as usual and so excite no suspicion. In the meantime he
communicated with the authorities, who wisely determined to make no
display of their knowledge, as the silver was melted and all traces
destroyed; but on the occasion of the next burglary, a posse of police
instantly surrounded the place, and effectually captured in time the
whole gang, several of whom were hanged.
They owed their long immunity to the fact that several people of
position were implicated. Some, against their will, too terrified to
break from them. One man, on the scaffold, confessed that a young man
unwarily brought into their meshes had begged leave to be permitted to
break off from them on his taking oath never to betray them. A seeming
acquiescence was yielded, and an appointment made to take a row on the
river to negotiate where no one could overhear their conversation. As
soon as out of sight and sound the man confessed he had silenced him
effectually by a knock on the head and a pitch into the river.
Leaving the little church on the Esplanade, on reaching St. Ann, and
turning to the left, at the top of Ursule hill, you find a double brown
house, with peculiar pointed turret windows. Here I lived when about
eight years old, but most distinctly do I remember its surroundings.
Come in and sit with me in the end parlor window and I will point out to
you Colonel (afterwards General) Macdonald, in his brave uniform, the
picture of dignity, coming down, the steps of the building formerly
occupied by Dr. Boswell; also the house where Dr. Lemieux now lives,
some officers (Guards, I think) had their quarters, and pretty lively
quarters they were. Most of these gentlemen were rich, young, full of
fun, and quite regardless of consequences. One of their eccentricities
was to insist on a favorite horse being brought in by the front door and
harnessed in one of the large rooms off the entrance. I used to watch
these proceedings with great glee. No doubt they paid richly for their
whistle when settling day came with their landlord. But they could well
afford to pay for their pranks.
Opposite this house, the door facing Ann street is still the solid
residence, the home some years since of the much-lamented Judge Alleyne;
in the early days I speak of, the house of Mr. Le Mesurier, a merchant
then, but previously an officer in ——, and carrying a reminder of the
same in an empty sleeve, a noble mark of valor.
To be a good carver was then an absolute necessity, for all carving was
done at table, and Mr. Le Mesurier piqued himself on always discharging
this duty himself, which he did most skillfully by means of a peculiarly
constructed knife and fork. Once seated at a side-table (I had been
invited to tea with some of the younger members of the family), I
watched him do so with great admiration. I do not recall precisely who
else were there; but one figure is specially impressed on my memory,
that of Mrs. Kerr (mother of the late Judge Kerr), a very stately lady
in pink silk and high white plumes.
Mrs. Le Mesurier, although at the head of fashionable society, was one
of the old-time good housekeepers. I think I see her now with her keys
in hand, giving directions to some domestic. She had a large family—all
popular; but the two special favorites were, I think, Miss Harriet, who
is married to General Elliot, and Henry Le Mesurier, whose former lovely
residence on the St. Lewis road still exists. He had a peculiarly
winning charm of manner, inherited, as I saw in a very short interview I
had with him, by his son George.
I will now take you up the Esplanade and stop at a cut-stone house on
the corner of St. Lewis road, once used as the residence of the
Lieut.-Governor. It was conveniently situated, and there was great
indignation expressed when the project was mooted of buying Spencer
Wood, for, though in most respects suitable, many said it was too far,
for those whose position entitled them to vice-regal entertainments
would find horse hire a heavy tax. For, my friends, in those early days
the almighty dollar was not worshipped as now; in fact, very few of
those moving in the highest society were rich—good family, culture and
education were the tests, and no amount of money would have introduced a
vulgar person into the charmed circle; in fact, permission to subscribe
to the Quebec assemblies was a matter of almost as great moment as
admittance to old London Almacks. An instance of which may be found in
this over-true tale told me by an aged aunt who knew all the
circumstances. Briefly, it was this: A rich tradesman lived on Mountain
Hill, who had a pretty wife, who, not content with every needful luxury
for her happiness, must needs sigh for, to her, the unattainable (that
was _entrée_ to the castle). On one occasion a military gentleman of
high position who owed this tradesman some money said he regretted the
circumstance, and that if he would give him time he would do anything
possible for him in return. "Well," said Mr. Blank, "if you could do
something for my wife, I should not only consider the bill paid, but be
grateful too." "What is asked?" said the colonel. "Just this: you see,
sir, my wife is young, and has taken it into her foolish little head she
must get to one of the castle balls. Could you get her in?" "Nothing
easier, my dear sir; on my arm she can come in unquestioned." So grand
preparations were made by the lady, and at the appointed time she went
to the castle, triumphant, on her cavalier’s arm, advanced to the door
where the cards of admission were received, when the official in waiting
said, "Enter, colonel, but Mrs. —— is not known here, where is her
invitation?" Mortified to death, it was said that Mrs. Blank, unwilling
to face the occupants of the ladies’ dressing-room, turned and fled
precipitately in her slippers and without her outward wraps, rushed
home, and that chagrin and cold brought on a severe illness that
resulted in consumption. On her death-bed, unable to forgive the wound
to her pride, she made her daughter promise that, eschewing all thoughts
of love, she would promise her to marry only a man of such position she
would be able to look down on those who had snubbed her mother. Being
young, rich and pretty, this young girl accepted an aged man of very
high rank, refusing one of the finest young men in Quebec, of whom she
was fond, and commenced a life of unhappiness with a gentleman who in
his dotage made her live almost a recluse in the country, and dress up
and go through the drill as if he were commanding still.
His death finally rescued her from such a life, but by that time her
nervous system had become so thoroughly unhinged, her mind gave way, and
the last I knew of her was her being sent to the lunatic asylum, having
no child or relative to care for her. A sad comment on an ill-placed
mother’s ambition.
At the opposite corner of said stone house was a pretty little residence
occupied at one time and owned by the late Major Temple, adjoining which
was his father-in-law’s residence, the late Hon. Chief Justice Jonathan
Sewell. Both these houses still stand, but in vain I look for the
pretty lace curtains, and the two parrots on their stands, calling to
you through the bright flowers in the window of the late Major Temple’s
residence. As an old Quebecer I am ashamed to say that pretty house has
been the one blot on the whole of Quebec’s loveliest street. It has
been turned into a petty candy shop, a couple of bottles of sweets, two
or three sugar-sticks and halfpenny cakes, and a notice, "Registry
Office for Servants," replaces the view of the parrots and flowers.
Were I rich I should purchase the property myself, and for old times let
some one occupy it who would keep up somewhat its former appearance.
Such a thing would not have occurred in Montreal. The Montrealers have
too much ambition for their city to let it deteriorate, and consequently
property becomes more valuable every day. Why, to think Americans
should have been permitted to carry off bodily the house where
Montgomery’s body was laid and are making a fortune out of it, having
set it up as an Indian curiosity shop in some part of the States. Why
not have done it here?
Strolling on through the beautiful St. Louis Gate, past the new armory,
certainly a credit to the old city, and past rows of handsome new
houses, we come to a solid looking building with a golden lion sign.
When I looked at it, I wondered if it was chosen to beguile the innocent
into the impression that they were at the old chien d’or. It does not
need that it has memories enough of its own, for here lived the late A.
Joseph, Esq., and his amiable wife, one of the most charming of
hostesses, and who gave us any number of pleasant parties, but almost
every house on that street (then, as now, quite a fashionable one) is
associated with pleasant recollections. The one just inside the toll
gate on the left was then occupied by Capt. Charles Campbell, a retired
officer of Her Majesty’s 99th, I think, father of our old friend, A. C.,
joint Prothonotary of Quebec.
Mr. Le Moine, in his able work, "The Explorations of Eastern Latitudes,"
by Jonathan Old Buck, F. G. S. Q., so graphically depicted the Plains of
Abraham and its surroundings, I can but touch on old personal memories,
which as they please me in writing, for I live but in the past, may
serve to amuse you, my readers, in an idle hour. I will now stop at
Spencer Wood, and visit the pretty home of our favorite author.
The house at present occupied by Judge Bosse, Quebec, was fitted up in
1860 for Lord Monck, Spencer Wood having been burnt down on 12th March,
1860. Spencer Wood residence having been rebuilt and fitted up in
accordance with the requirements of a permanently selected vice-regal
residence, was successively occupied by the following parties:
Sir Edmund Head, 1860; Lord Monck, 1861; Sir N. F. Belleau,
Lieut.-Governor, 1867; Hon. R. E. Caron, Lieut.-Governor, afterwards Sir
R. E. Caron, 1870; Hon. Luc Letellier, 1878; Hon. Theodore Robitaille,
1879; Hon. Mr. Masson, 1884; Hon. Auguste Réal Angers, 1889, who married
in April, 1890, Emelie Le Moine, daughter of the late Alex. Le Moine,
who now resides there, Oct. 15th, 1890.
*SPENCER GRANGE, RESIDENCE OF
JAMES 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.
*NEW YEAR’S DAY, 1840—IN QUEBEC.*
Old Time, with customary speed,
Has passed us on his flying steed,
And once again a New Year’s day
Now greets us smiling bright and gay.
My young friends, I live so little in the present, so much in the past,
I hardly know the customs of modern society, but I am not so totally out
of the world as not to be conscious that old-time hospitalities on that
day are quite relegated to the past, and happily the cake and wine given
once so freely are no longer fashionable, for I think now with amaze of
our ancient customs, and wonder how, having partaken of the lavish
hospitality of these old days, any of our beaux could have got home
without the aid of Dickens’ traditional wheelbarrow. As it may amuse
you I will just give you a picture of New Year’s day as kept about forty
years ago. Well, I cannot state what precise year, but one New Year’s
day the courtyard of the English Cathedral was a mass of glare ice, just
like a skating rink, and no lady could go to service at the English
cathedral without the assistance of a well-shod beau to help her to keep
her equilibrium, and after service return with me to the home of one of
our city belles. You will find the mother of the family in full dress,
seated in a comfortable arm chair, a bright fire burning in the grate,
magazine in hand, to while away the hour when the ready attendant will
usher in the first visitor. A couple of young ladies beside her, in
full dress, pink, blue or gray satin or silk décolleté, a heavy gold
chain or valuable watch visible attached to a handsome gold watch hook
on the side of the dress, a bouquet holder in one hand, and embroidered
handkerchief and white kid gloves and numerous bracelets, they sit with
all the indifference it is possible to simulate, till the announcement
of Mr. A, soon followed by B, C, D, and E, till the room is so crowded
only the compliments of the season can be exchanged before with a bow
one gentleman gives place to another, and so numerous are the visitors
in some favored houses, perhaps even eighty in a day, one of the family
surreptitiously takes the names for future recognizance, and woe be to
the unfortunate swain whom forgetfulness or too much occupation may have
prevented from paying his respects; he will surely be left out of the
list of invites for the next ball. And yet, poor unfortunate, he cannot
leave the house without taking from the hand of the fair lady of the
house a glass of wine, and that offer he was expected to accept perhaps
at twenty or thirty houses. A year or two later it was considered bon
ton to offer nothing in the parlor, but an obsequious waiter tendered
ale, wines and other delicacies, catching the departing visitor in a
parlor near the hall door. This was something better. A gentleman
could refuse a waiter’s demand—not so easily a lady’s. Still later,
about fifteen years ago, I well remember the Rev. Mr. Hébert, of
Kamouraska, asking as a personal favor and a mark of respect to himself
that none of his parishioners should offer temptation to the weak in the
form of stimulant to New Year’s visitors, and he very lucidly expressed
himself in these terms: "You say some of you are advised by your
physician to take wine, well, that is all right, and put your liquor
beside your pills, and as you do not think it necessary to give physic
to all your friends because the doctor orders it for you, neither do I
think the tonic that may do you good necessary to sow broadcast to those
to whom it may prove a bitter poison." This was particularly hard on a
character in the village we had dubbed Monseigneur because he served a
former Bishop, and being wealthy he piqued himself on bringing something
new for New Year, and his last purchase had been a valuable liquor
stand. He was heart-broken. Being a very pious man he was deeply
chagrined to think he could not display his new purchase, till he was
once more elevated to the summit of happiness by the suggestion that
raspberry vinegar, lime juice and lemon syrup would look equally well in
his fine caraffe.
*A POINT OF HONOR.*
It must be fifty-two years ago fully when I first remember the house now
occupied by Mr. O’Hare as a first-class private boarding house. Its rear
faces the Citadel, its front looks into the barrack yard of the former
barracks on St. Louis street, now occupied by Major Forrest, Well, this
house was then occupied, and I think owned, by a very dear uncle, the
late Charles Adolphus H. I say, I think owned, because I perfectly
remember the rocks in rear being blasted to make a stable and the
building of an extension with vaulting apparatus and so forth for the
young people’s recreation, and this extension adjoined the nursery where
presided a female nurse of wonderful imaginative powers, who, when the
twilight gathered, and we begged for stories, detailed for our benefit
horror after horror—her only idea of entertainment for young children.
Well, in the garret of this old house my dear grand-uncle found a large
ledger, very strongly bound. On the outer pages were these words: "I
implore whoever finds this volume to keep it until the year ——, when, if
not reclaimed, then burn it unless he would incur the curse of a dead
man, for by that time all interested and for whom this book is kept must
be dead." The leaves were crossed with red tape, and every here and
there sealed with red sealing wax, but by breaking off a bit of wax we
could read a few words, and though I do not remember why, we seemed to
associate their meaning with some record of the North-West. Devoured by
curiosity, we young people, too afraid of the curse to openly destroy
the seals, devised every plan to ascertain the contents, and one of them
was to give the book to the younger children of the family as a
play-thing, hoping they would break them open and the contents be
exposed; but alas! one day my dear grand-uncle came upon the scene,
fathomed our project, and put a stop for all time to our endeavors by
putting said ledger in the stove, and watched it while it burnt. Was
this absolutely necessary? Did the most rigid scrupulousness demand
this? I don’t know how others will answer. For myself, if I had the
book before me now I would read its contents, and then judge whether I
should divulge its secrets or not in the interest of the public. What a
field of conjecture is open here! This book contained records of the
North-West. Of what? Do you remember, my friends, an article that
appeared in the papers very many years ago, saying that a voyageur had
discovered somewhere in the far north an old white-haired gentleman, the
Rev. Ebenezer Williams, who claimed to be the son of the unfortunate
Dauphin, son of the decapitated Louis XVI., and whose devoted followers
had rescued from prison and substituted a pauper, and at great personal
risk brought the unfortunate boy to America and placed him for safe
keeping with an Indian tribe, and leaving documents to prove his
identity should there ever appear a chance of his claiming the throne.
But as years rolled on, and no prospect of his being recalled to the
throne, and his protectors being dead, he had been educated as a
clergyman and served as missionary till his death. In fact, it was only
when on his deathbed these facts were discovered. Had this book—a very
closely written volume—anything to do with him? God only knows!
*COUNTRY POST OFFICES FORTY AND
FIFTY YEARS AGO.*
Our ancestors must have been very honest in rural parts, and had
unlimited faith in each other’s integrity, judging by the early post
offices. The first one I remember was that of Murray Bay, when on the
arrival of the bag its contents were dumped on the floor and every one
picked out the letters for themselves and friends, and enacted the part
of voluntary carriers for their friends, and very curious were the
articles then transmitted through the post office, the mail bags then
doing the present express service. A relative told me that he was
somewhere in the Gaspé district when the carrier arrived with the bags
he had carried a long distance on his back, and using rather hard
language at the unwonted weight of the bag, and curious to see what was
the cause of this extraordinary weighty mail, when lo! out tumbled two
immense wild geese, sent as a present by the Hon. W. H. to a friend.
Fancy the dénouement and the wrath of the old Scotchman, who had borne
the weight on a long tramp through a pathway in the forest.
One of the most curious experiences I ever had occurred about ten years
ago, when I went with my family to a rural summer resort. We were
several miles from the post office, and had very steep hills to climb on
every side, so I wished to kill two birds with one stone, and decided to
go to the post office after church service. I did so, and inquired for
a registered letter I expected. After a few minutes inquiry the maitre
de poste said: "Yes, there is a registered letter for you, but I can’t
find it, but it is all right, it is in the book." "Well," I said, as
the assistant was absent and might possibly have said letter in charge,
"I’ll call back after afternoon service." I did so, but again the
letter could not be found. "You’ll probably be passing in a week or so,
won’t you call in then, by that time I have no doubt we’ll have it for
you." "But," I said, "that won’t do. I am a stranger here and need the
money." "Ah! madame" (they were French Canadians), "we are very sorry
to inconvenience you, and if you will say how much you need will be
happy to advance you the cash, as by our books you are entitled to
some." I could not feel angry with these simple people, they were
evidently so honest and true. Yet, as I wanted my letter, with home
news, as well as the cash, I proposed that we should make a search in
the post office, which was also a shop of general merchandise. So,
after looking through box after box, some suggested looking in the
cellar, as an ill-fitting trap door with wide cracks was directly under
the official desk. The cellar, however, did not contain the missing
document, and I was almost in despair of recovering for some time my
lost property, when a happy inspiration came to me, and I inquired if
they sold envelopes. "Ah! oui, madame," they did, and among the
envelopes ready to be sold at about a cent a piece was my letter
containing fifty dollars cash, which, minus my persistence, might have
found its way into the pocket of some honest or dishonest purchaser. But
all is well that ends well, and I parted from my post office friends
with expressions of mutual regard, and fearing to do them harm,
believing so fully in their integrity, I never spoke of the matter; but
when, some years later, I heard the Post Office Inspector had made
radical changes, I thought it was beneficial to the general public.
*THE SUBTERRANEAN PASSAGES OF
THE CITADEL, QUEBEC.*
In the year ——, the late lamented Lieut. Fayrer, ordinance officer, came
to Quebec on a tour of inspection as to supplies needed (accompanied by
his wife, Lizzie Henshawe, a cousin). He asked us if we would like to
accompany him through the underground passages of the Citadel, very
rarely open to visitors. We gratefully accepted the offer, and so well
guarded was the secrecy of these premises, it was with the utmost
astonishment the soldiers present heard that underneath their Citadel
were miles of underground passages for transfer in case of siege, large
rooms for the refuge of women and children, and places for the safe
depositing of treasure. We accompanied him, and I remember going down
stairs intersected with heavy iron doors and through long passages with
only outlets for muskets to give light, then into large damp underground
chambers for a safe.
I cannot tell the length we went through of dark passage, but it was
some considerable distance, and the rooms are quite large, I suppose
capable of each holding fifty people. I have heard it said (but can’t
vouch for the truth), that these passages have an outlet on the St.
Lawrence at one end, and the Martello towers at the other. I have no
doubt such is the case. The underground passages are bombproof, and no
sound can be heard from them. A soldier forgotten there once gave
himself up to die, until he remembered he might be missed at roll call.
Such was the case, and his life thus saved. The passages are underneath
the Citadel at Cape Diamond, so called because at one time great
quantities of an inferior diamond were found there. I remember when the
Cape quite shone with them, and many old people have handsome jewellery
made from these gems. There is one street of houses opposite the Cape
about fifty-five years ago occupied by the following parties: the late
Chas. Gethings, the late Col. Dyde, John Carleton Fisher, William Patton
and Col. Gore, father of the present Countess of Errol. A small house
on the off side, occupied by a waiter, is the spot where is the present
High School of Quebec.
*THE FIRST ST. PATRICK’S SOCIETY
IN QUEBEC.*
Ireland, so prominent at the present time, especially appeals to
favorable remembrance of all her true people, and it may prove
interesting to many of my readers to hear something of the first St.
Patrick’s Society ever formed in Quebec. I therefore copy for public
benefit the very interesting account of its first doings, given me by an
old friend:—
"In the year 1836 a few Irish gentlemen met in a small house in the
Upper Town market place to form a St. Patrick’s Society without
reference to church or creed, but merely for the purpose of rendering
assistance to any of their countrymen who might be requiring help or
advice. Those gentlemen present on that occasion were as follows:—
The Hon. Dominick Daly, then Secretary of the Province.
The Hon. George Pemberton, merchant.
The Hon. Mr. Cochrane, brother-in-law to Bishop Mountain.
Sir Henry Caldwell, Baronet.
Geo. Holmes Parke, Esq., merchant.
Charles Gethings, Esq., of the Bank, Quebec.
Edward Bowen, Esq., son of Judge Bowen.
Edward Ryan, Esq., merchant, and Mr. O’Meara, Custom House.
"These gentlemen formed the St. Patrick’s Society, and the subscription
was to be five shillings each, annually. They also decided to have an
annual dinner every anniversary. The first president was the Hon. D.
Daly, and their first dinner was in a building where now stands the
Russell House. The subscription to the dinner was to be six dollars, to
make the meeting as select as possible, and to be paid out of the
subscribers’ own pockets without reference to the annual subscription.
The next president was the Hon. George Pemberton, and that dinner took
place in the Albion Hotel in Palace street. The third president was Sir
H. Caldwell; they dined in the same building, the Albion. The fourth
president was George Holmes Parke, Esq., who was annually elected
president for the succeeding fourteen years in succession, and the
dinners took place principally in the old chateau. To the anniversary
dinners the presidents of St. George, St. Andrew and St. John the
Baptist were invited as guests, as was also the heads of all military
and civil departments. On one occasion in the old chateau, when over
two hundred and fifty guests sat down to dinner, it looked well to see
Geo. Holmes Parke, Esq., with the president of St. George on one arm,
and the presidents of St. Andrew and St. John the Baptist on the other,
walking up the long room to the head of the dinner table. There were a
large number of subscribers to the Society, and the consequence was,
although the subscription was small, it was enabled to do a multitude of
good. The Society for many years got on admirably until other branches
were formed, and then Mr. Parke did not take the same interest as he had
formerly done. Notwithstanding, there never was an anniversary dinner
given afterwards but Mr. Parke was invited to it as a guest, and given
one of the most prominent seats at the table. Charles Gethings, Esq., I
believe, followed Mr. Parke as president, and after him others whose
names I have not ascertained. Of all the gentlemen that met to form the
Society, Mr. Parke is the only one living. In 1840 Mr. Parke bought a
large tract of land on the River St. Charles, a short distance from the
Dorchester Toll Bridge, on which he had built a splendid mansion, and
ornamented it with thousands of forest trees and circular avenues, iron
entrance gates, stone pillars, etc., also beautiful quickset hedges on
each side of the avenues kept neatly trimmed. In this house, which he
called "Ringfield," he has lived for the last fifty years, and is still
living in it. There is a splendid view from Ringfield. From St. Foy’s
church to St. Peter street in Lower Town can be seen almost every house
in Upper Town, St. Roch and St. Sauveur. Down the River St. Lawrence can
be seen nine miles, and from the hall door, before the trees grew up,
could be counted fourteen parish churches, apart from the city or
suburbs. Mr. Parke came to Canada in 1830, and is now in his
eighty-fourth year. During his business career he did a large business,
and in the course of twenty-five years he had built for himself
seventy-six large ships by different ship builders, which cost and was
paid for out of his office over three million of dollars, apart from his
other business." This gentlemen is father of the present popular
physician, Dr. Parke. Mr. Lemoine in his "Tourist’s Note Book" says: "A
very remarkable vestige of French domination exists behind the villa of
Mr. Parke, a circular field house, hence the name Ringfield, covering
about twelve acres, with an earthwork once about twenty feet high to the
east, to shield its inmates from the shot of Wolfe’s fleet lying at the
entrance of the St. Charles below Quebec."
*SILLERY CHURCH—THE PARSONAGE,
ONE TIME A RESIDENCE OF
SIR E. R. CARON.*
Sillery Church, beautifully situated above Sillery Cove (one of the
best-known lumber coves near Quebec), has for its parishioners many
families of note, foremost amongst whom were the Sharples family, well
known for their Catholic piety and their active benevolence.
At the time I first knew Sillery Church, its pastor was the Rev. George
Drolet, a very fervent, energetic priest, who I fear lost his health in
part from over zeal in the discharge of his arduous duties. His people
being mixed English and French, I have known him go through the ritual
of two masses, preach two sermons one in French and one in English
(fasting) though frequently warned against such over-exertion.
He was stricken with paralysis some years ago, and though comparatively
a young man, is quite debarred now from all church services.
He exercised considerable influence amongst his parishioners, many of
them being very difficult to deal with—a floating population of sailors;
but his genial manner and tact carried him through many difficulties. I
cannot give a better illustration of that same tact than by narrating a
fact that occurred full thirty years ago. At the time of the great
_Corrigan Murder_ (as it was called)—the outcome of a fight between
Orangemen and R. C. Irishmen—the feud ran so high, the Bishop of Quebec,
seeing how impossible it would be for an Irish priest to abstain from
being drawn into the vortex of party strife, decided on sending a
French-Canadian priest, who would have no national feeling in the
matter. The matter was discussed, but it was supposed to be such a post
of danger, even for a priest, the Bishop decided he would ask for a
volunteer instead of issuing a command to one of his clergy. All eyes
turned to the Rev. Mr. Drolet as _the one_ suited; he had been junior
priest in St. Patrick’s Church in Quebec, was thoroughly acquainted with
the character of the Irish people, and much beloved by them. He offered
his services, which were at once accepted; but some of his confrères
felt badly over the matter and remonstrated: "You must remember, my dear
sir, that you have a mother and sisters dependent on you for a home, and
you hold your life in your hand, if you go to —— in the present state of
feeling, as the Irish say they will not have a French-Canadian priest."
"I am not afraid," was the Rev. Mr. D.’s rejoinder; he went, to find the
Presbytery closed, the Parish Church nailed up, and a very threatening
crowd assembled. He could do nothing that day, so went to a neighboring
parish to say his morning mass. The next day the same scene. Undaunted
he began to talk, said he always thought an Irishman liked fair play,
and thought he might ask for a few minutes hearing—he, one man against
hundreds. "Oh! yes," they said, ashamed. "We’ll let you talk, but
remember we don’t want to insult your reverence, but we won’t have a
French-Canadian over us." "Well, answer me one question, I like to know
to whom I am talking: what is your name, and in what part of Ireland
were you born?" "Oh, sir, I was not born in Ireland, but my grandfather
and grandmother came from the Old country." "And you? and you?" The
same answer, not one perhaps in forty were born in Ireland, all really
by birth Canadians, and Mr. D. said, "You say you won’t have me because
I am a French-Canadian, my name is so, but, as my grandmother was Irish,
I consider myself as Irish as any of you." His wit carried the day. He
resided there for many years, and was so well liked that between thirty
and forty of his parishioners accompanied him to do him honor, when he
was given the pastorate of St. Michel, and I shall never forget the
sight of a crowded steamboat, half of the people in tears as they went
to see him off, and land him at Sillery, to which he had been
promoted—the most desirable rectorship, I fancy, in the R. C. gift, near
Quebec; but which he was to enjoy only a few years.
*ST. MATTHEW’S CHAPEL.*
A beautiful little church on the site of the old burying ground, on St.
John street, Quebec, built by that well-known philanthropist, Matthew
Hale, Esq., and very much enlarged and beautified by the various members
of the Hamilton family with their well-known liberality.
*BISHOP HAMILTON.*
About thirty years ago, there arrived fresh from college a
newly-ordained clergyman of the Church of England. So youthful looking,
so mild in character, it appeared at first as if he would hardly yet be
fitted for the onerous position of pastor, but he was appointed. Family
influence and money soon caused St. Matthew’s to be most largely
patronized, also free seats. In the meantime our young clergyman
pursued his unobtrusive way. Daily he might be seen in the poorest and
least frequented streets of the city, driving a little waggonette,
evidently constructed to order from its capacity for holding comforts
for his poor people. A thoroughly earnest, fervently pious man, our
young clergyman, before many years, displayed his innate force of
character, acquired great influence, and we know him now as Charles
Hamilton, Bishop of Ontario.
*ST. PATRICK’S CEMETERY, QUEBEC.*
Formerly Woodfield, the residence of the late
James Gibb, Esq., previously the residence of
Chas. Sheppard, Esq.
As I tread the sod of this cemetery what a host of memories are evoked.
Here was the handsome residence of Chas. Sheppard, formerly large timber
merchant of Quebec, one of whose sons, Mansfield Sheppard, Esq., and his
daughter, Mrs. Watt, I think still survive! This pleasant home was
burnt down, the family having hardly time to escape, and many cherished
and valuable mementoes of the past perished with it. It was purchased
by James Gibb, Esq., as a homestead, and so occupied for many years; and
who in the flush of enjoyment at the many pleasant entertainments given
by the Gibb family would have foreseen the day when many of those
dancing and promenading through those beautiful grounds would be
treading over perhaps the very spot may be their own resting place in
the quiet grave. Such is life. This cemetery, now of great beauty from
its natural characteristics, is about two miles from Quebec.
*MOUNT HERMON CEMETERY,*
About three miles from the city of Quebec, is most beautifully situated
on the St. Louis road its grounds at the back overlooking the St.
Lawrence.
Amongst other noted monuments here is the slab that indicates the last
resting place of the young son of Sir Edmund Head, who was accidentally
drowned in the St. Lawrence river, and buried here in Mr. Price’s lot.
The Price family had long occupied a high position in Quebec society,
and been intimate with the families of several of the governors. I see
they had the honor of a visit from the Prince on his late trip to
Quebec, who lunched with them.
I will attempt no further description of old Quebec, Mr. Le Moine has
too thoroughly exhausted the subject, but confine myself to a
description of people and incidents illustrative of the to me good old
times. Perhaps the beauty of the prospective is enhanced by the
distance, but to those who have passed the meridian of life the past
must ever be dearer than the present, for it alone is peopled with so
many of the loved we look for in vain now. So many of my once dear
associates have gone on before me, I often ponder on what must be the
feelings of one living to a hundred years, who stands totally alone
without one he has known in his earlier days to greet him.
*IN MEMORIAM.*
To my darling husband on the anniversary of
his death—September the 14th, 1889.
A year has come and gone since, by God’s Holy will
You left me, husband darling, and I still
Sorrow as in the earlier days, and grieve
As only those do who also are bereaved
Of one so fondly loved, whose life for years so
closely ’twined together
It seemed that death itself could never sever
The bonds, so firmly bound, in sickness or in health
Times of disaster, poverty or wealth,
The love which warmer grew with length of year.
It seems not possible you’re gone, I here;
Be still my heart, ’tis only for a time.
God’s will be done, and humbly mine
Must bow to His who doeth all things well.
Perchance you hear me, darling; who can tell
What line divides us? Thought may meet thought
On the high shore you stand,
And waft a loving greeting to the spirit land.
So I’ll not grieve you with my helpless sorrow.
But happily look toward that glad to-morrow
Will surely reunite us on that Heavenly shore.
The time will come, we’ll meet and part no more.
*NOVEMBER.*
When you speak of drear November,
Of its days of rain and gloom,
You should also ere remember
It’s the advent very soon
Of the bright month of December,
With its Christmas joys and cheer.
That its family rejoicings,
And its greetings of New Year,
Eclipse all previous darkness,
As the dark before the dawn;
Ignoring all the dangers,
That yet before us yawn.
For happily so the future
Is hidden from our gaze,
We only blindly, step by step,
Tread the ever-tangled maze
That encircles all our future,
And no one can design
The pathway to be trodden
By either yours or mine.
So implicitly we’ll leave
Our Heavenly Guide to say
The road that we will travel
And journey day by day,
Assured He will truly guide us,
If we will only follow,
And land us safely on the shore,
When some assured to-morrow
Will join the past, and safe return
All those for whom we sorrow.
*TO THE OYSTER.*
How I love you! toothsome oyster.
Because at hunger’s call
You are at all times ready
To fill our empty maw.
But still more do I love you
For the odor that you waft
Of seaside and sea-air you bring
With memories of the past.
The past whene’er your advent,
In autumn’s wintry weather,
Was grandly hailed on every side,
And brought all friends together.
When seated at a well-spread board,
Full quite a score and more
Of neighbors met to eat the food
All must pronounce so very good.
So whether hot, or whether cold,
In stew, or soup, or pie,
We sing your praise, for very few
Your excellence can deny.
*LIST OF NEW SUBSCRIBERS.*
QUEBEC.
Lady Stuart.
Comte de Turenne.
H. H. Sewell.
Mrs. W. Rae.
A. F. Hunt.
James Fatton.
J. Hamilton.
J. V. Welch.
H. G. Beemer.
E. J. Price.
Hon. Mr. Price.
P. P. Hall.
W. A. Russell, 2 copies.
C. S. Parke, M.D.
H. M. Michaels, Bk. B. N. A.
Arch. Campbell.
J. H. Burroughs.
Louis G. Fiset.
Hon. Judge F. Andrews.
E. N. Chinic.
George Vanfelsen.
Henry Russell, M.D.
Robert Mitchell.
E. A. Panet, N. P., St. Raymond.
Mrs. Astell Drayner.
MONTREAL.
Sir William Dawson.
P. B. Casgrain.
Somerville Weir.
W. Grant Stuart, M.D.
A. Primeau.
Mrs. R. M. Harrison.
Mrs. Trotter.
John Fair.
E. Pipon, Bk. of Montreal
W. Weir.
Alfred Thibaudeau.
J. Cradock Simpson.
Strachan Bethune.
Benj. Hart.
L. W. Marchand.
P. H. M. Sommerville, Bk. B. N. A.
W. Godfrey, Bk. B. N. A.
Madame DesRivières, Malmaison.
D. McCord.
A. Sicotte.
David Denne.
W. G. LeMesurier.
H. A. Hutchins.
E. B. Greenshields.
Judge Baby.
B. D. McConnell.
Norman S. Leslie.
Chs. Alexander.
Louis Barbeau,
Hon. G. H. Drummond.
Samuel I. Grant.
Judge Dorion.
Judge Bosse.
OTTAWA.
John D. Arnoldi.
Parliamentary Library, 2 copies.
Norman Bethune.
N. H. Noel, Quebec Bank.
S. Wilmot, Senate.
S. Lelièvre.
Judge Fournier.
Sir A. Caron.
Lt. Col. Macpherson.
Col. Tanet.
E. Knight, Militia Dept.
C.H. O’Meara.
M. Harrison.
W. Himsworth, Inland Revenue.
Geo. Duval, High Court of Justice.
S. Boucher.
Robt. Cassels.
W. P. Anderson, Union Bk.
Jas. Adamson, Senate.
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD MEMORIES: AMUSING AND
HISTORICAL ***
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