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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 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 M?re 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 M?re 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.

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!" "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 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 cur?, 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 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 Tach? 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 , 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.

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" , "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." "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 d?nouement. "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" ; "he is the Englishman, who can't know anything."

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.

About eight years ago my dear husband and myself took rooms for the summer with a Mr. Ignace D?ry, 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 D?ry, 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 D?ry 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 D?ry, 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. D?ry 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 D?ry, 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. Beaupr?. 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 , 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 , 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 D?rys I found interesting, and detail them for public benefit. The daughter-in-law of Joseph D?ry 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 D?ry hangs on its walls.

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 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.

"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. Andr? called Pointe S?che. 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 , 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.

A thoroughly respectable house like the Campbell House, of Pointe S?che, 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 ; 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.

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 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.

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 , 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 , 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 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 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.

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 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 , 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.

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 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 R?al Angers, 1889, who married in April, 1890, Emelie Le Moine, daughter of the late Alex. Le Moine, who now resides there, Oct. 15th, 1890.

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