176 and Was expired in the bour of rictory; and to visit the defiles where the gallant Montgomery and the desperate Arnold were foilto server the plains where the capire of France was crushed, where the dag of Ligand still floats so proudly on the winds of ed in their bold attempt to plant the starred banner on the ramparts bearen The survey we bare impetuously down a proposed, may well commence at the dis declivity in the bed, and the channel is turbu the current confined and obstructed by huge masses of rock, rushes tance of thirty miles above Quebec, at the Richlieu Rapids. Here from an open and smooth bank to bold cliffs and steep acclivities. lent and dangerous for navigation. Here too begins the change Continuing our voyage, we find the river girt by a range of gradually in height as we advance eastward, until they far overhills, broken down abruptly at the water's edge, and ascending the masts of the stout ships. top jects Eight miles above the city, prothe bold promontory of Cape Rouge, deriving its descriptive appellation from the deep red hue painted on its ruinous and decomposing rocks by the rust of iron, a metal which enters freely into their composition. A few stinted and poverty stricken shrubs and hardy wild plants, fixing their roots in the crevices, have climbed up the steep, and clothe the inhospitable spot with a scanty vegetation. A little rivulet here pours in its tribute to the mighty flood of the St. Lawrence, through a valley, perhaps scooped out at some former period by the action of a deluge bursting its way through the barrier of stone and earth. The slope of the lofty banks at the place of its discharge leaves a beautiful and rich glen. Through the interval, we see a landscape eminently beautiful, diversified by cultivated lands, broken by little clusters of houses and spots of woods or clumps of forest trees, and skirted by distant hills. The effect of the prospect through the opening, exactly resembles that produced by looking on some elegant painting, through a tube, when every object assumes its just perspective, and stands forth from the canvass in due relief. Here was once the encampment of a detachment of the army operating against the French masters of Quebec; and hence, at break of day, on the morning of the 13th of September, 1759, fifteen hundred chosen troops went down on the ebb of tide to join their gallant comrades on the blood stained heights of Abraham. Continuing our course between the lofty banks, which still increase in height, and are indented with little coves and projecting points, we pass the mouth of the Chaudiere on the south, and arrive at Sillery on the northern shore, only three miles above Quebec. This spot is remarkable as the site of a village of the Algonquins, when the savages were the lords of its soil; for the grass grown remains of sepulchres; and for the ruins of ancient religious edifices, where the vesper-bell once called the children of the wilderness to the solemn services of devotion. The remarkable banks we have mentioned, in altitude vary. from one hundred and fifty to two hundred feet of perpendicular elevation. Along the beach, at their bases, are scattered houses; the coves are occupied as ship yards, whence the busy noises of the hammer and chisel, and the cheerful voices of industry are continually heard. We have now arrived within about one mile of the fortress. On our right is Wolf's Cove, now filled with lumber and shipping, a spot which will be consecrated as long as the memory of noble daring and heroic achievements shall be preserved. It is a little bay. formed by the retreating shores. The rugged precipices and shelving cliffs rising over it, seem almost impassable even for men unincumbered by arms, and unopposed by the batteries that frowned from their summits in 1759. Here was the point where the landing was effected by Wolf's troops, on the memorable night preceding the battle; and the spectator who, at the present day, has, clambered along the path way cut obliquely on the declivity, is struck with astonishment at the rashness of the attempt to gain a passage in the face of an enemy's force. While viewing the ground he feels the full force of the difficulties which were encountered, and will cordially assent to the correctness of the expression of the English General to one of his officers, "I don't believe there is any possibility of getting up; but you must do your endeavor." Above are the plains of Abraham, where four huge Martello towers of solid masonry, stand, like giant sentinels, to guard the rest of the slain and watch the advance of a foe. 1 The Plains stretch to the western walls, and the bank becomes more black, bare, and precipitous, till it terminates in the naked rock of Cape Diamond, crowned with the heavy batteries of the cit-, adel, where "the black artillery, pointing over the parapet, look like beasts of prey, crouching, and ready to spring upon their victims." After passing this point the river suddenly spreads out in a broad and spacious basin, swarming with the ships of commerce, but ample enough to shelter the whole navy of England. We now turn northward, and see the whole lower town encircling the naked rock which towers above. The upper city is inclosed with heavy walls, covered with cannon, pierced with loop holes and embrasures, and running along the verge of the precipice, which overhangs the confused piles of buildings beneath. The Castle of Saint Louis, the residence of the Governor, forms a conspicuous object in the landscape; it stands on the very brink of the cliff, and is supported by pillars of masonry resting on the masses below. We cannot now pause to describe the picturesque view presented by the city, but must hurry on our way. The beautiful River St. Charles is formed by the confluence of many little streams, rising in the country northwestward from the ancient fortress of the North and fed by the mountain springs of a wild region, so barren, rude, and rugged, as to hold out no temptations of agricultural wealth to allure the cultivator. At the distance of about four leagues from Quebec, its waters spread out in a little lake, described as presenting one of the most exquisitely picturesque scenes in the whole province.* The margin presents an appearance romantic and lovely. The devious course of the shores, broken by retreating bays and projecting headlands, the surrounding hills crowned with green woods, and sloping downward to the water's edge, the distant and abrupt elevations, are united in one view to gratify the visitors who retire from the commotion of the city to enjoy the solitude of the spot. Wandering onward, the river passes the village of Jeune Lorette, inhabited by the feeble descendants of the once warlike tribe of the Hurons. Roving along the borders of Lakes Erie, Ontario, and Huron, they long prosecuted a destructive warfare with the Iroquois. At length, their formidable enemies gained an entire ascendency. The young warriors were killed in fight, died in captivity by cruel tortures, or, adopted by their enemies, swelled the numbers of the foes: the villages were burnt: famine and pestilence desolated the settle *Bouchette, 112. + Much doubt exists as to the proper appellation of the original nation of the Hurons, and obscurity remains on the origin of the present name. Champlain calls them "Ochastequins" and confounds them with the Iroquois, deceived by the similarity of language. The intelligent and accurate Charlevois, (His. Nouvelle France I-183) considers the true name to be Yendats, and explains their modern and vulgar designation. The French, on their first interview with the tribe, seeing their hairs bound up in a fantastic and peculiar manner, giving a savage and terrific expression to their fierce countenances, exclaimed in surprise "Quelles Hures!" "What Wolves' Heads," and by repetition, fixed upon them the abusive title of Hurons, an epithet which has survived the changes of their national degradation. ments spared by the hatchet: and the survivors after enduring the extremity of suffering, deserted the places of their birth and took refuge under the protection of the French. A collection of white houses surrounding a plain church at the distance of nine miles above the mouth of the St. Charles, and situated on a little eminence near the Eastern bank, contains the descendants of the forest hunters. Their wild and shaggy locks, from which their appellation is supposed to be derived, are curiously at variance with the European costume covering their limbs. They speak the French language readily, and in their negociations with strangers are sufficiently adroit to protect their interests and defend their rights. Near this village, the river rushes over a steep and irregular rock, in a wild and foaming cataract, about thirty feet in descent. Flowing onward the stream spreads out in a spacious bay, at its junction with the Saint Lawrence. The precipice of the upper town overhangs its southern shore, and the declivity beyond the walls is covered with the crowded settlements of the suburbs. Coasting along the northern shore of the bay, we find the road to the capital passes through a continued settlement. The village of Beauport, situated on a gently rising ground, four miles below Quebec, consists of about eighty houses, of neat and elegant appearance. A church with three spires invites the Catholic, to enter the doors always open, and sanctify the duties of the day by prayer to Him, whose altar is reared beneath its ceiling. Still further, is the river Montmorenci tumbling over the rocks in a cataract, which in grandeur and magnificence is second only to Niagara and in beauty far superior. The water falls in one unbroken sheet into a chasm 240 feet below. At the distance of four miles from Cape Diamond is the Island of Orleans in the midst of the river, bounding the basin on the east. The shores slope gently down to the channels on both sides, and are clothed with a luxuriant vegetation. The soil is fertile, and the whole island blooms like a garden. Crossing the stream to its southern shore, the promontory of Point Levi rises opposite to Beauport, distant about one mile due east from Cape Diamond. Scarcely less elevated than that fortress, it was occupied during the siege of Quebec, by a corps under Gen. Moncton. The lines of entrenchments whence the cannonade of the assailants was directed on the city are still visible. To this point we arrived at the conclusion of our weary pil grimage. The mists of a summer morning were scattered by the bright sun, and as they receded to the hills, a scene was presented of unrivalled magnificence and beauty. Beneath was the river, spreading out like a fair lake in the wide expanse of the basin, covered with many a sail, from that of the noble ship down to the humble fishing boat. Before us were the battlements of the citadel, the prize of bloody contests and the object of desperate adventure. The lower town, overshadowed by impending precipices, skirting their base, and crowded with tall warehouses and edifices of ancient architecture, was full in view. The upper town, sat perched on the summit, like an eagle in its nest; its spires glittering with tin, rose from the green trees of its gardens and dazzled the eye with their brightness. Eastward was the green island, glowing with the luxuriance of its verdure. Northward, the River Saint Charles, swept through the delightful valley and rich fields. As far as the eye could stretch, the thick settlements extended on by the road sides, like the streets of a metropolis. Fields waving with harvests ascended the slopes, and hills rose above hills, until the view was terminated by the mist clad summits of majestic mountains, rising in the regions of primeval forests. The loveliest creations of nature and the proudest works of man were contrasted. Lofty precipices, rushing floods, foaming cataracts, green fields, and tall mountains are clustered around Quebec. There too are towers and bulwarks, battlements standing in all the proud defiance of war, and temples where the spirit bows down before the altar of religion. There are plains where the blood of the brave has been profusely poured out. The canoe of the Indian from the woods where the White Man has never corrupted or improved, and the ships from the distant shores of other lands, are moored together. No description can convey an adequate idea of the loveliness, the grandeur, and the sublimity of a scene where all the objects we love to contemplate, are grouped together in one bright picture. WOMAN'S WORTH. TALK not of love's extatic thrill, Nor virtue boast, nor kindness claim→→→ His heart must be a heart of steel, L. |