Part 2 — THE ENVIRONS OF QUEBEC. (continued 5)

Want of space precludes us from adding more from this very interesting journal of the Chevalier Johnstone, replete with curious particulars of the disorderly retreat of the French regiments from their Beauport camp, after dark, on that eventful 13th September, how they assembled first at the hornwork, and then filed off by detachments on the Charlesbourg road, then to Ancient Lorette, until they arrived, worn out and disheartened without commanders, at day break at Cap Rouge.

On viewing the memorable scenes witnessed at Ringfield,—the spot where the French discoverer wintered in 1535-36, and also the locality, where it was decided to surrender the colony to England in 1759—are we not justified in considering it as both the cradle and the tomb of French Dominion in the new world?

Ringfield has, for many years, been the family mansion of George Holmes Parke, Esquire.

CASTOR VILLE

"In woods or glens I love to roam, * * * * Or by the woodland pool to rest."

In the deepest recesses of the Lorette woods, amongst the most shady meanders of the sinuous Cahire Coubat, some five miles due north from Castel-Coucy, we know a bank, not precisely where

"The wild thyme grows,"

but where you are sure, in spring and summer, to pluck handfuls of trilliums, wild violets, ferns of rare beauty, columbines, kalmias, ladies' slippers, ladies' tresses (we mean of course the floral subjects). In this beauteous region, sacred to Pan, the Naiades, Dryades, and the daughters of Mnemosyne, you might possibly, dear reader, were you privileged with a pass from one of our most respected friends, be allowed to wander; or perchance in your downward voyage from Lake Charles to the Lorette Falls, in that vade mecum of a forester's existence—a birch canoe—you might, we repeat, possibly be allowed to pitch your camp on one of the mossy headlands of Castor Ville, and enjoy your luncheon, in this sylvan spot, that is, always presuming you were deemed competent to fully appreciate nature's wildest charms, and rejoice, like a true lover, in her coyest and most furtive glances.

Castor Ville, a forest wild, where many generations of beavers, otters, caribou, boars, foxes and hares once roamed, loved and died, covers an area of more than one hundred acres. Through it glides the placid course of the St. Charles—overhung by hoary fir trees—from the parent lake to the pretty Indian Lorette Falls, a distance of about eight miles of fairy scenery, which every man of taste, visiting Lake St. Charles, ought to enjoy at least once in his life. It is all through mantled over by a dense second growth of spruce and fir trees, intersected by a maze of avenues. The lodge sits gracefully, with its verandah and artillery, on a peninsula formed by the Grand Desert and St. Charles streams. You can cross over in a canoe to that portion of the domain beyond the river: along the banks, a number of resting places—tiny bowers of birch bark—dingies and canoes anchored all round—here and there a portage—close by, a veritable Indian wigwam—Oda Sio [293] by name. On a bright morning in early spring, you may chance to meet, in one of the paths, or in his canoe, a white-haired hunter, the Master of Castor Ville, returning home after visiting his hare, fox, or otter traps, proudly bearing Lepus in his game bag, next to which you may discover a volume of Molière, Montaigne or Montesquieu. On selling Castle-Coucy, its loyal-hearted old proprietor, taking with him the guns of the fort, retired to the present wild demesne, in which occasionally he passes, with his family, many pleasant hours, amidst books, friends and rural amusements, far from city noises and city excitement.

Castor Ville belongs to the Hon. Louis Panet, member of the Legislative Council of Canada." (Written in 1865.)

Since this little sketch was penned, sixteen years ago, the unwelcome shadow of years has crept over our old friend, eighty-six winters and then frost has cooled the ardor of the Chasseur, Castor Ville for Mr. Panet has lost much of its sunshine.

THE JOYS OF WINTER.

"Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow, Filling the earth and sky below, Over the house-tops, over the street, Over the heads of the people you meet, Dancing, Flirting, Skimming along, Beautiful snow, it can do no wrong, Flying to kiss a lady's cheek, Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak, Beautiful snow from the heaven above, Pure as an angel, gentle as love!

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow How the flakes gather and laugh as they go, Whirling about in the maddening fun, It plays in its glee with every one, Chasing, Laughing, Hurrying by, It lights on the face and sparkles the eye! And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound, Snap at the crystals that eddy around, The town is alive, and its heart is aglow! To welcome the coming of the beautiful snow

How the wild crowds go swaying along, Hailing each other with humour and song, How the gay sledges, like meteors, pass by, Bright for the moment, then lost to the eye, Ringing, Swinging, Dashing they go, Over the crust of this beautiful snow, Snow so pure when it falls from the sky, To he trampled and tracked by the crowd rushing by, To be trampled and tracked by the thousands of feet, Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street."

Has it ever been your fortune, kind reader, to enjoy, in the depth of winter, a ramble in a Canadian forest, at the mystic hour when the Queen of Night asserts her silent sway? Have you ever revelled in this feast of soul, fresh from the busy hum of city life—perchance strolling up a mountain path with undulating plains of spotless whiteness behind you, or else canopied by the leafy dome of odorous pines or green hemlock, with no other companion but your trusty rifle, nor other sound but the hoot of the Great Horned Owl, disturbed by the glare of your camp fire—or the rustle of the passing hare, skulking fox, or browsing cariboo? Have you ever been compelled, venturesome hunter as you are, with the lengthening shades of evening, after a twenty miles' run, to abandon the blood-stained trail, reserving for the morrow the slaying of the stricken cariboo? Can you recall the sense of weariness, with which you retraced your heavy steps to the camp—perspiring at every pore,—panting with thirst—famished— perhaps bewildered with the flakes of the gathering storm—yea, so exhausted, that the crackling of the pine faggots of your mountain hut— watched over in your absence by your faithful Indian "Gabriel" [294]— struck on your quickened senses amidst the winter gloom like heavenly music—sounds as soft, as welcome as the first April sunbeam? Have you ever had the hardiness to venture with an Indian guide and toboggin on an angling tour far north in the Laurentian chain, to that Ultima Thule sacred to the disciples of old Isaac. Snow Lake, over chasm, dale, mountain, pending that month dear above all others to King Hiems— inexorable January? If so, you can indeed boast of having held communion with the grim God of Winter in some of his stern, though captivating, moods. Nor are these the only charms which the capricious monarch has in store.

Never shall I forget, one balmy March morning, sauntering along the green uplands of Sillery, towards the city, while the "sun god" was pouring overhead, waves of soft, purple light. The day previous, one of our annual, equinoctial storms had careered over the country; first, wind and snow; then wind and sleet, the latter dissolving into icy tears, encircling captive Nature in thousands of weird, glossy crystals; every tree of the forest, according to its instinct, its nature, writhing in the conqueror's cold embrace—rigid, creaking, ready to snap in twain rather than bend, as the red oak or sugar maple, or else meekly, submissively curving to the earth its tapering, frosted limbs, like the silver birch— elegant, though fragile, ornament of the Canadian park, or else, rearing amid air a graceful net-work—waving, transparent sapphire-tinted arabesques, stretched on amber pillars; witness the Golden Willow. Each gleam of sunshine investing this gorgeous tapestry with all the glories of Iris; here, rising above his compeers, a stately lord of the grove, hoary with frost and years, whose outspreading boughs are burnished, as if every twig had been touched by the hand of an enchanter, whilst there, under his shade, bends a mountain ash, smeared with the crimsoned berries of the preceding summer, now ice-coated bon-bons eagerly plucked by troops of roseate grosbeaks resting on the whitened branches. How lovely the contrasts!

Such, the scene in the winsome light of day. But of those objects, viewed by moonlight, who would have dared becomingly depict the wild beauty? The same incomparable landscape, with Diana's silver rays softly sleeping on the virgin snow; on each side, an avenue of oak, spruce and fir trees, the latter with their emerald boughs wreathed in solid ice, and to the earth gracefully bending in festoons—now and again kissed by the night wind; at each wavy motion disclosing their dark trunks, under the frozen foliage, like old Ocean's billows breaking on dark rocks; the burnished gold of the morn changed into silver floss, twinkling with a mild radiance, under the eye of night, like diamond tiaras—a vista fit for Queen Mab! Of such, mayhap dreamed Moorish maid, under the portals of the Alhambra. Were Armida's enchanted forests brighter?

Who can describe all thy witchery? Thy nameless graces, who can compass, serene majesty of Winter in the North? And yet all these glories of frost and moon-lit snows we once did see round our Canadian Home.

Wouldst thou fancy another view of winter less serene; a contrast such as glorious old KIT NORTH would have revelled in? Step forward, my witty, my sarcastic friend of the Evènement newspaper—by name Henri Fabre!

"The true season of Canada is winter; winter with its bright skies by day and its brighter stars by night. Of spring we have none. April is nothing better than a protracted thaw, with scenes of mud and melting snow. May, the month dear to poets, is frequently but an uninterrupted succession of showers to fecundate the earth; its symbol, an array of outspread umbrellas in our streets. As to our summer, it is but the epitome of the lovely summer of France and Italy for the use of new countries. Autumn is a shade better; but anon, the first frost hurries on to blanch and disperse the leaves and dim the hues of mellowed nature. When the fields slumber under ten feet of snow; when human noses freeze before their sneezing owners have time to utter a cry for help, then is the beau ideal of our climate. He who on such an occasion dares to sigh for the boasted shade of trees and the murmur of gushing waters, that man is no true Canadian. The searching wind, the cold, the northern blast, [295] are part and parcel of our country; one is bound to love them. Should they increase in intensity, rub your hands, first to keep yourself warm, nest to denote your patriotic joy!"

But all this won't prevent us from exclaiming with a Canadian son of song:

"Oh! dear is the Northern forest home, Where the great pine shoots on high; And the maple spreads its soft, green leaves In the clear, blue, taintless sky; Though the summer mantle paleth fast Into winter's virgin veil There is health in the fierce, quick lightning blast, And strength in the icy gale; And life glides on in a quiet calm, Like our own great river's flow; And dear to the hearts of her children all Is our own FAIR LAND OF SNOW!"

SILLERY, near Quebec, 1881.

THE MANOR HOUSE, BEAUPORT.

Let us view a remnant of feudal times.

On the Beauport road, four miles from the city and about forty feet from the late Colonel B. C. A. Gugy's habitation, stood until 1879 an antiquated high-gabled French stone dwelling, very substantially put together. About thirty years back there was still existing close to and connected with it, a pavilion or tower, used in early days as a fort to protect the inmates against Indian raids. It contained the boudoir and sleeping apartments of some of the fair seignieuresses [296] of Beauport in the house which Robert Giffard, the first seignor built there more than two centuries ago; it is the oldest seignorial manor in Canada. Robert Giffard's house—or, more properly, his shooting box—is thought to have stood closer to the little stream to the west. The first seignior of Beauport had two daughters who married two brothers, Juchereau, the ancestors of the Duchesnays; and the manor has been in the possession of, and occupied by, the Duchesnays for more than two hundred years.

Robert Giffard had visited Canada, for the first time, in 1627, in the capacity of a surgeon; and being a great sportsman, he built himself a small house on the banks of the Beauport stream, to enjoy to perfection, his favorite amusements—shooting and fishing. No authentic data exist of the capacity of Beauport for game in former days; we merely read in the Relations des Jésuites that in the year 1648. 1200 ptarmigan were shot there, we also know that the quantities of ducks congregating on the adjoining flats caused the place to be called La Canardière. There is a curious old record in connection with this manor, exhumed by the Abbé Ferland; it is the exact formula used by one of the tenants or censitaires in rendering foi et hommage to the Lord of the Manor. Guion (Dion?), a tenant, had by sentence of the Governor, Montmagny, been condemned on the 30th July, 1640, to fulfil this feudal custom. The document recites that, after knocking at the door of the chief manorial entrance, and in the absence of the master, addressing the farmer, one Boulle, the said Guion, having knelt down bare headed without his sword or spurs, repeated three times the words,—"Monsieur de Beauport, Monsieur de Beauport, Monsieur de Beauport, je vous fais et porte la foy et hommage que je suis tenu de vous porter, a cause de mon fief du Buisson, [297] duquel je suis homme de foy relevant de votre seigneurie de Beauport, lequel m'appartient au moyen du contrat que nous avons passe ensemble par devant Roussel à Mortagne, le 14 Mars, 1634, vous déclarant que je vous offre payer les droits seigneuriaux et féodaux quand dûs seront, vous réquerant me recevoir à la dite foy et homage." "Lord of Beauport, Lord of Beauport, Lord of Beauport, I render you the fealty and homage due to you on account of my land du Buisson … which belongs to me by virtue of the title-deed executed between us in presence of Roussel at Mortagne, the 14th March, 1634, avowing my readiness to acquit the seignorial and feudal rents whenever they shall be due, beseeching you to admit me to the said and homage." This Guion, a mason by trade, observes the Abbé Ferland, was the man of letters and scribe of the parish. There is still extant a marriage contract, drafted by him, for two parishioners; it is one of the earliest on record in Canada, bearing date the 16th July, 1636. It is signed by the worthy Robert Giffard, the seignior, and by Francois Bellanger and Noël Langlois; the other parties affixed their mark. It possesses interest as serving to illustrate the status and education of the early French settlers. In 1628, Robert Giffard had been taken a prisoner of war by the English, on board of Rocmont's fleet. On his return, and in acknowledgement of the services rendered by him to the colonial authorities, he obtained a grant of the seigniory of Beauport, together with a large tract of land, on the River St. Charles. For many long years the ancestral halls of the Duchesnays, at Beauport, rang with the achievements of their warlike seigneurs. One of them, Nicholas Juchereau de St. Denys, so distinguished himself at the siege of Quebec in 1690, that his sovereign granted him "a patent of nobility." ("Le sieur de St. Denys, seigneur de Beauport, " says Charlevoix, "commandait ses habitants, il avait plus de soixante ans et combattait avec beaucoup de valeur, jusqu'a ce qu'il eut un bras casse d'un coup de feu. Le Roi récompensa peu de temps après son zèle en lui accordant des lettres de noblesse.") His son distinguished himself in Louisiana. Two other members of the family won laurels at Châteaugay. A descendant, Lieut.-Col. Théodore Duchesnay, is Deputy Adjutant General of Militia.

The late Col. Gugy, built himself, in 1865, close to the manor, a comfortable dwelling, wherein, amidst rural retirement, he divided his existence between literature, briefs and his stud, noted all over Canada. He had recently added to his domain, by purchase, a large tract of land from the adjoining property, the De Salaberry homestead, where H.R.H. the Duke of Kent, the father of our beloved Queen, in 1791 enjoyed more than one petit souper. The broad acres which in 1759 resounded to the tread of Montcalm's heavy squadrons, for years the quiet home of a barrister of note, now bear the name of Darnoc. Cedant arma togae.

Darnoc, since the death of Col. Gugy, in 1878, is occupied by Mrs. Gugy and Herman Ryland, Esq., who married a daughter of the late proprietor. The ruins of the Duchesnay Manor, more than once have been disturbed by the pick and shovel of the midnight seeker for hidden French piastres: though religiously protected against outrage by Mrs. Gugy's family, and more especially watched over by the Genius Loci, the divining rod and a Petit Albert have recently found their way there; however successfully poised and backed by the most orthodox incantations and fumigations, the magic rod has failed so far to bring to the surface either gold or silver coin. This was probably owing to the omission of a very important ceremony: the production on the spot of "a candle [298] made out of the fat of an executed murderer, as the clock strikes twelve at midnight," under suitable planetary influence.

The recent discovery of the corner stone of the old manor, and of an inscription dating back to 1634, have given rise to a spicy newspaper discussion among our antiquarians.

THE SEIGNIORIAL MANOR OF THE FIRST SEIGNEUR OF BEAUPORT, 1614.

I.H.S. M.I.A. LAN 1634 LE NTE 25 IVILET.IE.ETE-PLA PREMIERE.P.C.GIFART SEIGNEVR.DE CE.LIEV

In March 1881, the Literary and Historical Society of Quebec, received from the widow of the late Col. B. C. A. Gugy, of Darnoc, Beauport, a lead plate, with the above quoted inscription, and a note, stating under what circumstances Col. Gugy's family became possessed of it. This lead plate, affords a written record of the laying of the foundation stone, on the 25th July, 1634, of the historical homestead of the fighting Seigneurs of Beauport: the Gifart, the Juchereau, the Duchesnay.

The massive old pile alleged to have been the headquarters of the Marquis de Montcalm, during the siege of Quebec, in 1759, and in which many generations of Duchesnays and some of Col. Gugy's children were born, became the prey of flames in 1879, 'tis said, by the act of a Vandal. Thus perished the most ancient stronghold of the proud feudal Lairds of Beauport, of the stone manor of Surgeon Robert Giffard; the safe retreat against the Iroquois of the warlike Juchereau Duchesnays, one of whose ancestors, in 1645, had married Marie Gifart, or Giffard, a daughter of the bellicose Esculapius from Perche, France,—Surgeon Robert Gifart. Grim and defiant the antique manor, with its high-peaked gables, stood in front of the dwelling Col. Gugy had erected, at Darnoc, in 1865: it rather intercepted the view to be had from this spot, of Quebec. One of the memorable landmarks of the past, it has furnished a subject for the pencil of Col. Benson J. Lossing, author of the "American Revolution," and "Life of Washington," who, during his visit to Quebec, in July, 1858, sketched it with others, for Harper's Magazine, where it appeared, over the heading "Montcalm's Headquarters, Beauport," in the January number, 1859, page 180, from which drawing it was transferred to the columns of the Canadian Illustrated News, for May, 1881.

Whilst the deciphering of some of the letters I.H.S.—M.I.A. at the top of the inscription has exercised the ingenuity of our Oldbucks and Monkbarns, the plate itself and its inscription will furnish to the student of history an indefeasible proof of the exact spot, and of the date, when and where stood the oldest of our seigniorial manors,—that of Robert Gifart, on the margin of the ruisseau de l'ours, at Beauport, in 1634.

J. M. LeMoine Esquire, President Literary and Historical Society, Quebec:

BEAUPORT, 26th March, 1881

"SIR.—The tablet found in the Manor House of Beauport by some workmen, last summer, and only recently restored to the proprietors, is a circular plate of lead or pewter much injured by the fire which consumed the building.

Owing to the unwillingness of the men concerned to give any information, it is difficult to learn much about whereabouts in the building it was found, nor what other articles may have accompanied it, but as far as can be ascertained, this oval plate (about 1/4 of an inch in thickness) was rolled up and contained a few coins and some documents; the first cannot be traced and are spoken of as "quelques sous;" the latter, they say, crumbled into dust at once.

The inscription, as well as can be deciphered, is as follows:—

I.H.S. M.I.A. LAN 1634 LE NTE 25 IVILET.IE.ETE-PLA PREMIERE.P.C.GIFART SEIGNEVR.DE CE.LIEV

This is rudely but deeply cut into the plate, and underneath may be seen in patches, traces of a fainter etching, part of which may be a coat of arms, but this is uncertain; underneath can be seen a heart reversed, with flames springing from it upwards. All these are enclosed in a larger heart, point downwards.

The enclosed rough simile may give an idea of the lettering at the top of the circle, the plate itself being about nine inches in diameter."

(With Mrs. Gugy's compliments.)

Darnoc, 26th March, 1881.

THE BEAUPORT MANOR INSCRIPTION.

(To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle.)

"Whilst regretting the loss of the coins and document accompanying the inscription of the Beauport Manor, on account of the light it might have thrown on this remote incident of Canadian history, let us examine the case as it stands.

This rude inscription of 25th July, 1634, gives priority as to date to the Beauport Manor over any ancient structure extant in Canada this day. The erection of the manor would seem to have preceded by three years the foundation of the Jesuits' Sillery residence, now owned by Messrs. Dobell and Beckett, which dates of July, 1637. Who prepared the inscription? Who engraved the letters? Who cut on the lead the figure of the "flaming heart?" The stars? Are they heraldic? What did they typify? Did the plate come out, ready prepared from France? Had the Académie des Inscriptions, etc., or any other académie, any hand in the business? No, for obvious reasons.

The lead-plate was imbedded in solid masonry. It is too rude to be the work of an engraver. Could it have been designed by Surgeon Gifart, the Laird of Beauport and cut on the lead-plate by the scribe and savant of the settlement, Jean Guion (Dion?) whose penmanship in the wording of two marriage contracts, dating from 1636, has been brought to light by an indefatigable searcher of the past—the Abbé Ferland? probably.

But if the lettered Beauport stone mason, who never rose to be a Hugh Miller, whatever were his abilities, did utilize his talents in 1634, to produce a durable record in order to perpetuate the date of foundation of this manor, he subsequently got at loggerheads with his worth seignieur, probably owing to the litigious tastes which his native Perche had instilled in him. Perche, we all know, is not very distant from Normandy, the hot-bed of feuds and litigation, and might have caught the infection from this neighborhood:

Governor Montmagny, in the space of eight short years, had been called on to adjudicate on six controversies which had arisen between Gifart and his vassals, touching boundaries and seigniorial rights, though the learned historian Ferland, has failed to particularize, whether among those controverted rights, was included the Droit de Chapons and Droit de Seigneur; could the latter unchaste, but cherished right of some Scotch and German feudal lords, by a misapprehension of our law, in the dark days of the colony, have been claimed by such an exacting seignior as M. de Gifart? One hopes not.

Be that as it may, the stone mason and savant Jean Guion had refused to do feudal homage to "Monsieur de Beauport," and on the 30th July, 1640, six years after the date of the inscription, under sentence rendered by Governor de Montmagny, he was made to do so.

Who will decipher the I.H.S.—M.I.A. the letters at the top of the plate? Is there no defendant of the haughty Seignior of Beauport, Rob. Gifart, to give us his biography, and tell us of his sporting days; of the black and grey ducks, brant, widgeon, teal, snipe, and curlew, etc., which infested the marshy banks of the stream—the Ruisseau de l'Ours, on which he had located, first his shooting box, and afterwards his little fort or block-house, against Iroquois aggression? Dr. Gifart was a keen sportsman, tradition repeats. Did the locality get the name of Canardière on account of the Canards, the ducks, he had bagged in his time? Who will enlighten us on all these points?

ENQUIRER.

Quebec, 8th April, 1881.

QUERY.—Would I. H. S. stand for Jesus Hominum Salvator? and M.I.A. for Maria-Josephus-Anna?—the Holy Family—asks Dr W. Marsden.

COUNT D'ORSONNENS LETTER

A monsieur J. M. LeMoine, président de la Société Littéraire et Historique de Québec, etc., etc, etc.

CHER MONSIEUR,.—Votre lettre du 1er avril, publiée dans le Morning Chronicle, en groupant, autour du premier Manoir canadien, des grands noms canadiens, des faits historiques et des traditions, semble vouloir nous faire regretter encore plus la perte d'un monument dont il ne reste plus qu'une plaque de plomb gravée sans art, avec une inscription sans orthographe. Je suis allé, comme bien d'autres, voir ce morceau de plomb, qui contient, autant que l'imprimerie peut le représenter, l'inscription suivante:

I.H.S. M.I.A. LAN 1634 LE NTE 25 IVILET.IE.ETE-PLA PREMIERE.P.C.GIFART SEIGNEVR.DE CE.LIEV

La première ligne a été, sans doute, gravée avec une pointe, l'incision plus indécise est aussi moins profonde, de même que les lettres NTE ajoutées au-dessus de PLA, pour faire le mot planté, que l'art du graveur ou la largeur du ciseau n'avait pas su contenir dans la troisième ligne.

Les lettres des trois dernières lignes ont été coupées avec un ciseau de un demi-pouce de large, l'incision est nette et bien dessinée; on voit encore les lignes qui ont été tracées dans toute la largeur de la plaque, an moyen d'une pointe pour guider le ciseau du graveur.

Dans le centre de la plaque, on distingue avec peine un écusson. portant un coeur renversé et fiammé; au centre de l'écu, trois étoiles. Impossible de dire si elles sont posées en face ou sur un champ quelconque. Le tout a du être surmonté d'un heaume, car on voit encore de chaque coté de l'écu des lignes courbes multiples, qui doivent nécessairement représenter les lambrequins; sur le côte gauche, un bout de banderolle, mais l'artiste a dû abandonner sa première idée, car le haut de la banderolle se perd dans les lignes du lambrequin.

J'ai lu dans la lettre qui accompagnait l'envoi de Madame Gugy, que les ouvriers, qui avaient travaille aux ruines, disaient avoir trouve la plaque de plomb, roulée avec certains documents qui seraient tombés en poussière au toucher. La chose me paraît impossible. Le dessous de la plaque indique qu'elle a été posée à plat sur un lit de mortier, et la partie gravée, du moins celle où sont gravées les armoiries qu'une pierre pesante a été placée dessus, et c'est par l'enfoncement de sa surface inégale que la plupart des lignes gravées ont été détruites. On voit encore dans le plomb oxidé l'empreinte d'une coquille pétrifiée qui se trouvait agrégée au calcaire.

En roulant le bloc supérieur, les ouvriers ont pu plier le métal; de là l'erreur de croire que la plaque était roulée, elle a dû, comme toutes choses de ce genre, être placée dans une cavité comme fond, où on avait deposé le document tombé en poussière et les "quelques sous" que ces honnêtes ouvriers ont gardés pour eux, sans doute, sans en connaître la valeur.

Peu habitué à lire de telles inscriptions, mais connaissant la piété des premiers colons du Canada, j'essayai de donner un sens courant à l'inscription et je trouvai qu'on pouvait lire ici:

Iesu Hominum Salvatore, Mariâ Immaculatâ Auspice

(Sous les auspices ou la protection de Jesus sauveur des hommes et de Marie-Immaculée)

L'an 1634, le 25 juillet—je—été plantée première par (ou pour) C. (chirur.) Gifart, Seigneur de ce lieu.

Jusqu'à présent la chose se lit bien, le sens en est raisonnable et positif. Supposant le chirurgien un homme instruit et lettré, l'inscription latine se complète d'elle-même. Mais, hélas! il y un mais,—la lettre C avant Gifart me trouble un peu. Comme je n'ai sous la main aucun volume, aucune tradition du temps à consulter, je suis obligé de m'en tenir aux correspondances de journaux, et je trouve dans toutes le prénom de Robert—ce qui ne commence pas du tout par un C! [299] Mais le C, le malheureux C, ne serait-il pas l'initiale de Cloutier, le charpentier ou l'entrepreneur avec lequel Gifart avait fait un contrat à Mortaigne, le 14 mars 1634, quatre mois à peu près avant la pose de la première pierre? Alors il faudrait lire j'ai été plantée par Cloutier, Gifart étant seigneur de ce lieu.

Je m'arrête, le souvenir de certaine inscription sur certain pont vient troubler toutes ces belles spéculations. A force de vouloir être savant, on pourrait faire dire à Robert Gifart des choses qu'il n'a jamais pensées.

Si, après tout, ce Gifart n'était pas savant, et qu'il eut voulu dire par I. H. S., Jésus-Christ, et M. I. A., Maria, ce serait trop fort—J'aimerais mieux la théorie de M. le Dr. Marsden, et de M. Bédard, Maria, Joachim, Anna. Le 25 juillet étant la fête de saint Jacques, et la vigile de saint Joachim, il serait plus raisonnable de penser qu'on aurait mis la construction du premier Manoir canadien sous la protection et les auspices du saint du jour

Reste a savoir si la Saint Jacques se fêtait le 25 juillet, la Saint Joachim le 26, en l'an de notre Seigneur 1634.

Je laisse à d'autres de mieux trouver.

Quoiqu'il en soit, cette date 1634, est un centenaire mémorable, car c'est en 1534 que Jacques Cartier, visita le golfe Saint-Laurent et c'est en 1535, qu'il remonta notre beau fleuve jusqu'à Hochelaga, cent ans avant la première concession seigneuriale de Beauport.

J'ai l'honneur d'être, Monsieur, votre humble servt., Cte. d'ORSONNENS

L'INSCRIPTION DU MANOIR DE BEAUPORT.

Parmi une masse de vieux documents que je possède, concernant la seigneurie de Beauport et ses seigneurs, j'ai trouve le reçu suivant:

"Je, soussigné, confesse avoir reçu un billet de cent cinquante livres de monsieur de Beauport, pour ce qu'il m'avait promis pour faire sa bâtisse de logis de Beauport.

"faict ce 27ième juillet 1642.

"P. CLUST."

Cela donnerait peut-être une explication des abréviations "P. C." de l'inscription trouvée dans les ruines du vieux manoir.

En effet, il est loisible de supposer que cet architecte a fait ce que ses confrères modernes font encore, et qu'il a gravé ses initiales sur l'inscription commémorative de la pose de la première pierre plantée dans la bâtisse de Beauport.

H. J. J. DUCHESNAY.

La Beauce, 14 avril, 1881.

H. V'S LETTER.

(ABBÉ H. VERREAU?)

Une relique historique.

La Minerve a publié l'inscription de la plaque trouvée à Beauport. Le Journal de Québec l'a reproduite aussi; mais avec une certaine différence. Pour l'étude des personnes éloignées et pour l'utilité de la science, il est bien désirable qu'on en prenne de nombreuses impressions sur plâtre. Si madame Gugy accorde la permission nécessaire, elle méritera certainement la reconnaissance de ceux qui étudient notre histoire.

Il paraît que le dernier chiffre de la date se lit avec difficulté. Il est toutefois très important de le déterminer avec toute la précision possible.

A mes yeux, la date du 25 juillet entraîne plusieurs conséquences qui disparaissent avec un autre chiffre.

I. Le 25 juillet est consacré à l'apôtre saint Jacques-le-Majeur. Ne peut-on pas traduire le second groupe trilittère M. J. A. par Majori Jacobo Apostolo, Le premier groupe, si connu d'ailleurs, étant latin, il est naturel de supposer que le second l'est aussi.

II. La fête de saint Jacques-le-Majeur, qui tombait un mardi en 1634, était chômée; par conséquent les travaux serviles ont dû être suspendu ce jour-là.

III. Le même jour, 25 juillet 1634, Robert Gifart assistait à un mariage à Québec, ce qui peut expliquer pourquoi il était remplacé à Beauport par son fils Charles.

Mais la pose de la pierre angulaire d'une simple maison, un jour de grande fête, me semble difficile à expliquer, qu'on veuille ou non y faire intervenir les cérémonies de la Religion.

L'expression Je été plantée offre aussi une difficulté. A cette époque on faisait de nombreuses fautes d'orthographe, mais on avait presque toujours le mot propre.

Il est bien vrai qu'en terme d'architecture, on disait planter un édifice pour l'asseoir sur la maçonnerie de ses fondements, mais je ne sache pas qu'on ait dit planter les pierres des fondements.

Cette plaque n'aurait-elle pas été destinée à une croix plantée à l'endroit que Giffard voulait défricher?

Il est d'autant plus naturel qu'il ait commencé ses travaux par cet acte de foi qu'il devait songer à faire bâtir une église près de sa demeure. Dans cette supposition, on s'explique facilement que la croix ait été plantée un jour de fête solennelle où tout le monde surtout à cette époque, devait vaquer à ses devoirs religieux. Je vois dans les Archives de Beauport par Mgr. Langevin que la maison de Giffard, d'après M. Ferland, devait être plus près de la petite rivière que le manoir actuel.

C. Giffard, qui est désigné comme seigneur de Beauport, est le fils de Robert. Il était né en France et devait être encore assez jeune. C'est de lui que parle le Journal des Jésuites en disant que le fils de M. Giffard passa en France en 1646, avec d'autres jeunes gens 'tous fripons pour la plupart qui avait fait mille pièces à l'autre voyage et on donnait à tous de grands appointements.'

Ce 28 octobre il était parrain, et il s'embarquait le 31.

Il n'est plus question de lui après cette date, soit qu'il ait renoncé au Canada, soit qu'il ait péri prématurément. Le père repris sa seigneurie de Beauport qu'il fit agrandir le mieux put.

P. S.—En écrivant ce qui précède, j'étais un peu pressé; j'aurais dû remarquer cependant que sous la lettre C, les lecteurs ne pouvaient deviner le prénom du jeune seigneur de Beauport. Il s'appelait Charles, et devait être né en France comme sa soeur Marie, qui devint Madame de la Ferté.

Dans l'intérêt de vos lecteurs je ferai remarquer que le Dictionnaire Généalogique renferme, à l'article Giffard, certaines erreurs. Ainsi, Françoise qui commence l'article est la même que Marie Françoise qui le termine; elle se fit religieuse à l'Hôtel-Dieu. L'épouse de Jean Juchereau de la Ferté fut Marie née en France, puisque son contrat de mariage en 1645 la dite "âgée de 17 ans environ" ce qui reporte sa naissance vers 1628. Charles assiste et signe un contrat. Ce n'est pas Robert Giffard, mais son fils Joseph, dont le corps fut transporté à la cathédrale, le 31 décembre 1705.

MOUNT LILAC, BEAUPORT.

Some thirty years ago, I saw, for the first time, the picturesque old manor of the Rylands at Beauport, this was in its classic days. Later on, I viewed it, mossy and forlorn, in what some might style its "non age". Of this, hereafter.

The Château stood embowered amidst lilac groves and other ornamental shrubs, so far as I can recollect, with a background of elms, white birch, spruce, &c. Its vaulted, lofty and well-proportioned dining-room, with antique, morocco-covered chairs, and carved buffets to store massive plate, its spacious hall and graceful winding staircase, its commanding position on the crest of the Beauport ridge, affording a striking view of Quebec, its well-stocked orchard, umbrageous plantations, and ample stables, from which issued, among other choice bits of blood, in 1842, the celebrated racer "Emigrant": several circumstances, in fact, conspired to impress it favorably on my youthful mind. On that occasion, I found le milord anglais (as a waggish Canadian peasant called him) under his ancestral roof.

Recalling our parish annals of early times, I used then to think that should England ever (which God forbid) hand back to its ancient masters "these fifteen thousand acres of snow," satirized by Voltaire, ridiculed by Madame de Pompadour, cruelly and basely deserted by Louis XV, in their hour of trial, here existed a ready-made manor for the Giffards and Duchesnays of the future, where their descendants could becomingly receive fealty and homage. (foi et homage) from their feudal retainers. There was, however, nothing here to remind one of the lordly pageantry of other times—the days of absolutism—of the dark era, the age of lettres de cachet, corvées, lods et ventes, and other feudal burthens, when the flag of the Bourbons floated over the fortress of New France. In 1846, at the time of my visit, in vain would you have sought in the farm yard for a live seigniorial capon (un chapon vif et en plumes) though possibly in the larder, at Christmas, you might have discovered some fat, tender turkeys, or a juicy haunch of venison. Of vin ordinaire ne'er a trace, but judging from the samples on the table, perhaps much mellow Madeira, and "London Stout" might have been stored in the cellars. Everywhere, in fact, was apparent English comfort, English cheer. On the walls of the banqueting apartment, or within the antique red-leathered portfolios strewn round, you would have run a greater chance of meeting face to face with the portraits of Lord Dorchester, Genl. Prescott, Sir Robert Shore Milnes, Sir James Craig, the Duke of Richmond, and other English Governors, the cherished friends of the Rylands than with the powdered head of his most sacred Majesty, the Great Louis, or the ruffled bust and sensual countenance of the voluptuous Louis XV…. But let us see more of Mount Lilac and its present belongings.

Facing the glittering cupolas of Quebec, there is a fertile area of meadow and cornfield stretching from Dorchester bridge to the deep ravine and Falls over which the Montmorency, La Vache, hangs its milk-white curtain of spray. On the river shore, in 1759, stood Montcalm's earth and field works of defence. Parallel to them and distant about half a mile, the highway, over which H.R.H. Prince Edward's equipage pranced daily, during the summers of 1791-3, now a macadamized road, ascends by a gentle rise, through a double row of whitewashed cottages, about seven miles, to the brow of the roaring cataract spanned over by a substantial bridge, half way, looms out the Roman Catholic temple of worship—a stately edifice, filled to overflowing on Sundays, the parochial charge in 1841 of the Rev. Charles Chiniquy, under whose auspices was built the Temperance Monument on the main road, a little past the Beauport Asylum. This constitutes the parish of Beauport, one of the first settled in the Province. It was conceded by the Company of New France, on the 31st December, 1635, to a French surgeon of some note, "le sieur Robert Giffard." Surgeon Giffard had not only skill as a chirurgeon to recommend him, he could plead services, nay captivity undergone in the colonial cause. An important man in his day was this feudal magnate Giffard, to whom fealty and homage were rendered with becoming pomp, by his consitaires, the Bellangers—Guions—Langlois—Parents—Marcoux, of 1635, whose descendents, still bearing the old Perche or Norman name, occupy to this day the white cottages to be seen on all sides.

On the highest site of this limestone ridge, a clever, influential, refined, and wealthy Briton, the Hon. Henry Wistius Ryland, for years Civil Secretary, Clerk of the Executive Council, a member of the Legislative Council, with other appointments, purchased from Col. Johnston, a lot, then a wilderness, for a country seat in 1805. Mr. Ryland had come out to Canada with Lord Dorchester in 1795, as his secretary, at the instance, we believe, of Lord Liverpool, his protector, at the age of 21 he was acting as Paymaster of two army corps, during the War of Independence in America.

For more than thirty years, Mr. Ryland enjoyed the favour, nay the intimacy of every ruler (except Sir George Prevost) which this then mis- ruled colony owed to Downing Street.

Antipathies of race had been on the increase at Quebec, ever since the parliamentary era of 1791; there was the French party, [300] led by fiery and able politicians, and the English oligarchy occupying nearly all the offices, and avenues to power. French armies under Napoleon I. swayed the destinies of continental Europe, their victories occasionally must have awakened here a responsive echo among their down-trodden fellow-countrymen cowardly deserted by France in 1759, whilst Nelson's victories of the Nile, of Trafalgar, of Copenhagen, and finally the field of Waterloo, had buoyed up to an extravagant pitch the spirits of the English minority of Quebec, which a French parliamentary majority had so often trammelled. It was during the major part of that stormy period that Hon. Herman Wistius Ryland, advised by the able Chief Justice Jonathan Sewell,—was in reality entrusted with the helm of state. He was, as Christie the historian observes, considered the "Fountain head of power." This subtle diplomat (for such will be his title in history), however hostile in his attitude he might have appeared towards the French Canadian nationality, succeeded in retaining to the last the respect of the French Canadian peasantry who surrounded him.

Probably never at any time did he wield more power than under the administration of Sir James H. Craig. His views were so much in unison with those of Sir James, that His Excellency deputed him to England with a public mission threefold in its scope, the ostensible object of which was first "to endeavor to get the Imperial Government to amend or suspend the Constitution; secondly, to render the Government independent of the people, by appropriating towards it the revenues accruing from the estates of the Sulpicians [301] of Montreal, and of the Order of the Jesuits; thirdly to seize the patronage exercised by the Roman Catholic Bishop of Quebec,—the cures or church livings in his diocese; contending that no Roman Catholic Bishop really existed in Canada, (but merely a superintendent of curés), none having been recognized by the Crown.

It has been stated that he had a fair chance of succeeding on two points, had not the great Lord Chancellor, Eldon, intervened to thwart his scheme. The correspondence exchanged between Mr. Ryland and His Excellency, Sir James H. Craig, preserved in the sixth volume of Christie's History of Canada, exhibits Mr. Ryland at his best, and has led some to infer that, had he been cast in a different sphere, where his talents and attainments would have been more properly appreciated and directed, he would have played a very conspicuous part. "We find the Beauport statesman in 1810, in London, [302] consulted on Canadian affairs by the leading English politicians and some of the proudest peers. The honored guest of English noblemen, [303] he appears at no disadvantage, sips their old port unawed, cosily seated at their mahogany. It must be borne in mind that, in 1810, Lord Castlereagh and Lord Liverpool had their hands pretty full with continental politics, perhaps too much so, to heed poor distant Canada.

Shortly after the arrival, at Quebec, of the Earl of Durham, viz., on the 29th July, 1838, the Hon. H. W. Ryland expired at his country seat at Beauport, aged 78 years. He was born in 1760 at Northampton in England, of a very ancient Saxon family, dating back to Edward the Confessor. Wm. Ryland his great grandfather having successfully defended Oxford against Oliver Cromwell, while his sons fought on the other side.

Mount Lilac then reverted to his son, George Herman Ryland, Esq., now Registrar at Montreal, who added much to the charms of the spot. It was offered to Lord Metcalfe subsequently as a country seat, but for reasons which it is unnecessary to enter into, the negotiations fell through. Mr. Ryland occupied it till his removal from the Quebec to the Montreal Registry, Office. Some years back the property was purchased by Mr. James Dinning, Quebec, who reserved for himself the farm, one hundred and five acres in extent, and sold in 1856, the house and twenty-three acres thereunto attached to a wealthy and whimsical old ironfounder of Quebec, Mr. John H. Galbraith. This thrifty tradesman, in order to keep his hand in order, like Thackeray's hero, continued the pursuit of his former occupation, the smelting of ore, even under the perfumed groves of Mount Lilac, and erected there an extensive grapery and conservatory, and a foundry as well; the same furnace blast thus served to produce, under glass, fragrant flowers—exquisite grapes—melting peaches, as well as solid pig iron and first class stove plates.

Mount Lilac owed a divided allegiance to Vulcan and Flora. Which of the home products pleased, the most the worthy Mr. Galbraith? is still an open question. [304]

A VISIT TO THE INDIAN LORETTE.

Of the many attractive sites in the environs of the city, few contain in a greater degree than the Huron village of Lorette during the leafy months of June, July and September, picturesque scenery, combined with a wealth of historical associations. The nine miles intervening between Quebec and the rustic auberge of the village, thanks to an excellent turnpike, can be spanned in little more than an hour. I shall now attempt to recapitulate some of the sights and incidents of travel which recently befell me, whilst escorting to Lorette an Old World tourist, of very high literary estate.

With a mellow autumnal sun, just sufficient to bronze the sombre tints, lingering at the close of the Indian summer, we left the St. Louis Hotel, the headquarters of tourists, and rapidly drove through Fabrique and Palace streets, towards the unsightly gap in our city walls, of yore yclept Palace Gate, which all Lord Dufferin's prestige failed to protect against vandalism, but which, thanks to his initiative, we expect yet to see bridged over with, graceful turrets and Norman towers.

A turn to the west brought us opposite to the scarcely perceptible ruins of the Palace [305] of the French Intendants, destroyed by the English shells in 1775, to dislodge Arnold and Montgomery's New England soldiery.

The park which intervened formerly between it and the St. Charles was many years back converted into a wood yard to store the fuel for the garrison, a portion now is used as a cattle market, opposite, stands the station and freight sheds of the Q. M. O. & O. Railway, the road skirts the park towards the populous St. Roch suburbs, rebuilt and transformed since the great fire of the 28th May, 1845, which destroyed 1,600 houses, occupying the site of former spacious pasture grounds for the city cows, styled by the early French La Vacherie. In a trice we reach Dorchester bridge, the second one, built there in 1822, the first, opened with great pomp by His Excellency Lord Dorchester in 1789, having been constructed a few acres to the west, and called after him. The bridge, as a means of crossing from one shore to the other, is an undoubted improvement on the scow used up to 1789.

One of the first objects on quitting the bridge and diverging westward to the Charlesbourg road, on the river bank, is the stately, solid, antique mansion of the late C. Smith, Esq, who at one time owned nearly all the broad acres intervening between the house and Gros Pin. It took for a time the name of Smithville and was inherited by several members of his family, who built cosy houses round it. These green fields, fringed with white birch and spruce plantations, are watered by the St. Charles, the Kahir-Koubat [306] of ancient days. In rear of one of the first villas Ringfield, owned by Geo. Holmes Parke, Esq., runs the diminutive stream, the Lairet, at the confluence of which Jacques Cartier wintered in 1535- 6, leaving, there one of his ships, the Petite-Hermine, of 60 tons, whose decayed oak timbers were exhumed in 1843, by Jos. Hamel, City Surveyor of Quebec. A very remarkable vestige of French domination exists behind the villa of Mr. Parke—a circular field (hence the name Ring- field) covering about twelve acres, surrounded by a ditch, with an earth work 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, before Quebec. A minute description has been given by General Levi's aide-de- camp, the Chevalier Johnstone, [307] of what was going on in this earthwork, where at noon, on the 13th Sept., 1759, were mustered the disorganized French squadrons in full retreat from the Plains of Abraham toward their camp at Beauport. Here, on that fatal day, was debated the surrender of the colony—the close of French rule: here also, close by, in 1535-6, was the cradle of French power, the first settlement and winter quarters of the French pioneers—Jacques Cartier's hardy little band.

From this spot, at eight o'clock that night (13th Sept.), began the French retreat towards the Charlesbourg church; at 4 a.m. next day the army was at Cap Rouge, disordered, panic-stricken! Oh! where was the heroic Levi!

On ascending a hill (Clearihue's) to the north, the eye gathers in the contour of a dense grove, hiding in its drooping folds "Auvergne," the former secluded country seat of Chief Justice Jonathan Sewell, now owned by George Alford, Esq.

A mile to the north, in the deep recesses of Bourg-Royal, rest the fast crumbling and now insignificant ruins of the only rural Château of French origin round Quebec. Was it built by Talon, or by Bigot? an unfathomable mystery. Silence and desertion reign supreme, where of yore Bigot's heartless wassailers used to meet and gamble away King Louis's card money and piastres.

"And sunk are the voices that sounded in mirth. And empty the goblets and dreary the hearth!"

The tower or boudoir, where was immured the Algonquin maid Caroline, the beautiful, that too has crumbled to dust.

We are now at Lorette.

TAHOURENCHE.

"I'm the chieftain of this mountain, Times and seasons found me here, My drink has been the crystal fountain, My fare the wild moose or the deer." (The HURON CHIEF, by Adam Kidd).

There exists a faithful portrait of this noble savage, such as drawn by himself and presented, we believe, to the Laval University at Quebec; for glimpses of his origin, home and surroundings, we are indebted to an honorary chief of the tribe, Ahatsistari. [308]

Paul Tahourenché (François Xavier Picard), Great Chief of the Lorette Hurons, was born at Indian Lorette in 1810; he is consequently at present 71 years of age. He is tall, erect, well proportioned, dignified in face and deportment; when habited in his Indian regalia: blue frock coat, with bright buttons and medals, plumed fur cap, leggings of colored cloth, bright sash and armlets, with war axe, he looks the beau ideal of a respectable Huron warrior, shorn of the ferocity of other days. Of the line of Huron chiefs which proceeded him we can furnish but a very meagre history. Adam Kidd, who wrote a poem entitled the Huron Chief in 1829, and who paid that year a visit to the Lorette Indians and saw their oldest chief, Oui-a-ra-lih-to, having unfortunately failed to fulfil the promise he then made of publishing the traditions and legends of the tribe furnished him on that occasion, an omission which, we hope, will yet be supplied by an educated Huron; the Revd. Mr. Vincent. Of Oui-a-ra-lih- to, we learn from Mr. Kidd: "This venerable patriarch, who is now (in 1829) approaching the precincts of a century, is the grandson of Tsa-a- ra-lih-to, head chief of the Hurons during the war of 1759. Oui-a-ra- lih-to, with about thirty-five warriors of the Indian village of Lorette in conjunction with the Iroquois and Algonquins, was actually engaged in the army of Burgoyne, a name unworthy to be associated with the noble spirit of Indian heroism. During my visit to this old chief—May, 1829—he willingly furnished me with an account of the distinguished warriors, and the traditions of different tribes, which are still fresh in his memory, and are handed from father to son, with the precision, interest and admiration that the tales and exploits of Ossian and his heroes are circulated in their original purity to this day among the Irish." Mr. Kidd alludes also to another great chief, Atsistari, who flourished in 1637, and who may have been the same as the Huron Saul Ahatsistari, who lived in 1642.

Of the powerful tribes of the aborigines who, in remote periods, infested the forests, lakes and streams of Canada, none by their prowess in war, wisdom in council, success as tillers of the soil, intelligent and lofty bearing, surpassed the Wyandats, or Hurons. [309] They numbered 15,000 souls, according to the historian Ferland, 40,000 according to Bouchette, and chiefly inhabited the country bordering on Lake Huron and Simcoe; they might, says Sagard, have been styled the "nobles" among savages in contradistinction to that other powerful confederacy, more democratic in their ways, also speaking the Huron language, and known as the Five Nations (Mohawks,[310] Oneydoes, Onondagas, Cayugas and Senecas), styled by the French the Iroquois, or Hiroquois, from the habit of their orators of closing their orations with the word "Hiro"—I have said.

'Tis a curious fact that the aborigines whom Jacques Cartier had found masters of the soil, at Hochelaga (Montreal,) and Stadacona (Quebec,) in 1535, sixty-eight years later on, in 1603, when Champlain visited these Indian towns, had disappeared: a different race had succeeded them. Though it opens a wide field to conjecture, recent investigations seem to indicate that it was the Huron-Iroquois nation who, in 1535, were the enfants du sol at both places, and that in the interim the Algonquins had, after bloody wars, dispersed and expelled the Huron-Iroquois. The savages with whom the early French settlers held intercourse can be comprised under two specific heads—the Algonquins and the Huron-Iroquois —the language of each differing as much, observes the learned Abbé Faillon, as French does from Chinese.

It would take us beyond the limit of this sketch to recapitulate the series of massacres which reduced these warlike savages, the Hurons, from their high estate to that of a dispersed, nomadic tribe, and placed the Iroquois or Mohawks, at one time nearly destroyed by the Hurons, in the ascendant.

Their final overthrow may be said to date back to the great Indian massacres of 1648-9, at their towns, or missions, on the shores of Lakes Simcoe, the first mission being founded in 1615 by the Friar LeCaron, accompanied by twelve soldiers sent by Champlain in advance of his own party. The Jesuit mission was attacked by the Iroquois in 1648; St. Louis, St. Joseph [311], St. Ignace [312], Ste. Marie [313], St. Jean [314], successively fell, or were threatened; all the inmates who escaped sought safety in flight; the protracted sufferings of the missionaries Bréboeuf and Gabriel Lallemant have furnished one of the brightest pages of Christian heroism in New France. Bréboeuf expired on the 16th March and Lallemant on 17th March, 1649. A party of Hurons sought Manitoulin Island, then called Ekaentoton, a few fled to Virginia; others succeeded in obtaining protection on the south shore of Lake Erie, from the Erie tribe, only to share, later on, the dire fate of the nation who had dared to incorporate them in its sparse ranks.

Father P. Ragueneau (the first writer, by the by, who makes mention of Niagara Falls—Relations de 1648,) escorted three or four hundred of these terror-stricken people to Quebec on the 26th July, 1650, and lodged them in the Island of Orleans, at a spot since called L'Anse du Fort, where they were joined, in 1651, by a party of Hurons, who in 1649, on hearing of the massacre of their western brethren, had asked to winter at Quebec. For ten years past a group of Algonquins, Montagnais and Hurons, amidst incessant alarms, had been located in the picturesque parish of Sillery; they, too, were in quest of a more secure asylum. Negotiations were soon entered into between them and their persecuted friends of the West; a plan was put forth to combine. On the 29th March, 1651, the Sillery Indians, many of whom were Hurons united with the western brethren, sought a shelter, though a very insecure one, in a fortified nook, adjoining their missionary's house, on the land of Eléonore de Grandmaison, purchased for them at l'Anse du Fort, in the Island of Orleans, on the south side of the point opposite Quebec. Here they set to tilling the soil with some success, cultivating chiefly Indian corn, their numbers being occasionally increased during the year 1650, by their fugitive brethren of the West, until they counted above 600 souls. Even under the guns of the picket Fort of Orleans, which had changed its name to Ile St. Marie, in remembrance of their former residency, the tomahawk and scalping-knife reached them; on the 20th May, 1656, eighty-six of their number were carried away captives, and six killed, by the ferocious Iroquois; and on the 4th June, 1656, again they had to fly before their merciless tormentors. The big guns of Fort St. Louis, which then stood at the north-west extremity of the spot on which the Dufferin Terrace has lately been erected, seemed to the Hurons a more effectual protection than the howitzers of Anse du Fort, so they begged from Governor d'Aillebout for leave to nestle under them in 1658. 'Twas granted. When the Marquis de Tracy had arranged a truce with the Iroquois in 1665, the Huron refugees prepared to bid adieu to city life and to city dust. Two years later we find them ensconced at Beauport, where others had squatted on land belonging to the Jesuits; they stopped there one year, and suddenly left, in 1669, to pitch their wigwams for a few years at Côte St. Michel, four and a half miles from Quebec, at the Mission of Notre Dame de Foye, now called St. Foye. On the 29th December, 1673, restless and alarmed, the helpless sons of the forest sought the seclusion, leafy shades and green fields Ancienne Lorette. [315] Here they dwelled nearly twenty-five years. The youths had grown up to manhood, with the terrible memories of the past still fresh on their minds. One fine day, allured by hopes of more abundant game, they packed up their household gods, and finally, in 1697, they went and settled on the elevated plateau, close to the foaming rapids of St. Ambroise, now known as Indian, or Jeune, Lorette.

"Tis here we shall now find them, 336 souls all told, [316] living in comparative ease, successful traders, exemplary Christians, but fast decaying Hurons.

"The Hurons," says Ahatsistari, [317] "are divided into four families: that of the Deer; of the Tortoise; of the Bear; of the Wolf. Thus, the great Chief François Xavier Picard—Tahourenché—is a Deer, and his son Paul is a Tortoise, because (Her Highness) Madame Tahourenché is a Tortoise; a lithe, handsome woman for all that.

"Each family has its chief, or war captain; he is elected by choice. The four war captains chose two council chiefs, the six united select a grand chief, either from among themselves or from among the honorary chiefs, if they think proper."

We append a letter, from Sister Ste. Helene, descriptive of Indian customs, in 1730. Civilization and Christianity have sensibly modified, some will say, improved the Red Skins since then.

INDIAN DRESS—LOVE MAKING-FEASTSBURIALS.

From a MS. Letter of Soeur Ste. Hélène, published by Abbé Verrault.

"Would you like to learn how they dress—how they marry—how they are buried? First, you must know that several tribes go completely naked, and wear but the fig-leaf. In Montreal, you meet many stately and well-proportioned savages, walking about in this state of nudity, as proud in their bearing, as if they wore good clothes. Some have on a shirt only; others have a covering negligently thrown over one shoulder. Christianized Indians are differently habited. The Iroquois put their shirt over their wearing apparel, and over the shirt another raiment, which encloses a portion of the head, which is always bare. The men generally wear garments over their shirts; the latter, when new, is generally very white, but is used until it gets perfectly dark and disgustingly greasy. They sometimes shave a portion of their head, or else they comb one half of their hair back, the other half front. They occasionally tie up a tuft of hair very tight on the top of the head, rising towards the skies. At other times some allow a long tress of hair to fall over their face: it interferes with their eating, but it has to be put up with. They smear their ears with a white substance, or their face with blue, vermillion and black. They are more elaborate in their war-toilette than a coquette would be in dressing—in order to conceal the paleness which fear might engender. They are profuse of gold and silver brocade, porcelain necklaces, bracelets of beads—the women, especially in their youth. This is their jewellery, their diamonds, the value whereof sometimes reaches 1,000 francs. The Abenaqis enclose their heads in a small cap embroidered with beads or ornamented with brocade. They wrap their legs in leggings with a fringe three or four inches long. Their shoes consist of socks, with plaits round the toe, covering the foot. All this has its charm in their eyes; they are as vain of dress as any Frenchman. The pagan tribes, whenever love is felt, marry without any ceremonial. The pair will discover whether they love one another in silence, Indian-like. One of the caresses consists in throwing to the loved one a small pebble, or grains of Indian corn, or else some other object which cannot hurt. The swain, on throwing the pebble, is bound to look in the opposite direction, to make believe he did not do it. Should the adored one return it, matters look well, else, the game is up.

"The Christianized Indians are married in face of the church, without any contract of marriage and without stipulations, because an Indian cannot own real estate and cannot bequeath to his children. The wealthiest is the mightiest hunter. This favored individual, in his village, passes for a grand match. Bravery and great warriors they think much of—they constitute the latter their chiefs. Poverty is no disgrace at the council board, and an orator in rags will speak out as boldly, as successfully, as if he were decked out in gold cloth. They come thus poorly habited in the presence of the Governor, indulge in long harangues, and touch his hand fearlessly. When ladies are present at these interviews, they honor them thus—seize their hand and shake it in token of friendship. Before I became a nun I was present at some of these ceremonies, and having won their good opinion, they would extend to me a hand which was disgusting in the extreme, but which I had cheerfully to accept for fear of offending them. They are sometimes asked to dine at the Governor's table. Unlucky are their neighbors, especially when they happen to be ladies, they are so filthy in their persons.—1730."—Revue Canadienne, page 108-9.

Such the Montreal Indians in 1730.

The Lorette Chapel dates back, as well as the Old Mill, to 1731. In 1862 the Chapel suffered much by fire. The tribe occupies land reserved by Government, under the regulations of the Indian Bureau of Ottawa. "Indian Lorette comprises from forty to fifty cottages, on the plateau of the falls—spread out, without design, over an area of about twenty square acres. In the centre runs the kings highway, the outer half sloping down, towards the St. Charles. The most prominent objects are the church, a grist mill and Mr. Reid's paper mill; close by a wooden fence encloses 'God's acre,' in the centre of which a cross marks the tomb of Chief Nicholas." [318] It is indeed, "a wild spot, covered with the primitive forest and seamed by a deep and tortuous ravine, where the St. Charles foams, white as a snow drift, over the black ledges, and where the sunshine struggles through matted boughs of the pine and the fir, to bask for brief moments on the mossy rocks, or flash on the hurrying waters…. Here, to this day, the tourist finds the remnants of a lost people, harmless weavers of baskets and sewers of mocassins, the Huron blood fast bleaching out of them."

Of "free and independent electors" none here exist, the little Lorette world goes on smoothly without them. "No Huron on the Reserve can vote. No white man is allowed to settle within the sacred precincts of the Huron kingdom, composed, 1st, of the lofty Plateau of the village of Indian Lorette, which the tribe occupy. 2nd. Of the forty square acres, about a mile and a half to the north-west of the village. 3rd. Of the Rocmont settlement, in the adjoining County of Portneuf, in the very heart of the Laurentine Mountains, ceded to the Hurons by Government, as a compensation for the Seigniory of St. Gabriel, of which Government took possession, and to which the Hurons set up a claim.

"In all that which pertains to the occupation, the possession and the administration of these fragments of its ancient extensive territory, the usages and customs of the tribe have force of law. The village is governed by a Council of Sachems; in cases of misunderstandings an appeal lies to the Ottawa Bureau, under the control of the Minister of the Interior (our "Downing street" wisely abstaining from interference except on very urgent occasions). Lands descend by right of inheritance; the Huron Council alone being authorized to issue location tickets; none are granted but to Huron boys, strangers being excluded. Of course, these disabilities affect the denizens of the reserve only; a Huron (and there are some, Tahourenche, Vincent and others) owning lands in his own right elsewhere, and paying taxes and tithes, enjoys the rights and immunities of any other British subject."

From the date of the Lorette Indian settlement in 1697, down to the year of the capitulation of Quebec—1759—the annals of the tribe afford but few stirring incidents: an annual bear, beaver, or cariboo hunt; the return of a war party, with its scalps—English, probably—as the tribe had a wholesome terror of the Iroquois; an occasional pow wow as to how many warriors could be spared to assist their trusted and brave allies, the French of Quebec, against the heretical soldiers of Old or New England.

We are in possession of no facts to show that these Christianised Hurons differed much from other Christianised Indians; church services, war councils, feasting, smoking, dancing, scalping, fishing and hunting, filling in, agreeably, socially, or usefully, the daily routine of their existence. Civilization, as understood by christianised or by pagan savages, has never inspired us with unqualified admiration. The various siege narratives we have perused, whilst they bring in the Indian allies, at the close of the battle, to "finish off" the wounded at Montmorency, in July, 1759; at the plains of Abraham, in September 1759; at St. Foye, in April, 1760, generally mention the Abenaquis for this delicate office of friseurs. The terror, nay, the horror, which the use of the tomahawk and scalping knife inspired to the British soldiery, was often greater than their fear of the French sabres and French musquetoons.

British rule, in 1759, if it did bring the Hurons less of campaigning and fewer scalps, was the harbinger of domestic peace and stable homes, with very remunerative contracts each fall for several thousands of pairs of snow-shoes, cariboo mocassins and mittens for the English regiments tenanting the Citadel of Quebec, whose wealthy officers every winter scoured the Laurentine range, north of the city, in quest of deer, bear and cariboo, under the experienced guidance of Gros Louis, Sioui, Vincent, and other famous Huron Nimrods.

The chronicles of the settlement proclaim the valour and wisdom of some of their early chiefs, conspicuous appears the renowned Ahatsistari, surnamed the Huron Saul, from his early hostility to missionaries; death closed his career, on the verdant banks of Lake Huron, in 1642, a convert to missionary teachings.

At the departure of the French, in 1759, a new allegiance was forced on the sons of the forest, St. George and his dragon for them took the place of St. Louis and his lilies. The Deer, the Bear, the Tortoise and the Wolf tribe, however, have managed to live on most friendly terms with the Dragon. In 1776, Lorette sent its contingent of painted and plumed warriors to fight General Burgoyne's inglorious campaigns. The services rendered to England by her swarthy allies in the war of 1812-14 were marked, for years a distribution of presents took place from the Quebec Commissariat and Indian Department. Proudly did the Hurons, as well as the Abenaquis, Montagnais, Micmac and Malicite Indians bear the snow- white blankets, scarlet cloth and hunting-knives awarded them by George the King, and by the victors of Waterloo. Each year, at midsummer, the Indians in their canoes, with their live freight of hunters, their copper- coloured squaws and black-eyed papooses, rushed from Labrador, Gaspé, Restigouche, Baie des Chaleurs, and pitched their tents on a strip of land at Lévi, hence called Indian Cove, the city itself being closed to the grim monarchs of the woods, reputed ugly customers when in their cups. A special envoy, however, was sent to the Lorette Indians on similar occasions. The Indians settled on Canadian soil were distinguished for their loyalty to England, who has ever treated them more mercifully than did "Uncle Sam."

The war between England and the United States in 1812 brought the Lorette braves again to the front, and the future hero of Châteauguay, Col. De Salaberry, was sent to enlist them. Col. De Salaberry attended in person on the tribe, at Indian Lorette. A grand pow-wow had been convoked. The sons of the forest eagerly sent in their names and got in readiness when the Colonel returned a few days later to inform them that the Government had decided to retain them as a reserve in the event of Quebec being attacked from the Kennebec.

Notwithstanding this announcement, six Hurons (among whom were Joseph and Stanislas Vincent) claimed with loud cries the right to accompany the Canadian Voltigeurs, commanded by the Colonel.

At Châteauguay, where 300 Canadians so gloriously repelled 7,000 invaders, the brothers Vincent swam across the river to capture and make prisoners, the flying Yankees.

These swarthy warriors had but a faint idea of what military discipline meant, and thinking that, the battle being over, they could return to Lorette, left accordingly. This was a flagrant case of desertion. Nothing short of the brave Colonel's earnest entreaties, sufficed to procure a pardon for the redskins. A letter was written to Col. De Salaberry by his father, late M.P. for the county, on this subject; it has been preserved.

The Hurons attended at Beauport at the unveiling of the monument of De Salaberry on the 27th of June, 1880, and subscribed bountifully to the building fund.

What with war medals, clothing, ammunition, fertile lands specially reserved at Lorette, on the Restigouche, at Nouvelle, Isle Verte, Caughnawaga, St. Regis, &c., the "untutored savage," shielded by a beneficent legislation, watched over by zealous missionaries, was at times an object of envy to his white brethren. Age or infirmity, seldom war, tore him away from this vale of sorrow, to join the great Indian "majority" in those happy hunting grounds promised to him by his Sachems.

The Hurons were ever ready to parade their paint, feathers, and tomahawks, at the arrival of every new Governor at Quebec, and to assure Ononthio, [319] of their undying attachment and unswerving loyalty to their great father or august mother "who dwells on the other side of the Great Lake." These traditions have descended even to the time when Ononthio was merely a Lieutenant-Governor under Confederation. We recollect meeting, in 31st March, 1873, a stately deputation, composed of twenty-three Hurons from Lorette, returning from Clermont, the country seat of Lieutenant- Governor Caron, where they had danced the war-dance for the ladies, and harangued, as follows, the respected Laird of Clermont, just then appointed Lieutenant-Governor:—

ONONTHIO:—

Aisten tiothi non8a [320] tisohon dekha hiatanonstati deson8a8en-dio daskemion tesontamai denon8a ation datito8anens tesanonron-h8a nionde, aon8a deson8a8endio de8a desakatade; a8eti desanon-ronk8anion datito8anens chia ta skenrale the kiolaoutou8ison tothi chia hiaha a8eti dechienha totinahiontati desten de sendete ataki atichiai a8eti alatonthara deskemion ichionthe desten tiodeti aisten orachichiai.

Rev. Prosper Sa8atonen. The Memory Man. (Rev. Mr. Vincent, a chief's son, then Vicaire at Sillery.) Paul Tahourenché, 1st Chief. The Dawn of Day. Maurice Agnolin, 2nd Chief. The Bear. Francis Sassennio. The Victor of Fire. Gaspard Ondiaralethe. The Canoe Bearer. Philippe Theon8atlasta. He stands upright. Joseph Gonzague Odt'o rohann. He who does not forget. Paul Jr. Theianontakhen. Two United Mountains. Honoré Telanontouohe. The Sentry. A. N. Montpetit Ahatsistari. The Fearless Man.—And others, in all 23 warriors.

[Translation.]

"The chiefs, the warriors, the women and children of our tribe, greet you. The man of the woods also likes to render homage to merit: he loves to see in his chiefs those precious qualities which constitute the statesman.

"All these gifts of the Great Spirit, wisdom in council, prudence in execution, and that sagacity we exact in the Captains of our nation, you possess them all in an eminent degree.

"We warmly applaud your appointment to the exalted post of Lieutenant- Governor of the Province of Quebec, and feel happy in taking advantage of the occasion to present our congratulations.

"May we also be allowed to renew the assurance of our devotion towards our august Mother, who dwells on the other side of the Great Lake, as well as to the land of our forefathers.

"Accept for you, for Mrs. Caron and your family, our best wishes."

CHÂTEAU BIGOT.

ITS HISTORY AND ROMANCE.

"Ensconced 'mid trees this château stood 'Mid flowers each aisle and porch; At eve soft music charmed the ear High blazed the festive torch.

But, ah! a sad and mournful tale Was hers who so enjoyed The transient bliss of these fair shades By youth and love decoyed,

Her lord was true—yet he was false, False—false—as sin and hell To former plights and vows he gave To one that loved him well." The Hermitage.

From time immemorial an antique and crumbling ruin, standing in solitary loneliness, in the centre of a clearing at the foot of the Charlesbourg mountain, some five miles from Quebec, has been visited by the young and the curious. It was once a two story stone building, with ponderous walls. In length it is fifty-five feet by thirty-five feet broad—pierced for six windows in each story, with a well-proportioned door, in the centre. In 1843, at the date of my first visit, the floor of the second story was yet tolerably strong: I ascended to it by a rickety, old staircase. The ruin was sketched in 1858, by Col. Benj. Lossing, and reproduced in Harper's Magazine for January, 1859. The lofty mountain to the north-west of it is called La Montagne des Ormes; for more than a century, the Charlesbourg peasantry designate the ruin as La Maison de la Montagne. The English have christened it the Hermitage, whilst to the French portion of the population, it is known as Château-Bigot, or Beaumanoir; and truly, were it not on account of the associations which surround the time-worn pile, few would take the trouble to go and look at the dreary object.

The land on which it stands was formerly included in the Fief de la Trinité granted between 1640 and 1650 to Monsieur Denis, a gentleman from La Rochelle, in France, the ancestor of the numerous clans of Denis, Denis de la Ronde, Denis de Vitré, &c. The seigniory was subsequently sold to Monseigneur de Laval, a descendant of the Montmorency's, who founded in 1663 the Seminary of Quebec, and one of the most illustrious prelates in New France, the portion towards the Mountain was dismembered. When the Intendant Talon formed his Baronie Des Islets [321] he annexed to it certain lands of the Fief de la Trinité, amongst others that part on which now stands the remains of the old château, of which he seems to have been the builder, but which he subsequently sold. Bigot having acquired it long after, enlarged and improved it very much. He was a luxurious French gentleman, who, more than one hundred years ago, held the exalted post of Intendant or Administrator under the French Crown, in Canada. [322] In those days the forests which skirted the city were abundantly stocked with game: deer, of several varieties, bears, foxes, perhaps even that noble and lordly animal, now extinct in eastern Canada, the Canadian stag, or Wapiti, roamed in herds over the Laurentian chain of mountains, and were shot within a few miles of the Château St. Louis. This may have been one of the chief reasons why the French Lucullus erected the little château, which to this day bears his name—a resting place for himself and friends after the chase. The profound seclusion of the spot, combined with its beautiful scenery, would have rendered it attractive during the summer months, even without the sweet repose it had in store for a tired hunter. Tradition ascribes to it other purposes, and amusements less permissible than those of the chase. A tragical occurrence enshrines the old building with a tinge of mystery which the pen of the novelist has woven into a thrilling romance.

François Bigot, thirteenth and last Intendant of the Kings of France in Canada, was born in the Province of Guienne, and descended of a family distinguished by professional eminence at the French bar. His commission bears date "10th June, 1747." The Intendant had the charge of four departments: Justice, Police, Finance and Marine. He had previously filled the post of Intendant in Louisiana, and also at Louisburg. The disaffection and revolt caused by his rapacity in that city, were mainly instrumental in producing its downfall and surrender to the English commander, Pepperell, in 1745. Living at a time when tainted morals and official corruption ruled at court, he seems to have taken his standard of morality from the mother country; his malversations in office, his extensive frauds on the treasury, more than £400,000; his colossal speculations in provisions and commissariat supplies furnished by the French government to the colonists during a famine; his dissolute conduct and final downfall, are fruitful themes wherefrom the historian can draw wholesome lessons for all generations. Whether his Charlesbourg (then called Bourg Royal) castle was used as the receptacle of some of his most valuable booty, or whether it was merely a kind of Lilliputian Parc au Cerfs, such as his royal master had, tradition does not say. It would appear, however, that it was kept up by the plunder wrung from sorrowing colonists, and that the large profits he made by paring from the scanty pittance the French government allowed the starving residents, were here lavished in gambling, riot and luxury.

In May, 1757, the population of Quebec was reduced to subsist on four ounces of bread per diem, one lb. of beef, HORSE-FLESH or CODFISH; and in April of the following year, the miserable allowance was reduced to one half. "At this time," remarks our historian, Garneau, "famished men were seen sinking to the earth in the street from exhaustion."

Such were the times during which Louis XV.'s minion would retire to his Sardanapalian retreat, to gorge himself at leisure on the life blood of the Canadian people, whose welfare he had sworn to watch over! Such, the doings in the colony in the days of La Pompadour. The results of this misrule were soon apparent: the British lion placed his paw on the coveted morsel. The loss of Canada was viewed, if not by the nation, at least by the French Court, with indifference, to use the terms of one of Her Britannic Majesty's ministers, when its fate and possible loss were canvassed one century later in the British Parliament, "without apprehension or regret." Voltaire gave his friends a banquet at Ferney, in commemoration of the event; the court favourite congratulated His Majesty, that since he had got rid of these "fifteen hundred leagues of frozen country," he had now a chance of sleeping in peace; the minister Choiseul urged Louis XV. to sign the final treaty of 1763, saying that Canada would be un embarras to the English, and that if they were wise they would have nothing to do with it. In the meantime the red cross of St. George was waving over the battlements on which the lily-spangled banner of the Bourbons had proudly sat with but one interruption for one hundred and fifty years, the infamous Bigot was provisionally consigned to a dungeon in the Bastille—subsequently tried and exiled to Bordeaux; his property was confiscated, whilst his confederates and abettors, such as Varin, Bréard, Maurin, Corpron, Martel, Estèbe and others, were also tried and punished by fine, imprisonment and confiscation: one Penisseault, a government clerk (a butcher's son by birth), who had married in the colony, but whose pretty wife accompanied the Chevalier de Lévis on his return to France, seems to have fared better than the rest.

But to revert to the château walls as I saw them on the 4th of June, 1863.

During a ramble with an English friend through the woods, which gave us an opportunity of providing ourselves with wild flowers to strew over the tomb of its fair "Rosamond," [323] such as the marsh marigold, clintonia, uvularia, the star flower, veronica, kalmia, trillium, and Canadian violets, we unexpectedly struck on the old ruin. One of the first things that attracted our notice was the singularly corroding effect the easterly wind has on stone and mortar in Canada; the east gable being indented and much more eaten away than that exposed to the western blast. Of the original structure nothing is left now standing but the two gables and the division walls; they are all three of great thickness; certainly no modern house is built in the manner this seems to have been. It had two stories, with rooms in the attic, and deep cellars; a communication existed from one cellar to the other through the division wall. There is also visible a very small door cut through the cellar wall of the west gable; it leads to a vaulted apartment of some eight feet square; the small mound of masonry which covered it might originally have been effectually hidden from view by a plantation of trees over it. What could this have been built for, asked my romantic friend? Was it intended to secure some of the Intendant's plate or other portion of his ill-gotten treasure? Or else as the Abbé Ferland suggests: [324] "Was it to store the fruity old Port and sparkling Moselle of the club of the Barons, who held their jovial meetings there about the beginning of this century?" Was it his mistresses' secret boudoir when the Intendant's lady visited the château, like the Woodstock tower to which Royal Henry picked his way through "Love's Ladder?" Quien sabe? Who can unravel the mystery? It may have served for the foundation of the tower which existed when Mr. Papineau visited and described the place fifty years ago. The heavy cedar rafters, more than one hundred years old, are to this day sound: one has been broken by the fall, probably of some heavy stones. There are several indentures in the walls for fire-places, which are built of cut masonry; from the angle of one a song sparrow flew out uttering an anxious note. We searched and discovered the bird's nest, with five spotted, dusky eggs in it. How strange! in the midst of ruin and decay, the sweet tokens of hope, love and harmony! What cared the child of song if her innocent offspring were reared amidst these mouldering relics of the past, mayhap a guilty past? Could she not teach them to warble sweetly, even from the roof which echoed the dying sighs of the Algonquin maid? Red alder trees grew rank and vigorous amongst the disjointed masonry, which had crumbled from the walls into the cellar; no trace existed of the wooden staircase mentioned by Mr. Papineau; the timber of the roof had rotted away or been used for camp fires by those who frequent and fish the elfish stream which winds its way over a pebbly ledge towards Beauport. It is well stocked with small trout, which seem to breed in great numbers in the dam near the Château—a stream, did we say?

"A hidden brook, In the leafy mouth of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune"

"Enough! enough! cried my poetic companion. The fate of the fair maid, the song of birds, the rustling of groves, the murmur of yonder brook,—does not all this remind you of the accents of our laurel-crowned poet, he who sang of Claribel?"

Those who wish to visit the Hermitage, are strongly advised to take the cart-road which leads easterly from the Charlesbourg church, turning up. Pedestrians prefer the route through the fields; they may, in this case, leave their vehicle at Gaspard Huot's boarding-house—a little higher than the church at Charlesbourg,—and then walk through the fields, skirting, during the greater part of the road, the trout stream I have previously mentioned; but by all means let them take a guide with them.

Let us now translate and condense, from the interesting narrative of a visit paid to the Hermitage in 1831, by Mr. Amédée Papineau and his talented father, the Hon. Louis Joseph Papineau, the legend which attaches to it:

CAROLINE, OR THE ALGONQUIN MAID.

(BY AMÉDÉE PAPINEAU.)

"We drove, my father and I, with our vehicle to the foot of the mountain, and there, took a foot-path which led us through a dense wood. We encountered and crossed a rivulet, and then ascended a plateau cleared of wood, a most enchanting place; behind us and on our right was a thick forest: on our left the eye rested on boundless green fields, diversified [325] with golden harvests and with the neat white cottages of the peasantry. In the distance was visible the broad and placid waters of the St. Lawrence, at the foot of the citadel of Quebec, and also the shining cupolas and tin roofs of the city houses; in front of us, a confused mass of ruins, crenelated walls embedded in moss and rank grass, together with a tower half destroyed, beams, and the mouldering remains of a roof. After viewing the tout ensemble, we attentively examined each portion in detail—every fragment was interesting to us; we with difficulty made our way over the wall, ascending the upper stories by a staircase which creaked and trembled under our weight. With the assistance of a lighted candle we penetrated into the damp and cavernous cellars, carefully exploring every nook and corner, listening to the sound of our own footsteps, and occasionally startled by the rustling of bats which we disturbed in their dismal retreat. I was young, and consequently very impressionable. I had just left college; these extraordinary sounds and objects would at times make me feel very uneasy. I pressed close to my father and dared scarcely breathe; the remembrance of this subterranean exploration will not easily be forgotten. What were my sensations when I saw a tombstone, the reader can imagine? 'Here we are at last,' exclaimed my father and echo repeated his words. Carefully did we view this monument; presently we detected the letter 'C,' nearly obliterated by the action of time; after remaining there a few moments, to my unspeakable delight we made our exit from the chamber of death, and stepping over the ruins, we again alighted on the green sward. Evidently where we stood had formerly been a garden; we could still make out the avenues, the walks and plots, over which plum, lilac and apple trees grew wild.

"I had not yet uttered a word, but my curiosity getting the better of my fear, I demanded an explanation of this mysterious tombstone. My father beckoned me towards a shady old maple; we both sat on the turf, and he then told me as follows:—You have, no doubt, my son, heard of a French Intendant, of the name of Bigot, who had charge of the public funds in Canada somewhere about the year 1757; you have also read how he squandered these moneys and how his Christian Majesty had him sent to the Bastille when he returned to France, and had his property confiscated. All this you know. I shall now tell you what, probably, you do not know. This Intendant attempted to lead in Canada the same dissolute life which the old noblesse led in France before the Revolution had levelled all classes. He it was who built this country seat, of which you now contemplate the ruins. Here he came to seek relaxation from the cares of office; here he prepared entertainments to which the rank and fashion of Quebec, including the Governor General, eagerly flocked; nothing was wanting to complete the éclat of this little Versailles. Hunting was a favorite pastime of our ancestors, and Bigot was a mighty hunter. As active as a chamois, as daring as a lion was this indefatigable Nimrod, in the pursuit of bears and moose.

"On one occasion, when tracking with some sporting friends an old bear whom he had wounded, he was led over mountainous ridges and ravines very far from the castle. Nothing could restrain him; on he went in advance of every one, until the bloody trail brought him on the wounded animal, which he soon dispatched.

"During the chase the sun had gradually sunk over the western hills; the shades of evening were fast descending; how was the lord of the manor to find his way back? he was alone in a thick forest; in this emergency his heart did not fail him,—he hoped by the light of the moon to be able to return to his stray companions. Wearily he walked on, ascending once or twice a lofty tree, in order to see further, but all in vain; soon the unpleasant conviction dawned on him that like others in similar cases, he had been walking round a circle. Worn out and exhausted with fatigue and hunger, he sat down to ponder on what course he should adopt. The Queen of night, at that moment shedding her silvery rays around, only helped to show the hunter how hopeless was his present position. Amidst these mournful reflections, his ear was startled by the sound of footsteps close by; his spirits rose at the prospect of help being at hand; soon he perceived the outlines of a moving white object. Was it a phantom which his disordered imagination had conjured up; terrified he seized his trusty gun and was in the act of firing, when the apparition, rapidly advancing toward him, assumed quite a human form; a little figure stood before him with eyes as black as night, and raven tresses flowing to the night wind; a spotless garment enveloped in its ample folds this airy and graceful spectre. Was it a sylph, the spirit of the wilderness? Was it Diana, the goddess of the chase, favoring one of her most ardent votaries with a glimpse of her form divine? It was neither. It was an Algonquin beauty, one of those ideal types whose white skin betray their hybrid origin—a mixture of European blood with that of the aboriginal races. It was Caroline, a child of love, born on the shores of the great Ottawa river; a French officer was her sire, and the powerful Algonquin tribe of the Beaver claimed her mother.

"The Canadian Nimrod, struck at the sight of such extraordinary beauty, asked her name, and after relating his adventure, he begged of her to shew him the way to the castle in the neighborhood, as she must be familiar with every path in the forest. Such is the story told of the first meeting between the Indian beauty and the Canadian Minister of Finance and Feudal Judge in the year 175—.

"The Intendant was a married man; [326] his lady resided in the capital of Canada. She seldom accompanied her husband on his hunting excursions, but soon it was whispered that something more than the pursuit of wild animals attracted him to his country seat; an intrigue with an Indian beauty was hinted at. These discreditable rumors came to the ears of her ladyship; she made several visits to the castle in hopes of verifying her worst fears; jealousy is a watchful sentinel.

"The Intendant's dormitory was on the ground floor of the building; it is supposed the Indian girl occupied a secret apartment on the flat above; that her boudoir was reached through a long narrow passage, ending with a hidden staircase opening on the large room which overlooked the garden.

"The King, therefore, for his defence Against the furious Queen, At Woodstock builded such a bower, As never yet was seen. Most curiously that bower was built, Of stone and timber strong." (Ballad of Fair Rosamond.)

"Let us now see what took place on this identical spot on the 2nd July, 176—. It is night; the hall clock has just struck eleven; the murmur of the neighboring brook, gently wafted on the night wind, is scarcely audible; the Song Sparrow [327] has nearly finished his evening hymn, while the Sweet Canada [328] bird, from the top of an old pine, merrily peals forth his shrill clarion. Silence the most profound pervades the whole castle; every light is extinguished; the pale rays of the moon slumber softly on the oak floor, reflected as they are through the gothic windows; every inmate is wrapped in sleep, even fair Rosamond who has just retired. Suddenly her door is violently thrust open; a masked person, with one bound rushes to her bed-side, and without saying a word, plunges a dagger to the hilt in her breast. Uttering a piercing shriek, the victim springs in the air and falls heavily on the floor. The Intendant, hearing the noise, hurries up stairs, raises the unhappy girl who has just time to point to the fatal weapon, still in the wound, and then falls back in his arms a lifeless corpse. The whole household are soon on foot; search is made for the murderer, but no clue is discovered. Some of the inmates fancied they had seen the figure of a woman rush down the secret stair and disappear in the woods about the time the murder took place. A variety of stories were circulated, some pretended to trace the crime to the Intendant's wife, whilst others alleged that the avenging mother of the creole was the assassin; some again urged that Caroline's father had attempted to wipe off the stain on the honour of his tribe, by himself despatching his erring child. A profound mystery to this day surrounds the whole transaction. Caroline was buried in the cellar of the castle, and the letter 'C' engraved on her tombstone, which, my son, you have just seen."