IMPORTATION OF BIRDS.
Sixteen years have elapsed since these lines were penned, and the Colonel has devoted much time, spent a large amount of capital on his vegetable farm and his green houses. Agriculturalists and naturalists will know him as the introducer of the English sparrow and the Messina quail.
THE SPARROW AND QUAIL.
Information for Mr. Lemoine on the importation of the European house sparrow and on that of the migratory quail. In consequence of great complaints all over the United States of the ravages of insects and particularly of caterpillars, amongst street and park trees and their visible destruction, it was generally recommended to girdle the trees with tin troughs containing oil or some liquid, also to pick the insects off the infected trees. This course had been followed to a very considerable extent, when it struck me the importation of the common house sparrow would meet the difficulty. In 1854 I imported sparrows. I turned loose six birds at Portland, Maine, and brought about as many more to Quebec.
On turning the birds loose at Portland, I wrote a letter to the Portland Advertiser, recommending the English sparrow as an insect destroyer, especially in the early spring months when the native birds are away on their migrations. This idea of picking off insects with birds commended itself to the municipal authorities of Boston and other large cities, who made large importations of sparrows, with the result of saving their ornamental trees from destruction.
The first colony of sparrows failed at Quebec. I therefore made two more importations, succeeding at last by wintering over thirteen birds —This occurred about ten years ago, there are now house sparrows all over Canada, our French Canadians say "C'est un oiseau qui suit la Religion" frequenting churches, convents and sacred places, and it is considered a privilege to have so good a bird about the house. The sparrow lives readily in Canada, as it feeds on the droppings of the horse and takes shelter down the chimneys or under the roofs of the houses. The enemies of the sparrow are very numerous, notably the great Northern Shrike, the owls, hawks and in summer the swifts and swallows. I have seen the English sparrow from New York to St. Francisco, and from the Saguenay to Florida. In some places the bird is used as an article of food, and there is no doubt this will be the case generally; it will also become an object of sport for young shooters and trappers in America, the same as it has always been in Europe.
THE QUAIL.
I imported this bird in 1880, turning loose over 100 birds between Quebec and the river Saguenay, I cannot say what has been the result; the French population have taken much interest in this importation, because they understand it is a bird well known in France as La Caille, and I have no doubt it will become quite numerous in our French settlements wherever it is established.
Large numbers of migratory quail have been imported for the State of Maine, 2,500 birds were turned loose in 1880, in all about 10,000 quails have been imported for the United States and Canada during the last few years, and as no importations are being made this year we shall see what the migratory instinct does for the North in the spring of the year?
It is very certain the migratory quail leave for parts unknown at an early period in the autumn, but where they go to and whether they return to the north has not been established; whilst they are with us, they are very friendly, frequently mixing with the chickens in the back yards. It is not improbable the feeling which gives hospitality to the house sparrow will extend itself to the Farmer's Quail, and that the latter bird may receive the same treatment from the settler as he gives to ordinary domestic fowl, such as Pigeons, Guinea fowl, and so on.—W. Rhodes.
BENMORE, 4th February, 1881.
N.B.—The house sparrow has indeed multiplied amazingly and though an emigrant and not "un enfant du sol" has found a hearty welcome. 'Tis said that he scares away our singing birds, if he should thus interfere with the freedom of action of the natives, he will get the cold shoulder, even though he should be an emigrant.
The sparrow though a long suffering bird is neither meek nor uncomplaining. A "limb of the law" is, we are told, responsible for the following:
A HUMBLE APPEAL.
(To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle.)
DEAR SIR,—Oft, doubtless, passing through the Ring,
Me you have seen in autumn, summer, spring—
Picking, with gleesome chirp, and nimble feet,
My scanty living from the public street;
Or else devouring in those golden hours,
Insects from cabbages and other flowers:—
Ah me! those happy days!—but they are past,
And winter with his harsh and biting blast
Remind me and my fellow-sparrows bold
Of coming snow-storms, ice and sleet and cold;
Reminds us, too, of those far-off abodes,
Whence we were rudely reft by Col. R——s,
On his acclimatizing purpose bent,
And moved by scientific sentiment,
My heart is anxious, Sir, from what I know
Of last years sufferings from cold and snow,
Another winter's hardships, will, I fear,
Cause us poor colonists to disappear.
What shall we do, Dear Sir?—how shall we live,
Unless our charitable townsmen give
Us aid in food and shelter, otherwise
Each of us young and old, and male and female, dies!
Could we not make our friend our Garnishee,
And seize his chattels by a tiers saisi?
(I tell him, Sir, that living mid the frosts
Is harder far than paying lawyers' costs)
Or do you think, (I write in great anxiety,)
We have a claim on the St. George Society?
We are compatriots—an exiled band,
From the fair pickings of our native land,
Cast on this frigid shore by savage Fate,
With mouths to fill, and bills to liquidate.
Dear Sir, I leave our case now with you, pray
To make it public do not long delay,
But give it, (I don't mean to be ironical,)
A prominent position in the CHRONICLE.
My wife and children cry to me for corn
With feeble earnestness and chirp forlorn,
My eye is dim, my heart within me pines,
My claws so numb I scarce can scratch two lines,
My head—no more will I your feelings harrow,
But sign me,
Truly yours,
Till death,
All Souls' Day. COCKSPARROW.
CLAREMONT.
THE SEAT OF THOMAS BECKETT, ESQUIRE.
"A house amid the quiet country's shades,
With length'ning vistas, ever sunny glades,
Beauty and fragrance clustering o'er the wall.
A porch inviting, and an ample hall."
Claremont was founded by Lieut.-Governor R. E. Caron, and was his family mansion—ever since he left Spencer Grange which he had temporally leased,—until he was named Lt.-Governor of the Province of Quebec. We find in it, combined the taste and comfort which presides in Canadian homes; and in the fortunes of its founder, an illustration of the fact, that under the sway of Britain, the road to the highest honours has ever been open to colonists, irrespective of creed or nationality.
Claremont stands about one acre from the main road, three miles from Quebec, a handsome, comfortable and substantial villa. The umbrageous grove of trees which encloses it from view, is a plantation laid down by the late occupant about twenty-five years ago; its growth has been truly wonderful. The view from the veranda and rear of the house is magnificent in the extreme. To the west of the dwelling, environed in forest trees well protected against our northern "blizzards," lies the fruit, flower and vegetable garden, laid out originally by Madame Caron; watered by an unfailing spring, its dark rich soil produces most luxuriant vegetables, and Mr. Beckett's phlox, lilies, pansies, roses, generally stand well represented on the prize list of the Quebec Horticultural Society, of which Mr. Beckett is a most active member.
Claremont [242] is indicated by one of the most reliable of our historians, the Abbé Ferland, as the spot where one of the first Sillery missionaries, Frère Liégeois met with his end at the hands of some hostile Indians. This occurred in the spring of 1655. The missionary at the time was helping the colonists to build a small redoubt to protect their maize and wheat fields from the inroads of their enemies. On viewing, at Sillery, in 1881, Claremont the luxurious country seat of a successful merchant, memory reverts to the same locality two centuries back, when every tree of the locality might have concealed a ferocious Iroquois bent on his errand of death.
From the cupola of Claremont, a wondrous vista is revealed. The eye gazing northward, rests on the nodding pinnacles of the spruce, hemlock and surrounding pine. Towards the south-east and west you have before you nearly every object calculated to add effect to the landscape. Far below at your feet, rushes on the mighty St. Lawrence, with its fleet of merchantmen and rafts of timber; the church of St. Romuald, half way up the hill; facing you, the Etchemin stream, its mills, its piers, crowded with deals; to the west, the roaring Chaudière, "La Rivière Bruyante" of early times, in the remote distance, on a bright morning, are also plainly visible, the hills of the White Mountains of Maine.
THE WILD FLOWERS OF SILLERY.
"Everywhere about us are they glowing,
Some like stars, to tell us spring is born;
Others, their blue eyes, with tears o'erflowing,
Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn."
Are you an admirer of nature, and sweet flowers? Would you, most worthy friend, like to see some of the bright gems which spring, whilst dallying over the sequestered, airy heights and swampy marshes of our woods drops along our path? Follow, then, sketch book and pencil in hand, the fairy footsteps of one of the most amiable women which old England ever sent to our climes, accompany the Countess of Dalhousie on a botanizing tour through Sillery woods; you have her note book, if not herself, to go by. For May, see what an ample store of bright flowers scattered around you; fear not to lose yourself in thickets and underbrush; far from the beaten track a noble lady has ransacked the environs over and over again, sometimes alone, sometimes with an equally enthusiastic and intelligent friend, who hailed from Woodfield; [243] sweet flowers and beautiful ferns attract other noble ladies to this day in that wood. Are you anxious to possess the first-born of spring? Whilst virgin snow still whitens the fields, send a young friend to pluck for you, from the willow, its golden catkins:—
"The first gilt thing
Decked with the earliest pearls of spring."
The Gomin Wood will, with the dawn of May, afford you materials for a wreath, rich in perfume and wild in beauty. The quantity of wild flowers, to be found in the environs of Quebec has called forth the following remarks from one of Flora's most fervid votaries, a gentleman well known in this locality:—"A stranger," says he, "landing in this country, is much surprised to find the flowers which he has carefully cultivated in his garden at home, growing wild at his feet. Such as dog-tooth violets, trilliums and columbines. I was much excited when I discovered them for the first time; the trillium, for which I had paid three shillings and six-pence when in England, positively growing wild. I could scarcely believe that I had a right to gather them; having paid so much for one, I felt that it was property, valuable property running wild, and no one caring to gather it. No one? Yes! some did, for we carried all that we could find, and if the reader will stroll along the hedges on St. Lewis road he will find them in abundance: dark purple flowers, growing on a stalk naked to near the summit, where there is a whorl of three leaves, its sepals are three, petals three, stamens twice three, and its stigmas three, hence its name of trillium. We have a few of the white varieties. After the purple trillium has done flowering, we have the painted trillium of the woods; the trillium grandiflorum is abundant at Grosse Isle. The dog-tooth violet early arrested my attention; the spotted leaves and the bright yellow flowers, fully recurved in the bright sunshine, contrasted beautifully with the fresh green grass on the banks on which they are usually found, the bulbs are deep-seated, and the plant will at once, from the general appearance of the flower, be recognized as belonging to the lily family.
"The marsh marigolds, with the bright yellow buttercup-looking flowers, are now in full luxuriance of bloom in wet places near running water; they may not be esteemed beautiful by all, and yet all God's works, and all his flowers, are good and beautiful. Let any one see them as I have seen them, a large flowerbed of an acre and more, one mass of the brightest yellow, a crystal stream meandering through their midst, the beautiful Falls of Montmorenci across the river rolling their deep strains of Nature's music, the rising tide of the St. Lawrence beating with refreshing waves at their feet, and a cloudless azure sky over head, from which the rosy tints of early morn had hardly disappeared, and if his soul be not ready to overflow with gratitude to the Supreme Being who has made everything so beautiful and good, I do not know what to think of him. I would not be such a man, 'I'd rather be a dog and bay the moon.'"
The whole Gomin bog is studded with Smilacina Bifolia, sometimes erroneously called the white lily of the valley, also the Smilacina Trifolia, the Dentaria, the Streptopus roseus or twisted stem, a rose-colored flower, bearing red berries in the fall. There are also in this wood, trillium, the May flower, Hepatica, and Symplocarpus, thickets crowned with Rhodoras in full bloom—a bush a few feet high with superb rose-colored flowers—the general appearance of a cluster of bushes is most magnificent. In the same locality, further in the swamp, may be found the Kalmia angustifolia bearing very pretty compact rose- colored flowers like small cups divided into five lobes, also the beautiful Ladies' Slipper Orchis (Cypripedum humile) in thousands on the borders of the swamp,—such is Sillery wood in May. The crowded flora of June is the very carnival of nature, in our climes. "Our Parish" is no exception. The Ladies' Slippers, Kalmia Smilacina, etc., may still be gathered in the greatest abundance throughout most of this month. Here is also the bunch of Pigeon berry, in full bloom, the Brooklime Spedwell, the Blue-eyed-grass, the herb Bennet, the Labrador Tea, the Oxalis Stricta and Oxalis acetosella, one with yellow, the other with white and purple flowers: the first grows in ploughed fields, the second in the woods. "Our sensitive plant; they shut up their leaves and go to sleep at night, and on the approach of rain. These plants are used in Europe to give an acid flavor to soup." Here also flourishes the Linnea Borealis, roseate bells, hanging like twins from one stalk, downy and aromatic all round. In the middle of June, the Ragwort, a composite flower with yellow heads, and about one-half to two feet high, abounds in wet places by the side of running streams. Also, the Anemone, so famous in English song, principally represented by the Anemone Pennsylvanica, growing on wet banks, bearing large white flowers; add the Corydalis, Smilacina racemosa resembling Solomon's Seal. Here we light on a lovely Tulip bed; no—'tis that strangely beautiful flower, the pitcher plant (Saracenia Purpurea). Next we hit on a flower not to be forgotten, the Myosotis palustris or Forget-me-not. Cast a glance as you hurry onwards on the Oenothera pumila, a kind of evening primrose, on the false Hellebore—the one-sided Pyrola, the Bladder Campion—silene inflata, the sweet-scented yellow Mellilot, the white Yarran, the Prunella with blue labrate flowers the Yellow Rattle, so called from the rattling of the seeds. The perforated St. John's Wort is now coming into flower everywhere, and will continue until late in August; it is an upright plant, from one to two feet high, with clusters of yellow flowers. The Germans have a custom for maidens to gather this herb on the eve of St. John, and from its withering or retaining its freshness to draw an augury of death or marriage in the coming year. This is well told in the following lines:—
"The young maid stole through the cottage door,
And blushed as she sought the plant of power;
Then silver glow-worm, O lend me thy light,
I must gather the mystic St. John's Wort to-night,
The wonderful herb whose leaf must decide
If the coming year shall make me a bride.
And the glow-worm came
With its silvery flame,
And sparkled and shone
Through the night of St. John;
While it shone on the plant as it bloomed in its pride,
And soon has the young maid her love-knot tied.
With noiseless tread
To her chamber she sped,
Where the spectral moon her white beams shed.
"Bloom here, bloom here, thou plant of power,
To deck the young bride in her bridal hour;
But it dropped its head, the plant of power,
And died the mute death of the voiceless flower
And a withered wreath on the ground it lay,
And when a year had passed away,
All pale on her bier the young maid lay;
And the glow-worm came,
With its silvery flame,
And sparkled and shone
Through the night of St. John;
And they closed the cold grave o'er the maid's cold clay,
On the day that was meant for her bridal day."
Let us see what flowers sultry July has in store for us in her bountiful cornucopia. "In July," says a fervent lover of nature, "bogs and swamps are glorious indeed," so look out for Calopogons, Pogonias, rose-colored and white and purple-fringed Orchises, Ferns, some thirty varieties, of exquisite texture,
"In the cool and quiet nooks,
By the side of running brooks;
In the forest's green retreat,
With the branches overhead,
Nestling at the old trees' feet,
Choose we there our mossy bed.
On tall cliffs that won the breeze,
Where no human footstep presses,
And no eye our beauty sees,
There we wave our maiden tresses,"
the Willow-herb, the true Partridge-berry, the Chimaphila, Yellow Lily, Mullein, Ghost Flower, Indian Pipe, Lysimacha Stricta, Wild Chamomile. August will bring forth a variety of other plants, amongst others the Spirantes, or Ladies' Tresses, a very sweet-scented Orchis, with white flowers placed as a spiral round the flower stalk, the purple Eupatorium, the Snake's head, and crowds of most beautiful wild flowers, too numerous to be named here. [244] (From Maple Leaves, 1865).
BEAUVOIR.
"The merchant has his snug retreat in the vicinity of the metropolis, where he often displays as much pride and zeal in the cultivation of his flower garden, and the maturing of his fruits, as he does in the conduct of his business, and the success of a commercial enterprise." —Rural Life in England—Washington Irving.
Situated on the left bank of the River St. Lawrence, about four miles from the city, on the Sillery heights, and overlooking the river. The site was selected about half a century back by the late Hon. A. N. Cochrane, who acquired the property in September, 1830, and after holding it for nineteen years sold it to the Hon. John Stewart, who built the residence, which was occupied for a number of years by the late Henry LeMesurier, Esq., and was finally destroyed by fire in 1866. It was subsequently rebuilt, and afterwards purchased by the present occupant R. R. Dobell, Esq., who has since added considerably to the building and extended the property by the addition of about twelve acres purchased from the Graddon estate, and about the same quantity purchased from Mr. McHugh, the whole now comprising about thirty-five acres. The grounds are beautifully wooded and descend by a series of natural terraces to the river, on the banks of which are the extensive timber coves and wharves known as Sillery Cove, with the workmen's cottages, offices, &c., fringing the side. There is also telegraphic communication between this cove and the city. Here too is the site of the ancient church of the Récollet Fathers, within the precincts of which lie buried the remains of Rev. Ed. Massé, one of the earliest missionaries sent from France to Canada by the Jesuits, the expense of the mission was chiefly borne by the Chevalier Brulart de Sillery. Here also is the old MANSION HOUSE, and a little higher up the cliff is the ancient burial ground of the Huron Indians, where the remains of many of this tribe can still be found. The property is bounded on the west by the historical stream of St. Michaels brook, so often mentioned in the narratives of the siege of Quebec in 1759. This stream used to be well stocked with trout, and promises to regain its former character in this respect, as the present proprietor intends to re-stock it.
Mr. Dobell has collected here some very fine specimens of Canadian Game, which the art of the taxidermist has rendered very life-like. His oil paintings are deserving of notice and attracted attention at a recent exhibition of art, &c., at the Morrin College, they appear in the printed catalogue as follows:—
A Scene in Wales, (Morning)………….. by Marcham.
A Scene in Wales, (Evening)………….. "
Reading the Bible, …………………. "
Our Saviour,—an old painting on copper..
Dead Canary,……………………….. S. M. Martin.
Fox and Ducks,……………………… "
Prairie Hen,……………………….. "
View of Quebec,…………………….. Creswell.
Egyptian Interior,………………….. Kornan.
Dead Game,…………………………. "
Two Oil Paintings,………………….. after Guido Reni.
Girl and Birdcage,—a Dutch painting…..
Prisoners,…………………………. by Jacobi.
Flower Piece,………………………. Victor
Pandora and Casket,—old painting……..
The chief charm of Beauvoir is in its beautiful level lawn and deep overhanging woods, recalling vividly to mind the many beautiful homes of merry England. Mr. Dobell the proprietor is largely engaged in mercantile operations, and for many years past has carried on the most extensive business in the lumber trade.
In 1865 we alluded as follows to this bright Canadian Home, which the shadow of death was soon to darken:
"Crowning a sloping lawn, intersected by a small stream, and facing the Etchemin Mills, you notice on the south side of the St. Lewis road, next to Clermont, a neat dwelling hid amongst huge pines and other forest trees; that is one of our oldest English country seats. Family memories of three generations consecrate the spot. Would you like a glimpse of domestic life as enjoyed at Sillery? then follow that bevy of noisy, rosy- cheeked boys in Lennoxville caps, with gun and rod in hand, hurrying down those steep, narrow steps leading from the bank to the Cove below. How they scamper along, eager to walk the deck of that trim little craft, the Falcon, anchored in the stream, and sitting like a bird on the bosom of the famed river. Wait a minute and you will see the mainsail flutter in the breeze. Now our rollicking young friends have marched past ruins of "chapel, convent, hospital," &c., on the beach; you surely did not expect them to look glum and melancholy. Of course they knew all about "Monsieur Puiseaux," "le Chevalier de Sillery," "the house where dwelt Emily Montague"; but do not, if you have any respect for that thrice happy age, the halcyon days of jackets and frills, befog their brains with the musty records of departed years. Let the lads enjoy their summer vacation, radiant, happy, heedless of the future. Alas! it may yet overtake them soon enough! What care could contract their brow? Have they not fed for the day their rabbits, their pigeons, their guinea-pigs? Is not that faithful Newfoundland dog "Boatswain," who saved from drowning one of their school-mates, is he not as usual their companion on ship-board or ashore? There, now, they drop down the stream for a long day's cruise round the Island of Orleans. Next week, peradventure, you may hear of the Falcon and its jolly crew having sailed for Portneuf, Murray Bay, the Saguenay or Bersimis, to throw a cast for salmon, sea-trout or mackerel, in some sequestered pool or sheltered bay.
"There we'll drop our lines, and gather
Old Ocean's treasures in."
Are they not glorious, handsome, manly fellows, our Sillery boys? No wonder we are all proud of them, of the twins as much as the rest, and more so perhaps. "Our Parish" you must know, is renowned for the proportion in which it contributes to the census: twins—a common occurrence; occasionally, triplets.
Such we knew this Canadian home in the days of the late Henry Lemesurier.
MONTAGUE COTTAGE.
"I knew by the smoke which so gracefully curled,
Above the green wood that a cottage was near."
—Moore's Woodpecker.
Facing Sillery hill, on the north side of "Sans Bruit," formerly the estate of Lieut.-Col. the Hon. Henry Caldwell, Mr. Alfred P. Wheeler, [245] the Tide Surveyor of H. M. Customs, Quebec, built in 1880, a comfortable and pleasing little cottage. He has called it Montague Cottage [246] in memory of Wolfe's brave assistant Quarter Master General Col. Caldwell, of Sans Bruit, the Col. Rivers of "The Novel and the preferred suitor of Emily Montague who addressed her romantic 'Sillery letters to Col. Rivers from a house not far from the Hill of Sillery.
It is stated in all the old Quebec Guide Books that the house in which the 'divine Emily then dwelt stood on the foot of Sillery Hill, close to Mrs. Graddon's property at Kilmarnock, her friend Bella Fermor probably lived near her. Vol. I of the Work, page 61, states; "I am at present at an extremely pretty farm on the banks of the River St. Lawrence, the house stands as the foot of a steep mountain covered with a variety of trees forming a verdant sloping wall, which rises in a kind of regular confusion, shade above shade a woody theatre, and has in front this noble river, on which ships continually passing present to the delighted eye the most charming picture imaginable. I never saw a place so formed to inspire that pleasing lassitude, that divine inclination to saunter, which may not improperly be called the luxurious indolence of the country. I intend to build a temple here to the charming goddess of laziness. A gentleman is coming down the winding path on the side of the hill, whom by his air I take to be your brother. Adieu. I must receive him, my father is in Quebec. Yours,
ARABELLA FERMOR.
THE HISTORY OF EMILY MONTAGUE.
On the 22nd March 1769, a novelist of some standing Mrs. Frances Brooks an officer's lady, [247] author of Lady Julia Mandeville published in London a work in four volumes, which she dedicated to His Excellency the Governor of Canada, Guy Carleton afterwards Lord Dorchester, under the title of the History of Emily Montague being a series of letters addressed from Sillery by Emily Montague the heroine of the tale, to her lively and witty friend Bella Fermor—to some military admirers in Quebec, Montreal, and New York—to some British noblemen, friends of her father.
This novel, whether it was through the writer's entourage in the world or her entrée to fashionable circles, or whether on account of its own intrinsic literary worth, had an immense success in its day. The racy description it contains of Canadian scenery, and colonial life, mixed with the fashionable gossip of our Belgravians of 1766, seven years after the conquest, caused several English families to emigrate to Canada. Some settled in the neighborhood of Quebec, at Sillery, it is said. Whether they found all things couleur-de- rose, as the clever Mrs. Brooke had described them,—whether they enjoyed as much Arcadian bliss as the Letters of Emily Montague had promised—it would be very ungallant for us to gainsay, seeing that Mrs. Brooke is not present to vindicate herself. As to the literary merit of the novel, this much we will venture to assert, that setting aside the charm of association, we doubt that Emily Montague if republished at present, would make the fortune of her publisher. Novel writing, like other things, has considerably changed since 1766, and however much the florid Richardson style may have pleased the great grandfathers of the present generation, it would scarcely chime in with the taste of readers in our sensational times. In Mrs. Brooke's day Quebecers appear to have amused themselves pretty much as they do now, a century later. In the summer, riding, driving boating, pic-nics at Lake St. Charles, the Falls of Montmorenci, &c. In winter tandems, sleigh drives, toboganing at the ice cone, tomycod fishing on the St. Charles, Château balls; the formation of a pont or ice-bridge and its breaking up in the spring—two events of paramount importance. The military, later on, the promoters of conviviality, sport and social amusements; in return obtaining the entrée to the houses of the chief citizens; toying with every English rosebud or Gallic-lily, which might strew their path in spite of paternal and maternal admonitions from the other side of the Atlantic; occasionally leading to the hymeneal altar a Canadian bride, and next introducing her to their horror-stricken London relatives, astounded to find out that our Canadian belles, were neither the colour of copper, nor of ebony; in education and accomplishments, their equals—sometimes their superiors when class is compared to class. Would you like a few extracts from this curious old Sillery novel? Bella Fermor, one of Emily Montague's familiars, and a most ingrained coquette, thus writes from Sillery in favour of a military protégé on the 16th September, 1766, to the "divine" Emily, who had just been packed oft to Montreal to recover from a love fit. "Sir George is handsome as an Adonis … you allow him to be of an amiable character; he is rich, young, well-born, and he loves you…"
All in vain thus to plead Sir. George's cause, a dashing Col. Rivers (meant, we were told, by the Hon. W. Sheppard, to personify Col. Henry Caldwell, of Belmont) had won the heart of Emily, who preferred true love to a coronet. Let us treasure up a few more sentences fallen from Emily's light-hearted confidante. A postscript to a letter runs thus— "Adieu, Emily, I am going to ramble in the woods and pick berries with a little smiling civil captain [we can just fancy we see some of our fair acquaintances' mouths water at such a prospect], who is enamoured of me. A pretty rural amusement for lovers." Decidedly; all this in the romantic woodlands of Sillery, a sad place it must be confessed, when even boarding school misses, were they to ramble thus, could scarcely escape contracting the scarlet fever. Here goes another extract:—
(BELLA FERMOR TO MISS RIVERS. LONDON)
"Sillery, Sept. 20th, (1766)—10 o'clock.
"Ah! we are vastly to be pitied; no beaux at all at the general's, only about six to one; a pretty proportion, and what I hope always to see. We—the ladies I mean—drink chocolate with the general to- morrow, and he gives us a ball on Thursday; you would not know Quebec again. Nothing but smiling faces now: all gay as never was—the sweetest country in the world. Never expect to see me in England again; one is really somebody here. I have been asked to dance by only twenty-seven. …"
Ah! who would not forgive the frolicsome Bella all her flirtations? But before we dismiss this pleasant record of other days, yet another extract, and we have done.
(BELLA FERMOR TO LUCY RIVERS)
"Sillery—Eight in the evening.
"Absolutely, Lucy, I will marry a savage and turn squaw (a pretty soft name for an Indian Princess!) Never was anything so delightful as their lives. They talk of French husbands, but commend me to an Indian one, who lets his wife ramble five hundred miles without asking where she is going.
"I was sitting after dinner, with a book, in a thicket of hawthorn near the beach, when a loud laugh called my attention to the river, when I saw a canoe of savages making to the shore. There were six women and two or three children, without one man amongst them. They landed and tied the canoe to the root of a tree, and finding out the most agreeable shady spot amongst the bushes with which the beach was covered, (which happened to be very near me) made a fire, on which they laid some fish to broil, and fetching water from the river, sat down on the grass to their frugal repast. I stole softly to the house, and ordering a servant to bring some wine and cold provisions, returned to my squaws. I asked them in French if they were of Lorette, they shook their heads—I repeated the question in English, when the eldest of the women told me they were not, that their country was on the borders of New England, that their husbands being on a hunting party in the woods, curiosity and the desire to see their brethren, the English, who had conquered Quebec, had brought them up the great river, down which they should return as soon as they had seen Montreal. She courteously asked me to sit down and eat with them, which I complied with and produced my part of the feast. We soon became good company, and brightened the chain of friendship with two bottles of wine, which put them in such spirits that they danced, sung, shook me by the hand, and grew so fond of me that I began to be afraid I should not easily get rid of them.
"Adieu! my father is just come in and has brought some company with him from Quebec to supper.
"Yours ever,