Picturesque Quebec : a sequel to Quebec past and present

by Sir J. M. Le Moine

MOUNT HERMON

A SPOT DEAR TO QUEBECERS

Oh, Hermon! oft I wander o'er,
Thy silent records of the past,
In fancy, when the storm and roar
Of icy winter holds thee fast,
But, when the gentle spring-time tells
'Tis time to rove amid the flow'rs,
I love to walk amid thy dells,
And dream once more of happy hours.

All seems a dream! thy lovely slopes,
O'ershadowed with primeval trees,
Are rich with many blighted hopes,
And ceaseless tears, He only sees
What broken hearts, and scatter'd homes,
And grief of mourners ne'er since met,
One pictures by these solemn tombs,
This scene of parting and regret!

Bless'd spot! though long, long years ago
That loving one was buried here,
My soul still ever seeks to know
When once again we shall be near!
A day ne'er pass'd in foreign climes,
At home, or on the restless sea,
But I have sought thee many times,
Oh, Hermon! ever dear to me.
S. B. F.

In this neighbourhood is situated Mount Hermon Cemetery. It is about three miles from Quebec, on the south side of the St. Lewis road, and slopes irregularly, but beautifully, down the cliff which overhangs the St. Lawrence. It is thirty two acres in extent, and the grounds were tastefully laid out by the late Major Douglas, U. S. Engineers, whose taste and skill had been previously shown in the design of Greenwood Cemetery, near New York. A carriage drive, upwards of two miles in extent, affords access to all parts of the grounds, and has been so arranged as to afford the most perfect view of the scenery. The visitor, after driving over the smooth lawn-like open surface, finds himself suddenly transferred by a turn of the road into a dark avenue of stately forest trees, from which he emerges to see the broad St. Lawrence almost beneath him, with the city of Quebec and the beautiful slopes of Point Levi in the distance.

Many beautiful monuments now adorn the grounds, some of which are from Montreal and some from Scotland; but the great majority are the productions of Mr. Felix Morgan, of Quebec, and do credit to his taste and skill. Many of them are beautiful and costly structures of Italian marble. The Aberdeen and Peterhead granite is much used at present for monuments to the departed.

A neat gothic lodge at the entrance of the grounds contains the office and residence of the superintendent. In the former, a complete plan of the grounds is kept, every separate grave being marked upon it with its appropriate number, so that at any future time, on consulting it, the exact spot of interment can be ascertained, and the Register which is also kept, affords information respecting the places of birth, age, and date of death.

There are few sites round Quebec more attractive to visit, especially during the month of September, than the last abode of the departed, crowning the green banks of the St. Lawrence at Sillery—the Cemetery of Mount Hermon. Apart from possessing some of the most picturesque scenery in America, this spot borrows from the glories of autumn tints of a fairy brightness. In providing for the repose of the dead, the citizens of all denominations seemed to have vied to surpass one another. Scarcely had the skilful designer, Major Douglas, U.S.E., completed the laying out of the Mount Hermon grounds, when a strong desire was manifested in all quarters to do away with intra mural burials. In a very short time, the Roman Catholics had selected as a cemetery the lovely old seat of the late Mr. Justice P. Panet, on the banks of the St. Charles, whilst a few years later the shady groves of Belmont, on the Ste. Foye road, were required for a similar object. The ornamentation of a necropolis must naturally be a work of time, trees do not spring up in one summer, nor do lawns clothe themselves with a soft, green velvety surface in one season, and if the flowers in Mount Hermon are so beautiful and so well attended to, the secret in a measure possibly rests with the landscape gardener located at the entrance, and who professes to furnish flowers for the adornment of cemetery lots, and to plant and keep them fresh during the summer. The St. Charles, St. Patrick and Belmont Cemeteries, which do not enjoy in the same measure these facilities, cannot be expected to possess all the rustic adornments of their elder brother. One may safely predict that ere many summers go by, our public cemeteries, by their natural beauty, are likely to attract crowds of strangers, as Greenwood and Mount Auburn do in the States. Chaste monumental marbles, on which can be detected the chisel of English, Scotch and Canadian artists, are at present noticeable all over the grounds, tastefully laid out and smiling parterres of annuals and perennials throw a grateful fragrance over the tomb where sleeps mayhap a beloved parent, a kind sister, an affectionate brother, a true friend, a faithful lover. How forcibly all this was brought to our minds recently on strolling through the shady walks of Mount Hermon. Under the umbrageous trees, perfumed by roses and lilies, tombs, [239] silent, innumerable tombs on all sides, on marble, the names of friends, kindred, acquaintances, solemn stillness all round us, at our feet the placid course of our majestic flood. There were indeed many friends round us, though invisible, nay, on counting over the slumberers, we found we had more, though not dearer friends, in this abode of peace than within the walls of yonder city. Overpowered by mournful, though soothing thoughts, we walked along pondering over those truthful reflections of Washington Irving:—

"There is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song, there is a recollection of the dead to which we turn ever from the charms of the living Oh, the grave! the grave! It buries every error, covers every defect, extinguishes every resentment. From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. * * * The grave of those we loved—what a place for meditation. There it is that we call up in long review the whole history of virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon us almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy; there it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful tenderness of the parting scene; the bed of death with all its stifled grief; its noiseless attendants; its mute, watchful assiduities; the last testimonies of expiring love; the feeble, faltering, thrilling (oh, how thrilling!) pressure of the hand; the last fond look of the glazing eye, turning upon us from the threshold of existence; the faint, faltering accents struggling in death to give once more assurance of affection! aye, go to the grave of buried love and meditate! There settle the account with thy conscience for every past benefit unrequited, every past endearment unregarded of that being who can never, never, never return to be soothed by thy contrition. If thou art a child and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent; if thou art a husband and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth; if thou art a friend and hast ever wronged in thought, word or deed the spirit that generously confided in thee; if thou art a lover and hast ever given one unmerited pang to that true heart that now lies cold and still beneath thy feet, then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action will come thronging back upon thy memory and knocking dolefully at thy soul….

Then weave that chaplet of flowers and strew the beauties of nature about the grave; console thy broken spirit if thou canst with these tender, though futile, tributes of regret; but take warning over the dead, and be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge of thy duties to the living." Reader, allow not pensive September to close in without visiting Mount Hermon, linger under its silent shades, go partake of the joy of grief, and meditate at the grave of a buried love.

"MONUMENT TO LIEUT. BAINES, R.A.—Few of our readers but recollect and cherish the name of Lieut. Baines, who unfortunately lost his life while gallantly endeavoring to arrest the progress of the conflagration which destroyed the greater portion of St. Roch's suburbs in October, 1866. His gallant devotion to duty, and his zeal in one of the most praiseworthy and charitable objects that ever engaged the attention of man, has caused his memory to be cherished with love and respect by every one of our citizens. Last year the ladies of the General Hospital sent a tribute of their gratitude to his widowed mother in England, worked by their own hands. Now the citizens of Quebec have completed their share of the grateful task. We had the mournful pleasure yesterday of viewing one of the most chaste and graceful monuments that adorn Mount Hermon Cemetery, erected by public subscription, and placed over the grave of one whose memory is so dearly cherished by all. The monument is of the Egyptian style of architecture, an obelisk 18 feet in height, with a base of 4 feet 10 inches, designed and modelled by our talented fellow-citizen, Mr. F. Morgan, sculptor, St. John street, so many of whose classic memorials of the dead grace Mount Hermon. It is cut from a solid block of imported sandstone, and in chasteness of design or execution is not excelled on this continent. It bears the following inscription:—

Erected by the citizens of Quebec
To preserve the memory
and to record their gratitude for the
gallant services of
Lieut. Henry Edmund Baines,
Royal Artillery,
whose death was occasioned by his noble
efforts to arrest the progress
of the calamitous fire
which, on the 14th Oct., 1866
destroyed a large portion of the city.
Born at Shrewsbury, England, April 4, 1840
Died at Quebec Oct. 27, 1866

Surmounting the epitaph is the coat of arms of the Royal Artillery, chiselled out of the solid block by the hands of a finished artist, with the motto of the regiment in a scroll underneath—"Quo fas et gloria ducunt' The erection of this, monument to the memory of the brave but unfortunate young officer is a noble tribute of gratitude on the part of our citizens, and in entrusting its execution to our talented fellow-townsman, Mr. Morgan, the committee has shown a wise, discretion that makes the completion of their task one upon which they may heartily congratulate themselves.