Old Memories: Amusing and Historical

by Mrs. Daniel MacPherson

Entering the ladies' parlor in the evening you feel almost that you are in a private house. A bright fire burns in an open grate. Some fair lady is employing her talents at the piano in your service, and you enjoy some really good music, when one of the ladies asks are you to have a little dance or a small game of cards—the first at once, the latter when we are tired. After a short time small tables are brought in, the guests group into little coteries, each one retires when he will, after enjoying all the comforts of a home with the liberty of an hotel.

I must not forget to state that at the village, about a mile from the hotel, is a Roman Catholic Church and fine Ursuline Convent, a delightful boarding school for young ladies, who enjoy boating every day and pleasant little trips to an island now belonging to the Nuns. There is also a telegraph in the hotel, and any amount of vehicles and horses and boats for visitors—also cheaper boarding houses in the village for those who require them.

During the few days I stayed there, one or two funny incidents occurred. On one occasion I had an old man to drive me, when I said, "I hope it will not rain before we get home." "I hope it won't, indeed," he said, "I am not dry yet since yesterday." "How is that?" I asked. Said he: "I was out with that party from the hotel who when out fishing were so drenched, and the storm being so great I stayed by the hotel kitchen fire instead of going home to change; but, madame," as a sudden thought struck him, "you live at the hotel, is there a doctor living there?" Having been there only a few hours, I did not know, but inquired why he asked. "The fact is, I hear that when people come from Louisiana or Paris, a party of ten always brings a doctor with them" (a party recently arrived just numbering ten), "and hearing that I had a son ill, one gentleman said if I would take him to see my son or bring my son to him, he would try and cure him." "Well," I asked, "have you done so?" "But no," he said, "he is English." (I spoke in French and he thought I was a French Canadian.) "What difference would that make?" "Why, madame, do you think the English know anything?" "Well," I said, "perhaps a little; you might try the doctor." At the same time I was quite prepared to hear that he was a victim of some practical joke from his statement that every ten persons coming from Louisiana or Paris brought a doctor with them; I little expected the dénouement. "Oh! my son would not see him at all. He said, 'father, do you wish me to die at once?' But, madame, I would not have minded taking him to the doctor myself. You don't think that even though English he would have given him something to kill him at once?" "Oh! no," I answered, "I am sure he would not do that." But my story does not end here. On entering the parlor, where several were seated, I addressed a peculiarly pleasant lady near me, and began to narrate for their benefit my conversation with the old driver, when I noticed my hearer give a kind of warning glance: and then she went off into a merry peal of laughter as the door opened and a gentleman popped in his head. "Come here, my dear, learn a lesson of humility. This, my dear lady, is my husband, Dr. Lovely" (I have learned since that he is one of the most well-known of American physicians); "he is the Englishman, who can't know anything."

The doctor, who enjoyed the joke, engaged the same driver next day to have his fun as much as anything. After a good deal of skirmishing, he elicited all from the old coachman, who, however, said, though English, if Dr. L—— was a Roman Catholic, he might induce his son to trust him, as he believed that the little bottles he showed him really contained des remèdes. I know that the doctor explained to him that, though not a Roman Catholic, he attended nearly all the members of that denomination in the United States, and there was some kind of negotiation going on when I left. They may have come to terms, and the boy cured, despite himself. Perhaps this poor old chap, living for many years utterly isolated from civilization, might have the same horror of Les terribles Anglais that the English peasantry had of Napoleon the First, who, when children were refractory, were threatened to be given to 'Bonaparte. And, now, as some of our English people may be hard on this old French-Canadian, I must tell you that the clergyman's wife, attached to some very prominent hospital in one of the large cities of the United States, said they came across sometimes very odd cases, and instanced that of a patient coming to the hospital, and, being ordered to take a bath, said he had never taken a bath in his life, and must go home and consult his wife. He went and never returned!!! This, in one of the largest cities of America. So don't too much despise the old backwoodsman's prejudice. As Mrs. Lovely most kindly invited me to pay her a visit, I may yet tell you more about this very true tale.

ST. LEON SPRINGS.

It is fully fifty years ago since my father took me to Three Rivers en route for St. Leon Springs. We were most hospitably received by Mr. Lajoie (father of the present dry goods merchant of Three Rivers), and his good lady, and Mr. Faucher de St. Maurice, father of the present gentleman of the same name. Of the party were, I think, Mr. Gingras, whose son, brother-in-law of Mr. Dorion, recently deceased, was the first I think to establish the reputation of these waters. After a sumptuous repast at Mr. Lajoie's, we were driven to St. Leon Springs, and this us what I remember of it then: a steep sandy hill, up which was walking a pale, thin young lady, whom my father pointed out to me as Miss G——; that lady has been in bed seven years, you see her walking now; whether the cure was permanent or not I have no means of ascertaining, but Mr. Campbell, late proprietor of St. Leon Springs, told me only two weeks since that he remembered Miss G—— perfectly. Mr. Campbell further told me since that his father had noticed the cattle drinking at this spring, and finding it had a peculiar taste, had it analyzed, and gave to the public this boon for the afflicted, and health-preserving drink for the sick. We had tea that day at the Springs on a deal table, without table-cloth, seated on wooden benches, while carpenters were putting the roof on a large building we sat in. I presume this was the first hotel, rather a contrast to that of the present day, which is yearly crowded with an increased number of fashionable visitors from all parts of the Dominion, in search of health or amusement. This hotel has been very lately enlarged and fitted up with every modern convenience. Parties leaving Montreal by the Canadian Pacific Railroad, and getting off at Louiseville, will find vehicles waiting to take them to St. Leon Springs.

This lady just alluded to, Miss G——, was one of those peculiar patients one hears of in a lifetime, and, as all her near relatives are dead and few will recognize the initial, I will inform my readers that Dr. A——, one of my father's physicians (now deceased), told me that she was afflicted with a kind of fit—cataleptic, I think, they called it—when she fell into a state so closely resembling death that two of Quebec's most prominent medical men were about to perform a post-mortem examination on her, when the slight quiver of an eyelid proved her still alive, and on her recovering she told them that, though unable to make the slightest motion, she had heard and seen all that had passed, and Dr. A—— was exceedingly indignant that such a subject should have been sent to him as an ordinary patient, as the same thing might have occurred again. He was, if I mistake not, then residing in Halifax and he told me that all the instructions he received were to provide a suitable lodging for a nervous patient, who could afford to pay well for a quiet private residence. Accordingly, Dr. A—— persuaded a well-to-do Scotch farmer to take her as a boarder. For a time all went well, though she would go off into a sort of trance, when she lay apparently dead for perhaps three days and returned to consciousness, often cognizant of what had occurred during her semi-deathlike state. But on one occasion her second sight, if you can so term it, was so great, she terrified the old people so, they begged the doctor to remove her, saying she was no canny. The facts were these:—On one occasion Miss G—— fell into her cataleptic state, and the doctor not expecting her to revive before a certain time, said he would not call till the following Thursday. But on the Tuesday, receiving a summons from a very old patient, twenty miles distant, he decided on calling on her en route. The weather being rainy, he asked for a covered vehicle, and the only one procurable was a shabby, very old-fashioned waggon. In the meantime, Miss G—— awoke from her trance, and said, "the doctor is coming." "No," said the mistress of the house; "he is not coming till Thursday." "He is coming now," said Miss G——, "he is at the red gate" (a gate some distance from the back of the house, and too far for any sound to reach)—"what a funny carriage he has." When he really drove up in this queer-looking vehicle, the landlady was so scared, she uttered that exclamation, "she is no canny," and insisted that board should be taken elsewhere. I offer no explanation—let the savants do that—I only narrate facts I vouch for.

MY SECOND VISIT TO ST. LEON SPRINGS.

Going by the Canadian Pacific Railroad to Louiseville, we took a trap awaiting at the station, and, after a drive over a rather pretty country road, arrived at St. Leon Springs. Alas! the season was over, only Mr. Thomas and his son, and Mr. Langlois, were there, and a few servants. Nevertheless, we saw enough to convince us what a delightful health resort this must be in summer. When I say health resort, I do not mean pleasure resort, though there is plenty of amusement for reasonable people, who would find pleasant companionship, dancing, music, drives, croquet, lawn-tennis sufficient for summer heat; but, we speak now of St. Leon Springs as a retreat for the really ill or convalescent, and as such it must simply be perfection. A large hotel, nicely kept, numerous bath-rooms, all fitted up with an abundant supply of St. Leon water for bathing, excellent meals, well-cooked and nicely served, as we saw even during our brief and unexpected stay (I have never eaten such perfect home-made bread as there), with the drinking of these health-giving waters, must surely be of incalculable benefit. Twitting Mr. Langlois on the supposition that perhaps in cities the St. Leon water is in part manufactured, Mr. Langlois told us a funny incident. He said, I think it was in Toronto, he overheard some one saying, as his trucks came in loaded with barrels: "I wonder how much of this is manufactured?" On the impulse of the moment, Mr. L—— gave a hint to the carters to dump the casks on the pavement instead of taking them through the yard.

As anticipated, a policeman came up and remonstrated on impeding the sidewalk. Soon a crowd gathered. Just what Mr. L—— desired. When spoken to, he said: "Of course, it was an oversight, the water should have been taken into the yard; but as it was there, he would like to prove to the people assembled how genuine was the water, by tapping several barrels, and, igniting with a match the gas, said: "My friends, can any of you manufacture gas in water to burn like this?" Mr. L—— is not by any means a man you would credit with being a religious enthusiast; but I will never forget the solemnity of the act, as, raising his hand towards Heaven, he uttered these words: "He who made these waters can alone make the gas."