A strong defensive position, on the right bank of the River Jacques
Cartier, about 30 miles above Quebec.—Acquired by purchase from the
Seignior, 26th June, 1818.
THE ENVIRONS OF QUEBEC.
INTRODUCTION.
"Oh give me a home where the maple and pine
Around the wild heights so majestically twine;
Oh give me a home where the blue wave rolls free
From thy bosom, Superior, down to the sea."
"Could you not write the history of 'Our Parish,' and also sketch briefly our country seats, marking out the spots connected with historical events?" Thus discoursed one day to us, in her blandest tones, a fair denizen of Sillery. There was a poser for a galant homme; a crusher for the first littérateur of … the parish. In vain did we allege we were not a "Christopher North," but a mere retiring "antiquaire"—a lover of books, birds, flowers, &c. The innate civility of a Frenchman elicited from us an unreflective affirmative reply. Thus, compassionate reader, was entrapped, caught and committed the first littérateur of Sillery—irrevocably handed over to the tender mercies of all the critics, present and future, in and out of the parish. Oh, my friends, what a crunching up of literary bones in store! what an ample repast was thus prepared for all the reviewers—the Jeffreys and LaHarpes—in and out of the parish, should the luckless littérateur fail to assign fairy scenery—important historical events—great battles, not only to each renowned spot, but even to the merest potato-patch, turnip-ground or cabbage-garden within our corporate limits? Yes, tremble for him.
Joking apart, is there not a formidable difficulty besetting our path—the insipidity and monotony inseparable from the necessity which will devolve on us of having constantly to discover new beauties in spots identical in their main features; and should we, in order to vary the theme, mix up the humorous with the rural, the historical, or the antiquarian style, may not fun and humour be mistaken for satire—a complimentary notice for flattery, above all others, a thing abhorrent to our nature? But 'tis vain to argue. That fatal "yes" has been uttered, and no true knight goes back from his plighted word. There being no help, we devoutly commend our case to St. Columba, St. Joseph, and the archangel St. Michel, the patrons of our parish, and set to our task, determined to assume a wide margin, draw heavily on history, and season the whole with short anecdotes and glimpses of domestic life, calculated to light up the past and present.
O critic, who would fain seek in "Our Parish"—in our homes—great architectural excellence, we beseech you to pause! for the majority of them no such pretension is set up. Nowhere, indeed, on our soil are to be found ivied ruins, dating back to doomsday book, moated castle, or mediaeval tower. We have no Blenheims, no Walton Halls, nor Chatsworths, nor Woburn abbeys, nor Arundel castles, to illustrate every style of architectural beauty, rural embellishment, and landscape. A Dainpierre, a Rochecotte, a LaGaudinière, may suit old France: they would be lost in New France. Canadian cottages, the best of them, are not the stately country homes of
"Old pheasant-lords,
… Partridge-breeders of a thousand years,"
typifying the accumulated wealth of centuries or patrician pride; nor are they the gay châteaux of La Belle France. In the Canada of the past, we could—in many instances we had to—do without the architect's skill; nature having been lavish to us in her decorations, art could be dispensed with. Our country dwellings possess attractions of a higher class, yea, of a nobler order, than brick and mortar moulded by the genius of man can impart. A kind Providence has surrounded them in spring, summer and autumn with scenery often denied to the turreted castle of the proudest nobleman in Old England. Those around Quebec are more particularly hallowed by associations destined to remain ever memorable amongst the inhabitants of the soil.
Some of our larger estates, like Belmont (comprising 450 acres,) date back more than two centuries, whilst others, though less ancient, retrace vividly events glorious in the same degree to the two races, who, after having fought stoutly for the mastery, at last hung out the olive branch and united long since, willing partners, in the bonds of a common nationality, neither English nor French, though participating largely of both, and have linked their destinies together as Canadians. Every traveller in Canada, from Baron La Hontan, who "preferred the forests of Canada to the Pyrénées of France," to the Hon. Amelia Murray, Charlevoix, LaGalissonière, Peter Kalm, Isaac Weld, John Lambert, Heriot, Silliman, Dickens, Lever, Ampère, Marmier, Rameau, Augustus Sala, have united in pronouncing our Quebec landscape so wild, so majestic, and withal so captivating, as to vie in beauty with the most picturesque portions of the Old or the New World.