Champlain street stretches nearly to Cap Rouge, a distance of six miles. During the winter the fall of an avalanche from the brow of the Cape on the houses beneath is a not unfrequent occurrence. In former years, in the good time of ship-building, the laying the keel of a large vessel in the ship-yards often brought joy to the hearts of the poor ship-carpenters; many of whose white, snug cottages are grouped along the river near by.
Except during the summer months, when the crews of the ships, taking in cargo alongside the booms, sing, fight and dance in the adjacent "shebeens," the year glides on peacefully. On grand, on gala days, in election times, some of the sons of St. Patrick used to perambulate the historical street, flourishing treenails, or shillaleghs—in order to preserve the peace!!! of course. To sum up all, Champlain street has an aspect altogether sui generis.
A QUEBEC PORTRAIT
(From the ATLANTIC MONTHLY.)
"Physical size and grand proportions are looked upon by the French- Canadians with great respect. In all the cases of popular émeutes that have from time to time broken out in Lower Canada, the fighting leaders of the people were exceptional men, standing head and shoulders over their confiding followers. Where gangs of raftsmen congregate, their 'captains' may be known by superior stature. The doings of their 'big men' are treasured by the French-Canadians in traditionary lore. One famous fellow of this governing class is known by his deeds and words to every lumberer and stevedore and timber- tower about Montreal and Quebec. This man, whose name was Joe Monfaron, was the bully of the Ottawa raftsmen. He was about six feet six inches high, and proportionally broad and deep; and I remember how people would turn round to look after him, as he came pounding along Notre Dame street, in Montreal, in his red shirt and tan-colored shupac boots, all dripping wet, after mooring an acre or two of raft, and now bent for his ashore haunts in the Ste. Marie suburb, to indemnify himself with bacchanalian and other consolations for long- endured hardship. Among other feats of strength attributed to him, I remember the following, which has an old, familiar taste, but was related to me as a fact:
"There was a fighting stevedore or timber-tower, I forget which, at Quebec, who had never seen Joe Monfaron, as the latter seldom came farther down the river than Montreal. This fighting character, however, made a custom of laughing to scorn all the rumors that came down on rafts, every now and then, about terrible chastisements inflicted by Joe upon several hostile persons at once. He, the fighting timber-tower, hadn't found his match yet about the lumber coves at Quebec, and he only wanted to see Joe Monfaron once, when he would settle the question as to the championship of rafts, on sight. One day a giant in a red shirt stood suddenly before him, saying—
"'You're Dick Dempsey, eh?'
"'That's me.' replied the timber-tower, 'and who are you?'
"'Joe Monfaron. I heard you wanted me—here I am,' was the Caesarean answer of the great captain of rafts.
"'Ah! you're Joe Monfaron!" said the bully, a little staggered at the sort of customer he saw before him. 'I said I'd like to see you, for sure, but how am I to know you're the right man?'