Friday, 5th.—All is perfectly calm, and gladness and increase of beauty are spread over the newly-renovated field and forest. "What a delicious spot is this same St. Helen's!"
Such, involuntarily, was my exclamation as I this morning thrust aside the jalousies from my open window, and felt the pure air rush within my little chamber, and saw the sunbeams dancing down the passing rapid, and flashing from the bright roofs and spires of the more distant city. One might have fancied the tales of El Dorado realized, and that the precious metals were here devoted to cover the humblest dwellings.
I should like greatly to have a history of this sweet spot since the first bold savage braved in his canoe the perilous rapid, and found security beneath the shadow of these spreading trees.
In the winter, by the way, the passage is simple enough,—a natural high road of ice unites it to Montreal; and last season, my friends inform me, they drove their light carioles over a finer way than Mac Adam ever dreamed of, for full thirteen weeks.
Independent of the garrison, the population of St. Helen's is limited to three or four families in the civil employ of the government, together with the holder of a fine farm, a scion of the Green Isle, who bears the unquestionable name of Mister Dolan; a man of little labour but much Latin, whose humanities are at his finger-ends whilst his toes are out of his brogues.
In right of a small rental paid to government, this worthy carefully superintends the dilapidations performing by time and the climate upon the neat cottage, and a couple of rustic pavilions erected by the taste of Lady Dalhousie whilst her lord commanded here, together with an inclosed garden, which would, if decently cultivated, supply Montreal with fruit and vegetables, all of which, under the inspection of my friend Mister Dolan, is fast retrograding into its primitive condition.
I this morning, at eleven, met my company at the theatre, a very neat one; and, what with those already mustered, together with a windfall just landed from Waterford, in the shape of a pretty woman and her husband, in search of an engagement, I fancy my friend B——y and I may manage to get up one night's fun for Montreal, though, for my own part, I would rather idle than play.
Same night acted a couple of interludes to a full house, and an exceedingly merry-humoured one; although the only really good thing was the orchestra, composed of the excellent band of the 32nd regiment, which had been kindly placed by the commanding officer at the disposal of "the Lessee."
At a late hour took to the skiff for our quiet retreat, which rose, in this time of moonlight, above the shining waters like some fairy garden resting on a bed of mother-of-pearl. We sung Moore's Boat-song, and not a sound except the appropriate soft plash of the oars came between us and the echo that faintly repeated our chorus.