the records of private friendship must remain inviolate.
The main portion of the “Mansion House,” at Montmorenci, is just as he left it. The room in which he used to write is yet shown; a table and chair–part of his furniture–are to this day religiously preserved. The lodge is now the residence of the heirs of the late G. B Hall, Esquire, the proprietors of the extensive saw mills at the foot of the falls.
_THE DUKE OF KENT, THE QUEEN’S FATHER, AT QUEBEC, 1791-4._
Of the numerous sons of King George III., none, perhaps, were born with more generous impulses, none certainly more manly–none more true in their attachments, and still none more maligned neglected–traduced than he, who, as a jolly Colonel of Fusileers spent some pleasant years of his life at Quebec from 1791 to ’94, Edward Augustus, father of our virtuous and beloved Sovereign.
We wish to be understood at the outset. It is not our intention here to write a panegyric on a royal Duke; like his brothers, York and Clarence–the pleasure-loving, he, too, had his foibles; he was not an anchorite by any means. His stern, Spartan idea of discipline may have been overstretched, and blind adherence to routine in his daily habits may have justly invited the lash of ridicule. What is pretended here, and that, without fear of contradiction, is that his faults, which were those of a man, were loudly proclaimed, while his spirit of justice, of benevolence and generosity was unknown, unrecognized, except by a few. No stronger record can be opposed to the traducers of the memory of Edward, Duke of Kent, than his voluminous correspondence with Col. DeSalaberry and brothers, from 1791 to 1815–recently, through the kindness of the DeSalaberry family, laid before the public by the late Dr. W. J. Anderson, of Quebec.
The Duke had not been lucky in the way of biographers. The Rev. Erskine Neale, who wrote his life, is less a biographer than a panegyrist, and his book, if, instead of much fulsome praise, it contained a fuller account–especially of the early career of his hero–of the Duke’s sayings and doings in Gibraltar, Quebec and Halifax, it would certainly prove more valuable, much more complete.
Singularly enough, Neale, disposes in about three lines, of the years the Duke spent in Quebec, though, as proved by his correspondence, those years were anything but barren. Quebec, we contend, as exhibited in the Duke’s letters, ever retained a green spot in his souvenirs, in after life.
The Old Château balls, the Kent House in St. Lewis street, had for him their joyful sunshine, when, as a stalwart, dashing Colonel of Fusileers, aged 25, he had his _entrées_ in the fashionable drawing- rooms of 1791-4 Holland House, Powell Place (Spencer Wood, as it is now called), old Hale’s receptions, Lymburner’s soirees in his old mansion on Sault au Matelot street, then the fashionable quarter for wealthy merchants. The Duke’s cottage _orné_ at the Montmorenci Falls had also its joyous memories, but these were possibly too tender to be expatiated on in detail.
The Prince, it appears, was also present on an occasion of no ordinary moment to the colony that is when the King, his father, “granted a Lower Chamber to the two provinces in 1791.”
The only original source now available for inditing that portion of the Duke’s life spent in Quebec, is Neilson’s old _Quebec Gazette_, supplemented with divers old traditions, not always reliable.
Dr. Anderson’s compilation will certainly go far to dispel the atmosphere of misrepresentation floating around the character of Prince Edward, as he was familiarly styled when here during the past century. The character of the most humble individual, when casually mentioned in history, ought to be free from misrepresentation. Why this rule should not apply to the manly soldier who, in the streets of old Quebec in 1791, headed his gallant men wherever a riot, a fire, or a public calamity required their presence, is difficult to understand. No man was more popular in the city from the services he rendered when called on. One class, however, found in him an unrelenting disciplinarian–the refractory soldier attempting mutiny or desertion from the corps.
We are invited to these reflections from the fact that new light is now promised to us on this traduced commander, in the shape of what will no doubt be an attractive biography of Duke Edward from the pen of a London _littérateur_ of note, whose name we are not justified in giving at present. The following extract from a London letter, received this last mail by a gentleman of this city, who has succeeded in gathering together valuable materials for Canadian history, will prove what we now assert. It is addressed to Mr. LeMoine, late President of the Literary and Historical Society, whose sketch of the Prince’s career in 1791, as contained in the _Maple Leaves_ for 1865, seems to have obtained the full approbation of the distinguished _littérateur_ now engaged in writing the life of the Duke:
“SOUTH KENSINGTON, London, May 30, 1874.
DEAR SIR,–If my note on Miss Nevill’s incident [222] clears up any point hitherto obscure of Canadian life, use it by all means for your Canadian sketches. During my searches consequent to elucidate the Duke’s sojourn in Canada, many curious stories came under my eye, which have never, as I am aware, been yet published in Canadian histories, when the Prince was stationed at Quebec. The London pens were m the habit of publishing from time to time incidents of considerable interest bearing on forgotten periods of the early British Constitutional History of Canada–parliamentary. My intention is to note them in the life of H.R.H., as he was present when the King granted a lower Chamber to the two provinces in 1791. From this circumstance he based his firm adherence to a constitutional Government as the safest mode to ensure freedom to all parties interested therein. My work on the Duke of Kent would have been published ere this, but I am awaiting the correspondence promised me by Lord B—- addressed to Lord L—-, and that also to Sir H—- Douglas, formerly Lieutenant-Governor of —-. Your suggestion will not be lost sight of. _Maple Leaves_ have been fully culled for information concerning the Prince. Holland Farm and the Duke at Montmorenci give a correct picture of life in Quebec in 1791– information unknown to Rev. Mr. Neale in 1850.
If not too much trouble, could you let me know whether these works, of which I enclose a list, mention the Duke in Canada, for the British Museum does not possess these publications, which obliges me to seek information from such a person as yourself, who is versed in Canadian affairs. I am anxious to give a correct account of the Duke in Canada. This period of his life has escaped all the biographers of the Prince, Philippart and Neale, &c. If I should meet any striking incident relative to Canadian affairs, I shall forward it to your address.”– _From Quebec Morning Chronicle_.
_L’ASYLE CHAMPÊTRE._
Founded by Joseph Francois Perrault, the pioneer of lay education in the Province of Quebec.
“In these days of ambitious, showy villas and grand mansions, whose lofty and imposing proportions, elaborate architectural ornaments, conspicuous verandahs and prominent sites are all designed, not only to gratify the taste and pride of their owners, but to impress with wonder and admiration the ordinary observer, it may be interesting to give a description of Mr. Perrault’s residence, a fair specimen of a comfortable and well ordered dwelling of the olden time. My object, in describing it, is to convey to the present generation some idea of the taste and domestic architecture of our ancestors, especially to those who, in culture and social influence, might truly be regarded as representative men. For a similar purpose, I have thought of presenting such social pictures of the good old times, of his habits and practices, as marked his connection with his relatives and neighbors, and in this way an instructive lesson may be learned.
Mr. Perrault’s abode was a building of one storey, with attics in front and two in rear, in the style of the eighteenth century, on the north side of the St. Louis Road, on the spot known to historians as les buttes à nepveu, to-day, as Perrault’s Hill, upon which the residence of Mr. Henry Dinning now stands. As all students are aware, this is classic ground; here was fought the main struggles of the battles of the Plains of Abraham and of St. Foy; Murray’s troops having entrenched themselves here on the eve of the engagement with de Levis. A stone wall with an elegant railing divided the property from the main road, near which was a graceful little nestled summer house, overgrown with creepers and vines; through an avenue with flowery borders, between lines of lofty vases, filled with blooming plants, the visitor reached the house, which occupied the centre of a garden of four acres. Above the door, at the summit of a flight of steps, was inscribed in gilt letters, _Asyle Champêtre_. It was a double house with a conservatory at each end, the first erected in Canada, filled with exotic and native plants, at some distance on either side were miniature Norman turrets. Mr. Perrault had selected this favourable site for his residence, carefully noting all its advantages. The rays of the rising sun flashed through the front windows, cheering him in his morning labours, while as the day wore on, a flood of mellow light suffused the western portion of his chamber. From such vantage ground, Mr. Perrault, of an evening, could observe the movements of the heavenly bodies, the position of the planets and the various phenomena of the firmament; the study of which had great attractions for him, and created in his mind a gratitude to the great architect for all His vast works and beneficent care. On entering the visitor found himself in the reception room, of about twenty-four feet square, with a large bay window towards the north, and used as a drawing room and study. In whatever direction one looked, the view was attractive; to the south, the commanding heights of Point Levi, with the chasm between, where rolled by the great St. Lawrence; to the east, the picturesque island of Orleans, dividing the river into two channels, and the imposing old Citadel, or martial crown of the city on Cape Diamond; to the north, the meandering river in the beautiful valley of St. Charles, the heights of Charlesbourg and Lorette, the shore of Beauport, the faint trace of the _embouchure_ of the Montmorenci, and the grand Laurentian mountain range in the distance; and to the west, the battle fields of 1759 and 60, memorable for their heroic deeds and momentous results–views most charming, exquisite and impressive.
The front grounds were utilized as a model garden and orchard, in which every improvement in horticulture had been adopted and were laid out in plots and gravelled walks. In rear of the house was a miniature pond, enlivened by waterfowl and turtles, and whose banks were adorned with water plants and ferns, and receding thence were plateaux, covered with flowers of every description.
In addition to the picturesque appearance and commanding position of Mr. Perrault’s house, the internal arrangements of the apartments deserve notice, particularly as in them often met the leading men of Quebec, where they discussed the fluctuations of the public mind, benevolent enterprises and matters of general interest. The parlor in the _Asyle Champêtre_ was well known to the élite and leaders of society of that day; elegantly, but not luxuriously, furnished; the carpet was made of flax, sown and grown on the grounds adjoining his schools, and woven by the pupils; the walls were hung with valuable paintings and ornamented by objects of _virtû_ artistically arranged. From the centre descended a lustre of six candles; at the rear angles were large circular mirrors, one concave and the other convex, with lights on each side, reflecting every object in movement in the apartment. Two bronze statues, or candelabra, with lights, guarded either side of the hall door, in keeping with the surroundings; the hangings and furniture were in the style of Louis XIV., in which the colours harmoniously blended. On the left hand of this apartment was Mr. Perrault’s library, in which was a choice collection of Greek, Latin, English, French and Spanish works, on philosophy, history and _les belles lettres_. No one had a higher respect for the classics than he; the odes of Horace, the poems of Virgil and the orations of Cicero were as familiar to him as the best sermons of Bossuet or the tragedies of Racine. On the right was another room, with a piano and organ, to which the family devoted much attention, and lovers of music were certain of hearing there excellent performances and well-cultivated voices.
Those who bad the privilege of enjoying his hospitality on ordinary occasions, could never forget the hearty welcome of their whole-souled entertainer; and on two particular days, the first of January and the _fête de St. Joseph_, his patron saint, they had still better reason for its remembrance. These social gatherings were for months looked forward to as the events of the season, and for many a day subsequently they recalled most agreeable recollections. As was then the custom, the guests arrived early in the afternoon and took their departure at the unfashionable hour of nine, and in the interval engaged themselves in dancing, in games, in listening to brilliant executions on different musical instruments and the rich melody of well-trained voices, in ballad and song, clever repartees and intellectual conversation, while the supper table, laden with all the delicacies procurable, was a continual feast from the opening to the close of the entertainment. The guests were escorted down the avenue by their host and his family, and as he bade them good night, the shouts and merry laughter of the younger ones rang joyfully in the night air, startling the passers by with their frolicsome happiness.
Mr. Perrault’s table had a wide reputation, and although he never issued general invitations, it was rarely without two, or more, guests, for those who happened to be at the _Asyle_ at meal time were cordially invited to join in the family repast. From taste and habit, his board ever presented a tempting display; but, as regards himself, he was most abstemious, partaking sparingly and of but few dishes, while to his guests his hospitality was unbounded. His old cook sometimes found her task hard, or pretended to; and on one occasion, returning from confession, she remarked that she had said to M. le Curé, when he counselled patience and submission, “_je voudrais bien vous y voir_,” (I would like to see you in my place). Even in those days cooks were testy, for, when Mr. Perrault found fault with her, she would answer as impertinently as one could in these days: “_voulez-vous que je vous dise la vérité? Vous commencez à être dégoûté de ma cuisine_,” (Do you want me to tell you the truth? You are getting tired of my cooking). To the tried and impatient, the above incidents will cause them to ask themselves if there be any truth in the old saying: “God sent us food and the devil sent us cooks.”
A custom illustrative of the habits of that period, was the visit of relations on New Year’s morning. Old and young presented themselves at five o’clock and repaired in a file to Mr. Perrault’s bedroom to receive his blessing. He afterwards rose, dressed and made all happy by giving them suitable presents and paying graceful compliments. Later in the day was witnessed a still more interesting scene, when his pupils, of both sexes, and doubtless to their fullest number, arrived at his hospitable mansion to offer him their grateful acknowledgements of his kindness. A table, close by where he sat, in a large arm chair, was covered with piles of “horns of plenty,” filled with sweetmeats, and to each he presented one, with a small piece of silver; and these children, who needed more substantial gifts, had but to make their wants known and they were rarely refused.
On that day he also made calls immediately after Grand Mass, in the extremity of his politeness carrying his hat under his arm, regardless of the weather, with the _queue_ of his wig blown to and fro by the wind. His arrival, as a matter of coarse, caused a social stir, often recalled with pleasure by many afterwards.
_MARCHMONT._
“Oh! give me a home on that bold classic height, Where in sweet contemplation in age’s dark night, I may tread o’er the plain where as histories tell Britain’s stout-hearted Wolfe in his victory fell.”
Adjoining the expanse of table land, now known as the Plains of Abraham, and divided from it to the east by a high fence, lies with a southern exposure a level and well-cultivated farm–Marchmont– tastefully laid out some sixty summers ago by Sir John Harvey, next occupied for several years by Sir Thomas Noel Hill, subsequently owned by Hon. John Stewart, and for more than twenty years the residence of John Gilmour, Esquire, of the well-known Glasgow house of Pollock, Gilmour & Co. [223] To the west, Marchmont farm is bounded by Wolfesfield; to the south by the river heights, having a valuable timber cove (Wolfe’s cove) attached to it. The dwelling, a cheerful and sunny residence, decks a sloping lawn, not far from the high bank, embedded as it were in a clump of fir, ash, maple and pine trees, which conceal it from St. Lewis road, and afford, on the opposite side, a variety of charming glimpses of our noble estuary, the main artery of western commerce. A spacious and richly-stocked conservatory opens on the drawing-room to the west of the house. The embellishment was erected by the late John Gilmour, who also added a vinery.
In the summer months, visitors travelling past Marchmont cannot fail to notice the magnificent hawthorn hedge, interspersed here and there with young maple, which encloses it on the St. Lewis road.
Marchmont, even shorn of its historical memories, would much interest an observer who had an eye to agricultural pursuits carried to a high state of perfection. The outlines and arrangements for raising cattle, poultry, &c., are on a truly comprehensive scale.
Connected with Marchmont, there are incidents of the past, which will ever impress it on the mind of the visitor. A century back, over this same locality, the tide of battle surged for several hours when Wolfe’s army had ascended the cliff. No later than 1860, the crumbling bones of fallen warriors were discovered whilst laying the foundation of the flag-staff to the east of the house. They were buried again carefully under the same flagstaff–erected to salute the Prince of Wales when passing Marchmont. Let us hear one of the actors on that eventful September morning of 1759–Capt. John King:–
“Before day break,” says he, “this morning we made a descent upon the north shore, about half a mile to the eastward of Sillery; and the light troops were fortunately, by the rapidity of the current, carried lower down, between us and Cape Diamond. We had in this detachment thirty flat-bottomed boats, containing about 1600 men. This was a great surprise on the enemy, who, from the natural strength of the place, did not suspect, and consequently were not prepared against, so bold an attempt. The chain of sentries which they had posted along the summit of the heights, galled us a little and picked off several men (in the boat where I was one man was killed; one seaman, with four soldiers, were slightly, and two mortally wounded, and some officers), before our light infantry got up to dislodge them. This grand enterprise was conducted and executed with great good order and discretion; as fast as we landed the boats were put off for reinforcements, and the troops formed with much regularity; the General, with Brigadiers Monckton and Murray, were ashore with the first division. We lost no time, but clambered up one of the steepest precipices that can be conceived, being almost a perpendicular and of an incredible length; as soon as we gained the summit all was quiet, and not a shot was heard, owing to the excellent conduct of the infantry under Colonel Howe. It was by this time clear day-light. Here we formed again, the river and the south country in our rear, our right extending to the town, our left to Sillery, and halted a few moments. The general then detached the light troops to our left to rout the enemy from their battery, and to disable their guns, except they should be rendered serviceable to the party who were to remain there; and this service was soon performed. We then faced to the right and marched towards the town by files, till we came to the Plains of Abraham, an even piece of ground which Wolfe had made choice of, while we stood forming upon the hill. Weather showery; about six o’clock the enemy first made their appearance upon the heights, between us and the town; whereupon we halted and wheeled to the right, forming the line of battle.”
For some time past Marchmont has been occupied by Col. Ferdinand Turnbull, of the Q. O. Canadian Hussars.
_ANECDOTE OF WOLFE’S ARMY._
“After the conquest of Quebec, the troops had to make shift for quarters wherever they could find a habitable place; I myself made choice of a small house in the lane leading to the Esplanade, where Ginger the Gardner now lives (1828), and which had belonged to Paquet the schoolmaster–although it was scarcely habitable from the number of our shells that had fallen through it. However, as I had a small party of the company, I continued to get a number of little jobs done towards making it passably comfortable for the men, and for my own part I got Hector Munro, who was a joiner by trade, to knock up a kind of “cabinet” (as the Canadians called it) in one corner of the house for myself. We had a stove, but our Highlanders, who know no better, would not suffer the door to be closed, as they thought if they could not naturally _see_ the fire, it was impossible that they could _feel_ it. In this way they passed the whole of the winter; three or four would sit close up to the door of the stove, and when these were a little warmed, three or four others would relieve them, and so on. Some days they were almost frozen to death, or suffocated by the smoke, and to mend the matter they had nothing better than green wood!
I contrived somehow or other to procure six blankets, so that notwithstanding that I was almost frozen during the day, being the whole winter out on duty, superintending the party of our Highlanders, making fascines in the woods, still I passed the nights pretty comfortably. ‘Twas funny enough to see, every morning, the whole surface of the blankets covered with ice, from the heat of my breath and body. We wore our kilts the whole of this time, but there was no accident, as we were sheltered by the woods. I bought myself a pair of leather breeches, but I could not walk in them, so I laid them aside.
When the spring came round, the French again made their appearance on high ground between the town and Abraham’s Plains, and General Murray must needs march us out to fight them. At this time scarcely a man in the garrison but was afflicted with colds or coughs. The day fixed on orders was the 28th April, 1760, at seven in the morning, and cold and raw enough it was! Before the sortie I took a biscuit and, spread a bit of butter over it, and I set about ‘cranching’ it, and said to Hector Munro, for whom I had a great attachment: “You had better do as I am doing, for you cannot know when you may be able to get your next meal.” Hector answered, “I will not touch anything; I have already taken my last meal, for something tells me that I shall never require another meal in this world.” “Hout! man,” said I, “you are talking nonsense; take a biscuit, I tell you.” But no, Hector would have none! Well, the hour came for parading, and we were soon afterwards marched out of the garrison. It was my lot to act as covering sergeant to Lieutenant Fraser of our Grenadiers, who had already been wounded at the affair of the Falls, through the belly and out at his back, without his scarcely having felt it. (This Lieutenant Fraser was nephew to my friend Captain Baillie, who was the first man killed at the landing at Louisbourg, and who, had he lived, would have been the means of securing to me my commission, as had been the understanding between him and Colonel Fraser, when I volunteered in Scotland for service in America). Early in the action with the French, Lieut. Fraser received a shot in the temple, which felled him to the very spot on which he then stood, and as not an inch of ground was to be lost, I had to move up into line, which I could not have done without my resting one foot upon his body! The affair went altogether against us, and we had to retreat back into the town. When I got back to my quarters, I there found poor Hector Munro, who not being able to walk, had been carried in, owning to a wound he had received in the lower part of the belly, through which his bowels were coming out! He had his senses about him, and reminded me of our conversation just before the battle. He was taken to the Hôtel Dieu, where he died the next morning, in great agony. When I first saw the French soldiers I thought them a dirty, ragged set–their clothing was originally white. Many of them, particularly in the ‘Regiment de la Reine,’ had a bit of blue ribbon to the buttonhole of their coat, with a little white shell fixed to it, which they called ‘Papa,’ and this, it seems, was a mark of honour for having distinguished themselves on some former occasion. I, at first, mistook them for Freemasons! After the battle of the Plains of Abraham, on the 13th September, fifty- nine, when a great many of the French lay killed and wounded on the field (we killed seventy-two officers alone) it was horrid to see the effect of blood and dust on their white coats! They lay there as thick as a flock of sheep, and just as they had fallen, for the main body had been completely routed off the ground, and had not an opportunity of carrying away their dead and wounded men. I recollect to have lost a regimental coat by their means. There was no place about the town to put the wounded in, and they had to be carried down the bank to Wolfe’s cove, and from thence put into boats and taken across to the lower ferry-place at Point Levis, for the purpose of their being placed under the care of our surgeons at the church (St Joseph’s), which was converted into a temporary hospital. Our men had nothing better to carry them on than a handbarrow with canvass laid across it. By this means it required two of our men to carry one of them to the top of the hill at Point Levis.
The business going on very slowly, I at last got out of patience looking at them, so I set to work and took up a wounded man to my own share, and did not let him down at the top of the hill but landed him safe at the temporary hospital. By the time that we had done with them I was fatigued enough, and ‘afaith, I spoiled my red coat into the bargain!
The poor fellows would cry out lustily when they were in an uneasy position, but we could not understand a word of what they said. One of them had one of his cheeks lying flat down upon his shoulder, which he got by attempting to run away, though he had a Highlander at his heels. When the French gave themselves up quietly they had no harm done them, but faith! if they tried to outrun a Heelandman they stood but a bad chance, for whash went the broadsword!”–(_Related in August, 1828, as stated in the Diary of Volunteer Sergt. Jas. Thompson._)
_WOLFESFIELD_
“The hill they climb’d, and halted at its top, of more than mortal size.”
“The horror of the night, the precipice scaled by Wolfe the empire he with a handful of men added to England, and the glorious catastrophe of contentedly terminating life where his fame began… Ancient story may be ransacked, and ostentatious philosophy thrown into the account, before an episode can be found to rank with Wolfe’s.”–(_William Pitt._)
The successful landing at this spot of the English forces, who, in 1759, invaded Quebec, no less than its scenery, lends to Wolfesfield peculiar interest. Major, afterwards General, John Hale, later on conspicuous for gallantry during the long and trying siege of Quebec, in 1775-6, was one of the first men who, in 1759, put his foot on the heights in front of the locality where now stands the dwelling, having climbed up the hill by the _ruisseau St. Denis_, heading the flank Company of the Lascelles or 47th Regiment. General Wolfe made the main body of the army march up, Indian file, by a pathway which then existed where the high road is at present. At the head of this path may yet be seen the remains of the French entrenchments, occupied on that day by a militia guard of 100 men, chiefly Lorette militiamen, a portion of whom had that very night obtained leave to go and work on their farms, [224.] who fired at Major Hale’s party, and then, says an old manuscript, thinking they had to deal with the whole English army, they surrendered, with their officer, Capt. De Vergor, who, being wounded, could not escape, and exclaimed, “Sauvez vous.” This was shortly after midnight, and Wolfe, notwithstanding the grievous indisposition he was then labouring under, organized a plan to get up supplies and ammunition from the _bateaux_, this he had accomplished by four in the morning, when he drew up his men on Marchmont field. The sailors of the _bateaux_ were the men employed in carrying up the provisions and ammunition. Wolfe had grog served out to them as they reached, tired and panting, the top of the hill with their loads, using to each kind and encouraging words. The crowning success which followed is lengthily described elsewhere. The first house built at Wolfesfield was by Captain Kenelm Chandler, [225] David Munro, Esquire, was the next proprietor. The occupant for forty years was an old and respected Quebec merchant, well known as the “King of the Saguenay,” on account of the extensive mills he owned in that region–William Price, Esq., the respected father of a patriarchal family of sons and daughters. Mr. Price added much to the beauty of the place, which enjoys a most picturesque river view. In front of the dwelling there is a fine lawn, shaded by some old thorn and oak trees, with comfortable rustic seats close by the ravine St. Denis. This ravine is a favourite locality for botanizing excursionists. Wolfesfield, without being as extensive as some of the surrounding estates, is one of the most charming rural homes Quebec can boast of.
As these pages are going through the press, we clip from a Quebec journal the following tribute to the worth of our late excellent neighbour, Wm. Price, Esq., a son of the Laird of Wolfesfield:
_MONUMENT TO THE LATE WILLIAM PRICE, ESQ._
“A large and costly monument in granite is now in course of erection at Chicoutimi to the memory of the late Wm. Price. The people of Chicoutimi are erecting the monument as a token of their respect and admiration for the memory of their late representative in the Legislative Assembly of Quebec. The column will be fifty feet in height, and will, it is expected, be completed by the month of September next. Being placed upon an elevated site, it will be visible for many miles up and down the Saguenay river.”
_THE CAPTURE OF QUEBEC._
The following dramatic account of the capture of Quebec is taken from the fifth volume of Mr. Carlyle’s _Biography of Frederick the Great_:
“Above Quebec, night of September 12-13th, in profound silence, on the stream of the St. Lawrence, far away, a notable adventure is going on. Wolfe, from two points well above Quebec (‘as a last shift, we will try that way’), with about five thousand men, is silently descending in rafts, with purpose to climb the heights somewhere on this side of the city, and be in upon it, if Fate will. An enterprise of almost sublime nature; very great, if it can succeed. The cliffs all beset to his left hand; Montcalm, in person, guarding Quebec with his main strength.
Wolfe silently descends; mind made up; thoughts hushed quiet into one great thought; in the ripple of the perpetual waters, under the grim cliffs and the eternal stars. Conversing, with his people, he was heard to recite some passages of Gray’s _Elegy_, lately come out to those parts; of which, says an ear-witness, he expressed his admiration in an enthusiastic degree: ‘Ah, these are tones of the Eternal Melodies, are not they? A man might thank heaven had he such a gift; almost as we might for succeeding here, gentlemen!’
Next morning (Thursday, 13th September, 1759), Wolfe, with his 5.000, is found to have scrambled up some woody neck in the height, which was not quite precipitous; has trailed one cannon with him, the seamen busy bringing up another; and by ten of the clock, stands ranked (just somewhat in the Frederick way, though on a small scale); ready at all points for Montcalm, but refusing to be over-ready. Montcalm on first hearing of him, had made haste: _Oui, je les vois où ils ne doivent pas être; je vais les écraser_ (to smash them)!” said he, by way of keeping his people in heart. And he marches up beautifully skilful, neglecting none of his advantages. His numerous Canadian sharpshooters, preliminary Indians in the bushes, with a provoking fire. ‘Steady!’ orders Wolfe; ‘from you, not one shot till they are within thirty yards!’ And Montcalm, volleying and advancing, can get no response, more than from Druidic stones; till at thirty yards, the stones become vocal–and continued so at a dreadful rate; and in a space of seventeen minutes, have blown Montcalm’s regulars, and their second in command, and their third into ruin and destruction. In about seven minutes more the army was done ‘English falling on with bayonet, Highlanders with claymore’; fierce pursuit, rout total–and Quebec and Canada as good as finished. The thing is yet well known to every Englishman; and how Wolfe himself died in it, his beautiful death.”
_ELM GROVE._
Elm Grove, until recently owned, though not inhabited, by the Marquise de Bassano, will be familiar to many, from having been the residence during the summer of 1878, of His Holiness the Pope’s Apostolic Ablegate–Bishop Conroy.
This eminent prelate, prematurely struck down by death at Newfoundland, in the midst of his mission of peace and good will to all men spent many busy, let us hope pleasant, hours in this cool retreat.
The plantation of elms from which this seat takes its name, together with other trees, conceals the dwelling so entirely from the road, that unless by entering the grounds no idea can be formed of their beauty and extent; amidst the group of trees there is one of lordly dimensions, in the centre of the garden. The new dwelling at Elm Grove is a stately, substantial structure; its internal arrangement and heating apparatus, indicate comfort and that _bien-être_ for which Quebec homes are proverbial. A winding, well-wooded approach leads up to the house from the porter’s lodge and main road. From the upper windows an extensive view of Charlesbourg, Lorette, Beauport, Point Levi and surrounding parishes may be obtained.
Elm Grove, owned for many years by John Saxton Campbell, Esq., was purchased in 1856 by J. K. Boswell, Esq., who resided there for nearly twenty years. John Burstall, Esquire, late of Kirk Ella, has within a few months acquired it from Madame la Marquise de Bassano, and it bids fair ere long to take its place among the first and best kept country seats in the environs of the city.
_THORNHILL._
“…..let us pierce into the midnight depth Of yonder grove, of wildest, largest growth, That, forming high in air a woodland quire, Nods o’er the mount beneath”
There is a peculiar feature noticeable about Quebec country seats which speaks volumes for their attractiveness as healthy and pleasant retreats; not only have they been at all times sought after by wealthy and permanent residents, Canadian born, but also by men of European birth, holding for the time being the highest position in the country, both under the French and under the English monarchs. Thus the celebrated Intendant Talon was the first owner of Belmont; Intendant Bigot had his luxurious château at Charlesbourg; Attorney General Ruette D’Auteuil used, near two centuries back, to spend his summer months at Sillery, where, later on, Bishop Dosquet, a French ecclesiastic, had his pretty villa at Samos (Woodfield). Vaudreuil was also a Canadian land-owner. Later on Governor Murray purchased extensively on the St. Foy road, amongst others, Belmont and the “Sans Bruit” farm, Governor Haldimand must have his lodge at Montmorenci Falls, subsequently occupied by the father of our august Queen; Hector Theophilus Cramahé (afterwards Lieut.-Governor), in 1762, had his estate– some 500 acres of cornfield and meadows–at Cap Rouge, now Meadowbank, owned by Lt.-Col. Chs. Andrew Shears. The Prime Minister of Canada, in 1854, and a late Governor of British Guiana, Sir Francis Hincks, following in the footsteps of Sir Dominick Daly, must needs locate himself on the St. Lewis road, and in order to be close to his chief, the late Earl of Elgin, then residing at Spencer Wood, the Premier selected and purchased Thornhill, across the road, one of the most picturesque country seats in the neighbourhood. You barely, as you pass, catch a glimpse of its outlines as it rests under tall, cone-like firs on the summit of a hillock, to which access is had through a handsomely laid out circuitous approach between two hills. An extensive fruit and vegetable garden lies to the east of the house; a hawthorn hedge dotted here and there with some graceful young maple and birch trees, fringes the roadside; a thorn shrubbery of luxuriant growth encircles the plantation of evergreens along the side of the mound which slopes down to the road, furnishing a splendid croquet lawn. One of the chief beauties of the landscape is the occasional glimpses of the Grande Allée and Spencer Wood, obtained from the house. The dwelling was erected many years ago by Alexander Simpson, Esq., then Manager of the Bank of Montreal, at Quebec. Forming a portion of it to the west, and looking towards Charlesbourg, there is a snug English-looking little nest, “Woodside,” with the prettiest of thorn and willow hedges. Thornhill has exchanged hands, and been for many years the seat of Archibald Campbell, Esq., P.S.C., at Quebec.
_SPENCER WOOD._
On the South side of the St. Louis road, past Wolfe and Montcalm’s famed battle-field, two miles from the city walls, lies, embowered in verdure, the most picturesque domain of Sillery–one might say of Canada–Spencer Wood. [226]
This Celebrated Vice-Regal Lodge was (1780-96) known as Powell Place, when owned by General Henry Watson Powell. It took its name of Spencer Wood from the Right Honorable Spencer Perceval, [227] the illustrious relative of the Hon. Henry Michael Perceval, whose family possessed it from 1815 to 1833, when it was sold to the late Henry Atkinson, Esquire, an eminent and wealthy Quebec merchant. Hon. Mr. Perceval, member of the Executive and Legislative Council, had been H. M.’s Collector of Customs at Quebec for many years, and until his death which took place at sea, 12th October, 1829. The Percevals lived for many years in affluence in this sylvan retreat. Of their elegant receptions Quebecers still cherish pleasant reminiscences. Like several villas of England and France, Spencer Wood had its periods of splendor alternated by days of loneliness and neglect, short though they were. Spencer Wood, until 1849, comprised the adjoining property of Spencer Grange. Mr. Atkinson that year sold the largest half of his country seat–Spencer Wood–to the Government, as a gubernatorial residence for the hospitable and genial Earl of Elgin, reserving the smaller half (now owned by the writer), on which he built conservatories, vineries, a pinery, orchid house, &c., far more extensive than those of Spencer Wood proper. Though the place was renowned for its magnificence and princely hospitality in the days of Lord Elgin, there are amongst the living plenty to testify to the fact that the lawns, walks, gardens, and conservatories were never kept up with the same intelligent taste and lavish expenditure as they were during the sixteen years (1833-1849) when this country seat owned for its master Mr. Atkinson.
_THE LATE HONORABLE MRS. M. H. PERCEVAL. FORMERLY OF SPENCER WOOD, QUEBEC._
Through the kindness of Mrs. Peter Sheppard, of Quebec, we are enabled to furnish some further particulars touching the estimable and accomplished lady who, during the protracted sojourn of her family at Spencer Wood, seems to have won the hearts of all those admitted to her charmed circle some fifty years ago. Mrs. Sheppard [228] not only renders to the worth of her lamented friend a merited tribute, she also furnishes a curious page of Quebec history, Quebec festivities in the olden times, which may interest our readers. “The Honorable Michael H. Perceval was closely connected with the Earl of Egmont’s family, who were Percevals. The “Spencer” was borrowed from the Earl’s eldest son “Spencer;” the name was given to their beautiful domain purchased from old LeHoullier about 1815, as well as to their eldest son, Col. (now Major General) Spencer Perceval, who was here in garrison in 1840, in the Coldstream Guards, as well as his uncle, Col. Perceval, also serving in the Guards. When a girl in my teens, many happy days did I spend in the Perceval family, who were as passionately fond of music, as I then was. They had “at homes” every Monday, one week for dancing, the next for music, (the latter I never missed attending, to play on the harp,) they had also grand dinners _de cérémonie_. Amongst the _habitués_ I can yet recall some names; Hon. Mathew Bell and lady; (Mrs. B. was a Miss McKenzie, of Three Rivers,) Miss Bell (Mrs. Walker,) Sir John Pownal, the Montizamberts, Judge Kerr and Misses Kerr, Miss Uniacke, the Duchesnays, the Vanfelsons, De Gaspés, Babys and others. (I may be wrong in quoting some names after half a century.)
Mr. Perceval, was a member of the Legislative Council, as well as Collector of Customs, an imperial appointment which yielded him £8000 in fees per annum. English and French society were equally welcome under his hospitable roof. His beautiful and accomplished wife, was the eldest daughter of Sir Charles Flower, Lord Mayor of London, in 1809–had filled the position of Lady Mayoress, when 18 years of age, her father being a widower; she brought her husband £40,000 and subsequently inherited £100,000. She was eminently fitted to grace Spencer Wood–her beauty, her refined and cordial manners made her receptions eminently attractive. Her education was perfect, she was mistress of four languages, English, French, Italian and Latin, which studies she took great trouble in keeping up and which she herself taught to her children, ten in number, besides teaching them the piano, the harp and drawing. Instead of fancy work the young ladies were taught to repair their clothes and do plain sewing; this did not prevent them from making most brilliant matches. The family left Spencer Wood in 1828, to spend a year in Italy, at Florence, intending to return, but the Hon. M. H. Perceval, died at sea on the 12th Oct., 1829, and the family never returned.
The daughters married as follows: the eldest, Eliza, was wedded to Sir George Denys, Bart.; the second, Caroline, to Col. Alexander Houstoun, of Clerkington; the third, Isabella, to a wealthy French nobleman, Baron de Veauce; the fourth, Mary Jane, to Sir James Matheson, Bart.; the fifth died at the age of 18. The eldest son [229] “Spencer” is a General officer. There were several other sons; George Ramsay, who entered the army, Michael Henry and Col. Charles Perceval.
I can recall the time also when Lady Dalhousie and Mrs. Sheppard, of Woodfield, would come to Spencer Wood, in their botanizing excursions. Spencer Wood, later on, was also a favorite resort of Lady Aylmer, in 1832, whilst at an earlier period, the Duke of Richmond’s family, in 1818, used to come and ramble about the grounds, lunching there with all the junior folks.
This charming and beloved lady, my old friend, Ann Perceval, died at Lewes Castle, Stornaway. Scotland, the seat of her son in law, Sir James Matheson, on the 23rd Nov., 1876, most deservedly regretted, at the very advanced age of eighty-seven years.”–24 January, 1877.
Spencer Wood garden is described in London’s _Encyclopedia of Gardening_, page 341, and also in the _Gardener’s Magazine_ for 1837, at page 467. Its ornate style of culture, which made it a show-place for all strangers visiting Quebec, was mainly due to the scientific and tasty arrangements of an eminent landscape gardener, M. P. Lowe, [230] now in charge of the Cataraqui conservatories.
Well can we recall the time when this lordly demesne extended from Wolfefield, adjoining Marchmont, to the meandering Belle-Borne brook, which glides past the porter’s lodge at Woodfield, due west, the historic stream _Ruisseau Saint Denis_, up which clambered the British hero, Wolfe, to conquer or die, intersecting it at Thornhill. It was then a splendid old seat of more than one hundred acres, a fit residence for the proudest nobleman England might send us as Viceroy–enclosed east and west between two streamlets, hidden from the highway by a dense growth of oak, maple, dark pines and firs–the forest primeval–letting in here and there the light of heaven on its labyrinthine avenues; a most striking landscape, blending the sombre verdure of its hoary trees with the soft tints of its velvety sloping lawn, fit for a ducal palace. An elfish plot of a flower garden, alas! how much dwarfed, then stood in rear of the dwelling to the north, it once enjoyed the privilege of attracting many eyes. It had also an extensive and well-kept fruit and vegetable garden, enlivened with flower beds, the centre of which was adorned with the loveliest possible circular fount in white marble, supplied with the crystal element from the Belle-Borne rill by a hidden aqueduct; conservatories, graperies, peach and forcing houses, pavilions picturesquely hung over the yawning precipice on two headlands, one looking towards Sillery, the other towards the Island of Orleans, the scene of many a cosy tea-party; bowers, rustic chairs _perdues_ among the groves, a superb bowling green and archery grounds. The mansion itself contained an exquisite collection of paintings from old masters, a well- selected library of rare and standard works, illuminated Roman missals, rich portfolios with curious etchings, marble busts, quaint statuettes, medals and medallions, _objets de vertu_ purchased by the millionaire proprietor during a four years’ residence in Italy, France and Germany. Such we remember Spencer Wood in its palmiest days, when it was the ornate home of a man of taste, the late Henry Atkinson, Esquire, the President of the Horticultural Society of Quebec.
May I be pardoned, for lingering lovingly on this old spot, recalling “childhood scenes” of one dear to me and mine!
The following, written by a valued old friend of Mr. Atkinson, is dated Brighton, England:
On a sketch of Spencer Wood sent to the writer (Miss A.), with her album, Oct. 18, 1848.
Dear Spencer Wood! What a group of pleasing remembrances are clustered around me as I gaze upon this visible image and type of thee. Thy classic lawn, with its antiquated oaks and solemn pines; thy wood- crowned cliffs and promontories, with the sparkling sunlight reflected on a thousand sheaves from the broad surface of Jacques Cartier’s river, hundreds of feet below. And then the quiet repose of thy ample mansion, with its stores of art and models of taste within and without; thy forest shades, thy gardens, thy flowers and thy fruit. But most of all, thy gay and happy inmates, their glad and joyous hearts beating with generous emotions, and their countenances brightened with the welcome smile. Ah! how I seem to hear, as in time past I have heard, their lively prattle, or their merry laugh echoing across the lawn, or through the flower garden, or along the winding paths down the steep slope to the pavilion.
And can it be that I shall never again realize these happy scenes! I would fain hope otherwise; but life is a changeful drama, and time fleeting; this world is _not_ our home.
Adieu, then, dear friends. May God’s blessing ever rest upon you; and should it be His providence that we meet not again here, may we all so use His dealings with us in this disciplinary state that we may be sure to meet.
Brighton, Dec. 20th. In memory of some pleasant moments.
E. E. DOUGLASS.
In the beginning of the century Spencer Wood, as previously stated, was known as Powell Place. His Excellency Sir James Henry Craig spent there the summers of 1808-9-10. Even the healthy air of Powell Place failed to cure him of gout and dropsy. A curious letter from Sir James to his secretary and _chargé d’affaires_ in London, H. W. Ryland, Esquire, dated “Powell Place, 6th August, 1810,” has been, among others, preserved by the historian Robert Christie. It alludes in rather unparliamentary language to the _coup d’état_ which had on the 19th March, 1810, consigned to a Quebec dungeon three of the most prominent members of the Legislature, Messrs. Bédard, Taschereau and Blanchet, together with Mr. Lefrançois, the printer of the _Canadien_ newspaper, for certain comments in that journal on Sir James’ colonial policy. Sir James had spent the greatest part of his life in the army, actively battling against France; a Frenchman for him was a traditional enemy. This unfortunate idea seems more than once to have inspired his colonial policy with regard to the descendants of Frenchmen whom he ruled.
Born at Gibraltar, of Scotch parents, James Henry Craig entered the English service in 1763 at the age of 15, and on many occasions distinguished himself by his courage. During the war of the American revolution he served in Canada, and was present at the unfortunate affair of Saratoga.
_SIR JAMES CRAIG TO MR. RYLAND._
QUEBEC, Powell Place, 6th August, 1810.
My Dear Ryland,–Till I took my pen in my hand I thought I had a great deal to say to you, and now I am mostly at a loss for a subject. * * * We have remained very quiet; whatever is going on is silently. I have no reason to think, however, that any change has taken place in the public mind; _that_ I believe remains in the same state. Bishop Plessis, on the return from his tour, acknowledged to me that he had reason to think that some of his _curés_ had not behaved quite as they ought to have done; he is now finishing the remainder of his visitations.
Blanchette and Taschereau are both released on account of ill-health; the former is gone to Kamouraska to bathe, the latter was only let out a few days ago. He sent to the Chief Justice (Sewell) to ask if he would allow him to call on him, who answered, by all means. The Chief Justice is convinced he is perfectly converted. He assured him that he felt it to be his duty to take any public occasion, by any act whatever that he could point out, to show his contrition and the sense he entertained of his former conduct.
He told the Chief Justice in conversation that Blanchette came and consulted him on the subject of publishing the paper, “Prenez vous par le bout du nez,” and that having agreed that it would be very improper that it should appear, they went to Bédard, between whom and Blanchette there were very high words on the occasion. I know not what Panet is about, I have never heard one word of or about him. In short, I really have nothing to tell you, nor do I imagine that I shall have, till I hear from you. You may suppose how anxious I shall be till that takes place. We have fixed the time for about the 10th September; till then I shall not come to any final resolution with respect to the bringing the three delinquents to trial or not. I am, however, inclined to avoid it, so is the B—-; the C. J. is rather, I think, inclined to the other side, though aware of the inconvenience that may arise from it. Blanchette and Taschereau have both, in the most unequivocal terms, acknowledged the criminality of their conduct, and it will be hinted that if Bédard will do the same it may be all that will be required of them; at present his language is that he has done nothing wrong, and that he does not care how long he is kept in prison.
We have begun upon the road to the townships (the Craig Road, through the Eastern Townships) * * * We shall get money enough, especially as we hope to finish it at a third of what it would have cost if we would have employed the country people. (It was made by soldiers.)
The scoundrels of the Lower Town have begun their clamour already, and I should scarcely be surprised if the House should ask, when they meet, by what authority I have cut a road without their permission. The road begins at St. Giles and will end at the township of Shipton.
Yours most faithfully,
(Signed,) J. H. CRAIG.
(History of Canada, Christie, vol. VI., p. 128.)
Very different, and we hope more correct, views are now promulgated on colonial matters from Powell Place.
If Sir James, wincing under bodily pain, could write angry letters, there were occasions on which the “rank and fashion” of the city received from him the sweetest epistles imaginable. The 10th of August of each year (his birthday, perhaps) as he informs us in another letter, was sacred to rustic enjoyment, conviviality and the exchange of usual courtesies, which none knew better how to dispense than the sturdy old soldier.
The English traveller, John Lambert, thus notices it in his interesting narrative in 1808:–“Sir James Craig resided in summer at a country house about four or five miles from Quebec, and went to town every morning to transact business. This residence is called Powell Place, and is delightfully situated in a neat plantation on the border of the bank which overlooks the St. Lawrence, not far from the spot where General Wolfe landed and ascended to the heights of Abraham. Sir James gave a splendid breakfast _al fresco_ at this place in 1809 to all the principal inhabitants of Quebec, and the following day he allowed his servants and their acquaintances to partake of a similar entertainment at his expense.”–(Lambert’s Travels, 1808, p. 310.)
Spencer Wood has ever been a favourite resort for our Governors–Sir James Craig–Lord Elgin–Sir Edmund Walker Head–Lord Monk–Lord Lisgar, and Lord Dufferin on his arrival in 1872, none prized it so highly, none rendered it more attractive than the Earl of Elgin. Of his _fêtes champêtres_, _recherchés_ dinners, _château_ balls, a pleasant remembrance still lingers in the memory of many Quebecers and others. Several circumstances added to the charms and comfort of Spencer Wood in his day. On one side of St. Louis Road stood the gubernatorial residence, on the opposite side at Thornhill, dwelt the Prime Minister, Sir Francis Hincks. Over the vice-regal “walnuts and wine,” how many knotty state questions have been discussed, how many despatches settled, how many political points adjusted in the stormy days which saw the abolition of the Seignioral Tenure and Clergy Reserves. At one of his brilliant postprandial speeches,–Lord Elgin was much happier at this style of oratory than his successor, Sir Edmund Head,–the noble Earl is reported to have said, alluding to Spencer Wood, “Not only would I spend here the rest of my life, but after my death, I should like my bones to rest in this beautiful spot;” and still China and India had other scenes, other triumphs, and his Sovereign, other rewards for the successful statesman.
Sir Edmund Head’s sojourn at Spencer Wood was marked by a grievous family bereavement; his only son, a promising youth of nineteen summers, was, in 1858, accidentally drowned in the St. Maurice, at Three Rivers, while bathing. This domestic affliction threw a pall over the remainder of the existence of His Excellency, already darkened by bodily disease. Seclusion and quiet were desirable to him.
A small private gate still exists at Spencer Grange, which at the request of the sorrowful father was opened through the adjoining property with the permission of the proprietor. Each week His Excellency, with his amiable lady, stealing a few moments from the burthen of affairs of State, would thus walk through unobserved to drop a silent tear on the green grave at Mount Hermon, in which were entombed all the hopes of a noble house. On the 12th March, 1860, on a wintry evening, whilst the castle was a blaze of light and powdered footmen hurried through its sounding corridors, to relieve of their fur coats and mufflers His Excellency’s guests asked at a state dinner that night–Sir John A. Macdonald, Sir Geo. E. Cartier, Mr. Pennefather and others–the alarm of fire was sounded, and in a couple of hours, of the magnificent pile a few charred ruins only remained. There was no State dinner that night.
One of the last acts of the Ministry in retiring in 1861, was the signing of the contract to rebuild Spencer Wood. The appropriation was a very niggardly one, in view of the size of the structure required as a vice- regal residence. All meretricious ornaments in the design were of course left out. A square building, two hundred feet by fifty, was erected with the main entrance, in rear, on the site of the former lovely flower garden. The location of the entrance and consequent sacrifice of the flower garden for a court, left the river front of the dwelling for the private use of the inmates of the _Château_ by excluding the public. Lord Monk, the new Governor-General, took possession of the new mansion and had a plantation of fir and other trees added to conceal the east end from public gaze. Many happy days were spent at Spencer Wood by His Lordship and family, whose private secretary, Denis Godley, Esq., occupied the picturesque cottage “Bagatelle,” facing the Holland Road, on the Spencer Grange property. If illustrious names on the Spencer Wood Visitor’s Register could enhance the interest the place may possess, foremost, one might point to H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, visiting in 1860 the site probably more than once surveyed and admired, in 1791-4, by his grand-father, Prince Edward, Duke of Kent, in his drives round Quebec, with the fascinating Baroness de St. Laurent. Conspicuous among all those familiar with the portals of Spencer Wood, may be mentioned other Royal Princes–the Duke of Edinburgh and Prince Arthur, Princess Louise, Prince Leopold; with Dukes and Earls–the Duke of Newcastle, Manchester, Buckingham, Argyll, Athol. Sutherland, Prince Napoleon, Generals Grant, Sherman, &c.
Since Confederation, Spencer Wood has been successively tenanted by Sir. N. F. Belleau, Lieutenant-Governor Caron, Lieutenant-Governor Letellier de St. Just, and Lieutenant-Governor Robitaille, the present occupant of the seat.
To the late Lieut.-Governor Letellier is due the initiation of the _soirées littéraires_, which united under his hospitable roof the literary talent of the Ancient Capital, and his successor, Lieut.-Governor Robitaille, not only followed this enlightened course, but also added _soirées musicales_ and _artistiques_.
Spencer Wood was not included in the schedule and division of property handed over by the Dominion Government to the Province of Quebec–it was, however, about that time presented as a gift to our province, solely as a gubernatorial residence–as such to be held, and consequently cannot be sold by the Government of the Province of Quebec.
HENRY WATSON POWELL was commissioned a Lieutenant in the 46th Foot, March 10th, 1753. He was promoted to a captaincy in the 2nd Battalion of the 11th Foot, September 2nd, 1756, but upon that battalion’s being detached from the 11th and renumbered in 1758, his regimental number became the 64th. He served in the expedition against the French West India Islands in 1759, and went with his regiment to America in 1768. June 2nd, 1770, he became Major of the 38th Foot, and July 23rd, 1771, Lieutenant-Colonel of the 53rd Foot, which was then stationed at Minorca. He accompanied his corps to Canada in the spring of 1776, and on June 10th of that year, a few days after his arrival, Sir Guy Carleton appointed him a Brigadier General and assigned him to the 2nd Brigade, which consisted of the 34th, 53rd and 20th Regiments. When Gen. Gordon’s brigade was broken up on the death of that officer, August 1st, 1776, the 62nd was added to Powell’s brigade, and in November of that year, upon General Nesbit’s death, Gen. Powell was transferred to the command of the 1st Brigade, consisting of the 9th, 47th, 31st and 21st Regiments, save that the 53rd was substituted for the 21st. Gen. Powell served under Gen. Carleton in 1776, and the next year accompanied Burgoyne. In organizing the troops for Burgoyne’s expedition in 1777, Gen. Powell was assigned to the 2nd Brigade, consisting of the 20th, 21st and 62nd Regiments. The 62nd was left at Ticonderoga, however with Prince Frederick’s (German) Regiment and a portion of Captain Borthwick’s company of the Royal Artillery July 5th when the Americans evacuated that fort, and August 10th Gen. Powell was sent back to assume command of that post, his regiment, the 53rd, being also ordered to relieve the 62nd. Though he successfully repelled the American Col. Brown’s attack on Ticonderoga and for four days maintained a gallant defence, the enemy retreating September 22nd, yet inasmuch as a considerable part of four companies of the 53rd were surprised in the old French lines and at the outposts by the American advance, and a number of American Prisoners were recaptured, the affair was not one of unmixed satisfaction to either side.
When the toils of adversity began to tighten round Burgoyne in October Gen. Powell was sorely puzzled as to his duty for though he was out of Sir Guy Carleton’s military jurisdiction yet that officer was accessible while Burgoyne, his own proper commander was not. The following letter, there fore, written by Sir Guy to Gen. Powell, after Burgoyne’s surrender, though in ignorance of that event, throws some light upon the awkwardness of Powell’s situation. The letter reads as follows:–
QUEBEC, the 20th October, 1777.
SIR,–I have this moment received your letter of the 19th instant, wherein you demand orders from me for your guidance in your present emergency. It is impossible that I should give orders to you, not alone because the post you are in has been taken out of my command, but the distance is too great for my being able to judge of the situation of Gen Burgoyne or of the exigencies of the place you are at which must depend upon the other, as if you were subject to my commands ignorant as I am of the strength or weakness of your post, I should under all the other circumstances think it best for His Majesty’s service to suffer you to act by your own judgment, so you will there fore easily see the greater necessity there is as matters are for my leaving you to pursue such steps, as shall be suggested to you by your own prudence and reason. I can only recommend to you not to balance between two opposite measures, whereby you may be disabled from following the one or the other with advantage but that either you prepare, with vigour to put to place in such a situation as to be able to make the longest and most resolute defence or that you prepare in time to abandon it with all the stores while your retreat may be certain. Your own sense will tell you that this latter would be a most pernicious measure if there be still hopes of General Burgoyne coming to your post.
I am, sir, &c.
Though Sir Guy did not feel at liberty to issue orders to Gen. Powell yet he immediately despatched Gen. Maclean with the 31st regiment, the Royal Highland Emigrants and a detachment of artillery with four guns to take post and entrench at Chimney Point, near Crown Point, in order to keep up communication with Ticonderoga. Two or three weeks later Gen. Powell abandoned Ticonderoga and withdrew to Canada. After a short tarry at St. John’s he was posted at Montreal, where he commanded during the winter of 1777-8. Then he was stationed at St John’s and in the autumn of 1780, after Lieut.-Colonel Bolton’s unfortunate loss on Lake Ontario, we find him in command of the upper posts with his headquarters at Niagara. By Gen. Haldimand’s order of October 21st, 1782, Brig.-Gen. Maclean was assigned to the command of the upper posts, and Gen. Powell was appointed commandant of Quebec. How long he remained at Quebec has not been ascertained, but in 1780 he bought a fine estate on the St. Lewis Road, about two and a half miles from Quebec to which he gave the name of Powell Place and which he did not dispose of until 1796, when he sold it to Francis Lehoullier. This place was subsequently known as Spencer Wood, but it has since been divided, the larger portion being still known as Spencer Wood, and serving as the residence of the Lieutenant-Governor, while the smaller portion consisting of about forty acres and known as Spencer Grange, belongs to and is the property of J. M. LeMoine, President of the Literary and Historical Society of Quebec.
Gen. Powell became a Colonel in the army February 19th, 1779; a Major General, November 20th, 1782; Colonel of the 69th Foot, April 16th, 1792; Colonel of the 15th Foot, June 20th, 1794 (not April 20th, as printed in Burgoyne’s Orderly Book); A Lieutenant-General, May 3rd, 1796, and a General, January 1st, 1801. He died at an advanced age at Lyme, England, July 14th, 1814.
Army Lists–Gentleman’s Magazine, vol. 84, p. 190; Burgoyne’s Orderly Book, p. 10; Hadden’s Journal; Haldimand Papers; LeMoine’s Maple Leaves, 3rd series; J. M. LeMoine’s Title Deeds.” (_From Gen. Horatio Rogers’ Notes on HADDEN’S JOURNAL of Burgoyne’s Campaign_, 1776.)
_A FÊTE CHAMPÊTRE AT POWELL PLACE._
(From the French of P. A. DeGaspé.)
“At half-past eight A.M., on a bright August morning (I say a bright one, for such had lighted up this welcome _fête champêtre_ during three consecutive years), the _élite_ of the Quebec _beau monde_ left the city to attend Sir James Craig’s kind invitation. Once opposite Powell Place (now Spencer Wood) the guests left their vehicles on the main road, and plunged into a dense forest, following a serpentine avenue which led to a delightful cottage in full view of the majestic St. Lawrence; the river here appears to flow past amidst luxuriant green bowers which line its banks. Small tables for four, for six, for eight guests are laid out facing the cottage, on a platform of planed deals–this will shortly serve as a dancing floor _al fresco_; as the guests successively arrive, they form in parties to partake of a _déjeuner en famille_. I say _en famille_, for an _aide-de-camp_ and a few waiters excepted, no one interferes with the small groups clubbed together to enjoy their early repast, of which cold meat, radishes, bread, tea and coffee form the staples. Those whose appetites are appeased make room for new comers, and amuse themselves strolling under the shade of trees. At ten the cloth is removed; the company are all on the _qui vive_. The cottage, like the enchanted castle in the Opera of Zemira and Azor, only awaits the magic touch of a fairy; a few minutes elapse, and the chief entrance is thrown open; Little King Craig followed by a brilliant staff, enters. Simultaneously an invisible orchestra, located high amidst the dense foliage of large trees, strikes up “God Save the King.” All stand uncovered, in solemn silence, in token of respect to the national anthem of Great Britain.
“The magnates press forward to pay their respects to His Excellency Those who do not intend to “trip the light fantastic toe” take seats on the platform where his Excellency sits in state; an A.D.C. calls out, _gentlemen, take your partners_, and the dance begins.
“Close on sixty winters have run by since that day, when I, indefatigable dancer, figured in a country dance of thirty couples. My footsteps, which now seem to me like lead, scarcely then left a trace behind them. All the young hearts who enlivened this gay meeting of other days are mouldering in their tombs, even _she_, the most beautiful of them all, _la belle des belles_–she, the partner of my joys and of my sorrows–she who on that day accepted in the circling dance, for the first time, this hand, which two years after was to lead her to the hymeneal altar–yes, even she has been swept away by the tide of death. [231] May not I also say, with Ossian, ‘Why art thou sad, son of Fingal! Why grows the cloud of thy soul! the sons of future years shall pass away, another race shall arise! The people are like the waves of the ocean, like the leaves of woody Morven–they pass away in the rustling blast, and other leaves lift their green heads on high.’
“After all, why, indeed, yield up my soul in sadness? The children of the coming generation will pass rapidly, and a new one will take its place! Men are like the surges of the ocean, they resemble the leaves which hang over the groves of my manor, autumnal storms cause them to fall, but new and equally green ones each spring replace the fallen ones. Why should I sorrow? Eighty-six children, grand-children, and great-grand-children, will mourn the fell of the old oak when the breach of the Almighty shall smite it. Should I have the good fortune to find mercy before the Sovereign Judge: should it be vouchsafed to me to meet again the angel of virtue who cheered the few happy days I passed in this vale of sorrow, we will both pray together for the numerous progeny we left behind us. But let us revert to the merry meeting previously alluded to. It is half-past two in the afternoon, we are gaily going through the figures of a country-dance, ‘Speed the plough’ perhaps, when the music stops short, everyone is taken aback, and wonders at the cause of interruption. The arrival of two prelates, Bishop Plessis and Bishop Mountain, gave us the solution of the enigma; an aide-de-camp had motioned to the bandmaster to stop on noticing the entrance of the two high dignitaries of the respective churches. The dance was interrupted whilst they were there, and was resumed on their departure. Sir James had introduced this point of etiquette from the respect he entertained for their persons.
“At three the loud sound of a hunters horn is heard in the distance; all follow His Excellency in a path cut through the then virgin forest of Powell Place. Some of the guests from the length of the walk, began to think that Sir James had intended those who had not danced to take a “constitutional” before dinner, when, on rounding an angle a huge table, canopied with green boughs, groaning under the weight of dishes, struck on their view–a grateful oasis in the desert. Monsieur Petit, the _chef de cuisine_, had surpassed himself, like Vatel, I imagine he would have committed suicide had he failed to achieve the triumph by which he intended to elicit our praise. Nothing could exceed in magnificence, in sumptuousness this repast–such was the opinion not only of Canadians, for whom such displays were new, but also of the European guests, though there was a slight drawback to the perfect enjoyment of the dishes–_the materials which composed them we could not recognize_, so great was the artistic skill, so wonderful the manipulations of Monsieur Petit, the French cook.
“The Bishops left about half an hour after dinner, when dancing was resumed with an increasing ardor, but the cruel mammas were getting concerned respecting certain sentimental walks which the daughters were enjoying after sunset. They ordered them home, if not with their menacing attitude with which the goddess Calypso is said to have spoken to her nymphs, at least with frowns; so said the gay young _cavaliers_. By nine o’clock, all had re-entered Quebec.”
_SPENCER GRANGE._
“Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books”–_Thomson_
When Spencer Wood became the gubernatorial residence, its owner (the late Hy. Atkinson) reserved the smaller half, Spencer Grange, some forty acres, divided off by a high brick wall and fence, and terminating to the east in a river frontage of one acre. A small latticed bower facing the St. Lawrence overhangs the cliff, close to where the Belle Borne rill–nearly dry during the summer months–rushes down the bank to Spencer Cove, in spring and autumn,–a ribbon of fleecy whiteness. To the south, it is bounded by Woodfield, and reaches to the north at a point opposite the road called Stuart’s road which intersects Holland farm, leading from the St. Lewis to the Ste. Foye highway. The English landscape style was adopted in the laying out of the flower garden and grounds; some majestic old trees were left here and there through the lawns; three clumps of maple and red oak in the centre of the meadows to the west of the house grouped for effect; fences, carefully hidden away in the surrounding copses; hedges, buildings, walks and trees brought in here and there to harmonize with the eye and furnish on a few acres a perfect epitome of a woodland scene. The whole place is girt round by a zone of tall pine, beech, maple and red oaks, whose deep green foliage, when lit up by the rays of the setting or rising sun, assume tints of most dazzling brightness,–emerald wreaths dipped into molten gold-overhanging under a leafy arcade, a rustic walk, which zigzags round the property, following to the southwest the many windings of the Belle Borne streamlet. This sylvan region most congenial to the tastes of a naturalist, echoes in spring and summer with the ever-varying and wild minstrelsy of the robin, the veery, the songsparrow, the red-start, the hermit-thrush, the red-eyed flycatcher and other feathered choristers, while the golden-winged woodpecker or rain fowl, heralds at dawn the coming rain of the morrow, and some crows, rendered saucy by protection, strut through the sprouting corn, in their sable cassocks, like worldly clergymen computing their tythes. On the aforesaid walk, once trodden over by the prince of American naturalists, the great Audubon, whilst on a visit to Mr. Atkinson at Spencer Wood, was conferred the name of _Audubon Avenue_, by his Sillery disciple, the author of the _Birds of Canada. The grand river views of Spencer Wood, are replaced by a woodland scenery, sure to please the eye of any man of cultivated taste, accustomed to the park-like appearance of the south of England. In front of the mansion, close to the lawn, stands the noblest elm tree of Sillery (_Ulmus Americanus_), leafy to its very roots. Here, amidst literature and flowers, after leaving Spencer Wood, lived for several years Henry Atkinson, a name in those regions once synonymous with ornamental gardens and flowers. Graperies, conservatories, an orchid house soon sprung up under his hand at this spot, larger than Spencer Wood had ever boasted of in its palmiest days, since 1860, it is the seat of J. M. LeMoine.
The advent in Quebec of the great Audubon is heralded thus in the Quebec _Gazette_ of the 23rd September, 1842:–
“To the Editor of the Quebec _Gazette_”
SIR,–It does not appear to be known to the Quebec public that one of the most distinguished men of the present age is now on a visit to our city–John James Audubon, the author of the magnificent work entitled ‘Ornithological Biography; or an Account of the Habits of the Birds of America, etc.’ I understand that Mr. Audubon devoted nearly fifty years of his life to this interesting subject, and has placed before the world, at a cost of £27,000 sterling, the whole family of the feathered tribe, giving to each its natural size, and coloured to the very life. Mr. Audubon has brought one copy [232] of his work with him, let as hope it may be secured by our citizens. It is his first visit to Quebec, the splendid scenery of which has induced him to prolong his stay a few days. His present portfolio contains several beautiful specimens of the quadrupeds of America, now in course of publication by him as a companion to the above splendid work, which only requires to be seen to ensure him a numerous list of subscribers in this neighborhood.
“In order to afford Mr. Audubon every facility in the pursuit of his arduous and interesting undertaking, the President of the United States and the Commander-in-Chief, General Winfield Scott, have furnished him the necessary documents to ensure him a cordial reception throughout the Union.
“Mr. Audubon thus speaks of his meeting on the coast of Labrador, a British officer well known to us all in Quebec–“But few days had elapsed, when one morning we saw a vessel making towards our anchorage, with the gallant flag of England waving in the breeze and as she was moored within a cable’s length of the _Ripley_, I soon paid my respects to her commander, Captain Bayfield, of the Royal Navy. The politeness of British naval officers is proverbial, and from the truly frank and cordial reception of this gentleman and his brave companions in arms, I felt more than ever assured of the truth of this opinion. On the _Gulnare_ there was an amiable and talented surgeon, who was a proficient in botany. We afterwards met the vessel in several other harbors.’
“The name of John James Audubon, we should hope, is quote sufficient to ensure him a cordial welcome throughout the British dominions in America, and we sincerely hope that his visit to Quebec may hereafter be a source of pleasing remembrance to him.
“H.
“Quebec, Sept. 23, 1842.”
(_From the Antiquarian and Numismatic Journal._)
MY VISIT TO SPENCER GRANGE, QUEBEC, IN 1856, THE COUNTRY SEAT OF J. M. LEMOINE.
BY BENJAMIN SULTE, THE HISTORIAN OF “THREE RIVERS.”
[Translated from the French.]
One of the greatest attractions for me, says Mr. Sulte, in visiting Spencer Grange, was its museum of Canadian birds, comprising two- thirds of the Feathered tribe of the Dominion, with a fair sprinkling of foreign specimens in the skin, and a collection of birds’ eggs. Our friend, long known among Canadian naturalists for his persevering efforts during twenty years to popularize [233] the beautiful and instructive study of ornithology, had evidently met with more than one ally–in fact, many sympathizers. I am inclined to think–in his special branch of natural history., Each class of birds, in this apartment, has its corner; judging by the label, its “habitation,”, as well as name.
The thrushes and flycatchers of Canada, from their exquisite bright tints or delicate arrow-shaped markings, are particularly conspicuous.
The cinnamon-backed cuckoo must be a graceful minstrel in our green hedges in July, though I am ashamed to admit I never was lucky enough to meet him. The oriole, blue jay, officer-bird, summer red-bird, indigo-bird and golden-winged woodpecker form a group of striking beauty; a most excellent idea, I would say, to thus place in juxtaposition the most gorgeously habited of our feathered choristers for the sake of contrasts.
A succession of drawers contain the nests and eggs, scientifically labelled, of many Canadian species, and of some of the most melodious songsters of France and England; pre-eminent stands the Italian, French and Devonshire nightingale and its eggs. Our time was much too limited to allow us to treasure up all the anecdotes and theories anent birds, their mysterious spring and autumn migrations, their lively memory of places, so agreeably dealt out to us. We cannot, however, entirely omit noticing some curious objects we saw–the tiny nest of a West Indian humming bird male out of a piece of sponge, and he _cubiculum_ of a redheaded woodpecker, with its eggs still in it, scooped out of the decayed heart of a silver birch tree, with the bird’s head still peering from the orifice in the bark. Here, as well as in the library, the presentations were numerous: Col. Rhodes was represented by a glossy Saguenay raven. I listened, expecting each moment to hear it, like Poe’s nocturnal visitor, “ghostly, grim and ancient,” croak out “nevermore!”
The late Hon. Adam Fergusson Blair, once a familiar of Spencer Grange, was remembered by some fine Scotch grouse, ptarmigan and a pair of capercailzie, in splendid feather, brought from Scotland. A good specimen of the silvery gull, shot at Niagara Falls, was a gift from John William McCallum, Esq., now of Melbourne, E.T.–an early friend of our friend, whilst a very rare foreign bird (a Florida or glossy ibis), shot at Grondines, had been contributed by Paul J. Charlton, Esq., a Quebec sportsman. What had brought it so far from home?
At the bead of the grave, omniscient owls, like the foreman of a grand jury, stood a majestic “grand duc,” the largest owl of the Pyrénées, resembling much our Virginian species,–a donation from a French _savant_, Le Frère Ogérien. The owls have ever been to me a deep subject of study, their defiant aspect, thoughtful countenances, in which lurks a _soupçon_ of rapacity, remind me of a mayor and town council bent on imposing new taxes without raising too much of a row.
A gaudy and sleek bird of Paradise had been donated by Miss Caron, of the adjoining _château_. There was also a newly-patented bird- trap, sent by a New York firm, in the days of Boss Tweed, Conolly, Field and other birds of prey I noticed boxes for sparrows to build in, designed by Col W Rhodes. On the floor lay a curious sample of an Old World man-trap, not sent from New York, but direct from England, a terror to poachers and apple stealers, French swords and venomous looking bayonets, of very ancient design, a rusty, long Indian musket barrel together with _tibiae_ and _tarsi_, labelled 1759-60, presents from H. J. Chouinard, Esq., the owner in 1865 of the site of the battlefield at St. Foye, where stands _Le Monument des Braves_. A bristling-fretful porcupine, a ferocious-looking lynx, and several well-mounted specimens of game had been donated by McPherson Le Moyne, Esq., the President of the “Montreal Fish and Game Protection Club,” also several other contributions from the same.
Who had sent the colossal St. Bernard dog, like another Maida, talking over the lawn, we had not an opportunity of asking. We patted him, all trembling.
The flower garden is laid out in the modern landscape style. Fences carefully concealed, a deep fringe of hard wood trees on one side, a trim lilac hedge on the other, and a plantation of shrubs, roan, barbary, sumac, lilac and young maple. On the side west of the house was observable, next to a rustic seat, in the fork of a white birch, an archaeological monument made with the key-stone of Prescott and Palace Gates when removed by order of the City Corporation, [234] it stands about ten feet in height.
From this spot, spanned by a little rustic bridge, a walk meanders round the property to the west, canopied by a grove of silver birch, oak, beach, pine and maple. Along the serpentine brook, Belle-Borne, now so diminutive, and which, according to the historian Ferland, two centuries ago turned the wheel of a mill below, is visible a dam, creating a small pond in May, June and July, a favorite bathing place, we are told, for the thrushes, robins and other songsters of the adjoining groves. This tiny runlet is fringed with several varieties of ferns, dog-tooth violets and other algae–(_From L’Opinion Publique._)
_SPENCER OR BAGATELLE COTTAGE._
“We have many little Edens
Scattered up and down our dales;
We’ve a hundred pretty hamlets,
Nestling in our fruitful vales,
Here the sunlight loves to linger, And the summer winds to blow,
Here the rosy spring in April,
Leapeth laughing from the snow.”
On the western corner of the Spencer Grange property, and dependant to it, can be seen from the road, _Bagatelle_–a long, straggling, picturesque cottage, in the Italian style, with trees, rustic seats, walks and a miniature flower-garden round it; a small prospect pavillion opens on the St. Lewis road, furnishing a pretty view of the blue range of mountains to the north; in summer it peeps from under clusters of the green or purple leaves of some luxuriant _Virginian_ creepers–our American ivy–which climb round it. _Bagatelle was generally occupied by an _attaché_ of Spencer Wood, in the days of the Earl of Elgin and Sir Edmund W. Head.
Bagatelle is a quiet little nest, where our Canadian Laureate, Fréchette, might be tempted to pen an invitation to his brother bard of the city, LeMay, somewhat in the manner of the soft warbler of Albion towards his friend the Revd. P. D. Maurice:
“Where, far from smoke or noise of town, I watch the twilight falling brown
All round a careless ordered garden, Close to the ridge of a noble down.
You’ll have no scandal while you dine, But honest talk and wholesome wine,
And only hear the magpie gossip
Garrulous under a roof of pine.
For groves of pine on either hand,
To break the blast of winter, stand; And further on the hoary channel
Tumbles a breaker on chalk and sand.”
The poet has sometimes received as well as sent out poetical invitations. Here is one from Water Savage Landor.
“I entreat you, Alfred Tennyson,
Come and share my haunch of venison, I have, too, a bin of claret,
Good, but better when you share it. Though ’tis only a small bin
There’s a stock of it within,
And, as sure as I’m a rhymer,
Half a butt of Rudesheimer,
Come, among the sons of men is none Welcomer than Tennyson?”
_THE WOODFIELD OF THE PAST._
“Deambulatio per loca amoena.”–_Frascatorius_
“Unquestionably the most ornate and richly laid-out estate around Quebec is Woodfield, formerly the elegant mansion of the Honorable Wm. Sheppard, afterwards of Fairymead, Drummondville. For many years past it has become the permanent residence of the Gibb family. The horticultural department and conservatory are under the immediate charge of Andrew Torrance, Esq., Mrs. Gibb’s brother. His taste is too well known to require any praise, and truly may it be said that the lovers of sweet flowers, trim hedges, and fairy scenery, can easily beguile several hours together in exploring the broad acres of Woodfield, equal in extent to Spencer Wood itself. In the year 1646, the company of New France, under M. de Montmagny, conceded this land, a lot of ground, with a frontage of three _arpents_, to Jean Bouvart dit Lafortune. Jean Beauvart resold in 1649 to Barthélémy Gaudin, in 1702 this land was possessed by Guillaume Pagé dit Garey. In 1724, Nicholas de la Nouiller purchased it and sold it in 1731 to Monseigneur Dosquet, Bishop of Samos. In 1762, the seminary, then proprietor of these grounds, conceded to Thomas Ainsley, the portion on which stood the house, built by Bishop Dosquet. Judge Mabane acquired it in 1769, he died in 1792, when his sister Miss. Isabella Mabane purchased it in 1794 and held it until 1805, when the Honorable Matthew Bell purchased it.
Let us hear on this subject one who knows how to describe and embellish a country seat.–
“In the early part of the last century,” says the Honorable Wm. Sheppard, “this estate was in the possession of Monseigneur Dosquet, [235] titular Bishop of Samos _in partibus infidelum_, and he gave it that name after his Episcopal title. He built a substantial stone residence near the brow of the hill, overlooking the St. Lawrence–a one story house–with a high peaked roof, long and narrow, after the mode of building in those days, something in the style of the manor house at Beauport. The name of Samos is now superseded by that of Woodfield, yet it is still in use as applied to the high road passing on its western side, commencing at the termination of the road leading from Quebec in that direction, called the Grand Allée, where it forks into the Samos road and the Chemin Gomin at Spencer Wood. It is not known how long Bishop Dosquet occupied his estate.
“Soon after the cession of Canada to the British Crown, this property passed into the hands of Judge Mabane, [236] by purchase, from the reverend proprietors of the seigniory. Mr. Mabane changed the name to Woodfield, and made extensive alterations to the house, adding to it a second story, giving it by other additions a more imposing appearance from the river, and adding two pavillion wings, connected with the house by corridors. In 1775-6 it was converted into an hospital for American soldiers.
“About the year 1807, the late Honorable Matthew Bell purchased Woodfield from Miss Mabane, the Judge’s sister. Mr. Bell occupied the house as a summer dwelling only, and it is not known that he improved the estate to any extent, unless it were the garden, which he enlarged and stocked with choice fruit trees. Previous to the purchase of Mr. Bell, Woodfield was occupied as a dwelling during several years (1795-1802) by Bishop Mountain, the first Protestant Bishop of Quebec. During his occupation he removed a bridge which spanned Bell Borne Brook, with the intention of cutting off communication with Powell Place (Spencer Wood), the neighboring estate, for reasons which it is not now necessary to enter into. The bridge was subsequently restored, by the sons of Sir R. S. Milnes, Governor General, and was known by the name of Pont Bonvoisin.
“In 1816 Woodfield passed into the possession of Mr. William Sheppard, by purchase, from Mr. Bell. Mr. Sheppard improved the house and grounds greatly, erecting vineries and a large conservatory, changing the front of the house so as to look upon a rising lawn of good extent, interspersed with venerable oaks and pine, giving the whole a striking and pleasing aspect. The alteration in the house gave it a very picturesque appearance, as viewed from the foot of the old avenue, backed by sombre pines Mr. Sheppard added to the estate about sixty acres of land on its southern side, it being now bounded by the road leading to St. Michael’s Cove. During the alterations made in the house, a leaden foundation plate was discovered, stating that the house was built in 1732, by Bishop Dosquet. This plate was deposited for safe keeping in the Museum of the Literary and Historical Society, where (if still extant) it may be consulted.
“In December 1842, the house was unfortunately destroyed by fire, and with it a valuable library of some three thousand volumes, many of them costly illustrated works on Natural History and other sciences. Shortly afterwards a new house was built on a more desirable and commanding site, in the midst of splendid old oaks and pines, looking down upon an extensive lawn, with the St Lawrence in the middle distance, the view terminated by the South Shore, studded with cheerful-looking cottages. To suit the new site Mr. Sheppard laid out a new approach, placing the entrance somewhat nearer Quebec, than the old avenue, following the roundings of Belle Borne Brook, and leaving it with a striking sweep, among groups of trees, to the house. This approach is one of the greatest attractions of the place. He also built a large conservatory in connection with the house.
“Woodfield changed hands in 1847, having been purchased by Thos. Gibb, Esq., who exchanged it with his brother, Jas. Gibb, Esq., a wealthy merchant of Quebec, president of the Quebec Bank, who added much to the beauty of the estate. [237] Woodfield, with the improvements and embellishments made by the preceding proprietor is one of the most imposing and showy places in Canada, well worthy the encomiums passed upon it by J. Jay Smith, Esq., of Philadelphia, editor of the _Horticulturist_, who, with a party of friends, visited it in 1857. He says, in that work, ‘James Gibb, Esq., at Woodfield, possesses one of the most charming places on the American continent. Thoroughly English in its appurtenances, and leaving out its views of the St. Lawrence, its lawns, trees, and superb garden are together, a model of what may be accomplished. The whole scene was enchanting. The traveller felt as if he was transported to the best parts of England, our whole party uniting in an exclamation of pleasure and gratification. Here is everything in the way of well-kept lawns, graperies and greenhouses, outhouses for every possible contingency of weather, gardens, redolent of the finest flowers, in which bulbs of the best lilies make a conspicuous figure, and every species of fruit that can be grown. The traveller who does not see Woodfield hah not seen Canada in its best trim.’
“The remains of one redoubt [238] are visible near Belle Borne Brook, just above Pont Bonvoisin, or Bridge of Friendship, no doubt intended to guard the approach to Quebec by the footpath from Pointe à Puiseaux. Another large one was on the west side of Samos road, nearly opposite the entrance gate of the new approach to Woodfield, it commanded the Samos road.
“Woodfield once could boast of a well-stocked aviary. The garden, of large extent, has always been celebrated for its fruit and flowers, for the taste in which it was laid out, and for the beautiful prospect obtained from it of the Citadel of Quebec, of the intervening portion of the St. Lawrence, with the numerous shipping in the harbour busily engaged in taking in their return cargoes of the staple article of exportation.”
Since this sketch was published in the _Maple Leaves_ for 1865, death has borne heavily on the estimable Gibb family we then knew at Woodfield; and in 1879, Mr. John Lawson Gibb sold the old homestead as a site for an ornate rural cemetery.
“WOODFIELD CONSERVATORY–On 10th Feby, 1869 we availed ourselves of the opportunity afforded to the public of visiting this celebrated conservatory, and feasting our eyes on the immense mass of floral treasures which it contains. Flora’s rarest gifts from every quarter of the globe are here in full bloom. The Indian Azaleas are magnificent beyond description–the one near the entrance called ‘Criterion” is exquisitely beautiful, Roi Leopold, purpurea and alba are also very handsome. The Dielytra, or Bleeding Heart, is chaste and beautiful the Joy plant (Chorozema) from the Swan River, struck us as particularly interesting, the colours of the flower are so harmoniously blended, the Golden-leaved Geranium (Cloth of Gold)–well worthy the name, with intense scarlet flowers, is very pretty Numerous Camelias of every shade and colour, these we think may well be called the Queen of winter flowers rivalling in beauty the famous “rose.” The Cinerarias and Cape cowslips are very fine, and so are the Acacias Many beautiful and interesting Ferns, the most remarkable being the elks-horn, walking fern, hearts-tongue, maiden-hair and silver- braken.”–_Morning Chronicle._
_SOUS LES BOIS._
This country seat, two miles from the city limits, stands in view of Pointe à Puiseaux, at Sillery, exactly fronting the mouth of the Etchemin River Imagine a roomy, substantial, one story cottage equally well protected in winter against the piercing north, east and west winds, surrounded by large oaks and pines to temper the rays of an August sun, and through whose foliage the cool river breeze murmurs in the vernal season, wafting pleasure and health to the inmates Add one of those unrivalled river landscapes, peculiar to Sillery, well cultivated fruit gardens, pastures, meadows, and lawns intersected by a long curving avenue, fringed with single trees at times, at others tastefully concealed in a clump of evergreens, and leading to the house by a circuitous approach, which hides the mansion until you are a few feet of it Place in it a toiling professional man, eager, after a dusty summer day’s work in St Peter street, to breathe the coolness and fragrance of his rustic homestead, and enjoy the presence of his household gods, again, add to it the conviction in his heart that country life has increased the span of his existence by twenty years, and you have a faint idea of one of our many Canadian homes, of _Sous les Bois_ the former residence of Errol Boyd Lindsay, Esq., one of the few remaining Quebecers who can recall the festivities of Powell Place, when Sir James Craig flourished there in 1809.
In 1870, _Sous les Bois_ was disposed of for educational purposes. The flourishing Jésus Marie Academy, with its shiny dome and lofty walls, looms out in the very centre of the demesne The Lindsay manor, at present, is the hospitable lodge of the devoted and talented almoner of the Convent, Rev. Abbé Octave Audette.
_SILLERY HOUSE._
This handsome dwelling, is situated at the foot of the Cape, close to the Jesuits’ old house, on a line with the river: it stands in the centre of an extensive garden, with here and there some large forest trees interspersed.
The residence was built a few years back by the late John Sharples, Esquire, of the firm of Sharples & Co., whose vast timber coves are in view from Sillery house.
ST. MICHAEL’S CHURCH, SILLERY
“A rural chapel neatly dress’d,
In covert like a little nest;
And thither young and old repair
This Sabbath day, for praise and prayer.” –_The White Doe of Rylstone_.
St. Michael’s Church was built by some spirited parishioners, in front of Mount Hermon Cemetery; a not inappropriate monument on their part to the memory of the ancient and worthy patron of the parish. St. Michael’s Church was weekly honoured by the attendance of the Sovereign’s representative and _suite_ when inhabiting Spencer Wood; and on fine summer days by the rank and fashion of the neighbouring metropolis. It is a handsome cut-stone church, in the Gothic style. The incumbent for many years has been the Rev. Anthony A. Von Iffland.
This neat Gothic structure was erected in 1854, at a cost of $12,400, the proceeds of the munificent donations of several members of its congregation and others. The ground on which it stands was presented, as a gift, by Mrs. Jas. Morrin. Several handsome stained-glass windows, representing scriptural scenes, have been recently added. We read, amongst others, the following names on the list of subscribers to the foundation of the chapel, parsonage and school-house:–
Sir Edmund Head Lord Monck The Lord Bishop Mountain Colonel Rhodes Henry Lemesurier Denis Godley Ed. Burstall Charles E. Levey Jos. B. Forsyth Captain Retallack Captain Pemberton Colonel Boomer J. Walker E. Jackson F. H. Andrews Miss Mountain D. D. Young C. N. Montizambert Miss Cochran Rev. A. Mountain Mrs. Carroll F. Burroughs W. F. Wood Robert Hamilton Wm. Petry Honorable W. Walker Mrs. J. Gibb W. Price Michael Stevenson Major H. W. Campbell T. K. Ramsay Mrs. Helmuth Okill Stuart Lieut.-Colonel Mountain John Jordan Miss Guerout Hon. Henry Black G. B. Symes & Co. J. F. Taylor Mrs. Montizambert C. Coker G. Alford Mrs. Forsyth H. S. Scott. N. H. Bowen G. Hall Mrs. G. R. Mountain Charles Hamilton J. K. Boswell James Gibb Rich Tremain T. G. Penny J. H. Oakes Miss Taylor W. Drum Mrs. Woodbury Dr. Boswell W. Herring Miss George Charles Wilson John Giles Charles O’Neill Preston Copeman Thomas Nelson Society for the Promotion Thomas Beckett Barthy W. Goff of Christian Knowledge
Through the aid and efforts of the late Charles E. Levey, Esq., of Cataracoui, a handsome organ was subscribed for in England, and now graces St. Michael’s Chapel.
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.
A VOICE FROM MOUNT HERMON
DEDICATED TO MRS. BAINES, BY MRS. A. CAMPBELL
My dust lies sleeping here,
Mother dear!
In this, far off distant land,
Away from your little band,
And the touch of loving hand,
Your boy lies sleeping here,
Mother dear!
The Ocean rolls between
Mother dear!
You and your own boy’s grave,
And the distant rush of waves
On the pebbly shore to lave,
Is the requiem sung between,
Mother dear!
Mine is a sweet green spot.
Mother dear!
And the song of the bird
Is ever heard
In the trees that gird
Us, in this quiet spot
Mother dear!
And echo answers here
Mother dear!
The tinkle of chapel bell,
And the murmur of its knell
And the mourners “_It is well_,’
Echo answers here,
Mother dear!
To picture my last home,
Mother dear!
I am laid me down to rest,
Where “Our Father” saw ’twas best, In this quiet little nest,
For my last home,
Mother dear!
And my spirit is with Him,
Mother dear!
In the precious home above,
Where all is light and love,
There rests your own dear dove,
Now with Him,
Mother dear!
Through Jesus’ blood I’m here,
Mother dear!
In this happy, heavenly land,
One of a glorious band,
Touched by His healing hand,
Through Jesus I am here,
Mother dear!
So dry that bitter tear,
Mother dear!
‘Twill not be very long
Ere with Jesus you’ll sing the song, Sung by those who to Him belong,
And wipe that bitter tear–
Mother dear!
BARDFIELD