Are among the most interesting of the objects which secure the visits of
tourists to Quebec, both on account of their own attractiveness and the
pleasant drive by which they are reached. The “carters” of Quebec are as
numerous as those of Montreal, and the roads around the city and in the
country adjacent are among the finest to be found anywhere. Securing
your driver, you leave the city by one of the gates, and, crossing the
St. Charles River, are soon in the suburbs, passing here and there a
house or villa of modern style, but speedily coming to the realm of the
ancient; the road leading through quaint old hamlets, the cottages with
their picturesque dormer windows, the thatched-roofed outbuildings, and
the peasant-like appearance of the people, combined with the universal
employment of the French language, strengthen the fancy for the time
being that America must be far away, and that the rural districts of
France or Switzerland are the scenes through which your trip is made.
Children run beside the carriage, asking alms or offering flowers, while
the women and older girls are at work in the fields, or spinning with
their rude wheels in the open doorways or on the porches of the little
houses. The antiquated implements of agriculture, the rude carts by the
roadside, and the rustic crosses by the way, at which some devout
pilgrim, perchance, is tarrying to breathe a _Pater Noster_, all tend
to complete the illusion of a remoter age or more distant clime than the
few hours’ ride from bustling, modern, Yankee civilization.
[Illustration: FALLS OF MONTMORENCI.]
The ride of eight miles all too quickly brings you to the River
Montmorenci, and here you gaze upon historic ground, it being the scene
of the battle of Montmorenci which immediately preceded Wolfe’s final
victory at Quebec. Leaving your carriage, and paying a small fee for the
privilege of crossing private grounds, you descend the bank of the river
to look up at the fall from below. The river here pours over the cliff
into the St. Lawrence, broadening at the edge to about 50 feet, and
falling 250, in a sheeny vail, half water, half spray, not sublime, nor
even grand, but exquisitely beautiful.
The towers on either side of the river still mark the spot where,
several years ago, a suspension bridge was erected, but which, through
some defect, gave way as a laborer and his family were crossing in a
cart, precipitating them into the gulf below.
Returning to Quebec, the views of the city are enlivened by the peculiar
feature of glistening towers and roofs, so noticeable in connection with
many Canadian cities. The sunlight, glancing from the metal-covered
roofs, spires, and dormer windows, which, owing to the tortuous windings
of the streets, are set at every conceivable angle, produces a brilliant
and sparkling effect.
If you are ever tempted to indulge in sentiment, the words of the poet,
used to describe the Celestial city, may come into mind:--
“There is the city in splendor sublime;
See how its towers and battlements shine.”