After Encountering Some High Fences And
Swampy Ground, We Came To A Narrow Rocky Pathway In A Wood, With Bright
Green, Moss-Covered Trees, Stones, And Earth.
On descending a rocky bank
we came to the "natural staircase," where the rapid Montmorenci forces its
way through a bed of limestone, the broken but extremely regular
appearance of the layers being very much like wide steps.
The scene at
this place is wildly beautiful. The river, frequently only a few feet in
width, sometimes foams furiously along between precipices covered with
trees, and bearing the marks of years of attrition; then buries itself in
dark gulfs, or rests quiescent for a moment in still black pools, before
it reaches its final leap.
The day before I left Quebec I went to the romantic falls of Lorette,
about thirteen miles from the city. It was a beauteous day. I should have
called it oppressively warm, but that the air was fanned by a cool west
wind. The Indian summer had come at last; "the Sagamores of the tribes had
lighted their council-fires" on the western prairies. What would we not
give for such a season! It is the rekindling of summer, but without its
heat - it is autumn in its glories, but without its gloom. The air is soft
like the breath of May; everything is veiled in a soft pure haze, and the
sky is of a faint and misty blue.
A mysterious fascination seemed to bind us to St. Roch, for we kept
missing our way and getting into "streams as black as Styx." But at length
the city of Quebec, with its green glacis and frowning battlements, was
left behind, and we drove through flat country abounding in old stone
dwelling-houses, old farms, and large fields of stubble. We neared the
blue hills, and put up our horses in the Indian village of Lorette.
Beautiful Lorette! I must not describe, for I cannot, how its river
escapes from under the romantic bridge in a broad sheet of milk-white
foam, and then, contracted between sullen barriers of rock, seeks the deep
shade of the pine-clad precipices, and hastens to lose itself there. It is
perfection, and beauty, and peace; and the rocky walks upon its forest-
covered crags might be in Switzerland.
Being deserted by the gentlemen of the party, my fair young companion and
I found our way to Lorette, which is a large village built by government
for the Indians; but by intermarrying with the French they have lost
nearly all their distinctive characteristics, and the next generation will
not even speak the Indian language. Here, as in every village in Lower
Canada, there is a large Romish church, ornamented with gaudy paintings.
We visited some of the squaws, who wear the Indian dress, and we made a
few purchases. We were afterwards beset by Indian boys with bows and
arrows of clumsy construction; but they took excellent aim, incited by the
reward of coppers which we offered to them.
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