But of those objects, viewed
by moonlight, who would have dared becomingly depict the wild beauty? The
same incomparable landscape, with Diana's silver rays softly sleeping on
the virgin snow; on each side, an avenue of oak, spruce and fir trees, the
latter with their emerald boughs wreathed in solid ice, and to the earth
gracefully bending in festoons - now and again kissed by the night wind; at
each wavy motion disclosing their dark trunks, under the frozen foliage,
like old Ocean's billows breaking on dark rocks; the burnished gold of the
morn changed into silver floss, twinkling with a mild radiance, under the
eye of night, like diamond tiaras - a vista fit for Queen Mab! Of such,
mayhap dreamed Moorish maid, under the portals of the Alhambra. Were
Armida's enchanted forests brighter?
Who can describe all thy witchery? Thy nameless graces, who can compass,
serene majesty of Winter in the North? And yet all these glories of frost
and moon-lit snows we once did see round our Canadian Home.
Wouldst thou fancy another view of winter less serene; a contrast such as
glorious old KIT NORTH would have revelled in? Step forward, my witty, my
sarcastic friend of the Evenement newspaper - by name Henri Fabre!
"The true season of Canada is winter; winter with its bright skies by day
and its brighter stars by night. Of spring we have none. April is nothing
better than a protracted thaw, with scenes of mud and melting snow. May,
the month dear to poets, is frequently but an uninterrupted succession of
showers to fecundate the earth; its symbol, an array of outspread
umbrellas in our streets. As to our summer, it is but the epitome of the
lovely summer of France and Italy for the use of new countries. Autumn is
a shade better; but anon, the first frost hurries on to blanch and
disperse the leaves and dim the hues of mellowed nature. When the fields
slumber under ten feet of snow; when human noses freeze before their
sneezing owners have time to utter a cry for help, then is the beau
ideal of our climate. He who on such an occasion dares to sigh for the
boasted shade of trees and the murmur of gushing waters, that man is no
true Canadian. The searching wind, the cold, the northern blast, [295] are
part and parcel of our country; one is bound to love them. Should they
increase in intensity, rub your hands, first to keep yourself warm, nest
to denote your patriotic joy!"
But all this won't prevent us from exclaiming with a Canadian son of song:
"Oh! dear is the Northern forest home,
Where the great pine shoots on high;
And the maple spreads its soft, green leaves
In the clear, blue, taintless sky;
Though the summer mantle paleth fast
Into winter's virgin veil -
There is health in the fierce, quick lightning blast,
And strength in the icy gale;
And life glides on in a quiet calm,
Like our own great river's flow;
And dear to the hearts of her children all
Is our own FAIR LAND OF SNOW!"
SILLERY, near Quebec, 1881.
THE MANOR HOUSE, BEAUPORT.
Let us view a remnant of feudal times.
On the Beauport road, four miles from the city and about forty feet from
the late Colonel B. C. A. Gugy's habitation, stood until 1879 an
antiquated high-gabled French stone dwelling, very substantially put
together. About thirty years back there was still existing close to and
connected with it, a pavilion or tower, used in early days as a fort to
protect the inmates against Indian raids. It contained the boudoir and
sleeping apartments of some of the fair seignieuresses [296] of Beauport
in the house which Robert Giffard, the first seignor built there more than
two centuries ago; it is the oldest seignorial manor in Canada. Robert
Giffard's house - or, more properly, his shooting box - is thought to have
stood closer to the little stream to the west. The first seignior of
Beauport had two daughters who married two brothers, Juchereau, the
ancestors of the Duchesnays; and the manor has been in the possession of,
and occupied by, the Duchesnays for more than two hundred years.
Robert Giffard had visited Canada, for the first time, in 1627, in the
capacity of a surgeon; and being a great sportsman, he built himself a
small house on the banks of the Beauport stream, to enjoy to perfection,
his favorite amusements - shooting and fishing. No authentic data exist of
the capacity of Beauport for game in former days; we merely read in the
Relations des Jesuites that in the year 1648. 1200 ptarmigan were
shot there, we also know that the quantities of ducks congregating on the
adjoining flats caused the place to be called La Canardiere. There is
a curious old record in connection with this manor, exhumed by the Abbe
Ferland; it is the exact formula used by one of the tenants or
censitaires in rendering foi et hommage to the Lord of the Manor.
Guion (Dion?), a tenant, had by sentence of the Governor, Montmagny, been
condemned on the 30th July, 1640, to fulfil this feudal custom. The
document recites that, after knocking at the door of the chief manorial
entrance, and in the absence of the master, addressing the farmer, one
Boulle, the said Guion, having knelt down bare headed without his sword or
spurs, repeated three times the words, - "Monsieur de Beauport, Monsieur
de Beauport, Monsieur de Beauport, je vous fais et porte la foy et hommage
que je suis tenu de vous porter, a cause de mon fief du Buisson, [297]
duquel je suis homme de foy relevant de votre seigneurie de Beauport,
lequel m'appartient au moyen du contrat que nous avons passe ensemble par
devant Roussel a Mortagne, le 14 Mars, 1634, vous declarant que je
vous offre payer les droits seigneuriaux et feodaux quand dus seront, vous
requerant me recevoir a la dite foy et homage." "Lord of Beauport, Lord
of Beauport, Lord of Beauport, I render you the fealty and homage due to
you on account of my land du Buisson ... which belongs to me by virtue of
the title-deed executed between us in presence of Roussel at Mortagne, the
14th March, 1634, avowing my readiness to acquit the seignorial and feudal
rents whenever they shall be due, beseeching you to admit me to the said
and homage." This Guion, a mason by trade, observes the Abbe Ferland, was
the man of letters and scribe of the parish.
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