We are, nevertheless, inclined to believe that
outward objects may act powerfully on one's inner nature: that the haunts
and homes of men are not entirely foreign to the thoughts, pursuits and
impulses, good or bad, of their inmates.
Active, cultured, bustling, progressive citizens, we would fain connect
with streets and localities partaking of that character, just as we
associate cheerful abodes with sunshine, and repulsive dwellings with
dank, perennial shadows.
Mr. N. Legendre, in a small work intituled "Les Echos de Quebec," has
graphically delineated the leading features of several of our
thoroughfares: -
"In a large city each street has its peculiar feature. Such a street
is sacred to commerce - a private residence in it would appear out of
place. Such another is devoted to unpretending dwellings: the modest
grocery shop of the corner looks conscious of being there on
sufferance only. Here resides the well-to-do - the successful merchant;
further, much further on, dwell the lowly - the poor. Between both
points there exists a kind of neutral territory, uniting the
habitations of both classes. Some of the inmates, when calling, wear
kid gloves, whilst others go visiting in their shirt sleeves. The same
individual will even indulge in a cigar or light an ordinary clay
pipe, according as his course is east or west. All this is so marked,
so apparent, that it suffices to settle in your mind the street or
ward to which an individual belongs. The ways of each street vary.
Here, in front of a well-polished door, stands a showy, emblazoned
carriage, drawn by thoroughbreds; mark how subdued the tints of the
livery are. There is, however, something distingue about it, and
people hurrying past assume a respectful bearing.
"In the next street, the carriage standing at the door is just as
rich, but its panelling is more gaudy - more striking in colour are the
horses - more glitter - more profusion about the silver harness
mountings. Though the livery has more eclat, there seems to be
less distance between the social status of the groom and that of his
master.
"Walk on further - the private carriage has merged into the public
conveyance; still further, and you find but the plain caleche.
"Finally, every kind of vehicle having disappeared, the house-doors
are left ajar; the inmates like to fraternise in the street. On fine
evenings the footpath gets strewed with chairs and benches, occupied
by men smoking - women chatting al fresco unreservedly - laughing
that loud laugh which says, "I don't care who hears me." Passers-by
exchange a remark, children play at foot-ball, while the house-dog,
exulting in the enjoyment of sweet liberty, gambols in the very midst
of the happy crowd.
