An atmosphere of rowdyism, theft, wantonness,
hovers over some thoroughfares. Dread and disgust accompany him who
saunters over them. Their gates and doorways seem dark - full of pit-
falls. Iron shutters, thick doors with deep gashes, indicate the
turbulent nature of their inhabitants. Rude men on the sidepaths stare
you out of countenance, or make strange signs - a kind of occult
telegraphy, which makes your flesh creep. To guard against an unseen
foe, you take to the centre of the street - nasty and muddy though it
should be, - for there you fancy yourself safe from the blow of a
skull-cracker, hurled by an unseen hand on watch under a gateway. The
police make themselves conspicuous here by their absence; 'tis a fit
spot for midnight murder and robbery - unprovoked, unpunished. Honest
tradesmen may reside here, but not from choice; they are bound to
ignore street rows; lending a helping hand to a victim would cause
them to receive, on the morrow, a notice to quit.
"Be on your guard, if necessity brings you, after nightfall, to this
unhallowed ground. Danger hovers over, under, round your footsteps. If
an urchin plays a trick on you at a street corner, heed him not. Try
and catch him, he will disappear to return with a reinforcement of
roughs, prepared to avenge his pretended wrongs by violence to your
person and injury to your purse.
"Should a drunken man hustle you as he passes, do not mind him: it may
end in a scuffle, out of which you will emerge bruised and with rifled
pockets.
"We dare not tell you to yield to fear, but be prudent. Though
prudence may be akin to fear, you never more required all your wits
about you. It is very unlikely you will ever select this road again,
though it should be a short cut. Such are some of the dangerous
streets in their main features. There are thoroughfares, on the other
hand, to which fancy lends imaginary charms; the street in which you
live, for instance. You think it better, more agreeable. Each object
it contains becomes familiar, nay cherished by you - the houses, their
doors, their gables. The very air seems more genial. A fellowship
springs up between you and your threshold - your land. You get to
believe they know you as you know them - softening influences - sweet
emanations of 'Home.'" - Translation.
THE UPPER TOWN.
The Upper Town in 1608, with its grand oaks, its walnut trees, its
majestic elms, when it formed part of the primeval forest, must have been
a locality abounding in game. If Champlain, his brother-in-law, Boulle, as
well as his other friends of the Lower Town, [9] had been less eager in
hunting other inhabitants of the forest infinitely more dreaded (the
Iroquois), instead of simply making mention of the foxes which prowled
about the residency (l'abitation), they would have noted down some
of the hunting raids which were probably made on the wooded declivities of
Cape Diamond and in the thickets of the Coteau Sainte Genevieve, more
especially when scurvy or the dearth of provisions rendered indispensable
the use of fresh meats.
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