Where Are Those Dashing Regiments Which Every Sunday At 4 P.M. (We
Were Not Such Puritans Then As Now)
Paraded in the open space facing
the Esplanade walls, under the approving eye of the beauty and fashion
of all
Quebec, assembled from outside and from inside of the walls -
the men proud of their bottle-green or dark-blue coats and white duck
pants - all the vogue then - while the softer sex and juveniles were
apparelled in the gayest of toilettes - brightest of colors - loudest of
contrasts: white - pink - green! How densely packed, our Esplanade!
Little boys and girls crowding in every corner of the lovely
precipitous lawn which, amphitheatre-like, stretches down - a hanging
garden of verdure and beauty. The splendid regimental bands of music,
the gaudily uniformed staff officers curvetting on their chargers,
with nodding plumes and heavy, glittering epaulettes (alas! the navy
now seems to have monopolised the gold lace for their shoulder-
straps), and those irresistible sappers with their bushy beards
heading the pageant, and those incomparable drum-majors, who could
fling high in the air their batons, and catch them so gracefully in
their descent. How their glittering coats did enrapture the crowd! All
these wondrous sights of our youth, where will we now find them?
The mounting guard, the Grand Rounds at noon, when one of the
regimental bands (there were here nearly always two, and an honorable
rivalry existed between them) struck up a martial strain, whilst every
sentry in the city was relieved.
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