Yes, Like The Proprietor Of
Westfield, We Dearly Love The Old Trees Of Our Home.
We were invited to ascend to the loftiest point of this dwelling, and
contemplate from the platform on the roof the majestic spectacle at our
feet.
Far below us waved the nodding pinnacles of countless forest trees;
beyond and around us, the site of the old battle-fields of 1759 and 1760,
to the east, the white expanse of the St. Lawrence sleeping between the
Beauport, Orleans and Point Levi shores; to the northwest, the snake-like
course of the St. Charles, stealing through fertile meadows, copses of
evergreens - until, by a supreme effort, it veers round the compass at the
Marine Hospital; there, at sunset, it appears as if gamboling in the light
of the departing luminary, whose rays anon linger in fitful glances on the
spires of Lorette, Charlesbourg and St. Sauveur, until they fade away, far
away in the cerulean distance, over the sublime crags of
Tsononthouan,
- "of these our hills
the last that parleys with the setting sun."
or else gild in amber tints, the wooded slopes of the lofty ridges to the
west.
Westfield, forms part of a larger expanse of land, formerly known as the
"Upper Bijou," crowning the heights, overhanging the valley of the St.
Charles, where existed the "Lower Bijou," marshy and green meadows, once
sacred to snipe, and on which the populous suburb St. Sauveur has recently
sprung up. It was granted in free and common soccage, to the late Charles
Grey Stewart, Esq., in 18 - ; he resided there many years.
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