page_0003

2.

The Citadel
Quebec.

We had a most marvellous drive to a place called Baie Saint
Paul, and saw great views of mountains covered with woods, stretching
for miles, with other mountains behind them. The little farms are
charming, with grey roofs and verandahs, on which people sit and peacefully
rock all Saturday afternoon. They talk a queer difficult French
and allude to dollars as piastres!

Yesterday we went to tea with the seigneuress, Mrs. Gray.
The house was built in 1765 and is full of the nicest old things -
four-posters, old prints, Victorian cushions, and a shallow winding
staircase. It was like an English house or a Scotch house with a difference
somehow. The garden had great hedges of lilac and apple blossom
and very few flowers. The hostess and her daughters plied us with
an incredibly good tea, talking nineteen to the dozen the while. In
the evening they arranged a "veillée" for us, i.e. a party, in a village
called St. Agnes. We arrived about eight o'clock; the sun was
going down. We found two strange old four-seated carriages ready to
take us up a hill, drawn by horses almost smothered in lilac, which
was tied to their back, ears and tails. John and I and various other
people mounted on to a platform, and a large crowd pressed up to it,
while the cure read an address of welcome. Two lanterns were hung on
poles, and a fire threw sparks up into the sky behind the crowd. The
sun sank behind the mountains, the Lac St. Agnes gleamed. It was theatrically
beautiful. Mrs. Gray and her daughters talked on
continuously, and the mosquitoes bit us savagely. The fiddle jigged
delightfully, and the songs and the dances were cheerful and gave