Le Chien dOr | Page 5

lovely landscape and clasp it to his bosom, exclaimed with fresh enthusiasm, "See Quebec, and live forever!"
"Dear Kalm," said the Governor, catching the fervor of his friend, as he rested his hand affectionately on his shoulder, "you are as true a lover of nature as when we sat together at the feet of Linnaeus, our glorious young master, and heard him open up for us the arcana of God's works; and we used to feel like him, too, when he thanked God for permitting him to look into his treasure-house and see the precious things of creation which he had made."
"Till men see Quebec," replied Kalm, "they will not fully realize the meaning of the term, 'God's footstool.' It is a land worth living for!"
"Not only a land to live for, but a land to die for, and happy the man who dies for it! Confess, Kalm,--thou who hast travelled in all lands,--think'st thou not it is indeed worthy of its proud title of New France?"
"It is indeed worthy," replied Kalm; "I see here a scion of the old oak of the Gauls, which, if let grow, will shelter the throne of France itself in an empire wider than Caesar wrested from Ambiotrix."
"Yes," replied the Count, kindling at the words of his friend, "it is old France transplanted, transfigured, and glorified,--where her language, religion, and laws shall be handed down to her posterity, the glory of North America as the mother-land is the glory of Europe!"
The enthusiastic Galissonière stretched out his hands and implored a blessing upon the land entrusted to his keeping.
It was a glorious morning. The sun had just risen over the hilltops of Lauzon, throwing aside his drapery of gold, purple, and crimson. The soft haze of the summer morning was floating away into nothingness, leaving every object fresh with dew and magnified in the limpid purity of the air.
The broad St. Lawrence, far beneath their feet, was still partially veiled in a thin blue mist, pierced here and there by the tall mast of a King's ship or merchantman lying unseen at anchor; or, as the fog rolled slowly off, a swift canoe might be seen shooting out into a streak of sunshine, with the first news of the morning from the south shore.
Behind the Count and his companions rose the white glistening walls of the H?tel Dieu, and farther off the tall tower of the newly- restored Cathedral, the belfry of the Recollets, and the roofs of the ancient College of the Jesuits. An avenue of old oaks and maples shaded the walk, and in the branches of the trees a swarm of birds fluttered and sang, as if in rivalry with the gay French talk and laughter of the group of officers, who waited the return of the Governor from the bastion where he stood, showing the glories of Quebec to his friend.
The walls of the city ran along the edge of the cliff upwards as they approached the broad gallery and massive front of the Castle of St. Louis, and ascending the green slope of the broad glacis, culminated in the lofty citadel, where, streaming in the morning breeze, radiant in the sunshine, and alone in the blue sky, waved the white banner of France, the sight of which sent a thrill of joy and pride into the hearts of her faithful subjects in the New World.
The broad bay lay before them, round as a shield, and glittering like a mirror as the mist blew off its surface. Behind the sunny slopes of Orleans, which the river encircled in its arms like a giant lover his fair mistress, rose the bold, dark crests of the Laurentides, lifting their bare summits far away along the course of the ancient river, leaving imagination to wander over the wild scenery in their midst--the woods, glens, and unknown lakes and rivers that lay hid far from human ken, or known only to rude savages, wild as the beasts of chase they hunted in those strange regions.
Across the broad valley of the St. Charles, covered with green fields and ripening harvests, and dotted with quaint old homesteads, redolent with memories of Normandy and Brittany, rose a long mountain ridge covered with primeval woods, on the slope of which rose the glittering spire of Charlebourg, once a dangerous outpost of civilization. The pastoral Lairet was seen mingling its waters with the St. Charles in a little bay that preserves the name of Jacques Cartier, who with his hardy companions spent their first winter in Canada on this spot, the guests of the hospitable Donacana, lord of Quebec and of all the lands seen from its lofty cape.
Directly beneath the feet of the Governor, on a broad strip of land that lay between the beach and the precipice, stood the