without
stopping to breathe at the top. Upon the whole, it is anything but a
pretty town (at least in winter), the houses being high, and the streets
very narrow. The buildings, too, are commonplace; and the monument to
Wolfe and Montcalm is a very insignificant affair. In fact, Quebec can
boast of little else than the magnificent views it commands from the
ramparts, and the impregnable strength of its fortifications. Some of
the suburban villas, however, are very beautiful; and although I saw
them in winter, yet I could form some idea of the enchanting places they
must be in summer.

After spending three pleasant days here, we got into our sleigh again,
and resumed our journey.

No stages ran below Quebec, so that we now travelled in the sleigh of a
farmer, who happened to be going down part of the way.

Soon after leaving the city, we passed quite close to the famous Falls
of Montmorenci. They are as high, if not higher, than those of Niagara,
but I thought them rather tame, being nothing but a broad curtain of
water falling over an even cliff, and quite devoid of picturesque
scenery. A curious cone of ice, formed by the spray, rose nearly
half-way up the falls.

The scenery below Quebec is much more rugged and mountainous than that
above; and as we advanced the marks of civilisation began gradually to
disappear--villages became scarcer, and roads worse, till at last we
came to the shanties of the wood-cutters, with here and there a solitary
farmhouse. Still, however, we occasionally met a few sleighs, with the
conductors of which our driver seemed to be intimately acquainted.
These little interruptions broke, in a great degree, the monotony of the
journey; and we always felt happier for an hour after having passed and
exchanged with a Canadian a cheerful _bonjour_.

Our driver happened to be a very agreeable man, and more intelligent
than most Canadians of his class; moreover, he had a good voice, and
when we came to a level part of the road I requested him to sing me a
song--which he did at once, singing with a clear, strong, manly voice
the most beautiful French air I ever heard; both the name and air,
however, I have now forgotten. He then asked me to sing--which I did
without further ceremony, treating him to one of the ancient melodies of
Scotland; and thus, with solos and duets, we beguiled the tedium of the
road, and filled the woods with melody! much to the annoyance of the
unmusical American f