valuable beasts. To many the rock over which Wolfe climbed to the
plains of Abram, and on the summit of which he fell in the hour of
victory, gives to Quebec its chiefest charm. But I confess to
being somewhat dull in such matters. I can count up Wolfe, and
realize his glory, and put my hand as it were upon his monument, in
my own room at home as well as I can at Quebec. I do not say this
boastingly or with pride, but truly acknowledging a deficiency. I
have never cared to sit in chairs in which old kings have sat, or
to have their crowns upon my head.

Nevertheless, and as a matter of course, I went to see the rock,
and can only say, as so many have said before me, that it is very
steep. It is not a rock which I think it would be difficult for
any ordinarily active man to climb, providing, of course, that he
was used to such work. But Wolfe took regiments of men up there at
night, and that in face of enemies who held the summits. One
grieves that he should have fallen there and have never tasted the
sweet cup of his own fame. For fame is sweet, and the praise of
ones's brother men the sweetest draught which a man can drain. But
now, and for coming ages, Wolfe's name stands higher than it
probably would have done had he lived to enjoy his reward.

But there is another very worthy lion near Quebec--the Falls,
namely, of Montmorency. They are eight miles from the town, and
the road lies through the suburb of St. Roch, and the long,
straggling French village of Beauport. These are in themselves
very interesting, as showing the quiet, orderly, unimpulsive manner
in which the French Canadians live. Such is their character,
although there have been such men as Papineau, and although there
have been times in which English rule has been unpopular with the