and raging along, as if angry at being forced from its native channel, to be lost in the St. Lawrence.

4

We were much gratified with the grandeur of the fall, and of the surrounding scenery. Looking up the river, the view is not extensive, but highly picturesque; the lofty banks are overhung with wood, and the grey rocks, which now and then shew themselves, add to the wildness of the scene. The water, when not swelled by rain, does not fill the channel, but is seen winding round the points of rocks, and forming into currents, which, according to the quantity of water at the time, separate or join near the head of the fall, and quickening their motion as they approach the brink, are dashed into the gulf below. The view down the river is of the same wild nature as that upwards; rocks and trees, and rolling rapid streams, all confounded together: the sunbeam illumines the rising spray, mixing radiant gems with the som-, bre hue of the forest. Nature, in this spot, seems just emerging from original chaosso wild is the appearance and arrangement of every thing around you.

After having fully gratified our curiōsity, and remarked all the beauties of the place, seated on the Chaudiere rock, and moistened with the rising spray till we were dripping like so many river gods, we resolved to retrace our steps through the wood. We did so with less difficulty than on our approach, and regained our boat with appetites worthy of some excellent beef steaks, with which we had provided ourselves. We lighted a fire on the rocks,— cooked our dinner,-made up a table in our boat, and with one accord commenced the attack. Every thing was excellent, because every body was hungry, and disposed to be pleased:-noble ingredients in all feasts and parties, from the cottagers' potatoes and milk,-up to ragouts and burgundy.

After seeing the Fall of Chaudiere, my curiosity was the more strongly excited to see the Fall of Montmorency, more famous still than the Chaudiere, because it is seen at a distance by all who sail up the St. Lawrence.

The river Montmorency falls into the St. Lawrence about nine miles below Que

bec; and it may be said, almost literally, to fall into it, for the distance does not appear to be above four or five hundred yards. The approach to it, both above and below, is very easy; you may drive a gig to within a few yards of it. The Montmorency is certainly one of the finest falls in the world: it is (as I have formerly mentioned) no less than 246 feet perpendicular height. Some give the preference to the Fall of Chaudiere, because the surrounding scenery is more picturesque. For my own part, I am inclined to give the preference to the Montmorency. It is nearly as large a river as the Chaudiere, and from the great height of the fall in one undivided mass, it is more grand and striking. The banks of the river downwards soon terminate in the St. Lawrence, and are so perpendicular that trees cannot grow on them. They are, of course, not so beautiful as those of the Chaudiere; but the magnificence, the grandeur of the fall, so occupies the attention, so fills the mind, that you do not think of looking for trees or rocks; they would be lost in the grandeur of the principal object. This is hot so much the case at the Chaudiere. If,

H

the

turning your attention altogether from the Fall of Montmorency, you direct it up river, the scenery is not to be surpassed any where. I have been several miles up the river, and must say I never saw scenery more picturesque.

After viewing the fall, if you turn your attention towards the St. Lawrence and the Island of Orleans, and, following the course of the river, direct your view towards the lower end of the island, by Chateau riché, till you reach the mountain called Cap Tourment, it must be allowed that it is difficult to imagine an assemblage of objects more interesting, or better calculated to inflame the fancy of the poet, or give life to the canvas of the painter.

Both the Montmorency and the Chaudiere may be viewed either from the top or bottom of the fall. The latter, it is gene. rally thought, is seen to greatest advantage from below. You are pleased and astonished with the

Sweeping theatre of hanging woods,

“Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods.”

The Montmorency, too, viewed from be low, is truly sublime.

And full he dashes on the rocky mounds,
Where thro' a shapeless breach his stream resounds;
As high in air the bursting torrents flow,

As deep recoiling surges foam below.

Prone down the rock, the whitening sheet descends,
And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, rends;
Dim seen thro' rising mists, and ceaseless show'rs,
The hoary cavern, wide surrounding low'rs ;
Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils,
And still below the horrid cauldron boils.

Who could imagine that this fine description was not made at the Montmo rency? Words cannot describe it more happily. A volume of the works of the immortal Scotch bard happened to be on my table while I was writing you, and had nearly finished my letter. I accidentally took it up, and the first thing almost that presented itself to my view was the above poetical effusion. It harmonised so well with the train of my ideas, that I transcribed it immediately, quite happy in the reflection that my letter would now contain something worth reading, something to repay you for the trouble of getting through it. Lest I should be mistaken, however, I will not increase the evil, but for the present bid you adieu.