Montreal to Quebec. 89 



A peculiar feature of the scenery on the river, the whole 

 way down from Montreal to Quebec, and still further as far 

 as Riviere du Loup, are the numerous white cottages dotting 

 its banks at a few arpents distance from each other, while 

 behind them in the background the woods and hills stand 

 out in almost their primeval state. These are the dwellings 

 — the little farms of the Canadian habitant ; the principal 

 roads of each parish run parallel with the river, and are com- 

 pletely lined with these rural dwellings. As a class the 

 habitants are devoted to agriculture ; entirely destitute of 

 enterprise they tread in the steps of their fathers. There is 

 perhaps no more cheerful, happy or contented being in 

 existence than the habitant ; his little farm supplies him with 

 enough to live upon, and he never gives himself anxiety about 

 to-morrow. The men like the old French peasantry wear the 

 old fashioned capot^ and on their feet mocassins made of cow- 

 hide, — the women jackets of bright colors, and on their heads 

 either a cap or straw hat, made in the gipsy fashion. They 

 are fond of social intercourse, and spend a goodly portion of 

 their time in visiting each other. Those who live in the 

 vicinity of Quebec or Montreal, partly supply those markets 

 with vegetables; and it is not an unusual thing for the 

 tourist in perhaps one of the remotest nooks he may be 

 penetrating in search of scenery, and thinking himself far 

 removed from man, to come suddenly upon one of this race, 

 trudging along staff in hand, and a bundle of baskets on his 

 back, which he will shortly fill with berries — raspberry, blue- 

 berry, or strawberry, to be taken perhaps many a mile to 

 market, and happy in his simplicity humming to himself the 

 burden of some old Norman song brought here by his fore- 

 fathers years ago. In the habitant's house the walls are al- 

 ways well whitewashed — the place scrupulously clean, with 

 flowers in the window. You may speak execrable French 

 — many English unfortunately do— and make mistakes that 

 would excite the risibilities of a saint, yet you never see a 



