The John Munn Was A Very Fine Boat, Not
At All The Worse For Having Sunk In The River In The Summer.
I considered Quebec quite the goal of my journey, for books, tongues, and
poetry alike celebrate its beauty.
Indeed, there seems to be only one
opinion about it. From the lavish praise bestowed upon it by the eloquent
and gifted author of 'Hochelaga' down to the homely encomiums pronounced
by bluff sea captains, there seems a unanimity of admiration which is
rarely met with. Even commercial travellers, absorbed in intricate
calculations of dollars and cents, have been known to look up from their
books to give it an enthusiastic expression of approval. I expected to be
more pleased with it than with anything I had seen or was to see, and was
insensate enough to rise at five o'clock and proceed into the saloon, when
of course it was too dark for another hour to see anything. Daylight came,
and from my corner by the fire I asked the stewardess when we should be in
sight of Quebec? She replied that we were close to it. I went to the
window, expecting that a vision of beauty would burst upon my eyes. All
that I saw might be summed up in very few words - a few sticks placed
vertically, which might be masts, and some tin spires looming through a
very yellow, opaque medium. This was my first view of Quebec; happily,
on my last the elements did full justice to its beauty.
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