Where Are Those Dashing Regiments Which Every Sunday At 4 P.M. (We
Were Not Such Puritans Then As Now)
Paraded in the open space facing
the Esplanade walls, under the approving eye of the beauty and fashion
of all
Quebec, assembled from outside and from inside of the walls -
the men proud of their bottle-green or dark-blue coats and white duck
pants - all the vogue then - while the softer sex and juveniles were
apparelled in the gayest of toilettes - brightest of colors - loudest of
contrasts: white - pink - green! How densely packed, our Esplanade!
Little boys and girls crowding in every corner of the lovely
precipitous lawn which, amphitheatre-like, stretches down - a hanging
garden of verdure and beauty. The splendid regimental bands of music,
the gaudily uniformed staff officers curvetting on their chargers,
with nodding plumes and heavy, glittering epaulettes (alas! the navy
now seems to have monopolised the gold lace for their shoulder-
straps), and those irresistible sappers with their bushy beards
heading the pageant, and those incomparable drum-majors, who could
fling high in the air their batons, and catch them so gracefully in
their descent. How their glittering coats did enrapture the crowd! All
these wondrous sights of our youth, where will we now find them?
The mounting guard, the Grand Rounds at noon, when one of the
regimental bands (there were here nearly always two, and an honorable
rivalry existed between them) struck up a martial strain, whilst every
sentry in the city was relieved. What a treat this was to every one,
without forgetting the Seminary Externes (pupils), with their blue
coats and sashes of green or of variegated tints.
More than one of those lithesome youths came to grief for having
rushed away from the Gradus ad Parnassum to those Elysian Fields,
ostensibly to hear the band - possibly to cast a sly glance at "sweet
sixteen" chatting with the Militaires off duty. Here,
too, was the spot where amateurs came to hear new pieces of music - the
latest from London. Durham Terrace was the favoured locality from
whence the new waltz - the fashionable march - the latest opera - was
launched into city existence; from thence it found its way to the
salons of the wealthy: such the history of Di tanti palpiti and
other sweet emanations of great masters.
Where, now, are those squads of jolly tars, in navy blue,
irrepressible in their humors when on shore, far from the quarterdecks
of the trim frigates anchored under Cape Diamond: upsetting the cake-
stands, the spruce beer kegs - helping open-handed to the contents the
saucy street urchins, or, handing round, amidst the startled
wayfarers, pyramids of horse cakes, trays of barley-sugar and
peppermints, like real princes dispensing the coin of the realm. Where
are those noisy gangs of swaggering raftsmen - those voyageurs from
the pays d'en haut, with their glittering costumes - hats festooned
with red or blue ribbons, sashes of variegated colors, barred shirts -
tightly wedged, three by three, in caleches, like Neapolitans -
patrolling the streets - interlarding a French song occasionally with
an oath, tolerably profane - at all times to be met, whether in the
light of day or the still hours of night.
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