Well Can We Recall The Time When This Lordly Demesne Extended From
Wolfefield, Adjoining Marchmont, To The Meandering Belle-Borne
Brook,
which glides past the porter's lodge at Woodfield, due west, the historic
stream Ruisseau Saint Denis, up which clambered
The British hero,
Wolfe, to conquer or die, intersecting it at Thornhill. It was then a
splendid old seat of more than one hundred acres, a fit residence for the
proudest nobleman England might send us as Viceroy - enclosed east and west
between two streamlets, hidden from the highway by a dense growth of oak,
maple, dark pines and firs - the forest primeval - letting in here and there
the light of heaven on its labyrinthine avenues; a most striking
landscape, blending the sombre verdure of its hoary trees with the soft
tints of its velvety sloping lawn, fit for a ducal palace. An elfish plot
of a flower garden, alas! how much dwarfed, then stood in rear of the
dwelling to the north, it once enjoyed the privilege of attracting many
eyes. It had also an extensive and well-kept fruit and vegetable garden,
enlivened with flower beds, the centre of which was adorned with the
loveliest possible circular fount in white marble, supplied with the
crystal element from the Belle-Borne rill by a hidden aqueduct;
conservatories, graperies, peach and forcing houses, pavilions
picturesquely hung over the yawning precipice on two headlands, one
looking towards Sillery, the other towards the Island of Orleans, the
scene of many a cosy tea-party; bowers, rustic chairs perdues among
the groves, a superb bowling green and archery grounds.
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