“Among the principal buildings, the government-house, or Castle of St. Louis, may take precedence, being a thin blue building, which seems quivering, like a theatrical side-scene, on the verge of the precipice, towards the St. Lawrence; its front resembles that of a respectable gentleman’s house in England; the interior contains comfortable family apartments. For occasions of public festivity there is another building, on the opposite side of the court-yard, much resembling a decayed gaol. The furniture is inherited and paid for by each successive governor. The grand entrance to the chateau is flanked on one side by this grim mouldering pile, and on the other by the stables, with their appropriate dunghills. There is a small garden on the bank of the river, commanding, as does the chateau itself, an interesting view of the opposite shores of the St. Lawrence. These rise boldly precipitous, clothed with pine and cedar groves, and studded with white villages and detached farms; beyond which the eye reposes on successive chains of wooded mountains, fading blue in the distant horizon; meanwhile, the river below is spreading broadly towards the north, until it meets and divides round the Isle of Orleans. “In front of the chateau is an open space of ground, with great capabilities of being converted into a handsome square; but at this season, a formidable barrier of bog-land is all that it presents to the bewildered pedestrian, who endeavours vainly to steer for the castle gate. On one side of it stands the protestant cathedral church, an unfinished building, much more than large enough for the congregation usually assembled in it. In style and arrangement it resembles a London parochial church, and has nothing about it reproachable with earthly beauty. There is a good organ, but mute for want of an organist; and as there is no choir, the heavy flatness of the service amply secures the English church from all danger of being crowded with the overflowings of its neighbour, the catholic cathedral, in which are still displayed, with no inconsiderable degree of splendour, the enticing ceremonies of the Roman worship. I was present at the service on Easter Sunday; a train of not less than fifty stoled priests and choristers surrounded the tapered altar; the bishop officiated in _plenis pontificalibus_, nor lacked the mitre, ‘precious and aurophrygiate;’ while the pealing organ, incense rolling from silver censers, and kneeling crowds thronging the triple aisles, presented a spectacle on which few are rigid enough, either in belief or unbelief, to look with absolute indifference. A lofty pile of gingerbread cakes, ornamented with tinsel, was carried to the bishop to receive his blessing, and a sprinkling of holy water, after which they were