A second crescent-like recess, about a mile from Wolfe’s Cove, conceals the little village of Sillori. Nothing can be more romantic than the seclusion of this charming spot. The river road to it turns round the foot of gigantic cliffs, which seem interposed betwixt it and the world’s turmoil. The heights which encircle it are deeply wooded to their summits, and retire sufficiently from the river to leave a pleasant meadow and hop-ground round the village, consisting of about half-a-dozen neat white houses, one of which is an inn. On the river’s edge stands the ruin of an old religious house, built by French missionaries, for the purpose of preaching to the Huron tribes, who then inhabited this neighbourhood. There is now no trace of these missionaries, or of their labours, except in the little village of Loretto, which contains the only surviving relics of the once powerful Huron nation; so efficaciously have disease and gunpowder seconded the converting zeal of Europeans. Besides the road which winds under the cliffs, Sillori has two leading to Quebec through the woods. These woods cover the greater part of the country betwixt the St. Foi road and the river, offering all the luxury of shade and sylvan loveliness to the few disposed to accept it. I say the few, for the fashionables of Quebec commonly prefer making a kind of Rotten-row of the Plains of Abraham, round which they parade with the periodical uniformity of blind horses in a mill. Lake Charles is generally talked of as one of the pleasantest spots round Quebec, and instances have been known of parties of pleasure reaching it. It is about three miles in length, and perhaps one at its greatest breadth. Towards the middle of it, two rocky points shoot out so as to form, properly speaking, two lakes, connected by a narrow channel. A scattered hamlet, taking its name from the lake, is seen with its meadows and tufted orchards, along the right bank of the outward basin. Wooded heights rise on the opposite shore, and surround the whole of the interior lake, descending everywhere to the water’s edge; the whole forming a scene of lovely loneliness, scarcely intruded on by the canoe of the silent angler. There is more in the whole landscape to feel than to talk about, so that it is little wonderful that an excursion to Lake Charles should be more frequently talked about than made.