The Upper Town, on the high shoulders of Cape Diamond, with
its government buildings, convents, hospitals, showy new shops,
and ancient gardens, its archiepiscopal palace, trim theological
seminary, huge castle-like hotel, and placid ramparts dominating
the _Ile d'Orleans_ with rows of antiquated, harmless cannon
around which the children play--the Upper Town belongs distinctly
to the citadel. The garrison is in evidence here. A regimental band
plays in the kiosk on Dufferin Terrace on summer evenings. There
is a good mixture of khaki in the coloring of the street crowd,
and many wounded soldiers are seen, invalided home from the front.
They are all very proud of the glorious record that Canada has made
in the battle for freedom. Most of them, it seems to me, are from
English-speaking families. But by no means all. There are many of
unmistakable French-Canadian stock; and they tell me proudly of
the notable bravery of a certain regiment which was formed early
from volunteers of their own people--hunters, woodsmen, farmers,
guides. The war does not seem very far away, up here in the region
of the citadel.

The Lower Town, with its narrow streets, little shops, gray stone
warehouses, dingy tenements, and old-fashioned markets, is quite a
different place. It belongs to the slow rivers on whose banks it
drowses and dreams. The once prosperous lumberyards are half empty
now. The shipping along the wharfs has been dwindling for many
years. The northern winter puts a quietus on the waterside. Troops,
munitions, supplies, must go down by rail to an ice-free port. The
white river-boats are all laid up. But a way is kept open across
the river to Levis, and the sturdy, snub-nosed little ice-breaking
ferry-boats buffet back and forth almost without interruption. There
is a plenty of nothing to do, now, in the Lower Town; pipe-smoking