We are now within sight of Green Island.  It is the largest, and I believe one of the most populous we have passed.  Every minute now seems to increase the beauty of the passage.  Far as the eye can reach you see the shore thronged with villages and farms in one continuous line.  On the southern side all are gay and glittering with the tin roofs on the most important buildings; the rest are shingles, whitewashed.  This I do not like so well as the plain shingled roofs; the whiteness of the roofs of the cottages and homesteads have a glaring effect, and we look in vain for that relief to the eye that is produced by the thatched or slated roofs.  The shingles in their natural state soon acquire the appearance of slates, and can hardly be distinguished from them.  What would you say to a rose-coloured house, with a roof of the same gaudy hue, the front of the gay edifice being garnished with grass green shutters, doors, and verandah.  No doubt the interior is furnished with corresponding taste.  There is generally one or more of these smart buildings in a Canadian village, standing forth with ostentatious splendour above its more modest brethren.

August 11.—­Just below Green Island we took on board a real pilot, who, by the way, I do not like half so well as Monsieur Paul.  He is a little bit pragmatical, and seems evidently proud of his superior knowledge of the river.  The good-natured fisherman relinquished his post with a very good grace, and seems already excellent friends with his more able rival.  For my part I was very sorry when the new pilot came on board; the first thing he did was to hand us over a pamphlet, containing regulations from the Board of Health at Quebec respecting the cholera, which is raging, he tells us, like a fearful plague both at that place and Montreal.

These regulations positively forbid the captain and the pilot to allow any person, whether of the crew or passengers, to quit the vessel until they shall have passed examination at the quarantine ground, under the risk of incurring a severe penalty.

This was very annoying; as the captain, that very morning, had proposed taking us on shore at a lovely spot called Crane Island, to spend the afternoon, while we waited for the return of the tide, at the house of a Scotch gentleman, the owner of the prettiest settlement I had yet seen, the buildings and grounds being laid out with great taste.

The situation of this island is of itself very beautiful.  Around it are the waters of the St. Laurence, bearing on its mighty current the commerce of several nations:  in the foreground are the populous and lively settlements of the southern shores, while behind and far, far above it rise the lofty range of mountains to the north, now studded with rural villages, pleasant farms, and cultivated fields.  The island itself showed us smooth lawns and meadows of emerald verdure, with orchards and corn-fields sloping down to the water’s edge.  After a confinement of nearly five weeks on board, you may easily suppose with what satisfaction we contemplated the prospect of spending a few hours on this inviting spot.