From the May 1951 magazine.

The Montreal Story

YOU can go by foot up to the top of Mount Royal if you want to. The road spins back and forth like the busy yarn on a habitant spinning wheel. Or, in summertime you can ride in one of the old, patched up carriages, driven by an even older cabby who speaks French, but was born in Irish Griffintown. In the winter you may wrap your best girl and yourself under the heavy buffalo robes of an open sleigh and make the same journey under the bare trees, past the skiers and the riders, up to the chalet. At any time the view, when you lean on the concrete railing, is always a shock. Accustomed as we are to the details of city streets, of cars and trams and faces, the great panorama is something above and beyond our experience.

Here, below us, is wealth and industry, buildings like monuments, the mighty river, and, beyond, across the carpet of farmlands, blue mountains, and, just out of sight, an awareness of another nation. From rich avenues and from mean streets there rises the sound of living, the beating of the composite heart of more than a million, French speaking and English speaking, who are the heirs of Jacques Cartier, of Champlain, of Maisonneuve, and a history book full of other names whose fame has been lent to mountain, lake and township all up and down the eastern seaboard.

-- Joe McD.

Montreal, Quebec

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