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Then I heard a bugle-call, and descending into the town found a detachment of riflemen, along with volunteers and police, gathered to guard against any émeute of Fenian sympathisers during the trial of D'Arcy McGee's murderer. There seemed no need however for an armed force; the Canadians know too well the value of just laws to allow their administration to be interfered with. I am convinced that they have no sympathy with the unholy cause of Fenianism. Some may

call it love of country, misguided it is true, but still patriotism, yet it is a foul excresence of ignorance and cruel passion. A brotherhood which works its purposes by assassination and midnight murder, can claim no sympathy from honest men. D'Arcy M'Gee was a remarkable character.

He was concerned in the Irish rebellion of 1848 and fled to the United States. Thence he passed into Canada, and became one of her leading statesmen. In the old country his indignation had been roused by unjust land laws, which empowered a landlord to evict his tenant without notic“, at any time, although the rent was fully paid. The land of his adoption in the West tolerated no such unfairness; the stumbling block being removed, the refugee became (under new auspices,) a loyal citizen of the Dominion. He must have been a man of great intellectual power, for his brain equalled in size and weight that of many literateurs. Pope's brain weighed 610z., and and Dryden's 60oz. including the blood, while MoGee's was 59oz. without blood. The Fenian motto is “ Ireland shall be free,” but the Canadians say “Our country shall be free from Fenianism." For telling the truth to his misguided countrymen in the United States, D'Arcy M'Gee died a cruel death, but “the blood of martyrs is the seed of the church.” A memoir of his life has been printed, and circulated freely in the Dominion; and where before one man denounced the Fenian plot, now ten are ready to follow in the steps of the fearless Irish-Canadian patriot.

I had heard of spruce beer, but never tasted it before coming to Ottawa. An old woman was selling it in the street, like the London salopians in early morning. For a copper or two the dame gave me a mug full, but it was too strongly impregnated with tnrpentine for me to drink.

Chaudière Falls are some distance above Parliament Bluff. This name was given to them by French pioneers; but by boat-men and lumberers on the river, they are called by the more familiar name of “Big Kettle.” For many miles above the Falls the stream is broken by many chutes or rapids, and the incline in the bed of the river is very marked. When the waters approach Chaudière, they fall over a limestone rock 20ft. deep, careering on three sides into the whirlpool below. The dasbing torrent produces a dense cloud of foam and spray like steam-hence the name Chaudière, meaning a copper or boiler, in the French language. The scenery around is still wild and grand, forests of waving pines covering the undulating banks and overhanging the river. I am obliged however to confess that the presence of lumber mills below the Falls, destroys the romance, though it adds to the usefulness of the place.

Rideau Falls are a great contrast to “Big Kettle.” Over a limestone precipice glides a veil of water, dropping down an even face of rock. Seen from the river beneath it bas the appearance of a curtain of silver gauze. In order to obtain a good view of the Rideau from land, I had to pass over a waste plot overgrown with nettle-burs, It was as bad in its way as the stink-weed of Missouri, or the mosquitoes, for its clusters of spiny heads have a special affinity for garments and boots, and are as difficult to shake off as leeches. Even the Rideau is made useful. It cannot be navigated, but it is trained to turn the wheels of a little mill. I was invited to go through this factory, where long Canadian wool is manufactured into tweeds, and grey blankets for lumberers. Motive power is communicated by a pair of turbine wheels, having a a head of 32ft. of water acting upon them during the driest weather.

At dinner I met a pleasant circle of American tourists, who had come up North to see what the “ blue noses,” (as they called the Canadians) were doing in the backwoods. In the evening Mr. Chaute of Boston, accompanied me for a last look from Parliament Bluff. River, forest and city lay bathed in moonlight. In my companion I recognised a patriarch-pioneer, His uncle and aunt Wright had come from Massachusetts to be the first settlers of Ottawa. Their child (born in 1801) was the first native of the city. Voyageurs and hunters coming up the river found navigation barred by the Chaudière, so they tramped out a portage 8 miles long on the northern bank, over which they hauled their bateaux laden with stores, until they could launch into quiet waters again. Near this “carrying place” Mr. Wright • located' himself, and as land was cheap in those days, he obtained large grants for a small outlay. Being richer in land than in hard cash, he effected a settlement of outstanding claims with one of his Irish team-drivers, by giving him a large slice of forest-land on the southern side of the river. In process of time the land was wanted for building plots, for the new city, and then the one-time ox-teamer became a rich man, and died well advanced on the highroad to being a millionaire. Mr. Chaute had visited Ottawa in 1831 and again in 1856. Even at the

latter date not a sod had been turned for Palace Beautiful. It was only in 1861 that the foundation-stone was laid, and then it was right royally done by the hand of the Prince of Wales. Mr. Chamberlin on the Gatineau River had alluded to the Wrights as being the first settlers at Ottawa; it was a pleasant episode to meet (quite accidentally) one so intimately related to them as their nephew. Mr. Chaute spoke feelingly of England, saying that he venerated the old country, although he had never visited it. Two of our laws displeased him, viz: Primogeniture and the connection of Church and State, still he feels as acutely as we do the danger of having a Government not openly Protestant. He says that he has always pleasure in meeting Englishmen; and he gave me a very cordial invitation to visit him at his own home in the United States. From individual Americans I have received kindnesses so many and often, that my countrymen will I trust give them credit for the affectionate memories which they as a nation cherish of the old home, even though some of their turbulent spirits talk of driving our red-coats from Quebec, and hoisting the Stars and Stripes on the towers of Palace Beautiful.

THE GOLDEN BELT.

E sure and sail down the Lake of the thousand

islands' and if possible make the journey in May, so as to arrive in Quebec on the Queen's birthday.” The advice came from an Englishman who had visited Canada some years before. It was however later in the season than May, when I reached this classic region. From Lake Ontario, the steamer passes into the St. Lawrence; then is gradually unfolded to view this wonderful panorama of islands. It is the largest collection of the kind in the world. Dots of land, small and great, are set in the river in greater number than the tales of the Arabian magician ; although matter-of-fact geographers have limited the rôle to a thousand. Smith, in his • Past, Present, and Future of Canada," thus describes these islands :

Islands of all sizes and shapes are scattered in profusior throughout the waters; some covered with vegetation, others bare and rugged rocks ; some many acres in extent, others measuring but a few feet; some showing a bare bald head, a little above the level of the water, while, a short distance off, a large island or rock, crowned with a considerable growth of pine or cedar, will rise abruptly out of the water, to the height, probably, of 100 feet or more. These islands are mostly of granite or sandstone.

An acquaintance from Ohio, told me he had been spending a week on this fairy lake. With a couple of Indian boatmen, he had sailed from isle to isle of the river

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