Chapter IX: Act IV (1)

SCENE 1.--_A boarding-house dining-room richly decorated with flowers and plants. Twenty gentlemen, among whom is_ Mr. Tom Christopher, _each accompanying a lady, one of whom is_ Miss Blaggs. _The cloth is drawn, and dessert is on the table_.

_Mr. Biggs, B.A. (Tor. Univer.), on his feet_.

Ah--ladies and gentlemen, here's to our host,
And rising, as thus, to propose him a toast,
I think of the days which together
In shade, and in sunshine, as chums we have passed,
In love, and esteem, that forever must last,
Let happen what will to the weather.

In short, ladies and gentlemen, I have to propose the everlasting health and welfare of our host, who should have been our honoured guest but for that persistent pertinacity he exhibited in the matter, and which he does himself the injustice to call womanish. But I am sure, ladies and gentlemen, no one but himself ever accused our esteemed host of being womanish, and when we look upon the high standing he has achieved in our University, the honour he confers on his Alma Mater by his scholarly attainments and the gentlemanly character he has won among all sorts of students, I am sure, ladies and gentlemen, we should be doing great injustice to you all were we for one moment to admit that he could be other than he is, an honour to Toronto University, and a credit to his sex. I am quite sure the ladies are at this moment envying the happy woman whom he will at no distant date probably distinguish with his regard, and it must be satisfactory to ourselves, gentlemen, to know that it lies in our power, as the incumbents of academic honours, to be able to bestow that reversion of them on those who, having all the world at their feet, need not sigh for the fugitive conquests that demand unceasing toil and an unlimited amount of gas or coal-oil. Ladies and gentlemen, I call upon you to fill your sparkling glasses to the honour of our host and college chum, Mr. Tom Christopher. And here's with a hip, hip, hooray! and hands all round!

_All_.--Hip, hip! Hurrah!

[_Tremendous cheering and clinking of glasses. Several are broken,
and the excitement consequently subsides_.

_Mr. Tom Christopher_.--Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you much. For these your loving words. A third year man, I came upon you fresh from nowhere; This in itself a warranty for cold And hard suspicion; but you received Me with some warmth, and made me one of you, Chaffed me, and sat on me, and lent me books. And offered pipes, and made inquiries kind About my sisters; and Time, who takes Men kindly by the hand, made us warm friends, And knit us in a love all brotherly.

_Many Voices_.--Yes, brothers! brothers! we are brothers all!

_A Voice_.--And sisters!

_Mr. Tom_.--I would say sisters too, but that I fear My lady guests would think I did presume; But yet I know, and knowing it am proud, That most men here to-night would welcome all The sweet girl-graduates that would fill the list Did but the College Council set aside A foolish prejudice, and let them in. And now, I know a girl who long has worked To pass the exams, take the proud degree I hold to-day, and yet her petticoat Forbade.

_Several Voices_.--Name! Name! A toast! A toast!

_Mr. Tom_.--I will not name her, gentlemen, but bring Her to your presence, if you so incline; First begging that you will not let surprise Oust self-possession, for my friend's a girl Of timid temper, though she's bold to act If duty calls.

_Many Voices_.--Your friend! Your friend!

_Mr. Tom_.--I go to fetch her, gentlemen; dear ladies all, I beg your suffrages of gentle eyes And kindly smile to greet my guest.

[_Exit_ MR. TOM CHRISTOPHER.

* * * * *

SCENE 2.--_The same_.

_Enter_ MISS KATE BLOGGS _in full dinner toilet of Reseda silk, and carrying a dandelion and lily bouquet_.

_Miss Blaggs_.--My cousin! oh, my cousin!

[_Rushes excitedly forward and falls into hysterics on_ Miss BLOGGS'
_neck. The company gather round in great surprise_.

_Miss B_.--Dear Orphea! Orphea, my dear! oh, water, gentlemen! Lay her upon the couch. See! see! she gasps! Orphea, dear girl!

[_The ladies are much alarmed, but Miss BLAGGS soon gives signs of
recovery, and sits up_.

_Orphea (in tears)_.--Oh, Kate! it struck me so to see you once again as you were wont to be; those nasty ugly pants forever gone, and you a girl again.

_Kate_.--Dear friends, you look surprised. Pray Heaven you'll not look worse when you know all. I am indeed a girl, though you have known Me hitherto as Thomas Christopher. Four years ago I passed the exams, for Us women, at your University. Once more I passed. But when again I would, I stumbled for the teaching that is chained-- Like ancient scripture to the reading desk-- Within your College walls. No word of mine Could move the flinty heads of College Council. Order and discipline forbade, they said, That women should sit-side by side with men Within their walls. At church, or concert, or At theatre, or ball, no separation's made Of sexes. And so I, being a girl Of firm and independent mind, resolved To do as many a one beside has done For lesser prize, and, as a man, sat at The feet of our Gamaliels until I got The learning that I love. That I may now Look you all in the face without a blush, save--that Which naturally comes at having thus To avow my hardihood, is praise, I trow, You will not think unworthy; and to me It forms a soft remembrance that will ever dwell Within my grateful heart. Can you forgive me?

_Many Voices_.--We do, we must. All honour to the brave!
Speak for us, Biggs.

_Mr. Biggs_.--I cannot speak, except to ask the lady's pardon
For our rough ways.

_Kate_.--No; pardon me.

_Many Voices_.--No! no! we ask your pardon.

_Kate_.--If that, indeed, as I must need believe From all your looks, you do not blame me much, Endue me with a favour. It is this:-- Let every man and woman here to-night Look out for those petitions that will soon Be placed in many a store by those our friends Who in this city form a ladies' club, And each one sign. Nay more, to show you mean What I, with swelling heart have often heard You strongly urge, the rights of women to The College privileges, get all your friends To sign. Do what your judgment charges you To help so good a cause, and let the lists Of 1883 have no more names Set by themselves as women. Let us go In numbrous strength before the Parliament, And ask our rights in such a stirring sort, They shall be yielded. Then I shall know Your brotherly and pleasant words mean faith, And shall no more regret a daring act That else will fail of reason. May I thus trust?

_All_.--You may! You may.

_Kate_.--Then hands all round, my friends, till break of day.

* * * * *

FABLES:

ORIGINAL AND FROM THE FRENCH.

THE CHOICE.

As fragrant essences from summer flowers, Steal, on aerial pinions, to the sense, So, on the viewless wing of rumour, sped A word that set the aviary on flame. "To-morrow comes the Prince," it said, "to choose A bird of gifts will grace the royal bower." O then began a fluttering and a fume-- A judging each of all! Pert airs and speech Flew thick as moulted feathers. Little heads Were tossed in lofty pride, or in disdain Were turned aside. For each bird deemed his own The merits that would charm. One only sang To-day his daily song, nor joined the crowd In envious exultation. To him spoke Another of his kind. "Vain one, refrain That everlasting pipe, fit for a cage Behind some cotter's lattice, where thy gray And thickset form may shun the cultured eye. A word of warning, too--hide from the Prince." "Dear brother," cried the gray, "be not annoyed; Who sees your elegance of form, and depth Of perfect colour, ne'er will notice me." The morrow came,--the Prince. Each bird essayed To please the royal taste, and many a meed Of praise was won and given--this for his hue;-- That for his elegance;--another for His fascinating grace. Yet something lacked, 'Twas evident, and many an anxious glance Betrayed the latent fear. "Yon little bird In quiet gray and green courts not my praise, Yet should a singer be," exclaimed the Prince, As with a critical and searching eye He scanned the small competitors for choice. Obedient to his governor, the bird Poured forth his song, oblivious of the crowd Of vain and envious round him, in whose eyes He stood contemptible. The Prince, entranced, Broke forth at length: "Nor hue, nor elegance, Nor fascination, can outvie the gift Of genius. My choice is made." And to the great offence Of one bright bird, at least, the humble gray Became the royal treasure.

INSINCERITY.

Tired of the narrow limits her assigned, Truth fled the earth; and men were fain to grope In utter darkness. Blindly they blundered, And were long distraught, till on the horizon rose A luminosity, and in its midst A form. They cried, "'Tis Truth! fair Truth returned!' And though the light seemed dim, the form but faint To that of other days, they worshipped it, And all things went along much as at first. Until, born none knew whence, a doubt arose; Grew strong; and spake; and pondering, men began To quest their goddess' claim. Then, too, was set A secret watch, a covert test for proof; And one fine day there rose a clamour, such As cheated mobs will make, when cunning puts A veto on their claim. For this mob found that, in her stolen guise Of softer beams, they had adored a cheat; A make-believe; a lie. Immense their rage! One aim inspired them all-- To punish. But while they swayed and tossed In wrathful argument on just desert, Fair Truth indeed appeared, clad in her robes Of glorious majesty. "Desist, my friends," She cried; "the executioner condign Of Insincerity, and your avenger, Is Time, my faithful henchman."

THE TWO TREES.

FROM THE FRENCH OF P. LE MAY.

Two trees, amid whose leafy shade The warbling birds their vigils paid, Stood neighbours--each as noble tree In height and girth as one might see. The one, sequestered in the vale, All sheltered from the boisterous gale, Had passed his days in soft repose; The other from the cliff arose, And bore the brunt of stormy wind That lashed him oft in frenzy blind.

A day there happed when from the north Aquilon drave his forces forth, And hurled them headlong on the rock Where, proudly poised to meet the shock, Our bold tree stood. In gallant might, He took the gage of proffered fight, And though in every fibre wrung, Kept every fibre still upstrung.

"Thou tremblest!" cried the sheltered tree, "Thine own the folly! Come to me. Here no wild tempest rocks our boughs-- Scarce may it bend our haughty brows-- Scarce may a breeze our branches kiss-- From every harm a shelter this."

No word replied the storm-tried tree, But, wrestling for the mastery, He bowed and straightened, writhed and shook, And firmer of the rock he took A tightening clutch with grip of steel, Nor once the storm-fiend made him reel; And when his weary foe passed by, Still towered he proudly to the sky.

Then through the vale the winged blast For the first time in fury passed, As through ripe grain the sickles go, Widespread he scattered fear and woe; Prone fell the tree--so safe before-- 'Mid ruin dire, to rise no more.

He cannot fall who knows to fight With stern adversity aright. But soon is laid the victim low, That knows not how to ward a blow.

FABLE AND TRUTH.

Simply attired in Nature's strictest garb, Fair Truth emerged from out her sheltering well; But Time so many of her charms had touched That age and youth before her presence fled: And no asylum showed an open door Of welcome to the waif of shivering limb. Sudden upon her sight a vision breaks-- Gay Fable richly robed, and pranked withal In plumes and jewels--mostly false 'tis true, But bright enough. "Ah, is it you, my friend? How do?" quo' she, "but why upon the road. "And all alone?" "You see I freeze," says Truth, "And yet of those who pass I but implore A simple shelter, but I frighten them. Alas! I see an aged woman gains But small consideration!" "Younger than I," Saith Fable, "are you? Yet I may aver, Without conceit, that everywhere I am received with joy. But Mistress Truth, Why did you brave the light in such scant robe? 'Twas most ill-judged. Come, let's arrange for both, Since the same end is aim for me as you; Get 'neath my cloak, and we'll together walk. Thus, for your sake, I shall not by the wise Be buffeted; and for my sake, you shall Be well received among the simpler sort. Thus every one his proper taste may suit, And by these means each shall her end attain, Thanks to your sense, and my amusing speech. And you will see, my sister, everywhere We shall be well received, in company."--_Florian_.

THE CALIPH.

In ancient days the Caliph Almamon A palace built in Bagdad, fairer far Than was the vaunted house of Solomon. The portico a hundred columns graced Of purest alabaster. Gold and blue And jasper formed the rich mosaic floor. Ceiled with the fragrant cedar, suites of rooms Displayed a wealth of sculpture; treasures rare In art and nature vied; fair flowers and gems, Perfumes and scented myrtles; verdure soft And piercing lustre; past the embroidered couch The gushing fountains rolled on dancing wave. And beauty reigned o'er all. Near this abode, but just beyond the gate, A simple cottage stood, old and dilapidate, The home of a poor weaver. There, content With little gain procured by labour long, Without a debt and thus beyond a care, The old man lived, forgotten perhaps, but free. His days all peaceful softly wore away And he nor envied was, nor envying. As hath been told, his small and mean retreat, Just masked the palace gates. The Grand Vizier Would pull it down, without formality Of law, or word of grace. More just his lord Commands to buy it first. To hear is to obey; They seek the weaver's bearing bags of gold; "These shalt thou have." "No; keep your lordly sum, My workshop yields my needs," responds the man, "And for my house, I have no wish to sell; Here was I born, and here my father died: And here would I die too. The Caliph may, Should he so will, force me to leave the place And pull my cottage down, but should he so Each day would find me seated on the stone The last that's left, weeping my misery. I know Almamon's heart; 'twill pity me." This bold reply the Vizier's choler raised; He would the rascal punish, and at once Pull down the sorry hut. Not so the Caliph: "No; while it stands my glory lives," saith he, "My treasure shall be taxed to make it whole; And of my reign it shall be monument; For when my heirs shall this fair palace mark They shall exclaim 'How great was Almamon!' And when yon cottage 'Almamon was just!'"--_Florian_.

THE BLIND MAN AND THE PARALYTIC.

Kindly let us help each other,
Lighter will our burden lie,
For the good we do our brother
Is a solace pure and high,--
So Confucius to his people,
To his friends, the wise Chinese,
Oft affirmed, and to persuade them,
Told them stories such as these:--

In an Asiatic city
Dwelt two miserable men,--
Misery knows nor clime nor country,
Haunts alike the dome or den--
Blind the one, the other palsied,
Each so poor he prayed for death;
Yet he lived, his invocations
Seeming naught but wasted breath.
On his wretched mattress lying,
In the busy public square,
See the wasted paralytic
Suffering more that none doth care.

Butt for everybody's humour,
Gropes the blind his devious way,
Guide, nor staff, nor helper has he,
To supply the light's lost ray;
E'en a poor dog's willing service,
Love, and guidance are denied;
Till one day his groping finds him
By the paralytic's side.
There he hears the sufferer's moaning,
And his very soul is moved.
He's the truest sympathizer
Who, like sorrow, erst has proved.

"I have, sorrows, thou hast others,
Brother, let us join our woes,
And their rigours will be softened,"
Thus the blind began propose.
"Ah, my friend, thou little knowest
That a step I cannot take;
Thou art blind; what should we gain then
Of two burdens one to make?"
"Why, now, brother, see how lucky,
'Twixt us both is all we lack:
Thou hast eyes, be thou the guide then,
Thee I'll carry on my back;
Thus without unfriendly question
As to which bears heaviest load,
I will walk for thee, and thou, friend,
Choose for me the smoothest road."--_Florian_.

DEATH.

On a set day, fell Death, queen of the world,-- In hell assembled all her fearful court That 'mongst them she might choose a minister Would render her estate more flourishing. As candidates for the dread office came, With measured strides, from Tartarus' lowest depth, Fever, and Gout, and War--a trio To whose gifts all earth and hell bare witness-- The queen reception gave them. Then came Plague, And none his claims and merit might deny. Still, when a doctor paid his visit, too, Opinion wavered which would win the day. Nor could Queen Death herself at once decide. But when the Vices came her choice fell quick-- She chose Excess.--_Florian_.

THE HOUSE OF CARDS.

How softly glide Philemon's happy days Within the cot where once his father dwelt Peaceful as he! Here with his gentle wife and sturdy boys, In rural quietude, he tills his farm; Gathers his harvest, or his garden tends. Here sweet domestic joys together shared Crown every evening, whether 'neath the trees The smiling summer draws the table forth: Or round the cosy hearth the winter cold With crackling faggot blazing makes their cheer. Here do the careful parents ever give Counsels of virtuous knowledge to their sons. The father with a story points his speech, The mother with a kiss. Of different tastes, the boys: the elder one, Grave, studious, reads and thinks the livelong day; The younger, sprightly, gay, and graceful, too, Leaps, laughs incessant, and in games delights. One evening, as their wont, at father's side, And near a table where their mother sewed, The elder Rollin read. The younger played: Small care had he for Rome's ambitious deeds, Or Parthian prowess; his whole mind was set To build a house of cards, his wit sharp-drawn To fit the corners neatly. He, nor speaks, Nor scarce may breathe, so great his anxious care. But suddenly the reader's voice is heard Self-interrupting: "Papa, pray tell me why Some warriors are called Conquerors, and some The Founders, of an Empire? What doth make The points of difference in the simple terms?" In careful thought the father sought reply: When, radiant with delight, his younger son, After so much endeavour, having placed His second stage, cries out, "Tis done!" But he, The elder, harshly chides his brother's glee, Strikes the frail tenement, and so destroys The fruits of patient toil: The younger weeps: And then the father thus: "Oh, my dear son, Thy brother is the Founder of a realm, Thou the fell Conqueror."--_Florian_.

THE BULLFINCH AND THE RAVEN.

In separate cages hung, the same kind roof Sheltered a bullfinch and a raven bold, The one with song mellifluous charmed the house; The other's cries incessant wearied all. With loud hoarse voice he screamed for bread and meat And cheese; the which they quickly brought, in hope To stop thereby his brawling tongue. The finch Did nought but sing, and never bawled and begged; So they forgot him. Oft the pretty bird Nor food nor water had, and they who praised His song the loudest took the smallest care To fill his fount. And yet they loved him well, But thought not on his needs. One day they found him dead within his cage, "Ah, horror! and he sang so well!" they cry, "What can it be he died of? 'Tis, indeed A dreadful pity." The raven still screamed on, and nothing lacked.--_Florian_.

THE WASP AND THE BEE.

Within the chalice of a flower A bee "improved the shining hour," Whom, when she saw, a wasp draw near, And sought to gain the fair one's ear, With tender praise: "Oh, sister mine-- (For love and trust that name entwine)" But ill it pleased the haughty bee, Who answered proudly: "Sisters!--we? Since when, I pray you, dates the tie?" With angry warmth the wasp's reply Came fuming forth--"Life-long, indeed. In semblant points all eyes may read The fact. Observe me if you please. Your wings, are they not such as these? Mine is your figure, mine your waist, And if you used with proper taste Your sting, as I do, we agree In that." "'Tis true," replies the bee, "Each bears a weapon; in its use The difference lies. For fierce abuse, And insolence your dart doth serve. Mine gives the chastisement that these deserve, And while you irritate your dearest friend; I take good heed myself, but to defend."--_Florian_.

TRANSLATIONS

A MEMORY OF THE HEROES OF 1760.

FROM THE FRENCH OF P. LE MAY.

O ye who tread with heedless feet
This dust once laid with heroes' blood,
A moment turn your backward glance
To years of dread inquietude:
When wars disturbed our peaceful fields;
When mothers drew a sobbing breath;
When the great river's hilly marge
Resounded with a cry of death.

Then, full of fire, the heroes sprang
To save our heritage and laws.
They conquered! 'twas a holiday.
Alas, the last in such a cause!
Bloody and shamed, the flag of France
Perforce recrossed the widening seas;
The sad Canadian mourned his hopes,
And cherished bitter memories.

But noble he despite his woe!
Before his lords he proudly bends,
Like some tall oak that storms may shake,
And bow, but never, never rend.
And oft he dreams a happy dream,
And sees a flag, with lilies sown,
Come back whence comes the rising Sun,
To float o'er landscapes all his own.

Oh when the south wind on its wings
Bears to his ear strange sounds afar,
To him they seem the solemn chant
Of triumph after clam'rous war.
Those echoes weird of gallant strife
E'en stir the coffined warrior-dead,
As stirs a nation's inmost heart
At some proud pageant nobly led.

O France, once more 'neath Western skies,
We see thy standards proudly wave!
And Mexico's high ramparts fall
Before thy squadrons, true and brave.
Peace shalt thou to the land restore;
For fetters shalt give back the crown;
And with thy shining sword shalt hurl
The base usurper from the throne.

Hear ye, how in their ancient urns
The ashes of our heroes wake?
Thus greet they ye, fair sons of morn,
For this their solemn silence break.
They greet ye, whose renown hath reached
Past star on star to highest heaven!
Ye on whose brow their halo sits,
To ye their altar shall be given!

Arise, immortal phalanxes,
Who fell upon a glorious day!
Your century of mourning weeds
Posterity would take away.
Arise and see! our woods and fields
No longer nourish enemies!
Whom once ye fought are brothers now,
One law around us throws its ties.

And who shall dare our homesteads touch,
That for our heritage ye gave:--
And who shall drive us from the shores
To which your blood the verdure gave?--
E'en they shall find the oppressed will rise
More powerful for the foe withstood;
And ever for such heinous crime
Shall pay the forfeit with their blood.

Ye, our defenders in the past,
Your names are still a household word!
In childhood's ear old age recounts
The toils your hardy youth endured.
And on the field of victory
Hath gratitude your memory graved!
In during brass your story lives
A glory to the centuries saved!

THE SONG OF THE CANADIAN VOLTIGEURS.

FROM THE FRENCH OF P. LE MAY.

Our country insulted Demands quick redress. To arms, Voltigeurs! To the struggle we press. From vict'ry to vict'ry, Brave, righteous, and just, Ours the mem'ries that cling to Our forefathers' dust.

Defend we our farm-lands, Our half-crumbled walls! Defend we our sweethearts, Our hearths and our halls! Our dear native tongue, Our faith keep we free! Defend we our life, For a people are we!

No rulers know we, save Our time-honoured laws! And woe to the nation That sneers at our cause. Our fields and our furrows, Our woods and our streams, Should their columns invade, Shall entomb their vain dreams!

To our foes, the perfidious, Be war to the knife. Intrepid, yet duteous, We leap to the strife. More terrible shewing In danger's red hour; We know to avenge, And unbroken our power.

List the thunderous roar As the shot rushes by! To our war-song heroic, The chorus of joy. At the ring of the musket To the battle we fly; Come! come to the field, See us conquer or die.

What! we become slaves To an alien foe? We bear their vile trammels? Our answer is, No! Assistance shall reach us From heaven's lucent arch: Come! seize we our muskets And "double-quick march!"

THE LEGEND OF THE EARTH.

FROM THE FRENCH OF JEAN RAMEAU.

[The Prize Poem in the Christmas (1885) Number of the Paris _Figaro_, translated for the _Week_.]

When the Creator had laid out the deeps, The great illimitable fields of sad-eyed space, A weighty bag upon His neck He threw, Whence issued sound confused of huddled stars;

And, plunging in the sack His mighty hand, He traversed all the ether's wondrous plain With slow and measured step, as doth a sower, Sowing the gloomy void with many suns.

He tossed them--tossed them--some in fantastic groups, And some in luminous; some terrible. And 'neath the Sower's steps, whose grain was stars, The furrows of the sky, ecstatic, smoked.

He tossed them--tossed them--out of His whirling hand, Plenteous in every place, by full broad casts Measured to rhythmic beat; and golden stars Flew o'er the wide expanse like firefly swarms.

"Away! away!" cried He of worlds the Sower: "Away, ye stars! spring in the wastes of heaven; Broider its purple fields with your fair gems; Tuneful, elated, gladsome, take your course.

"Go, wave of fire, into a darksome night, And there make joy, and there the pleasant day! And launch into the depths immeasurable Quick, quivering darts of glowing light and love!

"I will that all within your bounds shall shine, Be glad, be prosperous, happy, blest, content, Shall sing for ever 'Glory be to Thee, Creator, Father, Sower, who with suns Hast filled infinity!'"

Thus He dismissed the stars, weighted with life, Careering round their calm Creator's feet As, in a desert place July has scorched, The grains of sand may cloud the traveller's steps.

And glittered all, and sang; and, hindered not, Upon their axes turned, constant and sure; Their million million voices, strong and deep, Bursting in great hosannas to the skies.

And all was happiness and right, beauty and strength; And every star heard all her radiant sons With songs of love ensphere her mother-breast; And all blessed Life. And blessed the Highest Heaven.

* * * * *

Now, when His bag of stars he had deplete, When all the dark with orbs of fire was strown, The Sower found at bottom, 'twixt two folds, A little bit of shining sun, chipped off.

And wondering, knowing not what sphere unknown Revolved in crimson space all incomplete, The great Creator, at a puff, spun off This tiny bit of sun far into space;

Then, mounting high up to His scarlet throne, Beyond the mist of thickly scattered worlds, Like a great crowned king whose proud eye burns At hearing from afar His people's voice, He listens,

And He hears The mighty Alleluia of the stars, The choirs of glowing spheres in whirling flood Of song and high apotheosis, All surging to His feet in incense clouds.

He sees eternity with rapture thrilled; He sees in one prolonged diapason The organ of the universe, vehement, roll For ever songs of praise to Him, the Sower.

But suddenly He pales. From starry seas A smothered cry mounts to the upper skies; It rises, swells, grows strong; prevailing o'er All the ovation of the joyful spheres.

From that dim atom of the chipped orb It comes; from wretches left forsaken, sad, Who weep the Mother-star, incessant sought And never found from that gray point of sky.

And the cry said "Cursed! Cursed are we, the lost By misery led, a wretched pallid flock, Made for the light and tossed into the dark!

"We are the banished ones; the exile band; The only race whose eyes are filled with tears. And if the waters of our seas be salt, 'Twas our forefathers tears that made them so.

"Be He Anathema, the Sower of Light! Be He Anathema whom worlds adore!-- If to our native star He join us not Be He accursed, through all creation cursed, for aye!"

Then rose the God from His great scarlet throne, And gentle, moved, weeping as we, He stretched His two bright arms over the flat expanse, And in a voice of thunder launched reply:--

"Morsel of Sun, calling thyself the Earth:-- Chrysalides on her grey bounds supine:-- Humanity--sing! for I give you Death, The Comforter, he who shall lead you back Safe to your Star of Light,

* * * * *

And this is why--lofty, above mishap, The Poet, made for stars of molten gold, Spurns earth; his eyes; fixed on the glowing heavens, Toward which he soon shall take his freer flight.

THE EMIGRANT MOUNTAINEER.

FROM THE FRENCH OF CHATEAUBRIAND.

How doth fond memory oft return To that fair spot where I was born! My sister, those were happy days In lovely France. O, country mine, my latest gaze Shall turn to France!

Remember'st thou with what fond pride, Our lowly cottage hearth beside, She clasped us to her gladsome breast-- Our dearest mother; While on her hair so white, we pressed Kisses, together?

My sister, canst thou not recall Dore, that bathed the castle wall, And that old Moorish tower, war-worn And grey, From whence the gong struck out each morn The break of day.

The tranquil lake doth mem'ry bring, Where swallows poised on lightest wing; The breeze by which the supple reed Was bent,-- The setting sun whose glory filled The firmament?

Rememberest thou that tender wife, Dearest companion of my life? While gathering wild flowers in the grove So sweet, Heart clung to heart, and Helen's love Flew mine to meet.

O give my Helen back to me, My mountain, and my old oak tree! Memory and pain, where'er I rove, Entwine, Dear country, with my heart's deep love Around thy shrine.

FROM "LIGHTS AND SHADES."

FROM THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO.

When on the cliff, or in the wood
I muse the summer evening by,
And realize the woes of life,
I contemplate Eternity.

And through my shadow-chequered lot
GOD meets my earnest, gazing eye;
As through the dusk of tangled boughs
We catch bright glimpses of the sky.

Yes, when, at last Death claims her own,
The spirit bursts the bonds of sense,
And--like a nestling--in the tomb
Finds pinions that shall bear her thence.

VILLANELLE TO ROSETTE

FROM THE FRENCH OF PHILIPPE DEPORTES, SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

In my absence, though so short, You, Rosette, had changed your mind: Learning your inconstancy, I, another mistress find. Never more shall charms so free Gain ascendancy o'er me. We shall see, oh light Rosette, Which of us will first regret.

While with tears I pine away, Cursing separation drear; You, who love by force of wont, Took another for your dear. Never vane all lightly hung, To the wind more swiftly swung. We shall see, oh vain Rosette, Which of us will first regret.

Where are all those sacred vows,-- All those tears at parting wept? Can it be those mournful plaints Came from heart so lightly kept? Heavens, that you so false could be! Who shall trust you, cursed is he. We shall see, oh false Rosette, Which of us will first regret.

He who to my place has climbed, Ne'er can love you more than I; And in beauty, love, and faith, You're surpassed I own with joy. Guard your new love lest he range, Mine, the darling, knows not change. Thus we put to proof, Rosette, Which of us will first regret.

* * * * *

NOTES.

LAURA SECORD, THE HEROINE OF 1812

A DRAMA.

NOTE 1, page 11.

The simple heroic story thus enlarged into dramatic form is not unknown to the Canadian muse, but has been sung by several of her votaries, notably by Miss Machar, of Kingston; Mr. John Reade, of Montreal; and Dr. Jakeway, of Stayner.

Dr. Jakeway's verse is not so well known as it deserves to be, not only for its literary merit, but also for its patriotic fervour, the fervour of a true and loyal Canadian: I shall therefore be pardoned if I quote the closing stanzas of his "Laura Secord":

"Braver deeds are not recorded,
In historic treasures hoarded,
Than the march of Laura Secord through the forest, long ago.
And no nobler deed of daring
Than the cool and crafty snaring,
By that band at Beaver Dam, of all the well-appointed foe.

But we know if war should ever
Boom again o'er field and river.
And the hordes of the invader should appear within our land,
Far and wide the trumpets pealing.
Would awake the same old feeling.
And again would deeds of daring sparkle out on every hand."

NOTE 2, page 12.

And Stony Creek was ours.

A 49th man thus writes to Auchinleck, p. 178:--"Sir,--To your, account of the battle of Stony Creek I would like to add a few particulars. At eleven o'clock at night the Light Company and Grenadiers of the 49th were under arms; every flint was taken out and every charge was drawn. Shortly after we moved on in sections, left in front, the Light Company leading the way towards the enemy's camp. I had been driven in that afternoon from Stony Creek, and was well acquainted with the ground. The cautious silence observed was most painful; not a whisper was permitted; even our footsteps were not allowed to be heard. I shall never forget the agony caused to the senses by the stealthiness with which we proceeded to the midnight slaughter. I was not aware that any other force accompanied us than the Grenadiers, and when we approached near the Creek, I ventured to whisper to Col. Harvey, 'We are close to the enemy's camp, sir.' 'Hush! I know it,' was his reply. Shortly after a sentry challenged sharply; Lieutenant Danford and the leading section rushed forward and killed him with their bayonets; his bleeding corpse was cast aside, and we moved on with breathless caution. A second challenge--who comes there?--another rush and the poor sentinel is transfixed, but his agonized dying groans alarmed a third who stood near the watch fire; he challenged, and immediately fired and fled. We all rushed forward upon the sleeping guard; few escaped; many awoke in another world. The excitement now became intense; the few who had escaped fired as they ran and aroused the sleeping army. All fled precipitately beyond the Creek, leaving their blankets and knapsacks behind.

"Our troops deployed into line and halted in the midst of the camp fires, and immediately began to replace their flints. This, though not a _very_ lengthy operation, was one of intense anxiety, for the enemy now opened a most terrific fire, and many a brave fellow was laid low. We could only see the flash of the enemy's firelocks while we were perfectly visible to them, standing as we did in the midst of their camp fires. It was a grand and beautiful sight. No one who has not witnessed a night engagement can form any idea of the awful sublimity of the scene. The first volley from the enemy, coming from a spot as 'dark as Erebus,' seemed like the bursting forth of a volcano. Then again all was dark and still, save the moans of the wounded, the confused click! click!--noise made by our men in adjusting their flints, and the ring of the enemy's ramrods in reloading. Again the flash and roar of the musketry, the whistling of the bullets, and the crash of the cannon. 'Chaos has come again.' The anxious moments (hours in imagination) have passed; the trembling excited hands of our men have at last fastened their flints; the comparatively merry sound of the ramrod tells that the charge is driven home; soon the fire is returned with animation; the sky is illumined with continued flashes; after a sharp contest and some changes of position, our men advance in a body and the enemy's troops retire. There were many mistakes made in this action, the two greatest were removing the men's flints, and halting in the midst of the camp fires; this is the reason why the loss of the enemy was less than ours, their wounds were mostly made by our bayonets. The changes of position by different portions of each army in the dark accounts for the fact of prisoners having been made by both parties. I must give the enemy's troops great credit for having recovered from their confusion, and for having shown a bold front so very soon after their having been so suddenly and completely surprised.

"Yours, A 49TH MAN."

NOTE 3, page 13.

Friend Penn.

Of this character, of whom the writer has made a somewhat free use, Col. Coffin says: "There is a tradition in the neighbourhood that Harvey himself having borrowed the garb and waggon of a Quaker"--of which sect there were many settled in Upper Canada at the time--"penetrated into the American lines, selling potatoes and 'taking notes.' Those who can recall the commanding stature and bearing of the gallant officer maintain that this was the very last disguise in which he was likely to succeed. It is not impossible that some patriotic 'Friend' really found a good market for his produce and valuable information for Harvey."

NOTE 4, page 15.

Hymn.

An air to this hymn has been composed.

NOTE 5, page 16.

Pete and Flos.

That the rights of the slave-holder had legal recognition in 1812 is not to be doubted, and that nearly every family of any means or repute held slaves is certain. The Bill abolishing slavery in the British Dominions did not pass until 1832, when it was introduced by Lord Stanley (the late Earl of Derby). A strong feeling in favour of its abolition had however permeated society, in consequence of the powerful representations made on the subject, both in and out of the British Parliament, by Wilberforce and Clarkson, "who had successfully shown," says Hamilton in his "Outlines of the History of England," "that the effect of this iniquitous system was no less injurious to the moral condition of the people of England than it was to the physical well-being of the African race." That no ill-feeling towards their masters generally existed in Canada in the minds of the slaves may be fairly inferred from the fact that, at their own request, a coloured regiment was formed to assist in the defence of the country in 1812, and under Captain Runchey did good service at the Battle of Queenston Heights. In this connection it is also to be remembered that large numbers of freedmen were to be found both in England and Canada--men who for faithful or special services had received the gift of freedom from their grateful and generous masters.

That the Legislature of Upper Canada was free even at that early period to deal with its domestic questions is shown by the fact that in 1793 an Act was passed at Newark, "forbidding the further introduction of slaves into the province, and ordering that 'all slave children born after the 9th of July in that year should be free on attaining the age of twenty-five.'" To this Act is due the fact that Canada was as early as 1800 a city of refuge for escaped slaves, numbers of whom found their way hither from Baltimore and Maryland. (_See_ also Appendix)

NOTE 6, page 18.

We'll have it though, and more, if Boerstler.

It has generally been stated that Mr. Secord heard of the intended surprise of Fitzgibbon by accident. The facts of the case are, however, related in the poem, Mrs. Smith, a daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Secord, who yet survives, being the authority.

Mrs. Smith states that with the insolence of the victorious invader, Dearborn's men came and went, ordered, or possessed themselves of, whatever they chose, and took every form of familiarity in the homes of the residents within their lines, and that it was fast becoming an anxious question with the farmers and others, what they should do for supplies if Dearborn were not ousted within the season.

NOTE 7, page 19.

--and fell a-talking, loud,
As in defiance, of some private plan
To make the British wince.

The ill-feeling of the Americans towards British subjects can scarcely be too strongly represented for the facts. A bitter antagonism was naturally the feeling of each side so lately in the deadly struggle of a civil war. To gloss over this state of things, deplorable as it was, and as its results have often been, is to belie history, and to no good or useful end. Had the contention been akin to a mere friendly tug-of-war, as some would have it represented now, lest a growing friendliness should be endangered, it would be necessary for the historian to re-write all that has been written, for otherwise the arguments of contention would have no meaning, no _raison d'etre_; in fact, they could never have been formulated, for the premisses would have been wanting. "He is the best cosmopolite, who for his country lives." says some one, and it is to this truth that the peace of the world, which we all wish to see established, will be owing, not to any false representations in place of facts.

NOTE 8, page 25.

That hate to England, not our country's name
And weal, impelled mad Madison upon this war,
And shut the mouths of thousand higher men than be.

"The Democratic Party," says Col. Coffin (see "Chronicle of the War," pp. 30-1-3), "eager to humble Britain, accepted any humiliation rather than quarrel with France. They submitted to the capture of ships, the sequestration of cargoes, the ransom of merchandise, with a faint remonstrance. French war ships seized American merchantmen at sea--plundered and burnt them. They consoled themselves with the belief that the anticipated triumph of the French Emperor in Europe would ensure their supremacy on this continent. They were prepared to divide the world between them...." In the words of the historian Alison, "the ostensible object of the war was to establish the principle that the flag covers the merchandise, and that the right of search for seamen who have deserted is inadmissible; the real object was to wrest from Great Britain the Canadas, and, in conjunction with Napoleon, extinguish its maritime and colonial empire. Politicians, too, of this early American school had a notion that French connection and the conquest of Canada were synonymous terms. This was a great mistake ... but ... it had an unexpected good effect, for the very suggestion of a French policy, or the exercise of French influence, tested the British feeling still latent in the hearts of thousands of Americans. In the New England States a war with England was denounced.... Citizens of these States expressed an abhorrence of France, and of its rule, and protested against the contemplated introduction of French troops on this continent, which, under the pretext of subduing or seducing the French-Canadians, might prove to be subversive of their own liberties.

"It is probable that to this spirit of truthful independence may be ascribed the fact that during the whole of the ensuing war (1812-15) the immense extent of frontier between Lower Canada and the States of Vermont and New Hampshire and Maine was unassailed by an enemy.... No hostile irruption was attempted upon the Province from Lake Champlain to the ocean.... War was declared on the 18th June, 1812, by Act of Congress. Mr. Madison, then President, who had done all in his power to exasperate the existing ill-will, and to lash the popular mind to frenzy, eluded the responsibility of the fatal act, and made a cat's paw of the Legislature."

The people of the United States were disunited on the subject of the war.... The Legislature of Maryland openly denounced the war. The Governments of Massachusetts, Connecticut and Rhode Island had refused the quota of militia demanded of these States respectively. Such men as Quincey declared in the House of Representatives at Washington that "since the invasion of the Buccaneers, there was nothing in history more disgraceful than this war." The same view of President Madison's action is also held by Auchinleck, Christie, and, indeed, by every trustworthy historian of the time.

NOTE 9, page 25.

In opening up a road to reach the great Pacific.

In 1812 the vast promise of the West had begun to attract public interest. The discovery of the Columbia River in Oregon, including what is now Washington Territory, was made by Captain Gray, of Boston, in 1792, and upon this was based the general claim of the United States to the Territory. The British, however, held a prior claim of occupation and discovery. In 1804-6 Captains Lewis and Clarke explored the whole country from the mouth of the Missouri to the mouth of the Columbia, and in 1811 Fort Astoria was built. The Treaty of 1845 settled the question of claim to this Territory in common with other Western lands in favour of the United States. Although California was not largely settled by United States subjects until the Treaty of 1844, yet its reputation for being a gold-bearing country was well established, and had been increasing in public regard from the time of its first exploration by Sir Francis Drake in 1570, who expressed a strong opinion as to its auriferous character. Long before the famous expedition of Colonel Fremont across "the plains," numerous trails, too often marked by the white bones of their victims, bore testimony to the dauntless courage and sanguine enterprise that has opened up the great empire of the West.

NOTE 10, page 26.

Brock! MacDonell! Dennis!

It would be a work of supererogation to say anything of Major-General Sir Isaac Brock here, so completely is his name enshrined in Canadian history, literature, and tradition. I may, however, be pardoned if I quote a few descriptive sentences to be found in "A Chapter of the War of 1812," by Col. William Stanley Hatch, Acting Assistant Quartermaster-General of the army with Hull at Detroit.

"General Brock was an officer of distinction. His personal appearance was commanding; he must have been six feet three or four inches in height, very massive and large boned, though not fleshy, and apparently of immense muscular power. His Aides were elegant young men, very near, if not quite six feet in height, and in their splendid uniforms all three presented a brilliant appearance. But how transitory and evanescent the gratification of that day and that event!" [the taking of Detroit]. "In a few short weeks--less than two months--on the 13th October, 1812, two of these noble men and gentlemanly officers had fallen. At this distant day I feel it due to myself and to them to record the sentiment of regret which impressed itself upon my mind when the announcement came that General Brock and Colonel MacDonell, public enemies as they were, had terminated their earthly career at Queenston."

Lieutenant-Colonel MacDonell, A.D.C. to General Brock, was "one of five sons of a brother of MacDonell, Laird of Glengarry, who bore a prominent part in supporting Prince Charles, called the Pretender.... The family came out to this country shortly after the American Revolution, and settled in the County of Glengarry among other Scotch settlers, who had been located on lands in that county upon the disbanding of the regiment known as the Royal Highland Emigrants. Lieutenant-Colonel MacDonell came up to Toronto (then York) and studied law, and was appointed Attorney-General of the Province when a very young man, and afterwards accompanied, as aide-de-camp, General Brock at Detroit and Queenston," where he gloriously fell in the gallant charge that followed the fall of Brock.--_Extract of private letter_. (_See_ also Appendix.)

"I have heard that he (Lieut.-Col. MacDonell) was brought up by the late Hon. Alexander MacDonell, who gave him a valuable piece of property in the then Town of York to start him in the legal profession. On his way up the Niagara River with General Brock, having a kind of presentiment of what might happen, the Colonel made his will, and bequeathed the land referred to, to James MacDonell, eldest son of the Hon. Alexander MacDonell. The land is now owned by the widow of James (Mrs. M. S. MacDonell, living at 305 Bathurst Street). It comprised the west side of Church Street, from Wellington Street to King Street, and went some distance west."--_Extract of private letter_.

Beside the lady above mentioned, several connections of Lieut.-Col. MacDonell reside in Toronto, among them W. J. MacDonell, Esq., French Vice-Consul; Angus D. MacDonell, Inland Revenue Department; and Alex. MacDonell, Esq., Osgoode Hall. The late Bishop MacDonell was also of this family, as were most of the MacDonells who grace the pages of Canadian histories of the War of 1812.

Captain James Dennis--the third of the trio whom Mrs. Secord apostrophises--then Lieutenant, had been among the wounded on board the _Monarch_ man-of-war at Copenhagen, but recovered so as to accompany his regiment to Canada. In 1812 he was in charge of one of the two flank companies of the 49th, stationed at Queenston, and gallantly led the defence, directing the one-gun battery and holding the enemy completely in check until their discovery of a path to the summit of the Height turned the scale on the wrong side, where it stood until the arrival of General Brock. In the splendid charge up-hill Captain Dennis was wounded, and, it was supposed, killed; he, however, bravely kept the field until the day was won, despite pain and weakness. He was not related to the Dennises of York, and Buttonwood, near Weston; but two members of this family were in the York militia, and served at Queenston. The late Bishop Richardson, an uncle of theirs, also served in the navy on the lakes, where he lost an arm.

NOTE 11, page 27.

The Widow, Stephen Secord.

This lady was the widow of Stephen, an elder brother of James Secord, who, in conjunction with another brother, David, a major in the militia, and after whom the village was named, built and owned the grist mill at St. David's. Stephen Secord appears to have died some years previous to the war, leaving a family of several sons. With the wisdom and spirit of a sensible woman the widow carried on the business, and thereby brought up her family. During the war all her sons were variously engaged in it with the exception of the youngest, and in the absence of sufficient help the widow worked with her own hands, turning out flour for which the Government paid her twenty dollars a barrel. Many of the Secords who are to be found scattered through the Province at the present time are children of her sons.

NOTE 12, page 27.

Sergeant George Mosier.

This character is singular in being the only pure invention in the poem; and the name was chosen as being most unlikely to be borne by any one in the neighbourhood of Queenston. By one of those coincidences, however, that are not unknown, it appears that there was a Captain Mosier living at Newark in 1812, and commanding a vessel on Lake Ontario. Captain Mosier was of some service to the British Government, and on one occasion was able to be of special use in carrying off and concealing, until the mischievous effect was over, a somewhat hot-headed gentleman who in the ardour of his loyalty had thought it his solemn duty to cross the river and bayonet the sentinel at Fort Niagara.

NOTE 13, page 27.

--all is pretty quiet still
Since Harvey struck them dumb at Stony Creek.
Along the Lake bold Yeb holds them fast,
And Erie-way, Bishopp and Evans back him,