Sweeter Still, Even Though Tinged With Melancholy,
The Remembrance Of The Departed Friends, - Those Guardian Spirits We Once
Saw Moving In Some Of Our Canadian Homes In The Legitimate Pride Of
Hospitality - Surrounded By Young And Loving Hearts - Enshrined In The
Respect Of Their Fellow Men.
Oft has it been our privilege at that festive season of our year, when a
hallowed custom brings Canada's
Sons and daughters together with words of
greeting and good-fellowship, to wend our way to Bardfield, high on the
breezy hills of Sillery, and exchange a cordial welcome with the venerable
man who had dwelt in our midst for many long years. Seldom has it been our
lot to approach one who, as a scholar, a gentleman, a prelate, or what is
more than all those titles put together, a truly good man, impressed
himself more agreeably on our mind.
Another revolution of the circling year and the good pastor, the courteous
gentleman, the learned divine, our literary [240] friend and neighbour,
the master of Bardfield, had been snatched from among us and from an
admiring public. Where is the Quebecer who has not noticed the neat
cottage on the north of the St. Lewis road, where lived and died the Lord
Bishop Mountain? As you pass, you see as formerly its lovely river view,
gravelled walks, curving avenue, and turfy lawns, luxuriant hedges
designed by a hand now cold in death. Bardfield continues to be occupied
by Miss Mountain and other members of the late Bishop's family.
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