Autumn is
a shade better; but anon, the first frost hurries on to blanch and
disperse the leaves and dim the hues of mellowed nature. When the fields
slumber under ten feet of snow; when human noses freeze before their
sneezing owners have time to utter a cry for help, then is the beau
ideal of our climate. He who on such an occasion dares to sigh for the
boasted shade of trees and the murmur of gushing waters, that man is no
true Canadian. The searching wind, the cold, the northern blast, [295] are
part and parcel of our country; one is bound to love them. Should they
increase in intensity, rub your hands, first to keep yourself warm, nest
to denote your patriotic joy!"
But all this won't prevent us from exclaiming with a Canadian son of song:
"Oh! dear is the Northern forest home,
Where the great pine shoots on high;
And the maple spreads its soft, green leaves
In the clear, blue, taintless sky;
Though the summer mantle paleth fast
Into winter's virgin veil -
There is health in the fierce, quick lightning blast,
And strength in the icy gale;
And life glides on in a quiet calm,
Like our own great river's flow;
And dear to the hearts of her children all
Is our own FAIR LAND OF SNOW!"
SILLERY, near Quebec, 1881.
