With your permission, I shall
therefore merely ask a question.
What propitious turn of fortune?
which of the benign fairies who watched over his natal hour has Mr.
Frechette to thank for his present success? How came it to pass that,
though he was born a poet, he should have to undergo an ordeal like
another great poet (whom posterity may specially claim as an
historian) the author of the "Lays of Ancient Rome," of emancipating
himself from his earthy - at one time not burdensome - thraldom before
soaring on the wings of poesy to that lofty region, where his classic
diction and lyric power attracted the attention of those worthy but
fastidious gentlemen, yclept "The Forty Immortals of the French
Academy." I have mentioned a very illustrious name in the Republic of
Letters, - a name as dear to Britain as that of our Laureate ought to
be to Canada - that of Macaulay - historian, essayist, poet. You all
know how his parliamentary defeat as candidate for Edinburgh in 1847,
rescued him forever from the "dismal swamp" of politics, providing his
wondrous mind, with leisure to expand and mature, in the green fields
of literature. If New France has not yet produced such a gorgeous
genius as he, of whom all those who speak Chatham's tongue are so
justly proud, it has however out of its sparse population of one
million, put forth a representative whom Old France with its thirty-
eight millions has deemed a fit subject to honour in an unmistakable
way.
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