—  279  —

I  can  recall  among  many  pleasant  day-dreams,  an
hour  spent  on  one  of  our  Dominion  Days  care-
lessly floating  over  the  calm  bosom  of  Echo  Bay,  on
Lake  St.  Charles,  in  a  birch  canoe  impelled  by  the
vigorous,  embrowned  arm  of  old  Sioui,  and  gliding
noiseless  under  a  sultry  though  serene  sky,  amidst  the
yellow  and  white  water-lilies  through  the  narrows
towards  the  cool  retreats  of  the  speckled  trout.  No
sound,  except  the  gentle  ripple  caused  by  our  frail
canoe,  blending  with  the  warble  of  the  hermit-thrush,
in  the  overhanging  woods,  or  the  occasional  screech  of
a  Kingfisher,  sitting  meditatingly  on  a  dry  twig,  or  the
dismal  moan  of  a  loon  floating  over  the  rippling  surface
of  the  placid  waters.  It  was  indeed  the  time  to  repeat
with  Howitt :

'•  'Tis  summer — joyous  summer  time  !
In  noisy  towns  no  more  abide ;
The  earth  is  full  of  radiant  things,
Of  gleaming  flowers  and  glancing  wings,
Beauty  and  joy  on  every  side."

And  such  bright,  glorious,  golden  lilies  expanding
their  corollas  and  floating  to  the  surface,  reminding  you
of  Felicia  Heman's  lilies.
