OLD MURRAY BAY 



After seventy years have sped — happy 

 years leaving few traces of their eventless 

 passing — it is none so easy to breathe the 

 breath of life into that 'little summer colony 

 mostly from Quebec and Montreal' which 

 Mr. Wrong in his Canadian Manor and its 

 Seigneurs tells us was to be found at Pointe 

 au Pic in 1850. Recollections are dimmed 

 and unsure; of chronicles scarce any exist. 

 The hour slips by for recording somewhat 

 of ways and manners that are within the 

 fading memory of a bare handful ; well-nigh 

 as remote and strange to the new comer as 

 the daily walk and conversation of the 

 King's Farmer when he was shooting bears 

 from his door-step and spearing salmon 

 beside his house in the stream then famed 

 before others as La Riviere Saumonais. 



Before sitting down to sort what miscel- 

 laneous jetsam time has left stranded, I 

 attempt two or three long backward casts, 

 and it is but kindly and honest to announce 

 the intent to ease the task of the judicious 

 reader who skips irrelevancies. 



First then, without argument or cavil, 

 it is freely allowed that the age and genesis 

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