" GINGER. 215 



Sagacity, unerring, staid, 



And truth in artless guise arrayed, 



Among the race of canine kind 



An equal to our dinger find? 



How did the good, the friendly, mourn, 



And pour their sorrows o'er his urn ! 



But Lindsay, thine the loudest strain, 



Yet all thy pungent grief is vain. 



In vain do you the Fates implore 



Thy faithful Ginger to restore ; 



Whom on far other terms they gave, , 



By nature destined to the grave. 



What though you could the lyre command, 



And sweep its strings with softer hand 



Than Orpheus whose harmonious song 



Once drew the listening trees along, 



Yet ne'er returns the vital state, 



The shadowy form to animate. 



For when the ghost-compelling god 



Shakes o'er his prey his horrid rod, 



He will not, lenient, to the breath 



Of hope, unbar the gates of death ! 



'Tis hard ; but mortals must endure 



The ills that sorrow cannot cure." 



" CANGAN, 

 "Quebec, llth Dec. 1851." 



But what does the kind and patient reader care for Cangan 

 or Lindsay or Ginger ? Absolutely nothing. He wants to 

 know what fishing he can have in the Sheldrake, and I 

 regret that I cannot give him any accurate information on 

 the subject. That there is such a stream, within ten or 

 twelve miles west of the Hudson's Bay Company's station 

 at the G-oodbout, there is no doubt, although it is not 

 mentioned by Bayfield and that there are salmon in it 



p 4 



