

JULY WILD FLOrVVERH. 17 



How would it do to cull St. John's Wort, 

 oh the eve of that day dear to Quebec — the 

 maple and the beaver — la St. Jain Baptiste, or 

 else to select that still more widely auspicious 

 day (1st July) sacred to our nascent empire — 

 passing dear to all Canada — Dominion Day. 



I can recall among ray pleaaantest day- 

 dreams, an hour spent on one of our early 

 Dominion Days, carelessly floating over the 

 calm bosom of Echo Bay, on Lake St. Charles, 

 in a birch canoe, impelled by the vigourous, 

 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 fiail canoe, blend- 

 ing 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 glad 

 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 radient things, 

 Of gleaming flowers and glancing wings, 

 Beauty and joy on every side." 



