katchewan and
Athabaska as it was before the rebellion of 1885 opened up that
country--so from the hunter's point of view "Caribou-land" would be an
exceedingly apt name for the _tundra_ of Greater Canada. Only the
Indians and the Eskimos (the former living on the confines of the
forests, and the latter along the far Arctic coasts) visit these
territories, and but for the presence of the vast herds of caribou, it
is pretty certain that such mosquito-haunted wastes would never be
trodden by man. It is true that the musk-ox is an important inhabitant
of the wastes, but the numbers of that strange beast, which seems to be
half sheep, half ox, are not nearly so great, and there are reasons to
believe that it is being slowly but surely driven from its ancient
pastures by the caribou, just as, in so many parts of the world, the
nations of the antelope have receded before the deer-tribes.

E. B. OSBORN: "Greater Canada."

A SPRING MORNING

There was a roaring in the wind all night;
The rain came heavily and fell in floods:
But now the sun is rising calm and bright,
The birds are singing in the distant woods,
Over his own sweet voice the stock-dove broods,
The jay makes answer as the magpie chatters,
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.

All things that love the sun are out of doors,
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth,
The grass is bright with rain-drops;--on the moors
The hare is running races in her mirth;
And with her feet, she from the plashy earth
Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun,
Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.

WORDSWORTH

For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers
appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the
voice of the turtle is heard in our land.

SOLOMON'S SONG. II, 11, 12

CROSSING THE BAR

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilo