hman, it must be remembered that Frechette is both an American
and a British subject; and these things, not likely to disarm
Academical conservatism, made the action the more significant of the
poet's value.

There is strong and noble passion in 'La Voix d'un Exile' and in the
'Ode to the Mississippi.' His arraignment of the Canadian politicians
may be forgotten without loss,--no doubt he has by this time forgiven
them,--but the real feeling of the poet, who finds in the Mississippi
the brother of his beloved St. Lawrence, is permanent:--

"Adieu, vallons ombreux, mes campagnes fleuries,
Mes montagnes d'azur et mes blondes prairies,
Mon fleuve harmonieux, mon beau del embaume--
Dans les grandes cites, dans les bois, sur les greves,
Ton image flottera dans mes reves,
O mon Canada, bien aime.

Je n'ecouterai plus, dans nos forets profondes,
Dans nos pres verdoyants, et sur nos grandes ondes,
Toutes ces voix sans nom qui font battre le coeur."

[Farewell, shaded valleys, my flowery meadows, my azure
mountains and my pale prairies, my musical stream, my fair
sky! In the great towns, in the wood, along the water-sides,
thy scenes will float on in my dreams, O Canada, my beloved!

I shall hear no more, in our deep forests, in our verdant
meads and upon our broad waters, all those nameless voices
which make one's heart throb.]

In 1865 the first book of poems which appealed to the world from
French Canada appeared. It was Frechette's 'Mes Loisirs' (My Spare
Hours). Later came 'Pele-Mele' (Pell-Mell), full of fine cameo-like
poems,--but like cameos that are flushed by an inner and vital fire.
Longfellow praised 'Pele-Mele': it shows the influence of Hugo and
Lamartine; it has the beauty of De Musset, with more freshness and
"bloom" than that poet of a glorious past possessed; but there are
more traces of Lamartine in 'Pele-Mele' than of Hugo.

"Frechette's imagination," says an admiring countryman of his, "is a
chisel that attacks the soulless block; and with it he easily forms a
column or a flower." His poems have grown stronger as he has become
more mature. There is a great gain in dramatic force, so that it has
surprised none of his readers that he should have attempted tragedy
with success. He lost some of that quality of daintiness which
distinguished 'Le Matin' (Morning), 'La Nuit' (Night), and 'Fleurs
Fanees' (Faded Flowers). The 'Pensees d'Hiver