The fact remains that I am in Montreal and Canada. And as the
days run along I am reminded that I have in me the old Canadian
instincts. The word “Canadian” has always called up in my mind a
confused throng of things, like--porridge for tea, and Sir Hugh
MacDonald, and Dominion Day, and my aunt Elizabeth MacLane, and
old-fashioned pictures of her majesty the queen, and Orangemen’s
Day, and “good-night” for good-evening, and “reel of cotton”
for spool of thread, and “tin” instead of can, and Canadian
cheese, and _rawsberries_ in a patent pail, and the Queen’s
Own in Toronto, and soldiers in red coats, and children in
Scotch kilts, and jam-tarts, and barley-sugar, and whitefish
from Lake Winnipeg, and the C. P. R., and the Parliament at
Ottawa, and coasting in toboggans, and Lord Aberdeen, and
everything-coming-over-from-England-so-much-better-and-cheaper-
than-American-ware,--and all that sort of thing. And my mind has
always had a color for Canada--a shade of mingled deep green and
golden brown.
Even in Montreal, where so much is French, there is enough to stamp
it as beyond question Canadian. One still sees marks of her majesty
the queen--but shop-keepers assert confidently that “Edward is
going to make a good king,” and Canadian men are made up as nearly
as possible after his pattern, stout and with that short pointed
beard.
In the greenness of Dominion Square is the most beautiful piece of
sculpture I have seen. All the statues that stand about in Montreal
are finer than most of their kind, and there are no such hideous
creations as are set up in Boston and New York. The Dominion Square
statue is a bronze figure of a Sir John A. MacDonald. The face of
the figure is all that is serene and benign, and the lines of the
body and of the hands are made with strength and beauty. Whether
it is like Sir John A. MacDonald, one does not know--’tis enough
that it’s an exquisite piece of workmanship with which to adorn a
city. And the Maisonneuve statue is a fine, handsome thing, and is
altogether alive. The bronze is no bronze, but has seventeenth-century
red blood in its veins, and the arm that is held high and the hand
with the flag mean conquest and victory.
I shall see Quebec and the length of the blue river before I see you
again, and they, like Montreal, will be mingled with a many-tinted
looking-forward to being with you again.
High upon the tower of a gray-stone building that I see from my
window is a carved gorgon’s head, a likeness of Medusa with snaky
locks. She is hundreds of feet above me as I sit here, but I see the
expression of her face plainly--it is desolate and discouraging. It
says, Do you think you will see that fair lily Annabel Lee again?
Well, then, how foolish are you in your day and generation! I in
my years have seen the passing of many fair lilies. Always they
pass.--
Tell me, Annabel Lee,--always do they pass? But no--I shall find
you again. You will make all things many-tinted for a thousand
thousands of gold days. And are we not good friends in way and
manner? And do we not go the foot-pathway together?