e writer of
this history were from the middle of May to the middle of July making
the journey in an open boat. Generally two or more families would unite
in one company, and thus assist each other in carrying their boats and
goods over the portages.

"These excellent men," wrote Sir Richard Bonnycastle, "were willing to
sacrifice life and fortune rather than forego the enviable distinction
of being British subjects." The stern adherence of the Pilgrim Fathers
to their principles was quite equalled by the stern adherence of the
Loyalists to their principles; but the privations and hardships
experienced by many of the Loyalist patriots for years after the first
settlement in Canada were much more severe than anything experienced by
the Puritans during the first years of their settlement in
Massachusetts.

Canada has, indeed, a noble parentage, the remembrance of which its
inhabitants may well cherish with respect, affection, and pride.

Egerton Ryerson: "The Loyalists of America and their Times." (Adapted)

[Illustration: EGERTON RYERSON]

OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT

Oft, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond Memory brings the light
Of other days around me;
The smiles, the tears,
Of boyhood's years,
The words of love then spoken;
The eyes that shone,
Now dimmed and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me.

When I remember all
The friends, so linked together,
I've seen around me fall,
Like leaves in wintry weather;
I feel like one,
Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me.

Moore

THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS

The harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls
As if that soul were fled.
So sleeps the pride of former days,
So glory's thrill is o'er,
And hearts that once beat high for praise,
Now feel that pulse no more.

No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The harp of Tara swells;
The cho