half-breed went on the warpath and a blow must be struck quick and hard, Fish Creek and Cut Knife tell of the volunteer from the plough and the counter, the farm and the desk.
Not on the plains of our Fatherland alone—not only does Chateauguay call to Ridgeway and Ridgeway to Battleford; but in other lands have our people quitted them like men. From the walls of Kars, where, during the Crimean War, the Canadian Williams for weary months after hope had fled all others, withstood the Russian to Paardeberg, won by Canadian dash and valour, the Empire has not had a stricken field whereon Canadians did not fight.
Some there are within these walls who can say, like him who addresses you, that in the dark days of the Empire, when her sun was suffering an eclipse, and it seemed almost as though that sun might set forever, they awaited with dread the next cable despatch lest it might contain amongst the valiant slain the name of a brother—there may be some who can say, like that brother, that a dear friend laid his tall length along the South African karroo pierced by the enemy's bullet through that staunch and gallant heart which had brought him from his own beautiful Nova Scotia to the defence of our common mother.
The monument of those who died is rising upon the Queen's Park Avenue in Toronto—it was not needed.
Canadians can hold their own, too, in other fields than those of war. I do not speak of her jurists—that were to be guilty of praising my own order —but not further to speak of her commerce, agricul-
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