Thirty canoes formed a funeral procession which passed along the Great Lakes for nearly two hundred and fifty miles. When the mission was reached, the cortége approached the land, where a vast concourse of Indians, trappers, soldiers, priests, and half-breeds, paid reverence to this sweet-souled Jesuit missionary. Here, in the little church, he was laid to rest, and here, in 1877, a splendid monument was erected to the memory of that noble Christian gentleman, who had floated down the turbid current of the Mississippi in a memorable journey of exploration. _Pax vobiscum, Pere Marquette!_ THE BURIAL OF GOOD FATHER MARQUETTE. Lift him gently, redskinned brothers, let no voice disturb his rest, Peace is here, the great blue heron wings his way from out the West. The tiny wren is gently trilling; the swallow dips and darts around, As the veery carols sweetly: “True! His equal ne’er’ll be found.” Softly, softly, tread so lightly, to the border of the lake; Bow your heads and keep the silence, as the bending branches shake. Place him in the birch barque’s bottom, cover him with blankets fine, Paddle gently, oh, so gently, as the wind sobs through the pine. Yea! the wind speaks, and it whispers, as the cortége wanders past, “Marquette! Marquette! Son of Jesus! You have reached the land of rest! In the Kingdom of the Blessed, in the Vale of shadows dim, Marquette! Marquette! Son of Jesus! You will rest at last with Him.” And the wild goose—Old Shebogah—honks a pæan from the sky, Saying: “Farewell, farewell, brother, would that I, myself could die, So that I could wander with you through the vale of shadowy tears, Would that I could traverse with you, through the mist of golden years!” And the squirrel—little Ooquah—chatters shrilly from the glade; “Farewell! Farewell! Father, when you are gone I’ll be afraid. Yea, I’ll hide from men and maidens, for my friend has passed away, Farewell! Farewell! Father! Sad the scene and sad the day!” And the beaver, sleek and square-tailed, casts his brown eyes on the lake, Sobbing, mutt’ring; “Farewell! Father! All my kin obeisance make. You, a good man, never harmed us; you, a brave man, never killed; Farewell! Farewell! Father! Man of God in kindness skilled.” And the blue jay—bad Mootsito—scolding cries out from the oak, “Good night! Good night! Father! Would that I could be your cloak, Would that I could travel with you, would that I could shield from harm, Good night! Farewell! Father! The woods are cold. They’ve lost their charm.” Gently! Gently! Paddling northward, past the shallow pebbled bays, See the cortége wanders slowly, near the scenes of other days, When the good priest taught the Hurons how to live in peace and love, Taught them how to like each other, true to Him who is above.