So they journey, while the forest echoes with the psalm of Death, So they journey, sad and lonely, ’midst the balsam’s balmy breath. Then, at last, they reach the Mission, here sad rites they chant for him Who has led them gently onward, through the glades of ignorance dim. Trappers, soldiers, priests and redskins, bare their heads at St. Ignace, Weeping, sobbing, bid him “Farewell!” he, the leader of their race. Weeping, sobbing, cry out: “_Vale!_” While the heron wings away, Croaking: “Good night, good night, Father! Sad the scene and sad the day!” ROBERT DE LA SALLE: FRENCH ADVENTURER, AND EXPLORER OF THE VALLEY OF THE MISSISSIPPI. (1643-1687) _From Tadoussac the eagles scream; their wild cries sound alarming,_ _As up the stream a vessel sails, her steersman a Prince Charming._ _A man of iron—valiant, strong, his name the Sieur La Salle,_ _Who loved the hemlock forests from Lachine to Roberval._ _Alas! he ventured to the West where redskins wish to kill,_ _There left his bones—’neath barren stones—where Frenchmen wander still._ ROBERT DE LA SALLE: FRENCH ADVENTURER, AND EXPLORER OF THE VALLEY OF THE MISSISSIPPI. (1643-1687) WHILE good Father Marquette was gliding over the muddied waters of the Mississippi, gazing at wonderful sights which no Frenchman had dreamed of heretofore, a man lived upon the banks of the St. Lawrence who brooded over projects of peril and adventure and gazed wistfully towards the Far West. This was no other than Robert, Chevalier de La Salle, a Frenchman who had come to Canada about the year 1667. He had been born at Rouen, in Normandy, of a noble family, and had been well educated in a Jesuit seminary. Urged onward by a desire for both adventure and money, this vigorous young blade emigrated to Canada. Here he traveled up and down the great river St. Lawrence from Tadoussac to Sault Ste. Marie, and busied himself in trading European merchandise for beaver, bear, and other skins. He built houses for the storage of furs and merchandise, made excursions among the Indian tribes bordering on the shore of Lake Ontario, and penetrated as far as the Huron country in the north, where he lived for some time among the redskins, learning their life, their manners, and their language. Perhaps some of you have taken the steamer at Toronto, have threaded your way among the beautiful Thousand Isles, and have shot through the foaming spray of the Lachine rapids, before reaching the city of Montreal. This seething cataract was named by the adventurous La Salle, for he hoped to find the St. Lawrence leading into the China Sea, and, to commemorate this anticipation, called the trading station, upon the Island of Montreal—La Chine (or the China) a name which has fastened itself to the rapids, and a name which it has borne to the present day.