bursting through his icy fetters, had begun to sparkle in the sunshine, and to murmur his vernal hymn of thanksgiving to the bounteous Giver of light and heat. I shall remember my visits to your Mechanics' Institutes and Mercantile Library Associations, and the kind attention with which the advice which I tendered to your young men and citizens was received by them. I shall remember the undaunted courage with which the merchants of this city, while suffering under the pressure of a commercial crisis of almost unparalleled severity, urged forward that great work which was the first step towards placing Canada in her proper position in this age of railway progress. I shall remember the energy and patriotism which gathered together in this city specimens of Canadian industry, from all parts of the province, for the World's Fair, and which has been the means of rendering this magnificent conception of the illustrious Consort of our beloved Queen more serviceable to Canada than it has, perhaps, proved to any other of the countless communities which have been represented there. And I shall forget--but no--what I might have had to forget is forgotten already; and therefore I cannot tell you what I shall forget. The remaining extract is from parting words, spoken after a ball which he gave at Quebec on the eve of his final departure in December, 1854. [Sidenote: Farewell to Quebec.] I wish I could address you in such strains as I have sometimes employed on similar occasions, strains suited to a festive meeting; but I confess I have a weight on my heart, and that it is not in me to be merry. For the last time I stand before you in the official character which I have borne for nearly eight years. For the last time I am surrounded by a circle of friends with whom I have spent some of the most pleasant days of my life. For the last time I welcome you as my guests to this charming residence which I have been in the habit of calling my home.[13] I did not, I will frankly confess it, know what it would cost me to break this habit, until the period of my departure approached; and I began to feel that the great interests which have so long engrossed my attention and thoughts, were passing out of my hands. I had a hint of what my feelings really were upon this point--a pretty broad hint too--one lovely morning in June last, when I returned to Quebec after my temporary absence in England, and landed in the Coves below Spencerwood (because it was Sunday, and I did not want to make a disturbance in the town), and when with the greetings of the old people in the Coves who put their heads out of the windows as I passed along, and cried 'Welcome home again,' still ringing in my ears, I mounted the hill and drove through the avenue to the house door. I saw the dropping trees on the lawn, with every one of which I