[Footnote: We cannot resist the temptation to give a few lines of
the original hymn of Bernard of Clugny, a Breton monk of English
parentage of the 12th century--"the sweetest of all the hymns of
heavenly homesickness of the soul," and for generations one of the
most familiar, through translations, in many languages. The rhyme
and rhythm are so difficult, that the author was able to master
it, he believed, only by special inspiration of God.

Urbs Syon aurea, patria lactea, cive decora,
Omne cor obruis, omnibus obstruis et cor et ora,
Nescio, nescio, quae jubilatio, lux tibi qualis,
Quam socialia gaudia, gloria quam specialis.]

For a moment longer he gazed upon the broad, flowing river which
divided two neighbouring peoples, one in language, in blood, in
heroic early traditions, and the common heirs of the grandest
literature the world has ever seen, yet severed by a deep, wide,
angry-flowing stream of strife, which, dammed up for a time, was
about to burst forth in a desolating flood that should overwhelm
and destroy some of the fairest fruits of civilization in both
countries. As he gazed northward, he beheld, on the eastern bank
of the river, the snowy walls and grass-grown ramparts of Fort
Niagara, above which floated proudly the stars and stripes.

As he gazed on the ancient fort, the memories of its strange
eventful history came thronging on his mind from the time that La
Salle thawed the frozen ground in midwinter to plant his
palisades, to the time that the gallant Prideaux lay mangled in
its trenches by the bursting of a cohorn--on the very eve of
victory. These memories have been well expressed in graphic verse