II.
Does the Buffalo need the Pale-face word
To find his pathway far?
What guide has he to the hidden ford,
Or where the green pastures are?
Who teacheth the Moose that the hunter's gun
Is peering out of the shade—
Who teacheth the doe and the fawn to run
In the track the Moose has made?
III.
Him do we follow, Him do we fear—
The spirit of earth and sky;—
Who hears with the Wapiti's eager ear
His poor red children's cry.
Whose whisper we note in every breeze
That stirs the birch canoe—
Who hangs the reindeer moss on the trees
For the food of the Caribou.
IV.
That Spirit we worship who walks unseen
Through our land of ice and snow:
We know not His face, we know not His place,
But His presence and power we know.
McGee's power as an orator deserves special mention in this concluding chapter. There are few orators whose speeches have literary value. Supreme eloquence is rare and generally transitory. It is inspired by the gravity of great events or dramatic situations. When the vivid circumstances have passed, the printed sentences divorced from the inspiring presence of the orator lose their former magic influence. Thus, most great speeches come down in history as a feeble echo of what they had been when delivered. Those of Edmund Burke are an exception that prove the rule. McGee was an orator of great power, and his orations, delivered without the use of notes, live as literature. Something of the beauty of his expressions may be gathered from the few quotations on preceding pages. But these quotations do little to recall their thrilling effect when they were delivered by McGee. Leading contemporaries agreed in giving him the first position amongst the orators of Confederation, and the verdict of contemporaries on such a subject must be accepted. Sir Charles Tupper, on hearing the news of McGee's death, remarked that "the grave has closed over the most eloquent man in Canada." The Globe, in an editorial the day after his assassination, stated that "whether his hearers sympathized or not with what he said, it was impossible for anyone not to acknowledge that he was marvellously eloquent; that his words were fitly chosen, and gave every intimation of masterly power.... His wit—his power of sarcasm—-his readiness in reply—his aptness in quotation—his pathos which melted to tears, and his broad humour which convulsed with laughter—were all undoubtedly of a very high order. Among the orators of Canada, either within or without the House, he has not, we believe, left his equal, and even his opponents will miss the speeches in which he developed his plans for promoting the greatness of Canada." This judgment is all the more convincing in that the Globe had been for some years previous hostile to McGee.
Joseph Howe had won many laurels as an orator, yet the brilliant French-Canadian writer, Hector Fabre, considered him inferior to McGee. "Mr. Howe is well adapted to the tribune; he pleases, he amuses, he charms; but a severer taste would say that his is far from the brilliant eloquence, the irreproachable diction, the constantly pure style, the breadth of views and the rectitude of ideas of Mr. McGee. To my mind Mr. McGee is a nearly perfect orator, and one who in many senses has no superior."
Of McGee's domestic and private life, little need be said. It was happy in the highest degree. He was married in the period of his association with Young Ireland, and his wife shared the subsequent adventures of his chequered career, and survived his tragic death. His home presented to all who entered it a charming circle. McGee, with his family, was like a joyous boy. He would often be found romping on the floor with his baby daughter. Of his children only two daughters survived, one of whom took the veil. A genial, convivial nature and an ever sparkling humour won him friends in every part of Canada. One of the many tokens of esteem on the part of his townsfolk in Montreal was the present of a handsome furnished house in one of the best districts of the city. Although an Irishman and a very devout Catholic, he gained the warm homage of the Scotch Presbyterian population in Lower Canada, a homage deeper than that bestowed by the Scotch on any of their own countrymen. At the old Irish and Scottish festival of Hallowe'en he had been an ever welcome speaker in the St. Andrew's Society. It is interesting to note that on the Hallowe'en after his death, thirty-seven of the forty-six poems competing for prizes contained some allusion to him, and one lamented his absence in Scotland's old dialect:
Ah! wad that he were here the nicht,
Whase tongue was like a faerie lute!
But vain the wish: McGee! thy might
Lies low in death—thy voice is mute.
He's gane, the noblest o' us a'—
Aboon a' care o' worldly fame;
An' wha sae proud as he to ca'
Our Canada his hame?