Strange, haunting, and full of exciting sound are the names of Canada. Noble names, like the roll of an organ, are Saguenay, Miramichi, Okanagan, Lachine, Anse-à-Valleau, and Forillon. The surge of the tide and the sound of waves on the rocks are in the name of Fundy, and the shape of naked cliff in Blomidon. But there is soft music, for lovers made, in Trois Rivières, in the Grand and Petit Chlorydorme and Verchères, and there is the smell of spring flowers in Cap-des-Rosiers, Champlain's cape of wild roses, where the great Irish immigrant ship went down.
Who cannot hear the tinkle of evening bells in Similkameen, in Chaudière (the falls where Champlain saw the Indians empty tobacco to placate their gods), in Wallasheen, though they foolishly spell it Wallachin? Nipigon is the beat of a drum and Yoho the call of a trumpet echoing in the hills, and there is the piping of a far-off flute in Rainy River as your lips form the words.
Hard, manly names for daily use are here also -- the Shickshocks, the Gatineau, Jasper and Rimouski ("the retreat of dogs") and Chippewa (a windy fellow). Plain English names brought across the sea by homesick immigrants -- Halifax, Edmonton, Stratford, Grimsby, Guildford, Windsor, Victoria, Lytton, and that loveliest of all names, Windermere, and the Scottish Glengarry. Each with its great story in another land.
Can you not hear the splash of the mountain river in the name of Illecillewaet? Or the sound of mountain thunder in the names of Kootenay and Cariboo, and the bubble of river rapids in the Ottawa? Who does not sense the happy shout of