The boy plied his hoe in a listless manner, for his thoughts were elsewhere. Several hundred yards to the right stood the forest, glorious in its brilliant autumn hues. There among those trees the wary partridges were feeding or perching temptingly upon bough, fallen log or ragged stump. To the left the waters of the noble River St. John rippled and sparkled beneath the glowing sun. Over there amidst that long stretch of marshland, in many a cove and reedy creek, the wild ducks were securely hidden. What connection had a rugged, stirring lad with a brown sombre potato patch when the strong insistent voice of the wild was calling him to fields afar? There was no inspiration here - among these straggling rows. Nothing to thrill a boy's heart, or to send the blood surging and tingling through his body. But there - He sighed as he leaned upon his hoe and looked yearningly around. Down on the shore; in a sheltered cove among the trees, the Scud, a small boat, was idly flapping her dirty patched sail.

Bishop William Carpenter Bompas was a difficult man, cantankerous, stubborn, and more than a little eccentric. He carried on his shoulders the deep spirituality of his own faith, the assumptions of his background, and the cultural aggressiveness of the Victorian age. He was a church leader who often disagreed with his church and ignored its advice. Bompas's life in the North offers insights into the compelling forces of religion and faith. In a new Introduction, historians William Morrison and Ken Coates examine Bompas's career, exploring themes central to the history of the church in Canada and to aboriginal-newcomer relations.