"If you would but let him have Farmer
Hales' barn at once, it would do him more
good than all."

"Pooh, pooh, child!" though I don't think
she was displeased, "he is not fit for more
work just now. I shall go and write for
Doctor Trevor."

And for the next half-hour we did nothing
but arrange physical comforts and cures for
poor Mr. Gray. At the end of the time Mrs.
Medlicott said:

"Has your ladyship heard that Harry
Gregson has fallen from a tree, and broken
his thigh-bone, and is like for to be a cripple
for life?"

"Harry Gregson! That black-eyed lad
who read my letter? It all comes from over-
education!"

AN IDEAL.

WHILE the grey mists of early dawn
   Were lingering round the hill,
And the dew was still upon the flowers,
   And the earth lay calm and still,
A winged Spirit came to me,
   Noble, and radiant, and free.

Folding his blue and shining wings,
   He laid his hand on mine.
I know not if I felt, or heard
   The mystic word divine,
Which woke the trembling air to sighs,
    And shone from out his starry eyes.

The word he spoke, within my heart
   Stirr'd life unknown before,
And cast a spell upon my soul
   To chain it evermore;
Making the cold dull earth look bright,
   And skies flame out in sapphire light.

When noon reel'd from the heavens, and man
   Through busy day toil'd on,
My Spirit droop'd his shining wings;
   His radiant smile was gone;
His voice had ceas'd, his grace had flown,
   His hand grew cold within my own.

Bitter, O bitter tears, I wept,
   Yet still I held his hand,
Hoping with vague unreasoning hope:
   I would not understand
That this pale Spirit never more
   Could be what he had been before.

Could it be so? My heart stood still.
   Yet he was by my side.
I strove; but my despair was vain;
   Vain, too, was love and pride.
Could he have changed to me so soon?
   My day was only at its noon.

Now stars are rising one by one,
   And evening shades are here;
Near me a household spirit waits,
   With tender loving care;
He speaks and smiles, but never sings,
   Long since he lost his shining wings.

With thankful true content, I know
    This is the better way.
Is not a faithful spirit mine—
   Mine still—at close of day?
Yet will my foolish heart repine
   For that blight morning dream of mine.

BRITISH COLUMBIA.

FAR away, under English rule, an English
climate with its drawbacks gone; a rich soil
that will grow in abundance any English
crop; upon which currants and gooseberries,
raspberries arid strawberries run wild, and
where cattle multiply: a country with coal
seams and good harbours; ought to have
drawn years ago many an English colonist
towards Vancouver's Island. The island was
granted to the Hudson's Bay Company for
a short term, that will expire next year. It
was granted with the stipulation, that the
Company should promote colonisation; but
with the foreknowledge that the Hudson's
Bay monopolists have from the outset not
only discouraged colonisation, but have, in
some instances, put it down with a strong
hand. Their desire ever is, to keep third
parties from interference with their
commerce among the Indians, and to prevent
the cultivation of a soil on which now roam
at large the animals it is their business
to skin. In Vancouver's Island itself the
work that can be done by trappers is
perhaps not worth fifty pounds a-year;
but principles must be upheld. It is only a
step from the island to the mainland of that
western shore of British America which was
called New Caledonia until within the last
few weeks, but which Her Majesty has now
named British Columbia.

Two years ago there first came obscure
tidings of gold found in this region. Now,
all the world hears of the great wealth,
of gold contained in it; and, even from
California,—where gardeners and grooms
earn a hundred and twenty pounds a year
and their keep; where a competent shepherd
earns two hundred and forty pounds
a year and his keep; and where bricklayers
may earn ten pounds a week,—it is calculated
that during the first six months of the fever
for a change to the new Tom Tidler's ground,
not less than forty thousand people will have
emigrated to Vancouver's Island and the
mainland opposite.

Great things are now anticipated.
Vancouver's Island, in the North Pacific, is to
become the seat of a noble British colony,
and of a naval arsenal complete in every
detail. If England pleases, she may build
among the many islands in the sea between
Vancouver's Island and the mainland a
Cronstadt of the Pacific, and fasten with a
mighty padlock—if such security be needed—
her possessions on the western coast of North
America, now regarded as of inestimable
value.

At the end of the fifteenth century, one
Pope having granted to Portugal all she