rs hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

Nova Scotia is, as you all know the Acadian country of which our own
fireside poet writes so beautifully. It was but a few miles from where I
was visiting that the scene of Evangeline, that exquisitely tender
romance which so thrills the hearts of both old and young, was laid. As
I drove through the country, coming ever and anon unexpectedly upon one
of the many beautiful lakes from half a mile to two miles in length, in
fancy I pictured the fair Evangeline and her guide, the good Father
Felician, skirting these lakes in a light canoe as they traversed the
whole and through in the sad and fruitless search for the lost lover
Gabriel.

No wonder the soul of the poet was filled with such strange, mystic
beauty which thus found expression in rhythm and song, for Acadia has an
enchantment all its own and can best be interpreted by the diviner
thought of the poet.

But I am afraid, boys and girls, that I have chatted with you so long
now that there will be scarcely room this week to touch upon Halifax.
But, however, if you wish, I will try and talk to you about it next
week, and tell you of some of the winter sports the little Blue Noses
indulge in in the winter time.

MARY HOWE.

A FAIRY STORY BY LITTLE JOHNNY.

Me an Billy we ben readn fairy tales, an I never see such woppers. I bet
the feller wich rote em will be burnt every tiny little bit up wen he
dies, but Billy says they are all true but the facks. Uncle Ned sed cude
I tell one, and I ast him wot about, and he sed: "Wel Johnny, as you got
to do the tellin I'le leav the choice of subjeck entirely to you; jest
giv us some thing about a little boy that went and sook his forten."

So I sed: "One time there was a little boy went out for to seek his
forten, and first thing he see was great big yello posy on a punkin
vine."

Then Uncle Ned he sed: "Johnny, was that the punkin vine wich your bed
once had a bizness connection with?" But I didn't anser, only went on
with the story.

"So the little boy he wocked into the posy, and crold down the vine on
his hands and kanees bout ten thousan hundred miles, till he come bime
bi to a door, wich he opened an went in an found hisself in a grate big
house, ofle nice like a kings pallows or a hotell. But the little boy
dident f