"

Alexandra was coming home!

St. Helen's Island, named affectionately by Champlain after his fair
young wife, Helene, stretches its half-mile of park along the middle of
the River opposite the city of Montreal. It is at all times a graceful
sight; in summer by the refreshing shade of its deep groves beheld from
the dusty city; in winter by the contrast of its flowing purple crest of
trees with the flat white expanse of ice-covered river. The lower end,
towards which the outlines of its double hill tend, is varied by the
walls and flagstaffs of a military establishment, comprising some grey
barracks, a row of officers' quarters, and a block-house, higher on the
hill. In former times, when British redcoats were stationed here, and
military society made the dashing feature in fashionable life, when gay
and high-born parties scattered their laughter through the trim groves,
improved and kept in shape by labor of the rank and file, and "the
Fusileers and the Grenadiers" marched in or out with band and famous
colors flying, and the regimental goat or dog, and shooting practice,
officers' cricket and football matches, and mess dinners, kept the
island lively and picturesque, St. Helen's was a theatre of unceasing
charm to the citizens.

"Is she here yet?" I asked, eagerly grasping the hand of Grace, who,
more exceedingly pretty than ever, had invited all their friends to meet
them on the island, in the grove, "I am delighted to see you back. It is
almost worth the absence."

"And I welcome you as Noah the dove, after the waste of waters,"
exclaimed she, laughing. "But I must answer your first question before
it is repeated. No, _mon frere_, I am afraid she is not to be here to
day. She is a little ill with fatigue."

"O my poor friend!" I exclaimed, and led Grace down the avenue of
leafing trees in which we were; for this grove had been planted in
regular walks by the garrison forty years before, and the turf had been
sown with grass that sprang up at that season a vivid green. The dell
had been a theatre of the gaieties of days past. To me it was deserted
loveliness--a scene prepared and not occupied.

"Is she very ill?"

"No; merely tired. You see she is a thousand times more industrious than
I. Nothing could content her over there unless she was putting out her
utmost. She said it was her ambition to improve, like the great men and
women; that she was strong and ought to make up for some of her
imperfections by g