the United States Indian Agent at Sault Ste Marie, known as the author of the History of the Indians of North America,' published by the United States Government. The immense cost of this publication, $650,000, attracted considerable attention at the time; but the book is a valuable addition to Indian archeology. Mrs. Schoolcraft was a woman of culture, some of her fugitive poems being of a high order. The second daughter, Eliza, now seventy-eight years of age, never married, we believe, and is still living at the Sault. The third daughter married Arch

deacon McMurray, of Niagara. At the time of her marriage, September, 1833, her husband was missionary to the Indians on the North Shores of Lakes Huron and Superior, being the first clergyman who performed that duty. She died at Niagara, in January, 1878. Maria, the youngest daughter, married James Laurence Schoolcraft, brother of her elder sister's husband. Both are dead.

The three sons of Mr. Johnston have also passed away, excepting John McDowall Johnston, who resides at the Sault, on the American shore.

CANADA.

BY F. S. SPENCE, TORONTO.

WE boast no volumed history, dry and long,

We envy none such storied lore of wrong;
A better, brighter record we can claim,
Our nation's tale of youthful might and fame :
Our right to honour, all the world can see

A country noble, worthy, grand and free.

A land a thousand leagues in length we own,
Dense-peopled countries, climes well nigh unknown,
Alike where tideless, inland oceans shine,
Or wrathful tempests toss the restless brine,
Our dear Dominion's standard is unrolled ;
The Maple wreath gleams on its flowing fold;
From east to west, from wave to farthest wave,
It vaunts its snowy pinions pure and brave.

It floats o'er all New Brunswick's pine-clad coast,
The store house of far nations' naval boast;
Prince Edward's wealthy wooded hills and dales,
And fair Acadia's fertile plains and vales,
Where, past rich banks in forest splendour dressed,
A mighty commerce borne on its broad breast,

The ocean river sweeps in stately pride
To meet the broad Atlantic's restless tide;
And peaceful fleets, with gleaming sails unfurled,
Speed on with bread to feed a waiting world.

Where old Quebec's high cliff of martial fame
Grows ruddy in the earliest Orient flame,
That hastes to crown his stern, defiant crest,
The strong Gibraltar of the ancient West.

Where fair Mount Royal rears his summit green,
Where dash the rushing torrents of Lachine,
Where Ottawa's proud legislative halls

Look o'er the rainbow-flashing Chaudiere Falls;
Where all of scenic beauty, wild and grand,
Meet in the Thousand Islands' fairy land.
Its pure white folds are hailed with loyal pride,
Where fair Ontario, fertile, wealthy, wide,-
From Thunder Bay's far rocky heights, to where
Toronto stands in steepled beauty rare-
Spreads its deep valleys, lovely lakes and hills,
And Nature's lavish hand its vastness fills-
From where Niagara's mighty thunders roar
To far Superior's silver shining shore-

Whose fruits enrich, whose lustrous landscapes please,
Girt by that glorious chain of inland seas,
Where smiling peace, and joy and plenty bless
The fairest, freest land that men possess.

And westward still it finds a welcome home,
Where wild Keewatin's hardy hunters roam.
And farther on, where fresh and fair and bright—
Just waking up to beauty, life and light,
In quick response to Labour's stern command-
The Prairie Province yields the virgin land,
A great, strange land, as yet but little known,
Till late, the home of wandering tribes alone,
With all its mighty rivers, wooded fells,
Majestic lakes, fair islets, lovely dells,
Now yielding up to patience, toil and pain,
The wondrous wealth of its most fertile plain.
And far beyond are boundless wilds, where still
Great herds of savage bison roam at will,
And countless leagues of richest soil invite
The coming tide of civilizing might.

And westward still where, towering to the skies,

In rocky ridge the mighty mountains rise,
And fling from crests forever wrapped in snow
An earlier twilight o'er the vale below.

An Arctic realm where Nature still and dead,
Lies lonely, lofty, desolate and dread:

Where eagle never soars nor vulture shrieks,
But silent glaciers sleep, and frozen peaks

And icy crags loom up, for Winter drear

Has reigned crowned king for countless cycles here.

And on, where steeper cliffs look toward the West,—
Where burst the torrents from the glacier's breast,
And through the chasm to join the distant tide
The new-born river bounds in foaming pride,
Leaps down the dizzy heights that bar its way
A roaring cataract of sparkling spray ;
Rends the hard rock, the solid stone uptears,
And down the gorge the granite boulder bears.

d;

Where waving woods once more their branches spread,
Once more the hardy settler toils for bread
Where herds of cattle pasture in the dale;
Where diggers' huts gleam in the Fraser vale;
And Mammon's eager votaries crowd to drain
The golden life-blood from the quartz-rock vein ;
Where crashing cradles rock, where crushers roar,
And force from flinty grists their yellow store.

And farther still where restless, rolling wide,
The proud Pacific heaves its hoary tide,
And flings the flashing surge his billows boast
Along that wealthy, wild, Columbian coast;
While wanton waves that sport and shout the while
Sweep through the Sound and round Vancouver's Isle.

All ours! The verdant vales, the fertile farms,
Or snow-clad mountains more majestic charms.
Alike o'er prairie plains and spreading seas
Fair floats the Beaver Banner to the breeze.

And falsehood foul is Slander's whispered tale,
That dares our Nation's noble name assail;
For they who this great heritage command,
In pride of strength and conscious virtue, stand;
No slave can tread our soil, no tyrant's frown
Can crush a yearning cry for pity down.
We boast the best and bravest blood that runs-
What were our sires of old? We are their sons,
And leal and faithful to our Queen, our laws,
Our country's weal and Freedom's holy cause.
Our bosoms glow with Honour's hallowed flame,
Our hearts beat high to Duty's sacred name,
And thrill with loyal pride, where floats above
The sacred symbol of the land we love.

Dear Canada, where'er we rove, we turn
To thee with longing hearts: our bosoms burn

To do thee honour. We will write thy name
Where it should stand-first on the roll of Fame.
That name has ever been the oppressor's bane,
Their watchword who would spurn his galling chain;
And we, while God will give us heart and might,
Will jealous keep its fame unstained and bright,

And fervent pray, where'er our footsteps roam;

God bless our own fair, free Canadian home.'

ONLY A MILLION.*

BY CHARLES GIBBON.

* From advance sheets forwarded by the author in England.