system' for Canada to belong to. There is a kingdom of Great Britain which Canada can continue to make responsible for her foreign policy, or rather whose foreign policy-without having any voice in the matter-Canada may bind herself to follow and accept the consequences of; but there is no such organization of the British empire as a whole as there is of the different states of the American Union, and consequently there is no British 'system' in which Canada can claim to have a place. Mr. Blake's suggestion of an Imperial Federation aims at creating such a system; but the idea is characterized by Sir John A. Macdonald as wholly impracticable. We are told that as a separate country we should be obliged to raise the phantom of an army and navy ;' but it was no phantom of an army at least that British statesmen plainly intimated to us in the debate referred to, we should have to raise if we wished Great Britain to assume any responsibility for our defence. What did Mr. Gladstone mean when he said (u. s., page 752). If Canada is to be de fended, the main element and power in the defence must always be the energy of a free people fighting for their own liberties. That is the centre around which alone the clements of defence can be gathered; and the real responsility for the defence must lie with the people themselves.' Would a phantom army meet this requirement? I hardly think Mr. Gladstone would say so. The lesson drawn by Mr. Gladstone from the Fenian invasion was that Canada should 'take on herself, as circumstances shall open themselves, the management and control of her own frontier,' not only as a means of raising her position in the world by the fulfilment of her duties of freedom,' but 'as an escape from actual peril.' He did not mean to say 'that in the event of the occurrence of danger, the arm of England would be shortened, or its disposition to use its resources freely

and largely in aid of the colonies would be in the slightest degree impaired;' only he wished the colonies to understand distinctly that henceforth they were to bear their full share of peril, responsibility and expense.

That is just how the matter stands. Instead of our connection with Great Britain freeing us from responsibility, and enabling us to dispense with phantom armies, it would rather seem that to meet what the present Premier of England has laid down as a most just and reasonable condition of that connection, we should have to raise a very real army, or at least have a very real and effective military organization, in order to be prepared to furnish the main element and power' in our own defence.

If

It is unfortunately the opinion of many that the experiment of complete self-government in Canada would not be worth trying; and not a few, probably, will be found to echo the sentiment that annexation would be preferable. To my mind, this seems to argue a low estimate of the value of the institutions we now enjoy. there is no special virtue in them, and if our civilization has no characteristics worth preserving, then, no doubt, annexation might be preferable. The opinion, however, seems a reasonable one, that, considering how different our political education has been from that of the people of the United States, and considering that, if our connection with Great Britain is severed, it will be with the heartiest good will on both sides, and on our side with not a little of the regret that arises in the heart when the vessel's prow is turned from the land we love, it would be in every way advantageous that we should abide in our lot and manfully try to work out our own destinies in our own way. The people of the United States have abundance of territory, and have all the political problems on their hands they can satis factorily grapple with. What their system needs is consolidation and com

to the wet look of everything, and at last run for an omnibus. The rain and dust and smoke on the large plateglass panes of the bank windows form a sort of black mixture, not quite mud, and not quite water, that drips from the great marble window sills on to the stone flags of the pavement below. At last the old caretaker comes to the door, and is preparing to shut up for the night, when the manager passes out. He, too, turns up his coat collar and trowsers, and puts up a silk umbrella. He turns to the caretaker with the words 'I hope that we are not going to have a wet night, Tim.' Old Tim 'hopes not, indeed, sir,' and the bank manager walks briskly down the street. He does not go far before he hails a cabman, and desires to be driven to the railway station.

Mr. Stocton is a man of about fiftyodd years of age. He is a sharp featured man, though with a kind expression on his face, and his mouth indicates great firmness and decision of character. He has been a close man of business, has worked hard all his days, and now, while only in his prime, he has gained the reward which many others never obtain till the sands of life are nearly run.

He seats himself in one of the rear carriages of one of the trains that stand ready to start, in the great depôt. The train on the next track further over starts out with great puffing and ringing of bells, and waving of signals, and saying of good-byes, and noise and bustle, and the last belated traveller rushes wildly for the last coach, and is trundled in, and his valise thrown on anyway after him, by the porters - and the train is gone. The departure of this train gives Mr. Stocton more light to read the newspaper, as he waits patiently for his own to start. At last, when all the dripping passengers have come in with their dripping umbrellas, and have taken their seats, and piled their valises away, and rendered the air in the carriage hot and moist,

the train moves out. It goes with the same puffing and bell ringing and goodbyes, and bustle and hurry and porters which were incident to the departure of the former one. As the train draws out of the station, the rain beats against the windows and almost obscures the view. The drops rapidly chase each other down the window pane, each one following the one before it like the railway trains, running be-hind each other, catching up, passing,. running on side lines, switches, crossover tracks, hurrying, making new lines, blotting out old ones, but all trickling down to the same termination.

Now the train passes through a short tunnel, and then under a dark bridge, which renders the tail lamp of the train visible.

Then out through the busy streets, crossing a small bridge over a low street choked with carts and heavy drays, past a high stone wall that seems to slap the beholder in the faceit is built so close up to the track. Byand-by it passes with increasing speed close to the back of a row of high redbrick houses, where some children were playing on the high steps. Then some more high stone walls and wooden fences, a bridge or so more, some cross streets, and the view begins to get a little clear. A church can be seen at a short distance, and occasionally a garden in front of some isolated house. People out in the suburbs turn and look at the train as it passes with more interest than do those in the city. Fewer houses and more green fields fly past, for the train is fully under way now. Mr. Stocton tries to get a sight of the paper before the next tunnel, for it has been impossible to read with any comfort since the train started. They fly past a station which looks. to the bewildered passenger like a confused mass of chimneys, and gables, and railway signals, and people and horses and carriages. After half-anhour's run the train stops at the village of Hawthorne, where Mr. Stocton gets out. He is met by a phaeton,

but there is nobody in it except the coachman, for it is still raining. Mr. Stocton gets in and is driven off, while the train flies on, leaving nothing be. hind but a fading cloud of smoke, which seems to be beaten down and rolled along the ground by the pelting rain.

At last the phaeton pulls up at the gate of a fine old country house-a good, comfortable, substantial building, but with no architectural beauty about it. The coachman gets down to open the gate while Mr. Stocton holds the lines. As the carriage comes in through the gate, a little girl runs out on the steps and is ready to welcome her father as he alights.

'Well, Gracie, you weren't down at the station to meet me to day,' he said, as he kissed her.

'No, papa dear,' she said with a laugh, 'why, it was raining; it's been raining all day, and I couldn't even go out to play.'

'Oh, well, you'll have lots of fine days yet, dear, we must have rain sometimes, you know.'

'Yes, but I like it all to come on Sundays,' she called after him as he went into the house.

Gracie was Mr. Stocton's only child : her mother dying while she was young, she had been confided to the care of the housekeeper, who had lived the best part of her life in the family. That evening at tea Mr. Stocton said,

'Gracie, I've been making arrangements for you to go to school in town, what do you think of that?'

'Oh, I like it very much,' said the child, eagerly. Will I be a boarder and take my own blankets and pillows, and all that?'

Well, we'll see about getting you some in town, so you won't exactly have to take any,' said her father. 'But tell me, never mind what things you will have to take, how do you like the prospect of going away from home?'

'Mrs. Jackson won't have any more trouble about my lessons,' she said,

with a sly glance at the housekeeper.

That will be a very great relief, of course,' laughed Mr. Stocton, but come, Gracie, you are evading the question, how will you like to leave me?'

'Oh, well, I'll see you often, papa, dear, and you can come and visit me when you are in town.'

'Perhaps you are more sorry to leave Harry Northwood than to leave me, aren't you?'

'Oh, Harry will be going up to school, too, pretty soon, and I'll go to all the cricket matches and wear his colours, and, oh, it'll be just splendid.'

'Well,' said Mr. Stocton, I'm glad you are so pleased to go

'But where am I going to?' interrupted Gracie.

To "Waverley House," I think, my dear, I like it the best.'

Oh, that'll be splendid, I like Waverley House," I've heard such lots about it,' and Gracie fairly clasped her hands for joy.

I hope two weeks will be long enough for you to get Gracie ready, Mrs. Jackson,' said Mr. Stocton, rising, I think the school re-opens in two weeks.'