the new-found plains of his own land, and he comes home—home—bringing with him not seldom neighbour or friend of another nationality to share the opportunities of this new and golden West. British Columbia, no longer resenting the epithet, "Sea of Mountains," since Rossland and Crow's Nest have produced their millions—the Highlands of the West, with her lovely valleys of fruit, her mighty trees and her harbours where a world's fleet might serenely float—a paradise for the sportsman, abounding in fish and game, but offering a home where labour must find compensation.
And to the North, it is no longer but the Call of the Wild luring the adventurous—hard-headed business man finds his account in the cities of the Yukon, the gold hunter is no longer the single-handed pioneer wielding the solitary pick or rocking the lonely cradle—her rivers and plains are exploited by thousands and capital finds there its due reward.
Surely the lines are fallen unto us in pleasant places; yea, we have a goodly heritage.
But I am reminded that not expanse of territory or riches can make a nation great:
Not high-raised battlement or laboured mound,
Thick wall or moated gate,
Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned,
Not bays and broad armed ports,
Where laughing at the storm rich navies ride.
*****
8
