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was to interest the people of B. C. in the strange beauty of the West
Coast Indian’s life; and to bring to the artists of B. C. the immense
sketching and decorative potentialities to be found among the homes of
the T’Simpsian Indians with the mysterious atmosphere of their former
designs pervading their curiously appropriate surroundings.

* * ok * * *

Who will find inspiration in the T’Simpsian Countree?

Sunrise

A rosy glow stole softly thru my window
And gently kissed my sleep-steeped brow.
I wakened, smiled a welcome at the sunrise,
Thrilled to its marvel, wondrous great.
There was orange, ablend with rose—

A smoke-gray mist all streaked about—
Sun was all shapeless—just a splash

Of crimson, yellow, rose; all mixed
Against the pale, pale color of the sky.
There was a crowning color

Deepening all the golden glory of the sun.
From a man’s dwelling rose a wisp

Of curling, jet-black smoke;

And trailing cross the surface of the sun
It’s dusk enhanced the beauty

Of the orange globe.

RutH Ware.

Budth ith buthing in the treth,

Birdth ith thinging, beeth ith buthing,
But the coolneth in the breeth
Maketh me catch a cold and thneeth,
Prapth I’ve caught the methels.

M. A. WILLIAMS.