More need hardly be said. As is generally known, ships are sailing
almost weekly with emigrants of the class for whom Mrs Chisholm has so
warmly interested herself; and we are glad to know from good
authority, that already large sums of the lent money have been repaid,
proving that the trust put in the honesty of the emigrants has not
been misplaced. A great scheme, auxiliary to ordinary emigration, is
therefore at work, and its usefulness is acknowledged, not only by the
press and the public at large, but by parties ordinarily less alive to
projects of social melioration--ministers of the crown. Every one may
well concur in paying honour to Caroline Chisholm!

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Memoirs Of Mrs Caroline Chisholm. London: Webb, Millington, & Co.
1852.

A GHOST OF A HEAD.

Peter Leroux was a poor ploughman in the environs of Beaugeney. After
passing the day in leading across the fields the three horses which
were generally yoked to his plough, he returned to the farm in the
evening, supped without many words, with his fellow-labourers, lighted
his lantern, and then retired to bed in a species of shed
communicating with the stables. His dreams were simple, and little
coloured with the tints of imagination; his horses were for the most
part their principal subject. On one occasion, he started from his
slumbers in the midst of his fancied efforts to lift up the obstinate
mare, which had taken it into her head to be weak in the legs; another
time, the 'old gray' had entangled his hoof in the cords of the team.
One night, he dreamed that he had just put an entirely new thong to
his old whip, but that, notwithstanding, it obstinately refused to
crack. This remarkable vision impressed him so deeply, that, on
awaking, he seized the whip, which he was accustomed to place every
night by his side; and in order thoroughly to assure himself that he
was not stricken powerless, and deprived of the most gratifying
prerogative of the ploughman, he took to smacking it violently in the
dead of the night. At this noise, all the stable was in commotion; the
horses, alarmed, neighed, and ran one against the other, almost
breaking their cords; but, with some soothing words, Peter Leroux
managed to appease all this tumult, and silence was immediately
restored. This was one of those extraordinary events of his life which
he never failed to relate every time that a cup of wine had made him
eloquent, and he found a companion in the moo