Number Three project proposes to connect Prince Edward Island with the Canadian mainland by means of a submarine railway tunnel, by which all communication can be kept open with the inhabitants of the island during the winter, a circumstance at present almost impossible, from the terribly rigorous nature of the winter climate of Canada; but Canada is bound legally to do everything that is possible to keep open a communication with this island at all times and by all means, for the accommodation and assistance of the hundred and twenty-five thousand persons who constitute the present population. The distance of the island is only six miles and a half, and the bed of the Northumberland Straits, under which the railway will be carried, presents no very apparent difficulties. The depth of water is on the island side thirty-six feet; and ten feet six inches on the New Brunswick side; and about eighty feet in the middle. The tunnel will be eighteen feet in diameter, and will be made of ‘chilled white cast-iron,’ in sections, these latter being bolted together with inside flanges, exactly in the same way in which the little tunnel for foot-passengers under the Thames, and known as the ‘Tower Subway,’ was constructed some years ago. The cost of this undertaking is estimated at about one million sterling. It has been well considered and highly commended, and will be brought before the Canadian parliament very speedily, when the scheme will no doubt be fully sanctioned, as it has many warm supporters in the Legislative Assembly. Canada will therefore have her ‘submarine railway’ long before her illustrious ‘mother’ on this side the Atlantic. AUTUMN DAYS. A wealth of beauty meets my eye— Yellow and green, and brown and white, In one vast blaze of glory fill My happy sight. The rich-robed trees, the ripening corn, Bright coloured with September fire— Fulfilment of the farmer’s hope, And year’s desire. Sweet in the air are joyous sounds Of bird and bee and running brook; And plenteous fruits hang ripening round, Where’er I look. The mellow splendour softly falls On morning mists and evening dews, And colours trees and flowers and clouds With thousand hues. O dreaming clouds, with silver fringed! I watch ye gathering side by side, Like armies, in the solemn skies, In stately pride. I love the woods, the changing woods, Fast deepening down to russet glow, When Autumn, like a brunette Queen, Rules all below. The soul of Beauty haunts the heavens, Nor leaves for long the warm-faced Earth, And like a mother, the kind air To life gives birth. But Death rides past upon the gale, And blows the rustling golden leaves; They whirl and fall, and rot and die, And my heart grieves.