The old-time King's Cove is gone; what will be its future Its geographical position which caused its pre-eminence as a business centre in the early days may react towards starting it on r prosperous future. King's Cove is the centre for four main roads radiating north, south, east and west. One road leads to Bona. vista and Catalina; one to Trinity; one to Plate Cove, Open Hall and Summenville, and one to Broad Cove, Keels and Tickle Cove A pleasant drive along tree-bordered roads to Catalina, Trinity or Summerville will enable the visitor to connect with the east or west going express three times a week. The coastal steamer calls there every week.

The old glories of King's Cove are gone. "Seventy years ago," wrote an old correspondent, "there were so many schooners and fishing smacks in the harbor that one could walk across their decks almost from one side of the harbor to the other. One could see no more beautiful sight than watch a fleet of twenty fishing boats beating into their stages. All this is gone and nothing ;e. mains of the stages but the whitened posts amongst the landwash boulders."

In the re-organization of industry which everyone hoped will take place after the War is over, it may be confidently expected that King's Cove will take a foremost place. There are two natural resources (outside the fisheries) within reach of King's Cove, -the soil and the forest. Kingscovians may learn a lesson from Finland. Finland is a country nearly a thousand miles north of Newfoundland with the same natural resources as Newfoundland, has a severer climate and yet three-fifths of its people make their living from agriculture. The "tuff-board" sold in St. John's before the war came from Finland. Why cannot King's Cove be the location of wood'-working and beaverboard factories, tanning shoemaking and other factories,? These can all come by proper organization.

King's Cove lost a decided economic advantage, when the branch railway connecting Clarenville with Bonavista, failed to touch the settlement. A petition was signed by the residents asking the Government to have the railway line run through King's Cove; but owing to some apathy on the part of those who had charge of the affair, the petition was not pressed. As King's Cove is the only port of call in that locality for mail steamers, it would be a decided advantage for northern passengers to shorten the sea journey if they could take the rail route to St. John's.

Those who have visited King's Cove retain pleasant memories of their stay there and long to return. Miss Bertille Tobin-the local poetess-has immortalised all the phases of King's Cove scenery. Here is a stanza from one of her poems '`Home Again" "Four years have passed and in their lapsing

Changes many came to me;
Viewed I life from many an angle
Since it's been my lot to see
King's Cove with its heights and valleys-
King's Cove with its glorious space
Of blue water, rippling breaking,
Lending varied charm and grace."

Although not a native of King's Cove, Miss Bertille Tobin has made her home there for the past 20 years. She came to King's Cove as a young teacher and after a few years teaching, gave up the work and went to live with her uncle-Rev. John Scully- then Parish Priest of the King's Cove Parish. Miss Tobin is a voluminous writer, her poems appearing in nearly all the Newfoundland Press. Below are a few of her best known poems.

Four years have elapsed, and in their lapsing
Changes many came to me,
Viewed I life from many an angle
Since it's been my lot to see
King's Cove with its heights and valleys-
King's Cove with its glorious space
Of blue water, rippling, breaking,
Lending varied charm and grace.

Just this morn watched I the harbor,
And at entrance there in sight
Was a sturdy little schooner
Tacking in with sails' full might.
She was like some bird which graceful
Skims upon the water clear,
First across in one direction,
Then way changing, in to steer.

So as I gazed from my window
Watching the harbor fair,
Saw I this symbol of courage
To add to my mem'ries rare:
So long as the haven's entered
What matter the storms now past,
What matter the stress and danger
Now that home is reached at last!

_______________________________

SUNSET IN KING'S COVE

The wooded hill brought verdure
Up to meet the bending sky-
Great lakes and seas of azure
And cloud-heaps like mountains high,
Make up the panorama
Which roofed an entrancing scene
As rows of rainbow light lanes
Made more fair the harbor's sheen.
For sunset lit the cloudBankss,
And they in turn cast down
Reflections of the many hues
Which glowed like Bems in crown!
A small craft near wharf anchored
Seemed a fairy skiff afloat
On magic seas as colorful
As ever was Joseph's coat
The boats upon the squid grounds
Were wrapt in lambent beauty
As if mystic spell were cast
On humble ways of duty.
Across the shining stretches
Of the lovely summer sea
Blue hills on the horizon
Shone translucently.
One reads of splendid landscapes,
And fair seaports far away
But as the sunset kindles
On hill and sky and bay
One feels that Beauty also
Dwells here in Newfoundland,
Smiling from each green headland
And from each wave-washed strand.

__________________________

OLD HOMES

Old houses standing sad and lone,
What thoughts you can inspire
Of times when first within you glowed
The cheery bright hearth fire.

Once someone builded day by day,
And as each nail he drove
He used, as well as strength the while,
A lot of hope and love

And when the rooms were all complete,
Each one so fresh and new,
Some woman felt her heart beat warm
As she her home went through.

The wholesome odor of new wood
Was perfume sweeter far
Than ever lay on druggist's shelf
Enclosed in costly jar.

Old homes, you've held so many hopes,
You've seen so much of change-
But to be left now lone and void
Must seem of all most strange.

There are memories in your every board,
Mem'ries of little feet,
Which later grew and ran sway,
A rougher walk to meet!

There are mem'ries rare in every pane
Your shaking windows hold
Of faces that once smiled therefrom,
Perhaps now 'neath the mold!

Mem'ries cling thickly round your doors
Of hands that oft used close,
Of quickly push them open wide-
Imagination grows

Apace at thought of flying feet
That up and down the stair
Have passed so many, many times -
children with sunny hair.

Have at the foot so often called-
"Mamma. are you up there?"
Whilst oft again a little form
Slid down the banister!

Old homes, within you, all around,
Was eager life and motion,
Your walls, your floors, your every part
Have held some heart's devotion;

And sadly now you are bereft
Of all that you held dear,
Only the memories remain,
Your poor lone hearths to cheer!

_______________________

SPRING IN NEWFOUNDLAND

For months we walked across the Pond,
Upon the crystal road
Which Winter's wand had made for us
But now 'tis overflowed
With water from the rushing brook
Which runs from out the "Steady",
And all the signs are here to show
That Mistress Spring is ready

To change the landscape once again,
To deck the Earth with green-
I saw some tiny shoots to-day-
And more will soon be seen!
At morn I wake, and hear the birds
In charming melody
Pour out their notes upon the air
From out the yet bare tree.

Upon the waters of the Pond,
But lately closed to them,
The ducks and drakes sedately swim
As if to say-"Ahem,
We've got it to ourselves again-
The human-kind no more
Can cross on foot this way for now
The ice has left the shore"

The rain was pouring yesterday-
And gladd'ning was the sound,
'Tis needed now so much to help
The sun to clear the ground.
In other lands the flowers grow
In out-of-doors by now,
And in the fields the workers till
The ground with busy plough.

But still, we love thee, Newfoundland,
Though Winter lingers long,
Thou hast thy sons' affection deep
Of thee fond mem'ries throng
When forced in other lands to seek
Their way of living they
With yearning hearts recall their homes.
From which they're far away.
Oh, give me Spring in Newfoundland-
However fair it be in other lands, or sooner come-
Home's good enough for me

__________________________

THE POND

I never weary of watching
The Pond out-lying the gate-
There's always a difference in the
Way it looks, early and late
There's its way of glist'ning like diamond
Neath the rays of the morning suns
And its way of shining like silver
In the moon, when the waters run
In a fairy, foaming cascade
From the valley up the glade
Where the water mill is busy
All day sawing in the shade.

And when no moon's a-shining,
But only twinkling stars,
The Pond reflects these light gems,
Which gleam through ether bars.
Then when the wind's a-blowing,
The Pond is all a-stir,
And the little ripples are busy,
As if the rush they prefer.

Just from the shore there's a rock that
Rises the water o'er high-
And thereon clamber aquatic
Swimmers their feathers to dry;
The ducks and drakes preen their plumage-
Twisting their heads all around,
Till every feather's inspected,
And nothing be-marring is found.

Fair is the Pond in the sunset
When reflects its waters the sky,
And shades of sweet changing colors
Allure with their beauty the eye.
Then some days is the air laden
With mist as a gossamer cloud,
And the rain-drops, dashing, splashing,
Fleck the Pond from out the shroud.
Just e'er rain the houses standing
Near its edge reflected lie
In the glassy depths so still then
When no little breezes sigh

Useful the Pond is in Winter,
The ice-king bridging it o'er-
Making a welcome short-cut,
With less snow than around the Shore.
Merry the Pond then with laughter
Of young folks a-glee on their skates,
To return home with keen, healthy hunger
For the supper which later awaits.
So this is the end of my story
Of the Pond which lies down from the gate,
Laying no least claim to glory,
But of service in its own state.