Over the Border: Acadia, the Home of "Evangeline" (2024)

Produced by Mary Wampler, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks

and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.This file was produced from images generously made available by theCanadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions.

OVER THE BORDER

ACADIA

THE HOME OF "EVANGELINE"

BY Eliza Chase

"Here lies the East…does not the day break here?"

JULIUS CAESAR, II

CONTENTS.

THE BAY OF FUNDY

THE BASIN OF MINAS

PORT ROYAL

ANNAPOLIS

DIGBY

HALIFAX

GRAND PRÉ

CLARE

L'ISLE DES MONTS DESERTS

CHRONOLOGY.

DATE

1604. De Monts' first landing on Eastern coast. (May 16)

1604. De Monts and suite arrive at Port Royal. (about June 1)

1606. De Monts returns from France with supplies for his colony.

1606. Port Royal abandoned.

1610. Return of De Poutrincourt.

1612. Jesuit priests sent oat from France. (Founding of St. Sauveur
colony at Mt Desert)

1613. Destruction of Port Royal by Argall. (after breaking up settlement
at Mt. Desert)

1628. Scotch colony broken up at Port Royal.

1634. Port Royal held by French under De Razilly.

1647. Feud between La Tour and D'Aulnay.

1654. Port Royal under Le Borgne yields to English.

1684. Incursions of pirates.

1690. Sir Wm. Phipps captures and pillages Port Royal.

1691. Port Royal held by French under De Villebon.

1707. Unsuccessfully besieged.

1710. Bombarded by seven English ships; the fort yields, name changed to Annapolis Royal.

1713. Treaty of Utrecht, ceding Acadia to the English.

1727,1728. Oath of allegiance exempting French Acadians from taking arms against France.

1744. Port Royal bombarded and besieged three months.

1745. De Ramezay's unsuccessful attack.

1755. Forts Beau-Séjour and Gaspereau taken by Moncton.

1755. Dispersion of the "Neutrals".

1763. Return of exiles, and founding of coast settlements. Treaty between France and England

1781. Annapolis Royal surprised and taken by two war ships.

1850. Last occupation (by military force) of old fort at Annapolis.

INTRODUCTION

In the rooms of the Historical Society, in Boston, hangs a portrait ofa distinguished looking person in quaint but handsome costume of antiquestyle. The gold embroidered coat, long vest with large and numerousbuttons, elegant co*cked hat under the arm, voluminous white scarf andpowdered peruke, combine to form picturesque attire which is mostbecoming to the gentleman therein depicted, and attract attention tothe genial countenance, causing the visitor to wonder who this can be,so elaborately presented to the gaze.

A physiognomist would not decide upon such representation as a"counterfeit presentment" of the tyrannical leader of the expeditionwhich enforced the cruel edict of exile,—

"In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas; where
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand Pré
Lay in the fruitful valley."

Yet this is Lieutenant-Colonel John Winslow, great-grandson of one ofthe founders of the Plymouth Settlement. Could he forget that hisancestors fled from persecution, and came to this country to findpeaceful homes?

It was not his place to make reply, or reason why when receiving orders,however; and it seems that the task imposed was a distasteful one; as,at the time of the banishment, he earnestly expressed the desire "to berid of the worst piece of service" he "ever was in."

He said also of the unhappy people at that time, "It hurts me to heartheir weeping and wailing." So we conclude that the pleasant face didnot belie the heart which it mirrored.

It is a singular coincidence that, for being hostile to their countryat the time of the Revolution, his own family were driven into exiletwenty years after the deportation of the unhappy French people.

Have not even the most prosaic among us some love of poesy, thoughunacknowledged? And who, in romantic youth or sober age, has not beentouched by the tragic story of the dispersion of the people who

"dwelt together in love, those simple Acadian farmers,—
Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from
Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics.
Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows,
But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of their owners;
There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance."

Of the name Acadia, Principal Dawson says in "Canadian Antiquities—,that "it signifies primarily a place or region, and, in combinationwith other words, a place of plenty or abundance; …" a name mostapplicable to a region which is richer in the 'chief things of theancient mountains, the precious things of the lasting hills, and theprecious things of the earth and of the deep that coucheth beneath',than any other portion of America of similar dimensions."

We naturally infer that the name is French; but our researches provethat it was originally the Indian Aquoddie, a pollock,—not a poeticor romantic significance. This was corrupted by the French intoAccadie, L'Acadie, Cadie.

So little originality in nomenclature is shown in America, that wecould desire that Indian names should be retained; that is, when not toolong, or harsh in sound; yet in this case we are inclined to rejoiceat the change from the aboriginal to the more musical modern title.

Though a vast extent of territory was once embraced under that name, itis now merely a rather fanciful title for a small part of the Provinceof Nova Scotia.

Acadia! The Bay of Fundy! There's magic even in the names; the verysound of them calling up visions of romance, and causing anticipationsof amazing displays of Nature's wonders. Fundy! The marvel of ourchildhood, filling the mind's eye in those early school days with thatastounding picture,—a glittering wall of green crystal, anywhere fromten to one hundred feet in height, advancing on the land like the marchof a mighty phalanx, as if to overwhelm and carry all before it! Had itnot been our dream for years to go there, and prove to our everlastingsatisfaction whether childish credulity had been imposed upon?

Our proposed tourists, eight in number, being a company with a leaningtowards music, bound to be harmonious, desiring to study the Diet-tomeas illustrated by the effects of country fare and air, consolidate underthe title of the Octave. The chaperone, who we all know is a dear, isnaturally called "Do"(e); one, being under age, is dubbed the MinorThird; while the exclamatory, irrepressible, and inexhaustible membersfrom the Hub are known as "La" and "Si."

Having decided upon our objective point, the next thing is to find outhow to reach it; and here, at the outset, we are surprised at thecomparative ignorance shown regarding a region which, though seeminglydistant, is in reality so accessible. We are soon inclined to quotefrom an old song,—

"Thou art so near and yet so far,"

as our blundering investigations seem more likely to prove how not toget anywhere!

But we set to work to accumulate railroad literature in the shape ofmaps, schedules, excursion books; and these friendly little pamphletsprove delightful pathfinders, convincing us how readily all tastes canbe suited; as some wish to go by water, some by land, and some by "alittle of both." Thus, those who are on good terms with old Neptune maytake a pleasant voyage of twenty-six hours direct from Boston to thedistant village of Annapolis, Nova Scotia, which is our prospectiveabiding place; while those who prefer can have "all rail route," or, ifmore variety is desired, may go by land to St. John, New Brunswick, andthence by steamboat across the Bay of Fundy. At last the company departson its several ways, and in sections, that the dwellers in that remoteold town of historic interest may not be struck breathless by such aninvasion of foreigners.

The prime mover of the expedition, having already traveled as far eastas Bangor, commences the journey at night from that city. Strange tosay, no jar or unusual sensation is experienced when the iron horsepasses the boundary; nor is anything novel seen when the train known asthe "Flying Yankee" halts for a brief breathing spell at MacAdamStation. A drowsy voice volunteers the information: "It is a forsakenregion here." Another of our travelers replies, "Appearances certainlyindicate that the Colossus of Roads is absent, and it is to be hopedthat he is mending his ways elsewhere." Then the speakers, tipping theirreclining chairs to a more recumbent posture, drift off to the Land ofNod.

With morning comes examination of travelers' possessions at the customhouse, with amusing exhibitions of peculiarly packed boxes and bags,recalling funny episodes of foreign tours, while giving to this one anovel character; then the train speeds on for seven hours more.

THE BAY OF FUNDY.

Ere long singular evidence of proximity to the wonderful tides of theBay of Fundy is seen, as all the streams show sloping banks,stupendously muddy; mud reddish brown in color, smooth and oily looking,gashed with seams, and with a lazily moving rivulet in the bed of thestream from whence the retreating tide has sucked away the volume ofwater.

"What a Paradise for bare-footed boys, and children with a predilectionfor mud pies!" exclaims one of the tourists; while the other—thepractical, prosaic—remarks, "It looks like the chocolate frosting ofyour cakes!" for which speech a shriveling look is received.

This great arm of the sea, reaching up so far into the land, and whichtried to convert Nova Scotia into an island (as man proposes to makeit, by channeling the isthmus), was known to early explorers as La BaieFrançoise, its present cognomen being a corruption of the French,Fond-de-la Baie.

Being long, narrow, and running into the land like a tunnel, the tiderises higher and higher as it ascends into the upper and narrowestparts; thus in the eastern arm, the Basin of Minas, the tidal swellrises forty feet, sometimes fifty or more in spring.

In Chignecto Bay, which extends in a more northerly direction from thegreater bay, the rise has been known to reach seventy feet in spring,though it is usually between fifty and sixty at other times. Here, inthe estuary of the Petitcodiac, where the river meets the wave of thetide, the volumes contending cause the Great Bore, as it is called; andas in this region the swine wade out into the mud in search of shellfish, they are sometimes swept away and drowned. The Amazon River alsohas its Bore; the Indians, trying to imitate the sound of the roaringwater, call it "pororoca."

In the Hoogly it is shown; and in a river of China, the Teintang, itadvances up the stream at the rate of twenty-five miles an hour, causinga rise of thirty feet. In some northern countries the Bore is calledthe Eagre. Octavia says this must be because it screws its way soeagerly into the land, but is immediately suppressed, and informedthat the name is a corruption of Oegir, the Scandinavian god of the sea,of whom we learn as follows:—

Odin, the father of the gods, creator of the world, possessing greatestpower and wisdom, holds the position in Scandinavian mythology that Zeusdoes in the Greek. Like the Olympian Jupiter, he held the thunder boltsin his hand; but differed from the more inert divinity of Greece inthat, arrayed in robes of cloud, he rode through the universe on hismarvelous steed, which had eight feet. This idea was characteristic of ahardy race living a wild outdoor life in a rigorous climate. Oegir, thegod of the sea, was a jotun, but friendly to Odin. The jotuns weregiants, and generally exerted their powers to the injury of man, but,not being gifted with full intelligence, could be conquered by men. Thefirst jotun, named Ymer, Odin subdued, and of his flesh formed theearth, of his bones the mountains; the ocean was his blood, his brainsthe clouds, while from his skull the arch of the heavens was made.

We resolved to witness the singular spectacle of the Oegir of Fundy;but, not receiving answer to our application for accommodations atMoncton, proceeded on our way, consoling ourselves with the thought thatwe could see a bore any day, without taking any special pains or goingmuch out of our way.

The Basin of Minas! What a "flood of thoughts" rise at the name. Fancypaints dreamy and fascinating pictures of the fruitful and verdantmeadow land, the hills, the woods, the simple hearted, childlikepeasants; upright, faithful, devout, leading blameless lives of placidserenity:

"At peace with God and the world."

It seemed that there must be some means of crossing the beauteous Basinwhence the broken hearted exiles sailed away so sadly; and that anytourist with a particle of romance or sentiment in his composition wouldgladly make even a wide detour to visit it. Therefore we were surprisedto learn that railroad schedules said nothing of this route, and thatit seemed almost unknown to summer pleasure seekers. Not to be deterred,however, what better can one do than write direct for information toParrsboro,—a pretty village, which is the nearest point to the Basin.Thus we learn that a short railway, connecting with the Intercolonial,will convey us thither, though not a road intended for passengerservice.

"It will only add to the novelty and interest of our tour," we say. Werather hope it will prove a very peculiar road, and are prepared fordiscomfort which we do not find; although, at Spring Hill, the point ofdivergence from the main line, such a queer train is waiting, that oneexclaims, "Surely we have come into the backwoods at last!"

The car is divided in the middle, the forward part devoted to baggage,while in the rear portion, on extremely low backed and cushion lessseats, beside tiny, shade less windows, sit the passengers. And suchpassengers! We mentally ejacul*te something about "Cruikshank'scaricatures come to life." With much preliminary clanking of chains, amost dolorous groaning and creaking of the strange vehicle, a shudderand jar, the train is in motion, and slowly proceeding through denselywooded and wild country,—a coal and lumber district, where only anoccasional log house relieves the monotony of the scene,—log huts whichlook as if they have strayed away from the far South and dropped down inthis wilderness. At intervals, with a convulsive jerk which brings totheir feet some new travelers on this peculiar line, the train halts totake on lumber; and one of our tourists remarks, "This old thing startslike an earthquake, and stops as if colliding with a stone wall;" andcontinues: "Do you think the poet who longed for 'a lodge in some vastwilderness', would have been satisfied with this?" Without waiting fora reply, the next remark is: "We are looking for summer accommodations;don't you think we could find board cheap here?" The prosaic one,ignoring such an attempt at pleasantry, replies, "Five dollars perthousand feet, I have been told."

When the conductor, in a huge straw hat and rough suit, sans collar orcravat, comes to collect tickets, the satirical one asks, "Will hepunch them with his penknife, or clip them with a pair of old scissors?"

We have

"Heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,
That was built in such a logical way
It ran a hundred years to a day,"

and conclude that the S. H. & P. R. R. resembles it somewhat; and that,although there is a "general flavor of mild decay" about it in somerespects, it will not be in danger of wearing out from high rate ofspeed; but who cares about time when on a holiday?

At last, in the distance, a range of blue hills becomes visible, with afaint, far gleam of water; and, as the blue line abruptly descends tothe glistening streak below, we know in an instant what that promontorymust be, and ecstatically quote with one voice,—

"Away to the northward Blomidon rose,"

regardless of geography, as that Cape happens, in this case, to besouth of us.

Having received information by mail that "hosses and carages" are to befound at Parrsboro, and that the sailing of the steamer is "rooled bythe tide," eager looks are cast about on alighting at that charmingvillage, the natives of which, to our surprise, are not backwoodsmen orrough countrymen. Mine host, genial and gentlemanly, becomes visible;and we are soon bowling merrily along through the neat village, thepicturesque country beyond, and are set down at a refreshinglyold-timey inn directly on the shore of the Basin of Minas, which burstssuddenly upon the view, amazing one by its extent and beauty. We exclaimin surprise, "Why, it looked no larger than one's thumb nail on themap!"

THE BASIN OF MINAS

A curving beach with rolling surf, a long and very high pier, showingthe great rise of the tide,—at this point sixty feet in the spring,—and directly before one the peculiarly striking promontory of Blomidon,with the red sandstone showing through the dark pines clothing hissides, and at his feet a powerful "rip" tossing the water into choppedseas; a current so strong that a six-knot breeze is necessary to carrya vessel through the passage which here opens into the Bay of Fundy.

This is the place where schedules said nothing of a boat to convey thetourist across the inland sea—of thirty miles' width—to the railroadon its south shore,—the line which bears on its rolling stock theominous initials W. A. R, but passes through the most peaceful countrynevertheless. Yet our genial host's assurances that such a vessel willcome are not to be doubted; and, after a dainty repast, a group sits onthe pier, watching ghostly ships and smaller craft emerge from andvanish into the mist. As the mists disperse and the moon comes outclearly, it reveals the "Hiawatha" approaching,—a graceful propellerof five hundred tons burden, and one hundred and some odd feet inlength.

Partridge Island, which is close at hand, commands exceptionally fineviews, as Blomidon does also; the famous Capes d'Or and Chignecto, sevenhundred and thirty to eight hundred feet high, with Advocate Harbor,are within pleasant driving distance. There are twenty varieties ofminerals on Blomidon; as many more, with jaw-testing names, on PartridgeIsland "and thereabout"; so in this locality a geologist would becomequite ecstatic. Some of the finest marine scenery of the Provinces, aswell as lovely inland views and the noted and singular Five Islands, canbe seen within a radius of twenty miles.

"No country is of much interest until legends and poetry have draped itin hues that mere nature cannot produce," says a pleasant modernwriter.

Geologists believe that the range of hills known as the North Mountainwas once a long narrow island, and that a shoal gradually formed nearBlomidon, in time filling in until that headland became part of themainland.

This striking cape, five hundred and seventy feet high, one wouldnaturally expect to find associated with strange wild myths of theaborigines; and

"Ye who love a nation's legends,
That like voices from afar off
Call to us to pause and listen,"

attend then!

It seems that this was the favorite resort of Glooscap, the Indiangiant, who, like "Kwasind the Strong Man," in "Hiawatha," entered intoa fierce combat here with the Great Beaver (Ahmeek, King of the Beavers,is spoken of in that same poem), and contended with the giganticcreature in similar manner, throwing huge masses of rock, which, fallingin the water, became, in this case, the Five Islands. The Indian legendsays that at this point a stupendous dam was built by the Great Beaver;and because this was flooding the Cornwallis valley, Glooscap, whosesupernatural power was unlimited, broke and bent it into its presentshape, forming Cape Blomidon, afterwards strewing the promontory withgems, some of which he carried away to adorn "his mysterious femalecompanion." Here also he held a wonderful feast with another giant; and,ordinary fish not sufficing to satisfy their enormous appetites, the twoembarked in a stone canoe, sailed out into the Great Lake of Uniras, asthey called the Basin, and there speared a whale, which they broughtto the shore and devoured at short notice. The approach of the white mancausing the Indian giant to desert his old haunts, he sailed out on thegreat water and vanished from sight; but some day, when men and animalslive together in peace and friendship, he will return and resume hisroyal sway on the Basin of Minas. Before his departure he gave afarewell feast to all the animals, who swarmed from all over thecountry, turned his dogs into stone, and left his kettle overturned inthe shape of an island near Cape Spencer, across Minas Channel. Sincethat time the loons, who were his hunters, wander sadly about thewildest lakes and rivers, searching for their master, uttering theirdolorous cries; and the owls keep up their part of the lament, crying"Koo koo skoos," which, being Indian language, they evidently learnedfrom the giant, and, being interpreted, signified "I am sorry."

The crown of France is adorned with a fine amethyst from Blomidon; andthose early explorers, De Monts and Co., "found in the neighborhood" (ofParrsboro) "crystals and blue stones of a shining colour, similar inappearance to those known by the name of Turkeese." One of the company,"having found a beautiful specimen of this kind, broke it into twopieces, and gave one to De Monts, and the other to Poutrincourt, who,on their return to Paris, had them handsomely set by a jeweler, andpresented them to the King and Queen."

At the base of Cape d'Or there is a very powerful current with greatmaelstroms; this is known as the Styx, and through these terriblewhirlpools two fishermen were carried this season (1883), one losing hislife; while the other, an expert swimmer and athlete, was saved by lessthan a hair's breadth, and afterwards described most thrillingly hissensations on being drawn into and ejected from the frightful vortices.

Just at daybreak, when Blomidon looks out all glowing from the gauzyveil of mist, as the lazy zephyr wafts it aside, and the placid waterrepeats the glorious tints of radiant clouds, we regretfully take ourdeparture. Cape Sharp and Cape Split, bold promontories which stand likemighty sentinels guarding the entrance to the Bay of Fundy, appear inclearest azure and violet; while the mountains of the north shore aresharply defined in pure indigo against the brilliant sky, as thepropeller steams away. The sail across, two hours and a half in length,is a vision of ideal and poetic beauty, all too brief; and as we stepashore we feel tempted to quote, "Take, oh boatman, thrice thy fee!"

At this point (Hantsport) we take the W. and A. R. R, and in a few hoursare set down at the place which we have been so long planning to reach;the place of which our host, who is probably not familiar with thehistory of St. Augustine, Florida, wrote proudly as "the oldest town inNorth America."

It certainly is one of the oldest settlements in North America, havingbeen founded in 1604, and, until 1750, it was the capital of the wholepeninsula of Nova Scotia: Annapolis,—the old Port Royal, the historicaltown which has been the scene of so many struggles and bittercontentions; but is now the very picture of peace and utterly restfulquiet.

Here the Eight settle down for a long sojourn; basking in the deliciousatmosphere, devoting themselves to searching out the most picturesqueviews, in a series of rambles, drives, and excursions, and visiting allpoints for miles around, to which history and romance have added charmsalmost as great as those of river and mountain which they alwayspossessed.

Those of our party who hail from the city of Brotherly Love naturallyfeel a special interest in Acadia and the sad story of Longfellow'sheroine; as a patent for the principality of Acadia, which included thewhole American coast from Philadelphia to Montreal, was given by the"impulsive and warmhearted monarch," Henry IV. of France, to Pierre duGuast, the Sieur de Monts, constituting him governor of that country,and giving him the trade and revenues of the region.

Consequently some of the ancestors of our Philadelphia friends were
Acadians, though not French peasantry. There also:—

"In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware's waters,
Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle,
Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded.
There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem of beauty,
And the streets still re-echo the names of the trees of the forest,
As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested
There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile,
Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country."

In that sedate and sober city was—

"the almshouse, home of the homeless.
Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows and woodlands,
Now the city surrounds it, hut still, with its gateway and wicket
Meek in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seem to echo
Softly the words of the Lord,—'The poor ye have always with you'"

There the sad exile's weary search was at last rewarded; the long partedlovers were reunited, though but for a moment on the verge of the grave;and thus was ended—

"the hope and the fear and the sorrow,
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing,
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience,"

The city almshouse stood, we are told, at the corner of Twelfth andSpruce Streets; but the belief is quite general (and we inclinedecidedly to that) that our beloved poet intended by his description toportray the quaint building formerly known as the Friends' Almshouse,which stood in Walnut Place (opening off of Walnut Street below Fourth),and which was torn down in 1872 or 1873 to give place to railroad andlawyers' offices.

The entrance from the street, by "gateway and wicket", as the poem says,led through a narrow passage way; and there faced one a small, lowroofed house, built of alternate red and black bricks (the latterglazed), almost entirely covered by an aged ivy which clambered over theroof. The straggling branches even nodded above the wide chimneys; atboth sides of the door stood comfortable settles, inviting to rest; andthe pretty garden charmed with its bloom and fragrance. The whole formedsuch a restful retreat, such an oasis of quiet in the very heart of thebusy city, that one was tempted often to make excuses for straying intothe peaceful enclosure.

In a book printed for private circulation in Philadelphia some yearsago, there is an item of interest about the Acadians. The authornarrates that she and a young companion, in their strolls to thesuburbs, where they went to visit the Pennsylvania Hospital (Eighth andPine Streets, now in the heart of the city), were timid because obligedto pass the place where the "French Neutrals" were located.

These people, because they were foreigners, and there was some mysteryabout them which the girls did not then understand, inspired them withfear; though Philadelphia residents of that time testify that thehomeless and destitute strangers were in reality a very simple andinoffensive company, when, "friendless, homeless, hopeless, theywandered from city to city." Through the influence of Anthony Benezet, amember of the Society of Friends, they were provided with homes on PineStreet above Sixth, where the two little wooden houses still stand; one,when we last saw it, being painted blue.

What a picturesque company of adventurers were those French noblemen,who, turning their backs upon the luxuries and fascinations of courtlife, sailed away to this wild and distant land, where, in the pursuitof gain, fame, or merely adventure, they were to suffer absoluteprivation and hardship; consorting with savages in place of the plumedand pampered denizens of palaces.

After a probably tempestuous voyage across the bleak Atlantic, and amerciless buffeting from Fundy in the spring of 1604, the prospectiveGovernor of the great territory known as Acadia was sailing along thiscoast, which presents such a forbidding aspect from the Bay, making hisfirst haven May 16. At that time, we can readily imagine, in thisnorthern region the weather would not be very balmy. Even now the wildrocky shore stretches along drearily—though with certain sternpicturesqueness—as far as eye can reach, and then must have been evenless attractive, as it showed no sign of habitation.

Champlain was somewhat familiar with these shores from former voyages,and so had been chosen as pilot; but De Poutrincourt and Pontgravé,other associates of Pierre du Guast, the Sieur de Monts, doubtlesslooked askance at each other, or indulged in the expressive French shrugas the cheerless panorama parsed before them. On that 16th of May, atthe harbor where the little town of Liverpool is now situated, De Montsfound another Frenchman engaged in hunting and fishing, ignoring, orregardless of, the rights of any one else; and without ado thisinterloper (so considered by De Monts) was nabbed; the only consolationhe received being the honor of transmitting his name, Rossignol, to theharbor,—a name since transferred to a lake in the vicinity.

After a sojourn of two weeks at another point (St. Mary's Bay), theexplorers proceeded northward; and at last a particularly invitingharbor presented itself, causing the mental vision of the new Governorand his company to assume more hopeful aspect, as they turned theircourse thither and pronounced it "Port Royal"!

PORT ROYAL

Here they managed to exist through the winter with as much comfort ascirc*mstances would admit of; but with the return of summer were on thewing again, in search of more salubrious climate and more southerlylocality for the establishment of a colony, sailing along the coast ofMaine and Massachusetts as far as Cape Cod.

Attempts were made to establish settlements, but the natives provedunfriendly; the foreigners had not a sufficient force to subdue them;and, as De Monts was obliged to return to France, De Poutrincourt andhis companions established themselves again at Port Royal. Here, towhile away the long winter, the gay adventurers established a burlesquecourt, which they christened "L'Ordre de Bon Temps"; and of the merryrealm each of the fifteen principal persons of the colony became supremeruler in turn. As the Grand Master's sway lasted but a day, each one, ashe assumed that august position, prided himself on doing his utmost toeclipse his predecessor in lavish provision for feasting. Forests werescoured for game; fish were brought from the tempest-tossed waters ofthe Bay, or speared through the ice of L'Équille; so the table fairlygroaned with the luxuries of these winter revelers in the wilds ofAcadia. With ludicrous caricature of court ceremonial, the rulers ofthe feast marched to the table, where their invited guests, the Indianchiefs, sat with them around the board; the squaws and childrensquatting on the floor, watching for bits which the lively company nowand then tossed to them. "They say" that an aged sachem, when dying,asked if he should have pies in heaven as good as those which he hadeaten at Poutrincourt's table!

To the Indians, the greatest delicacy of all on the table was bread.This, to them a dainty viand, they were always ready to consume withgusto; but were invariably averse to grinding the corn, althoughpromised half of the meal as recompense for their labor. The grindingwas performed with a hand-mill, and consequently so laborious andtedious that the savages would rather suffer hunger than submit to suchdrudgery, which they also seemed to think degrading to the free sons ofthe forest.

Proverbially fickle are princes; and of this De Monts was convinced onhis return to France, for during his absence he had lost favor with hissovereign, Henry IV., who revoked his commission; still he succeeded,after many difficulties, in procuring supplies for his colony, andarrived just in time to prevent his people from leaving Port Royaldiscouraged and disheartened. One member of the little community ofFrenchmen was Lescarbot, a lawyer, who was talented, poetical, and didmuch to enliven the others during the absence of their leader, who, onhis return, was received by a procession of masqueraders, headed byNeptune and tritons, reciting verses written by Lescarbot. Over theentrances to the fort and to the Governor's apartments were suspendedwreaths of laurel and garlands surrounding Latin mottoes,—all the workof the pastimist (if one may coin such a word). The relief andencouragement brought by De Monts were but temporary, and in the spring(1606) news was received that nothing more could be sent to thecolonists, and they must be disbanded.

Imagination portrays the strange picture presented at this time in thisremote region, the gay French courtiers vanishing from the sight oftheir Indian comrades almost as suddenly and mysteriously as they hadappeared but three years before, and leaving their dusky boon companionslamenting on the shore. The eyes of the savages—that race who pridethemselves on their stoicism—were actually dimmed with tears as theywatched the vessel fading away in the distance.

For four years "ye gentle sauvage" pursued the even tenor of his way,and consoled himself as best he could for the absence of the livelyrevelers who had cheered his solitude; then, presumably to his delight(in 1610), he saw Poutrincourt returning. That nobleman had promised theking to exert himself for the conversion of the Indians. Three yearslater a company of Jesuits sailed for this port with the same object inview; but, losing their reckoning, they founded settlements at Mt.Desert instead.

Madame de Guercheville, a true woman indeed, who was honored andrespected in a dissolute court where honor was almost unknown, hadbecome a zealous advocate of the conversion of Indians in America; andthrough her means and influence several priests of the Jesuit order weresent out in 1612 to this settlement. The sachems, with members of theirtribes living at Port Royal, were baptized, twenty-one at one time, withmuch show of rejoicing typified by firing of cannon, waving of banners,blaring of trumpets. Some doubt is expressed whether the savages fullyunderstood what it was all about, and what their confession of faithfully signified; as one chief, on being instructed in the Lord's Prayer,objected to asking for bread alone, saying that he wished for mooseflesh and fish also; and when one of the priests deliberately set towork, with notebook and quill, to learn the language of the aboriginesby asking one man the Indian words for various French ones (to himtotally incomprehensible), the savage, with malice aforethought,purposely gave him words of evil signification, which did not assistthe Frenchman in enlightening other members of this benighted race.Perceiving the trick which had been played upon him by the savage, whohad been so perplexed by his questioning, the priest declared thatIndian possessed by the Devil! However, with all its discouragements,this was the opening of the work of the Jesuits in America; in whicheven those who might have thought their zeal at times mistaken could notbut respect them for the noble heroism, displayed during so many years,in their work of civilizing and enlightening the savages. Even in theseolden times there were turbulent marauders abroad; and one such, Argall,from Virginia, after destroying the settlement at Somes Sound (Mt.Desert), pounced upon this peaceful station, destroying the fort andscattering the colonists (1613).

The section known as Virginia was granted in 1606 to the London andPlymouth Companies; and as that portion embraced the country between 34degrees and 43 degrees north latitude, it seems that Argall pretendedthat the French at Port Royal were interlopers, usurping his rights; butas De Monts had received in 1604 a charter for the country deemed aslying between 40 degrees and 46 degrees north latitude, Argall had noright to dispossess De Monts or his successor.

Notwithstanding that a member of Argall's company speaks of him as "agentleman of noble courage", that does not prevent us from consideringhim a rascal; for at this time France and England were at peace, and hewas unauthorized in his base and tyrannous invasion of Port Royal.Before his attack on this quiet, peaceful station, he had shown greatesttreachery at Somes Sound, Mt. Desert, where he stole Saussaye'scommission and cast adrift in an open boat fifteen of the colonists.

Poutrincourt's son, Biencourt, was now Governor of Acadia, and stationedat Port Royal. He endeavored to make terms with Argall, and offered todivide with him the proceeds of the fur trade and the mines; but thiswas refused, and the settlement broken up, some of the unfortunateFrenchmen joining Champlain at Quebec, some scattering into the woodsamong the Indians, while others were carried to England and from thencedemanded by the French ambassador. Thus, after only a little more thaneight years from the time of settlement, the colony was entirely brokenup.

En passant: A friend of ours, who with his family passed a summer in NewHampshire, "at the roots of the White Mountains", as someone expressedit, surprised an old farmer by asking the names of hills in sight fromthat particular locality. The reply was, "I dono, and I dono as I care;but you city folks, when you come here, are allers askin' questions." Weconclude that we are liable to be classed in a similar category; and, infact, the Dabbler when sketching one day is asked, "Ain't some of yourparty writing a book?" The interrogator's mind is set at rest by beinganswered that the reason we have become animated notes of interrogationis because we are interested in the history of the old town; but it isfearful to think for what that innocent lad is responsible: puttingnotions in people's heads, and causing this volume to be inflicted on asuffering world!

To return to our subject. The olive branch was not yet to be the emblemof this spot, now so peaceful, for a colony of Scotch people were nextrouted (1628), and the place left in ruins, when a season of quietensued; but this was virtually the commencement of the French andEnglish wars in North America, continuing, with slight intermissions,until the treaty of 1763, by which France gave up her possessions inAmerica.

In 1634 Port Royal fell into French hands again, when Claude de Razillywas Governor, and here for a short time lived La Tour, one of hislieutenants, who kept up such bitter feuds with D'Aulnay, who held likeposition to his own, and whose story Whittier relates in his poem, "St.John, 1647".

Madatae de la Tour must have been one of the earliest advocates ofwomen's rights, as she so bravely held the fort of St. John in herhusband's absence.

"'But what of my lady?'
Cried Charles of Estienne
On the shot-crumbled turret
Thy lady was seen
Half veiled in the smoke cloud
Her hand grasped thy pennon,
While her dark tresses swayed
In the hot breath of cannon,
Of its sturdy defenders,
Thy lady alone
Saw the cross-blazoned banner
Float over St John.
Alas for thy lady!
No service from thee
Is needed by her
Whom the Lord hath set free:
Nine days, in stern silence,
Her thralldom she bore,
But the tenth morning came
And Death opened her door'"

Hannay says she was "the first and greatest of Acadian heroines,—awoman whose name is as proudly enshrined in the history of this land asthat of any sceptered queen in European story."

For a long series of years this post of Port Royal was the bone ofcontention between the French and English; the fort, being held for atime by one power, then by the other, representing the shuttle-co*ck whenthese contending nations battled at her doors. In 1654 the place washeld by the French under Le Borgne. An attack by the English wassuccessful, though the French were well garrisoned and provisioned.

In De Razilly's time La Tour, who might have been satisfied with hispossessions at St. John, assailed it; then English pirates took thefishing fleet (1684); next Sir William Phipps captured and pillaged thefort in 1690. Shortly after this, pirates from the West Indies plunderedthe place; and in 1691 it again fell into the hands of the French underDe Villebon. It was still to undergo two sieges in 1707, when, underSubercase, the besiegers were repulsed; and in 1710 seven ships withEnglish marines bombarded the fort for several days. The garrison atlast, being in starving condition, were forced to yield; and the victorschristened the place Annapolis Royal, in honor of their sovereign thenreigning in Great Britain.

The subjugation of this part of "New France" made Nova Scotia an Englishprovince; and for a time this realm might have answered to thedescription of Rasselas's Happy Valley; the thrifty, honest peoplerelieved from "wars and rumors of wars", and taking up the quiet,contented routine of every-day life.

"Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way."

But in 1744 the reign of siege and terror began again, and the town wasdestroyed by bombardment and incendiary fires, when, for nearly threemonths, Laloutre and Duvivier besieged the fort. The garrison, augmentedby troops from Louisburg, and assisted by provisions and men fromBoston, finally repulsed their assailants. The next year there wasanother assault under De Ramezay, which was unsuccessful; and after thedispersion of the Acadians (1755), the much-fought-over place wasallowed to remain in quiet until 1781, when two American ships-of-warsailed up the river at night. Their forces, taking the fort by surprise,robbed the houses, after imprisoning the people in the old block-house.Since that time the English have retained possession of this muchdisputed territory; the fort has been unarmed and unoccupied (bymilitary force) since 1850, when the Rifle Brigade were stationed here;but the tedium of garrison life proving still more irksome here, anddesertions being frequent, the fort was abandoned as a military post.

ANNAPOLIS

What a fascination there is about that old fort at Annapolis!—"thehornet's nest", as it was called in the olden time; the strongholdwhich withstood so many sieges, and was the subject of constantcontentions in by-gone years.

The hours slip by unnoted when one sits, on the ramparts dreaming andgazing on the broad sweep of river, the distant islands, the undulatinglines of the mountain ranges. The sleepy looking cows wander lazilyabout, cropping the grass on the embankments, and even clamber over theancient archway.

One peoples the place with imaginary martial figures, and is almoststartled when the stillness is broken by a rustle and approachingfootsteps, and turns, as if expecting to see glittering uniformsappearing through the crumbling arch; but it is only old Moolly, whodeliberately walks into the inner enclosure, and, if "our special artiston the spot" has left his sketch for a moment, probably puts her foot init, with the air of one who should say, "Who are you who dare invade myrealm?"

The quaint barrack building, with its huge chimneys and gambrel roof, isnow occupied by several families; and a whitewashed fence encloses a gaygarden. The small magazine, built of creamy sandstone sent from Francefor the purpose, still remains, and its excessively sharp roof showsabove the ramparts; but the massive oaken door stands open wide and isgreen with age; the roof is decidedly shaky; and the shingles hangloosely, so that one would think that only a moderate gale would sendthem flying like a pack of cards.

The block-house, built of massive logs and heavy planks of English oak,stood within the past year by the bridge over the moat; but,unfortunately, a person without reverence for antiquities has razed it,thereby obtaining his winter fuel cheaply; and he now turns an honestpenny by selling canes, etc., of the wood.

When we indignantly ask some of the town's-people how they could havepermitted this, they reply, "Oh, it was getting rotten, and would havetumbled down some day;" but we judge, by pieces which we see of thesound, tough fibred oak, that it might have stood for fifty years morewithout injury; while a little judicious propping and repairing,perhaps, would have preserved it for a longer period than that. PoorAnnapolitans, who had no Centennial Exhibition to teach them the valueof historical relics and "old things".

On the Maine Central Railroad, quite near the track at Winslow, wepassed, on our way here, an old block-house, which is carefullypreserved.

Not long ago, the Canadian Government received orders that allbuildings, except the barrack and magazine, must be removed from thefort enclosure; yet a garrulous old Scotchman still resides there in atiny house, and plies his trade as cobbler.

His delight is to regale strangers with preposterous "yarns", andaccounts of his adventures in her Majesty's service; accounts which mustbe taken with considerably more than the proverbial grain of salt, butto which we listened with delight and amazingly sober countenances. Whenasked how it happens that he still remains in the fort grounds, heanswers, "I writ out home, to Angland, to say that I served in thearrumy fur thurty yeer, and I know the ould gurrul will let me stay."(There's respect for a sovereign!)

He talks wisely of the "bumpruf", a word which we have some difficultyin translating into bomb proof; and we are, apparently, overpoweredwith wonder as he explains how "with a few berrls av pouther they cudsend ivery thing flying, and desthroy the whole place, avery bit avit."

Presumably misled by our simulated credulity, he goes on to describe awell in front of the magazine, and says, "When they wanted to get redav throoblesome preesoners, ploomp they'd go in the watter, and thet wasthe last av 'em'" Suffice it to say, that the oldest inhabitant has norecollection of the slightest trace of such a well.

The underground passage has fallen in; only the entrance being nowvisible and accessible Old Gill says, "I as the last man iver in it; andI got caught there with the wall fallin' in, and they were twinty fowerhours gettin' me out," (a li[e]kely story!) adding, "Oh, I was a divilin them days!" and "I found in there a bit av a goon wrinch" (gunwrench); and Mr. So and So, from Halifax, "gev me some money fur it,an' he lapped it up in his han'kerchef like as if it had ben goold."

We are told of an ancient house "of the era of the French occupation,"and go to see it; but learn, though it looks so aged, that it was builtupon the site of the French house, and is not the old original. Theowner has reached the ripe age of ninety-four, and is a remarkable man,with the polished manner of a gentleman of the old school In such aclimate as this, one would naturally expect to find centenarians. Hetells us many interesting things about old times here, and his grandsonbrings out a barrel of Acadian relics to show us.

We are interested in noting the differences between these ancientimplements and those in use at the present time; here is a gridiron,with very long handle and four feet (a clumsy quadruped), and we see infancy the picture of home comfort, as the busy housewife prepares thenoonday meal, where—

"Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer
Stood on the side of a lull commanding the sea, and a shady
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it"

Here, too, are ox chains, a curiously shaped ploughshare, an odd littlespade used in mending the dikes, and digging clay for bricks, and alsothe long and heavy tongs of the "blacksmith".

"Who was a mighty man in the village and honored of all men
For since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations
Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people."

These implements were discovered at Frenchman's Brook on this farm, onlythree years ago, and were then found apparently as bright and strong asif just placed there. They were covered with brush, but a foot or twobelow the surface; and seem to have been hurriedly hidden by the exiles,who, finding them too weighty for conveyance, secreted them, probablywith the hope of returning sometime.

What a study for an artist the group would have made, as they stoodexamining the misty iron, and talking of the unhappy people soruthlessly sent into banishment! For background, the quaint, unpaintedhouse, black with age, the roof of the "lean-to" so steeply sloping thatthe eave-trough was on a line Avith the heads of the group Beyond laythe lovely valley, with the winding Équille on its serpentine way tojoin the greater river; the whole picture framed in the long range ofwooded and rugged hills.

Higginson thinks there has been too much sentimentalizing over the fateof the Acadians; and one member of our party so evidently considers thatour enthusiasm savors of the gushing school-girl, that we are cautiousin our remarks. But the old man's grandson, holding his pretty child onhis shoulder, and looking across the valley to his pleasant dwelling,says, "Oh, it was cruel to send them away from their homes!" to whichall earnestly assent.

Clambering up the hill back of the old house, we come upon the site ofan ancient French church, and commend the taste of those who chose suchan admirable location. Here we find, to our delight, that localtradition has buried two fine old bells. Bells! What a charm there isabout them! One of the earliest recollections of our childhood is of abell, which, being harsh and dissonant, so worked upon our youthfulsensibilities as to cause paroxysms of tears; and now in these lateryears we are sure that should some genie set us down blindfolded in anyplace where we had ever remained for a time the mere tones of the bellswould enlighten us as to our whereabouts.

"Those evening bells! Those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth and home and that sweet time
When last I heard their soothing chime."

After the Port Royal settlement was broken up by Argall in 1613,tradition says this church crumbled away into ruin, and, as thesupporting beams decayed, the bells sank to the ground, where, fromtheir own weight and the accumulations of Nature's débris they becamemore and more deeply embedded until lost to view. Silver bells, fromFrance, they say. Of course! Who ever heard of any ancient bells whichwere not largely composed of that metal? It is a pretty myth, however,which we adopt with pleasure; though common sense plainly says thatsilver would soon wear away in such use; that the noble patrons of astruggling colony in a wild country would not have been so extravagantas that; and that bell metal is a composition of copper and tin whichhas been in use from the time of Henry III.

The people of Antwerp have special affection for the "Carolus" of theirfamous cathedral; and that bell is actually composed of copper, silver,and gold; but it is now so much worn that they are not allowed theprivilege of hearing it more than once or twice a year "Kings and nobleshave stood beside these famous caldrons" (of the bell founders), "andlooked with reverence on the making of these old bells; nay, they havebrought gold and silver, and pronouncing the holy name of some saint orapostle which the bell was hereafter to bear, they have flung inprecious metals, rings, bracelets, and even bullion."

Possibly these old bells of Annapolis, the secret of whose hiding placeNature guards so well, were made by Van den Gheyn or Hemony of Belgium,who from 1620 to 1650 were such famous founders that those of theirworks still extant are worth their weight in gold, or priceless, andare noted the world over for their wonderful melody. If so, when they

"Sprinkled with sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop
Sprinkles the congregation and scatters blessing among them,"

it was no doubt with silvery tone; and, as it is well known that bellssound best when rung on a slope or in a valley where there is a lake orriver, doubtless this wide and lovely stream carried the music of themellow peal, and returning voyagers heard the welcome notes; as thesailors of the North Sea, on entering the Scheldt, strain their ears tocatch the faint, far melody of the chimes of the belfry of Antwerp,visible one hundred and fifty miles away.

Another day we make an expedition to see the Apostle Spoons, and arereceived, as invariably everywhere, with cordial hospitality. Thesespoons would, I fear, cause the eye of an antiquary to gleam covetously.They have round, flat bowls about two and a half inches in diameter;narrow, slender, and straight handles, terminating, the one with asmall turbaned head, the other with a full length figure about one inchlong; the entire length of the handles being about four and a halfinches.

In the bowl of one the letters P L I are rudely cut; and on both isstamped something which, they say, under magnifying glass resembles aKing's head In the spring of 1874 or 1875 these were turned up by theplough, in a field two miles beyond the town, the discovery being madein the neighborhood of the supposed bite of an old French church. Thefarmer's thrifty housewife was making soap at the time the spoons wereunearthed; and as they were much discolored, "the old lead things" weretossed into the kettle of lye, from whence, to her amazement, they cameout gold, or, at least, silver washed with gold. These spoons, they say,were used in the service of the church; but it is more likely that theywere the property of some family, and probable that they were droppedby their owners—then living beyond the present site of Annapolis—when,at the time of the banishment of the Acadians, they were hurried away tothe ships on the Basin of Minas.

An apostle spoon was often a treasured heirloom in families of thebetter class, and at the advent of each scion of the family tree wassuspended about the neck of the infant at baptism, being supposed toexert some beneficent influence. Especially in the East, about theseventh century, we find that a small vessel, or spoon, sometimes ofgold, was used in the churches These were eucharistic utensils, by meansof which communicants conveyed the sacred elements to the mouth; butthis custom was forbidden and done away with, though probably thetradition of such usage suggested the spoon, which became general inGreek and most Oriental churches many years after. The suppositionis, that in those churches, after the wafer had been put into the winein the chalice, the spoon was used to dip out such portion as was to bereserved for administering the last sacrament to the dying, or to thosewho were too ill to attend the service in the church. In all churchesof the East, except the Armenian, the spoon is used in administering thesacrament.

Curious customs also existed in ancient times in reference to baptism.Honey mixed with milk or with wine was given to the one who had justreceived this rite, to show that he who received it, being a, newlyborn child spiritually, must not be fed with strong meat, but with milk.This became a regular part of the ritual, and was closely adhered to.The old customs of festivals of rejoicing, public thanksgivings, wearingof garlands, singing of hymns, and giving presents, are well known andfamiliarly associated with baptismal festivities. The presentation ofapostle spoons at christenings was a very ancient custom in England. Awealthy sponsor or relative who could afford it, gave a complete set oftwelve, each with the figure of an apostle carved or chased on the endof the handle; while sometimes a poor person presented only one, but onthat was the figure of the saint for whom the child was named. Sometimesthis rudely molded little figure represented the patron saint of thesponsor or the donor. In 1666 the custom was on the decline.

An anecdote relating to this usage is told of Shakespeare. The latter"stood godfather" to the child of a friend; and after the ceremonies ofthe christening, as the poet seemed much absorbed and serious, thefather questioned him as to the cause of his melancholy. The sponsorreplied, that he was considering what would be the most suitable giftfor him to present to his god-child, and that he had finally decided."I'll give him," said he, "a dozen good latten spoons, and thou shalttranslate them." This was a play upon the word Latin. In the Middle Agesa kind of bronze used for church and household utensils was known as"latten"; and the same name was applied in Shakespeare's time to thiniron plate coated with tin, of which domestic utensils and implementswere made.

In Johnson's "Bartholomew Fair" one of his characters says, "And allthis for the hope of a couple of apostle spoons, and a cup to eat caudlein." In a work of Middleton, entitled "The Chaste Maid of Cheapside",one of the characters inquires, "What has he given her?" to whichanother replies, "A faire high standing cup, and two great 'postlespoons, one of them gilt."

The hat, or flat covering on the head of the figure,—that which we calla turban in one of these at Annapolis,—was a customary appendage andusual in apostle spoons; the intention being thereby to protect thefeatures of the tiny heads from wear. Whatever the history of these atAnnapolis, there can be no doubt of their genuineness, and, in a perfectstate, they are extremely rare.

In our antiquarian researches we are naturally drawn to the oldcemetery, adjoining the fort grounds; but learn that the oldest graveswere marked by oaken slabs, which have all disappeared, as have alsomany odd stone ones. But among those still standing one records thatsome one "dyed 1729"; another states that the body below "is depositedhere until the last trump"; and one, which must be the veritableoriginal of the "affliction sore" rhyme, ends: "till death did seizeand God did please to ease me of my pain." Still another bears thisepitaph, verbatim et literatim—

"Stay friend stay nor let thy hart prophane
The humble Stone that tells you life is vain.
Here lyes a youth in moulding ruin lost
A blossom nipt by death's untimely frost
O then prepare to meet with him above
In realms of everlasting love."

The stone-cutter's hand must have been as weary when he blundered overthe word humble as the poet's brain evidently was when he reached theline which limps so lamely to the conclusion. Near this recently stooda stone,

"With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked,"

on which the representation of Father Time was carved in such peculiarmanner that from pose and expression the figure might have passed for alively youth rather than the dread reaper, and was irreverently knownto the village youths as "Sarah's young man", a title suggested by apopular song of the day.

In a remote corner we find the tomb of "Gregoria Remonia Antonia", "anative of Spain"; and afterwards learn her story,—an episode in thelife of the Iron Duke which does not do him honor. Did la grande dame,the duch*ess, ever know of the fair foreigner who supplanted her, thedame o' high degree, in her husband's affection? Did the beautifulSpanish maiden dream, when the brilliant English General wooed her,that he was doing her and another woman the greatest wrong? Little didthe fascinating Spaniard think that the so-called "nobleman" wouldcompel her to marry another; and that other a rough, illiterate man, whowould bring her to this wild, strange, far-away country, and that hereshe should be laid to rest "after life's fitful fever." Is it to bewondered at that her fiery Southern spirit rebelled, that her wrongsembittered her, and that her life here was unhappy?

To add to the romance, one who attended her in her last illness tellsus that when the garrison gave a ball, the slender little Spanish ladyloaned or gave "pretty fixins" to the young girls to wear, and appearedherself in rich silks and plumes; that she gave to her attendant in thatillness a wonderful box "all done off with,—well—this here platedstuff, you know"; and that when the end was drawing near, the faint,weak voice, with its broken English (at best so difficult tounderstand), tried to make "Char-loet-tah" comprehend where she mustlook for something hidden away which she wished her nurse to have inrecognition of her services. But alas! the hoarded treasure was notfound until months after the poor soul was gone, and then fell into thevery hands which the sad alien had most desired should not touch it.

The old adage about a sailor's right to have "a sweetheart in everyport" is still cited in these days of boasted advancement in culture,religion, morals; and it is the same old world to-day as that whichlauded and bowed down to him whom it called "his Grace" (despite what weconsider his graceless actions); the same world, alas! ignoring the openand evident fact when he steps aside from the narrow path of honor andrectitude; while, should she swerve in the least, pouring outmercilessly its harshest taunts, or overwhelming her with pitilessscorn. This, because woman should hold an exalted position, and "beabove suspicion"? Then why do not the so-called "lords of creation", asthey might and ought, set an example of noble uprightness to "the weakervessel", guiding, guarding, upholding her through "the shards and thornsof existence"?

The Spanish girl, left an orphan by the wars in which the dashing andgallant English officer figured so proudly, fell to the care of twoaunts, who, belonging to that indolent, pleasure loving race of sunnySpain, perhaps left the poor girl too much to her own devices, and thusshe may have been more easily beguiled.

"Look here, upon this picture, and on this": first, the gay littlesenorita, holding daintily in her tapering fingers a cigarette, whichshe occasionally raises to her "ripe red lips", afterwards languidlyfollowing with her lustrous black eyes the blue wreaths of smoke asthey float above her head and vanish in the air; next, the witheredcrone, with silver hair, wrinkled skin, and no trace of her earlybeauty, sitting in the chimney corner, and still smoking, though now itis a clay pipe,—to the amazement and disgust of the villagers. Yetwe, believing in the only correct interpretation of noblesse oblige,and that he only is truly noble who acts nobly, have only pity for thepoor soul who here laid down life's weary burden twenty-two years ago atthe age of seventy-two, and scorn for him who rests in an honored grave,and is idealized among the world's heroes.

How amusing it is to hear the people speak of us invariably as"Americans", as if we were from some far-away and foreign country, andto hear them talk of England as "home"!

The hearty cordiality, natural manner, and pleasantly unworldly ways ofthe people are most refreshing; in "a world of hollow shams", to findpersons who are so genuine is delightful; and thus another charm isadded to give greater zest to our enjoyment.

One, half in jest, asks a Halifax gentleman how they would like to beannexed to the United States, and is quite surprised at his ready andearnest reply: "Annexed? Oh, yes, we'd be glad to be;… we wouldn'tcome with empty hands; we have what you want,—fisheries, lumber,minerals; we'd not come as paupers and mendicants…. It will come,though it may not be in our day…. The United States would not wish topurchase,—she has done enough of that: we would have to come of ourown free will; and we would, too!"

Then there is the elderly Scotch gentleman, who appropriately hails fromthe place with the outlandish name of Musquodoboit. He tells us thatduring the "airly pairt" of his residence in America he visited in theStates, and that he has seen "fower Preesidents" inaugurated.

Of his first attendance at such a ceremony he says: "An' whan I see thetmon, in hes plain blek coat, coomin' out amang all o' thim people, an'all the deegnetirries in their blek coats tu, an' not a uniforrum amoongthim, I said, 'This is the coontry fur me,'—it suited my taste. An' howdeeferint it wud be in Yerrup, where there wud be tin thausind mooskitsaboot, to kep 'im from bein' shot."

On our way here we were told: "Oh, you'll find Annapolis hot!" It mightperhaps seem so to a Newfoundlander; but to us the climate is a dailysource of remark, of wonder and delight. It is balmy, yet bracing; andthough there may be times when at midday it is decidedly warm,—assummer should be,—the nights are always cool, and we live in flannelcostumes and luxuriate.

Warner speaks of "these northeastern lands which the Gulf Stream petsand tempers"; yet he passed through this dear old town without stopping,remarking only that he could not be content for a week here, and felt nointerest in the place apart from its historic associations. Let him stopnext time and investigate. We flatter ourselves that we could enlightenhim somewhat.

Our friends at various shore and mountain resorts report constant fogs;yet we can testify that in nearly seven weeks' residence here there werebut two mornings which were foggy, and on those days the gray screen wasrolled away at noon.

"aloft on the mountains Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended"

That singular feature spoken of in Longfellow's poem is shown here: themists rise from the Bay and rest lovingly, caressingly, on the crests ofthe long range of mountains, giving them the appearance of comfortablewarmth under this downy coverlet on cool nights; but this fleece veryrarely descends to the valley.

Dr. O. W. Holmes must have had such a place as this in mind when hesaid:—

"And silence like a poultice came
To heal the blows of sound,"

and surely tympanums most bruised by the world's clangor and jar couldnot fail here be soothed and healed; and the writer of "Oh, where shallrest be found?" would have received answer to his query here also. Thequiet is astonishing: there are no farm sounds even; and, though thehours pass so pleasantly that we "take no note of time", we can tellwhen Saturday comes, for then numbers of log-laden ox-carts plod slowlyinto the village from the back country.

The bells on the animals' necks tinkle precisely like the sound of icewhen carried in a pitcher of water; and consequently do not jar uponone's ear in this quietude as the clanking herd-bells which we hear insome farming regions of the States.

At night the only break in the profound stillness is when the tide isebbing, and the Equille can be heard rushing under the bridge a quarterof a mile away. We cannot discover the meaning of that word, and soconsult a foreign relative, who fells us that at Dinard, in France, theycatch the équille,—a small fish, also called a lançon, because itdarts in and out of the sand, and in its movements is something like aneel.

That certainly describes this peculiar stream, for surely it would bedifficult to find one with a more circuitous course. It forms twohorseshoes and an ox-bow connected, as we see it from our windows; andwhen the tide is out diminishes to a rivulet about two feet in width. Atflood it is more than twice the width of the Wissahickon, and when thehigh tides of August come its magnitude is surprising.

Then we understand why the hay-ricks (which we wickedly tell our friendsfrom the "Hub" resemble gigantic loaves of Boston brown bread) are onstilts, for, regardless of dikes or boundaries, this tortuous creekspreads over its whole valley, as if in emulation of the greater riverof which it is a tributary. Haliburton says that for a time this wascalled Allan's River, and the greater one was named the Dauphin; but weare glad that the old French name was restored to the serpentine creek,as it is so much better suited to its peculiar character.

The great event of the week is the arrival of the Boston steamer, whenall the town turns out and wends its way to the wharves.

The peculiar rise of the tide (thirty feet) is here plainly shown, asone week the passengers step off from the very roof of the saloon, andnext time she comes in they disembark from the lowest gangway possibleand climb the long ascent of slippery planks to the level above.

The river shows curious currents and counter-currents, as bits ofdébris are hurrying upward in the middle of the stream, while similarflotsam and jetsam rush away as rapidly down stream along both shores.

The queer old tub of a ferry boat, with its triangular wings spreadingat the sides,—used as guards and "gang planks",—is a curiosity, as itzigzags across the powerful current to the village on the oppositeshore.

But "the ferryman's slim, the ferryman's young, and he's just a softtwang in the turn of his tongue"; and in our frequent trips across heprobably makes a mental note when he hears us lamenting that we cannotget lobsters, for one day he sends to our abiding place four fine largeones, and will not receive a cent in remuneration.

Another time, when waiting for the farmer's you to guide us to the "icemine",—a ravine in the mountains where ice remains through the summer,—a delicious lunch, consisting of fresh bread, sweet milk, and cake,is unexpectedly set before us, and the generous farmer's wife will notlisten to recompense.

A modern writer says: "A great part of the enjoyment of life is in theknowledge that there are people living in a worse place than that youinhabit;" but it does not add to our happiness to think of those whocould not come to this lovely spot; and we commiserate the Can't-get-away Club of the cities.

We would not change places with any of the dwellers at the fashionableresorts at springs, sea, or mountains,—no, indeed! though they no doubtwould elevate their noses, and set this place down at once as "deadlydull", or "two awfully slow for anything"!

Doubtless those also of our friends to whom we tell the plain,unvarnished truth, if they come here will be disappointed, as they willnot see with our eyes. One cannot expect the luxuries of palatialhotels at five dollars per day; such would be out of place here.

At our abiding place, which looks like a gentleman's residence, and is,as one of the Halifax guests says, "not a bit like an 'otel", there isan extensive garden, from which we are regaled with choice freshvegetables daily; and we have such home-made butter (The bill of fare"to be issued in our next"). A Frenchman might think that "we return toour muttons" frequently; still, as that viand suggests at least thefamous English Southdown in excellence, we are resigned.

A noted wit has said: "Doubtless God might have made a better berry thanthe strawberry, but doubtless God never did;" and if one is so fortunateas to come to this country in proper season he can feast on thatdelectable fruit in its perfection,—that is, the wild fruit, so muchmore delicious and delicate in flavor than after its boasted"improvement" by cultivation. If one arrives before the close of thefisheries, salmon, fit for a royal banquet, graces the table; whileeven in July and August he may enjoy shad; and strange enough it seemsto Philadelphians to be eating that fish at such time of year.

There are in the town a number of inns, and summer guests are also madewelcome and comfortable in many of the private residences. In one ofthe latter—a large old-fashioned house, with antique furniture—threesisters reside, who possess the quiet dignity and manner of the oldschool; and here one would feel as if visiting at one's grandfather's,and be made pleasantly "at home".

We are surprised to find that this old town has generally such modernand New Englandish aspect; and are told that it has twice been nearlydestroyed by fire, even in modern times; therefore but few of the quaintbuildings remain. Some of these are picturesque and interesting, the onecombining jail and court house being a feature of the main street. Thewindow of one of the cells faces the street; and the prisoner's friendssit on the steps without, whiling away the tedium of incarceration withtheir converse.

The oldest dwelling in the town stands on St. George's Street, nearlyopposite the old-fashioned inn known as the Foster House. Its walls wereoriginally made of mud from the flats, held together by the wiry marshgrass, which, being dried, was mixed in the sticky substance as hair isin plaster; but as these walls gave way from the effects of time theseams and cracks were plastered up, and by degrees boarded over, untilnow the original shows only in one part of the interior.

The houses throughout this region are almost invariably without blindsor outside shutters, and consequently look oddly to us, who are inclinedto screen ourselves too much from "the blessed sunshine". Bay windowsare popular.

We saw one small house with four double and two single ones, giving itan air of impertinent curiosity, as the dwellers therein could look outfrom every possible direction. The ancient dormer windows on the roofshave given place to these queer bulging ones, which, in Halifaxespecially, are set three in a row on the gray shingles, and bearludicrous resemblance to gigantic bee-hives.

In some of the shops, at the post office and railroad station, our moneyis taken at a small discount; but in many of the shops they allow usfull value for it. In one the proprietor tells us of the sensationcaused here once by the failure of a Canadian bank, and the surprise ofthe town's-people—whose faith seemed shaken in all such institutions—when he continued to take United States bank bills. He says: "I told 'emthe United States Government hadn't failed, that I believed in it yet,would take all their money I could get, and be glad to have it, too!"

To continue the impression of being in a foreign land, we must attendservice at the five or six different churches, and hear the prayers forthe Queen and Royal Family. In the first place of worship, where theOctave augments the congregation, Victoria and many of her family arementioned by full name and title, in sonorous and measured tones; in thenext the pastor speaks of "Our Sovereign, and those under her and overus;" in another "Our Queen" is simply referred to; and some ministerswho are suspected of being tinctured with republicanism sometimesforget to make any special allusion to her Majesty.

In our walks up the main street, which is not remarkably bustling orbusy, we see long rows of great old hawthorn bushes bordering the road,and giving quite an English touch to the scene; and everywhere giganticapple trees, which would delight an artist, so deliciously gnarled andcrooked are they.

I am not aware that astronomy is a favorite study with the inhabitants,but have no doubt that cidereal observations are popular at certainseasons,—as this country is a famous apple growing district, and thatfruit, is sent from here to England and the States in vast quantities.Octavius says, "If you would know what ann-apol-is, you should comehere in the fall," but is at once frowned down by the other seven forthis atrocity.

The valleys of Annapolis and Cornwallis yield an average crop of twohundred thousand barrels of apples. Dealers in Bangor who paid 87 perbarrel in Boston for this fruit, have afterwards been chagrined ondiscovering that it came from Annapolis originally, and that they couldhave procured the same from that place direct at $2.25 to $3 per barrel.

Very lovely is the view from a hill outside the village, and there alsois the Wishing Rock,—one of the most noted objects of interest, as aguide book would term it. "They say" that if one can run to the topwithout assistance, or touching the rock with the hands, then whateverone wishes will "come true". This feat it is almost impossible toaccomplish, as the stone has been worn smooth by countless feet beforeours; still the youthful and frisky members of our party must attemptthe ascent, with a run, a rush, and a shout, while the elders look on,smiling benignly.

The dikes of L'Équille form a peculiar but pleasant promenade; and alongthat narrow, circuitous path we frequently wander at sunset. Theseembankments remain, in great part, as originally built by the Acadians,and are formed of rubbish, brush, and river mud, over which sods areclosely packed, and for most of the season they are covered with tallwaving grass. This primitive sea wall is six or eight feet in width atthe base, and only about one foot wide at the top, so it is necessaryfor him "who standeth" to "take heed lest he fall"; otherwise hisenthusiasm over the beauties of the prospect may receive a damper froma sudden plunge into the water below.

There is a fine new rink in the village; and in the mornings those ofus who are novices in the use of rollers have a quiet opportunity topractice and disport ourselves with the grace of a bureau, or otherclumsy piece of furniture on wheels!

Then we go to the wharves to witness the lading of lumber vessels. Someof the logs floating in the water are so huge as to attest that thereare vast and aged forests somewhere in her Majesty's domains in America;and the lumbermen, attired in rough corduroy, red shirts, and big boots,balance themselves skillfully on some of the slippery trunks, while withpole and boat-hook propelling other great ones to the gaping mouths inthe bow of the vessel. Then horse, rope, pulley, and windlass arebrought into play to draw the log into the hold and place it properlyamong other monarchs of the forest, thus ignominiously laid low, andbecome what "Mantalini" would style "a damp, moist, unpleasant lot."From the wharf above we look down into the hold, and, seeing this black,slimy, muddy cargo, say regretfully, "How are the mighty fallen!" as wethink of the grand forests of which these trees were once the pride andglory, but of which ruthless man is so rapidly despoiling poor MotherEarth.

We have brought with us those aids to indolence which a tiny friend ofours calls "hang-ups", expecting to swing them in the woods and inhalethe odors of pine; but the woods are too far away; so we are fain tosit under a small group of those trees at the end of the garden and gazeupon the peaceful valley.

"There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighteth the village street, and gildeth the vanes on the chimneys,"

we sit, when

"Day with its burden and heat has departed, and twilight descending Brings back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead."

There we sit and talk of the romantic story, comparing notes as to ourideal of the heroine; and such is the influence of the air of sentimentand poetry pervading this region, that we decide that Boughton'srepresentation of her,

"When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noon-tide
Flagons of home-brewed ale,…
Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand
Pré,"

is too sturdy, as with masculine stride she marches a-field; and thatConstant Meyer's ideal more nearly approaches ours. The one depicts herin rather Puritanical attire; the other, studying authentic costume,they say, shows her

"Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and the ear rings,
Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heirloom
Handed down from mother to child, through long generations,"

and seated by the roadside, as,

"with God's benediction upon her, a celestial brightness—a more ethereal beauty— Shone on her face and encircled her form."

All along the roads we notice a delicate white blossom, resembling theEnglish primrose in shape, and one day ask an intelligent looking girlwhom we meet what it is called; she does not know the name, but says theseed was accidentally brought from England many years ago, and the plant"has since become quite a pest",—which we can hardly understand as weenjoy its grace and beauty. We notice that our pleasant informantfollows a pretty fashion of other belles of the village,—a fashionwhich suits their clear complexions and bright faces; that is, wearinga gauzy white scarf around the hat, and in the dainty folds a cluster offresh garden flowers.

The artist Boughton says. "The impressionist is a good antidote againstthe illusionist, who sees too much, and then adds to it a lot that hedoes not see." If he had ever visited this place we wonder what hisidea would be of this quaint poem, supposed to have been written in1720, which we have unearthed.

We have acquired quite an affection for this pleasant old town, andshall be loath to leave. If our friends think we are too enthusiastic,we shall refer them to this old writer to prove that we have not saidall that we might; as he indulges in such airy flights of fancy andsuch extravagant praise.

His description would lead one to expect to see a river as great as theMississippi, and mountains resembling the Alps in height, whereas inreality it is a quiet and not extraordinary though most pleadinglandscape which here "delights the eye".

ANNAPOLIS—ROYAL

The King of Rivers, solemn calm and slow,
Flows tow'rd the Sea yet fierce is seen to flow,
On each fan Bank, the verdant Lands are seen,
In gayest Cloathing of perpetual Green
On ev'ry Side, the Prospect brings to Sight
The Fields, the Flow'rs, and ev'ry fresh Delight
His lovely Banks, most beauteously are grac'd
With Nature's sweet variety of Taste
Herbs, Fruits and Grass, with intermingled Trees
The Prospect lengthen, and the Joys increase
The lofty Mountains rise to ev'ry View,
Creation's Glory, and its Beauty too.
To higher Grounds, the raptur'd View extends,
Whilst in the Cloud-top'd Cliffs the Landscape ends
Fair Scenes! to which should Angels turn their Sight,
Angels might stand astonished with Delight
Majestic Grove in ev'ry View arise
And greet with Wonder the Beholders' Eyes.
In gentle Windings where this River glides,
And Herbage thick its Current almost hides,
Where sweet Meanders lead his pleasant Course,
Where Trees and Plants and Fruits themselves disclose,
Where never-fading Groves of fragrant Fir
And beauteous Pine perfume the ambient Air,
The air, at once, both Health and Fragrance yields,
Like sweet Arabian or Elysian Fields
Thou Royal Settlement! he washes Thee,
Thou Village, blest of Heav'n and dear to me:
Nam'd from a pious Sov'reign, now at Rest,
The last of Stuart's Line, of Queens the best.
Amidst the rural Joys, the Town is seen,
Enclos'd with Woods and Hills, forever green
The Streets, the Buildings, Gardens, all concert
To please the Eye, to gratify the Heart.
But none of these so pleasing or so fair,
As those bright Maidens, who inhabit there.
Your potent Charms fair Nymphs, my verse inspire,
Your Charms supply the chaste poetic Fire.
Could these my Strains, but live, when I'm no more,
On future Fame's bright wings, your names should soar.
Where this romantic Village lifts her Head,
Betwixt the Royal Port and humble Mead,
The decent Mansions, deck'd with mod'rate cost,
Of honest Thrift, and gen'rous Owners boast;
Their Skill and Industry their Sons employ,
In works of Peace, Integrity and Joy.
Their Lives, in Social, harmless Bliss, they spend,
Then to the Grave, in honor'd Age descend.
The hoary Sire and aged Matron see
Their prosp'rous Offering to the fourth Degree:
With Grief sincere, the blooming offspring close
Their Parent's Eyes, and pay their Debt of Woes;
Then haste to honest, joyous Marriage Bands,
A newborn Race is rear'd by careful Hands:
Thro' num'rous Ages thus they'll happy move
In active Bus'ness, and in chastest Love.
The Nymphs and Swains appear in Streets and Bowers
As morning fresh, as lovely as the Flowers.
As blight as Phoebus, Ruler of the Day,
Prudent as Pallas, and as Flora gay.
A Spire majestic roars its solemn Vane,
Where Praises, Pray'r and true Devotion reign,
Where Truth and Peace and Charity abound,
Where God is fought, and heav'nly Blessings found.
The gen'rous Flock reward their Pastor's care,
His Pray'rs, his Wants, his Happiness they share
Retir'd from worldly Care, from Noise and Strife,
In sacred Thoughts and Deeds, he spends his Life,
To mo'drate Bounds, his Wishes he confines,
All views of Grandeur, Pow'r and Wealth resigns,
With Pomp and Pride can cheerfully dispense,
Dead to the World, and empty Joys of Sense,
The Symphony of heav'nly Song he hears,
Celestial Concord vibrates on his Ears.,
Which emulates the Music of the Spheres
The Band of active Youths and Virgins fan,
Rank'd in due Order, by their Teacher's Care,
The Sight of all Beholders gratify,
Sweet to the Soul, and pleasing to the Eye
But when their Voices found in Songs, of Praise,
When they to God's high Throne their Anthems raise,
By these harmonious Sounds, such Rapture's giv'n,
Their loud Hosannas waft the Soul to Heav'n:
The fourfold Parts in one bright Center meet,
To form the blessed Harmony complete.
Lov'd by the Good, esteemed by the Wise,
To gracious Heav'n, a pleasing sacrifice.
Each Note, each Part, each Voice, each Word conspire
T' inflame all pious Hearts with holy Fire,
Each one in Fancy seems among the Throng
Of Angels, chanting Heav'n's eternal Song.
Hail Music, Foretaste of celestial Joy!
That always satiasts, yet canst never cloy:
Each pure, refin'd, extatic Pleasure's thine,
Thou rapt'rous Science! Harmony divine!
May each kind Wish of ev'ry virtuous Heart
Be giv'n to all, who teach, or learn thine Art:
May all the Wise, and all the Good unite,
With all the Habitants of Life and Light,
To treat the Sons of Music with Respect,
Their Progress to encourage and protect.
May each Musician, and Musician's Friend
Attain to Hymns divine, which never end.

Being a musical company, the Octave accept this peroration withoutcriticism, and do not seem to consider it an extravagant rhapsody,though they are so daring as to take exception to other parts of thequeer old poem.

As we have come here for rest, we are not disturbed at finding thattrains, etc., are not always strictly "on time". We are summoned at 7:15A.M., but breakfast is not served for more than an hour after; we engagea carriage for two o'clock, and perhaps in the neighborhood of three seeit driving up in a leisurely manner. The people are wise, and do notwear themselves out with unnecessary rush and hurry, as we do in theStates. The train advertised to start for Halifax at 2 P.M. morefrequently leaves at 3, or 3.30; but then it has to wait the arrival ofthe steamboat which, four times per week, comes across from St. John.The express train requires six hours to traverse the miles interveningbetween this quiet village and that not much livelier town, while forthe accommodation train they allow ten hours; but when one comes to seebeautiful country one does not wish to have the breath taken away bytraveling at break-neck speed.

We know that some of our party are capable of raising a breeze, and weare on a gal(e)a time anyhow; still, this is a remarkably breezy place,the wind rising with the tide, so we understand why there are so fewflowers in the gardens,—the poor blossoms would soon be torn to pieces;but the windows of the houses generally are crowded with thriving plantsgay with bloom, giving most cheery effect as one strolls about the town.

In our excursion to the Bay Shore we halt to water the horses at a neatlittle cottage on the summit of the North Mountain, and even here thelittle garden (protected from the winds by a fence) is all aflame with awonderful variety of large double and gorgeous poppies. From this point,also, we have our first view of the wide Bay, shimmering in the hazysunlight far below, and can faintly trace the rugged hills of NewBrunswick in the distance.

Rapidly descending, we follow the coast for several miles, finallystopping at a lonely house on the rocky and barren shore,—such a wildspot as a novelist would choose to represent a smuggler's retreat; butthe family would not answer his purpose in that respect, for they arehomely and hospitable, agreeing at once to provide stabling for ourhorses and to sell us some milk for our lunch. They drop their netmending, come out en masse, and, on learning that some of us are fromPhiladelphia, greet us like old friends, because their eldest daughteris living in that distant city. The best pitcher is brought out for ouruse, the whole establishment placed at our disposal, and, finding thatwe will be so insane as to prefer to picnic under the few stragglingpines by the water instead of using their dining-room, several marchahead to show the way to the rocky point; and we form a long and, ofcourse, imposing procession.

As we gaze along this barren and lonely shore, Octavia exclaims,"Imagine the amazement of De Monts when he sailed along this iron-boundcoast and suddenly came upon that wonderful gateway which leads into thebeautiful Annapolis Basin and the fertile, lovely region beyond!" and weall agree that it is a shame that the embouchure should now be known bythe vulgar title, Digby Gut, instead of its old cognomen, St. George'sChannel. "Why couldn't they call it the Gap or the Gate?" one exclaims;"that wouldn't be quite so dreadful."

One evening some of our pleasant acquaintances in the town come to takeus to Lake La Rose, away up on the South Mountain; and there we embarkand glide over the placid water in the moonlight, rousing the echoeswith song, and vainly endeavoring to uproot the coy lilies, whichabruptly slip through our fingers, and "bob" down under the water as ifenjoying our discomfiture. But as Dame Nature tries her hand at paintingin water-colors, treating us to a series of dissolving views, the showerforces us to hurry back to the village again.

Before leaving this "vale of rest", we must see the widely extendedpanorama from the Mackenzie road, where hills beyond hills stretch awayto the horizon, and the lovely valley spreads itself like a map below.The bird's-eye view from Parker's Mountain must also be seen, and manyother excursions accomplished. The old cannon of Lower Granville alsois "one of the sights". This ancient piece of ordnance was fired in oldtimes to notify the quiet country folk when news was received fromEngland. At such times relays, seven to ten miles apart, mounted in hothaste and carried the messages on until Digby was reached; and fromthence a vessel conveyed the news to Boston.

As we are talking of all we have seen in this region, and of our variousenjoyments, Octavia exclaims, "Some persons thought we could not becontent here for a week; yet more than six have slipped away, and I'msure I don't want to go! I shall tell my friends that though we are'remote', the rest of the quotation does not apply, for we are neither'unfriended', 'melancholy', nor 'slow'!"

How often has it been our fate, when among the mountains of NewHampshire, to see the grand ranges disappearing behind a thick curtainof smoke, which, daily growing denser, at last almost completely blotsout Nature's pictures, so there is no use in undertaking excursions forthe sake of fine views. The explanation is invariably "fires in theCanada woods"; and here, in this "cool, sequestered vale", we have anopportunity of seeing forest fires before we take our departure forother fields of observation. After sunset we are apparently almostsurrounded by volcanoes, as the lurid flames leap up into the deepeningblackness of the night; and when we lovers of Nature, distressedafterwards by seeing vast tracts all scarred and desolate, exclaim,"Why didn't they stop it? Why did they allow it?" echo answers, "Why?"

One day we learn that a mill on L'Équille is threatened, and expect thatthere will be some excitement; but a very old-fashioned fire engine,with clumsy hand power pumps, goes lumbering by, followed by men andboys, who walk in a leisurely and composed manner. The mill is saved bysome means, however; and we rejoice, as it is, so to speak, historical,standing in a place favored for such purposes since Lescarbot's time;even Argall (in 1613), when demolishing other buildings of the village,having spared the mill which occupied the site of the present one.

In our various wanderings we visit the Indian settlement at the head ofthis crooked stream, but find its residents too civilized to be verypicturesque. We are interested in learning what the Canadian Governmentdoes for their welfare, and wish a similar policy could be institutedin the States. Here, as with us, liquor is their curse. The once famouschief of the Micmacs lives at Bear River, and is addicted to the bottle.One day a young girl, who was a summer guest at this place, sat down onan overturned canoe which this chief (now known as James Meuse) hadjust completed; and, as the bark bent with her weight, the wily Indianpretended that the boat was irretrievably ruined. The girl's father,asking what amount would compensate for the damage, received reply,"Ten, twenty, dollar"; and receiving thirty dollars from the generousstranger, Redskin remarked afterwards that he "wished more girl come siton boat", and probably turned the money into liquid fire, and poured itdown his throat in a short space of time. As there is a heavy fine forselling liquor to Indians, one of that race will never divulge fromwhom he has received it, however intoxicated he may be.

Another Indian sachem noted in history—Membertou—lived to the age ofone hundred and four, and was buried at Annapolis, then Port Royal,with military honors, as befitted the companion of soldiers. AtPoutrincourt's table he was a daily and honored guest in that oldentime, and, when the "Order of Happy Times" was instituted there, ofcourse became a member too! Query: Did that ancient convivial societyoffer suggestions to the famous old "State in Schuylkill Club" ofPhiladelphia when they were organizing so many years after?

DIGBY.

In the drive to Digby, twenty-one miles, we pass along all the ins andouts of the shore of Annapolis Basin, finding the succession of views onthat curiously land-locked harbor a perfect study and delight, and morepicturesque than on the trip to the same place by steamer, as wediscover later.

There we see a bright-eyed, pretty little maiden, who wears a gay redhandkerchief in place of a hat, and makes a picture as she drives hercow over a bit of moorland. Driver says she is "one of the Frenchpeople", and that her name is Thibaudia, which, with its Englishsignification (a kind of heath), seems appropriate for one living inthe wilds, and deliciously foreign and suggestive. We wonder if oldCrumplehorn understands French, and conclude that she is a well educatedanimal, as she seems to obey directions without needing a touch ofwillow branch to punctuate them.

Sometimes it seems that the names conferred
On mortals at baptism in this queer world
Seem given for naught but to spite 'em.
Mr. Long is short, Mr. Short is tall,
And who so meek as Mr. Maul?
Mr. Lamb's fierce temper is very well known,
Mr. Hope plods about with sigh and groan,—
"And so proceed ad infinitum"

At one point on our route, when we are passing through a lonely andapparently uninhabited region, our jolly driver, "Manyul", remarks,"Here's where Nobody lives."; and one replies, "Yes, evidently; and Ishouldn't think any one would wish to." But a turn of the road brings ahouse in sight; and driver says, "That's his house, and his name isactually Nobody" (Charles, I believe). We quote, "What's in a name!"and conclude that if he is at all like the kindly people of this regionwhom we have met he may be well content to be nobody, rather thanresemble many whom the world considers "somebodies", but who are notmodels in any respect.

Our driver is quite a character in his way, and in the winter he "goesa loggin'". On learning this we ply him with questions in such manner aswould surprise a lawyer, eliciting in return graphic pictures of camplife in New Brunswick wildernesses, and the amusem*nts with which theywhile away the long evenings in their rough barracks. He describestheir primitive modes of cooking, their beds of fragrant spruce boughsoverlaid with straw,—"Better 'n any o' your spring mattresses, I tellyou!"—the queer box-like bunks along the wall where they "stowthemselves away", and where the most active and useful man is, for thetime at least, literally laid on the shelf.

Octavius, thinking how much he would enjoy "roughing it" thus, askswhat they would charge to take a young man to board in camp; and driverindignantly replies, "Nothin'! Do you suppose we'd charge board? No,indeed! Just let him come; and if we didn't give him a good time, andif he didn't get strong and hearty, then we'd be ashamed of ourselvesand sell out."

Here we approach a cove which driver calls the Joggin (as it makes a cutor jog-in, we presume); and beyond, a wide arm of the Basin is spannedby a rickety old bridge, at least a quarter of a mile long, named inhonor of her Majesty,—hardly a compliment to that sovereign, we think.The boards are apparently laid down without nails, and rattle like afusillade as our vehicle rolls over them. Here and there planks arebroken or gone entirely, showing the green swirling water beneath. Ourchaperone, having more faith in her own feet than those of the horses,dismounts and walks across; while we, being naturally reckless andromantic, are willing to risk our necks for the sake of the charmingviews.

The village of Digby stretches along the shore, and from the hillssurrounding it the Basin with its islands, the Gap, and AnnapolisRiver, are charming.

Disciples of old "Izaak" would be likely to meet with greater successhere than at Annapolis; as the current of the river at the latter placeis so strong that, as a general thing, only the "old salts" are anglers;and they being most of the time out in the Bay or off on cruises, itfollows that fish are scarce in the market.

An "ancient and fish-like smell" pervades the atmosphere in some partsof the village where the herring—humorously known as "DigbyChickens"—are spread on racks to dry; but this odor, the odd littleshops and restaurants, the clumsy and queer lumber boats, the groups oftars gossiping about doorways and wharves, only add to the nauticalcharacter of the place, and suggest reminiscences of "Peggoty", "Ham",and others of Dickens's characters.

We ignore the pleasant embowered hotel "in bosky dell", far up thestreet this time, though we visit it in a later sojourn; and, "just forthe fun of it", take lunch in one of the peculiar little restaurants;where, seated at a minute table in one of the tiny calico curtainedalcoves, we partake of our frugal repast (the bill of fare is extremelylimited), amusing ourselves watching the odd customers who come to makepurchases at the counter across the room, and "making believe" that weare characters in an old English story.

On the bluff beyond the village, beneath great old Balm of Gilead treeswhose foliage is perpetually in a flutter from the breeze through theGap, there are several cannon, which it seems could not possibly haveany hostile intent, but appear to be gratifying a mild curiosity bypeering across the Basin and up the river beyond.

The long and very high pier stretches far out into the Basin, and uponit picturesque groups unconsciously pose for us, adding to the effectof the picture.

That the climate is salubrious and conducive to longevity we areconvinced after visiting the cemetery, where one tomb records thedemise of a man at the age of one hundred and two!

A peculiar taste for wandering among the tombs we have acquired in thissummer jaunt. Here we see the tomb of one recorded proudly as "descendedfrom the noble families of Stuart and Bruce", who, tradition says, wassupposed to have held the position of servant to said scions ofnobility. One who was known as a scoffer during life here is virtuouslyrepresented ah "a sincere worshipper of Eternal, Almighty and ever justGod"; reminding us of the popular adage, "lying like an epitaph". Twicehave we seen one stone made to do service for two in an amusing manner:on the upper part the usual, "Sacred to the memory of," etc.; thenhalf-way down had been carved a hand pointing to one side, and under itthe words "There lies"; while the name, age, etc., of the laterdecedent was inscribed below the first.

One old tomb we were with this epitaph:—

"Tho' gready worm destroy my skin
And gnaw my wasting flesh
When God doth build my bones agen
He'll cloath them all afresh."

and another:—

"What says the silent dead
He bids me bear my load
With silent steps proceed
And follow him to God."

We notice that the English rule of the road maintains here, and ourdriver turns to the left when other vehicles are approaching. CaptainC., who is from the States, tells us that he did not know of thiscustom, and in his first drive nearly collided with another vehicle, thedriver of which thereupon used strong language. On being informed thathe had almost overturned the conveyance of the Governor of PrinceEdward's Island, the rash Yankee, undismayed, remarked, "Well, I don'tcare who he is, he don't know how to drive!"

HALIFAX

Of course, as we are in the neighborhood, we must see the locality towhich—in mild and humorous profanity—States people are sometimesassigned; and therefore proceed to Halifax and thoroughly "do" thatsedate, quiet, and delightfully old-fashioned city.

En route, as the train passes beyond Windsor, one says, "Here we areout of sight of land"; and we then understand that it must have beensome one from this locality who christened the valley of Annapolis theGarden of Nova Scotia; for here a scene of utter sterility anddesolation meets the view: not a foot of earth is to be seen, but rocksare piled in wild confusion everywhere. A few dead trees stand among thedébris, emphasizing the loneliness; and Conductor says when the worldwas created the "leavings" were deposited in this dreary tract.

By special arrangement with "Old Prob", there are none of theprevailing fogs during our stay; and Aurora Borealis gets up a specialillumination. Regiments of red-coats, with torches and band,—awaredoubtless of the presence of such distinguished strangers,—march pastour hotel in the evening.

Though we are quartered in what is called the best hotel, it is a musty,fusty, rusty old building; and we agree with our friends among theresidents (who vie with each other in showing us true Englishhospitality) who say they need an enterprising Yankee to start a goodnew hostelry, and "to show 'em how to run it."

Just at this time of year the city is full of summer tourists, many ofwhom come direct from Baltimore by the ocean steamships, which touch atthis port; but, as we are subject to mal-de-mer's tortures, we rejoicethat we came by "overland route".

Though our friends have engaged rooms for us beforehand, we arefortunate in securing apartments on the fourth floor, where peculiarcoils of rope by the windows at once attract our attention. These, onexamination, we find have big wooden beads (like the floats of a seine)strung on them at regular intervals; and this peculiar arrangement is aprimitive fire escape, which we are positive that no creature but amonkey could use with safety.

The prevailing fogs, and the use of soft coal, cause the buildings toappear dingy and rusty; but we like them all the better for that, asthe city has a more foreign air, and, in some parts, quite stronglysuggests Glasgow.

In the Parliament building we study the old portraits, concluding thatthe wigs must have been uncomfortable. Octavius wickedly hints thatthere is a fashion among ladies of the present time!—but as he doesnot tread on our toes, we ignore this insinuation, and turn ourattention to the elaborate ornamentation of the woodwork—which is allantique hand-carving—in the council chambers; and are much interestedin some rare old books in the Library,—among them a copy of the Psalms,three hundred years old; and another, with music, dated 1612. Here alsowe see and are actually allowed to handle a book,—

"PRESENTED TO THE LEGISLATIVE LIBRARY OF NOVA SCOTIA IN MEMORY OF HER GREAT AND GOOD HUSBAND BY HIS BROKEN-HEARTED WIDOW VICTORIA R."

and of course are duly overpowered at beholding the valuable autographof that sovereign.

In one of the churches we are informed that a certain balustrade "isfrom America, and is all marvel" but do not find it marvelouslybeautiful nevertheless.

Of the gardens the natives are justly proud, as in this moist atmosphereplants, trees, and flowers flourish remarkably; still, we are notwilling to concede that they are "the finest in America", as we havebeen told.

We conclude, as we pass the large Admiralty House, with its spaciousand beautiful grounds, that Sir Somebody Something must find it acomfortable thing to be

"monarch of the sea, the ruler of the Queen's nave,"

and may with reason say,—

"When at anchor here I ride, my bosom swells with pride,"

while Halifax herself, with her famous harbor, in which the navy of agreat and powerful nation could find safe anchorage, with room to spare,might justly finish out his song with the appropriate words concludingthe verse:—

"And I snap my fingers at a foeman's taunts!"

Then the Citadel, the very name of which revives reminiscences ofQuebec, and suggests something out of the every-day order of summerjaunts. As we ascend the hill to the fortress, the first thingattracting our attention is amusing. The "squatty" looking clock tower,which appears as if part of a church spire, had been carried away by ahigh wind and dropped down on this embankment. Octavius says, "What ajolly place for coasting, if it were not for the liability of beingplunged into the harbor at the foot!" as we mount the hill. At the gatewe are consigned to the care of a tall soldier, whose round fatigue capmust be glued to his head, or it certainly would fall off, so extremeis the angle at which it inclines over his ear. A company of soldiersare drilling within the enclosure, their scarlet coats quite dazzlingin the bright sunlight and in contrast with the cold gray granite; whileothers, at opposite angles of the walls, are practicing signals withflags, the maneuvers of the latter being quite entertaining as theywave the banners, now slowly, now rapidly, diagonally, vertically,horizontally, or frantically overhead, as if suddenly distraught.Probably this exercise could be seen in any of our forts; but as we arenow beyond the borders of the United States, every detail interests us,and we have become astonishingly observant. The gloomy and massive bombproof walls of the soldiers' quarters appear quite prison-like, withtheir narrow windows; and our guide, speaking of the monotony ofgarrison life, rejoices that in a few months his term of service willexpire, and then he "will go to the States".

"The States" seem to be a Land of Promise to many people of this region;and, though this is gratifying to our national pride, we cannot but seethat many make a mistake in going to "America"; as, for instance, theyoung girls of Annapolis, who, leaving comfortable homes, the away toBoston, where, if they can get positions in an already crowded field,they wear themselves out in factories; or, having a false pride whichprevents them from acknowledging failure and returning home, they remainuntil, broken down by discouragement and disappointment, compelled toaccept charity. On this account the service at Annapolis is not whatmight be desired; and Octavius humorously wonders, when the "green hand"persistently offers him viands from the wrong side, "how he is expectedto reach the plate unless he puts his arm around her."

"But we digress." As our party, with other sight seers who have joinedthe procession, promenade about the fort, a culprit in the guardroomcatches sight of the visitors as they pass, and, evidently for theirhearing, sings mischievously,—

"Farewell, my own!
Light of my life, farewell!
For crime unknown
I go to a dungeon cell"

We conclude, as he is so musical about it, that he does not feel verymuch disgraced or oppressed by his imprisonment, though some onecuriously inquiring "why he is there", learns that it is for a triflingmisdemeanor, and that punishments are not generally severe; though theguide tells of one soldier who, he says, "threw his cap at the Colonel,and got five years for it; and we thought he'd get ten."

From the ramparts the picture extending before us southeastwardly isvery fine indeed, as, over the rusty houses shouldering each other upthe hill so that we can almost look down the chimneys, we look out tothe fortified islands and points, with the ocean beyond.

Point Pleasant, thickly wooded to the water's edge, hides the strangelybeautiful inlet from the harbor known as the North West Arm, which cutsinto the land for a distance of four miles (half a mile in width),suggesting a Norwegian fiord; but that, and the country all about thecity, we enjoy in a long drive later.

On the return, regardless of the gaze of passengers astonished at ourunconventional actions, we sit on the platform of the rear car, while

"Pleasantly gleams in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas."

and the model conductor plies us with bits of information, which wedevour with the avidity of cormorants.

GRAND PRÉ.

Finally the brakeman shouts "Grand Pree;" and Octavia remarks, "Yes,indeed, this is the grand prix of our tour," as the party step off thetrain at this region of romance. The gallant conductor, with an air ofmystery, leads the way to a storage room in the little box of a station,and there chops pieces from a clay-covered plank and presents us assouvenirs. "Pieces of a coffin of one of the Acadians, exhumed at GrandPré fourteen months ago, near the site of the old church," we are told;and when he continues: "A woman's bone was found in it", one unromanticand matter-of-fact member of the Octave asserts, "Evangeline'sgrandmother, of course"; while another skeptically remarks, "That's morethan I can swallow; it would give me such a spell o' coughin' as Icouldn't get over"; but the conductor and others staunchly avouch thegenuineness of the article, affirming that they were present "when itwus dug up."

The "forest primeval", if it ever stood in this region, must haveclothed the distant hills which bound the vast meadow, and now arecovered with a dense growth of small trees which are not "murmuringpines".

A superannuated tree in the distance it is said once shaded the smithyof "Basil Lajeunesse", that "mighty man of the village"; and only stonyhollows in the ground mark the site of the house of "Father Felician"and the village church.

It was to this spot, then, that the wondering peasants were lured bystratagem, when,—

"with a summons sonorous
Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat.
Thronged ere long was the church with men. Without in the churchyard,
Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the head
stones
Garlands of autumn leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest
Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them,
Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor
Echoed the sound of their brass drums from ceiling to casem*nt,—
Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal
Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers."

After refreshing ourselves with pure, clear, and cold water from the oldwell,—made by the French, and re-walled a few years ago,—we turn away,with "a longing, lingering look behind", and continue our drive throughthe great prairie, which resembles the fertile meadow land along theConnecticut River. We stop a few moments near a picturesque littlechurch of gray unpainted wood, and look off over the verdant fields tothe point where a distant shimmer of water catches the eye, and thehills bound the picture. Near at hand, on the right, the trunk of anaged apple tree, "planted by the French", shows one green shoot; andabout the church are Lombardy poplars, which, though good sized trees,are perhaps only shoots from those planted by the Acadians, inremembrance of such arboreal grenadiers of their native land.

The old French dike is surmounted by a rough rail fence, and is now farinland, as hundreds of acres have been reclaimed beyond,—

"Dikes that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant
Shut out the turbulent tides"

Our lamented American poet never visited this region which he describesso delightfully; his reason being that, cherishing an ideal picture, hefeared reality might dissipate it. Yet an easy journey of twenty-eighthours would have brought him hither; and we, feeling confident that hecould not have been disappointed, shall always regret that he did notcome.

As an appropriate close to this sentimental journey, we drive throughthe secluded Gaspereau valley, along the winding river, which is hardlymore than a creek, toward its wider part where it flows into the Basin,which stretches out broad and shining. With such a view before us, wecannot fail to picture mentally the tragic scenes of that October dayin 1755, when the fleet of great ships lay in the Basin, and

"When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed,
Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile,
Exile without an end, and without an example in story,"

those whom Burke describes as "the poor, innocent, deserving people,whom our utter inability to govern or reconcile, gave us no sort ofright to extirpate," were torn from their happy homes, and

"Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean."

In the midst of these peaceful scenes was perpetrated a cruel wrong,and an inoffensive people banished by the mandate of a tyrant!

In that beautiful poem, parts of which one unconsciously "gets byheart", or falls into the habit of quoting when sojourning in thislovely region, Basil the blacksmith says:—

"Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau-Séjour nor Port Royal;"

and having held an impromptu history class on the subject of the lastmentioned, we turn our attention to the other fortified points of which"the hasty and somewhat irascible" sledge-wielder spoke.

By the treaty of Utrecht in 1713 Acadia was ceded to the English; butthe French colonists, in taking the oath of allegiance to their newrulers (1727-28), were promised that they should not be required at anytime to take up arms against France. They were now in the position ofNeutrals, and by that name were known; but this placed them in anawkward predicament, as they were suspected by both contending powers.The English hated them, believing their sympathies to be with theFrench; while even their countrymen in Canada were distrustful of them,urging them to withdraw.

The English colonists, fearing the extension of the French possessions,and having Puritanical aversion of Roman Catholicism,—of which theNeutrals were devout adherents,—entered upon the expedition againstthe French forts with the zeal of fanatics, seeming in some instances toconsider their incursions in the light of religious crusades.

These "men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands",whose descendants are to this day childlike and simple hearted, couldnot understand these political distinctions, and naturally clung to thepleasant farms which they had reclaimed from the sea and cultivated sodiligently, being most reluctant, of course, to leave those

"Strongly built houses, with frames of oak and of chestnut,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer windows, and gables projecting
Over the basem*nt below protected and shaded the doorway."

The French dominions were guarded by a chain of forts extending allalong the Atlantic coast, from the St. Lawrence to the Gulf of Mexico.That on Cape Breton Island, which protected the approach to the St.Lawrence, was considered invincible, its walls being thirty feet high,forty feet thick, and surrounded by a moat eighty feet in width.

Boston sent out a fleet of forty-one vessels and three thousand men toCape Breton, to assail the "Gibraltar of America", as the fort ofLouisburg was called. Forces from New Hampshire and Connecticut joinedthe expedition at Canso; and this remarkable fortress, whosefortifications alone cost five million dollars, was besieged, andcapitulated after forty-nine days, yielding to untrained soldiers; thevictory owing to "mere audacity and hardihood, backed by the rarest goodluck", as one English writer says. The conquerors themselves were amazedat their success when they discovered the great strength of the fort.Their victory was, in fact, due largely to maneuvers which deceived theFrench regarding the strength of their forces.

This was ten years before the dispersion of the French Neutrals waseffected; and during those years the Acadians, being zealous Catholicsand devoted to the mother country, naturally but almost unconsciouslywere drawn into the disputes between France and England; and it is notto be wondered at, if, as some authorities state, there were threehundred of their young men found in arms when the English attacked FortBeau-Séjour. The French had built Forts Beau-Séjour and Gaspereau on theneck connecting the peninsula of Nova Scotia with the mainland, to guardthe entrance to their territory. A few hotheaded youths, who thoughtthey were honestly serving their country and people by taking up arms indefense, might have been forgiven, particularly as it is known that somewere pressed into the service, and that the oath which they had takenyears before absolved them from taking arms against France, but did notpledge them against serving in her defense.

These forts were taken by Lieutenant-Colonel Moncton in June, 1755, thegarrison of Beau-Séjour being sent to Louisburg on condition that theyshould not take up arms in America for six months. Prince Edward'sIsland—then called St. John's Island—fell into the hands of theEnglish when Cape Breton was taken, and the inhabitants were sent toFrance. In the summer of 1755 matters seemed to be culminating, and thebitter dissensions were brought to a crisis. The Neutrals were againcalled upon to take the oath, the following being the form in which itwas presented to them: "Je promets et jure sincerement, en foi deChrétien, que je serai entierement fidele et obeirai vraiment sa MajestéLe Roi George, que je reconnais pour le Souverain seigneur de l'Acadie,ou nouvelle Ecosse—ainsi Dieu me soit en aide."

But this was not the "reserved oath", as the former one was called; andthe Acadians, feeling themselves bound by the old pledge, askedexemption from this, and requested the restoration of arms which hadbeen taken from them, agreeing also to keep faithfully the old form ofoath.

Deputies from the settlements near Port Royal (which were above, below,and almost on the site of the present town of Annapolis), at Pisiquid(now Windsor), Minas, etc., were sent to Halifax, where a longconference was held; but the deputies still declining to accept the newoath, they were imprisoned, and the deportation of the Acadians decidedupon. In order to do this artifice was resorted to, to prevent thepeople from suspecting what was in store for them, and that the poorpeasants might have no chance to leave themselves or carry away theirpossessions. "Both old men and young men, as well as the lads of tenyears of age," were called, by a proclamation, "to attend at the churchat Grand Pré" at a certain time; and it was declared that "no excuse"would "be admitted, on any pretence whatever, on pain of forfeitinggoods and chattels, in default of real estate."

The settlers on the Basin of Minas were immigrants from Saintonge,Poitou, and La Rochelle, who came to this country in the early part ofthe seventeenth century. The land which they had reclaimed from theBasin was rich and fertile; they exported grain to Boston, and becameprosperous. The object of the call to the church does not seem to havebeen suspected. When Basil says,—

"Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors
Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us
What their designs may be is unknown; but all are commanded
On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate
Will be proclaimed as law in the land;"

Benedict responds,—

"Perhaps the harvests in England
By the untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted,
And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle and
children."

But in the church the mystery was solved soon enough, and naturally aterrible scene ensued. They were informed that their "lands, tenements,cattle, and livestock of all kinds were to be forfeited to the crown,with all their effects, saving their money and household goods," andthey themselves banished; though, "so far as the capacity of thetransports permitted," they were "to be allowed to carry their householdgoods with them." They were also promised that families should not beseparated, and that the transportation should be made as easy aspossible.

Then they were declared prisoners, and the church became the guardhouse.Ten men at a time were allowed to leave the building, to pack theirgoods and assist in the preparations for departure; and when theyreturned ten others were also permitted to leave for a time. WhileMoncton was destroying Remsheg, Shediac, and other towns on the Gulfcoast, Handfield gathered up the French Annapolitans, and Murray thoseabout Windsor, putting them on shipboard; and on the 21st of October theships, with their wretched passengers, set sail. In the confusion andhurry of embarkation some families were separated; and it is on thisfact that the story of Evangeline is founded.

Most of the exiles were scattered among the towns of Massachusetts; andin the State House in Boston some curious old records relate to them,one town desiring compensation "for keeping three French pagans", fromwhich it seems that there was still prejudice against them because oftheir religion.

"From the cold lakes of the north to sultry southern Savannahs,"

to the region where

"On the banks of the Teche are the towns of St. Maur and St Martin,"

to the parish of Attakapas

"and the prairies of fair Opelousas"

in Louisiana, some of the exiles wandered. Their descendants live thereat the present time, and are known as Cajeans. Though sometimes harshlytreated in the towns where they were quartered, though shouldered offfrom one village to another when one grew weary of or made excuses fornot maintaining them, the poor wanderers were mild, gentle, anduncomplaining.

A writer in "Canadian Antiquities" says: "None speaks the tongue ofEvangeline; and her story, though true as it is sweet and sorrowful, isheard no more in the scenes of her early days."

The way in which it came about that Longfellow wrote his poem was inthis wise: one day, when Hawthorne and a friend from Salem were diningwith the poet, the Salem gentleman remarked to the host, "I have beentrying to persuade Hawthorne to write a story based on a legend ofAcadie and still current there,—the legend of a girl who, in thedispersion of the Acadians, was separated from her lover, and passedher life in waiting and seeking for him, and only found him dying in ahospital when both were old." The host, surprised that this romance didnot strike the fancy of the novelist, asked if he himself might use itfor a poem; and Hawthorne, readily assenting, promised not to attemptthe subject in prose until the poet had tried what he could do with itin metrical form. No one rejoiced more heartily in the success of theworld-renowned poem than the writer who generously gave up anopportunity to win fame from his working up of the sad theme.

Authorities differ widely regarding the number of persons expelled fromAcadia, many historians giving the estimate at seven thousand. In aletter from Governor Lawrence to the governors of the different coloniesto which the exiles were sent, he says: "As their numbers amount to nearseven thousand persons, the driving them off with leave to go whitherthey pleased would have doubtless strengthened Canada with soconsiderable a number of inhabitants." Bryant says: "Seven thousandprobably represented with sufficient accuracy the total Frenchpopulation of Acadia in 1755; but the entire number of the exiled didnot exceed, if Minot be correct, two thousand, of whom manysubsequently returned to Acadia."

Five years after the departure of the exiles a fleet of twenty-twovessels sailed from Connecticut for Grand Pré with a large number ofcolonists, who took possession of the deserted farms. They found sixtyox carts and yokes, while on the edge of woods of the inland country andin sheltered places heaps of bones told of cattle which had perished ofstarvation and cold after their owners were forced to leave them to sucha fate. A few straggling families of the Acadians were also found, whohad escaped from the search of the soldiers, and had lived in hiding inthe wilds of the back country for five years, and during that time hadnot tasted bread.

CLARE

"Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic
Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile
Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom.
In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still busy,
Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun,
And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story."

Resolved to see these curious "Clare settlements," extending for fiftymiles on the coast, where descendants of the French Acadians live inpeace and unity, we reluctantly take our departure at last from dear oldAnnapolis, which has been our restful haven so long, and where we havebeen reviving school days in studying history and geography seasonedwith poetry and romance. Although it was expected that the W. C. R. R.would be completed from Yarmouth to Annapolis by the latter part of1876, we are pleased to find that this is not the case, and that weshall have to take steamer, train, and carriage to our destination;anticipating that any place so out of the beaten track must beinteresting.

The French settlements, a succession of straggling hamlets, werefounded by descendants of the exiles, who,—

"a raft as it were from the shipwrecked nation,…
Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common misfortune,"

drifted back to "L'Acadie" in 1763, the year of the treaty betweenFrance and England.

The lands of their fathers in their old haunts on the Basin of Minaswere in possession of people from New England; and, having a natural andinherited affection for localities by the sea, they wandered down thecoast and scattered along shore as we find them now.

A pleasant excursion by steamer to Digby, thence proceeding some milesby rail, finally a long but charming drive by the shore of St. Mary'sBay, and we are set down at the house of a family of the better class,among these kindly and old-fashioned farming and fisher folk. Thisbeautiful bay is thirty-five miles long, was christened Baie St. Marieby Champlain, and here the four ships of De Monts lay in calm and secureharbor for two weeks in 1604, while the adventurers were examining theshores of Nova Scotia,—explorations in which the discovery of ironpyrites deluded them with the belief that this would prove an ElDorado.

Madame M. at first looks dismayed at the appearance of such a group ofstrangers at her door, and is sure she cannot accommodate us; but herdaughters slyly jog her elbow, saying something in an undertone, as ifurging her to consent, and we are made most comfortable.

At first the family are a little shy, but in a couple of days we becomequite well acquainted; and, when the time comes for our departure they"wish we could stay longer",—a wish which we heartily re-echo.

Madame proudly displays her treasures in hand-spun and home-woven linenand blankets; also a carpet, the material for which she first spun, thendyed, and finally wove; and, though it has been in use for ten years,it is still fresh and shows no apparent wear. In response to ourentreaties, she shows us the loom, and brings out her spinning wheel toinstruct us in that housewifely accomplishment. How easy it looks, asthe fleecy web moves through her fingers, and winds in smooth, even yarnon the swiftly turning reel; and, oh, what bungling and botching whenwe essay that same! The two pretty, modest, and diffident daughters arequite overcome at last, and join in our peals of merriment.

One—oh bliss!—is named Evangeline, and, if we understand correctly,there is an old name similar to this among these people. Though theysing some charming old French chansons for us, the two sweet girlscannot be induced to converse in that language. Madame laughs, saying,"Dey know dey doant speak de goot French, de fine French, so dey willonly talk Angleesh wid you." But in the evening, when Octavia sings anabsurd college song, with a mixture of French and English words, theyenjoy the fun; and immediately set to work to learn:—

"Oh, Jean Baptiste, pourquoi vous grease
My little dog's nose with tar?
Madame, je grease his nose with tar
Because he have von grand catarrh,
Madame, je grease his nose
Parcequ'il he vorries my leetle fite chat."

Then the pretty Evangeline in turn becomes instructor, the theme beingan ancient peasant song of France which her grandmother used to sing.One plays the melody from memory, while the other hastily rules a bitof paper and writes off the notes, afterwards copying the words from ascrap of tattered manuscript; and thus the lady from "America" feelsthat she has secured a pretty souvenir of the visit:

LES PERLES ET LES ÉTOILES.

1.
Comme les perles et les é - tol – les
Or-nent dé - ja le front des cleux
La nuit e-tend partout votle
Elle vient de ju fermer mes yeux,
Re - viendras tu dans un doux songe,
O mon bel ange, tor que j'adore
Me re - pe - ter divers mensonges
Me re - pe - ter -ye taime encore—

2.
Sur un soup-çon tu t'es en—fuie
Je pleure bélas ton a - ban – don
Par un bais er je t'en supplie
Viens m’accorder undous pardon
Oh crois le bien ma bonne a se
Pour te revoir oh om, un jor,
Je donnerais toute ma vie
Je donnerais tous mes amours

The word "mensonges" has not the meaning in French which our literaltranslation would give it. It probably signifies the pretty falsehoodsor white lies to which lovers are somewhat addicted. The next day isSunday, and troops of people, in their peculiar costume, appear on theroad from all directions, wending their way to the great white woodenchurch.

Despite the innate grace of the French, of which we hear so much, wesee that the young men among these peasants are not unlike the shy andawkward country lads of Yankee land. Before and between the servicesthey roost on the fence opposite the church, while the younggirls—totally oblivious of their proximity, of course—gather in groupson the other side of the road, gossiping. We infer that many have come along distance to attend service, as we see several families eating theirlunch, picnic fashion, in the fields near the church. In the church,what a sensation the strangers make, and how interesting is the service!To one of us, at least, the grand service of Notre Dame of Paris wasnot so impressive as this. In the one case, a famous Bishop, robed inpriceless lace and cloth of gold, with a troop of acolytes at the altar,while the most famous singers of the Opera filled the vast structurewith rapturous melody; in the other, a large plain wooden building withglaring windows of untinted glass; the priest in vestments of coarseNottingham lace and yellow damask,—but with spiritual, benignantcountenance,—and a choir of untrained voices. A company of men dronedout Gregorian chants in painfully nasal tones, using antique books withsquare headed notes; then the sweet voice of our host's daughter,Evangeline, sounded solo, and her youthful companions in the choir tookup the chorus of the Kyrie Eleison:—

"Then came the evening service.
The tapers gleamed from the altar,
Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the people
responded,
Not with their lips alone, but with their hearts; and the Ave Maria
Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls with devotion
translated,
Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven."

The young girls array themselves in hats and costumes which are only twoor three years behind the prevailing mode; but the attire of the middleaged and elderly women is striking and peculiar. For Sundays, this isinvariably black throughout, and yet does not look funereal. The dressis of plain bombazine or alpaca, a shawl folded square, and over thehead a large silk handkerchief, which must be put on with greatestexactness and care to make just so many folds at the sides with a hugeknot under the chin; while the point at the back hangs below the neck,and generally has one or more initials neatly worked in colors("cross-stitch") in the corner. As most have clear olive complexion,with rich color in the cheeks, arid lustrous black eyes, this headdressis surprisingly becoming, giving quite a gypsyish effect.

During the week, a calico dress with long white apron is worn by womenand children, and over the head a light chintz handkerchief, or a gay"bandanna";—quite suggestive of the every day wear of foreignpeasantry. We are told that a girl's wealth is sometimes estimated bythe number of handkerchiefs she owns. Mrs. R. says she has, in winter,seen a girl divest herself of no less than ten head-kerchiefs; takingthem off, one by one, and carefully folding them in the most naturalmanner, as if there could be nothing uncommon or amusing in theproceeding.

The old women, in winter, wear enormous cloaks, made with a large squareyoke, into which eight or ten breadths of material are closely plaited,—this unwieldy garment completely enveloping them from head to foot.

These distinctive features in costume are disappearing, and ere long ourAmerican peasantry may become commonplace and uninteresting. Let us hopethat they may never lose the sweet simplicity, frankness, honesty,thrift, and other pleasing characteristics which they now possess.

In the houses is seen a peculiar rocking-settle, similar to those in useamong the Pennsylvania Dutch. This odd piece of furniture has one endrailed in front to serve for cradle; so papa, mamma, and baby can rockand "take comfort" together.

Towards evening we visit the convent, where the sisters—who probably donot receive frequent calls from visitors—seem glad of the opportunityfor a pleasant chat and a bit of news from the outside world. They showus through their exquisitely neat establishment, where, in the culinarydepartment, a crone who is deaf and rather childish approaches uswith such strong evidence of delight, that we expect at least to beembraced; but a sign from the Superior relieves us from the impendingdemonstration.

At sunset, as we stroll along the road, three pretty little girlswho are driving home a flock of geese tempt us to air our French alittle, and a lively conversation ensues, causing their black eyesto sparkle and their white teeth to flash bewitchingly. One of thechildren explains why one of the awkward birds wears a clumsy triangularcollar of wood, with a stake apparently driven through its throat,"to prevent it from going through the fences;" and when one of thestrangers, imitating the waddling gait of the creatures, improvises,—

Bon soir, Madame Oie, Veux tu le blé? Il est à toi!

such a shout of merry laughter is heard as one might willingly go a longway to listen to. When one gives her name, "Thérese le Blanc", ourquery, "Votre père, est il la Notaire?" strange to say, puzzles her;but she probably is not familiar with a certain famous poem, althoughour hostess and her daughters have perused it.

As time passes, and she feels better acquainted and at ease with us,Madame M.'s younger daughter amuses us by showing some mischievoustendency; and we conclude she is something of "a tease". In the mostartless manner, and without intentional familiarity, she slides her armthrough Octavia's in a confidential manner and imparts some importantinformation "dans l'oreille". What is it? Well, remember it iswhispered; and now don't go and tell! It is that there is a swainwho is Evangeline's special devoted; and the quick blush which risesmost becomingly on that damsel's cheek speaks for itself. We have seenfor ourselves how

"Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened his missal, fixed
his eyes upon her,"

and as our eyes turn to the lovely view of the Bay with its shelteringhighlands we can readily imagine how, on just such evenings as this,—

"apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure, Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise Over the pallid sea,"

while

"Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,
Blossom the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels."

We do not ask if the lover's name is "Gabriel", but earnestly wish hera happier lot than that of the sad heroine of Grand Pré's story.

The sun sinks behind the hills which bound lovely St. Mary's Bay, andwe plainly see the two curious openings known as the Grand Passage andPetit Passage, through which the fishermen sail when conveying theircargoes to St. John. The Petit Passage is one mile wide; and passingthrough this deep strait the hardy fishermen can, in favorable weather,cross to St John in eight to ten hours. These highlands across the Bay,known as Digby Neck and Long Island, are a continuation of the range ofmountains terminating in Blomidon on the Minas Basin, and so singularlycut away to make entrance to Annapolis Basin, at St. George's Channel,vulgarly known as Digby Gut.

When De Monts and his party were ready to continue their cruise fromthis sheltered haven, behold! one of their company—a priest—wasmissing; and though they waited several days, making signals and firingguns, such sounds were drowned by the roar of the surf, and neverreached the ears of the poor man lost in the woods. At last, supposingthat the wanderer had fallen a prey to wild animals, the explorerssailed away, and, finding the entrance to Annapolis Basin, began tomake preparation for colonizing at Port Royal.

Sixteen days after the disappearance of the priest, some of De Monts'men returning to this Bay to examine the minerals more thoroughly, wereattracted by a signal fluttering on the shore, and, hurrying to land,there found the poor priest, emaciated and exhausted. What strangesensations the distracted wanderer must have experienced in these forestwilds, with starvation staring him in the face! No charms did he seein this scene which now delights us; and doubtless, with Selkirk, wouldhave exclaimed, "Better dwell in the midst of alarms, than to live inthis beautiful place."

This strange wild coast and the Cod Banks of Newfoundland were known toand visited by foreign fishermen at a very early date. "The Basques,that primeval people, older than history," frequented these shores; andit is supposed that such fisheries existed even before the voyage ofCabot (1497). There is strong evidence of it in 1504; while in 1527fourteen fishing vessels—Norman, Portuguese, and Breton—were seen atone time in the Bay of Fundy, near the present site of St. John.

When we question our hostess as to the species of finny tribes found inthese waters, she mentions menhaden, mackerel, alewives, herring, etc;and, proud of her English, concludes her enumeration with, "Dat is demost only feesh dey kotch here."

Another drive of many miles along the shore brings us to theneighborhood of the very jumping off place of the Scotian peninsula,with novel sights to attract the attention en route. Now and then abarn with thatched roof; here a battered boat overturned to make Piggyand family a habitation; there heavy and lumbering three wheeledcarts, with the third rotator placed between the shafts, so the poor oxwho draws the queer vehicle hasn't much room to spare.

Huge loads of hay pass us, and other large farm wagons, drawn invariablyby handsome oxen. The ox-yokes are a constant marvel to us; for,divested of the bows, they are fastened with leather straps to the basesof the poor creatures' horns. Evidently there is no "S. P. C. A." here;and we cannot convince those with whom we converse on the subject thatthe poor animals would pull better by their shoulders than by theirheads. At several places we see the clumsiest windmills for sawing wood;not after the fashion of the picturesque buildings which Don Quixote sovaliantly opposed, but a heavy frame work or scaffolding about twelvefeet in height. To this is attached a wheel of heaviest plank with fivefans, each one shaped like the arm of a Greek cross, and the whole soponderous we are confident that nothing less than a hurricane couldmake it revolve.

Here is a house entirely covered with diamond shaped shingles, havingalso double and triple windows, which are long, narrow, and pointed atthe top, yet not suggestive of the gothic.

Next we pass a point where an old post inn once stood, and where thecuriously curved, twisted, and strangely complicated iron frame whichonce held the swinging sign still remains.

Many a bleak ride did that mounted carrier have, no doubt, in days ofyore; and we can imagine him saying:—

"The night is late, I dare not wait, the winds begin to blow,
And ere I gain the rocky plain there'll be a storm, I know!"

At our final halting place all is bustle, in preparation for a two days'fête, which commences next day; nevertheless, had we been princes of therealm, we could not have been shown truer hospitality. Père Basil Armandhimself waits upon us, while his wife is cooking dainties for the comingfestival; and the pretty Monica, giving up her neat apartment to one ofour party, lodges at a neighbor's.

Monsieur R., though seventy-eight years of age, retains all hisfaculties perfectly, is straight as an Indian, his luxuriant hairunstreaked with gray, and he is over six feet in height. He reminds usof the description of Benedict Bellefontaine:—

"Stalwart and stately in form was the man of seventy winters,
Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow flakes,"

but our host is even a finer specimen of vigorous age. Then his books—for he is collector of customs, a post which he has held for twenty-fiveyears—would amaze many a younger clerk or scribe; and he is amused, butapparently gratified, when we ask for his autograph, which he obliginglywrites for each in a firm, clear, and fine hand. He says of the peopleof this settlement, that they generally speak patois, though many, likehimself, can speak pure French; that they are faithful and true hearted,industrious and thrifty. He adds: "We are not rich, we are not poor,but we are happy and contented."

During the fearful scenes of 1793 an amiable priest of great culture, aman noble in character, as by birth, fled from the horrors of the FrenchRevolution, and found among this simple, childlike people a peacefulhaven and happy home. This earnest man, Abbé Ségoigne, devoted himselfin everyway to their good, governing them wisely and well, and mighttruly have said, in the words of Father Felician,—

"I labored among you and taught you, not in word alone but in deed."

Many years he resided here. His memory is now venerated almost as thatof a saint, and we are of course greatly interested when Monsieur R.brings out, with just pride, his greatest treasure,—a cumbersome andquaint old volume which was once the property of the good priest.

There is a strong feeling of brotherhood, like the Scottish clanship,among the people; and the lands of parents are divided and subdivided,so the children at marriage may each receive a portion as dower, and"settle down" near their childhood's home; consequently the farms are"long drawn out", extending sometimes in very narrow strips for a mileor more inland.

Abbé Raynal writes most poetically, although not absolutely in rhyme, ofthis gentle brotherhood, "where every misfortune was relieved before itcould be felt, without ostentation on the one hand and without meannesson the other. Whatever slight differences arose from time to time amongthem were amicably adjusted by their elders."

Our driver says "étwelles" for étoiles, "fret" for froid, "si" foroui, etc.; the dancing crests of the waves he calls "chapeaux blancs",which is similar to our appellation, and also speaks of "un bon coopde thé", showing that an English word is occasionally adopted, thoughhardly recognizable in their peculiar phraseology.

One pleasant acquaintance, Dr. R, who lived here several years after he"came out" from England, tells us that the mackerouse, a wild duck, isfound here; and, as it subsists upon fish, the people are allowed to eatthat bird on Fridays. He also says that the pigs wade out into the mudat low tide to root for clams; while the crows, following in theirtracks, steal the coveted shell fish from under the very noses of theswine. Of the remarkably long nasal appendages of this peculiar porcinespecies he adds, "They do say that they'll root under a fence and stealpotatoes from the third row!"

In this locality we hear Yarmouth spoken of as if it were a port equalto New York in importance, and so it doubtless seems to these simpleun-traveled people. In reality it is a prosperous maritime town owningone hundred and thirty thousand tons of shipping, and is a mildlypicturesque place when the tide is high.

The Indian name appropriately signifies "end of the land," and one mightnaturally suppose, when arriving there, that he had reached "that famousfabled country, 'away down east';" though, should he continue histravels to Labrador, that mythical region would still lure him on. Theinhabitants are mainly seafaring men,—many of the captains of Cape Annfishing fleets came from here originally,—and they call the Atlanticfrom Cape Ann to Yarmouth all Bay of Fundy, though that is "ratherstretching it."

It was near here that De Monts made his first landing and caught anightingale (May 16, 1604). Not far beyond, about the shores of ArgyleBay, a great many "French Neutrals" found refuge in 1755 (though anEnglish ship tried to rout them); and they were hunted like wildanimals about here for two or three years after.

We conclude that the hamlets on the upper part of St. Mary's Bay aremost interesting, and that it is hardly worth while to continue downthe coast unless one desires to take steamer from this port to Boston.

In our strolls about the village, we come to a point on the shore wherea boy has a quantity of fine large lobsters which he has just taken fromthe trap; and when one of our party asks for what price he will sellsome, the answer—"One cent each"—is so astounding that the query isrepeated, so we may be convinced that we have heard aright. Pere Basilis evidently surprised at our taste when he sees us returning with ourpurchases, as he remarks, "We don't think much of those at this time ofyear;" from which we infer that at some seasons they have to depend somuch upon fish, lobsters, etc., that they become weary of them.

There is such Gallic atmosphere about this place (and trip) that Octaviais infected, and perpetrates doggerel on a postal, which is to be mailedfrom the "land's end" to acquaint foreign relatives with our advent ina foreign country also!—

Tout est "0. K."
Je suis arivée
Dans ce joli pays,
Avec bonne santé,
Mais bien fatiguée.
Adieu. E. B. C.
(O quelle atrocité!
Mais je n'ai ni grammaire
Ni dictionnaire français.)

"Pleasantly rose next morn the sun,"

and though we are up and out betimes,—

"Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor
Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gate of the morning.
Now from the country around, from the farms and the neighboring
hamlets,
Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants.
Many a glad good morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk
Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows,
Group after group appeared, and joined or passed on the highway.
Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced.
Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy groups at the house
doors
Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped together.
Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted,
For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together,
All things were held in common, and what one had was another's."

Père Basil is surprised to find that we have not come especially toattend the festival, of which we had not heard until our arrival,though he evidently thinks the fame of their elaborate preparations hastraveled far and wide. While we are waiting for the vehicles which areto convey us to the railroad station (a long drive inland) many mostpicturesque groups pass the door; some walking, some riding on ox-carts,and all carrying flowers, pyramidal and gorgeously ornamented cakes, orcurious implements for games, totally unknown to us moderns! Our hosthas a pleasant greeting for all, and receives cordial reply, andsometimes merry jest and repartee from the happy revelers.

Much to our delight, our route to the station passes the grounds wherethe fête is held; and here we see booths of boughs, a revolving swing(which they call a "galance"), fluttering flags, and gay banners.

Merry groups of young people are engaged in games or dances, while theelders are gossiping, or look on approvingly, and the air is filled withlively music. Can it be that the melodies which we hear are the famousold ones, "Toes les Bourgeois de Charters" and "Le Carillon de Dunker"?It would hardly surprise us, as this quaint place seems a century or sobehind the times.

We wish we could stop for an hour or two to watch them; but trains waitfor no man, and we must return to Digby and there take steamer for St.John.

That short passage of twelve leagues has been our bugbear for some days,as travelers whom we met at Annapolis pictured its horrors so vividly,representing its atrocities as exceeding those of the notorious EnglishChannel. Yet we glide as smoothly through the eddies and whirlpools ofthe beautiful Gap as a Sound steamer passes through Hell Gate. Thisremarkable passage way is two miles in length; the mountains rise oneither hand to the height of five hundred and sixty and six hundred andten feet, the tide between rushing at the rate of five knots an hour.We note gray, water worn rocks at the sides, resembling pumice inappearance, though of course very much harder stone, and evidently ofsimilar formation to that of the ovens at Mt. Desert. And now we sweepquietly out into the dreaded Bay of Fundy, the water of which rests insuch oily quietude as even Long Island Sound rarely shows. On this hazy,lazy, sunny afternoon not a swell is perceptible (unless some among thepassengers might be designated by that title); and after four and a halfhours of most dreamy navigation, we enter the harbor of St. John, wherethe many tinted signal lights are reflected in the black water, and aforest fire on a distant hill throws a lurid light over the scene.

When the tide turns, there can be seen frequently far out in the Bay adistinct line in the water,—a line as sharply defined as that betweenthe Arve and Rhone at their junction near Geneva. It is when wind andtide are at variance that the roughest water is encountered; and theysay that if one would avoid an unpleasant game of pitch and toss, thepassage across should not be attempted during or immediately after ablow from the northwest or southeast. So make a note of that! Old saltsat Annapolis told us that the water of the Bay "gets up" suddenly, butalso quiets down soon, and that after a windless night one might bereasonably certain of a comfortable trip across.

Having supposed that St. John had lost half its charm and quaintnesssince the fire, we are surprised to find so much of interest when weare out at the "top of the morning" next day, and are reluctant toleave; but here the Octave disintegrates, scatters to finish the seasonelsewhere; and each member, on arrival at home, probably invests inreams of paper and quarts of ink, setting to work to tell his friendsall about it, and where "they must surely go next summer!"

"L'ISLE DES MONTS DESERTS."

(A LETTER BY THE WAY.)

"Beautiful Isle of the Sea!"

When we said, "Let us go to Mt. Desert," Joe gave us Punch's advice onmarriage: "Don't!" Sue said. "It has lost half its charms by becoming sofashionable;" and Hal added, as an unanswerable argument, "You'll not beable to get enough to eat." As to his veracity on this subject we cannotvouch, though we can testify to his voracity, and mischievously throw aquotation at him:—

"The turnpike to men's hearts, I find,
Lies through their mouths, or I mistake mankind."

Despite such discouragements, being naturally obstinate, go we do; andhere we are in the most refreshingly primitive and unfashionable abidingplace, the domicile commanding a view which cannot be equaled by anypublic house on the island. From the piazzas and our windows the eyenever tires of gazing on the beautiful bay with its numerousislands,—a charming picture, with the blue and symmetrical range ofGouldsboro' hills for background. From a point not far back of thehouse, the eye ranges from the head of Frenchman's Bay out to the broadocean; while a retrospective view takes in the wild mountainous regionof the interior of this lovely isle.

We arrive at a fortunate time. For a long while previous Nature hadpersistently enveloped her face in a veil, giving an air of mysterywhich the summer guests did not appreciate. The skipper of the yachtwhich conveys us when we circumnavigate the island tells us "there is afog factory near by," a statement which, for a few days, we are inclinedto credit. The nabobs of Newport, the Sybarites of Nahant, and even thecommonplace rusticators at other shore resorts have been served in thesame manner, however; so we sympathize with them fully, and with themexult at the final dissolution of the vapors, as the gray curtaingradually lifts and rolls away, its edge all jagged as if torn by thelance-like tips of fir and spruce trees as it swept over them. Thesenoble hills are densely wooded, but not with the forest giants one seesamong the White Mountains; and when I express my surprise thereat, I amtold that fifty or sixty years ago the greater part of the island wasdenuded by fire, so that remains of the primeval forest can only befound in distant spots not easily accessible. Notices are now posted inthe woods at various points, by which "visitors are earnestly requestedto extinguish all fires which they may light, and not to strip the barkfrom the birches."

In our inland excursions the rugged mountains, with their storm scarred,rocky summits, wild ravines, and forest embedded bases, so constantlysuggest the grand scenery of New Hampshire that we can hardly realizethat we are anywhere near the sea. Then, on a sudden turn of the road,a broad stretch of ocean—blue, sparkling, and sail dotted, framed ingraceful birches, feathery larches, and dark pines—comes upon us as asurprise.

The peculiar vehicle which is here known as a "buckboard" we find acomfortable conveyance, with a motion which seems a combination ofsee-saw and baby-jumper. The "body" is composed of four long boards laidside by side, supported only at the extreme ends where they are hungover the axles. The seats are in the middle. They are neither elegantnor graceful, but easy, "springy" vehicles, which, having neither sidesnor top covers, give unimpeded views, and are excellent for sightseeing, though not precisely the thing for rainy weather.

Canoeing is a favorite amusem*nt; and in the management of these lightand graceful boats many of the summer guests become quite expert. Themotion suggests that of a gondola, A catamaran scoots about the harboramong the islands; tiny steamers, sailing craft of all kinds, are seen;and sometimes United States training ships sail majestically into thebay and drop anchor, giving a finishing touch to the picture.

Skippers are very cautious, and frequently will not allow their canoesor other boats to go out, although it may appear perfectly safe to theuninitiated. Visitors rarely have any idea what sudden "flaws" and gustsof air are caused by the position of and openings between the mountains;and when these, as well as the tidal swell and currents of the oceanabout the shore, have to be studied, navigation becomes scientific.

The arrival of the steamer is the great event of the day; and on Sunday,after morning service, the butterflies of fashion flit to the pier tosee the landing of passengers. It is rather embarrassing for wearytravelers to be obliged to "run the gauntlet" as they pass through thegay throng, for every one stares with all his might. This does not seemto be considered rude here, and every one is met by a "battery of eyes;"I presume because each person expects, if he remain here through theseason, to meet every one whom he ever knew.

The yachting and tennis costumes which are worn here would certainlycause many of the sober residents of the Quaker City to open their eyeswide with horror,—if they were able to open them, and were not blindedby the first glance. One divinity, in scarlet and white striped awningcloth, awe christen the "mint stick". And such hats!—each soplaced upon the head that, however huge, it is utterly useless as ashade; but as effect is what all are striving for, any otherconsideration is of no importance whatever. Such attire would be hootedat in some places; and we wonder that it does not strike old settlersbreathless with amazement at the extravagances and follies of "thesecity folks". Jim quotes, "Any color so it's red," when surveying abrilliantly attired company at this place, as that aggressive hueprevails. These fantastic costumes are frequently seen in the morningson the shore, where the wearers are engaged in an amusem*nt here knownas "rocking". This consists in lounging on the rocks with interestingyouths, who, arrayed in picturesque yachting or tennis suits, poseartistically, and, beneath the shade of scarlet or Japanese umbrellas,talk of the weather, of course. Elsewhere this would be known asflirting.

We do not approve of the names of some of the public houses, and wonderthat they could not have chosen more suggestive titles. The "Hotel desIsles" has a more suitable and appropriate cognomen,—if they wouldspell it correctly, which they invariably do not. This name is borne bydescendants of the old French settlers, but is now, sad to tell,pronounced by their contemporaries "De Sizzle". We call our housePleasant Haven, or Restful Retreat, though it appears under a differenttitle in the guide book. It would never do to tell what its name "reallyand truly" is, lest you should think I have been engaged to "puff" it.We have delicious bread and excellent fare; and, though this is plain,of course, all is temptingly served, and everything neat and niceenough for any one.

Our rooms are extremely plain, but neat. Closets are unknown; but onhooks along the wall on one side of the apartment we hang our garments,protecting them with chintz curtains which we brought for the purpose.A resident of Fifth Avenue occupies the garret rooms above, havingselected them from choice; and, expatiating on their advantages inquiet, air, and views, becomes an Attic Philosopher.

Occasionally we get out our fineries, and go to some "hop" orentertainment in the village, but return better satisfied with ourpresent home; and, snapping our fingers at Mrs. Grundy, do not envy anyof her votaries. If our advice were asked, we should say: "Come to oneof the smaller hostelries, like this, where you can be independent andcomfortable; and bring half worn winter garments, with boots ditto, tobe prepared for tramping and excursions."

The excursions which can be taken I will not enumerate; will merelystate that the ascent of Green Mountain, in clear weather, and the driveto Great Head are most satisfactory. On our way to the latter point westop at Anemone Cave, where we enjoy an impromptu concert by members ofPhiladelphia glee clubs, the fine voices and beautiful harmonies beingenhanced by the dark arch of rock and the ceaseless music of the surf,which forms a grand accompaniment.

The view from Green Mountain is quite unique, the eye traversing oceanand land for forty miles in any direction; following the singularlyserrated coast of Maine, the course of Somes Sound,—that remarkableinlet from the sea which almost divides the island,—and tracing thewaving line of far distant mountain ranges. The mainland is curiouslycut into long rocky points and ragged peninsulas, from which the islandsseem to have broken off and drifted out to sea. From this height(fifteen hundred and thirty-five feet) the ocean seems placid andsmooth,—much less awe-inspiring than from the shore, where the surgesroll in with such tremendous power, as if endeavoring to crush thetowering cliffs which oppose them. The clustering buildings of BarHarbor appear like a child's playthings, or Nuremberg toys; theminiature vessels like sea gulls just alighted; the white tents of theIndian encampment ludicrously suggest a laundry with big "wash" hung outto dry; and the whole scene looks as if viewed through the large end ofan opera glass. It is a peaceful and beautiful picture for memory totreasure and look back upon with delight.

At Fernald's Point, at the base of Flying Mountain, two miles north ofSouthwest Harbor, is the supposed location of the French settlement,which was founded by a party of priests and colonists sent out fromFrance to Port Royal (now Annapolis, Nova Scotia), who, losing their wayin fog, landed here. The peaceful little community, after only a fewweeks' occupancy, were routed by that grasping individual, Argall, thedeputy governor of Virginia, who was detested by his own colonists forhis tyranny and rapacity. That person, not content with the domainswhich his position entitled him to govern, cruised along the Atlanticcoast, making many such incursions among the colonists. In this case,after destroying the buildings, he cruelly set adrift in an open boatfifteen of the poor, harmless people, who, after suffering greathardships, were picked up by a trading vessel and conveyed to St. Malo.We wonder that investigations have not been made ere this at this spot,as it seems probable that old implements and objects of interest mightbe brought to light. How we wish we were members of the Maine HistoricalSociety, and by that body empowered to superintend excavations at thesite of a colony which was in existence (1613) seven years before thelanding of the Pilgrims!

Samuel de Champlain, friend, associate, and pilot of De Monts in thelatter's investigations of his possessions in Acadia (in 1604), wassponsor of this island which has since become so famous, of which hespeaks as "La grande Isle des Monts Deserts;" and by the early Lord ofthe Realm the whole of Frenchman's Bay was also called La Havre du SaintSauveur. That wicked Jim says that the Indian name of the island mustsuggest itself to some travelers on their way here, unless they come bythe land route.

There are thirty-five guests in our house, who form a pleasant company;and though of course there is great diversity of taste and charactershown among them, they form a harmonious assembly. In the evenings wehave "sings", readings, games, and charades, frequently growinghilarious. Sedate professors, dignified divines, and learned writersenter into these sports with the zest of schoolboys on a holiday. Someof these games may be new; and that others may derive amusem*nt forsimilar occasions, I will describe two of them. In one, calledComparison, the company seat themselves in a circle. Each one whispersto his right hand neighbor the name of a person (known to the company);to the one at his left, the name of an object. Then each in turn givesaloud the name which his neighbor whispered to him, and tells why he orshe resembles the object, making the comparison complimentary orotherwise. The uncomplimentary comparisons are generally the mostlaughable, and of course all understand that 't is "all for fun", so noone takes any offence. For instance: "Mr. J. resembles the harbor bar,or did this morning, because there was a heavy swell rolling over him;"the company understanding this as an allusion to a frolicsome tusslewhich Mr. J. had with the beau of the house. A rhyming game also affordsmuch amusem*nt. One person gives his neighbor a list of words,—thewords ending the lines of a sonnet or part of a poem,—and the personreceiving the list must fill in the lines, bringing in the words given,in proper order, at the ends of the lines. In the following instancethe words italicized are the ones which the player received from hisneighbor; in this case the terminal words of Longfellow's beautifuldescription of a calm night by the sea will be recognized, although theword "ocean" was inadvertently substituted for "organ":—

"All the long white beach is silent
As a beach should ever be,
While the sea gulls stand and listen
To the moaning of the sea,
All the solemn oysters gather,
Gazing upward to the sky,
While a lobster breaks the silence,
Crooning low his litany
Little shrimps in their dark caverns,
Eating supper all alone,
Looking out upon the ocean,
Whispering in an undertone
'Tis sad and lonely by these beaches,
Shall we ne'er go beyond?'
All the barnacles, uprising,
'Never,' tearfully respond."

As we are by the sea, nautical rhymes seem to turn out naturally. Thewriter of this remarkable effusion is evidently not an evolutionist,though he may think there are some "queer fish" among the heterogeneousinhabitants of this island.

At last the day comes when we must turn away from these lovely scenes;and it is with regret, and many a backward look, that we are conveyedto the Rockland boat. That vessel pursues a circuitous route along thecoast, among the picturesque islands; the trip suggesting quite forciblythe St. Lawrence with its Thousand Isles, as old Neptune is fortunatelyin amiable mood, and shows a smiling countenance. So we have no grudgeto lay up against him, and only pictures tinged with couleur-de-roseto carry away with us.

SEA-SIDE AMUsem*nT IN THE "CITY OF SOLES".

As it is our custom to come to these New England shores every summer, inorder, as Jim says, to get salted so that we may keep well through thewinter (by which you need not infer that we "get into a pickle"), wecommence the process at this place, before proceeding to more Northerlypoints.

As the "dry spell" has made the roads so dusty that there is littlepleasure in driving, and our horses are at present in the stables of ourChateaux-en-Espagne, and consequently not available this warm evening,we gather on the porch to be entertained by the learned converse of theprofessors, until an approaching storm drives us in-doors. Within the"shooting box", as the young man who has traveled christens the house,—thinking that an appropriate title for a domicile where so many membersof the Hunt family are collected,—there is a motley assembly, as theygather around the sitting room table. There are Portuguese,Michiganders, Pennites, Illinoisyones, Bangorillas, and other specimensof natural history such as would have puzzled Agassiz himself; and thequestion arises, "What shall we do to amuse ourselves this rainyevening?" But "Pat", the engineer, oiler of the domestic machinery ofthe establishment, and keeper of this menagerie, seems overcome withfatigue; the Astronomer is eclipsed in a corner; the professors areabsorbed in sines and co-sines; the Fisherman nods over his paper;Grandma knits her brows and the stocking; Elsie is deep in a book; andno one displays any special interest in the matter until pencils andpaper are distributed for the game of Crambo. The modus operandi ofthat most wise and learned game is as follows: Four slips of paper aregiven each person, on one of which he is requested to write a question,and on each of the other scraps a word. These are then shuffled, and allin turn draw. And now there is great commotion, for each participant isexpected to answer his question in rhyme, and to bring the three wordswhich he has drawn, into his answer, also. Such a chorus of "Oh dears",and such dismayed faces! The student proposes to procure the coffee millto assist him in grinding out his "pome"; the tennis player wishes shehad a hatchet to chop up a long word which has fallen to her lot, sothat she can put it in proper metre; but Mr. Short (6 ft. 2 in.), withwatch in hand, calls "Time", and then "Silence", as pencils race overpapers as if on a wager. Ten minutes is the brief space allotted for theproduction of the wondrous effusions; and when Mr. S. announces, "Time'sup", the hat is again full; and one says, with a sigh of relief, "There,I never made two lines rhyme in my life before;" another modestlyremarks, "You needn't think we are verdant because we are in Green—"but the warning finger of the Philosopher is raised, and Pat, thereader, begins, emphasizing the words drawn as he reads:—

"Why so much quarrelling about Religion!
It's as plain as string beans
That from this very means
The world is not right,
If I had but clear sight
I might hope ere this night
Is beginning to wane
The thing to explain.
But, lacking the wit,
I must e'en submit
This doggerel rhyme
And hope 't is in time."

"Oh! oh!" exclaimed the "small specimen" (aged ten), "that's Grandma's;I heard her say she 'knows beans', 'cause she is a Yankee;" but the S.S. subsides on hearing the next paper read, and shows so plainly thatshe "wishes herself further" that it is not difficult to guess theauthor:—

"What's quicker than lightning?
A Turkey or a squirrel
Can 'cut' like a knife
But I never saw a creature rash
Like a deer in all my life."

"Good for Ten-year-old!" exclaim the chorus; and the S. S., brighteningup, concludes she'll try it again sometime. Next comes the question:—

"Where do cabbages come from?
My will is good, and I propose
To tell you all I can
In this dry time a garden hose
Must come into the plan
First plant the seed, and in due course
Will little shoots appear,
When each from other has divorce
They'll flourish, it is clear.
If this rhyme is worth preserving,
With mucilage it may be fixed
On any wall deserving
Such wit and wisdom mixed."

As it is well known that the natives of the Emerald Isle have apredilection for cabbages, it is unanimously decided that none but Patcould have perpetrated this; so Pat grins, suggests that a bill posterbe secured at once, and proceeds:—

"How would you like to be a cat?
In Timbuctoo each stern ascetic,
Though blind to folly as a bat,
Revels in love peripatetic
Which makes him nimble as a cat
But though I'm fond of such agility,
I better like the busy bees,
For they display so much ability
They 'mind one of the Portuguese."

At this implied compliment to his people, the black eyes of the foreignstudent flash approval; and the Mathematician speaks up, saying, "Thatis the Philosopher, sure, and proves the truth of the saying, 'A littlenonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.'" The Philosophersmiles benignantly, but does not deny the charge; and the readercontinues:—

"What do you think of the Ormthorhynchus?
My brain's in a 'muss'
From thinking of this 'cuss'
(Excuse me for using such a word).
If it lived at Nahant
With this heat it would pant,
For surely't is a curious bird.
You may think me a 'muff',
And declare I talk stuff,
But I hope you'll not doubt my word.
For though out in all weathers
Its coat's not of feathers
But of fur,—at least so I've heard.
But 'by this illumination'
(Kant's ratiocination?)
'I don't see it,' though it may seem quite absurd."

The company, strange to say, hit upon Elsie for this, and are evidentlysurprised that one so given up to pomps and vanities should display suchknowledge of natural history; but they evidently suspect her of shiningby reflected light, as she sits next to the Philosopher; and I heardher ask him a question about this animal with the jaw-breaking name. Bythis time the party have become so brilliant, having polished each otherup as by diamond cutters' wheels, that it is "moved and seconded" thatwe "try again". The laughter has brought down the Chemist from thelaboratory, the Fisherman from his den; besides rousing the Astronomer,who scintillates in the corner to such a degree that all others expectto be totally eclipsed. This time the Fisherman, who is also an amateurgardener and farmer on a small scale, draws an appropriate question, inregard to which he enlightens us as follows; and what he says must betrue, as we know he has had experience with pigs and hens:—

"Which knows most, a pig or a hen?
'Tis hard to tell in rustic rhyme
What pigs or hens may know.
A cabbage-head in olden time
Sure knew enough to grow.
If Balm and corn to them were thrown
By parsimonious Bill
I think the fact would then be shown,
For Piggy'd eat his fill."

Next comes the Chemist with the question:—

"Do you like peanuts?
Peanuts are double,
And so is the trouble
Involved in effort
To answer it.
Hand over a few,
And see if I do
Not like peanuts
Better than Sanskrit"

Any one who had heard the Chemist warbling,—

"He who hath good peanuts and gives his neighbor none,
He sha'n't have any of my peanuts when his peanuts are gone,"

would not have doubted this.

The Philosopher next airs his learning in the following:—

"What do you admire in a fool?
Water has such combustibility
That one may rightfully admire
The happy lack of wise ability
Which never rivers sets on fire.
Truth needs no recapitulation
To make what's simple plainer still.
Folly courts our admiration
Wherever Fashion has her will."

Part of this is so abstruse that I fear the company do not fullyappreciate it; so the next is quite startling; and after hearing it welearn, the cause of the Astronomer's silent merriment in the corner, andrejoice that Dr. Holmes's experience in "writing as funny as he could"has proved a warning to this individual:—

"What is stronger than an onion?
Oh, scissors! on a summer night
To tax a fat republican
In thinking out with all his might
Some mightier thing than on-i-on.
Garlic, maybe's not strong enough
Well, I'll exert my 'spunk'
So here you have it, 'in the rough,'—
A pole-cat, alias s——k."

The Oleaginous Personage comes next with the question, "Do you like
Crambo?" which was answered, rather ambiguously, thus:—

"If our last lingo was a specimen
Of this most wise and learned game,
'Tis sure that thus not many men
Would long be known to fame.
Any of you as well as I
Would knock our type all into Pi,
If ghost, or man, or printer's devil
Should show us up for good or evil."

Here the sedate and dignified Elsie gives her opinion of a summerrecreation after this fashion:—

"Are you fond of fishing?
A foolish amusem*nt, it seems to me,
To be rocking about on the briny sea
Watching for bites 'neath a broiling sun,
(Mosquitoes will give you 'em when day is done)
For my part I'd rather be left in peace
To read of travels in sunny Greece
Varied by poem on 'Pleasures of Hope',—
Whate'er my employment I shall not mope—
But it proves great sport for cousin Bill.
(He's a youth just starting up Life's hill)
But should he as old as I become
He would conclude that 't is all a 'hum'."

Where a person generally considered "proper" became familiar with slangI cannot imagine, but I make no remarks. Owing to the absence of twomembers of the household, who, having been caught out in the shower, areprobably calculating the specific gravity of rain drops and their effecton new straw hats, we have doubtless been deprived of more poems ofsurprising depth and brilliancy. And, from regard for the excessivemodesty of other participants in the game, I suppress many compositionsof rare merit which were brought out this stormy evening. This letter ismerely to acquaint you with an important fact, which is as follows. AsDr. Holmes has informed you with regard to the "Asylum for DecayedPunsters," be it known hereby that we have here started a rivalinstitution,—a school for poets; so when you wish to secure theservices of any of the graduates, you may know where to apply. And, thereason why the game of Crambo is like night is, because it is quiet inthe middle and noisy at both ends.