y a dim conception, but his
mind rather rested upon the statement that we lived "near Boston." He
complained of the degeneracy of the times. All the young men had gone
away from Cape Breton; might get rich if they would stay and work the
farms. But no one liked to work nowadays. From life, we diverted the
talk to literature. We inquired what books they had.

"Of course you all have the poems of Burns?"

"What's the name o' the mon?"

"Burns, Robert Burns."

"Never heard tell of such a mon. Have heard of Robert Bruce. He was a
Scotchman."

This was nothing short of refreshing, to find a Scotchman who had never
heard of Robert Burns! It was worth the whole journey to take this
honest man by the hand. How far would I not travel to talk with an
American who had never heard of George Washington!

The way was more varied during the next stage; we passed through some
pleasant valleys and picturesque neighborhoods, and at length, winding
around the base of a wooded range, and crossing its point, we came upon
a sight that took all the sleep out of us. This was the famous Bras
d'Or.

The Bras d'Or is the most beautiful salt-water lake I have ever seen,
and more beautiful than we had imagined a body of salt water could be.
If the reader will take the map, he will see that two narrow estuaries,
the Great and the Little Bras d'Or, enter the island of Cape Breton, on
the ragged northeast coast, above the town of Sydney, and flow in, at
length widening out and occupying the heart of the island. The water
seeks out all the low places, and ramifies the interior, running away
into lovely bays and lagoons, leaving slender tongues of land and
picturesque islands, and bringing into the recesses of the land, to the
remote country farms and settlements, the flavor of salt, and the fish
and mollusks of the briny sea. There is very little tide at any time, so
that the shores are clean and sightly for the most part, like those of
fresh-water lakes. It has all the pleasantness of a fresh-water lake,
with all the advantages of a salt one. In the streams which run into it
are the speckled trout, the shad, and the salmon; out of its depths are
hooked the cod and the mackerel, and in its bays fattens the oyster.
This irregular lake is about a hundred miles long, if you measure it
skillfully, and in some places ten miles broad; but so indented is it,
that I am not sure but one would need, as we were informed, to ride a
thousand miles to go ro