m swaying perilously near the edge
of the wharf, good-naturedly resenting the grasp of his coat-tail by
a friend, addressing us upon the topics of the day, and wishing us
prosperity and the Fourth of July. His was the only effort in the nature
of a public lecture that we heard in the Provinces, and we could not
judge of his ability without hearing a "course."

Perhaps it needed this slight disturbance, and the contrast of this
hazy mind with the serene clarity of the day, to put us into the most
complete enjoyment of our voyage. Certainly, as we glided out upon the
summer waters and began to get the graceful outlines of the widening
shores, it seemed as if we had taken passage to the Fortunate Islands.

V

"One town, one country, is very like another;... there are
indeed minute discriminations both of places and manners,
which, perhaps, are not wanting of curiosity, but which a
traveller seldom stays long enough to investigate and
compare."--DR. JOHNSON.

There was no prospect of any excitement or of any adventure on the
steamboat from Baddeck to West Bay, the southern point of the Bras d'Or.
Judging from the appearance of the boat, the dinner might have been an
experiment, but we ran no risks. It was enough to sit on deck forward of
the wheel-house, and absorb, by all the senses, the delicious day. With
such weather perpetual and such scenery always present, sin in this
world would soon become an impossibility. Even towards the passengers
from Sydney, with their imitation English ways and little insular
gossip, one could have only charity and the most kindly feeling.

The most electric American, heir of all the nervous diseases of all the
ages, could not but find peace in this scene of tranquil beauty, and
sail on into a great and deepening contentment. Would the voyage could
last for an age, with the same sparkling but tranquil sea, and the same
environment of hills, near and remote! The hills approached and fell
away in lines of undulating grace, draped with a tender color which
helped to carry the imagination beyond the earth. At this point the
narrative needs to flow into verse, but my comrade did not feel like
another attempt at poetry so soon after that on the Gut of Canso. A
man cannot always be keyed up to the pitch of production, though his
emotions may be highly creditable to him. But poetry-making in these
days is a good deal like the use of profane language,--often withou