uth of this little island, he
christened it Avalon in commemoration of Joseph of Arimathea's also
distant journey. To the disgrace of the Protestants, the Catholic
exiles arrived in the "land of promise" only to discover that the
spirit of persecution was rampant in this then far-off colony.

Evidently the people of the country think that every man bound for the
Mission is a doctor, and every woman a nurse. If my Puritan conscience
had not blocked the way, I could have made a considerable sum
prescribing for the ailments of my fellow passengers. One little thin
woman on board has just confided to me, "Why, miss, I found myself in
my stomach three times last week"--and looked up for advice. As for
me, I was "taken all aback," and hastened to assure her that nothing
approaching so astonishing an event had ever come within the range of
my experience. I hated to suggest it to her, but I have a lurking
suspicion that the catastrophe had some not too distant connection
with the "brewis." By the way, all right-minded Newfoundlanders and
Labradormen call it "bruse."

Also by the way, it is incorrect to speak of _New_foundland. It is
Newfound_land_. Neither do you go up north if you know what you are
about. You go "down North"; and your friend is not bound for Labrador.
She is going to "the Labrador," or, to be more of a purist still, "the
Larbadore." Having put you right on these rudiments--oh! I forgot
another: "Fish" is always codfish. Other finny sea-dwellers may have
to be designated by their special names, but the unpretentious cod is
"t' fish"; and the salutation of friends is not, "How is your wife?"
or, "How is your health?" But, "How's t' fish, B'y?" I like it. It is
friendly and different--a kind of password to the country.

I am glad that I am not coming here as a mere traveller. The land
looks so reserved that, like people of the same type, you are sure it
is well worth knowing. So when, perhaps, I have been able to discover
a little of its "subliminal self," the tables will be turned, and you
will be eager to make its acquaintance. Then it will be my chance to
offer you sage and unaccepted advice as to your inability to cope with
the climate and its _entourage_. I too shall be able to prophesy
unheeded a shattered constitution and undermined nerves. To be sure,
old Jacques Cartier had such a poor opinion of the coast that he
remarked it ought to have been the land God gave to Cain. But J.C. has
gone to his long