ling. It was a Sunday school in the
little town of Wolfville, which lies between the Gaspereau and
Cornwallis Rivers, just beyond the meadows of the Grand Pre, where
lived Gabriel Lajeunesse, and Benedict Bellefontaine, and the rest of
the 'simple Acadian farmers.' I arrived too early at one of the
village churches; and, while I was waiting for a sexton, a door
opened, and out poured the Sunday school, whose services had just
ended. On they came, dividing in the centre, and falling to the right
and left about me, thirty or forty boys and girls, between the ages of
seven and fifteen. They all had fair skins, red cheeks, and clear
eyes; they were all broad-shouldered, straight, and sturdy; the
younger ones were more than sturdy,--they were fat, from the ankles
up. But perhaps the most noticeable thing of all was the quiet,
sturdy, unharassed expression which their faces wore; a look which is
the greatest charm of a child's face, but which we rarely see in
children over two or three years old. Boys of eleven or twelve were
there, with shoulders broader than the average of our boys at sixteen,
and yet with the pure childlike look on their faces. Girls of ten or
eleven were there, who looked almost like women,--that is, like ideal
women,--simply because they looked so calm and undisturbed.... Out of
them all there was but one child who looked sickly. He had evidently
met with some accident, and was lame. Afterward, as the congregation
assembled, I watched the fathers and _mothers_ of these children.
They, too, were broad-shouldered, tall, and straight, _especially the
women_. Even old women were straight, like the negroes one sees at the
South walking with burdens on their heads.

"Five days later I saw, in Halifax, the celebration of the anniversary
of the settlement of the Province. The children of the city and of
some of the neighboring towns marched in 'Bands of Hope,' and
processions such as we see in the cities of the States on the Fourth
of July. This was just the opportunity I wanted. It was the same here
as in the country. I counted, on that day, just eleven sickly-looking
children; no more! Such brilliant cheeks, such merry eyes, such
evident strength,--it was a scene to kindle the dullest soul! There
were scores of little ones there, whose droll, fat legs would have
drawn a crowd in Central Park; and they all had that same quiet,
composed, well-balanced expression of countenance of which I spoke
before, and of wh