g peculiarly pleasant and cheerful,
is not within the bounds of probability. Very rude people are wont to
speak of Halifax in connection with the name of a place never alluded to
in polite society--except by clergymen. As for the rest of the Province,
there are certain vague rumors of extensive and constant fogs, but
nothing more. The land is a sort of terra incognita. Many take it to be
a part of Canada, and others firmly believe it is somewhere in
Newfoundland.

In justice to Nova Scotia, it is proper to state that the Province is a
province by itself; that it hath its own governor and parliament, and
its own proper and copper currency. How I chanced to go there was
altogether a matter of destiny. It was a severe illness--a gastric
disorder of the most obstinate kind, that cast me upon its balmy shores.
One day, after a protracted relapse, as I was creeping feebly along
Broadway, sunning myself, like a March fly on a window-pane, whom should
I meet but St. Leger, my friend. "You look pale," said St. Leger. To
which I replied by giving him a full, complete, and accurate history of
my ailments, after the manner of valetudinarians. "Why do you not try
change of air?" he asked; and then briskly added, "You could spare a
couple of weeks or so, could you not, to go to the Springs?" "I could,"
said I, feebly. "Then," said St. Leger, "take the two weeks' time, but
do not go to the Springs. Spend your fortnight on the salt water--get
out of sight of land--that is the thing for you." And so, shaking my
hand warmly, St. Leger passed on, and left me to my reflections.

A fortnight upon salt water? Whither? Cape Cod at once loomed up;
Nantucket, and Martha's Vineyard. "And why not the Bermudas?" said a
voice within me; "the enchanted Islands of Prospero, and Ariel, and
Miranda; of Shakspeare, and Raleigh, and Irving?" And echo answered:
"Why not?"

It is but a day-and-a-half's sail to Halifax; thence, by a steamer, to
those neighboring isles; for the Curlew and the Merlin, British
mail-boats, leave Halifax fortnightly for the Bermudas. A thousand miles
of life-invigorating atmosphere--a week upon salt water, and you are
amid the magnificent scenery of the Tempest! And how often had the vague
desire impressed me--how often, indeed, had I visited, in imagination,
those beautiful scenes, those islands which have made Shakspeare our
near kinsman; which are part and parcel of the romantic history of Sir
Walter Raleigh! For, even if