er chief-justice, in a red robe and a formidable wig. Of these
portraits, the two first-named are the most attractive; there is something
so gay and festive in the appearance of King George II. and Queen
Caroline, so courtly and sprightly, so graceful and amiable, that one is
tempted to exclaim: "Bless the painter! what a genius he had!"

And now, after taking a look at Dalhousie College with the parade in
front, and the square town-clock, built by his graceless Highness the Duke
of Kent, let us climb Citadel Hill, and see the formidable protector of
town and harbor. Lively enough it is, this great stone fortress, with its
soldiers, swarming in and out like bees, and the glimpses of country and
harbor are surpassingly beautiful; but just at the margin of this slope
below us, is the street, and that dark fringe of tenements skirting the
edge of this green glacis is, I fear me, filled with vicious inmates.
Yonder, where the blackened ruins of three houses are visible, a sailor
was killed and thrown out of a window not long since, and his shipmates
burned the houses down in consequence; there is something strikingly
suggestive in looking upon this picture and on that.

But if you cast your eyes over yonder magnificent bay, where vessels
bearing flags of all nations are at anchor, and then let your vision sweep
past and over the islands to the outlets beyond, where the quiet ocean
lies, bordered with fog-banks that loom ominously at the boundary-line of
the horizon, you will see a picture of marvellous beauty; for the coast
scenery here transcends our own sea-shores, both in color and outline. And
behind us again stretch large green plains, dotted with cottages, and
bounded with undulating hills, with now and then glimpses of blue water;
and as we walk down Citadel Hill, we feel half-reconciled to Halifax, its
queer little streets, its quaint, mouldy old gables, its soldiers and
sailors, its fogs, cabs, penny and half-penny tokens, and all its little,
odd, outlandish peculiarities. Peace be with it! after all, it has a quiet
charm for an invalid!

The inhabitants of Halifax exhibit no trifling degree of freedom in
language for a loyal people; they call themselves "Halligonians." This
title, however, is sometimes pronounced "'Alligonians," by the more rigid,
as a mark of respect to the old country. But innovation has been at work
even here, for the majority of Her Majesty's subjects aspirate the letter
H. Alas for innovatio