tion, from two to four tons to the acre. The
fertility of the valley in other respects is equally great. The dyke lands
are intersected by a network of white causeways, raised above the level of
the meadows. We passed over these to the outer edge of the dykes. "These
lands," said my young companion, "are filled in this season with immense
flocks of all kinds of feathered game." And I soon had reason to be
convinced of the truth of it, for just then we started up what seemed to
be a wounded wild-duck, upon which out leaped my companion from the wagon
and gave chase. A bunch of tall grass, upon the edge of a little pool,
lay between him and the game; he brushed hastily through this, and out of
it poured a little feathered colony. As these young ones were not yet able
to fly, they were soon captured--seven little black ducks safely nestled
together under the seat of the wagon, and poor Niobe trailed her broken
wing within a tempting distance in vain.

We were soon upon the dykes themselves, which are raised upon the edge of
the meadows, and are quite insignificant in height, albeit of great extent
otherwise. But from the bottom of the dykes to the edge of yonder
sparkling water, there is a bare beach, full three miles in extent. What
does this mean? What are these dykes for, if the enemy is so far off? The
answer to this query discloses a remarkable phenomenon. The tide in this
part of the world rises sixty or seventy feet every twelve hours. At
present the beach is bare; the five rivers of the valley--the Gasperau,
the Cornwallis, the Canard, the Habitant, the Perot--are empty. Betimes
the tide will roll in in one broad unretreating wave, surging and
shouldering its way over the expanse, filling all the rivers, and dashing
against the protecting barriers under our feet; but before sunset the
rivers will be emptied again, the bridges will uselessly hang in the air
over the deserted channels, the beach will yawn wide and bare where a
ship of the line might have anchored. Sometimes a stranger schooner from
New England, secure in a safe distance from shore, drops down in six or
seven fathom. Then, suddenly, the ebb sweeps off from the intruder, and
leaves his two-master keeled over, with useless anchor and cable exposed,
"to point a moral and adorn a tale." Sometimes a party will take boat for
a row upon the placid bosom of this bay; but woe unto them if they consult
not the almanac! A mistake may leave them high and dry on the