nians, in the circumambient fog, echoed the sentiment by a
silence, that, under other circumstances, would have been disheartening.
What a quiet people it is! As I said before, to make the festivities
complete, in the afternoon there was a procession to lay the corner-stone
of a Lunatic Asylum. But oh! how the jolly old rain poured down upon the
luckless pilgrimage! There were the "Virgins" of Masonic Lodge No.--, the
Army Masons, in scarlet; the African Masons, in ivory and black; the
Scotch-piper Mason, with his legs in enormous plaid trowsers, defiant of
Shakspeare's theory about the sensitiveness of some men, when the bag-pipe
sings i' the nose; the Clerical Mason in shovel hat; the municipal
artillery; the Sons of Temperance, and the band. Away they marched, with
drum and banner, key and compasses, BIBLE and sword, to Dartmouth, in
great feather, for the eyes of Halifax were upon them.

CHAPTER II.

Fog clears Up--The One Idea not comprehended by the American Mind--A June
Morning in the Province--The Beginning of the Evangeliad--Intuitive
Perception of Genius--The Forest Primeval--Acadian Peasants--A Negro
Settlement--Deer's Castle--The Road to Chezzetcook--Acadian Scenery--A
Glance at the Early History of Acadia--First Encroachments of the
English--The Harbor and Village of Chezzetcook--Etc., etc.

The celebration being over, the fog cleared up. Loyalty furled her flags;
the civic authorities were silent; the signal-telegraph was put upon short
allowance. But the 'Alligonian papers next day were loaded to the muzzle
with typographical missiles. From them we learned that there had been a
great amount of enthusiasm displayed at the celebration, and "everything
had passed off happily in spite of the weather." "Old Chebucto" was right
side up, and then she quietly sparkled out again.

There is one solitary idea, and only one, not comprehensible by the
American mind. I say it feebly, but I say it fearlessly, there is an idea
which does not present anything to the American mind but a blank. Every
metaphysical dog has worried the life out of every abstraction but this. I
strike my stick down, cross my hands, and rest my chin upon them, in
support of my position. Let anybody attempt to controvert it! "I say, that
in the American mind, there is no such thing as the conception even, of an
idea of tranquillity!" I once for a little repose, went to a "quiet
New-England village," as it was called, and the first thing