h of wild flowers (half of which vanity my
_compagnon de voyage_ is accountable for), there was a young English-Irish
gentleman, well built, well featured, well educated: by name--I shall call
him Picton.

Picton took much interest in Deer's Castle and Chezzetcook, but slily and
satirically. I do not think this the best way for a young man to begin
with; but nevertheless, Picton managed so well to keep his sarcasms within
the bounds of good humor, that before eleven o'clock we had become pretty
well acquainted. At eleven o'clock the gas is turned off at Hotel
Waverley. We went to bed, and renewed the acquaintance at breakfast.
Picton had travelled overland from Montreal to take the "Canada" for
Liverpool, and had arrived too late. Picton had nearly a fortnight before
him in which to anticipate the next steamer. Picton was terribly bored
with Halifax. Picton wanted to go somewhere--where?--"he did not care
where." The consequence was a consultation upon the best disposal of a
fortnight of waste time, a general survey of the maritime craft of
Halifax, the selection of the schooner "Balaklava," bound for Sydney in
ballast, and an understanding with the captain, that the old French town
of Louisburgh was the point we wished to arrive at, into which harbor we
expected to be put safely--three hundred and odd miles from Halifax, and
this side of Sydney about sixty-two miles by sea. To all this did captain
Capstan "seriously incline," and the result was, two berths in the
"Balaklava," several cans of preserved meats and soups, a hamper of ale,
two bottles of Scotch whisky, a ramshackle, Halifax van for the luggage, a
general shaking of hands at departure, and another set of white sails
among the many white sails in the blue harbor of Chebucto.

The "Balaklava" glimmered out of the harbor. Slowly and gently we swept
past the islands and great ships; there on the shore is Point Pleasant in
full uniform, its red soldiers and yellow tents in the thick of the pines
and spruces; yonder is the admiralty, and the "Boscawen" seventy-four,
the receiving-ship, a French war-steamer, and merchantmen of all flags.
Slowly and gently we swept out past the round fort and long barracks, past
the lighthouse and beaches, out upon the tranquil ocean, with its ominous
fog-banks on the skirts of the horizon; out upon the evening sea, with the
summer air fanning our faces, and a large white Acadian moon, faintly
defined overhead.

Picton was a trave