aw is constantly evaded, in
spirit. The thirsty citizen or sailor has only to step into a boat
and give it a shove or two across the narrow stream that separates the
United States from Deer Island and land, when he can ruin his breath,
and return before he is missed.

This might be a cause of war with, England, but it is not the most
serious grievance here. The possession by the British of the island of
Campobello is an insufferable menace and impertinence. I write with
the full knowledge of what war is. We ought to instantly dislodge the
British from Campobello. It entirely shuts up and commands our harbor,
one of our chief Eastern harbors and war stations, where we keep a flag
and cannon and some soldiers, and where the customs officers look out
for smuggling. There is no way to get into our own harbor, except in
favorable conditions of the tide, without begging the courtesy of a
passage through British waters. Why is England permitted to stretch
along down our coast in this straggling and inquisitive manner? She
might almost as well own Long Island. It was impossible to prevent our
cheeks mantling with shame as we thought of this, and saw ourselves,
free American citizens, land-locked by alien soil in our own harbor.

We ought to have war, if war is necessary to possess Campobello and Deer
Islands; or else we ought to give the British Eastport. I am not sure
but the latter would be the better course.

With this war spirit in our hearts, we sailed away into the British
waters of the Bay of Fundy, but keeping all the morning so close to the
New Brunswick shore that we could see there was nothing on it; that is,
nothing that would make one wish to land. And yet the best part of going
to sea is keeping close to the shore, however tame it may be, if the
weather is pleasant. A pretty bay now and then, a rocky cove with
scant foliage, a lighthouse, a rude cabin, a level land, monotonous and
without noble forests,--this was New Brunswick as we coasted along it
under the most favorable circumstances. But we were advancing into the
Bay of Fundy; and my comrade, who had been brought up on its high tides
in the district school, was on the lookout for this phenomenon. The very
name of Fundy is stimulating to the imagination, amid the geographical
wastes of youth, and the young fancy reaches out to its tides with
an enthusiasm that is given only to Fingal's Cave and other pictorial
wonders of the text-book. I am sure the distric