ly intolerable. Had we not told everybody that we were going to
Baddeck? Now, if we had gone to Shediac in the train that left St. John
that morning, we should have taken the steamboat that would have carried
us to Port Hawkesbury, whence a stage connected with a steamboat on the
Bras d'Or, which (with all this profusion of relative pronouns) would
land us at Baddeck on Friday. How many times had we been over this route
on the map and the prospectus of travel! And now, what a delusion it
seemed! There would not another boat leave Shediac on this route till
the following Tuesday,--quite too late for our purpose. The reader sees
where we were, and will be prepared, if he has a map (and any feelings),
to appreciate the masterly strategy that followed.

II

During the pilgrimage everything does not suit the tastes of
the pilgrim.--TURKISH PROVERB.

One seeking Baddeck, as a possession, would not like to be detained a
prisoner even in Eden,--much less in St. John, which is unlike Eden in
several important respects. The tree of knowledge does not grow there,
for one thing; at least St. John's ignorance of Baddeck amounts to a
feature. This encountered us everywhere. So dense was this ignorance,
that we, whose only knowledge of the desired place was obtained from
the prospectus of travel, came to regard ourselves as missionaries of
geographical information in this dark provincial city.

The clerk at the Victoria was not unwilling to help us on our journey,
but if he could have had his way, we would have gone to a place on
Prince Edward Island which used to be called Bedeque, but is now named
Summerside, in the hope of attracting summer visitors. As to Cape
Breton, he said the agent of the Intercolonial could tell us all about
that, and put us on the route. We repaired to the agent. The kindness of
this person dwells in our memory. He entered at once into our longings
and perplexities. He produced his maps and time-tables, and showed us
clearly what we already knew. The Port Hawkesbury steamboat from Shediac
for that week had gone, to be sure, but we could take one of another
line which would leave us at Pictou, whence we could take another across
to Port Hood, on Cape Breton. This looked fair, until we showed the
agent that there was no steamer to Port Hood.

"Ah, then you can go another way. You can take the Intercolonial railway
round to Pictou, catch the steamer for Port Hawkesbury, connect with the
ste