this
land did not look to us like a garden, as it does to the inhabitants of
Nova Scotia; and it was not until we had traveled over the rest of
the country, that we saw the appropriateness of the designation. The
explanation is, that not so much is required of a garden here as in some
other parts of the world. Excellent apples, none finer, are exported
from this valley to England, and the quality of the potatoes is said to
ap-proach an ideal perfection here. I should think that oats would ripen
well also in a good year, and grass, for those who care for it, may be
satisfactory. I should judge that the other products of this garden are
fish and building-stone. But we anticipate. And have we forgotten the
"murmuring pines and the hemlocks"? Nobody, I suppose, ever travels
here without believing that he sees these trees of the imagination, so
forcibly has the poet projected them upon the uni-versal consciousness.
But we were unable to see them, on this route.

It would be a brutal thing for us to take seats in the railway train
at Annapolis, and leave the ancient town, with its modern houses and
remains of old fortifications, without a thought of the romantic
history which saturates the region. There is not much in the smart,
new restaurant, where a tidy waiting-maid skillfully depreciates our
currency in exchange for bread and cheese and ale, to recall the early
drama of the French discovery and settlement. For it is to the French
that we owe the poetical interest that still invests, like a garment,
all these islands and bays, just as it is to the Spaniards that we owe
the romance of the Florida coast. Every spot on this continent that
either of these races has touched has a color that is wanting in the
prosaic settlements of the English.

Without the historical light of French adventure upon this town and
basin of Annapolis, or Port Royal, as they were first named, I confess
that I should have no longing to stay here for a week; notwithstanding
the guide-book distinctly says that this harbor has "a striking
resemblance to the beautiful Bay of Naples." I am not offended at this
remark, for it is the one always made about a harbor, and I am sure the
passing traveler can stand it, if the Bay of Naples can. And yet
this tranquil basin must have seemed a haven of peace to the first
discoverers.

It was on a lovely summer day in 1604, that the Sieur de Monts and his
comrades, Champlain and the Baron de Poutrincourt, beating