y hand one
of the works of Charles Reade on social science, called "Love me Little,
Love me Long," and I said, "Of some kinds, I am."

"Did you ever see a work called 'Evangeline'?"

"Oh, yes, I have frequently seen it."

"You may remember," continued this Mass of Information, "that there is
an allusion in it to Grand Pre. That is the place, sir!"

"Oh, indeed, is that the place? Thank you."

"And that mountain yonder is Cape Blomidon, blow me down, you know."

And under cover of this pun, the amiable clergyman retired, unconscious,
I presume, of his prosaic effect upon the atmosphere of the region. With
this intrusion of the commonplace, I suffered an eclipse of faith as to
Evangeline, and was not sorry to have my attention taken up by the river
Avon, along the banks of which we were running about this time. It is
really a broad arm of the basin, extending up to Windsor, and beyond in
a small stream, and would have been a charming river if there had been a
drop of water in it. I never knew before how much water adds to a river.
Its slimy bottom was quite a ghastly spectacle, an ugly gash in the land
that nothing could heal but the friendly returning tide. I should think
it would be confusing to dwell by a river that runs first one way and
then the other, and then vanishes altogether.

All the streams about this basin are famous for their salmon and shad,
and the season for these fish was not yet passed. There seems to be an
untraced affinity between the shad and the strawberry; they appear and
disappear in a region simultaneously. When we reached Cape Breton, we
were a day or two late for both. It is impossible not to feel a little
contempt for people who do not have these luxuries till July and August;
but I suppose we are in turn despised by the Southerners because we do
not have them till May and June. So, a great part of the enjoyment of
life is in the knowledge that there are people living in a worse place
than that you inhabit.

Windsor, a most respectable old town round which the railroad sweeps,
with its iron bridge, conspicuous King's College, and handsome church
spire, is a great place for plaster and limestone, and would be a good
location for a person interested in these substances. Indeed, if a man
can live on rocks, like a goat, he may settle anywhere between Windsor
and Halifax. It is one of the most sterile regions in the Province.
With the exception of a wild pond or two, we saw nothing but roc