Ledges of rock, long since
removed, crop up here and there along the harbor front. The silence
falls as the day's work is ended at the little settlement, and the
sound of the waters rushing through the falls seems, in the absence of
other sounds, unnaturally predominant. Eastward of Portland Pond we
see the crags and rocks of the future city of the Loyalists, the
natural ruggedness in some measure hidden by the growth of dark spruce
and graceful cedar, while in the foreground lies the graceful curve
of the "Upper Cove" where the forest fringes the waters edge. We may
easily cross in the canoe of some friendly Indian and land where, ten
years later, the Loyalists landed, but we shall find none to welcome
us. The spot is desolate, and the stillness only broken by the
occasional cry of some wild animal, the song of the bird in the forest
and the ripple of waves on the shore.

The shadows deepen as we return to the Point, and soon the little
windows of the settlers' houses begin to glow. There are no curtains
to draw or blinds to pull down or shutters to close in these humble
dwellings, but the light, though unobstructed shines but feebly, for
'tis only the glimmer of a tallow candle that we see or perhaps the
flickering of the firelight from the open chimney that dances on the
pane.

In the homes of the dwellers at St. John Saturday night differs little
from any other night. The head of the house is not concerned about the
marketing or telephoning to the grocer; the maid is not particularly
anxious to go "down town;" the family bath tub may be produced (and on
Monday morning it will be used for the family washing), but the hot
water will not be drawn from the tap. The family retire at an early
hour, nor are their slumbers likely to be disturbed by either fire
alarm or midnight train. And yet in the olden times the men, we doubt
not, were wont to meet on Saturday nights at the little store at the
Point to compare notes and to talk over the few topics of interest in
their monotonous lives. We seem to see them even now--a little
coterie--nearly all engaged in the company's employ, mill hands,
fishermen, lime-burners, laborers, while in a corner James White pores
over his ledger posting his accounts by the light of his candle and
now and again mending his goose-quill pen. But even at the store the
cheerful company soon disperses; the early-closing system evidently
prevails, the men seek their several abodes and one by one t