without a cloth, in the inn-parlor, kitchen, laundry, and
dining-room, all in one, just over against the end of the lake; and enjoy
a rasher of bacon and eggs with as much gusto as if we were in the midst
of a palace of fresco. Ornamental eating has become with us a species of
gaudy, ostentatious vulgarity; and a dining-room a sort of fool's
paradise. I never think of the little simple meal at St. Peter's now,
without tenderness and respect.

Here we change--driver, stage, and horses. Still no other passenger. The
new whip is a Yankee from the State of Maine; a tall, black-eyed, taciturn
fellow, with gold rings in his ears. Now we pass the narrow strip of land
that divides Bras d'Or from the ocean. It is only three-quarters of a mile
wide between water and water, and look at Enterprise digging out a canal!
By the bronze statue of De Witt Clinton, if there are not three of the
five-shilling Rob Roys at work, with two shovels, a horse, and one cart!

As we approach Canseau the landscape becomes flat and uninteresting; but
distant ranges of mountains rise up against the evening sky, and as we
travel on towards their bases they attract the eye more and more.
Ear-rings is not very communicative. He does not know the names of any of
them. Does not know how high they are, but has heard say they are the
highest mountains in Nova Scotia. "Are those the mountains of Canseau?"
Yes, them's them. So with renewed anticipations we ride on towards the
strait "of unrivalled beauty," that travellers say "surpasses anything in
America."

And, indeed, Canseau can have my feeble testimony in confirmation. It is a
grand marine highway, having steep hills on the Cape Breton Island side,
and lofty mountains on the other shore; a full, broad, mile-wide space
between them; and reaching from end to end, fifteen miles, from the
Atlantic to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. As I took leave of Ear-rings, at
Plaister Cove, and wrapped myself up in my cloak in the stern-sheets of
the row-boat to cross the strait, the full Acadian moon, larger than any
United States moon, rose out of her sea-fog, and touched mountain, height,
and billow, with effulgence. It was a scene of Miltonic grandeur. After
the ruined walls of Louisburgh, and the dark caverns of Sydney, comes
Canseau, with its startling splendors! Truly this is a wonderful country.

Another night in a clean Nova-Scotian inn on the mountain-side, a deep
sleep, and balmy awakening in the clear air. Yet