s Castle, I
could not avoid a pervading feeling of gloom and disappointment, in spite
of the balmy air and pretty landscape. The old ragged abodes of
wretchedness seemed to be too clearly defined--to stand out too
intrusively against the bright blue sky. But why should I feel so much for
Cuffee? Has he not enlisted in his behalf every philanthropist in England?
Is he not within ten miles of either the British flag or Acadia? Does not
the Duchess of Sutherland entertain the authoress of Uncle Tom's Cabin,
and the Black Swan? Why should I sorrow for Cuffee, when he is in the
midst of his best friends? Why should I pretend to say that this appears
to be the raggedest, the meanest, the worst condition of humanity, when
the papers are constantly lauding British philanthropy, and holding it up
as a great example, which we must "bow down and worship?" For my own part,
although the pleasant fiction of seeing Cuffee clothed, educated, and
Christianized, seemed to be somewhat obscured in this glimpse of his real
condition, yet I hope he will do well under his new owners; at the very
least, I trust his berry crop will be good, and that a benevolent British
blanket or two may enable him to shiver out the winter safely, if not
comfortably. Poor William Deer, Sen'r, of Deer's Castle, was suffering
with rheumatism in the next apartment, while we were at his eggs and bacon
in the banquet hall; but Deer of Deer's Castle is a prince to his
neighbors. I shall not easily forget the brightening eye, the swift glance
of intelligence in the face of another old negro, an hostler, in Nova
Scotia. He was from Virginia, and adopting the sweet, mellifluous language
of his own home, I asked him whether he liked best to stay where he was,
or go back to "Old Virginny?" "O massa!" said he, with _such_ a look, "you
_must know_ dat I has de warmest side for my own country!"

We rattled soberly into Dartmouth, and took the ferry-boat across the bay
to the city. At the hotel there was no little questioning about
Chezzetcook, for some of the Halifax merchants are at the Waverley. "GOED
bless ye, what took ye to Chizzencook?" said one, "I never was there een
in my life; ther's no bizz'ness ther, noathing to be seen: ai doant think
there is a maen in Halifax scairsly, 'as ever seen the place."

At the supper-table, while we were discussing, over the cheese and ale,
the Chezzetcook and negro settlements, and exhibiting with no little
vainglory a gorgeous bunc