sealed canvas
bags at way offices. The bags would not hold more than three pints
of meal, and I can see that there is nothing in them. Yet somebody
along here must be expecting a letter, or they would not keep up the
mail facilities. At French River we change horses. There is a mill
here, and there are half a dozen houses, and a cranky bridge, which
the driver thinks will not tumble down this trip. The settlement may
have seen better days, and will probably see worse.

I preferred to cross the long, shaky wooden bridge on foot, leaving
the inside passengers to take the risk, and get the worth of their
money; and while the horses were being put to, I walked on over the
hill. And here I encountered a veritable foot-pad, with a club in
his hand and a bundle on his shoulder, coming down the dusty road,
with the wild-eyed aspect of one who travels into a far country in
search of adventure. He seemed to be of a cheerful and sociable
turn, and desired that I should linger and converse with him. But he
was more meagerly supplied with the media of conversation than any
person I ever met. His opening address was in a tongue that failed
to convey to me the least idea. I replied in such language as I had
with me, but it seemed to be equally lost upon him. We then fell
back upon gestures and ejaculations, and by these I learned that he
was a native of Cape Breton, but not an aborigine. By signs he asked
me where I came from, and where I was going; and he was so much
pleased with my destination, that he desired to know my name; and
this I told him with all the injunction of secrecy I could convey;
but he could no more pronounce it than I could speak his name. It
occurred to me that perhaps he spoke a French patois, and I asked
him; but he only shook his head. He would own neither to German nor
Irish. The happy thought came to me of inquiring if he knew English.
But he shook his head again, and said,

"No English, plenty garlic."

This was entirely incomprehensible, for I knew that garlic is not a
language, but a smell. But when he had repeated the word several
times, I found that he meant Gaelic; and when we had come to this
understanding, we cordially shook hands and willingly parted. One
seldom encounters a wilder or more good-natured savage than this
stalwart wanderer. And meeting him raised my hopes of Cape Breton.

We change horses again, for the last stage, at Marshy Hope. As we
turn down the hill into this place of the mo