CHAP. VII.

NEW BRUNSWICK.

The Province of New Brunswick holds an important position amongst the colonies of Great Britain. To the political economist it presents a tract of country 27,704 square miles in superficial extent,—blessed with a salubrious climate,—a rich and productive soil, capable of receiving the whole tide of British emigration, should it turn in that direction, and of contributing to the comfort and happiness of the surplus of our industrious population. To the trader and capitalist the advantages this colony offers are equally great:—the whole area of this vast territory is intersected by innumerable navigable rivers and lakes; its shores are indented with safe and commodious harbours; its seas and rivers stored with excellent fish; its fertile plains and valleys, that are now covered with timber, require only the industry of man to make them yield corn and the fruits of the earth in prodigal abundance; its mountains teem with various mineral productions—iron, copper, zinc, manganese; gold and silver have been found in various parts of the province; coal of superior quality is abundant in several localities, and gypsum forms a principal article of the exports of the country to the United States. In short, whether we regard this old but much neglected colony in a social or commercial point of view, it possesses much to recommend it to the attention of every thinking Englishman.

It is not my intention, however, to do more than allude briefly to these or other topics which might be considered irrelevant to the object of a work purporting to illustrate the scenery of the country.

The history of New Brunswick is closely connected with that of the adjoining province of Nova Scotia, of which it formed a portion until the year 1785. Its first settlers were a few families from New England in 1762, who planted themselves on the River St. John, about fifty miles from its mouth. After the peace with America in 1783, upwards of four thousand persons from Nantucket came also to seek a home in those almost untrodden wildernesses.

The difficulties of settling in any new country are sufficiently numerous and formidable; but the hardships which these poor people had to endure were of more than ordinary severity. On their arrival late in the autumn, they found a few wretched hovels where St. John now stands; the surrounding country presenting a most desolate aspect, which was peculiarly discouraging to people who had just left their homes in the beautiful and cultivated parts of the United States. As they proceeded up the river St. John, the country wore a more pleasing aspect. At St. Ann’s, where Fredericton is now built, they met a few scattered huts of the old French settlers, the country around being a perfect wilderness, uninhabited save by wild beasts or more savage Indians. The winter, which was at that time more rigorous than it is at present, surprised the unfortunate settlers before they had time to complete the construction of their cabins; added to which, they were frequently reduced to the direst extremities for food and clothing to preserve their existence. Frequently had they to travel from fifty to one hundred and fifty miles with hand-sleds, through trackless woods, or on the ice-bound rivers, to procure a scanty supply of provisions for their families at the Government stores: and in the piercing cold of winter, a part of the family had to remain up during the night to keep the fire in their huts, to prevent the other part from freezing. Some of the more destitute settlers made use of boards instead of bedding; the father, or some of the elder members of the family, remaining up by turns, and warming two pieces of board, which they applied alternately to the smaller children to keep them warm, with many similar expedients. By patience and endurance, almost unexampled, they struggled through their sufferings; and, by unremitting exertions, subdued the wilderness, and covered the face of the country with thriving towns, and villages, and habitations, where peace, plenty, and industry have fixed their abodes.

My route to New Brunswick from Canada was by the Grand Portage, about thirty-six miles across. The roads, though bad, were better than I expected. On my way I passed through some new settlements on reclaimed swamps, near the Rivière du Loup and crossed two or three high mountains, which form part of the Alleghany chain, lying between New Brunswick and the River St. Lawrence. The greater part of the country here is a complete bed of rocks, and the whole way through the woods offers little encouragement for settlers. Having passed the Portage, I reached Lake Tamisquata or Témiscouata a wild and solitary piece of water, twenty-eight miles in length. The land upon its banks is generally inferior, but upon its western side there are several swells of fruitful ground. From this lake the River Madawaska takes its rise, and winds for thirty miles through an almost boundless forest. The country on either side is exceedingly fertile; and the scenery is of the most wild and magnificent description. A few Acadians[[2]], the descendants of the original French settlers, are located on the banks of this lonely river; they are exceedingly simple in their manners, and have little intercourse with the rest of the world, except when at distant intervals they visit Fredericton to dispose of the surplus produce of their little farms. Their wants are few, and they live a quiet pastoral life, retaining a strong attachment to the dress, habits, language, and religion of their forefathers.[[3]]

This settlement is comprehended in the disputed territory claimed by the Americans on the Maine frontier; which, in point of fertility, valuable timber, and beautiful rivers and streams, is equal to any part of America.

The season at which I entered New Brunswick was May, the most favourable period in the year for seeing the country to advantage. It is then that summer bursts at once from the cold embrace of winter; for the few days intervening between the rigorous cold of winter, and the genial heat of the weather such as we experience in England in the month of June, can scarcely be called a spring. To persons who have only witnessed the tardy advances of summer through the months of March, April, and May, in Great Britain, the sudden change which takes place at this season in Canada and the adjoining colonies is especially surprising; in the course of three or four days, the fields and deciduous trees put on their verdant liveries, innumerable garden and field flowers burst into full blow, the birds of summer make their appearance and enliven the woods with their glad songs, and the American nightingales, as the frogs are called, commence their singular evening concerts. In short, nothing can be imagined more delightful than the astonishing quickness with which the face of nature becomes clothed with all the charms of summer. The forests, which cover the greatest part of the province of New Brunswick, are unequalled in magnificence in any other part of the world. The banks of the river St. John are remarkable for the magnitude and abundance of the timber with which they are overgrown. Many varieties of the red, yellow, and pitch pine, intermingled with the graceful larch, the picturesque beech and maple, birch, elm, oak, and numerous other tribes of forest timber, grow down close to the water’s side, spreading in stately grandeur over the broad plains, or stretching proudly up to the summits of the mountains that descend precipitously to the river. In summer the bright and cheerful green of the forests is exceedingly beautiful and refreshing to the eye, the dark pines alone forming a sombre contrast to the vivid freshness of the deciduous trees; but it is in autumn that an American forest wears its most enchanting colours;—two or three frosty nights in the decline of the season transform the rich and boundless verdure of a vast tract into brilliant scarlet, rich violet, and every possible tint of blue and brown, deep crimson and golden yellow. The fir tribes alone maintain their unchangeable dark green hue; all others on mountain and in valley burst into glorious beauty, and exhibit the most splendid and enchanting picture that earth can produce. It is from these immense forests that New Brunswick now draws its principal wealth. The timber trade,[[4]] which has hitherto almost wholly engaged the attention of settlers, is of great importance, and employs a vast number of people, whose manner of living, owing to the nature of the business they follow, is altogether different from that of the inhabitants who are occupied in agricultural pursuits.

Throughout all New Brunswick, the wood fellers, or “lumberers,” as they are there termed, bear a very indifferent reputation, being generally, and I fear with too much justice, regarded as men of dissolute and extravagant habits, and whose moral character, with few exceptions, is dishonest and worthless. The curious manner in which these people associate themselves for the purpose of cutting timber is so well described by a modern writer, that I cannot do better than transcribe his account of it. “Several men,” he says, “form what is called a lumbering party, composed of persons who are either hired by a master labourer, who pays them wages, and finds them in provisions; or of individuals, who enter into an understanding with each other to have a joint interest in the proceeds of their labour: the necessary supplies of provisions, clothing &c., are generally obtained from the merchants on credit, in consideration of receiving the timber which the lumberers are to bring down the rivers the following summer. The stock deemed requisite for a lumbering party consists of axes, a cross-cut saw, cooking utensils, a cask of rum, tobacco and pipes, a sufficient quantity of biscuit, pork, beef, and fish; pease and pearl barley for soup, with a cask of molasses to sweeten a decoction usually made of shrubs, as of the tops of the hemlock tree. Two or three yokes of oxen, with sufficient hay to feed them, are also required to haul the timber out of the woods. When thus prepared, these people proceed up the rivers with the provisions to the place fixed on for their winter establishment, which is selected as near a stream of water, and in the midst of as much pine timber, as possible. They commence by clearing away a few of the surrounding trees, and building a camp of round logs, the walls of which are seldom more than four or five feet high; the roof is covered with birch bark or boards. A pit is dug under the camp, to preserve any thing liable to injury from the frost. The fire is either in the middle or at one end; the smoke goes out through the roof; hay, straw, or fir branches are spread across, or along the whole length of the habitation, on which they all lie down together at night to sleep, with their feet next the fire. When the fire gets low, he who first awakes or feels cold springs up, and throws on five or six billets; and in this way they manage to have a large fire all night. One person is hired as cook, whose duty it is to have breakfast prepared before daylight; at which time all the party rise, when each takes his “morning,” the indispensable dram of raw rum, immediately before breakfast. This meal consists of bread, or occasionally potatoes, with boiled beef, pork, or fish, and tea sweetened with molasses. Dinner is usually the same, with pease soup instead of tea; and the supper resembles the breakfast. These men are enormous eaters; and they also drink great quantities of rum, which they scarcely ever dilute. Immediately after breakfast they divide into three gangs, one of which cuts down the trees, another hews them, and the third is employed with the oxen in hauling the timber, either in one general road leading to the banks of the nearest stream, or at once to the stream itself. Fallen trees and other impediments in the way of the oxen are cut away with the axe.”

Such is the toilsome life of a lumberer from October until the month of April; amidst forests covered with snow, and exposed to all the severity of the winter, without experiencing any of its comforts. But it is when the snow begins to dissolve in April, and the “freshets” come down the rivers, that the lumberer’s most trying labours commence. The timber which has been cut during the winter is now thrown into the stream, and floated down to some convenient place for constructing a raft. The water at this period, owing to the snow water in the freshets, is more intensely cold than in the depth of winter; the lumberers are obliged to be immersed in it from morning till night, and it is seldom less than six weeks from the time the floating the timber commences, till the rafts are delivered into the merchant’s hands. This course of life, it is evident, must undermine the constitution; and the sudden transition from the extreme cold of winter in the backwoods to the scorching heat of the summer sun, must tend still farther to weaken and reduce the system. In order to sustain the cold, and stimulate the organs, these men are in the habit of swallowing immoderate quantities of ardent spirits; we cannot, then, wonder that premature old age and shortness of days should form the almost inevitable fate of a lumberer. Should one of them, more prudent than his fellows, save a little money, and be enabled for the last few years of his life to exist without labour, he only drags out a miserable existence—the victim of rheumatism, and all the miseries of a broken down constitution.

Falls on the St. John River.

A few miles above the Acadian settlements, the St. John receives the waters of the Madawaska; and inclining to the westward, flows in a deep and sluggish stream through a wilderness of rich and fertile lands, until it reaches the Grand Falls of the St. John, which for romantic beauty are perhaps unequalled by the most celebrated falls in the world. Mr. McGregor, who visited them, asserts, that, though they cannot be compared with Niagara in point of magnitude, the tout ensemble of the tremendous rocks, the gigantic woods, and the continuity of the cataracts and rapids below the St. John Falls, is finer than any thing that the otherwise unparalleled Niagara can boast of. Bateaux and other craft navigating the river at this point, are carried across a narrow neck of land, from a small cove immediately above the falls, to another little creek at some distance below them. The river, which a short way above the falls is broad and placid, becomes suddenly contracted between high and rocky banks, overhung with trees of immense growth, and rushes along a descent of several feet with prodigious impetuosity, until the interruption of a ridge of rocks, close to the edge of the grand falls, changes the turbulent stream into one vast sheet of broken foam, thundering over a precipice, fifty feet in perpendicular height, into a deep vortex filled with huge rocks, amongst which the immense body of waters is for a moment partially lost. Re-appearing, it continues its course through a narrower channel, pent in by rugged overhanging cliffs, and dashing with extraordinary velocity over a succession of lesser falls, more than half a mile in length, forms a picture of terrific grandeur and sublimity. The scenery after passing the grand falls is of the wildest and boldest character imaginable; and the rocky bed of the river is exceedingly dangerous for rafts and bateaux, which, however, are dexterously navigated through the broken waters and foaming rapids.

A first Settlement.

From this point the settlements on the fertile tracts of intervale land which lie near the river become more numerous, and it is no unfrequent occurrence with travellers in the woods to fall in with a farmer and his family hard at work forming A FIRST SETTLEMENT. These settlers are mostly Americans,[[5]] or English and Scotch farmers, who have emigrated from the mother country to endeavour by honest labour to obtain a comfortable independence for themselves and their children. It is a singularly interesting sight—one of these new settlements buried in the depths of a pine forest, and proves how many seeming and real difficulties a man may overcome by patience and industry. Who without some strong motive for exertion would not feel discouraged at the sight of the wilderness land covered with heavy trees, which he must cut down and destroy before he can commit to the earth the seed which is to produce food for his family? But with the prospect of independence and comfort before him, the strong-hearted settler falls cheerfully to work, the lusty strokes of his axe ring through the lonely woods, and the monarchs of the forest fall one after the other beneath his vigorous arm. A small space is cleared, and he begins to raise the walls of his future dwelling. Round logs, from fifteen to twenty feet in length, are laid horizontally over each other, notched at the corners so as to let them down sufficiently close, till the walls have attained the requisite height:—the interstices between the logs are then filled with moss and clay; a few rafters are afterwards raised for the roof, covered with pine or birch bark, and thatched with spruce branches; the chimney is formed of wooden frame-work, and plastered with clay and straw kneaded together; a doorway and an aperture for a window are next cut in the walls of the house; the door and sashes are fixed in their places; a few rough boards, or logs hewn flat on one side, are laid down for a floor, and overhead a similar flooring, to form a sort of garret or lumber room. With the addition of a few articles of furniture of the rudest construction, the habitation is now considered ready to receive the family of the settler, who view with unbounded delight their new dwelling, and joyfully prepare, for the first time since their sojourn in the forest, to cook and eat their dinner of venison beneath the shelter of their humble roof. The house being completed, the settler next turns his attention to laying out his farm; and his first object is to cut down the trees, which is done by cutting with an axe a deep notch into each side of the tree, about two feet from the ground, in such a manner that the trees all fall in the same direction; the branches are then lopped off, and the timber is suffered to lie on the ground until the beginning of the following summer, when it is set on fire. By this means all the branches and small wood are consumed; the large logs are either piled in heaps and burnt, or rolled away for the purpose of making the zigzag log fences necessary to keep off the cattle and sheep, which are allowed to range at large. The timber being thus removed, the ground requires little further preparation for the seed which is to be sown in it, than merely breaking the surface with a hoe or harrow. Plentiful crops of corn or potatoes may be raised for two and often for three years successively after the wood has been burnt on it. The stumps of the trees are allowed to remain in the ground until they are sufficiently decayed to be easily removed. The roots of spruce, beech, birch, and maple, will decay in four or five years; the pine and hemlock tree require a much longer time. After the stumps are all removed the land is turned up with the plough, and the same system of agriculture is practised as in England.

Destructive fires often occur in the woods, sometimes from the effects of lightning, but more frequently arising from the carelessness of travellers and wood-fellers, who light fires at the roots of trees, and take no trouble about extinguishing them afterwards. If the season happens to be dry, the fire soon communicates to the surrounding trees, and from thence spreading through the forest, it rages with a fury and rapidity that we can scarcely form a conception of in European countries. Let the reader, if possible, fancy the devouring flames curling around the stems of the lofty pine trees, rushing up to their dark tops, and ascending to an immense height amongst the dense clouds of black smoke arising from a whole forest on fire. At each moment the falling trees come down with a thundering crash, while sparks and splinters of burning wood, driven on the wind, spread the destruction far and wide,

“Through the grey giants of the sylvan wild.”

Human means are unavailing to check the progress of the conflagration; onward it rushes, extending to every combustible substance, and spreading desolation in its path until it is quenched by rain, or until it has devoured every thing between it and the cleared lands, the sea, or some river. In the year 1825 the country to the north of Miramichi was visited by one of the most disastrous conflagrations that history has ever recorded;[[6]] upwards of a hundred miles of the shores of Miramichi were laid waste by the fire, which extended to Fredericton, where it destroyed the governor’s residence and about eighty other houses; and carried its ravages northward as far as the Bay de Chaleur.

Fredericton—New Brunswick.

From the Grand Falls the river takes a course nearly due south, bounded on either side by precipitous banks and dense forests, whose solemn gloom has not yet been cheered by the hand of man. About half way between the Falls and Fredericton the waters of the Meduxnikeag unite with those of the St. John. It is here the grand and sublime features of the scenery of the latter river soften into the beautiful and picturesque. The towering and abrupt precipices,—the overhanging crags,—the dark and unpenetrated forests,—open into smiling plains and cultivated farms; and the numerous beauties which Nature has lavished on the scene, heightened by art, adorn the landscape with the cheering prospect of human comfort and prosperity. The river from this place to St. John is navigable for rafts and boats; and the settlements, though numerous, are chiefly confined to the banks of the stream,—a situation always selected by early settlers, from the advantages it possesses in enabling them to dispose of the timber with which their land is encumbered.

Fredericton, the seat of government of this province, is agreeably situated on a level neck of land, on the south side of the River St. John, about ninety miles above its mouth. The appearance of the town and the adjacent country, viewed from the rising ground behind Fredericton, is highly beautiful and luxuriant. Immediately beneath us stands the College, a plain but extensive building, conspicuously placed on the brow of a wooded eminence, overlooking the town; further down, on the flat shore, lies the neat cheerful looking town; and at some distance on the left, the handsome residence of the governor occupies a charming site near the water. Bending almost round the town, the majestic river, which is here not more than a mile in width, flows tranquilly between its banks; but it is no longer a silent and lonely stream, where the otter and the grey duck make their home, and—

“——with tawny limb,

And belts and beads in sun-light glistening,

The savage plies his skiff, like wild bird on the wing.”

Civilization and commerce are now busy upon its waters,—white sails are gliding to and fro,—and the heavy rafts of the lumberers are seen stealing slowly down the stream, or occasionally a steamer may be observed, stemming the current that runs against her in her passage up from St. John.

Fredericton—New Brunswick.
From opposite.

Following the course of the river downwards, the eye traces it for several miles winding around bold headlands crowned with noble trees,—or, lingering in those lovely bays where the sombre hue of the surrounding forest scenery is relieved by cheerful settlements, green fields, and comfortable farm houses, sprinkling the rich alluvial lands that fringe the shores. Looking upwards, the scene is still more picturesque and animated;—the face of the country exhibits more extensive cultivation,—the settlements are more numerous,—the woods seem to recede from the shores, yielding their ancient sovereignty of the soil to the untiring industry of man. The best view of Fredericton is had from the opposite side of the river, from whence the town presents a very pleasing appearance. Gay spires and white-walled buildings are seen stretching along the shore for a considerable distance; above these the College occupies a commanding situation; and nearer to the spectator the tranquil river flows smoothly on, while the dark green woods that clothe the undulating hills behind the town, form a noble back ground to the picture:—if to this the reader adds a glorious summer sky, overhanging and brightening all beneath, the landscape will be complete.

The Green at Fredericton.

The Governor’s House stands at a short distance from the town, in one of the most romantic and picturesque situations imaginable. It is a light and elegant structure, forming a very agreeable object from the river, surrounded as it is by ornamented plantations, and sheltered by fine upland slopes, clad with rich and beautiful foliage. The town of Fredericton is laid out with great regularity; the streets crossing at right angles, as in almost all American towns. The public buildings are not numerous; the principal are—the Government House, the College already mentioned, and the barracks, which are good and commodious. The Episcopal church is a very unpretending building; there are besides, four other places of religious worship in the town for the Presbyterian, Methodist, Baptist, and Roman Catholic inhabitants. The environs are exceedingly pretty; neat houses, smiling gardens, and comfortable farms being scattered in every direction.

The Governor’s House, Fredericton.

The condition of the settlers in the neighbourhood of Fredericton, St. John, and other large towns, is very different from that of the adventurous men who go forth to make a clearing in the woods;—their difficulties not being numerous, nor the labour so incessant, as that which the first settler has to encounter. The farms of the former are generally in a high state of cultivation: the rude log-hut has given place to a well-built and commodious dwelling-house, where the farmer, with his family and a numerous establishment of household servants, mechanics, and labourers, reside. Around the main building are scattered, with little regard to regularity or uniformity of appearance, barns, cattle-sheds, stables, workshops, and out-offices; and not unfrequently a grist mill and a saw mill;—all bearing evidence of the thriving condition of the proprietor, who, if he lives near the river, is also generally engaged in the timber trade, and employs large gangs of lumberers in the woods. The following picture of one of these industrious and active individuals, who had settled near Fredericton, may serve, with few exceptions, for the whole class:—This man was worth absolutely nothing when he settled on his farm, yet by industry and perseverance, he had acquired, in seven years, a handsome independence. “He could do little more than read and write; and his manners, though quite unpolished, were not rude. He had a wonderful readiness of address, and, as far as related to his own pursuits, quick powers of invention and application. He raised large crops, ground his own corn, manufactured the flax he cultivated and the wool of his sheep into coarse cloths; sold the provisions which his farm produced, and rum and British goods, to the lumberers, and received timber in payment. He made axes and other tools required by the lumberers, at his forge. He ate, gambled, and associated with his own labourers, and all others, who made his house a kind of rallying point; he appeared, however, to be a sober man, and a person who had in view an object of gain in every thing he engaged in.” The person thus described was an American; and it is an indisputable fact, that there are no people who can more readily adapt themselves to all the circumstances peculiar to a new colony than the descendants of the first settlers in the United States. They exhibit much more perseverance and ingenuity than the British colonists; and though the English farmer is decidedly superior to the Yankee in agricultural knowledge, the latter possesses, in a greater degree, a quickness of invention where any thing is required that can be supplied by the use of edge tools. An American settler is not only a carpenter and joiner, but he can, if necessary, turn his hand to various other handicrafts;—he tans leather, builds boats, makes baskets, soap, and sugar; and is his own smith, farrier, tailor, and shoemaker. Almost every farmer has a loom in his house, and his wife and daughters spin the yarn from the wool and flax produced on the farm, and afterwards weave it into cloth. The home-manufactured woollen cloth is rather coarse, but extremely durable; it is generally dyed a blue colour.

Indian Town.
(River St. John.)

The habitations of the Americans who have settled in the British colonies are generally better constructed than those of any other settlers who have not had the advantage of many years’ residence in the country. But though the house of the English emigrant, from his imperfect knowledge of the use of edge tools, is usually a very clumsy affair, the peculiar neatness and comfort which prevails within doors more than compensates for the want of mechanical skill displayed without.

It has been well observed, that the virtue of cleanliness is one of those which Englishwomen never forget; I may add, that no women exhibit more industry and cheerfulness than the wives of the English settlers. It is no uncommon thing to see amongst them women, who have been tenderly and delicately brought up, milking their own cows, making their own butter, and performing tasks of household work from which they formerly would have shrunk. But a determination to conform to circumstances, soon reconciles a sensible woman to the duties of her new situation; and that which was at first irksome, becomes, in a short time, not only endurable, but a source of real gratification. The value of an industrious, active, and cheerful partner, can be estimated by no one so well as a settler in a new colony. It is to her that he owes all his domestic comforts and enjoyments. Like the prudent housewife described by King Solomon, “She seeketh wool and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness.” Her accomplishments are numerous, but not exactly those that a fine lady in England might expect. Her skill is shown in the arts of manufacturing maple sugar; candle and soap-making; baking, cooking, salting meat and fish, knitting stockings and mittens, spinning woollen yarns, feeding poultry, managing a dairy, and, lastly, in mending and making clothes for herself, her husband, and children. These are the occupations of an emigrant’s wife; and if a female cannot resolve to enter upon them cheerfully, she should never think of settling in the woods of Canada or New Brunswick.

The grand features of American scenery cannot be viewed to greater advantage than when sailing down one of those vast rivers which roll the accumulated tributes of a thousand streams in one majestic flood to the ocean. For this reason, I would recommend any traveller wishing to proceed from Fredericton to St. John, to take his passage by one of the steam-boats which ply between these places. Descending the St. John, the traveller cannot avoid remarking the extreme beauty of the shores, which present a succession of undulating hills, alternating with plains of the richest alluvial land. Sometimes the river assumes the appearance of a picturesque lake, studded with islands of varied form and size, reflecting, in its glassy surface, the tints of the lofty pine woods, by which it seems hemmed in. At other times, confined between rocky shores, it rushes onward with troubled speed; until, again expanding into a broad stream, it glides, in tranquil beauty, between its beautiful shores. Frequently, struck by the grandeur of the scenery by which we were passing, have I longed to gaze upon it at my leisure; but our boat, like the monster Time, stayed not for my ardent wishes; and a passing glimpse was often all I could obtain of those wild and beautiful spots. Yet purer pleasure I have seldom experienced than when gliding down this noble river. I can now picture to myself the dense and lofty forests, clothing the upland slopes; the lofty hills that overhung the stream, with pleasant vales between, full of rich fields and green pastures, sprinkled with flocks and herds, and here and there the cheerful white shingled dwellings of the industrious settlers. Sometimes the white sail of a fisherman’s boat, or the painted canoe of the Indian, would cross us in our course. Numerous timber rafts, dropping sluggishly down with the stream, were overtaken and passed by us, with groups of lumberers stretched lazily on the floating mass, smoking, drinking, or sleeping in the sun, and enjoying their brief respite from slavish toil by uncontrolled abandonment to the luxury of idleness. I shall not, however, attempt a very minute description of the beautiful and fertile shores of the St. John River, which, in its descent from Fredericton to the Long Reach, receives the waters of the Washedemoak and Grand Lake from the east, and the Oromocto from the west. At the head of the Long Reach, the lands on either side, and the pretty islands which divide the river into several streams, are unequalled in beauty and fertility. Belle Isle Bay, a fine sheet of water, branches off here, and extends into the country a considerable distance. The spacious estuary of the Kennebecasis next attracts our attention. The shores are abrupt and rocky, but highly cultivated. A lovely tract of land called Sussex Vale lies near the head of the bay, thickly populated, and evincing by its appearance the prosperity and industry of its inhabitants. About a mile above the city of St. John, the river, contracted from the spacious opening of the Kennebecasis Bay, foams over and amongst a number of huge rocky masses, which appear to have been hurled from the adjacent heights into the bed of the stream, and, except at certain times of the tide, render the navigation of the river completely impracticable. This cataract, or rather succession of cataracts, forms what is called The Falls of St. John. Above the Falls, the expanded river forms a bay of some extent, surrounded by high and rugged woodlands. At the lower end of this bay, and at a short distance from the Falls, stands the picturesque village of Indian Town, which, owing to the hindrance of the navigation of the river by the Falls, has become a kind of lesser port to St. John, where numbers of small craft load and unload their cargoes. The steamer for Fredericton also lies here; the distance to St. John being not more than a mile and a half, by a good road. The best view of the Upper Falls is obtained from the bold heights about midway between Indian Town and St. John. From this spot, looking up the river, the waters are seen rushing in an immense body through the scattered rocks which intercept their progress:—above the Falls the quiet bay spreads out its blue waves, as if in contrast to the turmoil below, winding round the abrupt promontories, and washing the white walls of the village of Indian Town, which is here a beautiful object in the picture.

Split Rock.
(St. John River.)

The Split Rock is that portion of the Falls lying nearest to St. John. The river here, pent between steep and rugged rocks, foams through its narrow channel with a tremendous roaring noise. The accompanying engraving represents these Rapids as they appear at low water, when the turbulent stream assumes an aspect of terrible and imposing grandeur. The approach to St. John from Indian Town is through the adjoining village of Portland, a place of some importance as regards the trade and commerce carried on there. It is the great depôt for the timber brought down from the interior of the country, and the principal wharfs and warehouses being situated in this part of the city, the traffic is consequently most considerable there.

The intelligent and amusing author of “Sam Slick,” speaking of the harbour of St. John, says:—“No person on entering this harbour, for the first time, could suppose that it was the outlet of one of the largest rivers on the American continent, as it is in no way to be distinguished in appearance from any of those numerous inlets of the sea that render the coast of the British provinces every where accessible to ships of the largest class. As soon, however, as he gets a view of this noble stream, and becomes acquainted with its magnitude, he feels that St. John is destined by nature, as well as by the activity and intelligence of its inhabitants, to become the next largest city to New York on this continent.” To judge of the importance of its situation, the spectator should view the Harbour and City of St. John from the heights over Portland. From this vantage ground the landscape is magnificent. He will behold, as upon a map spread beneath his feet, prairies, mountains, and woods; the noble harbour; the town, with masts of ships, spires of churches, and houses of various sizes and colours; the heights of Carleton, on the opposite side of the harbour; and, spreading away to the southward, the Bay of Fundy, with the distant shores of Nova Scotia, emerging darkly from the waters: these, with numerous other picturesque features, form a splendid and beautiful panorama.

St. John from the Signal.

The artist of this work obtained another charming and extensive prospect of St. John from the Signal, which is planted on the summit of a commanding eminence that rises immediately behind the pretty little village of Carleton.[[7]] The aspect of the town from this position is exceedingly fine. Situated on a rocky peninsula projecting into a safe, spacious, and convenient harbour, it appears designed by nature to command the trade of the vast tract of country lying between it and the River St. Lawrence. Indeed, from the appearance of its public buildings,—of its wharfs and warehouses,—of the noble ships that crowd its port, and of the numerous steamers that are perpetually plying to and from Boston, Annapolis, Windsor, and other places,—it is but reasonable to infer that the time is not far distant when this town will assume an important position in the commercial world. At the entrance of the harbour is Partridge Island, on which there is a light-house and a quarantine station; and further in the harbour, a bar, extending across from the western side beyond the point on which the city stands. A beacon has been placed on this bar, which is quite dry at low water. The tide, which runs with extraordinary force, rises in this harbour from twenty-five to thirty feet perpendicular.

St. John and Portland, New Brunswick.

The streets of St. John, owing to the unevenness of the ground upon which the town has been built, are very irregular, although considerable pains have been taken to level and smooth the rugged surface. The government and public buildings are generally appropriate and handsome. The principal are the court house, a marine hospital, a poor house, a gaol, and two fine ranges of barracks, with government store-houses at the lower cove, which have materially improved the appearance of this quarter of the city. There are also two Episcopal churches, one an old wooden structure, the other a modern erection, built in the gothic style, of rough stone; a handsome Scotch kirk, two or three neat Methodist chapels, one Catholic and one Baptist place of worship, and several religious humane and useful societies in St. John. The country around the town, as I have already observed, is exceedingly picturesque; and the inhabitants are fond of making little excursions and pic-nic parties[[8]] to favourite places during the summer. I visited one of these delightful spots during my sojourn at St. John. It lies within an easy walk of the town, and bears the romantic name of Lily Lake. A straggling road leads to within a short distance of it, from whence, striking off by a tangled path, through broken ground, I came suddenly upon the object of my search—a sweet little lake, reposing in the bosom of a wild valley, upon whose picturesque sides the feathery larch, the graceful beech, the wild cherry, the Indian pear, with the hazel, juniper and dogwood tree, formed many a natural thicket and delicious arbour, whose thick roof of verdant branches is, through the long summer’s day,—

“——alive

And musical with birds, that sing and sport

In wantonness of spirit; while below,

The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect,

Chirps merrily.”

St. John is seen to great advantage from the shores of Lily Lake:—seated on its rugged peninsula, with houses rising above houses to the summit of the hill, on whose highest point the tower of the Methodist chapel forms a striking object, the town makes, with the surrounding scenery, an exceedingly pretty picture.

Lily Lake.

Having now conducted my readers, from the Canadian boundary, through a vast extent of territory, tracing, in our route, the course of the magnificent river St. John, with its myriads of lakes and tributary streams, opening an inland navigation to almost every part of this fine province, I shall next make a rambling tour through the sister colony of Nova Scotia, describing, as I go along, the most striking and romantic features of that country, which will form the concluding portion of this work. Before quitting New Brunswick, I shall offer a few brief observations on some of the most prominent advantages and disadvantages of the colony. The rigours of the climate in winter, about which so much has been said, and which seems to have deterred many English emigrants from settling here, have been considerably exaggerated. The fact is, the climate has of late been materially ameliorated; the winters are by no means so severe, or of the same duration, as they were fifteen or twenty years since. The reason is obvious: the rapidity with which settlers are clearing the forest, and opening the face of the earth to the light of day, gives to the sun’s influence a much greater extent of country annually; as a natural consequence, the snows melt more early and rapidly, and the winters become proportionably short. When the colony was but thinly inhabited, the winter commenced early in November, and continued generally until the end of April; latterly, however, there has been no dead winter until Christmas, and the spring has usually opened in the beginning of April. But even the winter has its advantages and pleasures. The snow which falls then protects the herbage and winter grain from the severity of the frost, and natural roads are formed on the hardened snow, which materially facilitate the labours of the farmer and the lumberer. When the cold is extreme, the inhabitants keep within doors; and, fuel being abundant, they feel little of the severity of the frost without. As soon as a favourable change takes place in the weather, the roads and rivers are again alive with sleighs and sleds, drawn by horses, and posting at a rapid rate, in all directions, over the glassy surface of the ice; the former as vehicles of pleasure, and the latter laden with provisions for the markets. Many settlers travel in these sleds from two to three hundred miles to the city for a market, (such trips being seldom made more than once a year,) when they barter their farm produce for tea, tobacco, hardware, and other luxuries which their farms do not yield. The summer, as I have already observed, is truly delightful; the air, notwithstanding the heat, is pure, and the nights at this season exceed in splendour the most beautiful in Europe. The autumn very much resembles an English autumn—the days warm, and the evenings delightfully cool. The productions of the province necessary for man’s support are various and abundant:—wheat and Indian corn, with hay on the intervale[[9]] lands. Peas, beans, carrots, turnips, mangel-worzel, and other culinary vegetables, thrive remarkably well. Melons, pumpkins, and cucumbers are produced in the open fields. Apple trees, though not yet sufficiently plentiful, thrive well in the upper parts of the province. Grapes, cherries, raspberries, strawberries, cranberries, blueberries, currants, and gooseberries, are indigenous to the country, and are found in abundance in the woods. As far as raspberries are concerned, it is a singular circumstance, that, immediately after the clearing of a piece of land, its whole surface, unless kept down by annual crops, will be overrun with raspberry bushes, which in the second year are in full bearing. The most serious disadvantage under which New Brunswick labours is a deficiency of roads. There are, it is true, roads between the principal towns and settlements, but they cannot be said to be continually effective, or in a state to afford a constant and practicable mode of conveyance. Few of them are passable for carriages for any considerable distance, and at many seasons of the year are wholly untraversable. The most important is the post road from Nova Scotia to Canada, which crosses the province diagonally from the city of St. John, and runs parallel to St. John River, on its western side. It is passable for carriages fourteen miles above Fredericton, but only in summer: in spring and autumn it is very wet; and in winter, the only mode of travelling is by the ice, on the river.

Scene in the bay of Annapolis.

The distance from St. John River to Annapolis Bason in Nova Scotia[[10]] may be about thirty miles, across the Bay of Fundy, the passage being usually performed by the steam packets which run regularly between these places. The entrance to the bason is through a narrow strait, called Digby Gut, whose precipitous sides suggest the idea of a passage having been opened through the North Mountain by some violent convulsion of nature. On entering the bason, one of the most magnificent havens in America opens to the view; on its western shore the small but beautiful village of Digby is situated, on the gentle slope of a hill, commanding a view of part of Granville and Clements, and of the broad Bay of Annapolis, which receives the collected waters of the Annapolis, Moose, and Bear rivers. The air of Digby is remarkably salubrious, and the situation particularly agreeable in summer. The author of “Sam Slick,” in his pleasant work, eulogizes this town as “The Brighton of Nova Scotia, the resort of the valetudinarians who take refuge here from the unrelenting fogs, hopeless sterility, and calcareous waters of St. John.” We can forgive this partiality on the part of the talented writer, who is always enthusiastic in his praise of Nova Scotia; and, without depreciating the merits of a neighbouring colony, accord to Digby the praise of being a delightful and healthy summer residence. The shores of the bay are eminently picturesque—displaying all the softer features of English park scenery, mingled with the primeval wildness of an American landscape in all its sylvan luxuriance and solitude.

An Old Fort in Nova Scotia.

The same steamer which conveyed you to Digby takes you, if you wish it, on to Annapolis, a small town situated on the river Annapolis, at the eastern extremity of the bay. It is built upon the extremity of a peninsula, which, projecting into the river, forms two beautiful basons, one above and the other below the town. This place, the earliest settlement, and the capital of the province, while under the dominion of France, was called Port Royal; but changed to Annapolis Royal, in honour of Queen Anne, in whose reign it was ceded to England. Mr. Haliburton tells us that, “in addition to its being the most ancient, it is also the most loyal city of this Western Hemisphere. This character it has always sustained; and ‘royal,’ as a mark of peculiar favour, has ever been added to its cognomen by every government that has ever had dominion over it.” But royal patronage does not seem to have done much towards improving the condition of the place, for it has increased little in size or population since the conquest of the province. It is, however, a respectable town, and contains—a government-house, court-house, Episcopalian and Methodist churches, a respectable academy, supported by a legislative grant, commodious barracks, and several handsome private buildings. From the circumstance of the first governors of the province having resided at Annapolis, many of the most interesting subjects relating to the history of the colony are connected with this town. Indeed, it is impossible to walk in its pleasant environs, without being struck with the “old world” look of the country,—the quickset hedges, and the neatness of the farms and gardens, reminding one forcibly of an English rural scene. The view that best pleased me in this neighbourhood was that from the old fort of Annapolis, on the south-western extremity of the peninsula, which commands a fine prospect of the broad and beautiful bason, the settlements on the Granville shore, and part of Clements. These fortifications, which were erected at an immense expense, are in a dilapidated condition; the cannon dismounted, and incapable, in the present state, of sustaining a defence. An old block-house, in a ruinous state, has an air of antiquity rarely to be met with in this country; its venerable appearance struck me as being quite un-American.

The General’s Bridge, near Annapolis.
(Nova Scotia.)

In no part of Nova Scotia are so many natural and artificial curiosities to be met with as in the neighbourhood of Annapolis,—of these, the most singular are, the natural ice-house, a deep ravine wherein ice may be found throughout the summer,—the lake on the summit of the mountain,—the point of land on the Granville shore, opposite to Goat island, where the first piece of ground was cleared for cultivation in this colony by the French, and where is still shown the stone on which they had rudely engraved the date of their settlement, (1606,) as a memorial of their formal possession of the country,[[11]]—the iron mines, on the Moose river,—and, not the least interesting, The General’s Bridge, a romantic spot, about two miles from Annapolis, which I visited during my brief stay in this neighbourhood. The walk to it was most delightful: first, through the pretty suburbs of the town, and then, by a road through luxuriant woods, till I came suddenly upon the secluded valley, embosomed amongst undulating hills, through which rushed a rapid stream, dancing and sparkling in the bright beams of an early sun. An old wooden bridge, thrown across the brawling current, formed a striking object in the picture; while, nearer to us, the wigwams of a party of Indians, who had encamped on a slip of intervale land, completed the picturesque character of the scene. While the artist who accompanied me was engaged making his sketch of the place, I entered one of the wigwams of the Indians, and learnt that they were journeying from Annapolis to Liverpool, by way of the Rossignol Lakes, which, with the exception of two short portages, form, it is said, a continued chain of navigable water across the whole province, but rarely travelled, except by the Indians. Having purchased from the squaw a pair of slippers, ornamented very ingeniously with small glass beads and porcupine quills, and a fan formed from the skin of some fish, tastefully dyed with various colours, all of Indian manufacture, I rejoined my companion, who had completed his sketch, and returned to Annapolis. The road from Annapolis to Windsor runs parallel to the course of the Annapolis river, along that high ridge which stretches from the Digby Gut to the Bason of Minas, an extent of seventy miles of coast, without the intervention of a single harbour. This tract, notwithstanding this disadvantage, is settled by industrious families, who have, in general, excellent and well-cultivated farms. The towns are clean and thriving; but we meet none worthy of particular notice, until we reach Kentville, a prettily situated village, containing several handsome private residences, a court-house, gaol, and a good grammar-school. The views in the vicinity of Kentville are remarkably fine, and the formation of the land such as to present the greatest diversity of landscape; the chief charm of which consists in the unusual combination of hill, dale, woods, and cultivated fields,—in the calm beauty of agricultural scenery,—and in the romantic wilderness of the distant forests. The numerous orchards, and the general fertility of the land in this and the adjoining township of Horton, have procured for them the title of the “garden of the province.”

Kentville.
(Nova Scotia.)

Between Kentville and Windsor, the traveller crosses the Horton Mountain, from whence he may obtain a view of extraordinary beauty and extent. Behind him lies the township of Horton and Cornwallis, over which he has just passed, beautifully watered by the rivers that meander through them: beyond, is a lofty and extended chain of hills, presenting a vast chasm—the entrance to the Bason of Minas—through which the nineteen rivers that pour their waters into this vast reservoir appear to have forced an embouchure into the Bay of Fundy. The variety and extent of this prospect,—the rich and verdant vale of Gaspereaux,—the extended township of Horton, interspersed with groves of wood, farm-houses, orchards, and cultivated fields,—the Grand Prairie, sheltered by evergreen forests of dark foliage,—the blue highlands of the opposite side of the Bason,—and the cloud-capped summit of the lofty cape that terminates the chain of the North Mountain, form an assemblage of picturesque objects, rarely united with so striking an effect.

Windsor, Nova Scotia.
FROM THE RESIDENCE OF JUDGE HALIBURTON, AUTHOR OF SAM SLICK.

The approach to the town of Windsor, from the western road, is by a handsome wooden bridge, recently constructed over the river Avon, which was formerly crossed by means of an inconvenient and unsafe ford, passable only at low water. The Avon takes its rise in the extensive lakes that lie between Chester and Windsor; but, though navigable for some miles above the latter place, it would be little better than a large brook, were it not for the augmentation it receives from the flow of the tide from the Bason of Minas, which occasions an extraordinary rise and fall of the river at Windsor; being about thirty feet at spring tides. The Avon receives the Kennetcook, Cockmagon, and the St. Croix rivers, a short distance below Windsor, and discharges their united streams into the Bason of Minas. The country in the neighbourhood of the town is exceedingly beautiful, being agreeably diversified with hill, dale, and lawn. The luxuriance of the meadows,—the chain of high hills on the south and west, clothed with wood of variegated foliage,—and the white sails of vessels gliding through the serpentine windings of the Avon and St. Croix,—are amongst the leading features of this interesting landscape. Windsor is an extremely neat and pretty town, with a Protestant church, and Presbyterian, Methodist, Baptist, and Roman Catholic chapels. The private houses are numerous and tastefully built, and have, with few exceptions, large gardens and orchards attached to them. On an elevated and beautiful spot of ground, a short distance from the town, stands the University of King’s College, which has the power of bestowing degrees, similar to those granted by the universities of Oxford and Cambridge. The View of Windsor, shown in the accompanying engraving, was taken from a spot near the residence of Judge Haliburton,—better known in the world of letters on both sides of the Atlantic, as the author of the humorous “Sayings and Doings of Sam Slick,” the first work that ever truly delineated that most singularly amusing character—a Down-East dealer—and gave us a correct picture of the quaint, shrewd, impudent, but good-humoured Yankee, in all his striking originality of thought and action.

The Residence of Judge Haliburton.
(Author of Sam Slick.)
To whom this Plate is respectfully inscribed by the Publisher.

The spectator, in this view, is supposed to be looking down the river Avon, towards the bay: beneath him is seen the picturesque town, with its new bridge; and in the distance, the winding shores, to which the rich woods and cultivated farms give a diversified and beautiful appearance. The Residence of Judge Haliburton is a small but elegant structure, delightfully situated on an eminence, which, as I have just observed, commands a noble prospect of the whole township. This charming retreat is surrounded by thriving plantations of beech, white maple, poplar, juniper, and other ornamental trees. Fruits of the most delicate kinds are produced in the garden; indeed, the sheltered situation of Windsor is peculiarly favourable for raising the tender produce of more genial climates. Mr. Haliburton remarks, that “peaches, though subject, from the early blossoms they put forth, to be injured by frosts, have been known to ripen without artificial aid or even common shelter; and grapes, pears, and quinces, and a great variety of summer and autumnal plums, arrive at perfection in all ordinary seasons.”

The communication between Halifax and New Brunswick is maintained by means of steam packets, which ply between St. John and Windsor, from which latter place there is an excellent mail-coach road to Halifax. The passage across the Bay of Fundy, and through the Bason of Minas, is said to be rather dangerous, owing to the rapid tides, the rocky shores, and the fogs which prevail on these coasts.

Cape Blowmedon and Parrsboro’.

The Bason of Minas is one of the most remarkable and beautiful inlets in North America. Its entrance is through a strait about three miles in width, with bold craggy shores. Outside this strait, the tides in the Bay of Fundy are rapid but regular; but within, the rise of the tide is greater than in any other part of America; in spring tides it flows to the height of seventy feet in the narrow part of the bason. The phenomenon called the Bore is an attendant or rather precursor of the flood tide, which approaches in a line of foam, extending across the bay about four or five feet high, and rolling over the sands at the rate of four miles, or upwards, an hour. The appearance of the shores of the Bason of Minas, while sailing towards its entrance, is exceedingly beautiful:—the luxuriant woods, lagoons, hills, dales, bays, rivers and headlands, the numerous picturesque islands, the extensive farms, verdant prairies, and thriving villages which meet the eye on every side, form a succession of rich and varied landscapes. Near the entrance of the bason on the western shore is the remarkable headland called Cape Blomedon, or more generally—Cape Blow-me-down, which forms the termination of the chain of hills that run parallel to the shores of the Bay of Fundy from Annapolis. This headland presents a singularly abrupt and imposing appearance; its perpendicular front is of a dark red colour, and its rugged head may be seen at a great distance, emerging from the thick mists by which it is frequently encompassed. On the opposite side of the channel is the pretty little village of Parrsborough, sheltered by the bluff cliff called Partridge Island; which, resisting the force of the tides in the Bay of Fundy, makes a secure harbour for the craft engaged in the navigation of the Bason of Minas and the adjoining rivers. Through the narrow channel between Partridge Island and Cape Split, at the outer entrance of the bason, the great body of water collected in this immense reservoir escapes into the Bay of Fundy. The singular appearance of this Cape, whose detached masses of rock appear to have been shivered by some mighty convulsion of nature, and shaken from their original foundations, has never failed to excite the surprise and admiration of every stranger who has seen it. A mail-coach road runs from Windsor to Halifax, which crosses the St. Croix river at a short distance from the former place. On the border of the St. Croix Lakes is the hill of Ardoise, the highest land in the province, from whence may be had a distant prospect of Windsor, Falmouth, Newport, and the beautiful country around the Bason of Minas. The road, as we approach Halifax, winds for nearly ten miles along the western shore of Bedford Bason, which is connected with the outer harbour by a narrow passage at the dock yard;—this inner bason is a beautiful sheet of water, containing ten square miles of safe anchorage. The scenery here, though not highly romantic, is agreeably picturesque; and the shores of the bason are indented with numerous coves, and well-sheltered inlets of great beauty. About seven miles from Halifax are the ruins of what was once the favourite country residence of His Royal Highness the Duke of Kent, when commanding the forces in this province. “It is impossible,” says Mr. Haliburton, “to visit this spot without the most melancholy feelings: the tottering fences, the prostrate gates, the ruined grottoes, the long and winding avenues, cut out of the forest, overgrown by rank grass and occasional shrubs, and the silence and desolation that pervade everything around, all bespeak a rapid and premature decay, recall to mind the untimely fate of its noble and lamented owner, and tell of fleeting pleasures, and the transitory nature of all earthly things. I stopped at a small inn in the neighbourhood, for the purpose of strolling over it for the last time ere I left the country, and for the indulgence of those moralizing musings which at times harmonized with our nerves and awaked what may be called the pleasurable sensations of melancholy.”

Cape Split.
(Bay of Fundy.)

The harbour of Halifax is one of the finest in the world:—it is capacious, safe, accessible at all seasons of the year, and easy of approach for vessels of the largest size. Three miles from Halifax and near the mouth of the harbour is MacNab'’ Island, which forms two entrances, called the eastern and western passage; but the former is only used by small vessels. The North-west Arm is an inlet branching off from the main entrance of the harbour, and penetrating about four miles into the land; it winds in the rear of the town until it approaches to within half a mile of Bedford Bason, forming the peninsula upon which the town is built. The situation of Halifax is on the east side of the peninsula, on the declivity of a commanding hill, whose summit is between two and three hundred feet above the level of the sea. Near the southern part of the peninsula stands a strong martello tower, which commands on one side the harbour of Halifax, and that of the Arm on the other. The author of “Sam Slick” gives the following humorous description of the attractions to be found in its neighbourhood. “It is situated,” he writes, “at the termination of a fashionable promenade, which is skirted on one side by a thick shrubbery, and on the other by the waters of the harbour; the former being the resort of those of both sexes who delight in the impervious shade of the spruce, and the latter of those who prefer swimming and other aquatic exercises. With these attractions to the lovers of nature and a pure air, it is thronged at all hours, but more especially at day-dawn, by the valetudinarian, the aged, and infirm; and at the witching hour of moonlight, by those who are young enough to defy the dew and damp air of night.” The streets of Halifax are wide, and intersect each other at right angles; some of them are paved, others macadamized, and from the ascent and nature of the soil are usually dry. The houses, however, are irregularly built, no uniformity in the height and size being observed in their construction; handsome buildings of three and four stories high being intermingled with old and mean looking edifices. The new houses built of wood, being large, neatly finished, and painted white, are more imposing in their appearance than those of brick and stone. Amongst the public buildings, the government house,—the residence of the governor of the province for the time,—is a large gloomy-looking structure, built of freestone, and situated at the southern extremity of the town. The Province Building, which is admitted to be the most splendid edifice in North America, stands within a square in the centre of the town. It is built of freestone quarried in the province, and its plan combines elegance with strength and utility; its length is 140 feet, its breadth 70, and its elevation 45 feet. It contains the chambers of the Council, and Legislative Assembly,—the Supreme Court, with its appendant offices; also all the provincial offices,—the Halifax public library, &c. There are two Episcopal churches; one (St. Paul’s) is a handsome edifice with a tall spire; the other, the Rotunda church, at the north end of the town, is distinguished by a dome which gives it a remarkable appearance. Halifax also contains two Presbyterian, one Methodist, two Baptist, and one Roman Catholic chapel; besides a Sandemanian meeting-house. The court-house is a plain brick building. Dalhousie College, established in 1820, is a spacious and handsome structure, situate at the end of the old military parade.

View of the City of Halifax, Nova Scotia.
FROM DARTMOUTH.

Viewed from the village of Dartmouth, on the opposite shore of the harbour, the town of Halifax appears to singular advantage. The front of the town is lined with ships, warehouses, and wharfs, amongst which Cunnard’s wharf, with one of his fine steam-packets lying alongside, forms a conspicuous object. Above these the spires of the different churches and the neat tower of the methodist chapel are seen intermingled with the houses that cover the side of the hill, upon whose summit stands the citadel which commands the town and harbour. To the left, in the distance, is the entrance of the harbour; and nearer to the spectator, the numerous boats and vessels in motion upon the water, with the busy little steam ferry boat plying constantly between Dartmouth and Halifax, give life and animation to the picture.

Halifax has been always the principal naval station of British North America; and though it has lost much of its consequence since the termination of the last war, it is still the most important town in the possession of England in this part of the world, forming as it does the great military and naval depôt for her North American and West Indian colonies. The dock-yard here is the most extensive establishment of the kind out of England; it is enclosed on the land side by a high stone wall, and contains within it every requisite for repairing and refitting the largest ships. On an eminence above the dock-yard, and commanding a view of the harbour, is the residence of the admiral, who commands the squadron on the American station. There is also a large wooden building, at the south end of the town, for the use of the military commandant; with two barracks, a military hospital, ordnance and commissariat stores, &c. Halifax is the station for the North American packets, which convey the mails regularly once a month to and from Falmouth. The old worthless gun-brigs, which, to the disgrace of England, were employed for a length of time in this service, have at length been removed; and the mails are now carried by Cunnard’s splendid steamers, which frequently make the passage from England out in ten days, touch at Halifax, where they deliver the mails, and proceed without delay to Boston, which they generally reach in two days. This increased facility in the communication between England and Nova Scotia will do more towards improving the colony than any thing that has been hitherto attempted, and will be the means of making Halifax one of the most flourishing towns in British North America.

END OF VOL. II.

[2] The descendants of the French who settled in the colonies now possessed by Great Britain are distinguished by the appellations of Canadians and Acadians. The former were settled in Canada, and the latter principally in Nova Scotia, then called Acadia. The Acadians are now to be found in Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, New Brunswick, and Cape Breton; always by themselves in distinct settlements, and scarcely ever inter-marrying with strangers.
[3] The Acadian women in Prince Edward Island dress after nearly the same fashion as the Bavarian broom-girls. On Sundays their costume is peculiarly neat and picturesque; they wear over their shoulders a small blue cloth cloak reaching only half way down the body, and generally fastened at the breast with an ornamental brass brooch; on week-days they usually wear wooden shoes. The men dress in round blue jackets with standing collars, and rows of shining metal buttons placed closely down the front, scarlet waistcoats, and loose blue trowsers. Mr. McGregor, in describing the Acadian customs, says, “Among all the Acadians in Prince Edward Island I never knew but one person who had the hardihood to dress differently from what they call “notre façon.” On one occasion he ventured to put on an English coat, and he has never since, even among his relations, been called by his proper name, Joseph Gallant, which has been supplanted by that of “Joe Peacock.”
[4] St. John and Miramichi are the two places from whence the exportation of timber is principally carried on in New Brunswick. The town of Miramichi is seated at the mouth of a beautiful and majestic river of the same name, which divides into three great branches, upon whose banks dwell a thinly-scattered population, who employ themselves during the winter chiefly in hewing timber in the woods, and in rafting it down the river in summer to the places where the ships load.
[5] Many Americans make a practice of clearing a few acres of wood farm, and then setting or selling the land and improvements the first opportunity that offers. When this is accomplished they travel farther into the forest, and settle upon another farm, which they clear, build on, and dispose of in the same way they did the first.
[6] Mr. McGregor gives the following account of this dreadful conflagration: “It appears,” writes he, “that the woods had been, on both sides of the north-west branch, partially on fire for some time, but not to an alarming extent until the 7th of October, when it came on to blow furiously from the north-west, and the inhabitants on the banks of the river were suddenly alarmed by a tremendous roaring in the woods, resembling the incessant rolling of thunder; while at the same time the atmosphere became thickly darkened with smoke. They had scarcely time to ascertain the cause of this phenomenon, before all the surrounding woods appeared in one vast blaze, the flames ascending more than a hundred feet above the tops of the loftiest trees, and the fire, like a gulph in flames, rolling forward with inconceivable celerity. In less than an hour Douglastown and Newcastle were enveloped in the destroying element, and many of the wretched inhabitants perished in the midst of this terrible fire.” It was calculated that upwards of 500 persons fell victims to the conflagration throughout the province.
[7] Carleton, named from Sir Guy Carleton, one of the early governors of this province, is a thriving little place, situated on the opposite side of the harbour to St. John. The saw mills, within the aboiteaux, a little above the village, are deserving the notice of strangers. Opposite to the town is a low muddy islet called Navy Island. The Indians say that it was carried down at one time by the stream in a body. It is, however, evidently an alluvial deposit, and has been gradually formed.
[8] Pic-nic excursions are much in vogue all over America. To show how far these differ from any thing to which they may be compared in England, it may be sufficient to observe, that pic-nic parties generally consist of families of respectability, with their friends, who are on a perfectly intimate footing with each other. In summer, some romantic spot is fixed upon, to which the party proceed; if by water, which is most commonly the case, in an open boat; or if by land, in gigs or in calashes, and on horseback. The ladies consider it as within their particular province to furnish eatables: the gentlemen provide wines and spirits. At these parties there is usually less restraint and more enjoyment than at the assemblies. On some grassy glade, shaded by the luxuriant branches of forest trees, and not far from some clear spring or rivulet, the contents of the well-filled baskets are disclosed; feasting on which forms certainly the most substantial part of the day’s enjoyment; but perhaps the most agreeable is that which succeeds, when the party divides for the pleasure of walking; and there are undoubtedly “worse occupations in the world” than wandering with a pretty woman through the skirts of a wood, or along the margin of the sea, enjoying “sweet converse” and the delights of the open air and surrounding scenery. As the evening approaches they re-assemble; and the party, followed by their servant, bringing along the fragments of the pic-nic, return to the boat, in which they embark.—McGregor’s Sketches.
[9] This word in usually applied to land so situated, with respect to some adjacent stream or river, as to be occasionally overflowed by it, and thus to enjoy the advantage of alluvial deposits.
[10] The province of Nova Scotia is an extensive peninsula, connected with the continent of North America by a narrow isthmus of only eight miles in width, between Bay Verte in the Straits of Northumberland, and Cumberland Bason at the eastern extremity of the Bay of Fundy. It is supposed to have been discovered in 1497, by John Cabot, then in the service of Henry VII. of England. The first settlement was made there in 1604, by a number of French adventurers, who founded Port Royal, now Annapolis; by these the country was named Acadia. The occupation by France of this important province was opposed by England, and was the cause of the hostilities between these countries in America, which did not terminate until France was stripped of all her North American possessions by the peace of 1763.
[11] This stone was discovered in 1827: it is about two feet and a half long and two feet broad; on the upper part are engraved the square and compass of the free-mason, and in the centre, in large and deeply cut Arabic figures, the date 1606.