Chester is a summer resort, beautifully situated and all that, but I have a grudge against Chester and shall say no good word for it. My lunch consisted of a few crackers and apples procured at Martins River, a sawmill growth; the train for Halifax left Chester at 5:35 o’clock, arriving about 8 p. m. I dropped into the Lovett House about 4:30 o’clock for a bite to eat. The proprietor was not to be found, only a crabbed suffragette sort of woman who did not propose to take any trouble for strangers, and with the statement that the waitress was out, she refused to move a hand herself, though the tables were set and the labor involved but trifling.
HALIFAX AND THE EVANGELINE COUNTRY.
The walking is over; in order to spend a day in the Evangeline country the railroad must do the speeding hereafter and I must omit St. Margarets Bay and all the interesting country to Halifax. I should prefer to remain a night at Peggys Cove in the hope that I too might see the ghost of the Teazer, and there is Sambro, often mentioned in the history of early times, and Ketch Harbor sounds attractive, as does many another spot that holds out invitation to the wanderer.
It can be taken as an axiom that anything different from that which one is used to is singular; hence, when I pass through a country that is everywhere riddled with glacial boulders of all sizes and, in a distance of nearly two hundred miles, see only one stone fence, and that but a short piece, it seems odd to me, used to such things, that at least the smaller stones are not so disposed of. Another singular matter is the lack of stone farm houses: not one did I see in all my journeyings, when frequently all the stone required could be gathered within a hundred yards of its site. Had the Dutch settled in these parts it would have been quite different.
Halifax is a nice little city but, from my point of view, not worth an entire day of an all too short vacation. Another time I should be inclined to cut out both Yarmouth and Halifax and lay the time out dreaming the length of some country road or drifting along the edge of one of the beautiful bays.
The histories tell us that Halifax was settled in 1746 at the solicitation of the New England colonies, in order to crowd out the French, who were inclined to use the harbor as a naval base from which to harry said colonies. The extensive fortifications on Citadel Hill are the pride of Nova Scotia, but there is no attempt to make the hill attractive outwardly. It is merely a rough pasture lot hillside, crossed by wandering footpaths with a few uninteresting cannon and fortifications in sight at the summit.
Dalhousie College is a monument to the War of 1812. It seems that at that time certain patriotic Nova Scotians moved over the borders into the eastern section of Maine, and the inhabitants thereof, in order to continue their life of ease and luxury, cheerfully took the oath of allegiance to the British crown. The customs duties collected at the port of Castine were kept when the land was surrendered at the close of the war, and this money was known as the “Castine Fund.” After much debate as to what should be done with it, the entire amount was used for the endowment of Dalhousie College.
St. George’s Church is interesting from the fact, if it is a fact, that the building was erected in circular form in order that there might be no corners in which the Devil could hatch mischief for such idle hands as might come within the holy precincts, it would thus appear that those who wish to avoid the machinations of the evil one should avoid dark corners.
I took up my abode in the King Edward Hotel because it was near the depot. This was satisfactory in most respects. The head waiter did not fill his job very full, but much can be forgiven any hotel that places before its patrons that dear delight which the King Edward calls “pie,” a rich stew of some fruit on which is placed a square of rather thick, but very light and fluffy pastry. It is more after the manner of some of the old Astor House “deep dish” confections than any other that I know of, but, in the language of the late Mr. Noah Webster, has even those skinned a mile, all due to the remarkably light, flaky nature of the pastry and exceeding richness of the cooked fruit.