As I promised you I will try and tell you a little about Halifax.
Halifax is, as you all know, the capital of Nova Scotia, which is one of the provinces of British North America, and thus is under the dominion of the Queen. It is just what I should imagine a real old English city to be—very odd and antiquated, and yet picturesquely beautiful, and altogether a most charming place in which to spend a summer.
Never shall I forget the stroll I took alone the second morning after my arrival. The day was one of those rarely perfect ones in July. All nature seemed wrapped in a dreamy repose; the heat of the sun was tempered by the soft sea breezes blowing from the grand old ocean not many leagues away, whose roar sounded like the voice of many waters, soothing, restful, and sweet.
It happened that my wanderings led me in to some of the older portions of the city where the houses are many of them two hundred years old. And such funny, queer old houses. They seemed, somehow, to have a slanting look to them; it may have been, however, that it was because the streets were so hilly, and such a contrast to our flat, level prairies.
Right in the midst of the city, among the stores (shops they call them) and houses one comes suddenly upon the graveyards—some of them not now in use, but still left there. What interested me was the flat tombstones. When a little girl my father used to tell me of how the children would take their dolls to the cemetery and play upon and under the grave stones. Do I hear you exclaim, “What, play under a grave stone!” I do not wonder, for it seemed a funny thing to me, but it was quite clear when I saw how the marble slabs were placed. Instead of standing in an upright position, as you have always seen them, they were laid flat and raised some distance from the ground (high enough for a child to crawl under comfortably) by means of little marble posts. I used often to roam through these cemeteries with a dear old gentleman who would tell me stories of the brave young sailor boys buried there, far away from their own loved English homes.
Halifax is one of the most strongly fortified cities in America, and at every turn one meets the red coated soldiers in the streets—when they are not on duty. What would interest our boys would be to see a sham battle; the officers and soldiers all in uniform, eager and active as for a real encounter with the enemy.
One day I went to visit the strongest fort the city contains. It is called Citadel Hill, and overlooks and commands the harbor; which by the way, is considered one of the finest in the world. This Citadel is merely an immense hill, covering nearly half a mile of ground and situated in the very heart of the city. When you have climbed to the top you come upon a large opening, and looking down see a long flight of iron steps leading to the ground, many, many feet below. The hill is excavated and stored with arms and ammunition of all kinds, and great cannons, that look so cruel. All along the outer edge of this excavation were little rooms in which the married soldiers lived with their families. I pitied the little children that had to live in this way, without any home feeling—never knowing at what moment their father might be called away, for a soldier’s life is necessarily a roving one.
This hill would make a grand coasting place in the winter, and one which I have no doubt the little Blue Nose boys and girls often avail themselves of. In Halifax not only the boys and girls, but the men and women also, make much more of winter sports than we do. The large and elegant skating rink I hear has just been opened and, the regimental band have given a grand concert in honor of the occasion.
Snow-shoeing used to be indulged in largely, but in the city the custom is, I believe, somewhat falling off. I do not think you Western boys and girls could hardly imagine what odd, pretty suits the girls make to go skating and snow-shoeing in. The one I saw was made of two large white flannel bed-blankets, with a bright scarlet and blue border. The suit consisted of a skirt, circular-like cloak, and cap with a long side flap to it, which hung nearly to the shoulder. My cousin dressed herself all up in her pretty rig and then got down her wooden snow-shoes and buckled them on. She looked like a winter fairy all ready for an Arctic expedition.
I must confess I could hardly understand how she could manage to walk in the great unwieldy looking shoes, which were nearly five times as large as an ordinary shoe, but she assured me it was great fun and easily done.