« ПретходнаНастави »
"O," he inquired calmly. "Where, just across the street?"
"Why"-she answered-"why in a shop, you know."
"Very well!" said Weatherstone, striding along by the trim little figure, "that'll be all right. I hate a snob. If that girl is like her picture she might be anywhere. Are you going in with me? How far does the bargain take you?"
"I had her picture taken you see, Don. Don't hurt me, please. You're the biggest-" the voice slipped away into nothingness.
Weatherstone turned and looked down at her. The red flamed up into his boyish face, then he went white.
Betty," he said, "it was a ghastly joke. No fellow enjoys being made a fool of. I'll never live another day under John Weatherstone's roof."
They had crossed the road, and now Mrs. Weatherstone stopped before a huge shining plate-glass window. Behind it were switches, wigs that rose and fell strangely on abnormally bald pates, simpering dummies that nodded like mandarins, bunches of love curls, white periwigs, frightful scratch wigs, false bangs, and back of them all a wonderful, wonderful French modelled head that rose out of a cloud of soft pink tulle. The beautiful eyes had such sweeping lashes as surely eyes never wore before. The pure oval of her face was unbroken, the curling bow of her mouth smiled at one, showing even pearly teeth. Her hair of light glittering gold was a dream.
"You will! You will!" she cried, half laughing and catching his hand, "and you will live to forgive me, for it has been your salvation. Remember you are through, and have your big M.D.! All on her account," nodding at the bewitching face so near. "O, dear Don, we're not made like that, don't you see, only just in factories and the minds of men. You wouldn't like anything so perfect if it came to life. Indeed, no; and you're not in love with any one, you're only in love with loving or some ideal you have formed, and you did need a lesson, Don."
He bit his moustache, then looked at her with a queer little smile. "Thanks,' "There she is, Donald," said a small, John." small voice at his elbow.
he said, "but don't tell
The young fellow was staring in at the lovely head in a fixed wooden fashion. He answered nothing.
"O, never!" she answered firmly. "Never. Now come home to luncheon."
A DEAD POET.
LONG, long ago—ah, me! how very long-
He yet doth haunt me with a strange unrest.
IF you have not yet experienced the of the sea, go eastward in the summer-time. Study its moods in mist and sunshine; see it in calm and storm; hear its myriad voices that whisper among the pebbles or thunder on the cliff; hear the low song or loud shriek of its winds; bathe in it; sail on it; let the wonder of it take hold on your imagination, as its bracing energy takes hold upon the very fibre of your physical being; and at the end you will journey west or south again with no further need of a tonic, nor any need of a Byron to tell you of the might and mystery and magic of the sea.
Aye, the Muskoka lakes are beautiful-and the St. Lawrence, with its Thousand Islands, its Rapids, its broad sweep to the sea; and to none are their charms more apparent than to the man from the seaboard. By a similar force of contrast, to none should the attractions of the seaboard, aside altogether from the question of climate, appeal more forcibly than to those from inland cities.
Canada is fortunate in that her people have, in the Maritime Provinces, a summer resort which, both in climate and natural beauty, is unsurpassed. The people of the United States recognize the fact, and from the eastern, middle and southern portions of that country a yearly growing volume of travel flows in by way of St. John, Yarmouth, Halifax and Charlottetown. It is very gratifying also to note that each year sees a larger number of visitors from Quebec and Ontario, seeking and
finding under their own flag more of health and pleasure than are to be found at the hotter and more hackneyed places farther south.
Regarding the province of New Brunswick, Prof. Shaler of Harvard, who is familiar with its topography and resources, has stated that it is superior as a farming region to any New England state; that it is the best all-round sporting region of which he has knowledge; and that of its type the scenery of the province is unsurpassed. This is a great and a just tribute. If there is a deal of agricultural wealth as yet undeveloped; if there are stretches of wilderness to shelter big game or tempt the angler; and if the natural beauty of the settled portions has not been obtrusively supplemented by the evidences of man's ambition, that, from the standpoint of the seeker after health and pleasure, is not to be deplored.
Three sides of New Brunswick are washed by the waters of ocean or bay. Large rivers flow through it, and their head waters form as remarkable a system of interlacing streams as
not wanting to lend an additional charm to this region. But that is incidental. Neither monument, nor battlefield, nor fortress marks the scene of ancient strife. St. John must rest on other grounds its chief claim to present recognition.
Do you remember Longfellow's picture?
the black wharves and the slips, And the sea-tides tossing free; And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.
The sea-tides at St. John effect a wonderful change in the appearance of the wharves and slips. The rise and fall of Fundy's tides varies here from 20 to 27 feet. One result of this is that while at flood tide you climb a ladder from the wharf to a vessel's deck, at low ebb you have to go down a ladder to reach the same deck. The remarkable variation does not interfere with work on the vessels, or with their going or coming, but the change in the whole aspect of the harbour at low
A HALT FOR LUNCHEON.
tide, as compared with its appearance at flood, is very remarkable, and must be seen to be fully appreciated. It is this tidal variation which produces the unique phenomenon of the "reversible falls," at the head of the narrow and rock-walled gorge through which the great river St. John finds outlet to harbour and bay. At low tide there is a fall outward toward the harbour, at flood it is inward toward the river basin; while at half-tide vessels pass in safety, and in perfectly smooth water.
But to get back to the harbour. Longfellow's bearded sailors are there, not only Spanish but Italian, Norwegian, French and others, besides British and American, manning the steamships and large sailing craft taking deal cargoes for harbours beyond the Atlantic. These vessels, together with the schooners from American ports,
and ports up and down the Bay of
ASHBURNE FISHING CLUB.
Fundy; the small coastwise steamers and harbour tugs; the fishing vessels from the bay; and the handsome passenger steamers that cross daily to the Land of Evangeline, or give a daily summer service to Boston, make the water front a place of lively interest. The black hulls of the steamships, which carry enormous quantities of lumber, are in striking contrast to the smaller and more graceful outlines of the sailing vessels, whose towering masts and rigging are reminiscent of old-time sailor yarns. Occasionally a ship with an unpronounceable foreign name comes into port, and somebody remembers that she was formerly the built at St. John away back in 18-," but sold some years ago to the Norwegians or Italians. For St. John no longer builds ships, and of her once magnificent sailing fleets (including some long-forgotten whalers), only a few remain on the registry of the port. Her people own steamships now, and have little use for sailing craft, except the schooners used in the coasting trade. It is worth while to visit one of the foreign ships in port. The sailors speak a foreign tongue, and everything is strange and interesting and redolent of the sea.
But the harbour has yet another feature of interest. Its waters in summer
yield salmon, shad and alewives, and in the height of the fishing season more than a hundred boats may be seen tending the nets. Very interesting, therefore, to persons who dwell inland is the ever-changing aspect and many-sided life of the harbour.
In Rockwood Park, which embraces the lovely Lily Lake and contains over 350 acres of land and water surface, St. John possesses one of the most picturesque natural parks in America. It is on high ground behind the city, and from the highest point a magnificent view of city, country and bay is obtained. There are pleasant drives through the park and boats on the lake. A pretty tea-house is another feature. Bears, moose, deer and some other animals form the nucleus of what will ultimately be a large zoological