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collection. Each year the work of park improvement is systematically carried on, and in time Rockwood will become one of the famous parks of Canada.

As this article is not intended to serve in any sense the purpose of a guide book, only a passing reference need be made to the Bay Shore, with its facilities for salt-water bathing; the pleasant drives to lovely suburban resorts; the good roads for wheelmen; the near-by haunts of the angler; the two-hour trip in a Clyde-built steamer across the bay; the magnificent views from neighbouring heights; the wealth of scenic beauty and picturesqueness that delights the amateur photographer; and the excellent accommodation and easy means of transit so essential to the comfort of the visitor.

But, apart from all other considerations, its position at the mouth of the St. John River makes the city. a place of far more than common interest. I am

not a member of the Royal Kennebeccasis Yacht Club, but whenever I see the white sails of the river fleet moving out from the moorings at Milledgeville, or scudding along the Reach with a stiff breeze on the quarter, some lurking spirit of the viking days leaps up within me, for nowhere in America can be found finer stretches of water, in a fairer setting, than those on which the yachtsmen of St. John enjoy their summer outings. The more one sees

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of the St. John River and its tributary lakes and streams, the more one is impressed with a sense of the weakness of words to convey to others a knowledge of the rich and varied loveliness of river and landscape.

With a total length of 450 miles, the river forms with its tributaries a great waterway in the heart of New Brunswick. Salmon and trout frequent the upper waters, and annually attract a large number of wealthy sportsmen. Great quantities of logs are floated

down to the mills at St. John. Passenger and freight steamers run between St. John and Fredericton, 84 miles up; and between St. John and points on the lakes which the river drains. There is also a steamer on the Kennebeccasis, which joins the main stream not far above the city. The river between St. John and Fredericton varies from less than one to fully three miles in width. At the Imouth of the Kennebeccasis there is a stretch of water ten miles wide, and here the yacht club already mentioned have their annual series of races. At Milledgeville, hard by, is their club house. Near St. John the river scenery is boldly picturesque, with cliffs rising at one point to a height of about 200 feet. A few miles farther on the aspect changes. The rugged outlines soften into lines of graceful beauty. Rich farm lands stretch away to the hills, broad intervales and lovely islands delight the eye; and at every turn

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some new and charming picture is revealed. Well-cultivated farms and occasional villages appear on either hand. It is one of the charms of the St. John River that there is nothing hackneyed about it. There is a serene and restful beauty that is in delightful contrast to the nerve-distracting experiences of summer life in the cities. Life is very pleasant at Westfield, the Cedars, Hampstead, and other places along the river, where many St. John people themselves go to spend a portion of the summer. From the steamer's deck the stranger sees quaint objects of interest in the schooners laden with wood or coal, or merchandise, the great rafts of logs, the scows with cargoes of deals and the yachts and smaller craft that are part of the river life. The manner in which skilful boatmen at some points pull alongside the moving steamer in midstream, make fast and transfer passengers and

baggage, and cast off again in perfect safety, is a neve ver-failing source of wonder and admiration.

And the river has a history. The modern traveller is voyaging in the wake of French governors and adventurers, and New England fighting men and pioneers of the days of old. Here, beside the Nerepis, was a French fort; at the Jemseg another; yonder, at Mangerville, New England settlers



came before the revolution; on the Nashwaak, opposite Fredericton, a French governor once made his capital, and repelled the attacks of New England foes.

Interest in the river, its beauty and its history, is supplemented by another pleasure when the steamer has arrived at Fredericton, the cathedral city and capital of New Brunswick. Here was the old French village of St. Anne's. The city lies on the shore. Its streets are level and shaded by beautiful trees. Before it flows the river, more than half-a-mile wide, spanned by railway and traffic bridges; behind it rises a high range of hills, affording a magnificent view for miles up and down and beyond the river. In Fredericton are the provincial parliament buildings, the cathedral of the Church of England, the provincial normal school, the University of New Brunswick, the old Government House, and the barracks of the R.C.R. I. Three miles away is the town of Marysville, which owes its existence to the genius of one man, Alexander Gibson-the lumber king. Frederickton is a great sporting centre, from which moose and caribou and deer hunters go out in the autumn, and salmon and trout fishermen in the summer season.

How shall one speak of the charms of this river region? There comes to me a memory of student days at Fredericton. I am afloat at night in an Indian canoe in mid-stream, drifting idly down toward the city. Overhead, a sky without a cloud, the moon and stars mirrored in the unruffled surface of the majestic river. Shoreward, more than a quarter of a mile distant on either hand, are glooms and shadows, out of which comes softly the voices of the night. Away below me, the twinkling lights of the city, and floating over the waters in softened strains the music of a band. The burden lifts from the wearied brain, the heart thrills, and from the brooding depths of a perfect night, upon the troubled spirit falls the benediction of its hallowed peace.

And yet another picture.

I am

standing at night on the verge of the cliff at Pine Bluff Camp, but a few miles above Fredricton. The only sound, save the murmur of the pines, is the song of a group of lumbermen, on a raft of logs far down the river. Their forms are silhouetted against the light of the fire that burns on the farther end of the moving raft. The moon gleams redly through the summer haze. Countless fireflies flash on the meadows. Before me, and far below, is the gleaming river, divided by lovely islands, beyond which are other gleams of moonlit water, in which the trees glass themselves. Away beyond the stream are dimly seen the meadows, the hills, and the deep woods, with only here and there a solitary farmhouse light to tell of human habitation. An hour in this entrancing spot among the pines beside the river, and then back to the city. The road is smooth. The air is fragrant with the odour of sweet brier and wild roses, and the new mown hay. Only the sound of the carriage wheels breaks the silence of the night. Irresistibly there steals. upon the heart a subtle influence, that put the cares of the work-day world to flight, and floods its chambers with the joy of perfect rest.

From the dust of sun-burned cities and the heat of their fevered walls, to the cool shores of the Bay of Fundy and the refreshing loveliness of the St. John River, is a change so full of promise and so delightful in fulfilment, that one does not wonder at the growing volume of summer travel east and northward.

Let me close with the words of the late Governor Russell, of Massachusetts :

"I know of nothing grander or more picturesque, or more beautiful, than the scenery and general appearance of the St. John valley. It is crowded with suggestion, and is full of inspiration. I speak with some enthusiasm. There are few, I fancy, who have made the trip for the first time who are not enthusiastic over it. As I said to my friends on the trip, it cannot be many years before the banks of the St. John are dotted with summer residences.


The stars are stars of morn; a keen wind wakes

The birches on the slope; the
distant hills

Rise in the vacant North; the
Chaudiere fills

The calm with its hushed roar;
the river takes

An unquiet rest, and a bird

stirs and shakes

By Norman H. Smith

TTAW and the district about it must ever have attractions for the tourist

England's London draws travellers because it is the centre of the world's business and the capital of the world's greatest political unit. New York attracts the sight-seer because it is the commercial capital of the United States, though it lacks a Westminster Abbey and a set of Governmental buildings. Ottawa is the Washington of Canada. Its centre of attraction is the cluster of buildings that adorn Parliament Hill. Around this centre are the charms of a noble river, the picturesqueness of the Chaudiere Falls, and the proximity to fishing and hunting grounds which each year provide pleasures for a growing body of sportsmen.

Duncan Campbell Scott has described Ottawa, before dawn, in the following lines:

The morn with music; a snatch
of singing thrills,
From the river; and the air
clings and chills.

Fair, in the South, fair as a
shrine that makes
The wonder of a dream, im-
perious towers



The building is rotunda in form, possessing an imposing interior with a central height of 140 ft. This great height is attained by the use of flying buttresses as shown in the photograph. The nature and value of this form of building is well explained in sec. 1, chapter v. "European Architecture,' by Russell Sturgis (Macmillan). The library contains nearly two hundred thousand volumes.

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