NEW GLASGOW.—THE RIDE TO TRURO.—THE RAILWAY RIDE TO
HALIFAX.—PARTING WITH THE PAINTER.
TUESDAY, _July 26_. New Glasgow. We halt here for breakfast, after a
sociable and merry ride of several hours from Antigonish, where, after a
refreshing sleep, we were favored by a change of coaches, and the
pleasant company of an officer of the English army. Here is a broad and
fertile vale with a pretty river and town; all reminding us of New
England. Across the river are coal-mines, a railroad, and the roar of
cars, merely coal-cars, however. Tide-water is close by, setting in from
the Strait of Northumberland, the lengthy water lying between the
mainland and Prince Edward’s Island. We are all ready for our ride to
Truro, on Mines Bay, or a spur of it, an eastern reach of the Bay of
Fundy, and distant forty miles, where we take the cars for Halifax, or
all the world. Those wonderful cars! Why, at Truro, I shall begin to
feel at home, a point more remote than Europe, in the day of only sails
and horse-power.
The ride is cheering, as we take it on the coach-top in the breezy,
bright day. Broad farms, with barns and dwellings, grass and grain and
orchards, cattle and bleating sheep spread out upon the hills, and
stretch along the valleys. The plain of Truro has many of the features
of a populous and well-cultivated county. Its groves and trees and wide
meadows, waiting for the mower, form a pretty and extended landscape.
The town itself, reached at three o’clock, with its central square and
grass and shades, is too much like a village of New England to need
further mention. While at dinner, the whistle of the locomotive
indicated the direction of the station, a welcome call, which we obeyed
with rather more than ordinary alacrity. The ride to Halifax, which
occupied from four o’clock until dusk, was by no means at Yankee speed,
and took us through a thinly inhabited country, somewhat broken, and
interspersed with woods and waters—a region that makes no very definite
or lasting impression, and yet one that the traveller looks out upon
with some pleasure. The last few miles along the banks of the river
flowing into Halifax Bay was a lovely valley ride. Rounded hills and
bluffs green and bowery, and handsome residences looking out between
pretty groves and down grassy lawns, never appeared more attractive. Had
we been going the other way, perhaps they would not have seemed
deserving of more than a passing look. In the weary hours, and along the
torrid portions of the path of life, I am sure that I shall remember the
quiet, refreshing scenery of that river, and wish myself among its
graceful and placid beauties. From the noisy station we trundled in an
omnibus through the narrow streets of an old-fashioned, hill-side city,
crowned with a fortress looking off south upon a bay and the distant
ocean, and alighted at a hotel of stories and many windows, where we
heard a gong, instrument of Pandemonium, and took tea with the relish of
medicine, and talked over the conclusion of our journey. As haste was
more requisite on my part, I resolved to post across the province to
Windsor, that night, and leave the painter to wend his way homeward at
his leisure.