ST. JOHN, NEW BRUNSWICK
I
When one talks to a citizen of St. John, New Brunswick, one has an
impression that his city is burnt down every half century or so in
order that he and his neighbours might build it up very much better.
This is no doubt an inaccurate impression, but when I had listened to
various brisk people telling me about the fires--the devastating one of
1877, and the minor ones of a variety of dates--and the improvements
St. John has been able to accomplish after them; and when I had seen
the city itself, I must confess I had a sneaking feeling that
Providence had deliberately managed these things so that a lively,
vigorous and up-to-date folk should have every opportunity of
reconstructing their city according to the modernity of their minds and
status.
The vigorousness of St. John is so definite that it got into our bones
though our visit was but one of hours. St. John, for us, represented
an extraordinary hustle. We arrived on the morning of Friday, August
15, after the one night when the sea had not been altogether our
friend; when the going had been "awfully kinky" (as the seasick one of
our party put it), and the spiral motif in the _Dauntless'_ wardroom
had been disturbing at meals.