which the town has been built, are very irregular, although considerable
pains have been taken to level and smooth the rugged surface. The
government and public buildings are generally appropriate and handsome.
The principal are the court house, a marine hospital, a poor house, a
gaol, and two fine ranges of barracks, with government store-houses at
the lower cove, which have materially improved the appearance of this
quarter of the city. There are also two Episcopal churches, one an old
wooden structure, the other a modern erection, built in the gothic
style, of rough stone; a handsome Scotch kirk, two or three neat
Methodist chapels, one Catholic and one Baptist place of worship, and
several religious humane and useful societies in St. John. The country
around the town, as I have already observed, is exceedingly picturesque;
and the inhabitants are fond of making little excursions and pic-nic
parties[8] to favourite places during the summer. I visited one of these
delightful spots during my sojourn at St. John. It lies within an easy
walk of the town, and bears the romantic name of LILY LAKE. A straggling
road leads to within a short distance of it, from whence, striking off
by a tangled path, through broken ground, I came suddenly upon the
object of my search—a sweet little lake, reposing in the bosom of a
wild valley, upon whose picturesque sides the feathery larch, the
graceful beech, the wild cherry, the Indian pear, with the hazel,
juniper and dogwood tree, formed many a natural thicket and delicious
arbour, whose thick roof of verdant branches is, through the long
summer’s day,—
“——alive
And musical with birds, that sing and sport
In wantonness of spirit; while below,
The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect,
Chirps merrily.”
St. John is seen to great advantage from the shores of Lily
Lake:—seated on its rugged peninsula, with houses rising above houses
to the summit of the hill, on whose highest point the tower of the
Methodist chapel forms a striking object, the town makes, with the
surrounding scenery, an exceedingly pretty picture.
[Illustration: _Lily Lake._]
Having now conducted my readers, from the Canadian boundary, through a
vast extent of territory, tracing, in our route, the course of the
magnificent river St. John, with its myriads of lakes and tributary
streams, opening an inland navigation to almost every part of this fine
province, I shall next make a rambling tour through the sister colony of
Nova Scotia, describing, as I go along, the most striking and romantic
features of that country, which will form the concluding portion of this
work. Before quitting New Brunswick, I shall offer a few brief
observations on some of the most prominent advantages and disadvantages
of the colony. The rigours of the climate in winter, about which so much
has been said, and which seems to have deterred many English emigrants
from settling here, have been considerably exaggerated. The fact is, the
climate has of late been materially ameliorated; the winters are by no
means so severe, or of the same duration, as they were fifteen or twenty
years since. The reason is obvious: the rapidity with which settlers are
clearing the forest, and opening the face of the earth to the light of
day, gives to the sun’s influence a much greater extent of country
annually; as a natural consequence, the snows melt more early and
rapidly, and the winters become proportionably short. When the colony
was but thinly inhabited, the winter commenced early in November, and
continued generally until the end of April; latterly, however, there has
been no dead winter until Christmas, and the spring has usually opened
in the beginning of April. But even the winter has its advantages and
pleasures. The snow which falls then protects the herbage and winter
grain from the severity of the frost, and natural roads are formed on
the hardened snow, which materially facilitate the labours of the farmer
and the lumberer. When the cold is extreme, the inhabitants keep within
doors; and, fuel being abundant, they feel little of the severity of the
frost without. As soon as a favourable change takes place in the
weather, the roads and rivers are again alive with sleighs and sleds,
drawn by horses, and posting at a rapid rate, in all directions, over
the glassy surface of the ice; the former as vehicles of pleasure, and
the latter laden with provisions for the markets. Many settlers travel
in these sleds from two to three hundred miles to the city for a market,
(such trips being seldom made more than once a year,) when they barter
their farm produce for tea, tobacco, hardware, and other luxuries which
their farms do not yield. The summer, as I have already observed, is
truly delightful; the air, notwithstanding the heat, is pure, and the
nights at this season exceed in splendour the most beautiful in Europe.
The autumn very much resembles an English autumn—the days warm, and the
evenings delightfully cool. The productions of the province necessary
for man’s support are various and abundant:—wheat and Indian corn, with
hay on the intervale[9] lands. Peas, beans, carrots, turnips,
mangel-worzel, and other culinary vegetables, thrive remarkably well.
Melons, pumpkins, and cucumbers are produced in the open fields. Apple
trees, though not yet sufficiently plentiful, thrive well in the upper
parts of the province. Grapes, cherries, raspberries, strawberries,
cranberries, blueberries, currants, and gooseberries, are indigenous to
the country, and are found in abundance in the woods. As far as
raspberries are concerned, it is a singular circumstance, that,
immediately after the clearing of a piece of land, its whole surface,
unless kept down by annual crops, will be overrun with raspberry bushes,
which in the second year are in full bearing. The most serious
disadvantage under which New Brunswick labours is a deficiency of roads.
There are, it is true, roads between the principal towns and
settlements, but they cannot be said to be continually effective, or in
a state to afford a constant and practicable mode of conveyance. Few of
them are passable for carriages for any considerable distance, and at
many seasons of the year are wholly untraversable. The most important is
the post road from Nova Scotia to Canada, which crosses the province
diagonally from the city of St. John, and runs parallel to St. John
River, on its western side. It is passable for carriages fourteen miles
above Fredericton, but only in summer: in spring and autumn it is very
wet; and in winter, the only mode of travelling is by the ice, on the
river.
[Illustration: _Scene in the bay of Annapolis._]
The distance from St. John River to Annapolis Bason in Nova Scotia[10]
may be about thirty miles, across the Bay of Fundy, the passage being
usually performed by the steam packets which run regularly between these
places. The entrance to the bason is through a narrow strait, called
Digby Gut, whose precipitous sides suggest the idea of a passage having
been opened through the North Mountain by some violent convulsion of
nature. On entering the bason, one of the most magnificent havens in
America opens to the view; on its western shore the small but beautiful
village of Digby is situated, on the gentle slope of a hill, commanding
a view of part of Granville and Clements, and of the broad BAY OF
ANNAPOLIS, which receives the collected waters of the Annapolis, Moose,
and Bear rivers. The air of Digby is remarkably salubrious, and the
situation particularly agreeable in summer. The author of “Sam Slick,”
in his pleasant work, eulogizes this town as “The Brighton of Nova
Scotia, the resort of the valetudinarians who take refuge here from the
unrelenting fogs, hopeless sterility, and calcareous waters of St.
John.” We can forgive this partiality on the part of the talented
writer, who is always enthusiastic in his praise of Nova Scotia; and,
without depreciating the merits of a neighbouring colony, accord to
Digby the praise of being a delightful and healthy summer residence. The
shores of the bay are eminently picturesque—displaying all the softer
features of English park scenery, mingled with the primeval wildness of
an American landscape in all its sylvan luxuriance and solitude.
[Illustration: _An Old Fort in Nova Scotia._]
The same steamer which conveyed you to Digby takes you, if you wish it,
on to Annapolis, a small town situated on the river Annapolis, at the
eastern extremity of the bay. It is built upon the extremity of a
peninsula, which, projecting into the river, forms two beautiful basons,
one above and the other below the town. This place, the earliest
settlement, and the capital of the province, while under the dominion of
France, was called Port Royal; but changed to Annapolis Royal, in honour
of Queen Anne, in whose reign it was ceded to England. Mr. Haliburton
tells us that, “in addition to its being the most ancient, it is also
the most loyal city of this Western Hemisphere. This character it has
always sustained; and ‘royal,’ as a mark of peculiar favour, has ever
been added to its cognomen by every government that has ever had
dominion over it.” But royal patronage does not seem to have done much
towards improving the condition of the place, for it has increased
little in size or population since the conquest of the province. It is,
however, a respectable town, and contains—a government-house,
court-house, Episcopalian and Methodist churches, a respectable academy,
supported by a legislative grant, commodious barracks, and several
handsome private buildings. From the circumstance of the first governors
of the province having resided at Annapolis, many of the most
interesting subjects relating to the history of the colony are connected
with this town. Indeed, it is impossible to walk in its pleasant
environs, without being struck with the “old world” look of the
country,—the quickset hedges, and the neatness of the farms and
gardens, reminding one forcibly of an English rural scene. The view that
best pleased me in this neighbourhood was that from THE OLD FORT OF
ANNAPOLIS, on the south-western extremity of the peninsula, which
commands a fine prospect of the broad and beautiful bason, the
settlements on the Granville shore, and part of Clements. These
fortifications, which were erected at an immense expense, are in a
dilapidated condition; the cannon dismounted, and incapable, in the
present state, of sustaining a defence. An old block-house, in a ruinous
state, has an air of antiquity rarely to be met with in this country;
its venerable appearance struck me as being quite un-American.
[Illustration: _The General’s Bridge, near Annapolis._
(Nova Scotia.)]
In no part of Nova Scotia are so many natural and artificial curiosities
to be met with as in the neighbourhood of Annapolis,—of these, the most
singular are, the natural ice-house, a deep ravine wherein ice may be
found throughout the summer,—the lake on the summit of the
mountain,—the point of land on the Granville shore, opposite to Goat
island, where the first piece of ground was cleared for cultivation in
this colony by the French, and where is still shown the stone on which
they had rudely engraved the date of their settlement, (1606,) as a
memorial of their formal possession of the country,[11]—the iron mines,
on the Moose river,—and, not the least interesting, THE GENERAL’S
BRIDGE, a romantic spot, about two miles from Annapolis, which I visited
during my brief stay in this neighbourhood. The walk to it was most
delightful: first, through the pretty suburbs of the town, and then, by
a road through luxuriant woods, till I came suddenly upon the secluded
valley, embosomed amongst undulating hills, through which rushed a rapid
stream, dancing and sparkling in the bright beams of an early sun. An
old wooden bridge, thrown across the brawling current, formed a striking
object in the picture; while, nearer to us, the wigwams of a party of
Indians, who had encamped on a slip of intervale land, completed the
picturesque character of the scene. While the artist who accompanied me
was engaged making his sketch of the place, I entered one of the wigwams
of the Indians, and learnt that they were journeying from Annapolis to
Liverpool, by way of the Rossignol Lakes, which, with the exception of
two short portages, form, it is said, a continued chain of navigable
water across the whole province, but rarely travelled, except by the
Indians. Having purchased from the squaw a pair of slippers, ornamented
very ingeniously with small glass beads and porcupine quills, and a fan
formed from the skin of some fish, tastefully dyed with various colours,
all of Indian manufacture, I rejoined my companion, who had completed
his sketch, and returned to Annapolis. The road from Annapolis to
Windsor runs parallel to the course of the Annapolis river, along that
high ridge which stretches from the Digby Gut to the Bason of Minas, an
extent of seventy miles of coast, without the intervention of a single
harbour. This tract, notwithstanding this disadvantage, is settled by
industrious families, who have, in general, excellent and
well-cultivated farms. The towns are clean and thriving; but we meet
none worthy of particular notice, until we reach KENTVILLE, a prettily
situated village, containing several handsome private residences, a
court-house, gaol, and a good grammar-school. The views in the vicinity
of Kentville are remarkably fine, and the formation of the land such as
to present the greatest diversity of landscape; the chief charm of which
consists in the unusual combination of hill, dale, woods, and cultivated
fields,—in the calm beauty of agricultural scenery,—and in the
romantic wilderness of the distant forests. The numerous orchards, and
the general fertility of the land in this and the adjoining township of
Horton, have procured for them the title of the “garden of the
province.”
[Illustration: _Kentville._
(Nova Scotia.)]
Between Kentville and Windsor, the traveller crosses the Horton
Mountain, from whence he may obtain a view of extraordinary beauty and
extent. Behind him lies the township of Horton and Cornwallis, over
which he has just passed, beautifully watered by the rivers that meander
through them: beyond, is a lofty and extended chain of hills, presenting
a vast chasm—the entrance to the Bason of Minas—through which the
nineteen rivers that pour their waters into this vast reservoir appear
to have forced an _embouchure_ into the Bay of Fundy. The variety and
extent of this prospect,—the rich and verdant vale of Gaspereaux,—the
extended township of Horton, interspersed with groves of wood,
farm-houses, orchards, and cultivated fields,—the Grand Prairie,
sheltered by evergreen forests of dark foliage,—the blue highlands of
the opposite side of the Bason,—and the cloud-capped summit of the
lofty cape that terminates the chain of the North Mountain, form an
assemblage of picturesque objects, rarely united with so striking an
effect.
[Illustration: _Windsor, Nova Scotia._
FROM THE RESIDENCE OF JUDGE HALIBURTON, AUTHOR OF SAM SLICK.]
The approach to the town of Windsor, from the western road, is by a
handsome wooden bridge, recently constructed over the river Avon, which
was formerly crossed by means of an inconvenient and unsafe ford,
passable only at low water. The Avon takes its rise in the extensive
lakes that lie between Chester and Windsor; but, though navigable for
some miles above the latter place, it would be little better than a
large brook, were it not for the augmentation it receives from the flow
of the tide from the Bason of Minas, which occasions an extraordinary
rise and fall of the river at Windsor; being about thirty feet at spring
tides. The Avon receives the Kennetcook, Cockmagon, and the St. Croix
rivers, a short distance below Windsor, and discharges their united
streams into the Bason of Minas. The country in the neighbourhood of the
town is exceedingly beautiful, being agreeably diversified with hill,
dale, and lawn. The luxuriance of the meadows,—the chain of high hills
on the south and west, clothed with wood of variegated foliage,—and the
white sails of vessels gliding through the serpentine windings of the
Avon and St. Croix,—are amongst the leading features of this
interesting landscape. Windsor is an extremely neat and pretty town,
with a Protestant church, and Presbyterian, Methodist, Baptist, and
Roman Catholic chapels. The private houses are numerous and tastefully
built, and have, with few exceptions, large gardens and orchards
attached to them. On an elevated and beautiful spot of ground, a short
distance from the town, stands the University of King’s College, which
has the power of bestowing degrees, similar to those granted by the
universities of Oxford and Cambridge. The View of Windsor, shown in the
accompanying engraving, was taken from a spot near the residence of
Judge Haliburton,—better known in the world of letters on both sides of
the Atlantic, as the author of the humorous “Sayings and Doings of Sam
Slick,” the first work that ever truly delineated that most singularly
amusing character—a Down-East dealer—and gave us a correct picture of
the quaint, shrewd, impudent, but good-humoured Yankee, in all his
striking originality of thought and action.
[Illustration: _The Residence of Judge Haliburton._
(Author of Sam Slick.)
_To whom this Plate is respectfully inscribed by the Publisher._]
The spectator, in this view, is supposed to be looking down the river
Avon, towards the bay: beneath him is seen the picturesque town, with
its new bridge; and in the distance, the winding shores, to which the
rich woods and cultivated farms give a diversified and beautiful
appearance. THE RESIDENCE OF JUDGE HALIBURTON is a small but elegant
structure, delightfully situated on an eminence, which, as I have just
observed, commands a noble prospect of the whole township. This charming
retreat is surrounded by thriving plantations of beech, white maple,
poplar, juniper, and other ornamental trees. Fruits of the most delicate
kinds are produced in the garden; indeed, the sheltered situation of
Windsor is peculiarly favourable for raising the tender produce of more
genial climates. Mr. Haliburton remarks, that “peaches, though subject,
from the early blossoms they put forth, to be injured by frosts, have
been known to ripen without artificial aid or even common shelter; and
grapes, pears, and quinces, and a great variety of summer and autumnal
plums, arrive at perfection in all ordinary seasons.”
The communication between Halifax and New Brunswick is maintained by
means of steam packets, which ply between St. John and Windsor, from
which latter place there is an excellent mail-coach road to Halifax. The
passage across the Bay of Fundy, and through the Bason of Minas, is said
to be rather dangerous, owing to the rapid tides, the rocky shores, and
the fogs which prevail on these coasts.
[Illustration: _Cape Blowmedon and Parrsboro’._]
The Bason of Minas is one of the most remarkable and beautiful inlets in
North America. Its entrance is through a strait about three miles in
width, with bold craggy shores. Outside this strait, the tides in the
Bay of Fundy are rapid but regular; but within, the rise of the tide is
greater than in any other part of America; in spring tides it flows to
the height of seventy feet in the narrow part of the bason. The
phenomenon called the _Bore_ is an attendant or rather precursor of the
flood tide, which approaches in a line of foam, extending across the bay
about four or five feet high, and rolling over the sands at the rate of
four miles, or upwards, an hour. The appearance of the shores of the
Bason of Minas, while sailing towards its entrance, is exceedingly
beautiful:—the luxuriant woods, lagoons, hills, dales, bays, rivers and
headlands, the numerous picturesque islands, the extensive farms,
verdant prairies, and thriving villages which meet the eye on every
side, form a succession of rich and varied landscapes. Near the entrance
of the bason on the western shore is the remarkable headland called Cape
Blomedon, or more generally—CAPE BLOW-ME-DOWN, which forms the
termination of the chain of hills that run parallel to the shores of the
Bay of Fundy from Annapolis. This headland presents a singularly abrupt
and imposing appearance; its perpendicular front is of a dark red
colour, and its rugged head may be seen at a great distance, emerging
from the thick mists by which it is frequently encompassed. On the
opposite side of the channel is the pretty little village of
Parrsborough, sheltered by the bluff cliff called Partridge Island;
which, resisting the force of the tides in the Bay of Fundy, makes a
secure harbour for the craft engaged in the navigation of the Bason of
Minas and the adjoining rivers. Through the narrow channel between
Partridge Island and CAPE SPLIT, at the outer entrance of the bason, the
great body of water collected in this immense reservoir escapes into the
Bay of Fundy. The singular appearance of this Cape, whose detached
masses of rock appear to have been shivered by some mighty convulsion of
nature, and shaken from their original foundations, has never failed to
excite the surprise and admiration of every stranger who has seen it. A
mail-coach road runs from Windsor to Halifax, which crosses the St.
Croix river at a short distance from the former place. On the border of
the St. Croix Lakes is the hill of Ardoise, the highest land in the
province, from whence may be had a distant prospect of Windsor,
Falmouth, Newport, and the beautiful country around the Bason of Minas.
The road, as we approach Halifax, winds for nearly ten miles along the
western shore of Bedford Bason, which is connected with the outer
harbour by a narrow passage at the dock yard;—this inner bason is a
beautiful sheet of water, containing ten square miles of safe anchorage.
The scenery here, though not highly romantic, is agreeably picturesque;
and the shores of the bason are indented with numerous coves, and
well-sheltered inlets of great beauty. About seven miles from Halifax
are the ruins of what was once the favourite country residence of His
Royal Highness the Duke of Kent, when commanding the forces in this
province. “It is impossible,” says Mr. Haliburton, “to visit this spot
without the most melancholy feelings: the tottering fences, the
prostrate gates, the ruined grottoes, the long and winding avenues, cut
out of the forest, overgrown by rank grass and occasional shrubs, and
the silence and desolation that pervade everything around, all bespeak a
rapid and premature decay, recall to mind the untimely fate of its noble
and lamented owner, and tell of fleeting pleasures, and the transitory
nature of all earthly things. I stopped at a small inn in the
neighbourhood, for the purpose of strolling over it for the last time
ere I left the country, and for the indulgence of those moralizing
musings which at times harmonized with our nerves and awaked what may be
called the pleasurable sensations of melancholy.”
[Illustration: _Cape Split._
(Bay of Fundy.)]