“And thus, through a pettifogging colonial policy, commerce was turned into the merest peculation by a class of persons who made it their object to restrict the agriculturist, and hold his interests at their mercy.  The more the farmer raised, the more he found himself subject to the shopkeeper’s narrow restrictions; and thus the interests of a naturally energetic people were held in check.  The Home Government (God bless it! as the very loyal Provincials used to say when the Imperial Parliament took their cause under consideration) thought little about the outside Nova Scotians, except to say, once in a while, that the territory they inhabited belonged to her Majesty, which fact the people of the province were forcibly reminded of by the presence of imported gentlemen, whom it had pleased her Majesty to place in all responsible offices.  In fact, the Home Government, through its pewter-headed policy, was for ever making laws to suit the immediate demands of a favored few, who said good things of loyalty and toryism, and left the rest to chance.

“During this state of affairs, Skipper Hornblower’s fame sounded far and wide, and many were the stories told of his smuggling exploits, and how Squire Burgle always kept a large stock of British goods on hand, which he never sold cheaper than any body else, though he got richer.  Hornblower’s account of how he and the Squire carried on business together in the good old times may not be uninteresting, ‘Squire Burgle,’ said Hornblower, ’was a great man in them days, said a sight of good things in his prayers every night and morning, denounced smuggling, and hoped all those fearless men that followed it would see the error of their way, turn to her Majesty, and make their loyalty honor the State.  Squire used to send me to Boston—­(the Dash was the only craft in the trade then)—­with little things to sell, and a return cargo of flour, gin, tobacco, and such like Yankee notions, which the Nova Scotians must have, and upon which her Majesty lavished most ungracious duties, to fetch home.  Well, the Squire lived at the town of Annapolis, twenty miles up a river, where Digby, at its entrance, was the only port of entry within a hundred miles.  Seeing that I liked to make quick trips, it was not always convenient to stop at this obdurate port of entry, and so I used to lay the Dash’s head for a piece of dark wood on a point of land outside the entrance (always being careful to have a clearance in merchandise) and run her close aboard of it.  Squire had a cousin living near that bit of wood, who used to understand the thing, and could sight the Dash’s signal ten miles at sea.  Lying off and on until sundown, the Squire’s cousin would hang out a light on a tree; if at the top it was the signal—­’All right;’ if half-mast, ‘Keep out!’ ’There’s the light—­all right to-night! the boys used to say, when it gleamed at the tree top.’  Then into the basin and up the river we used to dodge, passing on the opposite