There is a harmony of beauty about the Bras d’Or at Baddeck which is lacking in many scenes of more pretension.  No.  We advise no person to go to Cape Breton.  But if any one does go, he need not lack occupation.  If he is there late in the fall or early in the winter, he may hunt, with good luck, if he is able to hit anything with a rifle, the moose and the caribou on that long wilderness peninsula between Baddeck and Aspy Bay, where the old cable landed.  He may also have his fill of salmon fishing in June and July, especially on the Matjorie River.  As late as August, at the time, of our visit, a hundred people were camped in tents on the Marjorie, wiling the salmon with the delusive fly, and leading him to death with a hook in his nose.  The speckled trout lives in all the streams, and can be caught whenever he will bite.  The day we went for him appeared to be an off-day, a sort of holiday with him.

There is one place, however, which the traveler must not fail to visit.  That is St. Ann’s Bay.  He will go light of baggage, for he must hire a farmer to carry him from the Bras d’Or to the branch of St. Ann’s harbor, and a part of his journey will be in a row-boat.  There is no ride on the continent, of the kind, so full of picturesque beauty and constant surprises as this around the indentations of St. Ann’s harbor.  From the high promontory where rests the fishing village of St. Ann, the traveler will cross to English Town.  High bluffs, bold shores, exquisite sea-views, mountainous ranges, delicious air, the society of a member of the Dominion Parliament, these are some of the things to be enjoyed at this place.  In point of grandeur and beauty it surpasses Mt.  Desert, and is really the most attractive place on the whole line of the Atlantic Cable.  If the traveler has any sentiment in him, he will visit here, not without emotion, the grave of the Nova Scotia Giant, who recently laid his huge frame along this, his native shore.  A man of gigantic height and awful breadth of shoulders, with a hand as big as a shovel, there was nothing mean or little in his soul.  While the visitor is gazing at his vast shoes, which now can be used only as sledges, he will be told that the Giant was greatly respected by his neighbors as a man of ability and simple integrity.  He was not spoiled by his metropolitan successes, bringing home from his foreign triumphs the same quiet and friendly demeanor he took away; he is almost the only example of a successful public man, who did not feel bigger than he was.  He performed his duty in life without ostentation, and returned to the home he loved unspoiled by the flattery of constant public curiosity.  He knew, having tried both, how much better it is to be good than to be great.  I should like to have known him.  I should like to know how the world looked to him from his altitude.  I should like to know how much food it took at one time to make an impression on him; I should like to know what effect an idea of ordinary size had in his