Half an hour passes with only a languid exchange of family feeling, and then:  “Pa?” “Well, pet.”  “Don’t call us in the morning; we don’t want any breakfast; we want to sleep.”  “I won’t.”  “Goodnight, pa; goodnight, ma.  Ma?” “What is it, dear?” “Good-night, ma.”  “Good-night, pet.”  Alas for youthful expectations!  Pet shared her stateroom with a young companion, and the two were carrying on a private dialogue during this public performance.  Did these young ladies, after keeping all the passengers of the boat awake till near the summer dawn, imagine that it was in the power of pa and ma to insure them the coveted forenoon slumber, or even the morning snooze?  The travelers, tossing in their state-room under this domestic infliction, anticipated the morning with grim satisfaction; for they had a presentiment that it would be impossible for them to arise and make their toilet without waking up every one in their part of the boat, and aggravating them to such an extent that they would stay awake.  And so it turned out.  The family grumbling at the unexpected disturbance was sweeter to the travelers than all the exchange of family affection during the night.

No one, indeed, ought to sleep beyond breakfast-time while sailing along the southern coast of Prince Edward Island.  It was a sparkling morning.  When we went on deck we were abreast Cape Traverse; the faint outline of Nova Scotia was marked on the horizon, and New Brunswick thrust out Cape Tomentine to greet us.  On the still, sunny coasts and the placid sea, and in the serene, smiling sky, there was no sign of the coming tempest which was then raging from Hatteras to Cape Cod; nor could one imagine that this peaceful scene would, a few days later, be swept by a fearful tornado, which should raze to the ground trees and dwelling-houses, and strew all these now inviting shores with wrecked ships and drowning sailors,—­a storm which has passed into literature in “The Lord’s-Day Gale” of Mr Stedman.

Through this delicious weather why should the steamboat hasten, in order to discharge its passengers into the sweeping unrest of continental travel?  Our eagerness to get on, indeed, almost melted away, and we were scarcely impatient at all when the boat lounged into Halifax Bay, past Salutation Point and stopped at Summerside.  This little seaport is intended to be attractive, and it would give these travelers great pleasure to describe it, if they could at all remember how it looks.  But it is a place that, like some faces, makes no sort of impression on the memory.  We went ashore there, and tried to take an interest in the ship-building, and in the little oysters which the harbor yields; but whether we did take an interest or not has passed out of memory.  A small, unpicturesque, wooden town, in the languor of a provincial summer; why should we pretend an interest in it which we did not feel?  It did not disturb our reposeful frame of mind, nor much interfere with our enjoyment of the day.