Baddeck, and That Sort of Thing eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 128 pages of information about Baddeck, and That Sort of Thing.

Baddeck, and That Sort of Thing eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 128 pages of information about Baddeck, and That Sort of Thing.
itself and its islands are not more indented and inviting.  Fish swarm about the shores and in all the streams.  There are, I have no doubt, great forests which we did not see from the car windows, the inhabitants of which do not show themselves to the travelers at the railway-stations.  In the dining-room of a friend, who goes away every autumn into the wilds of Nova Scotia at the season when the snow falls, hang trophies —­enormous branching antlers of the caribou, and heads of the mighty moose—­which I am assured came from there; and I have no reason to doubt that the noble creatures who once carried these superb horns were murdered by my friend at long range.  Many people have an insatiate longing to kill, once in their life, a moose, and would travel far and endure great hardships to gratify this ambition.  In the present state of the world it is more difficult to do it than it is to be written down as one who loves his fellow-men.

We received everywhere in the Provinces courtesy and kindness, which were not based upon any expectation that we would invest in mines or railways, for the people are honest, kindly, and hearty by nature.  What they will become when the railways are completed that are to bind St. John to Quebec, and make Nova Scotia, Cape Breton, and Newfoundland only stepping-stones to Europe, we cannot say.  Probably they will become like the rest of the world, and furnish no material for the kindly persiflage of the traveler.

Regretting that we could see no more of St. John, that we could scarcely see our way through its dimly lighted streets, we found the ferry to Carleton, and a sleeping-car for Bangor.  It was in the heart of the negro porter to cause us alarm by the intelligence that the customs officer would, search our baggage during the night.  A search is a blow to one’s self-respect, especially if one has anything dutiable.  But as the porter might be an agent of our government in disguise, we preserved an appearance of philosophical indifference in his presence.  It takes a sharp observer to tell innocence from assurance.  During the night, awaking, I saw a great light.  A man, crawling along the aisle of the car, and poking under the seats, had found my traveling-bag and was “going through” it.

I felt a thrill of pride as I recognized in this crouching figure an officer of our government, and knew that I was in my native land.

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Baddeck, and That Sort of Thing from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.