both knife and fork with wonderful proficiency.  The man’s good-humor was contagious, and he did not regard our amusement as different in kind from his enjoyment.  The spectacle was worth a journey to see.  Indeed, its aspect of comicality almost overcame its grossness, and even when the hero loaded in faster than he could swallow, and was obliged to drop his knife for an instant to arrange matters in his mouth with his finger, it was done with such a beaming smile that a pig would not take offense at it.  The performance was not the merely vulgar thing it seems on paper, but an achievement unique and perfect, which one is not likely to see more than once in a lifetime.  It was only when the man left the table that his face became serious.  We had seen him at his best.

Prince Edward Island, as we approached it, had a pleasing aspect, and nothing of that remote friendlessness which its appearance on the map conveys to one; a warm and sandy land, in a genial climate, without fogs, we are informed.  In the winter it has ice communication with Nova Scotia, from Cape Traverse to Cape Tormentine,—­the route of the submarine cable.  The island is as flat from end to end as a floor.  When it surrendered its independent government and joined the Dominion, one of the conditions of the union was that the government should build a railway the whole length of it.  This is in process of construction, and the portion that is built affords great satisfaction to the islanders, a railway being one of the necessary adjuncts of civilization; but that there was great need of it, or that it would pay, we were unable to learn.

We sailed through Hillsborough Bay and a narrow strait to Charlottetown, the capital, which lies on a sandy spit of land between two rivers.  Our leisurely steamboat tied up here in the afternoon and spent the night, giving the passengers an opportunity to make thorough acquaintance with the town.  It has the appearance of a place from which something has departed; a wooden town, with wide and vacant streets, and the air of waiting for something.  Almost melancholy is the aspect of its freestone colonial building, where once the colonial legislature held its momentous sessions, and the colonial governor shed the delightful aroma of royalty.  The mansion of the governor—­now vacant of pomp, because that official does not exist—­is a little withdrawn from the town, secluded among trees by the water-side.  It is dignified with a winding approach, but is itself only a cheap and decaying house.  On our way to it we passed the drill-shed of the local cavalry, which we mistook for a skating-rink, and thereby excited the contempt of an old lady of whom we inquired.  Tasteful residences we did not find, nor that attention to flowers and gardens which the mild climate would suggest.  Indeed, we should describe Charlottetown as a place where the hollyhock in the dooryard is considered an ornament.  A conspicuous building is a large market-house shingled