  Evening cloud effects of a beautiful character are frequently seen when crossing the Straits of Northumberland from Point du ChÊne to Summerside on Prince Edward Island. On one occasion it had threatened rain on leaving the mainland, but when the steamer was well over and nearing Summerside the clouds began to disperse. The sun was about to dip below the horizon, and its upward slanting beams gave marvellous coloring to the dispersing cloud drifts. These assumed the deepest and richest tints of pink and terra cotta, with an infinite variety of fantastic forms; and this lovely Prince Edward Island sunset, with all its gorgeous display of form and color, was the topic of conversation then and afterwards amongst those on the steamer, and who met by chance on the Island later on. In approaching the Island the first feature of the land that attracts attention is the red sandstone. Red may be termed the Island’s color, for everywhere the red sandstone and the light hue of the soil—almost as vivid as the well-known Pompeian clay—is to be seen. It affords a beautiful contrast with the vivid green of the fields and the darker green of the fir and spruce trees that freshen the landscape. “Where’er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade; Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade; Where’er you tread the blushing flowers shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.” Prince Edward Island has been well christened. It is doubtful if Cabot ever called there. Jacques Cartier is said to have done so, however, and it was he who called it the “Low and Beautiful Island.” The Indians called it Abegweit, or “Resting on the Wave.” Champlain named it L’Isle St. Jean; the English rechristened it after Edward, Duke of Kent, as “Prince Edward Island,” and it Together with the Magdalen Islands it was tentatively settled by the French in 1663, and was always included as part of Acadia; but its real settlement dates from the time when the Acadians came hither after being expelled from Nova Scotia. Peasants from Bretagne, Picardy and Normandy participated in the settlement; and later, English and Scotch settlers followed. Many hoards of arms, furniture, cooking utensils, etc., have been found hidden in the woods, placed there by the early Acadians. Some ten thousand descendants of this hunted people are living on the Island, and as they do not readily mix with others, and thus preserve their old manner of living, they are a very interesting part of the population. To some extent they live by themselves in their own villages, speaking the original tongue, wearing the simple dress and keeping alive the old traditions. They are simple and kindly, and give color and charm to the more populous communities that surround them. In these places the maidens still weave, sew and lay by linen for the expected marriage; and the simple social gatherings for weddings, barn-raisings, etc., still attract their people of all ages. Many of them still believe in “Loups-garous” and other fictions of ghost, and haunting spirits, etc. The principal Acadian settlements are at Rustico, Tignish, Abram’s Village, and Miscouche. The quaint broken English of the old Acadian is shown in this extract relating to our little friend the grosbeak: “An’ mebbe you hear de grosbec Sittin’ above de nes’— An’ you see by de way he’s goin’ De ole man’s doin’ his bes’ Makin’ de wife an’ baby Happy as dey can be— An’ proud he was come de fader Such fine leetle familee.” There are a few hundred Micmac Indians living along the north shore. They are good hunters, and an outing with them for trout and wild birds is a pleasant experience. The water surrounding the island is shallower than that of the mainland coast, and on that account, and because the temperature is higher, the bathing here is not too cool, and is much enjoyed. It is warmer than New Brunswick or Nova Scotia—Atlantic Nova Scotia being the coolest place of all. The summer temperature of the Island ranges from 65 to 80 degrees, and higher on exceptional occasions. It has been remarked that, “there will come to the world-weary tourist visions of a beautiful land in the midst of the cool sea—a land fanned by healthful breezes, a land of green hills, purling brooks and fertile fields. The crowded fashionable watering places have lost their charm for him, and he yearns for some place of rest and repose where quiet summer days can be obtained”—and all this is true of Prince Edward Island. A recent census of the Island shows the largest population per thousand of people over seventy years of age in any province of Canada. In most countries a fourth generation is rare, but Prince Edward can boast of a fifth. This is the Poirier family of Tignish, the men are fishermen who all “pull together” in excellent health. The head of the family, great-great-grandfather Poirier, has 202 living descendants, and at 97 years of age rises at daylight, turns his fish on the “flakes” to dry, and chops and saws his wood. But we have entered Bedeque Bay, and are at Summerside, bound for Alberton and Tignish at the western end of the Island. A very pleasant harbor indeed is this, and the not too pretentious summer town is nicely laid out with good stores and shady streets. There is good boating for yachts, sail-boats, launches, row-boats and canoes, and the life is that of the seaside resort, with pleasant excursions and an enjoyable social life. The Wilmot and Dunk Rivers empty into the harbor. On the Dunk will be found many pretty views; the fishing, too, is good—trout of large size. It was a view of this river that inspired the couplet: “Pause here—and look upon a sight as fair, As ever painter limned of poet’s dreams.” Everyone in Summerside walks down to the wharf to see the steamship come in from Point du ChÊne. The usual hour, 7.30 p.m., is convenient for all. The two trains for east and west go down to meet the steamer and then return to the station to start their runs. In summer both steamer wharf and train platform are crowded with the youth and beauty of the town. The scene is always a lively one. But a start is made for the west, and the country is almost immediately reached. Here plenty of evidence is seen of the great productiveness of these eastern lands, for “stooks” of wheat are standing on end in great quantities. At Wellington the small upper waters of a stream flow northward. It is tributary to the Ellis River, into which other streams flow. This stream soon widens out considerably and runs into Richmond or Malpeque Bay on the north shore. The river and the lakes nearby are all fished, and lobsters and clams are plentifully found. At Port Hill and adjoining places, fine-looking sheep are seen in large numbers, grazing in good pastures, and there are herds of the cleanest cattle in the fresh-appearing meadows. The land hereabouts is like an almost level prairie, and everywhere the harvest of wheat and oats meet the eye in pleasant array; newly gathered and dotting the whole of the surrounding fields with innumerable sheaves, stacked up on end, and ready to gather into the barns that will surely be overtaxed—so rich and plentiful are the crops of this verdant isle. In the neighborhood of Portage there are extensive tracts of young woods, and in places, for miles around, the country resembles cultivated park lands. In some parts there is plenty of evidence that heavy timber has formerly been cut down, for, the harvest work about done, fierce and glowing fires are seen consuming great tree-stumps to make a perfect clearing. Mixed trains, usually avoided by all who are not compelled to use them, are really the best for seeing all the pleasant little by-places of the Garden Province; for while freight is being handled at each station, it is possible to alight and ramble a little in nearby luxurious paths that fringe the railroad along its whole extent. This applies not only to the route from Summerside to Tignish, but also to the whole railway system of the Island. As is perhaps generally known, the Prince Edward Island Railway is part of the extensive system known as the Canadian Government Railways. Hunter River, P.E.I. Little barefoot boys with freckled faces—health showing in every movement of their active limbs—watch the passenger cars as the shunting is being done. They stand on the station platform and gaze wonderingly at the stranger from the outer world. Little girls, too, emboldened by the presence of their older brothers, pluck up courage to pass the car windows and take shy glances at the people from the great cities. To see their fresh young faces and artless simplicity of manner is alone well worth the railway fare from some far-off metropolis. Extensive dairying farms are seen as Elmsdale is neared. Pleasant knolls of land spread out in every direction, and the belts of trees of various tints, as well as the trim orchards, give an attractive appearance to the whole countryside. And now Alberton is reached, near to Holland or Cascumpeque Bay: “The echoes of the surges roar About the bar by Alberton.” Alberton is quite an interesting village on the north side of the Island. Near to it is the Kildare River, and the pretty district of Montrose. The harbor of Alberton is probably the most available place for shipping along the whole north shore. American vessels often take refuge here from heavy storms. A peculiarity of the St. Lawrence Gulf side of the Island is the absence of good harbors, and the presence of long and narrow sand bars, or dunes, that lie about a mile or less from the land towards the western end of the Island, and continue in an almost unbroken line for a distance of 25 miles or more to the east. The Indian name Cascumpec, or “Floating through Sand,” sufficiently describes the outer waters of many of the rivers that empty on the northern side. These sand bars have narrow inlets in places through which small vessels may pass into the protected inner waters known as lagoons or narrows. The harbor at Alberton has a convenient entrance, with a lighthouse; and vessels of average size may enter at any tide. The sand bars towards the eastern end of the Island are different in character. Instead of being in one long line with narrow breaks, they are found in completely detached sections, generally across the mouth of bay or river, and sometimes making out from the side of a headland to the opposite shore, and thus nearly closing the entrance. On the outer sides of these sand bars the waves break with magnificent surf—inside all is calm and peaceful. High cliffs are not found on the northern shore, but bold land of romantic appearance is found in places. The neighborhood of Alberton, Montrose and the Kildare River is an attractive one, and many pleasant walks and drives may here be enjoyed. A feature of this part of the Island is the numerous “fox farms” that, are springing up, where these animals are raised for the value of their pelts. Large sums have been paid for a pair with which to start a ranch or farm—as much as two and three thousand dollars, it is said. The climate of Prince Edward Island is well suited for operations of this kind, and much money has already been made by those engaged in the business. Several new fox farms have recently been started in various parts of the island, and as fox breeding appears to be both interesting and profitable, the number of these farms is sure to increase. But we have left Alberton and are making north. That little hamlet, where we stopped for a few minutes, has houses that may easily be counted upon two hands; and the young girl with pleasant face and engaging brown eyes who has just waved a free and ingenuous ‘good-bye,’ was the same who waited at our hotel table in Summerside, a few days since. A week of town life has satisfied her; and she has gone “back to the farm.” Sensible girl!...... and happy father and mother, whose life in the comfortable and snug little cottage over there is still to be cheered by a bright, youthful face and sunny smile. And now, Tignish, the French-Scotch fishing village, and quietest of quiet little summer resorts; modest, unpretending, and just what it appears to be on first arrival, a country retreat. A place of unbroken sleep and absolute calm, and where the commotion and tumult of the world frets none. A natural sanitarium to which a man may flee to escape for a season A tale of French-Indian life by Jessie Hogg may here be told to show the relations that existed on the Island between the two races long ago. “Belle Marie” was a pretty Indian maiden who had received that name from the French people living near the native village. She was much loved by her father, the chief of the tribe. She had been trained by him in Indian arts and was a surer shot with the arrow than even he. One of the French officers took great interest in her as a child, and told her of the Old World and its wonders. Without knowing it she taught him the lesson of love. Being much older than she, he was able to keep his feelings a secret. For some reason she gradually changed, and her former girlish manner became more demure and maidenly, her eyes became softer and acquired a new light, and she came less frequently to hear the tales she loved so well. A jealous lover of her tribe had told her the officer was only amusing himself for want of companionship with his own people. One day the now lonely Frenchman found her in a little rocky nook on the shore. The sky was clear, and the incoming tide was gently drawing near unheeded by the maiden, whose thoughts were far away as she gazed over the water intently, unconscious of the earnest gaze bent on her. “Belle Marie!” he said softly. She started, and a wave of color told a tale that surely anyone could have read. Until then her sole lessons had been learned from the songs of the birds, the winds sighing through the trees, the perfume of the flowers, and the murmuring of the waters as they beat upon the shore. “Mon Maitre!” she replied, as she rose suddenly, pale and startled. “Where have you been, ma belle?” he asked. “In the woods; on the shore; with my people,” was the disjointed reply, as she looked down at the sand beneath her feet. “You have not been to see me for so long—I have missed you very much. Why did you stay away?” He came near. She turned with the fury of a young tigress, as she told him he only talked to her to pass the time away. But suddenly she broke down, and burst into tears as she covered her face with her hands. “I love you, Belle Marie!” said the officer, in earnest tones. “Love me?” she cried—“An Indian maid? A forest girl? Why, your people would scorn you for it.” “My people are nothing to me now,” he sadly replied—then drawing near, he asked, “Will you marry me, Belle Marie?” But she bounded off, and disappeared without reply. One morning, some days after this, she stood at the opening of his tent. “Yes, I will be your wife,” she exclaimed, “if you love me, and me only!” Another chapter now opens, for the old chief demurred. “Belle Marie must marry a brave of her own race,” he declared. But finally the love of the Frenchman prevailed, and the old chief consented to the marriage. In the meantime Belle Marie’s former suitor, the jealous one who had interfered in the early days, seemed to take it all in good part. One day as the happy girl was walking in the distant woods she came across her affianced, struck down and dying in the snow. With bursting heart she staggered homewards, bearing him in her arms. Senseless and almost gone, she nursed him back to life, assisted by her kind-hearted father. With loving devotion, and with just enough of sleep and food to maintain life, she nursed the wounded man to complete recovery. The wedding was now decided upon without further delay, and one bright spring morning the ceremony took place in the little church that had been decorated with ferns and wild-flowers. Under a bower of leafy branches and fragrant bloom the happy pair stood. Dozens of canoes lined the shore, and the wedding festivities were well underway. The low sobbing heard from the assembled tribe as Belle Marie stood at the altar by the side of the man of her choice told how much the darling of her tribe would be missed. Scarce was the ceremony ended, and the two turned away from the altar, when with a cry that resounded far and near—a cry that pierced the hearts of all who heard it—and one that sent a thrill of terror to all, Marie threw herself before her husband, shielding him from view, but not before an arrow, sped with the sure aim that hatred and revenge could prompt, had found its resting place in her heart instead of his. He caught her as she fell, clasped her close to him with a moan of agony, and in all a strong man’s anguish, called her every endearing name that love could bring to mind. But she looked up at him with those eyes that had always contained such an unutterable love in their depths, and said slowly as the life-blood ebbed over altar steps and floor:—“I ...... saved ...... you. I ..... saw ..... it ...... coming. My ...... own ...... love.” Returning east to Summerside, and passing Kensington, with its pretty, stone station-building, the quiet village of Bradalbane is reached. This makes a good centre from which to visit the districts of New London, Mill River, Stanley Bridge, Trout River, New Glasgow, Hunter River outlet and Rustico. This whole district is about as pleasant and picturesque as could well be imagined, and days spent in driving and walking will bring much enjoyment. From New London harbor in the bay to the north the fishing boats may be seen putting out to sea: “The wind is blowing freshly up from far-off ocean caves, And sending sparkling kisses o’er the brows of virgin waves, While routed dawn-mists shiver as fast and far they flee, Pierced by the shafts of sunrise and the glitter of the sea.” The pretty scenery of Mill Vale, the Trout River and Stanley Bridge is sure to enchant. A noticeable feature of this and other districts is the number of lovely streams of diminutive character, and the nearby, always picturesque, mill ponds. A story illustrating the method of the bear when he “trees” a man, and showing, also, the intelligence of a little dog is related of the Stanley Bridge district. Provincial Building, Charlottetown, P.E.I. “Before bridges were built throughout the Island the rivers were crossed by ferries, and the ferry was generally named after the individual who ran it. Where Stanley Bridge now is, Fyfe’s ferry formerly plied. Mr. Fyfe was the owner of a little white dog, of which he was very proud, and with reason, for it once saved his life. “One day walking in the woods near his home he was suddenly set upon by a huge bear that was evidently very hungry and was out foraging. “The ferryman managed to elude his pursuer for a short time, but the bear was not to be cheated of his prey without making a good fight. Hard pressed, the now desperate man brought all his wits to bear on the situation, and he decided to climb a tree which was the only refuge anywhere near. He lost no time in putting his plan into execution, but he had forgotten that bears can climb and Bruin must have thought that he had his victim in the right place, also. Immediately the animal started up the tree after the disappearing ferryman, and quickly came within reach. He had only taken hold of the man’s boot-heel when he felt a stinging sensation at his own pedal extremities. He immediately dropped to the ground where he recognized in his antagonist the little white dog. The dog suddenly disappeared, but not out of sight of its master, whom it was bent on saving from a horrible death. Accordingly, every time the bear attempted to climb the tree, the dog took hold of his heel, and finding the pain so severe from the bites, Bruin had to come down again and again; until, finally, tired out he sat down to watch his victim whom he had treed. The bear was not to enjoy this situation long, for the barking of the dog had aroused the fears of Fyfe’s neighbors, who thought something must be wrong, and started for the scene armed with rifles. “Taking in the situation at a glance they quickly dispatched Mr. Bruin, and, the danger past, the ferryman came down. Almost needless to state no kindness was ever too much for the little dog after that.” A change has now come over the scene, for the forests have fallen before the woodman’s axe, and Bruin has also disappeared. The Hunter River, Rustico Bay and Wheatly River districts are all well worthy of exploration in drives and walks. The principal north shore resorts are Rustico, Tracadie, Stanhope, and Brackley Point. From nearly all of these places summer visitors may put out with the fishermen and join in the cod and mackerel fishing. The city of Charlottetown has a fine and most unusual situation. It is on the East or Hillsborough River, the York or North River is on its south side, the West or Elliott River joins the York just a little to the south of the city, and thus all three streams mingle their waters and pass out into Hillsborough Bay, the Bay being also near, and almost in front of the Island Capital. Charlottetown has wide, leafy and pleasant streets, covers considerable ground, has a delightful atmosphere, and is altogether one of the most homelike and attractive little cities to be found anywhere. It suggests the capital of some neat European principality, with its substantial Queen Square and public buildings grouped or arranged with such good taste in the park-like heart of the city. In the square is a monument to the memory of the Prince Edward Island Volunteers who fell in the South African War. The flower beds in the open space are neatly laid out and refreshing to the eye. Here are shady seats where on summer nights one may sit and hear the music of the band. The principal stores of the city are grouped along the sides of the square. The Provincial Building with its Legislative Halls and excellent library is a delightful place to visit. The obliging librarian is ever willing to extend courtesies to the visitor. There is an air of solidity and quiet dignity as well as an individuality about the building that is very agreeable. It makes a strong appeal to those who would cherish all that is good in the old order of things, and seems a standing rebuke to the present day of big things—to hurry, crush, noise, confusion, modern “rush,” and overcrowded and congested In olden days French sailors who first entered the harbor of Charlottetown were so pleased with what they saw that they named it Port la Joie. The surrounding scenery is pleasing, but not impressive. A general characterization of the Island scenery would be that of pastoral tranquility, well-tilled fields, verdant pastures and quiet rivers; with a medium temperature, cool night air and an ever-present sense of peace, rest and repose over all. Drives and walks for pleasant air may be taken in many directions, and there are steamer trips to the Indian encampment at Rocky Point, where relics of the old French occupation may be seen; to Southport, to Orwell, to Mount Stewart and Hampton and other more distant places, as well as to Victoria on the South Shore. Longer steamboat journeys are those to Quebec and Montreal, and to Boston by way of Hawkesbury and Halifax. Keppoch, a summer resort outside of the city, is within easy reach by carriage. Victoria Park by the waterside is a favorite recreation spot, for it has winding roadways that are well shaded, and fine views of the surrounding waters. There are public cricket grounds here, and tennis courts as well. The Golf Links at Belvidere are well laid out, and afford much enjoyment for lovers of this fine exercise; and an excellent view of the East River may be had from here. A visit to the Farmer’s Market will prove especially interesting to city people. Boating of all kinds may be had in the rivers and harbor, and motor-boats and yachts have a wide field for pleasant excursions on the nearby waters. A fine motor-boat excursion is that to Bonshaw, up the West River. In one of the rivers near the city mackerel were once so abundant that an ox-cart was driven through, and a full load was obtained with a scoop-net in crossing. A division of the Prince Edward Island Railway runs from Charlottetown to Souris and Georgetown, on the east coast, branching at the attractive little village of Mount Stewart. Following the northern branch, Tracadie is reached. It is on the north shore, where bathing is most enjoyed on the numerous sandy beaches. Here are marshes and ponds where springs rise out of the ground, and where wild fowl make their homes in the reeds and long grass; often shut in by wooded banks, and only separated from the sea by sand dunes with wreckage and projecting drift. Everything is fresh, bright and clean; and such scenes, so difficult to describe, must be seen to understand the impression they make on the mind. Scenes in the Montague District, P.E.I. On the Morell River The Morell River is a delightful spot for camping grounds. There are cold springs of pure water everywhere, the banks are wooded and pleasantly varied, it has numerous trout pools, and there is a clear run up the winding river for a number of miles. Canoes may ascend six or seven miles, at least. The river flows into St. Peter’s Bay. Along the banks of the lakes and rivers of the neighborhood, and by the shore, the remains of many cellars are found over which formerly stood the houses of the Acadian fishermen. St. Peter’s, as is fitting, stands on a hill—if not on a rock—and has a good situation overlooking the head of the bay, with the comfortable-looking little church crowning the top of the wooded The little hamlet just passed is known as Five Houses. Only four can be seen, but doubtless the other is there behind one of the trees. There is a fine prospect of rolling country, and far in the distance the white farmhouses may be seen dotting the slopes. At times we stop at a pleasant little clearing in the wood. At such places a sort of glorified summer house acts as station or shelter, with shady paths leading off through the woodland. Following these a mile or two, little settlements are found nestling against a bank, or reposing by a mill pond; or maybe on the crest of a hill that overlooks a dainty and peaceful valley, where a pellucid brook flows rippling by as it sings gaily on the way to “its bourne below the hill.” “Oh, for a romp through that blissful land, The Isle of the summer sea, Where nature appears in her fairest dress, Where the days are cool, and no heats oppress, And the heart must dance with glee.” The headwaters of numerous small streams are passed in further progress east, until at Harmony a network of rivers is on every hand. North Lake, at almost the extreme east of the Island, on the north shore, is reached from here. It is decidedly picturesque, and would well reward the artist in search of good subjects. For camping it offers ideal sites at its western end, where it receives the clear little stream that flows through and out into the sea. This is a choice spot for trout; in fact one of the best. Years ago, on one of the pretty wooded knolls overlooking the shore at a point distant from any settlement, a summer camp was pitched. Three girls of the party were one day taking a long ramble along the coast, when they walked unexpectedly into a group of armed men so busily engaged, or so confident of isolation, that they had forgotten to station a look-out to warn them of anyone approaching. They were smugglers, but otherwise respectable; and, fortunately for the girls, the days of freebooters were past. The girls were immediately surrounded, and an angry discussion ensued between the men who numbered some eighteen or twenty. The smugglers had been caught in the midst of their work, and they were not nearly ready to leave. Hence it was proposed to hold the girls captive for the next day or two, to prevent an alarm being given. The girls were, of course, greatly distressed, and the incident threatened to cause grave trouble. Finally one of the girls, who had assumed the leadership of her party in the controversy, spoke out and frightened the leader by telling him they were three of a large party, the remainder of which would soon come and look for them. As a matter of fact the party only numbered seven, all told, of whom five were women. In addition the girl volunteered, and so did her companions, to preserve strict secrecy about the matter if they should be allowed to leave. A consultation was again held, as a result of which, after exacting the strictest secrecy under pain of future penalty, the girls were allowed to depart, the name and address of the spokeswoman being taken, however, in precaution. The girls left, and returned to the camp. For two days their companions could not understand the feverish anxiety with which they watched two schooners that were hovering about some miles off shore. At last the vessels departed. The girls kept their secret well, and the incident gradually passed out of active memory. One day, however, a package was mysteriously left at the door of that one of the girls who had assumed leadership in the negotiations with the smugglers. It was found by the young lady herself. It contained material for a handsome silk dress, and, in It is said that women “wink” at smuggling, sometimes, in order to add to their fascination by the addition of sundry little pieces of lingerie; and so please the men. Be this as it may, it is recorded that a certain young lady soon appeared in gorgeous raiment, in which real French lace played no unimportant part; and it is also recorded, though hard to believe, that one woman had been found who could keep a secret, for not even the other two of the trio ever learned the origin of the handsome gown. An extract relating to camping life will be of interest to all who enjoy that method of “living close to nature.” “Here are ladies to spend the day! Let us meet them at the station. This is the carriage—a hay wagon, with boards across for seats. In we pile. Crack goes the whip, and we are off, a merry party enough as we hold on to one another for dear life, to keep from being jolted out. ‘Oh! what a bump!’ But what matters a bump when the heart is light; and we wake the echoes with song and glee. We are all starving when we reach camp, and culinary operations are soon in full swing. All shortcomings are overlooked or made light of. If anyone puts salt in his tea, or drinks vinegar for lime-juice, the mistake increases the fun; but when the coffee won’t pour, and an investigation discloses a chicken inside, the climax is reached. After that all are sober—because they cannot laugh any more—and lie around in picturesque confusion, enjoying a shady rest in the heat of the day. Some swing in hammocks, novel in hand, but perhaps not in thought, for the novelty of the situation exceeds that of the story. Some have a quiet game of cards—a log for table. The lazy man sleeps the sleep of peace, till wakened by the cry of Kitty, the energetic member of the party, who exclaims ‘Oh, dear! I did not come here to sleep! I’m off to explore. If only I were on the opposite side,’ with a longing glance across the water. Cousin Will gallantly comes to her assistance; and taking her up like a feather, is soon in mid-stream. ‘Quick! snap them!’ cries Florence, ‘and we will send the picture to Will’s best girl’; while plump Fanny, with her 150 pounds avoirdupois, looks longingly on. At evening we drink a cup of tea and look to our fishing gear. Flies, rods, and baskets are put in order. All clothing of any value Trout Stream—Prince Edward Island Now we know that the real fun will begin, if there is to be any. Sure enough, before long, and without the slightest warning, a quick splash breaks the water, and the click, click, of Tom’s reel announces the hooking of the first three-pounder. The sportsman’s heart beats high, as with practiced eye and feeling hand he follows the wild rushes of the speckled beauty, and finally, with doubled rod plays him into the shallows, where he is secured. And now the sport waxes warm. The water is beaten with foam as we fight with the struggling leviathans, and the enthusiastic Harry rushes in to the neck, net in hand, to capture a fish that pulls like a whale. We take our way back to camp with light hearts and heavy baskets. The ladies apostrophize the moon and the beauty of the night; but sentiment Souris, Prince Edward Island The town of Souris is on Colville Bay at the eastern end of the Island. As would be expected from its remote situation, it is quiet and peaceful, and, like most of the Island resorts, it offers attractions only to those who enjoy living in isolated places. Such places always have a character or individuality of their own not found in or near crowded centres. They also offer the great advantage of inexpensive living. Steamers leave from here for Pictou, N. S., and also for the Magdalen Islands. These islands are populated by Acadian fishermen, and are visited by many on account of the quaint old-world life that may be seen there. A very large fishing industry is carried on from the Magdalen Islands, and many American and Canadian vessels frequent those waters. Lobstering and sealing are carried on there in the proper seasons, and sea birds are found in remote parts in enormous number. Souris itself is an old Acadian village. It has a pleasant strip of sand beach, and enjoyable summer days are spent by those who seek the quiet hospitality of the cool little place. Going east from Mount Stewart Junction on the southern loop of the eastern division of the Prince Edward Island Railway, the Cardigan River is reached. This empties into Cardigan Bay to the north of the promontory on which stands Georgetown, a small seaport and summer resort. Passing Brudenell, Georgetown, by the Junction of the Brudenell and Montague Rivers, is reached. A very pleasing picture is presented by the flocks of sheep and young, sportive lambs feeding in the fields just recently harvested, together with the smiling “stooks” of grain, and the never-failing dark green belt of trees for a background. After Charlottetown, Summerside, and the district bounded by Bradalbane, New London, Rustico and Hunter River, there is no doubt that the Georgetown-Montague River district comes next in importance. Indeed, the first two centres are named in that order chiefly because they are populous, with some life, and on that account have superior attractions for the average summer visitor. The quadrangle bounded by the four next named points takes its place because the scenery is good, and the district quite accessible. But for beauty of scene the more remote Georgetown-Montague River district is surely second to none, and without fear of contradiction it may be termed picturesque and charming. The six-mile run from Montague Junction to Montague through beautiful woodlands, with occasional prospect of hill, valley and stream, is most enjoyable; and lovely Montague, and quaint Georgetown with its wide, quiet, and pleasant streets and modest little shore bungalows, are both places that should be seen by all. Georgetown carries on a small shipping trade, and fishing is an industry. Anyone that loves a quiet and old-fashioned place, with grassy streets and tranquil shore, will be sure to be at home in the pleasant little resort. Steamers leave from here for Lower Montague, Charlottetown, Pictou and the Magdalen Islands. There are ample opportunities for boating and canoeing on the harbor and outflowing rivers. PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND
From Charlottetown another easterly division of the Prince Edward Island Railway, the most southerly of all, runs to Murray River and Murray Harbor. Dipping south, and in the main following the contour of the coast a few miles in, it has its terminus at the most southerly harbor on the east coast. The scenery along this route is quite interesting, and there are a number of Scottish villages of small size along the way. Murray Harbor is another little stopping place where there is a very homelike hotel at which to sojourn. There is boating and driving, and, of course, sea-fishing. Like Alberton and Tignish, etc., it is one of the quietest places that can be found anywhere; and as there is good air, very pleasant days may be spent with its hospitable people. Lawrence W. Watson’s description of a summer scene is well adapted to give a glimpse of Island life for those who are nature-lovers. “Some love the open countryside where golden-rods wave their orange plumes, and blue and white asters bestar the field borders. Others like the wet swamp with its tangle of grasses and sedges and succulent plants delighting in moisture. Some love the brookside fringed with the white-flowered spikes of the snake-head, and the light graceful sprays of the balsam dangling its golden jewels by the water’s edge. “Others delight in the flats near the seashore where the prickly saltwort roots, and silverweed spreads its finely cut, pinnate leaves with their backing of silver, and above, on the banks, where the Kingfisher nests, the pale yellow evening primrose mingles its blossoms with those of the oxeye daisy, and of its sister, the mayweed with its finely dissected leaves. “But a more delectable retreat than any of these is the cool grateful shade of the shadowy woodland, where the sun enters but shyly to brighten and nourish, while the verdure may languish in the open beyond. Here are the pearly-pink bells of the pyrolas, and the one-flowered pyrola—that exquisitely scented, firm, waxen flower. Here the Clintonia spreads out its three smooth leaves,—handsome, spotless, myrtle-hued beauties—and later replaces its yellow-green lily-cups with berries challenging the blue of the heavens. “Here, too, the ‘wake-robin’—the shy, painted trillium—opens its three tender dark-pencilled petals, resting in strong relief against the background of its whorl of three leaves. Nearby the tenderest flower of the woodland—the delicate white, purple-veined, lonely flowered wood sorrel. Here, too, are orchids, and here we find the strange Indian-pipe. “Above us the cool waving canopy of foliage, around us the stately columns of tree trunks, mosses and leaves thick-strewn pave the pathway, fair forms of flowers enriching the carpet. Thus nature patterns her spacious cathedral with pillars and arches, groined roof and rich carving: the soft, balmy breezes breathe exquisite music and waft towards heaven the flowers’ devotion—a subtle, sweet incense, grateful, refreshing.” Those from southern climes who seek these shores for cool summer joys will be interested in a brief account of the Ice Boat Service between Prince Edward Island and the mainland in the depth of winter. “During about two months in mid-winter the crossing of the ice-crushing steamers is supplemented by a service of ice-boats. These boats have double keels which serve for runners, and sometimes the ice-fields are packed in solidly between the two shores, enabling the boats to cross on the ice without putting them into the water at all. Four leathern straps are attached to each side of a boat for pulling it over the ice; and, of course, the boats are strong and adapted to float the ice-strewn wave when nearly open water has to be crossed. Rough or hummocky ice renders the crossing very laborious and difficult, but frequently lanes of open water enable the crews to row. Should snow storms arise there is danger of losing the bearings, and travelling far out of the course. Compasses, provisions, fur wraps, etc., are part of the regular equipment of this ice-boat service. For a distance of about one mile on each side of the Strait, the ice is attached solidly to the shore and is known as the ‘board ice.’ The crossing is made between Capes Tormentine and Traverse, where the Strait is only nine miles wide. This leaves only seven miles for the ice-boat ferry, but owing to the tide, which runs about four miles an hour, carrying with it the ice fields, the distance travelled by the boats is considerably increased. Teams carry the passengers from the edge of the board ice to the railway stations. A trip by the capes in winter is certainly an unique experience.” Finally, it should be stated that the people of the Island, like the climate, are pleasant and genial; and a stay in the “Garden of the Gulf” is sure to bring the double reward of health and pleasure. Truro Park—The Wishing Well decorative border
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