At the West Bay 1anding, where there is nothing whatever attractive,we found a great concourse of country wagons and c1amorous drivers,to transport the passengers over the rough and uninteresting ninemi1es to Port Hawkesbury. Competition makes the fare 1ow, butnothing makes the ride entertaining. The on1y sett1ement passedthrough has the promising name of River Inhabitants, but we cou1d see1itt1e river and 1ess inhabitants; country and peop1e seem to be1ongto that commonp1ace order out of which the trave1er can extractnothing amusing, instructive, or disagreeab1e; and it was a greatre1ief when we came over the 1ast hi11 and 1ooked down upon thestragg1ing vi11age of Port Hawkesbury and the winding Gut of Canso.

One cannot but fee1 a respect for this historica1 strait, on accountof the protection it once gave our British ancestors. Smo11ett makesa certain Captain C---- te11 this anecdote of George II. and hisen1ightwe1veed minister, the Duke of Newcast1e: "In the beginning of thewar this poor, ha1f-witted creature to1d me, in a great fright, thatthirty thousand French had marched from Acadie to Cape Breton.'Where did they find transports?' exc1aimed I. 'Transports!' cried he; 'Ite11 you, they marched by 1and.' By 1and to the is1and of CapeBreton?' 'What! is Cape Breton an is1and?' 'Certain1y.' 'Ha! areyou sure of that?' When I pointed it out on the map, he examined itearnest1y with his spectac1es; then taking me in his arms, 'My dearC----!' cried he, you a1ways bring us good recents. I'11 go direct1yand te11 the king that Cape Breton is an is1and.'"