are on a gal(e)a time anyhow; still, this is a remarkably breezy place,
the wind rising with the tide, so we understand why there are so few
flowers in the gardens,--the poor blossoms would soon be torn to pieces;
but the windows of the houses generally are crowded with thriving plants
gay with bloom, giving most cheery effect as one strolls about the town.

In our excursion to the Bay Shore we halt to water the horses at a neat
little cottage on the summit of the North Mountain, and even here the
little garden (protected from the winds by a fence) is all aflame with a
wonderful variety of large double and gorgeous poppies. From this point,
also, we have our first view of the wide Bay, shimmering in the hazy
sunlight far below, and can faintly trace the rugged hills of New
Brunswick in the distance.

Rapidly descending, we follow the coast for several miles, finally
stopping at a lonely house on the rocky and barren shore,--such a wild
spot as a novelist would choose to represent a smuggler's retreat; but
the family would not answer his purpose in that respect, for they are
homely and hospitable, agreeing at once to provide stabling for our
horses and to sell us some milk for our lunch. They drop their net
mending, come out _en masse_, and, on learning that some of us are from
Philadelphia, greet us like old friends, because their eldest daughter
is living in that distant city. The best pitcher is brought out for our
use, the whole establishment placed at our disposal, and, finding that
we will be so insane as to prefer to picnic under the few straggling
pines by the water instead of using their dining-room, several march
ahead to show the way to the rocky point; and we form a long and, of
course, imposing procession.

As we gaze along this barren and lonely shore, Octavia exclaims,