glimpses of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and tall pine-trees flung their dark
shadows over the low green graves.

Leaving our friends in the house, we went down to a small creek running up
into the woods, the most formidable "_longer fences_" not intercepting our
progress. After some ineffectual attempts to gain possession of a log-
canoe, we launched a leaky boat, and went out towards the sea. The purple
beams of the setting sun fell upon the dark pine woods, and lay in long
lines upon the calm waters of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. It was a glorious
evening, and the scene was among the fairest which I saw in the New World.
On our return we found our host, the missionary, returned from his walk of
twenty-two miles, and a repast of tea, wheaten scones, raspberries, and
cream, awaited us. This good man left England twenty-five years ago, and
lived for twenty in one of the most desolate parts of Newfoundland. Yet he
has retained his vivid interest in England, and kept us up till a late
hour talking over its church and people. Contented in his isolated
position, which is not without its severe hardships, this good missionary
pursues his useful course unnoticed by the world as it bustles along; his
sole earthly wish seems to be that he may return to England to die.

The next morning at seven we left his humble home, where such hospitality
had awaited us, and he accompanied us to the river. He returned to his
honourable work--I shortly afterwards went to the United States--another
of the party is with the Turkish army in the Crimea--and the youngest is
married in a distant land. For several hours we passed through lovely
scenery, on one of the loveliest mornings I ever saw. We stopped at the
hut of an old Highland woman, who was "_terribly glad_" to see us, and
gave us some milk; and we came up with a sturdy little barefooted urchin
of eight years old, carrying a basket. "What's your name?" we asked. "_Mr.
Crazier_," was the bold and complacent reply.