a line of low coast—­muddy-looking at first—­it soon became marked with lines of dark wood—­then the shore dotted with grey huts—­then the sun came out—­the breeze got milder—­and the air became strongly redolent of pine-woods.  Nearer, the coast became more defined, though still low, rather bare, and dotted with brushwood, and grey stones low down, and crowned always with “murmuring pines.”  As we came to habitations, which are dotted, and sparkle along the shore, the effect was what we noticed in Belgium, as if a box of very bright new toys had been put out to play with, red roofs—­even red houses—­cardboard-looking churches—­little bright wooden houses—­and stiffish trees mixed everywhere.  It looks more like a quaint watering-place than a city, though there are some fine buildings....  We took a great fancy to the place, which was like a new child’s picture book, and I was rather disappointed to learn it is not to be our home.  But Fredericton, where we are going, has superior advantages in some respects, and will very likely be quite as pretty.

Halifax. June 19, 1867.

* * * * *

Rex and I went down to the fish-market that I might see it.  Coming back we met an old North American Indian woman.  Such a picturesque figure.  We talked to her, and Rex gave her something.  I do not think it half so degraded-looking a type as they say.  A very broad, queer, but I think acute and pleasant-looking face.  Since I came in I have made two rather successful sketches of her.[34] She wore an old common striped shawl, but curiously thrown round her so that it looked like a chief’s blanket, a black cap embroidered with beads, black trousers stuffed into moccasins, a short black petticoat, and a large gold-coloured cross on her breast, and a short jacket trimmed with scarlet, a stick and basket for broken victuals.  She said she was going to catch the train!  It sounded like hearing of Plato engaged for a polka!...

[Footnote 34:  See pages 175, 176.]

[Illustration:  Indian.]

[Illustration:  Indian.]

TO MISS E. LLOYD.

[Sketch.] Cathedral Church of Fredericton, New Brunswick.

August 23, 1867.

MY DEAREST OLD ELEANORA,

I have been a wretch for not having written to you sooner.  It seems strange there should remain any pressure of business or hurry of life in this place, where workmen look out of the windows of the house (our house and a fact!); they are repairing nine at a time, and boys swing their buckets and dawdle to the well for water, as if Time couldn’t be lounged and coaxed off one’s hands!!  And yet busy I have been, and every mail has been a scramble.  Getting into our house was no joke, attending sales and shops, buying furniture—­ditto, ditto—­as to paying and receiving calls on lovely days with