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,
"Imagine the amazement of De Monts when he sailed along this iron-bound
coast and suddenly came upon that wonderful gateway which leads into the
beautiful Annapolis Basin and the fertile, lovely region beyond!" and we
all agree that it is a shame that the embouchure should now be known by
the vulgar title, Digby Gut, instead of its old cognomen, St. George's
Channel. "Why couldn't they call it the Gap or the Gate?" one exclaims;
"that wouldn't be quite so dreadful."
One evening some of our pleasant acquaintances in the town come to take
us to Lake La Rose, away up on the South Mountain; and there we embark
and glide over the placid water in the moonlight, rousing the echoes
with song, and vainly endeavoring to uproot the coy lilies, which
abruptly slip through our fingers, and "bob" down under the water as if
enjoying our discomfiture.
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