42 FROM BLOMIDON TO SMOKY. 



The evening before, while watching meteors 

 from the beach, we had seen the sky above 

 Middle Head suddenly lighted up by a bright 

 fire. It lasted ten or fifteen minutes, then died 

 away so quickly that we felt sure no building 

 could have been destroyed. Now, on the nar- 

 row path leading along the edge of the cliffs, we 

 met three men. They bowed and touched their 

 caps with the smiling politeness characteristic 

 of most of the natives, Gaelic or Irish. I asked 

 them what and where the fire had been ; and in 

 a few words they said that Rory This had 

 bought the right to cut grass on Sandy That's 

 land, but that after the hay was made a dispute 

 arose as to the price ; so the hay had been 

 burned to quiet the trouble. I confess I could 

 not reason out the process by which either Rory 

 who had labored, or Sandy who had owned the 

 grass, could find comfort in putting match to 

 the hay. 



Some of the rock which supported Sandy's 

 scorched hayfield, and which formed portions 

 of the cliffs of Middle Head, contrasted strik- 

 ingly with the prevailing red syenite of the 

 Ingonish region. It was white ; not, however, 

 like newly fallen snow, but like that which this 

 world has somewhat soiled. Gypsum, or " plas- 

 ter," as Cape Breton calls it, occurs in many 

 places on the Bras d'Or and along the north 



