WINDSOR TO WOLFVILLE. 21 



tion of the ricliest land in the province, however, I had 

 been recommended to proceed westward to Annapolis, 

 about eighty miles by land, and thence by a steamer 

 which plies regularly to the city of St John. 



Starting again with the stage, we ascended the Avon 

 till it became sufficiently narrow to be bridged over, 

 and then crossed to Falmouth by one of those covered 

 wooden bridges of which I afterwards saw so many in 

 North America. They form long dark wooden tunnels, 

 stronger, perhaps, and more durable for their darkness, 

 but most effectual in preventing either the beauties or 

 defects of the river scenery from reaching the eye of the 

 passenger. 



Whoever has sailed up the Avon to our English Bristol 

 when the tide was low, would, this afternoon, have agreed 

 in the propriety of the name which has been given to 

 this river of Windsor. The tide was low, and, as in the 

 EngHsh Avon, lofty and steep mud banks confined the 

 waters, and showed at once how high the tide must rise, 

 and how fertilising its muddy water must be. 



From this point the land had an improved appear- 

 ance, and the first good crop I had seen during my 

 whole day's ride began to cheer my eyes. As we drove 

 along, I gradually shook off the feeling of despondency, 

 with w^hich I had looked upon the parched upland 

 country through which I had come to Windsor. I was 

 now proceeding over a more elevated and less valuable 

 portion of that rich alluvial land, for which the shores of 

 the Bay of MInas, and Its tributary creeks, and of the 

 head-waters of the Bay of Fundy in general, have been 

 long famous. Advancing twelve or fifteen miles further 

 to Horton and Wolfville, I found myself on the edge of 

 the richest dyke-land in the province. I quitted the 

 stage at Wolfville, for the purpose of taking a drive over 

 a portion of the most productive land before the evening 

 set in. 



