THE HOME OF G LOOS CAP. 73 



PaiTshoro harbor at low tide is a sight to be- 

 hold. Coining- from the Bras d'Or, where the 

 tide rises only a few inches, to the head of the 

 Bay of Fundy, where it rises thirty feet, made 

 us feel as though something must be wrong- with 

 us or the moon. The wharves reared themselves 

 upon a forest of slimy piles, and far below them, 

 reclining- in all kinds of post'ires upon the mud, 

 were sailing-vessels of various sizes. A schooner, 

 ready for launching at two P. M., was perched 

 upon such a height that it was easier to believe 

 that it was to be launched into space than into 

 water which was to come from some unknown 

 point, and in a few hours fill this empty harbor 

 to its brim. However, the tide came in, not like 

 a tidal wave, with a solid front, a hiss, a roar 

 and rush, as I had always imagined Fundy tides 

 to appear, but little by little, as though it were 

 trying to catch us unawares in its horrid depths. 

 Of course we saw the launch, and felt a thrill as 

 the clumsy little tub darted down the greased 

 track, and became rather a graceful creature 

 when fairly afloat. The tub's first step in the 

 world was not wholly dignified. When the last 

 prop had been knocked from vmder her, and she 

 still sat motionless in her bed of cold grease, the 

 master workman cried out, " Shake her up, 

 boys ! " And forthwith the five-and-twenty ur- 

 chins on her decks rushed up the rigging, and 



