INTO THE TERRA-NOVA COUNTRY 5 



St. John's is a quiet old-world place, something between 

 a Canadian town and a Norwegian fishing village. On one 

 side of the beautiful harbour are endless cod-flakes and a 

 few sealing vessels, and on the other is the main town, built 

 on the side of a steep hill, where electric trams and lights 

 add the one jarring note ; but the whole atmosphere of the 

 place is charming and without noise. They discourage the 

 American spirit there, and the man who wants to hustle 

 soon breaks his heart. Business men stroll down to their 

 offices at ten o'clock, and have always time for a cigar and 

 chat. Life is very much as it was fifty years ago, with the 

 addition of a few innovations which the people have been 

 powerless to prevent. At the summit of the hill are splendid 

 churches, which seem to give a certain tone of distinction to 

 the place, and at the back of these are the houses of the 

 more affluent. Beyond this we find agricultural scenery amidst 

 rolling hills, and still farther, but not too far for a walk, are 

 dense fir woods of peace and beauty. St. John's is really 

 a charming city viewed from a distant spot such as the 

 verandah of Judge Prowse's house, and after several visits 

 I was never tired of this landscape. 



But to return to the city. The main thoroughfare is 

 Water Street, where the traveller can obtain anything within 

 reason. The shops are excellent and up-to-date, and the 

 people extremely kind to strangers, especially when they come 

 from the Old Country. The cabs are a feature of the place, 

 and are drawn by wiry little Canadian horses. When you 

 go up the steep hills you feel you ought to be prosecuted 

 for cruelty to animals, and when you come down you wish 

 you had never been born. You drop from the Cathedral 

 to Water Street in one horrible swoop, scarcely reassured 

 by the optimism of the Placentia Irishman who drives you. 



