THE PEOPLE OF THE COAST 177 
the coast is one of the most refreshing experiences a visitor 
can have. A man may have fustian instead of broad- 
cloth, sea-boots instead of patent-leather boots, a blue 
guernsey instead of the latest cut of frock-coat, but a man 
is a man in Labrador for all that, — independent and free 
from all self-consciousness, which quite falsely humbles 
one man in the presence of his fellow-men. Thus I have 
had guests many times staying with us in our house, waited 
on at our table, and then quite naturally adjourning to the 
kitchen and feeling absolutely at home and unembarrassed 
there with the servants, without any false contempt for 
others, just as a Ruskin or a Tolstoi, or the Christ would 
have it. 
Yet the Labradorman, on the other hand, has none of 
that offensive familiarity which would ignore the differ- 
ences that are the outcome of position and training. He 
does not so much care who your father and grandfather 
were, or the quality of your clothes. But he does not try 
to force that fact on you in the manner said to be the pre- 
rogative of ‘walking delegates.” 
Those who have visited the Labrador fisherman have, 
on social grounds, learnt to love him for his simple virtues, 
his hospitality, his faith, his truthfulness, and his loyalty, — 
even as Ian Maclaren taught us to love the people of Drum- 
tochty. Nor can you be long in the fisherman’s company 
without feeling this. 
The public health of Labrador has practically been a 
matter of chance. Houses are not drained. Few have 
even outside closets, much less one in the house. There 
are no sanitary officers. Very few residents have ever been 
vaccinated. Until recently they have had no teaching 
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