GLIMPSES OF NEWFOUNDLAND 



40.S 



chill of its ravines, the piercing brine of its 

 coasts and the soft caresses of its infiltra- 

 ting fogs, have, one and all, raised the pall 

 of years and started again the springs of 

 youth and hope; to such Newfoundland 

 is not the land of blue noses, is not to be 

 thought of under the aspersive reflection 

 of humiliating ridicule. It remains in their 

 memory a panorama of beautiful pictures, 

 and if it has, just carelessly enough, too, 

 stimulated a little vanity by letting us 

 catch its fish, or slay its caribou, shall it be 

 the less remembered with affection ? 



It was a surprise to find the forward 

 quarters of our steamer (the Silvia, Red 

 Cross Line, Erie Basin, Brooklyn) loaded 

 to repletion with barrels of cabbages, and 

 the fact of their destination. for St. John's, 

 which the guide books had, with customary 

 leniency of statement, made the centre of a 

 fertile, and agricultural community, was at 

 first (Fig. 1) perplexing. Later experiences 

 acquainted us with the fallibility of the 

 guide books and the uncompromising na- 

 ture of Newfoundland soil and climate. 

 Still it has been a just cause for reproach to 

 their island by ambitious and progressive 

 colonists that its thin unavailabilities in the 

 way of field and garden products have not 

 been more exhaustively developed. Too 

 attentive a confidence to the genial authors 

 of the guide books might nurture the ex- 

 pectation that oranges, guava and pine- 

 apples would some day be listed in the 

 island's exports, but it is reasonable to ex- 



I'TO. 2. TIIK CI, IKK OK NOTRK DAM 



FIG. I. CABBAGES FOR NEWFOUNDLAND 



pect at present a more generous yield of 

 kitchen vegetables. 



We landed at Port-au-Basques (the name 

 summons a picture of the old invasions of 

 the island by the French and Spanish 

 fishermen) in a cold, dripping fog, which 

 slowly rolled up in clouds and left the 

 gleaming rocks and interstitial patches of 

 grass wet and cool. The sun. crept along 

 the edges of the retiring mist and, like un- 

 folding visions, the distant mountains 

 came to view, ribboned or dotted 

 with banks of perennial snow. 

 Port-au-Basques is a lane of 

 water between a cold gneissoid 

 ridge and the mainland, and as 

 we looked over the sides of the 

 vessel, somewhat mournfully, the 

 first impressions of this boreal 

 region were certainly novel; the 

 strange, barren, rocky shores, all 

 the more desolate and alien be- 

 cause of the cold mists that clung 

 to their gray outlines, the fresh, 

 vivid patches of grass at the 

 shore, descending in places 

 almost to the water's edge, and 

 the plain, shingled, fishermen's 

 houses with their indispensable 

 cod "flakes," made singular 



