spots of Canada. Many pretty vieWs 
     
     are had from the train as it climbs the 
     
     Cobequid Mountains which here run from 
     
     east to west. 
     
    

    
     A drive or, better still, a walk 
     
     through the valley will bring a hundred 
     
     pleasures to those who love nature and 
     
     the beautiful. Here is the winding 
     
     Wallace River, and here, too, are fifty tiny streams, waterfalls and 
     
     brooks. Some are dashing headlong and sparkling in the sun; others, 
     
     with white foam shaded to a cream by the overhanging trees, have 
     
     inner depths that the eye cannot fathom until accustomed to the 
     
     narrow limits of light and shade. 
     
    

    
     The air is musical with falling and rippling water, so here let 
     
     us take a seat by the side of this merry cascade and listen to 
     
     Nature’s harmonies. So various are the notes, each waterfall having 
     
     its own, it is not difficult to select sounds that make melodies. But 
     
     whatever the melody, the dominant harmony is that of joy and glad- 
     
     ness, and as the eye Views mountain, valley, woodland, river, 
     
     waterfall and plashing brook, surely no fairer scene could well be 
     
     imagined. 
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
     And listen to the birds as they add their merry roundelay. 
     
    
   
   
    
     “ Break out and sing, ye happy birds! 
     
     Your tender music needs no words 
     
     To tell us everything.” 
     
    
   
   
    
     But the green shade of the woodland is inviting, and following 
     
     the gayest and most dashing of little streams that ever ran from moun- 
     
     tain side to woodland depths, we trace a path by the wild flowers, 
     
     and pass in, deeper and deeper. Right at the threshold is the daisy. ‘ 
     
    
   
   
    
     “ No shame feels she, though in lowly place, 
     
     No envy of rivals gorgeously clad, 
     
    

    
     Contentment gleams from her pure, fresh face, 
     
     And her glance can gladden a heart that’s sad 
     
    

    
     By its radiant grace.” 
     
    
   
   
    
     But deeper in we go. What splendid solitude. How quickly 
     
     every fibre responds to the thrilling call of nature. The faintly 
     
     rustling leaves, the plash of the brook, now subdued to becoming 
     
     solemnity, the distant silvery note of the bird at the edge of the 
     
    
   
   
    
     235