bungalows have been erected in a fine 
     
     situation for the water View and the cool 
     
     evening air. Like most of the places 
     
     that are a little remote from the beaten 
     
     highway of travel, Pugwash is quite 
     
     quaint in its appearance and everyday 
     
     life. The streets are very pleasant, there 
     
     are plenty of river Views and walks, and 
     
     there are many good roads. It is one 
     
     of those places where a very quiet and restful summer may be 
     
     spent at very moderate expense. 
     
    

    
     The scenery by Tatamagouche River, and also by the Swiss 
     
     settlement of Riverjohn, is very enjoyable. A pleasing sheet of water 
     
     is at Tatamagouche. The land is low, but the bay winds and turns and 
     
     has little coves in it, so that it makes an attractive waterway for 
     
     boating and canoeing. Malagash Point makes out at the far western 
     
     extremity of the main bay. The Tatamagouche is a pretty little 
     
     stream with picturesque banks—the flat country here gradually 
     
     taking a moderate elevation in parts. River John is a stream of fair 
     
     proportions, nicely wooded with young trees along its gentle sloping 
     
     banks of brightest green. Going east from here the country becomes 
     
     somewhat undulating, and on approaching Lyon's Brook and Pictou, 
     
     , hills of bolder height are seen. 
     
    

    
     The country through which we are passing is that of the 
     
     blackbird and the bobolink, and the rivers, water reaches and tall 
     
     grasses are the homes of wild fowl of almost every kind. 
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
     “The redwinged merle, from bending spray 
     
    

    
     On graceful pinions poising, 
     
    

    
     Pours out a liquid roundelay 
     
     In jubilant rejoicing. 
     
    

    
     The cock-grouse drums on sounding log, 
     
    

    
     The fox forsakes his cover, 
     
    

    
     The woodcock pipes from fen and bog, 
     
    

    
     From upland leas the plover. 
     
    
   
   
    
     The speckled trout dart up the stream, 
     
     Beneath the rustic bridges, 
     
    

    
     \Vhile flocks of pigeons glance and gleam 
     
     O’er beach and maple ridges. 
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
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