Chapter IV CHARLOTTETOWN , CARLYLE 'S BLUMINE AND THE ISLAND MUSE I describe Charlottetown . I am reminded of Margaret Gordon and Carlyle, of Sir Alexander Bannerman , of Desbrisay. I recall the ghost story, meet two Americans again, and read poetry in . We discuss the Ich Dien motto, Robert Harris Memorial Gallery, the boats. I remember the man who could not leave the Island. ONE'S impression of Charlottetown is likely to be decided by one's choice of entry. And first impressions are lasting. The train penetrates the most dismal section, giving the tourist the idea that Charlottetown is only an alley. Cars are some¬ what better. They usually turn down more cheerful streets and scoff at the alley theory. But the boat is by far the most reliable. It furnishes a panoramic view of the city—of the houses set in prim rows around the curving waterfront—of with its white colonial government house—of the towering church spires—of the busy wharves—of the Hills¬ borough Bridge. It was a most prosaic name that the surveyor bestowed on the Island capital. How much more appropriate and picturesque would be Heart's Content or Pensacola or Adowa! But Charlottetown it is and probably always will be unless the hungry waves of the Gulf sweep in and carry off the snug little town. This is one case of a town being a city. The name declares it is a town. The population reaffirms it—less than fifteen thousand. But every one considers it and refers to it as "the city." 60