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PENCILLINGS BY THE WAY, 
 
 DURING A VACATION VISIT 
 
 IN CHEBUCTO. 
 
 •Y 
 
 A STUDENT WHO IS A NATIVE OF HALIFAX, 
 
 P.J.B. 
 
 With an Introduction by the Author 
 
 MONTREAL : 
 
 PRINTED BY JOHN LOVELL, ST NICHOLAS STREET 
 
 1868. 
 
 ,. <■."!«» J « 
 
LXS) 
 
 IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF UNUSUAL KIIfONESS, 
 
 i respectfully dedicate 
 This Little Wor k 
 
 TO MV MOST ESTEEMED FRIEND, 
 
 LUKE MOORE, Esy. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 I ASSURE you, gentle reader, it is with no 
 ordinary sensation of fear, mingled with confi- 
 dence, that I venture to present to the appre- 
 ciating reading class of our new Dominion this 
 little poetical rosary of scenes, pencilled during 
 a vacation visit, which so importunately crowd 
 in upon my memory at all times, that I have 
 concluded the best way I can dismiss them, 
 without any offence, is to send them home in 
 the coat of Esau, trusting, with all the solicitude 
 of Rachel, that they may receive the blessing, 
 if not of criticism, at least of consideration, 
 from the hands of kind friends, who may not 
 perceive in my rude manner of expression the 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 voice of a poet ; yet, may feel the good inten> 
 tion of one, who would not sell the memory of 
 his country for the mess of practical routine 
 that daily surrounds him. I say fear, because 
 of the imputation of presumption, which may 
 be wantonly laid at my door for having essayed 
 a little work which might have staggered a more 
 experienced writer ; and confidence, because the 
 timidity natural to a tyro, or fledgling author, 
 is composed into tranquillity by a consciousness 
 of your generous indulgence. I admit, indeed, 
 the right of criticism, and appreciate its vigil- 
 ance for public taste, in not allowing every 
 literary adventurer to spawn his abortive pro- 
 ductions upon the condescending attention of 
 a patronizing public, 
 
 I feel confident, in the meantime, however 
 open to critical aspersions my little essay may 
 be, that it will find more than an apology in the 
 kind consideration of healthy criticism, and an 
 overflowing aflfection for the haunts of my 
 youth, which, like the spring long pent up, 
 gushes out at the first opening, and serving, 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 perhaps, to slake the thirst of another exile like 
 myself, for the home of his childhood — Chebucto, 
 The only way of avoiding the painful visita- 
 tions of criticism, is to moderately retire from 
 all public exertion, in fact, from this " vale of 
 tears " altogether ; and, were it not that I con- 
 sider it an unworthy affectation in me to conceal 
 the emotions awakened in my heart by kindness, 
 and that I know it to be the desire of my friends 
 to see those inklings appear in print, for the 
 fire-side perusal of the evening circle during 
 this reading season, I should certainly prefer to 
 still slumber in humble, yet secure obscurity. 
 J There may be found some more fastidious 
 
 and less charitable, who, for puerile amusement, 
 would spatter an honest endeavor, and who are 
 usually distinguishable from the more intelli- 
 gent and considerate by their indolent envy 
 and prurient stupidity to pluck distinction at 
 the expense of their neighbors, keeping out of 
 sight the old adage which says, that " What 
 may be play for one is oftentimes death to 
 others." As a chamber may appear scrupu- 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 lously neat until the morning sun comes stream- 
 ing through the half open blind, when particles 
 of dust are seen flitting about, and mocking 
 the goodliest intention of the hand-maid ; so, 
 my little composition may seem very neat until 
 the light of criticism is brought to bear upon 
 it, when defects will, no doubt, come to the 
 surface in abundance — this circumstaiice, how- 
 ever, must be looked upon as the unavoidable 
 consequence of its being the offspring of the 
 dusty turmoil of every-day life. I must add, 
 that this little effusion is but a poor expression 
 of Chebucto scenery, which might equally 
 compare, in many respects, with that of the 
 much-talked-of Hudson. There is no wealthy 
 metropolis, certainly, hanging upon its skirts 
 to entice the fashionable tourist to dream 
 away the sultry weeks of summer in painful 
 luxury ; yet, there is a little world of pictu- 
 resqueness hanging about Chebucto in all its 
 wild luxuriance, unattended by any dissipating 
 circumstances, and which is equalled only by 
 the unparalleled hospitality of its inhabitants. 
 
PREFACE. vn 
 
 We might justly apply to Chebucto these beau- 
 tiful lines of the poet — 
 
 ** Many a flower ii born to bluih unieen. 
 And watte its sweetness on the desert air." 
 
 It is with no empty hope of returning, in 
 high-sounding words or honeyed phrases, my 
 compliments for kindness manifested towards 
 me during a vacation visit by the people of 
 Halifax, that I presume to interrupt for a 
 moment your precious attention ; for such an 
 effort would be as unnecessary in its object as 
 it would be futile in the attempt, since it is an 
 instinct of their generous nature to be hospitable, 
 and the mere consciousness of having rendered 
 others a favour bears with it sufficient requital ; 
 but I do it merely to satisfy the wish of a few 
 friends, who are anxious to see me ventilate my 
 intellect in the shape of some literary effusion. 
 With confidence, therefore, I place before you 
 this little pen-drop, trusting it may please, at 
 least, the taste of those whom I hold dear in 
 my memory ; and if*, unfortunately, it should 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 be rudely handled by the less indulgent, / will 
 still love Halifax ; for 
 
 " Vou may break, you may ruin the vase, if you will, 
 The scent of the roses will hang round it still." 
 
 P. J. B. 
 
 Montreal^ Novembtr^ 1 867. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 •• See round yonder gnarled vasc twining. 
 
 Creeps the verdant ivy*s vine ; 
 In the heavens above are shining 
 
 Stars undimmed by flight of time. 
 In my heart, too, still are burning 
 
 Beacon lights of other days ; 
 And in gladness to them turning 
 
 Memory sings again their lays. 
 
 Happy days in this drear far-land 
 
 1 have wove, in fancy's hours. 
 For my heart, a passing garland 
 
 From thy never-dying flowers. 
 And when future years shall hover 
 
 O'er my heart, perchance in woe, 
 I may 'mid the thorns discover 
 
 Fairy flowers of long ago." 
 
 w. D. K. 
 
f 
 
CHEBUCTO. 
 
 " O, mlhi praeteritos rcferat cum Jupiter annus."— ^'•r^//. 
 
 O, well may the poet, in sad dereliction, 
 
 Abandon the present to sigh for past years ; 
 While Mem'ry looks back from the brink of reflection. 
 
 And points out his home to the exile in tears. 
 He smiles through his tears — the night-dew of abjection — 
 
 And lists to her accents however uncouth : — 
 A rainbow o*er-arches his grief and affection, 
 
 And links his poor heart with each scene of his youth. 
 
 There stands the Cathedral away on the hill-side, 
 
 Whose steeple o'ershadows the dhurch-yard beneath. 
 Where holy tranquillity's broken at noon liJc, 
 
 By voices of school-boys let loose on the heath. 
 There frown the green groves where loft went nest-hunting 
 
 And boasted in knowing their every nook ; 
 While here sleeps the lake where I oft went a swimming. 
 
 And patiently tempted the trout with my hook. 
 
 There, too, is the natural lounge by the sea-side, 
 Where oft I lay, musing upon the smooth deep ; 
 
 And with cigaret offered incense to Naides 
 
 And wood-nymphs that came there their vigils to keep. 
 
12 CHEBUCTO. 
 
 In all its luxuriance the wild woods behind me 
 
 Threw shadows around me that tempered the sun ; 
 
 •While Echo, the spirit of silence, leaped wildly, 
 
 And shrieked at the noise of the young sportsman's gun. 
 
 Away in the distance old Neptune is rolling. 
 Like scales on his breast the bright waters expand ; 
 And sleeping, like Samson, his big arms unfolding, 
 
 He throws one caressingly into the land. 
 The Bishop's neat villa — the cradle rock's motion — 
 
 The song of the boatmen, by distance made sweet; 
 Their dripping oars break, into soft undulations. 
 
 The waters that come to complain at my feet. 
 
 But now 'tis alive to the Sunday-school pic-nic, — 
 
 In dancing and singing they wear out the day ; — 
 There, too, the young children go blue-berry picking, 
 
 Or, pluck the first flow'rs from the lap of young May 
 The party's embarking — the steamer is snorting — 
 
 With song and rejoicing it ploughs through the main 
 Their voices are heard on the breeze gently sporting 
 
 And Silence comes out from her covert again. 
 
 The voice of the mountain sprite now seems to wake me— 
 
 The spirits of ev'ning are waiving their spell ; 
 Away from the chamber of nature I take me. 
 
 And find my way home by the cow's tinkling bell. 
 The morning is up in its freshness and beauty— 
 
 The farmer is mowing the sweet-scented hay. 
 The city steals quietly into its duty, 
 
 While I to the Toward-road hie me away. 
 
CHEBUCTO. 13 
 
 The Tow'r, amid sunshine and solitude rising, 
 
 Where chip-munks are munching, secure, on the greeft, 
 Look out, 'mid the trees on the blue waters winding. 
 
 While birds, with their wild notes, arc flitting between. 
 The batteries, too, with their net-work of cannon. 
 
 Peer out on the sea with a wild sense of fear ; 
 And, boom out at noon-tide a blank threat at random. 
 
 To see that no Jonathan gun-boats are near. 
 
 Look there on the right, where the arm is just op'ning. 
 
 Above the dark waters the "chainc-rock " juts out. 
 The story runs : — " Here's where our tars tried to slope in^ 
 
 And with this big chain Les Francais shut them out." 
 'Tis here where the gentry, in glittering coaches. 
 
 That sink to each motion of bodily case. 
 Drive out, where no din of the city encroaches. 
 
 To hear the wild music and court the soft breeze. 
 
 Here, too, we picked dultz and white shells by the sea-side. 
 
 And dizzily ran o'er the rocks' mossy ridge ; — 
 While there, to commune, met the lovers at e'cntide, 
 
 Where tulips (two-lips) grew plenty hard by naughty. bridge. 
 As principal word in a picturesque sentence — 
 
 Or, like a full-stop to the beauty within ; 
 There still George's island stands out at the entrance 
 
 Of Halifax harbour, a strayed Naiad queen. 
 
 In Titan proportions the citadel proudly. 
 Protective looks down on the city between \ 
 
 At noon he's heard yawning, ond looking quite drowsy, 
 And sadly in want of a new coat of green. 
 
CH£BUCTO. 
 
 re, dreamy as ever, the old Dartmouth steamer, 
 s if half afraid the still waters to break, 
 •oping her way, like some middle-age dreamer, 
 nd only when moving Yiqs stern /y awake. 
 
 boat, up the basin to Sackville, is sailing, 
 11 freighted with beauty and music so gay: — 
 r oft have I pensi ely leaned o'er its railing, 
 nd thought I saw Halifax running away ; 
 ' she awoke from a mental distraction, 
 nd ran all her might to catch Commerce and Art ; 
 tripped, like a child, into Confederation, 
 nd, sorry too late, she now hangs on her skirt, 
 
 there stand the Indian wigwams as ever, 
 II dingy with smoke on the side of the hill; 
 le here, still obedient to all sorts of weather, 
 constantly turning the old Dartmouth mill. 
 Admiral's ship, at the head of the- harbour, 
 ands out like a sentinel watching the coast ; 
 waves in defiance her flag a'ier the water, 
 iVhere sleeps the proud Galilean Admiral's ghost. 
 
 ' gracefully to us the waters are yielding ! 
 hat odorous luxury tempers the breeze ! 
 ■ pretty the basin looks on our view stealing, 
 chamber, where labour may court sylvan ease 
 
 : Is here where the French Adniiral is said to have run on his sword 
 pair of escaping from the English. 
 
CHEBUCTO. 
 
 Hark ! isn't that the Sunday bell. 
 That's stealing, like a holy spell. ' 
 From out yon sunny belfry, where 
 Vou hear the pigeons cooing there : 
 Like angels whisp'ring from above, 
 Who came to tell their Sunday-love 
 
 Just yonder, where the silent shade 
 Is slanting o'er the verdant glade, 
 O'er old Chebucto far and near, 
 St. Mary's chimes steal soft and clear ; 
 And, with the mornings' zephyrs sway- 
 Again, as if in fond delay. 
 They swell and gently die away. 
 
 O, often in my childhood's times 
 
 I've paused to hear those solemn chimes, 
 
 Which spoke more softly to my heart. 
 
 Than music of a nicer art. 
 
 In merry tones to Hymen' swell. 
 
 Or muffled peals of fun'ral knell !— . 
 
 The week-day tears me from retreat, 
 And all is life in Granville street. 
 How oft, in victimizing love. 
 Must tempt the winged god above. 
 The flirt, a victim in disguise 
 To beauty, wit and rolling eyes ; 
 Who may the dart she plumes for me 
 Direct against her villainy. 
 O, get thee from your ambuscade. 
 Where thoughtless youths are oft misiead, 
 
 15 
 
i6 
 
 CHEBUCTO. 
 
 Whence darting out a killing sneer, 
 You gain the vict*ry of a tear! 
 
 In honeyed words and perfumes sweet, 
 And grace of motion exquisite. 
 You meet the youth with languid eye; 
 When captured once — away you flv. 
 You leave him, bound up in a spell, 
 To pine in disappointment's " tv//." 
 Through gorgeous halls and circles gay 
 You flaunt your smiles, but to betray ; 
 Where e'er your murd'rous eyes may dart, 
 They're sure to leave a bleeding heart. 
 
 With mincing step and sugar smile, 
 Around the heedless youth you coil ; 
 Your dimpled hand you let him squeeze- 
 When, O ! he dreams of " love at ease." 
 Your cv'ry look, and word, and wish, — 
 All conned to make a dainty dish. 
 In dove-tailed notes of pinken hue. 
 With seal — " I only live for you." 
 She boasts amongst associates. 
 How many smiles and notes she gets. 
 
 Down Granville street gents bow to her. 
 
 To please th: little Moniteur ; 
 
 As, conscious of her beauty's force. 
 
 Affectedly she picks her course. 
 
 And thinks she only needs to court. 
 
 To captivate the strongest fort. 
 
CHEBUCTO. 
 
 I? 
 
 She drops into the dry-goods marts, 
 Vn jncrely sec the price ot hearts : 
 And, \\ she finds tiiem not cjuite hribk. 
 She's sure to venture little risk. 
 
 How much ihe heart-sick clerks all sigh, 
 
 To catch the pretty butterfly! 
 
 While home she starts without a choice, 
 
 Because the goods are at half-price. 
 
 At home — fatigued — she takes a chair. 
 
 And simpers out, "Now, I don't care 
 
 Those fellows are a stupid set, 
 
 To thus neglect their little pet !" 
 
 But, Jove! she now begins to pout. 
 
 And wonders why when she goes out — 
 
 A paragon of all that's bright, 
 
 A flirt by day and prude by night — 
 
 The skies don't breathe a gentler gale, 
 
 As down the street she tilts full-sail ; 
 
 Now tucking up her virgin clothes, 
 
 She, mincinglv, before her throws 
 
 Her pretty foot and ankle too. 
 
 So fulsome o'er her dainty shoe. 
 
 But patience cries, " a truce to this" — 
 
 Adieu, then, Grenvillc street and miss! 
 
 To one sweet spot mid lonely seas, 
 
 Where ev'ning bmilcs o'er hill and dale ; 
 
 And freshlv breathes the ocean breeze. 
 On summer morn o'er dewy vale — 
 
 Away from out the city's street. 
 Behind me all its din I leave : 
 
i8 
 
 CHEBUCTO. 
 
 And hie me to some lone retreat, 
 In * Auburn-dale at pensive eve. 
 
 Where oft we've paused, in fond delay, 
 
 To look adown its shady walks; 
 And catch the prting smile of day, 
 
 By scramh'ling up the beetling rocks. 
 Where, saunt'ring through the pathless woods, 
 
 We stopped upon some op'ning green ; 
 And, looking through the pendant boughs, 
 
 We caught the little scraps of scene. 
 
 Where oft we stood 'neath moonlight bright, 
 
 And list'ned to the waters rave ; 
 And saw, with awe, the prison-light 
 
 That glimmered o'er the darksome wave. 
 How picturesque the children look, 
 
 As playfully they set a-sail 
 Their mimic navies in the brook, 
 
 And shout for fun to think the\' fail ! 
 
 There bashful All, and pretty Frank, 
 
 Sit sporting in their childish glee; 
 And, scamp'ring down the sunny bank, 
 
 They hail the steamer from the sea, — 
 See, yonder, on those sunny plots 
 
 Retiring gently from the sea, 
 Peep shyly through the trees neat cots. 
 
 In all their nun-like modesty. 
 
 *Tis here soft moonlight on the sea. 
 
 Might wake the poet's slumb'ring vein: — 
 
 * Flinn's Villa. 
 
CHEBUCTO. 
 
 la 
 
 And, here the sv. ain in ecstacy 
 
 Might sing — " Then, meet me in the lane." 
 And there might draw aside unseen. 
 
 To tell his lonely heads to Heaven ; 
 And, needn't lear the Nata\i queen — 
 
 The bashful little monk St. Kevin. 
 'Tis to this spot, in social throngs, 
 ** Our little joys we used to bring : — 
 Tis here we sang the good old songs, — 
 
 "The good old songs we used to sing;" 
 While, taking up the dying notes, 
 
 The birds, in canning attitude, 
 Would gape and swell their tiny throats, 
 
 To fill a graceful interlude. 
 But, now, there rests a latent spell — 
 
 1 trust it is the only harm — 
 Within the thrilling word — -farewcU — 
 
 O'er all that's sweet at North-west-Arm ! 
 
 * * • « # 
 
 But there is another spot. 
 Where there stands a little cot, 
 Rising 'mid the swaying trees, — 
 All bespeaking rural ease. 
 Aunt is standing, as of yore, 
 Half-way in the sunny door ; — 
 Children in the summer-house, — 
 Others playing cat-and-mouse, 
 'Mongst the bushes up the walk — 
 Others grouped in merry talk ; 
 While the old folks freely speak 
 O'er the topics of the week ; — 
 
20 CHEBUCTO. 
 
 Or, behind the " sccd-housc " there. 
 Cluster round the momtroui hear. 
 Rustic seats bcncat the shade 
 Lie tor whispering gossips made. 
 Little Griz is frisking round, 
 Hunts his tail and paws the ground ; 
 Rover, with more majesty, 
 vStruts and yawns with dignity. 
 
 Nestling in their pretty beds, 
 Flow'rs put forth their snowy heads ; 
 When they hear the voice of Spring, 
 On their budding charms they fling ; 
 Blushing in their modesty — 
 Covering up their chastity — 
 Hiding in humility — 
 Breathing perfumes rich and rare, 
 Fling them to the sunny air. 
 Sentinels stand lofty trees, 
 Wrestling with the western breeze ; 
 And, look down with sombre mien 
 On the pretty charge within. 
 Grand-pa, too, desires to share 
 Freshness of the summer air ; 
 Eddie, dancing to his side. 
 Takes his hand and plays the guide. 
 Beaux-monde, dressed in latest style, 
 Stops to peep a little while. 
 Up the path in bill'wy sweep 
 Crinoline in flounces deep ; 
 EvVy motion, like the rose, 
 Shaking perfume from their clothes. 
 
CHEBUCTO. ZJ 
 
 Pretty epithets they shovv'r 
 On their darling f'av'rite flow'r. 
 There's another stoops to sup 
 Nectar drops from Flora's cup. ' 
 
 By his patronising smile, 
 You might know 'twere Gcn'ral D — yle. 
 There, too, vouth and beautv met 
 Poesy with flageolet ; 
 Laughing off the sunny hours, — 
 Tickling love in L — y's bow'rs. 
 Listless, too, the student there. 
 Lounging in a rustic chair. 
 Pouring o'er some classic book, 
 Filled each pause with circling look. 
 « * * * • 
 
 At eve when thoughts come home to rest, 
 
 And mcm'ry lonely vigils keep ; 
 And drowsy Nature seems to pause. 
 To bow her head in balmy sleep : 
 Just then we sauntered out to take 
 A peep beyond the city's bounds, — 
 The fairest spot 
 Our eyes had caught, 
 Peep'd slyly through the groves of Downs. 
 
 The lowing herd — the men and maids , 
 
 just gathering up the scented hay — 
 
 The birds couched snugly in their nests. 
 And singing out the dying day. 
 
 Cottages, with pretty faces. 
 
 Dotting here and there the green. 
 
22 CHEBUCTO. 
 
 Without the grounds 
 Of Mr. Downs 
 All hint of hcaiitv there within. 
 
 Through rustic gate, up winding path, 
 We sloped up to the cottage white i 
 And left behind, on either side. 
 
 Green groves that frown a mimic night. 
 The cottage hurst upon our view, 
 
 And, lo ! we heard promiscuous sounds 
 Of bird and beast, 
 At evening feast, 
 Proclaiming loud, "The place is Downs !" 
 
 Monkeys in tlicir hideous antics — . 
 
 Ferrets, racoons, foxes, deer ; 
 Flitting bats, swans, turtles, pheasants, — 
 
 All greeted us as strangers there. 
 The rustic bridge that spann'd the brook, 
 And led us to the up-land grounds — 
 In dreamy caves 
 Young Echo raves, — 
 •■* The place — the place is Mr. Downs'!" 
 
 From scenes so wild, yet beautiful. 
 
 Where Nature seems to hold her sway, 
 1 turned me back to one fair spot. 
 Where poets find a tamer lay ; 
 Where mingled shade and sunshine sport, 
 And all things cater to the heart — 
 Amongst the flow'rs, 
 In L — y's bow'rs, 
 Where motlier Nature links with Art. 
 
. CHEBUCTO. 
 
 * O, how sad is that vesper bell ringing, 
 
 As it pensively steals on mine ear ; 
 Lonely thoughts in mem'ry awak'ning 
 Of a land in my heart 1 hold dear ! 
 For the scenes of vacation are breaking 
 
 The student's fond heart in his room ; 
 While they vanish, like evening declining, 
 
 Leaving mc a poor exile in gloom, 
 in the morning while in meditation, 
 
 Sure I try good and pious to be ; 
 But 'tis then your my only distraction, 
 For J can't help but think, love, on thee! 
 
 You're my good resolutions besetting, 
 And you make up my holy bouquet ; 
 
 While I rise from my knees quite forgetting ; 
 I've been all the time thinking of thee ! 
 
 Like a beam o'er the dark-flowing waters- 
 Like a smile from the Goddess of night ; 
 
 Or, like fragments of sunshine in winter. 
 That cheer the Cathedral's dim light; 
 
 So the joy of thy sweet recollections 
 Comes in spirit to me o'er the sea. 
 To console me in sad dereliction 
 
 While J sit here and think, love, on thee ! 
 
 Chorm.—Q, ne'er from the poor student's mem'ry 
 Can the thoughts of vacation depart; 
 But they cling like the tendrils of ivy 
 Around the best wish of his heart. 
 
 * May be sung to the air of Norah O'Neil. 
 
 2J 
 
^4 CHEBUCTO. 
 
 Farewell ! 
 Words of friendship on the pensive 
 
 Ear of meditation ring ; 
 Turning sadness into gladness. 
 
 Like the merry voice of spring. 
 Words of sadness sear the joys of 
 
 Social life, like autumn blast, 
 Words of anger strip us of the 
 
 Balmy memories of the past. 
 But, of all words in our house-hold. 
 
 There's not one has such a spell. 
 Spreading grief and mingled gladness. 
 
 Like the thrilling word — " Farewell !"- 
 Grief, that like a cloud rests o'er us. 
 
 Darkening all around us here ; 
 While, like sunshine in the distance, 
 
 Greetings fresh for us appear. 
 Farewell ! to those happy circles. 
 
 Where all met me with a smile, 
 Farewell! to those scenes and frolics. 
 
 Of vacation for a while ! 
 
 Mem'ries of you long shall slumber 
 
 In my heart, like autumn leaves; 
 *Till the fondness of new greetings. 
 
 Wakes them like the vernal breeze. 
 But, perchance. Farewell too sadly 
 
 Smites thee? — ** Ne turbetur cor !" 
 There's more cheerful meaning for us. 
 
 In the Frenchman's " Au rcvoir !" 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 '■^ Salutatlo mnnu mca !''