After some ineffectual attempts to gain possession of a log-
canoe, we launched a leaky boat, and went out towards the sea. The purple
beams of the setting sun fell upon the dark pine woods, and lay in long
lines upon the calm waters of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. It was a glorious
evening, and the scene was among the fairest which I saw in the New World.
On our return we found our host, the missionary, returned from his walk of
twenty-two miles, and a repast of tea, wheaten scones, raspberries, and
cream, awaited us. This good man left England twenty-five years ago, and
lived for twenty in one of the most desolate parts of Newfoundland. Yet he
has retained his vivid interest in England, and kept us up till a late
hour talking over its church and people. Contented in his isolated
position, which is not without its severe hardships, this good missionary
pursues his useful course unnoticed by the world as it bustles along; his
sole earthly wish seems to be that he may return to England to die.
The next morning at seven we left his humble home, where such hospitality
had awaited us, and he accompanied us to the river.
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