Standing on the hill across the harbour one sees the town of Dartmouth, where much of the industrial activity of the Halifax district is centred. There are the largest oil works, chocolate factories, and sugar refineries of Canada. Vessels from Mexico, South America, and the British West Indies land their cargoes of tropical products at the doors of the works. Fringing the water-front are the masts of sailing vessels and the smokestacks of steamers. Among the latter is a cable repair ship, just in from mending a break in one of the many submarine telegraph lines that land on this coast. Next to her is a giant new liner, making her first stop here to add to her cargo some twenty-five thousand barrels of apples from the Annapolis Valley. This valley, on the western side of Nova Scotia, is known also as “Evangeline Land.” It was made famous by Longfellow’s poem based on the expulsion of the French Acadians by the English because they insisted on being neutral in the French-British wars. It is one of the finest apple-growing districts in the world, and sends annually to Europe nearly two million barrels. Many descendants of the former French inhabitants have now returned to the land of their ancestors. Looking toward the mouth of the harbour, we see the new terminal, a twenty-five million dollar project that has for some years stood half completed. Here are miles and miles of railroad tracks, and giant piers equipped with modern machinery, a part of the investment the Dominion and its government-owned railway system have made to establish Halifax as a first-class port. Beyond the port works another inlet, Northwest Arm, makes its way in between the hills. I have motored out to its wooded shores, which in summer time are crowded with the young people of Halifax, bathing and boating. It is the city’s chief playground and a beautiful spot. But now take a look at the city itself, stretching along the water-front below where we stand. The big red brick building just under our feet is the municipal market. There, on Saturdays, one may see an occasional Indian, survivor of the ancient Micmacs, and Negroes who are descendants of slaves captured by the British in Maryland when they sailed up the Potomac and burned our Capitol. Farther down the hillside are the business buildings of the city, none of them more than five stories high, and all somewhat weatherbeaten. I have seen no new construction under way in downtown Halifax; the city seems to have missed the building booms of recent years. Most of the older houses are of stone or brick. Outside the business district the people live in wooden frame houses, each with its bit of yard around it. One would know Halifax for an English town by its chimney pots. Some of the houses have batteries of six or eight of these tiles set on end sticking out of their chimneys.