“All our crews share in the proceeds of their catch, and the captains get no fixed wages at all. We could neither catch the fish nor sell them at a profit without the fullest coöperation on the part of our men, most of whom come from across the Atlantic, from Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, and also from Iceland. Next to the captain, the most important man on our ships is the cook. Few fish are caught unless the fishermen are well fed. The ‘cook’s locker’ is always full of pies, cakes, and cookies, to which the men help themselves, and the coffee-pot must be kept hot for all hands to ‘mug up.’” From Halifax I crossed Nova Scotia by rail into the adjoining province of New Brunswick. Nova Scotia is a peninsula that seems to have been tacked on to the east coast of Canada. It is three hundred and seventy-four miles long, and so narrow that no point in it is more than thirty miles from the sea. The coast does not run due north and south, but more east and west, so that its southernmost tip points toward Boston. The Bay of Fundy separates it from the coasts of Maine and New Brunswick, and leaves only an isthmus, in places not more than twenty miles wide, connecting Nova Scotia with the mainland. The lower or westernmost half of the province is encircled with railroads, which carry every year increasing thousands of tourists and hunters from the United States. The summer vacationists and the artists go chiefly to the picturesque shore towns, while those who come up for hunting and fishing strike inland to the lakes and woods. Deer and moose are still so plentiful in Nova Scotia that their meat is served at Halifax hotels during the season. The scenery is much like that of Maine. Rolling hills alternate with ledges of gray rock, while at every few miles there are lakes and ponds. Much of the country is covered with spruce, and many of the farms have hedges and tall windbreaks of those trees. The farmhouses are large and well built; they are usually situated on high ground and surrounded by sloping fields and pastures considerably larger than the farm lots of New England. In some places the broad hills are shaped like the sand dunes of Cape Cod. At nearly every station freshly cut lumber was piled up, awaiting shipment, while one of the little rivers our train crossed was filled with birch logs floating down to a spool factory.