Today the old pioneers of 1764 would hardly recognize their ancient landmarks. The ruggedness of old Men-ah-quesk has in a great measure disappeared; valleys have been filled and hills cut down. The mill-pond where stood the old tide mill is gone and the Union depot with its long freight sheds and maze of railway tracks occupies its place. "Mill" street and "Pond" street alone remain to tell of what has been. The old grist mill near Lily Lake and its successors have long since passed away. It certainly was with an eye to business and not to pleasure, that Hazen, Simonds and White built the first roadway to Rockwood Park. Could our pioneers in trade revisit the scene of their labors and note the changes time has wrought what would be their amazement? They would hardly recognize their surroundings. Instead of rocks and crags covered with spruce and cedar, with here and there an open glade, and the wide spreading mud flats at low tide they would behold the wharves that line our shores, the ocean steamships lying in the channel, grain elevators that receive the harvests of Canadian wheat-fields two thousand miles away, streets traversed by electric cars and pavements traversed by thousands of hurrying feet, bicyclists darting hither and thither, squares tastefully laid out and adorned with flowers, public buildings and residences of goodly proportions and by no means devoid of beauty, palatial hotels opening their doors to guests from every clime, institutions for the fatherless and the widow, the aged, the poor, the unfortunate, the sick the insane, churches with heaven directing spires, schools whose teachers are numbered by the hundred and pupils by the thousand, public libraries, courts of justice and public offices of nearly every description, business establishments whose agents find their way into every nook and corner of old-time Acadie, railways and steamboats that connect the city with all parts of the globe, splendid bridges that span the rocky gorge at the mouth of the St. John where twice in the course of every twenty-four hours the battle, old as the centuries, rages between the outpouring torrent of the mighty river and the inflowing tide of the bay. A few years since the writer of this history in an article in the New Brunswick Magazine endeavored to contrast a Saturday night of the olden time with one of modern days.[69] [69] New Brunswick Magazine of October, 1898, p. 190. [Illustration: A COTTAGE OF TODAY.]