John. Your side of the province on the sea
coast is all stone; I never seed such a proper sight of rocks in my
life; it's enough to starve a rabbit. Well, t'other side on the Bay
of Fundy, is a superfine country; there ain't the beat of it to be
found anywhere. Now, wouldn't the folks living away up to the Bay, be
pretty fools to go to Halifax, when they can go to St. John with half
the trouble. St. John is the natural capital of the Bay of Fundy;
it will be the largest city in America next to New York. It has an
immense back country as big as Great Britain, a first chop river, and
amazin' sharp folks, most as cute as the Yankees; it's a splendid
location for business. Well, they draw all the produce of the Bay
shores, and where the produce goes the supplies return; they will take
the whole trade of the Province. I guess your rich folks will find
they've burnt their fingers; they've put their foot in it, that's
a fact. Houses without tenants, wharves without shipping, a town
without people--what a grand investment! If you have any loose
dollars, let 'em out on mortgage in Halifax, that's a security; keep
clear of the country for your life; the people may run, but the town
can't. No, take away the troops, and you're done; you'll sing the
dead march folks did at Louisburg and Shelburne. Why you hain't got
a single thing worth havin', but a good harbour, and as for that the
coast is full of 'em.
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