lies out of the track of European commerce. Our ships, though they skirt the Banks of Newfoundland, pass to the south, and get but occasional glimpses of the headlands. Even what is seen gives the country rather an ill reputation. It has a rockbound coast, around which hang perpetual fogs and mists, through which great icebergs drift slowly down, like huge phantoms of the deep, gliding away to be dissolved by the warm breath of the Gulf Stream: dangers that warn the voyager away from such a sea and shore.

Sailing west from Cape Race, and making the circuit of the island as far as the Straits of Belle Isle, one is often reminded of the most northern peninsula of Europe. The rocky shores are indented with numerous bays, reaching far up into the land, like the fiords along the coast of Norway; while the large herds of Caribou deer, that are seen feeding on the hills, might easily be mistaken for the flocks of reindeer that browse on the pastures and drink of the mountain torrents of ancient Scandinavia.

The interior of the island is little known. Not only is it uninhabited, it is almost unexplored, a boundless waste of rock and moor, where vast forests stretch out their unbroken solitudes, and the wild bird utters its lonely cry. Bears and wolves roam on the mountains. Especially common is the large and fierce black wolf; while of the smaller animals, whose skins furnish material for the fur-trade, such as martins and foxes, there is the greatest abundance. But from all pests of the serpent tribe, Newfoundland is as free as Ireland, which was delivered by the prayers of St. Patrick. There is not a snake or a frog or a toad in the island!

Yet, even in this ruggedness of nature, there is a wild beauty, which only needs to be "clothed upon" by the hand of man. Newfoundland, in many of its features, is not unlike Scotland, even in its most desolate portions, where the rocky surface of the country, covered with thick moss, reminds the emigrant Scot of the heather on his native moors. In the interior are lakes as long as Loch Lomond, and mountains as lofty as Ben Lomond and Ben Nevis. There are passes as wild as the Vale of Glencoe, where one might feel that he is in the heart of the Highlands, while the roar of the torrents yet more vividly recalls the

Land of the brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood.

Yet in all this there is nothing to repel human habitation. By the hand of industry, these wild moors might be transformed into fruitful fields. We think it a very cold country, where winter reigns over half the year, as in Greenland; yet it is not so far north as Scotland, nor is its climate more inhospitable. It only needs the same population, the same hardy toil: and the same verdure would creep up its hill-sides, which now makes green and beautiful the loneliest of Scottish glens.

But at present the country is a terra incognita. In the interior there are no towns and no roads. As yet almost the whole wealth of the island is drawn from the sea. Its chief trade is its fisheries, and the only places of importance are a few small towns, chiefly on the eastern side, which have grown up around the trading posts. Besides these, the only settlements are the fishermen's huts scattered along the coast. Hence the bishop of the island, when he would make his annual visit to his scattered flock, is obliged to sail around his diocese in his yacht, since even on horseback it would not be possible to make his way through the dense forests to the remote parts of the island. This first suggested the idea of cutting across the island a nearer way, not only for internal intercourse, but for those who were passing to and fro on the sea.

It was in one of these excursions around the coast that the good Bishop Mullock, the head of the Roman Catholic Church in Newfoundland, when visiting the western portion of his diocese, lying one day becalmed in his yacht, in sight of Cape North, the extreme point of the province of Cape Breton, bethought himself how his poor neglected island might be benefited by being taken into the track of communication between Europe and America. He saw how nature had provided an easy approach to the mainland on the west. About sixty miles from Cape Ray stretched the long island of Cape Breton, while, as a stepping-stone, the little island of St. Paul's lay between. So much did it weigh upon his mind that, as soon as he got back to St. John's, he wrote a letter to one of the papers on the subject. As this was the first suggestion of a telegraph across Newfoundland, his letter is here given in full:

To the Editor of the Courier:

Sir: I regret to find that, in every plan for transatlantic communication, Halifax is always mentioned, and the natural capabilities of Newfoundland entirely overlooked. This has been deeply impressed on my mind by the communication I read in your paper of Saturday last, regarding telegraphic communication between England and Ireland, in which it is said that the nearest telegraphic station on the American side is Halifax, twenty-one hundred and fifty-five miles from the west of Ireland. Now would it not be well to call the attention of England and America to the extraordinary capabilities of St. John's, as the nearest telegraphic point? It is an Atlantic port, lying, I may say, in the track of the ocean steamers, and by establishing it as the American telegraphic station, news could be communicated to the whole American continent forty-eight hours, at least, sooner than by any other route. But how will this be accomplished? Just look at the map of Newfoundland and Cape Breton. From St. John's to Cape Ray there is no difficulty in establishing a line passing near Holy-Rood along the neck of land connecting Trinity and Placentia Bays, and thence in a direction due west to the Cape. You have then about forty-one to forty-five miles of sea to St. Paul's Island, with deep soundings of one hundred fathoms, so that the electric cable will be perfectly safe from icebergs. Thence to Cape North, in Cape Breton, is little more than twelve miles. Thus it is not only practicable to bring America two days nearer to Europe by this route, but should the telegraphic communication between England and Ireland, sixty-two miles, be realized, it presents not the least difficulty. Of course, we in Newfoundland will have nothing to do with the erection, working, and maintenance of the telegraph; but I suppose our Government will give every facility to the company, either English or American, who will undertake it, as it will be an incalculable advantage to this country. I hope the day is not far distant when St. John's will be the first link in the electric chain which will unite the Old World and the New.

J. T. M.

St. John's, November 8, 1850.

This suggestion came at the right moment, since it quickened, if it did not originate, the first attempt to link the island of Newfoundland with the mainland of America. For about the same time, the attention of Mr. Frederick N. Gisborne, a telegraph operator, was attracted to a similar project. Being a man of great quickness of mind, he instantly saw the importance of such a work, and took hold of it with enthusiasm. It might easily occur to him without suggestion from any source. He had had much experience in telegraphs, and was then engaged in constructing a telegraph line in Nova Scotia. Whether, therefore, the idea was first with him or with the bishop, is of little consequence. It might occur at the same time to two intelligent minds, and show the sagacity of both.

But having taken hold of this idea, Mr. Gisborne pursued it with