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"The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's food." Burns. Cadbury's Cocoa Essence, made with equal parts of boiling water and fresh milk, slightly sweetened with lump sugar, is an admirable food for a delicate child. Bread and butter should be eaten with it. Have you any remarks to make on cow's milk as an article of food?
Here is the fundamental opportunity and the fundamental obligation. Robert Burns was right in finding the secret of Scotia's power in such scenes as those of "The Cottar's Saturday Night." One can almost see Carlyle going back to his old home at Ecclefechan and standing outside to hear his old mother making a prayer in his behalf.
I'm sick of all their quirks an' turns the loves and doves they dream Lord, send a man like Robbie Burns to sing the Song o' Steam! To match wi' Scotia's noblest speech yon orchestra sublime, Whaurto uplifted like the Just the tail-rods mark the time.
Its paddle wheels were churning the sea with perfect steadiness. It was then drawing 6.7 meters of water and displacing 6,624 cubic meters. At 4:17 in the afternoon, during a high tea for passengers gathered in the main lounge, a collision occurred, scarcely noticeable on the whole, affecting the Scotia's hull in that quarter a little astern of its port paddle wheel.
The pencil was profitless; I had long thrown it by: books were no longer an adequate set-off against realities, even could I have conjured up a library in the wilderness of Nova Scotia's inland settlement; but the culinary and confectionary branches were there invaluable, and in them I was wofully deficient.
Meanwhile, the waterways were being improved. Little was needed or done in the great network of New Brunswick's rivers or in Nova Scotia's shorter streams, but on the St Lawrence system, with a fall of nearly six hundred feet from Lake Erie to tide-water at Three Rivers, canal construction was imperative.
Wha the Diel hae we gotten for a King, But a wee, wee German Lairdie? And when they gaed to bring him hame He was delvin' in his little kail-yardie. The last verse declared: He'a pu'ed the rose o'English blooms, He's broken the harp o'Irish, clowns, But Scotia's thistle will jag his thoomba, The wee, wee German Lairdie. A prophecy honoured in its entire breach.
A louder strain of apologetic speech swells my words. What if it should rise high as the unconquered summits of Scotia's hills, and call back, with voice sweet as Caledonian song, the days of ancient Scotish heroes; or attempt the powerful speech of the Latian orator, or his of Greece! The subject, methinks, would well accord with the attempt: Cupidum, Scotia optima, vires deficiunt.
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