glow of royal approval. But too soon the truth was established that men may not prosper in idleness. Within five years the spacious plots and parks, the wide avenues and luxurious mansions were deserted. Many banked the fires of loyalty and returned to the United States to retrieve dwindled fortunes. In 1818, there were three hundred inhabitants. Oak beams and mahogany mantels were used for fuel. Only a square-towered church, the so-called "Governor's House" on King Street and a few minor dwellings linger to remind us of the vanished Shelburne. A few black faces, too, from the slave settlement at Birchtown.
For half a century the town lay moribund, peopled by gaping houses. It was not until over half a century had passed that a germ of life stirred in the ashes. To-day, a town founded on hopes strengthened by labour bears the name of its defunct predecessor.
The inhabitants build schooners, tugs and life-saving dories, and go down to the sea in their own ships to fish.
The proudest relic the new town inherited from the old is the apparatus presented by George III to his subjects in token of their fealty and to help keep their span-new city from burning down. The most efficient contrivance then known for fighting flames was paraded with great eclat upon its arrival from London. In our eyes it is a dwarf cart set low on solid wooden wheels. The body contains
