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 Roughing it in the Bush. 
 
 
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ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH ; 
 
 Olt, 
 
 FOREST LIFE IN CANADA. 
 
 A NEW AND REVISED EDITION, WITH AN INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER, 
 
 IN WHICH CANADA OF THE PRESENT IS CONTRASTED 
 i WITH CANADA OF FORTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 i 
 
 BY 
 
 SUSANNA MOODIE. 
 
 "The poor exiles of W(3althy and over-populous nations have generally 
 [been the first foimders of mighty empires. Necessity and industry produc- 
 [iug greater results than rank and affluence, in the civilization of barbarous 
 Icountries." 
 
 'f 
 
 HUNTER, ROSE AND COMPANY, 
 Montreal : Dawson Brothers, 
 
 X871, 
 
nil 
 
 57^90 
 
 Aloc)j)iE , 5 
 
 073 7 
 
 Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year on) thousand 
 eight hundred and seventy-one, by Huntrr, Robb & Co., in the office of the Min- 
 ister of Agriculture. 
 
 1- 
 
 J 
 
 HUHTKR, ROSB ft Co., 
 PrIHTBRS, BOORBINDIlBa, Eliotrottpbrs, &0. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOB 
 CANADA— A CONTRAST 7 
 
 CANADA - (poetical ADDRESS) 21 
 
 A VISIT TO aROSSE ISLE 25 
 
 QUEBEC 4J 
 
 oub journey up the country 59 
 
 tom wilson's emigration 75 
 
 our first settlement, and the borrowing system - - - - 105 
 
 old satan and tom wilson's nose 136 
 
 uncle joe and his family 149 
 
 john monaghan i74 
 
 phcebe r , and our second movino 193 
 
 brian, the still-hunter 208 
 
 the charivari , 233 
 
 a journey to the woods 259 
 
 the wilderness and our indian friends 277 
 
 burning the fallow 317 
 
 our logging-bee 327 
 
 a trip to stony lake 344 
 
 "the ould dhraooon" 3(53 
 
 disappointed hopes 374 
 
 the little stumpy man 392 
 
 THE FIRE 419 
 
 THE OUTBREAK 444 
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 457 
 
 THE WALK TO DUMMBR 474 
 
 A CHANGE IN OUR PROSPECTS 608 
 
 ADIEU TO THE WOODS 621 
 
 ■'i 
 
 I 
 
M! 
 
C^IN'i^D^. 
 
 A CONTRAST. 
 
 Chi 
 
 iN tho year 1832 I landed with my husband, J. W. 
 Dunbar Moodie, in Canada. Mr. Moodio was the 
 youngest son of Major Moodie, of Mellsetter, in the Ork- 
 ney Islands ; he was a lieutenant in the 21st regiment of 
 Fusileers, and had been severely wounded in the night- 
 attack upon Bergen-op-Zoom, in Holland. 
 
 Not being overgifted with the good things of this 
 world — the younger sons of old British families seldom 
 are — he had, after mature deliberation, determined to try 
 his fortunes in Canada, and settle upon the grant of 400 
 acres of land, ceded by the Government to officers upon 
 half-pay. 
 
 Emigration, in most cases — and ours was no exception 
 to the general rule — is a matter of necessity, not of choice. 
 It may, indeed, generally be regarded as an act of duty 
 performed at the expense of personal enjoyment, and at the 
 sacrifice of all those local attachments which stamp the 
 scenes in which our childhood grew in imperishable 
 characters upon the heart. 
 
 Nor is it, until adversity has pressed hard upon the 
 wounded spirit of the sons and daughters of old, but 
 impoverished, families, that they can subdue their proud 
 and rebellious feelings, and submit to make the trial. 
 
wmm 
 
 8 
 
 CANADA. 
 
 1^ 
 
 !. ! 
 
 ' I 
 
 This was our case, and our motive for emigrating to one 
 of the British colonies can be summed up in a few words. 
 
 The emigrant's iiope of bettering his condition, and se- 
 curing a sufficient competence to support his family, to 
 free himself from the slighting remarks, too often hurled 
 at the poor gentleman by the practical people of the 
 world, which is always galling to a proud man, but 
 doubly sof, when he knows that the want of wealth consti- 
 tutes the sole difference between him and the more fa- 
 vored offspring of the same parent stock. 
 
 In 1830 the tide of emigration flowed westward, and 
 Canada became the great land-mark for the rich in hope 
 and poor in purse. Public newspapers and private letters 
 teemed with the almost fabulous advantages to be de- 
 rived from a settlement in this highly favored region. 
 Men, who had been doubtful of supporting their families 
 in comfort at home, thought that they had only to land 
 in Canada to realize a fortune. The infection became 
 general. Thousands and tens of thousands from the middle 
 ranks of British society, for the space of three or four 
 years, landed upon these shores. A large majority of 
 these emigrants were oficers of the army and navy, with 
 their families ; a class perfectly unfitted, by their pre- 
 vious habits and standing in society, for contending with 
 the stern realities of emigrant life in the back-woods. 
 A class formed mainly from the younger scions of great 
 families, naturally proud, and not only accustomed to com- 
 mand, but to receive implicit obedience from the people 
 unuer them, are not men adapted to the hard toil of the 
 
A CONTRAST. 9 
 
 woodman's life. Nor will such persons submit cheerfully 
 to the saucy familiarity of servants, who, republicans at 
 heart, think themselves quite as good as their employers. 
 
 Too many of these brave and honest men took up their 
 grants of wild land in remote and unfavorable locali- 
 ties, far from churches, schools, and markets, and fell an 
 easy prey to the land speculators, that swarmed in every 
 rising village on the borders of civilization. 
 
 It was to warn such settlers as these last mentioned, 
 not to take up grants and pitch their tents in the wilder- 
 ness, and by so doing, reduce themselves and their fami- 
 lies to hopeless poverty, that my work " Roughing it in 
 the Bush" was written. 
 
 I £,ave the experience of the first seven years we passed 
 in the woods, attempting to clear a bush farm, as warn- 
 ing to others, and the number of persons who have since 
 told me, that my book " told the history" of their own 
 life in the wopds, ought to be the best proof to every 
 candid mind tflat I spoke the truth. It is not by such 
 feeble instilments as the above that Providence works, 
 when it seeks to reclaim the waste places of the earth, 
 and make them subservient to the wants and happiness 
 of its creatures. The great Father of the souls and bodies 
 of men knows the arm which wholesome labour from 
 infancy has made stx'ong, the nerves that have become 
 iron by patient endurance, and he chooses such to send 
 forth into the forest to hew out the rough paths for the 
 advance of civilization. 
 
 These men become wealthy and prosperous, and are 
 2 
 
 i 
 
 i ■ 
 
 i 
 f 
 
J 
 
 I 
 
 li w 
 
 10 
 
 CANADA. 
 
 :! 
 
 the bones and sinews of a great and rising country. Their 
 labour is wealth, not exhaustion; it producer, content, not 
 home sickness and despair. 
 
 What the backwoods of Canada are to the industrious 
 and ever-to-be-honored sons of honest poveiiy, and what 
 they are to the refined and polished gentleman, these 
 sketches have endeavored to show. 
 
 The poor man is in his native element; the poor gentle- 
 man totally unfitted, by his preWous habits and educa- 
 tion, to be a hewer of the forest, and a tiUer of the soil. 
 What money he brought out with him is lavishly expended 
 during the first two years, in paying for labour to clear 
 and fence lands, which, from his ignorance of agricultural 
 pursuits, will never make him the least profitable return, 
 and barely find coarse food for his family. Of clothing 
 we say nothing. Bare feet and rags are too common in 
 the bush. 
 
 Now, had the same means and the same labour been 
 employed in the cultivation of a leased farm, or one pur- 
 chased for a few hundred dollars, near a village, how 
 diflferent would have been the results, not only to the 
 settler, but it would have added greatly to the wealth 
 and social improvement of the country. 
 
 I am well aware that a great, and, I must think, a most 
 unjust prejudice has been felt against my book in Canada, 
 because I dared to give my opinion freely on a subject 
 which had engrossed a great deal of my attention ; nor do 
 I believe th it the account of our failure in the bush ever 
 deterred a ingle emigi'ant from coming to the country, 
 
■•iPi^n^n 
 
 A CONTRAST. 
 
 11 
 
 as the only circulation it ever had in the colony, was 
 chiefly through the volumes that often formed a portion 
 of their baggage. The many, who have condemned the 
 work without reading it, will be surprised to find that 
 not one word has been said to prejudice intending emi- 
 grants from making Canada their home. Unless, in- 
 deed, they ascribe the regret expressed at having to leave 
 my native land, so natural in the painful home-sickness 
 which, for several months, preys upon the health and spirits 
 of the dejected exile, to a deep-rooted dislike to the country. 
 
 So far from this being the case, my love for the coun- 
 try has steadily increased, from year to year, and my 
 attachment to Canada is now so strong, that I cannot 
 imagine any inducement, short of absolute necessity, 
 which coulc^ induce me to leave the colony, where, as a 
 wife and mother, some of the happiest years of my life 
 have been spent. 
 
 Contrasting the first years of my life in the bush, with 
 Canada as she now is, my mind is filled with wonder and 
 gratitude at the rapid strides she has made towards the 
 fulfilment of a great and glorious destiny. 
 
 What important events have been brought to pass 
 within the narrow circle of less than forty years ! What 
 a difference since now and then. The country is the 
 same only in name. Its aspect is wholly changed. The 
 rough has become smooth, the crooked has been made 
 straight, the forests have been converted into fruitful 
 fields, the rude log cabin of the woodsman has been 
 replaced by the handsome, well appointed homestead, and 
 
r 
 
 12 
 
 CANADA. 
 
 large populous cities have pushed the small clap-boarded 
 village into the shade. 
 
 The solitary stroke of the axe, that once broke the 
 uniform silence of the vast woods, is only heard in re- 
 mote districts, and is superseded by the thundering tread 
 of the iron horse, and the ceaseless panting of the steam 
 engine in our saw mills and factories. 
 
 Canada is no longer a child, sleeping in the arms of 
 nature, dependent for her very existence on the fostering 
 care of her illustrious mother. She has outstepped in- 
 fancy, and is in the full enjoyment of a strong and vigor- 
 ous youth. What may not we hope for her maturity ere 
 another forty summers have glided down the stream of 
 time. Already she holds in her hand the crown of one of 
 the mightiest empires that the world has seen, or is yet to see. 
 
 Look at her vast resources — her fine healthy climate — 
 her fruitful soil — the inexhaustible wealth of her pine 
 forests — the untold treasures hidden in her unexplored 
 mines. What other country possesses such an internal 
 navigation for transporting its products from distant 
 Manitoba to the sea, and from thence to every port in 
 the world! 
 
 If an excellent Government, defended by wise laws, 
 a loyal people, and a free Church can make people happy 
 and proud of their coantrj^ surely we have every reason 
 to rejoice in our new Dominion. 
 
 When we first came to the country it was a mere 
 struggle for bread to the many, while all the oflSces of 
 emolument and power were held by a favored few. The 
 

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A CONTRAST. 
 
 13 
 
 country was rent to pieces by political factions, and a 
 tierce hostility existed between the native born Canadians 
 — the first pioneers of the forest — and the British emi- 
 grants, who looked upon each other as mutual enemies who 
 were seeking to appropriate the larger share of the new 
 country. 
 
 Those who had settled dow" in the woods, were 
 happily unconscious that these quarrels threatened to 
 destroy the peace of the colony. 
 
 The insurrection of 1837 came upon them like a thun- 
 der clap ; they could hardly believe such an incredible 
 tale. Intensely loyal, the emigrant officers rose to a man 
 to defend the British flag, and chastise the rebels and 
 their rash leader. 
 
 In their zeal to uphold British authority, they made 
 no excuse for the wrongs that the dominant party had 
 heaped upon a clever and high-spirited man. To them he 
 was a traitor ; and as such, a public enemy. Yet the 
 blow struck by that injured man, weak as it was, without 
 money, arms, or the necessary munitions of war, and 
 defeated and broken in its first effort, gave freedom to 
 Canada, and laid the foundation of the excellent consti- 
 tution that we now enjoy. It drew the attention of the 
 Home Government to the many abuses then practised in 
 the colony ; an<l made them aware of its vast importance 
 in a political point of view ; and ultimately led to all our 
 great national improvements. 
 
 The settlement of the long vexed clergy reserves ques- 
 tion, and the establishment of common schools, was a 
 
 a wLiam 
 
fr" 
 
 > '' 
 
 u 
 
 CANADA. 
 
 great boon to the colony. Tlie opening up of new town- 
 ships, the making of roads, the estahlisliment of munici- 
 pal councils in all the old districts, leaving to the citizens 
 the free choice of their own members in the council for 
 tlie management of their affairs, followed in rapid suc- 
 cession. 
 
 These changes of course took some years to accomplish, 
 and led to others equally important. The Provincial 
 Exhibitions have done much to improve the agricultural 
 interests, and have led to better and more productive 
 methods of cultivation, than were formerly practised 
 in the Province. The farmer gradually became a wealthy 
 and intelligent land owner, proud of his improved flocks 
 and herds, of his Rne horses, and handsome home- 
 stead. He was able to send his sons to college and his 
 daughters to boarding school, and not uncommonly be- 
 came an honorable member of the Legislative Council. 
 
 While the sons of poor gentlemen have generally lost 
 caste, and sunk into useless sots, the children of these 
 honest tillers of the soil have steadily risen to the highest 
 class ; and have given to Canada some of her best and 
 wisest legislators. 
 
 Men who rest satisfied with the mere accident of birth 
 for their claims to distinction, without energy and in- 
 dustry to maintain their position in society, are sadly at 
 discount in a country, which amply rewards the worker, 
 but leaves the indolent loafer to die in indigeiice and 
 obscurity. 
 
 Honest poverty is encouraged, not despised, in Canada. 
 
A CONTRAST, 
 
 15 
 
 Few of her prosperous men have risen from ohscurity to 
 affluence without going through the mill, and therefore 
 have a fellow-feeling for those who are struggling to gain 
 the first rung on the ladder. 
 
 Men are allowed in this country a freedom enjoyed by 
 few of the more polished countries in Europe ; freedom 
 in religion, politics, and spoech ; freedom to select their 
 own friends and to visit with whom they please, without 
 consulting the Mrs. Grundys of society ; and they can lead 
 a more independent social life than in the mother country, 
 because less restricted by the conventional prejudices 
 that govern older communities. 
 
 Few people who have lived many years in Canada, 
 and return to England to spend the remainder of their 
 days, accomplish the fact. They almost invariably come 
 back, and why ? They feel more independent and happier 
 here ; they have no idea what a blessed country it is to 
 live in until they go back and realize the want of 
 social freedom. I have heard this from so many educat- 
 ed people, persons of taste and refinement, that I cannot 
 doubt the truth of their statements. 
 
 Forty years has accomplished as great a change in the 
 habits and tastes of the Canadian people, as it has in the 
 architecture of their fine cities, and the appearance of 
 the country. A young Canadian gentleman is as well 
 educated as any of Lis compeers across the big water, 
 and contrasts very favourably with them. Social and 
 unaffected, he puts on no airs of offensive superiority, but 
 meets a stranger with the courtesy and frankness best 
 
' 
 
 M 
 
 CANADA. 
 
 calculated to shorten the distance between them, and to 
 make his guest feel perfectly at homo. 
 
 Few countries possess a more beautiful female popula- 
 tion. The women are elegant in their tastes, graceful in 
 their manners, and naturally kind and affectionate in 
 their dispositions. 'Good housekeepers, sociable neighbours, 
 and lively and active in speeph and movement ; they are 
 capital companions, and make excellent wives and 
 mothers. Of course there must be exceptions to every 
 rule ; but coses of divorce, or desertion of their homes, 
 are so rare an occurrence, that it speaks volumes for their 
 domestic worth. Numbers of British officers have chosen 
 their wives in Canada, and I never heard that they had 
 cause to rej^ent of their choice. 
 
 In common with our American neighbours, we find that 
 the worst members of our community are not Canadian 
 born, but importations from other countries. 
 
 The Dominion and Local Governments are now doing 
 much to open up the resources of Canada, by the Inter- 
 colonial and projected Pacific Railways, and other Public 
 Works, which, in time, will make a vast tract of land 
 available for cultivation, and furnish homes for multi- 
 tudes of the starving populations of Europe. 
 
 And again, the Government of the flourishing Province 
 of Ontario, — of which the Hon. J. Sandfield Macdonald 
 is premier — has done wonders during the last four years 
 by means of its Immigration policy, which has been most 
 successfully carried out by the Hon. John Carling, the 
 Commissioner, and greatly tended to the development of 
 
 il 
 
 \i 
 
 V 
 
A CONTTIAST. 
 
 17 
 
 mnce 
 lonald 
 years 
 most 
 the 
 lent of 
 
 the country. By this policy libeial provision is made for 
 free grants of land to actual settlers, for general edu- 
 cation, and for the encouragement of the industrial Arts 
 and Agiiculture ; by the construction of public roads, and 
 the improvement of the internal navigable waters of the 
 Province ; and by the assistance now given to an eco- 
 nomical system of railways connecting these interior 
 waters with the leading railroads and ports on the fron- 
 tier ; and not only are free grants of land given in the 
 districts extending from the eastern to the western ex- 
 tremity of the Province, but one of the best of the new 
 townships has been selected in which the Government is 
 now making roads, and upon each lot is clearing five 
 acres and erecting thereon a small house, which will be 
 granted to heads of families, who, by six annual instal- 
 ments, will be required to pay back to the Government 
 the cost of these improvements — not exceeding $200, or 
 JE40 sterling — when a free patent (or deed) of the land 
 will be given, without any charge whatever, under a pro- 
 tective Homestead Act. This wise and liberal policy 
 would have astonished the Colonial Legislature of 1832 ; 
 but will, no doubt, speedily give to the Province a noble 
 and progressive back country, and add much to its 
 strength and prosperity. 
 
 Our busy factories and foundries — our copper, silver 
 and plumbago mines — our salt and petroleum — the in- 
 creasing exports of native produce— speak volumes for 
 the prosperity of the Dominion, and for the government 
 of those who are at the head of affairs. It only requires 
 
18 
 
 CANADA. 
 
 the loyal co-operation of an intelligent and enlight- 
 ened people, to render this beautiful and free country 
 the greatest and the happiest upon the face of the 
 earth. 
 
 When we contrast forest life in Canada forty years 
 ago, with the present state of the country, my book will 
 not be without interest and significance. "We may truly 
 say, old things have passed away, all things have become 
 new. 
 
 What an advance in the arts and sciences, and in the 
 literature of the country has been made during the last 
 few years. Canada can boast of many good and even 
 distinguished authors, and the love of books and book- 
 lore is daily increasing. 
 
 Institutes and literary associations for the encourage- 
 ment of learning are now to be found in all the cities 
 and large towns in the Dominion. We are no longer de- 
 pendent upon the States for the reproduction of the 
 works of celebrated authors ; our own publishers, both in 
 Toronto and Montreal, are furnishing our handsome book 
 stores with volumes that rival, in cheapness and typogra- 
 phical excellence, the best issues from the h^rge printing 
 establishments in America. We have no lack of native 
 talent or books, or of intelligent readers to appreciate them. 
 
 Our print shops are full of the well-executed designs 
 of native artists. And the grand scenery of our lakes 
 and forests, transfened to canvas, adorns the homes of our 
 wealthy citizens. 
 
 We must not omit in this slight sketch to refer to the 
 

 ^ir^ 
 
 to the 
 

A CONTRAST. 
 
 19 
 
 number of fine public buildings, which meet us at every 
 turn, most of which have been designed and executed by- 
 native architects. Montreal can point to her Victoria 
 Bridge, and chnllenge the world to produce its equal. 
 This prodigy of mechanical skill should be a sufficient 
 inducement to strangers from other lands to visit our 
 shores, and though designed by the son of the immortal 
 George Stephenson, it was Canadian hands that helped 
 him to execute his great project — to raise that glorious 
 monument to his fame, which, we hope, will outlast a 
 thousand years. 
 
 Our new Houses of Parliament, our churches, banks 
 public halls, asylums for the insane, the blind, and the 
 deaf and dumb, are buildings which must attract the 
 attention of every intelligent traveller; and when we 
 consider the few brief years that have elapsed since the 
 Uor»er Province was reclaimed from the wilderness, our 
 progress in mechanical arts, and all the comforts 
 which pertain to modern civilization, is unprecedented in 
 the history of older nations. 
 
 If the Canadian people will honestly unite in carrying 
 out measures proposed by the Government, for the good 
 of the country, irrespective of self-interest and party 
 prejudices, they must, before the close of the present 
 century, become a great and prosperous people, bearing 
 their own flag, and enjoying their own nationality. 
 May the blessing of God rest upon Canada and the 
 Canadian people ! 
 
 Susanna Moodie. 
 
 Belleville, 1871 
 
MBS 
 
 ■" MnimL.il 
 
 I. 
 
 i: 
 
1 
 
 
IffBi 
 
 i 
 
CANADA. 
 
 , . ANADA, the blest— the free ! 
 
 IvI With prophetic glance, I see 
 Visions of thy future glory, 
 Giving to the world's great story 
 A page, with mighty meaning fraught, 
 That asks a wider range of thought. 
 Borne onward on the wings of Time, 
 I trace thy future course sublime ; 
 And feel my anxious lot grow bright, 
 While musing on the glorious sight ;— 
 Yea, my heart leaps up witu glee 
 To hail thy noble destiny ! 
 
 Even now thy sons inherit 
 
 All thy British mother's spirit. 
 
 Ah ! no child of bondage thou ; 
 
 With her blessing on thy brow, 
 
 And her deathless, old renown 
 
 Circling thee with freedom's crown, 
 
 And her love within thy heart, 
 
 Well may'st thou perform thy part. 
 
 And to coming years proclaim 
 
 Thou art worthy of her name. 
 
 Home of the homeless ! — friend to all 
 
 Who suffer on this earthly ball ! 
 
 On thy bosom sickly care 
 
 Quite forgets her squalid lair ; 
 
 Gaunt famine, ghastly poverty 
 
 Before thy gracious aspect fly, 
 
 Aud hopes long crush'd, grow bright again. 
 
 And, smiling, point to hill and plain. 
 
22 
 
 CANADA. 
 
 By thy winter'H atainlvas snow, 
 
 Starry heavuna of purer glow, 
 
 Glorious Bummers, fervid, bright. 
 
 Basking in one blaze of light ; 
 
 By thy fair, salubrioua clime ; 
 
 By thy scenery sublime ; 
 
 By thy moimtains, streams, and woods ; 
 
 By thy everlasting floods ; 
 
 If greatness dwells beneath the skies, 
 
 Thou to greatness shalt arise { 
 
 Nations old, and empires vast. 
 
 From the earth had darkly pass'd 
 
 Ere rose the fair auspicious morn 
 
 When thou, the last, not least, wast bom. 
 
 Through the desert solitude 
 
 Of trackless waters, forests rude, 
 
 Thy guardian angel sent a cry 
 
 All jubilant of victory ! 
 
 " Joy," she cried, ** to th' untill'd earth. 
 
 Let her joy in a mighty nation's birth, — 
 
 Night from the land has pass'd away, 
 
 The desert basks in noon of day. 
 
 Joy, to the sullen wilderness, 
 
 I come, her gloomy shades to bless, 
 
 To bid the bear and wild-cat yield 
 
 Their savage haunts to town and field. 
 
 Joy, to stout hearts and willing hands, 
 
 That win a right to these broad lands, 
 
 And reap the fruit of honest toil, 
 
 Lords of the rich, abimdaut soil. 
 
 
 "Joy, to the sous of want, who groan 
 Tn lands that cannot feed their own ; 
 And seek, in stem, determined mood, 
 Homes in the land of lake and wood. 
 And leave their heart's young hopes behind. 
 Friends in this distant world to find i 
 
CANADA. 
 
 23 
 
 Led by that God, who from His throne 
 Uvgards the poor man's stifled moan. 
 Like one awaken'd from the dead, 
 The peasant lifts his drooping head. 
 Nerves his stiong heart and sun-burnt hand. 
 To win a portion of the land, 
 That glooms before him far and wide ■ 
 In frowning woods and surging tide : 
 No more oppress'd, no more a slave, 
 Here freedom dwells beyond the wave. 
 
 •' Joy, to those hardy sires who bore 
 The day's first heat — their toils are o'er ; 
 Bude fathers of this rising land, 
 Theirs was a mission truly grand. 
 Brave peasants whom the Father, God, 
 Sent to reclaim the stubborn sod ; 
 Well they perform'd their task, and won 
 Altar and hearth for the woodman's son. 
 Joy, to Canada's unborn heirs, 
 A deathless heritage is theirs ; 
 For, sway'd by wise and holy laws, 
 Its voice shall aid the world's great cause, 
 Shall plead the rights of man, and claim 
 For humble worth an honest name ; 
 Shall show the peasant-bom can be. 
 When call'd to action, great and free. 
 Like fire, within the flint conceal'd, 
 By stem necessity reveal'd. 
 Kindles to life the stupid sod. 
 Image of perfect man and God. 
 
 •• Joy, to thy unbom sons, for they 
 Shall hail a brighter, purer day ; 
 When peace and Christian brotherhood 
 Shall form a stronger tie than blood — 
 And commerce, freed from tax and chain, 
 Shall build a bridge o'er earth and main 
 
24 
 
 CANADA. 
 
 And man nhall prize the wealth of mind. 
 The greatcHt bleuHinx to mankind ; 
 True Cltristianfl, both in word and deed, 
 Heady in virtue's cause to bleed, 
 Against a world combined to stand, 
 And guard the honour of the lan^l. 
 Joy, to the earth, when this shall be, 
 Time verges on eternity." 
 
 <**Ar, 
 
 >* 
 

 
ROUGHnG IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A VISIT TO GROSSE ISLE. 
 
 Alas ! that man's stem spirit e'er should mar 
 A scene so pure — so exquisite as this. 
 
 fHE dreoaful cholera was depopulating Quebc. and 
 ,^ Montreal, when our ship cast anchor off Grosse Isle 
 on the 30th of August, 1832, and we were boarded a few 
 minutes after by the health-officers. One of these gentle- 
 men— a little, shrivelled-up Frenchman — from his solemn 
 aspect and attenuated figure, would have made no bad 
 representative of him who sat upon the pale horse. He was 
 the only grave Frenchman I had ever seen, and I naturally 
 enough regarded him as a phenomenon. His companion 
 — a fine-looking fair-haired Scotchman — though a little 
 consequential in his manners, looked like one who in his 
 own person could combat and vanquish all the evils which 
 flesh is heir to. Such was the contrast between these 
 doctors, that they would have formed very good emblems, 
 one, of vigorous health ; the other, of hopeless decay. 
 Our captain, a rude, blunt north-country sailor, possess- 
 
TiJ^— ^ 
 
 mi 
 
 2G 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 ing certainly not more politeness than might be expected 
 in a bear, received his sprucely dressed visitors on the 
 deck, and, with very little courtesy, abruptly bade them 
 follow him down to the cabin. 
 
 The officials were no sooner seated than, glancing hastily 
 round the place, they commenced the following dialogue; 
 " From what port, captain ?" 
 
 Now, the captain had a peculiar language of his own, 
 from which he commonly expunged all the connecting 
 links. Small words, such as " and " and " the," he con- 
 trived to dispense with altogether. 
 
 " Scotland — sailed from port o' Leith, bound for Quebec, 
 Montreal — general cargo — seventy-two steerage,four cabin 
 passengers — brig Anne, one hundred and ninety -two tons 
 burden, crew eight hands." Here he produced his creden- 
 tials, and handed them to the strangers. The Scotchman 
 just glanced over the documents, and laid them on the table. 
 " Had you a good passage out T 
 
 "Tedious, baffling winds, heavy fogs, detained three 
 weeks on Banks — foul weather making Gulf — short of 
 water, people out of provisions, steerage passengers 
 starving." 
 " Any case of sickness or death on board ? , , 
 
 " All sound as crickets." 
 " Any births?" lisped the little Frenchman. 
 The captain screwed up his mouth, and after a moment's 
 reflection he replied, "Births? Wh}'-, yes; now I think 
 on't, gentlemen, we had one female on board, who pro^ 
 duced three at a birth." 
 
A VISIT TO GROSSE ISLE. 
 
 27 
 
 " That's uncommon," said the Scotch doctor, with an air 
 of lively curiosity. "Are the children alive and well ? T 
 should like much to see them." He started up, and 
 knocked his head, for he was very tall, against the ceiling. 
 " Confound your low cribs I I have nearly dashed out 
 my brains." 
 
 " A hard task, that," looked the captain to me. He did 
 not speak, but I knew by his sarcastic grin what was 
 uppermost in his thoughts. " The young ones all males — 
 line thriving fellows. Step upon deck, Sam Frazer," 
 turning to his steward ; " bring them down for doctors to 
 Sam vanished, with a knowing wink to his superior, 
 
 see 
 
 '}i0&^^ 
 
 and quickly returned, bearing in his arras three fat, 
 chuckle-headed bull terriers ; the sagacious mother follow- 
 ing close at his heels, and looked ready to give and take 
 offence on the slighest provocation. 
 
 "Here, gentlemen, are the babies," said Frazer, deposit- 
 ing his burden on the floor. " Th'^y do credit to the 
 nursing of the brindled slut." 
 
 The old tar laughed, chuckled, and rubbed his hands in 
 an ecstacy of delight at the indignation and disappoint- 
 ment visible in the counten .nee of the Scotch Esculapius, 
 who, angry as he was, wisely held his tongue. Not so the 
 Frenchman ; his rage scarcely knew bounds, — he danced 
 in a state of most ludicrous excitement, — he shook his fist 
 at our rough captain, and screamed at the top of his 
 voice, — 
 
 "Sacrd, you b^te! You tink us dog, when you try to 
 pass your puppies on us for babies ?" 
 
28 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 "Hout, man, don't be angry," said the Scotchman, 
 stiHing a laugh; "you see 'tis only a joke !" 
 
 "Joke! me no understand such joke. B6te !" returned 
 the angry Frenchman, bestowing a savage kick on one of 
 the unoffending pups which was frisking about his feet. 
 The pup yelped ; the slut barked and leaped furiously at 
 the offender, and was only kept from biting him by Sam, 
 who could scarcely hold her back for laughing; the captain 
 was uproarious ; the offended Frenchman alone main- 
 tained a severe and dignified aspect. The dogs were at 
 length dismissed, and peace restored. 
 
 After some further questioning from the officials, a bible 
 was required for the captain to take an oath. Mine was 
 mislaid, and there was none at hand. 
 
 " Confound it !" muttered the old sailor, tossing over 
 the papers in his desk; "that scoundrel, Sam, always 
 stows my traps out of the way." Then taking up from 
 the table a book which I had been reading, which hap- 
 pened to be Voltaire's History of Charles XII., he pres- 
 ented it, with as grave an air as he could assume, to the 
 Frenchman. Taking for granted that it was the volume 
 required, the little doctor was too polite to open the book, 
 the captain was duly sworn, and the party returned to 
 the deck. 
 
 Here a new difficulty occurred, which nearly ended in 
 a serious quarrel. The gentlemen requested the old sailor 
 to give them a few feet of old planking, to repair some 
 damage which their boat had sustained the day before. 
 This the captain could not do. They seemed to think 
 
A VISIT TO GROSSE ISLE. 
 
 29 
 
 his refusal intentional, and took it as a personal affront. 
 In no very gentle tones, they ordered him instantly to 
 prepare his boats, and put his passengers on shore. 
 
 " Stiff breeze — short sea," returned the bluff old sea- 
 man ; " great risk in making land — boats heavily laden 
 with women and children will be swamped. Not a soul 
 goes on shore this night." 
 
 " If you refuse to comply with our orders, we will report 
 vou to the authorities." 
 
 m.' 
 
 " I know my duty — you stick to yours. When the 
 wind falls off, I'll see to it. Not a life shall be risked to 
 please you or your authorities." 
 
 He turned upon his heel, and the medical men left the 
 vessel in great disdain. We had every reason to be thankful 
 for the firmness displayed by our rough commander. That 
 same evening we saw eleven persons drowned, from anothei 
 vessel close beside us, while attempting to make the shore. 
 
 By daybreak all was hurry and confusion on board the 
 Anne. I watched boat after boat depart for the island, 
 full of people and goods, and envied them the glorious 
 privilege of once more standing firndy on the earth, after 
 two long months of rocking and rolling at sea. How ar- 
 dently we anticipate pleasu.^e, which often ends in posi- 
 tive pain ! Such was my case when at last indulged in 
 the gratification so eagerly desired. As cabin passengers, 
 we were net included in the general order of purification, 
 but were only obliged to send our servant, with the clothes 
 and bedding we had used during the voyage, on shore, to 
 be washed. 
 
30 
 
 ROUGHING IT IX THE BUSH, 
 
 I 
 
 The ship was soon emptied of all her live cargo. M.y 
 husband went off with the boats, to reconnoitre the island, 
 and I was left alone with my baby, in the otherwise 
 empty vessel. Even Oscar, the Captain's Scotch terrier, 
 who had formed a devoted attachment to me during the 
 voyage, forgot his allegiance, became possessed of the land 
 mania, and was away with the rest. With the most in- 
 tense desire to go on shore, I was doomed to look and long 
 and envy every boatful of emigrants tliat glided past. 
 Nor was this all ; the whip was out of provisions, and I 
 was condemned to undergo a rigid fast until the return 
 of the boat, when the captain had promised a supply of 
 fresh butter and bread. The vessel had been nine weeks 
 at sea ; the poor steerage passengers for the two last 
 weeks had been out of food, and the captain had been 
 obliged to feed them from the ship's stores. The prom- 
 ised bread was to be obtained from a small steam-boat, 
 which plied daily between Quebec and the island, trans- 
 porting convalescent . inigrants and their goods in her up- 
 ward trip, and provisions for the sick on her return. 
 
 How I reckoned on once more tasting bread and butter • 
 The very thought of the treat in store served to sharpen 
 my appetite, and render the long fast more irksome. I 
 could now fully realize all Mrs. Bowdich's longings for Eng- 
 lish bread and butter, after her three years' travel through 
 the burning African deserts, with her talented husband. 
 
 " When we arrived at the hotel at Plymouth," said she, 
 " and were asked what refreshment we chose — * Tea, ctnd 
 home-made bread and butter,' was my instant ^ply. 
 
 -4. 
 
A VISIT TO GIIOSSE ISLE. 
 
 31 
 
 ' Brown breaJ, if you please, and plenty of it.' I never 
 enjoyed any luxury like it. I was positivel}' ashamed of 
 askinc the waiter to refill the plate. After the execrable 
 messes, and the hard ship-Liscuit, imagine the luxury of 
 a good slice of English bread and butter !" 
 
 At home, I laughed heartily at the lively energy with 
 which that charming woman of genius related this little 
 incident in her eventful history,- -but off Grosse Isle, I 
 realised it all. 
 
 As the sun rose above the horizon, all these matter-of- 
 fact circumstances were gradually forgotten, and merged 
 in the surpassing grandeur of the scene that rose majes- 
 tically before me. The previous day had been dark and 
 stormy ; and a heavy fog had concealed the mountain 
 chain, which forms the stupendous background to this 
 sublime view, entirely from our sight. As the clouds 
 rolled away from their grey, bald brows, and cast into 
 denser shadow the vast forest belt that girdled them 
 round, they loomed out like mighty giants — Titans of the 
 earth, in all their rugged and awful beauty— a thrill of 
 wonder and delight pervaded my mind. The spectacle 
 floated dimly on my sight — my eyes were blinded with 
 tears — ^blinded with the excess of beautv. I turned to 
 the right and to the left, I looked up and down the 
 glorious river ; never had I beheld so many striking ob- 
 jects blended into one mighty whole ! Nature had lavish- 
 ed all her noblest features in producing that enchanting 
 scene. 
 
 Th« rocky isle in front, with its neat farm-houses at 
 
 Ik 
 
32 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 the eastern point, and its high bluff at the western extre- 
 mity, crowned with the telegraph — the middle space oc- 
 cupied by tents and sheds for the cholera patients, and its 
 wooded shores dotted over with motley groups — added 
 greatly to the picturesque effect of the land scene. Then 
 the broad glittering river, covered with boats darting to 
 and fro, conveying passengers from twenty -five vessels, of 
 various size and tonnage, which rode at anclior, with their 
 flags flying from the mast head, gave an air of life and in- 
 terest to the whole. Turaing to the south side of the St. 
 Lawrence, I was not less struck with its low fertile 
 shores, white houses, and neat churches, whose slender 
 spires and bright tin roofs shone like silver as they 
 caught the first rays of the sun. As far as the eye could 
 reach, a line of white buildings extended along the bank ; 
 their background formed by the purple hue of the dense, 
 interminable forest. It was a scene unlike any I had 
 ever beheld, and to which Britain contains no parallel. 
 Mackenzie, an old Scotch dragoon, who was one of our 
 passengers, when he rose in the morning and saw the 
 parish of St, Thomas for the first time, exclaimed — 
 " Weel, it beats a ! Can thae white clouts bo a' houses ? 
 They look like claes hung out to drie !" There was some 
 truth in this odd comparison, and for some minutes I 
 could scarcely convince myself that the white patches 
 scattered so thickly over the opposite shore could be the 
 dwellings of a busy, lively population. 
 
 " What sublime views of the north side of the river 
 those habitans of St. Thomas must enjoy," thougtit T. 
 
 '^. 
 
 ^ 
 
A VISIT TO GKOSSE ISLE. 
 
 33 
 
 Peiliaps familiarity witli the scene has rondered them 
 indifferent to its astonishing beauty. 
 
 Eastward, the view down the St. Lawrence towards 
 the Gulf, is the finest of all, scarcely surpassed by any- 
 thing in the world. Your eye follows the long range of 
 lofty mountains until their blue summits are blended and 
 lost in the blue of the sky. Some of these, partially cleared 
 round the base, are sprinkled over with neat cottages; and 
 the green slopes that spread around them are covered with 
 flocks and herds. The surface of the splendid river is 
 diversified with islands of every size and shape, some in 
 wood, others partially cleared, and adorned with orchards 
 and white fiirm-houses. As the early sun streamed upon 
 the most prominent of these, leaving the others in deep 
 shade, the effect was strangely novel and imposing. In 
 more remote regions, where the forest has never yet 
 echoed to the woodman's axe, or received the impress of 
 civilization, the first approach to the shore inspires a 
 i^ielancholy awe, which becomes painful in its intensity. 
 
 And silence — awful silence broods 
 Profoundly o'er these solitudes ; 
 Nought but the lapsing of the floods 
 BreaJcs the deep stillness of the woods ; 
 , A sense of desolation reigns 
 
 O'er these unpeopled forest plains, 
 Where sounds of life ne'er wake a tone 
 Of cheerful praise round Nature's throne, 
 Man finds himself with God — alone. 
 
 My day-dreams were dispelled by the return of the 
 boat, which brought my husband and the captain from 
 the island. 
 
« I 
 
 •J 
 
 34 
 
 ItOUaHINO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 "No bread," said the latter, shaking his head; "you 
 must be content to starve a little longer. Provision-ship 
 not in till four o'clock." My husband smiled at the look 
 of blank disapijointment with which I received tiicse 
 unwelcome tidings, " Never mind, I have news wliich wi)l 
 comfort you. The officer who commands the station sent 
 a note to me by an orderly, inviting us to spend the 
 afternoon with him. He promises to show us everything 
 
 worthy of notice on the island. Captain claims 
 
 acquaintance with me ; but I have not the least recollec- 
 tion of him. Would you like to go ?" 
 
 " Oh, by all means. I long to see the lovely island. It 
 looks a perfect paradise at this distance." 
 
 The rough sailor-captain screwed his mouth on one 
 side, and gave me one of his comical looks, but he said 
 nothing until he assisted in placing me and the baby in 
 the boat. 
 
 " Don't be too sanguine, Mrs. Moodie ; many things look 
 well at a distance which are bad enough when near." 
 
 I scarcely regarded the old sailor's warning. So eager 
 Wifis I to go on shore — to put my foot upon the soil of the 
 new world for the first time — I was in no humour to lis- 
 ten to any depreciation of what seemed so beautiful. 
 
 It was four o'clock when we landed on the rocks, which 
 the rays of an intensely scorching sun had rendered so 
 hot that I could scarcely place my foot upon them. How 
 the people without shoes bore it, I cannot imagine. 
 Never shall I forget the extraordinary spectacle that met 
 our sight the moment we passed the low range of bushes 
 
A VISIT TO CJIKJSSK ISLE. 
 
 35 
 
 which foniied a screen in front of the river. A crowd of 
 many hundred Irish emigrants liad been hmded during 
 the present and former day ; and all .this motley crew — 
 men, women, and children, who were not confined by sick- 
 ness to the sheds (which greatly i\ jmbled cattle-pens) — 
 were employed in washing clothes, or spreading them out 
 on the rocks and bushes to dry. 
 
 The men and boys were in the water, while the wo- 
 men, with their scanty garments tucked above their knees, 
 were tramping their bedding in tubs, or in holes in the 
 rocks, which the retiring tide had left half full of water. 
 Those who did not possess washing tubs, paila, or iron 
 pots, or could not obtain access to a hole in the rooks, 
 were running to and fro, screaming and scolding in no 
 measured terms. The confusion of Babel was among 
 them. All talkers and no hearers — each shouting and yel- 
 ling in his or her uncouth dialect, and all accompanying 
 their vociferations with violent and extraordinary ges- 
 tures, quite incomprehensible to the uninitiated. We 
 were literally stunned by the strife of tongues. I shrank, 
 with feelings almost akin to fear, from the hard-featured, 
 sun -burnt women, as they elbowed rudely past me. 
 
 I had heard and read much of savages, and have since 
 seen, during iny long residence in the bush, somewhat cf 
 uncivilized life ; but the Indian is one of Nature's gen- 
 tlemen — he never says or does a rude or vulgar thing. 
 The vicious, uneducated barbarians, who form the surplus 
 of over-populous European countries, are far behind the 
 wild man in delicacy of feeling or natural courtesy. The 
 
 it. 
 
^F 
 
 30 
 
 llOUtJHIN(» IT IN THK HUf^ll. 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 people who covorod the ishincl appeared perfectly desti- 
 tute of shame, or even a sense of common decency. Many 
 were almost naked, still more hut partially clothed. We 
 turned in disgust from the revolting scene, but were un- 
 able to leave the spot until the caphnn had satisfied a 
 noisy group of his own j)eople, who were demanding a 
 supply of stores. 
 
 And hero I must observe that our passengers, who were 
 chiefly honest Scotch labourers and mechanics from the 
 vicinity of Edinburgh, and who while on board ship had 
 conducted themselves with the greatest propriety, and 
 appeared the most quiet, orderly set of people in the 
 world, no sooner set foot upon the island, than they be- 
 came infected by the same spirit of insubordination and 
 misrule, and were just as insolent and noisy as the 'est 
 
 While our captain was vainly endeavouring to *y 
 
 the unreasonable demands of his rebellious people, Moodie 
 had discovered a woodland path that led to the back of 
 the island. Sheltered by some hazel-bushes from the 
 intense heat of the sun, we sat down by the cool, gushing 
 river, out of sight, but, alas J not out of hearing of the 
 noisy, riotous crowd. Could we have shut out the pro- 
 fane sounds which came to us on every breeze, how deep- 
 ly should we have enjoyed an hour amid^ the tranquil 
 beauties of that retired and lovely spot ! 
 
 The rocky banks of the island were adorned with beau- 
 tiful evergreens, which sprang up spont«aneously in every 
 nook and crevice. I remarked many of our favourite 
 garden shrubs among these wildings of nature. The filla- 
 
X VISIT TO GllOSSE ISIJO. 
 
 87 
 
 <nvi\ with its narrow, dark gloasy-grocn leaves ; the 
 privet, with its modest white blossoms and purjUe berries ; 
 the lignum-vitte, with its strong resinous odour; the bur- 
 net-rose, and a great variety of elegant unknowns. 
 
 Here, the shores of the island and mainland, receding 
 from each other, formed a small cove, overhung with lofty 
 trees, clothed from the base to the summit with wild 
 vines, that hung in graceful festoons from the topmost 
 branches to the water's edge. The dark shadows of the 
 mountains, thrown upon the water, as they towered to the 
 height of some thousand feet above us, gave to the surface 
 of the river an ebon hue. The sunbeams, dancing through 
 the thick, quivering foliage, fell in stars of gold, or long 
 lines of dazzling brightness, upon +I10 deep black waters, 
 producing the most novel and beautiful effects. It was a 
 scene over which the spirit of peace might brood in silent 
 adoration ; but how spoiled by the discordant yells of the 
 filthy beings who were sullying the purity of the air and 
 water with contaminating' sights and sounds ! 
 
 We were now joined by the sergeant, who very kindly 
 brought us his capful of ripe plums and hazel-nuts, the 
 growth of the island ; a joyful present, but marred by a 
 
 note from Captain , who had found that he had 
 
 been mistaken in his supposed knowledge of us, and po- 
 litely apologised for not being allowed by the health- 
 officers to receive any emigrant beyond the bounds ap- 
 pointed for the performance of quarantine. 
 
 I was deeply disappointed, but my husband laughingly 
 told me that I had seen enough of the island ; and turn- 
 
38 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BU«H. 
 
 II 
 
 il 
 
 ing to the good-natured soldier, remarked, that "it could 
 be no easy task to keep such wild savages in order." 
 
 " Yiu may well say that, sir — but our night scene? far 
 exceed those of the day. You would think they were 
 incarnate devils ; singing, drinking, dancing, shouting and 
 catting antics that would surprise the leader of a circus. 
 They have no shame — are under no restraint — nobody 
 knows them here, and they think they can speak and act 
 as they please ; and they are such thieves that they rob 
 one another of the little they possess. The healthy ac- 
 tually run the risk of taking the cholera by robbing the 
 sick. If you have not hired one or two stout, honest fel- 
 lows from among your fellow-passengers to guard your 
 clothes while they are drying, you will never see half of 
 them again. They are a sad set, sir, a sad set. We could, 
 perhaps, manage the men ; but the women, sir ! — the wo- 
 men ! Oh, sir !" 
 
 Arxious as we were to return to the ship, we were 
 obliged to remain until sun-down in our retired nook. 
 We were hungry, tired, and out of spirits ; the mosqui- 
 toes swarmed in myriads around us, tormenting the poor 
 ,'mby, who, not at all pleased with her visit to the new 
 world, filled the air with cries ; when the captain came to 
 tell us that the boat was ready. It was a welcome sound. 
 Forcing our way once more through the still squabbling 
 crowd, we gained the landing place. Here we encour - 
 tered a boat, just landing a fresh cargo of emigrants 
 fiom the Emerald Isle. One fellow, of gigantic propor- 
 tions, A V hose long, tattered great-coat just reached below 
 
 m I 
 
A VISIT TO GROSSE ISLE. 
 
 89 
 
 J encouc- 
 
 the middle of his bare red legs, and, like charity, hid the 
 defects of his other garments, or perhaps concealed his 
 want of them, leaped upon the rocks, and flourishing aloft 
 his shilelagh, bounded and capered like a wild goat from 
 his native mountains. "Whurrah! my boys !" he cried 
 " Shure we'll all be jintlemen !" 
 
 " Pull away, my lads !" said the captain. Then turn- 
 ing to me, "Well, Mrs. Moodie, I hope that you have had 
 enough of Grosse Isle. But could you have witnessed 
 the scenes that I did this morning — •" 
 
 Here he was interrupted by the wife of the old Scotch 
 Dragoon, Mackenzie, running down to the boat, and lay- 
 ing her hand familiarly upon his shoulder, "Captain, dinna 
 forget." 
 
 " Forget what ?" 
 
 She whispered something confidentially in his ear. 
 
 " Oh, ho ! the brandy !" he responded aloud. '• I should 
 have thought, Mrs. Mackenzie, that you had had enough 
 of that same, on yon island ?" 
 
 Aye, sic a place fov decent folk," return od the drunken 
 body, shaking her head. " One needs a drap o' comfort> 
 captain, to keep up one's heart avk." 
 
 The captain set up oi.e of his boisterous laughs, as he 
 pushed the boat from the shore. " Hollo 1 Sam Frazer ! 
 steer in, we have forgotten the stores." 
 
 "I hope not, captain," said I; ''I have been starving 
 since daybreak." 
 
 " The bread, the butter, the beef, the onions and potatoes 
 are here, sir," said honest Sam, particularising each article. 
 
40 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 " All right ; pull for the ship. Mrs. Moodie, we will 
 have a glorious upper, and mind you don't dream of 
 Grosse Isle." 
 
 In a few minutes wc were again on board. Thus ended 
 my first day's experience of the land of all our hopes. 
 
CHAPTER ir. 
 
 QUEBEC. 
 
 Queen of the West ! — upon thy rocky throne, 
 
 In solitary grandeur sternly placed ; 
 In awful majesty thou sitt'st alone, 
 
 By Nature's master-hand supremely graced. 
 The world has not thy counterpart — thy dower. 
 Eternal beauty, strength, and matchless power. 
 
 The clouds enfold thee in their misty vest, 
 The lightning glances harmless round thy brow ; 
 
 The loud-voiced thunder cannot shake thy nest, 
 Or warring waves that idly chafe below ; 
 
 The storm above — the waters at thy feet — 
 
 May rage and foam, they but secure thy seat. 
 
 mm 
 
 The mighty river, as it onward rushes 
 To pour its floods in ocean's dread abyss. 
 
 Checks at thy feet its fierce impetuous gushes, 
 And gently fawns thy rocky base to kiss. 
 
 Stern eagle of the crag ! thy hold should be 
 
 The mountain home of heaven-born liberty ! 
 
 True to themselves, thy children may defy 
 The power and malice of a world combined ; 
 
 While Britain's flag, beneath thy deep blue sky. 
 Spreads its rich folds and wantons in the wind ; 
 
 The offsprings of her glorious race of old 
 
 May rest securely in their moimtain hold. 
 
 pN the 5tli of September, the anchor was weighed, 
 i^o- and we bade a long farewell to Grosse Isle. As 
 our vessel struck into mid-channel, I cast a last lingering 
 look at the beautiful shores we were leaving. Cradled in 
 
 / 
 

 42 
 
 ROUGHIXa IT IN THK BUSH. 
 
 the arms of the St. Lawrence, and basking in the bright 
 raj's of the morning sun, the island and its sister group 
 looked like a second Eden just emerged from the waters 
 of chaos. With what joy could I have spent the rest of 
 the fall in exploring the romantic features of that en- 
 chanting scene ! But our bark spread her white wings 
 to the favouring breeze, and the fairy vision gradually 
 receded from my sight, to remain forever on the tablets 
 of memory. 
 
 The day was warm, and the cloudless heavens of that 
 peculiar azure tint which gives to the Canadian skies and 
 waters a brilliancy unknown in more favoured latitudes. 
 The air was pure and elastic, the sun shone out in un- 
 common splendour, lighting up the changing woods with 
 a rich mellow colouring, composed of a thousand brilliant 
 and vivid dyes. The mighty river rolled flashing and 
 sparkling onward, impelled by a strong breeze, that tipped 
 its short rolling surges with a crest of snowy foam. 
 
 Had there been no other object of interest in the land- 
 scape than this majestic river, its vast magnitude, and 
 the depth and clearness of its waters, and its great im- 
 portance to the colony, would have been sufficient to 
 have riveted the attention, and claimed the admiration of 
 every thinking mind. 
 
 Never shall I forget that short voyage from Grosse Isle 
 to Quebec. I love to recall, after the lapse of so many 
 years, every object that awoke in my breast emotions of 
 astonishment and delight. What wonderful combinations 
 of beauty, and grandeur, and power, at every winding of 
 
QUEBEC. 
 
 4n 
 
 that noble river ! How the mind expands with the sub- 
 limity of the spectacle, and soars upward in gratitude 
 and adoration to the Author of all being, to thank Him 
 for having made this lower world so wondrously fair — a 
 living temple, heaven-arched, and capable of receiving 
 the homage of all worshippers. 
 
 Every perception of my mind became absorbed into the 
 one sense of seeing, when, upon rounding Point Levi, we 
 cast anchor before Quebec. What a scene ! — Can the 
 world produce such another ? Edinburgh had been the 
 beau idSal to me of all that was beautiful in Nature — a 
 vision of the northern Highlands had haunted my dreams 
 across the Atlantic ; but all these past recollections faded 
 before the present of Quebec. 
 
 Nature has lavished all her grandest elements to form 
 this astonishing ])anorama. There frowns the cloud- 
 capped mountain, and below, the cataract foams and 
 thunders ; wood, and rock, and river combined to lend 
 their aid in making the picture perfect, and worthy of its 
 Divine Originator. 
 
 The precipitous bank upon which the city lies piled, 
 reflected in the still deep waters at its base, greatly en- 
 hances the romantic beauty of the situation. The mel- 
 low and serene glow of the autumnal day harmonised so 
 perfectly with the solemn grandeur of the scene around 
 [nie, and sank so silently and deeply into my soul, that 
 I my spirit fell postrate before it, and I melted involuntari- 
 ly into tears. Yes, regardless of the eager crowds around 
 ime, I leant upon the side of the vessel and cried like a 
 
44 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 child — rot tears of sorrow, but a gush from the heart of 
 pure and unalloyed delight. I heard not the many 
 voices murmuring in my ears — I saw not the anxious 
 beings that thronged our narrow deck — my soul at that 
 moment was alone with God. The shadow of His glory 
 rested visibly on the stupendous objects that composed 
 that magnificent scene ; words are perfectly inadequate to 
 describe the impression it made upon my mind — the 
 emotions it produced. The only homage I was capable 
 of offering at such a shrine was tears — tears the most 
 heartfelt and sincere that ever flowed from human eyes. 
 I never before felt so overpowering my own insignifi- 
 cance, and the boundless might and majesty of the 
 Eternal. 
 
 Canadians, rejoice in your beautiful city ! Rejoice and 
 be worthy of her — for few, very few, of the sons of men 
 can point to such a spot as Quebec — and exclaim, " She 
 is ours ! — God gave her to us in her beauty and strength I 
 — We will live for her glory — we will die to defend her 
 liberty and rights — to raise her majestic brow high above 
 the nations !" 
 
 Look at the situation of Quebec ! — the city founded 
 on the rock that proudly holds the height of the hill. 
 The queen sitting enthroned above the waters, that curb 
 their swiftness and their strength to kiss her lovely 
 feet. 
 
 Canadians ! — as long as }^ou remain true to yourselves 
 and her, what foreign invader could ever dare to plant a 
 hostile flag upon that rock-defended height, or set his 
 
QUEBEC. 
 
 46 
 
 foot upon a fortress rendered impregnable by the hand ot 
 Nature ? United in friendship, loyalty, and love, what 
 wonders may you not achieve ? to what an enormous 
 altitude of wealth and importance may you not arrive ? 
 Look at the St. Lawrence, that king of streams, that 
 nrreat artery flowing from the heart of the world, through 
 tlie length and breadth of the land, carrying wealth and 
 fertility in its course, and transporting from town to 
 town along its beautiful shores the riches and produce of 
 a thousand distant climes. What elements of future 
 greatness and prosperity encircle you on every side! 
 Never yield up these solid advantages to become an 
 humble dependent on the great republic — wait patiently, 
 loyally, lovingly, upon the illustrious parent from whom 
 you sprang, and by whom you have been fostered into 
 life and political importance ; in the fulness of time she 
 will proclaim your childhood past, and bid you stand up 
 in your own strength, a free Canadian people ! 
 
 British mothers of Canadian sons ! — learn to feel for 
 their country the same enthusiasm which fills your hearts 
 when thinking of the glory of your own. Teach them 
 to love Canada — to look upon her as the first, the hap- 
 piest, the most independent country in the world ! Ex- 
 hort them to be worthy of her — to have faith in her 
 present prosperity, in he : future greatness, and to devote 
 all their talents, when they themselves are men, to ac- 
 complish this noble object. Make your children proud of 
 the land of their birth, the land which has given them 
 bread — the land in which you have found an altar and a 
 
4G 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 I 
 
 home : do this, and you will soon ceaso to lament your 
 separation from the mother country, and the loss of those 
 luxuries which you could not, in honour to j'ourself, en- 
 y^y ; you will soon learn to love Canada as I now love it, 
 who once viewed it with hatred so intense that I longed. 
 to die, that death might effectually separate us for ever. 
 
 But, oh ! beware of drawing disparaging contrasts be- 
 tween the colony and its illustrious parent. All such 
 comparisons are cruel and unjust ; — 3'ou cannot exalt the 
 one at the expense of the other witliout committing an 
 act of treason against both. 
 
 But I have wandered away from my subject into the 
 regions of tliouglit, and must again descend to common 
 work-a-day realities. 
 
 The pleasure we experienced upon our first glance at 
 Quebec was greatly damped by the sad conviction that 
 the cholera-plague raged within her walls, while the 
 almost ceaseless tolling of bells proclaimed a mournful 
 tale of woe and death. Scarcely a person visited the 
 vessel who was not in black, or who spoke not in tones 
 of subdued grief They advised us not to go on shore if 
 we valued our lives, as strangers most commonly fell the 
 first victims to this fatal malad}''. This was to me a 
 severe disappointment, who felt an intense desire to climb 
 to the crown of the rock, and survey the noble landscape 
 at my feet. I yielded at last to the wishes of my hus- 
 band, who did not hiaiself resist the temptation in his 
 own person, and endeavoured to content myself with the 
 means of enjoyment placed within my reach. My eyes 
 
OUEBEC. 
 
 47 
 
 were never tirod of wandering over tlie scene before 
 
 me. 
 
 It is curious to observe how differently the objects 
 which call forth intense admiration in some minds will 
 affect others. The Scotch dragoon, Mackenzie, seeing me 
 look long 'and intently at the distant Falls of Montmor- 
 ency, drily observed, 
 
 " It may be a' vera fine ; but it looks na' better to my 
 thinken than hanks o* white woo' hung out o'er the 
 bushes." 
 
 " Weel," cried another, " thae fa's are just bonnie ; 'tis a 
 braw land, nae doubt; but no' just so braw as auld Scotland." 
 
 " Hout, man ! hauld your clavers, we shall a' be lairds 
 here," said a third ; " and ye maun wait a muckle time 
 before they wad think aucht of you at hame." 
 
 I was not a little amused at the extravagant expecta- 
 tions entertained by some of our steerage passengers. 
 The sight of the Canadian shores had changed them into 
 persons of great consequence. The poorest and the worst - 
 dressed, the least-deserving and the most repulsive in 
 mind and morals, exhibited most disgusting traits of self- 
 importance. Vanity and presumption seemed to possess 
 them altogether. They talked loudly of the rank and 
 wealth of their connexions at home, and lamented the 
 great sacrifices they had made in order to join brothers 
 and cousins who had foolishly settled in this beggarly 
 v/ooden country. 
 
 Girls, who were scarcely able to wash a floor decently, 
 talked of service with contempt, unless tempted to change 
 
ei 
 
 48 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE HUSH. 
 
 their resolution by the offer of twelve dollars a month. 
 To endeavour to undeceive them was a useless and un- 
 gracious task. After having tried it with several without 
 success, I left it to time and bitter experience to restore 
 them to their sober senses. In spite of the remonstrances 
 of the captain, and the dread of the cholera, they all 
 rushed on shore to inspect the land of Goshen, and to en- 
 deavour to realize their absurd anticipations. 
 
 We were favoured, a few minutes after our arrival, with 
 another visit from the health-officers ; but in this instance 
 both the gentlemen were Canadians. Grave, melancholy- 
 looking men, who talked mucli and ominously of the pre- 
 vailing disorder, and the impossibility of strangers escap- 
 ing from its fearful ravages. This was not very consol- 
 ing, and served to depress the cheerful tone of mind 
 which, after all, is one of the best antidotes against this 
 awful scourge. The cabin seemed to lighten, and the air 
 to circulate more freely, after the departure of these pro- 
 fessional ravens. The captain, as if by instinct, took an 
 additional glass of grog, to shake off the sepulchral gloom 
 their presence had inspired, 
 
 The visit of the doctoi-s was followed by that of two 
 of the officials of the Customs ; — vulgar, illiterate men, 
 who, seating themselves at the cabin table, with a familiar 
 nod to the captain, and a blank stare at us, commenced 
 the following dialogue : — 
 
 Custom-house officer {after maJcing inquiries as to the 
 general cargo of the vessel) : — " Any good brandy on board, 
 captain ?' 
 
QUEBKC. 
 
 Captain (gruffly) : " Yes." 
 
 Officer: "Best remedy for the cholera known. The 
 only one the doctors can depend upon." 
 
 Captain {taking the hint) : " Gentlemen, I'll send you 
 up a dozen bottles this afternoon.'' 
 
 Officer : " Oh, thank you. We are sure to get it genuine 
 from you. Any Edinburgh ale in your freight ?" 
 
 Captain (with a slight ahimg) : " A few hundreds in 
 cases. I'll send you a dozen with the brandy." 
 
 Both : " Capital !" 
 
 First officer : " Any short, large-bowled, Scotch pipes, 
 w ith metallic lids ?" 
 
 Captain (quite irtiixdiently) : "Yes, yes ; I'll send you 
 some to smoke, with the brandy. — What else ?" 
 
 Officer : " We will now proceed to business." 
 
 My readers would have laughed, as I did, could they 
 have seen how doggedly the old man shook his fist after 
 these worthies as they left the vessel. "Scoundrels !" he 
 muttered to himself; and then turning to me, "They rob 
 us in this barefaced manner, and we dare not resist or 
 complain, for fear of the trouble they can put us to. If 
 I had those villains at sea, I'd give them a taste of brandy 
 and ale that they would not relish." 
 
 The day wore away, and the lengthened shadows of 
 the mountains fell upon the waters, when the Horsley 
 Hill, a la/ge three-masted vessel from Waterford, that we 
 had left at the quarantine station, cast anchor a little 
 above us. She was quickly boarded by the health-offi- 
 cers, and ordered round to take up her station below the 
 
50 
 
 UOL'OIIINO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 ciistlo. To accomplisli this object she had to hoavo her 
 anchor ; when lo ! a grcjit pine-tree, which had been 8unk 
 in the river, became entangled in the chains. Uproarious 
 was the mirth to which the incident gave rise among the 
 crowds that thronged the decks of the many vessels then 
 at anchor in the river. Speaking trumpets resounded on 
 every side ; and my readers may be assured that the sea- 
 serpent was not forgotten in the multitude of jokes which 
 followed. 
 
 Laughter resounded on all sides ; and in the midst of 
 the noise .and confusion, the captain of the Horsley Hill 
 hoisted his colours downwards, as if making signals of 
 distress, a mistake which provoked renewed and long con- 
 tinued mirth. - 
 
 I laughed until my sides ached ; little thinking how 
 the Horsley Hill would pay us off for our mistimed hil- 
 arity. 
 
 Towards night, most of the steerage passengers return- 
 ed, greatly dissatisfied with ^heir first visit to the city, 
 which they declared to be a tilthy hole, that looked a great 
 deal better from the ship's side than it did on shore. 
 This, I have often been told, is literally the case. Here, 
 as elsewhere, man has marred the magnificent creation of 
 his Maker. 
 
 A dark and starles.s night closed in, accompanied by 
 cold winds and drizzling rain. We seemed to have made 
 a sudden leap from the torrid to the frigid zone. Two 
 hours before, my light summer clothing was almost insup- 
 portable, and now a heavy and well-lined plaid formed 
 
QUEDFX'. 
 
 51 
 
 but an inefficient screen from the inclemency of the 
 weather. After watching for some time the singuhir effect 
 ])roduce(l by the lights in the town reflected in the water, 
 and weary with a long day of anticipation and excite- 
 ment, I made up my mind to leave the deck and retire to 
 rest. I had just settled down my baby in her berth, when 
 the vessel struck, with a sudden crash that sent a shiver 
 through her whole frame. Alarmed, but not aware of 
 the real danger that hung over us, I groped my way to 
 the cabin, and thence ascended to the deck. 
 
 Here a scene of confusion prevailed that baffles de- 
 soription. By some strange fatality, the Horaley Hill 
 had changed her position, and run foul of us in the dark. 
 The Anne was a small brig, and her unlucky neighbour a 
 heavy three-masted vessel, with three hundred Irish emi- 
 grants on board ; and as her bowsprit was directly across 
 the bows of the Anne, and she anchored, and unable to 
 free herself from the deadly embrace, there was no small 
 danger of the poor brig going down in the unequal strug- 
 gle. 
 
 Unable to comprehend what was going on, I raised my 
 head above the companion ladder, just at the critical mo- 
 ment when the vessels were grappled together. The 
 shrieks of the women, the shouts and oaths of the men, 
 and the barking of the dogs in either ship, aided the 
 dense darkness of the night in producing a most awful 
 and stunning effect. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" I gasped out. " What is the 
 reason of this dreadful confusion ?" 
 
52 
 
 JlOUCnilNCJ IT IN TIIK lUISII. 
 
 The captain was ra|;in<j; like a chafed hull, in the pusp 
 of seveial frantic women, who were clingin*^, Hhrickinof, 
 to his knees. 
 
 Witli great Uiniculty J persuaded the wonjcn to accoin- 
 [)auy me below. The mate hurried off with the cabin 
 light upon the deck, and we were left in total (tarkncHS to 
 await the result. 
 
 A deep, strange silence fell upon my heart. It was not 
 exactly fear, but a sort of nerving of my spirit to me(!t 
 the worst. Tlio cowardly behaviour of my companions 
 inspired nie with courage. I was ashamed of their pusil- 
 lanimity and want of faith in the Divine Providence. I 
 sat down, and cahnly begged them to follow my exam[)lc. 
 
 An old woman, called Willianison, a sad reprobate, in 
 attempting to do so, set her foot within the fender, which 
 the captain iiad converted into ;». repository for empty 
 glass bottles ; the smash that ensued was echoed by a 
 shriek from the whole party. •' 
 
 " God guide us,' cried tlic ancient dame ; " but we are 
 going into eternity. I shall bo lost ; my sins arc more in 
 number tli.an the hairs of my head." This confession was 
 followed by oaths and imprecations too blasphemous to 
 repeat. 
 
 Shocked and disgusted at hei profanity, I bade her 
 pray, and not waste the few monicnts that might be hers 
 in using oaths and bad language. 
 
 " Did you not hear the crash ?" said she. 
 
 " I did ; it was of yoiii own making. Sit down .ind be 
 qinei" 
 
CiUKHKC. 
 
 53 
 
 Hero followed anotlicf shock, t.liat made the vchscI 
 liwivo and troin])lo ; and tlio dra^f^inj^ of tlic anclior in- 
 creased the uneasy motion wliicli i><'^an to fill the boldest 
 of us with alarm. 
 
 " Mrs. Moodie, we arc lost," said Margaret Williamson, 
 tlic youngest grand-danghturof the old woman, a pretty girl, 
 Nvlio had l)(!en the helle of the ship, Hinging iiersolf on 
 her knees before ni(«, and grasping both my hands in liers. 
 " ()h,])ray for me ! pray for mc ! I cannot, I dare not pray 
 for myself; I was never taught a prayer.' Her voice was 
 c'lioked with convulsive sobs, and scalding tears fell in 
 torrents from her (yes over my hands. I never witnessed 
 such an agony of despair, lieforc; I coul 1 say one word 
 to comfort her, another shock seemed to lift the vessel 
 upwards. I felt my own blood run cold, expccti?ig in- 
 stantly to go down ; and thoughts of death, and the un- 
 known eternity at our feet, flitted vaguely through my 
 mind. 
 
 " If we stay here, wo shall j)erish," cried the girl, spring- 
 ing to her feet. " Let us go on deck, mother, and take 
 our chance with the rest." 
 
 " Stay," I said ; '' ^''ou arc safer here. British sailors 
 never leave women t/) perish. You have fathers, hus- 
 bands, brothers on board, who will jnot forget you. I be 
 seech you to remain patiently hero until the danger is 
 past." I might as well hav^ prc?U'hed to the winds. The 
 headstrong creatures would no k/nger \xi controlled. They 
 rushed simultaneously upon deck just ha the Iforsley Hill 
 swung off, carrying with her part of the outer frame of our 
 
54 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THE liUSH. 
 
 deck and the larger portion of our stern. When tranquil- 
 lity was restored, fatigued both in mind and body, I 
 sunk into a profound sleep, and did not wake until the 
 sun had risen high above the wave-cncireled fortress of 
 Quebec. 
 
 The stormy clouds had all dispersed during tlie night ; 
 the air was clear and balmy ; the giant hills were robed 
 in a blue, soft mist, which rolled around them in fleecy 
 volumes. As the beams of the sun penetrated theii- 
 shadowy folds, they gradually drew up like a curtain, 
 and dissolved like wreaths of smoke into the clear 
 air. 
 
 The moment I came on deck, my old friend Oscar 
 greeted me with his usual joyous bark, and, with the 
 sagacity peculiar to his species, proceeded to shew me all 
 the damage done to the vessel during the night. It was 
 laughable to watch the motions of the poor brute, as he 
 ran from place to place, stopping before, or jumping upon, 
 every fractured portion of tlie deck, and barking out his 
 indignation at the ruinous condition in which he found 
 his marine home. Oscar had made eleven voyages in the 
 Anne, and had twice saved the life of the captain. He 
 was an ugly specimen of the Scotch terrier, and greatly 
 resembled a bundle of old rope-yarn ; but a more faith- 
 ful or attached creature I never saw. The captain was 
 not a little jealous of Oscar's friendship for me. I wna 
 the only person the dog had ever deigned to notice, and 
 his master regarded it as an act of treason on the part 
 of his four-footed favorite. When my arms were tired 
 
QUEBEC. 
 
 55 
 
 with nursing, I had only to lay my baby on my cloak 
 on deck, and tell Oscar to watch her, and the good dog 
 would lie down by her, and suffer her to tangle his long 
 lurls in her little hands, and pull his tail and ears in the 
 most approved baby fashion, without offering the least 
 opposition ; but if any one dared to approach his charge, 
 he was alive on the instant, placing^ his paws over the 
 child, and growling furiously. He would have been a 
 bold man who had approached the child to do her an 
 injury. Oscar sms the best plaything, and as sure a 
 protector as Katie had. 
 
 During the day, many of our passengers took their 
 departure ; tired of the close confinement of the ship, 
 and the long voyage, they were too impatient to remain 
 on board until we reached Montreal. The mechanics 
 obtained instant employment, and the girls, who were old 
 enough to work, procured situations as servants in the 
 city. Before night, our numbers were greatly reduced. 
 The old dragoon and his famil}-, two Scotch fiddlers of 
 the name of Duncan, a Highlander called Tam Grant 
 and his wife anu little son, and our own part^, were all 
 that remained of the se\ >tv-two passengers that left the 
 Port of Leith in the brig A.un6. 
 
 In spitci of the earnest entreaties of hia young wife, 
 the said Tam Grant, who was the most mercurial fellow 
 in the world, would insist upon going on shore to see all 
 the lions of the place. " Ah, Tam : Tain : ye will die o' 
 the cholera," cried the weeping Maggie. My heart will 
 brak if ye dinna bide wi" rae an tbc bairnie." Tam was 
 
56 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 hi} 
 
 deaf as Ailsa Craig. Regardless of tears and entreaties, 
 he jumped into the boat, like a wilful man as he was, 
 and my husband went with him. Fortunately for me, 
 the latter returned safe to the vessel, in time to proceed 
 with her to Montreal, in tow of the noble steamer, 
 British America ; but Tam, the volatile Tam was 
 missinor. Durinor the reiijn of the cholera, what at 
 another time would have appeared but a trifling incident, 
 was now invested with doubt and terror. The distress 
 of the poor wife knew no bounds. I think I see her 
 now, as I saw her then, sitting upon the floor of the 
 deck, her head buried between her kness, rocking herself 
 to and fro, and weeping in the utter abandonment of her 
 grief " He is dead ' he is dead ! My dear, dear Tam ! 
 The pestilence has seized upon him ; and I and the puir 
 bairn are leit silone in the strange land." All attempts at 
 consolation were useless ; she obstinately refused to listen 
 to probabilities, or to be comforted. All through the 
 night I heard her deep and bitter sobs, and the oft- 
 repeated name of him that she had lost. 
 
 The sun was sinking over the plague-stricken city, 
 gilding the changing woods and mountain ]>caks with 
 ruddy light ; the river mirrored back the gorgeous sky, 
 and moved m billows of li(.j[uid gold ; the very air seemed 
 lighted u|> with heavenly fires, and sparkled with my- 
 riadn of luminous pnrtirles, as 1 gazed my last upon that 
 beautiful scene. 
 
 The tow-line was now attached from our ship to the 
 British America, and in company with two other vessels, 
 
^r^HB 
 
 QUEBEC. 
 
 0/ 
 
 we followed fast in her foaming wake. Day lingered on 
 the horizon just long enough to enable me to examine, 
 with deep interest, the rocky heights of Abraham, the 
 scene of our immortal Wolfe's victory and death ; and 
 when the twilight faded into niglit, the moon arose in 
 solemn beauty, and cast mysterious gleams upon the 
 strange stern landscape. The wide river, flowing rapidly 
 between its rugged banks, rolled in inky blackness be- 
 neath the overshadowing crags ; while the waves in raid- 
 channel flashed along in dazzling light, rendered more 
 intense by the surrounding darkness. In this luminous 
 track the huge steamer glided majestically forward, 
 flinging showers of red earth-stars from the funnel into 
 the clear air, and looking like some fiery demon of the 
 night enveloped in smoke and flame. 
 
 The lofty groves of pine frowned down in hearso-like 
 
 gloom upon the mighty river, and the deep stillness of 
 
 the night, broken alone by its hoarse wailings, filled my 
 
 raind with sad forebodings, — alas ! too prophetic of the 
 
 future. Keenly, for the first time, I felt that I was a 
 
 stranger in a strange land ; my heart yearned intensely 
 
 for my absent home. Home! the word had ceased to 
 
 belong to my present — it was doomed to live for ever in 
 
 the past ; for what emigrant ever regarded the country 
 
 of his exile as his home ? To the land he has left, that 
 
 name belongs for ever, and in no instance does he bestow 
 
 it upon another. ** I have got a letter from home I" " I 
 
 ' ave seen a friend from home !" " I dreamt last night 
 
 that T was at home !" are expressions of every day oo- 
 
BB 
 
 58 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 currence, to prove that the heart acknowledges no other 
 home than the land of its birth. 
 
 From these sad reveries I was roused by the hoarse 
 notes of the bagpipe. That well-known sound brought 
 every Scotchman upon deck, and set every limb in mo- 
 tion on the decks of the other vessels. De.termined not 
 to be outdone, our fiddlers took up the strain, and a lively 
 contest ensued between the rival musicians, which con- 
 tinued during the greater part of the night. The shouts 
 of noisy revelry were in no way congenial to my feelings. 
 Nothing tends so much to increase our melancholy as 
 merry music when the heart is sad ; and I left the scene 
 with eyes brimful of tears, and my mind painfully agitated 
 by sorrowful recollections and vain regrets. 
 
 wt^i 
 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 OUR JOURNEY UP THE COUNTRY. 
 
 Fly this plague-stricken spot ! The hot, foul air 
 Is rank with pestilence — the crowded marts 
 And public ways, once populous with life, 
 Are still and noisome as a churchyard vault ; 
 Aghast and shuddering, Nature holds her breath 
 In abject fear, and feels at her strong heart 
 The deadly pangs of death. 
 
 ^F Montreal I can say but little. The cholera was 
 ,^^^^ at its height, and the fear of infection, which 
 increased the nearer we approached its shores, cast a 
 gloom over the scene, and prevented us from exploring 
 its infected streets. That the feelings of all on board 
 very nearly resembled our own might be read in the 
 anxious faces of both passengers and crew. Our captain, 
 who had never before hinted that he entertained any 
 apprehensions on the subject, now confided to us his con- 
 viction that he should never quit the city alive : " This 
 cursed cholera ! Left it in Russia — found it on my return 
 to Leith — meets me again in Canada. No escape the 
 third time." If the captain's prediction proved true in 
 his case, it was not so in ours. We left the cholera in 
 
60 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 England, we met it again in Scotland, and, under the 
 providence of God, we escaped its fatal visitation in 
 Canada. 
 
 Yet the fear and the dread of it on that first day caused 
 me to throw many an arxious glance on my husband and 
 my child. I had been very ill d firing the three weeks that 
 our vessel was becalmed upon the Banks of Newfound- 
 land, and to this circumstance I attribute my deliver- 
 ance from the pestilence. I was weak and nervous when 
 the vessel arrived at Quebec, but the voyage up the St. 
 Lawrence, the fresh air and beautiful scenery were rapidly 
 restoring me to health. 
 
 Montreal from the river wears a pleasing aspect, but 
 it lacks the grandeur, the stern sublimity of Quebec. 
 The fine mountain that forms the btick-ground to the 
 city, the Island of St. Helens in front, and the junction 
 of the St. Lawrence and the Ottawa — which run side by 
 side, their respective boundaries only marked by a long 
 ripple of white foam, and the darker blue tint of the 
 former river, — constitute the most remarkable features in 
 the landscape. 
 
 The town itself was, at that period, dirty and ill-paved ; 
 and the opening of all the sewers, in order to purify the 
 place, and stop the ravages of the pestilence, rendered the 
 public thoroughfares almost impassable, and loaded the 
 air with intolerable effluvia, more likely to produce than 
 stay the course of the plague, the violence of which had, 
 in all probability, been increased by these long-neglected 
 receptacles of uncleanlinesSi 
 
OUll JOURNEY UP THE COUNTRY. 
 
 91 
 
 lay caused 
 sband and 
 iveeks that 
 !^ewfound- 
 ly deliver- 
 vous when 
 up the St. 
 ere rapidly 
 
 aspect, but 
 of Quebec, 
 and to the 
 le junction 
 :un side by 
 I by a long 
 tint of the 
 features in 
 
 1 ill-paved ; 
 purify the 
 indered the 
 loaded the 
 •oduce than 
 which had, 
 g*neglected 
 
 The dismal stories told us by the excise-officer who 
 came to inspect the unloading of the vessel, of the fright- 
 ful ravages of the cholera, by no means increased our 
 desire to go on shore. 
 
 " It will be a miracle if you escape," he said. ** Hun- 
 dreds of emigrants die daily ; and if Stephen Ayres had 
 not providentially come among us, not a soul would have 
 been alive at this moment in Montreal." 
 
 " And who is Stephen Ayres ?" said I. 
 
 " God only knows," was the grave reply. " There was 
 a man sent from heaven, and his name was John." 
 
 " But I thought this man was called Stephen ?" 
 
 " Ay, so he calls himself ; but 'tis certain that he is not 
 of the earth. Flesh and blood could never do what he 
 has done, — the hand of God is in it. Besides, no one 
 knows who he is, or whence he comes. When the cholera 
 was at the worst, and the hearts of all men stood still 
 with fear, and our doctors could do nothing to stop its pro- 
 gress, this man, or angel, or saint, suddenly made his appear- 
 ance in our streets. He came in great humility, seated 
 in an ox-cart, and drawn by two lean oxen and a rope 
 harness. Only think of that ! Such a man in an old 
 ox-cart, drawn by rope harness 1 The thing itself was a 
 miracle. He made no parade about what he could do, 
 but only fixed up a plain pasteboard notice, informing 
 the public that he possessed an infallible remedy for the 
 cholera, and would engage to cure all who sent for him." 
 
 " And was he successful ?" 
 
 "Successful! It beats all belief; and his remedy so 
 
6S 
 
 ROUGHINQ IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 simple ! For some days we all took him for a quack, and 
 would have no faith in him at all, although he performed 
 some wonderful cures upon poor folks, who could not 
 afford to send for the doctor. The Indian village was 
 attacked by the disease, and he went out to them, and 
 restored upwards of a hundred of the Indians to perfect 
 health. They took the old lean oxen out of the cart, and 
 drew him back to Montreal in triumph. Thifi 'stablished 
 him at once, and in a few days' time he made a fortune. 
 The very doctors sent for him to cure them ; and it is to 
 be hoped that, in a few days, he will banish the cholera 
 from the city." 
 
 " Do you know his famous remedy V 
 
 " Do I not ? — Did he not cur ^ me when I was at the 
 last gasp ? Why, he makes no secret of it. It is all 
 drawn from the maple- tree. First he rubs the patient all 
 over with an ointment, made of hog's lard and maple- 
 sugar and ashes- from the maple-tree ; and he gives him 
 a hot draught of maple-sugar and ley, which throws him 
 into a violent perspiration. In about an hour the cramps 
 subside ; he falls into a quiet sleep, and when he awakes 
 he is perfectly restored to health." Such were our first 
 tidings of Stephen Ayres, the cholera doctor, who is uni- 
 versally believed to have effected some wonderful rures. 
 He obtained a wide celebrity throughout the colony.* 
 
 The day of our arrival in the port of Montreal was 
 spent in packing and preparing for our long journey up 
 
 * A friend of mine, in this town, has an original portrait of this notable 
 empiric — this man sent from heavep. The face is rather handsome, but has 
 a keen, designing expression, and is evidently that of an American, from 
 its complexion and features. 
 
OUR JOURNEY UP THE COUNTRY. 
 
 ()3 
 
 the countiy. At sunset I went upon deck to enjoy the 
 refreshing breeze that swept from the river. The evening 
 was delightful ; the white tents of the soldiers on the 
 Island of St. Helens glittered in the beams of the sun, 
 and the bugle-call, wafted over the waters, sounded so 
 cheery and inspiring, that it banished all fears of the 
 cholera, and the heavy gloom that had cloudod my mind 
 since we left Quebec. I could once more hold sweet con- 
 verse with nature, and enjoy the soft loveliness of the 
 rich and harmonious scene. 
 
 A loud cry from one of the crew startled rae ; I turned 
 to the river, and beheld a man struggling in the water a 
 short distance from our vessel. He was a young sailor, 
 who had fallen from the bowsprit of a ship near us. 
 
 There is something terribly exciting in beholding a 
 fellow-creature in imminent peril, without having the 
 power to help him. To witness his death-struggles, — to 
 feel in your own person all the dreadful alternations of 
 hope and fear, — and, finally, to see him die, with scarcely 
 an effort made for his preservation. This was our case. 
 
 At the moment he fell into the water, a boat with three 
 men was withi" . few yards of the spot, and actually 
 sailed over ti*c ^;>ot where he sank. Cries of " Shame !" 
 from the crowd collected upon the bank of the river had 
 no effect in rousing these people to attempt the rescue of 
 a perishing fellow-creature. The boat passed on. The 
 drowning man again rose to the surface, the convulsive 
 motion of his hands and feet, visible above the water, but 
 it was evident that the struggle would be his last. 
 
64 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 "Is it possible that they will let a human hcing perish, 
 and so near the shore, when an oar held out would save 
 his life i ' was the agonizing question at my heart, as \ 
 gazed, half-maddened by excitement, on the fearful spec- 
 tacle. The eyes of a multitude were fixed upon the same 
 object — but not a hand stiiTcd. Every one seemed to ex- 
 pect from his fellow an effort which ho was incapable of 
 attempting himself. 
 
 At this moment — splash ! a sailor plunged into the 
 water from the deck of a neighbouring vessel, and dived 
 after the drowning man. A deep " Thank God !" burst 
 from my heart. I drew a freer breath as the bravo 
 fellow's head appeared above the water. Ho called to 
 the men in the boat to throw him an oar, or the drowning 
 man would be the death of them both. Slowly they put 
 back the boat, — the oar was handed; but it came too 
 late ! The sailor, whose name was Cook, had been oblig- 
 ed to shake of!" the hold of the dying man to save his 
 own life. He dived again to the bottom, and succeeded 
 in bringing to shore the body of the unfortunate being 
 he had vainly endeavored to succoi*. Shortly after, he 
 came on board our vessel, foaming with passion at the 
 barbarous indifference manifested by the men in the 
 boat. 
 
 " Had they given me the oar in time, I could have 
 saved him. I knew him well — he was an excellent 
 fellow, and a good seaman. He has left a wife and three 
 children in Liverpool. Poor Jane ! — how can I tell her 
 that I could not save her husband V 
 
OUR JOURNEY UP THE COUNTRY. 
 
 65 
 
 He wept bitterly, and it was impossible for any of us 
 to witness his emotion without joining in his grief. 
 
 From the mate, I learned that this same young man 
 had saved the lives of three women and a ehild when the 
 boat was swamped at Grosse Isle, in attempting to land 
 the passengers from the Horsley Hill. 
 
 Such acts of heroism are common in the lower walks 
 of life. Tims, the purest gems are often encased in the 
 rudest crust ; and the finest feelings of the human heart 
 are fostered in the chilling atmosphere of poverty. 
 
 While this sad event occupied all our thoughts, and 
 gave rise to many painful reflections, an exclamation of 
 unqualified delight at once changed the current of our 
 thoughts, and filled us with surprise and pleasure. Maggie 
 Grant had fainted in the arms of her husban«i. 
 
 Yes, there was Tam, — her dear, reckless Tam, after all 
 her tears and lamentations, pressing his young wife to 
 his heart, and calling her by a thousand endearing pet 
 names. 
 
 He had met with some countrymen at Quebec, had 
 taken too much whiskey on the joyful occasion, and lost 
 his passage in the Anne, but had followed a few hours 
 later in another steam-boat ; and he assured the now 
 happy Maggie, as he kissed the infant Tam, whom she 
 held up to his admiring gaze, that he never would be 
 guilty of the like again. Perhaps he kept his word ; but 
 I much fear that the first temptation would make the 
 lively laddie forget his promise. 
 
 Our luggage having been removed to the Custom- 
 
■■ 
 
 
 
 66 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 house, including our bedding, the captain collected all the 
 ship's flags for our accommodation, of which we formed 
 a tolerably co /nfortable bed ; and if our dreams were of 
 England, could it be otherwise, with her glorious flag 
 wrapped around us, and our heads resting upon the 
 Union Jack ? 
 
 In the morning we were obliged to visit the city to 
 make the necessary arrangements for our upward journey. 
 
 The day was intensely hot. A bank of thunder-clouds 
 lowered heavily above the mountain, and the close, dusty 
 streets were silent, and nearly deserted. Here and there 
 might be seen a group of anxious looking, care-worn^ 
 sickly emigrant?, seated against a wall among their 
 packages, and sadly ruminating upon their future j-ros- 
 pects. 
 
 The sullen toll of the death-bell, the exposure of ready- 
 made coffins in the undertakers' windows, and the oft- 
 recurring notice placarded on the walls, of funerals fur- 
 nished at such and such a place, at cheapest rate and 
 shortest notice, painfully reminded us, at every turning 
 of the street, that death was everywhere — perhaps lurk- 
 ing in our very path ; we felt no desire to examine the 
 beauties of the place. With this ominous feeling per- 
 vading our minds, public buildings possessed few attrac- 
 tions, and we determined to make our stay as short as 
 possible. 
 
 Compared with \;he infected city, our ship appeared an 
 ark of safety, and we returned to it with joy and confi- 
 dence, too soon to be destroyed. We had scarcely re- 
 
OUR JOURNEY UP THE COUNTRY. 
 
 67 
 
 entered our cabin, when tidings were brought to us that 
 the cholera had made its appearance : a brother of the 
 captain had been attacked. 
 
 It was advisable that we should leave the vessel im- 
 mediately, before the intelligence could reach the health- 
 officers. A few minutes sufficed to make the necessary 
 preparations; and in less than half-an-hour we found 
 ourselves occupying comfortable apartments in Goode- 
 nough's hotel, and our passage taken in the stage for the 
 following morning. 
 
 The transition was like a dream. The change from 
 the clos(», rank ship to large, airy, well -furnished rooms 
 and clean attendants, was a luxury we should have en- 
 joyed had not the dread of the cholera involved all things 
 around us in gloom, and apprehension. No one spoke 
 upon the subject ; and yet it was evident that it was 
 uppermost in thf. thoughts of all. Several emigrants 
 had died of the terrible disorder during the week, be- 
 neath the very roof that sheltered us, and its ravages, we 
 were told, had extended up the country as far as King- 
 ston ; so that it was still to be the pliPootom of our com- 
 ing journey, if wS were fortunate enough to escape from 
 its headquarters. 
 
 At six o'clock the following morning, we took our 
 places in the cooch for Lachine, and our fears of the 
 plague greatly diminished as we left the spires of Mont- 
 real in the distance. The journey from Montreal west- 
 v^ard has been so wall described by many gifted pens, 
 that I shall say little about it. The banks of the St. 
 
r 
 
 m 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 ! 
 
 Lawrence are picturesque and beautiful, particularly in 
 those ftpots where there is a good view of the American 
 side. The neat farmhouses looked to me, whose eyes had 
 been so long accustomed to the watery waste, homes of 
 beauty and happiness ; and the splendid orchards, the 
 trees at that s<>ason of the year being loaded with ripen- 
 ing fruit of all hues, were refreshing and delicious. 
 
 My partiality for the apples was regarded by a fellow- 
 traveller with a species of horror. " Touch them not, if 
 you value your life." Every draught of fresh air and 
 water inspired me with renewed health and spirits, and I 
 disregarded the well-meant advice ; the gentlemen who 
 gave it had just recovered from the terrible disease. He 
 was a middle-aged man, a farmer from the Upper 
 Province, Canadian born. He had visited Montreal on 
 business for the first time. " Well, sir," he said, in 
 answer to some questions put to him by my husband 
 respecting the disease, " I can tell you what it is ; a man 
 smitten with the cholera stares death right in the face ; 
 and the torment he is suffering is so great that he would 
 gladly die to got rid of it." 
 
 " You were fortunate, C , to escdpe," said a back- 
 wood settler, who occupied the opposite seat ; " many a 
 younger man has died of it." 
 
 "Ay ; but I believe I never should have taken it had 
 it not been for some things they gave me for supper at 
 the hotel ; oysters they called them, oysters ; they were 
 alive! I was persuaded by a friend to eat them, and 
 I liked them well enough at the time. But I declare to 
 
OUR JOURNEY UP THE COUNTRY. 
 
 «T 
 
 you that I felt them crawling over one another in my 
 
 stomach all night. 
 
 The next morning I was seized with 
 
 cholera." 
 
 " Did you swallow them whole, C ?" said the for- 
 mer spokesman, who seemed highly tickled by the evil 
 doings of the oysters. 
 
 " To be sure. I tell you, the creatures are alive. You 
 put them on your tongue, and I'll be bound you'll be glad 
 to let them slip down as fast as you can." 
 
 "No wonder you had the cholera," said the backwoods- 
 man, "you deserved it for your barbarity. If I had a 
 good plate of oysters here, I'd teach you the way to eat 
 them." 
 
 Our journey during the first day was performed partly 
 by coach, partly by steam. It was nine o'clock in the 
 evening when we landed at Cornwall, and took coach for 
 Prescott. The country through which we passed appeared 
 beautiful in the clear light of the moon ; but the air was 
 cold, and slightly sharpened by frost. This seemed 
 strange to me in the early part of September, but it is 
 very common in Canada. Nine passengers were closely 
 packed into our narrow vehicle, but the sides being of 
 canvas, and the open space allowed for windows unglazed, 
 I shivered with cold, which amounted to a state of suffer- 
 ing, when the day broke, and we approached the little 
 village of Matilda. It was unanimously voted by all 
 hands that we should stop and breakfast at a small inn 
 by the road-side, and warm ourselves before proceeding 
 to Prescott. 
 
f: 
 
 70 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 The people in the tavern were not stirring, and it was 
 some time before an old white-headed m^a unclosed the 
 door, and showed us into a room, redolent with fumes of 
 tobacco, and darkened by \ aper blinds. I asked him if 
 he would allow me to take my infant into a room with a 
 fire. 
 
 " I guess it was a pretty considerable cold night for the 
 like of her," said he. " Come, I'll show you to the kitch- 
 en; there's always a fire there." I cheerfully followed, 
 accompanied by our servant. 
 
 Our entrance was unexpected, and by no means agree- 
 able to the persons we found there. A half-clothed, red- 
 haired Irish servant was upon her knees, kindling up the 
 fire ; and a long thin woman, with a sharp face, and an 
 eye like a black snake, was just emerging from a bed in 
 the corner. We soon discovered this apparition to be the 
 mistress of the house. 
 
 ** The people can't come in here !" she -^-'jamed in a 
 shrill voice, darting daggers at the poor old iuu,n. 
 
 " Sure there's a baby, and the two women critters are 
 perished with cold," pleaded the good old man. 
 
 " What's that to me ? They have no business in my 
 kitchen." 
 
 "Mow, Alraira, do hold on. It's the coach has stopped 
 to breakfast with "" ; and you know we don't often get 
 the chance." 
 
 All this time the fair Almira was dressing as fast as she 
 could, and eyeing her unwelcome female guests, as we 
 stood shivering over the fire. 
 
OUR JOURNEY UP THE COUNTRY. 
 
 W 
 
 " Breakfast !" she muttered, " what can wo give them 
 to eat ? The}' pass our door a thouHuiid times without 
 any one alighting ; and now, wlion we are out of every- 
 thing, they must stop and order breakfast at such an un- 
 reasonable hour. How many are there of you ?" turning 
 fiercely to me. 
 
 " Nine," I answered, laconically, continuing to chafe the 
 cold hands and feet of the child. 
 
 "Nine ! That bit of beef will be nothing, cut into 
 steaks for nine. What's to be done, Joe ?" (to the old 
 man.) 
 
 "Eggs and ham, summat of that dried venison, and 
 pumpkin pie," responded the aide-de-camr, thoughtfully. 
 " I don't know of any other fixings." 
 
 " Bestir yourself, then, and lay out the table, for the 
 coach can't stay long," cried the virago, seizing a frying- 
 pan from the wall, and preparing it for the reception of 
 the eggs and ham. " I must have the fire to myself. Peo- 
 ple can't come crowding here, when I have to fix break- 
 fast for nine ; particularly when there is a good room else- 
 where provided for their accommodation." I took the 
 hint, and retreated to the parlour, where 1 found the rest 
 of the passengers walking to and fro, and impatiently 
 awaiting the advent of the breakfast. 
 
 To do Almira justice, she prepared from her scanty ma- 
 iv. rials a very substantial breakfast in an incredibly short 
 time, for which she charged us a quarter of a dollar per 
 head. 
 
 At Prescott we embarked on board a fine new stoam- 
 
 1 1 
 
72 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 boat, William IV., crowded with Irish emigrants, pro- 
 ceeding to Cobourg and Toronto. 
 
 While pacing the deck, my husband was greatly struck 
 by the appearance of a middle-aged man and his wife, 
 who sat apart from the rest, and seemed struggling witli 
 intense grief, which, in spite of all their efforts at conceal- 
 ment, was strongly impressed upon their features. Some 
 time after, I fell into convr^rsation with the woman, from 
 whom I learned their little history. The husband was 
 factor to a Scotch gentleman, of large landed property, 
 who had employed him to visit Canada, and roport Uk 
 capabilities of the country, prior to his investing a larg( 
 sum of money in wild lands. The expenses of theii 
 voyage had been paid, and everything up to that morn 
 ing had prospered with them. They had been blesse< ' 
 with a speedy passage, and were r-reatly pleased with th( 
 country and the people ; but of what avail was all this 
 Their only son, a fine lad of fourteen, had died that day of 
 the cholera, and all their hopes for the future were burieci 
 in his grave. For his sake they had sought a home ii 
 this far land ; and here, at the very onset of their new 
 career, the fell disease had taken him from them for ever 
 — here, where, in such a crowd, the poor heart-broker 
 mother could not even indulge her natural grief ! 
 
 " Ah, for a place where I might gr^et!" she said; "i' 
 would relieve the burning weight at my heart. But witl 
 sae many strange eyes glowering upon me, I tak' shamt 
 to mysel' to greet." 
 
 " Ah, Jeannie, my puir woman," said the husband, grasp- 
 
OUR JOURNEY UP THE COUNTRY. 
 
 73 
 
 ing her hand, "yo maun bear up; 'tis God's will; an siufu' 
 creatures like us mauna repine. But oh, madam," turning 
 to me, " we have sair hearts the day 1" 
 
 Poor bereaved creatures, how deeply I commise/ated 
 their grief, — how I respected the poor father, in the stem 
 efforts he made to conceal from indifferent spectators the 
 anguish that weighed upon his mind ! Tears are the best 
 balm that can be applied to the anguish of the heart. 
 Religion teaches man to bear his sorrows with becomirg 
 fortitude, but tears contribute largely both to soften and 
 to heal the wounds from whence they flow, 
 
 At Brockville we took in a party of ladies, which some- 
 what relieved the monotony of the cabin, and I was 
 amused by listening to their lively prattle, and the little 
 gossip with which they strove to wile away the tedium 
 of the voyage. The day was too stormy to go upon deck, 
 —thunder and lightning, accompanied with torrents of 
 rain. Amid the confusion of the elements, I tried to get 
 ft peep at the Lake of the Thousand Isles ; but the driv- 
 ing storm blended all objects into one, and I returned wet 
 and disappointed to my berth. We passed Kingston at 
 midnight, and lost all our lady passengers but two. The 
 gale continued until daybreak, and noise and confusion 
 prevailed all night, which was greatly increased by the 
 aproarious conduct of a wild Irish emigrant, who thought 
 tit to make his bed upon the mat before the cabin door. 
 He sang, he shouted, he harangued his countrymen on 
 the political state of the Emerald Isle, in a style which 
 Tas loud if not eloquent. Sleep was impossible, whilst 
 F 
 
74 
 
 KOUOHINQ IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 i; 
 
 his stentorian lungs continued to pour forth ton*ents of 
 unmeaning sound. 
 
 Our Dutch stewardess was highly enraged. His con- 
 duct, she said, " was perfectly ondacent." She opened 
 the door, and, bestowing upon him several kicks, bade 
 him get away " out of that," or she would complain to 
 the captain. 
 
 In answer to this remonstrance, he caught her by the 
 foot, and pulled her down. Then waving the tattered 
 remains of his straw hat in the air, he shouted with an 
 air of triumph, " Git out wid you, you ould witch ! Shure 
 the ladies, the purty darli .ts, never sent you wid that 
 • ugly message to Pat,' who loves them so intirely, that he 
 means to kape watch over them through the blessed 
 night." Then making us a ludicrous bow, he continued, 
 " Ladies, I'm at yer sarvice ; I only wish I could get a 
 dispensation from the Pope, and I'd marry yeas all." The 
 stewardess bolted the door, and the mad fellow kept up 
 such a racket, that we all wished him at the bottom of 
 t e Ontario. 
 
 The following day was wet and gloomy. The storm 
 had protracted the length of our voyage for several hours, 
 and it was midnight when we landed at Cobourg. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TOM WILSON'S EMIGRATION. 
 
 " Of all odd fellows, this fellow was the oddest. I have seen 
 mnny strange fish in my days, but I never met with his equal." 
 
 BOUT a month previous to our emigration to Can- 
 ada, my husband said to me, " You need not expect 
 rae home to dinner to-day ; I am going with my 
 
 friend Wilson to Y , to hear Mr. C lecture upon 
 
 emigration to Canada. He has just returned from the 
 North American provinces, and his lectures are attended 
 by vast uumbers of persons who are anxious to obtain 
 information on the subject. I got a note from your friend 
 
 B this morning, begging me to come over and listen 
 
 to his palaver ; and as Wilson thinks of emigrating in the 
 spring, he will be my walking companion." 
 
 " Tom Wilson going to Canada ! " said I, as the door 
 closed on my better-half. " What a back- woodsman he 
 
 will make ! What a loss to the sincrle ladies of S ! 
 
 What will .they do without him at their balls and pic- 
 nics?" 
 
7a 
 
 KOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 
 One of my sisters, who was writing at a table near me, 
 was highly amused at this unexpected announcement. She 
 fell back in her chair and indulged in a long and hearty 
 laugh. I am cert} I in that most of my readers would have 
 joined in her laugh, had they known the object which 
 provoked her mirth. "Poor Tom is such a dreamer," 
 said my sister, " it would be an act of charity in Moodie 
 to persuade him from undertaking such a wild-goose 
 chase ; only that I fancy my good brother is possessed 
 with the same mania." 
 
 " Nay, God forbid !" said I. " I hope this Mr. , 
 
 with the unpronounceable name, will disgust them with 
 
 his eloquence ; for B writes me word, in his droll 
 
 way, that he is a coarse, vulgar fellow, and lacks the dig- 
 nity of a bear. Oh ! I am certain they will return quite 
 sickened with the Cauadian project." Thus I laid the 
 flattering unction to my soul, little dreaming that I and 
 mine should share in the strange adventures of this oddest 
 of all odd creatures. 
 
 It might be made a subject of curious inquiry to those 
 who delight in human absurdities, if ever there were a 
 character drawn in works of fiction so extravagantly 
 ridiculous as some which daily experience presents to our 
 view. We have encountered people in the broad thorough- 
 fares of life more eccentric than ever we read of in books ; 
 people who, if all their foolish sayings and doings were 
 duly recorded, would vie with the drollest creations of 
 Hood, or George Colman, and put to shame thp flights of 
 Baron Munchausen. Not that Torn Wilson was a ro- 
 
TOM WILSON S EMIGRATION. 
 
 77 
 
 mancer , oh no ! He was the very prose of prose, a man 
 in a mist, who seemed afiaid of moving about for fear of 
 knocking his head agntnst a tree, and finding a halter 
 suspended to its branches — a man as helpless and ra 
 indolent as a baby. 
 
 Mr. Thomas, or Tom Wilson, as he was familiarly 
 called by all his friends and acquaintances, was the son 
 of a gentleman who once possessed a argo landod pro- 
 perty in the neighbourhood ; but an extravagant and 
 profligate expenditure of the income which he derived 
 from a fine estate which had descended from father to ^ou 
 through many generations, had greatly reduced the cir- 
 cumstances of the elder Wilson. Still, his family held a 
 certain rank and standing in their native county, of 
 which his evil courses, bad as they were, could not wholly 
 deprive them The young people — and a very large 
 family they made of sons and daughters, twelve in 
 number — were objects of interest and commiseration 
 to all who knew them, while the worthless father 
 was justly held in contempt. Our hero was the young- 
 est of the six sons ; and from his childhood he was 
 famous for his nothing-to-doishness. He was too indo- 
 lent to engage heart and soul in the manly sports of his 
 comrades; and he never thought it necessary to com- 
 mence learning his lessons until the school had been in 
 an hour. As he grew up to man's estate, he might be 
 seen dawdling about in a black frock-coat, jean trousers, 
 and whiti^ kid gloves, making lazy bows to the pretty 
 girls of his acquaintance ; or dressed in a green shooting- 
 
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 %o 
 
 
 
78 
 
 ROUCHINQ IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 jacket, with a gun across his shoulder, sauntering down 
 the wooded lanes, with a brown spaniel dodging at his 
 heels, and looking as sleepy and indolent as his master. 
 
 The slowness of all Tom's movements was strangely 
 contrasted with his slight, elegant, and symmetrical 
 figure ; that looked as if it only awaited the will of the 
 owner to be the most active piece of human machinery 
 that ever responded to the impulses of youth and health. 
 But then, his face ! What pencil could faithfully delineate 
 features at once so comical and lugubrious — features thao 
 one moment expressed the most solemn seriousness, and 
 the next, the most grotesque and absurd abandonment to 
 mirth ? In him, all extremes appeared to meet ; the man 
 was a contradiction to himself. Tom was a person of few 
 words, and so intensely lazy, that it required a strong 
 effort of will to enable him to answer the questions of 
 inq liring friends ; and when at length aroused to exercise 
 his colloquial powers, he performed the task in so original 
 a m.anner, that it never failed to upset the gravity of the 
 interrogator. When he raised his large, prominent, 
 leaden-coloured eyes from the ground, and looked the 
 inquirer steadily in the face, the effect was irresistible ; 
 the laugh would come, — do your best to resist it. 
 
 Poor Tom took this mistimed meniment in very good 
 part, generally answering with a ghastly contortion which 
 he meant for a smile, or, if he did trouble himself to find 
 words, with, " Well that's funny ! What makes you 
 laugh ? At me, I suppose ? I don't wonder at it ; I 
 often laugh at myself." 
 
mmHa 
 
 TOM Wilson's emigration. 
 
 7d 
 
 Tom would have been a treasure to an undertaker. 
 He would have been celebrated as a mute ; he looked as 
 if he had been born in a hroud, and rocked in a coffin. 
 The gravity with which he could answer a ridiculous or 
 impertinent question completely disarmed and turned 
 the shafts of malice back upon his opponent. If Tom 
 was himself an object of ridicule to many, he had a way 
 of quietly ridiculing others, that bade defiance to all 
 competition. He could quiz with a smile, and put down 
 insolence with an incredulous stare. A grave wink from 
 those dreamy eyes would destroy the veracity of a travelled 
 dandy for ever. 
 
 Tom was not without use in his day and generation ; 
 queer and awkward as he was, he was the soul of truth 
 and honour. You might suspect his sanity — a matter 
 always doubtful — but his honesty of heart and purpose, 
 never. 
 
 When you met Tom in the streets, he was dressed v/ith 
 such neatness and care (to be sure it took him half the 
 day to make his toilet), that it led many persons to im- 
 agine that this very ugly young man considered himself 
 an Adonis; anc I must confess that I ri'*^ er inclined to 
 this opinion. He always paced the public streets with 
 a slow, deliberate tread, and with his eyes fixed intently 
 on the ground — like a man who had lost his ideos, and 
 was diligently employed in searching for them. I chanced 
 to meet him one day in this dreamy mood. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. "Wilson ?" He stared at me for 
 several minutes, as if doubtful of my presence or identity. 
 
ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 " What was that you said ?" 
 
 I repeated the question ; and he answered, with one of 
 his incredulous smiles, 
 
 " Was it to me you spoke ? Oh, I am quite well, or I 
 should not be walking here. By the way, did you see my 
 dog?" 
 
 " How should r know your dog ?" 
 
 " They say he resembles me. He's a queer dog, too ; 
 but I never could find out the likeness. Good night ! " 
 
 This was at noonday • but Tom had a habit cf taking 
 light for darkness, and darkness for light, in all he did or 
 said. He must have had different eyes and ears, and a 
 different way of seeing, hearing, and comprehending, than 
 is possessed by the generality of his species ; and to such 
 a length did he carry this abstraction of soul and sense, 
 that he would often leave you abruptly in the middle of 
 a seitence ; and if you chanced to meet him some weeks 
 after, he would resume the conversation with the very 
 word at which he had cut short the thread of your dis- 
 course. 
 
 A lady once told him in jest that her youngest brother, 
 a lad of twelve years old, had called his donkey Braham, 
 in honour of the great singer of that name. Tom made 
 no answer, but started abruptly away. Three months 
 after, she happened to encountor him on the same spot, 
 when he accosted her, without any previous salutation, 
 
 *' You were telling me about a donkey, Miss , a 
 
 donkey of your brother's — Brsham, 1 think you called 
 him — ^yes, Braham ; a strange name for an ass ! I wonder 
 
ToM WILSON S EMIGRATION. 
 
 what the great Mr. Braham would say to that. Ha, ha, 
 ha!" i 
 
 " Your memory must be excellent, Mr. Wilson, to enable 
 you to remember such a trifling circumstance all this time." 
 
 "Trifling, do you call it ? Why, I have thought of noth- 
 ing else ever since." 
 
 From traits such as these my readers will be tempted 
 to imagine him brother to the animal who had dwelt so 
 long in his thoughts ; but there were times when he sur- 
 mounted this strange absence of mind, and could talk and 
 act as sensibly as other folks. 
 
 On the death of his father, he emigrated to New South 
 Wales, where he contrived to doze away seven years of 
 his valueless existence, suffering his convict servants to 
 rob him of everything, and tinall}'^ to burn his dwelling. 
 He returned to his native village, dressed as an Italian 
 mendicant, with a monkey perched upon his shoulder, 
 and playing airs of his own composition upon a hurdy- 
 gurdy. In this disguise he sought the dwelling of an old 
 bachelor uncle, and solicited his charity. But who that 
 had once seen our friend Tom could ever forget him ? 
 Nature had no counterpart of one who in mind and form 
 was alike original. The good-natured old soldier, at a 
 glance, discovered his hopeful nephew, received him into 
 his house with kindness, and had afforded him an asylum 
 ever since. 
 
 One little anecdote of him at this period will illustrate 
 the quiet love of mischief with which he was imbued. 
 Travelling {rom W— ■ to London in the stage-coach 
 
82 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 I i 
 
 
 (railways were not invented in those days), he entered 
 into conversation with an intelligent farmer who sat .jext 
 him ; New South Wales, and his residence in that colony, 
 forming the leading topic. A dissenting minister who 
 happened to be his vis-d-vis, and who had annoyed him 
 by making several impertinent remarks, suddenly asked 
 him, with a sneer, how many years he had been there. 
 
 " Seven," returned Tom, in a solemn tone, without 
 deigning a glance at his companion. 
 
 " I thought so," responded the other, thrusting hio hands 
 into his breeches pockets. " And pray, sir, what were you 
 sent there for ?" 
 
 *•' Stealing pigs," returned the incorrigible Tom, with 
 the gravity of a judge. The words were scarcely pro- 
 nounced when the questioner called the coachman to stop, 
 preferring a ride outside in the rain to a seat within with 
 a thief. Tom great! v enjoyed the hoax, which he used to 
 tell with the merriest of all grave faces. 
 
 Besides being a devoted admirer of the fair sex, and 
 always imagining himself in love with some unattainable 
 beauty, he had a passionate craze for music, and played 
 upon the violin and flute with considerable taste and exe- 
 cution. The sound of a favourite melody operated upon 
 the breathing automaton like magic, his frozen faculties 
 experienced a sudden thaw, and the stream of life leaped 
 and gambolled for a while with uncontrollable vivacity. 
 He laughed, danced, sang, and made love in a breath, 
 committing a thousand mad vagaries to make you ac- 
 quainted with his existence. 
 
 ^" ^ 
 
TOM Wilson's 'emigration. 
 
 83 
 
 entered 
 sat .lext 
 b colony, 
 ter who 
 ^ed him 
 y asked 
 here, 
 without 
 
 \a hands 
 ;rere you 
 
 m, with 
 ;ely pro- 
 
 to stop, 
 lin with 
 
 used to 
 
 jex, and 
 tainable 
 I played 
 .nd exe- 
 }d upon 
 
 acuities 
 leaped 
 
 ivacity. 
 
 breath, 
 
 rou ac- 
 
 My husband had a remarkably sweet-toned flute, and 
 this flute Tom regarded with a species of idolatry. 
 
 " I break the Tenth Commandment, Moodie, whenever 
 I hear you pla}'" upon that flute. Take care of your black 
 wife," ( a name he had bestowed upon the coveted treas- 
 ure), " or I shall certainly run off" with her." 
 
 " I am half afraid of you, Tom. I am sure if I were 
 to die, an'i leave you my black wife as a legacy, j^ou 
 would be too much overjoyed to lament my death." 
 
 Such was the strange, helpless, whimsical being who 
 contemplated an emigration to Canada. How he suc- 
 ceeded in the speculation the sequel will show. 
 
 It was late in the evening before my husband and his 
 friend Tom Wilson returned from Y . I had pro- 
 vided a hot supper and a cup of coflee after their long 
 walk, and they did ample justice to my care. 
 
 Tom was in unusually high spirits, and appeared wholly 
 bent upon his Canadian expedition. 
 
 " Mr. C must have been very eloquent, Mr. Wilson," 
 
 said I, "to engage your attention for so many hours." 
 
 " Perhaps he was," returned Tom, after a pause of some 
 minutes:!, during which lie seemed to be groping for words 
 in the salt-cellar, having deliberately turned out its con- 
 tents upon the table-cloth. " We were hungry after our 
 long walk, and he gave us an excellent dinner," 
 
 " But that had nothing to do with the substance of his 
 lecture." 
 
 " It was the substance, after all," said Moodie, laughing ; 
 " and his audience seemed to think so, by the attention 
 
84 
 
 HOUGHINQ IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 they paid to it during the discussion. But, come, Wilson, 
 give my wife some account of the intellectual part of the 
 entertainment." 
 
 " What ! T — I — I — I give an account of the lecture ? 
 Why, my dear fellow, I never listened to one word of it !" 
 
 " I thought you went to Y on purpose to obtain 
 
 information on U e subject of emigration to Canada ?" 
 
 " Well, and so I did ; but when the fellow pulled out 
 his pamphlet, and said that it contained the s' bstance of 
 his lecture, and would only cost a shilling, I thought that 
 it was better to secure the substance than endeavour to 
 catch the shadow — so I bought the book, and spared my- 
 self the pain of listening to the oratory of the writer. 
 Mrs. Moodie ! he had a shocking delivery, a drawling, 
 vulgar voice ; and he spoke with such a nasal twang that I 
 could not bear to look at him, or listen to him. He made 
 such grammatical blunders, that my sides ached with 
 laughing at him. Oh, I wish you could have seen the 
 wretch ! But here is the document, written in the same 
 style in which it was spoken. Read it ; you have a rich 
 treat in store." 
 
 I took the pamphlet, not a little amused at his descrip- 
 tion of Mr. C ■ , for whom I felt an uncharitable dislike. 
 
 " And how did you contrive to entertain yourself, Mr. 
 Wilson, during his long address ?" 
 
 " By thinking how many fools were collected together, 
 to listen to one greater than the rest. By the way, 
 Moodie, did you notice farmer Flitch ?" 
 
 " No ; where did he sit V* 
 
TOM WILSON'S EMIGRATION. 
 
 85 
 
 le, Wilson, 
 art of the 
 
 B lecture ? 
 ord of it !" 
 to obtain 
 lada r 
 pulled out 
 bstance of 
 jught that 
 ieavour to 
 pared my- 
 he writer. 
 
 drawling, 
 'ang that I 
 
 He made 
 jhed with 
 
 seen the 
 
 the same 
 ave a rich 
 
 is descrip- 
 
 e dislike. 
 
 irself, Mr. 
 
 together, 
 the way, 
 
 *' At the foot of the table. Yovl must have seen him, 
 he was too big to be overlooked. What a delightful 
 squint he had 1 What a ridiculous likeness there wag 
 between him and the roast pig he was carving ! 1 was 
 wondc^'ng all dinner-time how that man contrived to cut 
 up that pig ; for one eye was fixed upon the ceiling, and 
 the other leering very affectionately at me, It was very 
 droll ; was it not ?" 
 
 " And what do you intend doing with yourself when 
 you arrive in Canada ?" said I. 
 
 *' Find out some large hollow tree, and live like Bruin 
 in the winter by sucking my paws. In the summer 
 there will be plenty of mast and acorns to satisfy the 
 wants of an abstemious fellow." 
 
 " But, joking apart, my dear fellow," said my husband, 
 anxious to induce him to abandon a scheme so hopeless, 
 " do you think that you are at all qualified for a life of 
 toil and hardship ?" 
 
 *^Are you?" returned Tom, raising his large, bushy, 
 black eyebrows to the top of his forehead, and fixing lys 
 leaden eyes steadfastly upon his interrogator, with an air 
 of such absurd gravity that we burst into a hearty 
 laugh. 
 
 " K'ow what do you laugh for ? I am sure I asked you 
 a very serious question." 
 
 " But your method of putting it is so unusual that you 
 must excuse us for laughing." 
 
 " 1 don't want you to weep," said Tom ; " but as to our 
 qualifications, Moodie, I think them pretty equal. I 
 
89 ROUGHINQ IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 know you think otherwise, but I will explain. Let me 
 see ; what was I going to say ? — ah, I have it ! lifou go 
 with the intention of clearing land, and working for 
 yourself, and doing a great deal. I have tried that 
 before in New South Wales, and I know that it won't 
 answer. Gentlemen can't work like labourers, and if 
 they could they won't — it is not in them, and that you 
 will find out. You expect, by going to Canada, to make 
 your fortune, or at least secure a comfortable indepen- 
 dence. I anticipate no such results ; yet I mean to go, 
 partly out of a whim, partly to satisfy my curiosity 
 whether it is a better country than New South Wales ; 
 and lastly, in the hope of bettering my condition in a 
 small way, which at present is so bad that it can scarcely 
 be worse. I mean to purchase a farm with the three 
 hundred pounds I received last week from the sale of my 
 father's property ; and if the Canadian soil yields only 
 
 half what Mr. C says it does, I need not starve. 
 
 But the refined habits in which you have been brought 
 up, and your unfortunate literary propensities — (I say 
 unfortunate, because you will seldom meet people in a 
 colony who can or will sympathise with you in these 
 pursuits) — they will make you an object of mistrust and 
 envy to those who cannot appreciate them, and will be a 
 source of constant mortification and disappointment to 
 yourself. Thank God! I have iio literary propensities; 
 but, in spite of the latter advantage, in all probability I 
 shall make no exertion at all; so that your energy, 
 damped by disgust and disappointment, and my laziness 
 
TOM WILSON S EMIOKATION. 
 
 87 
 
 will end in the same thing, and we shall both return like 
 bad pennies to our native shores. But, as I have neither 
 wife nor child to involve in my failure, I think, without 
 much self-flattery, that my prospects are better than 
 yours." 
 
 This was the longest speech I ever heard Tom utter ; 
 and, evidently astonished at himself, he sprang up 
 abruptly from the tabje, overset a cup of coffee into my 
 lap, and, wishing us good day (it was eleven o'clock at 
 night), he ran out of the house. 
 
 There was more truth in poor Tom's words than at that 
 moment we were willing to allow ; for youth and hope 
 were on our side in those days, and we were most ready 
 to believe the suggestions of the latter. 
 
 My husband finally determined to emigrate to Canada-, 
 and in the hurry and bustle of a sudden preparation to 
 depart, Tom and his affairs for a while were forgotten. 
 
 How dark and heavily did that frightful anticipation 
 weigh upon my heart ! As the time for our departure 
 drew near, the thought of leaving my friends and native 
 land became so intensely painful that it haunted me even 
 in sleep. I seldom awoke without finding my pillow wet 
 with tears. The glory of May was upon the earth — of 
 an English May. The woods were bursting into leaf, 
 the meadows and hedge-rows were flushed with flowers, 
 and every grove and copsewood echoed to the warblings 
 of birds and the humming of bees. To leave England at 
 all was dreadful — to leave her at such a season was 
 doubly so. I went to take a last look at the old Hall, 
 
 ti 
 
HOUaniNQ IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 the beloved home of my childhood and youth ; to wander 
 onco iiiore beneath the shadoe of its venerable oaks — to 
 rest once more upon the velvet sward that carpeted their 
 roots. It was while reposing beneath those noble trees 
 that I had first indulged in those delicious dreams which 
 are a foretaste of the enjoyments of the spirit-land. In 
 them the soul breathes forth its aspirations in a language 
 unknown to common minds ; and that language is Poetry 
 Here annually, from year to year, I had renewed my 
 friendship with the first primroses and violets, and lis- 
 tened with the untiring ear of love to the spring rounde- 
 lay of the blackbird, whistled from among his bower of 
 May blossoms. Here, I had discoursed sweet words to 
 the tinkling brook, and learned from the melody of 
 waters the music of natural sounds. In these beloved 
 solitudes all the holy emotions which stir the human 
 heart in its depths had been freely poured forth, and 
 found a response in the harmonious voice of Nature, 
 bearing aloft the choral song of earth to the throne of 
 the Creator. 
 
 How hard it was to tear myself from scenes endeared 
 to me by the most beautiful and sorrowful recollections, 
 let those who have loved and suffered as I did, say. 
 However, the world has frowned upon me. Nature, 
 arrayed in her green loveliness, had ever smiled upon me 
 like an indulgent mother, holding out her loving arms 
 to enfold to her bosom her erring but devoted child. 
 
 Dear, dear England! why was I forced by a stem 
 necessity to leave you ? What heinous crime had I com- 
 
TOM Wilson's emigration. 
 
 89 
 
 svanacr 
 iks — to 
 id their 
 Le trees 
 
 which 
 id. In 
 nguago 
 Poetry 
 red ray 
 and lis- 
 [•ounde- 
 ower of 
 ^^ords to 
 lody of 
 beloved 
 
 human 
 
 th, and 
 [Nature, 
 
 rone of 
 
 initted, that I, who adored you, should be torn from your 
 sacred bosom, to pine out my joyless existence in a 
 foreign clime ? Oh, that I might bo permitted to return 
 and die upon your wave-encircled shores, and rest my 
 weary head and heart beneath your daisy-covered sod at 
 last ! Ah, those are vain outbursts of feeling — melan- 
 choly relapses of the spring home-sickness ! Canada ! 
 thou art a noble, free, and rising country — the great fos- 
 tering mother of the orphans of civilization. The off- 
 spring of Britain, thou must be great, and I will and do 
 love thee, land of my adoption, and of my children's 
 birth ; and, oh, dearer still to a mother's heart — land of 
 
 their graves ! 
 
 * » * • # - • 
 
 Whilst talking over our coming separation with my 
 
 sister C , we observed Tom AVilson walking slowly 
 
 up the path that led to the house. He was dressed in a 
 new shooting-jacket, with his gun lying carelessly across 
 liis shoulder, and an ugly pointer dog following at a little 
 distance. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Moodie, I am off"," said Tom, shaking hands 
 with my sister instead of me. " I suppose I shall see 
 Moodie in London. Wliat do you think of my dog?" 
 patting him affectionately. 
 
 " I think him an ugly beast," said C . " Do you 
 
 mean to take him with you ?" 
 
 " An ugly beast ! — Duchess a beast ? Why, she is a 
 perfect beauty ! —Beauty and the beast ! Ha, ha ha ! I 
 gave two guineas for her last night." (I thought of the 
 G 
 
90 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 old adage.) "Mrs. Moodie, your sister is no judge of a 
 dog." 
 
 " Very likely," returned , laughing. " And you 
 
 go to town to-night, Mr. Wilson ? I thought as you 
 came up to the house that you were equipped for 
 shooting." 
 
 *' To be sure ; there is capital shooting in Canada." 
 
 " So I have heard — plenty of bears and wolves ; I sup- 
 pose you *ake out your dog and gun in anticipation ?" 
 
 "True," said Tom. 
 
 " But you surely are not going to take that dog with 
 you r 
 
 "Indeed I am. She is a most valuable brute. The 
 very best venture I could take. My brother Charles has 
 engaged our passage in the same vessel." 
 
 " It would be a pity to part you," said I. " May you 
 prove as lucky a pair as Whittington and his cat." 
 
 " Whittington ! Whittington !" said Tom, staring at my 
 sister, and beginning to dream, wh* .n he invariably did 
 in the company of women. "W"ho was the gentle- 
 man f 
 
 " A very old friend of mine, one whom I have known 
 since I was a very little girl," said my sister; "but I 
 have not tim*^ to tell you more about him now. If you go 
 to St. Paul's Churchyard, and inquire for Sir Richard 
 Whittington and his cat, you will get his history for a 
 mere trifle." 
 
 " Do not mind her, Mr. Wilson, she is quizzing you " 
 quoth I ; " I wish you a safe voyage across the Atlantic ; 
 
TOM WILSON S EMIGRATION. 
 
 91 
 
 I wish I could add a happy meeting with your friends. 
 But where shall we find friends in a strange land ?" 
 
 " All in good time," said Tom. " I hope to have the 
 pleasure of meeting you in the backwoods of Canada 
 before three months are over. What adventures we 
 shall have to tell one another ! It will be capital. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 * 
 
 " Tom has sailed," said Captain Charles Wilson, step- 
 ping into my little parlour a few days after his eccentric 
 brother's last visit. "I saw him and Duchass safe on 
 board. Odd as he is. I parted with him with a full 
 heart; 1 felt as if wo never should meet again. Poor 
 Tom. ! he is the only brother left me now that I can love. 
 Robert and I never agreed very well, and there is little 
 chance of our meefng in this world. He is married, and 
 settled down for life in New South Wales ; and the rest, 
 John, Richard, George, are all gone — all !" 
 
 " Was Tom in good spirits when you parted ?" 
 
 "Yes. He is a perfect contradiction. He always 
 laughs and cries in the wiong place. * Charles,' he said, 
 with a loud laugh, ' tell the girls to get some new music 
 against I return : and, hark ye ! if I never come back, I 
 leave them my Kangaroo Waltz as a legacy.' " 
 
 " What a strange creature !" 
 
 " Strange, indeed ; you don't know half his oddities. 
 He has very little money to take out with him, but he 
 actually paid for two berths in the ship, that he might 
 not chance to have a person who snored sleep near him. 
 
 tmam 
 
 
92 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 f 
 
 Thirty pounds thrown away upon the mere chance of a 
 snoring companion ! ' Besides, Charles,' quoth he, * I can- 
 not endure to share my little cabin with others ; they 
 will use my towels, and combs, and brushes, like that 
 confounded rascal who slept in the same berth with me 
 coming from New South Wales, who had the impudence 
 to clean his teeth with my tootii-brush. Here I shall be 
 all alone, happy and comfortable as a prince, and Duchess 
 shall sleep in the after-berth, and be my queen/ And so 
 we parted," continued Captain Charles. " May God take 
 care of him, for he never could take care of himself" 
 
 " That puts me in mind of the reason he gave for not 
 going with us. He was afraid that my baby would keep 
 him awake of a night. He hates children, and says that 
 he never will marry on that account." 
 
 ^ 
 
 % 
 
 * 
 
 We left the British shores on the 1st of July, and cast 
 anchor, as I have already shown, under the Castle of St. 
 Louis, at Quebec, on the 2nd of September, 1832. Tom 
 Wilson sailed the 1st of May, and had a speedy passage, 
 and was, as we heard from his friends, comfortably settled 
 in the bush, had bought a farm, and meant to commence 
 operations in the fall. All this was good news, and as he 
 was settled near my brother's location, we congratulated 
 ourselves that our eccentric friend had found a home in 
 the wilderness at last, and that we should soon see him 
 
 again. 
 
 On the 9th of September, the steam-boat William IV. 
 landed us at the then small but rising town of , on 
 
 I 
 
TOM WILSON S EMIGRATION. 
 
 93 
 
 Lake Ontario. The night was dark and rainy ; the boat 
 was crowded with emigrants ; and when we arrived at 
 the inn, wt) learnt that there was no room for us — not a 
 bed to be had ; nor was it likely, owing to the number 
 of strangers that had arrived for several weeks, that we 
 could obtain one by searching farther. Moodie requested 
 the use of a sofa for me during the night ; but even that 
 produced a demur from the landlord. Whilst I awaited 
 the result in a passage, crowded with strange faces, a 
 pair of eyes glanced upon me through the throng. Was 
 it possible ? — could it be Tom Wilson ? Did any other 
 human being possess such eyes, or use them in such an 
 eccentric manner ? In another second he had pushed his 
 way to my side, whispering in my ear, " We met, 'twa.g 
 in a crowd." 
 
 " Tom Wilson, is that you V 
 " " Do you doubt it ? I flatter [myself that there is no 
 likeness of such a handsome fellow to be found in the 
 world. It is I, I swear ! — although very little of me is 
 left to swear by. The best part of me I have left to 
 fatten the musquitoes and black flies in that infernal 
 bush. But where is Moodie ?" 
 
 " There he is — trying to induce Mr. S , for love or 
 
 money, to let me have a bed for the night." 
 
 " You shall have mine," said Tom. " I can sleep upon 
 the floor of the parlour in a blanket, Indian fashion. It's 
 a bargain — I'll go and settle it with the Yankee directly ; 
 he's the best fellow in the world ! In the meanwhile 
 here is a little parlour, which is a joint-stock aflTair be- 
 
94 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 tween some of us young hoi^efuls for the time being. 
 Step in here, and I will go for Moodie ; I long to tell him 
 what I think of this confounded country. But you will 
 find it out all in good time ;" and, rubbing his hands 
 together with a most lively and mischievous expression, 
 he shouldered his way through trunks, and boxes, and 
 anxious faces, to communicate to my husband the arrange- 
 ment he had so kindly made for us. 
 
 " Accept this gentleman's offer, sir, till to-morrow," said 
 Mr. S , " I can then make more comfortable arrange- 
 ments for your family ; but we are crowded — crowded to 
 excess. My wife and daughters are obliged to sleep in a 
 little chamber over the stable, to give our guests more 
 room. Hard that, I guess, for decent people to locate 
 over the horses." 
 
 These matters settled, Moodie returned with Tom Wil- 
 son to the little parlour, in which I had already made 
 myself at home. 
 
 " Well, now, is it not funny that I should be the first 
 to welcome you to Canada ?" said Tom. 
 
 " But what are you doing here, my dear fellow ?" 
 
 " Shaking every day with the ague. But I could laugh 
 in spite of my teeth to hear them make such a confounded 
 rattling; you would think they were all quarrelling 
 which should first get out of my mouth. This shaking 
 mania forms one of the chief attractions of this new 
 country." 
 
 " I fear," said I, remarking how thin and pale he had 
 become, " that this climate cannot agree with you." 
 
 !t. 
 
TOM \YILSONS EMIGRATION. 
 
 95 
 
 " Nor I with the climate. Well, we shall soon be quits, 
 for, to let you into a secret, I am now on my way to 
 England." ^ ^ 
 
 "Impossible!" 
 
 "It is true." 
 
 " And the farm ; what have you done with it ?" 
 
 "Sold it." 
 
 " And your outfit ?" • 
 
 "Sold that to." 
 
 "To whom?" 
 
 " To one who will take better care of botn than I did 
 Ah ! such a country ! — such people ! — such rogues ! It 
 beats Australia hollow ; you know your customers there 
 — ^but here you have to find them out. Such a take-in ! 
 — God forgive them ! I never could take care of money ; 
 and, one way or other, they have cheated me out of all 
 mine. I have scarcely enough left to pay my passage 
 home. But, to provide against the worst, I have bought 
 a young bear, a splendid fellow, to make my peace with 
 my uncle. You must see him; he is close by in-the 
 stable." 
 
 " To-morrow we will pay a visit to Bruin ; but to-night 
 do tell us something about yourself, and your residence 
 in the bush." 
 
 " You will know enough about the bush by-and-by. I 
 am a bad historian," he continued, stretching out his legs, 
 and yawning horribly, " a worse biographer. I never can 
 find words to relate facts. But I will try what I can do ; 
 mind, don't laugh at my blunders." 
 
96 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE. BUSH. 
 
 We promised to be serious — no easy matter while look- 
 ing at and listening to Tom Wilson, and he gave us, at 
 detached intervals, the following account of himself : — 
 
 " My troubles began at sea. We had a fair voyage, 
 and all that ; but my poor dog, my beautiful Duchess ! — 
 that beauty in the beast — died. I wanted to read the 
 funeral service over her, but the captain interfered — the 
 brute ! — and threatened to throw me into the sea along 
 with the dead bitch, as the unmannerly ruffian persisted 
 in calling my canine friend. I never spoke to him again 
 during the rest of the voyage. Nothing happened worth 
 relating until I got to this place, where I chanced to meet 
 a friend who knew your brother, and I went up with 
 him to the woods. Most of the wise men of Gotham we 
 met on the road were bound to the woods ; so I felt happy 
 
 that I was, at least, in the fashion. Mr. was very 
 
 kind, and spoke in raptures of the woods, which formed 
 the theme of conversation during our journey — their 
 beauty, their vastness, the comfort and independence 
 enjoyed by those who had settled in them ; and he so in- 
 spired me with the subject that I did nothing all day but 
 sing as we rode along — 
 
 "A life in the wooda for me ;" 
 
 until we came to the woods, and then I soon learned to 
 sing that same, as the Irishman says, on the other side of 
 my mouth." 
 
 Kere succeeded a long pause, during which friend Tom 
 seemed mightily tickled with his reminiscences, for he 
 
TOM Wilson's emigration. 
 
 97 
 
 leaned back in his chair, and, from time to time, gave 
 way to loud, hollow bursts of laughter. 
 
 "Tom, Tom! are you going mad ?" said my husband, 
 shaking him. 
 
 " I never was sane, that I know of," returned he. 
 " You know that it runs in the family. But do let me 
 have my laugh out. The woods ! Ha ! ha ! When I 
 used to be roaming through those woods, shooting, — 
 though not a thing could I ever find to shoot, for birds 
 and beasts are not such fools as our English emigrants — 
 and I chanced to think of you coming to spend the rest 
 of your lives in the woods — I used to stop, and hold my 
 sides, and laugh until the woods rang again. It was the 
 only consolation I had." 
 
 " Good heavens 1" said I, " let us never go to the woods." 
 
 " You will repent if you do," continued Tom. " But 
 let me proceed on my journey. My bones were well-nigh 
 
 dislocated before we got to D . The roads for the 
 
 last twelve miles were nothing but a succession of mud- 
 holes, covered with the most ingenious invention ever 
 thought of for racking the limbs, called corduroy bridges ; 
 not breeches, mind you, — for I thought, whilst jolting up 
 and down over them, that I should arrive at my destina- 
 tion minus that indispensable covering. Tt was night 
 when we got to Mr. 's place. I was' tired and hun- 
 gry, my face disfigured and blistered by the unremitting 
 attentions of the black flies that rose in swarms from the 
 river. I thought to get a private room to wash and dress 
 in, but there is no such thing as privacy in this country. 
 
98 
 
 ROUGHINQ IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 i 
 
 In the bush, all things are in common ; you cannot even 
 get a bed without having to share it with a companion. 
 A bed on the floor in a public sleeping-room ! Think of 
 that ; a public sleeping-room ! — men, women, and children, 
 only divided by a paltry curtain. Oh, ye gods ! think of 
 the snoring, squalling, grumbling, puflBng ; think of the 
 kicking, elbowing, and crowding ; the suffocating heat, the 
 musquitoes, with their infernal buzzing — and you will 
 form some idea of the misery I endured the first night of 
 my arrival in the bush. 
 
 " But these are not half the evils with which you have 
 to contend. You are pestered with nocturnal visitants 
 fiir more disagreeable than even the musquitoes, and must 
 put up with annoyances more disgusting than the crowded 
 close room. And then, to appease the cravings of hun- 
 ger, fat pork is served to you three times a-day. No 
 wonder that the Jews eschewed the vile animal ; they 
 were .people of taste. Pork, morning noon, and night, 
 swimming in its own grease ! The bishop who complain- 
 ed of partridges every day should have been condemned to 
 three months' feeding upon pork in the bush; and he 
 would have become an anchorite, to escape the horrid 
 sight of swine's flesh for ever spread before hira. No 
 wonder I am thin ; I have been starved — starved upon 
 pritters and pork, and that disgusting specimen of unleav- 
 ened bread, yclept cakes in the pan. 
 
 " I had such a horror of the pork diet, that whenever 
 I saw the dinner in progress I fled to the canoe, in the 
 hope of drowning upon the waters all reminiscences of 
 
TOM Wilson's emigration. 
 
 99 
 
 the hateful banquet; but even here the very fowls of the 
 air and the reptiles of the deep lifted up their voices, and 
 shouted, 'Pork, pork, pork !' " 
 
 M remonstrated with his friend for deserting the 
 
 country for such minor evils as these, which, aftei all, ho 
 said, could easily be borne. 
 
 " Easily borne !" exclaimed the indigna it Wilson. " Go 
 and try them ; and then tell me that. I did try to bear 
 them witi a good grace, but it would not do. I offended 
 evcrj'^body with my grumbling. I was constantly remin- 
 ded by the ladies of the house that gentlemen should not 
 come to this country without they were able to put up 
 with a little inconvenience ; that I should make as good 
 a settler as a butterfly in a beehive ; that it was impossi- 
 ble to be nice about food and dress in the bush ; that peo- 
 ple must learn to eat what they could get, and be con- 
 tent to be shabby and dirty, like their neighbours in 
 the hush, — until that horrid word hush became synony- 
 mous with all that was hateful and revolting in my mind. 
 
 " It was impossible to keep^ anything to myself The 
 children pulled my books to pieces to look at the pictures ; 
 and an impudent, bare-legged Irish servant girl took my 
 towels to wipe the dishes with, and my clothes-brush to' 
 black the shoes — an operation which she performed with 
 a mixture of soot and grease. I thought I should be bet- 
 ter off in a place of my own, so I bought a wild farm 
 that was recommended to me, and paid for it double what 
 it was worth. When I came to examine m^- estate, I 
 found there was no house upon it, and I should have to 
 
100 
 
 ROUGHINQ IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 wait until the fall to get one put up, and a few acres 
 cleared for cultivation. I was glad to return to my old 
 quarters. 
 
 " Finding nothing to shoot in the woods, I determined 
 to amuse myself with fishing ; but Mr. could not al- 
 ways lend his canoe, and there was no other to be had. 
 To pass away the time, I set about making one. I bought 
 an axe, and went to the forest to select a tree. About a 
 mile from the lake, I found the largest pine I ever saw. 
 I did not much like to try my maiden hand upon it, for it 
 was the first and the last tree I ever cut down. But to it 
 I went; and I blessed God that it reached the ground 
 without killing me in its way thither. When I was about 
 it, I thought I might as well make the canoe big enough ; 
 but the bulk of the tree deceived me in the length of 
 my vessel, and I forgot to measure the one that belonged 
 
 to Mr . It took me six weeks hollowing it out, and 
 
 when it was finished, it was as long as a sloop-of-war, and 
 too unwieldly for all the oxen in the township to draw it 
 to the water. After all my labour, my combats with those 
 wood-demons the black-flies, sand-flies, and musquitoes, 
 my boat remains a useless monument of my industry. 
 And worse than this, the fatigue I ha'd endured, while 
 working at it late and early, brought on the ague ; which 
 so disgusted me with the country that I sold my farm and 
 all my traps for an old song ; purchased Bruin to bear me 
 companj'- on my voyage home ; and the moment I am able 
 to get rid of this tormenting fever, I am off." 
 
 Argument and remonbtrance were alike in vain, he 
 
TOM WILSON S EMIGRATION. 
 
 101 
 
 could not be dissuaded from liis purpose. Tom was as 
 obstinate as his bear. 
 
 Tlie next morning he conducted us to the stable to see 
 Bruin. The young denizen of the forest was tied to the 
 manger, quietly masticating a cob of Indian corn, which 
 he held in his paw, and looked half human as he sat upon 
 his haunches, regarding us with a solemn, melancholy air. 
 There was an extraordinary likeness, quite ludicrous, be- 
 tween Tom and the bear. We said nothing, but exchang- 
 ed glances. Tom read our thoughts. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " there is a strong resemblance ; I saw 
 it when I bought him. Perhaps we are brothers ;" and 
 taking in his hand the ch^in that held the bear, he be- 
 stowed upon him sundry fraternal caresses, which the un- 
 grateful Bruin returned with low and savage growls. 
 
 " He can't flatter. He's all truth and sincerity. A 
 child of nature, and worthy to be my friend ; the only 
 Canadian I ever mean to acknowledge as such." 
 
 About an hour after this, poor Tom was shaking with 
 ague, which in a few days reduced him so low that I be- 
 gan to think he never would see his native shores again. 
 He bore the affliction very philosophically, and all his 
 well days he spenf. with us. 
 
 Onpi day my husband was absent, having accompanied 
 Mr. S to inspect a farm, which he afterwards pur- 
 chased, and I had to get through the long day in the best 
 manner I could. The local papers were soon exhausted. 
 At that period, they possessed little or no interest for me. 
 I was astonished and disgusted at the abusive manner in 
 
102 
 
 ROUtJlIINC; IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 wliich they were written, the freedom of the press being 
 enjoyed to an extent in this province unknown in more 
 civilized communities. 
 
 Men, in Canada, may call one another rogues and mis- 
 creants, in the most approved Billingsgate, through the 
 medium of the newspapers, which are a sort of safety- 
 valve to let off all the bad feelings and malignant pas- 
 sions floating through the country, without any dread of 
 the horsewhip. Hence it is the commonest thing in the 
 world to hear one editor abusing, like a pickpocket, an 
 opposition brother; calling him a reptile — a crawling 
 thing — a calumniator — a hired vendor of lies ; and his 
 'paper a smut-machine — a vile engine of corruption, as 
 base and degraded as the proprietor, &:c. Of this descrip- 
 tion was the paper I now held in my hand, which had the 
 impudence to style itself the Reformer — not of morals 
 or manners, certainly, if one might judge by the vulgar 
 abuse that defiled every page of the precious document. 
 I soon flung it from me, thinking it worthy of the fate of 
 many a better production in the olden times, that of being 
 burned by the common hangman ; but, happily, the office 
 of hangman has become obsolete in Canada, and the edi- 
 tors of these refined journals may go on abusing their 
 betters with impunity. 
 
 Books I had none, and I wished that Tom would make 
 his appearance, and amuse me with his oddities ; but he 
 had suffered so much from the ague the day before that 
 when he did enter the room to lead me to dinner, he looked 
 like a walking corpse — the dead among the living! so 
 
TOM WILSON S EMIGRATION. 
 
 103 
 
 dark, so livid, so melancholy, it was really painful to look 
 upon him. 
 
 " I hope the ladies who frequent the ordinary, won't 
 fall in love with me," said he, grinning at himself in the 
 miserable looking-glass that formed the case of the Yan- 
 kee clock, and was ostentatiously displayed on a side 
 table ; " I look quite killing to-day. What a comfort it 
 is, Mrs. M , to be above all rivalry." 
 
 In the middle of dinner, the company was disturbed 
 by the entrance of a person who had the appearance of a 
 gentleman, but who was evidently much flustered with 
 drinking. He thrust his chair in between two gentlemen 
 who sat near the head of the table, and in a loud voice 
 demanded fish. 
 
 " Fish, sir ?" said the obsequious waiter, a great favour- 
 ite with all persons who frequented the hotel ; " there is 
 no fish, sir. There was a fine salmon, sir, had you come 
 sooner ; but 'tis all eaten, sir." 
 
 " Then fetch me something, smart ! " 
 
 " I'll see what I can do, sir," said the obliging Tim, 
 hurrying out. 
 
 Tom Wilson was at the head of the table, carving a 
 roast pig, and was in the act of helping a lady, when the 
 rude fellow thrust his fork into the pig, calling out as he 
 did so. 
 
 " Hold, sir ! give me some of that pig ! You have eaten 
 among you all the fish, and now you are going to appro- 
 priate the best parts of the pig." 
 
 Tom raised his eyebrows, and stared at the stranger in 
 
104 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 his peculiar manner, then very coolly placed the whole of 
 the pig on his plate. " I have heard," he said, " of dog 
 eating dog, but I never before saw pig eating pig." 
 
 "Sir! do you mean to insult me ?" cried the stranger, 
 his fiice crimsoning with anger. 
 
 " Only to tell you, sir, that you are no gentleman. 
 Here, Tim," turning to the waiter, "go to the stable and 
 bring in my bear ; we will place him at the table to teach 
 this man how to behave himself in the presence of ladies." 
 
 A general uproar ensued ; the women left the table, 
 while the entrance of the bear threw the gentlemen pres- 
 ent into convulsions of laughter. It was too much for 
 the human biped ; he w^as forced to leave the room, and 
 succumb to the bear. 
 
 My husband concluded his purchase of the farm, and 
 invited Wilson to go with us into the country and try if 
 change of air would be beneficial to him ; for in his then 
 weak state it was impossible for him to return to England. 
 His funds were getting very low, and Tom thankfully ac- 
 cepted the offer. Leaving Bruin in the charge of Tim (who 
 delighted in the oddities of the strange English gentle- 
 man), Tom made one of our party to . 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 OUR F[RST SETTLEMENT, AND THE BORROWING 
 
 SYSTEM. 
 
 To lend, oi' not to lend —is that the question ? 
 
 (HOSE wlio go a-borrowing, go a-sorrowing," saith 
 the old adage ; and a wiser saw never came out of 
 the mouth of experience. I have tested the truth 
 of this proverb since my settlement in Canada, many, 
 many times, to my cost ; and what emigrant has not ? So 
 averse have I ever been to this practice, that I would at 
 all times rather quietly submit to a temporary inconven- 
 ience than obtain anything I wanted in this manner. I 
 verily believe that a demon of mischief presides over bor- 
 rowed goods, and takes a wicked pleasure in playing off 
 a thousand malicious pranks upon you the moment he 
 entersi your dwelling. Plates and dishes, that had been 
 the pride and ornament of their own cupboard for years* 
 no sooner enter upon foreign service than they are bro- 
 ken ; wine-glasses and tumblers, that have been handled 
 by a hundred careless wenches in safety, scarcely pasa 
 
 H 
 

 106 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 into the hands of your servants when they are sure to 
 tumble upon the floor, and the accident turns out a com- 
 pound fracture. If you borrow a garment of any kind, 
 be sure that you will tear it ; a watch, that you will break 
 it ; a jewel, that you will lose it ; a book, that \t will be 
 stolen from you. There is no end to the trouble and vex- 
 ation arising out of this evil habit. If you borrow a 
 horse, and he has the reputation of being the best-behaved 
 animal in the district, you no sooner become responsible 
 for his conduct than he loses his character. The moment 
 that you attempt to drive him, he shows that he has a 
 will of his own, by taking the reins into his own manage- 
 ment, and running away in a contrary direction to the 
 road that you wished him to travel. He never gives over 
 his eccentric capers until he has broken his own knees, 
 and the borrowed carriage and harness. So anxious are 
 you about his safety, that you have not a moment to be- 
 stow upon your own. And why ?— the beast is borrowed, 
 and you are expected to return him in as good condition 
 as he came to you. 
 
 But of all evils, to borrow money is perhaps the worst. 
 If of a friend, he ceases to be one the moment you feel 
 that you are bound to him by the heavy clog of obliga- 
 tion. If of a usurer, the interest, in this country, soon 
 doubles the original sum, and you owe an increasing debt, 
 which in time swallows up all you possess. 
 
 When we first came to the colony, nothing surprised 
 me more than the extent to which this pernicious custom 
 was carried, both by the native Canadians, the European 
 
OUR FIRST SETTLEMENT. 
 
 107 
 
 settlers, and the lower order of Americans. Many of the 
 latter had spied out the goodness of the land, and horrovjed 
 various portions of it, without so much as asking leave 
 of the absentee owners. Unfortunately, our new home 
 was surrounded hy these odious squatters, whom we found 
 as ignorant as savages, without their courtesy and kind- 
 ness. 
 
 The place we first occupied was purchased of Mr. E , 
 
 a merchant, who took it in payment of sundry large debts 
 which the owner, a New England loyalist, had been un- 
 able to settle. Old Joe R , the present occupant, had 
 
 promised to quit it with his family, at the commencement 
 of sleighing; and as the bargain was concluded in the 
 month of September, and we were anxious to plough for 
 fall wheat, it was necessary to be upon the spot. No 
 house was to be found in the immediate neighbourhood, 
 save a small dilapidated log tenement, on an adjoining 
 farm (which was scarcely reclaimed from the bush) that 
 had been some months without an owner. The merchant 
 assured us that this could be made very comfortable until 
 
 such time as it suited R to remove, and the owner 
 
 was willing to let us have it for the moderate sum of four 
 dollais a month. 
 
 Trusting to Mr. B 's word, and being strangers in 
 
 the land, we never took the precaution to examine this 
 delightful summer residence before entering upon it, but 
 thought ourselves very fortunate in obtaining a temporary 
 home so near our own property, the distance not exceeding 
 half-a-mile. The agreement was drawn up, and we were 
 
108 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 told that we could take possession whenever it suited us. 
 The few weeks that I had sojourned in the country had 
 by no means prepossessed me in its ftivour. The home- 
 sickness was sore upon me, and all my solitary hours were 
 spent in tears. My whole soul yielded itself up to a strong 
 and overpowering grief One simple word dwelt for 
 ever in my heart, and swelled it to bursting — " Home !" I 
 repeated it waking a thousand times a day, and my last 
 prayer before I sank to sleep was still " Home ! Oh, that 
 I could return, if only to die at home !" And nightly I 
 did return ; my feet again trod the daisied meadows of 
 England ; the song of her birds was in my ears ; I wept 
 with delight to find myself once more wandering beneath 
 the fragrant shade of her green hedge-rows ; and I awcke to 
 weep in earnest when I found it but a dream. But this 
 is all digression, and has nothing to do with our unseen 
 dwelling. The reader must bear with me in ' > y fits of 
 melancholy, and take me as I am. 
 
 It was the 22nd September that we left the Steamboat 
 Hotel, to take possession of our new abode. During the 
 
 three weeks we had sojourned at — , I had not seen 
 
 a drop of rain, and I began to think that the fine weather 
 would last for ever ; but this eventful day arose in clouds. 
 Moodie had hired a covered carriage to convey the baby, 
 the servant-maid, rnd myself to the farm, as our driver 
 prognosticated a wet day ; while he followed with Tom 
 Wilson and the teams that conveyed our luggage. 
 
 The scenery through which we were passing was so 
 new to me, so unlike anything that I had ever beheld be- 
 
OUR FIRST SETTLEMENT. 
 
 109 
 
 fore, that, in spite of its monotonous character, it won me 
 from my melancholy, and I began to look about me with 
 considerable interest. Not so my English servant, who 
 declared that the woods were frightful to lock upon ; 
 that it was a country only fit for wild beasts ; that she 
 hated it with all her heart and soul, and would go back 
 as soon as she was able. 
 
 About a mile from the place of our destination the 
 rain began to fall in torrents, and the air, which had been 
 balmy as a spring morning, turned as chilly as that of a 
 November day. Hannah shivered ; the baby cried, and I 
 drew my summer shawl as closely round as possible, to 
 protect her from the sudden change in our hitherto de- 
 lightful temperature. Just then, the carriage turned into 
 a nari'ow, steep path, overhung with lofty woods., and, 
 after labouring up it with considerable difficulty, and at 
 the riak of breaking our necks, it brought us at length to 
 a rocky upland clearing, partially covered with a second 
 growth of timber, and sun'ounded on all sides by the dark 
 forest. 
 
 " I guess," quoth our Yankee driver, " that at the 
 bottom of this 'ere swell, you'll find yourself to hum ;" 
 and plunging into a short path cut through the wood, he 
 pointed to a miserable hut, at the bottom of a steep des- 
 cent, and cracking his whip, exclaimed, " 'Tis a smart 
 location that. I wish you Britishers may enjoy it." 
 
 I gazed upon the place in perfect dismay, for I had 
 never seen such a shed called a house before. " You 
 
110 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 must be mistaken ; that is not a house, but a cattle-shed, 
 or pig-sty." 
 
 The man turned his knowing, keen eye upon me, and 
 smiled, half-humorously, halt-maliciously, af he said. 
 
 " You were raised in the old country, I guess ; you 
 have much to learn, and more, perhaps, than you'll like 
 to know, before the Avinter is over." 
 
 I was perfectly bewildered — I could only stare at the 
 place, with my eyes swimming in tears ; but, as the 
 horses plunged down into the broken hollow, my atten- 
 tion was drawn from my new residence to the perils 
 which endangered life and limb at every step. The 
 driver, however, was well used to such roads, and, steer- 
 ing us dexterously between the black stumps, at length 
 drove up, not to the door, for there was none to the 
 house, but to the open space from which that absent, but 
 very necessary, appendage had been removed. Three 
 young steers and two heifers, which the driver proceeded 
 to drive out, were quietly reposing upon the floor. A 
 few strokes of his whip, and a loud burst of gratuitous 
 curses, soon effected an ejectment ; and I dismounted, 
 and took possession of this untenable tenement. Moodie 
 was not yet in sight with the teams. I begged the man 
 to stay until he arrived, as I felt terrified at being left 
 alone in this wild, strange-looking place. He laughed, as 
 well he might, at our fears, and said he had a long way 
 to go, and must be off*; then, cracking his whip, and 
 nodding to the girl, who was crying aloud, he went his 
 
OUR FIRST SETTLEMENT. 
 
 Ill 
 
 way, and Hannah and myself were left standing in the 
 middle of the dirty floor. 
 
 The prospeot was indeed dreary. Without, pouring 
 rain ; within, a fireless hearth ; a room with but one win- 
 dow, and that containing only one whole pane of glass ; 
 not an article of furniture to be seen, save an old painted 
 pine-wood cradle, which had been left there by some 
 freak of fortune. This, turned upon its side, served us for 
 a seat, and there we impatiently awaited the arrival of 
 Moodie, Wilson, and a man whom the former had hired 
 that morning to assist on the farm. Where they were all 
 to be stowed might have puzzled a more sagacious brain 
 than mine. It is true there was a loft, but I could see no 
 way of reaching it, for ladder there was none, so we 
 amused ourselves, while waiting for the coming of our 
 party, by abusing the place, the country, and our own 
 dear selves for our folly in coming to it. 
 
 Now, when not only reconciled to Canada, but loving 
 it, and feeling a deep interest in its present welfare, and 
 the fair prospect of its future greatness, I often look back 
 and laugh at the feelings with which I then regarded this 
 noble country. 
 
 When things come to the worst, they generally mend. 
 The males of our party no sooner arrived than they set 
 about making things more comfortable. James, our ser- 
 vant, pulled up some of the decayed stumps, with which 
 the small clearing that surrounded the shanty was thickly 
 covered, and made a fire, and Hannah roused herself from 
 the stupor of despair, and seized the corn-broom from the 
 
112 
 
 EOUGHINO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 top of the loaded waggon, and began to sweep the house, 
 raising such an intolerable cloud of dust that I was glad 
 to throw my cloak over my head, and i in out of doors, 
 to avoid suffocation. Then commenced the awful bustle 
 of unloading the two heavily-loaded waggons. The small 
 space within the house Avas soon entirely blocked up with 
 several trunks and packages of all descriptions. There was 
 scarcely room to move, without stumbling over some 
 article of household stuff. 
 
 The rain poured in at the open door, beat in at the 
 shattered window, and dropped upon our heads from the 
 holes in the roof The wind blew keenly through a 
 thousand apertures in the log walls ; and nothing could 
 exceed the uncomfortableness of our situation. For a 
 long time the box which contained a hammer and nails 
 was not to be found. At length Hannah discovered it, 
 tied up with some bedding which she was opening out in 
 order to dry. I fortunately spied the door lying among 
 some old boards at the back of the house, and Moodie 
 immediately commenced fitting it to its place. This, 
 once accomplished, was a great addition to our comfort. 
 We then nailed a piece of white cloth entirely over the 
 broken window, which, without diminishing the light, kept 
 out the rain. James constructed a ladder out of the old 
 bits of boards, and Tom Wilson assisted him in stowing 
 the luggage away in the loft. 
 
 But what has this picture of misery and discomfort to 
 do with borrowing ? Patience, my dear, good friends ; I 
 will tell you all about it by-and-by. 
 
OUll FIRST SETTLEMENT. 
 
 113 
 
 While we were all busily employed — even the poor 
 baby, who was lying upon a piJlow in the old cradle, 
 trying the strength of her lungs, and not a little irritated 
 that no one was at leisure to regard her laudable en- 
 deavours to make herself heard — the door was suddenly 
 pushed open, and the apparition of a woman squeezed 
 itself into the crowded room. I left off arranging the 
 furniture of a bed, that had been just put up in a corner, 
 to moot my unexpected, and at that moment, not very 
 welcome guest. Her whole appearance was so extraordi- 
 nary that I felt quite at a loss how to address her. 
 
 Imagine a girl of seventeen or eighteen years of ago, 
 with sharp, knowing-looking features, a forward, impu- 
 dent carriage, and a pert, flippant voice, standing upon 
 one of the trunks, and surveying all our proceedings in 
 the most impertinent manner. The creature was dressed 
 *in a ragged, dirty purple stuff gown, cut very low in the 
 neck, with an old red cotton handkerchief tied over her 
 head ; her uncombed, tangled locks falling over her thin, 
 inquisitive face, in a state of perfect nature. Her legs 
 and fecu were bare, and, in her coarse, dirty red hands, 
 she swung to and fro an empty glass decanter. 
 
 " What can she want ?" I asked myself " What a 
 strange creatunj !" 
 
 And there she stood, staring at me in the most uncere- 
 monious manner, her keen black eyes glancing obliquely 
 to every corner of the room, which she examined with 
 critical exactness. 
 
114 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 Before I could speak to her, she commenced the con- 
 versation by drawling through her nose, 
 
 " Well, I guess you are fixing here." 
 
 I thought she had come to offer her services; and I 
 told her that I did not want a girl, for I had brought one 
 out with me. 
 
 "How!" responded the creature, "I hope you don't 
 take me for a help. I'd have you to know that I'm as good 
 a lady as yourself. No ; I just stepped over to see what 
 was going on. I seed the teams pass our'n about noon, 
 and I says to father, ' Them strangers are cum ; I'll go 
 and look arter them.' * Yes,' says he, * do — and take the 
 decanter along. May be they'll want one to put their 
 whiskey in.* * I'm goin* to,' says I ; so I cum across with 
 it, an* here it is. But, mind — don't break it — 'tis the 
 only one we have to hum ; and father says 'tis so mean 
 to drink out of green glass.*' 
 
 My surprise increased every minute. It seemed such 
 an act of disinterested generosity thus to anticipate wants 
 we had never thought of. I was regularly taken in. 
 
 " My good girl," I began, " this is really very kind — 
 but—" 
 
 "Now, don't go to call me 'gal' — and pass off your Eng- 
 lish airs on us. We are genuine Yankees, and think our- 
 selves as good — yes, a great deal better than you. I am a 
 young lady." 
 
 " Indeed !" said I, striving to repress my astonishment. 
 " I am a stranger in the country, and my acquaintance 
 yritli Cauadiaii ladies and gentlemen is very small. I did 
 
OUU FIRST SETTLEMENT. 
 
 113 
 
 not inenn to offend you by using the term girl ; I was go- 
 ing to assure you that wo had no need of the decanter. 
 Wo have bottles of our own — and we don't drink whis- 
 key." 
 
 " How ! Not drink whiskey ? Wliy, you don't say ! 
 How ignorant you must be ! May bo they have no whis- 
 key in the old country ?" 
 
 "Yea, we have; but it is not like the Canadian whis- 
 key. But, pray take tho decanter homo again — I am 
 afraid that it will get broken in this confusion." 
 
 " No, no ; father told me to leave it — and there it is ;" 
 and she planted it resolutely down on the trunk. " You 
 will find a use for it till you have unpacked your own." 
 
 Seeing that she was determined to leave the bottle, I 
 said no more about it, but asked her to tell me where the 
 well was to be found. 
 
 " The well !" she repeated after me, with a sneer. " Who 
 thinks of digging wells where they can get plenty of water 
 from the creek ? There is a fine water privilege not a 
 stone's-throw from the door," and, jumping oft' the box, 
 she disappeared as abruptly as she had entered. We all 
 looked at each other ; Tom Wilson was highly amused, 
 and laughed until he held his sides. 
 
 " What tempted her to bring this empty bottle here ?" 
 said Moodie. " It is all an excuse ; the visit, Tom, was 
 meant for you." 
 
 " You'll know more about it in a few days," said James, 
 looking up from his work. " That bottle is not brought 
 here for nought." 
 
110 
 
 llOUGIlINa IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 I could not unravel tho mystery, and thought no more 
 about it, until it was again brought to my recollection by 
 tho damsel herself. 
 
 Our united efforts had effected a complete transforma- 
 tion in our unconUi dwelling. Sleeping-berths had been 
 partitioned off for the men ; shelves had been put v.p for 
 tho accommodation of books and crockery, a carpet cov- 
 ered the floor, and the chairs and tables wo had brought 
 
 from gave an air of comfort to the place, which, 
 
 on the first view of it, I deemed impossible. My husband, 
 Mr. Wilson, and James, had walked over to inspect the 
 farm, and I was sitting at tho table at work, the baby 
 creejjing upon tho floor, and Hannah preparing dinner. 
 The sun shone warm and bright, and tho open door ad- 
 mitted a current of fresh air, which tempered the heat of 
 tho fire. ^ 
 
 " Well, I guess you look smart," said the Yankee dam- 
 sel, presenting herself once more before me. " You old 
 country folks arc so stiff, you must have everything nice 
 or you fret. But, then, you can easily do it ; you have 
 stacks of money ; and you can fix everything right off 
 with money." , . 
 
 " Pray take a seat," and I offered her a chair, " and be 
 kind enough to tell me your name. I suppose you must 
 live in the neighbourhood, although I cannot perceive any 
 dwelling near us." 
 
 " My name ! So you want to know my name. I arn't 
 
 ashamed of my own ; 'tis Emily S . I am eldest 
 
 daughter to the gentleman who owns this house," 
 
OUR FIRST SETTLEMENT. 
 
 117 
 
 irn't 
 lest 
 
 " What must the father be," thought I, " if lie resembles 
 the young lady, his daughter ?' 
 
 Imagine a young lady, dressed in ragged pettieoats 
 through whose yawning rents peered forth, from time to 
 time, her bare red knees, with uncombed elf-locks, and a 
 face and hands that looked as if they had been unwashed 
 for a month — who did not know A from B, and .lr>spised 
 those who did. While these reflections, combined with a 
 thousand ludicrous images, were flitting through my mind, 
 my strange visitor suddenly exclaimed, 
 
 " Have you done with that 'ere decanter I brought 
 across yesterday ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I have no occasion for it." I rose, took it 
 from the shelf, and placed it in her hand. 
 
 " I guess you won't return it empty ; that would bo 
 mean, father says. He wants it filled with whiskey." 
 
 The mystery was solved, the riddle made clear. I 
 could contain my gravity no longer, but burst into a 
 hearty fit of laughter, in which I was joined by Hannah. 
 Our young lady was mortally offended ; she tossed the 
 decanter from hand to hand, and glared at us with her 
 tiger-like eyes. . • 
 
 " You think yourselves smart ! Why do you laugh in 
 that way ?" 
 
 " Excuse me — but you have such an odd way of borrow- 
 ing that I cannot help it. This bottle, it seems, was 
 brought over for your own convenience, not for mine. I 
 am sorry to disappoint you, but I have no whiskey." 
 
p 
 
 
 !! 
 
 118 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BU»H. 
 
 " I guess spirits will do as well ; I know there is some 
 in that keg, for I smells it." 
 
 " Tt contains rum for the workmen."' 
 
 " Better still. I calculate when youv'e been here a few 
 months, you'll be too knowing to give rum to your helps. 
 But old country folks are all fools, and that's the reason 
 they get so easily sucked in, and be so soon wound-up. 
 Cum, fill the bottle, and don't be stingy. In this country 
 we all live by borrowing. If you Avant anything, why 
 just send and borrow from us." 
 
 Thinking that this might be the custom of the country, 
 I hastened to fill the decanter, hoping that I might get a 
 little new milk for the poor weanling child in return ; but 
 when I asked my liberal visitor if she kept cows, ard 
 would lend me a little new milk for the baby, she burst 
 out into high disdain. ** Milk 1 Lend milk ? I guess 
 milk in the fall is worth a York shilling a quart. I can- 
 not sell you a drop under." 
 
 This was a wicked piece of extortion, as the same article 
 in the towns, where, of course, it was in greater request, 
 only brought three-pence the quart. 
 
 " If you'll pay me for it, I'll bring you some to-morrow. 
 But mind — cash down." 
 
 " And when do you mean to return the rum," I said, 
 with some asperity. 
 
 " When father goes to the creek." This was the name 
 
 given by my neighbours to the village of P , distant 
 
 about four miles. 
 
 Day after day I was tormented by this importunate 
 
OUR FIRST SETTLEMENT. 
 
 119 
 
 3 IS some 
 
 -morrow. 
 
 creature , she borrowed of me tea, sugar, candles, starch, 
 blueing, irons, pots, bowls — in short, every article in com- 
 mon domestic use — while it was with the utmost difficul- 
 ty we could get them returned. Articles of food, such as 
 tea and sugar, or of convenience, like candles, starch, and 
 soap, she never dreamed of being required at her hands. 
 This method of living upon their neighbours is a most 
 cOiWenient one to unprincipled people, as it does not in- 
 volve the penalty of stealing ; and they can keep the 
 goods without the unpleasant necessity of returning them, 
 or feeling the moral obligation of being grateful for their 
 
 use. Living eight miles from , I found these constant 
 
 encroachments a heavy burden on our poor purse ; and 
 being ignorant of the country, and residing in such a lone- 
 ly, out-of-the-way place, surrounded by these savages, I 
 was really afraid of denying their requests. 
 
 The very day our new plougli came home, the father of 
 this bright damsrl, who went by the familiar and unenvi- 
 able title of Old Satan, came over to borrow it (though 
 we afterwards found out that he had a good one of his 
 own). The land had never been broken up, and was full 
 of rocks and stumps, and he was anxious to save his own 
 from injury ; the consequence was that the borrowed im- 
 plement came home unfit for use, just at the very time 
 that we wanted to plough for fall wheat. The same hap- 
 pened to a spade and trowel, bought in order to plaster 
 the house. Satan asked the loan of them for one hour for 
 the same purpose, and we never saw them again. 
 
 The daughter came one morning, as usual, on one of 
 
120 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 Ill' 
 
 these swindling expeditions, and demanded of me the loan 
 of some fine slack. Not knowing what she meant by 
 fine slack, and weary of her importunities, I said I had 
 none. She went away in a rage. Shortly after she came 
 again for some pepper. I was at work, and my work-box 
 was open upon the table, well stored with threads and 
 spools of all descriptions. Miss Satan cast her hawk's eye 
 into it, and burst out in her usual rude manner, 
 
 " I guess you told me a tarnation big lie the other day." 
 
 Unaccustomed to such language, I .ose from my seat, 
 and pointing to the door, told her to walk out, as I did 
 not choose to be insulted in my own house. 
 
 " Your house ! I'm sute il a lather's," returned the in- 
 corrigible wretch. " You told me that you had no fine 
 slack, and you have stacks of it." 
 
 " What is fine slack ?" said T, very pettishly. 
 
 " The stuff that's wound upon these 'ere pieces of wood," 
 pouncing as she spoke upon one of my most serviceable 
 spools. 
 
 " I cannot give you that ; I want it myself" 
 
 " I didn't ask you to give it. I only wants to borrow 
 it till father goes to the creek." 
 
 " I wish he would make haste, thi. .k -s T want a num- 
 ber of things which yon have borrowed J me, and which 
 I cannot longer do without." 
 
 She gave me a knowing look, and carried off my spool 
 in triumph. 
 
 I happened to mention the manner in which I was con- 
 
OUR FIRST SETTLEMENT. 
 
 121 
 
 stantly annoyed by these people, to a worthy English far- 
 mer who resided near us ; and he fell a-laughing, and told 
 me that I did not know the Canadian Yankees as well as 
 he did, or I should not be troubled with them long. 
 
 " The best way," says he, " to get rid of them, is to ask 
 them sharply what they want ; and if they give you no 
 satisfactory answer, order them to leave the house ; but I 
 believe I can put you in a better way still. Buy some 
 small article of them, and pay them a trifle over the price, 
 and tell them to bring the change. I will lay my life 
 upon it that it tYill be long before they trouble you 
 again." 
 
 I was impatient to test the efficacy of his scheme. 
 That very afternoon Miss Satan brought me a plate of 
 butter for sale. The price was three and nine-pence ; 
 twice the sum, by-the-by, that it was worth. 
 
 " I have no change," giving her a dollar ; " but you can 
 bring it me to-morrow." 
 
 Oh, blessed experiment ! for the value of one quarter 
 dollar I got rid of this dishonest girl for ever; rather 
 than pay me, she never entered the house again. 
 
 About a month after this, I was busy making an apple- 
 pie in the kitchen. A cadaverous-looking woman, very 
 long-faced and witch-like, popped her ill-iooking visage 
 into the door, and drawled through her nose, 
 
 ** Do you want to buy a rooster T 
 
 Now, the sucking-pigs with which we had been regal- 
 ed every day for three weeks at the tavern, were called 
 
 1 
 
122 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 roasters ; and not understanding the familiar phrases of 
 the country, I thought she had a sucking-pig to sell. 
 
 " Is it a good one ?" 
 
 " I guess 'tis." 
 
 " What do you ask for it ?" . 
 
 " Two Yorkers." 
 
 " That is very cheap, if it is any weight. I don't like 
 them under ten or twelve pounds." 
 
 " Ten or twelve pounds ! Why, woman, what do you 
 mean ? Would you expect a rooster to be bigger nor a 
 turkey ?" 
 
 We stared at each other. There was evidently some 
 misconception on my part. 
 
 " Bring the roaster up ; and if I like it, I will buy it, 
 though T must confess that I am not very fond of roast 
 
 " Do you call this a pig ?" said my she-merchant, draw- 
 ing a fine game-cock from under her cloak. 
 
 I laughed heartily at ray mistake, as I paid her down 
 the money for the bonny bird. This little matter settled, 
 I thought she would take her departure ; but that rooster 
 proved the dearest fowl to me that ever was bought. 
 
 " Do you keep backy and snuff here ?" says she, sidling 
 close up to me. 
 
 " We make no use of those articles." 
 
 " How ! Not use backy and snuft' ? That's oncom- 
 mon." 
 
 She paused, then added in a mysterious, confidential 
 tone : 
 
OUR FIRST SETTLEMENT. 
 
 123 
 
 " I want to ask you how your tea-caddy stands ?" 
 
 " It stands in the cupboard," said I, wondering what all 
 this might mean. 
 
 " I know that ; but have you any tea to spare ?" 
 
 I now began to suspect what sort of a customer the 
 stranger was. 
 
 "Oh, you want to borrow some. I have none to 
 spare." 
 
 " You don't say so. Well, now, that's stingy. I never 
 asked anything of you before. I am poor, and you are 
 rich ; besides, I'm troubled so with the headache, and 
 nothing does me any good but a cup of strong tea." 
 
 " The money I have just given you will buy a quarter 
 of a pound of the best." 
 
 " I guess that isn't mine. The fowl belonged to my 
 neighbour. She's sick ; and I promised to sell it for her 
 to buy some physic. Money I" she added, in a coaxing 
 tone, " Where should I get money ? Lord bless you | 
 people in this country have no money ; and those who 
 
 come out with piles of it, soon lose it. But Emily S 
 
 told me that you are tarnation rich, and draw your money 
 from the old country. So I guess you can well afford to 
 lend a neighbour a spoonful of tea." 
 
 " Neighbour ! Where do you live, and what is your 
 name ?" 
 
 " My name is Betty Fye — old Betty Fye ; I live in the 
 log shanty over the creek, at the back of your'n. The 
 farm belongs to my eldest son. I'm a widow with twelve 
 sons ; and 'tis hard to scratch along." 
 
 " Do you swear ?" 
 
124 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 " Swear ! What harm ? It eases one's mind when 
 one's vexed. Everybody swears in this country. My 
 boys all swear like Sam Hill ; and I used to awear mighty 
 big oaths till about a month ago, when the Methody 
 parson told me that if I did not leave it off I should go to 
 a tarnation bad place ; so I dropped some of the worst of 
 them." 
 
 " You would do wisely to drop the rest ; women never 
 swear in my countiy." 
 
 " Well, you don't say ! I always heer'd they were very 
 ignorant. Will you lend me the tea ?" 
 
 The woman was such an original that I gave her what 
 she wanted. As she was going off, she took up one of 
 the apples I was peeling. 
 
 " I guess you have a fine orchard V 
 
 " They say the best in the district." 
 
 " We have no orchard to hum, and I guess you'll want 
 sarce." 
 
 " Sarce ! What is sarce ?" 
 
 " Not know what sarce is ? You are clever ? Sarce is 
 apples cut up and dried, to make into pies in the winter. 
 Now do you comprehend ?" 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 " Well, I was going to say that I have no apples, and 
 that you have a tarnation big few of them ; and if you'll 
 give me twenty bushels of your best apples, and find me 
 with half a pound of coar.= j thread to string them upon, 
 I will make you a barrel of sarce|pn shares — that is, give 
 you one, and keep one for myself" 
 
OUR FIRST SETTLEMENT. 
 
 125 
 
 I had plonty of apples, and I gladly accepted her offer, 
 and Mrs. Betty Fye departed, elated with the success of 
 her expedition. 
 
 I found to my cost, that, once admitted into the house, 
 there was no keeping her away. She borrowed every- 
 thing she could think of, without once dreaming of resti- 
 tuti'^n. I tried all ways of affronting her, but without 
 success. Winter came, and she was still at her old 
 pranks. Whenever I saw her coming down the lane, I 
 used involuntarily to exclaim, " Betty Fye ! Betty Fye ! 
 Fye upon Bf^Hy Fye ! The Lord deliver me from Betty 
 Fye !" The last time I was honoured with a visit from 
 this worthy, she meant to favour me with a very largo 
 order upon my goods and chattels. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Fye, what do you want to-day ?" 
 
 " So many things that I scarce know where to begin. 
 Ah, what a thing 'tis to be poor ! First, I want you to 
 lend me ten pounds of flour to make some Johnnie 
 cakes." 
 
 " I thought they were made of Indian meal ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, when you've got the meal ? I'm out of it, 
 and this is a new fixing of my own invention. L ..nd mc 
 the flour, woman, and I'll bring you one of the cakes to 
 taste." 
 
 This was said very coaxingly. 
 
 " Oh, pray don't trouble yourself. What next ?" I 
 was anxious to see how far her impudence would go, and 
 determined to affront her if possible. 
 
 " I want you to lena me a gown, and a pair of stock- 
 
126 
 
 EOUQHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 ings. I have to go to Oswego to see my husband's sister, 
 and I'd like to look decent." 
 
 " Mrs. Fye, I never lend my clothes to any one. If I 
 lent them to you, I should never wear them again." 
 
 " So much the better for me," (with a knowing grin). 
 " I guess if you won't lend me the gown, you will let me 
 have some black slack to quilt a stuff petticoat, a quarter 
 of a pound of tea and some sugar ; and I will bring them 
 back as soon as I can." 
 
 " I wonder when that will be. You owe me so many 
 things that it will cost you more than you imagine to re- 
 pay me." 
 
 " Sure you're not going to mention what's past, I can't 
 owe you much. But I will let you off the tea and the 
 sugar, if you will lend me a five-dollar bill." This was 
 too much for my patience longer to endure, and I answer- 
 ed sharply, 
 
 " Mrs. Fye, it surprises me that such proud people as 
 you Americans should condescend to the meanness of 
 borrowing from those whom you affect to despise. Be- 
 sides, as you never repay us for what you pretend to bor- 
 row, I look upon it as a system of robbery. If strangers 
 unfortunately settle among you, their good-nature is 
 taxed to supply your domestic wants, at a ruinous ex- 
 pense, besides the mortification of finding that they have 
 been deceived and tricked out of their property. If you 
 would come honestly to me and say, * I want these things, 
 I am too poor to buy them myseK and would be obliged 
 to you to give them to me,' I ^uld then acknowledge 
 
OUR FIRST SETTLEMENT. 
 
 127 
 
 you as a common beggar, and treat you accordingly ; give 
 or not give, as it suited my convenience. But in the way 
 in which you obtain these articles from me you are 
 spared even a debt of gratitude ; for you well know that 
 the many things which you have borrowed from me will 
 be a debt owing to the day of judgment." 
 
 " S'pose they are," quoth Betty, not in the least abash- 
 ed at my lecture on honesty, "you know what the 
 Scripture saith, * It is more blessed to give than to re- 
 
 > » 
 
 ceive. 
 
 " Ay, there is an answer to that in the same book 
 which doubtless you may have heard," said I, disgusted 
 with her hypocrisy, " * The wicked borroweth, and payeth 
 not again.' " 
 
 Never shall I forget the furious passion into which this 
 too apt quotation threw my unprincipled applicant. She 
 lifted up her voice and cu ;sed me, using some of the big 
 oaths temporarily discarded for conscience sake. And so 
 she left me, and I never looked upon her face again. 
 
 When I removed to our own house, the history of 
 which, and its former owner, I will give by-and-b)'', we 
 had a bony, red-headed, ruffianly American squatter, who 
 had " left his country for his country's good," for an oppo- 
 site neighbiDur. I had scarcely time to put my house in 
 order before his family commenced borrowing, or stealing 
 from me. It is even worse than stealing, the things pro- 
 cured from you being obtained on false pretences — adding 
 lying to theft. Not having either an oven or a cooking- 
 stove, which at that jpfcod were not so cheap or so c^in- 
 
128 
 
 KOUGHINQ IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 inon as they are now, I had provided myself with a large 
 bake-kettle as a substitute. In this kettle wo always 
 cooked hot cakes for breakfast, preferring that to the 
 trouble of thawing the frozen bread. This man's wife 
 was in the habit of sending over for my kettle whenever 
 she wanted to bake, which, as she had a large family, 
 happened nearly every day, and I found her importunity 
 a great nuisance. 
 
 I told the impudent lad so, who was generally sent for 
 it ; and asked him what they did to bake their bread 
 before I came. 
 
 " I guess v.'e had to eat cakes in the pan ; but now we 
 can borrow this kettle of your'n, mother can fix bread." 
 
 I told him that he could have the kettle this time ; but 
 I must decline letting his mother have it in future, for I 
 wanted it for the same purpose. 
 
 The next day passed over. The night was intensely 
 cold, and 1 did not rise so early as usual in the morning 
 My servant was away at a quilling bee, and we were still 
 in bed, when I heard the latch of the kitchen-door lifted 
 up, and a step crossed the floor. I jumped out of bed. 
 and began to dress as fast as 1 could, when Philander 
 called out, in his well-known nasal twang, 
 
 " Missus ! I'm come for the kettle." 
 
 I {through the partition) : " You can't have it this 
 morning. V7e cannot get our breakfast without it." 
 
 Philander : " Nor more can the old woman to hum," 
 and, snatching up the kettle, which had been left to warm 
 
OUR FIRST SETTLEMENT. 
 
 129 
 
 on the hearth, he rushed out of the liouse, Huiging, at the 
 top of his voice, 
 
 " Hurrah for the Yankee BoyB !" 
 
 When James came home for his breakfast, I sent him 
 across to demand the kettle, and the dame very coolly 
 told him that when she had done with it I might have it, 
 but she defied him to take it out of her house with her 
 bread in it. 
 
 One word more about this lad. Philander, before wo 
 part with him. Without the least intimation that his 
 company would be agreeable, or even tolerated, he favour- 
 ed us with it at all hours of the day, opening the door 
 and walking in and out whenever he felt inclined. I had 
 given him many broad hints that his presence was not 
 required, but he paid not the slightest attention to what 
 I said. One morning he marched ir with his hat on, and 
 threw himself down in the rocking-chair, just as I was 
 going to dress my baby. 
 
 " Philander, I want to attend to the child ; I cannot do 
 it with you here. Will you oblige me by going into the 
 kitchen ?" 
 
 No answer. He seldom spoke during these visits, but 
 wandered about the room, turning over our books and 
 papers, looking at and handling everything. Nay, I have 
 even known him to take a lid off from the pot on the fire 
 to examine its contents. 
 
 I repeated my request. 
 
130 
 
 ROUOHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 Philander : " Well, I guess I shan't hurt the young *un. 
 You can dress her." 
 
 I : " But not with you here." 
 
 Phiiunder : " Why not ? Wc never do anything that 
 we are ashamed of." 
 
 I : "So it seems. But I want to sweep the room — you 
 had better get out of the dust." 
 
 I took the broom from the corner, and began to sweep ; 
 still my visitor did not stir. The dust rose in clouds ; he 
 rubbed his eyes, and moved a little nearer to the door. 
 Another sweep, and, to escape its inflictions, he mounted 
 the threshold. I had him now at a fair advantage, and 
 fairly swept him out, and shut the door in his face. 
 
 Philander (looking ilv ugh the windoiv) : " Well, I 
 guess you did me then; 't'3 deuced hard to outwit a 
 Yanl<:ee." 
 
 When a sufficient time had elapsed for the diying of 
 my twenty bushels of apples, I sent a Cornish lad, in our 
 employ, to Betty Fye's, to inquire if they were ready, and 
 when I should send the cart for them. 
 
 Dan returned with a yellow, smoke-dried string of 
 pieces dangling from his arm. Thinking that these were 
 a specimen of the whole, I inquired when we were to send 
 the barrel for the rest. 
 
 " Lord, ma'am, this is all there be." 
 
 " Impossible ! All out of twenty bushels of apples ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the boy, with a grin. " The old witch told 
 me that this was all that was left of your share ; that 
 when they were fixed enough she put them under her 
 
 ) 
 
OUR FIRST SETTLEMENT. 
 
 131 
 
 bed for safety, and the mice and the children had eaten 
 them all up but this string." 
 
 This ended my dealings with Betty Fye. 
 
 I had another incorrigible borrower in the person of old 
 
 Betty B . This Betty was unlike the rest of my 
 
 Yankee borrowers ; she was handsome in her person, and 
 remarkably civil, and she asked for the loan of everything 
 in such a frank, pleasant manner, that for some time I 
 hardly knew how to refuse her. After I had been a loser 
 to a considerable extent, and declined lending her any 
 more, she refrained from coming to the house herself, but 
 sent in her name the most beautiful boy in the world : a 
 perfect cherub, with regular features, blue, smiling eyes, 
 rosy cheeks, and lovely curling auburn hair, who said, in 
 the softest toi:es imaginable, that mammy had sent him, 
 with her compliments, to the English lady to ask the 
 loan of a little sugar or tea. I could easily have refused 
 the mother, but I could not find it in my heart to say nay 
 to her sweet boy. 
 
 There was something original about Betty B , ?.nd 
 
 I must give a slight sketch of her. 
 
 She lived in a lone shanty in the woods, which had 
 been erected by lumberers some years before, and which 
 was destitute of a single acre of clearing ; yet Betty had 
 plenty of potatoes without the trouble of planting, or the 
 expense of buying ; she never kept a cow, yet she sold 
 butter and milk ; but she had a fashion, and it proved a 
 convenient one to her, of making pets of the cattle of her 
 neighbours. If our cows strayed from their pastures, they 
 
132 
 
 KOUGHINa IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 1 
 
 wore always found near Betty's shanty, tor hIio regularly 
 supplied thoni with salt, which formed a sort of bond of 
 uiuon between them; and, in return for ihe.so little at- 
 tentions, they sulVered themselves to be milked before 
 they returned to their respective owners. Her mode of 
 obtaining eggs and fowls was on the same economical 
 plan, and wo all looked upon Betty as a sort of freebooter, 
 living upon the property of others. She had had three 
 husbands, and he with whom she now lived was not her 
 husband, although tlie father of the splendid chikl whoso 
 beauty so won ujion my Avoman's heart. Her first hus- 
 band was still living (a thing by no means unconnnon 
 among persons of her class in Oanada), and though they 
 had quarrelled and parted years ago, he occasionally vis- 
 ited his wife to see her eldest daughter, Betty the younger, 
 who w^as his child. She was now a fine girl of sixteen, a3 
 beautiful as her little brother. Betty's second husband 
 had been killed in one of our fields, by a tree falling upon 
 him while ploughing under it. He was 1 aried upon the 
 spot, part of the blackened stump forming his monument. 
 In truth, Betty's character was none of the best, and many 
 of the respectable farmers* wives regarded her with a jeal- 
 ous eye. 
 
 *' I am so jealous of that niisty Betty B ," said the 
 
 wife of an Irish captain in the army, and our near neigh- 
 bour, to me, one day as wc were sitting at work together. 
 She was a West Indian, and a negro by the mother's side, 
 but an uncommonly fine-looking mulatto, very passionate, 
 and very watchful over the conduct of her husband. 
 
OUR FinST SETTLEMENT. 
 
 133 
 
 " Aro you not nfrnid of letting Captain Moodio go near 
 her Hhanty ?" 
 
 " No, indeed ; and if I were ho foolish as to bo jealous, 
 it would not be of old JJetty, but of the beautiful young 
 Betty, ber daugiiter." Perbap.s tbiH was rather mischiev- 
 ous on my part, for the poor dark lady went off in a fran- 
 tic fit of jealousy, but this time it w:is not of old Betty. 
 
 Another American squatter was always sending over to 
 borrow a small-tooth comb, which she called a vermin 
 destroyer ; and once the same person asked the loan of a 
 towel, as a friend had come from the States to visit hor, 
 and the only one she had had been made into a best 
 "pinny" for the child ; she likewise begged a sight in the 
 looking-glass, as she wanted to try on a new cap, to see 
 if it were fixed to her mind. This woman must have 
 been a mirror of neatness wiien compared with her dirty 
 neighbours. 
 
 One night I was roused up from my bed for the loan of 
 a ppir of ".'^ jelyards." For what purpose, think you 
 gentle reader ? To weigh a new-bom infant. The pro- 
 cess was performed by tying the poor squalling thing up 
 in a small shawl, and suspending it to one of the hooks. 
 The child was a fine boy, and weighed ten pounds, greatly 
 to the delight of the Yankee father. 
 
 One of the drollest instances of borrowing I have ever 
 heard of was told me by a friend. A maid-servant asked 
 her mistress to go out on a particular afternoon, as she 
 v^as going to have a party of her friends, and wanted the 
 loin of the drawing-room. 
 
134 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 It would be endless to enumerate our losses in this way ; 
 but, fortunately for us, the arrival of an English family in 
 our immediate vicinity drew off the attention of our neigh- 
 bours in that direction, and left us time to recover a little 
 from their persecutions. 
 
 This system of borrowing is not wholly confined to the 
 poor and ignorant ; it pervades every class of society. If 
 a party is given in any of the small villages, a boy is sent 
 round from house to house to collect all the plates and 
 dishes, knives and forks, teaspoons and candlesticks, that 
 are presentable, for the use of the company. 
 
 After removing to the bush, many misfortunes befell 
 us, which deprived us of our income, and reduced us to 
 great poverty. In fact we were strangers, and the know- 
 ing ones took us in ; and for many years we struggled 
 with hardships which would have broken stouter hearts 
 than ours, had not our trust been placed in the Almighty, 
 who among all our troubles never wholly deserted us. 
 
 While my husband was absent on the frontier during 
 the rebellion, my youngest boy fell very sick, and required 
 my utmost care, both by night and day. To attend to him 
 properly, a candle burning during the night was necessary, 
 The last candle was burnt out ; I had no money to buy 
 another, and no fat from which 1 could make one. I 
 hated borrowing ; but, for the dear child's sake, I over- 
 came my scruples, and succeeded in procuring a candle 
 from a good neighbour, but with strict injunctions (for it 
 was her last), that I must return it if I did not require it 
 during the night. 
 
 I went home quite grateful with my prize. It was a 
 
 
OUIl FIRST SETTLEMENT. 
 
 135 
 
 clear moonlight night — the dear boy was better, so I told 
 old Jenny, my Irish servant, to go to bed, as I would lie 
 down in my clothes by the child, and if he were worse I 
 would get up and light the candle. It happened that a 
 pane of glass was broken out of the window-frame, and I 
 had supplied its place by fitting in a shingle ; my friend 
 
 Emilia S had a large Tom-cat, who, when his mistress 
 
 was absent, often paid me a predatory or borrowing visit ; 
 and Tom had a practice of pushing in this wooden pane, 
 in order to pursue his lawless depredations. I had for- 
 gotten all this, and never dreaming that Tom would ap- 
 propriate such light food, I left the candle lying in the 
 middle of the table, just under the window. 
 
 Between sleeping and waking, I heard the pane gently 
 pushed in. The thought instantly struck me that it was 
 Tom, and that, for lack of something better, he might 
 steal my precious candle. 
 
 I sprang up from the bed, just in time to see him dart 
 through the broken window, dragging the long white 
 candle after him. I flew to the door, and pursued him 
 half over the field, but all to no purpose. I can see him 
 now, as I saw him then, scampering away for dear life, 
 with his prize trailing behind him, gleaming like a silver 
 tail in the bright light of the moon. 
 
 Ah ! never did I feel more acutely the truth of the pro- 
 verb, " Those that go a-borrowing go a-son-owing," than 
 I did that night. My poor boy awoke ill and feverish, 
 and I had no light to assist him, or even to look into his 
 sweet face, to see how far I dared hope that the light of 
 day would find him better. 
 
-*f<?=%=«^ 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OLD SATAN AND TOM WILSON'S NOSE. 
 
 
 A nose, kind sir ! Sure mother Nature, 
 With all her freaks, ne'er formed this feature. 
 If such were mine, I'd try and trade it, 
 And swear the gods had never made it. 
 
 FTER reducing the log cabin into some sort of 
 order, we contrived, with the aid of a few boards, 
 to make a bed-closet for poor Tom Wilson, who continued 
 to shake every day with the pitiless ague. There was 
 no way of admitting light and air into this domicile, 
 which opened into the general apartment, buv through -^ 
 square hole cut in one of the planks, just wide enough to 
 admit a man's head through the aperture. Here we 
 made Tom a comfortable bed on the floor, and did the 
 best we could to nurse him through his sickness. His 
 long thin face, emaciated with disease, and surrounded by 
 huge black whiskers, and a beard of a week's growth, 
 looked perfectly unearthly. He had only to stare at the 
 baby to frighten her almost out of her wits. 
 
 " How fond that young one is of me," he would say ; 
 " she cries for joy at the sight of me." 
 
 ^ikkk. 
 
OLD SATAN AND TOM WILSON'S NOSE. 
 
 137 
 
 Among his curiosities, and he had many, he held in 
 great esteem a huge nose, made hollow to fit his face, 
 which his father, a being almost as eccentric as himself, 
 had carved out of boxwood. When he slipped this nose 
 over his own (which was no beautiful classical specimen 
 of a nasal organ), it made a most perfect and hideous 
 disguise. The mother who bore him never would have 
 recognized her accomplished son. 
 
 Numberless were the tricks he played off with this 
 
 nose. Once he walked through the streets of , with 
 
 this proboscis attached to his face. " What a nose 1 
 Look at the man with the nose !" cried all the boys in the 
 street. A party of Irish emigrants passed at the mo- 
 ment. The men, with the courtesy natural to their na- 
 tion, forbore to laugh in the gentleman's face ; but after 
 they had passed, Tom looked back, and saw them bent 
 half double in convulsions of mirth. Tom made the 
 party a low bow, gravely took off his nose, and put it in 
 his pocket. 
 
 The day after this frolic, he had a veiy severe fit of 
 the ague, and looked so ill that I really entertained fears 
 for his life. The hot fit had just left him, and he lay 
 upon his bed bedewed With a cold perspiration, in a state 
 of complete exhaustion. 
 
 " Poor Tom," said I, " he has passed a horrible day, but 
 the worst is over, and 1 will make him a cup of coffee." 
 While preparing it, Old Satan came in and began to talk 
 to my husband. He happened to sit directly opposite 
 the aperture which gave light and air to Tom's berth. 
 J 
 

 1 
 
 138 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 This man was disgustingly ugly. He had lost one eye 
 in a quarrel. It had been gouged out in a free fight, 
 and the side of his face presented a succession of hor- 
 rible scars inflicted by the teeth of his savage adver- 
 sary. The nickname he had acquired through the country 
 sufficiently testified to the respectability of his character, 
 and dreadful tales were told of him in the neighbour- 
 hood, where he was alike feared and hated. 
 
 The rude fellow, with his accustomed insolence, began 
 abusing the old country folks. 
 
 The English were great bullies, he said ; they thought 
 no one could fight but themselves ; but the Yankees had 
 whipped them, and would whip them again. He was not 
 afear'd of them, he never was afear'd in his life. 
 
 Scarcely were the words out of his mouth, when a hor- 
 rible apparition presented itself to his view. Slowly ris- 
 ing from his bed, and putting on the fictitious nose, while 
 he drew his white night-cap over his ghastly and livid 
 brow, Tom thrust his face through the aperture, and 
 uttered a diabolical cry ; then sank down upon his un- 
 seen couch as noiselessly as he had arisen. The cry was 
 like nothing human, and it was echoed by an involuntary 
 screain from the lips of our maid-servant and myself. 
 
 " Good God ! what's that ?" cried Satan, falling back in 
 hia chair, and pointing to the vacant aperture; "Did you 
 hear it ? did you see it ? It beats the universe. I never 
 saw a ghost or the devil before !" 
 
 Moodie, who had recognised the ghost, and greatly en- 
 joyed the fun, pretended profound ignorance, and coolly 
 
 ll 
 
OLD SATAN AND TOM WILSON'S NOSE. 
 
 139 
 
 insinuated that Old Satan had lost his senses. The man 
 was bewildered ; he stared at the vacant aperture, then 
 at us in turn, as if he doubted the accuracy of his own 
 vision. " 'Tis tarnation odd," he said ; " but the women 
 heard it t:.)," 
 
 " I heard a sound," I said, " a dreadful sound, but I saw 
 no ghost." 
 
 " Sure an' 'twas himsel'," said my Lowland Scotch girl, 
 who now perceived the joke ; "he was a seek in' to gie us 
 puir bodies a wee fricht." 
 
 " How long have you been subject to these sort of fits ?" 
 said I. " You had better speak to the doctor about them. 
 Such fancies, if they are nob attended to, often end in 
 madness." 
 
 " Mad !" (ve'i^ indignantly) " I guess I'm not mad, but 
 as wide awake as you are. Did I not see it with my own 
 eyes? And then the noise — I could not make such a 
 tarnation outcry to save my life. But be it man or devil, 
 I don't care, I'm not afear'd," doubling his fist very un- 
 decidedly at the hol3. Again the ghastly head was pro- 
 truded — the dreadful eyes rolled wildly in their hollow 
 sockets, and a yell more appalling than the former rang 
 through the room. The man sprang from his chair, 
 which he overturned in his fright, and stood for an in- 
 stant witl> his one eyeball starting from his head, and 
 glaring upon the spectre ; his cheeks deadly pale ; the 
 cold perspiration streaming from his face ; his lips dis- 
 severed, and his teeth chattering in his head. 
 
140 
 
 ROUGHINQ IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 " There — there — there. Look — look, it comes again ! 
 —the devil !— the devil !" 
 
 Here Tom, who still kept his eyes fixed upon his vic- 
 tim, gave a knowing wink, and thrust his tongue out of 
 his mouth. 
 
 " He is coming ! — he is coming !" cried the affrighted 
 wretch ; and clearing the open doorway with one leap, he 
 fled across the field at full speed. The stream inter- 
 cepted his path — he passed it at a bound, plunged into 
 the forest, and was out of sight. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha !" chuckled poor Tom, sinking down ex- 
 hausted on his bed. " Oh that I had strength to follow 
 up my advantage, I would lead Old Satan such a chase 
 that he should think his namesake was in truth behind 
 him." 
 
 During the six weeks that we inhabited that wretched 
 cabin, we never wera troubled by Old Satan again. 
 
 As Tom slowly recovered, and began to regain his ap- 
 petite, his soul sickened over bhe salt beef and pork, 
 
 which, owing to our distance from , formed our 
 
 principal fare. Ho positively refused to touch the sad 
 bread, as my Yankee neighbours very appropriately 
 termed the unleavened cakes in the pan ;'and it was no 
 easy matter to send a man on horseback eight miles to 
 fetch a loaf of bread. 
 
 " Do, my dear Mrs. Moodie, like a good Christian as 
 you are, give me a morael of the baby's biscuit, and try 
 and make us some decent bread. The stuff your servant 
 
OLD SATAN AND TOM WILSON'S NOSE. 
 
 141 
 
 gives us is uneatable," said Wilson to me, in most im- 
 ploring accents. 
 
 " Most willingly. But I have no yeast ; and I never 
 baked in one of those strange kettles in my life." 
 
 " I'll go to old Joe's wife and borrow some," said he ; 
 "they are always borrowing of you." Away ho went 
 across the field, but soon returned. I looked into his jug 
 — it was empty. " No luck," said he ; " those stingy 
 wretches had just baked a fine batch of bread, and they 
 would neither lend nor sell a loaf; but they told me how 
 to make their milk-emptyings." 
 
 " Well ; discuss the same ;" but I much doubted if lie 
 could remember the recipe. 
 
 " You are to take an old tin pan," said he, sitting down 
 on the stool, and poking the fire with a stick. 
 
 " Must it be an old one ?" said I, laughing. 
 
 " Of course ; they said so." 
 
 " And what am I to put into it ?" 
 
 " Patience ; let me begin at the beginning. Some flour 
 and some milk — but, by George ! I've forgot all about it. 
 I was wondering as I came across the field why they call- 
 ed the 3^ east miZA;-emptyings, and that put the way to 
 make it quite out of my head. But never mind ; it is 
 only ten o'clock by my watch. I have nothing to do ; I 
 will go again." 
 
 He went. Would I had been there to hear the collo- 
 quy between him and Mrs. Joe ; he described it something 
 to this effect : — 
 
 Mrs. Joe : " Well, stranger, what do you want now ?" 
 
142 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 Tom : " I have forgotten the way you told me how to 
 make the bread." 
 
 Mrs. Joe : " I never told you how to make bread. I 
 guess you are a fool. People have to raise bread before 
 they can bake it. Pray who sent you to make game of 
 me ? I guess somebody as wise as yourself." 
 
 Tom : " The lady at whose house I am staying." 
 
 Mrs. Joe : " Lady ! I can tell you that we have no la- 
 dies here. So the woman who lives in the old log 
 shanty in the hollow don't know how to make bread. A 
 clever wife that ! Arc you her husband ?" (Tom shakes 
 his head.) — "Her brother?" — (Another shake.) — "Her 
 son ? Do you hear ? or are you deaf ?" (going quite close 
 up to hivi.) 
 
 Tom (moving hack) : " Mistress, I'm not deaf ; and who 
 or what I am is nothing to you. Will you oblige me by 
 telling me how to make the mill-emptyings ; and this 
 time I'll put it down in my pocket-book." 
 
 Mrs. Joe (with a strong sneer): "Mill-emptyings! 
 Milk, I told you. So you expect me to answer your ques- 
 tions, and give back nothing in return. Get you gone ; 
 I'll tell 3'ou no more about it." 
 
 Tom (bowing very low) : " Thank you for your civility. 
 Is the old woman who lives i . the little shanty near the 
 apple-trees more obliging ?" 
 
 Mrs. Joe : " That's my husband's mother. Yon may try. 
 I guess she'll give you an answer." (Exit, slamming the 
 door in his face.) 
 
 " And what did you do then ?" said I. 
 
OLD SATAN AND TOM WILSON'S NOSE. 
 
 143 
 
 ** Oh, went of course. The door was open, and I recon- 
 noitered the premises before T ventured in. I liked the 
 phiz of the old woman a deal better than that of her 
 daughter-in-law, although it was cunning and inquisitive, 
 and as sharp as a needle. She was busy shelling cobs of 
 Indian corn into a barrel. I rapped at the door. She 
 told me to come in, and in I stepped. She asked mo if I 
 wanted her. I told her ray errand, at which she laughed 
 heartily." 
 
 Old woman : " You are from the old country, I guess, 
 or you would know how to make ^MiZAj-emptyings. Now, 
 I always prefer hran-emptyings. They make the best 
 bread. The milk, I opine, gives it a sourish taste, and the 
 bran is the least trouble." 
 
 Tom : " Then let us have the bran, by all means. How 
 do you make it V 
 
 Old woman : " I put a double handful of bran into a 
 small pot, or kettle, but a jug will do, and a teaspoonful 
 of salt ; but mind you don't kill it with salt, for if you 
 do, it won't rise. I then add as much warm water, at 
 blood-heat, as will mix it into a stiff batter. I then put 
 the jug into a pan of warm water, and set it on the hearth 
 near the fire, and keep it at the same heat until it rises, 
 which it generally will do, if you attend to it, in two or 
 three hours' time. When the bran cracks at the top, and 
 you see white bubbles rising through it, you may strain it 
 into your flour, and lay your bread. It makes good 
 bread." 
 
 Tom : " My good woman, I am greatly obliged to you. 
 We have no bran ; can you give me a small quantity 1" 
 
^ 
 
 VI 
 
 144 
 
 ROUGHINO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 Old woman : " I never give anything. You English- 
 ers, who come out with stacks of money, can afford to 
 buy." 
 
 Tom : " Sell me q small quantity." 
 
 Old woman : " I guess I will." (Edging quite close, and 
 fixing her ahar}) eyes on him.) " You must be very rich 
 to buy bran." 
 
 Tom (quizzically) ; ** 0, very rich." 
 
 Old woman : " How do you get your money ?" 
 
 Tom (sarcastically) : " I don't steal it." 
 
 Old woman : *' Pr'aps not. I guess you'll soon let 
 others do that for you, if you don't take care. Are the 
 people you live with related to you ?" 
 
 Tom (hardly able to keep his gravity) : " On Eve's side, 
 They are my friends." 
 
 Old woman (in surprise) : " And do they keep you for 
 nothing, or do you work for your meat ?" 
 
 Tom (impatiently) : " Is that bran ready ?" (The old 
 woman goes to the binn, and measures out a quart of 
 bran.) " What am I to pay you ?" 
 
 Old woman : "A York shilling." 
 
 Tom (udshing to test her honesty) : '''Is there any dif- 
 ference between a York shilling and a shilling of British 
 currency ?" 
 
 Old woman (evasively) : " I guess not. Is there not a 
 place in England called York ?" (Looking up, and leer- 
 ing knowingly in his face.) 
 
 Tom (laughing) : " You are not going to come York 
 over me in that way, or Yankee either, There is three- 
 
OLD SATAN AND TOM vVILSON'S NOSE. 
 
 145 
 
 pence for your pound of bran ; you are enormously paid." 
 Old woman (calling ajter him) : " But the recipe ; do 
 you allow nothing for the recipe ?" 
 
 Tom : " It is included in the price of the bran." 
 " And so," said he, " I came away laughing, rejoicing in 
 my sleeve that I had disappointed the avaricious old 
 cheat." 
 
 The next thing to be done was to set the bran rising. 
 By the help of Tom's recipe, it was duly mixed in the 
 coffee-pot, and placed within a tin pan, full of hot water, 
 by the side of the fire. I have often heard it said that a 
 watched pot never boils ; and there certainly was no lack 
 of watchers in this case. Tom sat for hours regarding it 
 with his large heavy eyes, the maid inspected it from time 
 to time, and scarce ten minutes were suffered to elapse 
 without my testing the heat of the water, and the state of 
 the emptyings; but the day slipped slowly away, and 
 night drew on, and yet the watched pot gave no signs of 
 vitality. Tom sighed deeply when we sat down to tea 
 with the old fare. 
 
 " Never mind," said he, ** we shall get some good bread 
 in the morning ; it must get up by that time. I will wait 
 till then. I could almost starve before I could touch these 
 leaden cakes." 
 
 The tea-things were removed. Tom took up his flute, 
 and commenced a series of the wildest voluntary airs that 
 ever were breathed forth by human lungs. Mad jigs, to 
 which the gravest of mankind might have cut eccentric 
 capers. We were all convulsed with laughter. In the 
 
! 
 
 \ 
 
 146 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 midst of ono of these droll movements, Tom suddenly 
 hopped like a kangaroo (which feat he performed by rais- 
 ing himself upon tip-toes, then flinging himself forward 
 with a stooping jerk), towards the hearth, and squinting 
 down into the eoffco-pot in the most quizzical manner, 
 exclaimed, " Miserable chaff! If that does not make you 
 rise nothing will." 
 
 I left the bran all night by the fire. Early in the morn- 
 ing I had the satisfaction of finding that it had risen high 
 above the rim of the pot, and was surrounded by a fine 
 crown of bubbles, 
 
 " Better late than never," thought I, as I emptied the 
 emptyings into my flour. " Tom is not up yet. I will 
 make him so happy with a loaf of new bread, nice homo- 
 baked bread, for his breakfast." It was my first Canadian 
 loaf. I felt quite proud of it, as I placed it in the odd 
 machine in which it was to be baked. I did not under- 
 stand the method of baking in these ovens ; or that my 
 bread .should have remained in the kettle for half an hour, 
 until it had risen the second time, before I applied tlie fire 
 to it, in order that ^.he bread should be light. It not only 
 required experience to know when it was in a fit state for 
 baking, but the over should have been brought to a pro- 
 per temperature to receive the bread. Ignorant of all 
 this, I put my unriser* loaf into a cold kettle, and heaped 
 a large quantity of hot ashes above and below it. The 
 first intimation I had of the result of m}*- experiment was 
 the disagreeable odour of burning bread filling the house. 
 
 " "What is this horrid smell ?" cried Tom, issuing from 
 
OLD SATAN AND TOM WTLSON'S NOSE. 
 
 147 
 
 his domicile, in his shirt sleeves. " Do open the door, 
 Bell (to the maid) ; I feel quite sick." 
 
 " It is the bread," said I, taking off the lid of the oven 
 with the tongs. " Dear me, it is all burnt !" 
 
 ** And smells as sour as vinegar," says he. " The black 
 bread of Sparta 1" 
 
 Alas ! for my maiden loaf ! With o rut ful face I placed 
 it on the breakfast- table. "I hoped t(, huv < given you a 
 treat, but I fear you will find it worse than the cakes in the 
 pan." 
 
 " You may be sure of that," said Tom, as ho stuck his 
 knife into the loaf, and drew it forth covered with raw 
 dough. " Oh, Mrs. Moodi 3, 1 hope you make better books 
 than bread." 
 
 We wore all sadly disappointed. The others submitted 
 to my failure good-naturedly, and made it the subject of 
 many droll, but not unkindly, witticisms. For myself, I 
 could have borne the severest infliction from the pen of 
 the most formidable critic with more fortitude than I bore 
 the cutting up of my first loaf of bread. 
 
 After breakfast, Moodie and Wilson rode into the town ; 
 and when they returned at night, brought several long 
 letters for me. Ah ! those first kind letters from home ! 
 N<^ver sir. 11 I forget the rapture with vi^hich I grasped 
 th<'Tfi — the eager, trembling haste with which I tore them 
 opoii, while the Vjlinding tears which filled my eyes hin- 
 dvffA me for some minutes from reading a word which 
 they contained. Sixteen years have slowly passed away 
 — it appears half a century — but never, never can home 
 
148 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 letters give me the intense joy those letters did. After 
 seven years' exile, the hope of return grows feeble, the 
 means are still less in our power, and our friends give up 
 all hope of our return ; their letters grow fewer and colder, 
 their expressions of attachment are less vivid ; the heart 
 has formed new ties, and the poor emigrant is nearly for- 
 gotten. Double those years, and it is as if the grave had 
 closed over you, and the hearts that once knew and loved 
 you know you no more. 
 
 Tom, too, had a large packet of letters, which he read 
 with great glee. After re-perusing them, he declared his 
 intention of setting off on his return home the next day. 
 We tried to persuade him to stay until the following 
 spring, and make a fair trial of the country. Arguments 
 were thrown away upon him ; the next morning our ec- 
 centric friend was ready to start. 
 
 " Good-bye !" quoth he, shaking me by the hand as if 
 ke meant to sever it from the wrist. " When next we 
 meet it will be in New South Wales, and I hope by that 
 time you will know how to make better bread." And 
 thus ended Tom Wilson's emigration to Canada. He 
 brought out three hundred pounds, British currency ; he 
 remained in the country just four months, and returned to 
 England with barely enough to pay his passage home. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 UNCLE JOE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 Ay, your rogiie is a laughing rogue, and not a whit the less dan- 
 gerous for the smile on his lip, which comes not from an honest 
 heart, which reflects the light of the soul through the eye. All is 
 hollow and dark within ; and the contortion of the lip, like the 
 phosphoric glow upon decayed timber, only serves to point out the 
 rottenness within. 
 
 TAT NCLE JOE ! I see him now before me, with his 
 j^ jolly red fiice, twinkling black eyes, and rubicund 
 nose. No thin, weasel-faced Yankee was he, looking as 
 if he had lived upon 'cute ideas and speculations all his 
 life ; yet Yankee he was by birth, ay, and in mind, too ; 
 for a more knowing fellow at a bargain never crossed the 
 lakes to abuse British institutions and locate himself 
 comfortably among the despised Britishers. But, then, 
 he had such a good-natured, fat face, such a mischievous, 
 mirth -loving smile, and such a merry, roguish expression 
 in those small, jet-black, glittering eyes, that you suffer- 
 ed jottrseif to be taken in by him, without offering the 
 leafit resistance to his impositions. 
 
 Uiide Joe u father had been a New England loyalist^ 
 
150 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 
 H 
 
 II 
 
 and his doubtful attachment to the British Government 
 had been repaid by a grant of hind in the township of 
 
 H . He was the first settler in that township, and 
 
 chose his location in a remote si)ot, for the sake of a 
 beautiful natural spring, which bubbled up in a small 
 stone basin in the green bank at the back of the house. 
 
 " Father might have had the pick of the township,'' 
 quoth Uncle Joe ; " but the old coon preferred that sup 
 of good water to the site of a town. Well, I guess it's 
 seldom I trouble the spring ; and whenever I step that 
 way to water the horses, I tliink what a tarnation fool 
 the old one was, to throw away such a chance of making 
 his fortune, for such cold lap." 
 
 " Your father was a temperance man ?" 
 
 " Temperance ! — He had been fond enough of the whis- 
 key bottle in his day. He drank up a good farm in the 
 United States, and then he thought he could not do bet- 
 ter than turn loyal, and get one here for nothing. He 
 did not care a cent, not he, for the King of England. 
 He tliought himself as good, any how. But he found 
 that he would have to work hard here to scratch along, 
 and he was mightily plagued with the rheumatic v and 
 somo old woman told him that good spring water was 
 the best cure for that ; so he chose this poor, light, stony 
 land on account of the spring, and took to hard work 
 and drinking cold water in his old age." 
 
 " How did the change agree with him ?" 
 
 " 1 guess better than could have been expected. He 
 planted that fine orchard, and cleared his hundred acres, 
 
UNCLE JOE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 \\ 
 
 151 
 
 and wc got along slick enough as long as the old fellow 
 lived." 
 
 " And what happened after his death, that obliged you 
 to part with your land ?" 
 
 "Bad times — bad crops," said Uncle Joe, lifting his 
 shoulders. " I had not my father's way of scraping money 
 together. I made some deuced clever speculations, but 
 they all failed. I married young, and got a large family ; 
 and the women critters ran up heavy bills at the stores, 
 and the crops did not yield enough to pay them ; and 
 
 from bad we got to worse, and Mr. B put in an exe- 
 
 tion, and seized upon the whole concern. He sold it to 
 your man for double what it cost him ; and you got all 
 that my father toiled for during the last twenty years of 
 his life for less than half the cash he laid out upon clear- 
 mg it. 
 
 " And had the whiskey nothing to do with this change ?" 
 said I, looking him in the face suspiciously. 
 
 " Not a bit ! When a man gets into difficulties, it is 
 the only thing to keep him from sinking outright. When 
 your husbjind has had as many troubles as I have had, he 
 will know how to value the whiskey bottle." 
 
 This conversation was interrupted by a queer-looking 
 urchin of five years old, dressed in a long-tailed coat and 
 trousers, popping his black shock head in at the door, and 
 calling out, 
 
 " Uncle Joe ! — You're wanted to hum." 
 
 " Is that your nephew ?" 
 
 " No ! I guess 'tis my woman's eldest son," said Uncle 
 
 -*» 
 
162 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 Joe, rising, " but they call mo Uncle Joe. 'Tis a spry 
 chap that — as cunning as a fox. I toll you what it is — 
 ho will make a smart man. Go home, Ammon, and tell 
 your ma that I am coming." 
 
 " I won't," said the boy ; '' you may go hum and tell 
 her yourself. She has wanted wood cut this hour, and 
 you'll catch it !" 
 
 Away rail the dutiful son, but not before he had ap- 
 plied his forefinger significantly to the side of his nose, 
 and, with a knowing wink, pointed in the direction of 
 home. 
 
 Uncle Joe obeyed the signal, drily remarking that he 
 could not leave the barn door without the old hen cluck- 
 ing him back. 
 
 At this period we were still living in Old Satan's log 
 house, and anxiously looking out for the first snow to put 
 us in possession of the good substantial log dwelling oc- 
 cupied by Uncle Joe and his family, which consisted of a 
 brown brood of seven girls, and the highly-prized boy who 
 rejoiced in the extraordinary name of Ammon. 
 
 Strange names are to be found in this free country. 
 What think you, gentle reader, of Solomon Sly, Reynard 
 Fox, Hiram Doliitle^ and Prudence Fidget ; all veritable 
 names, and belonging to substantial yeomen ? After Am- 
 mon and Ichabod, I should not be at all surprised to meet 
 with Judas Iscariot, Pilate, and Herod. And then the female 
 appellations ! But the subject i^ a delicate one, and I will 
 forbear to touch upon it. I have enjoyed many a hearty 
 laugh over the strange aflfectations which people designate 
 
UNCLE JOE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 153 
 
 here very handsome names. I prefer the old homely Jewish 
 names, such as that which it pleased my godfather and 
 godmothers to bestow upc»n me, to one of those high- 
 sounding Christianities, the Minervas, Cinderellas, and 
 Almerias of Canada. The love of singular names is here 
 carried to a marvellous extent. It was only yesterday 
 that, in passing through one busy vilhige, I stopped in 
 astonishment before a tombstone headed thus : — " Sacred 
 to the memory of Silence Sharman, the beloved wife of 
 Asa Sharman." Wjis the woman df " and dumb, or did 
 her friends hope by bestowing upon hei such an impos- 
 sible name to still the voice of Nature, ana check, by an 
 admonitory appellative, the active spirit that lives in the 
 tongue of woman ? Truly, Asa Sharman, if thy wife 
 was silent by name as well as by nature, thou wert a 
 fortunate man ! 
 
 But to return to Uncle Joe. He made many fair 
 promises of leaving the residence we had bought, the 
 moment he had sold his crops and could remove his 
 family. We could see no interest which could be served 
 by his deceiving us, and therefore we believed him, striv- 
 ing to make ourselves as comfortable as we could in the 
 meantime in our present wretched abode. But matters 
 are never so bad but that they may be worse. One day 
 when we were at dinner, a waggon drove up to the door, 
 
 and Mr. alighted, accompanied by a fine-looking, 
 
 middle-aged man, who proved to be Captain S , who 
 
 had just arrived from Demerara with his wife and family. 
 Mr. , who had purchased the farm of Old Satan, had 
 
 / 
 
154 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 brought Captain S over to inspect the land, as he 
 
 wished to buy a farm, and settle in that neighbourhood. 
 With soma difficulty I contrived to accommodate the 
 visitors with seats, and provide them with a tolerable 
 dinner. Fortunately, Moodie had brought in a brace of 
 fine fat partridges that morning ; these the servant trans- 
 ferred to a pot of boiling water in which she immersed 
 them for the space of a minute* — a novel but very expe- 
 ditious way of removing the feathers, which then come 
 off at the least touch, in less than ten minutes they 
 were stuffed, trussed, and in the bake-kettle ; and before 
 the gentlemen returned from walking over the farm, the 
 dinner was on the table. 
 
 To our utter consternation, Captain S agreed to 
 
 purchase, and asked if we could give him possession in a 
 week ! 
 
 "Good heavens!" cried I, glancing reproachfully at 
 
 Mr. , who was discussing his partridge with stoical 
 
 indifference. " What will becomv^ of us ? Where are 
 we to go ?" 
 
 " Oh, make yourself easy ; I will force that old witch 
 Joe's mother to clear out." 
 
 "But 'tis impossible to stow ourselves into that pig 
 sty." 
 
 " It will only be for a week or two, at farthest. This 
 is October ; Joe will be sure to be off by the first of 
 sleighing." 
 
 " But if she refuses to give up the place 1" 
 
 " Oh, leave her to me. I'll talk her over," said the 
 
UNCLE JOE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 155 
 
 knowing land speculator. " Let it come to the worst," 
 he said, turning to my husband, " she will go out fo; the 
 sake of a few dollars. By-the-by, she refused to bar the 
 dower when I bought the place ; we must cajole her out 
 of that. It is a fine afternoon ; suppose we walk over 
 the hill, and try our luck with the old nigger ?" 
 
 I felt so anxious tibout the result of the negotiation, 
 that, throwing my cloak over my shoulders, and tying on 
 my bonnet without the assistance of a glass, I took my 
 husband's arm, and we walked forth. 
 
 It was a bright, clear afternoon, the first week in Octo- 
 ber, and the fading woods, not yet denuded of their gor- 
 geous foliage, glowed in a mellow, golden light. A soft 
 purple haze rested on the bold outline of the Haldimand 
 hills, and in the rugged beauty of the wild landscape I 
 soon forgot the purport of our visit to the old woman's 
 log hut. 
 
 On reaching the ridge of the hill, the lovely valley in 
 which our future home lay, smiled peacefully upon us 
 from amidst its fruitful orchards, still loaded with their 
 rich, ripe fruit. 
 
 " What a pretty place it is !" thought I, for the first 
 time feeling something like a local interest in the spot 
 springing up in my heart. " How I wish those odious 
 people would give us possession of the home which for 
 some time has been our own !" 
 
 The log hut that we were approaching, and in which 
 the old woman, R , resided by herself — having quar- 
 relled years ago w Ith her son's wife — was of the smallest 
 
156 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 dimensions, only containing one room, which served the 
 old dame for kitchen, and bed-room, and all. The open 
 door and a few glazed panes, siip[)li('d it with light and 
 air ; while a huge heavth, on which crackled two enor- 
 mous log.s — which nre technically termed a front and a 
 back stick — took up nearly half the domicile ; and the 
 old woman's bed, which was covered with an unexcep- 
 tionably clean patched quilt, nearly the other half, leav- 
 ing just room for a small home-made deal table, of the 
 rudest workmanship, two basswood-bottomed chairs, 
 stained red, one of which wns a rocking-chair, appropri- 
 ated solely to the old woman's use, and a spinning-wheel. 
 Amidst this muddle of things — foi- small as was the 
 qua um of furniture, it was all crowded into such a tiny 
 s[)ace that you had to squeeze your way through it in the 
 best manner you could — we found the old woman, with a 
 red cotton hanakerchief tie<l ever her grey locks, hood- 
 fashion, shelling white bush-beans into a wooden bowl. 
 Without rising from her seat, she pointed to the only re- 
 maining chair. " I guess, miss, you can sit there ; and if 
 the others can't stand, they can make a seat of my bed " 
 The gentlemen assured her that they were nt ' \ni , 
 
 and could dispense with seats. Mr. then went up 
 
 to the old women, and proffering his hand, asked after 
 her health in his blandest manner. 
 
 » 
 
 " I'm none the better for seeing you, or the like <jf 
 you," was the ungracious reply. " You have cheated my 
 poor boy out of his good farm ; and I hope it may prove 
 a bad bargain to you and yours." 
 
UNCLE JOE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 157 
 
 " Mrs. R- 
 
 — ," retunied tlie lainl speculator, nothing 
 ruffled by her unceremonious greeting, " I could not help 
 your son giving way to drink, and getting into my debt. 
 If people will be so imprudent, they cannot be so stupid 
 as to imagine that others can sutfer for their fully." 
 
 "Suffer '" repeated the old woman, flashing her small, 
 keen black eyes upon him with a glance of withering 
 scorn. " You suH'er ! I wonder what the widows and 
 orphans you have cheated would say to that ? My son 
 was a poor, weak, silly fool, to be sucked in by the like of 
 you. For a debt of eight hundred dollars — the goods 
 never cost you four hundred — you take from us our good 
 farm ; and these, I s'pose," pointing to my husband and 
 me, " are the folk you sold it to. Pray, miss," turning 
 quickly to me, " what might your man give for the 
 place ?" 
 
 " Three hundred pounds in cash." 
 
 "Poor sufferer!" again sneered the hag. "Four hun- 
 dred dollars is a very small profit in as many weeks. Well, 
 I guess, you beat the Yankees hollow. And pray, what 
 brought you here to-day, scenting about you like a car- 
 rion-crow ? We have no more land for you to seize from 
 us." 
 
 Moodie now stepped forward, and briefly explained our 
 situation, offering the old woman anything in reason to 
 give up the cottage and reside with her son until he re- 
 moved from the premises ; which, he added, must be* in a 
 very short time. 
 
 The old dame regarded him with a sarcastic smile. " I 
 
 ■I' iriiiti jij^iMiiiniir T-Trarinrri 
 
158 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 guess Joe will take his own time. The house is not built 
 wliieh is to receive him ; and he is not the man to turn 
 his back upon a warm hearth to camp in the wilderness. 
 You were greev when you bought a farm of that man, 
 without getting ah>ng with it the right of possession." 
 
 " But, Mrs. P , your son promised to go out the 
 
 first of sleighing." 
 
 " Wheugh !" said the old wonum. " Would you have a 
 man give away his hat and leave his own head bare ? 
 It's neither the fii'st snow nor the la.st frost that will turn 
 Joe out of his comfortable home. I tell you all that he 
 will stay here, if it is only to plague you." 
 
 Threats and remonstrances were alike useless, the old 
 woman remained inexorable ; and we were just turning 
 to leave the house, when the cunning old fox exclaimed* 
 " And now, what will you give me to leave my place ?" 
 
 " Twelve dollars, if you give us possession next Mon- 
 day," said my husband. 
 
 " Twelve dollars ! I guess you won't get me out for 
 that." 
 
 " The rent would not be worth more than a dollar a 
 month," said Mi*. pointing with his cane to the de- 
 lapidated walls. " Mr. Moodie has offered you a year's 
 rent for the place." 
 
 " It may not be woith a cent," returned the woman ; 
 " for it will give everybody the rheumatism that stays a 
 week in it — but it is worth that to me, and more nor 
 double that just now to hi a. But I will not be hard 
 
UNCLE JOE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 159 
 
 with him," continued she, rocking herself to and fro. 
 " Say twenty dollars, and I will turn out on Monday." 
 
 " 1 daro say you will," said Mr. , " and who do you 
 
 think would bo fool enough to give you such an exorbi- 
 tant sum for a ruined old shed like this ?" 
 
 " Mind your own business, and make your own bar- 
 gains," returned the old woman, tartly. " The devil him- 
 self could not deal with you, for I guess he would have 
 the worst of it. What do you say, sir ?" and she fixed 
 her keen eyes upon my husband, as if she would read his 
 thoughts. " Will you agree to my price ?" 
 
 " It is a very high one, Mrs. 11 ; but as I cannot 
 
 help myself, and you take advantage of that, I suppose 1 
 must give it." 
 
 " 'Tis a bargain," cried the old crone, holding out her 
 hard, bony hand. " Come, cash down !" 
 
 " Not until you give me possession on Monday next ; 
 or you might serve me as your son has done." 
 
 " Ha !" said the old woman, laughing and rubbing her 
 hands together ; " you begin to see daylight, do you ? In 
 
 a few months, with the help of him," pointing to Mr. , 
 
 " you will be able to go alone ; but have a care of your 
 teacher, for it's no good that you will learn from him. But 
 will you really stand to your word, mister ?'" she added, 
 in a coaxing tone, " if 1 go out on Monday ?" 
 
 " To be sure I will ; I never break my word." 
 
 *' Well, I guess you are not so clever as our people, for 
 they only keep it as long as it suits them. You have an 
 honest look } I will trust you ; but I will uot trust him," 
 
160 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 nodding to Mr. , " he can buy and sell his word as 
 
 fast as a horse can trot. So on Monday I will turn out 
 my traps. I have lived here six-and-thirty years ; 'tis a 
 pretty place, and it vexes me to leave it," continued the 
 poor creature, as a tounh of natural feeling softened and 
 agitated her world-burdened heart. " There is not an 
 acre in cultivation but that I helped to clear it, nor a tree 
 in yonder orchard but I held it while my poor man, who 
 is dead and gone, planted it ; and I have watched the trees 
 bud from year to year, until their boughs overshadowed 
 the hut, where all my children, but Joe, were born. Yes, 
 I came here young, and in my prime ; and must leave it 
 in age and poverty. My children and husbaiid ,^re dead, 
 and their bones rest beneath the turf in the burying- 
 ground on the side of the hill. Of all that once gathered 
 about my knees, Joe and his young ones alone remain. 
 And it is hard, very hard, that I must leave their grave.^j 
 to be turned by the plough of a stranger." 
 
 I felt for the desolate old creature — the tears rushed to 
 my eyes ; but there was no moisture in hers. No rain 
 from the heart could filter through that iron soil. 
 
 " Be assured, Mrs. R ," said Moodie, " that the dead 
 
 will be held sacred ; the place will never be disturbed by 
 me." ^ • 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but it is not long that you will remain 
 here. I have seen a good deal in my time ; but I never 
 saw a gentleman from the old country make a good Cana- 
 dian farmer. The work is rough and hard, and they get 
 out of humoui' with it, and leave it to their hired helps, 
 
UNCLE JOE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 161 
 
 and then all goes wrong. They are cheated on all sides, 
 and in despair take to the whiskey bottle, and that fixes 
 them. I tell you what it is, mister — I give you just three 
 years to spend your money and ruin 3'^ourself ; and then 
 you will become a confirmed drunkard, like the rest." 
 
 The first part of her prophecy was only too true, 
 Thank God ! the last has never been fulfilled, and never 
 can be. 
 
 Perceiving that the old woman was not a little elated 
 
 \iith her bargain, Mr. urged upon her the propriety 
 
 of barring the dower. At first, she was outrageous, and 
 very abusive, and rejected all his proposals with contempt; 
 vowing that she would meet him in a certain place below, 
 before she would sign away her right to the [)roperty. 
 
 " Listen to reason, Mrs. R ," said the land specu- 
 lator. "If you will sign the papers before the proper 
 authorities, the next time that your son drives you to 
 C , I will give you a silk gown.', 
 
 " Pshaw ! Buy a shroud for yourself ; you will need it 
 before I want a silk gown," was the ungracious reply. 
 
 " Consider, woman ; a black silk of the best quality." 
 
 " To mourn in for my sins, or for the loss of the farm." 
 
 "Twelve yards," continued Mr. , without noticing 
 
 her rejoinder, " at a dollar a yard. Think what a nice 
 church-going gown it will make." 
 
 " To the devil with you ! I never go to church." 
 
 "I thought as much," said Mr. , winking to us. 
 
 " Well, my dear madam, what will satisfy you ?" 
 
 " I'll do it for twenty dollars," returned the old woman, 
 
162 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 rocking herself to and fro in her chair ; her eyes twink- 
 ling, and her hands moving convulsively, as if she already 
 grasped the money so dear to her soul. 
 
 " Agreed," said the land speculator. " When will you 
 be in town ?" 
 
 " On Tuesday, if I be alive. But, remember, I'll not 
 sign till I have my hand on the money." 
 
 " Never fear," said Mr. , as we quitted the house ; 
 
 then, turning to me, he added, with a peculiar smile, 
 " That's a devilish smart woman. She would have made 
 a clever lawyer." 
 
 Monday came, and with it all the bustle of moving, and, 
 as is generally the case on such occasions, it turned out a 
 very wet day. I left Old Satan's hut without regret, 
 glad, at any rate, to be in a i)lace of my own, however 
 humble. Our new habitation, though small, had a decid- 
 ed advantage over the one we were leaving. It stood on 
 a gentle slope ; and a narrow but lovely stream, full of 
 speckled trout, ran murmuring under the little window ; 
 the house, also, was surrounded by fine fruit-trees. 
 
 I know not how it was, but the sound of that tinkling 
 brook, forever rolling by, filled my heart with a strange 
 melancholy, which for many nights deprived me of rest, 
 I loved it, too. The voice of waters, in the stillness of 
 night, always, had an extraordinary effect upon my mind. 
 Their ceaseless motion and perpetual sound convey to me 
 the idea of life — eternal life ; and looking upon them, 
 glancing and Hasliing on, now in sunshine, now in shade, 
 now hoarsely chiding with the opposing rock, now leaping 
 
UNCLE JOE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 163 
 
 triumphantly over it, — creates within me a feeling of 
 mysterious awe of which I never could wholly divest 
 myself. 
 
 A portion of my own spirit seemed to pa.ss into that 
 little stream. In its dee|) wailings and fretful sighs, 1 
 fancied myself lamenting for the land I had left for ever ; 
 and its restless and imfjctuous rushings against the stones 
 which choked its pjissngc, were mournful types of my own 
 mental struggles against the strange destiny which hem- 
 med me in. Through the day the stream moaned and 
 travelled on, — but, engaged in my novel and distasteful 
 occupations, I heard it not ; but whenever my winged 
 thoughts Hew homeward, then the voice of the brook 
 spoke dee])ly and sadly to my heart, and my teais flowed 
 unchecked to its plaintive and harmonious music. 
 
 In a few hours I had my new abode more comfortably 
 arranged than the old one, although its dimensions were 
 much smaller. The location was beautiful, and I was 
 greatly consoled by this circumstance. The aspect of 
 Nature ever did, and I hope ever will continue, 
 
 ** To shoot marvellous strength into my houtt." 
 
 As long as we remain true to the Divine Mother, so long 
 will she remain faithful to her suti'ering children. 
 
 At that period my love fur Canada was a feeling very 
 nearly allied to that which the condemned criminal enter- 
 tains for his cell — his only hope of escape being through 
 the portals of the grave. 
 
 The fall rains had commenced. In a few days the cold 
 
164 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 wintry show'^rs swept all the gorgeous crimson from the 
 trees ; and a bleak and desolate waste presented itsell 
 to the shuddering spectator. But, in spite of wind and 
 rain, my little tenement was never free from the intrusion 
 of Uncle Joe's wife and children. Their house stood 
 about a stone's-throw from the hut we occupied, in the 
 same meadow, and they seemed to look upon it still as 
 their own, although we had liti^rally paid for it twice over. 
 Fine strapping girls tVioy were, from five years old to 
 fourteen, but rude and unnurtured as so many bears. They 
 would come in without the lenst ceremony, and, young as 
 they were, ask me a thou.sand impertinent questions ; and 
 when I civilly requested them to leave the room, they 
 would range themselves upon the door-step, watching my 
 motions, with their black eyes gleaming upon me through 
 their tangled, uncombed locks. Their company was a 
 great annoyance, for it obliged me to put a painful restraint 
 upon the th* htfulness in which it was so delightful to 
 me to indulge. Their visits were not visits of love, but 
 of mere idle curiosity, not unmingled with malicious 
 pleasure at my awkward attempts at Canadian house- 
 wiferies. 
 
 For a week I was alone, my good Scotch girl having 
 left me to visit her father. Some small baby-articles 
 were needed to be washed, and after making a great pre- 
 paration, I determined to try my unskilled hand upon the 
 operation. The fact is, I knew nothing about the task I 
 had imposed upon myself, and in a few minutes rubbed 
 the skin off my wrists without getting the clothes clean. 
 
I'NCLE JOE AND HIS FAMILY. IQ^ 
 
 'V\w <li)or was open, as it generally wan, even during the 
 ('oklc'st winter (InyH, in order to lot in more iiglit, and let 
 out tile smoke, which otherwiwe would have enveloped ua 
 Jike a cloud. I wan so busy that I di<l not j)erceive that 
 1 was watched by the cold, heavy, dark eyes of Mrs. Joe, 
 who, with a sneering laugh, exclaimed, 
 
 " Well ! I am glad to see you brought to work at 
 last. I hope you may have to work as hard as I have. 
 I don't see, not I, why you, who are no better than me, 
 shoidd ait still all day, like a lady !" 
 
 "R ," said I, not a little annoyed at her pre- 
 sence, " what concern is it of yours whether I work or sit 
 still ? I never interfere with you. If you took it into 
 your head to lie in bed all day, I should never trouble 
 myself about it." 
 
 " Ah, I guess you don't look upon us as fellow-critters, 
 you are so proud and grand. I s'pose you Britishers are 
 not made of flesh and blood, like us. You don't choose 
 to sit down at meat with your helps. Now, I calculate, 
 we think them a great deal better nor you." 
 
 " Of course," said I, " they are more suited to you than 
 we are ; they are uneducated, and so are j'ou. This is no 
 fault in either ; but it might teach you to pay a little 
 more respect to those who are possessed of superior ad- 
 vantages. But, R , my helps, as you call them, 
 
 are civil and obliging, and never make unprovoked and 
 malicious speeches. If they could so far forget them- 
 selves, I should order them to leave the house." 
 
 ** Oh, I see what you are up to," replied the insolent 
 
166 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 flame ; " ^''ou mcjan to say that if I were your help, you 
 Ivoiild turn me out of your house ; hut I'm a free-horn 
 American, and I won't go at your hidding. Don't think 
 I come here out of regard to you. No, I hate you all ; 
 and I rejoice to see you at the wasii-tuh, and I wish that 
 you may be brought down upon your knees to scioib tlie 
 floors." 
 
 This speech only caused a smile, and yet I felt hurt and 
 astonished tliat a. woman whom I had nevei- done any- 
 thing to offend should be so gratuitously spiteful. 
 
 In the evening she sent two of her brood over to bor- 
 >.ow my " long iron," as she called an Italian iron. I was 
 iust getting my baby to sleep, sitting upon a low stool by 
 ti»e lire. I pointed to the iron upon the shelf, and told 
 the girl to take it. She did so, Imt stood beside me, hold- 
 ing it carelessly in her hand, and staring at the baby, who 
 had just sunk to sleep upon my lap. 
 
 The next moment the heavy iron fell from her relaxed 
 grasp, giving me a severe blow uj)on my knee and foot ; 
 and glanced so near the child's head that it drew from me 
 a cry of terror. 
 
 " I guess that was nigh braining the child," quoth Miss 
 Amanda, with the greatest coolness, and without making 
 the least apology. Master Ammon burst into a loud 
 laugh. " If it had, Mandy, I guess we'd have cotched it." 
 Provoked at their insolence, I told them to leave the 
 house. The tears were in my eyes, for I felt certain that 
 had they injured the child, it would not have caused them 
 the least regret. 
 
UNCLE JOE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 167 
 
 The next day, as we were standing at the door, my hus- 
 band was greatly amused hy seeing fat Unele Joe clmsing 
 the rebellious Ammon over the meadow in front of the 
 house. Joe was out of breath, panting and putting like a 
 steam-engine, and his face flushed to deep red with 
 
 excitement and passion. "You young scoundrel!" 
 
 he cried, half choked with fury, *' if 1 catch up to you, I'll 
 take the skin off" you !" 
 
 " You old scoundrel, you may liave my skin if you 
 
 can get .at me," retorted the precocious child, as he jumped 
 up upon the top of the high fence, and doubled his fist in 
 a menacing maimer at his father, 
 
 " That boy is growing too bad," said Uncle Joe, coming 
 up to us out of breath, the perspiration streaming down 
 his face. " It is time to break him in, or he'll get the 
 master of us all." 
 
 •' You should have begun that before," said Moodie. 
 " He seems a hopeful pupil." 
 
 " Oh, as to that, a little swearing is manly," returned 
 the father ; " I swear myself, I know, and as the old cock 
 crows, so crows the young one. It is not his swearing 
 that I care a pin for, but he will not do a thing I tell him 
 to." 
 
 " Swearing is a dreadful vice," said I, " and, wicked as 
 it is in the mouth of a grown-up person, it is perfectly 
 shocking in a child ; it painfully teUs he has been brought 
 up without the fear of God." 
 
 " Pooh I pooh ! that's all cant ; there is no harm in a 
 few oaths, and I cannot drive oxen and horses without 
 
1^8 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 i| 
 
 swearing. I dare say that you can swear, toD, when you 
 are riled, but j^ou are too cunning to let us hear you." 
 
 I could not help laughing outright at this supposition, 
 but replied very quietly, " Those who ])ractise such iniqui- 
 ties never take any pains to conceal th.em. The conceal- 
 ment would infer a feeling of shame ; and when ])eople 
 are conscious of their guilt, they are in the road to im- 
 provement." The man walked whistling away, and the 
 wicked child returned unpunished to his home. 
 
 The next minute the old woman came in. " I guess 
 you can give me a piece of silk for a hood," said she, "the 
 weather is growing considerable cold." 
 
 " Surely it cannot well be colder than it is at present," 
 said I, giving her the rocking-chair by the fire. 
 
 " Wait a while ; you know nothing of a Canadian win- 
 ter. This is only November ; after the Christmas thaw, 
 you'll know something about cold. Itisseven-and-thirty 
 years ago since I and mj'^ man left the U-ni-ted States. 
 It was called the year of the great winter. I tell you, 
 woman, that the snow lay so deep on the earth, that it 
 blocked up all the i-oads, and we could drive a sleigh 
 whither we plen^.,_d, right over the snake fences. All the 
 cleared land was one wide white level plain ; it was a year 
 of scarcity, and we were half starved ; but the severe cold 
 was far worse nor the want of provisions. A long and 
 bitter journey we had of it ; but I was young then, and 
 pretty well used to trouble and fatigue ; my man stuck 
 to the British government. More fool he ! I was an 
 American born, and my hoart was with the true cause. 
 
UNCIE JOE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 169 
 
 hen you 
 you. 
 
 )position, 
 ;h iniqui- 
 ! conceal- 
 sn people 
 ad to im- 
 , and the 
 
 "I guess 
 I she, "the 
 
 ; present," 
 
 idian win- 
 mas thaw, 
 and-thirty 
 ^ed States, 
 tell you, 
 th, that it 
 re a sleigh 
 All the 
 was a year 
 Hcvere coiJ 
 long and 
 then, and 
 man stuck 
 I was an 
 true cause. 
 
 But his father was English, and, says he, ' I'll live and die 
 under their flag.* So he dragged me from my comfortable 
 fireside to seek a home in the far Canadian wilderness. 
 Trouble ! I guess you think you have your troubles ; but 
 what are they to mine ?" SIim paused, took a ])inch of 
 snuff, offered me the box, sighed painfully, |)ushe(l the red 
 handkerchief from lier high, narrow, wrinkled brow, and 
 continued : — " Joe was a baby then, and I had another 
 helpless critter in my lap — an adopted child. My sister 
 had died from it, and I was imrsing it at the same breast 
 with niy boy. Well, ve had to ])erform a jo'iniey of four 
 hundred miles in an ox-cart, which carried, besides me 
 and the children, all our household stuff. Our way lay 
 chiefly through the forest, and we made but slow pro- 
 gress. Oh ! what a bitter cold night it was when we 
 reached the swampy woods where the city of Rochester 
 now stands. The oxen were covered with icicles, and 
 their breath sent up clouds of steam. ' Nathan,' says I to 
 my man, 'you must stop and kirdle a fire; I am dead 
 with cold, and I f'mr the babes will be frozen.' We began 
 looking about for a good sjiot to camp in, when I s[jied a 
 light through the trees. It was a lone shanty, occupied 
 by two French lumberers. The men were kind ; they 
 rubbed our frozen limbs with snow, and shared with us 
 their supper and buffalo-skins. On that very spot where 
 we camped that night, where we heard nothing but the 
 wind soughing amongst the trees, and the rushing of the 
 river, now stands the great city of Rochester. I went 
 there two years ago, to the funeral of a brother. It seem- 
 
170 
 
 ROUailING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 CM I to mc like a dreain. Where we foddered our beasts 
 l»y tlie slianty tire, now stands the largest liotel in the 
 city; and niy husband left this line growing country to 
 starve here." 
 
 I was so much interested in the old woman's narrative 
 — for she was really possessed of no ordinary ca{)aeity, 
 and, though rude and uneducated, might have been a very 
 superior person under diflerent circumstances — that 1 
 rummaged among my stores, and soon found a i)iece of 
 black silk, which 1 gave her for the hood she required. 
 
 The old woman examined it carefully over, smiled to 
 herself, but, like all her people, was too proud to return a 
 word of thanks. One gift to the family always involved 
 another. 
 
 " H;vve you any cotton-batting, or black scwing-silk, to 
 give me, to quilt it with ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Humph !" returned the old dame, in a tone which 
 seemed to contradict my assertion. She then settled her- 
 self in her chair, and, after shaking her foot awhile, and 
 fixing her piercing eyes upon me for some minutes, she 
 commenced the following list of interrogatories : — 
 
 '* Is your father alive ?" 
 
 " No ; he died many years ago, when I was a young 
 girl." , 
 
 " Is your mother alive ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What is her name ?" I satisfied her on this point. 
 
 " Did she ever marry again ?" 
 
UNCLK JOK AND UIS FAMILY. 
 
 171 
 
 beast s 
 
 ill the 
 
 [itry to 
 
 irrative 
 
 iipacity, 
 ti a very 
 -that 1 
 piece of 
 Liired. 
 iniled to 
 return a 
 invol ved 
 
 jr-silk, to 
 
 16 which 
 ttled her- 
 hile, and 
 utes, she 
 
 a young 
 
 point. 
 
 " She injoht have done; so, hut she loved her liusl>and 
 too well, and |»ri lerred liviiii( sin^de. " 
 
 " Humph ! We have no such notions li. re. What was 
 your father V" 
 
 "A gentleman, who lived upon his own estate." 
 
 " Did he die rich ?" 
 
 " He lo.si Uie gr«niter part of his j)roperty from Ixiing 
 surety for another." 
 
 "That's a foolish Inisines.s. My man ))urnt his fingers 
 with that. And what hroi. dit you out to this p( tor coun- 
 try — you, who are no more lit for it than I am to be a tine 
 lady?" 
 
 " The promise of a large grant of land, and the false 
 statements we heard regarding it." 
 
 " Do you like the country V 
 
 " No ; and I fear I never shall." 
 
 " I thought not ; for the drop is always on your cheek, 
 the childrc!! tell me ; and those young ones have keen 
 eyes. Mow, take my advice : return while your mone}'' 
 lasts ; the longer you remain in Canada the less you will 
 like it ; and when your money is all spent, you will be 
 like a bird in a cage ; you may beat your wings against 
 the bars, but you can't get out." There was a long pause. 
 I hoped that my guest had sufficiently gratified her curi- 
 osity, when she again commenced : — 
 
 " How do you get your money ? Do you draw it from 
 the old country, or have you it with j^ou in cash ?" 
 
 Provoked by her pertinacity, and seeing no end to her 
 cross-questioning, I replied, very impatiently, " Mrs. 
 
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 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 
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 WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 
 
 (716)873-4503 
 
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172 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 R , is it the custom in your country to catechise 
 
 stra,nger£ whenever you meet with them ?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" she said, colouring, I believe, 
 for the first time in her life. 
 
 " I mean," quoth I, " an evil habit of asking impertinent 
 questions." 
 
 The old woman got up, and left the house without 
 speaking another word. 
 
 THE SLEIGH-BELLS.* 
 
 'Tis merry to hear, at eveninj? time, 
 By the blazing hearth the sleigh-bells chime ; 
 To know the bounding steeds bring near 
 The loved one to our bosoms dear. 
 Ah, lightly we spring the fire to raise, 
 Till the rafter? glow with the rnddy blaze ; 
 Those merry sleigh-bells, our hearts keep time 
 Responsive to their fairy chime. 
 Ding-dong, ding-donf, o'er vale and hill, 
 Their welcome notes are trembling still. 
 
 'Tis he, and blithely the gay bells sound, 
 As his sleigh glides over the frozen ground ; 
 Hark ! he has pass'd the dark pine wood. 
 He crosses now the ice-bound flood, 
 And hails the light at the open door 
 That tells his toilsome journey's o'er. 
 The merry sleigh-bells ! My fond heart swells 
 And throbs to hear the welcome bells ; 
 Ding-dong, ding-dong, o'er ice and snow, 
 ,, A voice of gladness, on they go. 
 
 Our hut is small, and rude our cheer. 
 But love has spread the banquet here ; 
 And childhood springs to be caress'd 
 By our beloved and welcome guest. 
 With a smiling brow his tale he tells. 
 The urchins ring the merry sleigh-bells ; 
 
 ♦Manj' versions have been given of this song, and it has been set to music in the 
 States. 1 here give the original copy, written whilst leaning on the open door of my 
 shanty, and watchmg for the return of my husband. 
 
UNCLE JOE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 The merry sleigh-bells, with shout and song 
 Uiey drag the noisy string along ; 
 Ding-dong ding-dong, the father's come 
 Ihe gay bells ring his welcome home. 
 
 From the cedar swamp the gannt wolves howl, 
 -t^rom the oak loud whoops tlie felon owl • 
 i he snow-storm sweeps in thunder past, ' 
 Ihe rorest creaks beneath the blast ; 
 IJo more I list, with boding fear, 
 Ihe sleigh-bells distant chime to hear 
 Ihe merry sleigh-bells with soothing power 
 fehed gladness on the evening hour 
 >ing-dong, ding-dong, what rapture swells 
 Ihe lausic of those joyous bells ' 
 
 173 
 
CHAPTER VTII. 
 
 JOHN MONAGHAN. 
 
 Dear mother Nature ! on thy ample breast 
 
 Hast thou not room for thy neglected son ? 
 
 A stern necessity has driven him foii,h 
 
 Alone and friendless. He has naught bvit thee, 
 
 And the strong hand and stronger heart thou gavest, 
 
 To win with patient toil his daily bread. 
 
 FEW days after the old woman's visit to the cot- 
 tage, our servant James absented himself for a week 
 without asking leave, or giving any intimation of 
 his intention. He had under his care a iine pair of hor- 
 ses, a yoke of oxen, three cows, and a numerous family of 
 pigs, besides having to chop all the firewood required for 
 our use. His unexpected departure caused no small 
 trouble in the family ; and when the truant at last made 
 his appearance, Moodie discharged him altogether. 
 
 The winter had now fairly set in — the iron winter of 
 1833. The snow was unusually deep, and it being our 
 first winter in Canada, and passed in such a miserable dwel- 
 ling, we felt it ^'^cry severely. In spite of all my boasted 
 fortitude — ana I tliink my powers of endurance have been 
 
JOHN MONAGHAN. 
 
 175 
 
 tried to the utmost since my sojourn in this country — 
 the rigour of the climate subdued my proud, independent 
 English spirit, and J actually shamed my womanhood, 
 and cried with the cold. Yes, I ought to blush at confess- 
 ing such unpardonable weakness ; but I was foolish and 
 inexperienced, and unaccustomed to the yoke. 
 
 My husband did not much relish performing the menial 
 duties of a servant in such weather, but he did not com- 
 plain, and in the meantime commenced an active inquiry 
 for a man to supply the place of the one we had lost ; but 
 at that season of the year no one was to be had. 
 
 It was a bitter, frer^-.ing night. A sharp wind howled 
 without, and drove the fine sno<r through the chinks in 
 the door, almost to the hearthstone, on which two im- 
 mense blocks of maple shed forth a cheering glow, bright- 
 ening the narrow window-panes, and making the black- 
 ened rafters ruddy with the heart-invigorating blaze. 
 
 The toils of the day were over, the supper things cleared 
 away, and the door closed for the night. Moodie had ta- 
 ken up his flute, the sweet. companion of happier days, at 
 the earnest request of our home-sick Scotch servant-girl, 
 to cheer her drooping spirits by playing some of the touch- 
 ing national airs of the glorious mountain land, the land 
 of chivalry and song, the heroic North. Before retiring 
 to rest. Bell, who had an exquisite ear for music, kept 
 time with foot and hand, while large tears gathered in her 
 soft blue eyes. 
 
 " A.y, 'tis bonnie thae songs ; hut chey mak' me greet, 
 
 I 
 ; 
 
176 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE RUSH. 
 
 an* my puir heart is sair, sair when I think on the bonnie 
 braes and the days o' lang syne." 
 
 Poor Bell ! Her heart was among the hills, and mint 
 had wandered far, ftir away to the green groves and mead- 
 ows of my own fair land. The music and our reveries wert 
 alike abruptly banished by a sharp blow upon the door. 
 Bell rose and opened it, when a strange, wild-looking lad, 
 barefooted, and with no other covering to his head than 
 the thick, matted locks of raven blackness that hung like 
 a cloud over his swarthy, sunburnt visage, burst into the 
 room. 
 
 " Guidness defend us ! Wha ha'e we here ?" screamed 
 Bell, retreating into a corner. "The puir callant's no 
 cannie." 
 
 My husband turned hastily round to meet the intruder, 
 and I raised the candle from the table the better to dis- 
 tinguish his face ; while Bell, from her hiding-place, re- 
 garded him Avith unequivocal glances of fear and mistrust, 
 waving her hands to me, and pointing significantly to the 
 open door, as if silently beseeching me to tell her master 
 to turn him out. 
 
 " Shut the door, man," said Moodie, whose long scrutiny 
 of the strange being before us seemed, upon the whole 
 satisfactory ; •' we shall be frozen." 
 
 " Thin, faith, sir, that's what I am," said the lad, in a 
 rich brogue, which told, without asking, the country t(^ 
 which he belonged. Then, stretching his bare hands to 
 the fire, he continued " By Jove, sir, I was never so near 
 gone in my life !" 
 
JOHN MONAGHAN. 
 
 177 
 
 " Where do you come from, and what is your business 
 here ? You must be aware that this is a very late hour 
 to take a house by storm in this way." 
 
 " Thrue for you, sir. But necessity knows no law ; and 
 the condition you see me in must plade for me. First, 
 
 thin, sir, I come from the township of D , and want 
 
 a masther ; and next to that, bedad ! I want something 
 to ate. As I'm alive, and 'tis a thousand pities that I'm 
 alive at all at all, for shure God Almighty never made 
 sich a misfortunate crather afore nor since — I have had 
 nothing to put in my head since I ran away from my 
 
 ould masther, Mr. F , yesterday at noon. Money I 
 
 have none, sir ; the divil a cent. I have neither a shoe 
 to my foot nor a hat to my head, and if you refuse to 
 shelter me the night, I must be contint to perish in the 
 snow, for I have not a frind in the wide wurld." 
 
 The lad covered his face with his hands, and sobbed 
 aloud. 
 
 " Bell," I whispered, "go to the cupboard and get the 
 poor fellow something ^o eat. The boy is starving." 
 
 *' Dinna heed him, mistress, diima credit his lecc. He is 
 ane o' thae wicked Papists wha ha'e just stepped in to 
 rob and murder us." 
 
 " Nonsense ! Do as I bid you." 
 
 " I winna be fashed aboot him. An' if he bides here, 
 I'll e'en flit by the first blink o' the morn." 
 
 " Isabel, for shame ! Is this acting like a Christian, or 
 doing as you would be done by ?" 
 
 Bell was as obstinate as a rock, not only refusing to put 
 
178 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 down any food for the famished lad, but reiterating her 
 threat of leaving the house if he were suffered to remain. 
 My husband, no longer able to endure her selfish and ab- 
 surd conduct, got angry in good earnest, and told her that 
 she might please herself; that he did not mean to ask her 
 leave as to whom he received into his ho; ie. I, for my 
 part, had no idea that she would realise her threat. She 
 was an excellent servant, clean, honest, and industrious, 
 and loved the dear baby. 
 
 " You will think better of it in the morning," said I, as 
 I rose and placed before the lad some cold beef and bread, 
 and a bowl of milk, to which the runaway did ample 
 justice. 
 
 " Why did you quit your master, my lad T' said Moodie. 
 
 " Because I could live wid him no longer. You see, 
 sir, I'm a poor foundling from the Belfast Asylum, shov- 
 ed out by the mother that bore me, upon the wide wurld, 
 long before I knew that I was in it. As I was too young 
 to spake for myself intiiely, she put me into a basket, 
 wid a label round my neck, to tell the folks that my 
 name was John Monaghan. This was all I ever got from 
 my parents ; and who or what they were, I never knew, 
 not I, for they never claimed me ; bad cess to them ! But 
 I've no doubt it's a fine illigant gintleman he was, and 
 herself a handsome rich young lady, who dared not own 
 me for fear of affronting the rich jintry, her father and 
 mother. Poor folk, sir, are never ashamed of their chil- 
 dren ; 'tis all the threasure they have, sir ; but my parents 
 were ashamed of me, and they thrust me out to the 
 
JOHN MONAGHxVN. 
 
 179 
 
 stranger and the hard bread of depindence." The poor 
 lad sighed deeply, and I began to feel a growing interest 
 in his sad history. 
 
 " Have you been in the eountry long ?" 
 
 •'Four years, madam. You .^now my masther, Mr. 
 
 F ; he brought me out wid him as his a})prentice, 
 
 and during the voyage he trated me well. But the 
 young men, his sons, are tyrants, and full of durty pride ; 
 and 1 could not agree wid them at all at all. Yesterday, 
 I forgot to take the oxen out of the yoke, and Musther 
 William tied me up to a stumj), and bate me with the 
 raw hide. Shure the marks are on my showlthersyet. I 
 left the oxen and the yoke, and turned my back upon 
 them all, for the hot blood was bilin' widin me ; and I 
 felt that if I stayed it would be him that would get the 
 worst of it. No one had ever cared for me since I was 
 born, so I thought it was high time to take care of my- 
 self I had heard your name, sir, and I thought 1 would 
 find you out ; and if you want a lad, I will work for you 
 for my kape, and a few dacent clothes." 
 
 A bargain was soon made. Moodie agreed to give 
 Monaghan six dollars a month, which he thankfully ac- 
 cepted ; and I told Bell to prepare his bed in a corner of 
 the kitchen. But mistress Bell thought fit to rebel. 
 Having been guilty of one act of insubordination, she 
 determined to be consistent, and throw off the yoke alto- 
 gether. She declared that she would do no such thing ; 
 that her life and that all our lives were in danger ; and 
 
180 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 that she would never stay another night under tne same 
 roof with that Papint vngabond. 
 
 " Papist !" cried tlie indignant lad, his dark eyes flash- 
 ing fire, "I'm no Papist, but a Protestant like yourself ; 
 and I hope a deuced dale better Christian. You take me 
 for a thief ; yet shure a thief would have waited till you 
 were all in bed and asleep, and not stepped in forenint 
 you all in this fashion." 
 
 There was both truth and nature in the lad's argu- 
 ment ; but Bell, like an obstinate women as she was, 
 chose to adhere to her own opinion. Nay, she even car- 
 ried her absurd prejudices so far that she brought her 
 mattress and laid it down on the floor in my room, for 
 fear that the Irish vagabond should murder her during 
 the night. By the break of day she was off'; leaving me 
 for the rest of the winter without a servant. Monaghan 
 did all in his power to supply her place ; he lighted the 
 fires, swept the house, milked the cows, nursed the baby, 
 and often cooked the dinner for me, and endeavoured by 
 a thousand little attentions to shew the gratitude he 
 really felt for our kindness. To little Katie he attached 
 himself in an extraordinary manner. All his spare time 
 he spent in making little sleighs and toys for her, or in 
 dragging her in the said sleighs up and down the steep 
 hills in front of the house, wrapped up in a blanket. Of 
 a night, he cooked her mess of bread and milk, as she sat 
 by the fire, and his greatest delight was to feed her him- 
 self. After this operation was over, he would carry her 
 round the floor on his back, and sing her songs in native 
 
JOHN MONVGHAN. 
 
 181 
 
 ler tne .same 
 
 Irish. Katie always gi'eeted his return from the woods 
 with a scream of joy, holding up lier fair arms to clasp 
 the neck of her dark favourite. 
 
 " Now the Lord love you for a darlint !" he would cry, 
 as he caught her to his heart. " Shure you are the only 
 one of the crathera he ever made who can love poor John 
 Monaghan. Brothers and si.sters I have none — I stand 
 alone in the wurld, and your bonny icee face is the sweet- 
 est thing it contains for me. Och, jewil ! I could lay 
 down my life for you, and be proud to do that same." 
 
 Though careless and reckless about everything that 
 concerned himself, John was honest and true. lie loved 
 us for the compassion we had shown him ; and he would 
 have resented any injury offered to our persons with his 
 best blood. 
 
 But if we were pleased with our new servant. Uncle 
 Joe and his family were not, and they commenced a series 
 of petty persecutions that annoyed him greatly, and 
 kindled into a flame all the fiery particles of his irritable 
 nature. 
 
 Moodie had purchased several tons of hay of a neigh 
 bouring farmer, for the use of his cattle, and it had to be 
 stowed into the same barn with some flax and straw that 
 belonged to Uncle Joe. Going early one morning to fod- 
 der the cattle, John found Uncle Joe feeding his cows 
 with his master's hay, and as it had diminished greatly 
 in a very short time, he accused him in no measured 
 terms of being the thief The other very coolly replied 
 that he had taken a little of the hay in order to repay 
 
182 
 
 UOUOHTNO IT FN TffK RUSH. 
 
 himself for liis flax, that M()nn«^haii had stoh'ii for the 
 oxen. " Now hy the power;^ i" ijuoth John, kindling into 
 wrath, ' that i.s a(l{lin<^ a })ig lie to a dhirty jx'tty larceny. 
 I take your tiax, you owld vilhiin I Share 1 know that 
 flax is grown to make linen wid, not to feed oxen. Cod 
 Almighty has given the crathers a good warm coat ol' 
 their own ; they ncjitlier require shifts nor shirts." 
 
 " 1 Stiw you take it, you ragged Irish vagabond, with 
 my own eyes." 
 
 " Thin yer two eyes showed you a wicked illusion. 
 You had betther shut up yer head, or I'll give you that 
 foi in eye-salve that shall make you see thrue for the 
 time to come.*' 
 
 Relying upon his great size, and thinking that the 
 slight stripling, who, by-the-by, was all bones and sinews, 
 was no match for him. Uncle Joe struck Monaghan over 
 the head with the pitchfork. In a moment the active lad 
 was upon him like a wild cat, and in spite of the differ- 
 ence of his age and weight, gave the big man such a 
 thorough dressing that he was fain to roar aloud for 
 mercy. 
 
 " Own that you are a thief and a liar, or I'll murther 
 you!" 
 
 " I'll own to anything whilst your knee is pressing me 
 into a pancake. Come now — there's a good lad — let me 
 get up." Monaghan felt irresolute, but after extorting 
 from Uncle Joe a promise never to purloin any of the 
 hay again, he let him rise. 
 
JOHN MONAGHAN. 
 
 183 
 
 "For .shur<\" he said, "lie began to turn ho black in the 
 t'iic<\ I thouglit h(Al burst intirely." 
 
 Tlio fat man iioither Ibigot nor Ibrgavo this injury ; 
 and though he dared not attack John })cr.sonally, ho set 
 the cliildren to insidt and aftVont him upon all occasions. 
 The boy was without socks, and I sent him to old Mrs. 
 
 R , to inquire of her what she would charge for 
 
 knitting him two pair", of socks. The reply was a dollar. 
 This was agreed to, and dear enough thoy were ; but the 
 weather was very cold, and the lad was barefooted, and 
 there was no other alternative than either to accept her 
 ofier, or for him to go without. 
 
 In a few days, Monnghan brought them homo ; but I 
 found upon inspecting them that they were old socks 
 new-footed. This was rather too glaring a cheat, and I 
 sent the lad back with them, and told him to inform Mrs. 
 
 R that as he had agreed to give the price for new 
 
 socks, he expected them to be new altogether. 
 
 The avaricious old woman did not deny the fact ; but 
 she fell to curs' ng and swearing in an awful manner, and 
 wished so much evil to the lad, that, with the supersti- 
 tious fear so common to the natives of his country, he 
 left her under the impression that she was gifted with the 
 evil eye, and was an •' owld witch." He nevei went out 
 of the yard with the waggon and horses, but she rushed 
 to the door, and cursed him for a bare-heeled Irish'J)lack- 
 guard, and wished that he might overturn the waggon, 
 kill the horses, and break his own worthless neck. 
 
 " Ma'am," said John to me one day, after returning 
 
 
184 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 from C with the team, " it would be betther for me 
 
 to lave the masther intirely ; for shure if I do not, some 
 mischief will befall me or the crathers. That wicked 
 owld wretch I I cannot thole her curses. Shure it's in 
 purgatory I am all the while." 
 
 "Nonsense, Monaghan! you are not a Catholic, and 
 need not fear purgatory . The next time the old woman 
 commences her reprobate conduct, tell her to hold her 
 tongue, and mind her own business, for curses, like 
 chickens, come home to roost." 
 
 The boy laughed heartily at the old Turkish proverb, 
 but did not reckon much on its efficacy to still the clam- 
 orous tongue of the ill-natured old jade. The next day 
 he had to pass her door with the horses. No sooner did 
 she hear the sound of tbe wheels, than out she hobbled, 
 and commenced her usual Anathemas. 
 
 " Bad luck to yer croaking, yer ill-conditioned owld 
 raven It is not me yoii are desthroying shure, but yer 
 own poor miserable sinful sowl. The owld one has the 
 giip of ye already, for ' curses, like chickens, come home 
 to roost ;' so get in wid ye, and hatch them to yerself in 
 the chimley corner. They'll all be roosting wid ye by- 
 and-by ; and a nice warm nest they'll make for you, con- 
 sidering the brave brc^od that belongs to you." 
 
 Whether tlie old woman was as superstitious as John, 
 I know not ; or whether she was impressed with the 
 moral truth of the proverb — for, as I have before stated, 
 she was no fool — is difficult to tell ; but she shrunk back 
 into her den, and never attacked the lad again. 
 
JOHN MONAGHAK 
 
 185 
 
 Poor John bore no malice in his heart, not he ; for, in 
 spite of all the ill-natured things he had to endure from 
 Uncle Joe and his family, he never attempted to return 
 evil for evil. In proof of this, he was one day chopping 
 firewood in the bush, at some distance from Joe, who was 
 engaged in the same employment with another man. A 
 tree in falling caught upon another, which, although a 
 very large maple, was hollow, and very much decayed, 
 and liable to be blown down by the least shock of the 
 wind. The tree hung directly over the path that Uncle 
 Joe was obliged to traverse daily with his team. He 
 looked up. and perceived, from the situation it occupied, 
 that it was necessary for his own safety to cut it down ; 
 but he lacked courage to undertake so hazardous a job 
 which -might be attended, if the supporting tree gave way 
 during the operation, with very serious consequences. In 
 a careless tone, he called to his companion to cut down 
 the tree. 
 
 " Do it yourself, H ," said the axe man, with a grin. 
 
 "My wife and children want their man as much as youi 
 Hannah wants you." 
 
 *' I'll not put axe to it," quoth Joe. Then, making 
 signs to his comrade to hold his tongue, he shouted to 
 Monaghan, *' Hollo, boy ! you're wanted here to cut down 
 this tree. Don't you see that your master's cattle might 
 be killed if they should happen to pass under it, and it 
 should fall upon them." 
 
 " Thrue for you, Masther Joe ; but your own cattle 
 would have the first chance. Why should I risk my life 
 M 
 
186 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 arid limbs, by cutting down the tree, when it was yerself 
 that threw it so awkwardly over the other ?" 
 
 " Oh, hut you are a boy, and have no wife and children 
 to depend upon you for bread," said Joe, gravely. " We 
 are both family men. Don't you see that 'tis your duty 
 to cut down the tree ?" 
 
 The lad swung the axe to and fro in his hand, eyjing 
 Joe and the tree alternatel}'^ ; but the natural kind-heart- 
 edness of the creature, and his reckless courage, overcame 
 all idea of self-preservation, and raising aloft his slender 
 but muscular arm, he cried out, " If it's a life that must 
 be sacrificed, why not mine as well as another ? Here 
 goes! nnd the Lord have mercy on my sinful sowl !" 
 
 The tree fell, and, contrary to their expectations, with- 
 out any injury to John. The knowing Yankee burst into 
 a loud laugh. " Well, if you arn't a tarnation soft fool, I 
 never saw one." 
 
 " What do you mane ?" exclaimed John, his dark eyes 
 flashing fire. " If 'tis to insult me for doing that which 
 neither of you dared to do, you had better not thr}'- that 
 same. You have just seen the strength of my spirit. 
 You had better not thry again the strength of my arm, 
 or, may be, you and the tree would chance to share the 
 same fate ;" and, shouldering his axe, the boy strode down 
 ihe hill, to get scolded by me for his foolhardiness. 
 
 The first week in March, all the people were busy mak- 
 ing maple sugar. " Did you ever taste any maple sugar, 
 ma'am '<" asked Monaghan, as he sat feeding Katie one 
 evening by the fire. 
 
 «No,J hn.", 
 
JOHN MONAGHAN. 
 
 187 
 
 " \/ellj then, you've a thrate to come ; and it's myself 
 that will make Miss Katie, the darlint, an illigant lump of 
 that same." 
 
 Early in the morning John was up, hard at work, mak- 
 ing troughs for the sap. By noon he had completed a 
 dozen, which he showed me with great pride of heart. I 
 felt a little curious about this far-famed maple sugar, and 
 asked a thousand questions about the use to which the 
 troughs were to be applied ; how the trees were to be 
 tapped, the sugar made, and if it were really good when 
 made ? 
 
 To all my queries, John responded, " Och ! 'tis illigant. 
 It bates all the sugar that ever was made in Jamaky. 
 But you'll see before to-morrow night." 
 
 Moodie was away at P , and the prospect of the 
 
 maple sugar relieved the dulness occasioned by his ab- 
 sence. I reckoned on showing him a piece of sugar of 
 our own making when he came home, and never dreamt 
 of the possibility of disappointment. 
 
 John tapped his trees after the most approved fashion, 
 and set his troughs to catch the sap ; but Miss Amanda 
 and Master Ammon upset them as fast as they filled, and 
 spilt all the sap. With great difficulty, Monaghan saved 
 the contents of one large iron pot. This he brought in 
 about nightfall, and made up a roaring iire, in order to 
 boil it down into sugar. Hour after hour passed away, 
 and the sugar-maker looked as hot and black as the 
 stoker in a steam-boat. Many times I peeped into the 
 large pot, but the sap never seemed to diminish. 
 
188 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 " This is a tedious piece of business," tliought I, but 
 seeing the lad so anxious, I said nothing. About twelve 
 o'clock, he asked nic very mysteriously for a piece of pork 
 to hang over the sugar. 
 
 " Pork !" said I, looking into the pot, which was half 
 full of a very black-looking liquid ; "what do you want 
 with pork ?" - 
 
 " Shure, an' 'tis to keep the sugar from burning.' 
 
 " But, John, I see no sugar !" 
 
 " Och, but 'tis all sugar, only 'tis molasses jist now. 
 See how it sticks to the ladle. Aha ! but Miss Katie 
 will have the fine lunijis of sugar when she awakes in 
 the morning." 
 
 I gi*ew so tired and sleepy that I left John to finish his 
 job, went to bed, and soon forgot all about the maple 
 sugar. At breakfast I observed a small plate upon the 
 table, placed in a very conspicuous manner on the tea- 
 tray, the bottom covered with a hard, black substance, 
 which very much resembled pitch. " What is that dirty- 
 looking stuff, John ?" 
 
 " Shure an 'tis the maple sugar." 
 
 " Can people eat that ?" 
 
 " By dad, an' they can ; only thry it, ma'am." 
 
 " Why, 'tis so hard, I cannot cut it." 
 
 With some difficulty, and not without cutting his fin- 
 ger, John broke a piece off, and stuffed it into the baby's 
 mouth. The poor child made a horrible face, and reject- 
 ed it as if it had been poison. For my own part, I never 
 tasted anything more nauseous. It tasted like a com- 
 
 l ^tlBUfflJM 
 
JOHN MONAGHAN. 
 
 189 
 
 pound of pork-grease and tobacco juice. " Well, Mona- 
 ghan, if thi.s be maple sugar, I never wish to taste any 
 
 again. 
 
 " Och, bad luck to it !" said tlie lad, flinging it away, 
 plate and all. " It would have been first-rate but Tor the 
 dhirty pot, and the Vjlackguard cinders, and its burning 
 
 to the bottom of the pot. That owld hag, Mrs. R , 
 
 bewitched it with her evil eye." 
 
 " She is not so cJever as you think, John," said I, 
 laughing. " You have foigotten how to make the sugar, 
 
 since you left D , but let us forget the maple sugar, 
 
 and think of something else. Had you not better get 
 
 old Mrs. R to mend that jacket for you ; it is too 
 
 ragged." 
 
 " Ay, by dad ! an' it's mysel' is the illigant tailor. 
 Wasn't I brought up to the thrade in the Foundling 
 Hospital ?" 
 
 " And why did you quit it ?" 
 
 " Because it's a low, mane thrade for a jiniJeman's 
 son." 
 
 " But, John, who told you that you were a gentleman's 
 son?" 
 
 " Och ! but I'm shure of it, thin. All my piopensities 
 are gintale. I love horses, and dogs, and fine clothes, and 
 money. Och ! that I was but a jintleman ! I'd show 
 them what life is intirely, and I'd challenge Masther Wil- 
 liam, and have my revenge out of hira for the blows he 
 gave me." 
 
 " You had better mend your trousers," said I, giving 
 
190 
 
 ROUGHINO IT IN THE tilTSH. 
 
 him a tailor's needle, a pair of scissors, and some strong 
 thread. 
 
 " Shiire, an' I'll do that same in a brace of shakes," 
 and sitting down upon a ricketty i/hree-legged stool of 
 his own manufacturing, he commenced his tailoring, by 
 tearing off a piece of his trousers to patch the elbows of 
 his jacket. And this trifling a(!t, simple as it may appear, 
 was a perfect type of the boy's general conduct, and 
 marked his progress through life. The present for him 
 was everything; he had no future. While he supplied 
 stuff from the trousers to repair the fi'actures in the jack- 
 et, he never reHected that both would be required on the 
 morrow. Poor John ! in his l^rief and reckless career, 
 how often have I recalled that foolish act of his. It now 
 appears to me that his whole life was s})ent in tearing his 
 trousers to repair his jacket. 
 
 In the evening John asked me for a piec^ of soap. 
 
 " What do you want with soap, John ?" 
 
 " To wash my shirt, ma'am. Shure an' I'm a baste to 
 be seen, as black as the pots. Sorra a shirt have I but 
 the one, an' it has stuck on my back so long that I can 
 thole it no longer." 
 
 I looked at the wrists and collar of the condemned gar- 
 ment, which was all of it that John allowed to be visible. 
 They were much in need of soap and water. 
 
 " Well, John, I will leave you the soap ; but can you 
 wash?" ' 
 
 " Och, shure, an' I can thry. If I soap it enough, and 
 rub long enough, the shirt must come clane at last." 
 
JOHN MONAOHAN. 
 
 191 
 
 I thought the matter rather doubtful ; but when 1 went 
 to bed I left what he required, and soon saw through the 
 chinks in the boards a roarinj? fire, and heard John 
 whistling ever the tub. He whistled and rubbed, and 
 washed and scrubbed, but as there seemed no end to the 
 job, and he was as long washing this one garment as Bell 
 would have been performing the same o})eration on fifty, 
 I laughed to myself, and thought of my own abortive at- 
 tempts in that way, and went fast asleep. In the morn- 
 ing John came to his breakfast, with his jacket buttoned 
 up to his throat. 
 
 " Could you not dry your shirt by the fire, John ? 
 You will get cold wanting it." 
 
 " Aha, by dad ! it's dhry enough now. The divil has 
 made tinder of it long afore this." 
 
 " Why, what has happened to it ? I heard you wash- 
 ing all night." 
 
 " Washing ! Faith, an' I did scrub it till my hands 
 were all ruined intirely, and thin I took the brush to it ; 
 but sorra a bit of the dhirt could I get out of it. The 
 more I rubbed the blacker it got, until I had used up all 
 the soap, and the perspiration was pouring off mo like 
 rain. 'You ahirty owld bit of a blackguard of a rag,' 
 says I, in an exthremity of rage, ' you're not fit for the 
 back of a dacent lad an' a jintleman. The divil may 
 take ye to cover one of his imps ;' an' wid that I sthirred 
 up the fire, and sent it plump into the middle of the 
 blaze." ' ^ 
 
 " And what will you do for a shirt ?" 
 
192 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 " Faith, do as many a betther man has done afore me, 
 go widout." 
 
 I looked up two old shirts of my husband's, which 
 John received with an ecstacy of delight. He retired 
 instantly to the stable, but soon returned, with as much 
 of the linen breast of the garment displayed as his waist- 
 coat would allow. No peacock was ever prouder of his 
 tail than the wild Irish lad was of the old shirt. 
 
 John had been treated very much like a spoiled child, 
 and, like most spoiled children, he was rather fond of 
 having his own way. Moodie had set him to do some- 
 thing which was rather contrary to his own inclinations ; 
 he did not object to the task in words, for he was rarely 
 saucy to his employers, but he left the following stave 
 upon the table, written in pencil upon a scrap of paper 
 torn from the bacV of an old letter : — 
 
 ** A man alive, an ox may drive 
 
 Unto a springing well ; . 
 
 To make him drink, as he may think, ♦ 
 
 No man can him compel. 
 
 *' John MoNAGHAN." 
 
 
 I pj^ •- 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 PHCEBE R- 
 
 AND OUR SLJOND MOVING. 
 
 She died in early womanhood, 
 Sweet scion of a stem so rude ; 
 A child of Nature, free from art. 
 With candid brow and open heart ; 
 The flowers she loved now gently wave 
 Above her low and nameless grave. 
 
 (>o 
 
 |T was during the month of March that Uncle Joe's 
 eldest daughter, Phoebe, a very handsome girl, and 
 the best of the family, fell sick. I went over to see her. 
 The poor girl was very depressed, and stood but a slight 
 chance for her life, being under the medical treatment of 
 three or four old women, who all recommended different 
 treatment and administered different nostrums. Seeing 
 that the poor girl was dangerously ill, I took her mother 
 aside, and begged her to lose no time in procuring proper 
 medical advice. Mrs. Joe listened to me very sullenly, 
 and said there was no danger ; that Phoebe had caught a 
 violent cold by going hot from the wash-tub to fetch a 
 pail of water from the spring ; that the neighbours knew 
 the nature of her complaint, and would soon cure her. 
 
 The invalid turned upon me her fine dark eyes, In 
 
" 
 
 194 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 which the light of fever painfully burned, and motioned 
 me to come near her. I sat down by her, and took her 
 burning hand in mine. 
 
 " I am dying, Mrs. Moodio, but they won't believe me. 
 I wish you would talk to mother to send for the doctor." 
 
 " I will. Is there anything I can do for you ?— any- 
 thing I can make for you, that you would like to take ?" 
 
 She shook her head. " I can't eat. But I want to ask 
 you one thing, which I wish very much to know." She 
 grasped my hands tightly between her own. Her eyes 
 looked darker, and her feverish cheek paled. " What be- 
 comes of people when they die ?" 
 
 " My poor girl !" I exclaimed involuntarily; " can you 
 be ignorant of a future state ?" 
 
 " What is a future state ?" 
 
 I endeavoured, as well as I was able, to explain to her 
 the nature of the soul, its endless duration, and responsi- 
 bility to God for the actions done in the flesh ; its natural 
 depravity and need of a Saviour ; urging her, in the gent- 
 lest manner, to lose no time in obtaining forgiveness of her 
 sins, through the atoning blood of Christ. 
 
 The poor girl looked at me with surprise and horror. 
 These things were all new to her. She sat like one in a 
 dream ; yet the truth seemed to flash upon her at once. 
 
 " How can I speak to God, who never knew Him ? 
 How can I ask Him to forgive me ?" 
 
 " You must pray to Him ?" 
 
 *' Pray ! I don't know how to pray. I never said a 
 
PH(EBE R- 
 
 AND OUR SECOND MOVING. 
 
 195 
 
 prayer in my life. Mother, can you teach me how to 
 
 ?>» 
 
 " Nonsense !" said Mi's. Joe, hurrying forward. " Why 
 should you trouble yourself about such thhujaf Mrs. 
 Moodie, I desire you not to put such thoughts into my 
 daughter's head. We don't want to know anything about 
 Jesus Christ here." 
 
 " Oh, mother don't speak so to the lady ! Do, Mrs. 
 Moodie, tell me more about God and my soul. I never 
 knew until now that I had a soul." 
 
 Deeply compassionating the ignorance of the poor girl, 
 in spite of the menaces of the heathen mother — for she 
 was no better, but rather worse, seeing that the heati:«en 
 worships in ignorance a false god, while this woman lived 
 without acknowledging a God at all, and therefore consid- 
 ered herself free fi-om all moral restraint — I bid Phoebe 
 good-bye, and promised to bring my bible, and read to 
 her the next day. 
 
 The gratitude manifested by this sick girl was such a 
 contrast to the rudeness and brutality of the rest of the 
 family, that I sooi» felt a powerful interest in her fate. 
 
 The mother did not actually forbid me the house, be- 
 cause she saw that my visits raised the drooping spirits 
 of her child, whom she fiercely loved, and, to save her 
 life, would cheerfully have sacrificed her own. But she 
 never failed to make all the noise she could to disturb my 
 reading and conversation with Phoebe. She could not be 
 persuaded that her daughter was really in any danger, 
 until the doctoi* told her that her case was hopeless ; then 
 
196 
 
 ROUGHINO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 the grief of the mother huiNt forth, and slie gave way tf» 
 the most frantic and ini| ions conij)lainingH. 
 
 The rigour of tlie winter began to abate. The beanis 
 of tiie sun during the day were warm and jienetrating, 
 and a soft wind l)lew from the south. 1 watched, from 
 day to day, tlie snow disappearing from the earth, with 
 indescribable pleasure, and at length it wholly vanished ; 
 not even a solitary patch lingered under the shade of the 
 forest trees ; but Uncle Joe gave no sign of removing his 
 family. 
 
 " Does he mean to stay all the summer T* thought I. 
 " Perhaps he never intends going at all. I will ask him, 
 the next time he comes to borrow whiskey." 
 
 In the afternoon he walked in to light his pipe, and, 
 with some anxiety, I made the inquiry. 
 
 '* Well, I guess we can't be moving afore the end of 
 May. My missus expects to be confined the fore part of 
 the month, and I shan't move till she be quite smart 
 agin." 
 
 " You are not using us well, in keeping us out of the 
 house so long." 
 
 " Oh, I don't care a curse about any of you. It is my 
 house as long as I choose to remain in it, and you may 
 put up with it the best way you can ;" and, humming a 
 Yankee tune, he departed. » 
 
 I had borne patiently the odious, cribbed-up place dur- 
 ing the winter, but now the hot weather was coming, it 
 seemed almost insupportable, as we were obliged to have 
 a fire in the close room, in order to cook our provisions. 
 
PH(EBE R- 
 
 AND Om SECOND MOVING. 
 
 197 
 
 I consoled myself as well as I (•^)uld by roaming about the 
 fields and woods, and making acquaintance with every 
 wild flower as it blossomed, and in writing long letters to 
 home friends, in which I abused one of the finest coun- 
 tries in the world as the wcjrst that God ever called out 
 of chaos. I can recall to memory, at this moment, the 
 few lines of a poem which commenced in this strain ; nor 
 am I sorry that the rest of it has passed into oblivion : — 
 
 Oh ! land of waters, how my spirit tires 
 
 In the dark prison of thy boundless woods ; 
 
 No rural charm poetic thouj^ht inspires, 
 No music murmurs in tliy miglity floods ; 
 
 Though vast the features that compose thy frame, 
 
 Turn where wo will, the landscape s still the same. 
 
 The swampy margin of thy inland seas, 
 
 The eternal forest girdling either shore, 
 Its belt of dark pines sighing in the breeze. 
 
 And rugged fields, with nide huts dotted o'er, 
 Show cultivation unimproved by art, 
 That sheds a barren chillness on the heart. 
 
 How many home-sick emigrants, during their first win- 
 ter in Canada, will respond to this gloomy picture ! Let 
 them wait a few years ; the sun of hope will arise and 
 beautify the landscape, and they will proclaim the coun- 
 try one of the finest in the world. 
 
 The middle of May at length arrived, and, by the num- 
 ber of long, lean women, with handkerchiefs of all colours 
 tied over their heads, who passed my door, and swarmed 
 into Mrs. Joe's house, I rightly concluded that another 
 young one had been added to the tribe; and, shortly 
 after, Uncle Joe himself announced the important fact, 
 by putting his jolly red face in at the door, and telling 
 
198 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THK BUSH. 
 
 r 
 
 ine, that his Tnissus hiid got a <;h()|>j)ing boy; and he was 
 right glad of it, for ho was tired of so many gi'.ls, and 
 tha,t ho .should move in a fortnight, if his woman did 
 kindly." 
 
 1 had been so often disappointed that T paid very little 
 heed to him, but this time he i<ept his word. 
 
 The last day of May, tluy went, bag and baggage, tlie 
 [)oor sick I'liddie, who still lingered on, and the new-born 
 infant ; and right joyfully I sent a. Scotch girl (another 
 Boll, whom 1 had hired in lieu of her I had lost), and 
 Monaghan, to clean out the Augean stable. In a fovv 
 minutes John returned, ])anting with indignation, 
 
 " The house," ho said, "was more filthy tiian a pig-sty." 
 But that, was not the worst of it : Uncle Joe, before he 
 went, had undermined the brick chimney, and let all the 
 water into the house. " Oh, but if he comes here agin," 
 he ccmtinued, grinding his teeth and doubling his fist, "I'll 
 thrash him for it. And thin, ma'am, he has girdled round 
 all the best graft a})j)le-trees, the murtherin' owld villain, 
 as if it could spile his digestion our ating them." 
 
 " It would require a strong stomach to digest apple- 
 trees, John ; but never mind, it can't be hel[)ed, and we 
 may be very thankful that those peo[)lc are gone at last." 
 
 John and Boll scrubbed at the house all day, and in the 
 evening they carried over the furniture, and I went to in- 
 spect our new dwelling. 
 
 It looked beautifully clean and neat. Bell had white- 
 washed all the black, smoky walls and boarded ceilings, 
 and scrubbed the dirty window-frames, and polished the 
 
PHCEBE R- 
 
 -, AND OUR SECOND MOVING. 
 
 199 
 
 fly-spotted panes of glass, initil they actually admitted a 
 glimpse of the clear air and the blue sky. Snow-white 
 fringed curtains, and a bed, with furniture -.o corrcsj)ond, 
 a carpeted lloor, and a large pot of green Vjonghs on the 
 hearth-stone, gave an air of comfort and cleanliness to a 
 room which, only a f(3W hours Ijcfore, had been a loath- 
 some den of tilth and impurity. 
 
 This change would have been very gratifying, had not 
 a strong, disagreeable odour almost deprived me of my 
 breath as I entered the room. It was unlike anything I 
 had ever smelt before, and turned me so sick and faint 
 that I had to cling to the door-{)ost for support. 
 
 " Where does this dreadful smell come from ?" 
 
 " The guidness knows, ma'am ; John and 1 have search- 
 ed the house from the loft to the cellar, but we canna 
 find out the cause of thae stink.'' 
 
 " It must be in the room. Bell ; find it is impossible to 
 remain liere, or live in this house, until it is removed." 
 
 Glancing my eyes all round the place, I spied what 
 seemed to me a little cupboard, over the mantel-shelf, 
 and I told John to see if I was riglit. The lad mounted 
 upon a chair, and pulled open a small door, but almost 
 fell to the ground with the dreadful stench which seemed 
 to rush from the closet. 
 
 " What is it, John ?" I cried from the open door. 
 
 " A skunk ! ma'am, a skunk ! Shure, I thought the 
 divil had scorched his tail, and left the grizzled hair be- 
 hind him. What a strong perfume it has !" he continued 
 
200 
 
 ROUGHING IT 11^ THE BUSH. 
 
 holding up the beautiful but odious little creature by the 
 tail. . 
 
 " By dad ! T know all about it now. I saw Ned Lay- 
 ton, only two days ago, crossing the field with Uncle Joe, 
 with his gun on his shoulder, and this wee bit baste in 
 his hand. They were both laughing like sixty. ' Well, 
 if this does not stink the Scotchman out of the house,' 
 said Joe, ' I'll be contint to be tarred and feathered ;' and 
 thin they both laughed until they stopped to draw 
 breath." 
 
 I could hardly help laughing myself; but I begged 
 Monaghan to convey the horrid creature away, and put- 
 ting some salt and sulphur into a tin plate, and setting 
 fire to it, I placed it on the floor in the middle of the 
 room, and closed all the doors for an hour, which greatly 
 assisted in purifying the house from the skunkification. 
 Bell then washed out the closet with strong ley, and in a 
 short time no vestige remained of the malicious trick that 
 Uncle Joe had played oflT upon us. 
 
 The next day, we took possession of our new mansion, 
 and no one was better pleased with the change than little 
 Katie. She was now fifteen months old, and could just 
 begin to prattle, but she dared not venture to step alone, 
 although she would stand by a chair all day, and even 
 climb upon it. She crept from room to room, feeling and 
 admiring everything, and talking to it in her baby lan- 
 guage. So fond was the dear child of flowers, that her 
 father used to hold her up to the apple-trees, then rich in 
 their full spring beauty, that she might kiss the blossoms. 
 
PHCBBE R- 
 
 AND OUR SECOND MOVING. 
 
 201 
 
 She would pat them with her soft, white hands, murmur- 
 ing like a bee in the branches. To keep her quiet whilst 
 I was busy, I had only to give her a bunch of wild flow- 
 ers. She would sit as still as a lamb, looking first at one 
 and then at another, pressing them to her little breast in 
 a sort of ecstacy, as if she comprehended the worth of this 
 most beautiful of God's gifts to man. 
 
 She was a sweet, lovely flower herself, and her charm- 
 ing infant graces reconciled me, more than aught else, to 
 a weary lot. Was she not purely British I Did not her 
 soft blue eyes, and sunny curls, and bright rosy cheeks 
 forever remind me of her Saxon origin, and bring before 
 me dear forms and faces I could never hope to behold 
 again ? 
 
 The first night we slept in the new house, a demon of 
 unrest had taken possession of it, in the shape of a count- 
 less swarm of mice. They scampered over our pillows, 
 and jumped upon our faces, squeaking and cutting a thous- 
 and capers over the floor. I never could realize the true 
 value of Whittington's invaluable cat until that night. 
 At first we laughed until our sides ached, but in reality it 
 was no Ipughing matter. Moodie remembered that we 
 had left a mouse-trap in the old house ; he went and 
 brought it over, baited it, and set it on the table near the 
 bed. During the night no less than fourteen of the pro- 
 voking vermin were captured ; and for several succeeding 
 nights the trap did equal execution. How Uncle Joe's 
 family could have allowed such a nuisance to exist aston- 
 ished me ; to sleep with these creatures continually run- 
 
"T 
 
 202 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 ning over us was impossible ; and they were not the only 
 evils in the shape of vermin we had to contend with. 
 The old logs which composed the walls of the house were 
 full of bugs and large black ants ; and the place, owing to 
 the number of dogs that always had slept under the beds 
 with the children, was infested with fleas. It required 
 the utmost care to rid the place of these noisome and dis- 
 gusting tenants. 
 
 Arriving in the country in the autumn, \ve had never 
 experienced any inconvenience from the mosquitoes, but 
 after the first moist, warm spring days, particularly after 
 the showers, these tormenting insects annoyed as greatly. 
 The farm lying in a valley cut up with little streams in 
 every direction made us more liable to their inflictions. 
 The hands, arms and face of the poor babe were covered 
 every morning with red inflamed bumps, which often 
 threw out blisters. 
 
 The banks of the little streams abounded with wild 
 strawberries, which, although small, were of a delicious 
 flavour. Thither Bell and I, and the baby, daily repaired 
 to gather the blight red berries of Nature's own provid- 
 ing. Katie, young as she was, was very expert at help- 
 ing herself, and we used to seat her in the middle of a fine 
 bed, whilst we gathered farther on. Hearing her talking 
 very lovingly to something in the grass, which she tried 
 to clutch between her white hands, calling it "Pitty^ 
 pitty ;" I ran to the spot, and found that it was a large 
 garter-snake that she was so aftectionately courting to her 
 embrace. Not then aware that this formidable-looking 
 
 
PHCEBE R- 
 
 AND OUR SECOND MOVING. 
 
 203 
 
 reptile was perfectly harmless, I snatched the child up in 
 my arnid, and ran with her home ; never stopping until I 
 gained the house, and saw her safely seated in her cradle. 
 
 It had been a very late, cold spring, but the trees had 
 fully expanded into leaf, and the fore'^t world was glorious 
 in its beauty. Every patch of cleared land presented a 
 vivid green to the eye ; the brook brawled in the gay 
 sunsliine, and the warm air was filled with soft murmurs. 
 Gorgeous butterflies floated about like winged flowers, 
 and feelings allied to poetry and gladness once more per- 
 vaded my heart. In the evening we wandered through 
 the woodland paths, beneath the glowing Canadian sun- 
 set, and gathered rare specimens of strange plants and 
 flowers. Every object that met my eyes was new to me, 
 and produced that peculiar excitement which has its origin 
 in a thirst for knowledge, and a love of variety. 
 
 We had commenced gardening, too, and my vegetables 
 di'.' j^reat credit to my skill and care ; and, when once the 
 warm weather sets in, the rapid advance of vegetation in 
 Canada is astonishing. 
 
 Not understanding much about farming, especially in a 
 climate like Canada, Moodie was advised by a neighbour- 
 ing settler to farm his farm upon shares. This advice 
 seemed very reasonable ; and had it been given disinter- 
 estedly, and had the persons recommended (a man and his 
 wife) been worthy oj- honest people, we might have done 
 very well. But the farmer had found out their encroach- 
 ing ways, was anxious to get rid of them himself, and saw 
 no better way of doing so than by palming them upon us. 
 
204 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 From our engagement with these people commenced 
 that long series of losses and troubles to which their con- 
 duct formed the prelude. They were to live in the little 
 shanty that we had just left, and work the farm. Moodie 
 was to find them the land, the use of his implements and 
 cattle, and all the seed for the crops ; and to shaie with 
 them the returns. Besides this, they unfortunately M^ere 
 allowed to keep their own cows, pigs, and poultry. The 
 produce of the orchard, with which they had nothing to 
 do, was reserved for our own use. 
 
 For the Hr^t f-jw weeks, they were civil and obliging 
 enough ; and had the man been left to himself, I believe 
 we should have done pretty well ; but the wife was a 
 coarse-minded, bold woman, who instigated him to every 
 mischief They took advantage of us in every way they 
 could, and wcreconstantly committing petty depredations. 
 
 From our own experience of this mode of farming, I 
 would strenuously advise all new settlers never to em- 
 brace any such offer, without they are well acquainted 
 with the parties, and can thoroughly rely upon their 
 
 honesty ; or else, like Mrs. , they may impudently 
 
 tell you that they can cheat you as they please, and defy 
 you to help yourself All the money we expended upon 
 the farm was entirely for these people's benefit, for by 
 the joint contrivances very little' of the crops fell to our 
 share ; and when any division was made, it was always 
 when Moodie was absent from home ; and there was no 
 person present to see fair play. They sold what'apples 
 and potatoes they pleased, and fed their hogs ad libitum. 
 
PHCEBE R- 
 
 AND OUR SECOND MOVING. 
 
 205 
 
 re was no 
 
 But even their roguery was more tolerable than the irk- 
 some restraint which their near vicinity, and constantly 
 having to come into contact with them, imposed. We 
 had no longer any privacy, our servants were cross-ques- 
 tioned, and our family affairs canvassed by these gossiping 
 people, who spread about a thousand falsehoods regarding 
 us. I was so much disgusted with this shareship, that 
 I would gladly have given them all the proceeds of the 
 farm to get rid of them, but the bargain was for twelve 
 months, and bad as it was, we could not break our en- 
 gagement. 
 
 One little trick of this woman's will serve to illustrate 
 her general conduct. A neighbouring farmer's wife had 
 presented nie with some very pretty hens, who followed to 
 the call of old Betty Fye's handsome game-cock. I was 
 always fond of fowls, and the innocent Katie delighted in 
 her chicks, and would call them round her to the sill of 
 
 the door to feed from her hand. Mrs. O had the 
 
 same number as I had, and I often admired them when 
 marshalled forth by her splendid black rooster. One 
 morning I saw her eldest son chop off the head of the 
 fine bird ; and I asked his mother why she had allowed 
 him to kill the beautiful creature. She laughed, and 
 merely replied that she wanted it for the pot. The next 
 day my sultan walked over to the widowed hens, and 
 took all his seraglio with him. From that hour I never 
 gathered a single egg ; the hens deposited all their eggs in 
 
 Mrs. O 's hen-house. She used to boast of this as an 
 
 excellent joke among her neighbours. 
 
206 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 
 On the 9th of June, my dear little Agnes was born. 
 A few days after this joyful event, I heard a great bustle 
 in the room adjoining to mine, and old Dolly Rowe, my 
 Cornish nurse, informed me that it was occasioned by the 
 
 people who came to attend the funeral of Phoebe R . 
 
 She only survived the removal of the family a week ; and 
 at her own request had been brought all the way from 
 
 the lake plains to be interred in the burying ground 
 
 on the hill which overlooked the stream. 
 
 As I lay 'upon my pillow I could distinctly see the spot, 
 and mat'k the long funeral procession, as it wound along 
 the banks of the brook. It was a solemn and imposing 
 spectacle, that humble funeral. When the waggons 
 reached the rude enclosure, the coffin was carefully lift- 
 ed to the ground, the door in the lid opened, and old and 
 young approached, one after another, to take a last look 
 at the dead, before consigning her to the oblivion of the 
 grave. 
 
 Poor Phcebe ! Gentle child of coarse, unfeeling parents, 
 few shed more sincerely a tear for thy early fate than the 
 stranger whom they hated and despised. Often have I 
 stood beside that humble mound, when the song of the 
 lark was above me, and the bee murmuring at my feet, 
 and thought that it was well for thee that God opened 
 the eyes of thy soul, and called thee out of the darkness 
 of ignorance and sin to glory in His marvellous light. 
 Sixteen years have passed away since I heard anything 
 of the family or what had become of them, when I was 
 told by a neighbour of theirs, whom I accidently met 
 
PH(EBE R- 
 
 AND OUR SECOND MOVING. 
 
 207 
 
 last winter, that the old woman, who now nearly num- 
 bers a hundred years, is still living, and inhabits a corner 
 of her son's barn, as she still quarrels too much with his 
 wife to reside with Joe ; that the girls are all married and 
 gone ; and that Joe himself, although he does not know a 
 letter, has commenced travelling preacher. After this, 
 who can doubt the existence of miracles in the nineteenth 
 century ? 
 
 m 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 BRIAN, THE STILL-HUNTER. 
 
 O'er memory's glass I see his shadow flit, 
 Though he was gathered to the silent dust 
 Long years ago. A strange and wayward man, 
 That shuun'd companionship, and lived apart ; 
 The leafy covert of the dark brown woods. 
 The gleamy lakes, hid in their gloomy depths, 
 "Whose still, deep waters never knew the stroke 
 Of cleaving oar, or echoed to the sound 
 Of social life, contained for him the sum 
 Of human happiness. With dog and gun 
 Day after day he track'd the nimble deer 
 Tlirough all the tangled mazes of the forest. 
 
 Gii 
 
 [lT was early day. I was alone in the old shanty, pre- 
 ^ paring breakfast, and now and then stirring the 
 cradle with my foot, when a tall, thin, raiddle-aged man 
 walked into the house, foUowed by two large, strong 
 dogs. 
 
 Placing the rifle he had carried on his shoulder, in a 
 corner of the room, he advanced to the hearth, and with- 
 out speaking, or seemingly looking at me, lighted his pipe 
 and commenced smoking. The dogs, after growling and 
 snapping at the cat, who had not given the strangers a 
 very courteous reception, sat down on the hearth-stone 
 
BRIAN, THE STILL-HUNTER. 
 
 209 
 
 )n either side of their taciturn master, ej^eing him from 
 lime to time, as if long habit had made them understand 
 ;ill his motions. There was a great contrast between the 
 logs. The one was a brindled bull-dog of the largest size, 
 I most formidable and powerful brute ; the other a stag- 
 hound, tawny, deep-chested, and strong-limbed. I regard- 
 ed the man and his hairy companions with silent curi- 
 osity. 
 
 He was between forty and fifty years of age ; his head, 
 nearly hald, was studded at the sides with strong, coarse, 
 black curling hair. His features were high, his complex- 
 ion brightly dark, and his eyes, in size, shape, and colour, 
 greatly resembled the eyes of a hawk. The face itself 
 was sorrowful and taciturn ; and his thin, compressed lips 
 looked as if they were not much accustomed to smile, or 
 often to unclose to hold social communion with any one. 
 He stood at the side of tha huge hearth, silently smoking, 
 his eyes bent on the fire, and now and then he patted the 
 heads of his dogs, reproving their exuberant expressions 
 of attachment, with — " Down, Music ; down. Chance !" 
 
 " A cold, clear morning," said I, in order to attract his 
 attention and draw him into conversation. 
 
 A nod, without raising his head, or withdrawing his 
 eyes from the fire, was his only answer ; and, turning 
 from my unsociable guest, I took up the baby, who just 
 then awoke, sat down on a low stool by the table, and 
 began feeding her. During this operation, I once or twice 
 caught the stranger's hawk-eye fixed upon me and the 
 
210 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 child, but word spoke he none ; and presently, after whist- 
 ling to his dogs, he resumed his gun, and strode out. 
 
 When Moodie and Monaghan came in to breakfast, I 
 told them what a strange visitor I had had ; and Moodie 
 la'ighed at my vain attempt to induce hiiu tc> t.ilk. 
 
 " He is a strange being," I said ; " I must find out who 
 and what he is." 
 
 In the afternoon an old soldier, called Layton, who had 
 served during the American war, and got a grant of land 
 about a mile in the rear of our location, came in to trade 
 for a cow. Now, this Layton was a perfect ruffian ; a man 
 whom no one liked, and whom all feared. He was a deep 
 drinker, a great swearer, in short, a perfect reprobate ; 
 who never cultivated his land, but went jobbing about 
 from farm to farm, trading horses and cattle, and cheating 
 in a pettifogging way. Uncle Joe had employed him to 
 sell Moodie a young heifer, and he had brought her over 
 for him to look at. When he came in to be paid, I de- 
 scribed the stranger of the morning ; and as I knew that 
 he was familiar with every one in the neighbourhood, I 
 asked if he knew him. 
 
 " No one should know him better than myself," he said ; 
 " 'tis old Brian B , t'-e still-hunter, and a near neigh- 
 bour of your'n. A sour, morose, queer chap he is, and as 
 mad as a March hare ! He's from Lancashire, in England, 
 and came to this country some twenty years ago, with his 
 wife, who was a pretty young lass in those days, and slim 
 enough then, though she's so awfully fleshy now. He 
 had lots of money, too, and he bought four hundred acres 
 
BRIAN, THE STILL-HUNTER. 
 
 211 
 
 of Innd, just at the corner of the conceHHion line, where it 
 meets the nuiin road. And excellent land it is ; and a 
 better farmer, while he stuck to his business, never went 
 into the bush, for it was all bush here then. He was a 
 dashing, handsome fellow, too, and did not hoard the 
 money either ; he loved his pipe and his pot too well ; 
 and at last he left off farming, and gave himself to them 
 altogether. Many a jolly booze he and I have had, I can 
 tell you. Brian was an awful passionate man, and, when 
 the liquor was in, and the wit was out, as savage and as 
 quarrelsome as a bear. At such times there was no one 
 but Ned Lay ton dared go near him. We once had a 
 pitched battle, in which I was conqueror ; and ever arter 
 he yielded a sort of sulky obedience to all I said to him, 
 Arter being on the spree for a week or two, he would take 
 tits of remorse, and return home to his wife ; would fall 
 down at her knees, and ask her forgiveness, and cry like 
 a child. At other times he would hide himself up in the 
 woods, and steal home at night, and get what he wanted 
 out of the pantry, without speaking a word to any one. 
 He went on with these pranks for some years, till he took 
 a tit of the blue devils. 
 
 " 'Come away, Ned, to the lake, with me,' said 
 
 he ; I am weary of my life, and I want a change.' 
 
 " * Shall we take the fishing-tackle ?' says I. ' The black 
 
 bass are in prime season, and F will lend us the old 
 
 canoe. He's got some capital rum up from Kingston. 
 We'll fish all day, and have a spree at night.' 
 
 " 'It's not to fish I'm going,' says he. 
 
212 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 8! 
 
 "'To shoot, then ? I've bought Rock wood's new rifle.' 
 
 " 'It's neither to fish nor to shoot, Ned : it's a new game 
 I'm going to try ; so come along.' " 
 
 " Well, to the lake we went. The day was very 
 
 hot, and our path lay through the woods, and over those 
 scorching plains, for eight long miles. I thought I should 
 have dropped by the way ; but during our lon<j^ walk my 
 companion never opened his lips. He strode on before 
 me, at a half-run, never once turning his head. 
 
 " The man must be the devil !' says I, ' and accustomed 
 to a warmer place, or he must feel this. Hollo Brian ! 
 Stop there ! Do you mean to kill me ?' 
 
 " ' Take it easy,' sp.ys he ; ' you'll see another day arter 
 this — I've business on hand and cannot wait.' 
 
 " Well, on we went, at the same awful rate, and it was 
 mid-day when we got to the little tavern on the lake 
 shore, kept by one F , who had a boat for the conve- 
 nience of strangers who came to visit the place. Here 
 we got our dinner, and a glass of rum to wash it down. 
 But Brian was moody, and to all my jokes he only re- 
 turned a sort of grunt; and while I was talking with 
 
 F , he steps out and a few minutes arter we saw him 
 
 crossing the lake in the old canoe. 
 
 " 'What's the matter with Brian ?' says F ; 'all does 
 
 not seem right with hira, Ned. You had better take the 
 boat, and look arter him.' 
 
 " ' Pooh !' says I ; ' he's often so, and grows so glum 
 now-a-days that I will cut his acquaintance altogether if 
 he does not improve.' 
 
BRIAN, THE STILL-HUNTER. 
 
 'He drinks awful h^rd/ says F- 
 
 213 
 
 'may be he's 
 
 got a fit of the delirium-tremulous. There is no telling 
 what he may be up to at this minute.' 
 
 " My mind misgave me too, so I e'en takes the oars, 
 and pushes out, right upon Brian's track ; and by the 
 Lord Harry ! if I did not find him, u[)on my landing on 
 the opposite shore, lying wallowing in his blood, with his 
 throat cut. ' Is that you, Brian '( says I, giving him a 
 kick with my foot, to see if ho was alive or dead. * What 
 
 upon earth tempted you to play me and F such a 
 
 dirty, mean trick, as to go and stick yourself like a pig, 
 bringing such a discredit upon the house ? — and j'ou so 
 far from home and those who should nurse you.' 
 
 " I was so mad with him, that (saving your presence, 
 ma'am) I swore awfully, and called him names that would 
 be ondacent to repeat here ; but he only answered with 
 groans and a horrid gurgling in his throat. 'It's a 
 choking you are,' said I ; ' but you shan't have your own 
 way, and die so easily either, if I can punish you by 
 keeping you alive.' So I just turned him upon his 
 stomach, with his head down the steep bank ; but he still 
 kept choking and growing black in the face." 
 
 Layton then detailed some particulars of his surgical 
 practice which it is not necessary to repeat. He con- 
 tinued, 
 
 "I bound up his throat with my handkerchief, and 
 took him neck and heels, and threw him into the bottom 
 of the boat. Presently he came to himself a little, and 
 sat up in the boat j and — would you believe it ? — made 
 
 / 
 
214 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 several attempts to throw himself into the water, * This 
 will not do,' says I ; ' you've done mischief enough al- 
 ready by cutting your weasand ! If you dare to try that 
 again, I will kill you with the oar.' I held it up to 
 threaten him ; he was scared, and lay down as quiet as a 
 lamb. I put my foot upon his breast. * Lie still, now ! 
 or you'll catch it.' He looked piteously at me ; he could 
 not speak, but his eyes seemed to say, ' Have pity upon 
 me, Ned ; don't kill me.' 
 
 " Yes, ma'am , this man, who had just cut his throat, 
 and twice arter that had tried to drown himself, was 
 afraid that I should knock him on the head and kill him. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! I never shall forget the work that F .vid I 
 
 had with him arter I got him up to the house. 
 
 "The doctor came and sewed up his throat; and his 
 wife — poor crittur ! — came to nurse him. Bad a's he was, 
 she was mortal fond of him. He lay there, sick and un- 
 able to leave his bed, for three months, and did nothing 
 but pray to God to forgive him, for he thought the devil 
 would surely have him for cutting his own throat ; and 
 when he got about again, which is now twelve years ago, 
 he left off drinking entirely, and wanders about the 
 woods with his dogs, hunting. He seldom speaks to any 
 one, and his wife's brother carries on the farm for the 
 family. He is so sh}'- of strangers that 'tis a wonder he 
 came in here. The old wives are afraid of him ; but you 
 need not heed him — his troubles are to himself, he harms 
 no one." 
 
 Layton departed, and left me brooding over the sad tale 
 
BRIAN, THE STILL-HUNTER. 
 
 215 
 
 which he had told in such an absurd and jesting manner. 
 It was evident from the account he had given of Brian's 
 attempt at suicide, that the hapless hunter was not whol- 
 ly answerable for his conduct — that he was a harmless 
 maniac. . 
 
 The next morning, at the very same hour, Brian again 
 made his appearance ; but instead of the rifle across his 
 shoulder, a large stone jar occupied the place, suspended 
 by a stout leather thong. Without saying a word, but 
 with a truly benevolent smile, that flitted slowly over his 
 stern features, and lighted them up, like a suqbeam 
 breaking from beneath a stormy cloud, he advanced to 
 the table, and unslinging the jar, set it down before me, 
 and in a low and gruff, but by no means an unfriendly, 
 voice, said, " Milk, for the child," and vanished. 
 
 *' How good it was of him ! How kind !" I exclaimed, 
 as I poured the precious gift of four quarts of pure new 
 milk out into a deep pan. I had not asked him — had 
 never said that the poor weanling wanted milk. It was 
 the courtesy of a gentleman — of a man of benevolence 
 and refinement. 
 
 For weeks did my strange, silent friend steal in, take 
 up the empty jar, and supply its place with another re- 
 plenished with milk. The baby knew his step, and would 
 hold out her hands to him and cry " Milk !" and Brian 
 would stoop down and kiss her, and his two great dogs 
 lick her face. 
 
 " Have you any children, Mr. B ?" 
 
 *' Yes, five ; but none like this," 
 
■ 
 
 I 
 
 216 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 " My little girl is greatly indebted to you for your 
 kindness." 
 
 " She's welcome, or she would not get it. You are 
 strangers ; but I like you all. You look kind, and I 
 would like to know more about you." 
 
 Moodie shook hands with the old hunter, and assured 
 him that we should always be glad to see him. After 
 this invitation, Brian became a frequent guest. He 
 would sit and listen with delight to Moodie while he 
 described to him elephant-hunting at the Cape ; grasping 
 his rifle in a determined manner, and whistling an en- 
 couraging air to his dogs. I asked him one evening what 
 made him so fond of hunting. 
 
 " 'Tis the excitement," he said ; " it drowns thought, 
 and I love to be alone. I am sorry for the creatures, too, 
 for they are free and happy ; yet I am led by an instinct 
 I cannot restrain to kill them. Sometimes the sight of 
 their dying agonies recalls painful feelings ; and then I 
 lay aside the gun, and do not hunt for days. But 'tis 
 fine to be alone with God in the great woods — to watch 
 the sunbeams stealing through the thick branches, the 
 blue sky breaking in upon you in patches, and to know 
 that all is bright and shiny above you, in spite of the 
 gloom that surrounds j'^ou." 
 
 After a long pause, he continued, with much solemn 
 feeling in his look and tone, 
 
 " I lived a life of folly for years, for I was respectably 
 born and educated, and had seen something of the world, 
 perhaps more than was good, before I left home for the 
 
BRIAN, THE STILL-HUNTER. 
 
 217 
 
 woods ; and from the teaching I had received from kind 
 relatives and parents I should have known how to have 
 conducted myself better. But, madam, if we associate 
 long with the depraved and ignorant, we learn to become 
 even worse than they. I felt deeply my degradation 
 — felt that I had become the slave to low vice ; and, in 
 order to emancipate myself from the hateful tyranny of 
 evil passions, I did a very rash and foolish thing. I need 
 not mention the manner in which I transgressed God's 
 holy laws ; all the neighbours know it, and must have 
 told you long ago. I could have borne reproof, but they 
 turned my sorrow into indecent jests, and, unable to bear 
 their coarse ridicule, I made companions of my dogs and 
 gun, and went forth into the wilderness. Hunting be- 
 came a habit, I could no longer live without it, and it 
 supplies the stimulant which I lost when I renounced the 
 cursed whisky-bottle. 
 
 " I remember the first hunting excursion I took alone 
 in the forest. How sad and gloomy I felt ! I thought 
 that there was no creature in the world so miserable as 
 myself I was tired and hungry, and I sat down upon a 
 fallen tree to rest. All was still as death around me, and 
 I was fast sinking to feleep, when my attention was 
 aroused by a long, wild cry. My dog, for I had not 
 Chance then, and he's no hunter, pricked up his ears, but 
 instead of answering with a bark of defiance, he crouched 
 down, trembling, at my feet. * What does this mean V 
 I cried, and I cocked my rifle and sprang upon the log. 
 The sound came nearer upon the wind. It was like the 
 
; ( 
 
 218 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 deep baying of a pack of hounds in full cry. Presently 
 a noble deer rushed past me, and fast upon his trail — I 
 see them now, like so many black devils — swept by a 
 pack of ten or fifteen large, fierce wolves, with fiery eyes 
 and bristling hair, and paws that seemed hardly to touch 
 the ground in their eager haste. I thought not of dan- 
 ger, for, with their prey in view, I was safe; but I felt 
 every nerve within me tremble for the fate of the poor 
 deer. The wolves gained upon him at every bound. A 
 close thicket intercepted his path, and, rendered desperate, 
 he turned at bay. His nostrils were dilated, and his eyes 
 seemed to send forth long streams of light. It was won- 
 derful to witness the courage of the beast. How bravely 
 he repelled the attacks of his deadly enemies, how gal- 
 lantly he tossed them to the right and left, and spurned 
 them from beneath his hoofs ; yet all his struggles were 
 useless, and he was quickly overcome and torn to pieces 
 by his ravenous foes. At that moment he seemed more 
 unfortunate b /en than myself, for I could not see in what 
 manner he had deserved his fate. All his speed and 
 energy, his courage and fortitude, had been exerted in 
 vain. I had tried to destroy myself; but he, with every 
 effort vigorously made for self-preservation, was doomed 
 to meet the fate he dreaded ! Is God just to his crea- 
 tures ?" 
 
 With this sentence on his lips, he started abruptly from 
 his seat and left the house. 
 
 One day he found me painting some wild fiowers, and 
 was greatly interested in watching the progress I made in 
 
BRIAN, THE STILL-HUNTER. 
 
 219 
 
 the group. Late in the afternoon of the following day he 
 brought me a large bunch of splendid spring flowers. 
 
 " Draw these," said he ; " I have been all the way to 
 the lake plains to find them for you." 
 
 Little Katie, grasping them one by one, with infantile 
 joy, kissed every lovely blossom. 
 
 " These are God's pictures," said the hunter, " and the 
 child, who is all nature, understands them in a minute. 
 Is it not strange that these beautiful things are hid away 
 in the wilderness, where no eyes but the birds of the air 
 and the wild beasts of the wood, and the insects that live 
 upon them, ever see them ? Does God provide, for the 
 pleasure of such creatures, these flowers ? Is His benevo- 
 lence gratified by the admiration of animals whom we 
 have been taught to consider as having neither thought 
 nor reflection ? When I am alone in the forest, these 
 thoughts puzzle me." 
 
 Knowing that to argue with Brian was only to call in- 
 to action the slumbering fires of his fatal malady, I turned 
 the conversation by asking him why he called his favour- 
 ite dog Chance ? 
 
 " I found him," he said, " forty miles back in the bush. 
 He was a mere skeleton. At first I took him for a wolf, 
 but thp shape of his head undeceived me. I opened my 
 wallet, and called him to me. He came slowly, stopping 
 and wagging his tail at every step, and looking me wist- 
 fully in the face. I oflfered him a bit of dried venison, 
 and he soon became friendly, and followed me home, and 
 has never left me since. I called him Chance, after the 
 

 220 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 manner I happened with him ; and I would not part with 
 him for twenty dollars." 
 
 Alas, for poor Chance ! he had, unknown to his mas- 
 ter, contracted a private liking for fresh mutton, and one 
 night he killed no less than eight sheep that belonged to 
 
 Mr. D , on the front road ; the culprit, who had been 
 
 long suspected, was caught in the very act, and this mis- 
 chance cost him his life. Brian was sad and gloomy for 
 jnany weeks after his favourite's death. 
 
 " I would have restored the sheep fourfold," he said, "if 
 he would but have spared the life of my dog." 
 
 My recollections of Brian seem more particularly to 
 concentrate in the adventures of one night, when I hap- 
 pened to be left alone, for the first timo since my arrival 
 in Canada. I cannot now imagine how I could have been 
 such a fool as to give way for four-and-twenty hours to 
 such childish fears ; but so it was, and I will not disguise 
 my weakness from my indulgent reader. 
 
 Moodie had bought a very fine cow of a black man, 
 named Mollineux, for which he was to give twenty-seven 
 dollars. The man lived twelve miles back in the woods ; 
 and one fine frosty spring day — (don't smile at the term 
 frosty, thus connected with the genial season of the year ; 
 the term is perfectly correct when applied to the Cana- 
 dian spring, which, until the middle of May, is the most 
 dismal season in the year) — ^he and John Monaghan took 
 a rope, and the dog, and sallied forth to fetch the cow 
 home. Moodie said that they should be back by six 
 ^'clock in the evening, and charged me to have some- 
 
BRIAN, THE STILL-HUNTER. 
 
 221 
 
 thing cooked for supper when they returned, as he 
 doubted not their long walk in the sharp air would give 
 them a good appetite. This was dunng the time that I 
 
 was without a servant, and living in old Mrs. s 
 
 shanty. 
 
 The day was so bright and clear, and Katie was so full 
 of frolic and play, rolling upon the floor, or toddling from 
 chair to chair, that the day passed on without my feeling 
 remarkably lonely. At length the evening drew nigh, 
 and I began to expect my husband's return, and to think 
 of the supper that I was to prepare for his reception. 
 The red heifer that we had bought of Layton, came low- 
 ing to the door to be milked ; but I did not know how to 
 milk in those days, and, besides this, I was teiTibly afraid 
 of cattle. Yet, as I knew that milk would be required 
 for the tea, I ran across the meadow to Mrs. Joe, and 
 begged that one of her girls would be so kind as to m' Ik 
 for me. My request Wiis greeted with a rude burst of 
 laughter from the whole set. 
 
 " If you can't milk," said Mrs. Joe, '* it's high time you 
 should learn. My girls are .above being helps." 
 
 "I would not ask you but as a great favour; I am 
 afraid of cows." 
 
 " Afraid of cows ! Lord bless the woman ! A far- 
 mer's wife and afraid of cows !" 
 
 Here followed another laugh at my expense ; and, in- 
 dignant at the refusal of my first and last request, when 
 they had all borrowed so much from me, I shut the in- 
 hospitable door, and returned home. 
 
222 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 After many ineffectual attempts, I succeeded at last, 
 and bore my half-pail of milk in triumph to the house. 
 Yes ! I felt prouder of that milk than many an author of 
 the best thing he ever wrote, whether in verse or prose ; 
 and it was doubly sweet when I considered that X had 
 procured it without being under any obligation to my ill- 
 natured neighbours. I had learned a useful lesson of in- 
 dependence, to which in. after-years 1 had often again to 
 refer. I fed little Katie and put her to bed, made the 
 hot cakes for tea, boiled the potatoes, and laid the ham, 
 cut in nice slices, in the pan, ready to cook the moment I 
 saw the men enter the meadow, and arranged the little 
 room with scrupulous care and neatness. A glorious fire 
 was blazing on the hearth, and eveiything was ready for 
 their supper ; and I began to look out anxiously for their 
 arrival. 
 
 The night had closed in cold and foggy, and I could no 
 longer distinguish any object at more that a few yards 
 from the door. Bringing in as much wood as I thought 
 would last me for several hours, I closed the door ; and 
 for the first time in my life^ I found myself at night in a 
 house entirely alone. Then I began to ask myself a 
 thousand torturing questions as to the reason of their un- 
 usual absence. Had they lost their way in the woods ? 
 Could they have fallen in with wolves (one of my early 
 bugbears) ? Could any fatal accident have befallen them ? 
 I started up, opened the door, held my breath, and listen- 
 ed. The little brook lifted up its voice in loud, hoarse 
 wailing, or mocked, in its babbling to the stones, the 
 
BRIAN, THE STILL-HUNTER. 
 
 223 
 
 sound of human voices. As it became later, my fears in- 
 creased in proportion. I grew too superstitious and ner- 
 vous to keep the door open. I not only closed it, but 
 dragged a heavy box in front, for bolt there was none. 
 Several ill-looking men had, du.iiig the day, asked their 
 way to Toronto. I felt alarmed lest such rude wayfarers 
 should come to-night and demand a lodging, and find me 
 alone and unprotected. Once I thought of running across 
 to Mrs. Joe, and asking her to let one of the girls stay 
 with me until Moodie returned ; but the way in which I 
 had been repulsed in the evening prevented me from 
 making a second appeal to their charity. 
 
 Hour after hour wore away, and the crowing of the 
 cocks proclaimed midnight, and yet they came not. I 
 had burnt out all my wood, and I dared not open the 
 door to fetch in more. The candle was expiring in the 
 socket, and I had not courage to go u]) into the loft 
 and procure another before it went finally out. Cold, 
 heart-weary, and faint, I sat and cried. Every now and 
 then the furious barking of the dogs at the neighbouring 
 farms, and the loud cackling of the geese upon our own, 
 made me hope that they were coming ; and then I lis- 
 tened till the beating of my own heart excluded all other 
 sounds. Oh, that unwearied brook ! how it sobbed and 
 moaned like a fretful child; — what unreal terrors and 
 fanciful illusions my too active mind conjured up, whilst 
 listening to its mysterious tones ! 
 
 Just as the moon rose, the howling of a pack of wolves, 
 from the great swamp in our rear, filled the whole air. 
 
I ! 
 
 n 
 I! 
 
 P 
 
 224 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 Their yells \f ere answered by the barking of all the dog8 
 in the vicinity, and the geese, unwilling to be behind- 
 hand in the general confusion, set up the most discordant 
 screams. I had often heard, and even been amused, dur- 
 ing the winter, particularly on thaw nights, with hearing 
 the howls of these formidable wild beasts ; but I had 
 never before heard them alone, and when one dear to me 
 was abroad amid their haunts. They were directly in 
 the track that Moodie and Monaghan must have taken ; 
 and I now made no doubt that they had been attacked 
 and killed on their return through the woods with the 
 cow, and I wept and sobbed until the cold grey dawn 
 peered in upon me through the small dim window. I 
 have passed many ?. long cheerless night, when my dear 
 husband was away from me during the rebellion nd I 
 was left in my forest home with five little child %n J 
 only an old Irish woman to draw and cut wood for my 
 fire, and attend to the wants of the family, but that was 
 the saddest and longest night I ever remember. 
 
 Just as the day broke my friends the wolves set up a 
 parting benediction, so loud, and wild, and near to the 
 house, that I was afraid lest they should break through 
 the frail window, or come down the low, wide chimney, 
 and rob mo of my child. But their detestable howls died 
 away in the distance, and the bright sun rose up and dis- 
 persed the wild horrors of the night, and I looked once 
 more timidly around me. The sight of the table spread, 
 and the uneaten supper, renewed my grief, for I could not 
 divest myself of the idea that Moodie was dead. I open- 
 
BRIAN, THE STILL-HUNTER. 
 
 225 
 
 fld the door, and stepped forth into the pure air of the 
 •arly day. A solemn and beautiful repose still hung like 
 I veil over the face of Nature. The mists of night still 
 rested upon the majestic woods, and not a sound but the 
 rtowing of the waters went up in the vast stillness. The 
 earth had not yet raised her matin hymn to the throne of 
 the Creator. Sad at heart, and weary and worn in spirit, 
 I went down to the spring and washed my face and 
 head, and drank a deep draught of its icy waters. On 
 returning to the house, I met, near the door, old Brian 
 the hunter, with a large fox dangling across his shoulder, 
 and the dogs following at his heels. 
 
 " Why ! Mrs. Moodie, what is the matter ? You are 
 early abroad this morning, and look dreadful ill. Is any- 
 thing wrong at home ? Is the baby or your husband sick ?" 
 
 " Oh !" I cried, bursting into tears, " I fear he is killed 
 by the wolves." 
 
 The man stared at me, as if he doubted the evidence of 
 his senses, and well he might ; but this one idea had ta- 
 ken such strong possession of my mind that I could ad- 
 mit no other. I then told him, as well as I could find 
 words, the cause of my alarm, to which he listened very 
 kindly and patiently. 
 
 " Set your heart at rest ; your husband is safe. It is a 
 long journey on foot to MoUineux, to one unacquainted 
 with a blazed path in a bush road. They have staid all 
 night at the black man's shanty, and you will see them 
 back at noon." 
 
 I shook my head, and continued to weep. 
 
226 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 f 
 
 ,; 
 
 " Well, now, in order to satisfy you, I will saddle my 
 mare, and ride over to the nigger's, und bring you word 
 as fast as I can." 
 
 I thanked him sincerely for his kindness, and returned, 
 in somewhat better spirits, to the house. At ten o'clock 
 my good messenger returned with the glad tidings that 
 all was well. 
 
 The day before, when half the journey had been accom- 
 plished, John Monaghan let go the rope by which he led 
 the cow, and she had broken away through the woods, 
 and returned to her old master ; and when they again 
 reached his place, niglit had set in, and they were obliged 
 to wait until the return of day, Moodie laughed heartily 
 at all my fears ; but indeed I found them no joke. 
 
 Brian's eldest son, a lad of fourteen, was not exactly an 
 idiot, but what, in the old country, is very expressively 
 tcimed by the poor people a " natural." He could feed 
 and assist himself, had been taught imperfectly to 
 read a^id write, and could go to and from the town on er- 
 rands, and carry a message from one farni house to another ; 
 but he was a strange, wayward creature, and evidently 
 inheritev\ in no small degree, hh father's malady. 
 
 During the summer months he lived entirely in the 
 woods, near his father's dwelling, only returning to obtain 
 food, which was gene^'ally left for him in an outhouse. 
 In the winter, driven home by the severity of the weath3r, 
 he would sit for days together moping in the chimney- 
 corner, without taking the least notice of what was pas- 
 
 
BRIAN, THE STILL-HUNTER. 
 
 227 
 
 sing around him. Brian never mentioned this boy — who 
 had a strong, active figure, a handsome, but very, inex- 
 pressive face — without a deep sigh ; and I feel certain 
 that half his own dejection was occasioned by the mental 
 aberration of his child. 
 
 One day he sent the lad with a note to our house, to 
 know if Moodie would purchase the half of an ox that he 
 was going to kill. There happened to stand in the comer 
 of the room an open wood box, into which several bushels 
 of fine apples had been thrown ; and, while Moodie was 
 writing an answer to the note, the eyes of the idiot were 
 fastened, as if by some laagnetic influence, upon the 
 apples. Knowing that Brian had a very fine orchard, I 
 did not offer the boy any of the fruit. When the note 
 was finished, I handed it to him. The lad grasped it me- 
 chanically, without removing his fixed gaze from the 
 apples. 
 
 " Give that to your father, Tom." 
 
 The boy answered not — his ears, his eyes, his whole 
 soul, were concentrated in the ti -pies. Ten minutes 
 elapsed, but he stood motionless, like a pointer at a dead 
 set. ■ :■■' " ■■ 
 
 " My good boy, you can go." 
 
 He did not stir. 
 
 " Is there anything you want ?" 
 
 " I want," said the lad, without moving his eyes from 
 vhe objects of his intense desire, and speaking in a slow, 
 pointed manner, which ought to have been heard to be 
 fully appreciated, " I \^ ant ap-ples !" 
 
228 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 
 " Oh, if that's all, take what you like." 
 
 The permission once obtained, the boy flung himself 
 upon the box with the rapacity of a hawk upon its prey, 
 after being long poised in the air to fix its certain aim ; 
 thrusting his hands to the right and left, in order to se- 
 cure the finest specimens of the devoted fruit, scarcely al- 
 lowing himself time to breathe until he had filled his old 
 straw hat and all his pockets with apples. To help laugh- 
 ing was impossible ; while this new Tom o' Bedlam darted 
 from the house, and scampered across the field for dear 
 life, as if afraid that we should pursue him to rob him of 
 his prize. 
 
 It was during this winter that our friend Brian was 
 left a foftune of three hundred pounds per annum ; but it 
 was necessary for him to return to his native country, in 
 order to take possession of the property. This he. posi- 
 tively refused to do ; and when we remonstrated with 
 him on the apparent imbecility of this resolution, he de- 
 clared that he would not risk his life, in crossing the At- 
 lantic twice, for twenty times that sum. What strange 
 inconsistency was this, in a being who had three times 
 attempted to take away that which he dreaded so much 
 to lose accidentally ! 
 
 I was much amused with an account which he gave me, 
 in his quaint way, of an excursion he went upon with a 
 botanist, to collect specimens of the plants and flowers of 
 Upper Canada. 
 
 " It was a fine spring day, some ten years ago, and I 
 was yoking my oxen to drag in some oats I had just sown, 
 
BRIAN, THE STILL-HUNTER. 
 
 22f) 
 
 when a little, fat, punchy man, with a broad, red, good- 
 natured face, and carrying a small black leathern wallet 
 across his shoulder, called to me over the fence, and asked 
 
 me if my name was Brian B ? I said * Yes ; what of 
 
 that ?" 
 
 " ' Only you are the man I want to see. They tell me 
 that you are better acquainted with the woods than any 
 person in these parts ; and I will pay you anything in 
 reason if you will be my guide for a ftw days.' 
 
 " * Where do you want to go X said I. 
 
 " ' Nowhere in particular,' says he. * I want to go here 
 and there, in all directions, to collect plants and flowers.* 
 
 " That is still-hunting with a vengeance," thought I. 
 ' To-day I must drag in my oats. If to-morrow will suit, 
 we will be off.* 
 
 " * And your charge ?' said he. ' I like to be certain of 
 that.' 
 
 " ' A dollar a day. My time and labour upon my farm* 
 at this busy season, is worth more than that.* 
 
 " ' True,' said he. * Well, I'll give you what you ask. 
 At what time will you be ready to start ?* 
 
 " * By daybreak, if you wish it.' 
 
 " Away he went ; and by daylight next morning he 
 was at my door, mounted upon a stout French pony. 
 
 * What are you going to do with that beast X said 1. 
 
 * Horses are of no use on the road that you and I are to 
 travel. You had better leave him in my stable.' 
 
 " ' I want him to cany my traps,* said he ; it may be 
 some days that we shall be absent.' 
 
 I 
 
230 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 " I assured him that he must be his own beast of bur- 
 then, and carry his axe, and blanket, and wallet of food 
 upon his own back. The little body did not much relish 
 this arrangement ; but as there was no help for it, he very 
 good-naturedly complied. Off we set, and soon climbed 
 the steep ridge at the back of your farm, and got upon 
 
 lake plains. The woods were flush with flowers, 
 
 and the little man grew into such an ecstasy, that at every 
 fresh specimen he uttered a yell of joy, cut a caper in the 
 air, and flung himself down upon them, as if he was drunk 
 with delight. * Oh, what treasures ! what treasures !' he 
 cried. ' I shall make my fortune !' 
 
 " It is seldom I laugh," quoth Brian, " but I could not 
 help laughing at this odd little man ; for it was not the 
 beautiful blossoms, such as you delight to paint, that drew 
 forth these exclamations, but the queer little plants which 
 he had rummaged for at the roots of old trees, among the 
 moss and long grass. He sat upon a decayed trunk, which 
 lay in our path, I do believe for a long hour, making an 
 oration over some greyish things, spotted with red, that 
 grew upon it, which looked more like mould than plants, 
 declaring himself repaid for all the trouble and expense 
 he had been at, if it were only to obtain a sight of them. 
 I gathered him a beautiful blossom of the lady's slipper ; 
 but he pushed it back when I presented it to him, saying, 
 * Yes, yes ; 'tis very fine. I have seen that often before ; 
 but these lichens are splendid.' 
 
 " The man had so little taste that I thought him a fool, 
 and so I left him to talk to his dear plants, while I shot 
 
BRIAN, THE STILL-HUNTER. 
 
 231 
 
 partridges for our supper. We spent six days in the 
 woods, and the little man filled his tin case with aU sorts 
 of rubbish, as if he wilfully shut his eyes to the beautiful 
 flowers, and chose only to admire ugly, insignificant plants 
 that everybody else passes by without noticing, and which, 
 often as I had been in the woods, I never had observed 
 before. I never pursued a deer with such earnestness as 
 he continued his hunt for what he called ' specimens.' 
 
 " When we came to the Cold Creek, which is pretty 
 deep in places, he was in such a hurry to get at some 
 plants that grew under the water, that in reaching after 
 them he lost his balance, and fell head over heels into the 
 stream. He got a thorough ducking, and was in a terri- 
 ble fright; but he held on to the flowers, which had 
 caused the trouble, and thanked his stars that he had 
 saved them, as well as his life. Well, he was an innocent 
 man," continued Brian ; " a very little made him happy, 
 and at night he would sing and amuse himself like a 
 child. He gave me ten dollars for my trouble, and I 
 never saw him again ; but I often think of him, when 
 hunting in the woods that we wandered through toge- 
 ther, and I pluck the wee plants that he used to admire^ 
 and wonder why he preferred them to the fine flowers." 
 
 When our resolution was formed to sell our farm, and 
 take up our grant of land in the backwoods, no one was 
 so earnest in trying to perauade us to give up this ruinous 
 scheme as our friend Brian B , who became quite elo- 
 quent in his description of the trials and sorrows that 
 awaited us. During the last week of our stay in the 
 
232 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 >i 
 
 township of H , he visited us eveiy evening, and 
 
 never bade us good-night without a tear moistening his 
 cheek. We parted with the hunter as with an old friend ; 
 and we never met again. His fate was a sad one. After 
 we left that part of the country, he fell into a moping 
 melancholy, which ended in self-destruction. But a 
 kinder or warmer-hearted man, while he enjoyed the light 
 of reason, has seldom crossed our path. 
 
ar'-^f^ ^^ " st^ 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE CHARIVARI. 
 
 Our fate is i^eal'd ! 'Tis now in vain to sigh, 
 For home, or friends, ov country left behind. 
 
 Come, dry those tears, and lift the downcast eye 
 To the high heaven of hope, and be resign'd ; 
 
 Wisdom and time will justify the deed, 
 
 The eye will cease to weep, the heart to bleed. 
 
 Love's thrilling sympathies, affections pure. 
 All that endear'd and hallow'd your lost home, 
 
 Shall on a broad foundation, firm and sure, 
 Establish peace ; the wilderness become 
 
 Dear as the distant land you fondly prize, 
 
 Or dearer visions that in memory rise. 
 
 (HE moan of the wind tells of the conning rain that 
 it bears upon its wings ; the deep stillness of the 
 woods, and the lengthened shadows they cast upon the 
 stream, silently but surely foreshow the bursting of the 
 thunder-cloud ; and who that has lived for any time upon 
 the coast, can mistake the language of the waves — that 
 deep prophetic surging that ushers in the terrible gale ? 
 So it is with the human heart — it has its mysterious 
 warnings, its fits of sunshine and shade, of storm and 
 
234 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 calm, now elevated with anticipations of joy, now de- 
 presbed by dark presentiments of ill. 
 
 All who have ever trodden this earth, possessed of the 
 powers of thought and reflection, of tracing effects back 
 to their causes, have listened to these voices of the soul, 
 and secretly acknowledged their power ; but few, very 
 few, have had courage boldly to declare their belief in 
 them : the wisest and the best have given credence to 
 them, and the experience of every day proves their truth; 
 yea, the proverbs of past ages abound with allusions to 
 the same subject, and though the worldly may sneer, and 
 the good man reprobate the belief in a theory which he 
 considers dangerous, yet the former, when he appears led 
 by an iiresistible impulse to enter into some fortunate, 
 but until then unthought of, speculation ; and the latter, 
 when he devoutly exclaims that God has met him in 
 prayer, unconsciously acknowledges the same spiritual 
 agency, for my own part, I have no doubts upon the 
 subject, and have found many times, and a^ different 
 periods of my life, that the voice in the soul speaks 
 truly; that if we gave stricter heed to its mysterious 
 warnings, we should be saved much after-sorrow. 
 
 Well do I remember how sternly and solemnly this in- 
 ward monitor warned me of approaching ill, the last 
 nightj spent at home ; how it strove to draw me back 
 as from a fearful abyss, beseeching me not to leave Eng- 
 land and emigrate to Canada, and how gladly would I 
 have obeyed the injunction had it still been in my power. 
 I had bowed to a superior mandate, the command of duty; 
 
THE CHARIVARI. 
 
 235 
 
 for my husband's sake, for tho sake of the infant, whose 
 little bosom heaved against my swelling heart, I had con- 
 sented to bid adieu for ever to my native shores, and it 
 seemed both useless and sinful to draw back. 
 
 Yet, by what stern necessity were we driven forth to 
 seek a new home amid the western wilds ? We were not 
 compelled to emigrate. Bound to England by a thousand 
 holy and endearing ties, surrounded by a circle of chosen 
 friends, and happy in each other's love, we possessed all 
 that the world can bestow of good — but wealth. The 
 half-pay of a subaltern officer, managed with the most 
 rigid economy, is too small to supply the wants of a 
 family ; and if of a good family, not enough to maintain 
 his original standing in society. True, it may find his 
 children bread, it may clothe them indifferently, but it 
 leaves nothing for the indispensable requirements of 
 education, or the painful contingencies of sickness and 
 misfortune. In such a case, it is both wise and right to 
 emigrate ; Nature points it out as the only safe remedy 
 for the evils arising out of an over-dense population, and 
 her advice is always founded upon justice and truth. 
 
 Up to the period of which I now speak, we had not 
 experienced much inconvenience from our very limited 
 means. Our wants were few, and we enjoyed many of 
 the comforts and even, some of the luxuries of life ; and 
 all had gone on smoothly and lovinp'ly with us until the 
 birth of our first child. It was then that prudence whis- 
 pered to the father, " You are happy and contented now, 
 but this cannot always last ; the birth of that child, whom 
 
236 
 
 ROrOHTNfl IT TN THE BUSH. 
 
 you have liailed with as much rapture as though she were 
 boiii to inherit a noble estate, is to you the beginning of 
 care. Your family may increjise, and your wants will in- 
 crease in proportion ; out of what fund can you satisfy 
 their demands ? Some provision must bo made for the 
 future, and made quickly, while youth and health enable 
 you to combat successfully with the ills of life. When 
 you married for inclination, you knew that emigration 
 must be the result of such an act of imprudence in over- 
 populated England. Up and bo doing, while you still 
 possess the means of transporting yourself to a land 
 where the industrious can never lack bread, and where 
 there is a chance that wealth and independence may re- 
 ward virtuous toil." 
 
 Alas 1 that truth should ever whisper such unpleasant 
 realities to the lover of ease — to the poet, the author, the 
 nmsician, the man of books, of refined taste and gentle- 
 manly habits. Yet he took the hint, and began to bestir 
 himself with the spirit and energy so characteristic of 
 the glorious North, from whence he sprung. 
 
 " The sacrifice," he said, " must be made, and the sooner 
 the better. My dear wife, I feel confident that you will 
 raspond to the call of duty ; and hand-in-hand and 
 heart-in-heart we will go forth to meet difticulties, and, 
 by the help of God, to subdue them." 
 
 Dear husband ! I take shame to myself that my pur- 
 pose was less firm, that my heart lingered so far behind 
 yours in preparing for this great epoch in our lives ; that, 
 like Lot's wife, I still turned and looked back, and clung 
 
THE CHARIVARI. 
 
 237 
 
 with all my atrength to tlio land I was leaving. It was 
 not the har(Ishi()H of an oniigiant'H litb I dreaded. I could 
 boar more physical privationH philoHOphically enough ; it 
 was the Iohh of the Hocioty in which I had moved, the 
 want of congenial mindM, of persons engaged in congenial 
 pursuits, that made me ho rehictant to respon<l to my 
 husband's call. 
 
 I was the youngest in a family remarkable for their 
 literary attainments ; and, while yet a child, I had seen 
 riches melt away from our once prosperous homo, as the 
 Canadian snows dissolve before the first warm day?* of 
 spring, leaving the verduroless earth naked and bare. 
 
 There was, however, a spirit in my family that rose su- 
 perior to the crushing influences of adversity. Poverty, 
 which so often degrades the weak mind, became their 
 best teacher, the stern but fruitful parent of high resolve 
 and ennobling thought. The very misfortunes that over- 
 whelmed, became the source from whence they derived 
 both energy and strength, as the inundation of some 
 mighty river fertilises the shores over which it first spreads 
 ruin and desolation. Without losing aught of their for- 
 mer position in society, they dared to be poor ; to place 
 mind above matter, and make the talents with which the 
 great Father had liberally endowed them, work out their 
 appointed end. The world sneered, and summer friends 
 foreook them ; they turned their backs upon the world, 
 and upon the ephemeral tribes that live but in its smiles. 
 
 From out the solitude in which they dwelt, their names 
 went forth through the crowded cities of that cold, sneer- 
 
sas 
 
 HoirnTTINfl TT IN TIIK IIUHH. 
 
 in;; wniM, niul wtTo iiioiitiinird with i'(VM|KM't l»y iho wifio 
 luid {jfood ; and wliat ilioy lo.st in wtwdfcli, tli<\v nioro Muni 
 r(\i:rniiuMl in woU-carncul vopiitation. 
 
 Hron-j^ht np in tins hcIkmiI ofscir-dmial, it w«mld liavc 
 l>0(»n .strannv indot'd it' all its wiH(» and holy proropts had 
 hnniijjht i'ovih no convspondiiiii; IVnit. I endoavonrod to 
 ivconcilc niyseir to tho t'lian<jfi« that awaited nio, to awoni- 
 niodato my mind and pnrsuits to the new ])o.sition in 
 winch Hound mysolf j)Iacod. 
 
 Many a hnnl hattio had wc to fin;ht with old projudicoM, 
 and many proud .swellings of the heart to subdiie, before^ 
 we eould feel the least interest in the hind of our adop- 
 tion, or look ui)ou it as our home. 
 
 All wjis new, strange, and distasteful to us ; wo shrank 
 from the rudo, eoarse familiarity of the uneducated people 
 among whom we were thrown ; and they in return view- 
 Oil us as innovators, who wished to eiutail their indepen- 
 dence by expecting from them the kindly civilities and 
 gentle courtesies of a more T'eiined comnnniity. They con- 
 sidered us proud and shy, when we were only anxious not 
 to give offence. The semi-barbarous Yankee sc^uatters, 
 who had "left their country for their country's good," and 
 by whom we were surrounded in our first settlement, de- 
 tested us, and with them we could have no feeling in 
 connnon. We could neither lie nor cheat in our dealings 
 with them ; and they despised u.s for our ignorance in trad- 
 ing and our want of smartness. 
 
 The utter want of that common coui'tesy with which a 
 well-brought-up European addresses the poorest of his 
 
TIIK ('II\IIIVAUI. 
 
 *•>•• 
 
 brothron, in Hoverely loll at lii'Ht hy srltlurs in (jaimda. At 
 tlio period of which I am now Hpoakintf, tlio tithes (;f " Hir," 
 or " nuulam," wcro very rarely applied by interior i. Tliey 
 entered your house without knoctking ; and whil<i boast- 
 ing of their freedom, violated on(! of its dearest lawn, 
 which eonsiderH oven the cottage ^ti' the poorest lal)ouror 
 his castle, and liis privacy sacired. 
 
 "Is your man to hum?" — "Is the woman within?" 
 were tlu^ general incpiirios made to me by such guests, 
 while my bare-legged, rngged Irisli servants were always 
 spoken to as " sir" and " mam," as if to make the distinc- 
 tion more pointed. 
 
 Why they treated our claims to their resi)ect with 
 marked insult and rudeness, I never could satisfactorily 
 determine, in any way that could reflect honour on the 
 species, or even plead an excuse for its brutality, until I 
 found that this insolence was more generally practised by 
 the low, uneducated cmigi'ants from Britain, who better 
 understood your claims to their civility, than by the na- 
 tives themselves. Then I discovered the secret. 
 
 The unnatural restraint which society imposes upon 
 these people at homo forces them to treat their more for- 
 tunate brethren with a servile deference which is repug- 
 nant to their feelings, and is thrust upon them by the de- 
 pendent circumstances in which they are placed. This 
 homage to rank and education is not sincere. Hatred 
 and envy lie ranlcling at their heart, although hidden by 
 outward obsequiousness. Necessity compels their obedi- 
 ence ; they fawn, and cringe, and flatter the wealth on 
 
24() 
 
 HonnHrNo tT in Tici'i misii. 
 
 which thoy depend for bread. Bnfc \ei thorn ones emi- 
 Vfriito, the elo^ wliieli fettered them in Hud<leidy remov(Ml ; 
 th(>y are free ; and (lie dearest [uivile^c of this freedom Ih 
 to wreak u)>on their .su|)(MiorH th«^ lon^'-locki^d-up hatred 
 of tlieir liearts. They think they ean dehji.se yon to tlicir 
 level hy disallowini; all yoiir elainin to distin* tion ; while 
 they iiopi* to exalt tlnMnselves and their f''ll(»ws into ladies 
 and jjjentlemen hy sinkin^^ yon hack to the oidy title yon 
 reeeived from Na(nre — plain "man" and "woman." Oh- 
 how nwieh more honouriible thuu their vulu^v proteu- 
 
 1 
 
 sion.s 
 
 I never knew the real di<Tnity of theHi; .simijle epithets 
 nntil they were insnltingly thrnst npon ns hy the work- 
 injjf-classes of Canada. 
 
 Bnt from Miis folly the native-horn Canadian Is excm])t ; 
 it is only practi.-.ed hy the low-born Yankee, or the yan- 
 keefied British peasantry and meehanics. It originates 
 in the enormous reaetion springing out of a sudden eman- 
 eipation from a stjite of utter dependence into one of un- 
 restrained liberty. As sueh, 1 not only excuse, but for- 
 give it, for the principle is founded in nature ; and, how- 
 ever disgusting and distasteful to those nccustomed to 
 different treatment from their inferiors, it is better than 
 a hollow profession of duty and attachment urged upon 
 us by a false and unnatural position. Still, it is very irk- 
 some until you think more deeply upon it ; and then it 
 serves to amuse rather than to irritate. • 
 
 And here I would cL^jerve, before quitting this subject, 
 that of all foUies, that of takinjj^ out servants from the old 
 
TiiK c'lrAiuvAnr. 
 
 241 
 
 oountry ih oho of ilic gniateHt, ainl in Hurc to cn*l in the 
 loHH ot* tho inoiHjy «!X|K;n(l(;(l in tlieir piiHHngo, and to bc- 
 conio thu cauHi! ot'dt^f^ii (liHap[)ointin<Mit and niortifiuition 
 to your«(!ir, 
 
 Tlicy no Hooncr Hot foot upon tlio ('nMinlian hIioijih tlian 
 tJiiiy Imjcohm! poHHCHHod Avjtli tliis ul tia nrpublicafi Hpiiit. 
 All n;sp<!(tt lof tlicii (siiiployoiH, nil Hnhoidination is at an 
 (Slid ; th(! \i\vy nir ot* ( 'annda .sovrrs tho tio of niuiual ol»li- 
 gation which hound you togotln!r. Thoy fan(;y thoniHo!- 
 vt!H not only o(pia] to you in rank, > ut tl)at ignorance and 
 vulgarity give ihoin HUporior claims to notice. Thoy de- 
 iiiand tho highest \vngt!M, and gruinhlo at doing lialf tho 
 work, in return, wliich tlioy choc^rfuHy i)orforniedat liome. 
 Thoy demand to oat at your tahio, and to sit in your com- 
 pany, and if you rofu.sj to list<n to thoir dinhonost and 
 extravagant claims, tluiy toll you that " tl»oy are free ; 
 that no contract .signed in the old country is binding in 
 ' Moriky ;' tlifit you may look out for another person to 
 till thoir phico a:i soon as you like ; and tliat you may got 
 tho money expended in thoir j)asHage and outfit in Uie 
 best manner you can." 
 
 I was unforiunately persuaded to take out a woman 
 witli me as a nurs*; for my child during the voyage, a.s I 
 was in very poor hoaltli ; and her conduct, and the trouble 
 and expense she ^xrcasionod, woi-, a perfect illustration of 
 wliat I have described. 
 
 When we consider tlio dirt'c/ent position in which ser- 
 vants are placed in the old an<J now world, this conduct, 
 ungrateful as it then appearc<i t/j lur*, ought not to create 
 
242 
 
 ROUGHING TT IN THE BUSFl. 
 
 the least surprise. In Britain, for instanee, they are too 
 often dependent upon the cajirice of their employers for 
 bread. Their wages are low ; their moral condition still 
 lower. They arc bi'ought up in the most servile fear of 
 the higher classes, and they feel most keenly their hope- 
 less degradation, for no effort on their part can better 
 their condition. They know that if once they get a bad 
 character they must starve or steal ; and to this convic- 
 tion we are indebted for a great deal of their seeming 
 fidelity and long and laborious service in our families, 
 which we owe less to any moral perception on their i)art 
 of the superior kindness or excellence of their employers, 
 than to the mere feeling of assurance, that as long as they 
 do their work well, and are cheerful and obedient, they 
 will be punctually paid their wages, and well housed and fed. 
 
 Happy is it for them and their masters when even this 
 selfish bond of union exists between them ! 
 
 But in Camada the state of things in this respect is 
 wholly reversed. The serving class, comparatively speak- 
 ing, is smjill, and admits of little competition. Servants 
 that understnnd the work of the country are not easily 
 procured, and such always can command the highest wa- 
 ges. The possession of a good servant is such an addition 
 to comfort, that they are persons of no small consequence, 
 for the dread of starx^ing no longer frightens them into 
 servile obedience. They can live without you, and they 
 well know that you cannot do without them. If you at- 
 tempt to practise upon them that common vice of English 
 mistresses, to scold them for any slight omission or offence. 
 
THE CHARTVAUr. 
 
 243 
 
 you rorisc into acfcivo oimration all tlieir new-found .spirit 
 oftrccdom and opposition. They turn upon you witli a 
 torrent of abuse ; they demand their wages, and dechirc 
 thiiir intention of (|uitting you instantly. The more in- 
 convenient the time for you, the more bitter become their 
 insulting remarks. They tell you, with a high hand, that 
 "they are as good as you ; that they can get twenty bet- 
 tor places by the morrow, and that they don't care a snap 
 for youi finfjer." And away they bounce, leaving you to 
 finish a laigo wash, or a heavy jol) of ironing, in the best 
 way you can. 
 
 When we look upon such conduct as the re.'iction aris- 
 ing out of their former state, we cannot so much blame 
 them, and are oblin^ed to own that it is the natural result 
 of a sudden emancipation from former restraint. With 
 all their insolent airs of independence, I must confess 
 that I prefer the Canadian to the European servant. If 
 they turn out good and faithful, it springs more from 
 real respect and affection, and you possess in your domes- 
 tic a valuable assistant and frientl ; but this will nev3r 
 be the case with a servant brought out with you from 
 the old country, the reasons before assigned. The 
 
 ha])py independence enjoyed in this highly-favoured land 
 is nowhere better illustrated than in the fact that no do- 
 mestic can be treated with cruelty or insolence by an un- 
 benevolent or arrogant master. 
 
 Forty years has made as great a difference in the 
 state of society in Canada }is it has in its commercial and 
 political imp«^rt«.nee. When wi 
 
 •ame 
 
244 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 
 I 
 
 society was composed of elements which did not always 
 amalgamate in the best possible manner. 
 
 The Canadian women, while they retain the bloom and 
 freshness of youth, are exceedingly pretty ; but these 
 charms soon fade, owing, perha])s, to the fierce extremes 
 of their climate, or the withering effect of the dry, metal- 
 lic air of stoves, and their going too early into company 
 and being exposed, while yet children, to the noxious in- 
 fluence of late hours, and the sudden change from heated 
 rooms to the cold, biting, bitter winter blast. 
 
 Though small in stature, they are generally well and 
 symmetrically formed, and possess a graceful, easy car- 
 riage. The early age at which they marry and are intro- 
 duced into sorietv, takes from them all awkwardness and 
 restraint. 
 
 They have excellent practical abilities, which, with a 
 little mental cultuie, would render them intellectual and 
 charming companions. At present, too many of these 
 truly lovely girls remind one of choice flowers half 
 buried in weeds. 
 
 Music and dancing are their chief accomplishments. 
 Though possessiufT an excellent general taste for music, it 
 IH Hi'ldom in their power to bestow upon its study the 
 time whiih is required to make a really good musician. 
 They are admirable proficients in the other art, which 
 tlu*y acquire rea<lily, with the least instruction, often 
 without any instruction at all, beyond that which is 
 given almost intuitively by a good ear for time, and a 
 quick perception of the harmony of motion. 
 
THE CHARIVARI. 
 
 245 
 
 ilways 
 
 m. and 
 these 
 bremes 
 metal- 
 mpany 
 ous in- 
 heated 
 
 bU and 
 iy car- 
 3 intro- 
 ess and 
 
 The waltz is their favourite dance, in which old and 
 young join with the greatest avidity ; it is not unusual 
 to see parents and their grown-up children dancing in the 
 same set in a public ball-room. 
 
 On emtering one of the public ball-rooms, a stranger 
 would be delighted with such a display of pretty faces and 
 neat figures. I have hardly ever seen a really plain Can- 
 adian girl in her teens ; and a downright ugly one is al- 
 most unknown. 
 
 The high cheek-bones, wide mouth, and turned-up nose 
 of the Saxon race, so common among the lower classes in 
 Britain, are here succeeded in the next generation, by the 
 small oval face, straight nose, and beautifully-cut mouth 
 of the American ; while the glowing tint of the Albion 
 rose pales before the withering influence of late hours and 
 stove-heat. 
 
 They are naturally a fine people, and possess capabili- 
 ties and talentfi, which when improved by cultivation will 
 render them second to no people in the world ; and that* 
 period is not far distant. 
 
 To the benevolent philanthropist, whose heart has bled 
 over the misery and pauperism of the lower classes in 
 Great Britain, the almost entire absence of mendicity from 
 Canada would be highly gi-atifying. Canada has few, if 
 any, native beggars ; her objects of charity are generally 
 imported from the mother country, and these are never 
 suffered to want food or clothing. The Canadians are a 
 tnily charitable people ; no person in distress is driven 
 with hai-sh and duel language from their doors ; they not 
 
246 
 
 ROUGJHNG IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 only generously relieve the wants of sufiering strangers 
 cast upon their bounty, but they nurse them in sickness, 
 and use every means in their power to procure them em- 
 ployment. The number of orphan children yearly adopt- 
 ed by wealthy Canadians, and treated in every respect as 
 their own, is almost incredible. 
 
 It is a glorious country for the labouring classes, for 
 while blessed with health, they are always certain of em- 
 ployment, and certain also to derive from it ample means 
 of support for their families. An industrious, hard-work- 
 ing man in a few years is able to purchase from his sav- 
 ings a homestead of his own ; and in process of time be- 
 comes one of the most important and prosperous class of 
 settlers in Canada, her free and independent yeomen, who 
 form the bones and sinews of this rising country, and 
 from among whom she already begins to draw her sena- 
 tors, while their educated sons become the aristocrats of 
 the rising generation. 
 
 It has often been remarked to me by people long resi- 
 dent in the colony, that those who come to the country 
 destitute of means, but able and willing to work, in van - 
 ably improve their condition and become independent ; 
 while the gentleman who brings out with him a small 
 capital is too often tricked and cheated out of his proper- 
 ty, and drawn into rash and dangerous speculations which 
 terminate in his ruin. His children, neglected and unedu- 
 cated, but brought up with ideas far beyond their means, 
 and suffered to waste their time in idleness, seldom take to 
 work, and not unfrequently sink down to the lowest class. 
 
THE CHARIVARI. 
 
 247 
 
 It was towards the close of the summer of 1833, which 
 had been unusually cold and wet for Canada, while Moo- 
 die was «i bsent at D , inspecting a portion of his 
 
 government grant of land, that I was startled one night, 
 just before retiring to rest, by the sudden firing of guns 
 in our near vicinity, accompanied by shouts and yells, the 
 braying of horns, the beating of drums, and the barking 
 of all the dogs in the neighbourhood. I never heard a 
 more stunning uproar, of discordant and hideous sounds. 
 
 What could it all mean ? The maid-servant, as much 
 alarmed as myself, opened the door and listened. 
 
 " The goodness defend us !" she exclaimed, quickly clos- 
 ing it, and drawing a bolt seldom used. " We shall be 
 murdered. The Yankees must have taken Canada, and 
 are marching hither." 
 
 " Nonsense ! that cannot be. Besides, they would never 
 leave the main road to attack a poor place like this. Yet 
 the noise is very near. Hark ! they are firing again. 
 Bring me the hammer and some nails, and let us secure 
 the windows." 
 
 The next moment I laughed at my folly in attempting 
 to secure a log hut, when the application of a match to its 
 rotten walls would consume it in a few minutes. Still, 
 as the noise increased, I was really frightened. My ser- 
 vant, who was Irish (for my Scotch girl. Bell, had taken 
 to herself a husband, and I had been obliged to hire an- 
 other in her place, who had been only a few days in the 
 country), began to cry and wring her hands, and lament 
 her hard fate in coming to Canada. 
 
248 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 Just at this critical moment, when we were both self- 
 convicted of an anant cowardice, which would have 
 shamed a Canadian girl of six years old, Mrs. O tap- 
 ped at the door, and although generally a most unwel- 
 come visitor, from iicr gofjsiping, mischievous propensities, 
 I gladly let her in. 
 
 " Do tell me," I cried, " the meaning of this strange up- 
 roar ?" 
 
 " Oh, 'tis aothing," she replied, laughing. " You and 
 Mary look as white as a sheet; but you need not be 
 alarmed. A set of wild fellows have mefc to charivari Old 
 Satan, who ha^j married his fourth wife to-night, a young 
 girl of sixteen. I should not wonder if some mischief 
 happens among them, for they are a bad set, made up of 
 all the idle loafers about Port H and C ," 
 
 " What is a charivari ?" said I. " Do, prey, enlighten 
 me. 
 
 " Have you been nine months in Canada, and ask that 
 question ? Why, I thought you knew everything ! Well, 
 I will tell ycu what it is. The charivari is a custom that 
 the Canadians got from the French, in the Lower Pro- 
 vince, and a queer custom it is. When an old man mar- 
 ries a young wife, or an old woman a young husband, or 
 two old people, who ought to be thinking of their graves, 
 enter for the second or third time into the holy estate of 
 wedlock, as the priest calls it, all the idle young fellows 
 in the neighbourhood meet together to^ charivari them. 
 For this purpose they disguise themselves, blackening 
 their faces, putting their clothes on hind part before, and 
 
THE CHARIVARI. 
 
 249 
 
 wearing horrible masks, with grotesque caps on their 
 heads, adorned with cocks' feathers and bells. They then 
 form in a regular body, and proceed to the bridegroom's 
 house, to the sound of tin kettles, horns, and drums, craek- 
 ed fiddles, and all the discordant instruments they can 
 collect together. Thus equipped, they surround the house 
 where the wedding is held, just at the hour when the 
 happy couple are supposed to be about to retire to rest — 
 beating upon the door with clubs and staves, and demand- 
 ing of the bridegroom admittance to drink the bride's 
 health, or in lieu thereof to receive a certain sum of 
 money to treat the band at the nearest tavern. 
 
 " If the bridegroom refuses to appear and grant their 
 request, they commence the horrible din you heard, firing 
 guns charged with peas against the doors and windows, 
 rattling old pots and kettles, and abusing him for his 
 stinginess in no measured terms. Sometimes they break 
 open the doors, and seize upon the bridegroom ; and he 
 may esteem himself a very fortunate man, under such cir- 
 cumstances, if he escapes being ridden upon a rail, tarred 
 and feathered, and otherwise maltreated. I have known 
 many fatal accidents arise out of an imprudent refusal to 
 satisfy the demands of the assailants. People have even 
 lost their lives in the fray; and I think the Government 
 should interfere, and put down these riotous meetings. 
 Surely it is very hard that an old man cannot marry a 
 young gal, if she is willing to take him, without asking 
 the leave of such a. rabble as chat. What right have they 
 to interfere with his private afikirs ?" 
 Q 
 
250 
 
 UOUOIllNU IT IN THE HUtiH. 
 
 " What, indeud i" said I, fooling a truly BritiHli indig- 
 nation at such a lawleus infringement upon the natural 
 rights of man. 
 
 " I remember," continued Mrs. O , who had got fair- 
 ly started upon a favourite subject, " a scene of this kind, 
 
 that was acted two years ago, at , wiien old Mr. P 
 
 took his third wife. He was a ver^^ rich storekeeper, and 
 had made during the war a great deal of money. He felt 
 lonely in his old age, and married a young, handsome 
 widow, to enliven his house. The Jadsin the village were 
 determined to make him pay for his frolic. This got 
 
 wind, and Mr. P was advised to spend the hoiu^ymoon 
 
 in Toronto ; but he only laughed, and said that * he was 
 not going to be frightened from his comfortable home by 
 the threats of a few wil boys.' In the morning, he was 
 married at the church, and spent the day at home, where 
 he entertained a large party of his own and the bride's 
 friends. During the evening all the idle ©haps in the 
 town collected round the house, headed by a mad young 
 bookseller, who had offered himself for their captain, and» 
 in the usual forms, demanded a sight of the bride, and 
 liquor to drink her health. They were very good-natured- 
 ly received by Mr. P , who sent a friend down to them 
 
 to bid them welcome, and to inquire on what terms they 
 would consent to let him off", and disperse. 
 
 " The captain of the band demanded sixty dollars, as 
 he, Mr. P , could well afford to pay it. 
 
 " ' That's too much, my fine fellows !' cried Mr. P 
 
 from the open window. ' Say twenty-five, and I will 
 
TIfK CHARIVARI. 
 
 851 
 
 st'iul yon <l()vvn a cheque upon the bank of Moiitn'al tor 
 the money.* 
 
 "'Thirty ! thirty ! tliirty ! oM hoy !' roared a huii<h(;«l 
 voiees. ' Your wife's worth tliat. Dowti witli the casli, 
 and we will give vou three «'lieei >, ami three time three 
 tor the bride, and !(Mivc you to h]«<>j) in peace. It' you 
 hang back, wo will raise such a 'larum about ycnu* ears 
 that you shan't know that your wife's your own for a 
 month to come !' 
 
 " ' I'll give you twenty-five,' remonstrated the bri<1e- 
 groom, not the least alarmed at tlieir threats, and laugh- 
 ing all the time in his sleeve. 
 
 '"Thirty ; not one copper less !' Here they gave him 
 such a salute of diabolical sounds that ho ran from the 
 window with his hands to his ears, and his friend came 
 down to tho verandah, and gave them the sum they re- 
 quired. They did not expect that the old man would 
 have been so liberal, and they gave him the ' Hij), hip, 
 hip, hurrah !' in tino style, and marched off to finish tho 
 night and .spend the money at tho tavern." 
 
 " And do people .'dlow thcmsolvcs to be bullied out of 
 their prop^^ / by such ruffians ?" 
 
 "Ah, X 'v aear ! 'tis the custom of the country, and 'tis 
 not so easy to put it down. But I can tell you that a 
 charivari is not always a joke. 
 
 "There was another affair that happened just before 
 you came to the place, that occasioned no small talk in 
 the neighbourhood ; and well it might, for it was a most 
 tUsgi-aceful piece of busim>8S, and attended with very 
 
252 
 
 ROUOHINO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 serious consequences. Some of the charivari party hud to 
 Hy, or they might have ended their days in the penitentiary. 
 
 " There was a runaway nigger from the States came to 
 the viHage, and set up a barber's poll, and settled among 
 us. I am no friend to the blacks ; but really Tom Smith 
 was such a quiet, good-natured fellow, and so civil and 
 obliging, that he soon got a good business. He was 
 clever, too, and cbaned old clothes until they looked al- 
 most as good as new. Well, after a time he persuaded a 
 white girl to marry him. She was not a bad-looking 
 Irishwoman, and I can't think what bewitched the crea- 
 ture to take him. 
 
 "Her marriage with the black man created a great 
 sensation in the town. All the young fellows were indig- 
 nant at his presumption and her folly, and they deter- 
 mined to give them the charivari in fine style, and punish 
 them both for the in-sult they had [)ut upon the place. 
 
 " Some of the young gentlemen in the town joined in 
 the frolic. They went so far as to enter the house, drag 
 the poor nigger from his bed, and in spite of his shrieks 
 for mercy, they hurried him out into the cold air — for it 
 was winter — and almost naked as he was, rode him upon 
 a rail, and so ill-treated him that he died under their hands. 
 
 " They left the body, when they found what had hap- 
 pened, and fled. The ringleaders escaped across the lake 
 to the other side ; and those who remained could not be 
 sufficiently identified to bring them to trial. The affair 
 was hushed up ; but it gave great uneasiness to several 
 respectable families whose sons were in the scrape." 
 
THE CHARIVARI. 
 
 253 
 
 But scenes like these must be of rure occurrence ?" 
 
 " They are more comi.^on than you imai^nne. A man 
 
 was killed up at W the other day, and two others 
 
 dangerously wounded, at a chai'ivari. The bridegroom 
 was a man in middle life, a desperately resolute an-l pas- 
 sionate man, and he swore that if such rift-raff (hired to 
 interfere with him, he would shoot at them with as little 
 compunction as he would at so many crows. His threats 
 only increased the mischievous determination of the mob 
 to torment him ; and when he refused to admit their 
 deputation, or even to give them a portion of the wed- 
 ding cheer, they determined to frighten him into compli- 
 ance by firing several guns, loaded with peas, at his door. 
 Their salute was returned, from the chamber window, by 
 the discharge of a double-barrelled gun, loaded with buck- 
 shot. The crowd gave back with a tremendous yell. 
 Their leader was shot through the heart, and two of the 
 foremost in the scuffle dangerously wounded. They 
 vowed they would set fire to the house, but the bride- 
 groom boldly stepped to the window, and told them to 
 try it, and before they could light a torch he would fire 
 among them again, as his gun was reloaded, and he would 
 discharge it at them as long as one of them dared to re- 
 main on his premises. 
 
 "They cleared off; but though Mr. A was not 
 
 punished for the accident, as it was called, he became a 
 marked man, and lately left the colony, to settle in the 
 United States. 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Moodie, you look quite serious. I can, 
 
"f 
 
 "IM 
 
 UnircMMNU IT IN Till-; lUiMII. 
 
 1 
 
 u)\vovi y 
 
 UA 
 
 ! v«m ',\ \oH'A (iiMiuti 
 
 )i 
 
 li (mI. 
 
 A rl 
 
 iimvMii uuii 
 
 M 
 
 soMoni 'm« MlliM»»l('tl will) l»!nl "'nimp(|n(Mir('s if" jm>(»j(|! 
 would lnU(» i(, MM M Joke, ntnl join ill (ln» Mprcc." 
 
 A v«»rv ilijrni 
 
 lio.l 
 
 irofctMi 
 
 liii^, lor II lu'i<lo iiikI loiilt 
 
 ^rooin (o inaU(> (1umusoIv«vs (lie liingliing-Htock ol' sucli 
 
 1M>0| 
 
 ilo 
 
 Oil, l>nj, cnstlom rcfoiicilcM ns 1 
 
 O (>\('| 
 
 \ (liiiig 
 
 IIIK 
 
 I 'I 
 
 IM 
 
 lH>((«>r lo !4;ivt> 11)) M liido of our prido (linii I'lulniigcr Mic 
 liv«vs of our follow crojilurcM. I luivo Itccii told ii Htory dl' 
 
 a 
 
 hul 
 
 V in 
 
 <1io I 
 
 iOW«M' !'roviii('(' 
 
 \N 
 
 llO look lor !|01' HtM'Ollll 
 
 lius\>;iM(l a vouiia- I'cllow, who. mm I'ar .mm jiin 
 
 ivnuMi, luiif 
 
 fill li 
 
 iMV(» iMMMi iici" son 
 
 Til 
 
 Jigi^ wuM con 
 1<m| 
 
 lo nioi) HurroiiiK 
 
 luM' houst^ {\( nii^lil, r.'inviMg Imm* I'iHgy in an oprii collin, 
 supporlx^.l l\v six young lads, with wliii.o favourH in tlu'ir 
 hnts; and ihoy luiricd |Im> poor lirido, amid HlioutH of 
 laug1\(«M. and (1u^ usiial aoi onipaniiuontH, just opposite 
 lier drawing-rooiu wimlows. Tho widow wiuh liiglily 
 nnuiso'I hy tho wl\oU» of thoir pvoooiMlings, but .-.lie wis«ly 
 lot tluMu bavo tlioir own way. Sho liv(Ml in a .strong;' 
 stono housi\ and slio barnvl tlu» doors, and cloMod tlio iron 
 sl\iittoi>i, and sot thoin at dofianoo. 
 
 "* As long as she oujoyod lior hcalMi,' she said, ' tlicy 
 were woloonio to bury bor in oHigy as often as tb(>y 
 ]>loasod ; sbo was roally glad to bo able to aftbrd aniuso- 
 luont to sv) n\any |>et>plo.' 
 
 " Nig»it aftor night, during the whole of that winter, 
 the sauio }>arty beset her house with their diabolical 
 niusio ; but she only laughed at thoni. 
 
 '* The leader of the mob was a young lawyer from thcso 
 
THF. C'HAMfVAfn 
 
 ^nn 
 
 iinrlH, n Mn«l iniHrlunvMim loll«»w , llin w\i\nw Imcairif nWH.r»' 
 of tlnH, /uhI hIui invilofi liitn oih' pvctiitij/ io f,Mk»! t*'ii wiili 
 M Himill |>«*r'y af. Iinr lioumv I In »M'rf'|»<,«M| Iho invitMion, 
 wnH clinriiHMl vviMi Imt liparf.y iin«l l»«>K[»if,M}th! wf-lcorriM, 
 iiihI Hooii Ioimm! liiniM»'ir i\\i'\U'i tii Iiohim ; l»nt only iliink 
 liow iiHlmitusI li«' iiiuhI, Iinve frit, vvlicri Um> mmmm' 'larurn 
 (•omiiK'iKMjfl, ill l\\(: UHUal lif)ur, in liont of th»; ladyH 
 
 llOUHO ! 
 
 " ' Oil,' Hiiid MiH. II , Hiniliii;^ to licr ImnhjifHl, ' h*;n-. 
 
 (;(>in(MMir frinnilH. llMall,', Mr. K ♦'^'■y ainiiH^j uh ho 
 
 iiiiH'li (A' an (^vcnin^ tlint I mIiouM reel rjuit,»; ''nil without 
 tlicni.' 
 
 ' Kroin tluit hour ilio «;liarivari «;«!aH«!'l, an'J i\i(: old lady 
 was h>\'t in <injoy iln' Hocif^ty of lior younj^ liusWand in 
 qniot. 
 
 "J aHsuHi you, Mi-H. M — , tiiat tlif; r;liJirivari often 
 (l(;t(!rH old po(»|)l(? f'rnni innkinfj; disf^raociul inarriagfH, W) 
 that it in not wholly without itn uho." 
 
 A f(!W days after tin; cliJirivjiri affair, Mrv ]) .stcp- 
 
 j)ed in to hcv nic, Slio wan an Amc.ncMi ; a very rcHpcct- 
 ahlo ohl lady, who rosidod in a handsomo franifj-houH^'- 
 on tlio main road. I was at dinn<!r, tlio .sorvant-g^irl, in 
 the meanwhile, TmrHing my eliild at a di.stanec. Mfh. 
 
 I) Hat looking at me vary Heriou.sly until I concluded 
 
 my meal, her dinner havin;;^ been taken several hours 
 hefore. When I had HnlHlied, the girl gave me the child, 
 and then removed the dinner-Hcrvice into an out<;r room. 
 
 " You don't eat with your heli)s," said my visitor. " Is 
 not that something like pride V 
 
256 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 i 1 
 
 
 " It is custom," said I ; "we were not used to do so at 
 home, and I think that keeping a separate table is more 
 comfortable for both parties." 
 
 " Are you not both of the same flesh and blood ? The 
 rich and the poor meet together, and the Lord is the 
 maker of them all." 
 
 "True. Your quotation is just, and I assent to it with 
 all my he-irt. There is no difference in the flesh and 
 blood ; but education makes a difference in the mind and 
 manners, and till these can assimilate, it is better to keep 
 apart." 
 
 " Ah ; you are not a good Christian, Mrs. Moodie. The 
 Lord thought more of the poor than He did of the rich, 
 and He obtained more followers from among them. Now, 
 ive always takes our meals with our people." 
 
 Presently after, while talking over the affjiirs of our 
 households, I happened to say that the cow we had bought 
 of Mollineux had turned out extremely well, and gave a 
 great deal of milk. 
 
 " That man lived with us several years," she said ; " he 
 
 was an excellent servant, and D paid him his wages 
 
 in land. The farm that ho now occupies forms a part of 
 our U. E. grant. But, for all his good conduct, I never 
 could abide him, for being a black." 
 
 "Indeed! Is heaot the same flesh and blood as the rest ?" 
 
 The colour rose into Mrs. D 's sallow face, and she 
 
 answered with much warmth, 
 
 " What ! do you want to compare me with a nigger ?" 
 " Not exactly. But, after all, the colour makes the only 
 
THE CHARIVAllT. 
 
 257 
 
 difference between him and uneducated men of the same 
 class." 
 
 " Mrs. Moodie !" she exclaimed, holding up her hands in 
 pious horror ; " they are the children of the devil ! God 
 never condescended to make a nigger." 
 
 " Such an idea is an impeachment of the jwwer and 
 majesty of the Almiglity. How can you believe in such 
 an ignorant fable ?" 
 
 " Well, then," said my monitress, in higli dudgeon, " if 
 the devil did not make them, they are descended from 
 Cain." 
 
 " But all Cain's posterity perished in the flood." 
 
 My visitor was puzzled. 
 
 "The African race, it is generally believed, are the 
 descendants of Ham, and to many of tlieir tribes the curse 
 pronounced against him seems to cling. To be the ser- 
 vant of servants is bad enough, without our making their 
 condition worse by our cruel persecutions. Christ came 
 to seek and to save that which was lost; and in proof of 
 this inestimable promise, he did not reject the Ethiopian 
 iunuch who was baptized by Philip, and who was, doubt- 
 less, as black as the rest of his people. Did you not admit 
 ilollineux lo your table with your other helps ?" 
 
 "Mercy sake ! do you think that I would sit down at the 
 ame table with a nigger ? My helps would leave the 
 liouse if I dared to put such an affront upon them. Sit 
 tiown with a dirty black, indeed !" 
 
 "Do you think, Mrs. D , that there will be any 
 
 I 'Jgroes in heaven ?" 
 
! 
 
 258 
 
 ROUOHINC. IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 " Certainly not, or I, for one, would never wish to go 
 there ;" and out of the house .she .snllied in liigh disdain. 
 
 Yet this was the woma^i who liad given me such a 
 plausible lecture on pride. Alas, for our fallen nature! 
 Which is more subversive of peace and Christian fellow- 
 ship — ignorance of our own characters, or of the characters 
 of others ? 
 
 Our departure for the woods became now a frequent 
 theme of conversation. My husband had just returned 
 from an exploring exjjedition to the back woods, and was 
 delighted with the prospect of removing thither. 
 
 w3 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A JOURNEY TO TH^ WOODS. 
 
 'Tis well for us poor denizens of earth 
 That God conceals the future from our gaze ; 
 Or Hope, the blessed watcher (jn Tiife's tower, 
 Would fold her wings, and on the dreary waste 
 Close the bright eye that through the murky clouds 
 Of blank Despair still sees the gloriou.s sun. 
 
 T was a briglit frosty morning when I bade adieu to 
 ^^ the farm, the birthplace of my little Agnes, who, 
 nestled beneath my cloak, was sweetly rfieeping on my 
 knee, unconscious of the long journey before us into the 
 wilderness. The sun had not as yet risen. Anxious to 
 get to our place of destination before dark, we started as 
 early as we could. Our own fine team had been sold the 
 day before for forty pounds ; and one of our neighbours, a 
 
 Mr. D , was to convey us and our household goods to 
 
 Douro for the sum of twenty dollars. During the week 
 he had made several journeys, with furniture and stores ; 
 and all that now remained was to be conveyed to the 
 woods in two large lumber sleighs, one driven by himself, 
 the other by a younger brothei*. 
 
260 
 
 ROTTGHINa IT IN THE BITRTT. 
 
 
 It was noi without regret that I left M I setter, for so 
 my husband had called the place, after his father's estate 
 in Orkney. It was a beautiful, picturesque spot ; and, in 
 spite of the evil neighbourhood, I had learned to love it ; 
 indeed, it was much ngainst my wish that it was sold. I 
 had a great dislike to removing, which involves a neces- 
 sary loss, and is apt to give to the emigrant roving and 
 unsettled habits. But all regrets were now useless ; and 
 happily unconscious of the life of toil and anxiety that 
 awaited us in those dreadful woods, I tried my best to be 
 cheerful, and to regard the future with a hopeful eye. 
 
 Our driver was a shrewd, clever man for his opportuni- 
 ties. He took charge of the living cargo, which consisted 
 of my husband, our maid-servant, the two little children, 
 and myself — besides a large i. mper, full of poultry, a dog 
 and a cat. The lordly sultan of the imprisoned seraglio 
 thought fit to conduct himself in a very eccentric man- 
 ner, for at every barn-yard we happened to pass, he claj)- 
 ped his wings, and crowed so long and loud that it afford- 
 ed great amusement to tho wh'/e party, and doubtless 
 was very edifying to the poor hens, who lay huddled to- 
 gether as mute as mice. 
 
 ** That 'ere rooster thinks he's on the top of the heap," 
 said our driver, laughing. " I guess he's not used to trav- 
 elling in a close conveyance. Listen ! How all the crow- 
 ers in the neighbourhood give him back a note of defiance i 
 But he knows that he's safe enough at the bottom of the 
 tasket." 
 
 The day was so bright for the time of year (the first 
 
A JOURNEY TO THE WOODS. 
 
 261 
 
 week in February), that we suffered no inconvenience 
 from the cold. Little Katie was enchanted with the jing- 
 ling of the sleigh-bells, and, nestled among the packages, 
 kept singing or talking to the horses in her baby lingo. 
 Trifling as these little incidents were, before v/e had pro- 
 ceeded ten miles on our long journey, they revived my 
 drooping spirits, and I began to feel a lively interest in 
 the sceiiCs through which we were passing. 
 
 The first twenty miles of the way was over a hilly and 
 well-cleared country ; and as in winter the deep snow fills 
 up the inequalities, and makes all roads alike, we glided 
 as swiftly and steadily along as if they had been the best 
 highways in the world. Anon, the clearings began to di- 
 minish, and tall woods arose on either side of the path ; 
 their solemn aspect, and the deep silence that brooded 
 over their vast solitudes, inspii-ing the mind with a strange 
 awe. Not a breath of wind stirred the leafless branches, 
 whose huge shadows — reflected upon the dazzling white 
 covering of snow — lay so perfectly still, that it seemed as 
 if Nature had suspended her operations, that life and mo- 
 tion had ceased, and that she was sleeping in her wind- 
 ing-sheet, upon the bier of death. 
 
 " I guess you will find the woods pretty lonesome," said 
 our driver, whose thoughts had been evidently employed 
 on the same subject as our own. " We were once in the 
 woods, but emigration has stepped a-head of us, and made 
 our'n a cleared part of the country. When I was a boy, 
 all this country, for thirty miles on every side of us, was 
 bush land. As to Peterborough, the place was unknown ; 
 
262 
 
 KOUGUING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 not a settler had over parsed through the great swamp, 
 and some of them believed that it was the end of the 
 world." 
 
 " What swamp is that ?" asked I. 
 
 " Oh, the great Cavan swamp. We are just two miles 
 from it ; and T tell you that the horses will need a good 
 rest, and ourselves a good dinner, by the time we arc 
 through it. Ah ! Mrs. Moodie, if ever you travel that 
 way in summer, you will know sometl.'ng about corduroy 
 roads. I was 'most jolted to death last fall ; I thought it 
 would have been no bad notion to have insured my teeth 
 
 before I left C . I really expected that they would 
 
 have been shook out of my head before we had done 
 manoeuvring over the big logs. 
 
 " How will my crockery stand it in the next sleigh ?" 
 quoth I. " If the road is such as you describe, 1 am afraid 
 that I shall noo bring a whole plate to Douro." 
 
 " Oh ! the snow is a gi'eat leveller — it makes all rough 
 places smooth. But with regard to this swamp I have 
 something to tell you. About ten years ago, no one had 
 ever seen the other side of it ; and if pigs or cattle stray- 
 ed away into it, they fell a prey to the wolves and bears, 
 and were seldom recovered. 
 
 " An old Scotch emigrant, who had located himself on 
 this side of it, so often lost his beasts that he determined 
 during the summer season to try and explore the place, 
 and see if there were any end to it. So he takes an axe on 
 his shoulder, and a bag of provisions for a week, not for- 
 getting a flask of whiskey, and off he starts all alone, and 
 
A JOUKNEY TO THE WOODS. 
 
 263 
 
 tells his wife that if he never returned, she and little Jock 
 must try and carry on the farm without him ; but he was 
 determined to see the end of the swamp, even if it led to 
 the other world. He fell upon a fresh cattle track which 
 he followed all that day ; and towards night he found 
 liiraself in the heart of a tangled wilderness of bushes, and 
 himself half oaten up with mosquitoes and black-flies. 
 He was more than tempted to give in, and return home 
 by the first glimpse of light. 
 
 " The Scotch are a tough people ; they are not easily 
 daunted — a few difficulties only seem to make them more 
 eager to get on ; and he felt ashamed the next moment, as 
 he told me, of giving up. So he finds out a large thick 
 cedar-tree for his bed, clirabs up, and coiling himself 
 among the branches like a bear, he was soon fast asleep. 
 
 "The next morning, by daylight, he continued his jour- 
 ney, not forgetting to blaze with his axe the trees to the 
 right and left as he went along. The ground was so 
 spongy and wet that at every step he plunged up to his 
 knees in water, but he seemed no nearer the end of the 
 swamp than he had been the day before. He saw sever- 
 al deer, a racoon, and a ground-hog, during his walk, but 
 was unmolested by bears or wolves. Having passed 
 through several creeks, and killed a groat many snakes, 
 he felt so weary towards the close of the second day that 
 he determined to go home the next morning. But just as 
 he began to think his search was fruitless, he observed 
 that the cedars and tamaracks which had obstructed his 
 path became less numerous, and were succeeded by bass 
 
264 
 
 ROUOHIN(» IT IN THK BUSH. 
 
 and soft maple. The ground, also, became less moist, and 
 he was soon ascending a rising slope, covered with oak 
 and beech, which shaded land of the very best quality. 
 The old man was now fully convinced that he had cleared 
 the great swamp ; and that, instead of K'ading to the other 
 world, it had conducted him to a country that would yield 
 the very best returns for cultivation. His favourable re- 
 port led to the formation of the road that we are about to 
 cross, and to the settlement of Peterborough, which is one 
 of the most promising new settlements in this district, and 
 is surrounded by a s{)lendid back country." 
 
 "We were descending a very steep hill, and encountered 
 an ox-sleigh, which was crawling slowly up it in a con- 
 trary direction. Three people Avere seated at the bottom 
 of the vehicle upon straw, which made a cheap substitute 
 for buffalo-robes. Perched, as we were, upon the crown 
 of the height, we looked completely down into the sleigh, 
 and during the whole course of my life I never saw three 
 uglier mortals col'ected into such a narrow space. The 
 man was blear-eyed, with a hare-lip, through which pro- 
 truded two dreadful yellow teeth that resembled the tusks 
 of a boar. The woman was long-faced, high cheek-boned, 
 red-haired, and freckled all over like a toad, The boy re- 
 sembled his hideous mother, but with the addition of a 
 villanous obliquity of vision which rendered him the most 
 disgusting object in this singular trio. 
 
 As we passed them, our driver gave a knowing nod to 
 my husband, directing, at the same time, the most quizzi- 
 cal glance towards the strangers, as he exclaimed, " We are 
 
A .TOTTRNEY TO THK W00r>«. 
 
 265 
 
 in luck, Hir! I think tluifc 'ere sleigh iiiny l»e eulled 
 Beauty's egg-Imsket !" 
 
 We luade ourselves vory merry at the poor people's ex- 
 pense, an<l Mr. D , with his odd stories and Yankectied 
 
 expressions, amused the tedium of our progress through 
 the great swamp, which in summer presents for s('\ eral 
 miles one uniform hridge of lough and unequal logs, all 
 laid loosely across huge sleepers, so tlia, a-y jump up and 
 (Imvn, when i^ressed by the wheels, like the ke\ s of a 
 piano. The rough motion and jolting occasioned by this 
 •ollision is so distressing, that it never fails to entail upcn 
 the traveller sore bones and an aching head for the rest 
 )f the day. The path is so narrow over these logs that 
 two waggons 'annot pass without gi*eat difficulty, which 
 is rendered moi'c dangerous by the deip natural ditches on 
 either side of the bridge, formed by broad creeks that flow 
 )ut of the sw imp, and often terminate in mud-holes of 
 TOry ominous dimensions. The snow, however, hid from 
 
 lis all the ugly features of the road, and Mr. D stcer- 
 
 jd us through in perfect safety, and landed us at the door 
 tf a little log house which crowned the steep hill on the 
 other side of the swamp, and which he dignified with the 
 name of a tavern. 
 
 It was now two o'clock. We had been on the road 
 iince seven ; and men, women, and children were all 
 
 ready for the good dinner that Mr. D had promised 
 
 IS at this splendid house of entertainment, where we 
 '^ere destined to .stay for two hours, to refresh ourselves 
 md rest the horses. 
 R 
 

 v^, 
 
 o^A'^ 
 
 .^^ 
 
 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 1.25 
 
 Ki|2J |'>.5 
 
 ■ 50 "i^" IMSfli 
 
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 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 
 
 (716) 873-4503 
 

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 266 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. J , what have you got for our dinner ?" 
 
 said our driver, after he had seen to the accommodation 
 of his teams. 
 
 " Fritters* and pork, sir. Nothing else to be had in the 
 woods. Thank God, we have enough of that !" 
 
 D shrugged up his shoulders, and looked at us. 
 
 " We've plently of that same at home. But hunger's 
 good sauce. Come, be spry, widow, and see about it, for 
 I am very hungry." 
 
 I inquired for a private room for myself and the chil- 
 dren, but there were no private ro5his in the house. The 
 apartment we occupied was like the cobbler's stall in the 
 old song, and I was obliged to attend upon them in public. 
 
 " You have much to learn, ma'am, if you are going to 
 the woods," said Mrs. J . 
 
 "To unl'^arn, you mean," said Mr. D . "To tell 
 
 you the truth, Mrs. Moodie, ladies and gentlemen have no 
 business in the woods. Eddication spoils man or woman 
 for that location. So, widow (turning to our hostess), 
 you. are not tired of living alone yet ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; I have no wish for a second husband. I had 
 enough of the first. I like to have my own way — to lie 
 down mistress, and get up master." 
 
 " You don't like to be put out of your old way," re- 
 turned he, v/ith a mischievous glance. 
 
 She coloured very red ; but it might be the heat 
 of the fire over which she was frying the pork for our 
 dinner. 
 
 * Vulgar Canadian for potatoes. 
 
A JOURNEY TO THE WOODS. 
 
 267 
 
 I was very hungry, but I felt no appetite for the dish sue 
 was preparing for us. It proved salt, hard, and \insavoury. 
 
 J) pronounced it very bad, and the whiskey still 
 
 worse, with which he washed it down. 
 
 I asked for a cup of tea and a slicn of bread. But they 
 were out of tea, and the hop-rising had failed, and there 
 was no bread in the house. For this disgusting meal we 
 paid at the rate of a quarter of a dollar a-head. 
 
 I was glad when the horses being again put to, we es- 
 caped from the rank odour of the fried pork, and were 
 once more in the fresh air. 
 
 " Well, mister ; did not you grudge your money for 
 
 that bad meat ?" said D , when we were once more 
 
 seated in the sleigh. " But in these parts the worse the 
 fare the higher the charge." 
 
 " I would not have cared," said I, " if I could have got 
 a cup of tea." 
 
 " Tea ! it's poor trash. I never could drink tea in my 
 life. But I like coffee, when 'tis boiled till it's quite 
 black. But coffee is not good without plenty of trim- 
 mings." 
 
 " What do you mean by trimmings ?" 
 
 He laughed. " Good sugar, and sweet cream. Coffee 
 is not worth drinking without trimmings." 
 
 Often in after-years have I recalled the coffee trim- 
 mings, when endeavouring to drink the vile stuff which 
 goes by the name of coffee in the houses of entertain- 
 ment in the country. 
 
 We had now passed through the narrow strip of clear- 
 
2G8 
 
 ROTJGHINO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 ing which suiToimded the tavern, and again entered upon 
 the woods. It was near sunset, and we were rapidly 
 descending a steep hill, when one of the traces that held 
 
 our sleigh suddenly broke. D pulled up in order to 
 
 repair the damage. His brother's team was close behind, 
 and our unexpected stand-still brought the horses upon us 
 
 before J. D could stop them. I received so violent a 
 
 blow from the head of one of them, just in the back of 
 the neck, that for a few minutes I was stunned and in- 
 sensible. When I recovered, 1 was supported in the arms 
 
 of my husVmnd, over whose knees I was leaning, and D 
 
 was rubbing my hands and temples with snow. 
 
 " There, Mr. Moodie, she's coming-to. I thought she 
 was killed. I have seen a man before now killed by a 
 blow from a horse's head in the like manner." As soon 
 as we could, we resumed our places in the sleigh ; but all 
 enjoyment of our journey, had it been otherwise possible, 
 was gone. 
 
 When we reached Petbrborough, Moodie wished us to 
 remain at the inn all night, as we had still eleven miles 
 of our journey to perform, and that through a blazed 
 forest-road, little travelled, and very much impeded by 
 
 fallen trees and other obstacles ; but D was anxious 
 
 to get back as soon as possible to his own home, and he 
 urged us very pathetically to proceed. 
 
 The moon arose during our stay at the inn, and gleamed 
 upon the straggling frame-houses which then formed 
 the now populous and thriving town of Peterborough. 
 We crossed the wild, rushing, beautiful Otonabee river 
 
A JOUKNEY TO THE WOODS. 
 
 269 
 
 by a rude bridge, and soon found ourselves journeying 
 over the plains or level heights beyond the village, which 
 were thinly wooded with picturesque groups of oak and 
 pine, and very much resembled a gentleman's park at 
 home. 
 
 Far below, to our right (for we were upon the Smith- 
 town side) we heard the rushing of the river, whose 
 raj)id waters never receive curb from the iron chain of 
 winter. Even while the rocky banks are coated with ice, 
 and the frost-king suspends from every twig and branch 
 the most beautiful and fantastic crystals, the black 
 waters rush foaming along, a thick steam rising con- 
 stantly above the rapids, as from a boiling pot. The 
 shores vibrate and tremble beneath the force of the im- 
 petuous flood, as it whirls round cedar-crowned islands 
 and opposing rocks, and hurries on to pour its tribute 
 into the Rice Lake, to swell the calm, majestic grandeur 
 of the Trent, till its waters are lost in the beautiful bay 
 of Quints, and finally merged in the blue ocean of On- 
 
 The most renowned of our English rivers dwindle into 
 little muddy rills when compared with the sublimity of 
 the Canadian waters. No language can adequately ex- 
 press the solemn grandeur of her lake and river scenery ; 
 the glorious islands that float, like visions from fairy land, 
 upon the bosom of these azure mirrors of her cloudless 
 skies. No dreary breadth of marshes, covered with flags, 
 hide from our gaze the expanse of heaven-tinted waters ; 
 no foul mud-banks spread the unwholesome exhalations 
 
270 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 M 
 
 around. The rocky shores are crowned with the cedar, 
 the birch, the alder, and soft maple, that dip their long 
 tresses in the pure stream ; from every crevice in the 
 limestone the harebell and Canadian rose wave their 
 graceful blossoms. 
 
 The fiercest droughts of summer may diminish the 
 volume and power of these romantic streams, but it 
 never leaves their rocky channels bare, nor checks the 
 mournful music of their dancing waves. 
 
 Through the openings in the forest, we now and then 
 caught the silver gleam of the river tumbling on in moon- 
 light splendour, while the hoarse chiding of the wind in 
 the lofty pines above us gave a fitting response to the 
 melancholy cadence of the waters. 
 
 The children had fallen asleep. A deep silence per- 
 vaded the party. Night was above us with her mysteri- 
 ous stars. The ancient forest stretched around us on 
 every side, and a foreboding sadness sunk upon my heart. 
 Memory was busy with the events of many years. I re- 
 traced step by step the pilgrimage of my past life, until, 
 arriving at this passage in the sombre history, I gazed 
 through tears upon the singularly savage scene around 
 me, and secretly marvelled, " What brought me here ?" 
 
 " Providence," was the answer whicli the soul gave. 
 " Not for your own welfare, perhaps, but for the welfare 
 of your children, the unerring hand of the Great Father 
 has led you here. You form a connecting link in the 
 destinies of many. It is impossible for any human crea- 
 ture to live for himself alone. It may be your lot to suf- 
 
A JOURNEY TO THE WOODS. 
 
 271 
 
 fer, but others will reap a benefit from your trials. Look 
 up with confidence to Heaven, and the sun of hope will 
 yet shed a cheering beam through the forbidding depths 
 of this tangled wilderness." 
 
 The road now became so bad that Mr. D was 
 
 obliged to dismount, and lead his horses through the more 
 intricate passages. The animals themselves, weary with 
 their long journey and heavy load, proceeded at footfall. 
 The moon, too, had deserted us, and the only light we 
 had to guide us through the dim arches of the forest was 
 from the snow and the stars, which now peered down 
 upon us, through the leafless branches of the trees, with 
 uncommon brilliancy. 
 
 " It will be past midnight before we reach your bro- 
 ther's clearing" (where we expected to spend the night), 
 
 said D . " I wish, Mr. Moodie, we had followed your 
 
 advice and staid at Peterborough. How fares it with 
 you, Mrs. Moodie, and the young ones ? It is growing 
 very cold." 
 
 We were now in the heart of a dark cedar swamp, and 
 my mind was haunted with visions of wolvos and bears ; 
 but beyond the long, wild howl of a solitary wolf, no 
 other sound awoke the sepulchral silence of that dismal- 
 looking wood. 
 
 " What a gloomy spot !" said I to my husband. " In 
 the old country, superstition would people it with ghosts." 
 
 " Ghosts ! There are no ghosts in Canada !" said Mr. 
 D . " The country is too new for ghosts. No Cana- 
 dian is afeard of ghosts. It is only in old countries, like 
 
i-ll til 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 your'n, that are full of sin and wickedness, that people 
 believe in such nonsense. No human hnbitation has 
 ever been erected in this wood through which you are 
 passing. Until a very few years ago, few white persons 
 had ever passed through it ; and the Red Man v-. uld not 
 pitch his tent in such a ])lace a; this. Now, ghosts, as I 
 understand the word, are the spirits of bad men, that are 
 not allowed by Providence to rest in their graves, but, 
 for a punishment, are made to haunt the spots where 
 their worst deeds were committed. I don't believe in all 
 this ; but, supposing it to be true, bad men must have 
 died here before their spirits could haunt the place. 
 Now, it is more than probable that no person ever ended 
 his days in this forest, so that it would be folly to think 
 of seeing his ghost." 
 
 This theory of Mr. D 's had the merit of originality, 
 
 and it is not improbable that the utter disbelief in super- 
 natural appearances which is common to most native-born 
 Canadians, is the result of the same very reasonable mode 
 of arguing. The unpeopled wastes of Canada must pre- 
 sent the same aspect to the new settler that the world did 
 to our first parents after their expulsion from the Garden 
 of Eden ; all the sin which could defile the spot, or haunt 
 it with the association of departed evil, is concentrated 
 in their own persons. Bad spirits cannot be supposed to 
 linger near a place where crime has never been committed. 
 The belief in ghosts, so prevalent in old countries, must 
 first have had its foundation in the consciousness of guilt. 
 
 After clearing the low, swampy portion of the woods, 
 
A JOUUNEY TO THE WOODS. 
 
 273 
 
 with much dithculty, and the frequent application of the 
 axe, to cut away tlie fallen timber that ini[)eded our pro- 
 gress, our ears were assailed by a low, roaring', rushing 
 sound, as of the falling of waters. 
 
 "Tliat is Herriot'*^ Falls," said our guide. "We are 
 within two miles of our destination." 
 
 Oh, M^elcome sound! But those two miles a})peared 
 more lengthy than the whole journey. Thick clouds, 
 that threatened a snow-storm, had blotted out the stars, 
 and we continued to grope our way through a narrow, 
 rocky path, upon the edge of the river, in almost total 
 darkness. I now felt the chilluess of the midnight hour, 
 and the fatigue of the long journey, witli double force, 
 and envied the servant and children, who had been sleep- 
 ing ever since we left Peterborough. We now descended 
 the steep bank, and prepared to cross the rapids. 
 
 Dark as it was, I looked with a feeling of dread upon 
 the foaming waters as they tumbled over their bed of 
 rocks, their white crests flashing, life-like, amid the dark- 
 ness of the night. 
 
 " This is an ugly bridge over such a dangerous place," 
 
 said D , as he stood up in the sleigh and urged his 
 
 tired team across the miserable, insecure log bridge, where 
 darkness and death raged below, and one false step of his 
 jaded horses would have plunged us into both. I must 
 confess I drew a freer breath when the bridge wfis crossed, 
 and D congratulated us on our safe arrival in Douro. 
 
 We now continued our journey along the left bank of 
 the river, but when in sight of Mr. S 's clearing, a 
 
274 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 large pine-tree, which had newly fallen across the narrow 
 path, brought the teams to a stand-still. 
 
 The mighty trunk which had lately formed one of the 
 stately pillars in the sylvan temple of Nature, was of too 
 large dimensions to chop in two with axes ; and after 
 about half-an-hour's labour, which to me, poor, cold, 
 weary wight ! seemed an age, the males of the party 
 abandoned the task in despair. To go round it was im- 
 possible; its roots were concealed in an impenetrable wall 
 of cedar-jungle on the right-hand side of the road, and 
 its huge branches hung over the precipitous bank of the 
 river, 
 
 " We must tr}'^ and make the horses jump over it," 
 
 said D . " We may get an upset, but there is no help 
 
 for it ; we must either make the experiment, or stay here 
 all night, and I am too cold and hungry for that — so here 
 goes." He urged his horses to leap the log ; restraining 
 their ardour for a moment as the sleigh rested on the top 
 of the formidable barrier, but so nicely balanced, that the 
 difference of a straw would almost have overturned the 
 heavily-laden vehicle and its helpless inmates. We, how- 
 ever, cleared it in safety. He now stopped, and gave 
 directions to his brother to follow the same plan that he 
 had adopted ; but whether the young man had less cool- 
 ness, or the horses in his team were more difficult to 
 manage, I cannot tell : the sleigh, as it hung poised upon 
 the top of the log, was overturned with a loud crash, and 
 all my household goods and chattels were scattered over 
 the road. 
 
/ JOURNEY TO THE WOODS. 
 
 275 
 
 Alas, for my crockery and stone china ! scarcely one 
 article remained unbroken. 
 
 " Never fret about the china," said Moodie ; " thank 
 God, the man and the horses are uninjured." 
 
 I should have felt more thankful had the crocks been 
 spared too ; for, like most of my sex, I had a tender re- 
 gard for china, and I knew that no fresh supply could bo 
 obtained in this part of ohe world. Leaving his brother 
 
 to collect the scattered fragments, D proceeded on his 
 
 journey. We left the road, and were winding our way 
 over a steep hill, covered with heaps of brush and fallen 
 timber, and as we reached the top, a light gleamed cheer- 
 ily from the windows of a log house, and the next mo- 
 ment we were at my brother-in-law's door. 
 
 My brother-in-law and his family had retired to rest, 
 but they instantly rose to receive the way worn travel- 
 lers ; and I never er joyed more heartily a warm welcome 
 after a long day of intense fatigue, than I did that night 
 of my first sojourn in the backwoods. 
 
 THE OTONABEE. 
 
 Dark, rushing, foaming river ! 
 I love the solemn sound 
 That shakes thy shores around. 
 
 And hoarsely murmurs, ever, 
 As thy waters onward bound, 
 Like a rash, unbridled steed 
 
 Flying madly on its course ; 
 
 That shakes with thundering force 
 The vale and trembling mead. 
 
 So thy billows downward sweep, 
 
27G 
 
 KOUOHINU IT IN TUK HUSH. 
 
 Nor rock nor troo can stay 
 Thoir fierce, impetuouH way ; 
 Now in oddicH whirlin<^ deep, 
 Now in rapids wliito with spray. 
 
 1 lovo theo, lonely river ! 
 
 Thy hollow restless roar, 
 
 Thy cedar-girded* shoie ; 
 The rocky isles that sever 
 
 The waves that round them ponr. 
 Katchawanookt basks in light, 
 But thy ctu'rents woo the shade 
 By the lofty pine-trees made, 
 
 That cast a gloom like night, 
 Ere day's last glories fade. 
 
 Thy solitary voice 
 The same bold anthem sung 
 When Nature's frame was young. 
 
 No longer shall rejoice 
 The woods where erst it rung. 
 
 Lament, lament, wild river ! 
 
 A hand is on thy manej 
 
 That will bind thee in a chain 
 No force of thine can sever. 
 
 Thy furious headhmg tide, 
 In murmurs soft and low. 
 
 Is destined yet to glide 
 To meet the lake below ; 
 
 And many a bark shall ride 
 Securely on thy breast, 
 
 To waft across the main 
 
 Rich stores of golden grain 
 From the valleys of the West. 
 
 *Tho banks of the river have since been denuded of trees. The rocks that formed 
 tho falls and rapids blasted out. It is tame enough now. 
 
 tThe Indian name for one of the many expansions of this beautiful river. 
 
 I Some idea of the rapidity of this river may be formed from the fact that heavy rafts 
 of timber are floated down from Hcrriot's Falls, a distance of nine miles from Peter- 
 borouffh, in less than an hour. The shores are bold and rocky, and abound in beautiful 
 and picturesque views. 
 
CHAPTER XITI. 
 
 18 that formed 
 
 THE WILDERNESS, AND OUR INDIAN FRIENDS. 
 
 Man of strange race ! stem dweller of the wild ! 
 Nature's free-born, untamed, and daring child ! 
 
 HE clouds of the preceding ni^ht, instead of dissolv- 
 ing in snow, brought on a rapid thaw. A thaw in 
 the middle of winter is the most disagreeable change 
 that can be imagined. After several weeks of clear, 
 bright, bracing, frosty weather, with a serene atmosphere 
 and cloudless sky, you awake one morning surprised at the 
 change in the temperature ; and, upon looking out of the 
 window, behold the woods obscured by a murky haze — 
 not so dense as an English November fog, but more black 
 and lowering^ — and the heavens shrouded in a uniform 
 covering of leaden-coloured clouds, deepening into a livid 
 indigo at the edge of the horizon. The snow, no longer 
 hard andglittering, has become softand spongy,and the foot 
 slips into a wet and insidiously-yielding mass at every step. 
 From the roof pours down a continuous stream of water, 
 and the branches of the trees, collecting the moisture of 
 the reeking atmosphere, shower it upon the earth from 
 
278 
 
 UOUOTIINO IT IN TlIK HUSH. 
 
 every drippinjj^ twig. Tho (HioorlesM and uiiootntbrtablo, 
 uspeet of tilings without never fails to produee a corrcH- 
 ])oiuling eHeet upon the nunds of those within, and casts 
 Huoh a tlamp upon the spirits tluit it appears to destroy 
 for a time all sense of enjoyment. Many persons (and 
 myself aujong the munber) are made aware of the ap[)roaeh 
 of a thunderstorm by an intense pain aiid weiglit about 
 the hea<l; and I have heard numl)ers of Canadians complain 
 that a thaw always made them feel bilious and heavy, 
 and greatly depressed their animal spirits. 
 
 I had a grojit desire to visit our new location, but when 
 I looked out upon the cheerless waste, 1 gave up the idea, 
 and contented myself with hoping for a better day on the 
 morrow ; but many morrows came and went before a frost 
 agjiin hardened the road sufliciently for me to make the 
 attempt. ^ 
 
 The prospect from the windows of my sister's log hut 
 was not very i)repossessing. The small lake in front, which 
 formed such a pretty object in summer, now loo^ jd like 
 an extensive field covered with snow, hemmed in from the 
 rest of the world by a dark bolt of sombre pine-woods. 
 The cle<iring round the house was very small, and only 
 just reclaimed from the wdderness, and the greater part 
 of it covered with piles of brush wood, to be burnt the first 
 dry days of spring. The charred and blackened stumps 
 on the few acres that had been cleared during the preced- 
 ing year were everything but picturesque ; and I concluded, 
 OS I turned, disgusted, from the prospect before me, that 
 there was very little beauty to be found in the backwoods* 
 
THE WILDEUNKHS, AND OUU INDIAN KRIKNDS. 27!> 
 
 But T came to tliis (loc'lsioii tluriii}^ a ( ?aiuuliaii thaw, We it 
 rcmemhenid, wlioii one is wuiit to view every object with 
 jaundiced eyes. 
 
 Moodie had only been able to Heeure Hixty-.six acres of 
 liis govcrnnuMit grant upon tlie Upper Kntciuiwnnook 
 Lake, whiitli, being interpreted, means in l-jnglish, the 
 "Lako of the Watiu falls," a very jioetieal meaning, which 
 most Indian luinies have. He bad, however, secured a 
 clergy roservii of two liundred acres a<ljoining; and lie 
 afterwards punihjised a fine lot, which likt.'wise loimed part 
 of the same block, one liundrejl acres, for £150.* This 
 was an enormously high price for wild land; but the pros- 
 pect of opening the Trcaitand Otonabee for the navigation 
 of steamboats and other small (;raft, was at that j)eriod 
 a favorite speculation, and its practicability, and the great 
 advantages to be derived from it, were so wid«.'ly believed 
 as to raise the value of the wild laniis along these remote 
 waters to an enormous price; and settlei*s in the vicinity 
 were eager to secure lots, at any sacrifice, along tbeir 
 shores. 
 
 Our government grant was upon the lake shore, and 
 Moodie bad chosen for the site of his log house a bank that 
 sloped gradually from the edge of the water, until it attain- 
 ed to the dignity of a hill. Along the top of this ridge, the 
 forest road ran, and midway down the hill, our humble 
 home, already nearly completed, stood, surrounded by the 
 eternal forest. A few trees had been cleared in its 'mme- 
 
 *After a lapse of fifteen years, we have been glAii to aell these Iota of land, after 
 contiderabia cleariugs bad betn made upon them, fur less thtui they urifrinally coat lu. 
 
280 
 
 ROUGHING TT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 
 
 5 
 
 I 
 
 diate vicinity, just sufficient to allow the workmen to pro- 
 ceed, and to prevent the fall of any tree injui ing the 
 building, or the danger of its taking fire during the process 
 of burning the fallow. 
 
 A neighbour had undertaken to build this rude dwelling 
 by contract, and was to have it ready for us by the first 
 week in the new year. The want of boards to make the 
 divisions in the apartments alone hindered him from falfil- 
 ing his contract. These had lately been procured, and the 
 house was to be ready for our reception in the course of 
 a week. Our trunks and baggage had already been con- 
 veyed thither by Mr. D ; and, in spite of my sister s 
 
 kindness and hospitality, I longed to find myself once more 
 settled in a home of my own. 
 
 The day after our arrival,! was agreeably surprised by a 
 visit from Monaghan, whom Moodie had once more taken 
 into his service. The poor fellow was delighted that his 
 nurse-child, as he always called little Katie, had not for- 
 gotten him, but evinced the most lively satisfaction at the 
 sight of her dark friend. 
 
 Early every morning, Moodie went offto the house; and 
 the first fine day, my sister undertook to escort me through 
 the wood to inspect it. The proposal was joy fully accepted; 
 and although I felt rather timid when I found myself with 
 only my female companion in the vast forest, I kept my 
 fears to myself, lest I should be laughed at. 
 
 The snow had been so greatly decreased by the late 
 thaw, that it had been converted into a coating of ice, 
 which aj0forded a dangerous and slippery footing. My 
 
THE WILDERNESS, AND OUR INDIAN FRIENDS. 281 
 
 sister, who had resided for nearly twelve months in the 
 woods, was provided for her walk with Indian moccasins, 
 wrhich rendered her quite independent ; but I stumbled at 
 (3 very step. The sun shone brightly, the air was clear and 
 Indgorating, and, in spite of the treacherous ground and 
 my foolish fears, I greatly enjoyed my first walk in the 
 wroods. Naturally of a cheerful, hopeful disposition, my 
 sister was enthusiastic in her admiration of the woods. 
 She drew such a lively picture of the charms of a summer 
 residence in the forest, that I began to feel greatly interest- 
 ed in her descriptions, and to rejoice that we, too, were to 
 be her near neighbours and dwellers in the woods ; and 
 this circumstance not a little reconciled me to the 
 change. 
 
 Hoping that my husband would derive an income equal 
 to the one he had parted with from the investment of the 
 price of his commission in the steam-boat stock, I felt no 
 dread of want. Our legacy of £700 had afforded us means 
 to purchase land, build our house, and give out a large por- 
 tion of land to be cleared, and, with a considerable sum of 
 money still in hand, our prospects for the future were in 
 no way discouraging. 
 
 When we reached the top of the ridge that overlooked 
 our cot, my sister stopped, and pointed out a log-house 
 
 among the trees. "There, S ," she said, "is your house. 
 
 When that black cedar swamp is cleared away, that now 
 hides the lake from us, you will have a very pretty view." 
 My conversation with her had quite altered the aspect of 
 the country, and predisposed me to view things in tho 
 s 
 
282 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 most favourable light. I found Moodie and Monaghan 
 employed in piling up heaps of bush near the house, which 
 they intended to burn off by hand, previous to firing the 
 rest of the fallow, to prevent any risk to the building from 
 fire. The house was made of cedar logs, and presented a 
 superior air of comfort to most dwellings of the same kind 
 The dimensions were thirty-six feet in length, and thirty- 
 two feet in breadth, which gave us a nice pari our, a kitchen, 
 and two small bed-rooms, which were divided by plank 
 partitions. Pantry or store-room there was none ; some 
 rough shelves in the kitchen, and a deal cupboard in a cor- 
 ner of the parlour, being the extent of our accommoda- 
 tions in that way. 
 
 Our servant, Mary Tate, was busy scrubbing out the 
 parlour and bed-room ; but the kitchen, and the bleeping- 
 room off it, were still knee-deep in chips, and filled with 
 the carpenter's bench and tools, and all our luggage. Such 
 as it was, it was a palace when compared to Old Satan's 
 log hut, or the miserable cabin we had wintered in during 
 the severe winter of 1833, and I regarded it with complac- 
 ency as my future home. 
 
 While we were standing outside the building, convers- 
 ing with my husband, a young gentleman, of the name of 
 Morgan, who had lately purchased land in that vicinity, 
 went into the kitchen to light his pipe at the stove, and, 
 with true backwood carelessness, let the hot cinder fall 
 among the dry chips that strewed the floor. A few min- 
 utes after, the whole mass was in a blaze, and it was not 
 without great difficulty that Moodie and Mr. B. sue- 
 
 N««®JttMca 
 
Honaglian 
 )usc, vfhicl 
 ) firing the 
 ilding from 
 presented a 
 3 same kind. 
 
 and thirty- 
 ir, a kitchen, 
 >.d by plank 
 
 none; some 
 oardinacor- 
 
 acsoinmoda- 
 
 bbing out the 
 ithe bleeping- 
 ad filled witb 
 ggage. Such 
 Old Satan's 
 >red in during 
 ith complac- 
 
 THE WILDERNESS, AND OUR INDIAN FRIENDS. 283 
 
 ceeded in putting out the fire. Thus were we nearly de- 
 prived of our home before we had taken up our abode in lb 
 
 The indifference to the danger of fire in a country where 
 most of the dwellings are composed of inflammable mate- 
 rials is truly astonishing. Accustomed to see enormous 
 fires blazing on every hearth-stone, and to sleep in front of 
 these fires, his bedding often riddled with holes made by 
 hot particles of wood flying out during the night, and 
 igniting beneath his very nose, the sturdy backwoodsman 
 never dreads an enemy in the element that he is used to 
 regard as hi^ best friend. Yet what awful accidents, what 
 ruinous calamities arise out of this criminal negligence, 
 both to himself and others ! 
 
 A few days after this adventure, we bade adieu to my 
 sister, and took possession of our new dwelling, and com- 
 menced " a life in the woods." 
 
 The first spring we spent in comparative ease and idle- 
 ness. Our cows had been left upon our old place during 
 the winter. The ground had to be cleared before it could re- 
 ceive & crop of any kind, and I had little to do but to wander 
 by the lake shore, or among the woods, and amuse myself. 
 
 These were the halcyon days of the bush. My husband 
 had purchased a very light cedar canoe, to which he attach- 
 ed a keel and a sail; and most of our leisure hours, directly 
 the snows melted, were spent upon the water. 
 
 These fishing and shooting excursions were delightful. 
 The pure beauty of the Canadian water, the sombre but 
 august grandeur of the vast forest that hemmed us in on 
 .every side and shut us out from the rest of the world, soon 
 
284 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 
 !l 
 
 cast a magic spell upon our spirits, aud we began to feel 
 charmed with the freedom and solitude around us. Every 
 object was new to us. We felt as if we were the first 
 discoverers of every beauoiful flower and stately tree that 
 attracted our attention, and we gave names to fantastic 
 rocks and fairy isles, and raised imaginary houses and 
 bridges on every picturesque spot which we floated past 
 during our aquatic excursions. I learned the use of the 
 paddle, and became quite a proficient in the gentle craft. 
 
 It was not long before we received visits from the 
 Indians, a people whose beauty, talents, and good qualities 
 have been somewhat overrated, and invested with a poeti- 
 cal interest which they scarcely deserve. Their honesty 
 and love of truth are the finest traits in characters other- 
 wise dark and unlovely. But these are two God-like at- 
 tributes, and from them spring all that is generous and 
 ennobling about them. 
 
 There never was a people more sensible of kindness, or 
 more grateful for any little act of benevolence exercised 
 towards them. We met them with confidence; our deal- 
 ings with them were conducted with the strictest integrity; 
 and they became attached to our persons, and in no single 
 instance ever destroyed the good opinion we entertained 
 of them. 
 
 The tribes that occupy the shores of all these inland 
 waters, back of the great lakes, belong to the Chippewa or 
 Missasagua Indians, perhaps the least attractive of all these 
 wild people, both with regard to their physical and mental 
 endowments. 
 
THE WILDERNESS, AND OUR INDIAN FRIENDS, 285 
 
 The men of this tribe are generally small of stature, 
 with very coarse and repulsive features. The forehead is 
 low and retreating, the observing faculties large, the intel- 
 lectual ones scarcely developed ; the ears large, and standing 
 off from the face; the eyes looking towards the temples, 
 keen, snake-like, and far apart; the cheek bones prominent; 
 the nose long and flat, the nostrils very round ; the jaw- 
 bone projecting, massy, andbrutal; the mouth expressing 
 ferocity and sullen determination ; the teeth large, even, 
 and dazzlingly white. The mouth of the female differs 
 widely in expression from that of the male ; the lips are 
 fuller, the jaw less projecting, and the smile is simple and 
 agreeable. The women are a merry, light-hearted set, and 
 their constant laugh and incessant prattle form a strange 
 contrast to the iron taciturnity of their grim lords. 
 
 Now I am upon the subject, I will recapitulate a few 
 traits and sketches of these people, as they came under my 
 own immediate observation. 
 
 A dry cedar-swamp, not far from the house, by the lake 
 shore, had been their usual place of encampment for many 
 years. The whole block of land was almost entirely cover- 
 ed with maple trees, and had originally been an Indian 
 sug.ir-bush. Although the favourite spot had now passed 
 into the hands of strangers, they still frequented the place, 
 to make canoes and baskets, to fish and shoot and occa- 
 sionally to follow their old occupation. 
 
 Scarcely a week passed away without my being visited 
 by the dark strangers ; and, as my husband never allowed 
 them to eat with the servants (who viewed them with the 
 

 ■ 
 
 28G 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 same horror that Mrs. 
 
 did black MoUineux), but 
 
 brought them to his own fable, they soon grew friendly 
 and communicative, and would point to every object that 
 attracted their attention, asking a thousand questions as 
 to its use, the material of which it was made, and if we 
 were inclined to exchange it for their commodities ? 
 
 With a l-'.vge map of Canada they were infinitely delight- 
 ed. In a moment they recognized every bay and headland 
 in Ontario, and almost screamed with delight when, follow- 
 ing the course of the Trent with their fingers, they came to 
 their own lake. 
 
 How eagerly each pointed out the spot to his fellows j 
 how intently their black heads were bent down and their 
 dark eyes fixed upon the map ! What strange uncouth 
 exclamations of surprise burst from their lips as they 
 rapit^ly repeated the Indian names for every L^^ke and river 
 on this wonderful piece of paper ! 
 
 The old chief Peter Nogan begged hard for the coveted 
 treasure. He would give " Canoe, venison, duck, fish, for 
 it ; and more by-and-by." 
 
 I felt sorry tliat I was unable to gratify his wishes; but 
 the map had cost upwards of six dollars, and was daily 
 consulted by my husband, in reference to the names and 
 situations of localities in the neighbourhood. 
 
 I had in my possession a curious Japanese sword, which 
 had been given to me by an uncle of Tom Wilson's — a 
 strange gift to a young lady ; but it was on account of 
 its curiosity, and had no reference to my warlike propen- 
 sities. The sword was broad, and three-sided in the blade. 
 
THE WILDERNESS, AND OUR INDIAN FRIENDS. 287 
 
 and in shape resembled a moving snake. The hilt was 
 formed of a hideous carved image of one of their war gods ; 
 and a more villanous-looking wretch was never conceived 
 l)y the most distorted imagination. He was represented 
 in a sitting attitude, the eagle's claws, that formed his 
 hands, resting upon his knees; his legs terminated in lion's 
 paws ; and his face was a strange compound of beast am^ 
 bud — the upper part of his person being covered with 
 feathers, the lower with long, shaggy hair. The case of 
 this awful weapon was made of wood, and, in spite of its 
 serpentine form, fitted it exactly. No trace of a join 
 could be found in the scabbard, which was of hard wood, 
 and highly polished. 
 
 One of my Indian friends found this sword lying upon 
 the bookshelf, and he hurried to communicate the important 
 discovery to his companions. Moodie was absent, and they 
 brought it to me to demand an explanation of the figure 
 that formed the hilt. 
 
 I told them that it was a weapon that belonged to a very 
 fierce people who lived in the East, far over the Great 
 Salt Lake ; that they were not Christians as we were, but 
 said their prayers to images made of silver, and gold, and 
 ivory, and wood, and that this was one of them ; that 
 before they went into battle they said their prayers to 
 that hideous thing, which they had made with their own 
 hands. 
 
 The Indians were highly amused by this relation and 
 passed the sword from one to the other, exclaiming, " A 
 god ! — Owgh — A god ! " 
 
288 
 
 UOUGHING IT IN THE MUSH. 
 
 I 
 
 • But, ill spite of theseoutwaiddemonstratioiisofcontempt, 
 I was soiTy to perceive that this circumstance gave the 
 weapon a great value in their eyes, and they regarded it 
 with a sort of mysterious awe. 
 
 For several days they continued to visit the house, bring- 
 ing along with them some fresh companion to look at Mrs. 
 Moodie's fjod! — until, vexed and annoyed by the delight 
 they manifested at the sight of the eagle-beaked monster, 
 I refused to gratify their curiosity, by not producing him 
 again. 
 
 The manufacture of the slieath, which had caused me 
 much perplexity, was explained by old Peter in a minute. 
 " 'Tis burnt out," he said. " Instrument made like sword 
 — heat red hot — burnt through — polished outside." 
 
 Had I demanded a whole fleet of canoes for my Japanese 
 sword, I am certain they would have agreed to the bar- 
 gain. 
 
 The Indian possesses great taste, which is displayed in 
 the carving of his paddles, in the shape of his canoes, in 
 the elegance and symmetry of his bows, in the cut of his 
 leggings and moccasins, the sheath of his hunting knife, 
 and in all the little ornaments in which he delights. It is 
 almost impossible for a settler to imitate to perfection an 
 Indian's cherry-wood paddle. My husband made very 
 creditable attempts, but still there was something wanting 
 — the elegance of the Indian finish was not there. If you 
 show them a good print, they invariably point oub the most 
 natural, and the best executed figures in the group. They 
 are particularly delighted with pictures, examine them 
 
THE WILDERNESS, AND OUK INDIAN FRIENDS. 289 
 
 Ifxig and carefully, and seem to feel an artist-like pleasure 
 in observing the effect produced by light and shade. 
 
 I had been showing John Nogan, the eldest son of old 
 Peter, some beautiful coloured engravings of nelebmted 
 females ; and, to my astonishment, he pounced upon the 
 best, and grunted out his admiration in the most approved 
 Indian fashion. After having looked for a long time at 
 all the pictures very attentively, he took his dog Sancho 
 upon his knee, and showed him the pictures, with as much 
 gravity as if the animal really could have shared in his 
 pleasure. 
 
 The vanity of these grave men is highly amusing. They 
 seem perfectly unconscious of it themselves, and it is 
 exhibited in the most child-like manner. 
 
 Peter and his son John were taking tea with us, when we 
 
 were joined by my brother, Mr. S . The latter was 
 
 giving us an account of the marriage of Peter Jones, the 
 celebrated Indian preacher. 
 
 " I cannot think," he said, " how any lady of property 
 and education could marry such a man as Jones. Why, 
 he's a. ugly as Peter here." 
 
 This was said, not with any idea of insulting the red- 
 skin on the score of his beauty, of which he possessed not 
 the smallest particle, but in total forgetfulness that our 
 guest understood English. Never shall I forget the red 
 flash of that fierce dark eye, as it glared upon my uncon- 
 scious brother. I would not have received such a fiery 
 glance for all the wealth that Peter Jones obtained with 
 his Saxon bride. John Nogan was highly amused by his 
 
290 
 
 ROUOHINO IT IN TIIK lUTSH. 
 
 
 father's indignation. He hid his face behind the chief; 
 and, tliough lie kept perfectly still, his whole frame was 
 convulsed with suppressed 'laughter. 
 
 A plainer human being than poor Peter could scarcely be 
 imagined ; yet he certainly deemed himself handsome. I 
 am inclined to think that their ideas of personal beauty 
 differ very widely from ours. 
 
 Tom Nogan, the chiefs brother, had a very large, fat* 
 ugly squaw for his wife. She was a mountain of tawny 
 flesh ; and, but for the innocent, good-natured expression 
 which, like a bright sunbaam penetrating a swarthy cloud 
 spread all around a kindly glow, she might have been 
 termed hideous. 
 
 This woman they considered very handsome, calling her 
 "a fine squaw — clever squaw — a much good woman;" 
 though in what her superiority consisted, I never could 
 discover, often as I visited the wigwam. She was very 
 dirty, and appeared quite indifferent to the claims of com- 
 mon decency (in the disposal of the few filthy rags that 
 covered her). She was, however, very expert in all Indian 
 craft. No Jew could drive a better bargain than Mrs. Tom; 
 and her urchins, of whom she was the happy mother of 
 five or six, were as cunning and avaricious as herself 
 
 One day she visited me, bringing along with her a very 
 pretty covered basket for sale. I asked her what she wanted 
 for it, but could obtain from her no satisfactory answer. 
 I showed her a small piece of silver. She shook her head. 
 I tempted her with pork and flour, but she required neither. 
 I had just given up the idea of dealing with her, in despair, 
 
THE WILDERNESS, AND OVR INDIAN FRIENDS. 291 
 
 when sho suddenly seized upon me, and, lifting up my 
 gown, pointed exultingly to my quilted petticoat, clapping 
 her hands, and laughing immoderately. 
 
 Another time she led me all over the house, to vshow me 
 what she wanted in exchange for basket. My patience was 
 well nigh exhausted in following her from place to place, 
 in her attempt to discover the coveted article, when hang- 
 ingupon a peg in my chamber, she espied a pair of trousers 
 belonging to my husband's logging-suit. The riddle was 
 solved. With a joyful cry she pointed to them, exclaim- 
 ing "Take basket. Give them !" It was with no small 
 difficulty that I rescued the indispensablea from her 
 grasp. 
 
 From this woman I learned a story of Indian coolness 
 and courage which made a deep impression on my mind. 
 One of their squaws, a near relation of her own, had accom- 
 panied her husband on a hunting expedition into the for- 
 est. He had been very successful, and having killed more 
 deer than they could well carry home, he went to the house 
 of a white man to dispose of some of it, leaving the squaw 
 to take care of the rest until his return. She sat carelessly 
 upon the log with his hunting-knife in her hand, when she 
 heard the breaking of branches near her, and, turning 
 round, beheld a great bear only a few paces from her. 
 
 It was too late to retreat; and seeing that the animal was 
 very hungry, and determined to come to close quarters, 
 she rose, and placed her back against a small tree, holding 
 her knife close to her breast, and in a straight line with 
 the bear. The shaggy monster came on. She remained 
 
292 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 motionless, her eyes steadily fixed upon her enemy, and, 
 as his huge arms closed around her, she slowly drove the 
 knife into his heart. The bear uttered a hideous cry, and 
 sank dead at her feet. When the Indian returned, he 
 found the courageous woman taking the skin from the 
 carcass of the formidable brute. What iron nerves these 
 people must possess, when even a woman could dare and do 
 a deed like this ! 
 
 The wolf they hold in great contempt, and scarcely deign 
 to consider liim as an enemy. Peter Nogan assured me 
 that he never was near enough to one in his life to shoot 
 it ; that, except in large companies, and when greatly 
 pressed by hunger, they rarely attack men. They hold the 
 lynx, or wolverine, in much dread, as they often spring 
 from trees upon their prey, fastening upon the throat with 
 their sharp teeth and claws, from which a person in the 
 dark could scarcely free himself without first receiving a 
 dangerous wound. The cry of this animal is very terri- 
 fying, resembling the shrieks of a human creature in mor- 
 tal agony. 
 
 My husband was anxious to collect some of the native 
 Indian airs, as they all sing well, and have a fine ear for 
 music, but all his efforts proved abortive. " John," he said 
 to young Nogan (who played very creditably on the tlute, 
 and had just concluded the popular air of "Sweet Home"), 
 " cannot you play me one of your own songs ?" 
 ■ " Yes, — but no good." 
 
 " Leave me to be the judge of that. Cannot you give 
 me a war song?" 
 
THE WILDERNESS, AND OUR INDIAN FRIENDS. 293 
 
 " Yes, — but no good," with <an ominous shake of the 
 head. 
 
 " A hunting-song ?" " 
 
 "No fit for white man," — with an air of contempt. " No 
 good, no good !" 
 
 "Do, John, sing us a love-song," said I, laughing, "if you 
 have such a thing in your language." 
 
 "Oh ! much love-song — very much — bad — ^bad — no good 
 for Christian man. Indian song no good for white ears." 
 This was very tantalising, as their songs sounded very 
 sweetly from the lips of their squaws, and I had a great 
 desire and curiosity to get some of them rendered into 
 English. 
 
 To my husband they gave the name of "the musician," 
 but I have forgotten the Indian word. It signified the 
 maker of sweet sounds. They listened with intense de- 
 light to the notes of his flute, maintaining a breathless 
 silence during the performance; their dark eyes flashing 
 into fierce light at a martial strain, or softening with the 
 plaintive and tender. 
 
 The cunning which they display in their contests with 
 their enemies, in their hunting, and in making bargains 
 with the whites (who are too apt to impose on their ignor- 
 ance), seems to spring more from a law of necessity, forced 
 upon them by their isolated position and precarious mode 
 of life, than from any innate wish to betray. The Indian's 
 face, after all, is a perfect index of his mind. The eye 
 changes its expression with every impulse and passion, 
 and shows what is passing within as clearly as the light- 
 
294 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 ninsf in a dark night betravs the course of the stream. I 
 cannot think that deceit forms any prominent trait in the 
 Indian's character. They invariably act with the strictest 
 honour towards those who never attempt to impose upon 
 them. It is natural for a deceitful person to take advantage 
 of the credulity of others. The genuine Indian never 
 utters a falsehood, and never employs flattery (that power- 
 ful weapon in the hands of the insidious) in his communi- 
 cations with the whites. 
 
 His worst traits are those which he has in common 
 with the wild animals of the forest, and which his inter- 
 course with the lowest order of civilised men (who, in point 
 of moral worth, are greatly his inferiors), and the perni- 
 cious effects of strong drink, have greatly tended to inflame 
 and debase. 
 
 It is a melancholy truth, and deeply to be lamented, 
 that the vicinity of European settlers has always produced 
 a very demoralising effect upon the Indians. As a proof 
 of this, I will relate a simple anecdote. 
 
 John, of Rice Lake, a very sensible, middle-pged Indian, 
 was conversing with me about their language, and the 
 difficulty he found in understanding the books written in 
 Indian for their use. Among other things, I asked him 
 if his people ever swore, or used profane language towards 
 the Deity. 
 
 The man regarded me with a sort of stern horror, as 
 he replied, " Indian, till after he knew your people, never 
 swore — no bad word in Indian^ Indian must learn your 
 words to swear and take God's name in vain." 
 
THE WILDERNESS, AND OUR INDIAN FRIENDS. 295 
 
 Oh, what a reproof to Christian men! I felt abashed, and 
 degraded in the eyes of this poor savage — who, ignorant as 
 he was in many respects, yet possessed that first great 
 attribute of the soul, a deep reverence for the Supreme 
 Bv'^ing. How inferior were thousands of my countrymen 
 to him in this important point ! 
 
 The affection of Indian parents to their children, and 
 the deference which they pay to the aged, is another 
 beautiful and touching trait in their character. 
 
 One extremely cold, wintry day, as I was huddled with 
 my little ones over the stove, the door softly unclosed, 
 and the moccasined foot of an Indian crossed the floor 
 
 • 
 
 I raised my head, for I was too much accustomed to their 
 sudden appearance at any hour to feel alarmed, and per- 
 ceived a tall woman standing silently and respectfully 
 before me, wrapped in a large blanket. The moment she 
 caught my eye she dropped the folds of her covering from 
 around her, and laid at my feet the attenuated figure of 
 a boy, about twelve years of age, who was in the last stage 
 of consumption. 
 
 " Papoose die," she said, mournfully clasping her hands 
 against her breast and looking down upon the suffering 
 lad with the most heartfelt expression of maternal love, 
 while large tears trickled down her dark face. " Moodie's 
 squaw save papoose — poor Indian woman much 
 glad." 
 
 Her child was beyond all human aid. I looked anxiously 
 upon him, and knew, by thepinched-up features and purple 
 hue of his wasted cheek, that he had not many hours to 
 
296 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 i 
 
 live. I could only answer with tears her agonising appeal 
 to my skill. 
 
 " Try and save him ! All die but him." (She held up 
 five of her fingers.) " Brought him all the way from 
 Mutta Lake* upon my back, for white squt^w to cure." 
 
 " I cannot cure him, my poor friend. He is in God's 
 care ; in a few hours he will be with Him." 
 
 The child was seized with a dreadful fit of coughing, 
 which I expected every moment would terminate his frail 
 existence. I gave him a teaspoonful of currant jelly, 
 which he took with avidity,.but could not retain a moment 
 on his stomach. 
 
 "Papoose die," murmured the poor woman; 'alone 
 — alone ! No papoose ; the mother all alone." 
 
 She began re-adjusting the poor sufferer in her blanket. 
 I got her some food, and begged her to stay and rest her- 
 self; but she was too much distressed to eat, and too rest- 
 less to remain. She said little, but her face expressed the 
 keenest anguish ; she took up her mournful load, pressed for 
 a moment his wasted, burning hand in hers, and left the room. 
 
 My heart followed her a long way on her melancholy 
 journey. Think what this woman's love must have been 
 for that dying son, when she had carried a lad of his iage 
 six miles, through the deep snow, upon her back, on such 
 a day, in the hope of my being able to do him some good. 
 Poor heart-broken mother ! I learned from Joe Muskrat's 
 squaw some days after that the boy died a few minutes 
 after Elizabeth Iron, his mother, got home^ 
 
 ■ — — ■ ■ I . . 
 
 ^ Mud Lake, or Lftke Shemong, in Indian. 
 
THE WILDERN iSS, AND OUR INDIAN FRIENDS. 297 
 
 iiig appeal 
 
 tie held up 
 way from 
 bo cure." 
 s in God's 
 
 They never forget any little act of kindness. One cold 
 night late in the fall, my hospitality was demanded by six 
 squaws, and puzzled I was how to accommodate them all. 
 I at last determined to give them the use of the parlour 
 floor during the night. Among these women there was 
 one very old, whose hair was as white as snow. She was 
 the only grey-haired Indian I ever saw, and on that 
 account I regarded her with peculiar interest. I knew 
 that she was the wife of a chief, by the scarlet embroidered 
 leggings, which only the wives and daughters of chiefs are 
 allowed to wear. The old squaw had a very pleasing 
 countenance, but I tried in vain to draw her into conver- 
 sation. She evidently did not understand me ; and the 
 Muskrat squaw and Betty Cow were laughing at my 
 attempts to draw her out. I administered supper to them 
 with my own hands, and, after I had satisfied their wants 
 (which is no very easy task, for they have great appe- 
 tites), I told our servant to bring in several spare mat- 
 tresses and blankets for their use. " Now mind, Jenny, 
 and give the old squaw the best bed," I said; "the others 
 are young, and can put up with a little inconvenience." 
 
 The old Indian glanced at me with her keen, bright eye; 
 but I had no idea that she comprehended what I said. 
 
 Some weeks after this, as I was sweeping over my par- 
 lour floor, a slight tap drew me to the door. On opening 
 it I perceived the old squaw, who immediately slipped into 
 my hand a set of beautifully-embroidered bark trays, fit- 
 ting one within the other, and exhibiting the very best 
 sample of the porcupine quill- work. While I stood wonder- 
 T ' 
 
' 
 
 298 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THi3 BUSH. 
 
 ing what this might mean, the good old creature fell upon 
 my neck, and kissing me, exclaimed, " Vou remember old 
 squaw — make her comfortable ! Old squaw no forget you. 
 Keep them for her sake," and before 1 could detain her 
 she ran down the hill with a swiftness which seemed to 
 bid defiance to years. I never saw this interesting Indian 
 again, and I concluded that she died during the winter, 
 for she must have been of a great age. 
 
 My dear reader, I am afraid I shall tire you with my 
 Indian stories; but you must bear with me patiently whilst 
 I give you a few more. The real character of a people can 
 be more truly gathered from such seemingly trifling inci- 
 dents than from any ideas we may form of them from the 
 great facts in their history, and this is my reason for de- 
 tailing events which might otherwise appear insignificant 
 and unimportant. 
 
 A friend was staying with us, who wished much to 
 obtain a likeness of Old Peter. I promised to try and 
 make a sketch of the old man the next time he paid us a 
 visit. That very afternoon he brought us some ducks in 
 exchange for pork, and Moodie asked him to stay and 
 take a glass of whiskey with him and his friend Mr. K — . 
 The old man had arrayedhimself in a new blanket-coat, 
 bound with red, and the seams all decorated with the same 
 gay material. His leggings and moccasins were new, and 
 elaborately fringed ; and to cap the climax of the whole, 
 he had a blue cloth conical cap upon his head, ornamented, 
 with a deer's tail dyed blue, and several cock's feathers. 
 
 He was evidently very much taken up with the magnifi- 
 
wm 
 
 THE WILDERNESS, AND OUR INDIAN FRIENDS. 299 
 
 cence of his own appearance, for he often glanced at himself 
 in a small shaving glass that hung opposite, with a look 
 of grave satisfaction. Sitting apart, that I might not 
 attract his observation, I got a tolerably faithful likeness 
 of the old man, which, after slightly colouring, to show- 
 more plainly his Indian finery, I quietly handed over to 
 
 Mr. K . Sly as I thought myself, my occupation 
 
 and the object of it had not escaped the keen eye of the 
 
 old man. He rose, came behind Mr. K 's chair and 
 
 regarded the picture with a most affectionate eye. I was 
 afraid that he would be angry at the liberty I had taken. 
 No such thing I He was as pleased as Punch. 
 
 " That Peter ?" he grunted. " Give me — put up in wig- 
 wam — make dog too! Owgh! owgh !" and he rubbed his 
 
 hands together, and chuckled with delight. Mr. K had 
 
 some difficulty in coaxing the picture from the old chief; 
 so pleased was he with this rude representation of him- 
 self He pointed to every particular article of his dress, 
 and dwelt with peculiar glee on the cap and blue deer's 
 tail. 
 
 A few days after this, I was painting a beautiful little 
 snow-bird, that our man had shot out of a large flock that 
 alighted near the door. I was so intent upon my task, to 
 which I was putting the finishing strokes, that I did not 
 observe the stealthy entrance (for they all walk like cats) 
 of a stern-looking red man, till a slender, dark hand was 
 extended over my paper to grasp the dead bird from 
 which I was copying, and which as rapidly transferred it to 
 the side of the painted one, accompanying the act with the 
 

 300 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 
 I 
 
 deep guttural note of approbation, the unmusical, savage 
 "Owgh." 
 
 My guest then seated himself with the utmost gra> ity in 
 a rocking-chair, directly fronting me, and made the modest 
 demand that I should paint a likeness of him, after the 
 following quaint fashion. 
 
 " Moodie's squaw know much — make Peter No- 
 gan toder day on papare — make Jacob to-day — Jacob 
 young — great hunter — give much duck — venison — to 
 squaw." 
 
 Although I felt rather afraid of my fierce-looking 
 visitor, I could scarcely keep my gravity ; there was such 
 an air of pompous self-approbation about the Indian, such 
 a sublime look of conceit in his grave vanity. 
 
 " Moodie's squaw cannot do everything ; she cannot 
 paint young men," said I, rising, and putting away my 
 drawing-materials, upon which he kept his eye intently 
 fixed, with a hungry, avaricious expression. I thought it 
 best to place the coveted objects beyond his reach. After 
 sitting for some time, and watching all my movements, he 
 withdrew, with a sullen, disappointed air. 
 
 This man was handsome, but his expression was vile. 
 Though he often came to the house, I never could recon- 
 cile myself to his countenance. 
 
 Late one very dark, stormy night, three Indians begged 
 to be allowed to sleep by the kitchen stove. The maid 
 was frightened out of her wits at the sight of these 
 strangers, who were Mohawks from the Indian woods upon 
 the Bay of Quints, and they brought along with them a 
 
THE WILDERNESS, AND OUR INDIAN FRIENDS. 301 
 
 horse and cutter. The night was so stormy, that, after 
 consulting our man — Jacob Faithful, as we usually called 
 him — I consented to grant their petition, although they 
 were quite strangers, and taller and fiercer-looking than 
 our friends the Missasaguas. 
 
 I was putting my children to bed, when the girl came 
 rushing in, out of breath. " The Lord preserve us, madam, 
 if on3 of these wild men has not pulled off his trousers, 
 and is a-sitting mending them behind the stove ! and what 
 shall I do?" 
 
 " Do ? — why, stay with me, and leave the poor fellow to 
 finish his work." 
 
 The simple girl had never once thought of this plan of 
 pacifying her outraged sense of propriety. 
 
 Their sense of hearing is so acute that they can distin- 
 guish sounds at an incredible distance, which cannot be 
 detected by a European at all. T myself witnessed a sin- 
 gular exemplification of this fact. It was mid- winter; 
 the Indians had pitched their tent, or wigwam, as usual, 
 in our swamp. All the males were absent on a hunting 
 expedition up the country, and had left two women behind 
 to take care of the camp and its contents, Mrs. Tom Nogan 
 and her children, and Susan Moore, a young girl of fifteen, 
 and the only truly beautiful squaw I ever saw. There was 
 something interesting about this girl's history, as well as 
 her appearance. Her father had been drowned during a 
 sudden hurricane, which swamped his canoe on Stony 
 Lake ; and the mother, who witnessed the accident from 
 the shore, and was near her confinement with this child, 
 
302 
 
 ROTTOHING IT TN THE BUSH. 
 
 
 Iioldly sw.'iin out to his assistance. She reached tlie spot 
 where ho sank, and even succeeded in recovering the body; 
 but it was too hite ; the man was dead. 
 
 The soul of an Indian that has been drowned is reckoned 
 accursed, and he is never permitted to join his tnbe on 
 the happy hunting-grounds, but his spirit haunts the lake 
 or river in which he lost his life. His body is buried on 
 some lonely island, which the Indians never pass without 
 leaving a small portion of food, tobacco, or ammunition, 
 to supply his wants ; but ho is never interred with the 
 rest of his people. 
 
 His children are considered unlucky, and few willingly 
 unite themselves to the females of the family, lest a portion 
 of the ftither's curse should be visited on them. 
 
 The orphan Indian girl generally kept aloof from the rest, 
 and seemed so lonely and companionless, that she soon 
 attracted my attention and sympathy, and a hearty feeling 
 of good- will sprang up between us. Herfeatures were small 
 and regular, her face oval, and her large, dark, loving eyes 
 were full of tenderness and sensibility, but as bright and 
 shy as those of the deer. A rich vermilion glow burnt 
 upon her olive cheek and lips, and set off the dazzling 
 whiteness of her even and pearly teeth. She was small of 
 stature, with delicate little hands and feet, and her figure 
 was elastic and graceful. She was a beautiful child of 
 nature, and her Indian name signified " the voice of angry 
 waters." Poor girl, she had been a child of grief and tears 
 from her birth! Her mother was a Mohawk, from whom 
 she, in all probability, derived her superior personal attrac- 
 
THE WILDERNESS, AND OUR INDIAN FRIENDS. 303 
 
 tions ; for they are very far before the Missasaguas in this 
 respect. 
 
 My friend and neighbour, Emilia S , the wife of a 
 
 naval officer, who lived about a mile distant from me, 
 through the bush, had come to spend the day with me ; 
 and hearing that the Indians were in the swamp, and the 
 men away, we determined to take a few trifles to the camp, 
 in the way of presents, and spend an hour in chatting with 
 the squaws. 
 
 What a beautiful moonlight night it was, as light as 
 day ! — the great forest sleeping tranquilly beneath the 
 cloudless heavens — not a sound to disturb the deep repose 
 of nature but the whispering of the breeze, which, during 
 the most profound calm, creeps through the lofty pine tops. 
 We bounded down the steep bank to the lake shore. Life 
 is a blessing, a precious boon indeed, in such an hour, and 
 we felt happy in the mere consciousness of existence — the 
 glorious privilege of pouring out the silent adoration of 
 the heart to the Great Father in his universal temple. 
 
 On entering the wigwam, which stood within a few 
 yards of the clearing, in the middle of a thick group of 
 cedars, we found Mrs. Tom, alone with her elfish children, 
 seated before the great fire that burned in the centre of 
 the camp ; she was busy boiling some bark in an iron spi- 
 der. The little boys, in red flannel shirts, which were 
 their only covering, were tormenting a puppy, which seem- 
 ed to take their pinching and pommelling in good part, for 
 it neither attempted to bark nor to bite, but, like the eels 
 in the story, submitted to the infliction because it was 
 
304 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 used to it. Mrs. Tom greeted uh with a grin of pleasure, 
 and motioned to us to sit down upon a buffalo-skin, which 
 with a courtesy 80 natural to the Indians, she had placed 
 near her for our accommodation. 
 
 " You are all alone," said I, gla,ncing round the camp. 
 
 " Ye'es; Indian away hunting — Upper Lakes, Come home 
 with much deer." 
 
 " And Susan, where is she ?" 
 
 " By-and-by," (meaning that she was coming). " Gone t • 
 fetch water — ice thick — chop with axe — take long time. 
 
 As she ceased speaking, the old blanket that formed th 
 door of the tent was withdrawn, and the girl, bearing tw< 
 pails of water, stood in the open space, in the white moon 
 light. The glow of the fire streamed upon her dark, float 
 ing locks, danced in the black, glistening eye, and gave j 
 deeper blush to the olive cheek ! She would have madt 
 a beautiful picture ; Sir Joshua Reynolds would hav( 
 rejoiced in such a model— so simply graceful and unaffected 
 the very heau idSal of savage life and unadorned nature 
 A smile of recognition passed between us. She put down 
 her burden beside Mrs.Tom, and noiselessly glided to her seat. 
 
 We had scarcely exchanged a few words with oui 
 favourite, when the old squaw, placing her hand against 
 her ear, exclaimed, " Whist ! whist !" 
 
 " What is it ?" cried Emilia and I, starting to our feet. 
 " Is there any danger V 
 
 "A deer — ^a deer — in bush!" whispered the squaw, 
 seizing a rifle that stood in a corner. "I hear sticks crack 
 — a great way off. Stay here !" 
 
THE WILDERNESS, AND OUR INDIAN FRIENDS. 305 
 
 A great way off the animal must have been, for though 
 Emilia and I listened at the open door, an advantage which 
 tlie squaw did not enjoy, we could not hear the least sound : 
 all seemed still as death. The squaw whistled to au old 
 hound, and went out. 
 
 "Did you hear anything, Susan?" 
 
 She smiled, and nodded. 
 
 " Listen ; the dog has found the track." 
 
 The next moment the discharge of a rifle, and the deep 
 baying of the dog, woke up the sleeping echoes of the 
 woods ; and the girl started off to help the old squaw to 
 bring in the game that she had shot. 
 
 The Indian:^ are great imitators, and possess a nice tact 
 in adopting the customs and manners of those with whom 
 they associate. An Indian is Nature's gentleman — never 
 familiar, coarse, or vulgar. If he take a meal with you, 
 he waits to see how you make use of the implements on 
 the table, and the manner in which you eat, which he 
 imitates with a grave decorum, as if he had been accus- 
 tomed to the same usages from childhood. He never at- 
 tempts to help himself, or demand more food, but waits 
 patiently until you perceive what he requires. I was 
 perfectly astonished at this innate politeness, for it seems 
 natural to all the Indians with whom I have had any deal- 
 ings. 
 
 There was one old Indian, who belonged to a distant 
 settlement, and only visited our lakes occasionally on 
 hunting parties. He was a strange, eccentric, merry old 
 fellow, with a skin like red mahogany, and a wiry, sinewy 
 
306 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 I 
 
 frame, that looked as if it could bid defiance to every 
 change of temperature. 
 
 Old Snow-storm, for such was his significant name, was 
 rather too fond of the whiskey-bottle, and when he had 
 taken a drop too much, he became an unmanageable 
 wild beast. He had a great fancy for my husband, and 
 never visited the other Indians without extending the 
 same favour to us. Once upon a time, he broke the nip- 
 ple of his gun ; and Moodie repaired the injury for him 
 by fixing a new one in its place, which little kindness 
 quite won th© heart of the old man, and he never came 
 to see us without bringing an offering of fish, ducks, par- 
 tridges, or venison, to show his gratitude. 
 
 One warm September day, he made his appearance 
 bare-headed, as usual, and carrying in his hand a great 
 checked bundle. ^ 
 
 " Fond of grapes ?" said he, putting the said bundle 
 into my hands. "Fine grapes — brought them from island 
 for my friend's squaw and papouses. 
 
 Glad of the donation, which I considered quite a prize, I 
 hastened into the kitchen to untie the grapes and put 
 them into a dish. But imagine my disappointment, when 
 I found them wrapped up in a soiled shirt, only recently 
 taken from the back of the owner. I called Moodie, and 
 begged him to return Snow-storm his garment, and to 
 thank him for the grapes. 
 
 The mischievous creature wa« highly diverted with the 
 circumstance, and laughed immoderately. 
 
 " Snow-storm," said he, *' Mrs. Moodie and the children 
 
the children 
 
 THE WILDERNESS, AND OUR INDIAN FRIENDS. 307 
 
 are obliged to you for your kindness in bringing them 
 the grapes ; but how came you to tie them up in a dirty 
 shirt?" 
 
 "Dirty!" cried the old man, astonished that we should 
 object to vbe fruit on that score. " It ought to be clean ; 
 it has been washed often enougli. Owgh! You see, 
 Moodie," he continued, " I have no hat — never wear hat — 
 want no shade to my eyes — love the sun — see all around 
 me — up and dowL — much better widout hat Could not 
 put gi'apes in hat — blanket coat too large, crush fruit, juice 
 run out. I had noting but my shirt, so I takes off shirt, 
 and brings grape safe over the water on my back. Papouse 
 no care for dirty shirt ; their lee-tel bellies have no eyes." 
 
 In spite of this eloquent harangue, I could not bring 
 myself to use the grapes, ripe and tempoing as they looked, 
 
 or give them to the children. Mr. W and his wife 
 
 happening to step in at that moment fell into such an 
 ecstacy at the sight of the grapes, that, as they were per- 
 fectly unacquainted with the ciieumstance of the shirt, I 
 very generously gi*atified their wishes by presenting them 
 with the contents of the large dish ; and they never ate a 
 bit less sweet for the novel mode in which they were con- 
 veyed to me ! 
 
 The Indians, under their quiet exterior, possess a deal of 
 humour. They have significant names for everything, and 
 a nickname for every one, and some of the latter are 
 laughably appropriate. A fat, pompous, ostentatious set- 
 tler in our neighbourhood they called Muckakee, " the 
 bull frog." Another, rather a fine young man, but with 
 
308 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 a very red face, they named Segoskee, "the rising sun." Mr. 
 Wood, who had a farm above ours, was a remarkably slen- 
 der young man, and to him they give the appellation of 
 Metig, " thin stick." A woman, that occasionally worked 
 for me, had a disagi-eeable squint ; she was known in 
 Indian by the name of Sachdbd, " cross-eye." A gentle- 
 man with a very large nose was Choojas, " big, or ugly 
 nose." My little Addie, who was a fair, lovely creature, 
 they viewed with great approbation, and called AnnoonJc, 
 "a star;" while the rosy Katie was Nogesigoo> , "the 
 northern lights." As to me, I was Nonocosiqui, a " hum- 
 ming-bird ;" a ridiculous name for a tall woman, but it 
 had reference to the delight I took in ptiiv.iing birds. — 
 My friend, Emilia, was " blue cloud ;" my little Donald, 
 "frozen face;" young C , "the red-headed wood-peck- 
 er," from the colour of his hair ; my brother, Chippewa, 
 and *^ the bald-headed eagle." He was an especial favourite 
 among them. 
 
 The Indians are often made a prey of and cheated by the 
 unprincipled settlers, who think it no crime to overreach a 
 red-skin. One anecdote will fully illustrate this fact. A 
 young squaw, who was near becoming a mother, -topped 
 at a Smith-town settler's house to rest herself Tiie woman 
 of the house, who was Irish, was peeling for dinner i me 
 large white turnips, which her husband had grown in their 
 garden. The Indian had never seen a turnip before, and 
 the appearance of the firm, white, juicy root gave her 
 such a keen craving to taste it that she very earnestly 
 begged for a small piece to eat. She had purchased at 
 
THE WILDERNESS, AND OUR INDIAN FRIENDS. 309 
 
 Peterborough a large stone-china bowl, of a very hand- 
 some pattern (or, perhaps, got U at the store in exchange 
 for basket), the worth of whicL might be half-a-dollar. 
 If the poor squaw longed for the turnip, the value of 
 which could scarcely reach a copper, the covetous European 
 had fixed as longing a glance upon the china bowl, and she 
 was determined to gratify her avaricious desire and obtain 
 it on the most easy terms. She told the squaw, with some 
 disdain, that her man did not grow turnips to give away 
 to "Injuns," but she would sell her one. The squaw offered 
 her four coppers, all the change she had about her. This 
 the woman refused with contempt. She then proffered a 
 basket; but that was not sufficient; nothing would satisfy 
 her but the bowl. The Indian demurred ; but opposition 
 had only increased her craving for the turnip in a tenfold 
 degree ; and, after a short mental stiniggle, in which the 
 animal propensity overcame the warnings of prudence, the 
 squaw gave up the bowl, and received in return one tur- 
 nip! The daughter of this woman told me this ancedotu 
 of her mother as a very clever thing. What ideas some 
 people have of moral justice ! 
 
 I have said before that the Indian never forgets a 
 kindness. Wf had a thousand proofs of this, when over- 
 taken by misfortune, and withering beneath the iron grasp 
 of poverty, we could scarcely obtain bread for ourselves 
 and our little ones ; then it was that the truth of the East- 
 ern proverb was brought home to our hearts, and the good- 
 ness of God fully manifested towards us, " Cast thy bread 
 upon the waters, and thou shalt find it after many days." 
 
 f 
 
asaa 
 
 310 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 During better times we had treated these poor savages with 
 kindness and liberality, and they never forsook us. For 
 many a good meal I have been indebted to them, when I had 
 nothing to give in return, when the pantry was empty, and 
 " the hearth-stone growing cold," as they term the want of 
 provisions to cook at it. And their delicacy in conferring 
 these favours was not the least admirable part of their 
 conduct. John Nogan, who was much attached to us, 
 would bring a fine bunch of ducks, and drop them at my 
 feet "for the papouse," or leave a large maskinonge on the 
 sill of the door, or place a quarter of venison just within 
 it, and slip away without saying a word, thinking that 
 receiving a present from a poor Indian might hurt our 
 feelings, and he would spare us the mortification of 
 returning thanks. 
 
 Often have I grieved that people with such generous 
 impulses should be degraded and corrupted by civilized 
 men ; that a mysterious destiny involves and hangs over 
 them, pressing them back into the wilderness, and slowly 
 and surely sweeping them from the earth. 
 
 Their ideas of Christianity appeared to me vague and 
 unsatisfactory. They will tell you that Christ died for 
 men, and that He is the Saviour of the World, but they 
 do not seem to comprehend the spiritual character of 
 Christianity, nor the full extent of the requirements and 
 application of the law of Christian love. These imperfect 
 views may not be entertained by all Christian Indians, 
 but they were very common amongst those with whom 
 I conversed. Their ignorance upon theological, as well as 
 
THE WILDERNESS, AND OUR, INDIAN FRIENDS. 311 
 
 upon other subjects, is, of course, extreme. One Indian 
 asked me very innocently if I came from the land where 
 Christ was born, and if I had ever seen Jesus. They 
 always mention the name of the Persons in the Trinity 
 with great reverence. 
 
 They are a highly imaginative people. The practical 
 meaning of their names, and their intense admiration for 
 the beauties of nature, are proof of this. Nothing escapes 
 their observing eyes. There is not a flower that blooms 
 in the wilderness, a bird that cuts the air with its wings, 
 a beast that roams the wood, a fish that stems the water, 
 or the most minute insect that sports in the sunbeams, 
 hut it has an Indian name to illustrate its peculiar habits 
 and qualities. Some of their words convey the direct 
 meaning of the thing implied — thus, chS-charm, "to 
 sneeze," is the very sound of that act ; to6-me-duh, " to 
 churn," gives the noise made by the dashing of the cream 
 from side to side ; and many others. 
 
 They believe in supernatural appearances — in spii-its of 
 the earth, the air, the waters. The latter they consider 
 evil, and propitiate before undertaking a long voyage, by 
 throwing small portions of bread, meat, tobacco, and gun- 
 powder into the water. 
 
 When an Indian loses one of his children, he must keep 
 a strict fast for three days, abstaining from food of any 
 kind. A hunter of the name of Young, told me a curious 
 story of their rigid observance of this strange rite. 
 
 " They had a chief," he said, " a few years ago, whom 
 they called * Handsome Jack,' — whether in derision, I can- 
 
312 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 not tell, for he was one of the ugliest Indians I ever saw. 
 The scarlet fever got into the camp — a terrible disease 
 in this country, and doubly terrible to those poor creatures 
 who don't know how to treat it. His eldest daughter 
 died. The chief had fasted two days when I met him in 
 the bush. I did not know what had happened, but I 
 opened my wallet, for I was on a hunting expedition, and 
 offered him some bread and dried venison. He looked at 
 me reproachfully. 
 
 *■ * Do white men eat bread the first night their papoose 
 is laid in the earth ? ' 
 
 " I then knew the cause of his depression, and left him." 
 
 On the night of the second day of his fast another 
 child died of the fever. He had now to accomplish three 
 more days without tasting food. It was too much even 
 for an Indian. On the eveuing of the fourth, he was so 
 pressed by ravenous hunger, that he stole into the woods, 
 caught a bull-frog, and devoured it alive. He imagined 
 hin jlf alone ; but one of his people, suspecting his inten- 
 tion, had followed him, unperceived, to* the bush. The act 
 he had just committed was a hideous crime in their eyes, 
 and in a few minutes the camp was in an uproar. The 
 chief fled for protection to Young's house. When the 
 hunter demanded the cause of his alarm, he gave for 
 answer, " There are plenty of flies at my house. To avoid 
 their stings I come to you." 
 
 It required all the eloquence of Mr. Young, who enjoyed 
 much popularity among them, to reconcile the rebellious 
 tribe to their chief 
 
THE WILDERNESS, AND OUU INDIAN FRIENDS. 313 
 
 They are very skilful in their treatment of wounds and 
 many diseases. Their knowledge of the medicinal quali- 
 ties of their plants and heibs is very gi'eat. They make 
 excellent poultices from the bark of the bass and the slip- 
 pery elm. They use several native phants in their dyeing 
 of baskets and porcupine quills. The inner bark of the 
 swamp-alder, simply boiled in water, makes a beautiful 
 red. From the root o^the black briony they obtain a fine 
 salve for sores, and extract a rich yellow dye. The inner 
 bark of the root of the sumach, roasted, and reduced to 
 powder, is a good remedy for the ague ; a tea-spoonful 
 given between the hot and cold fit. They scrape the fine 
 white powder from the large fungus that grows upon the 
 bark of the pine, into whiskey, and take it for violent 
 pains in the stomach. The taste of this powder strongly 
 reminded me of quinine. 
 
 I have read much of the excellence of Indian cookery, 
 Dut I never could bring myself to taste a n}^ thing pre- 
 pared in their dirty wigwams. I remember being highty 
 amused in watching the preparation of a mess, which 
 might have been called the Indian hotch-potch. It con- 
 sisted of a strange mixture of fish, flesh, and fowl, all 
 boiled together in the same vessel. Ducks, partridges, 
 maskinonge, venison, and muskrats, formed a part of this 
 delectable compound. These were literally sm othered in 
 onions, potatoes, and turnips, which they had procured 
 from me. They very hospitably offered me a dishful of 
 the odious mixture, which the odour of the muskrat ren- 
 dered everything but savoury ; but I declined, simply stat- 
 
 r 
 
I 
 
 314 
 
 ROUGHIXa IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 ing that I was not hungiy. My little boy tasted it, but 
 quickly left the camp to conceal the effect it produced 
 upon him. 
 
 Their :nethod of broiling fish, however, is excellent. 
 They take a fish, just fresh out of the water, cut out the 
 entrails, and without removing the scales, wash it clean, 
 dry it in a cloth, or in the grass, and cover it all over with 
 clear hot ashes. When the flesh will part from the bone, 
 they draw it out of the ashes, strip off the skin, and it is 
 fit for the table of the most fastidious epicure. 
 
 The deplorable want of chastity that exists among the 
 Indian women of this tribe seems to have been more the 
 result of their intercourse with the settlers in the country, 
 than frora any previous disposition to this vice. The 
 jealousy of their husbands has often been exercised in a 
 terrible manner against the offending squaws ; but this 
 has not happened of late years. The men wink at these 
 derelictions in their wives, and share with them the price 
 of their shame. 
 
 The mixture of European blood adds greatly to the 
 physical beauty of the half-race, but produces a sad falling- 
 off from the original integrity of the Indian character. — 
 The half-caste is generally a lying, vicious rogue, possess- 
 ing the worst qualities of both parents in an eminent de- 
 gree. We have many of these half-Indians in the peniten- 
 tiary, for crimes of the blackest dye. 
 
 The skill of the Indian in procuring his game, either by 
 land or water, has been too well described by better writers 
 than I could ever hope to be, to need any illustration from 
 
THE WILDERNESS, AND OUR INDIAN FRIENDS. 515 
 
 my pen, and I will close this long chapter with a droll 
 anecdote which is told of a gentleman in this neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 The early loss of his hair obliged Mr. to procure the 
 
 substitute of a wig. This was such a good imitation of 
 nature, that none but his intimate friends and neighbours 
 were aware of the fact. 
 
 It happened that he had had some quarrel with an In- 
 dian, which had to be settled in one of the petty courts. 
 
 The case was decided in favour of Mr. , which so 
 
 aggrieved the savage, who considered himself the injured 
 party, that he sprang upon him with a furious yell, toma- 
 hawk in hand, with the intention of depriving him of his 
 scalp. He twisted his hand in the locks which adorned 
 the cranium of his adversary, when — horror of horrors ! — 
 the treacherous wig came off in his hand, " Owgh ! owgh !" 
 exclaimed the affrighted savage, flinging it from him, and 
 rushing from the court as if he had beenbitt n by a rattle- 
 snake. His sudden exit was followed by peals of laughter 
 
 from the crowd, while Mr. coolly picked up his w ig, 
 
 and drily remarked that it had saved his head. 
 
 THE INDIAN FISHERMAN'S LIGHT. 
 
 The air is still, the night is dark, 
 
 No ripple breaks the dusky tide ; 
 From isle to isle the fisher's bark 
 
 Like fairy meteor seems to glide ; 
 Now lost in shade — now flashing bright 
 
 On sleeping wave and forest tree ; 
 We hail with joy the ruddy light, 
 Which far into the darksome night '^ 
 
 Shines red and cheerily ! 
 
3U) 
 
 UOUGHINO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 With Hpear high poised, and steady hand, 
 
 The centre of that ftory ray, 
 Behold the Indian fisher stand 
 
 Prepared to strike the finny ray, 
 Hurrah ! the shaft has sped below — 
 
 Transfix'd the shining prize I sec ; 
 On swiftly darts the birch canoe ; 
 Yon black rock shrouding from my view 
 
 Its red light gleaming cheerily ! 
 
 Around yon bluff, whose pine crest hides 
 
 The noisy rapids from our sight, 
 Anooherbark — another glides — 
 
 Red meteors of the murky night. 
 The bosom of the silent stream 
 
 With mimic stars is dotted free ; 
 The waves reflect the double gleam. 
 The tall woods lighten in the beam, 
 
 Through darkness shining cheerily ! 
 
CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 BURNING THE FALLOW. 
 
 There is a hollow roaring in the air — 
 The hideous hissing of ten thovisand flames, 
 That from the centre of yon sable cloud 
 Leap madly up, like serpents in the dark, 
 Shaking their arrowy tongues at Nature's heart. 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 JiT is not my intention to give a regular history of our 
 ^ residence in the bush, but merely to present to my 
 readers such events as may serve to illustrate a life in the 
 woods. 
 
 The winter and spring of 1834 had passed away. The 
 latter was uncommonly cold and backward ; so much so 
 that we had a very heavy fall of snow upon the 14th 
 and 15th of May, and several gentlemen drove down to 
 Cobourg in a sleigh, the snow lying upon the ground to 
 the depth of several inches. 
 
 A late, cold spring in Canada is generally succeeded by 
 a burning hot summer ; and the summer of '34 was the 
 hottest I ever remember. No rain fell upon the earth for 
 many weeks, till nature drooped and withered beneath 
 one bright blaze of sunlight ; and the ague and fever in 
 
318 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 the woods, and the cholera in the large towns and cities 
 Hpread death and sickness through the country. 
 
 Moodie had made during the winter a large clearing 
 of twenty acres f^round the house. The progress of the 
 workmen had been watched by me with the keenest in- 
 terest. Every tree that reached the ground opened a 
 wider gap in the dark wood, giving us a broader ray of 
 light and a clearer glimpse of the blue sky. But when 
 the dark cedar-swamp fronting the house fell beneath the 
 strokes of the axe, and we got a first view of the lake, 
 i^y joy was complete; a new and beautiful object was 
 now constantly before me, which gave me the greatest 
 pleasure. By night and day, in sunshine or in storm, 
 water is always the most sublime feature in a landscape, 
 and no view can be truly grand in w^Mch it is wanting- 
 From a child, it always had the n powerful effect 
 upon my mind, from the green ocean rolling in majesty, 
 to ohe tinkling forest rill, hidden by the flowers and 
 rushes along its banks. Half the solitude of my forest 
 home vanished when the lake unveiled its bright face to 
 the blue heavens, and I saw sun, and moon, and stars, 
 and waving trees reflected there. I would sit for hours 
 at the window as the shades of evening deepened round 
 me, watching the massy foliage of the forests pictured in 
 the waters, till fancy transported me back to England, and 
 the songs of birds and the lowing of cattle were sounding 
 in my ears. It was long, very long, before I could discipline 
 my mind to learn and practise all the menial employ- 
 ments which are necessary in » good settler's wife. 
 
BURNING THE FALLOW. 
 
 319 
 
 The total absence of trees about tlie doors in all now 
 settlements had nlways puzzled me, in a country where 
 the intense heat of summer seems to demand all the 
 shade that can be procured. My husband had loft several 
 beautiful rock-elms (the most pictures(iue tree in the 
 country) near our dwelling, but, alas ! the tirst high gale 
 prostrated all my fine trees, and left our log cottage en- 
 tirely exposed to the fierce rays of the sun. 
 
 The confusion of an uncleared fallow spread around us 
 on every side. Huge trunks of trees and piles of brush 
 gave a littered and uncomfortable appearance to the 
 locality, and as the weather had been very dry for some 
 weeks, I heard my husband daily talking with his 
 choppers as to the expediency of firing the fallow. 
 They still urged hi in to wait a little longer, until he 
 could get a good breeze to carry the fire well through the 
 brush. 
 
 Business called him suddenly to Toronto, but he left a 
 strict charge with old Thomas and his sons, who were 
 engaged in the job, by no means to attempt to burn it 
 off until he returned, as he wished to be upon the pre- 
 mises himself, in case of any danger. He had previously 
 burnt all the heaps immediately about the dooiU 
 
 While he was absent, old Thomas and his second son 
 fell sick with the ague, and went hov . ) their own 
 township, leaT 'ng John, a surly, obstinate ^ oung man, in 
 charge of the shanty, where they slept, and kept their 
 tools and provisions. 
 
 Monaghan I had sent to fetch up my three cows, as the 
 
mi 
 
 320 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 children were languishing for milk, and Mary and I re 
 mained alone in the house with the little ones. 
 
 The day was sultry, and towards noon a strong wind 
 sprang up that roared in the pine tops like the dashing of 
 distant billows, but without in the least degree abating 
 the heat. The children were lying listlessly upon tin 
 floor for coolness, and the girl and I were finishing sun 
 bonnets, when Mary suddenly exclaimed, " Bless us, mis- 
 tress, what a smoke !" I ran immediately to the dooi , 
 but was not able to distinguish ten yards before me. Thi 
 swamp immediately below us was on fire, and the heav} 
 wind was driving a dense black cloud of smoke directly 
 towards is. 
 
 . " What can this mean ?" I cried. " Who can have set 
 fire to the fallow r 
 
 As I ceased speaking, John Thomas stood pale an<l 
 trembling before me. " John, what is the meaning of 
 this fire V 
 
 " On, ma'am, I hope you will forgive me ; it was I set 
 fire to it, and I would give all I have in the world if i 
 had not done it." 
 
 " What is the danger ?" 
 
 " Oh, I'm terribly afear'd that we shall all be burnt up, ' 
 said the fellow, beginning to whimper. 
 
 " Why did you run such a risk, and your master frotii 
 home, and no one on the place vo render the least assist- 
 ance ?" 
 
 " I did it for the best," blubbered the lad. " What shall 
 we do ?" 
 
BURNING THE FALLOW. 
 
 321 
 
 " Why, we must get out of it as fast as we can, and 
 leave the house to its fate." 
 
 " We can't get out," said the man, in a low, hollow tone, 
 which seemed the concentration of fear ; " I would have 
 got out of it if I could ; but just step to the back door, 
 ma'am, and see." 
 
 I had not felt the least alarm up to this minute ; I had 
 never seen a fallow burnt, but I had heard of it as a thing 
 of such common occurrence that I had never connected 
 with it any idea of da-nger. Judge then, my surprise, my 
 hoiTor, when, on going to the back dtx)r, I siiw that the 
 fellow, to make sure of his work, had fired the field in 
 fifty different places. Behind, before, on every side, we 
 were surrounded by a wall of fire, burning furiously 
 within a hundred yards of us, and cutting oft* all possi- 
 bility of retreat ; for could we have found an opening 
 through the burning heaps, we could not have seen our 
 way through the dense canopy of smoke ; and, buried as 
 we were in the heart of the forest, no one could discover 
 our situation till we were 1 yond the reach of help. 
 
 I closed the door, and went back to the parlour. Fear 
 was knocking loudly at my he?»rt, for our utter helpless- 
 ness annihilated all hope of being able to effect our escape 
 — I felt stupefied. The girl sat upon the floor by the 
 children, who, unconscious of the peril that hung over 
 them, had both fallen asleep. She was silently weeping ; 
 while the fool who had caused the mischief wjis crying 
 aloud. 
 
 A strange calm succeeded my first alarm ; teal's and 
 
322 
 
 BOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 
 lamentations were useless ; a homble death was impend- 
 ing over us, and yet I could not believe we were to die- 
 I sat down upon the step of the door, and watched the 
 awful scene in silence. The fire was raging in the cedar- 
 swamp, inimediately below the ridge on which the house 
 stood, and it presented a spectacle truly appalling. From 
 out the dense folds of a canopy of black smoke, the black- 
 est I ever saw, leaped up continually red forks of lurid 
 flame as high as the tree tops, igniting the branches of a 
 group of tall pines that had been left standing for saw- 
 logs. 
 
 A deep gloom blotted out the heavens from our sight. 
 The air was filled with fiery particles, which floated even 
 to the door-step — while the crackling and roaring of the 
 flames might have been heard at a great distance. Could 
 we have reached the lake shore, where several canoes 
 were moored at the landing, by launching out into the 
 water we should have been in perfect safety ; but, to 
 attain this object, it was necessary to pass through this 
 mimic hell ; and not a bird could have flown over it with 
 unscorched wings. There was no hope in that quarter, 
 for, could we have escaped the flames, we should have 
 been blinded and choked by the thick, black, resinous 
 smoke. 
 
 The fierce wind drove the flames at the sides and back 
 of the house up the clearing ; and our passage to the 
 road, or to the forest, on the right and left, was entirely 
 obstructed by a sea of flames. Our only ark of safety 
 was the house, so long as it remained untouched by the 
 
BURNING THE FALLOW. 
 
 323 
 
 consuming element. I turned to young Thomas, and 
 asked him how long he thought that would be. 
 
 " When the fire clears this little ridge in front, ma'am. 
 The Lord have mercy upon us, then, or we must all go !" 
 
 " Cannot you, John, try and make your escape, and see 
 what can be done for us and the poor children ?" 
 
 My eye fell upon the sleeping angels, locked peacefully 
 in each other's arms, and my tears flowed for the first 
 time. 
 
 Mary, the servant-girl, looked piteously up in my face. 
 The good, faithful creature had not uttered one word of 
 complaint, but now she faltered forth, 
 
 " The dear, precious lambs ! — Oh ! such a death !" 
 
 I threw myself down upon the floor beside them, and 
 pressed them alternately to my heart, while inwardly I 
 thanked God that they were asleep, unconscious of dan- 
 ger, and unable by their childish cries to distract our at- 
 tention from adopting any plan which might offer to effect 
 their escape. 
 
 The heat soon became suffocating. We were parched 
 with thirst, and there was not a drop of water in the 
 house, and none to be procured nearer than the lake. I 
 turned once more to the door, hoping that a passage 
 might have been burnt through to the water, I saw 
 nothing but a dense cloud of fire and smoke — could hear 
 nothing but the crackling and roaring of the flames, 
 which were gaining so fast upon us that I felt their scorch- 
 ing breath in my face. 
 
 " Ah," thought I — and it was a most bitter thought — 
 
324 
 
 llOUOHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 "what will my beloved husband say when he returns 
 and finds that his poor Susy and his dear girls have 
 perished in this miserable manner ? But God can save 
 us yet." 
 
 The thought had scarcely found a voice in my heart 
 before the wind rose to a hurricane, scattering the flames 
 on all sides into a tempest of burning billows. I buried 
 my head in my apron, for I thought that our time wa« 
 come, and that all was lost, when a most terrific crash of 
 thunder burst over our heads, and, like the breaking of a 
 water-spout, down came the rushing torrent of rain which 
 had been pent up for so many weeks. 
 
 In a few minutes the chip-yard was all afloat, and the 
 fire effectually checked. The storm which, unnoticed by 
 us, had been gathering all day, and which was the only 
 one of any note we had that summer, continued to rage 
 all night, and before morning had quite subdued the cruel 
 enemy, whose approach we had viewed with such dread. 
 
 The imminent danger in which we had been placed 
 struck me more forcibly after it was past than at the 
 time, and both the girl and myself sank upon our knees, 
 and lifted up our hearts in humble thanksgiving to that 
 God who had saved us hy an act of His Providence from 
 an awful and sudden death. When all hope from human 
 assistance was lost. His hand was mercifully stretched 
 forth, making His strength more perfectly manifested in 
 our weakness : — 
 
 " He is their stay when earthly help is lost, 
 The light and anchor of the tempest-toss'd." 
 
IJURNING THE FALLOW. 
 
 32 
 
 o 
 
 There was one person unknown to us, who had watcli- 
 ed the progress of that rash blaze, and had even brought 
 his canoe to the landing, in the hope of getting us off. 
 This was an Irish pensioner named Dunn, who had clear- 
 ed a few acres on his government grant, and had built a 
 shanty on the opposite shore of the lake. 
 
 " Faith, madam ! an' I thought the captain was stark, 
 staring mad to fire his fallow on such a windy day, and 
 that blowing right from the lake to the house. When 
 Old Wittals came in and towld us that the masther 
 was not to the fore, but only one lad, an' the wife an' the 
 childer at home, — think's I, there's no time to be lost, or 
 the orathurs will be burnt up intirely. We started in- 
 stanther, but, by Jove! we were too late. The swamp 
 was all in a blaze when we got to the landing, and you 
 might as well have thried to get to heaven by passing 
 through the other place." 
 
 This was the eloquent harangue with which the honest 
 creature informed me the next morning of the efforts he 
 had made to save us, and the interest he had felt in our 
 critical situation. I felt comforted for my past anxiety, 
 by knowing that v,ne human being, however humble, had 
 sympathised in our probable fate ; while the providential 
 manner in which we had been rescued will ever remain a 
 theme of wonder and gratitude. 
 
 The next evening brought the return of my husband, 
 who listened to the tale of our escape with a pale and 
 disturbed countenance ; not a little thankful to find his 
 wife and children still in the land of the living. 
 
326 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 For a long time after the burning of that fallow, it 
 haunted me in my dreams. I would awake with a start, 
 imagining myself fighting with the flames, and endeavour- 
 ing to carry my little children through them to the top of 
 the clearing, when invariably their garments and my own 
 took fire just as I was within reach of a place of safety. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 OUR LOGGING-BEE. 
 
 There was a man in our town, 
 In our town, in our town — 
 There was a man in our town, 
 He made a logging-bee ; 
 
 And he bought lots of whiskey^ 
 To make the loggers frisky — 
 To make the loggers frisky 
 At his logging-bee. 
 
 The Devil sat on a log heap, 
 A log heap, a log heap — 
 A red hot burning log heap— 
 A-grinning at the bee ; 
 
 And there was lots of swearing. 
 Of boasting and of daring, 
 Of fighting and of tearing. 
 At that logging-bee. 
 
 J. W. D. M. 
 
 LOGGING-BEE followed the burning of the fal- 
 low as a matter of course. In the bush, where 
 hands are few, and labour commands an enormous rate of 
 wages, these gatherings are considered indispensable, and 
 much has been written in their praise ; but to me, they 
 present the most disgusting picture of a bush life. They 
 
328 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 are noiy, riotous, drunken meetings, often terminating in 
 violent quarrels, sometimes even in bloodshed. Accidents 
 of the most serious nature often occur, and very little 
 work is done when we consider the number of hands em- 
 ployed, and the great consumption of food and liquor. 
 
 I am certain, in our case, had we hired with the money 
 expended in providing for the bee, two or three indus- 
 trious, hard-working men, we should have got through 
 twice as much work, and have had it done well, and have 
 been the gainers in the end. 
 
 People in the woods have a craze for giving and going 
 to bees, and run to them with as much eagerness as a 
 peasant runs to a race-course or a fair ; plenty of strong 
 drink and excitement making the chief attraction of the 
 bee. 
 
 In raising a house or barn, a bee may be looked upon 
 as a necessary evil, but these gatherings are generrlly con- 
 ducted in a more orderly manner than those for logging. 
 Fewer hands are required ; and they are generally under 
 the control of the carpenter who puts up the frame, and 
 if they get drunk during the raising they are liable to 
 meet with very serious accidents. 
 
 Thirty-two men, gentle and simple, were invited to our 
 bee, and the maid and I were engaged for two days pre- 
 ceding the important one, in baking and cooking for the 
 entertainment of our guests. When I looked at the 
 quantity of food we had prepared, I thought that it never 
 could be all eaten, even by thirty-two men. It was a 
 buraiug hot day towards the end of July, when our log- 
 
OUR LOOOINU-BEE. 
 
 329 
 
 gers begaiv to come in, and tb.e " gee !" and " ha !" to 
 encourage the oxen resounded on every side. 
 
 There was my brother S , with his frank English 
 
 lace, a host in himself; Lieutenant in his blouse, 
 
 wide white trousers, and red sash, his broad straw hat 
 shading a dark manly face that would have been a splen- 
 did property for a bandit chief ; the four gay, reckless, 
 
 'die sons of , famous at any spree, but incapable of 
 
 the least mental or physical exertion, who considered 
 bunting and fishing as the sole aim and object of life. 
 These young men rendered very little assistance them- 
 selves, and their example deterred others who were in- 
 dined to work. 
 
 There were the two R s, who came to work and to 
 
 make others work ; my good brother-in-law, who had 
 volunteered to be the Grog Boss, and a host of other 
 settlers, among whom I recognised Moodie's old acquain- 
 tance, Dan Simpson, with his lank red hair, and long 
 freckled face ; the Youngs, the huntei*s, with their round, 
 
 black, curly heads and rich Irish brogue; poor C 
 
 with his long, spare, consumptive figure, and thin, sickly 
 face. Poor fellow, he has long since been gathered to his 
 rest! 
 
 There was the ruffian squatter P , from Clear Lake, 
 
 —the dread of all honest men ; the brutal M , who 
 
 treated oxen as if they had been logs, by beating them 
 with handspikes ; and there was Old Wittals, with his 
 low forehead and long nose, a living witness of the truth 
 of phrenology, if his large organ of acquisitiveness and 
 V 
 
330 
 
 ROUGUINO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 his want of conscientiousness could be taken in evidence. 
 Yet in spite of his derelictions from honesty, he was a 
 hard-working, good-natured man, who, if he cheated you 
 in a bargain, or took away some useful article in mistake 
 from your homestead, never wronged his employer in his 
 day's work. 
 
 He was a curious sample of cunning and simplicity — 
 quite a character in his way — and the largest eater I ever 
 chanced to know. From this ravenous propensity, for he 
 ate his food like a famished wolf, he had obtained his 
 singuUr name of " Wittals." 
 
 During the first year of his settlement in the bush, 
 with a very large family to provide for, he had been often 
 in want of food. One day he came to my brother, with 
 a very long face. 
 
 "Mr. S I'm no beggar, but I'd be obliged to 
 
 you for a loaf of bread. I declare to you on my honour 
 that I have not had a bit of wittals to dewour for two 
 whole days." 
 
 He came to the right person with his petition. Mr. 
 
 S with a liberal hand relieved his wants, but he 
 
 entailed upon him the name of "Old Wittals," as part 
 payment. 
 
 His daughter, who was a very pretty girl, had stolen a 
 march upon him into the wood, with a lad whom he by 
 no means regarded with a favourable eye. "When she re- 
 turned, the old man confronted her and her lover with 
 this threat, which I suppose he considered "the most 
 awful" punishment that he could devise. 
 
OUR LOGGINQ-BEE. 
 
 331 
 
 " March into the house, Madam 'Ria (Maria) ; and if 
 ever I catch you with that scamp again, I'll tie you up to 
 a stump all day, and give you no wittals." 
 
 I was greatly amused by overhearing a dialogue be- 
 tween Old Wittals and one of his youngest sons, a sharp 
 Yankeefied-looking boy, who had lost one of his eyes, 
 but the remaining orb looked as if it could see all ways 
 at once. 
 
 " I say, Sol, how came you to tell that tarnation tearing 
 
 lie to Mr. S yesterday ? Didn't you ex poet that you'd 
 
 catch a good wallopping for the like of that ? Lying may 
 be excusable in a man, but 'tis a terrible bad habit in a 
 boy." 
 
 " Lor', father, that worn't a lie. I told Mr. S , our 
 
 cow worn't in his peas. Nor more she wor ; she was in 
 his wheat." 
 
 " But she was in the peas all night, boy." 
 
 "That wor nothing to me; she worn't in just then. 
 Sure I won't get a licking for that ? " 
 
 " No, no, you are a good boy ; but mind what I tell 
 you, and don't bring mo into a scrape with any of your 
 real lies." 
 
 Prevarication, the worst of falsehoods, was a virtue in 
 his eyes. So much for the old man's morality. 
 
 Monaghan was in his glory, prepared to work or fight, 
 whichever should come uppermost; and there was old 
 Thomas and his sons, the contractors for the clearing, to 
 expedite whose movements the bee was called. Old 
 Thomas was a very ambitious man in his way. Though 
 
332 
 
 KOUGHINQ IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 he did not know A from B, he took it into hia head that 
 he had received a call from Heaven to convert the heathen 
 in the wilderness; and every Sunday he hold a meeting 
 in our loggers shanty, for the purpose of awakening sin- 
 ners, and bringing over " Injun pagans" to the true faith. 
 His method of accomplishing this object was very ingeni- 
 ous. He got his wife, Peggy — or "my Paggy," as he 
 called her — to read aloud to him a text from the Bible, 
 until he knew it by heart ; and he had, as he said truly, 
 " a good remembrancer," and never heard a striking ser- 
 mon but he retained the most important passages, and 
 retailed them second-hand to his bush audience. 
 
 I must say that I was not a little surprised at the old 
 man's eloquence when I went one Sunday over to the 
 shanty to hear him preach. Several wild young fellows 
 had come on purpose to make fun of him; but his dis- 
 course, which was upon the text " We shall all meet 
 before the judgment-seat of Christ," was rather too seri- 
 ous a subject to turn into a jest, with even old Thomas 
 for the preacher. All went on very well until the old 
 man gave out a hyi m, and led off in such a loud, dis- 
 cordant voice, that my little Katie, who was standing 
 between her father's knees, looked suddenly up, and said, 
 " Mamma, what a noise old Thomjis makes ! " This re- 
 mark led to a much greater noise, and the young men, 
 unable to restrain their long-suppressed laughter, ran 
 tumultuously from the shanty. 
 
 I could have whipped the little elf; but small blame 
 could be attached to a child of two years old, who had 
 
OUR LOaaiNQ-BEE. 
 
 333 
 
 never heard a preacher, especially such a preacher m the 
 old backwoodsman, in her life. Poor man ! he was per- 
 fectly unconscious of the cause of the disturbance, and 
 remarked to us, after the service was over, 
 
 " Well, ma'am, did not we get on famously ? Now, 
 worn't that a bootifal discourse ?" 
 
 " It was, indeed ; much better than I expected." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I knew it would please you. It had quite 
 an effect on those wild fellows. A few more such ser- 
 mons will teach them good behaviour. Ah ! the bush is 
 a bad place for young men. The farther in tlie bush, say 
 I, the farther from God, and the nearer to h — 1. I told 
 
 that wicked Captain L , of Dummer, so the other 
 
 Sunday ; ' an',' says he, ' if you don't hold your confounded 
 jaw, you old fool, I'll kick you there.' Now, ma'am — now 
 sir, was not that bad manners in a gentleman, to use such 
 appropriate epitaplis to a humble servant of God, like I?" 
 
 And thus the old man ran on for an hour, dilating upon 
 his own merits and the sins of his neighbours. 
 
 There was John , from Smith-town, the most 
 
 notorious swearer in the district ; a man who esteemed 
 himself clever, nor did he want for natural talent, but ho 
 had converted his mouth into such a sink of iniquity that 
 it corrupted the whole man, and all the weak and thought- 
 less of his own sex who admitted him into their company. 
 I had tried to convince John (for he often fre- 
 quented the house under the pretence of bon'owing books) 
 of the great crime that he was constantly committing, and 
 of the injurious effect it must produce upon his own family, 
 
334 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 but the mental disease bad taken too deep a root to be so 
 easily cured. Like a person labouring under some foul 
 disease, lie contaminated all he touched. Such men seem 
 to make an ambitious display of their bad habits in such 
 scenes, and if they aftbrd a little help, they .are sure to get 
 intoxicated and make a row. There v,as my friend, old 
 jNed Dunn, who had been so anxious to get us out of the 
 burning fallow. There was a whole group of Dumnior 
 Pines : Levi, the little wiry, witty poacher ; Cornish Bill^ 
 the honest-hearted old peasant, with his stalwart figure 
 and uncouth dialect ; and David, and NedT— all good men 
 and true ; and Malaclii Chroak, a queer, withered-up, 
 monkey-man, that seemed like some mischievous elf, Hit- 
 ting from heap to heaj) to make work and fun for the 
 rest ; and many others were at that bee who have since 
 
 founc^ a rest in the wilderness : Adam T , H , J. 
 
 M , H. N . These, at different times, lost their 
 
 lives in those bright waters in which, on such occasions 
 as these, they used to sport and frolic to refresh them- 
 selves during the noonday heat. Alas ! how many, who 
 were then young and in their prime, that river and its 
 lakes have swept away ! 
 
 Our men worked well until diuiier-time, when, after 
 washing in the lake, they all sat down to the rude board 
 which I had prepared for them, loaded with the best fore 
 that could bo procured in the bush. Pea-soup, legs of 
 pork, venison, eel, and raspberry pies, garnished with 
 plenty of potatoes, and whiskey to wash them down, be- 
 sides a large iron kettle of tea. To pour out the latter, 
 
OUR LOGGING-BEE. 
 
 335 
 
 and dispense it round, devolved upon me. My brother 
 and his friehJs, who were all temperance men, and conse- 
 quent!)? the best workers in the tield, kept me and the 
 maid actively employed in replenishing their cups. 
 
 The dinner passed off tolerably well ; some of the lower 
 order of the Irish settlers were pretty far gone, but they 
 committed no outrage upon our feelings by either swear- 
 ing or bad language, a few harmless jokes alone circulatin ^ 
 among them. 
 
 Some one was funning CM Wittalls for having eaten 
 seven large cabbages at Mr. T 's bee, a few daj'^s pre- 
 vious. His son. Sol, thought himself, as in duty, bound 
 to take up the cudgel for his lather. 
 
 " Now, I guess that's a lie, anyhow. Fa;>^ther was sick 
 that day, and I tell you he only ate five." 
 
 This announcement was followed by such an explosion 
 of mirth that the boy looked fiercely round him, as if he 
 could scarcely believe the fact that the whole p«arty were 
 laughing at him, 
 
 Malachi Cliroak, who was good-naturedly djiink, had 
 discovered an old pair of cracked bellows in a come.', 
 which he placed under his arm, and applying iiis mouth 
 to the pipe, and working his elbows to and fro, pretended 
 that he wa>* playing upon the bagpipes, every now and 
 then letting the wind escnne in a shrill squeak from this 
 novel instrument. 
 
 " Arrah, ladiew and jintlemen, do jist turn 3'our swate 
 little eyes upon m«j whilnt I play for your iddification s 
 the last illigant tune wh'ioh my owkl grandmother taught 
 
336 
 
 ROUGHINQ IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 1 
 
 ! 
 
 me. Och hone ! 'tis a thousand pities that such musical 
 owld crathers should be suffered to die, at all at all, to be 
 poked away into a dirthy, dark hole, when their canthles 
 shud be burnin' a-top of a bushel, givin' light to the Louse. 
 An' then it is she that was the illigant dancer, stepping 
 out so lively and frisky, just so." 
 
 And here he minced to and fro, affecting the airs of a 
 fine lady. The supposititious bagpipe gave an uncertain, 
 ominous howl, and he flung it down, and started back 
 with a ludicrous expression of alarm. 
 
 " Alive, is it ye are ? Ye croaking owld divil, is that 
 the tune you taught your son ? " 
 
 ** Och ! my owld granny taught me, but now she is dead, 
 That a dhroj) of nate whiskey is good for the head ; 
 It would make a man spake when jist ready to dhie, 
 If you doubt it — my boys ! — I'd advise you to thry. 
 
 " Och ! my owid granny sleeps with her head on a stone, — 
 * N<»w, Malacn, don't throuble the gals when I'm gone ! ' 
 I thried to obey her ; but, och, I am shure, 
 There's no sorrow on earth that the angels can't cure. 
 
 " Och ! I took her advice — I'm a bachelor still ; 
 And I dance, and I play, with such excellent skill, 
 
 (Takiny up the bellows, and beginning to dance.) 
 That the dear little crathurs are striving in vjiin 
 Which hist shall my hand or my f ortin' obtain. " 
 
 " Malach !" shouted a laughing group. " How was it 
 that tl.e old lady taught you to go a-courting?" 
 
 " Arrah, that's a sacret ! I don't let out owld granny's 
 sacrets," said Malachi, gracefully waving his head to and 
 fro to the squeaking of the bellows ; then, suddenly toss- 
 ing back the long, dangling black elf-locks that curled 
 
OUR LOGGING-BEE. 
 
 337 
 
 down the sides of his lank yellow cheeks, and winking 
 knowingly with his comical little deep-seated black eyes, 
 he burst out again — 
 
 '• Wid the blarney I'd win the most dainty proud dame, 
 No gal can resist the soft sound of that same ; 
 Wid the blarney, my boys — if you doubt it, go thry — 
 But hand here the bottle, my whistle is dhry." 
 
 The men went back to the field, leaving Malachi to 
 amuse those who remained in the house ; and we certainly 
 did laugh our fill at his odd capers and conceits. 
 
 lii >• he would insist ujion marrying our maid. There 
 could be no refusal — have her ho would. The girl, to 
 keep him quiet, laughingly promised that she would take 
 him for her husband. This did not satisfy him. She 
 must take her oath upon the Bible to that efi'ect. Mary 
 pretended thcit there was no Bible in the house, but he 
 found an old spelling-book upon a shelf in the kitchen, 
 and upon it he made her swear, and called upon me to 
 bear witness to her oath, that she was now his betrothed, 
 and he would go next day with her to the " })raist." Poor 
 Mary had reason to repent her frolic, for he stuck close to 
 her til ) whole evening, tormenting her to fulfil her con- 
 tract. 
 
 After the sun went down, the logging-band came in to 
 .su}>per, which was all ready for them. Those who re- 
 mained sober ate the meal in peace, and (quietly returned 
 to their own homes ; while the viciuos and the drunken 
 stayed to brawl and tight. 
 
 After having placed the sapper on the table, I was so 
 tired with the noise, aiMi heat, and fatigue of the day. 
 
338 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 i 
 
 that I went to bed, leaving to Mary and my husband the 
 care of the guests. 
 
 The little bed-chamber was only separated from the 
 kitchen by a few thin boards ; and, unfortunately for me 
 and the girl, who was soon forced to retreat thither, we 
 could hear all the wickedness and profanity going on in 
 the next room. My husband, disgusted with the scene, 
 soon left it, and retired into the parlour, with the few of 
 the loggers who, at that hour, remained sober. The 
 house rang with the sound of unhallowed revelry, profane 
 songs, and blasphemous swearing. It would have been 
 no hard task to have imagined these miserable, degraded 
 l)eings, fiends instead of men. How glad I was when 
 they at last l^roke up ; and we were once more left in 
 l)eace to colieot the broken glasses and cups, and the scat- 
 tered fragments of that hateful feast ! 
 
 We wore obliged to endure a second and a third repe- 
 tition of this odious scene, before sixteen acres of land 
 were rendered fit for the reception of our fall crop of 
 wheat. 
 
 My hatred to these tumultuous, disorderly meetings 
 was not in the least decreased by my husband being twice 
 seriously liurt while attending them. After the second 
 injury he received he seldom went to them himself, but 
 sent his oxtn and servant in his place. In these odious 
 gatherings, the soVer, moral, and industrious man is more 
 likely t ^ suffer than the drunken and profane, as, during 
 the delirum of drink, these men expose others to dapper 
 as well as tliemselves. 
 
OUR LOGGING-BEE. 
 
 339 
 
 The conduct of many of the settlers, who considered 
 themselves gentlemen, and would have been very much 
 affronted to have been called otherwise, was often more 
 reprehensible than that of the poor Irish emigrants, to 
 whom they should have set an example of order and 
 sobriety. The behaviour of these young men drew upon 
 them the severe but just censures of the poorer class, 
 whom they regarded in every way as their inferiors. 
 
 Just after the last of these logging-bees, we had to 
 part with our good servant Mary, and just at a time when 
 it was the heaviest loss to me. Her ftither, who had been 
 a dairy-man in the north of Ireland, an honest, industri- 
 ous man, had brought out upwards of one hundred pounds 
 to this country. With more wisdom than is generally 
 exercised by Irish emigrants, instead of sinking all his 
 means in buying a bush farm, he hired a very good farm 
 in Cavan, stocked it with cattle, and returned to his old 
 avocation. The services of his daughter, who was an 
 excellent dairy-maid, were required to take the manage- 
 ment of the cows ; and her brother brought a waggon 
 and horses all the way from the front to take her home. 
 
 This event was perfectly unexpected, and left me with- 
 out a moment's notice to provide myself with another 
 servant, at a time when servants were not to be had, and 
 I was perfectly unable to do the least thing. My little 
 Addie was sick almost to death with the summer com- 
 plaint, and the eldest still too young to take care of her- 
 self. 
 
 This was but the beginning of trouble. 
 
340 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 Ague and lake fever had attacked our new settlement. 
 The men in the shanty were all down with it ; and my 
 husband was confined to his bed on each alternate day, 
 unable to raise hand or foot, and raving in the delirium 
 of the fever. 
 
 In my sister and brother's families, scarcely a healthy 
 person remained to attend upon the sick ; and at Herriot's 
 Falls, nine persons were stretched upon the floor of one 
 log cabin, unable to help themselves or one another. 
 After much difficulty, and only by offering enormous 
 wages, I succeeded in procuring a nurse to attend upon 
 me during my confinement. The woman had not been a 
 day in the house before she was attacked by the same 
 fever. In the midst of this confusion, and with my pre- 
 cious little Addie lying insensible on a pillow at the foot 
 of my bed — expected every moment to breathe her last — 
 on the night of the 26th of August, the boy T had so 
 ardently coveted was born. The next day, old Pine 
 carried his wife (my nurse) away upon his back, and 
 I was left to struggle through, in the best manner I 
 could, with a sick husband, a sick child, and a new-born 
 babe. 
 
 It was a melancholy season, one of severe mental and 
 bodily suffering. Those who have drawn such agi'eeable 
 pictures of a residence in the backwoods, never dwell 
 upon the periods of sickness, when, far from medical 
 advice, and often, as in my case, deprived of the assist- 
 ance of friends by adverse circumstances, you are left to 
 languish, unattended, upon the couch of pain. 
 
OUR LOGOING-BEE. 
 
 341 
 
 The day that my husband was free of the fit, he did 
 what he could for me and his poor sick babes, but, ill as 
 he was, he was obliged to sow the wheat to enable the 
 man to proceed with the drag, and was, therefore, neces- 
 sarily absent in the field the greater part of the day. 
 
 I was very ill, yet, for hours at a time, I had no friendly 
 voice to cheer me, to proffer me a drink of cold water, or 
 to attend to the poor babe ; and worse, still worse, there 
 was no one to help that pale, marble child, who lay so 
 cold and still, with "half-closed violet eyes," as if death 
 had already chilled her young heart in his i * on grasp. 
 
 There was not a breath of air in our close, burning 
 bed-closet; and the weather was sultry beyond all that 
 I have since experienced. How I wished that I could 
 be transported to an hospital at home, to enjoy the 
 common care that in such places is bestowed upon 
 the sick ! Bitter tears flowed continually over those 
 young children. I had asked of Heaven a son, and there 
 Le lay helpless by the side of his almost equally helpless 
 mother, who could not lift him up in her arms, or still 
 his cries ; while the pale, fair angel, with her golden curls, 
 who had lately been the admiration of all who saw her, 
 no longer recognized my voice, or was conscious of my 
 presence. I felt that I could almost resign the long and 
 eagerly hoped for son, to win one more smile from that 
 sweet suffering creature. Often did I weep myself to 
 sleep, and wake to weep again with renewed anguish. 
 
 And my poor little Katie, herself under three years of 
 age, how patiently she bore the loss of my care, and every 
 
342 
 
 llOUOHINQ IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 comfort ! How earnestly the dear thing strove to help 
 me ! She would sit on my sick-bed, and hold my hand, 
 and ask me to look at her and speak to her; would in- 
 quire why Addie slept so long, and when she would wake 
 again. Those innocent questions went like arrows to my 
 heart. 
 
 Lieutenant , the liusband of my dear Emilia at 
 
 length heard of my situation. His inestimable wife was 
 from home, nursing her sick mother; but he sent his 
 maid-servant up every day for a couple of hours, and the 
 kind girl despatched a messenger nine miles through the 
 woods to Dummer, to fetch her younger sister, a child 
 of twelve years old. 
 
 Oh, how grateful I felt for these signal mercies ! for 
 my situation for nearly a week was one of the most piti- 
 able that could be imagined. The sickness was so pre- 
 valent that help was not to be obtained for money ; and 
 without the assistance of that little girl, young as she 
 was, it is more than probable that neither myself nor 
 my children would ever have risen from that bed of 
 sickness. 
 
 The conduct of our man Jacob, during this trying 
 period, was marked with the greatest kindness and con- 
 sideration. On the days that his master was confined to 
 his bed with the fever, he used to place a vessel of cold 
 water and a cup by his bedside, and then put his honest 
 English face in at my door to know if he could make a 
 cup of tea, or toast a bit of bread for the mistress, before 
 he went into the field. 
 
OUK LOGGING-BEE. 
 
 343 
 
 Katie was indebted to him for all her meals. He 
 baked, and cooked, and churned, milked the cows, and 
 made up the butter, as well and as carefully as the best 
 female servant could have done. As to poor John Mon- 
 aghan, he was down with the fever in the shanty, where 
 four other men were all ill with the same terrible com- 
 plaint. 
 
 I was obliged to leave my bed and endeavour to attend 
 to the wants of my young family long before I was really 
 able. When I made my first attempt to reach the par- 
 lour I was so weak, that, at every step, I felt as if I should 
 pitch forward to the ground, which seemed to undulate 
 beneath my feet, like the floor of a cabin in a storm at 
 sea. My husband continued to suffer for many weeks 
 with the ague ; and when he was convalescent, all the 
 children, even the poor babe, were seized with it ; nor did 
 it leave us till late in the spring of 1835. 
 
CHAPTER, XV. 
 A TRIP TO STONY LAKE. 
 
 Oh Nature ! in thy over-varying face, 
 
 By rocky shore, or 'neath the forest tree, 
 What love divine, what matchless skill, I trace ! 
 
 My full warm heart responsive thrills to thee. 
 Yea, in my throbbing bosom's inmost core. 
 
 Thou rCij,'n'st ' 'preme ; and, in thy sternest mood, 
 Thy votary bene in rapture to adore 
 
 The Mighty Maker, who pronounced thee good. 
 Thy broad, majestic brow still bears His seal ; 
 And when I cease to love, oh, may I cease to feel ! 
 
 ijjgvf Y husband had long promised me a trip to Stony 
 c^^ Lake, and in the summer of 1835, before the har- 
 vest commenced, he gave Mr. Y , who kept the mill at 
 
 the rapids below Clear Lake, notice of our intention, and 
 
 the worthy^ old man and his family made due preparation 
 
 for our reception. The little girls were to accompany us. 
 
 We were to start at sunrise, to avoid the heat of the 
 
 day, to go up as far as Mr. Y 's in our canoe, re-embark 
 
 with his sons above the rapids in birch-bark canoes, go as 
 far up the lake as we could accomplish by daylight, and 
 return at night ; the weather being very warm, and the 
 
A TRIP TO STONY lAKh 
 
 345 
 
 moon at full. Belbn^ nix ( olock wc were nil seated in the 
 little craft, whieh spread her white snil to n smart breeze, 
 ;ind sped meirily over the blue waters. Tlie lake on whieh 
 mv clearing stood was ahont a mile and a half in length, 
 ;ind about three quarters of n niilr in breadth ; a mere 
 pond, when C( nparcd with tht Bay of Qninto, Ontario, 
 and the inland seas of Canada. Hut it was our lake, and, 
 consequently, it had ten thousand beauties in our eyes, 
 which would scarcely have attracted the observation 
 if a stranger. 
 
 At the head of the Katchawanook, the lake is dividt d 
 by a long neck of land, that forms a small bay on the 
 right-hand side, and a very brisk rapid on the left. The 
 banks are formed of large masses of limestone ; and the 
 cardinal-flower and the tiger-lily seem to have taken an 
 especial fancy to this spot, and to vie with each other in 
 the display of their gorgeous colours. 
 
 It is an excellent place for fishing ; the water is very 
 deep close to the rocky pavement that forms the bank, 
 and it has a pebbly bottom. Many a magic hour, at rosy 
 dawn, or evening gi*ey, have I spent with my husband on 
 this romantic spot ; our canoe fastened to a bufeh, and our- 
 selves i' ' it upon ensnaring the black bass, a fish of ex- 
 cellent f^uvour that abounds in this place. 
 
 Our paddles soon carried us past the narrows, and 
 through the rapid water, the children sitting quietly at 
 the bottom of the boat, enchanted with all they heard and 
 saw, begging papa to stop and gather water-lilies, or to 
 catch one of the splendid butterflies that hove^od over us ; 
 W 
 
34^) 
 
 ROUOHINn IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 and often the little Addie dnrtcd her white hand into the 
 water to grasp at the shadow of the gorgeous insects as 
 they skimmed along the waves. 
 
 After passing the rapids, the river widened into another 
 small lake, perfectly round in form, and having in its 
 centre a tiny green island, in the midst of which stood, 
 like a shattered monument of bygone storms, one blasted, 
 black ash-tree. 
 
 The Indians call this lake Bi'ssiJcdkoon, but I do not 
 know the exact meaning of the word. Some say that it 
 means " the Indian's grave," others " the lake of the one 
 island." It is certain that an Indian girl is buried beneath 
 that blighted tiee ; but I never could learn the particulars 
 of her story, and perhaps there was no tale connected with 
 it. She might have fallen a victim to disease during the 
 wanderings of her tribe, and been buried on that spot ; or 
 she might have been drowned, which would account for 
 her having been buried away from the rest of her 
 people. 
 
 This little lake lies in the heart of the wilderness. There 
 is but one clearing upon its shores, and that had been 
 made by lumberers many years before ; the place abounded 
 with red cedar. A second growth of young timber had 
 grown up in this spot, which was covered also with rasp- 
 berry-bushes — several hundred acres being entirely over- 
 grown with this delicious berry. 
 
 It was here annually that we used to come in large pic- 
 nic parties, to collect this valuable fruit for our winter 
 preserves, in defiance of black -flies, musquitots, snakes, 
 
A TRIP TO STONY LAKE. 
 
 347 
 
 and even beaw ; all which have boon encountered by berry- 
 pickers upon this spot, as busy and as active as themselves, 
 gathering an ample repast from Nature's bounteous lap. 
 
 And, oh ! what beautiful wild shinibs and flowers grew 
 up in that neglected spot ! Some of the happiest hours I 
 spent in that bush are connected with reminiscences of 
 "Irving's shanty," for so the raspberry -gi'ounds were called. 
 The clearing could not bo seen from the shore. You had 
 to scramble through a cedar-swamp to reach the sloping 
 giouud which produced the berriett. 
 
 The mill at the Clear Lake rapids was about three miles 
 distant from our own clearing ; and after stemming another 
 rapid, and passing between two beautiful wooded islands, 
 the canoe rounded a point, and the rude structure was 
 before us. 
 
 A wilder and more romantic spot than that which the 
 old hunter had chosen for his homestead in the wilderness 
 could scarcely be imagined. The waters of Clear Lake 
 here empty themselves through a narrow, deep, rocky 
 channel, not exceeding a quarter of a mile in length, and 
 tumble over a limestone ridge of ten or twelve feet in 
 height, which extends from one bank of the river to the 
 other. The shores on either side are very steep, and the 
 large oak-trees which have anchored their roots in every 
 crevice of the rock, throw their fantastic army far over the 
 foaming waterfall, the deep green of their massy foliage 
 forming a beautiful contrast with the white, flashing 
 waters that foam over the chute at least fifty feet below 
 the brow of the limestone rock. By a flight of steps cut in 
 
348 
 
 ROUOHINO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 the banks we ascended to the platfonn above the river on 
 which Mr. Y 's house stood. 
 
 It was a laige, rough-looking log building, suiToundod 
 by barns and sheds ol' the same primitive material. The 
 porch befcve the door was covered with hops, and the room 
 of general resort, into which it immediately opened, was 
 of large dimensions, the huge tire-place forming the most 
 striking feature. On the hearth-stone, hot as was the 
 weather, blazed a great fire, encumbered with all sorts 
 of culinary apparatus, which, I am inclined to think, had 
 been called into requisition for our sole benefit and accom- 
 modation. 
 
 The good folks liad breakfasted long before we stai'ted 
 from home, but they would not hear of our proceeding to 
 Stony Lake until after we had dined. It was only eight 
 o'clock A.M., and we had still four hours to dinner, which 
 gave us ample leisure to listen to the old man's stories, 
 ramble round the premises, and observe all the striking 
 features of the place. 
 
 Mr. Y was a Catholic, and the son of a respectable 
 
 farmer from the south of Ireland. Some few years before, 
 he had emigrated with a large family of seven sons and 
 two daughters, and being fond of field sports, and greatly 
 taken with the beauty of the locality in which he had 
 pitched his tent in the wilderness, he determined to raise 
 a mill upon the dam which Nature had provided to his 
 hands, and wait patiently until the increasing immigra- 
 tion should settle the townships of Smith and Douro,render 
 the property valuable, and bring plenty of grist to the mill. 
 
A TRIP TO STONY LAKE. 
 
 a49 
 
 He was not far wrong in his calculations ; and though 
 for the first few yefirs, he subsisted entirely by hunting, 
 fishing, and raising what potatoes and wheat he required 
 for his own family, on the most fertile spots he could find 
 on his barren lot, very Httle corn passed through the nill. 
 
 At the time we visited his place, he was driving a 
 thriving trarle, and all the wheat that was grown in the 
 neighbourhood was brought by water to l»e ground at 
 Y 'smill. 
 
 He had lost his wife a few years after coming to the 
 country ; but his two daughters, Betty and Nomh, were 
 excellent housewives, and amply supplied her loss. From 
 these amiable women we received a most kind and hearty 
 ^7elcome, and every comfort and luxury within their 
 reach. 
 
 They appeared a most happy and contented family. 
 The 3ons--a fine, hardy, independent set of fellows — were 
 regarded by the old man with pride and af!ection. Many 
 were his anecdotes of their prowess in hunting and 
 fishing. 
 
 His method of giving them an avei*sion to strong drink 
 while very young amused me greatly, but it is not every 
 child that could have stood the test of his exj)eriment. 
 
 " When they wei'e little chaps, from five to six yeai*s of 
 iige, I made them very drunk," he .said : " so drunk that 
 it brought on severe headache and sickness, and this so 
 ilisgusted them with liquor, that they never could abide 
 the sight of it again. I have only one drunkard among 
 the f^eveu ; and he w;is such n weak, puling orathur, that 
 
350 
 
 UOUaHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 I 
 
 I dared not try the same game with him, lest it should 
 kill him. 'Tia his nature, I suppose, and he can't help it ; 
 but the truth is, that to make up for the sobriety of all 
 the rest, he is killing himself with drink. " 
 
 Norah gave us an account of her catching a deer that 
 had got into the enclosure the day before. 
 
 " I went out," she said, " early in the morning, to milk 
 the cows, and I saw a fine young buck struggling to 
 get through the rail fence, in which having entangled 
 his head and horns, T knew, by the desperate efforts he 
 was making to push aside the rails, that if I was not 
 quick in getting hold of him, he would soon be gone." 
 
 "And did you dare to touch him ?" 
 
 " If I had had Mat's gun I would have shot him, but 
 he would have made his escape long before I could run to 
 the house for that, so I went boldly up to him and got 
 him by the hind legs ; and though he kicked and strug- 
 gled dreadfully, 1 held on till Mat heard me call, and ran 
 to my help, and cut his throat with his hunting knife. 
 So you see," she continued, with a good-na tilled laugh, 
 " 1 can beat our hunters hollow — they hunt the deei', but 
 I can catch a buck with my hands." 
 
 While we were chatting away, great were the prepara- 
 tions making by Miss Betty and a very handsome Ameri- 
 can woman, who had recently come thither as a help. 
 One little barefooted garsoon was shelling peas in an 
 Indian basket, another was stiinging currants into a yellow 
 pie-dish, and a thii'd was sent to the rapids with his rod 
 siuil line, to [)rocure a dish of fresh fish to add to the 
 
A TllIP TO STONY LAKE. 
 
 3.51 
 
 long list of bush dainties that were preparing for our 
 dinner. 
 
 It was in vain tliat I begged our kind entertainers not 
 to put themselves to the least trouble on our account, 
 telling them that we were now used to the woods, and 
 contented with anything ; they were determined to ex- 
 haust all their stores to furnish forth the entertainment. 
 Nor can it be wondered at, that, with so many dishes to 
 cook, and pies and custards to bake, instead of dining at 
 twelve, it was past two o'clock before we were conducted 
 to the dinner-table. I was vexed and disappointed at the 
 delay, as I wanted to see all I could of the spot we were 
 about to visit before night and darkness compelled us to 
 return. 
 
 The feast was spread in a large outhouse, the table 
 being formed of two broad deal boards laid together, and 
 supported by rude carpenter's stools. A white linen 
 cloth, a relic of better days, concealed these arrangements. 
 The board was covered with an indescribable variety of 
 roast and boiled, of fish, flesh, and fowl. My readers 
 should see a table laid out in a wealthy Canadian farmer's 
 house before they can have any idea of the profusion dis- 
 j)layed in the entertainment of two visitors and their 
 young children. 
 
 Besides venison, pork, chickens, ducks, and fish of 
 several kinds, cooked in a variety of ways, there was a 
 number of pumpkin, raspberry, cherry, and currant pies, 
 with fresh butter and green cheese (as the new cream- 
 cheese is called), maple molasses, preserves, and pickled 
 
352 
 
 KOUUHIMCi IT IN THE HUSH. 
 
 cucumliers, l)0si(l(3.s tea and cofi'eo — the latter, bo it kuowr 
 I had watched tlie Aiiieii(;an woman boiling in iha fryintj 
 pan. It was a black-looking com^ juxid, and I did no 
 atten)})t to discuss its merits. The vessel in which it hat 
 hoen pre[)arod had ))r(3Judiced me, and rendered me vor 
 sceptical on that scrore. 
 
 We were all very hungry, having tasted nothing sinci 
 live o'clock in the morning, and contrived, out of th' 
 variety of good things })efore u.s, to make an excellen 
 dinner. 
 
 I was glad, however, when we rose, to pi'osecute om 
 intended trij) u[) the lake. The old man, whose hear 
 was now thoroughly warmed with whiskey, declare! 
 that he meant to make one of the party, and Betty, toe. 
 was to accompany us ; her sister Norah kindly stay in;; 
 behind to take care of the children. 
 
 We followed a path along the tojj of the high ridg. 
 of limestone rock, until we had passed the falls and th 
 
 rapids above, when we found Pat and Mat Y waitin 
 
 for us on the shore below, in two L^^ itiful new birch 
 bark canoes, which they had purchased the day befor* 
 from the Indians. 
 
 Miss Betty, Mat, and myself, were safely stowed into 
 one, while the old miller, and his son Pat, and my husband, 
 embarked in the other, and our steeisman pushed off int' 
 the middle of the deep and silent stream; the shadow (T 
 the tall woods, towering so many feet above us, cfistin^^ 
 an inky hue upon the waters. 
 
 The scene was very imposing, and after paddling for .< 
 
 'i 
 
A lllIP TO STONY LAKE. 
 
 353 
 
 tew minutes in shade and silence, we suddtnly emerged 
 Into light and sunshine, and Clear Lake, whieii ^v\h its 
 name from the unrivalled brightness of its waters, spread 
 out its azure mirror Ijefore us. The Indians regard this 
 .sheet of water with peculiar reverence. Jt abounds in 
 the finest sorts of Hsh, the salmon-trout, the delicious 
 white tish, maskenongd, and black and white bass. There 
 is no island in this lake, no rice beds, noi* .stick nor stone 
 to break its tranquil beauty, and, at the time we visited 
 it, there was but one clearing upon its shores. 
 
 The log hut of the squatter P , commanding a 
 
 beautiful prosj)ect up and down the lake, stood upon a 
 bold slope fronting the water ; all the rest wjus unbroken 
 forest. 
 
 We had proceeded about a mile on our pleasant voyage 
 when our attention w^as attracted by a singular natural 
 phenomenon, which Mat Y called the batteiy. 
 
 On the right-side of the shore rose a steep, perpendicu- 
 lar wall of limestone, that had the appearance of having 
 been laid by the hand of man, so smooth ai:d even was 
 its surface. After attaining a height of about tifty feet, 
 a natural platform of eight or ten yards broke the perpen- 
 dicular line of the rock, when another wall, like the first, 
 lose to a considerable height, terminating in a second and 
 third platform of the same description. 
 
 Fire, at some distant [xiriod, had run over these singu- 
 larly beautiful terraces, and a second growth <jf po])lars 
 and balm-of-gileads, relieved, by their tender green and 
 light, airy foliage, the sombre indigo tint i)f the heavy 
 
354 
 
 noUGHlNCJ IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 ''/ 
 
 pines that nodded like the plumes of a f> eral-hearae ove;: 
 the fair young dwellers on the rock. 
 
 The water is forty feet deep at the base of this preci- 
 pice, which is washed by the waves. After we had passed 
 
 the battery, Mat Y turned to me and said, " That is 
 
 a famous place for beai-s ; many a bear have I shot among 
 tho.se rocks." 
 
 This led to a long discussion on the wild beasts of the 
 country. 
 
 " I do not think that there is much danger to be appre- 
 hended from them," spid he; "but I once had an ugly 
 adventure with a wolf, two winters ago, on this lake." 
 
 I was all curiosity to hear the story, which sounded 
 doubly interesting told on f he very spot, and while gliding 
 over those lovely waters. 
 
 " We were lumbering, at 'le bead of Stony Tiake, about 
 eight miles from here, my four brothers, myself, and sev- 
 eral other hands. The winter was long and severe ; 
 although it was the first week in March, there was not 
 the least appearance of a thaw, and the ice on these lakes 
 was firm as ever. I had been .jent home to fetch a yoke 
 of oxen to diaw the saw -logs down to the water, our 
 chopping being all completed, and the logs ready for raft- 
 ing- 
 
 " I did not think it necessary to encumber myself with 
 
 my rifle, and was, therefore, provided with no weapon of 
 defence but the long gad I used to urge on the cattle. It 
 was about four o'clock in the afternoon when I rounded 
 Sajidy Point, that long point which is about a mile a-head 
 
A TRIP TO STONY LAKE. 
 
 3 
 
 O,} 
 
 of us on the left shore, when I first discovered that I was 
 followed, but at a great distance, by a large wolf. At 
 first, I thought little of the circumstance, beyond a pfiss- 
 ing wish that I had brought my gun. 1 knew tliat ho 
 would not attack me before dark, and it was still two long 
 hours to sundown ; so I whistled, and urged on my oxen, 
 and soon forgot the wolf — when, on stopping to repair a 
 little damage to the peg of the yoke, I was surprised to 
 find him close at my heels. I turned, and ran towards 
 him, shouting as loud as I could, when he slunk back, but 
 show(3d no inclination to make off. Knowing that he 
 must hnve companions nt'ar, by his boldni'ss, I shouted Jis 
 loud as I could, hoping that my cries might be heard by 
 my brothers, who would imagine that the oxen had got 
 into the ice, and would come to my jussistance. 1 wjis now 
 winding my way through the isLands in Stony Lake ; the 
 sun was setting red before me, and I had still three miles 
 of my journey to accomplish. The wolf hud become so 
 impudent that I kept him ofl* by pelting him with snow- 
 balls ; and once he came so near that I struck him with 
 the gad. I now began to be seriously alarmed, and from 
 time to time, shouted with all my strength ; and you may 
 imagine my joy when these cries were answered by the 
 report of a gun. My brothers had heard me, and the dis- 
 charge of a gun, for a moment, seemed to daunt the wolf. 
 He uttered a long howl, which was answered by the (;ries 
 of a large pack of the dirty brutes from tlio wood. It 
 was only just light enough to distinguish objects, and I 
 hud to stop and fac^ m}' enemy, to keep him at bay. 
 
350 
 
 R0U01IIN(i IT IN THK BUSH. 
 
 " 1 saw tlio .skeleton forin.s of half-a-dozeu riioie of them 
 Hliiiking among the bushes that skirted a low ishmd; anil 
 tired and cold, I gave myself and the oxen up for lost, 
 when I felt the ice tremble on which I stood, and lieard 
 men running at a little distance. ' Fire your guns !' I cried 
 out, as loud as I could. My order was obeyed, and such 
 a yelling and howling immediately filled the whole forest 
 as would have chilled your very heart. The thievish var- 
 mints instantly lied away into the bush. 
 
 " I never felt the least Icar of wolves until that night J 
 but when they meet in large; bands, like cowardly dogs, 
 they trust to their num))crs ant' grow fierce. If you meet 
 with one wolf, you may l;c certain that the whole pack is 
 at no great distance." 
 
 We were fast ajiproaching Sandy Point, a long white 
 ridge of sand, running half across the lake, and though 
 only covered with scattered groups of scrubby trees and 
 brush, it effectually screened Stony Lake from our view. 
 There were so many beautiful fiowiU's peeping through 
 the dwarf, green bushes, that, wishing to inspect them 
 nearer. Mat kindly ran the canoe ashore, and told me that 
 he would show me a pretty H[)ot, where an Indian, wln> 
 had been drownetl during a storm off that point, was 
 buried. I immediately recalled the story of Susan 
 Moore's father, but Mat tliought that ho was interred u|»on 
 one of the islands farther up. 
 
 " It is strange." he said, " that they are such bad swim- 
 mers. The Indian, though unrivalled by us whites in tlu' 
 use of the pa<ldle, is an animal that does not take readil) 
 
A T1UP TO STONY LAKK. 
 
 n57 
 
 to the wRter, and those nmoiif^ thorn who ran Hwim seldom 
 use it as a recreation. ' 
 
 Pushing om- way throuj,di tlie huslies, we came to a 
 Hinall opening in tlic underwood, ho thickly j^rown over 
 with wild Canadian voses, in full blossom, that the air was 
 impregnated with a delightful (tdour. In the centre of 
 this bed of sweets rose the humble mound that protected 
 the bones of the red man from the ravenous jaws of th(; 
 wolf and the wild cat. It was completely covered with 
 stones, and from among the crevices had sprung a tuft of 
 blue harebells, waving as wild and free as if they gicew 
 among the bonny red heather on the glorious hills of the 
 North or shook their tiny belh; to the breeze on >:he broom- 
 encircled commons of England. 
 
 The harebell had always from a child been with me a 
 favourite flower ; and the first sight of it in Canada, 
 growing upon that lonely grave, so flooded my soul with 
 remembrances of the past, that in spite of myself, the 
 tears poured freely from my eyes. There are moments 
 when it is impossible to repress those oiitgushings of the 
 heart — 
 
 " Those flood-gates of the soul that sever, 
 In passion's tide to part for ever." 
 
 If Mat and his sister wondered at ray tears, they must 
 have suspected the cause, for they walked to a little dis- 
 tance, and left mo to the indulgence of my feelings. I 
 gathered those flowers, and placed them in my bosom, 
 and kept them for many a day ; they had became holy, 
 when connected with sacred home recollections, and the 
 
358 
 
 ROUOHTNO IT TN THK BTTfllT. 
 
 nevor-dyingf affections of tlio boarfc which the sight of 
 them recalled. 
 
 A shout from our companions in the other canoe made 
 us retrace our steps to the shore. They had already 
 rounded the point, and were wondering at our ab.sence. 
 
 Oh, what a magnificent scene of wild and lonely gran- 
 deur Imrst upon us as we swept round the little peninsula, 
 and the whole majesty of Stony Lake broke upon us at 
 once, another Lake of the Thousand Isles in miniature, 
 and in the heart of the wilderness ! Imagine a large 
 sheet of water, some fifteen miles in breadth and twenty- 
 five in length, taken up by islands of every size and shape, 
 from the lofty naked rock of red granite to the rounded 
 hill, covered with oak-trees to its summit ; while others 
 were level with the waters, and of a rich emerald green, 
 only fringed with a growth of aquatic shrubs and flowers. 
 Never did my eyes rest on a more lovely or beautiful 
 scene. Not a vestige of man, or of his works was there. 
 The setting sun, that cast such a gorgeous flood of light 
 upon this exquisite panorama, bringing out some of these 
 lofty islands in strong relief, and casting others into in- 
 tense shade, shed no cheery beam upon church spire or 
 cottage pane. We beheld the landscape, savage and grand 
 in its primeval beauty. 
 
 As we floated among the channels between these rocky 
 picturesque isles, I asked Mat how many of them there 
 were. 
 
 " I never could succeed," he said, " in counting them all* 
 One Sunday, Pat and I spent a whole day in going from 
 
A TRIP TO STONY LAKK. 
 
 351) 
 
 ono to the other, to try aiul lanko out how many there 
 were, hut we eould only count up to one Iiunch ccl and forty 
 hefore wc gave up the task in despair. Tiiere are a ^oat 
 many of them ; more than any one would think — and, 
 what is very singuhir, the channel hetween them i> very 
 deep, sometimes above forty feet, which accounts for the 
 few rapids to be found in this hike. It is a glorious place 
 for hunting; and the waters, undisturbed by sti in i- boats, 
 abound in all sorts of fish. 
 
 "Most of these islands are covered with hnckhiberrieR; 
 while grapes, high and low-bush cranberries, blackberries, 
 wild cherries, gooseberries, and several sorts of wild - ir- 
 rants grow here in profusion. There is one island among 
 these groups (but I never could light upon the identical 
 one) where t he Indians yearly gather their wampum-grass. 
 They come here to collect the best birch-bark for their 
 en noes, and to gatluT wild onions. In short, from the 
 game, fish, • ad fruit which they collect among the islands 
 of this lake, they chiefly depend for thtiir subsistence. 
 They are very jealous of the settlers in the country com- 
 ing to hunt and fish here, and tell many stories of wild 
 beasts and rattlesnakes that abound along its shores ; but 
 I, who have frequented the lake for years, was never dis- 
 turbed by anything, beyond the adventure with the wolf, 
 which I have already told you. The banks of this lake 
 are all steep and rocky, and the land along the shore is 
 barren, and totally unfit for cultivation. 
 
 " Had we time to run up a few miles further, I could 
 have showed you some places well worth a journey to 
 
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 ROITOHTNO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 look at ; but the sun is already down, and it will be dnrk 
 before we get back to the mill." 
 
 The other canoe now floated alongside, and Pat agreed 
 with his brother that it was high time to return. With 
 reluctance I turned from this strangely fascinating scene. 
 As we passed under one bold rocky islnnd, Mat sairl, 
 laughingly, " That is Mount Rascal." 
 
 " How did it obtain that name ?" 
 
 " Oh, we were out here beiTving, with our good priest, 
 
 Mr. B . This island promised so fair, that we landed 
 
 iipon it, and, after searching for an hour, we returned to 
 
 the boat without a single berry, upon which Mr. B 
 
 named it ' Mount Rascal.' " 
 
 The island was so beautiful, it did not deserve the 
 name, and I christened it " Oak Hill," from the abun- 
 dance of oak-trees which clothed its steep sides. The 
 Tood of this oak is so heavy and hard that it will not 
 float in tiie water, and it is in great request for the runners 
 of lumber-sleighs, which have to pass over very bad roads. 
 
 The breeze, which had rendered our sail up the lakes 
 so expeditious and refreshing, had stiffened into a prstty 
 high wind, which was dead against us all the way down. 
 Betty now knelt in the bow and assisted her brother, 
 squaw fashion, in paddling the canoe ; but, in spite of all 
 their united exertions, it was past ten o'clock before we 
 reached the mill. The good Norah was waiting tea for 
 us. She had given the children their supper four houw 
 ago, and the little creatures, tired with using their feet 
 all day, were sound asleep upon her bed. 
 
A TRIP TO STONY LAKE. 
 
 361 
 
 be dfwk 
 
 b agreed 
 
 With 
 scene. 
 Jafc sau), 
 
 \2 scene 
 
 od priest, 
 v^e landed 
 turned to 
 Ax. B 
 
 jserve the 
 
 the abun- 
 
 ides. The 
 
 it will not 
 
 ,e runners 
 
 bad roads. 
 
 the lakes 
 ,0 a pratty 
 
 ay down. 
 )r brother, 
 ipite of all 
 
 before we 
 iing tea for 
 
 four hours 
 their feet 
 
 After supper, several Irish songs were sung, while Pat 
 played upon the fiddle, and Betty and Mat enlivened the 
 company with an Irish jig. 
 
 It was midnight when the children were placed on my 
 cloak at the bottom of the canoe, and we bade adieu to 
 this hospitable family. The wind being dead against us, 
 we were obliged to dispense with the sail, and take to 
 ( ur paddles. The moonlight was as bright as day, the 
 air warm and balmy ; and the aromatic, resinous smell 
 exuded by the heat from the balm-of-gilead and the pine- 
 trees of the forest, added greatly to our sense of enjoy- 
 n:ent as we floated past scenes so wild and lonely — isles 
 that assumed a mysterious look and character in that 
 witching hour. In moments like these, I ceased to regret 
 my separation from my native land ; and, filled with the 
 love of Nature, my heart forgot for the time the love of 
 iiome. The very spirit of peace seemed to brood over 
 the waters, which were broken into a thousand ripples of 
 light by every breeze that stirred the rice blossoms, or 
 whispered through the shivering aspen-trees. The far-off 
 ioar of the rapids, softened by distance, and the long, 
 mournful cry of the night owl, alone broke the ^'^^ nee of 
 die night. Amid these lonely wilds the soul draws nearer 
 to God, and is filled to overflowing by the overwhelming 
 sense of His presence. 
 
 It was two o'clock in the morning when we fastened 
 the canoe to the landing, and Moodie carried up the 
 children to the house. I found the girl still up with 
 my boy, who had been very restless duiing our absence. 
 
i 
 
 362 
 
 KOUGKINO IT IN THE ilUfsH. 
 
 My heart rfti)roached me, as I caught him to my breast, 
 for leaving him so long ; in a few minutes he was con- 
 soled for past sorrows, and sleeping sweetly in my arms. 
 
 I! 
 
 A CANADIAN SONGI. 
 
 Come, launch the light canoe ; 
 
 The breeze is fresh and strong : 
 The summer skies are blue, 
 And 'tis joy to float along ; 
 Away o'er the waters, 
 The bright-glancing waters, 
 The many-voiced waters. 
 As they dance in light and song. 
 
 When the great Creator spoke, 
 
 On the long unmeasured night, 
 The living day-spring broke, 
 And the waters own'd His might ; 
 The voice of many waters, 
 Of glad, rejoicing waters, f 
 Of living, leaping waters^ 
 First hailed the dawn of light. 
 
 Where foaming billows glide 
 
 To earth's remotest bound ;" 
 The rushing ocean tide 
 Rolls on the solemn sound ; 
 
 God's voice is in the waters ; 
 The deep, mysterious waters. 
 The sleepless, dashing waters, 
 Still breaths its tones around. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE "OULD DHRAGOON.' 
 
 Gjd 
 
 T is delightful to observe a feeling of contentment 
 (^ under adverse circumstances. We may smile at the 
 rude and clumsy attempts of the remote and isolated 
 backwoodsman to attain something like comfort, but hap- 
 py he who, with the buoyant spirits of the light-hearted 
 Irishman, contrives to make himself happy even when 
 all others would be miserable. 
 
 A certain degree of dissatisfaction with our present 
 circumstances is necessary to stimulate us to exertion, 
 and thus to enable us to secure future comfort ; but where 
 the delusive prospect of future happiness is too remote 
 for any reasonable hope of ultimate attainment, then, 
 surely it is true wisdom to make the most of the present 
 and to cultivate a spirit of happy contentment with the 
 lot assigned to us by Providence. 
 
 " Ould Simpson," or the " Ould Dhragoon," as he was 
 generally called, was a good sample of this happy char- 
 acter ; and I shaU proceed to give the reader a sketch of 
 
364 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 his history, and a description of his establishment. He 
 was one of that unfortunate class of discharged soldiers 
 who are tempted to sell their pensions often far below 
 their true value, for the sake of getting a lot of land in 
 some remote settlement, where it is only rendered valu- 
 able by the labour of the settler, and where they will 
 have the unenviable privilege of expending the last re- 
 mains of their strength in clearing a patch of land for 
 the benefit of some grasping storekeeper who has given 
 them credit while engaged in the work. 
 
 The old dragoon had fixed his abode on the verge of 
 an extensive beaver-meadow, which was considered a sort 
 of natural curiosity in the neighbourhood ; and where he 
 managed by cutting the rank grass in the summer time, 
 to support several cows, which afforded the chief subsis- 
 tence of his family. He had also managed, with the 
 assistance of his devoted partner, Judy, to clear a few 
 acres of poor rocky land on the sloping margin of the level 
 meadow, which he planted year after year with potatoes. 
 Scattered over this small clearing, here and there, might 
 be seen the but-end of some half-burnt hemlock tree, 
 which had escaped the general combustion of the log 
 heaps, and now formed a striking contrast to the white 
 limestone rocks which showed their rounded surfaces 
 above the meagre soil. 
 
 The " ould dhragoon " seemed, moreover, to have some 
 taste for the picturesque, and by way of ornament, had 
 left standing sundry tall pines and hemlocks neatly 
 girdled to destroy their foliage, the shade of which would 
 
"THE OULD DKRAGOON." 
 
 3Gr> 
 
 have been detrimental to the " blessed praties " which he 
 designed to grow in his clearing, but which, in the mean- 
 time, like martyrs at the stake, stretched their naked 
 branches imploringly towards the smiling heavens. As he 
 was a kind of hevmit, from choice, and far removed from 
 other settlers, whose assistance is so necessary in new set- 
 tlements, old Simpson was compelled to resort to the most 
 extraordinary contrivances while clearing his land. Thus, 
 after felling the trees, instead of chopping them into 
 lengths, for the purpose of facilitating the operation of 
 piling them preparatory to burning, which would have 
 cost him too much labour, he resorted to the practice of 
 " niggering," as it is called ; which is simply laying light 
 pieces of round timber across the trunks of the trees, and 
 setting fire to them at the point of contact, by which 
 means the trees are slowly burned through. 
 
 It was while busily engaged in this interesting opera- 
 tion that I first became acquainted with the subject of this 
 sketch. 
 
 Some twenty or thirty little fires were burning briskly 
 m different parts of the blackened field, and the old fellow 
 was watching the slow progress of his silent " niggers," 
 and replacing them from time to time as they smouldered 
 away. After threading my way among the uncouth logs, 
 blazing and smoking in all directions, I encountered the 
 old man, attired in an old hood, or bonnet, of his wife 
 Judy, with his patched canvas trousers rolled up to his 
 knees ; one foot bare, and the other furnished with an old 
 boot, which from its appearance had once belonged to 
 
30G 
 
 ROTTOnTNO TT IN THE BUSTf. 
 
 some more aristocratic foot. His person was long, st might 
 and sinewy, and there was n liglit springiness and elas- 
 ticity in his stej) which would have suited a younger man, 
 as he skipped along with a long handspike over his 
 shoulder. He was singing a stave IV'^- i the " Knniskillen 
 Dragoon " when I ca ne up with him. 
 
 " With his ailver-inoiiuted pistols, and his long carbine, 
 Long life to the brave Inniskillcn dragoon." 
 
 His face would have been one of the most lugubrious 
 imaginable, with his long, tangled hair h.anging confusedly 
 over it, in a manner which has been happily compared to 
 a " bew'tched haystack/' had it not been for a certain 
 humorous twitch or convulsive movement, which affected 
 one side of his countenance, whenever any droll idea passed 
 through his mind. It was with a twitch of this kind, and 
 a certain indescribable twinkle of his somewhat melan- 
 choly eye, as he seemed intuitively to form a hasty con- 
 ception of the oddity of his appearance to a stranger unused 
 to the bush, that he welcomed me to his clearing. He 
 instantly threw down his handspike, and leaving his 
 " niggers " to finish their work at their leisure, insisted on 
 our going to his house to get something to drink. 
 
 On the way, I explained to him the object of my visit, 
 which was to mark out, or " blaze," the side-lines of a lot 
 of land I had received as part of a military grant, imme- 
 diately adjoining the beaver-meadow, and I asked him to 
 accompany me, as he was well acquainted with the diffe- 
 rent lots. 
 
"THE OULD DHKAGOON." 
 
 367 
 
 " Och ! by all manner of niane.s, and welcome ; the 
 dhevil a foot of the way but I know as well as my own 
 clearing ; but come into the house, and get a d brink of 
 milk, an' a l)ite of bread an' butther, for sorrow a dhrop 
 of the whi^^key has crossed my teeth for the last month ; 
 an' it's but poor intertainment for man or baste 1 can offer 
 you, but shure you're heartily welcome." 
 
 The precincts of the homestead were divided and subdi- 
 vided into an infinity of enclosures, of all shapes and sizes. 
 The outer enclosure was a bush fence, formed of trees fel- 
 led on each other in a row, and the gaps filled up with 
 brushwood. There was a large gate, swung with wooden 
 hinges, and a wooden latch to fasten it ; the smaller en- 
 closures were made with round poles, tied together with 
 bark. The house was of the rudest description of " shanty," 
 with hollowed basswood logs, fitting into each other some- 
 what in the manner of tiles for a roof, instead of shingles. 
 No iron was to be seen, in the absence of which there 
 were plenty of leathern hinges, wooden latches for locks 
 and bark-strings instead of nails. There was a large fire- 
 place at one end of the shanty, with a chimney, constructed 
 of split laths, plastered with a mixture of clay and cow- 
 dung. As for windows, these were luxuries which could 
 well be dispensed with ; the open door was an excellent 
 substitute for them in the daytime, and at night none 
 were required. When I ventured to object to this arran- 
 gement, that he would have to keep the door shut in the 
 winter time, the old man replied, in the style so charac- 
 teristic of his country, " Shure it will be time enough to 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
368 
 
 ROUGHING TT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 think of that when the could weather sets in." Every 
 thing about the house wore a Robinson Crusoe aspect, and 
 though there was not any appearance of original plan or 
 foresight, there was no lack of ingenious contrivance t' 
 meet every want as it arose. 
 
 Judy dropped us a low curtsey as we entered, whicli 
 was followed by a similar compliment from a stout girl of 
 twelve, and two or three more of the children, who all 
 seemed to share the pleasure of their parents in receiving 
 strangers in their unpretending tonement. Many were 
 the apologies that poor Judy offered for the homely cheei 
 she furnished us, and great was her delight at the notice 
 we took of the " childher." She set little Biddy, who wai, 
 the pride of her heart, to reading the Bible ; and she tools 
 down a curious machine from a sh<"lf, which she had " con- 
 thrived out of her own head," as she said, for teaching tlu 
 children to read. This was a flat box, or frame, filled with 
 sand, which saved paper, pens, and ink. Poor Judy had 
 evidently seen better days, but, with a humble and con- 
 tented spirit, she blessed God for the food and scanty 
 raiment their labour afforded them. Her only sorrow was 
 the want of " idication " for the children. 
 
 She would have told us a long story about her trials 
 and sufferings, before they had attained their prfesent com- 
 parative comfort and independence, but, as we had a te- 
 dious scramble before us, through cedar-swamps, beaver- 
 meadows, and piny ridges, the " ould dhragoon " cut her 
 short, and we straightway started on our toilsome journey. 
 Simpson, in spite of a certain dash of melancholy in his 
 
l( rii 
 
 J'HK OVU^ DHUAOOON. 
 
 Hfif) 
 
 composition, was one of thoso bappy follows of tho " light 
 heart and thin pair of breeclies" school, who, when they 
 meet with difficulty or misfortune, nover stop to measure 
 its dimensions, but hold in their breath and run lightly 
 over, as in crossing a bog, where to stand still is to sink. 
 
 Off, then, we went, with the " ould dhragoon " skipping 
 and bounding on before us, over fallen trees and mossy 
 rocks ; now ducking under the low, tangled branches of 
 the white cedar, then carefully piloting us along rotten 
 logs, covered with green moss, to save us from the discom- 
 fort of wet feet. All this time he still kept one of his feet 
 safely ensconced in the boot, while tho other seemed to 
 luxuriate in the water, as if there was something amphi- 
 bious in his nature. 
 
 We soon reached the beaver-meadoAv, which extended 
 two or three miles ; sometimes contracting into a narrow 
 gorge, between the wooded heights, then spreading out 
 again into an ample field of verdure, and presenting every- 
 where the same unvarying level surface, surrounded with 
 rising grounds, covered with the dense unbroken forest, 
 as if its surface had formerly been covered by the waters of 
 a lake ; which in all probability has been the case at some 
 not very remote period. In many places the meadow was 
 so wet that it required a very large share of faith to sup- 
 port us in passing over its surface ; but our friend, the 
 dragoon, soon brought us safe through all dangers to a 
 deep ditch, which he had dug to carry off the superfluous 
 water from the part of the meadow which he owned. 
 When we had obtained firm footing on the opposite side, 
 
^70 
 
 ROiroHINf! IT IN TFfK RUSII. 
 
 we Hat flown to rest ourselves before •ommencirig the ope- 
 ration of " blazing," or marking the trees with our axea^ 
 along tlu; side-lino of my lot. Here the mystery of the 
 boot was explained. Simpson very coolly took it off 
 from the hitherto fnvoured foot, and drew it on the 
 other. 
 
 He was not a bit ashamed of his [)overty, and candidly 
 owned that this was the only boot he possessed, and he 
 was desirous of giving each of his feet fair play. 
 
 Nearly the whole day was occupied in completing our 
 job, in which the " dhragoon " assisted us, with the most 
 hearty good-will, enlivening us with his inexhaustible 
 fund of good-humour and drollery. It was nearly dark 
 when we got back to his " shanty," where the kind-hearted 
 Judy was preparing a huge pot of potatoes and other 
 " combustibles," as Simpson called the other eatables, for 
 our entertainment. 
 
 Previous to starting on our surveying expedition, we 
 had observed Judy very earnestly giving some important 
 instructions to one of her little boys, on whom she seemed 
 to be most seriously impressing the necessity of using the 
 utmost diligence. The happy contentment which now 
 beamed in poor Judy's still comely countenance bespoke 
 the success of the messenger. She could not " call up 
 spirits from the vasty deep " of the cellar, but she had 
 procured some whiskey from her next-door neighbour — 
 some five or six miles off; and there it stood somewhat 
 ostentatiously on the table in a " greybeard," with a " corn 
 cob/' or ear of Indian corn stripped of its grain, for a cork, 
 
"TFrF. OULD nilRAfJOON." 
 
 371 
 
 ■>inilin;4 most beiiovolontly on tlio laniily circlo, ninl look- 
 ing a Inmdrod welconiOH to the sti'an<,'<'rs. 
 
 An in(lcHt'rn)al)ly enlivening intljioncc seemed to exude 
 from ovory jwn'e ot* that homely earthen vessel, diftusiiig 
 mirth and good-humour in all dir^'etioir^. The old man 
 jumped and daneed about on the rough lloor of the 
 "shanty;" and the (children sat giggling and nudging 
 e.'ieh other in a eorner, easting a timid look, from time t(i 
 time, at their mother, for fear she might cheek them for 
 l)cing " over bould." 
 
 " Is it crazy ye are intirely, ye ould omadhawn !" said 
 Judy, whoso notions of propriety were somewhat shocked 
 with the undignified levity of her partner ; " the likes of 
 you I never seed ; ye are too foolidge intirely. Have 
 done now wid your diviltries, and set the stools for the 
 gintlemens, while I get the supper for yees." 
 
 Our plentiful though homely meal was soon discussed, 
 for hunger, like a good conscience, can laugh at luxury ; 
 and the "greybeard" made its appearance, with the usual 
 accompaniments of hot water and maple sugar, which 
 Judy had scraped from the cake, and i)laced in a saucer 
 on the table before us. 
 
 The "ould dhragoon," despising his wife's admonitions, 
 gave way freely to his feelings, and knew no bounds to 
 his hilarity. He laughed and joked, and sang snatches 
 of old songs picked up in the course of his service at 
 home and abroad. At length Judy, who looked on him 
 as a " raal janius," begged him to " sing the gintlemens 
 the song he made when he first came to the counthry." 
 
S72 
 
 ROITOHINO IT IN THE RUSH. 
 
 'i 
 
 Of course we ardently seconded the motion, .and nothing 
 loth, the old man, throwing himself back on his stool, and 
 stretching out his long neck, poured forth the following 
 ditty, with which I shall conclude my hasty sketch of the 
 " ould dhraijoon." 
 
 OcH ! it'a here I'm intirely coutiuted, 
 In the wild woods of swate 'Mericay • 
 
 God's blessing on him that invinted 
 Big ships for our crossing the say ! 
 
 Here praties grow bigger nor turnips ; 
 
 And though cruel hard is our work, 
 In ould Ireland we'd nothing but pi'aties, 
 
 But here we have praties and pork. 
 
 I live on the banks of a meadov , 
 
 Now see that my maning you take ; 
 It bates all the bogs of ould Ireland — 
 - Six months in the year it's a lake. 
 
 Bad luck to the beavers that dammed it, 
 
 I wish them all kilt for their pains ; 
 For ehure though the craters are clever, 
 
 'Tis sartin they've drown'd my lOmains. 
 
 I've built a log hut of the timber 
 
 That grows on my charmin' estate ; 
 And an illigant root-house erected, 
 
 Just facing the front of my gate. 
 
 And I've made me an illigant pig-sty. 
 Well litter'd with straw and wid hay ; 
 
 And it'a there, free from noise of the chilther, 
 I sleep in the heat of the day. 
 
 It '» there I'm intirely at aise. Sir, 
 And enjoy all the comforts of home j 
 
 I stretch out my legs en I plase, sir, 
 And dhrame of the pi&asurea to come. 
 
''THE OULD DHRAGOON." 
 
 378 
 
 Shure, it's pleasant to hear the frogs croakin', 
 When the sun's going down in the sky, 
 
 And my Judy sits quietly smokin' 
 While the praties are boil'd till they're dlny. 
 
 Och ! thin, if you love indepindence. 
 And havts money your passage to pay, 
 
 You must quit the ould counthry intirely, 
 And start in the middle of May. 
 
 J. W. D. M. 
 
 
 ..-a^, 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 
 
 Stern Disappointment, in thy iron grasp 
 The soul lies stricken. So the timid deer, 
 Who feels the foul fangs of the felon wolf 
 Clench'd in his throat, grown desperate for life. 
 Turns on his foes, and battles with the fate 
 That hems him in — and only yields in death. 
 
 [HE cjummer of '35 was very wet ; a circumstance so 
 unusual in Canada that I have seen no season like 
 it during my sojourn in the country. Our wheat crop 
 promised to be both excellent and abundant; and the 
 clearing and seeding sixteen acres, one way or another, 
 had cost us more than fifty pounds ; still we hoped to 
 to realise something handsome by the sale of the produce; 
 and, as far as appearances went, all looked fair. The 
 rain commenced about a week before the crop was fit for 
 the sickle, and from that time until nearly the end of 
 September was a mere succession of thunder showers; 
 days of intense heat, succeeded by floods of rain. Our 
 fine crop shared the fate of all other fine crops in the 
 country ; it was totally spoiled ; the wheat grew in the 
 
#<«» 
 
 DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 
 
 375 
 
 sheaf, and we could scarcely save enough to supply us 
 with bad sickly bread ; the rest was exchanged at the 
 distillery for whiskey, which was the only produce which 
 could be obtained for it. The storekeepers would not 
 look at it, or give either money or goods for such a 
 damaged article. 
 
 My husband and I had worked hard in the field ; it 
 was the first time I had ever tried my hand at field- 
 labour, but our ready money was exhausted, and the steam- 
 boat stock had not paid us one farthing; we could not 
 hire, and there was no help for it. I had a hard struggle 
 with my pride before I would consent to render the least 
 assistance on the farm, but reflection convinced me that I 
 was wrong — that Providence had placed me in a situation 
 where I was called upon to work — that it was not only 
 my duty to obey that call, but to exert myself to the 
 utmost to assist my husband, and help to maintain my 
 family. 
 
 Ah, poverty ! thou art a hard taskmaster, but in thy 
 soul-ennobling school I have received more godlike les- 
 sons, have learned more sublime truths, than ever I 
 acquired in the smooth highways of the world ! 
 
 The independent in soul can rise above the seeming 
 disgrace of poverty, and hold fast their integrity, in defi- 
 ance of the world and its selfish and unwise maxims. To 
 them, no labour is too great, no trial too severe ; they will 
 unflinchingly exert every faculty of mind and body, before 
 they will submit to become a burden to others. 
 
 The misfortunes that now crowded upon us were the 
 
376 
 
 BOUOHJNG IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 result of no misconduct or extravagance on our part, but 
 arose out of circumstances which we could not avert nor 
 control. Finding too late the error into which we had 
 fallen, in suffering ourselves to be cajoled and plundered 
 out of our property by interested speculators, we braced 
 our minds to bear the worst, and determined to meet our 
 difficulties calmly and firmly, nor suffer our spirits to 
 sink under calamities which energy and industry might 
 eventually repair. Having once come to this resoiutiou, 
 wc cheerfully shared together the labours of the field. 
 One in heart and purpose, we dared remain true to our- 
 selves, true to our high destiny as immortal creatures, in 
 our conflict with temporal and physical wants. 
 
 "We found that manual toil, however distasteful to those 
 unaccustomed to it, was not after all such a dreadful 
 hardship ; that the wilderness was not without its rose, 
 the hard face of poverty without its smile. If we occa- 
 sionally suffered severe pain, we as often experienced great 
 pleasure, and T have contemplated a well-hoed ridge of 
 potatoes on that bush farm, with as much delight as in 
 years long past I had experienced in examining a fine 
 painting in some well-appointed drawing-room. 
 
 I can now look back with calm thankfulness on that 
 long period of trial and exertion — with thankfulness that 
 the dark clouds that hung over us, threatening to blot us 
 from existence, when they did burst upon us, were full of 
 blessings. When our situation appeared j)erfectly des- 
 perate, then were we on the threshold of a new state of 
 things, which was born out of that very distress. 
 
DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 
 
 377 
 
 In order more fully to illustrate the necessity of a per- 
 fect and child-like reliance upon the mercies of God — 
 who, I most firmly believe, never deserts those who have 
 placed their trust in Him — I will give a brief sketch of 
 our lives during the years 1836 and 1837. 
 
 Still confidently expecting to realise an income, how- 
 ever small, from the steam-boat stock, we had involved 
 ourselves considerably in debt, in order to pay our ser- 
 vants and obtain the common necessaries of life ; ard we 
 owed a large sum to two Englishmen in Dummer, for 
 clearing ten more acres upon the farm. Our utter inability 
 to meet these demands weighed very heavily upon my 
 husband's mind. All superfluities in the way of groceries 
 were now given up, and we were compelled to rest satis- 
 tied upon the produce of the fai-m. Milk, bread, and 
 potatoes during the summer became our chief, and often, 
 for months, our only fare. As to tea and sugar, they were 
 luxuries we would not think of, although I missed tho tea 
 very much ; we rang the changes upon peppermint and 
 sage, taking the one herb at our breakfast, the other at 
 our tea, until I found an excellent substitute for both in 
 the root of the dandelion. 
 
 The first year we came to this country, I met with an 
 account of dandelion coffee, published in the Neiv York 
 Albion, given by a Dr. Hamson, of Edinburgh, who ear- 
 nestly recommended it as an article of general use. 
 
 " It possesses," he says, " all the fine flavour and ex- 
 hilarating properties of coffee, without any of its deleteri- 
 ous effects. The plant being of a soporific nature, the coffee 
 Y 
 
 
378 
 
 llOUGHINa IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 made from it when drunk at night produces a tendency 
 to sleep, instead of exciting wakefulness, and may be safely 
 used as a cheap and wholesome substitute for the Arabian 
 berry, being equal in substance and flavour to the best 
 Mocha coffee." 
 
 I was much struck with this paragraph at the time, and 
 for several years felt a great inclination to try the Doctor's 
 coffee ; but something or other always came in the way. 
 and it was put off till another opportunity. During the 
 fall of '35, I was assisting my husband in taking up a 
 crop of potatoes in the field, and observing a vast number 
 of fine dandelion roots among the potatoes, it brought the 
 dandelion coffee back to my memory, and I determined to 
 try some for our supper. Without saying anything to my 
 husband, I threw aside some of the roots, and when we 
 left work, collecting a sufficient quantity for the experi- 
 ment, I carefully T/ashed the roots quite clean, without 
 depriving them of the fine brown skin which covers them, 
 and which contains the aromatic flavour, which so nearly 
 resembles coffee that it is difllcult to distinguish it from 
 it while roasting. 
 
 I cut my roots into small pieces, the size of a kidney- 
 bean, and roasted them on an iron baking-pan in the 
 stove-oven, until ihay were as brown and crisp as coffee. 
 I then ground and transferred a small cupful of the pow- 
 der to the coffee-pot, pouring upon it scalding water, and 
 boiling it for a few minutes briskly over the fire. The 
 result was beyond my expectations. The coffee proved 
 
DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 
 
 379 
 
 excellent — far superior to the common coffee we procured 
 at the stores. 
 
 To persons residing in the bush, and to whom tea and 
 coffee are very expensive articles of luxury, the knowledge 
 of this valuable property in a plant scattered so abundantly 
 through their fields, would prove highly beneficial. For 
 years we used no other article ; and my Indian friends 
 who frequented the house gladly adopted the root, and 
 made me show them the whole process of manufacturing 
 it into coffee. 
 
 Experience taught me that the root of the dandelion is 
 not so good when applied to this purpose in the spring as 
 it is in the fall. I tried it in the spring, but the juice of 
 the plant, having contributed to the production of leaves 
 and flowers, was weak, and destitute of the fine bitter 
 flavour so peculiar to coffee. The time of gathering in 
 the potato crop is the best suited for collecting and drying 
 the roots of the dandelion ; and as they always abound in 
 the same hills, both may be accomplished at the same 
 time. Those who want to keep a quantity for winter use 
 may wash and cut up the roots, and dry them on boards 
 in the sun. They will keep for years, and can be roasted 
 when required. 
 
 Few of our colonists are acquainted with the many uses 
 to which this neglected but most valuable plant may be 
 applied. I will point out a few which have come under 
 my own observation, convinced as I am that the time will 
 come when this hardy weed, with its golden flowers and 
 curious seed-vessels, which form a constant plaything to 
 
380 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 
 the little children rolling about and j'.xnriating among 
 the grass, in the sunny month of May, will be transplanted 
 into our gardens, and tended with due care. 
 
 The dandelion planted in trenches, and blanched to a 
 beautiful cream-colour with straw, makes an excellent 
 salad, quite equal to endive, and is more hardy and re- 
 quires less care. 
 
 In many parts of the United States, particularly in new 
 districts where vegetables are scarce, it is used early in 
 the spring, and boiled with pork as a substitute for cab- 
 bage. During our residence in the bush we found it, in 
 the early part of May, a great addition to the dinner- table. 
 In the township of Dummer, the settlers boil the tops, and 
 add hops to the liquor, which they ferment, and from 
 which they obtain excellent beer. I have never tasted 
 this simple beverage, but I have been told by those who 
 use it that it is equal to the table-beer used at home. 
 
 Necessity has truly beeri termed the mother of inven- 
 tion, for I contrived to manufacture a variety of dishes 
 almost out of nothing, while living in her school. When 
 entirely" destitute of animal food, the different varieties of 
 squirrels supplied us with pies, stews, and roasts. Our 
 barn stood at the top of the hill near the bush, and in a 
 trap set for such " small deer," we often caught from ten 
 to twelve a day. 
 
 The flesh of the black squirrel is equal to that of the 
 rabbit, and the red, and even the little chipmunk, is pala- 
 table when nicely cooked. But from the lake, during the 
 summer, we derived the larger portion of our food. The 
 
DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 
 
 881 
 
 children called this piece of water " Mamiua's pantry ;" 
 and many a good meal has the mimificent Father given 
 to his poor dependent children from its well-stored depths. 
 Moodie and I used to rise by daybreak, and fish for an 
 hour after sunrise, when we returned, he to the field, and 
 I to dress the little ones, clean u^) the hous"^, assist with 
 the milk, and prepare the breakfjist. 
 
 Oh, ho^sv I 'enjoyed these excursions on the lake ; the 
 very idea of our dinner depending upon our success added 
 double zest to our sport ! 
 
 One morning we started as usual before sunrise ; a 
 thick mist still hung like a fine veil upon the water when 
 we pushed off, and anchored at our accustomed place- 
 Just as the sun rose, and the haze parted and drew up 
 like a golden sheet of transparent gauze, through which 
 the dark woods loomed out like giants, a noble buck 
 dashed into the water, followed by four Indian hounds. 
 
 We then discovered a canoe, full of Indians, just below 
 the rapids, and another not many yards from us, that had 
 been concealed by the fog. It was a noble sight, that 
 gallant deer exerting all his energy, and stemming the 
 water with such matchless grace, his branching horns held 
 proudly aloft, his broad nostrils distended, and his fine 
 eye fixed intently upon the opposite shore. Several rifle- 
 balls whizzed past him, the dogs followed hard upon his 
 track, but my very heart leaped for joy when, in spite of 
 all his foes, his glassy hoofs spurned the opposite bank 
 and he plunged headlong into the forest. 
 
 My beloved partner was most skilful in trolling for 
 
 i 
 
882 
 
 UOUGHINO TT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 bass and inaHkinongd. His line he generally fastened to 
 the paddle, and the motion of the oar gave a life-like 
 vibration to the queer looking mice and dragon-tiies 1 
 used to manufacture from squirrel fur, or scarlet and 
 white cloth, to tempt the finny wanderers of the 
 wave. 
 
 When too busy himself to fish for our meals, littler 
 Katie and I ventured out alone in the canoe, which we 
 anchored in any promising fishing spot, by fastening a 
 harrow tooth to a piece of rope, and letting it drop from 
 the side of the little vessel. By the time she was five 
 years old, my little mermaid could both steer and paddle 
 the light vessel, and catch small fish, which were useful 
 for soup. 
 
 During the winter of 'SG, we experienced many priva- 
 tions. The ruffian squatter P , from Clear Lake, 
 
 drove from the barn a fine young bull we were rearing, 
 and for several weeks all trace of the animal was lost. 
 We had almost forgotten the existence of poor Whiskey, 
 when a neighbour called and told Moodie that his yearling 
 
 was at P 's, and that he would advise him to get it 
 
 back as soon as possible. 
 
 Moodie had to take some wheat to Y 's mill, and as 
 
 the squatter lived only a mile further, he called at his 
 house ; and there, sure enough, he found the lost animal. 
 With the gi'eatftst difficulty he succeeded in regaining his 
 property, but not without many threats of vengeance 
 from the parties who had stolen ii. To these he paid no 
 regard ; but a few days after, six fat hogs, on which we 
 
DISAPPOINTED HOPES, 
 
 383 
 
 depended for all our winter store of animal food, were 
 driven into the lake, and destroyed. 
 
 The death of these animals deprived us of three barrels 
 of pork, and half-starved us througli th(^ winter. That 
 winter of '3C, how heavily it wore away! The grown 
 flour, frosted potatoes, and scant quantity of animal food 
 rendered us all weak, and the children suffered much 
 from the ague. 
 
 One day, just before the snow fell, Moodie had gone to 
 Peterborough for letters ; our servant was sick in bed 
 with the ague, and I was nursing my little boy, Dunbar, 
 who was shaking with the cold fit of his miserable fever, 
 when Jacob put his honest, round, rosy lace in at the 
 door. 
 
 " Give me the master's gun, ma'am ; there's a big buck 
 feeding on the rice-bed near the island." 
 
 I took down the gun, saying, * Jacob, you have no 
 chance; there is but one charge of buck-shot in the 
 house." 
 
 " One chance is better nor none," said Jacob, as he 
 commenced loading the gun. " Who knows what may 
 happen to oie ? Mayhap oie may chance to kill 'un ; and 
 you and the measter and the wee bairns may have 
 zummut zavory for zupper yet." 
 
 Away walked Jacob with Moodie's " Manton " over his 
 shoulder. A few minutes after, I heard the report of the 
 gun, but never expected to see anything of the game ; 
 when Jacob suddenly bounced into the room, half-wild 
 with delight. 
 
d»4 
 
 ROUGH I NO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 " Thae beast iz dead az a door-nail. Ziire how the 
 measter will laugh when h(» se«.s the fine buck that oio 
 a'zhot." 
 
 " And have you really shot him ? " 
 
 " Come and zee ! 'Tis worth your while to walk down 
 to the landing to look at 'un." 
 
 Jacob got a rope, and I followed him to the landing, 
 where, sure enough, lay a fine buck, fastened in tow of 
 the canoe. Jacob soon secured him by the hind legs to 
 the rope he had brought ; and, with our united efforts, 
 we at Last succeeded in dragging our prize home. All 
 the time he was engaged in taking off the skin, Jacob 
 was anticipating the feast that we were to have ; and 
 the good fellow chuckled with delight when he hung the 
 carcass quite close to the kitchen door, that his " measter' 
 might run against it when he came home at night. This 
 event actually took place. When Moodie opened the 
 door, he struck his head against the dead deer. 
 
 *' What have you got here ? " 
 
 " A fine buck, zur," said Jacob, bringing forward the 
 light, and holding it up in such a manner that all the 
 merits of the prize could be seen at a glance. 
 
 " A fine one, indeed ! How did we come by it ?" 
 
 " It was zhot by oie," said Jacob, rubbing his hands in 
 a sort of ecstasy. " Thae beast iz the first oie ever zhot 
 in my life. He ! he ! he ! " 
 
 " You shot that fine deer, Jacob ? — and there was only 
 one charge in the gun ! Well done ; you must have taken 
 a good aim." 
 
DlSAI'l'OlNTEI) HOPES. 
 
 38.5 
 
 (> 
 
 " Why, zur, oic took no aim at all. Oit just pointtjd 
 I he gun at the deer, and zhut my oey.s and let Hy at 'nn- 
 Twas Providence killM 'un, not oie." 
 
 " I believe you," said Moodic ; " Providence has liithert 
 vatched over us and kept us from actual starvation. " 
 
 The flesh of the deer, and the good broth that I was 
 ible to obtain from it, greatly assisted in restoring our 
 nek to health ; but long before that severe winter termin- 
 ated we were again out of food. Mrs. had given 
 
 to Katie, in the fall, a very pretty little pig, which she 
 tiad named Spot. The animal was n great favourite 
 with Jacob and the children, and he always received his 
 food from their hands at the door, and followed them all 
 liver the place like a dog. We had a noble hound called 
 Hector, between whom and the pet pig there existed the 
 most tender friendship. Spot always shared with Hector 
 the hollow log which served him for a kennel, and we 
 often laughed to see Hector lead Spot round the clearing 
 by his ear. After bearing the want of animal food until 
 our souls sickened at the bad potatoes and grown flour 
 bread, we began — that is, the elders of the family — to ctist 
 very hungry eyes upon Spot ; but no one liked to propose 
 having him killed. At last Jacob spoke his mind upon 
 the subject. 
 
 " Oi've heard, zur, that the Jews never eat pork ; but 
 we Christians dooz, and are right glad ov the chance. 
 Now, zur, oi've been thinking that 'tis no manner ov u.se 
 our keeping that beast Spot. If he wor a zow, now there 
 might be zome zenze in the thing ; and we all feel weak 
 
886 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH, 
 
 for a morzel of meat. S'poze I kill him ? He won't make 
 a bad piece of pork." 
 
 Moodie seconded the move ; and, in spite of the tears 
 and prayers of Katie, her uncouth pet was sacrificed to 
 the genei'al wants of the family; but there were two 
 members of the house who disdained to eat a morsel of 
 the victim ; poor Katie and the dog Hector. At the self- 
 denial of the first I did not at all wonder, for she was a 
 child full of sensibility and warm affections, but the at- 
 tachment of the brute creature to his old playmate filled 
 us all with surprise. Jacob first drew our attention to 
 the strange fact. 
 
 " That dog," he said, as we w«.re passing through the 
 kitchen while he was at dinner, " do teach uz Christians a 
 lesson how to treat our friends. Why, zur, he'll not 
 eat a morzel of Spot. Oie have tried and tempted him 
 in all manner ov ways, and he only do zneer and turn up 
 his nose when oie hould him a bit to taste." He offered 
 the animal a rib of the fresh pork as he finished speaking, 
 and the dog turned away v/ith an expression of aver- 
 sion, and, on a repetition of the act, walked from the 
 table. 
 
 Human affection could scarcely have surpassed the love 
 felt by this poor animal for his playi'ellow. His attach- 
 ment to Spot, that could overcome the pangs of hunger— 
 for, like the rest of us, he was half-starved — must have 
 been strong indeed, 
 
 Jacob's attachment to us, in its simf^icity and fidelity 
 greatly resembled that of the dog ; and sometimes, like 
 
DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 
 
 887 
 
 the dog, he would push himself in where he was not 
 wanted, and gratuitously give his advice, and make re- 
 marks which were not required. 
 
 Mr. K -, from Cork, was asking Moodie many ques- 
 tions about the partridges of the country ; and, among 
 other things, he wanted to know by what token you were 
 able to discover their favouiite haunts. Before Moodie 
 could answer this last query a voice responded, through a 
 large crack in the boarded wall which separated us from 
 the kitchen, "They always bides where they's drum." 
 This announcement was received with a burst of laughter 
 that greatly disconcerted the natural philosopher in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 On the 21st of May of this year, my second son, Don- 
 ald was born. The poor fellow came in hard times. The 
 cows had not calved, and our bill of fare, now minus the 
 deer and Spot, only consisted of bad potatoes and still 
 worse bread. I was rendered so weak by want of proper 
 nourishment that my dear hu.sband, for my sake, over- 
 came his aversion to borrowing, and procured a quarter of 
 mutton from a friend. This, with kindly presents from 
 neighbours — often a.*- badly off as ourselves — a loin of a 
 young bear, and a basket containing a loaf of bread, some 
 tea, some fresh butter, and oatmeal, went far to save my 
 life. 
 
 Shortly after my recovery, Jacob — the faithful, good 
 Jacob — was obliged to leave us, for we could no longer 
 afford to pay wages. What was owing to him had to be 
 settled by sacrificing our best cow, and a great many val- 
 
388 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THK BUSH. 
 
 liable articleH ul' clothing tVoni my hnsl)iind';i Wiiidrubo. 
 Nothing is more distressing than being obliged to part 
 with articles of dress which you know that you cannot 
 replace. Almost all my clothes had been appropriate*] to 
 the payment of wages, or to obtain garments for the child- 
 ren, excepting my wedding (;ress, and the beautiful baby- 
 linen which had been made b}' the hands of dear and 
 affectionate friends for my first-boi'n. These were now 
 exchanged for coarse, Avarm flannels, t(^ shield her from 
 the cold. 
 
 Moodie and Jacob had chopped eight acres during the 
 winter, but these had to be burnt off and logged up be- 
 fore we could put in a crop of wheat for the ensuing fall. 
 Had we been able to retain this industrious, kindly Eng- 
 lish lad, this would have been soon accomplished ; but his 
 wages, at the rate of thirty pounds per annum, were now 
 utterly beyond our means. 
 
 Jacob had formed an attachment to my pretty maid, 
 Mary Pine, and before going to the Southern States, to 
 join an uncle who resided in Louis\ille, an opulent trades- 
 man, who had promised to teach him his business, Jacob 
 thought it as well to declare himself. The declaration 
 took place on a log of wood near the back door, and from 
 my chamber window, I could both hear and see the par- 
 ties, without being myself observed. Mary was seated 
 very demurely at one end of the log, twisting the strings 
 of her checked apron, and the loving Jacob was busily 
 whittling the other extremity of their rustic seat. There 
 wan a long silence. Mary stole a look at Jacob, and he 
 
OISAPPOINTKr) H0PE5. 
 
 J^89 
 
 )d to part 
 ou cannot 
 priato'l to 
 
 tV e cliild- 
 iful baby- 
 t dear and 
 
 were now 
 d her from 
 
 during the 
 rged up be- 
 nsuing fall. 
 :indly Eng- 
 ed ; but his 
 , were now 
 
 heaved a tremendous sigh, something between a yawn and 
 a groan. " Meary," lie said, " T must go." 
 
 " I know that afore," returned the girl. 
 
 " T had zummat to zay to you, Meary. Do you think 
 you will miss oie ?" (looking very affectionately, and 
 twitching nearer.) 
 
 "What put that into your head, Jacob?" This was 
 .said very demurely. 
 
 " Oie thowt, may be, Meary, that your feelings might 
 be zummat loike my own. I feel zore about the heart, 
 Meary, and it's all com' of parting with you. Don't you 
 feel queerish, too ?" 
 
 " Can't say that I do, Jacob. T shall soon see you again," 
 (pulling violently at her apron-string.) 
 
 " Meary, oi'm afear'd you don't feel loike |>ie." 
 
 " P'r'aps not — women can't feel like men. I'm sorry 
 that you are going, Jacob, for you have been very kind 
 and obliging, and I wish you well." . . , , 
 
 " Meary," cried Jacob, growing desperate at her coyness, 
 and getting quite close up to her, " will you marry oie ? 
 Say yeez or noa ?" 
 
 This was coming close to the point. Mary drew farther 
 from him, and turned her head away. 
 
 "Meary," said Jacob, seizing upon the hand that held 
 the apron-string. " Do you think you can better your- 
 sel' ? If not — why, oie'm your man. Now, do just turn 
 about your head and answer oie." 
 
 The girl turned round, and gave him a quick, shy "glance, 
 then burst out into a simpering laugh. 
 
iVM) 
 
 KOUiniiNo IT IN Tin<; lui.sii. 
 
 •^ 
 
 " Moary, will you Uiko oio ?" (jogging hoi olbow.) 
 
 "1 will," oHcmI tho girl, jumping up from tlio log and 
 vuniung in(,(> iho liouso, 
 
 " Woll, (hat h.'irgains nj;ulo," .snid tln^ lovor, ruhbln^' 
 ]\is hands; "an«l now, oio'll go an«l hid nionHior and nuH- 
 sUH good-huy." 
 
 Tho poor iollow's oyos wcro full of toar.M, for tho rhild- 
 vou, who lovod hini vory uuich, olung, crying, ahout Ihh 
 knoOvS. "(^od hlof^H yoos all," nohhod the kind-hoartctl 
 oroatinv. " Doan't forgot »lacob, for ho'll neavor forg<'t 
 you. (u>od-buy !" 
 
 Thou turni\ig to Mary, ho throw his arms round her 
 nock, and bostowod u|)on hor fair chook the most audi bio 
 kisvS I over hoard. 
 
 " And doan't you forgot mo, Moary. In two years oio 
 will bo back to nun'ry you ; and may bo oio may conic 
 Kack a rich man." 
 
 Mary, who wa.s an oxcoodingly pretty girl, jshed sonio 
 teal's at the parting ; but in a few days she was iis gay 
 as ever, and listening with great attention to the praises 
 bestowed upon her beauty by an old bachelor, who was 
 her senior by tive-and-twenty years. But then he had a 
 good farm, a saddle mare, and |)lenty of stock, and was 
 reputed to have saved money. The saddle mare seemod 
 
 to have great weight in old Riilph T h's wooing ; and 
 
 I used laughingly to remind Mary of her absent lover, 
 and beg her not to marry Ralph T h's mare. 
 
log and 
 ■ aiul n»i« 
 
 aUoufc bi^^ 
 lul-luMVited 
 
 ivcr forg»'t 
 
 , rouiul licr 
 ost audi Wo 
 
 I) years oio 
 may coint* 
 
 I, abed some 
 was as gay 
 the praises 
 >r, who wivs 
 >n he had a 
 |k, and wa.s 
 are seemed 
 [ooing; ami 
 (sent lover, 
 
 DiHArroiNTED IIOPEB. 
 
 TIIK (JANADFAN IIUNTEH'H HONO. 
 
 Tho rmrtlinrn liulits nro flnnhing, 
 
 On Mio lapidH^ nrntUinn How ; 
 Aim! o'n* ilio wild wavon d.'iHliiiig, 
 Hwifir (lartn ilio light, canon. 
 Thu ninrry liiiniorn coino. 
 
 " VVIidt, clionr / wliat dioor /" — 
 •* VVr'vo ulain iho Honr I" 
 " llurrali ! -You'io woloonio homo ! " 
 
 Tho bliUinmtirio liorn i» nrMuiding, 
 
 A'kI tho woodtrian'd loud halloo ; 
 And joyouH Htonn arc bounding 
 To moot, tho nirch canoo. 
 
 " Jlurrah ! — Tho hnntorHcomo. " 
 Ajid tho woods ring out 
 To thoir niorry Hhout 
 Ab thoy drag tho dun door homo ! 
 
 Tho hoarth is brightly burning, 
 
 Tho rustic board is sproad ; 
 To groot tho siro roturning. 
 Tijo childron loavo thoir bed. 
 
 With laugh and shout they come — 
 That morry band — 
 To grasp his hand, 
 And bid him welcome home ! 
 
 l\\)i 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 I 
 
mm 
 
 CHAPTER XVI I. 
 
 THE LITTLE STUMPY MAN. 
 
 There was a little man — 
 I'll sketch him if lean, 
 For he clung to mine and me 
 Like the old man of the sea ; 
 And in spite of taunt and scoff 
 Wo could not pitch him off, 
 For the cross-grained, waspish elf 
 Cared for no one but himself. 
 
 Il5) EFORE I dismiss for ever the troubles and sorrows 
 of 1836, I would fain introduce to the notice of my 
 readers some of the odd characters with whom we be- 
 came acquainted during that period. The first that starts 
 vividly to mv recollection is the }3icture of a short, 
 stumpy, thickset man — a British sailor, too — who came 
 to stay one night under our roof, and took quiet posses- 
 sion of his quarters for nine months, and whom we were 
 obliged to tolerate, fiom the simple fact that we could 
 not get rid of him. 
 
 During the fall, Moodie had met thih individual (whom 
 I will call Mr. Malcolm) in the mail-coach, going up to 
 
THE LITTLE STJMPV MAN. 
 
 398 
 
 Toronto. Amused with his eccentric and blunt mannerfs 
 and finding him a shrewd, clever fellow in conversation, 
 Moodie told him that if ever he came into his part of 
 ohe world he should be glad to renew their acquaintance. 
 And so they parted, with mutual good-will, as men often ^ 
 part who have travelled a long journey in good fellowship 
 together, without thinking it probable they should over 
 mefit again. 
 
 The sugar season had just commenced with the spring 
 thaw ; Jacob had tapped a few trees in order to obtain 
 sap to make molasses for the children, when his plans 
 were frustrated by the illness of my husband, who was 
 again attacked with the ague. Towards the close of a 
 wet, sloppy day, while Jacob was in the wood, chopping, 
 and our servant gone to my sister, who was ill, to help 
 to wash, as I was busy baking bread for tea, my atten- 
 tion was aroused by a violent knocking at the door, and 
 the furious barking of our dog, Hector. I ran to open it, 
 when I found Hector's teeth clenched in the trousers of 
 a little, dark, thickset man, who said, in a gruff voice, 
 
 " Call off your dog. What the devil do you keep such 
 an infernal brute about the house for ? Is it to bite 
 people who come to see you ?" 
 
 Hector was the best-behaved, best-tempered animal in 
 the world ; he might have been called a gentlemanly dog. 
 So little was there of the unmannerly puppy in his be- 
 haviour, that I was perfectly astonished at his ungracious 
 conduct. I caught him by the collar, and, not without 
 some difficulty, succeeded in dragging him off. 
 z 
 
694 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 " Is Captain Moodie within ?" said the stranger. 
 
 " He is, sir. But he is ill in bed — too '11 to be seen." 
 
 " Tell him a friend " (he laid a strong stress upon the 
 last word), " a particular friend must speak to him." 
 
 I now turned my eyes to the face of the speaker with 
 some curiosity. I had taken him for a mechanic, from 
 his dirty, slovenly appearance ; and his physiognomy was 
 so unpleasant, that I did not credit his assertion that he 
 was a friend of my husband, for I was certain that no 
 man who possessed such a forbidding aspect could be re- 
 garded by Moodie as a friend. I was about to deliver his 
 message, but the moment I let go Hector's collar, the dog 
 was at him again. 
 
 " Don't sti'ike him with your stick," I cried, throwing 
 my arms over the faithful creature. " He is a powerful 
 animal, and. if you provoke him, he will kill you." 
 
 I at last succeeded in coaxing Hector into the girl's 
 room, where I shut him up, while the stranger came 
 into the kitchen, and walked to the fire to dry his wet 
 clothes. 
 
 I immediately went into the parlour, where Moodie 
 was lying upon a bed near the stove, to deliver the stran- 
 ger's message ; but before I could say a word, he dashed 
 in after me, and, going up to the bed, held out his broad, 
 coarse hand, with, " How are you, Mr. Moodie ? You see 
 I have accepted your kind invitation sooner than either 
 you or I expected. If you will give me house room for the 
 night, I shall be obliged to you." 
 
 This was said in a low, mysterious voice ; and Moodie, 
 
THE LITTLE STUMPY MAN. 
 
 395 
 
 who was struggling with the hot fit of his disorder, and 
 whose senses were not a little confused, stared at him with 
 a look of vague bewilderment. The countenance of the 
 stranger grew dark. 
 
 "You cannot have forgotten me — my name is Malr 
 colm." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I remember you now," said the invalid 
 holding out his burning, feverish hand. " To my home* 
 such as it is, you are welcome." 
 
 I stood by in wondering astonishment, looking from 
 one to the other, as I had no recollection of ever hearing 
 my husband mention the name of the stranger ; but as he 
 had invited him to share our hospitality, I did my best 
 to make him welcome, though in what manner he was to 
 be accommodated puzzled me not a little. I placed the 
 arm-chair by the fire, and told him that I would prepare 
 tea for him as soon as I could. 
 
 " It may be as well to tell, you, Mrs. Moodie," said he, 
 sulkily, for he was evidently displeased by my husband's 
 want of recogTiition on his first entrance, " that I have 
 had no dinner." 
 
 I sighed to myself, for I well knew that our larder 
 boasted of no dainties ; and, from the animal expression 
 of our guest's face, T rightly judged that he was fond of 
 good living. 
 
 By the time I had fried a rasher of salt pork, and made 
 a pot of dandelion coffee, the bread I had been preparing 
 was baked ; but grown flour will not make light bread, 
 and it was unusually heavy. For the fii'st time I felt 
 
300 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 heartily ashamed of our humble fare. I was sure that he 
 for whom it was provided was not one to pass it over in 
 benevolent silence. " He might be a gentleman," I 
 thought, " but he does not look like one ;" and a confused 
 idea of who he was, and where Moodie had met with 
 liim, began to float through m^ mind. I did not like the 
 appearance of the man, but I consoled myself that he 
 was only to stay for one night, and I could give up my 
 bed for that one night, and sleep on a bed on the floor by 
 my sick husband. When I re-entered the parlour to 
 cover the table, I found Moodie fallen asleep, and Mr. 
 Malcolm reading. As I placed the tea-things on the table, 
 he raised his head, and regarded me with a gloomy stare. He 
 was a strange-looking creature ; his features were tolerably 
 regular, his complexion dark, with a good colour, his very 
 broad and round head was covered with a perfect mass of 
 close, black, curling hair, which, in growth, texture, and 
 hue, resembled the wiry, curly hide of a water-dog. His 
 eyes and mouth were both well-shaped, but gave, by 
 their sinister expression, an odious and doubtful meaning 
 to the whole of his physiognomy. The eyes were cold, 
 insolent and cruel, and as green as the eyes of a cat. The 
 mouth bespoke a sullen, determined, and sneering dispo- 
 sition, as if it belonged to one brutally obstinate, one 
 who could not by any gentle means be persuaded from 
 his purpose. Such a man, in a passion, would have been 
 a terrible wild beast; but the current of his feelings 
 seemed to flow in a deep, sluggish channel, rather than 
 in a violent or impetuous one ; and, like William Penn, 
 
THE LirrLE STUMPY MAN. 
 
 397 
 
 when he reconnoitred his unwelcome visitors through 
 the keyhole of the door, I looked at my strange guest, 
 and liked him not. Perhaps my distant and constrained 
 manner made him painfully aware of the fact, for I am 
 certain that, from that first hour of our acquaintance, a 
 deep-rooted antipathy existed between us, which time 
 seemed rather to strengthen than diminish. 
 
 He ate of his meal sparingly, and with evident disgust ; 
 the only remarks which dropped from him were : 
 
 " You make bad bread in the bush. Strange that you 
 can't keep your potatoes from the frost ! I should have 
 thought that you could have had things more comfortable 
 in the woods." 
 
 " We have been very unfortunate," 1 said, '* since we 
 came to the woods. I am sorry that you should be obliged 
 to share the poverty of the land. It would have given 
 me much pleasure could I luive set before you a more 
 comfortable meal." 
 
 " Oh, don't mention it. So that I get good pork and 
 potatoes I shall be contented." 
 
 What did these words imply '{ — an extension of his 
 visit ? I hoped that I was mistaken ; but before I could 
 lose any time in conjecture my husband awoke. The fit 
 liad left him, and he rose and dressed himself, and was 
 soon chatting cheerfully with his guest. 
 
 Mr. Malcolm now inforined him that he was hiding 
 
 from the sheriff of the N district's officeis, and 
 
 that it would be conferring upon him a gi'eat favour if he 
 would allow him to remain at his house for a few weeks. 
 
398 
 
 KOUOHINO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 "To tell you the truth, Malcolm," said Moodie, "we are 
 so hadly oft' that wo can scarcely find food for ourselves 
 and the children. It is out of our ])ower to make you 
 cou^fortable, or to keep an additional hand, without he is 
 willing to render some little help on the farm. If you can 
 do this, I will endeavour to get « few neceasaries on credit, 
 to make your stay more agreeable." 
 
 To this j)roposition Malcolm readily assented, not only 
 because it released him from all sense of obligation, but 
 because it gave him a privilege to grumble. 
 
 Finding that his stay might extend to an indefinite 
 period, I got Jacob to construct a rude bedstead out of 
 two large chests that had transported some of our goods 
 across the Atlantic, and which he put up in a corner of 
 the parlour. This I provided with a small hair-mattress, 
 and furnished with what bedding I could spare. 
 
 For the first fortnight of his sojourn, our guest did noth- 
 ing but lie upon that bed, and read, and smoke, and drink 
 whisky -and- water from morning until night. By degrees 
 he let out part of his history ; but there was a mysteiy 
 about him which he took good care never to clear up. He 
 was the son of an oflScer in the navy, who had not only 
 attained a very high rank in the service, but, for his gal- 
 iant conduct, had been made a Knight-Companion of the 
 Bath. 
 
 He had himself served his time as a midshipman on 
 board his father's flag-ship, but had left the navy and ac- 
 cepted a commission in the Buenos- Ayrean service during 
 the political struggles in thp.t province ; he had commanded 
 
THE LITTLE STUMPY MAN. 
 
 899 
 
 H 8ort of privateer under the government, to whom, by his 
 own account, he had rendered many very signal services. 
 Why he left South America and came to Canada he kept 
 a profound secret. He had indulged in very vicioiis and 
 dissipated courses since he came to the province, and by 
 his own account had spent upwards of four thousand 
 pounds, in a manner not over creditable to himself Find- 
 ing that his friends would answer his bills no longii, "iq 
 took possession of a grant of land obtained through his 
 father's interest, up in Harvey, a barren township on tho 
 shores of Stony Lake ; and, after putting iip his shanty, 
 and expending all his remaining means, he found that ho 
 did not possess cme acre out of the wlu>le four hundred 
 that would yield a crop of potatoes. He was now consi- 
 derably in debt, and the lands, such as they were, hud 
 been seized, with all his effects, by the sheriff, and a war- 
 rant was out for his own apprehension, which he con-* 
 trived to elude during his sojourn with us. Money he had 
 none ; and, beyond the dirty fearnought blue seaman's 
 jacket which he wore, a pair of trousers of the coarse cloth 
 of the country, an old black vest that had seen better 
 days, and two blue-checked shiits, clothes he had none. 
 He shaved but once a week, never coi-ibed his hair, and 
 never washed himself A dirtier or more slovenly creature 
 never before was dignified by the title of a gentleman. 
 He was, however, a man of good education, of excellent 
 abilities, and possessed a bitter, sarcastic knowledge of the 
 world; but he was selfish and unprincipled in the highest 
 degree. 
 
rrrsTTTs: 
 
 M)() 
 
 IIUUUUINIJ IT IN THE IJIJSII. 
 
 I 
 
 H Im Hlnvwd ob.sorvnfcionH and groat conversational powei n 
 liad lii'Ht attracted my Inisband'y attention, and, as men 
 seldom show their bad (pialities on a journey, he thought 
 him a blunt, yfood fellow, who had travelled a great deni, 
 aind eould render himseU' a very agreeable eonipanion bv 
 a graphic relation of his adventures. Ho eould bo all this, 
 when he chose to relax from his sidlon, morose mood ; and, 
 much as I disliked him, I have listened with interest foi 
 hours to his droll descri|)tions of South American life an<i 
 manners. 
 
 Naturally in(h)Ient, and a constitutional grumbler, ii 
 wa.s with the greatest dilHculty that Moodie could get him 
 to do anything bi»yond l)ringing a few pails of water froiti 
 the swamp foi- the use of the house, and he has often 
 parsed me carrying water up from tlu; lake without offpr 
 ing to relieve me of the burden. Mary, the betrothed of 
 Jacob, called him a perfect " beast ;" l)ut he, returning 
 good for evil, considered /icr a very pretty girl, and paid 
 her so many uncouth attentions that he roused the jealous\ 
 of honest Jake, who vowed that he would give him a gool 
 " loomping " if he only dared to lay a finger upon his 
 sweetheart. With Jacob to back her, Mary treated th* 
 "zea-bear," a^s Jacob termed him, with vast disdain, and 
 was so saucy to him thiit, forgetting his admiration, ht 
 declared he would like to serve her as the Indians hat I 
 done a scolding woman in South America. They attacked 
 her house during the absence of her husband, cut out her 
 tongue, and nailed it to the door, by way of knocker 
 and he thought that all women who could not keep a civil 
 
IliK LJTTLK STUMPY MAN. 
 
 401 
 
 iongiic in their head should Vie Horvod in tho nanie 
 niannor. 
 
 " And what sliould he done to men who nvveni' and use 
 ondacent hmguajxe ?" quoth Mary, indignantly. " Their 
 tongues Hhould he. slit, and given to tlie dogs. Faugli ! 
 You are sueh a nasty fellow that I don't tlnnk Hector 
 would eat your tongue." 
 
 "I'll kill that beast," muttered Maleolm, as he walked 
 away. 
 
 T remonstrated with him on the imjjropriety of bandy- 
 ing words with our servants. " Vou se(3," 1 said, " the 
 disrespect with which they treat you ; and if they presume 
 upon your familiarity, to speak to our guest in this con- 
 temptuous manner, they will .soon (^xten<l the same con- 
 duct to us." 
 
 " But, Mrs. Moodie, you should reprove them." 
 
 " I cannot, sir, while you contikiue, by taking liberties 
 with the girl, and swearing at the man, to provoke them 
 to retaliation." 
 
 "Swearing! What harm is there ii; swearing? A sailor 
 cannot live without oaths." 
 
 " But a gentleman might. Mi*. Malcolm. I should be 
 sorry to consider you in any otlier light." 
 
 " Ah, you are such a prude — so methodistical — you 
 make no allowance for circumstances ! Surely, in the woods 
 we may dispense with the hypocritical, conventional forms 
 of society, and speak and act as we please." 
 
 " So you seem to think ; but you see the result. ' 
 
 '' T have never been used to the societ}' of ladies, and I 
 
402 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 cannot fashion my words to please them ; and I won't, 
 that's more i " he muttered to himself as he strode off to 
 Moodie in the field. I wished from my very heart that 
 he was once more on the deck of his piratical South Ame- 
 rican craft. 
 
 One night he insisted on going out in the canoe to spear 
 maskinong^ with Moodie, The evening turned out very 
 chill and foggy, and, before twelve, they returned, with 
 only one fish, and half frozen with cold. Malcolm had got 
 twinges of rheumatism, and he fussed xnd sulked, and 
 swore, and quarelled with everybody and everything, until 
 Moodie, who was highly amused by his petulance, advised 
 him to go to his bed, and pray for the happy restoration 
 of his temper. 
 
 "Temper!" he cried, "I don't believe there's a good- 
 tempered person in the world. It's all hypocrisy ! I never 
 had a good-temper ! M}'^ mother was an ill-tempered woman, 
 and ruled my father, who was a confoundedly severe, do- 
 mineering man. I was born in an ill-temper. I was an 
 ill-tempered child ; I grew up an ill-tempered man. I feel 
 worse than ill-tempered now, and when I die it will be in 
 an ill-temper." 
 
 " Well," quoth I, " Moodie has mado yon a tumbler of 
 hot punch, which may help to drive out uh cold and the 
 ill-temper, and cure the rheumatism." 
 
 " Ay ; your husband's a good fellow, and worth two of 
 you, Mrs. Moodie. He makes some allowance for the weak- 
 ness of human nature, and can excuse even my ill-temper." 
 
 I did not choose to bandy words with him, and the next 
 
THE LITTLE STUMPY MAN. 
 
 403 
 
 day the unfortunate creature was shaking with the ague. 
 A more untractable, outrageous, im-patient I never had 
 the ill-fortune to nurse. During the cold fit he did nothing 
 but swear at the cold, and wished himself roasting ; and 
 during the fever, he swore at the heat, and wished that 
 he was sitting, in no other garment than his shirt, on the 
 north side of an iceberg. And when the fit at last left 
 him, he got up, and ate such quantities of fat pork, and 
 drank so much whiskey-punch, that you would have 
 imagined he had just arrived from a long journey, and 
 had not tasted food for a couple of days. 
 
 He would not believe that fishing in the cold night-air 
 upon the water had made him ill, but raved that it was 
 all my fault for having laid my baby down on his bed 
 while it was shaking with the ague. 
 
 Yet, if there were the least tenderness mixed up in his 
 iron nature, it was the affection he displayed for that 
 young child. Dunbar was just twenty months old, with 
 bright, dark eves, dimpled cheeks, and soft, flowing, golden 
 hair, which fell round his infant ftice in rich curls. The 
 merry, confiding little creature formed such a contrast to 
 his own surly, unyielding temper, that, perhaps, that very 
 circu nstance made the bond of union between them. 
 When in the house, the little boy was seldom out of his 
 arms, and whatever were Malcolm's faults, he had none in 
 the eyes of the child, who used to cling around his neck 
 and kiss his rough, unshaven cheeks with the greatest 
 fondness. 
 
 '• If I could afford it, Moodie," he said one day to my 
 
 
404 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 husband, " I should like to marry. I want some one upon 
 whom I could wreak my aftections." And wanting that 
 some one in the form of woman, he contented himself with 
 venting them upon the child. 
 
 As the spring advanced, and after Jacob left us, he 
 seemed ashamed of sitting in the house doing nothing, and 
 therefore undertook to make us a garden, or " to make 
 garden," as the Canadians term preparing a few vegetables 
 for the season. I procured the necessary seeds, and 
 watched with no small surprise the industry with which 
 our strange visitor commenced operations. He repaired 
 the broken fence, dug the ground with the greatest care, 
 and laid it out with a skill and neatness of which I had 
 believed him perfectly incapable. In less than three weeks, 
 the whole plot presented a very pleasing prospect, and he 
 was really elated by his success. 
 
 " At any rate," said he, " we shall no longer be starved 
 on bad flour and potatoes. We shall have peas, and 
 beans, and beets, and carrots, and cabbage in abundance ; 
 besides, the plot I have reserved for cucumbers and 
 melons." . . 
 
 "Ah," thought I ; "does he, indeed, mean to stay with 
 us until the melons are ripe ?" and my heart died within 
 me, for he not only was a great additional expense, but 
 he gave a great deal of additional trouble, and entirely 
 robbed us of all privacy, as our very parlour was converted 
 into a bed-room for his accommodation ; besides that, a 
 man of his singularly dirty habitiS made a very disagree- 
 able inmate. 
 
THE LITTLE STUMPY MAN. 
 
 4(): 
 
 The only redeeming point in his character, in niy eyes, 
 was his love for Dunbar. I could not entirely hate a man 
 v/ho was so fondly attached to my child. To the two 
 little girls he was very cross, and often chased them from 
 him with blows. 
 
 He had, too, an odious way of finding fault with every- 
 thing. I never could cook to please him ; and he tried in 
 the most malicious way to induce Moodie to join in his 
 complaints. All his schemes to make strife between us, 
 however, failed, and were generally visited upon himself. 
 In no way did he ever seek to render me the least assist- 
 ance. Shortly after Jacob left us, Mary Pine was offered 
 higher wages by a family at Peterborough, and for some 
 time I was left with four little children, and without a 
 servant. Moodie always milked the cows, because I never 
 could overcome my fear of cattle ; and though I had occa- 
 sionally milked when there was no one else in the way, it 
 was in fear and trembling. 
 
 Moodie had to go down to Peterborough ; but before he 
 went, he begged Malcolm to bring me what water and 
 wood I required, and to stand by the cattle while I milked 
 the <^!0ws, and he would himself be home before night. 
 
 He started at six in the morning, and I got the pail to 
 go and milk. Malcolm was lying upon his bed, reading. 
 
 " Mr. Malcolm, will you be so kind as to go with me to 
 the fields for a few minutes while I milk ? " 
 
 " Yes ! " (then, with a sulky frown,) " but I want to 
 finish what I am reading." 
 
 " I will not detain you long." 
 
406 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 " Oh, no ! I suppose about an hour. You are a shocking 
 bad milker." 
 
 " True ; I never went near a cow until I came to this 
 country ; and I have never been able to overcome my fear 
 of them." 
 
 " More shame for you ! A farmer's wife, and afraid of 
 a cow ! Why, these little children would laugh at you." 
 
 I did not reply, nor would I ask him. again. I walked 
 slowly to the field, and my indignation made me forget 
 my fear. I had just finished milking, and with a brim- 
 ming pail was preparing to climb the fence and return to 
 the house, when a very wild ox we had came running 
 with headlong speed from the wood. All my fears were 
 alive again in a moment. I snatched up the pail, and, in- 
 stead of climbing the fence and getting to the house, I ran 
 with all the speed I could command down the steep hill 
 towards the lake shore ; my feet caught in a root of the 
 many stumps in the patn, and I fell to the ground, my 
 pail rolling many yards a-head of me. Every drop of my 
 milk was spilt upon the grass. The ox passed on. I 
 gathered myself up and returned home. Malcolm was 
 very fond of new milk, and he came to meet me at the 
 door. 
 
 « Hi ! hi !— Where's the milk ? " 
 
 " No milk for the poor children to-day," said I, showing 
 him the inside of the pail, with a sorrowful shake of the 
 head, for it was no small losj-' to them and me. 
 
 " How the devil's that ? So you were afraid to milk 
 the cows. Come away, and I will keep off the buggaboos/ 
 
THE LITTLE STUMPY MAN. 
 
 407 
 
 " I did milk them — no thanks to your kindness, Mr. 
 Malcolm — but " 
 
 " But what ? " 
 
 "The ox frightened me, and I fell and spilt all the 
 milk." 
 
 " Whew ! Now don't go and toll your husband that it 
 was all my fault ; if you had had a little patience, I 
 would have come when you asked me, but I don't choose 
 to be dictated to, and I won't be made a slave by you or 
 any one else." 
 
 " Then why do you stay, sir, where you consider your- 
 self so treated ?" said I " We are all obliged to work to 
 obtain bread; we give you the best share — surely the 
 return we ask for it is but small." 
 
 " You make me feel my obligations to you when you 
 ask me to do anything ; if you left it to my better feelings 
 we should get on better." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right. I will never ask you to do 
 anything for me in future." 
 
 " Oh, now, that's all mock-humility. In spite of the 
 tears in your eyes, you are as angiy with me as ever ; 
 but don't go to make mischief between me and Moodie. 
 If you'll say nothing about my refusing to go with you, 
 I'll milk the cows for you myself to-night." 
 
 " And can j^ou milk ?" said I, with some curiosity. 
 
 " Milk ! Yes ; and if I were not so confoundedly low- 
 spirited and lazy, I could do a thousand other things 
 
 too. But now, don't say a word about it to Moodie." 
 
 I made no promise ; but my respect for him was no 
 
408 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 increased by his cowardly fear of reproof from Moodie, 
 who treated him with a kindness and consideration which 
 he did not deserve. 
 
 The afternoon turned out very wet, and I was sorry 
 that I should be troubled with his company all day in 
 the house. I was making a shirt for Moodie from some 
 cotton that had been sent me from home, and he placed 
 himself by the side of the stove, just opposite, and con- 
 tinued to regard me for a long time with his usual sullen 
 stare. I really felt half afraid of him. 
 
 " Don't you think me mad ?" said he. " 1 have a 
 brother deranged ; he got a stroke of the sun in India, 
 and lost his senses in consequence ; but sometimes I think 
 it runs in the family." 
 
 What answer could I give to this speech, but mere 
 evasive common place ! 
 
 "You won't say what you really think," he coitinued; 
 " I know you hate me, and that makes me dislike you. 
 Now what would you say if I told you I had com- 
 mitted a murder, and that it was the recollection of that 
 circumstance that made me at times so restless and un- 
 happy. 
 
 I looked up in his face, not knowing what to believe 
 
 " 'Tis fact," said he, nodding his head ; and I hoped 
 that he would not go mad, like his brother, and kill me. 
 
 " Come, I'll tell you all about it ; I know the world 
 would laugh at me for calling such an act murder ; and 
 yet I have been such a miserable man ever since that I 
 feel it was. 
 
THE LITTLE STUMPY MAN. 
 
 409 
 
 was sorry 
 
 all day in 
 
 from some 
 
 i he placed 
 
 be, and con- 
 
 Lisual sullen 
 
 " There was a noted leader among the rebel Buenos- 
 
 iVyreans, whom the government wanted much to get hold 
 
 of. He was a fine, dashing, handsome fellow ; I had often 
 
 siien him, but we never came to close quarters. One 
 
 night, I was lying wrapped up in my poncho at the bottom 
 
 of my boat, which was rocking in the surf, waiting 
 
 tor two of my men, who were gone on shore. There 
 
 ame to the shore, this man .and one of his people, and 
 
 they stood so near the boat, which I suppose they thought 
 
 empty, that I could distinctly hear their conversation. I 
 
 suppose it was the devil who tempted me to put a bullet 
 
 through that man's heart. He was an enemy to the flag 
 
 under which I fought, but he was no enemy to me — I had 
 
 'lO right to become his executioner ; but still the desire 
 
 to kill him, for the mere devilry of the thing, came so 
 
 strongly upon me that I no longe)* tried to resist it. I 
 
 rose slowly upon my knees ; the moon was shining very 
 
 bright at the time, both he and his companion were too 
 
 (arnestly engaged to see me, and I deliberately shot him 
 
 through the body. He fell with a heavy groan back into 
 
 the water ; but I caught the last look he threw up to the 
 
 nioonhght skies before his eyes glazed in death. Oh, that 
 
 look ! — so full of despair and unutterable anguish ; it 
 
 haunts me yet — it will haunt me for ever. I would not 
 
 have cared if I had killed him in strife — but in cold 
 
 blood, and he so unsuspicious of his doom ! Yes, it was 
 
 murder ; I know by this constant tugging at my heart 
 
 that it was murder. What do you say to it ? " 
 
 "I should think as you do, Mr. Malcolm. It is a 
 AA 
 
410 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 ternble thing to take away the life of a fellow-creature 
 without the least provocation." 
 
 " Ah ! I knew you would blame me ; but he was an 
 enemy after all ; I had a right to kill him ; I was hired 
 by the government under whom I served to kill him : 
 and who shall condemn me ?" 
 
 " No one more than your own heart." 
 
 " It is not the heai-t, but the brain, that must decide in 
 questions of right and wrong," said he, "I acted from 
 impulse, and shot that man ; had I reasoned upon it for 
 five minutes, the man would be living now. But what's 
 done cannot be undone. Did I ever show you the work 
 I wrote upon South America ?" 
 
 " Are you an author," said I, incredulously. 
 
 " To be sure I am. Murray offered me £100 for my 
 manuscript, but I would not take it. Shall I read to you 
 some passages from it ? " 
 
 I am sorry to say that his behaviour in the morning 
 was uppermost in my thoughts, and I had no repugnance 
 in refusing. 
 
 " No, don't trouble yourself I have the dinner to cook, 
 and the children to attend to, which will cause a constant 
 interruption ; you had better defer it to some other time. 
 
 " I shan't ask you to listen to UiO again," said he, with 
 a look of offended vanity ; but he went to his trunk, and 
 brought out a large MS., written on foolscap, which he 
 commenced reading to himself with an air of great self- 
 importance, glancing from time to time at me, and smiling 
 disdainfully. Oh, how glad I was when the door opened, 
 
 A^ 
 
THE LITTLE .STUMPY HAN. 
 
 411 
 
 ,ow-creatuif 
 
 and the return of Moodie broke up this painful tete-d- 
 tSte. 
 
 From the sublime to the ridiculous is but u step. The 
 very npxt day, Mr. Malcolm made his appearance before 
 me, wrapped in a great-coat belonging to my husband, 
 which literally came down to his heels. At this strange 
 apparition, I fell a-laughing. 
 
 " For jd's sake, Mrs. Moodie, lend me a pair of inex- 
 pressibles. I have met with an accident in crossing the 
 fence, and mine are torn to shreds — ^gone to the devil 
 entirely." 
 
 "Well, don't swear. I'll see what can b(i done for 
 
 you." 
 
 I brought him a new pair of line, drab-coloured kersey- 
 mere trousers that had never been worn. Although he 
 was eloquent in his thanks, I had no idea that he meant 
 to keep them for his sole individual use from that day 
 thenceforth. But after all, what was the man to do ? 
 He had no trousers, and no money, and he could not take 
 to the woods. Certainly his loss was not our gain. It 
 was the old proverb reversed. 
 
 The season for putting in the potatoes had now arrived. 
 Malcolm volunteered to cut the sets, which was easy work 
 that could be done in the house, and over which lie could 
 lounge and smoke ; but Moodie told him that he must 
 take his share in the field, that I had already sets enough 
 saved to plant half-an-acre, and would have more pie- 
 pared by the time they were required. With many 
 growls and shrugs, he felt obliged to comply; and he per- 
 
412 
 
 IIOUOHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 formed his part pretty well, the execrations bestowed up- 
 on the musquitoes and black-Hies forming a sort of safety- 
 valve to let off' the concentrated venom of liis temper. 
 When he came in to dinner, he held out his hands to me. 
 
 " Look at these hands." 
 
 " They are blistered with the hoe." 
 
 " Look at my face." 
 
 " You are terribly disfigured by the black-Hies. But 
 Moodie suffers just as much, and says nothing." 
 
 " Bail ' — The only consolation one feels for such annoy- 
 ances is to complain. Oh, the woods ! — the cursed woods! 
 — how I wish I were out of them." The day was very 
 warm, but in the afternoon I was surprised by a visit 
 
 from an old maiden lady, a friend of mine from C . 
 
 She had walked up with p Mr. Crowe, from Peter- 
 borough, a young, brisk-look _ fa/mer, in breeches and 
 top-boots, just out from the old country, who, naturally 
 enough, thought he would like to roost among the woods. 
 
 He was a little, lively, good-natured manny, with a real 
 Anglo-Saxon face,— rosy, high cheek -boned, with full lips, 
 and . : turned-up nose ; and, like most little men, was a 
 great talker, and very full of himself. He had belonged 
 to the secondary class of farmers, and was very vulgar, 
 both in person and manners. I had just prepared tea for 
 my visitors, when Malcolm and Moodie returned from the 
 field. There was no affectation about the former. He 
 was manly in his person, and blunt even to rudeness, and 
 I saw by the quizzical look which he cast upon the spruce 
 little Crowe that he was quietly quizzing him from head 
 
THK LITTLE STUMPY MAN. 
 
 413 
 
 to heel. A. neighbour had sont ino a ])ie8tMit of maple 
 inolasse.s, and Mr. Crowo was .so fearful of spilling some of 
 the rich syrup ujjon liis drab shorts that hos])read a large 
 pocket-handerchief over his knees, and tucked another 
 under his chin. 1 felt very much inclined to laugh, but 
 restrained the inclination as well as I could — and if the 
 little creature would have sat still, I could have (quelled 
 my rebellious propensity altogether ; but up he would 
 jump at every word I said to him, and make me a low, 
 jerking bow, often with his mouth quite full, and the 
 treacherous molasses running over his chin. 
 
 Malcolm sat directly opposite to me and my volatile 
 next-door neighbour. He saw the intense difficulty I had 
 to keep my gravity, and was determined to make me 
 laugh out. So, coming slyly behind my chair, he whis- 
 pered in my ear, with the gravity of a judge, " Mrs. 
 Moodie, that must have been the veiy chap who first 
 jumped Jim Crowe." 
 
 This appeal obliged me to run from the table. Moodie 
 was astonished at my rudeness ; and Malcolm, as he re 
 sumed his seat, made the matter worse by saying, " I 
 wonder what is the matter with Mrs. Moodie; she is 
 certainly very hysterical this afternoon." 
 
 The potatoes were planted T>d the season of straw- 
 berries, green-peas, and youii^. ^tatoes had come, but 
 still Malcolm remained our constant guest. He had 
 grown so indolent, and gave himself so many airs, that 
 Moodie was heartily sick of his company, and gave him 
 many gentle hints to change his quarters ; but our guest 
 
414 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 '■.^""^ ■ 
 
 ^J» 
 
 m 
 
 was dotciminetlto tako no hint. For sonio reason best- 
 known to himself, perhaps ont of sheer contradiction, 
 whicli formed one groat eletncnt in his character, he 
 seemed obstinately l)ent upon remaining where he was. 
 
 Moodie wa,« bnsy under-brushing for a fall fallow. Mal- 
 colm spent much of his time in the garden, or lounging 
 about the house. I had baked an eel-pic for dinner, 
 which if prepared well is by no means an unsavoury dish. 
 Malcolm had cleaned some gi'cen-peas and washed the 
 first young potatoes we had drawn that season, with his 
 own hands, and he Avas reckoning ujion the feast he should 
 have on the potatoes with childish glee. Tl 3 dinner at 
 length was put upon the table. The vegetables were re- 
 markably fine, and the pie looked very nice. 
 
 Moodie helped Malcolm, as he always did, very largely, 
 and the other covered his plate with a portion of peas and 
 potatoes, when, lo and behold ! my gentleman began 
 making a very wry face at the pie. 
 
 " What an infernal dish !" he cried, pushing away his 
 plate with an air of great disgust. " These eels taste as 
 if they had been stewed in oil. Moodie, you should teach 
 3'^our wife to be a better cook." 
 
 The hot blood burnt upon ^loodie's cheek. I saw in- 
 dignation blazing in his eye. 
 
 " If you don't like what is prepared for you, sir, you 
 may leave the table, and my house, if you please. I will 
 put up wdth yoilr ungentlemanly and ungrateful conduct 
 to Mrs. Moodie no longer." 
 
 Out stalked the offending partj^ I thought, to be sure, 
 
THE LITTLE STUMPY MAN. 
 
 415 
 
 we had got rid of him ; and though he deserved what- 
 was said to him, I was sony for him. Moodie took his 
 dinner, quietly remarking, " I wonder he could find it in 
 his heart to leave those fine pe.is and potatoes." 
 
 He then went back to his work in the bush, and I 
 cleared away the dishes, and churned, for I wanted butter 
 for tea. 
 
 About four o'clock, Mr. Malcolm entered tlie room. 
 " Mrs. Moodie," said he, in a more cheerful voice than 
 usual, " where's the boh.s ?" 
 
 " In the wood, under-brushing." I felt dreadfully afraid 
 that there would be blows between them. 
 
 " I hope, Mr. Malcolm, that you are not going to him 
 with any intention of a fresh quarrel." 
 
 "Don't you think I have been punished enough by 
 losing my dinner ?" said he, with a giin, " I don't think 
 we shall murder one another." He shouldered his axe, 
 and went whistling away. 
 
 After striving for a long while to stifle my foolish fears, 
 I took the baby in my arms, and little Dunbar by the 
 hand, and ran- up to the bush where Moodie was at work. 
 
 At first I only saw my husband, but the strokes of an 
 axe at a little distance soon guided my eyes to the spot 
 where Malcolm was working away, as if for dear life. 
 Moodie smiled, and looked at me significantly. 
 
 " How could the fellow stomach what I said to him ? 
 Either great necessity or great meanness must bo the cause 
 of his knocking under. I don't know whether most to 
 pity ov despise him." 
 
 I 
 
416 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 " Put up with it, dearest, for this once. He is not happy, 
 and must be greatly distressed." 
 
 Malcolm kept aloof, ever and anon casting a furtive 
 glance towards us ; at last little Dunbar ran to him, and 
 held up his arms to be kissed. The strange man snatched 
 him to his bosom, and covered him with caresses. It 
 might be love to the child that had quelled his sullen 
 spirit, or he might really have cherished an affection for 
 us deeper than his ugly temper would allow him to show. 
 At all events, he joined us at tea as if nothing had 
 happened, and we might truly say that he had obtained 
 a new lease of his long visit. 
 
 But what could not be effected by words or hints of 
 ours was brought about a few days after by the silly 
 observation of a child. He asked Katie to give him a 
 kiss, and he would give her some raspbemes he had 
 gathered in the bush. 
 
 " I don't want them. Go away ; I don't like you, you 
 little stumpy man !'* ~ 
 
 His rage knew no bounds. He pushed the child from 
 him, and vowed that he would leave the house that 
 moment — that she could not have thought of such an 
 expression herself; she must have been taught it by us. 
 This was an entire misconception on his part; but he 
 would not be convinced that he was wrong. Off he went, 
 and Moodie called after him, " Malcolm, as I am sending 
 to Peterborough to-morrow, the man shall take in your 
 trunk." He was too angry even to turn and bid us good- 
 bye ; but we had not seen the last of him yet. 
 
THE LITTLE STUMPY MAN. 
 
 417 
 
 Two months after, we were taking tea with a neighbour, 
 who lived a mile below us on the small lake. Who should 
 walk in but Mr. Malcolm ? He greeted us with great 
 warmth for him, and, when we rose to take leave, he rose 
 and walked home by our side. " Surely the little stumpy 
 man is not returning to his old quarters ?" I am still a 
 babe in the affairs of men. Human nature has more 
 strange varieties than any one menagerie can contain, 
 and Malcolm was one of the oddest of her odd species. 
 
 That night he slept in his old bed below the parlour 
 window, and for three months afterwards he stuck to us 
 like a beaver. 
 
 He seemed to have grown more kindly, or we had got 
 more used to his eccentricities, and let him have his own 
 way ; certainly he behaved himself much better. 
 
 He neither scolded the children nor interfered with the 
 maid, nor quarrelled with me. He had greatly discon- 
 tinued his bad habit of swearing, and he talked of himself 
 and his future prospects with more hope and self-respect. 
 His father had promised to send him a fresh supply of 
 money, and he proposed to buy of Moodie the clergy 
 reserve, and that they should farm the two places on 
 shares. This offer was received with great joy, as an un- 
 looked-for means of paying our debts, and extricating 
 ourselves from present and overwhelming difficulties, and 
 we looked upon the little stumpy man in the light of a 
 benefactor. 
 
 So matters continued until Christmas-eve, when our 
 visitor proposed walking into Peterborough, in order to 
 
418 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 give the children a treat of raisins to make a Christmas 
 pudding. 
 
 " We will be quite merry to-morrow," he said. " I hope 
 we shall eat many Christmas dinners together, and con- 
 tinue good friends." 
 
 He started, after breakfast, with the promise of coming 
 back at night; but night came, the Christmas passed 
 away, months and years fled away, but we never saw the 
 little stumpy man again ! 
 
 He went away that day with a stranger in a waggon 
 from Peterborough, and never afterwards was seen in that 
 part of Canada. We afterwards learned that he went to 
 Texas, and it is thought that he was killed at St. Antonio; 
 but this is a mere conjecture. Whether dead or living, I 
 feel convinced that 
 
 *' We ne'er shall look upon his like again. " 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE FIRE. 
 
 Now, Fortune, do thy worst ! For many years, 
 Thon, with relentless and unsparing hand, 
 Hast sternly pour'd on our devoted heads 
 The poison'd phials of thy fiercest wrath. 
 
 I 'HE early part of the winter of 1837, a year never to 
 (^ be forgotten in the annals of Canadian history, was 
 very severe. During the month of February, the ther- 
 mometer often ranged from eighteen to twenty-seven 
 degrees below zeio. Speaking of the coldness of one 
 particular day, a genuine brother Jonathan remarked, 
 with chrrming simplicity, that it was thirty degrees below 
 zero that morning, and it would have been much colder if 
 the thermometer had been longer. 
 
 The morning of the seventh was so intensely cold chat 
 everything liquid froze in the house. The wood that had 
 l)een drawn for the fire was green, and it ignited too 
 slowly to satisfy the shivering impatience of women and 
 children ; I vented mine in audibly grumbling over the 
 wretched fire, at which I in vain endeavoured to thaw 
 frozen bread, and to dress crying children. 
 
420 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THF. RUSH, 
 
 It SO happened that an old friend, the maiden lady 
 before alluded to, had been staying with us for a few days. 
 She had left us for a visit to my sister, and as some rela- 
 tives of hers were about to return to Britain, by the way 
 of New York, and had offered to convey letters to friends 
 at home, I liad been busy all the day before preparing a 
 packet for England. 
 
 It was my intention to walk to my sister's with tliis 
 packet, directly the important affair of breakfast had been 
 discussed ; but the extreme cold of the morning had oc- 
 casioned such delay, that it was late before the breakfast- 
 things were cleared awa3^ ' 
 
 After dressing, I found the air so keen that I could not 
 venture out without some risk to my nose, and my hus- 
 band kindly volunteered to go in my stead. 
 
 I had hired a young Irish girl the day before. Her 
 friends were only just located in our vicinity, and she 
 had never seen a stove until she came to our house. After 
 Moodie left, I suffered the fire to die away in the Franklin 
 stove in the parlour, and went into the kitchen to prepare 
 bread for the oven. 
 
 The girl, who was a good-natured creature, had heard 
 me complain bitterly of the cold, and the impossibility of 
 getting the green wood to burn, and she thought that 
 she would see if she could not make a good fire for me 
 and the children, against my work was done. Without 
 saying one word about her intention, she slipped out 
 through a door that opened from the parlour into the gar- 
 den, ran round to the wood-yard, filled her lap with cedar 
 
THE FIRE. 
 
 421 
 
 chips, and, not knowing the nature of the stove, filled it 
 entirely with the light wood. 
 
 Before I had the least idea of my danger, I was 
 aroused from the completion of my task by the crackling 
 and roaring of a large fire, and a suffocating smell of 
 burning soot. I looked up at the kitchen cooking-stove. 
 All was right there. I knew 1 had left no fire in the 
 parlour stove ; but not being able to account for the smoke 
 and smell of burning, I openeil the door, and, to my dis- 
 may, found the stove red-hot, from the front plate to the 
 topmost pipe that let out the smoke through the roof. 
 
 My first impulse was to plunge a blanket, snatched 
 from the servant's bed, which stood in the kitchen, into 
 cold water. This I thrust into the stove, and upon it 
 I threw water, until all was cool below. I then ran up to 
 the loft, and, by exhausting all the water in the house, 
 even to that contained in the boilers upon the fire, con- 
 trived to cool down the pipes which passed through the 
 loft. I then sent the girl out of doors to look at the roof, 
 which, as a very deep fall of snow had taken place the day 
 before, I hoped would be completely covered, and safe 
 from all danger of fire. 
 
 She quickly returned, stamping, and tearing her hair, 
 and making a variety of uncouth outcries, Trom which I 
 gathered that the roof was in flames. 
 
 This was terrible news, with my husband absent, no 
 man in the house, and a mile and a quarter from any 
 other habitation. I ran out to ascertain the extent of 
 the misfortune, and found a large fire burning in the roof 
 
422 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 between the two stove pipes. The heat of the tires !iad 
 melted off all the snow, and a spark from the burning 
 pipe had already ignited the shingles. A ladder which, 
 for several months had stood against the house, had been 
 moved two days before to the barn, which was at the top 
 of the hill, near the road ; there was no reaching the fire 
 through that source. I got out the dining-table, and 
 tried to throw water upon the roof, by standing on a 
 chair placed upon it, but I only expended the little water 
 that remained in the boiler, without reaching the fire, 
 The girl still continued weeping and lamenting. 
 
 " You must go for help," I said. " Run as fast tis you 
 can to my sister's, and fetch your master." 
 
 " And lave you, ma'arm, and the childher alone wid 
 the burnin* house V 
 
 " Yes, yes ! Don't stay one moment." 
 
 " I have no shoes, ma'arm, and the snow is so deep." 
 
 " Put on your master's boots ; make haste, or we shall 
 be lost before help comes." 
 
 The girl put on the boots and staHed, shrieking " Fire !" 
 the whole way. This was utterly useless, and only im- 
 peded her progress by exhausting her strength. After 
 she had vanished from the head of the clearing into the 
 wood, and I was left quite alone, with the house burning 
 over my head, I paused one moment to reflect what had 
 best be done. 
 
 The house was built of cedar logs ; in all probability 
 it would be consumed before any help could arrive. There 
 was a brisk breeze blowing up from the frozen lake, and 
 
THE FIBE. 
 
 423 
 
 T alone wid 
 
 the thermometer stood at eighteen degiees below zero. We 
 were placed between the two extremes of heat and cold, 
 and there was as much danger to be apprehended from 
 the one as the other. In the bewilderment of the mo- 
 ment, the direful extent of the calamity never struck me ; 
 we wanted but this to put the finishing stroke to our mis- 
 fortunes, to be thrown naked, houseless and penniless, upon 
 the world. " What shall I save first ?" was the thought 
 just then uppermost in my mind. Bedding and clothing 
 appeared the most essentially necessary, and, without 
 iinother moment's pause, I set to work with a right goovl 
 will to drag all that I could from my burning home. 
 
 "While little Agnes, Dunbar, and baby Donald filled the 
 the air with their cries, Katie, as if fully conscious of the 
 importance of exertion, assisted me in carrying out sheets 
 and blankets, and dragging trunks and boxes some way 
 up the hill, to be out of the way of the burning brands 
 when the roof should fall in. 
 
 How many anxious looks I gave to the head of the 
 clearing as the fire increased, and large pieces of burning 
 pine began to fall through the boarded ceiling, about the 
 lower rooms where we were at work. The children I 
 had kept under a large dresser in the kitchen, but it now 
 appeared absolutely necessary to remove them to a place 
 of safety. To expose the young, tender things ^^to the 
 direful cold, was almost as bad as leaving them to the 
 mercy of the fire. At last I hit upon a plan to keep 
 them from freezing. I emptied all the clothes out of a 
 large, deep chest of drawers, and dragged the empty 
 
424 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 drawers up the hill ; these I lined with blanketw, and 
 placed a child in each drawer, covering it well over with 
 the bedding, giving to little Agnes the charge of the 
 baby to hold between her knees, and keep well covered 
 until help should arrive. Ah, how long it seemed 
 coming ! 
 
 The roof was now burning like a brush-heap, and, un- 
 consciously, the child and I were working under a shelf, 
 upon which were deposited several pounds of gunpowder, 
 which had been procured for blasting a well, as all our 
 water had to be brought up hill from the lake. This 
 gunpowder was in a stone jar, secured by a paper stop- 
 per ; the shelf upon which it stood was on fire, but it 
 was utterly forgotten by me at the time ; and even after- 
 wards, when my husband was working on the burning 
 loft over it. 
 
 I found that I should not be able to take many more 
 trips for goods. As I passed out of the parlour for the 
 last time, Katie looked up at her father's flute, which was 
 suspended upon two brackets, and said, 
 
 " Oh, dear mamma ! do save papa's flute ; he will be so 
 sorry to lose it." 
 
 God bless the dear child for the thought ! the flute was 
 saved ; and, as I succeeded in dr egging out a heavy chest 
 of clothes, and looked up once more despairingly to the 
 road, I saw a man running at full speed. It was my 
 husband. Help was at hand, and my heart uttered a 
 deep thanksgiving as another and another figure came 
 upon the scene. 
 
THE FIRE. 
 
 425 
 
 I had not felt thu iiiteuse- cold, although without cap, 
 or bonnet, or shawl ; with my hands bare and exposed to 
 the bitter biting air. The intense excitement, the anxiety 
 to save all I could, had so totally diverted my thoughts 
 from myself, that I had felt nothing of the danger to 
 which I had been exposed ; but now that help was near, 
 my knees trembled under me, I felt giddy and laint, and 
 dark shadows seemed dancing before my eyes. 
 
 The moment my husband and brother-in-law entered 
 the house, the latter exclaimed, 
 
 " Moodie, the house is gone ; save what }'ou can of your 
 winter stores and furniture." 
 
 Moodie thought differently. Prompt and energetic in 
 danger, and possessing admirable presence of mind and 
 coolness when others yield to agitation and despair, he 
 sprang upon the burning loft and called for water. Alas, 
 there was none ! 
 
 " Snow, snow ; hand me up pailfuls of snow !" 
 
 Oh ! it was bitter work filling those pails with frozen 
 
 snow : but Mr. T and I worked at it as fast as we 
 
 were able. 
 
 The violence of the fire was gi'eatly checked by cover- 
 ing the boards of the loft with this snow. More help had 
 
 now arrived. Young B and S had brought the 
 
 ladder down with them from the barn, and were already 
 cutting away the burning roof, and flinging the flaming 
 brands into the deep snow. 
 
 " Mrs. Moodie, have you any pickled meat ?" 
 
 BB 
 
TT 
 
 426 
 
 ROUGHING IT rN THE BUSH. 
 
 I 
 1 I 
 
 " Wc have just killed one of onr cows, and salted it for 
 winter stoics." 
 
 " Well, then, fling the hccf into the snow, and let us 
 have the brine." 
 
 This was an admirable plan. Wherever the brine wet- 
 ted the shingles, the fire turned from it, and concentrated 
 into one spot. 
 
 But I had not time to watch the ])rave workers on the 
 roof. I was fast yielding to the effects of over excite- 
 ment and fatigue, when my brother's team dashed down 
 
 the clearing, bringing my excellent old friend, Miss B , 
 
 and the strvant-girl. 
 
 My brother sprang out, earned me back into the house, 
 and wrapped me up in one of the large blankets scattered 
 about. In a few minutes I was seated with the dear 
 children in the sleigh, and on the way to a place of wai*mth 
 and safety. 
 
 Katie alone suffered from the intense cold. The dear 
 IHtle creature's feet were severely frozen, but were fortu- 
 nately restored by her uncle discovering the fact before 
 she approached the fire, and rubbing them well with 
 snow. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the friends, we had left so actively 
 employed at the house, succeeded in getting the fire un- 
 der before it bad destroyed the walls. The only accident 
 that occurred was to a poor dog, that Moodie had called 
 Snarleyowe. He was struck by a burning brand thrown 
 from the house, and crept under the bam and died. 
 
 Beyond the damage done to the building, the loss of 
 
THE FIRE, 
 
 427 
 
 our potatoes and two sacks of Hour, wc had esrapod in a 
 manner almost miraculous. This fact shows how much 
 can be done hy persons working in union, without bustle 
 and confusion, or running in each other's way. Here were 
 six men, who, without the aid of water, succeeded in 
 saving a Ijiiilding, which, at first sight, almost all of them 
 had deemed past hope. In after-years, when entirely 
 burnt out in a disastrous fire that consumed almost all 
 we were worth in the world, some four hundred persons 
 were present, with a fire-engine to second their endeav- 
 ours, yet all was lost. Every person seemed in the way ; 
 and though the fire was discovered immediately after it 
 took place, nothing was done beyond saving some of the 
 furniture. 
 
 Our party was too large to be billetted upon one family, 
 
 Mrs. T took compassion upon Moodie, myself, and the 
 
 baby, while their uncle received the three children to his 
 hospitable home. 
 
 It was some weeks before Moodie succeeded in repair- 
 ing the roof, the intense cold preventing any one from 
 working in such an exposed situation. 
 
 The news of our fire travelled far and wide. I was re- 
 ported to have done prodigies and to have saved the 
 greater part of our household goods before help arrived. 
 Reduced to plain prose, these prodigies shrink into the 
 simple, and by no means marvellous fact, that during the 
 excitement I dragged out chests which, under ordinary 
 circumstances, I could not have moved ; and that I was 
 unconscious, both of the cold and the danger to which I 
 

 428 
 
 ROUOHINO IT TN THE BUSH. 
 
 was exposed while working under ca burning roof, which, 
 had it fallen, would have buried both the children and 
 myself under its ruins. 
 
 These circumstances api)eared far moi'e alarming, as all 
 real danger does, after they were past. The fright and 
 over-exertion gtivo niy health a shock from which I did 
 not recover for several months, and made me so fearful of 
 fire, that from that hour it haunts me like a nightmare. 
 Let the night bo ever so serene, all stoves must be shut 
 up, and the hot embers covered with ashes, before I dare 
 retire to rest ; and the sight of a burning edifice, so com- 
 mon a spectacle in large towns in this country, makes me 
 really ill. This feeling was greatly increased after a 
 second fire, when, for some torturing minutes, a lovely 
 boy, since drowned, was supposed to have perished in the 
 burning house. 
 
 Our present fire led to a new train of circumstances, 
 for it was the means of introducing to Moodie a young 
 Irish gentleman, who was staying at my brother's house. 
 
 John E was one of the best and gentlest of human 
 
 beings. His father, i\ captain in the army, had died while 
 his family were quite young, and had left his widow with 
 scarcely any means beyond the pension she received at her 
 husband's death, to bring up and educate a family of five 
 
 children. A handsoms, showy woman, Mrs. E soon 
 
 married again ; and the poor lads were thrown upon the 
 world. The eldest, who had been educated for the Church, 
 first came to Canada in the hope of getting some profes- 
 sorship in the college, or of opening a classical school. 
 
THE FIRE. 
 
 429 
 
 He was a handsome, gentlemanly, well-educated young 
 man, but constitutionally indolent — a natural defect which 
 seemed common to all the males of the ftimily, and which 
 was sufficiently indicated by their soft, silky, fair hair 
 
 and milky complexions, R had the good sense to 
 
 perceive that C^anada was not the courtly for him. Ho 
 spent a week under our roof, and we '^ e» u much pleased 
 
 with his elegant tastes and pursuits , hni my husband 
 strongly ad /ised hira to try and get a situation as a tutor 
 in some family at home. This he afterwards obtained. 
 He became tutor and travelling companion to the young 
 Lord M ; and has since got an excellent living. 
 
 John, who had followed his brother to Canada without 
 the means of transporting himself back again, was forced 
 
 to remain, and was working with Mr. S for his board. 
 
 He proposed to Moodie woi-king his farm upon shares ; 
 and, as we were unable to hire a man, Moodie gladly 
 closed with his offer ; and, during the time he remained 
 with us, we had every reason to be pleased with the ar- 
 rangement. 
 
 It wjis always a humiliating feeling to our proud minds, 
 that hirelings should witness our dreadful struggles with 
 poverty, and the strange sliifts we were forced to make in 
 
 order to rbtain even food. But John E had known and 
 
 ex]>enenced all that we had suffered, in his own person, 
 and wa<* willing to share our home witli all its privations. 
 Wwm-liearted, sincere, and truly affectionate — a gentle- 
 man in word, thought, and deed — wo found his so(nety 
 and cheerful help a great comfort. Our odd meals be- 
 

 ,4 
 
 430 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 came a subject of merriment, and the peppermint and 
 sage tea drank with a better flavour when we had one 
 who sympathized in all our trials, and shared all our toils, 
 to partake of it with us. 
 
 The whole family soon became attached to our young 
 friend ; and after the work of the day was over, greatly 
 
 we enjoyed an hour's fishing on the lake. John E 
 
 said that we had no right to murmur, as long as we had 
 health, a happy home, and plenty of fresh fish, milk, and 
 potatoes. Early in May, we leceived an old Irishwoman 
 into our service, who for four years })roved a most faith- 
 ful and industrious creature. And what with John E 
 
 to assist my husband on the farm, and old Jenny to help 
 me to nurse the children, and manage the house, our 
 affairs, if they were no better in a pecuniary point of 
 view, at least presented a more pleasing aspect at home. 
 We were always cheerful, and sometimes contented and 
 even happy. 
 
 How great was the contrast between the character of 
 uur new' inmate and that of Mr. Malcolm ! The sufterings 
 of the })ast j^oar had been greatly increased by the intol- 
 erable nuisance of his company, while many additional 
 debts had been contrai^ted in order to obtain luxuries for 
 him wliicli wo never dreamed of purchasing for ourselves. 
 Instead of increasing my domestic toils, John did all in 
 his power to lessen them ; and it always grieved him to 
 see me iron a shiit, or wash the least aiticle of clothing 
 for him. " You have too much to do already; 1 cannot 
 l»ear to give you the least additional work, ' he would say 
 
THE FIRE. 
 
 431 
 
 And he generally expressed the greatest satisfaction at 
 my method of managing the house, and preparing our 
 simple fare. The little ones he treated with the most 
 affectionate kindness, and gathered the whole flock about 
 his knees the moment he came in to his meals. 
 
 On a wet day, when no work could be done abroad, 
 Moodie took up his flute, or read aloud to us, while John 
 and I sat down to work. The young emigrant, early cast 
 upon the world and his own resources, was an excellent 
 hand at the needle. He would make or mend a shirt 
 with the greatest precision and neatness, and cut out 
 and manufacture his canvass trousers and loose summer- 
 coats with as much adroitness as the most experienced 
 tailor ; darn his socks, and mend his boots and shoes, 
 and often volunteered to assist me in knitting the coarse 
 yarn of the country into socks for the children, while he 
 made them moccasins from the dressed deer-skins that 
 we obtained from the Indians. 
 
 Scrupulously neat and clean in his person, the only thing 
 which seemed to ruttte his calm temper was the dirty work 
 of logging; he hated to come in from the field with his 
 person and clothes begrimed with charcoal and smoke. 
 Old Jenny used to laugh at him ft>r not being able to eat 
 his meals without first washing his hands and lace. 
 
 ''Och! my dear heart, \^er too particular intirely; we've 
 uu time in the wo<^>ds to be elane." She would say to him 
 in aifciwer to his request for soap and a towel, " An' is it 
 ^oap yer a wantin'? I tell yer that that same is not to 
 uie ibre bating the throuble of makiu', it*?3 little soap 
 
432 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 that the misthress Ccan get to wash the clothes for us and 
 the childher, widout yer wastin' it in makin' yer purty 
 skin as white as a leddy's. Do, darlint, go down to the 
 ; lake and wash there ; that basin is big enough, any how." 
 And John would laugh, and go down to ihe lake to wash, 
 in order to appease the wrath of the old woman. John 
 had a great dislike to cats, and even regarded with an 
 evil eye, our old pet cat. Peppermint, who had taken a 
 gi'eat fancy to share his bed and board. 
 
 " If I tolerate our own cat," he would say, " I will not 
 put up with such a nuisance as your friend Emilia sends 
 us in the shape of her ugly Tom. Why, where in the 
 world do you think I found that beast sleeping last 
 night?" 
 
 T expressed my ignorance. 
 
 " In our potato-pot. Now, you will agiee with me that 
 potatoes dressed with cat's hair is not a very nice dish. — 
 The next time T catch Master Tom in the potato-pot, I 
 will kill him." 
 
 " John, you are not in earnest. Mrs. would never 
 
 forgive any injury done to Tom, who is a great favourite." 
 
 " Let her keep him at home, then. Think of the brute 
 coming a mile through the woods to steal from us all he 
 can rind, and then sleeping off the effects of his depreda- 
 tions in the potato-pot." 
 
 I could not help laughing, but I begged John by no 
 means to annoy Emilia by hurting her cat. 
 
 Tlic next day while sitting in the paJour at work, I 
 heard a dreadful squall, and rushed to the rescue. John 
 
THE FIRK. 
 
 433 
 
 was standing, with a flushed cheek, grasping a large stick 
 in his hand, and Tom was lying dead at his feet. 
 
 "Oh, the poor cat!" 
 
 " Yes, I have killed him ; but I am sorry for it now. 
 What will Mrs. say?" 
 
 " She must not know it. I have told you the story of 
 the pig that «lacob killed. You had better bury it with 
 the pig." 
 
 John was really sorry for having yielded, in a fit of 
 passion, to do so cruel a thing ; yet a few days after he 
 got into a fresh scrape with Mrs. 's animals. 
 
 The hens were laying up at the barn. John was very 
 fond of fresh eggs, but some strange dog came daily and 
 sucked the eggs. John had vowed to kill the first dog he 
 
 found in the act. Mr. had a very fine bull-dog, 
 
 which he valued very highly ; but with Emilia, Chowder 
 was an especial favourite. Bitterly had she bemoaned the 
 fate of Tom, and many were the inquiries she made of us 
 as to his sudden disappearance. 
 
 One afternoon John ran into the room. "My dear Mrs. 
 Moodie, what is Mrs. 's dog like ! " 
 
 " A large bull dog, brindled black and white." 
 •" Then, by Jove, I've shot him !" 
 
 " John, John ! you mean me to quan-el in earnest with 
 my friend. How could you do it ?" 
 
 " Why, how the deuce should I know her dog from an- 
 other ? I caught the big thief in the very act of devour- 
 ing the eggs from under your sitting hen, and I shot him 
 dead without another thought. But I will bury him, and 
 
434 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 she will never find it out a bit more than she did who 
 killed the cat." 
 
 Some time after this, Emilia returned from a visit at 
 
 P . The first thing she told me was the loss of the 
 
 dog. She was so vexed at it, she had had him advertised, 
 offering a reward for his recovery. 
 
 I, of course, was called upon to sympathize with her, 
 which I did with a very bad grace. " I did not like the 
 beast," I said; "he was cross and fierce, and I was afraid to 
 go up to her house while he was there." 
 
 " Yes ; but to lose it so. It is so provoking ; and him 
 such a valuable animal. I could not tell how deeply she 
 felt the loss. She would give four dollars to find out who 
 had stolen him." 
 
 How near she came to making the grand discovery the 
 sequel will show. 
 
 Instead of burying him with the murdered pig and cat, 
 John had scratched a shallow grave in the garden, and 
 concealed the dead brute. 
 
 After tea, Emilia requested to look at the garden ; and 
 I, perfectly unconscious that it contained the remains of 
 
 the murdered Chowder, led the way. Mrs. , whilst 
 
 gathering a handful of fine green-peas, suddenly stooped, 
 and looking earnestly at the ground, called to me, 
 
 " Come here, Susanna, and tell me what has been buried 
 here. It looks like the tail of a dog." 
 
 She might have added, "Of my dog." Murder, it seems, 
 will out. By some strange chance, the grave that covered 
 
THE FIRE. 
 
 435 
 
 the mortal remains of Chowder had been disturbed, and 
 the black tail of the dog was sticking out. 
 
 " What can it be ? " said I, with an air of perfect inno- 
 cence. "Shall I call Jenny, and dig it up?" 
 
 "Oh, no, my dear; it has a .shocking smell, but it does 
 look very much like Chowder's tail." 
 
 " Impossible ! How could it come among my peas ?" 
 
 "True. Besides, I saw Chowder, with my own eyes, 
 
 yesterday, following a team ; and George C hopes to 
 
 recover him for me." 
 
 "Indeed ! I am glad to hear it. How thest musquitoes 
 .sting. Shall we go back to the house ?" 
 
 While we returned to the house, John, who had over- 
 heard the whole conversation, hastily disinterred the body 
 of Chowder, and placed him in the same mystei'ious grave 
 with Tom and the pig. 
 
 Moodie and his friend finished logging-up the eight acres 
 which the former had cleared the previous winter; besides 
 putting in a crop of peas and potatoes, and an acre of 
 Indian corn, reserving the fallow for fall wheat, while we 
 had the promise of a splendid crop of hay off the sixteen 
 acres that had been cleared in 18f34. We were all in high 
 spirits, and everything promised fair, until a very trifling 
 circumstance again occasioned us much anxiety and 
 trouble, and was the cause of our losing most of our 
 crop. 
 
 Moodie was asked to attend a bee, >vhicli was called to 
 construct a corduroy -bridge over a very bad piece of road. 
 He and J. E were obliged to go that morning with 
 
43G 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 
 wheat to the mill, but Moodie lent his yoke of oxen for 
 the work. 
 
 The driver selected for them at the bee was the 
 brutal M y, a man noted for his ill-treatment of cat- 
 tle, especially if the animals did not belong to him. He 
 gave one of the oxen such a severe blow over the loins 
 with a handspike that the creaaire came home perfectly 
 disabled, just as we wanted his services in the hay-field 
 and harvest. 
 
 Moodie had no money to purchase, or even to hire, a 
 mate for the other ox ; but he and John hoped that by 
 careful attendance upon the injured animal he might be 
 restored to health in a few days. They conveyed him to 
 a deserted clearing, a short distance from the farm, where 
 he would be safe from injux"y from the rest of the cattle ; 
 and early every morning we went in the canoe to carry 
 poor Duke a warm mash, and to watch the progress of his 
 recovery. 
 
 Ah! ye who revel in this world's wealth, how little can 
 you realize the importance which we, in our poverty, at- 
 tached to the life of this valuable animal ! Yes, it even 
 became the subject of prayer, for the bread for ourselves 
 and our little ones depended greatly upon his recovery.— 
 "We were doomed to disappointment. After nursing him 
 with the greatest attention and care for some weeks, the 
 animal grew daily worse, and suffered such intense agony, 
 as he lay groaning upon the gi'ound, unable to rise, that 
 John shot him to put him out of pain. 
 
 Here, then, were we left without oxen to draw in our 
 
THK FIRE. 
 
 437 
 
 hay, or secure our other crops. A neighboui*, who Imd an 
 odd ox, kindly lent us the use of him, when ho was not 
 employed on his own farm ; and John and Moodie gave 
 their own work for the occasional loan of a yoke of oxen 
 for a day. But with all these drawbacks, and in spite of 
 the assistance of old Jenny and myself in the field, a gieat 
 deal of the produce was damaged before it could be secured. 
 The whole summer we had to labour under this disadvan- 
 tage. Our neighbours were all too busy to give us any 
 help, and their own teams were employed in saving their 
 crops. Fortunately, the few acres of wheat w e had to reap 
 were close to the barn, and we carried the sheaves thither 
 by hand ; old Jenny proving an invaluable help, both in 
 the harvest and hay-field. 
 
 Still, with all these misfortunes, Providence watched 
 over us in a signal manner. We were never left entirely 
 without food. Like the widow's cruise of oil, our means, 
 though small, were never suffered to cease entirely. We 
 had been for some days without meat, when Moodie came 
 running in for his gun. A great she-bear was in the wheat 
 field at the edge of the wood, very busily employed in 
 helping to harvest the crop. There was but one bullet, 
 and a charge or two of buckshot, in the house; but Moodie 
 started to the wood with the single bullet in his gun, fol- 
 lowed by a little terrier dog that belonged to John E . 
 
 Old Jenny «vasbusy at the wash-tub, but the moment she 
 saw her master running up the clearing and knew the 
 cause, she left her work, and snatching up the carving-knife, 
 ran after him, that, in ca»:.e the bear should have the best 
 
438 
 
 ROITOHINO TT IN THE BUSTl. 
 
 of the fight, she would ho there to help "the ninather." 
 Finding her .shoes incommode her, she flung them off, in 
 order to run fastei". A few minutes after came the re- 
 port of the gun, and I heard Moodie halloo to E , 
 
 who w.as cutting stakes for a fence in the wood. I hardly 
 thought it possible that he could have killed the bear, but 
 I ran to the door to listen. The ehildrc-i were all excite- 
 ment, which the sight of the black monster, borne down 
 the clearing upon two poles, increased to the wildest 
 (lemonstrutions of joy. Moodie and John were carrying 
 the prize, and old Jenny, brandishing her carving-knife, 
 followed in the rear. 
 
 The rest of the evening was spent in skinning, and 
 or ing up, and salting tht ugly creature, whose flesh 
 filled a barrel with excellent meat, in flavour resembling 
 beef, while the short grain and juicy nature of the flesh 
 gave to it the tenderness of mT;tton. This was quite a God- 
 send, and lasted us until we were able to kill two large 
 fat hogs, in the fall. 
 
 A few nights after, Moodie and I encountered the mate 
 of Mrs. Bruin, while returning from a visit to Emilin i 
 the very depth of the wood. 
 
 We had been invited to meet our friend's father and 
 mother, who had come up on a short visit to the woods ; 
 and the evening passed away so pleasantly that it was 
 near midnight before the little party of friends separated. 
 The moon was down. The wood, through which we had 
 to return, was very dark; the ground being low and swampy, 
 and the trees thick and tall. There was in particular, 
 
THK FlUE. 
 
 430 
 
 one very ugly spot, where a small creek crossed the road. 
 This creek coiikl only bo passed by foot-pa.«isengers scram- 
 bling over a fallen tree, which, in a dark night, was not 
 very easy to find. 
 
 I l>egged a torch of Mr. ; but no torch could be 
 
 found. Emilia laughed at my fears ; still, knowing 
 what a coward T was in the bush of a night, she found 
 up about an inch of candle, which was all that remained 
 from the evening's entertainment. This she put into an 
 old Ian thorn. 
 
 " It will not last you long ; but it will caiTy you over 
 the creek." 
 
 This was something gained, and off we set. 
 
 It was so dark in the bush, that our dim candle looked 
 like a solitary red spark in the intense surrounding dark- 
 ness, and scarcely served to show us the path. 
 
 We went chatting along, talking over the news of the 
 evening, Hector running on before us, when I saw a pair 
 of eyes glare upon us from the edge of the swamp, with 
 the green, bright light emitted by the eyes of a cat. 
 
 " Did J ou see those terrible eyes, Moodie ?" and I clung, 
 trembling, to his arm. 
 
 " What eyes ?" said he, feigning ignorance. *' It 's too 
 dark to see anything. The light is nearly gone, and, if 
 you don't quicken your pace, and cross the tree before it 
 goes out, you will, perhaps^ get your feet wet by falling 
 into the creek." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! I saw them again ; and do just look 
 at the dog." 
 
440 
 
 UOUfJIIINa IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 Hector stopped suddenly, and, stretching himself along 
 the ground, his nose resting between his forepaws, began 
 to whine and tremble. Presently he ran back to us, and 
 crept under our feet. The cracking of branches, and the 
 heavy tread of some large animal, sounded close beside 
 
 Moodie turned the open lauthorn in the direction from 
 whence the sounds came, and shouted as loud as he could, 
 at tiiO same time endeavouring to urge forward the fear- 
 stricken dog, whose cowardice was only equalled by m}- 
 own. 
 
 Just at that critical moment the wick of the candle 
 flickered a moment in the socket, and expired. We were 
 left, in perfect darkness, alone with the bear — for such we 
 supposed the animal to be. 
 
 My heart beat audibly ; a cold perspiration was stream- 
 ing down my face, but I neither shrieked nor attempted 
 to run. I don't know how Moodie got me over the creek. 
 One of my feet slipped into the water, but expecting, as 
 I did every moment, to be devoured by master Bruin, 
 that was a thing of no consequence. My husband was 
 laughing at my fears, and every now and then he turned 
 towards our companion, who continued following us at 
 no great distance, and gave him an encouraging shout. 
 Glad enough was I when I saw the gleam of the light 
 from our little cabin window shine out among the trees ; 
 and, the moment I got within the clearing I ran, without 
 stopping until I was safely within the house. John was 
 sitting up for us, nursing Donald. He listened with great 
 
THE FIKE. 
 
 441 
 
 intcru«t to our adventure with the boar, and thought 
 that Bruin was very good to lot us e.seape witliout one 
 jffoctionato hug. 
 
 " Perhaps it would have been otherwise had he known, 
 Moodie, that you had not only killed his good lady, but 
 were dining sumptuously oti' her earcass every day." 
 
 The bear was determined to have something in return 
 for the loss of his wife. Several nights after this, our 
 slumbers wore disturb d, about midnight, by an awful 
 yell, and old Jenny shook vii)lently at our chamber 
 door. 
 
 " Masther, masther, dear ! — Get up wid you this moncnt, 
 or the bear will desthroy the cattle intirely." 
 
 Half asleep, Moodie sprang from his bed, seized his gun, 
 and ran out. I threw my large cloak round me, struck 
 a light, and followed him to the door. The moment the 
 latter was unclosed, some calves that we were rearing rushed 
 into the kitchen, closely followed by the larger beasts, 
 who came bellowing headlong down the hill, pursued by 
 the bear. 
 
 It was a laughable scene, as shown by that paltry tallow- 
 candle. Moodie, in his night-shirt, taking aim at some- 
 thing in the darkness, surrounded by the terrified animals ; 
 old Jenny, with a large knife in her hand, holding on to 
 the white skirts of her naster's garment, making outcry 
 loud enough to frighten away all the wild beasts in the 
 bush — herself almost in a state of nudity. 
 
 " Och, maather, dear ! don't tinipt the ill-conditioned 
 crathur wid charging too near; think of the wife and th^ 
 
 cc 
 
44.2 
 
 llomJHtNO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 I! 
 
 
 cliil(lh(!r. \ivX iiui (loinn ;it tlio rampaging basto, an' Dl 
 sti<'k ihi", knife into fclio heart of him." 
 
 Moodiu fired. The hear retreated up the clearing, A\;it]i 
 a low growl. Mooilie and Jenny pursued him Homo way, 
 hut it was too dark to di,s(!ern ?vny object at a distance. 
 I, for my part, stoo<l at the open door, laughing until the; 
 tears lan down my cheeks, ai the glarirtg eyes of the 
 oxen, their ears erect, and their tails v^arried gr.acefully oh 
 a level with their hacks, as they stared at me and the 
 light, in hlaidv astonishment. The noise of the gun had 
 
 just roused John K from his slundnTs. He w.'vs no 
 
 less amused than myself, until he saw that a fine yearling 
 heifer was bleeding, and found, uj»on examination, that 
 the poor animal, havin/'' been in the claws of the bear, 
 wa.i dangerously, if not mortally hurt. 
 
 " I ho[)e," he (;ried, " that the brute has not touched my 
 foai !" I pointed to the black face of the filly pcepin,.,' 
 over the back of "an elderly cow. 
 
 " You see, John, that Bruin preferred veal; there's your 
 liorsey,' as Dunbar calls her, safe, and laughing at 
 
 you." 
 
 Moodi''. and Jenny now returned from the pursuit of 
 
 the bear. E fastened all the cattle into the back 
 
 yard, close to the house. JBy daylight ho and Moodio 
 started in chase of Bruin, whom they tracked by his 
 Ijlood some way into the l)ush; but hero he entirely 
 escaped their search. 
 
THE FIKK 
 
 443 
 
 ! w.'is no 
 
 THE BEARS OF CANADA. 
 
 Oh ! heit/r mv, from this savaf^o L'lnd of fnars^ 
 
 For 'tis iiulood unhrji/rabk Ui me ; 
 I'd rathor cojkj with vileBt worldly carus, 
 
 Or writho with cruel nick nuas of the sea. 
 iy\\ ! \H'ar mo to my own h(t/r<i land of hills,'" 
 
 Wlioro I'd be Hiu"e brave barf-Xc^y^W Wis to boo — 
 Dcitr cakes, Inirc rocks, and whiskey atills. 
 
 And ^tt>c-log]^5'd nymphs, to smile rmce more on mo. 
 
 I'd hcoflr the heat, I'd hear the freezing air 
 
 Of equatorial realm or Arctic Sea, 
 I'd ait all burr at night, and watch the Northern /?crtr, 
 
 And bless iny 8<»ul that ho was far from me. 
 I'd \)ii<ir the i)oor -rates, tithes, and all the ills 
 
 John Hull must //car, (who takes them all, poor sinner ! 
 As patients do when forced to gulp down pills, 
 
 Ajid water-gruel drink in lieu of dinner). 
 
 I'd bear the bareness of all barren lands 
 
 Before I'd bear the ftea/rishriess of this ; 
 Hare head, bare feet, bare legs, bare hands, 
 
 Jiea/r everything, but want of social bliss. 
 But should I die m this drear land of />«;ar.». 
 
 Oh ! ship mo off, my friends, discharge tho fiablo wearers, 
 For if you don't, in spite of priests and prayers, 
 The bears will come, and eat up ccjrpse and bearers. 
 
 ' J. W. D. M. 
 
 * TJie Orkney IhIw 
 
 *«*Ar 
 
^»>^U: 
 
 i 
 
 r'HAlTKU XX 
 
 TIIEOUTimKAK. 
 
 Can a comiptod Htruain i)our through the land 
 
 lloalthgiving watorH ? Oan tho Hhivi;, who liiroH 
 
 IIiH wrctchixl followoiH witli tliu hope <»f gain, 
 
 Fool in his hoHoni tho immortal hru 
 
 That bound a Wallace to Iuh comitry'H cauHo, 
 
 And bado thu Thracian Hhrpluinl casi away 
 
 Komo'H galling yoko ; whilo tlio aHtoniHhod world — 
 
 liapt into admiration at tiio dood 
 
 PaiiHiid, oro hIjo crr.Hh'd, with ovorwholming force, 
 
 Tho man who fonght to win a glorious gravo '/ 
 
 tllE long-proimctod liarvest wa,H at hjngth broiiglit 
 to a cloHO. Moodic had procured anotlior ox from 
 Duiniiier, by {^iviii'^ a note at six luontli.s date for the 
 
 payment; and lie and Jolm K were in tlie middle of 
 
 Kowing tlieir fall crop of wheat, when the latter reeeived 
 a letter from the old country, which conveyed to him 
 intelligence of the death of his mother, and of a legacy 
 of two hundred pounds. It was necessary for him to 
 return to claim the property, and though we felt his loss 
 severely, we could not, without great selfishness, urge 
 him to stay. John had formed an attachment to a young 
 
THK OUTimKAK. 
 
 445 
 
 lady in the (M)untry, v ho, liko hiiuHrilf, ponsoHHod no pro- 
 perty. Their OTi^af^fjiiient, which had existed sovoral 
 years, liad been drop[)ed, from its utter liopislessness, by 
 mutual consent. Still tlio younj^ [)eoplo continued to lovo 
 cacli other, and to look forward to >)etter days, when 
 
 their j)roHpects rni^^dit improve! so far tliat K would 
 
 he able to jnirchasi! a bush-farm, and raise a house, how- 
 ever lowly, to shelter his Mary. 
 
 He, like our friend Malcolm, had taken a fancry to buy 
 a part of our block of land, which he (;ould (;ultivate in 
 partncrshij> with Moodie, without Iteing obliged to }>ire, 
 when the same barn, cattle, and imphjinents would servo 
 for both. Anxious to free himself from the thraldom of 
 debts which [)ressed him sore, Moodie offered to part witli 
 two hundred acres at less than they (!ost us, and the 
 bai'gain was to be considered as con(;lu(h3d directly the 
 money was forthcoming. 
 
 It was a sorrowful day when our young friend left us ; 
 he had been a constant inmate in the house for ninc) 
 months, and not one unpleasant word had iW^iV passed 
 between us. He had nindcnid our sojourn in the; woods 
 more tolerable by liis society, and sweetened our bitter 
 lot by his friendship and sympathy. We both regarded 
 him iiH a brother', an<l parted with him with sincere 
 regret. As to old .Jenny, she liftiid up In^r voice and 
 we|)t, consigning hirtj to the care and |)rotection of all the 
 saints in the Irish calendar. 
 
 For several days after John loft us, a deep gloom per- 
 vudod the house. (Jur daily toil was performed with losa 
 
446 
 
 ROUOIIINO IT FN THE BUSII. 
 
 ! 
 
 choorfulncHS and alacrity; we miHscd him at the ovoning 
 board, and at the evening fire ; and the children asked 
 each day, with increaBing earnestness, when dear E 
 would return. 
 
 Moodie continued sowing his fall wheat. The task 
 was nearly completed, and the chill October days were 
 fjist verging upon winter, when towards the evening of 
 one of tliem he contrived — I know not how — to crawl 
 down from the field at the head of the hill, faint and 
 j)ale, and in great pain. He had broken the small bone 
 of his leg. In dragging, among the stum[)s, the heavy 
 machine (which is made in the form of the letter V, and 
 is supplied with largo iron teeth) had hitched upon a 
 stump, and being swung off again by the motion of the 
 oxen, had come with great force against his leg. At first 
 ho was struck down, and for some time was unable to 
 rise ; but at length he contrived to unyoko the team, and 
 crawled partly on i hands and knees down the clearing. 
 
 What a sad, melancholy evening that wa« ! Fortune 
 seemed never tired of playing us some ugly trick. The 
 hope which had so long sustained mo seemed about to 
 desert mo altogether ; when I saw him on whom wo all 
 depended for subsistence, and whose kindly voice over 
 cheered us under the pressure of calamity, smitten down 
 helpless, all my courage ami faith in the goodness of the 
 Divine Father seemed to forsake me, and I wept long 
 and bitterly. 
 
 Tho next morning I wont iu search of a mosscnger, 
 to send to Peterborough for tho doctor j but though I 
 
 r^ . 
 
TIIK Ol lUU.OAK. 
 
 44.7 
 
 fo\n\tl niui Hiiui Uu) ti»OHH('ii;^«M', iiio ddcior tiovor canio. 
 PorliajiH ho did iint liku to incur tlu; rxpcnso t)f a fjiti- 
 guiiig jouiiKjy, witli Hiiiall cIuhilm' of obtaining a Huirnjiont 
 remuiujration. 
 
 Our d(3ar HufFcrcr contrived, willi aHsistanc*!, to bandjiJ^i! 
 his log; and after tin; first week of rest had expired, h(; 
 amuflcd him.solf with making a paii of crutelieH, and in 
 manufacturing Indian paddles for tl»«' canoe, axe-handloH, 
 and yokes for the oxen. It was wondcjful witli what 
 serenity he bore this unexp<M'ted ailliction. 
 
 J3uriod in tlie obscurity of those; woods, wc; knew 
 nothing, heard not'ningof tlie political state of the country, 
 and wore little aware of the revobition which was about 
 to work a great change; for ".s and for Canada. 
 
 The weatlier continued remarkably mild. The first 
 great snow, wliieh for years luid ordinarily fallen betwticn 
 the loth and 15tlf. of November, still kept off. Novem- 
 ber pjissed on ; smd as all our firewood had to Im; (^lioppiid 
 f)y old Jenny during tiie lameness of my iiusband, I was 
 truly grateful to (jl(»d for the continued mildnii.ss of th(! 
 weather. 
 
 On the 4th of Dccendter- that gr(;at day of tin; out- 
 break — Moodie was determined to take advantage of the 
 
 open state of the lake to carry a large grist up to Y 's 
 
 mill. 1 urged uj)on him tlu; dangi-r of a man attempting 
 to manage a canoe in rapid water, who was tinable io 
 stand without cruU^hes ; but Moodie saw that the (Oiildreii 
 would need la'ead, and lu; was anxious to inakf; tl»e e\- 
 porimont, 
 
448 
 
 HOT' IHINO [T IN THK lUJSlI. 
 
 Finding that I ruild not induce him to give up the 
 journey, I determined to go witli him. Old Wittals, who 
 happened to come down that morning, assisted in placing 
 the bags of wheat in the little vessel, and helped to place 
 Moodie at the stern. With a sad, Ibreboding spirit, I 
 assisted to push off from the shore. 
 
 The air was raw and cold, but our sail was not without 
 itJ pleasure. 
 
 The lake was very full from the heavy rains, and the 
 canoe bounded over the waves with a free, s|)ringy motion. 
 A slight frost had hung every little l)ush and spray along 
 the shores with sparkling crystals. The red pigeon-berries, 
 shin^'ig through their coating of ice, looked like cornelian 
 beadn set in silver, and strung from bush to bush. Wc 
 found ' lie rapids at the entrance of Bessikakoon Lake very 
 hard to otem, and were so often carried back by the force 
 of the water, that, cold as the air was, the great exertion 
 which Moodie had to make use of to obtain the desired 
 object brought the perspiration out in big drops upon his 
 forehead. His long confinement to the house and low diet 
 had rendered him very weak. 
 
 The old miller received us in the most hearty and hos- 
 pitable manner ; and complimented me upon my courage 
 in venturing upon the water in such cold, rough weather. 
 Norah'was married, but the kind Betty provided us an 
 excellent dinner, while we waited for the grist to bo 
 ground. 
 
 It was near four o'clock when we started on our return. 
 If there had been danger in going up the stream, there 
 
 U-_ >.J 
 
THE OlJTmiKAK. 
 
 449 
 
 was more in coming down. The wind had changed, the 
 air was frosty, keen, and l)iting, arid Moodie's paddle came 
 up from every dip into the water, loaded with ice. For 
 my part, I had only to sit still at the bottom of the canoe, 
 as we floated rapidly down witli wind and tide. At the 
 landing we were met by old Jenny, who had a long story 
 to tell us, of which we could make neither head nor tail — 
 how some gentleman had called during our absence, and 
 left a large paper, all about the Queen and the Yankees ; 
 that there was war between Canada and the States ; that 
 Toronto had been burnt, and the governor killed, and I 
 know not what other strange and monstrous statements. 
 After much fatigue, Moodic climbed the hill, and we were 
 once more safe by our own fireside. Here we found the 
 elucidation of Jenny's marvellous tales : a copy of the 
 Queen's proclamation, calling upon all loyal gentlemen to 
 join in putting down the unnatural rebellion. 
 
 A letter from my sister explained the nature of the out- 
 break, and the astonishment with which the news had 
 been received by all the settlers in the bush. My brother 
 and my sister's husband had already gone off to join some 
 of the numerous bands of gentlemen who were collecting 
 from all quarters to march to the aid of Toronto, which it 
 was said was besieged by the rebel force. She advised me 
 not to suffer Moodie to leave home in his present weak 
 state ; but the spirit of my husband was aroused, he in- 
 stantly obeyed what he considered the imperative call of 
 luty, and told me to prepare him a few necessaries, that 
 e might be ready to start early in the morning. 
 
450 
 
 ROUGHINO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 Little sleep visited our eyes that night. We talked over 
 the straDge news for hours ; our coming separation, and 
 the probability that, if things were as bad as tney appeared 
 to be, we might never meet again. Our affairs were in 
 such a desperate condition that Moodie anticipated that 
 any change must be for the better ; it was impossible for 
 them to be worse. But the poor, anxious wife thought 
 only of a parting which to her put a finishing stroke to all 
 her misfortunes. *" 
 
 Before the cold, s lowy morning broke, we were all stir- 
 ring. The children, who had learned that their father 
 was preparing to leave them, were crying and clinging 
 round his knees. His heart was too deeply affected to 
 eat ; the meal passed over in silence, and he rose to go. 1 
 put on my hat and shawl to accompany him through tho 
 
 wood as far as ray sister Mrs. T 's. The day was like 
 
 our destiny, cold, dark, and lowering. I gave the dear 
 invalid his crutches, and we commenced our sorrowful 
 walk. Then old Jenny's lamentations burst forth, as 
 flinging her arms round my husband's neck, she kissed and 
 blessed him after the fashion of her country. 
 
 " Och hone ! och hone !" she cried, wringing her hands, 
 " masther dear, why will you lave the wife and the 
 childher ? The poor crathur is breakin' her heart intirely 
 at partin' wid you. Shure an' the war is nothin' to you, 
 that you must be goin' into danger : an' you wid a broken 
 leg. Och hone ! och hone ! come back to your home — you 
 will be kilt, and thin Avhat will become of the wifo and 
 the wee baivun ?" 
 
THE OUTBREAK. 
 
 451 
 
 Her cries VMd lamentations followed us into the wood. 
 At my sister's, Moodio and I parted ; and with a heavy 
 heart I retraced my si;eps through the wood. For once, 
 I forgot all my fears. I never felt the cold. Sad tears 
 were flowing over my cheeks ; when I entered the house, 
 hope seemed to have deserted me, and for upwards of an 
 hour I lay upon the bed and wept. 
 
 Poor Jenny did her best to comfort me, but all joy had 
 vanished with him who was my light of life. 
 
 Left in the most absolute uncertainty as to the real 
 state of public affairs, I could only conjecture what might 
 be the result of this sudden outbreak. Several poor set- 
 tlers called at the house during the day, on their way 
 down to Peterborough ; but they brought with them the 
 most exaggerated accounts. There had been a battle, they 
 said, with the rebels, and the loyalists had been defeated ; 
 Toronto was besieged by sixty thousand men, and all the 
 men in the backwoods were ordered to march instantly 
 to the relief of the city. 
 
 In the evening, I received a note from Emilia, who was 
 at Peterborough, in which she informed me that my 
 
 husband had borrowed a horse of Mr. S , and had 
 
 joined a large party of two hundred volunteers, who had 
 left that morning for Toronto ; that there had boon a 
 battle with the insurgents ; that Colonel Moodie had l)een 
 killed, and the rebels had retreated ; and that she hoped 
 my husband would return in a few days. 
 
 The honest backwoc^dsmcu, perfectly ignorant of tlui 
 ftbusea that hod led to the present position of things, re- 
 
452 
 
 UOUUHINO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 gardctl the rebelH as a sot of monsters, for whom no punish- 
 ment was too severe, and obeyed the call to arms with 
 enthusiasm. The leader of the insurgents must have been 
 astonished at the rapidity with which a large force was 
 collected, as if by magic, to repel his designs. A great 
 number of those volunteers were half-pay officers, many 
 of whom had fought in the continental wars with the 
 armies of Napoleon, am', would have been found a host in 
 themselves. I must own that my British spirit was fairly 
 aroused, and, as I could not aid in subduing the enemies 
 of my beloved countr}-^ with my arm, I did what little I 
 could to serve the good cause with my pen. It may pro- 
 bably anuise my readers, to give them a speciment of tl' so 
 loyal staves, which were widely circulated through the 
 Colony at the time. 
 
 THE OATH OF THE CANADIAN VOLUNTEERS. 
 
 H\izza for England ! — May she claim 
 
 Our fond devotion ever ; 
 And, \>y the glory of her name, 
 Our bravo forefathers' honest fame, 
 
 We swear — no foe shall sever 
 Her chile' rer from tiieir parent's side ; 
 
 Though parted by the wave, 
 In weal or woe, whate'er betide, 
 
 Wo swear to die, or save 
 Her honour from the rebel band 
 Whose crimes pollute our injured land ! 
 
 Let the foe come — we will not shrink 
 
 To meet them if they dare ; 
 Well nmst they fight, ere rashly think 
 To rend apart one sacred link 
 
 That binda our country fair 
 To that dear isle, from whence wo sprung, 
 
 Which flravo our fathers birth ; 
 
THE OUTBREAK. 453 
 
 WhoBO glorioiiH deeds hor bordu Imvc sung ; 
 
 The unrivall'd of ♦ho earth. 
 The higlic t privilege wo claim, 
 To own hur sway — to bear her name. 
 
 Then, courage, loyal Vv^unteers ! 
 
 God will defend the right ; 
 That thought will banish slavish fears. 
 That blessed consci' usness still cheers 
 
 The soldier in Lhc light. 
 Tho stars for us shall never bum, 
 
 Ij • striiM-'S may frighten slaves, 
 The iiriton's eyv will proudly turn 
 
 Where Britain's standard waves. 
 Beneath its folds, if Heaven requires, 
 We '11 die, as died of ol u our sires ! 
 
 Ill a week, Moodie returned. So many volunteers had 
 poured into Toronto that the number of friends was likely 
 to prove as disastrous as that of enemies, on account of 
 the want of supplies to maintain them all. The com- 
 panies from th(3 back townships had been remanded, and 
 I received with delight my own again. But this re-union 
 did not last long. Several regiments ofmilitia were form- 
 ed to defend the colony, and to my husband was given the 
 rank of captain in one of those then stationed in Toronto. 
 
 On the 20th of January, 1838, he bade us a long adieu. 
 I was left with old Jenny and the children to take care of 
 the farm. It was a sad, dull time. I could bear up against 
 all trials with him to comfort and cheer me, but his long- 
 continued absence cast a gloom upon my spirit not easily 
 to be shaken off. Still his very appointment to this situ- 
 ation was a signal act of mercy. From his full pay, he 
 was enabled to liquidate many pressing debts and to send 
 home from time to time sums of money to procure neces" 
 
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454 
 
 KOUamNG IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 sarics for me and the little ones. These remittances were 
 greatly wanted ; but I demurred before laying them out 
 for comforts which we had been so long used to dispense 
 with. It seemed almost criminal to purchase any article 
 of luxury, such as tea and sugar, while a debt remained 
 unpaid. 
 
 The Y y'a were very pressing for the thirty pounds 
 
 that we owed them for the clearing ; but they had such a 
 firm reliance upon the honor of my husband, that, poor and 
 pressed for money as we were, they never sued us. I 
 thought it would be a pleasing surprise to Moodie, if, with 
 the sums of money which I occasionally received from 
 him, I could diminish this debt, which had always given 
 him the greatest uneasiness ; and, my resolution once 
 formed, I would not allow any temptation to shake it. 
 
 The money was always transmitted to Dummer. 1 
 only reserved the sum of two dollars a-month, to pay 
 a little lad to chop wood for us. After a time, I began to 
 
 think the Y y's were gifted with second-sight ; for I 
 
 never received a money-letter but the very next day I 
 was sure fco see some of the family. 
 
 Just at this period I received a letter from a gentleman, 
 requesting me to write for a magazine (the Literary Gar- 
 land), just started in Montreal, with promise to remune- 
 rate me for my labours. Such an application was like a 
 gleam of light springing up in the darkness ; it seemed to 
 promise the dawning of a brighter day. I had never been 
 able to turn my thoughts towards literature during my 
 pojoum in the bush. When the body is fatigued with 
 
 •*W^5^-3l 
 
THE OUTBREAK. 
 
 46: 
 
 labour, unwonted and beyond its strength, the mind is in 
 no condition for mental occupation. 
 
 The year before, I had been requested by an ^^merican 
 author, of gi eat merit, to contribute to the North Amr 
 erican Review, published for several years in Philadel- 
 phia ; and he promised to remunerate me in proportion 
 to the success of the work. I had contrived to write 
 several articles after the children were asleep, though the 
 oxpense even of the stationery and the postage of the manu- 
 scripts was severely felt by one so destitute of means; 
 but the hope of being the least service to those dear to 
 me cheered me to the task. I never realized anything 
 from that source ; but I believe it was not the fault of 
 the editor. Several other American editors had written 
 to me to furnish them with articles ; but I was unable to 
 pa}; the postage of heavy packets to the States, and they 
 could not reach their destination without being paid to 
 the frontier. Thus, all chance of making anything in 
 
 that way had been abandoned. I wrote to Mr. L , 
 
 and frankly informed him how I was Situated. In the 
 most liberal manner, he offered to pay the postage on 
 all manuscripts to his office, and left me to name tt> 
 own terms of remuneration. This opened up a new era 
 in my existence ; and for many years I have found in 
 this generous man, to whom I am still personally un- 
 known, a steady friend. I actually shed tears of joy over 
 the first twenty-dollar bill I received from Montreal. It 
 was my own ; I had earned it with my own hand ; and 
 it seemed to my delighted fancy to form the nucleus out 
 
 i 
 
 I- J 
 
456 
 
 ItOUOHING IT IN THE BUSfli. 
 
 of which a future independence for my family might arise. 
 I no longer retired to bed when the labours of the day were 
 over. I sat up, and wrote by the light of a strange sort 
 of candle, that Jenny called "sluti," and which the old 
 woman manufactured out of pieces of old rags, twisted 
 together and dipped in pork lard, and stuck in a bottle. 
 They did not give a bad light, but it took a great many 
 of them to last me for a few hours. 
 
 The faithful old creature regarded my writings with a 
 jealous eye. " An', shure, it's killin' yerself that you are 
 intirely. You were thin enough before you took to the 
 pen; scriblin' an' scrablin' when you should be in bed 
 an' asleep. What good will it be to your childher, dear 
 heart! if you die afore your time, by wastin' your strength 
 afther that fashion ?" 
 
 Jenny never could conceive the use of books. " Shure 
 we can live and die widout them. It's only a waste of 
 time botherin' your brains wid the like of them ; but, 
 thank goodness ! the lard wl.U soon be all done, an' thin 
 we shall hear yOu spakin' again, instead of sittin' there 
 doubled up all night, destroying your eyes wid porin' 
 over the dirthy writin'." 
 
 As the sugar -making season drew near, Jenny conceived 
 the bold thought of making a good Iwrnp of sugar, that 
 the " childher" might have something to "ate" with their 
 bread during the summer. We had no sugar-kettle, but 
 a neighbour promised to lend us his, and to give us twenty- 
 eight troughs, on condition that we gave him half the sugar 
 we made. 
 
THE OUTBllKAK. 
 
 4;!)7 
 
 The very first day, a terrible accident happened to us ; 
 a large log fell upon the sugar-kettle — the borrowed sugar- 
 kettle — and cracked it, spilling all the sap, and rendering 
 the vessel, which had cost four dollars, useless. We were 
 all in dismay. Just at that time Old Wittals happened to 
 pass on his way to Peterborough. He very good-naturedly 
 offered to get the kettle repaired for us; which, he said, 
 could be easily done by a rivet and an iron hoop. But 
 where was the money to come from ? I thought awhile. 
 Katie had a magnificent coral and bells, the gift of her god- 
 father; I asked the dear child if she would give it to buy 
 
 another kettl* for Mr. T . She said, "I would give ten 
 
 times as much to help mamma." 
 
 I wrote a little note to Emilia, who was still at her fa- 
 ther's ; and Mr. W , the storekeeper, sent us a tine sugar- 
 kettle back by Wittals, and also the other mended, in ex- 
 change for the useless piece of finery. We had now two 
 kettles at work, to the joy of Jenny, who declared that it 
 was a lucky fairy who had broken the old kettle. 
 
 While Jenny was engaged in boiling and gathering 
 the sap in the bush, I sugared off the syrup in the house . 
 an operation watched by the children with intense interest. 
 Ai'ter standing all day over the hot stove-fire, it was quite a 
 refreshment to breathe the pure air at night. Every eve- 
 ning I ran up to see Jenny in the bush, singing and boil- 
 ing down the sap in the front of her little shanty. The 
 old woman was in her elemen'o, and afraid of nothing under 
 the stars ; she slept beside her kettles at night, and snap- 
 ped her fingers at the idea of the least danger. She was 
 DD 
 
458 
 
 IIUUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 sometimes raf/her despotic in her treatment of her attend- 
 ant, Sol. One mornin;^, in particular, .slie bestowed upon 
 the lad a severe cuffing. 
 
 Iran up the clearing to the rescue, when my ears were 
 assailed by the"boo-hooing" of the boy. 
 
 '' What has happened ? Why do you beat the child, 
 Jenny?" 
 
 " It's jist, thin, I that will bate him — the unlucky omad- 
 hawr. ! Kas not he spilt and spiled two buckets of syrup, 
 that I have been the live-long night bilin'. Sorra wid 
 him; I'd like to strip the skin off him, I would! Muslui! 
 but 'tis enough to vex a saint." 
 
 " Ah, Jenny! " blub])ered the poor boy, "but you have no 
 mer'3y. You forget that I have but one eye, and that I 
 could not see the root which caught my foot and threw mc 
 down." 
 
 "Faix! an' 'tis a pity that you have the one eye, when 
 you don't know how to make a betther use of it," muttered 
 the angry dame, as she picked up the pails, and pushing hiui 
 on before her, beat a retreat into the bush. 
 
 I was heartily sick of the sugar-making, long before the 
 season was over; however, we were well paid for our trouble. 
 Besides one hundred and twelve pounds of fine soft sugar, 
 as good as Muscovado, we had six gallons of molasses, and n 
 keg containing six gallons of excellent vinegar. There was 
 no lack, this year, of nice preserves and pickled cucumbers' 
 dainties found in every native Canadian establishment. 
 
 Besides gaining a little money witli my pen, I [)rac- 
 tised a method of painting birds and butterflies upon the 
 
THE ourmiEAK. 
 
 451) 
 
 ars were 
 
 white, velvety surface of the large fungi, that grow plen- 
 tifully upon the bark of the sugar-maple. 1'hese had an 
 attractive a{)pcarance ; and my brother, who was a cap- 
 tain in one of the provisional regiments, sold a great 
 many of them among the officers, without saying by 
 whom they were painted. One rich lady in Peterborough, 
 loiig since dead, ordered two dozen to send as curiosities 
 to England. These, at one shilling each, enabled me to 
 buy shoes for the children, who, during our bad times, 
 had been forced to dispense with these necessary cover- 
 ings. Hov/ often, during the winter season, have I wept 
 over their little cliap|)ed feet, literally wasliing them with 
 my tears ! But these days were to end ; Providence was 
 doing great things for us ; and Hoi)e raised at last her 
 drooping head, to regard with a brighter glance the far- 
 off future. 
 
 Slowly the winter rolled away ; but he to whom every 
 thought turned was still distant from his humble 
 home. The receipt of an occasional letter from him was 
 my only solace during his long absence, and we were still 
 too poor to indulge often in this luxury. My poor Katie wjis 
 as anxious as her motiier to hear from her father ; and when 
 I did get the long-looked-for prize, she would kneel down 
 before me, her little elbows resting on my knees, her head 
 thrown back, imd the tears trickling down her innocent 
 cheeks, eagerly drinking in every word. 
 
 The spring brought us plenty of work ; we had pota- 
 toes and corn to plant, and the garden to cultivate. By 
 lending my oxen for two days' work, I got Wittals, who 
 
460 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 had no oxen, to drag me in a few acres of oats, and to 
 prepare the land for potatoes and corn. The fonuer I 
 dropped into the earth, while Jenny covered them up 
 with the hoe. 
 
 Our garden was well dug and plentifully manured, the 
 woman bringing the manurv, which had lain for several 
 years at the barn door, down to the plot, in a large Indian 
 basket placed upon a hand-sleigh. We had soon every 
 sort of vegetable sown, with plenty of melons and cu- 
 cumbers, and all our beds promised a good return. There 
 were large flights of ducks upon the lake every night 
 and morning ; but though we had guns, we did not know 
 how to use them. However, I thought of a plan, which, 
 I flattered myself, might prove successful ; I got Sol. to 
 plant two stakes in the shallow water, near the rice beds, 
 and to these I attached a slender rope, made by braiding 
 long strips of the inner bark of the basswood together ; 
 to these again I fastened, at regular intervals, about a 
 quarter of a yard of whipcord, headed by a strong perch- 
 hook. Thefie hooks I baited with fish ofFal, leaving them 
 to float just under the water. Early next morning, I saw 
 a fine black duck fluttering upon the line. The boy ran 
 down with the paddles, but before he could reach the 
 spot, the captive got away, by carrying the hook and line 
 with him. At the next stake he found upon the hooks a 
 large eel and a cat-fish. 
 
 I had never before seen one of those whiskered, toad- 
 like natives of the Canadian waters (so common to the 
 Bay of Quints, where they grow to a great size), that I 
 
THE OUTBREAK. 
 
 461 
 
 was really terrified at the sight of the hideous beast, and 
 told Sol. to throw it away. In this I was very foolish, 
 for they are esteemed good eating in many parts of 
 Canada ; but, to mj, the sight of the reptile-like thing is 
 enough — it is uglier, and far more disgusting-looking 
 than a toad. 
 
 When the trees came into leaf, and the meadows were 
 green, and flushed with flowers, the poor children used to 
 talk constantly to me of their father's return ; their in- 
 nocent prattle made me very sad. Every evening we 
 walked into the wood, along the path that he must come 
 whenever he did return home, to meet him ; and, though 
 it was a vain hope, and the walk was taken just to amuse 
 the little ones, I used to be silly enough to feel deeply 
 disappointed when we returned alone. Donald, who was 
 a mere baby when his father left us, could just begin to 
 put words together. "Who is papa?" "When will he 
 come ?" " Will he come by the road ?" " Will he come 
 in a canoe \" The little creature's curiosity to see this 
 unknown father was really amusing ; an oh ! how I 
 longed to present the little fellow, with his rosy cheeks 
 and curling hair, to his father ; he was so fair, so alto- 
 gether charming in my eyes. Emilia had called him 
 Cedric the Saxon ; and he well suited tliD name, with his 
 frank, honest disposition, and large, loving, blue eyes. 
 
 June had commenced ; the weather was very warm, 
 
 and Mr. T had sent for the loan of old Jenny to help 
 
 him for a day with his potatoes. I had just prepared 
 dinner when the old woman came shrieking like a mad 
 
4r>2 
 
 nolTOIIINO IT IN THE MLSH. 
 
 
 thinj,' down tlic cleurin}^^, and waving her liands towards 
 mo. 1 could not imagine what had liappencd. 
 
 " Ninny's mad !" whisj)erod Dnnhar ; ** she's the old 
 girl for making a noise." 
 
 "Joy! joy!" bawled out the old woman now running 
 breathlessly towards us. "The masther's come — the 
 masther's come !" 
 
 " Where ?— where ?" 
 
 " Jist above in the wood. Goodness gracious ! I have 
 run to let you know — so fast— that my heart — is like to 
 —break." 
 
 Without stopping to comfort poor Jenny, off started 
 the children and myself, at the very top of our speed ; 
 but I soon found that I could not run — I was too much 
 agitated. I got to the head of the bush, and sat down 
 upon a ffillen tree. The children si)rang forward like 
 wild kids, all but Donald, who remained with his old 
 nurse. I covered my face with my hands ; my heart, 
 too, was beating audibly ; and now that he was come, 
 and was so near me, 1 scarcely could command strength 
 to meet him. The sound of happy young voices roused 
 me up ; the children were leading him along in triumph ; 
 and he was bending down to them, all smiles, but hot 
 and tired with his long journey. It was almost worth 
 our separation, thao blissful meeting. In a few minutes 
 he was at home, and the children upon his knees. Katie 
 stood silently holding his hand, but Addie and Dunbar 
 had a thousand things to tell him. Donald was fright- 
 ened at his military dress, but he peeped at him from 
 
THE OIJTHRKAK. 
 
 4G3 
 
 holiind my gown, until I caught and ])lacctl liim in his 
 lather's arms. 
 
 His leave of absence only extended to a fortnight. It 
 liad taken Inni three days to come .all the way from Lake 
 Erie, where his regiment was stationed, at Point Altino ; 
 and the same time woidd he consumed in his return. He 
 could only remain, with us eight days. How soon they 
 fled away ! How bitter was the tliought of parting with 
 
 him again ! He had brought money to pay the Y y's. 
 
 How surpri.sed he was to ihid their large debt moi-e than 
 half liquidated. How gently did he chide me for de])ri- 
 ving myself and the children of the little comforts he had 
 designed for us, in (n'dcr to make this sacrifice. But never 
 was self-denial more fully rewarded ; F felt ha])j)y in hav- 
 ing contributed in the least to pay a ju.st debt to kind 
 and worthy })eople. You must become poor youi'self be- 
 fore you can fully appreciate the good qualities of the 
 poor — before you can sympathize with them, and fully 
 recognise them as your brethren in the flesh. Their be- 
 nevolence to each other, exercised amidst want and pri- 
 vation, as far surjmsses the munificence of the rich to- 
 wards them, as the exalted |)hilanthr()]^y of Christ and 
 his disciples does the Christianity of the present day. 
 The rich man gives from his abundance ; the poor man 
 shares with a distressed comrade his all. 
 
 One short, happy week too soon fled away, and we 
 were once more alone. In the fall, my husband expected 
 the regiment in which he held his commission would be 
 reduced, which would again plunge us into the same dis- 
 
404 
 
 iiouGirrNd IT IN Tif, imsn. 
 
 trossiiig povorty. Often of a night I revolved tlioHG 
 tilings in my mind, and i)cr[)loxed myHclf with conject- 
 ures as to what in future was to hecome of us. Although 
 he had saved all he could from his pay, it was impossible 
 to pay several hundreds of jKjunds of debt; and the 
 steam-boat stock still continued a dead letter. To re- 
 main much longer in the woods was impossible, for the 
 returns from the farm scarcely fed us ; and but for the 
 clothing sent us by our friends from home, who were not 
 aware of our real difficulties, we should have been badly 
 off indeed. 
 
 I pondered over every plan that thought could devise ; 
 at last, I prayed to the Almighty to direct me as to what 
 would be the best course for us to pursue. A sweet as- 
 surance stole over me, and soothed my spirit, that God 
 would provide for us, as He had hitherto done — that a 
 great deal of our distress arose from want of faith. I 
 was just sinking into a calm sleep when the thought 
 seemed whispered into my soul, " Write to the Governor ; 
 tell him candidly all you have suffered during your so- 
 journ in this country ; and trust to God for the rest." 
 
 At first I paid little heed to this suggestion ; but it 
 became so importunate that at last I determined to act 
 upon it as if it were a message sent from heaven. I rose 
 from my bed, struck a light, sat down, and wrote a letter 
 to the Lieutenant-Governor, Sir George Arthur, a simple 
 statement of facts, leaving it to his benevolence to pardon 
 the liberty I had taken in addressing him. 
 
 I asked of him to continue my hu-jband in the m ilitia 
 
THE OUTBREAK. 
 
 405 
 
 tllOH<^ 
 
 Horvi(u;, in the 
 
 same rej^imont in wliich lie now held the 
 rank of captain, which, by enjibling him to pay our 
 debts, would rcHcuo us from our present misery. Of the 
 political «^haracter of Sir George Arthur I knew nothing. 
 I addressed him as a man and a Christian ; and I ac- 
 knowledge, with the dee})est and most heartfelt gratitude, 
 the generous kindness of his conduct towards us. 
 
 Before the day dawned, my letter was ready for the 
 post. The first secret I ever luid from my husband was 
 the writing of that letter ; and, proud and sensitive as 
 he was, and averse to asking the least favour of the great, 
 I was dreadfully afraid that the act T had just done would 
 be displeasing to him ; still, I felt resolutely determined 
 to send it. After giving the children their breakfast, I 
 walked down and read it to my brother-in-law, who was 
 not only much pleased with its contents, but took it down 
 himself to the post-office. 
 
 Shortly aftei*, I received a letter from my husband, in- 
 forming me that the regiment had been reduced, and that 
 he should be home in time to get in the harvest. Most 
 anxiously I awaited a reply to my application to the Gov- 
 ernor ; but no reply came. 
 
 The first week in August our dear Moodie came home, 
 
 and brought with him, to our no small joy, J. E. , 
 
 who had just returned from Ireland. E had been 
 
 disappointed about the money, which was subject to liti- 
 gation ; and, tired of waiting at home until the tedious 
 process of the law should terminate, he had come back to 
 
 litia 
 
4'U) 
 
 uour.riiNcj IT IN TFiK nusii. 
 
 ilio woods, ami, l)ri()r() night, was icinstatcd in liis old 
 qunrtcrs. 
 
 His presence made »J(!imy ail alive; she dared him at 
 once to a trial of skill with her in the wheat-HeUl, whieh 
 
 E prndeidly de"lined. Jle did not expect to stay 
 
 lon<;er in Canada than the iall, Init, whilst he did stay, he 
 was to eonsidei* our honse his honie. 
 
 That harvest was the happiest we ever spent in the 
 hush. We had enough of the connnon necessaries of life. 
 A spirit ot j^eace and harmony ]>ervaded onr little dwcl- 
 linjx, for the most affectionate attacinnent existed anionji 
 its memhers. We were not tronlled with servants, for 
 the good old Jenny we regarded as an luunblc friend, and 
 were freed, by that circumstance, fiom many of the cares 
 and vexations of a bush life. Oni- evening excursions on 
 th(5 lake were doublv enioved after the laboui's of the 
 day, and night brought us calm and healthful repo.« . 
 
 The political struggles that convulsed the ecnmtry were 
 scarcely echoed in the lejiths of those old primeval for- 
 ests, though the ex})ulsion of Mackenzie from Navy 
 Island, and the burning of tiie Caroline by Captain Drew, 
 had been disr'ussed on the farthest borders of civiliza- 
 tion. 
 
 
 •*-^^^%$^^ 
 
 

 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE WJIlllLVVlND.* 
 
 " Dnvk honvy clouds were gfithcrin:' in the west, 
 
 Wra|)ping tlio forest in funereal gloom : 
 Onward they roll'd, and re.ir'd eacli livid crest, 
 
 Like Death's murk shadows frowning o'tjr eai-th's toniVi. 
 From out the inky womb of that deep night 
 
 Burst livid flashes of electric 11am 
 Whirling and circling with terrific might, 
 
 In wild confusion o7i the tempest came. ^ 
 
 Nature, awakening from, her still repose. 
 
 Shudders resjionsivo to the whirlwind's shock, 
 Feels at lier mighty heart convulsive throes ; 
 
 Her groaning forests to earth's centre rock." 
 
 S. 8 
 
 "j[HE 10th of August cnmc, and our liai-vest was all 
 safely housed. Business called Moodie away for a 
 few days to Cobourg. Jenny had gone to Dwmmer, U) 
 
 visit her friends, and J. E] had taken a. gj'ist of the 
 
 new wheat, which he and Moodie had threshed the day 
 before, to the mill. I was consequently left aloi: 5 with 
 the children, and had a double portion of work to do. 
 During their absence it was my lot to witness the most 
 
 * For the poem that heads this '^'iaptcr, I am indebted to my brother, Mr. Stricic- 
 land, ( Douro, ۥ W. 
 
wm^ 
 
 468 
 
 ROUaHlNO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 awful storm I over beheld, and a vivid recollection of its 
 terrors was permanently fixed upon my memory. 
 
 The weather had been intensely hot during the three 
 preceding days, although the sun was entirely obscured 
 by a blueish haze, which seemed to render the unusual 
 heat of the atmosphere more oppressive. Not a breath 
 of air stirred the vast forest, and the waters of the lake 
 assumed a leaden hue. After passing a sleepless night, 
 I arose, a little after day-break, to superintend my domes- 
 tic affairs. E took his breakfast, and went off to the 
 
 mill, hoping that the rain would keep off" until after his 
 return. 
 
 " It is no joke," he said, " being upon these lakes in a 
 small canoe, heavily laden, in a storm." 
 
 Before the sun rose, the heavens were covered with 
 hard-looking clouds, of a deep blue and black cast, fading 
 away to white at their edges, and in form resembling the 
 long, rolling waves of a heavy sea — but with this differ- 
 ence, that the clouds were perfectly motionless, piled in 
 long curved lines, one above the other, and so remained 
 until four o'clock in the afternoon. The appearance of 
 these clouds, as the sun rose above the horizon, was the 
 most splendid that can be imagined, tinged up to the 
 zenith with every shade of saffron, gold, rose-colour, 
 scarlet, and crimson, fading away into the deepest violet. 
 Never did the storm-fiend shake in the ;face of day a 
 more gorgeous banner ; and, pressed as I was for time, I 
 stojd gazing like one entranced upon ,the magnificent 
 pr^^eant. 
 
THE WHIRLWIND. 
 
 469 
 
 As the day advanced, the same blue haze obscured the 
 sun, which frowned redly through his misty veil. At 
 ten o'clock the heat was suffocating, and I extinguished 
 the fire in the cooking-stove, determined to make our 
 meals upon bread and milk, rather than add to tha op- 
 pressive heat. The thermometer in the shade ranged from 
 ninety-six to ninety-eight degrees, and I gave over my 
 work and retired with the little ones to the coolest part 
 of the house. The young creatures stretched themselves 
 upon the floor, unable to jump about or play ; the dog 
 jay panting in the shade ; the fowls half-buried themselves 
 in the dust, with open beaks and outstretched wings. 
 All nature seemed to droop beneath the scorching heat. 
 
 Unfortunately for me, a gentleman arrived about one 
 o'clock from Kingston, to transact some business with my 
 husband. He had not tasted food since six o'clock, and I 
 was obliged to kindle the lire to prepare his dinner. It 
 was one of the hardest tasks I ever performed ; I almost 
 fainted with the heat, and most inhospitably rejoiced 
 when his dinner was over, and I saw him depart. Shortly 
 
 after, my friend Mrs. C and her brother called in, on 
 
 their way from Peterborough. 
 
 " How do you bear the heat ? " asked Mrs. C . 
 
 " This is one of the hottest days I ever remember to have 
 experienced in this part of the province. I am afraid 
 that it will end in a hurricane, or what the Lower 
 Canadians term ' I'Orage.' " 
 
 About four o'clock they rose to go. I urged them to 
 stay longer. " No," said Mrs. C , " the sooner we get 
 
470 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 home the better. I think we can reach it before the 
 storm breaks." 
 
 I took Donald in my arms, and my eldest boy by the 
 hand, and walked with them to the brow of the hill, 
 thinking that the air would Ve cooler in the shade. In 
 this I was mistaken. The clouds over our heads hung so 
 low, and the heat was so great, that I was soon glad to 
 retrace my steps. 
 
 The moment I turned round to face the lake, I was 
 surprised at the change that had taken place in the 
 appearance of the heavens. The clouds, that had before 
 lain so motionless, were now in rapid motion, hurrying 
 and chasing each other round the horizon. It was a 
 strangely awful sight. Before I felt a breath of the 
 mighty blast that had already burst on the other side of 
 the lake, branches of trees, leaves, and clouds of dust 
 were whirled across the lake, whose waters rose in long 
 sharp furrows, fi-ing<Kl with foam, as if moved in their 
 depths by some unseen but powerful agent. 
 
 Panting with terror, I just readied the door of the 
 liousc as the hurricane swept up the hill, crushing and 
 overturning everything in its course. Spell-bound, I 
 stood at the open door, with clasped hands, unable to speak, 
 rendered dumb and motion'ess by the terrible grandeui 
 of the scene ; while little Donald, who could not utter 
 many intelligible words, crept to my feet, appealing to 
 me for protection, and his rosy cheeks paled even to 
 marble whiteness. The hurrying clouds gave to the heav- 
 ens the appearance of a pointed dome, round which the 
 lightning played in broad ribbons of tire. The roaring of 
 
THE WHIIILWIND, 
 
 471 
 
 the tliundcr, the rushing of the blast, the impetuous down- 
 pouring of the rain, and the crash of falling trees were 
 perfectly deafening ; and in the midst of this uproar of 
 the elements, old Jenny burst in, drenched with wet, and 
 half-dead with fear. 
 
 " The Lord preserve us ! " she cried, " this surely is the 
 day of judgment. Fifty trees fell across my very path, 
 
 between this an' the creek. Mrs. C just reached her 
 
 brother's clearing a few minutes before a great oak fell 
 on her very path. What thunther ! — M'hat lightning ! 
 Misthress, dear ! — it's turn'd so dark, 1 can only jist see 
 yer face." 
 
 Glad enough was I of her presence ; for to be alone in 
 the heart of the great forest, in a log hut, on such a night, 
 was not a pleasing prospect. People ^^-ain courage by 
 companionship, and in order to re-assure each other, 
 struggle to conceal their fears. 
 • " And where is Mr. E ?" 
 
 " I ho})e not on the lake He went early this morning 
 to get the wheat gron.nd at the mill." 
 
 " Och, the crathur ! He's surely drowned. What boat 
 could stan' such a scrimmage as this ? " 
 
 I had my fears for poor John ; but as the chance that 
 he had to wait at the mill till others were served was 
 more than probable, I tried to still my apprehensions for 
 his safet}'. 
 
 The storm soon passed over, after having levelled 
 several acres of wood near the house, and smitten down 
 in its progress two gigantic pines in tlie clearing, which 
 must have withstood the force of a thousand winters. 
 
 :>, 
 

 472 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 A few minutes after our household had retired to rest, 
 
 my first sleep was broken by the voice of J. E , 
 
 speaking to old Jenny in the kitchen. He had been 
 overtaken by the storm, buu had run his canoo ashore 
 upon an island before its full fury burst, and turned it 
 over the flour ; while he had to brave the terrors of the 
 pitiless tempest — buffeted by the wind, and drenched 
 with torrents of rain. I got up and made him a cup of 
 tea, while Jenny prepared ^a rasher of bacon and eggs for 
 his supper. 
 
 Shortly after this, J. E bade a final adieu to Can- 
 ada, with his cousin 0. W . He volunteered into the 
 
 Scotch Greys, and we never saw him more ; but I have 
 been told that he was so highly respected by the officers 
 of the regiment, that they subscribed for his commission ; 
 that he rose to the rank of lieutenant ; accompanied the 
 regiment to India, and was at the taking of Cabul ; but 
 from himself we never heard again. 
 
 The 16th of October, my third son was bom ; and a 
 few days after, my husband was appointed pay-master to 
 the militia regiments in the V. District, with the rank 
 and full pay of captain. 
 
 This was Sir George Arthur's doings. He returned no 
 answer to my application, but he did not forget us. 
 
 As the time that Moodie might retain his situation 
 was very doubtful, he thought it advisable not to remove 
 me and the family until he could secure some permanent 
 situation ; by so doing, he would have a better opportu- 
 nity of saving the greater part of his income to pay off" 
 his old debts. 
 
The WHTTILWTND. 
 
 m 
 
 This winter of 1839 was one of severe trial to me. 
 Hitherto I had enjoyed the blessing of health ; hut both 
 the children and myself were now doomed to suffer from 
 • langerous attacks of illness. All the little things had 
 malignant scarlet fever, and, for several days, I thought 
 it would please the Almight}'' to take from me my two 
 'iris. This fever is so fatal to children in Canada, that 
 none of my neighbours dared approach the house. For 
 three weeks Jenny and J were never undressed ; our 
 Avhole time was taken up in nursing the live little help- 
 loss creatures through the successive stages of their alarm- 
 ing disease. I sent for Dr. Taylor ; but he did not come, 
 and I was obliged to trust to the mercy of God, and my 
 own judgment and good nursing. Though I escaped the 
 fover, mental anxiety and fatigue brought on other illness, 
 whi'^h, for nearly ten weeks, rendered me perfectly help- 
 less. When I was again able to creep from my sick bed, 
 
 the baby was seized with an illness, which Dr. B 
 
 j)ronounced mortal. Against all hope, he recovered, but 
 these severe mental trials rendered me weak and nervous, 
 and more anxious than ever to be re-united to my hus- 
 band. To add to these troubles, my sister and her hus- 
 band sold their farm, and removed from our neighbourhood. 
 
 Mr. had returned to England, and had obtained a 
 
 situation in the Customs ; and his wife, my friend Emilia, 
 was keeping a school in the village ; so that T felt more 
 solitary than ever, thus deprived of so many kind, sym- 
 pathising friends. 
 
 EE 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE WALK TO DUMMER. 
 
 ',^' We trod a weary path, through silent woods, 
 Tangled and dark, unbroken by a sound 
 Of cheerful life. The melancholy shriek 
 Of hollow winds careering o'er the snow, 
 Or tossing into waves the green pine tops. 
 Making the ancient forest groan and sigh 
 Beneath their mocking voice, awoke alo;ie 
 The solitary echoes of the place. 
 
 EADER ! have you ever heard of a place situated in 
 the forest-depths of this far western wilderness, 
 called Dummer ? Ten years ago, it might not inaptly have 
 been termed " The last clearing in the world." Nor to 
 this day do I know of any in that direction which extends 
 beyond it. Our bush-farm was situated on the border- 
 line of a neighbouring township, only one degree less wild, 
 less out of the world, or nearer to the habitations of civi- 
 lization than the far-famed " English Line," the boast and 
 glory of this terra incognita. 
 
 This place, so named by the emigrants who had pitched 
 their tents in that solitary wilderness, was a long line of 
 cleared land, extending upon either side for some miles 
 
THE WALK TO DUMMER. 
 
 475 
 
 through the darkest and most interminable forest. The 
 English Line was inhabited chietly by Cornish miners, 
 who, tired of burrowing like moles underground, had de- 
 termined to emigrate to Canada, where they could breathe 
 the fresh air of Heaven, and obtain the necessaries of life 
 upon the bosom of their mother earth. Strange as it may 
 appear, these men made good farmers, and steady, indus- 
 trious colonists, working as well above ground as they 
 had toiled in their early days beneath it. All our best 
 servants came from Dummer ; and although they spoke a 
 language difficult to be understood, and were uncouth in 
 their manners and appearance, they were faithful and 
 obedient, performing the tasks assigned to them with pa- 
 tient perseverance ; good food and kind treatment render- 
 ing them always cheerful and contented. 
 
 My dear old Jenny, that most faithful and attached of 
 all humble domestic friends, came from Dummer, and I 
 was wont to regard it with complacency for her sake. But 
 Jenny was not English ; she was a generous, warm-hearted 
 daughter of the Green Isle — the Emerald gem set in the 
 silver of ocean. Yes, Jenny was one of the poorest children 
 of that impoverished but glorious country where wit and 
 talent seem indigenous, springing up spontaneously in the 
 rudest and most uncultivated minds ; showing what the 
 land could bring forth in its own strength, unaided by 
 education, and unfettered by the conventional rules of 
 society. Jenny was a striking instance of the worth, noble 
 self-denial, and devotion which are often met with — and, 
 alaa ! but too often disregarded — in the poor and ignorant 
 
1 
 
 • 1 
 
 476 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 natives of that deeply-injured, and much abused land. A 
 few words about my old favourite may not prove tmin- 
 tercsting to my readers. 
 
 Jermy Buchanan, or as she called it, Boh^non, was the 
 daughter of a petty exciseman, of Scotch extraction 
 who, at the time of her birth, resided near the old town 
 of Inniskillen. Her mother died a few months after she 
 was born; and her father, within the twelve months, 
 married again. In the meanwhile the poor orphan babe 
 had been adopted by a kind neighbour, the wife of a small 
 farmer in the vicinity. 
 
 In return for coarse food and scanty clothing, the little 
 Jenny became a servant-of-all-work. She fed the pigs, 
 herded the cattle, assisted in planting potatoes and digging 
 peat from the bog, and was undisputed mistress of the 
 poultry-yard. As she grew up to womanhood, the im- 
 portance of her labours increased. A better reaper in the 
 harvest-field, or footer of turf in the bog, could not be 
 found in the district, or a woman more thoroughly ac- 
 quainted with the management of cows and the rearing of 
 young cattle ; but here poor Jenny's accomplishments ter- 
 minated. 
 
 Her usefulness was all abroad. Within the house she 
 made more dirt than she had the inclination or the ability 
 to clear away. She could neither read, nor knit, nor sew ; 
 and although she called herself a Protestant, and a Church 
 of England woman, she knew no- more of religion, as re- 
 vealed to man through the Word of God, than the savage 
 yrho sinks to the grave in ignorance of a Redeemer. Hence 
 
 ■ 
 
THE WALK TO DUMMER. 
 
 477 
 
 bo 
 ac- 
 
 of 
 ter- 
 
 sho stoutly resisted all idea of being a sinner, or of stand- 
 ing the least chance of receiving hereafter the condemna- 
 tion of one. 
 
 " Och, shure thin," she would say, with simple earnest- 
 ness of look and manner, almost irresistible. " God will 
 never throuble Himsel' about a poor, hard-working crathur 
 like me, who never did any harm to the mtuiest of His 
 makin'." 
 
 One thing was certain, that a benevolent Providence 
 had " throubled Himsel' " about poor Jenny in times ptist, 
 for the warm heait of this neglected child of nature con- 
 tained a stream of the richest benevolence, which, situated 
 as she had been, could not have been derived from any 
 other source. Honest, faithful, and industrious, Jenny 
 became a law unto herself, and practically illustrated the 
 golden rule of her blessed Lord, " to do unto others as wo 
 would they should do unto us." She thought it was im- 
 possible that her poor services could ever repay the debt 
 of gratitude that she owed to the fan)ily who had brought 
 her up, although the obligation must have been entirely 
 on their side. To them she was gi'oatly attached — for 
 them she toiled unceasingly ; aiid when evil days came, 
 and they were not able to meet the rent-day, or to occupy 
 the farm, she determined to accompany them in their 
 emigration to Canada, and formed one of the stout-hearted 
 band that fixed its location in the lonely and unexplored 
 wilds now known as the township of Dummer. 
 
 During the first year of their settlement, the means of 
 obtaining the commou necessaries of life became so pre- 
 
478 
 
 BOUOHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 < 
 
 carious, that, in order to assist her friends with a little 
 ready money, Jenny determined to hire out into some 
 wealthy house as a servant. When I use the term wealth 
 as applied to any bush-settler, it is of course only compa- 
 ratively ; but Jenny was anxious to obtain a place with 
 settlers who enjoyed a small income independent of their 
 forest means. 
 
 Her first speculation was a complete failure. For five 
 long, hopeless years she served a master from whom she 
 never received a farthing of her stipulated wages. Still 
 her attachment to the family was so strong, and had be- 
 come so much the necessity of her life, that the poor 
 creature could not make up her mind to leave them. The 
 children whom she had received into her arms at their birth, 
 and whom she had nursed with maternal tenderness, were 
 as dear to her as if they had been her own ; she continued 
 to work for them although her clothes were worn to tat- 
 ters, and her own friends were too poor to replace them. 
 
 Her master, Captain N , a handsome, dashing officer, 
 
 who had served many years in India, still maintained the 
 carriage and appearance of a gentleman, in spite of his 
 mental and moral degradation arising from a constant state 
 of intoxication ; he still promised to remunerate at some 
 future day her faithful services ; and although all his 
 neighbours well knew that his means were exhausted, and 
 that that day would never come, yet Jenny, in the sim- 
 plicity of her faith, still toiled on, in the hope that the 
 better day he spoke of would soon arrive. 
 
 And now a few words respecting this master, which I 
 
THE WALK TO DUMMER. 
 
 479 
 
 trust may serve as warning to others. Allured by the 
 bait that has been the ruin of so many of his class, the 
 
 offer of a large grant of land, Captain N had been 
 
 induced to fonn a settlement in this remote and untried 
 township ; laying out much, if not all, of his available 
 means in building a log house, and clearing a large ex- 
 tent of barren and stony land. To this uninviting homo 
 he conveyed a beautiful young wife, and a small and in- 
 creasing family. The result may be ejisily anticipated. 
 The want of society — a dreadful want to a man of his 
 previous habits — the total absence of all the comforts and 
 decencies of life, produced inaction, apathy, and at last, 
 despondency, which was only alleviated by a constant and 
 immoderate use of ardent spirits. As long as Captain 
 
 N retained his half-pay, he contrived to exist. In 
 
 an evil hour he parted with this, and quickly trod the 
 down-hill path to ruin. 
 
 And here I would remark that it is always a rash and 
 hazardous step for any officer to part with his half-pay ; 
 although it is almost every day done, and generally fol- 
 lowed by the same disastrous results. A certain income, 
 however small, in a country where money is so hard to be 
 procured, and where labour cannot be attained but at a 
 very high pecuniary remuneration, is invaluable to a gen- 
 tleman unaccustomed to agricultural employment ; who, 
 without this reserve to pay his people, during the brief 
 but expensive seasons of seed-time and harvest, must 
 either work himself or stai-ve. I have known no instance 
 in which such sale has been attended with ultimate ad- 
 
480 
 
 IIUUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 vantage ; but, alas ! too many in which it has terminated 
 in the most distressing destitution. These government 
 grants of land, to half-pay officers, have induced numbers 
 of this class to emigrate to the backwoods of Canada, 
 who are totally unfit for pioneers ; but tempted by the 
 offer of finding themselves landholders of what, on paper, 
 appear to them fine estates, they resign a certainty, to 
 waste their energies, and die half-starved and broken- 
 hearted in the depths of the pitiless wild. 
 
 If a gentleman so situated would give up all idea of 
 settling on his grant, but hire a good farm in a favourable 
 situation — that is, not too far from a market — and with 
 his half-pay hire efficient labourers, of which plenty are 
 now to be had, to cultivate the land, with common pru- 
 dence and economy, he would soon obtain a comfortable 
 subsistence for his family. And if the males were brought 
 up to share the bui-then and heat of the day, the expense 
 of hired labour, as it yearly diminished, would add to 
 the general means and well being of the whole, until the 
 hired farm became the real property of the industrious 
 tenants. But the love of show, the vain boast of appear- 
 ing richer and better dressed than our neighbours, too 
 often involves the emigrant's family in debt, from which 
 they are seldom able to extricate themselves without sac- 
 rificirg the means which would have secured their inde- 
 pendence. 
 
 This, although a long digression, will not, I hope, be 
 without its use ; and if this book is regarded not as a 
 work of amusement but one of practical experience^ writ- 
 
THE WALK TO DUMMER. 
 
 481 
 
 ten for the benefit of others, it will not fail to convey 
 some useful hints to those who have contemplated emi- 
 gration to Canada ; the best country in the world for the 
 industrious and well-principled man, who really comes 
 out to work, and to better his condition by the labour of 
 his hands ; but a gulf of ruin to the vain and idle, who 
 only set foot upon these shores to accelerate their ruin. 
 
 But to return to Captain N . It was at this disas- 
 trous period that Jenny entered his service. Had her 
 master adapted his habits and expeaditure to his altered 
 circumstances, much misery might have been spared, both 
 to himself and his family. But he was a proud man — too 
 proud to work, or to receive with kindness the offers of 
 service tendered to him by his half-civilized, but well- 
 meaning neighbours 
 
 " Hang him !" cried g,n indignant English settler (Cap- 
 tain N was an Irishman), whose offer of drawing 
 
 wood had been rejected with unmerited contempt. "Wait 
 a few years, and vre shall see what his pride will do for 
 liim. 1 am sorry for his poor wife and children ; but for 
 himself, I have no pity for him." 
 
 This man had been uselessly insulted, at the very mo- 
 ment when he was anxious to perform a kind and benevo- 
 lent action ; when, like a true Englishman, his heart was 
 softened by witnessing the suflferings of a young, delicate 
 female and her infant family. Deeply affronted by the 
 captain's foolish conduct, he now took a malignant pleas- 
 ure in watching his arrogant neighbour's progress to ruin. 
 
 The year after the sale of his commission, Captaiu 
 
482 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 N found himself considerably in debt, " Never mind, 
 
 Ella," he said to his anxious wife ; " the crops will pay 
 all." 
 
 The crops were a failure that year. Creditors pressed 
 hard ; the captain had no money to pay his workmen, and 
 he would not work himself. Disgusted with his location, 
 but unable to change it for a better; without friends in 
 his own class (for he was the only gentleman then resi- 
 dent in the new township), to relieve the monotony of his 
 existence with their society, or to afford him advice or 
 assistance in his difficulties, the fatal whiskey-bottle be- 
 came his refuge from gloomy thoughts. 
 
 His wife, an amiable and devoted creature, well-born, 
 well-educated, and deserving of a better lot, did all in her 
 power to wean him from the growing vice. But, alas ! 
 the pleadings of an angel, in such circumstances, would 
 have had little effect upon the mind of such a man. He 
 loved her as well as he could love anything, and he fan- 
 cied that he loved his children, while he was daily re- 
 ducing them, by his favourite vice, to beggary. 
 
 For awhile, he confined his excesses to his own fireside, 
 but this was only for as long a period as the sale of his 
 stock and land would supply him with the means of 
 criminal indulgence. After a time, all these resources 
 failed, and his large grant of eight hundred acres of land 
 had been converted into whiskey, except the one hundred 
 acres on which his house and barn stood, embracing the 
 small clearing from which the family derived their scanty 
 supply of wheat and potatoes. For the sake of peace, 
 
THE WALK TO DUMMER. 
 
 483 
 
 his wife gave up all her ornaments and household plate, 
 and the best articles of a once handsome and ample ward- 
 robe, in the hope of hiding her sorrows from the world, 
 and keeping her husband at home. 
 
 The pride, that had rendered him so obnoxious to his 
 humbler neighbours, yielded at length to the inordinat3 
 craving for drink ; the man who had held himself so high 
 above his honest and industrious fellow-settlers, could 
 now unblushingly enter their cabins and beg for a drop 
 of whiskey. The feeling of shame once subdued, there 
 was no end to his audacious mendicity. His whole time 
 was spent in wandering about the country, calling upon 
 every new settler, in the hope of being asked to partake 
 of the coveted poison. He was even known to enter by 
 the window of an emigrant's cabin, during the absence of 
 the OAvner, and remain drinking in the house while a 
 drop of spirits could be found in the cupboard. When 
 driven forth by the angry owner of the hut, he wandered 
 
 on to the distant town of P , and lived there in a 
 
 low tavern, while his wife and children were starving at 
 home. 
 
 " He is the filthiest beast in the township," said the 
 afore-mentioned neighbour to me ; " it would be a good 
 thing for his wife and children if his worthless neck were 
 broken in one of his drunken sprees." 
 
 This might be the melancholy fact, but it was not the 
 less dreadful on that account. The husband of an affec- 
 tionate wife — the father of a lovely family — and his death 
 to be a matter of rejoicing!— a blessing, instead of being 
 
484 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 r 
 
 an affliction ! — an agony not to be thought upon without 
 the deepest sorrow. 
 
 It was at this melancholy period of her sad history, 
 
 that Mrs. N found, in Jenny Buchanan, a help in her 
 
 hour of need. The heart of the faithful creature bled for 
 the misery which involved the wife of her degraded mas- 
 ter, and the children she so dearly loved. Their want 
 and destitution called all the sympathies of her ardent 
 nature into active operation ; they were long indebted to 
 her labour for every morsel of food which they consumed. 
 For them, she sowed, she planted, she reaped. Every 
 block of wood which shed a cheering warmth around 
 their desolate home was cut from the forest by her own 
 hands, and brought up a steep hill to the house upon her 
 back. For them, she coaxed the neighbours, with whom 
 she was a general favourite, out of many a mess of eggB 
 for their especial benefit; while with her cheerful songs, and 
 hearty, hopeful disposition, she dispelled mucli of the 
 cramping despair which chilled the heart of the unhappy 
 mother in her deserted home. 
 
 For several years did this great, poor woman keep the 
 wolf from the door of her beloved mistress, toiling for her 
 with the strength and energy of a man. When was man 
 ever so devoted, so devoid of all selfishness, so attached to 
 employers, yet, poorer than nerself, as this uneducated 
 Irishwoman ? 
 
 A period was at length put to her unrequited services. 
 In a fit of intoxication her master beat her severely with 
 the iron ramrod of his gun, and turned her, with abusive 
 
THE WALK TO DUMMER". 
 
 485 
 
 language, from his doors. Oh, liard return for all her un- 
 paid labours of love ! She forgave this outrage for the sake 
 of the helpless beings who depended upon her care. He re- 
 peated the injury, and the poor creature returned almost 
 heart-broken to her former home. 
 
 Thinking that his spite would subside in a few days, 
 Jenny made a third effort to enter his house in her usual 
 
 capacity ; but Mrs. 1^ told her, with many tears, that 
 
 her presence would only enrage her husband, who had 
 threatened herself with the most cruel treatment if she 
 allowed the faithful servant again to enter the house. Thus 
 ended her five years' service to this ungrateful master. Such 
 was her reward ! 
 
 I heard of Jenny's worth and kindness from the English- 
 man who had been so grievously affi-onted by Captain N — , 
 and sent for her to come to me. She instantly accepted my 
 offer, and returned with my messenger. She had scarcely 
 a garment to cover her. I was obliged to find her a suit 
 of clothes before I could set her to work. The smilec and 
 dimples of my curly-headed, rosy little Donald, then a 
 baby-boy of fifteen months, consoled the old woman for 
 
 her separation from Ellie N ; and the good- will with 
 
 which all the children (now four in number) regarded the 
 kind old body, soon endeared to her the new home which 
 Providence had assigned to her. 
 
 Her accounts of Mrs. N , and her family, soon deeply 
 
 interested me in her fate ; and Jenny never went to visit 
 her Mends in Dummer without an interchange of good 
 wishes passing between us. 
 
486 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 The year of the Canadian rebellion came, and brought 
 with it sorrow into many a bush dwelling. Old Jenny and 
 I were left alone with the little children, in the depths of 
 the dark forest, to help ourselves in the best way we could. 
 Man could not be procured in that thinly-settled spot for 
 love nor money, and I now fully realized the extent of 
 Jenny's usefulness. Daily she yoked the oy3n, and 
 brought down from the bush fuel to maintain our fires, 
 which she felled and chopped up with her own hands. — 
 She fed the cattle, and kept all things snug about the doors; 
 not forgetting to load her master's two guns, " in case," as 
 she said, "the ribels should attack us in our retrate." 
 
 The motiths of November and December of 1838 had 
 been unnaturally mild for this iron climate; but the open- 
 ing of the ensuing January brought a short but severe 
 spell of frost and snow. We felt very lonely in our soli- 
 tary dwelling, crouching round the blazing fire, that 
 scarcely chased the cold from our miserable log-tenement, 
 until this c'reary period was suddenly cheered by the un- 
 expected presence of my beloved friend, Emilia, who came 
 to spend a week with me in my forest home. 
 
 She brought her own baby -boy with her, and an ample 
 supply of buffalo robes, ncL forgetting a treat of baker's 
 bread, and "sweeties" for the children. Oh, dear Emilia! 
 best and kindest of women, though absent in your native 
 land, long, long shall my heart cherish with affectionate 
 gratitude all your visits of love, and turn to you as to a 
 sister, tried; and found most faithful, in the dark hour of 
 adversity, and, amidst the almost total neglec t of those 
 
THE WALK TO DUMMER. 
 
 487 
 
 from whom nature claimed a tenderer and holier sympa- 
 thy. 
 
 Great was the joy of Jenny at this accession to our 
 
 family-party ; and after Mrs. S was well warmed and 
 
 had partaken of tea — the only refreshment we could offer 
 her — ^we began to talk over the new^s of the place. 
 
 "By-the-by, Jenny," said she, turning to the old ser- 
 vant, who was undressing the little boy by the fire, "have 
 you heard lately from poor Mrs. N— ? We have been 
 told that she and the family are * n a dreadful state of des- 
 titution. That worthless man has left them for the States, 
 and it is supposed that he has joined Mackenzie's band of 
 ruftians on Navy Island ; but whether this be true or 
 false, he has deserted his wife and children, taking his 
 eldest son along with him (who might have been of some 
 service at home), and leaving them without money or 
 food." 
 
 "The good Lord! What will become of the crathurs ?'* 
 responded Jenny, wiping her wrinkled cheek with the back 
 of her hard, brown hand. "An' thin they have not a sowl 
 to chop and draw them firewood; an' the weather so 
 oncommon savare. Och, hone! what has not that haste 
 of a man to answer for?" 
 
 "I heard," continued Mrs. S , "that they have tasted 
 
 no food but potatoes for the last nine months, and scarcely 
 enough of them to keep soul and body together; that they 
 have sold their last cow; and the poor young lady and her 
 second brother, a lad of only twelve years old, bring all 
 the wood for the fire from the bush on a hand-sleigh." 
 
488 
 
 HOUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 = 1 : 
 
 "Oh, dear! — oh, dear!" sobbed Jenny; "an* I not there 
 to hilp them! An' poor Miss Mary, the tinder thii.g! Oh, 
 'tis hard, terriMy hard upon the crathurs, an' they not used 
 to the like." 
 
 "Can nothing be done for them?" said I. 
 
 "That is what we want to know," returned Emilia, "and 
 
 that was one of my reasons for coming up to D . I 
 
 wanted to consult you and Jenny upon the subject. You, 
 who are an officer's wife, and I, who am both an officer's 
 wife and daughter, ought to devise some plan of rescuing 
 this unfortunate lady ttnd her family from her present 
 forlorn situation." 
 
 The tears sprang to my eyes, and I thought, in the bit- 
 terness of my heart, upon my own galling poverty, that 
 my pockets did not contain even a single copper, and that 
 I had scarcely garments enough to shield me from the 
 inclemency of the weather. By unflinching industry, and 
 taking my part in the toil of the field, I had bread for 
 myself and family, and this was more than poor Mrs. 
 N — '■ — possessed; but it appeared impossible for me to be 
 of any assistance to the unhappy sufferer, and the thought 
 of my incapacity gave me severe pain. It was only 
 in moments like the present that I felt the curae of 
 poverty. 
 
 " Well," continued my friend, "you see, Mrs. Moodie, 
 
 that the ladies of P are all anxious to do what they 
 
 can for her; but they first want to learn if the miserable 
 circumstances in which she is said to be placed are true. 
 In short, my dear friend, they want you and me to makQ 
 
 t 
 
 1 
 
THE WALK TO DUMMER. 
 
 489 
 
 b there 
 g! Oh, 
 ^t used 
 
 ia, "and 
 — . I 
 t. You, 
 officer's 
 escuing 
 present 
 
 the bit- 
 ty, that 
 md that 
 •om the 
 try, and 
 read for 
 
 )r Mrs. 
 
 Qe to be 
 
 thought 
 only 
 
 jurae of 
 
 Loodie, 
 it they 
 [serable 
 le true. 
 
 makQ 
 
 a pilgi'image to Dummer, to see tlie poor lady herself ; 
 and then they will be guided by our report." 
 
 " Then let us lose no time in going upon our own mis- 
 sion of mercy." ■ 
 
 "Och, my dear heart, you will be lost in the woods!" 
 said old Jenny. "It is nine long miles to the first clear- 
 ing, and that through a lonely, blazed path. After you are 
 through the beaver- meadow, there is not a single hut for 
 \oU to rest or warm yourselves. It is too much for 
 the both of yees; you will be frozen to death on the 
 road." 
 
 '' No fear," said my benevolent friend ; ** God will take 
 care of us, Jenny. It is on his errand we go ; to carry a 
 message of hope to one about to perish. 
 
 "The Lord bless you for a darlint," cried the old woman, 
 devoutly kissing the velvet cheek of the little fellow sleep- 
 ing upon her lap. ''May your own purty child never 
 know the want and sorrow that is around her." 
 
 Emilia and I talked over the Dummer scheme until we 
 fell asleep. Many were the plans we proposed for the im- 
 mediate relief of the unfortunate family. Early the next 
 
 morning, my brother-in-law, Mr. T , called upon my 
 
 friend. The subject next our heart was immediately 
 
 introduced, and he was called into the general council. 
 
 His feelings, like our own, were deeply interested ; and he 
 proposed that we should each provide something from our 
 own small stores to satisfy the pressing wants of the dis- 
 tressed family ; while he promised to bring his cutter the 
 aext morning, and take us through the beaver-meadow, 
 FF 
 
490 
 
 UOUGlllNn IT IN TIE BUSH. 
 
 !l 
 
 and to the edge of the great swamp, which would shorten 
 four miles, at least, of our long and hazardous journey. 
 
 We joyfully acceded to his proposal, and set cheerfully 
 to work to provide for the morrow. Jenny baked a 
 batch of her very best bread, and boiled a large piece of 
 
 beef ; and Mr. T brought with him, the next day, a 
 
 fine cooked ham, in a sack, into the bottom of which he 
 stowed the beef and loaves, besides some sugar and tea, 
 which his own kind wife, the author of " the Backwoods 
 of Canada," had sentj. I had some misgivings as to the 
 manner in which these good things could be introduced 
 to the poor lady, who, I had heard, was reserved and 
 proud. 
 
 " Oh, Jenny," I said, " how shall I be able to ask her to 
 accept provisions from strangers ? I am afraid of wound- 
 ing her feelings." 
 
 " Oh, darlint, never fear that ! She is proud, I know ; 
 but 'tis not a stiff pride, but jist enough to consale her 
 disthress from her ignorant English neighbours, who think 
 so manely of poor folk like her who were once rich. 
 She will be very thankful to you for your kindness, for 
 she has not experienced much of it from the Dummer 
 people in her throuble, though she may have no words to 
 tell you so. Say that old Jenny sent the bread to dear 
 wee Ellie, 'cause she knew she would like a loaf of Jenny's 
 bakin'." ^, 
 
 « But the meat." 
 
 " Och, the mate, is it ? May be, you'll think of some 
 excuse for the mate when you get there. 
 
 ii 
 
THE WALK TO DUMMER. 
 
 491 
 
 grey 
 We 
 
 " I hope so ; but I'm a sad coward with strangers, and 
 I have lived so long out of the world that I am at a great 
 loss what to do. I will try and put a good face on the 
 matter. Your name, Jenny, will be no small help to me." 
 
 All was now ready. Kissing our little bairns who 
 crowded around us with eager and incpiiring looks, and 
 charging Jenny for the hundreth time to take especial 
 care of them during our absence, we mounted the cutter, 
 
 and set off, under the care and protection of Mr. T , 
 
 who determined to accompany us on the journey. 
 
 It was a black, cold day ; no sun visible in the 
 dark sky ; a keen, cutting wind, and hard frost, 
 crouched close to each other. 
 
 " Good heavens, how cold it is ! " whispered Emilia. 
 " What a day for such a journey !" 
 
 She had scarcely ceased speaking, when the cutter 
 went upon a stump which lay concealed under the drifted 
 snow ; and we, together with the ruins of our conveyance, 
 were scattered around. 
 
 "A bad beginning," said my brother-in-law, with a 
 rueful- aspect, as he surveyed the wreck of the cutter from 
 which we had promised ourselves so much benefit. 
 " There is no help for it but to return home." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Mrs. S ; " bad beginnings make 
 
 good endings, you know. Let us go on ; it will be far 
 better walki^ig than riding such a dreadful day. My 
 feet are half-frozen already with sitting still." 
 
 " But, my dear madam," expostulated Mr. T , " con- 
 sider the distance, the road, the dark, dull day, and our 
 
 
402 
 
 ttOUGHINQ IT IN THE BUSU. 
 
 i = 
 
 imperfect knowledge of the path. I will get the cutter 
 mended to-morrow ; and the day after wo may be able 
 to proceed." 
 
 " Delays are dangerous, sttiu the pertinacious Emilia, 
 who, woman-like, was determined to have her own way. 
 " Now, or never. While we wait for the broken cutter, 
 
 the broken-hearted Mrs. N uuiy starve We can 
 
 stop at Colonel C s and warm ourselves, and you can 
 
 leave the cutter at his house until our return." 
 
 " It was upon your account that I proposed the delay," 
 
 said the good Mr. T , taking the sack, which was no 
 
 inconsiderable weight, upon his shoulder, and driving his 
 
 horse before him into neighbour W s stable. " Where 
 
 you go, I am ready to follow." 
 
 When we arrived. Colonel C 's family were at 
 
 breakfast, of which they made us partake ; and after 
 vainly endeavouring to dissuade us from what appeared 
 
 to them our Quixotic expedition, Mrs. C added a 
 
 dozen fine white fish to the contents of the sack, and 
 
 sent her youngest son to help Mr. T along with his 
 
 burthen, and to bear us company on our desolate road. 
 
 Leaving; the Colonel's hospitable house on our left we 
 again plunged into the woods, and after a few minutes' 
 brisk walking, found ourselves upon the brow of a steep 
 bank that overlooked the beaver-meadow, containing 
 within its area several hundred acres. 
 
 There is no scenery in the bush that presents such a 
 novel appearance as those meadows, or openings, sur- 
 rounded, as they invariably are, by dark, intricate forests ; 
 
THE WALK TO DUMMER. 
 
 493 
 
 luch a 
 sur- 
 Irests ; 
 
 thoir high, nigged banka covered with the light, airy 
 tamarack and wilver birch. In summer they look like a 
 lake of soft, rich verdure, hidden in the bosom of the 
 barren and howling waste. Lakes they certainly have 
 been, from which the waters have receded, " ages, ages 
 long ago ; " and still the whole length of these curious 
 level valleys is traversed by a stream, of no inconsider- 
 able dimensions. 
 
 The waters of the narrow, rapid creek, which flowed 
 through the meadow wo were about to cross, were of 
 sparkling brightness, and icy cold. The frost-king had 
 no power to check their swift, dancing movements, or 
 stop their perpetual song. On they leaped, sparkling and 
 flashing beneath their ice-crowned banks, rejoicing as 
 they revelled on in their lonely course. In the prime of 
 the year, this is a wild and lovely spot, the grass is of the 
 richest green, and the flowers of the most gorgeous dyes. 
 The gayest butterflies float above them upon painted 
 wings ; and the whip-poor-will pours forth from the 
 neighbouring woods, at the close of dewy eve, his strange 
 but sadly plaintive cry. Winter was now upon the earth, 
 and the once green meadow looked like a small forest 
 lake covered with snow. 
 
 The first step we made into it plunged us up to the 
 knees in the snow, which was drifted to a great height in 
 
 the open space. Mr. T and our young friend C 
 
 walked on ahead of us, in order to break a track through 
 the untrodden snow. We soon reached the cold creek ; 
 but here a new difficulty presented itself. It was too wide 
 
494 
 
 ROUOIIINO IT IN THE BUSH, 
 
 I 
 
 1 1 
 
 to jnm]) across, and wc could .sec no otlicr way of paasinj^ 
 to the other sido. 
 
 " There must be sonic sort of a bridge hero about," said 
 
 young C , " or liow can the people from Dummer pjiss 
 
 constantly during the winter to and fro. I will go along 
 the bank, and halloo to y'»'i if I find one." 
 
 In few minutes ho gave the desired signal, and on reach- 
 ing the sj)ot, wc found a round, slippery log Hung across 
 the stream by way of bridge. With some trouble, and 
 after various slips, we got safely on the other side. To 
 wet our feet would have been to ensure their being 
 frozen ; and as it was, we were not without serious appre- 
 hension on that score. After crossing the bleak, snowy 
 j)lain, we scrambled over another brook, and entered the 
 great swamp which occupied two miles of our dreary 
 road. 
 
 It would be vain to attempt giving any description of 
 this tangled maze of closely-interwoven cedars, fallen 
 trees, and loose-scattered masses of rock. It seemed the 
 fitting abode of wolves and bears, and every other unclean 
 beast. The ifire had run through it during the summer, 
 making the confusion doubly confused. Now we stooped, 
 half-doubled, to crawl under fallen branches that hung 
 over our path, then again we had to clamber over prostrate 
 trees of great bulk, descending from which we plumped 
 down into holes in the snow, sinking mid-leg into the 
 rotten trunk of some treacherous, decayed pine-tree. Be- 
 fore we were half through the great swamp, we began to 
 think oui*selves sad fools, and to wish that we were safe 
 
THE WALK TO DTTMMER. 
 
 4J).1 
 
 again by our own fireRides. But, thon, n gront oV>jcctwnH 
 in view, — the relief of a distressed fellow-creature, and 
 like the " full of hope, misnamed forlorn," we determined 
 to overcome every difficulty, and toil on. 
 
 It took us an hour at least to clear the great swamp, 
 from which we emerged into a fine wood, composed chiefly 
 of maple-trees. The sun had, during our immersion in 
 the dark shades of the swamp, burst through his leaden 
 shroud, and cast a cheery gleam along the rugged boles of 
 the lofty trees. The squirrel and chipmunk occasionally 
 bounded across our path ; the dazzling snow which covered 
 it reflected the branches above us in an endless variety of 
 dancing shsidows. Our spirits rose in proportion. Young 
 C — > — burst out singing, and Emi'la and I laughed and 
 chatted as we bounded along our naiTOW road. On, on for 
 hours, the same interminable forest stretched away to the 
 right and left, before and behind us. 
 
 " It is past twelve," said iny brother T thought- 
 fully ; " if we do not soon come to a clearing, we may 
 chance to s[)end the night in the forest." 
 
 ** Oh, I am dying with hunger," cried Emilia. " Do, 
 
 C , give us one or two of the cakes your mother put 
 
 into the bag for us to eat upon the road." 
 
 The ginger-cakes were instantly produced. But where 
 were the teeth to be found that could masticate them ? 
 The cakes were frozen as hard as stones ; this was a great 
 disappointment to us tired and hungry wights ; but it 
 only produced a hearty laugh. Over the logs we went 
 again ; for it was a perpetual stepping up and down, 
 
 
496 
 
 EOUGHTNG IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 crossing the fallen trees that obstructed our path. At 
 last we came to a spot where two distinct blazed roads 
 diverged. 
 
 " What are we to do now ?" said Mr. T . 
 
 We stopped, and a general consultation was held, and 
 without one dissenting voice we took the branch to the 
 right, which, after pursuing for about half-a-mile, led us 
 to a log hut of the rudest description. 
 
 " Is this the road to Dummer ?" we asked a r 'n, who 
 was chopping wood outside the fence. 
 
 " I guess you are in Dummer," was the answer. 
 
 My heart leaped for joy, for I was dr' adfully fatigued. 
 
 " Does this road lead through the English Line ?" 
 
 " That's another thing," returned the woodman. "No, 
 you turned off from the right path when you came u]> 
 here." We all looked very blank at each other. " You 
 will have to go back, and keep the other road, and that 
 will lead y ou straight to the English Line." 
 
 " How many miles is it to Mrs. N 's ?" 
 
 " Some four, or thereabouts," was the cheering rejoinder, 
 " "lis one of the last clearings on the line. If j-^ou arc 
 going back to Douro to-night, you must look si.; n>." 
 
 Sadly and dejectedly we retraced our steps. TIa jr are 
 few tri fling failures more bitter in our journey through life 
 than that of a tired traveller mistaking his road. What 
 effect must that tremendous failure produce upon the 
 human mind, when at the end of life's unretraceable 
 journey, the traveller finds that he has fallen upon the 
 wrong track throug h every stage, and instead of arriving 
 
THE WALK TO DUMMER. 
 
 497 
 
 at a land of blissful promise, sinks for ever into the gulf 
 of despair ! 
 
 The distance we had trodden in the wi'ong path, while 
 led on by hope and anticipation, now seemed to double in 
 length, as \7ith painful steps we toiled on to reach the 
 right road. This object once attained, soon led us to the 
 dwellings of men. 
 
 Neat, comfortable log houses, surrounded by well-fenced 
 patches of clearing, arose on either side of the forest road ; 
 dogs flew out and barked at rs, and children ran shouting 
 in-doors to tell their respective owners that strangers were 
 passing their gates ; a most unusual circumstance, I should 
 think, in that location. 
 
 A servant who had lived two years with my brother- 
 in-law, we knew must live somewhere in this neighbour- 
 hood, at whose fireside we hoped not only to rest and warm 
 ourselves, but to obtain something to eat. On going up 
 to one of the cabins to inquire for Hannah J , we for- 
 tunately happened to light upon the very person we sought. 
 With many exclamations of surprise, she ushered us into 
 her neat and comfortable lo§| dwelling. 
 
 A blazing ^.re, composed of two huge logs, was roaring 
 up the wide chimney, and the savoury smell that issued 
 from a large pot of pea-soup was very agreeable to our 
 cold and hungry stomachs. But, alas, the refreshment 
 went no further ! Hannah most politely begged us to take 
 seats by the fire, and warm and rest ourselves ; she even 
 knelt down and assisted in rubbing our half-frozen hands ; 
 but she never once made mention of the hot soup, or of 
 
 -% 
 
498 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 the tea, which was drawing in a tin teapot upon the 
 hearth-stone, or of a glass of whiskey, which would have 
 been thankfully accepted by our male pilgrims. 
 
 Hannah was not an Irishwoman, no, nor a Scotch lassie, 
 or her very first request would have been for us to take 
 " a pickle of soup," or " a sup of thae warm broths." The 
 soup was no doubt cooking for Hannah's husband and two 
 neighbours, who were chopping for him in the bush ; and 
 whose want of punctuality she feelingly lamented. 
 
 As we left her cottage, and jogged on, Emilia whispered, 
 laughing, " I hope you are satisfied with your good dinner ? 
 Was not the pea-soup excellent ? — and that cup of nice 
 hot tea ! — I never relished anything more in my life. I 
 think we should never pass that house without giving 
 Hannah a call, and testifying our gratitude for her good 
 cheer." 
 
 Many times did we stop to inquire the way to Mrs. 
 
 N 's, before we ascended the steep, bleak hill upon 
 
 which her house stood. At the door, Mr. T deposited 
 
 the sack of provisions, and he and young C — went 
 
 across the road to the house of an English settler (who, 
 fortunately for them, proved more hospitable than Hannah 
 J ), to wait until our errand was executed. 
 
 The house before which Emilia and I were standing had 
 once been a tolerably comfortable log dwelling. It was 
 larger than such buildings generally are, and was sur- 
 rounded by dilapidated barns and stables, which were not 
 cheered by a solitary head of cattle. A black pine-forest 
 stretched away to the north of the house, and terminated 
 
THE WALK TO DUMMER. 
 
 499 
 
 in a dismal, tangled cedar-swamp, the entrance to the 
 house not having been constructed to face the road. 
 
 The spirit that had borne me up during the journey died 
 within me. I was fearful that my visit would be deemed 
 an impertinent intrusion. I knew not in what manner to 
 introduce myself, and my embarrassment had been greatly 
 
 increased by Mrs. S declaring that I must break the 
 
 ice, for she had not courage to go in. I remonstrated, but 
 she was firm. To hold any longer parley was impossible. 
 We were standing on the top of a bleak hill, with the ther- 
 mometer many degrees below zero, and exposed to the 
 fiercest biting of the bitter, cutting blast. With a heavy 
 sigh, I knocked slowly but decidedly at the crazy door. 
 I saw the curly head of a boy glance for a moment against 
 the broken window. There was a stir within, but no one 
 answered our summons. Emilia was rubbing her hands 
 together, and beating a rapid tattoo with her feet upon 
 the hard and glittering snow, to keep them from freezing. 
 
 Again I appealed to the inhospitable door, with a vehe- 
 mence which seemed to say, " We are freezing, good peo- 
 ple; in mercy let us in!" 
 
 Again there was a stir, and a whispered sound of voices, 
 as if in cons xltation, from within ; and after waiting a 
 few minutes longer — which, cold as we were, seemed an 
 age — the door was cautiously opened by a handsome, dark- 
 eyed lad of twelve years of age, who was evidently the 
 owner of the curly head that had baen sent to reconnoitre 
 us through the window. Carefully closing the door after 
 him, he stepped out upon the snow, and asked us coldly 
 
 r! 
 
600 
 
 ROUGHING IT IK THE BUSH. 
 
 % 
 
 but respectfully what we wanted. I told him that we 
 were two ladies, who had walked all the way from Douro 
 to see his mamma, and that we wished very much to speak 
 to her. The lad answered us, with the ease and courtesy 
 of a gentleman, that he did not know whether his mamma 
 could be seen by strangers, but he would go in and see. 
 So saying he abruptly left us, leaving behind him an ugly 
 skeleton of a dog, who, after expressing his disapprobation 
 at our )iresence in the most disagreeable and unequivocal 
 manner, pounced like a famished wolf upon the sack of 
 good things which lay at Emilia's feet ; and our united 
 efforts could scarcely keep him off. 
 
 " A cold, doubtful reception this!" said my friend, turn- 
 ing her back to the wind, and hiding her face in her muff. 
 "This is worse than Hannah's liberality, and the long, 
 weary walk." 
 
 I thought so too, and began to apprehend that our walk 
 had been in vain, when the lad again appeared, and said 
 that we might walk in, for his mother was dressed. 
 
 Emilia, true to her determination, went no farther than 
 the passage. In vain were all my entreating looks and 
 mute appeals to her benevolence and friendship ; I was 
 forced to enter alone the apartment that contained the 
 distressed family. 
 
 I felt that I was treading upon sacred ground, for a 
 pitying angel hovers over the abode of suffering virtue, 
 and hallows all its woes. On a rude bench, before the fire 
 sat a lady, between thirty and forty years of age, dressed 
 in a thin, coloured muslin gown, the most inappropriate 
 
THE WAIK TO DUMMER. 
 
 501 
 
 than 
 and 
 was 
 the 
 
 fire 
 3sed 
 iate 
 
 garment for the rigour of the season, but, in all probability, 
 the only decent one that she retained. A subdued melan- 
 choly looked forth from her large, dark, pensive eyes. — 
 She appeared like one who, having discovered the full 
 extent of her misery, had proudly steeled her heart to bear 
 it. Her countenance was very pleasing, and, in early life 
 (but she was still young), she must have been eminently 
 handsome. Near her, with her head bunt down, and shaded 
 by her thin, slender hand, her slight figure scarcely covered 
 by her scanty clothing, sat her eldest daughter, a gentle, 
 sweet-looking girl, who held in her arms a baby brother, 
 whose destitution she endeavoured to conceal. It was a 
 touching sight; that suffering girl, just ste japing into 
 womanhood, hiding against her young bosom the naked- 
 ness of the little creature she loved. Another fine boy, 
 whose neatly-patched clothes had not one piece of the 
 original stuff" apparently left in them, stood behind his 
 mother, with dark, glistening eyes fastened upon me, as if 
 amused, and wondering who I was, and what business I 
 could have there. A pale and attenuated, but very pretty, 
 delicately-featured little girl was seated on a low stool be- 
 fore the fire. This was old Jenny's darling, Ellie, or Eloise. 
 A rude bedstead, of home manufacture, in a corner of the 
 room, covered with a coarse woollen quilt, contained two 
 little boys, who had crept into it to conceal their wants 
 from the eyes of the stranger. On the table lay a dozen 
 peeled potatoes, and a small pot was boiling on the fire, to 
 receive this their scanty and only daily meal. There was 
 fiuch an air of patient and enduring suffering in the whole 
 
502 
 
 HOUGHING TT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 group, that, as I gazed heart-stricken upon it, my fortitude 
 quite gave way, and I burst into tears. 
 
 Mrs. N first broke the painful silence, and, ^ather 
 
 proudly, asked me to whom she had the pleasure of speak- 
 ing. I made a desperate effort to regain my composure, 
 and told her, but with much embarrassment, my name ; 
 adding that T was so well acquainted with her and her 
 children , through Jenny, that I could not consider her as 
 a stranger ; that I hoped that, as I was the wife of an offi- 
 cer, and, like her, a resident in the bush, and well acquaint- 
 ed with all its trials andjprivations, she would look upon 
 me as a friend. 
 
 She seemed surprised and annoyed, and I found no small 
 difficulty in introducing the object of my visit ; but the 
 day was rapidly declining, and I knew that not a moment 
 was to be lost. At first she coldly rejected all offers of 
 service, and said that she was contented, and wanted for 
 nothing. 
 
 I appealed to the situation in which I beheld herself and 
 her children, and implored her, for their sakes, not to refuse 
 help from friends who felt for her distress. Her maternal 
 feelings triumphed over her assumed indifference,and when 
 she saw me weeping, for I could no longer restrain my 
 tears, her pride yielded, and for some minutes not a word 
 was spoken. I heard the large tears, as they slowly fell from 
 her daughter's eyes, drop one by one upon her garments. 
 
 At last the poor girl sobbed out, " Dear mamma, why 
 conceal the truth ? You know that we are nearly naked 
 and starving." 
 
THE WALK TO DUMMER. 
 
 603 
 
 Then came the sad tale of domestic woes: the absence 
 of the husband and eldest son; the uncertainty as to where 
 they were, or in what engaged ; the utter want of means 
 to procure the common necessaries of life ; the sale of the 
 only remaining cow that used to provide the children with 
 food. It had been sold for twelve dollars, part to be paid 
 in cash, part in potatoes; the potatoes were nearly ex- 
 hausted, and they were allowanced to so many a day. But 
 the six dollars she had retained as their last resource. 
 
 Alas! she had sent the eldest boy the day before to P 
 
 to get a letter out of the post-office, which she hoped con- 
 tained some tidings of her husband and son. She was all 
 anxiety and expectation — but the child returned late at 
 night without the letter which they had longed for with 
 such feverish impatience. The six dollars upon which 
 they had depended for a supply of food were in notes of 
 the Farmer's Bank, which at that time would not pass for 
 money, and which the roguish purchaser of the cow had 
 passed off upon this distressed family. 
 
 Oh ! imagine, ye who revel in riches — who can daily 
 throw away a large sum upon the merest toy — the cruel 
 disappointment, the bitter agony of this poor mother's 
 heart, when she received this calamitous news, in the 
 midst of her starving children. For the last nine weeks 
 they had lived upon a scanty supply of potatoes ; — they 
 had not tasted raised bread or animal food for eighteen 
 months. 
 
 " Ellie," said I, anxious to introduce the sack, which 
 had lain like a nightmare upon my mind, " I have some- 
 
 i 
 
504 
 
 ROUaniNG IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 i 
 
 thing for you ; Jenny baked some loaves last night, and 
 sent them to you with her best love." 
 
 The eyes of all the children grew bright. "You will find 
 the sack with the bread in the passage," said I to one of 
 the boys. He rushed joyfully out, and returned with 
 
 Mrs. and the sack. Her bland and affectionate 
 
 greeting restored us all to trancjuility. 
 
 The delighted boy opened the sack. The first thing he 
 produced was the ham. 
 
 " Oh," said I, " that is a ham that my sister sent to 
 
 Mrs. N ; 'tis of her own curing, and she thought 
 
 that it might be acceptable." 
 
 Then came the white fish, nicely packed in a clean 
 
 cloth. " Mrs. C thought fish might be a treat to Mrs. 
 
 N , as she lived so far from the great lakes." Then 
 
 came Jenny's bread, which had already been introduced. 
 The beef, and tea, and sugar, foil ui)on the floor without 
 any comment. The first scruples had been overcome, 
 and the day was ours. . 
 
 " And now, ladies," said Mrs. N , with true hospi- 
 tality, " since you have brought refreshments with you, 
 permit me to cook something for your dinner.'* 
 
 The scene I had just witnessed had produced such a 
 choking sensation that all my hunger had vanished. 
 
 Before we could accept or refuse Mrs. N 's kind ofier, 
 
 Mr. T arrived, to hurry us off". 
 
 It was two o'clock when we descended the hill in front 
 of the house, that led by a side-path round to the road, 
 and commenced our homeward route. I thought the 
 
THE WALK TO DUMMER. 
 
 505 
 
 four miles of clearings would never be passed ; and the 
 English Line appeared to have no end. At length wo 
 entered once more the dark forest. 
 
 The setting sun gleamed along the ground ; the neces- 
 sity of exerting our utmost speed, and getting through 
 the great swamp before darkness surrounded us, was 
 apparent to all. The men strove vigorously forward, for 
 they had been refreshed with a substantial dinner of 
 potatoes and pork, washed down with a glass of whiskey, 
 at the cottage in which they had waited for us ; but poor 
 Emilia and I, faint, hungry, and foot-sore, it was with the 
 greatest difficulty we could keep up. I thought of Rosa- 
 lind, as our march up and down the fallen logs recom- 
 menced, and often exclaimed with her, *' Oh, Jupiter ! how 
 weary are my legs ! " 
 
 Night closed in just as we reached the beaver-meadow. 
 Here our ears were greeted with the sound of weli-known 
 voices. James and Henry had brought the ox- 
 sleigh to meet us at the edge of the bush. Never was 
 splendid equipage greeted with such delight. Emilia and 
 I, now fairly exhausted with fatigue, scrambled into it, 
 and lying down on the straw which covered the bottom 
 of the rude vehicle, we drew the buffalo robes over our 
 faces, and actually slept soundly until we reached Colonel 
 C 's hospitable door. 
 
 An excellent supper of hot fish and fried venison was 
 smoking on the table, with other good cheer, to which we 
 did ample justice. I, for one, never was so hungry in my 
 life. We had fasted for twelve hours, and that on 
 
 OG 
 
soo 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BtJSH. 
 
 h ! 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 an intensely cold day, and had walked during that period 
 
 upwards of twenty miles. Never, never shall I forget 
 
 that weary walk to Dummer ; but a blessing followed it 
 
 It was midnight when Emilia and I reached my humble 
 
 home ; our good friends the oxen being again put in 
 
 requisition to carry us there. Emilia went immediately 
 
 to bed, from which she was unable to rise for several days. 
 
 In the meanwhile I wrote to Moodie an account of the 
 
 scene I had witnessed, and he raised a subscription among 
 
 the officers of tiio regiment for the poor lady and her 
 
 children, which amounted to forty dollars. Emilia lost 
 
 no time in making a full report to her friends at P ; 
 
 and before a week passed away, Mrs. N and her 
 
 family were removed thither by several benevolent 
 individuals in the place. A neat c we was hired for 
 her ; and, to the honour of Canada be it spoken, all who 
 cov^l afford a donation gave cheerfully. Farmers left at 
 her door, pork, beef, flour, and potatoes ; the storekeepers 
 sent groceries, and goods to make clothes for the children ; 
 the shoemakers contributed boots for the boys ; while the 
 ladies did all in their power to assist and comfort the 
 gentle creature thus thrown by Providence upon their 
 bounty. 
 
 While Mrs. N remained at P she did not want 
 
 for any comfort. Her children were clothed and her rent 
 paid by her benevolent friends, and her house supplied 
 with food and many comforts from the same source. 
 Respected and beloved by all who knew her, it would 
 have been well had she never left the quiet asylum where 
 
THE WALK TO DTTMMER. 
 
 507 
 
 Iwant 
 
 rent 
 
 Iplied 
 
 lurce. 
 
 rould 
 
 rhere 
 
 for several years she enjoyed tranquillity and a respect- 
 able competence from her school ; hut in an evil hour she 
 followed her worthless husband to the Southern States, 
 and again suffered all the woes which drunkenness inflicts 
 upon the wives and children of its degraded victims. 
 
 
i 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 A CHANGE IN OUR PROSPECTS. 
 
 The future flower lies folded in the bud, — 
 Its beauty, colour, fragrance, graceful form, 
 Carefully shrouded in that tiny cell ; 
 Till time and circumstance, and sun and shower, 
 Expand the embryo blossom — and it bursts 
 Its narrow cerements, lifts its blushing head) 
 Rejoicing in the light and dew of heaven. 
 But if the canker-worm lies coil'd around 
 The heart o' the bud, the summer sun and dew 
 Visit in vain the sear'd and blighted flower, 
 
 ,^r^\ URING my illness, a kind neighbour, who had not 
 <^^:^ only frequently come to see me, but had brought me 
 many nourishing things made by her own fair hands, took a 
 great fancy to my second daughter, who, lively and vola- 
 tile, -oould net be induced to remain quiet in the sick 
 chamber. The noise she made greatly retarded my re- 
 covery, and Mrs. H took her home with her, as the 
 
 only means of obtaining for me iiecessary rest. During 
 that winter, and through the ensuing summer, I only 
 received occasional visits from my little girl, who, fairly 
 established with her new friends, looked upon their house 
 as her home. 
 
MM 
 
 A CHANGE IN OUR PROSPECTS. 
 
 509 
 
 not 
 it me 
 »oka 
 
 ola- 
 
 sick 
 re- 
 
 the 
 iring 
 |only 
 
 lirly 
 louse 
 
 The removal of my sister rendered my separation from 
 my husband doubly lonely and irksome. Sometimes the 
 desire to see and converse with him would press so })ain- 
 fully on my heart that I would get up in the night, strike 
 a light, and sit down and write him a long letter, and tell 
 him all that was in my mind; and when I had thus un- 
 burthened my spirit, the letter was committed to the 
 flames, and, after fervently commending him to the care 
 of the Great Father of mankind, I would Lny down my 
 throbbing head on my pillow beside our first-born son, 
 and sleep tranquilly. 
 
 It is a strange fact that many of my husband's letters 
 to me were written at the very time when I felt those 
 irresistible impulses to hold communion with him. Why 
 should we be ashamed to admit openly our belief in this 
 mysterious intercourse between the spirits of those who are 
 bound to each other by the tender ties of friendship and 
 affection, whe?i the experience of every day proves its 
 truth? Proverbs, whicl> are the wisdom of ages collected 
 into a few brief words, tall us in one pithy sentence that 
 '*if we talk of the devil he is sure to appear." While the 
 name cf a long-absent friend is in our mouth, the next 
 moment brings him into our presence. How can this be, 
 if mind did not meet mind, and the spirit had not a pro- 
 phetic consciousness of the vicinity of another spirit, kin- 
 dred with its own ? This is an occurrence so common 
 that I never met with any person to whom it had not 
 happened ; few will admit it to be a spiritual agency, but 
 in no other way can they satisfactorily explain its cause. 
 
510 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 If i^ were a mere coincidence, or combination of ordinary 
 circumstances it would not happen so often, and people 
 would not be led to speak of the long-absent always at the 
 moment when they are just about to present themselves 
 before them. My husband was no believer in what he 
 termed my fanciful, speculative theories ; yet at the time 
 when his youngest boy and myself lay dangerously ill, 
 and hardly expected to live, I received from him a letter, 
 written in great haste, which commenced with this sentence: 
 
 "Do write to me, dear S , when you receive this. I 
 
 have felt very uneasy about you for some days past, and 
 am afraid that all is not right at home." 
 
 Whence came this sudden fear ? Why at that particu- 
 lar time did his thoughiy turn so despondingly towards 
 those so dear to him ? Why did the dark cloud in his 
 mind hang so heavily above his home ? The burden of 
 my weary and distressed spirit had reached him ; and 
 without knowing of our sufferings and danger, his own 
 responded to the call. 
 
 The holy and mysterious nature of man is yet hidden 
 from himself; he is still a stranger to the movements of 
 that inner life, and knows little of its capabilities and 
 powers. A purer religion, a higher standard of moral and 
 intellectual training may in time reveal all this. Man 
 still remains a half-reclaimed savage ; the leaven of 
 Christianity is slowly and surely working its way, but it 
 has not yet changed the whole lump, or transformed the 
 deformed into the beauteous child of God. Oh, for that 
 glorious day ! It is coming. The dark clouds of humanity 
 
A CHANGE IN OUR PROSPECTS. 
 
 511 
 
 are already tinged with the golden radiance of the dawn, 
 but the sun of righteousness has not yet arisen upon the 
 world with healing on his wings ; the light of truth still 
 struggles in the womb of darkness, and man stumbles 
 on to the fulfilment of his sublime and mysterious 
 destiny. 
 
 This spring I was not a little puzzled how to get in the 
 crops. I stiU continued so weak that I was quite unable 
 to assist in the field, and my good old Jenny was sorely 
 troubled with inflamed feet, which required constant care. 
 At this juncture, a neighbouring settler, who had recently 
 come among us, offered to put in my small crop of peas, 
 potatoes and oats, in all not comprising more than eight 
 acres, if I would lend him my oxen to log-up a large fal- 
 low of ten acres and put in his own crops. Trusting to 
 his fair dealing, I consented to this arrangement ; but he 
 took advantage of my isolated position, and not only 
 logged-up his fallow, but put in all his spring crops before 
 he sowed an acre of mine. The oxen were worked down 
 so low that they were almost unfit for use, and my crops 
 were put in so late, and with such little care, that they 
 all proved a failure. I should have felt this loss more 
 severely had it happened in any previous year ; but I had 
 ceased to feel that deep interest in the affaii"s of tlie farm 
 from a sort of conviction in my own mind that it would 
 not long remain my home. 
 
 Jenny and I did our best in the way of hoeing and 
 weeding ; but no industry on our part could repair the 
 injury done to the seed by being sown out of season. 
 
 
512 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 !| 
 
 We therefore confined our attention to the garden, 
 which, as usual, was very productive, and with milk, fresh 
 butter, and eggs, supplied the simple wants of our family. 
 Emilia enlivened our solitude by her company, for several 
 weeks during the summer, and we had many pleasant 
 excursions on the water together. 
 
 My knowledge of the use of the paddle, however, was 
 not entirely without its danger. 
 
 One very windy Sunday afternoon, a servant-girl, who 
 
 lived with my friend Mrs. C . came crying to the 
 
 house, and implored the use of my canoe and paddles, to 
 cros3 the lake to see her dying father. The request was 
 instantly granted; but there was no man upon the place 
 to ferry her across, and she could not manage the boat 
 herself — in short, had never been in a canoe in her life. 
 
 The girl was deeply distressed. She said that she had 
 got word that her father could scarcely live till she could 
 reach Smith-town ; that if she went round by the bridge, 
 she must walk five miles, while if she crossed the lake 
 she could be home in half-an-hour. 
 
 I did not much like the angry swell upon the water, 
 but the poor creature was in such grief that I told her, if 
 she was not afraid of venturing with me, I would try 
 and put her over. 
 
 She expressed her thanks in the warmest terms, accom- 
 panied by a shower of blessings ; and I took the paddles 
 and went down to the landing. Jenny was very averse 
 to my tempting Providence, as she termed it, and wished 
 that I might get back as safe as I went. However, the 
 
A CHANGE IN OUK PROSPECTS. 
 
 513 
 
 l-ter, 
 if 
 [try 
 
 )m- 
 lles 
 Irse 
 led 
 Ihe 
 
 old woman launched the canoe for me, pushed us from the 
 shore, and away we went. The wind was in my favour, 
 and I found so little trouble in getting across that I began 
 to laugh at my own timidity. I put the girl on shore, 
 and endeavoured to shape my passage home. But this I 
 found was no easy task. The water was rough, and the 
 wind high, and the strong current, which runs through 
 that part of the lake to the Smith rapids, was dead 
 against me. In vain I laboured to cross this current ; it 
 resisted all my efforts, and at each repulse I was carried 
 farther down towards the rapids, which were full of 
 sunken rocks, and hard for the strong arm of a man to 
 stem — to the weak hand of a woman their safe passage 
 was impossible. I began to feel rather uneasy at the 
 awkward situation in which I found myself placed, and 
 for some time I made desperate efforts to extricate my- 
 self, by paddling with all my might. I soon gave this up, 
 and contented myself by steering the canoe in the path 
 that it thought fit to pursue. After diifting down with 
 the current for some little space, until I came opposite a 
 small island, I put out all my strength to gain the land. 
 In this I fortunately succeeded, and getting on shore, I 
 contrived to drag the canoe so far round the headland 
 that I got her out of the current. All now was smooth 
 sailing, and I joyfully answered old Jenny's yells from 
 the landing, that I was safe, and would join her in a few 
 minutes. 
 
 This fortunate manoeuvre stood me in good stead upon 
 another occasion, when crossing the lake, some weeka 
 
 i 
 
 I ^ 
 
514 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 after this, in company with a young female friend, during 
 a sudden storm. 
 
 Two Indian women, heavily laden with their packs of 
 dried venison, called at the house to borrow the canoe, to 
 join their encampment upon the other side. It so hap- 
 pened that I wanted to send to the mill that afternoon, 
 and the boat could not be returned in time without I 
 went over with the Indian women and brought it back. 
 My young friend was delighted at the idea of the frolic, 
 and as she could both steer and paddle, and the day was 
 calm and bright, though excessively warm, we both 
 agreed to accompany the squaws to the other side, and 
 bring back the canoe. 
 
 Mrs. Muskrat had fallen in love with a fine fat kitten, 
 whom the children had called " Buttermilk," and she 
 begged so hard for the little puss, that I presented it to 
 her, rather marvelling how she would contrive to carry it 
 so many miles through the woods, and she loaded with 
 such an enormous pack ; when, lo ! the squaw took down 
 the bundle, and in the heart of the piles of dried venison, 
 she deposited the cat in a small basket, giving it a thin 
 slice of the meat to console it for its close confinement. 
 Puss received the donation with piteous mews ; it was 
 evident that mice and freedom were preferred by her to 
 venison and the honour of riding on a squaw's back. 
 
 The squaws pp«ddled us quickly across, and we laughed 
 and chatted as we bounded over the blue waves, until we 
 were Landed in a dark cedar-swamp, in the heart of which 
 we found the Indian encampment, 
 
A CHANGE IN OUR PROSPECTS. 
 
 515 
 
 Ighed 
 lil we 
 
 A large party were lounging around the fire, superin- 
 tending the drying of a quantity of venison which was 
 suspended on forked sticks. Besides the flesh of the deer, 
 a number of musk-rats were skinned, and extended asi if 
 standing bolt upright before the fire, warming their paws. 
 The appearance they cut was most ludicrous. My young 
 friend pointed to the musk-rats, as she sank down, laugh- 
 ing, upon one of the skins. 
 
 Old Snow-storm, who was present, imagined that she 
 wanted one of them to eat, and very gravely handed her 
 the unsavoury beast, stick and all. 
 
 " Does the old man take me for a cannibal ? " she said. 
 " I would as soon eat a child." 
 
 Among the many odd things cooking at that fire there 
 was something that had the appearance of a bull-frog. 
 
 " What can that be ? " she said, directing my eyes to 
 the strange monster. " Surely they don't eat bull-frogs !" 
 
 This sally was received by a grunt of approbation from 
 Snow-storm ; and, though Indians seldom forget their 
 dignity so far as to laugh, he for once laid aside his 
 stoical gravity, and, twirling the thing round with a stick, 
 burst into a hearty peal. 
 
 " Muckakee'l Indian eat mucifca^ee.? — Ha! ha! Indian 
 no eat w dckakee ! Frenchmans eat his hind legs ; they 
 say the speckled beast much good. This no muckakee ! — 
 the liver of deer, dried — veiy nice — Indian eat him. 
 
 " I wish him much joy of the delicate morsel," said 
 the saucy girl, who was intent upon quizzing and examin- 
 ing everything in the camp. 
 
516 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 We had remained the best part of an hour, when Mrs. 
 Muskrat laid hold of my hand, and leading me through 
 the bush to the shore, pointed up significantly to a cloud, 
 as dark as night, that hung loweringly over the bush. 
 
 *' Thunder in that cloud — get over the lake — quick, 
 before it breaks." Then motioning for us to jump into 
 the canoe, she threw in the paddles, and pushed us from 
 the shore. 
 
 We saw the necessity of haste, and both plied the 
 paddle with diligence to gain the opposite bank, or at 
 least the shelter of the island, before the cloud poured 
 down its fury upon us. We were just in the middle of 
 the current when the first peal of thunder broke with 
 startling nearness over our heads. The storm frowned 
 darkly upon the woods ; the rain came down in torrents ; 
 and there were we exposed to its utmost fury in the 
 middle of a current too strong for us to stem. 
 
 " What shall we do ? We shall be drowned ! ' said my 
 young friend, turning her pale, tearful face towards me. 
 
 " Let the canoe float down the current till we get close 
 to the island ; then run her into the land. I saved myself 
 once before by this plan." 
 
 We did so, and were safe ; but there we had to remain, 
 wet to our skins, until the wind and the rain abated 
 sufl&ciently for us to manage our little craft. " How do 
 you like being upon the lake in a storm like this 1 " I 
 whispered to my shivering, dripping companion. 
 
 "Very well in romance, but terribly dull in reality. 
 We cannot, however, call it a dry joke," continued she, 
 
A CHANGE IN OUR PROSPECTS. 
 
 617 
 
 n Mrs. 
 irough 
 cloud, 
 ish. 
 
 -quick, 
 ip into 
 IS from 
 
 Led the 
 c, or at 
 poured 
 iddle of 
 ce with 
 rowned 
 )rreuts ; 
 in the 
 
 ;aid my 
 me. 
 it close 
 myself 
 
 remain, 
 I abated 
 Low do 
 m ? " I 
 
 feality. 
 id she, 
 
 wringing the rain from her dress. " I wish wc were 
 suspended over Old Snow-storm's lire with the bull-frog, 
 for I hate a shower-bath with my clothes on." 
 
 I took warning by this adventure, never to cross the 
 lake again without a stronger arm than mine in the canoe 
 to steer me safely through the current. 
 
 I received much kind attention from my new neighbour 
 the Rev. W. W , a truly excellent and pious clergy- 
 man of the English Church. The good, white-haired old 
 man expressed the kindest sympathy in all my trials, and 
 strengthened me greatly with his benevolent counsels and 
 
 gentle charity. Mr. W was a true follower of Christ. 
 
 His Christianity was not confined to his own denomin- 
 ation ; and every Sabbath his log cottage was filled with 
 attentive auditors, of all persuasions, who met together 
 to listen to the word of life delivered to them by a 
 Christian minister in the wilderness. 
 
 He had been a very fine preacher, and, though consider, 
 ably turned of seventy, his voice was still excellent, and 
 his manner solemn and impressive. 
 
 His only son, a young man of twenty-eight years of 
 age, had received a serious injury in the brain by falling 
 upon a turf-spade from a loft window when a child, and 
 his intellect had remained bationary from t?iat time. 
 Poor Harry was an innocent child ; he loved his parents 
 with the simplicity of a child, and all who spoke kindly 
 to him he regarded as friends. Like most persons of his 
 caste of mind, his predilection for pet animals was a 
 prominent instinct. He was always followed by two 
 
n^3i 
 
 518 
 
 ROUOHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 dogs, whom ho regarded with espccifil favour. The 
 moment ho caught your eye, ho looked down admiringly 
 upon his four-footed attendants, patting their sleek necks, 
 and murmuring, " Nice dogs — nice dogs.'" Harry had 
 singled oat myself and my little ones as great favourites. 
 He would gather flowers for the girls, and catch butter- 
 flies for the boys ; while to mo he always gave the titlo 
 of " dear aunt." 
 
 It so happened that one fine morning I wanted to walk 
 a couple of miles through the bush, to spend the day with 
 
 Mrs. C ; but the woods were full of the cattle belonging 
 
 to the neighbouring settlers, and of these I was terribly 
 afraid. Whilst I was dressing the little girls to accom- 
 pany me, Harry W came in with a message from his 
 
 mother. "Oh, thought I, here is Harry W . He will 
 
 walk with us through the bush, and defend us from the 
 cattle." 
 
 The proposition was made, and Hairy was not a little 
 proud of being invited to join our party. We had accom- 
 plished half the distance without seeing a single hoof; and 
 I was beginning to congratulate myself upon our unusual 
 luck, when a large red ox, maddened by the stings of the 
 gad-flies, came headlong through the brush, tossing up 
 the withered leaves and dried moss with his horns, and 
 making directly toward us. I screamed to my champion 
 for help; but where was he ? — running like a frightened 
 chipmunk along the fallen timber, shouting to my eldest 
 girl, at the top of his voice, 
 
 "Run, Katty, run!— The bull, the bull! Run, Katty !— 
 
A CHANGE IN OUR PROSPECTS. 
 
 619 
 
 Tho bull, the bull !" — leaving us poor creatures far behind 
 in tho chase. 
 
 The bull, who cared not one fig for uh, did not even stop 
 to give us a passing sttire, and was soon lost among the 
 trees ; while our valiant knight never stopped to see what 
 had become of us, but made the best of his way home. — 
 So much for taking an innocent for a guard. 
 
 The next month most of the militia regiments woie 
 disbanded. My husband's services were no longer required 
 
 at B ,and he once more returned to help to gather in our 
 
 scanty harvest. Many of thi^ old debts were paid off by 
 his hard-saved pay ; and though all hope of continuing in 
 the militia service was at an 3nd, our condition was so 
 much improved that we looked less to tho dark than to 
 the sunny side of the landscape. , • 
 
 The potato crop was gathered in, and I had collected 
 my store of dandelion-roots for our winter supply of coffee, 
 when one day brought a letter to my husband from the 
 Governor's secretary, offering him the situation of sheriff of 
 
 tho V district. Though perfectly unacquainted with 
 
 tho difficulties and responsibilities of such an important 
 office, my husband looked upon it as a gift sent from 
 heaven to remove us from the sorrows and poverty with 
 which we were surrounded in the woods. 
 
 Once more he bade us farewell ; but it was to go and 
 make ready a home for us, that we should no more be 
 separated from each other. 
 
 Heartily did I return thanks to God that night for all 
 
 ty!- 
 
520 
 
 ROtJGniNG IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 his mercies to us ; and Sir Oeorgo Arthur was not forgot- 
 ten in those prayers. 
 
 From B , my husband wrote to me to make what 
 
 haste I could in disposing of our crops, household furni- 
 ture, stock, and farming implements ; and to prepare my- 
 self and the children to join him on the first fall of snow 
 that would make the roads practicable for sleighing. To 
 facilitate this object, he sent me a box of clothing, to make 
 up for myself and the children. 
 
 For seven years I had lived out of the world entirely ; 
 my person had been rendered coarse by hard work and 
 exposure to the weather. I looked double the age I really 
 was, and my hair was already thickly sprinkled with grey. 
 I clung to my solitude. I did not like to be dragged from 
 it to mingle in gay scenes, in a busy town, and with gaily 
 dressed people. I was no longer fit for the world ; I had 
 lost all relish for the pursuits and pleasures which are so 
 essential to its votaries ; I was contented to live and die 
 in obscurity. 
 
 My dear Emilia rejoiced, like a true friend, in my 
 changed prospects, and came up to help me to cut clothes 
 for the children, and to assist me in prepjiring them for 
 the journey. 
 
 I succeeded in selling off our goods and chattels much 
 
 better than I expected. My old friend, Mr. W , who 
 
 was a new comer, became the principal purchaser, and 
 when Christmas arrived I had not one article left upon 
 my hands save the bedding, which it was necessary to 
 take with us. 
 
Iluttter |losc * Co.'s |PubIuation9. 
 
 BOUOH AND SMOOTH; or Ho ! for an Au<;tra1ian Gold Field. By Mm. 
 A. Campbell, Quebec. Demy 8vo., 13S pp. Cloth, 50c. 
 
 A GARLAin) GATHERED AT MORN: A Collection of Short Poems 
 By Hetty IIazelwood. Crown 8vo., 79 pp. Cloth 50c. 
 
 POEMS. By Dr. J. Haynbs, Crown 8vo., 152 pp. Cloth, 50c. 
 
 THE TEETOTALER'S COMPANION: A Collection of Reading, in 
 prose and verse, for Divisions and Temples. Compiled by G. M. Rose. 
 Paper 25c. ; Cloth, 40c. 
 
 A COLLECTION OF DIALOGUES, for Divisions and Temples. Com* 
 piled by Mr. Hammond. Paper 250. ; Cloth, 40c 
 
 MAN AND WIPE: A Novel. By Wilkie Collins. 
 pp., Oxford style, $1.00; paper cover, 7Sc. 
 
 Crown 8vo, 574 
 
 "Asmiphthr nfcrroilfrom the tide, tlic diicf object of this hook is to show up the 
 Bl)s\irflit.v of matrimonial all'anct's that may he, and in mniiy casr"! arc, formed in 
 the IJritisli Islands, under the I'ttiiliar laws rcsprctinv: niairiaue, which nrovail in 
 Ireland and Scutland. He shows that what is a lepral marriajre in one kinirdom is 
 not a marriage at all in anolhrr kin<;di>n) ; and that a coiiitle married in a certain 
 way in Ireland or Scotland mi;.dit be pniiislied for livliij^ tofiether in Knpland. 
 He sticks to the law throuifhout, and has evidently been jriiided by hinfh lefra' 
 opinion in preparing his pint, and in workinjj it out. It Is almost impossible to 
 believe that such absurd laws, as he speaks of, arc in force in any e vilized country 
 on the face of the earth m this cnlijjhtened a^e ; yet he removes all doubt by 
 quoting or referring to the statute applicable to each case."— Toronto Telegraph. 
 
 The jore^oing Books may be ordered through the Booksellers^ 
 
 9r from 
 
 August, I871. 
 
 HUNTER, ROSE & CO., 
 
 Publishers t 86 and 88 King Strtet VVest^ 2 or onto. 
 
■■■■Mi 
 
 Hi i 
 
 ? *'•■ 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 ADIEU TO THE WOODS. 
 
 Adieu ! — adieu ! — when quivering lips refuse 
 
 The bitter pangs of parting to declare ; 
 And the full bosom feels that it must lose 
 
 Friends who were wont its inmost thoughts to share ; 
 When hands are tightly clasp'd, 'mid strugi^ling sighs 
 And streaming tears, those whisper'd accents rise, 
 
 Leaving to God the objects of our care 
 
 In that short, simple, comprehensive prayer — 
 
 Adieu ! 
 
 EVER did eager British children look for the first 
 violets and primroses of spring with more impa- 
 tience than my baby boys and girls watched, day after 
 day, for the first snow-flakes that were to form the road 
 to con oy them to their absent father. 
 
 " Wini^r never means to come this year. It will never 
 snow again ?" exclaimed my eldest boy, turning from the 
 window on Chnstmas-day, with the most rueful aspect 
 that ever greeted the broad gay beams of tho glorious 
 sun. It was lute a spring day. The little lake in front 
 of the window ^litt«ed like a mirror of silver, set in its 
 dark frame of piae woods. 
 HH 
 
522 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 I, too, waa wearying for the snow, and was tempted to 
 think that it did not come as early as usual, in order to 
 disappoint us. But I kept this to myself, and comforted 
 the expecting child with the oft-repeated assertion that it 
 would certainly snow upon the morrow. 
 
 But the morrow came and passed away, and many other 
 morrows, and the same mild, open weather prevailed. The 
 last night of the old year was ushered in with furious 
 storms of wind and snow ; the rafters of our log cabin 
 shook beneath the violence of the gale, which swept up 
 from the lake like a lion roaring for his prey, driving the 
 snow-flakes through every open crevice, of which there 
 were not a few, and powdering the floor until it rivalled 
 in whiteness the ground without. 
 
 " Oh, what a dreadful night!" we cried, as we huddled, 
 shivering, around the old broken stove. "A person abroad 
 in th*^ woods to-night would be jfrozen. Flesh and blood 
 could not long stand this cutting wind." 
 
 " It remindh me of a laughable extempore ditty," said I 
 
 to my young friend, A. C , who was staying with me, 
 
 " composed by my husband, during the first very cold 
 night we spent in Canada;" 
 
 Oh, the cold of Canada nobody knows, 
 
 The ^re ouma our shoes without warming our toes ; 
 
 Oh, dear, what shall we do ? 
 
 Our blankets are thin, and our noses are blue — 
 
 Our noE><^ a aro blue, and our blankets are thin, 
 
 It's at zero without, and we're freezing within ! 
 
 {Chorus). — Oh, dear, what shall w© do ? 
 *• But, joking apart, my dear A , we ought to be 
 
ADIEU TO THE WOODS. 
 
 523 
 
 me, 
 cold 
 
 lo? 
 
 be 
 
 very thankful that wo are not travelling this night to 
 B ." 
 
 " But to-morrow," said my eldest boy, lifting up his 
 curly head from my lap. " It will be fine to-morrow, and 
 we shall see dear papa again." 
 
 In this hope he lay down on his little bed upon the 
 floor, and was soon fast asleep ; perhaps dreaming of that 
 eagerly-anticipated journey, and of meeting his beloved 
 father. 
 
 Sleep was a stranger to my eyes. The tempest raged 
 so furiously without that I was fearful the roof would be 
 carried off the house, or that the chimney would take fire. 
 The night was far advanced when old Jenny and myself 
 retired to bed. 
 
 My boy's words were prophetic ; that was the last night 
 I ever spent in the bush — in the dear forest home which 
 I had loved in spite of all the hardships which we had 
 endured since we pitched our tent in the backwoods. It 
 was the birthplace of my three boys, the school of high 
 resolve and energetic action in which we had learned to 
 meet calmly, and successfully to battle with the ills of 
 life. Nor did I leave it without many regretful tears, to 
 mingle once more with a world to whose usages, during 
 my long solitude, I had become almost a stranger, and to 
 whose praise or blame I felt alike indifferent. 
 
 When the day dawned, the whole forest scenery lay 
 glittering in a mantle of dazzling white ; the sun shone 
 brightly, the heavens were intensely blue, but the cold 
 WIS so severe that every article of food had to be thawed 
 
 ' 1 ■ 
 
524 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 before wo could get our breakfast. The very blankets 
 that covered us during the night were stiff with our frozen 
 breath. " I hope the sleighs won't come to-day," I cried 
 " wo should be frozen on the long journey." 
 
 About noon two sleighs turned into our clearing. Old 
 Jenny ran screaming into the room, " The masther has 
 sent for us at last ! The sleighs are come ! Fine largo 
 sleighs, and illigant teamy of horses ! Och, and it's a cowld 
 day for the wee things to lave the bush." 
 
 The snow had been a week in advance of us at B , 
 
 and my husband had sent up the teams to remove us. 
 The children jumped about, and laughed aloud for joy. 
 Old Jenny did not know whether to laugh or cry, but she 
 set about helping me to pack up trunks and bedding as 
 fast as our cold hands would permit. 
 
 In the midst of the confusion, my brother arrived, like 
 a good genius, to our assistance, declaring his determina- 
 tion to take us down to B himself in his large lumber- 
 sleigh. This was indeed joyful news. In less than three 
 hours he despatched the hired sleighs with their loads, 
 and we all stood together in the empty house, striving to 
 waiTn our hands over the embers of the expiring fire. 
 
 How cold and desolate every object appeared! The 
 small windows, half blocked up with snow, scarcely 
 allowed a glimpse of the declining sun to cheer us with 
 his serene aspect. In spite of the cold, several kind friends 
 had waded through the deep snow to say, " God bless 
 you ! — Good-bye ;" while a group of silent Indians stood 
 together, gazing upon our proceedings with an earnest- 
 
ADIEU TO THE WOODS. 
 
 625 
 
 ness which showed that they were not uninterested in the 
 scene. As we passed out to the sleigh, they pressed for- 
 ward, and silently held out their hands, while the squaws 
 kissed me and the little ones with tearful eyes. They had 
 been true friends to us in our dire ne^'^srity, and I returned 
 their mute farewell from my very heart. 
 
 Mr. S sprang into the sleigh. One of our party 
 
 was missing. " Jenny !" shouted my brother, at the top 
 of his voice, " it is too cold to keep your mistress and the 
 little children waiting." 
 
 " Och, shure thin, it is I that am comin' !" retumCv^ the 
 old body, as she issued from the house. 
 
 Shouts of laughter greeted her appearance. The figure 
 she cut upon that memorable day I shall never forget. 
 My brother dropped the reins upon the horses* neck, and 
 fairly roared. Jenny was about to commence her journey 
 to the front in three hats. Was it to protect her from the 
 cold ? Oh, no ; Jenny was not afraid of the cold ! She 
 could have eaten her breakfast on the north side of an ice- 
 berg, and always dispensed with shoes, during the most 
 severe of our Canadian winters. It was to protect these 
 precious articles from injury. 
 
 Our good neighbour, Mrs. W , had presented her 
 
 with an old sky-blue drawn-silk bonnet, as a parting 
 benediction. This, by way of distinction, for she never 
 had possessed such an article of luxury as a silk bonnet 
 in her life, Jenny had placed over the coarse calico cap, 
 with its full furbelow of the same yellow, ill-washed, 
 homely material, next to her head ; over this, as second 
 
62G 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 in degree, a sun-burnt straw hat, with faded pink rib- 
 bons, just showed its broken rim .and tawdry trimmings; 
 and, to crown all, and serve as a guard to the rest, a really 
 serviceable grey-beaver bonnet, once mine, towered up as 
 high as thn celebrated crow i in which brother Peter figures 
 in Swift's " Taio of a Tub." 
 
 " Mercy, Jenny ! Why, old woman, you don't mean to 
 go with us that figure !'^ 
 
 " Och, my dear heart ! I've no bind-box to kape the 
 cowld from desthroying my illigant bonnets," returned 
 Jenny, laying her hand upon the side of the sleigh. 
 
 " G^- back, Jenny ; go back," cried my brother. " For 
 God's sake take all that tom-fooleiy from off your head. 
 We shall be the laughing-stock of every village we pass 
 through." 
 
 " Och, shure now, Mr. S , whc'd think of looking at 
 
 an owld crathur like me ! It's only yersel' that would 
 notice the like." 
 
 " All the world, everybody would look at you, Tenny. 
 I believe that you put on those hats to draw the attention 
 of all the young fellows that we shall happen to meet on 
 the road. Ha, Jenny ! " 
 
 With an air of offended dignity, the old woman returned 
 to the house to re-arrange her toilet, and provide for the 
 safety of her "illigant bonnets," one of which she suspended 
 to the strings of her cloak, while she carried the third 
 dangling in her hand ; and no persuasion of mine would 
 induce her to put them out of sight. 
 
 Many painful and conflicting emotions agitated my 
 
ADIEU TO THE WOODS. 
 
 527 
 
 mind, but found no utterance in words, as we entered the 
 forest path, and I looked my last upon that humble home 
 consecrated by the memory of a thousand sorrows. Every 
 object had become endeared to me during my long exile 
 from civilized life. I loved the lonely lake, with its mag- 
 nificent belt ,of dark pines sighing in the breeze ; the 
 cedar-swamp, the summer home of my dark Indian friends ; 
 my own dear little garden, with its rugged snake-fence 
 which I had helped Jenny to place with my own hands, 
 and which I had assisted the faithful woman in cultivat- 
 ing for the last three years, where I had so often braved 
 the tormenting musquitoes, black-flies, and intense heat, 
 to provide vegetables for the use of the family. Even the 
 cows, that had given a breakfast for the last time to my 
 children, were now regarded with mournful affection. A 
 poor labourer stood in the doorway of the deserted house, 
 holding my noble water-dog, Rover, in a string. The poor 
 fellow gave a joyous bark as my eyes fell upon him. 
 
 " James J , take care of my dog." 
 
 " Never fear, ma'am, he shall bide with me as long as he 
 lives." 
 
 " He and the Indians at least feel grieved for our de- 
 parture," I thought. Love is so scarce in this world that 
 we ought to prize it, however lowly the source from whence 
 it flows. 
 
 We accomplished only twelve miles of our journey that 
 night. The road lay through the bush, and along the 
 banks of the grand, rushing, foaming Otonabee river, the 
 wildest and most beautiful of forest streams. We slept at 
 
628 
 
 ROUOHINQ IT IN THK BUSH. 
 
 the liouse of kind friends, and early in the morning re- 
 Bumed our long journey, but minus one of our party. Our 
 old favourite cat, Peppermint, hnd made her escape from 
 the l)aHket in which she had been confined, and had 
 scampered oflT, to the great grief ^f the children. 
 
 As we passed Mrs. H 'a house, we called for dear 
 
 Addie. Mr. H brought her in his arms to the gate, 
 
 well wrapped up in a large fur cape and a warm woollen 
 shawl. 
 
 " You are robbing mo of my dear little girl," he said. 
 
 " Mrs. H is absent ; she told me not to part with her 
 
 if you should call ; but I could not detiiin her without 
 your consent. Now that you have seen her, allow me to 
 keep her for a fo^ months longer f' 
 
 " Addio was in the sleigh. I put my arm about her. I 
 felt I had my child again, and I secretly rejoiced in the 
 possession of my own. I sincerely thanked him for his 
 kindness, and Mr. S drove on. 
 
 At Mr. R 's, we found a parcel from dear Emilia, 
 
 containing a plum-cake and other good things for the 
 children. Her kindness never flagged. 
 
 We crossed the bridge o\('r the Otonabce, in the rising 
 town of Peterborough, at eight o'clock in the morning. 
 Winter had now set in fairly. The children were glad to 
 huddle together in the bottom of the sleigh, under the 
 buffalo skins and blankets ; all but my eldest boy, who, 
 just turned of five years old, was enchanted with all he 
 heard and saw, and continued to stand up and gaze around 
 him. Born in the forest, which he h.ad ixever quitted be- 
 
iimSmm 
 
 tmmi 
 
 ADIEU TO THE WOODS. 
 
 529 
 
 11 he 
 
 |>und 
 
 be- 
 
 foio, the sight of a town was such a novolty that ho could 
 iiiid no words wherewith to express liis astonishment. 
 
 "Are the houses come to see one another ?" ho oskod. 
 " How did they all meet here ?** 
 
 The question greatly amused his uncle, who took some 
 pains to explain the uifferenco between town and country. 
 During the day, we got rid of old Jenny and her bonnets, 
 whom we found a very refractory travelling eompani(»n; 
 as wilful, and far more difficult to manage than a j'oung 
 child. Fortunately, we overtook the 8iei<3dis with the 
 
 i'lirniture, and Mr. S transferred Jenny to the care of 
 
 one of the drivers ; an arrangement that proved satisfac- 
 tory to all parties. 
 
 We had been most fortunate in obtaining comfortable 
 lixlgings for the night. The evening had closed in so 
 intensely cold that although wo were only two miles from 
 
 C , Addio was so much affected by it that the child 
 
 lay sick and pale in my arms, and, when spoken to, seemed 
 scarcely conscious of our presence. 
 
 iMy brother jumped from the front seat, and came round 
 to look at her, " That child is ill with the cold ; we must 
 stop somewhere to warm her, or she will hardly hold out 
 
 till wo get to the inn at C ." 
 
 ■ We were just entering the little village of A , in 
 
 the vicinity of the court-house, and we stop[)od at a pretty 
 green cottage, and asked permission to warm the children. 
 A stout, middle-aged woman came to the sleigh, and in 
 the kindest manner requested us to alight. 
 
 "I think I know that voice," I said. "Surely it can- 
 
530 
 
 RouaniNG IT IN THE nusii. 
 
 not bo Mrs. 
 
 C — r 
 
 s- 
 
 who oneo kopt the 
 
 hotel at 
 
 "Mrs. Moodio, you are welcomo," said tho excellent 
 woman, bestowing upon me a most friendly embrace; 
 "you and your children. I am heartily glad to sec you 
 again after so many years. God bless you all ! " 
 
 Nothing could exceed the kindness and hospitality of 
 this generous woman ; she would not hear of our leaving 
 her that night, and, directing my brother to put up his 
 horses in her stable, she made up an excellent fire in a 
 large bed-room, and helped me to undress tho little ones 
 who were already asleep, and to warm and feed the rest 
 before putting them to bed. 
 
 This meeting gave me real pleasure. In their station 
 of life, I seldom have found a more worthy couple than 
 this American and his wife ; and, having witnessed so 
 many of their acts of kindness, both to ourselves and 
 others, I entertained for them a sincere respect and affec- 
 tion, and truly rejoiced that Providence had once more 
 led me to the shelter of their roof. 
 
 Mr. S was absent, but I found little Mary — the 
 
 sweet child who used to listen with such delight to 
 Moodie's flute — ^grown up into a beautiful girl j and the 
 baby that was, a fine child of eight years old. The next 
 morning was so intensely cold that my brother would not 
 resume the journey until past ten o'clock, and even then 
 it was a hazardous experiment. 
 
 We had not proceeded four miles before the horses were 
 covered with icicles. Our hair was frozen as white as 
 
ADIEU TO THE WOODS. 
 
 531 
 
 
 old Time's solitary forelock, onr cyeruls stiff, and every 
 limb aching wiili cold. 
 
 "This will never do," said my brother, tuminfj to me, 
 " the children will freeze. I never felt the cold more 
 severe than this." 
 
 "Where can wo stop?" said I; "we arc miles from 
 
 C , and I see no prospect of the weather becoming 
 
 milder." 
 
 "Yes, yes; I know, by the verj'- intensity of the cold, 
 that a change is at hand. We seldom have riore than 
 three very severe days running, and this is the third. At 
 all events, it is much warmer at night in this country than 
 during the day ; the wind drops, and the frost is more 
 bearable. I know a worthy farmer who lives about a 
 mile a-head ; he will give us house-room for a few hours ; 
 and we will resume our journey in the evening. The 
 moon is at full ; and it will be easier to wrap the children 
 up, and keep them warm when they are asleep. Shall we 
 stop at Old Woodruff's?" 
 
 " With all my heart." My teeth were chattering with 
 the cold, and the children were crying over their aching 
 fingers at the bottom of the sleigh. 
 
 A few minutes' ride brought us to a large farm-house, 
 surrounded by commodious sh?ds and bams. A fine 
 orchard opposite, and a yard well stocked with fat cattle 
 and sheep, sleek geese, and plethoric-looking swine, gave 
 promise of a land of abundance and comfort. My brothfT 
 ran into the house to see if the owner was at home, and 
 presently returned, accompanied by the staunch Canadian 
 
632 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 yeoman and liis daughter, who gave us a tndy hearty 
 wclcouio, and assisted in removing the children from tlie 
 ideigh to the dieerful fire, that made all bright and cozy 
 vithin. 
 
 Our host was a shrewd, humorous-looking Yorkshiro- 
 raan. His red, wcatlicr-beatcn face, and tall, athletic 
 figure, bent as it was with hard Labour, gave indications 
 of great personal strength; and a certain knowing twinkle 
 in his small, clear grey eyes, which had been acquired by 
 long dealing with the world, with a quiet, sarcastic smile 
 that lurked round the corners of his large mouth, gave 
 you the ide!i of a man who could not easily be deceived 
 by his fellows ; one who, though no rogue himself, was 
 quick in detecting the roguery of others. His manners 
 were frank and easy, and he was such a hospitable enter- 
 ttiiner that you felt at homo with him in a minute. 
 
 " Well, how are you, Mr. S ?" cried the farmer, 
 
 shaking my brother heartily by the hand. " Toiling in 
 the bush still, eh ?" 
 
 " Just in the same place." 
 
 " And the wife and children ?" 
 
 " Hearty. Some half-dozen have been added to the 
 flock since you were our way." 
 
 " So much the better — so much the better. The more 
 
 the merrier, Mr. S ; children are riches in this 
 
 country." 
 
 "I know not how that may bo; I find it hard to 
 clothe and feed mine." 
 
 " Wait till they grow up ; they will be brave helps to 
 
ADIEU TO THE WOODS. 
 
 533 
 
 you thuii. Tlic price of labour — the price of labour, Mr. 
 8 , is the destruction of the farmer." 
 
 "It does not seem to trouble you much, Woodruff," said 
 my brother, t^lancing round the well-furnished apart- 
 ment. 
 
 " My son and S do it all,*' cried the old man. " Of 
 
 course the girls helj) in busy times, and tiike care of the 
 dairy, and we hire occnsionaily ; but small as the sum is 
 whicli is expended in wages duiiiig seed-time and harvest, 
 I feel it, I can tell you." 
 
 " You are married again. Woodruff?" 
 
 " No, sir," said the farmer, with a peculiar smile ; " not 
 yet :" which seemed to imply the probability of such an 
 event. " That tall gal is my eldest daughter; she manages 
 the house, and an excellent housekeeper she is. But 1 
 cannot keep her for ever." With a knowing wink, " Gals 
 will think of getting married, and seldom consult the 
 wishes of their parents upon the subject when once they 
 have taken the notion into their heads. But 'tLs natural, 
 
 Mr. S , it is natui'al ; wo did just the same when we 
 
 were young." 
 
 My brother looked laughingly towards the fine, hand- 
 some young woman, as she placed upon the table hot 
 water, whiskey, and a huge plate of plum-cake, which did 
 not lack a companion, stored with the finest apples whicl 
 the orchard could produce. 
 
 The young girl looked down, and blushed. 
 
 "Oh, I see how it is, Woodruff! You will soon lose 
 your daughter. I wonder that you have kept her so long. 
 
534 
 
 ilOUUillNO IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 But who aro those young ladies f ho continued, as three 
 girls very demurely entered the room. 
 
 " The two youngest are my darters, by my la,st wile, 
 who, I fear, mean soon to follow the had example of their 
 sister. 'J'ho other lady J' said the old man, with a reveren- 
 tial air, " is a particular friend of my eldest darter's." 
 
 My brotlier laughed slily, and the old man's cheek 
 took a deeper glow as he stooped forward to mix the 
 punch. 
 
 '* You said that those two young ladies. Woodruff, wore 
 by your last wife. Pray how many wives have you had ?" 
 
 "Only three. It is impossible, they say in my country, 
 to have too much of a good thing." 
 
 " So I suppose you think," said my brother, glancing 
 first at the old man and then towards Miss Smith. " Three 
 wives ! You have been a fortunate man. Woodruff, to 
 survive them all." 
 
 " Ay, have I not, Mr. S ? but to toll you the truth, 
 
 1 have been both lucky and unlucky in the wife wny," 
 and then ho told us the history of his several ventures in 
 matrimony, with wliich I shall not trouble my readers. 
 
 When he had concluded, the weather was somewhat 
 milder, the sleigh was ordered to the door, and we pro- 
 ceeded on our journey, resting for the night at a small 
 
 village about twenty miles from B , rejoicing that the 
 
 long distance, which separated us from the husband and 
 fjither, was diminished to a few miles, and that, with the 
 blessing of Providence, wo should meet on the morrow. 
 
 About noon wo reach the distant town, and were met 
 
ADIEU TO TJIK WOODS. 
 
 535 
 
 at the inn by him whom one and all so ardently lonj]fod 
 to see. Ho co.iducted us to a [)ietty, neat eottaj^e, vvliich 
 ho had prepared for our rece[)tion, and where we found 
 old Jenny already arrived. With great pride the old 
 woman eondueted me over the premises, and showed mo 
 tho furniture " the masther" had bought ; especially re- 
 cc>mmending to my notice a china tea-service, which she 
 considered the most wonderful acquisition of the whole. 
 
 " Och ! who woidd have thought, a year ago, misthress 
 dear, that we should be living in a mansion like this, and 
 ating off raal chancy ? It is but yestherday that we were 
 hoeing praties in tho field." 
 
 " Yes, Jenny, God has been very good to us, and 1 hope 
 that wo shall never learn to regard with indifference tho 
 many benefits which wo have received at His hands." 
 
 Reader ! it is not my intention to trouble you with tho 
 sequel of our history. I have given you a faithful pic- 
 ture of a life in tho backwoods of Canada, and I leave 
 you to draw from it your own conclusions. To the [)oor, 
 industrious working man it presents many advantages ; 
 to the poor gentleman, none ! The former works iiard, 
 puts up with coarse, scanty fare, and submits, with a good 
 grace, to hardships that would kill a domesticated animal 
 at home. Thus he becomes independent, inasnmch m tho 
 land that he has cleared finds him in the common neces- 
 saries of life ; but it seldom, if ever, in remote situations, 
 accomplishes more than this. Tho gentleman can neitlnM- 
 work so hard, live so coarsely, nor endure so many priva- 
 tioiia aa his poorer but more fortunate neighbour. Unac- 
 
536 
 
 ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH. 
 
 customed to manual labour, his services in the field are 
 not of a nature to secure f?'. him a profitable return. The 
 task is new to him, he knows not how to perform it well; 
 and, conscious of his deficiency, he expends his little 
 means in hiring labour, which his bush -farm can never 
 repay. Difliculties increase, debts grow upon him, he 
 struggles in vain to extricate himself, and finally sees his 
 family sink into hopeless ruin. 
 
 If these sketches should prove the means of deterring 
 one family from sinking their property, and shipwrecking 
 all their hopes, by going to reside in the backwoods of 
 Canada, I shall consider myself amply repaid for reveal- 
 ing the secrets of the prison-house, and feel that I have 
 not toiled and sufiered in the wilderness in vain. 
 
 wm^'' 
 
1(\\B MAPLE-TREE, 
 
 537 
 
 THE MAI'LE-TltEE. 
 
 A CANADIAN SONCU 
 
 Hail to the pride of tlie forest — hail 
 
 To the maple, tall and green ; 
 It yields a treasure which ne'er shall fail 
 While leaves on its boughs are seen. 
 
 When the moon shines bright, 
 
 On the wintry night, 
 And silvers the frozen snow ; 
 
 And echo dwells 
 
 On the jingling bells 
 As the sleighs dart to and fro ; 
 
 Then it brightens the mirth 
 
 Of the Social hearth 
 With its red and cheery glow. 
 
 Afar, 'mid the bosky forest shades, 
 
 It lifts its tall head on high ; 
 When the crimson-tinted evening fades 
 From the glowing saffron aky ; 
 
 When the sun's last beams 
 
 Light up woods and streams, 
 And brighten the gloom below ; 
 
 And the deer springs by 
 
 With his flashing eye. 
 And the shy, swift-footed doe ; 
 
 And the sad winds chide 
 
 In the branches wide. 
 With a tender plaint of woe. 
 
 The Indian leans on its rugged trunk. 
 With the bow in his red right-hand, 
 And moiirns that his race, like a stream, has sunk 
 From the glorious forest land. 
 But, blythe and free. 
 The nuiple-tree, 
 Still tosses to sun and air 
 Its thousand arms. 
 While in countless swarms 
 The wild bee revels there ; 
 But soon not a trace 
 Of the red man's race 
 Shall be found in the landscape fair. 
 II 
 
 ,1 
 
 1 
 
o38 
 
 THE J^'PLE-TREE. 
 
 When the snows of wiuttT are melting fast, 
 
 And the sap begins to rise, 
 And the biting breath of the frozen blast 
 Yields to the spring's soft sighs, 
 
 Then away ia the wood. 
 
 For the maple, good. 
 Shall unlock its honied store ; 
 
 And boys and girls. 
 
 With their sunny curls. 
 Bring their vessels 1)rimining o'er 
 
 With the luscious ti(ji>d 
 
 Of the brave tree's blood. 
 Into cauldrons deep to pour. 
 
 The l)lazo from the sugar-bush gleams red ; 
 
 Far down in the forest dark, 
 A ruddy glow on the tree is shed. 
 That liglits up the rugged bark ; 
 
 And with merry shout, 
 
 T'lC busy rout 
 Watch the sap as it bubbles high ; 
 
 A. \ tliey talk of the cheer 
 
 Of .1)0 coining year, 
 And the jost and the song pass by ; 
 
 And bravo tales of old 
 
 Hound the lire are told, 
 That kindle youth's beaming eye. 
 
 Hurrah ! for the sturdy maple-tree 1 
 
 Long mil"; its green brauches wave ; 
 In native strength sublime and free, 
 Meet emblem for the brave. 
 
 May the nation's peace 
 
 With its growth increase, 
 And its worth be widely spread ; 
 
 For it lifts not in vain 
 
 To the sun and rain 
 Its tail, majestic head. 
 
 May it grace our soil, 
 
 And reward our toil, 
 Till tiie motion's heart is dead. 
 
 h ^ 
 
'§xxnitx, ^ose * Co.'s Dublitations. 
 
 KINO ARTHUR: A roem. By Edward liuLWER, Lord Lytton, Re- 
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 River Troubles 
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