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A / 
 
 / 
 
 LETTERS FROM MUSKOKA. 
 
 BY 
 
 AN EMIGRANT LA 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 IJttbiiehfrs in (DtDinnrj) to ^)cr </tt5i.|csstu the a;>uccn. 
 
 1878. 
 [A// /e/iT/t/s /Reserved.] 
 
A 
 
 T 
 A 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 PREFACE - - - -. - - . V 
 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY - - - 1 
 PART IL — LETTERS WRITTEN TWO YEARS AFTER- 
 WARDS 153 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA 187 
 
 ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH, THIRTY YEARS 
 
 AGO 233 
 
 TERRA INCOGNITA; OR, THE WILDS OF MUSKOKA - 261 
 A PLEA FOR POOR EMIGRANTS - - - - 279 
 
'^2:> 
 
 PKEFACE 
 
 TO THE 
 
 i( 
 
 LETTERS OF AN EMIGRANT LADY." 
 
 1 
 
 IN laying before the public a sketch 
 of our " Bush" experiences during 
 the first year after our arrival in 
 Muskoka, Ontario, Canada, I desire to state 
 the reasons which prompted us to such an 
 imprudent step as emigration, without even 
 the moderate capital necessary for any one 
 who would start with the slightest chance 
 of success. The Franco-German War in 
 1870 was the means of breaking up our 
 
■I 
 
 VI 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 happy homo in Franco, which, "svith one 
 short interval, had been the shelter of my 
 family and myself during fifteen years of 
 widowhood. 
 
 The commencement of the war found us 
 living in the outskirts of St. Pierre-15s-Calais, 
 a suburb of Calais, and a busy place, full of 
 lace factories. Our house and grounds, quite 
 open to the country at the back, fronted the 
 canal which communicates with the sea at 
 Calais. 
 
 When the w^ar had made some progress, 
 and the German army appeared to be 
 steadily advancing through France, we found 
 ourselves in a most unpleasant dilemma — in 
 fact, literally between fire and water I 
 
 The civic authorities made known that, in 
 case of the approach of a German army, it 
 was their fixed intention to cut the sluices, 
 and to lay the adjacent country under water 
 for a distance of ten miles, and to a depth 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 vu 
 
 of seven feet. Our large, rambling, con- 
 venient old mansion, which shook with every 
 gale of wind, and had no cellarage nor secure 
 foundation of any kind, we felt would surely 
 be submerged. 
 
 Moreover, the military commandant noti- 
 fied that in case Calais were threatened with 
 siege, all houses and buildings within the 
 military zone would be blown up, to allow 
 free range for the cannon on the ramparts. 
 This was pleasant inteUigence to people in 
 the direct line of fire, and with a certainty of 
 very short notice to quit being given. Still, 
 we took the chances, and stood our ground. 
 
 We felt the deepest sympathy for the 
 French, and would willingly have heljDcd 
 them to the extent of our very limited 
 means, but could only do so by lending beds 
 and bedding for the wounded, which we did, 
 and which were all scrupulously returned at 
 the close of the war. 
 
^m 
 
 ^m 
 
 VlII 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 At this time I had a married daughter 
 residing at Guiiics, where her husband 
 was mathematical professor in the principal 
 English school, conducted by a French 
 gentleman. In the middle of August, about 
 midnight, we heard a carriage drive to the 
 door, and found that my son-in-law had 
 thought it more prudent to bring his family 
 to a safer place than Guines, which, being 
 quite an open town, was at any time liable 
 to incursions from the dreaded Uhlans. He 
 was obliged to return to his employers, who 
 could not be left with the sole responsibility 
 of a numerous school consisting mostly of 
 English scholars. 
 
 A few days afterwards, on an alarm that 
 the Germans had entered Amiens, we all 
 took refuge in Calais, where, as soon as the 
 war broke out, I had taken the precaution to 
 secure apartments. We had most of our 
 property hastily packed up and placed in 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 ix 
 
 store. In Calais we remained till nearly the 
 bef^inning of winter, when my son-in-law 
 took his family back to G nines and we 
 returned to our house. In fact it began to 
 be recognised that Calais was too far out of 
 the way, and presented too little temptation 
 to a conquering army to make it likely we 
 should be molested. 
 
 The spring of 1871 brought great changes^ 
 both public and private. The war ended, 
 but France was no longer the same country 
 to us. My eldest son had left us to take a 
 situation in London in the office of the kind 
 friends who had known him from boyhood^ 
 and whose father, recently dead, had been 
 our neighbour for fifteen years, his beautiful 
 garden and pleasure-grounds joining our 
 more humble premises. 
 
 Before the summer was over, my son-in- 
 law, whose health suffered from his scholastic 
 duties, made up his mind to emigrate to 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 i 
 
 !» 
 
 Canada, and to join my youngest son who, 
 after many misfortunes, had settled on the 
 " free-grant lands " of Muskoka, and who 
 wrote frequently to urge other members of 
 the family to come out before all the good 
 land near his location was taken up. At 
 this time he was himself thriving, but imme- 
 diately after suffered great reverses. He 
 had a rheumatic fever which lasted many 
 weeks, and threw him back in his farming ; 
 he lost one of his two cows from the careless- 
 ness of a neighbour, and most of his crops 
 from the dry season and their being put in 
 too late, and was only beginning to recover 
 when his sister and her family arrived, having 
 with them his affianced wife. 
 
 My eldest daughter and myself were thus 
 left alone in France, and were obliged to give 
 up our cherished home, my reduced income 
 being quite insufficient to maintain it. 
 
 Virulent small-pox and other epidemics, 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 XL 
 
 the result of effluvia from the battle-fields, 
 broke out, and I had dangerous illness in my 
 own family. Provisions rose to an enormous 
 price, taxation greatly increased, and the 
 country bid fair to be long in an unsettled 
 condition. Under these circumstances we, 
 too, began to think of emigration ; and finding 
 that my eldest son, always accustomed to a 
 domestic circle, was very dull in London 
 without one, and at the same time not dis- 
 inclined to try farming, being fond of an 
 out-door active life, we came to the decision 
 to emigrate. 
 
 He relinquished his excellent situation, his 
 employers behaving with the greatest kind- 
 ness and liberality. We read up a few books 
 on emigration which invariably paint it in 
 the brightest colours, and being quite ignorant 
 of the expense of so long a journey, of the 
 hardships of the " Bush," and of the absolute 
 necessity for a sum of money to begin with, 
 
"C 
 
 xu 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 we came out hoping in our innocence that 
 strong hearts, wiUing hands, and the pension 
 of an officer's widow would be inexhaustible 
 riches in the wilderness. 
 
 The problem remains to be solved whether 
 we can continue our farming without capital, 
 or whether we shall be compelled to go to 
 one of the large towns in Canada or the 
 ^' States," to seek for remunerative employ- 
 ment. 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
\. 
 
LETTER I. 
 
 ^OU ask me, my clear child, to give 
 you a few particulars of our voyage 
 across the Atlantic to Canada, our 
 journey from Quebec to the Bush of Mus- 
 koka, and our residence here as emigrant far- 
 mers for the last year. As in my diary I have 
 only chronicled the bare events of each passing 
 <lay, you must only expect outlines of Bush 
 life, and not well filled up pictures. I pass over 
 the anguish of my separation from you and 
 your dear ones, and can only say that when 
 I thought of the attached circle of friends we 
 were leaving behind us, both in France and 
 
 1—2 
 
mmm. 
 
 wmmm 
 
 mm 
 
 4 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 England, whom probably we should never see 
 again, I felt strongly tempted to remain ; but 
 the fact that others of the family had pre- 
 ceded us, and would be expecting our arrival, 
 that our baggage was already shipped, and 
 that your brother had taken leave of his 
 friendly employers, who to the last counselled 
 him to retain his situation, had weight enough 
 with me to prevent any change of plan. We 
 
 went on board the good ship T s lying in 
 
 the Thames, at least twenty-four hours too 
 soon, and lay awake the whole of the first 
 night, as the caipenters never ceased work- 
 ing, the ship having met with an accident on 
 her previous voyage. 
 
 The next morning I was greatly grieved to- 
 find that your l)rother had onty engaged tivo 
 first-cabin berths for your sister and myself; 
 and finding that our purse was very scantily 
 filled, had, with liis usual self-denial, taken a 
 steerage passage for himself, and got a good- 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 5 
 
 iiatured quartermaster to take charge of our 
 dear Freneli dog old " Nero," who foi-thwitli 
 became a stowaway, and was smuggled out of 
 sight. 
 
 When the vessel was ready, we dropped 
 down the river to Gravesend, and having 
 taken in more jjassengers and emigrants, we 
 started for Plymouth. We remained there 
 for a few hours, and I pointed out to your 
 brother and sister the beautiful spot called 
 ^' Drake's Island," where, long before they 
 were born, I had ]>assed a delightful sunmier 
 and autumn with your dear papa and my two 
 babies. Our regiment was then stationed at 
 Plymouth, and your papa commanded the 
 guard placed on the island for the protection 
 of the powder magazine. 
 
 The weather was beautiful when we left 
 Plymouth, and was expected to remain so 
 till the end of the voyage ; but after a few 
 days, when well out in the Atlantic, a tre- 
 
(> LETTEPi^ FROM AN EMIGllANT LADY. 
 
 i 
 
 mendous gcale set in which lusted for several 
 days and nights. 
 
 I had been in storms two or three times- 
 oft* the Irish coast, but confess that I never 
 felt so frightened as when at every roll our 
 ship ga\e (and she was a roJU'v), we heard a 
 liorrid grating sound which we shrewdly sus- 
 pected to be caused by part of our cargo of 
 iron which had shifted its place, and kept 
 moving Avith every motion of the ship. We 
 w ere told on arriving at Quebec that this un- 
 expected storm was occasioned by a hurricane 
 in the West Indies. Most of the passengers,, 
 as well as ourselves, were possessed by the 
 demon of sea-sickness, and your sister w^as 
 hardly able to get up during the whole 
 passage. 
 
 The tedium of our confinement was, how- 
 ever, much relieved by the pleasant society 
 and kindness of two most amiable English 
 ladies, who were going out to reside with a 
 
 ^ 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADV. 
 
 near relative at Montreal. Every day, after 
 the saloon dinner, they came to our cabin, 
 which they christened the '' drawing-room," 
 and our pleasant conversations there laid the 
 foundation of a friendship which I trust will 
 ever remain unbroken. Our nights from 
 various causes were weary and sleepless, but 
 in the early morning and for some hours we 
 had a diversion, which the proximity of our 
 cabin to the steward's pantry procured for us. 
 Almost as soon as it was light, Jupiter 
 thundered from Olympus, or in other words 
 our black steward, who was punctiliously 
 
 addressed as " Mr. H s," began the day's 
 
 proceedings by having the crockery and glass 
 broken during the night by the rolling of the 
 ship removed, and every order was given 
 with a dignified pomposity which was most 
 amusing. 
 
 We gave him and his assistants the sob- 
 riquet of " Jupiter and his satellites !" Mr. 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 H 
 
 H s was a portly negro of an imposing 
 
 presence, and a benign expression of counte- 
 nance which a little reminded one of " Uncle 
 Tom" in Mrs. Beecher Stowe's celebrated 
 work. He exacted implicit obedience, but 
 he was a very good man, strictly honest to 
 his employers, and very considerate to those 
 over whom he had any authority. Not once 
 during the voyage did we hear from his lips 
 an oath or an unseemly word. 
 
 The stewardess told us that he had a very 
 pretty wife in London, a young English- 
 woman, with a remarkably fair complexion. 
 She also told us an anmsing anecdote of Mr. 
 
 H s as steward of a troop-ship going out 
 
 to India. One Sunday afternoon the young 
 officers, tired of playing off practical jokes 
 on each other, and half dead with ennui, 
 
 applied to Mr. H s to lend them a book 
 
 to read. 
 
 i( 
 
 You know the sort of book we want. 
 
 ■f 
 
 ■;.&; 
 
 
LETTEnS FhOM AN EMIGllANT LADY. 
 
 H s," said they ; *' plenty of love and 
 
 fighting, and battles, and all that sort of 
 thing 1" 
 
 ** I understand, gentlemen," said Mr. 
 
 H s, and presently returned with a 
 
 lar<je Bible which he placed before them. 
 *' There, gentlemen, you will find in that 
 book all you want — beautiful love stories, 
 fierce wars, and plenty of battles 1" 
 
 His colour, however, was somewhat against 
 him, and I could hardly keej^ my countenance 
 when a young under-steward, to whom we 
 were indebted for much attention, said to me 
 with quite an injured air, " You know, ma'am, 
 it does take it out of a feller to have to say 
 'sir' to a nigger!" 
 
 Of the young friend C. W., who came out 
 with us, we saw but little, for though he had 
 a first-class berth, he was a great deal in the 
 steerage with your brother, who was a 
 veritable " Mark Tapley " among the poor 
 

 i(» Lh'rri'JL's FnoM ax EMianANV lady 
 
 emii^rants. He lielped the luiniHter in eluir<jfe 
 to keep order uinonij^ them, he procured all 
 inaiiiier of little extra comforts for the sick 
 women from the Hurly cooks, and was the 
 (Icliu'lit of all the children, who followed him 
 in troops. He mana*^ed to be a good deal in 
 our cabin when we were too ill to move, and 
 also came to us on deck when we were able 
 to {;rawl there. He was a favourite with all 
 our fellow-passengers, and every lady knew 
 she might depend upon his gentlemanly 
 attentions if required. This comforted me a 
 little for his beino- in such a disagreeable 
 position. 
 
 The sea continued very rough indeed even 
 after we were in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, 
 and though I thought the real hlue water 
 which I saw for the first time very beautiful, 
 yet I could by no means join in the raptures 
 of my fellow-passengers, but strictly averred, 
 that although a passionate admirer of " Old 
 
 
LKTTKUS FHOM AN KMIGUANT LADY, II 
 
 OcL'jiii," it was nioHt decidedly wliori I 
 viewed it from terra-fu'ma. I will not 
 weary you with minute details of our slow 
 pasHaLfe up the beautiful St. Lawrence, nor 
 dilate upon the interest I felt in watchint^, 
 first the thinly-scattered white huts, and 
 afterwards the thickly-clustered villao^es of 
 the " habitants," with theii* curious churches 
 and shining spires, backed l)y the dark pine 
 forests, and behind them ranges of blue- 
 capped mountains, compared with which the 
 hills of my own dear England were as 
 hillocks. 
 
 We landed at Quebec and went to the 
 Victoria Hotel, where your sister and I i)assed 
 a few miserable hours of suspense and anxiety. 
 We found ourselves at the very bejjfinninir of 
 an inunense journey utterly without means 
 to carry us on beyond the first few stages. 
 The little extra expenses paid on leaving the 
 shii>, and the clearing our baggage as far 
 
Wfm 
 
 \: 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 12 LETTERS FBOM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 as Toronto, had all but emptied our purse. 
 We were rich in nothing but delusive hopes 
 and expectations, doomed, like the glass 
 basket of celebrated '' Alnaschars," to be 
 shattered and broken to pieces. 
 
 We half expected to find a letter with a 
 small remittance waiting for us at the 
 Quebec P. O. Our young friend C. W. was 
 in the same strait, as his money-order was 
 only payable in a bank at Toronto. Both 
 the gentlemen left us and crossed the water 
 to the town of Quebec, where, finding on due 
 inquiry no letter of any kind, your brother 
 was compelled to pledge his gold watch and 
 seal, upon which, though so valuable, he 
 could only get five pounds advanced. This un- 
 avoidable delay lost us the mid- day train to 
 Montreal, by which we saw our kind friends 
 depart after taking a most affectionate leave 
 and engaging us to correspond with them. 
 When our two gentlemen returned we were 
 
LETTEIiS FROM AN EMIGUANT LADY. VS 
 
 nearly starving, as we did not like to go to 
 the tahle-d'hdte without them, and the 
 dinner had long been over. We all sallied 
 forth, and found in a small wayside tavern 
 a homely but excellent meal, and best of all, 
 a private room to take it in. From thence 
 we went to the station and started by the 
 seven p.m. train for Montreal, being quite 
 thankful that our journey had at length 
 becfun. 
 
^ 
 
 ^1 
 
 LETTEK II. 
 
 Y last letter left us starting from 
 Quebec in the seven p.m. train for 
 Montreal. Our party consisting 
 of four people, we had a compartment to our- 
 selves, but were some time in settling com- 
 fortably, as our old dog " Nero " had to be 
 smuggled in and kept quiet under your 
 sister's waterproof-cloak, for fear the vigilant 
 guard should consign him to the luggage-car, 
 where he would infallibly have barked him- 
 self to death. 
 
 I noticed very little in the neighbourhood 
 of Quebec, being too much occupied with my 
 
LETTEFiS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 15 
 
 own sad thoughts, and regrets for those 1 had 
 left behind ; but I did observe that the cows, 
 horses, and pigs all si >peared very small and 
 manifestly inferior to the cattle in England. 
 
 During this journey I could not help con- 
 trasting the mode of travelling in Canada 
 with the same in the ''old country," and 
 giving a decided preference to the former. It 
 would be almost impossible for either murder, 
 robbery, or any kind of outrage to be per- 
 petrated where the compartments are all 
 open, and the supervision of the guard 
 walking up and down incessant. It is also 
 a great alleviation to the fatigue of travelling 
 to have the refreshment of iced water to 
 drink, and the option of washing faces and 
 hands. Towards night we were beguiled 
 into " Pullman's " sleeping-cars, little imagin- 
 ing how greatly it would add to the expense 
 of the journey. Sleep, however, I found to 
 be impossible in these close boxes, tier above 
 
IG LETTEnS FROM AN EMIGIiANT LADY 
 
 tier, and towards midnight, half smothered, 
 I made my way to the carriage we had 
 occupied before retiring. 
 
 About this time the train came to a sudden 
 stop, and at last I asked the guard why we 
 were so long stationary. He told me that a 
 train which ought to have been in before us 
 was missing, that men had gone out with 
 lanterns to look for it, and that for fear of 
 being run into we must wait till it came up. 
 A most dreary four hours Ave passed before 
 we were released. We were at a small 
 station in a barren spot of country, where 
 nothing was to be seen in the dim light but 
 a few miserable-looking wooden houses scat- 
 tered about. It was a cheerless prospect, and 
 we were thankful Avhen at length we went on. 
 
 We passed the morning more agreeably, 
 as the guard, a quiet, intelligent man, en- 
 tered into conversation with us. He was 
 telling us of a curious and erudite book about 
 
\\ 
 
 •\ 
 
 ^^'vJ 
 
 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANKLAIW. 17 
 
 to be published at Boston, Massachusetts, 
 •(•oinpiled by one of his relations, from nume- 
 rous records and papers treasured in the 
 family, and handed down from one generation 
 to another, beginning with the first landing 
 of the " Pilgrim Fathers." 
 
 His ancestor, with his family, came out in 
 the McujHower, and from that time to the 
 l^resent they had had an unbroken succession 
 of godly ministers, who in the early times of 
 their settlement were called, in the old 
 Puritan phraseology, *' sons of thunder." In 
 the spring of 1871, he had attended the an 
 nual family gathering at Boston, to which 
 the remotest connections, if possible, came. 
 I regret much that I did not take down his 
 name. 
 
 In consequence of our long delay in the 
 night, we did not arrive at Montreal in time 
 for the early train, but had to breakfast there, 
 and remain a few hours. When we started, 
 
"*iRPF 
 
 ' 
 
 I • 
 
 ti [\ 
 
 18 LETTERS FnOM AN EMIGHANT LADY. 
 
 we found that we had a hot and dusty journey 
 before us. I greatly admired the environs 
 of Montreal, particularly some pretty villa 
 residences, perched, as it Avere, in terraces 
 one above the other. 
 
 An incident occurred in the course of the 
 day which afforded me a few moments of 
 exquisite satisfaction, which every mother 
 will understand. 
 
 While our train was drawn up before a 
 small station, an emigrant train, going to 
 some distant part, went past. Numbers of 
 the emigrants were there who had been 
 steerage passengers on board our vessel from 
 England. As your brother was standing, 
 with C. W., on the steps of one of the car-^ 
 riages, he was recognised, and they imme- 
 diately vociferated, " Mr. K. I Mr. K. I three 
 cheers for Mr. K. !" Then arose three 
 deafening cheers, which died away in the 
 'aist^'r c ; but not before your sister and I^ 
 
LETTEIiS FROM AN EMIGUANT LADY. 19 
 
 lookinof out of the window, saw an indefmito 
 number of pocket-handkerchiefs, of all colours 
 and dimensions, fluttering from the windows 
 in token of recognition. 
 
 Towards the evening of this day, as we 
 were nearing Toronto, another stoppage oc- 
 curred, similar to the one of the night before. 
 A baggage -truck had got off the line, and 
 might be expected at any moment to run 
 into our train. 
 
 On this occasion I could not but think our 
 situation most alarming. We were drawn 
 up on a narrow bridge over a foaming tor- 
 rent, "»vith jagged rocks sticking up from the 
 bottom, suggesting a not very pleasant fate 
 had we been rolled over. Here we remained 
 for four hours and a half Luckily I was so 
 much occupied with my own thoughts, that 
 I did not hear a gentleman in an adjoining 
 compartment recounting to his horrified 
 audience an accident on the Boston Railway, 
 
 2—2 
 
■!~^5« 
 
 H 
 
 20 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 in which he had been a rehictant })artici- 
 pator, the week before, and which occurred 
 to a train in a similar position to ours. This 
 train waited for many hours, ivas at hist run 
 into, and twenty-five of the passengers were 
 killed. Your sister heard every word, l)ut 
 took care not to disturb my meditations. 
 
 This accident detained us so long, that it 
 was past midnight when we got into Toronto, 
 and, hiring a carriage, were driven to a re- 
 spectable, cheap family hotel, strongly re- 
 commended to your brother by a kind and 
 gentlemanly Canadian, who was our fellow- 
 passenger from England. 
 
 Unfortunately they were full, from garret 
 to cellar, and could not take us in. Our 
 driver, left to his own devices, took us to the 
 " Rossin House," where we remained till the 
 next day, most supremely uncomfortable, 
 in a rambling hotel of immense extent, 
 where I lost my way every time I left the 
 
/J'JTTKL'S FltOM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 21 
 
 saloon ; whore, from not knowing the hours, 
 we were all but starved ; and where it was 
 hardly possible to obtain a civil answer from 
 anv one of the attendants. 
 
 We started from Toronto at three p.m. the 
 next day, leaving our young friend C. W. 
 behind, who, having drawn his money, was 
 going back to Montreal, to pass a little time 
 there before joining us in the Bush. He had 
 also to present letters of introduction to 
 
 Judge J n, who was known to be able 
 
 and presumed to be ivilling, to assist the 
 views of the son of his old friend. 
 
 The farther we went from Toronto, the 
 more barren and ugly the country appeared, 
 and the hideous stumps in every clearing 
 became more and more visible. By degrees 
 also the gardens by the roadside became 
 more denuded of floral vegetation, till at last 
 my eyes rested for miles on little but holly- 
 hocks and pumpkins. Towards dusk, the 
 
: t 
 
 22 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 lurid glare of the burning trees in the far-off 
 forest became appalling, as well as magni- 
 ficent. I was told that the season had been 
 exceptionally dry, no rain having fallen for 
 three months, and that in different parts the 
 fires had been most destructive. In almost 
 every case these fires have been the natural 
 result of some incidental carelessness. Some 
 wayfarer, far from his home, and camping 
 out for the night, leaves the smouldering 
 ashes of his fire to be blown into a flame by 
 a sudden breeze, or flings the ashes of his 
 pipe into the adjacent brushwood ; in leaving 
 the place of his temporary halt, he little 
 imagines the loss of property, and even of 
 life, which may be occasioned by his thought- 
 lessness. , 
 
 We slept tliat night at Belle Ewart, a 
 rising town on Lake Simere, and the next 
 morning took the steamer to Orillia. This 
 passage across the lake was the most beau- 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY, i'^ 
 
 tiful part of our journey. The day was 
 brijjht and clear, the water blue, and the 
 scenery niost beautiful. All was chanoed 
 when we landed at Orillia. We had to leave 
 our nice, roomy, well-appointed steamer for 
 i\ filthy, over-crowded little boat, where we 
 had hardly standin<^-room. 
 
 I now saw, for the first time, real Hoc 
 Indians, both men and women, some of each 
 being on board the boat. Their encamp- 
 ment on the lake was likewise pointed out 
 to me. Alas for my enthusiasm 1 Alas 
 for my remembrance of youthful delight over 
 Cooper's enchanting novels 1 I was never 
 more disappointed in my life than when I 
 first took notice of these degenerate samples 
 of " Red Men !" 
 
 The men appeared to me undersized and 
 sinister-looking, the squaws filthy and almost 
 repulsive. No stretch of imagination could 
 bring before me in the persons of these very 
 
t>i LKTTEIiS FItOM AN EMKUiANT LADY. 
 
 ordinary mortals the ditrnified and graceful 
 ** Uncas," or the stately and warlike **Chinga- 
 c'hook !" We lauded at Washage, and after 
 standing for more than an hour on the quay, 
 took the stage-wagon for Gravx'nhurst, the 
 vehicle being so crowded that even the 
 personal baggage most essential to our com- 
 foi*t had to be left behind. Oh ! the horrors 
 of that journey 1 The road was most dread- 
 ful — our first acquaintance with *' corduroy " 
 roads. The forest gradually closed in ujion 
 us, on fire on both sides, burnt trees crashing 
 down in all directions, here and there one 
 right across the road, which had to be dragged 
 out of the way before we could go on. Your 
 brother with his arm round me the whole 
 way (I clinging to the collar of his coat),, 
 could hardly keep me steady as we bumped 
 over every obstacle. In the worst places I 
 was glad to shut my eyes that I might 
 not see the danger. Your poor sister had 
 
IHTTEIiS FROM AN EMIGUAXT lADV. 'ir> 
 
 to clinjj convulsively to tho rope which 
 secured the paHHengers' baggaj^e (ours was loft 
 behind and wo did not wee it for weeks) to 
 avoid being thrown out, and for long after- 
 wards we both suffered from the bruises wo 
 received and the strain upon our limbs. At 
 last, long after dark, we arrived at (Iraven- 
 liurst, where we were obliged to sleep, as tho 
 steamer to Bracebridge could not start before 
 morning on account of the fog. The steam- 
 boat had no accommodation for sleeping, but 
 we had a good supper on board, and a 
 gentlemanly Englishman, a passenger by the 
 stage and well acquainted with Muskoka, 
 took us to a small hotel to sleep. The 
 next morning we went to Bracebridge, and 
 there we found a letter from your brother-hi- 
 law advising me to go before the commis- 
 sioner of crown-lands and sign for my land. 
 The papers for my free grant of a hundred 
 acres had gone to France, but had missed me. 
 
\W 
 
 -I 
 
 'm 
 
 '2Q LETTERS FJiOM AN EMIGRANT LADY, 
 
 as I had already left. Unfortunately our 
 means were too exhausted to allow of our re- 
 maining even one day in Bracebridge, and we 
 thought it more prudent to start early in the 
 stage-wagon, as the magistrate's office would 
 not be open till ten a.m. 
 
 The not being able to sign at once lost me 
 tlie power of selling my pine-trees, the new 
 law (a most unjust one) coming into operation 
 before I was able to come in again. We were 
 at the N. A. Hotel, and the mistress of it, 
 herself an Englishwoman and not long from 
 D.evonshire, told me afterwards how sincerely 
 !<he pitied us, and said to her husband when 
 we were gone, " That poor lady and her 
 slaughter little know what hardships they are 
 
 « 
 
 about to encounter in the ' Bush !' " The 
 •drive from Bracebridge to Utterson, the 
 nearest post-town to our settlement and 
 distant from it six miles, was a long and 
 fatiguing stretch of fifteen miles, but un- 
 
LEITEBS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 27 
 
 marked by any incident of consequence. The 
 forest fires were burning fiercely, and our 
 driver told us that a week before tlie road 
 had been impassable. At times when the 
 trees were burning at each side of the narrow 
 road we felt a hot stifling air as we passe'd 
 rapidly along. It was a gloomy afternoon, 
 Avith fitful gusts of wind portending a change 
 of weather, and we were almost smothered in 
 clouds of Muskoka dust, nmch resembling 
 pounded bricks. When we got to Utterson 
 we were obliged to remain for two hours to 
 rest the poor horses, as no fresh ones were to 
 be got. While at the little tavern we heard 
 that your brotlier C. had been married a few 
 weeks before, as we expected, and that your 
 dear sister F., with her husband, children, and 
 the fiancee, had rested there on their way to 
 the " Bush," six weeks before our arrival. 
 We were more easy in our minds aftei* tliis. 
 We were near our journey's end, the dear 
 
9 
 
 R 5 
 
 •' 
 
 f ■ 
 
 I ; 
 
 -ill 
 
 2.^ LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY 
 
 oneH who had preceded us were all well, and 
 the marriage which for four years I had been 
 endeavouring to secure for your youngest 
 brother had been happily accomplished. / 
 alone of all our party felt a hopeless de- 
 pression of spirits, a presentiment of long 
 months of unhappiness. Our drive from 
 Utterson was short, but we went slowly, and 
 it was late in the day before we turned into 
 the " Bush." Our driver called the path we 
 were going a " road ;" I saw nothing but a 
 narrow track with frightful stumps, over 
 which our wagon jolted in a manner to 
 endanger our limbs; indeed, though more 
 than three miles from your brother-in-law's^ 
 we soon insisted on walking, thinking it safer. 
 We found the thick undergrow^th of" ground- 
 hemlock " very trying to walk upon, as it 
 caught our feet in an alarming manner. 
 Our path was intersected by deep gullies, the 
 sides of which were precipitous. I must say 
 
LETTERS FltOM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 20 
 
 that the horses of this country, like the mules 
 of Spain, seem wonderfully sure-footed, and 
 tlie drivers, who mostly appear as reckless 
 and daring as Irish carmen, guide them very 
 safely, and accidents rarely occur. 
 
 After we had crossed the second gully, our 
 driver said lie could go no farther, as it 
 would be dark before he got out of the 
 ** Bush," a thing much dreaded here. Ac- 
 cordingly your brother paid and dismissed 
 him, and we were left with all our packages 
 by the roadside to find our way as best we 
 could. Luckily we came upon a very re- 
 spectable settler, working on a part of his 
 clearing near the path, who most kindly left 
 his work and piloted us to your brother-in- 
 law's lot, where we found a very small "clear- 
 ing," and a log-house in the middle of it. 
 Yr sister F. and the dear children came 
 running out to meet and welcome us, and 
 after the first warm congratulations, F. and 
 
 ^ 
 
30 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 I;i'' 
 
 your brother went to fetch the newly-married 
 couple, who at once came back with them. 
 There was much to hear and to tell, and you 
 may judge how great was our dismay to find 
 that those we had come to burthen with our 
 presence, were for the time being as penniless 
 as ourselves, and that weary and fatigued as 
 we were, the only refreshment mv dear child 
 could offer us was linseed tea without sugar 
 or milk, and sour, doughy bread which I 
 could not persuade myself to swallow. Our 
 sleeping arrangements were of the most 
 prijnitive description. A scanty curtain 
 shaded off a corner of the room, where your 
 dear sister made a regular shake-down of all 
 her little stock of bedding. Here your two 
 sisters, your sister-in-law, the two children 
 and myself found an ark of refuge. The 
 three gentlemen lay down in their clothes 
 before the fire ; and thus passed our first night 
 in the " Bush " of Muskoka I 
 
LETTER III 
 
 ^T^^HE next moriiinc^, after a brief 
 and very unsatisfactory toilet, 
 and a breakfast which needs no- 
 description, your brother C. and his wife 
 left us to return to their own log-house, en- 
 treating me to go and see them as soon as 
 I should have recovered from the fatigue of 
 the journey. You will perhaps wonder that 
 they should have remained the night with us,, 
 overcrowded as we were ; but the fact is, 
 when we first came here, the forest-paths 
 between our lots were so indistinctly marked 
 out and so little trodden, that to be out after 
 
32 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 dark was not safe ; and, indeed, it is a rule 
 among the settlers here, that should any one 
 be out after dark, the nearest neighbour must 
 afford him a shelter till the morning. To go 
 astray in the "Busii" is dreaded above every- 
 thing. 
 
 I cannot describe how greatly we were 
 shocked at the jiianged appearance of your 
 youngest brother. In spice of his present 
 happiness as 'x mairied nmi., he bore in his 
 whole appearance the marks of chj hardships 
 he had gone through. He had left us, only 
 a year before, in France in high health and 
 spirits, expecting bo find in America, and 
 especially in New York, an El Dorado where 
 he might easily employ his little capital to 
 advantage. We found him now fearfully 
 thin, his handsome face pinched and worn, 
 and looking certainly ten years older than his 
 brother, fully five years his senior. In some 
 future letter I must give you a sketch of his 
 
 *,f 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 33 
 
 many misfortunes, his failure in New York, 
 and subsequent settlement in Muskoka, to- 
 gether with the amusing account of his mar- 
 riage given me by your sister F. 
 
 My first employment in the Bush was 
 to write to my lawyer, entreating a further 
 advance of money, and to some kind friends 
 who had already helped us for the same 
 purpose. 
 
 As soon as this necessary work was 
 finished, I began to look about me, both out- 
 side and inside of the log-house. I found 
 that it was placed in the centre of a very 
 small " clearing " of not more than half an 
 acre ; and the very sight of the dense forest 
 circling us all round, with hardly any per- 
 ceptible outlet, gave me a dreadful feeling 
 of suffocation, to which was added the con- 
 stant alarm of fire, for the dry season had 
 made every twig and leaf combustible. 
 
 Had it not been for these drawbacks, I 
 
 3 
 
34 LETTEIIS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 11 
 
 ii 
 
 
 !|-^ 
 
 should greatly have admired the situation. 
 An amphitheatre of rock behind the house^ 
 wooded to the very top, and the trees tinged 
 with tlie glowing hues of autumn, was very 
 picturesque ; and the house itself, built upon 
 an eminence, seemed likely to be dry and 
 comfortable. The house inside was simply 
 one tolerable-sized room, which, like the 
 cobbler's stall in the nursery ballad, was 
 
 " Kitchen, and parlour, and all !" 
 
 It was built of rough, unhewn logs, chinks 
 of wood between the logs, and the interstices 
 filled up with moss. There were two small 
 windows, and a door in the front. The size 
 of the house, eighteen feet by twenty- 
 five. 
 
 When your brother-in-law's logs for his 
 house were vx\t, he called a "raising bee," 
 which is the custom here. Fourteen of his 
 neighbours res]>onded to the call. This is 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 35 
 
 for building up the walls of the log-house. 
 Strength and willingness are most desirable 
 at " bees ;" but for the four corners, which 
 have to be " saddled," skill is likewise requi- 
 site, and, therefore, four of the best hands 
 are always chosen for the corners. 
 
 "Saddling" is cutting out a piece at the 
 corner of each log, so that the end of each 
 succeeding log, when it is raised, rests in the 
 niche prepared for it, and thus the building, 
 when finished, is as firm as a rock. Nothing 
 is paid for the assistance given, but good 
 meals are expected ; and sometimes these 
 " bees " are quite festive meetings, where the 
 wives and daughters of the settlers wait at 
 table, and attend to the wants of the hungry 
 visitors. At a " bee " which your brother 
 attended some time ago, all the young 
 women were in their Sunday attire. 
 
 At your brother-in-law's " bee '' the female 
 element was entirely wanting, and two or 
 
 3—2 
 
36 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 If 
 
 In* 
 
 l< ' I 
 
 three little things went wrong; but excuses 
 are always made for the ignorance of a 
 new settler, and in subsequent meetings the 
 fare has been better, and full satisfaction 
 
 given. 
 
 i-i 
 
 In the centre of each log -house stands out, 
 hideously prominent and ugly, a settler's 
 stove, with a whole array of pots, pans, and 
 kettles belonging to it, which, when not in 
 use, are mostly hung up on the walls, cer- 
 tainly not conducing to their ornamentation. 
 Your sister, always fertile in expedients, 
 hangs a curtain before these unseemly ap- 
 pendages ; but my lively imagination pierces 
 behind the veil, and knowing they are there. 
 gives me a feeling of irritation and disgusi 
 which I cannot describe. 
 
 I may truly call the stove a voracious 
 monster, for in the very cold weather it 
 takes nearly the whole day's chopping of one 
 person to keep it filled up night and day. 
 
LKTTEliS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 37 
 
 •acious 
 
 You must not suppose that we had come 
 into a furnished house. There had as yet 
 been neither time nor means to get furniture 
 of any kind. Dear F had herself only been 
 in possession a fortnight, and we were only 
 too glad to sleep on the floor, to sit on 
 upturned boxes, and to make our table of 
 the top of a large chest. When at length, 
 after many weeks' waiting, our baggage 
 arrived, for some days we could hardly turn 
 round ; but we were most thankful for the 
 excellent bedding and the good warm blan- 
 kets we had brought from France, carefully 
 packed in barrels. All woollen goods are 
 extremely dear in Canada, and, as contrasted 
 with our English manufactures, very poor in 
 quality. 
 
 You know that, from boys, both your 
 brothers have been excellent amateur car- 
 penters, and this fact they have turnod to good 
 a'^count in the " Bush." As soon as time 
 
ii*: ' 
 
 I U 
 
 
 I 
 
 38 LETTKliS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 could bo found, your eldest brother made a 
 bedstead for his sister's confinement, and 
 stools, and benches, which we found most 
 useful. For a long time after our arrival in 
 the *' Bush," and even after your brother-in- 
 law and myself had received remittances 
 from England, we were in inmiinent danger 
 of starvation from the coarse, bad food, and 
 the difficulty of procuring it from a dis- 
 tance. 
 
 At the time of which I write, the autumn 
 of 1871, there was neither store nor post- 
 office nearer to us than that at Utterson, 
 fully six miles from our land. I have 
 already told you what kind of a road we 
 found it on coming in. The gentlemen of 
 our different families had to bring all pro- 
 visions in sacks slung upon their shoulders 
 and backs, no light work I can assure 
 you. 
 
 The staple food of the settlers consists of 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 3!> 
 
 Iiard salt pork, potatoes, oatinual, molasses, 
 rice, and flour for bread, which every family 
 makes for itself According to the " rising," 
 employe' instead of yeast, the bread was 
 either bicdr, sour, or salt, and we only began 
 to get good bread when our clergyman from 
 Bracebridge, months after our arrival, recom- 
 mended us to use the "Twin Brothers' yeast," 
 which we found answer very well. With 
 regard to other articles of consumption, such 
 as tea, sugar, coftee, etc., I was then, and 
 still am cidedly of opinion that we were 
 using \\\f i/lie refuse of all the shops in 
 Toronto. The tea was full of sloe-leaves, 
 wild raspberry-leaves, and other natural pro- 
 ductions which never grew in China ; and it 
 was so full of bits of stick that my son 
 informed the people at the store that we 
 had collected a nice little stock for winter 
 fuel. 
 
 My chemical knowledge was not sufficient 
 
40 LETTERS FROM AX EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 for me to analyse the coffee, which we really 
 could not drink, but it was a villanous com- 
 pound, of which the coffee-berry was the 
 smallest ingredient ; in short, we were fain 
 to fall back upon and take into favour real 
 chickory or dandelion, which, with a little 
 milk and sugar, is tolerably nice, and as the 
 roots are plentiful among the potato-hills in 
 auvumn, many oi the settlers prepare it for 
 their own use. 
 
 You know what a simple table we kept in 
 France, but there our plain food was well 
 cooked and prepared, and was the best of 
 its kind. 
 
 Vvo found the change terrible, and 
 very injurious to our health, and, what was 
 worse, the store was often out of the most 
 necessary articles, and our messengers were 
 compelled to return, weary and footsore, 
 without what we wanted. We are much 
 better off now, having a post-office and store 
 
lETTEIlS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 41 
 
 belonging to the settlement only three miles 
 away, kept by very civil and intelligent 
 Scotch people, who do their best to procure 
 whatever is ordered. 
 
 We suffered much also from the want of 
 fresh meat, for though at times some one in 
 the neighbourhood might kill a sheep, yet we 
 seldom heard of it before all the best parts 
 were gone. We also greatly regretted that 
 in a country where even the smaller lakes 
 al)ound with fish, we were so far awav from 
 any piece of water that we could not obtain 
 what would have been a most agreeable 
 change from the much-detested salt pork. 
 
 I come now to speak of a delusion which is 
 very general in the " old country," and in 
 wliich I largely shared. I mean with regard 
 to the great abundance of venison and game 
 to be found in these parts. This fallacy is 
 much encouraged by different books on emi- 
 gration, which speak of these desirable articles 
 
1!^ 
 
 si 
 
 I ■ 
 
 Si'i 
 
 I !. 
 
 If 1 1! 
 
 i >, 
 
 i^ 
 
 It I 
 
 42 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 of food as being plentiful, and within the 
 reach of every settler. 
 
 I certainly arrived with a vague notion 
 that passing deer naight be shot from one's 
 own door, that partridge and wild-duck were 
 as plentiful as sparrows in England, and that 
 hares and rabbits might almost be caught 
 with the hand. These romantic ideas were 
 ruefully dispelled I There is little game of 
 any kind left, and to get that good dogs 
 are wanted, which are very expensive to 
 keep. 
 
 None of our party have caught the most 
 distant glimpse of a deer since we came, ex- 
 cept your two brothers, who once saw a poor 
 
 doe rush madly across the corner of C s' 
 
 clearing, hotly pursued by a trapper's deer- 
 hound, at a season when it was against the 
 law to shoot deer. Your sister-in-law once, 
 
 venturing from C s' clearing to ours 
 
 without an escoit, was much alarmed at 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 43 
 
 liearing a rustling in the " Bush " quite near 
 her, and a repeated " Ba — a, ba — a 1" We were 
 told that the noise must have come from an 
 ancient stag which is said to have haunted 
 for years the range of rock near us. This 
 mythical old fellow has, however, never been 
 seen, even by the *' oldest inhabitant." 
 
 Your brothers have now and then shot a 
 chance partridge or wild-duck, but had to 
 look for them, and the truth must be told 
 that when settlers, gentle or simple, are en- 
 gaged in the daily toil of grubbing, and as it 
 were scratching the earth for bread, it is 
 difficult to find a day's leisure for the gentle- 
 manly recreation of shooting. Your youngest 
 brother was pretty successful in trapping 
 beaver and musk-rat, and in shooting por- 
 cupine ; of the two former the skins can be 
 sold to advantage, but as to eating their 
 flesh, which some of our party succeeded in 
 doing, your eldest brother and myself found 
 
:! 
 
 ''if 
 ii .it 
 
 i 'H 
 
 4 1 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 that impossible, and turned with loathing- 
 from the rich repasts prepared from what I 
 irreverently termed vermin I 
 
 I must now tell you how our lots are 
 
 situated with regard to each other. C s, 
 
 having come out a year before the rest of us, 
 had secured two hundred acres of free grant 
 land, one lot in his own name, and one in 
 the maiden name of his present wife, who 
 came out from England to marry him, under 
 the chaperonage of your sister and her hus- 
 band. This has enabled him, since the birth 
 of his little boy, to claim and obtain another 
 lot of a hundred acres, as " head of a family.'' 
 His land is good, and prettily situated, with 
 plenty of beaver meadow and a sprinkling of 
 rock, and also a very picturesque waterfall, 
 where, in coming years, he can have a mill. 
 I have the adjoining hundred acres, good flat 
 land for cultivation, but not so picturesque as 
 any of the other lots, which I regret, though 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 45 
 
 others envy me the absence of rock. My 
 
 land lies between C s' and the two 
 
 hundred acres belonging to your brother-in- 
 law, whose very pretty situation I have 
 already described. 
 
 I am sorry to say that the two hundred 
 acres taken up before we came, for your 
 eldest brother and sister, are at a distance of 
 five miles from here ; your brother, who went 
 over to see about clearing a portion of them, 
 says the landscape is most beautiful, as in 
 addition to rock and wood there are good- 
 sized lakes, which make the lots less valuable 
 for cultivation, but far more beautiful to the 
 eye. 
 
 When we had been here about three 
 weeks, our young friend C. W. came to us 
 from Montreal, where he had not succeeded 
 in getting any situation, though he brought 
 letters of introduction to Judge J. It is 
 quite useless for young gentlemcUy however 
 
i; 
 
 well educated, to come out from the "old 
 country" exj)ecting situations to be numerous 
 and easily attainable ; all introductions from 
 friends of t/ours to friends of theirs are for 
 the most part useless, unless indeed addressed 
 to some conmiercial firm. The best and 
 surest introduction a man can have is to be 
 a steady and skilful workman at some 
 trade, and then he can command employ- 
 ment. 
 
 To return to C. W. He arrived, in fact, 
 in the dusk of a chilly evening, and was near 
 losing his way in the " Bush," having to 
 pass across my land, which was then almost 
 untrodden. Fortunately as he advanced he 
 betook himself to shouting, and luckily was 
 
 heard and answered by C s, who was 
 
 just going indoors for the night. They soon 
 
 met, and C s took him home, and with 
 
 him and your sister-in-law he boarded and 
 lodged during the whole of his stay, 
 
LETTEL'S FllOM AN EMIGUANT LADY. \7 
 
 for at your sister's we were already over- 
 crowded. 
 
 As the autumn advanced, we began most 
 seriously to give our attention to building 
 my log-house, hoping that I might settle my 
 part of the family before the winter set in. 
 Accordingly an acre of my land was cleared, 
 and the logs for a house cut and prepared, a 
 skilful workman being hired to help ; and 
 when all was ready, we called a " bee," and 
 took care to provide everything of the best 
 in the shape of provisions. 
 
 Our well-laid plan was a signal failure, 
 pai-tly because settlers do not like coming to 
 a " bee " so late in the year (it was Novem- 
 ber), and partlj'^ because some of the invita- 
 tions had been given on Sunday, which, as 
 most of the settlers near us were Scotch and 
 strict Presbyterians, caused offence. Only 
 three people came, and they were thanked 
 and dismissed. 
 
48 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 M t 
 
 ^Mi 
 
 The very next day (November 1 1th), snow- 
 storms and hard winter weather began ; but 
 in spite of this our four gentlemen, seeing my 
 deep disappointment at being kept waiting 
 for a residence, most chivalrously went to 
 work, and by their unassisted efforts and 
 hard labour actually managed in the course 
 of a fortnight to raise the walls and place 
 the rafters of a log-house not much smaller 
 than the others. Their work was the admir- 
 ation of the whole settlement, and many 
 expressed themselves quite ashamed of having 
 thus left us in the lurch. 
 
 After raising the walls, however, they 
 were reluctantly compelled to stop, for the 
 severity of the weather was such, that 
 shingling the roof, chinking, and mossing 
 became quite impossible. As it was, E. 
 nearly had his hands frost-bitten. We were 
 thus compelled to remain with your sister 
 till the spring of 1872. We greatly felt. 
 
LETTEBS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 49 
 
 after we came into the Bush, the want of all 
 religious ordinances ; but we soon arranged a 
 general meeting of all the members of the 
 family on a Sunday at your sister's, when 
 your brother-in-law read the Church of 
 England service, and all joined in singing 
 the chants and hynms. Sometimes he was 
 unavoidably absent, as the clergymen at 
 Bracebridge, knowing him to have taken 
 his degree at St. John's College, Cambridge, 
 and to be otherwise qualified, would ask 
 his assistance, though a layman, to do 
 duty for him at different stations in the 
 district. 
 
 We found in our own neighbourhood a 
 building set apart for use as a church, but 
 too far off for us to attend either summer or 
 winter. Here Church of England, Presby- 
 terian, and Wesleyan ministers preached in 
 turn, and thus some semblance of worship 
 was kept up. I hardly dare describe the 
 
 X 
 
50 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 I' • 
 
 miserable change we found in our employ- 
 ments and manner of life when we first 
 settled down to hard labour in the Bush. It 
 was anguish to me to see your sisters and 
 sister-in-law, so tenderly and delicately 
 brought up, working harder by far than any 
 of our servants in England or France. 
 
 It is one thing to sit in a pretty drawing- 
 room, to play, to sing, to study, to embroider, 
 and to enjoy social and intellectual converse 
 with a select circle of kind friends, and it is 
 quite another thing to slave and toil in a 
 log-house, no better than a kitchen, from 
 morning till night, at cleaning, washing, 
 baking, preparing meals for hungry men 
 (not always of one's own family), and drying 
 incessant changes of wet clothes. 
 
 I confess, to my shame, that my philosophy 
 entirely gave way, and that for a long time I 
 cried constantly. I also took to falling off 
 my chair in fits of giddiness, which lasted for 
 
LKTTEliS FllOM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 51 
 
 a few minutes, and much alarmed the 
 children, who feared apoplexy. I felt quite 
 sure that it was from continual fretting, want 
 of proper exercise, the heat of the stove, and 
 inanition from not being able to swallow a 
 sufficiency of the coarse food I so much 
 disliked. Fortunately we had brought out 
 some cases of arrow-root, and some bottles 
 of Oxley's Essence of Ginger, and with the 
 help of this nourishment, and walking 
 resolutely up and down the clearing, where 
 we kept a track swept for the purpose, I got 
 better. Your eldest sister likewise had an 
 alarming fit of illness, liver complaint and 
 palpitation of the heart, doubtless brought on 
 by poor food, hard work, and the great 
 weight of the utensils belonging to the stove. 
 I was much frightened, but after a time she, 
 too, partially recovered ; indeed we had to 
 get well as best we might, for there was no 
 doctor nearer than Bracebridge, eighteen 
 
 4—2 
 
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 ii 
 
 
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 52 LETTEnS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 miles off, and had wc sunt for him, we had 
 
 no moanH of paying either for visits or drugs. 
 
 Christmas Day at length drew near, and 
 
 as we wished to be all together, though our 
 
 funds were exceedingly low, dear C s 
 
 insisted on contributing to our Christmas- 
 dinner. He bought a chicken from a 
 neighbouring settler who, in giving him a 
 acare-crow, did not forget to charge a good 
 price for it. He sent it to us with some 
 mutton. Your sister has told me since, 
 that while preparing the chicken for cooking, 
 she could have shed tears of disgust and 
 compassion, the poor thing being so at- 
 tenuated that its bones pierced through the 
 skin, and had it not been killed, it must soon 
 have died of consumption. In spite of this 
 I roused my dormant energies, and with the 
 help of butter, onions and spices, I concocted 
 a savoury stew which was nmch applauded. 
 We had also a pudding I Well, the less 
 
LETTEUS FROM AN EMIGIiANT LADY. 53 
 
 said about that pudding the bettor. Never- 
 theless, I must record that it contained a 
 ma.iuauhi of fiour and a minimum of currants 
 and grease. The plums, sugar, spice, eggs, 
 citron, and brandy were conspicuous by their 
 absence. Still, the pudding was eaten — 
 peace to its memory I 
 
 We all assembled on Christmas morning 
 early, and had our Church service performed 
 by your brother-in-law. Cruel memory took 
 me back to our beloved little church in 
 France, with its Christmas decorations of 
 holly and evergreens, and I could almost 
 hear the sweet voices of the choir singing 
 my favourite liynm : " Hark ! the herald 
 angels sing !" There was indeed a sad 
 contrast between the festive meetings of 
 other years, when our little band was un- 
 broken bv don^^ and separation, and when 
 out of M dance we could make others 
 
 i ^.py, a . th.o forlorn gathering in a strange 
 
54 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 land, with care written on every brow, 
 poverty in all our surroundings, and deep 
 though unexpressed anxiety lest all our 
 struggles in this new and uncongenial mode 
 of existence should prove fruitless. For the 
 sake of others, I tried to simulate a cheerful- 
 ness I was far from feeling, and so we got 
 over the evening. We had a good deal 
 of general conversation, and some of our 
 favourite songs were sung by the gentle- 
 men. 
 
 It was late when our party broke up ; your 
 
 brother C s with his wife and C. W. 
 
 actually scrambled home through the forest 
 by moonlight, a track having been broken by 
 snow-shoes in the morning. 
 
 A great grief to me at this time was 
 the long interval between writing letters 
 to the " old country " and receiving the 
 answers, an interval which my vivid im- 
 agination filled up with all kind of horrors 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 65 
 
 which might have happened to the dear ones 
 we had left behind. 
 
 The close of the year silently came on, and 
 I finish this letter with a *' Sonnet to the 
 Pines," my first composition in the Bush, 
 written partly to convince myself that I was 
 not quite out of my wits, but had still the 
 little modicum of intellect I once possessed, 
 and partly to reassure your brothers and 
 .sisters, who were always predicting that I 
 should bring on softening of the brain by my 
 unceasing regrets for the past, and gloomy 
 prognostications for the future. 
 
 SONNET TO THE MUSKOKA PINES ! 
 
 Weird monarchs of tho forest ! ye who keep 
 Your solemn watch betwixt the earth and sky ; 
 I hear sad murmurs through your branches creep. 
 I hear the night-wind's soft and whispering sigh, 
 Warning ye that the spoiler's hand is nigh : 
 The surging wave of human life draws near ! 
 Tho woodman's axe, piercing the leafy glade, 
 Awakes the forest- echoes far and near, 
 
Ili'l 
 
 :l Si 
 
 56 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 And startles in its haunts the timid deer, 
 Who seeks in haste some far-off friendly shade ! 
 Nor drop ye stately Pines to earth alone. 
 The leafy train who sharM your regal state — 
 Beech, Maple, Balsam, Spmce and Birch — lie prone, 
 And having grac'd your grandeur — share your fate ! 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
LETTEK IV. 
 
 EW- YEAR'S Day of 1872 was one 
 of those exceptionally beautiful 
 days, when hope is generated in 
 the saddest heart, and when the most pressing 
 cares and anxieties retire for at least a time 
 into the background of our lives. The sky 
 was blue and clear, the sun bright, and the 
 air quite soft and balmy for the time of year. 
 We had had some bitter cold and gloomy 
 weather, and we found the change most 
 delightful. As in France we were in the 
 habit of making presents among ourselves on 
 this day, I looked over all my stores with a 
 
I 
 
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 I 
 
 I. s 
 
 C' ■< 
 
 58 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 view to keeping up the same pretty custom 
 here ; but alas ! in the absence of all shops I 
 was sorely puzzled. At last I made all right 
 by giving pencils and paper for scribbling 
 to the children ; Eau de Cologne, sweet- 
 scented soap, and pots of pomatum to the 
 elders of the party; and finished off with a 
 box of Bryant and May's " ruby matches " to 
 C. W., who considered them a great acquisi- 
 tion. Your brother E. came over for the 
 whole day. He now boarded and lodged with 
 
 C s, to make a little more room for your 
 
 sister F.'s confinement, which we expected at 
 the end of the month. I watched E. with 
 delight as he felled an enormous birch tree in 
 honour of the day ; but though placed in 
 perfect wafetj'^ myself, I could not avoid a 
 thrill of fear for him, as this monarch of the 
 forest came crashing down. Fatal accidents 
 very seldom occur, but new settlers, inex- 
 perienced and unused to the axe, sometimes 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 59 
 
 give themselves serious cuts. Your brother 
 and brother-in-law have had many narrow 
 escapes, but fortunately, as yet, are uninjured. 
 
 Your brother C s before we came gave 
 
 himself a very severe cut, which prevented 
 his chopping for some weeks. One of the 
 settlers told your brother that when he first 
 began chopping he had given himself a most 
 dangerous wound, the axe having glanced 
 from the tree on to his foot ; for weeks after 
 the accident he stood in a washing-tub for 
 security while chopping his firewood. This 
 
 account much amused us, and E d made a 
 
 neat little caricature of P. in his tub chopping. 
 I was greatly disappointed in the Canadian 
 forest, and did not think it half as beautiful 
 as I had been led to expect, for though there 
 are certainly some very tall pines, and these 
 of a considerable girth, yet being so closely 
 packed together and henmied in with small 
 trees and a thick undergrowth of brushwood, 
 
60 LETTERS FUOM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 they always seem cramped, and their lofty 
 tops unable to spread out to their full size. 
 Hurricanes here are of frequent occurrence, 
 and at those times it is not unusual for full 
 half an acre of trees to be entirely laid flat, 
 giving the greatest trouble to the settler 
 when he wants to clear. At times the 
 " windfall," as it is called, is a narrow belt of 
 uprooted trees extending for miles, and dis- 
 tinctly marking the path of the hurricane 
 through the forest. I was less astonished at 
 the constant fall of the trees after examining 
 
 an enormous pine lying on C s' land, 
 
 which was blown down last year. The roots 
 of this tree seemed to have formed an en- 
 ormous web or network under the surface of 
 the ground, and only a few large fibres here 
 and there appeared to have gone to any 
 depth. I missed the umbrageous oaks, elms, 
 and beeches of our own parks, and also the 
 open forest glades which so greatly enhance 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY, 61 
 
 the beauty of our woodland scenery. I am 
 told that the trees in the States are much 
 larger and finer, but of this I am of course 
 incompetent to judge, never having been 
 there. The most beautiful tree here is 
 certainly the *' balsam," a slender, delicate 
 tree whose feathery branches droop gracefully 
 to within a few feet of the ground. 
 
 We found the winter fearfully cold, the 
 thermometer being at times forty degrees 
 below zero. We had great difficulty in keep- 
 ing ourselves sufficiently clothed for such a 
 season. All people coming to the Bush 
 bring clothes far too good for the rough life 
 they lead there. In coming (3ut we had no 
 means of providing any special outfit, and 
 therefore brought with iis only the ordinary 
 wardrobes of genteel life. We soon found 
 that all silks, delicate shawls, laces and orna- 
 ments, are perfectly useless here. Every 
 article we possess of that kind is carefully put 
 
ij 
 
 62 LETTEUS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 Bi » 
 
 away in our trunks, and will probably never 
 see daylight again, unless indeed that, like 
 Mrs. Katy Scudder in the " Minister's 
 Wooing," we may occasionally air our 
 treasures. What we found most useful was 
 everything in the shape of woollen or other 
 thick fabrics, winter dresses, warm plaid 
 shawls, flannels, furs, etc.; of these we had a 
 tolerable stock, and as the cold increased we 
 put one thing over another till we must have 
 often presented the appearance of feather- 
 beds tied in the middle with a string. In- 
 deed, as our gentlemen politely phrased it, 
 we made complete " guys " of ourselves, and 
 I must say that they were not one whit be- 
 hind us in grotesque unsightliness of costume. 
 Your brothers sometimes wore four or five 
 flannels one over the other, thick jerseys and 
 heavy overcoats when not actually at work, and 
 pairs upon pairs of thick woollen socks and 
 stockings, with great sea-boots drawn over all; 
 
LETTERS Fli'OM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 63 
 
 or in deep snow ** moccasins " or else " shoe- 
 packs," the fii-st being made by the Indians 
 of the skin of the moose-deer, and the second 
 mostly of sheep-skins. The great mart for 
 these articles is at the Indian settlement of 
 " Lachine " on the St. Lawrence, near Mon- 
 treal. They also wore snow-shoes, which are 
 not made like the Laplanders' with skates 
 attached for sliding, but simply for walking 
 on the surface of the deep snow. They con- 
 sist of a framework of wood three feet long 
 by one and a half wide, filled up with strips 
 of raw deer-skin interlaced, and in shape re- 
 sembling a fish, more like a monstrous sole 
 than any other. We ladies, too, were thank- 
 ful to lay aside our French kid boots and 
 delicate slippers, and to wrap our feet and 
 legs up so completely that they much re- 
 sembled mill-posts. Had you or any of our 
 dear friends seen us in our Esquimaux cos- 
 tume, you would certainly have failed to 
 
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 I 
 
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 «4 LETTERS FROM AN EMIORANT LADY. 
 
 recognise the well-dressed ladies and gentle- 
 men you had been in the habit of seeing. 
 
 To crown all, your brother-in-law and C s 
 
 had goat-skin coats brought from France, 
 real Robinson Crusoe coats, such as are worn 
 by the French shepherds, and these they 
 found invaluable. We were very sorry that 
 E d had not one likewise. 
 
 Our occupations were manifold ; hard work 
 was the order of the day for every one liut 
 me ; but all the work I was allowed to do was 
 the cooking, for which I consider that I have 
 a special vocation. A great compliment was 
 once paid me by an old Indian officer in our 
 regiment, who declared that Mrs. K. could 
 make a good curry, he was sure, out of the 
 sole of a shoe 1 
 
 At other times I read, wrote letters, and 
 plied my knitting-needles indefatigably, to 
 the great advantage of our little colony, in 
 the shape of comforters, baby-socks, mittens, 
 
LETTEnS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 65 
 
 Canadian sashes and petticoats for the little 
 children. Sometimes I read to the chil- 
 dren out of their story-books, but their hap- 
 piest time was when they could get your 
 
 sister P e to give them an hour or two 
 
 in the evening of story-tulling. You know 
 what a talent she possesses for composing, 
 both in prose and verse, stories for little 
 people, and with these she would keep them 
 spell-bound, to the great comfort of the elders 
 of the party, and of their poor mother especi- 
 ally, who towards night felt much fatigued. 
 
 Dear children I they required some amuse- 
 ment after the close confinement of the win- 
 ter's day. Meanwhile the gentlemen were 
 busy from morning till night chopping down 
 trees in readiness for burning in spring. 
 This is mostly done in mid-winter, as they 
 are reckoned to chop more easily then. 
 
 You must not suppose that all this time 
 we had no visitors. By degrees many of the 
 
 5 
 
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 I II! 
 
 60 LETTS ns FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 settlers scattered over the neighbourhood 
 came to se^e us, some, doubtless, from kindly 
 motives, others from curiosity to know what 
 the strangers were like. I found some of 
 them pleasant and amusing, particularly 
 those who had been long in the country, 
 and who could be induced to give me some 
 of their earlier Bush experiences. A few 
 of them seemed to possess a sprinkling of 
 higher intelligence, which made their con- 
 versation really interesting. 
 
 One very picturesque elderly man, tall, 
 spare, and upright, came to fell some pine- 
 trees contiguous to tl o house, which much 
 endangered its safety when the hurricanes, 
 so frequent in this country, blew. He had 
 begun life as a ploughboy on a farm in my 
 beloved county of Kent, and had the un- 
 mistakable Kentish accent. It seemed so 
 strange to me at first, to be shaking hands 
 and sitting at table familiarly with one of a 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 67 
 
 class so different from my own ; but this was 
 my first initiation into the free-and-easy 
 intercourse of all classes in this country, 
 where the standing proverb is, " Jack is as 
 good as his master !" 
 
 I found all the settlei*s kindly disposed 
 towards us, and most liberal in giving us a 
 share of their flower-seeds, plants, and gar- 
 den produce, which, as new-comers, we could 
 not be supposed to have. They were willing 
 also to accept in return such little civilities 
 as we could offer, in the shape of books and 
 newspapers from the old country, and some- 
 times medicines and drugs, which could not 
 be got in the settlement. There might be a 
 little quarrelling, backbiting, and petty rivalry 
 among them, with an occasional dash of slan- 
 derous gossip; but I am inclined to think not 
 more than will inevitably be found in small 
 communities. 
 
 As a body, they certainly are hard-work - 
 
 5—2 
 
^ 
 
 68 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 ing, thrifty, and kind-hearted. Almost uni- 
 versally tliey seem contented with their 
 position and prospects. I have seldom met 
 nth a settlei who did not think his own 
 land the finept in the country, who had not 
 grown the largest turnip ever seen, and who 
 was not full of hope that the <;oveted rail- 
 way would certainly pass through his 
 lot. 
 
 At this time I felt an increasing anxiety 
 about your sister's confinement, which was 
 now drawing near. That such an event 
 should take place in this desolate wilder- 
 ness, where we had no servants, no monthly- 
 nurse, and not even a doctor within reach, 
 was sufficiently alarming. To relieve my 
 mind, your brother-in-law w^ent about the 
 neighbourhood, and at last found a very 
 respectable person, a settler's wife, not more 
 than three miles off, who consented to be our 
 assistant on this momentous occasion, and he 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 6I> 
 
 promised to go for her as soon as dear F o 
 
 should be taken ill. 
 
 We had been made a little more comfort- 
 able in the house, as your brother-in-law and 
 brother had made a very tolerable ceiling 
 over our bed-places, and your brother had 
 chopped and neatly piled up at the end of 
 the room an innnense stock of fire- wood, 
 which prevented the necessity of so often 
 opening the door. 
 
 We felt now more than ever the want 
 of fresh meat, as the children could not 
 touch the salt pork, and were heartily tired 
 of boiled rice and dumplings, which were all 
 the \ariety we could give them, with the 
 exception of an occasional ^i^g. In this 
 
 emergency your brother C s consented to 
 
 sell me a bull calf, which he intended bring- 
 ing up, but having also a cow and a heifer, 
 and fearing to run short of fodder, he con- 
 sented to part with him. Thus I bocanie 
 

 70 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 the fortunate possessor of an animal which, 
 when killed, fully realised my misgivings as 
 to its being neither veal nor beef, but in a 
 transition state between the two. It had a 
 marvellous development of bone and gristle, 
 but very little flesh ; still we made much of 
 it in the shape of nourishing broth and 
 savoury stews, and as I only paid seven 
 dollars for it, and had long credit, I was 
 fully satisfied with my first Bush specula- 
 tion. 
 
 The 18th of January arrived. The day 
 had been very cold, with a drifting, blinding 
 snow ; towards evening a fierce, gusty 
 wind arose, followed by pitch darkness. 
 The forest trees were cracking and crashing 
 down in all directions. Wo went to bed. 
 At two a.m., having been long awake, I heard 
 a stir in the room, and dear F. s voice asking 
 us to get up. What my feelings were I leave 
 you to imagine — to send for help three 
 
 
 I 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 71 
 
 miles off, in such a night, was impossible, for 
 even with a lantern your brother-in-law could 
 not have ventured into the Bush. Fortu- 
 nately, we had no time to be frightened or 
 nervous. We removed the sleeping children 
 to our own bed, made the most comfortable 
 arrangement circumstances would admit of 
 
 for dear F e, and about three a.m., that is 
 
 to say, in less than an hour after being called, 
 our first Bush baby was born, a very fine 
 little girl. 
 
 Your sister P e, who had been reading 
 
 up for the occasion, did all that was necessary, 
 with a skill, coolness and self-possession which 
 would have dune honour to " Dr. Eliuiheth 
 Black r 
 
 I did indued feel thankfiil when I saw 
 uiy child safe in bed, with her dear baby- 
 girl, washed, dressed, and well bundled up 
 in flannel, lying by har side, she herself 
 taking a basin of gruel which I joyfully pre- 
 
7% LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 pared for her. God " tempers the wind to 
 the shorn lamb." 
 
 We could well believe this when we found 
 your sister recover even more quickly than 
 she had done in France, where she had 
 so many more comforts and even luxuries ; 
 nor was she this time attacked by ague and 
 low fever, from which she had always suffered 
 before. 
 
 This sudden call upon our energies made 
 me glad that my wandering life in the army 
 had rendered me very independent of extra- 
 neous help, and that I had taught you all 
 from childhood never to call a servant for 
 what you could easily do with your own 
 hands. The very first thing people must 
 learn in the Bush, is to trust in God, and to 
 help themselves, for other help is mostly too 
 far off to be available. 
 
 At the end of this month, when I felt that 
 I could safely leave dear F e, I deter- 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 7a 
 
 lat 
 r- 
 
 mined to go to B e and sign for my land. 
 
 The not having done so before had long been 
 a cause of great anxiety. 
 
 I had been more than four months i»i the 
 country, had begun to clear and to build 
 upon my lot, and yet from various causes 
 had not been able to secure it by signing the 
 necessary pajjers. These having been sent 
 to France, and having missed me, had been 
 duly forwarded here. Till the signing was 
 completed, I was liable at any moment to 
 have my land taken up by some one else. 
 
 Accordingly your brother wrote to B 
 
 for a cutter and horse, and directed the 
 driver to come as far into the Bush as he 
 could. 
 
 We started on a very bright, cold morning, 
 but I had walked fully three miles before we 
 met our sledge, which was much behind 
 time. I never enjoyed anything in the 
 country so much as this my first sleighing 
 
74 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 I! 
 
 I 
 
 expedition. The small sleigh, or cutter as 
 it is sometimes called, held only one, and I 
 was nestled down in the bottom of it, well 
 wrapped up, and being delightfully warm and 
 «nug, could enjoy looking at the very pic- 
 turesque country we were rapidly passing 
 through. I did, however, most sincerely pity 
 your brother and the driver, who nearly 
 perished, for sitting on the front seat they 
 caught all the wind, which was piercing. We 
 stopped midway at a small tavern, where we 
 dined, and I can truly say that in spite of 
 the dirty table-cloth and the pervading sloven- 
 liness and disorder of the house and premises, 
 I found everything enjoyable, and above all 
 the sense of being for a few hours at least 
 freed from my long imprisonment in the 
 woods. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when we 
 
 Arrived at B e, where we went to the 
 
 N. A. Hotel, and were made very comfort- 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 75 
 
 able by its kind mistress. The next morn- 
 ing at ten a.m. we went to the magis- 
 trate's office, where I signed for my one 
 hundred acres, and of course came away 
 with the conscious dignity of a landed pro- 
 prietor. 
 
 I was charmed with the kind and cour- 
 teous manners of Mr. L s. He reminded 
 
 me more of that nearly extinct race — the 
 gentleman of the old school — than any one I 
 had seen since leaving England. His son, 
 who is his assistant, seems equally amiable 
 and popular. Seeing from my manner that 
 I considered Muskoka, even at the present 
 time, as the Ultima Thule of civilisation, 
 he told us some amusing anecdotes of what 
 it had actually been when his grandfather 
 lirst became a settler in Canada. The towns 
 and villages now called the • Front," had 
 then no existence ; all was thick forest, no 
 steamers on the lakes, no roads of any kind, 
 
76 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY, 
 
 and barely here and there a forest-track 
 made by Indians or trappers. From where 
 his grandfather settled down, it was sixty 
 miles to the nearest place where anything 
 could be got, and the first year he had to go 
 all this distance on foot for a bushel of seed 
 potatoes for planting, and to return with 
 them in a sack which he carried on his back 
 the whole way. 
 
 We left B e to return home at one p.m., 
 
 but it was nearly dark when we turned into 
 the Bush, and quite so when we were put 
 down at the point from which we had to 
 walk home. Here we were luckily met by 
 
 your brother C s and C. W., with a 
 
 lantern and a rope for our parcels, according 
 
 to promise. C s took charge of me, and 
 
 led the way with the lantern. I tried to 
 follow in his steps, but the track was so 
 narrow, and the light so uncertain, that I 
 found myself, every few moments, up to my 
 
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 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 77 
 
 knees in soft snow, if I diverged only a step 
 from the track. 
 
 I became almost unable to go on, but 
 after many expedients had been tried, one 
 
 only was found to answer. C s tied a 
 
 rope round my waist, and then round his 
 own, and in this safe, but highly ignominious 
 manner, I was literally towed through the 
 forest, and reached home thoroughly ex- 
 hausted, but I am bound to say almost as 
 much from laughter as from fatigue. I 
 found all well, and the children were highly 
 pleased with the little presents I had brought 
 for them. 
 
 lo 
 
LETTEK V. 
 
 [HE first months of this year found 
 us very anxious to get the log- 
 house finished, which had been so 
 well begun by our four gentlemen, and as 
 soon as the weather moderated a little, and 
 our means allowed us to get help, we had it 
 roofed, floored, chinked, and mossed. It was 
 necessary to get it finished, so that we might 
 move before the great spring thaw should 
 cover the forest-paths with seas of slush and 
 mud, and before the creek between us and 
 our domicile should be swollen so as to 
 render it impassable for ladies. 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 7^ 
 
 When the workmen had finished, we sent 
 to the nearest town for a settler's stove ; and 
 as the ox-team we hired could bring it no 
 farther than the comer of the concession 
 road which skirts one end of my lot, your 
 brothers had the agreeable task of bringing 
 it piecemeal on their backs, with all its heavy 
 belongings, down the precipitous side of my 
 gully, wading knee-deep through the creek 
 at the bottom, and scrambling up the side- 
 nearest here. It was quite a service of danger, 
 and I felt truly thankful that no accident 
 occurred. 
 
 About this time our young friend C. W. 
 left us, and we were very sorry to lose him, 
 for more particularly in ** Bush " life the 
 taking away of one familiar face leaves a sad 
 blank behind. He could not, however, make 
 up his mind to remain, finding the life very 
 dull and cheerless, and suffering moreover 
 most severely from the cold of the climate. 
 
.%. 
 
 
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 TEST TARGET (MT-S) 
 
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 Photographic 
 
 Sdences 
 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, N.Y. MS80 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 

 
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 :V 
 
«0 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 He went to Toronto, and at last got a 
 tolerably good situation in a bank, where his 
 thorough knowledge of French and German 
 made him very useful. 
 
 Another important event also took place, 
 and this was the christening of our dear 
 little " Bush " girl, who by this time was 
 thriving nicely. Our Church of England 
 
 clergyman at B e very kindly came 
 
 over to perform the ceremony, but as no 
 special day had been named, his visit took 
 us by surprise, and the hospitality Ave were 
 able to extend to him was meagre indeed. 
 This christening certainly presented a marked 
 contrast to our last. It was no well-dressed 
 infant in a richly-embroidered robe and 
 French lace cap like a cauliflower ring, that 
 I handed to our good minister, but a dear 
 little soft bundle of rumpled flannel, with 
 just enough of face visible to receive the 
 baptismal sprinkling. 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LA 
 
 We all stood round in our anom 
 tumes, and a cracked slop-basin r 
 the font. Nevertheless, our little darling 
 behaved incomparably well, and all passed 
 off pleasantly. With our minister after- 
 wards, a VL'iy kind and gentlemanly man, 
 we had an hour's pleasant conversation, 
 which indeed was quite a treat, for in the 
 Bush, with little or no time for intellectual 
 pursuits, for the practice of any elegant ac- 
 "os ipiishment, or indeed for anything but the 
 stern and hax'd realities of daily labour ; con- 
 versation even among the well-educated is 
 apt to degenerate into discussions about 
 " crops " and " stock," and the relative 
 merits of timothy or heaver hay. 
 
 We saw but little of your brother Edw ard 
 at this time, for he was fully occupied in thu 
 log-house, where he lit a large fire every day 
 that it might be thoroughly aired for our re- 
 ception, and then engaged in carpentering 
 
 G 
 
 
 II 
 
82 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 extensively for our comfort. He put up 
 numerous shelves for the crockery and 
 kitchen tliinofs, made two very good and 
 substantial bedsteads, a sofa fixed against the 
 wall which we call the " dais," and a verv 
 comfortable easy-chair with a flexible seat 
 of strips of cowhide interlaced — an ingenious 
 device of your brother Charles, who made 
 one for his wife. 
 
 At last the house being finished, quite 
 aired enough, and otherwise made as com- 
 fortable as our very slender means would 
 permit, we resolved to move, and on the 
 7th of April we took our departure from 
 
 dear F s, who, however glad to have 
 
 more room for the children, sadly missed our 
 companionship, as we did hers. The day of 
 our exodus was very clear and bright, and 
 the narrow snow-track between our lots was 
 still tolerably hard and safe, though the 
 great thaw had begun, and the deep un- 
 
! 
 
 LETTEnS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 83 
 
 trodden snow on either side of the truck was 
 fast melting, and every careless step we took 
 plunged us into two or three feet of snow, 
 from which we had to be ignominiously 
 dragged out. It was worse when we sank 
 into holes full of water, and the narrow path 
 treacherously giving way at the edges, we 
 had many of these falls. All our trunks, 
 
 chests, and barrels had to be left at F s', 
 
 and we only took with us packages that 
 could be carried by hand, and our bedding, 
 which was conveyed on the shoulders of the 
 gentlemen. 
 
 Of course we travelled in Indian file, one 
 after the other. 
 
 When we finally departed, your brother-in- 
 law and Sister P e preceded me, laden 
 
 with all manner of small articles, and every 
 few yards down they came. I followed with 
 a stout stick which helped me along consider- 
 ably, and as I was not allowed to carry 
 
 6—2 
 
84 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY 
 
 .'I 
 
 anything, and picked my wa}^ very carefulhv 
 I managed to escape with comparatively few 
 falls, and only two of any consequence, one 
 when I pitched forward with my face dowit 
 flat on the ground, and another when my feet 
 suddenly slipped from under me and sent me- 
 backwards, rolling over and over in the snow 
 before, even Avith help, I could get up. The 
 effects of this fall I felt fur a long time. 
 
 At length we arrived at our new home,, 
 but in spite of the magic of that word, T felt 
 dreadfully depressed, and as we were all 
 thoroughly wet and weary, and on looking 
 out of the windows in front saw nothing but 
 a wall of snow six feet deep, which encircled 
 the house and quite liid the clearing from 
 our eyes, I need not say that we Avere any- 
 thing but a gay party. Your kind brother- 
 in-law, to console me a little, went home and 
 brought back in his arms, as a i)resent for 
 me, the little cat of which I had been so 
 

 LETTERS FHo.U AX EMIGRANT LADV. 85 
 
 fond at Ills house. I cheered up iuiiiiediately, 
 iUid liad so much trouble to prevent Httle 
 Tibbs fVoui ruunhig away and being lost in 
 the snow, that it was quite an occupation for 
 jne. One member of our party made himself 
 iit home at once, and from the moment of om' 
 entrance took possession of the warmest place 
 ])efore the stove. This was dear old Nero, 
 who, as a " French seigneur," had great 
 privileges, was much admired in the settle- 
 ment, and was always called the "Frenchman!" 
 His cliief deliglit seemed to be incessantly 
 barking at the squirrels. 
 
 The thaw continuing, we were quite 
 prisoners for some weeks, and as to our 
 property left at your sister's, it was nearly 
 three months before we could get it, as your 
 brother-in-law with your brothers had to cut 
 a path for the oxen between our clearings, 
 and to make a rough bridge over his creek, 
 which, though not so deep as the one on my 
 
 
 I 
 
 
86 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 land, was equally impassable for a wagon and 
 team. 
 
 Happy would it have been for us, and for 
 all the new settlers, if, when the snow was 
 quite melted, which was not till the second 
 week in May, fine dry weather had ensued. 
 This would have enabled us to log and burn 
 the trees felled during the winter, and to 
 clear up the ground ready for cropping. 
 Instead of this, drenching rain set in, varied 
 by occasional thunder-storms, so that even 
 after the logging was done it was June before 
 we could venture to fire the heaps, the ground 
 being still quite wet, and even then the clear- 
 ing was such a partial one that by the 1 5th of 
 June we had only three-fourths of an acre 
 thoroughly ready, and on this your brother 
 planted eight bushels of potatoes, happily for 
 us regardless of the prognostics of our 
 neighbours, who all assured him that he was 
 much too late to have any chance of a return. 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. .^7 
 
 He had, however, an excellent yield of eighty 
 bushels, which fully repaid him for his per- 
 severance and steady refusal to be wet- 
 blanketed. He also, however late, sowed 
 peas, French beans, vegetable-marrows, and 
 put in cabbages, from all of which we had a 
 good average croji. 
 
 We had, of course, to hire men for our 
 logging, with their oxen, and to find their 
 meals. I could not but observe how well 
 they all behaved, washing their faces and 
 hands before sitting down to table, and also 
 scrupulously refraining from swearing, smok- 
 ing, or spitting, while in the house. A man 
 who hires himself and his oxen out for the 
 day, has two dollars and food for himself and 
 his beasts ; and should he bring any assistants, 
 they each have seventy-five cents and their 
 food. You should have seen the gentlemen 
 of our party after a day's logging ! Tliey 
 were black from head to foot, and more 
 
S8 LK'ITKllS FHfiM AX EMIOUANT LADY 
 
 resoinblecl master chimney-sweeps than any- 
 thing else. Most of the settlers have a 
 re<jfular lo<ifo;iniif-suit made of coarse coloured 
 stuff; anything better is sure to be spoiled 
 during such work. 
 
 Our fire, though a bad one, was very 
 picturesque. It did not burn fiercely enough 
 to clear off the log-heaps still wet from 
 the late rains, but it ran far back into 
 the forest, and many of the tall trees, jDar- 
 ticularly the decaying ones, were Ijurning 
 from bottom to top, and continued in flames 
 for some days and nights. During the 
 logging I sincerely pitied the poor oxen, who 
 are yoked together and attached by a heavy 
 chain to one immense log after another, till 
 they are all brought into position, and the 
 log-heaps are arranged for burning. It is 
 most distressing to see these patient animals 
 panting after their exertions, and too often, I 
 regret to say, beaten and sworn at in a most 
 outrageous manner. 
 
LETTEllS FliOM AX KMIUUAXT LADY. 89 
 
 Groat care is re(]uiru(l to prevent accidents 
 iluring logj^ing, and fatal ones sometimes 
 occur. 1 was in conversation with the reeve 
 of an adjoining township this summer, and he 
 told me that two years ago he lost his eldest 
 son, a young man of great promise, in this 
 melancholy way. The poor fellow made a 
 lalse step while driving his team, and fell 
 riijht before the oxen who were comintif on 
 with a heavy log, cjuite a tree, attached to 
 them. Before it was possible to stop them, 
 they had drawn the tree over him and he was 
 literally crushed to death. 
 
 Not having been able to get the land ready 
 for corn of any kind, and our only crops being 
 the potatoes I have mentioned, and a few 
 garden vegetables, your bi-other thought it 
 best to give his whole attention to fencing 
 our clearing all round, and putting gates at 
 the three different i:)oints of egress. This 
 was the more necessary as your brother 
 
90 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 Charles had a cow and heifer with a lar<,'e 
 circle of acquaintances among our neighbour's 
 cattle, who came regularly every morning 
 to fetch them away into the Bush, where 
 they all fed till night. Your brother made 
 three gates on the model of French ones^ 
 which are both solid and simple in tlieir 
 construction, easy to open and easy to shut. 
 
 Wonderful to say, some of the old settlers 
 condescended to admire these novelties. 
 Your brother Charles worked with him till 
 this necessary labour was concluded, and we 
 were glad enough when our four and a half 
 acres were securely protected from the daily 
 inroads of stray cattle. Before the fence was* 
 up, your sister and I spent half our time in 
 running out with the broom to drive away 
 the neighbour's cattle, and protect our 
 cherished cabbage plants, and the potatoes 
 just coming up. Two audacious steers in 
 particular, called Jim and Charlie, used to 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 01 
 
 come many times during- the day, trot round 
 the house, drink up every ch'op of soapy water 
 in the washing-tubs, and if any linen was 
 hanging on the Hues to dry, would munch it 
 till driven away. 
 
 Two oxen and two or three cows used to 
 come early every morning, and cross our 
 clearing to fetch their friends from your 
 brother Charles'. We used to hear the 
 ox-bells, and after they had passed some time 
 would see them returning in triumph with 
 Crunnnie and the heifer, and after your 
 brother-in-law got a cow, they would go for 
 Dolly likewise, and then the whole party 
 would go off and feed together in the Bush 
 till night. 
 
 Fortunately, all the cattle in this part 
 wear bells to prevent their being lost. One 
 
 day your sister and I went to bring F e 
 
 and the children back to tea, when sud- 
 denly her own cow. Mistress Dolly, with 
 
 
;»2 LETTEIIS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 a neighbour's oxen called Blindy and Bald- 
 face, came rushing down the path we Avere 
 in, and we had just time, warned by the 
 bells, to scramble out of the way with the 
 children and get behind some trees, while 
 
 F 0, always courageous and active, drove 
 
 them in an opposite direction. 
 
 The being able to turn the cattle (a settler's 
 riches) into the Bush during the whole 
 sunnner, and thus to feed them free of all 
 expense, is a great boon to the settler ; but 
 this Bush-feedino- has its disadvantao^es, for 
 the cattle Avill sometimes stray with what 
 companions the}' gather on the road, miles 
 and miles away, to tlie great discomfort of 
 their masters who have to hunt for them. 
 
 All through the past summer, after his 
 hard day's work, we used to see your 
 youngest brother pass with a rope in one 
 hand and his milk-pail in the other, from 
 Dur clearing into the Bush, to look for 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 9;^ 
 
 Crummie and the heifer. Sometimes he 
 would return with them, but much oftener 
 we had to go without the milk he .supplied 
 us with, as Crummie would be heard of far 
 away at some distant farm, and occasionally 
 she and her companion strayed as far as the 
 Muskoka Road, many miles off, which of 
 course necessitated great loss of time and 
 much fatigue the next day in hunting her up. 
 Both your brothers and your brother-in-law 
 are excellent at making their way through 
 the Bush, and as each carries a pocket- 
 compass, are in little danger of being lost. 
 
 Just before we came here the whole settle- 
 ment had to turn out in search of a settler's 
 wife, who had gone to look for her cow one 
 fine afternoon with two of her own children 
 and two of a nciixhbour's, who coveted the 
 pleasant scrambling walk, and the cliance of 
 berry-picking. As evening came on and they 
 did not return, much alarm was felt ; and 
 
D4 LETTERS FI?OM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 I I 
 
 when the night had passed, it was thought 
 best to call out all the men in the immediate 
 neighbourhood. Accordingly twenty men 
 were soon mustered, headed by a skilful 
 trapper, Avho has been many years here, 
 and knows the Bush well. They made a 
 ** trapper's line," which means placing the 
 men in a straight line at considerable 
 distances from each other, and so beating 
 the Bush in all directions as they advance, 
 shouting and firing off their guns continually. 
 At length, towards the afternoon, the trapper 
 himself came upon the poor woman and the 
 four children, not many miles from her home, 
 sitting under a tree, utterly exhausted by 
 hunger, fatigue, and incessant screaming for 
 help. Her account was, that she had found 
 her cow at some distance from home, had 
 milked her, and then tried to return, but 
 entirely forgot the way she came, and after 
 trying one opening after another became 
 utterly bewildered. 
 
■ 
 
 LETTEm FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 95 
 
 The forest in summer is so unvarying that 
 nothing is easier than to go astray. As 
 night came on, she divided the can of milk 
 among the poor, hungry, crying children, and 
 at length, tired out, they all slept under a 
 large tree, the night providentially being fine 
 and warm. In the morning they renewed 
 their fruitless efforts, getting farther and far- 
 ther astray, till at length they had sunk down 
 incapable of longer exertion, and unable to 
 stir from the spot where they were found. 
 
 I conclude this letter with remarking, that 
 instead of the spring which I fondly antici- 
 pated, we burst at once from dull gloomy 
 weather and melting snow, to burning hot 
 summer and clouds of mosquitoes and flies of 
 all kinds. 
 
 I! 
 
m^mmm 
 
 mmmmm 
 
 LETTEE VI. 
 
 |UMMER and mosquitoes ! Inse- 
 parable words in Canada, except 
 in the large towns, where their 
 attacks are hardly felt. 
 
 In the Bush, the larger the clearing the 
 fewer the mosquitoes. It is, above all things, 
 desirable to avoid building a log-house near 
 swampy ground, for there they will be found 
 in abundance. 
 
 We have four acres and a half quite clear, 
 but unfortunately our log-house, instead of 
 being placed in the middle, is at one end, 
 with a well-wooded hill and a portion of dense 
 
LETTERS FROM JN EMIGRANT LADY. 1)7 
 
 forest at the back and at one end ; delicious 
 retreat for our enemies, from whence they 
 issued in myriads, tormenting us from morn- 
 ing till night, and all night long. 
 
 This Egyptian plague began in the end of 
 May, and lasted till the end of September. 
 We being new-comers they were virulent in 
 their attacks, and we were bitten from head 
 to foot ; in a short time we felt more like 
 lepers than healthy, clean people, and tlie 
 want of sleep at night was most trying to 
 us all, after our hard work. Our only resource 
 was keeping large " smudges " continually 
 burning in pans. These "smudges" are made 
 of decayed wood, called "punk," and smoulder 
 and smoke without flaming. 
 
 When I went to bed at night (my only 
 time for reading) I used to turn a long trunk 
 end upwards close to my bolster, and place 
 a large pan of " punk " on it, so that myself 
 and my book were well enveloped in smoke. 
 
 7 
 
wmrm 
 
 98 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 Many times in the night we had to renew our 
 pans, and from the firat dawn of day the 
 buzzing of these hateful insects, who seem 
 then to acquire fresh livehness, prevented all 
 chance of sleep. Nor were the mosquitoes 
 our only foes. Flies of all kinds swarmed 
 around us, and one in particular, the deer- 
 fly, Avas a long black fly frightful to look at,, 
 from its size and ugliness. Still, as the flies 
 did not circle about in the air as the mos- 
 quitoes did, we could better defend ourselves 
 against them. 
 
 We derived little or no benefit from the 
 numerous remedies recommended by diffe- 
 rent settlers. In one only I found some 
 alleviation — a weak solution of carbolic acid, 
 which certainly deadened the irritation, and 
 was at least a clean remedy compared with 
 the " fly-oil " with which most of the settlers 
 besmear themselves unsparingly. 
 
 Towards the end of June I entered upon 
 
I 
 
 LETTEBS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 99 
 
 an entirely new phase of Bush-life, which was 
 anything but pleasant to a person of a nervous, 
 susceptible temperament. This was my being 
 in perfect solitude for many hours of every 
 day. Your; sister-in-law expected her first 
 confinement, and we were so anxious that 
 she should have proper medical advice, that 
 it was thought advisable to place her in 
 
 lodgings at B e till the important event 
 
 took place. Her brother coming to pay her 
 a visit entirely agreed in the necessity of the 
 case, and as he kindly smoothed away the 
 money difficulty it Avas carried into execution. 
 She could not go alone, and therefore your 
 eldest sister accompanied her, and thus I lost 
 for a time my constant and only companion. 
 
 I undertook now to keep house for both 
 your brothers, as in his wife's absence Charles 
 could have little comfort at home. I only saw 
 them at meal- times, and though your eldest 
 brother came home always before dusk, yet 
 
 7—2 
 
100 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 I could not but be very nervous at being so 
 much alone. 
 
 The weather became so hot, that the stove 
 was moved into the open air at the back of 
 the house, and to save me fatigue your 
 brother cut a doorway at the back, close to 
 where the stove was placed. Unfortunately 
 there was a great press of work at this time, 
 and moreover no lumber on the premises, and 
 therefore no door could be made, and the 
 aperture, which I had nothing large enough 
 to block up, remained all the summer, to my 
 great discomfiture. 
 
 At first I was not so very solitary, for a 
 settler's daughter, who had worked for your 
 sister-in-law, came to me three times a week, 
 and went on the alternate days to your sister 
 
 F e. We liked her very well, were very 
 
 kind to her, and under our training she was 
 learning to be quite a good servant, when an 
 incident occurred which occasioned our dis- 
 
■ 
 
 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 101 
 
 missing her, which gave me great pain, and 
 which has never been cleared up to my satis- 
 faction. 
 
 Our poor dog Nero, who was an excel- 
 lent guard, and quite a companion, was taken 
 ill, and we fancied that he had been bitten 
 by a snake in Charles' beaver meadow, where 
 he had been with your brothers who were 
 haymaking. We nursed him most tenderly, 
 you may be sure, but he got worse and worse 
 suffered agonies, and in less than a week I 
 was obliged to consent to our old favourite 
 dog being shot. He was taken from my bed • 
 well wrapped up, so that he knew nothing of 
 what was coming, while I walked far away 
 into the wood, and your brother with one 
 shot put the faithful animal out of his pain. 
 Two days before he died a large piece of 
 poisoned meat was found near the pathway 
 of our clearing, and as from before the time 
 of his beino^ ill no one but this servant mr\ 
 
102 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 had gone backwards and forwards, as her 
 fatlier had a kind of grudge against your 
 brother for driving his cattle off the premises, 
 and as she never expressed the shghtest sym- 
 pathy for the poor beast, but seemed quite 
 pleased when he was dead, we could not but 
 fear that she had been made the medium of 
 killing him. We found that he had been 
 poisoned with blue vitriol, but we knew this 
 too late to save him. 
 
 We buried him honourably, and I planted 
 
 a circle of wild violets round his grave, and 
 
 ^was not ashamed to shed many tears besides, 
 
 which was a well-deserved tribute to our old 
 
 and faithful /rie^ic?. 
 
 After the girl was dismissed I found more 
 than enough of occupation, for though your 
 brother made and baked the bread, which I 
 was not strong enough to do, yet I cooked, 
 washed for them, and did the house-work, 
 which I found sufficiently fatiguing, and was 
 
■ 
 
 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 103 
 
 very glad after dinner to sit down to my 
 writing-table, which I took good care to 
 place so as to face the open door, never feel- 
 ing safe to have it at my back. 
 
 Your dear sister F. was so kind, that at 
 great inconvenience to herself, on account of 
 the heat and the flies in the forest, she man- 
 aged to come nearly every day at four p.m. 
 with the children, and remained till your 
 brother came back for the niofht. 
 
 He was occupied for many weeks in making 
 hay with your brother and brother-in-law 
 in the beaver meadow, a large one and very 
 productive. They make a great deal of hay, 
 and put it up in large cocks, but a great 
 deal of it was lost by rotting on the ground, 
 from not being carried away in proper time. 
 The delay was occasioned by none of us having 
 oxen of our own, and from not having the 
 means of hiring till the season was passed. 
 
 The not gettinoj money at the proper epochs 
 
104 LETTERS FROM AN EMIOllANT LADY. 
 
 ii 
 
 for work is the fjreatest drawback to tbo new 
 .settler. If it comes too soon it is apt to melt 
 away in the necessities of daily life ; if it 
 comes too late he nmst wait for another year. 
 I fully realised during this summer, that 
 solitude in the Bush is not privacy. Though 
 in case of any accident I was out of reach of 
 all human help, yet I was liable at any mo- 
 ment of the day to have some passing settler 
 walk coolly in, and sit down in my very chair 
 if I had vacated it for a moment. I got one 
 fright which I shall not easily forget. I had 
 given your two brothers their breakfast, and 
 they had started for their hay-making in the 
 distant beaver meadow. I had washed up 
 the breakfast-things, cleared everything away, 
 and was arranging my hair in the glass hang- 
 ing in the bed-place, the curtain of which was 
 undrawn on account of the heat. My parting 
 look in the glass disclosed a not very prepos- 
 sessing face in the doorway behind, belonging 
 
LETTERS FltOM AN EMWUANT LADY. 105 
 
 to a man who stood there immovable as a 
 statue, and evidently enjoying my discom- 
 fiture. 
 
 I greeted him with a scream, which was 
 almost a yell, and advanced i)ale as a ghost, 
 having the agreeable sensation of all the 
 blood in my body running down to my toes 1 
 His salutation was : 
 
 ** Wall, I guess I've skeered you some !" 
 
 ** Yes !" I replied, ** you startled me very 
 nmch." 
 
 He then came in and sat down. I sat 
 down too, and we fell into quite an easy flow 
 of talk about the weather, the crops, etc. 
 
 How devoutly I wished him anywhere else, 
 and how ill I felt after my fright, I need not 
 say, but I flatter myself that nothing of this 
 appeared on the surface ; all was courtesy and 
 politeness. 
 
 At length he went way, and finding your 
 brother in the beaver meadow, took care to 
 
l! 
 
 106 LETTEllS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 inform him that he " had had quite a plea- 
 sant chat with his old woman I" 
 
 I knew this man by sight, for once in the 
 early part of the summer he came to inquire 
 where Charles lived? On my pointing out 
 the path, and saying in my politest manner, 
 
 " You will have no difficulty, sir, in finding- 
 Mr. C. K.'s clearing," he coolly replied : 
 
 " I guess I shall find it ; I knows your son 
 well ; ive always calls him Charlie /" 
 
 I had visitors during the summer, who were 
 much more welcome. Two nice intelligent 
 little boys with bare feet and shining faces, 
 the children of an American from the 
 "States," settled in the Muskoka Road, used 
 to come twice a week with milk, eggs, and 
 baskets of the delicious wild raspberry at' five 
 cents a quart. While they were resting and 
 refreshing themselves with cold tea and 
 bread-and-butter we used to have quite plea- 
 sant conversations. They were very confi- 
 
II 
 
 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 107 
 
 dential, told lue how anxiously they were 
 expecting a grandmother, of whom they were 
 very fond, and who was coming to live with 
 them; of their progress and prizes in the 
 Sunday-school some miles from here, which 
 they regularly attended ; of their garden and 
 of many other little family matters ; and when 
 I gave them some story-books for children, 
 and little tracts, they informed me that they 
 would be kept for Sunday reading. They 
 never failed, with the things they brought for 
 3ale, to bring me as a present a bunch of beau- 
 tiful sweet-peas and mignonette, and occasion- 
 ally a scarlet gladiolus. 
 
 When they were gone I used to sit down 
 to my letter- writing ; and after all my grubbing 
 and house-work, I felt quite elevated in the 
 social scale to have a beautiful bouquet on my 
 writing-table, which I took care to arrange 
 with a background of delicate fern leaves and 
 dark, slender sprigs of the ground-hendock. 
 
108 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 The verv smell of the flowers reminded me 
 of my beloved transatlantic home, with its 
 wealth of beautiful plants and flowering 
 shrubs, and every room decorated with vases 
 of lovely flowers which I passed some de- 
 licious morning hours in collecting and 
 
 arranging. 
 
 When the fruit season had passed, I lost 
 my little visitors, but was painfully reminded 
 of them at the beginning of the winter. 
 Your brother-in-law was called upon, in the 
 absence of the clergyman, to read the burial 
 service over an old lady who had died sud- 
 denly in the settlement. This was the 
 grandmother of my poor little friends. She 
 had always expressed a wish to spend her 
 last days with her daughter in Muskoka, but 
 put off* her journey from the " States " till 
 the weather was so severe that she suffered 
 much while travelling, and arrived with a 
 very bad cold. The second morning after 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 109 
 
 her arrival she was found dead in her 
 bed. 
 
 I remained all the summer strictly a 
 prisoner at home. The not being able to 
 shut up the log- house for want of the second 
 door of course prevented my leaving home, 
 even for an hour ; for the Bush is not 
 Arcadia, and however primitive the manners 
 and customs may be, I have failed to re- 
 cognise primitive innocence among its in- 
 habitants. 
 
 As to the berry-picking, which is the 
 favourite summer amusement here, I would 
 sooner have gone without fruit than have 
 ventured into the swamps and beaver mea- 
 dows, where the raspberries, huckleberries, 
 and cranberries abound. My fear of snakes 
 was too overpowering. Charles killed this 
 summer no less than seven ; and though we 
 are told that in this part of Canada they are 
 perfectly innocuous, yet your brother pointed 
 
110 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 out that three out of the seven he killed had 
 the flat conformation of head which betokens 
 a venomous species. 
 
 In the meantime our news from B e 
 
 was not too good. After a residence in the 
 lodgings of five weeks, your sister-in-law had 
 been confined of a dear little bov, and at first 
 all had gone well, but after a week she be- 
 came very ill, and also the baby ; and as he 
 had to be brought up by hand, and there was 
 great difficulty in getting pure, unmixed milk 
 
 in B e, it was thought better, when he 
 
 was five weeks old, to bring the whole party 
 back. That memorable journey must be re- 
 served for another letter. 
 
 I noticed this summer many times the 
 curious appearance of our clearing by moon- 
 light. In the day the stumps stood out in all 
 their naked deformity, as we had no " crops 
 of golden grain " to hide them ; but at night 
 I never beheld anything more weird and 
 
^" 
 
 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY, 111 
 
 ghostly. The trees being mostly chopped in 
 the winter, with deep snow on the ground, 
 the stumps are left quite tall, varying from 
 five to seven feet in height. When these are 
 blackened by the burning, which runs all 
 over the clearing, they present in the dim 
 light the appearance of so many spectres. I 
 could almost fancy myself in the cemetery in 
 the Dunkirk Road, near Calais, and that the 
 blackened stumps were hideous black crosses 
 which the French are so fond of erectinjr m 
 their churchyards. 
 
 They have in America a machine called a 
 *' stump-extractor ;" but this is very expen- 
 sive. By the decay of nature, it is possible, 
 in two or three years, to drag out the stumps 
 of trees with oxen ; but the pine stumps 
 never decay under seven or eight years, and 
 during all that time are a perpetual blot on 
 the beauty of the landscape. 
 
 I was much interested in a sight, novel to 
 
mm 
 
 -1^-, 
 
 
 
 112 LETTERS FllOM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 me, namely, the fire-flies flitting about in the 
 tops of the tall trees. They seemed like so many 
 glittering stars, moving so fast that the sight 
 became quite dazzled. In the cold weather, 
 too, the aurora borealis is most beautiful ; 
 and it is well worth being a little chilly to 
 stand out and watch the soft tints melting 
 one into the other, and slowly vanishing 
 away. But for these occasional glimpses of 
 beauty and sublimit}^, I should indeed have 
 found existence in the Bush intolerably 
 prosaic. 
 
 I very much missed the flocks of birds I 
 was accustomed to in Europe ; but as I 
 always forbade any gun being fired off in 
 my clearing, I soon made acquaintance with 
 some. It was a treat to me to watch two 
 audacious woodpeckers, who would come and 
 nibble at my stumps, and let me stand within 
 a few feet of them without the least fear. 
 There was also a pretty snow-bird, which 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 1 1 3 
 
 knew me so well that it would wait till I 
 threw out crumbs and bits of potato for it ; 
 and once, when we had some meat hanging 
 in a bag on the side of the house, which your 
 brother tied up tightly to prevent depreda- 
 tion, this sagacious creature perched on the 
 shed near, and actually looked me into un- 
 tying the bag, and pulling partly out a piece 
 of the pork, upon which it set to work with 
 such goodwill, that in a few days some 
 ounces of fat had disappeared. 
 
 8 
 

 LETTER VII. 
 
 iLL joiirney3 to and from the Bush 
 are prosecuted under such diffi- 
 culties, that it is very fortunate 
 they are few and far between. Indeed, few 
 of the better class of settlers would remain, 
 but for the near prospect of Government 
 granting roads in the township, and the 
 more distant one of the different companies 
 for buying the pine-wood bridging over the 
 deep gullies on the lots to facilitate . their 
 taking away the timber. When one of the 
 expectant members for Muskoka paid us, in 
 the course of the summer, an election visit. 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT L 
 
 this was the point on which we mainly 
 insisted. Our courteous visitor promised 
 everything; but as his subsequent election 
 was declared null and void, we liave as yet 
 reaped no benefit from his promises. 
 
 Towards the end of August, I was com- 
 pelled to pay my half-yearly visit to B e, 
 
 for the purpose of getting my pension-lists 
 signed and duly forwarded. Your brother 
 likewise had to take in two settlers in the 
 vicinity, to swear off some land before taking 
 it up. At first we thought of making 
 our way to the post-office, three miles off, 
 and from thence taking places in the mail- 
 cart ; but as we had to take in our settlers, 
 and to pay all their expenses to and from 
 
 B e, your brother thought it best to send 
 
 to the town for a wagon and team expressly 
 for ourselves. This arrived ; but, alas ! m 
 the afternoon instead of the morning, which 
 had been specially mentioned. 
 
 8—2 
 
116 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 On this day we fully proved the jylorious 
 uncertainty of the Canadian climate. The 
 morning had been lovely, but towards three 
 p.m. a soft, drizzling rain began to fall, 
 which increased in volume and power till it 
 became a drenching torrent. 
 
 Your brother-in-law took charge of me, 
 and assisted me in scrambling over the dif- 
 ferent gullies ; but by the time I considered 
 it safe to get into the wagon, I was already 
 wet through. The horses were so tired, 
 having come from a distant journey, that we 
 travelled very slowly, and it was dark when 
 we drew up at the half-way house, where 
 we were to have tea and to rest the poor 
 animals. Here we remained for two hours ; 
 and when we again started it was pitch dark, 
 with torrents of rain still falling, and the 
 addition of occasional peals of thunder and 
 flashes of lisjhtnincj. 
 
 I have heard and read much of the tropical 
 
lettehs fhom an }':mig]Ui\t lady, m 
 
 rains of India and other southern countries, 
 but it would be impossible to imagine a more 
 persistent drenching than we got on this 
 unlucky afternoon. The whole eight miles 
 from the half-way house the horses could 
 only walk very slowly, the night being un- 
 usually dark. We greatly need in this 
 country such a law as they have in France, 
 Avhere it is enacted, under a heavy penalty, 
 that no carriage, cart, or wagon shall travel 
 after dark without carrying a good and suffi- 
 cient light to prevent dangerous collisions. 
 I should have been very nervous but for my 
 implicit faith in the sagacity of the horses, 
 and the great care of the driver, whom we 
 only knew under his sobriquet of ** Canadian 
 Joe." He w^as a quiet, careful man, a French 
 Canadian, who beguiled the way by singing 
 very sweetly, and with whom it was pleasant 
 to converse in the language we loved so well. 
 He took us safely into B e, with the ad- 
 
118 LETTFAtS FROM AN EMIGUANT LADY. 
 
 dition to our party of two travellers we over- 
 took on the road, and upon whom we had 
 compassion. 
 
 When we got in, the hotel was fibout 
 closing for the night ; the fires were out, and 
 the landlady had gone to bed ill ; but the 
 master bestirred himself, showed me to a 
 comfortable bedroom, and made me some 
 negus, which your brother, himself wet to 
 the skin, soon brought me, and which at 
 least warmed me a little after so many hours 
 of exposure to cold and wet. 
 
 The next morning, as soon as we could 
 get into thoroughly-dried clothes, we went 
 to see our invalids. Your poor sister- in-law^ 
 was still suffering much, but her dear baby 
 (a very minute specimen of humanity) was 
 improving, and, after more than two months' 
 absence, I was thankful to see your sister 
 only looking very pale, and not, as I ex- 
 pected, utterly worn out by her arduous 
 
m 
 
 LETTEn.^ Eli )M AX EMIGRANT LADY. ll'J 
 
 duties and compulsory vigils and anxieties. 
 Your brother was obliged to return to the 
 Bush on Saturday ; but I remained to come 
 home with your sister and sister-in-law the 
 next week. 
 
 In the meantime, having been to the 
 magistrate's office and transacted all our 
 business, I greatly enjoyed with your brother 
 walking about the neighbourhood. It was, 
 indeed, a treat to walk on a good road, and 
 to see signs of life and progress everywhere, 
 instead of the silent monotony of the forest. 
 
 We noticed an amazing change for the 
 better in this "risinij villaije of the Far West," 
 which we had not seen for six months. The 
 hotels and stores seemed to have quadrupled 
 themselves, good frame-houses were spring- 
 ing up in every direction, and a very pretty 
 little church, since opened for Church of 
 England service, was nearly finished. These 
 lumber-houses are very ugly at first, on aa- 
 
120 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 count of the yellow hue of the wood; but 
 this is soon toned down by exposure to the 
 weather, and climbing-plants and pretty 
 gardens soon alter their appearance, and 
 make them picturesque. 
 
 The dull, primitive life of the Bush cer- 
 tainly prepares one to be pleased with trifles. 
 I revelled like a child in the unwonted stir 
 and hum of life about me, and felt half 
 ashamed of the intense amusement I derived 
 from the lordly airs of an old gander, who 
 marshalled his flock of geese u}) and down 
 the road all day long. I felt quite angry 
 with a young man at the breakfast -table of 
 the hotel, who complained loudly that this 
 old gentleman's cackling and hissing had 
 kept him awake all night. I too, in the in- 
 tervals of sleep, had heard the same sound, 
 but to me it was sweet music. 
 
 On Sunday morning I had a treat for 
 which I was quite unprepared. The Rev. 
 
LETTEMS FROM AN EMIGHAM LADY. 121 
 
 Morley Puiisliun, head of the Weslevan 
 Methodist Church in Canada, came to 
 
 B e, to lecture on the " Life and Writings 
 
 of Lord Macaulay." On Sunday morning he 
 preached in the open air, to acconmiodate the 
 many who could not have found room in the 
 Wesley an Chapel. A little secluded dell, 
 some distance from the main load, was 
 thoroughly cleared of wood and underbrush, 
 and rough benches were placed in profusion 
 for seats. ^ was astonished at the numbers 
 assembled — ^six hunched I was afterwards 
 told. After the benches were full, the hill- 
 sides were densely packed ; and it was im- 
 possible not to go back in thought to the 
 Scotch Covenanters and the heathery hills, 
 so often sprinkled with their blood. All here 
 was calm and peaceful ; it was a lovely Sab- 
 bath morning, the air indescribably balmy 
 and fragrant, the service very simple and 
 impressive, the singing singularly sweet, and 
 
122 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 the discourse delivered by the gifted minister 
 full of fervid eloquence. 
 
 He preached from Psalm xlii. 4. My 
 feelings nearly overcame me ; it was the 
 very first time since I left England that I 
 had had the opportunity of publicly joining 
 in worship with my fellow-Christians ; and it 
 appeared to me a matter of very small im- 
 portance that most of those present were 
 Wesleyanc, while I was Church of England. 
 The lecture on " Macaulay " was duly de- 
 livered the next day, and was much liked ; 
 but I did not go, preferring to pass the time 
 with our poor invalid. 
 
 On Tuesday, September 2nd, your brother 
 Charles came in and made arrangements to 
 take his wife, child, and your sister, back on 
 the following day. I made up my mind to 
 go back with them, and again we took care 
 to secure Canadian Joe and his team. It 
 was a perilous journey for one in so much 
 
LETTEllS FROM AN EMIGUANT LADY. 12a 
 
 physical suffering, but it was admirably 
 managed. We laid a soft mattress in the 
 bottom of the wagon, with plenty of pillows^ 
 and on this we placed your sister-in-law with 
 the baby by her side. Charles sat with them 
 to keep all steady ; your sister and I sat with 
 the driver. Canadian Joe surpassed himself 
 in the care he took of the invalid ; every bad 
 piece of road he came to he walked his horses 
 quite softly, looking back at Charles with a 
 warning shake of the head, as much as to 
 say, " Take care of her now I" 
 
 We travelled slowly, but by his great care 
 arrived safely, and at the cleared farm 
 nearest to mine we were met by your brother 
 and brother-in-law, who had skilfully ar- 
 ranged a ship's hammock on a pole, and 
 made of it a very tolerable palanquin. Into 
 this your sister-in-law was carefully lifted,, 
 and two of the gentlemen carried her, the 
 third relieving them at intervals. They got 
 
12-t LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 her safely over all the gullieH, and carried her 
 past my log-house to her own home, where 
 she was at once put to bed, and in a very 
 few days began to recover. Your sister and 
 I took charge of the dear little baby, and 
 after a most fiitiixuincr walk and much 
 dangerous scrambling with such a precious 
 load, we got him safely here, where he has 
 remained our cherished nursling ever since, 
 and has thriven well. His dear young 
 mother, having quite recovered, comes every 
 day to be with her little treasure. 
 
 We only just arrived in time ; the rain 
 began again and continued for some days. 
 We had much trouble with the rain diifting 
 
 in through the clap-boards of the roof. 
 What would Mr. Punch have said could he 
 have seen two ladies in bed with a baby be- 
 tween them, and a large umbrella fixed at the 
 head of the bed to save them from the roof- 
 drippings 1 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 125 
 
 We had two visits this autumn from which 
 we derived much pleasure. Oile from our 
 old friend C. W., and one from a friend and 
 connection of your sister-in-law's family, her 
 eldest brother havino; married one of his 
 sisters. H. L. was quite an addition to our 
 working party. More than six feet high, 
 strong and active, he fraternised at once with 
 your brothers, and cheerfully helped them in 
 their daily labours. Your brother hired a 
 team of oxen for some days, and had the ro- 
 mainino; trees \\m^ in our clearing^ losfored 
 up, and watched for the first fine dry day to 
 complete the burning begun in sjiring. Our 
 two young friends assisted him in his labours, 
 and they managed so well that the regular 
 day's work was not interfered with. Every 
 evening they set fire to some of the log- 
 heaps, and diligently '' branded " them up 
 till they were reduced to ashes. As we 
 could not admit our friends into the house 
 
— r^ 
 
 126 LETTERS FIIOM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 after a certain hour in the evening, and as 
 their vigils extended far into the night, your 
 brother used to provide the party with 
 plcn- y of potatoes, which they roasted in the 
 ashes and ate with butter and salt, Avith a 
 large pot of coffee and an unlimited supply of 
 tobacco -lihey being all inveterate smokers. 
 As they .'aid all fine voices and sang well 
 togetner, the jT'V^y p^rty was not a dull one, 
 and the forest ec!.u";d with their favourite 
 songs. Fortunately there was no one in our 
 solitary neighbourhood to be disturbed from 
 their slumbers, and provided they did not 
 wake the baby, we rather enjoyed the un- 
 wonted noise, knowing how much they were 
 enjoying themselves. Perhaps the most 
 amusing time of all was the Saturday after- 
 noon, when what we ladies called the " Jew 
 trading" invariably took place. I really 
 think that every article belonging to our 
 young men changed hands at these times, 
 
M 
 
 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 127 
 
 and the amusing manner in which the stores 
 of each were laid out for public admiration 
 and regularly haggled for, cannot be for- 
 gotten. In this manner your eldest brother's 
 celebrated chassepot gun, picked up on the field 
 of Sedan, gave place to a Colt's revolver and 
 a small fowling-piece ; his heavy gold seal (a 
 much-coveted article) took the more useful 
 form of corduroy trousers and heavy boots ; 
 in like manner both your brothers gladly 
 bartered their fine dress shirts, and handker- 
 chiefs, and satin ties, for coarser garments 
 better fitted for the Bush, of which both C. 
 W. and H. L. had a good stock now quite 
 useless to them, as neither could make up 
 his mind to a Bush life. These amusin<r 
 jbransfers of property came to a close at last, 
 after some weeks of incessant trafficking, with 
 your brother's solemnly asking my permission 
 to hand over to H. L., as a make-weight in 
 the scale, a large woollen comforter which I 
 
128 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 had knitted for him. Some of the bartering" 
 went on at " Pioneer Cottage," your brother 
 Charles' place, a name most appropriately 
 given, as he was the first of our party in tlie 
 settlement. I called my log-house " Cedar 
 Lodge" at first, and headed some of my 
 letters to England with that elegant name, 
 understanding that I was the happy owner 
 of a number of cedar trees, but finding that 
 my riches in cedar consisted in a small 
 portion only of a dirty cedar-swamp, from 
 which not one tree fit for building could be 
 extracted, I dropped the gi'andiloquent no- 
 menclature, and simply put for heading to 
 my letters, " The Bush— Muskoka." 
 
 We felt quite dull when our friends left, 
 but they correspond with both your brothers, 
 and H. L. is not far from us, having married 
 and settled at Toronto. 
 
 A very grave subject of consideration has 
 arisen among us on the subject of domestic 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 121) 
 
 servants. Should any providential improve- 
 ment in our circumstances take place, or our 
 farms become even moderately thriving, we 
 should certainly once more require these 
 social incumbrances, but where to find them 
 would be a question. Certainly not in the 
 settlement to which we belong. Not one of 
 the ladies in our three families has a special 
 vocation for cooking and house-tidying, 
 though all have done it since we came here 
 without complaint, and have done it well. 
 Indeed, a most respectable settler, who, with 
 other men and a team of oxen, was working 
 for some days on our land to help your 
 brother, remarked to his wife that he was 
 quite astonished that a young lady (meaning 
 your eldest sister), evidently unaccustomed 
 to hard work, could do so much and could do 
 it so well. He had noticed how comfortably 
 all the different meals had been prepared and 
 
 arranged. Your sister T e too, in spite 
 
 9 
 
PWWfP 
 
 ■PWWWP 
 
 ^PP^ 
 
 ^■r 
 
 130 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 of the hindrance of three Httle children, has 
 always given great satisfaction to the work- 
 men employed by her husband. We should 
 of course hail the day when we could have 
 the help in all household matters we formerly 
 enjoyed ; but we must surely seek for it at a 
 distance from here. 
 
 The children of the settlers, both boys and 
 girls, know well that on attaining the age of 
 eighteen years, they can each claim and take 
 up from Government a free grant of one 
 hundred acres. They naturally feel their 
 incipient independence and their individual 
 interest in the country, and this makes them 
 less inclined to submit to the few restrictions 
 of servitude still sanctioned by common sense 
 and general observance. They serve their 
 temporary masters and mistresses under pro- 
 test as it were, and are most unwilling to 
 acknowledge their title to these obnoxious 
 names. They consider it their undoubted 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 131 
 
 ir 
 
 d 
 
 right to be on a footing of perfect equality 
 with every member of the family, and have 
 no inclination whatever to "sit below the 
 salt." 
 
 When your sister-in-law returned from 
 Bracebridge, her health was for some time 
 too delicate for her to do any hard work, and 
 we, having charge of the baby, could give her 
 no assistance. Your brother Charles looked 
 about the settlement for a respectable girl as 
 a servant. He found one in every way suit- 
 able, about sixteen, and apparently healthy, 
 strong, willing, and tolerably competent. He 
 liked her appearance, and engaged her at the 
 wages she asked. She entered upon her 
 place, did her work well, and gave entire 
 satisfaction. Everything was done to make 
 her comfortable, even to the extent of giving 
 her the whole Sunday to herself, as she was 
 in the habit of attending the church some 
 miles off and also the Sunday-school. In 
 
 9—2 
 
WH5 
 
 132 LETTERS FROM JN EMIGUANT LADY. 
 
 little more than a week she suddenly left, 
 assigning no reason but that she was ** wanted 
 at home," which we knew to be a falsehood, 
 as she had two or three sisters capable of 
 assisting her mother. We were greatly 
 puzzled to find out her true reason for 
 leaving. After a time it was made clear to 
 us by a trustworthy person who had it from 
 the family themselves. The young lady had 
 found it intolerably dully and it was further 
 explained to us that no settler would allow 
 his daughter to be in service where she was 
 not allowed to sit at the same table with the 
 family, and to join freely in the conversation 
 at all times I 
 
LETTER VIII. 
 
 BEGIN this letter with a few 
 observations in support of my oft- 
 repeated assertion that poor ladies 
 and gentlemen form the a\ ust, or at least the 
 most unsuccessful, class for emigration to 
 Canada. I must give you a slight sketch 
 of the class of settlers we have here, and 
 of the conditions they must fulfil before 
 they can hope to be in easy circumstances, 
 much less in affluent ones. Of course I 
 am speaking of settlers from the " old 
 country," and not of Canadians born who 
 sometimes find their way from the front 
 
fr 
 
 134 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 to try their fortunes in the backwoods. The 
 settlers in this neighbourhood, for a circuit of 
 about eight miles, are all of the lower classes; 
 weavers from Scotland, agricultural labourers 
 from England, artisans and mechanics from 
 all parts. Whatever small sum of money 
 a family of this class can collect with a view 
 t' emigration, very little of it is spent in 
 coming over. They are invariably steerage 
 passengers, and on landing at Quebec are 
 forwarded, free of all expense, and well pro- 
 vided for on the road, by the Emigration 
 Society, to the part where they intend 
 settling. Say that they come to the free- 
 grant lands of Muskoka. The intending 
 settler goes before the commissioner of 
 crown-lands, and (if a single man) takes up 
 a lot of a hundred acres ; if married and 
 with children, he can claim another lot as 
 " head of a family." He finds the conditions 
 of his tenure specified on the paper he signs, 
 
LETTEllS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 135 
 
 and sees that it will be five years before he 
 can have his patent, and then only if he has 
 cleared fifteen acres, and has likewise built 
 thereon a log-house of certain dimensions. 
 He pays some one a dollar to point out his 
 lot, and to take him over it, and then select- 
 ing the best site, and with what assistance he 
 can get from his neighbours, he clears a small 
 patch of ground and builds a shanty. In the 
 meantime, if he have a wife and family they 
 are lodged and boarded for a very small sum 
 at some near neighbour's. When he and his 
 family have taken possession, he under- 
 brushes and chops as much as he possibly can 
 before the winter sets in ; but on the first 
 approach of the cold weather he starts for 
 the lumber- shanties, and engages himself to 
 work there, receiving from twenty to twenty- 
 five dollars a month and his food. Should he 
 be of any particular trade he goes to some large 
 town, and is tolerably sure of employment. 
 
 f^ 
 
;»*«• 
 
 ■i liT i Ti i r i lTigri 
 
 ammm 
 
 136 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 It is certainly a very hard and anxious life 
 for the wife and children, left to shift for 
 themselves throughout the long dreary 
 winter, too often on a very slender provision 
 of flour and potatoes and little else. 
 
 When spring at last comes, the steady, 
 hard-working settler returns with quite a 
 little sum of money wherewith to commence 
 his own farming operations. One of the 
 most respectable and thriving settlers near 
 us is a man who began life as a sturdy 
 Kentish ploughboy. He is now an elderly 
 man with a very large family and a good 
 farm. He has thirty acres well cleared and 
 under cultivation, has thirteen head of cattle 
 and some fine pigs, has the best barn in the 
 place, and has just removed his family into a 
 large commodious plank house, with many 
 rooms and a very fine cellar, built entirely at 
 odd times by himself and his son, a steady, 
 clever lad of eighteen. 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 137 
 
 This man for several years has gone at the 
 beginning of the winter to one of the hotels 
 in Bracebridge, where he acts as "stable- 
 boy," and makes a great deal of money 
 besides his food, which, in such a place, is^ 
 of the best. He could very well now remain 
 at home, and reap the reward of his thrift 
 and industry, but prefers going on for a year 
 or two longer, while he still has health and 
 strength. 
 
 Now it is obvious that ladies and gentle- 
 men have not, and cannot have these ad- 
 vantages. The ladies of a family cannot be 
 left unprotected during the long winter, and 
 indeed are, for the most part, physically in- 
 capable of chopping fire- wood, drawing water, 
 and doing other hard outdoor work ; I speak 
 particularly of poor ladies and gentlemen. 
 Should people of ample means choose to en- 
 counter the inevitable privations of the 
 Bush, there are of course few which 
 

 138 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 cannot be at least alleviated by a judicious 
 •expenditure of money. 
 
 It may well be asked here, who is there 
 with ample means vho would dream of 
 coming to Muskoka ? I answer boldly, none 
 but those who are entirely ignorant of the 
 miseries of Bush life, or those who have 
 been purposely misled by designing and in- 
 terested people. 
 
 Here the settlers' wives and daughters 
 work almost as hard as their husbands 
 and fathers — log, burn, plant, and dig ; 
 and, in some instances, with the work 
 adopt the habits of men, and smoke and 
 chew tobacco to a considerable extent. 
 This, I am happy to say, is not the case 
 with all, nor even, I hope, with the majority ; 
 but nearly all the women, long before at- 
 taining middle age, look prematurely worn 
 and faded, and many of the settlers them- 
 selves bear in their faces the unmistakable 
 
LETTERS FllOM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 139 
 
 
 signs of hard work, scanty food, and a per- 
 petual struggle for existence. 
 
 I have not yet mentioned the subject of 
 wild beasts, but I may truly say that ever 
 since I came out here, they have been a com- 
 plete bugbear to me, and my dread of them 
 is still unconquerable. I have been much 
 laughed at for my fears, but as it is well- 
 known that there are wild animals in the 
 recesses of these woods, and as they do 
 sometimes show themselves without being 
 sought for, I cannot consider my fears 
 groundless. 
 
 I have been told by one settler, who has 
 been here for many years, and has often 
 " camped out " all night in the woods, that 
 he has never seen anything " worse than 
 himself;" but another settler, the trapper 
 mentioned in a former letter, kills some wild 
 animals every year, and two or three times 
 he has been met going over our lots in 
 
140 LETTEllS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 search of some bear or lynx which had es- 
 caped him. 
 
 We are told that when the clearings are 
 larger, and more animals kept, especially 
 pigs, that our visits from Bruin at least 
 will be more frequent ; and since your 
 brother Charles, some months ago, got two 
 fine pigs, he has repeatedly found bear- 
 tracks in his beaver meadow, and even close 
 up to the fence of his clearing. To say the 
 least of it, the pleasure of a solitary walk is 
 greatly impaired by the vague terror of a 
 stray bear confronting you on the pathway, 
 or of a spiteful lynx dropping down upon 
 your shoulders from the branch of a tree. 
 
 The morning before H. L. left us for 
 Toronto, he went to the post-office, but 
 before he got to the end of our clearing, he 
 saw at some distance a grey animal, which 
 at first he took to be a neighbour's dog ; long 
 before he got up to it, it cleared the fence at 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 141 
 
 IS 
 
 a 
 
 ng 
 at 
 
 one bound, and vanished into the Bush. 
 He thought this odd, but went on ; returning 
 in the twihght he was greatly astonished to 
 see the same animal again in the clearing, 
 and this time he might have had a good shot 
 at it, but unfortunately he was encumbered 
 with a can of milk, which he had good- 
 naturedly brought for me, and before he 
 could bring his gun to bear upon it, the 
 creature was again in the depths of the 
 Bush. 
 
 Much conversation ensued about it ; some 
 thought it must have been a chance wolf, but 
 Charles, whose opinion we all looked to, was 
 more inclined to the idea of its being a grey 
 fox ; he hardly thought that any other wild 
 animal would have come so fearlessly into 
 the clearing. 
 
 H. L. went to Toronto, and in a few days 
 your brother received a letter from him 
 saying that he had just seen a lynx newly 
 
142 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 killed which had been brought into the town, 
 and that in colour, shape, and size, it exactly 
 resembled the animal he had seen in my 
 clearing. It has since been supposed that 
 this might be the lynx the trapper said he 
 was tracking when he passed near here in 
 the spring. 
 
 I have often spoken of the broad deep 
 gully at the end of my lot near the ** conces- 
 sion " road. We had an old negro located 
 on the strip of land between for more than 
 five weeks. One fearfully cold day last 
 winter, during a heavy snowstorm, your 
 brother Charles came upon the poor old man 
 " camping " for the night on the road near 
 here. He talked to him a little, gave him 
 all the small change he happened to have 
 about him, and coming home and telling us, 
 we made a small collection, which with a loaf 
 of bread, he took to the old man next morn- 
 ing before he went away. 
 
 i 
 
 ■i 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 143 
 
 Before the close of this autumn, Charles 
 again met his old acquaintance, looking more 
 ragged and feeble than ever. He had with 
 him only his axe and a small bundle. Ho 
 said that he was making his way to a lot 
 which he had taken up eight miles off, where 
 he was going to locate himself and remain. 
 He spoke too of having friends in the front 
 who would ^ive him some assistance, and at 
 least send him some flour. 
 
 Again he camped out for the night, and 
 we held a family consultation about him. 
 Your brothers proposed going with him to- 
 his lot, and heli)ing him to build his shanty. 
 They talked ot taking provisions and being^ 
 out for some days. They also spoke of 
 taking him food twice a week during the 
 winter for fear he should starve, as he- 
 complained that his neighbours were very 
 unkind to him, and did not want him located 
 among them. 
 
I » 
 
 144 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 We all loudly protested against this plan 
 as being altogether quixotic, and reminded 
 them that to carry out their plan they must 
 periodically neglect their own work, leave us 
 alone, and run the risk of being often 
 weather-bound, thus causing injury to their 
 own health, and much alarm to us. We 
 suggested an expedient, to let poor Jake 
 settle himself near my gully for the winter ; 
 your brothers to build him a shanty there, 
 and to take him every day sufficient warm 
 food to make him comfortable. Charles 
 promised to join with us in giving him so 
 much bread and potatoes every week. I 
 paid one visit to the old negro, whom I 
 found dirty, and with only one eye, yet not 
 at all repulsive-looking, as he had a very 
 pleasant countenance, and talked well and 
 intelligently. 
 
 He agreed to our plan, and your brothers 
 soon raised the logs of a good shanty, and 
 
' 
 
 LETTEPiS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. Ub 
 
 till it was completed he built himself a wig- 
 wam, Indian fashion, which he made very 
 Avarm and comfortable. We told him also 
 that if he liked to make a small clearing 
 round his shanty, we would pay him for his 
 chopping when he left. The winter soon 
 came, and the snow began to fall. The 
 first very frosty night made us anxious 
 about our old pensioner, and your brother 
 went to him early the next morning with a 
 can of hot tea for his breakfast. What was 
 his astonishment when he crossed the gully 
 to hear loud voices in Jake's little encamp- 
 ment. 
 
 On reaching it he asked the old man who 
 was with him. He significantly pointed to 
 the wigwam, from which a woman's voice 
 •called out : 
 
 " Yes ! I'm here, and I've got the hagur 1" 
 <ague). 
 
 A few minutes afterwards the owner of 
 
 10 
 
'^^'^^•^irmmi 
 
 146 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 the voice issued from the hut, in the person 
 of a stout, bold-looking, middle-aged woman, 
 (white), who evidently considered old Jake, 
 his shanty, his wigwam, and all his effects,, 
 as her own undoubted property. We found 
 that this was the " Mary " of whom Jake- 
 had spoken as being the person with whom 
 he had boarded and lodged in the front, and 
 who had found him out here. In the courso 
 of the day both your brothers paid the old 
 man a visit, and signified to him that it 
 would be as well if he and his companion 
 took their departure, as we knew he was not 
 married to her, and we had a wholesome 
 dread of five children, whom Jake had inci- 
 dentally mentioned, following in the wake of 
 their mother. 
 
 We gave them leave, however, to remn' 
 till the Monday following, as w* \^* 
 wish to drive any one out precipittu ly wlu)- 
 was suflfering from the "hagur." Till thy 
 
IMTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 147 
 
 e of 
 
 
 went, wo supplied thuin with provisions. 
 On the following Monday they departed. 
 Your brothers gave poor Jake two dollars 
 for the little bit of chop})ing he had done, 
 and we gave him some bread, coffee, and 
 potatoes, as provisions for his journey. 
 Your brothers saw him and Mary off with 
 all their bundles, and returned home, leaving 
 my gully as silent and solitary as ever. 
 
 We heard afterwards that Jake did not go 
 to his own lot, as he seemed to intend, but 
 was seen with his companion making his way 
 to the main road out of the Bush. A settler 
 overtook them, and told us they were 
 quarrelling violently for the possession of a 
 warm quilted French counterpane, which we 
 had lent to old Jake to keep him warm in 
 his wigwam, and had allowed him to take 
 away. 
 
 We were disappointed this year in not 
 having a visit from the old colporteur of 
 
 10—2 
 
■I ■< 
 
 148 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 Parry's Sound. He came last 3^ear during 
 a lieavy storm of snow, with a large pack of 
 cheap Bibles and Testaments, and told us he 
 was an agent for the Wesleyan Society, and 
 had orders to distribute gratis where there 
 was really no means of paying. In answer 
 to some remark of mine, he said that " the 
 Bible must always follow the axe." 
 
 I recognised more than ever, how, by the 
 meanest and weakest instruments, God 
 works out His mighty designs. This poor 
 man was verging towards the decline of life ; 
 had a hollow cough, and was in frame very 
 feeble and fragile, yet he was full of zeal, 
 travelled incessantly, and dispensed numbers 
 of copies of the Word of God as he passed 
 from settlement to settlement. I bought 
 two New Testaments for eight cents each, 
 well printed, and strongly bound. 
 
 I am at work occasionally at my pleasant 
 task of recording Bush reminiscences. My 
 
MM 
 
 ' LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 149 
 
 labours have at least kept me from vain Jind 
 fruitless regrets and repinings. 
 
 " Lasciate o(/ni speranza vol cJi en t rate T 
 How often have I repeated tl\ese dismal 
 words to myself since I came into the Bush, 
 and felt them to be the knell of hope and 
 happiness ! But time flies whether in joy or 
 sorrow. We are now in the middle of our 
 second winter, those dreadful winters of close 
 imprisonment, which last for nearly seven 
 months, and which your sister and I both 
 agree, form the severest trial of Bush life. 
 My aspirations, in former years, were mani- 
 fold ; but were I asked now what were the 
 three absolute essentials for human hai)pi- 
 ness, I should be tempted to reply, " Koads 
 to walk upon, a church to worship in, and .«- 
 doctor within reacli in case of necessity I" 
 All these are wanting in the Bush ; but as 
 we have incessant daily occupation, an ex- 
 tensive correspondence, and as providentially 
 
ir)0 LETTERS FllOM AN EMIGllANT LADY. 
 
 we brought out all our stock of cherished 
 books, we manage to live on without too 
 much complaining. 
 
 Your brother Charles is doing pretty well, 
 and hopes to bring his few animals safely 
 through the winter. Your brother-in-law 
 also is making progress, and is expecting 
 from England a partner (a young relation of 
 his own) whose coming will probably insure 
 him success. We remain just as we were, 
 striving, struggling, and hoping against 
 hope, that success may yet crown our en- 
 deavours. Our farm stock is easily counted, 
 and easily taken care of : your brother's dog, 
 with three very fat puppies ; my pretty cat 
 " Tibbs," with her little son " Hodge," and 
 a magnificent tom puss, whose real home is 
 at ** Pioneer Cottage," but who, being of 
 social habits and having a general invita- 
 tion, does me the honour to eat, drink, and 
 fileep here. 
 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 151 
 
 My sketches of Bush life are an occupation 
 and an amusement to me, but I can truly 
 say tliat they very faintly portray our suffer- 
 ings and our privations. 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 Dart E£. 
 
 WRITTEN TWO YEARS AFTERWARDS. 
 
' 
 
 '.■<VW"I»^^'«»' "~ 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 N my former letters I spoke in a 
 tone of mingled hope and fear 
 as to the result of our efforts 
 to make Bush-farming succeed without 
 capital, and without even the means of 
 living comfortably while trying the experi- 
 ment. 
 
 It is needless to say to those who know 
 anything of Muskoka, that the misgivings 
 were fully realised, and the hopes proved 
 mere delusions, and melted away impercep- 
 
15G LETTEIIS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 tibly as those airy fabrics too often do. We 
 were certainly much deceived by the accounts 
 given of Muskoka ; after a four years' resi- 
 dence I auj inclined to think that from the 
 very first the capabilities of its soil for a«^ri- 
 cultural purposes have been greatly exagge- 
 rated. 
 
 It will require years of extensive clearing, 
 and constant amelioration of the land by 
 means of manure and other applications, 
 before it will be cai)able of bearing heavy 
 grain crops ; it is a poor and hungry soil, 
 light and friable, mostly red sandstone loam, 
 and if a settler chances to find on his lot a 
 small patch of heavy clay loam fit for raising 
 wheat, the jubilant fuss that is made over it 
 shows that it is not a common character of 
 the soil. 
 
 The only crops at all reliable are oats 
 and potatoes, and even these are subject 
 to be injured by the frequent summer 
 
LETTERS FliOM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 157 
 
 "?.' 
 
 it 
 of 
 
 droughts and by the clouds of grasshoppers 
 which occasionally sweep over Muskoka like 
 an Egyptian plague. 
 
 For years to come the hard woods on a 
 settler's lot will be his most valuable source 
 of profit ; and as the railroad advances nearer 
 and nearer, the demand for these woods for 
 the lumber market will greatly increase. 
 
 But to return to our domestic history. The 
 autumn of 1873 saw the first breaking-up of 
 our little colony in the final departure from 
 
 the Bush of my dear child, Mrs. C , and 
 
 her young family. My son-in-law, Mr. C , 
 
 soon found his Bush-farming as wearisome and 
 unprofitable as we did ourselves. Having 
 formerly taken his degree of B.A. at St. 
 John's College, Cambridge, and his wishes 
 having long tended to the Church as 
 a profession, nothing stood between him 
 and ordination but a little reading up in 
 classics and theology, which he accomplished 
 
'I 
 
 h 
 
 (' 
 
 
 i! 
 
 158 LETTFAtS FROM AX EMIGItANT LADY. 
 
 with the assistiincu of his kind friend the 
 Church of Eiighmd clergyman at Brace- 
 bridge. 
 
 He was ordained hy the Bishop of Toronto 
 in October, 1873, and was at once appointed 
 to a distant parish. The final parting was 
 most painful, but it was so obviously for tlu^ 
 good of the dear ones leaving us that we 
 tried to repress all selfish regrets, and I, in 
 particular, heartily thanked God that even a 
 portion of the family had escaped from the 
 miseries of Bush-life. 
 
 Our small community being so greatly 
 lessened in number, the monotony of our 
 lives was perceptibly increased. None but 
 those who have experienced it can ever 
 realise the utter weariness and isolation of 
 Bush-life. The daily recurrence of the same 
 laborious tasks, the want of time for mental 
 culture, the absence of congenial intercourse 
 with one's fellow-creatures, the many hours of 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 15^ 
 
 or 
 of 
 
 liie 
 :al 
 
 Tse 
 of 
 
 unavoidable solitude, the dreary unbroken 
 silence of the immense forest which closes 
 round the small clearings like a belt of iron ; 
 all these things ere long press down the most 
 buoyant spirit, and superinduce a kind of 
 dull despair, from which I have suffered for 
 months at a time. 
 
 In conversation once with my daughter-in- 
 law, who was often unavoidably alone for the 
 whole day, we nmtually agreed that there 
 were times when the sense of loneliness be- 
 came HO dreadful, that had a bear jumped in 
 at the window, or the house taken fire, or a 
 hurricane blown down the farm buildings, we 
 should have been temj)ted to rejoice and to 
 hail the excitement as a boon. 
 
 And yet, strange as it may appear, I 
 dreaded above all things visits from our 
 neighbours. It is true they seldom came, 
 but when they did, every one of them would 
 have considered it a want of kindness not to 
 
;l' 
 
 160 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 prolong their visit for many hours. Harassed 
 as I was with never-ceasing anxiety, and 
 much occujiied with my correspondence and 
 other writing, I found such visits an intoler- 
 able nuisance, particularly as after a little 
 friendly talk about household matters, knit- 
 ting, etc., where we met as it were on com- 
 mon ground, there was invariably a prolonged 
 silence, which it required frantic eftbrts on my 
 part to break, so as to prevent my guests 
 feeling awkward and imcomfortable. On 
 these occasions I was generally left with 
 a nervous headache which lasted me for 
 days. 
 
 One well-meaning, but especially noisy and 
 vulgar individual was a continual terror to me. 
 She more than once said to my eldest son : 
 
 ** Your pore ma must be that lonesome and 
 •dull, that if it warn't for the children I would 
 often go and cheer her up a bit." 
 
 My dear boy did his best to save his " pore 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. Ifil 
 
 md 
 luld 
 
 lore 
 
 ma " from Huch an iiiHictioii, and was thankful 
 that the children presented an obstacle which 
 fortunately for nie was never \foi over. 
 
 In my estimation of the merits and a«;'rce- 
 able conversation of our nei,u[hl)oiu*s I made 
 one great exception. Our nearest neighbour 
 was an intelligent, well-conducted English- 
 man, who lived a lonely bachelor life, which 
 in liis rare intervals of rest from hard work 
 ho greatly solaced by reading. We lent him 
 ull our best books and English newspapers, 
 and should have been glad to see him oftener, 
 but he was so afraid of intruding that he sel- 
 dom came except to return or change his 
 books ; at such times we had much really 
 pleasant conversation, and often a stirring 
 discussion on some public topic of the day, 
 or it might be a particular reign in Casseli s 
 *' English History," or one of Shakespeare's 
 plays, both of which voluminous works he 
 was reading through. 
 
 11 
 
'mmmmimFmwmifimwm 
 
 wmmm^f^ 
 
 »'^^«iW|lfJW*»*'''^"»W*^W'"V/1i»W"*»*W^P»^"^^^" 
 
 162 LETTEllS FliOM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 ill I 
 
 He had been head clerk in a large shop \vt 
 Yorkshire, and was slightly democratic in his 
 opinions, my tendencies being in the opposite 
 direction ; we jnst differed sufficiently to pre- 
 vent conversation being dull. A more intel- 
 gent, hard- working, abstemious and trust- 
 worthy man I have seldom known, and wo 
 got to consider him quite in the light of a 
 friend. For three winters, whether we had 
 
 much or little, Mr. A g was our honoured 
 
 guest on Christmas Day. 
 
 One great solace of our lives was the num- 
 ber of letters we received from tlie '' old 
 country," but even these were at times the 
 cause of slight annoyance to m}' ever-sensitive 
 feeli7xirs. All my dear friends and relations, 
 afterwarm condoknces on the disai)p()intmt'nts 
 we at first met with, would persist in assuring 
 me thr^.t the n'orst being over, we weic sure 
 to gain groun<l, and meet with more success 
 for the future. From whence thev jjathered 
 
LETTEnS FllOM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 103 
 
 thoir consolatory hopes on our behalf it is 
 impossible for nie to say, certainly not from 
 my letters home, which, in spite of all my 
 efforts, invariably fell into a melancholy, not 
 to say a grumbling tone. / knew too well 
 that, however bad things might be, the xcortit 
 was yet to come, and with a pardonable ex- 
 aggeration of iueling under peculiar circum- 
 stances, often said to myself: 
 
 " And in the lowest deep, a lower deep, 
 Still threatening to devour me, opens wide." 
 
 :h 
 
 
 le 
 
 -s 
 I'd 
 
 The autumn and winter of 1873 passed 
 away with no more remarkable event than 
 our first patcli of fall wheat being sown, from 
 which, in a burst of tonijioiiiry enthusiasm, 
 we actually txpected to have sufficicid flour 
 for the wants of at kust one winter. 1874 
 Laving dawned upon us, we by no means 
 slackened in our eH'orts to improve the land 
 and make it profitable; l>ut we found tlint 
 
 U— 2 
 
 b 
 
164 LETTERS FPOM AN EMIGIUNT LADY. 
 
 althonirli (Mir expenses increased, our means 
 (lid not. The more land we cleared, the 
 more the want of money became apparent to 
 crop and cultivate it, the labour of one indi- 
 vidual beinpr quite insufficient for the pur- 
 pose. 
 
 To remedy this want, my son resolved to 
 do what was a common practice in the settle- 
 ment — go out to work for his nei<jjhbours, 
 receiving from them return work, instead of 
 any other payment. Our only difficulty in 
 this matter was the having to ])rovide suffi- 
 cient food, I'ven of the plainest kind, for 
 hungry men engaged in logging ; but even 
 this we managed during the first half of 
 the year. 1874 st'cmed to 1r^ a year of 
 general want in our settlement ; for when 
 my son came home from his day r4 out- 
 side toil, our usual question wa^, " Well, 
 dear, what did you have for dinner?" To 
 which the reply mostly wafe, " Oh I bread- 
 
i«m^^ 
 
 mmn^^smamm^mmn 
 
 LETTIJUS FlloM AN EMIGliANT LADY. lO:. 
 
 and-treacle and tea," or " porridj^c and pota- 
 toes," etc. And this in the houses of tlie 
 better ckiss of settlers, who were noted for 
 puttmg the l)est they had before any neif^li- 
 bours working for them. In fact, there was 
 so httle of the circulating medium in the 
 place, that all buying and selling was con- 
 ducted in the most primitive style of barter. 
 A settler having hay, corn, or cattle to sell, 
 was obliged to take other commodities in 
 exchange ; and more than once, when we 
 wanted some indispensable work done, my 
 son, finding that we could in no way provide 
 a money payment, would look over his tools 
 or farm implements, and sometimes even his 
 clothes, and part w ith whatever could pos- 
 sibly be spared. 
 
 I have mentioned our fall wheat sown in 
 the autunm of I87.'5. Akis for all human 
 ^ xpectations I The crop was pronounced to 
 be a magnificent one by experienced judges ; 
 
 J £ 
 

 m 
 > 'ml 
 
 160 LETTEUS EllOM AX EMIGUANT LADY. 
 
 but when it came to ha threshed, every grain 
 was found to be wizened, shrivelled, and dis- 
 coloured, and fit for nothing but to feed 
 poultry. Tlie crop had been winter-killed ; 
 that is, frozen and thawed so often before tho 
 snow finally covered it, that it was quite 
 spoiled. We suffered at intervals this year 
 more severely from the want of money than 
 we had evx'r done ; and had even long spells 
 of hunger and want, which I trust have jire- 
 pared us all to feel during the remainder of 
 our lives a more full and perfect sympathy 
 with our destitute fellow-creatures. In vain 
 did we hope and wait, like Mr. Micawber, 
 for " something to turn up ;" nothing did 
 turn up, but fresh troubles and increased 
 fatigues. 
 
 Had it not been for the exceeding kindness 
 of our friendly lawyer in London, and of a 
 very dear friend of my early }vars (liimself a 
 lawyer), who sent us occasional assisttaice, we 
 
LtyiTEUS FROM .IN EMHUtANT LADY. 107 
 
 must lijive sunk umlur our wants and iniseriL's. 
 I (lid my very host to keep the ** W()h* 
 fnjin tlio door" hy my htorary ettorts, and 
 .met with mucli kindness and consideration ; 
 but after unceasinL*' industry, lontr contimied, 
 got to know that a few articles inserted at 
 intervals in a fashionable American maga- 
 zine, however much they might be liked and 
 uj)proved of, would do but little towards re- 
 lieving the wants of a family. 1 became at 
 last (juite discouraged ; for so much material 
 was rejected and returned upon my hands, 
 that I was fain to conclude that some fright- 
 ful spell of dulness had fallen upon my once 
 lively pen. 
 
 The work of this year sippeared to us all 
 to le harder than ever, and my eldest son's 
 health and stiongth were evidently on the 
 decline. It is true that nearl;^ every day he 
 did the work of two men, as, in addition to 
 the cultivation of the land, he had to chop 
 
163 LETTERS FliOM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 all the fire-wood for daily use, to draw the 
 water, and to do various jobs more or less 
 fatiguinj^ to insure anythinjj^ like comfort to 
 the family. He became so attenuated and 
 cadaverous-looking, that we often told him 
 that he would make his fortune on any stajje 
 as the lean ai)othecarv in " llomeo and 
 Juliet." 
 
 It was with scarcely-suppressed anguish 
 that, night after night, we saw him so 
 fatijjued and worn-out as to be hardlv able 
 to perform his customary ablutions and toilet 
 before sitting down to the reading and writ- 
 ing with which he invariably concluded the 
 day, and which was the only employment 
 which linked us all to our happier life in 
 former days. Indeed, both my sons, in spite 
 of hard work and scanty fare, managed to 
 give a few brief moments to study, and both 
 at intervals wrote a few articles for our local 
 paper, which at least showed an aptitude for 
 
 II 
 
LETTERS FEOM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 1C9 
 
 higher pursuits than Bush-farniing. Both 
 my sons at times worked for and with each 
 other, wliioh was a most pleasant arrange- 
 ment. 
 
 At this time my youngest son was going 
 through, on liis own farm, the same struggles 
 as ourselves, and was, I am bound to say, in 
 every respect as hard-working and energetic 
 us his elder brother. His family was fast in- 
 creasing, as he had now two little boys, in 
 addition to the one of whom we had charge ; 
 and before the end of the year, he was thank- 
 ful to accept the situation of schoolmaster 
 at Allunsville, which added forty ])oun(ls a 
 year to his slender means. 
 
 On one occasion, when he was working on 
 our land with his brother, and when four 
 other men were giving my son return-work, 
 and were logging a large piece of ground near 
 the house, having brought their (jxen witli 
 them, we had half an hour of the delicious 
 

 't 
 
 I'i 111 
 
 uKnII 
 
 170 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 excitoinent of whiuh my daughter-in-law and 
 myself had talked so ealmly some tune before. 
 It was a bright sunny day, and my 
 daughter and myself were busily engaged 
 in cooking a substantial dinner for our work- 
 ing party, when, chancing to look up, my 
 daughter exclaimed, " Manmia, is that sun- 
 light or fire shining through the roof?" I 
 ran out directly, and saw that the shingles 
 below the chinmey were well alight and 
 beginning to blaze up. (Jailing to my 
 daughter in passing, I Hew to the end of 
 the house and screamed out *' Fire ! fire I" in 
 a voice which, my sons afterwards laughingly 
 assured me, nuist have been heard at the 
 J )0st office, three miles off. It had the im- 
 mediate effect of bringing the whole party to 
 our assistance in a few seconds, who were 
 met by my daughter with two pails of water, 
 which she had promptly procured from the 
 •well. 
 
 i.iii. 
 
 i;!iy 
 
 liiil •: 
 
LETTEliS rnoM Ay KMlO'h\L\r LA J)}'. 171 
 
 My two sons, botli as active as monkeys, 
 were inimediutelv on the roof: one with an 
 axe, to cut away the burning sliinjj^ics ; the 
 other with water, handed up hy men, to keep 
 the fire Irom spreadinj^. In ten minutes all 
 danger was over ; but it left us rather 
 frightened and nervous, and I must confess 
 that I never again wished for excitement of 
 the same dangerous kind. 
 
 In tlie sunnner of tins year I went to 
 Braccbridge, on a visit to my daugliter, Mrs. 
 C, whose husband had lately taken priest's 
 orders, and been appointed by his bishop 
 resident Church of England minister in that 
 place, a change very agreeable to him, as 
 he was well known, and much liked and 
 esteemed by the inhabitants. 
 
 When I left the J^ush to go into Brace- 
 bridge, it was with the full intention of never 
 returning to it, and all my family considered 
 my visit to Mrs. C. as a farewell visit before 
 
172 LETTERS FROM AS EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 ::!li,; 
 
 leaviiij^ for England. T had niado i,n\';it 
 exertions to t^et from my kind lawyer and a 
 friend an advance of sufficient money to take 
 one of Uf3 back to the dear " old country," 
 and all aj^roed tliat I should j^o first, huinjjf 
 well aware that my personal solicitations 
 ■would soon secure the means of brinf^inji^ 
 back my eldest son and dausfhter, who, bcini;- 
 the only unmarried ones of the family, were 
 my constant comi)anions. 
 
 Having, unfortunately for my i)lans, but 
 quite unavoidably, made use of part of the 
 money to leave things tolerably comfortable 
 in the Bush, T waited anxiously till the 
 deficit could be made up, which I fully hojied 
 would soon be the case, a work of mine, in 
 fifteen parts, having been forwarded to a 
 publisher in New York, with a view to publi- 
 cation if approved of. What was my distress 
 at receiving the manuscript back, with this 
 observation appended to it : " The work is 
 
lErrEUS FUOM AN KMWIiJNT UDY. 173 
 
 iO(l 
 
 in 
 
 a 
 
 .U- 
 
 lliia 
 is 
 
 too English, local, and special, to he ac- 
 ceptable on this side of the Atlantic " I 
 Other articles intended for the magazine T 
 sometimes wrote for were also retuined npon 
 my hands about the same time. I draw a 
 veil over my feelings, and will only say that 
 di8aj)pointment, anxiety, suspense, and the 
 buniing heat of the weather gave me a very 
 severe attack of illness, which frightened my 
 dear child Mrs. C. most dn-adfullv, and left 
 me so weak, feeble, and completely crushed, 
 that I was thankful to send for mv son, and 
 to go back ignominiously to the hated Bush, 
 to be tenderly nursed by my dear children, 
 and to grieve over the loss of money so 
 utterly thrown away. 
 
 The year wore slowly away, and Christmas 
 Eve came at last ; the snow had fallen in 
 immense quantities, and the roads were 
 nearly impassable from the deep drift. Our 
 worthy friend Mr. A g was away at the 
 
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 174 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 lochs, eight miles off, where he had taken a 
 job of work, and we therefore felt pretty sure 
 that he could not pay us his customary 
 Christmas visit. We felt almost thankful, 
 much as we liked him ; for we had been 
 literally without a cent for two months, and 
 all our provision for Christmas festivities 
 consisted in plenty of potatoes and a small 
 modicum of flour. 
 
 But we were not to escape the humiliation 
 of having nothing to put before our invited 
 guest. Lons: after dark a well-known knock 
 
 at the door announced Mr. A- 
 
 -o* 
 
 , who 
 
 came for the key of his house, of which we 
 always had the charge, and who had walked 
 the whole way from the lochs to keep his 
 tryst with us, over roads deep in snow and 
 quite dangerous from snow-drifts at either 
 side, which were so many pitfalls for unwary 
 travellers. He came in, and we made him 
 directly some hot tea — a welcome refresh- 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. XITy 
 
 ment after his cold and fatiguing trump of 
 six hours. 
 
 When he Avas gone, we held a committee 
 of ways and means ; but as nothing could he 
 done to alter the state of affairs, and as 
 there was absolutely a ludicrous side to the 
 question, we laughed heartily and went to- 
 bed. 
 
 Having edilied the public with an account 
 i)i (^\^v first Christmas dinner in the Bush, 
 I Cc^nnot resist the temptation of giving the 
 details of our last, which certainly did not 
 show much improvement in our finances. 
 
 On Christmas morning, 1874, we very 
 early heard a joyous shout, and saw dear 
 Charles advancing triumj^hanlly with two 
 very small salt herrings (the last of his stock) 
 dangling in one hand, and a huge vegetable- 
 marrow in the other, these articles being the 
 onlv -addition he could make to our Christ- 
 mas dinner, which for the three previous 
 
 

 m' 
 
 if 
 
 I'll 
 
 ,.'ip' 
 
 i:' 
 
 
 176 LETTEES FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 years he had been mainly instrumental . in 
 providing. 
 
 What could we do but laugh and cheerfully 
 accept the situation ? Charles promised to 
 bring his dear wife and the two babies down 
 on the ox-sleigh as early as possible. We 
 borrowed, without hesitation, some butter 
 
 from our friend Mr. A g, who had a 
 
 stock of it, and my eldest son went himself 
 to fetch him before dinner, fearing that 
 delicacy would prevent his coming, as he 
 could too well guess the state of the larder. 
 
 Our guests assembled and dinner-time 
 arrived, I placed on the table a large and 
 savoury dish of vege table -marroAv mashed, 
 with potatoes well buttered, peppered, salted 
 and baked in the oven ; the two herrings 
 oarefully cooked and a steaming dish of 
 potatoes, with plenty of tea, made up a 
 repast which we much enjoyed. When tea- 
 time came, mv daughter, who had devoted 
 
7 
 
 bl.in 
 
 rfully 
 ed to 
 down 
 We 
 butter 
 had a 
 limself 
 
 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 177 
 
 herself for the good of the community, 
 suppHed us with relays of '' dampers," which 
 met with universal approbation. 
 
 In compliment to our guest, we had 
 all put on what my boys jocosely term 
 our " Sunday go-to-meeting clothes !" I 
 "Was really glad that the grubs of so many 
 weary weeks past on this day turned into 
 butterflies. Cinderella's transformations were 
 not more complete. My daughter became 
 the elegant young Avoman she has always 
 been considered ; my sons, in once more 
 getting into their gentlemanly clothes, threw 
 off the careworn look of working-day fatigue, 
 and became once more distinguished and 
 good-looking young men ; and as to my 
 pretty daughter-in-law, I have left her till 
 the last to have the pleasure of saying that T 
 never saw her look more lovely. She wore a 
 very elegant silk dress, had delicate lace and 
 bright ribbons floating about her, a gol(' 
 
 12 
 
178 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 locket and chain and sundry pretty ornaments, 
 relics of her girlish days, and to crown all 
 her beautiful hair flowing over her shoulders. 
 I thought several times that afternoon, as I 
 saw her caressing first one and then another 
 of her three baby boys, tha,t a painter might 
 have been proud to sketch the pretty group, 
 and to throw in at his fancy gorgeous 
 draperies, antique vases and beautiful flowers, 
 in lieu of the rude coarse framework of a 
 log-house. 
 
 I could not but notice this Christmas Day 
 that no attempt was made at singing^ not 
 even our favourite hymns were proposed ; in 
 fact the whole year had been so brim full of 
 misfortune and trouble that I think none of 
 our hearts were attuned to melody. Ah I 
 dear reader, it takes long chastening before 
 we can meekly drink the cup of affliction and 
 say from the heart, " Thy will he done /" 
 Let you and I, remembering our own short- 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 179 
 
 not 
 
 ; in 
 
 all of 
 ne of 
 Ahl 
 efore 
 and 
 one ! 
 ihort- 
 
 comings in this respect, be very tender over 
 those of others 1 
 
 Our party broke up early, as the chil- 
 dren and their mother had to be got home 
 before the light of the short winter-day had 
 quite vanished, but we all agreed that we had 
 passed a few hours very pleasantly. 
 
 Very different was our fare on New Year's 
 Dny of 1875 — a sumptuous wild turkey, which 
 Ave roasted, having been provided for us by 
 the kindness of one whom we must ever look 
 upon in the light of a dear friend. 
 
 The "gentlemanly Canadian," mentioned 
 by me in my Bush reminiscences, read my 
 papers and at once guessed at the authorship. 
 Being in Muskoka on an election tour with 
 his friend Mr. Pardee, he procured a guide 
 and found us out in the Bush. He stayed 
 but a short time, but the very sight of his 
 kind friendly face did us good for days. 
 Finding that I had never seen a wild turkey 
 
 12—2 
 
180 LETTERS FllOM AN EMIGRANT LADY 
 
 from the prairie, he asked leave to send me 
 one, and did not foro^et his promise, sending 
 a beautiful bird which was meant for our 
 Christmas dinner, but owing to delays at 
 Bracebridge only reached us in time for New 
 Year's Day ; which brings me to 1875, an era 
 of very important family changes. 
 
 I began this year with more of hopefulness 
 and pleasure than I had known for a long 
 time. My determination that this year 
 should see us clear of the Bush had long 
 been fixed, and I felt that as I brouc^ht 
 unconquerable eiicrgy, and the efforts of a 
 strong will to bear upon the project, it was 
 sure to be successful. I had no opposition 
 now to dread from my dear companions; 
 both my son and daughter were as weary as 
 myself of our long-continued and hopeless 
 struggles. My son's health and strength 
 were visibly decreasing ; he had already 
 spent more than three years of the prime 
 
LETTEllS FROM AX EMIGltAM LADY. 181 
 
 me 
 
 of his life in work harder than a common 
 labourer's, and with no better result than the 
 very uncertain prospect of a bare living 
 at the end of many years more of daily 
 drudgery. His education fitted him for higher 
 j)ursuits, and it was better for him to begin 
 the world again, even at the age of thirty- 
 two, than to continue burying himself alive. 
 
 We had long looked upon Bush life in 
 the light of exile to a, penal settlement with- 
 out even the convict's chance of a ticket-of- 
 leave. All these considerations nerved me 
 for the disagreeable task of getting money 
 from England for our removal, in which, 
 thanks to the unwearied kindness of the 
 friends I have before mentioned, I succeeded, 
 and very early in the year we began to make 
 preparations for our final departure. It 
 required the stimulus of hope to enable us to 
 bear the discomforts of our last two months* 
 residence in the Bush. 
 

 I 
 
 \i\ 
 
 I' 
 
 ^ 
 
 182 LETTEllS FllOM AN EMIGRANT LADY 
 
 After tlie turn of the year, iinincnsc 
 quantities of snow continued to fall till we 
 were closely encircled by walls of ice and 
 snow fully five feet in depth. The labour of 
 keeping paths open to the ditteient fann- 
 buildings was immense, and the unavoidable 
 task of cutting away the superincumbent ice 
 and snow from the different roofs was one of 
 danger as well as toil. I was told that wo 
 were passing through an exceptional winter, 
 and I must believe it, as long aftei* v.'e were 
 in Bracebridge the snow continued to fall, 
 and even so late as the middle of May a 
 heavy snow-storm spread its white mantle on 
 the earth, and hid it from view for many 
 hours. 
 
 The last day at length arrived, we sat for 
 the last time by our log-fire, we looked for 
 the last time on the familiar landscape, and 
 I, at least, felt not one pang of regret. My 
 bump of adhesiveness is enormous ; I cling 
 
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY, 183 
 
 fondly to the friends I lovo, to my pet 
 animals, and even to places where I have 
 lived ; in quitting France I could have cried 
 over every shrub and Hower in my beloved 
 garden. How great then must have been my 
 unha})piness, and how I must have loathed 
 my Bush life, when at quitting it for ever, 
 my only feeling Avas joy at my escape ! 
 
 At the time we left, the roads were so 
 dangerous for the horses' legs that my son 
 had the greatest difficulty in hiring a wagon 
 and team for our own use — all our heavy 
 baggage had been taken in by ox-sleighs. 
 He succeeded at last, and in the afternoon of 
 the 2nd of March our exodus began. My 
 son and the driver removed all but the front 
 seat, and carefully spread our softest bedding, 
 blankets and pillows, at the bottom of the 
 wagon, and on these my daughter and myself 
 reclined at our ease with our dear little 
 charge between us. My favourite cat 
 
184 Li:m:ns rnoM .ix KMir.nAxr lady. 
 
 Til)])s, of ''Atlaiit'h- Monthly" celebrity, 
 was ill a warm basket before iiie, and her 
 companion Tomkins, tied up in a bag, 
 slept on my lap the whole way. My son sat 
 with the driver, and Jack, our black dog, 
 ran by the side. We slept at Utterson, and 
 in the morning wx^nt on to Bracebridge, where 
 my son had secured for us a small roadside 
 house. 
 
 When we were tolerably settled Edward 
 started for Toronto and Montreal in search 
 of employment, taking with him many ex- 
 cellent letters of introduction. In Montreal 
 he was most kindly and hospitably welcomed 
 by two dear friends, ladies who came out 
 with us in the same ship from England, who 
 received him into their house, introduced him 
 to a large circle of friends, and did much to 
 restore the shattered health of the "hand- 
 some emigrant," as they had named him in 
 the early stages of their acquaintance. 
 
LETTEhi<. niOM AN EMliillANT LADY. 185 
 
 Eventually lindinj^ nothing suitable in either 
 2)lace, our dear companion and protector for 
 so many years decided to go on the Survey, 
 his name having been put down by our kind 
 friend, the donor of the wild turkey, on the 
 Staff of his relation, Mr. Stuart, appointed 
 by Government to survey the district of 
 Parry Sound. Severe illness of our little 
 boy, followed by illness of my own which 
 still continues, was my welcome to Brace- 
 bridge, but still 1 rejoice daily that our Bush 
 life is for ever over. 
 
 Here I finally drop the curtain on our 
 domestic history, and make but a few parting 
 observations. I am far from claiming undue 
 sympathy for my individual case, but would 
 fain deter others of the genteel class, and 
 especially elderly people, from breaking up 
 their comfortable homes and following an 
 i(jnis fatitus in the shape of emigration to a 
 distant land. 
 
! 
 
 186 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. 
 
 I went into the Bush of Muskoka strong^ 
 and healthy, full of life and energy, and fully 
 as enthusiastic as the youngest of our party. 
 I left it with hopes completely crushed, and 
 with health so hopelessly shattered from hard 
 work, unceasing anxiety and trouble of all 
 kinds, that I am now a helpless invalid, 
 entirely confined by the doctor's orders to my 
 bed and sofa, with not the remotest chance of 
 ever leaving them for a more active life 
 during the remainder of my days on earth. 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 ^n Intiittnt of ]Eife in the Canabbn ^acktuooba. 
 
FREELY acknowledge that I 
 am a romantic old woman ; my 
 children are continually telling 
 me that such is my character, and without 
 shame I confess the soft impeachment. I do 
 not look upon romance as being either 
 frivolous, unreal, or degrading ; I consider 
 it as a heaven-sent gift to the favoured few, 
 enabling them to cast a softening halo of 
 hope and beauty round the stern and rugged 
 realities of daily life, and fitting them also 
 to enter into the warm feelings and projects 
 of the young, long after the dreams of love 
 
190 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 and youth have become to themselves things 
 of the past. After this exordium, I need 
 hardly say that I love and am loved by 
 young people, that I have been the depo- 
 sitary of many innocent love secrets, and 
 have brought more than one affair of the 
 kind to a happy conclusion. I feel tempted 
 to record my last experience, which began in 
 France and ended happily in Muskoka. 
 The parties, I am happy to say, are still 
 living, to be, I doubt not, greatly amused 
 at my faithful reminiscences of their past 
 trials. 
 
 Just seven years ago I was in France 
 busily working in my beautiful flower- 
 garden, when I was told that visitors 
 awaited me in the drawing-room. Hastily 
 pulling off my garden-gloves and apron, I 
 went in and found a very dear young friend, 
 whom I shall call John Herbert ; he asked 
 my permission to present to me four young 
 
A jrEDJJiNG n\ MV^KOKA. 
 
 191 
 
 ladies of his acquaint<ance, all sisters, and 
 very sweet specimens of pretty, lady-like 
 English girls. The eldest, much older than 
 the rest, and herself singularly attractive, 
 seemed completely to merge her own iden- 
 tity in that of her young charges, to whose 
 education she had devoted the best years of 
 her early womanhood, and who now repaid 
 her with loving affection and implicit defer- 
 ence to her authority. It was easy for me 
 to see that the *' bright, particular star " of 
 my handsome, dashing young friend was the 
 second sister, a lovely, shy girl of sixteen, 
 whose blushes and timidity fully assured me 
 of the state of matters between the two. 
 
 The mother of Mary Lennox (such was 
 my heroine's name) lived in France, her 
 father in England, and in this divided house- 
 hold the care of the three younger girls had 
 been entirely left to their eldest sister. 
 John Herbert had made their acquaint- 
 
192 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 ance in that extraordinary manner in which 
 young ladies and gentlemen do manage to 
 become acquainted, as often in real life as in 
 novels, without any intercourse between the 
 respective families. For two or three 
 months he had been much in their society, 
 and the well-known result had followed. I 
 have rarely seen a handsomer couple than 
 these boy and girl lovers, on whom the 
 eldest sister evidently looked with fond and 
 proud admiration ; and when, after a pro- 
 tracted visifc, they took leave of me, I felt 
 fully disposed to treat them with the 
 warmest kindness and friendshii). 
 
 In subsequent interviews, poor Herbert 
 more fully opened his heart to me, and 
 laid before me all his plans and projects for 
 the future. The son of an old officer who 
 fell during the Crimean war ; he had neither 
 friends nor fortune, but had to make his own 
 position in the world. At this time he was 
 
A WEDDING IN MVSKOKA. 
 
 193 
 
 TO to 
 as in 
 n the 
 three 
 ►ciety, 
 ;d. I 
 I than 
 n the 
 id and 
 ii pro- 
 I felt 
 L the 
 
 Herbert 
 and 
 icts for 
 \v who 
 
 leither 
 lis own 
 
 le was 
 
 twenty-one, and having just entered the 
 merchant service was about to sail for 
 Austraha. 
 
 He told me also of the fierce opposition 
 made by every member of Mary's family, 
 except her eldest sister, to their engagement. 
 I was not at all surprised at this, and told 
 him so ; for could anything be more impru- 
 dent than an engagement between two 
 people so young and so utterly without this 
 world's goods ? 
 
 Mary, like himself, had neither fortune 
 nor prospects. She was going to England 
 to a finishing school with her two sisters, 
 with the fixed idea of qualifying herself for 
 a governess. Herbert entreated me to be a 
 friend to these dear girls in his absence, to 
 watch especially over his Mary during their 
 brief holidays which were to be spent in 
 France, to be his medium of correspondence 
 with her while away, and above all to watch 
 
 13 
 
194 
 
 A WEDDING IN MVSKOKA. 
 
 for every incidental opening to influence her 
 family in his favour. 
 
 To all his wishes I at last consented, not 
 
 without seriously laying before him that his 
 carrying out this wish of his heart mainly 
 depended upon his own steadiness, good con- 
 duct, and success in his profession. He 
 promised everything, poor fellow, and re- 
 ligiously kept his promise. A few hurried 
 interviews at my house were followed by a 
 tearful farewell, and then, for the first time, 
 the young lovers drifted apart. Herbert 
 sailed for Australia, and Mary and her 
 sisters crossed the Channel and went to 
 school. 
 
 I shall try briefly to sketch the appearance 
 of my two young friends at this momentous 
 epoch of their lives. Mary Lennox had 
 large, soft, grey eyes full of expression, with 
 very beautifully pencilled eyebrows of dark- 
 brown, the colour of her hair, of which she 
 
!e 
 
 her 
 
 id, not 
 lat his 
 mainly 
 )d con- 
 He 
 ,nd re- 
 hurried 
 3d by a 
 3t time, 
 lerbert 
 d her 
 ent to 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 ' *- L 1. , /^ ; 
 
 had a great abundance. She had a very 
 handsome nose, and a well-formed face, with 
 a colour varying with every shade of feeling. 
 In height she was rather below than above 
 middle size, with a pretty, slight figure, 
 girlish and graceful. In complexion she was 
 a fair brunette, which suited well with the 
 colour of her eyes and hair. A great charm 
 to me was the shy, downcast look of her 
 pretty face, partly arising from the natural 
 timidity of her character, and partly from 
 the novelty of her position. 
 
 After a confidential intercourse of some 
 weeks, I found her possessed of considerable 
 character and steady principles, and her 
 early engagement seemed to have given her 
 far more serious views of life and its duties, 
 than could have been expected in one so 
 young. While her more mercurial sisters 
 were romping in my garden, and chasing my 
 pussy cats, she would mostly sit with her 
 
 13—2 
 
196 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 hand confidingly in mine, while her eldest 
 sister and myself talked of books, music, and 
 all the topics of the day. 
 
 As to John Herbert, none could look 
 upon him and not acknowledge that he was 
 as eminently handsome as his young lady- 
 love. Not above middle height, his figure 
 was slight and elegant, but well knit and 
 muscular, giving promise of still greater 
 strength when more fully developed. His 
 merry laughing eyes were a clear hazel, with 
 yellow spots, very uncommon and very beau- 
 tiful. His features finely cut, and delicately 
 chiselled, would have been perfect, but that 
 critics pronounced his nose to be a trifle too 
 long. His eyebrows were dark and rather 
 thickly marked, giving great expression to 
 his eyes. A beautiful head of dark curly 
 hair, and a soft short moustache completed 
 the appearance of one of the handsomest 
 boys I have ever seen. 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 197 
 
 • eldest 
 sic, and 
 
 Id look 
 i he was 
 ig lady- 
 s figure 
 init and 
 greater 
 d. His 
 zel, with 
 iry beau- 
 elicately 
 »ut that 
 .rifle too 
 rather 
 sion to 
 k curly 
 mpleted 
 Ldsomest 
 
 At this time he was full of energy, life, 
 and determination, fond of active, outdoor 
 employment, with a presence of mind and a 
 dauntless couracje which never ftiiled him in 
 moments of danger, and which enabled him 
 in after years to extricate liiniself and others 
 from scenes of imminent danger. Indeed, 
 his sister averred that such was his presence 
 of mind, that should his ship be wrecked, 
 and every one on board be lost, Herbert 
 would surely be saved if with only a butter- 
 boat to cling to. He was truly affectionate 
 and kind-hearted, but at this early age 
 slightly imperious and self-willed, having 
 been greatly flattered and spoilt in child- 
 hood ; but contact with the world does much 
 to smooth off the sharpest angularities 
 and poor Herbert had a rough future before 
 him. 
 
 After Herbert had sailed for Melbourne, 
 and Mary and her sisters had gone to school, 
 
198 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA, 
 
 more than a year elapsed, during which time 
 letters duly arrived, which I carefully for- 
 warded ; and soon after the expiration of 
 that time, he and his ship arrived safely at 
 Liverpool. Having with some difficulty 
 obtained from the owners a few days* leave, 
 he hurried over to France to see and re- 
 assure his anxious and beloved Mary. For- 
 tunately it was the Christmas holidays, and 
 as soon as I could notify his arrival to Miss 
 Lennox, she brought all the dear girls down 
 to me. 
 
 Then ensued, for the lovers, long walks up 
 and down my garden, in spite of the cold ; 
 for us all a few pleasant tea-parties ; and 
 then another separation, which this time was 
 to extend over more than three years. 
 
 I am by no means favourable to long 
 engagements, but these two were so young 
 that I have always considered the years of 
 anxiety and suspense they passed through, 
 
A WEDDINO IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 199 
 
 as an excellent training-time for both. They 
 certainly helped to form Mary's character, 
 and to give her those habits of patience and 
 trusting hopefulness which have been of so 
 much benefit to her since. Nor was she 
 ever allowed to think herself forgotten. 
 Fond and affectionate letters came regu- 
 larly every month, and at rare intervals 
 such pretty tokens of remembrance as the 
 slender means of her sailor lover could pro- 
 cure. Perfumes and holy beads from India, 
 feathers from Abyssinia, and a pretty gold 
 ring, set with pearls of the purest water, 
 from the Persian Gulf. 
 
 Later came the pleasing intelligence that 
 John Herbert had passed an excellent 
 examination to qualify him as mate, and 
 was on board one of the ships belonging to 
 the company which took out the expedition 
 for laying the cable in the Persian Gulf On 
 board this ship, called the British India, he 
 
% 
 
 200 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 n :! 
 
 m 
 
 
 n 
 
 met with a gentleman, whose influence over 
 his future fate has long appeared to us all 
 
 providential. This person was Major C , 
 
 the officer in command of the party sent out. 
 They had many conversations together ; and 
 cheered and encouraged by his kindness, 
 Herbert ventured to address a letter to him, 
 in which he stated how much he was begin- 
 ning to suffer from the heat of India ; how 
 in his profession he had been driven about 
 the world for nearly five years, and still 
 found himself as little able to marry and 
 settle as at first ; that he had no friend to 
 place him in any situation which might 
 better his position, and that his desire to 
 quit a seafaring life was increased by the 
 fact that he was never free from sea-sickness, 
 which pursued and tormented him in every 
 voyage just as it did in the beginning. 
 
 The kind and gentlemanly Major C 
 
 responded warmly to this appeal ; they had 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 201 
 
 a long interview, in which he told Herbert 
 that he himself was about to return to 
 England, and felt sure that he could procure 
 for him a good situation in the Telegraph 
 Department in Persia. He gave him his 
 address in London, and told him to come 
 and see him as soon as he got back from 
 India. 
 
 John Herbert lost no time, when the 
 expedition was successfully over, in giving 
 up his situation as mate, and in procuring all 
 necessary testimonials as to good conduct 
 and capacity. Indeed, he so wrought upon 
 the officials of the British India, that they 
 gave him a free passage in one of their ships 
 as far as Suez. The letter containing the 
 news of his improved prospects and speedy 
 return occasioned the greatest joy. 
 
 I had some time before made the acquaint- 
 ance of Mrs. Lennox, and from her manner, 
 as well as from what Mrs. Lennox told me, I 
 
202 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 I 
 
 saw with joy that all active opposition was 
 over, and that the engagement was tacitly 
 connived at by the whole family. It was in 
 the beginning of April that John Herbert 
 arrived, his health much improved by 
 absolute freedom from hard work and night 
 watches. He had to pay all his own 
 expenses from Suez, and just managed the 
 overland journey on his little savings of 
 eighteen or twenty pounds. 
 
 The " lovers' walk " in my garden was now 
 in constant occupation, and the summer- 
 house at the end became a permanent 
 boudoir. After a few days given to the joy 
 of such an unexpected and hopeful reunion, 
 
 Herbert wrote to Major C to announce 
 
 his arrival, and to prepare him for a sub- 
 sequent visit. He waited some days in great 
 anxiety, and when he received the answer, 
 brought it directly to me. I will not say 
 that despair was written on his face — he was 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA, 
 
 203 
 
 of too strong and hopeful a temperament for 
 that — but blank dismay and measureless 
 astonishment certainly were, and not without 
 cause. The writer first expressed his deep 
 regret that any hope he had held out of a 
 situation should have induced Herbert to give 
 up his profession for a mere chance. He 
 then stated that on his own return to Eng- 
 land he had found the Government in one of 
 its periodical fits of parsimony, and that far 
 from being able to make fresh appointments, 
 he had found his own salary cut down, and 
 all supernumeraries inexorably dismissed. 
 
 Such were the contents of Major C *s 
 
 letter. It was indeed a crushing blow. 
 John Herbert could not but feel that his 
 five years of tossing about the world in 
 various climates had been absolutely lost, so 
 far as being settled in life was concerned, and 
 he could not but feel also that he had again 
 to begin the great battle of life, with pros- 
 
 if 
 
 :v M 
 
204 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 pects of success much diminished by the fact 
 of his being now nearly twenty-six years of 
 age. 
 
 Many long and anxious conversations 
 ensued on the receipt of this letter. Both 
 Herbert and Mary bravely bore up against 
 the keen disappointment of all their newly- 
 raised hopes. If the promised and coveted 
 situation had been secured, there would have 
 been nothing to prevent their almost im- 
 mediate marria-ge ; now all chance of this was 
 thrown far into the background, and all that 
 could be done was to trace out for Herbert 
 some future plan of life to be begun with as 
 little delay as possible. At the death of a 
 near relative he would be entitled to a small 
 portion of money amounting to five hundred 
 pounds. This he now determined to sink for 
 the present sum of two hundred pounds 
 tendered by the Legal Assurance Society, in 
 lieu of all future claims. 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 205 
 
 It was the end of July, 1870, before the 
 necessary papers were all signed, and with 
 the money thus raised, Herbert resolved at 
 once to start for New York, where he pro- 
 posed embarking his small capital in some 
 business in which his thorough knowledge of 
 French might be useful to him. He 
 prudently expended a portion of his money 
 in a good outfit and a gold watch. 
 
 Soon after his arrival in New York he 
 wrote to tell us that at the same hotel where 
 he boarded he had met with an old French 
 gentleman recently from Paris, that they had 
 gone into partnership and had opened a small 
 establishment on Broadway for the sale of 
 French wines and cigars. He wrote that 
 they had every hope of doing well, numbers 
 of foreigners buying from them. Frenchmen 
 particularly coming in preference where they 
 could freely converse in their own language* 
 Just at this epoch the French and German 
 
206 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 war broke out, and stretching as it were 
 across the broad Atlantic, swept into its 
 ruinous vortex the poor little business in 
 New York on Avhich dear friends at home 
 were building up such hopes of success. 
 Herbert and his partner found their circle of 
 French customers disappear as if by magic, 
 the greater part recalled to their own 
 country to serve as soldiers. No German 
 would enter a French store, the English and 
 Americans gave them no encouragement, and 
 amid the stirring events which now occupied 
 the public mind, the utter failure of the 
 small business on Broadway took place with- 
 out exciting either notice or pity. 
 
 Herbert saved nothing from the wreck of 
 affairs but his gold watch and his clothes. 
 It was about this thae that a casual acquaint- 
 ance mentioned to John Herbert the "free- 
 grant lands " of Muskoka, pointing them out 
 as a wide and promising field for emigration. 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 20i 
 
 He told him that he knew several families 
 who had located themselves in that distant 
 settlement, and who had found the land 
 excellent, the conditions on which it was to 
 be held easy of fulfilment, and the climate, 
 though cold, incomparably healthy. 
 
 This intelligence, coming at a time when 
 all was apparently lost, and his future pros- 
 pects of the gloomiest kind, decided John 
 Herbert to find his way to Muskoka and to 
 apply for land there. He found a companion 
 for his long journey in the person of a 
 German who had come over with him in the 
 same ship from Havre, and who, like himself, 
 had entirely failed in bettering his condition 
 in New York. 
 
 This poor young man had left a wife and 
 child in Germany, and now that the war had 
 broken out, having no vocation for fighting, 
 he was afraid to venture back. Herbert sold 
 his gold watch (for which he had given 
 
 m 
 
208 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 i 
 
 t 
 
 Hi 
 
 iH 
 
 twenty pounds) for fifty dollars, and his com- 
 panion being much on a par as to funds, they 
 joined their resources and started for Mus- 
 koka. After a very fatiguing journey, per- 
 formed as much as possible on foot, but 
 latterly partly by rail and partly by boat, 
 they arrived at Bracebridge, where the 
 German took up one hundred acres, Herbert 
 preferring to wait and choose his land in 
 spring ; and it was agreed that during the 
 winter, now beginning with great severity, 
 they should work together and have every- 
 thing in common. 
 
 Having engaged a man who knew the 
 country well to go with them and point out 
 the land they had just taken up, they bought 
 a few necessary articles, such as bedding, 
 tools, a cooking-stove, and a small supply of 
 provisions, and started for the township in 
 which they were about to locate. Once upon 
 the land they set to work, cleared a t?pot of 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 209 
 
 ground, and with some assistance from their 
 neighbours built a small shanty sufficient to 
 shelter them for the winter. It was when 
 they were tolerably settled that Herbert 
 beffan to feel what a cloo; and a hindrance his 
 too hastily formed partnership was likely to 
 be. Feeble in body and feeble in mind, his 
 companion became every day more depressed 
 and home-sick. At last he ceased entirely 
 from doing any work, which threw a double 
 portion upon Herbert, who had in addition to 
 do all commissions, and to fetch the letters 
 from the distant post-office in all weathers. 
 
 Poor Wilhelm could do nothing but smoke 
 feebly by the stove, shudder at the cold now 
 becoming intense, and bemoan his hard fate. 
 He was likewise so timid that his own 
 shadow frightened him, and he could not 
 bear to be left alone in the shanty. Herbert 
 had a narrow escape of being shot by him 
 one night on his return, rather late, from the 
 
 14 
 
 vn 
 
 ill 
 
210 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 post-office. Wilhelm, hearing footsteps, in 
 his fright took down from the wall Herbert's 
 double-barrelled gun, which was kept always 
 loaded, and was vainly trying to point it in 
 the right direction, out of the door, when 
 Herbert entered to find him as pale as death, 
 and with limbs shaking to that degree that 
 fortunately he had been unable to cock the 
 gun. 
 
 It was indeed hard to be tied down to such 
 a companionship. Herbert himself suffered 
 severely from the cold of the Canadian 
 climate, coming upon him as it did after some 
 years' residence in India, but he never com- 
 plained, and his letters home to Mary and all 
 of us spoke of hopeful feelings and un- 
 diminished perseverance. He has often told 
 us since that he never left the shanty with- 
 out a strong presentiment that on his return 
 he should find it in flames, so great was the 
 carelessness of his companion in blowing 
 
A JFEDDim IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 211 
 
 about the lijj^lited ashes from his pipe. For 
 this reason lie always carried in the belt he 
 wore round him, night and day, his small re- 
 mainder of money and all his testimonials 
 and certificates. A great part of his time 
 was occupied in snaring rabbits and shooting 
 an occasional bird or squirrel with which to 
 make soup for his invalid companion. He 
 used to set his snares overnight and look at 
 them the first thin<; in the mornino^. One 
 bitter cold morning he went out as usual to 
 see if anytliing had been caught, leaving 
 Wilhelm smoking by the stove. He re- 
 turned to find the shanty in flames and 
 his terrified companion crying, screaming, 
 and wringing his hands. Herbert called to 
 him in a voice of thunder, " The powder I" 
 The frightened fool pointed to the half-burnt 
 shanty, into which Herbert madly dashed, 
 and emerged, half smothered, with a large 
 carpet-bag already smouldering, in which, 
 
 14—2 
 
212 
 
 A WEDDING IN MVSKOKA. 
 
 among all his best clothes, he had stored 
 away his entire stock of gunpowder in 
 canisters. He hurled the carpet-bag far off 
 into a deep drift of snow, by which prompt 
 measure he probably saved his own life and 
 his companion's, who seemed quite paralysed 
 by fear. He then attempted to stop the fire 
 by cutting away the burning rafters, but all 
 his efforts were useless ; hardly anything was 
 saved but one trunk, which he dragged out 
 at once though it was beginning to burn. 
 
 The tools, the bedding, the working- 
 clothes, and most of his good outfit were 
 consumed, and at night he went to bed at a 
 kind neighbour's who had at once taken him 
 in, feeling too truly that he was again a 
 ruined man. 
 
 One blessing certainly accrued to him from 
 this sweeping misfortune. He for ever got 
 rid of his helpless partner, who at once left 
 the settlement, leaving Herbert again a free 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 213 
 
 from 
 got 
 \q left 
 free 
 
 agent. Necessity compelled him now to do 
 what he had never done before — to write 
 home for assistance. His letter found his 
 eldest sister in a position to help him, as she 
 had just sunk her own portion in the same 
 manner that he had done, not for her own 
 benefit, but to assist members of the family 
 who were in difficulties. She sent him at 
 once fifty pounds, and with the possession of 
 this sum all his prospects brightened. 
 
 He left the scene of his late disaster, took 
 up one hundred acres of land for himself and 
 another one hundred in the name of Mary 
 Lennox, making sure that she would eventually 
 come out to him. He set hard to work chop- 
 ping and clearing a few acres, which, as the 
 spring opened, he cropped judiciously. He then 
 called a " bee," which was well attended, 
 and raised the walls of a good large log- 
 house, the roof of which he shingled entirely 
 himself in a masterly manner. For stock he 
 
 
214 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 s- 
 
 bought two cows and some chickens; and 
 then wrote to Mary, telling of his improved 
 prospects, and asking her if, when he was 
 more fully settled, she would consent to share 
 his lot in this far-oflP corner of the earth. At 
 this time Mary was on a visit to me, having 
 been allowed, for the first time, to accept my 
 warm invitation. All her family were at the 
 sea- side in England, having left during the 
 French war. 
 
 I have often said that a special Providence 
 certainly watched over Herbert and Mary. 
 It did seem most extraordinary that just at 
 this particular time a married sister of John 
 Herbert, with her husband and children, had 
 suddenly determined to join him in Muskoka. 
 
 The reason was this : Mr. C , her husband, 
 
 was the classical and mathematical professor 
 in a large French academy; but years of 
 scholastic duties and close attention to books 
 had so undermined his health, that he was 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 215 
 
 quite unable to continue the exercise of his 
 profession ; indeed, the medical men con- 
 sulted by him gave it as their opinion that 
 nothing but an entire change of climate and 
 occupation, and a complete abstinence from 
 all studious pursuits, together with an out- 
 door life, would give him the slightest chance 
 of recovery. Herbert was written to and 
 authorised to take up land for them near his 
 own, and it was settled that they were to 
 sail in the end of July. 
 
 Now came my time for persuasion and in- 
 fluence. I opened a correspondence with 
 Mary's father, who had recently received an 
 explicit and manly letter from Herbert, with 
 which he was nmch pleased. I represented 
 to JVIr. Lennox that this was no longer the 
 " boy-and-girl love" (to quote his own words) 
 of five years ago, but a steady affection, which 
 had been severely tested by trouble, difficulty, 
 opposition, and separation ; that no future 
 
 n m 
 
 If 
 
 1„, 
 
 ■vi 
 
 ■Mi 
 
216 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 opportunity could ever be so favourable as 
 the present one for his daughter going out to 
 her future husband under the protection and 
 guardianship of a family soon to become her 
 relations, and who would, in everything, 
 watch over her interest and comfort. In 
 short, I left nothing unsaid that could make 
 a favourable impression, willingly conceding to 
 his paternal feelings that it was, in a worldly 
 point of view, a match falling short of his 
 just expectations for his beautiful and accom- 
 plished child. 
 
 When two or three letters had passed be- 
 tween us, we agreed that Mary should go 
 over at once to her family, and join her per- 
 sonal influence to my special pleading. 
 
 I waited with great anxiety for her an- 
 swer. At length it came. Her family had 
 consented. Fortunately she was just of age ; 
 and as she remained steadfast in her attach- 
 ment, they agreed with me that it would be 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 217 
 
 best for her to go out with her future sister- 
 in-law. Mary wrote to Mrs. C , gratefully 
 
 accepting her offer of chaperonage, and we 
 despatched the joyful news to Herbert ; but 
 unfortunately named a date for their probable 
 arrival which proved incorrect, as their vessel 
 sailed from London two or three weeks before 
 the expected time. This we shall see was 
 productive of much temporary annoyance. 
 
 I pass over all the details of their voyage 
 and subsequent journey, and now take up the 
 
 narrative in Mrs. C 's words, telling of 
 
 their arrival at Mary's future home : 
 
 " It was about noon of a burning day in 
 August when the stage-wagon in which we 
 came from Utterson turned out of the road 
 into the Bush. After going some little 
 way in a dreadful narrow track, covered with 
 stumps, over which the wagon jolted fear- 
 fully, we were told to get down, as the driver 
 could not go any farther with safety to the 
 
 % ■ {: '■ 
 
218 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 horses ; and we therefore paid and dismissed 
 him. 
 
 " We soon came to a shanty by the 
 road-side, the owner of which met us 
 -and offered to be our guide. He evidently 
 knew to whom we were going, but the per- 
 plexed and doubtful expression of his face 
 when he caught sight of our party was most 
 amusing. He looked from one to the other, 
 and then burst out, in quite an injured tone, 
 ^ But nothing is ready for you ; the house 
 even is not finished. Mr. Herbert knows 
 nothing of your coming so soon ; he told me 
 this morning that he did not expect you for 
 three weeks I What will he do V The poor 
 man, a great frieitd and ally of Herbert's, ap- 
 peared quite angry at our ill-timed arrival ; 
 but we explained to him that we should only 
 be too thankful for any kind of shelter, being 
 dreadfully wearied with our long journey, 
 and the poor children crying from heat, 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 219 
 
 fatigue, and the attacks of the mos- 
 quitoes. 
 
 " Charles now proposed going in advance 
 of us, to prepare Herbert for our arrival. He 
 walked quickly on, and, entering the clear- 
 ing, caught sight of Herbert, hard at work in 
 the burning sun, covered with dust and per- 
 spiration, and, in fact, barely recognisable, 
 being attired in a patched suit of common 
 working-clothes, which he had snatched from 
 the burning shanty, with his toes also peep- 
 ing out of a pair of old boots with soles 
 jDaiily off. 
 
 " On first seeing his brother-in-law, every 
 vestige of colour left his face, so great was 
 his emotion, knowing that we must be close 
 at hand. To rush into the house, after a few 
 words of explanation, to make a brief toilet, 
 greatly aided by a bucket of water and plenty 
 of soap, to attire himself in a most becoming 
 suit of cool brown linen, and, finally, to place 
 
 If 
 
 II? 
 
 tU!! 
 
 i 4^, 
 
 
 i $ 
 
 i 
 
220 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 II 
 
 i 
 
 ! 
 
 on his hastily-brushed head a Panama hat, 
 which we had often admired, was the work of 
 little more than a quarter of an hour; and, to 
 Charles' great amusement, the scrubby, dirty- 
 looking workman he had greeted, stepped 
 forward in the much-improved guise of a 
 bandsomo and aristocratic-looking young 
 plaiiL i. 
 
 " In ehe meantime, our guide having 
 brougiit as wr'bia sight of the outer fence, 
 hastily took his leave, hardly waiting to re- 
 ceive our thanks. Mary and I have often 
 laughed since at his great anxiety to get 
 away from us, which we know now was 
 partly from delicate reluctance to intrude 
 upon our first interview, but a great deal 
 more from his horror at the state in which 
 he knew things to be at the house. 
 
 " Poor Herbert, when he reached us, could 
 hardly speak. After one fond and grateful 
 embrace of his darling, and a most kind and 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 221 
 
 na hat, 
 work of 
 and, to 
 r, dirty- 
 stepped 
 56 of a 
 young 
 
 having 
 tr fence, 
 I to re- 
 ire often 
 to get 
 low was 
 
 intrude 
 3at deal 
 1 which 
 
 could 
 grateful 
 ind and 
 
 affectionate welcome to the children and my- 
 self, he conducted us to the house. Although 
 his neighbour had prepared us for disappoint- 
 ment, yet I must own that we felt unutter- 
 able dismay when we looked around us. 
 
 " The house was certainly a good large one, 
 but it was a mere shell ; nothing but the 
 walls and the roof were up, and even the 
 walls were neither chinked nor mossed, so 
 that we could see daylight between all the logs. 
 The floor was not laid down, but in the 
 middle of it an excavation had been begun for 
 a cellar, so that there was a yawning hole, in 
 which for some weeks my children found a 
 play-closet and a hiding-place for all their 
 rubbish. 
 
 " Furniture there was none, the only seats 
 and tables being Herbert's one trunk, partly 
 burned, saved from the fire, and a few flour- 
 barrels. There was no semblance of a bed, 
 except a little hay in a corner, a few sacks. 
 
 » 
 
 
 li;: 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
222 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 I 
 
 and an old blanket. Some milk-pans and a 
 few plates and mugs completed the articles 
 in this truly Irish cabin, of which Herbert 
 did the honours with imperturbable grace 
 and self-possession. He made no useless 
 apologies for the existing discomforts ; he 
 told us simply what he meant the house to 
 be as soon as he could get time to finish it ; 
 and in the interim he looked about with as 
 much satisfaction as if his log-house had been 
 Windsor Castle, and we the crowned heads 
 to whom he was displaying its glories. 
 
 " We found the larder as scantily-furnished 
 as the house ; but Herbert made us a few 
 cakes and baked them in the oven ; he boiled 
 some potatoes, and milked the cow, so that 
 we were not long without some refreshment. 
 
 '* For sleeping we curtained off a corner 
 of the room with our travelling-cloaks and 
 sTiawls, and made a tolerable bed with 
 bundles of hay and a few sacks to cover us. 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 223 
 
 s and a 
 articles 
 Herbert 
 3 grace 
 useless 
 rts ; he 
 LOUse to 
 inish it ; 
 with as 
 Lad been 
 d heads 
 
 • 
 
 irnished 
 s a few 
 e boiled 
 so that 
 iment. 
 corner 
 ks and 
 with 
 Dver us. 
 
 We had broutrht nothing: with us but our 
 hand-baskets, so were obliged to lie down in 
 most of our clothes, the nights bei::innino' to 
 be very chilly, and the night air coming in 
 freely through the unchinked walls. We 
 were, however, truly thankful this first night 
 to put the children to bed quite early, and to 
 retire ourselves, for we were thorouo-hlv 
 wearied and worn out. The two gentlemen 
 lay down, just as they were, in the far corner 
 of the room on some hay ; and if we were 
 chilly and uncomfoi-table, I think they must 
 have been more so. 
 
 ** The first night we were undisturbed ; 
 but on the next, we were hardly asleep when 
 we were awoke bv a horrid and continuous 
 hissing, which seemed to come from the hay 
 of our improvised bed. We all started up in 
 terror, the poor frightened children crying 
 loudly. The gentlemen, armed with sticks, 
 beat the hay of the beds about, and scattered 
 
 •I 
 
 11 
 
 % 
 
 ;:;:i. 
 
224 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 it completely. They soon had the pleasant 
 sight of a tolerable-sized snake gliding swiftly 
 from our corner, and making its escape under 
 the door into the clearing, where Herbert 
 found and killed it next morning. We must 
 indeed have been tired to sleep soundly, as 
 we all certainly did, after the beds had been 
 re-arranged. 
 
 "The next day Mr. C proposed walking 
 
 to Utterson, to purchase a few necessary 
 articles of food ; and Herbert went on to 
 Bracebridge, to look for a clergyman to per- 
 form the marriage ceremony between him 
 and Mary. As to waiting for our luggage, 
 and for the elegant bridal attire which had 
 been so carefully packed by loving hands, we 
 all agreed that it would be ridiculous ; and 
 dear Mary, like a true heroine, accepted the 
 discomforts of her situation bravely, and, far 
 from uttering a single complaint, made the 
 best of everything. 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 225 
 
 easant 
 swiftly 
 under 
 Herbert 
 3 must 
 dly, as 
 i been 
 
 talking 
 
 3essary 
 
 on to 
 
 to per- 
 
 in him 
 
 SfSfasfe, 
 
 ;h had 
 
 ds, we 
 
 3 ; and 
 
 ed the 
 
 nd, far 
 
 de the 
 
 "Both Mr. C and myself had fits of 
 
 irrepressible vexation at the state of affairs ; 
 but as we could in no way help ourselves, 
 we thought it best to be silent, and to hurry 
 on the building of a log-house for ourselves, 
 which we at once did. 
 
 " The very day after our arrival, Mary and 
 I undertook the work of housekeeping, taking 
 it by turns day and day about. We found 
 it most fatiguing, the days being so hot and 
 the mosquitoes so tormenting. Moreover, 
 the stove being placed outside, we were ex- 
 posed to the burning sun every time we 
 went near it, and felt quite ill in con- 
 sequence. 
 
 "When Herbert returned from Bracebridge, 
 he told us that the Church of England 
 clergyman being away at Toronto, he had 
 engaged the services of the Wesleyan minis- 
 ter whose chapel he had sometimes attended, 
 and that gentleman had promised to come as 
 
 15 
 
 i'li 
 
 |i 
 
 M 
 
' 
 
 226 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 soon as possible, and to bring with him a 
 proper and respectable witness. 
 
 " The day of his coming being left uncer- 
 tain, Mary and I were kept in a continual 
 state of terror and expectation, and at such a 
 time we felt doubly the annoyance of not 
 being able to get from Toronto even the 
 trunks containing our clothes. In vain we 
 tried to renovate our soiled and travel-stained 
 dresses ; neither brushing, nor shaking, nor 
 sponging could alter their unmistakably 
 shabby appearance, and it required somo 
 philosophy to be contented. It was worse 
 for poor Mary than for any one else ; and I 
 felt quite touched when I saw her carefully 
 washing and ironing the lace frill from the 
 neck of her dress, and then arranging it again 
 as nicely as possible. 
 
 " Two days passed, and on the afternoon 
 of the third we had put the poor children to 
 sleep, and were Ivinsr down ourselves. 
 
 quite 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 227 
 
 him a 
 
 't uncer- 
 ontinual 
 t such a 
 J of not 
 ven the 
 vain we 
 1-stained 
 ing, nor 
 stakablv 
 
 t 
 
 d somo 
 IS worse 
 ; and I 
 carefully 
 irom the 
 it again 
 
 ifternoon 
 ildren to 
 es, quite 
 
 overcome with the heat, when my husband 
 entered hastily to tell us that the Pvev. Mr, 
 
 W had arrived to perform the marriage 
 
 ceremony, and had brought with liim as witness 
 a goodnatured store-keeper, who had left his 
 business to oblige Herbert, with whom ho 
 had had many dealings. 
 
 " Herbert, who had dressed himself every 
 day, not to be taken by surprise, was quite 
 ready, and kept them in conversation while 
 Mary and I arranged our hair, washed the 
 children's faces and hands, and, as well as we 
 could, prepared the room. When all was 
 ready they were summoned, and in making 
 their introductory bows, both our visitors 
 nearly backed themselves into the yawning 
 cavern in the middle of the floor, which, in 
 our trepidation, we had forgotten to point 
 out. 
 
 " Very impressively did the good minister 
 perform the marriage service ; and at its 
 
 15—2 
 
 'k 
 
228 
 
 A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 close he addressed to the young couple 
 a few words of serious and affection- 
 ate exhortation, well suited to the occa- 
 sion. 
 
 " He begged them to remember, that 
 living as they were about to do in the 
 lonely forest, far from the public ordin- 
 ances of religion, they must give the more 
 heed to their religious duties, and to the 
 study of the Word of God, endeavouring 
 to live not for this world only, but for that 
 other world to which young and old were 
 alike hastening. 
 
 " Herbert looked his very best on this 
 momentous occasion, and, in spite of all dis- 
 advantages of dress and difficulties of posi- 
 tion, dear Mary looked most sweet and beau- 
 tiful, and created, I am sure, quite a fatherly 
 interest in the heart of the good old clergy- 
 man, himself the father of a numerous family. 
 We could offer the clergyman and witness 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 229 
 
 couple 
 fection- 
 3 occa- 
 
 '!, that 
 in the 
 ordin- 
 e more 
 to the 
 vouring 
 or that 
 d were 
 
 on this 
 all dis- 
 )f posi- 
 d beau- 
 ■atherly 
 clergy- 
 family, 
 witness 
 
 no refreshment; and when they were gone, 
 our wedding-feast consisted of a very salt 
 ham-bone, dough dumplings, and milk-and- 
 water." 
 
 So ends Mrs. C 's narrative, to which I 
 
 shall append but few observations. All went 
 well from the day of the wedding, and on 
 that day the sun went down on a happy 
 couple. Doubt, anxiety, separation — all 
 these were at an end ; and, for weal or 
 woe, John Herbert and Mary Lennox were 
 indissolubly united. Trials and troubles 
 might await them in the future ; but for 
 the present, youth, health, hope, and love 
 were beckoning them onward with ineffable 
 smiles. 
 
 The luggage soon arrived, and comfort- 
 able bedding superseded hay and snakes. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. C removed as soon as 
 
 possible into their own log-house, leaving 
 
 
 
 
230 
 
 A JVEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 our young couple to the privacy of their 
 home. 
 
 Herbert worked early and late to finish his 
 house, and partitioned off a nice chamber for 
 Mary, which was prettily furnished and or- 
 namented with cherished books, and gifts, 
 and keepsakes from dear and distant friends. 
 The wealthier members of Mary's family sent 
 substantial tokens of goodwill, and many 
 pretty and useful gifts came from the loving 
 sister, who begins to talk of coming out 
 herself. 
 
 Mary's parents, cheered and comforted by 
 the happy and contented tone breathed in 
 her letters, ceased to regret having sanc- 
 tioned the marriage; and, to crown all, a 
 little son in due time made his appear- 
 ance, to cement still further the love of his 
 parents and to concentrate a very large por- 
 tion of it in his own little person. 
 
 Here let the curtain drop. From time to 
 
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 231 
 
 time I may have had misgivings, but have 
 long been fully satisfied that a blessing has 
 rested on my well-meant endeavours to se- 
 cure the happiness of two young and loving 
 hearts. 
 
ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH, 
 
 THIRTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Ml 
 > *i 
 
 TOLD ME BY THE WIFE OF AN OLD SETTLER. 
 
 II 
 
 'trJ 
 
 ■i I 
 
ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 
 
 oJ»io 
 
 J^l^^ H I KT Y years ago, when I went 
 into the Bush, quite a young 
 girl, with my newly-made husband, 
 the part in which we settled was a complete 
 wilderness. Our lot was taken up about 
 thirty miles east of Belle Ewart, now quite a 
 flourishing village, with the railway passing 
 through it. 
 
 Our small log-house was perfectly isolated, 
 as at that time we had not a single neighbour 
 nearer to us than twelve miles ; all was dense 
 forest, with but a very faint imperfect track 
 leading by degrees to the main road. Here 
 
 :i 
 
236 ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 
 
 I passed the first years of my married life, 
 encountering many hardships and enduring 
 many troubles. By degrees my husband 
 cleared and cultivated as much land as would 
 supply our wants, though he never took 
 heartily to the fanning, not having been 
 used to it, being by trade a gunsmith. 
 
 After several years, neighbours began to 
 gather round us at the distance of two or 
 three miles, and in time quite a settlement 
 was formed. By one of these neighbours a 
 few miles off I was invited to a wedding 
 when my first baby was about a year old. 
 My husband had a strong serviceable pony, 
 but no buggy, and it was settled that I should 
 ride on the pony with baby on my lap, and 
 my husband walk at the side. 
 
 When we were within a mile of our desti- 
 nation we noticed a tree fallen across the 
 path, which was a narrow track with forest 
 on both sides, and we also saw that the tree 
 
BUSH. 
 
 ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH, 237 
 
 ied life, 
 nduring 
 lusband 
 s would 
 r took 
 
 g been 
 
 3gan to 
 two or 
 tlement 
 hours a 
 redding 
 ar old. 
 e pony, 
 should 
 ap, and 
 
 r desti- 
 )ss the 
 forest 
 le tree 
 
 had a bushy green top to it. We arrived at 
 our friend's, partook of the wedding festivities, 
 and started on our return home at ten o'clock 
 on a bright starlight night. 
 
 As we approached the fallen tree over 
 which the pony had stepped quite quietly in 
 the morning, the poor animal began to shiver 
 all over, to snort, to caper about the road in a 
 most extraov'linary manner, and appeared too 
 frightened to move on. 
 
 I whispered to my husband that I saw the 
 green toj) of the tree moving, and that I had 
 better get off with the baby for fear of the 
 pony starting and throwing us off. He took 
 me down, and we stepped across the tree, 
 dragging the pony after us with the greatest 
 difficulty ; hardly had we got to the other side 
 when from the bushy head of the tree out 
 walked a great brown bear, who certainly 
 looked very much astonished at our little 
 party. 
 
 ;i 1| 
 
 'Ml 
 
238 ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 
 
 We were terribly frightened, expecting him 
 to attack the pony, but he stood quite still. 
 We thought it better to move on, slowly at 
 first, and afterwards more quickly as we got 
 nearer home. He followed us for more than 
 a mile, indeed till we were quite in sight of 
 our own door, then finding himself near a 
 human habitation he gave one fearful growl 
 before gliding off" into the forest, and we lost 
 sight of him. 
 
 When we were safely housed, and the poor 
 pony well fed and locked into his little shed, 
 I felt nearly dead with terror and fatigue. 
 
 My next interview with Bruin was in a 
 buggy, three years afterwards, in which I was 
 being driven homeward by my husband. 
 This time we had two children with us, 
 and had been to a considerable distance to 
 purchase articles at a newly-established store, 
 which could not be procured nearer. We were 
 more than six miles from home, when the 
 
ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH, 230 
 
 pony (the same mentioned before) began to 
 be greatly agitated, refused to go on, then 
 tried to start off, and gave loud snorts of 
 distress. 
 
 My husband got out and stood at the pony's 
 head, holding him firmly to prevent his start- 
 ing. The light was very dim in the shade of 
 the Bush, but we both saw something large 
 creeping along the edge of the forest next to 
 where my husband stood ; he had no weapon 
 with him but his woodman's knife and a thick 
 stake picked up from the roadside. Presently 
 a bear came slowly out of the forest, and ad- 
 vanced into the middle of the road at some 
 distance from us, as if preparing for fight. 
 I was terribly frightened, but my husband 
 stood quite still, holding in the horse, but 
 keeping in full view the bear, kncwing what 
 a terror they have of man. 
 
 After steadily looking at each other for at 
 least five minutes — minutes of suspense and 
 
 "ti 
 
240 ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 
 
 agony to us, Bruin evidently understood 
 the difficulties of his position, and quietly 
 slunk away into the Bush on the other side of 
 the road ; and we were glad to get home in 
 safety. 
 
 At another time, I had a visit from a lynx ; 
 but as I certainly invited him myself, I could 
 not be surprised at his coming as he did, 
 almost close to my cottage door. My hus- 
 band had been gone for two days on im- 
 portant business to a village a long way off, 
 and on this particular evening I fully expected 
 him home. 
 
 We were living in quite a small shanty till 
 we could build a larger house ; it had a fire- 
 place on the floor, and an open chimney ; the 
 room was very low, and easy of access from 
 the outside. I was living then with m^^ 
 three little children and a young ^ * » ' 
 fourteen who helped me to take care v them. 
 As it was getting dusk I thought I heard i 
 
 I 
 
ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 241 
 
 human voice distinctly calling from the forest, 
 " Hallo I" I went to the door and inmiedi- 
 atoly answered in the same tone, " Hallo 1" 
 making sure that it was my husband, who 
 finding the track very faint from the gloom of 
 the forest, wanted our voices to guide him 
 right. The voice replied to me. I hallooed 
 again, and this went on for some minutes, the 
 sound drawing nearer and nearer, till at length 
 advancing from the edge of the forest, not 
 my husband, but a good-sized lynx, attracted 
 by my answering call, stood quite in front of 
 the cottage — nothing more than the width of 
 a broad road between us and it. 
 
 The children, most fortunately, were play- 
 ing inside, but my sister and myself distinctly 
 saw the eyes of the creature like globes of 
 fire, and in the stillness of the evening we 
 could hear its teeth gnashing as if with 
 anxiety to attack us. Fortunately, through 
 the open door of the shanty the savage ani- 
 
 16 
 
242 ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 
 
 mal could see the blazing fire on the hearth, 
 and came no nearer. 
 
 We hastily shut the door, and my poor little 
 sister began to cry and bemoan the danger we 
 were in : 
 
 " Oh 1 the roof was so low, and it would 
 clamber up and drop down the chimney, or it 
 would spring through the window, or push 
 open the door," etc. 
 
 I begged her not to frighten the poor 
 children who were playing in a corner, but 
 at once to put more wood on the fire and 
 make a good blaze. I now found that we 
 had hardly any wood without going to the 
 stack outside, which luckily was very close 
 to the door, and fearing that my husband 
 might at any moment return, and be pounced 
 upon unawares, I made my sister light a 
 candle, and opening the door placed her at it, 
 telling her to move the light about so as to 
 bewilder the lynx. Still the dreadful animal 
 
sss^ss 
 
 ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 243 
 
 remained, uttering cries at intervals, but not 
 moving a step. As quickly as I could I got 
 plenty of wood, as much as I thought would 
 last the night, and very gladly we again shut 
 the door. We now piled up wood on the 
 hearth till there was a great blaze, and no 
 doubt the showers of sparks which must 
 have gone out at the chimney-top greatly 
 alarmed the lynx ; it now gave a number of 
 fierce angry cries and went off into the forest^ 
 the sound becoming fainter and fainter till it 
 died away. 
 
 My husband did not return till the evening 
 of the next day, and he had seen nothing of 
 our unwelcome visitor. 
 
 At the time I speak of, the woods of Mus- 
 koka were quite infested with wolves, whir' 
 however, were only dangerous when many 
 were together. A single wolf is at all times 
 too cowardly to attack a man. My husband 
 knew this, and therefore if he heard a single 
 
 16—2 
 
244 ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 
 
 howl he took no notice, but if he heard by the 
 howling that a pack was in the forest near at 
 hand, he went on his road very cautiously^ 
 looking from side to side so as to secure a 
 tree for climbing into should they attack 
 him. 
 
 The Canadian wolf has not the audacity of 
 the prairie wolf; should it drive a traveller 
 to the shelter of a tree it will circle round it 
 all night, but at the dawn of day is sure to 
 disappear. 
 
 A neighbour's child, a boy of twelve years 
 old, had a narrow escape from four or five of 
 them, having mistaken them for dogs. It 
 was his business to feed the animals, and 
 having neglected one morning to cut the 
 potatoes small enough, a young calf was un- 
 fortunately choked from a piece too large 
 sticking in her throat. The dead calf was 
 laid under a fence not far from the shanty, 
 and the boy having been severely scolded for 
 
ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 245 
 
 his carelessness, remained sulkily within doors 
 by himself. 
 
 He was engaged in peeling a long stick for 
 an ox-whip, when he heard, as he thought, 
 the barking of some dogs over the dead car- 
 case of the calf; he rushed out with the long 
 stick in his hand, and saw four or five animals 
 busily tearing oif the flesh from the calf; 
 without a moment's reflection he ran in 
 among them, shouting and hallooing with 
 all his might, and so valiantly laid about 
 him with his stick that they all ran ofl* to 
 the covert of the forest, where they turned ; 
 and he heard a series of yells and howls 
 which made his blood run cold, for he knew 
 the sound well, and saw that they were 
 wolves and not dogs whose repast he had in- 
 terrupted. He said, that so great was his 
 terror that he could hardly get back to the 
 shanty and fasten the door. 
 
 All the Canadian wild animals are timid ; 
 
246 ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 
 
 
 they only begin to prowl about at dusk ; they 
 never attempt to enter a dwelling, and have a 
 salutary dread of attacking a man ; if attacked 
 themselves they will fight fiercely, and a she- 
 bear with cubs is always dangerous. 
 
 Since the time I speak of, the settlements 
 all over the district have become very nume- 
 rous, and the quantity of land cleared up is 
 so great that the wild animals keep retreat- 
 ing farther and farther into the recesses of 
 the forest; and even the trappers by pro- 
 fession find their trade much less lucrative 
 than it was, they have so much more difficulty 
 in finding game in any quantity. 
 
 It is hardly possible to make people under- 
 stand, who are unacquainted with Bush-life, 
 what the early settlers in Muskoka and 
 other parts had to suffer. Young creatures 
 with their babie* were left alone in situations 
 which in more settled countries call for the 
 greatest care and tenderness, and in desolate 
 
ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 247 
 
 solitudes where they were far from all human 
 help. 
 
 Three weeks before the birth of my fourth 
 child I became so ill with erysipelas that my 
 husband thought he had better go to the 
 place where my parents lived — more than 
 twenty miles off, and bring back one of my 
 sisters to nurse me. He started after break- 
 fast, and soon after he left I became so dread- 
 fully ill that I could not lift my head from 
 the pillow, or indeed turn myself in the 
 bed. 
 
 My children, of the respective ages of two, 
 four, and six, were playing about, and as I 
 lay watching them my terror was extreme 
 lest one of them should fall into the fire ; I 
 can hardly tell how they fed themselves, or 
 got to bed, or got up the next morning, for 
 by that time I could move neither hand nor 
 foot, and was in dreadful pain. Thus I lay 
 all day, all night, and all the next day till the 
 
248 ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 
 
 evening, when my husbanJi returned with one 
 of my sisters. After that I became delirious, 
 and had hardly recovered when ray child was 
 born. 
 
 As soon as our land was well cleared up 
 and a good house built, my husband sold the 
 property and bought a piece of ground at 
 Belle Ewart, where we have lived ever since, 
 as his health would not allow him to continue 
 farming. 
 
 I was always afraid when living in the 
 Bush of the children being lost when they 
 began to run about. The Bush at that time 
 was so wild, and so few paths through it, that 
 there was every fear of children straying once 
 they turned off the narrow track. 
 
 A poor little boy, of eight years old, living 
 some miles from us, was lost for more than a 
 week, and only by a miracle was found alive. 
 There was a windfall caused by a hurricane, 
 not very far from his father's shanty. It was 
 
ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSIL 249 
 
 not very broad, but extended in length for 
 more than twenty miles, distinctly marking 
 out the path of the tempest as it swept 
 through the Bush. AH this windfall was 
 overgrown with blackberry-bushes, and at 
 this time of year (the autumn) there wore 
 quantities of fruit, and parties used to be 
 made for picking them, with a view to pre- 
 sei'ving. 
 
 Our poor little wanderer having strayed 
 alone one morning and reached the windfall, 
 began to eat the berries with great delight, 
 and kept going about from bush to bush, till 
 when it got late he became so bewildered 
 that he could no longer tell in which direction 
 his home lay. Days went by ; he was missed 
 and hunted for, but misled by some imagin- 
 ary trace the first parties went in quite a 
 wrong direction. 
 
 The child had no sustenance but the fruit ; 
 at length he became too much exhausted to 
 
250 ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 
 
 pick, and, as he described it, only felt sleepy. 
 Providentially, in passing an uprooted tree, 
 he saw underneath a large hole, and creep- 
 ing in found it warm, soft, and dry, being 
 apparently well lined with moss and leaves. 
 Here he remained till found by a party who 
 fortunately took the direction of the windfall, 
 accompanied by a sagacious dog used to 
 tracking bears and other game. 
 
 The parties searching would have passed 
 the tree, which was a little out of the track, 
 and many others of the kind lying about, but 
 seeing the dog suddenly come to a stop and 
 begin sniffing and barking they made a care- 
 ful examination ; they found the poor child 
 in his concealment almost at the point of 
 death, and so scratched by the brambles and 
 stained by the juice of the berries as to be 
 scarcely recognisable. They had had the 
 precaution to take with them a bottle of new 
 milk, and very carefully they put down his 
 
ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 251 
 
 throat a little at a time till he was able to 
 swallow freely. 
 
 Now comes the extraordinary part of the 
 story. The nights were already very chilly ; 
 when asked on his recovery if he had not 
 felt the cold, he replied, " Oh no 1" and said 
 that every night at dusk a large brown dog 
 came and lay down by him, and was so kind 
 and good-natured that it let him creep quite 
 close to it, and put his arms round it, and 
 that in this way he slept quite warm. He 
 added, that the brown dog went away every 
 morning when it was light. Of course, as 
 there was no large dog answering to this 
 description in any of the adjacent settlements, 
 and as the poor child was evidently in a bear's 
 den, people could not but suppose that it was 
 a hear who came to his side every evening, and 
 that the animal, moved by some God-given 
 instinct, refrained from injuring the forlorn 
 child. Years afterwards this boy used to 
 
252 ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN IWSIl. 
 
 talk of the " kind brown dog " who had kept 
 him so nice and warm in his hole in the tree. 
 
 My last fright from a bear was only a few 
 years ago, when I was driving a married 
 daughter home, who had been with me to 
 pay a visit to a friend in the Bush twelve 
 miles off. We had one of her little children 
 with us, and were driving slowly, though the 
 road was a good one, as the horse had been 
 many miles that day. 
 
 It was getting dusk, and the road, being 
 narrow like all Bush roads, was very gloomy. 
 We were talking quietly of the visit we had 
 just paid, when from the thick top of a tree 
 overhanging the roadside, dropped down a 
 large bear, who just grazed the back of the 
 buggy in his fall. I had but a glimpse of 
 him, as hearing the noise I turned my head 
 for an instant ; my daughter's wild shriek of 
 alarm as she clutched her little one firmly, 
 added to the growl of the bear, so frightened 
 
ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 253 
 
 our horso that he dashed off at full speed, 
 and providentially nieetinj^ with no obstacle, 
 never stopped till ho reached the fence of my 
 husband's clearing. Even when locked into 
 the house for the night we could hardly 
 fancy ourselves in safety. 
 
 The respectable person to whom I was 
 indebted for the above anecdotes, and who 
 was in the capacity of nurse-tender to the 
 mistress of the hotel where I was staying, 
 was much to my regret suiMenly called away 
 to a fresh situation, by which I lost many 
 more of her interesting experiences, for as 
 she truly said, numberless were the ex- 
 pedients by which the wives of the early 
 settlers protected themselves and their little 
 ones during the unavoidable absences of their 
 husbands. The pleasant gentlemanly host of 
 the hotel where I was staying at Bracebridge 
 told me of his sitting entranced, when a little 
 
254 ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 
 
 child, at the feet of his old grandmother, to 
 hear her stories of the wild beasts which 
 abounded at the time of her first settlement 
 in the Canadian wilderness. 
 
 Her husband belonged to an old and wealthy 
 family in America, who, remaining loyal 
 during the war of Independence, were driven 
 over into Canada and all their property con- 
 fiscated. They settled down, glad to be in 
 safety in a wild unfrequented part ; and 
 whenever provisions were wanting, it was an 
 affair of some days for the husband to go and 
 return, the nearest settlement being fifty 
 miles off. 
 
 Packs of wolves used to prowl about the 
 log-hut as evening came on, and during the 
 night the barking and howling was dreadful 
 to hear ; the only thing to keep them off was 
 a large fire of pine-logs which his grandfather 
 used to light of an evening as near the house 
 as was consistent with safety. It depended 
 
ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 255 
 
 on which way the wind blew at which end of 
 the log-hut the fire was made. When he 
 went away on an expedition, he used to take 
 out a large chink at each end of the house 
 and leave his wife an immense pointed pole, 
 with which, putting it through the chink- 
 hole, she was enabled in safety to brand up 
 the fire, that is to draw the logs together so 
 as to last through the night. 
 
 Wplves have long disappeared into the 
 depths of the forest ; a chance one may now 
 and then be heard of, but rarely in the 
 vicinity of large clearings. The visits of 
 bears are becoming more and more frequent, 
 for Bruin is very partial to young pig, and 
 does not disdain a good meal of ripe grain. 
 The barley-patch in my clearing, as the corn 
 began to ripen this summer, was very much 
 trodden down by a bear whose tracks were 
 plainly to be seen, and he was supposed to 
 be located in a cedar-swamp on my land, as 
 
: 
 
 25G ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 
 
 every now and then he was seen, but always 
 coming to or from that direction. One night 
 we were roused from our sleep by a fearful 
 noise of cattle-bells outside of the fence, and 
 when we went out we found that there was a 
 regular " stampede " of all the cattle in the 
 immediate neighbourhood ; cows, oxen, steers, 
 were all tearing madly through the Bush 
 towards a road at the other side of a deep 
 gully near the edge of my lot. They were 
 evidently flying from the pursuit of some 
 wild animal. 
 
 Presently on the still night air rose a 
 horrid fierce growl which was repeated at 
 intervals two or three times, getting fainter 
 in th.^ distance till it quite died away. We 
 all recognised the noise we had recently 
 heard in France from the bears in a travelling 
 show, only much fiercer and louder. My 
 son, fully armed, started in pursuit, accom- 
 panied by a young friend armed also, but 
 
ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 257 
 
 though, guided by the noise, they went far 
 down the road, they caught but one glimpse 
 of Bruin in the moonlight as he disappeared 
 down a deep gully and from thence into the 
 Bush, where at night it would not have been 
 safe to follow him. 
 
 Hoping that towards morning he might, 
 us is usually the case, return the same way, 
 they seated themselves on a log by the road- 
 side close to the edge of the forest that they 
 might not be palpably in the bear's sight, 
 and there they remained for some hours till 
 the cold of the dawn warned them to come 
 home, being very lightly clad. The very 
 next evening my son and his friend were 
 pistol-shooting at a mark fixed on a tree at 
 the end of the clearing, when " Black Bess," 
 the dog, gave tongue and rushed into the 
 forest on the aide next the c^idiir-swamp. 
 Guided by ler barking the two gcntleiueu 
 followed quickly, and this time had a full 
 
 17 
 
 Wi 
 
258 ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 
 
 view in broad daylight of a large brown bear 
 in full flight, but never got within shooting dis- 
 tance. Unluckily the dog, though a good one 
 for starting game, was young and untrained, 
 and had not the sense to head the animal 
 back so as to enable her master to get within 
 range. This bear baffled all the arts of the 
 settlers to get at it, and settlers with cows 
 and oxen were mostly afraid to set traps for 
 fear of accidents to their cattle. 
 
 A short time ago a settler living on the 
 Muskoka Road was returning to his home by 
 a short cut through the Bush, when he came 
 suddenly upon a she-bear with two cubs. 
 He had no weapon but a small pocket-knife, 
 and hoped tc steal past unobserved, but in a 
 moment the beast attacked him, knocked his 
 knife out of his hand and tore his arm from 
 the shoulder to the wrist. He would pro- 
 bably have been killed but that his shouts 
 brought up a party of men working on the 
 
 I ' 
 
ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH. 259 
 
 Government road at no great distance, and 
 Mrs. Bruin was only too glad to get safe off 
 with her progeny into the depths of the Bush. 
 Two or three bears and a lynx were killed 
 in the fall of 1873, in the vicinity of Brace- 
 bridge, and one within a mile of the village, 
 on the road to the " South Falls," one of my 
 favourite walks when T was staying there. 
 There is, however, but little danger of meet- 
 ing any wild animal in the broad daylight. 
 The words of David in the 104th Psalm are 
 as strictly true now as they were in his time : 
 " The sun ariseth, they gather themselves 
 together, and lay them down in their dens." 
 
 17—2 
 
TERRA INCOGNITA; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE WILDS OF MUSKOKA. 
 
 .! 
 
THE WILDS OF MUSKOKA. 
 
 
 N reading the history of newly- 
 settled countries and the rise and 
 progress of mighty states, nothing 
 is more interesting than to trace the wonder- 
 ful and rapid results which spring from the 
 smallest beginnings. In changing the wilder- 
 ness int*. a fruitful land, we notice first the 
 laborious efforts to raise the rude and coarse 
 necessaries of daily life, then the struggles 
 for convenience and comfort,, then the gradual 
 demand for the luxuries of a higher civilisa- 
 
 I! 
 
264 
 
 TERRA INCOGNITA; 
 
 tion. These last can only be obtained by 
 the jjrowth and encouragement of the orna- 
 mental as well as useful arts ; then comes the 
 dawning of political power, till at length we 
 see with anmscment that the scattered hamlet 
 has become a thriving village, the village a 
 jiopulous town, and the town expanded into 
 a stately city, carrying wealth, commerce, 
 and civilisation to the remotest parts of what 
 a few years back was simi)ly unbroken forest. 
 Such is the future which, under the fulfil- 
 ment of certain conditions, we may confi- 
 dently predict for the free-grant lands of 
 Muskoka, to which the Canadian Govern- 
 ment arc making strenuous efforts to draw 
 the tide of emigration. Nothing can well 
 be more picturesque than the tract of 
 country already embracing twelve town- 
 ships which constitutes the district of 
 Muskoka, so called, not from the poetical 
 tradition of " clear skies," " no clouds," which 
 is by no means applicable to this variable 
 
on, THE WILDS OF MUSKOKA. 265 
 
 climate, but more probably from Musquoto, 
 the name of a Chippewa chief, which has 
 been handed down to the present time, 
 though every trace of Indian occupation 
 has long been effaced. 
 
 Hill and dale, wood and water, a winding 
 river, tributary streams, rapid waterfalls 
 breaking the solitude with their wild music, 
 the large Muskoka lake, smaller lakes on 
 many of the lots ; all these charms combine 
 to form most beautiful scenery. Unfortu- 
 nately the settlers, looking upon the trees 
 as their natural enemies, hew them down 
 with inexorable rancour, quite ignoring the 
 fact that if they were to clear more judi- 
 ciously, leaving here and there a clump of 
 feathery balsams, or a broad belt of pine, 
 spruce, maple, and birch, they would have 
 some shelter for their crops from the 
 destroying north-west wind, and some shade 
 for their log-houses during the burning heat 
 of summer. 
 
 li f 
 
206 
 
 TEJiBA INCOGNITA; 
 
 >i ??" 
 
 Having been located in the township of 
 Stephenson for more than two years, I am 
 able to make some observations on the sub- 
 ject, and I find that as most of the settlers 
 in my neighbourhood belong to the lower 
 classes, they have but little sense of the 
 beautiful in any shape, and no appreciation 
 whatever of picturesque scenery. A settler 
 of this class is perfectly satisfied with his own 
 performance when he has cleared thirty or 
 forty acres on his lot, leaving nothing so 
 large as a gooseberry-bush to break the 
 dreary uniformity of the scene. 
 
 The London of Muskoka is the pretty 
 thriving town of Bracebridge. I say pretty, 
 advisedly, for its situation on the river 
 Muskoka is beautiful, the scenery highly 
 varied, the environs abounding in lovely 
 walks and choice bits of landscape which 
 an artist might delight to portray. 
 
 Ten years ago the first adventurous settler 
 
on, THE iriLDS OF MVSKOKA. 2C7 
 
 built his lo<(-hut on the hill south of the 
 present town between the pretty falls at the 
 entrance and the South Falls at three miles' 
 distance. All was then unbroken forest, its 
 solitude only disturbed by occasional visits 
 from a few scattered Chippewa Indians or 
 lonely trappers in pursuit of the game, more 
 and more driven northward by the advancing 
 tide of civilisation. 
 
 A few statistics of Bracebridge at the 
 close of the present year (1873) will show 
 what progress has been made in every 
 department. 
 
 Population .... 
 
 . 800 
 
 Children attending public schools 
 
 - 250 
 
 Children attending four Sunday schools 
 
 - 200 
 
 Number of churches . - - 
 
 - 4 
 
 Clergymen .... 
 
 - G 
 
 Medical doctors ... 
 
 - 2 
 
 Barristers, attorneys, conveyancers 
 
 - 7 
 
 Stores - . . . . 
 
 . 15 
 
 In course of erection ... 
 
 - 6 
 
 Hotels 
 
 - 6 
 
 Printing-offices- . . - 
 
 - 2 
 
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 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, NY. 14580 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 

 
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268 
 
 TERRA INCOGNITA ; 
 
 Saw-mills 
 
 . . 
 
 « 
 
 - 4 
 
 Grist and flour mill 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 - 1 
 
 Carding mill and woollen factory 
 
 - 
 
 - 1 
 
 Shoe shops 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 - 3 
 
 Butchers' shops 
 
 - 
 
 « 
 
 - 3 
 
 Blacksmiths' shops 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 - 4 
 
 Bakers' shops - 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 . 4 
 
 Besides these are many wheelwriglits, 
 carpenters, joiners, etc. The gentleman who 
 wrote to the Daily News in England from 
 Huntsville in this neighbourhood, most 
 unduly disparaged the little town of Brace- 
 bridge, but as he visited Muskoka in excep- 
 tionally bad weather at the close of a long- 
 continued rainy season, and as his stay in the 
 district was limited to a few days at most, 
 his opinion can hardly be received as gospel 
 truth. His dismay at the mud in the streets 
 and the general badness of the roads was 
 very natural in a stranger to this part of 
 Canada. We certainly are greatly in want 
 of assistance from some McAdam, and we 
 
OR, THE WILDS OF MUSKOKA. 
 
 269 
 
 have every hope that improvement in our 
 roads, as in everything else, will reach us 
 in time. 
 
 The climate of Muskoka is most favour- 
 able to health, even to invalids, provided 
 they have no consumptive tendencies. For 
 all pulmonary complaints it is most un- 
 suitable, on account of the very sudden 
 atmospheric changes. The short summer, 
 with its inevitable accompaniment of tor- 
 "QCTiting mosquitoes, is burning hot, and the 
 winter, stretching sometimes over seven 
 months of the year, is intensely cold, and 
 both these extremes render it a trying 
 climate for consumptive patients. The air, 
 however, is pure, clear, and bracing, and 
 nervous and dyspeptic invalids soon lose 
 many of their unpleasant sensations. A 
 gentleman who formed one of our little 
 colony when we came out in 1871, has to 
 ''rank the air of Muskoka for the entire 
 
 J 
 
270 
 
 TEBRA INCOGNITA ; 
 
 renovation of his health. His constitution 
 was very much shattered by over-working 
 his brain during a long course of scholastic 
 pursuits, and as his only chance of re- 
 covery, he was ordered an entire change of 
 climate and out-door occupation instead of 
 study. 
 
 The Bush-life and the pure air worked 
 miracles ; his recovery was complete, and 
 he has been now, for some months, in holy 
 orders as a clergyman of the Church of 
 England. He is able to preach three times 
 every Sabbath day, and to perform all the 
 arduous duties of an out-station without 
 undue fatigue or exhaustion. The same 
 gentleman's eldest child has derived as 
 much benefit as his father from the change 
 of climate. At five years old, when he was 
 brought to Muskoka, he was most deUcate, 
 and had from infancy held life by a most 
 precarious tenure ; but at the present time he 
 
OR, THE WILDS OF MUSKOKA. 
 
 271 
 
 is a very fine specimen of healthy and robust 
 childhood. 
 
 The twelve townships of Muskoka are 
 increasing their population every day, from 
 the steady influx of emigrants from the old 
 country. It is most desirable that an 
 Emigrant's Home should be established in 
 Bracebridge for the purpose of giving 
 gratuitous shelter and assistance to the 
 poorer class of emigrants, and sound and 
 reliable advice to all who might apply for 
 it. In my " Plea for Poor Emigrants," con- 
 tributed to the Free Grant Gazette, I 
 earnestly endeavoured to draw public at- 
 tention to this great want, and I still hope 
 that when the necessary funds can be raised, 
 something of the sort will be provided. 
 Government has thrown open the free- 
 grant lands to every applicant above the 
 age of eighteen years ; each one at that age 
 may take up a lot of one hundred acres ; the 
 
 I 
 
372 
 
 TERRA INCOGNITA: 
 
 head of a family is allowed two hundred. 
 The person located is not absolute master of 
 the land till the end of five years from the 
 date of his or her location, when, if the 
 stipulated conditions have been fulfilled, the 
 patent is taken out, and each holder of a 
 lot becomes a freehold proprietor. The con- 
 ditions are simply that he shall have cleared 
 and got under cultivation fifteen acres, and 
 have raised a log-house of proper dimen- 
 sions. 
 
 Government found that some restrictions 
 were absolutely necessary, as unprincipled 
 speculators took up lots which they never 
 meant to cultivate or settle on, but for the 
 fraudulent purpose of felling and selling off 
 the pine timber, and then leaving the 
 country. 
 
 When a person has it in view to come to 
 Muskoka, let him as much as possible abstain 
 from reading any of the books published on 
 
OP, THE WILDS OF MUSKOKA. 
 
 273 
 
 the subject. Without accusing those who 
 write them of wilfully saying the thing that 
 is not, I must say that the warmth of their 
 colouring and the unqualified praise they 
 bestow greatly misleads ignorant people. 
 
 The poor emigrant comes out to Muskoka 
 firmly believing it to be a veritable *' Land 
 of Promise" flowing with milk and honey, 
 an El Dorado where the virgin soil only 
 requires a slight scratching to yield cent, per 
 cent. His golden visions speedily vanish ; 
 he finds the climate variable, the crops un- 
 certain, the labour very hard, and Bush- 
 farming for the first four or five years very 
 uphill work. If, however, instead of yield- 
 ing to discouragement he steadily perseveres, 
 he may feel assured of ultimately attaining 
 at least a moderate degree of success. It is 
 also necessary for a settler in Muskoka to 
 get out of his head once and for ever all his 
 traditions of old-country farming. Bush- 
 
 18 
 
274 
 
 TERRA INCOGNITA; 
 
 farming is different in every respect ; the 
 seasons are different, the spring seldom opens 
 till the middle of May, and between that 
 time and the end of September, all the farm- 
 work of sowing, reaping, and storing away 
 must be completed. The winters are mostly 
 occupied in chopping. The best way for 
 obtaining an insight into Bush-farming is 
 for the newly-arrived emigrant to hire him- 
 self out to work on another person's ground 
 for at least a year before finally settling upon 
 his own. 
 
 This is his wisest plan, even should he 
 bring out (which is not generally the case) 
 sufficient capital to start with. We sadly 
 feel the want in our settlement of a few 
 farmers of better education, and of a higher 
 range of intelligence, who, having a little 
 experience as well as money, might leaven 
 the ignorance which occasions so many mis- 
 takes and so much failure among our poorer 
 
OB, THE WILDS OF MUSKOKA. 
 
 275 
 
 brethren in the Bush. It has been said that 
 " a donation of a hundred acres is a descent 
 into barbarism," but few would be inclined to 
 endorse this opinion who had witnessed, as I 
 have done for two years, the patient daily- 
 toil, the perseverance under difficulties and 
 privations, the self-denial, the frugality, the 
 temperance, and the kind helpfulness of one 
 another, found in the majority of our settlers. 
 A black sheep may now and then be found 
 in every flock, and it is undeniable that the 
 very isolation of each settler on his own 
 clearing, and the utter absence of all con- 
 ventional restraint, engenders something of 
 lawlessness, of contempt for public opinion, 
 and occasionally of brutality to animals, but 
 only I am bound to say in the ungenial and 
 depraved natures of those whose conduct out 
 of the Bush would be equally reprehensible. 
 
 After all the pros and the cons of emigra- 
 tion to Muskoka have been fully discussed, 
 
 18—2 
 
27G 
 
 TERRA INCOGNITA ; 
 
 one fact stands prominently forward for the 
 consideration of the labouring classes of 
 Great Britain. 
 
 The free grants offer an inestimable boon 
 to the agricultural and the manufacturing 
 population. The workmen in both these 
 classes spend the prime of their health and 
 strength in working for others, and after 
 suffering with perhaps wives and families 
 incredible hardships from cold and hunger, 
 which cannot be kept away by insufficient 
 wages, have nothing to look forward to in 
 their declining years but the tender mercies 
 of their parish workhouse, or the precarious 
 charity of their former masters. In emi- 
 grating to Muskoka they may indeed count 
 upon hard work, much privation, and many 
 struggles and disappointments, but they may 
 be equally certain that well-directed energy, 
 unflagging industry and patient perseverance, 
 will after a few years insure them a compe- 
 
OR, THE WILDS OF MUSKOKA. 
 
 277 
 
 tence, if not afiluence, and will enable them 
 to leave to their children an inheritance 
 and a position which would have been 
 almost impossible of attainment in the old 
 country. 
 
A PLEA FOR POOR EMIGRANTS. 
 
 I 
 
A PLEA FOR POOR EMIGRANTS. 
 
 oj*:c 
 
 URING a visit of some weeks to 
 Bracebridge, at the close of last 
 winter, I was much interested in 
 watching the different parties of emigrants 
 who came into the town, many of them with 
 wives and families, some without, but all 
 looking more or less weary and travel-worn. 
 I noticed also in the countenances of many 
 of the men a perplexed and uneasy expres- 
 sion, as if they hardly knew where to go or 
 what to do next. 
 
 Who but must feel the deepest sympathy 
 
 
282 
 
 A PLEA FOR POOR EMIGRANTS. 
 
 with these poor wayfarers, whose troubles, 
 far from ending when they have safely 
 crossed the broad Atlantic, seem to begin 
 afresh and to gather strength during the long 
 and wearisome journey from Quebec to Mus- 
 koka. 
 
 All along the line are paid agents, who 
 strive to turn the tide of emigration in any 
 other direction than this district of Muskoka, 
 and who perplex the tired traveller with 
 recommendations to various places, and with 
 no end of unsought advice. 
 
 Till very lately, Muskoka was but little 
 known, and as a fitting place for emigration 
 was greatly undervalued. I remember with 
 some amusement that during my journey 
 with my family from Quebec to Bracebridge, 
 two years ago, it was sufficient in conversa- 
 tion to utter the cabalistic word " Muskoka," 
 for us to be immediately treated to ad- 
 monitory shakes of the head, shrugs of the 
 
A PLEA FOR POOR EMIGRANTS. 
 
 283 
 
 shoulders, uplifted hands, and very clearly 
 expressed opinions that we were rushing to 
 certain destruction. 
 
 Now, ive emigrated with a definite pur- 
 pose in view. We were bound to a specific 
 locality, and were in fact coming to join 
 members of the family who had preceded us ; 
 but the remarks addressed to us were any- 
 thing but cheering, and it may be imagined 
 what an effect similar discouragements must 
 have upon the poorer class of emigrants, 
 whose slender resources have been taxed to 
 the utmost to bring them out at all — who 
 feel that poverty renders the step they have 
 taken irretrievable, and who arrive at Brace- 
 bridge full of doubts and fears as to their 
 comfortable settlement and ultimate suc- 
 cess. 
 
 Happy would it be for the emigrant, mar- 
 ried or single, if his difficulties were ended 
 by his safe arrival at Bracebridge ; but such 
 
 n 
 
284 A PLEA FOR POOR EMIGRANTS. 
 
 is not the case. As in all communities there 
 will be an admixture of worthless and de- 
 signing characters, so in our thriving little 
 town are to be found a few who lie in wait 
 for the unwary, and throw temptation in the 
 path of those who are not fortified by strong 
 religious principle. Should an unmarried 
 emigrant, a young man from the " old coun- 
 try" — with apparently a tolerable stock of 
 money and clothes — arrive, he is at once 
 followed and courted with professions of 
 friendship, and on the plea of good fellow- 
 ship is tempted to drink at the bars of the 
 different hotels, and to join in the low gam- 
 bling which seems unfortunately to be the 
 special vice of Muskoka. Not till his money 
 is all expended is the victim left to himself; 
 and too often he has to begin his Bush-life 
 penniless, or thankfully to engage in some 
 job of hard work which will at least secure 
 his daily bread. 
 
./ PLEA FOR POOR EMIGRANTS. l>85 
 
 The married emigrant likewise is often 
 deceived and misled by people as ignorant as 
 himself, who give him altogether false im- 
 pressions of the value of his land, the price of 
 labour and provisions, the tools he ought to 
 buy, the crops he ought to put in, and many 
 other details essential to his success in Bush- 
 farming. 
 
 I speak from experience in saying that 
 nothing can exceed the kindness and urbanity 
 of the Commissioner of Crown Lands to all 
 and every one going to his office for the pur- 
 pose of taking up land ; but it would be ob- 
 viously impossible for this gentleman, and 
 incompatible with the public duties of him- 
 self and his assistants, to enter minutely into 
 the wants and requirements of each indi- 
 vidual emigrant, or to give that detailed 
 advice and assistance which in many cases is 
 so absolutely necessary. 
 
 Could not much be done, and many evils 
 
286 
 
 A PLEA FOR POOR EMIGRANTS. 
 
 be obviated, by the establishment of an 
 " Emigrant Home " in the town, to which 
 all incoming emigrants might be directed by 
 large printed cards conspicuously hung up in 
 the bar of every hotel ? 
 
 The superintendent of the home ought to 
 be a man of some education, of sound 
 common sense, of large Christian sympathy, 
 one who would feel it a pleasure as well as 
 a duty to smooth the path of the weary 
 travellers Avho accepted the gratuitous shelter 
 provided for them. Surely for such a desir- 
 able object as the one in view, the sanction 
 and co-operation of the Dominion Govern- 
 ment might be obtained, and a sum of 
 money granted to establish the home, which 
 might then be kept up by small annual 
 subscriptions from the wealthier inhabitants 
 of Bracebridge, whose commercial prosperity 
 must so greatly depend upon the settlements 
 beyond and about it. Numbers of e^ ligrants 
 
A PLEA ton POOH EMIGRANIS. 
 
 287 
 
 come in every year who have left behind 
 them in the old country dear friends and 
 relations, Avho only wait for their favourable 
 verdict upon the promised land, to come out 
 and join them. 
 
 Would it not be well that emigrants should 
 be enabled to write home truthfullv and 
 gratefully that they were met on their 
 arrival at Bracebridge with brotherly kind- 
 ness, Christian sympathy, shelter for their 
 wives and families, sound reliable advice as 
 to their future course, and help and encou- 
 ragement suited to their especial need ? Tt 
 may be urged that pecuniary assistance and 
 gratuitous shelter for his wife and children 
 would impair the self-respect of the emigrant, 
 and place him in the light of a pauper to 
 himself and others. 
 
 I do not think this would lie the case. It 
 appears to me that an emigrant, arriving as 
 too many do with his means utterly ex- 
 
«v^ 
 
 r 
 
 288 
 
 A PLEA FOR POOR EMIGRANTS. 
 
 hausted and with little but starvation in view 
 for his family and himself, would have his 
 British feelings of sturdy independence con- 
 siderably modified, and would be willing to 
 accept of the help tendered to him, not as a 
 charitable dole from those above him in rank, 
 but as a willing offering from those who for 
 their Saviour's sake acknowledge a common 
 brotherhood with every suffering member of 
 the great human family. Nor would the 
 establishment of such a home at all interfere 
 with the legitimate profits of the hotel- 
 keepers. 
 
 From personal observation, I can testify 
 that in numerous cases they are called upon 
 to give, and do most liberally give, food and 
 shelter gratuitously to those who cannot pay. 
 Of course such a plan as this would have to 
 be matured and carried out by wise heads 
 and efficient hands. I can only humbly offer 
 a suggestion which seems to me worthy of 
 
A PLEA FOR POOR EMIGRANTS. 289 
 
 consideration, and I cannot end my few ob- 
 servations better than with the refrain of a 
 deservedly popular song : 
 
 " Then do your best for one another, 
 Making life a pleasant dream -, 
 Help a worn and weary brother 
 Pulling hard against the stream." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, OUILOFORD, SURREY. 
 
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