TABLE OF CONTENTS.

Introductory Remarks

New Brunswick--by whom settled

Remarks on State of Morals and Religion

American Physiognomy

The Spring Freshets

Cranberries

Stream Driving

Moving a House

Frolics

Sugar Making

Breaking up of the Ice

First appearances of Spring

Burning a Fallow

A Walk through a Settlement

Log Huts

Description of a Native New Brunswicker's House

Blowing the Horn

A Deserted Lot

The Bushwacker

The Postman

American Newspapers

Musquitoes

An Emigrant's House

Unsuccessful Lumberer

The Law of Kindness exemplified in the Case of a Criminal

Schools

The School Mistress

The Woods

Baptists' Association

A Visit to the House of a Refugee

The Indian Bride, a Refugee's Story

Mr. Hanselpecker

Burning of Miramichi

The Lost One--a tale of the Early Settlers

The Mignionette

Song of the Irish Mourner

A Winter's Evening Sketch

The School-mistress's Dream

Library in the Backwoods

The Indian Summer

The Lost Children--a Poem

Sleigh Riding

Aurora Borealis

Getting into the Ice

Conclusion

These sketches of the Backwoods of New Brunswick are intended to

illustrate the individual and national characteristics of the settlers,

as displayed in the living pictures and legendary tales of the country.

They have been written during the short intervals allowed from domestic

toils, and may, perhaps, have little claim to the attention of the

public, save that of throwing a faint light upon the manners and customs

of that little-known, though interesting, appendage of the British

empire. A long residence in that colony having given me ample means of

knowing and of studying them in all their varying hues of light and

shade. There, in the free wide solitude of that fair land whose youthful

face "seems wearing still the first fresh fragrance of the world," the

fadeless traces of character, peculiar to the dwellers of the olden

climes, are brought into close contrast with the more original feelings

of the "sons of the soil," both white and red, and are there more fully

displayed than in the mass of larger communities. Of political, or depth

of topographical information, the writer claims no share, and much of

deep interest, or moving incident, cannot now be expected in the life of

a settler in the woods. The days when the war-whoop of the Indian was

yelled above the burning ruins of the white man's dwelling are

gone--their memory exists but in the legend of the winter's eve, and

the struggle is now with the elements which form the climate; the

impulse of "going a-head" giving impetus to people's "getting

along"--forcing the woods to bow beneath their sturdy stroke, and fields

to shine with ripened grain, where erst the forest shadows fell; or

floating down the broad and noble streams the tall and stately pine,

taken from the ancient bearded wilderness to bear the might of England's

fame to earth and sea's remotest bounds.

New Brunswick is partly settled by French Acadians from the adjoining

province of Nova Scotia, but these, generally speaking, form a race by

themselves, and mingle little with the others, still retaining the

peculiarities of their nation, although long separated from it--they

like gaiety and amusement more than work, and consequently are rather

poorer than the other inhabitants; but, of course, there are exceptions.

In the winter I have often seen them on their way to market, with loads

of frozen oysters, packed in barrels, and moss cranberries (rather a

chance crop); but they looked happy and comfortable, and went singing

merrily to the ringing of their horse bells. The French were the

pioneers of the province, and often had to do battle with the Indians,

the ancient possessors of the soil: of these last there now remains but

a fast-fading remnant--objects more of pity or laughter than of dread.

Of the other original settlers, or, as they are particularly termed,

"blue noses," they are composed of the refugees and their descendants,

being those persons who, at the separation of England from America,

prefering the British government, sought her protection and came,

another band of pilgrims, and swore fealty to that land from whence

their fathers had so indignantly fled--they are certainly a most

indescribable genus those blue noses--the traces of descent from the

Dutch and French blood of the United States, being mingled with the

independent spirit of the American and the staunch firmness of the

"Britisher," as they delight to call themselves, showing their claim to

it by the most determined hatred of the Yankees, whose language and

features they yet retain: yet these differing qualities blend to form a

shrewd, intelligent, active, and handsome people--intelligence and

strong sense, to a far greater amount than could be found in persons of

the same class in England. A trace, albeit a faint one of the Saxon

serf, still lingers with the English peasant; but the free breeze of

America soon sweeps the shadows from his brow, and his sons all, proudly

take their place as men, knowing that by their own conduct and talents

they may work their way to fortune, or, at least, "rough hew" it,

without dread that the might of custom's icy breath can blight their

fate for lack of birth or fortune. This gives a noble feeling to the

heart and a higher tone to the character, although a sense of the

ridiculous is often attached to this by a native of the old countries,

when it is shown forth by the "squire" yoking his oxen, a major selling

turkies, and the member for the county cradling buckwheat. Yet all this

is productive of good, and opens a path for intellect and genius, and

when a colonel and member of the Legislative Council eats _pancakes and

molasses_ in a friendly way with his poorer neighbours, is it not likely

(as the Persian fable tells us of the pebble lying near the rose, and

thereby imbibing some of its fragrance) that some of the graces and

politeness of the higher circles, to which these gentlemen belong both

by fortune and education, should be imparted, in some degree, to those

with whom they converse. So it undoubtedly does, and the air of

refinement, native to the New Brunswicker, is never so strongly visible

as when contrasted with the new-caught emigrant. Rudeness and vulgarity

in glaring forms one never meets from them; odd and inquisitive ways may

be thought impertinent, and require both time and patience to be rightly

understood.

The state of morals and religion is fast progressing; these, of course,

have all their mainspring from education, for an uneducated people can

never be, rightly speaking, either moral or religious. So New Brunswick

may have the apology for whispered tales that float about, of corn being

reaped and wood being felled on the Sabbath-day, and of sacred rites

being dispensed with. She is yet in her infancy, and when one thinks

that 'tis but sixty years since they first set foot on the shore, where

stood one lonely hut, on the site of the now flourishing city of St.

John, we must know that their physical wants were then so many that but

little attention could be given to the wants of the mind. But now,

thanks to the parental care of Britain, schools and churches are rising

fast throughout the country, and learning is received with an avidity

that marks the active intellect it has to work upon; besides, all these

old stories of failings occurred long before the tide of emigration

caused them to be enlightened by the visitation of the inhabitants of

the gifted climes of the olden world. Well would it be if all those

showed as much desire to avail themselves of their means of

improvement, as a New Brunswicker does of those enjoyed by him. Their

personal appearance differs much from the English. Cooper says, "the

American physiognomy has already its own peculiar cast"--so it has, and

can easily be distinguished--in general they are handsomer than the

emigrants--darker in complexion, but finer in feature and more graceful

in form--not so strong, and fading sooner. Many of the children are

perfectly beautiful, but the cherub beauty changes soon, and the women

particularly look old and withered while yet young in years. Infantine

beauty seems peculiar to the country, for even the children of emigrants

born there are much handsomer than those born at home. Such are some of

the traits of the natives--then comes the wide circle of emigrants, each

(at least the older ones) retaining the peculiarities of their different

countries. Many of them, although better off than they could possibly

expect to be at home, yet keep railing at the country, and thirsting

after the "flesh-pots of Egypt." The Yorkshireman talks of nothing but

the "white cakes and bag puddings" of old England, regardless of the

"pumpkin pies and buckwheat pancakes" of New Brunswick; and one old lady

from Cornwall (where they say the Devil would not go for fear of being

transformed into a pasty) revenges herself on the country by making pies

of everything, from apples and mutton down to parsley, and all for the

memory of England; while, perhaps, were she there, she might be without

a pie. The honest Scotchman is silent upon the subject of "vivers," and

wisely talks not of either "crowdy" or barley meal, but tells of the

time when he was a sitter in the kirk of the Rev. Peter Poundtext,

showing his Christian charity by the most profound contempt as well for

the ordinances of the Church of England as for the "dippings" of the

Baptists. He attends none of them, for he says "he canna thole it," but

when by chance a minister of the kirk comes his way, then you may see

him, with well-saved Sabbath suit, pressing anxiously forward to catch

the droppings of the sanctuary: snows or streams offering no obstacle to

his zeal. The Irishman, too, is there seen all in his glory--one with a

medal on his breast, flinging his shillalagh over his head and shouting

for O'Connell, while another is quaffing to the "pious, glorious, and

immortal memory of King William," inviting those around him to join

together in an Orange Lodge, of which community he certainly shows no

favourable specimen; but by degrees these national feelings and

asperities become more softened, and the second generation know little

of them. The settlement from whence these sketches are drawn, was formed

of a motley mixture of all the different nations--Blue Nose, English,

Scotch, Irish, Welch, and Dutch.

We had been living for some time at a place called _Long Creek_, on the

margin of a broad and rapid stream, which might well have borne the more

dignified appellation of river--the land on its borders was the flat,

rich "_intervale_," so highly prized, formed by alluvial deposits. There

are, I believe, two descriptions of this _intervale_,--one covered with

low small bushes, and, therefore, more easily cleared--the other with a

gigantic growth of the butternut, the oak, and the elm. This where we

lived was of the latter description. A few of the stately monarchs of

the forest yet stood upon the emerald plains, spreading their

magnificent branches to the sunlight, and telling of the kindly soil

that nourished them. Along the fences wild hops festooned themselves in

graceful wreaths of wild luxuriance. A few clumps of cranberry bushes

had also been permitted to remain, notwithstanding the American's

antipathy to trees or bushes is such, that his axe, which he hardly ever

stirs without, is continually flying about him; but this berry, one

amongst the many indigenous to the country, is a useful addition to the

winter store--they grow abundantly, and, after the first frost which

ripens them they have a brilliant appearance, hanging like clustering

rubies, reminding one of the gem-clad boughs of Aladdin. When gathered,

they are hung up in bunches, when they become frozen, keeping good till

the spring. They are used for tarts and jellies, the frost neither

altering their colour nor flavour. Those places are overflown in the

spring; the "freshets" caused by the melting of the snow raising the

waters above their ordinary level. I have often sailed over them, and

'twas strange to see each familiar footpath and strawberry bank far down

beneath the shining waves. As the creek goes onward to the river the

_intervale_ disappears, and the banks become grey and steep, crowned

with the tall and slender stems of the spruce and cedar. New Brunswick

is rich in minerals, and veins of coal and iron abound at this place;

but many years must elapse ere mines are worked to any extent. A few are

in operation at present; but while the pine waves the wealth of her

green plumage to the lumber-man, or the new-cleared ground will yield

its virgin crop to the farmer, the earth must keep her deeper treasures.

In the spring, this creek presents a busy picture. The rivers of New

Brunswick are to her what the railroads are now to other countries: and

richly is she blessed with sparkling waters from the diamond flashings

of the mountain rill to the still calm beauty of the sheltered lake, the

silvery streams, the sweeping river, and the unfrozen width of the

winter harbour of her noble bay. True, much can be done on the icy ways

of winter, but then the home work must be minded, and market attended.

Fire-wood for the year must be _hauled_; the increasing _clearings_ call

for extended fences, and these also must be drawn from the woods on the

snow, so that when the spring opens, the roots and other spare produce

are quickly shipped off (boated would be a better expression) into large

open boats, called market-boats. Another description, called wood-boats,

are used for carrying deals and cord-wood, so called from the stick

forming the measure of a cord, which is the mode of selling it in the

city for fuel. The deals are floated from the saw mills over the

shallows, and piled into the boats. One could sometimes walk across the

river on the quantities of wood floating about. The larger pieces of

wood or timber are floated singly down the stream nearest to the place

whence they are cut. This operation is called stream-driving, and

commences as soon as the rapid melting of the snow and ice has so

swollen the small streams as to give them power to force and carry the

huge pieces of timber, until, at the confluence of the streams, the

water becomes wide enough to enable them to form it into rafts, on which

raft a hut is built and furnished with the necessaries for subsistence.

The gang who have been employed in bringing it so far lay themselves

upon it, and allow it to float down the stream, until the breeze wafts

them to their destination. These are the scenes of the spring, when all

life seems awakening. The tree-buds are bursting their cerements--the

waters are dancing in light and song--and the woods, before all still,

now echo a few wild notes of melody. The blue wing of the halycon goes

dazzlingly past, and tells us his own bright days are come; and the

"_whip-poor-will_" brings his lay so close, that the ear is startled

with the human sound on the soft damp air. The scene is changed when

Sirius is triumphant, telling us of the tropics, and that we live in

rather an inexplicable climate. Beneath his burning influence I have

glided down this creek when no sound was heard on earth or air save the

ripples of the paddle as it rose or fell at the will of the child-like

form which guided the fragile bark. The dwellers on the margin of these

fair waters are as much at home upon them as on land, and the children

in particular are as amphibious as the musk rats which people its banks,

and which scent the air somewhat heavily with what, in a fainter degree,

would be thought perfume. One can hardly recall these dog-star days at

that later season when the pearly moon and brilliant stars shine down

from the deep blue sky on the crusted snows; when fairy crystals are

reflecting their cold bright beams on the glistening ice, while the

sleigh flies merrily along, "with bell and bridle ringing," on the same

path we held in summer with the light canoe; when the breath congeals in

a sheet of ice around the face, and the clearness of the atmosphere

makes respiration difficult. To tell us that we are in the same latitude

with the sunny clime of Boulogne, in France, shows us that America

cannot be measured by the European standard. A quarter of the globe lies

between us; they go to bed four hours before we do, and are fast asleep

while we are wide awake. No one attempts to live in the country

districts without a farm. As the place where we lived had but a house

and one acre of land, none being vacant in that immediate neighbourhood,

and finding firing and pasturage expensive, and furthermore wishing to

raise our own potatoes, and, if we liked, live in _peas_, a lot of two

hundred acres was purchased in the settlement, styled, "_par

excellence_," "the English," (from the first settlers being of that

illustrious nation,) a distance of two miles from where we then lived.

Our house was a good one. We did not like to leave it. Selling was out

of the question: so we e'en resolved to take it with us, wishing, as the

Highland robber did of the haystack, that it had legs to walk. A

substitute for this was found in the universal resource of New

Brunswickers for all their wants, from the cradle to the coffin, "the

tree, the bonny greenwood tree," that gives the young life-blood of its

sweet sap for sugar--and even when consumed by fire its white ashes

yield them soap. I have even seen wooden fire-irons, although they do

not go quite so far as their Yankee neighbours, who, letting alone

wooden clocks, deal besides in _wooden hams_, nutmegs, and cucumber

seeds. Two stout trees were then felled (the meanest would have graced a

lordly park), and hewed with the axe into a pair of gigantic sled

runners. The house was raised from its foundation and placed on these.

Many hands make light work; but, had those hands been all hired

labourers, the expense would have been more than the value of the house,

but 'twas done by what is called a "frolic." When people have a

particular kind of work requiring to be done quickly, and strength to

accomplish it, they invite their neighbours to come, and, if necessary,

bring with them their horses or oxen. Frolics are used for building log

huts, chopping, piling, ploughing, planting, and hoeing. The ladies also

have their particular frolics, such as wool-picking, or cutting out and

making the home-spun woollen clothes for winter. The entertainment given

on such occasions is such as the house people can afford; for the men,

roast mutton, pot pie, pumpkin pie, and rum dough nuts; for the ladies,

tea, some scandal, and plenty of "_sweet cake_," with stewed apple and

custards. There are, at certain seasons, a great many of these frolics,

and the people never grow tired of attending them, knowing that the logs

on their own fallows will disappear all the quicker for it. The house

being now on the runners, thirty yoke of oxen, four abreast, were

fastened to an enormous tongue, or pole, made of an entire tree of ash.

No one can form any idea, until they have heard it, of the noise made in

driving oxen; and, in such an instance as this, of the skill and tact

required in starting them, so that they are all made to pull at once. I

have often seen the drivers, who are constantly shouting, completely

hoarse; and after a day's work so exhausted that they have been unable

to raise the voice. Although the cattle are very docile, and understand

well what is said to them, yet from the number of turnings and twistings

they require to be continually reminded of their duty. Amid, then, all

the noise and bustle made by intimating to such a number whether they

were to "haw" or "gee," the shoutings of the younger parties assembled,

the straining of chains and the creaking of boards, the ponderous pile

was set in motion along the smooth white and marble-like snow road,

whose breadth it entirely filled up. It was a sight one cannot well

forget--to see it move slowly up the hill, as if unwilling to leave the

spot it had been raised on, notwithstanding the merry shouts around, and

the flag they had decked it with streaming so gaily through the green

trees as they bent over it till it reached the site destined for it,

where it looked as much at home as if it were too grave and steady a

thing to take the step it had done. This was in March--we had been

waiting some time for snow, as to move without it would have been a

difficult task; for, plentifully as New Brunswick is supplied with that

commodity, at some seasons much delay and loss is experienced for want

of it--the sleighing cannot be done, and wheel carriages cannot run, the

roads are so rough and broken with the frost--the cold is then more

intense, and the cellars, (the sole store-houses and receptacles of the

chief comforts) without their deep covering of snow, become penetrated

by the frost, and their contents much injured, if not totally

destroyed--this is a calamity that to be known must be experienced--the

potatoes stored here are the chief produce of the farm, at least the

part that is most available for selling, for hay should never go off the

land, and grain is as yet so little raised that 'tis but the old farmers

can do what is called "_bread themselves:_" thus the innovation of the

cellars by the _frost fiend_ is a sad and serious occurrence--of course

a deep bank of earth is thrown up round the house, beneath which, and

generally its whole length and breadth, is the cellar; but the snow over

this is an additional and even necessary defence, and its want is much

felt in many other ways--in quantity, however, it generally makes up for

its temporary absence by being five and six feet deep in April. About

this season the warm sun begins to beam out, and causes the sap to flow

in the slumbering trees--this is the season for sugar-making, which,

although an excellent thing if it can be managed, is not much attended

to, especially in new settlements, and those are generally the best off

for a "_sugar-bush_;" but it occurs at that season when the last of the

winter work must be done--the snow begins to melt on the roads, and the

"saw whet," a small bird of the owl species, makes its appearance, and

tells us, as the natives say, that "_the heart of the winter is

broken_." All that can be done now must be done to lessen the toils of

that season now approaching, from which the settler must not shrink if

he hope to prosper. Sugar-making, then, unless the farmer is strong

handed, is not profitable. A visit to a sugar-camp is an interesting

sight to a stranger--it may, perhaps, be two or three miles through the

woods to where a sufficient number of maple trees may be found close

enough together to render it eligible for sugar-making. All the

different kinds of maple yield a sweet sap, but the "rock maple" is the

species particularly used for sugar, and perhaps a thousand of these

trees near together constitute what is called a _sugar-bush_. Here,

then, a rude hut, but withal picturesque in its appearance, is

erected--it is formed of logs, and covered with broad sheets of birch

bark. For the universal use of this bark I think the Indians must have

given the example. Many beautiful articles are made by them of it, and

to the back settlers it is invaluable. As an inside roofing, it

effectually resists the rain--baskets for gathering the innumerable

tribe of summer berries, and boxes for packing butter are made of

it--calabashes for drinking are formed of it in an instant by the bright

forest stream. Many a New Brunswick belle has worn it for a head-dress

as the dames of more polished lands do frames of French willow; and it

is said the title deeds of many a broad acre in America have been

written on no other parchment than its smooth and vellum-like folds. The

sugar-maker's bark-covered hut contains his bedding and provisions,

consisting of little save the huge round loaf of bread, known as the

"shanty loaf"--his beverage, or substitute for tea, is made of the

leaves of the winter green, or the hemlock boughs which grow beside him,

and his sweetening being handy bye, he wants nothing more. A notch is

cut in the tree, from which the sap flows, and beneath it a piece of

shingle is inserted for a spout to conduct it into troughs, or bark

dishes, placed at the foot of the tree. The cold frosty nights, followed

by warm sunny days, making it run freely, clear as water, and slightly

sweet--from these troughs, or bark dishes, it is collected in pails, by

walking upon the now soft snow, by the aid of snow shoes, and poured

into barrels which stand near the boilers, ready to supply them as the

syrup boils down. When it reaches the consistence required for sugar, it

is poured into moulds of different forms. Visits to these sugar camps

are a great amusement of the young people of the neighbourhood in which

they are, who make parties for that purpose--the great treat is the

candy, made by dashing the boiling syrup on the snow, where it instantly

congeals, transparent and crisp, into sheets. At first the blazing fire

and boiling cauldron look strange, amid the solemn loneliness of the

forest, along whose stately aisles of cathedral-like grandeur the eye

may gaze for days, and see no living thing--the ear hear no sound, save

it may be the tapping of the woodpecker, or the whispering of the wind

as it sighs through the boughs, seeming to mourn with them for the time

when the white man knew them not. But these thoughts pass away when the

proprietor, with his pale intelligent face, shaded by a flapping sun hat

from the glaring snow, presses us hospitably to "take along a junk of

candy, a lump of sugar," or a cup of the syrup. He sees nothing

picturesque or romantic in the whole affair, and only calculates if it

will pay for the time it occupies; at the same time, with the produce of

his labours he is extremely "_clever_," this being the term for generous

or hospitable, and one is sometimes startled at its application,

especially to women; the persons in England, to whom it is applied, are

so unlike the clever women of New Brunswick, those dear old creatures,

who know not the difference between Milton and Dilworth, and whose very

woollen gowns are redolent of all-spice and apples.

Towards the latter part of March and April the breaking up of the ice

goes on gradually--some seasons, however, a sudden storm causes the ice

and snow to disappear rapidly, but generally a succession of soft warm

winds, and days partly sunshine and rain, does it more effectually, and

prevents the heavy freshets in the rivers, which are often destructive,

overflowing the low banks and carrying away with resistless force

whatever buildings may be on them. After the disappearance of the snow,

some time must elapse ere the land be in a fit state for sowing,

consequently fencing, and such like, is now the farmer's employment,

either around the new clearings, or in repairing those which have fallen

or been removed during the winter. This, with attending to the stock,

which at this season require particular care, gives them sufficient

occupation--the sheep, which have long since been wearied of the

"durance vile" which bound them to the hay-rick, may now be seen in

groups on the little isles of emerald green which appear in the white

fields; and the cattle, that for six long weary months have been

ruminating in their stalls, or "chewing the cud of sweet and bitter

fancy" in the barn yards, now begin to extend their perigrinations

towards the woods, browsing with delight on the sweet young buds of the

birch tree. At this season it is, for obvious reasons, desirable that

the "milky mothers" should not stray far from home--many "a staid brow'd

matron" has disappeared in the spring, and, after her summer rambles in

the woods, returned in the "fall" with her full-grown calf by her side,

but many a good cow has gone and been seen no more, but as a white

skeleton gleaming among the green leaves. To prevent these mischances, a

bell is fastened on the leader of the herd, the intention of which is to

guide where they may be found. This bell is worn all summer, as their

pasture is the rich herbage of the forest. It is taken off during the

winter, and its first sounds now tell us, although the days are cold,

and the snow not yet gone, that brighter times are coming. The clear

concerts of the frogs ring loudly out from marsh and lake, and at this

season alone is heard the lay of the wood-robin, and the blackbird. The

green glossy leaves of the winter green, whose bright scarlet berries

look like clusters of coral on the snow, now seem even brighter than

they were--the blue violet rises among the sheltered moss by the old

tree roots, and the broad-leaved adder tongue gives out its orange and

purple blossoms to gladden the brown earth, while the trees are yet all

black and barren, save the various species of pine and spruce, which now

wear a fringe of softer green. The May flowers of New Brunswick seldom

blossom till June, which is rather an Irish thing of them to do, and

although the weather has been fine, and recalls to the memory the balmy

breath of May, yet I have often seen a pearly wreath of new fallen snow,

deck the threshhold on that 'merrie morn'. After the evaporation of the

steaming vapour of spring has gone forward, and the farmer has operated

in the way of ploughing and sowing, on whatever ready-prepared land he

may have for the purpose, the first dry "_spell_" is looked forward to

most anxiously to burn off the land which has been chopped during the

winter--it is bad policy, however, to depend for the whole crop on this

"_spring burn_," as a long continuance of wet weather may prevent it.

The new settler, on his first season, has nothing else to depend upon;

but the older ones chop the land at intervals during the summer, and

clear it off in the autumn, and thus have it ready for the ensuing

spring. Burning a chopping, or _fallow_, as it is called, of twelve or

fourteen acres in extent, is a grand and even awful sight: rushing in

torrents of flame, it rolls with the wind, crackling and roaring through

the brushwood, and often extending beyond the limits assigned it,

catching the dry stems of ancient trees, the growth of the earlier ages

of this continent, which lie in gigantic ruins, half buried in the

rising soil, and which will be themes of speculation to the geologists

of other days--it rushes madly among the standing trees of the woods,

wreathing them to their summits in its wild embrace--they stand at night

like lofty torches, or a park decked out with festal lamps for some

grand gala. After this first burn, a _fallow_ presents a blackened scene

of desolation and confusion, and requires, indeed, a strong arm and a

stout heart to undertake its clearance; the small branches and

brush-wood alone have been burnt, but the large logs or trunks lie all

blackened but unconsumed. These must all be placed in regular piles or

heaps, which are again fired, and burn steadily for a few hours, after

which all traces of the noble forest are gone, save the blackened stumps

and a few white ashes; it is then ready for planting or sowing, with the

assistance of the hoe or harrow.

And now, kind reader, if you have accompanied me thus far, will you have

the kindness to suppose us fixed at last in our habitation--whitewashing,

painting, and scrubbing done, and all the fuss of moving over--our

fallow fenced and filled--the dark green stems of the wheat and oats

standing thick and tall--the buck-wheat spreading its broad leaves, and

the vines of the pumpkins and cucumbers running along the rich soil,

where grows in luxuriance the potatoe, that root, valuable to New

Brunswick

"As the bread-fruit tree

To the sunny isles of Owhyhee."

Suppose it, then, a bright and balmy day in the sunny ides of June--the

earth is now in all the luxuriant pride of her summer beauty; for

although the summer is long coming, yet, when it does begin, vegetation

is so rapid that a few short days call it forth in all its loveliness;

nay, the transition is so quick, that I have observed its workings in an

hour's space. In the red sunlight of the morn I have seen the trees with

their wintry sprays and brown leaf-buds all closed--when there fell a

soft and refreshing shower--again the sunbeams lit the sky, and oh! the

glorious change--the maple laughed out with her crimson blossoms and

fair green leaves--the beech-tree unfolded her emerald plumes--the fairy

stems of the aspen and birch were dancing in light, and the stately ash

was enwreathed with her garland of verdant green--the spirit of spring

seemed to have waved o'er them the wand of enchantment. On this bright

day, of which I now speak, all this mighty change had been accomplished,

and earth and air seemed all so delightful, one could hardly imagine

that it could be improved by aught added to or taken from it.

I am now just going to walk along the settlement to visit a friend, and

if you will accompany me, I shall most willingly be your Asmodeus. A

straight and well-worked road runs through the settlement, which is

about nine miles in length. This part of the country is particularly

hilly, and from where we now stand we have a view of its whole extent.

Twenty years ago a blazed track was the only path through the dense

forest to where, at its furthest extremity, one adventurous settler had

dared to raise his _log hut_. The older inhabitants, who lived only on

the margin of the rivers, laughed at the idea of clearing those high

"_back lands_" where there was neither intervale or rivers, but he

heeded them not, and his lonely hut became the nucleus of one of the

most flourishing settlements in New Brunswick. The woods have now

retreated far back from the road, and at this season the grass and grain

are so high that the stumps are all concealed. The scene is very

different to the country landscapes of England. There there are square

smooth fields enclosed with stone walls, neat white palings, or the

hawthorn hedge, scenting the breezes with its balmy "honeysuckle," or

sweet wild rose--song-birds filling the air with melody, and stately

castles, towering o'er the peasant's lowly home, while far as the eye

can reach 'twill rest but on some fair village dome or farm. Here the

worm or zigzag fence runs round the irregularly-shaped clearings, in the

same rustic garb it wore when a denizen of the forest. The wild flowers

here have no perfume, but the raspberries, which grow luxuriantly in the

spaces made by the turnings of the fences, have a sweet smell, and there

is a breath which tells of the rich strawberry far down among the

shadowy grass. The birds during the hot months of summer have no song,

but there are numbers of them, and of the brightest plumage. The fairy

humming-bird, often in size no larger than a bee, gleams through the air

like a flower with wings, and the bald eagle sits majestically on the

old grey pines, which stand like lone monuments of the past, the storms

and the lightnings having ages ago wreaked their worst upon them, and

bereft them of life and limb, yet still they stand, all lofty and

unscathed by the axe or the fire which has laid the younger forest low.

The dwellings, either the primitive log-hut, the first home of the

settler, or the more stately frame-buildings, stand each near the road,

on the verge of its own clearing, which reaches back to where the dark

woods form a back-ground to the scene. These stretch far and wide over

the land, save where appears, amid their density, some lonely settlement

or improvement of adventurous emigrant. Those little spots, of how much

importance to their owners, yet seem as nothing amid the vast forest.

Each dwelling in this country is in itself a theme for study and

interest. Here, on one side, is the home of an English settler--amid all

the bustle and chopping and burning of a new farm, he has found time to

plant a few fruit trees, and has now a flourishing young orchard, and a

garden wherein are herbs of "fragrant smell and spicy taste," to give a

warm relish to the night's repast. For the cultivation of a garden the

natives, unless the more opulent of them, seem to care little; and

outside the dwelling of a blue nose there is little to be seen, unless

it be a cucumber bed among the chips, or a patch of Indian corn. Again,

the Scotch settlers may be known by the taste shown in selecting a

garden spot--a gentle declivity, sloping to a silvery stream, by which

stand a few household trees that he has permitted to remain--beneath

them a seat is placed, and in some cherished spot, watched over with the

tenderest care, is an exotic sprig of heath or broom. About the

Hibernian's dwelling may be a mixture of all these differing tastes,

while perhaps a little of the national ingenuity may be displayed in a

broken window, repaired with an old hat, or an approximation towards

friendliness between the domestic animals and the inmates. With the

interior of these dwellings one is agreeably surprised, they (that is,

generally speaking), appear so clean and comfortable. Outside the logs

are merely hewed flat, and the interstices filled up with moss and clay,

the roof and ends being patched up with boards and bark, or anything to

keep out the cold. They certainly look rough enough, but within they are

ceiled above and around with smooth shining boards; there are no walls

daubed with white-wash, nor floors strewn with vile gritty sand, which

last certainly requires all the sanctity of custom to render it

endurable, but the walls and floors are as bright and clean as the

scrubbing-brush and plenty of soap can make them. This great accessary

to cleanliness, _soap_, is made at home in large quantities, the ashes

of the wood burnt in the fire-place making the "ley," to which is added

the coarser fat and grease of the animals used for home consumption. It

costs nothing but the trouble of making, and the art is little. As

regards cleanliness, the natives have something almost Jewish in their

personal observances of it as well as of their food. The blood of no

animal is ever used, but flows to the earth from whence it sprung, and

the poorest of them perform their ablutions before eating with oriental

exactness; these habits are soon imparted to the emigrants, many of

whom, when they first come out, all softly be it said, are by no means

so nice.

The large bright fires of the log house prevent all possible ideas of

damp; they certainly are most delightful--those magnificent winter fires

of New Brunswick--so brilliant, so cheerful, and so warm--the charred

coals, like a mass of burning rubies, giving out their heat beneath,

while between the huge "_back-log_" and "_fore-stick,_" the bright

flames dance merrily up the wide chimney. I have often heard people

fancy a wood fire as always snapping and sparkling in your face, or

green and smoky, chilling you with its very appearance, but those would

soon change their opinion if they saw a pile of yellow birch and rock

maple laid right "fore and aft" across the bright fire-dogs, the hearth

swept up, and the chips beneath fanned with the broom, they would then

see the union of light and heat in perfection. In one way it is

preferable to coals, that is, while making on the fire you might if you

chose wear white kid gloves without danger of soiling them. Another

comfort to the settler in the back woods is, that every stick you burn

makes one less on the land. Stoves, both for cooking and warming the

houses, have long been used in the United States, and are gradually

coming into common use in New Brunswick. In the cities they are

generally used, where fuel is expensive, as they require less fuel, and

give more heat than open "fire-places;" but the older inhabitants can

hardly be reconciled to them; they prefer the rude old hearth stone,

with its bright light, to the dark stove. I remember once spending the

evening at a house where the younger part of the family, to be

fashionable, had got a new stove placed in the fire-place of "_'tother

room_," which means, what in Scotland is termed "_ben_" the house, and

in England "the _parlour_." This was the first evening of its being put

in operation. I observed the old gentleman (a first-rate specimen of a

blue nose) looked very uncomfortable and fidgetty. For a time he sat

twirling his thumbs in silence, when suddenly a thought seemed to strike

him: he left the room, and shortly after the draught-hole of the stove

grew dark, and a cloud of smoke burst forth from it. The old gentleman

came in, declaring he was almost suffocated, and that it was "all owing

to _that nasty ugly Yankee critter_," the stove. He instantly had it

taken down, and was soon gazing most comfortably on a glorious pile of

burning wood, laid on by himself, with the most scientific regard to the

laws of _levity, concavity_, and _contiguity_ requisite in fire-making;

and by the twinkle of his eye I knew that he was enjoying the ruse he

had employed to get rid of the stove, for he had quietly stopped the

flue. For the mere convenience of the thing, I think a stove is

decidedly preferable. In this country, where people are generally their

own cooks as well as everything else, they learn to know how the most

and the best work can be done with the least time and trouble. With the

stove there is not that roasting of the face and hands, nor confused

jumble of pots and pans, inseparable from a kitchen fire; but upon the

neat little polished thing, upon which there is nothing to be seen but a

few bright covers, you can have the constituents of a New Brunswick

breakfast, "_cod-fish and taters_," for twice laid, fried ham, hot

rolls, and pancakes, all prepared while the tea kettle is boiling, and

experience whilst arranging them no more heat than on a winter morning,

is quite agreeable. In the furniture of these back-wood dwellings there

is nothing rich or costly, yet there is such an air of neatness diffused

over it, and effect brought out, that they always recalled to me the

painted cottage scenes of a theatre. But here is a house at which I have

a call to make, and which will illustrate the "_mènage_" of a New

Brunswicker. Remember, this is not one of the old settlers, who have

overcome all the toil and inconvenience of clearing and building, and

are now enjoying the comforts they have earned, but it is the log-house

of a new farm, around which the stumps yet stand thick and strong, and

where the ringing of the axe is yet heard incessantly. In this working

country people are, in general, like the famous Mrs. Gilpin, who, though

on pleasure bent, had yet a frugal mind, and contrive to make business

and amusement go together; and although I had left home with the

intention of paying a visit, a little business induces me to pause here,

ere I proceed to where I intended; and even here, while arranging this,

I shall enjoy myself as much as though I were sackless of thought or

interest in anything save amusement. The manufacture of the wool raised

on the farm is the most important part of the women's work, and in this

the natives particularly excel. As yet I knew not the mysteries of

colouring brown with butternut bark, nor the proper proportion of _sweet

fern_ and indigo to produce green, so that our wool, on its return from

the carding mill, had been left with this person--lady, "par

courtesie,"--who was a perfect adept in the art, to be spun and wove:

and the business on which I now call is to arrange with her as to its

different proportions and purposes. What for blankets, for clothing, or

for socks and mittens, which all require a different style of

manufacture, and are all items of such importance during the winter

snows. Melancthon Grey, whose most Christian and protestant appellation

was abbreviated into "Lank," was a true-blooded blue nose. His father

had a noble farm of rich intervale on the banks of the river Saint John,

and was well to do in the world. Lank was his eldest son, yet no

heritage was his, save his axe and the arm which swung it. The law of

primogeniture exists not in this country, and the youngest son is

frequently heir to that land on which the older ones have borne the

"heat and burthen of the day," and rendered valuable by their toil,

until each chooses his own portion in the world, by taking unto himself

a wife and a lot of forest land, and thus another hard-won _homestead_

is raised, and sons enough to choose among for heirs. Melancthon Grey

had wedded his cousin, a custom common among the "blue noses," and which

most likely had its origin in the patriarchal days of the earlier

settlers, when the inhabitants were few. Sybèl was a sweet pretty girl,

deficient, as the Americans all are, in those high-toned feelings which

characterise the depth of woman's love in the countries of Europe, yet

made, as they generally do, an affectionate wife, and a fond and doating

mother. Those two names, Sybèl and Melancthon, had a strange sound in

the same household, awaking, as they always did in my dreamy fancy, a

train of such differing memories. Sybèl recalling the days of early

Rome, the haughty Tarquin and his mysterious prophetess, while

Melancthon brought back the "Reformation," and the best and most pious

of its fathers. In the particular of names, the Americans have a decided

"penchant" for those of euphonious and peculiar sound--they are selected

from sacred and profane history, ancient and modern. To them, however,

there is little of meaning attached by those who give them save the

sound. I have known one family reckon among its members a Solon and

Solomon, a Hector and Wellington, a Bathsheba and Lucretia; and the two

famous Johns, Bunyan and Wesley, have many a name-sake. These, in their

full length, are generally saved for holiday terms, and abbreviations

are made for every-day use. In these they are ingenious in finding the

shortest, and _Theodore_, that sweetest of all names, I have heard

curtailed to "_Od_," which seems certainly an odd enough cognomen.

Sybèl's bridal portion consisted of a cow and some sheep--her father's

waggon which brought her home contained some household articles her

mother's care had afforded--Melancthon had provided a barrel of pork and

one of flour, some tea and molasses, that staple commodity in

transatlantic housekeeping. Amongst Sybèl's chattels were a bake-pan and

tea-kettle, and thus they commenced the world. Melancthon has not yet

had time to make a gate at his dwelling, and our only mode of entrance

must be either by climbing the "fence" or unshipping the "_bars_," which

form one pannel, and which are placed so as to be readily removed for

the passage of a carriage, but from us this will require both time and

strength, so at the risk of tearing our dress we will e'en take the

fence. This is a feat which a novice does most clumsily, but which those

who are accustomed to it do most gracefully.

As we approach the dwelling, the housewife's handy-work is displayed in

a pole hung with many a skein of snow white yarn, glistening in the

sunlight. Four years have passed since Sybèl was a bride---her cheek has

lost the bloom of girlhood, and has already assumed the hollow form of

New Brunswick matrons; her dress is home-spun, of her own manufacture,

carded and spun by her own hands, coloured with dye stuffs gathered in

the woods, woven in a pretty plaid, and neatly made by herself. This is

also the clothing of her husband and children; a bright gingham

handkerchief is folded inside her dress, and her rich dark hair is

smoothly braided. In this particular the natives display a good

taste--young women do not enshroud themselves in a cap the day after

their marriage, as if glad to be done with the trouble of dressing their

hair; and unless from sickness a cap is never worn by any one the least

youthful. The custom commences with the children, for infants never have

their heads covered during the day. At first the little bald heads seem

unsightly to a stranger, but when the eye gets accustomed, they look

much better in their own natural beauty then when decked out in lace and

muslin. The plan of keeping the head cool seems to answer well, for New

Brunswick may rival any country in the world for a display of lovely

infants. Sybèl has the delicacy of appearance which the constant in-door

occupation of the women gives them, differing much from the coarse, but

healthier look of those countries where the females assist in field

labours. The "blue nose" considers it "_agin all nature_" for women to

work out, and none are ever seen so employed, unless it be the families

of emigrants before they are naturalised. A flush of delight crimsons

Sybèl's pale face as she welcomes me in, for simple and retired as her

life is, she yet cherishes in her heart all the fondness for company and

visiting inherent to her sex, and loves to enjoy them whenever

opportunity permits. No excuse would be listened to,--I must stay

dinner--my bonnet is untied, and placed upon the bed--Sybèl has churned

in the early cool of the morning, and she has now been working over the

golden produce of her labours with a wooden ladle in a tray. With this

ladle the butter is taken from the churn; the milk beaten out, and

formed by it into rolls--nothing else is employed, for moulds or prints

are not used as in England. She has just finished, and placed it in her

dairy, a little bark-lined recess adjoining the house--and now, on

hospitable thoughts intent, she has caught up her pail and is gone for

water--in this we are most luxurious in New Brunswick, never keeping any

quantity in the house, but using it bright and sparkling as it gushes

from the spring. While she is gone, we will take a pencilling of her

dwelling. A beautiful specimen of still-life, in the shape of a baby six

months old, reposes in its cradle--its eye-lids' long and silky fringes

are lightly folded in sleep on its smooth round cheek. Another older one

is swinging in the rocking chair, playing with some chips and bark, the

only toys of the log house--this single apartment serves the family for

parlour, for kitchen, and hall--the chamber above being merely used as a

store room, or receptacle for lumber--'tis the state bed-room as well,

and on the large airy-looking couch is displayed a splendid coverlet of

home-spun wool, manufactured in a peculiar style, the possessing of

which is the first ambition of a back-wood matron, and for which she

will manoeuvre as much as a city lady would for some _bijou of a

chiffionier_, or centre table--Sybèl has gained her's by saving each

year a portion of the wool, until she had enough to accomplish this sure

mark of industry, and of _getting along in the world_; for if they are

not getting along or improving in circumstances their farms will not

raise sheep enough to yield the wool, and if they are not industrious

the yarn will not be spun for this much-prized coverlet, which, despite

the local importance attached to it, is a useful, handsome and valuable

article in itself. On a large chest beside the bed are laid piles of

snow white blankets, and around the walls are hung the various woollen

garments which form the wardrobe of the family. Bright-hued Indian

baskets stand on top of each other--a pair of beaded moccasins and a

reticule of porcupine quills are hung up for ornament. The pine table

and willow-seated chairs are all made in the "bush," and even into this

far back settlement has penetrated the prowess of the renowned "Sam

Slick, of Slickville." One of his wooden-made yankee clocks is here--its

case displaying "a most elegant picture" of Cupid, in frilled trowsers

and morocco boots, the American prototype of the little god not being

allowed to appear so scantily clad as he is generally represented. A

long rifle is hung over the mantle-piece, and from the beams are

suspended heads of Indian corn for seed; by them, tied in bunches, or in

paper bags, is a complete "hortus siccus" of herbs and roots for

medicinal as well as culinary purposes. Bone set and lobelia, sage and

savory, sarsaparilla, and that mysterous bark which the natives say acts

with a different effect, according as it is peeled up or down the

tree--cat-nip and calamus root for the baby, with dried marigold leaves,

balm of gilead buds, and a hundred others, for compounding the various

receipts they possess, as remedies for every complaint in the world.

Many of these they have learnt from the Indians, whose "ancient medicine

men" are well versed in the healing powers with which the herbs of the

forest and the field are gifted. On a small shelf is laid the library,

which consists but of the bible, a new almanac, and Humbert's Union

Harmony, the province manual of sacred music, of which they are most

particularly fond; but the air of the country is not favourable to song,

and their melody always seemed to me "harmony not understood,"

Meanwhile, for the last half-hour, Sybèl has been busily engaged in

cooking, at which the natives are most expeditious and expert. I know

not how they would be in other countries, but I know that at home they

are first-rate--no other can come up to them in using the materials and

implements they are possessed of. By the accustomed sun-mark on the

floor, which Sybèl prefers to the clock, she sees 'tis now the hungry

hour of noon, and blows the horn for Lank to come to dinner. This horn

is a conk shell, bored at one end, and its sound is heard at a great

distance. At the hours of meal-time it may be heard from house to house,

and, ringing through the echoing woods from distant settlements, telling

us, amid their loneliness, of happy meetings at the household board; but

it comes, too, at times, when its sounds are heralds of trouble and

dismay. I have heard it burst upon the ear at the silent hour of

midnight, and, starting from sleep, seen the sky all crimsoned with the

flames of some far off dwelling, whose inmates thus called for

assistance; but long ere that assistance could be given, the fire would

have done its worst of destruction, perhaps of death. I have also heard

it, when twilight gathered darkly o'er the earth, floating sad and

mournfully since sun-set, from some dwelling in the forest's depths,

whose locality, but for the sounds, would not be known. Some member of

the family has been lost in the woods, and the horn is blown to guide

him homewards through the trackless wilderness. How sweet must those

sounds be to the benighted wanderer, bearing, as they do, the voice of

the heart, and telling of love and affectionate solicitude! But

Melancthon has driven his ox-team to the barn, and now, with the baby on

his lap, which, like all the blue-noses, he loves to nurse, sits down to

table, where we join him. The dinner, as is often the case in the

backwoods in summer, is "a regular pick-up one," that is, composed of

any thing and every thing. People care little for meat in the hot

weather; and, in fact, a new settler generally uses his allowance of

beef and pork during the long winter, so that the provision for summer

depends principally on fish, with which the country is amply supplied,

and the produce of the dairy. The present meal consists of fine trout

from the adjoining stream, potatoes white as snow-balls, and,

pulverising on the dish, some fried ham, and young French beans, which

grow there in the greatest luxuriance, climbing to the top of their

lofty poles till they can grow no higher. I have often thought them

scions of that illustrious bean-stalk owned by Jack in the fairy tale.

We have also a bowl of salad, and home-made vinegar prepared from maple

sap, a large hot cake, made with Indian meal, and milk and dried

blue-berries, an excellent substitute for currants. Buscuits, of snow

white Tenessee flour, raised with cream and sal-a-ratus. This last

article, which is used in place of yeast, or eggs, in compounding light

cakes, can also be made at home from ley of the wood ashes, but it is

mostly bought in town. The quantity of this used is surprising, country

"store-keepers" purchasing barrels to supply their customers. A

raspberry pie, and a splendid dish of strawberries and cream, with tea

(the inseparable beverage of every meal in New Brunswick), forms our

repast; and such would it be in ninety-nine houses out of a hundred of

the class I am describing. Many of the luxuries, and all the necessaries

of life, can be raised at home, by those who are industrious and

spirited enough to take advantage of their resources. Melancthon this

year expects to _bread himself_, as well as grow enough of hay to winter

his stock. Since he commenced farming he purchased what was not raised

on the land by the sale of what was cut off it--that is, by selling ash

timber and cord-wood he procured what he required. This, however, can

only be done where there is water conveyance to market. The

indefatigable Melancthon had four miles to "haul" his marketable wood;

but, when the roads were bad, he was chopping and clearing at the same

time, and when the snow was well beaten down, with his little French

horse and light sled he soon drew it to the place from whence the boats

are loaded in the spring. Dinner being now finished, and after some

conversation, which must of course be of a very local description,

although it is brightened with many a quiet touch of wit, of which the

natives possess a great original fund, and Melancthon, having finished

in the forenoon harrowing in his buck-wheat, has now gone with his axe

to hew at a house-frame which he has in preparation, and Sybèl and I

having settled our affair of warp and woof, it is now time for me to

proceed. She with her large Swiss-looking sun-hat, placed lightly on

her brow, accompanies me to the "bars," and there, having parted with

her, we will now resume our walk. The next lot presents one of those

scenes of desolation and decay which will sometimes appear even in this

land of improvement. What had once been a large clearing is now grown

wild with bushes, the stumps have all sprouted afresh, and the fences

fallen to the ground. The house presents that least-respectable of all

ruins, a deserted _log-building._ There is no solidity of material nor

remains of architectural beauty to make us respect its fate. 'Tis decay

in its plainest and most uninteresting aspect. A few flowers have been

planted near the house, and even now, where the weeds grow dark and

rank, a fair young rose is waving her lovely head. The person who had

gone thus far on in the toils of settling was from England, but the love

of his native land burned all too bright within his heart. In vain he

toiled on those rude fields, and though his own, they seemed not his

home. The spirit voices of the land of his childhood called him back--he

obeyed their spell, and just at the time his labours would have been

repaid, he left, and, with all the money he could procure, paid his

passage to England, where he soon after died in the workhouse of his

parish. Yet even there the thought, perhaps, might soothe him, that

though he filled a pauper's grave, it was in the soil where his fathers

slept. The forsaken lot is still unclaimed, for people prefer the

woodlands to those neglected clearings, from which to procure a crop

infinitely more trouble and expense would be required than in taking it

at once from the forest. Our way is not now so lonely as it was in the

morning. Parties of the male population are frequently passing. One of

the settlers has to-day a "barn-raising frolic," and thither they are

bound. They present a fair specimen of their class in the forest

settlements. The bushwhacker has nothing of the "bog-trotter" in his

appearance, and his step is firm and free, as though he trod on marble

floor. The attire of the younger parties which, although coarse, is

perfectly clean and whole, has nothing rustic in its arrangement. His

kersey trowsers are tightly strapped, and the little low-crowned hat,

with a streaming ribbon, is placed most jauntily on his head. His axe is

carried over one shoulder and his jacket over the other, which in summer

is the common mode of carrying this part of the apparel. Those who have

been _lumbering_ may easily be known among the others, by sporting a

flashy stock or waistcoat, and by being arrayed in "_boughten_" clothes,

procured in town at a most expensive rate in lieu of their _lumber_.

Little respect is, however, paid here to the cloth, (that is,

broadcloth), for it is a sure sign of bad management, and most likely of

debt, for the back settlers to be arrayed in any thing but their own

home-made clothing. The grave and serious demeanour of these people is

as different from the savage scowl of the discontented peasant,

murmuring beneath the burthen of taxation and ill-remunerated toil, as

from the free, light-hearted, and careless laughter, both of which

characterise the rural groups in the fertile fields of England. New

Brunswick is the land of strangers; even the first settlers, the "sons

of the soil," as they claim to be, have hardly yet forgot their exile,

a trace of which character, be he prosperous as he may, still hovers

over the emigrant. Their early home, with its thousand ties of love,

cannot be all forgotten. This feeling descends to their children, losing

its tone of sadness, but throwing a serious shade over the national

character, which, otherwise has nothing gloomy or melancholy in its

composition. There is also a kind of "_looking a-head_" expression of

countenance natural to the country, which is observed even in the

children, who are not the careless frolicsome beings they are in other

countries, but are here more truly miniature men and women, looking, as

the Yankees express it, as if they had all cut their "_eye-teeth_."

But here we are, for the present, arrived at the bourne of our journey.

High on a lofty hill before us stands a large frame building, the place

of worship as well as the principal school-house of the settlement. This

double purpose it is not, however, destined long to be devoted to, for

the building of a church is already in contemplation, and will, no

doubt, soon be proceeded with. The beaming sun is shining with dazzling

radiance on its white walls, telling, in fervent whispers, that a

shelter from the heat will be desirable; so here we will enter, where

the shadowy trees, and bright stream glancing through the garden

flowers, speak of inhabitants from the olden world. A frame building has

been joined to the original log-house, and the dwelling thus made large

enough to accommodate the household. Mrs. Gordon, the lady of the

mansion, and the friend I have come thus far to see, is one of those

persons the brilliance of whose gem-like character has been increased

by the hard rubs of the world. She has experienced much of Time's

chance and change--experiences and trials which deserve relating at

large, and which I shall hereafter give, as they were told me by

herself. Traces of the beauty she once possessed are yet pourtrayed on

her faded but placid brow, and appear in brighter lines on the fair

faces of her daughters. Her husband is from home, and the boys are gone

to the frolic, so we will have a quiet evening to ourselves. The

arrangement of this dwelling, although similar in feature to Sybèl

Gray's, is yet, as it were, different in expression; for instance, there

is not such a display made of the home-manufactured garments, which it

is the pride of her heart to look upon. These, of course, are here in

existence, but are placed in another receptacle; and the place they hold

along the walls of Sybèl's dwelling is here occupied by a book-case, in

which rests a store of treasured volumes; our conversation, too, is of a

different cast from the original, yet often commonplace, remarks of

Melancthon. 'Tis most likely a discussion of the speculative fancies

contained in those sweet brighteners of our solitude, the books; or in

tracing the same lights and shadows of character described in them, as

were occurring in the passages of life around us; or, perhaps, something

leads us to talk of him whose portrait hangs on the wall, the peasant

bard of Scotland, whose heart-strung harp awakens an answering chord in

every breast. The girls--who although born in this country and now

busied in its occupations, one in guiding the revolving wheel, and the

other in braiding a hat of poplar splints--join us in a manner which

tells how well they have been nurtured in the lore of the "mountain

heathery land," the birth-place of their parents; and the younger sister

Helen's silvery voice breathes a soft strain of Scottish melody.

Meanwhile a pleasant interruption occurs in the post-horn winding loud

and clear along the settlement. This is an event of rare occurrence in

the back woods, where the want of a regular post communication is much

felt, not so much in matters of worldly importance in business--these

being generally transacted without the medium of letters--as by those

who have loved ones in other lands. Alas! how often has the heart pined

with the sickness of hope deferred, in waiting in vain for those

long-expected lines, from the distant and the dear, which had been duly

sent in all the spirit of affection, but which had been mislaid in their

wanderings by land or sea; or the post-masters not being particularly

anxious to know where the land of Goshen, the Pembroke, or the Canaan

settlements were situated, had returned them to the dead letter office,

and thus they never reached the persons for whom they were intended, and

who lived on upbraiding those who, believing them to be no longer

dwellers of the earth, cherished their memory with fondest love. Taking

all these things into consideration, a meeting had been called in our

settlement to ascertain if by subscription a sufficient sum could be

raised to pay a weekly courier to assert our rights at the nearest

post-office. This was entered into with spirit, all feeling sensible of

the benefits which it would bring; they who could afford it giving

freely of their abundance, and those who could not pay their

subscription all in money, giving half a dollar cash, and a bushel or

half a bushel of buck wheat or potatoes to the cause; and thus the sum

necessary was soon raised--the courier himself subscribing a dollar

towards his own salary. The thing had gone on very well--communication

with the world seemed to have commenced all at once. Nearly every family

took a different newspaper, and these being exchanged with each other,

afforded plenty of food for the mind, and prevented it brooding too

deeply over the realities of life.

The newspapers in this country, especially those of the United States,

are not merely dull records of parliamentary doings, of bill and debate,

the rising of corn or falling of wheat, but contain besides reviews and

whole copies of the newest and best works of the day, both in science

and lighter literature. We dwellers of the forest had no guineas to give

for new books, and if we had, unless we freighted ships home on purpose,

we could not have procured them. But this was not felt, while for our

few yearly dollars the Albion's pearly paper and clear black type

brought for society around our hearths the laughter-loving "Lorrequer,"

the pathos of the portrait painter, or the soul-winning Christopher

North, whose every word seems written in letters of gold, incrusted with

precious jewels. In the "New World" Froissart gave his chronicles of the

olden time, and the mammoth sheets of "Era" and "The Notion" brought us

the peerless pages of "Zanoni," or led us away with "Dickens" and

"Little Nell," by the green glades and ancient churches of England.

Little did we think while we read with delight of this author's

princely welcome to the American continent, what would be the result of

his visit, he came and passed like the wild Simoom. Soon after his

return to England an edict came, forbidding in the British provinces of

America publications containing reprints of English works. Of the deeper

matters connected with the copyright question I know not, but this I do

know, that our long winter nights seemed doubly long and drear, with

nothing to read but dark details of horrid murder, or deadly doings of

Rebeccaite and Chartist. As yet, however, this time was not come, and

each passing week saw us now enlightened with the rays of some new

bright gem of genius.

The postman blew his horn as he passed each dwelling for whose inmates

he had letters or papers; and for those whose address lay beyond his

route, places of depository were appointed in the settlement. Mrs.

Gordon's was one of these, from whence they were duly despatched by the

first chance to their destinations on the Nashwaak, Waterloo, or Windsor

clearings. Although our Mercury would duly have signalised his approach

as he passed our own dwelling, I possessed myself of my treasure

here--my share of the priceless wealth of that undying intellect which

is allowed to pour its brilliant flood, freely and untramelled, to the

lowliest homes of the American world. Having glanced along the lines and

seen that our first favourites had visited us this week, our tea seemed

to bear with it an added fragrance; and this, although the walls around

us were of logs, we had in fairy cups of ancient porcelain from the

distant land of Scotland. And now the sun's broad disc having vanished

behind the lofty pines, and the young moon rising in the blue heavens,

tell us our short twilight will soon be gone, and that if we would reach

home before the stars look out upon our path, 'tis time we were on our

way.

The cow bells are ringing loud and clear as the herd winds slowly

homeward, looking most luxuriantly comfortable, and bearing with them

the spicy scent of the cedar-woods in which they have been wandering,

and which they seem to leave so unwillingly. Philoprogenitiveness, or a

deep feeling of motherly affection, being the only thing that does

voluntarily induce them to come home. To encourage this desirable

feeling the leader of the herd, the lady of the bell, is allowed to

suckle her calf every evening. For this happy task she leaves all the

delights of her pasture, plodding regularly homeward at the hour of

sunset, the rest all meekly following in her train.

The evening is dry and clear, with no trace of rain in the atmosphere,

or we would be surrounded with clouds of those _awful critturs_, the

musquitoes, which the cattle bring home. These are often a dreadful

annoyance, nothing but a thick cloud of smoke dispelling them, and that

only for a time. At night they are particularly a nuisance, buzzing and

stinging unceasingly through the silent hours, forbidding all thought of

sleep till the dawn shows them clinging to the walls and windows,

wearied and bloated with their night's amusement. Those who are

sufficiently acclimated suffer comparatively little--'tis the rich blood

of the stranger that the musquito loves, and emigrants, on the first

season, especially in low marshy situations, suffer extremely from their

attacks.

Mary Gordon having now gone with her pails to meet her milky charge,

while her mother arranges the dairy within, Helen comes to set me on my

way. Again we meet the frolickers returning rather earlier than is usual

on such occasions; but there was sickness at the dwelling where they had

been, which caused them to disperse soon after they had accomplished the

"raising." Kindly greetings passed between us; for here, in this little

world of ours, we have hardly room for the petty distinctions and

pettier strifes of larger communities. We are all well acquainted with

each other, and know each other's business and concerns as well as our

own. There is no concealment of affairs. This, however, saves a vast

deal of trouble--people are much easier where there is no false

appearance to be kept up; and in New Brunswick there is less of "behind

the scenes" than in most places. Many a bright eye glances under Helen's

shadowy hat: and, see, one gallant axe-man lingers behind the others--he

pauses now by the old birch tree--I know he is her lover, and in charity

to their young hearts I must allow her to turn, while we proceed onward.

The fire-flies now gleam through the air like living diamonds, and the

evening star has opened her golden eye in the rich deep azure of the

sky. Our home stands before us, with its white walls thrown in strong

relief by the dark woods behind it: and here, on this adjoining lot,

lives our neighbour who is ill--he who to-day has had the "barn

raising." It would be but friendly to call and enquire for him. The

house is one of the best description of log buildings. The ground floor

contains two large apartments and a spacious porch, which extends along

the front, has the dairy in one end and a workshop in the other, that

most useful adjunct to a New Brunswick dwelling, where the settlers are

often their own blacksmiths and carpenters, as well as splint pounders

and shingle weavers. The walls are raised high enough to make the

chamber sufficiently lofty, and the roof is neatly shingled. As we

enter, an air of that undefinable English ideality--comfort--seems

diffused, as it were, in the atmosphere of the place. There is a look of

retirement about the beds, which stand in dim recesses of the inner

apartment, with their old but well-cared-for chintz hangings, differing

from the free uncurtained openness of the blue nose settler's couch; a

publicity of sleeping arrangements being common all over America, and

much disliked by persons from the old countries, a bed being a prominent

piece of furniture in the sitting and keeping rooms of even those

aristocratic personages, the first settlers. The large solid-looking

dresser, which extends nearly along one side of the house, differs too

from the light shelf of the blue nose, which rests no more crockery than

is absolutely necessary. Here there is a wide array of dishes, large and

small--old China tea-cups, wisely kept for show,--little funny mugs,

curious pitchers, mysterious covered dishes, unearthly salad bowls, and

a host of superannuated tea-pots. Above them is ranged a bright copper

kettle, a large silvery pewter basin, and glittering brazen

candlesticks, all brought from their English home, and borne through

toil and danger, like sacred relics, from the shrine of the household

gods. The light of the fire is reflected on the polished surface of a

venerable oaken bureau, whose unwieldy form has also come o'er the deep

sea, being borne along the creeks and rivers of New Brunswick, and

dragged through forest paths to its present resting place. In the course

of its wanderings by earth and ocean it has become minus a foot, the

loss of which is supplied by an unsmoothed block of pine, the two

forming not an inapt illustration of their different countries. The

polished oaken symbol of England receiving assistance in its hour of

need from the rude but hardy pine emblem of New Brunswick. The room is

cool and quiet; the young people being outside with a few who have

lingered after the frolic. By the open window, around which a hop vine

is enwreathed, in memory of the rose-bound casements of England, and

through which comes a faint perfume from the balm of gilead trees, sits

the invalid, seemingly refreshed with the pleasant things around him. He

has been suffering from rheumatic fever caught in the changeful days of

the early spring, when the moist air penetrates through nerve and bone,

and when persons having the least tendency to rheumatism, or pulmonary

complaints, cannot use too much caution. At no other season is New

Brunswick unhealthy; for the winter, although cold, is dry and bracing.

The hot months are not so much so as to be injurious, and the bland

breezes of the fall and Indian summer are the most delightful that can

be imagined.

Stephen Morris had come from England, like the generality of New

Brunswick settlers, but lightly burthened with worldly gear--but gifted

with the unpurchasable treasures of a strong arm and willing spirit,

that is, a spirit resolved to do its best, and not be overcome with the

difficulties to be encountered in the struggle of subduing the mighty

wilderness. While he felled the forest, his wife, accustomed in her own

country to assist in all field labours, toiled with him in piling and

fencing as well as in planting and reaping. Even their young children

learned to know that every twig they lifted off the ground left space

for a blade of grass or grain; beginning with this, their assistance

soon became valuable, and the labour of their hands in the field soon

lightened the burthen of feeding their lips. Slowly and surely had

Stephen gone onward, keeping to his farm and minding nothing else,

unlike many of the emigrants, who, while professing to be farmers, yet

engage in other pursuits, particularly lumbering, which, although the

mainspring of the province and source of splendid wealth to many of the

inhabitants, has yet been the bane of others. Allured by the visions of

speedy riches it promises, they have neglected their farms, and engaged

in its glittering speculations with the most ardent hopes, which have

far oftener been blighted than realised. A sudden change in trade, or an

unexpected storm in the spring, having bereft them of all, and left them

overwhelmed in debt, with neglected and ruined lands, with broken

constitutions, (for the lumberer's life is most trying to the health,)

and often too with broken hearts, and minds all unfitted for the task of

renovating their fortune. Their life afterwards is a bitter struggle to

get above water; that tyrant monster, their heavy debt, still chaining

them downwards, devouring with insatiate greed their whole means, for

interest or bond, until it be discharged; a hard matter for them to

accomplish--so hard that few do it, and the ruined lumberer sinks, to the

grave with its burthen yet upon him. Stephen had kept aloof from this,

and now surveyed,

"----With pride beyond a monarch's spoil,

His honest arm's own subjugated toil."

A neighbour of his had come out from England at the same time he had

done and commenced farming an adjoining lot, but he soon wearied of the

slow returns of his land and commenced lumbering. For a time he went on

dashingly, the merchants in town supplying him freely with provisions

and everything necessary to carry on his timber-making--whilst Stephen

worked hard and lived poor, he enjoyed long intervals of ease and fared

luxuriantly. But a change came: one spring the water was too low to get

his timber down, the next the freshet burst at once and swept away the

labour of two seasons, and ere he got another raft to market, the price

had fallen so low that it was nearly valueless. He returned dispirited

to his home and tried to conceal himself from his creditors, the

merchants whom the sale of his timber was to have repaid for the

supplies they had advanced; but his neglected fields showed now but a

crop of bushes and wild laurel, or an ill-piled clearing, with a scanty

crop of buck-wheat; while Stephen Morris looked from his window on fair

broad fields from whence the stumps had all disappeared, where the long

grass waved rich with clover-flowers between, and many a tract that

promised to shine with autumn wreaths of golden grain; leaflets and

buds were close and thick on the orchard he had planted, and where erst

the wild-bush stood now bloomed the lovely rose. On a green hill before

him stood the lofty frame of the building this evening raised, with all

its white tracery of beam and rafter, a new but welcome feature in the

landscape. A frame barn is the first ambition of the settler's heart;

without one much loss and inconvenience is felt. Hay and grain are not

stacked out as in other countries, but are all placed within the shelter

of the barn; these containing, as they often do, the whole hay crop,

besides the grain and accommodation for the cattle, must, of course, be

of large dimensions, and are consequently expensive. With this Stephen

had proceeded surely and cautiously as was his wont. In the winter he

had hauled logs off his own land to the saw-mill to be made into boards.

He cut down with much trouble some of the ancient pines which long stood

in the centre of his best field, and from their giant trunks cut

well-seasoned blocks, with which he made shingles in the stormy days of

winter. Thus by degrees he provided all the materials for enclosing and

roofing, and was not obliged, as many are, to let the frame, (which is

the easiest part provided, and which they often raise without seeming

even to think how they are to be enclosed,) stand for years, like a huge

grey skeleton, with timbers all warped and blackened by the weather.

Steadily as Stephen had gone on, yet as the completion of his object

became nearer he grew impatient of its accomplishment, and determined to

have his barn ready for the reception of his hay harvest; and for this

purpose he worked on, hewing at the frame in the spring, reckless of the

penetrating rain, the chill wind, or the damp earth beneath, and thus,

by neglect of the natural laws, he was thrown upon the couch of

sickness, where he lay long. This evening, however, he was better, and

sat gazing with pleased aspect on the scene, and then I saw his eyes

turn from the fair green hill and its new erection to where, in the

hollow of a low and marshy spot of land, stood the moss-grown logs and

sunken walls of the first shelter he had raised for his cattle--his old

log barn, which stood on the worst land of the farm, but when it was

raised the woods around were dark and drear, and he knew not the good

soil from the bad; yet now he thought how, in this unseemly place, he

had stored his crop and toiled for years with unfailing health, where

his arm retained its nerve, unstrung neither by summer's heat nor

winter's cold, when the voice of his son, a tall stripling, who had

managed affairs during his illness, recalled him to the present, which

certainly to him I thought might wear no unfavourable aspect. He had

literally caused the wilderness to blossom as the rose, and saw rising

around him not a degenerate but an improving race, gifted far beyond

himself with bright mental endowments, the spontaneous growth of the

land they lived in, and which never flourish more fairly than when

engrafted on the old English stem; that is, the children of emigrants,

or the Anglo-bluenoses, have the chance of uniting the high-aspiring

impulses of young America to the more solid principles of the olden

world, thus forming a decided improvement in the native race of both

countries. But Stephen has too much of human nature in him not to

prefer the past, and I saw that the sunbeams of memory rested brightly

on the old log barn, obscuring the privations and years of bitter toil

and anxiety connected with it, and dimming his eyes to ought else,

however better; so that I left him to his meditations, and after a step

of sixty rods, the breadth of the lot, I am once more at home, where, as

it is now dark, we will close the door and shut out the world, to this

old country prejudice has made us attach a small wooden button inside,

the only fastening, except the latch, I believe, in the settlement.

Bolts and bars being all unused, the business of locksmith is quite at a

discount in the back woods, where all idea of a midnight robbery is

unknown; and yet, if rumour was true, there were persons not far from us

to whom the trade of stealing would not be new. One there was of whom it

was said, that for this reason alone was New Brunswick graced with his

presence. He had in his own country been taken in a daring act of

robbery, and conveyed in the dark of night to be lodged in gaol. The

officers were kind-hearted, and, having secured his hands, allowed his

wife to accompany him, themselves walking a short distance apart. At

first the lady kept up a most animated conversation, apparently

upbraiding the culprit for his conduct. He answered her, but by degrees

he seemed so overcome by her remarks that he spoke no more, and she had

all the discourse to herself. Having arrived at their destination, the

officers approached their prisoner, but he was gone, the wife alone

remained. The darkness of the night bad favoured his escape while she

feigned to be addressing him, and, having thus defeated the law, joined

her spouse, and made the best of their way to America, where the

workings of the law of kindness were exemplified in his case. His

character being there generally unknown, he was treated and trusted as

an honest man, and he broke not his faith. The better feelings were

called into action; conscientiousness, though long subdued, arose and

breathed through his spirit the golden rule of right.

The days in America are never so short in winter as they are in Europe,

nor are they so long in summer, and there is always an hour or two of

the cool night to be enjoyed ere the hour of rest comes. Our evening

lamp is already lighted, and our circle increased by the presence of the

school-mistress.

Although in this country the local government has done much towards the

advancement of schools, yet much improvement requires to be made--not in

their simple internal arrangements, for which there is no regular

system, but in the more important article of remuneration. The

government allows twenty pounds a year to each school; the proprietors,

or those persons who send their children to the school, agreeing to pay

the teacher a like sum at least (though in some of the older settled

parts of the country from forty to fifty pounds is paid by them); as

part payment of this sum providing him with board, &c., &c., and this

alone is the evil part of the scheme; this boarding in turn with the

proprietors, who keep him a week or a month in proportion to the number

of the pupils they send, and to make up their share of the year, for

which term he is hired, as his engagement is termed--an expression how

derogatory to the dignity of many a learned dominie? From this cause the

teacher has no home, no depository for his books, which are lost in

wandering from place to place; and if he had them, no chance for study:

for the log-house filled with children and wheels is no fit abode for a

student. This boarding system operates badly in many ways. The nature of

the blue nose is still leavened with that dislike of coercive measures

inherited from their former countrymen, the Yankees. It extends to their

children, and each little black-eyed urchin, on his wooden bench and

dog-eared dilworth in hand, must be treated by his teacher as a free

enlightened citizen. But even without this, where is there in any

country a schoolmaster daring enough to use a ratan, or birch rod, to

that unruly darling from whose mother he knows his evening reception

will be sour looks, and tea tinged with sky-blue, but would not rather

let the boy make fox-and-geese instead of, ciphering, say his lesson

when he pleased, and have cream and short-cake for his portion. Another

disagreeable thing is, that fond and anxious as they are for

"_larning_," they have not yet enough of it to appreciate the value of

education. The schoolmaster is not yet regarded as the mightiest moral

agent of the earth; the true vicegerent of the spirit from above, by

which alone the soul is truly taught to plume her wings and shape her

course for Heaven. And in this country, where operative power is certain

wealth, he who can neither wield axe or scythe may be looked on with a

slight shade of contempt: but this only arises from constant

association with the people; for were the schoolmaster more his own

master, and less under their surveillance by having a dwelling of his

own, his situation otherwise would be comfortable and lucrative.

The state of school affairs begins to attract much notice from the

legislature, and no doubt the present system of school government will

soon be improved. A board of education is appointed in each county,

whose office it is to examine candidates for the office of parish school

teacher, and report to the local governor as to their competency,

previous to his conferring the required license. Trustees are also

appointed in the several parishes, who manage the other business

connected with them, such as regulating their number, placing masters

where they are most wanted, and receiving and apportioning the sum

appropriated to their support, or encouragement, by the government. Mr.

B. held this situation, and frequent were the visits of the lords of the

birch to our domicile, either asking redress for fancied wrongs, or to

discuss disputed points of school discipline.

The female teachers are situated much the same, save that many of them,

preferring a quiet home to gain, pay for their board out of their cash

salary, and give up that which they could otherwise claim from the

people. This, however, is by no means general, and the present mistress

has come to stay her term with us, although having no occasion for the

school, yet wishing to hasten the march of intellect through the back

woods, we paid towards it, and boarded the teacher, as if we had. Grace

Marley, who held this situation now, was a sweet wild-flower from the

Emerald Isle, with spirits bright and changeful as the dewy skies of

her own loved Erin. Her graceful but fully rounded figure shows none of

those anatomical corners described by Captain Hamilton in the appearance

of the native American ladies. Her dark eye speaks with wondrous truth

the promptings of her heart, and her brown hair lies like folds of satin

on her cheek, from which the air of America has not yet drank all the

rose light. From her fairy ear of waxen white hangs a golden pendant,

the treasured gift of one far distant. Before her, on the table, lies

_Chambers' Journal_, which always found its way a welcome visitant to

our settlement, soon after the spring fleet had borne it over the

Atlantic. She has been reading one of Mrs. Hall's stories, which, good

as they are, are yet little admired by the Irish in America. The darker

hues which she pourtrays in the picture of their native land have become

to them all softened in the distance; and by them is their country

cherished there, as being indeed that beautiful ideal "first flower of

the earth, and first gem of the sea." A slight indignant flush, raised

by what she had been reading, was on her brow as I entered; but this

gave place to the heart-crushing look of disappointment I had often seen

her wear, as I replied in the negative to her question, if there was a

letter for her. From where, or whom she expected this letter I knew not,

yet as still week after week passed away and brought her none, the same

shade had passed over her face.

And now, reader, as the night wanes apace, and you no doubt are wearied

with this day's journey through our settlement, I shall wish to you

"A fair good night, with easy dreams and slumbers light,"

while I, who like most authors am not at all inclined to sleep over my

own writing, will sketch what I know of the history of Grace Marley,

whose memory forms a sweet episode in my transatlantic experiences.

Grace had been left an orphan and unprovided for in her own country,

when a relation, who had been prosperous here, wrote for her to come

out. She did come, and at first seemed happy, but 'twas soon evident her

heart was not here, and she sighed to return to her native land, where

the streams were brighter, and the grass grew greener than elsewhere.

Her friends, vexed at her obstinacy in determining so firmly to return,

would give her no assistance for this purpose, fancying that she felt

but that nostalgic sickness felt by all on their first arrival in

America, and that like others she would become reconciled in time. But

she was firm in her resolve, and to procure funds wherewithal to return

she commenced teaching a school, for which her education had well

qualified her. It was not likely that such a girl as Grace would, in

this land of marrying and giving in marriage, be without fonder

solicitations to induce her to remain, and a tall blue nose, rejoicing

in the appellation of Leonidas van Wort, and lord of six hundred noble

acres, was heard to declare one fall, that she, for an Irish girl, was

"raal downright good-looking," and guessed he knew which way "his tracks

would lay when snow came." Snow did come, and Leonidas, arrayed in his

best "go-to-meeting style," geared up his sleigh, and what with bear

skins and bells, fancying himself and appurtenances enough to charm the

heart of any maid or matron in the back woods, set off to spark Grace

Marley. "Sparking," the term used in New Brunswick for courtship, now

that the old fashion of "bundling" is gone out, occupies much of the

attention (as, indeed, where does it not?) of young folks. They, for

this purpose, take Moore's plan of lengthening their days, by "stealing

a few hours from the night," and generally breathe out their tender

vows, not beneath the "milk-white thorn," but by the soft dim light of

the birch-wood fire; the older members of the family retiring and

leaving the lovers to their own sweet society.

Although it has been sometimes observed that mothers who, in their own

young days, have been versed in this custom, insist most pertinaciously

in sitting out the wooer, in spite of insinuations as to the pleasure

their absence would occasion, still keep their easy chair, with

unwearied eyes and fingers busied in their everlasting knitting. Grace's

beau was most hospitably received by her aunt and uncle, who considering

him quite an "eligible," wished to further him all in their power, soon

left the pair to themselves, telling Grace that it would be the height

of rudeness not to follow the custom of the country. She politely waited

for Leonidas to commence the conversation, but he, unused to her

proceeding, could say nothing, not even ask her if she liked maple

sugar; and so, being unused to deep study, while thinking how to begin,

fell asleep, a consummation Grace was most delighted to witness. By the

fire stood the small American churn, which, as is often the case in cold

weather, had been placed there to be in readiness for the morrow; this

Grace, with something of the quiet humour which made Jeanie Deans treat

Dumbie-dykes to fried peats in place of collops, she lifted and placed

it by the sleeper's side, throwing over it a white cloth, which fell

like folds of drapery, and softly retired to rest herself. Her uncle, on

coming into the room at the dawn of morning, beheld the great Leonidas

still sleeping, and his arm most lovingly encircling the churn dash,

which no doubt in his dreams he mistook for the taper waist of Grace,

when the loud laugh of the old man and his "helps," who had now risen,

roused him. He got up and looked round him, but, with the Spartan

firmness of his name-sake, said nothing, but went right off and married

his cousin Prudence Prague, who could do all the sparking talk herself.

Many another lover since then had Grace--many a mathematical

schoolmaster, to whom Euclid was no longer a mystery, became, for her

sake, puzzled in the problem of love, and earnestly besought her to

solve the question he gave, with the simple statement of yes. But still

her heart was adamant, and still she was unwon, and sighed more deeply

for her island home. She disliked the country, and its customs more. Her

religion was Roman catholic, and she cherished all the tenets of her

faith with the deepest devotion. I remember calling on her one Sunday

morning and finding her alone in her solitary dwelling; her relations,

themselves catholics, having gone, and half the settlement with them, to

meeting, but she preferred her solitude rather than join in their

unconsecrated worship. This want of their own peculiar means of grace is

much felt by religiously inclined persons in the forest settlements, and

this made her wish more earnestly for the closing of the year to come,

when, with the produce of her school labours, she would be enabled to

leave.

Such was, up to this period, what I knew of Grace's character and

history. I was extremely fond of her society and conversation, as she,

coming from that land of which 'tis said, her every word, her wildest

thought, is poetry, had, in her imaginings, a twilight tinge of blue,

which made her remarks truly delightful. She had become a little more

softened in her prejudice, especially as she expected soon to leave the

country, so that one day during her stay with us, in this same bright

summer weather, I induced her to accompany me to a great baptist

meeting, to be held in a river settlement some four or five miles off.

On reaching the creek, the rest of our party, who had acquired the true

American antipathy to pedestrianism, proceeded in canoes and punts to

the place, but we preferred a walk to the dazzling glare of the sunshine

on the water, so took not the highway, but a path through the forest,

called the blazed track, from a chip or slice being made on the trees to

indicate its line, and which you must keep sight of, or else go astray

in the leafy labyrinth.

When I first trod the woods of New Brunswick, I fancied wild animals

would meet me at each step--every black log was transformed into some

shaggy monster--visions of bears and lucifee's were ever before me--but

these are now but rarely seen near the settlements, although bruin will

sometimes make a descent on the sheepfolds; yet they have generally

retreated before the axe, along with the more valuable moose deer and

caraboo, with which the country used to abound. The ugliest animal I

ever saw was a huge porcupine, which came close to the door and carried

off, one by one, a whole flock of young turkies; and the boldest, the

beautiful foxes, which are also extremely destructive to the poultry; so

that in walking the woods one need not be afraid, even if a bear's

foot-print be indented in the soil, as perhaps he is then far enough

off, and besides 'tis only in the hungry spring, after his winter's

sleep, he is carniverous, preferring in summer the roots, nuts, and

berries with which the forest supplies him. The living things one sees

are quite harmless--the bright eyed racoon looking down upon us through

the branches, or the squirrels hopping from spray to spray, a mink or an

otter splashing through the pond of a deserted beaver dam, from which

the ancient possessors have also retired, and a hare or sable gliding in

the distance, are all the animals one usually sees, with flocks of

partridges, so tame that they stir not from you, and there being no game

laws, these free denizens of the wild are the property of all who choose

to claim them.

The forests, especially in the hard wood districts, are beautiful in

their fresh unbroken solitude--not the solitude of desolation, but the

young wild loveliness of the untamed earth. The trees stand close and

thick, with straight pillar-like stems, unbroken by leaf or bough, which

all expand to the summit, as if for breathing space. There is little

brush wood, but myriads of plants and creepers, springing with the

summer's breath. The beautiful dog-wood's sweeping sprays and broad

leaves, the maiden-hairs glossy wreathes and pearly buds, and the soft

emerald moss, clothing the old fallen trees with its velvet tapestry,

and hiding their decay with its cool rich beauty, while the sun light

falls in golden tracery down the birch trees silver trunk, and the

sparkling water flashes in the rays, or sings on its sweet melody unseen

amid the luxuriant vegetation that conceals it.

Through this sweet path we held on our way, talking of every bard who

has said or sung the green wood's glories, whose fancied beauties were

here all realized. As we neared the clearings, we met frequent groups of

blue nose children gathering, with botanical skill, herbs for dyeing, or

carrying sheets of birch bark, which, to be fit for its many uses, must

be peeled from the trees in the full moon of June. On these children,

beautiful as young Greeks, with lustrous eyes and faultless features,

Grace said she could hardly yet look without an instinctive feeling of

awe and pity, cherishing as she did the partiality of her creed and

nation for infant baptism. To her there was something awful, in sight of

those unhallowed creatures, whose brows bore not the first symbol of

christianity. We having passed through the woods, were soon in a large

assemblage of native and adopted colonists.

The greater number of the native population, I think, are baptists, and

their ministers are either raised among themselves, or come from the

United States; or Nova Scotia. Once in every year a general association

is convened of the members of the society throughout the province, the

attendance on which gives ample proof of the greatness of their numbers,

as well as their fervency of feeling. This association is held in a

different part of the province each season--and generally lasts a week.

Reports are here made of the progress of their religion, the state of

funds, and of all other matters connected with the society. There is,

generally, at these conventions a revival of religious feeling, and

during the last days numerous converts are made and received by baptism

into the church. This meeting is looked forward too by the colonists

with many mingled feelings. By the grave and good it is hailed as an

event of sacred importance, and by the gay and thoughtless as a season

of sight-seeing and dress-displaying. Those in whose neighbourhood it

was last year are glad it is not be so this time; and those near the

place it is to be held, are calculating the sheep and poultry, the

molasses and flour it will take to supply the numerous guests they

expect on the occasion--open tables being kept at taverns, and private

houses are so no longer, but hospitably receive all who come. No harvest

is reaped by exorbitant charges for lodging, and all that is expected in

return, is the same clever treatment when their turn comes. This

convocation, occurring in the leisure spell between the end of planting

and the commencement of haying, is consequently no hindrance to the

agricultural part of the community; and old and young "off they come"

from Miramichi, from Acadia, and the Oromocto, in shay and waggon,

steam-boat and catamaran, on horseback or on foot, as best they can.

This day, one towards the conclusion, the large frame building was

crowded to excess, and outside were gathered groups, as may be seen in

some countries around the catholic chapels. Within, the long tiers of

benches display as fair an array of fashion and flowers as would be

seen in any similar congregation in any country. The days of going to

meeting in home-spun and raw hide moccasins are vanishing fast all

through the province. These are the solid constituents of every-day

apparel, but for holidays, even the bush maiden from the far-off

settlements of the gulph shore has a lace veil and silken shawl, and

these she arranges with infinitely more taste and grace than many a

damsel whose eye has never lost sight of the clearings. By far the

greater portion of the assembly have the dark eyes and intellectual

expression of face which declares them of American origin; and,

sprinkled among them, are the features which tell of England's born. The

son of Scotland, too, is here, although unwont to grace such gatherings

with his presence; yet this is an event of rare importance, and from its

occurrence in his immediate neighbourhood, he has come, we dare not say

to scoff, and yet about his expressive mouth their lingers a slight curl

of something like it. And here, too, the Hibernian forgets his

prejudices in the delight of being in a crowd. I do not class my friend

Grace along with this common herd, but even she became as deeply

interested as others in the discussion which was now going forward--this

was the time of transacting business, and the present subject one which

had occupied much attention. It was the appropriation of certain

funds--whether they should be applied towards increasing their seminary,

so as to fit it for the proper education of ministers for their church,

or whether they should not be applied to some other purpose, and their

priesthood be still allowed to spring uncultured from the mass. The

different opinions expressed regarding this, finely developed the

progress of mind throughout the land. Some white-headed fathers of the

sect, old refugees, who had left the bounds of civilization before they

had received any education, yet who had been gifted in the primitive

days of the colony to lead souls from sin, sternly declaimed against the

education system, declaring that grace, and grace alone, was what formed

the teacher. All else was of the earth earthy, and had nought to do with

heavenly things. One said that when he commenced preaching he could not

read the bible--he could do little more now, and yet throughout the

country many a soul owned its sickness to have been healed through him.

Another then rose and answered him--a native of the province, and of his

own persuasion, but who had drank from the springing fountains of

science and of holiness--the bright gushing of whose clear streams

sparkled through his discourse. I have since forgotten his language, but

I know that at the time nothing I had ever heard or read entranced me as

did it, glowing as it was with the new world's fervency of thought, and

the old world's wealth of learning. He pleaded, as such should, for

extended education, and his mighty words had power, and won the day. The

old men, stern in their prejudices as their zeal, were conquered, and

the baptists have now well conducted establishments of learning

throughout the province.

This discussion occupied the morning, and, at noon, we were invited home

to dinner by a person who sat next us at the meeting, but whom we had

never before seen. Some twelve or fourteen others formed our party,

rather a small one considering, but we were the second relay, another

party having already dined and proceeded to the meeting house, where

religious worship had commenced as soon as we left. Our meal was not so

varied in its details of cookery as the wealthier blue noses love to

treat their guests with. The number to be supplied, and the quantity of

provisions required, prevented this. It consisted of large joints of

veal and mutton, baked and boiled, with a stately pot-pie, on its

ponderous platter,--the standing dish in all these parts. Soon after

dinner we were given to understand the dipping was about to commence;

and walked along the shore to the place appointed for the purpose, in

the bright blue waters of the bay, which is here formed by an inlet of

the chief river of the province, the silver-rolling St. John. The scene

around us was wondrously rich and lovely--the bright green intervale

meadows with their lofty trees, the cloudless sky, the flashing waters,

and the balmy breeze, which bore the breath of the far-off spruce and

cedars. From the assembled throng, who had now left the meeting-house,

arose the hymns which form the principal part of their worship.

I have said the New Brunswickers are not, as yet, greatly favoured with

the gift of music; this may, in a great measure, arise from deficient

cultivation of the science, but at this time there was something strange

and pleasant in the quick chaunting strain they raised, so different

from the solemn sounds of sacred melody usual in other countries; and

even Grace, accustomed to the organ's pealing grandeur and lofty

anthems of her own church, was pleased with it. Still singing the

minister entered the water, the converts one by one joining him, and

singly became encircled in the shining waves: many of them were aged and

bowed with time, and now took up the cross in their declining days; and

others of the young and fair, who sought their creator in youth. It was

wondrous now to think of this once lonely stream of the western world,

the Indian's own Ounagandy. A few years since no voice had broke on its

solitude save the red man's war-whoop, or his shrieking death song--no

form been shadowed on its depths but the wild bird's wing, or the savage

speeding on the blood chase. Now its living pictures told the holy

records of the blessed east, and its waters typed the healing stream of

Jordan. After some more singing and prayers offered for the

newly-baptized, the ceremony was finished. 'Tis strange that on these

dipping occasions no cold is caught by the converts. I suppose the

excitement of the mind sustains the body; but persons are often baptised

in winter, in an opening made through the ice for the purpose, and walk

with their garments frozen around them without inconvenience, seeming to

prove the efficacy of hydropathy, by declaring how happy and comfortable

they feel. We, at the conclusion of the prayers, left the place, and

proceeded homewards in a canoe; this is a mode of locomotion much liked

by the river settlers, but to a stranger anything but agreeable. They

glide along the waters swift and smooth, but a slight cause upsets them,

and as perhaps you are not exactly certain about being born to be

hanged, you must sit perfectly still--you are warned to do this, but if

you are the least nervous, you will hardly dare to breathe, much less

move, and this, in a journey of any length, is not so pleasant. This

feeling, however, custom soon dispels; and when one sees little fairy

girls paddling themselves and a cargo of brothers and sisters to school,

or women with babies taking their wool to the carding mill, they feel

ashamed, and learn to keep the true balance.

Our light skiff, or bark rather, as it might be truely styled, being a

veritable Indian canoe, made of birch bark most cunningly put together,

these being so light as to float in shallow water, and to be easily

removed, are for this reason preferred by the Indians to more solid

materials, who carry them on their backs from stream to stream during

their peregrinations through the country, soon bore us over the diamond

water, whose mirrored surface we scarcely stirred, to the landing place,

whose marshy precincts were now all gemmed with the golden and purple

flowers of the sweet flag or calamus; and as the sun was yet high in the

glorious blue, we resolved to spend the remainder of the day with a

family living near; feeling, in this land of New Brunswick, no qualms

about a sudden visitation, knowing that a people so proverbial for being

"wide awake" can never be taken unawares. Their dwelling, a large frame

building painted most gaily in the bright warm hues the old Dutch

fancies of the states love to cherish, stands in the centre of rich

parks of intervale. The porch is here, as well as at the more humble

log-house, answering as it does in summer for a cool verandah, and in

winter as a shelter from the snows. This, the taste of the country

artist has erected on pillars, not recognisable as belonging to any

known order of architecture, yet here esteemed as tasty and beautiful,

and, as is his custom in the afternoon, is seated the owner of the

dwelling, Silas Mavin, one of that fast declining remnant--the refugees.

He had come from the United States at the revolution, and possessed

himself of this fair heritage in the days when squatting was in vogue;

those palmy days which the older inhabitants love to recall, when

government had not to be petitioned, as it has now, for leave to

purchase land, and when, in place of the now many-worded grant, with its

broad seals and official signatures, people made out their own right of

possession by raising their log-house, and placing the sign manual of

their axe in whatever trees they chose; when moose and caraboo were

plentiful as sheep and oxen are now; when salmon filled each stream, and

the wood-sheltered clearings ripened the Indian corn without failing.

In this land, young as it is, there are those who mourn for the times

gone by, and consider the increasing settlement of the country as their

worst evil; wilfully closing their eyes against improvement, they see

not the wide fields, waving fair with grass and wheat, but think it was

better when the dense forest shut out the breeze and reflected the

sunbeams down with greater strength on the corn, so dearly loved by the

American. They hear not the sound of the busy mill when they mourn for

the fish-deserted brooks, and forget that when moose meat was more

plentiful than now bread stuffs were ground in the wearying hand-mill.

One of this respectable class of grumblers was our present

acquaintance, and here he sat in his porch, with aspect grave as the

stoics--his tall form, although in ruins now, was stately in decay as

the old forest's pines. His head was such as a phrenologist would have

loved to look upon; the true platonic breadth of brow, and lofty

elevation of the scalp silvered over, told of a mind fitting in its

magnitude to spring from that gigantic continent whose streams are

mighty rivers and whose lakes are seas; but, valueless as these, when

embosomed in their native woods, were the treasures of the old man's

mind, unawakened as they were by education, and unpolished even by

contact with the open world, yet still, amid the crust contracted in the

life he had led, rays of the inward diamond glittered forth. The

wilderness had always been his dwelling--in the land he had left, his

early days had been passed in hunting the red deer or the red man on the

Prairie fields--there, with the true spirit of the old American, he had

learned to treat the Indian as "varment," although a kindlier feeling

was awakened towards them in this country, where white as well as red

were recipients of England's bounty, and many a tale of wild pathos or

dark horror has he told of the experience of his youth with the people

of the wild. In New Brunswick his days had passed more peacefully. He

sat this evening with his chair poised in that aerial position on one

leg which none but an American can attain. Ambitious emigrants, wishing

to be thought cute, attempt this delicate point of Yankee character, but

their awkwardness falling short of the easy swing necessary for the

purpose, often brings them to the ground. A beautiful English cherry

tree, with its snowy wreathes in full blow, stood before him; he had

raised it from the seed, and loved to look upon it. It had evidently

been the object of his meditations, and served him now as a type

wherewith to illustrate his remarks respecting the meeting we had

attended--like those professors of religion we to-day heard, he said,

was his beautiful cherry tree. It gave forth fair green leaves of

promise and bright truth-seeming blossoms, but in summer, when he sought

for fruit there was none; and false as it, were they of words so fair

and deeds so dark, and he'd "double sooner trust one who laughed more

and prayed less, than those same whining preachers." This was the old

man's opinion, not only respecting the baptists, but all other sects as

well. What his own ideas of religion were I never could make out.

Universalism I fancied it was, but differing much from the theories of

those evanescent preachers who sometimes flashed like meteors through

the land, leaving doubt and recklessness in their path. The first truths

of Christianity had been imparted to him, and these, mingling with his

own innate ideas of veneration, formed his faith; as original, though

more lofty in its aspirations, than the wild Indian's who tells of the

flowery land of souls where the good spirit dwells, and where buffalo

and deer forsake not the hunting grounds of the blessed. He held no

outward form or right of sanctity. The ceremony which bound him to his

wife was simply legal, having been read over by the nearest magistrate.

His children were unbaptised, and the green graves of his household were

in his own field, although a public burying-ground was by the

meeting-house of the settlement.

Meanwhile the old lady, who had hailed our advent with the hospitality

of her country, set about preparing our entertainment. Tradition says of

the puritans, the pilgrims of New England, that when they first stood on

Plymouth Rock, on their first arrival from Europe, they bore the bible

under one arm and a cookery book under the other. Now, as to their

descendants, the refugees, I am not exactly sure if, when they

pilgrimised to New Brunswick, they were so careful of the bible, but I

am certain they retain the precepts of the cookery book, and love to

embody them when they may. Soon as a guest comes within ken of a blue

nose, the delightful operations commence. The poorer class shifting with

Johnny-cake and pumpkin, while, with the better off, the airy phantoms

of custard and curls, which flit through their brains, are called into

tangible existence. The air is impregnated with allspice and

nutmeg--apple "sarce" and cranberry "persarves" become visible, while

sal-a-ratus and molasses are evidently in the ascendant.

And now, while our hostess of this evening busied herself in compounding

these sweet mysteries, the old man related to us the following love

passage of his earlier days, which I shall give in my own language,

although his original expressions rendered it infinitely more

interesting.