OUR FIRST SETTLEMENT, AND THE BORROWING SYSTEM
To lend, or not to lend--is that the question?
“Those who go a-borrowing, go a-sorrowing,” saith the old adage; and
a wiser saw never came out of the mouth of experience. I have tested
the truth of this proverb since my settlement in Canada, many, many
times, to my cost; and what emigrant has not? So averse have I ever
been to this practice, that I would at all times rather quietly
submit to a temporary inconvenience than obtain anything I wanted
in this manner. I verily believe that a demon of mischief presides
over borrowed goods, and takes a wicked pleasure in playing off
a thousand malicious pranks upon you the moment he enters your
dwelling. Plates and dishes, that had been the pride and ornament of
their own cupboard for years, no sooner enter upon foreign service
than they are broken; wine-glasses and tumblers, that have been
handled by a hundred careless wenches in safety, scarcely pass into
the hands of your servants when they are sure to tumble upon the
floor, and the accident turns out a compound fracture. If you borrow
a garment of any kind, be sure that you will tear it; a watch, that
you will break it; a jewel, that you will lose it; a book, that it
will be stolen from you. There is no end to the trouble and vexation
arising out of this evil habit. If you borrow a horse, and he has
the reputation of being the best-behaved animal in the district,
you no sooner become responsible for his conduct than he loses
his character. The moment that you attempt to drive him, he shows
that he has a will of his own, by taking the reins into his own
management, and running away in a contrary direction to the road
that you wished him to travel. He never gives over his eccentric
capers until he has broken his own knees, and the borrowed carriage
and harness. So anxious are you about his safety, that you have not
a moment to bestow upon your own. And why?--the beast is borrowed,
and you are expected to return him in as good condition as he came
to you.
But of all evils, to borrow money is perhaps the worst. If of a
friend, he ceases to be one the moment you feel that you are
bound to him by the heavy clog of obligation. If of a usurer, the
interest, in this country, soon doubles the original sum, and you
owe an increasing debt, which in time swallows up all you possess.
When we first came to the colony, nothing surprised me more than
the extent to which this pernicious custom was carried, both by the
native Canadians, the European settlers, and the lower order of
Americans. Many of the latter had spied out the goodness of the
land, and _borrowed_ various portions of it, without so much as
asking leave of the absentee owners. Unfortunately, our new home
was surrounded by these odious squatters, whom we found as ignorant
as savages, without their courtesy and kindness.
The place we first occupied was purchased of Mr. B----, a merchant,
who took it in payment of sundry large debts which the owner, a New
England loyalist, had been unable to settle. Old Joe R----, the
present occupant, had promised to quit it with his family, at the
commencement of sleighing; and as the bargain was concluded in the
month of September, and we were anxious to plough for fall wheat, it
was necessary to be upon the spot. No house was to be found in the
immediate neighbourhood, save a small dilapidated log tenement, on
an adjoining farm (which was scarcely reclaimed from the bush) that
had been some months without an owner. The merchant assured is that
this could be made very comfortable until such time as it suited
R---- to remove, and the owner was willing to let us have it for the
moderate sum of four dollars a month.
Trusting to Mr. B----'s word, and being strangers in the land,
we never took the precaution to examine this delightful summer
residence before entering upon it, but thought ourselves very
fortunate in obtaining a temporary home so near our own property,
the distance not exceeding half a mile. The agreement was drawn
up, and we were told that we could take possession whenever it
suited us.
The few weeks that I had sojourned in the country had by no means
prepossessed me in its favour. The home-sickness was sore upon me,
and all my solitary hours were spent in tears. My whole soul yielded
itself up to a strong and overpowering grief. One simple word dwelt
for ever in my heart, and swelled it to bursting--“Home!” I repeated
it waking a thousand times a day, and my last prayer before I sank
to sleep was still “Home! Oh, that I could return, if only to die
at home!” And nightly I did return; my feet again trod the daisied
meadows of England; the song of her birds was in my ears; I wept
with delight to find myself once more wandering beneath the fragrant
shade of her green hedge-rows; and I awoke to weep in earnest when I
found it but a dream. But this is all digression, and has nothing to
do with our unseen dwelling. The reader must bear with me in my fits
of melancholy, and take me as I am.
It was the 22nd September that we left the Steam-boat Hotel, to take
possession of our new abode. During the three weeks we had sojourned
at ----, I had not seen a drop of rain, and I began to think that the
fine weather would last for ever; but this eventful day arose in
clouds. Moodie had hired a covered carriage to convey the baby, the
servant-maid, and myself to the farm, as our driver prognosticated
a wet day; while he followed with Tom Wilson and the teams that
conveyed our luggage.
The scenery through which we were passing was so new to me, so
unlike anything that I had ever beheld before, that in spite of its
monotonous character, it won me from my melancholy, and I began to
look about me with considerable interest. Not so my English servant,
who declared that the woods were frightful to look upon; that it was
a country only fit for wild beasts; that she hated it with all her
heart and soul, and would go back as soon as she was able.
About a mile from the place of our destination the rain began to
fall in torrents, and the air, which had been balmy as a spring
morning, turned as chilly as that of a November day. Hannah
shivered; the baby cried, and I drew my summer shawl as closely
round as possible, to protect her from the sudden change in our
hitherto delightful temperature. Just then, the carriage turned into
a narrow, steep path, overhung with lofty woods, and after labouring
up it with considerable difficulty, and at the risk of breaking our
necks, it brought us at length to a rocky upland clearing, partially
covered with a second growth of timber, and surrounded on all sides
by the dark forest.
“I guess,” quoth our Yankee driver, “that at the bottom of this 'ere
swell, you'll find yourself to hum;” and plunging into a short path
cut through the wood, he pointed to a miserable hut, at the bottom
of a steep descent, and cracking his whip, exclaimed, “'Tis a smart
location that. I wish you Britishers may enjoy it.”
I gazed upon the place in perfect dismay, for I had never seen such
a shed called a house before. “You must be mistaken; that is not a
house, but a cattle-shed, or pig-sty.”
The man turned his knowing, keen eye upon me, and smiled,
half-humorously, half-maliciously, as he said--
“You were raised in the old country, I guess; you have much to
learn, and more, perhaps, than you'll like to know, before the
winter is over.”
I was perfectly bewildered--I could only stare at the place, with
my eyes swimming in tears; but as the horses plunged down into the
broken hollow, my attention was drawn from my new residence to the
perils which endangered life and limb at every step. The driver,
however, was well used to such roads, and, steering us dexterously
between the black stumps, at length drove up, not to the door, for
there was none to the house, but to the open space from which that
absent but very necessary appendage had been removed. Three young
steers and two heifers, which the driver proceeded to drive out,
were quietly reposing upon the floor. A few strokes of his whip,
and a loud burst of gratuitous curses, soon effected an ejectment;
and I dismounted, and took possession of this untenable tenement.
Moodie was not yet in sight with the teams. I begged the man to stay
until he arrived, as I felt terrified at being left alone in this
wild, strange-looking place. He laughed, as well he might, at our
fears, and said that he had a long way to go, and must be off; then,
cracking his whip, and nodding to the girl, who was crying aloud, he
went his way, and Hannah and myself were left standing in the middle
of the dirty floor.
The prospect was indeed dreary. Without, pouring rain; within, a
fireless hearth; a room with but one window, and that containing
only one whole pane of glass; not an article of furniture to be
seen, save an old painted pine-wood cradle, which had been left
there by some freak of fortune. This, turned upon its side, served
us for a seat, and there we impatiently awaited the arrival of
Moodie, Wilson, and a man whom the former had hired that morning
to assist on the farm. Where they were all to be stowed might have
puzzled a more sagacious brain than mine. It is true there was a
loft, but I could see no way of reaching it, for ladder there was
none, so we amused ourselves, while waiting for the coming of our
party, by abusing the place, the country, and our own dear selves
for our folly in coming to it.
Now, when not only reconciled to Canada, but loving it, and feeling
a deep interest in its present welfare, and the fair prospect of its
future greatness, I often look back and laugh at the feelings with
which I then regarded this noble country.
When things come to the worst, they generally mend. The males of
our party no sooner arrived than they set about making things more
comfortable. James, our servant, pulled up some of the decayed
stumps, with which the small clearing that surrounded the shanty
was thickly covered, and made a fire, and Hannah roused herself
from the stupor of despair, and seized the corn-broom from the top
of the loaded waggon, and began to sweep the house, raising such an
intolerable cloud of dust that I was glad to throw my cloak over my
head, and run out of doors, to avoid suffocation. Then commenced
the awful bustle of unloading the two heavily-loaded waggons. The
small space within the house was soon entirely blocked up with
trunks and packages of all descriptions. There was scarcely room
to move, without stumbling over some article of household stuff.
The rain poured in at the open door, beat in at the shattered
window, and dropped upon our heads from the holes in the roof. The
wind blew keenly through a thousand apertures in the log walls; and
nothing could exceed the uncomfortableness of our situation. For a
long time the box which contained a hammer and nails was not to be
found. At length Hannah discovered it, tied up with some bedding
which she was opening out in order to dry. I fortunately spied the
door lying among some old boards at the back of the house, and
Moodie immediately commenced fitting it to its place. This, once
accomplished, was a great addition to our comfort. We then nailed
a piece of white cloth entirely over the broken window, which,
without diminishing the light, kept out the rain. James constructed
a ladder out of the old bits of boards, and Tom Wilson assisted him
in stowing the luggage away in the loft.
But what has this picture of misery and discomfort to do with
borrowing? Patience, my dear, good friends; I will tell you all
about it by-and-by.
While we were all busily employed--even the poor baby, who was lying
upon a pillow in the old cradle, trying the strength of her lungs,
and not a little irritated that no one was at leisure to regard her
laudable endeavours to make herself heard--the door was suddenly
pushed open, and the apparition of a woman squeezed itself into the
crowded room. I left off arranging the furniture of a bed, that had
been just put up in a corner, to meet my unexpected, and at that
moment, not very welcome guest. Her whole appearance was so
extraordinary that I felt quite at a loss how to address her.
Imagine a girl of seventeen or eighteen years of age, with sharp,
knowing-looking features, a forward, impudent carriage, and a pert,
flippant voice, standing upon one of the trunks, and surveying all
our proceedings in the most impertinent manner. The creature was
dressed in a ragged, dirty purple stuff gown, cut very low in the
neck, with an old red cotton handkerchief tied over her head; her
uncombed, tangled locks falling over her thin, inquisitive face, in
a state of perfect nature. Her legs and feet were bare, and, in her
coarse, dirty red hands, she swung to and fro an empty glass
decanter.
“What can she want?” I asked myself. “What a strange creature!”
And there she stood, staring at me in the most unceremonious manner,
her keen black eyes glancing obliquely to every corner of the room,
which she examined with critical exactness.
Before I could speak to her, she commenced the conversation by
drawling through her nose, “Well, I guess you are fixing here.”
I thought she had come to offer her services; and I told her that
I did not want a girl, for I had brought one out with me.
“How!” responded the creature, “I hope you don't take me for a help.
I'd have you to know that I'm as good a lady as yourself. No; I just
stepped over to see what was going on. I seed the teams pass our'n
about noon, and I says to father, 'Them strangers are cum; I'll go
and look arter them.' 'Yes,' says he, 'do--and take the decanter
along. May be they'll want one to put their whiskey in.' 'I'm goin
to,' says I; so I cum across with it, an' here it is. But,
mind--don't break it--'tis the only one we have to hum; and father
says 'tis so mean to drink out of green glass.”
My surprise increased every minute. It seemed such an act of
disinterested generosity thus to anticipate wants we had never
thought of. I was regularly taken in.
“My good girl,” I began, “this is really very kind--but--”
“Now, don't go to call me 'gall'--and pass off your English airs
on us. We are _genuine_ Yankees, and think ourselves as good--yes,
a great deal better than you. I am a young lady.”
“Indeed!” said I, striving to repress my astonishment. “I am a
stranger in the country, and my acquaintance with Canadian ladies
and gentlemen is very small. I did not mean to offend you by using
the term girl; I was going to assure you that we had no need of the
decanter. We have bottles of our own--and we don't drink whiskey.”
“How! Not drink whiskey? Why, you don't say! How ignorant you must
be! may be they have no whiskey in the old country?”
“Yes, we have; but it is not like the Canadian whiskey. But, pray
take the decanter home again--I am afraid that it will get broken
in this confusion.”
“No, no; father told me to leave it--and there it is;” and she
planted it resolutely down on the trunk. “You will find a use for
it till you have unpacked your own.”
Seeing that she was determined to leave the bottle, I said no more
about it, but asked her to tell me where the well was to be found.
“The well!” she repeated after me, with a sneer. “Who thinks of
digging wells when they can get plenty of water from the creek?
There is a fine water privilege not a stone's-throw from the door,”
and, jumping off the box, she disappeared as abruptly as she had
entered. We all looked at each other; Tom Wilson was highly amused,
and laughed until he held his sides.
“What tempted her to bring this empty bottle here?” said Moodie.
“It is all an excuse; the visit, Tom, was meant for you.”
“You'll know more about it in a few days,” said James, looking up
from his work. “That bottle is not brought here for nought.”
I could not unravel the mystery, and thought no more about it, until
it was again brought to my recollection by the damsel herself.
Our united efforts had effected a complete transformation in our
uncouth dwelling. Sleeping-berths had been partitioned off for the
men; shelves had been put up for the accommodation of books and
crockery, a carpet covered the floor, and the chairs and tables we
had brought from ---- gave an air of comfort to the place, which, on
the first view of it, I deemed impossible. My husband, Mr. Wilson,
and James, had walked over to inspect the farm, and I was sitting at
the table at work, the baby creeping upon the floor, and Hannah
preparing dinner. The sun shone warm and bright, and the open door
admitted a current of fresh air, which tempered the heat of the fire.
“Well, I guess you look smart,” said the Yankee damsel, presenting
herself once more before me. “You old country folks are so stiff,
you must have every thing nice, or you fret. But, then, you can
easily do it; you have stacks of money; and you can fix everything
right off with money.”
“Pray take a seat,” and I offered her a chair, “and be kind enough
to tell me your name. I suppose you must live in the neighbourhood,
although I cannot perceive any dwelling near us.”
“My name! So you want to know my name. I arn't ashamed of my own;
'tis Emily S----. I am eldest daughter to the _gentleman_ who owns
this house.”
“What must the father be,” thought I, “if he resembles the young
_lady_, his daughter?”
Imagine a young lady, dressed in ragged petticoats, through whose
yawning rents peeped forth, from time to time, her bare red knees,
with uncombed elf-locks, and a face and hands that looked as if they
had been unwashed for a month--who did not know A from B, and
despised those who did. While these reflections, combined with a
thousand ludicrous images, were flitting through my mind, my strange
visitor suddenly exclaimed--
“Have you done with that 'ere decanter I brought across yesterday?”
“Oh, yes! I have no occasion for it.” I rose, took it from the
shelf, and placed it in her hand.
“I guess you won't return it empty; that would be mean, father says.
He wants it filled with whiskey.”
The mystery was solved, the riddle made clear. I could contain my
gravity no longer, but burst into a hearty fit of laughter, in which
I was joined by Hannah. Our young lady was mortally offended; she
tossed the decanter from hand to hand, and glared at us with her
tiger-like eyes.
“You think yourselves smart! Why do you laugh in that way?”
“Excuse me--but you have such an odd way of borrowing that I cannot
help it. This bottle, it seems, was brought over for your own
convenience, not for mine. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I have
no whiskey.”
“I guess spirits will do as well; I know there is some in that keg,
for I smells it.”
“It contains rum for the workmen.”
“Better still. I calculate when you've been here a few months,
you'll be too knowing to give rum to your helps. But old country
folks are all fools, and that's the reason they get so easily sucked
in, and be so soon wound-up. Cum, fill the bottle, and don't be
stingy. In this country we all live by borrowing. If you want
anything, why just send and borrow from us.”
Thinking that this might be the custom of the country, I hastened to
fill the decanter, hoping that I might get a little new milk for the
poor weanling child in return; but when I asked my liberal visitor
if she kept cows, and would lend me a little new milk for the baby,
she burst out into high disdain. “Milk! Lend milk? I guess milk in
the fall is worth a York shilling a quart. I cannot sell you a drop
under.”
This was a wicked piece of extortion, as the same article in the
town, where, of course, it was in greater request, only brought
three-pence the quart.
“If you'll pay me for it, I'll bring you some to-morrow. But
mind--cash down.”
“And when do you mean to return the rum?” I said, with some
asperity.
“When father goes to the creek.” This was the name given by my
neighbours to the village of P----, distant about four miles.
Day after day I was tormented by this importunate creature; she
borrowed of me tea, sugar, candles, starch, blueing, irons, pots,
bowls--in short, every article in common domestic use--while it was
with the utmost difficulty we could get them returned. Articles of
food, such as tea and sugar, or of convenience, like candles,
starch, and soap, she never dreamed of being required at her hands.
This method of living upon their neighbours is a most convenient one
to unprincipled people, as it does not involve the penalty of
stealing; and they can keep the goods without the unpleasant
necessity of returning them, or feeling the moral obligation of
being grateful for their use. Living eight miles from ----, I found
these constant encroachments a heavy burden on our poor purse; and
being ignorant of the country, and residing in such a lonely,
out-of-the-way place, surrounded by these savages, I was really
afraid of denying their requests.
The very day our new plough came home, the father of this bright
damsel, who went by the familiar and unenviable title of Old Satan,
came over to borrow it (though we afterwards found out that he had a
good one of his own). The land had never been broken up, and was
full of rocks and stumps, and he was anxious to save his own from
injury; the consequence was that the borrowed implement came home
unfit for use, just at the very time that we wanted to plough for
fall wheat. The same happened to a spade and trowel, bought in
order to plaster the house. Satan asked the loan of them for _one_
hour for the same purpose, and we never saw them again.
The daughter came one morning, as usual, on one of these swindling
expeditions, and demanded of me the loan of some fine slack. Not
knowing what she meant by fine slack, and weary of her
importunities, I said I had none. She went away in a rage. Shortly
after she came again for some pepper. I was at work, and my work-box
was open upon the table, well stored with threads and spools of all
descriptions. Miss Satan cast her hawk's eye into it, and burst out
in her usual rude manner--
“I guess you told me a tarnation big lie the other day.”
Unaccustomed to such language, I rose from my seat, and pointing to
the door, told her to walk out, as I did not choose to be insulted
in my own house.
“Your house! I'm sure it's father's,” returned the incorrigible
wretch. “You told me that you had no fine slack, and you have
stacks of it.”
“What is fine slack?” said I, very pettishly.
“The stuff that's wound upon these 'ere pieces of wood,” pouncing as
she spoke upon one of my most serviceable spools.
“I cannot give you that; I want it myself.”
“I didn't ask you to give it. I only wants to borrow it till father
goes to the creek.”
“I wish he would make haste, then, as I want a number of things
which you have borrowed of me, and which I cannot longer do
without.”
She gave me a knowing look, and carried off my spool in triumph.
I happened to mention the manner in which I was constantly annoyed
by these people, to a worthy English farmer who resided near us;
and he fell a-laughing, and told me that I did not know the Canadian
Yankees as well as he did, or I should not be troubled with them long.
“The best way,” says he, “to get rid of them, is to ask them sharply
what they want; and if they give you no satisfactory answer, order
them to leave the house; but I believe I can put you in a better way
still. Buy some small article of them, and pay them a trifle over
the price, and tell them to bring the change. I will lay my life
upon it that it will be long before they trouble you again.”
I was impatient to test the efficacy of his scheme That very
afternoon Miss Satan brought me a plate of butter for sale.
The price was three and ninepence; twice the sum, by-the-bye,
that it was worth.
“I have no change,” giving her a dollar; “but you can bring it me
to-morrow.”
Oh, blessed experiment! for the value of one quarter dollar I got
rid of this dishonest girl for ever; rather than pay me, she never
entered the house again.
About a month after this, I was busy making an apple-pie in the
kitchen. A cadaverous-looking woman, very long-faced and witch-like,
popped her ill-looking visage into the door, and drawled through her
nose--
“Do you want to buy a rooster?”
Now, the sucking-pigs with which we had been regaled every day
for three weeks at the tavern, were called roasters; and not
understanding the familiar phrases of the country, I thought she
had a sucking-pig to sell.
“Is it a good one?”
“I guess 'tis.”
“What do you ask for it?”
“Two Yorkers.”
“That is very cheap, if it is any weight. I don't like them under
ten or twelve pounds.”
“Ten or twelve pounds! Why, woman, what do you mean? Would you
expect a rooster to be bigger nor a turkey?”
We stared at each other. There was evidently some misconception
on my part.
“Bring the roaster up; and if I like it, I will buy it, though
I must confess that I am not very fond of roast pig.”
“Do you call this a pig?” said my she-merchant, drawing a fine
game-cock from under her cloak.
I laughed heartily at my mistake, as I paid her down the money for
the bonny bird. This little matter settled, I thought she would take
her departure; but that rooster proved the dearest fowl to me that
ever was bought.
“Do you keep backy and snuff here?” says she, sideling close up to me.
“We make no use of those articles.”
“How! Not use backy and snuff? That's oncommon.”
She paused, then added in a mysterious, confidential tone--
“I want to ask you how your tea-caddy stands?”
“It stands in the cupboard,” said I, wondering what all this might
mean.
“I know that; but have you any tea to spare?”
I now began to suspect what sort of a customer the stranger was.
“Oh, you want to borrow some? I have none to spare.”
“You don't say so. Well now, that's stingy. I never asked anything
of you before. I am poor, and you are rich; besides, I'm troubled so
with the headache, and nothing does me any good but a cup of strong
tea.”
“The money I have just given you will buy a quarter of a pound of
the best.”
“I guess that isn't mine. The fowl belonged to my neighbour. She's
sick; and I promised to sell it for her to buy some physic. Money!”
she added, in a coaxing tone, “Where should I get money? Lord bless
you! people in this country have no money; and those who come out
with piles of it, soon lose it. But Emily S---- told me that you are
tarnation rich, and draw your money from the old country. So I guess
you can well afford to lend a neighbour a spoonful of tea.”
“Neighbour! Where do you live, and what is your name?”
“My name is Betty Fye--old Betty Fye; I live in the log shanty over
the creek, at the back of your'n. The farm belongs to my eldest son.
I'm a widow with twelve sons; and 'tis ---- hard to scratch along.”
“Do you swear?”
“Swear! What harm? It eases one's mind when one's vexed. Everybody
swears in this country. My boys all swear like Sam Hill; and I used
to swear mighty big oaths till about a month ago, when the Methody
parson told me that if I did not leave it off I should go to a
tarnation bad place; so I dropped some of the worst of them.”
“You would do wisely to drop the rest; women never swear in my
country.”
“Well, you don't say! I always heer'd they were very ignorant.
Will you lend me the tea?”
The woman was such an original that I gave her what she wanted.
As she was going off, she took up one of the apples I was peeling.
“I guess you have a fine orchard?”
“They say the best in the district.”
“We have no orchard to hum, and I guess you'll want sarce.”
“Sarce! What is sarce?”
“Not know what sarce is? You are clever! Sarce is apples cut up and
dried, to make into pies in the winter. Now do you comprehend?”
I nodded.
“Well, I was going to say that I have no apples, and that you have a
tarnation big few of them; and if you'll give me twenty bushels of
your best apples, and find me with half a pound of coarse thread to
string them upon, I will make you a barrel of sarce on shares--that
is, give you one, and keep one for myself.”
I had plenty of apples, and I gladly accepted her offer, and Mrs.
Betty Fye departed, elated with the success of her expedition.
I found to my cost, that, once admitted into the house, there was no
keeping her away. She borrowed everything that she could think of,
without once dreaming of restitution. I tried all ways of affronting
her, but without success. Winter came, and she was still at her old
pranks. Whenever I saw her coming down the lane, I used
involuntarily to exclaim, “Betty Fye! Betty Fye! Fye upon Betty Fye!
The Lord deliver me from Betty Fye!” The last time I was honoured
with a visit from this worthy, she meant to favour me with a very
large order upon my goods and chattels.
“Well, Mrs. Fye, what do you want to-day?”
“So many things that I scarce know where to begin. Ah, what a thing
'tis to be poor! First, I want you to lend me ten pounds of flour to
make some Johnnie cakes.”
“I thought they were made of Indian meal?”
“Yes, yes, when you've got the meal. I'm out of it, and this is a
new fixing of my own invention. Lend me the flour, woman, and I'll
bring you one of the cakes to taste.”
This was said very coaxingly.
“Oh, pray don't trouble yourself. What next?” I was anxious to see
how far her impudence would go, and determined to affront her if
possible.
“I want you to lend me a gown, and a pair of stockings. I have to go
to Oswego to see my husband's sister, and I'd like to look decent.”
“Mrs. Fye, I never lend my clothes to any one. If I lent them to
you, I should never wear them again.”
“So much the better for me,” (with a knowing grin). “I guess if you
won't lend me the gown, you will let me have some black slack to
quilt a stuff petticoat, a quarter of a pound of tea and some sugar;
and I will bring them back as soon as I can.”
“I wonder when that will be. You owe me so many things that it will
cost you more than you imagine to repay me.”
“Sure you're not going to mention what's past, I can't owe you much.
But I will let you off the tea and the sugar, if you will lend me a
five-dollar bill.” This was too much for my patience longer to
endure, and I answered sharply--
“Mrs. Fye, it surprises me that such proud people as you Americans
should condescend to the meanness of borrowing from those whom you
affect to despise. Besides, as you never repay us for what you
pretend to borrow, I look upon it as a system of robbery. If
strangers unfortunately settle among you, their good-nature is taxed
to supply your domestic wants, at a ruinous expense, besides the
mortification of finding that they have been deceived and tricked
out of their property. If you would come honestly to me and say,
'I want these things, I am too poor to buy them myself, and would be
obliged to you to give them to me,' I should then acknowledge you as
a common beggar, and treat you accordingly; give or not give, as it
suited my convenience. But in the way in which you obtain these
articles from me, you are spared even a debt of gratitude; for you
well know that the many things which you have borrowed from me will
be a debt owing to the Day of Judgment.”
“S'pose they are,” quoth Betty, not in the least abashed at my
lecture on honesty, “you know what the Scripture saith, 'It is
more blessed to give than to receive.'”
“Ay, there is an answer to that in the same book, which doubtless
you may have heard,” said I, disgusted with her hypocrisy, “'The
wicked borroweth, and payeth not again.'”
Never shall I forget the furious passion into which this too apt
quotation threw my unprincipled applicant. She lifted up her voice
and cursed me, using some of the big oaths temporarily discarded for
conscience sake. And so she left me, and I never looked upon her
face again.
When I removed to our own house, the history of which, and its
former owner, I will give by-and-by, we had a bony, red-headed,
ruffianly American squatter, who had “left his country for his
country's good,” for an opposite neighbour. I had scarcely time
to put my house in order before his family commenced borrowing,
or stealing from me. It is even worse than stealing, the things
procured from you being obtained on false pretences--adding lying
to theft. Not having either an oven or a cooking stove, which at
that period were not so cheap or so common as they are now, I had
provided myself with a large bake-kettle as a substitute. In this
kettle we always cooked hot cakes for breakfast, preferring that to
the trouble of thawing the frozen bread. This man's wife was in the
habit of sending over for my kettle whenever she wanted to bake,
which, as she had a large family, happened nearly every day, and
I found her importunity a great nuisance.
I told the impudent lad so, who was generally sent for it; and asked
him what they did to bake their bread before I came.
“I guess we had to eat cakes in the pan; but now we can borrow this
kettle of your'n, mother can fix bread.”
I told him that he could have the kettle this time; but I must
decline letting his mother have it in future, for I wanted it for
the same purpose.
The next day passed over. The night was intensely cold, and I did
not rise so early as usual in the morning. My servant was away at a
quilting bee, and we were still in bed, when I heard the latch of
the kitchen-door lifted up, and a step crossed the floor. I jumped
out of bed, and began to dress as fast as I could, when Philander
called out, in his well-known nasal twang--
“Missus! I'm come for the kettle.”
I (through the partition ): “You can't have it this morning. We
cannot get our breakfast without it.”
Philander: “Nor more can the old woman to hum,” and, snatching up
the kettle, which had been left to warm on the hearth, he rushed out
of the house, singing, at the top of his voice--
“Hurrah for the Yankee Boys!”
When James came home for his breakfast, I sent him across to demand
the kettle, and the dame very coolly told him that when she had done
with it I _might_ have it, but she defied him to take it out of her
house with her bread in it.
One word more about this lad, Philander, before we part with him.
Without the least intimation that his company would be agreeable,
or even tolerated, he favoured us with it at all hours of the day,
opening the door and walking in and out whenever he felt inclined.
I had given him many broad hints that his presence was not required,
but he paid not the slightest attention to what I said. One morning
he marched in with his hat on, and threw himself down in the
rocking-chair, just as I was going to dress my baby.
“Philander, I want to attend to the child; I cannot do it with you
here. Will you oblige me by going into the kitchen?”
No answer. He seldom spoke during these visits, but wandered about
the room, turning over our books and papers, looking at and handling
everything. Nay, I have even known him to take a lid off from the
pot on the fire, to examine its contents.
I repeated my request.
Philander: “Well, I guess I shan't hurt the young 'un. You can
dress her.”
I: “But not with you here.”
Philander: “Why not? _We_ never do anything that we are ashamed of.”
I: “So it seems. But I want to sweep the room--you had better get
out of the dust.”
I took the broom from the corner, and began to sweep; still my
visitor did not stir. The dust rose in clouds; he rubbed his eyes,
and moved a little nearer to the door. Another sweep, and, to escape
its inflictions, he mounted the threshold. I had him now at a fair
advantage, and fairly swept him out, and shut the door in his face.
Philander (looking through the window ): “Well, I guess you did me
then; but 'tis deuced hard to outwit a Yankee.”
This freed me from his company, and he, too, never repeated his
visit; so I found by experience, that once smartly rebuked, they did
not like to try their strength with you a second time.
When a sufficient time had elapsed for the drying of my twenty
bushels of apples, I sent a Cornish lad, in our employ, to Betty
Fye's, to inquire if they were ready, and when I should send the
cart for them.
Dan returned with a yellow, smoke-dried string of pieces, dangling
from his arm. Thinking that these were a specimen of the whole, I
inquired when we were to send the barrel for the rest.
“Lord, ma'am, this is all there be.”
“Impossible! All out of twenty bushels of apples!”
“Yes,” said the boy, with a grin. “The old witch told me that this
was all that was left of your share; that when they were fixed
enough, she put them under her bed for safety, and the mice and the
children had eaten them all up but this string.”
This ended my dealings with Betty Fye.
I had another incorrigible borrower in the person of old Betty B----.
This Betty was unlike the rest of my Yankee borrowers; she was
handsome in her person, and remarkably civil, and she asked for the
loan of everything in such a frank, pleasant manner, that for some
time I hardly knew how to refuse her. After I had been a loser to a
considerable extent, and declined lending her any more, she
refrained from coming to the house herself, but sent in her name the
most beautiful boy in the world; a perfect cherub, with regular
features, blue, smiling eyes, rosy cheeks, and lovely curling auburn
hair, who said, in the softest tones imaginable, that mammy had sent
him, with her compliments, to the English lady to ask the loan of a
little sugar or tea. I could easily have refused the mother, but I
could not find it in my heart to say nay to her sweet boy.
There was something original about Betty B----, and I must give a
slight sketch of her.
She lived in a lone shanty in the woods, which had been erected by
lumberers some years before, and which was destitute of a single
acre of clearing; yet Betty had plenty of potatoes, without the
trouble of planting, or the expense of buying; she never kept a cow,
yet she sold butter and milk; but she had a fashion, and it proved a
convenient one to her, of making pets of the cattle of her
neighbours. If our cows strayed from their pastures, they were
always found near Betty's shanty, for she regularly supplied them
with salt, which formed a sort of bond of union between them; and,
in return for these little attentions, they suffered themselves to
be milked before they returned to their respective owners. Her mode
of obtaining eggs and fowls was on the same economical plan, and we
all looked upon Betty as a sort of freebooter, living upon the
property of others. She had had three husbands, and he with whom she
now lived was not her husband, although the father of the splendid
child whose beauty so won upon my woman's heart. Her first husband
was still living (a thing by no means uncommon among persons of her
class in Canada), and though they had quarrelled and parted years
ago, he occasionally visited his wife to see her eldest daughter,
Betty the younger, who was his child. She was now a fine girl of
sixteen, as beautiful as her little brother. Betty's second husband
had been killed in one of our fields by a tree falling upon him
while ploughing under it. He was buried upon the spot, part of the
blackened stump forming his monument. In truth, Betty's character
was none of the best, and many of the respectable farmers' wives
regarded her with a jealous eye.
“I am so jealous of that nasty Betty B----,” said the wife of an
Irish captain in the army, and our near neighbour, to me, one day as
we were sitting at work together. She was a West Indian, and a negro
by the mother's side, but an uncommonly fine-looking mulatto, very
passionate, and very watchful over the conduct of her husband. “Are
you not afraid of letting Captain Moodie go near her shanty?”
“No, indeed; and if I were so foolish as to be jealous, it would not
be of old Betty, but of the beautiful young Betty, her daughter.”
Perhaps this was rather mischievous on my part, for the poor dark
lady went off in a frantic fit of jealousy, but this time it was not
of old Betty.
Another American squatter was always sending over to borrow a
small-tooth comb, which she called a vermin destroyer; and once the
same person asked the loan of a towel, as a friend had come from the
States to visit her, and the only one she had, had been made into a
best “pinny” for the child; she likewise begged a sight in the
looking-glass, as she wanted to try on a new cap, to see if it were
fixed to her mind. This woman must have been a mirror of neatness
when compared with her dirty neighbours.
One night I was roused up from my bed for the loan of a pair of
“steelyards.” For what purpose think you, gentle reader? To weigh
a new-born infant. The process was performed by tying the poor
squalling thing up in a small shawl, and suspending it to one of
the hooks. The child was a fine boy, and weighed ten pounds,
greatly to the delight of the Yankee father.
One of the drollest instances of borrowing I have ever heard of was
told me by a friend. A maid-servant asked her mistress to go out on
a particular afternoon, as she was going to have a party of her
friends, and wanted the loan of the drawing-room.
It would be endless to enumerate our losses in this way; but,
fortunately for us, the arrival of an English family in our
immediate vicinity drew off the attention of our neighbours
in that direction, and left us time to recover a little from
their persecutions.
This system of borrowing is not wholly confined to the poor and
ignorant; it pervades every class of society. If a party is given in
any of the small villages, a boy is sent round from house to house,
to collect all the plates and dishes, knives and forks, teaspoons
and candlesticks, that are presentable, for the use of the company.
During my stay at the hotel, I took a dress out of my trunk, and
hung it up upon a peg in my chamber, in order to remove the creases
it had received from close packing. Returning from a walk in the
afternoon, I found a note upon my dressing table, inviting us to
spend the evening with a clergyman's family in the village; and as
it was nearly time to dress, I went to the peg to take down my gown.
Was it a dream?--the gown was gone. I re-opened the trunk, to see if
I had replaced it; I searched every corner of the room, but all in
vain; nowhere could I discover the thing I sought. What had become
of it? The question was a delicate one, which I did not like to put
to the young ladies of the truly respectable establishment; still,
the loss was great, and at that moment very inconvenient. While I
was deliberating on what course to pursue, Miss S---- entered the
room.
“I guess you missed your dress,” she said, with a smile.
“Do you know where it is?”
“Oh, sure. Miss L----, the dressmaker, came in just after you left.
She is a very particular friend of mine, and I showed her your
dress. She admired it above all things, and borrowed it, to get the
pattern for Miss R----'s wedding dress. She promised to return it
to-morrow.”
“Provoking! I wanted it to-night. Who ever heard of borrowing a
person's dress without the leave of the owner? Truly, this is a
free-and-easy country!”
One very severe winter night, a neighbour borrowed of me a
blanket--it was one of my best--for the use of a stranger who was
passing the night at her house. I could not well refuse; but at that
time, the world pressed me sore, and I could ill spare it. Two years
elapsed, and I saw no more of my blanket; at length I sent a note to
the lady, requesting it to be returned. I got a very short answer
back, and the blanket, alas! worn threadbare; the borrower stating
that she had sent the article, but really she did not know what to
do without it, as she wanted it to cover the children's bed. She
certainly forgot that I, too, had children, who wanted covering as
well as her own. But I have said so much of the ill results of
others' borrowing, that I will close this sketch by relating my own
experience in this way.
After removing to the bush, many misfortunes befel us, which
deprived us of our income, and reduced us to great poverty. In fact
we were strangers, and the knowing ones took us in; and for many
years we struggled with hardships which would have broken stouter
hearts than ours, had not our trust been placed in the Almighty,
who among all our troubles never wholly deserted us.
While my husband was absent on the frontier during the rebellion,
my youngest boy fell very sick, and required my utmost care, both
by night and day. To attend to him properly, a candle burning
during the night was necessary. The last candle was burnt out;
I had no money to buy another, and no fat from which I could make
one. I hated borrowing; but, for the dear child's sake, I overcame
my scruples, and succeeded in procuring a candle from a good
neighbour, but with strict injunctions (for it was _her last_),
that I must return it if I did not require it during the night.
I went home quite grateful with my prize. It was a clear moonlight
night--the dear boy was better, so I told old Jenny, my Irish
servant, to go to bed, as I would lie down in my clothes by the
child, and if he were worse I would get up and light the candle. It
happened that a pane of glass was broken out of the window frame,
and I had supplied its place by fitting in a shingle; my friend
Emilia S---- had a large Tom-cat, who, when his mistress was absent,
often paid me a predatory or borrowing visit; and Tom had a practice
of pushing in this wooden pane, in order to pursue his lawless
depredations. I had forgotten all this, and never dreaming that Tom
would appropriate such light food, I left the candle lying in the
middle of the table, just under the window.
Between sleeping and waking, I heard the pane gently pushed in.
The thought instantly struck me that it was Tom, and that, for
lack of something better, he might steal my precious candle.
I sprang up from the bed, just in time to see him dart through the
broken window, dragging the long white candle after him. I flew to
the door, and pursued him half over the field, but all to no
purpose. I can see him now, as I saw him then, scampering away for
dear life, with his prize trailing behind him, gleaming like a
silver tail in the bright light of the moon.
Ah! never did I feel more acutely the truth of the proverb, “Those
that go a-borrowing go a-sorrowing,” than I did that night. My poor
boy awoke ill and feverish, and I had no light to assist him, or
even to look into his sweet face, to see how far I dared hope that
the light of day would find him better.
OH CANADA! THY GLOOMY WOODS
A song
Oh Canada! thy gloomy woods
Will never cheer the heart;
The murmur of thy mighty floods
But cause fresh tears to start
From those whose fondest wishes rest
Beyond the distant main;
Who, 'mid the forests of the West,
Sigh for their homes again.
I, too, have felt the chilling blight
Their shadows cast on me,
My thought by day--my dream by night--
Was of my own country.
But independent souls will brave
All hardships to be free;
No more I weep to cross the wave,
My native land to see.
But ever as a thought most bless'd,
Her distant shores will rise,
In all their spring-tide beauty dress'd.
To cheer my mental eyes.
And treasured in my inmost heart,
The friends I left behind;
But reason's voice, that bade us part,
Now bids me be resign'd.
I see my children round me play,
My husband's smiles approve;
I dash regretful tears away,
And lift my thoughts above:
In humble gratitude to bless
The Almighty hand that spread
Our table in the wilderness,
And gave my infants bread.