THE CHARIVARI
Our fate is seal'd! 'Tis now in vain to sigh
For home, or friends, or country left behind.
Come, dry those tears, and lift the downcast eye
To the high heaven of hope, and be resign'd;
Wisdom and time will justify the deed,
The eye will cease to weep, the heart to bleed.
Love's thrilling sympathies, affections pure,
All that endear'd and hallow'd your lost home,
Shall on a broad foundation, firm and sure,
Establish peace; the wilderness become,
Dear as the distant land you fondly prize,
Or dearer visions that in memory rise.
The moan of the wind tells of the coming rain that it bears upon its
wings; the deep stillness of the woods, and the lengthened shadows
they cast upon the stream, silently but surely foreshow the bursting
of the thunder-cloud; and who that has lived for any time upon the
coast, can mistake the language of the waves; that deep prophetic
surging that ushers in the terrible gale? So it is with the human
heart--it has its mysterious warnings, its fits of sunshine and
shade, of storm and calm, now elevated with anticipations of joy,
now depressed by dark presentiments of ill.
All who have ever trodden this earth, possessed of the powers of
thought and reflection, of tracing effects back to their causes,
have listened to these voices of the soul, and secretly acknowledged
their power; but few, very few, have had courage boldly to declare
their belief in them: the wisest and the best have given credence to
them, and the experience of every day proves their truth; yea, the
proverbs of past ages abound with allusions to the same subject, and
though the worldly may sneer, and the good man reprobate the belief
in a theory which he considers dangerous, yet the former, when he
appears led by an irresistible impulse to enter into some fortunate,
but until then unthought-of speculation; and the latter, when he
devoutly exclaims that God has met him in prayer, unconsciously
acknowledge the same spiritual agency. For my own part, I have no
doubts upon the subject, and have found many times, and at different
periods of my life, that the voice in the soul speaks truly; that if
we gave stricter heed to its mysterious warnings, we should be saved
much after-sorrow.
Well do I remember how sternly and solemnly this inward monitor
warned me of approaching ill, the last night I spent at home; how it
strove to draw me back as from a fearful abyss, beseeching me not to
leave England and emigrate to Canada, and how gladly would I have
obeyed the injunction had it still been in my power. I had bowed to
a superior mandate, the command of duty; for my husband's sake, for
the sake of the infant, whose little bosom heaved against my
swelling heart, I had consented to bid adieu for ever to my native
shores, and it seemed both useless and sinful to draw back.
Yet, by what stern necessity were we driven forth to seek a new
home amid the western wilds? We were not compelled to emigrate.
Bound to England by a thousand holy and endearing ties, surrounded
by a circle of chosen friends, and happy in each other's love,
we possessed all that the world can bestow of good--but _wealth_.
The half-pay of a subaltern officer, managed with the most rigid
economy, is too small to supply the wants of a family; and if of
a good family, not enough to maintain his original standing in
society. True, it may find his children bread, it may clothe them
indifferently, but it leaves nothing for the indispensable
requirements of education, or the painful contingencies of sickness
and misfortune. In such a case, it is both wise and right to
emigrate; Nature points it out as the only safe remedy for the
evils arising out of an over-dense population, and her advice is
always founded upon justice and truth.
Up to the period of which I now speak, we had not experienced much
inconvenience from our very limited means. Our wants were few, and
we enjoyed many of the comforts and even some of the luxuries of
life; and all had gone on smoothly and lovingly with us until the
birth of our first child. It was then that prudence whispered to the
father, “you are happy and contented now, but this cannot always
last; the birth of that child whom you have hailed with as much
rapture as though she were born to inherit a noble estate, is to
you the beginning of care. Your family may increase, and your wants
will increase in proportion; out of what fund can you satisfy their
demands? Some provision must be made for the future, and made
quickly, while youth and health enable you to combat successfully
with the ills of life. When you married for inclination, you knew
that emigration must be the result of such an act of imprudence in
over-populated England. Up and be doing, while you still possess
the means of transporting yourself to a land where the industrious
can never lack bread, and where there is a chance that wealth and
independence may reward virtuous toil.”
Alas! that truth should ever whisper such unpleasant realities to
the lover of ease--to the poet, the author, the musician, the man
of books, of refined taste and gentlemanly habits. Yet he took the
hint, and began to bestir himself with the spirit and energy so
characteristic of the glorious North, from whence he sprung.
“The sacrifice,” he said, “must be made, and the sooner the better.
My dear wife, I feel confident that you will respond to the call of
duty, and, hand-in-hand and heart-in-heart we will go forth to meet
difficulties, and, by the help of God, to subdue them.”
Dear husband! I take shame to myself that my purpose was less firm,
that my heart lingered so far behind yours in preparing for this
great epoch in our lives; that, like Lot's wife, I still turned and
looked back, and clung with all my strength to the land I was
leaving. It was not the hardships of an emigrant's life I dreaded.
I could bear mere physical privations philosophically enough; it was
the loss of the society in which I had moved, the want of congenial
minds, of persons engaged in congenial pursuits, that made me so
reluctant to respond to my husband's call.
I was the youngest in a family remarkable for their literary
attainments; and, while yet a child, I had seen riches melt away
from our once prosperous home, as the Canadian snows dissolve before
the first warm days of spring, leaving the verdureless earth naked
and bare.
There was, however, a spirit in my family that rose superior to the
crushing influences of adversity. Poverty, which so often degrades
the weak mind, became their best teacher, the stern but fruitful
parent of high resolve and ennobling thought. The very misfortunes
that overwhelmed, became the source from whence they derived both
energy and strength, as the inundation of some mighty river
fertilises the shores over which it first spreads ruin and
desolation. Without losing aught of their former position in
society, they dared to be poor; to place mind above matter, and make
the talents with which the great Father had liberally endowed them,
work out their appointed end. The world sneered, and summer friends
forsook them; they turned their backs upon the world, and upon the
ephemeral tribes that live but in its smiles.
From out of the solitude in which they dwelt, their names went forth
through the crowded cities of that cold, sneering world, and their
names were mentioned with respect by the wise and good; and what
they lost in wealth, they more than regained in well-earned
reputation.
Brought up in this school of self-denial, it would have been strange
indeed if all its wise and holy precepts had brought forth no
corresponding fruit. I endeavoured to reconcile myself to the change
that awaited me, to accommodate my mind and pursuits to the new
position in which I found myself placed.
Many a hard battle had we to fight with old prejudices, and many
proud swellings of the heart to subdue, before we could feel the
least interest in the land of our adoption, or look upon it as our
home.
All was new, strange, and distasteful to us; we shrank from the
rude, coarse familiarity of the uneducated people among whom we were
thrown; and they in return viewed us as innovators, who wished to
curtail their independence, by expecting from them the kindly
civilities and gentle courtesies of a more refined community. They
considered us proud and shy, when we were only anxious not to give
offense. The semi-barbarous Yankee squatters, who had “left their
country for their country's good,” and by whom we were surrounded in
our first settlement, detested us, and with them we could have no
feeling in common. We could neither lie nor cheat in our dealings
with them; and they despised us for our ignorance in trading and our
want of smartness.
The utter want of that common courtesy with which a well-brought-up
European addresses the poorest of his brethren, is severely felt at
first by settlers in Canada. At the period of which I am now
speaking, the titles of “sir” or “madam” were very rarely applied
by inferiors. They entered your house without knocking; and while
boasting of their freedom, violated one of its dearest laws, which
considers even the cottage of the poorest labourer his castle, and
his privacy sacred.
“Is your man to hum?”--“Is the woman within?” were the general
inquiries made to me by such guests, while my bare-legged, ragged
Irish servants were always spoken to, as “sir” and “mem,” as if
to make the distinction more pointed.
Why they treated our claims to their respect with marked insult and
rudeness, I never could satisfactorily determine, in any way that
could reflect honour on the species, or even plead an excuse for its
brutality, until I found that this insolence was more generally
practised by the low, uneducated emigrants from Britain, who better
understood your claims to their civility, than by the natives
themselves. Then I discovered the secret.
The unnatural restraint which society imposes upon these people at
home forces them to treat their more fortunate brethren with a
servile deference which is repugnant to their feelings, and is
thrust upon them by the dependent circumstances in which they are
placed. This homage to rank and education is not sincere. Hatred
and envy lie rankling at their heart, although hidden by outward
obsequiousness. Necessity compels their obedience; they fawn, and
cringe, and flatter the wealth on which they depend for bread. But
let them once emigrate, the clog which fettered them is suddenly
removed; they are free; and the dearest privilege of this freedom
is to wreak upon their superiors the long-locked-up hatred of their
hearts. They think they can debase you to their level by disallowing
all your claims to distinction; while they hope to exalt themselves
and their fellows into ladies and gentlemen by sinking you back to
the only title you received from Nature--plain “man” and “woman.”
Oh, how much more honourable than their vulgar pretensions!
I never knew the real dignity of these simple epithets until they
were insultingly thrust upon us by the working-classes of Canada.
But from this folly the native-born Canadian is exempt; it is only
practised by the low-born Yankee, or the Yankeefied British
peasantry and mechanics. It originates in the enormous reaction
springing out of a sudden emancipation from a state of utter
dependence to one of unrestrained liberty. As such, I not only
excuse, but forgive it, for the principle is founded in nature; and,
however disgusting and distasteful to those accustomed to different
treatment from their inferiors, it is better than a hollow
profession of duty and attachment urged upon us by a false and
unnatural position. Still it is very irksome until you think more
deeply upon it; and then it serves to amuse rather than to irritate.
And here I would observe, before quitting this subject, that of all
follies, that of taking out servants from the old country is one of
the greatest, and is sure to end in the loss of the money expended
in their passage, and to become the cause of deep disappointment and
mortification to yourself.
They no sooner set foot upon the Canadian shores then they become
possessed with this ultra-republican spirit. All respect for their
employers, all subordination, is at an end; the very air of Canada
severs the tie of mutual obligation which bound you together. They
fancy themselves not only equal to you in rank, but that ignorance
and vulgarity give them superior claims to notice. They demand in
terms the highest wages, and grumble at doing half the work, in
return, which they cheerfully performed at home. They demand to eat
at your table, and to sit in your company; and if you refuse to
listen to their dishonest and extravagant claims, they tell you that
“they are free; that no contract signed in the old country is
binding in 'Meriky'; that you may look out for another person to
fill their place as soon as you like; and that you may get the money
expended in their passage and outfit in the best manner you can.”
I was unfortunately persuaded to take out a woman with me as a nurse
for my child during the voyage, as I was in very poor health; and
her conduct, and the trouble and expense she occasioned, were a
perfect illustration of what I have described.
When we consider the different position in which servants are placed
in the old and new world, this conduct, ungrateful as it then
appeared to me, ought not to create the least surprise. In Britain,
for instance, they are too often dependent upon the caprice of their
employers for bread. Their wages are low; their moral condition
still lower. They are brought up in the most servile fear of the
higher classes, and they feel most keenly their hopeless
degradation, for no effort on their part can better their condition.
They know that if once they get a bad character, they must starve or
steal; and to this conviction we are indebted for a great deal of
their seeming fidelity and long and laborious service in our
families, which we owe less to any moral perception on their part of
the superior kindness or excellence of their employers, than to the
mere feeling of assurance, that as long as they do their work well,
and are cheerful and obedient, they will be punctually paid their
wages, and well housed and fed.
Happy is it for them and their masters when even this selfish bond
of union exists between them!
But in Canada the state of things in this respect is wholly
reversed. The serving class, comparatively speaking, is small, and
admits of little competition. Servants that understand the work of
the country are not easily procured, and such always can command the
highest wages. The possession of a good servant is such an addition
to comfort, that they are persons of no small consequence, for the
dread of starving no longer frightens them into servile obedience.
They can live without you, and they well know that you cannot do
without them. If you attempt to practise upon them that common vice
of English mistresses, to scold them for any slight omission or
offence, you rouse into active operation all their new-found spirit
of freedom and opposition. They turn upon you with a torrent of
abuse; they demand their wages, and declare their intention of
quitting you instantly. The more inconvenient the time for you, the
more bitter become their insulting remarks. They tell you, with a
high hand, that “they are as good as you; that they can get twenty
better places by the morrow, and that they don't care a snap for
your anger.” And away they bounce, leaving you to finish a large
wash, or a heavy job of ironing, in the best way you can.
When we look upon such conduct as the reaction arising out of their
former state, we cannot so much blame them, and are obliged to own
that it is the natural result of a sudden emancipation from former
restraint. With all their insolent airs of independence, I must
confess that I prefer the Canadian to the European servant. If they
turn out good and faithful, it springs more from real respect and
affection, and you possess in your domestic a valuable assistant and
friend; but this will never be the case with a servant brought out
with you from the old country, for the reasons before assigned. The
happy independence enjoyed in this highly-favoured land is nowhere
better illustrated than in the fact that no domestic can be treated
with cruelty or insolence by an unbenevolent or arrogant master.
Forty years has made as great a difference in the state of society
in Canada as it has in its commercial and political importance.
When we came to the Canadas, society was composed of elements
which did not always amalgamate in the best possible manner.
We were reckoned no addition to the society of C----. Authors and
literary people they held in supreme detestation; and I was told by
a lady, the very first time I appeared in company, that “she heard
that I wrote books, but she could tell me that they did not want a
Mrs. Trollope in Canada.”
I had not then read Mrs. Trollope's work on America, or I should
have comprehended at once the cause of her indignation; for she was
just such a person as would have drawn forth the keen satire of that
far-seeing observer of the absurdities of our nature, whose witty
exposure of American affectation has done more towards producing a
reform in that respect, than would have resulted from a thousand
grave animadversions soberly written.
Another of my self-constituted advisers informed me, with great
asperity in her look and tone, that “it would be better for me to
lay by the pen, and betake myself to some more useful employment;
that she thanked her God that she could make a shirt, and see to
the cleaning of her house!”
These remarks were perfectly gratuitous, and called forth by no
observation of mine; for I tried to conceal my blue stockings
beneath the long conventional robes of the tamest common-place,
hoping to cover the faintest tinge of the objectionable colour. I
had spoken to neither of these women in my life, and was much amused
by their remarks; particularly as I could both make a shirt, and
attend to the domestic arrangement of my family, as well as either
of them.
I verily believe that they expected to find an author one of a
distinct species from themselves; that they imagined the aforesaid
biped should neither eat, drink, sleep, nor talk like other
folks;--a proud, useless, self-conceited, affected animal, that
deserved nothing but kicks and buffets from the rest of mankind.
Anxious not to offend them, I tried to avoid all literary subjects.
I confined my conversation to topics of common interest; but this
gave greater offence than the most ostentatious show of learning,
for they concluded that I would not talk on such subjects, because I
thought them incapable of understanding me. This was more wounding
to their self-love than the most arrogant assumption on my part; and
they regarded me with a jealous, envious stand-a-loofishness, that
was so intolerable that I gave up all ideas of visiting them. I was
so accustomed to hear the whispered remark, or to have it retailed
to me by others, “Oh, yes; she can write, but she can do nothing
else,” that I was made more diligent in cultivating every branch of
domestic usefulness; so that these ill-natured sarcasms ultimately
led to my acquiring a great mass of most useful practical knowledge.
Yet--such is the contradiction inherent in our poor fallen
nature--these people were more annoyed by my proficiency in the
common labours of the household, than they would have been by any
displays of my unfortunate authorship. Never was the fable of the
old man and his ass so truly verified.
There is a very little of the social, friendly visiting among
the Canadians which constitutes the great charm of home. Their
hospitality is entirely reserved for those monster meetings in which
they vie with each other in displaying fine clothes and costly
furniture. As these large parties are very expensive, few families
can afford to give more than one during the visiting season, which
is almost exclusively confined to the winter. The great gun, once
fired, you meet no more at the same house around the social board
until the ensuing year, and would scarcely know that you had a
neighbor, were it not for a formal morning call made now and then,
just to remind you that such individuals are in the land of the
living, and still exist in your near vicinity.
I am speaking of visiting in the towns and villages. The manners and
habits of the European settlers in the country are far more simple
and natural, and their hospitality more genuine and sincere. They
have not been sophisticated by the hard, worldly wisdom of a
Canadian town, and still retain a warm remembrance of the kindly
humanities of home.
Among the women, a love of dress exceeds all other passions. In
public they dress in silks and satins, and wear the most expensive
ornaments, and they display considerable taste in the arrangement
and choice of colours. The wife of a man in moderate circumstances,
whose income does not exceed two or three hundred pounds a-year,
does not hesitate in expending ten or fifteen pounds upon one
article of outside finery, while often her inner garments are not
worth as many sous; thus sacrificing to outward show all the real
comforts of life.
The aristocracy of wealth is bad enough; but the aristocracy of
dress is perfectly contemptible. Could Raphael visit Canada in rags,
he would be nothing in their eyes beyond a common sign-painter.
Great and manifold, even to the ruin of families, are the evils
arising from this inordinate love for dress. They derive their
fashions from the French and the Americans--seldom from the English,
whom they far surpass in the neatness and elegance of their costume.
The Canadian women, while they retain the bloom and freshness of
youth, are exceedingly pretty; but these charms soon fade, owing,
perhaps, to the fierce extremes of their climate, or the withering
effect of the dry metallic air of stoves, and their going too early
into company and being exposed, while yet children, to the noxious
influence of late hours, and the sudden change from heated rooms to
the cold, biting, bitter winter blast.
Though small of stature, they are generally well and symmetrically
formed, and possess a graceful, easy carriage. The early age at
which they marry, and are introduced into society, takes from them
all awkwardness and restraint. A girl of fourteen can enter a
crowded ball-room with as much self-possession, and converse with as
much confidence, as a matron of forty. The blush of timidity and
diffidence is, indeed, rare upon the cheek of a Canadian beauty.
Their education is so limited and confined to so few
accomplishments, and these not very perfectly taught, that their
conversation seldom goes beyond a particular discussion on their
own dress, or that of their neighbours, their houses, furniture,
and servants, sometimes interlarded with a _little harmless gossip_,
which, however, tells keenly upon the characters of their dear
friends.
Yet they have abilities, excellent practical abilities, which, with
a little mental culture, would render them intellectual and charming
companions. At present, too many of these truly lovely girls remind
one of choice flowers half buried in weeds.
Music and dancing are their chief accomplishments. In the former
they seldom excel. Though possessing an excellent general taste for
music, it is seldom in their power to bestow upon its study the time
which is required to make a really good musician. They are admirable
proficients in the other art, which they acquire readily, with the
least instruction, often without any instruction at all, beyond that
which is given almost intuitively by a good ear for time, and a
quick perception of the harmony of motion.
The waltz is their favorite dance, in which old and young join with
the greatest avidity; it is not unusual to see parents and their
grown-up children dancing in the same set in a public ball-room.
Their taste in music is not for the sentimental; they prefer the
light, lively tunes of the Virginian minstrels to the most
impassioned strains of Bellini.
On entering one of the public ball-rooms, a stranger would be
delighted with such a display of pretty faces and neat figures. I
have hardly ever seen a really plain Canadian girl in her teens;
and a downright ugly one is almost unknown.
The high cheek-bones, wide mouth, and turned-up nose of the Saxon
race, so common among the lower classes in Britain, are here
succeeded in the next generation, by the small oval face, straight
nose, and beautifully-cut mouth of the American; while the glowing
tint of the Albion rose pales before the withering influence of late
hours and stove-heat.
They are naturally a fine people, and possess capabilities and
talents, which when improved by cultivation will render them second
to no people in the world; and that period is not far distant.
Idiots and mad people are so seldom met with among natives of the
colony, that not one of this description of unfortunates has ever
come under my own immediate observation.
To the benevolent philanthropist, whose heart has bled over the
misery and pauperism of the lower classes in Great Britain, the
almost entire absence of mendicity from Canada would be highly
gratifying. Canada has few, if any, native beggars; her objects of
charity are generally imported from the mother country, and these
are never suffered to want food or clothing. The Canadians are a
truly charitable people; no person in distress is driven with harsh
and cruel language from their doors; they not only generously
relieve the wants of suffering strangers cast upon their bounty, but
they nurse them in sickness, and use every means in their power to
procure them employment. The number of orphan children yearly
adopted by wealthy Canadians, and treated in every respect as their
own, is almost incredible.
It is a glorious country for the labouring classes, for while
blessed with health they are always certain of employment, and
certain also to derive from it ample means of support for their
families. An industrious, hard-working man in a few years is able
to purchase from his savings a homestead of his own; and in process
of time becomes one of the most important and prosperous class of
settlers in Canada, her free and independent yeomen, who form the
bones and sinews of this rising country, and from among whom she
already begins to draw her senators, while their educated sons
become the aristocrats of the rising generation.
It has often been remarked to me by people long resident in the
colony, that those who come to the country destitute of means, but
able and willing to work, invariably improve their condition and
become independent; while the gentleman who brings out with him a
small capital is too often tricked and cheated out of his property,
and drawn into rash and dangerous speculations which terminate in
his ruin. His children, neglected and uneducated, yet brought up
with ideas far beyond their means, and suffered to waste their time
in idleness, seldom take to work, and not unfrequently sink down to
the lowest class.
But I have dwelt long enough upon these serious subjects; and I will
leave my husband, who is better qualified than myself, to give a
more accurate account of the country, while I turn to matters of a
lighter and a livelier cast.
It was towards the close of the summer of 1833, which had been
unusually cold and wet for Canada, while Moodie was absent at D----,
inspecting a portion of his government grant of land, that I was
startled one night, just before retiring to rest, by the sudden
firing of guns in our near vicinity, accompanied by shouts and
yells, the braying of horns, the beating of drums, and the barking
of all the dogs in the neighborhood. I never heard a more stunning
uproar of discordant and hideous sounds.
What could it all mean? The maid-servant, as much alarmed as myself,
opened the door and listened.
“The goodness defend us!” she exclaimed, quickly closing it, and
drawing a bolt seldom used. “We shall be murdered. The Yankees must
have taken Canada, and are marching hither.”
“Nonsense! that cannot be it. Besides they would never leave the
main road to attack a poor place like this. Yet the noise is very
near. Hark! they are firing again. Bring me the hammer and some
nails, and let us secure the windows.”
The next moment I laughed at my folly in attempting to secure a log
hut, when the application of a match to its rotten walls would
consume it in a few minutes. Still, as the noise increased, I was
really frightened. My servant, who was Irish (for my Scotch girl,
Bell, had taken to herself a husband and I had been obliged to hire
another in her place, who had only been a few days in the country),
began to cry and wring her hands, and lament her hard fate in coming
to Canada.
Just at this critical moment, when we were both self-convicted of an
arrant cowardice, which would have shamed a Canadian child of six
years old, Mrs. O---- tapped at the door, and although generally a
most unwelcome visitor, from her gossiping, mischievous
propensities, I gladly let her in.
“Do tell me,” I cried, “the meaning of this strange uproar?”
“Oh, 'tis nothing,” she replied, laughing; “you and Mary look as
white as a sheet; but you need not be alarmed. A set of wild fellows
have met to charivari Old Satan, who has married his fourth wife
to-night, a young gal of sixteen. I should not wonder if some
mischief happens among them, for they are a bad set, made up of all
the idle loafers about Port H---- and C----.”
“What is a charivari?” said I. “Do, pray, enlighten me.”
“Have you been nine months in Canada, and ask that question? Why I
thought you knew everything! Well, I will tell you what it is. The
charivari is a custom that the Canadians got from the French, in the
Lower Province, and a queer custom it is. When an old man marries a
young wife, or an old woman a young husband, or two old people, who
ought to be thinking of their graves, enter for the second or third
time into the holy estate of wedlock, as the priest calls it, all
the idle young fellows in the neighborhood meet together to
charivari them. For this purpose they disguise themselves,
blackening their faces, putting their clothes on hind part before,
and wearing horrible masks, with grotesque caps on their head,
adorned with cocks' feathers and bells. They then form in a regular
body, and proceed to the bridegroom's house, to the sound of tin
kettles, horns, and drums, cracked fiddles, and all the discordant
instruments they can collect together. Thus equipped, they surround
the house where the wedding is held, just at the hour when the happy
couple are supposed to be about to retire to rest--beating upon the
door with clubs and staves, and demanding of the bridegroom
admittance to drink the bride's health, or in lieu there of to
receive a certain sum of money to treat the band at the nearest
tavern.
“If the bridegroom refuses to appear and grant their request, they
commence the horrible din you hear, firing guns charged with peas
against the doors and windows, rattling old pots and kettles, and
abusing him for his stinginess in no measured terms. Sometimes they
break open the doors, and seize upon the bridegroom; and he may
esteem himself a very fortunate man, under such circumstances, if
he escapes being ridden upon a rail, tarred and feathered, and
otherwise maltreated. I have known many fatal accidents arise out
of an imprudent refusal to satisfy the demands of the assailants.
People have even lost their lives in the fray; and I think the
government should interfere, and put down these riotous meetings.
Surely, it is very hard, that an old man cannot marry a young gal,
if she is willing to take him, without asking the leave of such a
rabble as that. What right have they to interfere with his private
affairs?”
“What, indeed?” said I, feeling a truly British indignation at such
a lawless infringement upon the natural rights of man.
“I remember,” continued Mrs. O----, who had got fairly started upon a
favorite subject, “a scene of this kind, that was acted two years
ago, at ----, when old Mr. P---- took his third wife. He was a very
rich storekeeper, and had made during the war a great deal of money.
He felt lonely in his old age, and married a young, handsome widow,
to enliven his house. The lads in the village were determined to
make him pay for his frolic. This got wind, and Mr. P---- was advised
to spend the honeymoon in Toronto; but he only laughed, and said
that 'he was not going to be frightened from his comfortable home by
the threats of a few wild boys.' In the morning, he was married at
the church, and spent the day at home, where he entertained a large
party of his own and the bride's friends. During the evening, all
the idle chaps in the town collected round the house, headed by a
mad young bookseller, who had offered himself for their captain,
and, in the usual forms, demanded a sight of the bride, and liquor
to drink her health. They were very good-naturedly received by Mr.
P----, who sent a friend down to them to bid them welcome, and to
inquire on what terms they would consent to let him off, and
disperse.
“The captain of the band demanded sixty dollars, as he, Mr. P----,
could well afford to pay it.
“'That's too much, my fine fellows!' cried Mr. P---- from the open
window. 'Say twenty-five, and I will send you down a cheque upon the
bank of Montreal for the money.'
“'Thirty! thirty! thirty! old boy!' roared a hundred voices. 'Your
wife's worth that. Down with the cash, and we will give you three
cheers, and three times three for the bride, and leave you to sleep
in peace. If you hang back, we will raise such a 'larum about your
ears that you shan't know that your wife's your own for a month to
come!'
“'I'll give you twenty-five,' remonstrated the bridegroom, not the
least alarmed at their threats, and laughing all the time in his
sleeve.
“'Thirty; not one copper less!' Here they gave him such a salute of
diabolical sounds that he ran from the window with his hands to his
ears, and his friend came down stairs to the verandah, and gave them
the sum they required. They did not expect that the old man would
have been so liberal, and they gave him the 'Hip, hip, hip hurrah!'
in fine style, and marched off the finish the night and spend the
money at the tavern.”
“And do people allow themselves to be bullied out of their property
by such ruffians?”
“Ah, my dear! 'tis the custom of the country, and 'tis not so easy
to put it down. But I can tell you that a charivari is not always a
joke.
“There was another affair that happened, just before you came to the
place, that occasioned no small talk in the neighbourhood; and well
it might, for it was a most disgraceful piece of business, and
attended with very serious consequences. Some of the charivari party
had to fly, or they might have ended their days in the penitentiary.
“There was runaway nigger from the States came to the village, and
set up a barber's poll, and settled among us. I am no friend to the
blacks; but really Tom Smith was such a quiet, good-natured fellow,
and so civil and obliging, that he soon got a good business. He was
clever, too, and cleaned old clothes until they looked almost as
good as new. Well, after a time he persuaded a white girl to marry
him. She was not a bad-looking Irish woman, and I can't think what
bewitched the creature to take him.
“Her marriage with the black man created a great sensation in the
town. All the young fellows were indignant at his presumption and
her folly, and they determined to give them the charivari in fine
style, and punish them both for the insult they had put upon the
place.
“Some of the young gentlemen in the town joined in the frolic. They
went so far as to enter the house, drag the poor nigger from his
bed, and in spite of his shrieks for mercy, they hurried him out
into the cold air--for it was winter--and almost naked as he was,
rode him upon a rail, and so ill-treated him that he died under
their hands.
“They left the body, when they found what had happened, and fled.
The ringleaders escaped across the lake to the other side; and those
who remained could not be sufficiently identified to bring them to
trial. The affair was hushed up; but it gave great uneasiness to
several respectable families whose sons were in the scrape.”
“Good heavens! are such things permitted in a Christian country?
But scenes like these must be of rare occurrence?”
“They are more common than you imagine. A man was killed up at W----
the other day, and two others dangerously wounded, at a charivari.
The bridegroom was a man in middle life, a desperately resolute and
passionate man, and he swore that if such riff-raff dared to
interfere with him, he would shoot at them with as little
compunction as he would at so many crows. His threats only increased
the mischievous determination of the mob to torment him; and when he
refused to admit their deputation, or even to give them a portion of
the wedding cheer, they determined to frighten him into compliance
by firing several guns, loaded with peas, at his door. Their salute
was returned from the chamber windows, by the discharge of a
double-barrelled gun, loaded with buck-shot. The crowd gave back
with a tremendous yell. Their leader was shot through the heart, and
two of the foremost in the scuffle dangerously wounded. They vowed
they would set fire to the house, but the bridegroom boldly stepped
to the window, and told them to try it, and before they could light
a torch he would fire among them again, as his gun was reloaded, and
he would discharge it at them as long as one of them dared to remain
on his premises.
“They cleared off; but though Mr. A---- was not punished for the
_accident_, as it was called, he became a marked man, and lately
left the colony, to settle in the United States.
“Why, Mrs. Moodie, you look quite serious. I can, however, tell you
a less dismal tale, A charivari would seldom be attended with bad
consequences if people would take it as a joke, and join in the
spree.”
“A very dignified proceeding, for a bride and bridegroom to make
themselves the laughing-stock of such people!”
“Oh, but custom reconciles us to everything; and 'tis better to give
up a little of our pride than endanger the lives of our
fellow-creatures. I have been told a story of a lady in the Lower
Province, who took for her second husband a young fellow, who, as
far as his age was concerned, might have been her son. The mob
surrounded her house at night, carrying her effigy in an open
coffin, supported by six young lads, with white favours in their
hats; and they buried the poor bride, amid shouts of laughter, and
the usual accompaniments, just opposite her drawing-room windows.
The widow was highly amused by the whole of their proceedings, but
she wisely let them have their own way. She lived in a strong stone
house, and she barred the doors, and closed the iron shutters, and
set them at defiance.
“'As long as she enjoyed her health,' she said, 'they were welcome
to bury her in effigy as often as they pleased; she was really glad
to be able to afford amusement to so many people.'
“Night after night, during the whole of that winter, the same party
beset her house with their diabolical music; but she only laughed at
them.
“The leader of the mob was a young lawyer from these parts, a sad,
mischievous fellow; the widow became aware of this, and she invited
him one evening to take tea with a small party at her house. He
accepted the invitation, was charmed with her hearty and hospitable
welcome, and soon found himself quite at home; but only think how
ashamed he must have felt, when the same 'larum commenced, at the
usual hour, in front of the lady's house!
“'Oh,' said Mrs. R----, smiling to her husband, 'here come our
friends. Really, Mr. K----, they amuse us so much of an evening that
I should feel quite dull without them.'
“From that hour the charivari ceased, and the old lady was left to
enjoy the society of her young husband in quiet.
“I assure you, Mrs. M----, that the charivari often deters old people
from making disgraceful marriages, so that it is not wholly without
its use.”
A few days after the charivari affair, Mrs. D---- stepped in to see
me. She was an American; a very respectable old lady, who resided
in a handsome frame-house on the main road. I was at dinner, the
servant-girl, in the meanwhile, nursing my child at a distance.
Mrs. D---- sat looking at me very seriously until I concluded my
meal, her dinner having been accomplished several hours before.
When I had finished, the girl give me the child, and then removed
the dinner-service into an outer room.
“You don't eat with your helps,” said my visitor. “Is not that
something like pride?”
“It is custom,” said I; “we were not used to do so at home, and I
think that keeping a separate table is more comfortable for both
parties.”
“Are you not both of the same flesh and blood? The rich and the poor
meet together, and the Lord is the maker of them all.”
“True. Your quotation is just, and I assent to it with all my heart.
There is no difference in the flesh and blood; but education makes a
difference in the mind and manners, and, till these can assimilate,
it is better to keep them apart.”
“Ah! you are not a good Christian, Mrs. Moodie. The Lord thought
more of the poor than he did of the rich, and he obtained more
followers from among them. Now, _we_ always take our meals with
our people.”
Presently after, while talking over the affairs of our households,
I happened to say that the cow we had bought of Mollineux had turned
out extremely well, and gave a great deal of milk.
“That man lived with us several years,” she said; “he was an
excellent servant, and D---- paid him his wages in land. The farm he
now occupies formed a part of our U.E. grant. But, for all his good
conduct, I never could abide him, for being a _black_.”
“Indeed! Is he not the same flesh and blood as the rest?”
The colour rose into Mrs. D----'s sallow face, and she answered with
much warmth--
“What! do you mean to compare _me_ with a _nigger!_”
“Not exactly. But, after all, the colour makes the only difference
between him and uneducated men of the same class.”
“Mrs. Moodie!” she exclaimed, holding up her hands in pious horror;
“they are the children of the devil! God never condescended to make
a nigger.”
“Such an idea is an impeachment of the power and majesty of the
Almighty. How can you believe such an ignorant fable?”
“Well, then,” said my monitress, in high dudgeon, “if the devil did
not make them, they are descended from Cain.”
“But all Cain's posterity perished in the flood.”
My visitor was puzzled.
“The African race, it is generally believed, are the descendants of
Ham, and to many of their tribes the curse pronounced against him
seems to cling. To be the servant of servants is bad enough, without
our making their condition worse by our cruel persecutions. Christ
came to seek and to save that which was lost; and in proof of this
inestimable promise, he did not reject the Ethiopian eunuch who was
baptised by Philip, and who was, doubtless, as black as the rest of
his people. Do you not admit Mollineux to your table with your other
helps?”
“Mercy sake! do you think that I would sit down at the same table
with a nigger? My helps would leave the house if I dared to put such
an affront upon them. Sit down with a dirty black, indeed!”
“Do you think, Mrs. D----, that there will be any negroes in heaven?”
“Certainly not, or I, for one, would never wish to go there;” and
out of the house she sallied in high disdain.
Yet this was the woman who had given me such a plausible lecture
on pride. Alas, for our fallen nature! Which is more subversive of
peace and Christian fellowship--ignorance of our own characters,
or the characters of others?
Our departure for the woods became now a frequent theme of
conversation. My husband had just returned from an exploring
expedition to the backwoods, and was delighted with the prospect of
removing thither. The only thing I listened to in their praise, with
any degree of interest, was a lively song, which he had written
during his brief sojourn at Douro:--
TO THE WOODS!--TO THE WOODS!
To the woods!--to the woods!--The sun shines bright,
The smoke rises high in the clear frosty air;
Our axes are sharp, and our hearts are light,
Let us toil while we can and drive away care.
Though homely our food, we are merry and strong,
And labour is wealth, which no man can deny;
At eve we will chase the dull hours with a song,
And at grey peep of dawn let this be our cry,
To the woods!--to the woods!--&c.
Hark! how the trees crack in the keen morning blast,
And see how the rapids are cover'd with steam;
Thaw your axes, my lads, the sun rises fast,
And gilds the pine tops with his bright golden beam.
To the woods!--to the woods!--&c.
Come, chop away, lads! the wild woods resound,
Let your quick-falling strokes in due harmony ring;
See, the lofty tree shivers--it falls to the ground!
Now with voices united together we'll sing--
To the woods!--to the woods!--The sun shines bright,
The smoke rises high in the clear frosty air;
Our axes are sharp, and our hearts are light,
Let us toil while we can and drive away care,
And drive away care.
J.W.D.M.