Amusements
"Life hath its pleasures, stern Death hath its fears,
Joy hath gay laughter, and Grief bitter tears;
Rejoice with the one, nor shrink from the other,--
Yon cloud hides the sun, and death is life's brother!
As the beam to the day, so the shade to the night--
Be certain that Heaven orders all for the right."
S.M.
My dear reader, before we proceed further on our journey, it may be as
well to give you some idea of how the Canadian people in towns spend
their time. I will endeavour to describe to you the various sources from
whence they derive pleasure and amusement.
In large cities, like Montreal and Toronto, the higher classes are as
refined and intellectual as ladies and gentlemen at home, and spend
their lives much in the same manner. Their houses abound in all the
elegancies and luxuries of life, and to step into their drawing-rooms
you would imagine yourself still in England. They drive handsome
carriages, and ride fine spirited horses; and if they are encumbered
with fewer domestic pests in the shape of pampered servants, they have,
in this respect, a decided advantage over their European friends. They
dress well and expensively, and are very particular to have their
clothes cut in the newest fashion. Men and women adopt the reigning mode
so universally, that they look all dressed alike. The moment a fashion
becomes at all obsolete, the articles of dress made to suit it are
discarded. In England, a lady may please herself in the choice of
colours, and in adopting as much of a fashion as suits her style of
person and taste, but in Canada they carry this imitation of the
fashions of the day to extremes. If green was the prevailing colour,
every lady would adopt it, whether it suited her complexion or no; and,
if she was ever so stout, that circumstance would not prevent her from
wearing half-a-dozen more skirts than was necessary, because that absurd
and unhealthy practice has for a long period prevailed. Music is taught
very generally. Though very few attain any great perfection in the
science, a great many perform well enough to gratify their friends, and
contribute to the enjoyment of a social evening. You will find a piano
in every weathy Canadian's house, and even in the dwellings of most of
the respectable mechanics.
I never met with a Canadian girl who could not dance, and dance well.
It seems born in them, and it is their favourite amusement. Polkas,
waltzes, and quadrilles, are the dances most approved in their private
and public assemblies. The eight Scotch reel has, however, its admirers,
and most parties end with this lively romping dance.
Balls given on public days, such as the Queen's birthday, and by
societies, such as the Freemasons', the Odd Fellows', and the Firemen's,
are composed of very mixed company, and the highest and lowest are
seen in the same room. They generally contrive to keep to their own
set--dancing alternately--rarely occupying the floor together. It is
surprising the goodwill and harmony that presides in these mixed
assemblies. As long as they are treated with civility, the lower classes
shew no lack of courtesy to the higher. To be a spectator at one of
these public balls is very amusing. The country girls carry themselves
with such an easy freedom, that it is quite entertaining to look at and
listen to them. At a freemasons' ball, some years ago, a very amusing
thing took place. A young handsome woman, still in her girlhood, had
brought her baby, which she carried with her into the ball-room. On
being asked to dance, she was rather puzzled what to do with the child;
but, seeing a young lawyer, one of the _elite_ of the town,
standing with folded arms looking on, she ran across the room, and,
putting the baby into his arms, exclaimed--"You are not dancing, sir;
pray hold my baby for me, till the next quadrille is over." Away she
skipped back to her partner, and left the gentleman overwhelmed with
confusion, while the room shook with peals of laughter. Making the best
of it, he danced the baby to the music, and kept it in high good humour
till its mother returned.
"I guess," she said, "that you are a married man?"
"Yes," said he, returning the child, "and a mason."
"Well, I thought as much any how, by the way you acted with the baby."
"My conduct was not quite free from selfishness--I expect a reward."
"As how?"
"That you will give the baby to your husband, and dance the next set
with me."
"With all my heart. Let us go a-head."
If legs did not do their duty, it was no fault of their pretty owner,
for she danced with all her strength, greatly to the amusement of her
aristocratic partner.
When we first came to Belleville, evening parties commenced at the
primitive and _rational_ hour of six o'clock, but now invitations
are issued for eight; the company, however, seldom assemble before nine,
and those who wish to be very fashionable don't make their appearance
before ten. This is rather absurd in a country, but Folly, as well as
Wisdom, is justified of her children. Evening parties always include
dancing and music, while cards are provided for those gentlemen who
prefer whist to the society of the ladies. The evening generally closes
with a splendid supper, in which there is no lack of the good things
which the season affords. The ladies are always served first, the
gentlemen waiting upon them at supper; and they never sit down to the
table, when the company is large, until after the ladies have returned
to the drawing-room. This custom would not be very agreeable to some
English epicures, but it is an universal one with Canadian gentlemen,
whose politeness and attention to the other sex is one of the most
pleasing traits in their character.
The opportunities of visiting the theatre occur very seldom, and only
can be enjoyed by those who reside in the _cities_ of Canada. The
young men of the place sometimes get up an amateur performance, in which
they act the part of both ladies and gentlemen, greatly to the delight
and amusement of their audience. I must say that I have enjoyed a play
in one of these private houses more than ever I did at Drury Lane or
Covent Garden. The lads act with their whole hearts, and I have seen
them shed real tears over the sorrows they were called upon to pourtray.
They did not feign--they really felt the part. Of course, there was
little artistic skill, but a good deal of truth and nature.
In the summer, riding and boating parties take the place of dancing.
These are always regular picnics, each party contributing their share of
eatables and drinkables to the general stock. They commonly select some
pretty island in the bay, or shady retired spot on the main land, for
the general rendezvous, where they light a fire, boil their kettles, and
cook the vegetables to eat with their cold prog, which usually consists
of hams, fowls, meat pies, cold joints of meat, and abundance of tarts
and cakes, while the luxury of ice is conveyed in a blanket at the
bottom of one of the boats.
These water parties are very delightful. The ladies stroll about and
gather wild fruit and flowers, while the gentlemen fish. The weather
at that season of the year is sure to be fine, and the water scenery
beautiful in the extreme. Those who possess good voices sing, and the
young folks dance on the greensward. A day spent thus happily with
nature in her green domain, is one of pure and innocent enjoyment. There
is always a reunion, in the evening, of the party, at the house of one
of the married ladies who were present at the picnic.
In a riding party, some place is selected in the country, and those
who are invited meet at a fixed hour on the appointed ground. The
Oakhill pond, near the village of Rawdon, and about sixteen miles from
Belleville, is a very favourite spot, and is one of singular beauty.
This Oakhill pond is a small, clear, and very deep lake, on the summit
of a high hill. It is about two miles in circumference, and being
almost circular, must nearly be as broad as it is long. The waters are
intensely blue, the back-ground is filled up with groves of dark pine,
while the woods in front are composed of the dwarf oaks and firs,
which are generally found on these table lands, interspersed with low
bushes--the sandy soil abounding with every Canadian variety of wild
fruits and flowers.
There is an excellent plank road all the way from Belleville to Rawdon.
The Oakhills lie a little to the left, and you approach them by a very
steep ascent, from the summit of which you obtain as fine a prospect
as I have seen in this part of Canada. A vast country lies stretched
beneath your feet, and you look down upon an immense forest, whose
tree-tops, moved by the wind, cause it to undulate like a green ocean.
From this spot you may trace the four windings of the bay, to its
junction with the blue waters of the Ontario. The last time I gazed from
the top of this hill a thunder-storm was frowning over the woods, and
the dense black clouds gave an awful grandeur to the noble picture.
The village of Rawdon lies on the other side of this table land, quite
in a valley. A bright, brisk little stream runs through it, and turns
several large mills. It is a very pretty rural place, and is fast rising
towards the dignity of a town. When we first came to Belleville, the
spot on which Rawdon now stands belonged principally, if not altogether,
to an enterprising Orkney man, Edward Fidlar, Esq., to whose energy and
industry it mainly owes its existence. Mr. Fidlar might truly be termed
the father of the village. A witty friend suggested, that instead of
Rawdon, it ought more properly to be called "Fidlar's Green."
There is a clean country inn just at the foot of the long hill leading
to the Oakhill pond, kept by a respectable widow-woman of the name of
Fairman. If the pic-nic party does not wish to be troubled with carrying
baskets of provisions so far, they send word to Mrs. Fairman the day
previous, to prepare dinner for so many guests. This she always does in
the best possible country style, at the moderate charge of half-a-dollar
per head.
A dinner in the country in Canada, taken at the house of some
substantial yeoman, is a very different affair from a dinner in the
town. The table literally groans with good cheer; and you cannot offer a
greater affront to your hostess, than to eat sparingly of the dainties
set before you.
They like to have several days' warning of your intended visit, that
they may go "to trouble," as they most truly term making such
magnificent preparations for a few guests. I have sat down to a table of
this kind in the country, with only Mr. M. and myself as guests, and we
have been served with a dinner that would have amply fed twenty people.
Fowls of several sorts, ham, and joints of roast and boiled meat,
besides quantities of pies, puddings, custards, and cakes. Cheese is
invariably offered to you with apple pie; and several little, glass
dishes are ranged round your plate, for preserves, honey, and apple
sauce, which latter dainty is never wanting at a country feast. The
mistress of the house constantly presses you to partake of all these
things, and sometimes the accumulation of rich food on one plate, which
it is impossible for you to consume, is everything but agreeable.
Two ladies, friends of mine, went to spend the day at one of these too
hospitable entertainers. The weather was intensely hot. They had driven
a long way in the sun, and both ladies had a headache, and very little
appetite in consequence. The mistress of the house went "to trouble,"
and prepared a great feast for her guests; but, finding that they
partook very sparingly of her good cheer, her pride was greatly hurt,
and rising suddenly from her seat, and turning to them with a stern
brow, she exclaimed,--
"I should like to know what ails my victuals, that you don't choose
to eat."
The poor ladies explained the reason of their appetites having failed
them; but they found it a difficult matter to soothe their irritated
hostess, who declared that she would never go "to trouble" for them
again. It is of no use arguing against this amiable weakness, for as
eating to uneducated people is one of the greatest enjoyments of life,
they cannot imagine how they could make you more comfortable, by
offering you less food, and of a more simple kind.
Large farmers in an old cleared country live remarkably well, and enjoy
within themselves all the substantial comforts of life. Many of them
keep carriages, and drive splendid horses. The contrast between the pork
and potato diet, (and sometimes of potatoes alone without the pork),
in the backwoods, is really striking. Before a gentleman from the old
country concludes to settle in the bush, let him first visit these
comfortable abodes of peace and plenty.
The Hon. R. B---, when canvassing the county, paid a round of visits
to his principal political supporters, and they literally almost killed
him with kindness. Every house provided a feast in honour of their
distinguished guest, and he was obliged to eat at all.
Coming to spend a quiet evening at our house, the first words he uttered
were--"If you have any regard for me, Mrs. M---, pray don't ask me to
eat. I am sick of the sight of food."
I can well imagine the amount of "trouble" each good wife had
taken upon herself on this great occasion.
One of the most popular public exhibitions is the circus, a sort of
travelling Astley's theatre, which belongs to a company in New York.
This show visits all the large towns, once during the summer season. The
performances consists of feats of horsemanship, gymnastics, dancing on
the tight and slack rope, and wonderful feats of agility and strength;
and to those who have taste and nerve enough to admire such sights, it
possesses great attractions. The company is a large one, often exceeding
forty persons; it is provided with good performers, and an excellent
brass band. The arrival of the circus is commonly announced several
weeks before it makes its actual entree, in the public papers;
and large handbills are posted up in the taverns, containing coarse
woodcuts of the most exciting scenes in the performance. These ugly
pictures draw round them crowds of little boys, who know the whole of
the programme by heart, long before the caravans containing the tents
and scenery arrive. Hundreds of these little chaps are up before
day-break on the expected morning of the show, and walk out to
Shannonville, a distance of nine miles, to meet it.
However the farmers may grumble over bad times and low prices, the
circus never lacks its quantum of visitors; and there are plenty of
half-dollars to be had to pay for tickets for themselves and their
families.
The Indians are particularly fond of this exhibition, and the town is
always full of them the day the circus comes in.
A large tent is pitched on the open space between the Scotch church and
the old hospital, big enough to contain at least a thousand people,
besides a wide area for the performance and the pit. An amphitheatre of
seats rise tier above tier, to within a few feet of the eaves of the
tent, for the accommodation of the spectators; and the whole space is
lighted by a large chandelier, composed of tin holders, filled with very
bad, greasy, tallow candles, that in the close crowded place emit a very
disagreeable odour.
The show of horses and feats of horsemanship are always well worth
seeing, but the rest grows very tiresome on frequent repetition. Persons
must be very fond of this sort of thing who can twice visit the circus,
as year after year the clown repeats the same stale jests, and shows up
the same style of performers.
The last time I went, in order to please my youngest son, I was more
amused by the antics of a man who carried about bull's-eyes and
lemonade, than by any of the actors. Whenever he offered his tray of
sweets to the ladies, it was with such an affectedly graceful bend; and
throwing into his voice the utmost persuasion, he contrived to glance
down on the bulls'-eyes with half an eye, and to gaze up at the ladies
he addressed with all that remained of the powers of vision, exclaiming,
with his hand on his heart,--"How sweet they a-r-e!" combining a
recommendation of his bulls'-eyes with a compliment to the fair sex.
The show opens at two o'clock, P.M., and again at half-past seven in the
evening. The people from a distance, and the young children, visit the
exciting scene during the day; the town's-people at night, as it is less
crowded, cooler, and the company more select. Persons of all ranks are
there; and the variety of faces and characters that nature exhibits
gratis, are far more amusing to watch than the feats of the Athletes.
Then there is Barnham's travelling menagerie of wild animals, and of
tame darkie melodists, who occupy a tent by themselves, and a _white
nigger_ whom the boys look upon with the same wonder they would do at a
white rat or mouse. Everybody goes to see the wild beasts, and to poke
fun at the elephants. One man who, born and brought up in the Backwoods,
had never seen an elephant before, nor even a picture of one, ran half
frightened home to his master, exclaiming as he bolted into the room,
"Oh, sir! sir! you must let the childer go to the munjery. Shure there's
six huge critters to be seen, with no eyes, and a tail before and
behind."
The celebrated General Tom Thumb paid the town a visit last summer.
His presence was hailed with enthusiastic delight, and people crowded
from the most remote settlements to gaze upon the tiny man. One poor
Irishwoman insisted "that he was not a human crathur, but a poor fairy
changeling, and that he would vanish away some day, and never be heard
of again." Signor Blitz, the great conjuror, occasionally pays us a
visit, but his visits are like angel visits, few and far between. His
performance never fails in filling the large room in the court-house for
several successive nights, and his own purse. Then we have lecturers
from the United States on all subjects, who commonly content themselves
with hiring the room belonging to the Mechanics' Institute, where
they hold forth, for the moderate sum of a York shilling a head, on
mesmerism, phrenology, biology, phonography, spiritual communications,
etc.
These wandering lectures are often very well attended, and their
performance is highly entertaining. Imagine a tall, thin, bearded
American, exhibiting himself at a small wooden desk between two dingy
tallow candles, and holding forth in the genuine nasal twang on these
half-supernatural sciences on which so much is advanced, and of which so
little is at present understood. Our lecturer, however, expresses no
doubts upon the subject of which he treats. He proves on the persons of
his audience the truth of phrenology, biology, and mesmerism, and the
individuals he pitches upon to illustrate his facts perform their parts
remarkably well, and often leave the spectators in a maze of doubt,
astonishment, and admiration.
I remember, about three years ago, going with my husband to hear the
lecturers of a person who called himself Professor R---. He had been
lecturing for some nights running at the Mechanics' Institute for
nothing; and had drawn together a great number of persons to hear him,
and witness the strange things he effected by mesmerism on the persons
of such of the audience, who wished to test his skill. This would
have been but a poor way of getting his living. But these American
adventurers never give their time and labour for nothing. He obtained
two dollars for examining a head phrenologically, and drawing out a
chart; and as his lectures seldom closed without securing him a great
many heads for inspection, our disinterested professor contrived to
pocket a great deal of money, and to find his cheap lectures an
uncommonly profitable speculation.
We had heard a great deal of his curing a blacksmith of _tic-douloureux_
by mesmerizing him. The blacksmith, though a big, burly man, had turned
out an admirable clairvoyant, and by touching particular bumps in his
cranium, the professor could make him sing, dance, and fight all in a
breath, or transport him to California, and set him to picking gold.
I was very curious to witness this man's conduct under his alleged
mesmeric state, and went accordingly. After a long lecture, during which
the professor put into a deep sleep a Kentuckian giant, who travelled
with him, the blacksmith was called upon to satisfy the curiosity of the
spectators. I happened to sit near this individual, and as he rose to
comply with the vociferous demands of the audience, I shall never forget
the sidelong knowing glance he cast across the bench to a friend of
his own; it was, without exception, the most intelligent telegraphic
despatch that it was possible for one human eye to convey to another,
and said more plainly than words could--"You shall see how I can humbug
them all." That look opened my eyes completely to the farce that was
acting before me, and entering into the spirit of the scene, I must
own that I enjoyed it amazingly. The blacksmith was mesmerised by a
_look_ alone, and for half an hour went on in a most funny manner,
keeping the spectators with their eyes open, and in convulsions of
laughter. After a while, the professor left him to enjoy his mesmeric
nap, and chose another subject, in the person of a man who had lectured
a few nights before on the science of mnemonics, and had been
disappointed in a very scanty attendance.
After a decent time had elapsed, the new subject yielded very easily
to the professor's magic passes, and fell into a profound sleep. The
mesmerizer then led him, with his eyes shut, to the front of the stage,
and pointed out to the spectators the phrenological development of
his head; he then touched the bump of language, and set the seeming
automaton talking. But here the professor was caught in his own trap.
After once setting him going, he of the mnemonics refused to hold his
tongue until he had given, to his weary listeners, the whole lecture
he had delivered a few nights before. He pranced to and fro on the
platform, declaiming in the most pedantic voice, and kept us for one
blessed hour before he would suffer the professor to deprive him of the
unexpected opportunity thus afforded him of being heard. It was a droll
scene: the sly blacksmith in a profound fox's sleep--the declaimer
pretending to be asleep, and wide awake all the time--and the thin,
long-faced American, too wise to betray his colleagues, but evidently
annoyed beyond measure at the trick they had played him.
I once went to hear a lecture at the Mechanics' Institute, delivered
by a very eccentric person, who styled himself the Hon. James Spencer
Lidstone--_the Great Orator of the West_. My astonishment may be
guessed better than described, when he gave out for the subject of his
lecture--"Great women, from Eve down to Mrs. M---." Not wishing to make
myself a laughing-stock, to a pretty numerous audience, I left the room.
Going up the street next morning, a venerable white-haired old man ran
after me, and pulling me by the shawl, said, "Mrs. M---, why did you
leave us last night? He did you justice--indeed he did. You should have
stayed and heard all the fine things he said of you."
Besides scientific lecturers, Canada is visited by singers and musicians
of every country, and of every age and sex--from the celebrated Jenny
Lind, and the once celebrated Braham, down to pretenders who can neither
sing nor play, worth paying a York shilling to hear. Some of these
wandering musicians play with considerable skill, and are persons of
talent. Their life is one of strange vicissitudes and adventure, and
they have an opportunity of making the acquaintance of many odd
characters. In illustration of this, I will give you a few of the
trials of a travelling musician, which I took down from the dictation
of a young friend, since dead, who earned a precarious living by his
profession. He had the faculty of telling his adventures without
the power of committing them to paper; and, from the simplicity and
truthfulness of his character, I have no doubt of the variety of all the
amusing anecdotes he told. But he shall speak for himself in the next
chapter.
A May-Day Carol.
"There's not a little bird that wings
Its airy flight on high,
In forest bowers, that sweetly sings
So blithe in spring as I.
I love the fields, the budding flowers,
The trees and gushing streams;
I bathe my brow in balmy showers,
And bask in sunny beams.
"The wanton wind that fans my cheek,
In fancy has a voice,
In thrilling tones that gently speak--
Rejoice with me, rejoice!
The bursting of the ocean-floods,
The silver tinkling rills,
The whispering of the waving woods,
My inmost bosom fills.
"The moss for me a carpet weaves
Of patterns rich and rare;
And meekly through her sheltering leaves
The violet nestles there.
The violet!--oh, what tales of love,
Of youth's sweet spring are thine!
And lovers still in field and grove,
Of thee will chaplets twine.
"Mine are the treasures Nature strews
With lavish hand around;
My precious gems are sparkling dews,
My wealth the verdant ground.
Mine are the songs that freely gush
From hedge, and bush, and tree;
The soaring lark and speckled thrush
Discourse rich melody.
"A cloud comes floating o'er the sun,
The woods' green glories fade;
But hark! the blackbird has begun
His wild lay in the shade.
He hails with joy the threaten'd shower,
And plumes his glossy wing;
While pattering on his leafy bower,
I hear the big drops ring.
"Slowly at first, but quicker now,
The rushing rain descends;
And to each spray and leafy bough
A crown of diamonds lends.
Oh, what a splendid sight appears!
The sun bursts forth again;
And, smiling through sweet Nature's tears,
Lights up the hill and plain.
"And tears are trembling in my eyes,
Tears of intense delight;
Whilst gazing upward to the skies,
My heart o'erflows my sight.
Great God of nature! may thy grace
Pervade my inmost soul;
And in her beauties may I trace
The love that form'd the whole!"