Camp Meetings
"On--on!--for ever brightly on,
Thy lucid waves are flowing:
Thy waters sparkle as they run,
Their long, long journey going."
S.M.
We have rounded Ox Point, and Belleville is no longer in sight. The
steamboat has struck into mid channel, and the bold shores of the Prince
Edward District are before us. Calmly we glide on, and islands and
headlands seem to recede from us as we advance; and now they are far
in the distance, half seen through the warm purple haze that rests
so dreamily upon woods and waters. Heaven is above us, and another
heaven--more soft, and not less beautiful--lies mirrored beneath; and
within that heaven are traced exquisite forms of earth--trees, and
flowers, and verdant slopes, and bold hills, and barren rugged rocks.
The scene is one of surpassing loveliness, and we open our hearts to
receive its sweet influences, while our eyes rest upon it with intense
delight, and the inner voice of the soul whispers--God is here! Dost
thou not catch the reflection of his glory in this superb picture of
Nature's own painting, while the harmony that surrounds his throne is
faintly echoed by the warm balmy wind that stirs the lofty branches of
the woods, and the waves that swell and break in gentle undulation
against these rocky isles?
"So smiled the heavens upon the vestal earth,
The morn she rose exulting from her birth;
A living harmony, a perfect plan
Of power and beauty, ere the rebel man
Defiled with sin, and stain'd with kindred blood,
The paradise his God pronounced as good."
That rugged point to the left contains a fine quarry of limestone, which
supplies excellent building materials. The stones are brought by the
means of a scow, a very broad flat-bottomed boat, to Belleville, where
they are sawn into square blocks, and dressed for doors sills and
facings of houses. A little further on, the Salmon river discharges its
waters into the bay, and on its shores the village of Shannonville has
risen, as if by magic, within a very few years. Three schooners are just
now anchored at its mouth, receiving cargoes of sawn lumber to carry
over to Oswego. The timber is supplied from the large mill, the din of
whose machinery can be heard distinctly at this distance. Lumber forms,
at present, the chief article of export from this place. Upwards of one
million of sawn lumber was shipped from this embryo town during the past
year.
Shannonville owes its present flourishing prospects to the energy and
enterprise of a few individuals, who saw at a glance its capabilities,
and purchased for a few hundred pounds the site of a town which is now
worth as many thousands. The steamboats do not touch at Shannonville, in
their trips to and from Kingston. The mouth of the river is too narrow
to admit a larger vessel than a schooner, but as the place increases,
wharfs will be built at its entrance into the bay.
On the road leading from Belleville to this place, which is in the
direct route to Kingston, there is a large tract of plain land which is
still uncultivated. The soil is sandy, and the trees are low and far
apart, a natural growth short grass and flowering shrubs giving it very
much the appearance of a park. Clumps of butternut, and hiccory trees,
form picturesque groups; and herds of cattle, belonging to the settlers
in the vicinity, roam at large over these plains that sweep down to the
water's edge. This is a very favourite resort of summer parties, as
you can drive light carriages in all directions over this elevated
platform. It used formerly to be a chosen spot for camp-meetings, and
all the piously disposed came hither to listen to the preachers, and
"get religion."
I never witnessed one of these meetings, but an old lady gave me a very
graphic description of one of them that was held on this spot some
thirty years ago. There were no churches in Belleville then, and the
travelling Methodist ministers used to pitch their tents on these
plains, and preach night and day to all goers and comers. A pulpit,
formed of rough slabs of wood, was erected in a conveniently open space
among the trees, and they took it by turns to read, exhort, and pray,
to the dwellers in the wilderness. At right they kindled large fires,
which served both for light and warmth, and enabled the pilgrims to
this sylvan shrine to cook their food, and attend to their wants of
their little ones. Large booths, made of the boughs of trees, sheltered
the worshippers from the heat of the sun during the day, or from the
occasional showers produced by some passing thunder cloud at night.
"Our bush farm," said my friend, "happened to be near the spot, and I
went with a young girl, a friend and neighbour, partly out of curiosity
and partly out of fun, to hear the preaching. It was the middle of July,
but the weather was unusually wet for that time of year, and every
tent and booth was crowded with men, women, and children, all huddled
together to keep out of the rain. Most of these tents exhibited some
extraordinary scene of fanaticism and religious enthusiasm; the noise
and confusion were deafening. Men were preaching at the very top of
their voice; women were shrieking and groaning, beating their breasts
and tearing their hair, while others were uttering the most frantic
outcries, which they called _ejaculatory prayers_. One thought possessed
me all the time, that the whole assembly were mad, and that they
imagined God to be deaf, and that he could not hear them without their
making this shocking noise. It would appear to you like the grossest
blasphemy were I to repeat to you some of their exclamations; but one
or two were so absurdly ridiculous, that I cannot help giving them as
I heard them.
"One young woman, after lying foaming and writhing upon the ground,
like a creature possessed, sprang up several feet into the air,
exclaiming, 'I have got it! I have got it! I have got it!' To which
others responded--'Keep it! keep it! keep it!' I asked a bystander
what she meant. He replied, 'she has got religion. It is the Spirit
that is speaking in her.' I felt too much shocked to laugh out, yet
could scarcely retain my gravity.
"Passing by one of the tents, I saw a very fat woman lying upon a bench
on her face, uttering the most dismal groans, while two well-fed,
sleek-looking ministers, in rusty black coats and very dirty-looking
white chokers, were drumming upon her fat back with their fists,
exclaiming--'Here's glory! here's glory, my friends! Satan is departing
out of this woman. Hallelujah!' This spectacle was too shocking to
provoke a smile.
"There was a young lady dressed in a very nice silk gown. Silk was a
very scarce and expensive article in those days. The poor girl got
dreadfully excited, and was about to fling herself down upon the wet
grass, to show the depth of her humility and contrition, when she
suddenly remembered the precious silk dress, and taking a shawl of less
value from her shoulders, carefully spread it over the wet ground.
"Ah, my dear friend," continued the old lady, "one had a deal to learn
at that camp-meeting. A number of those people knew no more what they
were about than persons in a dream. They worked themselves up to a pitch
of frenzy, because they saw others carried away by the same spirit; and
they seemed to try which could make the most noise, and throw themselves
into the most unnatural positions. Few of them carried the religious
zeal they manifested in such a strange way at that meeting, into their
own homes. Before the party broke up it was forgotten, and they were
laughing and chatting about their worldly affairs. The young lads were
sparking the girls, and the girls laughing and flirting with them. I
remarked to an old farmer, who was reckoned a very pious man, 'that such
conduct, in persons who had just been in a state of despair about their
sins, was very inconsistent, to say the least of it;' and he replied,
with a sanctimonious smile--'It is only the Lord's lambs, playing
with each other.'"
These camp-meetings seldom take place near large towns, where the people
have the benefit of a resident minister, but they still occur on the
borders of civilization, and present the same disorderly mixture of
fanaticism and vanity.
More persons go for a frolic than to obtain any spiritual benefit. In
illustration of this, I will tell you a story which a very beautiful
young married lady told to me with much glee, for the thing happened
to herself, and she was the principal actor in the scene.
"I had an aunt, the wife of a very wealthy yeoman, who lived in one of
the back townships of C---, on the St. Lawrence. She was a very pious
and hospitable woman, and none knew it better than the travelling
ministers, who were always well fed and well lodged at her house,
particularly when they assembled to hold a camp-meeting, which took
place once in several years in that neighbourhood.
"I was a girl of fifteen, and was staying with my aunt for the benefit
of the country-air, when one of these great gatherings took place.
Having heard a great deal about their strange doings at these meetings,
I begged very hard to be allowed to make one of the spectators. My aunt,
who knew what a merry, light-hearted creature I was, demurred for some
time before she granted my request.
"'If the child does not _get religion_,' she said, 'she will turn it all
into fun, and it will do her more harm than good.'
"Aunt was right enough in her conjunctures; but still she entertained a
latent hope, that the zeal of the preachers, the excitement of the
scene, and the powerful influence produced by the example of the pious,
might have a beneficial effect on my young mind, and lead to my
conversion. Aunt had herself been reclaimed from a state of careless
indifference by attending one of these meetings, and at last it was
determined that I was to go.
"First came the ministers, and then the grand feed my aunt had prepared
for them, before they opened the campaign. Never shall I forget how
those holy men devoured the good things set before them. I stood gazing
upon them in utter astonishment, wondering when their meal would come to
an end. They none wore whiskers, and their broad fat faces literally
shone with high feeding. When I laughed at their being such excellent
knife and fork men, aunt gravely reproved my levity, by saying, 'that
the labourer was worthy of his hire; and that it would be a great sin to
muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn; that field preaching was a
very exhausting thing, and that these pious men required a great deal of
nourishment to keep up their strength for the performance of good work.'
"After they were gone, I dressed and accompanied my aunt to the scene of
action.
"It was a lovely spot, about a mile from the house. The land rose in a
gentle slope from the river, and was surrounded on three sides by lofty
woods. The front gave us a fine view of the St. Lawrence, rushing along
in its strength, the distant murmur of the waves mingling with the sigh
of the summer breeze, that swept the dense foliage of the forest trees.
The place had been cleared many years before, and was quite free from
stumps and fallen timber, the ground carpeted with soft moss and verdant
fresh looking turf.
"The area allotted for the meeting was fenced around with the long thin
trunks of sapling trees, that were tied together with strips of
bass-wood. In the centre of the enclosure was the platform for the
preachers, constructed of rough slabs, and directly behind this rural
pulpit was a large tent connected with it by a flight of board steps.
Here the preachers retired, after delivering their lectures, to rest and
refresh themselves. Fronting the platform was a sort of amphitheatre
of booths, constructed of branches of trees, and containing benches
of boards supported at either end by a round log laid lengthwise at
the sides of the tent. Behind these rough benches persons had placed
mattrasses, which they had brought with them in their waggons, that such
as came from a distance might not want for a bed during their stay--some
of these meetings lasting over a week.
"The space without the enclosure was occupied by a double line of carts,
waggons, light carriages, and ox sleds, while the animals undivested of
their harness were browsing peacefully among the trees. The inner space
was crowded with persons of all classes, but the poorer certainly
predominated. Well dressed, respectable people, however, were not
wanting; and though I came there to see and to be seen, to laugh and to
make others laugh, I must confess that I was greatly struck with the
imposing and picturesque scene before me, particularly when a number of
voices joined in singing the hymn with which the service commenced."
There is something very touching in this blending of human voices in the
open air--this choral song of praise borne upwards from the earth, and
ascending through the clear atmosphere to heaven. Leaving my friend and
her curious narrative for a few minutes, I must remark here the powerful
effect produced upon my mind by hearing "God save the King," sung by the
thousands of London on the proclamation of William IV. It was impossible
to distinguish good or bad voices in such a mighty volume of sound,
which rolled through the air like a peal of solemn thunder. It thrilled
through my heart, and paled my cheek. It seemed to me the united voice
of a whole nation rising to the throne of God, and it was the grandest
combination of sound and sentiment that ever burst upon human ears.
Long, long may that thrilling anthem rise from the heart of England, in
strains of loyal thanksgiving and praise, to the throne of that Eternal
Potentate in whose hand is the fate of princes!
"There were numbers of persons who, like myself, came there for
amusement, and who seemed to enjoy themselves quite as much as I did.
The preaching at length commenced with a long prayer, followed by an
admonitory address, urging those present to see their danger, repent
of their sins, and flee from the wrath to come.
"Towards the middle of his discourse, the speaker wrought himself up
into such a religious fury that it became infectious, and cries and
groans resounded on all sides; and the prayers poured out by repentant
sinners for mercy and pardon were heart-rending. The speaker at length
became speechless from exhaustion, and stopping suddenly in the midst of
his too eloquent harangue, he tied a red cotton handkerchief round his
head, and hastily descended the steps, and disappeared in the tent
provided for the accommodation of the ministers. His place was instantly
supplied by a tall, dark, melancholy looking man, who, improving upon
his reverend brother's suggestions, drew such an awful picture of the
torments endured by the damned, that several women fainted, while others
were shrieking in violent hysterics.
"I had listened to the former speaker with attention and respect, but
this man's violent denunciations rather tended to harden my heart, and
make me resist any religious feeling that had been growing up in my
breast. I began to tire of the whole thing, and commenced looking about
for some object that might divert my thoughts into a less gloomy
channel.
"The bench on which I, together with a number of persons, was sitting,
was so insecurely placed on the round rolling logs that supported it,
that I perceived that the least motion given to it at my end would
capsize it, and bring all the dear groaning creatures who were sitting
upon it, with their eyes turned up to the preacher, sprawling on the
ground.
"'Would it not be glorious fun?' whispered the spirit of
mischief--perhaps the old one himself--in my ears. 'I can _do it_, and
I _will do it_--so here goes!' As I sat next to the round log that
supported my end of the plank, I had only to turn my face that way, and
apply my foot like a lever to the round trunk, on which the end of the
bench had the slightest possible hold, and the contemplated downfall
became a certainty. No sooner thought than done. The next moment old and
young, fat and lean, women and children, lay sprawling together on the
ground, in the most original attitudes and picturesque confusion. I, for
my part, was lying very comfortably on one of the mattrasses, laughing
until real tears, but not of contrition, streamed down my face.
"Never shall I forget a fat old farmer, who used to visit at my aunt's,
as he crawled out of the human heap on all fours, and shook his head at
me--
"'You wicked young sinner, this is all your doings.'
"Before the storm could burst upon me, I got up and ran laughing out of
the tent, and hid myself among the trees to enjoy my wicked thoughts
alone. Here I remained for a long time, watching, at a safe distance,
the mad gesticulations of the preacher, who was capering up and down on
the platform, and using the most violent and extravagant language, until
at length, overcome by his vehemence, he too tied the invariable red
handkerchief round his head, and tumbled back into the tent, to be
succeeded by another and another.
"Night, with all her stars, was now stealing upon us; but the light
from a huge pile of burning logs, and from torches composed of fat pine,
and stuck in iron grates supported on poles in different parts of the
plain, scattered the darkness back to the woods, and made it as light as
noon-day.
"The scene was now wild in the extreme: the red light streamed upon the
moving mass of human beings who pressed around the pulpit, glaring upon
clenched fists and upturned faces, while the preacher standing above
them, and thrown into strong relief, with his head held back and his
hands raised towards heaven, looked like some inspired prophet of old,
calling down fire from heaven to consume the ungodly. It was a spectacle
to inspire both fear and awe, but I could only view it in the most
absurd light, and laugh at it.
"At length I was determined to know what became of the preachers, after
tying the red handkerchief round their heads and retreating to their
tents. I crept carefully round to the back of this holy of holies, and
applying my eyes to a little aperture in the canvas, I saw by the light
of a solitary candle several men lying upon mattrasses fast asleep,
their noses making anything but a musical response to the hymns and
prayers without. While I was gazing upon these prostrate forms, thus
soundly sleeping after the hubbub and excitement their discourse had
occasioned among their congregation, the last speaker hastily entered
the tent, and flinging himself on to the floor, exclaimed, in a sort of
ecstacy of gratitude--'Well, thank God my task is ended for the night;
and now for a good sleep!'
"While I was yet pondering these things in my heart, I felt the grasp of
a hand upon my shoulder. I turned with a shriek; it was my aunt seeking
me. 'What are you doing here?' she said, rather angrily.
"'Studying my lesson, aunt,' said I, gravely, pointing to the sleepers.
'Do these men preach for their own honour and glory, or for the glory of
God? I have tried to find out, but I can't tell.'
"'The night's grown chilly, child,' said my aunt, avoiding the answer I
expected; 'it is time you were in bed.'
"We went home. I got a sound lecture for the trick I had played, and I
never went to a camp-meeting again; yet, in spite of my bad conduct as a
child, I believe they often do good, and are the means of making
careless people think of the state of their souls."
Though the steamboats do not stop at Shannonville, they never fail to do
so at the pretty town of Northport, on the other side of the bay, in
order to take in freight and passengers.
Northport rises with a very steep slope from the water's edge, and the
steamer runs into the wharf which projects but a few feet froth the
shore. Down the long hill which leads to the main street, men and boys
are running to catch a sight of the steamboat, and hear the news. All is
bustle and confusion. Barrels of flour are being rolled into the boat,
and sheep and cattle are led off--men hurry on board with trunks and
carpet-bags--and women, with children in their arms or led by the
hand, hasten on board;--while our passengers, descending to the
wharf, are shaking hands with merchants and farmers, and talking over
the current prices of grain and merchandise at their respective towns.
The bell rings--the cable that bound us to the friendly wharf is cast
off and flung on the deck the steamer opens her deep lungs, and we are
once more stemming our way towards Kingston.
While we sail up that romantic part of the Bay of Quinte, called the
"Long Reach," at the head of which stands the beautiful town of Picton,
I will give you a few reminiscences of Northport. It is a most quiet and
primitive village, and one might truly exclaim with Moore--
"And I said if there's peace to be found on the earth,
The heart that is humble might hope for it here."
No gentler picture of society in a new country could be found, than the
one exhibited by the inhabitants of Northport. The distinctions,
unavoidable among persons of wealth and education, are hardly felt or
recognised here. Every one is a neighbour in the strictest sense of the
word and high and low meet occasionally at each other's houses. Even the
domestics are removed by such a narrow line of demarcation, that they
appear like members of one family.
The Prince Edward district, one of the wealthiest rural districts in
Upper Canada, was settled about sixty years ago by U.E. loyalists; and
its inhabitants are mainly composed of the descendants of Dutch and
American families. They have among them a large sprinkling of Quakers,
who are a happy, hospitable community, living in peace and brotherly
kindness with all men.
The soil of this district is of the best quality for agricultural
purposes; and though the march of improvement has been slow, when
compared with the rapid advance of other places that possessed fewer
local advantages, it has gone on steadily progressing, and the surface
of a fine undulating country is dotted over with large well-cleared
farms, and neat farmhouses.
One of the oldest and wealthiest inhabitants of Northport, Captain
---, is a fine specimen of the old school of Canadian settlers; one of
nature's gentlemen, a man respected and beloved by all who know him,
whose wise head, and keen organs of observation, have rendered him a
highly intelligent and intellectual man, without having received the
benefit of a college education. His house is always open for the
reception of friends, neighbours, and strangers. He has no children
of his own, but has adopted several orphan children, on whom he has
bestowed all the affection and care of a real parent.
This system of adopting children in Canada is one of great benevolence,
which cannot be too highly eulogized. Many an orphan child, who would be
cast utterly friendless upon the world, finds a comfortable home with
some good neighbour, and is treated with more consideration, and enjoys
greater privileges, than if his own parents had lived. No difference
is made between the adopted child and the young ones of the family; it
is clothed, boarded, and educated with the same care, and a stranger
would find it difficult to determine which was the real, which the
transplanted scion of the house.
Captain --- seldom dines alone; some one is always going and coming,
stepping in and taking pot-luck, by accident or invitation. But the
Captain can afford it. Sociable, talkative, and the soul of hospitality,
he entertains his guests like a prince. "Is he not a glorious old
fellow?" said our beloved and excellent chief-justice Robinson;
"Captain --- is a credit to the country." We echoed this sentiment
with our whole heart. It is quite a treat to make one of his uninvited
guests, and share the good-humoured sociability of his bountiful table.
You meet there men of all grades and conditions, of every party
and creed,--the well-educated, well-dressed clergymen of the
Establishment, and the travelling dispensers of gospel truths, with
shabbier coats and less pretensions. No one is deemed an intruder--all
find excellent cheer, and a hearty welcome.
Northport does not want its native poet, though the money-making
merchants and farmers regard him with a suspicious and pitying eye. The
manner in which they speak of his unhappy malady reminds me of what an
old Quaker said to me regarding his nephew, Bernard Barton--"Friend
Susanna, it is a great pity, but my nephew Bernard is sadly addicted to
literature."
So Isaac N---, gentleman farmer of the township of Ameliasburgh, is
sadly gifted with the genuine elements of poetry, and, like Burns,
composes verses at the plough-tail. I have read with great pleasure some
sweet lines by this rural Canadian bard; and were he now beside me,
instead of "Big bay" lying so provokingly between, I would beg from him
a specimen of his rhyming powers, just to prove to my readers that the
genuine children of song are distinguished by the same unmistakeable
characteristics in every clime.
I remember being greatly struck by an overcoat, worn by a clergyman I
had the pleasure of meeting many years ago at this village, which seemed
to me a pretty good substitute for the miraculous purse of Fortunatus.
The garment to which I allude was long and wide, and cut round somewhat
in the shape of a spencer. The inside lining formed one capacious
pocket, into which the reverend gentleman could conveniently stow away
newspapers, books, and sermons, and, on a pinch, a fat fowl, a bottle of
wine, or a homebaked loaf of bread. On the present occasion, the kind
mistress of the house took care that the owner should not travel with
it empty; so, to keep him fairly balanced on his horse, she stowed away
into this convenient garment such an assortment of good things, that I
sat and watched the operation in curious amazement.
Some time after I happened to dine with a dissenting minister at Mr.
---'s hous e. The man had a very repulsive and animal expression; he
ate so long and lustily of a very fat goose, that he began to look very
uncomfortable, and complained very much of being troubled with _dyspepsy_
after his meals. He was a great teetotaller, or professed to be one, but
certainly had forgotten the text, "Be ye moderate in all things;" for he
by no means applied the temperance system to the substantial creature
comforts, of which he partook in a most immoderately voracious manner.
"I know what would cure you, Mr. R---," said my friend, who seemed to
guess at a glance the real character of his visitor; "but then I know
that you would never consent to make use of such a remedy."
"I would take anything that would do me good," said black-coat with
a sigh.
"What think you of a small wine-glass of brandy just before taking
dinner?"
"Against my principles, Sir; it would never do," with a lugubrious shake
of the head.
"There is nothing on earth so good for your complaint."
"Do you _reelly_ think it would serve me?" with a sudden twinkle of
his heavy fishy eyes.
"Not a doubt of the fact" (pouring out a pretty large dram); "it will
kill the heartburn, and do away with that uncomfortable feeling you
experience after eating rich food. And as to principles, your pledge
allows it in case of disease."
"True," said black-coat, coquetting with the glass; "still I should be
sorry to try an _alcoholic_ remedy while another could be found."
"Perhaps you would prefer _eating less_," said my friend slyly, "which,
I have been told by a medical man, is generally a certain cure if
persevered in."
"Oh, ah, yes. But, Sir, my constitution would never stand that. I think
for _once_ I will try the effect of your first prescription; but,
remember, it is only _medicinally_."
The next moment the glass was returned to the table empty, and the good
man took his leave.
"Now, Mr. ---, was it not too bad of you to make that man break his
pledge?" observed a person at table.
"My dear Sir, that man requires very little temptation to do that. The
total abstinence of a glutton is entirely for the public."
The houses built by the Dutch settlers have very little privacy, as one
bed-chamber invariably opens into another. In some cases, the sleeping
apartments all open into a common sitting-room occupied by the family.
To English people, this is both an uncomfortable and very unpleasant
arrangement.
I slept for two nights at Mr. ---'s house, with my husband, and our
dormitory had no egress but through another bed-chamber; and as that
happened to be occupied on the first night by a clergyman, I had to wait
for an hour, after my husband was up and down stairs rejoicing in the
fresh air of a lovely summer morning, before I could escape from my
chamber,--my neighbour; who was young and very comely, taking a long
time for his prayers, and the business of the toilet.
My husband laughed very heartily at my imprisonment, as he termed it;
but the next day I had the laugh against him, for our sleeping
neighbours happened to be a middle-aged Quaker, with a very sickly
delicate wife. I, of course, was forced to go to bed when she did, or be
obliged to pass through her chamber after brother Jonathan had retired
for the night. This being by no means desirable, I left a very
interesting argument, in which my husband, the Quaker, and the poet were
fighting an animated battle on reform principles, against the clergyman
and my very much respected Tory host. How they got on I don't know, for
the debate was at its height when I was obliged to beat my retreat to
bed.
After an hour or so I heard Jonathan tumble upstairs to bed, and
while undressing he made the following very innocent remark to his
wife,--"Truly, Hannah, I fear that I have used too many words tonight.
My uncle is a man of many words, and one is apt to forget the rules of
prudence when arguing with him."
If the use of many words was looked upon as a serious transgression by
honest Jonathan, my husband, my friend, and the poet, must have been
very guilty men, for they continued their argument until the "sma' hours
ayont the twal."
My husband had to pass through the room occupied by the Friends, in
order to reach mine, but he put a bold face upon the matter, and plunged
at once through the difficulty, the Quaker's nose giving unmistakeable
notice that he was in the land of Nod. The pale sickly woman just opened
her dreamy black eyes, but hid them instantly beneath the bed-clothes,
and the passage, not of arms, but of the bed-chamber, was won.
The next morning we had to rise early to take the boat, and Jonathan was
up by the dawn of day; so that I went through as bold as a lion, and was
busily employed in discussing an excellent breakfast, while my poor
partner was sitting impatiently nursing his appetite at the foot of his
bed, and wishing the pale Quakeress across the bay. The steamer was in
sight before he was able to join us at the breakfast-table. I had now my
revenge, and teased him all the way home on being kept a prisoner, with
only a sickly woman for a jailor.
A young lady gave me an account of a funeral she witnessed in this
primitive village, which may not be uninteresting to my English readers,
as a picture of some of the customs of a new country.
The deceased was an old and very respectable resident in the township;
and as the Canadians delight in large funerals, he was followed to his
last home by nearly all the residents for miles round.
The use of the hearse is not known in rural districts, and, indeed, is
seldom used in towns or cities here. The corpse is generally carried to
the grave, the bearers being chosen from among the gentlemen of most
note in the neighbourhood, who, to the honour of the country be it
spoken, never refuse to act on these mournful occasions. These walking
funerals are far more imposing and affecting spectacles than the hearse
with its funeral plumes; and the simple fact of friends and neighbours
conveying a departed brother to his long home, has a more solemn and
touching effect upon the mind, than the train of hired mourners and
empty state-carriages.
When a body is brought from a distance for interment, it is conveyed in
a waggon, if in summer, spring, or autumn, and on a sleigh during the
winter season, and is attended to the grave by all the respectable
yeomen in the township.
I cannot resist the strong temptation of digressing from my present
subject, in order to relate a very affecting instance I witnessed at one
of these funerals of the attachment of a dog to his deceased master,
which drew tears from my eyes, and from the eyes of my children.
The body of a farmer had been brought in a waggon from one of the back
townships, a distance of twenty or thirty miles, and was, as usual in
such cases, attended by a long train of country equipages. My house
fronted the churchyard, and from the windows you could witness the whole
of the funeral ceremonial, and hear the service pronounced over the
grave. When the coffin was lifted by the stalwart sons of the deceased
from the waggon, and the procession formed to carry it into the church,
I observed a large, buff Flemish dog fall into the ranks of the
mourners, and follow them into the sacred edifice, keeping as near the
coffin as those about it would permit him. After the service in the
church was ended, the creature persevered in following the beloved
remains to the grave. When the crowd dispersed, the faithful animal
retired to some distance, and laid himself quietly down upon a grave,
until the sexton had finished his mournful task, and the last sod was
placed upon the fresh heap that had closed for ever over the form he
loved.
When the man retired, the dog proceeded to the spot, walked carefully
round it, smelt the earth, lifted his head, and uttered the most
unearthly howls. He then endeavoured to disinter the body, by digging a
large hole at one end of the grave; but finding that he could not effect
his purpose, he stretched himself at full length over it, as if to guard
the spot, with his head buried between his fore-paws, his whole
appearance betokening the most intense dejection.
All that day and night, and the next day and night, he never quitted his
post for an instant, at intervals smelling the earth, and uttering those
mournful, heart-rending cries. My boys took him bread and meat, and
tried to coax him from the grave; but he rejected the food and their
caresses. The creature appeared wasted and heartbroken with grief.
Towards noon of the third day, the eldest son of his late master came in
search of him; and the young man seemed deeply affected by this instance
of the dog's attachment to his father. Even his well-known voice failed
to entice him from the grave, and he was obliged to bring a collar and
chain, and lift him by force into his waggon, to get him from his post.
Oh, human love! is thy memory and thy faith greater than the attachment
of this poor, and, as we term him, unreasoning brute, to his dead
master? His grief made an impression on my mind, and on that of my
children, which will never be forgotten.
But to return to the village funeral. The body in this case was borne to
the church by the near relatives of the deceased; and a clergyman of
the establishment delivered a funeral sermon, in which he enumerated
the good qualities of the departed, his long residence among them, and
described the trials and hardships he had encountered as a first settler
in that district, while it was yet in the wilderness. He extolled his
conduct as a good citizen, and faithful Christian, and a public-spirited
man. His sermon was a very complete piece of rural biography, very
curious and graphic in its way, and was listened to with the deepest
attention by the persons assembled.
When the discourse was concluded, and the blessing pronounced, one of
the sons of the deceased rose and informed the persons present, that if
any one wished to take a last look of the dear old man, now was the
time.
He then led the way to the aisle, in which the coffin stood upon the
tressels, and opening a small lid in the top, revealed to the
astonishment of my young friend the pale, ghastly face of the dead.
Almost every person present touched either the face, hands, or brow of
the deceased; and after their curiosity had been fully satisfied, the
procession followed the remains to their last resting-place. This part
of the ceremony concluded, the indifferent spectators dispersed to their
respective homes, while the friends and relations of the dead man
returned to dine at the house of one of his sons, my friend making one
of the party.
In solemn state the mourners discussed the merits of an excellent
dinner,--the important business of eating being occasionally interrupted
by remarks upon the appearance of the corpse, his age, the disease of
which he died, the probable division of his property, and the merits
of the funeral discourse. This was done in such a business-like
matter-of-fact manner, that my friend was astonished how the blood
relations of the deceased could join in these remarks.
After the great business of eating was concluded the spirits of the
party began to flag. The master of the house perceiving how matters were
going, left the room, and soon returned with a servant bearing a tray
with plates and fork, and a large dish of hiccory nuts. The mourners
dried their tears, and set seriously to work to discuss the nuts, and
while deeply engaged with their mouse-like employment, forgot for awhile
their sorrow for the dead, continuing to keep up their spirits until the
announcement of tea turned their thoughts into a new channel. By the
time all the rich pies, cakes, and preserves were eaten, their feelings
seemed to have subsided into their accustomed everyday routine.
It is certain that death is looked upon by many Canadians more as a
matter of business, and a change of property into other hands, than as
a real domestic calamity. I have heard people talk of the approaching
dissolution of their nearest ties with a calm philosophy which I never
could comprehend. "Mother is old and delicate; we can't expect her to
last long," says one. "My brother's death has been looked for these
several months past; you know he's in the consumption." My husband asked
the son of a respectable farmer, for whom he entertained an esteem, how
his father was, for he had not seen him for some time? "I guess," was
the reply, "that the old man's fixing for the other world." Another
young man, being asked by my friend, Captain ---, to spend the evening
at his house, replied--"No, can't--much obliged; but I'm afear'd
that grandfather will give the last kicks while I'm away."
Canadians flock in crowds to visit the dying, and to gaze upon the dead.
A doctor told me that being called into the country to visit a very sick
man, he was surprised on finding the wife of his patient sitting alone
before the fire ill the lower room, smoking a pipe. He naturally
inquired if her husband was better?
"Oh, no, sir, far from that; he is dying!"
"Dying! and _you_ here?"
"I can't help that, sir. The room is so crowded with the neighbours,
that I can't get in to wait upon him."
"Follow me," said the doctor. "I'll soon make a clearance for you."
On ascending the stairs that led to the apartment of the sick man, he
found them crowded with people struggling to get in, to take a peep at
the poor man. It was only by telling them that he was the doctor, that
he forced his way to the bedside. He found his patient in a high fever,
greatly augmented by the bustle, confusion, and heat, occasioned by so
many people round him. With great difficulty he cleared the room of
these intruders, and told the brother of his patient to keep every one
but the sick man's wife out of the house. The brother followed the
doctor's advice, and the man cheated the curiosity of the death-seekers,
and recovered.
The Canadians spend a great deal of money upon their dead. An old lady
told me that her nephew, a very large farmer, who had the misfortune
to lose his wife in childbed, had laid out a great deal of money--a
little fortune she termed it--on her grave-clothes. "Oh, my dear," she
said, "it is a thousand pities that you did not go and see her before
she was buried. She was dressed so expensively, and she made such a
beautiful corpse! Her cap was of real thread lace, trimmed with white
French ribbons, and her linen the finest that could be bought in the
country."
The more ostentatious the display of grief for the dead, the less I have
always found of the reality. I heard two young ladies, who had recently
lost a mother, not more than sixteen years older than the eldest of the
twain, lamenting most pathetically that they could not go to a public
ball, because they were in mourning for ma'! Oh, what a pitiful farce is
this, of wearing mourning for the dead! But as I have a good deal to say
to sensible people on that subject, I will defer my long lecture until
the next chapter.
Random Thoughts.
"When is Youth's gay heart the lightest?--
When the torch of health burns brightest,
And the soul's rich banquet lies
In air and ocean, earth and skies;
Till the honied cup of pleasure
Overflows with mental treasure.
"When is Love's sweet dream the sweetest?--
When a kindred heart thou meetest,
Unpolluted with the strife,
The selfish aims that tarnish life;
Ere the scowl of care has faded
The shining chaplet Fancy braided,
And emotions pure and high
Swell the heart and fill the eye;
Rich revealings of a mind
Within a loving breast enshrined,
To thine own fond bosom plighted,
In affection's bonds united:
The sober joys of after years
Are nothing to those smiles and fears.
"When is Sorrow's sting the strongest?--
When friends grow cold we've loved the longest,
And the bankrupt heart would borrow
Treacherous hopes to cheat the morrow;
Dreams of bliss by reason banish'd,
Early joys that quickly vanish'd,
And the treasured past appears
Only to augment our tears;
When, within itself retreating,
The spirit owns life's joys are fleeting,
Yet, racked with anxious doubts and fears,
Trusts, blindly trusts to future years.
"Oh, this is grief, the preacher saith,--
The world's dark woe that worketh death!
Yet, oft beneath its influence bowed,
A beam of hope will burst the cloud,
And heaven's celestial shore appears
Slow rising o'er the tide of years,
Guiding the spirit's darkling way
Through thorny paths to endless day.
Then the toils of life are done,
Youth and age are both as one;
Sorrow never more can sting,
Neglect or pain the bosom wring;
And the joys bless'd spirits prove,
Far exceeds all earthly love!"