Judging from his account, it must be a pleasant place and eligible
residence. Such quadrilling and polkaing, and riding and
sleighing--picnics in the summer to the ChaudiA"re falls and other
beautiful places, fishing-parties to Lake Beaufort in the fine Canadian
autumn, snow-shoing in the winter, fun and merriment at all seasons. In
the Terpsichorean divertisements above cited, our author--being, as
already observed, obese and elderly--took no share, but looked on
good-humouredly, and slily noted the love-passages between the handsome
English captains and pretty Canadian girls. The latter are most
attractive. Brought out young, and mixing largely in society, they are
not very deeply read, but are exceedingly loveable, and possess an
indescribable charm of manner. Owing probably to the extremes of heat
and cold in Canada, beauty is there less durable than in the mother
country. Early matured, it speedily fades. The fair Canadians make good
use of the interval, and find it abundantly long to play havoc with the
hearts of the other sex. The English officers are particularly
susceptible to their fascinations, and many marry in Canada; as do also
a large proportion of the English merchants who go over there. The style
of dress of these seductive damsels is simple, but tasteful. In winter,
of course, they are furred to the eyes, as a protection from the
piercing cold, which rivals that of Siberia. Muffed and gauntleted, well
packed in bear and buffalo skins, they are driven about in sledges by
their male friends, who wear huge fur caps, flapped over the ears,
enormous blanket or buffalo coats, jack-boots, moose-skin moccasins, and
other contrivances equally inelegant and comfortable. The extreme
dryness of the air renders the cold much more endurable than might be
supposed. The sun shines brightly, the atmosphere is crisp and
exhilarating; there is rarely much wind. Under these circumstances, the
thermometer may go down, as it frequently does, to thirty or forty
degrees below zero, without any serious inconvenience or suffering being
felt. When a gale comes during the cold season, the effect is very
different. Our author tells us of a certain Sunday, "when the
thermometer was at thirty degrees below zero, and a high wind blew at
the same time. The effect, in many respects, was not unlike that of
intense heat; the sky was very red about the setting sun, and deep blue
elsewhere; the earth and river were covered with a thin haze, and the
tin cross and spires, and the new snow, shone with almost unnatural
brightness; dogs went mad from the cold and want of water; metal exposed
to the air blistered the hand, as if it had come out of a fire; no one
went out of doors but from necessity, and those who did, hurried along
with their fur-gloved hands over their faces, as if to guard against an
atmosphere infected with the plague; for as the icy wind touched the
skin, it scorched it like a blaze. But such a day as this occurs only
once in many years."
There is tolerable fishing and shooting around Quebec; trout in
abundance, salmon within five-and-twenty miles, snipe and woodcock, hare
and partridge. Angling, however, is rendered almost as unpleasant an
operation for the fisher as for the fish, by the mosquitoes, which
abound in the summer months, and are extremely troublesome in country
places, though they do not venture into towns. To get good shooting it
is necessary to go a considerable distance. But the grand object of the
Canadian chase is the enormous moose-deer, which grows to the height of
seven feet and upwards, and is sometimes fierce and dangerous. In the
month of February, our author and a military friend started on a
moose-hunting expedition, which lasted six days, and ended in the
slaughter of two fine specimens. They were guided by four Indians,
belonging to a remnant of the Huron tribe, settled at the village of
Sorette, near Quebec; a degenerate race, mostly with a cross of the
French Canadian in their blood, idle, dirty, covetous, and especially
drunken. There are other domesticated Indians in Canada who bear a
higher character. During the insurrection, a party of rebels having
approached the Indian village of Caughrawaga, the warriors of the tribe
hastily armed themselves, and sallied forth to attack them. Taken by
surprise, the insurgents were made prisoners, bound with their own
sashes, and conveyed to Montreal jail. The victors were of the once
powerful and ferocious tribe of the Six Nations. Their chief told the
English general commanding, that, if necessary, he would bring him,
within four-and-twenty hours, the scalps of every inhabitant of the
neighbourhood. None of the Red men's prisoners had been injured.
The moose-hunting guides were of a very different stamp to the brave,
loyal, and humane Indians of Caughrawaga. They were most disgusting and
sensual ruffians, eating themselves torpid, and constantly manA"uvring
to get at the brandy bottle. As guides, they proved tolerably efficient.
The account of the snow houses they constructed for the night, and of
their proceedings in the "bush," is highly interesting. Large fires were
lighted in the sleeping cabins, but they neither melted the snow nor
kept out the intense cold. "About midnight I awoke, fancying that some
strong hand was grasping my shoulders: it was the cold. The fire blazed
away brightly, so close to our feet that it singed our robes and
blankets; but at our heads diluted spirits froze into a solid mass."
Another curious example is given of the violence of Canadian cold. A
couple of houses were burned, and "the flames raged with fury in the
still air, but did not melt the hard thick snow on the roof till it fell
into the burning ruins. The water froze in the engines; hot water was
then obtained, and as the stream hissed off the fiery rafters, the
particles fell frozen into the flames below." A sharp climate this! but
in spite of it and of various inconveniences and hardships, the hunters
reached the _ravagA(C)_ or moose-yard, bagged their brace of deer, and
returned to Quebec, satisfied with their expedition, still better
pleased at having it over, and fully convinced that once of that sort of
thing is enough for a lifetime.
From Quebec to Montreal, up the St Lawrence, in glorious midsummer
weather, our traveller takes us, in a great American river-steamer, like
a house upon the water, with a sort of upper story built upon deck, and
a promenade upon its roof, gliding past green slopes and smiling
woodlands, neat country-houses and white cottages, and fertile fields,
in which the _habitans_, as the French Canadian peasants are called, are
seen at work, enlivening their toil by their national song of _La Claire
Fontaine_, and by other pleasant old ditties, first sung, centuries ago,
on the flowery banks of the sunny Loire. Truly there is something
delightful and affecting in the simple, harmless, contented life of
these French Canadians, in their clinging to old customs--their very
costume is that of the first settlers--and to old superstitions, in
their unaffected piety and gentle courtesy. They do not "progress," they
are not "go-a-head;" of education they have little; they are neither
"smart" nor "spry;" but they are virtuous and happy. Knowing nothing of
the world beyond _La belle Canada_, they have no desires beyond a
tranquil life of labour in their modest farms and peaceful homesteads.
Montreal is a handsome bustling town, with a prosperous trade and
metropolitan aspect, and combines the energy and enterprise of an
American city with the solidity of an English one. In size, beauty, and
population, it has made astonishing strides within the last few years.
It owes much to the removal thither of the seat of government, more
still to a first-rate commercial position and to the energy of its
inhabitants. Its broad and convenient stone wharf is nearly a mile in
length; its public buildings are large and numerous, more so than is
necessary for its present population of fifty thousand persons, and
evidently built in anticipation of a great and speedy increase. The most
important in size, and the largest in the New World, is the French
cathedral, within which, we are told, ten thousand persons can at one
time kneel. The people of Montreal are less sociable than those of
Quebec; the entertainments are more showy but less agreeable. Party
feeling runs high; the elections are frequently attended with much
excitement and bitterness; occasional collisions take place between the
English, Irish, and French races. Employment is abundant, luxury
considerable, plenty every where.
It was during his journey from Montreal to Kingston, performed
principally in steam-boats, that the author of _Hochelaga_ first had the
felicity of setting foot on the soil of the States. Happening to mention
that he had never before enjoyed that honour, a taciturn, sallow-looking
gentleman on board the steamer, who wore a broad-brimmed white hat,
smoked perpetually, but never spoke, waited till he saw him fairly on
shore, and then removed the cigar from his mouth and broke silence. "'I
reckon, stranger,' was his observation, 'you have it to say now that you
have been in a free country.' It was afterwards discovered that this
enthusiast for 'free' countries was a planter from Alabama, and that, to
the pleasures of his tour, he united the business of inquiring for
runaway slaves." On this occasion, however, the singular advantage of
treading republican ground was luxuriated in by our traveller but for a
very brief time. He had disembarked only to stretch his legs, and
returning on board, proceeded to Lake Ontario and to Kingston--an
uncomfortable-looking place, with wide dreary streets, at the sides of
which the grass grows. Nevertheless, it has some trade and an increasing
population--the latter rather Yankeefied, from the proximity to, and
constant intercourse with, the States. They "guess" a few, and
occasionally speak through the nose more than is altogether becoming in
British subjects and loyal Canadians, both of which, however, they
unquestionably are. Kingston is a favourite residence with retired
officers of the English army and navy. The necessaries of life are very
cheap; shooting and fishing good; and for those who love boating, the
inland ocean of Ontario spreads its broad blue waters, enlivened by a
host of steam and sailing vessels, fed by numerous streams, and
supplying the dwellers on its banks with fish of varied species and
peculiar excellence. The majority of emigrants from the mother country
settle in the lake districts, where labour is well remunerated and
farmers' profits are good. But the five-and-twenty thousand who annually
arrive, are as a drop of water in the ocean; they are imperceptible in
that vast extent of country. Here and there, it is true, one finds a
tolerably well-peopled district. This is the case in the vicinity of the
Bay of QuintA(C), a narrow arm of Lake Ontario, eighty miles in length, and
in many places not more than one broad. "On its shores the forests are
rapidly giving way to thriving settlements, some of them in situations
of very great beauty."
To be in Canada without visiting Niagara, would be equivalent to going
to Rome without entering St Peter's. As in duty bound, our traveller
betook himself to the Falls; and he distinguishes himself from many of
those who have preceded him thither by describing naturally and
unaffectedly their aspect, and the impression they made upon him. The
"everlasting fine water privilege," as the Americans call this
prodigious cataract, did not at first strike him with awe; but the
longer he gazed and listened, the greater did his admiration and
astonishment become. Seated upon the turf, near Table Rock, whence the
best view is obtained, he stared long and eagerly at the great wonder,
until he was dragged away to inspect the various accessories and smaller
marvels which hungry cicerrones insist upon showing, and confiding
tourists think it incumbent upon them to visit. Cockneyism and bad taste
have found their way even to Niagara. On both the English and the
American side, museum and camera-obscura, garden, wooden monument, and
watch-tower abound; and boys wander about, distributing Mosaic puffs of
pagodas and belvideres, whence the finest possible views are to be
obtained. Niagara, according to these disinterested gentry and their
poetical announcements, must be seen from all sides; from above and from
below, sideways and even from behind. The traveller is rowed to the foot
of the Falls, or as near to it as possible, getting not a little wet in
the operation; he is then seduced to the top of the pagoda, twenty-five
cents being charged for the accommodation; then hurried off to Iris
island, where the Indians, in days long gone by, had their
burying-ground; and, finally, having been inducted into an oil-cloth
surtout, and a pair of hard, dirty shoes, he is compelled to shuffle
along a shingly path cut out of the cliff, within the curve described by
the falling water--thus obtaining a posterior view of the cataract.
Chilled with cold, soaked and blinded by the spray, deafened with the
noise, sliding over numerous eels, which wind themselves, like wreathing
snakes, round his ankles and into his shoes, he undergoes this last
infliction; and is then let loose to wander where he listeth, free from
the monotonous vulgarity of guides and the wearisome babble of visitors,
and having acquired the conviction that he might as well have saved
himself all this plague and trouble, for that, "as there is but one
perfect view for a painting, so there is but one for Niagara. See it
from Table Rock: gaze thence upon it for hours, days if you like, and
then go home. As for the Rapids, Cave of the Winds, Burning Springs,
&c., &c., you might as well enter into an examination of the gilt
figures on the picture frame, as waste your time on them."
With the first volume of _Hochelaga_, the author concludes his Canadian
experiences, and rambles into the States--beyond a doubt the most
ticklish territory a literary tourist can venture upon. Of the very many
books that have been written concerning America, not one did we ever
hear of that was fortunate enough to find approval in the eyes of
Americans. And we are entirely at a loss to conjecture what sort of
notice of them and their country _would_ prove satisfactory to these
very difficult gentry. None, we apprehend, that fell short of
unqualified praise; none that did not depreciate all other nations to
their greater glorification, and set America and her institutions on
that pinnacle of perfection which her self-satisfied sons persuade
themselves they have attained. To please their pampered palates, praise
must be unlimited; no hints of positive deficiency, or even of possible
improvement, must chill the glowing eulogium. Censure, even conditional
commendation, they cannot stomach. Admit that they are brave and
hospitable, energetic and industrious, intelligent and patriotic; it
will advance you little in their good graces, unless you also aver that
they are neither braggarts nor jealous; that, as a nation, they are
honest and honourable; as individuals, models of polished demeanour and
gentlemanly urbanity. Nay, when you have done all that, the chances are
that some red-hot planter from the southern States calls upon you to
drink Success to slavery, and the Abolitionists to the tar-barrel! The
author of _Hochelaga_ is aware of this weak point of the American
character: he likes the Americans; considers them a wonderful people;
praises them more than we ever heard them praised, save by themselves;
and yet, because he cannot shut his eyes to their obvious failings, he
feels that he is ruined in their good opinion. On his way to Saratoga,
he fell in with a Georgian gentleman and lady, pleasant people, who
begged him frankly to remark upon any thing in the country and its
customs which appeared to him unusual or strange. He did so, and his
criticisms were taken in good part till he chanced upon slavery. This
was the sore point. Luckily there was a heavy swell upon the lake, and
the Georgian became sea-sick, which closed the discussion as it began to
get stormy. With other Americans on board the steamer, our traveller
sought opportunities of discoursing. He found them courteous and
intelligent; with a good deal of superficial information, derived
chiefly from newspaper reading; partial to the English, as
individuals--but not as a nation; prone to judge of English institutions
and manners from isolated and exceptional examples; to reason "on the
state of the poor from the Andover workhouse: on the aristocracy, from
the late Lord Hertford; on morality, from Dr Lardner." Every where he
met with kindness and hospitality; but, on the other hand, he was not
unfrequently disgusted by coarseness of manners, and compelled to smile
at the utter want of tact which is an American characteristic, and which
inherent defect education, travel, good-humour, and kind-heartedness,
are insufficient to eradicate or neutralise in the natives of the Union.
"A friend, in giving me hints of what was best worth seeing in the
Capitol at Washington, said, 'there are some very fine pictures. Oh, I
beg pardon; I mean that there is a splendid view from the top of the
building.' I knew perfectly well that those paintings, which his
good-nature rebuked him for having incautiously mentioned, represented
the surrender of Burgoyne, and other similar scenes--in reality about as
heart-rending to me as a sketch of the battle of Hexham would be. To
this day, I admire my friend's kind intentions more than his tact in
carrying them out."
The expectoration, chewing, and other nastinesses indulged in by many
classes of Americans, and which have proved such fruitful themes for the
facetiousness of book-writers, are very slightly referred to by the
author of _Hochelaga_, who probably thinks that enough has already been
said on such sickening subjects. He attributes some of these
peculiarities to a sort of general determination to alter and improve on
English customs. In driving, the Americans keep the right side of the
road instead of the left; in eating, they reverse the uses of the knife
and fork; perhaps it is the same spirit of opposition that prompts them
to bolt their food dog-fashion and with railroad rapidity, instead of
imitating the cleanly decorum with which Englishmen discuss their meals.
Talking of knives--in most of the country inns they are broad, round,
and blunt at the point, in order that they may be used as spoons, and
even thrust half-way down the throats of tobacco-chewing republicans,
who do not hesitate to cut the butter, and help themselves to salt, with
the same weapon that has just been withdrawn from the innermost recesses
of their mouth, almost of their gullet. In America, people seem to be
for ever in a hurry; every thing is done "on the rush," and as if it
were merely the preliminary to something else much more important, to
which it is essential to get as speedily as possible. At Boston our
traveller was put into a six-bedded room, the only empty one in the
hotel. Three of the beds were engaged by Americans. "I as fortunate to
awaken just as the American gentlemen came in; for it gave me an
opportunity of seeing a dispatch in going to rest rivalling that in the
dinner department. From the time the door opened, there appeared to be
nothing but a hop-step-and-jump into bed, and then a snore of the
profoundest repose. Early in the morning, when these gentlemen awoke
from their balmy slumbers, there was another hop-step-and-jump out of
bed, and we saw no more of them." We are happy to learn, however, that a
great change has of late years been wrought in the coarser and more
offensive points of American manners and habits--chiefly, we are
assured, by the satirical works of English writers. Much yet remains to
be done, as is admitted in the book before us, where it is certain that
as good a case as possible, consistent with truth, has been made out for
the Americans. "Even now I defy any one to exaggerate the horrors of
chewing, and its odious consequences; the shameless selfishness which
seizes on a dish, and appropriates the best part of its contents, if the
plate cannot contain the whole; and the sullen silence at meal times."
The class to which this passage refers is a very numerous one, and far
from the lowest in the country--as regards position and circumstances,
that is to say. Its members are met with in every steam-boat and railway
carriage, at boarding-houses and public dinner tables. They have dollars
in plenty, wear expensive clothes, and live on the fat of the land; but
their manners are infinitely worse than those of any class with which a
traveller in England can possibly be brought in contact. Most of them,
doubtless, have risen from very inferior walks of life. Their
circumstances have improved, themselves have remained stationary,
chiefly from the want of an established standard of refinement to strain
up to. It would be as absurd as illiberal to assert that there are no
well-bred, gentlemanly men in the States; but it is quite certain that
they are the few, the exceptions, insufficient in number to constitute a
class. Elegance and republicanism are sworn foes; the latter condemns
what the first depends upon. An aristocracy, an army, an established
church, mould, by their influence and example, the manners of the
masses. The Americans decline purchasing polish at such a price. The day
will come when they shall discover their error, and cease to believe
that the rule of the many constitutes the perfection of liberty and
happiness. At present, although they eagerly snatch at the few titles
current in their country, and generals and honourables are every where
in exceeding abundance, the only real eminence amongst them is money.
Its eager and unremitting pursuit leaves little time for the cultivation
of those tastes which refine and improve both mind and manners.
Nevertheless, as above mentioned, there _is_ an improvement in the
latter item; and certain gross inelegancies, which passed unnoticed half
a score years ago, now draw down public censure upon their perpetrators.
"A Trollope! a Trollope!" was the cry upon a certain evening at the
Baltimore theatre, when one of the sovereign people fixed his feet upon
the rail of the seat before him, and stared at the performance through
his upraised legs. However they may sneer at "benighted Britishers," and
affect to pity and look down upon their oppressed and unhappy condition,
the Americans secretly entertain a mighty deference for this country and
the opinion of its people. The English press is looked upon with
profound respect; a leading article in the _Times_ is read as an oracle,
and carries weight even when it exasperates. And with all his assumed
superiority, the American is never displeased, but the contrary, at
being mistaken for an Englishman. The stinging missiles fired from this
side of the Atlantic at Pennsylvanian repudiators had no small share in
bringing about the recent tardy payment of interest. The satire of
Sydney Smith spoke more loudly to American ears than did the voices of
conscience and common honesty.