Once again, and for the last time, we shift our scene to Canada--to the
real backwoods now--the Brandon Settlement.
Sir Richard, you see, had been a noted sportsman in his youth. He had
chased the kangaroo in Australia, the springbok in Africa, and the tiger
in India, and had fished salmon in Norway, so that his objections to the
civilised parts of Canada were as strong as those of the Red Indians
themselves. He therefore resolved, when making arrangements to found a
colony, to push as far into the backwoods as was compatible with comfort
and safety. Hence we now find him in the _very_ far West.
We decline to indicate the exact spot, because idlers, on hearing of its
fertility and beauty and the felicity of its inhabitants, might be
tempted to crowd to it in rather inconvenient numbers. Let it suffice
to say, in the language of the aborigines, that it lies towards the
setting sun.
Around Brandon Settlement there are rolling prairies, illimitable
pasture-land, ocean-like lakes, grand forests, and numerous rivers and
rivulets, with flat-lands, low-lands, high-lands, undulating lands,
wood-lands, and, in the far-away distance, glimpses of the back-bone of
America--peaked, and blue, and snow-topped.
The population of this happy region consists largely of waifs with a
considerable sprinkling of strays. There are also several families of
"haristocrats," who, however, are not "bloated"--very much the reverse.
The occupation of the people is, as might be expected, agricultural;
but, as the colony is very active and thriving and growing fast, many
other branches of industry have sprung up, so that the hiss of the saw
and the ring of the anvil, the clatter of the water-mill, and the clack
of the loom, may be heard in all parts of it.
There is a rumour that a branch of the Great Pacific Railway is to be
run within a mile of the Brandon Settlement; but that is not yet
certain. The rumour, however, has caused much joyful hope to some, and
rather sorrowful anxiety to others. Mercantile men rejoice at the
prospect. Those who are fond of sport tremble, for it is generally
supposed, though on insufficient grounds, that the railway-whistle
frightens away game. Any one who has travelled in the Scottish
Highlands and seen grouse close to the line regarding your clanking
train with supreme indifference, must doubt the evil influence of
railways on game. Meanwhile, the sportsmen of Brandon Settlement pursue
the buffalo and stalk the deer, and hunt the brown and the grizzly bear,
and ply rod, net, gun, and rifle, to their hearts' content.
There is even a bank in this thriving settlement--a branch, if we
mistake not, of the flourishing Bank of Montreal--of which a certain Mr
Welland is manager, and a certain Thomas Balls is hall-porter, as well
as general superintendent, when not asleep in the hall-chair. Mrs
Welland, known familiarly as Di, is regarded as the mother of the
settlement--or, more correctly, the guardian angel--for she is not yet
much past the prime of life. She is looked upon as a sort of goddess by
many people; indeed she resembles one in mind, face, figure, and
capacity. We use the last word advisedly, for she knows and sympathises
with every one, and does so much for the good of the community, that the
bare record of her deeds would fill a large volume. Amongst other
things she trains, in the way that they should go, a family of ten
children, whose adoration of her is said to be perilously near to
idolatry. She also finds time to visit an immense circle of friends.
There are no poor in Brandon Settlement yet, though there are a few sick
and a good many aged, to whom she ministers. She also attends on Sir
Richard, who is part of the Bank family, as well as a director.
The good knight wears well. His time is divided between the children of
Di, the affairs of the settlement, and a neighbouring stream in which
the trout are large and pleasantly active. Mrs Screwbury, who spent
her mature years in nursing little Di, is renewing her youth by nursing
little Di's little ones, among whom there is, of course, another little
Di whom her father styles Di-licious. Jessie Summers assists in the
nursery, and the old cook reigns in the Canadian kitchen with as much
grace as she formerly reigned in the kitchen at the "West-End."
Quite close to the Bank buildings there is a charming villa, with a view
of a lake in front and a peep through the woods at the mountains behind,
in which dwells the cashier of the Bank with his wife and family. His
name is Robert Frog, Esquire. His wife's name is Martha. His eldest
son, Bobby--a boy of about nine or ten--is said to be the most larky boy
in the settlement. We know not as to that, but any one with half an eye
can see that he is singularly devoted to his mild little brown-eyed
mother.
There is a picturesque little hut at the foot of the garden of Beehive
Villa, which is inhabited by an old woman. To this hut Bobby the second
is very partial, for the old woman _is_ exceedingly fond of Bobby--quite
spoils him in fact--and often entertains him with strange stories about
a certain lion of her acquaintance which was turned into a lamb. Need
we say that this old woman is Mrs Frog? The Bank Cashier offered her a
home in Beehive Villa, but she prefers the little hut at the foot of the
garden, where she sits in state to receive visitors and is tenderly
cared for by a very handsome young woman named Matty, who calls her
"mother". Matty is the superintendent of a neighbouring school, and it
is said that one of the best of the masters of that school is anxious to
make Matty and the school his own. If so, that master must be a greedy
fellow--all things considered.
There is a civil engineer--often styled by Bob Frog an uncivil
engineer--who has planned all the public works of the settlement, and is
said to have a good prospect of being engaged in an important capacity
on the projected railway. But of this we cannot speak authoritatively.
His name is T Lampay, Esquire. Ill-natured people assert that when he
first came to the colony his name was Tim Lumpy, and at times his wife
Hetty calls him Lumpy to his face, but, as wives do sometimes call their
husbands improper names, the fact proves nothing except the perversity
of woman. There is a blind old woman in his establishment, however, who
has grown amiably childish in her old age, who invariably calls him Tim.
Whatever may be the truth as to this, there is no question that he is a
thriving man and an office-bearer in the Congregational church, whose
best Sabbath-school teacher is his wife Hetty, and whose pastor is the
Reverend John Seaward--a man of singular good fortune, for, besides
having such men as Robert Frog, T. Lampay, and Sir Richard Brandon to
back him up and sympathise with him on all occasions, he is further
supported by the aid and countenance of Samuel Twitter, senior, Samuel
Twitter, junior, Mrs Twitter, and all the other Twitters, some of whom
are married and have twitterers of their own.
Samuel Twitter and his sons are now farmers! Yes, reader, you may look
and feel surprised to hear it, but your astonishment will never equal
that of old Twitter himself at finding himself in that position. He
never gets over it, and has been known, while at the tail of the plough,
to stop work, clap a hand on each knee, and roar with laughter at the
mere idea of his having taken to agriculture late in life! He tried to
milk the cows when he first began, but, after having frightened two or
three animals into fits, overturned half a dozen milk-pails, and been
partially gored, he gave it up. Sammy is his right-hand man, and the
hope of his declining years. True, this right-hand has got the name of
being slow, but he is considered as pre-eminently sure.
Mrs Twitter has taken earnestly to the sick, since there are no poor to
befriend. She is also devoted to the young--and there is no lack of
them. She is likewise strong in the tea-party line, and among her most
favoured guests are two ladies named respectively Loper and Larrabel,
and two gentlemen named Crackaby and Stickler. It is not absolutely
certain whether these four are a blessing to the new settlement or the
reverse. Some hold that things in general would progress more smoothly
if they were gone; others that their presence affords excellent and
needful opportunity for the exercise of forbearance and charity. At all
events Mrs Twitter holds that she could not live without them, and
George Brisbane, Esquire, who owns a lovely mansion on the outskirts of
the settlement, which he has named Lively Hall, vows that the departure
of that quartette would be a distinct and irreparable loss to society in
Brandon Settlement.
One more old friend we have to mention, namely, Reggie North, who has
become a colporteur, and wanders far and near over the beautiful face of
Canada, scattering the seed of Life with more vigour and greater success
than her sons scatter the golden grain. His periodical visits to the
settlement are always hailed with delight, because North has a genial
way of relating his adventures and describing his travels, which renders
it necessary for him to hold forth as a public lecturer at times in the
little chapel, for the benefit of the entire community. On these
occasions North never fails, you may be quite sure, to advance his
Master's cause.
Besides those whom we have mentioned, there are sundry persons of both
sexes who go by such names as Dick Swiller, Blobby, Robin, Lilly Snow,
Robbie Dell, and Little Mouse, all of whom are grown men and women, and
are said to have originally been London waifs and strays. But any one
looking at them in their backwoods prosperity would pooh-pooh the idea
as being utterly preposterous!
However this may be, it is quite certain that they are curiously well
acquainted with the slums of London and with low life in that great
city. These people sometimes mention the name of Giles Scott, and
always with regret that that stalwart policeman and his not less
stalwart sons are unable to see their way to emigrate, but if they did,
as Bobby Frog the second asks, "what would become of London?"
"They'd make such splendid backwoodsmen," says one.
"And the daughters would make such splendid wives for backwoodsmen,"
says another.
Mr Merryboy thinks that Canada can produce splendid men of its own
without importing them from England, and Mrs Merryboy holds that the
same may be said in regard to the women of Canada, and old granny, who
is still alive, with a face like a shrivelled-up potato, blinks with
undimmed eyes, and nods her snow-white head, and beams her brightest
smile in thorough approval of these sentiments.
Ah, reader! Brandon Settlement is a wonderful place, but we may not
linger over it now. The shadows of our tale have lengthened out, and
the sun is about to set. Before it goes quite down let us remind you
that the Diamonds which you have seen dug out, cut, and polished, are
only a few of the precious gems that lie hidden in the dust of the great
cities of our land; that the harvest might be very great, and that the
labourers at the present time are comparatively few.