childhood that I cannot refrain from indulging in a few recollections of
him. The name of Old Rufus was not applied to him from any want of
respect; but it was owing to his advanced age, and long residence in our
vicinity, that he received this appellation. His name was Rufus Dudley.
I remember him as an old man when I was a very young child; and his
residence in the neighbourhood dated back to a period many years
previous to the time of which I speak. He was born in the state of New
York, where he resided during the early portion of his life, and where
he married. His wife died before his removal to Canada. When he first
came to the Province he located himself in a town a few miles from the
Village of C., where he married a second time. When first he removed to
R, he was for some years employed in a saw-mill and earned a comfortable
support for his family. My knowledge of his early residence in R. is
indefinite, as he had lived there for many years previous to my
recollection, and all I know concerning the matter is what I have heard
spoken of at different times by my parents and other old residents of
the place. It would seem however that his second marriage was, for him,
very unfortunate, for to use his own words, "he never afterward had any
peace of his life." I have been informed that his wife was possessed of
a pleasing person and manners, but added to this she also possessed a
most dreadful temper; which when roused sometimes rendered her insane
for the time being; and finally some trouble arose between them which
ended in a separation for life. They had two grown-up daughters at the
time of their separation, who accompanied their mother to a town at
considerable distance from their former home. In a short time the
daughters married and removed to homes of their own. Their mother
removed to one of the Eastern States. She survived her husband for
several years, but she is now also dead. Soon after he became separated
from his family Old Rufus gave up the saw-mill and removed to a small
log house, upon a piece of land to which he possessed some kind of
claim, and from that time till his death, lived entirely alone. He
managed to cultivate a small portion of the land, which supplied him
with provisions, and he at times followed the trade of a cooper, to eke
out his slender means. His family troubles had broken his spirits, and
destroyed his ambition, and for years he lived a lonely dispirited man.
He was possessed of sound common sense and had also received a tolerable
education, to which was added a large stock of what might be properly
termed general information; and I have often since wondered how he could
have reconciled himself to the seemingly aimless and useless life which
he led for so many years. But in our intercourse with men, we often meet
with characters who are a sore puzzle to us; and old Rufus was one of
those. When quite young I have often laughed at a circumstance I have
heard related regarding the violent temper of his wife; but indeed it
was no laughing matter. It seems that in some instances she gave vent to
her anger by something more weighty than words. Old Rufus one day
entered the house of a neighbor with marks of blows on his face, and was
asked the cause. He never spoke of his wife's faults if he could avoid
it; but on this occasion he sat for a moment as though considering what
reply to make, and finally said: "O! there is not much the matter with
my face any way, only Polly and I had a little brush this morning." I
know not how serious the matter was, but Old Rufus certainly came off
second in the encounter. This aged man is so deeply connected with the
early scenes of my home life that I yet cherish a tender regard for his
memory; although the flowers of many summers have scattered their
blossoms, and the snows of many winters have descended upon his grave.
He was on familiar terms with almost every family in the neighbourhood,
and every one made him welcome to a place at their table, or a night's
lodging as the case might be; and I well remember the attention with
which I used to listen to his conversation during the long winter
evenings, when, as was often the case, he passed a night in our
dwelling. I recollect one time when the sight of Old Rufus was very
welcome to me. When about nine years of age, I accompanied my brothers
to the Sugar bush one afternoon in spring; and during a long continued
run of the sap from the maple trees it was often necessary to keep the
sugar kettles boiling through the night to prevent waste. On the
afternoon in question, my brothers intended remaining over night in the
bush, and I obtained permission to stay with them, thinking it would be
something funny to sleep in a shanty in the woods. The sugar-bush was
about two miles from our dwelling, and I was much elated by the prospect
of being allowed to assist in the labors of sugar-making. My brothers
laughingly remarked that I would probably have enough of the woods, and
be willing to return home when night came, but I thought otherwise.
During the afternoon I assisted in tending the huge fires, and the
singing of the birds, and the chippering of the squirrels as they hopped
in the branches of the tall trees, delighted me, and the hours passed
swiftly by, till the sun went down behind the trees and the shades of
evening began to gather about us. As the darkness increased, I began to
think the sugar-bush not the most desirable place in the world, in which
to pass the night, and all the stories I had ever heard of bears,
wolves, and other wild animals rushed across my mind, and filled me with
terror. I would have given the world, had it been at my disposal, to
have been safely at home; and it was only the dread of being laughed at,
which prevented me from begging my brothers to take me there. And when
darkness had entirely settled over the earth, and the night-owls set up
their discordant screams, my fears reached a climax. I had never before
listened to their hideous noise, and had not the slightest idea of what
it was. I had often heard old hunters speak of a wild animal, called the
catamount, which they allowed had been seen in the Canadian forests
during the early settlement of the country. I had heard this animal
described as being of large size, and possessing such strength and
agility, as enabled then to spring from the boughs of one tree to those
of another without touching the ground, and at such times their savage
cries were such as to fill the heart of the boldest hunter with terror.
I shall never forget the laugh which my grown-up brothers enjoyed at my
expense, when trembling with terror, I enquired if they thought a
catamount was not approaching among the tree-tops. "Do not be alarmed,"
said they, "for the noises which frighten you so much proceeds from
nothing more formidable than owls." Their answer, however, did not
satisfy me, and I kept a sharp look-out among the branches of the
surrounding trees lest the dreaded monster should descend upon as
unawares. Old Rufus was boiling sap, half a mile from us, and it was a
joyful moment to me, when he suddenly approached us out of the darkness,
saying, "Well, boys, don't you want company? I have got my sap all
boiled in, and as I felt kinder lonesome, I thought I would come across,
and sleep by your shanty fire." The old man enquired why I seemed so
much terrified, and my brothers told him that I would persist in calling
a screech-owl, a catamount. Old Rufus did not often laugh, but he
laughed heartily on this occasion, and truly it was no wonder, and when
he corroborated what my brothers had already told me, I decided that
what he said must be true. His presence at once gave me a feeling of
protection and security, and creeping close to his side on the cedar
boughs which formed our bed, while the immense fire blazed in front of
our tent, I soon forgot my childish fears, in a sound sleep which
remained unbroken till the morning sun was shining brightly above the
trees. But it was long before I heard the last of the night I spent in
the bush; and as often as my brothers wished to tease me, they would
enquire if I had lately heard the cries of a catamount? Time passed on
till I grew up, and leaving the paternal home went forth, to make my own
way in the world. Old Rufus still resided in R. When a child I used to
fancy that he would never seem older than he had appeared since my
earliest recollection of him; but about the time I left home there was a
very observable change in his appearance. I noticed that his walk was
slow and feeble, and his form was bending beneath the weight of years,
and his hair was becoming white by the frosts of time. I occasionally
visited my parents, and during these visits I frequently met with my old
friend; and it was evident that he was fast failing, and was fast losing
his hold of life. He still resided alone, much against the wishes of his
neighbours, but his old habits still clung to him. I removed to a longer
distance and visited my early home less frequently. Returning to R.,
after a longer absence than usual, I learned that the health of Old
Rufus had so much failed, that the neighbours, deeming it unsafe for him
to remain longer alone, at length persuaded him to remove to the house
of a neighbour, where each one contributed toward his support. His mind
had become weak as well as his body; indeed he had become almost a child
again, and it was but a short time that he required the kind attentions
which all his old neighbours bestowed upon him. I remained at home for
several weeks, and ere I left, I followed the remains of Old Rufus to
the grave. I have stood by many a grave of both kindred and stranger;
never before or since have I seen one laid in the grave without the
presence of some relative; but no one stood by his grave who bore to him
the least relationship. It was on a mild Sabbath afternoon in midsummer
that we laid him to rest in the burial ground of R.; and if none of his
kindred stood by to shed the tear of natural affection, there was many a
cheek wet with the tear of sensibility when the coffin was lowered to
its silent abode. I am unable to state his exact age, but I am certain
that it considerably exceeded eighty years; and from what I can
recollect of his life, I have a strong hope, that death opened to him a
blessed immortality beyond the grave.
THE DIAMOND RING.
"And has it indeed come to this," said Mrs. Harris, addressing her
daughter Ellen, "must I part with my mother's last gift to obtain
bread?" Mrs. Harris, as she spoke, held in her hand a costly diamond
ring, and the tears gathered in her eyes, as the rays of light falling
upon the brilliants caused them to glow like liquid fire. This costly
ornament would have struck the beholder as strangely out of place in the
possession of this poor widow, in that scantily furnished room; but a
few words regarding the past history of Mrs. Harris and her daughter
will explain their present circumstances. Mrs. Harris was born and
educated in England, and when quite young was employed as governess in a
gentleman's family. Circumstances at length caused the family with whom
she resided to cross the Atlantic and take up their abode in the ancient
city of Quebec. The young governess had no remaining ties to bind her to
England. Her parents had been dead for many years; she had no sisters,
and her only brother, soon after the death of their parents, went to
seek his fortune in the gold regions of California. Some years had
passed since she heard any tidings from him, and she feared he was no
longer among the living, and when the family with whom she had so long
resided left England for America, they persuaded her to accompany them.
In process of time she was married to a wealthy merchant, and removed to
Western Canada. Their union was a very happy one, and for some years,
they lived in the enjoyment of worldly prosperity and happiness. But it
often happens that sad and unlooked-for reverses succeed a season of
long continued prosperity; and it was so in this case. I am not aware
that Mr. Harris's failure in business was brought about through any
imprudence on his part; but was owing to severe and unexpected losses.
He had entered into various speculations, which bid fair to prove
profitable, but which proved a complete failure, and one stroke of ill
fortune followed another in rapid succession, till the day of utter ruin
came. He gave up every thing; even his house and furniture was
sacrificed to meet the clamorous demands of his hard-hearted creditors;
and his family was thus suddenly reduced from a state of ease and
affluence to absolute poverty. Mr. Harris possessed a very proud spirit,
and his nature was sensitive, and he could not endure the humiliation of
remaining where they had formerly been so happy. He knew the world
sufficiently well to be aware that they would now meet with coldness and
neglect even from those who had formerly been proud of their notice,
and shrank from the trial, and with the small amount he had been able to
secure out of the general wreck, he removed to the city of Toronto, some
three hundred miles from their former home. They had but little money
remaining when they reached the city, and Mr. Harris felt the necessity
of at once seeking some employment, for a stranger destitute of money in
a large city is in no enviable position. For some time he was
unsuccessful in every application he made for employment, and he was
glad at length to accept the situation of copyist in a Lawyer's Office,
till something better might offer. His salary barely sufficed for their
support, yet they were thankful even for that. His constitution had
never been robust, and the anxiety of mind under which he labored told
severely upon his health. He exerted himself to the utmost, but his
health failed rapidly; he was soon obliged to give up work, and in a
little more than a year from the time of their removal to Toronto, he
died, leaving his wife and daughter friendless and destitute. Their
situation was extremely sad, when thus left alone; they had made no
acquaintances during the year they had resided in the city, and had no
friend to whom they could apply for aid; after paying her husband's
funeral expenses, Mrs. Harris found herself well-nigh destitute of
money, and she felt the urgent necessity of exerting herself to obtain
employment by which they at least might earn a subsistence. The widow
and her daughter found much difficulty at first in obtaining employment.
Some to whom they applied had no work; others did not give out work to
strangers; and for several days Mrs. Harris returned weary and
desponding to her home, after spending a large portion of the day in the
disagreable task of seeking employment from strangers; but after a time
she succeeded in obtaining employment, and as their work proved
satisfactory they had soon an ample supply; but just when their
prospects were beginning to brighten Mrs. Harris was visited by a severe
illness. They had been able to lay by a small sum previous to her
illness, and it was well they had done so, for during her sickness she
required almost the constant attention of her daughter, which deprived
them of any means of support; but after several weeks of severe illness
she began slowly to recover, and this brings us to the time where our
story opens. The ring which Mrs. Harris held in her hand, had been for
many, many years an heir-loom in the English family to which she
belonged. To her it was the dying gift of her mother, and the thoughts
of parting with it cost her a bitter pang. But she had no friends to
whom she might apply for aid; and to a refined and sensitive nature,
almost anything else is preferable to seeking charity from strangers.
The ring was the only article of value which she retained, and sore as
was the trial, she saw no other way of meeting their present wants,
than by disposing of this her only relic of former affluence and
happiness; and she trusted, that by the time the money which the sale of
the ring would bring should be expended, they would be again able to
resume their employment. With a heavy heart Ellen Harris set out to
dispose of this cherished memento. She remembered an extensive jewelry
shop, which she had often passed, as she carried home parcels of work,
and thither she made her way. The shop-keeper was an elderly man with
daughters of his own, and he had so often noticed this pale sad-looking
young girl as she passed his window, that he recognized her countenance
the moment she entered the shop; and when in a low timid voice she
enquired if he would purchase the ring, he was satisfied that he was
correct in his former conjecture, that she belonged to a family of
former wealth and respectability. But young as she was there was a
certain reserve and dignity in her manner, which forbade any questions
on his part. The man had for many years carried on a lucrative business
in his line, and he was now wealthy; and knowing that he could afford to
wait till the ring should find a purchaser he had no fears of losing
money on so valuable an article; and, as is not often the case in such
transactions, he paid her a fair price for the ring, although less than
its real value. Ellen returned, much elated by her success; the money
she had received for the ring seemed to them in their present
circumstances a small fortune. "Little did once I think" said the widow,
as she carefully counted the bank-notes, "that a few paltry pounds would
ever seem of so much value to me; but perhaps it is well that we should
sometimes experience the want of money, that we may learn how to make a
proper use of it, and be more helpful to those less favoured than
ourselves." The money they obtained more than sufficed for their
support, till Mrs. Harris so far recovered, as to allow them again to
resume their employment. They now had no difficulty in obtaining work,
and although obliged to toil early and late, they became cheerful and
contented; although they could not but feel the change in their
circumstances, and often contrast the happy past, with their present lot
of labor and toil.
The shopkeeper burnished up the setting of the diamonds and placed the
ring among many others in the show-case upon his counter. But so
expensive an ornament as this does not always find a ready purchaser,
and for some months it remained unsold. One afternoon a gentleman
entered the shop to make some trifling purchase, and, as the shopkeeper
happened to be engaged with a customer, he remained standing at the
counter, till he should be at leisure, and his eye wandered carelessly
over the articles in the show-case. Suddenly he started, changed
countenance, and when the shopkeeper came forward to attend to him he
said in a voice of suppressed eagerness, "will you allow me to examine
that ring," pointing as he spoke to the diamond ring sold by Ellen
Harris. "Certainly Sir, certainly," said the obliging shop-keeper, who,
hoping that the ring had at last found a purchaser, immediately placed
it in his hand for inspection. The gentleman turned the ring in his
hand, and carefully examined the sparking diamonds as well as the
antique setting: and when he observed the initials, engraved upon the
inside, he grew pale as marble, and hurriedly addressed the astonished
shopkeeper saying, "In the name of pity, tell me where you obtained this
ring?" "I am very willing to inform you," said the man "how this ring
came into my possession. Several months ago a young girl, of very
delicate and lady-like appearance, brought this ring here and desired me
to purchase it. She seemed very anxious to dispose of the ornament, and,
thinking I could easily sell it again, I paid her a fair price and took
the ring, and that is all I can tell you about the matter." "You do not
know the lady's name?" said the gentleman anxiously. "I do not," replied
the man, "but I have frequently seen her pass in the street. The
circumstance of her selling me this valuable ring caused me to notice
her particularly, and I recognised her countenance ever after." "Name
your price for the ring," said the gentleman,--"I must purchase it at any
price; and the next thing, I must, if possible, find the lady who
brought it here, I have seen this ring before, and that is all I wish
to say of the matter at present; but is there no way in which you can
assist me in obtaining an interview with this young lady?" "I have no
knowledge of her name or residence; but if you were in my shop when she
chanced to pass here I could easily point her out to you in the street."
"You may think my conduct somewhat strange," said the gentleman, "but
believe me my reasons for seeking an interview with this young lady are
most important, and if you can point her out to me in the street I will
endeavour to learn her residence, as that will be something gained."
Before the gentleman left the shop he paid for the ring, and placed it
in his pocket. For several days, he frequented the shop of the jeweller
with the hope of gaining a view of the lady. At length one morning the
shop-keeper suddenly directed his attention to a lady passing in the
street, saying, "there, Sir, is the young lady from whom I purchased the
ring." He waited to hear no more, but, stepping hastily into the street,
followed the lady at a respectful distance; but never losing sight of
her for a moment till she entered her home two streets distant from the
shop of the jeweller. He approached the door and rang the bell; The door
was opened by the same young lady, whose manner exhibited not a little
embarrassment, when she beheld a total stranger; and he began to feel
himself in an awkward position. He was at a loss how to address her
till, recollecting that he must explain his visit in some way, he said:
"Pardon the intrusion of a stranger; but, by your permission, I would
like to enter the house, and have a word of conversation with you." The
young girl regarded the man earnestly for a moment; but his manner was
so gentlemanly and deferential that she could do no less than invite him
to enter the little sitting-room where her mother was at work, and ask
him to be seated. He bowed to Mrs. Harris on entering the room, then
seating himself he addressed the young lady saying. "The peculiar
circumstances in which I am placed must serve as my apology for asking
you a question which you may consider impertinent. Are you the young
lady who, some months since, sold a diamond ring to a jeweller on
Grafton street?" Mrs. Harris raised her eyes to the stranger's face; and
the proud English blood which flowed in her veins mantled her cheek as
she replied, "Before I permit my daughter to answer the questions of a
stranger, you will be so kind as explain your right to question." The
stranger sprang from his seat at the sound of her voice, and exclaimed
in a voice tremulous from emotion, "don't you know me Elisa, I am your
long lost brother George." The reader will, doubtless, be better able to
imagine the scene which followed than I am to describe it. Everything
was soon explained, many letters had been sent which never reached their
destination; he knew not that his sister had left England, and after
writing again and again and receiving no reply, he ceased altogether
from writing. During the first years of his sojourn in California, he
was unfortunate, and was several times brought to the brink of the grave
by sickness. After a time fortune smiled upon his efforts, till he at
length grew immensely rich, and finally left the burning skies of
California to return to England. He landed at New York and intended,
after visiting the Canadas, to sail for England. The brother and sister
had parted in their early youth, and it is no wonder that they failed to
recognise each other when each had passed middle age. The brother was
most changed of the two. His complexion had grown very dark, and he had
such a foreign look that, when convinced of the fact, Mrs. Harris could
hardly believe him to be one and the same with the stripling brother
from whom she parted in England so many years ago. He was, of course,
not aware of his sister's marriage, and he listened with sorrow to the
story of her bereavement and other misfortune. "You must now place a
double value upon our family ring," said he, as he replaced the lost
treasure upon his sister's hand; "for it is this diamond ring which has
restored to each other the brother and sister which otherwise might
never have met again on earth. And now both you and your daughter most
prepare for a voyage to dear old England. You need have no anxiety for
the future; I have enough for us all and you shall want no more." Before
leaving the City, accompanied by her brother, Mrs. Harris visited the
grave of her husband; and the generous brother attended to the erection
of a suitable tomb-stone, as the widow had before been unable to meet
the expenses of it. Passing through the Upper Province they reached
Montreal, whence they sailed for England. After a prosperous voyage they
found themselves amid the familiar scenes of their childhood, where they
still live in the enjoyment of as much happiness as usually falls to the
lot of mortals.
THE UNFORTUNATE MAN.
On a sultry afternoon in midsummer I was walking on a lonely,
unfrequented road in the Township of S. My mind was busily occupied, and
I paid little attention to surrounding objects till a hollow, unnatural
voice addressed me saying: "Look up my friend, and behold the
unfortunate man." I raised my eyes suddenly, and, verily, the appearance
of the being before me justified his self-bestowed appellation--the
unfortunate man. I will do my best to describe him, although I am
satisfied that my description will fall far short of the reality. He was
uncommonly tall, and one thing which added much to the oddity of his
appearance was the inequality of length in his legs, one being shorter
by several inches than the other, and, to make up for the deficiency, he
wore on the short leg a boot with a very high heel. He seemed to be past
middle age, his complexion was sallow and unhealthy, he was squint-eyed,
and his hair, which had once been of a reddish hue, was then a grizzly
gray. Taken all together he was a strange looking object, and I soon
perceived that his mind wandered. At first I felt inclined to hurry
onward as quickly as possible, but, as he seemed harmless and inclined
to talk to me, I lingered for a few moments to listen to him. "I do not
wonder," said he, "that you look upon me with pity, for it is a sad
thing for one to be crazy." Surprised to find him so sensible of his own
situation, I said: As you seem so well aware that you are crazy, perhaps
you can inform me what caused you to become so. "Oh yes," replied he, "I
can soon tell you that: first my father died, then my mother, and soon
after my only sister hung herself to the limb of a tree with a skein of
worsted yarn; and last, and worst of all, my wife, Dorcas Jane, drowned
herself in Otter Creek." Wondering if there was any truth in this
horrible story, or if it was only the creation of his own diseased mind,
I said, merely to see what he would say next, "What caused your wife to
drown herself; was she crazy too?" "Oh, no," replied he, "she was not
crazy, but she was worse than that; for she was jealous of me, although
I am sure she had no cause." The idea of any one being jealous of the
being before me was so ridiculous that it was with the utmost difficulty
that I refrained from laughter; but, fearing to offend the crazy man, I
maintained my gravity by a strong effort. When he had finished the story
of his misfortunes, he came close to me and said, in slow measured
tones: "And now do you think it any wonder that I went raving distracted
crazy?" "Indeed I do not," said I; "many a one has gone crazy for less
cause." Thinking he might be hungry, I told him I would direct him to a
farm-house, where he would be sure to obtain his supper. "No," replied
he, "this is not one of my hungry days; I find so many who will give me
nothing to eat that when I get the offer of a meal I always eat whether
I am hungry or not, and I have been in luck to-day, for I have eaten
five meals since morning; and now I must lose no more time, for I have
important business with the Governor of Canada and must reach Quebec
to-morrow." I regarded the poor crazy being with a feeling of pity, as
he walked wearily onward, and even the high-heeled boot did not conceal
a painful limp in his gait. But I had not seen the last of him yet. Some
six months after, as I was visiting a friend who lived several miles
distant, who should walk in, about eight o'clock in the evening, but the
"unfortunate man." There had been a slight shower of rain, but not
enough to account for the drenched state of his clothing. "How did you
get so wet?" enquired Mr. ---- "O," replied he, "I was crossing a brook
upon a log, and I slipped off into the water; and it rained on me at the
same time, and between the two, I got a pretty smart ducking." They
brought him some dry clothing, and dried his wet garments by the kitchen
fire, and kindly allowed him to remain for the night. For several years,
this man passed through S. as often as two or three times during each
year. He became so well known in the vicinity, that any one freely gave
him a meal, or a night's lodging as often as he sought it. Every time he
came along his mind was occupied by some new fancy, which seemed to him
to be of the utmost importance, and to require prompt attention. He
arrived in S. one bitter cold night in the depth of winter, and remained
for the night with a family who had ever treated him kindly, and with
whom he had often lodged before. He set out early the next morning to
proceed (as he said) on his way to Nova Scotia. Years have passed away,
but the "unfortunate man" has never since been seen in the vicinity. It
was feared by some that he had perished in the snow; as there were some
very severe storms soon after he left S; but nothing was ever learned to
confirm the suspicion. According to his own statement he belonged to the
state of Vermont, but, from his speech, he was evidently not an
American. Several years have passed away since his last visit to S. and
it is more than probable that he is no longer among the living.
THE OLD SCHOOLHOUSE.
I lately visited the timeworn building where for a lengthened period,
during my early years, I studied the rudiments of education; and what a
host of almost forgotten memories of the past came thronging back upon
my mind, as I stood alone--in that well remembered room. I seemed again
to hear the hum of youthful voices as they learned or recited their
daily tasks, and, as memory recalled the years that had passed since we
used there to assemble, I could not avoid saying mentally: "My
schoolmates, where are they?" Even that thought called to mind an
amusing story related by a much loved companion who for a time formed
one of our number.
He was older than most of the other boys, and was a general favourite
with all. He was famous for relating funny stories, of which he had a
never-failing supply; and when the day was too stormy to allow of
out-of-door sports, during the noon hour, we used to gather around the
large stove which stood in the centre of the room and coax H.M. to tell
us stories. The story which recurred to my mind was of a poor Irishman,
who, in describing a visit which he paid to the home of his childhood
after a long absence, said: "At the sober hour of twilight, I entered
the lonely and desarted home uv me forefathers, an' as I gazed about the
silent walls, I said, 'me fathers, where are they?' an' did not echo
answer, 'Is that you Pathrick O'Flannigan, sure?'"