The Place of Council--Its progress and its people--English hearts--
"Sebastopol is taken"--Squibs and crackers--A ship on her beam-ends--
Selfishness--A mongrel city--A Scot--Constancy rewarded--Monetary
difficulties--Detention on a bridge--A Canadian homestead--Life in the
clearings--The bush on fire--A word on farming--The "bee" and its produce
--Eccentricities of Mr. Haldimands--A ride on a troop-horse--Scotch
patriotism--An English church--The servant nuisance--Richard Cobden.
The people of Toronto informed me, immediately on my arrival in their
city, that "Toronto is the most English place to be met with out of
England." At first I was at a loss to understand their meaning. Wooden
houses, long streets crossing each other at right angles, and wooden side-
walks, looked very un-English to my eye. But when I had been for a few
days at Toronto, and had become accustomed to the necessarily-unfinished
appearance of a town which has only enjoyed sixty years of existence, I
fully agreed with the laudatory remarks passed upon it. The wooden houses
have altogether disappeared from the principal streets, and have been
replaced by substantial erections of brick and stone. The churches are
numerous, and of tasteful architecture. The public edifices are well
situated and very handsome. King Street, the principal thoroughfare, is
two miles in length, and the side-walks are lined with handsome shops. The
outskirts of Toronto abound in villa residences, standing in gardens or
shrubberies. The people do not run "_hurry skurry_" along the streets, but
there are no idlers to be observed. Hirsute eccentricities have also
disappeared; the beard is rarely seen, and the moustache is not considered
a necessary ornament. The faded careworn look of the American ladies has
given place to the bright complexion, the dimpled smile, and the active
elastic tread, so peculiarly English. Indeed, in walking along the
streets, there is nothing to tell that one is not in England; and if
anything were needed to complete the illusion, those sure tokens of
British civilisation, a jail and a lunatic asylum, are not wanting.
Toronto possesses in a remarkable degree the appearances of stability and
progress. No town on the Western Continent has progressed more rapidly;
certainly none more surely. I conversed with an old gentleman who
remembered its site when it was covered with a forest, when the smoke of
Indian wigwams ascended through the trees, and when wild fowl crowded the
waters of the harbour. The place then bore the name of Toronto--the Place
of Council. The name was changed by the first settlers to Little York, but
in 1814 its euphonious name of Toronto was again bestowed upon it. Its
population in 1801 was 336; it is now nearly 50,000.
Toronto is not the fungus growth, staring and wooden, of a temporary
necessity; it is the result of persevering industry, well-applied capital,
and healthy and progressive commercial prosperity. Various railroads are
in course of construction, which will make it the exporting market for the
increasing produce of the interior; and as the migratory Canadian
Legislature is now stationary at Toronto for four years, its future
progress will probably be more rapid than its past. Its wharfs are always
crowded with freight and passenger steamers, by which it communicates two
or three times a day with the great cities of the United States, and
Quebec and Montreal. It is the seat of Canadian learning, and, besides
excellent schools, possesses a university, and several theological and
general seminaries. The society is said to be highly superior. I give
willing testimony in favour of this assertion, from the little which I saw
of it, but an attack of ague prevented me from presenting my letters of
introduction. It is a very musical place, and at Toronto Jenny Lind gave
the only concerts with which she honoured Canada. A large number of the
inhabitants are Scotch, which may account for the admirable way in which
the Sabbath is observed.
If I was pleased to find that the streets, the stores, the accent, the
manners were English, I was rejoiced to see that from the highest to the
lowest the hearts of the people were English also. I was at Toronto when
the false despatch was received announcing the capture of Sebastopol and
of the Russian army. I was spending the evening at the house of a friend,
when a gentleman ran in to say that the church bells were ringing for a
great victory! It was but the work of a few minutes for us to jump into a
hack, and drive at full speed to the office of the _Globe_ newspaper,
where the report was apparently confirmed. A great crowd in a state of
eager excitement besieged the doors, and presently a man mounted on a
lamp-post read the words, "_Sebastopol is taken! The Russian fleet burnt!
Eighteen thousand killed and wounded. Loss of the Allies, two thousand
five hundred._" This news had been telegraphed from Boston, and surely the
trembling tongue of steel had never before told such a bloody tale. One
shout of "Hurrah for Old England" burst from the crowd, and hearty English
cheers were given, which were caught up and repeated down the crowded
streets of Toronto. The shout thrilled through my heart; it told that the
flag of England waved over the loyal, true-hearted, and brave; it told of
attachment to the constitution and the throne; it told that in our times
of difficulty and danger "St. George and merry England" would prove a
gathering cry even on the prosperous shores of Lake Ontario. Greater
enthusiasm could not have been exhibited on the receipt of this false but
glorious news in any city at home. The bells, which a few days before had
tolled for the catastrophe of the _Arctic_, now pealed forth in triumph
for the victory of the Alma. Toronto knew no rest on that night. Those who
rejoiced over a victory gained over the northern despot were those who had
successfully resisted the despotism of a band of rebels. The streets were
almost impassable from the crowds who thronged them. Hand-rockets exploded
almost into people's eyes--serpents and squibs were hissing and cracking
over the pavements--and people were rushing in all directions for fuel for
the different bonfires. The largest of these was opposite the St. Lawrence
Hall. It was a monster one of tar-barrels, and lighted up the whole
street, paling the sickly flame of the gas-lamps. There was a large and
accumulating crowd round it, shouting, "Hurrah for Old England! Down with
the Rooshians! Three cheers for the Queen!" and the like. Sky-rockets were
blazing high in air, men were rushing about firing muskets, the small
swivels of the steamers at the wharfs were firing incessantly, and carts
with combustibles were going at full speed along the streets, each fresh
arrival being hailed with enthusiastic cheering. There were firemen, too,
in their picturesque dresses, who had turned out at the first sound of the
bells, and their services were soon put in requisition, for enthusiasm
produced recklessness, and two or three shingle-roofs were set on fire by
the descent of rockets upon them. This display of attachment to England
was not confined to the loyal and aristocratic city of Toronto; at
Hamilton, a thriving commercial place, of suspected American tendencies,
the town-council was assembled at the time the despatch was received, and
instantly voted a sum for an illumination.
From my praise of Toronto I must except the hotels, which are of a very
inferior class. They are a poor imitation of those in the States.
Russell's Hotel, at which I stayed for eight days, was a disagreeable
contrast to the National Hotel at Detroit, and another of some
pretensions, the North American, was said to be even more comfortless. The
bedrooms at Russell's swarmed with mosquitoes; and the waiters, who were
runaway slaves, were inattentive and uncivil.
After staying some little time with my friends at Toronto, I went to pay a
visit to some friends at Hamilton. The afternoon was very windy and
stormy. The lake looked very unpromising from the wharf; the island
protected the harbour, but beyond this the waves were breaking with fury.
Several persons who came down, intending to take their passage for
Hamilton, were deterred by the threatening aspect of the weather, but, not
having heard anything against the character of Lake Ontario, I had
sufficient confidence in it to persevere in my intention. I said to the
captain, "I suppose it won't be rough?" to which he replied that he could
not flatter me by saying so, adding that he had never seen so many persons
sick as in the morning. Dinner was served immediately on our leaving the
harbour, but the number of those who sat down, at first about thirty, soon
diminished to five, the others having rushed in a most mysterious manner
to state rooms or windows. For my own part, I cannot say that the allowed
excellence of the _cuisine_ tempted me to make a very substantial meal,
and I was glad of an excuse for retiring to a state-room, which I shared
with a lady who had just taken leave of her three children. This cabin was
very prettily arranged, but the movements of things were rather erratic,
and my valise gave most disagreeable manifestations of spiritual agency.
The ship was making little way, and rolling and pitching fearfully, and,
knowing how very top-heavy she was, I did not at all like the glimpses of
raging water which I with difficulty obtained through the cabin windows.
To understand what followed it will be necessary for the reader to
recollect that the saloon and state-rooms in this vessel formed an
erection or deck-house about eight feet high upon the deck, and that the
part of the saloon where most of the passengers were congregated, as well
as the state-room where I was sitting, were within a few feet of the bow
of the ship, and consequently exposed to the fury of the waves. I had sat
in my state-room for half an hour, feeling very apathetic, and wishing
myself anywhere but where I was, when something struck the ship, and the
wretched fabric fell over on her side. Another and another--then silence
for a second, broken only by the crash and roar of winds and waters. The
inner door burst open, letting in an inundation of water. My companion
jumped up, shrieking, "Oh, my children! we're lost--we're lost!" and
crawled, pale and trembling, into the saloon. The vessel was lying on her
side, therefore locomotion was most difficult; but sea-sick people were
emerging from their state-rooms, shrieking, some that they were lost--
others for their children--others for mercy; while a group of gentlemen,
less noisy, but not less frightened, and drenched to the skin, were
standing together, with pale and ashy faces. "What is the matter?"
inquired my companion, taking hold of one of these men. "Say your prayers,
for we are going down," was the brutal reply. For the first and only time
during my American travels I was really petrified with fear. Suddenly a
wave struck the hapless vessel, and with a stunning crash broke through
the thin woodwork of the side of the saloon. I caught hold of a life-buoy
which was near me--a gentleman clutched it from me, for fright makes some
men selfish--and, breathless, I was thrown down into the gurgling water. I
learned then how quickly thoughts can pass through the mind, for in those
few seconds I thought less of the anticipated death-struggle amid the
boiling surges of the lake, and of the quiet sleep beneath its gloomy
waters, than of the unsatisfactory manner in which those at home would
glean the terrible tidings from the accident columns of a newspaper.
Another minute, and I was swept through the open door into a state-room--
another one of suspense, and the ship righted as if by a superhuman
effort. There seemed a respite--there was a silence, broken only by the
roar of winds and waves, and with the respite came hope. Shortly after,
the master of the ship appeared, with his hat off, and completely
drenched. "Thank God, we're safe!" he said, and returned to his duty. We
had all supposed that we had struck on a rock or wreck. I never knew the
precise nature of our danger beyond this, that the vessel had been thrown
on her beam-ends in a squall, and that, the wind immediately veering
round, the fury of the waves had been spent upon her.
Many of the passengers now wished the captain to return, but he said that
he should incur greater danger in an attempt to make the harbour of
Toronto than by proceeding down the open lake. For some time nothing was
to be seen but a dense fog, a storm of sleet which quite darkened the air,
and raging waves, on which we mounted sometimes, while at others we were
buried between them. In another hour the gale had completely subsided,
and, after we had changed our drenched habiliments, no token remained of
the previous storm but the drowned and dismantled appearance of the
saloon, and the resolution on my own mind never to trust myself again on
one of these fearful lakes. I was amused to observe that those people who
had displayed the greatest symptoms of fear during the storm were the
first to protest that, "as for them, they never thought there was any
danger." The afternoon, though cold, was extremely beautiful, but, owing
to the storm in the early part of our voyage, we did not reach Hamilton
till nightfall, or three hours after our appointed time.
I do not like these inland lakes, or tideless fresh-water seas, as they
may more appropriately be termed. I know Lake Ontario well; I have crossed
it twice, and have been up and down it five times. I have sojourned upon
its shores, and have seen them under the hot light of an autumn sun, and
underneath a mantle of wintry snow; but there is to me something
peculiarly oppressive about this vast expanse of water. If the lake is
rough, there are no harbours of refuge in which to take shelter--if calm,
the waters, though blue, pure, and clear, look monotonous and dead. The
very ships look lonely things; their hulls and sails are white, and some
of them have been known in time of cholera to drift over the lake from day
to day, with none to guide the helm. The shores, too, are flat and
uninteresting; my eyes wearied of following that interminable boundary of
trees stretching away to the distant horizon.
Yet Lake Ontario affords great advantages to both Canada and the United
States. The former has the large towns of Hamilton, Toronto, and Kingston
on its shores, with the exporting places of Oakville, Credit, and Cobourg.
The important towns of Oswego and Rochester, with smaller ones too
numerous to name, are on the American side. This lake is five hundred
miles round, and, owing to its very great depth, never freezes, except
just along the shores. An immense trade is carried on upon it, both in
steamers and sailing vessels. A ship-canal connects Lake Ontario with Lake
Erie, thereby overcoming the obstacle to navigation produced by the Falls
of Niagara. This stupendous work is called the Welland Canal.
At Hamilton I received a most cordial welcome from the friends whom I went
to visit, and saw something of the surrounding country. It is, I think,
the most bustling place in Canada. It is a very juvenile city, yet already
has a population of twenty-five thousand people. The stores and hotels are
handsome, and the streets are brilliantly lighted with gas. Hamilton has a
peculiarly unfinished appearance. Indications of progress meet one on
every side--there are houses being built, and houses being pulled down to
make room for larger and more substantial ones--streets are being
extended, and new ones are being staked out, and every external feature
seems to be acquiring fresh and rapid development. People hurry about as
if their lives depended on their speed. "I guess" and "I calculate" are
frequently heard, together with "Well posted up," and "A long chalk;" and
locomotives and steamers whistle all day long. Hamilton is a very
Americanised place. I heard of "grievances, independence, and annexation,"
and, altogether, should have supposed it to be on the other side of the
boundary-line.
It is situated on a little lake, called Burlington Bay, separated from
Lake Ontario by a narrow strip of sandy shingle. This has been cut
through, and, as two steamers leave the pier at Hamilton at the same hour
every morning, there is a daily and very exciting race for the first
entrance into the narrow passage. This racing is sometimes productive of
very serious collisions.
The town is built upon very low and aguish ground, at the foot of a
peculiar and steep eminence, which the inhabitants dignify with the name
of the Mountain. I ascended this mountain, which might better be called a
molehill, by a flight of a hundred and thirty steps. The view from the top
was very magnificent, but, as an elevated building offered us one still
more extensive, we ascended to the roof by six flights of steps, to see a
_camera obscura_ which was ostentatiously advertised. A very good _camera
obscura_ might have been worth so long an ascent in a house redolent of
spirits and onions; but after we had reached the top, with a great
expenditure of toil and breath, a ragged, shoeless little boy very
pompously opened the door of a small wooden erection, and introduced us to
four panes of coloured glass, through which we viewed the town of
Hamilton, under the different aspects of spring, summer, autumn, and
winter!
Dundurn Castle, a handsome, castellated, baronial-looking building, the
residence of the present Premier, Sir Allan M'Nab, is near Hamilton, and
it has besides some very handsome stone villa residences. There I saw, for
the first and only time in the New World, beautifully kept grass lawns,
with flower-beds in the English style. One very fine morning, when the
maple-leaves were tinted with the first scarlet of the fall, my friends
took me to see Ancaster and Dundas; the former, an old place, very like
some of our grey, quiet Lancashire villages--the latter a good type of the
rapid development and enterprising spirit which are making Canada West to
rival the States in rapidity of progress. There were bridges in course of
construction--railway embankments swarming with labourers--macadamised
roads succeeding those of corduroy and plank--snake-fences giving place to
those of posts and rails, and stone walls--and saw and grist mills were
springing up wherever a "water privilege" could be found. Laden waggons
proceeded heavily along the roads, and the encouraging announcements of
"Cash for wheat," and "Cash for wool," were frequently to be seen. The
views were very fine as we skirted the Mountain, but Canadian scenery is
monotonous and rather gloomy; though the glorious tints of the American
fall give the leaves of some of the trees the appearance rather of
tropical flowers than of foliage.
Ancaster is an old place, outstripped by towns of ten years' existence, as
it has neither a port nor a river. There was an agricultural show, and
monster pumpkins and overgrown cabbages were displayed to admiring crowds,
under the shadow of a prodigious union jack.
Dundas, a near neighbour of Ancaster, has completely eclipsed it. This
appears to be one of the busiest little places in Canada West. It is a
collection of woollen-mills, grist-mills, and iron-foundries; and though,
in my preformed notions of political economy, I had supposed manufactures
suited exclusively to an old country, in which capital and labour are
alike redundant, the aspect of this place was most thriving. In one of the
flour-mills the machinery seemed as perfect as in the biscuit factory at
Portsmouth--by some ingenious mechanism the flour was cooled, barrelled,
and branded with great celerity. At an iron-foundry I was surprised to
find that steam-engines and flour-mill machinery could not be manufactured
fast enough to meet the demand. In this neighbourhood I heard rather an
interesting anecdote of what steady perseverance can do, in the history of
a Scot from the shores of the Forth.
This young man was a pauper boy, and was apprenticed to the master of an
iron-foundry in Scotland, but ran away before the expiration of his
apprenticeship, and, entering a ship at Glasgow, worked his passage across
to Quebec. Here he gained employment for some months as a porter, and,
having saved a little money, went up to the neighbourhood of Lake Simcoe,
where he became a day labourer. Here he fell in love with his master's
daughter, who returned his affection, but her father scornfully rejected
the humble Scotchman's suit. Love but added an incentive to ambition; and
obtaining work in a neighbouring township, he increased his income by
teaching reading, writing, and arithmetic in the evenings. He lived
penuriously, denied himself even necessaries, and carefully treasured his
hoarded savings. Late one evening, clothed almost in rags, he sought the
house of his lady-love, and told her that within two years he would come
to claim her hand of her father, with a waggon and pair of horses.
Still in his ragged clothing, for it does not appear that he had any
other, he trudged to Toronto, and sought employment, his accumulated
savings sewn up in the lining of his waistcoat. He went about from person
to person, but could not obtain employment, and his waggon and horses
receded further and further in the dim perspective. One day, while walking
along at the unfinished end of King Street West, he saw something
glittering in the mud, and, on taking it up, found it to be the steel snap
of a pocket-book. This pocket-book contained notes to the amount of one
hundred and fifty dollars; and the next day a reward of five-and-twenty
was offered to the finder of them. The Scotchman waited on the owner, who
was a tool manufacturer, and, declining the reward, asked only for work,
for "leave to toil," as Burns has expressed it. This was granted him; and
in less than four months he became a clerk in the establishment. His
salary was gradually raised--in the evenings he obtained employment in
writing for a lawyer, and his savings, judiciously managed, increased to
such an extent, that at the end of eighteen months he purchased a thriving
farm in the neighbourhood of London, and, as there was water-power upon
it, he built a grist-mill. His industry still continued successful, and
just before the two years expired he drove in a light waggon, with two
hardy Canadian horses, to the dwelling of his former master, to claim his
daughter's hand; though, be it remembered, he had never held any
communication with her since he parted from her in rags two years before.
At first they did not recognise the vagrant, ragged Scotch labourer, in
the well-dressed driver and possessor of the "knowing-looking" equipage.
His altered circumstances removed all difficulty on the father's part--the
maiden had been constant--and soon afterwards they were married. He still
continued to prosper, and add land to land; and three years after his
marriage sent twenty pounds to his former master in Scotland, as a
compensation for the loss of his services. Strange to say, the son of that
very master is now employed in the mill of the runaway apprentice. Such
instances as this, while they afford encouragement to honest industry,
show at the same time the great capabilities of Canada West.
At Hamilton, where the stores are excellent, I made several purchases, but
I was extremely puzzled with the Canadian currency. The States money is
very convenient. I soon understood dollars, cents, and dimes; but in the
colonies I never knew what my money was worth. In Prince Edward Island the
sovereign is worth thirty shillings; in New Brunswick and Nova Scotia
twenty-five; while in Canada, at the time of my visit, it was worth
twenty-four and four pence. There your shilling is fifteen pence, or a
quarter-dollar; while your quarter-dollar is a shilling. Your sixpence is
seven pence-half-penny, or a "York shilling;" while your penny is a
"copper" of indeterminate value apparently. Comparatively speaking, very
little metallic money is in circulation. You receive bills marked five
shillings, when, to your surprise, you can only change them for four
metallic shillings. Altogether in Canada I had to rely upon people's
honesty, or probably on their ignorance of my ignorance; for any attempts
at explanation only made "confusion worse confounded," and I seldom
comprehended anything of a higher grade than a "York shilling." From my
stupidity about the currency, and my frequent query, "How many dollars or
cents is it?" together with my offering dirty crumpled pieces of paper
bearing such names as Troy, Palmyra, and Geneva, which were in fact notes
of American banks which might have suspended payment, I was constantly
taken, not for an ignoramus from the "Old Country," but for a "genuine
Down-Easter." Canadian credit is excellent; but the banking system of the
States is on a very insecure footing; some bank or other "breaks" every
day, and lists of the defaulters are posted up in the steamboats and
hotels.
Within a few days after my resolution never again to trust myself on Lake
Ontario, I sailed down it, on a very beautiful morning, to Toronto. The
royal mail steamer _Arabian_ raced with us for the narrow entrance to the
canal which connects Burlington Bay with the main lake, and both captains
"piled on" to their utmost ability, but the _Arabian_ passed us in
triumph. The morning was so very fine, that I half forgot my dislike to
Lake Ontario. On the land side there was a succession of slightly elevated
promontories, covered with forests abounding in recent clearings, their
sombre colouring being relieved by the brilliant blue of the lake. I saw,
for the only time, that beautiful phenomenon called the "water-mirage," by
which trees, ships, and houses are placed in the most extraordinary and
sometimes inverted positions. Yet still these endless promontories
stretched away, till their distant outlines were lost in the soft blue
haze of the Indian summer. Yet there was an oppressiveness about the
tideless water and pestilential shore, and the white-hulled ships looked
like deserted punished things, whose doom for ages was to be ceaseless
sailing over these gloomy waters.
At Toronto my kind friend Mr. Forrest met me. He and his wife had invited
me some months before to visit them in their distant home in the Canadian
_bush_; therefore I was not a little surprised at the equipage which
awaited me at the hotel, as I had expected to jolt for twenty-two miles,
over corduroy roads, in a lumber-waggon. It was the most dashing vehicle
which I saw in Canada. It was a most _unbush-like_, sporting-looking,
high, mail phaëton, mounted by four steps; it had three seats, a hood in
front, and a rack for luggage behind. It would hold eight persons. The
body and wheels were painted bright scarlet and black; and it was drawn by
a pair of very showy-looking horses, about sixteen "hands" high, with
elegant and well-blacked harness. Mr. Forrest looked more like a sporting
English squire than an emigrant.
We drove out of Toronto by the Lake shore road, and I could scarcely
believe we were not by the sea, for a heavy surf was rolling and crashing
upon the beach, and no land was in sight on the opposite side. After some
time we came to a stream, with a most clumsy swing bridge, which was open
for the passage of two huge rafts laden with flour. This proceeding had
already occupied more than an hour, as we were informed by some
unfortunate _détenus_. We waited for half an hour while the raftmen
dawdled about it, but the rafts could not get through the surf, so they
were obliged to desist. I now reasonably supposed that they would have
shut the bridge as fast as possible, as about twenty vehicles, with
numerous foot-passengers, were waiting on either side; but no, they moved
it for a little distance, then smoked a bit, then moved it a few inches
and smoked again, and so on for another half-hour, while we were exposed
to a pitiless north-east wind. They evidently enjoyed our discomfiture,
and were trying how much of annoyance we would bear patiently. Fiery
tempers have to be curbed in Canada West, for the same spirit which at
home leads men not to "touch their hats" to those above them in station,
here would vent itself in open insolence and arrogance, if one requested
them to be a little quicker in their motions. The fabric would hardly come
together at all, and then only three joists appeared without anything to
cover them. This the men seemed to consider _un fait accompli_, and sat
down to smoke. At length, when it seemed impossible to bear a longer
detention with any semblance of patience, they covered these joists with
some planks, over which our horses, used to pick their way, passed in
safety, not, however, without overturning one of the boards, and leaving a
most dangerous gap. This was a favourable specimen of a Canadian bridge.
The manners of the emigrants who settle in Canada are far from
prepossessing. Wherever I heard torrents of slang and abuse of England;
wherever I noticed brutality of manner, unaccompanied by respect to
ladies, I always found upon inquiry that the delinquent had newly arrived
from the old country. Some time before I visited America, I saw a letter
from a young man who had emigrated, containing these words: "Here I
haven't to _bow and cringe_ to gentlemen of the aristocracy--that is, to a
man who has a better coat on than myself." I was not prepared to find this
feeling so very prevalent among the lower classes in our own possessions.
The children are an improvement on their parents, and develop loyal and
constitutional sentiments. The Irish are the noisiest of the enemies of
England, and carry with them to Canada the most inveterate enmity to
"Sassenach" rule. The term "_slang-whangers_" must have been invented for
these.
After some miles of very bad road, which once had been corduroy, we got
upon a plank-road, upon which the draught is nearly as light as upon a
railroad. When these roads are good, the driving upon them is very easy;
when they are out of repair it is just the reverse. We came to an Indian
village of clap-board houses, built some years ago by Government for some
families of the Six Nations who resided here with their chief; but they
disliked the advances of the white man, and their remnants have removed
farther to the west. We drove for many miles through woods of the American
oak, little more than brushwood, but gorgeous in all shades of colouring,
from the scarlet of the geranium to deep crimson and Tyrian purple. Oh!
our poor faded tints of autumn, about which we write sentimental poetry!
Turning sharply round a bank of moss, and descending a long hill, we
entered the bush. There all my dreams of Canadian scenery were more than
realised. Trees grew in every variety of the picturesque. The forest was
dark and oppressively still, and such a deadly chill came on, that I drew
my cloak closer around me. A fragrant but heavy smell arose, and Mr.
Forrest said that we were going down into a cedar swamp, where there was a
chill even in the hottest weather. It was very beautiful. Emerging from
this, we came upon a little whitewashed English church, standing upon a
steep knoll, with its little spire rising through the trees; and leaving
this behind, we turned off upon a road through very wild country. The
ground had once been cleared, but no use had been made of it, and it was
covered with charred stumps about two feet high. Beyond this appeared an
interminable bush. Mr. Forrest told me that his house was near, and, from
the appearance of the country, I expected to come upon a log cabin; but we
turned into a field, and drove under some very fine apple-trees to a house
the very perfection of elegance and comfort. It looked as if a pretty
villa from Norwood or Hampstead had been transported to this Canadian
clearing. The dwelling was a substantially built brick one-storied house,
with a deep green verandah surrounding it, as a protection from the snow
in winter and the heat in summer. Apple-trees, laden with richly-coloured
fruit, were planted round, and sumach-trees, in all the glorious colouring
of the fall, were opposite the front door. The very house seemed to smile
a welcome; and seldom have I met a more cordial one than I received from
Mrs. Forrest, the kindly and graceful hostess, who met me at the door, her
pretty simple dress of pink and white muslin contrasting strangely with
the charred stumps which were in sight, and the long lines of gloomy bush
which stood out dark and sharp against the evening sky.
"Will you go into the drawing-room?" asked Mrs. Forrest. I was surprised,
for I had not associated a _drawing-room_ with emigrant life in Canada;
but I followed her along a pretty entrance-lobby, floored with polished
oak, into a lofty room, furnished with all the elegances and luxuries of
the mansion of an affluent Englishman at home, a beautiful piano not being
wanting. It was in this house, containing every comfort, and welcomed with
the kindest hospitality, that I received my first impressions of "life in
the clearings." My hosts were only recovering from the fatigues of a
"thrashing-bee" of the day before, and, while we were playing at
bagatelle, one of the _gentlemen_ assistants came to the door, and asked
if the "_Boss_" were at home. A lady told me that, when she first came
out, a servant asked her "How the boss liked his shirts done?" As Mrs.
Moodie had not then enlightened the world on the subject of settlers'
slang, the lady did not understand her, and asked what she meant by the
"boss,"--to which she replied, "Why, lawk, missus, your hubby, to be
sure."
I spent some time with these kind and most agreeable friends, and returned
to them after a visit to the Falls of Niagara. My sojourn with them is
among my sunniest memories of Canada. Though my expectations were in one
sense entirely disappointed on awaking to the pleasant consciousness of
reposing on the softest of feathers, I did not feel romance enough to wish
myself on a buffalo robe on the floor of a log-cabin. Nearly every day I
saw some operation of Canadian farming, with its difficulties and
pleasures. Among the former is that of obtaining men to do the work. The
wages given are five shillings per diem, and in many cases "rations"
besides. While I was at Mr. Forrest's, two men were sinking a well, and
one coolly took up his tools and walked away because _only_ half a pound
of butter had been allowed for breakfast. Mr. Forrest possesses sixty
acres of land, fifteen of which are still in bush. The barns are very
large and substantial, more so than at home; for no produce can be left
out of doors in the winter. There were two hundred and fifty bushels of
wheat, the produce of a "thrashing bee," and various other edibles. Oxen,
huge and powerful, do all the draught-work on this farm, and their stable
looked the very perfection of comfort. Round the house "snake-fences" had
given place to those of post and rail; but a few hundred yards away was
the uncleared bush. The land thus railed round had been cleared for some
years; the grass is good, and the stumps few in number. Leaving this, we
came to the stubble of last year, where the stumps were more numerous, and
then to the land only cleared in the spring, covered thickly with charred
stumps, the soil rich and black, and wheat springing up in all directions.
Beyond this there was nothing but bush. A scramble through a bush, though
very interesting in its way, produces disagreeable consequences.
When the excitement of the novelty was over, and I returned to the house,
I contemplated with very woeful feelings the inroad which had been made
upon my wardrobe--the garments torn in all directions beyond any
possibility of repair, and the shoes reduced to the consistency of soaked
brown paper with wading through a bog. It was a serious consideration to
me, who at that time was travelling through the West with a very small and
very wayworn portmanteau, with Glasgow, Torquay, Boston, Rock Island, and
I know not what besides upon it. The bush, however, for the time being,
was very enjoyable, in spite of numerous bruises and scratches. Huge pines
raised their heads to heaven, others lay prostrate and rotting away,
probably thrown down in some tornado. In the distance numbers of trees
were lying on the ground, and men were cutting off their branches and
burning them in heaps, which slowly smouldered away, and sent up clouds of
curling blue smoke, which diffused itself as a thin blue veil over the
dark pines.
This bush is in dangerous proximity to Mr. Forrest's house. The fire ran
through it in the spring, and many of the trees, which are still standing,
are blackened by its effects. One night in April, after a prolonged
drought, just as the household were retiring to rest, Mr. Forrest looked
out of the window, and saw a light in the bush scarcely bigger or brighter
than a glow-worm. Presently it rushed up a tall pine, entwining its fiery
arms round the very highest branches. The fire burned on for a fortnight;
they knew it must burn till rain came, and Mr. Forrest and his man never
left it day or night, all their food being carried to the bush. One night,
during a breeze, it made a sudden rush towards the house. In a twinkling
they got out the oxen and plough, and, some of the neighbours coming to
their assistance, they ploughed up so much soil between the fire and the
stubble round the house, that it stopped; but not before Mr. Forrest's
straw hat was burnt, and the hair of the oxen singed. Mrs. Forrest
meanwhile, though trembling for her husband's safety, was occupied in
wetting blankets, and carrying them to the roof of the house, for the dry
shingles would have been ignited by a spark. On our return, it was
necessary to climb over some "snake" or zigzag fences about six feet high.
These are fences peculiar to new countries, and though very cheap,
requiring neither tools nor nails, have a peculiarly untidy appearance. It
is not thought wise to buy a farm which has not enough bush or growing
timber for both rails and firewood.
In clearing, of which I saw all the processes, the first is to cut down
the trees, in which difficult operation axes of British manufacture are
rendered useless after a few hours' work. The trees are cut about two feet
above the root, and often bring others down with them in their fall.
Sometimes these trees are split up at the time into rails or firewood;
sometimes dragged to the saw-mills to be made into lumber; but are often
piled into heaps and burnt--a necessary but prodigal waste of wood, to
which I never became reconciled. When the wood has been cleared off, wheat
is sown among the stumps, and then grass, which appears only to last about
four years. Fire is put on the tops of these unsightly stumps to burn them
down as much as possible, and when it is supposed, after two or three
years, that the roots have rotted in the ground, several oxen are attached
by a chain to each, and pull it out. Generally this is done by means of a
"logging bee." I must explain this term, as it refers neither to the
industrious insect nor the imperial bee of Napoleon. The very name reminds
me of early rising, healthy activity, merriment, and a well-spread board.
A "bee" is a necessity arising from the great scarcity of labour in the
New World. When a person wishes to thrash his corn, he gives notice to
eight or ten of his neighbours, and a day is appointed on which they are
to meet at his house. For two or three days before, grand culinary
preparations are made by the hostess, and on the preceding evening a table
is loaded with provisions. The morning comes, and eight or ten stalwart
Saxons make their appearance, and work hard till noon, while the lady of
the house is engaged in hotter work before the fire, in the preparation of
hot meat, puddings, and pies; for well she knows that the good humour of
her guests depends on the quantity and quality of her viands. They come in
to dinner, black (from the dust of a peculiar Canadian weed), hot, tired,
hungry, and thirsty. They eat as no other people eat, and set all our
notions of the separability of different viands at defiance. At the end of
the day they have a very substantial supper, with plenty of whisky, and,
if everything has been satisfactory, the convivial proceedings are
prolonged till past midnight. The giver of a "bee" is bound to attend the
"bees" of all his neighbours. A "thrashing bee" is considered a very "slow
affair" by the younger portion of the community. There are "quilting
bees," where the thick quilts, so necessary in Canada, are fabricated;
"apple bees," where this fruit is sliced and strung for the winter;
"shelling bees," where peas in bushels are shelled and barrelled; and
"logging bees," where the decayed stumps in the clearings are rooted up by
oxen. At the quilting, apple, and shelling bees there are numbers of the
fair sex, and games, dancing, and merrymaking are invariably kept up till
the morning.
In the winter, as in the eastern colonies, all outdoor employments are
stopped, and dancing and evening parties of different kinds are
continually given. The whole country is like one vast road, and the fine,
cold, aurora-lighted nights are cheery with the lively sound of the
sleigh-bells, as merry parties, enveloped in furs, drive briskly over the
crisp surface of the snow. The way of life at Mr. Forrest's was peculiarly
agreeable. The breakfast-hour was nominally seven, and afterwards Mr.
Forrest went out to his farm. The one Irish servant, who never seemed
happy with her shoes on, was capable of little else than boiling potatoes,
so all the preparations for dinner devolved upon Mrs. Forrest, who till
she came to Canada had never attempted anything in the culinary line. I
used to accompany her into the kitchen, and learned how to solve the
problem which puzzled an English king, viz. "How apples get into a
dumpling." We dined at the mediaeval hour of twelve, and everything was of
home raising. Fresh meat is a rarity; but a calf had been killed, and
furnished dinners for seven days, and the most marvellous thing was, that
each day it was dressed in a different manner, Mrs. Forrest's skill in
this respect rivalling that of _Alexis Soyer_. A home-fed pig, one of
eleven slaughtered on one fell day, produced the excellent ham; the squash
and potatoes were from the garden; and the bread and beer were from home-
grown wheat and hops. After dinner Mr. Forrest and I used to take lengthy
rides, along wild roads, on horses of extraordinary capabilities, and in
the evening we used to have bagatelle and reading aloud. Such was life in
the clearings. On one or two evenings some very agreeable neighbours came
in; and in addition to bagatelle we had puzzles, conundrums, and conjuring
tricks. One of these "neighbours" was a young married lady, the prettiest
person I had seen in America. She was a French Canadian, and added to the
graces of person and manner for which they are famed a cleverness and
sprightliness peculiarly her own. I was very much pleased with the
friendly, agreeable society of the neighbourhood. There are a great many
gentlemen residing there, with fixed incomes, who have adopted Canada as
their home because of the comforts which they can enjoy in an untaxed
country, and one in which it is not necessary to keep up appearances. For
instance, a gentleman does not lose caste by grooming his own horse, or
driving his own produce to market in a lumber-waggon; and a lady is not
less a lady, though she may wear a dress and bonnet of a fashion three
years old.
I was surprised one morning by the phenomenon of some morning-callers--
yes, morning-callers in a Canadian clearing. I sighed to think that such a
pest and accompaniment of civilisation should have crossed the Atlantic.
The "callers" of that morning, the Haldimands, amused me very much. They
give themselves great airs--Canada with them is a "wretched hole;" the
society is composed of "boors." In a few minutes they had asked me who I
was--where I came from--what I was doing there--how I got to know my
friends--and if I had come to live with them. Mr. Haldimands, finding I
came from England, asked me if I knew a certain beautiful young lady, and
recounted his flirtations with her. Dukes, earls, and viscounts flowed
from his nimble tongue--"When I was hunting with Lord this," or "When I
was waltzing with Lady that." His regrets were after the Opera and
Almack's, and his height of felicity seemed to be driving a four-in-hand
drag. After expatiating to me in the most vociferous manner on the
delights of titled society, he turned to Mrs. Forrest and said, "After the
society in which we used to move, you may imagine how distasteful all this
is to us"--barely a civil speech, I thought. This eccentric individual was
taking a lady, whom he considered a person of consequence, for a drive in
a carriage, when a man driving a lumber-waggon kept crossing the road in
front of him, hindering his progress. Mr. Haldimands gradually got into a
towering passion, which resulted in his springing out, throwing the reins
to the lady, and rushing furiously at the teamster with his fists squared,
shouting in a perfect scream, "Flesh and blood can't bear this. One of us
must die!" The man whipped up his horses and made off, and Mr. Haldimands
tried in vain to hush up a story which made him appear so superlatively
ridiculous.
We actually paid some morning visits, and I thought the society very
agreeable and free from gossip. One of our visits was paid to the family
of one of the oldest settlers in Canada. His place was the very perfection
of beauty; it was built in a park formed out of a civilised wood, the
grounds extending to the verge of a precipice, looking from which I saw
the river, sometimes glittering in the sunshine, sometimes foaming along
in a wood--just realising Mrs. Moodie's charming description of the
Otonabee. Far below, the water glittered like diamond sparks among the
dark woods; pines had fallen into and across it, in the way in which trees
only fall in America, and no two trees were of the same tint; the wild
vine hung over the precipice, and smothered the trees with its clusters
and tendrils; and hurriedly in some places, gently in others, the cold
rivulet flowed down to the lake,--no bold speculator having as yet dared
to turn the water privilege to account.
My first ride was an amusing one, for various reasons. My riding-habit was
left at Toronto, but this seemed not to be a difficulty. Mrs. Forrest's
fashionable habit and white gauntlet-gloves fitted me beautifully; and the
difficulty about a hat was at once overcome by sending to an obliging
neighbour, who politely sent a very stylish-looking plumed riding-hat.
There was a side-saddle and a most elegant bridle; indeed, the whole
equipment would not have disgraced _Rotten Row_. But, the horse! My
courage had to be "screwed to the sticking point" before I could mount
him. He was a very fine animal--a magnificent coal-black charger sixteen
hands high, with a most determined will of his own, not broken for the
saddle. Mr. Forrest rode a splendid bay, which seldom went over six
consecutive yards of ground without performing some erratic movement. My
horse's paces were, a tremendous trot, breaking sometimes into a furious
gallop, in both which he acted in a perfectly independent manner, any
attempts of mine to control him with my whole strength and weight being
alike useless. We came to the top of a precipice overlooking the river,
where his gyrations were so fearful that I turned him into the bush. It
appeared to me a ride of imminent dangers and hair-breadth escapes. By
this beauteous river we came to a place where rain and flood had worn the
precipice into a steep declivity, shelving towards another precipice, and
my horse, accustomed to it, took me down where an English donkey would
scarcely have ventured. Beauty might be written upon everything in this
dell. I never saw a fairer compound of rock, wood, and water. Above was
flat and comparatively uninteresting country; then these precipices, with
trees growing out wherever they could find a footing, arrayed in all the
gorgeous colouring of the American fall. At the foot of these was a
narrow, bright-green savannah, with fine trees growing upon it, as though
planted by some one anxious to produce a park-like effect. Above this, the
dell contracted to the width of Dovedale, and through it all, the river,
sometimes a foaming, brawling stream, at others fringed with flowers, and
quiescent in deep, clear pools, pours down to the lake. After galloping
upon this savannah we plunged into the river, and, after our horses had
broken through a plank-bridge at the great risk of their legs, we rode for
many miles through bush and clearing, down sandy tracks and scratching
thickets, to the pebbly beach of Lake Ontario.
The contrast between the horses and their equipments, and the country we
rode through, was somewhat singular. The former were suitable for Hyde
Park; the latter was mere bush-riding--climbing down precipices, fording
rapid rivers, scrambling through fences and over timber, floundering in
mud, going through the bush with hands before us to push the branches from
our faces, and, finally, watering our horses in the blue, deep waters of
Lake Ontario--yet I never enjoyed a ride along the green lanes of England
so much as this one in the wild scenery of Canada.
The Sundays that I spent at Mr. Forrest's were very enjoyable, though the
heat of the first was nearly insupportable, and the cold of the last like
that of an English Christmas in bygone years. There are multitudes of
Presbyterians in Western Canada, who worship in their pure and simple
faith with as much fervency and sincerity as did their covenanting
forefathers in the days of the persecuting Dundee; and the quaint old
Psalms, to which they are so much attached, sung to the strange old tunes,
sound to them as sweet among the backwoods of Canada as in the peaceful
villages of the Lowlands, or in the remote Highland glens, where I have
often listened to their slow and plaintive strains borne upon the mountain
breezes. "Are ye frae the braes of Gleneffar?" said an old Scotchwoman to
me; "were ye at our kirk o' Sabbath last, ye would na' ken the
difference."
The Irishman declaims against the land he has forsaken--the Englishman too
often suffers the remembrance of his poverty to sever the tie which binds
him to the land of his birth--but where shall we find the Scotchman in
whose breast love of his country is not a prominent feeling? Whether it be
the light-haired Saxon from the South, or the dark-haired, sallow-visaged
Celt from the Highlands, driven forth by the gaunt hand of famine, all
look back to Scotland as to "_their country_"--the mention of its name
kindles animation in the dim eye of age, and causes the bounding heart of
youth to leap with enthusiasm. It may be that the Scotch emigrant's only
remembrance is of the cold hut on the lone hill-side, where years wore
away in poverty and hunger, but to him it is the dearest spot of earth. It
may be that he has attained a competence in Canada, and that its fertile
soil produces crops which the heathery braes of Scotland would never
yield--no matter, it is yet his _home!_--it is the land where his fathers
sleep--it is the land of his birth; his dreams are of the "mountain and
the flood"--of lonely lochs and mountain-girded firths; and when the
purple light on a summer evening streams over the forest, he fancies that
the same beams are falling on Morven and the Cuchullins, and that the soft
sound pervading the air is the echo of the shepherd's pipe. To the latest
hour of his life he cherishes the idea of returning to some homestead by a
tumbling burnie. He never can bring himself to utter to his mountain land,
from the depths of his heart, the melancholy words, "_Che til na tuille._"
[Footnote: "We return no more."]
The Episcopal church was only two miles from us, but we were most
mercilessly jolted over a plank-road, where many of the planks had made a
descent into a sea of mud, on the depth of which I did not attempt to
speculate. Even in beautiful England I never saw a prettier sight than the
assembling of the congregation. The church is built upon a very steep
little knoll, the base of which is nearly encircled by a river. Close to
it is a long shed, in which the horses are tethered during service, and
little belligerent sounds, such as screaming and kicking, occasionally
find their way into church. The building is light and pretty inside, very
simple, but in excellent taste; and though there is no organ, the singing
and chanting, conducted by the younger portion of the congregation, is on
a par with some of the best in our town churches at home. There were no
persons poorly clad, and all looked happy, sturdy, and independent. The
bright scarlet leaves of the oak and maple pressed against the windows,
giving them in the sunlight something of the appearance of stained glass;
the rippling of the river was heard below, and round us, far, far away,
stretched the forest. Here, where the great Manitou was once worshipped, a
purer faith now reigns, and the allegiance of the people is more firmly
established by "the sound of the church-going bells" than by the bayonets
of our troops. These heaven-pointing spires are links between Canada and
England; they remind the emigrant of the ivy-mantled church in which he
was first taught to bend his knees to his Creator, and of the hallowed
dust around its walls, where the sacred ashes of his fathers sleep.
There is great attachment to England among those who are protected by her
laws, and live under the shadow of her standard of freedom. In many
instances, no remembrances of wrongs received, of injuries sustained, of
hopeless poverty and ill-requited toil, can sever that holiest, most
sacred of ties, which binds, until his latest breath, the heart of the
exile to his native land.
The great annoyance of which people complain in this pleasant land is the
difficulty of obtaining domestic servants, and the extraordinary specimens
of humanity who go out in this capacity. It is difficult to obtain any,
and those that are procured are solely Irish Roman Catholics, who think it
a great hardship to wear shoes, and speak of their master as the "_boss_."
At one house where I visited, the servant or "help," after condescending
to bring in the dinner, took a book from the _chiffonier_, and sat down on
the sofa to read it. On being remonstrated with for her conduct, she
replied that she "would not remain an hour in a house where those she
helped had an objection to a young lady's improving her mind!" At an hotel
at Toronto, one chambermaid, pointing to another, said, "That _young lady_
will show you your room." I left Mr. Forrest's even for three days with
great regret, and after a nine miles drive on a very wet morning, and a
water transit of two hours, found myself at Toronto, where as usual on the
wharf I was greeted by the clamorous demand for "wharfage." I found the
Walrences and other agreeable acquaintances at Russell's hotel, but was
surprised with what I thought rather a want of discrimination on the part
of all; I was showing a valuable collection of autographs, beginning with
Cromwell, and containing, in addition to those of several deceased and
living royal personages, valuable letters of Scott, Byron, Wellington,
Russell, Palmerston, Wilberforce, Dickens, &c. The shades of kings,
statesmen, and poets, might almost have been incited to appear, when the
signature of Richard Cobden was preferred before all.