Upper Canada’s favored situation--Our Great Lakes--Cases of
apparent tides on Lake Ontario--Canadians as givers--Oshawa’s
generous support of churches and charities--Life insurance--Amusing
incidents of a railway journey--A “talking machine.”
“I glory in the spirit
Which goaded them to rise,
And form a mighty nation
Beneath the western skies.
No clime so bright and beautiful
As that where ne’er was slavery;
No land so fertile, fair, and free
As that of Upper Canada.
Hurrah!”
--_Adapted._
A glance at the outline map in this volume will show how this Province
is surrounded by the Great Lakes, or tideless oceans, the peers of any
in this world.
Now, with a fertile soil, a most salubrious climate, the best form of
government, and a working, thrifty, sober people, success and the goal
of wealth being ours is not to be marvelled at. Our working habits and
abstemiousness are so strongly inculcated that our young men have always
had the best places given them when they have gone to seek work in the
great neighboring Republic.
I have called the Great Lakes tideless oceans, and they are. Still,
sometimes one would almost think they had tides. That the surface of
Lake Ontario very frequently and very suddenly rises and again falls,
within one or two hours, is very well known to close observers.
Indeed, the records of the Jesuit fathers, who were the first real
observers of Lake Ontario, have frequent accounts of sudden rufflings of
the water, and of waves on which by some unknown cause their canoes were
rocked. As a pointed illustration of this fact, my father, who was one
of the earliest shipowners on the lake, had a large vessel ashore about
Frenchman’s Bay. They had kedged the anchors and drawn the cables as
taut as it was possible to do, and still the ship would not move. After
making every effort to move it they lay down upon the beach by the ship
exhausted, wondering what next to do. Suddenly, from a perfectly calm
surface, there came a swell and a rise of two feet of water, when the
vessel immediately, with the strain upon her chains, slid off into deep
water.
Here, without a doubt, was a tide, but I feel certain that at some
remote part of the lake a heavy thunderstorm was passing, with a high
wind, or there was some such local cause to produce this swell and
apparent tide. No one has yet been able to prove that there are lunar
tides upon Lake Ontario. It is unfortunately true that no very close and
persistent observations have been made, yet even casual observers who
live upon the lake-side know positively that these tides are not
regular, are governed by no fixed law, and can never be foretold as are
the lunar tides upon the ocean. I would designate these Lake Ontario
tides “barometrical waves,” as they are truly caused by sudden
barometrical changes at different points upon the lake; for we must
never forget its great size, and that a storm or a gale may be raging
over one area and at the same time the lake be perfectly calm in
another.
* * * * *
Upper Canadians are a generous, liberal-minded people, and I fearlessly
assert that they are among the most liberal in the world. In fact, I am
not sure but they really are the greatest givers in the world--givers
for good purposes, I mean--and I am going to show unmistakably that they
voluntarily submit to a tax far greater than any Government dare try to
impose upon them.
Take Oshawa, for example--not because it is any better or worse than
other towns in Ontario, but let it stand for an average town; I cite it
simply because I know it more intimately, and therefore use it as a
basis of comparison.
There are, in round numbers, about 5,000 persons in the town of Oshawa.
Within its boundaries are ten worshipping bodies. That is, there are
that many different congregations who, at stated times, meet separately
for worship. I get it from one of the deacons of these churches that
last year his church raised $4,400 for religious purposes. But, of
course, that would not be a fair assumption for the rest, although some
two or three others would come pretty near that amount. Upon closest
inquiry I find that it can safely be taken, on an average, that every
one of these ten worshipping bodies raises at least $1,500 yearly for
religious purposes. This is putting it at a very low estimate, and is
safely within the mark. Then, ten churches at $1,500 each per year gives
the grand total of $15,000 raised yearly by 5,000 people for religious
purposes alone. Or, taking the whole sum, and apportioning it _pro
rata_, it will yield about $3 per head for every man, woman and child
per annum, voluntarily given for these purposes, which is indeed more
than any government dare levy as a tax. Of course, I know that persons
outside the town attend some of the town churches and contribute, but I
think this is fully offset by the extremely low estimate of $1,500 per
church or body, for I am quite certain, if the real truth were known, it
would be far more than that amount. Some of the churches will not in any
way divulge the facts, and of course the amount of their contributions
can be got at only approximately.
I submit that the people of Ontario are the most generous in the world,
and give most voluntarily, for, as I remarked at the outset, I am not
claiming more nor less for Oshawa, and think I must be safe in coming to
the conclusion that other towns of a similar population do likewise.
Very few of us, I am sure, ever stopped before to think of what we do
voluntarily in this our banner Province. It is only because we are a
frugal and industrious and prosperous people that we can make this
annual contribution for religious purposes. It is far greater than that
for educational purposes, and yet we feel sure we are doing as much for
education as any people under the sun.
There is one more tax which our people voluntarily subject themselves
to, which I think might well be referred to. So far as I know, no one
has ever touched upon the subject, and since it is becoming so general,
it ought, I think, to be spoken of, to give us some idea of what we are
voluntarily doing in another direction. Life insurance has become so
common, and is so fast increasing, that it bids fair to be one of the
great questions among us. I have been at considerable pains to get as
near the truth as I can, but insurance men, however, do not care to give
too many figures, and I must get all I can from policyholders and then
draw an approximate estimate. Take Oshawa again for a comparison, with
its 5,000 people. For the same reason as in the former case, I use
Oshawa for comparison solely because I know it best, and not for any
particular merit or demerit so far as it is concerned. There are three
hundred policies of life insurance in Oshawa among 5,000 people. This
number is certainly within the mark, as insurance men reluctantly admit.
Pursuing the inquiry further, I find, as near as may be, these policies
will average $2,000 each, making thereby a total of $600,000 life
insurance now carried by this people. With the gross amount I am not
particularly concerned, but it is the sum they yearly voluntarily tax
themselves to pay to keep these three hundred policies in force that I
want to discover. It is difficult to get at the sum the people pay
annually, for there are so many kinds of life insurance that they vary,
some policies being on the plan of annual payments for life, while
others are only for a stated term of years, so that it is difficult to
get at the average amount. Five thousand dollars per month one insurance
company has been known to receive from here. But I take it that this was
a special month, and that more policies were renewed that month than
usual, so it will not be safe to take those figures for any average. It
is certain, however, that these three hundred policies average a cost of
$30 per annum. Now, this $30 per annum is well within the mark, and I
feel quite warranted in using that as a basis for comparison. This will
give us $24,000 per year which the people here pay for life insurance,
and I am quite right in classing these payments as among the generous
acts and givings of the people, because the persons assured by these
policies cannot ordinarily be expected to be benefited themselves, but
are doing it and making these annual sacrifices for those who remain
after their decease. Hence, these payments are charitable donations. If
5,000 people pay $24,000 per annum, that means very nearly $5 per head
for every man, woman and child yearly paid in this town for life
insurance to benefit those of our friends who succeed us. Now, add this
$5 per head for life insurance to the $3 per head, as before instanced,
annually raised for religious purposes, and we have $8 per head
annually paid by the people of Oshawa, voluntarily and spontaneously.
Again I say, taking Oshawa as an index of the Province, one can begin to
form some idea of the vast sum annually contributed for these purposes.
Verily, there are no more generous people on this globe, This $8 per
head is almost equal to the annual drink bill of the greatest drinking
nations of the world. But then, of course, one must expect,
unfortunately, that men will pay more for vices, taking the world at
large, than they will for commendable objects. Ontario comes perhaps
quite as near paying as much per head for commendable objects as for
vicious ones as any people existing to-day. Hence, one can form no other
opinion than that Ontarioans are really as moral, as well educated and
thrifty, and as generous a people as there are anywhere to be found.
* * * * *
People of the Old World cannot realize the conditions of life in
America, the peculiar freedom of pleasant informal intercourse common to
it, without reading closely or unless they come and see us.
The following incidents of a railway journey will serve for
illustration. Remember that Upper Canada is covered by a very extensive
network of railways, hence such scenes are always possible.
An old gentleman in passing from the smoking-car to the first-class
coach behind, while the train was under full speed of forty miles an
hour or so, had in some way been thrown or blown or jolted from the
platform to the ground.
He is injured somewhat badly, but not seriously. In obedience to a
telegram an ambulance of the city of Toronto meets the incoming train at
the Union Depot, and the injured man is gently raised in a huge blanket
from the baggage car, where he had been placed after his fall, and
deposited in the ambulance. A doctor gets in and sits by his head. A
crowd has gathered, and, seeking to know what the trouble is, I make
enquiry of a man standing near me. The man, whose sable complexion
plainly betokens his African origin, without any visible admixture of
white blood, courteously replies:--“Don’t exazactly know, sah, but
’spects some man fell off de kears.” And the ambulance slowly moves off
to the hospital.
Reaching my train, I deposit my things in the first-class coach and make
for the “smoker.” About one-half of all the gentlemen do likewise. My
observation is that about one-half of all Canadians, taking them “by the
large,” as the sailors say, burn the fragrant weed. In Britain
three-fourths would, I think, be the proportion; in Holland and Belgium
_eleven-tenths_ is, I imagine, almost within the mark. If our medical
men can convince us that Sir Walter Raleigh’s tobacco is decimating the
human family, we may safely conclude that three-fourths of Canadians
will soon pass over to the great silent majority. Well, if our medical
men were to tell us so, I don’t believe we would accept their _ipse
dixit_--at any rate, we would go on smoking, regardless of consequences.
To the honor of Canadians be it said, they as a rule do not belong to
the light-fingered gentry class, and our grip-sacks and great-coats left
unguarded in the car are comparatively safe. It is only around the depot
that any real danger of pilfering exists. There one may expect some
“artful dodger” lying in wait for just such opportunities. The journey
once commenced there’s no danger at all, and “traps” may be left about
promiscuously.
But my smoke is done, and I will return to my seat. Ah! I see someone
has taken it--a lady. Of course, I cannot ask her to vacate it, although
that seat by the ordinary courtesies of travel is mine by right of
pre-possession and as the receptacle of my belongings. The next seat
behind is occupied by a single lady, and there’s room for another
person. “Is this seat occupied, madam?” in as polite a voice and gesture
towards the seat as the occasion demands. “I think not, sir,” and I sit
by her side. Some one of her “uncles, or her cousins or her aunts” may
possibly be known to me. Just how the ice is broken one can scarcely
tell, but it is broken, and we chat away as the train clips off the
usual thirty miles an hour.
Who, I ask, ever thought of speaking unintroduced to a lady in a
first-class car in England? I tried it once when a green boy, and
received such a stony stare as froze me for all my subsequent railway
journeys in the old land. But we do things differently in Canada. My
companion chats, and so do I, and so do all my neighbors, and the car is
just an incessant hum of pleasant, softly intoned voices. Such seems to
be the almost universal custom in Canada, and the millionaire (we have a
few) sits down beside the schoolmaster or the drummer, and it would take
a keener eye than Canada has yet produced to tell “which from t’other”
without previous knowledge or having been duly informed.
Were I an M.P. or an M.P.P., or possibly a Cabinet Minister (with or
without a portfolio), I suppose it would be among my prerogatives not to
talk to my seat-mate. But not being so fortunate, I can enjoy my freedom
and talk with decent, respectable people, though they are strangers.
Just across the passage are seated an ancient maiden lady and an
attenuated, pale, thin-whiskered merchant who has been up the city to
make some purchases for his store. Now this ancient maiden lady has seen
her fifty-and-two summers at least, and is strong in church government,
and church soirees, and church donative entertainments, ostensibly for
the benefit of the poor. Just now, however, I must leave her, for the
conductor has entered the forward door of the car, wearing his sombre
but neat railway uniform, and is shouting out “Tickets!” Without
exception everyone in my coach has the required pasteboard, and he has
quickly passed us. Conductors evidently can get along well with such a
class of passengers, for there’s no quarrelling or unpleasantness, nor
questions for him to answer, nor anyone for him to eject from the train.
It is manifest from his facial expression that he is in good humor with
us, his passengers, and that his dinner likewise has agreed with him.
This lady opens conversation with the merchant sitting near her, and
without waiting for a reply to the opinions she expresses, continues an
unchecked stream of talk on her favorite subject. Resignedly, patiently,
meekly, Christianlike, this helpless merchant submits. And it is poured
on, over, twisted, every side brought forth, while he calmly folds his
long white wasted hands over his breast. Some young city men are coming
down to a country town to attend a ball, and they make a lively party of
themselves. Their fun and mirth and overflowing spirits do not annoy us,
but we cannot help catching the contagious infection of mirth, and we
are all goodnatured
[Illustration: SARAH TERWILLIGAR’S ATTEMPT TO FLY TO HEAVEN. THE WORLD
TO COME TO AN END.]
in this car, except possibly aforesaid ancient maiden lady, who is still
too deep in “church government” for the contagion to catch her.
With questionable zeal a young Salvation Army fellow and a couple of
Salvation Army lasses, seated near the farther end of the car, boldly
strike up. The tune may be melodious, suggestive of piety, musical,
well-rendered, and withal nicely done, for one of the female voices is
really sweet. It gets monotonous, however, at the beginning of the third
verse, and we cannot enjoy our conversation. “Will you kindly stop?”
Perhaps the word kindly is not suggestive enough--at any rate, it does
not produce the desired quietus, and the hymn-singing goes bravely on.
Our uniformed conductor has come in again with his cry of “Tickets!”
Someone suggests to him “Will you be good enough to ask those persons in
the rear end of the car to cease their singing?” It has the desired
effect, even if the “kindly” aforementioned did not. Yes, Canada is
pre-eminently a free country, but the wisdom of such efforts among a
mixed assembly of promiscuous railway passengers is just questionable.
No doubt there would be in that coach Catholics as well as Protestants,
agnostics as well as saints--and heaven only knows but Moslems and
Greeks may have been there as well--so I think I am right in saying that
their zeal is quite right, but its peculiar manifestation just a little
questionable.
The next seat behind mine contains two young men who have so far on this
journey pored with eager interest over the _Globe’s_ columns. Church
government, city boys’ ante-ball merriment, nor Salvation Army songs
have as yet distracted their attention from these columns which they
seem to be devouring. They explain, however, that they are Toronto
University students on their way home, and have not for some days had an
opportunity to find out what this world has been about.
Did you ever in your peregrinations encounter a veritable “talking
machine?” Well, I did once, and I must ask you to allow me to leave this
coach for a moment to describe that machine.
A few seasons ago I had occasion to go to Britain in the month of
January. Now, it’s a long ride down to Halifax, and let the Pullman be
ever so comfortable, one feels now and again like walking forward and
seeing what the others are doing. In the smoker I found a long-featured,
cadaverous, wizened, pinched, saffron “bag of bones,” with a wrinkled
parchment cuticle drawn over them, made in the form of a “talking
machine.” He was talking the first time I went into the car, and talking
every time I entered it. There is just a dim recollection with me, that
I went some ten times into that car on the way down to Halifax, and the
“machine” was always in order, and always going. He went into the
steerage, and I heard him several times when on the steamer, from the
cabin deck, still in order, and always talking. At Londonderry he got on
the tender with me. As he came down the gang-plank his voice was still
raised, and for three mortal long hours I had to endure his idle
“clack,” while the tender took us ashore. Next day, when purchasing a
railway ticket, again I encountered him--still talking. I think I could
with clear conscience take my oath that he talked all the way home
(Belfast) while in that train. In fact, he had talked himself poor--poor
in flesh, I mean, for I do not know what may have been his possessions
in the coin of the realm.
This was my first real observation of a genuine “talking machine.” In
this coach to-day we had another, but of the feminine gender, which,
under ordinary acceptances, would seem to be more in the general fitness
of things, when coming from the sex to whom speech is so easy.
This old lady sat in the corner at the forward end of the car. She had
come from Ohio, and her talk ran equally as well upon ordinary sublunary
things as upon those of more elevated character. The Sphinx, or the
Delphic Oracle, or who was Junius?--it made no difference, for she was
equally at home on all these. Our ball-going city chaps quickly saw a
place and time for fun. First, they chaffed her, and squarely they got
their answers back, rather to their discomfiture. They hit upon politics
finally. Just what hers were I did not make out, but at this subject she
rose in her might, and standing with the index finger boldly extended,
laid it down right volubly--rather more than the ball-going boys
bargained for, and to the infinite amusement of all the other
passengers.
Our uniformed conductor touched her gently upon the shoulder and
requested her to sit down. Silence for a few moments followed, but the
fun was too much for the boys to lose it, and she as a talking-machine
ran too easily to quit. Again upon her feet, again the index finger, and
another request to sit down. Her station reached at last, the conductor
and brakeman with alacrity help her off and deposit her parcels with her
on the platform. The conductor raises his hand, a “toot” from the
locomotive, and away. The conductor jumps aboard, heaves a great sigh,
and almost audibly says--if not in words, at anyrate in thought and
action--“I’m glad to get rid of that talking-machine.”
“Supper! Twenty minutes for supper!” and for fifty cents we get a
substantial, good meal and are not particularly hurried. That reminds
me to say that those places where they give the traveller a good meal
are always known and commented upon and sought after. Cornwall, for
instance, is noted in many travellers’ memories for its pies. So the
traveller who happens there at the time of blueberries--ye gods, he’ll
have a feast for a king! Then again, of some railway restaurants I am
sorry to defame our our fair country by saying that they consume very
much of the traveller’s precious twenty minutes before they wait on him,
and he pays his fifty cents for a sight of the empty dishes and the
seductive odor of cooked meat in the room behind the screens, but not
yet served up to the pilgrim having only twenty precious minutes. The
eating-house at Orangeville did not on some former occasions strike me
as being particularly alert to save the traveller’s precious lunch time.
The ancient maiden lady has gone; so has my single lady, and as most of
us now remaining in the car are passengers for destinations far away, we
have gradually settled down for a really comfortable journey. Most of
the seats are now occupied by only one person, and he or she can lounge
at ease. But hold! there’s a woman crying bitterly. What’s the trouble?
Word soon goes around the car that this poor woman has been robbed of
her purse and her railway ticket as well, and she weeps deeply and
unfeignedly, as if her heart would break. There are whisperings among
the ladies, and soon one of them has interviewed her. A gentleman
approaches and consults with the weeper and the lady. Result, this
gentleman gets into the passage in the middle of the car, and makes a
little speech. Assures us he’s from Illinois, and has seen this woman on
his train all the way. Knew she had a ticket; in fact, saw her with it.
Says she had a through ticket from Chicago to some place away down in
Maine. Had a little money besides, but while crossing the river at
Detroit and Windsor some mean thief stole ticket and purse. Had only a
few quarters left in a pocket, which the thief did not get. With these
quarters has paid her fare since the robbery so far, but now her money
is all gone, and she has not a friend in this part of the world. “And
now, look a-here, ladies and gentlemen, let’s give the poor woman a
lift; a dollar a piece won’t hurt any of us, and here goes.” Taking off
his soft felt hat and putting a dollar greenback in it, around the car
he goes with the hat extended. Dollars and half-dollars fall into the
hat as the tour of the car is made, and he comes to the weeping woman
and unceremoniously dumps the whole lot into her lap. “There, there,
now; dry up your tears--you’re all right now, and you can pay your fare
through.” This woman’s sudden change from bitter weeping to smiles
through her tears was a pleasure to see, and I can fancy something kept
rising in the throats of many of the passengers, which it took a good
deal of swallowing to keep down. So the world is not so bad after all,
and Canadians have hearts and open purses when assured that the need is
a true one.
“Did you say the next station is mine, conductor?” Well, I will put on
my great-coat and go out into the darkness, for it is eleven o’clock,
and I leave this coach with its peculiarities of human nature, not
doubting but the next one I step into will contain its quota, peculiar
enough, though possibly in other ways.